Ramsey could hear his heart beating in his throat as the registrar stared at him with his mouth slightly agape. The silence began to highlight the echo of heels on the polished stone floor out in the great hall.
Cerill eventually looked down at his pen and purposefully picked it up. He glanced at Ramsey again, then prepared to start writing, but hesitated.
"Is- Is this some kind of joke?" he shakily questioned. "The Guild Office does not take kindly to such things. I could be forced to add a penalty to your current debt."
"May I prove it?" Ramsey asked.
Cerill instinctively pushed his chair back, its legs squeaking against the floor.
Ramsey held up his hands, showing he meant no harm.
"Yes," he pushed the bridge of his glasses, "I suppose a demonstration would be needed to verify such a claim."
"I don't wish to alarm you, so I'll start with something small," he took a step forward to get within range.
After a moment, Ramsey asked, "Can I borrow your pen?"
Expecting to see his pen used in some sort of trick, Cerill obliged and grabbed it, but his hand did not move. His brow furrowed as he pulled at it again. Rising to his feet, he looked back and forth between Ramsey and the pen, while tightening his grip and widening his stance. His knuckles turned white as he strained audibly in his attempts.
Ramsey couldn't help but to smile, it had an air of comedy to it.
Cerill was red faced and winded when he stood up and blew his fallen bangs out of his face.
"Here, allow me," Ramsey offered, and the pen rose weightlessly a foot above the desk. He nodded at Cerill to take it. The flustered clerk hesitated, moving slowly at first, before snatching it quickly.
He straightened his clothing, sat in and scooted up his chair, and silently wrote Gravity in his log.
"Can I ask, why is being a gravity mage such a big deal?" Ramsey inquired.
"What's the… big deal?" His eyebrows jumped high above his glasses.
"Well, for starters it's incredibly rare, only a few have ever been recorded. Of those still living, one is standing here in front of me, and the other is," he swallowed hard and began to whisper, "locked away in the capital dungeons."
"What happened to him?" Ramsey whispered in return.
"Oh no," Cerill stood up shaking his head and hands, "I'll not be involved in that conversation. Crimes against Elorr are heinous acts and talking about them may be confused with veneration," he rounded the desk and backed Ramsey out of the office.
'Jesus, what happened?'
"You look over the job postings, try to find something that fits your… qualifications. Easier jobs are at the bottom, the difficulty and compensation rises as you go up. I'll… be back in just a moment," he said, walking rather quickly to the opposing hall.
Ramsey crouched down to look at the easy postings first. There were many that didn't seem to require magic, general tasks like cooking and laundry, 'Perhaps they have a summons for non-magic folk as well.'
Some even noted that room and board could be provided. For the stipend afforded, these jobs would never end, it was uncomfortably close to slavery.
Assumedly affluent or noble houses, likely those of the ranking Guild members, were the ones benefiting from this lower class crushing system.
He exhaled sharply in disgust and continued reading higher on the wall. Some jobs had clear endings such as those to assist with the harvest or for specific projects. There were requests for irrigation and sprouting specialists, stone builders, land compactors, movers and other hard laborers. These jobs paid better and were the likely choices of most in Ramsey's position.
Although…
Standing up straight, the postings at eye level and above is where danger came into play.
Requests for bodyguards, escorts, exterminators, and battle mages littered the long wall. But above them were the huntings, both of monsters and men.
Ramsey had questioned if they would really hunt him down for 20 gold, here he had his answer by the dozen. Drawn faces with names, muses and last known whereabouts. 'I really don't like it here,' he sighed.
"This is the man right here, Sir," Cerill spoke in Ramsey's direction with a man trailing behind in a purple coat.
He was quite striking, with wavy black hair, olive skin, and sharp bright gray eyes.
"Ramsey, this is Naeve Howl the 4th Major of Dominion. He's the highest ranking officer currently on the premises, and the only one familiar with someone of your… capabilities," Cerill gestured toward the man and resigned to his office.
"Is there a problem?" Ramsey started his question directed at Cerill, then settled on Naeve after he escaped.
"I understand you're the first gravity mage we've registered in 25 years," Naeve informed. "Seems you gave Cerill quite the scare."
"Not my intent," Ramsey assured, "but I've come to understand that my magic is not something people care to discuss."
"I can imagine. Come with me," he gestured and started toward the guild banner matching his coat.
"Let me ask you, Ramsey," his voice echoed within the great hall. "Do you believe you know right from wrong?"
"Yeah, I think so." Ramsey said, looking up at the towering purple banner growing closer with each step, its fierce war hammer silhouette demanding attention. 'Dominion.'
"We all do, and we support others who share our beliefs," Naeve continued.
He opened the door leading into a large main room, which, aside from some central seating, was lined with tall bookshelves accessed by a sliding ladder, racks of exquisitely crafted weapons at the ready, and an exhibition of skulls from unknown terrors.
"That is, until judgment is handed out, then supporters grow silent, because shared beliefs aren't reason enough to share in suffering." Naeve motioned for Ramsey to sit. "Ah… please take off the antlers first."
"Right, sorry" he nodded.
"I met your predecessor when I was a bit older than you. I had just finished magic training with my elders and was anxious to join a guild.
At that time I felt as powerful as the moon itself, brimming with energy, and ready to take on anything brave enough to face me. Dominion had accepted my father, and his father before him, so naturally it's where I went first.
The highest ranking officer greeted me then, just as I sit here with you now. His name was Cyrus. He was a commoner, who was by no means imposing, he had a kind smile and a gentle disposition.
With my upbringing, I didn't think such a person should be in charge. Leaders were supposed to be fierce and unopposable. This man simply spoke about honor and protection, never once mentioning the power and dominance that was Dominion.
I expressed my displeasure in his position, believing that it should be reserved for people capable of driving fear into the hearts of their enemies. That was the Dominion I wanted to join.
Then, everything changed.
My body grew heavier than I ever thought possible. I crumbled into the chair, compressing the springs in its cushion, and pressing against its wooden frame.
He said, "You believe power is worn on your sleeve, on display for all to see."
I tried to respond, but the pressure was so intense I couldn't speak. The chair beneath me creaked as the wood started to splinter.
"That's not power," he continued, "it's arrogance, and ignorance when you don't know your opponent."
The splintering wood finally snapped and my crumbled body slammed into the floor. Time seemed to slow down as he moved, kneeling down to my level.
When our eyes met, he said, "True power comes out in response to threats."
Finally, he released me and said, "I hope you'll remember this when our guild needs your protection. Welcome to Dominion."
"Wow…," was all Ramsey said in response.
Naeve continued, "Over the next year, I had the opportunity to fight alongside Cyrus several times. He had an unfathomable power, so it's no surprise that the Queen's Guard took an interest in him.
After he left, we didn't have much contact, but his lessons stay with me to this day, which makes what happened 12 years ago incredibly difficult," he sighed.
"There used to be 5 guilds back then. And all guilds occasionally have disagreements with the Queen. Disputes about when and where to hunt, land ownership, or taxes, all typically very mild and settled between a few individuals.
At that time, a blight destroyed crops managed in a northwestern area controlled by the Cornerstone Guild, but they refused to accept it as a natural phenomenon. It was just before harvest and happened too swiftly for them to heal it.
The Queen's solution was providing aid from capital storage and rationing. But what they wanted was an investigation and for the culprits to share their food. Mostly they wanted the persons responsible to suffer. And when the Queen held firm, they protested.
At first a dozen or so black guild coats gathered outside the castle gates, chanting for justice. But as time went by, Cornerstone families grew hungry while other guilds prospered. As their hunger grew, so did the crowds and their animosity.
Chanting became screaming and protests became riots, with waves of black coats lunging against the castle doors.
It should have been expected that they would eventually use magic to break through. And when they did the Queen's Guard stood no chance against their numbers.
Faced with an impossible decision, Cyrus chose to do what he thought was right.
To protect the Queen.