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 Posted: Tue Oct 29, 2013 12:34 pm
Trial of Wit
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An interview between Reynard Irving (Snifit) and a hitherto-undisclosed representative of Triscia University (kotaline) regarding Mr. Irving's appeal to the university panel for scholarship.
When & Where: Triscia University in Gadu; specifically, the meeting is to take place in the Veritas Library. It is mid-afternoon on a bright and cold winter's day.
Quote: To Mr. Reynard Irving, The board of scholarships and grants at Trisica University has heard and accepted your request for an interview. Your appointment will be after None, in Veritas Library outside of the Church of Magister Trisica. Arrive at the appointment prepared with a letter attesting to your academic ability. If the initial interview is successful, an examination to test your abilities will be set at a later date. Failure to meet the appointment is frowned upon, but the date can be rescheduled in dire circumstances. Panyma's health, Secretary Auclair of the Trisica Bursary
--- His interview hadn't even begun, and Reynard had almost made a terrible and embarrassing mistake. It wasn't as if he shunned religion, though compared to the pious and zealous across the land, Reynard hardly qualified as "religious." He was spiritual in a vague sense, like most denizens of St. Cobb, but over the years he had spent very, very few hours inside anything resembling a church and as such was wholly ignorant of the intricacies of its metaphorical structure. When he'd read the word “None” in the letter he'd received from Triscia, he'd somewhat naively assumed it to be a colloquial spelling of the word “noon.” It wasn't a great stretch of the imagination considering that his hometown wound its local speech between two languages indiscriminately.
The proprietor of Mule Street's Apothecary and Spices, an aptly if somewhat unimaginatively named establishment where Reynard now lived and worked, had corrected him. “You're about three hours too early,” he'd said. His name was Walter Blackwell, a man in his early thirties with a sense of humor drier than the desiccated herbs that lined his shelves. “I'm fairly certain they do that sort of thing on purpose.”
Reynard's customary blank expression had creased into a vague frown, but he'd nodded, even though he didn't quite understand the point of being deliberately obtuse in such a fashion. Then again, he would probably have to ready himself for many more such adjustments; life in Gadu had taken a great deal of getting used to.
He'd already been in the city for a few weeks, adjusting to his new lodgings, his new work, and more or less everything else: Gadu was enormous, a sprawling metropolis unlike anything he'd seen before. The shock of seeing something so vast and intricate and yet somehow all contained was jarring enough without factoring in everything he would need to learn to be a useful assistant to Blackwell and prepare himself to make his case to the Triscia panel.
Even so, his preparations had been running as smoothly as could be expected. Reynard hadn't run into any difficulty in learning about the institution itself. He had a vague grasp of what manner of studies were available to students and the sorts of responsibilities expected of them. The former clerk already knew his interests lie in the pillar of logic, though he knew he would end up studying all subjects for at least one year. Recent academic trends had been steered, it seemed, towards the field of science, and in particular, the university seemed to be highly focused on Plagues.
Reynard couldn't blame anyone for being concerned or fascinated by the strange creatures, especially considering how further ravaged Panymium became year after year while the virulence ran rampant. He didn't know much about them, though, having never even seen one before himself. Perhaps that would change if he was allowed to spend time inside the university walls. Only time would tell.
He'd been somewhat alarmed to discover he was also expected to provide some sort of recommendation letter. Reynard had never been inside of a school building that was even vaguely official, and he'd had no idea where to procure anything of the like. “Just have someone else pen it for you. The baker two streets over has a particularly elegant hand.”
“I am uncertain forging a letter would be in any way beneficial to convincing this panel of my suitability,” Reynard had replied.
Blackwell had blinked slowly at him over the tops of his square spectacles. “Are you sure you're ready for the life of an academic?”
In the end, Reynard had recognized that he had no choice, and though he felt a little guilty about taking his first step forward with a falsehood in his hand, he let the knowledge that the claims inside were not made hollowly. He would legitimize the letter through his later actions.
When they day arrived, he stepped out of the apothecary to a brisk afternoon, and, struck by a sudden sense of deja vu, he froze. He was trying to put his finger on exactly what had struck a chord with him when he heard a familiar croaking above his head, and turned to look up.
The magpie was sitting on the edge of the roof, watching him with its single eye. Since the evening outside of Waterbury where it had first perched on his knee, it had taken further great liberties with Reynard's personal space. Its preferred perches were his shoe (for some reason that Reynard had yet to discover) and his right shoulder, where it could sit with its blind side facing his cheek and observe the world from relative safety. The bird was shuffling, wings half-mantled, clearly intent on resuming its post, but Reynard stepped smartly away and raised a single gloved hand.
He had made an effort to bring himself to a state resembling tidiness that morning, and he couldn't have it spoiled before he even arrived. Aside from everything an average bird could do to soil one's clothing, he'd noticed his fathered companion was particularly messy, and had a tendency to leave specks of dirt everywhere. “Not today,” he said simply. The magpie tilted its head and regarded him with avian blankness as Reynard turned from it, trotting quickly down the narrow lanes that characterized this neighborhood. Buildings rose on either side of him, high and canyon-like, blotting out the mid-afternoon sun.
Reynard could admit to himself that he was nervous. After all, the interview about to occur was a huge part of his decision to travel to the city of Gadu in the first place. Even so, if he failed to impress the panel and was left with no option but to return to this dark street with nothing to look forward to than the apothecary, he would still have that. His current conditions were a far cry from where he'd been a year ago, stranded in the plains of Imisus in the wintertime, half-frozen and half-starved.
He stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder, suddenly realizing what had struck him earlier. It had been a cold morning when he'd stepped out of his tenement out into the street the day he'd fled his hometown. The very same bird had been watching him from the sign at Hanover street. It had only been around a year ago, but it felt so much longer after everything he'd done.
Reynard lifted his gaze to where the magpie sat, still watching him, possibly peeved at having being denied its perch.
Even if the worst happened today, he would come back to a roof over his head, to the promise of a steady meal and a relatively warm place to sleep. In a short year Reynard had learned firsthand how precious those luxuries were, and how easily they could be taken for granted. He was still nervous as he turned to make his way down the street, but there was a steel under the anxiety that had never been there before.
---
A healthy portion of this new-found courage had evaporated by the time he'd reached the Veritas Library. Reynard could still take heart in the principles of his situation that he understood to be true, but they were cold comfort when presented with the grim grandiosity of the university's campus looming all around him. Oh, well. There's nothing for it but to proceed, he told himself as he stepped towards the library entrance. He didn't allow himself to pause, but instead simply opened the door and slipped smoothly inside, eyes darting back and forth as he quickly drank in his surroundings.
Though he'd obviously attempted to make himself as neat as possible, he still cut an unimpressive figure. Though he was quite tall, he hadn't quite been able to banish the gauntness that haunted his already-thin frame from the ordeals of the year before, especially not after the weeks of travel he'd undertaken to arrive in Gadu. He was pale to the point of sickliness underneath a generous smattering of freckles, and the glasses that perched on his nose were cracked in one lens—repairing them was far too expensive for Reynard to manage.
The eyes beneath, though, were intense and alert. They quickly sought any sign of the party he was there to meet.
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Posted: Sat Nov 02, 2013 4:51 pm
If he had been expecting somebody intimidating when he entered Veritas Library, Reynard Irving was much mistaken. A young, bored looking man in the clothes of the messengers which the Council employed greeted him briskly, bowing and gesturing down a hall, to a private study room. If one looked through the grille inset in the sturdy oak door, one could see not a single reviewer, but a panel of several people waiting inside. These people were somewhat more intimidating than the messenger, but hardly seemed like Trisica's best and brightest scholars themselves. One was dressed in the common attire of a scribe, though in Trisica colours and symbols, and seemed quietly bored. Another was in the garb of a cleric, and looked worried, but friendly. He was playing with his rosary beads. The third was a woman, and her robes were that of a scholar's, although somewhat threadbare and too large. She looked steadily determined, and a little haughty.
They all looked up as the messenger knocked on the door, and it was the scribe who said "Enter." The door swung open, and the messenger bowed again, announcing, "Your Nones appointment," before vanishing seamlessly into the shelves and leaving Reynard exposed.
All three of them scrutinized Reynard, but their thoughts, if any, remained inscrutable. It was the scribe who spoke next again.
"Good day to you, Mr. Reynard Irving. I am Secretary Auclair, of the Bursary, and I am in charge of approving and arranging the interviews for student-candidates in your situation. My colleagues are Father Rhys of the University church, and Miss Renata Angers, of the School of Rhetoric." The cleric dipped his head respectfully, and Miss Angers gave Reynard a brief nod. Secretary Auclair continued, oblivious. "This interview is merely a primary interview to determine your eligibility for enrollment in Trisica. If you pass, there will be a further examination session, and a final interview by the dean of your intended school of study." He licked his thumb and unrolled a sheet of parchment, which he began to write on in net and legible handwriting. He gestured at a wooden chair in the center of the room which Reynard seemed to be expected to take, and then stood up from his own seat to initiate the proceedings.
"If there are extenuating circumstances in your situation, such as Grimmship, family connections to the Council, or connections to any sort of organized group such as one of the trade guilds of Gadu, please inform us now."
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Posted: Sun Nov 03, 2013 2:25 pm
Reynard had not formed much in the way of expectations as far as how his interview would be made, having no real basis for comparison. He did, however, take note of how casual, how downright bored the speaker and the messenger had seemed. His interview was obviously of no importance to anyone but himself. He wasn't sure whether that made him feel more or less uneasy about his chances. He took the seat he was offered wordlessly, and even seated, he did not relax his stance, sitting ramrod-straight with his gloved hands resting in his lap. He had offered each interviewer a constrained and polite nod as they were introduced to him. His movements thus far had been marked by stiffness (which was likely nothing new to the panel) but this had less to do with Reynard being nervous and more to do with Reynard being Reynard.
He hesitated for a moment before answering in a voice incongruously deep for such a thin and unimpressive figure,“There is only me.” That simple phrase was indicative of more than his lack of connections, noble, economic, or otherwise: Reynard had no family left, and no-one to carry him forward but himself. There had been other individuals that had helped him get this far, but from the moment he'd stepped into the room, he was on his own. The middle of an interview was not exactly the place to dwell on profound realizations, however, and Reynard did not linger over the thought. It would do him no good, and there were other matters that he felt needed to be addressed immediately.
For a moment the blankness on his face wavered, betraying a hint of confusion, and he very slightly cocked a brow. “Pardon me, I do not understand—Grimmship?” The word sounded vaguely familiar, but he could not quite place its connotations, nor why it would matter to the University panel.
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Posted: Tue Nov 05, 2013 4:30 pm
"Only you," Secretary Auclair affirmed imperturbably. "A pity."
He made a small mark on his parchment, then, without looking up, explained, "Grimmship, yes. The Council wishes to recruit as many Grimms into our ranks as possible, for the obvious reason that studying Plagues may help further our research into a cure for the pestilence. With that aim in mind, we accept all Grimms who apply to our ranks immediately, and have special programs at the University to smooth over any, ah, educational inequalities they may have suffered before seeking to join us." A frown tugged at Ms. Angers's face next to the Secretary as he spoke. Clearly these special programs were irritating to those members of the Council whose work did not have to do with Plagues. Secretary Auclair glanced at her, but continued, "Of course, since you are applying to Trisica through this particular channel, I would hope no such measures would be necessary with you, Mr. Irving."
"Mr. Irving," the female scholar said, standing up. "What do you hope to accomplish at Trisica?"
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Posted: Wed Nov 06, 2013 12:29 pm
Reynard had no visible reaction to Auclair's off-hand comment, being more concerned with the explanation at hand. He was aware of Plagues in a vague sense. He had never seen one, himself, but he understood that the strange fey creatures were a growing phenomenon. He also knew that there were certain cursed individuals who found their lives inexorably tied to the Plagues themselves. As Auclair went on, realization clicked at the back of his mind: so those poor souls had a title. Grimm. It seemed apt.
As to whether or not he was an educated as the average noble, Reynard couldn't say. His education, though substantial, had been somewhat haphazard while growing up, and certainly lacked the structure that scheduled tutelage would have otherwise provided. He liked the idea of learning in a methodical, step-by-step fashion, rather than being handed tibits of information that he was left to piece together on his own. Perhaps it is fortunate that I am used to solving problems by myself, he mused silently, seeing as how I will likely find myself in a similar situation here.
If Auclair asked him candidly about what he knew, he would not lie, but unless the issue was brought up, Reynard would not bring attention to his unorthodox early schooling.
He glanced to Ms. Angers as she spoke, but did not answer immediately. Rather, he sat very still, lowering his gaze to a fixed point some foot and a half off the floor, meeting no-one's eyes. His jaw was set and his features were as blank as ever. He remained that way for a few moments, giving no indication of what he hoped to accomplish by such an odd gesture. The pause stretched on, likely somewhat awkwardly, and then, just when it seemed as if he had frozen up somehow, he began to speak, and it was evident that he had been simply gathering his thoughts.
“As for myself, I seek to learn. I have already discovered that knowledge grants certain freedoms and opportunities that would otherwise be difficult or impossible to obtain. It is possible to have a full life, a fulfilling life, without pursuing the avenues of knowledge to their ends, but that is not what I want for myself. I wish to know more, to be able to accomplish more, and in doing so make myself in some way useful in my own eyes and in the eyes of others. As for what I intend to accomplish for everyone else, that remains to be seen.”
He went on, not pausing, letting the words come out in a steady measured flow, “I do know that my principle interest lies in the pillar of logic, and specifically in mathematics. However, there are too many variables in place for me to be able to say with any sort of accuracy what I will decide to do with this knowledge when I am in a position to utilize it. There is simply still very much that I do not know, and to pretend otherwise would be foolish. I cannot make any sort of firm statement now under such conditions, and I would not care to say anything I know to be untrue. What contribution I have to make to the rest of Panymium will have to be determined later, when I have full knowledge of the factors at work.”
“However, I have been told that there are great things—monumental things—happening here at Triscia University. I aim to become part of them. This much I can tell you.” Only then did he look up.
The speech might have been somewhat impressive if it had been delivered with even an ounce of passion, but Reynard seemed incapable of speaking in anything other than carefully clipped, flat tones. Aside from the slight accent that marked his speech (the vowels of his words seemed to lean lazily against their surrounding consonants, an unusual effect that might have been charming in an individual possessing a modicum of charm), his words droned on somewhat lifelessly. It did not convey much enthusiasm, but there was no denying the undercurrent of determination beneath each syllable.
He stared blankly back at the panel, awaiting their response, and his next question.
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Posted: Sat Feb 08, 2014 9:38 am
The panel seemed somewhat disappointed by his response. Miss Angers nodded and the scribe made a note on his parchment.
"You want to learn," he remarked flatly. "Duly noted."
Looking up, he asked, "You mentioned that there is still much that you do not know. Where were you educated prior to your arrival at Trisica, and who was your tutor? Have you any sort of recommendation letter to show us?"
"If you were educated in a church school, you need not be ashamed," the priest here interjected. "Merely tell us the name of the father who supervised you, and he will tell us of any potential he may have seen in you. Our own Counselor Kempe was educated by clerics."
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Posted: Sun Feb 09, 2014 1:17 pm
Even though Reynard was not as attuned to the fine subtleties of social interaction as most others might be, he could tell that the panel was finding his credentials less-than-impressive. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd made some sort of mistake. Their question had been somewhat vague, with many possible interpretations, and he had attempted to address them all. Would the panel prefer he be more concise?
There was no help for it, and nothing to do but to move on. Reynard oped his mouth to answer, but paused as the priest present instead spoke up, only responding properly when he had finished. "When I was very young, I learned the basics of reading and arithmetic at a church, Cathedrale Saint-Colombe d'Esme, but I did not spend a particularly large amount of time there as I grew older. There were no church schools in the area." The cathedral itself was one of the largest and oldest in St. Cobb (as evidenced by the name, which was a throwback to when the city had been called Port Esme), and while a man of the cloth would likely recognize the name, it was not a particularly renowned holy site. The city itself was rather far removed from many other wide-reaching institutions that sprawled throughout Imisus, and parents seeking to give their children an education often appealed directly to the religious establishments themselves, which had long been repositories of knowledge.
It had been Reynard's father that had taken him, when they found time, and when he had died, Reynard had stopped going.
"Beyond that, I was not educated in any formal institution. I had a variety of tutors over the years, in varying subjects. They were mostly residents of the tenement I grew up in, of varying trades, but occasionally we would find the means to hire a proper tutor." He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should delve into greater detail on that matter, or if that would further irritate the interviewers. "If you would like me to elaborate on that, I shall."
He paused to pull out his recommendation letter, passing it wordlessly to the scribe.
"The only other structured education I have received to speak of was after I accepted a clerical post at a bank in the city, primarily in mathematics and the finer workings of tax collection. I also received practice in translating between Vossanian and Panymesian for outgoing correspondences." It didn't occur to Reynard that knowing more than one language was at all an odd thing, but he did know that the act of translation itself was a skill that took practice and a fairly deep understanding of the grammar structure of both languages. He doubted it would make much of a difference, but it was still worth mentioning.
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