Once again, for the nth time this year, the sun began its rise; a new day dawned as all the stars once shining up high crawled their way back behind the blue-sky’s shadow. It was nearing the end of the sixth month, the end of the mid-point, of this new year. In due time, this new year would be one of old…relegated to the past as with all the rest that had so preceded it.

The final day of every sixth month of every year, however, was yet another period of celebratory festive; to celebrate making it past the mid-point of the year; to celebrate and bring glory to the Goddess of Summer. Indeed, the turn of a season was usually marked by such festive celebration, at least by those who followed the Central Gods; although, local Trinitarians were by no means…necessarily ones to deny festives when presented.

All throughout the city of Coastfield…may it be that which laid within the inner-walls, or that which laid within the outer-walls, signs of preparation were evident. Decorations and banners were being propped about and around; merchants, entertainers, and all such relevant folks and others flocked to the city to set up their stands and services; all done a week in advance.

Yet, despite this time of preparing celebration, the winds of change continued to blow onwards. Griffons shrieking in the air and armored men marching through the streets and roads beyond, heralded evident signs…of gathering storm clouds. News from other realms and even lands…spread fastest to those on top, yet for everyone else…such news could be slow, especially when those on top wanted to retain an illusion of stability and peace.

Coastfield was relatively far from the storm itself; thus, hardly any need to concern oneself, no doubt. Yet in this ever-shrinking land, in this ever-shrinking world, happenings from far off and away, either from realms afar or even from beyond the ocean blue, tended to echo right back to home…or sometimes…arrive directly.

Yet, the Count and his grand palace, ever the discreet sorts, remained silent; thus, hardly any reason to fear.

The receptionist—the same one as always—was utterly passed out in a drool, her head blissfully sleeping away upon the main counter; she had fallen asleep randomly at some point in the night, seemingly.

Paperwork. Endless paperwork.

So much…paperwork and reports needing to be made and filed, most of which appertained to the expulsion and banning of one specific, now former, adventurer gal. Indeed, such actions were not at all a swift and easy endeavor, even after the fact; the Guild was not a sovereign court or realm of lords, nobles, and kings…they had to actually justify and explain their decisions and reasoning…of course, up until they arbitrarily did not.

Regardless, since the receptionist had so taken that specific rookie adventurer under her…responsibility, her peer and supervisor had shoved all the relevant bureaucratic…work straight onto her.

Suddenly, griffons passing through the air above, flying lower than usual, dashed on by and overhead; their abhorrent chimeric screeches pierced through the walls of the Guild hall as if they were in-firing rounds. The receptionist instantly stumbled up as she jerked wide awake in sudden surprise…startled and somewhat confused.

She rubbed her eyes and looked around; “Oh…Gods’ sacred, I fell asleep” she blurted out to herself, before staring at the pile of…endless bureaucracy and proceduralism. She sighed in a yawn; “…he is not going to be happy about this…nope” she muttered in softly lamenting remark.

Indeed…so much work had compounded on top, no thanks to what her peer had thrown onto her; she had thought that she could do it all with only a few extra hours overtime…only to realize…no, not at all; she was unable to return home at all. Her husband was already rather…disaffected by her existing schedule, thus…he was most certainly not going to be pleased about this.

The receptionist looked at her finger…evaluating a specific and certain ring, which she was in fact wearing this time, on an equally specific and certain finger; “…how am I going to apologize for this one?” she mumbled to herself, gently twisting the somewhat loose ring.

Such rings were a Trinitarian affair, largely; her husband was a Trinitarian. Even though…she was not one, nor even were most in these lands, such marriage practices and rituals had spread all over this continent, nevertheless, and had grown beyond just a religious affair.

It was a nice ring…so she could not really complain about such formalities.

She remembered the day that man had done his cute Trinitarian ‘proposal’; things…seemed more simple back then. But…then she moved up in her career and got promoted; she became more and more busy…and independent, becoming the effective coin-maker. From then on…things had just gone…sour.

In these lands, especially now in this era and…double especially for Trinitarians, usually such roles were reversed: she was the one who was supposed to stay at home and keep things all neat and tidy while her husband worked and labored, and to care for the eventual children that…she had yet to even bear despite having been married for a couple of years.

It was not as though she did not want to have children, she did, but…she was simply too busy and when was not…she was exhausted and not in the mood for such endeavors. Not that any of that really mattered, since in such affairs it was the prerogative of the husband, not the wife, and…her husband was becoming more…demandy and questionably forceful. Despite seed being planted, so to speak in local idioms, nothing had yet come to fruit.

Though, quite frankly, she did not really want to be pregnant any time soon, since it would only hurt her performance and work…yet she also did want children but—ugh, truly…so many things were so stressing her out; she was beginning to lose hair, even…double-triple ugh.

The receptionist sighed; “Oh well…I cannot return home, the day has just begun…so, I might as well prepare things early before the chief arrives…” She sighed yet again; “I will try to make it up with him during Summer’s festival…that could be nice…just the two of us…but I’ll have to clear it with her, though…” thus she decided to herself, her thoughts bleeding out into spoken words.

Without any further delay, she immediately took out a few minty-chewables of sorts, since it was unbecoming of a lady of any decent stature in these lands to be with such groggy morning-breath. Chewing away, she headed straight through a door behind, and went down a hall of many doors to fetch herself a brew of imported coffee—truly the lifeblood of her profession.

Arriving to this staff-specific kitchen, she lit the fire-pit and began to boil a rather large dangling pot of prefilled water; she grounded some beans, fetched a teacup alongside another cup—for the water—alongside a paper-filter of sorts, and…brewed herself a rather dark…dark…batch of coffee. She diluted it with as much dental-decaying sugar as possible in order to make it…barely drinkable. Ugh, where was that social hub receptionist when most needed?

Taking sips, she headed back to the main counter area and placed her cup onto her usual spot upon arrival. Yet…before she could get to work…pain, cramps, a certain feeling…great.

She hastily departed away, out through the main doors and to the world beyond…in order to pay a quick visit to that public place…wherein those with specific needs expunged said specific needs. Taking more time than predicted, she eventually returned…only to find her coffee was now…cold.

Ugh…great…she had to toss it into a reheater and boil it again…only to find out that the Guild hall did not seem to have any reasonably sized reheater or boiler for one small meagre cup…thus she had to either drink it cold or rebrew the entire thing…double ugh.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Truly, the mundane and boring day-to-day struggles of being an average ‘mortal’.

Refusing to drink cold coffee, she dumped the cup and went back to rebrew a fresh new one, which was accomplished swiftly since the water was already boiled. Ahh…such a pleasant smell for such an ugly bitter taste. Brewed and diluted, she sipped away…‘enjoying’ this hot beverage as much as she could.

She made her way back to the main counter area…yet only to find upon return, someone…who she did not think had been there before, yet for some reason it was hard to remember…standing before the counter. And not just any type of someone…not at all; rather, someone whose very appearance heralded so clearly…clandestine affairs.

The receptionist instantly paused in a freeze, her tired eyes widening in surprised alarm and fear as her trembling hand abruptly dropped her cup, spilling her freshly…rebrewed coffee…onto the ground.

“…” she silently stared, startled and somewhat scared.

“Well, a warmful cawing caw to you… sorry, I did not mean to startle you, I am not here for anything besides a little friendly chat…so do you care to spare the time, madam?” thus spoke and inquired with a rather menacing charm, that someone standing before the counter; cloaked and masked, a strange corvid on shoulder…staring into her. “Or do you want me to wait for your boss?”

Abruptly, right on prompt…as if yet another ploy by the Goddesses of Fortune and Chance, the main doors sprung wide open as a certain and rather chiefly receptionist stumbled on in. Eyes bagged as if she hardly ever slept, dark-blue vest but a purple armband, and an elaborate amulet of a cyan sort of color affixed to her chest and collar.

The chief of all receptionists stumbled through the Guild doors…with hands full of stacked…stuff and things, munching away on a soft cream-pastry of sorts…which immediately dropped from her mouth and onto the ground as soon as she noticed…the receptionist staring with such disconcerted eyes, never mind that certain someone standing at the main counter, who turned and stared.

“…” the chief stared blankly, processing; “Oh…it’s gonna be one of those days, huh? Uch shit, what could the Bureau possibly want now??” thus the chief remarked and asked to the Gods above; she was so very done with existence, most truly indeed.

-||-

The blue-sky oranged and yellowed…as the sun made way for setting; its sunful light soon to be replaced by that of the moon.

The foreigner, largely half-nude for she had yet to even leave her apartment this day…or rather the past several days, sat upon a chair in front of this…‘dining table’ or whatever. In her right-hand was a writing instrument of sorts—a feathered ink-pen, seemingly; albeit, both it and the ink were rather aged.

The fingers of her left-hand tapped away against the table…as her bagged ignited eyes stared down at this packet—her Collegium application from all those months ago. She had been working on it for the past several…many days.

A rather tedious thing to fill-out…this Collegium application was.

It was demanding all sorts of information regarding affairs she had…no proper knowledge of or responses to, such as her ‘age’, ‘realm of origin’, and ‘day and month of birth’. Although she had most certainly been asked similar things during the Guild’s enrollment process…specifically appertaining to her ‘age’ and ‘date of birth’, she did not really remember…what she had given them.

Though, upon prolonged contemplation, she had recalled that for her…‘age’, she had simply asked the receptionist to make an estimate based from her appearances and went with whatever the receptionist had ‘correctly’ guessed…but she did not remember what that number was…besides it being…somewhere around the 18 to 25 range.

Ultimately, the foreigner had simply put the mean of the 18-25 range as her response, that being 21.5—which she neither rounded up nor down, that was her response.

For her ‘birth day and month’…she had simply opted to put the first day of the first month, since that was the only local date which she really remembered and was probably what she had also done for the Guild; for ‘realm of origin’, she had simply written down ‘the New World; and of course, for her name, she had put what her Guild name was…or had been.

These simple…first-page basic applicant-info prompts…had taken her far more time than she cared to admit or even comprehend…and such was the only the start. The rest of the application and its many askings, prompts, checkboxes, and many other such suchs…were even worse.

After having had spent an entire day staring blankly at it, she had opted to simply…well…utilize creative environments whereupon she…by means of imaginative cogitation…simulated a hypothetical existence appertaining to the relevant affairs and endeavors being inquired upon to…inferentially simulate her ‘prior magical studies’, ‘family history of magical practice’, ‘affinity lineage’, ‘purpose for applying’, ‘future plans’, and such—in other words, she made rather the elaborate shit up and was consistent about it.

The foreigner sighed; she had been at this all day…writing away in this application, all done so carefully, for she had not any the means to delete once written. Her fingers felt blistered from all the writing. She was still not used to holding these…primitive writing utensils; thus, her grip was tight and awkward, her handwriting itself being…not exactly the best, either.

Writing and speaking were two separate—even if related—tasks in the brain, and it had become rather evident that she was a much better speaker of local tongue than she was a writer.

She dropped the feathered pen, waving her right-hand; truly…her fingers were irritated. Ugh…oh how she longed for a keypad.

Well…she was almost done with the section she was filling-out…thus, she may as well continue and finish it…using her left-hand this time…giving her tormented right-hand fingers a long-needed break.

The foreigner sighed again, doing just that. Truly, she still did not necessarily know what she was doing…or what her overarching strategy was. So much still remained rather…blurry and ambiguous to her; but all she could do was…continue course.

This Collegium seemed to be the sorts to…have libraries and nexuses of information which, if so, could…prove helpful, since that was what she needed. Though, it was not like she had any other options. Without the Guild, what else could she even do? However, there also remained that other problem of…rent. How was she even going to…retain control over this apartment and…its contents? She was…without any coin at all.

Ugh…truly, so much was still ambiguous and remained in shadow.

Yet, despite that…ever since that certain night of absurdity…she had largely rebounded…to a point. She was able to sleep…for the most part; dreaming intrusions still occurred, but she was…at least…sleeping again, which as a result better kept her conception of time grounded to this place.

Consequently, her mind felt sharper and more…stable, more strategic and analytical; she felt more…energized and capable. She could think again more properly and use her mind without that rotting shadow deep within assaulting her at any given picosecond; though, being ever the shadow, it still lingered in the background.

More evidently, however, she was feeling this…strange feeling as of late. It was hard to describe really, let alone comprehend, even if the words existed to logically explain it.

‘Confidence’…was that what this was? She did not really know nor care to know, all she knew was that…she was doing what she could and…that…she knew what she was doing, even if she didn’t; she trusted herself, she trusted her decision-making, and she trusted her capabilities…albeit, only to a point—which was better than null.

Yet…despite these apparent improvements, in a way…an odd regression had been…seemingly happening to her. One that had been occurring on-and-off for quite the some time…but was starting to worsen lately. Her mind felt more dizzy and foggy…and light; she felt almost ‘dry’ on the inside; and she felt as though she was becoming…weaker and drowsy—and not just from fatigue and tire, rather…her muscles felt as if they were ‘out of fuel’, so to speak.

It was a slowly unraveling process, but it was becoming more apparent as of late; though, for now, it had yet to really impede on her present functionalities—at least to the extent that she was aware of, and her awareness of her own being and experiences was…certainly not always the best.

Suddenly: a sound; many sounds…quite the many sounds. Her thoughts were interrupted as relentless pecking began to emanate from the bedroom’s window; a bird was assaulting it, from the sounds of it.

« …q-quid nefas? » she blurted out, glancing in that direction behind. She sighed, placing the feathered pen back into its ink-thing before standing up; she made way straight to the bedroom to investigate this sudden avian emergence.

The relentless pecking and sounds of wings flapping as claws jabbed…intensified upon her entry. She approached the assaulted window and opened the curtains away, revealing to her ignited eyes…an all too familiar…nightly corvid.

The corvid stared…before immediately cawing away and away relentlessly, flaring its wings as its claws knocked at the window.

« … » the foreigner stared blankly, unamused utterly. « Aș supposê: vuis me ut sequa te. Nonne rectë, corve? » thus she spoke flatly and indifferently; no doubt, this corvid wanted her to go outside and follow it.

The corvid simply cawed and pecked and clawed away at the window as if it were replying yes.

She sighed; well, time to get dressed, then.

She closed the curtain and made way to don her…still rather dirty and battered…tavern-attire, along with all her other bare essentials. Once thoroughly readied and with mask donned, she departed out, back into the world beyond…following that corvid which was no doubt…leading her to a certain him.

She could only wonder what that weaving man possibly wanted now.