[WP] Some people have normal hobbies, like collecting postcards. You like to collect cursed artifacts.

...

"Now, I need to be certain that you're giving me full assurances." Kelliut watched silently as the man leaned over the counter of wooden boards, eyes narrowing at the small box in front of him as if to stare on through the material. "And I mean that as I said it: You're one-hundred percent confident of this piece."

"He really means that. We need it to work." Behind him, the slender figure of a Dark elf leaned on the inner-threshold of the shop's doors; casually shouldering a rather sickly looking spade. In the afternoon light of the warming day Kelliut would probably think her beautiful in an exotic way, if not for the fact that her pleasant image was not ruined by the rather horrifying fact she happened to be standing there at all. In the Mecca of faith and Religious Fervor, only the Royal Crest and seal would allow such a creature to roam the streets of the Capital so freely.

Then again, only the Royal Heir's backing could have approved his return to this place either.

Behind stained glass windows in plain view, a newly crafted sign hung, wobbling as the wind carried down the wide-cobble streets filled with the din of feet, hooves, and conversations. "Yes, you have my full confidence with this." Kelliut replied, tone careful. "We've done business before. You've kept your word, paid upfront. That sort of trust isn't something an Alchemist like myself takes lightly."

"That's all fine and good, but I need you to understand: If it doesn't work exactly like you've said it does, there are going to be some problems." The Mage across the counter turned his head as a roar lifted outside, people raising their hands in a cheer for the mounted men that passed. Soldiers of the Faith, perfect armor glowing with white and polish even through the thick glass windows. "More than just some, actually." He finished. "A lot of them, for you and for me."

Kelliut scratched at his chin, feeling the slender beard with sprouted there in traditional fashion. Nothing said or hinted here was to be taken lightly, he knew that much. "It will work." He confirmed carefully, tapping the box with his smoking pipe lightly so as not to knock free its contents. "But the other artifacts you've been seeking haven't arrived yet. I suspect the roads are more difficult than usual."

"I'd not doubt that." The man replied, eyes seeking back for his companion still waiting by the door. They shared a nod, before the Dark Elf slipped off back under the threshold and onto the street. Turning back to the object on the counter, he lifted his coin-purse dropping it lightly beside the box. "Reports have been coming in. It's total and utter chaos on the roadways. Storms and rain didn't help any more than the noble stupidity for honor and rewards."

"Significant losses?"

"Yes." Counting out the coins, the Mage continued with a tone of mild irritation. "As if the City's Cavalry committing well-intended suicide hadn't been enough..." He sighed, heavily, pushing a pile of gold and silver across to Kelliut's direction. "Significant finds as well though, it's not all bad just yet. I've sent out some of my people to confirm."

"Rebuilding after such a calamity takes time, I hear." The alchemist tried his best not to tremble and the quantity of wealth sitting in front of him. More than he'd seen in years, all casually placed in one pile. The Mage had promised Kelliut profits, and he had more than come through for it. "Though folk around here might not believe it, I've seen some of the records from the North. This isn't exactly the first time we've had some undead swarming the highways."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Well, here's hoping they're still mostly along the Western side of the territories." The mage's tongue clicked as he counted out the last two silver pieces he'd been unintentionally shorting. "I've got quite a bit of interest in the caravans heading in from the East, and I'd rather not have to retrieve each and every portion by armed guard."

Normally Kelliut would consider such a bold statement boasting, but he knew better in this circumstance. The Scribe network was more than just abuzz with the offers being handed out. Traders, alchemists, merchants: The call of these networks and professions in the Capital city of Doterra had rarely been stronger. Certainly not for the last several centuries. Though he wasn't completely certain of it just yet, Kelliut had some serious suspicion he was currrently in the presence of the one supposed reason for it all. Such things weren't polite conversation, but as a trained mind of profession, Kelliut could put two and two together.

"Refugees from the West have been coming over the Northern walls for years." He said quietly, watchful of the door and those figures beyond its glass window. "I assure you, the piece is genuine. Smuggled from the Dark-Lord's own keep, most likely I can tell."

"You've seen it work?"

"Yes. Only once, but I've seen it. This originally came acquired after a contract with the Baron Louis some years ago." Lighting his pipe with a tap of the glowing crystal beside the counter, Kelliut took a deep and calming draft before letting the smoke fill out into the shop's air. "I was told you might know of him, may his soul rest in the light."

"I did know him, if barely." Turning back towards the door, his companion had returned, sly smile greeting them as she settled back to her casual lean beside the entrance. The man nodded once to her, continuing. "For some reason he and Congrad got along splendidly."

"Well there was a history with those family lines, but I suppose then you know he's about as trusted as a man can get for this type... transaction." Words were chosen carefully. "Damn shame they're gone."

"Ah, disregarding the Church's authority, you mean? That he was." A quiet chuckle came about as the coin purse tucked itself back along the man's belt, and the box was lifted with careful hands from the wooden surface that had held it. "Both of them: Jarl too, I imagine. Buying contracts the way he did, I imagine some weren't thrilled with him either."

"Yes... They both were known for these things, Congrad was more quiet about it, but there were more than a few reasons for how things went. Not terribly surprised Jarl went about passing on rather young." The smoke lofted out into the still air, swirling about on odd patterns. "Just like his father that one, genius, cold, not accepting of anything but the best."

"Personally, I always thought he was a bit of a bastard."

"War takes both good and bad. Crusade was a fool's errand no matter who demanded it. Still, as far as business was concerned, Jarl Congrad was far at the top of a long list. As was the Bloody Baron- if only for certain things." Kelliut took another slow drag on his pipe, pointing towards the box cradled carefully in the Mage's hands. "You be careful with that. Come back next week, we'll see if another shipment has come in by then."

They shared a quite nod, before the man exited the way he'd come in, slipping through as the door was held open, heading for a waiting carriage adorned with the colors of the Royal house. Watching silently, Kelliut stared at the distant affair, deep in thought as the coin before him weighed heavily in neat little rows of counted quantities. The door almost closed entirely, before he realized there was still someone present.

"I can assure you, he'll be careful. He's always careful."

The Dark Elf beside the door flashed another smile, spade on her shoulder rolling in a lazy motion to fall flat in her waiting hand. The metal visible in the slight haze of the room seemed to hold a deep shade of red, more than Kelliut felt any blade or edge had right to- no matter how seasoned.

"But for his sake, I think maybe you'll be careful too. Won't you?"

As the door closed once more, leaving him alone, Kelliut puffed the pipe between his teeth until clouds of smoke filled the room. After locking the door and setting down the oaken deadbolt, he sat all but motionless between the efforts of packing and repacking his wooden pipe. As he rested there, he watched as daylight turned to evening, turned to shadows over buildings and walls before night came in true.

Then, and only then, did his shaking hands settle.