Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (144/?) WiP 1

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! Here is the Work in Progress for Chapter 144 I hope you guys enjoy! :D

I wouldn’t call myself a ‘party person’.

I’d never even gone out clubbing or bar crawling outside of VR.

Alcohol just wasn’t my thing, not to mention the taste was just a bit too off-putting.

However, there was something different about tonight.

Maybe it was the fact that the main attraction — alcohol — was a physical impossibility for me.

Or maybe it was the simple fact that this wasn’t your typical bar, club, pub, let alone a space pub.

Maybe, just maybe, it had to do with the fact that we were in a certified tavern in another world. 

And that notion? Of actively partaking in festivities outside of time and space, in a literal fantasy, castles and wyverns setting? 

Well… suffice it to say it just ticked all of the boxes in my ‘impossible dreams’ bucket list.

Floorboards creaked as crowds gathered around the impromptu dance floor where tables and chairs had been cast, tossed, or pushed gently aside for the purposes of song, dance, and shenanigans.

My tired body was somehow sucking in energy from the electrifying atmosphere around us, as fiddles wailed, violins screeched, lutes twanged, and drums thumped to the beat of some bardic tunes.

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP went the beat, as about half of the tavern’s patrons tapped their toes and bounced their heels against the scuffed and worn oaken floorboards beneath their feet.

THRUMMMMM THRUMMMMM THRUMMMMM the lutes resonated, leading the charge as violas and violins ZWINGED and PLINKED to the fast-paced rhythm of the surprisingly bassy drums.

Then came the vocals, as dialects that might as well have been from half the Nexus away sung in a deep, rich, warbly and tinny sequence, their tones ducking and weaving against the melody of the strings, creating this weird, whiny melancholy which shouldn’t have fit with the fast-paced beat of the ever-evolving tune.

But somehow it did. Especially with the EVI’s translation suite turned off, allowing for the voices of the vocalists to seep through, unimpeded by code and algorithms. 

There were no more attempts at localization.

Instead, there was just the enjoyment of the piece as it was meant to be enjoyed — raw and in its purest of forms.

I felt my heart fluttering and my spine tingling to the otherworldly timbre of the pair of lead elf and dwarven singers that carried this raw, earthy resonance underpinning each and every note. 

The dancing came naturally, but what came next came even more naturally. 

It started at the end of the last peak, as this eight-minute piece was about to crescendo.

A subtle but powerful urge to join in on the action, egged on by some invisible force, and spurred on by the increased emphasis on the beat of the drums.

clap

Came the first brave soul.

Clap-clap

Came another.

This opened the floodgates. At which point, there was no stopping it.

CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP 

The whole hall erupted into an impromptu orchestra of barehanded percussionists, as even the wallflowers joined in to drive the tune onwards; their palm strikes threatening to overpower the band on stage.

Then, just as we reached the loudest extent of the percussion, everything stopped.

The beat slowed to a crawl, the instrumentals mellowed out, but the vocalists?

They just kept on going. 

The sudden shift in direction was more than just whiplash.

It was ear-tinglingly satisfying.

The elf and dwarf duo pushed forwards into this weird mix of high and low notes, before harmonizing right at the end, and capping the whole thing off with a sudden and abrupt THUMP both feet and drums.

The whole room went quiet as all dancers stopped mid-stride.

Then, came the applause, as shouts, cheers, and even more alcohol was spread amidst the now-thirsty dancers.

I, for one, had to deal with the little sippy straw helpfully extended to me by the EVI, as I thanked the spirits of the brave and intrepid pioneers that had come before me for the sweat-wicking qualities of the undersuit’s balaclava.

Otherwise, I’d probably have a fair bit of sweat stinging my eyes with no way of rectifying it.

Now that would be a moodkiller…

“Ladies and gentlemen, wayward travelers and weary locals alike, may I have your attention!” The bardic troupe on stage spoke in unison before their elven leader took charge. “It has come to our attention that many of us here today owe a great deal to two very important highborns amidst our ranks. Not only for the food and drink — though one would be lying if that wasn’t most of it —” He paused, garnering a few chuckles from the crowd “—but also for their selfless and heroic acts on this unforgettable day. Three cheers for our great heroes!” 

“Hip hip!”

“Hooray!”

“Hip hip!”

“Hooray!”

“Hip hip!”

“Hooray!”

“And now with that out of the way, I’d like to make a proposal…” The elf grinned widely, gesturing towards us as the crowd parted ways as if to emphasize this unexpected new development. “I invite both, or perhaps just one of you, to serenade the closing hours of tonight’s celebrations!” 

The crowd went wild at this proposition, as several table-slams, and chorus-like chanting egged both of us on.

I found myself turning to Thalmin once more, as we locked eyes in a haze of confusion.

“I think I’m going to sit this one out, Emma.” Thalmin spoke quietly, his focus half taken by the power of drink, and half by his seemingly futile efforts to keep his distance from the ever growing crowd of women threatening to stampede him.

“Oh don’t worry.” I smiled excitedly. “I’ve been waiting for this moment… though are you sure you’ll be able to handle the…” I pointed towards the crowd that had grown to critical mass, as Thalmin responded by simply—

[ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED: 200% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS]

—formed an invisible barrier between himself and the aforementioned swarm.

“I think I can handle myself, Emma. Besides… I’m excited to see what you have in store.” 

=====

The Township of Sips. The Inn. Tavern Lobby. Local Time: 2300 Hours.

Thalmin

I watched in flighty anticipation as Emma took to the stage, my eyes narrowing as she whispered something to the strings and percussionists, all the while dismissing the vocalists to the back.

What happened next wasn’t what I’d at all expected, as the earthrealmer suddenly — and rather inexplicably — conjured a strangely flat and oddly-shaped lute of manaless light before her very being.

And while the crowds were blindly impressed by this sudden display of ‘magic’, it would be the innkeeper and myself who seemed to be the only ones perceptive enough to feel the discrepancy between its magic-like form, and the absolute deadness of its presence within the local manastreams.

Though I could care less for the uneasiness it caused, given both experience and ale had dulled my wary proclivities.

“Alright folks! This is an oldie— er, well, it’s an oldie where I come from at least.” Emma began nervously, barely stifling a stutter as she turned to the percussionist, giving him a nod as she turned back to the crowd, her fingers poised against the construct of light and air.

Then, it started.

Taking everyone by surprise, it began with a brazen flourish, like a lute possessed, its strings bit with a metallic brightness no gut nor metal-strung harp could match. The noises, these sounds, struck out in bold repeating patterns, moving up and down with Emma’s twiddling fingers that plucked at nothing but the air itself. 

These were hammer blows dressed in music, carrying neither the refinement of court compositions, nor the primal bluntness of lowborn music, but instead… something in between. 

I could feel the rhythm of marching feet and festival drums made into a melody, as this metallic lattice of notes roused both the body before the mind was able to catch up to its meaning.