The Wibble Fund
Example Applications
A Rejected Application
Greetings, I am a new student wizard at Unseen University. I would like to apply to the Wibble Fund Board for money, in order to purchase appropriate wizarding equiptment, and to help with my studies. Another Rejected Application
I woulde likke to be a wizzard. But, bein dur son of a simple cabbage farmer from Sto Lat, my father won't look at me let alone payeh for myye studies. So i begge you. Please gind it in yourre heart to give me a grant in neede. your Student, A Medium Quality Application
Greetings most illustrious and powerful magi of the Unseen University. I am applying for this scholarship in the hopes that I can use it to further my education at the afore mentioned university and thus be better able to serve the agenda of the wizards of the University (a.k.a. yours!). Lately in my studies at the library I have had the miss-fortune to be swept away in to L-space (twice) and been stranded in distant lands. My excursions in these foreign territories have given me a great boon to my exp, however the hardships of my travels have taken their toll on my purse and as such I am unable to make use of my vast accumulation of experience. Thus I plead for your assistance o wise and revered magi, and hope that generosity can find its way into your heads, so cramped with the mysteries of the multi-verse as they are. Thanks be to thee and may the Great A Tuin bless you.
-Erati A Good Application
My esteemed colleagues of our stalwart institution of the higher arts,
I write to you in the hope that you might favour me with a monetary scholorship to assist in my wizardly pursuits. The route I have chosen to take within the Unseen University, that of the Hoodwinkers, is to put it lightly, a difficult one, in that the student cannot hope to master the powerful offensive spells that perhaps some of the other orders might. By seeking enlightenment in the arts of illusion, the opportunities to attain monetary gain are simply not as easily attained as perhaps those of the elementalists in the Circle order, or the dark arts of the students of the Last and Midnight orders. My advancement avenues were further hampered when, seeking work as a courier for the mighty post office, I stumbled at the first hurdle when the parcel I was to deliver was addressed to the cafeteria of the Alchemists Guild. You will find sympathy, I suspect, when I relate that the Alchemists guild is closed currently, due to renovations (and here I fashion they mean a necessity to rebuild from the ground up due to one too many experiments gone astry). I end this letter in the hope that my words will fall on favourable ears. Your esteemed servant, bootgirl, and all round lackey, Miel, the fledgling undergraduate wizardess. An Outstanding Application
Dear Esteemed Wizards,
I write this letter with the sincerest hopes that you'll me worthy of a modest scholarship, with which I intend to delve into the mysteries and secrets of Wizardry at the the famed Unseen University as well as support myself as poor and destitute student Wizard. In the event that I am awarded a scholarship, I intend to not only put the money towards my continuing education, but to slightly alleviate the many hardships and troubles I've come upon since arriving in Ankh-Morpork and enrolling at your institution. Among the adversities I've faced since beginning my studies at UU, the first is a dreadful lack of the necessary components and trappings of Wizardry. It's becoming abundantly clear that obtaining the various paraphernalia needed for a good, quality spell; jars of eyeballs, mystical runed daggers, skulls of assorted size and origin, candles with just the right amount of dribble and drip, beakers and vials of bubbling liquids, old and weathered looking books with eldritch runes and sigils, and any number of other accouterment; are painfully expensive and hard to come by. I just don't see how I'm to become a passable Wizard without the proper equipment. (There's also and suitably menacing stuffed alligator in a taxidermists shop across town that I've had my eye on.) But, not only do I not have the props, but I am definitely missing "the look". The robe I staggered into town with is ragged and threadbare. Not to mention totally lacking in the necessary embellishments. It's bereft of bangles, devoid of decoration, shorn of sequins, robbed of runes, and shows not a single, solitary sigil. Most importantly, in a most egregious affront to Wizardry and style, I'm completely without a pointy hat, my previous one having been demolished by a passing cart. Finally, the pinnacle of my destitution, since arriving in Ankh-Morpork my diet has taken a sad and terrible turn towards the worst. I am bereaved to say that I've only been managing four to five meals a day, at best, and my once striking figure is bearing the brunt of this state of affairs. For instance, for dinner last night the meal I obtained was not only a mere five course affair, but, and I hesitate to bring this shocking fact to light, they had the gall to count both a soup and a salad as a course each. I was flabbergasted to say the least, and if not for my extreme lack of strength due to obvious malnourishment, I would have definitely made quite a scene. A bowl of what could, at best, be called a hearty broth and a single dinner salad, with no salad bar in sight, as courses?!? If this pattern continues, I am positive that I will surely waste away. But enough of my prattling and moaning, wise, powerful, famous, and benevolent Wizards such as yourself probably have little interest in the difficulties of life for a poor student wizard. But I hope my letter can convince you to perhaps spare a little coin for me and my studies. Thank you for your undoubtedly valuable time. Bedraggled and hungry, Kilthas P.S. I would be much obliged if someone could find the time to direct me in the location of room 3b on campus. I'm afraid I've missed any number of lecture due to my inability to find the room. Everyone I've asked has pointed me in a different direction, and I fear I may never make it to class. Another Outstanding Application
Hello, Well first and foremost, I'm Rodgers...I would dearly like to lay claim to some magnificent title such as "The Mighty"...or perhaps "The All Knowing"...unfortunately, it is has been clear everyday of my life that I shall never possess such esteem. My name is Rodgers, and I am a toy maker. I can practically hear you laughing into your lunch as you are reading this application, warm in the light of the fires which illuminate the Unseen University's Dining Room. How did this happen? Well, it all started as these things often do, with a man...and that man was my father. Horatio Rodgers was a gentle man, compassionate, and also one of the most skilled toy makers that I have ever seen. His hands were truly the tools that craftsmen across the Disc would envy, and they propelled him to the status of the unparelleled master of his trade. As you would expect, he taught me everything he knew of woodworking, carpentry, metalworking, and the simple love of creation. With such an education, under the tutelage of a master...it is such a mystery...even now...why I am a wizard. And the reason, is a trail of misfortune which leads directly to my person. As I said, my name is Rodgers, I am a toymaker...and I have another personality. I was out walking through the town square, vainly attempting to think of a solution to my predicament. I didn't need to be asleep anymore for my hands to take on a mind of their own and build and the complex weaponry which I now hid in the old wood shed. I would sit at my father's worktable and seemingly without forethought, construct a mechanical monster. Today was one of the winter festivals, and the young men of the town had gathered beneath the statue which stood at the center of the market to be chosen for apprenticeship. I noticed an elderly gentlemen in a pointed hat, brandishing an old staff who seemed disinterested in everyone he saw. As I passed, his head snapped up and he stared at me with unflinching eyes. Suddenly he laughed and walked over to where I stood. He told me that he had come in search of a wizard whom would inherit his staff and power, and now he had found him. I told the old man that he was mistaken, that I was the son of a toy maker and would one day take his place. The wizard shook his head and smiled. He gave me the old wooden staff, despite my relentless warnings that I had no need of one, and simply walked away. I will never know why I didn't throw the staff away...and now as I write this application, it is balanced across my knees and feels strangely warm against my clothes. When I reached my father's workshop, I placed it in the corner and went back to work. Only an hour had passed before I walked over and held the staff in my hands, feeling the smooth surface beneath my fingers and admiring the craftsmenship. Instead of returning the staff where I had formally stored it, I now leaned it against the worktable and seemed strangely comforted. I should have known then. I didn't make crossbows anymore. No knives, swords, axes or any other such rudementary work was ever created in my father's workshop again. Now I didn't know what I made...my hands had always been guided by forces unknown to myself, but now those forces also seemed to move down predetermined paths which had already been layed out with unwavering precognition. I had unknowningly wandered into the precarious practice of magical creation. Enchantment. And I was addicted. Wands of Fire, Orbs of Thunder, Nose-Hair Clippers of Mindless Violence, (my punishment for letting my thoughts wander while in the washroom) all of these were given birth under my steady hands. My nocturnal habits may have continued also had my father not discovered the octogon which I drawn in the middle of the closet, where I was later planning on focusing the energy needed to animate a flock of paper dragons. I sheepishly explained the events of the last few months and there was really only one alternative. He gave me what few savings we both had, and sent me on my way to the Unseen University. So...here I am...an toy maker who has a slight problem. I am an enchanter. And if it doesn't either explode, make a loud noise, or create some kind of unquenchable fire...I'm not interested. Please allow me to continue my obsession. I need wood, tools, spell components and many other things. Without the materials and other necessities I'm sure I will soon start to simply create weapons from anything. Only this morning I blew a hole in my ceiling with my pencil which had turned into a Wand of Electrical Discharge. Long story short...I need money...or psychiatric evaluation. Please, consider my application, Rodgers A Third Outstanding Application My esteemed contemporaries in the magical arts, I would like to say that I contact you in good health, in good fortune or even in good spirits. I would like to say that I am contentedly learning the trade of wizardry, the secrets of enchantment steadily being revealed to me. I would like to say that I am flourishing here in Ankh-Morpork, learning spells with every step I take. I would like to say all of these things, but I find myself in a position where I cannot honestly say any of them. I am cold, hungry and almost flat broke. I have learned barely any spells, and am unable to use them because of the materials they require. To use magic is to be a wizard, and to be a wizard is to use magic. How can I honestly look myself in the mirror and call myself a wizard when I have yet to master even the simplest of spells? I suppose you should know the whole story. I, Vaqueres Ritino of the Ramtops, am an eighth son. My father Thosteel was an eighth son as well. He was a blacksmith in Slice, and a damn fine one at that. He rivaled the ability of the blacksmith over in Bad Ass, though he could never understand why he never surpassed his rival. Still, he put all his effort in all of his work, and was rewarded with almost perfect results. While he was unable to shoe an ant, for the doing of he would never forgive Bad Ass, he was able to shoe a bull. One day, a Lady s cart broke down on the path just outside the village. The back right wheel was shattered. Who better to fix it than the local blacksmith? And he did. The Lady, whose name was Emily Snapcase, took a liking to him and, like any other job, Thosteel put all the effort he could into it. My seven brothers were the result, Wesley, Adam, Taylor, Rolland, Variance, Darius and George. Ten years had passed since the Lady s cart broke down. Four of the seven children were preparing to head off to Ankh-Morpork, though they would not leave for many more years. Perhaps they thought anticipation would make the time come sooner. The other three, however, decided that uncertain fortune in an unfamiliar land was not worth giving up comfort and a steady source of income at home. Everything seemed normal. Then, something that no one, not even Emily or Thosteel expected. This was partly because of a forgotten half-empty bottle of Scumble and partly because Wallace Sonky s enterprise had yet to reach Slice. Perhaps it was a blessing. Perhaps it was a curse. Nevertheless, what happened happened. What happened exactly? I happened. Years passed by like so many grains of sand in an hour glass. I was raised as well as any child in my village could be three meals a day, a bed and lessons in a trade. Despite this, there was always something odd about me. According to those from my past, that is. The other children avoided me for some reason. Some claimed it was the way I looked at them. I never understood this. I merely made and maintained eye contact in what I hoped was a polite manner. Still, it unnerved people. In addition to this, odd things seemed to happen around me. It started relatively small. A flock of migrating birds perched on our roof until Thosteel scared them away with his broom. All the fish in the river came up and watched people as they passed. Simple, harmless things like that. It could almost be passed off as normal. Later on, it was much worse. The trees around the village complained loudly when people tried to pick their fruit. A red shirt wearing bear began stealing all the honey from the village, spiriting it away to a hollow tree where it stored the honey in clearly labeled bottles. Mice began building small houses in out of the way places and yelled at anyone coming too close. Still, somewhat harmless, though some of the things happening were truly disturbing. On my seventh birthday four of my brothers left. They said they were off to make their fortune in Ankh-Morpork. A month passed. A few letters were written home. The letters generally followed the same format. Dear Mom and Dade, How are you? I am fine. It is great here in The Big City I am getting much more money and have taken up lodgings at [Insert Living-Place Here] which is good because it is close to [Insert Place Here]. I have begun working at/for [Insert Place/Employer Here] and will soon get my paycheck of [Insert Monetary Amount Here]. I will send some of it with my next letter. Love, [Insert Name Here] My life progressed as normally as it ever did, though I found myself yearning for something. For what the something was, though, mystified me. It was like an itch I couldn t quite reach. Then, a wizard came to town. He seemed very interested in all of the strange things happening around town. By this time the trees were making suggestive comments to anyone who came nearby, the fish were beginning to grow wings and cats were chasing dogs up trees. He began to question people around the local tavern about these strange times. This went on for a week or so. It was a cool, misty Grune morning. Well, it was actually too early to be morning on the basis that 4:00 AM was so early it was, in fact, late. It was a cool, misty Grune evening. Thosteel was asleep. Emily was asleep. Rolland, Adam and Taylor were asleep. I had been sweeping the hallway by the door late into the night as a punishment for talking to the trees and had fallen asleep doing it. I leaned on the wall both brook and wall supporting him enough so he could remain vaguely in a standing position. This would mean major aching the day after, though it was too late to do anything about it at that time. Three swift raps on the door echoed through the hall. They were relatively quiet when compared to the other noises the town had been sporting at night recently, but it jolted me out of my sleep. I stumbled groggily to the side, my nocturnal broom-wall-balancing act being disrupted by my waking. After a moment, the three knocks came once more. I rubbed my eyes, and walked over to the door. I opened the door, and saw a length of wood with a knob on the end move smoothly toward me, rapping on my forehead once before stopping. I stepped back, rubbing my forehead. Sorry, said a rough voice. I took my hand from my face and looked at the visitor. Deep cyan robes adorned the figure. The robes were covered in silver stars, as befits a wizard. The bottom of the robe hung three inches off the ground revealing two black pointy shoes. From each billowing sleeve protruded a pale hand, each finger having a different ring. All the rings had different stones set in them. The right hand had scar tissue forming a six sided star on the back of it, as though the man had cut the shape in it. A long white beard hung over the front of the robe leading up to a serious looking face with half-moon spectacles resting on the bridge of the nose. On the man s head sat a large, pointy hat. The hat was covered with stars, occult signs and the occasional half-moon. Gripped in the figure s left hand was a tall, smooth black staff. The staff had many strange occult-looking symbols that seemed to try and squirm away as I looked at them. This was a wizard, and from the looks of things, a somewhat powerful one. Are you the one called Vaqueres? the Wizard asked. Yes, I am. I said while I considered the odd phrasing of his question. What do you think of the strange things happening around town? asked the Wizard. I politely made and maintained eye contact, and noticed the wizard was looking a little bored, as though having been disappointed many times in a search for something and, hey, he s found another spot that might have what he s searching for. Hurray Well, said I, I figure there must be some sort of sorcerer or wizard around causing all this. After all, mice don t normally host well-choreographed musicals on privy roofs. The Wizard smiled at this. I know who this wizard is. He said. I blinked. Why would the Wizard be telling this to me? Er . Who? I asked. The Wizard grinned, revealing many yellowing teeth. You. He said. I opened my mouth to object, but something stopped me. It had sounded .. right. Vaqueres the Wizard. Sorcerer Vaqueres. The Great Wizard Vaqueres. It had a nice ring to it. But how could this be? I asked. You are an eighth son, correct? the Wizard asked. I nodded. Your father was an eighth son, correct? I hesitated. I .. I m not sure, I said. I know he s got quite a few brothers not sure if he s an eighth son. The Wizard sighed. It is unimportant. The fact of the matter is that your being here is affecting this place. Unused magic is leaking out from you. That is why these things have been happening. I sighed. So I must leave? I asked. The Wizard nodded. But where can I go? Everyone I know lives within two miles of here! Well, except for my brothers, but I m sure they wouldn t want me to intrude on their lives. The Wizard nodded, understanding. You will go to Unseen University, the College of Magic. There, you will be trained in the magical arts. I leaned more on the doorway. This was all coming so fast The Wizard smiled. Cheer up, he said. Going there means you get to go to Ankh-Morpork. Time passed. My family woke up. My mother cried. My brothers looked disbelieving. My father gave me a mail shirt and some of the excess money they had. And so, I traveled to Ankh-Morpork. I still remember that moment, as I walked around the bend, watching my home, family and life disappear in the distance. And then, because I d been watching my old home and family instead of where I was walking, I tripped and fell flat on my face in the dirt. Getting up, I continued along the path, my fall ending any notions of sadness. The fish in the pond watched me go. I arrived in Ankh-Morpork, my purse considerably lightened. I wandered the city, looking for the University. I met many interesting people, and I learned something form each of them. One of the things I learned was that if you have money but don t have a sword, that money is not yours. Eventually I found my way to Sator Square, weak and hungry. I met a man selling sausages. I bought one from him. I fear the taste may never fully leave my mouth. My purse considerably lightened, I managed to procure an old oak staff, some second-hand ragged lab robes, and old wand that seemed to be completely held together by cracking glue and some well-worn pointy shoes. The only half-decent item I found was a pointy hat, shorn of ornamentation. I enrolled in the University and now find that I can t even perform the simplest of spells. I dare not attempt to perform the spells without the necessary matter. The bloodstains and scorch marks scattered across the gymnasium floor are warning enough. So now I write this letter with barely enough funds to afford a bed and three meals a day for the week. I am beginning to rue the day that the wizard came to my town, but I can do nothing for it now. So I ask that you find a place in your heart for a young wizard full of ambition but empty of pocket. Please allow me the Wibble Fund. With it, I can afford three meals a day and a bed for many days more, an impressive hat, half-way decent staff and robes and the necessary materials to cast my spells. Without the Fund, I fear I will never achieve the magical potential I possess. Your humble servant, Vaqueres Ritino of the Ramtops |