Journey of the Scribe

A scribe is whatever he has to be. His duties may call on him to be a writer, copyist, editor, researcher, librarian, notary, transcriber, speechwriter, accountant, diplomat, and historian, sometimes all in the same day. While many scribes are employed by temples, businesses, and nobles, the highest-paid and most prestigious scribal positions have always been reserved for the royal courts. At that level, scribes have access to sensitive information, and their records can shape perceptions of the king they serve for centuries to come. With such responsibilities and stakes, only the most trusted and skilled dracons are allowed be royal scribes, usually on the recommendation of those who are already serving as such.

-- Turnus, High Priest of the temple of Ascanius in the city of Ramnus.

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"Taren, what's taking so long?!"

"I'm getting dressed, Dion!"

"It shouldn't take you that much time!"

Sighing, the tan-skinned male put on a blue silk tunic, along with some matching short pants. "Formal dress is mandatory at the palace, and I've got to make a good impression on my first day!" He checked the mirror one last time. Horns were shined, teeth brushed, scales cleaned, and he had even polished his claws. Even with all the preparations, his appearance was still rather plain compared to the elaborately-dressed courtiers who plied their way through the palace halls. It was probably for the best. Scribal apprentices had to take care not to seem as if they were trying to rise above their station. Such presumption would not only be unseemly in the eyes of the court, but it might even be construed as a threat in the eyes of the senior scribes. A twenty-two year old scribe fresh out of college posed no threat but to their prides, yet this could be seen as problematic in its own right.

Taren left the bathroom a few minutes later. His younger brother ran in, dashing through the door as soon as it was opened.

"Bet you'd go faster if your toes weren't so fat!" Dion slammed the door behind him. At first, Taren resolved not to dignify his twelve-year old brother's impertinent comments with a reply, but he couldn't help but let one remark slip from his snout.

"I'm fast because of them! Which is why I always beat you in a race! Remember last week?"

"Uh... that didn't count! The sand was in my eyes!" Taren chuckled as he went downstairs, but couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious about his brother's comments as he checked his right foot. His toes weren't short, but they were indeed wide around the middle and had rather large tips. Their father had similarly-shaped feet, but this wasn't something he wanted to dwell on right now. The sun was barely up and he had a schedule to stick to. He came to the dining room and, as expected, only his parents were there to greet him. While Dion had woken much sooner than he usually did, their three sisters were still asleep at this early hour. His father held a large stack of notes for Taren to take with him, while his mother was busy setting out the food.

"Nice to see you, son. I'm just about finished here."

"Dad-"

"One second, Taren. Got to write down what to do in case they ask about your lineage. Always helps to embellish a bit. If they ask, tell them your grandfather was an officer in the king's-"

"Dad! I'm fine. We've been over this again and again. Play up the family history, mention that you know the historian-"

"- and don't talk about your great uncle. If they ask about him, just say you don't know much about him. You wouldn't be lying. We really don't know much about him. No one's supposed to-"

"Dear! Our son needs to eat. He's got about an hour to make it to the palace, and I've been up since before sunrise getting the meat ready." His mother, a red-skinned female with a yellow underbelly, gestured for Taren to take a seat on one of the cushions. She stood next to him, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently."

"Hmm? Oh, right!" Taren removed his tunic and set it aside. He kept the shorts on, but even this was technically a breach of etiquette for a dracon eating with his family.

"Nice to see you haven't forgotten your home manners entirely. And we can't have you risk staining those nice clothes, can we?" He dug into the food and only replied after eating a chunk of the pork she had prepared. "Well, I'll be eating with my tunic on with the other scribes, mom. It's not like I can dress like this everywhere." She took a seat next to her son and gently rubbed her claws over his back in a circular motion, something he had enjoyed since the day he hatched.

"I-I know, my son. It's just hard to see you going into that larger world. Call me sentimental, but it was just yesterday that my first-hatched child was learning to write, and now you're about to become a scribe for the king."

"I'll still be living here until I'm formally inducted into their ranks, mom. It could take months or even years, depending on how long they decide to keep me as an apprentice. Plus, you still have Netan on the way. And I promise to be there for his hatching, don't you worry. Still another couple of months, right?"

"Yeah... that'll happen when he's ready..." she stopped the scratching as soon as he finished his meal. Stretching out, Taren put on his tunic again, just as spotless as if it had just been washed. As soon as he was dressed, his father handed him a sheaf of papers and a black leather bag to carry them.

"Everything should be in here. Please double-check. Got your pens? Blank parchment?"

"Yes, dad."

"And the notes? Please check them if you need to know something. Remember, your contact is my friend, Apadon. Mention me to him and he should help you out. Now, any questions?"

"Nope. I think we covered everything."

Taren's father eyed him cautiously. "Are you positive? I've had to call in a lot of favors to get you this position, and if not for Apadon, this wouldn't have worked. You're very lucky that we could send you to college, and luckier still that I know the king's own historian."

"Yes, yes, you keep reminding me. I'll be fine, dad. Please don't worry." He turned to leave when his mother gave him a stern "ahem."

"Oh, mom. What is-" She gave him a hug, holding them together for just a moment before reluctantly letting him go. "Good luck, my son."

"Yeah, thanks. See you later!" And with that, the dracon left his house. For a few moments, all was quiet. The silence was broken only by Dion's sudden entrance into the room.

"Did fat toes go?"

"Yes, Dion, your brother is off to work. And please, stop calling him that! Your mother is too tired to deal with these antics today, but your sisters should be up by now. Can't you go play with them?" The young dracon darted off, and his father wondered if he had just made a mistake as a parent by inflicting their younger son on the rest of them. He turned to his wife, who sat down on a soft cushion, holding her right foot in her hands, rubbing it frantically.

"Stressed?" She nodded, keeping her eyes focused on the yellow sole. "How'd you guess? Taphis, our son's future could very well be made or broken today, and there's nothing I can do about it!" she let out a long sigh. "Didn't help that I couldn't sleep a wink last night." Taphis sat down in a cushion parallel to her and took her foot in his hands. "Allow me, my love." She lay back, putting her hands behind her head as she put her tail between her legs. He began to knead her foot, though it did little to calm her down.

"Phoebe, I know how you feel. Believe me, I've been running around like a wild drake these past few months, making sure that we've prepared for every eventuality. If it doesn't work out at the palace, I'm sure he can find a place at a temple or some business." Phoebe simply frowned in response. "That's not what he wants, Taph. He wants to write about the kingdom. Not that I'm making it any easier for him."

Seeing as she had used his pet name, he decided to respond in kind. "Phebe, no one cares that you were hatched in Minbenthac, you grew up here in Ramnus. The king's consorts are mostly from abroad, you know. I'm sure he doesn't think any less of them because of it. After all, he married them." Taphis switched to her other foot, but it soon became clear that no amount of massaging would ameliorate her tense attitude. "You really are wound-up tight. I understand your concern, but it's not like Taren is sick, so I'm not sure what's bothering you."

He let her foot go as she gave him a look. The same look as she had given him every few months before she laid an egg. A mix of love, desire, and no small amount of frustration all mixed into one. A bright gleam in her yellow eyes completed the look. "Oh, that. Well... it has been a while since we..." Phoebe was already dressed only in her loincloth, as was the standard for female dracons at home. Her exposed form caused no issues while they were in private, but it made it easier for Taphis to see his wife's increasingly excited state. She wrapped her right hand around his left arm, a mischievous smile on her face. "We've got some time. Creusa's an adult, and Dion will be busy with his younger sisters. Now that we have a few hours, I want to make the best of them. Don't let me down, my love!" Although Taphis was quite a bit larger than his wife, he let himself be led upstairs by Phoebe, half-expecting that they'd have another egg on the way before the current one had hatched.

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Ramnus was a mid-sized dracon city, situated on a trade route between Minbenthac and Naushindcalgoa. As such, it often fell under the influence of one or the other, and had to walk a fine line to maintain its independence. While the two major cities usually got along quite well, the few wars between them had invariably caught Ramnus in the crossfire. Consequently, the city was built like a fortress to keep out invaders. The walls were thick, the guards were plentiful, and everything was close together in order to ease the city's defense. While this made for a cramped city with few large buildings, it had the useful side effect of making commutes very simple. Although his house was located near the eastern gate, it only took Taren about ten minutes to make it to the palace at the center.

The building itself was as much a fortified castle as it was a fancy royal residence. surrounded by a serpent-filled moat and topped with five round towers, one could easily mistake it for a city's garrison. Only the elaborate stone carvings at the main entrance hinted at the royal presence which lived within. As his father had repeatedly instructed, Taren showed the papers to a pair of guards at the front, who let him in without any fuss. So far, so good. The drawbridge was already lowered and the portcullis was swiftly raised as the young dracon approached the long hallway leading down to the chief scribe's office. A small part of the apprentice wanted to take a quick peek at the throne room, but he knew that doing so would result in him being arrested, interrogated, and thrown out of the palace if he was lucky. No, the throne room was the place he would have to reach, and only if he won the king's favor. How he would do that without seeing the king was a matter he'd have to find out for himself. For now, he satisfied himself with the notion that he was about to meet someone who saw the king on a regular basis. It would have to be enough.