There was something to be said for ending a half year life of bare subsistence with a wild assed party. In spite of the secondary effects of too much drink, Ulric was feeling as good as he had since the first day he'd arrived. No small thanks, probably, to the lushly gorgeous woman at his side, draped like silk over his stomach and legs for that, and he took a few minutes to just sort of breathe this scene in.
She certainly looked like a good time, mocha-skinned, jet hair in a shoulder length set of three braids, the longest middle one down between shoulder blades, the two on the sides at nape of her delicate neck, with a gently rounded face bearing a sleeping smile, and tending towards the more bouncy side of her people in hips and bust. He couldn't remember anything about their time together and, wow, wasn't that just unfair? After a brief try…nope. Nothing. He'd been well and truly black out drunk. Sonofabitch, do not go back for thirds on the fairy’s hootch.
Appreciation for the full curves and fine features of his bedmate occupied him for a few minutes. Next the bed itself, a deliciously comfortable affair, that occupied the majority of the room, was big enough to accommodate at least two more people on its delectable mattress. He didn't know what the sheets were made of, but they reminded him of a very fine Merino wool. Stretchy but soft. The comforters though were some sort of down inside their fleecy exterior fabric, he could feel the odd poke of feathers through ta sheer coverlet. Then the Reforged man turned his attention to the room around the bed. It had the standard Elven love of natural flowing design. Wardrobes looked like they'd grown out of the wall. Night stands of woven branches with a circular table top carved, all in vines that yet had a mysteriously smooth surface. No windows, so they were in an interior room. Somehow, natural daylight still managed to illuminate the room with dawn's soft rays. Probably magic.
Everywhere was the Elven embrace of natural themes. Even the ceiling was relief carved. Was this attention the result of the sheer longevity of Elven craftsmen? He could imagine that, if you lived for hundreds and hundreds of years, what was a decade carving perfection into a room? He shook his head at the difference in perspective that must naturally arise between their peoples. It was easy to understand how a being that lived for so long could come to view the shorter-lived races as inferior or animalistic. Didn't excuse treating another sapient being as less, simply because their experience differed, but it was a thing he could understand happening. Only if you were kind of a dick though.
Speaking of which, his body, his hale, healthy, uncrippled body, was wide awake now. Amazing. Drinking like that would normally leave him half dead for at least three days. He definitely healed faster than in the old world. Other things happened faster too, but, fortunately, not the wrong things. As he got to know when the woman sharing his bed woke up while he was studying the interior design. He didn’t have time to say anything stupid before she smiled at him wordlessly and grabbed for his manhood. Barely restraining a yelp, he found no reason to object shortly.
Already nude, there was none of the titillating warm up of the reveal, nor much in the way of foreplay. The straddling She-Elf guided him with certainty and, when she was settled to her satisfaction, rolled her hips in the lewdest manner he could have imagined. He discovered that Aes’r were assertive lovers that mated for hedonistic pleasure, with gusto. They also lubricated in similar fashion to human counterparts, and didn’t mind taking a pause to kiss, snuggle, and guide their partner’s hands in self-indulgent play until the refractive period had passed for successfully overstimulated male lovers. An incredible hour of being wrung out like a dish rag followed, all without a single exchange of grammar.
This nameless beauty needed none to, with great enthusiasm and no little joy, teach an old Valin new tricks.
Eventually, satisfied that she was victorious, because he lay in a sweat chilling stupor uncertain of his name, his partner left first, humming a nameless tune as she dressed in warrior's garb, leaving him in a bed that looked like animals had been fighting in it. Boneless post coital bliss made him wax philosophic. What a gal.
Yep. Sometimes you had to die to learn to live. And, sometimes, living meant caring only about the now. A time and a place for giving the future its due, same as for letting the past teach its lessons. But the now, that was, above all else, the only time you were real. He hadn’t been laid in a long time, and it showed.
It was a half hour before he felt like he could walk without wobbling. Ye gods, he hadn't even gotten her name. He wondered how rude it would be to find someone by asking around for the birth mark on their left butt cheek. Ok, down Simba, shit to do, Ulric told himself. Starting with clothes. Yeah, clothes were a good place to start.
Ulric dressed. His armor was pitched into a corner in pile. After untangling the various straps and ties, no buckles on his primitive affair, he donned the equipment. With the aid of a floor length mirror, perfect glass clarity indicating at least some degree of sophisticated technology, he gave his armor a good once over, checking straps and ties like he'd done it all his life. More magical bullshit, that was his [Warrior] class perks in action. Everything was tight and fit correctly when he finished securing it. He hefted his pack and that long fucking trident and made his way out of the room to see what goings on were happening in Elfland. He left the bed as it was. That was going to be a project, holy shit.
He'd come back in a while and deal with it.
Looking around the hall, Ulric quickly realized he had a navigational problem.
The problem was that he had no navigation. He'd been entirely out of his mind when he arrived, there were no memories of where he’d been or gone to have any idea where he was. The Elven citadel had twelve stories to it, each its own small town. He currently was absent even the most rudimentary information regarding where he'd ended up. Nothing for it. Ulric took off walking, a bounce in his step.
He let the light be his guide. Heading towards the brighter light he eventually made it to an open terrace, a railed plaza, that let him get his bearings. He was on the ninth layer of the fortress. Three levels down from the royal hall in which the festivities had started. The sylvan folk were up and about, servants going here and there with duties, warriors moving in small groups and discussing whatever it was warriors talked about. Not everyone in the fortress had been at the party, of course, but enough had that he regularly saw faces that signaled greetings. A couple put their hands together and then mocked an explosion, often with accompanying laughter or smiles. So, they had been there for the story of the Forest Lord's fall. And the melon. All told, it felt nice to not be a pariah. These dudes and dudettes were actually kind of alright. A little intense. But alright.
Ulric was starting to wonder if the levels of the fortress had any political or social meaning. Did the lower floors belong to specific groups compared to the higher floors? Was he, somehow, making some kind of statement by even being on this level? Was he just overthinking non relevant shit because he didn't want to think about having Taipan as a bondsman for the rest of his days?
And, like the cruel, relentless voodoo curse that she was, she appeared.
He remembered that she had left the festivities almost immediately, to the collective relief of the entire room. Now she was stalking towards him, face a gorgeous thundercloud.
Ulric glanced over the rail separating him from the open air, briefly considered jumping to the platform below. Fifteen meters. Just slightly too far, he might land wrong, break his legs, and then she'd be able to stand over top of him, gloating, the entire time he healed. Instead, he swallowed his immediate distaste and attempted civility.
It was hard not to scowl, but he managed.
"Good morning, Taipan, how do the twinned suns find you?" He offered, as politely as he could manage, if not cheerfully.
"My life is ashes because of you, how do you think they find me, you jumped up vagrant Valin?" She returned, full of venom.
Civility attempted. Civility discarded.
"Forgive me, I do not speak 'conniving ne'er-do-well'. Please, try a language with which I am familiar, such as, 'not a loser', or maybe one with which you are better acquainted like, 'I do this to myself'." Ulric jabbed, with an overly helpful tone.
She was beaten easily, this time.
The reality of what had transpired yesterday was too fresh, sapping her will to continue. Maybe there’d be no fun baiting a beaten foe.
"Forget it.” She spat, disgusted, “Father has decided my fate, and, I have deserved it. I should never have wasted my breath on you, and simply allowed you to set your own head in a trap. Then father would have killed you and I would be free to hunt down your vile kin. Now I am cursed to be your Shadow, to prove my honor by doing worthless things while my brothers and sisters claim glory killing invaders." She lamented.
Squaring her stance, she demanded
"What will you have of me, Lord Ulric Einar Glade Chief?"
He wasn't an expert on Elvish digs, though he would learn quickly if he hung around Bald'rt for very long, but he had a feeling that that many titles and way of naming were probably more sarcasm than respect. Easy enough to take that barb from her bow.
"Please, Taipan, just Ulric is fine. You will remain in my service for many, many, years let us forego the formal titles." He told her in an obviously falsely kind voice.
Okay, no, it turned out there was still a little bit fun whipping this particular horse. He owed her for sitting there knowing she’d poisoned him and saying nothing of it until well after he’d started showing symptoms of maybe dying from it.
She didn't attempt a riposte though, merely narrowed her eyes and avoided further engagement. He won the point. But he didn't feel quite good about it, the dynamic was too far shifted in his favor by their adjustment of status. Yeah, he was sort of glad she was miserable, but it wasn’t his doing so he couldn’t very well be proud of that fact. More like, it sucks to suck? Just what the fuck was a Shadow anyway? He still didn’t know, and he needed to know, else he couldn’t undo it.
Instead of responding, Taipan fell into step at Ulric's left-hand side a few paces back. That left Ulric to either ask her for help in finding out where the hell to go or to simply roam. They would both starve to death before he would ask her for help, so that pretty much meant that Ulric was going to stretch his legs.
Ulric, Twice-borne, a man from an alien world standing on a tree mounted fortress city with little clue where he was, or where he was going, took off at an easy pace. The sluggishness of too much booze was working out of his system. Morning sex had a way of lubricating the gears too. The citadel was enormous. He wandered through pavilions, each seemingly dedicated to a different purpose. Elven tradesmen were weaving in and out of structures, aprons hung with the myriad tools of their craft, and all of them were busy. Ulric almost followed a smith, hammer and tongs marking him out, but restrained himself. Soon. But, first, Ulric was looking for a way to get back in touch with Bald'rt, or with someone who could speak for him. He would have settled for finding Brighteyes too. Unfortunately, both had vanished into the alcohol fueled oblivion of the last night. So far as he knew, the boy hadn't partaken of that, although, he was more than legal in human years. No probably not, age notwithstanding, Brighteyes was still a child. A precocious and worldly one, but a child, nevertheless.
A cart rolled by filled with monster parts that caught Ulric's eye. Bones, scales, hides, claws, the odd jar of stingers, it was a bonanza of materials. A fine pair of hips were propelling it, but that was more distant observation than it would have been previously. Ulric's thoughts turned to the bone shards, glassresin, Steelwood, and cores in his pack. The cores especially. Brighteyes had said they were valuable but various distractions had prevented Ulric from really following up on that. When was the last time he'd actually considered the concept of money?
He'd been mostly worried about getting here alive. That objective accomplished, the boy returned to his home, the Elven city arrayed, empty, below him, left him feeling adrift. The Elf following soundlessly behind him drug at him like a lead weight.
Iriel was both everything, and nothing, like he'd imagined. The natives were a mix of Tolkien's quietly dignified folk and Comanches. Both reserved and blatant, calm betimes, but intense at a moment’s notice.
Ulric had a feeling that was related to the inherent dangers posed by the environment. Violence was everywhere. Death walked the forest below, held in abeyance by the courage and might of Hunters, Warriors, and the strengths of the individual. He was seeing a far skewed picture of that spectrum, granted; in all likelihood, only the ones who could properly fight that had remained behind. Yet, nothing he'd seen of the interactions and culture of the Iriel'en suggested anything but a people who lived on a knife's edge. And enjoyed it. The only softness or gentleness was in the way they revered their forest home; that they tended like a loving gardener her strawberries. Everything else was a battle to be won, a challenge to be taken, or a duty to be fulfilled. Admirable. Understandable. A little sad.
Fingers snapping, mind processing, Ulric just sort of zoned out, traveling aimlessly. When he came to a stair that led upward, he took it, absent intent to find anything particular. It was almost an hour before he was broken from his reverie of peaceful exploration. It was, of course, Taipan who disturbed his peace.
"Where are you going? We have been passing through Irielhos like termites winding a rotted log." She asked acidly.
Sighing, Ulric walked to the rail of the pavilion, one which stood out proudest from the trunk of the giant from which the fortress was supported. The air whipped violently as Ulric stared into the golden browns and faded reds of the majestic wood around him. He took intense notice of how the colors scattered into the sky as leaves were loosed like dandelion seeds.
Was this it then? He wondered. Caught between a landscape of mystical, improbable natural wonder unlike anything he’d hoped to see in the Before, and the painful reality that the fair seeming banshee behind him would every day keen his doom with every utterance from a hateful throat. He was never to have a moment's peace from now on? Lord Bald'rt Iriel had judged, in his skew, twisty, Elven mind, that Taipan's punishment was to last for his entire life.
It did have a sort of deeply ironic fairness. But he knew, to his bones, that Taipan's punishment would be his own. Two souls twined in a hell of backbiting, bickering, snark, and vitriol. Ulric was all for a game of wits and needles. But this would not be that. No, this would be torture unending.
Worse, he couldn't escape it. He very much doubted that there would be any way short of killing Taipan to keep her from stepping in his shadow, enacting this justice on him. And if he did that, then there was no question; her disturbingly attractive father would leave his throne, find Ulric, and grind him fine.
What Ulric needed was a way out. He considered, again, supplication to a deity. He might get lucky, apparently people weren't being entirely figurative about gods around here, and he had evidence of their doings. Hell, Ulric was evidence of their doings, even.
When none of the lurking infinite beings made themselves readily available, probably from fear he might order Taipan to follow them around, he decided he had to try something.
Anything.
Leaning his hard-won weapon on the rail, he doffed his crude leather pack, more like a bucket satchel, and dug through the contents until he found that object he sought. Out came the faceted crystal that had once been the core of the Forest Lord, its shimmering chromatic hues golden brown, blood red, radiant yellows, facets beyond counting brilliant in the morning suns light. Ulric rose and pushed it into Taipan's hands, who took the object only to keep from dropping it off the pavilion.
She looked like he'd handed her a spider. A deadly one.
"What is this? What are you doing?" She demanded, nearly squawking from disgruntled surprise.
"A peace offering. That's the Forest Lord's core. It's yours. I do not have a use for such a thing but I have been told it is valuable." Ulric said, hoping against hope that maybe he could buy peace.
Whatever that faceted construct, pulled from a beast of legend might be worth, if quiet and stillness he could purchase with it, he would count himself blessed and never a fairer bargain struck.
"I do not want it, how dare—I mean, this is not proper. You don't know what you're doing at all, do you?” the former Huntress snapped, before mellowing slightly, “This crystal heart of the Reaver of old is priceless. Feuds have been fought between lesser houses over less precious Greater cores. It is a thing beyond treasure. And, your purpose in giving, was only for that, for a wergild, you had no other intent? Father did not put you up to this?”
Ulric opened his mouth to, as inoffensively as possible explain that his peace meant silence, most of the time, and to ask what that too pretty demon that got him into this mess had to do with anything, but she ran over him, proving the point of why he’d want to give it to her in the first place.
“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t—Anyway, there is no battle between us any longer Glade Chief. I am to serve as your Shadow now, you do not need to give me this." Taipan rebutted, for once too surprised to instill her normal scorn.
Even as she said that, her hands held it as if it would shatter to pieces in the breeze.
Ulric spoke softly, trying as hard as he could to make clear his sincerity, "Look, Taipan, I cannot change the past. Your brother told me, some, of your family’s history.”
Her glare at that and a parting of lips, probably to scold her brother for airing dirty laundry before strangers, but he cut her off with a raised hand, unwilling to hear ill spoken of the lad, especially not by her and they traded dirty looks, hedge wizard to huntress, neither willing to budge, even though she was, technically, some kind of servant now.
Ulric knew this was all for nought if he started giving orders though. He was trying for peace, not to hand the irascible beyond reason woman a shovel to dig them both deeper into the hole her Father excavated.
Softly, mostly for his hangover, but with steel in his voice Ulric set this Shadow person straight on what he wanted from her, “Just wait! Listen. I know you suffered harm by the actions of humans, and I know I have not been kind to you, though you should also know that you invited most of that unkindness. Even so, I do not desire to live with your enmity on my shoulder. I am sorry for the losses inflicted on you, I truly am. No one should be forced to live with such a thing. But I did not hurt you and I do not accept responsibility for the actions of the ones who did. Nor did I instigate our quarrel, or desire one, even if you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met in two lives. So. Take this priceless thing, which I obtained by sheer chance and have no love for, and let the past lie. At least where we two are concerned. You can do whatever you want with the rest of the world, just leave me out of it."
Her hands turned the core over and over, delicate but strong, a huntress’ hands with callouses aplenty to testify to her labors.
She looked back between the two of them, viridian irises flecked with glittering bronze in the young day’s light flitting from core to man, sometimes, for whatever reason sparing a glance for the trident, saying nothing the entire time. Finally, she came to some decision and, for the first time since he'd laid eyes on her, she stopped looking angry. Maybe a little nauseous, but not angry.
She gently, but firmly, handed him back the core, shaking her head, hair sending twilight cascades down her braid with the motion, and he heard the wood ring at the end click off the railing of the platform.
"Lumyt'seit was right, you are worms in the head. I cannot take that, it would burn me with shame to know I had gained it because you found my presence so intolerable you would rather part with a treasure you cannot fathom than face me." Taipan announced, leaving no doubts that she understood his purpose.
Wealth existed to be spent to obtain happiness, it had no other purpose, he was going to say, but the still dressed for bushwhacking huntress rolled on, a lilting voice held low now, and hasty glances around, as if to avoid the notice of the Iriel’en who thoroughly ignored the pair of stiff-backed people at the edge of the pavilion, "I loathe the Valin and Jormun who took from me. I will always hate them. But, fool that you are, in this you are right. I did you an injustice, from hate, and was shamed by you. I did the Iriel’en, most particularly, my dearest Lumyt'seit, a mortal wrong by breaking his Guestright and trying to maneuver you into death at my father's hand. All my people know this and I am shamed again. This punishment is the least thing Father could do to me, and that is also shaming. I will not continue to deepen my crimes through spite, and you do not need to give me anything to see it ended. It is ended."
There was the echo of her sire's strength of will in that declaration. She had decided the way the world would turn and that was that.
Ulric was so relieved he was very nearly giddy. So, that was that? He didn’t have to suffer constant bitter venoms from beautiful lips forever?
He didn't know what he was going to do with that core though. Treasure beyond treasure Taipan had called it and Brighteyes had said something similar, hadn't he? If the gawking of passersby were any indication it was very much that.
“So…I can’t give you this to make you go away? We have to keep doing this, Shadow thing, whatever it is?” Ulric checked, frowning.
Then what fucking good was it? He wondered.
A heavy sigh from Taipan, who wrinkled yet again her brow in his direction, muttering, “Ancestors before me grant patience” before she squared her shoulders lifting her chin with what dignity remained to her and she hammered the nails into his coffin with a musical voice.
“It is done, by the Lord of Iriel’s will, justice under Iriel’en tradition. I will serve as a Shadow behind you for all of my days or yours. It is not a debt, it is a duty, a matter of the only honor I can yet claim in this life. Now, please, quit embarrassing me further, and put that outrageous thing away.”
“Damn it!” He cursed.
There had to be a way, and he was going to find it. The fox gnawed its leg off to escape the trap and now Ulric understood how it found the strength. For now, he put the ancient terror’s mana field nexus back in his pack and shouldered it, tension bleeding from his thoughts, somewhat.
At least there would be some measure of silence, he thought, until the sylvan once princess broke that immediately.
"I would have an answer to this question though, Ulric Glade Chief.", Taipan stated, with some of that latent hostility in her tone, if not to the extremes of earlier.
Burrowing ahead before he could say anything she demanded "What is it, this thing you are calling me, this Taipan. And why do you not use people's names? You do not give Lumyt'seit his proper name either."
Ulric's cortisol, or whatever Vardan hominids used, tripled in his blood stream immediately, before he heard the question and calmed. That wasn't as bad as he'd thought, he could field that one pretty easily, without stepping on her tender toes. Probably.
"I call Brighteyes Brighteyes because it was the first thing I noticed about him when we met.” Ulric answered, honestly.
“I didn't know he could speak human, which, at that time, his human was terrible so it was mostly the same thing. He seemed fine with the nickname, and it stuck. Hell, it was even the name I saw when I [Scan]'d him during his lesson on how to use that magic in the first place. Later on, I asked him for his real name and he told me Lumyt'seit could translate to Flashing Gaze in human. By that time, I'd been calling him Brighteyes for weeks and he said it was a good name so that was that.” He finished.
With more than a little ruefulness he got to the first part of her question, “As for you, a Taipan, from my old life, was a type of snake renowned for its foul temper and highly toxic venom. For obvious reasons I called you that because you reminded me of nothing so much as the viper in nearly all of our interactions. Including the poison."
Her eyes, slightly narrowed at first, widened to almost acceptance, before drawing back down in to a scowl. She really needed to stop doing that, she was going to give herself wrinkles. She opened her mouth to speak, almost certainly to say something nasty, judging by her expression but she closed it immediately. Turning over a new leaf was hard. Especially when irritable was your natural state. Ulric would know, he'd lived an entire life that way and it had taken the shock of being thrown naked into a wild primeval to give him perspective enough to shake some of that mindset.
Eventually, she seemed to come to terms with what Ulric told her.
"I do not like being called Taipan, even if it was deserved. I am called Geyrt Iriel, Eldest Daughter of Bald'rt, [Lord of the Deep Wood]. You can call me as you will, but it grates my ears to hear myself named a poisonous thing from mockery. I will be your Shadow now to serve as your left hand. Your enemies are mine, and your interests I will advance as far as I am able, for as long as you live." Geyrt declared loudly.
Elven folk had never stopped their comings or goings throughout all of this, and, given that Elf hearing was pretty good, knew what was up. They didn't pause or show any sign though, it was as if a curtain had been drawn on that part of the pavilion, none crossing an invisible threshold or acknowledging anything from across it. They had an odd sense for how to generate privacy where there was none, did the Iriel'en.
No way out but forward, Ulric thought. He stepped forward and offered up his hand. Then he had to explain hand-shakes before she got the wrong idea. A firm shake later and Ulric sealed his fate.
"Well met Geyrt. I accept your service, as bidden by Bald'rt Iriel Chief, and will take seriously all the obligations laid on me. With any luck this is gonna be a long job, I hope we can get along, let bygones be bygones."
*PING*
It was very nearly all he could do not to scream.
Let's get this over with, Ulric thought. It had been a good while since he'd paid his status any attention, other than a few checks to see the status of his healing, since he was trying to benchmark the approximate rate of Vardan Watcher fuckery, to get an idea how rapidly broken bones healed. It seemed like a good thing to know, due to the odds of receiving serious sustained injury from the wildlife growing by the day.
He quickly summoned his status noting a difference in stat modifiers, those bonuses to his base person that he still viewed with deep suspicion.
It actually took a second to figure out what had changed. He didn't feel anything in his core so his magic was the same. And, there it was in the titles.
Snake Charmer. Ulric immediately avoided looking directly at Taipan, Geyrt, turning his grey eyes on the horizon, and locking his jaws to avoid letting slip laughter. Or smiling. And that description…he earnestly hoped Brighteyes' assessment about the rudeness of randomly employing [Scan] on people was on point. If Geyrt saw this she was going to blow her stack. Ulric resolved never to speak of it. It had bonuses though, and those were always nice, because they helped. Somehow. He was almost certain. Frankly, Ulric wasn't sure if, how, or why, those bonuses were reflected in his own consciousness and, if he were totally honest, he would probably never be entirely comfortable with the entire status thing. He did put a mental bookmark in spending some time one night to try to figure out the disturbingly aggressive impulses that were cropping up. Nothing about that was showing up in the [Status] but he was pretty certain he wasn’t imagining things.
He'd been so well adjusted in his own world, or, you know, probably not. But he’d been functionally adjusted, and not violent. Unless it was that a lifetime of socialization and behavioral training from his parents had likely reigned in his more destructive tendencies. Varda didn't just restrain those, it developed them. People who couldn't get down with a little ultraviolence better stay behind very high, very thick walls, and hope to avoid the notice of their less reserved counterparts. Or the wildlife.
None of this was getting him any closer to figuring out what the hell he was going to do about finding a tutor for magic or establishing connections. Or figuring out trade with these jarringly pretty Elves who might also be more akin to Apache than folklore of his world had made them out to be. A side-eye at the hunk of a woman next to him almost made him sigh again.
Might as well make Taipan, Geyrt, he reminded himself, useful.
"Geyrt, I came to Iriel not only to fulfill obligations towards your brother but also to find a tutor to teach me how to wield magic and to find willing trade partners for the materials I have obtained through harvests on the Plateau, and which there may be found in abundance. Where is a good place to start with such a thing?" He asked, trying for polite, but confident.
"This requires you to speak again with my father." Geyrt said without hesitation.
"We are in war stance. All the people in Irielhos will be carrying out their assigned duties and to take time away from them will need his forbearance. In a sense, you are a Lord of the land, as is he, which make your requests matters of diplomacy. As far as materials, if you truly have bones of the Forest Lord they will be highly sought after. Cores of beasts, both Greater and Lesser will be desired as well. These can all be used to manufacture tools for war. But do not part with the Forest Lord core, this is something that should be a relic of your House, a proof of your authority and symbol of power. Most Greater Houses have some similar object. And do not tell anyone you tried to give it to me. Ever" His Shadow continued, adamant on that last point, for some reason.
In fact, while he was still getting used to the tics and mannerisms of this Geyrt Shadowperson, she sounded down-right nervous about that last part. Had it really been so bad an idea? Well, maybe, but he was desperate and desperate men did desperate things. If she had been forced to live with her, she would understand, surely. Taipan mentioned Houses and Greater Houses too, he hadn't heard much about any of those from Brighteyes. Probably related to Elven politics and society that hadn't been relevant to anything related to not getting monster'd in the bush so it hadn't been worth mention.
Sounded like they needed to find Bald'rt before anything else. Back to the top? But how? Ulric caved. Despite his earlier determination to never rely on the waspish woman they’d, maybe, made up just a little, or at least agreed to start from a neutral footing. And he was stuck with her. Maybe putting her to use on some easy tasks would take some of that rod she kept up her ass just a little bit further out.
"Geyrt, I'm not going to lie to you, I was absolutely smashed last night. I have no idea how I got down here. There are lifts, I know. And staircases, somewhere. But you will need to lead the way if we want to get there in a reasonable time frame." Ulric admitted.
"That much was obvious, Ulric Glade Chief. Unless you simply wanted to leave your footprints on every path in the citadel. This is my duty, follow me." She said archly.
The worst of their animosity was behind them but that didn't make Geyrt any less…difficult…was how Brighteyes had described her. Good enough. Ulric wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He let his Shadow lead, sure steps moving them efficiently through the press of busy Elves on their way here and there, deeply uncomfortable with this whole ordeal. There would be a way out, but he’d put it on the back burner, for now. Pressing matters lay in wait, such as securing his survival through a long, hard Winter season in the glade.
Many of the pavilions they passed had rows of Warriors drilling, with a commanding officer or drill trainer at the head, issuing orders. Some practiced in formations, some singly. Many in spars. They were all business, especially in vicious looking exchanges of arms, bodies blurring together, wood sparring weapons whistling through the air.
There was a significant amount of Elf blood on the Heartwood floors.
Healers were busy tending broken bones, lacerations, and all manner of hurts as the Elves sloughed off weakness like Ulric was shaking his hangover.
It made sense. They lived a long, long time, Ulric mused. Can't keep a razor edge up all the time, that was how soldiers broke down. Instead, he reasoned, they emphasized bedrock solid fundamentals and, in times like these, polished their skills back to full readiness. Good steel in these Iriel’en, and they ground themselves to a sturdy blade geometry against one another.
Geyrt explained what Ulric was seeing unbidden at Ulric's unspoken question, made obvious by his interested stares.
Warriors spent their duties in shifts. A Warrior would only be in active duty for a year, and then they would rotate off for three. Many of the more dedicated men at arms, or whatever, with combat-oriented classes served double duties as Hunters, a separate role with separate responsibilities. At any given time, up to, call it two thirds, of the Iriel'en fighting force was off duty. War had brought every last one of them back to full service and they were arming, training, strategizing, and generally getting ready to make whoever had attacked very sorry. That was the reason why they evacuated their city of civilians. None of the warriors were going to stay behind to protect the structures. Every last one was moving with purpose to take the battles to the enemy. First, they would stall the advance. Then they would cut off the reinforcements and supplies. Then they would strangle the invaders. Finally, they would leave the shelter of the trees to carve a symbol of pain into their attackers so deep they would not return for many lives of men.
It was with no small amount of pride that she told him this.
Pride in her kin, in her clan, underlined everything said, her voice carrying the love of her people. Interestingly, she held absolutely no resentment at her current situation, no denial whatsoever in her responsibility for what had happened to her. It was a mark in her favor to Ulric's sensibilities. It was one thing to admit you had erred. It was much harder thing to accept your part in resolving those errors, especially in a case as severe as Geyrt's. Being a Hunter had meant a great deal to her, that much was clear when she spoke of them. Not only because it was a vehicle for her revenge, but also because that was where her heart truly lied. Roaming the deep wood as a sentinel ensuring her people's safety.
That was gone from her, and it was a visible pain in her features to look at the training platforms. The lass wore bravely, Ulric bound to grant her that. For her part, her only reprieve was that the judgment was against his life. What with the usual difference between Valin and Aes’r lifespans, that meant it would be temporary. Not so damned temporary if Ulric had anything to say about it. He was going to do every last thing in his power to see to it Bald'rt's justice lasted long.
Speaking of the Lord of the land, they had ascended another spiraling set of stairs to reach the uppermost level of this fortress city; Irielhos, Geyrt had called it. There was the familiar hall, the sylvan glory of the palace, and inside the hall were those imposing bronze doors, after a weaving walk through the corridors Ulric couldn’t remember exiting. A pair of serious looking, if handsome, guards were holding the door. As they approached Ulric felt himself dissected, analyzed, reassembled, and declared no threat. That did not wound his pride, not any longer. He had experienced the tyrannical existence that was the Blood Moon of Iriel. There was little he could do to stop that Elf from killing him about twenty times before he realized it.
Varda’s rules were different rules, and Ulric, for all he’d struggled, was just starting down the path of being a player by them. He had a headstart, a running go, thanks to the Watcher, but it was on him to ride that momentum to survival in the long term.
The doors swung open again in their gravity defying turn.
Ulric would love to get his hands on their mechanisms and materials. This entire place was a marvel of magical material science fuckery. Before he could lust too heavily, they were ushered into the throne room.
On the dais, in his regular place, sat Bald'rt, slouched without apparent concern for dignity on his throne. On smaller recessed seats that Ulric had not noticed the previous evening sat a trio of Elven women that stood head and shoulders above the rest. Only Geyrt, and the Lord himself, rivaled them for status as perfection incarnate. Sweet Watcher's tits, they were gorgeous. He had very few illusions about being a good-looking man. Imposing, sure. But not pretty. Compared to them, it didn't matter, he was a troll.
One of them was colored as the deep wood folk. Golden brown skin, reddish brown hair, and piercing red eyes, gold flecked. So that would have to be Geyrt's mother. Vedyr, he was pretty sure Brighteyes had called her. He could tell by the pinched lips, and mother and daughter scowled the same. She also had her daughter's athletic frame, if not her height. The next to the left could only be Brighteyes' dam. She had his pale complexion and golden hair. She also had the same gentle calm and a deep brown eyed, brass flecked gaze that suggested total control of the situation. Any situation. She tended towards the slim, just shy of delicate. The last was a bit of a mystery. She had skin more akin to Ulric's own light tan than any of the Elves he'd seen thus far. Her hair was actually crimson red, brilliant fire pouring down all the way to the floor. Her expression was that of a sphinx, he could gain nothing of her disposition. Impassive red and bronze eyes locked onto him, hiding utterly her thoughts. What she was making obvious was that she had the largest knockers of any elf he'd ever seen. They were on prominent display too with a deeply cleaved dress, that deliberately pulled the gaze with its design, whirling patterns of the fabric were intentionally stylized to emphasize what didn’t need emphasis.
Ulric pulled his gaze away before it could be interpreted as insulting. He was pretty certain the third wife was baiting a trap of some kind. Nothing was accidental around here, and he committed himself to keeping his guard up around the fae. Too much lore around Elves said that failing to do so was a mortal error.
These people had no right being this pretty, he decided. It was worse than with the Watcher. That was a being too perfect to be real. There was no doubt that you were looking at something beyond mortal ken. These haunting creatures though had imperfections that only offset, only embellished the rest of them. Without a doubt he was looking at the three wives of Bald'rt that Brighteyes had mentioned. Damn. Must be nice to be king. The man himself, as he had been when Ulric’s escort brought him into the hall, was reclined comfortably in his throne picking what looked like grape sized strawberries off of a small segment of vine.
It was still incredibly off putting how similar he was in appearance to his knockout daughter, who stood at attention just at Ulric’s hip. He wished Brighteyes were around, at least he knew that one liked him a little. The rest? Jury was still out. Especially for the three fairy queens back there.
Bald'rt spoke first, as was his right.
"Ahh Ulric Glade Chief, you have returned from the festivities looking well. I am sorry that I could not accompany you through the rest of the evening, but my family needed tending. In any case, I do believe you were well taken care of, if the gaggle of fine lasses throwing hands for rights was any indication. You are well, yes? Elven spirits can have a mighty kick, and they frequently don't stop just because the fun has." The Elven lord spoke with casual merriment, although he hid decidedly good-humored thorns in his deeply voiced address.
Last night had proven that to be the rule, not the exception with the Elf King.
Sparring with this Elf was proving to be a joy to Ulric. Bald’rt had such a finesse with making a harmless sounding statement into a pointed joke. Such as the implication that Ulric might be suffering from a hangover. He was, but was not near as inflicted as was the suggestion. That was the dig, that the Valin might not be up to handling Elven brews. What he could remember of the previous night was that the two had spent enough time crossing words that Ulric knew he could not win the battle. He just had to let the other guy know there was one.
"Bald'rt Iriel Chief, your hospitality was never in question as of clearing up our misunderstandings. The return of your kin and needs of family are always paramount. I can easily forgive sudden departure at being called away. Indeed, I find your dais is far more intimidating this day than the previous, I would never blame you for having your attention turned by requirements of state. I fear I partook too much of the powerful spirits, I confess I cannot remember how events unfolded past a certain point. I have no complaints about how the dawn found me though and you have my thanks for providing such bounty." Ulric returned.
He could tell that the Lord caught the implication that he was either too intimidated or too henpecked to be able escape his wives' notice. The exchange was fairly even. Ulric had gotten blistered by the Elven wine and the Lord of the Castle ruled in the shadow of Dragons. Both barbs were subtly levied and both carried truth enough that neither could deny them outright without lending extra depth to the thrust.
Ulric was not, however, prepared for the counter attack.
A demure nod toward his spouses was offered, Lord Iriel knew where his bread was buttered, and he graciously intoned, “Ah, forgive me, permit me introduce these lights of mine life, my Ladies in whose care I trust the Deep Wood. Know that any and all what should come against it will first have to reckon with the inscrutable.”
“First is Vedyr, she is of the finest Iriel’en stock, as, perhaps, you can tell by now, my Heartwood Spear. Second is Shor, my Crimson Sphinx on whose wisdom and wit I rely on where my own falls short, who was of the Great Houses of the Aktinian, the seafarers. Lastly, but never least, Bathe, my Golden Beast who most recently takes Iriel under wide wings, where formerly she ruled wisely in the Melondi circles, in the highlands. They rule by my side, and, together, we are the greatest of the Orlethrem. Long will our union lead safely the Aes’r along unknown paths of the future.” Bragged heartily the Elf King, and he was obviously pleased with himself in his partnership with such worthy mates.
The noble women didn’t appear unpleased by their shared consort’s glowing boasts, but they remained nonplussed. Used to being held in adoring light, perhaps.
Ulric wouldn’t have pegged the unquestioned ruler of the Deep Woods Elves as a picture of husbandly pride, but, there you have it. His lofted arrow drifted wide, unable to find a target in the marital arrangements of Bald’rt Iriel. The Elf King took the unexpectedly swift opening provided by his junior adversary though, and drove his jest home without mercy.
"I am gladdened that my son's benefactor was able to enjoy the revelry to completion, not all can handle the pace of Elven festivities. That aside, I have heard tale from the birds that you offered a dowry unheard of for my daughter. I will not say that you work too fast, many have vied for her. I will tell you now that you are over humble, she does not merit such a bridal price as the gem you presented. My wonderful flower is, alas, a thorny one and the blood she draws does detract from her value. Glad I am that she had the sense to reject such an over generous offer, sense I was beginning to despair she had thrown to the way side. Perhaps a Shade’s wisdom suits her." Spoke the Lord, a slight grin finding its way into his features at the growing dismay he so relished.
The implication that Ulric had not been able to pleasure his partner slid off him, unable to find purchase. His ravaged bed was evidence enough of the falsehood of that. No, what had him in a near panic was this bride talk.
Exactly when the hell had he ever so much as spoken a suggestion of such a thing? Surely not when he'd been insulting her. Even hard-asses like this could not interpret such profane abuse as a proposition of marriage. It had to be his peace offering, the core. Damn it, and the passersby had pretended no notice. But he'd clearly stated his intent was merely to let bygones be bygones. At no point had he even remotely implied his purpose was marriage, what the fuck was going on here? Ulric, startled into a slight break of composure, turned to the woman in question who might hold answers to this trickery.
He had not reckoned with his host. Behind him, Geyrt was apoplectic. Her mouth opened and closed half a dozen times between turning from Ulric to her father. Geyrt's mother was glaring openly at her husband, who let the gaze pass through his body to score the wood on the other side.
The other two wives shared a telling roll of eyes that indicated they were well marinated in their spouse's japes and teasing, even and especially when it was at their expense.
Oh hey, there was Brighteyes! Slightly obscured at a side table with several attendants, Ulric hadn't even noticed him between the presence of the sylvan beauties on the dais and the [Lord of the Deep Wood]'s immediate verbal onslaught. Ulric only espied the kid because he was searching for a side exit while he processed the fresh Elven nonsense thrown his way. When none made itself obvious to him, he set to hurriedly searching his thoughts, to find some way to disarm Elf lord. Brighteyes bore a resigned expression, as if he had anticipated this encounter and was waiting for things to proceed as they must. So, no help from that quarter.
It would seem that Bald'rt was in full form. Having thoroughly caught Ulric flat footed, and perturbed his first wife as a bonus, he turned what should have been orderly retreat into a route, not waiting for the sandbagged guest of his hall to recover.
"It is good that you would do things in the old traditions, Glade Chief, I will thank personally whoever it was that told you how to do it correctly. Hunters offering other Hunters trophies from their most prized kills to woo is not frequently done anymore but it is the most appropriate way to capture the affection of my little Shadow Panther.” Bald’rt cheered, with a wink toward his daughter at that pet name.
Geyrt bared her teeth toward her sire, but said nothing, holding with all her might to her role as a Shadow, and not the daughter of the Lord of Iriel.
Hidden disappointment that he’d failed to break his dearest daughter’s reserve on the first salvo was swiftly overcome by playing the next card from his deck, prepared all the morning in anticipation of the game to be played this day.
Bald’rt continued with warm basso congratulations for the visitor’s bridal offering, “And such a trophy! Too humble by half I say. It is no wonder she beat her other suiters bloody, they had not even the nerve to approach her as befit a Hunter. It is just as well, a great thing it is to seal alliances with a recently crowned Lord of the lands, rather than some lesser House's third son. Worry not that she will outlive you, she will carry your House to greater heights after your passing, I have faith, Ulric. We will need to find a compromise though, I cannot have such an unbalanced offering, it would make me seem ungenerous, and you will not have more of my daughters from me. Perhaps you can bring her something a little more reasonable to entice her attention, like a Crimson Drake, no, even better a Gilded Queen's Rose. Yes, if I know my precious Geyrt, that will do perfectly to secure her fondness." Bald'rt drove forward ruthlessly.
Ulric couldn't speak. How this malicious creature had lived over three hundred years acting like this was unbelievable. Geyrt's mother was gripping the dagger hilt in her belt so hard her dark hands were pale. The woman herself looked ready to abandon all dignity and flee the room.
Rescue came from unexpected allies.
The golden woman on the dais, Brighteyes' mother, reached across her shaking companion wife, patting her shoulder with one hand, in commiseration at their shared suffering, and casually punched her husband hard enough to send him hurtling across the room into the wall from which he rebounded into a table, throwing its contents around the hall.
Ulric gawped openly.
How the fuck does a tiny flip of a lady hit that hard?! He wondered.
The royal person buried underneath the destroyed kindling of the table was laughing breathlessly, despite being propelled from the Heartwood wall.
A wheezing Elvish question of "Too much?" escaped the debris.
"You are incorrigible, husband." Brighteyes’ dam told the rubble before turning to the center of the room.
"Please, Ulric Glade Chief, excuse my wayward husband. He cannot resist his teasing, even when proper reason should have told him to stop long ago. I will remind him of royal decorum later. Privately."
The tone of that last word was either a very, very good thing, or a very, very bad thing.
Ulric wasn't sure anymore.
What he was sure of, was that he had vastly underestimated the raw might of these people. Varda class shit or stat fuckery was obviously afoot. He’d been ignorantly comparing these fully matured, enriched by their powers Lords and Ladies to Brighteyes and Geyrt. That was very much comparing puppies to full grown wolves. It also put into perspective his own status. Every person on that dais could almost certainly render him into paste and he hadn’t had a clue from their appearance alone.
Straightening her gown from her marital correction, Brighteyes mother defused the situation gracefully.
"We did, indeed hear of your offer to Geyrt, as we did also hear of the intent behind it. Know that you are under no obligations, and that she was fully correct to reject such an offer, both for the spirit of its intent and for the custom of which you could not know. I would not accept such a thing anyway, you have proven yourself a friend of the Elves but are too much an unknown to give away a daughter to marriage. Perhaps in a few decades. Even this Shadow business walks a thin line that I have objected to. Strenuously."
"As have I." interjected Geyrt's mother, who finally turned her baleful gaze from her spouse to level a merely dissatisfied one on Ulric.
"For her transgressions she should have been challenged and slain. Since you, Glade Chief, chose to forego that, clearly in deference to our Lumyt'seit's affection for his sister, it should have fallen to my husband to level the punishment." She said without mercy.
Hard as the Heartwood below his feet was that one.
Geyrt, for her part, did not look like she disagreed, nor expect anything less. That put some things into context. His new Shadow bore her father's appearance but the temperament of her mother, which was useful information. It also put into perspective Brighteyes' commitment in telling fully, the unfolding of events. He'd basically condemned his own sister, or, at least, had known it would be a possibility. No wonder he'd been sad. What a guy, Ulric owed him a solid. And ratcheted up again his respect for that youth’s character.
"You know I could not do that, Vedyr." Said a booming voice from the remains of the destroyed furniture.
Bald'rt rose from the ashes of his demise resplendent. A twisting of chin to crack his neck, and brushing the remaining splinters off his rich wardrobe, scuffed substantially in places, he returned to his seat on the throne as if nothing had happened.
Vedyr, first wife of the Iriel’en Lord, sniffed loudly and he patted her hand gently mouthing the word "later" in Elvish, which seemed to mollify her somewhat.
"I have never made secret that my little Geyrt is the apple of my eye and my favorite daughter.” Bald’rt declared without shame toward Ulric, a glowing smile toward his daughter who he’d been forced to expel from Iriel’en society proper just the day before, before he continued in that room filling bass, “It is true that her crimes are great, and that they did merit punishment of equal magnitude. I will not have it said that Guestright is a thing of air, nor is the lesser crime of leaving one’s post something to be ignored. But she did these things while her mind was greatly unsettled by the grief we all shared for Lumyt'seit's supposed death, and deserves a chance to redress them.”
“A human lifespan in service is long enough to contemplate the wrongs she has done and to make amends. Ulric Glade Chief, when your time on Varda is done, having made good her oaths, I will welcome my Geyrt back to Iriel without reservation and restore her position of Hunter, if she should still want it. I made my will known last evening, as I made it known this morn, and now have I also made it known here before all parties. Thrice have I said and done: I have made my decision and will hear no more on it." Declared the [Lord of the Deep Wood] in a tone that said the matter was over.
This was the most awkward five minutes of Ulric's entire existence. This was, somehow, more awkward than waking up naked in a strange forest. He now felt an entirely new level of sympathy for both Brighteyes and even his obnoxious sister. There was no way they escaped from such an upbringing unscathed. If a person could melt through the floor from pure embarrassment his Shadow would have long since parted from this room. Brighteyes shared the same look of practiced tolerance with his mother. The sphinx on her seat remained impassive.
Tentatively, Ulric tried to salvage things as best as he could.
"I am glad there are no misperceptions about the nature of my gift towards your daughter, Lord Bald'rt. I meant no harm, just the opposite, I had hoped to grant her a gift to promote our…cooperation. But things are now to rights and I am satisfied that all parties are at ease, yes? That brings me to the purpose of my visit today. I have gathered many bounties from the place you know as the [Forest of the Forgotten], among other names, and from my own glade. I would make available these things for trade but know not who to seek. I have also experienced, er, less than optimal outcomes from some of my explorations to learn mage craft, and wanted to contract one who could instruct me in this, if it is possible."
Ulric spoke as carefully as he could. Choosing his words such that there could be no misinterpretation for that jackal on the throne to misconstrue to his purpose. This is probably where people got the whole Fae don't lie but lure you into making deals stuff. He felt like he was dealing with a particularly malicious lawyer. One that took perverse pleasure in badgering their opposition before the bench.
The Dragons were not entirely thrilled with how things had turned out but did not swoop down to devour him. The lord of the castle he addressed did not answer immediately.
Instead, Bald’rt Iriel simply leaned back to mull things over for a bit. Ulric had really been hoping Brighteyes would be of some help here but he had not reckoned properly with the reality of things: Brighteyes was a child. A solid kid, but still a kid. And he was the youngest person in the room by twenty years. Go ahead and add a century to that if you ignored Ulric's own merely human person. His status at the moment was to be seen and not heard until one of his parents required it. In a way that was fine with Ulric, the kid had had enough trouble recently, let him go back to being a boy again.
Ulric's Shadow looked less like she might sick up, but was, by his estimation, trying to stand so still that everyone would forget she was there. No assistance forthcoming. It was entirely possible that the only even break he was going to get was that Brighteyes' mother would pop her husband if he got out of line again.
Ulric could settle for that.
A minute passed glacially. The ice age ended with a return to normalcy. It seems that business matters would get business treatment.
"This is a matter in which we have needed discussion, Ulric Glade Chief, I am glad you have brought it up first.” The Elf King finally replied, in more serious mien, “The Plateau of Ancients has been, for the last six generations of Elves, by my reckoning, a no man's land. Not because the Aes’r would have it that way, once it was a place for pilgrimage. No, in those days it became the demesne of the monster known as the Forest Lord, by right of its unkillable vitality, and surpassing might.”
Nods of agreement from all the Ladies of the Kingdom certified that statement.
The Chief of the Deep Woods tribe continued his story, which was pertinent to the arrangements that needed to be resolved concerning the lands once, and yet still, considered sacred to the Orlethrem, “The beast was as fiercely territorial a creature as has ever been seen, according to records kept in those days. It killed everything that tried to dwell within its domain. Several times Hunters, monster slaying expeditions, and squads of warriors, those of Orlethrem and also of the surrounding Otherkin had attempted to conquer it, only to be killed to a man, those that did not flee quickly enough. After hundreds of lives were lost to no purpose, we abandoned hope of reclaiming the land and it was declared forbidden to trespass there, not to incite the wrath of the Tribes of the Elves, but to prevent more bloodshed by the creature.”
Bald’rt’s crimson consort spoke up, her didactic, almost metronomically precise speech at odds with her somewhat wanton appearance, and she continued her Lord’s tale of the Plateau’s history, “Before the beast took up residence, indeed, in days long before the tribes of Aes’r confederated to form Orlethrem, the Plateau, was a sacred land. None lived there out of respect for the passing of Those Who Came Before, the Ancients, a progenitor people of all the present peoples of Varda. They, who are storied to have planted the great trees, eons ago. Some claim they raised the plateau as well, from the surrounding lands, to form a foundation for their great garden, but that has no bearing on our current talks.”
Bald’rt murmured a rather demure “Just so,” toward his mate and continued the address toward Ulric with a gesture, denoting the import of this conversation, “The reason you must know these things, which are common knowledge to the Orlethrem, if not the Otherkin, is to put in perspective what the fall of the Forest Lord means, and what you have done to be now [Lord of the Ancient Glade], warden of lands sacred to the Aes’r. Where once there was an incredibly large domain that was emptied by the presence of that old terror, now there is a rich land that lies open. Those of Orlethrem would not desire to live there, of course, it remains a sanctuary, the grove a memorial to the legacies of the Ancients. But now, all the beasts driven from the place by its defender will return. Those caged by its presence in the Forest of the Forgotten upon the boughs of the Godtrees are loosed. Animals, monsters, Greater Beasts, all of these will now flock to fill the void." Bald'rt explained in a steady bass, utterly serious.
He did not end there, but continued his speech, which had the feeling of a thing already hashed out, ground well trodden; it lacked the spontaneity of the Elf lord's former conversation.
"My son spoke to you of this matter. Where this touches Orlethrem, and Iriel most of all, is that the forest is shifting. Territories of dangerous things, well mapped, are moving. No longer can the marked paths be trusted, as your encounter with the Golden Heckler Monkey has proven.” Observed the King somewhat wryly.
Bald’rt frowned slightly, as if disapproving generally of the world for a moment before he went on, “Never should that creature have been found on a marked trail so close to our occupied lands. Worse is the fact that we cannot spare Hunters and Warriors to reign in the movements of these creatures, all our attention must be turned to the task of repelling Prespang, or as I suspect, the hand in the glove that is the Merchant King thugs who rule in Prosper. It is a good thing that we have withdrawn to the Heartwood strongholds else the beasts might be tempted to turn their attention to the farmers, gatherers, and Iriel'en who make their living in the Deep Wood.” Explained Iriel’s Lord, which made all kinds of sense.
Cold comfort that they’d gotten bushwhacked by roided out chimps that had a snort of angel dust to go along with their bad attitudes. Even so, he could feel a little glad that such a threat wouldn’t be hanging around to snatch farmer’s kids later or some such awful shit.
A gesture from his host brought Ulric’s attention back to focus.
“That brings us to you yourself, Ulric Glade Chief.” Bald’rt stated, expression curious, as if presented a puzzle to decipher.
Veridian almond shaped eyes, gilded by burnished gold, stared intensely for a moment and Ulric felt again the unsettling experience of being the recipient of the powerful Elf’s full attention.
“Forgive me this small rudeness, I would [Scan] you now to see with my own mind what tale the All-Knowledge has to tell of you. I offer you the same courtesy, you may look on me to see all that there may be to know. I will not reject your attempt, if you wish it."
Ulric dismissed the notion of rejecting the request. Brightyes and Geyrt had already done so, and the Aes’r chief could find out anything he wanted by asking them. This was a courtesy.
“Feel free, Bald’rt Iriel Chief, I didn’t come to your home to keep secrets that might harm your people. While I appreciate the offer, I don’t need to use anything like [Scan] to see the truth of you Bald’rt. I’m pretty sure I know of you what is needed for my purposes.” Ulric offered, with what grace he could muster.
That generosity bought him a measure of respect from the sylvan royals, each granting a nod of appreciation. It even, to his amazement, generated a tilting of lips, vaguely upward, in what might conceivably by scientists be called, under the most technical of definitions, a smile from Geyrt at his hip. Brighteyes gave a supportive thumbs up, a gesture Ulric had taught him during their time together at camp.
Green eyes flashed silver briefly and Ulric could feel the magic sweep through him. This was a far more intense experience than he had felt from Brighteyes. From Geyrt, who had evidently used [Scan] from hiding he had felt absolutely nothing, but that might be something Hunters can do to preserve their ambush.
If there was a qualitative difference in what Bald'rt saw compared to his children Ulric would not know. He only barely understood how [Scan] or the [Status] operated, or anything as related to the touching of the Akashic Record. He'd long since put that on the stack of things labeled "Spooky Magic Shit" in his brain.
Ulric knew the moment the Lord of Iriel saw [Snake Charmer]. Just a fraction of a second, the serious expression nearly cracked, before he resumed his stoic considering gaze. A flick of the eyes to his daughter, a twitch of his mouth was all he betrayed. But Ulric could feel the contained mirth. The sphinx somehow caught wind of something. She turned to level an ever so slightly inquiring gaze on her spouse before resuming her passive gaze which took in the entire room. Fortunately, the moment passed without disaster. That would not last forever, but, for now, crisis was averted.
Apparently Bald'rt was satisfied by what he saw. A wave of his hand to dismiss the unseen scroll of All-Knowledge and he continued their discussion.
"You are [Lord of the Ancient Glade] in truth, Ulric Glade Chief. The All-Knowledge has recognized your stewardship and your right to that place. This is good. We can resolve now matters of grave import. We are, for all intents and purposes, two neighboring realms. That makes these discussions a matter for diplomacy, and not merely the trading of boons between our persons. In all likelihood, should you survive, you will grow well into your role. And that brings us to your second ask of me, the matters of trade we may sideline for a moment. You are as an orphaned child in our world, are you not?"
Ulric only had to think a moment before answering to the truth of that.
"This is probably a fair way to describe it. I have trouble with time, things blur together in the Glade, but by my best reckoning I was reforged on Varda no more than four or five months ago, at the most. All I know of the land, its creatures, its histories, and my own existence I have learned by observation, experimentation, or under the instruction of your son. That isn't to say I am completely ignorant, I hold a wealth of knowledge from my previous life, but much of that has proven to be either irrelevant or misleading being of a world extremely alien to this one in many ways. In particular, mana, cores, and the influence of magic confound most of my prior knowledge and lead to dangerous assumptions, none of these existed in my old life"
Ulric delivered his reply with absolute honesty. Bald'rt had employed [Scan] and would know much of that, or, at the least, would be able to infer it. In order to get useful advice or be able to place things in proper context, it would be best if he filled in the gaps in what his status told and what his actual expected competency would be.
They were neighbors, potentially allies, and he gained nothing by holding out on these feyfolk rulers. If they wanted him dead, it would take a word. Less.
Something in his reveal must have caught them by surprise though, there was a trading of glances on the dais. For some reason, the crimson sphinx collected a coin from Geyrt's dam, silver passing smoothly from one hand to another. Satisfaction purely radiated from the impassive woman. They leaned in together and traded a hushed Elven conversation Ulric didn't even attempt to listen in on. Weird.
Bald'rt refocused smoothly and explained.
"Please excuse our rudeness Glade Chief. This does come as a surprise. Reforged are not unknown. We have heard of the possibility in many tales, both of our peoples and those of the Otherkin. We had not heard though that they carried the memory of their past lives. That would explain the oddness of your age in the status, for the ages of both of your lives are shown unless Varda hides secrets within secrets, as happens betimes. It does also explain some of the other abnormalities. Your ancestry, notably. To be blunt, you are human only in name and appearance, born of the Field, but shaped according to the Eternal Gaze’s sculpting to appear as from the Highland barbarian tribes that dwell in the Outer Reaches of Prespang, far to the North and West of this continent. The circumstances of your reforging have gifted you with a body greater than the others of your kind, and a core that is the pinnacle of what we had thought possible. Yours hasn't even awakened and it carries traits of a tier three core, a master wielder of the Field."
That revelation did not shock as much as it would have a month ago.
Ulric had seen too much of the nature of beasts here, especially the ones that roamed the canopy, vying for control of that territory in the absence of its former lord. They were all too fast, too strong. He'd fought experienced hunters, fighters who considered their strength great enough to challenge those dangerous beasts. They'd been wrong, but they'd also had some reason to believe as they had.
He'd raced an Elven scion of exquisite parentage though the forest, even one injured.
He'd battled monsters and won, mostly untouched by their fangs.
He’d healed too fast from injuries.
He'd survived Geyrt.
None of those things would have been possible for him if he'd been an average man. Or even an above average one. And that was disregarding his core and its benefits to his abilities. He had a feeling he was punching above his weight in the magic department. His spells, rudimentary as they were in his opinion, were potent. Potent enough to destroy a monster that they shouldn't have harmed, although that had leaned on the souped-up Mana engine in his chest.
None of it made sense outside of the context that the Watcher had done some serious shenanigans when she reforged him. Stacked the deck in his favor, as it were. Of course, the creature had then placed him into the most dangerous location in the entire continent so far as he knew, so there was also that.
It hadn’t been for no reason that he’d been jerked across worlds, no matter how altruistically the Watcher had described that event. Nobody with a lick of sense worked for free. Ulric Einar wasn’t an accident, he was an instrument. He just didn’t know for what purpose he’d been designed.
Yet.
Cynically, Ulric whispered to himself, “Bet I’m just going to love it when I find out.”
