Private Tales Basement Elf, Drowned Pirate

[Telemachus]

"Fascinating."

The Gods-from-Stars did not, generally, make such timely interventions. They only responded or appeared when summoned. It was a poorly understood restriction, perhaps some celestial concordant that had been signed long ago. The Gods-from-Dirt, like Kiva, were not beholden to such restrictions. They were tied to Arethil and could manifest where they pleased... However rarely.

Contract disputes took place most frequently between Gods-from-Stars. How Kiva would react, if at all, to Brandar the Burned flirting with additional deals when his soul had already been forfeited...

Well, this had already been more interesting than usual.

Telemachus found the page he was looking for - blank. He touched the tip of the quill to the page and the ink slithered off it on its own. Tendrils of ink writhed like worms across the page, contorting and dividing themselves into Sidereal glyphs that fit neatly in certain fields. Telemachus dabbed his quill into the nearby inkwell in preparation.

"Please state, as descriptively as possible, the exact nature of the power or boon that you seek to acquire through this contract."

 

[Brandar the Burned]

The only reason he felt confident with this was that Kiva's power applied to the ship, not to him. There was, he was sure, a potential chance that she would be the one to make him an offer now to his own personal power - Gods Above or Gods Below, they all communicated in ways beyond mortal ken.

Well, aside from Telemachus and his handy-dandy notebook.

"Power." He says simply, "Personal power. Kiva gives to the ship, not to me." Telemachus wouldn't want exposition, but he'd likely be interested in knowing that the souls he'd cultivated so far went into the ship, and not into his own, personal, magical aptitude. "The purvey of my crew are both the living and the dead, spirits and ghouls, wights and other things besides. And yet, I cannot raise them myself, nor compel them to leave the ship."

"I've magical ability, and I'm sure that's what most people are after - pirates from the depths below are no different. What I want is more magical ability, to help me in my travels. To compel the waves, and the dead. To rot masts and rust anchors. These are the things that I want."

 

[Telemachus]

"Hm. Necromancy. Of course," Telemachus concealed his disdain with rehearsed practice. "This can be arranged."

Necromancy was a filthy art. Unhygienic. There were better uses of magic; better methodologies to acquire servants. Telemachus was a professional at the end of the day, however, and Brandar could hardly be blamed for the circumstances surrounding the ship he crewed. That he would want to command and control the shambling corpses he shared a ship with was only... Natural, in as broad a meaning of the word as possible.

Plenty of other people had asked for necromancy as well. Telemachus had not dissuaded them either. He was not here to advise on magical practice, only fulfill the wishes of a customer. Brandar wanted power over the dead. He would have it if he wished it. There were plenty of Gods-from-Stars who trafficked in necromancy. Telemachus set the quill to the page again, and more letters spiraled out.

He spoke again, "Your immortal soul will be offered as collateral for the duration of any contract. From there, you may be asked to collect additional souls or perform other, certain tasks at the behest of the entity with which the pact has bee made. Upon successful delivery of souls and services, you may be eligible for certain benefits or an improved contract."

Telemachus refreshed the quill again, and aimed it perilously over the final, open section in the ledger.

"Your name?"

A formality, as always. Then again, who knew? Perhaps an alias was all it would take to avoid Kiva's annoyance.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

He saw the judgement, and didn’t care. He considered himself a practical man. Electricity like lightning would be indiscriminate in the ocean, and fire was only useful if it was alchemical.

“Brandar.” He says simply. He didn’t know his last name. He’d had a few, but none were ‘true’ last names.

But he was certain, unlike Telemachus, that the only god who would respond was Kiva. He may be her mortal champion, but he couldn’t exactly kick his way into her throne room and demand an audience.

The sickle shaped smile returned. His soul wasn’t forfeit yet, but it would be soon.

 

[Telemachus]

It seemed Brandar had nothing to hide, or so he thought. Telemachus suspected Kiva would be the final judge of that. The last field was filled, tendrils of ink cracking like whips as they took their shape. At the end of the page, in a spot that had previously been blank, a line preceded by another glyph faded into existence.

Space for a signature. The ledger had all the information it needed. Telemachus turned the ledger to face Brandar the Burned and pushed it forward. He offered him another, more mundane quill.

"Sign here."

 

[Brandar the Burned]

Taking the entirely ordinary quill, he scrawled his name across the blank. The process itself was interesting, and he would be perfectly happy getting a ‘fuck off’ in terms of an offer.

This entire experience was simply enlightening. But he had to have something to request in order to get a response, and so here they were.

“How curious.” He mused aloud, settling back again, palm once more rubbing against the pommel of his blade.

 

[Telemachus]

"Indeed," Telemachus replied, turning the ledger back to face him. He inspected the signature: Brandar. Just Brandar. How novel. But legitimate nonetheless, and that was all the Gods-from-Stars truly cared about. After briefly skimming over the glyphs to ensure accuracy (force of habit - they were always accurate), Telemachus returned the quill to its slot, closed the ledger, and handed it back to Barkas.

The Imp's wheezing abruptly stopped. It hugged the ledger close to its form and fluttered back up, vanishing over the tops of the bookshelves into whatever nest it had made for itself.

"Your request will be submitted through the appropriate channels. This process will take several days. If you are not here at its end, you will be contacted through other means." Telemachus explained. He folded his hands neatly on the desk. "You may receive multiple offers. In this event, I will be happy to advise you in your selection."

"If you choose to accept a pact, you will need to return to Elbion for its formalization."

Ultimately all pacts were between the customer and their patron. Telemachus could only breach the barriers so that they could barter and speak. He was not privy to any final haggling that took place, nor did he desire to be. Occasionally the deal struck was entirely different from the offer that had been made.

Some people were just that good at bargaining. The ones who weren't typically left with no deal and a very powerful entity now annoyed with them.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

A brow rose as he went through his usual speech, and then he simply nodded, pushing himself upright to stand with a sharp twist of his back to stretch out his muscles. "Quite interesting." He remarks, "And quite a system, too." He mused, running his tongue over the front of his teeth.

"I suppose I shall see you in a few days then. Or, at least, hear from you." Not that it would be hard to find the pirate.

Find the big ship in the middle of the fog, then find the Captain. Even a lame mule could manage that, he was certain. He'd already told payment would be taken if or when he actually decided to see an offer through, so he was under no illusions that he needed to stay longer.

"I'm sure you'll know where to find me." After a moment, he looked to the shelves where the imp had disappeared, shook his head, and then took his leave.

 

[Telemachus]

Some days later, an albatross would appear on the ship of Brandar the Burned . A black, belligerent bird, it carried a scroll case tied around its neck. The bird snapped and squawked indignantly at any who dared to approach it, fleeing if that did not scare them off, only to land somewhere else. It yielded only to the Burned one, who would find correspondence from Telemachus in the case around its neck.

It read as follows.

Brandar:

You have received a single offer. This is not unusual, as many Gods-from-Stars do not wish to deal with those whose souls are already pledged, excepting circumstances where one might steal from a rival.

This, of course, is the very nature of the offer you have received. It comes from Mokor-Au, the Furtive Coral, an avowed foe of Kiva. I will not trouble you with the history of their animosity. Suffice to say, legend holds that that the archipelago of Kiva was once a single landmass and populated by Mokor-Au's worshippers - in a time before he became known as the Furtive Coral and adopted his current portfolio. There are several humanoid populations that worship Mokor-Au: some as he is, some as he was. I suggest you seek them out if you are curious.

As I conducted the ritual to receive his offer, a single leech was thrown into the fire. This leech filled with seawater, and when it burst a host of juvenile crabs emerged to die in the fire. Consulting the Book of Omens has indicated this is a sign from Kiva, though I shall leave its interpretation to you. Enclosed is the summation of Mokor-Au's offer.

The Albatross will remain until you have composed your reply, or will leave if you indicate you will not reply. I do not advise allowing harm to befall it.

Respectfully,

Telemachus

True to his word, the Furtive Coral's bargain was attached. Its prices were notably high, but for what it promised...

Spoiler

• Deep Scion Mokor-Au, the Furtive Coral
  • Whose portfolio includes the Deep Ocean, the Dead, and Resilience
  • Whose domain is the Third Layer of the Jagged Abyss, the Subjugate Sphere of DYUS the Serpent.
• Price: 3000 Souls
• Methods of Service:
  • Sacrifice individuals by drowning.
  • Animate the dead. (Souls added for every undead animated and released)
  • Cull the Kivren. (Additional souls rewarded for slain Kivren of power and prestige)
  • Found cult. (Souls added for every current member of the cult)
• Reward:
  • An immediate mastery of Necromancy.
  • The protection of the Crowned Coral while seaborne.
  • The freedom to breathe underwater.
• Potential Boons:
  • After 150 souls, you may be eligible to receive a Deepling Spawn as a familiar.
  • After 400 souls, you may be eligible to have sea water bend to your will with a mere thought.
  • After 800 souls, you may be eligible to have your skin take on a coral-like texture, making you more durable.
  • After 1000 souls, any ship you command - so long as you command it - will manifest coral-like growths along its structure, improving its durability with little loss of speed.
  • After 1900 souls, you may be eligible to have your physical strength and stamina improved; your need to eat and sleep reduced.
  • After 2400 souls, you may be eligible to have your ship become an extension of yourself: you may sense and know anything that transpires upon it.
  • After 3000 souls, any ship you command - so long as you command it - may submerge and re-surface on your command.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

None approached the albatross after it arrogantly defied the first to attempt to greet it. Beneath tattered sails and above a groaning hull of rotten wood, he stepped forward with narrowed eyes to remove the scroll case.

His eyes, disinterested, read the missive. It was feigned disinterest, as the offer was... immediately tempting. But it wouldn’t do good for a captain to appear overly excited.

“How interesting.” He mused aloud, motioning to the bird to wait. His reply was short and brief, as he rarely found the patience for a long winded statement.

It read, simply;

Will undertake journey to find worshippers. Assuming offer is not time-dependent, will provide further response at later date.

From that point, it was easy enough to skip the small parchment back into the case and give it to the albatross. In that moment, he began to understand the phrase ‘better the evil you know than the one you don’t.’

But he was naturally curious. The Furtive Coral likely banked on that. Telemachus had come through, though he didn’t trust the overly legal language. Still, it was more than enough to pique his interest.

“Change course.” He called back to Hastings.

“To where, sir?”

“Wherever the ship doesn’t want us to go.”

 

[Telemachus]

The eastern isles of Aina o Ka La were home to a multitude of societies, some more sophisticated than others. Whether by fate or design, Brandar the Burned would find the island of Qucmoth and encounter its Nulmite inhabitants. The Nulmites were savage but servile, four-armed amphibians with a smooth, glossy blue skin. They were primarily carnivores, as indicated by their teeth, and sustained a meager existence through spear-fishing and raiding.

They had neglected to assault Brandar when he came ashore because they had been directed to, by their shamans, of course.

The Nulmites worshiped Mokor-Au, who they called the Bleached Coral. The totems and effigies they made of him were mostly white, smooth rocks piled in intricate (and impossible) fashions. These standing rocks were scattered around Qucmoth at various intervals, and Nulmites could often be seen meditating or praying around them in preparation for a hunt.

Brandar would not be shown the underwater caverns that housed the Nulmite townships, but he would see more of their burial sites and religious compounds. There were two cliffs on either side of Qucmoth: one descended into the calm waters of a natural harbor, the other into a gaping maw of jagged rocks, unnaturally white - the same sort found in the standing stones around the island. To the former, they committed their honored dead. They bound them with weights and dumped them there, back to the saltwater which birthed them.

To the latter, they dropped their malcontents and sacrifices captured from raids. Nulmites would often observe this process, making bets as to whether it was the rocks or waves that killed any sacrifices. Occasionally one would survive and swim away (few Nulmites bet on this, though), and then they were left alone. A rejected sacrifice. Unclean. None of the Nulmites around could say for sure whether any rejected offerings ever made it off the island, or just crawled someplace else to die. It wasn't exactly a common occurrence.

The shrines they built were outdoors and quite elaborate. Here the white rocks were chiseled and shaped. There was one obelisk present, taller than the palm trees that surrounded it. Words were chiseled into it, diagrams and pictures accompanied it. The Nulmites were not a literate society, and so had no idea what any of it meant. They relayed their oral traditions and it came as little surprise that the events therein more or less matched those diagrams.

Before there was Kiva and her eye, there was Aumokor. One island, teeming with life. The Nulmites were among the tribes of this island, though they were not there for long. Aumokor was the island and the god - the Life Coral in that time. Then the earth split and the island sundered. The Nulmites say it was the force of Kiva entering this world that shredded the island into ribbons. Ash choked the sky, the seas boiled.

Everything that did not leave Aumokor died. Life would return eventually, and the Kivren would dominate those new islands, but for some great stretch of time there was nothing but blasted earth in that place.

So the Nulmites left. They sailed or swam around the spear before arriving in this area, settling islands like Qucmoth and establishing enclaves on the rest of Aina o Ka La. Aumokor was gone, and so too was the deity that embodied it. Now there was Mokor-Au, the Broken Thing. The Pale Rock. The Furtive Coral. A Scion of the Deep; plunged there after Kiva's birth. His worship changed with him, and many Nulmites went on to find different deities after losing their appetite for Mokor-Au.

But not on Qucmoth.

When this story was finished, another omen was relayed to the Nulmite shamans. They informed Brandar that it was time for him to go, or elsewise be fed to the jagged rocks.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

Their rowboat was left in the sands, and he left his people behind too. The Numites made it clear that this journey was for him, and him alone. Perhaps his crew could sense the import of this moment in the air, or perhaps they merely found this yet another of their Captain's crazy relic hunts, doomed to failure.

He imagined they thought he wouldn't return.

But through the simple power of voice, and the ominous, towering coral white of the obelisk - painstakingly maintained - told him that whatever the inherent truth of the story, there was real belief at work here. He couldn't explain their religious totems, nor how they stayed upright.

He found that it was often better not to question the unexplained, because that way lay madness. Or, more importantly, the appearance of it. They were often one and the same regardless.

Patiently listening, apprehension set in as it became clear their shamans had received word from whatever being it was they communed with - or did enough drugs to assume they did. So far, not even Kiva's power had impressed upon him the reality of the divine.

Perhaps it would be on Qucmoth that his religious awakening would begin. Departing, he gave only a momentary thanks for relaying the message of their God, and then left; not hurrying, but hurried. One did not wish to dally where they weren't welcome, even for a pirate.

And as the oars of the rowboat smacked the waves to propel them back across the barrier reef surrounding the island and it's people, and beyond to the In Irons, he could feel the fork in the road opening before him. This would be a landmark moment in his life, one way or another.

He would return to Telemachus.

 

[Telemachus]

"Enter."

The customary greeting came promptly as Brandar the Burned approached Telemachus' office door, before the pirate had even a chance to knock - or burst in as he had done previously. Telemachus was not seated behind his desk as usual, but stood on the opposite side of the office, in front of a white canvas, mounted on a painter's stand.

It did not look to be much of a painting. Telemachus made long, purposeful strokes in pitch black ink along the canvas. He moved with the methodical skill of a well-rehearsed calligrapher. It was a large and ornate symbol: circles upon circles within a large circle, and within each of them an assortment of Sidereal Glyphs.

It did not appear magical.

Telemachus only took another moment to darken the outline of one of the circles before setting brush and palette delicately onto a nearby stand, erected for that purpose. "Brandar," said the Elf by way of greeting, now facing the pirate as if he had only been gone a few moments.

"What can I do for you?"

 

[Brandar the Burned]

Brandar found his eyes flicker only briefly to the painting. He paid it rather little mind. “How much?” He asks.

It wasn’t an insistent question. The words didn’t come out in an expectant rush. Then again, he had also had... quite a bit of time to think things over.

Sea voyages, after all, weren’t quick. Still, the Coral had piqued his curiosity, and he was fine having a meeting with the depths even if he wound up turning down the offer.

Kiva hadn’t exactly spoken to him. His curiosity ran deeper than personal power. He wanted to touch the divine, if only because curiosity drove him to know if it actually existed.

Part of him feared it was all a lie. “I wasn’t exactly keen on winging it so I could walk around with a large sack of coin.”

 

[Telemachus]

The Sidereal Elf raised an eyebrow. "Ah." So direct. Even for a pirate.

He wiped his hands with a nearby cloth as he spoke. "Three thousand docatto, or equivalent gold coinage if you prefer."

Brandar was a pirate, so Telemachus did not exactly expect him to have that much of any one currency on his person. These rituals took up a great deal of time, not to mention the rarity of the ingredients needed to produce potions that would induce the appropriate trance-state.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

He nodded, and departed. He was gone a day, then returned. That's how long it took to get everything changed over - there was a surprising lack of palms needing greasing, but he was fine with that. To convert the necessary funds simply took some time because of the volume required to make it work.

Brandar wasn't a fan of banks by nature, but it was the only place to get funds exchanged.

Could he have brought 'equivalent gold coinage?' Absolutely. But figuring out the different exchange rates himself? Nearly impossible. So here he was, with a large burlap sack of coin. It wasn't enough coin for a chest, but too much for a pouch, so Telemachus was getting a sack.

Of course, the Elf would greet him before he opened the door, but the coin was deposited on his desk unceremoniously. Nothing quite said 'pirate' like a hand on his sword and the clink of gold coins as they were dropped onto a hard surface.

 

[Telemachus]

Brandar came in like a storm surge. Telemachus jerked the scroll he had been correcting out of the way in time for the coin sack to come crashing down. He had seen plenty of coin sacks in his day and could tell this one was adequate. A few people had attempted to dupe him with counterfeits and cheap weights. Their pacts had never been enough to save them.

"Ah," said Telemachus, expressing his surprise as much as he was physically able - which was little. "Very well."

He rolled up the scroll and returned it to a container before moving to the other side of the room, parting books from the shelves. Telemachus retrieved some sort of potion from within, dusting it off and inspecting the label before handing it to Brandar.

"At midnight, imbibe this potion," He handed the potion off to Brandar and swept away to another part of the room, taking more vials from the shelf and a single tome. Getting a head start, it seemed. "You must then retire to sleep. I suggest a bed or similarly comfortable surface if one is not already available, and that you do so in an area you consider secure. I would additionally suggest laying on your side. Contact has been known to induce vomiting."

He began setting items on the desk in what appeared to be a deliberate order. Telemachus moved with a purposeful grace, as if falling effortlessly into his own future. "The rituals necessary to bridge your consciousness to the Jagged Abyss will be complete by then, and Mokor-Au will speak with you. This is, in all likelihood, the last time our paths will cross. Do you have any questions?"

 

[Brandar the Burned]

He studied the vial given to him, brow furrowed. His lips curled for a moment, as if he could smell it already. "Understood. Privacy, security, and space for puke." He paused, watching the practiced movements of the elf, his monotone voice every bit as disapproving as it always managed to sound.

It was impossible to say if the elf even had a personality beyond 'sharp,' but since this was likely the last time their paths would cross... it wasn't something to commit too much thought.

He almost asked a question, then shook his head. He hadn't even parted his lips, but Telemachus would know he'd wanted to ask. But he knew that the answer he would get would be vague, because it likely wasn't an answer Telemachus could actually provide. He was the go-between, not the being itself.

"No, no questions."

He departed, knowing that at midnight, aboard his ship, he would attempt to converse with a being he'd never heard of, but was still worshiped in the parts of the Old World that never forgot. He paused at the threshold, just before he closed the door behind him. His opinion didn't matter to the elf, but he felt the need to say it anyway.

"For whatever it's worth, you are one of the more... interesting individuals I've ever met." And then he left, that familiar sense of the road forking still on his mind.