‘The day after’ was, generally, one of the following two things: non-eventful to the point of contention, or a powerful continuation of the previous day’s events. This can be applied to good times, bad times, and everything in between—a spectacularly spectacular blanket statement.
Or, you never even get to that point, as Ivory did. Not having slept in a bed for more than a month would do that to you, not to mention that Ivory was just a teeny bit precious.
He’d woken up a few times, so far. The first was after the (slightly longer than usual, considering the circumstances) major sleep, clocking in at around ten hours. The sun had just fully risen, so it wasn’t as if he’d woken up late.
However! It didn’t end there. Upon waking up not a) on a slat on a boat, b) under a pile of leaves, or c) somewhere he didn’t 100% explicitly feel safe… he hedonistically decided to roll back over in the abomination of doonas he had made for himself and go back to sleep. His [Slumber Mnemonic] had no hand in this—he was running on pure will to sleep in.
Repeat that two more times, and Ivory was ready to greet the day and find out which of the two categories he’d fit into. But first—shower and change clothes. Now that he was back in familiar territory, buying more clothes/finding a laundromat was a high priority. [Cleansing] dirty clothes felt like staggered doom.
Towel equipped, he walked back in his room to get dressed. Misoe was still at the foot of his bed, back-bound and mouth wide open, snoring silently. Cute. Better not disturb her.
Refreshed and ready to start the day, he made his way down the newly varnished staircase. At least, he could smell the unmistakable smell of varnish, despite the fact that there was a carpet running down the middle. Some kind of Skill, no doubt.
Perhaps it was delusion, or simply the expectation of getting up in the morning—for all that it was almost the afternoon—but he expected to see Linda and Nozumu eating breakfast in the kitchen.
Instead, he was greeted to a dining space bereft of people, with a note on the table. It read:
> Ivory,
>
> You are a deep sleeper, it seems. Can’t say I’m surprised—the first good sleep in a while is always spectacular.
>
> Nozumu and I have gone to the shops. He’s gone wandering, and I needed to get a few things. Help yourself to whatever. There’s some milk and cereal in the ‘fridge’; it’s the blue cabinet door and has a Cooling Rune inside. Surely you’ll be able to find the bowl of fruit.
>
> I’m running out of paper space see you later!!
“Oh,” was all Ivory said. Whoops.
Ivory saw the fruit bowl and plucked two star-shaped yellow fruits, each almost as big as his hand. He placed them on the counter and went back upstairs to grab Misoe.
“Uppsy, you great blob.”
Misoe gurgled in minor fright as she was woken up so unceremoniously. Ivory staggered a bit as he picked her up; she either didn’t have enough magic to levitate or she wasn’t bothered so soon after waking up.
The pair walked back downstairs to see Linda poking around in the fridge.
“‘Morning.”
Linda jumped slightly. The stairs were creak-proof; she hadn’t heard them.
“Cripes! Good morning—must have enjoyed that sleep, huh?”
Misoe yawned loudly in response.
“Her and I both. It was nice to be in a bed again. You having a sit outside?” Ivory said, as she had a jug of her orange juice and some cups on a tray.
“Kind of—the [Gardener]’s here, I’ll get another cup for you, come with.”
Ivory gave her a thumbs up and grabbed the fruit he’d set aside.
“I’ve got a lovely patio situation happening out the front; not sure if you saw yesterday. My garden is a tribute to home—” the slightest bittersweet smile began to creep up her face, before she forced it down —”I’ve sourced a lot of similar plants I had at mum’s house, and even some oak trees.”
Linda opened the front door and the two of them shielded their eyes immediately.
“I never learn,” she groaned, her right hand providing some respite. “Here, under the shade. A [Monument Landscaper] jimmied this together. Real vines, of course—but magic helping it from crashing down. Some juice here, Tanne, if you’d like!” she shouted into the distance.
They had just sat down as she bellowed that out. Ivory and Misoe jumped a bit at hearing such a volume come from such a small person; she couldn’t have been more than five and a half feet tall.
Seconds later, a gigantic figure of a man came bounding down towards the three of them.
“Thank you, Miss Postlethwaite,” he said, taking what Ivory thought was a separate container of OJ and taking a generous swig.
“Have a break—sit with us!”
Linda patted an empty chair, but Tanne shook his head and took another great swig of juice.
“No thank you, Miss Postlethwaite. Still got some pruning to do. Oh!” he said, bobbing up and down on his tippy toes, a look of sudden recollection on his face, “the guild gave me a second plot in the private allotments!”
Linda put her hands on her hips, as a great smile flashed over her face.
“Well, aren’t you doing well! Did you send a [Message] home? Would you like me to?”
Tanne’s jubilant smile wavered for just a moment.
“It’s fine, Miss Postlethwaite. Really. I’ll send one after today. Okay, thank you,” he turned to Ivory. “Who are you?”
Ivory sat up a bit straighter, almost intimidated, not that it was said with any malice whatsoever; it was like a giant labrador had his head tilted at something it didn’t know.
“This is a friend of mine, Ivory. He’s going to be staying with me for a while. And this is Misoe, Ivory’s friend.”
Misoe clearly wasn’t intimidated like Ivory was, as in response to her introduction she floated up gently into his chest. Tanne was taken aback at seeing a seal sitting on a chair, and then at having a seal fly into him, but recovered in record time and was buzzing with excitement.
“Cute! Hello Misoe!” he said, hugging her. Ivory coughed to conceal his laughter at seeing her eyes twitch at being held in a crushing hug by this titan. He eventually let go, and she staggered back down into the chair.
The previous shred of dejection was ancient history now as he began quizzing Ivory.
“What do you do, Mister Ivory?”
Truly—he couldn’t help but smile. That would’ve been awkward in most other situations, for all that he was probably the same age as him, but he let it go.
“I’m a [Sorcerer], though I don’t really do much. I’m travelling around.”
Tanne’s eyes were almost set ablaze at hearing that, and with burning haste sat down and scooted towards him.
“Can you do some magic? Please?”
“I would love to. What would you like to see?”
“Magic,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious answer to any question ever asked ever.
Misoe landed on Ivory’s head, waiting to see what spell he’d choose. She knew which she wanted him to cast, and Ivory took her suggestions into consideration—but this was meant to be a show of magic, and something suitable for, well, their immediate surroundings. Ivory got out the Want of Zont, to an oooooh from Tanne. Linda sat back, just in case.
“My wand doesn’t make my magic better, I don’t think… but it helps to make it neater, if you get what I mean? Watch. [Light].”
The red orb of light materialised in Ivory’s left palm, and then wafted it up for Misoe to eat.
“Now, if I use my wand. [Light].”
The tip of the Wand of Zont produced an red orb of light, but this one didn’t just appear out of nowhere—it began as a small flicker that grew over a second, ‘sticking’ to the end of the wand.
“Like a [Baker] would use a piping bag for a macaron. It’s basically the same, but it’s a bit more flashy. Plus, it feels more appropriate to use a wand.”
Tanne nodded, still giving him his full, excited attention—he could tell that this was going somewhere.
“But,” he said, holding up his index finger from his wand-hand, “it’s a lot more fun to improvise and do things differently.”
Ivory silently cast [Cosmetic Spell] and activated [Oral Spellcasting]. Ivory and Misoe inhaled deeply, causing Linda’s eyes to crack wide open in alarm.
They exhaled simultaneously with pursed lips, and an almost cartoonish icy-blue mist enveloped Tanne, who exclaimed in chilly delight. The cloud of [Cooling Breeze] persisted for a few moments longer, wafting over to a relieved—and less hot—Linda.
“Woah!” Tanne shouted.
He hadn’t attempted that stunt before. Thankfully, though, it worked the way he intended. It was fortunate that the spell was not vocalised, as the actual spell was a minor, localised breeze that had some magic to really up the cooling aspect. The [Cosmetic Spell] did not change the functionality of the spell, so someone with knowledge of it would feel the disconnect between what they were seeing and what they were feeling. It more resembled a modified [Cooling Mist] spell—but that was wholly irrelevant in this moment.
“How was that?” Ivory asked, though he could anticipate the answer.
“I’m not even sweating anymore! Thank you Mister Ivory. Miss Postlethwaite. I gotta do more gardening.”
“See y—nope, he’s gone.”
Any other person would be jogging, based on the speed he was going—but he was just mildly powerwalking.
“He’s… keen. What’s his deal?”
Linda took a sip of her OJ and exhaled, leaning back.
“He’s a gorgeous thing. He’s had a rough time, I think. His parents are farmers in Noelictus—he liked the plants, didn’t like the, well, everything else. He is too kind a soul for some of the more, shall I say, unsavoury aspects of the job, so he was shipped off to live with his brother here who’s an adventurer.”
As a city boy, Ivory had a passing understanding of agriculture, but could only imagine.
“Seems a bit drastic, right? Like, a [Gardener] would have its uses on a farm,” Ivory said, quite matter-of-factly.
“I should explain. Noelictus is saturated by death magic; animals that die and aren’t properly disposed of come back as undead. If a wolf comes and takes a few chooks and you don’t know where their corpses are, you’ve got some zombie-chickens on your hands. Now imagine cows, or horses.”
Ivory gulped hard.
“That’s terrible… I suppose you can’t really afford to have any bleeding hearts there.”
“Exactly. He made for a poor [Farmhand] in that sense, but he’s thriving now. He’s an incredibly hard worker, and I want him to rub it in his parents’ faces, if I’m honest. He’s already level 8 after only half a year. Which is pretty fast.”
Both Ivory and Linda sported telling looks on their faces for the same reason, but neither clocked the other’s.
“If that’s fast, then you must be going at light speed!”
“So I’ve been told. Apparently most people only get to level 20 in their primary class in their lifetime. To be fair though, in my case, I’ve worked quite hard—as I said, when you personally know concepts that the greater world doesn’t seem to know, the levels come in quite quickly. What level are you?”
“Level 17 [Sorcerer], 7 [Beast Tamer]. Think I’ve been here two months? Nozumu cracked the shits that I was levelling way faster than what is normal. I get it for you, since economics is actually your speciality, but magic doesn’t exist on Earth.”
“You know what magic is, though,” Linda said. She got up and cracked her back from side to side. “That’s better. That’d be half the battle. I’ve found that people here don’t have many skills, and they rely on Skills. I’m a good cook, but don’t have the class—I’ve heard Skills emulate pretty basic cooking techniques, to the point where it’s almost embarassing. With respect, your Skill that lets you understand this world’s written script is an example, but obviously that’s a special case.”
“It’s definitely cheating,” Ivory said, feeling a rather foreign bicep. “This one got me [Lesser Strength] when I received my [Beast Tamer] class. Like, what is that?”
“Tanne has that, and a few other ‘stat’ Skills—[Lesser Dexterity] too, from what I remember."
As 'veteran' an Earther that Linda was, the reality of Skills still made her think she was in a simulation of some kind. The two sat there, taking it all in, and enjoying the shade as the residual chill of Ivory's spell wore off.
"Okay. We can eat and walk—I'll take you to the Relic Mage's place to make an application. You ready to go now?"
"That was sudden."
She laughed, collecting the empty glasses and jugs and arranging them on the tray to take in.
"Decisiveness is important—I learned that early on. I'll take these in."
Linda was an independent sort, or was forced to be, Ivory thought. She couldn't have been too much older than him; three or four years at most. Perhaps the stability of staying in the one place for a while would do the same for him.
—------------
As Ivory walked through the heart of Phel's Light, he reflected on the knowledge—specifically, his lack thereof—of how temperature worked, and the social(?) etiquette of using spells outdoors.
Despite the fact that it was allegedly meant to be either late Autumn or early Winter, it was disastrously hot. Perhaps it was the no doubt tens of thousands of people milling about mid-afternoon, or some kind of thing about humidity and the sea… if that was how it worked, Ivory would be none the wiser.
The reality was that it was just a considerably hotter day than average—'just cause.
"I'm about to melt. [Cooling Breeze], but low power."
—------
"You sure this is it?" Ivory asked, standing outside the Relic Mage's… humble home. They had trekked across the entirety of the city to reach Gonesworth Street, which was a residential street that could have a middle class Terandrian and any vaguely-European Earth native claim was their own turf.
Basically, Ivory was expecting something a bit bigger than a two bedroom, one bathroom standalone looking home. There was a sign posted out front identifying it, slightly relieving him.
"Yep. There’s some fuckery that I can only assume is due to the Relic-class artefacts he has; the place is a lot bigger on the inside. You’ll see. Just head in—spectators go 'round the back entrance, so I'll probably see you soon.”
Linda waited, blinking a few times at his lack of movement.
“I’ll walk you to the door, then. Come on, ya big baby.”
“I mean,” Ivory said, frowning as he opened the gate, “this sounds like a cult, or something weird.”
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“That’s… yeah, reasonable. You have my word that your organs won’t be harvested.”
“That’s a relief; I feel so much better,” he groaned loudly, enjoying the banter.
He enjoyed Nozumu’s company, he really did. This, though, was different; nostalgic, even.
“Here g—”
Ivory was interrupted by the creaking of the door opening inwards in front of him. The three of them saw a half-Elf woman standing there, looking down on them—she was big.
“Hail, friends,” she declared; her voice was silky smooth, but radiated authority. “You are here to apply. Or, perhaps, you are lost?”
“Not me! I’m just a spectator.”
Linda scurried off out of sight, slightly intimidated.
“Just you, then. I am Attona, [Attendant] to the Relic Mage. If you’ll follow me?”
Ivory followed Attona wordlessly—it was a mixture of Linda swanning off and the… aura Attona gave off that unnerved him. Funnily enough, he wasn’t really that nervous, all things considered.
So far, the house wasn’t much to write home about; it looked perfectly domestic. He followed her into the first side room on their left, which turned out to be an office-space.
“Please, sit. Before you meet with the Relic Mage, please read this waiver carefully before signing it.”
She pushed a sealed envelope across the table to Ivory, as if she was presenting him with an offer or, perhaps, a counter-offer. It was a bit much. This is what the waiver read.
> I, _____Ivory Henderson__ agree to read, respond to, and participate in good faith to the the following edicts.
>
> 1. You shall not willingly inflict harm upon your fellows; be it of the malicious, vindictive or deliberate sort
> 2. Respect the custodians of the Manor
> 3. Be graceful in victory, defeat, or draw
> 4. Speak no ill of your fellows; jolly competition is encouraged, but be wary of the line between joyous repartee and slander
> 5. Have fun.
>
> Signed, _Ivory Henderson______
He slid the waiver back to Attona who smiled politely.
“Thank you. Before I confirm your acceptance of our terms and meet with the Relic Mage, you will need to leave your pet with someone—perhaps the young woman you came in with?”
Ivory resisted the urge to immediately reply no. Instead, he looked down at Misoe with a slightly guilty look on his face.
“Did I really think I could bring her in with me?” he thought. There were many reasons—reasonable reasons, at that—why he shouldn’t bring her with him, but Misoe rotated backwards so that the two were face to face (if upside down).
“Pwah!”
The happy, exhilarated look on her face told him everything he needed to know. Their [Bond of Friendship] gave them both an insight into their respective thoughts, but anyone could have read her face and come to the same conclusion..
“No, that’s okay.”
That was his response, and he immediately regretted it.
However. Before the many—again, reasonable—intrusive thoughts came into his mind, Attona just nodded, opened up the waiver, and placed her palm over Ivory’s bottom signature.
[Temporary Skill - The Juggernaut’s Arena Participant obtained!]
"You may see the Relic Mage now," she said, tucking in her chair. Even that was done immaculately.
"Wait, what is that Skill I just got?
"He will explain it. Please come with me."
Ivory stood up and followed Attona out, feeling a bit uneasy—it was definitely culty, not to mention the ominous Skill he received.
The hallway was, again, pedestrian. Scenic vistas adorned the wall, including some portraits of who Ivory could only assume was this Relic Mage.
"Through this doorway," she announced, standing back. "One more thing before you go inside."
She handed Ivory a slip of paper, the size of his forefinger.
Ivory's eyes bulged.
—---------------------
Not all the regulars were present for this induction, as they liked to call it. Most members preferred to spar, duel and practise under the aegis of the Relic Mage’s assorted relics, not watch the theatre of inductees.
Only eight of the 100-odd members were present, which was quite a low number for the day. All eyes were on the Human that had walked through the door.
“Oh, here we go.”
“What’s he holding?”
“This one doesn’t look very promising…”
“‘Bout time!”
“Go, Human!”
The comments from the observation theatre poured in hot and fast. There was, as far as Terandrian standards went, a decently diverse lot gathered here. Four Humans, a Drake, two half-Elves and a Dwarf, the one who had cheered.
As the young man sat down at the desk opposite the Relic Mage, the onlookers got a better look at his payload.
“Dead gods, what is he thinking?”
“Awesome.”
Each response radiated either passing distaste, or enthused anticipation.
—------------------
Upon entering the room, Ivory thought he had been transported somewhere again. The disconnect between the house he had just been in, and this football field sized room was quite something. Worst of all, the Relic Mage was at the other end sitting on a… spiral staircase?
He waved at Ivory with both arms, beckoning him over. At least he was in the right place.
The whole operation was offputting. Each side of the room was lined with an array of stuff—bits of furniture, some rubble, big logs of wood… and that’s what he could make out. It was like a big tip, but relegated to the side of the room. It was like walking through some transitional plaza between dimensions—the walls were only about three metres up, the entire paint job was white. At the end, of course, was the mysterious dude sitting on a staircase of all things.
Very confusing. Very odd. Surprisingly, though, he and Misoe didn’t feel like they were in any danger, or in an ‘unfavourable position’—no cults, no MLMs, no organ harvesting.
As the two of them neared the Relic Mage, he did an athletic manoeuvre over the bannister and walked over to them.
“Hello. Thanks for coming,” he opened, clicking his fingers. A circular table and two chairs flew up from seemingly random places in the room and arranged themselves as they might have done in a more conventional setting. “[Mass Repair]. That’s better. Join me.”
The Relic Mage sat down, adjusting himself so that his left leg was crossed, but underneath the other.
Ivory moved the chair so that he wasn’t sitting right next to him, first of all. The man looked to be in his early 40s? It was hard to gauge ages in this world, especially when magic was involved. He wore a green, form fitting robe, or perhaps dress, that had no sleeves. Ivory could see the magic emanating from his uncovered arms; he had a series of faded, glowing scars that immediately caught the eye. He had no hair on his head, including eyebrows, which added to the mystery of the Relic Mage.
“Tell me about yourself, Ivory. Better yet, introduce me to your friend here!”
Misoe’s face, usually featuring a joyous, impish, playful, happy look, now had one that she may never have donned: one of stoic impassivity. Ivory’s was likewise.
“This is Misoe. She’s a Drathian Seal, and a companion of mine.”
“Drathian! She doesn’t look too impressed at the moment—but if I walked into this place for the first time, I’d look equally unimpressed. It’s quite drab, isn’t it?”
The Relic Mage shook his head.
“But where are my manners—you’d think living on this wretched continent would have taught me some decorum. I’m Oscar Cotton. Welcome to my home! Specifically, actually, you’re in The Juggernaut’s Arena, the effect of one of my relics; but you’d know this already.”
Ivory let down his guard and took the bait—for all that it wasn’t.
“Is that what makes your place so big on the inside? Some kind of dimension?”
Oscar nodded approvingly.
“A good approximation, but no. That’s a different relic. You, as a [Participant of The Juggernaut’s Arena], are subject to the rules I or any of my custodians enact. This is a place for magical duelling—it would be, shall we say, inconvenient if a haughty [Mage] cast a [Grand Fireball] and killed their opponent. I can restrict certain spells, tiers, elements, and so on”—he rolled his hand around in the air—“as well as restrict the amount of damage my duellists take, including the destructive force and utility of spells.”
Oscar rattled this off like it was the most normal thing ever, and usually new participants would be in awe, or shocked that such a thing was possible.
Ivory, on the other hand, knew what a fight club was, and most games had a kind of system of safely fighting each other.
“What kind of modes are there?” Ivory asked, having a few in mind.
“Do you mean rulesets?” Oscar replied, surprised that the ‘awe’ stage was skipped entirely, and his line of questioning resembled one who already had knowledge of his little institution.
“No, like—2v2, 3v3, that kind of thing.”
“I see. Yes, but they are not a popular bracket that most choose to spar in. People bicker, and there are inherent imbalances in teams that can occur. As you will remember, one of my edicts is for jolly competition, bereft of as much bickering as is possible.”
Oscar uncrossed his legs and shifted his body more towards Ivory.
“I must ask, however—it is a rather hidden expectation for prospective participants that they have little to no knowledge of my little project. It is why it is considered ‘competitive’ to gain entry, as unfair as it may seem. Have my wards failed? You seem a little bit too informed."
Ivory almost felt like laughing—but since this was basically a weird job interview, he kept his composure.
“Err, no. Fight clubs are kind of a thing, aren’t they?
“Perhaps on Drath, for all that you are not Drathian. Though, I suppose [Pugilists] may engage in such multi-man melees—”
Ivory put his spare hand up as he yawned. Oscar stopped, if only due to the surprise of being hushed. Then, at the sight of Ivory yawning, Oscar felt the need to yawn! A classic, and Ivory was glad to see that that weird phenomenon happened in this world, too.
He waited until Oscar’s eyes were shut, at the zenith of the yawn, before striking. As surreptitiously as was possible in a situation such as this—and in the considerably limited timeframe—he threw Misoe hard into the air and [Brandished] his wand, stepping back out of his chair.
“[Venom Spray]!”
Ivory screeched the spell as he inhaled what little left he could. A cone of Ger Chameleon venom erupted from the tip of his wand, aimed directly at Oscar, whose eyes were un-squinting.
Before Ivory waited to see if the spell had actually managed to make contact, he and Misoe unleashed a torrent of lightning from their gaping mouths.
The tempestuous crackling of the [Breaths of Lightning] made Ivory’s ears ring. Thanks to his [Oral Spellcasting], he could almost double the duration of his [Breath] spells, matching Misoe’s current capability.
The steaming pile of smoke made Ivory cough, further incapacitating him along with his lack of breath. He looked up as the smoke began to dissipate—
“Uh oh!” Ivory instinctively rasped.
The silhouette of Oscar was becoming visible. Ivory saw him raise his left hand and he braced for retaliation.
Nothing happened for a few seconds, but he felt a wave of panic from his [Bond of Friendship].
Crash.
A dilapidated chair had risen from the trash and sped into his side, sending him flying. Fortunately, he landed well away from the no-land zone of garbage, from which the chair had risen.
His lack of combat awareness, in this moment, was hilariously evident. He actually thought that all he needed to do was simply, as the note had read, ‘attack him’. He didn’t think the Relic Mage would actually retaliate!
Ivory staggered upright, his side aching, though he didn’t think he’d broken anything. That he could even begin to stand was a miracle. He looked up in a panic towards Misoe, who was assuming a familiar position.
She [Mirror Spelled] another [Breath of Lightning] at Oscar, now running in an opposite direction to Ivory.
“[Grounding Spoke]. [Deepsea Penitentiary],” he spoke smoothly, halting his pace.
The exhaled storm’s trajectory immediately changed towards the great metal rod protruding from the ground—but Ivory was looking in horror as a gnashing Misoe tried to eat her way out of the dark sphere of water that bound her
Ivory knew better than to rely on his [Dangersense] here—it was not making but a peep—instead attempting to rely on whatever instincts he could conjure. He scrambled backwards, firing off [Sparks] and [Lightning Jolts], only to have them sucked into the [Grounding Spoke]. Idiot!
Oscar was standing still now. He raised his left hand again, causing Ivory’s eyes to widen and look to his right—
This time, a table was flying right at him.
“[Gust]!”
A concentrated blast of air broke the table in two, and a [Wind Umbrella] conjured from his left hand managed to save him from being impaled by dead wood.
Ivory had little time to strategise, for all the good that would do—he was being toyed with, and no comparatively mundane spell that he could cast was going to be able to successfully hit him.
So, he defaulted to the spell that had gotten him out of his last major pickle.
The [Ominous Wind] that shot out of his wand was unlike the nonvisible air from last time. This looked similar to poisonous gas—a miasmic purple cloud, which swiftly enveloped Oscar.
He didn’t know [Dispel Magic], and even if he could, he doubted it would have made even a slight indentation on that frightening spell that was containing Misoe. That he had the time to consider it was strange—could his spell be working?
No time to ponder it—he launched a volley of spells in quick succession, hoping for the best.
“[Rapid Casting]! [Serpent Strike]! [Fire Darts]! [Bronze Chakrams]! [Pebble Volley]!”
A spectral snake, fangs bared, shot forth from the Wand of Zont, followed by a hail of rock, fire, and spinning metal. Even with Ivory’s spellcasting efficiency spells, there was a lot of wastage—it was never a good idea to cast certain spells in quick succession. Case in point: many of the [Fire Darts] were blasted by the pebbles, and vice versa, not to mention the destabilisation of the chakrams. Only the [Serpent Strike] was ‘unharmed’ as what remained of the magic assailed the Relic Mage inside the cloud of [Ominous Wind].
The above onlookers’ mouths threatened to dispel the ceiling illusion; they were in utter shock.
“Is this for real?”
“Interesting—if inferior—spells, but terrible execution.”
“Poor seal! What’ll happen to it!”
“Aye, that’s how ye do it!”
“...”
“That’s a record.”
“... the last [Battlemage] got clotheslined!”
“Must be a [Hedge Mage]. He’ll level.”
They were all on the edge of their seats, verging on falling down into the next row as the cloud began to dissipate.
Ivory looked up at the defeated Misoe, wondering when this would end. He knew she wasn’t hurt; her pride was wounded, and she was having trouble controlling her mana. Luckily, since the water was magical, she could breathe.
A stirring in his peripheral vision made him snap back to the front—
“—sser Teleport]. Curious spells, curious methods, and interesting strategy. [Levitate]—come down, now.”
Oscar Cotton, the Relic Mage, pointed a finger to the ceiling, as Misoe levitated down into Ivory’s arms, her head buried in his chest.
“[Clear Illusion].”
Ivory’s saw the ceiling unceremoniously vanish, revealing a great colosseum-esque seating arrangement. There were eight figures seated in the front few rows nearest Ivory, all looking down at him.
“We have much to discuss. I accept your application, of course—but you cut me off before I explained how this all works.”
Oscar said this with a grin—it was not returned.
——————
The Relic Mage took the taxed Ivory back through to the main hallway of the house and up a few doors.
“This is one of the rooms the beleaguered go to relax, unwind, and recover, if need be. [Ease Tension], [Calm], [Chill Room], [Heat Room] and [Regain Composure] spells are available. As a [Participant], you can activate them at will.”
Oscar sat down on a circular bench—Ivory chose to stand. The [Ease Tension] was soothing his sore torso in real time.
“So? Exhilarating? Tormentous? Fun?” he asked, and Ivory didn’t respond immediately.
What did he feel? Other than the rather deep sense of indignity at putting Misoe in such a position… it was difficult to say.
“Necessary.”
Oscar laughed at the candid response.
“A good answer! But do sit. I am not blind to the reality of the situation you are put in. But I, as an adventurer, learned something very early on in my career: you are your truest self on the battlefield. Pure instinct guides you, more than strategy or anything else.”
Ivory had sat on a couch across from him at this point, gently stroking Misoe.
“I learned three things about you from that skirmish,” he said, holding up three fingers, withdrawing his middle and ring finger. “Number one: you have never been in a fight in your life. Save for your clever starting hand, your presence on the battlefield was completely reactive, and you had no counter measures for anything I did. Furthermore, you were clearly unaccustomed to using your spells in an offensive way.”
His middle finger joined his index.
“Number two: you have a diverse repertoire of spells. I admit roughly one in ten who apply, all of whom do as you did just now. Most throw [Fireballs], [Lightning Bolts] and other well known, basic spells. This is not a negative. But it shows a lack of creativity. You are a rare specimen in that you are well travelled, but supremely inexperienced. Countless times have I been assailed by a vision inhibitant and had spells thrown at me, but I entertained your attempt. A [Terror Smokescreen]? [Juvenile Horrify]?”
“[Ominous Wind],” Ivory replied. Those two spells he guessed… genuinely terrifying. As it were.
“Nasty. But not as nasty as that [Venom Spray]. You will be forbidden from casting that spell under my aegis—I have seen it used before, but specific strains of venom? That’s rare. It’d kill anything it touched if a moderately levelled [Healer] weren’t present. Ger venom.”
Oscar shuddered.
“You have been to Dejima?” Ivory asked. Oscar looked back in confusion.
“... An island of Drath, I take it. No, I have not—that is the venom of the Ger Chameleon of Chandrar, my homeland. That they thrive in Drath is no surprise; greenery is their original habitat. That you have a spell to invoke their venom proves my tenet.”
Oscar held up a third finger.
“And lastly: you and your seal—Misoe—are an inseparable duo. I pity anyone who comes between you and your companion. Disjointed as it was, your onslaught of spells was in response to Misoe’s imprisonment. Your bond is strong.”
Misoe rotated about 150 degrees upon hearing this. It was just enough for her to give the Relic Mage an emotionally charged look; she kept eye contact for a few more seconds before assuming her previous position.
The tension was broken when Ivory giggled, as he could tell through that she’d forgiven him for trapping her. She didn’t pin any blame on Ivory whatsoever; she was a willing participant, but she, too, was equally as unprepared for combat.
“These are all things to consider, but we can continue your introduction afterwards. I have some duellists here to give some notes and critiques. Attona should be bringing them in any second now…”
And so Ivory and Misoe sat, ready to be absolutely blasted by what were, by comparison, experts in the field. The eight [Mages]—an eclectic looking bunch—took to their preferred seating arrangements, before going in for the (verbal) kill.