SALEM
"You're a hard person to find," you say, apparently startling the young man in his weyr.
"Yes, I imagine so, when I want to be alone..." The hint in his voice is that he would clearly rather be left that way, but your job beckons. He carefully indicates the seat opposite him and leans back into his own nicely covered chair.
"What do you need to know," he asks, his voice is quiet but deep and smooth. He has tanned skin and dark slick hair with the hints of silver already appearing at the temples. He will continue to be a handsome man even when he grows old, you think.
"Other than why you move your weyr every few days?"
He smiles and looks at you with conspiratorial brown eyes. "As I said, I like my privacy."
"Well. We can start with the normal things. Where you were born and such."
He takes a long sip of wine, offers you some, and says, "I was born in the South, near a place which used to be called Landing. Have you heard of it?"
Your heart skips, "yes, but I thought..."
"You thought wrong. The South is well populated. But hysterically insular. There are places there which have never really lost their touch with the Ancients and their knowledge. Both of my parents were such folk, though they are both ... gone now." He looks away, lost in sad thought briefly. "If they had not died, I might have continued my training at their healing and science crafts. But unfortunately the family who fostered me believed that the Ancients knowledge should be left to the wherries and scavengers. I believe no such thing."
"When was this," you ask, hoping that his conversationality continues.
"This was nearly ten turns ago. I was five at the time, but my parents had already set me onto my path. I wanted to learn, but my foster father would have nothing of it. He wished me to become a Holder or some such. So he brought us into the nearest Hold, a place I hate to recall, named Halsen Hold. I don't think it's going to survive this Thread fall."
"Why would you say such a thing?" You ask, sharply. "Surely there are dragons to --"
The look on his face stops any further protest from you.
"The dragons stay away from it as their riders had long been ridiculed and allowed to burn with hate for generations before. Now that the Thread is in the air, those Holders are sorry for it. But sorry doesn't go very far in the South. While I was there, I learned many things, not the least of which was how to become stealthy and how to spy. It is a ... profession which I can do well, even today, but I choose not to. However old habits die hard." He indicates the room. "I rarely seem to trust people well enough to allow them too far into my life."
"Then this must seem an incredible intrusion," you point out.
"It is." He says, flatly. "However, the first time a dragon bespoke me it was both the most frightening and most beautiful moment in my life. That was only two turns ago, when I left Halsen. Since then I have paid my way to this weyr, with the spoils I still carry today. My time at Halsen was ... profitable in ways. The wine, for instance." He held the cup up, and looked at the dark liquid in it. "They had at least good taste there."
"So you are to stand on the sands, are you happy about it?"
"Of course I am," he says, with his eyes smiling. "I wish to be done with the Hold and with my old life of subversion. Of course I have heard of things like that in weyrs as well. I might have to choose another place, but I will try getting on here."
Thanking him for the wine and the information, you bow and take your leave.
Just under 18 turns old
Stands about 5'10" tall, with tan skin and dramatic straight hair to his back, dark moody brown eyes
He wears fine clothing, mostly black when he can get it, and blue when he cannot
So Salem went to work. Writing. With a dangerous smirk, he penned a letter telling the Lord Holders of his former hold that he would not be returning, not even should Thread fall.
"That will shake them up a bit," he muttered. Then, he began looking through the Weyr records for anything interesting about anyone.
Would he get caught? Would they let him stand on the sands if he did? He loved the thrill of wandering through the empty corridors when the weyrlings were being trained and the drudges were having their rest breaks. The weyrling master caught him only once, but found that his knowledge of thread fighting and wing formations were far better than most inexperienced and fresh weyrlings. That perhaps saved him from a sound scolding.
"But you'll stand on the sands like everyone else," the weyrling master warned. "And you'll have to pack firestone, clean the weyrs, and all."
"That, sir," Salem replied, "is all I really want!"
Read about S'lem and Brown Rasonath here!
