Activating the storage glyph caused it to pose a query in Old Ikesian, which Zel fixed by pressing her own Tablet up against it and mentally ordering it to perform a system update and language change. She hadn’t actually expected it to just work, but surprisingly, it did, with the storage glyph’s ornate rearranging to a layout more akin to her Tablet’s. It held an extensive wardrobe of archaic robes and trousers, prompting Zel to remark, “Did he just wear the same thing every d-Y’know what, I don’t get to talk.”
After taking the door key from the inside of the door and giving the chambers another once-over just to make sure they hadn’t missed something obvious, the two closed them back up and left.
They ate some more of the pumpkin cheesecake, taking the rest of it with them in Fog Storage as they made their way back to Riverside Remedies, stopping on the way by the pawnbroker to have the old man ascertain that the Ivory Scroll wasn’t cursed.
His judgment of the object was: “It’s got one hell of a mnemonic transfer enchantment, but no curses. You got this from the old sect, didn’t you? Don’t answer that. It’s better that I don’t know. Just be careful with it, curses aren’t the only dangerous thing about scrolls like this one.”
Without so much as another word exchanged, they paid and went on their way.
With it being a walk across half the city at best, they decided to stop by at Kanbu’s, partly to buy food and partly to kill a bit of time before noon, when they knew Sig and Makhus would have the time to help translate. Zef voiced her frustrations as they neared that store: “Y’know, all these easily-accessed vendors and services are nice, but I look forward to the streets being passable again. At this rate we won’t get much use out of that bike until the caravan’s gone...”
“It’s not what I would call an ideal living arrangement, that’s for sure…” Zel agreed as they entered into the modest establishment, waving at the proprietor. “Hey, Kanbu.”
He smiled at them as they sat down, commenting that, “Back so soon? What, tired of foreign delicacies already?”
“They lose their charm without something familiar to compare them with,” Zef replied, turning to Zel. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like something salty after that cheesecake.”
“Is that so? I thought you couldn’t get enough of bronze cheesecake,” Zel smugged without thinking. She caught herself, turning to Kanbu as Zef’s face became flushed, agreeing: “But yes, I’d probably go for the same ones we got this morning. Sandswimmer, was it?”
“Fuck you, cheesecake,” Zef said when they left Kanbu’s.
“Fuck me yourself,” Zel repeated back with a smile.
The blonde shot back with surprising assertiveness, “That’s my full intention.”
“That eager to break in our new lodging, are you?”
Upon reaching Riverside Remedies, they found it to be, as expected, closed down for lunch. What was surprising, however, was the line of people outside - five long, among them two workmen, one of those foreigners with feathers and bird feet, a familiar old lady, and a scorchlander missing one of his hands.
It took a bit of clarification to convince them that no, the store wasn’t reopening early, they just lived here. The sound of Sig beating the shit out of a log was the first thing they heard when they stepped through the storefront’s back door, and choosing not to disturb him, they went downstairs.
Zel and Zef found Makhus sitting down next to the sink, naked down to the waist wearing a pair of pants that had been cut off just above the knees. His right arm, leg, and portions of his torso now bore horribly inflamed glyph tattoos, which he was rubbing some type of cream onto.
They were single symbols no more than two centimeters across, they could be seen all over the swordsman, from the sides of every visible major joint, to two glyphs each on his shins and forearms, by some miracle fitting between the lines of his essentia storage tattoos. On the table nearest to him, the belt and its accompanying parts were laid out alongside a variety of tools.
The Swordsman-Alchemist grimaced at the women’s entrance, jokingly complaining, “Look who it is, just on time to witness the ugly part of this thrice-damned gift. Turns out these damn tracking glyphs have to go down to meat to work properly.”
“You uh… Sure that’s not a bit hasty? I mean I know that it’s not particularly difficult to get rid of arcane tattooing ink for a Purgation Mage like you, but…” said Zef with genuine concern.
“How could I help myself?! Did you even take a look into the manual for this damned thing?” he questioned, fascination shining through his pained grimace as he reached for the belt, grabbing it and strapping it to his waist without getting up. It was different, pieces clearly having been moved to expose a milky-white glowing core on the left side, encased in a mechanical shell of metal and glyphic class, connected to strange mechanisms on the right side.
“Look at this - Iron Rider: R-Gaunt On!” he said as he slotted one of the miniature tablets into the rightmost slot, pressing a button. The tracking glyphs on his right forearm began to glow, the belt spitting Fog serpents that formed into a vortex around the forelimb.
There was a flash of light, the vortex dissipated, and Makhus now had an armored gauntlet connected with sections of a skeletal frame sticking out where it was clearly meant to connect with an upper-arm piece. He opened and closed his hand a few times, grimacing in a mix of entrancement and pain. Another button press, and the gauntlet was once more enveloped in a vortex, then was gone as this Fog was sucked into the belt. He shook his hand, bending his wrist and opening and closing his hand, explaining as he did: “It’s some sort of ultralight intermediary of mundane armor and tank suit, I think. Manual says it’s powered by a capacitor that charges from ambient aether, including the wearer’s Fog exhalant. It uh… Also doesn’t work with the tablets that came with it.”
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