Yakob ended up paying two copper chimes for a single night's stay. Petr claimed the room was discounted as compensation for the 'sorry situation with Skarn', but Yakob had been here before. He knew it was completely standard rate.
Yakob sneezed as soon as the door to his room opened. There was a thin layer of (hopefully) dust over the room. When he did manage to sleep, it was fitful and sweaty. The stiff mattress didn't assuage his nerves over engaging with the Trenmir.
He had arrived just a day before try-outs. Now was his last chance to turn back. He held Arria's amethyst necklace and considered it. Considered a life with her. Normalcy.
But he could never be normal, not since visiting the Heavenly Palace. He loved Arria, but this was the best way to protect her. This was the only option that gave the Avidia Institute an operational edge. It was for the greater good.
It was with notions of the supreme good filling his mind that Yakob marched into the Trenmir barracks.
The exterior of the building was unassuming. It bore the same orange tiled roof and stone-stucco walls as the rest of Tarton. Evil hides within mundanity, so they say.
As Yakob entered, pushing his way through the doors, he was hit with a blast of noise greater even than that of the Tar Pit. It seemed there were a hundred or more men and women milling about the open common room. They wore varied clothing and spoke with a range of accents. It was chaos.
At the back of the room was a raised platform - a stage with a podium. Affixed to the front of the podium was the symbol of the Trenmir's Tomb Order: A potion bottle underlined by crossed arms, and a simplified skull in the centre.
Someone shoved Yakob to the side and stepped in front of him. A person with broad shoulders and a large belly, reeking slightly of beer. Skarn sneered at Yakob over his shoulder, not even gracing him with a confrontation. Yakob let it go. Later.
Black drapery behind the stage was disturbed, spewing forth two ghastly figures. The first was a woman with no eyes. Her sockets were mutilated and meaty, pulsating. Behind her was a man with a porcelain mask covering half his face[1].
They both wore crisp, black uniforms with the Tomb Order patch sewn onto their shoulders. Beneath each of their patches was a black corded thread twisted into a knot. This denoted them as Putresco: The lowest rank in the Alchemist Orders, but real Alchemists nonetheless. Dangerous.
Yakob stiffened, forgetting Skarn entirely. He wasn't the only one. A hush fell over the crowd. Everyone turned to face the two Alchemists.
The woman stepped forward. "I am Putresco Tertia," she said with a smooth voice, then indicated her partner. "This is Putresco Darian.
"We will be in charge of the onboarding process for this year's Tomb Order try-outs. Many of you will be unfit. If you feel you may fail any of the following tests, leave now and save us all some time."
Tertia proceeded to list off several tests. She 'read' from a sheet of paper, here eye sockets bulging and shrinking with the rhythm of a person scanning a page.
The try-outs would be held in three sections: Physical, Mental, and Magical. Each of the tests would fall within one of these three categories. Yakob felt he might fail the Physical section, but he knew there were civilian positions to take that didn't require physical action.
It was possible Tertia was posturing to weed out those without ambition or drive. It seemed to work, as a few people left with heads hung low. Not many, but Yakob expected the rest of the people remaining to fail in some capacity regardless. Especially Skarn, considering Mental tests may not be his strongest suit.
"Right," Tertia said, folding the paper and returning it to her pocket, "Let's get on with it, then."
Tertia exited stage and Darian followed wordlessly. Members of the Tomb Order that were not initiated as Alchemists - the Civilian Corps - filtered into the room and ushered the attendees down a set of stairs. It was slow going, but when everyone reached the bottom, they were assigned a room. Each person was isolated, which Yakob was happy for. He didn't want to try lifting weights with others watching.
Yakob's room was cold and stony. The grey walls were oppressive. It was small, and contained a table, and a set of weights. There was also a wiry man wearing thin glasses, holding a bundle of papers. The man set the papers down on the desk and indicated the weights. "Physical first. Remove your clothes please."
Yakob did as he was told. The wiry man took measurements - height, weight, muscle mass. His face belied no emotion on the results. He seemed quite indifferent.
Yakob proceeded to follow the man's clipped instructions. He lifted weights in order until he failed. He ran around the room until he couldn't any longer. He did jumping jacks until he fell over. The wiry man scribbled in a notepad each time Yakob failed.
Shortly, they moved onto the Mental tests. Yakob's arithmetic and language skills were superb. His knowledge of history was more than sufficient to write essays at length. His understanding of modern science and technology was middling, but satisfactory.
The wiry man was forced to stop Yakob from answering questions as he had used all the paper provided and started writing in the margins. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and made another note on his pad, nodding.
Finally came the Magical section of tests. Tertia was most elusive when describing these to the group. Yakob felt his heart flutter - the unknown was so exciting!
The wiry, bespectacled overseer left the room briefly and returned with a grey slab. Yakob remained sitting the whole time, waiting. The man placed the slab in front of Yakob and gave him a simple instruction: "Fill it."
Yakob looked down at the slab, eager to complete whatever test they had prepared. It appeared to be slate - thin and breakable. Etched onto its surface with deep marks were two runes. The first was a rectangle with the top line missing, shifted down to the centre, and the second was a straight line with a dot on its right side. Yakob recognised them immediately.
Lok and Yeh. The runes for 'Take' and 'Mana'.
Yakob looked up to the wiry man inquiringly, but was met only with the frigid stare of an assessor. He knew how to activate these runes, how to fill them with mana. The effect they produced was a sort of mana battery.
It wouldn't be suspicious for him to fill the runes with his mana, and there was no way they could trace the signature of it to him as a Drai due to his eclipse modifier.
But would it be suspicious for a farm boy to have such in depth knowledge of rune technology? Yes, anyone could use them, but their effectiveness was amplified when used by Drai or Alchemists. Completing this test could expose him as a Drai. Failing to complete the test could spell failure for the mission; failure to infiltrate the Trenmir.
This is exactly the kind of test meant to reveal Drai in a place they aren't meant to be. Or was it a way of finding potential Alchemists with high mana output?
It was a test built on ignorance. That power only came from one place.
Yakob resented that more than the risk.
He held his hand out on top of the mana battery and closed his eyes. He felt the invisible power - the force inside every being that sustains them, the strength of the soul - his mana leak from the callouses and pores in his hand.
The runes began to glow, slowly at first. The light reflected off of Yakob's overseer's glasses, hiding his expression. Then, Yakob let his mana flow freely. He was missing a quarter of his total stores from the other day, but a Drai's mana reserve is greater than any regular person's - a symptom of the gift. The runes began to fill quickly, until they were overflowing. Then, the light inside them that represented the mana come corporeal extended above the slate, protruding in the fashion of a pillar.
The wiry man gasped and ran out of Yakob's isolated room. From inside, he heard the door shut softly. The lock clicked.
Yakob was stuck.
[1] A la Phantom of the Opera.