History History:
"And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys & desires."With these words, repeated by an poet on the middle level to a small crowd of watchers, Caveat came into existence. He's never quite forgotten that day. Confused and frightened by existence itself, the beautiful and regular script of the accomplished orator as he recited poem after poem calmed him. As the orator began to recite poems of his own creation as well, the newborn felt a thrill of inspiration that reverberated through the admiring crowd.
I want to do that, he had thought at the time.
I need to do that.But, try as he might to copy the poet in lonely latter days and weeks, he could get few persons to be interested. His halting lines were ridiculed for being weak and untutored by well dressed folks, and his recitations were cobbled from what he could remember and strange improvisation. When one pompous man suggested entirely in jest that he go to learn at Fin Magna at once, causing laughter amongst his companions that blotted out the lamplight, Caveat wanted to know more.
There was a place where he could learn - not only about what to write about, but to write better lines period? Lines that would move others as much as he had been moved - that could draw the kind of crowds he'd struggled and struggled to get?
He had to know more.
What he learned displeased him. Fin Magna was prestigious and a place of learning, as he desired. The school was also incredibly expensive. Without some kind of income or benefactor, he wouldn't be able to attend. He would never be able to learn the kinds of things that would make him an excellent poet and an accomplished intellect worthy of any praise. He needed money. In part because he'd grown bitter and critical of strangers as the weeks of hunger drew on, no one had ever taken Caveat in. A job was necessary.
When the plucky and serious Caveat showed up one day begging for an apprenticeship at the printing-house, the Printing Master got what he'd expected: a dedicated and quick learning worker with a near-desperate need to make a good deal of money. But certainly our good Master did not anticipate the youth's profound intellectual ambition. Caveat's sight was set on Fin Magna alone - no warning could dissuade him.
And so on his salary young Caveat paid his way into every poetic discussion and literary lecture he could afford. When the time constraints of studying proved too much to hold down his job at the Press, though, Caveat quietly and desperately pressed for writing jobs within his peer and mentor circles. Surprising himself, it wasn't creative writing that he proved to be most adept at during these first few years: it was his critical writing that drew critical acclaim from his professors and instructors. When money was scarcest, he managed to seize an on-and-off job of penning (and printing) pamphlets from various political sources in Laghminster.
After a good four years of attempting to distinguish himself from the masses, one instructor finally took a shine to the witty and thorough critic. This professor was a man of wit and jest, and had penned a number of poems that were generally enjoyed. Under him, Caveat took his hand to poetry in the arms of a gentle tutor. He began writing voraciously, using all the ability and skill he'd paid and struggled and sucked in for those many, many years.
The results?
Laughably bad, the instructor confided to his peers.
After a few months of solidly terrible poetry, the instructor broke the bad news on Caveat gently - he'd seen no potential in Caveat's poetic writings, and Caveat should continue in another discipline instead. (After all, no tutor wants to waste their assets on one that would never improve substantially).
It wouldn't be hyperbolic to say that Caveat was crushed, heart and soul. He did not know what to do or where to go. To lose such a kind instructor's interest was one thing, but to be judged as utterly incapable of doing the one thing that he'd set out to do?
Without finding any other obvious niche for his other abilities, Caveat continued to linger in the school for years off the proceeds from his pamphlet work. He spent his time tutoring his fellows and distinguishing himself at any possible opportunity to regain some shred of intellectual honor. As time went on, and the sting wore off, Caveat realized that he needed to distinguish himself in some other way. Somehow, he needed to be important to this upper level if he was going to stay here.
Politician? No, he wasn't liked enough. Teacher? Possibly, but it wasn't prestigious enough. Something that would gain him respect - honest respect, from everyone in all his circles, something to set him apart forever and show them all that he was truly intelligent, like a librarian or something.
... Librarian.
And thus the hole in Caveat's heart was filled.
Now he worked again with the kind of fervor and drive that had characterized his first years at school. His desperation to be of use to Fin Magna finally paid off when he was made an instructor (with pupils and favored students of his own), much to his own personal delight. (Finally, he was able to move from his shabby half-house in the Middle Level to a more respectable district!) Instructor - yes, that was exactly the stepping stone he needed. Not only could he influence the youth, but he was finally in a respectable position at last, and could finally be taken seriously! His goal seemed at first to be handily within his grasp again.
Years and years (and years) of studious effort in the teaching profession proved his expectations to be inflated. His desperation renewed, Caveat carefully gave some favorable criticisms of key figures works. Caveat had experience being politic when necessary, after all. It worked, and combined with his years of teaching Caveat managed to finally slide into the highly prestigious position of librarian. Caveat himself looked quite carefully the part as he smiled and took the position with great honor and happiness.
That was very recent in occurance. Caveat has settled into this new position with the ease of someone whose life - and personality - has undergone many changes to meet his goals. Certainly now, thinks he, in such a position he will have the kind of stability and respect he's been secretly longing for in all this stressful life. Certainly he thinks he's earned a reprieve to enjoy his success within practically sacrosanct and book-filled walls.
And then came the plague...
Miscellany!Hobbies: Reading poetry! (He's a hilariously bad poet, and keeps his work to himself.) Rebinding books (very carefully). "Projects" - his current one being the careful reorganization of books pertaining to literary analysis in the field of romantic lyrical poetry.
Birthday: Late Spring. He doesn't celebrate it.
Favorite Things: Poetry (loves reading it especially). Flowers. (Secretly, his own appearance.) Light, fancy meals. Pears.
Hated Things: Criticism (of himself), messes (and things being out of order), not being taken seriously.
Font: 
Favorite Story: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Job: Librarian
Class: Upper Class
Fears: Fading, losing his position in society, social rejection
A note about his poetic ability: While Caveat understands the mechanics of a poem, his seem to have no heart, little impact, no artful flair. For example!
"Through lanterns, starlike, twinkle bright
To drive dark away, and with it fright
still darkness lives in forest-lands:
And there it festers and expands
to fill all my world, and leaves me blind
and wipes sweet memories from my mind."
The repetition of darkness, and his desperation to fit words to the rhyme, hamper any artistic flair. It's also very vague: Caveat would write this with a mind for panic, something many experience, but it reads more like he's just writing about his fear of the forest, which isn't quite as universal. There doesn't seem to be any real purpose in his topic, either - he's just writing a mediocre rhyme about his feelings.
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