Private Tales Basement Elf, Drowned Pirate

[Brandar the Burned]

College of Elbion
First Order Offices

How a master of conjuration found himself down in the labyrinthine depths of the College, he wasn't entirely sure, but Brandar wasn't one to think too long on the merits of office placement. Used to strange looks, he had noted - with some curiosity - that when inquiring as to Telemachus the looks became stranger still.

So he walked through corridors of stone, descending down into halls that felt musty and stale, and seemed to contain the promise of moisture in the air. But eventually, despite the myriad people getting in his way - perhaps sensing the souls around him - he was able to find his way to the door to the wizard's office.

He didn't knock, nor wait to be allowed to enter, he simply opened and went to step inside. He knew what he looked like, and so he knew what the wizard would see; a horribly burned, young human adult, in a Dark Elf's captain's coat with a cutlass at his hip.

The man was a mariner, that much was clear. As was the tether linking him, through magic Telemachus would be most familiar with, to the ship presently in the fog-shrouded harbor. "Not what I expected."

 

[Telemachus]

Telemachus glanced up from his work at the entrance of Brandar the Burned. Yes, he certainly lived up to his namesake. Scarred and melted flesh. Telemachus might have pitied him if he hadn't entered so rudely. In Irons had docked at Elbion. Everyone heard about it. Telemachus had not anticipated he would be worthy of a visit.

He returned his attention to the scroll unfurled on his desk. A student's thesis. Probably a fumbling human, given how thoroughly Telemachus had already marked up the first section.

Yes, of course he was not what Brandar expected. What did anyone expect? An old-hunchback thing, a grey and matted beard as long as he was tall. Wild eyes. Smelled like sulfur. Probably asked for children as collateral. Reality was seldom as dramatic.

The Sidereal Elf dabbed his quill into the nearby inkwell and corrected another grammatical issue. "What can I do for you?"

 

[Brandar the Burned]

He pulled back the seat on his own side of the desk and eased himself into it, unbuttoning his coat as he sat. His palm rested comfortably on the pommel of his blade, but it was clearly a relaxed posture rather than a threatening one. Hands had to rest somewhere, and experience had taught him to keep the blade close.

His lips twitched, pulling at the chewed gristle of his face, and he studied the scrolls and small interior more so than he studied the elf. Curiosity drove his eye, over shelves and across the scarred perch.

"Figured I'd see for myself." He remarks dryly, voice every bit as gnarled as his face. "I was told there was a wizard that make bargains... figured I'd come and have a chat with him."

Not for more deals, mind. Most knew at least one tall tale about the Irons, and all involved a deal. "I'm a curious man by nature."

 

[Telemachus]

"I facilitate bargains, yes," Telemachus gently corrected, making another mark on the scroll.

No one generally came to see Telemachus just to chat. Usually they had something in mind that they needed - academic aid, or more recently something summoned from outside of Arethil for them. Or to hurl racial slurs. That had been more frequent during his first months. But if Brandar wanted to talk, he would talk. There were still some hours before his next lecture.

Telemachus returned the quill to its holder, rolled the scroll and placed it in an alcove under his desk. The Sidereal Elf folded his hands on the desk, yielding his attention fully to Brandar the Burned.

"What would you like to discuss?"

 

[Brandar the Burned]

He caught the stress placed on bargain, and found himself smiling. The Elf was as personable as a stone elemental he’d once come across, though with a tad bit more wit.

“I’m curious how that works for you.” He admits, eyes settling onto Telemachus now that he was done correcting the paper. “And moreso what drew you to study it.”

A hand, encased in a battered black leather glove, gestured vaguely to the office. “It’s hardly their most popular field of study.”

 

[Telemachus]

"It was once more popular. The same forces that ousted necromancy from the College's curriculum directed their ire to conjuration a few years later," Telemachus explained. "They have been less successful, though I imagine within a decade my field will be similarly eradicated here; the texts pertaining to it sold off by pragmatists or burned by zealots."

Telemachus did not, altogether, sound very bothered by this projected future. He described it with the same detached passivity that one might apply to describing a drop of water sliding down a glass pane: inevitable and utterly mundane.

But as he continued speaking, it would become apparent why. "I was not educated here. Conjuration is a much more respected art in my homeland. When the previous head of this department died, there remained no one of sufficient skill to take over. His opponents failed secure a closure to the department entirely, and so I was imported..."

On one hand, the Elbionese were slowly coming to regard conjuration with the same disdain they held necromancy. But on the other, it was still currently legal, and the College did not want to have any 'blind spots' in their curriculum that could not be explained away with illegality.

They would keep Telemachus where he was until a more suitable (human) replacement became available... Or conjuration was finally removed from the curriculum.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

He nodded once, thoroughly enjoying just how bland the elf seemed to be. It was a pleasant change of pace from the tavern earlier, with it's overly attractive women and boisterous drunkards. A lack of personality was always a novelty. "And where would your homeland be?"

Far be it from a pirate to know the ins and out of individual elves and their homelands, especially given that, much like humans, they'd spread out rather far. Though, the same could be said for orcs, too. It was only the dwarves who seemed confined to the Spine, where the overwhelming majority of their people continued to live and die.

"To further the original line of inquiry, though, how do you go about setting up these bargains?" It was academic curiosity that made him ask, rather than any hope of getting a bargain done himself.

 

[Telemachus]

"A small peninsula at the Northmost end of the Spine. Antiktheros." On the other side of the Spine from Antiktheros laid Molthal and the Blighted Plateau. Dealings between the Blight Orcs and the Sidereal Elves were common enough, and Menalus only neglected to sack their homes for the use he could occasionally gain from their volunteers.

That, and the summons they could pull would make it more difficult than it was worth. Antiktheros was barren and hostile in all but a few pockets. Sidereal Elves lived up and down the spine in isolated communities, but their largest settlement were in Antiktheros. No more than a few hundred each.

It was not a place worth visiting, excepting for the ferociously curious... Which one could suppose Brandar might be.

"We have streamlined the approach more than others," Telemachus said, perhaps referring to the Antikathri in general or... Maybe some other cabal? "Those in search of a pact will inform me what they seek. I will record it into a ledger. The information will be copied and ritually burned several times. The Gods-from-Stars who are interested in mortal pacts will then send their offers to me."

The thought processes of the Gods-from-Stars were often incomprehensible. Telemachus could not begin to guess why some entertained one offer but ignored another. They saw the fabric of the universe through a different lens. Telemachus could only relay their wishes.

Sometimes, though, all it depended on the positions of the stars.

"I will return to the individual several days later and present them the offers. Once they have made their selection, another ritual must be conducted to allow their patron to commune with them and cement the pact."

 

[Brandar the Burned]

Brandar smiled briefly, tongue appearing to flick over parchment dry lips. "Mm..." It was a pensive sound, and it was clear he was weighing the information he'd just been given in his head. As far as concepts went, it was really quite simple, but he wasn't going to respond until he'd digested it.

Brushing his palm over the pommel of his cutlass, he parted his legs just enough that he could slouch down into the chair and make himself comfortable.

"So, a go-between." He begins, "Mm, I'm not sure what I expected, but that makes more sense than what I'd anticipated hearing. Far be it from the likes of you or I to speak for beings beyond our understanding; though whether they're beings in the way we understand them is a bit beyond my... pay grade?"

It was clearly an unfamiliar turn of phrase, one he'd heard before and was fairly certain he understood. But there was always the chance of being wrong.

"Is it a popular service that you provide, present surroundings excluded."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I admit to having been curious when I was told there was a wizard in Elbion who could put you in contact with the Gods, but... well, I suppose with all rumors there's a seed of truth below the tangled forest of gossip."

 

[Telemachus]

Telemachus might have nodded sympathetically, if it were within his emotional range to do so. "Few things are within our mortal capabilities to grasp. We can only respond as our perceptions of the universe allow us."

The Sidereal Elves spent their lives attempting to understand and barter with the laws that governed the universe. Others built temples to Celestials and wasted in their ignorance.

"More popular in some areas than others. Some do not understand the price they may be asked to pay, and resort to frantic, petty murder to fulfill it... With predictable results," Telemachus canted his head to the side slightly, examining Brandar - how comfortable he sat with a killing blade at his hip. "I suspect you would have less trouble."

Not all of the Gods-from-Stars required ritual sacrifice or killing as part of the deal... But more than a few allowed for it.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

"A merchant ship is crewed by approximately fifty souls." He said, answering the question that hadn't been asked. "A ship of the line? Maybe two hundred."

His palm continued to brush over the pommel, keeping itself busy, and he tightened his lips after a moment. "I find myself amused to imagine the sort of people who find themselves asked to commit crime for the first time in their life, all in the pursuit of power. Unless you were born into it, it takes a great injustice to drive one to such a life.

How often, then, do they break just before sealing the bargain? I presume you take payment well before that moment." It was only smart business-sense, after all.

 

[Telemachus]

Fifty to two hundred a ship. Impressive.

Unfortunately, the more astute Gods-from-Stars would probably adjust their rates accordingly if they ever dealt with Brandar the Burned.

"Money is often the largest barrier," Telemachus explained, "Consultations are free. Communicative rituals - which are necessary to formalize the pact - require material components and a greater deal of effort."

It was amazing, truly, how often people opted for contentment once they realized that sealing the actual pact would require upwards of two thousand docatto. Perhaps it said something to the state of cultural affairs that money was the most prominent barrier, and not the idea of killing at least eighteen-hundred people.

"Once payment has been made, I leave with them the potion necessary to induce trance and conduct the ritual at a different location. They are not present for it. I cannot say with certainty how many reject the pact at the last possible moment. Very few feel the need to visit me afterwards."

Plenty of pact-takers had attempted to make Telemachus the first soul they sent to their newfound benefactor, generally out of suspicion that he would betray their secret arrangements or something else. Not only was this impolite, but - clearly - it had not once ended in their favor.

Others, cowards who felt no shame, would attempt to barter for a refund if they refused a pact at the last second.

If they had really rediscovered their humanity in the middle of cutting deals with unfathomable deities, they could have at least accepted their financial setback as just desserts. Frankly, they disgusted Telemachus more than the people who tried to kill him.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

"And I imagine the ones who do aren't usually of the mindset to thank you." He admits, seeming to pick up on what was left unsaid. After all, it was very few murderers who returned to the man who sold them their weapon of choice. Even if, in this case, their weapon of choice was a contract with a presumably immortal being.

"Mm, interesting." He wet his lips again, weighing the idea of money as the actual barrier to such things, rather than, say, morality.

A question formed, and after a few moments thought he decided to ask it. "Is it a steady fee, or is it influenced by the number of replies you receive? Is there some other factor that would influence your price?" He would admit, if asked, that the idea of a middle man selling power from the Gods was intriguing in it's own right; it only became more interesting when the deal-maker in question was so obviously disinterested in the world around him.

 

[Telemachus]

"Many factors are considered. The time of year can impede or ease certain rituals. Some entities require more elaborate offerings to be drawn into this realm. Others do not."

Sidereal Elves worked their magic by drawing it from the stars themselves. The ordening of the heavens meant everything to them, and the positions of certain constellations impacted their spellcasting, ritual or otherwise.

Telemachus scratched his nose. "More often, prices are where they are so that middle and lower class peasants cannot afford them. The ruling class can tolerate their own caste manifesting otherworldly powers, but are more keen to crack down when these services are made too publicly available."

A peasant with a pact often became socially conscious. Hierarchies were questioned. Revolts initiated. And the name of the conjurer who helped get that peasant their deal would be on everyone's lips - right up until they were both drawn and quartered for their efforts.

"Also, many conjurers prefer to live comfortably."

 

[Brandar the Burned]

He nodded, taking into consideration the wandering of the stars. It was what mariners used to navigate, but they were hardly fixed as you traveled. In truth, he still wasn't sure if they moved, or the world moved, or if it was some combination of the two, but better minds than him could puzzle out such things.

Smiling at the idea of the nobility not liking a peasant rising above their station, he caught the meaning fairly quickly, his palm digging a bit sharper against the edge of the pommel as he digested that. "Don't we all?" He asks simply. "It's a rather picturesque town, here. I'm sure comfort is on the minds of many.

Kiva below, but I would kill for a bed whenever I get into a port. But I thank you for being forthcoming, I'm sure my curiosity is a bit... out of norm, and my visit decidedly unexpected." That was putting it lightly. Few at any academic institution expected a pirate to walk through the door.

Pirates and books weren't exactly associated in the minds of the common peasant, though, in truth, their minds were filled with details of the harvest, or scrounging together a dowry. His smile widened - too wide - for a moment before his face fell flat again. He didn't explain why he'd smiled, and there was just enough time between him going quiet and the smile that it was clearly something to do with his own thoughts.

"I do appreciate, as well, your ability to navigate the political waters to keep your head attached to your body."

 

[Telemachus]

Brandar sure did like fiddling with that sword. Force of habit, Telemachus supposed.

"One tends to attract more patrons - and less misfortune - by being forthright," Telemachus replied. Flies and honey and all that.

The contracts that passed through Telemachus were horribly, painfully stilted in favor of the entities offering them. Trying to dress it up any other way was a fool's errand, not to mention it would just bring more angry people trying to kill him... A problem he already endured enough of as it was.

He continued, "Were it that more people were willing to come and ask questions directly, there would be less misconceptions about my work."

A corner of Telemachus' mouth twitched irritably - or was it in amusement? The beginning of a smile, rudely repressed? It seemed the only indication Telemachus even recognized Brandar's bewildering smile and its abrupt abandonment. Pirates. Eccentric folk. But who crewed a ship like In Irons without picking up a few strange habits?

Or dying.

"Careful navigation is a factor. Preparation is another."

 

[Brandar the Burned]

His force of habit continued, pausing periodically, but never truly stopping. "I suppose it's easier to hate than it is to understand." That was really the driving force behind any racist ideology, he supposed. Rarely had he met someone who hated elves who had actually given them a chance in interacting with them.

Sometimes they had, but normally they hadn't. Far be it from him to judge their mindset, though. He was just a pirate, after all.

"Mm, that is true. I suppose one in your position would need contingency plans, just in case. Noose isn't far from your neck, I suppose, given the animosity your study creates. Necromancy is the great evil, but conjuration isn't far behind." His eyes narrowed.

"Though, I did spy what I believe to be an undead in town, so it's hard to say how well that particularly persecution is going."

 

[Telemachus]

Evil, evil, evil. Telemachus had heard it all before. He found such terminology beneath him. It was mostly on the lips of the ignorant, anyway. The reasons behind Telemachus' repudiation of necromancy was mostly based in hygiene, not on any lingering sympathy for the empty husks of the dead. To have his art lowered to share space with it was, regardless, quite offensive.

Not that the Sidereal Elf gave any indication of it. He had tolerated greater slights before, and likely would today before the sun went down. Then several more times over the course of the night.

Telemachus raised an eyebrow at the mention of a reanimated resident. "Undead? Unlikely." Had that been intentional? Hopefully not. "Otherwise it must be disguised, or the authorities are too preoccupied to find it."

 

[Brandar the Burned]

"Preoccupied." He says, with a quickness that left little doubt as to with what. "But while I have no definitive proof... I know what I saw." His lips thinned for a moment, and then he shrugs. "But, a problem for other people. I'm not here to handle the guard's job for them.

Besides, I find this conversation far more interesting than the reanimation of dead bodies. It's a shame it's gotten the reputation it has; conjuration." His nose crinkled. "I admit to being tempted to see what offers I get." His hand came up, brushing over his jaw. "If only out of a sense of curiosity, considering my deal wasn't quite so... forthright.

But either way, I will assuredly pass on what I've learned here today to an... associate who may wind up paying you a visit."

 

[Telemachus]

"Consultations are free," Telemachus repeated, gesturing with an open hand to the resting quill, "Should you ever feel the need to sate your curiosity."

He might have to adjust that policy, depending on how many young thrill-seekers started bothering him. But for now, Brandar was free to consider his options. It sounded more like Brandar was scouting ahead for a friend of his. Associate. Not that either word was inherently more believable.

A pirate like Brandar did not seem likely to have very many of either. A business reference was still a business reference, he supposed.

"It would be my pleasure to entertain any associates you happen to refer."

Probably. If they had the coin.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

"Let's sate it, then." He remarks, smirking faintly. "And you don't have to lie, either. I haven't known a single person who would be happy to meet a pirate." After a moment, he stood, if only to stretch out his back. Frankly, he was used to standing, and sitting for too long made him stiff.

Then again, he often said that his inability to sit still was related to being used to the rocking of the waves against the hull of the ship. "What do you need from me, wizard?"

 

[Telemachus]

Telemachus was not, strictly speaking, happy to see anyone. But as long as Brandar the Burned felt his occupation merited him special emotional responses, Telemachus did not feel the need to correct him. "Merely answer honestly. It increases the likelihood you will receive a pact that suits your desires."

Theoretically. This was a contractual arrangement, not a Zone of Truth. If any previous customers had lied to him while making their arrangements, Telemachus had not found out about it afterward. Probably for the best - star-gods could be quite temperamental when slighted. They had a lot in common with mortals in that aspect.

"Barkas, the ledger, please."

Like a good Imp, Barkas appeared only when beckoned. The top of one shelf shuddered with activity as a small, winged humanoid shuffled about. It fluttered down in a blur of red, leathery skin and landed nimbly on the perch allocated for it. As before, it clutched a mysterious and ancient looking ledger to its chest.

Barkas looked at Brandar with beady, malicious yellow eyes and appeared to smile - exposing his tiny, sharp teeth. Unnerving little blighter. He handed the ledger off to Telemachus without noise or question, but never stopped staring at Brandar. His tail, which ended in a barbed stinger, swayed back and forth behind him. Like a cat on the prowl.

An ornate metal clasp unlocked itself at Telemachus' touch, and he retrieved a small quill stored within an interior pocket. He flipped through the first few sections, all of which contained densely packed forms filled out with elaborate glyphs. And as he moved through the pages, he droned his necessary questions.

"Have you or a family member (to your knowledge) consulted with extraplanar entities in the past?"

 

[Brandar the Burned]

Suddenly, the perch made sense, and when those yellowed teeth grinned for him, Brandar merely smiled back. It was the comfortable smile a man might give when humoring a child, and he kept his eyes locked onto the imp until he saw Telemachus shift to flip through the pages.

There was no hiding the gleam to his eyes, he knew it. This was his curiosity writ plain. He had a voracious appetite for knowledge, one he often didn't have the chance to indulge.

This was him indulging. Nevermind the adrenaline rush of potentially speaking to a familiar entity.

"Yes."

He'd have been annoyed if this wasn't clearly part of the process.

 

[Telemachus]

Telemachus continued to shuffle through the parchment, the crinkling of sheets making for good ambiance as he spoke in his monotone. That, and Barkas had begun to breathe heavily. It was a trait of Imps to do so occasionally; panting for no discernible reason, often at random.

He could never be sure of the source of this phenomenon, and Barkas had hardly been forthcoming himself.

So he ignored it, as usual. "Please describe the nature of your previous consultation, and the nature of any pacts you may have entered into as a result."

Well, most people knew that already. Few deals were rarely so publicized as Brandar's, but it was a requirement to hear it from the Burned himself. Part of doing business. Plausible deniability in the event Brandar the Burned was telling lies, or perhaps common rumor had warped the truth.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

He hardly noticed the panting - he was focused on the papers. For all he cared, the elf was the one panting like a fat man at an orgy.

“I was drowning. Kiva heard me; my service, in exchange for revenge - she provided the ship. I provide the souls.” Presumably for her worship, but he couldn’t exactly ask her what they were for now could he?