Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (104/?) WiP 1

Hey everyone! Here is the Work in Progress for Chapter 104 I hope you guys enjoy! :D

The Vunerian and I were caught in a standoff. My eyes locked onto its beady little black sown-on dots-for-eyes and the rounded little muzzle that perpetually locked it into a look of mouthless contemplation. 

My emotions refused to settle, as I was forced to reconcile between the massive cognitive dissonance between the disarmingly adorable orb-of-a-plush that was the Vunerian, and its doppelganger standing incredulously next to me. 

This forced my eyes to do several double-takes between the inexplicable object of my burning interest, and the comparably life-sized less-cuter version of it forced upon me by fate and circumstance.

However, the physical similarities between the two didn’t die down with each cock of my head.

No.

If anything, they only steadily increased. 

From the proportions of the stuffed plush, all the way to the color of its fabric, and the shape of its head, and even the little outfit it wore — it was undeniably designed to resemble a Vunerian. The only difference between this orb and Ilunor, being the little sown-on miniature crown two-sizes too small for its rounded head.

This bygone conclusion was quickly confirmed by the tortle proprietor himself; the man taking a moment to address my non sequitur of a question. 

“They are indeed plush in form and factor.” He confirmed, giving a smile yet quirking his brow, almost confused. “It would seem to me that my lady has a certain affinity to the top-of-the-pile item in particular?” He gestured towards the Vunerian plush. “These stuffies are indeed quite the coveted collector’s item, Viscount Vunerian in particular being in short supply as of late.” The man paused for a moment, and with a surge of mana radiation, began lowering the plush down from its perch atop of the plush pyramid. 

The hard-sell tactic continued as I was presented with the orb-of-a-Vunerian that was Viscount Vunerian, or, as I was dying to call it… “I think I’ll call him King Kobold.” 

This seemed to be the last straw as the Vunerian stomped his way between me and the tortle, raising an arm towards the plush in the process. “You will do no such thing. His name is Viscount Vunerian, and I will hear no more of this casual slander!” He seethed between a soot-filled breath, before turning to the tortle proprietor with an ultimatum. “Shopkeeper. I demand that you return it. The newrealmer is clearly not deserving of such a coveted item.” 

However, instead of any dead air or increase in the room’s overall severity, the opposite quickly transpired. As the shopkeeper began letting out a series of ragged-breathed laughs, completely defusing the Vunerian’s attempt at intensifying the situation. 

“I am but a humble shopkeeper, my lord. Withholding an item for purchase, is outside of my authority within the jurisdiction of crown herald lands.” The man replied with an almost faux-piety, as if straddling the line between expectant decorum and his own brand of senile joviality. “It is up to the fair knight, whether she wishes to follow through on my offer.” 

This prompted the Vunerian to grumble, turning towards me with an expectant glare. 

Another standoff soon ensued, one that was actually aimed at the flesh-and-blood Vunerian this time around. 

But one that ended just as quickly as it began.

“I’ll take it!” I beamed out, squishing it tight between my hands as I could just about make the soft squishy polyfill and gel-like stuffing within it through my gloves’ haptic feedback; a soft, airy, pathetic sounding squeeeeeeeek being generated in the process. 

‘Your worship pleases me!’ It squeaked out pathetically. 

“It has a fricking voice box?!” I muttered out in excitement, going for another big squeeze! 

‘Guards, off with their tails!’

“This is incredible.” I cackled out through an ear-to-ear grin, finding my whole body jittering in the process. 

This realization, of course, warranted another big squeeze. 

‘Taxes are due! I demand my taxes!’

“Emma… I believe this might be just a bit too much.” Thacea cautioned, gently gesturing to the now-steaming deluxe kobold next to me. 

Thalmin, however, clearly had other ideas in mind, as he moved up to pat me on the shoulder. 

“I’m curious to know what manner of muse inspired such a flavorful impression!” He proclaimed through a wide-eyed grin. 

“ENOUGH!” The Vunerian finally exploded, releasing a continuous flurry of steam from both of his nostrils. “Either forfeit your purchase, or be done with these displays of immature impulsivity!” 

I took a moment to once more exchange glances with Ilunor, my hand firmly cinched above the plushie’s belly. 

Surprisingly, it the ultimatum wouldn’t come to fruition by my own hands, as Thalmin came in with a furred hand to gently squeeze the plush just one more time. 

‘Fear my ire, beware my wrath!’

“Well what do you know, I think he pulled the words right out of your mouth, Ilunor.” I chuckled lightly, before handing the plush off to the tortle. “I’ll take it!” 

“Splendid! I shall have it packaged post-haste.” The man announced, gently handing the plush over to a satyr assistant who’d skittered onto the scene not a few moments after the back and forth began. 

With the first knick-knack in tow, I feared what impulse purchases might come next. 

Though a part of me remained excited for the prospect of Field Cultural Research, as we moved deeper into the store, to the tune of a grumbling Vunerian.

We eventually arrived at a section of the room with what looked to be a sight-seer book perched precariously on a plinth, covered on three sides with a series of multicolored curtains that radiated a not-so-insignificant amount of mana. 

Though somewhat unnerving and looking like it’d be more at home at some cultish ritual, the display case on the very front of the plinth completely undermined and defused what threatening aura it had. As within this case, were a series of what I could only describe as— 

“Are those postcards?” I shot out.

“Indeed they are, newrealmer.” The tortle responded, before gesturing to the setup with a venerable smile. “For this — is the imbuer of dreamscapes.” He announced proudly. “An artifice which imbues your likeness upon a predetermined landscape of your choosing, with whichever pose you wish to make at the time of the imbuement.”