Prelude 1: Friendly (?) Neighborhood Chancellor

[Sierra]

Note to self: next time log in a format more beloved of the log-cleaner. Anyway: here we go!

<El-Cideon> The Avon morning is hot and hazy as Nemesio Lamperouge walks through the iron gates of the city's venerated university. The metal gates, set deep in the weathered brick walls that ring the institution's vast circular grounds, are open to all as usual but foot traffic is low this morning. The term has passed for students specializing in the University's more prosaic subjects, with only students of magic awaiting their final examinations present.
<El-Cideon> Heading southwards from the gate--the students' gate, as it's thought of, the faculty having their own entrance nearer the administration building in the south of the complex--Nemesio crosses the wide entry plaza paved with faded red flagstones to pass the notably obtrusive statue of the University's founder which greets all comers.
<El-Cideon> A comparitively recent addition to the grounds, there is no denying the obvious artistry of this iron sentinel's construction. Though made from cast metal, it appears seamless and of a single piece. The flowing of cloth, lines in flesh, and even stubble are rendered in very fine detail. (more)
<El-Cideon> Beneath the flowing iron robes of old Chanceller Margranth (elaborate costumery of a sort now unfashionable among Avon magic-users) rests the plage from the statue's dedication. (more)
<El-Cideon> "Donated June 21, M.E. 2143, by Robert Eldridge, crtd. by Louisa Fitzroy, to mark three hundred years of enlightening civilization."
<El-Cideon> This would make the statue some dozen years old--presumably commissioned around the time young Nemesio would have begun his own education. Past the statue, down the lane of flagstones and across the wide and well-kept field of green that lies at the center of the grounds he goes, headed for the administrative building.
<El-Cideon> It is an ancient structure, the oldest on the grounds, and carriages wait in a string around the front. Presumably a meeting of some sort has let out, as well-dressed citizens can be seen boarding and leaving as Nemesio approaches. One stops as it is just about to pull away, and the extravagantly dressed matron preparing to board steps back off and heads toward the student.
* Nemesio alters his course smoothly, coming to meet the matron. Once close enough, he sketches a bow, while making sure to note her reaction as he straightens up.
<El-Cideon> The woman nods in recogntion of the gesture. She appears to be in her mid-forties, her face a little weathered but not yet succumbing to the signs of age. A lavish wig of a bright green hue entwined with feathers obscures her hair. "Let me see...Nemesio, was it not?"
<Nemesio> roll 2d8
<Reiko-chan> Nemesio rolled : 2d8 --> [ 2d8=13 ]{13}
<El-Cideon> Nemesio has a vague notion of recognition, but is unable to retrieve the lady's name from the recesses of memory. (more)
<El-Cideon> She offers a hand imperiously, but smiles as she does so. "Marnie Borestal Aedes. I saw you at one the Kleosters' balls, I believe, but I will not hold against you not remembering the event. They have so MANY of them, after all."
<Nemesio> "Indeed," he responds, taking her hand and pressing his lips lightly to the knuckles. "How does this fair day find you, Madame Aedes?"
<El-Cideon> Madame Aedes puts a hand to her mouth, feigns a yawn. "Much better, with that dreadful meeting dispensed with. Though I'm afraid now it's your turn. You have a meeting with the chancellor, don't you? He's spoken of you."
<Nemesio> "I have been summoned, yes," Nemesio admits. "It was nothing bad, I hope," he adds, sounding mildly worried.
<El-Cideon> Marnie notes the tone in his voice, and chuckles. "Well, Joran's spoken highly of your abilities," she says, casually referring to a high official on a first-name basis, "so I think you needn't fear the old bear much." (more)
<El-Cideon> "No doubt he means to snatch you up for a position with the Registry as soon as you're certified. Do hold out, you can do *much* better if you like."
<Nemesio> "You are too kind, Madame," Nemesio responds.
<El-Cideon> Marnie laughs darkly, an odd sound from one so gaily dressed. "No, I simply know the chancellor better than you. Now, I have affairs to attend to elsewhere and won't keep you further, youngling. Fare the well, and don't let him push you TOO hard." With a swishing of skirts, she flounces back into her carriage and departs.
* Nemesio watches her go for a long moment, before resuming his walk towards the Chancelor's office, his stride steady.
<El-Cideon> The inside of the administrative building--dubbed Margranth Hall by its oh-so-modest founder--is dark and cool. On a warm spring day such as this, at this time of morning, the building is nearly deserted, the wealthy patrons having all left now. (more)
<El-Cideon> Nemesio encounters a functionary who directs him to the chancellor's office on the third floor--despite having attended the University for several years, Nemesio has not had cause to see the man before, chancellor Bigod being a reclusive sorts when it comes to dealing with the student body.(more)
<El-Cideon> His travels eventually lead him to a heavy, wood-panelled door. The atmosphere in the administrative building is overall subdued and somewhat homey.
* Nemesio knocks promptly on the door.
<El-Cideon> A baritone rumble emanates from the other side. "Enter."
* Nemesio pulls the door open smoothly, entering and closing it behind him.
<El-Cideon> The chancellor's office is as muted as the hallway outside. Apparently the man favors a mellow atmosphere to work in, as naught but a few candles light up an array of bookshelves and an ancient, battered oak desk which must be near as old as the building. (more)
<El-Cideon> The chancellor, Joran Bigod, rises as you enter. He is an imposing figure, moreso than one would expect for an administrator, surely topping six feet and being possessed of a solid build. His clothes are plan, well-tailored, and thoroughly utilitarian.(more)
<El-Cideon> From the lines on his face, he must be approaching sixty, and though the fall of hair that stops just above his shoulders is silver-white, his hairline has not receded an inch. He takes Nemesio's hand and shakes it in a rough grip. "Sit, please."
* Nemesio has no reason to object, sitting and listening patiently, one leg settling over the other.
<El-Cideon> Joran sits again, across from Nemesio, and dons a pair of steel-rim spectacles with circular lenses which, with his piercing blue eyes behind them, bring to mind a magnifying glass looming over an insect on a bright summer's day.(more)
<El-Cideon> "No doubt you are worried, as I certainly would have been as a student, on being summoned in this manner, but I assure you it is nothing out of the ordinary. I find it good practice to maintain personal relationships with exceptional students, as you have proved yourself to be in your time here."
<Nemesio> "Thank you, Chancellor," Nemesio responds, inclining his head. "You are far too kind."
<El-Cideon> Joran chuckles softly to himself. "No. No, I wouldn't say that. I am practical. It is in everyone's best interests--yours, mine, and Avontyne's--to ensure that the most qualified individuals receive positions of note within our society. You are no exception."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Though the final evaluations leading to your official certification by the Registry have not yet concluded, I feel certain that you will succeed and broach the matter of the ensuing life decision now. And so I ask you, candidly, what path you have chosen for yourself upon leaving this establishment."
* Nemesio remains silent for as long as he believes is considered polite, appearing conflicted. "I'm not entirely certain, so far," he says at last. "Research and the pursuit of knowledge appeal, so perhaps a position within the University itself?"
<El-Cideon> Joran nods, his expression difficult to read. "An admirable goal, I must admit." He laughs and spreads his hands, "For obvious reasons. I would propose an alternate course, however."(more)
<El-Cideon> "We stand at a decisive point in this city's history. As a child of East Riding yourself, I imagine I don't need to convince you of this. This is a time in which the city is in need of those with...unusual talents. I am sure you know what I mean."
<Nemesio> "Alas, my talents are meager in comparison," Nemesio says, voice laced with regret. "It is only by relentless training of what little I have that I was able to get this far. Surely, there are plenty of graduates with more raw talent, and sufficient motivation to master it in a short matter of time."
<El-Cideon> The chancellor leans forward, candlelight flickering off the polished glass of his lenses. "There is no need for this undue modesty, Mr. Lamperouge. Or for subterfuge. We come from the same stock; I am sure you have this city's best interests at heart just as I do."(more)
<El-Cideon> "We have some notion of what talents you truly possess. Know that we do not hold this fact against you; we do not devour our own. As long as these talents are implemented for the common good."
<Nemesio> "Parlor tricks, all, yet not as flashy," Nemesio says dismissively. "Yet, if the City would be best served by this, I must say I'm curious what workplace conditions it intends to offer."
<El-Cideon> Joran quirks a smile before continuing. "If you would rather not talk of your talents in specifics, so be it. You and I know of what we speak regardless. As for the grander picture...you should know that our trading partners abroad intrude into our affairs more invasively every year in order to serve their own best interests. To say nothing of our own...dissidents."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Now more than ever, it is crucial to maintain order within this city. All the more obvious is subversive activity in a disciplined society. I submit that you and your talents would greatly aid this cause, should a scholar's life prove dull."
<Nemesio> "Perhaps," he muses, before his expression sours ever so slightly. "Yet, I must admit that I hold no great affection for the possibility of traveling to distant barbarian lands, even if it were for the good of our city."
<El-Cideon> Joran shakes his head. "You needn't worry about that. The threats are all too close to heart, and that is where all efforts to stave off decay must begin. You *would* make an ideal agent of the city, should you choose to be so. I maintain many connections in the Registry, and can make this happen if you wish."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Something to think over. You needn't answer me yet. You have your certification to focus on in the meantime, and I would not wich to distract you unduly."
<Nemesio> "This is clearly a tempting offer, but as you've said, the certification does come first," Nemesio agrees, rebuffing him for the time being.
<El-Cideon> The chancellor nods. "Of course. And I do not wish the thrust further responsibilities upon you at this time. I merely wish you to consider...possibilities. In the nonce, do focus on finishing your training."(more)
<Nemesio> "Of course. It would not do to be lax in my studies so close to the finish line, as they say."
<El-Cideon> "Your final evaluations are within the week, as I recall. Instructor Ferryman will take care of you, I believe. You may meet her on the western practice field, as is regular."
* Nemesio nods curtly. "Will there be anything else...?"
<El-Cideon> Joran shakes his head, and offers that iron handshake again. "That will be all for now. Do your best, though I have little doubt you will succeed. Such affairs are terribly close to being formalities these days. In the time of the founder, evaluations were a mtter of life and death."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Rather wasteful practice, though I feel it may have its virtues. Nevertheless, for now...Providence, Nemesio."

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> Midmorning, late spring in Avontyne. Margranth University lies largely deserted as students of the more conventional subjects vacate for the term's end, leaving mainly those pursuing more esoteric studies to purse their Registry certification. (more)
<El-Cideon> The administrative center, to which Pilfer has been summoned to meet with the institution's chancellor for unspecified reasons, proves a more mellow establishment than one might at first have expected. Dark wood panelling, upholstered chairs in meeting rooms, and soft light from candles lit behind frosted glass.
* Pilfer meanders in, peering in windows and idly checking for unlocked doors or drawers. Nothing says swanky like an inkwell swiped from the Dean's desk, after all...
<El-Cideon> Someone with the appearance of a clerk, a middle-aged women with rust-red hair (quite obviously a lackluster attempt at dye), spots the young man as she passes in the hall and fixes him with a glare no doubt dreaded by a generation of arithmetic students.(more)
<El-Cideon> "State your business here," she says curtly, apparently somewhat skeptical that he has any beyond loitering.
* Pilfer startles a bit, exaggeratedly, to indicate her supreme irrelevance to his state of affairs.
<Pilfer> "Who, me?" he says chirpily.
<Pilfer> "Oh, I just have a little appointment. With the Chancellor."
<El-Cideon> The woman shakes her head in a group dismissal of all students inconsiderate enough to encounter their superiors outside of the classroom environment, and points up. "His office is on the third floor," she says. "Stairs on the left at the end of this hall."(more)
<El-Cideon> "NOT, I should note, in the sitting room with the velvet sofa," she adds, just in case the fellow actually is some sort of vagrant needing to be deterred.
* Pilfer gives a jaunty wave and troops up the stairs, hands tucked deeply in the pockets of his outsized overcoat, and whistles atonally as he makes his unhurried way up the stairs to the place mentioned.
<El-Cideon> The chancellor's office proves to be at the end of the long passageway running the length of the third floor. The rooms passed here are all well-apportioned and cozy; the academics live somewhat better off than the pupils, naturally.(more)
<El-Cideon> The heavy oak door which should be the chancellor's is presently closed. Raised voices can be heard from within.
* Pilfer pauses, considers, and weighs his options. On the one hand, Chancellors having fights make for juicy gossip. On the other hand, getting caught with one's ear to the door can lead to awkward situations, such as expulsion, and resumption of commuted sentences.
* Pilfer hefts his belt, raises his hand, and knocks loudly and with gusto.
<El-Cideon> The voices inside halt for a moment, then resume as if in defiance of any interruption. A few words can be made out here and there through the thick oak door. It can be gathered that someone named Eldridge is presently the object of the chancellor's displeasure, but that's about it.(more)
<El-Cideon> A girl's voice from behind Pilfer pipes up after a few moments of this noise. "It's rude to eavesdrop, you know. I think we just have to wait until they wear each other out."
<Pilfer> roll 2d8
<Pilfer> roll 2d8
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 15." [2d8=7, 8]
<El-Cideon> Pilfer has the vague recollection of hearing the name at some point in time, but he is unable to determine where. Someone who does not typcially mix with the likes of Dockside is all he can bring up.
<Pilfer> "Eavesdropping? Who's eavesdropping? I'm meeting, is what I'm doing."
* Pilfer turns around a bit to see who spoke.
<El-Cideon> The girl is shorter than Pilfer, and certainly younger. Somewhere in her mid-teens, most likely. It's not clear whether she's a student here or not. She's cute in a rather unkempt manner--someone appears to have very deliberately dressed her in a boy's clothes, and her short hair is a violent shade of blue.(more)
<El-Cideon> "Someone's left chocolates in the sitting room here if you want to wait it out," she says. "I think they might still be good. Try one and find out for me?"
* Pilfer glances about to espy these chocolates of which she speaks.
<Pilfer> "When was the last time they were seen alive?" Pilfer jokes. "I like your hair," he adds. (Not that it'd get you very far on the streets,) he adds mentally. (First rule; don't get caught.)
<El-Cideon> Some paces down the hall, the sitting room--obviously for the staff's relaxation, normally--is populated with comfy upholstered chairs and dark wood tables. On one of them sits the aforementioned chocolates, the half-empty tin probably imported from Kalbemarle.(more)
<El-Cideon> The girl reaches up, as of noticing something for the first time. "Oh, right," she says distractedly. "Well, I haven't seen them move yet, and I've been here fifteen minutes, I think." She sits down in fron of the apparently-quiescent snacks and fidgets a little.
<Pilfer> "Fifteen minutes? Wait, you mean I'm *not* the only one called for a special conference with the Chancellor?" Pilfer flops onto a nearby chair, appropriating the tin of candy on his way. "I'm hurt, I really am. I thought someone'd finally noticed my limitless potential."
<El-Cideon> The girl shakes her head, though she seems to be smiling a little, at least. "No, I'm just waiting for someone. And those two are running overtime." She sighs. "The chancellor's wasting his time. No one can convince Robert of anything once he's set his mind."(more)
<El-Cideon> She looks up. "Save one of those for me if they don't kill you?"
* Pilfer glances over, his mouth full of stale choccy.
<Pilfer> "Robert?" he says, swallowing hastily - the sickly-sweet tang stuck in his throat. "Izzat that Eldridge guy he's yelling at? What's his beef, anyway?"
* Pilfer gently lobs the tin of candies discus-style over to the girl.
The girl scratches her at her scalp for a moment, not exactly the image of decorum despite her fine (if ill-fitting) clothes. "No good, huh?" She frowns. "Yes, Eldridge is Robert, Robert is Eldridge, or...right." She catches the tin, sniffs it, and puts it back on the table.(more)
<El-Cideon> "Too bad about the candy." She shrugs. "Anyway, I couldn't really help you with clearing things up. No one ever fills me on these things."
<Pilfer> "Hey, if you don't want it, give it here," Pilfer says, reaching for the dish. You don't waste food, even stale candy. Old habits died hard. "Well, what're they fighting about. You talked like you knew 'em."
<El-Cideon> The yelling down the hall reaches a new height, then abruptly stops. Any worries about unexpected are dispelled, however, when the silence is interrupted by a determined monotone. The girl frowns again. "I really couldn't say. He doesn't tell me anything. I'm not even supposed to be here, really. Oh well."(more)
<El-Cideon> She looks up at Pilfer, as if really looking him over for the first time, and abruptly wonders aloud, "Hey, what's your name?"
<Pilfer> "Me? I'm Pilfer," Pilfer says resolutely. No last name is offered, the defiant pride of the lower echelons of society. Whatever his real name might have been, he was Pilfer now, and nothing more. "I'm just a student, sorta. Who're you?"
<El-Cideon> "Pilfer," the girl repeats. "Strange name. And I'm not really anybody. Monday, I guess." The argument seems to wear itself thin, down the hall, and at least can be heard a door opening..
<Pilfer> "Is Monday your name or when you started waiting?" Pilfer quips.
<El-Cideon> Footsteps echo down the hall, steady and determined. an elderly man stops at the door of the sitting room; tall, greying blond hair, well-dressed. His clothes are not flashy, but obviously expensive to judge by signs such as gleaming cufflinks and the like.(more)
<El-Cideon> He looks over the room's inhabitants for a moment, appearing to disapprove somewhat of the simple fact of there being two people in the room, and then gestures to the girl. "Come along, Monday."
* Pilfer bounces to his feet.
<Pilfer> "Hi, there, sir! Pleased to meetcha! Lovely daughter you have. I like her hair!"
* Pilfer steps forward, offering a hand to shake.
<El-Cideon> The man (Robert Eldridge, apparently), eyes the appendage for a moment as though it were an alien
artifact washed upon a shore. Something akin to a sense of grim obligation crosses his features for a moment, but he refrains from shaking Pilfer's hand. (more)
<El-Cideon> "Another time, perhaps," he says laconically, before placing a hand on Monday's shoulder and leading her away. The doesn't say or a word or glance back, but does offer a subdued wave from behind her back.
<Pilfer> "Pssh. Jerk," mumbles Pilfer. He flops back onto his chair and amuses himself by juggling stale chocolates.
<El-Cideon> Pilfer waits a long moment, then footsteps sound again in the hallway again, from the direction of the chancellor's room.
* Pilfer stuffs the remainder of the candies in his pockets - though goodness knew if he'd ever see them again - and sat upright, endeavoring to project a happy, wholesome student attitude.
<El-Cideon> Another old-timer steps into view--though this one profoundly different in bearing and character than the other. Certainly not shorter than six feet tall, with a solid build for someone probably approaching sixty. A fall of silver-white hair is cut short and neat just above his shoulders.(more)
<El-Cideon> "I'm sorry," he says in a rather amused rich baritone, "were you waiting on my secreatary?"
<Pilfer> "No, I was waiting on this chair here..."
* Pilfer stands up, with military (or what he thinks is military) smartness.
<Pilfer> "Good morning to you, Chancellor sir! Lovely day!"
<Pilfer> Then, more quietly. "You, ah, wanted to see me, sir?"
<El-Cideon> This provokes a frown, as the chancellor looks Pilfer over. "Yes, naturally." The soft candlelight flickers off the lens of steel-rimmed spectacles as he pauses for a moment, then turns. "The office is this way," he says, leading past the oak door with no further comment and shutting it behind Pilfer afterwards.(more)
<El-Cideon> The chancellor's office is somewhat plain--racks of books, a battered, ancient desk, little more. which seems in keeping with the almost ascetic plainnes of his attire. "Sit," he says, gesturing to a heavy chair across from him.
* Pilfer follows cheerfully, idly speculating about the contents of the Chancellor's pockets based on their relative weight and swing as he walks. He perches lightly on the chair and concentrates very hard on appearing hardworking, honest, and generally helpful.
<El-Cideon> "My apologies for the delay," he rumbles. The man probably would've made a good singer if he'd ever taken an interest in such things, but he probably hasn't. "You should know that I do not meet personally with all students."(more)
<El-Cideon> "The fact that you are here, in this office instead of lazing away the final weeks as do the others, is a testament to the fact you have made considerable progress in...rehabilitating yourself, during your tenure here."
* Pilfer blinks a moment, deciding how to take that.
<Pilfer> "Thank you, sir!" he chirps, electing to maintain his Head Boy demeanor.
<Pilfer> "It's an honor, I'm sure," he adds, to be on the safe side.
* Pilfer watches the Chancellor closely, for signs that he's laying it on too thick.
<El-Cideon> Chancellor Joran waves a hand. "You needn't play that role here. I know what you were, and though we have groomed you well, no man can entirely change who he is. I request honesty today, as much as you are capable of."
<Pilfer> "Oh, well, in that case," says Pilfer, "Your candies are stale." He holds out the empty tin, as a sort of offering.
<El-Cideon> Joran peers into the tin for a moment. "I've never seen that before," he says, before continuing without a break. "I would also request a glimmer of seriousness, if this is within your capabilities as well. I DID call you here to discuss your future, presumably a subject of some concern to you?"
<Pilfer> (Depends,) thought Pilfer, (How immediate are we talking here?) Aloud he said only, "Oh, absolutely, sir."
<El-Cideon> Joran frowns, an expression which seems too natural on him. "A different tack, I think. You are due for certification in a short matter of time. I ask you bluntly what you intend to do with you life after leaving these walls behind."
<Pilfer> "Ah."
<Pilfer> There is a pause.
<Pilfer> "I suppose becoming the greatest thief ever known in song or story is out of the question?"
<Pilfer> "I've got some serious ballad potential here, y'know."
<El-Cideon> Joran smirks. "'Ah,' indeed," as if suspecting as much. He seems to ponder something for a moment, then shakes his head. "Quite out of the question, yes."(more)
<El-Cideon> "You have earned yourself some liberty these past few years. Please do not force to revoke it."
<Pilfer> "Hey, now. You asked for honesty, 'member? Four years ago all I had was what I could steal. Then I get collared and told that it's go to University or dance the hemp fandango. Now, I'm all trained and ready to, y'know, not kill people accidentally or anything, but what've I got for prospects? I don't have a family trade. Hell, I don't have a family, not anymore. I can juggle a little. Maybe I can be a street performer. I'm used to getting
<Pilfer> hassled by the Watch, aren't I?" Despite his efforts, the bitterness seeps into his voice as Pilfer speaks.
<El-Cideon> "Quite right. And I have asked you here to suggest an alternative, if you are willing to listen for a moment and converse without japes and jabs."
<Pilfer> (Maybe when you stop being a pompous ass...) Pilfer thinks unkindly.
* Pilfer swallows his irritation and looks attentive.
<El-Cideon> "You are absolutely correct to note that you have no prospects. You do not. Not on your own, at the least." He folds his hands together on the table in front of him. "This may be the first time we two have met, but I know what goes on under my command, and I know who and what you are."(more)
<El-Cideon> "I will be perfectly blunt: I do not like you, Antryg Palphion, as you no doubt maintain a hearty dislike for me. But, I recognize that you do have worthy talents, if unconventional ones, which could be of much use if directed properly."
* Pilfer continues to look attentive, but begins unobtrusively studying the room for potential valuables and entry routes.
<El-Cideon> The room is sadly devoid of ornamentation; presumably some of the older books might be worth something to the right person. There is a window behind the chancellor but it is presently obscured by drapes. Given the weathered brick exterior of the building, it wouldn't be hard to reach.
<El-Cideon> Joran continues:
<El-Cideon> "It would not be practical to waste them, so I suggest for your own good--as you yourself claim you have no options--as well as for the benefit of Avontyne, that you put them to use in service of the city."
<Pilfer> "The city needs a juggler?" Pilfer blurts, unable to stop himself. "Wait, what I'm good at is getting in places that can't be reached. We're not talking about... about assassinating people or something, are we?"
<El-Cideon> Joran quirks an eyebrow. "Why, would you like to?
* Pilfer looks very uncomfortable.
<Pilfer> "Er, no. No, I really wouldn't."
<El-Cideon> Joran actually laughs now. It's surprisingly loud. "Well enough, then. The Registry does not 'assassinate' people, Antryg. Nor would I ask you to. There would be a panoply of tasks you would be well-suited to perform for us, however. Always provided you behaved yourself."
<Pilfer> "Er, yeah," Pilfer says, endeavoring to smile along with this crazy man who laughs about assassinating people. "Like what?" he says, perking up a bit despite himself. Street kids stole fruit and copper circas. What did governments steal?
<El-Cideon> A shrug. I'm not in a position to suggest specifics. This is not quite an *offer*, you understand. I am merely...conveying that there are possibilities you might not have considered--for a stable life with better pay than you could steal."(more)
<El-Cideon> "And the not inconsequential benefit of aiding your fellow citizens. You are not like away from your final evaluations now. As such affairs are ever more a formality these days, I thought it best you had something to ponder during the remainder of your time here."
<Pilfer> "Well, then."  (A formality, eh? Maybe for the little rich kids who had actual tutors to teach 'em all this crap since they were in diapers. What do I know from Ancient History?) Pilfer thinks. "I guess it's definitely something to think about, for sure."
* Pilfer wonders if the Chancellor could have stretched himself and been a little more vague and unclear.
<Pilfer> (If this is how all the spymasters try to talk to their agents, no wonder the city needs better help...)
<El-Cideon> Finally, the chancellor rises, apparently signalling that the meeting is at its end. "That will be all for now. Your evaluations begin within the week, so do your best to be fit for them. Instructor Ferryman will meet you on the west practice field at first light on Friday, I believe."
<Pilfer> "I'll be there with bells on," Pilfer assures the Chancellor.
<El-Cideon> The chancellor raises an eyebrow, as if wondering what effect this might have on the former pickpocket's next attempt at stealth. "That would be quite a sight. Rest for now and consider your options for the future. Or lack thereof."
* Pilfer 's mouth twists momentarily in sardonic reaction to the not-so-subtle commentary, but the moment passes swiftly.
<Pilfer> "I'm sure I'll do that, sir."

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> Stepping inside the cool, darl interior of Margranth Hall is a refreshing change from the raising heat of a late-May morning in Avontyne. The administrative building is a surprisingly subdued and mellow place, filled with comfy upholstery and dark wood paneling. (more)
<El-Cideon> The overall atmosphere is akin to that of a smoky backroom in some aristocrat's country house. Directed to the third floor to meet the Chancellor, Derrick comes to a heavy oak door at the end of the hallway which passes along the length of the building.
* Derrick pauses for a moment as he reaches the door to the Chancellor's office, a place that he has seen the interior of only once before and then with three other students by his side. But facing this door alone is enough to cause even the normally calm and collected Derrick a bit of nervousness.
<Derrick> But rather then stand outside the door looking like a fool for too long, he takes a deep breath and knocks.
<El-Cideon> A brassy baritone rings out from the other side: "Enter." The shuffling of paper can be heard.
<Derrick> Entering as ordered, Derrick takes only a couple of steps into the room and then lets the door shut behind him. "You wanted to see me, Master Bigod?"
<El-Cideon> The chancellor is a large man, well on in his years but hardly showing sign of it apart from the extensive whitening of his hair. Arctic blue eyes peer up from behind steel-rim spectacles with circular lenses. (more)
<El-Cideon> He dresses plainly--almost aggressively so. All black today, trim-fitting clothes, with only silver buttons giving ground to ornamentation. "Sit down, Mr. Oaks, you've no need to be nervous today." He gestures to a heavy wooden chair across the desk from him.
<Derrick> A bit annoyed at himself that his nerves were showing, though he really shouldn't be surprised that the Chancellor knows how to read his students like the proverbial books, Derrick merely nods and sits down.
<El-Cideon> The chancellor clears an array of documents off the chipped and ancient desk, allowing a moment to take in the surroundings. The office is as plainly decorated as the man himself: shelves of books on every wall, a shuttered window, little else. (more)
<El-Cideon> Joran shelves the papers, leaving only an empty tin of Kalben chocolate on the desk, the folds his hands in front of him. "I should first say that we are greatly impressed with your progress since arriving at this institution, and that this meeting is not in any way a rebuke. You should know that I do not meet with all my finishing students."
* Derrick calms down a bit at that. He was, of course, running over everything he had done over the past few days trying to find what could possibly have drawn the ire of the Chancellor. But that still left the matter of why he *was* here.
<Derrick> Nodding, he relaxes a bit, but his curiosity was now engaged. "I was aware of that, sir."
<El-Cideon> "You should take your being here as a compliment, then. I find it good practice to maintain connections with the more talented products of this institution--as do they. My primary question, then, is to wonder about your plans upon being certified and released from our care."
<Derrick> Exhaling deeply, Derrick cannot stop a very slight shrug of his shoulders. It was a question that many other students, and some others outside the school, had asked of him more than once. And each time he did not really have an answer to give. "I...well, the truth is, I'm not really sure, sir."
<Derrick> "It's not that I haven't thought about it. I just haven't been able to really decide what I want to do."
<Derrick> "I suppose I'll probably return to the Faith, at least for awhile. But...after that, I'm just not certain."
<El-Cideon> Joran does not seem in any way upset or disappointed by this admission. Indeed, his expression his quite undreadable. He simply nods. "Your talents would provide you ample opportunities for work as a surgeon if you so chose. Would this sort of work, and the great social benefit it produces, appeal to you?"
<Derrick> Thinking about it, Derrick nods a bit, but still seems indecisive, "I've thought about that, and I do want to try to help people, especially those who can't really afford a more traditional surgeon's fees. But...well, I can't keep it up for too long, and...well, there are things I can't heal. Diseases, illnesses, I can't fix those. Just wounds. And..."
<Derrick> Looking up at the Chancellor, Derrick sighs, "And I wouldn't know how to turn away the people I can't help."
<El-Cideon> Joran nods slowly. "Understandable. One of the dilemmas that face especially talented individuals in Avontyne, yes. There are other ways to serve one's city, however."(more)
<El-Cideon> "The Faith, then? What is it that draws you to Fyrdaella's followers? What do you think of the Great Mother herself?" There's something oddly flat in the chancellor's tone as he broaches this topic.
<Derrick> Making note of the Chancellor's tone, Derrick considers his answer carefully. "Well, I was raised in the curch, sir. And I saw alot there. So many people coming to the Faithful with thier problems, looking for answers, advice, and sometimes not even knowing what they were looking for. But I could see it. They all really wanted hope. And that's what the Mother gives people, more than anything.(more)
<Derrick> Faith gives people hope, no matter how bad things are. I want to help with that. I want to bring people hope, some peace of mind and spirit. The Faith heals, just like my magic does. Only it heals the wounds I can't only not touch, but can't even see. I want to do that too."
<El-Cideon> A smile of sorts, the edge of a lip quirked slightly. "An interesting perspective. I wish you luck if this is the path you choose, though others await if you are willing to consider alternatives." Joran drums his fingers on the table, as if working through some complicated formula.(more)
<El-Cideon> "Have you ever considered serving your fellow citizens as an agent of the city itself? No doubt the Governor would appreciate being able to make use of your talents in either of our great agencies."
<Derrick> "Well, I've thought about it, but I'm really not sure how I'd be of use to the city beyond being a, well, a 'magic surgeon' if you will."
<El-Cideon> Another nod, and the chancellor is without a clear expression again. "Of course. Having some experience with the Registry, at least, I can say with certainty often has unexpected uses for those with refined talents. I'd only ask that you consider the option for the future, should you become disillusioned with your current plans."
<Derrick> Derrick's face clouds for a moment at teh Chancellor's choice of words, 'unexpected uses'. For most, that would be an unremarkable enough phrase, but it only made Derrick think of the other use for his magic, which he didn't even care to aknowledge much less use unless he had no other choice.
<Derrick> Still, it only lasts for a moment as he is certain the Chancellor would never consider asking him to do *that* to anyone.
<Derrick> "My plans aren't concrete anyway, sir. I just figure I'll head back to the Faith for awhile at least, as I'll need somewhere to live and all. From there, well, I guess have have more options than I thought."
<El-Cideon> Joran must have read the expression for what it is, as that slightly arrogant half-smile creeps in again. "I see you carry a certain amount of distaste for some of the deeds within your capabilities. We would not, of course, ASK you to harm anyone. I simply consider it sound policy to know what one is capable of in extreme circumstances." (more)
<El-Cideon> He shrugs. "You are young, of course. You have ample time to come to grips with such matters. For now, I merely request that you keep an open mind as you while away the coming months with your fellows in Brangwin."
* Derrick nods. He tries to make it a policy for himself to have an open mind. As one of his first year teachers said, 'the only time there is only one solution to a problem is when your in math class'.
<Derrick> "I'll try to consider all my options equally, sir. But failing that, I'll at least consider them all."
<El-Cideon> Joran nods, his expression one of grudging approval. "Very good. In the meantime, you have other matters to attend to. Your final evaluations are within the week. Aimple matter, no doubt--they usually are these days."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Three centuries ago? At the time of this institution's founding? Margranth and his lot could demand outright duels of their pupils." Now he smiles again, this time with teeth. "In some ways we live in gentler times. In any event, you are to meet instructore Ferryman on the practice field at first light on Friday."
* Derrick can't help but wonder about those instructors of days past, if they would require duels of thier students. What would they have done with someone like him, who's only offensive powers didn't come in non-fatal?
<Derrick> But they were 300 years ago, and he was not. And there were final evaluations to worry about, so he didn't have time to speculate on the ethics of instuctors past.
<Derrick> So, nodding again, Derrick almost starts to stand and then suddenly thinks better of making ready to leave before actually dismissed. "First light on Friday. Is there anything else, sir?"
<El-Cideon> Joran stands himself, making it quite clear the audience is at an end. "Just one small thing. As you pass the sitting room to your right on the way out, if there is a blond-bearded oaf dressed in clothes fit only for the King Fool in a mockery of a history play, say that I'm ready to see him."(more)
<El-Cideon> He grins now, widely--it's a somewhat unnerving expression on this large man--and offers a hand to shake. "Say it just like that, too."
<Derrick> Derrick blinks, and reflexively shakes the offered hand. While it amuses him that the Chancellor seems to share Derrick's own dislike for unnesesary finery and such, he isn't quite sure that he wants to insult someone who thinks themselves important enough to dress like that.
<Derrick> Still, he makes his way out, not hesitating inside the door like he did at the outside, and makes his way to the door, looking in the sitting room on the right to see if there is in fact a blond bearded oaf in foppish attire waiting there.
<El-Cideon> There is. "Antiquated" may be the best word to use in describing his mode of dress. Unfashionable, perhaps. In marked contrast to current trends in Avontyne, the man wears voluminous robes of the sort reputedly favored by the University's founders, dark blue with mysterious red sigils slashing here and there.(more)
<El-Cideon> The man himself looks as though he might have been quite dashing once, though his face is somewhat broader than would be favored now--the result of drink or too much time behind a desk is hard to tell. The immaculately trimmed beard is also quite contrary to current city trends.(more)
<El-Cideon> He looks up from a book as Derrick steps into view, and mutters a "Hrmph?", sounding annoyed.
<Derrick> Never one to much concern himself with fashion and such, it's a bit suprising to Derrick that even HE recognizes this man as being about a century or two out of date. Deciding to be polite, as the man already sounded annoyed, Derrick nods to him and speaks up, "Excuse me sir, the chancellor asked me to pass along that he is ready to see you now."
<El-Cideon> The man snaps out his bibliophiliac reverie quick enough, suggesting his mind's sharper than he might appear to be. He stands and steps past Derrick, offering just a brusque nod in acknowledgement before disappearing with his book into the chancellor's office. Something about the man seems vaguely familiar, though he's certainly not an acquaintence of Derrick's.
<Derrick> 2d8
* Hatbot --> "Derrick rolls 2d8 and gets 12." [2d8=8, 4]
<El-Cideon> Derrick has the notion that the man has some connection to the University, but whatever it is is not one that involves him to interact with students and Derrick can't bring up a name.
<Derrick> Shrugging, Derrick leaves the building and looks up, gauging the time. Then, wasting no time, he heads to wherever he's supposed to be at the moment.
<Derrick> while walking, he mulls over the events of the meeting with the Chancellor. Something about the man didn't sit right with him. Perhaps it was his smile at the thought of the questionable teaching methods of the past instructors that did it. And that wasn't all
<Derrick> the whole thing seemed like, well, almost like a recruitment for the city, and mainly for the registry. While Derrick loves his city and respects the registry, he isn't so sure he wants to get involved with them so directly like that. After all, he isn't overly fond of politics, nor of most politicians.
<Derrick> No, if he was going to serve his city, he wanted to be serving the unfortuantes, not the ones who were more concerned with staying in power then actually helping people. And while that may be unfair to some of the political sorts, it certainly fit a good many of them rather well.
<Derrick> Stopping for a moment to contemplate one of the gardens on, Derrick makes a mental note to carefully weigh the Chancellor's words in the future. You don't spend as much time in Dockside as Derrick does without learning to pick up on suspicious behaviour, and between his wide grin at the mention of forced duelling and his seeming distate for the Faith, teh Chancellor definately came across as being a bit off.
<Derrick> *on his path, even
<Derrick> But for now, there was a class to be attended. So, setting such thoughts aside for later examination, Derrick turns his thoughts to Architechture and what was covered in his last class. It certainly wouldn't do to let his meeting impact his studies any, after all.