"alex?"

on his daily walk, he never would have guessed he's stumble upon alexander silph yet again on mt. pyre. the notes, the grave, it had sam raising a brow.

"are you trying to work out that riddle?"

as if to emphasize his point, he bent down enough to look at the paper-- should alex be willing to share his findings and thoughts jotted down upon them, that is.

alexander silph

[attr="class","alex"]obviously what alex needed was a bit more self—awareness. the pair had already regarded a steady familiar approach and as such didn't perk up with as much readiness as the would—be phantoms. with no warning — his heart leapt momentarily into his throat. "s—sam?" alex says promptly.

the notion of surprise a contribution.

writing — mostly incoherent — is messily scribbled aside various sketches. organization wasn't exactly a key layer to the array that barely held itself together but alex let sam take a look anyway. "one of many." he adds, one steady breath dragging itself through his lungs. "what brings you here?"

!mission! ( samuel carter )

☉

"the ever dreaded maintenance of the gravestones."

it's a tease, and mostly he's mocking most trainers who take up his local wanted ads to clean the graves. his eyes follow to the place which inspired all of alex' scribbles, eyes following the writing and the riddle therein.

"i've read so many by now on the mountain, i'm always curious as to what prompted the riddle to be written. is it a great mystery or was the pile of bones beneath the grave once a lively and jovial prankster?"

hard to tell, really.

alexander silph

[attr="class","alex"]"there are a lot of those," he pauses, "pranksters i mean." the mirage of a half—smile tugs at the corner of his lips. dozens of theories encircled what were upon dozens more riddles. it was an endless endeavour but alex didn't delve too deeply on the matter. the fact that it never seemed to end was what made it so fun.

alex looks up at sam. "it's a reference towards primals. part of it anyway." he adds, his eyes flickering back towards the words. "the fact that the grave doesn't have a name is what makes this even more of a mystery." alex says, digits pushing aside the slight weight of the pages. "—and the empty pedestal suggests something was once there." the humour in his tone doesn't match the misfortune in the remark. the endless tampering of an association derived from controlling absolutely everything.

!mission! ( samuel carter )

☉