Rhode used his dressing-time as an opportunity to try to forgive himself for the microwave slip-up. His mind kept twisting to come up with terrible, unforseen long term consequences, and his imagination chugged to make black thunderclouds of future portent.
But try as he might, he wasn’t coming up with convincing doomsday scenarios. He just saw a little old man, looming over a slice of cold pepperoni pizza. Even though the pizza dripped with red as its cheese bubbled to inferno temperatures, it was just tomato sauce and mozzarella. The homunculus shook his proportionally small head and stepped out of his room and into the little receiving chamber. It was just a little alcove outside his door, it wasn’t even closed to the hallway beyond. But it gave the servants a place to sit, and (as Rhode had observed) play dice with the healer interns.
The redheaded goblin from before stepped towards him. She had lots of little needles and pins stuck up and down one side of her neat apron; and she was carrying a little pair of shears in one hand for trimming lint. Rhode decided to call her ‘The Crimson Tailor’.
“Salt in your sails and ash in your hearth, Goodman Irving. My name is Chyrna,” the woman said.
Aw. Farewell to Crimson Tailor, then. Lame.
Goodmiss Chyrna stepped forward and forcefully adjusted some of the smaller details of the towering earth-man’s doublet. She tied hanging strings into intricate looping knots, folded back a flap which Rhode had thought should be buttoned, and buttoned a pleat which he had preferred to stay loose. She was actually hurting him a little as she tugged fabric around, and even sewed him (in one place) into his clothing too tightly for comfort. Overall, she tidied his appearance according to the fashion of nobility, with proficiency and vice-like strength, and Rhode felt a little bullied, after.
“You are presentable. You may go swing your sticks around, now. Shoo.”
Rhode waddled a bit in his new breeches; he kept looking back and feeling just a little bit man-handled. After a moment, he realized that he was blushing, and that made him all the more angry with himself. Scholar Yagget walked at his shoulder, and the man carried an elaborate wooden box to contain and suppress the status bracer inside. The healer followed just behind, on Rhode’s other side, and the poor young man kept having to jog to keep pace.
Setting aside Father Uod, who generally barely bothered to interact with Rhode, there were at least three of the Hornupant kids working his shifts. But they were so young, and left so little of an impression, it was hard for him to remember their names. The hero tried to decide whether he felt bad about it, but then he arrived at his destination and forgot to care again.
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Knowing that the training hall was still part of the underground facility was a disappointment. Rhode had been starved of sunshine for so long, he was starting to muse that he’d forgotten what it felt like. That wasn’t true, of course, but it still left him feeling antsy. Cellar Vault B was located at the end of a sloping hallway, and as Rhode noticed the lack of seams in the stone under his shoes, he came to suspect that it was carved to follow some natural contour of the bedrock under the foundations. This place was half castle, half cave, and a little dip preceded the raised step in front of a huge, bleached coral door. Fascinated, Rhode ran his hand over the surface of the material and experienced the slightest hint of warmth from within. The hairs on his arm stood on end: it was almost like the entryway was still alive.
But that would be ridiculous.
Rhode found the handle and as he heaved inward, the push took more effort than he’d expected. Nothing inside was quite so unusual as the door, but that did not mean he did not find a surprise. Cellar Vault B had, as obviously as its name indicated, been converted from storage. Whatever had been kept there had been cleared out completely since, and the room was laid down with a huge pit of thick-grained sandy clay. The arena spanned a sizeable rectangle of twenty feet by thirty (Rhode was guessing, here), and long wooden planks framed the edges of the court to keep the dirt from spilling.
The homunculus didn’t have to duck so badly to step inside, and he looked up to the high ceiling, which vaulted up to a point and criss-crossed with haphazard rafters that seemed to pin loose boulders in place.
Once again, Rhode was impressed to see that the goblins were ready for him. Sergeant Staberella (not her real name) posed imperiously on the far side of the practice court. Her boots were spread to a wide, solid stance and her arms crossed over her front. Her short hair swooped on the top of her head in a modern-looking way, and she was fitted completely in a light and practical body armor: there were little steel plates, and chain rings and leather bits with metal studs. It all looked surprisingly comfortable, and engineered for real combat in a way that Rhode never considered fantasy armor could be.
“Oh, hey,” the brawn hero said. He rubbed the back of his head with a huge palm and felt the softness of his hair as it was starting to grow in. The half-elven woman didn’t move, but her smirk was growing larger by the moment. Rhode looked around for help from his minders, but neither one gave him any hints. “I can’t ah, do you mind reminding me your name? Sorry, uh, maam?”
“I am Hakkat-Yune of House Jern, sworn banner of House Rugelgridt and Knight of the third entrustment of the Order of the Viper.”
Rhode blinked. “Okay. But is that a last name, or first name? Can I just call you Yune?”
“I have dreamed of the day that I might cross blades with a hero of legend. Draw your steel, Rhode the Mortimer of Irving: for I name thee Dreadlung! Show me why Delight will crumble when you march by our side!”
In a flash, there was a gleaming knife in her left hand, and a short, stabbing sword in the other. “Oh,” Rhode stammered as his healer helpfully shoved a simple, unornamented iron sword into his grip. “I figured I was just gonna do some light cardio, aren’t we at least gonna do some lunges or warm-ups first?”
“You were but a myth to me, and yet today they say you are true. Convince me,” Lady Hakkat-Yune crooned almost seductively. But it was her sword which was coming in towards Rhode for the kiss.