Mealvaan's Gate
[09-12-XX17] “Hey there, sweetie! What happened to you? It looked like you were having fits. Are you alright? Sit down, take a breath. Here, have some water.”
The guild receptionist pressed a cup into my hands, her eyes still fixed on me with worry.
“Thank you,” I murmured, taking a slow sip.
It felt as though I had been in a trance. This dream… or vision, or whatever it was. It felt more real than ever before. Who was that beautiful young woman? She seemed faintly familiar, yet I had never met anyone with such an aura. It was otherworldly… divine, even. Like Nymeia herself.
“Welcome to Mealvaan’s Gate, the Arcanists’ Guild,” the receptionist continued. “If you’re here to become an arcanist, I’m afraid I have some bad news. You may already know from K’lyhia that the guildmaster is away. Well, the acting guildmaster, Madame Thubyrgeim, is also gone on official business. The Sahagin have been causing trouble again. You’ll have to wait. Let’s see, perhaps a week or so.”
“Really…? I don’t think I have enough money to last that long,” I admitted, still struggling to process what this delay meant for me.
“Is that so? Well, apart from our duties with customs and border control, we also give our members chances to earn gil on the side. You’re not officially a member yet, but I can slip you a job. Off the record, of course. You seem like someone with good intentions. I can feel it. My name’s Murie, by the way.”
The receptionist, Murie, was a middle-aged Hyur with cropped hair and a modest demeanor. She looked kind, though there was a quiet confidence about her. From my seat, I caught a glimpse of a grimoire tucked at her side, the unmistakable weapon of an arcanist.
“Thank you,” I said, bowing my head slightly. “It really means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome! Here, take this paper. It will glow and slowly crumble when the guildmaster returns.”
She slipped me a sheet covered in arcane symbols. I recognized a few of them, but the design as a whole was far beyond my level. A complex, high-grade diagram of magick.
“You should be going,” Murie added. “That place is half a day’s journey from here.”
So this was Mealvaan’s Gate: both the city’s customs office and the Arcanists’ Guild, bound together as one. Still, the guild itself was not thriving. I had heard whispers on the ship, sailors remarking that the study of magick had been dwindling for years. It also did not help that some members of the guild had gained a tarnished reputation from their work in customs, where power over trade and borders often bred suspicion and, at times, corruption.
