The line finally reached the stone hall. The circular structure seemed even larger inside, lit by torches mounted on the walls and tall windows that let in daylight. Registration counters were scattered around the perimeter, each manned by a staff member dressed in the blue robes of the tournament organizers. Behind them, wooden shelves held stacks of golden medallions, ready to be distributed.
The murmur of voices mingled with the dry sound of quills scratching parchment. Armed guards watched the crowd, careful to avoid another disturbance like the one moments ago.
Strax and Samira walked together to one of the counters. The registrar, a thin, middle-aged man with dark circles under his eyes, looked up mechanically. He seemed tired of hearing the same arrogant introductions from the sons of noble families.
"Name?" he asked bluntly, dipping his quill in the inkwell.
