>>6480499
>a boy
Morty Warsmith

>>6480499
>A boy

>Jonathan Murkwell

>>6480499
>a girl who pretends to be a boy to be taken seriously
If I got it right - "Spelldodger" is a family name.
So,
>Chris
(most assume it is Christopher. In actuality its "Crystal").

>>6480512
>>6480515
Last name is Spelldodger. Just a given name is what's voted on. No worries though.
>>6480528
Might go with yours just because it's a curveball. I hope I can do it justice.

!!) Specialty vote. This will be the kind of technological fields you excel in. You get two you're good at, and one you're not good at.
-- Good at:
(pick two)
-- Struggle with:
(pick one)

>Robotics & AI
You'll start with a rudimentary AI companion OR a small robotic companion (think the size of a tablet). Can be upgraded as the quest goes on.

>Cybernetics & Augmentation
Start with a prosthetic limb or augmentation (write-in). Can be upgraded.

>Information Systems
Start with an information multitool (think the scan visor from Metroid Prime). Compatible with robotics and AI. Can be upgraded.

>Biotechnology
Start with 5 bottles of healing water.

>Aerospace
Start with a one-occupant mount. Can be upgraded. (the specific vehicle is a write-in)

>Weapon Systems
Start with an advanced firearm (write-in).

>Dimensional Engineering
Start with a device that can teleport you short distances. When in combat, has a 3 post cooldown.

>>6480549
-- Good at:
>Weapon Systems
A handgun with a lot of different ammo types (some mildly unrealistic) with a possibility to switch between those instantly.
>Cybernetics & Augmentation
Left eye optimized for shooting (very accurate distance perception, maybe also short to medium distance thermal vision if it isn`t too much).
-- Struggle with:
>Aerospace

>>6480549
GOOD AT:
>Robotics & AI (Heck yea free buddy)
>Cybernetics & Augmentation
>>6480561
+1 to this anon's eye idea

BAD:
>Aerospace

>>6480549
>Robotics & AI
>Information Systems


>Biotechnology

>>6480561
+1

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>>6480549
Good at:
>Robotics & AI
A little bird robot that looks very convincingly like a real one at almost any distance except for up close. The birds will are government drones!
>Cybernetics & Augmentation
I like this >>6480561 suggestion for augmentation, so I will support that.

Bad at:
>Biotechnology
I like the theme of someone heavily invested in cybernetics and robotics being totally uninterested in biology, save for how to swap out body parts for cybernetics without killing the subject.

>>6480561
>>6480563
>>6480564
>>6480612
>>6480635
Calling it here. No need to drag out this vote. Since there are a small handful of you (not that I mind having a low voter count), I'll go ahead and do this . . .

- Good At -
>Weapon Systems
>Cybernetics & Augmentation
>Robotics and AI

- Bad At -
>Biotechnology
>Aerospace

You'll get +10 to any rolls you're good at, and -10 to any rolls you're bad at. It'll be the usual best-of-three d100, with higher being better. In time, you might be able to switch your good at/bad at disciplines, or you might get other bonuses.

Here is the pastebin: https://pastebin.com/6RiPUjp2

Been playing a lot of RPGs so I decided to make an equipment system. That'll keep this from becoming too crunchy or too schizo. Anyway, give me an hour max to get this update out.

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>>6480686
This is Arlo's true form, by the way. If you were to get close to and view him.

>>6480686
You're not going to get like twenty votes all the time, my guy

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>>6480690
Where did I say I expected to get that many? I literally said in the OP that I don't expect to get much attention, and that I'm fine with one (you) because that means at least one person enjoys what I'm doing and wants me to keep going.

>>6480561
>>6480563
>>6480564
>>6480612
>>6480635
"You know, Crys," your dad says with a chunk of beef in his mouth, "I don't get why you make such a fuss over attending the Academy. It's just-"

"School," you finish. "I know, Dad. I can't use magic so it makes no sense at all for me to attend." You sigh and Arlo chirps some beeps in agreement. "See? Even Arlo agrees."

"Arlo is going to agree with everything you say, dear," your mother replies.

"Besides," your father goes on. "You have something better than magic! Solid engineering can do everything magic can and then some. Don't think of your limitation as . . . well, a limitation. Think of it as fortune smiling upon you. I survived the Two Brothers War, didn't I? It only cost me an arm, and now, I have an even better one!" Your father bellows a laugh that slightly vibrates your insides and makes you wince. He always was loud. His cybernetic arm's servos began to wine as he spun his hand in one direction, then the other.

"We're only one day's journey from the capitol. It won't be troublesome for you to visit us whenever you want," your mother puts in.

At your mother's comment, your father bristled. "See now, Grace. This is exactly why I want Crys to go. You need to wean her from the breast at some point! Why, both Elias and Toby were only thirteen when they left home. Toby likely killed ten men by his fifteenth nameday as a sellsword!"

Your older brother, Toby, coughed slightly at that.

"In any case, you'd be able to find out what they say about us in the capitol. No doubt those snobby mages have nothing but poison leaving their lips. Yet they need to beseech the gods just to throw a fireball-"

"Rafe!" Your mother only used your father's name when he irritated her. His anti-mage rants usually did.

"Er, in any case, Crys is going. That much is final. She leaves by morrow's sunrise. And I'll see her off. Knowing you, Grace, she'd show up to the Academy with the teat still in her mouth."
Dinner finishes, and you help your mother clean up. Your dad and brothers were either reading or tinkering somewhere. Since it's your last night here for a while, you wanted to get that quality time in with Mom before you set off. You and her both talk about hopes for what you'll do at the Academy. The kinds of people you hope to meet. You're smothered in hugs and kisses before you head to your room to spend what's left the night doing what you like before sunrise tomorrow.

>Talk to Arlo for a bit before bed. (choose the topic)
>Ask Toby to use his terminal to learn more about the school before you go.
>Skip to the next day, before you leave.
>Something else. (write in)

((I'll be here for a few hours so updates might be rolled out quicker than usual.))

>>6480706
>Ask Toby to use his terminal to learn more about the school before you go.

>>6480706
>Something else.
Give Arlo a final checkup to make sure he's in tiptop shape. Who knows if we're ever going to get some private tinkering time at... THE ACADEMY.

>>6480711
>>6480715
>>6480715
You decide to bug your brother to use the terminal for a bit before making sure Arlo is good to go before tomorrow. You don't want your only friend falling apart on your first day!

Right, then. First, the terminal. Since you're being forced to attend this school, it's best you learn a bit about it, at least. Just so you know what kind of aristocratic snobbery you're in for. You never took much interest in information systems, meaning, only Toby has a terminal. He's likely using it right now to do piss-all important.

You knock on his door, and hear a flat "what?" in response.

"It's me, horseface. Let me use the terminal for a few--I gotta see what I can learn about the academy."

Toby cracks his door ajar, the wooden creaks speak to requiring replacement. He sticks his head out and adjusts his spectacles. "Eh?" He furrows his brow, sticking his long nose close to yours. "Why don't you use your own terminal?"

You shrug. "Never thought to. Come on, Toby. Just give me five minutes."

He sighs. "Fine. Don't break it, and don't make any weird queries. Dad almost blew the thing up when I tried to teach him how to use it."

You mutter a thanks and push past your older brother. You're not often in here, but his room is just as messier as you remember last time you visited it. Batteries and bits strew the floor, with the occasional multi-tool spotted amongst the menagerie of metal. Arlo chirps a series of low beeps from his perch on your shoulder.

"It's not that messy, Arlo. Once you know where everything is. Anyway," he pauses to jerk a thumb toward his desk. "There's the terminal. Five minutes. I still have upgrades to get to."

"Five minutes," you echo with a nod.

The pale green screen lights up with a push of a button. The screen shows a bunch of text you aren't interested in, before pausing on a black screen reading 'USER' and 'CODE'. "Uh, Toby?"

Your brother slides you out of the way. "Sorry." A few presses later, you're in. The screen shows a rectangular box that reads 'QUERY'. You may not have much terminal experience, but you can read. So, you press 'FALEENA QUEENDOM MAGICAL ACADEMY' and press the 'QUERY' button. A few seconds later, it shows a detailed readout of the school. Its build date, the name of the current headmaster, and where it's located. It's as bad as you'd expected. A school for "gifted mages" (read: aristocracy) to attend and "enhance their connection with and understanding of magic." You scoff at the entry. Of course it would be yet another institution tied to nobility that is far up its own arse. And I have to do an entire year here.

Just then, Toby peaks over your shoulder. "Ah," he says, shaking his head. "That's the infamous academy. Can it be any more pompous?"

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You roll your eyes and shrug.

"Say, Crys. Do they know you're not a mage? I mean--none of us are. The Spelldodger name is known enough. Not sure why they want you to go."

You shrug again. "Maybe the nobility is senile due to all the inbreeding?" Arlo chirps rapidly. His way of laughing.

Toby chuckles. "Probably." His brow softens. "Y'know, we'll miss you around here. Even though the average wit will increase with you gone."

You punch his arm and he feigns hurt. "Dumbarse. I'm not moving out. It's just a . . . prison sentence."

Toby laughs again and gestures toward the terminal screen. "Indeed. That does sound about right. Just don't become a pompous ass when you're home again, okay?" He gives you a light flick on your forehead and leaves you to finish your work on the terminal.

You finish thirty minutes later. There wasn't much to dive into regarding the academy. It's just a nobility school for haughty-taughty types to find more titles to apply to themselves--as if they lacked any.

"What do you think about the school, Arlo?"

He chirps three times and flutters his wings.

"Me neither, but I guess we have to because the Royal House says so." You sigh and ready your tinkerer's kit and prepare to inspect Arlo. "Hop up on the workbench, buddy."

Arlo, ever compliant and obedient, does so. Once he's on the workbench, you power him down and, using your tinkerer tools, get his chest open and give a good look at the wires and servos.

((Give me a d100 roll, please. Best of three, or best of whoever-is-in-this-thread. You built Arlo and have been maintaining him for years so this will be an easy check.))

Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>6480747
I'm sure he hasn't been up to anything mysterious that could've damaged him.

>>6480747

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>6480747

>>6480758
>>6480762
Goes without saying, you pass. Updating . . .

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>>6480758
>>6480762
As you thought, naught more than a routine check-up. Not one wire out of place. Arlo's way of thanking you is to buzz while zipping around the room.

"Guess you're happy. Think you're ready for tomorrow?"

Arlo responds with two loud, long beeps.

"I thought so. Maybe you can go and I'll stay here? Just pretend to be me. Say your name is Crys. I'm sure I can calibrate your luminosensors to look something like me."

At this, Arlo gives a sharp buzzing sound.

"I know. I had to try. 'Night Arlo."

After ten minutes of tossing and turning, sleep finally takes you . . .
A soft rap at your door wakes you up. "Time to wake up, sweetie. Your father is ready to see you off." It's Mom. The orange light spilling through your bedroom window tells you it's the crack of dawn. Arlo's eyes spark to life with familiar spheres of white. He hums and flies to your chest, then gives a short beep.

"I know, Arlo. I'm getting up." You take a deep breath and groan. Morning was never your thing. Your basic wake-up rituals complete, you get dressed and double-check your inventory one last time. Tinkerer tools, support kit, pack. All check. Arlo takes his usual place on your shoulder, his optics looking into your eyes and blinks once. You give him a soft pat on his head.

Downstairs, Mom and Dad are sat at the table. The former drinking some tea and the latter snacking on some kind of jerky. "So," your father begins between ungraceful chews of meat, "you ready? You're all packed, then?"

You nod. Glancing at your mother, she's taking it well. Not crestfallen like she was before when the letter came to see you attending this school. But you can tell she's still slightly . . . bummed about it. Which makes sense. You're the only girl and the youngest of three. You're supposed to leave the nest last, not first.

Your mother stiffens after taking another sip. "I do think this will be good for you, honey. But no matter what your father says, you come home if things get to heavy for you. And Arlo, watch over her."

Arlo responds with his 'happy' beeps and nods. You nod as well, before giving your mother a hug. "Don't worry, Mom," you reply. "We'll be okay. We'll be back before you know it. Right Arlo?" More beeps. He agrees.

"Right, then." Your father stands and claps his hands together. "We're off to the square. Grace, I'll be sure to stop by after and get that tea you've been bugging me about."

Your mother nods and continues with her tea. You grab your pack and follow your father, who leads you to the carriage, which causes you to furrow your brow.

>>6480821
"Uh, Dad? Where's the bike?"

"Hm? Oh--the bike! Yes, that thing needs work. I've been trying to get Elias to help with the repairs since he always rides my arse to use the bloody thing." He sighs. "But he's off on some boat somewhere, and I just can't be bothered. So, this will be our ride to the checkpoint."

"Where did you get-" You barely have time to register that you're riding in a horse-drawn carriage after he replies. "Wait. You're not taking me all the way?"

"Ah, no." Your dad rubs the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "They said non-staffpersons aren't allowed to escort all the way to the gates. Something about security or somesuch. You know I pay little mind when nobility speaks."

Knowing that nobles prefer things being as official as possible, and not wanting to make a bad impression on your first day, you have the presence of mind to ask him if he still has the letter. He reaches into his shirt and produces a neatly folded document. The yellow-white of the official scribery is barely made-out in the rising sunlight, but you can see the waxed seal reflecting some of that light. You take it from him and put it in your own pocket.

"Do you even know how to operate this thing?"

"Sure do," your dad replies. "I've been in a few carriages during the war."

You fold your arms. "Mhm. And how many did you actually steer?"

"Pffft. How hard could it be, Crys? Just pull on these thingies here and woosh! It's just like piloting a skimmer."

"A skimmer," you state pointedly, "is not a living creature."

>Tell dad to grab a couple hoverboards and do this sensibly. You're not leaving your traveling safety to chance with an animal you have no experience with.
>Tell dad to make sure the bike is actually good to go (will require an aerospace roll).
>Write in.

>>6480822
>Tell dad to grab a couple hoverboards and do this sensibly. You're not leaving your traveling safety to chance with an animal you have no experience with.

Crys is smart enough to decide against attracting a lot of attention even by means of arrival. This decision totally isn`t because of her lack of confidence with a bike!

>>6480822
>Write in.
Take the horse drawn carriage, what's the worst that could happen?

>>6480834
>>6480860
Calling the vote, but not feeling it right now. Might update before bed, or tomorrow after work. Either way, an update will come, guaranteed.

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>>6480834
>>6480860
((Flipped a coin off-screen. Hoverboard won. Writing. Going to aim for 2 updates tonight to make up for slacking over the weekend.))

After a few more minutes of back-and-forth and your father's denials of his lack of horse-riding acumen, you stand firm on using the hoverboards. He opens his mouth, preparing another protest, but relents moments after. It's really the best course of action. You would have pushed for the bike, but you were never confident on them. Not that you'd admit that to Dad or your brothers!

Sparing no more idle moments, your father grabs two hoverboards and you step onto yours. You used to ride this thing often as a little one, zipping around the village, much to the chagrin of your fellow villagers in the town square, and any easily-spooked horses being pulled to and from their stables.

Stepping on, the white metal feels heavier than the last time you were on. Cyan lights appear around its edges as the anti-gravity gyros activate, responding to your weight and lifting you a few inches off the ground. The anti-gravity servos begin to whine, and then spin rapidly. You and Dad shift your weight toward the front of your boards ever so slightly, and the propulsion systems glow with cyan, and then shoot you both off, leaving white and cyan light in your wake.

You zoom through the orange morning, sunlight becoming more intense now that it's been an hour since you woke up. You had almost forgotten this feeling--hair flying wildly, cheeks pressed back while you squint against the rushing wind. Back when you'd first learned that you were unable to perform magic, you'd swore you weren't missing out because no living mount could give you this speed, this feeling, this control. You'd like to think that some years later, you were right.

You both reach the city square some minutes later. Shops were being tended to by their owner, preparing for the upcoming day of hawking their wares and doing business. The occasional cry of a chicken or bray of a horse cut through the otherwise silent morning. The sound of your hoverboard the only thing greeting your ears consistently. You step off, and the servos begin to slow their spin, and the anti-gravity engine lowers to a hum, idling in the air after you step off. Low power mode. Dad does the same.

"Oho! I swear, I shall never tire of hoverboards!" His voice cut through the morning silence sharply. Some shopkeepers glanced in his direction but mostly kept to their business. You hiss at him to pipe down a bit and remind him it's too early to be loud. "Sorry, little one. I just can't help myself sometimes! A thousand times better than a horse, they are!"

You shrug, agreeing internally but not wanting to encourage him. Not much to do now but wait.

"Where's this liaison, dad?"

"Beats me," he replies, shrugging. "Probably off forcing a commoner to smell their own farts, is my guess."

"Dad . . ."

"I know, I know. Don't become a clone of your mother, now."

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Before you can say more, you hear a polite cough to your right. There is enough sunlight to see, now. You notice an elf, wearing red and gold, with a red cape secured in the middle by a large golden button with the royal house insignia on it. "I don't need to hire a commoner for that, good sir." His (you're pretty sure it's a he) voice is soft, almost melodic. "My family has a chamber of servants assigned to fart-smelling duties. I can get that service round the clock."

"O-oh! Yes, well . . ." Dad sheepishly rubs the back of his head.

"Mm." The elf rolls his eyes and glances at you. "Given that you both arrived on these . . . contraptions, and -- if this lovely gentleman is anything to go by -- are uncouth, I am to take it that one of you is Crys Spelldodger. I pray to the gods that it's this quiet one here" -- he gestures to you -- "and not this loud oaf."

"Ah, yeah. I'm Crys." You offer your hand to him with a slight smile. "Sorry about my dad. He's just like that in the mornings before his breakfast."

The elf regards your hand like a venomous snake, poised to strike. "Indeed. Well, now. Show me your invitation letter and let's be off."

You reach into your breast pocket and produce one royally scribed letter. The elf snatches it from you -- rude -- and hums the words while skimming it.

Your dad leans next to your ear and mutters, "here I thought nobles were given the best education. I can read faster than that." That earns a chuckle from you.

"All right. This is a valid document. Now--pack your filthy things and let's go, Spelldodger. Say your goodbyes and whatnot."

"Well, Crys. I--" Before Dad can finish, your throw yourself into his barrel-like chest. He's not surprised by your hug, but by the speed in which you did it. The elf liaison rolled his eyes and began to regard his fingernails as the most interesting things in the kingdom.

"Goodbye, Dad. I'll miss you."

He strokes the back of your head with his giant hands. "Love you more, little one. Make sure these limp-dicked inbreds take good care of you. Back home in a year, aye?"

You pull away and nod, fighting the urge to let a single tear fall. "Sure, Dad. I'll do my best."

The elf sighs. "All well and good. Come now, Spelldodger. I hope you're comfortable with a griffon. That's the academy mount. Almost like a mascot really."

One more quick hug later, and you watch your dad leave first. His hoverboard whines and pushes off. You watch until you see naught but white and cyan trails in the distance. With that done, you turn to the elf. "I don't know what a griffon is. Some special breed of horse?"

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The elf sighs again. "Yes. If a 'special breed of horse' is a flying creature with the head of an eagle and the body and claws of a lion." He begins to make weird gestures in the air. "Stand back a bit, please. No--further. Thank you." You recognize this. It's a spell! Possibly summoning? Dad had taught you basic magical theory and some concepts, but obviously wanted you to learn how to manipulate a pulse rifle instead of a wand. So, you're not exactly up-to-speed on everything magic.

A series of sigils and circular patterns appear where the elf's hands were making their gestures. Moments later, the patters widen, and widen still, until . . . a talon emerges. Then, a beak, attached to a face with beady, black eyes. Then wings, and the rest of it. A griffon, the size of a horse! A pretty impressive sight, all things considered.

"Whoa," you exclaim.

"Whoa, indeed," the elf replies.

"Wait--is this thing going to bite me?"

The griffon glances at and sniffs you. You jump in surprise and remember--you forgot to activate Arlo. Though, he might be afraid of something so large that he's never seen before, so you decide to wait until you get to the academy.

"Bite you? Don't be a fool. A griffon is a magical beast of the holy domain. It will only bite those with an unholy aether signature."

"What about someone without an aether signature?"

At that, he makes a 'tsk' sound and shakes his head. "I actually have some measure of sympathy for you. To not know the wonders of aether--why, I couldn't imagine such a fate!"

You sniff in response. "We're not a family of inept dullards, you know. We get by just fine thanks to our tech."

"Mm. By manipulating that accursed metal, you mean."

You close your eyes and breath in. "Whatever. Just teach me how to ride this thing."

"This 'thing' is not something you will be taught how to ride. I will guide us and you will benefit from my expertise to bring you from this location to the academy. No initiate is taught how to mount beasts until their second semester."

"Right," you say flatly.

After getting a bit of a crash course on how to safely ride on the griffon, Elwin (he gave you his name, finally) guides the beast to fly to the academy. It does so. Getting a running start before jumping up into the air and using its mighty wings to carry it higher, faster, further. Until you're about -- by your estimate -- 1,000 feet in the air? Whatever. It's pretty freaking high up! You've flown before in your dad's aerowing. It's just not open canopy. You're sure your family could invent something that rivals the speed of the griffon and the feel of flying through the air with naught but your clothing between your body and the sky. That being said, you have to admit that this is . . . kinda cool. Not enough to make you feel as though you've missed out on the aether train, but cool nonetheless.

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In the distance, you see some shapes. As the griffon flies closer, you see that it's the academy! From up here, it looks small. Nothing impressive. But you know that's just perspective. Your special eye creates a dull red marker in the middle of a clearing with two red flags posted neatly in the middle of a circle created by hedges. The marker says you're 5mi out. 4.9mi. 4.5mi. 3.9mi!

That's when you realize the griffon is headed right for that center clearing, in an almost nosedive! Elwin seems nonplussed while this happens. Granted, he's likely done this many times before, but you haven't!

"Uh, Mister Elwin, sir? Maybe you should tell this--the griffon--to ease up a bit?"

"Spelldodger, there is no 'easing' of any 'up' with a griffon. It is a skilled flier. It will guide us to the best place to land. Worry not--I have ridden many a griffon many a time!"

"That may be so, but--" 3.5mi. 2.9mi. 1.9mi. You can barely hear yourself over the rush of the wind. The distance marker in your left eye rapidly counts down, not that you need it to tell you you're barreling towards the school! You're close enough to see the robes and heads of other students now, though you're not exactly worried about making out any unique details at this moment in time.

"Seriously, Mister Elwin! Slow it down!"

"I'm very certain I told you to relax, Spelldoger!" He yells over his shoulder. "You are in capable hands. This is not one of your metal contraptions. This is true flight!"

Before you can reply, you're less than a mile from the distance marker. You're now able to see the nicely finished concrete and the ornate flowers that decorate the clearing. You swear you're about to lose what few contents your stomach has until . . . the griffon arrests its speed mere feet before hovering, and then gracefully landing, right next to two red and gold banners. Some of the students become onlookers wanting to see who their next peer is.

You're dizzy for a few moments while Elwin smoothly dismounts. "Come, now. Hop off him so he can be dismissed." He makes no attempt to assist you, leaving you to get your bearings on your own. Luckily, you're able to sort yourself and keep your insides where they belong. Note to self: never do that again!

"Now that the flight is finished," Elwin begins without missing a beat, "I'll leave to your own devices. Get your things, and be sure to check in at the head office. You should have been signed in already, but formality and all that. The nobles have rules that differ from commoners, and this is an institution of nobility, after all. Off you go!" He waits not even a second after you hop off the griffon to unsummon it and stride toward the east side of the campus. You half-wonder if he's preparing to get more students and if he has an entire stable of griffons standing by to assist in this endeavor. The other half of is still coming down from that flight and thus too busy to care.

>>6481524
Right, then. Time to take Elwin's advice and get checked in, for 'formality's sake.' Of course, you could always do that later, and find some other activity to do in the interim instead? Most of the students who were being nosy have gone back to whatever they were doing prior to your arrival. And you didn't want to bring attention with your entrance! Thanks, Elwin!

>Go get checked in. Need your room assigned, get your syllabus, and other administrative stuff.
>Go walk around the campus aimlessly until something happens. What would happen though?
>Write in.

((Realize now that I forgot to mention Arlo in the most recent posts. I'm such a retard. I told you I'd get you guys right for missing Sunday!))

>>6481526
>Go get checked in. Need your room assigned, get your syllabus, and other administrative stuff.

>>6481526
>Go get checked in. Need your room assigned, get your syllabus, and other administrative stuff.

>>6481526
>Go get checked in. Need your room assigned, get your syllabus, and other administrative stuff.
We can always wait with being disobedient to the yokes of the nobility's rules. At least until we figure out why the royal family wants us here.

>>6481526
> Go walk around the campus aimlessly until something happens. What would happen though?
Fun exploring

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>>6481532
>>6481567
>>6481647
>>6481678
"Come on, Arlo. Let's go get checked in." That's when you realize . . . that elf guy didn't show me where to go.

"Hi. You're looking a little lost there."

The comment comes from behind you. It's a small human girl. Short, red hair and freckles. Brilliant green eyes. She's cute in a little sister kind of way.

"Uh, yeah. I am lost. Elwin didn't give me any clues, but my guess is" -- you gesture at this large domed building to your left -- "administration is that way, seeing as how it's the most important looking building."

The freckled girl nods. "Yup! You can find the headmaster in there in case you need to talk to him, buuuut you gotta be real important for that."

You nod. "Figures." Now that you're noticing, she does sound a bit hyper. Her words are a bit too fast for the average person. Perhaps she's just high energy. Not that you mind. You just hope she won't be a handful. "Uh, well I guess I--"

"Don't worry," she cuts in. "I'll walk with you. C'mon!" She takes a few steps before you follow suit. "Anyway, I'm Joy."

"I'm Crysta--I'm Christopher. Chris is fine, though. Please." You'd almost forgotten your plan to fly under the radar by hiding your sex. Not that you were uncomfortable or dissatisfied with being a girl. You just didn't want the mess and the jests and the lack-of-being-taken-seriously that came with being openly female. Especially given that you were already seen as 'wrong' for not being able to cast spells. Though, thanks to having two brothers, you were a bit of a tomboy growing up. Still are.

"Hmm. Well Chris, nice to meet ya! You're a noble? You dress a bit oddly for one. Maybe you're from outside Faleena, hmm?"

Man, this girl doesn't miss a beat. "Ah, no. Not noble. I'm as common as they come."

Joy shrugs. "Y'know, the school's been getting more commoners lately. Might be part of the queen's push to build up her magi corps."

Now, it's your turn to shrug. "I guess. So Joy--"

"He's so cute!" You wince at her sudden increase in volume. It looks like Arlo has taken a liking to her. He's fairly social, but still somewhat guarded around strangers. "It's a boy, right? He gives me boy energy."

"His name's Arlo," you say smiling. "Looks like he likes you."

Your mechanical bird friend zips around Joy's head, then lands on her shoulder for a few seconds to be pet, and then back in the air for more zooms.

"You already have the cutest familiar ever, Chris!"

"He's no familiar," you reply. "Take a closer look." That's when you see Arlo's optic sensors glitch--due to being close to an observer for a length of time, he flickers between his disguised form and his true form. "He is alive, though. I built him as a little girl and he's been with me since. Couldn't ask for a more reliable friend."

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Arlo chirps at that. Joy has graduated from petting him to scratching whatever passes for his chin. His haptic feedback sensors give him the ability to feel touch, and judging by his chirps and beeps, he's enjoying that too.

You and Joy (and Arlo) spend a few more minutes idly chatting and belong long, reach the administrative building. "Well, here we are. Front desk." She points to a large, wooden desk with an elf girl scribbling away on some parchment. She looks at you and pushes her spectacles up. "Oh--new students? Hi! Come. Let's get you registered properly. Names?"

Joy, of course, takes the lead. "Joy Northcutt. And Chris . . ."

"Spelldodger."

Both girls look at you with a bit of surprise. Joy's expression transforms into a knowing nod and smile. "That explains Arlo. I've heard of you guys. I have a distant uncle who says he fought with one during the last war."

"Two Brothers?" you inquire. "Was likely my dad."

"No way! Really? Small world!"

"Yep," you reply flatly. The elf receptionist hands you a piece of parchment, instructing you to slice your finger on the bottom edge of it and use the pip of blood to dot your fingerprint. A bit archaic for your tastes, but nobility has its weirdness.

"There!" she says cheerily. "All signed in and accounted for! Now, Mr. Spelldodger, the dean has sent for you. Once you got registered -- which you now have -- you were supposed to go and see him. Not sure what he wants, but you must be special to get a private audience with him as a first year!"

"Looks like we're parting ways for a bit. It was nice meeting you. Come find me when you're done being important! I'll help you get settled into your room and stuff!"

"Sure thing, Joy. Thanks for the walk-and-talk."

"Don't mention it," she responds, beaming. "Bye for now!"

You thank the receptionist, who gives a polite nod in return, and head for the dean's office. The outside, you think as you come to the front doors, isn't as ostentatious as you'd expected. Just a pair of large oak wood doors that curve to a point at the top. With a polite knock, you hear a voice instructing you to enter. Once you do, you discover, to your surprise, that the inside isn't extravagant either. Sure, it's fancy, but it's not full of the flaunted aesthetic that nobles tend to favor. Wood tends to be the furniture base of choice, with the floors daring to be different by being made of greystone. Scrolls and rolled and stashed in different corners. Some in vases, some on racks, some even in what you think is a staff holder? You're not entirely sure.

The dean looks up, looks back at his parchmentwork, then back at you. "Ah. Mr. Spelldodger. Do forgive my less than flamboyant office." He pauses. "I was never one to stand on pretentiousness, noble as my blood may be. Sit."

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You sit -- melt, really -- into a leather chair. It squeaks respond to the weight of your body, and squeaks still while you try to find a comfortable position. The dean stares at you blankly, letting you figure out how you'd like to arrange yourself before speaking. He coughs. "Yes, well. Now, you'd like to know why you're here, I'm sure. I have been made aware of your particular . . . condition. Your family, while not noble or even famous, really, aren't entirely unknown to the queendom's elite, you see. And it is the elite -- the nobility, to be sure -- whose curiosity you have piqued.

You arch an eyebrow. Arlo makes a quizzical beep. "Curiosity? I'm not sure what you mean. Out of everyone in my family, only my dad would be somewhat known. My eldest brothers after that. Who would have their eye on me?"

"As I've said, Mr. Spelldodger," he replies with an even tone, "the nobility."

You sigh. This guy is clearly here to frustrate you. "So let me get this straight. You're aware my family can't manipulate aether, yet you invite me to the most premier magic school in the entire queendom to--"

His eyes widen, making a comical expression on his puffy, red face. He looks more like a dwarf than a . . . wait, you're not sure what he is. Not that it matters. Priorities. First, some answers.

"Oh, no! Gods no! No, no no no! Invite you? Here? Young sir, I did not invite you anywhere. I simply sent for you as instructed. You did a receive a letter from the chamber of the royal scribatory, yes? You flash it quickly for him. He nods. "Yes, indeed. No, young Spelldodger. I did no such thing."

"I'm trying my hardest to be patient with you, Mr . . ."

"Weathermoore."

"Mr. Weathermoore. But you haven't been forthcoming with any information yet other than saying "the nobility." If you didn't instruct me to be here -- a nobody who can't so much as throw a fireball -- who did? To be honest, I don't care much for the machinations of nobles. I'd much rather be at home fixing my bike or upgrading my hoverboard than to be nearly killed by griffons. Now, please tell me who sent me so I know who to yell at if I see them here."

"I'm afraid," Weathermoore says slowly with his hands folded on the desk, "there will be no such yelling at anyone, seeing as how it was Her Majesty who sent for you."

You shoot up straight, back at a perfectly ninety degree angle. Arlo rapidly buzzes and zips around in a 'Z' pattern. "Arlo," you warn. "Although, I agree," you say to Weathermoore. "I'm calling balderdash on that. You want me to believe the Queen, an archmage, wants a non-caster nobody from a sleepy village in her school?" You fold your arms. "I want to speak to her."

"Oh, no no no! No can do, Mr. Spelldodger! Her Majesty is much too busy to give audience to . . ."

"To a commoner," you finish. "Yet she's not busy enough because she finds time to demand a Spelldodger at her school. Makes all the sense."

Weathermoore begins rubbing his temples. "See here now, Mr. Spelldodger. When Her Majesty gives an order, her loyal subjects execute the order. You graciously live in her domain with naught an aetherial signature to so much as create a spark of flame during the eve of her jubilee praising her name. None can deem to know the wiles and wants of Her Majesty, only that her will is to be done. Moreover, she did not see it fit, in her expansive wisdom, to enlighten me to her plans for you here. I am only enlightened to the fact that your presence here is required for at least one full year, and for one full year here, you shall remain. Now, if that is all, you are hereby excused. I suggest you find your dorm and make ready for placement tomorrow so that you may begin your academic year in top form."

"Wait--placement?"

Before you can get a response, the dean waves his fingers and you feel yourself being pushed, almost glided, out his office. Fucking mages. The doors slam unceremoniously and then naught but the sound of the dean's scribbles as he returns to his parchments.

You blink. That was a lot to unpack. Obviously, your parents knew very little about your enrollment here. As non-noble blanks, they were the last people to have any pull with the academy. There is no way they went to the royal house personally and demanded your entry. But the letter . . . it's official, from the royal scribatory. The officials who have seen it agree. So it's not counterfeit. But then what Weathermoore said. Did the Queen herself really, truly, demand that you, Crystal (or Christopher) Spelldodger attend this school? If so, why is she not able to speak with you directly to clear the air? None of this made any sense.

"What do you think, Arlo?"

He beeps a string of long and short notes.

"That's what I'd like to know. And she can't even send another letter at the very least to explain why she wants me here, yet has ordered explicitly that I'm here for the next year!" You sigh. "Come on. Let's get to our room and maybe get a tour."

>You have your directions. You're in the West Dorm, Griffon House (of course, Section D, Room 1. Go there first to get settled, unpacked, and decompress after that FUN little bit of info?
>Go find Joy. You were going to meet up with her after that dean visit anyway. She'd at least know what a 'placement' is.
>Write in.

>going in to the first conversation we have trying to hide our gender
>immediately tell the redhead chatterbox that we built Arlo when we were a little girl
We're such a stupid dork.

>>6481802
>You have your directions. You're in the West Dorm, Griffon House (of course, Section D, Room 1. Go there first to get settled, unpacked, and decompress after that FUN little bit of info?
Dump all our stuff before we go wandering about the school. Maybe use the eye to scan for magical secrets, like secret passages or hidden rooms. Surely magic nerds hide things like that in an academy.

>>6481807
Well, let`s pray that Joy either scatterbrained or benevolent enough to let Chris pretend without exposing her.

>>6481802
>You have your directions. You're in the West Dorm, Griffon House (of course, Section D, Room 1. Go there first to get settled, unpacked, and decompress after that FUN little bit of info?

Agreed with anon above, at least dump stuff before exploring.

>>6481807
>We're stupid.
Honestly? Not really. Especially the second point. Since the Spelldodger name isn't secret, just sympathetic, Chris doesn't have to hide what she does. Of course, she may want to keep some things close to her chest (especially when combat becomes a thing), but the whole "no magic; why school" thing is more like, "generally, the students don't know because they wouldn't assume a Spelldodger would be here." If that makes sense.

>Use the eye to scan for stuff.
Right now, your eye is just placing markers on points of interest and measuring distance. It will have to be upgraded to scan for structural anomalies or magical signatures leading to secret rooms. It IS a good vote, though.

>>6481821
As of right now, Joy doesn't have a clue.

>>6481822
I think mistake wasn`t "I built him"-part but "as a little girl"-part.
But hey, if Joy didn`t notice anything wrong - all for the better.

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>>6481835
I am the stupid dork around here. I'm going to let it rock and say she didn't notice since she was so caught up in Arlo.

How the hell did I miss THAT!? Christ. Now you see why I said expect me to shit the bed in the OP. I suck at writing even still. Heh. Good catch, anon.