Collective Bargaining

The Goblin examined each gold coin meticulously, ensuring that all two thousand gold pieces were authentic as he brokered an exchange with the Red Magister. “Ya says you only wanted one? Fer d’is much you coul’ easily gets ya all the bodies ya need.” Anetho leaned back in the rather small chair he was provided, nodding. “Surely I could, but are you complaining? I could always purchase from another provider of flesh if you are unwilling.” Gearbox licked his lips, and presented a sinister grin; one that demonstrated every crooked yellow tooth in his mouth. “Nah, d’ats not what I meant ta imply, see just a strange t’ing is all. Fer two big uns, I trust you have particulars in taste and quality?” His grubby little hands pushed the mass of coins he’d been counting into a large chest sitting to the side of the table.

Anetho ran his right hand through his hair and replied in a demure manner. “Female. Elven. Lovely to look at with at least a basic grasp of magic… Somewhere between thirty to fifty years of age… Oh and I’d prefer red hair, something to the hue of my own.” He idly twisted a few locks about his index finger, as the dirty little man scribbled a hand receipt for his own records and set a horribly penned and crusted over set of documents before him. “We’ll have somethin’ fer ya’s tomorrow. Aftah that it’s just a mattah of you makin’ it all pretty and legal – or whatevah it is you knife ears call yer ‘help’…” He let out a gruff sort of chuckle, beady little eyes glinting with greed in the candle light.

I’ve secured a slave as per the notes I’ve been perusing, loathe as I am to participate in the illicit sale of bodies. Thankfully the girl in question is devoid of relations or even basic social skills. There is faint aura of magic radiating from her, untapped potential ready to be molded into something greater. To better prepare her for the ritual I’ve taken the liberty of subjecting her to a constant flow of fel energies and made arrangements to have her placed within the Tomb of One twice a week. Erstwhile, Malathane busies herself now in nagging me to drink from the reserves of moonwell water at even the slightest look of discomfort on my part. Though she means well it grows upon my nerves. I suppose t’is for the best however as my mind far to preoccupied with more pressing affairs that I so often forget to take what was prescribed at the appointed times.

My Alliance contacts within SI:7 have agreed to assist in the collection of the reagents I’ve requested – with the understanding that I had intentions of disrupting local government functions… Which I suppose isn’t entirely untrue, though I’ve still so much more to see to and very little time with which to play. I suppose I’ll solicit Jaedn at some point, if only for whatever meager information she might possess. Perhaps, out of necessity, she’ll prove to be a useful asset in the culmination of this reproduction of arias long past us. I do so enjoy theatre…

“You’re back!” Anetho peered up from his notebook, observing his eldest archivist. “I am. Does this surprise you?” Dawnwhisper bit his lower lip nervously. “Not at all m’lord… I just didn’t think I’d see you again so soon given the gravity of your condition.” The Red Magister propped both feet atop his desk and sank into his chair a bit. “Which one?” He inquired sinisterly. “The tuberculosis or the growing demonic presence I exude that you’ve been whispering unto members of the Magistrate that would see me disavowed?” Solerion glanced over his shoulder uneasily, and then looked back to Anetho. “I would neve-” The Magister’s enraged voice cuts him off. “Wouldn’t you!?” He falls silent before the Red Magister, fidgeting.

Anetho continues in a calmer tone. “Now now…I can appreciate the desire to obtain political gain and favor but lying is a horrible habit. One expects a magister to be honorable and to regard his peers with honesty.” Slowly the scrying orb atop his desk began to levitate and float slowly to Anetho’s side. Figures danced within it – Elves dressed as demons swarming a man whom had arranged a pact with them. A dramatic orchestra gave the scene life. It only further added to Solerion Dawnwhisper’s discomfort. “Take for instance the tragedy of our friend here… He’s been assisted in his endeavors and now very honorably keeps his word to his associates and returns the favor.”

The images continue to prance about theatrically. The actors sing in unison now as the devils produce knives and notionally stab the man long past death, before dragging him to the supposed depths of hell – illusionary flames consuming them all. Demons cackling as the deed is done. “Magister Dawnpride I meant no disrespect I-” Anetho folded one leg over the other as he cut him off again. “You what!? Didn’t think of whom you were dealing? Perhaps you had no regard to your present arrangements? No regard for your obligations to me? Before seeking one pact and adding to your expected duties, it might be healthier to first tender one affair at a time.”

Dawnwhisper swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “Healthier… sir?” Anetho closed his eyes as the devils began to sing triumphantly, shattering the man’s belongings and prized possessions, now moving to his loved ones, dragging them now into the growing inferno. “I need not speak plainer as I already know you have a scrying orb on your person as well that your would be friends want returned with my confessions of underhanded dealings and proof I dabble in the forbidden – which I’ve very graciously provided. I am reluctant to let you part with it yet however… So unless you think you can best me in combat you will set it upon my desk with regard to the Succubus veiled in the corner just over there. You can feel it can’t you?”

Solerion looked to the bookshelf that followed along the wall, the faintest traces of fel magicks emanating from nearby. His eyes fell upon Dawnpride once again as he reluctantly reached into the fold of his robes and surrendered the orb. “Good lad… Inevitably I will be issued a summons – but not just yet… You may go now.” The archivist nodded thankfully. “Yes m’lord! Plea-pleased to have you back!” He exclaimed, scampering away and closing the door behind him.

“…So glad I thought to use that Fel Crystal as a bookmark…” He mumbled to himself, looking smugly at the tome that was bulging open between it’s neighbors. “..I really should have been a merchant rather than a politician… I could sell tusks to Trolls.” He closed his eyes,  opening a notebook in his hands as the orb’s figures fell deathly silent and all that was left to his mind was the sacrificial sonata he was conducting.



~ by anethodawnpride on January 1, 2014.

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