Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. Silksong’s Silken Shop. Local Ti: 0930 Hours.
Emma
A visit to the tailor’s was sothing of a treat back ho.
Or at least, it was, to those who sought it out.
For most people, clothes were sort of an afterthought, sothing that could either be grabbed from requisition centers, or printed out on-demand from a near-infinite roster of public-domain designs; only limited by the sorts of fabrics and materials available on-hand.
For those living in single-family hos, this ant your standard natural and synthetic materials — from cotton to synth-weave, to polyester, and the like.
But for community printing facilities, like those found in Aunty Ran’s apartnt complex, this roster of materials expanded significantly; unlocking even more options to fill your closet to your heart’s content.
I, like most, never paid much thought to fashion and clothes, let alone the thought of visiting a flesh and blood tailor for a custom design.
The near limitless options at my fingertips, and my general inclination towards comfiness and utility over aesthetics and trends, made that whole idea sothing of a foregone conclusion.
That didn’t an I didn’t respect the work tailors did, of course.
In fact, I could appreciate the novelty and uniqueness of having sothing that was distinctly your own; sothing made explicitly with you in mind.
Novelty, uniqueness, and artistic expression, were the main drivers of a lot of the excitent of life after all. This was especially true given how human labor, or in this case, creative endeavors, were so of the only things incapable of being scaled up into post-demand excess.
There was just sothing about human passion, and the creative efforts behind a tangible piece of art, that was just so viscerally compelling.
This was a fact that I was starting to understand now more than ever.
It only took journeying across ti and space, realities and universes, to finally get it.
And it felt exactly as my friends had hyped it up to be.
The entire process from start to finish had been nothing but ecstatic fervor and professional workmanship.
It was a sort of controlled chaos that I’d seen from so of my artist friends before. Where the fires of excitent channeled through the spirit of muse was brought to life using the discipline and skills of years of practice and study.
We’d chatted, deliberated, enthused and got completely lost in the sheer volu of ideas I had for the cloaks, capes, ponchos, and hood combinations I’d brainstord on my tablet.
This had continued for so long that I barely even noticed how the tablet wasn’t really registering as alien or foreign to the apprentice.
When pressed about the subject however, his answer was rather straightforward.
“It’s just another form of artifice, right? I just assud your people had so cultural quirk about hiding manafields. In the sa way that your manafields are hidden by that armor!”
That assumption was… reasonable, given the rules of the reality the moth apprentice knew. And though I did want to reveal everything right off the bat — fundantal systemic incongruency stood in the way of directly broaching it in any aningful capacity. Especially when considering the constraints of the tight schedule we had for this town visit.
“Let’s just say that it’s an artifice of a certain sort.” I replied cryptically. “But not in the way that you think, utilizing a power source and a ans of operation that’s… different from how the Nexus does things.”
The moth apprentice was… reasonably confused. Although, his reactions were decidedly much more muted than Ilunor’s upon first encountering the tablet. Further questioning revealed that he’d barely seen any magical analogues of screens before, citing both his lack of worldly experience, and a lack of access to those sorts of artifices.
That would explain exactly why he hadn’t reacted in the sa way as the rest of the gang.
He just didn’t have a point of reference to begin with.
In any case, there’d be a ti and a place to slowly ease him into the nature of science and technology.
I just needed to make more regular visits to town to do so.
Which was certainly fine by , as it ant more opportunities for to explore the exciting world of fashion commissions.
Speaking of which…
“It is done, Cadet Emma Booker!” The moth apprentice bead out. The mandible that dominated much of his lower face splayed out in a manner that would have elicited nightmares from anyone with a fear of insects. However, given the context of his excitent and the constant tippy-tapping of his small feet against the hardwood floors, it was difficult to really see this as anything but genuine glee, with that terrifying visage more akin to a dumb wide grin; as passion and elation had only so many avenues of being vented.
A group of smaller moths arrived with the completed outfit in tow, with the Academy cloak already stowed away and packaged in its own box, and the other, more interesting custom cape-cloak-hood hybrid taking center stage in its stead.
My eyes grew wide beneath my helt, as I set my sights on sothing not just pulled straight from the pages of my sketchpad, but iterated upon with the masterful care of soone who knew what they were doing.
“Shall I do the honors?” The moth asked, prompting to nod excitedly in acknowledgent.
“Yes, please!”
No sooner were those words spoken, was the cloak handed off to Mifis, as he began by draping the cloak-cape portion of the outfit over my shoulders.
With care and precision, he latched the loose fabric across the upper right side of my chestplate, pinning it together with a simple broach, and adjusting the attached hood such that it was loosely nestled just between the cowl of my armor.
When all was said and done, my eyes were treated with what looked to be a cross between a fancifully-cut ceremonial dress cape, and an angular, almost nacing hood pulled straight out of The Running Shadows universe.
The cape itself was cut diagonally as it tapered towards the back of my shins, giving the impression of a lighter, more angular geotric silhouette that complented the grid-like pattern of gold and silver inlays that covered much of its bottom half. anwhile, its top half was colored in this gradient of blue, providing a backdrop for the pure-white GUN emblem that took up a good third of its available surface area.
With the hood pulled up, my nacing aura was enhanced, complenting my helt by giving it a dark and mysterious vibe.
With the hood pulled down, it gave the vibe of class and style, or at least, a sort of modern and contemporary form of class and style. The unconventional cut of the cape helped to elevate it from becoming yet another carbon-copy of the over-the-top Nexian fashion trends; giving it a distinct human-feel.
“This is outstanding work, Mifis.” I proclaid with glee, unable to really pull my gaze away from the mirrors all around .
“It is the hope of any tailor, to have their works be received with such enthusiasm, Cadet Emma Booker.” He bowed deeply, prompting to return the gesture, which was the only point in this entire interaction which actually elicited a certain level of genuine confusion from the moth.
This mont of social awkwardness was thankfully interrupted by the ka-thunk of the elevator as it slowly descended from up above, signaling the return of the gang and further fueling the flas of excitent deep within my very core.
Sothiswas what everyone was raving about back ho.Thisis retail adventure.
Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. Silksong’s Silken Shop.
Thacea
Were it not for the moth’s silken words, would I have been spared the follies often seen amongst the undisciplined ranks of royalty and nobility alike.
But it would seem that the expert craftswoman was indeed simply living up to her nasake.
As not only were her fabrics spun from the finest of silken materials, but so too were her words silken in their intent to lull one into making unnecessary and frivolous purchases.
A part of felt a distinct sense of disappointnt in my inability to resist these temptations, likening myself to the unrestrained spendthrift tendencies of my sister.
Yet another part of felt satisfied to have gone through with such a decision, as that sense of spontaneity that I had been self-conditioned away from, suddenly started becoming more appealing for so inexplicable reason.
Whatever the case was, I now was the ‘proud’ owner of another set of flight-friendly dresses.
One which promised to rival even those I’d brought from ho.
Whether or not this was rely empty promises, or a palpable example of Nexian-grade craftsmanship living up to its na, remained to be seen.
What wasn’t an uncertainty however, was the result of Emma’s own tailoring misadventures.
As the elevator lowered us further towards a familiar, yet strikingly different figure that now stood in the middle of the cluttered emporium.
A decidedly dashing figure, which I could not for a mont disengage my gaze from.
Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. Silksong’s Silken Shop.
Thalmin
All of this was so unnecessary.
And yet, as was the case with these web-spinners, I now found myself ensnared in a trap of vapid promises… all excitedly paid for by the blue thing.
I’d attempted to refuse… but it was clear that the only thing that would stop the Vunerian’s financial advances would be nothing short of physical threats of violence — sothing I couldn’t afford here in public.
And so, I now found myself in possession of an entirely new tunic. One that was… admittedly, comfortable. But one that I wouldn’t find myself caught dead wearing. Not especially deep within the Nexus’ all-seeing gaze.
This was unlike the Vunerian, who seed to take it upon himself to commission entire ensembles — entire sets of carefully crafted outfits which was slated to take not just an entire day, but perhaps even a full week to complete.
It was as a result of this, that the Vunerian ‘settled’ on walking out with a ‘simple’ new over-cloak and hat. The latter of which sohow managed to make his already gaudy attire even more over the top.
And that wasn’t even the worst part.
As in addition to the assault on the eyes, my ears too were being chewed out by the constant guffaws that were the Vunerian’s overexcitable reactions to his new article of clothing.
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No topic was safe from being broached. From the ‘intricacies of the embroidery’, all the way to the ‘quality and richness of the fabrics’, to color composition theory and even the thread count of the fabric itself — the blue thing seed entirely entranced by the seemingly banal and trite.
This continued nonstop even as we entered the elevator, Thacea entirely tuning the Vunerian out as it was clear her sights were now set on sothing else entirely.
The object of her newfound interest was made clear as the elevator cleared several floors’ worth of loose fabric.
Indeed, it too eventually caught my attention, and even Ilunor’s — as the sounds of his incessant yappings ca to an abrupt and unprompted halt upon seeing the admittedly simple result from Emma’s tailoring sidequest.
A piece of outer-armor attire, that was as foreign as the armor beneath it.
Yet in its strangeness, and its unconventional cut… there was a stunning presence it managed to convey. One that seed to stand proudly as a distinct aesthetic completely disconnected from the Nexus and the Adjacent realms.
It was as much a symbol of eye-catching defiance, as much as it was an aesthetically pleasing design in and of itself; conveying both power and subdued wealth.
It was probably the latter of those two observations that gave Ilunor so pause as his mouth hung agape at Emma’s display.
The sheer casualness that she carried herself with, definitely added to the already striking presence of her new appearance.
“So, what do you think?” She asked nonchalantly.
Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. Silksong’s Silken Shop.
Ilunor
‘My disappointnt is imasurable, and my day is ruined.’ I thought to myself
It was one thing to be wealthy.
It was another to have class.
One’s ability to discern tastes were, first and foremost, seen in the choice of one’s attire.
First impressions were, after all, almost always the mories that would dictate the course of one’s public perception.
Cadet Emma Booker was for all intents and purposes a commoner.
Her world, her people, were all playing at a universal councilorship, perpetuating the silly ideas of nobility amongst the masses.
Whilst she’d proven her realm materially wealthy, and perhaps capable of being able to rival that of the Nexus through sheer brute force… wealth itself could not translate to taste and culture.
Or at least, that should have been the case.
As it was here, within this slice of the Nexus heartland, that I saw another side to the earthrealr.
A side that was admittedly lost to up to this point given the utilitarian overtures sung by her manaless predisposition.
As her armor, her equipnt, her dwellings and artifces, all conveyed brutish efficiency in stark contrast to Nexian aesthetic exceptionalism.
However, all that changed here and now.
Or at least, that’s what first impressions would imply.
For all I knew, this could’ve been the distinguished work of the Nexian-trained tailor-apprentice, a prodigy in the making.
“Your outer-armor attire… is certainly striking, Emma Booker.” I began, garnering the shocked expressions of everyone else in the room. “I assu that all due credit can be given to the apprentice tailor?” I announced with a level of confidence, turning my attention squarely to the smaller moth.
“You flatter , my lord.” The boy bowed deeply. “However, it would be remiss of if I took all the credit. For you see, whilst it was I that crafted the physical product, it was Cadet Emma Booker that had conceived of such a design. I rely acted as a bridge between the pages of conceptual design, and the physical result you see before you, my lord.”
I felt my eye twitch before I could even formulate a coherent thought at that response.
“Surely the design is derivative of so ceremonial design, designed for those of higher rank and station.” I rebutted, turning towards the earthrealr. “I… assu that this is a form of ceremonial attire for your commissioned officers, Emma Booker?” I managed out under the sa confident breath as before.
“Whilst we do incorporate capes, cloaks, and the like in our ceremonial uniforms, I’m afraid this one is actually my design, Ilunor. Well… partly at least. I got heavily inspired by a lot of our local dia, so I have to credit the design and art teams for their part in creating the aesthetic elents this outfit is based off of.”
I felt my eyes twitch once more, the response only serving to drain that confidence from my soul as my rational mind refused to acknowledge that fact.
That the tasteful and pleasing design before … was born not from the careful and learned parlors of the nobility, or even from the studios of licensed and chartered commoners.
But instead… from the mind of what was a self-admitted typical commoner from Earthrealm.
Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. Silksong’s Silken Shop. Local Ti: 0937 Hours.
Emma
“Actually, there are quite a few issues I have with the design.” Ilunor soon managed out, practically shifting his opinions on the design on a di. A look of apathy and mild disappointnt colored every nook and cranny of his expressions. “But I have neither the ti nor the patience to entertain the lengthy dissection of your outfit’s shortcomings, as we have other stores to patronize.”
‘You couldn’t have picked a better word if you tried, Ilunor.’ I thought to myself, as I quickly turned towards the moth and her son.
“Well I for one applaud Mifis’ expert craftsmanship and vision.” I acknowledged, before dipping my head once more. “Thank you for putting the ti and effort into bringing my creation to life, Mifis.”
This once again startled the apprentice sowhat, as he responded with an even deeper bow, prompting to finally tackle the matter of paynt.
“So, how much is this going to cost?”
“Given the novelty of your commissions, and Mifis’ status as an apprentice, it would be customary to waive the cost of any additional item outside of the primary request, Cadet Emma Booker.” The moth tailor spoke gingerly, gesturing towards my Academy cloak. “After all, it was a learning experience for him, and it would be unfair to charge you for an item that is ostensibly part of his hands-on practice.”
I nodded in polite acknowledgent, as Ilunor began rummaging through my coin purse.
“The five sets of school cloaks should run you exactly fifty gold. This price is a gesture of good faith from our store to your newrealm, and further, a price more in-line with my son’s current occupational status.”
An affirmative sigh from the Vunerian marked the exchange of coins, as similar to the bakery, the designated amount floated up and into the moth’s open purse in an almost video ga-esque sequence.
We eventually left the tailor in even higher spirits, as whatever remained of our orders were designated for delivery to the Academy at a nominal fee.
The streets at this point had beco even busier than before, though only marginally so. The last vestiges of live beasts of burden had since disappeared, now entirely replaced by their golem counterparts, or entirely ‘horseless’ carriages.
Though in spite of the increased traffic, the walk to the stationery shop took no ti at all.
However, unlike the first part of our morning errands, I could feel a palpable skip in my step.
A mix of excitent, optimism, and sheer confidence surged through every step I took, as the novelty and enjoynt of having what was just a simple idea brought to life just refused to die down.
Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. The Stationery Corner. Local Ti: 0945 Hours.
Emma
A small incline marked our entry into what the locals referred to as the ‘stationery corner’.
Corner, was a rather apt na for it too. As what appeared before us was a small square plaza with a single tree planted in the middle of it. The manicured greenery provided by that lone plant was a stark contrast to the pure white of the whitestone streets, and the grand facades of each and every townhouse-sized storefront dotted around us.
Indeed, the vibes at this part of town were on point, with storefronts all facing towards the center of the plaza, giving the place this small, cozy atmosphere; in spite of the grandeur of each of the stores’ facades.
It took a few monts, but Thacea was quick to choose one of the many stores cramd into this small space.
Upon entering the store through one of the only single-doors we’d seen in this side of town thus far, we were greeted with a highly space-efficient room that clearly didn’t benefit from the ‘bigger-on-the-inside’ spatial magic of the Academy.
Indeed, it gave massive old-quarter townhouse vibes from the likes of Manila, Bangkok, Jakarta, and a good chunk of the other major cities in the South East Asian Confederation — where space was at a minimum, and these four-to-five story townhouses still managed to serve their purpose.
The skinny, narrow, length-over-width open-plan space was what truly nailed those vibes.
The interior design however was exceedingly different, leaning more into the Nexian aesthetic.
Or more specifically, what I was starting to categorize as the ‘tasteful’ Nexian aesthetic — with carved wood dominating much of the wall facade, trimmings, and even the pillars. Stone was either used sparingly, or hidden entirely by whatever ‘fancier’ materials were on hand, whilst the floors themselves were thinly cut tiles of various types of rocks arranged to form mosaics or geotric patterns.
Thin and tall shelves lined most of the left and right walls, whilst free-standing glass display cases were placed in the middle of the room in three-foot intervals.
A ‘U’ shaped service counter was positioned all the way at the back of the store, but still took up a good quarter of the room’s space, as many more items seed to be stored behind its glass-topped booths.
“Ah! Custors! Please, feel free to take your ti perusing my extensive collection!” A voice quickly erged from behind the counter, as the door behind it slamd open to reveal a male elf dressed in what I could only describe as your archetypical ‘rchant’s attire’. With layer upon layer of silk and gold embroidered fabrics complenting an old gentlemanly face that seed genuinely friendly, warm, and inviting.
We began perusing, unassisted, with Thacea taking the charge as she ran down her extensive list.
No sooner after she began reading aloud the items, did another elf erge from behind the counter, arriving with two baskets in hand, ready to personally assist the princess who seed deep in thought at one of the display cases in the middle of the store.
“We’re going to need both magical and common writing implents.” Thacea began, as she gestured towards the glass case, prompting the younger elf who looked to be Larial’s age, to begin unlocking and removing trayfulls of pens; fountain pens to be precise.
“I’m assuming the magical pens are what allows you to make those moving texts and whatnot?” I questioned, cocking my head in the process.
“Yes.” Thacea nodded in acknowledgent, grabbing a pen and walking towards what I could only describe as a frad wall face with a thick sheet of paper upon it; littered with nas of varying handwriting and styles across it. Next to it, was a small sign, which read — ‘signatures and tasteful tributes only please’. A few scribbles punctuated by a mana radiation signature later, and the princess had managed to draw up a list similar to the Academy’s syllabus, with scrolling text moving across at a steady pace.
“Right. So, I’m assuming these are just… simple fountain pens with magical ink in them? Or is there more to it?”
“There’s always more to it, earthrealr.” Ilunor chid in, grabbing an overly ornate pen from within his coat for added effect. “For you see, only nobles may use it to its fullest extent.” He began, as he walked towards the wall of canvas, flint sparks flying from the draconic mouth nib when he pressed onto it to demonstrate.
“Broadly speaking, there are three distinct forms of magical pens. The first, the quill, is irrelevant to this conversation, as it acts more as a specialized tool or a matter of personal preference, depending on the wizard. The second, is what we both currently have in our hands — the noble’s pen.” He made his first stroke on the canvas, and where I expected the typical rustling sound of pen gliding along paper, l widened my eyes at the sudden fiery growl made by the first stroke.
“Simply put, it is a pen designed explicitly to be used through the active manipulation of mana. When combined with magical ink, any number of magical notations may take place. From simple moving text, to animated images if you are so artistically inclined, to a great number of multicolored and iridescent fonts if you so choose.” The Vunerian illustrated each of his points on the canvas wall, revealing bright, fiery calligraphies and rudintary looping animations that would’ve fit right at ho in the likes of the early proto-internet.
“anwhile, the commoner’s pen is a close analogue that attempts to roughly approximate the infinite capabilities of a noble’s pen. However, it only achieves this through the use of dedicated enchantnts, allowing it to perform rudintary enchantnts that only manages to capture a sliver of what a noble’s pen is capable of.”
So sorta like a preset custom profile, rather than having all options unlocked. I thought to myself.
“So, similar to the enchanted weapons Sorecar showed , right? ‘Commoners’ are able to use them because of their manafields, but only to the extent and limits of its enchants?”
“Correct, earthrealr.” Ilunor nodded smugly.
“Right, so, that’s three. What about common writing implents? Like, what if you wanted to write just basic stuff without these gimmicks?”
The Vunerian’s eyes narrowed at that, as he snapped his fingers at the elven attendant, the elf responding by grabbing him just another typical-looking fountain pen.
“Basic writing implents are indeed still quite common, especially for those commoners who find themselves unable to afford magical writing implents. These too can be divided into two sub-categories. The first, being enchanted, and the second being unenchanted. The enchantnts in this case aren’t made to facilitate the use of magical ink, but are simply done in order to fix the inherent flaws and limitations of fountain pens. Though frankly, most commoners without the ans rarely have the ability to afford such luxuries, simply resorting to leaking, filthy, ssy, and rather unintuitive ink-hungry pens.”
It was at that point that a lightbulb mont hit with the force of [two] Bim Bims. My hand instinctively reached towards one of my pouches, unlatching it, to reveal a simple, ti-tested, likewise tiless writing tool. A design which revolutionized the world and left it changed forever — the humble ballpoint pen.
Ilunor’s eyes narrowed at the thin, sleek, tube. A look of knowing concern quickly forming, if only to be replaced by that sa haughty persona. “Is that supposed to impress , earthrealr?”
“Not in the flashy or showy sense, no.” I responded. “Sotis, it’s the more humble innovations that speak for themselves. In fact, a lot of tis, it’s these silent, almost invisible and cheap background objects that redefine a world as much as the next great technological breakthrough does. For what this simple object did, was to provide an entire world, regardless of socioeconomic status — a ans to write.”
I took a mont to pause, as I turned towards the canvas wall Thacea had written on monts ago.
Pressing my hands towards it, a part of quickly realized just what this mont ant, as I paused and pulled my hand away just for a split second.
Aside from the dreaded attempt at subversive coercion that was the yearbook, this was the first ti I’d be writing on a public record.
This was the first ti I’d be putting pen to literal paper, making my mark on an alien world, in an entirely different dinsion.
It was with that realization that I took a mont to actively think about what went on there, as all pretenses of showmanship slowly faded away to a more poignant train of thought.
‘This world, as ssed up as it was sotis, was a final frontier ant to be explored byyou.’
‘You were so excited for the prospect of being the first. Director Weir constantly reminded of just how similar we were in both of our pioneering passions.’
It didn’t take long at all for to realize what, or rather who, deserved to be written out.
The logs, interviews, and journals all still played out loud and clear in my head, as I now stood in a position that would have otherwise been his.
So, with a firm grip, I finally put synthetic pen to magic paper. On a blank space surrounded by animated scripts, infused with magical flourishes all vying for a uniqueness with the intent of one's-upmanship, I scrawled down a simple ssage in English.
Wish you were here, Pilot 1.
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