A Scholar

You once held the third assistant chair of Mirror Geometrics at Basque College, and you once lived a life of understated luxury. The dusty smell of good books used to surround you. A world of pipe-smoke and fine food. Your colleagues liked you well enough, and the students never were that bad.

You yet have your skills, and navigation comes easy to you [+ Feysilvered Lenses]. But your work goes beyond the rippling on the Mirror Map, and no undergraduate – however entitled – ranks against the uncouth louts who crew the Demeter. (And the Captain isn’t much better.)

Every port, every change of the wind, brings knowledge and Fey insights – the kind you once upon a time might have sought out between the covers of ancient tomes. But your studies have changed. You once wore tweed, and once chalk dust covered your skin where now the bite of salt has left its sting.

You make a note in your diary – a passing thought, and idle. Your studies have changed, but you have not.

What curiosity killed your once promising career? What extracurricular interests made you run afoul of the academic senate and **** you out on the Sea of Mists?