Closed Inquiries of a Professionally Curious Nature

[Milos]

​

M I L O S

. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

.

29th of Spring, year 125 of the third age

✦
​

It wasn't that he had never set foot in Hespæria; it was just that it had been so long ago he could barely remember the bog. For all his supposed wanderlust, Milos really spent way too long in the Basin. He told himself it was just because he was too busy learning, burying his face in books, getting poisoned by mushrooms he thought were edible, you know, just the usual Æld'Norai childhood, no matter how much Væris insisted that most Æld'Norai children did not learn which mushrooms were poisonous by eating them. Nevertheless, the point was that he had been busy learning. Then painting. Then dancing. Then—

Yeah, he was making excuses, and it came to a point where he couldn't convince even himself that wasn't the case. Sure, there was no rush to leave home, except he wanted to, and that meant he was going to. Or, you know, he was going to do it his way. Væris could call him crazy all she wanted, but Milos was determined to see his little plan to the end. Nevermind he didn't actually have a plan, just the faint idea of next steps, but that was enough. With perseverance, everything would slowly fall into place. And if he made a mistake, well, it wasn't like he didn't have an eternity to fix it. Things would be fine. You don't always have to have everything figured out.

And, right now, as Milos walked through the buildings crafted from marshlog trees, he was doing precisely that. In a way. Well, he heard of a maltrician in Thokkmyrr, and he was curious about what that entailed, precisely, and whether the guy was a doctor as well or something else, so, there he was. Exploring. It wasn't like he had to justify himself, right?

"Why live within smells of rotten wood when you can breathe the fresh air of Ældrassil himself?" Rúna asked in his mind, and, for someone who didn't really have a face, she was quite good at conveying her sneer. Milos rolled his eyes, waving his hand in dismissal.

"It's not bad." And it wasn't. Different, sure, the humid scent heavier, thicker, filled with an earthy and wet-wood quality creating an air that was very different than the Basin's forests, but Milos could see the appeal. It was like a tight hug, clinging to the skin even as the cold kept any sweat from forming. The Saol running through the trees with twisted roots still couldn't dispell all the dark atmosphere.

It wasn't his favourite place in the world, but he liked it.

"Sure," Rúna flickered next to him, casting a pinkish glow on the corner of his eye, "if you like the smell of carcass."

"Shush, you." He closed his hand around the Wisp, trapping her for all of a second before she bled through his fingers. Milos wasn't convinced she could even smell anything—he could ask, but it's not like Rúna would give him a straight answer.

No, he wouldn't be surprised if she was complaining because she wanted to complain, or because of a memory of what the bog smelled like when she was alive. Sometimes, Milos wasn't even convinced she had been alive. He would also not be surprised if she was actually a curse some witch had put on him or something.

Soon enough, the city bled into the bog, the buildings receding to give way to unworked trees with purple and grey hues. Rúna, of course, didn't wait to voice her opinion about grey trees, but Milos tuned her out as he made his way towards where the maltrician's house was, if the directions he had managed to get were correct. His fingers brushed against the dark barks of trees, pointing out every single colourful flower they passed by just to spite Rúna's assertion that the bog was not colorful at all. She, unfortunally, was way too good at just ignoring reality and continuing with her assessment. Fortunately, Milos was also very good at ignoring her.

It took less than he thought to see the faint glow of a house carved out within a sequoia, and Milos' pace quickened as he hurried towards the glowing building, crossing the bridge and batting at Rúna like she was a mosquito when she hovered too close to his face. If this was the maltrician's place, then the trip was already worth it—the garden around the building was beautiful, and the way the construction blended with the tree was mesmerizing. He wanted to create something like this, something that could encapsulate the beauty of who they were, how they blended with Ældrassil's woods, how they were part of these woods, too. They were something no other race could recreate, and this? This was a stark example of that connection.

"This is the same as all the other buildings we passed," Rúna pointed out, and Milos shrugged.

"I'm allowed to be amazed by things. It's called living, something you're clearly in shortage of." Milos' knuckles tapped against the door, and then he opened it, poking his head inside. "Hello? May I come in?"

"Asking to come in after coming in defeats the purpose of the question," Rúna said, and Milos pointedly ignored her.

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[Velho]

༺༉❁ Spring 29 year 125 of the third age ❁༉༻

<

: Elsknýr

The polite, gender neutral way to address somebody whose title and/or name you are unsure of.

>

The large, heavy doors of Själasalr opened with little resistance beyond their weight– it was a business, after all, and Milos had arrived during operating hours.

The foyer-turned-waiting room itself looked to be a wide, open rectangular space designed as a plush sort of sitting area for clients and other guests. It had plenty of comfortable looking, exquisitely crafted furniture, along with ornate, maximalist decor crafted of the same durable, dark wood as the tree which composed the manor itself– one might describe the aesthetic theme as a sort of druidic art nouveau. Dark, gossamer curtains of a deep shade of purple hung 'round the windows, with the rest of the room's upholstery sharing the shade. The space was not all darkness, however, warmed as it was with the dim flicker of candlelight, varying artworks and floral growths. The flowers that grew within were the same variety that adorned the outside of the towering tree-manse– glowing red poppies and the lovely purple hues of wisteria and nightshade. However, the most striking part was likely the sunken sofas in the center of the room, compiled in the shape of a diamond, with the two points of the longer sides facing the entrance and the second door set against the back wall. In the center sat a low coffee table, likely where refreshments might be served during longer waits.

His knock and call into the room alerted its sole occupant: Lucia, a friend of Velho’s he’d hired to manage most customer-facing affairs related to running a mortuary and funeral parlor. Her office was nestled into the back-right corner of the room, though it appeared as more of a nook. The woman would be visible from the entryway, with the tall arch of her office’s threshold rendering her visible to visitors and them to her, as she sat such that she was facing the front entrance. Her nook was decorated with a desk, a chair, and the equivalent of a large armoire for storage, all grown into the wall beside her, all the same deep, almost ebony-brown wood native to Hespæria’s sequoias. For comfort and style, the chair was covered with an embroidered silk blanket and pillows of colors similar to the surrounding flora. Differing from that which wreaths Själasalr, within her office grows her own flora– belladonna, red spider lilies, purple clematis, and purple hyacinth. Though her tastes lean more towards elegant beauty than the more somber sort Velho found in death and the macabre, they did share a love of a similar palette of colors– deep purples contrasted by warmer hues. Perhaps because it was familiar to them, having both spent much of their lives in the bog where flora of such colors were commonly kept– or maybe it was their love for such hues that kept them here.

Looking up from the book she was reading, she didn’t get the impression that this visitor was here due to a death. No– the death of Æld’Norai was a dramatic affair, either deeply tragic or celebrated in mirthful melancholy. The attitude she got from this one’s voice was more inquisitive curiosity than anything else, which made her suspect that he might not be here to seek out one of Själasalr’s advertised services at all. She doubted the visiter sought a Ferrier's services related to accompanying Wisp, either, as a Wisp's behavior had to be dangerous or incredibly erratic to warrant that.

After marking the page and setting the book down, the woman moved to stand. She wore a dress of elegant black velvet, something flowing and sleeveless, the hem of its skirt ending in loose asymmetry. The fabric of the shoulder straps as well as that of the waist cinched with ornate silver jewelry matching the metal of the dainty layered chains that hung ‘round her neck and the thicker cuffs resting at her wrists.

She would walk until she was about halfway through the room before gesturing around the space, “...hail, Elsknýr. You are welcome to enter, please make yourself at home.

What is it that you seek?”

She nodded to both parties– the living and the Wisp– as if to indicate that she'd directed the question at each of them. And when she finished speaking, her arms came to rest with hands clasped in front of her, a pointedly polite posture.

 

[Milos]

​

M I L O S

. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

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The interior was certainly unique, different than other businesses and homes Milos had visited back in Ælfiríki, and he wasn't sure if this aesthetics was standard for Hespæria or if it reflected more of the owner's personal taste. The decor, along with the candles that cast a different kind of light than the Saol running within the flora, made the place somber, beautiful, and at the same time inviting, although Milos wasn't sure if it was just morbid curiosity calling in. It seemed like the place one would go for serious business, which, well, it made sense, but he wasn't exactly here to do much other than snoop around.

But the place was also empty of other customers, so he wasn't exactly imposing. Yet.

The woman at the nook facing the door fit the place all too well, with a black dress that screamed elegance, as did her very posture. It wasn't that Milos wasn't used to grace—one needed it when dance was a way of expression—but he certainly lacked the calm sophistication both her and the place had. He could feel Rúna's brush against him, her glow intensifying as she probably took in the whole thing with delight.

"I like her," she exclaimed once they were greeted, seemingly inflating with ill-concealed pride. "Polite, elegant, graceful. You could learn much from her. Maybe then your place wouldn't be so trashy."

"I could ask her to exorcise you," Milos snapped back, although his voice lacked any real bite. The wisp humphed, both of them well-aware he'd never do such a thing. "Thank you," he said to the woman as he walked into the place, letting the door shut close behind him. The fragrances from the flowers certainly gave the place a pleasant scent, and Milos ignored the urge to brush his fingers against the flowers. Instead, he made his way towards the diamond-shaped sofas and sat down. Rúna floated inside after him, although she circled around the room, looking and certainly judging every tiny inch. He certainly would have to hear her go on and on for a whole week about how he should get some taste and redecorate his place.

"So." He tapped his fingers on his knees, looking around once again before he focused on the æld'norai in front of him. It was a universe he wasn't familiar with. He had never lost anyone close to him other than his parents, although he barely knew them at all. While he mourned for those very few that passed during his lifetime, he couldn't pretend there hadn't been a degree of separation between him and them. He wasn't sure of the protocols to follow, and, if he had learned them, he certainly had forgotten. Not that he cared all too much—it was rarely his intention to offend anyone, but, if it happened, it happened. "I heard about a maltrician, and I got curious." He smiled, shrugging. "I'm sure you hear that a lot. But I'm just interested in what you do, how this works, what can be done—" he stopped himself before he went on and on about what he had heard, if it was all true, and the many other things going on in his head. "So, I came by. Hope that's alright."

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[Velho]

༺༉❁ Spring 29 year 125 of the third age ❁༉༻

<notes>

To the Wisp’s initial outburst, Lucia would raise one hand to her lips in an effort to mask her smile and stifle a laugh.

“The compliment is appreciated,” the woman responded, but beyond that she’d let them continue their banter, falling back to her previous polite placidity.

When Milos moved to sit, she would follow suit and ended up seated on the couch across from him. Lucia was a good half a foot taller than the other ælf on even terrain, and since the seating was sunken into the floor, she would’ve towered over him even more had she remained– something she believed was not in good form to do to a visitor.

“Indeed,” she nodded, “visitors with similar motivations have found their way here before. Should we not be busy, I have no issue fielding curious queries.” Her voice was laced with a pleasant musicality that hinted at playfulness, though much of that was subdued in favor of smooth professionalism.

“On the other hand…the Ferrier has less patience for such things.” With a short exhale through her nose, she’d grant the duo a somewhat apologetic smile. "...but what may I call you two? I am Lucia fyn'Seilæch Emerine."

Assuming they responded, she'd continue:
“Is your interest solely in Malediction? If so, then I might point you towards somebody that could serve you better– whilst Ferrier fyn’Seiðr does possess expertise in Malediction, he does not take apprentices for the practice as he prefers to leave that to those who truly specialize in it.

However, if you’d still like to speak with him, you might consider broadening the scope of your queries to include questions about his primary profession– Ferriment– as he pursued Malediction primarily to augment and expand his practice thereof. If applicable to your interests, he is also a consummate Mystic and further possesses broad knowledge concerning Ensorcelling and Animism, though he learned much of the latter subject from me.

That said, I am happy to go fetch him for you if you’d like– provided he is not busy.” Her suggestions– caveats, really– in other contexts might’ve given the impression she was politely asking them to leave, but her tone remained warm and welcoming.

 

[Milos]

​

M I L O S

. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

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Milos groaned as the woman thanked Rúna; the wisp certainly didn't need her ego inflated. And, by the way she glowed just a bit brighter and puffed out just a bit more, her ego was certainly inflated. Still, he was glad that most people actually respected wisps. Even if Rúna could be insufferable, she was still his insuferable little sister.

Not that he'd ever say that out loud.

He let out an amused huff in response to the woman informing him that the Ferrier didn't have much time for curious passerbies. Fair enough, although Milos wasn't about to let that deter him if she wasn't kicking them out. As Lucia introduced herself, he smiled. "Milos. Fyn’Ahearn Rhydd," he added as an afterthought. It wasn't uncommon, even to him, to introduce oneself by one's full name, but he often didn't see the need to. He had tried using his surname to find his parents, but, either they had left him a name that wasn't theirs, or they weren't around anymore. There wasn't much connecting who he was with the name his family supposedly had carried. "This is—"

"Rúna fyn’Ahearn Fearr," the wisp interrupted, flickering from where she had been hovering next to Lucia's nook towards the middle of the room. Sometimes, Rúna would use his name. Sometimes, she'd make up a name on the spot. Sometimes, she'd steal the name of someone they had met. Milos had no idea how she managed to keep track of how she introduced herself to whom, but, if he was being honest, she probably didn't. It was rare for full names to come out that frequently with the same person, and, when it did, he was pretty sure she just went with whatever she wanted at the moment.

Milos perked up when Lucia mentioned animism. "Oh? I'd love to talk to you about that later, then! I'm an animist myself, but I have only bonded with one animal before—"

"A very rude beast!" Rúna interrupted, and Milos snorted at the spite in her voice. Yeah, she and Pui certainly didn't get along. "A beast you let run amok without supervision! You'd do well to listen to those more experienced than you and find out a way to make it behave!"

"—and I'd love to hear your thoughts about familiars," he continued, ignoring the huffing and puffing wisp that started buzzing around his face to get his attention. Rúna certainly liked to downplain his knowledge on the subject—most subjects, really. If you could point me to this other Maltrician, I'd appreciate it, but I'm certainly interested in talking with the Ferrier about his practice." It wasn't the original plan, but he was still interested in knowing what a Ferrier did on a daily basis. Probably human funerals; Milos wasn't sure how often they died, but certainly more than æld'norai. He wasn't sure how that connected specifically with Malediction, either. "Besides, I've started dabbling in Ensorcelling, but I'm still learning. And I never quite got Mysticism, so." He shoot Rúna a glance, batting the wisp away from his face.

"Big surprise," she grumbled.

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[Velho]

༺༉❁ Spring 29 year 125 of the third age ❁༉༻

<notes>

In response to the two guests giving their names, Lucia nodded with a small smile. “Good to meet you both.”

She was largely content to listen to them banter as it happened, lacking the context to really add much, but entertained by it nonetheless.

“I’ve a few familiars, though I’d like to expand my menagerie myself,” she’d respond on the subject of Animism. “Let me go see what Ferrier fyn’Seiðr is doing– if he’s busy now, I can come back and we can spend time on Animism; if he isn’t, then we can talk about it later.”

❁​

A Ferrier's affairs at any given time were only as numerous as they wanted them to be. Whilst their work was mysterious and important, among immortals, death was markedly rare– rarer, even, than incidents involving the undead– thus leaving large gaps in their schedules they could fill as they pleased. This suited their weak constitutions well, with Velho in particular enjoying such ample free time all the more due to his slothful nature.

Were a client to visit asking after obsequies, exorcism or anything urgent, Lucia would cut a vine laced along the back wall of her office to summon him. He'd sense the disturbance in his Grove and drop whatever he was up to at his earliest convenience, but for any other request, the woman went to fetch him herself. That way, she could describe to him the visitor, their intent, and then it'd be up to him whether he'd bother.

She found him in his library, torso half extended from the edge of one of the bookshelves; he appeared to be skimming one near the top for a particular volume. Traversal via Plantmeld was common within buildings since a single, relatively basic cast was all that one needed no matter the size– yet another convenience of homes hewn from Ælheim's larger trees. Any Draoidh, even those less competent, could slink around such structures within the wood itself should they desire to do so, as it only required extra Metaphor to travel between them. And for Ferriers, it gave them a bit of a break from the aches and pains of their withering bodies.

He'd heard Lucia's footsteps from down the hall before she'd approached, though her intent remained shrouded until she gave voice to it from the threshold. “Someone has come to see you– a visitor, not a client.”

“...a stranger?”

“Presumably– I don't recognize him, and he speaks as if you are an enigma to him. He also brought along a Wisp, though I am under the impression the spirit is more along for the ride, whereas he is the reason for their visit.”

A short huff of a sigh served at first as a wordless response.

“For what purpose…?”

“Curiosity, so it seems–” a brief pause “–about what you do. His first query concerned Malediction, though when I informed him of your broader knowledge, his interest didn't waver. Whether it's idle curiosity or he desires functional knowledge, however, I can't quite say.”

“Did you learn his age?”

Lucia hesitated, pursuing her lips for a second. “No, but if I had to guess…I'd say he's young? Naïve, at least.”

Velho hummed in consideration. One could say what he was doing wasn't particularly important; chipping away at ostensibly nonsense in a language he only half understood might very well be a waste of time. It being an endeavor he pursued out of his own curiosity did give him the thought to indulge the visitor's in turn, satisfying as he knew it was to explore any font of information should the subject be of interest.

“I suppose I can spare some time…”

Lucia nodded. “I left them in the lobby– I'll let them know you'll be on your way shortly.”

With that, the woman would give him the names of the visitors and turn to leave as Velho appeared to melt into the dark wood of the bookcase.

Upon returning to the lobby, Lucia addressed the two in waiting: “He agreed to meet with the pair of you; he'll be down soon enough."

As she turned to return to her office, “...let me know if you need anything or have any further questions in the interim.”

Not that there was much of an interim, really. Lucia had only returned to her desk for a few minutes before Velho emerged from the wall near the door at the back of the room. His beleaguered silhouette grew from the wood head first, with his left hand holding an ornate cane topped with a finely carved spider. For stability, it made contact with the floor before either of his legs even appeared. The Ferrier’s emergence had an odd grace to it, though it was obvious enough his tall frame possessed marked instability. And almost all of his frail figure was hidden beneath the fine fabric of his robes– a deep purple one might mistake for black– with the only visible skin being his face and hands. It was, generally, considered an odd choice of fashion for Æld’Norai, vain and naturalistic as they are, to cover themselves this much, but given his gait and the imperfections in his posture, one could hazard a few guesses as to why he’d foregone this trend.

Upon adjusting back to standing on a solid surface, the Ferrier didn’t move much at all. His sleepy, half-lidded gaze drifted over to the two waiting guests. An analytical coldness lingered behind his eyes, with much of the rest of his features being largely unreadable, though one might describe his resting expression as solemn or humorless.

“Curiosity brought you in…but to what end? I’ll field your inquiries until they bore me,” he spoke slowly, bluntly, though the sound carried an air of authority which reinforced an otherwise weak voice. One could imagine his voice being soothing, had it any warmth to it.