While York was an old city and had its share of medieval themed events robes till would not have been appropriate for the walk to the address he had been given. No Terribly far from the rooms he had secured for the brief stay, and being England in the fall chill and rain had been expected. And so along the cobbled road he walks refreshing himself in the familiarly quaint atmosphere of the northern city, the cathedral standing sentinel in the skyline and old wooden beams and tighter roads from a time well before cars had ever entered the dreams of humanity. It really was quite incredible how different the place felt to Sacramento, then again to Cairo and yet again to Varanasi. Siding steeping a puddle forming along the gutter of the pavement his charcoal grey suit kept dry from the worst of the rain by the simple addition of a black umbrella. It is a moment of stark reflection, the voice of a mentor many years lost to him now warning him to focus on the task laid out by the legacy in which they shared, to not get distracted with the factions that hacked and slashed at each other least he lose his way from the important task. Something the two of them had disagreed on. Profoundly disagreed on. And yet now here was ready to undertake an exam that had nothing to with the work of his soul and everything to do with the work of the pentacle. Was she right, have I lost sight of what matters? Is this the path of wisdom? Regardless it is much to late now even these few small steps down the path, irreversible. So, the Moros centres himself for what is to come over the next few days.


Coming to the private town house a gloved hand raps smartly on the order before placing the bleached white pipe between his teeth, the pre-arranged sign of his identification. Once he had been let in introduction made and proper identifications confirmed things began in Ernest.


Not knowing precisely what to expect nor the formal proceeding for such the ladder not being his order after all, only aware that the exam could take many forms made things a little more anxious until he was under way. The first day resolved around written questions starting basic history, recollection, application followed by interpretation each in tern growing in complexity and nuance until well past sun down. Then he was handed a series of case studies to familiarise himself with for the next day, which meant little sleep.


What followed was two days of verbal questioning, drilling down into minutia, fringe cases and specifics. His responses being challenged, dissected, rebuffed. Verdicts demanded and given based on the evidence and questioning available.
Finally for three days a mock trial was held in which he had no time to prepare only his knowledge of the Lex and the skills at his disposal to reach the just outcome. Evidence was examined, those involved questioned, pleases listened to. Some were cooperative, some clammed up others spat insults and still others attempted to be domineering. Bribes and threats both were levied at him it was gruelling, humbling, and yet rewarding. Finally, he had done all he could do was left to wait.
A further two days slipped by as he waited barely leaving the rooms he was renting for his stay as he waited for the verdict. Once the summons came, he attended with due haste and was admitted one last time into the townhouse. The lead examiner stood waiting and took the time to painstakingly go over his answers step by step noting his insights, making suggestions for auditions or addendums and correcting in the places he has stumbled. But the words definitely weighed the positive side of the feedback scale down. Had it been enough?


It's an exam he can take again, not that he would want to, but it’s a thought he clings to just in case the ability to further his own skills still existed. But would be unnecessary as his pass was declared. Was he the most skilled Factotum in the awakened world of course not, was he flawless in every case no, not yet. But his knowledge, skill, and measured hand, had proven him worthy to carry the title and represent others should the need arise. Not something many mages could claim.


He had expected to feel a weight lift from his shoulders, to breathe a little easier as he profusely and earnestly thanked the adjudicators and judge for their time and efforts, well aware of the debt he owned the one to have arranged this. But no, the sense of responsibility weighed down upon him all the heavier all the more real. With this accomplishment it brought the tasks before him into stark magnitude, the gravity and importance of what he set before himself to do and the need to do it well, so much better then well, constricting around him like a chain.


Rebuilding a Consilium was far from a small or insignificant undertaking and all of this had been just to get him to the starting line. The real test was only just beginning. And many more then himself would be affected by his ability to succeed or fail.

Chambers has qualified as a Factotum