[Flashback] Struggles of a Teacher [Solo/training]

[Rovan Dermane]

AV 506, day 15 of Autumn. "Now repeat after me: The Mistress of winter hauled both snow and sleet, as punishment for human lies and deceit," Rovan spoke in a rhetorical manner, keeping the book open in his palm as he read the lines aloud for his student. The young boy did not look very interested, as he lay with elbows on the table and with his head resting in his hands. "The-Mistress-of-winter-hauled-both-snow-and-sleet," the pupil said in an effortless tone. "No, no, stop! Good heavens, boy. You cannot speak poetry like that," Rovan intervined, barely able to contain his aggression at the insolence of his student. The young boy was about 14 winters old, an age regarded as adult, when they really still behaved like children. It was the worst possible stage of puperty this boy was in, especially when they belonged to the higher society. Rovan rubbed his brow against his growing headache. The father of the boy was a landlord who owned a good amount of feudal estates. He wanted his son learned in speaking like one of noble birth, and so one of Rovan's former tutors had lead the landlord to him. He had been promised a healthy sum, If Rovan was to succeed with teaching this boy. The amount was too great to refuse. Unfortunately, the young "lordling" was more interested in swordplay and knightly ways of battle. He was a wild spirit and he carried a distinct dislike to his teacher, which only made the progress that much more difficult. For two weeks now, Rovan had tried teaching the boy. The boy had a bright head, he spitefully had to admit, but was too much of a confrontal little brat (although he was almost as large as Rovan) to receive any learning. Rovan closed the book with a sharp snap, glaring with irritation at Marcus who smiled teasingly back in regard. He planted his hand on the student's table, staring at him. He knew he could not touch the boy withour risking conscent from his rich family, even as he felt like strangling him. "If you will not participate in this, I shall have to tell your father of your lacking enthusiasm, Marcus." He stated coldly and slowly, to let the words sink into the boy's head. "Or I can tell my father that you are a bad teacher. My father has enough mizas to pay others." The boy replied crossly, folding his arms infront of him. Rovan's one eye twitched. The boy was surprisingly good at argumenting for his case, even as he lacked a honed formulation and the ability to read. Rovan retracted away from the table, feeling the seething anger rising to his head. He could not continue this if his aggression took over. The scholar waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "Off with you then. And when you return tomorrow, I shall expect more willingness." The boy arose quickly and sped towards the door. "Remember your quill, Marcus!" Rovan shouted sharply, giving a jerk of shock through the boy that greatly pleased him. As Marcus returned he gave Rovan a hostile gaze, quickly turning around to run outside. The teacher stood back alone in the room inside the University of Zeltiva. He had been allowed to loan this room for his own private tutoring, when the daily classes were over. As he gathered his things and exited the room, he pondered how to deal with this. The boy was impossible, but so was the denial of the heavy pay he gained from the father. Rovan strode outside and saw the red blaze of the setting sun, bathing the city in long shadows. It was late dusk, and he was tired and hungry. Perhaps a meal and a good night's sleep at the tavern would help him think clearer in the next morning.

[Rovan Dermane]

Rovan yawned and stretched. He had slept long past morning and awoke at noon. He sat up in his bed, rising slowly to begin his daily routine. First, he shaved his face and throat, leaving but the neat little goatee remaining. He did this infront of his small mirror that he had hanged on xt of this post the wall, standing in trousers and shirt, the light from the window augmenting his ghostly white skin. Then he filed his nails down, added oil to slick his unruly hair back in place and lastly put on his black robe. Inspecting his reflection closely, he finally became satisfied with his appearance and exited the room. When he went through the tavern, he spotted one of the regular drunkards trying to seduce a barmaid. The old man was not very successful, as barely comphrensible words slurped out of his jaw. This clearly did not impress the woman as she blankly ignored him. Rovan shook his head in disdain as he headed outside. No woman enjoyed the company of an inunderstandable person, he thought to himself. Rovan suddenly stopped. An idea had struck him. There the answer was, of course. How could he not have thought of this before! He continued down the busy street with a new sense of anticipation and eagerness. Now all that remained was to wait for his next hours with Marcus.

[Rovan Dermane]

The scholar stood evidently still, as he awaited the arrivel of Marcus in the university room. He was late again. Rovan had waited for about an hour. He suddenly dreaded the boy might not come at all, having him waste his precious time by waiting in this room. That was when the young student entered the room, in a once fine red shirt that now carried spots of grime over it. Rovan cringed his nose as the boy wiped a small trickle of blood off his nostrils. Gods know whatever that child has been doing, Rovan thought. Without meeting Rovan's gaze, Marcus sat down. "I see you have forgotten your quill, again," Rovan noted, seeing the boy's empty hands. The boy looked up at him with tangled blond hair infront of his face. "I don't use it anyway. Master Rovan," the boy replied, with slighty more humility than usual. Rovan wondered what had happened to him. Perhaps he had received a beating of his father, to put him back in his place. Or perhaps he had been involved in one of those street brawls with a gang of youngsters. Rovan approached the table, aloof in his posture as he looked down at his student, keeping an unrelenting gaze on him. "'Tis a matter of principle, Marcus," he said, leaving the boy looking down in the table to avoid meeting his eyes. Rovan turned in a sharp and quick move, his robe dashing after his legs as he went back to his own desk. "Now then. Let us recite 'The Mistress of Winter' again," "I don't want to do poems." Marcus said lowly. Rovan peered over his shoulder to eye the boy, who still sat staring down at the table and hiding behind his hair. "You do not? Oh, I see. I see." Rovan paused, looking upwards as he regarded the ceiling in a distant manner. "Well, I suppose I cannot blame you, for paying so little interest to this subject. After all, I figure it is unnatural for most men to listen to gentle poems," he said. He thought it rather canny to assimilate Marcus with a man, which he knew boys in that age took great pride in prooving. He kept his back to his student, to make sure his own face would not reveal his ploy. He could almost sense the boy was lifting his head slightly, in surprise. "Yes, it is probably more interesting to the ears of a woman. They certaintly value to hear a well-spinned tale. In fact, if the words are put correctly, they tend to become -- mesmerised." He stated smoothly, not able to contain a growing smirk of slyness as he kept his back turned to the boy. There was another moment of silence. "They do?" came the question finally from Marcus, in a faint tone of wonder ripe of hostility. If there was one thing he knew of boys in that age, it was their uncertainty with the other gender. Yes, he had definitely struck a weak point here in the boy's confidence. Now remained only to insert the motivation. "Oh, yes - they do. Why do you think bards are so popular?" Rovan turned to face Marcus again. The boy sat with a heavy frown on his brow. "The secret, lies in the articulation. A great teller of tales not only speak his words, he tastes them. There is a rhythm in every sentence that he must follow. Rhetoric is a dance, and the words contain the melody," Rovan said in an artistic manner, raising his finger sagely. He had made an example of what he said in those very words, in the hopes of having pecked the boy's interest. There was another pause of silence. Marcus sat with the uncertainty painted on his face. The boy seemed at a loss, as if trying to figure what to say. His lips finally began to form his response. "Can I hear, that poem again?"

[Tabarnac]

XP Award! Rovan XP Award: Teaching +3; Intimidation +1; Acting +1; Persuasion +2; Rhetoric +2 Currency: 10 golden nilos for two days’ teaching Additional Notes: Ah, teenagers...! Good work. Just a couple of things: 1) I was hesitant to give you Rhetoric XP for this thread because it seemed more of a mix of Intimidation, Acting, and Persuasion, but I know one can make an argument that he was using rhetoric there. I believe that the spirit of the skill lies more in the idea of classical rhetorical training, that is, training to be a public speaker in law or politics. Just a thought. 2) You are going to need to post your ledger in your Character Sheet. If you have questions about that, you can contact Onxy, who is in charge of them. Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or concerns. Keep writing!