I M P E R I U M
41st Searing 122
Hector had been waiting for almost two hours. It was a plain room, with no windows nor wall decorations. It was also, ostensibly, a waiting room, painted a calming blue, with some chairs that were comfortable for only thirty of those minutes. A quiet woman in a uniform he could not quite place sat behind a desk directly in front of him, tapping away at a typewriter and occasionally humming. She did not look up nor acknowledge him once unless she was acknowledged first, but even if she was, she would simply stare.
He had been waiting for one of those hours alone. Vergil had been collected first, by two men wearing the same uniform as the woman at the desk. The two of them had passed through customs with the rest of the refugees from the Zaichaer Crisis without much issue — name, date of birth, country of origin. Possession of any Runes of Magic, though Vergil had left his blank of Vitalis. Reason for visiting raised a few eyebrows, but news travelled even more quickly than they had about the catastrophe, and there had already been preparations made to accept an influx of refugees, especially those who already had ties to the empire. But no sooner had they and whatever belongings they had left been inspected did they find themselves shuffled off rather forcefully and quarantined into this room. No sound came from the other room that Vergil had been taken to, though the men stood guard in front of the door.
At the exact two-hour mark, the door opened. Vergil emerged, unharmed but eyes widened. The same two men accompanied him out, and the only words he had time to share with Hector were vague.
"Please, say yes."
The shorter man, a human, asked for Hector to stand. If he took too long, the taller man, an elf of somewhat indiscriminate heritage, would grab his arm and force him up. He, too, was taken to the room, where a beautiful woman sat across a table. This room was also devoid of decoration, but the chair was considerably more comfortable. There was a clipboard and a small stack of papers in front of her, but nothing in front of Hector's spot. Once he was deposited into the room, the guards left and the door was closed.
"Please, sit." Was the first thing she said, a broad smile on her face. "Welcome, Hector Len'Stavrou. These records indicate you possess no runes of magic. Is that correct?" She paused, and seemingly decided to extend a sliver of empathy. "You may know that here, we appreciate magic and its use as a tool."
.Hector had been waiting for almost two hours. It was a plain room, with no windows nor wall decorations. It was also, ostensibly, a waiting room, painted a calming blue, with some chairs that were comfortable for only thirty of those minutes. A quiet woman in a uniform he could not quite place sat behind a desk directly in front of him, tapping away at a typewriter and occasionally humming. She did not look up nor acknowledge him once unless she was acknowledged first, but even if she was, she would simply stare.
He had been waiting for one of those hours alone. Vergil had been collected first, by two men wearing the same uniform as the woman at the desk. The two of them had passed through customs with the rest of the refugees from the Zaichaer Crisis without much issue — name, date of birth, country of origin. Possession of any Runes of Magic, though Vergil had left his blank of Vitalis. Reason for visiting raised a few eyebrows, but news travelled even more quickly than they had about the catastrophe, and there had already been preparations made to accept an influx of refugees, especially those who already had ties to the empire. But no sooner had they and whatever belongings they had left been inspected did they find themselves shuffled off rather forcefully and quarantined into this room. No sound came from the other room that Vergil had been taken to, though the men stood guard in front of the door.
At the exact two-hour mark, the door opened. Vergil emerged, unharmed but eyes widened. The same two men accompanied him out, and the only words he had time to share with Hector were vague.
"Please, say yes."
The shorter man, a human, asked for Hector to stand. If he took too long, the taller man, an elf of somewhat indiscriminate heritage, would grab his arm and force him up. He, too, was taken to the room, where a beautiful woman sat across a table. This room was also devoid of decoration, but the chair was considerably more comfortable. There was a clipboard and a small stack of papers in front of her, but nothing in front of Hector's spot. Once he was deposited into the room, the guards left and the door was closed.
"Please, sit." Was the first thing she said, a broad smile on her face. "Welcome, Hector Len'Stavrou. These records indicate you possess no runes of magic. Is that correct?" She paused, and seemingly decided to extend a sliver of empathy. "You may know that here, we appreciate magic and its use as a tool."
