extenebris

[extenebris]

"Salem, hey! Ya forgot somethin' at the ball."

Perne hands Salem a piece of paper— their printed photo from the previous night's revelry, lines from hastily smoothened creases still marked along its inked surface. Their blurry, cat-eared visage can barely be made out, but the thief looks down on it fondly despite that. Fuzzy though the image may be, he can still make out the smiles they have on their faces. Salem was right; the wearers always looked happy.

"Here ya go. Pretty decent keepsake, ain't it?" He lets out a chuckle, "Didn't think we'd make for a nice lookin' pair of kitties, but we managed to make it work."

"Oh." Salem's eyes widen slightly at the sight of the portrait, surprised that Perne had even held onto it. He hadn't forgotten it; not in the sense that he had inadvertently left it behind. He simply hadn't thought of it as any more than a rare lighthearted moment shared with an old friend. If anything had been forgotten, it had been the photo-artifex standing by to capture the elusive scene. Nevertheless, the reminder of that night has been brought back to him and surprise smooths and softens into a gentle smile.

A crease had been made through the portrait's center, but Salem can tell by the way Perne smooths it out again that it too had been done with care to avoid a greater injury. And it gave it character, besides - much like the two whose likeness it had captured beneath its glossy surface, neither of which were without their scars. Salem's eyes flicker upward to briefly meet Perne's.

"Are you certain that you don't wish to keep it instead?" he asks. What a moment it had been, and indeed they - or at the very least, Perne certainly looked dashing even with a pair of cat ears on his head. How little they resembled the criminals they had once been in their homeland, and were it not for the proof of the portrait itself, Salem would find it difficult to believe that either of them were capable of looking so... innocent.

"I had merely suggested the props..." he adds, but his eyes and smile still linger on the photo. "Imagine what Tina would say if she saw you like this." A small chuckle escapes his throat. "She might forgive you for all of those insects you scared her with."

[extenebris]

One Spring Night [Salem & Petra]

petrykos​:

𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐬, 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. There was doubt that he would rather be hearing the chime of his coins tapping against each other rather than the twang of an empty bow string. Petra shoots him a look, only briefly, though it held no effect over him. 

          She focuses her energy on watching Salem handle the bow and arrow. It lets loose far too quickly and somehow manages to hit something. Her hand scratches behind her ear and she avoids looking at the gamemaster and his knowing smirk he fails to conceal. They still had chances, she tells herself. It was not a matter of getting a prize, but a matter of pride and confidence she had shown just moments ago. ( She didn’t have but a few coins left anyhow. ) 

          The next arrow is plucked from the table and her hands are clasped together in front of her mouth, as she watches the second attempt. The first one was likely just nerves, shaking off whatever pressure was in the air before. As she watches, she already notices a great shift in the way he handled the tool. Honestly, he almost looked like a professional marksman. 

          The arrow flies straight and steady now, more sure of its sender’s movements and sticks close to the center. It takes a moment for her to process the result, but a smile takes over her features. Call it beginner’s luck or maybe the silent prayer she held in beforehand was answered, either way, it undeniably hit the center. The gamemaster barely manages to sputter out a response. 

          Petra’s brows raise but she accepts Salem’s words with gratitude before turning to look at the prizes. “If I am recalling, you were saying there were exclusive prizes to be given,” she reminds the gamemaster now. 

          He looks paler than the moon and an excuse begins to form on his lips. She wonders if he was bluffing the entire time because he was sure they would not hit the mark. He scrambles around his booth and pulls out a box of stuffed plushies, big and small of all kinds of animals that looked nothing alike to one another and didn’t bear resemblance to the standard eagle, lion, and deer hung for display. Probably leftovers from games past or mistakes sent to him.

          Petra looks in the box and picks out a capybara. She only holds it briefly before setting it down and picking up the last arrow on the table. They originally had three chances, so they might as well exploit their spendings. No hesitation as she loaded it and fired the arrow to hit next to where Salem’s had, but still in the center. Turning back to Salem with her prize in hand, she gestures with her head. “You are deserving of a prize as well.”

Everything leading to the moment his arrow hit the target’s bullseye had suggested that the gamemaster would attempt to swindle his customers out of their gold, so Salem expects protests when Petra requests access to the exclusive prizes. And indeed the man looks like he wants to try. Salem eyes him wordlessly, but eventually the merchant lowers his head and withdraws a box to set on the counter. 

As Petra sifts through the collection of stuffed animals, Salem peers of her shoulder to see her choice: an odd rodent-like creature he has never seen before. Perhaps a stylized mouse, whose features had been exaggerated to better sell to the children the game was intended for, but before Salem can open his mouth to ask, he’s stopped by the unmistakable thunk of another arrow lodging solidly into the target’s face. He glances toward it - a certain bullseye - and then to the dumbfounded gamemaster. A small smile lifts one corner of his mouth, temporarily lifting his ordinarily dour expression. At Petra’s behest, Salem peers once more into the box and selects a large aquatic-looking creature (a whale, he would later learn) before a new rule or excuse can stop him. They had paid for three arrows, after all, and against the odds, two of them were winners.

“If the game is designed fairly, you ought be less surprised when a player wins,” Salem says to the merchant before turning his back on the booth to survey what remains of the festival that they had yet to see. He follows Petra a few paces away and then lets his smile come unfettered.

“That was rather... fun,” he says after a moment, as if testing the word. His eyes fall to his new prize. It wasn’t practical, nor did it have any true monetary value, but he had already decided a place to display it in his room so that he could remember this night whenever he looked at it.

“Thank you again.” He turns his subtle smile back to Petra. “I would not have come out were it not for your invitation.”

[extenebris]

pahndelion​:

     IT’S NICE TO SEE SALEM holding the reins, for once. He’d always seemed like the type of guy who wasn’t used to taking charge, especially around the time they’d first met. A shame, honestly— Perne finds his counsel pretty useful.

     "Yeah, it’s work,“ He confirms with a nod. Though he made no mention of his purpose here, Salem still managed to figure it out— perhaps he’s a bit more of an open tome than he’d thought, "and don’t ya worry; I’m free right now.”

     A few thoughtful pauses interrupt Salem’s speaking, frequent enough that the normally-oblivious Perne takes notice. The thief finds himself amused seeing him try and navigate these things— he’s still a bit green, but he’s trying his damned hardest. That sort of newbie energy is something he respects. He’ll grow used to it in time, anyways. At least, Perne hopes he will. Maybe he just needs a little bit of nudging…

     And so, Perne nudges.

     "Hey, buddy, you’re in charge! I trust that wherever you’ll take me is good. But since ya asked so nicely…" He hums, thinking for a moment, “Let’s go to the dining hall. Indulge in their charity. Then it’s your call, after that, ‘kay?”

And so, with Perne’s insistence, Salem assumes the lead. He had thought, in the time since fleeing the church, that he had grown better at making decisions, but decisions made independently are different - and easier - than those made with someone else in mind. For better or worse, he has always respected and obeyed authority, but it never occurred to him how naturally it came to others. Every few steps, he checks over his shoulder for Perne. For approval, yes, but he realizes too that he’s just as expectant of this vision to disappear into thin air just as suddenly as it had first appeared before him.

They come to the dining hall soon enough. Between lunch and dinner, the crowd is thin, but cold plates are still being served at the counter. Salem leads Perne toward it and gestures to the kitchen - now still and quiet - at the back. The head chef is nowhere in sight, and all that remains of the day’s lunch rush is the quarter of a forgotten lemon on one of the counters.

“The monastery has hired a few cooks to handle serving meals during the day, but the kitchen is open to students to use when it is not too busy, as long as they provide their own ingredients.” He has never taken advantage of that privilege, of course, having little in the way of skills that befitted a kitchen. A campfire and a few sharpened sticks would serve him well enough. 

“Mealtime reminds me somewhat of the mess tent during the war...” He stares distantly at the cold hearth against the back wall, recalling the boisterousness that characterized the brief moments of rest during their trek through Thracia - the way it brought strangers together within a temporary envelope of peace. “... but food tastes better during true peacetime.”

And when it was free and abundant.

“Are you hungry?” Salem steals another glance back at Perne. “If you see something you like, you are welcome to take it.”

[extenebris]

troubled in paradise

diadic​:

   “ If that’s all it is, that’ll be the best case, ”  Leif replies to Salem’s suggestion it might be an innocuous route.  “ I don’t doubt you on what it might be, but… I can’t stop thinking about how the entrance to here was already open slightly when you found it. I don’t think it was like that this early this morning. ”  

His suspicions are what cause Leif’s voice to remain hushed even though they are in the very territory that all their peers have dubbed a relaxing getaway. This is no fun vacation, no mere place to while away the hours for an easy ( albeit stingy ) paycheck.

Someone’s used this passage today. They were able to get past all the hired guards, and although that wasn’t a terribly impressive feat for most of them, Salem and him were still taking this job seriously. So how?

Before he can consult Salem on it, they do indeed come across a few doors lining the walls. Putting one hand over his blade’s hilt just in case, Leif glances back at Salem to gauge the man’s readiness before he opens the first door on the right.

Though Leif had been prepared to bust in to find someone, the room is empty of life. There are beds of a cheaper quality than those reserved for the masters of the house, but one of them had a pillow with a strange shape protruding out of its casing.

Approaching it with some caution, Leif sticks his hand in and pulls it out: a silver necklace inset with a large blue diamond. Leif cradles it on his palm questionably, turning and shifting it slightly as he watches its luster gleam.

“ What’s something like this doing down here…? Even I can’t afford something like this so easily without giving August a scare… ”

Salem follows Leif into the room, and his eyes sweep over its sparse furnishings in a wide arc before finding that which the prince is quicker to act on. The rest of the room is unremarkable, with enough space to house four of what Salem believes would be the servants of the house. No other personal effects indicate that it has even seen use in recent months - perhaps even years - except for the necklace Leif extracts from the pillowcase. Salem approaches the prince to marvel at its gemstone over his shoulder, just as unaccustomed to seeing manifestations of such wealth up close.

“Stolen, perhaps?” he suggests. “If the thief could sell it before the master’s return, it would not be particularly difficult to blame a newly hired guard.” If the necklace even belonged to the house’s residents, that is. And would someone be foolish enough to attempt to blame thievery on the academy’s students, many of whom could easily afford a dozen gemstones of that size on their own?

“Do you remember seeing any jewelry lying about on your patrol this morning?”

It occurs to him then that the room had not been locked or guarded in any way, and with the entrance to the tunnel also left open, he arrives at another conclusion:

“They may still be nearby,” he says, retreating for the door. “An explanation from the perpetrator would serve us better than speculation, if we can get one.” Leaning against the doorway, he listens for noises in the hallway as Leif finishes his investigation. For now, however, all is silent.

[extenebris]

nagaficat​:

Though he may be a stranger, Deirdre feels more relaxed now that she and Salem are physically connected.  She has been accused of being too trusting before but she has yet to be placed in a situation where that trust was misplaced.  He appears quite stoic but she can tell Salem has a loving heart.

She had a suspicion but the way he speaks now confirms it.  Salem is from her future.  Or perhaps she is from his past.  Even after meeting so many people here at this academy from the generation of her children, she is not sure how to talk about it.  As confusing and even frightening as it can be, Deirdre knows it can only be a blessing that she is given this opportunity.

“You humble me with your kind words.  I shall do my best to live up to the descriptions of the bards and poets!”  That is a promise that she intends to keep.  Arvis’s dreams of a better world are inspiring and Deirdre wants nothing more than to help him achieve his goals.

“We have been married for some time now but he remains my grandfather’s regent.  Our children have not yet been born.”  She continues to watch as her son fights, face beaming with pride, though she flinches and clings tighter to Salem’s arm each time Julius must dodge a particularly powerful attack against him.  “It is truly a miracle, do you not agree?  That I am able to know my son as a young man and see how handsome and talented and wonderful he grows up to be.  Surely the gods are smiling down on me!”

Rendered speechless by the tragedy of this Deirdre’s very existence in Fódlan, and reluctant to reveal to her a horrid future she remains blissfully ignorant of, Salem watches the battles in rigid silence. His eyes again find the vibrant crimson of the young prince’s hair and he wonders if he, too, has not yet met his fate. Was that tragedy, then? Or a merciful repose in a land unscarred by continent-wide conflict.

“That is miraculous,” he settles on after a moment. “May you treasure this time with him and your husband.”

[extenebris]

It’s strange how their roles are reversed here. Once the orphan taken in by Perne’s charity, Salem can now repeat that which his benefactor had urged him to do back then: make yourself at home. He doesn’t though, because this isn’t his home, and he still looks to Perne to give the order. Their conversation lulls until Salem realizes that he’s expected to take the lead. At least for now. They stare at each other for a moment.

“Now?” He hadn’t thought that he would be asked when, but he isn’t busy and even if he had been, he isn’t certain that he wouldn’t just set everything he had to do aside to catch up with an old friend. That desire, he realizes alongside so much else since seeing Perne’s face again, is new as well. His eyes dart skyward as if to check that the weather is favorable, not to hide his uncertainty in knowing what to do.

“If you are free, that is,” Salem amends. “Have you come to study, or...?” He looks back at Perne. “No, to work.” He can’t imagine the -- former -- thief giving up chasing a living for a few musty books. You can’t fill your belly with a book, and Salem remembers how tragic he had thought that was when food ran scarce in the desert. Never books though. There was always a tome in each starving orphan’s hands.

“If you haven’t been shown your quarters, I can take you there first. Unless...” He searches for guidance again. “... you would rather see the dining hall and its charity.”

for @extenebris​ from here!

      SALEM’S QUIET LAUGHTER softens the edges of Perne’s grin— the mage’s small show of joy just sparks some sort of fondness within him. His smiles had always been a rare sight, even when they traveled together. If Fodlan is the fresh start Perne wants it to be, then he hopes he gets to see Salem wear it more.

      “Is it, now?” His voice curls up in response to the discovery. Perne huffs, almost impressed, “Huh. Well I’ll be. Never thought this place had that sorta charity.”

      …Or maybe they told him this during his orientation and it just slipped his mind. It’s all too likely— he reckons he must’ve dozed off.

      “Settle in…” He echoes Salem’s words with a hum, lips pursed as he toys with the thought. He’d never been the type to ‘settle in.’ He much preferred the freedom that came with a more nomadic lifestyle— and, he’ll admit, it also made it easier to get away from whomever was at his heels. But a dandelion seed can only float around so long before taking root, and this is as good an opportunity as any to try it. Besides, there’s something about Salem that fastens his feet to the floor. He supposes he always did have a soft spot for him.

      And so, after a moment, Perne puts his hands to his hips and nods.

      “Yeah… ya know what? That’d be great.” he smiles, “Takin’ a look 'round this place with ya sounds right as rain. When d'you wanna settle me in?”

[extenebris]

Chance in Another Life [Salem & Edain]

extenebris​:

She values her loved ones and the crusaders inspire her to guide others. Salem supposes that isn’t a completely unusual explanation, but he falls silent to contemplate it all the same, the other tasks he had agreed to help Edain with nearly forgotten. Could priesthood truly be rooted in the mundane like that? In that case, what use were gods? For a moment, he feels that he can nearly grasp the once-impenetrable reasons the bishops of the Lopt church used to justify the destruction of the practitioners of Jugdral’s mainstream faiths. If they all shared beliefs similar to Edain’s, then it was no surprise that they had been a threat to the god who desired control and power. Loptous, as Salem had been taught, demanded unwavering loyalty from his subjects, and they were to serve him out of gratitude for his divine protection. To place such faith in one’s fellow man was unthinkable.

There is much more that Salem wishes to ask, to dig deeper for a better picture of what life had been like under such benevolent guidance, but the vague answers Edain has given thus far set an unspoken boundary. He has his reasons for concealing his past and his upbringing, but it is only in that moment that he realizes that she perhaps has much to hide as well. It’s a privilege to be allowed to speak with her this long after hours, and Salem accepts it with a quiet nod.

“I see.” His own expression softens as well, the lines of deep thought from moments ago now smoothing way though he neither smiles nor laughs as she does. “Thank you for sparing me the time to answer my questions. I may have more for next weeks’ lecture, after I have given these sufficient thought.” He nods then toward her desk and the remaining books and papers. “Is there anything else you would like for me to do?”

it seemed as if he had more he wanted to ask her, but maybe she was imagining that part. regardless, she does not pry further for any more questions salem may have on his mind— whether he actualy had them like she thought or not. “oh of course. i am here as a teacher for a reason you know. you can always come to me for these kinds of things.” she means it genuinely, though she wonders if it comes across that way. her train of thought is stopped by salem’s offer of further help.

she just had her lesson plans to catch up on— she would of appreciated the help on that if it were from another professor.  “unfortunately nothing that you can help with, but i appreciate all that you have helped me with already.”

“alright, i should probably get to finishing this up. i’ll see you in my next lesson, salem.” she says to him, before returning her focus to her lesson plans. she doesn’t look back up to see if he leaves or not, assuming that was the last of their conversation.

[END]

[extenebris]

Claude’s answer fires back like a slingshot and the seriousness in his expression just moments before turns animated and... red? Perhaps the who isn’t important, but he - his face, anyway - answers Salem’s question nonetheless. He sits back again to think. Certainly this wasn’t the conversation he expected to have with his house leader. Or anyone, for that matter.

His mouth doesn’t give him much time to contemplate a more sagely answer or reflect on his own feelings of a bygone era. Perhaps because he had settled on the answer long ago.

“When they are gone, your world will go with them.”

Claude spares a moment to feel sorry for Salem. Just a moment.

"Salem," Claude whispers, straining to convey the seriousness of this question while still keeping his voice down. They're in the middle of class and he doesn't want anyone else to hear, especially their professor. "Have you ever... been in love with someone? Confessed your love to them, or them to you?"

Salem sees his house leader shift from the corner of his eye first. The air around them suddenly charges - intuition, perhaps, for the question that has yet to break the surface - and his quill skips the dot over a letter, his mind now far from his notes as it cycles rapidly through what he could have done to draw his attention. He is a shadow, a ghost, and prefers to remain such, especially to the eyes of authority.

His name whispered freezes him like an arctic wind. Slowly, he turns his head to see the grave look on Claude's face and he wonders for a moment if this is the moment that he would be hired to kill for a noble's pride, like so many others he had known. He braces for it, because he already has his answer.

The real question is so far from anything he had predicted that Salem can do nothing but stare at Claude, uncomprehending and speechless. Love? Love? The quill in his hand tilts precariously from his loosened grip and its threat to their secrecy reanimates him.

"I have never confessed," he whispers back. The other two parts to the question, he doesn't know how to answer. But he knows well enough that this is hardly about him. Stealing a glance toward the front of the classroom to ensure that their professor still lectures with her back turned to them, he leans closer.

"Is there someone you have your eye on?"

[extenebris]

nagaficat​:

“Salem, may I hold your arm? I have not been feeling my best either and it would be a comfort for the support.” In truth, she still worries about him but she does not wish to hurt his pride anymore than it already is. Now they might at least be able to help each other if either feels weak again. Deirdre can only imagine what such intense revelations coupled with the stress from fighting must be doing to him.

She finds herself blushing when he mentions ballads composed about her. Imagine that! Bards like Lewyn singing about someone like her! Will they sing of Lord Arvis and his own compassion, too? Perhaps even the story of how they found each other. Such a fairytale-like meeting would make for a lovely ballad, she thinks. “Will they truly sing of me? I know that I will be Empress one day but it is still so fantastic to even imagine! I am glad to know that I at least am thought of kindly. I feel like quite an outsider still in court even with Lord Arvis at my side.”

The request is not odd so much as unexpected, and for a moment Salem isn’t sure whether he is up to the task either. He was only a child when he was brought into the church’s arms, which insisted that that would be the only thing to hold him. Even out in the world, others did not find him approachable, nor reliable enough for aid. But for the rare trust Deirdre places in him now, he can do nothing but acquiesce. He lets her lean against him and together they watch the fights below.

She speaks of the future as if it hasn’t happened yet, and that makes the news of her attendance at the academy (and that of Lord Arvis and their son as well) more palatable. Time worked differently here, he knew that, and his shoulders sag with relief knowing that the history he remembered wasn’t completely false. He looks down at the Empress as her eyes light with joy and her cheeks glow pink, relief short-lived because of it. If she is the Deirdre of the past, then she did not know the horror of the future.

“Yes, many songs have been written about you and your husband,” Salem says, the solemnity hiding within his usual demeanor. “The people, as I have heard, quite adore you.” He pauses to think. “Lord Arvis... he is not yet Emperor then? Or have you not yet been wed?”

[extenebris]

A saint. The self-proclamation elicits one of Salem’s half-smiles and a quiet chuckle, a combination nearly unseen by anyone but the Dandelion’s leader. There had always been something about Perne that had set Salem at ease, even when he had been dragged back to their hideout in Dakia convinced that, for his audacity to survive punishment for his treachery, he would be tortured for information before he could take the mortal realm no longer. Something trustworthy in that crooked smile and twinkling eyes. Something that, when Salem endeavored to tie the bandit to the path of good with threat of leaving, he knew implicitly that he already trusted him to do right by his people. Thief, knight, or saint, Perne was Perne.

Salem nods, and that really should have been the end of their exchange - with Perne going on his way to settle in, and Salem content to let him - but his feet won’t move this time.

“Wait, Perne,” Salem calls before the other man can get too far away. “The dining hall... the food is free there.” And the kitchen serves feasts fit for a prince, but he wonders abruptly what he’s trying to sell before he can say it - was it the seed of another deal to keep Perne (in line? by his side?).

“I have been here for a year already. I can help you settle in.”

There was once a time in Fódlan when everything was unfamiliar. How distant that memory seems now, Salem thinks as he crosses corridors and courtyards with quiet nods to new and old acquaintances alike. He had sought anonymity when he arrived, severing what few ties he did have to repent for the blood that stained his hands. The oft-torturous longing for a familiar face and an intimacy he would never have again remained proof that his self-imposed punishment served its purpose, and he reconciled himself with a loneliness that would know no end. But the heart will always find a way to fulfillment, and slowly he found himself in the presence of those who were, if not friends, comrades who cared for his wellbeing, at the very least.

It wasn't too different than the Dandelion, he supposes. Then, too, he had resigned himself to a nameless death or a forgotten life, but found himself instead among a ragtag group of misfits who refused to succumb to either fate. A hand had grabbed him from the darkness and pulled him into the light of a group camaraderie he had never felt before. They had since gone their separate ways - Salem under the pretense that he wished to see the world, but knowing in the deepest trenches of his subconscious that he only wished to dismantle that which he did not believe he deserved - but the man who had saved him by all definitions of the word remained ever-present in his mind.

"Perne?"Enough so that he had perhaps manifested a vision. At the foot of the stone steps ahead stands the unmistakable figure of the Dandelion's charismatic leader, a little cleaner than Salem remembers but as striking as he had always been. Even more so amidst a sea of uniforms and conservatively dressed monks. Salem hastens to greet him, muted surprise and joy bright only in his eyes.

"I never would have expected to see you step one foot in a place like this," he says in lieu of a greeting. "Have you given up thieving?"

        FUNNY HOW SOMETHING SO FAMILIAR CAN SURPRISE HIM LIKE THIS.

        He personally hadn’t been expecting ‘familiar’ when he came to a place so far from home. And his name coming out of Salem’s mouth? That’s a sound he knows as well as the back of his own hand. That he would hear it in Fodlan of all places feels like some dream. He’d readied himself for a new life with new people— he didn’t even consider the idea of meeting a friend here. Still, however unexpected the reunion is, Perne welcomes the notion, and greets Salem with a broad smile.

        “Salem!”

        Perne weaves between the crowd, all the slipperiness of his previous profession powering each step. His expression brightens when they meet, and his voice is lined with a chuckle when he speaks.

        “Is it really that surprisin'? Heh, I guess I can't blame ya. This ain't really my sorta crowd. Though I never woulda thought I'd see ya here either." He throws his hands up, shrugging, "Ah, well. In any case, ya got the thievin' thing down. Haven’t stolen a thing since the gang split. I’m pratically a saint!"

        Falling quiet, Perne takes a moment to reaaallly size Salem up. Something about him seems different; he can’t quite say what. Still, he thinks it must be something good. Fodlan has some shiny new freedoms that a budding nation like theirs couldn’t afford.

        Hands stuff themselves into his pant pockets. Absently, he toys with the knight’s emblem he had hidden deep within the fabric. It has a couple of new leashes too.

        ...He’ll get to that when he gets to that. For now, he gives Salem a Perne-typical grin.

         “Anyways, ‘s great seein’ ya again. Let’s catch up over a meal sometime!” he winks, “It’ll be my treat.”

[extenebris]

Claude spares a moment to feel sorry for Salem. Just a moment.

"Salem," Claude whispers, straining to convey the seriousness of this question while still keeping his voice down. They're in the middle of class and he doesn't want anyone else to hear, especially their professor. "Have you ever... been in love with someone? Confessed your love to them, or them to you?"

Salem sees his house leader shift from the corner of his eye first. The air around them suddenly charges - intuition, perhaps, for the question that has yet to break the surface - and his quill skips the dot over a letter, his mind now far from his notes as it cycles rapidly through what he could have done to draw his attention. He is a shadow, a ghost, and prefers to remain such, especially to the eyes of authority.

His name whispered freezes him like an arctic wind. Slowly, he turns his head to see the grave look on Claude's face and he wonders for a moment if this is the moment that he would be hired to kill for a noble's pride, like so many others he had known. He braces for it, because he already has his answer.

The real question is so far from anything he had predicted that Salem can do nothing but stare at Claude, uncomprehending and speechless. Love? Love? The quill in his hand tilts precariously from his loosened grip and its threat to their secrecy reanimates him.

"I have never confessed," he whispers back. The other two parts to the question, he doesn't know how to answer. But he knows well enough that this is hardly about him. Stealing a glance toward the front of the classroom to ensure that their professor still lectures with her back turned to them, he leans closer.

"Is there someone you have your eye on?"

[extenebris]

Having spent his life fighting the prejudice of those who would judge him for his faith and the type of magic he used without understanding the context in which they were embedded, Salem knows that he has no excuse for the way his eye keeps flickering to the paper amulet in his partner’s hands. The symbols on it are foreign to him, its purpose therefore indecipherable. Still, darkness clings to this girl, inviting as much kinship as it does trepidation, and he finds himself watching her in silence fro the other side of the carriage once their guide leaves to finish preparations for their arrival. She hands the amulet to him, which he accepts with bewilderment.

“I will ensure that it is return to you safely.” He threat does not frighten him, but speaks of the value of the gift, if such was the requirement for its creation.

“You can call me Salem.” He does not expand his introduction with his abilities like she does, however. Even with his suspicions confirmed by her admission to being a practitioner of the dark arts, it is not enough to bring down the walls long-erected in self-defense. If they were to run into trouble, she would see his spells with her own eyes anyway. He prefers, instead, to return the topic to the paper charm which he still holds between his fingers, hesitant to bend it any any way that might destroy the ink on its surface or magic within.

“How does one evoke its power?” he asks after a moment of thought. “The capability to record conversations in such a fashion is an indispensable asset. I never knew such a thing was possible.”

The carriage door opens then to announce Midan’s return and she beckons them both to exit. Salem follows behind Rhajat and steps out into the mild chill of Leicester’s winter.

“The family has provided a guest house for you to stay in so that you don’t draw undue attention,” Midan continues. “Whatever it is Lord Eren is doing, he has been doing it in secret.”

ignorance born from darkness - & salem

MISSION TASK BOARD: While three cousins are pushing for the seat, most of the focus is on Celine and Drayden. Eren has been struggling to get traction and gather allies to support their cause, and so no one truly has paid much attention to their campaign. That is, of course, until the Church catches wind of Eren dabbling in some kind of dark magic beyond what is recognized in Fódlan. With the Agarthans still at large, there’s no question that you should check out what’s going on.

          celine, drayden, and eren of house marika.  the only names, alongside judith von daphnel  —   the sender of garreg mach’s urgent letter, that rhajat cares to memorize.  others are left in the air of the partly tight carriage.  the other companion of this moving cabin beside her, both sitting in front of the lady-knight running them through the mission’s notes, is a man she hasn’t seen during her short time here.  but from what the mission had required, he’s a golden deer student.

          rhajat hums in acknowledgement, rubbing the amulet in her hand as the lady-knight smiles,   “   although the issue being faced seems troubling, i have faith that it will be handled correctly.  i can trust this task upon you two, correct?   ”

          she grins, nothing alike the gentleness of the lady-knight’s own smile,   “   of course, heehee, leave this to us!  muhaha, this will be amusing…   ”   the last statement, along with her unease-inducing giggle is muffled beneath her mutter.  paid no mind to from the lady-knight.

          the carriage has already come to a stop, but the lady-knight, whom rhajat now suspects to be their guardian for the entirety of this case, doesn’t step out.  instead, she continues,   “   when we exit the carriage, you two will follow me to the domain of house marika. for now, your jobs are to gather information on eren’s current whereabouts and past schedules; anything of the sorts that will lead us to a possible solution.   ”

          the door to the carriage is pulled open and she lets out a small laugh,   “   by the way, you may address me as knight midan!  now, please take this moment to introduce yourselves to each other.  i’ll check on our planning board.   ”   and with that, she slips out of the carriage and the door is shut, once more.

          whether or not the order was supposed to cause a sense of familiarity between the two, rhajat says nothing and stops rubbing the amulet, its dullness now taken by a faint glimmer.  by magic’s blessing, of course.  she holds the amulet out for the man to take,   “   she’s been yapping for over an hour and there have been no reports on this documented.   ”   rhajat does not look at him as she speaks.   “   activating the charm will repeat back the mission notes.  and yes, i’ll need it back afterward, or else payment for me to make another will be your tongue.   ”

          not that the amulet’s power would last long anyway.  repeating long conversations were harder to set into a charm than codes or passwords.  he’d probably be done with it before the mission ended.  eh, not her problem.

          rhajat throws him a side glance before speaking again,   “   i fail to see how identities are important here, but so be it.  i am rhajat, diviner and summoner of the dark arts.   ”   easy, simple, and done with.  finally.  she leans back and folds her arms over her chest, crossing her legs and getting awfully comfortable in the short amount of time they’ve been given inside the carriage.  there are questions in her throat, dancing to a gleeful song titled her voice.  but after her name, she doesn’t say anything else.

for @extenebris

[extenebris]

school of thought

luxichor​:

Authority +1

     A stack of magic tomes sits nestled underneath Linoan’s arm as she stands at the entrance of the village elder’s home, the only place in the town spacious enough to host today’s lesson. (Outside was an option, but she feared it would only exacerbate their short attention spans.) When the monastery was petitioned to help educate a gaggle of restless, wayward youths, Linoan had been glad to volunteer herself to the cause.

     At her side stands Salem. Aside from his prior affiliation with the vile Loptyrian cult, there is still much she does not know about the man. But his prowess with various forms of magic was undeniable, and so she hoped his assistance would provide a great boon. 

     Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she steps up to the door. Faintly, she hears the laughter of children from inside. It brings a smile to her face—it was not a sound she’s heard often throughout her life, fearful as Jugdral society had been of the Empire and cult’s joint influence. To say nothing of the child hunting…

     Teal eyes flicker to Salem in a brief sidelong glance, but shifts back ahead before he can notice. That was the past. The danger no longer existed—these children were free to live as they pleased. 

     Before they head inside, she turns to Salem once more. “The basics of Faith would be a good start to the lesson, I think. Reason magic would no doubt be interesting to a child, but I would rather not risk any dangerous accidents…” She knocks at the door, still musing, “It would be best to calm and steady their minds beforehand…”

     The door opens to a piercing shriek, and Linoan starts with fright, turning to the sight of a very beleaguered village elder. The cacophonous blend of giggles and screams filter out from behind him, the man only able stare at Linoan and Salem with eyes sunken in exhaustion, and a half-hearted smile that doesn’t quite reach them.

     “…The instructors sent by the church, yes?” There’s the sound of something crashing to the ground behind him, and he pauses a moment to wince, “—l-let me show you inside.”

     She nods, and exchanges a glance with Salem. Oh Naga, help them…

@extenebris

Regret was something Salem strove to avoid. He did not have the energy or time to spare for ruminating on all of his past decisions, many of which - he was certain - had been mistakes. He had never been one to linger in the dream of what-ifs, anyway, and made the effort - especially in the last few years - to keep his eyes on the future that had taken him so long to see.

The shrieks of at least half a dozen children makes him reconsider that personal rule, however, and as he stands at Linoan’s side before the exhausted elder of the village that had commissioned the academy for help, he wonders if he might not have been too hasty in volunteering. (Regrets, for all his effort to release them, kept their hold on him all the same).

Linoan appears to have second thoughts as well, but they share but a fleeting glance before the elder ushers them inside with strength belied by his age. A precarious calm sweeps over the house as the children stop what they’re doing to asses their new guests. Salem counts seven, all under the age of ten if his estimation is correct, staring with wide-eyed expectancy at them. Wooden toys scatter the floor around them, though among them hide trinkets that might not have been playthings until that morning, and what sparse furniture remains in the room is either overturned or askew.

“These two are students from the Officers Academy in Garreg Mach,” the old man introduces. “They’ve come to teach you a few things.”

This announcement is met with a mixed reception - one girl cheers and claps and compares the experience to her auntie’s, while a pair of boys in the midst of a wrestling match groan and disentangle from one another. The rest simply murmur amongst themselves. Though the elder had hardly done them any favors in selling the plan, Salem finds it hardly surprising that group learning as one would find in an established school is not a widespread idea here. He isn’t sure where to even begin with their task, but the old man nudges them forward.

“We do so appreciate what you’re doing for our young ones,” he says to Salem and Linoan. “I leave them in your capable hands.”

Startled, Salem turns on him. “Where are you going?”

The elder smiles good-naturedly. “I have my duties for the village to take care of, of course. I will be in my office--” he gestures to a shut door at the end of a nearby hallway. “--if you need me for anything.”

Wishing for half the confidence he had in them, Salem can say nothing more as the man excuses himself to return to his work. The children have already begun to play again, though more quietly than before, as eyes and ears remain trained on their new guests.

Salem glances at Linoan, and then turns to look at the rest of the room. “I suppose we should gather them into lines first...” he murmurs half to himself.

[extenebris]

troubled in paradise

diadic​:

     Returning to deeper into the villa, Leif had been ready to take the most direct route to the courtyards he had seen earlier already and was content to do it in silence. His one track mind almost carries him too far, were it not for Salem calling out his name and forcing him to halt.

“ …! You’re right, ”  Leif remarks after taking a look for himself.  “ I had patrolled this area, but I didn’t notice anything earlier. ”

A stray wonder— if those of the Lopt Sect were better trained to spot hidden areas than the average person— enters Leif’s head as he allows a moment of silence to fall between them again, the eerie backdrop to his ruminations.

There was another possibility, however. A much more troubling possibility.

“ Let’s enter. There might be something in there. Or someone. ”  Leif pulls the cabinet back with a burst of strength, opening the passageway enough to let a person be able to slip through before heading in.

With the idea of training now pushed to the wayside, Salem follows Leif through the hole in the wall without a moment’s hesitation. They had been hired as guards for the estate, and both seemed to be of similar mind: there was something unusual about the lack of apparent danger so far, and this appeared as good a lead as any. The corridor is dim but not dark, illuminated both by the sunlight filtering in through the crevice from the kitchen behind them, and some second, unseen source of light farther inside. Earth worn smooth stretches out from beneath their feet toward the darkness at the other end, and Salem notes scorch marks around a nearby hole carved into the stone that lines the walls.

“It appears that this tunnel has seen quite some use,” he muses. Somehow though, the observation doesn’t bring as much relief with it as it ordinarily would. “Perhaps a hidden route to the servants’ quarters.”

He continues searching the walls as he keeps pace behind Leif, but the rest of the scones they pass are empty.

“I have been unsettled since we arrived, but… the circumstances of this assignment have grown more and more unusual.” The comment this time is posed to gauge the prince’s thoughts on the matter. “Perhaps I am simply unaccustomed to such luxury.”

[extenebris]

Chance in Another Life [Salem & Edain]

ulirblood​:

“that is a curious way to put it, but yes.” shortly followed is a lighthearted laugh as she gazes up at salem. looking up at him now, she had half a mind to think she had pegged his character wrong based on the initial impression.

“well… hm.”  she tilts her head with a quiet hum, trying to think of how she could answer his question. with how genuinely curious he seemed, she wanted to answer him truthfully. finally, after a beat of silence, a suitable answer comes to mind. “i have always thought my loved ones most important, even before i became a priest. i almost even became a knight because i wanted to help the people around me.” she giggles again, thinking about her time before priesthood. while some things had not changed, she still felt like an entirely different person now.

the look on her face softens as she gazes downwards, thinking about her bloodline. “but the crusaders made me realize i could help people through my faith. something like… a shepherd guiding lost lambs. and so, as you put it, i pray to them for my guidance.” edain exhales a soft sigh.

She values her loved ones and the crusaders inspire her to guide others. Salem supposes that isn’t a completely unusual explanation, but he falls silent to contemplate it all the same, the other tasks he had agreed to help Edain with nearly forgotten. Could priesthood truly be rooted in the mundane like that? In that case, what use were gods? For a moment, he feels that he can nearly grasp the once-impenetrable reasons the bishops of the Lopt church used to justify the destruction of the practitioners of Jugdral’s mainstream faiths. If they all shared beliefs similar to Edain’s, then it was no surprise that they had been a threat to the god who desired control and power. Loptous, as Salem had been taught, demanded unwavering loyalty from his subjects, and they were to serve him out of gratitude for his divine protection. To place such faith in one’s fellow man was unthinkable.

There is much more that Salem wishes to ask, to dig deeper for a better picture of what life had been like under such benevolent guidance, but the vague answers Edain has given thus far set an unspoken boundary. He has his reasons for concealing his past and his upbringing, but it is only in that moment that he realizes that she perhaps has much to hide as well. It’s a privilege to be allowed to speak with her this long after hours, and Salem accepts it with a quiet nod.

“I see.” His own expression softens as well, the lines of deep thought from moments ago now smoothing way though he neither smiles nor laughs as she does. “Thank you for sparing me the time to answer my questions. I may have more for next weeks’ lecture, after I have given these sufficient thought.” He nods then toward her desk and the remaining books and papers. “Is there anything else you would like for me to do?”

[extenebris]

One Spring Night [Salem & Petra]

petrykos​:

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 directly in the center. “We are having three chances. Our previous attempts were not bad, so that is why I believe in us.”

          She picks up the bow without an arrow to demonstrate. “To have calmness is the most important point. It helps your focus.” She takes a deep breath in, then exhales. Her father’s and grandfather’s words echo in her own voice. She remembers the weight of the bow, the tension of the string during her first time, but now she holds it as if it were second nature.

          Even if they did not walk away with any prize, what matters was the experience. She had a feeling the attendant had tampered with the materials beforehand anyhow, seeing that the challenge seemed far too easy and he had far too many prizes hanging left. 

          “Do not place a lot of um…” She trails off, her words leaving her momentarily. “Ah. Relax the hand holding the bow. When you are pulling back, keep the string lined with the tip of your nose. This gives accuracy and consistency.”

          Petra demonstrates this by pulling the string taut and eyes focused ahead, but releases the string without firing anything, the string humming in the air. She offers the bow back to Salem. “Give it some trying to get used to the motion.”

The way Petra naturally picks up and holds the bow - even a toy one - speaks to her many years spent handling them, and Salem tries to absorb her practiced form as much as she tries to recall her days as a beginner. The gamemaster watches them from the other side of the counter with ill-concealed smile at the gravity with which they discuss their strategy. One might even think that they were planning the crucial shot in an important mission. Salem does not pay attention to the stifled snickering, and takes the bow once Petra finishes her demonstration and hands it back to him with the same unwavering seriousness.

Calmness, she had said. He practices first without an arrow, closing his eyes to visualize the shape of the bow as he holds it up like Petra had. His fingers test the string, pull back, relax, pull back again, relax again. It’s easier to draw now, he realizes. Whether that’s from their continued use of it or his acclimation to the strength it takes, he can’t say though. He pulls back again, and this time opens his eyes to align the string as she had instructed.

His fingers release, and the string snaps forward. The gamemaster crosses his arms.

“Well, are ya gonna play?”

Salem picks one of the arrows as an answer. The gamemaster takes a step back into the corner of his booth to make room. The arrow wiggles precariously as Salem draws it back, and he lets it loose early. The tip catches briefly on the outermost ring of the target and then drops to the ground with a clatter. Salem says nothing, and the disappointment in the shot is but a fleeting shadow across his stony features. He picks up a second arrow, inhales deeply, and sets it against the string. Exhaling, he closes his eyes once more. Be calm, that was Petra’s advice. It was hardly different than that which he had been taught in his early years with magic. Darkness preyed on chaos and doubt. To conjure it without a clear mind could cause the spell to falter disastrously. Inhale. Visualize the form. The arrow. The target. Exhale. Draw back the string. Inhale. Eyes open, locked at once with the red bullseye. Exhale. The string snaps, the arrow flies, and this time sticks its mark. The gamemaster turns to stare at it with astonishment. Slightly off-center, but in the bullseye nonetheless.

“W-well…” The gamemaster scratches the back of his head as he turns back to his customers. “That’s 50. What d’you want?”

Salem, too, stares for a moment in silence. Then the shadows soften as a small smile blooms quietly across his lips.

“It would not have been possible without such a fine teacher,” he says now, turning to Petra. “The gift is yours. Pick what you would like.”

[extenebris]

Chance in Another Life [Salem & Edain]

ulirblood​:

“thank you. even just this much is a tremendous help.” she offers her thanks before settling back down over at her desk. she still had her lesson plan to finish. while she’d be fine for tomorrow she would like to have lessons ready for the rest of the week as well.

just as she begins to shuffle her lesson plan papers around, salem starts speaking again. “my faith?” she looks up at him with a curious gaze. edain studies him for a moment, trying to figure out what she should say. there was no reason for her to lie here.

“…this may sound a bit strange, but my faith mostly lies in the people around me. i have my faith in the crusaders of course but they are not my driving force as a priest.” she tilts her head, offering him a small smile. “does that answer your question, salem?”

“Your faith is in the mortal realm?” Salem asks, furrow creasing his brow. That was not the answer he had been expecting, and even more puzzling was that she placed them above the crusaders. Those and the god whose blood they carried were the centerpiece of Jugdral’s spirituality. That was what he had been taught, anyway, but the obscured and deformed truth he had been fed for so long was exactly why he sought new answers now. He looks down at the cloth in his hand, then thoughtfully back up at the square of letters still left up on the board.

“To whom do you pray for guidance then?” An apology rises to his tongue, but curiosity gets the better of him and he stops it short. “I have… never heard such an answer from a priest before. I am intrigued.” He wipes the rest of the words away and holds the cloth carefully as he gathers the questions he wishes to ask the most. He settles on one as he turns around to face her again. “How was it taught to you?”