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Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (137/?) Revised Version 1
🕑 Added 2025-07-19 22:45:59 +0000 UTCAuthor’s Note: Hey everyone! There’s only been a few edits to this chapter this time around! :D Most of the edits were once again focused on improving the character’s voices, in this case the voices of our two new elven friends! :D So the most major piece of revision would have to be the bit where he’s explaining how the whole carter business! :D And most of that was done to just improve the flow and voice, not really the lore within! Along with that, there’s the usual grammar and spelling edits, and a bit of rephrasing done to describe the tent town! That’s about it this time around! As always, all of the revised sections are highlighted with an underline to easily see what’s been revised! :D
His Eternal Majesty’s Remembrance Path… aka the Royal Road of Transgracia. En Route to the Township of Sips. Local Time 2100 Hours.
Thalmin
There was, in fact, something to worry about.
Something that gnawed and clawed at the very edges of my thinking mind, fraying my nerves and screaming at me to acknowledge its unnerving presence.
And it wasn’t about the potential spy behind our backs.
Nor did it have anything to do with the speed I was currently experiencing.
Not entirely.
The rush of the dirt and the grass beneath me wasn’t at all a foreign experience, let alone an alien sensation.
Nor was the wind in my fur and the sheer exhilaration that it elicited.
It wasn’t even the discomfort that came with the ramshackled order of seating and our impromptu solutions to our luggage situation.
No.
If anything, exactly everything was as it was supposed to be, and nought an iota of this exhilarating experience was out of order.
Except for one.
…
The lack of a manafield.
Or more specifically, the lack of any relevant aura emanating from beneath the enchanted surface of the bi-treader.
Though this might as well have been the lack of reason itself for how significant of a deviation this was from the tenets of reality.
Locomotion without mana was strictly bound to the whims of the natural world. A world in which no amount of stiff resistance or tricky cleverness could overcome.
A lupinor was bound to their own two legs for whatever that was worth, as much as a horse was bound by its four limbs and the strength of its flesh and sinew.
The work of the sapient mind could only go so far to overcome or tame the natural world without magic; at best resulting in great ships of sail as was seen in both Aetheronrealm and Havenbrockrealm prior to the reformations.
Though they too were bound to the forces of the natural world. Their speed, agility, and control — ultimately beholden to forces which would never allow any to attain anything beyond its narrow band of clemency.
This was why Emma’s bi-treader proved to be an uneasy, gut-churning experience.
It was as if I was riding a common horse or trailing behind a sailboat in a cart pulled by a rope.
Indeed, that latter comparison was what I could best compare this experience to, in lieu of everything else more comparable being locked behind the realm of mana and magic.
This… was the impossible made manifest.
The vivid sights and sounds hailing from Emma’s sight-seer experiences gave me ample warning. I should have expected this, and yet… they just could not compare to the ‘real deal’ as Emma might put it.
To witness and comprehend something on a conceptual level is an entirely different notion to actually experiencing it in the tangible world.
Indeed, it was this discrepancy that tore at me the longer I sat on this… enigma.
An artifice which I understood to be powered through lightning, channeled through metal and rubber, before being turned into motion on both large treaded wheels.
The explanation was… sound. Or at least, as sound as it could be given its alien nature.
For despite Emma’s best attempts, I found it difficult to truly grapple with this form of manaless locomotion, as opposed to the more straightforward power through explosions as was seen in her earlier demonstrations.
There was at least visible motion by which force was transferred in that artifice.
Here? It was so eerily silent, so completely smooth, so very much indistinguishable from magic.
Though the fact that conveyances powered through explosions were somehow more ‘acceptable’ proved just how far the earthrealmer’s logic has been rubbing off on me.
I took a deep breath, steadying my mind and attempting to focus on Sorecar’s surface-level enchantments in order to avoid the strange and uneasy discrepancy between the sheer speed of the bi-treader and its lack of any manafield draw.
This worked well.
“Watch your head!”
Until one of Emma’s constructs once again disrupted my already-fragile concentration with a buzz and a clack!
I watched in bemusement as the small disc-shaped ‘drone’ snapped neatly and seamlessly into one of the slits on the back of Emma’s armor.
Indeed, I found myself mildly mesmerized by the manaless actions of these unenchanted golems.
Until Emma’s words once again pulled me out of my existential musings.
“Good news, Thalmin.” Emma began, her voice brimming with an infectious excitement. “Operation Maretime Misdirection was a resounding success.”
With a flick of her arm, once again showcasing her ‘tablet’, I watched as a memory shard played out in flat and lifeless detail. Yet it was through this masterfully dull representation of reality that the target of our interests was demarcated in a thick red outline; his face brimming with the excitement of an ignorant fool as the vessel sped out of port with but two losses to our journey.
Our time… and my horse.
Yet despite that, I couldn’t help but to break out in a dry chuckle, a smile soon forming across my otherwise tired visage.
“A success… but at what cost?” I responded in jest.
“Yeah… sorry about that, Thalmin. But like I said, I’ll make it up to you in the next town over.” Emma replied with genuine remorse. “Command probably had a far more elaborate idea when it came to the ferrying of our first foreign dignitary… but on such short notice? I guess the V4c is as good of a first impression as any.” She continued with an attempt at levity.
“I appreciate the sentiments as it applies to my station, Emma… but know that I am no Ilunor, and that I am no stranger to the discomforts that come with the realities of martial campaigns.” I offered, garnering a nod from the earthrealmer.
“Yeah, I know. And I kinda expected that from you of all people. But I just wish I didn’t have to make things difficult for you without it being absolutely necessary.”
“Which it was.” I reassured the human. “We discussed in detail how—”
“How it would be best to avoid re-entering Elaseer after losing our resident spook on the boat, yeah.” Emma interjected with a hefty sigh. “I get that it’s the smart thing to do. Making sure we do everything possible to maintain our head start, and to avoid alerting the prying eyes of the Academy that are possibly watching in town. But still… it’s a bummer that our adventure had to start out like this.”
I blinked in response, cocking my head as I did so. “I thought you said you were looking forward to a more ‘traditional’ road trip just moments earlier?”
“Yeah, I don’t mind that aspect of it. Plus, we’re still on schedule, if only delayed by a day to reach the next town over with a transportium. It’s a matter of just hopping through a portal to reach Telaseer after we reach Sips, so I don’t mind adding a day of physical travel to our itinerary. But I’m more guilty about y’know…” Emma paused, taking in a deep breath as if bothered by something I could not for the life of me anticipate. “... losing your horse?”
I blinked in response, trying to process the earthrealmer’s words until I finally and truly understood what it was she was so preoccupied over.
And what I felt was equal parts amusement and a sense of unexpected appreciation.
“And I assume you’ve come to this conclusion because of my mention of Emberstride?” I asked abruptly, if only to confirm my suspicions.
“Yyyeah. That’s precisely it, Thalmin.” Emma answered with a genuine and unabashed admission of guilt.
It had taken but one single mention of Emberstride to elicit such a protracted crisis of guilt within her… I mused in deep thought.
I… didn’t know what to make of that, nor did I think this truly meant anything significant in the grander scheme of things.
Still, it was… interesting to see the degree of thoughtfulness that drove the candidate of Earthrealm. Which, if I were to take a page out of Uncle’s book, says a lot about the sorts of people in charge of picking said candidate. Or more to the point, it says a lot about the values of the society she hails from.
“You needn’t worry about it, Emma.” I quickly responded with a reassuring smile. “Emberstride was a far different circumstance, and even then… a steed must serve its master in following through with their quest. In any capacity the situation demands. It just so happens that my latest steed was destined to serve the purposes of misdirection.”
That explanation prompted Emma to nod slowly before dipping her head in my direction. “I appreciate the pep talk, Thalmin.”
I reciprocated the gesture in kind before shifting the conversation back towards the matters at hand. “Speaking of misdirection, do you think our would-be blackthorn has caught up to our ruse yet?”
=====
His Eternal River Boat (HERB) Pursuit of Constance. Private Stateroom. Local Time 2100 Hours.
Apprentice Antisonzia the Second
I must not worry.
For worry is the despoiler of the sane and rational mind.
The prince’s horse was still here.
Which meant that there was nothing to worry about.
Indeed, while they may have not partaken in the social act of dinner nor heeded the call of hunger within the comforts of their own room, this meant nothing.
For what was a sapient if not capable of altering their own routines? Even if such alterations were aberrant, strange, and outright bizarre… they were not in and of themselves verdicts of guilt.
They were merely… aberrancies in decision making. And what was the earthrealmer and her peers if not the avatars of aberrancy itself?
Yes.
Besides, the prince’s horse was still here.
Which meant all was well.
=====
His Eternal Majesty’s Remembrance Path… aka the Royal Road of Transgracia. En Route to the Township of Sips. Local Time 2100 Hours.
Emma
“Nah.” I replied confidently. “I don't think so. I think the apprentice is just a little bit too self-assured to really catch on. I mean, he has the horse to distract him, right? That should be enough of a reason for him to stop looking for at least a few more hours. Heck, if I’m to be optimistic about this, it might not even be until morning before he launches a clandestine search for us on the boat. At which point… our paths would have diverged far enough that it’d be near impossible to track us the old-fashioned way.”
Thalmin nodded thoughtfully, his hands still gripping tight to the handlebars of the afterthought of a rear seat while his magics kept the additional gear, supplies, and whatnot fixed to the sides of the motorcycle.
It was… not the most elegant solution.
In fact, it was downright nerve racking to be riding at cruising speeds with all of this extra baggage held on with what — to me at least — looked like a literal will and a prayer.
Which was ironically the exact lyrics of some ancient song involving road tripping on motorcycles…
In any case, I was more than nervous with this whole setup.
“We should consider setting up camp soon, Emma.”
And Thalmin was clearly of the same mind.
“Seconded.” I responded with a huff.
While night had fallen at about exactly the same time it did every day, the path ahead was at least still illuminated by something other than my headlamps.
Magical streetlights — the same sort that was dotted around town, except slightly larger — were placed at regular intervals along the otherwise dead and desolate road.
The quality of the road itself was something to be credited. As instead of the usual dirt road one might expect from your prototypical Dungeons and Wyverns campaign setting, the paths were made up of some ridiculously smooth brick.
Smooth in the sense that not one pothole existed, yet it maintained enough grip to provide the traction I was used to on the closed-circuit roads back home.
However, despite the similarities, there was one distinct difference that made the task ahead somewhat frustrating — the lack of rest stops.
“So… any idea where we should park up?” I asked, prompting Thalmin to begin surveying the local area with a few bursts of mana radiation.
“I believe anywhere would be sufficient. Everything seems to be—”
The prince paused, his eyes narrowing at something up ahead.
This was promptly corroborated by my radar systems that showed a few small blips about a few clicks out.
I gently slowed down as a result, my eyes still glued to the precariously perched cargo on our sides.
After which, it took scantily half a minute before we caught up with the slow-moving object.
Or rather, the vehicle that plodded along at a leisurely horse’s pace.
Now this is what I expected from a typical fantasy adventure.
Because unlike the carriages, coaches, and literal moving towers from the starting line, this felt much more grounded in reality.
Or at least, reality as I understood it.
What we were met with was a simple wood-covered wagon that was built up as high as a standard shipping container. One with clear craftsmanship and sturdy construction, sure, but without the bells, whistles, and overly ornate finishings of even the most ‘modest’ of vehicles I was met with earlier in the day.
Indeed, the only ‘special’ thing about it seemed to be its horses which upon closer inspection was the source of Thalmin’s magical ‘scans’. As both seemed to possess either magical jewelry, shoes, and whatnot that gave them that premium horse aesthetic.
We eventually pulled up to its front, where two elves were perched within a little semi-open nook that provided them some protection from the elements but with some concessions made for the sake of maintaining visibility.
“Ahoy there, fellow travelers!” I shouted with an ear to ear grin, waving at the pair as I did so.
I knew that this was without a doubt the most awkward greeting I could’ve committed to.
But by god, it felt natural to do.
Years of roleplaying had taught me as such.
And besides, what harm could being overly friendly and a bit eccentric cause?
Plus, it wasn’t like I wasn’t preparing myself for a number of awkward responses. Indeed, I was holding onto my pride as I expected anything from a rude rebuttal to the ever-dreaded silent treatment.
What I was definitely not expecting, however, was for the pair to quite literally bow in my direction; their heads dipping down as they spoke softly in response.
“Greetings and salutations, Sir Knight.”
It took me a moment to process that response, though I was quick enough on the uptake to eventually grasp what was happening.
My setup probably wasn’t typical of the average road traveler, after all.
The build quality of my armor probably had something to do with that preconception as well, if Lord Lartia’s first reactions of me were of any indication.
And the cape probably didn’t help combat the allegations either.
“How may we be of service?” The older white-and-orange-cloaked elf spoke with a polite yet nervous smile.
“Oh, I just wanted to drop by a fellow traveler, that's all!” I responded frankly and with the same enthusiastic spirit.
“I-I see.” The elf responded nervously.
“Oh, wait, actually, there is something you can help us with now that I think about it.” I continued, garnering an increasingly nervous look from the man.
“Y-yes, Sir Knight?”
“I was wondering if you knew where there might be like… a rest stop or something? Like a roadside tavern or like some sort of a designated rest spot? We were thinking of just setting up camp but we’re not really from here so…” I trailed off, allowing the man to connect the dots for me.
However, what I ended up doing was somehow increasing the man’s nervous tics, as a bead of sweat started rolling down his brow while he attempted to reclaim his composure by clearing his throat.
“I… I believe that there is something of an unofficial rest stop of sorts up ahead. O’er an hour’s worth of travel.” He finally acknowledged.
“I see, I see!” I nodded, trying my best to put on a ‘friendly’ face despite the helmet very much not helping with the situation. “Oh! Wait, is that where you’re headed too?”
That question seemed to bring the man’s nervousness over the edge some more, as a second bead of sweat started trailing down the other side of his forehead.
“I-I…”
“Because if that’s the case, then we might as well tag along! I mean, it is pretty late and while the roads seem safe… you never know what’s around the corner, right?”
=====
His Eternal Majesty’s Remembrance Path. The Royal Road of Transgracia. En Route to the Township of Sips. Local Time 2120 Hours.
Solizia of Almont
I knew from the moment that bi-treader arrived that fate itself had conspired to wrap its tendrils around what remained of my livelihood.
Its aura and the aura of its occupants — or lack thereof in the case of the driver in front — were indicative of the sorts of people that would roam the roads at this time of night.
Any noble or knight worth a damn would have used a transportium to reach their intended destination.
Which meant that anyone of noble or knightly disposition traveling on said road had long since made this as their intended destination.
There were few reasons why this could be the case. And never was it ever as simple as a robbery or a mugging. For that was far above the interests of bluebloods this high up.
What was left were two equally disturbing potentialities.
The casual wayfarer… or the crown-issued busybodies.
Neither would end well.
Though I prayed to the fates, and His Eternal Light, that this was the latter. For at least the latter bore the potential for a way out.
I just needed to appease their questioning.
I just needed to provide them with the information they desired.
I just needed to convince them that I wasn’t worth the time.
“P-please, Sir Knight. My horses are barely spellbound. The strength of their enchantments are nearly spent. I wouldn’t want to slow down your journey.” I offered in as polite and submissive of a tone as I could muster.
Please just go…
=====
Emma
“Oh, that’s alright!” I beamed out in response. “I was thinking of chatting along the way. Y’know, getting to know the lay of the land and whatnot?” I quickly added.
A silence dawned on the man as some shuffling began beside him.
The smaller brown-haired elf that’d been silent up to this point finally spoke, attempting to move past the older man as he did so.
“Of course! We’d love to, Blue Knight!” He beamed, earning an austere glare from the other elf.
Though this ire was short-lived, as something clicked behind the man’s eyes just a few seconds later.
“Blue Knight?” He muttered out under his breath, exchanging glances between me and the smaller elf until he finally placed his face into his palms. “So you’re the Blue Knight? Of Elaseer?” He finally managed out under a deep and protracted breath.
“Yeah! Well… at least that’s the moniker that the people have come up with. And who am I to argue with the will of the people, am I right?” I chuckled out slyly.
Though it was clear that joke — a rather common jab back home — was received with confused expressions from the elven duo.
“In any case…” Thalmin finally intervened. “We are willing to escort you to this… camp. If you wish, of course.”
“Of course, my lord. I am in no position to refuse.” He quickly responded as we suddenly and quite abruptly continued on the path forwards.
…
Minutes passed with no words exchanged, save for the whispers between what I was quickly garnering was a father and son duo.
“And you’re certain—”
“Blue armor, demon-red visors, and an adjacent family crest bearing two orbs wrapped in stars? Father, if I am mistaken then please just leave me at the next town over.”
“I suppose… do try to think of a better punishment, Alorant. Getting what you so crave is not so much a punishment, now is it?”
It seems as if teen angst is yet another universal concept, regardless of realm or reality… I thought to myself with a chuckle.
“So… mind telling me who you folks are and what you’re doing out here?” I finally attempted to break the ice, sliding myself in following their father-son moment.
“Ah! My apologies, Blue Knight.” The older elf bowed deeply. “I am Solizia of Alamont. The city, not the house. If that needs to be said.” He clarified with a friendly laugh. “And this is my son, Alorant of Alamont.” He gestured to the brown-haired teen as he too quickly bowed in my direction, though with much more excitement than his old man. “As for what we’re doing? Well… we’re Carters. Or more accurately, I’m the carter and my boy here’s a wainman.”
“So you’re haulers for hire?” I clarified.
“Yes, Sir Knight.”
Fantasy truckers… I thought to myself with amusement.
“Wait… actually, hold up a moment.” I spoke, prompting the elf to quite literally halt his cart.
Yank — CREAAAK — THUD.
“Er, I meant that figuratively, good sir.” I clarified, much to the polite frustrations of Solizia and the bemusement of his son. “So… I thought all cargo went through the transportium?” I continued just as the man started picking back speed. “As in, that’s what the whole network is for, right? I know there’s like permissions and whatnot but… I’d assumed that all logistics operations would be permitted through some crown bureaucracy or something?”
“Indeed it is, Sir Knight.” Solizia began with a dour sigh. “And in fact, that was the case until very recently, at least for us.”
I perked up a brow at this, gesturing for the elf to continue.
“The transportiums are indeed used as a means of bulk transport. It’s for that reason why most heavy carters are relegated to night operations — bad business to even think of impeding the flow of noble passengers or special cavalcades. As you might expect, we do not fall into the former.” He pointed at his cart. “We fall precisely into the latter sort of hauler — the specialized sort. Ferrying letters, parcels, fragile artifacts, and the sort. And until very recently, we did hold a crown warrant…” Solizia paused, as his son quickly chimed in for context.
“We lost it for reasons very much outside of our control.” He emphasized that last line very carefully, patting his father on the shoulders as if to ease the sting of a recent spurn.
“That… is always the danger with working as a freelance operator.” Solizia admitted under a tired breath. “Even so if we yet had noble banners to affirm our services.” He trailed off before quickly shaking his head. “I hope that addresses your curiosities, Sir Knight.”
“It does, yeah.” I acknowledged, not wishing to pry that much deeper, at least not right now.
I had plenty of time to process that information in the half hour that we were projected to take until we reached this encampment.
Indeed, it was during that time that I reflected heavily on the transportium network.
The existence of smaller operators such as Solizia hinted at a clear-cut disparity between noble-backed operations and that of those who might wish to ‘break out’ into this ‘industry’.
Which was to say, it was nigh impossible.
Economies of scale simply made noble operations inherently more cost efficient, way more reliable, and just… superior in every way.
I struggled to find a reason as to how people like Solizia could actually make this work.
Moreover, the thought then occurred to me as to why these roads even existed.
If the transportium network was literally the fast-travel method between towns, cities, capitals, and what were probably also industrial and resource extraction hubs… then why build and maintain these roads?
Perhaps it was that easy to do given magic? And thus something of an afterthought worth pursuing? Maybe even a vanity project worth boasting about between nobles?
Or perhaps there was something else going on.
However, before I could entertain any wild theories, a strange sight and several beeps from the EVI finally pulled me out of my reverie.
“We’re here!” Alorant announced excitedly.
And it was clear precisely why the teen was as excited as he was.
Because what we’d just stumbled upon wasn’t just a boring old camp of weary travelers and tired beasts of burden, no.
This was a whole fricking town.
I got off the V4c to a spectacle of light and color.
Tents of all shapes and sizes were propped up in a dense circular perimeter, with organized dirt paths separating each ‘ring’ that led inward and upward towards a steady incline, culminating in a sort of natural peak.
Though it was difficult to discern the natural from the artificial even with all the light as the tent city with all of its tarps, drapes, curtains, and flag-lined poles made it difficult to make out anything natural within this dense gathering of travelers.
Only the dirt paths provided some inkling as to the topography of the land.
This became all the more apparent as we made our way deeper, culminating in our arrival at a ‘central avenue’ of empty dirt — what effectively was the only clear and uninterrupted patch of dirt in this whole place — that stretched all the way from the bottom of the perimeter to the very top.
And in Nexian fashion, the highest point was dominated by what could only be described as a baroque-themed glamping tent; like someone had taken design cues from Versailles and Neuschwanstein, and somehow turned that into a facsimile of canvas and cloth.
Though that wasn’t really the main highlight of the place for me.
Oh no.
What really caught my eye, so much so that Thalmin seemed entirely confused by it, was what I could only describe as a crab cart.
A massive creature — a crab — the size of a school truck sat neatly and politely near the entrance of the whole town.
In fact, it seemed to be something of an attraction, but not for the strangeness of its nature no.
It was for the fricking food cart perched atop of it.
“Come ye, come all! Weary travelers! Give me your hungry, your thirsty, your parched, and your famished! For but a single Baron, I promise to fill your bellies with mead from Righvonnt, and Traveler’s Stew cooked in our perpetual pot!” A… literal hermit crab hawked out from within a sizable stall built atop of the larger crab’s back.
And it worked.
Many weary travelers of all sorts lined up to fill the stools that lined the little awning perched just far enough from the crab’s shell to provide protection from the elements.
Indeed, the closer I got, the more Thalmin seemed to be sniffing at the air, filling me in on that lost sensation that I so desperately craved now more than ever.
“Does it smell good?” I practically whined out.
“I don’t know, Emma. Does it?” He teased knowingly, letting out a fangy grin and a derisive laugh that sent me into a blinding rage.
“OH come on, Thalmin!” I cried out, eliciting yet more teasing laughs from the lupinor who patted me on the shoulder with faux sympathy.
“Perhaps it does! Maybe you can tell me? I smell…” He paused, taking a moment to sniff the air as he did so. “The deep and rich notes of aged beef rendered on open hickory before being dunked into a vat of thick, rich gravy… I smell the spicy aroma of at least twenty different herbs and spices, all swimming in a rich demi-glace that pairs exceptionally well with the tang of freshly-uncorked wine. I also smell… the sweet earthiness of caramelized onions, dancing and coating the naturally succulent sweetness of wild carrots, peas, and several other wild tubers and seedlings.”
I found myself watering at the mouth just imagining that, my hands traveling to my helmet as we now approached the scene of the most heinous of crimes — delicious food… with no way to eat it.
I was completely lost in the sauce, my hands trembling above my exodexes, before I once more heard Thalmin’s cocksure voice. “Well? Does it or does it not smell good, Emma? I know we’re different species and all that, so perhaps what I just described doesn’t really suit your people’s pallets and preferences—”
THUD!
I punched the lupinor — playfully — against his shoulder.
The prince didn’t react.
If anything, his grin only widened.
“I’ll take that as a yes, my armored friend.” He cackled out boisterously, placing both hands on my shoulders from behind and squeezing them tight. “I think I might just patronize this fine establishment.” He quickly added, making his way to the front of the line as I followed him to get a closer look at what was on offer.
This was a mistake.
One that the gurgling of my stomach was quick to remind me of.
The food here… wasn’t just your typical slop in a moldy bowl.
No.
If anything, it looked like it could be featured on one of those rustic meals mood boards.
A bowl made of bread acted as the ‘base’ of the dish. Followed by a sizable serving of some thick, dark, rich beef stew. Within this stew were thick chunks of rendered beef, all of which were melt-in-your-mouth levels of perfection as each raise of a spoon caused them to fall apart at the seams between fat and meat. Finally, thin slices of roast beef, rolled around carrots and asparagus, were offered as a side dish for the patrons to dip and eat as they saw fit.
Many gnawed on the bread bowl as they ate.
Some with wide enough mouths or muzzles simply chomped down on them in one go.
Most, however, seemed to prefer eating the stew first before savoring the crusty yet rich bread bowls shortly thereafter.
I was so entranced by the whole affair that I hadn’t even realized Thalmin had reached the front of the line.
The prince quickly ordered before subsequently demolishing the whole bowl in five minutes flat.
I was left speechless.
And most of all… hungry.
It was in that hunger that I attempted to distract myself with literally anything else present.
At which point, I finally zeroed in on the small hermit crab working tirelessly behind the counter.
The little thing was a one-man operation, moving from stew, to bowl, to garnishes, and even drinks, all the while a single question lingered in my mind.
Exactly where was the heat coming from for this whole operation?
Turning on my thermals, I noted how there seemed to be a massive heat signature towards the ‘back’ end of the stall, right beneath where the hot plates and stovetops were.
My heart sank at first as I assumed the worst — that the little thing was burning coals atop of the poor giant crab’s back.
However, a closer scan showed that this wasn’t at all the case.
In fact, the heat wasn’t coming from the stoves or the ‘furnaces’ beneath them.
It was coming from the crab itself.
Something beneath the creature’s shell was generating enough heat to power this whole operation.
And for its service, I noted more than a fair share of food scraps being thrown out the ‘back’ side of the establishment — what was apparently the ‘front’ of the crab — as massive claws moved to pick and eat at the scraps the little hermit crab chef was throwing out.
“Erm, chef?” I quickly addressed the hermit crab just as Thalmin started working on his side dish.
“Ah! Will ya look at that! Chef!” The hermit crab chuffed out, causing everyone to laugh along with him. “Chef! Hah! There’s a first time for everything. Yee, what can I do for ya, lass?”
“Well… I was just curious, is this whole…setup normal in the Nexus?”
“Ah?” He began looking around, before clicking his claws in a series of click-clack snaps. “Well it sure as well be more common than people going around calling me chef!” He cackled.
“Right…” I responded with a roll of my shoulders.
“You haven’t ordered anything yet, aye? Stew not your thing? Don’t worry! Might I recommend the crab-fried rice?”
I blinked rapidly at that, cocking my head as I spoke. “N-no, but thanks for the offer, though.”
“Suit yourself, lass! Just let me know if ya need anything!” He beamed… as well as he could with most of his face and eyes being in that shell anyways.
It was around that point that I moved to one of my pouches, reaching for the dreaded contents within as I steeled myself for what needed to be done.
As amidst the lively atmosphere, good food, drink, and excitable chatter… I was left with but a tube of paste.
At least it was beef stew flavored…
Comments
Xylophone Smith
didn't illinor give emma one of his bags of holding.. she could use it to store stuff in it like food unless it isn't able to preserve stuff like food
cf
Emma truly living in a cruel and unjust universe.
