Pearls Before Swine

[Hadrian]

36th Summer, 512 A.V. Hadrian took a deep and steadying breath. Of course in taking over for Stonemiller temporarily, he knew that he would get students seeking mentoring in magical studies, but it made the young wizard uncomfortable to initiate some feckless young thing in reimancy with no ability to rein them in should they prove unworthy or reckless. It was like handing a torch to a pyromaniac in a barn full of hay and then wondering why all that was left an hour later was ashes. He was a scholar, and he was more than happy to teach magical theory, ethics and rhetoric, and, of course, his specialty: anthropology and magic, how magic affected culture. But nobody wanted to know this. They wanted to be archaeowizards and archmages by Summer so they could hypnotize the pants off of someone or boil away the sea with a snap of their fingers. "Idiots," he mumbled. Sanderson had proven a stickler for Stonemiller's schedule, but Hadrian thought he had a solution. But now Sanderson was out to lunch or some such nonsense, so Hadrian was now sitting at the old man's desk, scribbling a note to him. Esteemed Registrar, I will happily mentor Stonemiller's advanced students in their projects, and I will teach magical theory to the newer students, but I will not be known as the reimancy professor or the magecrafting professor. There are basic skills and lore one should have before having power handed to one, and before allowing for experimentation. Please also remember my degree in anthropology, and find me students interested in the confluence of culture and magic. If you send me another student without an ounce of auristic ability nor the ability to write their name in Nader-canoch script wanting to learn Magecrafting, I will be displeased. Yours, Hadrian Aelius Professor pro tempore So focused was he, in fact, that he paid little heed to the creak of the door opening. After all, this wasn't his office.

[Vhast]

Vhast’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he gazed upon the oak doors of the registrar‘s office with a restrained zeal, a single sheaf of tawny parchment poised delicately between thumb and forefinger which rattled gently in a summer breeze. He had read its contents enough times already to make its presence superfluous, but there was an electrical pulse of excitement channeling through him that bade him to keep it where his eye could return to it if need be. The courses the University offered this term all seemed enticing to the mind that thirsted for wordly knowledge. But Vhast knew that unless he could control time, his chances of attending every class were nigh unreachable; a fact he faced with only a thin veil of contempt. Whereas the rest of the University’s student base knew the registrar was closed at this hour, Vhast’s inexperience fatefully made him ignorant of this fact. Pulling open the right side of the oaken double doors, the young scholar gazed back over his shoulder one last time to the quarter that was soon to become his stomping grounds. So much had happened in his life in the past year to make the rest seem some hazy dream of innocence. But this was his path now, however dark it seemed, and there was no turning back with that first foot crossing the threshold towards destiny. Immediately Vhast became cognizant of how quiet the corridor leading to the office was once he entered, his hand pulling lightly on the handle of the door and closing it with but the softest click to betray his presence. A blue glow clung to every surface of the hallway, emanating from sconces where it appeared the flames had been altered by some form of magical augmentation. It gave off a rather mystical ambiance, and left a chill scraping down the prospective student’s spine. If this was to be how the University handled each of its windowless halls, it would take some getting used to. Each step was achieved only through hesitation, his footfalls feeling heavy and loud as he became very aware of being the only soul occupying the enclosed space. Further ahead of him he could see a thread of light outlining where the door to the office lay slightly ajar. From within he could hear the unmistakable sound of a quill scratching fiercely against parchment, its bearer either notably perturbed or in a rush to get done. Twisting his neck a fraction to the left so that he might further prove his assumption, Vhast was grateful to hear no sound of voices or other occupants from within taking up the Registrar’s time. Perhaps it would have been prudent to knock, but seeing as how the door was already open, Vhast took his chances and pressed the flat of his palm against its smooth surface and pushed gently. Giving way with only the softest creak on well tended hinges, the door rotated inward to reveal a young man who appeared not much older than Vhast himself arched over a bureau where he‘d just been writing. So consumed did he seem by his work in fact that he hadn’t even taken note of the visitor entering the room. Clearing his throat in hopes to avoid startling the other, Vhast pressed the parchment in his one hand down to his side and examined what he could in the peripheries of his vision. “My apologies if I‘ve intruded at an inopportune moment, Registrar. The door was open and I was told to come here to sign up for classes.” The young scholar had a very refined grace about him despite the manner of his dress which had seen better days. His voice alone betrayed his cultural allegiance to Ravok which consisted of a dignified sort of arrogance traced with but the softest hint of malice. Though Vhast in no way meant to look down upon a man he just met, for the inexperienced he sounded scathingly cocky. Somewhat knowledgeable in this matter, he tried to mollify any immediate misgivings the other might have with a gentle smile.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian was startled by the sudden presence, the words addressed in error to him. So much for being a master aurist; but sometimes his focus was too concentrated to remember the world around him. He probably didn't look like a registrar ought, not so very old, tall and lanky, hair streaked like a Vantha's, eyes as bright, though he hadn't the body type of a Vantha, and his skin was pale. His mouth opened to protest, but he just sighed. He remembered the lines to pay tuition or sign up for a lecture, and this one -- from Ravok if Hadrian's ear was keen -- seemed new, else he would know Sanderson's face. "I suppose I can help you with that," he said, making an effort not to seem aloof and off-putting. The University needed those stacks of coin, tuition to pay for all its things. He set his letter aside, shuffling things around to figure out the registrar's particular brand of order. "Ah, what were you looking for exactly? Are those references you carry there?"

[Vhast]

He supposed? For a moment dread filled Vhast‘s chest like a breath of cold air swept down from the mountains. Perhaps he had missed a door in the hall behind him, so transfixed on what had lain ahead that he’d missed something obvious. But his confidence could not be quelled so easily, fighting back against the fluctuation with stern gaze and flared nostrils. Vhast searched the desk for some answer to decrypt his confusion, quickly falling upon the letter that had been pushed to the wayside. Reading the inverted script did not come easy, but once his eyes fell upon the signature at the bottom of the page, a nebulous sort of recognition ignited within his memory. He’d read that name, somewhere. When posed with question however, Vhast’s attention to the name was momentarily diverted, drawn back to the recesses of a mind that filled instantaneously with retained memories in hopes of creating a link. Holding the piece of parchment out for this elusive stranger to take, Vhast bit his bottom lip gently enough to pull the pink flesh back. He inhaled slowly before he began. “Yes, I was interested in Anthropology as well as Magical Studies.” It looked as though he were going to say more on the matter, but an indistinct change in his features allowed him to give into his insatiable curiosities instead. “My apologies, sir. But you aren’t quite what I imagined the Registrar to be. Am I in the wrong room?”

[Hadrian]

The Ravokian dialect made it difficult not to shift into his alias, Andry Ellis, but he would recognize this one if he had met him as Andry during his sojourn in the island city. But instead he took the envelope, had the references out and half-read when the lad continued. "Indeed?" he asked with modulated interest. Then, "Oh. No, this is the Registrar's office. I was just leaving him a note." He quickly scanned the rest of the references, then tucked them into an interior pocket of his doublet. His clothes were fine enough to pass as the upper crust in any Syliran city, from Ravok to Lisnar, but he wore them with the nonchalance of someone raised with money. He lacked, perhaps, that needle-sharp spite that seemed so rampant in the rich families of Ravok, but then he had been raised in the Citadel of Ravok's archenemy. "I'll just leave him another." He quickly scribbled another note for Sanderson's benefit: Taking on Vhast Proctor as a student in Anthropology and Magical Studies. Will show him the dormitories, and send him back to you to sort out the sordid topic of coin. H With that, he stood up, bowed slightly as a courtesy though here in Zeltiva people would expect Vhast to show a great deal more deference to his mentor than to Rhysol himself. "I am Hadrian Aelius. I will be your mentor unless you would rather learn about Akvatari mating rituals from Rochlas and how to spell your name in Nader-canoch glyphs with Moara."

[Vhast]

Confusion pulled at the soft skin of Vhast’s countenance, disfiguring his features until they became something almost abstract in nature. If this wasn’t the man he was meant to speak to, then what authority did this Hadrian even have? Protocol and order were already being broken at the behest of this man, leaving an unsettling feeling in the pit of Vhast’s stomach that spread over him like something insidiously familiar. It felt like Ravok all over again, though Vhast didn’t quite receive the same impression about Hadrian, as he would say, his mother. Where had he heard that name anyway? Keeping a careful eye as to where his references disappeared to, Vhast slid a glistening tongue out across his drying lips. Fear trembled in the tips of his fingers that hastened to play with the hem of his pant line, his sharp gaze examining the other carefully for any sign that might shed light on his nature. He seemed to dress well for whatever station he claimed his own, nobility of some sort if the boy guessed correctly by his lackluster conduct. It also seemed prudent to assume that he was involved in some way academically with the University, both as a point in his presence in the Registrar’s office as well as the familiarity of the name. There were very few pieces of literature Vhast read which didn’t contain some form of scholarly knowledge. Listening to the scribble of handwriting against parchment once more, Vhast became mindful of his own distracted fiddling and shoved his hands roughly into the threaded interior of his coat pockets. He realized by comparison that he must have looked unsightly, his clothes a worn mess from the road where he’d been unable to get a good rinse. In fact, he’d hardly looked like his younger self since he’d arrived. Always tired and paranoid that the Ebonstryfe might somehow have found him worthy of tracking down, it had worn his sanity thin and kept him restless since he'd arrived. He was drawn closely to such thoughts, in fact, that he had missed the deferential bow and was startled when Hadrian spoke again. His breath had chosen to catch in his throat. “My… My mentor?” It was a relationship Vhast had been accustomed to before, though his last mentor reminded him nothing of Hadrian. “I… I thought students were taught in classes at the University?” Given his suspicions from earlier coupled with a complete lack of knowledge as how the University functioned, Vhast felt like he may have made a mistake in coming today. He came to learn, not become tangled within another system of politics.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian nodded. "Some classes are taught in larger groups, but much of your more important learning will be done on your own, guided by a mentor. It is one thing to listen to a lecture, taking notes on what one expects to be required in some examination or publication, yet another to take one's education in one's own hand with the wisdom and advice of a more advanced scholar at one's disposal. I became Professor Stonemiller's student, and now I am teaching his students in his absence. It just so happens Lhex sent you to someone who specializes in what you want to learn. So again, you can learn under my tutelage, or I can sign you up for a lecture in which you are just another face in a crowd. The choice is yours." Hadrian wasn't offended by the reticence. From what he understood, things were different here from how they handled them in Ravok. In fact, he was being patient because all signs pointed to this boy being someone he could truly guide and then eventually welcome as a colleague and peer, but time would tell on that.

[Vhast]

The bottom half of his lip fell away again to prying teeth, features solidifying like stone as it took him awhile to process everything he’d just heard. The answer seemed obvious enough given his predilections towards education, but at the same time Vhast wondered if focusing his efforts on these disciplines was wise. There was much of the world he’d wished to partake in, but these two courses seemed to focus at the roots of his interests. In a few short moments he’d composed himself and gazed more confidently at Hadrian. “I would be honored to call you my mentor.” Bowing was a custom Vhast was well acquainted with, a good portion of his life spent using the gesture to display his respect to those around him. For most it had been done only as an act of appeasing cultural norm, but this time it felt more sincere, his spine nearly running parallel with the floor. Excitement pulled at the corners of wet lips to create an inspired smile, his worn rags and greased hair spilling forward like a curtain of dark threads. Once Vhast had risen, the smile remained, a slender fingered hand brushing away the few miscreant strands of hair that had remained to cloud his vision. “Where do we begin?”

[Hadrian]

"Excellent," he said and, in order to acknowledge the bow, he nodded his head. It would not be a bad thing to have a respectful student, even if Vhast might have been his little brother. Perhaps he should have been more bluff and friendly, cuffing the lad's shoulder or something companionable, but it just wasn't Hadrian's way. The deal had been tendered and approved, and now on to business. "Vhast Proctor, of Ravok." He led him to the door and out. The registrar could take care of boring issues later. "I'll show you my office, and then I'll show you to the dormitories unless you have secured yourself some more private residence." Hadrian had, after all. Dormitories were not any sort of place in which he would have been comfortable living. "I can teach you about most things," he said as they walked along. He was careful not to let Vhast trail behind; it was easier to talk if he kept up. "But if you choose to pursue some course of study I am ill equipped to teach you beyond some basic level, we can discuss some other classes with other teachers. I spent four years here as a student. I can guide you through the rigors of scheduling. "So tell me what isn't in your letters of recommendation," he prodded gently. "What have you studied? What excites you? Et cetera."

[Vhast]

Hearing his name spoken by the fresh lips of another summoned a sliver of pride to needle its way down his bolted spine, tempered when his port of origin was tacked on to suffice as title. Ravok was a city Vhast would have preferred not to dwell on, each pleasant memory eclipsed by one that was far darker and twice as dangerous. Even now the name invoked the faintest trace of disdain to quiver along his wire framed jaw, narrowing his eyes to mere slits of baleful shadow. It would be seconds, which were mercifully engaged with Hadrian‘s introductions, before Vhast was able to subdue his silent ire. Walking a mere half-step behind his new mentor so as to permit himself to be guided, the boy piped up quickly when the question of his residence came to the fore. “Ah, yes. I will have need of a dormitory.” He thought to add more on the subject but felt there was enough already to discuss. To add prattle to the conversation seemed like it would only serve in irritating Hadrian, a man whom so far had only spoken of educational affairs. Containing the rebirth of his excitement as the mentor indulged his student with personal knowledge and experiences, Vhast allowed his eyes to wander the old architecture of the cityscape for some inspiration to his hopes. When posed with question, however, the student took on an almost listless expression of staring ahead into oblivion, tucking his hands into the pockets of his ragged coat and speaking in a manner that befit his status and honored his past. “I once had a mentor in Ravok, actually. A man much older than yourself, and if I had to guess, a mathematician and philosopher at heart. He taught me “of life and love“ as he would put it in his own enigmatic way. He never really permitted me to ask him questions, and I never knew his true name. I suppose it was better that way, but even that veil of anonymity could not save his life in the end.” His voice sank with the eyes that became downcast like a curtain of grief. “Ravok is truly a horrible city, Hadrian. I pray you never have need to go. Though I do not dare forsake all that was given to me, the majority of its people would turn on you in an instant if it benefited them in some way. But,” he spoke softly looking up once more, his eyes reflective in nature. “Perhaps Zeltiva is not so different...”