Private Tales Home No More [Salak]

[Chasmine]

Vel Anir
Dreadlord Academy
Eastern Wing - 2:24am


It had been over a year now, perhaps nearly two, since she'd endured the darkness within the halls of the academy. Though the physical nature of what had been her home since the age of 12 had not changed nearly enough to remark upon, it certainly felt different. And not just because she was ... well, no longer of the living. Her arrival would go unheralded, unremarkable, unnoticed - just the same as her presence had been for a good majority of her life here. This alone was reassuring, but it did not grow in her any sense of fondness she thought she might have felt.

To the living occupants of the Academy, most of which now slept through the twilight hours, Chasmine Grey was but the quietest of chill breezes. A faint outline of a young woman, pale and translucent in the stillness of the halls, making its silent way to the dormitory wing where she had every intent to return to her own dorm and collect the only two things left here that truly mattered to her.

Salak

 

[Salak]

*Tock. tock. tock.*
The wood from is cane struck the floor in dull sounds absorbed by the stone all around him.
The halls of the Academy were not new to him but the Initiates were and any place of learning was shaped by the nature of its students more than anything else. He told himself he was staying a while to investigate the nature of the Academies Initiates but he had long since stopped believing his own lies.
Salak the Spy, Dreadlord of the 4th Rank, was here to visit his past and see if it still had the power to hurt him. The blue of his robe blended him well into the shadows and he had not expected to see another soul awake at this late hour. He had assumed he would summon only specters of his past to haunt him and banish them best he could so it was a great surprise to him to see the ethereal visage of Chasmine Grey drifted on empty air into the junction before him.
He froze in crooked half-upright stance utterly astonished. It was dark and silent but he definitely saw her.
A student was out of bed!
At this hour!
With Exams so soon!
Outrageous.
He made a step into the light of the window by which faint moonglow cast his cloak from dark to light and spoke in his low, dry voice to the mysterious figure as if she were any normal living student.
"You there, Girl. Why are you out of cot?"


Chasmine

 

[Chasmine]

So much as he had not expected company, neither had the geist expected to be seen. How rare it was, living or not, that anyone at all had paid her much mind lest they required a target for their own amusement or ire. The apparition slowed at the words, seemed to shiver in and out of sight like a candleflame under an anxious breath.

Why are you out of cot?

"Why," she echoed gently, turning with a listless glance, "I am looking for my cat. Have you seen him?"

 

[Salak]

The words tumbled out of his mouth so quickly he barely had time to register them as he hobbled up to Chasmine. His cane pronounced irritation in each word as he went.
*tock. tock. tock*

"Familiars are to be kept with their Masters at all times."

When he had finished he remembered the words were not his own. They were his old Proctor's. It made him stop short and think.
"Name, Class and Proctor." He demanded in a cooler tone. "And remove this phantasmal illusion please. You're not fooling me."
The dog does only what it's master bid. This child, foolish though she was, did not deserve his ire.

 

[Chasmine]

Curious, she thought, could he not tell? Chasmine watched him silently for far too long without an answer, pale hair hazily undulating about her pale, ghoulish image.

"You must be new," she decided and announced with a breathy tone, the faintest of smiles alighting upon her transparent lips before flittering away as her shape gave a flicker, "so it is unlikely that you have seen him. Dandy does not like strangers."

"That is alright," and the apparition turned from him and his cane and his cloak, curious though he was, and floated onward down the hall, "I suspect there are not many familiar faces left here for him to find comfort in. I will look in my old room."

 

[Salak]

The sheer gawl.
In his day he'd have been publicly flogged for such flippant dismissal of a Graduate, or worse.
His bad leg itched but he didn't scratch it.
Authority was doing little for him. A change of tactic was called for and her disobedience was a job for the Proctor and not his concern truly.
"Look you might get a good rise out of the staff by playing up this whole haunted child routine but I..."
In his mind a penny dropped and made no sound.
"...my old room."
He followed her a few steps behind, his cane betraying his otherwise light footfalls.
*tock. tock. tock.*
"Which room is your old room exactly?"
He did not yet know on what delicate thread his mind had latched onto but he had learned to trust his curiosity long ago.

 

[Chasmine]

"The only room I had, of course," the girl replied lightly, "at the top of the girl's dormitory wing. It was once the home of the groundskeeper, before the revolution, but sometimes he still visits."

The groundskeeper prior to the revolution had, of course, died.

"He is not fond of Dandy. I do hope he has not chased him away..."

Down the hall she continued and then paused at the end, turning to face the stairs and then looking back his way.

"Would you like some tea? You'll have to make it yourself."

 

[Salak]

Salak's disbelief began to fade.
This was indeed the tower entrance of which she spoke and the old groundskeeper was said to haunt it though he'd never seen the ghost what with being assigned to the boys wing and the stories never spoke of a girl.
She was either delusional, committed to this charade for some unknown end or an honest ghost.
If civility is the key to this riddle then he was not going to disappoint and some hot tea sounded good to brace against the cold night air.
"I'm afraid that is impossible." He stated flatly.
"Not until proper introductions have been made."
Performing a short and curt nod he managed a smile that looked less like a grimace than usual for his pockmarked face and stood as straight as he was able, which was not very straight at all.
"My name is Salak. Graduate of this Academy and Dreadlord. Whome shall I say is my hostess this morning?"

 

[Chasmine]

That line of questioning seemed to strike a chord with the geist, who promptly shifted from vapid and detached to alert and in the moment. There were few things that could accomplish this, but apparently cordiality was one of them.

The girl's expression brightened ... if it could truly be said to do in her state, as she suddenly seemed to recognize that she was in conversation with a gentleman. How remarkable!

"Hello Sir," she replied smartly and turned to give him her undivided attention with a well-practiced curtsey, "I am Chasmine Grey. I'm afraid I can do little to host as I seem to have lost my hands in death."

Not literally. She clearly still had hands, but they would not function as needed to play hostess which, she believed also to be quite clear.

 

[Salak]

The penny made a sound at last. Chasmine Grey.
He didn't remember all of the files he'd read during this brief stay at the Academy but hers stood out for two reasons. The first that she was an initiate of "curious nature" which in Proctor terms meant hideously alone and most likely on the lower end of magical talent. At least talent the Academy valued. The second was that the night she went missing no search party was called. This was telling of her status outside the Academy. Someone nobody was likely to miss.
Most stunning of all was the dawning revelation that he was indeed speaking to (and had been for a bit) a ghost.

"Charmed Miss Grey."
He had no intention of letting such an opportunity go to waste. Contact like this tended to happen for a reason and he would see it through.
"That's quite alright. I shall see to myself. With your permission of course."

Reatching out his hand to indicate the staircase leading up to her room he added
"Please, lead on."

Chasmine

 

[Chasmine]

Up up up they went. Well, up up up Salak went, mostly. The ghost took the stairs by flights, appearing and vanishing like warm breaths of air on a chill night. The first peaking light of dawn filtered through slatted glass pane windows along the stairwell, cutting each landing in half with a slice of sun.

One floor. Two floor. Three floor. Four. At last the final staircase, this one quite narrow and unused. Cobwebs greeted Salak with a hug to his face. A strong scent of abandonment clung to the dark door that blocked the very top through which Chasmine did pass unhindered. The door would, of course, be locked for Salak.

Of course.

 

[Salak]

"AGH!"
The cobwebs caught him completely by surprise. His hood betraying him by failing to keep his face covered but he hurried on and tried the ancient door now before him. Which he found t be locked.
"Of course!"
Salak's huff of exasperation was spoken through deep breaths. The stairs were not all that troublesome, keeping up with the temporal form of Chasmine however had pushed him to exert himself and now his bad leg now ached with needling pain. Again he tried to open the door but it was truly locked.
"Okay, let's see." Taking only a moments pause to breathe he bent over and knelt (with some effort) to look at the mechanism that denied him.
It was old and almost identical to the locks used to keep the boys dorm secure which was a good thing since he'd broken such a lock once, or twice.
With a soft motion of his hand he detached the head of his staff to reveal an 18 inch spike. A useful tool for self defence and on occasion for breaking into places he shouldn't be. The morality of this action had not weighed him in the slightest. Even if Chasmine had the key she had implied an inability to interact with the mortal world somewhat and he was invited in. So in he was going.
*Click, scree!*
This lock was VERY old he decided. A gentle touch tickled his chin and he hastily ripped strands of thick dusty cobweb from his face.
*Cluck, shlickt*
"There you are."
With the door unlocked and only a few moments of tardiness to dent his reputation, Salak refixed the serpent head of his cane to the shaft and dusted off his robe at the knees. He did not know what to expect (except possibly a very old and dusty room of the stairs outside were any indication) but he was determined to look his best.
He removed another strand of cobweb from his face and hood then took another breath and opened the door.

 

[Chasmine]

The door swung inward and the ghost turned to look, momentarily startled as if she'd forgotten all about her guest, "Hello," she smiled to him.

Chasmines room was about exactly what one would expect from a girl such as herself: eclectic to the point of eccentricity. Though the Dreadlord Acolytes never usually had much in the way of personal belongings, Chas had apparently made a point to fill her room with found items and things. It was the epitome of kitsch cottagecore. There were trinkets and bobbles, many of which were broken, settled about high shelves. Books, books, books, and more books. Handmade things put together from nature. Feathers of all sizes and colors. Rocks - lots of rocks. Candles everywhere.

All the plants. In pots. Not in pots. Seeds. Drying blooms. Cut roots and leaves.

Symbols carved into the wooden wallboards and along the perimeter of her room.

Phials and jars filled with collected ingredients, tonics, and oddities. Dead things, too. There was, in fact, a dead crow on a desk off to the side that had its wing feathers very painstakingly removed.

Her bedroom window looked out upon the Old Forest and the graveyard through a thicket of growing planets seeded into a makeshift flowerbox just beyond the panes, and an empty ravens nest sat off to one side.

At least, that was how her room had been two years ago. Today it was still much the same, aside from the fact that everything was covered in a heavy layer of dust. There were still plants, but they were all very much dead and wilted. There was still a dead crow, but she had since cleaned its carcass for the skeletal remains and set up the crow skeleton on a shelf above her desk where it watched with its hollow gaze the occupant below.

The raven's nest outside her window had eggs hidden beneath a piling of feathers, but the parents were nowhere to be seen. Presumably, they'd been scared of by the sudden opening of the door.

"It has been some time since I have had visitors. Or tea. Do you like Gray Lady? Melinda gave me a new variety that is quite lovely."

 

[Salak]

Salak took a long moment to let the features of the room soak in.
His mind, though tired from lack of sleep, still managed to grab the majkor points of interest.
The picture it painted in his mind filled his heart with pity for Chasmine. All about him he could not help but see the pursuits of a bright and eager mind failed by an indifferent system like many before her.
His leg reminded him of its pain and he silenced it. Opting to lean a little more on his cane.
"Grey Lady would be lovely Lady Grey, thank you."
He closed the door and made his way over to the clutter of items and utensils that made up the quarters kitchen. One look and the term "organised chaos" sprang to mind. Things placed in such a way as to make sense only to the owner. As he checked the fuel and gathered the materials for tea... *These mushrooms are deadly in high doses, not gonna touch those. *... he made an attempt at idle chatter.
"lovely work on the crow display, did you do it yourself?"

 

[Chasmine]

Content for the company, the ghost smiled in response, "It is in that jar there. You should use the nice mug," the honorary mug of her very rare guests for tea. She then lifted a hand reflexively to a small set of shelves that hung on the wall just over the work table and made to grasp at the mug. Her hand went through it, but the exertion of earnest effort jogged the mug in place.

It teetered in response and tumbled off the shelf and to the floor. The mug in question was also covered in a layer of dust, now loosened by its perilous journey, but otherwise undamaged. Carved from a single piece of wood, it had simple scrolling etches along the outside walls.

Chasmine's smile persisted as if nothing at all was wrong and she had simply handed him the mug. Her attention shifted then to the crow and she shook her head, "Oh no, he made that himself. I just helped him put it back together."

 

[Salak]

"Allow me." Salak took the cup with a smile and nod to Chasmine. There was a sadness to the action he felt, the desire to participate, to move the world. Touch was such a terrible thing to be denied. He focused on the task at hand and pushed the pain from his mind. The cup itself was well crafted and held a simple elegance.
"Thank you."
With the inner sleeve of his robe he wiped the dust from it methodically. Her joke (was it a joke, her mind seemed addled) about the Crow had him greatly amused, which for him meant he smiled to himself and made next to no sound.
When he was done with the cup he got the fire to the stove going with practiced efficiency. Much disgust as he had for the Academy, they had taught him to survive and that more than the combat training had saved his life a dozen times over.

The tea was well preserved and rather than assume what his gracious host desired he stood on ceremony. He was after all a guest. As he popped the leaves into the pot he asked quite casually.
"Shall I prepare you a cup?"

 

[Chasmine]

"That's very kind of you," Chasmine smiled as she moved to gently sit on the edge of her bed. Her ghostly figure flickered, but the real bed did not seem to notice her there.

"But I would hate for it to go to waste, so I will decline. Please help yourself whenever you like."

Addled her mind may have been, but never underestimate the value of tea to Chasmine Grey or her own self awareness. She was a ghost and had no use for tea or ... anything, really. Except for other ghosts and spiritual things. Speaking of which...

"Mm," the girl's smile faded as she looked about, "it does not appear that Dandy has been here. Peat seems to be gone as well."

 

[Salak]

That was a pity. He had a theory about Chasmine and her nature but it would have to wait. Rudeness he could never abide, not even from himself.
"Very well." he replied and did about the work of idly clearing a space for the cup he would use. He spied a copy of Tholmanius' Arks and Oceans. A detailed transcript of her travels around the seas of the world. It was a good read but before he could ask Chasmine about it she spoke of Dandy and Peat.
*Of course* he remembered *The groundskeeper also said to haunt this tower. *
"No it appears he has found amusement elsewhere. Is there anyone else Dandy is fond of or where Peat may go?" he asked turning to face her and leaning on the tables edge to help take the pressure off his bad leg.

 

[Chasmine]

Amusement elsewhere. Chasmine's head tilted in thought of this.

"Dandy was very fond of hunting. Perhaps he has taken to the woods." But as far as Peat went, that she could not say. The ghost looked to her window and the raven's nest structured into the sill on the outside, thinking perhaps there might've been a connection there.

"I think Peat may have become an egg."

 

[Salak]

Every second sentence seemed to challenge what Salak thought he knew.
"Become an egg?" Could ghosts do such things?
The world of spirits escaped him.
"Peate becomes an egg?"
He repeated her statement to her so that she could configm his own mind wasn't playing tricks on him. The pot was heating up behind him.
Try as he might he could not figure it out.

 

[Chasmine]

"They are rather unusual in that way," Chasmine mused aloud, "the rules of death do not apply to them the way they do to us. A bit like fungus. I suspect it has to do with the spores..."

 

[Salak]

Spores?
"Are ghosts so different from one another that one may be as egg and spore and another so human?"
He asked earnestly. For all his knowledge the undead was a gap in his mind yet to be filled. The pot bagan to lightly boil behind him.

 

[Chasmine]

"Only as different as an egg, a human, and a spore," Chasmine replied brightly, "of course."

"You said you are a graduate of the Academy. Are you a Proctor?" For the longest time Chasmine had thought she might be quite happy remaining at the Academy and becoming a Proctor. She could stay in the place she had grown to call home and help those in the lower classes understand the little things often overlooked by the other Proctors.

Alas...

 

[Salak]

"Not by my choice."
He stated bluntly remembering the night of arrival. The Dreadlord who gave him his orders had not showed their face since. Salak liked to believe that part of that was fear of him.
"You see, I've always hated this place." he admitted, looking through the ceiling as if he might be able to see into the rotten memories within the stone. Perhaps it was because it was late and truths were easier spoken at night or maybe speaking to a literal ghost help make it feel like he wasn't really telling anyone. He couldn't tell.

The pot was finally ready. He turned to take it off the hob and set it aside to brew for a moment. Tea was an involved process that took time, it's ritual was important and could not be rushed.

"Though," he continued "I cannot imagine that you have much love for the place that took you from your home."

Chasmine

 

[Chasmine]

"Oh," Chasmine remarked gently. Not that his hatred for the Academy was unusual - in fact she was fairly certain most of her classmates had hated being here. Some thrived here. It was an odd mix for certain.

"I was not taken," she corrected him with a smile, "I was brought here for help and I am rather fond of the Academy. This is was my home."