Closed [The Scholar's Asylum] One more bad dream

Had he slept? He couldn't seem to recall...

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[The Scholar's Asylum] One more bad dream

Postby Azrayel Kolasi on July 16th, 2014, 10:11 pm

1st of Summer, 514 AV
The Scholar's Asylum, Office of Bethany

“You look tired.” Vervain blinked idly, his face an imperceptible sheet of white. He was somewhat taken aback by Bethany’s bluntness. He had been sitting in her office for a few minutes now without a single word between them, watching her sort papers and file away notes, without a single of the social niceties he had come to expect of civilized folk. Or maybe that questionless statement was her idea of small talk.

“I get that a lot, actually.”

“Really?” Her lips twisted back against her teeth into a flat smile. It strayed miles from her eyes. “Tell me about that. Do you not sleep enough?” She lowered her clipboard, giving her eyes unrestricted access to their target.

Vervain shifted uncomfortably.

“It varies.” He paused, staring at her in awkward silence as she stared right back, just as expectantly. “I mean, uh…” The pendulum of the nearby clock beat uncomfortably against the silence. “Part of it is hereditary. My father looked like this too. “

“Part of it?” She tilted her head quizzically. “So you do lose sleep, then?”

“I suppose. It varies.”

She nodded, pulling her clipboard up to scribble something, the quill feather dancing ceremoniously in front of her face for a moment.

Vervain cleared his throat, fidgeting in the chair. This was not the type of interview he had prepared for. Questions about what he knew about djed? Sure. Questions about applied Reimancy? Shoot. Hell, he would accepted questions about his favorite color. But his sleeping habits? Was he trying to gain admission to an institution of higher learning, or an insane asylum? Perhaps they were one in the same. Perhaps this woman was just his bad dream.

Or maybe he was hers. Had he slept recently? He couldn’t quite recall.

“What keeps you up at night, Mr.Saavius?”

Vervain swallowed nervously. The question was benign enough. From a friend it could have been a show of concern or empathy, and that certainly was the tone in her voice - warm and inviting, almost sensuous. Yet her eyes bored into his with beastial intensity, a predatory intent that was not at all unfamiliar to him. Instantly he was eight years old again, his father baring down on him with a wooden practice sword - cutting away at his composure with those same vindictive eyes.

“It varies.” Deja vu all over again. “Usually I study, or practice.”

“Magical practice?” She quirked an eyebrow, glancing at his cutlass, asleep in its sheath. “Or sword practice?”

His eyes narrowed into hers suspiciously. “Why does it matter?”

She smiled politely. “Please, answer the question Mr.Saavius.” Her voice brimmed with irritation, the corners of her smile curved back with contempt.

“I try to maintain a balance. My teacher always said it was important to the career of a wizard to maintain his body as diligently as he maintains his mind.” Bethany nodded curtly, scribbling something down on her clipboard.
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[The Scholar's Asylum] One more bad dream

Postby Azrayel Kolasi on July 16th, 2014, 10:13 pm

1st of Summer, 514 AV
The Scholar's Asylum, Office of Bethany

“Have you ever killed someone?”

His breath stopped cold in his throat. His hands rested tentatively on the desk, his knuckles turning white. He could lie, as he knew all too well. Seldom anyone would be able or willing to dig up skeletons in the wilds around Syliras and attribute the ashen black patches on their bones to the rage of a young pyromancer. Yet even as the lie formulated in his mind, just on the back of his tongue and ready to be released into the world, it felt far too heavy to speak - weighed down with flame and innumerable screams.

“Yes.”

Quick scribbling. “With magic?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. He highly doubted any further honesty could tarnish her opinion or him further. “Yes.”

She nodded, making a few more notes before lowering her clipboard once more. “Tell me about it.”

He folded his arms over his chest, letting out a long sigh. “There’s nothing to tell. It was self defense.” She lifted her clipboard, her quill hovering threateningly close to it. He didn’t know what she had been writing on that thing this whole time, but it made him profoundly uneasy when she started scribbling away on it.

Vervain raised a hand, inviting her to pause. “I was raised by a trade caravan, ostensibly. “ Bethany paused, allowing him to continue. “ We had dealings with bandits and, Yukmen, occasionally.”

“And you acted as security?”

Vervain shook his head, slinking back into his chair. “That would imply I acted on behalf of anyone else. The actions I took were purely in the name of self preservation.”

Bethany shook her head slowly, jotting something down. “Vague, Mr. Saavius. Very vague.” He watched the feather of her quill sway and bob. It wagged at him with the same disapproval that shone so keenly in her eyes. It made him wonder what warped caricature of him she was drafting on that piece of parchment. It was fully possible she wasn’t writing anything about him; she could’ve been doodling an image of a cat and just doing so to make him feel uneasy.

“You mentioned a teacher. Tell me about him.” Her voice demanded his focus, and as he lifted his attention from her quill, his eyes stumbled upon hers. Her gaze slammed into him like a snowstorm, the iron in his blood freezing. So lost in his reverie he hadn’t realized how intently she had been watching him. She still smiled, and her voice still carried politeness and professional friendliness - but those eyes peeled away at his skin, removing it layer by layer. They condemned him for his life prior, and accused him of everything he would do hereafter.

“Him?” Vervain folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head softly. “You assume my tutor was male. Why?”

Then Bethany did something entirely unexpected. She eyed him for a moment, a genuine, if not entirely friendly smile crossing her lips.

Then she laughed.

“Mr. Saavius.” She set the clipboard down, propping her elbows up on the the desk, her fingers clasping together in front of her. “I would guess that you were not raised with any female authority figures, based on how uncharacteristically uncomfortable you were the very moment you sat down.” She inclined her head as she continued. “Granted, more people than not will squirm a bit once the interview starts, but you? You were fidgeting around like a beetle pinned to a cork board the moment you sat down. “ Vervain opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by a hand.

“You said you were raised in a caravan, and more generally women don’t take up that type of lifestyle. Hell, most men only do it out of necessity. The wilds aren’t exactly a weekend retreat.” She leaned back, her fingers still intertwined. “So it wasn’t hard to deduce your tutor was male. Am I wrong, Mr. Saavius?”

There were no words. Vervain just stared, his mouth half agape and the lines of fatigue under his eyes seeming several shades darker. He was singularly aware of a bead of sweat, making its way at an agonizing pace down his forehead. Some part of him wanted to speak; but his conscious mind was stuck in traction. He hadn’t figured the bit about his caravan backstory was relevant when he let it slip, and he hadn’t been aware of how much he was fidgeting. He looked down at his fingers, which were idly tapping on the armrests of the chair.
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[The Scholar's Asylum] One more bad dream

Postby Azrayel Kolasi on July 16th, 2014, 10:15 pm

1st of Summer, 514 AV
The Scholar's Asylum, Office of Bethany

“I’m waiting, Mr. Saavius.” This entire time, her smirk hadn’t left her face.

“My father.”

She paused a moment, then leaned forward, her expression softening. “What?”

“My father was my teacher.” Vervain’s voice had dropped an octave or two. He felt shell shocked still. This woman was dangerous, yet more than anything, Vervain suddenly felt tired. Had he slept recently? He wasn’t sure. His voice was slow and almost imperceptible, the volume on the rest of the world turned down, and he wondered if Bethany could hear him clearly, so very far away.“In all areas. Djed, swordsmanship, history, math… Everything.”

Bethany nodded, writing something down. “Sounds like you received a rather balanced education for a wild child. “ Wild child. The words were innocent, but heavy with her contempt - practically oozing disgust. She was kicking him while he was down. Typical. It seemed likely to Vervain at this point that she had already decided the outcome of this interview, and now was playing the roguish cat - batting the nearly dead rodent around before swallowing it whole. Such was the behavior he had come to expect of people, twisting the knife in at every given opportunity, alleviating their insecurities vicariously by inflicting them onto others.

“Tell me; Why do you wish to gain admission to the college?”

After all the personal attacks and brutal interrogation, a question so seemingly benign carried an inherent scent of dishonesty. At this point it didn’t matter though, Vervain was refreshed just to have a question presented for which the motivations seemed clear.

“I wish to learn.” He needed to keep his answers short and to the point. She had already shown that she needed very little information to draw frighteningly accurate conclusions from. Best not to stoke the fire any more than he already had.

“Yes, I would assume so.” She pursed her lips, leaning against her desk. “But toward what end?”

“I would argue that the pursuit of knowledge is an admirable goal in and of itself.” Vervain paused, reaching up to fiddle with the stubble on his chin as he continued. “I realize, though, that that answer must seem a little glib and unsatisfying, even if it is true as far as it goes.” Bethany moved her attention down for a brief moment to make a note on her parchment, and Vervain waited for her before continuing.

“To be completely honest,” which at this point, there couldn’t be any further harm in, “I don’t know. I never asked for my father to teach me magic. It felt normal when I was younger, but back then I didn’t have anything to contrast my life against. There was the road, the caravan, and my studies. That was my world, and it felt far more real to me than any inkling I had about how children in Syliras or Zeltiva must live.” Bethany set the clipboard and quill down, her expression stone and inscrutable. “I think he - my father, that is - was trapped in his life. Trapped by fear; as most people are. “ Picking around at his jawline, Vervain found a particularly lengthy strand of beard, which he tugged at idly. His eyes were distant, the world in which Bethany lived only a distant murmur on the back of his subconscious. He had never taken the time to stop and honestly consider the question before; coming to Zeltiva to study here had seemed like the natural next step, he hadn’t needed to think about. Was it just one more decision his father had made for him? He was treading uncomfortable ground. “I think he wanted me to have it better. I want that too, I think. More autonomy.”

“You want freedom, so you abandon a life on the roads to come coop yourself up inside stuffy libraries and classrooms?” She shook her head, picking up her quill and scribbling something out quickly.

“Magic, when applied with a little ingenuity, is the most power a human can wield. There is no greater path to self actualization.”

Bethany raised an eyebrow, her quill hovering over the page. “So you crave power?”

“Only as a means to an end. It would be more apt to say I seek completeness.”

She smiled softly, tapping the quill against the clipboard before taking something down. “Interesting.” She continued to write, the erratic scraping of the pen against the paper punctuating the beating droll of the clock. With each stroke Vervain had to resist the urge to flinch. It was funny how loud something so quiet became in an otherwise silent room.

“Application for entry declined. You can see yourself out.”
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[The Scholar's Asylum] One more bad dream

Postby Azrayel Kolasi on July 16th, 2014, 10:17 pm

1st of Fall, 514 AV
The Scholar's Asylum, Office of Bethany

Her tone was very matter-of-fact, cold and detached from the heat the words carried. It was casual, as if she had just informed him as to the location of the bathrooms or the time of day. Vervain stared at her for a moment, expecting her to say something. Anything. He wasn’t sure what.

She glanced up from her writing. “ Do you need something else, Mr. Saavius?”

“You- You’ve made a mistake.”

She set the clipboard down, sighing. “Oh?” She clasped her hands together, momentarily letting her thumbs rest on her chin before continuing.”Mr Saavius, I have been evaluating you during this process. Would you like to know what I have found?” Vervain didn’t bother answering, because she wasn’t asking. He just waited for her to continue.

“You are intelligent, but that intelligence is vague. Your background of wandering from place to place and being faced with the dangers of the wilderness at an early age have made you emotionally unstable. Your father instructed you in magic before you were mature enough to handle it, which has both given you an ego and simultaneously made you feel weak.” She shrugged, gesturing helplessly with her hands. “This is of course, unstable mental state to inhabit, and the strain of which has given you insomnia. To try and delude yourself into thinking you’re alright you’ve taken to trying to spend that time at night bettering and improving yourself, when in reality you're just running away from your inability to sleep.” Vervain stared at her with injured eyes, his breathing strained.

“So there it is. You are an insomniac with deep rooted emotional issues due to being dragged along by your fathers wanderlust, and you have a self-admitted capacity for murder.”

He wanted to take every beautiful painting he would never get to see and toss it into a bon fire. To immolate every slaver and bandit who couldn’t bare to grow a sense of morality and ethics even to save their miserable species. He wanted to take every god who had given any mortal a gnosis mark ever and rip their still beating hearts from their chests with his bare hands.

He wanted to spit acid and breath smog.

“Murder?” The word hung in the air like a bad odor over his head, his voice trembling as he reiterated it. “I told you, that was self-defense.”

Bethany waved a hand dismissively. “Call it whatever you wish, Mr. Saavius. The fact is that you are a swordsman and a Pyromancer, correct?” She shook her head. “The College of Djed isn’t in the habit of turning people into human weapons, which it would appear is what you came here for.”

Vervain sank back into his chair, holding his temple. The trip here had been a waste. When he had departed Avanthal for Zeltiva, he had done so with the assumption it would be his last trip for a good long while. At long last, the wanderer would find a home, even if it was a temporary one. So set on this path he was, he couldn’t even fathom where to go from here. His mind was a sheet of crumpled paper.

“Listen… Vervain.” He perked his head up a bit, staring at her from under the dark circles that framed his eyes. “If you have an argument, I am willing to entertain it. I am not unreasonable.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, urging him on. “ State your case. Why should I admit you into the college?”

Vervain eyed her for a moment, scanning her face for hints of malice or facetiousness. If nothing else, he figured speaking his mind couldn’t hurt. Of course, he would have to find it first. He stood slowly, resting his hands on her desk.

“My father taught me many practical things, miss. How to grip a weapon, how to regulate how much Djed I use when performing pyromancy, basics of mathematics and history.” He leaned in slightly. “He inadvertently, however, taught me something far more important. Something the average non-wizard doesn’t realize.” Bethany leaned back, watching him intently as he spoke. “Wizards are not special. We may command an energy that is mysterious and powerful. Yet we are still mortal. We still suffer hunger and thirst, crave shelter and love. We still suffer from self doubt, from worrying about what the pretty girl at the end of the bar thinks about us.”

Vervain slunk back into his chair, his momentary burst of energy and confidence receding. “The only important distinction is that wizards have both an increased capacity for destruction and madness. A volatile combination, and one that has made our art form feared and in some cases hated. People would rather sit in the corner and rock back and forth, whispering inane prayers to themselves, then try to understand it.” He raised a hand, and pointed at himself. “Not me. Call it avarice if you wish, but I want to understand it. To understand us.” Bethany tentatively reached out for her clipboard, picking it and her quill back up, but writing nothing.

“Earlier, miss, you asked me toward what end I wanted to learn. The most honest answer I can give is simply, ‘I do not know’. If you cut away the posturing and the fluff, that is the heart of why I came here. Djed fascinates and enthralls me, but beyond that, I am lost. “ He locked eyes with her now, taking a deep, shaky breath. “ All I do know is that I am determined, and capable of far more than it might appear.”

Bethany waited several moments to assure herself that he had finished speaking. She nodded slowly, adding several more details to her notes with a few graceful strokes of the pen. “Your drive and intellect are not in question.” She drummed her fingers on the desk, looking upon Vervain with eyes that were somewhat foreign to him. She seemed to be contemplating something, calculating the values on scales in the back of her mind. “Your insomnia, however, puts you at some risk. You have the potential to become a great wizard, if you get some rest and keep your feet planted firmly in the ground.” She deftly slid a single sheet of paper out from a stack, and would bring her quill across in the sleek and graceful motion that could only come from practice - likely a signature. She folded it and slid it into an envelope, sealing it and setting it down on the other end of the desk in front of him.

He glanced down at it. “Miss?”

She smiled - and for the first time, it touched her eyes, the predatory gleam melting away from her face. “Welcome to the college of Djed, Vervain. “ She took his hand, and he shook hers enthusiastically, the fatigue around his eyes brightening. “Don’t make me wrong on this, Mr. Saavius. “

“I promise to give it everything I have, Miss.”

She nodded, letting go of his hand and watching him leave, sealed envelope in hand. “Of that, Mr. Saavius, I have no doubt.”
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[The Scholar's Asylum] One more bad dream

Postby Aoren on July 27th, 2014, 1:06 pm

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Riddled With Rewards
Vervain

Experience
Skill XP Earned
Rhetoric + 4 EXP
Socialization + 3 EXP
Observation + 3 EXP
Persuasion +1 EXP





Lores
Lore Earned
Bethany: Chief Examiner of the University
Body and Mind, Keep It Balanced
The Uneasiness of An Interview
My Father, My Teacher
Entry Into The College of Djed


Notes :
• | This was a very introspective thread that I enjoyed a great deal! Well done. Well done indeed. Just a note, there are no ticking clocks in Mizahar. Time is told by the Watchtowers.

If you have comments, questions or concerns please approach me at your earliest convenience. Don't forget to edit/delete your request in the request thread!
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