Vox rises from the dead, introduces new editors (pt. 1)
Where has Vox Populi been for the past week, you ask? Preparing for finals, sitting on the lawn, stress eating, and planning for the wars to come. Today, we rise from the dark corners of the untapped internet. The following is an introduction to James Constant, one-third of the new Vox leadership team. Look out for introductions of his fellow editors tomorrow and Friday night. Reduced posting will continue through the end of finals. Summer Vox scheduling will begin on Monday.
James Constant was born on a windswept isle, in a time so far gone in both space and memory that nothing but the fading whispers of the elders remains of it. He is the seventh son of a seventh son, as quick with his wits as he is with a blade to a foul Crownling’s throat. Seeing the quickness of his strong peasant hands and the impish banter with which he addressed even a noble of the House of Glwyniwys, the prince seized James and carried him, bundled on the back of a mare, to his castle nestled in the hills above Glantowynrun, the provincial capital. The prince saw that the young lad had the talents to one day become part of the Twelvers, the secret order of jester-knights that guarded the royal family.
Every day, James was made to wake before dawn to begin his training with the other recruits, swinging scimitars in the morning and honing his quips in repartee with his tutors for hours until bed. He longed, though, for the bustle of the city, so bright and tantalisingly close, but off-limits for a Twelver in training. For years, James often daydreamed of the rumours he’d heard about Glantonwynrun while eating his morning gruel; spectacular spell battles between dark wizard gangs, freshly slaughtered chickens basting in oil, and, more than anything else, the university, a place he’d heard was filled with more knowledge than anyone could ever understand.
One night, after a spirited day of practice in combat and jocularity, James stole over the castle walls, carrying with him just a crust of bread and his notebook full of wisecracks. He knew the university from its spire, perched high on a hilltop overlooking the city. After walking through dawn, he emerged on its campus to find a great milling about, the place a blur of activity.
“Is this some sort of ceremony?” he asked a scholar clad in blue and grey.
“It is, young student,” she replied. “It is here, at the CAB Fair, that we recruit the finest minds for the university’s many societies. Tell me—you have the look of a jester about you. What say you write for our blog, Vox Populi?”
That’s the story of how James Constant, your new Vox Editor, made it to Georgetown and started writing snarky posts.