Mortality & Shortcomings

Nathaniel Salem remains perfectly still and quiet, a frown as his gaze lingers on the pools of ceruleum. Dry winds force him to adjust a few bangs, and he would take his monocle off soon after. Eyes look into it, and he keeps it in his palm. As his fingers close on the small item, he looks to his left.
Nathaniel Salem pockets the item. "...I can leave, if you'd like the pier to yourself."
Wayward Romantic ascended the rickety stairs with a beleaguered pace, her footfalls heavy and shoulders slouched. From head to toe, she's covered in dirt, and various scrapes add a splash of red at her cheek, hands, and knees. Rising to the highest platform, she pauses to look out over the ceruleum fields to the west, not yet noticing Nathaniel standing on the far edge of the landing. His voice gives her a start and after a moment's recovery, she shakes her head.
Wayward Romantic: "I think for once, I'd not mind the company, so long as I'm no intrustion." Shifting her weight, she looks between him and his pocket, having noted the stowing-away. "..What are you doing all the way out here?"
Nathaniel Salem studies her with a lazy eye, "A chaplain was needed further North. Spirits to put to rest. Something not too uncommon on former battlefields." He would look through her legs for a moment, and found his way back to her eyes after a pause: "...Among other things."
Nathaniel Salem: "Were you digging for treasures? There are better places to do that."
Wayward Romantic looks down at herself for a moment and a frown pulls at the corners of her lips. "..Not treasures," she says, looking back to him with a slight furrow to her brow. "Though I imagine the caverns the Lambs loiter about may prove fruitful for some rather.. Interesting acquisitions." Rolling her shoulder, she looks out as the fog begins to thicken across the vale, shielding the spires below from view. "It's been some time since we last spoke; you've been well?"
Nathaniel Salem: "...If you like charred bones and urns of brass dirtied with the blood of the innocent, aye. What remains in the abandoned Amajina digging sites will prove satisfactory."
Nathaniel Salem: "I have been. I imagine it is all that ever matters. I am not in the mood to argue, this sun." He raises a hand in invitation, vague. "Are you hurt?"
Wayward Romantic: "You'd be surprised at some of the requests my clients make," she deadpans, shaking her head. Stepping forward, she joins him at his invitation but keeps a healthy space between them. She moves her hand in front of her, eyes taking a closer look to the scratches across her palm. "I'm alright. Sore, but I've suffered worse." Waving the hand dismissively at him, she lets it drop to her side. "..Thank you, though."
Nathaniel Salem takes immediate note of the space between them, "I am not. I would just hope they are simply collectors, and little else. The fetishization of pain and misery tends to breed warlocks." He tilts his head to the right, and his hand is lowered. "Pain is pain. What has been endured previously shouldn't be a point of reference, I don't think. But suit yourself."
Nathaniel Salem: "Do you need your pendant recharged?"
Wayward Romantic blinks before she lifts the hand again, finding the silver amulet strung about her neck. A thumb passes over the gem set into the center out of habit, and a moment later, she nods. "If it's no trouble to you." Reaching around, she unfastens the clasp and holds it out for him to take. "I never used to question their intents or wishes. It paid better to ask fewer questions, but I've since been allowed to afford severing.. Unscrupulous connections."
Nathaniel Salem opens his gloved palm, the amulet materializing itself outside of her hand, into his. As if to not break physical boundaries she'd set. "Good. I would hate to see you in one of Ul'dah gaols."
Nathaniel Salem opens the amulet as he usually would. The way he handles the item is delicate. "Has it been of use to you?"
Wayward Romantic: "It would not be an unfamiliar place to me," she admits, watching the amulet and the way his hands move. "..Beyond the sense of comfort it gives, no. But I'd rather it go unused than to need it, in truth." Aedwen rubs at the spot where it'd been resting, just below its locket companion, her expression pensive. "It will be too soon, should I have another close enounter like what happened in Crescent Cove."
Nathaniel Salem: "...It's always too soon. It's always too much." Magic finds its way to the heart of the jewel, and as it always does, take several forms, each times tied to Nathaniel's whims, or imagination. That same condor crashes into the gem -- that same feminine form weeps, before falling on her back in despair, the gem swallowing her as any body of water would. Aether chimes. Nathaniel remains focused as more, minuscule wisps find their way into it.
Nathaniel Salem: "And that is why we, lorekeepers and sorcerers," he closes the amulet once the channeling is over, "Watch over the knowledge of the immaterial. That you do not suffer the sights of the horrors it bears, nor how it would bend the mind and will of all mortals."

Nathaniel Salem: "No man likes to be reminded of their own mortality and shortcomings."
Nathaniel Salem: "Why do we sing? Why do we dance? Why do we make love, and drink under the moonlight? Why do we sculpt, why do we paint?"
Nathaniel Salem trails off.
Nathaniel Salem offers her the pendant.
Wayward Romantic 's eyes are drawn back to Nathaniel as the aether swirls and flashes, taking on its various forms while the man replenishes the enchantment imbued within the gem. It's ensorcelling to watch, and throughout the display, Aedwen inches closer. When it's over and the pendant is offered out again, she blinks and takes it back from him. "Sorry, but I'll need at least three tankards of whiskey before we start existential speculations."
Wayward Romantic lifts her hands and refastens the amulet around her neck, offering him a small, tired smile all the while. It was almost apologetic. Looking down at the pendant, she examines the renewed gem with a curious arch to her brow. "..Why do you do that?"
Nathaniel Salem: "That statement alone proves my point." He looks to her without a smile, but there's some hint of humor beneath the dryness. "Do what."
Nathaniel Salem lowers his arm after a moment, as statuesque as always.
Wayward Romantic lifts the necklace into the air as a gesture. "The crying woman," she says. "I remember one that danced before falling into the stone. I've not seen magicks executed like that before you."
Nathaniel Salem: "Magic is a manifestation of will. To experience the world is to better one's magicks, even if indirectly. I draw upon such experiences to breathe aether into the pendant. It makes it more efficient."
Nathaniel Salem: "My mind bends it into images I associate with words."
Nathaniel Salem: "Words of power," he explains. "As the ones spoken when a mage chants to cast."
Wayward Romantic nods once, letting her hand and the pendant fall back into their respective places. "Aye, I understand how the incantations work. I've just.. Never encountered someone who manipulates it quite like you do. I find it fascinating, is all."
Nathaniel Salem: "...One of my mentors was deaf and mute. I perfected such techniques with him and, as a result, developed a non-verbal casting ability. A strength, and a fierce advantage in battle." he explains. "I also practice more archaic forms of magic. A gift from my family."
Nathaniel Salem: "The Ossuary has done much to modernize and render some rituals far more accessible. We, Salemites, practice differently. At its core, it remains thaumaturgy; I would even argue it a little more authentic than what our students are given nowadays."
Nathaniel Salem: "Step further South in Thanalan, to those hidden villages in the canyons, or address more Gyr Abanian shamans. You will see similar techniques."
Wayward Romantic turns and leans against the wooden post as he speaks, her attentions unwavering from his face. Her arms fold over her torso and she nods along in understanding, as if she were taking an entire page of mental notes. Her expression even brightens a touch by the end of it, betraying her genuine interest that borders eager enthusiasm. "Should I ever find myself in the east again, I'll make it a point to do so. I admit, I'm rather envious of your talents, Nathaniel."
Wayward Romantic: "I always found it unfortunate, that I'm.. How'd you put it?" She pauses, thinking back. "Absolutely inept, I think?"
Nathaniel Salem: "Aetherially inept." He corrects.
Nathaniel Salem: "I find it unfortunate as well, but magic is a burden. While we draw upon emotions and thoughts, emotions and thoughts may also get out of our hands; the best mages need control over their surroundings, and most importantly, themselves."
Nathaniel Salem: "Stories of children burning down their houses, or freezing a companion of their age before their skill is discovered are common."
Nathaniel Salem: "Do picture an adult with no grasp on their lives, and prone to anger, or depression."
Nathaniel Salem: "We attract otherworldly entities due to superior aetherial pools in turn. Some will promise power or mastery, only to cheat you."
Wayward Romantic waves her hand, dismissive. "Tit for tat." Briefly, her smile grows into a grin before it wanes again -- put out by his last sentence. A heavy sigh leaves her and she lets her eyes drop to her boots. "..My life would have been exceptionally different, had I half the capacity you do. Surely you can't blame me for entertaining such daydreams from time to time." Shaking her head again, her smile is wiped clean from her features when she looks back up at him.
Nathaniel Salem: "I would like to think you know the kind of man I can be, by now. I am not saying these things to discourage you; indeed, take what Nald has given today. Things would have been different. Not better. Not worse." His eyes lid, giving way to a more familiar expression from him. One that usually comes with judgment, but he seems too tired to spew any sort of venom. "You are free to do as you please. Sail onto the New World, explore Ilsabard."
Nathaniel Salem: "Your heritage is such that, you could blend anywhere with ease. Art is valued all over Hydaelyn as far as I am concerned, and so is tenacity."
Nathaniel Salem: "This degree of freedom is not something you would want shackled by duty--Especially not one borne of outstanding, or unusual aetherial capacities."
Nathaniel Salem: "Take it from me."
Wayward Romantic: "I do not doubt or misunderstand your account and experiences. But don't tell me you haven't wondered at your own lot in life, upon occasion." She shakes her head, and leaves the subject be. "The New World was Denz and I's plan, after we were quit of Gyr Abania. Help Isla with her expedition into the ice fields of northern Othard, spend time among the refugees and reconstruction efforts in Doma before setting off on our own."
Wayward Romantic: "..But things rarely go as plan, and I imagine such things are still quite a way out of reach."
Nathaniel Salem: "I have. Too many times to count. It gets more and more unpleasant each time I do." He narrows his eyes, showing teeth in a hint of a snarl at her initial suggestion. Though it is short lived. The priest looks to the processing plant's aetheryte, in thought. "You're still young. Plenty of times to make mistake, ha?"
Nathaniel Salem: "I'd reckon Denz is one those."
Nathaniel Salem turns back to her at that, cracking the first smile of the evening.
Wayward Romantic: "We're the same age," she notes, deadpanning at him with a roll of her eyes.
Wayward Romantic: "..But perhaps he is," she continues a moment later, looking away from him. "And perhaps he isn't. Time shall tell, but I'd like to think you're wrong."
Nathaniel Salem: "Most people do, you'll find."
Nathaniel Salem: "It's a disease."
Nathaniel Salem: "I can not fault them. I say unpleasant things."
Wayward Romantic: "Funny to call people disagreeing with you a 'disease'." Aedwen gives him a queer look then, her head tilted to the side. "I know you likely care very little for he and I being together, but I've decided to to let it bother me. If he's to be a mistake, then so be it. At least I may say I was happy, even if for a short while."
Nathaniel Salem: "I would like to think that me caring too much is part of this problem." His eyes, unable to focus once more, look through her face. "And you are right. It shouldn't bother you; it doesn't matter, and my opinion is often found irrelevant. Until it's judged premonitory, by all means." He adjusts his gesture. "He is kind, loyal to a fault."
Nathaniel Salem: "Most knights and dogs can be just that."
Nathaniel Salem: "Though I would want him to be his better self. He deserves better; and so I must be harsh at times, and violent at others."
Nathaniel Salem: "I love the man. He is helping me as we speak."
Wayward Romantic looks as though she's been struck for the briefest of moments, and her eyes are quick to lower away from his own. "..I needn't be reminded that he deserves better," she says. "That he had better." Aedwen pauses then, her fingers curling into the flesh of her arm. "I can only but give him my best and hope that it will make up for the fact that it's me."
Nathaniel Salem frowns, gradually, "How quick you were to think of yourself, when my thoughts were with his family's demands and expectations."
Nathaniel Salem: "...But perhaps you are right, too. Though what he had, he wasted--And perhaps I even had a hand in it. Even my expertise in minds and hearts can not repair what was broken."
Nathaniel Salem: "As people are not things to be fixed." He cants his head to the side. "Do you think yourself undeserving?"
Wayward Romantic: "I do not know enough of his family to make any sort of claims," she explains, not yet lifting her head. "And it is often hard to judge the unpleasant things you say."
Nathaniel Salem: "...Those were your words, Aedwen. Not mine." He says, more gently. "I have seen a woman I love bend over and backwards to fit their standards. To bear a child. Powerless as he went on; fighting for duties. Almost died in childbirth. And for what?" There's not a hint of aggressivity in his tone. It's all exhaustion, pain.
Nathaniel Salem: "Our mortality. Our shortcomings. Denzel is in pain, he knows what was done then. I will not deny him, nor you, a right to happiness. You would suffer enough without me to speak, or comment upon the choices taken."

Nathaniel Salem: "A man and a woman seeking comfort in each other's arms. Warmth. When has Menphina ever opposed such a thing?"
Nathaniel Salem: "I would argue she is protecting you even now. Perhaps from me."
Nathaniel Salem: "And just as you are cursed with Jancis' name on the tip of his tongue, I will hear her speak of her lost knight until the very end."
Nathaniel Salem: "You've loved before. I am sure you have names that would come back. Do not compare, and do not resent."
Nathaniel Salem: "Such things are... Natural."
Wayward Romantic 's head finally lifts, but she doesn't look at him. Instead, the stairs and their winding descent become more and more enticing by the tick. "I'm needed elsewhere, and I've lingered too long." Pushing herself up from the post, she gives Nathaniel one last parting glance. "Thank you for the amulet. Take care, hm?"
Nathaniel Salem: "Aedwen."
Wayward Romantic doesn't say anything, but neither does she continue her retreat.
Nathaniel Salem: "Do the world a favor. And be kinder to yourself." It is said solemnly, with a frown.
Wayward Romantic: "..Only if you do the same," she says, lifting her hand to offer a meager wave farewell. With the same weary step, she returns to the stairs and begins her descent from the tower.