Mage Tank

“We took the liberty of naming it,” said Varrin, looking over the disassembled shield, “since Modular Floating Targe of the Honeycomb Atrocidile’s Maw was too much of a mouthful. I hope it serves you well.”

I strapped the armguard onto my left hand, then picked up one of the slabs. There were four hexagonal slots along the top of my forearm. When I held one of the slabs over it, it snapped into place.

“Whoa.”

“Seven of the slabs can move independently to form different patterns,” Varrin said as I slotted the other six. “The eighth is bonded to the metal plating along the top of the armguard. When any of the formations is dismissed, they reassemble next to the eighth plate, which acts as a beacon for the others. Papa called this the “home” configuration.”

I paused and looked up at Varrin from beneath raised eyebrows.

“Papa?” I said.

“Er, grandfather.”

“You call your grandpa Papa? What do you call your dad?”

“Father.”

“Your great grandpappy?”

“Patriarch.”

“But grampa’ Ealdric is just “Papa”?”

“I, er, I call him Papa Junior, if you really need to know.”

“Huh,” I grunted, looking down at the guard and trying to figure out how to use it.

“I know you probably don’t have the stats right now,” said Varrin, shaking off his embarrassment, “but we wanted to make it powerful, and with your ability to train, I’m sure you’ll eventually-”

I focused on connecting to the guard like my wand and sent it a light pulse of mana.

Seven of the slabs shot off of my forearm and into a seven-point honeycomb pattern. It created a shield the size of a normal targe, but the hexagonal sides of the slabs gave it a geometric edge, rather than a round one.

“I-” Varrin stuttered, looking from me to Xim. “You didn’t say he’d…” He turned back to me. “You already have tens in Strength, Intelligence, and Wisdom?”

He’d tried to whisper that last part but failed.

“Wait,” I said, waving a finger between the pair, “what was that? Xim, have you been spying on me for Varrin?”

“Yep!” she said with a grin. “He wanted to make sure whatever Papa Junior made suited you. So I kept tabs on your progress and sent it along when I could.”

“I feel betrayed and yet, extremely pleased at the same time. The cognitive dissonance is staggering.”

“Tens??” Varrin hiss-whispered again. “In all three??”

“I’m not surprised,” said Xim, also lowering her voice. “He’s always sneaking off to train. We’ve barely hung out this entire road trip. And when I do see him, he’s all sweaty.”

“That may not have always been sweat,” I muttered under my breath.

“What’s your effective level?” Varrin asked. “Last time I saw you, it was three.”

“Uh, I have sixty-eight total stats, which would translate to fifty stats for figuring level. Divide by eight, and that’s six-point-two-five.”

“Gods, you’re five platinum Delves ahead of us.”

“Sure, but my intrinsic skills aren’t very high. What’s your Blades level?”

“Twenty-two,” said Varrin. “I got twenty at level one for my training before becoming a Delver.”

“And from being a fucking Blades prodigy,” said Xim. “Twenty-two is insane for level one. Almost as insane as your stats, Arlo.”

“My highest is twelve,” I said. “And that’s Dungeoneering. Not the flashiest skill. My Blunt is only level one.”

Varrin crossed his arms.

“You can train those,” he once again whispered too loudly. “I can’t train stats.”

“Not yet,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“Grotto has some ideas, but it’s pretty half-baked for now. Practically still just eggs and flour, really. Doubt he has sugar. And the butter, no way he’s got that yet.”

Xim walked forward and grabbed me by the collar of my armor with both hands, pulling me down to her level.

“Are you saying you can give us your That’s a Lot of Stats! perk?” Her face was stone serious, her words barely audible. I’m not even sure her lips moved.

“It is conceptually possible,” I said. “But with our current capabilities, it would take twenty years to do it.”

She let me go and took a step back, putting her hands on her hips.

“Spill it.”

*****

We took a walk into the Pocket Closet under the guise of finishing our prep, and I gave Xim and Varrin the rundown.

[It is good that you have decided to entrust Varrin with this power. His family already controls vast swaths of Hiward, which will make the nation an ideal target as our first conquest.]

[What happened to just ruling the Delves, Grotto?]

[To rule the Delves is to rule the world!]

“What is he saying?” asked Varrin, picking up on our psychic communication through body language.

“Just the usual. Multi-planar conquest, powerful figureheads dangling from puppet strings, supreme executive authority derived from overwhelming force.”

“Can you really do it, Grotto?” said Xim.

“The stats thing, or taking over the planet?”

The mini-c’thon spun in the air. He was definitely becoming more whimsical with his new(ish) body.

[It is a matter that requires further study,] Grotto thought to all of us. [I have divined the basic principles of the task but would need vastly more power than what is available to me. My current research is focused on improving the efficiency of the process.]

“We need to train for a year anyway,” said Varrin. “To bring up our intrinsics before going for another platinum.”

“Not with Arlo on the team,” said Xim. “His stats would make up for it. We could probably hit another platinum Delve tomorrow and be fine.”

“I-” Varrin started but hesitated.

He looked between me and Xim, then nodded to himself, resolving to say whatever it was he had to say.

“I know that our first Delve together was… not ideal. You are both highly capable.” He glanced at me. “Even if not in the traditional sense. My actions in the Creation Delve were, perhaps, unforgivable in some ways. I led us into danger recklessly, and-”

“You want to be on the team?” Xim said, cutting him off.

“Yes. I understand if-”

“I don’t mind. Arlo?”

I looked Varrin over. The obstinate kid I first met was nothing like the young man in front of me. It was amazing how much he’d changed in less than a month, even with the hard lessons he’d learned. Then again, my first impression of him couldn’t have been worse, so maybe this wasn’t as far from his normal character as I thought.

Still, he was talented, driven, and, despite how much I hated the way Grotto looked at it, he was from one of the most powerful families in Hiward. He would be an invaluable asset. He showed remorse for his actions and had been nothing but helpful since we left the Delve.

Plus, he gave me this nifty shield. Let it not be said that my favor cannot be bought.

“I’m willing to give it a shot,” I said. “But party dynamics won’t be determined by social hierarchy. And, no offense, but if you join up then your party-leader status is definitely revoked.”

“I understand,” said Varrin. “The most qualified should lead, regardless of station, and I have acquitted myself poorly in that regard.”

“Guess that makes Xim the party leader.”

“Fuck. That,” she said. “I decline my nomination, and pass the mantle onto the next candidate.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said.

“If it isn’t Varrin, then it’s you,” she said. “I hit stuff and heal people. I can’t be distracted by making leadership decisions.”

“Tactical decision-making often conflicts with the demands of a healer role,” said Varrin.

I gave him my patented steely squint.

“I want you both to know that even I think this is a stupid idea. I’m the least knowledgeable person of the three of us.”

Varrin clenched his jaw, looking like he was struggling with the concept.

“We can all provide input,” he said. “When there’s a divide in what the group wants, you’ll make the call.”

“And what about split-second decisions?”

“Still you.” He was beginning to look even paler than normal.

[I am obviously the most qualified person to lead a team of Delvers, as I have the greatest degree of competence regarding Delves. I will-]

“Nope!” I said, shutting that down before it started. “What if we ask Nuralie?”

“Oh!” said Xim. “You want her to join too?”

“I mean, we need five members, and she kind of kicks ass.”

“I haven’t met her,” said Varrin, “but from what Xim has told me, she sounds like a good choice. Alchemists are undervalued because of their normal lack of raw combat capability. However, their concoctions are extraordinarily helpful, and what I understand is that Nuralie has some experience with knives and bows.”

“Oh yeah, she’s definitely a good add,” said Xim. “But for party leader?” she grimaced. “Look, she’s great, but I don’t see her doing… that.”

I considered the scaled woman. She was reserved, but she took charge pretty well during the Typhoon fight. Well, it was more of an “I’m leaving you here so help or don’t” kind of take charge. Maybe not the best for rallying the troops. Still, we were making assumptions.

“I don’t want it.”

“Fuck!” we cried when Nuralie spoke. That is, I said fuck. Xim uttered a demonic word that sent static through the air, and Varrin reflexively leveled his greatsword.

Nuralie was sitting on a bunk in the corner of the room, stroking one of her frogs.

“How, eh, how long have you been there?” I asked.

“Since breakfast.”

I’m pretty sure I’d given the room a once-over before we got to chatting. It was a dark corner, though. And she had dark skin, dark scales, and wore a dark cloak over a set of dark leathers.

But she was obviously sitting there with a fucking frog!

“I need to go back to Eschendur,” she said. “I can join you for now.” Pause. “But I can’t make any commitments.” The frog croaked happily. “I won’t be party leader, though.”

“Well, shit,” I said. “I mean, happy to have you aboard, Nuralie. But… well, shit. Fine, but we still need a fifth, right? Maybe they’ll be better qualified.”

“I’d rather not be led by a stranger,” said Varrin, “but we can see.”

And thus, our party was officially born.

*****

“What do we call ourselves, Arlo?” said Xim, skipping a bit as we exited the Closet to rejoin the larger group.

“Eh?”

“We need a name!”

“I’m in charge of that too?”

She spun and looked me up and down.

“You seem like the most dramatic of us. Besides,” she turned to address Varrin and Nuralie, “do either of you care?”

“No,” said Nuralie.

“A name is important,” said Varrin. “It heralds your purpose. Signals to others the nature and intent of your group. It should be something memorable, but not too ostentatious.” He gave my armor a sideways glance.

“You may not believe it,” I said, “but I’m terrible with names.”

“My family has a long history of naming,” said Varrin. “We are taught from a young age the nuance of balancing creativity with tradition. Names should speak truth in a unique way, while maintaining a clear message. Too orotund and the meaning is lost. Too mundane and no one will hear your words.”

“Your family is literally named “black raven”,” said Xim.

“Yes, it was our patriarch’s call sign during the Foundation War. The Littans had learned to fear the name, so it had power.”

“And what was your patriarch’s name?” said Xim.

“Ealdric Ravvenblaq.”

“And what about Papa Junior?”

“Ealdric Ravvenblaq Jr.”

“And your father’s name?”

Varrin frowned.

“Ealdric Ravvenblaq the third.”

“Why aren’t you named Ealdric?” I asked.

“That’s my eldest brother’s privilege,” he said.

“I’ll think about the name,” I said. “Willing to accept suggestions, though.”

We had a Hiwardian, a loson, a Denizen of the Third Layer, and an Earthling.

HELD?

That’s dumb.

Drel’gethed’s ephemeral voice broke me from my contemplation of naming.

“Greetings, Arlo. You have protected our daughter again. We are most thankful. Your place within the tribe is well-earned.”

The spectral man intoned his head toward me, his shadowy body forming into a bow.

“Of course, no problem,” I said. “Ready to rescue whoever needs it, whenever or wherever.”

We could be the Rescue Delvers!

No, that’s not any good.

“We’re ready to go, dear,” said Xorna.

While Drel looked the same as he always did, masculine upper body, amorphous lower body, with pitch-black skin speckled with pinpricks of white light, Xorna was decked out in heavy armor that would have looked right at home in a Doom video game. Thick, ribbed plates of hard and semi-organic-looking material. Crimson and flesh-colored tones. A helmet that hid all but her gleaming amber eyes. Her black horns rose out from the helm, tipped with an intricate weave of silver that extended into sharpened spikes. She had a battleaxe held over one shoulder, and an onyx tower shield strapped to her back.

“Hello, Arlo,” she said. “Lovely to see you. Have you been having a fun trip?”

Fucking. Boss-mom.

“I’m good, thanks,” I said. “I mean, yes, the trip has been... I don’t know if ‘fun’ is the word I’d use. It’s been eventful. And productive.”

“That’s good. Is your group ready to leave?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She tittered a bit, then went to put an arm over Xim’s shoulder, guiding her away from the group.

“Are you ok?” asked Varrin.

“I don’t know.”

Drel’gethed gave me an enigmatic look, then floated off to join his family.

Varrin and I moved on to meet with his parents, who both wore immaculate sets of black and silver armor engraved and embossed to the gills with depictions of mythical creatures. Varrin accepted a pack from his father and began donning his own.

Seeing Varrin and his parents chatting while wearing matching sets of armor made it look like they were all going to delve Disney World together.

Lito approached, still wearing the blue uniform of the Hiwardian Central Delver Authority.

“We defer to your leadership, Thundralkes,” he said, giving a bow to both Ealdric the Third and his wife Nola.

“Then we should set out,” said Ealdric. The man was nearly as tall and broad as Varrin, striking an imposing figure in his heavy armor. “Time to put this mystery to rest. Perhaps quell a rebellion at the same time.”

Nola regarded her husband, though it was difficult to tell what expression she made under her helm.

“I almost think you want it to be a rebellion, love.”

“Of course I do,” said Ealdric. “They burned the manor house. If that was the work of upstart brigands then we’re merely on a punitive mission to disabuse the criminals of their belief that they are above the law. If it is a rebellion, then we are valiant heroes, defending our lands and preventing a civil war.”

“Hmm,” said Nola. “The house was quite expensive. Exacting justice in our role as executors of His Majesty’s will gains us little in exchange. Coming out of this as heroes is a much better trade.”

“Precisely, my love. Pre-cisely.”

We set off into the mountains. Thirteen Delvers with four powerhouses forming the core, each of whom was the ruler of vast lands and peoples, kitted out with enough magical arms and armor to bankrupt a small country, hailing from four different nations, two separate layers of reality and dimensions, and with one big-ass bone to pick.

We were underleveled, and undergeared.