Dinner with the Greymoor Estate

The next few days I spent absorbing the reality of my transformation. My emotions seesawed back and forth between apathy and despair, but by the end of the third day, for a number of disparate reasons, a new brand of optimism took root in my mind and would not let itself go.

To start with, I began to think of myself less as a levitating holographic stat menu, but more like a dungeon master of a tabletop game, an indispensable invisible guide that still participates in the game.

I also didn’t waste the entire time moping and bemoaning my circumstances. I observed, and I learned, both about the world around me and also the extent of my capabilities as a levitating holographic stat menu.

For instance, there was a treasure trove of information available to me but not available to Lady Greymoor. Vivian’s stats could be distributed into eight separate categories: Strength, stamina, speed, dexterity, personality, intelligence, willpower, and luck. Most people in my old world would certainly recognize these attributes as generic characteristics one could find in most roleplaying games. Similarly, each one of those attributes corresponded with certain unlockable ability trees and could be leveled by engaging in certain activities.

So if Vivian invested enough skill points into, say, her personality, she might acquire special perks like Femme Fatale, which increased her chance to pass a persuasion check with a man. Yes, I was aware anyone with an attractive personality had an increased chance to pass a persuasion check with a member of the opposite sex (or any sex), but the user interface specifically denoted a thirty percent increase in the probability of success, so that must have accounted for something.

But only I was aware of these hidden abilities. Really, I was like a dungeon master.

But I also learned that I somehow, as a levitating holographic stat menu, possessed levels and abilities of my own. It was hard to believe at first, but simply reading through Vivian’s initial skills granted me a level and a choice between a number of unlockable features.

This was when my prospects took a turn for the better, because one of the unlocked abilities featured a spreadsheet application that I could use to model Vivian’s stat growth and optimize for her character development.

And for the next two days, I locked myself in the confines of this digital heaven and built an entire world of possibilities for Vivian Greymoor’s life. It was only when I had finished polishing a strength build that I realized the inherent problem with all my planning.

I couldn’t explain to Lady Greymoor how to follow any of these builds. I was a levitating holographic stat menu, not an actual dungeon master. I couldn’t talk!

It also didn’t help that Vivian had already begun distributing her stats inefficiently, by evenly adding points into every attribute, especially the attributes she possessed less of. This slowed down her progression and meant that she was miles away from unlocking any of the notable skills that I thought might be important to have in the future.

“This is a reset,” I wanted to say, “How can I load my latest save file?”

Maybe, just maybe, a feature would arise at a certain level that would allow me to communicate with Vivian, but that was nowhere near a guarantee. Besides, if the goddess was angry enough to turn me into an animated object, it stood to reason that she might want to keep me muted.

One night, Cyrus, the butler as I correctly suspected, prepared an extravagant meal, because rumor among the servants was that the head of the household, John Greymoor, had returned. Eleanor Greymoor, Vivian’s mother and overbearing matriarch of the Greymoor name, had been running the affairs of the estate. I didn’t see her often, as Vivian took great pains to avoid her at all costs, but the few times I looked over Vivian’s shoulders, Eleanor Greymoor would be frantically pacing up and down the carpeted stairs of the estate, asking for all manners of errands.

The dinner table had been swept clean that evening and Cyrus changed its pallid white sheets with silk lined with sapphire gemstones. Ornate golden candelabras replaced the pitiful short candlesticks and the seat at the head of the oblong table was dusted and scrubbed with varnish. The members of the estate arranged themselves at the table, with Vivian opting for the seat furthest from her mother.

A long line of chefs brought forth the meal. Fresh buttered bread, fondant potatoes, mushroom galette, roast duck and roast pork and roast vegetables, all of which, had I the capacity to salivate, would have left me drooling over the silk linen.

“This food looks absolutely wonderful,” Stefan, Vivian’s brother, clapped his hands together, “Cyrus, you really can do no wrong.”

“Is there any tea?” Vladimir, Stefan’s fiancé, glanced at his seat and asked, “The blend we received from the Montaigne’s was especially good. It would suit us this evening, I imagine.”

“Father hates tea, you know that,” Stefan reminded his partner, “Not all of us sleep so soundly after drinking caffeine, Vlad.”

The double doors at the entrance to the dining hall swung open and a young man with loose blond hair, a slim gait, oversized glasses, and a backpack filled with books stumbled into the hall, tripped on a rug, and face planted onto the wooden floorboards.

“John!” Eleanor Greymoor cried and rushed to the young man’s side, “Oh, must you be so clumsy?”

Up until that moment, I had expected the head of the Greymoor household to be a little more masculine. Tough disposition, with thick, muscular shoulders and a broad bearded jawline, that sort of thing. Well, at least he inadvertently commanded the room’s attention.

Curiously though, I also noticed that Vivian, for the first time that evening, was bobbing her knees up and down when she noticed her father’s return. She rested her hands on her thighs to tame her excitement, but like a game of whack-a-mole, there then emerged a giddy smile hiding in plain sight behind the tooth biting down on her lips.

“Sorry, sorry,” John picked himself up, “And I’m sorry I’m late, the royal family wouldn’t stop talking. Please, let’s not be so ceremonious about family dinner, let’s eat! Please eat!”

And so everyone ate. The stressed and sterile environment of the last week evaporated at John’s entrance. Cyrus and the rest of the staff shared knowing glances as the family all turned their attention to their befuddled head of estate.

“How was the trip, Father?” Stefan asked, “Did the proposal go as planned?”

“I’m sure you already know, my snooping little spymaster.”

“It’s called conversation, father.”

“Well the capital is always lovely around this time of year,” John shook his head, “But the royal family is as obstinate as ever. They are more interested than ever in repealing the Peace Decree.”

“My fool of an uncle,” Vladimir said, “He leads the hawks as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Yes, and he’s learned an eloquent thing from his clever nephew,” John sighed, shaking his fists at the chandelier above the hall, “If only he possessed good ideas!”

“The Caerleon Empire is in decline,” Vladimir shrugged. “What can you do?”

“But dear,” Eleanor said, “the winds of politics are shifting, surely there’s no point defending the decree if the royal family is throwing their vote into the mix. What will the aristocracy say about the Greymoors if we’re seen as soft on the growing Kapur rebellion?”

“Principles, Elly, principles!” John snorted, “And the aristocracy has enough on their hands. More commoners are being born with magical powers, economic representation in parliament is shifting. The aristocracy is weaker than it ever was in the history of the empire, but we should embrace that change!”

Magical powers? Had I heard that right? Though, in a world where someone could possess a bracelet that transformed an opalescent crystal into a digital stat hologram, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so surprised.

“You think the royal court wants to go to war as a pretext for oppressing the commoner class?” Vivian asked.

“There’s my lovely girl,” John beamed, “They say you have no magical circuits in your body, but ho-ho-ho do they forget the magic that is in your mind. Yes, I believe that’s it. Repeal the Peace Decree and you can reinstitute the draft. The aristocracy will claim their exemptions while the average man or woman will be sent to the front lines and wasted against Kapur artillery.”

“Or they’ll join the rebels instead,” Stefan suggested.

“Or they’ll join the rebels instead,” John repeated with exasperated gestures. “Cyrus, when are you joining the rebels and sticking it to us Greymoors?”

“John!” Eleanor scolded.

“After I receive your inheritance, sir,” Cyrus bowed.

“Cyrus, don’t humor him!”

“To return to your question Stefan,” John sighed, “The proposal was an abject failure. The court doesn’t want to hear about disarmament, they simply want a swift end to the rebellion.”

“So what now?” Eleanor asked, “Like it or not John, the decline of the aristocracy means the further decline of our family. Stefan and Vladimir will likely have no children. And Vivian –”

“We can adopt, mother,” Stefan interjected, and by the look that he and Vivian shared, he had interrupted their mother for more than one reason.

“The courts forbid it!” Eleanor cried, “And the last time we proposed it, the rabid dogs from the next city over sent thugs to burn down the orchard groves. And now the crown prince has rejected Vivian’s marriage offer in favor of that commoner blessed with Avalon.”

“Elly, when will you stop smothering our children like this,” John sighed, “But if it’s the family name you care about, we will still attend the Royal Ball, Eleanor. It’ll be the last time before the parliamentary vote on the Peace Decree that we Greymoors can assert ourselves, all of us, together.”

And so it was that the goddess’s challenge, her gauntlet, had been thrown down upon me.

To conquer the big major event. To attend the Royal Ball, to give Vivian the opportunity to prove herself against a waning aristocracy, against the crown prince who had spurned her.

The cerulean bracelet on Vivian’s wrist blinked. While the others talked, Vivian discreetly pressed her fingers against it to pull open the interface that only she and I could see. It seemed Vivian had gained an attribute by sitting and listening at the dinner table.

Excellent, she could now distribute a point into either intelligence, willpower, or personality. That would let her concentrate on charismatic and personable skills to wow the attendees at the ball with her sophistication and modesty.

One moment later, Vivian put a point into stamina, and I lost my will to live.