Private Tales The Buccaneer's Bounty

[Brandar the Burned]

Alliria
The Lotus

It was the same story, over and over. The sun came up, the sun went down. The sky was blue, unless the clouds turned it gray. The In Irons came to port? Inevitably, the fog rolled in with it like an ephemeral tide, pushing the colossal, barnacle covered hulk into port on fetid crypt air.

Rarely did Brandar venture too far into Alliria. While he wasn't necessarily unwelcome, he knew he'd never actually be welcome. No port was dumb enough to turn away the mortal champion of Kiva, but they also weren't dumb enough to leave him unattended.

He probably had at least one tail behind him, and his men were likely being monitored for the slightest infraction.

That was his price to pay, and they all bore that burden without complaint. Being watched meant you were being left alone. Being left alone was often good. Though, that was the exact reason he'd decided to venture out of his usual haunts and head into the more upscale areas of the great city.

Word had filtered through to him - by his dark elf vanguard leader - of a rather nice brothel deeper into the city. That word was why he pushed open the door of the Lotus, immediately drawing a look of revulsion from a nearby guard. Besides the cutlass on his hip, and the rich purple of his captain's coat, he knew he looked like month old, chewed dog meat.

He cracked a smile that caused the guard to recoil with a crinkling of his nose, as though he could smell the ugly, and he stepped into a room that could be a tavern anywhere with the coin on hand to gild a familiar backdrop into a luxuriously deceptive cage.

Most of the men loitering about averted their eyes from fear, most of the women out of the hope he wouldn't catch their eye. He recognized at least one fellow pirate here, and gave them a shallow nod of greeting as he made his way towards their bar - he was told watered wine was what was on offer, and sure enough, a glass of something red was set in front of him by a young girl who was obviously a servant and not a courtesan.

"Thank you." He rasps, in a voice like a saw through rotted wood. "Don't worry," he adds, grinning, "my humor isn't quite as unpleasant as my smile." Pulling a gold coin from his pouch, he set it on the counter for her to take. She likely couldn't keep it, but it would establish that he did have the coin to be here.

Not that anyone would walk through the door without it. Not in Alliria. Not this far into town. The girl averted her gaze and went to see to refilling the glass of a man with a blonde on his lap, no doubt negotiating a price with her at the moment. It was quiet here, and the girls were undoubtedly pleasant to look at.

A shame one of them would be subjected to him.

 

[Sol Minerva]

Across from the grand entrance of the brothel was its massive staircase carved of white marble. It was there that most of the unoccupied courtesans stretched out and talked among themselves, scouting out those who wandered the lower levels of the establishment in need of entertainment. Every time a handsome or seemingly wealthy gentleman entered, multiple girls would attempt to be the first to engage him. On many occasions, more than one would succeed.

The man that came in this time was not so desirable. Sol watched him enter from her spot among the stairs. Immediately the guards seemed to stiffen and the courtesans ducked their heads and scurried past him with hopes of going unnoticed. That he was a man of fortune was made evident by his clothing, but his mangled appearance was enough to discourage the majority of the workers.

The majority.

There had been plenty of especially unpleasant faces to come through the brothel before. In her experience, Sol had found that not only do these type of men tend to pay the most to be attended by a beautiful woman, but often they proved to be the most fun as well. Something about this one seemed like a good time.

As the disfigured man made his way through the main area of the brothel, Sol stood to descend the stairs and greet him. Her ruby red skirt was little more than a long piece of cloth tied at her hips that exposed her shapely legs, all the way up to where her thighs began. A small white top complemented her bosom without revealing too much too soon, and golden jewelry of brilliant craftsmanship glittered in the evening light from her neck, arm, and ankle. Her hair, so light in color that it was almost white, swayed gently by her lower back as she walked barefoot through the foyer.

He was not facing her when she addressed him. “Are you in need of company, sir?” she asked, her voice like a purr against the chatter of the goings-on around them. When he turned his head to look at her, she smiled softly and took in the opportunity to observe his features up close. Both hands on her waist, she looked him up and down without shame.

It was true he was not nice to look at; that he had been severely burned in his past was obvious, and the way he carried himself was that of a genuine ruffian. However, Sol had seen much worse. At least this man was recognizably human and his eyes were actually quite lovely.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

For a moment, he didn't realize the voice was speaking to him - but a pair of seconds was all it took for him to make the connection and turn, finding himself looking at a platinum haired woman who couldn't have been much older than he looked. His head cocked to the right, and perhaps surprisingly, he didn't give her a once over like she did him.

That's not to say he didn't take note of her clothes out of his peripheral vision, but his focus was on her eyes. He had gotten tired of hearing they were windows to the soul - he had enough soul magic tying him to his ship already - but there was honesty to see within their depths.

And in this case, he wasn't disappointed. She was studying him; but it wasn't disgust or apprehension flavoring it. Perhaps to her credit, she was merely doing her job. "Of course." He replies, dark eyes locked onto hers. She'd earned a bit of respect just approaching him like that.

Was it her job? Absolutely. Did that change the fact she was the only one who seemed intent on doing it? No.

 

[Sol Minerva]

“Then perhaps I can be of service, if it so pleases you. Or will.” She offered him a playful smile on closed lips. She was tempted to say he looked as though he could use some proper attention from a female but was careful not to insult him. After all, she had not yet secured his coin.

She reached down cautiously to take his hand with a touch as soft as the petals that could be found on the floor. As she began to pull him backwards away from the bar and toward the staircase that led to the private rooms, she brought his calloused hand to her mouth and planted a kiss upon his knuckle. The illusion of sweet innocence was often irresistible to rough men like this one; Sol had found they liked to fancy themselves the destroyers of it once behind closed doors. She would be a liar if she claimed not to enjoy it as well.

“I can take you upstairs unless you had something else in mind?”

One of the benefits of her work was that she could take it anywhere she or her client so desired, provided the fee for her absence was paid. Most of the time she was taken to large merchant ships or lavish manors. She assumed—no, hoped—that this man had something else to offer entirely. Her routine had become rather dull, to say the least.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

Studying her as she pressed a kiss to his knuckles, he smiled briefly - it was a dark thing, curled and dangerous. Once upon a time, it hadn't been, but practice had seen it changed. He was not an inherently violent man; but a reputation was everything to a pirate, just as it was to a courtesan.

She had to be alluring just as much as he had to appear dangerous. "Upstairs." He says simply, eyes briefly flicking to the nearby staircase as they approached.

But that didn't mean he hadn't caught her meaning. "Do your job well, and next time we can go elsewhere." He spoke with the authority of a man accustomed to being listened to, but despite that, he kept his tone low. There was no yelling or bluster, merely the weight of command.

"What is your name, miss?" He asks, that smile curling thin lips once more, even as his booted feet carried him up the stairs towards her chambers.

 

[Sol Minerva]

A true gift was a smile from one who seemed incapable of such a feat. If possible, Sol might have captured it and tucked it safely between the pages of a book to preserve it like dried flowers so that it may be revisited again almost as it had been. Though the mortality of such things made them all the more beautiful and to be savored. She could not help but smile herself. Perhaps she had misjudged the poor man, however she was not hasty to lower her guard. She could not afford to, ever.

She turned and led the man up the stairs, past the other courtesans who tried to conceal their gawks of disbelief. They whispered to each other of Sol’s lack of eyesight or whatever else caused her to be so brazen but they were ignored. This was why she was shunned by her peers. No matter, they were less richer for it.

“Do your job well, and next time we can go elsewhere,” he said, his voice low but firm. It almost sounded like a challenge and Sol was nearly offended. Nearly. This was revealed by a very slight narrowing of the eyes when Sol glanced back at him that she was quick to erase. Though she might not admit it, even to herself, she liked the idea of a challenge. It added intensity that aided in performance. She would need the inspiration if the man was no more than a brute, as she had first guessed. His appearance did not exactly offer much, though his authoritative demeanor was another thing.

Once in the hall smothered in incense and resonating moans from its many doors, he asked her name. He smiled again. It was... creepy, but heartwarming nonetheless.

“Sol Minerva. Though you need not pretend to care,” she said teasingly. “Yours?”

Before he answered, they came upon an empty room startlingly similar to the others that they had passed. She tugged him in gently before pushing the door shut behind him with her free hand.

The initiation was the hardest part to master. Different men preferred different approaches. Sometimes they took the lead but more often than not they expected Sol to, which was reasonable given the circumstances. They were indeed paying customers. Not quite sure how to proceed yet, she looked up at him. She would need a sign; anything to hint at his preferences. Of course mistakes were acceptable as long as the service was accomplished but Sol hoped to maintain a spotless record in her seduction. She had an idea of what he might enjoy, but as she had realized earlier, she should not be quick to make assumptions.

“When was the last time you felt a woman?” This was a good question. It would define his eagerness.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

“Sol.” He says, nodding to himself. When they stepped into the room, he smiled, taking a moment to remove his coat and throw it over the back of a nearby chair.

Beneath, he wore typical pirate attire. A baggy shirt, weathered breeches, and careworn boots. Nothing stood out, aside from a visage as tattered as the sails of his ship. Taking a moment to turn towards her, removing his belt and, by extension, his scabbard and blade, he slung it over the shoulder of the chair too.

His movements were careful, his actions measured. “I do care.” He says, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” He did mean that. Propriety was out the window in an establishment like this, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be mannerly and mean it, too.

“This is my first time here.” Not at a brothel, though. “Do you charge per night? Or per... activity?” He asks, amusement making the left corner of his mouth twitch.

Eager? He most definitely was. But no one appreciated wine when it was gulped down like cheap ale. "And, not to be rude, but... not as recently as I'd like."

 

[Sol Minerva]

How polite, she thought, a bit sarcastically. She was not going to believe that. While she was grateful for the courtesy of his reassurance, she remained wary of honeyed words said by strangers in candlelight, especially since he had not given her his name. That happened frequently as identities were unnecessary here. There was no sense in being genteel, or even pretending. Within the walls of The Lotus, all that mattered was coin. A person was no one unless they could pay to be. Or, in Sol’s case, be paid to be. At any rate, she did not need it.

He took it upon himself to begin removing his own gear. This suggested that the banter would likely be best kept at a minimum. Sol had no protests if that were the case. Her job, while it paid well, would not have been her choice in another life. In this life, she had none. The less she had to think about it, the better she felt afterward.

“Activity with hourly rate,” she replied with practice. Those same words had fallen from her tongue a thousand times or more. She turned to take a seat on the mattress of velvet that sat directly in the center of the room and crossed one long leg over the other, reclining back onto her elbows. All the while she maintained subtle eye contact. “Is that acceptable? I can lower the price, if I think you deserve it.” She smiled tauntingly. She had returned his challenge.

He said he had not been touched recently. This was good news for Sol and she simply nodded in acknowledgment.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

He simply smiled again, having caught the hint of distrust in her eyes. That was fine by him - she wasn't being paid to trust him. Laughing quietly as she offered up a bit of a challenge, he went to his belt and pulled a pouch from it. Setting it onto the nightstand with a thud that had everything to do with the weight of metal within, he tilted his head.

"I'll just keep you busy for the night and you can decide in the morning." He says confidently. He wasn't one to bluster or potentially lie, and so he preferred to let his actions do the talking rather than his mouth.

"Is that acceptable?"

 

[Sol Minerva]

Sol smiled. She enjoyed his attitude... so far. It was possible she might find more than a chore in her time with the man. She would undoubtedly enjoy the gold later.

“How polite,” she said, this time out loud and with a much different tone. “I suppose it is.”

She stood slowly and stepped forward. This close, she had to tilt her chin back to look at him as she reached forward and began to pull his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers.

It occurred to Sol that she might have suggested the bathhouse first. The man before her did not smell of anything pleasant, but it was not intolerable if she held her breath. She noted that heavy breathing in his proximity would be unwise.

Lifting herself onto the tips of her toes, she put a kiss similar to the one before it on the scarred cheek of her nameless client. Though the healed wounds had twisted and pulled at his flesh in strange ways, the skin that met Sol’s lips was soft to the touch.

 

[Brandar the Burned]

He knew he smelled of salt and bilge - but he often forgot how potent it was. With her pulling his shirt away, he merely found himself smiling ever so faintly, lifting his arms so that she could pull the linen away from his skin. Broad shouldered and lean, the burns cascaded down his left side and arm.

They were mirrored on the right forearm, and whatever had caused them, he'd clearly needed both hands to survive. A dusting of hair over his chest remained, and his expression softened considerably at her kiss.

He was certain already that she would be worth it. But time would tell.