[WP] You're an alchemist. Adventurers ask for some really stupid things.

...

elliut Fargus had been born to a wealthy family and taught by the most distinguished tutors before he left home to study in Doterra's Holy City of Faith. On his Twenty-Fourth naming day, he presented his first work of importance to the holy order of Alchemists for the more effective method of Magic inductions of atmospheric compositions. If that hadn't been enough on its own, on his Twenty-Sixth naming day, Kelliut then went on to further his research in the applications of farming efficiency with the intent of creating a more effective means for production to cost.

His discoveries and relative ease of process soon increased farming yields by a wide margin, earned him several awards- and more than just a small quantity of wealth and recognition. As a result of his break-through with the application of magic to soil compositions, Doterra's inner townships began to prosper tremendously, and many Licences Mages were sanctioned by the High Church for needs outside of mercenary drafting.

In short, Kelliut Fargus became a celebrity. He'd had it all: Riches, fame, power, respect. For a golden era of briefest occurrence, he had what most could only dream of possessing- and he had it in excess. His opinions on matters of importance we sought out: Thoughts of political gain were quickly turned along to more than simple musings, and the potential for lordship was well within his grasp.

Then he'd made the honest mistake of late-night excursions with the wrong High-Bishop's twin daughters a few to many times, and suddenly the itself faith had turned against him. In not a weeks time, it was as if all of his accomplishments had been forgotten. The Great Alchemist of the people's faith was reduced to a godless heathen in the eyes of the masses.

In short order his wealth and estates were stripped, his name was synonymous with some lesser curses used by mill-toting farmers, and his awards revoked while an angry mod of peasants ran him out of town with a half emptied wagon of whatever he could grab and the only horse that hadn't yet been sold for coin to bribe safe-passage out of the City's Northern Gates.

Fifteen years passed him by, and now that horse was dead, that wagon dismantled for wood, and his name was stripped from the history books- yet he'd still not found it safe to return. So long as the Bishop was yet to keel over and die in god's grace, there was a dangerous grudge present, so instead Kelliut found a much more humble and rewarding life as a vastly over-qualified shop-keeper, helping the people which came to him for trinkets, medicine, and simple chemical constructions.

But sometimes... Sometimes he had people like this.

"I'm looking for a yellow powder that can sometimes smell terrible." For the fifth time this week, the Battle-Mage at the counter had walked in, ignoring everything in the small shop but the Alchemist himself. "I was hoping you might have some."

"Come again?" The great Kelliut Fargus had fallen low, forced to bend knee and puzzle out the thoughts of a foreign madman. It was even more humiliating that he'd still not made the slightest hint of progress in doing so. "I'm not certain I understand."

"I know, I know- but this is the last thing I'm searching for. A yellow powder, one that might be a bit chalky if I remember right, it often forms near volcanoes in odd crystals." The man never seemed to quit.

This would be the seventh peculiar request so far, and still Kelliut could not for the life and soul of the matter decide what was being done with the rather dramatic expenditure of silver that fell freely from the man's purse. Adventurers were more often than not peculiar folk, but this one was pushing the boundaries even for a Battle-Mage. Almost 80 pieces of Pure-minted, Doterra-Crown, branded with distinction Silver had been exchanged in his favor now, and yet Kelliut felt as though he were somehow being used as the butt of a sinister joke. The Alchemist had never heard of so many seemingly unrelated requests:

Crystals extracted from refined manure or caves filled with bat-droppings?

Sacks full of lead pebbles meant for children's slings?

Wooden containers and a large ceramic vase with cork?

The purest charcoal available in the province?

Absolute and random chaos couldn't have chosen more unrelated portions of goods, but for all that insanity- now there was sudden mention of Volcanoes, and Kelliut Fargus considered that fact carefully. That was a rather interesting topic for a madman to bring up, and he was both impressed and befuddled by the knowledge lurking across the counter- only hazarding a most basic guess at the information which lurked within the Battle-Mage's skull.

The longer he stared through thick-rimmed glasses, the more he could swear by the gods that the Battle-Mage truly was a foreigner, even though such as those were all but unheard of in the Northern Regions of Doterra. It was something about the shoulders, the face- not off, but not quite traditional in the quirks and traits the Alchemist was used to seeing. This presumption was hindered by many things, as not many Foreigners bothered to travel past the main cities, and almost all of them came from the island nations of the South-Eastern sea; although the bothersome Mage didn't possess the classical accent nor the famous bronze skin of an islander.

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But his appearance was odd, his clothing was odder still, and atop of his unusual profession (something usually accredited to spry old men with far too much aptitude and not enough common sense) now he was speaking of Volcanoes. Those were a topic few beyond the Higher Orders of The Church knew of and studied outside of flirting with the stakes and Holy-Knights.

"I believe the substance you seek is known as brimstone." The Alchemist spoke slowly as if chewing on each word, while watching the man's features for reaction to the name. There was an odd acknowledgement of recognition noted, but not much to work with in piecing the puzzle together. Instead the Mage simply took out an odd shaped item (that seemed to function as a quill) and a small portion of strange looking parchment, scribbling in unfamiliar text.

"Brimstone, got it..." The man murmured quietly to himself. "So do you have any of it, or should I look elsewhere?" He glanced up, somewhat apologetic despite his stern features. "We're running a bit short on time, the Northern March is happening soon and we'd like to be done with this before the lot of us are dragged as able-bodies over the walls."

"Join the crusade! For Glory! For God!" A loud bout of shouting issued from the streets, clamor of steel plates and heavy armor marching along. "Even the dragon of legend rides with us!" Their cry rose up, filtering through the thick planed windows of the shop as the Alchemist watched the parade with a wary gaze. If he was ten years younger, undoubtedly they would sweep him up in their madness with all the rest.

The dragon of legend... what foolishness. For Holy Knights to lie so blatantly seemed a mortal sin.

"The Adventurer's Guild has been drafted by the Church." The Battle-Mage let a hand rise to pull at a roughly trimmed beard on his face. "Seems even Jarl Congrad was forced into it: New leader of the Irregular-Squadron intended for support of the main forces. No one is much pleased about it."

"Aye. They'll take ever able body they can afford." Current affairs: Another odd topic for madmen to consider, perhaps there was no joke here at all.

Beyond the parades, Kelliut had seen the banners posted on every available town-post in the region recently. Another Northern rebuttal of the growing hordes of Orcs and Goblins gathering along the borders of the Great Wall. Only a few months prior, the Dark Lord was said to have unleashed an hellish display of power that actually turned the afternoon sky pitch black, and some of the peasants were now murmuring tides of ill-omen and disaster.

As a man of science, the Alchemist considered much of this nonsense; for small exception of the very real possibility of yet another drawn out war. That much was undoubted certainty, he'd witnessed the lumber and gold heading towards Church coffers trying to find a head-start on the bloodshed. Yet another generation of young men to be wasted.

"Do you have any of the material in stock? I'd like to purchase as much of it as possible." As the cheering crowd ceased, faded off into the distance as it followed the Knights or dispersed, Killiut's attention slowly found its way back to his most recent and frequent customer. "If not I'll pay for information on where to find some."

The man was just so strange, it was difficult to even make an honest assessment.

Beyond the absurd requests, as always there was an Elf patiently waiting on the man. A dark-elf no less, standing by at the entrance watching them with an odd mix of indecision between seriousness and amusement. Great Mage of Death take them all to the blackened lands, if that wasn't a peculiar sight. Kelliut knew for a fact that none of those had been native to anywhere but the west for hundreds years, and never resided in the company of mortals. The legends clearly said those creatures had fallen into the servitude of evil long, long ago.

"What is it exactly..." The Alchemist began to ask, watching at the Dark Elf turned towards the pair of them, smiling with an off sort of way from the door as it shouldered an odd-spear. Even from behind his glasses, Kelliut could clearly see that the wood was stained a deep crimson of a shade not recognized by normal dye, and he coughed nervously, clearing his throat with a lough cough before continuing. "That is to ask, what purpose do you require this substance- might I so humbly inquire?"

"I need to make something out of it." The foreign man replied, tapping the counter absently while still ignoring the many glittering crystals and appealing plates of faux-gold that typically earned the shop its keep to focus on the Alchemist. "It's something for emergencies."

"And what does that something do? I'm rather curious." Casually as shaken nerves might allow, the Alchemist took a spare cloth in hand to polish his glasses, trying his best not to consider the presence at the door. Either a madman, or perhaps all too very sane: Kelliut was still undecided. Even considering the requests that came from the Foreigner on a daily basis for the past week, the scales were now evenly weighted.

"Well... It depends." Eyes fell towards the parchment of unfamiliar text, considering the information hidden there in plain sight. Finally he spoke, decided. "If you sell it to me, I'll tell you. Only then."

Setting his glasses back firmly upon a crooked nose, Kelliut frowned at that, finally setting his feet down towards the back shelves behind the counter. After a few moments of searching, he let his hands fall on a large glass container filled with crumpled portions of yellow material.

"Price for all of this is 50 Silver." Kelliut growled, ignoring the frown that met his price. "It'll take me another year to restock, the source is distant."

"Fine." The coin purse fell onto the counter with a hefty thud before careful fingers began counting the pieces, and Kelliut noted a rather grim expression on the Dark Elf waiting by the door as they watched the expenditure.

"No haggling from you this time?" The Alchemist prodded along as the rows of five coins pushed in his direction one by one. "This is a rather large sum compared to the rest of the goods you've purchased before."

"This is fine." The number of Silver coins being stacked was nothing to mock. Half a Gold piece in full value before exchange, it was probably enough for a small family to survive on for a full year's seasons- yet the foreigner counted out all ten stacks, nodding acceptance before lifting the glass case from the counter. "Pleasure doing business with you. If we're still alive in a year, I'll probably be back to buy more."

Kelliut raise a hand, holding the finalities as the coins still sat untouched along the shop's counter. "You never told me what this was for: That was our agreement."

The Dark Elf who had been waiting patiently opened the wooden door, letting in a cold breeze and the din of the bustling streets beyond the shop's front. The man didn't turn back as he carried the glass away, but he did reply- words reaching just before the wooden boards and iron hinges shut closed behind him with a loud slam.

Words the Alchemist considered for a long while after.

"It's for magic, without the magic."