She giggles. "I think the teleportation one is still too big but I haven't been working on cramming it down, that can be next."

"We have forever," he says exultantly.

"Yep. Me first." Her eyes go white, her hair fluffs out. "Let's see how long this thing takes to charge."

They wait around, smiling. 

It takes forty-seven minutes - "I think that's a record," she remarks when it's cleared thirty-two - but then it goes off and, presumably to the reduced consternation of the Elves, her hair stops doing the thing.

The Elves have been politely not looking. They are very pleased that Iobel's immortal, though.

"It is a hex, so it won't do the trick by itself unless a lot more people manage to learn it," she says. "We may need to distribute the nice Earth drugs."

"I'll give it a try right now," Fannar says. "The fountain was a priority because it is much more scalable - we can't replace hospitals because people need to at some point have designated a healthy version of themselves and not everyone will, and some aren't born healthy, but we can change quite a lot..."

Iobel passes him the chart.

He doesn't know it as well as her; he starts reading. Mitros is still beaming at his wife. "I'm going to try to learn a spell for better working memory," he says, "but I think it'll take some more pruning even with drugs."

"Bootstrapping!" she chirps.

"Yep. I think the one I have even stacks and I am going to make a dozen people learn it and cast it on me so I can make a better one. You had better make me immortal tomorrow, I don't know how long it'll take to make you empress regnant of the galaxy."

"I will make you immortal tomorrow," she promises.

And Mitros works on pruning. And Fannar gets Iobel's immortality hex, too, and makes himself immortal with a sad smile and then immediately recovers by stealing Mitros's charts from him and peppering him with suggestions.

"- I assume that if someone with your chip blessing things loaded up could be a spellbinder they'd be able to cram like a square mile of chart into their head," Iobel says. "It might just be a species thing, except that we seem to be the same kind of human Cam used to be, so it could be something like being born in this world."

"Let's see, do I know any pregnant Elves. Or for that matter orcs, probably easier to find pregnant orcs."

Maitimo and Findekáno both know some pregnant Elves they'd trust to raise a good absurdly powerful spellbinder child. 

And Marlatia will be delighted to harbor the and have them tutored in spellbinding if they turn out to have spirit animals - "And then we can get really ridiculous. I don't think a resurrection spell would be more than five or six times the size of anything we pulled off today."

"...human resurrection?" Maitimo says.

"Who else needs it?" shrugs Iobel. "I mean, it'll have to include familiars or you might just wind up with an unmade vegetable but yes."

Maitimo raises an eyebrow. "Maybe also have some newlywed couples planning to have children come live here, in case it's conception and not birth that matters."

"We'll be happy to have them."

Resurrection of things far more complicated than humans and not physical at all probably isn't possible even with a mile of spellchart. He doesn't even raise it.

Cam does. Softly.

"Dwarves probably, Maiar I'd need to know more to even guess..."