Ok, so it’s been a minute (and then some).
Lots of life has happened since my last update, so let me see where I left off…
Let’s see, there was.. Uh.. Rubius’ freedom and all that story… Hmmm? Oh right, she/they ended up changing their name from Abethia. Not entirely certain the meaning behind it, but Lucy thought it made perfect sense. So who am I to judge?
I still owe the story about going to an orc and troll bar.
I got involved with the local witch (and not in the fun way).
And I got a flatmate. Sort of.
So… I guess I’ll start with Rubius.
So it turns out that the female exterior was a somewhat enforced look by whatever wizard sealed her/them into the Prism. Since they don’t DNA, at least not in any way that regular baseline science would register, it’s all just… magic. Which isn’t really much of a bonus all things considered, but again, being mostly baseline, who am I to judge?
And I will most likely keep repeating that. I’ve been repeating it to myself a lot these last few months. It’s a kind of coping strategy that went well with my breakdown.
Yes, that’s right. Yours truly, Sam Evermore, Seer to the Council, Survivor of a Death Spell, and Shatterer of Prisms, had a breakdown. But more about that later.
So firstly, the aftermath of having broken a guardian free of its (their?) Prism.
The Council was by and large horrified/amazed to say the least. Apparently, they didn’t like that I actually used the weapon they sent me, but they more or less ordered me to stay out of any other Prisms until they authorize me otherwise.
Naturally, this hasn’t stopped any number of wizards, including Rennet, from reaching out to me about other Prisms with equivalent uncontrolled guardians. So I finally got around to setting up a kind of… consulting request page. It’s just a bit of basic pages, but it gives the wizards a direct ‘here’s what I will, won’t, and legally can’t do’ along with a required small deposit for anyone who actually wants or needs my services. Nothing that I’ll get rich on, but suffice it to say that I’m not hurting for work or money.
Rennet’s Prism did end up collapsing about a week after our trip and broke into some exceedingly expensive components, but he didn’t seem overly broken up about it. Apparently, he’d hardly noticed it, given that he’d managed to pull no less than 25 equivalent piles of books as tall as he was from the Prism before it had done so.
I was tempted to ask for a few books as a bonus payment, but given that I couldn’t read any of the covers or spines, I doubted there was anything I’d have gotten any use out of. Apparently, even Rennet was having to rent a special magical translation system in order to get some use out of the books.
Luckily, he was able to get said system on the cheap, being the local librarian and being able to submit some of the more standard texts for other wizards to review as well. The bounty on found texts that are outside of the standard is apparently very high indeed, but it usually requires a broad distribution in order to get it. Think… Project Gutenberg except for magically preserved texts and tablets. Apparently, there’s even some urns that are wholly a unique part of the database.
But that’s about it on that bit.
The ombudsman came around rather quickly and set about getting Rubius an appropriate place. Naturally, the first couple of discussions were a bit difficult. Lucy and Rubius did a bit of… well, let’s just call it magic, even though Lucy explained the process as a kind of… supplanting of knowledge by will, but not actually learning, but also having always been learned. Yeah, it doesn’t really make sense to me either. I guess you could call it a kind of willful implanting of someone else’s memory of knowledge, but it’s apparently more involved than that.
It helped get Rubius to speak something closer to English, but that was just the start. Getting her/them up to speak on colloquialisms, technology shift, legal status, and just the nature of the world into which they were entering was an entire crash course unto itself.
Just the walk between Rennet’s and the apartment was something of a challenge as Rubius hadn’t ever seen anything like a car and wasn’t entirely certain what to make of them. Even with a bit of translational memory, it was still akin to taking someone who’d never seen the ocean and teleporting them onto a raft in the middle of an ocean and expecting them to thrive.
Luckily, Lucy took Rubius in for the first few nights while our Gnomish ombudsman sorted out the paperwork and figuring out how to best inform Rubius and this bit of the world at large.
As I mentioned as part of my previous entry, pretty boring by most accounts, but still interesting all the same.
Oh and just because it is worth mentioning, I asked Lucy how she wanted to be referred to, given the revelations with Rubius. She indicated that she’s fine with being who I know her to be and to leave it at that. And then she stuck her tongue out at me, complete with a small flame on the end. She always knows how to make me laugh.
So, Rubius got a place of their own, another building a few towns over, had the ombudsman running interference (since talk tv and news shows also run 24/7 in the non-baseline community), and mostly focused on coming to terms with their new existence.
Not very exciting, right? Well, it’s not exactly like I can barge in and demand they involve me. (I get enough of that from wizards to know how rude it is.)
So, here’s the story I’ve been promising for a while now: going to a troll and orc bar.
As mentioned, the Super for my building is an older troll, who could pass for a pretty jacked baseline. He wore a necklace that made his skin pass for baseline, because otherwise he was almost snowy white skinned. In his prime, he probably could have passed for an ice giant or something approaching one.
Not all trolls are the same color and within the joint bar, they tend to take off their necklaces and leave them at the front door. It’s practically an entry requirement. Luckily, it’s not actually a requirement, so I didn’t need to borrow one to get through the front door.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
That being said, Lucy seemed intent on getting me to this particular bar. Why? Apparently they serve an amazing lava flow, featuring actual lava.
Nope, I’m not fireproof and I don’t have anything in my kit even now to make me more than minutely flame/heat resistant. At least nothing that doesn’t qualify as baseline type protection.
Anyway, Lucy assured me that it was the best bar in the city and I just had to stop in since I had just gotten my ‘license’ to be a Seer to the Council. I was pretty skeptical, but Lucy was buying the first three rounds, so I wasn’t about to turn that down. Hello expensive cocktail menu (or at least midgrade sipping alcohol).
Well, my/our first mis-step was entering and when the attendant asked for our necklaces and coats if we had any, I turned to Lucy since I had no idea what she (the attendant) meant.
The attendant looked like a baseline female coat check attendant, albeit maybe a bit curvier than one might expect at something like a higher end restaurant or the theatre. According to Lucy, this is generally how orc women appear in camouflage. Something to do with how orcs are built means that they are almost exclusively heavier set than baselines. Not necessarily fat, but also not necessarily rippling with muscle.
It is also worth mentioning that unlike fantasy orcs of baseline fiction (which it turns out orcs use as a kind of comedy, even though it seems like it should be insulting), orcs could outdo fantasy vampires for being stylish. My downstairs old lady vampire passes for a grandmotherly type and so that level of style just doesn’t suit her. Plus she prefers jogging suits and mumus.
Anyway, back to orcs.
So Lucy got to explain to me and the attendant that she’s a djinn and I’m a Seer and we’re here for the drink specials. The attendant froze for half an instant and looked me solidly up and down. Based on the aftermath, I think she was trying to discern if I was holding Lucy hostage somehow and what degree of trouble I was about to cause.
She nodded almost imperceptibly and tapped a button and the inner door opened.
The club, and I will have to explain the kind of club in a moment, beyond the inner door was pleasantly filled, but not overly loud.
You know those 1930s set movies where the actors go to a gin and jazz joint, everyone is drinking, smoking, having quiet conversations, dressed fancy, someone feminine singing to provide ambiance? Well, other than smoking and the clothing nominally associated with that kind of setting, you’re almost spot on.
I suddenly felt entirely underdressed and almost wanted to go back to the apartment for a complete change of clothes and possibly even a trip to a tailor or five with a blank check.
Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately, Lucy was there to tug me along to an empty section of the bar, where a young troll was in the process of turning something into a pulp. The rest of the bar was sparsely filled, most of the guests apparently preferring tables to sitting at the bar.
The young troll, easily 7’ tall, a silvery blue and dressed in a velvety green waistcoat that appeared to barely fit him, looked us over, his eyes looking away for a moment and then back to us.
“And what can I get you folks this evening?” he rumbled in a baritone that could have been mistaken for well tuned tuba backfiring.
“I’d like to see your baseline safe cocktail menu,” I asked, having been coached by Warren as I was dragged out the door by Lucy to remember my limits (since Lucy didn’t exactly have any).
“And you?” he rumbled to Lucy.
“An extra tall lava flow, extra lava. And this night is all on me,” she said brightly.
“Hey now! I thought you said only the first three drinks,” I faux protested.
“Well, becoming a Seer to the Council is big deal, so I expect to celebrate,” Lucy stuck her nose in the air.
As joyful as it seemed, the room near us seemed to quiet slightly and chill slightly. Not that I’d really have noticed since winter was just ending, so I was still wearing something approaching warmer clothing.
The troll bartender looked at us both again and after a moment, smiled broadly.
“Certainly! Here you are, sir,” as he flourished a menu from underneath the bar.
It was surprisingly well documented and apparently well used. I learned later that part of that was that younger trolls and orcs (measured in baseline terms, not in orc and troll terms) typically had to learn to drink like baselines and so they had to learn the drinks as part of fitting in.
This is also how I learned that orcs love brandy cocktails and trolls are rather partial to ouzo. Not the ones I’d have guessed, given the rather fancy surroundings, but who am I to judge?
I ended up selecting a coffee and ouzo cocktail that included fennel syrup.
Lucy’s smoking concoction emerged from the back just as my cocktail was slowly decanted into a tall stemmed glass. Both arrived almost simultaneously and given the rather potent look of Lucy’s, we settled on an air clink of our drinks.
And with that came the next mis-step.
I’d just finished my third sip of what was proving to be an amazing cocktail, when my bar stool spun and I was face to face with an immaculately dressed red orc who was easily 4 times my mass and wasn’t even that much taller than me standing up. His suit coat was probably more expensive than my couch given how well it was cut on him.
“I say, did I hear correctly that you’re a Seer to the Council?” he asked, his voice blending with the ambient singer as easily as a french horn might.
“Yes, that’s correct,” I said, glancing sideways at Lucy. The orc caught the glance and looked over at Lucy.
“If you need help, you’ve come to the right place,” he said to her, his french horn chilling into low trombone territory.
“He’s my neighbor and we’re here to celebrate,” Lucy said, rather defensively.
Even with as slow as I can be at times, even I had picked up on what was being said or rather not said.
“Hey, I don’t know what I don’t know. Other than our building’s Super, I’ve never met a troll and now you’re the first orc I’ve ever met. Nice to meet you, Sam Evermore,” I said, putting on my best client-facing smile and extending the hand that was not holding the drink.
The orc eyed me suspiciously for a moment and then broke into a wide grin and started laughing. The nearest couple of watchers joined him.
After a moment, he reached out and clasped my forearm and gripped it for one almost bone crunching moment, which I tried to reciprocate but wasn’t built for it.
“I know who you are and I’m pleased to have you here, Sam. It’s a pleasure to meet a Seer who isn’t a paladin or a fanatic,” he boasted loudly, the french horn voice returning. “I’m Wilkins and this is my bar. Viktor - their tab is on the house tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” I heard the troll bartender say behind me.
“That’s very generous of you,” I said, half cradling my partially crushed arm and trying to decide if it would be uncomplimentary to take another sip of my liquid painkiller.
“Think nothing of it. Just, uh, don’t cause any trouble, eh? Or at least no trouble that doesn’t come naturally?” he grinned and spun on a well-crafted heel and seemed to glide away.
With Lucy’s help, I got turned back around (the stool being a bit stiff for me).
“What did he mean by that last bit?” I asked Lucy.
“Um… did we come on brawl night?” Lucy asked the bartender Viktor, avoiding my gaze.
“Indeed. Part of why we were a bit surprised to see you both here,” he rumbled.
“What’s brawl night?” I interjected. “And is it what it sounds like?”
“Yes,” Viktor and Lucy said together.
“I haven’t been in a brawl before and it’d be a shame to do it in here and ruin all these fine furnishings,” I tried, already having more than a little sinking feeling.
“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that, sir. It’s more likely that they’ll want to try themselves against a Seer. Think more… contest of wits that often ends up having a few more… spirited discussions,” Viktor said, picking up an orange and placing it in something that looked like some kind of manual mincer/pulper.
Over the course of the next 20 minutes, Lucy and I both were pulling on our drinks something solid. I certainly wasn’t built for a spirited discussion and I could tell that Lucy had forgotten about the brawl night.
And the mis-steps from there, well, that will just have to wait a few days when I can get my hands on some more ouzo.