As a priestess, Vella would never be some offensive spellcasting juggernaut. Not when held up against an equal level, for example, invoker. But while her primary focus would always be on improving her teammates, that didn’t mean she should neglect her combat-oriented capabilities: in the Tower, even marginal advantages saved lives.

A Beginner's Guide had laid out the basics of spellcasting for her, not that she thought even that would have been necessary. The Tower understood its freshest delvers would be blind to how magic worked, and so provided inborn instincts on how to best utilize its gift: the same for all its offered skills.

From what she'd read, and also personally deduced through experimentation, any given spell came in three stages.

The first, the Guide referred to as typing. Before formation -- the second of the stages -- a caster needed to, as a potter must gather her clay, ensure she'd gathered the correct resources. In the Tower, and unlike the Serenity, mana lay latently in the world around, ready to be claimed and stored within internal reserves -- a 'mana pool'. But even drawn and stored, this raw form of mana came untyped, and before being utilized, needed to have structure applied.

Or more succinctly, required typing.

Mana could be typed in many forms, but as a level one priestess, Vella only needed to concern herself with four: the 'primordial types'. Earth, air, fire, and water.

The Guide recommended ice and earth for general purpose combat; ice being a simple derivative of water. Of the two, she preferred ice. The guide recommended acquainting and specializing in a single element, rather than attempting to learn the peculiarities of each. Later, T. Banasiewicz said, once a spellcaster had established safety and made it through their first Cascade, should they concern themself with expanding their horizons. 

After mana had been drawn and typed, spell formation began.

As its name implied, formation, in which the bulk of a spell’s behavior was designed, posed the most difficulty of the three stages. While typing might separate an ice lance from an earth lance from a fire lance, formation separated a spike from a wall from a disk. And later, once her capabilities had grown, more complex forms: an aura from an illusion from an enchantment.

And finally, severing: cutting the thus-binded mana from one's mind and releasing it into the world. The actual behavior of the spell wasn't modified during severing -- or rather, the macro behavior wasn't, only the in-the-moment mannerisms: things like speed and direction of a projectile, or in the case of, say, an enhancing spell, the duration-versus-efficacy tradeoff.

Both simple and complex stuff; a puzzle Vella had been working over, this past day. 

And so cool, too.

Vella rotated a tiny orb of ice above her palm, spinning in short circles, fascinated at the trail of misted air it left behind.

"It really is something, isn't it?" Vella asked. 

Katia, perhaps expectedly, wasn’t nearly as interested in the show as Vella was. As the daughter of some prominent delver or another, it was undoubtedly nothing she hadn't seen before. 

But for Vella? Nobody in southside district fourteen had ever been a magic user, for several reasons: one, that magic was expensive to use back in the Serenity, and two, why the hell would you still live in district fourteen if you'd managed a successful Tower run?

Vella knew she'd be getting the hell out of there, if she came back alive.

When I get back alive, she grimly corrected. Best not let morbid thoughts seep in.

Especially when things were going so well. They were already through three entire floors of the first Cascade, which meant, potentially though not likely, they might be breaking into the first Liminality by tomorrow.

They'd stopped for the day ('day' being used loosely here, in this timeless echo-world created by the Tower) inside the third-floor safe room. Katia was currently tapping about on her interface, doing who knew what. 

Vella had taken the downtime to experiment with {Spellcasting}, which would be an obviously critical component of her kit for the foreseeable future. While levels and class greatly determined what you could pull off, that wasn't to say practice was useless -- far from it. In fact, A Beginner's Guide recommended taking at least two weeks' break at the first Liminality simply to train, as well as seek out other enterprising delvers to join forces with.

Which reminded her.

"Are we staying together?" Vella asked. "After the first Cascade, I mean."

Katia looked up from her interface, surprised by the question.

The answer didn't come quickly, which was a bit painful to Vella, if not wholly unexpected.

"I have arrangements in place," Katia said slowly, plummeting Vella’s stomach down. "Teammates, a meeting point at the first Liminality."

"A-Ah." Katia was a generational … not someone who had entered the Tower in a suicidal, desperate gambit. "Of course you do. I shouldn't have said anything."

Katia frowned. "You didn't let me finish."

A flicker of hope.

Katia straightened out her slumped posture and leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I assume you have no such plans."

Vella didn't know why she was embarrassed to admit it, but she was. 

"No. I don't."

"Hm." A pause. "You've proven yourself not horrible. And your class is both exceptional and compatible with my own. Depending on what the other two's classes are, it's possible I could slot you in. Not a guarantee … but maybe."

For having what felt like some of the shittiest luck of any person ever, today had been only good news after good news – when analyzed from an objective position, at least. And while this most recent bit came with a qualification, it was still better than she could have expected. Which made her suspicious. At fate in general, or nothing in particular. 

"You aren't half bad yourself," Vella said, chronically unable to handle good news without injecting antagonism. "I guess I could make it work, on my part"

They'd only known each other for a day, but that was more than enough time for Vella to learn how to push buttons.

And maybe antagonizing the glimmering light of hope that was Katia and her impressive skill was a bad idea, but the other girl took it for the playful ribbing it was, only squishing her face up in annoyance.

"Haha," she said with an impressive dryness.

"Who're the other two?" Vella asked.

"My roommate from academy. And one of my father's associate's sons."

That was a mouthful. "Is three the standard party size?"

"Three to five. I vastly prefer three."

"Why?"

"Less split."

"Also riskier, no?"

Katia snorted, which, yeah, of course she would. Risk? To the Katia Amador? No such thing; she was the risk. Vella had to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“But you said … ‘could’ fit me in, right?” Vella clarified. 

“I’d rather not go with four.” Katia’s mouth tightened into a line. “In all honesty, I hope Moshe’s class is incompatible with mine. He’s rather insufferable. That would free up the space.”

“But if not?” She hated the insecurity in her voice, but really, if there was ever a time to be insecure, it was when discovering your likelihood of fitting into a team you had a fair chance of survival in, when the forecast looked otherwise bleak.

“It depends. A priestess works with almost everything, but … well, I’ve known Cheri since I was a toddler. We’ve trained together for years. If she ended up a support-type …”

She didn’t outright say she’d choose her over Vella, but the implication didn’t need stating. Vella wasn’t offended; why in the world would Katia pick her over her childhood friend? They’d known each other a day.

Maybe she shouldn’t have asked, though … because now she’d be stressing about it until they finally met up.

“And your other friend?” Vella asked.

A wrinkled nose. “Again, Moshe isn’t a friend,” she said. “If you and him had conflicting classes …” A pause. “It would depend, as I’ve said. On the specifics, how powerful his class is. Father would be greatly upset if it came to light I chose someone over him. And Moshe is a competent fighter, annoying as he is. But your class is unlike any I’ve seen … it’d be hard to beat in terms of strength. And that’s without knowledge of how it scales as you level.”

Well, at least there was that. “Comes down to the dice, then.” As so much of her life always seemed to. But she doubted that was an experience specific to her.

Katia gave a short, half apologetic nod. 

Vella respected she hadn’t bullshitted her, hadn’t told her whatever she wanted to hear: she’d given it straight. Vella might have a place in her party, but also, might not. Katia intended to dominate the Tower, as her ancestors had, and she would make her decisions with that in mind.

So, it was simple. 

Vella needed to impress her, these following floors.

 

---

 

Katia Amador had a problem.

A big problem.

And it wasn't one she'd ever expected to have, for a whole litany of reasons.

It was Vella.

Or more aptly, Vella's cock.

At first, it hadn't been such a big deal. Back before she’d seen it at full mast, in all its veiny glory. Back when Katia hadn't known Vella was fantasizing over her, doing gods knew what disgusting things to her in her mind, with that … that …

That perfect cock of hers.

Yes, she'd admit it. Katia always faced hard truths; it was in her blood. 

Vella Valentine, her frustratingly ignorant, confusingly powerful companion, had one of the most amazing cocks she'd ever set eyes on.

And the biggest by far.

Not that she'd seen many to compare to, mind you. Katia Amador was a proper woman -- and, she'd never admit, a romantic. She was saving herself for the right person. Gallivanting about and letting boys use her as some kind of a toy to indulge themselves with had never remotely been an interest. And even if it had been, she still wouldn't have. An Amador was far too dignified to act in such an unbecoming way.

So, not personal experience. Her knowledge of men's genitalia came from that perverted roommate of hers -- who, even after the millionth scolding, somehow always managed to leave those … those lewd magazines lying around. And she might have flipped through them, once or twice. 

Purely as a learning experience. 

Academic. 

Katia Amador was a proper woman.

Certainly not one who let her base natures control her, however influential they might seem in the moment, faced with Vella and that amazing cock of hers. 

At her hungry eyes crawling up and down her body.

"Hurry up," Katia demanded. "Why are you taking so long?"

As Katia had instructed her not to, Vella had not once reached for herself during these … spellcasting breaks of theirs. Despite the very visible frustration fantasizing over Katia and then having to reign herself in caused.

Every forty five minutes.

Even though secretly -- secretly, mind you -- maybe Katia wouldn't mind if she did.

Wouldn't mind if Vella … broke in her stoicism.

Took care of herself. Right there, while Katia watched. Stroked that … that …

Stupid perfect cock of hers. 

She'd make a big deal of it, of course. Call her disgusting. A pervert. Anything she could think of, really. Because a proper woman wouldn't allow such an act, and that was what Katia was.

But if it happened …

Well.

And if Katia might secretly, subconsciously be encouraging it? Trying to push her to a breaking point by constantly twisting in the right way, bending over in unnecessary situations, subtly flexing her stomach to emphasize those abs she so obviously was infatuated with?

Had impossibly 'missed' the clothing in the third floor's chest? So that the two of them still wandered around, stark naked?

Subconsciously, who knew what was going on? Katia certainly didn’t.

But … to be honest. 

Katia was kind of miffed she hadn't given in yet.

A blanket of warmth rushed through her, quickly fading, signaling Vella had once again completed her spell.

She wondered what she'd thought of this time. What kind of places her mind had gone … what role Katia’d played in them.

She didn't wonder, she meant. 

That would be unbecoming.

Vella groaned as she walked to the side, rubbing her face. Her cock was twitching angrily, not that Katia still watched it. Something clear dribbled from the tip … she must have gotten really worked up.

"Let's get going," Vella said, wanting to distract her racing mind, Katia knew, with the Tower and its perils. 

"Let’s,” Katia agreed coolly. “And next time, don’t take so long." She put some extra sway in her hips as she led them forward, feeling Vella's eyes follow her. “It’s obvious you’re being gratuitous with these fantasies of yours.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s disgusting.”