George, on the other hand, was snoring softly on the carpet. Truly, pearls before swine. The ingrate wasn't even a good guard dog. He'd taken two sniffs of the sheep-man from behind and given the thing up, curling down on the carpet and closing his eyes. Two seconds later and he'd returned to the dreamland where he lived his secret second life.
And now we come to Sophie. In what could only have been meant as a grand, dramatic gesture, Sophie had thrown open the bathroom door. She'd been ready to wow Bob, all dolled up in her nice, new clothes, and instead, there, on the couch, in her living room, was an alien man-sheep amalgamation, a long-horned, white-bearded monstrosity. She slammed the door shut and screamed. She didn't even make a passing attempt to save or warn Bob from what might have been a bloody-thirsty alien. The picture of a virtuous woman.
"Dearest Sophie. You can come out now. There's nothing to be afraid of. Xenophon, here, is a good man. Or should I say a good ram? Xenophon what do you call yourself?"
Xenophon, ever polite, hopped down off the couch, straightened himself up and introduced himself to the bathroom door: "High greeting. I am one, Xenophon Aristoteles of the Krioteres."
"What did you say? The Cry-terrors. Wow, that's what you call yourself. Is that the system translating? Tough break." Bob slapped Xenophon on the shoulder.
"Confusion."
"You said it man. Either way, Sophie, just come on out."
The door cracked open and a brown eye peeked through the gap. The Kriotere bowed his head and covered his horns. The door opened a little wider and then a little wider and then a woman stepped out.
Sophie looked good, very good. Her confidence was well-earned. A warm shower and a set of new (expensive) clothes had done her wonders. Naturally, Bob pretended like he hadn't noticed anything. What? She was already more than a handful and it would go straight to her head. She must have sensed he was thinking something uncharitable, because she threw him a dirty look and opened with, "Robert, does it bother you that even an alien understands proper etiquette better than you do?"
"Yes Sophie, I'm very special. Thank you for noticing."
She snorted and held out her hand to the newcomer (like she was queen or something). Xenophon did not kiss it. Obviously they'd didn't kiss women's hands where he came from. Must be a noble, civilized place, this Academy. Instead, he just mirrored the action and they bumped the back of their hands together.
"I am Sophie Blanchet."
"Well met, Scholar Blanchet."
Xenophon turned to Bob. And Bob realized he'd never introduced himself. He stood up and covered his ears. What? He didn't have horns. "I am one, Robert Brown of the Mud."
"Well met, Master Brown of the Mud."
"Why is he calling you master, and I am only a scholar?"
"Sophie I think the answer to that question is rather obvious and doesn't need to be said out loud."
Sophie walked over to Bob and elbowed him the side. Xenophon made a note in his notebook.
"Sophie," Bob hissed, "you'll give the man the wrong idea. What will you do if he starts elbowing random people on the street?"
She just ignored Bob and turned back to Xenophon. "Scholar Aristoteles, you speak very good French. You might even be mistaken for a Parisian, maybe. With a little work, perhaps. The language of diplomacy, do you not think? I am most flattered that you should choose to learn our humble tongue."
"What?" Bob turned on Sophie. "You're speaking French?"
"As are you. Though you speak in an uncouth, unpleasant way that grates on the ears."
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"What?" Bob repeated. "You're not speaking English."
"Of course not, that mongrel, Germanic language of the savage islands with its harsh sounds, its zis and zat, its absurd grammar and halfbreed heritage."
"Dammit. I knew you weren't an English woman."
"Robert. No, no. Don't say it. Please. You are not from England. Say you are from the French countryside. A village in Brittany maybe."
"Yes I am from England. God save the Queen. And nothing ever traumatized me like 8 years of mandatory French. You can't make this stuff up. "ooh la la," "bonjour," "merci," "s'il vous pla?t," "oui, oui." Those aren't words; they are barely even sounds; they sound like someone making fun of himself."
"French is the language of the poets. The language of romance. Beautiful and melodious. The linguistic gem of the European subcontinent."
Xenophon was standing there. Nodding. Occasionally writing a note or two. They're both long forgotten his presence. He reached out and picked himself up another biscuit. He started to chew on the article and a low baa of contentment escaped him. Somehow that sound brought them both back to their senses. Bob coughed and Sophie harrumphed.
"So Xenophon, I have some questions for you. We are, what did you call us, unsystemed. And so we could use a little, or a lot of advice. See, there's no guidebook. The system left a lot unexplained. Practically everything important. We could use a knowledgable, systemed scholar like yourself."
"Disappointment. Neither of you found the system primer in the initiation?"
"What did you say? The system preimer?" Sophie answered.
"The System Primer. It is a guidebook for the post-initiation world, containing information on core system processes and documenting any system updates between iterations."
"That sounds invaluable."
"Agreement. As a systemologist, my highest priority task is to acquire a copy of this iteration's system primer."
Bob was in shock. He'd had it. The system primer. He'd had it at his fingertips this whole time. The system had even gone out of its way to integrate the primer into his AR overlay. He was an idiot (Bob, you only just noticed?). Well, but, still, it probably wouldn't have helped him up to now, right? He couldn't just have had all the answers, now could it? He started mentally typing.
"How to evolve between ranks?"
To evolve between ranks, one must defeat a being of a higher rank while at the pinnacle of one's current rank.
Dammit
"What does the wisdom stat do?"
Wisdom (Mental)
influences:
- Mana Regeneration Rate: The speed at which mana is organically replenished.
- Mana Channeling Speed: The speed at which mana can be channeled into spells.
- Strategic Thinking (Perspective Taking): Indirectly enhances the ability to think strategically and consider problems from multiple perspectives.
Dammit.
"How is experience for a kill assigned?"
Experience points are awarded to the individual who delivers the final killing blow. In other words, to the bearer of the mana responsible for breeching the life-heart membrane.
Dammit.
Sophie and Xenophon were animately discussing the numerous advantage and possible uses of the system primer. They were speculating about how they might be able to source one in this post integration world. Bob swallowed, bowed his head and raised his hand.
"What is it Robert?"
"I, I..."
"Spit it out Robert."
"I, well, maybe..."
"Robert, don't say it."
"..."
"Robert, say it."
"I might have a system primer."
"I knew it. You pea-brained monkey. I bet you knew how to defeat that slime all along."
"What? No I didn't it."
Their flirtatious bickering was cut short. Xenophon had fallen to his knees and was grabbing the edge of Bob's cloak. Was that drool leaking from his mouth?
"Highest supplication. Master Brown, please, I beseech you, I beg you, will you show me the system primer?"
"Xenophon, get up, this is super embarrassing. Of course, I'll show it to you. I'm not a monster."
"Sublime Gratitude. Life Gratitude."
"None of that. So how do I show it to you? It's baked into my interface."
Apparently there was a button that let you materialize a physical copy of the digital primer. Xenophon walked Bob through the process. Thirty seconds later, Bob was holding a thick, leather bound book with the words "System Primer" printed on the front. Bob took a moment to glance through the first page introduction, remembering the second challenge nostalgically (happy days). Then he snapped it shut, turned it around and handed it over to Xenophon.
Xenophon's hands trembled like he had received the Word of God, which, I suppose, he kinda was. He gasped, "A new edition. Disbelief. Version 19.0." He almost dropped the thing. He looked up at Bob like the gates of heaven were opening in front of him. "Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude." Was the man crying? "It's been over a hundred years..." The sheep was just mumbling now. Bob patted him on the back.
"Don't sweat it, Xenophon. And hell, I promise you, Jonny the Man will be a whole lot more interesting than that thing."
If anything, Xenophon wept even harder.
"Robert--" Sophie was turning on him. A scolding was coming on. Make for the hills. Save your children. Except, Bob cut in, "Sophie, Sophie, all's well that ends well."
She was still frowning at him. He needed to act fast.
"And by the way, I like your new clothes. They really suit you. You have quite the eye for fashion I can see."
That floored her. Well played Bob. "I suppose you are not mistaken."
"Thank you Sophie. It's so nice we can see eye-to-eye. Well Xenophon. There are a couple things I'd like to ask you. If you don't mind."
"Anything, anything. For Master Brown, anything at all."
"Xenophon, what is the banquet of ascension?"