Ink Forged

~Registration~

Maevus resisted the urge to call Veena forward so that her battle-dragon could fill her with strength, infuse the ability to fight through every thread of muscle in her body. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, recieving one last encouraging look from Voron before she followed the registrar into the room.

The door slammed shut behind her, making her jump, her throat going dry again. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed by a freezing, clawed hand. The woman strode through the small room crowded with filing shelves to a desk that sat near a small fireplace. Maevus lingered near the door, jumping when the registrar snapped her fingers.

"Sit, girl," the woman said crisply, apparently all business now.

Maevus slowly inched forward before lowering herself into an uncomfortable, severely straight-backed chair. She scooted to the edge of it, in case she needed to find her feet quickly.

The woman took a fresh scroll of parchment from a neat pile on the left-hand side of her desk. In fact, everything was neat, from the stacked files on the corner closest to Maevus, to the three quills lying in an orderly row.

The registrar picked up the first quill, sharpened it to a dangerous-looking point before dipping it into a nearby inkpot. She tapped off the excess ink so it wouldn't smear and said, "Name. Given and born."

Maevus stayed silent at first, gaze wandering over the bookshelves piled with sheaves of paper. Encants. Forever entombed in this claustrophic room tucked under the castle.

"Name," the registrar snapped, making Maevus jump.

She swallowed against her still-dry throat. "Maevus Kildaren," she rasped.

"Birthdate?"

"The seventeenth year of Revana," she said quietly, unable to offer anymore.

The registrar stared at her for a moment, but all Maevus gave her was a small shrug and a headshake. The woman pursed her thin lips, but just continued.

"Age?"

"Shouldn't you be able to figure that out?" Maevus said dryly, the dreary task starting to take the edge off her fear.

The registrar just repeated her question, though there was more snap to her voice this time. Maevus assumed that just meant it was part of their stupid protocol. 

"Twenty and two years," she answered, slumping into the uncomfortable back of the chair, hoping there wouldn't be much more to go.

"Charm?" The registrar's professionalism was somewhat dimmed by the sneer that crawled across her face. "What sort of magic do you work?"

Maevus almost blinked at the question. What did she mean by work? You didn't work magic... you were magic. It was a piece as vital as a heart or a soul, crafted right into an Encant from the moment of their birth.

Then she remembered what the woman had called her out in the hall. Magicker. Like what she did, what she could do was simply some cheap trick. It was an indecent term for an Encant, making them sound like nothing more than a street charlatan bartering false fate for coin. Not someone who'd been born with the goddess Revana's own gift.

This time, the registrar snapped her fingers at Maevus, the sharp clicking sound returning her attention back to the woman. Slowly, her gaze hardening, she said, "Dragon-Charmed."

She had been hoping to inspire some reaction with the mention of her rare gift, but she was sorely disappointed. The registrar merely frowned with distaste, dipping the quill in the ink once more before recording what Maevus was.

"Guild?"

Maevus shook her head, bewildered. The registrar sighed wearily.

"If you are undecided, say undecided and I shall mark it so. In five days' time you are to notify me of your choice, either in person or by mail."

Tiring of the snappish woman, Maevus hissed, "Undecided."

"Good." The woman jotted down that last bit of information, then turned the parchment to Maevus. "Sign at the bottom."

Maevus extended a hand to take the quill the registrar had been using, but she snatched her hand back before Maevus could touch her. She watched in disbelief as the woman nodded at a quill lying on the farthest corner of her desk.

It lay isolated from all other items on the desk, like it would somehow contaminate the other quills or the reams of paper neatly piled at the edges. It lay next to its own inkpot.

Maevus briefly considered snatching one of the other quills lying next to the woman's right arm and using that, just to see what she'd do. Then her shoulders slumped, her quick temper fizzling out.

It wouldn't be worth it, and she wouldn't risk having to stay for a second longer in this dreadful place.

Quickly, she signed her name on the line at the bottom of the page, then stood up. The registrar looked at her, seeming to barely be able to hold back a sneer as she fanned her hand over the parchment, willing the ink to dry faster. "You may go," she said stiffly.

But Maevus didn't budge. "I had a sword," she said. "And a dagger. Someone said they'd be returned to me here."

The registrar cast a blank look in her direction. "Then someone told you wrong, girl. I don't deal in personal effects. Now leave before I call a guard to remove you."

Fury pounded through Maevus' blood, and she slammed her hands down into the desk. Veena appeared in a shower of purple sparks at her side, roughly the size of a large dog.

She yawned, pink tongue curling as she flashed her ivory teeth. "Where is my sword?" Maevus asked softly.

She wouldn't be leaving the castle without it.

The registrar made a small squeaking sound, then shook her head helplessly. "I don't know! If something was taken from you, then it's probably still with them." 

Maevus turned on her heel as the woman cowered, eyes scanning the room, even though that was hardly necessary. She didn't need to see her sword to find it. The smell alone was enough, and this room reeked of nothing but paper and ink.

She clicked her tongue at Veena. The dragon hissed at the woman one last time, flashing her dagger-like fangs before disappearing back into her world. Maevus exploded through the door, running right into Voron.

From where he was standing, he must have been leaning against the wall, trying to listen through the seam where the door met the stone.

Once again, he caught and steadied her.

Opening her connection to Lox, she let flames wreath her fingers, trying to alleviate some of her rage. Trying to get it to burn away.

Voron took a half-step back, then squared his shoulders.

"My sword," she growled. "You said I'd get my sword back here."

"I said in Valmor," Voron reminded her softly. "Most likely the quartermaster has it."

"Then take me to the quartermaster," she snarled, anger mixing badly with her magic, making the streams of fire snap around her fingers and twine up her arms.

"Put the fire out, Maevus," he said, voice not wavering once. "I'm not the one who took it."

That sentence, and the steady look he gave her despite the intimidating display of power dowsed both her rage and the fire. It sputtered out between her fingers, and her shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just... it's all I have left of—" She cut herself off sharply and looked at Voron. "I need it back. Please."

"Of course," he said, voice still soft and somehow dreadful in the face of her own wild behavior. "We'll see the quartermaster now."