The first rule of runecraft is this: you cannot make an enchantment that will solve every problem.
-First rule of an unknown enchanter’s ‘Big Three’
*=====*
Avarice never considered himself clever like Pride did. He never considered himself honor-bound like Idle did. He never considered himself enamored by the mistress like Jealous was. He never considered himself bent on self improvement like Fury was. He never considered himself passionate like Crave did. He never considered himself naturally talented in his field like Desire was. Looking at the paper in front of him, with the sheer detail needed, and the thought that went into it, only one thing was on his mind, ‘I need to step it up, huh?’
“So, can you help us?” Fara asked, a bright, enthusiastic smile on her face; in those first moments of intellect, but a week ago, he could have imagined himself having the same excitement. In spite of that, he had tempered his mind to be more analytical. More methodical. That was what he told himself, but he knew that he was simply bored of tailoring shirts and the like and wanted to move to bigger and better things.
Thinking about it, the project in front of him was exactly what he wanted.
In response to Fara, he nodded hesitantly; no matter how much he wanted to do it, he had to take his skills into account, “Maybe?” he said, “I can shape the basic armor without a problem, but the art on this… I don’t know if I can do it.”
The two women nodded, “That’s alright,” the mistress soothed, “I trust you with this sort of stuff. If you can’t make the carvings, then that’s fine.” For whatever reason, the suggestion that they might not be able to carve the armor irked him a bit. It was not so much that he did not like his skill being questioned, but more that he disliked being unable to make the armor the best it could be. As he thought, the mistress giggled a bit, her hollow, feminine voice sounding a bit strange, “From the look in your eyes, you don’t like that idea, do you?”
He shook his head with some annoyance, “No, I don’t.”
“Didn’t think so,” the mistress giggled once more, “Alright, what should I do while you guys do… whatever you’re doing?”
Fara, head in a box, called out, “You’ll be lying on the table while we make the armor around you,” she said, her voice muffled by the box, “Though, some testing will be important; normally self-repair enchantments don’t restore runes, because… well, that’s up to debate, but most agree that only something that can cast magic can restore enchantments.” The woman pulled her head from the box, holding a few screwdriver-like tools, “That only applies to runes —runes can’t make sigils or runes, only cast whatever spell they’re made into— but it may not be the case for your lich body.”
“So what?” the mistress snorted, “We make a little rune on my gauntlet and see if it comes back after smashing my arm?” Avarice turned to see the woman’s smile widen as the mistress suggested the idea sarcastically, “Wait, Fara, I was joking… You won’t break my arm just to test out whether or not they grow back, will you?”
Fara only smiled wider, “Why not? It’s not it’ll do any serious damage, right? Besides, you don’t mind a little bit of pain, do you?”
“I don’t even register the physical pain, anyway,” the mistress grumbled.
“Then that’s just another reason, right?” the woman beamed, “Besides , don’t you want the cool suit of armor to be the best it can be?” she asked teasingly.
The mistress grumbled more until finally heaving a large sigh, “Fine, fine. I’ll do it. Wait, am I keeping this gauntlet?” she asked, running her bony hand over it.
Fara shook her head, “No. That is just a gauntlet. It’s not something as good as what we’re about to make. So, let’s get started!” What followed was a basic test of Fara’s suggestion; she carved a small arrow into the mistress’ gauntlet, grabbed a bucket of runic paint from somewhere Avarice was not attentive enough to discern, and painted a rune on her arm. A small test revealed that it was a low-power flaming slash.
Proving that the enchantment worked, Fara then brought out a large hammer; he was still unable to figure out where she hid the large tool. After a bit more whining from the mistress, she finally let Fara use the hammer. In one quick motion, she brought the stone hammer down on the gauntlet and a crack rang out.
The hammer fell apart, dropping shards of stone and dust down onto the floor. Fara laughed as the mistress told her off about her ‘prank’ and grabbed another, seemingly heavier hammer. He was able to figure out where she hid the random items, though; they were under the workbenches in shelves that Avarice did not even know existed.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Luckily, the next strike was not met with the mistress’ whining, but with timid acceptance. The hammer struck with a clang and Avarice watched as the clocksteel armor was slightly dented. Sighing, Fara struck once more, denting the armor before it had time to reforge itself. The pattern continued until Fara seemed to have enough, plucking a chisel from another workbench and carving the rune out.
Just as Fara plucked the rune from the dented arm, it fell to dust in her fingers. They watched with bated breath, for her at least, as the dust swirled back into the mistress’ arm. The dented metal rose, the dust swirled, and her arm was quickly reformed. The mistress let out a small peep as the metal, rune and all, began to glow green, then red. After a few moments, the gauntlet was normal once more, pristine and with the rune still there.
The mistress then fired the rune at the wall, confirming what they had all been wondering, “Yep, it works. But… ugh… that was weird…” the mistress complained, “I could feel something grab hold of my soul and use it like a pen. It pushed thoughts through me and… it was just weird.”
Fara’s cheerful demeanor changed in an instant, “Oh, crap, are you alright Mori? Sorry, I didn’t know you’d go through that.”
The mistress simply shook her head, “No, no, I’m fine. Thanks, Fara. But now we know what happens when we enchant my body, right?”
Avarice noted that the woman took a few moments to calm back down, finally nodding once the mistress showed herself to be fine, “Yeah, we do. That means that we can add a bunch of fun stuff to your suit and it’ll all be in perfect condition as long as you live… Hmm…” she hummed, hand on chin.
“What’re you thinking about?” the mistress asked.
Fara glanced back at Mori for a moment before gripping her chin harder, “I was just thinking… Can you make other liches? Or some undead with abilities like your regeneration?” she asked. Avarice could already see where the woman was going with her suggestion and he was in total agreement; having nigh immortal suits of armor on the battlefield would give them an immense advantage, especially if they were able to build them however they wanted.
Evidently, the mistress understood what she was suggesting and was not amused, “Fara… we can’t turn thinking beings into unliving weapons.”
“Mori… What if they were alright with it?” Fara shot back.
The mistress took a few moments to consider it, then shrugged, “Only if they agree to it after they find their passion. Think about it. Would Desire want to be trapped in a metal shell for the entirety of her unlife? Would Mae? Tisi? Ally? Actually, maybe she would be fine. Anyway, Crave? Avarice?” she asked, turning to him, “Would you want to if you could? Be in a suit of armor for all that time until you are taken from it?”
Avarice could not bring himself to say that he would want to. He would do it in a heartbeat, proverbially speaking, if the mistress ordered him to, but he would not seek it out of his own volition. He shook his head lightly at the mistress’ words as Fara sighed, “Alright, fine. No putting any intelligent undead in a suit. What if you could put an unintelligent undead in one?”
Mori nodded, “Well, obviously. They’re not really ‘sentient’ beings, so I think it’s alright. Well… hrm…” she mumbled, wearing a complicated expression, “Alright, yeah, I would be fine with that,” she finally said, “But is there a way to take the regenerative property of being a lich and give it to something without it being sentient?”
“Of course there is,” Fara said, “Do you still have the mana you used to make yourself into… you?”
The mistress was about to respond when a system message suddenly popped up in front of his face.
[Don’t even think about it. The mana you used to become you, Mori, is something that goes beyond making undead. If you were to use it, you would, one, drain the entire Vast Dust of mana —such a major change that could make the world become unbalanced— and two, probably create a weird hybrid between lich and zombie. Long story short: Don’t.
-Sa’ar’kik]
“Well, that puts a damper on our plan,” the mistress said after a few moments, “So… what now?”
Fara sighed, plucking a tool from the box beside them and handing it to him, “Well, we’re still going to make you your armor, but now you get to think about how to make an undead like you while we do it.”
Avarice could tell that the mistress bit back a sigh, “Alright, fine. Do you have an idea for me, before you go into your strange zen while you do stuff?”
Fara gave a sigh, not biting it back like the mistress, “I don’t go into a ‘strange zen,’ Mori. Look, here’s how most people try to make new mana types: imagine what you want to happen, then imagine how it would be accomplished. If you want to make it even better, then consider the why. If you want to make it more situationally powerful, imagine a when or where. That’s really it, I think.”
The mistress stared at the woman in disbelief, “How do you know this sort of stuff? Did your mom teach you?” Fara nodded, “Alright, but if it’s so easy, then how aren’t there so many more mana types out there?”
“Well,” Fara began, “Making a new mana type is probably the last thing most people want to do. Think about it like this: if you have three types of mana in your repertoire, then you can combine them in… seven ways. Each of those seven can have different uses based on what form the sigils are set in, how much of each mana type is in the spell, and what you use the spell on. If you wanted to make a different type of undead, all you would need to do, Mori, is change the spell you’re using. This is different. This, I think, has a lot of weird interactions between the system, your body, and the real world that there has to be more at work than just basic mana types.”
The mistress nodded, her entire focus on Fara. Avarice was beginning to feel like what Desire described as a ‘third wheel’ and he had no clue what they were on about. He just hoped they would start soon. Alas, it was not to be, as the mistress suddenly widened her eye-flames, “Oh, I get it! So because there’s so much weird stuff going on right now, there has to be one of those ‘esoteric’ concepts you were talking about. So I need to think less about the physical reality and more about… Something?”
Fara giggled, “Yeah, but you have to be the one figuring out what that ‘something’ is. Anyway, we’ve been putting this off for long enough. Avarice, let’s go!” Fara called as she raised her screwdriver-like tool in a faux-battle cry. He could only go along with it as they got to work, but there was one thing he was sure of. He would make this the best suit of armor he could imagine it to be. With every drop of talent and intellect in him. For the mistress and for himself.