Officer Ican carries in her arms a massive lockbox, wrought steel-adamantine alloy folded together in a light-absorbing sea-foam green crate. One lock made of blackish metalloids and a single arcane rune; an immense security to the items held within implied by the measures taken place.

A sigil of the eagle, draconic lettering marking out its ownership to justice itself.

“I have it.” Ican nervously announces, two hands offering the thing out towards the rookie.

“Captain, it's time.” Jarka requests towards the office itself, the targeted superior standing from her desk to once again join the entourage. The Sergeant continues to the young half-orc as she crosses her arms. “Take it, it's yours.”

Open hands accept the offering from superiors, the seemingly lightweight object deceptively heavy in an unfortunate reality. Strong arms struggle with the weight momentarily, musculature falling back onto an anatomical core to remain upright.

“W-wow…” The rookie attempts to reorient himself as he says it. “T-this is…”

A wave of her hand, the golden light of arcane keys constructing together upon the lockbox. Captain Grunsen recollects the countersign, the security rune easily clicking open in recognition.

Springed hinges open the beast automatically, a denial of time and allotted space incongruent with the unexpectedness of its purpose. Three items stored within, symbols of justice allowing a single moment of observation before realization.

A small fabric patch; the spread eagle of the city of South shielded with the eight pointed star reflecting light upon its woven exterior. Demonstration of justice, marking of every bringer of law within the confines of the walls. Unnamed, the insignia is instead a mere display of judiciary origin for the public in recognition of enforcement.

Eyes are pulled towards the golden glow of enchantment upon polished steel; the golden symbol of the South City Police Department inlaid upon perfectly, mastercrafted alloy. Nestled within its own leather carrying case, the thing screams for attention; the very soul drawn towards it in the creation of absolute purpose.

Jason Ford just simply stares at the badge, the eight pointed star staring right back at him in utter silence.

Insul’a, sav’atoria, do’sin

Unnamed, ready for approval in the avenues of judiciary enforcement.

“You’ll get the name once you’re ready.” Chief of the Arcane Crimes Unit, Captain Kali Grunsen carefully informs, a scarred hand taking the arcane item from the box. “What is your name?”

A silence as the rookie answers her in a confusion. “J-jason Ford.”

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The woman scoffs, the incantation incomplete as she recompiles the file in her head. “You are Jason Ford. You are an Officer, Third Class, of the South City Police Department. You have sworn to uphold the law, and to bring justice in accordance with it. You are a part of this city, and the city is part of you. Is that correct?”

“Y-yes Ma’am.” The rookie nervously confirms.

Nothing happens, the arcane badge remaining within its leather carrying case as the Chief nods. “It’s yours.”

The young half-orc takes it, an authority suddenly put on his shoulders weighing down the soul. He nearly collapses, a perception shifting alongside a racing mind allowing for a thought to rise from the primordial soup of consciousness.

Officer Jason Ford. Jason. Ford. Officer of the Law. It really does have a nice ring to it don’t you think?

Its bound in black leather; the sigil of the City of South simplistic in its design like the rest; the eagle in flight inlaid with silver upon rich binding. A thick stack of paper atop a hardened writing surface of cardboard, the device portable yet functional in design. One casebook, standard issue and ready for application.

Sergeant Jarka asks the rookie casually as she notes his expression. “Remember how the Academy taught you to fill out an investigation form?”

“Y-yes ma’am.”

“Forget everything they taught you. We do it differently in the field.” The woman smirks as she turns back to the pile on the floor. “Now, let’s get you some sticks and stones. Though, you’re gonna be using your sword out there?”

Chief Grunsen answers for the rookie. “I filled out the personal ordnance form for him. It's already been approved.”

“That’s because you approve them yourself, all due respect ma’am.” Jarka rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Officer Ford, I hope your sixteenth birthday sword can stand up to the crap South has in store for it.”

“I’m betting it can.” Underfoot makes a guess, an arcanist’s own training allowing for the assumption. “That’s things enchanted most likely. You had weapons sharpening as the midterm for Intro to Arcane right? IA-101?”

“Y-yes sir.” The young man answers as he remembers the class code.

“Guess they haven’t changed the reqs in ten years.” The halfing man gives a half bow along with open hands, an expected answer adding atop an already inflated ego. “I don’t even want to know what sort of double dipped enchantment magic they taught you in the Abjuration ma…”

“That aside, I’d at least recommend you carry a backup.” The unit’s leader answers as she begins to pick through the weapons herself. “Maybe a shortsword, daggers. You know how to shoot a bow?”

“N-not well.” Jason Ford admits.

“He’s an evocation major, he can shoot fire from his hands.” Underfoot comically supports as he punches air, stopping as he turns towards the young officer. “Right?”

“Yes s-sir.”

“No bows in that case.” Jarka reorients to the topic at hand, taking up a leather harness and four sheathed daggers. “Alrighy, let’s get you dressed up for real.”

Utility belts now sheathed with sharp ordnance, steel vials of potionaries for healing and physical enhancement recovered from their transport cases and placed upon belts all atop a crinkling sheet of armor plating. A soul of flesh hidden beneath the societal protection of the law and by its lethal weapons and combat potential.

To serve and protect with steel and violence.

Jason Ford stares at himself in the mirror once again, realization of actualized reality coming in too fast as he observes the badge, the armor, and the uniform.

The voice makes the observation from within, a light chuckle following alongside the intrusive thought.

Let’s see how long you survive out there.