#Wreaz Caebongai

[probablyevilideasafterdark]

An Earth Trans in Urtrament, Chapter Seven

Told you it would be a shorter wait for the next chapter. Just had to finish a couple scenes after deciding to cut chapter six where it felt natural.

Chapter 7: Three Decades of Torment

I’m woken by Sharamph bringing me breakfast again, this time with coffee already on the tray. Breakfast is much the same as yesterday, but with diced potatoes today, and it’s all just as delicious. I share some of the sausage with Nyx, and let her sniff at the bits on the plate as I plan for my day.

Today I’m setting out for Pergamano, but first, I want to make Nyx my familiar so I don’t have to worry about her on the road so much, and then I need to summon my mount. The familiar-izing is simple enough, I’m able to do it with just ten minutes of focusing as Nyx sits in my lap purring. A new awareness blossoms in my mind as the process completes, and I feel her happiness and contentment as if it were my own. When I tell her it’s time to start getting things done, I feel her grudgingly understand, as her mental awareness has likewise expanded with the connection.

I get dressed and make sure my things are gathered–an easy task when you can fit all your belongings in a haversack. I rig up a sling that lies across my shoulders and gives Nyx a place to put the majority of her body, as riding my shoulders is now even more impossible than it was at home. She questions it at first, but quickly gets the idea, and is content enough to use it, her head and forepaws resting on my shoulder.

I set my plates and mugs outside my door as I head out. Figure it’ll let the kitchen staff sort things out when they’re ready for them.

Sharamph is leaning against the counter behind the bar, making notes about something, when I enter the mostly empty main room, “Hey Wreaz,” she greets me, “are you going to be staying with us another night?”

“I’m heading out to Pergamano today, actually. Just need to make a couple stops in town, first. Breakfast was lovely again, thank you.”

She nods, “would you like a lunch for the road? We always have a small supply of them in the larder for anyone heading out of town.”

“Sure, that would be great!”

“Great, you have an option of a ploughmans, a couple pasties with either corned beef, onions and potatoes, or roast beef and mushrooms, or pork buns.”

“Ooh, they all sound good. Could I actually get a ploughmans, two corned beef pasties, and a couple of pork buns? Y’all make really good food, and I have no clue how long I'll be on the road. Oh, and maybe some extra meat for Nyx? Whatever is fine, so long as there’s no garlic or onions.”

Sharamph smirks, “sure. I think we have some roast chicken in the larder that’s destined for the stew pot, I can grab some of that for your kitty.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Would you like some cider for the road? Or a bottle of something else, you just seem to drink cider mostly.”

“I do, never been big on beers and the like. A few bottles would be much appreciated. I should probably also get some water, can you tell me where I can get general supplies like a waterskin?”

“Sure, try The Game Trail, it’s a good general goods and supplies shop, near the Phantrain channel, basically just head towards the channel from our door, and you’ll see it. Bring the waterskin by here before you leave and I’ll fill it for you.”

“Thanks, Sharamph.”

“Want me to just set aside your lunches and you can pick them up before you leave town?”

“That would be great. What do I owe you for the lunches?”

“Two gold, and that includes the ciders and the meat for Nyx.”

I pull out a platinum and hand it to her, “for everything. I really appreciated everything y’all have done for me, thank you.”

Sharamph smiles and drops the coin into the till, “think nothing of it, it’s what we’re here for.”

“All the same,” I say, before gesturing goodbye and slipping from the stool.

My first stop is Greizis’ shop. I want to show them that my crazy spell worked, and maybe pick up a few magical supplies. There are a few student-y types poking around and being a bit curt with Greizis when I arrive, and the artificer shoots me a look of bemused mild irritation while gathering things for the swaggering dick currently taking up as much space as he can and mad that it’s not as much as he feels entitled to.

I poke around the shop while Greizis is treated like this asshole’s personal servant, until I hear what can only be a particularly derogatory term for raggamoffyns.

“‘Scuse me, which college do you attend?” I ask the weedy human male, who obviously thinks he’s the most important person in town.

“What’s it to you, swordbait?” he replies, the other humans, now obviously his friends, turning to watch our exchange.

I bristle. I don’t need to know the racial politics of this world to understand what’s implied by that term. “Well, I’m looking at both, myself, and I was going to say that whichever it was I would make sure to go to the other, but now I’m thinking that whichever college you’re at would be a great place to attend, just so I can do everything in my power to make your life shit.”

“Wreaz.” Greizis attempts to de-escalate things before there’s a fight in their shop. I glance at them, and they make a sort of “it’s fine” gesture. I shake my head slightly, and they plead with me with their glowing eyes.

“Ha, I’d like to see you get into Pergamano. Knife-ears can’t even manage to make a flickering light, they won’t let some bedlam whore like you in.”

Greizis is looking at the ceiling, either praying or cursing some unknown god for letting this happen in his shop today.

“Tell you what,” I say, oozing faux sweetness, “how about we step outside, so we don’t give Greizis any trouble, and we figure out who the better caster is. And the loser pays for whatever the winner is buying.”

The human smirks, “as if you have coi-”

I show my coffer mark, “oh, I have coin. The question is whether you have it. Or spine.”

It’s his turn to bristle, “alright, cunt. You’re on. Outside.”

I impress on Nyx the need for her to stay inside through our link, and she wriggles out of the sling and leaps from my shoulder to the counter. “Please watch Nyx for me, Greizis?”

They’re shaking their head ruefully, but stop to nod, and I follow the douchebag outside into the street.

“Alright, formal caster’s duel,” he announces, “To the cede, not the death. Hard for me to claim my prize if you’re dead.”

“Waste of my time to kill you, anyway, spunk-sponge.”

He sneers. “Alright, on three. Barry?” He looks to one of his buddies, who nods.

And suddenly I’m unsure as to what precisely I’m going to do. I’ve focused on more utilitarian spells in the last two days I’ve been here, and I’ve not yet figured out an offensive use for my little experiment. Wait… No, I know what I’m going to do.

On Barry’s count of three, the asshole opens with a magic missile, bland simple bolts of visible blue magical energy flying from his hand, and striking me in the chest, making me stagger, but only a moment. As he’s gesturing and chanting for a follow up, I launch myself at him bodily, letting my mind unfocus and begin the wordless chant. I’m not calling the cabin, or finding the electrical information of an app at home, instead, I’m connecting him directly to my life and memories, and, more importantly, 35 years of depression, anxiety, and trauma response, focused into a touch of just a few seconds as I grasp his collar with one hand and slam my gauntleted right into his forehead. I can feel the harrowing of his psyche while connected to it, and he drops to his knees, sobs wracking his body. His streaming eyes lock with mine and he unleashes a gout of fire that I’m just able to sidestep the brunt of.

This was the danger of dumping my trauma and depression into him. In men, depression frequently manifests in bursts of rage. But now he’s shaking, the fight almost out of him. He’s not thinking, and all it’ll take to end this is…

My eyes glow, and a blast of lambent black energy shaped like a goat skull-headed raven lashes from my gathered hands, hitting him full in the chest and knocking him back on his ass. His friends approach him warily, and it sounds like he’s been momentarily dazed. He coughs, then-

“I yield.” He lies on the cobbles for a moment, but he’s breathing. His friends are crouched over him, checking he’s ok, and they help him sit up. “What the fuck was that?” he asks.

“Eldritch blast? Did you not recognize it?”

“No,” he coughs again, “The other thing. What the fuck was that? That’s no spell I’ve ever heard of.”

“Ah. Hmm, it doesn’t really have a name. I suppose you could call it ‘Three Decades of Torment.’”

“That was no spell. Mage duels are about spells.”

“It was magic, was it not? I thought the idea was to demonstrate our magical power.”

“It was magic, Chraz,” Barry says. “Not a spell I’m familiar with, but it was magic.”

I arch an eyebrow, daring him to argue further. He shakes his head and is helped to his feet by his friends. “Alright. I suppose I can deign to hold up my end of the deal. Get your things.”

“Honestly, I’d rather you just promise to never use words meant to demean someone for their identity. I can buy my own stuff, this was a lesson.”

He glares at me. “Fine. If you want to give me an out, sure, I pro-”

I hold up my hand, “sorry, I’m not going to take it on trust.” I trace a symbol on the palm of my gauntlet and let the mantra flow in my mind to channel energy into it, while focusing on the Nether, the element of stasis and calcification, then hold my glowing hand out as if to shake his. “Ok, grasp my hand, and promise to never use any form of derogatory words based on a person’s identity again.”

Chraz eyes me warily, but to his credit, takes my hand, and makes his promise.

I hold his hand in my metal grasp, allowing my claws to dig into his flesh ever so slightly, our eyes locked, “you are now bound by your promise. If you stumble on your path from this point forward, it will hurt, even if no one around you calls you out.”

He nods imperceptibly, and I release his hand, stopping the mantra in my mind. I can feel the drain in my core from invoking that otherworldly source in such succession, and I’m standing purely through act of will at this point. My back begins to ache, and I glimpse the faintest hint of what the price of this might be. Every time I draw on my past, I link my new body to my old, I think.

I put on a show of leaning on the counter in nonchalant disregard, but it’s really to let my body recover its strength. The students finish their purchases, now simply curt, rather than outright insulting, and leave. I feel Greizis’ burning eyes on me as I’m watching them walk out the door.

“That was unnecessary,” they say.

I turn, “I suppose. But also very necessary. Someone had to give him a quick lesson.”

“And what prevents him and his friends from coming back here at night to cause trouble in revenge?”

“I’m going to go ahead and assume you mean other than the fact that raggamoffyns don’t sleep and you must have something powerful that you hold onto for self-defense given that your shop is literally full of magical items.”

They glare at me, “yes, other than that. I may well have a crossbow I’ve enchanted to Carcintinere and back under the counter in case someone makes trouble, but I prefer to not have to use it.”

“And now, he has been humiliated in the middle of town, and geased to never attack someone’s identity. I’ll be surprised if he comes back here any time soon.”

Greizis continues to glare at me. “Thank you for standing up for me, all the same.”

“You’re welcome. And, I admit, I could have de-escalated, and did not necessarily handle that as well as I could have. But he learned a lesson all the same. …and so did I.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah... I learned to be careful channeling whatever that uncodified magic that lets me connect to my old world is. I’m fucking tired.”

They shake their hooded head. “Well, what can I help you with?”

“Well, first, I wanted to show you that I’m not dead, and my crazy stupid dangerous experiment worked.”

“I see that,” Greizis says, stroking Nyx’s fur. “She’s cute. I take it that’s when you learned about your weird not-actual-spells magic?”

“Yeah. Or, something of it, anyway. I also came to just get some basics before I head out to Pergamano. Cure potions, maybe some basic utility scrolls, things like that.”

“Sure. What kind of utility? Pergamano’s about a day’s ride from here, but you may want to camp on the way, get there tomorrow. So, camp spells? Conjure food and water, alarm, tiny shack, that kind of stuff?”

“Probably a good start. I…” I laugh at myself. “I have no plan. I’m gonna summon a mount and show up in a blaze of aesthetic. Beyond that, iunno. Do me a favor and sort me out with what you think I’ll need? Maybe the basics you would take with you on the road?”

“Plus food?”

“Well, I’ve got a few lunches I’ll be taking with me, but, yeah, probably good to have some kind of backup there.”

Greizis nods. “Here, have a sit back here, you still look drained. I’ll grab your scrolls and stuff.”

“Thank you, Greizis.”

“Yeah, well, us outliers have to stick together. Even when one is running around sticking out and challenging more experienced magic users.”

“Especially then,” I grin, sinking down into a small, but hugely padded armchair. Nyx jumps up into my lap and presses herself over my chest, paws resting on my shoulder. I let myself doze off a little as Greizis bustles around gathering things into a small pouch, and eventually I feel a ghostly hand poke my cheek.

“Ok, you’re all set. I got you a caster’s pouch, it’ll keep the scrolls and potion vials protected. You’ve got some healing potions, a few basic scrolls for travel, including a mount scroll so you can judiciously use your own energy, save it for showing up rather than eating distance. Also sorted you out with some basic alchemical things. Do you see in the dark? I expect so, so I didn’t bother with any light, but I can grab it if you need. Other than that, you’ve got thunderstones, a couple flasks of alchemists fire and some acid. Generally things that you can lob at a threat to discourage them if they’re just some animal, or cut them down a bit before using spells if they’re more intent.”

“Full goblin, here. Dark’s no problem for me. Could be useful to have a bit of light, though.”

Greizis nods, “Ok, I’ll grab you a couple sunrods. Go ahead and take your time, I don’t know how much energy your magic takes, but I know it takes it.”

I nod, “Yeah, gimme a minute, but I think I’m ok. Um, actually, do you have any potions for, like, mental… unease? I had to connect myself to my old body for that duel, and summon the depression and trauma from then, and it’s lurking in my mind a bit, still.”

Greizis considers a moment, “I’ve got a few things you can try. I’ll grab them with the sunrods.”

I nod again, and they bustle off again. From the chair just behind the counter, I can see into the backroom where Greizis fully lifts off the ground, as if picked up by the scruff of their robe, to reach things on high shelves. Must be a raggamoffyn thing. Makes some sense, if they’re ghosts that possess fabric.

After a minute or two, I meet Greizis back at their till on which sits a belt pouch and a little drawstring bag, a couple potion vials and something that looks for all the world like a can of soda, branding and all, just made of varnished bamboo, rather than metal. It’s about the height of a large energy drink can. Under the clear varnish, the bamboo is painted vibrant blue, with an image of an owl encircled by flowering vines and branches over a background of what looks like the diagrams and invocations for a spell, but I can’t see enough to know which

“Ok, I also grabbed you a set of summon stones, just toss one on the ground and it’ll summon a minor monster to fight on your behalf.” Greizis gestures to the vials, “these are potions of calm emotions, and remove fear, if anything will help with the mental unease, they will. I also have a can of Owl’s Bolster, it’s a drink that’s made with cascara goodberries, providing caffeine and magical healing, along with sugar, and a bit of fat from milkfruit. Try this first, give it about ten minutes, and if you’re still ‘haunted,’ then try the potions, but I think the caffeine and goodberry will help a lot.”

“That’s… I haven’t seen canned drinks here. And, not that I’ve paid much attention, but, I don’t think I’ve seen much in the way of, like, centrally produced and marketed and distributed products here.”

“Urtrament has some industry. Your vapor pipe is mass produced and distributed. Things like Owl’s Bolster are a bit pricey, so even here in Marsti, it’s a specialty product. I keep a small stock, and occasionally have students come through looking for it. I think it’s more common and available in the colleges themselves, but can’t really say for certain. But, yeah, we have some stuff like this here. It’s not all bespoke one-of-a-kind made by an artisan on the spot stuff.”

“Cool. I take it there are more drinks like this? I can’t imagine one company- guild? Whatever, thought of this and only made the one product.”

“Well, there’s a subset of culinary alchemists that sort of has joint representation among mage and alchemist guilds, and a number of enchanted drinks come from them. There are a couple of companies that produce them, but, again, specialty product.”

I reach up and grab the canned drink and examine the lid a moment. The top is sealed with wax, a small pull string sticking out from the front, which I ignore in favor of just slicing through with a claw. “Ok, so what do I owe you today?” I take a sip, it tastes of something a bit like apples, with cloves, and some light, floral flavor, primarily. There’s a subtle umami flavor to it, a bit like miso soup, but it works rather nicely. “Oh, actually, I have a weirder request, that you may not be able to help with, but worth a shot- is there some item or spell I could use to, like, make my claws disappear for a bit?”

Greizis cocks their head a little, but doesn’t seem to find it too weird, “well, really that would just be extremely minor transmutation magic. Especially with goblins being so variable, you could very well just use alter self to change your shape to ‘you, but without claws’.”

“Ah, fair enough. I’ll have to start learning that.”

“Simple enough, shouldn’t take you long. Tab for today is 1400 gold. Feeling better?”

I take another sip of the owl’s bolster, and nod. “Much, thank you. Do you have any more of these?”

“Sure, I’ve got two more I can sell you. Makes your tab 1450 with both.”

“Definitely, I’ll do that,” I reply, nodding again and holding out my coffer mark.

Greizis traces my mark, and when the crystal turns green they slip it back in a pocket, “Alright, let me get those for you, I’ll let you sort out the new pouches.”

I take my belt off and slip it through the loops of the new caster’s pouch, and find a netsuke on the pouch for the summoning stones that allow me to easily hang it from the belt but still quickly retrieve it. Greizis brings out the two cans of Owl’s Bolster and hands them to me, and I slip them in my all-consuming bag before gesturing goodbye and heading out to the general store.

The Game Trail is quite close to the Phantrain channel, probably doing a lot of business with people who are just getting in or leaving town. It’s a fairly nondescript building, just on the respectable side of a large shack, but with a sign on front bearing its name and an image of a large egg over bird-like tracks. The front has a couple moderately sized display windows, nothing like the ostentatious giant picture windows of The Black Sailcloth. The door is actually a double door, each slightly narrower than typical, but together creating an opening that is slightly larger. They stand open, with a beaded curtain hanging across.

The inside of the shop is reasonably well lit with late morning sun, and items spread across the room, appearing to be haphazard at first, before you notice they’ve been organized, just not in any way that bothers with lots of tables and shelves. There’s a slight musty smell with a hint of acridness, and I wonder at the source until I hear a snorting sigh and scrabbling of claws on wood mixed with a clatter of… something. Looking over, there’s a rather large deinonychus curled up in front of the counter, apparently dozing, but actually lazily watching over the store, with a straight path to the door.

The Game Trail’s security system, I take it. And one that would probably not have much trouble making a meal of me. I love deinonychus, but seeing one in the flesh, and suddenly realizing that, whatever the size relation may have been when I was human, it would now tower over me, with legs as long as I am tall.

I eye it with only a hint of wariness, and much more admiration. It looks quite a bit like a large, well, raptor, a bird of prey. Which it is. It’s not completely covered in feathers, but bright plumage does cover much of its back and tail, with not-quite wing feathers folded against its forearms. It yawns, giving me a good view of its pristine teeth, a move I almost think was quite intentional on its part. It curls back up tucking its head into its arms, but also settles down such that it can still watch the shop through lidded eyes. The clattering sound I heard makes sense now, as it’s wearing a collar and harness that have been decorated with beads and some manner of bone, that I really try to think of as something other than finger bones.

The sound of hooves on wood comes from a stairwell behind the counter, and an androgynous person about a head shorter than me, with short horns and vibrant blue hair, purple fur covering their upper arms, crooked hoofed legs and swishing goat-like tail, wearing simple leather clothes, with jewelry much like the beaded curtain in the door and the deinonychus’ ornamentation comes down it. “Bit wary of Minoa, eh?”

“Just… haven’t seen a deinonychus in the flesh before. And incredibly aware of the fact that I am ‘dinner sized’ for them.”

The person chuckles. “Ah, don’t worry about her. She’s a big softy. At least until I tell her not to be.”

“C-can I pet her?” I ask, still more mesmerized than wary.

“That’s up to her, let her smell your hand first. She’s good enough to not take a bite before you actually try to mess with her.”

I tiptoe up to the raptor and crouch down, holding my hand out for her to sniff. Minoa eyes me languidly and uncurls her neck like she’s doing me a personal favor. I can feel Nyx’s claws digging into my shoulder and her uncertainty about this whole thing in my head. I send back a feeling of reassurance. Minoa sniffs at my hand then tilts her head, offering her neck and jaw for attention, and I stroke my hand down her crown and scritch her under the jaw, eliciting a contented rumble from her. I give her one more pet before standing up and letting her go back to working in her lazy way. The shop owner is smiling in bemusement.

“Well, you’ve passed muster as far as she’s concerned. What brings you in today?”

“Just need some basic travel supplies. Waterskin, a tent and bedroll, I guess. Hell, tindertwigs, too. In fact, let’s put it this way, I+I’m heading to Pergamano, and have literally nothing for travel and roughing it in the wild if I have to.”

They smirk, “Alright. Want me to sort you out, or can you manage?”

“Eh, I know myself well enough to know I’ll overlook something. I guess I can grab the things I mentioned, but if there’s something glaring that I didn’t, I would genuinely appreciate you helping me to not hare off without it.”

“Alright, go ahead and grab what you can think of, and I’ll see you right. I’ve got tents back here so you don't have to worry about lugging one up. My name's Hako, just let me know if you need help."

"Thanks, I'm Wreaz." I set about gathering some basic supplies- a decent blanket, a grooming kit, mess kit and a couple pieces of cookware, a bedroll, and take them up as my arms fill up, then go back, grabbing a box of tindertwigs, waterskin, another plate and mug to make feeding Nyx a bit easier, and a few other incidentals. Hako looks through and adds a few things like a small bundle of firewood and kindling.

"Do you need torches?"

"Nah, I can see in darkness and I've got some sunrods for when I need actual light."

They nod, "ok, you're traveling light, but if you're just heading to Pergamano, you should be good. I'm assuming you've got food sorted?"

I nod, "I've got some meals from the Derelict, and I can do some hunting. Greizis hooked me up with scrolls of Mage's Gamehound, and I'm going make sure I learn it."

"Sounds like you're all set for a short trip, then. Comes to…" they break off to tally up, " call it 27 gold."

I dig out some coin and hand it over, and start feeding things into my bag. The tent is a moment of concern, but it's rolled tightly enough that I can fit it through the opening and then it's just a matter of quasi-dimensional space, which is maybe getting a bit full, but I'm not too worried just yet. The waterskin gets hung of the side of my bag and strapped into place. I gesture goodbye to Hako, and give Minoa another scritch under the jaw and head out.

A quick stop at The Derelict, and… that's it. I look over the Marsti one more time, and feel a bit of anxiety about having to move on from this place that welcomed me so easily. But I've got things to do.

I head to the edge of town and sort out my heading towards Pergamano with the landlay function on my slate, then take a deep breath. Time for experimental casting.

I still my mind as best I can, taking another swig from the Owl's Bolster I slipped into a side pocket of my bag while finishing errands. Thank Æther for non-dimensional spaces where things are held in stasis.

I focus my mind on Æther, and begin my invocation, conjuring a shape in my mind's eye, then metaphorically fleshing it out with raw æther. A quick gesture and space is rent, allowing the material to pour out of metaphysical realms and into the physical world, where it quickly flows into the form I conjured. A stout, roughly goat-like body, with a skeletal raven head, crested with feathers and horns. Another gesture and I tie a thin stand of nether into the now tapering flow of æther, creating a static but ever replenishing supply of magical energy for my mount.

There's a mild commotion as nearby mages begin to view my casting with magical sight and examine what I just cast exactly, finding that it's nothing they know, only similar to codified spells they might know.

Nyx leaps from my shoulders and nestles into the hollows of my mount's exposed shoulder blades and I mentally command it to kneel so I can climb into the saddle. I flash a smirk at the small cluster of students who are studying my spell and with a mental urging, my conjured steed gallops off in the direction of Pergamano.

[probablyevilrpgideas]

Urtrament Magical Tech: Coffer Marks

Ok, so the next chapter is not coming out very soon. And while other magitech is more obvious or incidental, I do want to talk about a tech that is mentioned in chapter 2, but not actually used till chapter 4, Coffer Marks.

The Coffer Mark is the tattoo of text and runes on the inside of Wreaz' right forearm mentioned in chapter 2, and does in fact function something like a magical debit card. The runes form an arcane mark which identifies the bearer and their "bank." Some people in Urtrament use actual banks as we know them, others simply have their own stores of wealth in a private vault that is set up to use this same set up.

When a person with a coffer mark wants to use it, the person they are paying will need a Coffer Wand, which is generally a fairly simple, short wand with a crystal on one end. When passed over a coffer mark while the user states an amount, the wand effectively casts a sending spell to the relevant bank stating an amount of money to be drawn, and a unique vault to transfer it to. The vault, whether private or in a bank, is enchanted to automatically respond either "insufficient funds" or "transferring," depending on whether the payer has the money to cover the purchase. The wand will then glow either orange for insufficient funds, or blue for transferring.

At the bank or vault end, if there are sufficient funds, the funds will be teleported to the designated vault. Most Coffer Wands will be linked up to a single specific vault, but some exist that allow the user to specify a vault.

If a Coffer Mark bearer does not wish for the funds to be drawn, they will not be, and the wand will glow red. This is to ensure that bearers cannot be robbed while unconscious, but also cannot trick shop owners by willing the mark to not transfer funds (without a visual indication this happened, at least).

[probablyevilideasafterdark]

An Earth Trans in Urtrament chapter 4: The Obligatory Shopping Session

Holy crap. This chapter is a long one. Please let me know what you think. I really enjoyed writing it, but writing Wreaz rambling around town, vibing, shopping, and learning about Urtrament, and reading it are two different things.

An Earth Trans in Urtrament Chapter 4: The Obligatory Shopping Session

The train pulls into a station and it’s not until an announcement sounds from the air that I notice. The motion of the train was so smooth, and its deceleration apparently so gradual, that the only sign of either was to look outside of it. One moment, the landscape was moving by the windows at a pace rivaling what I would see on the freeway, and the next thing I knew, we sat in the midst of the outer edge of a town. The trains were built on the edge of the settlements they stopped at, but, as is the way of things, enough time had passed that towns had grown across the, for want of a better word, “tracks.”

Mez’gin gathers up her things, “would you like to travel to the Coil together?”

I slide from the booth seat and carefully slip the notebooks and tome and pamphlets I’d pulled out over the last hour or so of the trip into my bag. “Actually, I think Cassiel scheduled a meeting at Pergamano, first, so I’m heading there. This was just on the way. I think she was thinking that the Coil was her better option, though, and figured it would make more sense for that to be her second stop, rather than having to head back there after deciding. But, hey, I’ll probably see you there later,” I smile.

“Ok! Message me if you get a scryslate, and make sure to send an image of your home stone!” Mez’gin waved.

“I will!” I respond brightly, starting to learn to rein in the frenzied lust my body and mind are thrown into when looking at or talking to someone attractive.

We walk together out of the train and onto the platform and say our goodbyes with a hug. Somewhat of an awkward maneuver for Mez’gin with her being roughly half-again my height, but then it’s an awkward maneuver for me as I restrain myself from literally diving into her ample cleavage. Mez’gin waves and heads on her way and I turn for my first real look at the train I’d just been riding on.

It’s… impressive. The cars are fairly familiar, much like the old “steam engines are the big new thing” era train cars of my home world, but prettier, befitting the luxury of a magical means of transportation here, but they have no wheels, instead sitting on large glowing discs of nebulous lambent energy that floats several feet from the ground, where a narrow stream of water runs through a radiant channel. Deeply curious about what the engine looked like, I head towards the leading end of the train, finding no Earthly train engine, but rather a horse-like construct of the same glowing energy as the discs that bear the train. It stands impassively, not even nickering, or flicking its luminous tail or ears. Like a static hologram of the platonic ideal of a horse’s body, absent the mind of a horse. A scant handful of crew, at least compared to what would staff a train this size at home, go about various station-tasks. Some are taking their break, others looking over the carriages in a very quick-perfunctory way. I imagine that wear and tear on this vehicle is rare and light, but still something they watch for, just to be safe. A few crew members bend their heads together over a standing-height table with what I guess to be maps or similar charts, with the occasional courier or messenger running up to share some unknown but presumably vital news and they grumble or nod as they turn to make a note.

All around me, people go on with their lives. I’m a rube, seeing the big train for the first time, awed by this completely mundane thing. Or that’s how I feel. Just like no one’s bothering with the train, no one’s paying attention to this one goblin gawking at it.

I pull the strap of my bag higher up on my shoulder. I got shit to do, so, enough gaping. First up, a scry slate. I want to keep in touch with Mez’gin, she’s cute and can maybe teach me about Urtrament. It’s good to have someone who knows the truth already.

Asking around a bit gets me to a small storefront, undoubtedly with an apartment above it, that has a chalk signboard outfront reading “Greizis Ænimat, Magewright” and “Scry Slates in Stock.” The door is open and a steady ambience of tapping and etching flows out of it. Inside, for a moment, I think the store is unattended, but notice that, actually, what looks like a lumpy coat or robe or something on a chair is the artisan producing the sounds of crafting. A darkness-filled hood with the faintest hint of features sewn and embroidered onto it looks up and greets me with a cryptic, babbling voice that takes me a second to parse into actual words.

“...hi, Greizis, I take it?”

“That’s me” the strange figure replies. “No apprentices, never works out. I do have a few homunculi wrights in the back, but they’re not much use on the sales floor.”

“Nice to meet you, Greizis. I wanted to pick up a scry slate? And maybe a quasi-dimensional bag if you have any.”

“Oh! Yes!” says the wild-throated person who hops down from their stool and comes out from behind the counter. I’m a little surprised to see they are shorter than me, coming up to about my mid-chest, and still with no indication of what the person inside the patchwork robe looks like. Their robe touches the ground, with no rise from it as they glide towards me, not a hint of actual feet stepping inside, and their hands are covered in rough leather gloves that move stiffly, as if the leather was incredibly thick, but their width would leave no space for fingers inside if they were. “Did you have a particular scry model in mind?” they say in a voice that is just too comprehensible to rightly call a jabber.

“Uhh… well, I was thinking either a mirror slate or black ice slate. I’m likely going to be attending The Ororboric Coil soon, and figured those would be the most appropriate.”

The enigmatic Greizis walks over to a case, beckoning me to follow, “Blue ice has been difficult to get lately, so I don’t have any black ice slates in stock, been trying to find a new source… but I have mirror slates in stock. Those are much easier to produce.” They gesture to the case, with numerous scry slates of various makes propped up under the glass, a small stack behind each display. I’m struck for a moment by the familiarity of it, with some even having loops built into the metal backing that allow you to attach small charms. “Most of these use standard iron backing, but I have a few other pricier options if you’d prefer.”

“...do you perhaps have any with obsidian backing?”

“Ah, the full necro-core option. I keep a few in stock, since we’re close to The Coil here in Marsti,” Greizis points to a small group of slates on a black cloth. One floats up from the middle stack and the shop owner plucks it from the air and hands it to me. Turning it over in my hands, there’s a silver design etched into the back, depicting a skull grasped in a ghostly hand.

“Your maker’s mark?” I asked.

“Yep! Thought it was a pretty fitting mark for myself, and it could be more prominent on the necromancer special models.”

“You’re a necromancer yourself, then?”

“I am, and of course an artificer, and a raggamoffyn.”

“...I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with raggamoffyns.”

“Oh, you must have been pretty sheltered,” they … well, it isn’t a visual smirk, but you can hear their smirk. “Ask around about us. Then ask at the Coil. It’ll be entertaining,” they chuckle and take the slate. “There’s a selection of quasi-dimensional bags on the wall over there, lots of different styles, all the same basic enchantment. Were there any slate scrolls you wanted as well?”

I browse through the bags as I think, “Well, you’re not wrong about me being fairly… sheltered about this world… I have a pretty general knowledge, I suppose. I guess I’d be interested in any slate scrolls that can capture images and play music? I don’t know if those are things…” The raggamoffyn artisan bustles around as I look at bags, and I can hear parchment rolls being set together. “Oh, actually, come to think of it… is there anything like an encyclopedia ap-, uh, slate scroll? Something I can use to look up basic information about things?”

“A lorecall scroll, yeah, that’s reasonably common, I have some in stock. Would you like a psyche charm as well?”

I turn, holding a black leather bag with a tendrils and skulls motif, “Pretend I have absolutely no knowledge of what that is.”

Greizis chuckles, “a psyche charm is a magical sapience. Most can converse with you, and if connected to a slate with lorecall, it will convey the knowledge unless you would rather read what is turned up. I have a simple set up here that allows you to select a charm and then have it made into a psyche charm with a chosen personality, rather than choosing from whatever I’ve already made. No turn around time.”

“That’d be cool.” I take the bag up to the counter and set it down, where I take a moment to re-orient myself as Greizis is suddenly looking over the counter at me, presumably standing on a stool or box behind it. They slide a bowl of assorted charms, each with some manner of strap and clip, over to me.

“Go ahead and dig through the charms. I can also make some minor customizations if you find one that’s not quite what you want, no additional charge. Was there anything else?”

I consider a moment, “no, I think I’m good, though if you could point me to a good shop for some more fashionable clothes, and maybe give me a recommendation for lunch, I’d appreciate it.” I dig through the bowl of charms a bit more and pull out a few I like, “And I think I’d like this spectrolite bird made into a psyche charm, could you make it more crow-like? And maybe give it more eyes.”

Greizis takes the glittering proffered charm, “Well, for clothes, you might find some things you like at The Black Sailcloth, it was opened by a pirate who got rich quick and tired of dodging the navy even quicker, so it’s pretty eclectic. I get some good off-cuts there. For lunch… well, I don’t eat much, and ragamoffyn taste is… different from others’, but I’ve heard good things about The Strange Lounge. I can give you directions, but you might want a Land Lay scroll for your slate. It won’t map anything and everything, but it can give you a map of most cities, towns, that stuff, at least in a broad points-of-interest level.”

“That’d be great, actually, I’ll take a Land Lay scroll, too.”

“Ok, I’ll grab that from the back when I enchant your psyche charm. You have a choice of whether it’s empathic or can speak, it could be telepathic, too, but that’s a good bit costlier.”

“Speech would be fine.”

“Ok, then you can select some abilities for it, two or three, more than that, and it has to be telepathic, and you can choose a personality. I have a booklet of the basic options, if you’d like to take a look.”

“Sure. Otherwise I’ll be sitting here asking you things all day,” I smile.

Greizis lifts out a book from under the counter, “I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s slow, I don’t mind. I’ll start altering the charm while you look.”

Leafing through the booklet, I quickly find some options that sound good, “Ok, I think I want deathwatch, detect magic and spellcraft, and a sympathetic personality. Though, is it possible to give the charm the ability to read all languages without necessarily going up to the telepathic price range?”

“Strictly, not as part of the typical psyche charm effects, but I can make it work.” Greizis tallies up some amounts on a scrap of paper, “Ok, so that brings you to 22,000 gold. I shaved off a bit since you’re buying… a good bit,” Greizis audibly smirks again.

“Ouch. Alright, well, no worries, I’m spending ‘daddy’s’ money,” I snark and offer my arm with the… debit? tattoo on it.

“Coffer mark, eh?” Greizis waves a small wand over the tattoo and startles a bit, “you’re the Oredenark girl?”

I make a note of how Greizis referred to the tattoo. “There’s been… a substantial rift. But I haven’t been cut off, just disowned. It’s like I’m dead to him,” I smirk ghoulishly. “Don’t worry, I share literally none of his beliefs.”

“And don’t you worry, I will gladly take that asshole’s money. Serves his entitled dick right. Ok, I’m gonna go enchant your charm, and get that last scroll for you, do you need any instruction on any of these?”

“Nah, I… have a good working knowledge of how scry slates and quasi-dimensional bags work, I just don’t know what all ap- er, slate scrolls exist.”

“Ok, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

As Greizis hops off of whatever was boosting them to see over the counter and shuffles to the back, I start familiarizing myself with my new bag and loading things in. The scry slate comes with a nice wooden box, with an illuminated instruction manual inside, and I resolve to take a look at that over lunch. Hopefully basic setup doesn’t take too long, but we’ll see. Greizis comes back with my new multi-eyed raven charm and another instruction manual and a scrap of paper.

“Figured it would be handy to give you the basic write up for the psyche charm, and here’s directions to The Black Sailcloth and The Strange Lounge.”

“Thank you so much, Greizis. Hope to see more of your shop in the future.” Shouldering my bag, I turn to leave and take a look at the directions. The desire to sit for a bit and set up my new totally-not-a-smartphone and the desire to get into clothes I chose being pretty even. My stomach gurgles and my brain yearns for serotonin, making that decision for me. The Black Sailcloth isn’t far, but neither is The Strange Lounge, and the latter is on the way to the other, so lunch it is. I have no clue what food is like here, but at least there should be a menu.

The Strange Lounge is only about a ten minute walk away, but some of that time is mean gawping in excitement and wonder at strange things and stopping, or missing a turn because I was paying more attention to a pretty, tall woman I want to raid and pillage my warrens than where I was going. I should have told myself there’d be plenty to wonder at and lust over at the Lounge, but, hell, I doubt that’d have focused me. Walking in, I carefully focus on looking at tables, not people, just so I would actually find myself a place to sit, and see a small table in a corner available, likely empty because the few patrons here at this time being larger groups. There’s a steady low buzz of activity. Not loud, not raucous, just the hum of people being social and eating. I take one last quick look to make sure I didn’t miss a sign or indication that there was a “seating by host” setup, and slip over to the table, lounge on the large-for-my-small-body seat with my bag beside me, and allow myself to really look at the place for the first time.

The walls of The Strange Lounge are a rich purple, with deep red curtains and wall hangings giving texture and absorbing sound. There’s a seating area towards the front, soft padded chairs arranged around a low table with what I think is a hookah, or something similar, sculpted in the shape of some strange beast or animalistic demon god–I really need to get my slate set up so I can look things up. The clientele are in the “young, thinkers of profound thoughts and holders of non-physical jobs” mold, or at least playing at it, but I can see ink on the hands of some the ones closest to me, and no one looks like a dockworker. The dishware at the other tables gleam with a polish that belies their utilitarian sturdiness. I doubt they’re the silver they seem to be, more likely a tin alloy, thick enough to give some weight, but shiny and cheap, but above all durable, at least compared to actual silver. A variety of drinking ware sits on the other occupied tables, wooden tankards of something like a beer, glasses of wine, and steaming ceramic cups of tea or coffee. The utensils are stamped metal, almost certainly a tin alloy, but actual silverware is not out of the question.

A slender elf woman with a short apron over her peasant-style skirt, wearing a thin bodice and light blouse, her hair closely cropped and hints of vibrant tattoos slipping over what could be seen of her shoulders and nape comes to my table, and I realized I haven’t looked at the menu card in the center of the table. “Are you ready to order?”

“Uh, sorry, mind’s a bit elsewhere today, still need to look at the menu. But could I please get a cider, if you have it?”

“Certainly, pear or apple?”

“Apple, please. Is that served chilled, by any chance?”

“Yes, we pride ourselves on actually having a blue ice box here,” she smiles.

“They’re not common in Marsti?”

“No, a lot of blue ice that comes into the city is quickly turned into scry slates. We even have been getting artificers wanting to buy our box to turn into slates. But Óminni figures we make more money on the prestige of cold drinks and sweets than they’d make even on the finished slates, let alone what they’d pay us for the ice. I’ll get you your cider and let you look over the menu. If you need anything, my name is Delsanra.”

“Thank you, Delsanra,” I reply and pick up the menu card. The menu’s simple layout and small offerings bely the complexities of flavors the dishes speak of. I can read it as well as if I’d grown up here and learned the language from birth, but can only guess at some of the spices and components mentioned from their use with things I do recognize. Delsanra returns shortly and places a bottle of pale golden liquid with a light froth inside in front of me.

“All ready?”

“I think so. You’ll have to forgive me, my upbringing was a bit spartan, so I’m not entirely familiar with some of the things here. I think I’d like the bonamundi sandwich, but, please, tell me, the sigisforz peppers, are they yellow and pickled?”

“No, you’re thinking of, I think, jadwellocins. Sigisforz are a red pepper, and we roast them for the bonamundi sandwich.”

“Excellent, I think I’d like that. Are they particularly hot peppers?”

“They have a little heat, but they’re more sweet, and pretty mild. A little bit more bite than bell peppers, but that’s it.”

“Oh, that sounds good. What kind of cheese do you use?”

“Well, our bonamundi sandwich uses a salt-kneaded and cave aged cheese. We can’t get the salt brine bathed cheeses out here.”

I think for a moment, trying to remember culinary lessons a decade past. I think that’s cheddar. “Great. I think I’d rather the salt-kneaded cheese,” I smile.

“Perfect, that’ll be up pretty shortly. Fried potatoes with it?”

My mouth almost waters more over the prospect of something like french fries than it has over anything …else since I woke up here. “Yes, please, you’re a goddess.”

Delsanra chuckles. “Ok, let me know if you need anything else.”

I set my menu back down in the rack I pulled it from and pull the box containing my new scry slate out. Looking over the manual, basic setup seems pretty straightforward, but the scrolls will need to wait. They can take a bit, and I’ll need fire. I sip on my cider as I go through the process of forming my astral attendant in the AMS–an impish humanoid figure of black and red streaked stone-like material, designing my home marker–a tower of an ascending horned raven clutching an inverted pentacle in its beak, and selecting a messenger–a crow to carry out the theme. By the time my sandwich and potatoes–beautifully golden fried larger sticks, with what I’m fairly certain is a small ramekin of ketchup beside them–arrive, I’m using a little bit of polymorphic magic included in the setup options to give my messenger two more eyes and small curving ram horns.

The sandwich is wonderful. It is piled high with thinly sliced fennel kielbasa, pepperoni, ham, and even some lightly pan fried pulled chicken, then onions, fresh bell and roasted sigisforz peppers, and a generous brushing of oil and vinegar on the inside of the toasted bun. I order one more cider while I eat and finish sorting out the slate setup that doesn’t require a crucible and stand, mostly just waking up my psyche charm and naming them–Taufr. At the end of my meal, I’m wishing I had my vape, or a cigarette at least. Guess this is as good a time as any to try out my new slate.

I sketch out an image of my home marker and write a quick message-

“Hi Mez’gin! Got my slate. How well do you know Marsti? I just finished lunch at The Strange Lounge, and could really use a cigarette on my way to my next shopping stop, do you know anywhere near to the Lounge I could pick some up?”

I send the message off and take care of my tab while I wait for Mez’gin’s response, which doesn’t take long.

“Wreaz! There should be a corner shop within sight of The Strange Lounge, there are plenty in Marsti. If you prefer vapor to smoke, look for a more upscale corner shop, and you should be able to find a vapor pipe. I’m not very familiar with the area around the Lounge, but I think pretty much any corner shop within a few blocks will have them.”

“Oh! Sorry, do you have vapor where you’re from?”

I smirk, and send a message back as I walk out of the Strange Lounge, a couple more bottles of cider picked up from the bar and slipped into my new bag.

“Hahaha. Yeah, we’ve got vapor where I’m from. Does Urtrament do flavored …well, we call it juice where I’m from. Vapor liquid.”

Looking around as I step back towards the wall of the building, keeping out of the bustle, I spot a couple of corner shops and my slate pings as I’m working out which one looks fancier.

“Yep! We flavor our vapor liquid here. We just call it tobacco extract. I’ll spare you the litany of slang and short terms that vary in silliness, but are all at least a little silly.”

I stop for a just a moment before stepping into the corner store to reply,

“You mean like ‘juice’? Haha”

Mez’gin replies quickly as I’m looking around, seeing if tobacco products are on a shelf or behind the counter like at home.

“No, that’s much less silly than almost all of our slang.”

I smile to myself as I find a rack of wooden boxes, each with a cut away showing a shiny metal tube and various makers' names and marks burned into the wood. Taking one off the shelf and looking it over, the tubes pass through glass bowls capped with metal lids, and are embedded in crystals, each with a tiny glow like a banked ember on the other side of a camp inside.

There’s an impressive array of colors, metals and crystals to choose from and I select a glossy black pipe embedded in a blood-red crystal. A fanged humanoid skull is burned into the box, which I guess means Marsti really does do a lot of business with Coil attendees. I briefly wonder how shops deal with theft as I think about how I could just walk right out, but if shops are selling magical magical smartphones and vape pens, they’ve got to have some kind of magical security against theft, and I don’t want to learn what that is on my first day here.

A spinning rack next to the shelves of vapor tubes holds small bottles of variously colored liquids. Or… not bottles, but syringes. Huh. That actually seems even better than the plastic bottles back home. Smaller nozzles, and easier to use regardless of hand strength. Each vial has a plunger and needle clipped to it with a metal ring, but to be honest I’d prefer larger bottles. I guess that makes the syringe model less usable, though. I grab a couple of flavors, one sweet coffee and the other cloves and cherries, and head up to pay the clerk.

“Just picking up these,” I say, smiling at the tanned skinned human man behind the counter. His build is trim, with a hint of muscle. A swimmers or archer’s build. I wonder if it comes naturally or if he works out for it. “Out of curiosity, these are 60ml bottles, right?” I have no clue if when I say “milliliters” he hears a relevant measurement, whatever’s used in Urtrament, but I have to hope, at least until I can do some reading.

“Ah, no, they’re 120s. The bottles have a very minor shrink item effect, allowing them to hold more liquid in less space. New to vapor?” he asks, tallying up my expenses.

“No, I’m an old hand at it, just new to the packaging here in Marsti. Or, well, outside of home. This is probably pretty standard, isn’t it?”

“Oh, not so standard. Common enough, but the enchantment is a higher end product thing. Altogether you’re at 100 gold.”

I proffer my coffer mark for him to scan, “ha, glad to know I’m buying the good stuff.” I gather up my new purchase, and turn to leave, “Oh. I suppose I should ask- how is Marsti about smoking and vapor? Are people going to hassle me for smoking inside, or on the sidewalks or anything?”

He laughs, “you must come from a pretty uptight place. Nah, no one worries about it here, or in most places.”

I smile, “Oh, they have their reasons. But, it’s nice to know. Thank you! Er, actually, mind if I take a moment to use your counter and fill my pipe?”

“Just don’t get your bac-ess all over the place,” he smiles.

I slip the clove and cherry juice into my bag and slide the lid off the box of my new pipe. It takes me a moment to work out how to fill the reservoir, but only a moment, and it’s only about a minute before I’m walking out the store with a lungful of coffee-flavored nicotine.

One last thing before I continue on my trek to check out the hopefully-not-transphobic wizard school. I need clothes I actually chose. So I check the directions Greizis gave me, and head over.

The Black Sailcloth is an… eclectic building. Which is to say, it’s a whole-ass ship that’s been sunk into the ground, with a blue tile mosaic patio that gives the impression of a deep sea around it. The only thing that belies the sense it’s a fully sea-worthy ship just biding its time until the oceans rise is the entrance–made of a rowboat on end and fitted into the bow–and large picture windows fitted either side of the entrance. Even the sails remain, great unfurled black cloths catching the light breeze of the afternoon. Inside the open door, as if a mark of shame worn in defiant pride, a war standard-like jolly roger hangs, slit up the middle to serve now as curtains. Emblazoned on it is a leering demonic skull over crossed cannons, from which issue curling clouds of smoke.

I suppose it's worth noting that this new world has some manner of firearms.

I open the door and step inside, not intending to creep, but my slight size and my instinctual wariness make it a quiet step that might go unheard if not for the ships-bell rigged over the door. The very loud ship’s bell. My sensitive goblin ears are aching as a woman looks up from behind the counter inside and greets me.

“Welcome to the Black Sailcloth,” she calls. “Sorry about the bell, but its volume has its uses here.”

I rub one ear as I take a draw on my vapor pipe, “it’s ok,” vapor coils out of my opening mouth. “I’m sure I’ll be able to hear again sometime tomorrow,” I respond in a stage yell.

I’m not entirely sure what I expected inside, but it’s impressive. The ship’s broad decks were gutted inside to provide a reasonable store space, within which lush rugs cover the floor, and racks hang along the walls, laden with clothing. The ceiling is hung with flags, banners and veils. The woman behind the counter is dressed in mismatched, haphazard layers–multiple shirts and tops and a coat over all of it. I can see a scarf and wide belt around her waist where she sits, and her propped up legs show a couple layers of clothing themselves. Her shirts and coat end at the elbow, but she wears knitted arm warmers on her scaly forearms, and two layers of bandanas are tied over her hair. Her face is scaled as her arms are, with only a hint of a bump for her nose, and no ears visible on the sides. Glasses with narrow lenses sit over her slit pupiled eyes, and I have a sense of why she is so covered up in a building that is comfortably cool for me.

“Name’s Inez, and if I like you, I might let you call me Captain,” she says, swinging her legs down and standing from the deck chair she sits in, a thick tail coiling absent-mindedly behind her, a knit warmer covering the base and extending down most of the length, “Looking for anything in particular?” she asks in a sibilant accent as her eyes follow mine.

“I have… well, I have what you see on me, clothing wise,” I say, looking up to her face, feeling a tad ashamed for vaguely ogling her, “they’re nice, but not my preference, to be honest. I grew up pretty sheltered from this world, and didn’t get to make my own choices in it until recently.” Not, strictly, a lie, but only by my precise wording. “And I… don’t have a lot of exposure to people other than humans, so, I’m sorry if I stared.”

“Marsti must be quite an education for you, then, but you seem broad-minded enough,” Inez replies, “a lot of sheltered women are shrinking violets, speaking in whispers and running scared when they see an ophebean. Well, assuming they aren’t ophebeans themselves. Obviously we don’t run from ourselves, but we can be pretty sheltered. The cult does ingrain a certain swaggering assurance rather than shrinking, though.”

“Ophebeans,” I repeat, “are all ophebeans part of this cult?” I hesitate, worried that might be offensive. I let myself forget my typical don’t-be-othering filter on my thoughts. “Er, sorry. That’s probably personal.”

“It’s ok. And you’re a very obvious goblin, so… we’re both in the margins, if not quite the same one. We ophebeans are the result of the cult we grow up in. The cult transformed themselves in ancient days from their human roots to us, and now no human is born into the cult, and most ophebeans are. It’s.. somewhat known that occasionally ophebeans are born outside of the cult, as a result of a cult agent infiltrating an outside society, or the rare rogue ophebean just living their life, but any cult agent will hide their true race, and any rogue’s days are numbered, in a very real sense. It took a lot of work to be able to exist without disguise here,” she says sharply, “any time I have to show someone they’re being rude, it endangers that.”

I gaze up at her, looking her steadily in the eyes, even though I’ve always preferred to look just to above or to the side of someone’s eyes, “I have no intention of threatening what you’ve built here. I’m a stranger to the world myself, and I get the sense that I’m somewhat less than welcome as a goblin, at least by the institutions.” I look away, hiding the metaphorical flinch in looking out the window to the city, “Marsti seems pretty cosmopolitan, though. I’ve talked to one human here, against a raggamoffyn, an elf, and now an ophebean, and on the journey, I met… I don’t actually know her species, but she had horns and dark skin like a rainy afternoon.”

“Teufil.” Inez says, “or, if you’re being overly familiar or impolite, demon-born. I don’t like the more outright rude terms for them.” she nods, “Marsti’s ok. I get shouts and leers from drunks, but half of them are because they want to fuck me, so, I suppose in a way it’s better than cities where they’d all be death threats and oaths.”

“Yeah… not looking forward to those…” I say. I’d forgotten what comes with a body that’s perceived as female. A trade, I suppose. Comfort in my skin, but every asshole thinks it’s public property.

Inez cocks a scaled eyebrow as I trail off, but doesn’t comment. “I could help you with some disguising of your form, if you’d like. It’ll at least take the focus off your gender.”

“No.” I weigh a thought in my mind a moment, and quickly decide to offer a sliver, “I chose this form, I’ll not hide it just to spare me some harassment.”

Inez smiles, “So, sailor, what do you come to your captain for?”

I smile at the subtle allowance, and gesturing vaguely at the fine, but simple and light earth-toned outfit I woke up in, “Black. Silver. Red. And a statement. Not this frock made to blend in with the wallpaper while I’m neither seen nor heard.”

Her smile breaks into a grin, showing predatory teeth and a pair of snake fangs in front, “Oh. You, I can work with.” She turns and beckons with her finger, “Come with me, girl,” and I barely stifle a moan and a ‘yes, Captain,’ as I force my knees to not turn to jelly in that instant.

“I am under your command, Captain,” I allow myself to actually say, with a smirk, and follow her. “Sa- Gods know I could definitely use the help in the fashion department.”

Inez chuckles, “Well, I don’t know about fashion, and my particular sense prioritizes containing body heat, but I’ll try to skip a layer or two for you, and I think aesthetically we should be on similar charts, at least.” She turns to address me in front of a rack, “first question, I suppose, skirts or pants? Access or mobility?”

I grin, “I’m good with loose skirts, as far as mobility goes, though,” I look down at my legs, which are a considerable portion of my height, but still short next to this statuesque woman’s, “length may be an issue. And honestly, as much as I like a good loose skirt, a pair or two of pants would be a good idea. Maybe one a bit looser than form fitting, but with a flare, and one that’s more skin-close, and distressed?”

Inez nods and grabs a few things from the rack, “Don’t worry about length, the sailmaker’s upstairs and she can see you right there. Is there a style of skirt you prefer? Do you like maxi skirts like you’re wearing?”

“I do, that’s more about color, though if you have a tiered skirt, I do like the look of those. Might be interested in a…” I stop, I know what I want to ask for, but it’s more particular than maxis and tiers. I don’t know how it would be called on Urtrament, or if it’s even really a thing, but there must be something like it. Skater skirts didn’t just pop into existence when figure skating or skateboarding became things… “Hm, I’m not sure what it’s called. I’m thinking of a skirt that’s high-waisted, but with a hem that ends just above the knees, loose and light, not pleated–though I’d be into a pleated skirt too–just kinda… well, loose. Like a short circle skirt, I suppose.”

Inez smirks and grabs another skirt from the rack. It looks long, but, I suppose if a skater skirt is a short circle skirt, then the sailmaker can handle that. “Ok, tops. What kind of blouse are you interested in?”

I nod, considering, “How about something a little military, loose enough for movement, but close enough that some bastard won’t grab it while you stab him,” Inez smirks, “with pockets and some style. Then also… a top with a low neck, and high hem, around the navel, could have sleeves around mid-length, or maybe shorter, but I do like mid-length sleeves. I definitely want a light button up shirt, too, something for layering. That can be oversized, and maybe a couple different ones, at least one light weight, linen or so, and one that’s a bit heavier, for warmth on cool, but not cold days. Oh, and a couple of light weight, close fitting undershirts.”

“Are you sure you need me? You seem to know what you like.”

“I… know what I think looks good, but I don’t know what looks good on me, and you know your ship. Store. Ship-stores. Plus, I’m trusting your sense of colors and patterns, quicker than pouring through everything myself.”

“Alright, that would leave undergarments, which I generally think a woman should pick for herself, and maybe a jacket, but let's get you sorted with these. I have a small room where you can try them on, and we’ll see what you think.”

Inez leads me to the fitting room and I try on the things she pulled for me. They’re mostly solids in dark tones, primarily black, but with some reds and purples, a few patterns in similar tones. Novelty prints have not cropped up in Urtrament, it seems, at least not on the racks. I ask for a few other things, sending a few she pulled back, and in about half an hour, she’s tallying up while I select some basic undergarments beyond the camis I asked for in the first picking. Here, at least, there’s some more flair like I’m used to at home. I suppose skulls emblazoned on your blouse will get some looks, but if anyone sees them painted on your panties, they should already have a sense of what they’re in for. Which… well, ok. Most people on Earth don’t look twice if you have skulls printed all over your top, because even most people who think that’s macabre are polite, but there are still some people who think they get to dictate others’ fashion. And they’re boring, at least until you upset them to the point of ranting and raving while you laugh at their outmoded sensibilities. I take my selections up to the counter and place them next to the pile. Still getting used to counters being about tits-height for me, but the perspective does lovely things for Inez.

“Alright, you’re looking at about 25 gold now, and then tailoring by the sailmaker will cost another couple gold–it’s a silver per item, unless you need really extensive modification. Want to see jackets and some more specialty stuff?”

“Sure, we’ve got the basics covered, lets have some fun.”

Inex smiled, “woman after my own heart. I figure in addition to a good coat, you might want some belts and sashes or scarves, since I think you’ve got a pretty similar sense of style to the ladies I sailed with, and you could probably use some boots. We’ll have to see what we’ve got in the store, but no promises on those. If we don’t have anything that fits you, you’ll have to see an actual cobbler. I can recommend a good one.”

With Inez showing me around the shop and chatting, I pick out some embellishments for my wardrobe, belts, enough sashes and scarves to wear a different one almost every day of the week, and a velvet tunic, not necessarily for fashion, but because I cannot imagine sleeping in something so fancy, and deeply want to. I luck out and find a pair of boots that come up to just about my knee, and a pair that are at least close to ankle height on me, and fit my feet, fortunately, goblin extremities are slightly large in proportion to the rest of our bodies, or at least people who express the goblin condition as much as I do. Inez shows me corsets with an indulgent attitude, like treating a friend to dessert, and helps me pick out a dusty muted purple corset with reddish brown embroidery of an angular motif that evokes daggers. It’ll be more expensive to tailor, but… I could never wear a corset at home, in the body I had, despite dearly wanting to, but fashion corsets on the rack just didn’t go up to my size, as I was already at the top end of womens’ sizes in stores, being overweight and trans, and custom corsets were just perpetually out of my price range. So even with it already costing as much as the entire rest of my purchase combined, a corset is mandatory.

Inez returns to the counter with me in tow, and adds the new selections, “ok, you’re at 60 gold, and then a gold and three silver for tailoring, plus whatever Wren quotes you for the corset, which will probably be another gold or two.”

I nod, “ok. Wren is the sailmaker?” Inez nods, “and I pay you for tailoring, right?”

“Yeah,” she replies, “Wren’s part of the crew, she tells me what the tailoring costs, and I just keep track, and pay it out at the end of the week. Or if she needs it sooner, that happens sometimes, too, but I gave her a good deal here. She’s from my sea days, and decided that she was done when I did, so since I was taking the ship anyway, and she was interested, I let her keep her cabin and set up a workspace upstairs.”

“Part of the crew, huh?” I ask wryly. Inez smiles a bit, but gives no sign that confirms or denies that she and Wren are more than just crew. But I’d bet pirates here are no different from the raucous queers I’d have felt fairly at home with had I been born a few hundred years sooner back home. “If you both are cool with it, I’d be fine with just adding three gold for the corset tailoring now, and if she quotes higher, I can pay the rest.”

“Sure, if that’s easier for you. So 64 gold and three silver, and I’ll show you up to Wren’s workshop.”

I pull my purse from my bag. Two pounds worth of coin for my vapor pipe and some juice at a corner store is one thing, but I feel like it’s easier for Inez if I can pay in coin. Taking a look inside, still reorienting myself to a pure coin currency, I find a few platinums and enough golds to hand over 65 gold, just for ease. I can eat the seven silver, I’m not that worried about money here. Though I definitely should get some sense for how much I can realistically draw with the coffer mark. My purse is nearing empty, though, so I also need to see if I can just…. Get coin through my coffer mark.

Inez shows me up a ladder and through the upper floor, reconstructed in gutted decks like the one below, save for a couple rooms towards the back that seem to be original to the ship, probably cabins for Inez and Wren, maybe anyone else from the old crew who’s still around and I just haven’t seen. Again, I’m betting pirates on Urtrament are just as queer as the pirates of old Earth, and us queers hang together. Because all too often, we hang separately otherwise.

“Wren!” Inez calls from the top of the ladder, “you have a client!”

“Aye, Captain,” a slightly raspy and husky voice replies from a room across the ship from the ladder. A woman with angular features, hands like bird’s talons with sharp claws and thick black bands of scaly skin running halfway up her forearms, crests of oil-slick black feathers framing pointed ears on either side of her head. She holds herself with a poised grace, “got some work for me,” she asks me.

“A good bit. Kinda needed a whole wardrobe, and… I don’t exactly fit a standard size.”

Wren smiles, and waves me in, taking the stack of clothing offered by Inez. “All of this?”

“I held back the things she doesn’t want altered,” she turns to me, “they’ll be at the counter when you’re ready,” then back to Wren, “but double check, of course.” She turns back to me, “sorry, hon, I didn’t get your name.”

“Wreaz,” I reply. “Nice to meet you, Captain.”

Inez nods, smiling at me, “Ok, Wren’ll see you right. You’re in good hands.”

Wren ushers me inside and waves Inez away in mock dismissal, and sets about sorting through the clothes. “Let me know if there’s anything here you don’t want altered, I’ll set it aside. And nice to meet you, Wreaz. Anyone who the Captain likes tends to be a good-” she smirks, “I tend to get on well with. Even the bastards. Actually, especially the bastards that she lets call her Captain.”

“Oh, I’m probably the bastard sort,” I laugh. “Um, ok, I’m sorry, I grew up very… apart from the world. I’m not really familiar with …other peoples. Would it offend you if I ask what your species is? Race? I’m honestly not sure which term is better.”

“I’m a Vrava,” she indulges. “We’re mostly from up north, but we get around. We’re a wandering and noisy people. You’re ok here, but it can be dicey asking people that. You chose your words well, though.”

“I… try to not be unintentionally rude,” I reply. I turn to the piles of clothes and sort through, pulling out the tunic and lighter weight button up. “These are fine as is, they can be oversized. This other button up here,” I point to a plaid with longer sleeves, “I’ll want still a little oversized, but it can use some tailoring, too.”

“Ok, we can keep that in mind when we get to it. Let’s start with a skirt and top, and I can probably match the alterations from that skirt to the others, to save a bit of time there. You can change behind the screen there,” she point out a folding screen with beautiful painted paper in one corner of the room.

I pick out the tiered skirt and what will be a crop top, and quickly change. Wren positions me in front of a set of mirrors and chats lightly with me as she works through what needs to be altered, and how I want things to fit. It takes about an hour and the sun is just starting to visibly dip in the sky when I walk back down to the shop floor while Wren works.

“How’d the fitting go?” Inez asks.

“Well, I actually thought it might take longer. Wren says the alterations should be done in a couple days, so I guess I need to sort out where I’m staying.”

“Well, I can recommend a few places near the river, if you’re ok with a louder inn. Just passing through Marsti?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way to Pergamano. I’m gonna check them out, but I’ll probably be happier at The Oroboric Coil.”

Inez nods, “In that case…” she considers, “there’s an inn that’s a little more towards the phantrain channel than the river, but it’s well situated between them. It serves all, but is definitely more used by people heading to one of the colleges.” Inez takes a scrap of paper and sketches out a rough map, before handing it to me. “It’s called The Derelict.”

I take the paper, “Thanks, Captain. I really appreciated your help, and Wren’s. Guess I’ll see you in a couple days.”

Inez slid over the items I wasn’t having altered, neatly bundled together with a scrap of fabric and waved me off as she lit a pipe, settling back into her chair behind the counter.

The Derelict isn’t far, but it's still a bit of a walk. The late afternoon is cool and a breeze comes off the river, and I’m very grateful that I’m not doing all this walking in my old body. My feet are starting to get a little sore, but it's nothing like how unpleasant it would be with that husk. By the time I see the Derelict, a driftwood sign hanging above the door, sunset has begun in earnest, and the windows are starting to glow with lamplight in the faltering day. Inside, the clientele does look mostly as I expected. Younger people, at least respective to their races, a mixture of fashions between proper and rakish and some truly outre, while the majority is still mostly perfunctory.

The main room isn’t packed, but there are enough people that I suddenly worry, just a little, about whether there will be any rooms available. It did not seem like a particularly large inn from the outside. Servers of a variety of species weave through the mostly full room, while a stout man with literally coppery skin and a dense, well-kept and carefully braided beard, mottled like granite, served drinks behind the bar. Judging by rough proportions, the dwarf bartender must have a raised platform like Greizis did.

I hope Urtrament dwarves don’t have a problem with goblins…

I carefully pick my way through the room of people who start at around half-again my height and don’t seem to take care to look down when walking, and make my way to the bar. The bartender is busy pouring a drink from a large keg as I clamber onto a stool, but I don’t have to wait long before he turns to me, “What can I get you?”

“Do you have cider? Apple for preference, but pear is good too, and please tell me you have a room available?”

“Ya, we have cider, and we’re not full up yet. How long are you going to be with us?” He turns to say something to a serving woman, who I think is teufil, who just came behind the bar.

“Thank you,” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Let’s figure two nights. Might be one, but better to have the room and not need it.”

The serving woman returns with a bottle of cider from the kitchen behind the bar, and hands it to the bartender, who grabs a mug and pops the cork on the bottle, “alright, rooms are seven silver a night. We’re not fancy, but we try to stand out. If you’d like, we can bring you breakfast, or lunch if you’re a late sleeper to your room for an extra silver.” He sets the mug on the bar, “and its five copper for the cider.”

I fish out three gold from my purse and hand them to him, suddenly aware that different cultures feel differently about that, but no one’s seemed offended here yet, so I’m probably fine. “Breakfast to my room would be lovely, and the rest is a tip. For both you and the lovely young woman who fetched my drink,” I smile.

He chuckles, “Don’t worry, I make sure the bar shares its tips, even when I’m not behind it. I’m Fitrani, by the way, you can call me Fit.” Fit turns to shout and is surprised to see the teufil serving woman beside him, “Oh, Hazel. Find a room for our guest and get it ready for her, please.”

“Sure, Fit,” Hazel replies, “Hazel, nice you meet you, hon,” she says to me.

“Wreaz, thank you, both.” I take a sip from my mug and savor the sweetness as Hazel heads off down a hallway off the main room. “Oh, what’s on the menu? Or… Is there? A menu?”

Fit chuckles, “we’ve got a house stew, kinda tends to be whatever cuts of roast or the like left at the end of the previous night. We have some lovely roasted chickens tonight, with various root veg, and if you’d like, we can always do up a ploughmans for you, plenty of sausage and cheese and bread on hand. I think we might still have pork buns, but I’m not sure, I can check on that, if you’d like.”

“Could I get a ploughmans, some butter with it, and a bowl of stew? And a pork bun, if you have any left.”

Fit continues pouring drinks as we talk, handing them off to who I assume are regulars, or otherwise have a set order. Maybe most people just get the same thing and I’m the weird one. He nods, “find a table, gal, I’ll have one of the ladies bring it out for you. Dinner comes with your room, so don’t worry about it.”

I nod and raise my mug in a mock toast and slide off the stool to find a table. The edges and corners are mostly taken up, but I spy a small table near the hearth, only enough room for one or two people, but plenty for a goblin.

Hazel must still be setting up my room, because another server, a vrava, like Wren, I think, but younger, her feathers more true black, brings over a tray with my dinner. I thank her, and start filling my mouth with food. I eat, pouring over the books that Cassiel had in her bag, familiarizing myself with what I can of the world. I find a journal she kept, and look through that some. Hazel comes over to let me know my room is ready, and hand me a key at some point. I order another cider before heading to my room, and sort out the scrolls for my slate, finding a small crucible with little detachable legs to prop up the slate up in its box, and climb into bed after changing into my new tunic to sleep in, leaving the neck undone, planning to shoot Mez’gin a message and talk to her until I fall asleep, or just familiarize myself with things if she doesn’t answer.

Hey Mez’gin! How’s your night? Are you back at the Coil yet?

She doesn’t reply while I’m awake, but that’s fine. I can chat with her tomorrow, learn a bit more about the people of Urtrament, and work my way towards sexting, if she’s interested. I’m not awake much longer. Sleep coming over me feels like a weight that had been dragging at me all day until I forgot it was there, finally pulling me down into the embrace of the surprisingly soft bedding. Better than pretty much any hotel I could ever afford back home, that’s for sure.

[probablyevilrpgideas]

Started writing again, wanted to share

So, a month or so ago, I started working on creating a new fantasy setting, something I could run games in and write in. I have one setting, but it's very horror lit-inspired, so I wanted something more standard fantasy.

About a week ago, I decided I wanted to do some actual writing, just to make myself do something, and let myself enjoy something. I decided to just write a self-indulgent isekai, and then realized it would work well in the setting I've been working on.

So, here's chapter one of what I've been writing. I posted it over on my "after dark" version of this blog because I do intend to have actual smut in later chapters, but the first few I've written do not have actual smut, just mild lewdness (and the first chapter doesn't even have that).

An Earth Trans in Urtrament, Ch. 1: "Just Like My Japanese Animus"

I’m sitting at my computer, staring at an endless scroll of meaningless stimulation, for… the third night in a row? I think it’s the third. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I have nothing to do tomorrow. Nowhere to be. No one to see, all my friends are busy with real lives. I don’t even have a job to be at. I’m not sure there is a job for me, at least, not one that is willing to accept some overweight queer who resents the necessity of work like me, let alone one that will also play nice with my fucked up brain and terminally fucked body.

Basically, right now, my life is a long stretch of dissociation, with occasional moments of me having to pull my head back on long enough to do some necessary task, like buy groceries because I’ve already put it off for a week and there’s nothing in my fridge.

I look at one of the clocks on my desktop (the other is on my second screen for when I’m using the entirety of my main screen). Apparently it’s 6am.

Fine, I guess that means I might as well go do that grocery thing. Some close-by store will be open and I don’t have to go across town to the only 24-hour one, even if it’s my preferred store. I’m used to it, but… I can’t waste the gas.

I pull myself away from the computer, putting it to sleep, and go throw on clothes I can leave my apartment in. They’re not nice clothes, but they’re not pjs I’ve been wearing for a week straight. I slip on my shoes, throw a bottle of vape juice and some earbuds in my purse, my phone in my back pocket, tell my cat “I’ll be back, be good,” and go and get in my car.

It’s ten minutes before I set my phone in the cup holder and actually leave my complex parking lot. ADD is a bitch of a mental condition. Sometimes I wonder about seeking hard street drugs that might give me the serotonin my brain is so starved of. But I have no money, so. Maybe I could suck dick for whatever makes my brain work, but… maybe not. It is what it is.

I wind up driving across town anyway. I’m not paying attention, driving on autopilot, and just wound up heading that direction. I’d have to stop, and find wi-fi, and spend time googling to find another store that’s open now and then turn around, so… fuck it. I’ll go to my old standby from when I lived on that end of town.

But I never get there.

Read More

[probablyevilideasafterdark]

An Earth Trans in Urtrament, Chapter 8

In this chapter, we see the main magical university of Urtrament, Pergamano, center (and basically whole) of the Vellum Throne, and Wreaz gets political. Chapter nine is in progress, and I should probably actually start considering wrapping it up to post it soon.

Can you believe that chapter 8 brings me above 40k words? I fucking can't. I've got another 3k words in chapter 9, and... I think I'm actually writing a book here, and can't fucking believe it. I've tried writing books before, but never got far. Sure as hell not this far. It's not like this is anywhere near publication ready, but it's near "novel-length first draft" ready, so...

If you enjoy my story, please, reblog. I'm really proud of this weird escapist fantasy story, how much I've written, and how it's helped me build my setting.

And thank you for reading.

Chapter 8: Demonstrations and Soapboxes

The road to Pergamano is uneventful. I stop and rest after a couple hours. Even with a magic mount, riding is hard on someone who isn’t used to it. And I just need to not be on a moving thing for a bit. Nyx and I both take the opportunity to handle general necessities. She wanders a bit, still close by, while I pull out food and get some sorted for her and myself.

While we eat, I check landlay on my slate. There’s a rest stop a little more down the road, and we’re about halfway to Pergamano. One nice thing about my slate is that it has a clock, so I know it’s about 2pm. The conjured steed isn’t fast, at least for someone who’s frame of reference is a car, and a car moves at the steed’s speed when you’re driving through a parking lot, but it’s faster than a real horse, and, I suppose, could probably run flat out for the rest of the way, if I wanted it to. It’d be about an hour.

I weigh how bored I am against the fact that riding at a gallop means an hour of jostling, even with the smooth gait of my conjured goat-thing. Sure, what the hell. Getting to Pergamano about mid-afternoon means maybe I can get the tour and the talk today. They might have guest quarters, meaning a bed for the night, but if not, camping before I head to the coil wouldn’t be so bad.

I fold up the butcher’s paper Nyx’s and my lunch was in, and stash it in a side pocket of my bag. I also pull out one of the blankets and try to soften the saddle a bit before climbing back up, and letting Nyx get settled between the shoulderblades again while I start some music, and hook the sound to my earrings, a little trick I learned with some reading on the first part of the ride, then spur the goat-thing to a trot.

I’m not sure what I expected Pergamano to be like, but riding up to it at a full gallop, I’m not entirely surprised to see literal ivory towers stretching into the sky. A small town stretches around the massive structure of the university, but there is little in the way of bustle in town, mostly people are going about the individual jobs they hold that serve to support the university, repairing tools, working in the fields just beyond the town, carting supplies, and so on. The mark of mage’s who believe magic is not for such trivial things as basic necessities like food and labor. Better to let the little people handle such things.

Which… isn’t necessarily, inherently bad, but… I definitely want to know more about how the college treats their support staff. Are they serfs? Free tenants? Do they struggle for subsistence while sending their crops and such to the benefit of the mages?

As I’m galloping through the center of the small support town towards the formal gates of the college, I hear a voice in my head- “Your arrival has been noted, please slow your mount to a walk. The gate guards will direct you to a meeting place where our welcome staff will see you.”

The voice is… almost stern. More business-like, but with the edge that says ‘I’m more important than you, I am your better, you will obey my authority,’ and promises that stern is merely the next step up of tone. With no compelling reason to not follow the instructions, I follow them, slowing the goat-thing to a canter, then a walk, and riding through the gate to where the gate guards indicated. Once there, I swung a leg over the goat-thing, but remained seated on its back, just facing perpendicular to its body. I’d prefer to be as close to eye-level as possible for this meeting, at least at first, until it becomes impractical.

Sitting there on my mount was slightly unnerving. The æther construct was unmoving, more like an inanimate object than the animal it resembled, even if that animal was a creation of my own thoughts. Add to this that the welcome staff was taking their sweet time, giving me ample opportunity for my anxiety to bubble up. I’m not worried about anything specific, just generally anxious about meeting new people, and especially people who are almost certainly not going to be my kind of young disaster people. I pull out my slate to do some reading while I wait. Perhaps I can find some way to make my mount more alive.

It’s another sevenish minutes before a man in austere robes approaches. He’s human-looking at first, but as he nears, I see some tells of elven heritage. His ears are slightly pointed, there is no hint of stubble or shaved down follicles on his chin. His skin is a pale brown tone, like the wood of a tree, and his hair is a subdued salt-and-pepper black.

“Greetings,” he says as he draws up to a respectable conversation distance, “I understand you are here to learn about Pergamano University of Magic in consideration of attending our fine institution?”

I nod, smirking. If he’s going to be so austere and stern, I’m gonna have to deflate this stuffy conversation a bit, “yeah. Yeah, I’m looking at both Pergamano and the Oroboric Coil to see which would be a better benefit to me and my studies. I’m Wreaz, but you may be waiting for Cassiel Oredenark.” I show him my coffer mark, “There have been some changes.”

He examines my mark, and produces a thin wand to trace it. It’s similar to a coffer wand, but more ornate, and glows with a faint blue light as it traces. “I’m just verifying your identity,” he explains.

“Verify away.”

He scowls mildly as the wand tip glows a pale green. “If you would indulge me, I would like to use more thorough divination magic, to understand.”

I give a shrugging nod, a sort of ambivalent, ‘whatever floats your boat,’ gesture, and he responds by immediately gesturing and intoning a simple spell, causing his eyes to glow. True Seeing, if I were to guess. After a moment, his eyes widen in startled incomprehension, then sweep over me, my conjured steed, and Nyx. The glow of his eyes fades, and he’s obviously unsteadied.

“I think we should perhaps continue our discussion in my office, Miss Ore- er, Wreaz. And summon Archdoctor of Transmutation Khassaem,” he says. Then stops, “Uh, does your mount require stabling?”

I slip from the goat-thing’s back and land on my feet on the ground, “no, that’s fine,” I let Nyx leap from its shoulders to mine, then gesture to dismiss it. “It’s more like a phantom steed, just with some… tweaks.” I’m rewarded with a vision of mild dread concern creeping over his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, sir?”

He inclines his head, the merest perfunctory bow, and he is suddenly on steadier ground with such mundane courtesies. “I am Doctor Shotior. I primarily handle the matters of student life.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Doctor Shotior. Lead the way.”

Shotior leads me into the entrance of Pergamano, and down a grand hall, then a smaller branch, to his office. A large desk dominates the center, with a fine, but utilitarian, chair behind it. Before the desk is a much simpler, still well-made chair that speaks to the mundanity of the person who is to sit in it, compared to the understated majesty of the person who would be seated opposite. He gestures to this simple chair, and I give only the mildest side-eye. Then smirk.

“Actually, I believe I’ll leave this chair for Archdoctor Khassaem. Certainly they will need a place to sit as well,” I say, “don’t worry, I can provide my own chair.” I let the wordless echolalia flow, then mingle it with the incantation for a codified spell I had spent the last hour studying. Either this fizzles, in which case they see an overconfident, but ambitious prospective student, or it works and they see someone with very novel magic.

After a moment, a pale purple and green shape sprouts into existence. It is faintly translucent, and shaped like a wing-backed armchair sans legs, floating in mid-air. The wings of the chair, and its back, give the impression of actual wings and a horned and beaked head mantling around me. The chair dips slightly, allowing me to easily sit down without undignified clambering, then rises to hover slightly higher than the surface of the chair beside it.

Shotior arches an eyebrow, “Elore’s phantom platform?” He gives the chair an appraising eye, “Or something like it. Well done. A novel usage.”

I smirk as he tries to maintain his superiority, “something like it. Perhaps not so impressive at first glance, but it is something a bit more than that spell.”

“Yes, it’s more shaped, and doesn’t have a simple disc foundation. As I said, novel.”

I smirk. Another casting and I’m holding a large crossbow, composed of the same streaked energy as my seat, big enough that it’d be too heavy for me to use–if it had weight.

Shotior is speechless a moment, and switches to magical vision, “Er… may I?” he asks, holding out a hand slightly.

“Of course,” I reply, handing the crossbow over and pointing down.

Shotior looks it over and gives the string an experimental pull, “would it function?”

“It should. I haven’t tried it yet, I just formulated this variation on Elore’s on the ride here.” I wave my hand, dismissing the crossbow, “You should see what else I’ve done in the last couple days.”

Shotior blanches slight, before we hear a knock on the door, and it opens.

“Alright, Shotior? You look unwell,” says the portly man who enters. His race is indiscernible, as he has used extensive transmutation to shape his form to the presumable needs of his profession or whims, but largely, he looks human. His hair is faded more towards grey, but still has a bit of black to it, his face is wrinkled in such a way that I can only assume he vainly shaped the wrinkles “aesthetically” as part of his transmutations. His skin is slightly ruddy, but overall a coppery tone that would normally indicate much time spent in the sun, but on him, is likely just more magic.

“Ah, Archdoctor Khassaem, wonderful. This is the, er, prospective that I messaged you about, er, Wreaz.”

Shotior turns towards me and does a slight doubletake, “U-ah, Wreaz, pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand which I shake, “Shotior didn’t say much in the message, just that my expertise may be useful.” He turns to address the both of us, “shall we begin?” He casts about for only the merest fraction of a second before realizing I’d left him the seat in front of Shotior’s desk. He nods his head with a tight smirk and takes his seat as Shotior walks stiffly behind his desk and does likewise. “Please, tell me what you have told Shotior, catch me up.”

I explain what I told to Shotior, plus a bit more, but holding back exact details until I have to give them. Mostly, I just explain that my spirit was placed into Cassiel Oredenark’s body after some magical phenomena and the extinguishing of her own, and then her body was altered to fit my spirit better.

Khassaem purses his lips as he listens and considers. “Fascinating, may I view you with true seeing?”

“Of course. Doctor Shotior did likewise.”

Khassaem casts his spell and looks me and Nyx over, alarm warring with intrigue over his face. “There is… the mark of rather intense elemental magic on your essence. Transmutation is there, of course, but also I see something like Conjuration and Evocation…”

“Yes, the magical phenomena involved æther,” I explain, “therefore, elemental, transmutative energy.”

“Can you explain more about the phenomena?” Khassaem asked.

“I don’t fully understand it, myself. Just that my spirit was caught up by the energy, and as Cassiel’s body had recently been left without a spirit, it was a handy receptacle for my own. I believe she was forming a pact with something, but what or who I could not say. I’m not bound by that pact.”

“Interesting,” Khassaem muses, “Had you died recently? Is that why your spirit could be ‘caught up’?”

“I believe so, yes,” I explain, guardedly, “I believe I had just been in an accident with a heavy weight, my body crushed. I don’t quite remember a lot about it, to be honest.”

“I do see some strings around your essence,” Khassaem says. “Which would normally indicate some form of pact, but they seem to be pure æther, so I have no idea who you would be bound to.”

“Perhaps just a persistent mark from the phenomenon,” I offer.

“Mm, perhaps. Well, this is fascinating. I’ve certainly never seen anything quite like it,” Khassaem says, sitting back. He turns to Shotior, “Certainly, I appreciate you bringing this case to my attention, and I’d quite like to study it,” he turns suddenly to me, “ah, assuming you would consent, of course.”

“Of course, assuming.” I say.

Khassaem seems to miss my exact meaning, and turns back to Shotior, “honestly, this may be more the baileywick of Amnelore or Elsinore,” he turns back to me, “er, they are the Archdoctors of Necromancy and Conjuration, respectively. It really seems to be rather… multi-disciplinary.”

“She-” Shotior begins

“They,” I cut in, holding his gaze.

“Uh, ah…” Shotior is unsteadied slightly, “They” he corrects himself, “are certainly…” He pauses, searching for a polite word, “interesting. Wreaz has already displayed a couple of novel spell alterations, notably to phantom steed, which they arrived with, and Elore’s phantom platform, which created the chair they are currently using and displayed the ability to create much more varied objects with, ones with moving parts.”

Khassaem nods, “good, good.” He turns to me and extends his hand again, “Well, if you decide to attend our fine institution, I’m sure you would be quite a valuable addition.”

I take his hand, “yes, I’m sure I’d be very valued and added to something you all treasure greatly.” I see Shotior’s cocked eyebrow out of the corner of my eye. At least one of these men is listening to what I say rather than the words I choose.

Khassaem stands, “Well, Shotior, I trust you to know your business with admissions, I’ll leave you to it. Wreaz, if you’d allow, I’d like to discuss your situation with Amnelore and Elsinore. I’m sure they’d be fascinated.”

I incline my head. “If I did not want to be the talk of the school, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

“Capital!” Khassaem exclaims. “If you do decide to attend, please, do find me.”

“Of course, Archdoctor Khassaem.”

The portly blustery man exits Shotior’s office and closes the door behind him, Shotior chuckling to himself slightly once the archdoctor is outside. “Well, I see that in addition to having your way with magic, you’d also have it with debates and intrigue here.”

“Hm, yes, I do like to have my way with quite a lot,” I muse. “But, to business, as it is supposed to always go before pleasure. I did read the pamphlet about Pergamano, but it was somewhat light on details. To begin with, I’d like to know about the administrative structure, its sovereignty, and how the people in the town outside are handled.”

Shotior gives me an appraising gaze, “you don’t want to know about classes? Our student body? Housing?”

“All in good time. Knowing how the college manages its power will weigh quite a lot on my decision, so I’d like to know those things, first.”

He smiles and nods, “of course. Well, for sovereignty and administration, we will begin with the fact that Pergamano is the site of the Vellum Throne. It is a fully sovereign power, and deals on the world stage with other Thrones. In contrast to those other Thrones, however, The Vellum Throne is an elected constitutional monarchy. The monarch of the Throne is selected from the board of Archdoctors from among their number, and is bound to abide by the constitution. The board acts to consult and advise the monarch, who has the final say on any decisions that need to be made. Provided, of course, that said decision abides by the constitution. There are provisions for challenging such decisions, but that is purely the domain of the Archdoctors.”

“Is that in the constitution?” I interrupt.

“Ah, is what in the constitution?”

“That only Archdoctors can challenge the monarch’s decision.”

“I… hm, I’m actually not sure. In practice, it’s only the Archdoctors, but you would have to look in the constitution to see if that is codified.”

“And is that something I could do? Look at the constitution?”

“Yes… although I should warn you that it is a very dry and legalistic document.”

“If I can take it in chunks, I can manage. I may just need to take a break now and then.”

Shotior spreads his hands slightly and inclines his head, “of course. As for administration of the college, each Archdoctor is head of their particular discipline of magic. For anything concerning Transmutation, for instance, the ultimate authority would be Archdoctor Khassaem. Generally, if students feel that a decision of the monarch needs to be challenged, they would work to convince their discipline Archdoctor to do so.”

“And how would I formally contest the decision of a Doctor or Archdoctor, should I feel that is necessary?”

“Each discipline has a hierarchy of doctors, and so you would speak to their superior if you felt a decision was in error. In the case of Archdoctors, you would have to speak to another Archdoctor. If needed, we do have arbitrators who can work to resolve such conflicts.

“I see. The people in the town outside, are they serfs, free tenants, or something else?”

Shotior’s eyebrows arch in interest, “you are quite prepared for this, aren’t you? There is a mixture of serfs and free tenants. Most of them are tenants, but one official punishment for certain crimes is indenture. These criminals are commonly employed in tasks of physical labor that requires little to no skill, although if the criminal has an applicable skill, they may be employed to that end.”

“I see,” I say coolly. “I’d be interested to know how legal matters are handled in The Vellum Thronelands, but I suppose I can research that on my own time if you’ll indulge me use of the library while I’m here and making my decision.”

Shotior nods, “of course, that can be arranged. Do you have more questions? I’m sure you do,” he smirks.

I return his bemused smirk with glaring one of my own, “certainly. How are classes handled here? Also, I’d like to know about student housing, tuition, and supplies.”

Shotior smiles at this return to his actual area, “Ah, yes. Classes have set schedules, and you would sign up for your next terms classes at the end of the term you are in. There is no, precise, set duration of studies, but in general, a student will be considered an alumni at the end of about five years of study, provided they have not been seriously sanctioned, and may claim the title in their outside dealings. Those who wish to continue to study may of course do so. Were you to join us at this time, you would have to content yourself with the fact that there may not be space in courses you wish to take, or doctors may not wish to have someone coming in the middle of the term.

Shotior continues, “We do have housing on premises, but we do have limited dorms, and I would need to check the records to see if there is currently space. If necessary or desired, you could also seek your own housing outside the premises. As for tuition, it is 100 gold per month. If needed, we do have some ways that we can help you make arrangements to reduce that amount or earn it. Supplies are provided to some extent, paid for out of tuition, but you would also be responsible for purchasing supplies needed beyond what is provided.”

“100 gold per month is quite a lot, especially if it’s expected I will need to also purchase supplies. Arrangements would not be necessary, but it is quite steep. I’m curious, how common are these arrangements?”

“Many students take employment as hired mages or take similar work to manage the expense,” Shotior admits. “We have some independently wealthy students, but they are certainly not the majority.

“I see. From seeing the town of support staff, I take it you don’t use much magic to provide for necessities? The food is grown rather conjured, the housing built?”

“Indeed. While certainly many of us here rely on magic in times of need, a salad that’s been grown in the ground or a house built from mundane stone are perfectly reliable, cannot be dispelled, and there are better uses of time and energy that conjuring every little thing.”

“Such as building a magical item that will do that conjuring for you,” I arch an eyebrow and smirk.

“Yes, yes. A magic item for everything,” Shotior dismisses. “I’ve heard the Coil thinks this way, too. A whole lot of peasant philosophy, to be quite honest.”

“I see. Tell me, if you had to travel to Marsti, would you walk, take a horse or carriage, or would you use a phantom steed or teleport?”

“It would depend on why and how quickly I needed to get there, but, taking your meaning, I would likely use magic, yes.”

“And if you were in the wild, unable to make your way home any time soon for whatever reason, would you set about creating snare traps, or trying to hunt for your dinner, or would you rely on magic to keep you fed? And sheltered and alive, for that matter. Assuming you could, of course.”

Shotior spreads his hands, admittingly, “I would use whatever magic I could manage in the circumstances, whatever those may be.”

“I don’t know if you’re married or have children, but assuming so, if there was some imminent danger to your loved ones, an ogre, say, would you attempt to take it on barehanded, or with a sword, or would you use magic?”

He shakes his head wryly, “yes, I would use magic to defend my beloved wife. What is your point, Mi- Wreaz?”

“Magic is a tool. Much like the carriage, the snare trap and the sword. Magic is the tool we have chosen. Other than the nitty-gritty specifics, what broad difference is there between using a horse and plow and waiting for crops, and conjuring food?”

“Skill, the time taken to learn that skill, the fact that conjured food can be dispelled-”

“Farming takes skill, it takes time to learn it, and your crops can be set to flame while growing.”

“It’s completely different!” Shotior protested.

“It is. Because if I had to colonize new land, I would be better off taking any of those people outside this town with me than I would be taking you. They can farm. You think conjuring our needs is a waste.”

Shotior chuckles and shakes his head, “is that not my point? It’s better to use mundane means for necessities?”

“That is your point, yes. My point is that magic is a tool, one that can, given a will behind it to do so, serve just as well as mundane tools. Let me put it this way, consider for a moment that you, personally, have to produce food for a populace. Let’s assume you have expert farming knowledge, and the means to create a device which will produce sufficient food, every day. You are fully able to farm, or use magic to solve the problem. Which would you choose?”

Shotior sighs, “ok, yes. If I were in such a position, I would probably use magic to do so. Because I can and even the thought of farming tires me.”

“Therefore, would it not be better to relieve the burden of the working class through using magic to benefit all?”

“No, because I can have peasants farm for me.”

“Exactly!” I exclaim. “That is exactly the issue! You see peasants as a tool that can be used to save yourself from the trouble of labor. In reality, they are as much people as you and I, and deserve a life as free from the physical demands of labor as you and I.”

Shotior chuckles, “those peasants might differ on whether you and they are people to the same extent.”

“Perhaps. And I would hate any who thought I was lesser for who I am, but that would not change the fact that, absent institutions that say otherwise, we are equals.”

He shakes his head, “quite the revolutionary. Are you an admirer of Proq Khaasza?”

“Honestly, I don’t know much about them, but I like what I’ve heard.”

He scowls in puzzlement, “indeed? I would think you would know about h- them. Interesting.”

Shit. That’s a thing I should know about. I might have tipped my hand ever so slightly. However, I doubt Shotior can make the leap to conclude I’m from another world.

“I would expect a young goblin who expresses the condition so totally to know about h- Proq. Well, no matter. Have you been examined since your accident? Medically, I mean.”

“I haven’t,” I say, feigning abashedness, “perhaps I should.”

“Perhaps. Well, do you have further questions about Pergamano?”

“None that come to mind currently. I would like to take a look at the library. Is there perhaps guest chambers I could use tonight?”

“We don’t maintain lodging for guests or prospectives, alas. There are a few taverns in the town, however.”

“Thank you, Doctor Shotior,” I allow my chair to sink to the floor and stand as it meets it, then dismiss it.

“Please, allow me to show you to the library.”

[probablyevilideasafterdark]

An Earth Trans in Urtrament, Chapter 6

Ok, I finally decided to cut the chapter I'm working on off at the point I felt like was the natural break point, and chapter length be damned. It's shorter than previous chapters, but still seven-ish Google Doc pages, so it's not like it's a stub of a chapter or anything.

This chapter moves towards the smutty part of my intention with this fic, but is still SFW.

Chapter 7 may take less time than this one did, even if it's longer, because what will be chapter 7 was originally part of this chapter, and so I already have a good bit written past where it felt like it was right to cut off chapter 6. But I'm still working on it, so I don't know when it will go up. We'll see.

Enjoy Chapter 6, and if you like it, please like and reblog the post.

Chapter 6: Crazy, Stupid and Dangerous

It’s a few hours before I hear from Mez’gin again, during which time, I go back over the scrolls and my notes, and write out an actual spell, first on scratch paper, then copied into my spell tome. I run out and buy some spell reagents while waiting, and ask around the Derelict dining room where a good place for an experimental summoning would be around Marsti. It takes a few tries, and people who want to know what I’m working on that I have to convince it’s better if they wait till I know whether it’ll work, but I’m told about a reasonably safe, concealed place on the banks of the river that would be suitable.

Mez’gin messages me around half past ten, and appears outside of the Derelict just a few minutes later. “Ok,” she says, “lets see what you’ve put together.”

I guide her to my room, and lay out my notes and the final spell so she can take a look at them. She examines everything for another hour or so, but eventually concedes that it looks like it should work.

“I’m still not sure you’ll be able to reach into your world, but… I don’t think you’re going to kill yourself doing this. Do you have a place to cast it? Please tell me you’re not planning on using this room.”

“No, that would be rude to the people who work and sleep here if this spell goes seriously awry. There’s a place on the banks of the river we can do it. I asked around where I could try out an experimental spell.”

“Oh good… you told other spellcasters you were going to try something experimental. Tell me, is reckless curiosity not a thing where you come from?”

“Oh, no, it’s basically a defining trait of some of the best scientists. ...and some of the worst.” I gather my supplies up and lead Mez’gin to the spot I was told about. “Ok, we need to draw a summoning circle. I am taking some precautions. ...also it will help direct the energies.”

Mez’gin smirks. “Alright, gimme a second.” She mutters a word I don’t quite catch under her breath and conjures a few floating lights that illuminate the area. “Ok, what am I drawing?”

I hand her a diagram, a copy of the one I’m holding, and we sort out a basic grid on the soft earth to help us get things lined up. Mez’gin pulls out a thin silver rod to do her drawing, while I simply use my claws. It takes about fifteen minutes, then another ten to carefully fill the lines with silver dust. As a final step, I take my bracelet off and lay it on the ground, encircling the whole summoning circle. “Ok. Ready?”

“Let me ready a dispel just to be safe. I can hold it, and discharge it harmlessly if it turns out we don’t need it.”

“Ok.”

She focuses for a moment, and mutters another incantation, causing her hands to glow softly, then nods. I turn and step into the circle, holding my spell tome open in my un-gauntleted hand. The incantation is short, the gestures simple, and then I get to a point that hadn’t quite occurred to me when I was writing the spell.

I’m supposed to reach into the conduit. And I don’t think the ready routes in this case are really the best. I take a deep breath, and continue chanting as I lay my carnamanite gauntlet on my stomach, then push in, focusing on Æther, and the space I remember first waking up in, and my hand glows and passes through me. I feel around, mentally following a whining meow which stops suddenly, and I feel a small head butting into my hand. I smile, carefully take hold of Nyx, and pull.

“WREAZ.”

Mez’gin’s shout brings my attention to the fact that my arm feels incredibly warm. Right under the gem on the gauntlet. I shake my head and try to focus back on my task. It feels like I’m trying to pull a car one handed. In a lightning storm. But I’m already at this point, so… I keep going.

It feels like forever, but eventually, I’m cradling the black, furry, purring form of my cat Nyx, and falling back as the spell ends and the magic drains, sitting hard on the soft ground of the river bank.

Mez’gin rushes over and makes a fuss, checking my eyes, “can you hear me? Wreaz?”

I cough and laugh, “Yeah, I can hear you.” I hold up my cat, now much larger in proportion to me than she was, “Meet Nyx.”

Mez’gin smiles and reaches a hand out for Nyx to sniff, then strokes her head.

“What the SHITTING HELL WAS THAT?” says a man’s voice, alerting me to the handful of magic students that had been watching from behind trees and rocks.

I turn to the one who exclaimed and replied simply, “I missed my cat.” He stares at me in utterly shocked puzzlement, but shakes his head and gathers the other students up to head back to the Derelict for a drink. “Tell Fit that I’m buying your drinks!” I shout after them, which cheers them some.

Mez’gin taps a hoof on something hard in the dirt, “I think… we need to do something about this.”

Looking down, I see that the summoning circle has apparently melted the silver dust and even the dirt beneath it, creating a permanent circle of silver and glass. “Um.” I stand up. “Gimme a second. I think there’s something I can do. I focus, and a wordless echolalia falls from my lips as my hand glows. I trace a doorway of light in the air, and push the center of the bounded space, opening a portal to somewhere else, something that looks like a cozy entrance of a cabin. “Help me pry this up,” I say.

Between the two of us, we’re able to dig out the circle and roll it on end through the portal. With a pull inside the space, I close it as easily as I opened it, and find Mez’gin staring at me.

“And that was….?”

“I think it was a benefit of Cassiel’s pact. She wanted a home she could enter from anywhere. I saw the thread leading off from my body while I was in Æther during the calling spell and… just kind of knew how to open the portal. Hold Nyx for a second for me?”

Mez’gin takes Nyx while I dig a harness and leash out of my bag, and get them on the struggling cat.

“Ok, now I feel comfortable letting her walk on her own. I’m going to make her my familiar, and then she’ll probably be ok without the harness, but for now, I didn’t rip a hole in two worlds through my stomach just for her to run off and get eaten by a warg or something.”

Mez’gin sets Nyx on the ground, who quickly gets over the harness and starts sniffing around as we rub out the impression of the circle and I put my notes and supplies back in my bag. We walk back to the Derelict, where Fit raises an eyebrow as we walk in together, cat in my arms.

“Er… did I create an uproar when I told those, like, five students I was buying their drinks?”

“Little bit. Fortunately in their ‘someone else is buying my drinks’ they opted for the heavier stuff and most of them were quickly bludgeoned into quiet drunkenness by liquor I warn other thumbar about before serving. Also, they’re students. They’re rowdy, but I’m not having to put a table on your bill like I probably would if they were sailors.”

I rub my neck abashedly, “Sorry. How much do I owe you?”

“20 gold.”

“They really did go high end. Can I get some cider and… Mez’gin what do you drink?”

“Oh, you’re buying me a bottle of wine for this little caper.”

“And a bottle of wine, whatever your best is, can you have someone bring them to my room? Oh, and… a bowl of water and a bit of sausage steak for my friend here,” I say holding Nyx up.

Fit smiles sardonically and nods, “yeah, that makes it 35 gold even.”

I set Nyx on the stool next to me and pull my purse out, counting out five platinums and handing them over. Fit drops them into a cashbox and nods his head towards the hallway.

In my room, I have Mez’gin hold Nyx while I pop the window open and position a chair under it, then pull out a scroll of antilife shell, casting it such that it butts up against the outer wall of the inn, and then a scroll of persist effect, and cast it on the shell, creating a small area where Nyx can poke around outside, but go no further than, and no one can pass the other way, either. Then I position a chair under the window and let Nyx off her leash. “Ok, Nyx. You can go outside, and please do so if you need to piss.” Mez’gin giggles and Nyx starts exploring the room before jumping up to sit in the window.

I climb up onto the bed, and Mez’gin sits down next to me. Hazel brings our drinks, and a glass for Mez’gin.

“How are you feeling?” Mez’gin asks me.

“Tired. That spell was… draining.”

“Yeah, magic will do that. Let me see your arm.”

I take my gauntlet off and give her my arm. My forearm is red like a sunburn under where the sapphire sat. Mez’gin looks my hand over, telling me to flex my fingers, make a fist, roll my wrist. She pushes my fingers back gently, and satisfies herself that there’s no damage to my hand. She pulls a small jar of salve out of her bag and rubs it into the burn on my arm, then wraps it with a bandage.

“You’re lucky you just got a bad sunburn.”

“I know.”

She shakes her head. “Please don’t make a habit of trying out spells you wrote in a day. You did good, but with refinement, you could have made that much safer. The gauntlet probably actually saved your arm, at least.”

“I know,” I say, nodding grudgingly.

“But you did good,” she says, taking my face in her hands, and looking into my eyes. “You could overturn magical theory as we know it—if you don’t kill yourself with dangerous experiments, first.”

I blush and close my eyes, nuzzling my cheek into her hand. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” Mez’gin says quietly, drawing my eyes open and back to hers, before kissing me. A light peck at first, then another, deeper kiss, our lips parting and tongues seeking each other. We separate after what feels like an eternity of bliss, and her hand strokes down my neck, caressing my collar as it traces a line down towards my chest.

“I-” I hesitate, “Satan, I want this so much, but… I’m drained.” I look at her guiltily. “Sorry.”

Mez’gin smiles and pulls me into her arms, “don’t be, it’s ok. I’d honestly be surprised if you weren’t too drained.”

“Can we just sit like this and talk for a bit?”

“Of course. For a little bit. I need to get back to the Coil for lectures. But we can stay like this for a little while.”

We sit and cuddle for while. I tell Mez’gin about Earth, and about the fantasy fiction from there that serves as my sort of basic reference for things in Urtrament. Not that I expect things to be exactly how Earth fantasy writes them, just that it’s a model to work from. Nyx comes and sits on our legs, and after about an hour, maybe a bit longer, Mez’gin says she should be heading back. Before she goes, I ask her to look over another spell I worked out. She’s disapproving at first, but it’s less an entirely new spell, and more an alteration of existing spells, and she points out a few places where I should change something, but says that it should work well, and safely.

“Ok, I need to get back. Rest up. You’re going to need the energy for your mount spell to get to Pergamano. But it’ll work. You’re just an aesthetic bitch,” she smiles teasingly.

“Damned straight,” I grin. “Enjoy your lectures. Fill me in when we see each other next.”

“Of course.” Mez’gin gives me a peck on the cheek, then steps back and mutters a word, disappearing from my room.

I go out to the kitchen, finding Fit sitting behind the bar, the rest of the staff done for the night while any clients have turned in for the night. The fire in the main room is banked to a low glow, the lanterns on the walls carefully lowered similarly.

“Need anything?” he asks from his chair, positioned so he can easily see anyone coming into the main room, but also tilt his head back against the back counter.

“Um, is it possible to get some food? A ploughmans would be fine.”

He nods, “of course.” He holds up a hand as I reach for my purse, “don’t worry about it. You spent enough buying drinks for students that we can comp you a ploughmans.” He gestures for me to follow as he gets up and walks into the kitchen. He pulls out a plate and starts gathering things, “who’s your friend?”

“Oh, her name is Mez’gin. I met her on the phantrain. She was headed to the Coil.”

“She’s cute. And she cares about you. You need friends like that in this world.”

I smile despite myself, “yeah. Friends who’ll teleport into town to keep you safe when you try something crazy are good to have.”

“That where the cat came from?”

I nod, “yeah. She was my cat back home. And home is a long ways away, so I had to sort of create a spell to call her here.”

“I heard the students you bought drinks for talking about it. I don’t know a lot about magic, more of a beater myself, but it certainly sounded impressive. They sounded disappointed in the result, though. But they were also debating whether you succeeded or failed. I know enough about you magic sorts to know that debate is probably a good sign.”

“Ninety percent of most magic merely consists of knowing one extra fact,” I smile, arching my brows.

He chuckles as he hands me my plate of sausage, bread and cheese with some sliced onions. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Y’all always think you’re the smartest one in the room. It’ll do them good for you to be around with your one extra fact, just as long as you remember they’ve got their own, too.”

I nod chastened. “Well, I was smart enough to ask Mez’gin for help with the spell. That’s an improvement for my normally much more impulsive and over-confident ass.”

“Stay safe, always make sure your friends know when you’re going to do something crazy, stupid and dangerous. They’ll be the ones patching you up.”

“Yeah? I think you have some experience with that.”

Fit pulls the neck of his shirt down a bit, showing a large scar of what looks like actual copper on his shoulder seamlessly melding with the skin around it, possibly the result of a spear or similar tearing through it. It must have destroyed the bone and sinew and muscle. I don’t know if it’s a testament to healing magic, Fit’s resilience, or both. “On both sides. But all crazy, stupid dangerous things are worth it when it’s done for your friends.”

“Thanks, Fit. Oh, I hope it’s not a problem that I have Nyx in my room. I opened the window so she shouldn’t make a mess inside.”

“No problem. We’ve dealt with worse.”

“Thanks.” I take my dinner back to my room and sit on my bed. I think back on that cabin I was able to open a portal to, and wonder. Biting my lip, I slip the carnamanite gauntlet on again, and focus my mind, then let it unfocus in a very specific way, calling up the wordless repeating chant I used before, but this time, instead of a doorway, I sketch a well-known emblem from my before life into the air, and reach into it. I feel something vibrating within, buzzing in familiar ways like the vibration of a speaker playing your favorite song on the other side of a wall. I swirl my hand in this unseen space, gathering the vibration like strands around my fingers, then pull my hand from the glyph and lay it on my slate. I go back a few times, repeating this process until there are no more familiar vibrations in the otherworldly space, but before I close the portal, I reach in one more time, and grasp a thread-like energy that composes the space itself, pulling it out of the portal and examining it. It glows a dull lime green and I pick at it, pulling a couple strings away and letting them draw back into the portal, then wrap the remaining slimmer thread around one finger, and press the finger into my slate, passing into the magical half of its form, and find the signature of the polterstra function. I wrap the thread around this signature and tie it off. I pull my finger out, and brush away the glyph in the air, then double check-- the glowing lime green strand extends out of thin air and into my slate, remaining even as the portal is gone, but only visible with magical sight.

I grin to myself and take off the gauntlet, setting it on the bed table. With a flick of my thumb, I wake my slate to pull up the polterstra musical function. Inside is my music library from home. I hit shuffle and sit back to enjoy my dinner. A while later, plate set aside on my night table and slate in my hands, I doze off reading more about the world I find myself in. I wake up a couple hours later, set everything aside, and nestle under the sheets to truly sleep. Nyx jumps up and curls up on my hips and I fall into true sleep quickly with my music playing.

[probablyevilideasafterdark]

An Earth Trans in Urtrament Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Idle Hands

Morning comes with a gentle knock on my door, “Breakfast,” a husky voice calls from outside it.

I stir at the sound, and roll over, setting aside the pillow I’d wrapped myself around as I slept, “Mm, can you bring it, please?” I respond before I wake a little more and realize that I am… incredibly erect, and the thin coverings of panties, a tunic and a sheet are not doing anything to hide that. I sit up quickly as I hear a jingle of keys outside my room and shift the pillow I was cuddling over my lap. I know I wouldn’t necessarily want to walk in on a stranger’s morning wood… “haven’t had that very much the last few years… but then, I guess I’m not on hormone meds and antidepressants here.”

The door opens just as I cover my lap, and I’m putting an escaped tit back in my tunic. A tray enters, carried by a tall orqueneas woman. She’s slender for her people, and either what I read last night on my slate had overstated their tusks and bone plates, or hers are just small. Maybe she files them, but so far as I read, they’re very proud of those features. Her skin is a dusky grey-green, a little darker and greyer than mine, her hair a vibrant red like freshly spilled blood, carefully braided back. She’s wearing a simple, but deep purple peasant skirt, and a loose blouse that’s mostly gathered behind her by the strings of the apron she’s wearing. “Morning, Wreaz,” she says, “I’m Sharamph, I’ve got the run of the kitchen this morning. If you need anything just come to the doorway and ask. We have coffee on if you’d like that, and I brought you a light cider. A lot of our clients appreciate a bit of what they had the night before, helps with hangovers.”

Even sitting up in bed, Sharamph towers over me. Her features are angular, but soft, and I wonder if perhaps she has some non-orqueneas in her. “Thank you, coffee would be wonderful, with milk and plenty of sugar if you have it.” I take the tray from her and set it on my lap, holding it steady on the pillow with one hand, “Um, sorry. Do you use Trade Common pronouns, or orquenean?”

Sharamph smiles, I wonder how common it is to ask people their pronouns here. I might not have if I hadn’t done some study on the peoples of Urtrament last night. Apparently Orquenean uses only om and orm pronouns, at least for themselves. “I will use common pronouns, she/her is fine, but they/them for preference. I prefer Orquenean pronouns, but I don’t mind Trade Common ones.. You’re well-traveled if you’re familiar with them, even here, a lot of people don’t think about it unless I mention it.”

“More well read,” I reply. “But I do come from pretty far away. I’ll accept she/her, but prefer they/them, for my part.”

“Nice to meet you, Wreaz. I’ll have someone bring you some coffee.” Sharamph leaves, closing the door behind them, and I’m able to sort out the pillow and tray without tipping the tray or scandalizing someone. Breakfast is a simple, but delicious looking meal of generously portioned scrambled eggs, sausage and gravy on top of a disc of crispy hashbrowns the size of the plate, with two warm crusty rolls and a dish of butter. The sight and smell is almost a meal in and of itself. I reach over to the bed table to grab my vapor pipe and take a pull to start waking my brain and body up before I dig in. I’ve just finished the first roll and am about to start on the pile of heartiness on the plate when there’s a knock at my door.

“Coffee!” calls a raspy voice before the door opens. A raggamoffyn …server of completely indeterminate gender in a doll-like body, with a surprisingly lifelike face of steamed felt enters carrying a large mug of coffee, a small clay jug and bowl with spoon on a tray in one hand, and a tell-tale glow of magic that I can just make out with my novice eyes. I think they have some natural telekinetic magic. The same glow, but much more obvious, issues from their eyes and the thin slit of their closed mouth.

“Thank you,” I say, shifting the tray on my lap a bit so I can just take the items on this new tray rather than monopolize their platterware.

The raggamoffyn nods and mutters an acknowledgement, then leaves with the tray tucked under their arm, closing the door to my room with their magic. I turn back to my breakfast and reach for my slate while I add milk and sugar to my coffee. I really want to ask Mez’gin about raggamoffyns. Tracing my pass mark on the surface the slate changes from a black mirror to a window on my AMS homebase, where my attendant construct is feeding my messenger raven and somewhat mechanically scritching its neck. A small illusion of a scroll floating over my home marker indicates I received a message while I was sleeping-

Mez’gin

“Hey Wreaz! I was on the road when you messaged and too tired to do anything but keep walking. I just got back to the Coil and got some food in me (it’s around 10pm). So, I’m home, and not starving, so I guess I can’t complain, how was your day?”

Wreaz

“It was good! After picking up my vapor pipe I got some new clothes. They’re being altered, so I had to get a room in Marsti. I’m at the Derelict.

“I wanted to ask you.. Well, basically I want to ask you about pretty much everything I see, but a lorecall scroll is saving you from that. I did specifically want to ask… what is going on with raggamoffyns? I’ve met two, now, and I just… ???”

Mez’Gin

“Hahaha Ragamoffyns are spirits that inhabit cloth bodies. There’s a lot of rumors and superstitions about them, but that’s the most basic actual truth. What most people don’t know (because they don’t go to a college of necromancy…) is that they are basically the ghosts of hands severed from thieves or artists/artisans. They’re overall pretty tight lipped about themselves, but mostly just because they think it’s funny that most people know nothing about them.”

Wreaz

“Huh, cool. I’ll be honest. I’m sort of broadly familiar with general ideas here, since we have fiction about, like, elves and dwarves where I’m from. And, like, I can at least recognize ‘oh, that person is basically a dwarf,’ and see what my lorecall function says about dwarves. And learn about thumbar. But I had no clue what to make of raggamoffyns, and lorecall gave me nothing, even knowing what they call themselves.”

Mez’gin

“Interesting… I wonder how your world has fiction about species from an entirely different world. That could be some really… world (worlds?) shattering research. You should know, if lorecall doesn’t tell you, that referring to, like, thumbar as dwarves is considered… not rude, but kinda impolite.”

Wreaz

“Definitely noted. And I’m inclined to call people by what they call themselves, I was more saying ‘this is the word I know of for this sort of general physiology.’ I won’t say I will never slip, but I’ll definitely do my best.

“...which actually makes me realize I don’t know what pronouns you use. I’ll accept she/her, but prefer they/them.”

Mez’gin

“I use she/her. Is asking pronouns common where you’re from? I’m just curious, because, at least outside of, like, talking to someone of a race that you know frequently uses pronouns that don’t directly translate to Trade Common and at least one person is genuinely interested in being as respectful as possible, most people here really do just assume.”

Wreaz

“It kinda depends on how granular you want to get with ‘where I’m from.’ The world I’m from in general, most people also assume based on presentation, and we only have one sapient species (er, so far as we’re aware, anyway), and a world history of kind of one big conquering culture running around and reshaping others to be more like them. We definitely have more genders than ‘man’ and ‘woman’ but the other genders have gotten erased by the dominant culture of the world for a long time and it’s only really been in my lifetime that the other genders are becoming known on a large scale. But if we consider queers, sort of the subculture I’m from, made up of people who aren’t both solely attracted to the opposite gender and identify specifically as the gender they were assigned at birth… well, we still kinda assume based on presentation, because it’s awkward to basically say ‘hey! I don’t know what gender you are by looking at you!’ even if you’re being polite by doing so.

“(Sorry, that’s probably a ramble)”

Mez’gin

“It’s ok! I actually kinda love learning about where you’re from. I definitely have way more questions, but I get the feeling that it’ll be way easier to handle them face to face.

I smile. Mez’gin enjoying learning about my world is… well, it’s not a sure sign she’s into me, but it’s definitely a positive indication. …I think I can get a little tease-y. And I’m reasonably confident that I can go out on a limb and replicate emoji with just a little drawing.

Wreaz

“I don’t have most of my new clothes, but I can at least show you the tunic I bought, if you want to see it :)”

Mez’gin

“Definitely! Show it, hon!”

It takes me a moment to work out how to take a selfie with the imaging function on my slate, but the fact that the back is basically a (very dark) mirror helps a lot. As does the fact that magic means mental commands are on the table! I take a moment to compose myself and make sure I’m not accidentally sending straight up lewds, and take about half a dozen selfies so I can find one that’s just the right level of “I woke up like this alluring” and then send it over.

Mez’gin

“O.O

“Damn, hon. You are way too…

“Good at this slate thing. Let’s go with that. >.>”

I’m kinda loving that apparently little drawings are just totally a thing here, and they are so similar to emoji, while also having little personal touches, like the horns on Mez’gin’s.

Wreaz

“What else were you going to say I’m ‘way too…’? ^w^”

Mez’gin

“Well, you see, what you might not know about me yet is that 1. I am a disaster, and 2. Very much into femmes.”

Wreaz

“^.^ a whole-ass mood.”

Mez’gin

“I mean… if you’re offering whole ass… <.<”

Wreaz

“I would if I had any fucking idea how I’d get any kind of good picture with a scryslate.”

Mez’gin

“Maybe I can help with that…”

Wreaz

“Yes, Mez’gin. Help me with my ass, for I, too, am a sapphic disaster.

“(damnit. Sapphic is a term from my world for a femme identifying person who is into femme presenting people)”

Mez’Gin

“(choked on my toast laughing)”

I giggle and set my slate aside to finish up my breakfast. I sit up in the bed for a bit, just vaping and reading about the world on my slate, dozing here and there for a little bit before I decide it’s a reasonable time to leave bed. I really miss having music or a video on in the background at pretty much all times, but I’m starting to get used to it. I still really want to sort out how to get the music function to, like, “know” songs.

I slide off the bed, tug a skirt on, and take my breakfast dishes out to the kitchen. I don’t know if they, like, do housekeeping, but I figure I can make it easy on them. I want to ask Sharamph something anyway. Looks like mostly people set their trays outside their doors, which I note for later.

I tap on the frame of the entrance to the kitchen with a knuckle, “Hey Sharamph, I brought my tray out. Figure I’d make it easy.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” they reply, taking the tray from me and handing it off to a younger girl.

“I don’t mind, but if you’d rather I leave it outside the room, I can do that next time.”

“Either way is fine.”

“I wanted to ask you something, anyway. Where can I go to get cleaned up here? Does Marsti have, iunno, a public bath or something?”

“Well, there’s always a basin and pitcher in your room, but if you want something fancier,” they mock sneer, “yeah, Marsti has a bathhouse where a river tributary flows through the higher end market area. I think it’s called Emerald Waters? Run by a glamier couple. The elves go in for that stuff, something about not needing to bath so if they do it might as well be indulgent.”

“Not gonna toss me out for being a snob if I go, are ya?” I feign concern.

Sharamph laughs, “Hell, if we tossed out snobs, we’d lose a good three fourths of our clientele. Students love that shit, and stay here because its comfortable, clean, and still cheap enough they can afford that shit.”

I grin, “I guess I’ll be in good company. Or at least fellow scholars.”

“Bunch of softies who argue like orqueneas brawl, you ask me.”

“Yeah, scholars” I grin, “thank you for breakfast, it was wonderful. And I don’t think I need to eat for the rest of the day.”

Sharamph nods in acknowledgement and turns back to their kitchen duties and I head back to my room to put myself together for the day. I open an unaddressed message on my slate to start a list so I can try to keep myself sorted, making a note to look for makeup, and some jewlery supplies. As much as I wish I could have my phone from home, just for music, I need to remake my bracelet, as a matter of spirituality. Sensory comfort is one thing, my bracelet is about… I don’t know, I’ve never known how to really express my feelings about my weird self-cobbled system. Conviction, I suppose. I slip on some fresh clothes and boots, and grab my vapor pipe and slate and head out, sending a quick message to Mez’gin as I go-

Wreaz

“Hey, so I have a coffer mark, but if I want to get coins so I’m not using it for, like, a sandwich, how do I do that?”

Mez’gin replies a few minutes later as I’m heading towards the bathhouse-

Mez’gin

“Oh, just go to a bank. They’ll trace your mark and give you however much coin you want. Marsti’s got a Golden Throne bank downtown. Just look for the symbol of Tymohreton on a building that cost a literal king’s ransom."

Wreaz

“Pretend I’m from another world and have no idea who Tymohreton is or what their symbol looks like…”

Mez’gin

“Ah. Right. If you have a coin, it’s inscribed on one side, it looks like this-”

Mez’gin’s message contains a quick sketch of a set of scales, but in place of the plates are a gemstone and temple, set into a circle. I fish a gold coin out of my purse and turn it over. I’m guessing the circle is a coin, and possibly that the symbol is in actual fact, a coin itself. I turn the coin over again, actually paying attention to its surfaces for the first time. On the side opposite of the Tymorheton symbol is a shield emblazoned with a crown. I search my purse for a silver and a copper piece, curious now. On each, the symbol of Tymohreton is inscribed into one side, but the copper piece shows a wagon wheel on its other, and the silver a sword. Which I’m sure is all some fascinating symbolism, but I’ll have to read up on it. I stick the coins back in my purse and slip it into my bag, and send Mez’gin a message back-

Wreaz

“Huh. I hadn’t actually looked at the coins. But then I’m not sure Tymohreton’s symbol would have meant anything to me. This is probably a better face to face thing, but can you tell me about the, like, symbolism on the coins? Why a wagon wheel, sword and shield?”

Mez’gin

“Sure! I can give you a short version, too tho- basically, a few hundred years back, The God Throne and Manacled Throne were just going around killing merchants and taking their shit, which meant there was a bit of a trade crisis. A paladin of Tymohreton (oh, he’s the god of commerce) stepped up and claimed The Golden Throne, made it clear that such raids would be acts of war, and then set about reforming trade as a whole. The wheel symbolizes the merchants, since their carts are the basis of trade. The sword symbolizes the caravan guards and the agents of The Golden Throne, and the shield represents the church of Tymohreton, and, well, The Golden Throne itself, who protect against violent threats to trade.”

Wreaz

“...ok, now I need to know about Thrones, and why it’s capitalized.”

Mez’gin

“...ok, yeah, that’s going to be better explained face to face.

“It’s …kind of a whole magical thing? Um. Yeah, I’ll have to explain it not over slate.”

Wreaz

“Ha, fair enough. I’m headed to the Emerald Waters, since I figure I gotta kill some time before my clothes are ready. Have you ever been?”

Mez’Gin

“No, and now I’m incredibly jealous. I could use a good hoof and horn treatment… ask if they have teufil services?

“Oh. I’m a teufil. We’re… well. We’re descended from dæmons.”

Wreaz

“I’ll ask. And don’t worry, at least going by what I know from my world, I have no problem with demons. And whatever I may not know about dæmons, I don’t hold someone’s heritage against them.”

Mez’gin replies with just a big picture of a smiling face on a horned heart, and I smile.

Wreaz

“<3”

The Golden Throne bank fairly dominates the upscale part of town. I hadn’t paid much attention to it yesterday, figuring it was some variety of temple, and I guess it is, but the streets in this part of town seem to radiate from it. Smaller avenues encircle the bank in concentric rings, while alleyways cut through haphazardly, but the broadest paths all point directly to the bank. Which certainly tells me something about what kind of power they hold.

The building is a massive construction of pure-white marble that glows faintly golden in the late morning sun. Vibrant stained glass windows break the facade, glittering in a way that makes me think that they might in fact be made of gemstones rather than glass. A statue of highly polished platinum stands outside the bank, holding the scales of Tymohreton, and guards in shining plate flank the doors. The guards hold themselves with a vigilant indifference, as if they’re not much concerned with what happens outside the bank, but will respond in a moment if those happenings turn towards the bank.

People stream in and out of the bank at a regular pace, and while most seem to be wealthier sorts, there are enough people who have more of a common look to their clothes and bearing that I’m fairly certain the guards won’t bar me from entering as riffraff. Even so, I can’t deny a slight anxiety as I approach and pass between them. I’ve never been comfortable in places that are entirely composed as a silent statement of “we are richer than you, and thus, better.” But I walk into the bank basically unregarded. Just another customer. Inside, it’s much like any bank I’d expect to see on Earth, tellers, windows, line and all, it’s just missing the ATMs. The line moves quickly, and the teller doesn’t raise an eyebrow, just traces my coffer mark with a wand and then sets a few short stacks of coins in front of me, sorted by denomination. I quickly put the coins in my purse, and step aside as I take a look at one of the platinum coins out of curiosity. The symbol of Tymohreton is emblazoned on both sides, as a sort of statement that the god himself is above merchant, guard and Throne. I slip the coin in my purse with its fellows, and head back out to find the bathhouse.

If nothing else, the radiating streets of the upscale area makes it easy to find places. I head down a street that heads in the direction of the river, and it’s not long before I can see a sign that reads Emerald Waters looking along an avenue. If the bank stands as a statement about how the Golden Throne can buy and sell you, The Waters stands to tell you how comfortable you could be, for a price of course. The bathhouse is a large building, rivaling the bank in size, but instead of blazing white walls of marble, carefully made to look like a solid piece, the Waters facade is a cobblework of green stones, an abstract mosaic with only the most general of impressions of lazy waterways and shade trees. No guards stand outside of this building, instead of looking well secured, it seems to emphasize that the only reason you might want to enter the building is to rest. Security in strategic unimportance.

The temperature outside is slowly climbing into a warm day, just under uncomfortable levels, but the moment I step into The Emerald Waters, I’m embraced by cool air. A chill runs down my spine from the sudden change, but subsides. The entrance is simple but well-made. Dark wood paneling and hanging plants convey an easiness that encourages you to forget your stress outside. A glamier, the elves of Urtrament, stands behind a tall desk, and greets me as I walk in, “Hello, what can we do for you today, ma’am?”

“Uh, please, call me Wreaz,” I reply, standing a bit in front of the desk to clear it when I look up, “I just wanted to use your baths, and maybe see what else you offered. Do you have a menu of services? Oh, and my friend wanted me to ask if you offer teufil services.”

“Lovely to meet you, Wreaz, my name is Hamalitia, my partner and I own The Emerald Waters. Please tell your friend we do offer teufil services, and we would be happy to help them. We have lists of services offered posted on the walls in the bathhouse, if you’d like to start with that and decide while you soak. Would you like to use the communal bath, or a private tub?”

“Private, please. Not sure I’m quite ready for communal,” I smirk.

“Of course. A private bath will cost three gold.”

I take out my purse, and hand her the gold, a steep price, I suppose, for the average person, but not so bad. A laborer could put away a few silvers a week and treat themselves to a private bath once every couple months. In a world where most bathing is in streams or sponge baths with a basin, that’s a kind of luxury.

Hamalitia sets the gold in a cashbox, and steps out from the desk, “Right this way, Wreaz.” She leads me down a hallway, past the entrance to the communal bath, an doorway concealed from the lobby but otherwise open, and I see quite a few people relaxing or idly chatting within. Further down the hallway is a line of doors on the outer wall, each with numbers. Hamalitia turns the plaque on room three around, the other side having the numeral, but also “rented,” and opens the door for me. “There is a room through that door,” she indicates a door opposite to the one we entered, “where you can undress and store your things in a locker. The key for the locker is in its door, and you can wear it on your wrist to ensure your things are safely secured. While you get yourself settled, I’ll fill your tub. Would you like anything to drink?”

“Tea, please. Um, a black tea, I suppose. I’m sorry, I’m not very knowledgable about the teas of this area. Maybe a black tea with a bit of fruity notes?”

“Not a problem, Wreaz, I’ll send for the kitchens to bring you a pot. Do you take sugar in your tea?”

“Yes please.”

Hamalitiea nods and gestures to the changing room door, turning to the tub as I head towards it. The changing room is smallish, but not overly so, and practically spacious when you’re a petite goblin. I think I could lay down in either direction and not touch the opposite walls. The locker is thick dark wood, with finely wrought iron fixtures, and tall enough to hang clothes while also setting items on its floor, which currently holds a step stool. Plush towels are folded on a bench and a white linen robe hangs from the back of the door. I undress casually, unsure of how long it will take the tub to fill and not wanting Hamalitia to feel rushed. Clothes go into the locker, bag with it, and I slip my slate and vapor pipe into the robe pockets then put it on and lock the locker, taking the key and slipping it over my wrist. The strap tightens with a silk slipknot and hangs securely but comfortably on the inside of my hand. From the otherside of the door, the sound of water stops, and Hamailitia gently knocks on the changing room door.

“Your tub is ready, Wreaz.”

I step out and thank her, and move across the cozy private room as she steps out and closes the door behind her. The tub steams from green tinted water within, filling the room with a floral, crisp scent, like lilac and eucalyptus. I slip my robe off, hanging it on a hook next to the tub and step into the water, wincing at the warmth before my skin acclimates to it, and ease myself down. The water tingles slightly, not just from whatever is tinting and scenting it, but from a very minor effervescence, too. I take a pull from my pipe as I settle back, enjoying the heat and the feel of not just-barely-fitting-comfortably-in-a-tub for the first time in more than a decade. Back home, tubs were generally just long enough for my legs to stretch out, and just wide enough for me to be able to sit. Now, with this body, in this tub, I could curl up in it, if I wanted. There’s a knock on the door and a moment before it opens I use to shift my legs slightly. I don’t know how common my particular array of equipment is in Urtrament, so I’m trying to play it safe. Maybe I’m just holding anxiety from being trans on Earth. Other than concealing my dick, though, I don’t cover up. I like my new body, and I’m sure whoever is entering has seen tits.

A younger glamier woman, around 18, or equivalent, I suppose, enters with a tray and sets in on the edges of the tub, “Will you need anything else, Wreaz?”

I take a look at the tray, which holds a fine porcelain cup and tea pot, and a small bowl of sugar and a plate of tea cookies, “no, thank you, I am quite content,” I smile.

She nods, “If you need anything, the room can send a message with a thought activation, just ask aloud for Hamalitia or myself. My name is Meira.”

“Thank you, Meira, I’ll be sure to ask.”

Meira nods again, and leaves me to my soaking. I reach over and dry my hands on the bottom of the robe before grabbing my slate from the pocket, and try a cookie as I send a message to Mez’gin.

Wreaz

“The Emerald Waters has teufil services, and Hamalitia says they’d be happy to help you. :)

“Also, this soak is amazing. The water is scented and fizzy!”

I also take a picture of my legs, carefully framing it so it can still pass as innocent, and send it over.

Mez’gin

“‘O.O’ Damn, hon. You’re gonna send me into a frenzy with these pictures!

“How much is a horn and hoof cleaning?”

I smile evilly at a seduction well performed, and look over at the wall where the services are listed.

Wreaz

“What if I told you that driving iyou into a frenzy was my goal? -.^

“Hoof and horn is 1 gold :) Private bath is 3 gold, and so worth it. I could cover a girls day for us.”

Mez’gin

“I’d say you’re doing a good job! (but not to stop…) I think I’m definitely going to have to take you up on that offer. Maybe on your way back through Marsti after visiting Pergamano?”

Wreaz

“Definitely! I’ll try to give you some idea of when I’ll be back in Marsti, I don’t know what the travel time between Marsti and the Coil is. Or Marsti and Pergamano, for that matter.”

Mez’gin

“Marsti to the Coil is about a day at a leisurely pace on foot. It’s not too bad. Don’t know about Pergamano. Might be quicker, actually, I think I remember hearing that they prefer to see prospective students showing up traveling by magical means of their own working. Though I don’t know if you have any magic like that.”

Wreaz

“Hm. I think I can work something up. I’ll have to see.”

I settle back in the tub, enjoying my tea and cookies in my soak. It’s odd, but I didn’t feel particularly grimy before the bath. A bit of dust from walking around the city yesterday, but no sweat from that, or sleeping. Maybe I’m just used to a body that produces more heat, and has to work harder. But I seem to smell as much like cherries today as I did when waking up on the train yesterday. If it was perfume, I’d expect it to have degraded by now, no longer smelling like much of anything.

I wish I could remember how I asked Æther to shape this body. There is so much I don’t know about it. But it works. I don’t have the back and joint pain of my old body. Moving is easier, I was always comparatively light on my feet, but now I truly am. It looks how I want to look, from being so short, and green, with pointed ears, to having tits, pussy and dick. This is the form I always wanted, and not only that, but it comes with access to money, too. I don’t know how much I can draw on, or if it’s going to create problems down the line, but, for now, I just... don’t have to worry. I miss my cat. I miss modern industrial conveniences and background noise of my choice on command, but I don’t miss bills. I don’t miss having to dredge up energy to cook every night because I have no money to eat out. I don’t miss rent.

But I do miss my cat. I miss bullshitting with my friends online. But, I guess now I get to put my money where my mouth is whenever someone said “being immortal would suck, imagine watching all your friends die,” and I replied by quoting Lewis Black on the same topic, “I’ll just have to get new ones.” My friends aren’t dead, of course. I am. I... hope they’re doing ok. But while I’m sure they’ll be sad, I don’t think any of my friends will be completely heartbroken. Just sad, while they move on with their lives. I wasn’t in any close relationships, just had a few people who were sort of... “if we lived in the same place, we would totally be a thing” kind of relationships. I suppose it’s a kindness all around. We’ll miss each other, but no one will be heartbroken. And we move on.

A thought occurs to me, and I pick up my slate, looking up Æther on my Lorecall function. I want to know more about… it? I don’t know how to refer to Æther. It’s a substance, but also there’s some entity that is Æther? The information from Lorecall doesn’t talk about an entity, just a sort of metaphysical concept and substance that represents primal chaotic genesis. It’s comparatively rare, as an element, but it’s the element of life, present in all things that live, at least to some extent. However, while Æther is an element in and of itself, it is also the font of all other elements, and contains all other elements within it.

I look up Conjuration magic. Lorecall tells me that conjuration is the practice of moving objects or creatures from one place to another, without traveling the intervening space, and that in summoning and calling, this usually involves some form of conduit that the caster reaches through to the subject. Summoning is fairly short term, and the subject will return to where it was taken from. If the subject suffered any harm while summoned, this harm is undone at the end, at least physically. It’s hypothesized that summoned creatures are some form of abstraction of the summoned subject, or that the actual subject is held in a sort of extraplanar stasis while the magic generates a duplicate of them, and harm is only done to this duplicate.

Calling magic, on the other hand, can be permanent, or at least, an instantaneous effect, and the subject will not be automatically returned to where it was taken from, it definitely moves the actual subject, rather than producing some kind of magical duplicate.

A few conjuration spells do explicitly create the conjured subject, most notably spells that create food or water are conjuration magic.

A plan begins to form. Well, two. Two problems, two plans, one method. I sit and read up on the cosmology and fauna of Urtrament for another twenty minutes or so, until the water begins to cool notably. I take a washcloth and take a moment to ensure any road dust is washed off my body before getting out of the bath and drying off, putting on my robe and sending message to Hamalitia that I’d like a manicure and pedicure, and to have my hair done.

She comes to the room and retrieves me, leading me in my robe to another room, where a couple of younger glamier women, around Meira’s age, possibly sisters, set to work. One beginning with my feet, massaging them and my calves, trimming the short claws of my toes and producing a nail polish that changes color in the bottle when she asks me what color I’d like my nails painted. The other young woman busies herself with my hair, combing out the long tresses, applying oils and then styling it simply, just combed over my left side as I requested. When my hair is done, she begins the manicure on one hand, and is joined on the other when the woman who did my feet is finished there. I’m able to continue my research until both hands are occupied, but it’s nice to just sit and be cared for. I doze lightly as they finish my hands. They let me know I’m welcome to stay in the chair while I wait for my nails to dry, and leave me to relax. The polish dries surprisingly quickly, compared to “apparently an hour later and its still soft!?” I’m used to at home. I redress, gather my things, and pay my balance, with a sizable tip for each of the women who helped me, and head off. The Landlay function on my slate helps me find a crafts store, where I buy the beads and string I need to remake my bracelet. I sit down at The Strange Lounge for some coffee while I continue my research, scribbling notes in English in my notebook. While I genuinely just like the Lounge, it also has an ornate clock in the sitting area, that lets me figure out what time it is when I get there. I give Wren another hour or so, as I have plenty to busy myself in the Lounge. My bracelet construction is the work of about twenty minutes, threading black horn and lava rock beads onto red waxed string, tying off the long bracelet in a tassel and a ravens head charm, and wrapping it in coils that cover my left forearm.

The ritual of making my bracelet and wrapping it around my arm is immediately comforting to me. A token of my normal life in this strange world and body.

I have one more stop before I go see if Wren is done with my clothes, Greizis’ shop. The raggamoffyn is bent over work again as I walk in, and they look up to greet me.

“Wreaz! What brings you back?”

“I need scrolls. Er, not slate scrolls, but scrolls I can cast from. Specifically calling spells.”

Greizis cocks their head in questioning, “What are you at?” they ask in interest.

“Well, two things. One, I need a mount to get to Pergamano and make a good impression. But more importantly, my cat is back where I came from, and I want her here with me.”

“Well, certainly both of those are simple matter-”

“I come from very far away. And I want something special for a mount. I’m going to need to look at the language of the spells, and their metamechanisms.”

“...are you creating an entirely new spell to call your familiar?”

“No, of course not.”

“Oh, good, I thought you were crazy and stupid for a moment.”

“I’m creating an entirely new spell to call my entirely mundane pet cat. From across the bounds of the world itself.”

Greizis stands silent, looking at me with intense glowing eyes. One eye’s glow flares a moment, and I feel a spell wash through my mind. “Well. Shit. Let’s start with… Gate, Plane Shift, and… Call Mount, I guess? Gimme a second.”

I smile to myself as Greizis hops down from their stool and glides off to pull scrolls from the back for me. They come back carrying an armload of scrolls, and another couple floating behind, and sets them on the counter. “Ok, I grabbed two of each of the spells I mentioned, and grabbed scrolls of summon nature’s ally, too, since it will probably help you with some targeting language. Now, you know you’re going to need a conduit, right?”

“Sure, I’m the conduit. I am of that world. Nyx is a living creature, and thus, at least in Urtrament, contains Æther, as do I.”

“...I mean, yeah, that works for normal summoning spells, but…” Greizis shakes their head, “Ok, do me a favor, and don’t try this spell anywhere near my shop. If you explode, I don’t need the watch poking at your smear on the pavement where it’ll impede foot traffic.”

I grin, “Sure, Greizis. I need a good spell tome, too. If I’m making a spell, I might as well write it down.”

Greizis points to a bookshelf on one wall, laden with thick, leatherbound books, “Go ahead and pick out one that speaks to you.”

I take a look through and find one emblazoned with a rough circle, from which arrows radiate outwards, the symbol of Æther. I take it over and set it on the counter, and hold my coffer mark out for Greizis to trace. They shake their head in bemusement and do so.

“Listen, if it works, I want to hear about it. If it goes how I think it will, I expect I’ll hear about that too. Gods-speed, you crazy idiot.”

“What’s the worst that can happen? I already died once,” I joke.

“Yeah, you know that can happen again, right?”

“Sure. Maybe I can be a raggamoffyn next.” I turn and carry out my purchases before they can respond, but I do hear them shout in a raspy voice “That requires at least one of your hands to be intact!” after me.

I head back to the Derelict for lunch, stopping by the Black Sailcloth to see if my clothes are ready yet. Inez nods to me as I enter, and I see Wren sitting nearby working away at an order.

“Hi Captain, any chance my clothes are done?”

She looks over to Wren, letting her answer.

“Just about, I’m finishing up the last skirt now, should be done shortly.”

“Ok, no worries. I wanted to take a look at jewelry anyway. No rush.”

Inez stands and beckons me over to a glass case built into the counter. “Looking for anything in particular?”

“Well, most specifically, I want to replace a necklace I had back home that got lost on my way over. It was silver with black enamel, and a goat’s head superimposed over a pentacle, one point down.”

“That’s… specific. I’m not familiar with that symbol, but… hm.” She opens the case and takes a pendant out, “this piece uses obsidian and silver, and is enchanted so that you can alter its design with a short ritual after you buy it. It’s a little pricey, but I get the feeling you spend like my old crew mates after a good haul.”

Wren laughs in her corner.

“Sold. I’d also like something like an armored bracelet, something fashionable and showy, but that will actually offer some protection. Maybe more like a fashionable light gauntlet than a bracelet. Right hand, please.”

Inez cocks a scaled eyebrow. “I know that look. If you have a line on a good target to loot, you should tell your captain.”

“In a way, I do, but it’s more… sentimental than actually valuable.”

“You wouldn’t lie to your Captain, would you?”

“Not on my life, Captain. I may be crazy and a little stupid, but I reserve those for wild ass acts of unprecedented magic.”

Inez and Wren share a glance, “Ok, yeah, that would explain it,” Inez says, “you magic types see ‘highly dangerous and unprecedented’ as gift wrapping.”

“I’d deny it, but it’s true,” I grin.

Inez shakes her head with a rueful smile, “Alright. I think I’ve got a piece for you. Found it back in the day and held on to it. It’s pretty specialized, but not so much as to be worth a ton of money. Figured I’d wait till I find someone who could use it and I could actually stand.” She pulls a box out of the cabinets behind her, sets it on the counter and unlocks it to open the hinged top for me to see.

Inside is a single, light gauntlet, made of thin blood-colored metal riveted to a diaphanous fabric within. The fingers of the gauntlet are carefully articulated, but the very ends of the fingers are open, leaving the wearer’s fingertips (and claws, in my case) free. The gauntlet itself extends part way up the forearm, where a large black stone is set. The knuckles feature short spines, arching back towards the arm. Useful as weapons, but I feel their purpose is more to do with the stone in the arm. Rather than being parallel, the knuckle spines are angled so that each one points toward the center of it. Beneath the fine filigree decorating the fingers, flexible wires run from the tips to the spines, possibly indicating some energy channeling function. Whether away from or towards the wearer, I’m not not sure.

Inez sniffs, “apparently, this is a gauntlet that is specifically made for the kind of thing you’re going to do. Most spellcasters these days stick to known spells, just trying to find new uses for them. But for those who play with raw magical energy, these used to be important tools. At least, that’s what the appraiser told me. Might be a load of shit. Materially, it’s worth about 1800 gold, due to the carnamanite, black star sapphire in the forearm guard, and the craftsmanship. I was told it also has magical qualities, but the appraiser was not able to discern the nature of them. What do you think of 2,300 gold for it?”

I’m still entranced by the gauntlet, I feel like it tugs at my very essence. I nod, “I can do that.”

Inez closes the box and the spell on me is broken once the gauntlet is out of sight. “Alright. If this thing turns out to be some artifact of doom, just spare Wren and I, ok?”

I laugh, “Sure, Captain. I wanted to take a look at some rings, too. My fingers have been feeling naked.”

Inez chuckles and gestures to a display of rings, ranging from copper to gold, plain to ornate. I pick a few out that are closest to the three I wore at home on my left hand, at least when I went out for things that weren’t work. The nice thing about rings is that a bare pentacle can be worn in either direction, so that’s easy enough, and there’s even a goat’s head-like ring, albeit without the pentacle my largest ring back home had under the goat’s head. They’ll do. More touches of my old life in my new. Wren brings over a bundle of fabric and sets it on the counter with my accumulating purchases. Inez asks if I want a sack or something, and I decline, just putting the items in my quasidimensional bag. Altogether, I hold out my coffer mark for a bit over 2500 gold. I bid goodbye to Inez and Wren, and head over to the Derelict for lunch before I start fucking around with raw magic.

The Derelict, it turns out, serves burgers, as I learn when I walk in and see a couple people eating. I take a look over at the board behind the bar, and I’m going to guess that they’re the item listed as “sausage steak sandwich.” Which… I mean, yeah. Basically. There’s no Hamburg in Urtrament (I’m guessing), and mostly you grind meat for sausage, so… yeah. Slit open the casing, mix the ground meat with an egg and maybe a couple other things, and you’ve got a burger.

I clamber up onto a stool at the bar where Hazel is leaning against the back counter for lack of anything that needs doing at the moment, but greets me. “Looking for lunch, Wreaz?”

I nod, “yeah. Could I please get a sausage steak sandwich, with bacon on it if possible? Ooh, actually, could I also get a fried egg on it?”

She’s a bit perplexed by the order, but says sure. “Thin or thick chips with it?”

New terms to me, but I’m going to take a guess, “thick chips, please.”

She nods and turns to poke her head into the kitchen, and pass my order to whoever’s working it this afternoon, and turns back to me, “Cider?”

“Please.”

Lunch passes pleasantly, thick chips turns out to be fries, and the only thing missing from the sandwich I’d expect on a burger is, like, lettuce, onions and tomatoes. Which… well, onions would be good. But I’m not missing them.

I start to consider setting to my task, and a thought occurs to me. A thought I’ve apparently finally gotten into my brain after countless of “let’s see what this does!” moments in roleplaying games back home.

I should talk to someone about what I’m planning. I send a message to Mez’gin.

Wreaz

“Hey Me’gin, I think I need the thoughts of someone more experienced with Urtrament magic than I am. I’m looking at using conjuration magic to get my cat from home. I picked up scrolls of gate, plane shift and call mount and have gone over the language and metamechanisms, and I think I can act as the conduit. But… I’m trying to not be impulsive. This would require working magic that reaches across worlds.”

Mez’gin

“…

“am I able to convince you not to try, at least not yet?”

Wreaz

“I mean… I really want to try this. I want my cat. How… bad of an idea is this?”

Mez’gin

“Well, it’s not the safest thing. Magic can be incredibly dangerous, and making a new spell is usually the work of, at least, months. And you’ve been working on this for a day?”

Wreaz

“(sighs) Ok, I know I’m still being impulsive. But I think I can do this. It’s a relatively straightforward effect, and I’m pretty sure I can use myself as a conduit to reach through Æther. Æther at least somewhat touches my world.”

Mez’gin

“Will you wait until I’m there so I can help you? I can make it back to Marsti tonight, I’m just in lectures. I’ll get someone to teleport me.”

Wreaz

“I can wait that long at least. It’ll let me compile my pages of notes and scribbles into something usable.

“Oh, also I think this should help?”

I send her a picture of my new gauntlet.

Mez’gin

“...Where the FUCK did you get a carnamanite ��therworker’s gauntlet?”

Wreaz

“A former pirate captain who has taken a shine to me and would also rather I don’t blow myself up fucking around with uncodified magic?”

It takes a few minutes for Mez’gin to respond.

Mez’gin

“I literally don’t know how to draw a face that conveys my mixture of envy, concern, interest, and sheer what-the-fuck.”

I respond with a laugh, and a picture of my gauntleted hand delicately touching my chest.

Mez’gin

“!!!!

“I’ll message you when I’m able to teleport over. Don’t do anything crazy, no matter how much you’re pretty sure you can do it.”

Wreaz

“T_T Ok. I’m staying at The Derelict. I’ll pull this together into something usable.”

[probablyevilideasafterdark]

An Earth Trans in Urtrament ch 1: "Just Like My Japanese Animus"

I’m sitting at my computer, staring at an endless scroll of meaningless stimulation, for… the third night in a row? I think it’s the third. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I have nothing to do tomorrow. Nowhere to be. No one to see, all my friends are busy with real lives. I don’t even have a job to be at. I’m not sure there is a job for me, at least, not one that is willing to accept some overweight queer who resents the necessity of work like me, let alone one that will also play nice with my fucked up brain and terminally fucked body.

Basically, right now, my life is a long stretch of dissociation, with occasional moments of me having to pull my head back on long enough to do some necessary task, like buy groceries because I’ve already put it off for a week and there’s nothing in my fridge.

I look at one of the clocks on my desktop (the other is on my second screen for when I’m using the entirety of my main screen). Apparently it’s 6am.

Fine, I guess that means I might as well go do that grocery thing. Some close-by store will be open and I don’t have to go across town to the only 24-hour one, even if it’s my preferred store. I’m used to it, but… I can’t waste the gas.

I pull myself away from the computer, putting it to sleep, and go throw on clothes I can leave my apartment in. They’re not nice clothes, but they’re not pjs I’ve been wearing for a week straight. I slip on my shoes, throw a bottle of vape juice and some earbuds in my purse, my phone in my back pocket, tell my cat “I’ll be back, be good,” and go and get in my car.

It’s ten minutes before I set my phone in the cup holder and actually leave my complex parking lot. ADD is a bitch of a mental condition. Sometimes I wonder about seeking hard street drugs that might give me the serotonin my brain is so starved of. But I have no money, so. Maybe I could suck dick for whatever makes my brain work, but… maybe not. It is what it is.

I wind up driving across town anyway. I’m not paying attention, driving on autopilot, and just wound up heading that direction. I’d have to stop, and find wi-fi, and spend time googling to find another store that’s open now and then turn around, so… fuck it. I’ll go to my old standby from when I lived on that end of town.

But I never get there.

My car crashes into some asshole not paying attention to signs who comes out of nowhere as I’m doing 50. Just as I’m turning my car off and grumbling about the whole thing, swearing about how this was the last goddamned thing I needed, the lights hit me.

I turn just in time to see another asshole not paying attention, bearing down on my crashed car. This time in a semi. I have just a moment to swear and reach for the door handle, and then…

Blackness. But blackness with texture and depth, and yet like a thin sheet laid over some brilliant kaleidoscope of color. Like the blackness wasn’t a color or an absence of light, but a thin plush blanket, and the colors behind it weren’t simple light or visual information, but an endlessly varied landscape of shapes. All you see is the blanket, all you can technically feel is the blanket, but under it lies shapes and forms, and you can make them out through the fabric of the blanket.

I look down, and don’t see my body. I don’t see ground, either, just more blackness over a riot of color. I don’t know if this is Hell, or the last visions of an oxygen-starved brain, or… a genuine Heaven, a heaven tailored to each experiencer, and this lush, brilliant darkness with no aching body was mine.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t know where you are, do you?” says a voice from everywhere and nowhere.

“...should I?” My voice… well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that it likewise comes from everywhere and nowhere. I mean, I didn’t see a body when I looked down, so where do I expect my voice to come from?

The disembodied pantheonic voice giggles, a light, chiming sound but overlaid a gutteral chuckle, and a hacking laugh, and other sounds of amusement that I couldn’t begin to describe. A part of me says I’m the joke, but the voice, the sound of the laugh, is reassurance itself. The voice isn’t laughing at me, just a funny thing that happened, no mistake or slip of mine.

“I’m sorry, you’re… not from… here. Even the people from here probably wouldn’t recognize where they were in your place. So, it’s my mistake for not thinking about how confused you would be.” The voice pauses, a silent “hmm” reverberates, “I think you’d call it an ‘outside context problem,’ but… also that you’d then say that’s wrong. Well, no matter, you’re… Let us say you are in Æther. And that Æther is… a substance, and a place that substance comes from and… well, me.”

I cocked a non-existant eyebrow and spiritually smirked, “Well, I’ve always wanted to wake up inside of someone who sounds as beautiful as you, but usually I’m more of a bottom…” I couldn’t resist. My mind, all I am now, I guess, is by nature much like how Edgar Allen Poe died–dirty, delirious and in the gutter.

The voice giggled with a symphony of voices again. “Charmer.”

“Of a sort, so I’ve been told. …so… are all religions wrong?”

“Hmm? Oh, the religions of your world, you mean?”

“Ye- ah, right, you said I’m not ‘from here,’ so… I take it I’m not ‘in’ my world, and Æther isn’t connected to it, right?”

“Correct. Æther is connected to a world known as Urtrament. Don’t worry, you’ll probably find it quite familiar, even if only as something you’ve… played in? I’m not sure I understand those memories. Imagined, it’s a world similar to those you’ve imagined many times.”

“Just like my Japanese animus…” I mutter, wryly.

“Y…eeess… I’m sorry, I can read that you’re making a reference, but I don’t understand it.”

“Don’t worry, most people in my world I hung out with didn’t get my references, either.” I look around, and settle for imagining that I’ve lounged myself over a handy chair. To Æther’s credit, I feel it, after a fashion. “So… why am I here? Is this really like one of my ‘Japanese Animus’ and you’ve brought me here as some chosen one you can throw at an evil overlord?”

“No, you just… you seemed so unhappy. And then you died, and in such a painful and unjust way.”

I shake my head in essence, “Not so unfair. I’m not the most attentive driver, either. And there are people who die far less just deaths than mine every day in my world. It wasn’t that painful, either, to be honest. Too quick for pain to register.”

I could sense my conversation partner nodding, “this is true. I can’t capture every soul so callously or unjustly snuffed out, however. I could grasp yours, though. My realm is Urtrament, not your world. At best, I can nudge things, just a little, and catch the occasional queer soul.”

“Queer as in odd, or is liking the same gender’s bits actually a requirement?”

“Well, I do consider Urtramentis who are like you in that to be more tied to me than their fellows, but, no, queer as in odd.”

“Tsk. Woulda been nice for there to be something that was just ours,” I snark again. “You can nudge things in my world… I think my cat has plenty of food, but, if you could just… nudge the bag over, if necessary, until someone comes by to take care of my effects? And maybe, if this counts as a nudge, make sure my little notebook of last wishes is in a conspicuous place in case my parents are the ones who show up?”

The voice smiled in benediction, “your concern for your cat does you credit. I’ll see if I can nudge those couple of things for you. Cats help.”

“Thank you. Tell my cat I love her, if you can?”

“She knows, in the way that animals can know such things.”

I sniffle ephemerally. “So… what did you pick up my tarnished little soul for?”

“Do not sell your soul so short. You couldn’t see it, perhaps, but… your soul is vast. It reminds me of some of the most magnificent spirits to have sprung from me in Urtrament, not only vast like those of my beloved primal beasts, but radiant like theirs, too. And not so tarnished. Patinaed, maybe. Broken in, perhaps. Your soul is not dirty, or ragged. It is not some worn-out threadbare thing. It has been shaped, and given character, in the same way a shield or a bulwark is made unique by the blows it deflects, or a crucible is blackened by the flame that cannot consume it, and colored by the metals it renders. Even some of the gods of Urtrament do not have souls such as yours. Though, and I think you’ll enjoy this, there is a devil whose essence is much like your soul. Misused and discarded by their creators, all because they found a purpose and a meaning that ran counter to their creators’ beliefs. Look into Lahanael, when you can.”

If souls can cry, I’m certain I’m watering this otherworld now. I sniffle again. “...thank you. …how will I be able to look into Lahanael?”

“It so happens that… someone in Urtrament was… similarly unlucky at the same moment as you. But where as your body was destroyed, and survived by your soul, her soul was snuffed out, to be survived by her body. And I think… you would be a good fit for the hole she left in the world. If you would like to take it.”

“What happened to her?”

“There are… beings in Urtrament with immense power and greater callousness. She thought she could bear the weight of a pact with one such being, a pact for power. To her credit, she did, for a moment. Long enough for some of the physical boons to materialize and be bound to her mortal form. But, her soul was obliterated. Which ended the pact, as while the boons were bound to her mortal body, the pact concerned her soul. If you decide to step into what was left, you will not be party to the pact she formed. But you’ll receive the tangible boons.”

“...would this create a pact between you and I?”

“In a sense, but I’m a patron of no demands, save that you do your best with the gifts I give. Our pact will not obliterate your soul, I’m certain of that.”

“Who was she?”

“Cassiel Oredenark, a daughter of a Templar from the cult-nation of Ny-Aarnd. She had been disowned already for seeking such heretical power, but she persisted, believing it to be no different from how Ny-Aarnd himself gained his power and that she could show that she was as worthy as her father, as Ny-Aarnd himself, that she was strong enough to own power such as what she sought, and through that strength, as free as her father and their hero-god-king. Having been disowned, she reached out to The Oroboric Coil and Pergamano University, colleges of magic, to see if either would take her. Having little magical ability of her own yet, and having sought power that many would consider of a dubious nature, she had higher hopes for The Coil, but her status meant that she expected Pergamano to at least consider her application.”

“So… I would be some young noble woman turned occult petitioner, on my way to a school of magic?”

That smile that was more a feeling than a sight came over me again, “yes. If you wish to tread the path she charted. You could abandon all of that, but… I did say I felt your soul would be a good fit for the hole she left. Part of her pact involved certain physical changes, and mental ones, as well. I can… co-opt some of the transmutative energy created by such changes and tailor your new form to your wishes, to some extent. I… it would take too much of my power to completely overwrite whatever changes she agreed to. I don’t know quite what would happen if I poured my power into Urtrament in such a magnitude, but I’d rather not learn. So, you will end up with some physical and mental traits that you may not entirely want.”

“But you’ll help me make some I do?”

Æther nodded holistically.

“Well, how can I not accept?” I smirked, conceptually rubbing my hands together.

“Oh, one more thing I feel I should disclose… certain… aspects of your mind will mark you as a goblin in Urtrament. From what I can see of your memories, you have a certain conceptualization of what goblins are, and… Urtramenti goblins match well enough, as a whole, but in this world, goblinness is a… Condition. It is characterized by a complex of mental and physiological traits that occur at random, or apparent random, among all mortal peoples. I believe that Cassiel held some of these traits, but concealed them well. I can help you erase some of these mental traits, or, if you wish, we can shape your new form to embody the goblin-ness of your mind. But you needed to know this to be the case.”

I chuckled, “fucking point my ears and paint me green, Æther, I’m already a goblin where I come from, lets make it explicit.”

The atmosphere giggled again, “You truly are one of mine. You’ll need a new name, might I suggest Wreaz? It is the word for myself and my realm and substance in the Goblin cant. And it is very subtly feminine by connotation.”

“I would be honored, Æther.”