There were few things in life as purely satisfying as proving someone utterly wrong. No part of his magic before was supposed to be possible, according to Geyrt's description of the limitations of wielding Ceraun. They were doing something wrong, had to be. He wondered if it had to do with ignorance on what the nature of the electron, of what charge was?
He wasn't a quantum physicist, but he'd studied enough of it to know that waves and particles liked to trade places when you looked at them. That particles were just excitations of the underlying quantum fields, collapses of probability. And that electromagnetic force was described in some circles as the exchange of a virtual particle, a field perturbation, though short lived, between the collapsed waves, the particles. He was willing to bet that the missing piece of this interaction, the unmeasurable virtual particle, was mana. More things in heaven and earth indeed, he’d do well to remember that there were likely completely novel interactions at play on Varda, more than ever he’d known on old mother Earth.
Having this kind of intimate knowledge was like holding the keys to the castle keep. The spellcasters of this world could access the walls and battlements by force, they just jumped over them, so to speak. But he could open the doors and walk inside. It produced a qualitative difference in the result of their magics. It also removed some of the dangers and traps that touching these spells involved. Geyrt hadn’t been all wrong to criticize him though; for every major thing the sorcerers of this strange sylvan magic were wrong about, there were probably a thousand small things they were completely right about, efficiencies, methodologies, practical experience. Hence the pressing need to study magic with these people before trying to reinvent the wheel.
Before Ulric could start to explain this to Geyrt, the door to the room echoed from two loud knocks, then opened. Into the room stepped a staffer, Ulric was deliberately thinking of them that way instead of "servant", an older man of refined features, and a warrior alongside him. It was, in fact, the very same warrior with whom he'd spent the previous evening. They both looked like business, but he got a quick smile from his not so paramour, which was encouragement enough for the recalcitrant socializer. Smiles were worth their weight in gold the day after, if anybody asked him.
He didn’t know why, when they themselves were so outlandishly attractive, she was interested in some hard-faced crag of a man compared to the gorgeous features of every Aes’r he’d seen, but some ladies dug ugly and he was totally fine with that. Maybe she had a thing for wide shoulders, he was certainly a little less balance beam and a little more still rings than the average Iriel’en. Especially given that these were all their more combat ready peoples roaming the fortress, and those tended toward the lean hunter types.
His guests took in the room, not destroyed. Flicking gazes were most definitely canvassing for trouble. Ulric realized that his experiments with Ceraun had been, to put it mildly, disruptive to the neighbors and he’d owe them an apology. Thunder booming down the halls after dinner was definitely not being a good guest.
Geyrt they saw unharmed, but clearly unhappy, so there was nothing new there. Seeing all parties healthy, the rooms intact, and nothing too apparently amiss, other than the slightly damaged table top, they relaxed slightly.
"Please excuse our rude interruption, Glade Chief. We were on our way to inform you of the arrangements for the fulfillment of agreements made and heard a loud noise. We hurried to ensure that no one had been harmed." Said the liveried, grey-haired Elf.
How the hell old did he have to be to have grey hair?
The Warrior, Hal'et? Hal'et, spoke up, her low melodic voice full of teasing.
"We were not sure that you hadn't gotten overly enthusiastic disciplining your Shadow Panther. It can take time to teach them to keep their claws up." She said, grinning widely toward the thus far ignored Shadow.
Huh. That was nearly the first time anyone had mentioned Geyrt who wasn't direct kin. And, judging by Grey's sniff, it was considered a faux pas to do so casually. Hal'et merely shrugged at the elder man, unperturbed.
Geyrt's ears reddened slightly, though she glared at the Warrior without saying anything. Huh, would you look at that, somebody who knows how to get under her skin better than him. That she was embarrassed, rather than merely angry, meant the prod had hit something sensitive. Come to think of it hadn't her father called her his little Shadow Panther in gest? So maybe it was a running joke. Old friends maybe?
Ulric decided he'd better not pry. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. Other times it was survival. Nope, he was going to just move things right along and hope for the best.
"Welcome, the both of you. Nothing to excuse, you were looking out for my safety and the safety of my Shadow. We were just having a conversation about Ceraun and I was making a demonstration to prove a point. Come, make yourselves comfortable. Juice?" He asked casually as he could.
Grey seemed almost surprised at the invitation. But he recovered quickly and smoothly.
"No, thank you, Glade Chief, that won't be necessary. I won't disturb your peace for long. Lord Bald'rt has arranged for space to be made for you in an instructional hall, that you may receive instruction alongside our…people…to assist in your learning of Iriel. This is to be at Midsunsrise. At Sunscrest you are invited to join Idra'se for drilling and instruction of arms with his men. Then, at Midsunsfall, you have been requested to appear for training in the mage arts. My Lord Bald'rt says not to be late or his wives will be displeased at tardiness. I would heed him on this Glade Chief. That will be all, arrangements would normally have been made for a guide, but your Shadow should be able to lead you. I will be going now, have a good evening." Grey said bowing himself out of the room smoothly.
He was like a professional butler or something. Had that whole "I am serving you so you will do exactly as I say" vibe Ulric thought. A movement at his side turned him back to see the Warrior woman had not left, instead she was standing next to the table looking at the lightning burns. She smiled down at him and winked.
"I will accept your offer Glade Chief. Thank you for helping me wet my…throat." Hal'et said in a smoky tone.
She took a cup and filled it before downing the entire thing in one gulp. She licked her lips when she was done, and made a show of it. Ulric was suddenly glad he was sitting down at the table.
He heard a cough and saw that Geyrt was looking a little less overtly hostile. At least towards him. She didn't seem thrilled with the current situation, but was unable to scold anyone over it, given her new status. Not that that had seemed to stop her much before, but she was unquestionably as distracted by their guest as he was, if, maybe, for different reasons.
Clearly the earlier conversation was on hold, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to put socks on correctly with Hal’et over there, a predatory gleam in her lime-colored eyes. Certainly, the unexpected visit had also distracted Geyrt from her shock at seeing his supposedly impossible spell casting, for which he was even more grateful for the interruption than just on account of the heavy come hither getting thrown his way. Not to discount the come hither, mind, that was a ton of hither. Ulric had no idea what to do here.
When in doubt, Be Polite.
"Ladies, would you like to sit? It's been a long day, we might as well relax." He offered, hoping his limited Elvish would hold up.
"I will stand." Geyrt said instantly.
"I'd be glad to sit on, I mean, with you." Hal'et answered only slightly behind his Shadow, using that same husky voice.
Ulric didn't miss the frown being leveled at both him and the incredibly obvious warrior woman. What the hell had he done now? He also did not miss the pretend mistake, especially not in her native tongue. In spite of the juice, Ulric's mouth was going dry. No Casanova was he, but the buxom Elf was just about lighting road torches up her thighs.
He cleared his throat gently and noted that the room temperature was going up every time the elf-at-arms over there moved or spoke.
Hal'et took the chair opposite Ulric, ignoring the gaze leveled at her back, and he noticed that her armor flowed with her motion. The protective cuirass consisted of small, leaf shaped, scales that reminded him of fish if they had a shimmering blue green color. It created an almost liquid effect where every movement was permitted as the scales shifted. It also meant that the cuirass did very little to hide Hal'et's curves. Va voom. Those were emphasized when she crossed, then uncrossed her legs and leaned forward to smile at him.
She had a lighter tan complexion, similar to Shor's. Distant kin? Same clan? A distinct redness to her dark, glossy braided hair, and a solid, thicker build than many of the Elves he'd seen, broader shoulders and thicker legs. That also translated to wide, round hips and a full bust. Eyes that were more yellow than green, with copper flecks were gazing playfully at him. She was definitely cute. Not as absolutely breath taking as Geyrt, or as imposing as the Dragons, but every bit the testament to whatever the hell magitech bioengineering was responsible for these wondrous Elves. Way too pretty for him, and he had to summon his courage not to go all stiff legged and mumbling. Too late for that, Old Man, she’s got you in her sights and you can’t run fast enough to escape.
The atmosphere was definitely a little odd. He wanted to finish his conversation with Geyrt but he couldn't just ignore the woman in front of him. The way she sat though put Geyrt behind her like a barrier. A sexy barrier that was making definite eyes at him. And Geyrt was still radiating disapproval, for some reason. Nothing for it, Ulric decided. He wasn't going to be able to make useful conversation with his Shadow at this point and she was making his skin crawl glaring at everybody like that. And he was most definitely not going to suggest that Hal'et go anywhere anytime soon.
"Geyrt, you don't have to wait around if you don't want to sit with us. We can always finish our conversation tomorrow. I promise I'll explain how it works, right from the beginning." Ulric said evenly.
Don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up. Don't. Fuck. This. Up. He begged the universe silently.
The dark woman stiffened before returning to her almost at attention stance. She actually looked a little relieved. Was she forced to stay in the room until he dismissed her? Gods this Shadow stuff was going to be tiring. They ought to give you a rule book or something.
"Thank you, Glade Chief. I will retire and make preparations for the morrow. You may summon me if you have need. Have need of me tomorrow, I mean." She finished, stumbling a bit there at the end.
Huh.
His Shadow turned on her heel and strode off. Did she slam the door behind her? Maybe a little.
"She refuses to let that pride go, even a little. It's a wonder she doesn't set herself on fire burning like that all the time." Hal'et said, a little wistfully.
Suddenly the playful gaze turned serious, even a little regretful.
"It is rude to speak of another's Shadow, but we were close for many years. It is a sad thing to see that, even now, she has not learned the lesson of not holding onto everything too tightly. I would not have thought it would lead her down such a road, but disaster, of some kind, was assured. She probably would have thrown herself away in the first clashes with Prespang; this is, in many ways, a kinder fate. You will have a hard time, at first, with her stubbornness; be patient, and, eventually she will see sense. Don't ever let her think you weak, or you will suffer for it." the woman instructed softly.
An old friend then, maybe part of those rings? If so, they had likely known each other for decades. Probably the only reason she'd acknowledged her was for old times' sake, to see her friend cared for properly. The advice was good, and he fully intended to take it.
Tossing her head, the Elf woman leaned forward, that smoldering look back on her cute face. Business was, apparently, at an end.
"But enough of that, we are alone now.” Hal’et announced, with a decidedly anticipatory note in her voice.
Leaning back, almost primly, but smiling an ever so sharp toothed Elf grin toward her prey she informed him, “My funeral was today. I have my rotation duty starting tomorrow and it will be after this war is done before I can relax again.”
He would have offered something to eat, or something boozy, but, before he could say a word, the Iriel’en warrior made her case strongly.
“I would like you to peel me like a jamfruit, and eat to your hearts content. What do you say?" She said, a hint of challenge in her low voice, though she laughed at the end.
"I say you're on lady. One peeled jamfruit coming up." Ulric announced more than agreeable to that proposition, reaching for the giggling woman.
The hand reaching for her arm found only air. She spun away from the table with the effortless grace of her kind to stand a few meters away. Her hands ran down her bust, stomach, and thighs and she spun to arch her back, pushing her rump towards him. Looking over her shoulder she taunted him and undid the swordbelt that held a wide bladed scabbard and long belt knife, letting these lie upon the top of a dresser.
"The winds blow strongly this time of year. I am afraid I can be a difficult catch, Ulric Glade Chief. You will have to be quicker than that if you plan to dine tonight."
She rocked her hips back and forth at him to further throw down the gauntlet. Of course, Elves made this into a challenge. However, for once, this was a game Ulric was ready to play; the rules were clear and the rewards were well worth the effort. He had a feeling that just because this nymph wanted to be caught, she wouldn't make it easy.
Ulric stepped away from his seat with deliberate slowness. He kept his feet light, ready to move to cut off her movement as he advanced steadily. When he was within striking distance, he launched himself forward but she backstepped and then suddenly moved to the side, like she was levitating. It was an effort to stop himself, to try to move to intercept, and he was too slow to prevent her from reaching the open floor. He probably could have gotten there but he was hesitating, worried about colliding with all this armor. It would not do to smash your partner's face on a bone plate.
Having escaped, Hal'et was now lounging on the foot of the bed, kicking her legs. Fine. Be that way, Ulric thought as he removed the pauldrons and pulled the lorica off, bearing his upper body, as he dropped the gear to the floor and lightly kicked it out of the way under the table.
"Ohh? You were supposed to be peeling me, not yourself. Or is it that you are the only one in this room who you can catch?" The woman teased.
"These jamfruits move easily in the breeze. I would hate to bruise them in the catching. Besides, you appear to enjoy the sights." He returned, smiling.
He couldn’t deny that a game of tag with stakes was turning out to be rather a great deal of fun.
He readied himself to close on her again and she bounced to her feet lightly stepping to the side of the bed to give herself room for evasion.
Ulric rushed forward suddenly and she fled giggling. She spun away from his line of attack forcing him to juke sideways. He nearly had her then, because she had to jump an end table, but she pulled her arm in close as she leapt and he wasn't willing to grab her hair. Not right now at least. She came down and did some kind of dizzying step that made her seem to flow around him. Ulric knew he wouldn't be able turn himself in time to pursue so he threw himself into a backwards retreat that closed off her path and kept her in front of him.
Whew. Agile. Quick too. He was suddenly not so very sure he’d be able to pull this off.
"You are doing better Ulric, but, alas, this fruit is yet dancing in the wind. You were right though, I am glad you shed the armor. Watching you try to catch me is almost as much fun as being caught. Those shoulders…and I imagine all kinds of things to do with your hands." Hal'et taunted again.
She punctuated her tease by raising her arms over her head and turning in profile like she was stretching. Her curves stood out clearly in that rippling iridescent armor. The black silk like undergarment, the same kind Geyrt wore, and indeed, the same kind that all the Warriors tended to favor, hid nothing of the definition of her limbs.
There followed another failed attempt and three rotations around the room in which he learned that Elves are fucking tricky and might not have any bones.
Both of them had returned to their respective “corners” and were breathing slightly more heavily from a combination of exertion and anticipation. No wonder they were all in shape, foreplay was some kind of Olympic event.
Ulric was determined that this next push was going to be the last. He had a plan. Their game had taken him towards a thin circular rug depicting abstract vines circling the twin suns and she, while still not cornered by any stretch of the imagination, had the large bed blocking one side and the corner of the room on the other. Hal'et moved like the perfect blend of a dancer and a gymnast. Even in this enclosed space, even quick as Ulric was, she was simply able to twist, jump, spin, and slide away. But she had a weakness Ulric had noticed during her flight. She naturally tended to evade clockwise.
Ulric feinted another rush, which spurred her to step towards the bed, no doubt she'd just jump across it, and Ulric kicked the thin rug to slide under the foot she was planting for her move. The rug slipped under her, her first sign of ungrace as she jerked, arms swinging, then turned to regain her balance and Ulric was nearly on top of her before she managed it. Looking back over her shoulder and seeing him so close, her cute face focused, and she planted both feet together in a crouch and launched herself in a high standing back vault that took her over him. Ulric was already spinning though, anticipating that she would escape being cornered, and reached out low in time to manage to grab an ankle, just before she dove out of her landing towards the center of the room.
Heaving, Ulric pulled the leg from under her and stood quickly, planting himself as he felt her weight settle on his arm as he rose. He had her then, dangling from his right hand while his body strained to hold her up one handed. Her yelp at losing balance and swinging face first towards the floor had turned into a giggling laugh as she hung there. Ulric reached, keeping his holding hand high to put his other hand to her side and rotated her to plant her standing in front of him, both hands on her waist. He'd seen cheerleaders and ice skaters do this sort of thing on television. Having done it himself now, he had greater appreciation for what a display of strength and coordination it really was.
Hal'et stood breathing deeply and suppressing her laughter. Ulric was breathing hard as well and found himself smiling. It had been a fine game and he'd only had to cheat a little. They stood there briefly enjoying the moment.
"Hal'et, thank you for the game, it was lovely and so are you. Would you mind showing me how to peel jamfruit? I confess I have no memory of the other night and the morning found you already in your skin. It is a marvelous skin I might add." Ulric said honestly, if haltingly, concentrating on the inflections.
The good-humored girl put her hands over his and leaned forward to whisper into his ear.
"I will gladly show you this and many other things. This time I will make it so you do not forget them, not for any amount of Elven wine, yes?"
And then she did.
Morning came late for Ulric. Not enough sleep, he laughed to himself. And he was by himself, Hal'et had already risen to find her duty. He could still smell her on the bed. What a gal. She'd made good on every look, hint, and tease; laughing and giggling the entire time, when she wasn't making an altogether different type of sound.
What a gal, Ulric thought again as he pulled himself out of bed. A blanketless bed. The comforter and over sheet had been discarded early on. Taking a minute to collect these items and make the bed Ulric basked in the glow of the night. He hoped the elf lass would take care of herself, he found her good humor infectious, to say nothing of the rest of her.
With the mess corrected, Ulric strode naked to the pitcher and poured a half glass of the last of the juice. He felt like he'd need about two gallons of water to set himself to rights. It was a wonder his blood pressure hadn't dropped. Bemused contemplation of carnal carnival was his excuse for why he didn't hear the door to the study open.
"Do you intend to spend all of the day in your skin Glade Chief?" He heard in the unmistakable cutting lilt of his Shadow.
She was not going to have his joy though, not today. And if she was going to barge into his room without knocking, she was going to get to enjoy the sight of his bare ass for as long as he chose to share it.
"If you'd seen how this skin got used in the last few hours you'd stay in it too. I might not bathe today just to keep the feel of her fresh." Ulric retorted, looking over his shoulder.
Wonder of wonders that might have bought him a blush. Could it be? Was this fierce woman, this centurion, this dealer of death for her peoples, possibly shy? Amongst these folk? A hard life that would have to be, they were pretty off the cuff about the nightly distractions. She hadn't shown a lick of shame about being nude in the baths though, had apparently taken in stride his view of her. Maybe there was a kind of social conditioning that made those kinds of situations more comfortable? This needed testing.
Ulric turned to face her, glass in hand, one hand on his hip. He drank away the last of the juice and carefully put it down on the table, making sure to keep Geyrt in his sight. Every motion was completely deliberate and without a single hint of difference from what he’d do fully armored. It was time to determine how his Shadow handled his presence, which would inform him about how he should handle hers, and by association, others. He caught her inspection though he pretended no notice of it, which seemed to be the correct way to respond amongst the Elves.
Hmm…so his Shadow is at least somewhat aware of him as a male or as a person. Good. Not that he ever planned on working in that direction, he was not ashamed to admit that the thought of her father descending on him for some break of traditions he was unaware of took the starch right out of him. Her mother was only slightly less terrifying. No sir, Geyrt Iriel was firmly living in Look but don’t Touch Land.
Leaning back against the table he made himself comfortable. He was prepared to waste a great deal of time, if necessary. This was science, no rushing.
"What duty has brought you to my rooms with such quiet my Shadow?" He asked casually.
She stirred slightly and held his gaze. He couldn’t read her expression, she was using her Hunter’s poker face.
"I had come to see if there was enough of you left to bother attending the Midsunsrise lessons my father had arranged today. It seems my fears were unfounded, Hal'et left you whole and uneaten." Geyrt replied evenly.
Oho, so not completely a prude. And yet. Perhaps this was a pretense? A bold ploy to cover her discomfort?
"I am afraid you may have the reverse of things in your mind. It was not fair Hal'et doing the eating." Ulric said without particular emphasis, a grin finding its way to his face at the memory.
And there! She was blushing! Her gaze twitched again to take him in before returning to his own. If he hadn't been studying her keeping her under a microscope, as if he was examining a grain pattern in a powdered alloy sample to be tested, he wouldn't have caught it. Now the game was afoot, she was off balance and that meant a little shove might just do the trick.
Ulric continued, maintaining his overly matter of fact tone, "And yet, I am afraid she did carry off the better part of me. What you see before you is a hollow shell of a man, absent vital essence. Why, if I had a scale to measure I--"
"Enough! Enough! I have heard enough, the pair of you all night like animals and now this." She shouted.
Waving her hands, the woman's courage failed and she turned around quickly.
Ulric was positive she did not mean him to hear her mutter "I should have known better, he's bad as father." which comparison made him proud. Who could ask more than to be cut from the same cloth as that great man? It was good to be king and this victory was all the sweeter for his finally having learned a vulnerability in the woman.
The results of his experiment? Geyrt probably was not a prude, she'd had the ability to jest, however sarcastic she'd been, about sex. And she handled his exposure with a fair degree of composure, minus a few cracks for the observant eye. But there was definitely something there, a vulnerability, born of discomfort around him or with her own position with regards to her status, he wasn’t sure, and he could exploit it through overtly brazen immaturity.
Satisfied with this short study in Iriel’en Taipans and Their Habits, he filed his observations away and considered the day to come. He would be magnanimous about her defeat, no sense driving her to frothy rage before the dew burned off. He was sure there would be time enough later, even without his actively trying.
"I have been meaning to ask you, how is it that this structure is heated and free of wind?" Ulric asked, genuinely curious but also allowing his Shadow a reprieve.
This had been bothering him ever since they'd arrived. So many windows, so many natural components to the rooms, so much space. Entire walls of woven limb and vine and clearly visible daylight pouring through them. But no wind entered the building, not until he'd opened the doors to the balcony the night before. No drafts either. The space was almost totally comfortable as if it had a marvelously tuned HVAC system.
She turned to see him still standing there and quickly turned back around. Gods, who knew having no shame was so fun? He would consider this harassment if it hadn't been she who had barged into his rooms without warning. She would learn. He’d been nearly a month living in the buff after his unceremonious arrival to Varda, he cared nothing for it now. Enjoyed the freedom, even.
"Will you clothe yourself already? I will announce myself next time, and will not enter until given leave. You’ve had your fun, but there is such thing as running a joke too far. This walks the line between confidence and gratuity." She scolded, clearly exasperated.
He supposed he really did have things to do and she had been punished enough. Ulric found his clothes, pants and armored skirt next to the bed, with his belt across the room. Lorica, undercoat, and pauldrons were still under the table. Dressing, he asked his question again.
This time she turned to find him clothed and he could see relief on her face as she started to explain.
"There is a magical weave placed on the bones of Irielhos, it acts to bar the wind from entering the walls of the citadel. The same weave keeps the air a constant temperature. It is one of the great achievements of the Aktinia, the coastal Elves who contend with powerful ocean storms and greater heat during the summer. Here, even in the coming Winter cold, it will keep the fortress city warm. Only the pavilions will feel the bite of the season."
Now that was certainly a hell of a thing. They had magical central heat and air. And airproofing. Truly magic was an incredible thing. He wanted to know more.
"That is fascinating. Do they achieve the thermal stability by trapping the heat or generating it? Does the material of the structure itself store the energy it removes from the air or simply cycle it out into the exterior? Also, how do the air barriers work? Is the air stilled at the surface or directed around it? That would produce a fairly large impulse under strong gusts. Like the ones I'm seeing outside now." Ulric questioned.
Now that he was paying attention there were some evil looking clouds outside and the wind appeared to be howling judging by the motion of the tree tops below. But of that wind, neither a sound or feel of it could be detected inside the fortress. Amazing. He didn't even know where to start making such a thing with magic. Doing it with engineering involved all kinds of shock absorption, soundproofing, and ways to eliminate vortex shedding vibrations. Technologies that, so far as he could tell, were quite far beyond the Elven civilization around him. They appeared to learn a thing and then to master it to completion rather than make the herky jerky jumps that characterized his own people's history of eclectic genius.
His Shadow merely shrugged at the questions murming "The workings of mages should be asked of mages." A fine way to say "I have no clue".
"There appears to be a massive storm on the horizon. Is this your much vaunted Winter Herald?" Ulric inquired, changing track.
Geyrt nodded, glancing out the window to witness the flights of leaves pulled from tenuous grasp on branches.
"It is. The wind will blow fiercely for two days or so. It will rain a downpour fit to drown fish. And when it passes the air will go frigid and stay that way for the five months until spring. The weather watchers say this year will be a heavy snowing winter. They are rarely wrong. It is good that you have chosen to accept my father's hospitality." She said, absent irritation.
Good indeed. He would not like to imagine what kind of gale would be sweeping across the heights of the Plateau. If he hadn't built his home into the side of one of those fallen Elder trees he had no doubt a wind like that would have proven destructive. His stomach grumbled, interrupting his consideration of the weather.
"Ah. Seems I'm a little famished. What is the usual means for breakfast around here?" He asked.
Whatever the first reply she was going to make died on her lips. A prod? Sarcasm? A joke? He would be left to wonder; her second attempt was a simple: We will away to the mess hall.
Cafeteria food it was. Ulric was honestly not worried. He hadn't eaten anything yet that wasn't a fine example of culinary mastery. It was worth noting that his comparison before his time with the Elves was glade root and herb soups, roasted game, and the odd berries, when they could be determined not to make his bowls run or his lips go numb. As delicious as the [Forest Lord] meat was, it could have used a little salt.
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They left the apartments in relatively good cheer. Ulric certainly was floating and his Shadow, if not as outwardly self-satisfied, wasn't in a temper, at least. Solid start to the morning.
As they walked, Geyrt in the lead, Ulric examined the coming storm. Clouds black on grey on white rolled. Tufts of cirrus were blown free ahead of the front. It promised to be every bit the humdinger that his Shadow had said it would be. They passed through several of the open pavilions, which were bare of warriors. There was remarkably little traffic, now that Ulric turned his attention to where they were going. The bustle of yestermorning was gone, the flow of craftsmen and goods now a trickle, and, overall, the place had the feel of a held breath.
As they strode into the cafeteria, consisting of five kettles, each being tended by a staffer who was assisted by a baker, flowered to the elbows, in various states of breadmaking with a set of large brick ovens behind them. Ulric was nearly as surprised by the brick as anything else. It showed that they knew how to make and use the material, was it merely an aesthetic choice then that dictated the lack of stonework elsewhere? Onto the pile of unknowns it goes Ulric boy, the pile that never shrinks but grows.
His Shadow led them to a kettle where they were offered a large bowl of stew and a plate holding a slab of bread, a thick slice of cheese, and a single soft skinned rosy red fruit, which Ulric nearly spat upon hearing the name of: the jamfruit. So named because it was so prevalent and tasty that it was stored en masse as a jam, jelly, or preserve.
Thus loaded down, Geyrt strode to one of the long empty tables, numbering near to fifty in this great hall alone. Circular in shape, they sat eight chairs each. Many tables were vacant, but just as many others held a tightly clustered group of five or six. Only rarely were tables occupied in couples or triplets and rarer still a full table. Seems these were the rings or Elven social circles Brighteyes had mentioned. Thinking about the kid Ulric wondered how he was doing. He sort of missed the little guy. Probably being pampered by his mom and smothered in affection by his kin. Good for him, he deserved it.
Geyrt unceremoniously tucked into breakfast so Ulric did the same. He'd noticed that the only tables at which there was talking were the ones with stacked empty bowls. They really did eat in silence as a rule. Keeping his people watching on the down low he couldn't help but appreciate the ordered chaos of Elven society. Just when he was sure he was in a savage tribal warrior cult they went all silent dignity of Lothlorien on him. He didn't realize quite how hungry he'd been as he absolutely cleared his plate and swabbed the bowl clean with the last of his bread. Meal completed he sat back and stared at the ceiling, letting the food warmth settle into his bones.
Their meal concluded, Ulric was interested in picking his Shadow's brain about the lack of visible goings on but he was denied nearly instantly.
"We do not have time for me to indulge your interrogations if you are to be at the instructional site on time. When the doors to the lecture hall close, they do not open again until it is done. That such an opportunity was provided by my father would mean your missing its very first day, for no good reason, would be to say that it was without value to you. This is not a great insult but it reflects poorly on you. As your Shadow, it is my duty to best serve your interests and, given that you seem to never run out of questions, it is in your best interest to go, on time, to instruction." Geyrt said with serious tone.
She wasn't even being snide so it must have been important. Graciously, Ulric invited her to lead the way and she did so at a fair clip. She left her dishes stacked on the table so Ulric did the same. Maybe they operated on five star hotel rules around here: don't deliberately make messes but trust the staff to keeps things to order. It turned out that Geyrt's haste was reasonable. The paired stars were already well into their rise and the lecture hall was on the third level of Irielhos. They walked to a lift, a journey of almost ten minutes, and then had another ten-minute walk from the lift to the lecture hall, barely making it in time. Ulric had never asked how these Elves managed to keep time with no visible clocks but they never seemed to have trouble knowing the time down to the minute.
The lecture hall was a rather severe building on the shadow side of the trunk of the tree into which it was built. It was one of those recessed structures, set deep into the massive bole. The recess, coupled with the time of day, resulted in a rather claustrophobic environment quite unlike anywhere else he'd been in the fortress city. The normal airy atmosphere of engraved vines and leaves now held a much more umbral feel. This was a place where One is Meant to Work. That unto itself was a curiosity for Ulric. Everywhere else had given off the feeling of freedom and fleeting passions burning intensely that then shifted with the wind. Here though, he could almost taste the intense focus of scholars burning untold hours with single minded purpose. It almost felt like he'd stepped back into the lab in his graduate school.
Appropriately thematic candles burned inside wall sconces and room after room held scrolls of paper, leather and wood bound books on full wall book shelves, stands holding replacement candles by the thousands, stacks of spare paper, blank scrolls, and what seemed to be as many types of writing utensil as attachments on a swiss army knife. Knife pens, soft tipped pens, brushes, pencils tipped by who knows what, charcoal, fifty colors of ink, and, gods great and small, CHALK! Where there was chalk there would be chalkboards. Surely these civilized folk were not heathens in disguise? And, lo, there in a room was a full-size black slate chalkboard, spanning the entire wall. It was beautiful. Ulric ached to go and write out the derivation of the Fourier transform from the series of the same name. Just because. Just to feel the dust on his hands again.
But his Shadow led on past the room and it was lost to the dim recesses. Someday board, he told himself. The lecture hall was so large that it had actual stories. Spiral stairs took them up into the trunk, now entirely enclosed inside the body of the great tree. A few turns later and Geyrt stopped before a wide set of double doors. Ulric was completely lost within the building. Fortunately, they had arrived on time though and the sounds of Elven children poured into the hallway. Confused, Ulric looked around for another set of doors. Nope. Empty. In fact, the vast majority of the rooms had been empty, contributing to the near funerary atmosphere of this level.
"Is this it?" Ulric asked eyebrow raised.
"It is. We are on time, but only just, now go in. I will remain in the hall to guard the door." Geyrt said with a too steady tone. Her face was rigid with control.
Ulric's arachnid senses were tingling. He knew when a joke had been played and the more he heard of the childlike voices inside the more he was convinced that he knew what type of prank it was. But there was little choice left him. Sighing he entered the room to face the truth: it was a classroom full of children. He was in a kid's lesson. Close to thirty elf lads and lasses of ages seemingly similar to Brighteyes were arrayed in sets of five around tables. At the front of the room stood a rather severe Elven man of great age, in a set of fine velvet robes, dark grey in color. He had completely white hair and, for the first time since Ulric had been exposed to the Iriel'en, wore a beard. Now this guy was ancient. Ulric was almost sure he could hear echoes of the roars of dinosaurs when he moved, which he seemed to do only infrequently.
"It is time. Let us take our seats and begin the day's lesson." the ancient Elf instructor announced.
Instantly every child sat, backs straight, dead silent. Ulric was left no choice now, this was going to be awkward as shit. He quickly sat at a table of three and endured the gawping faces of the room. Ulric was really, really hoping that they'd just ignore him and do as they would normally do. Maybe they'd just go on like he wasn't even there.
"Let us welcome our new student. He was granted space with us by our generous Lord and we should offer him our deepest hospitality, yes?" The paleological man said in a deep baritone.
"Yes instructor." Chorused the children.
"Welcome Glade Chief, to the intermediate session. May the wisdom of the Ancients guide us ever on." Intoned the wizened elf.
"May the wisdom of the Ancients guide us ever on." Again, the class rang out in unison.
Ok, Ulric was getting some deeply creepy children of the corn vibes. Bald'rt. That bastard. Of course he'd make sure it was a children's class. He could almost hear the man laughing from his throne room. Probably rolling around on the floor pissing himself with glee at Ulric's chafing discomfort. And Geyrt too. Her stony expression wasn't discomfort, it was to keep a straight face. Before he could dwell on it, the instructor rolled on, with all the steadiness of a glacier.
"We are all here known to each other but introductions are in order. We will delay class just a few minutes to make them. Please excuse the interruption of our usual routine children, needs must." Spoke the instructor with the same deep monotone as before.
Ah. There. Ulric was catching it now. He was implying that Ulric was a distraction and he did not appreciate it. He wasn't wrong. Still. It wasn't like Ulric had chosen the man or his classroom; that had been decided by the black hearted jackal that called himself Lord of Iriel, for whom Ulric would spend his days calculating a proper vengeance.
While Ulric's thoughts turned to blood the man had continued on in the same monotone voice
"I am Instructor Gother Cenur'it. I am called Instructor Gother or, simply, Instructor, if you like."
He then proceeded to name each and every child in the room first calling them to stand, naming them, and asking them to sit. Each child stood instantly at the call of their name and remained at attention until they were called to sit. Never a word was uttered by any of them throughout the entire process. This was going to be awful. When the instructor reached Ulric, instead of asking him to introduce himself he merely pointed in Ulric's general direction and said "Our Guest."
It was just about enough to make a guy sore. Especially when he launched into some talk about bark harvesting and wood beetles with no preamble. Ulric could mostly follow the droning lecture, minus some of the more technical words, probably proper names for things. At least, he could understand the words being said, the point of the whole thing was entirely absent any context. Why are they harvesting the bark? Why do you bury the grubs in the soil at the base of the tree? A hundred more questions he had. None of it made sense.
It went on for a solid hour. Worse, nobody moved or said anything the entire time. Nobody even wrote anything down. Did they actually remember all of this? Ulric wasn't going to ask any questions. Not until one of the kids did. He tried hard to remain fully engaged. But the droning monologue soon broke his will and he zoned out. Just when Ulric was laying out ideas for a sewage filled pit trap outside of Bald'rt's throne room, the guards distracted by a timely fire, the torture ended.
"And that will be all for today. Class is abbreviated that you may all assist in the Winter's Herald preparations and festival. We will reconvene in three day's time. Dismissed."
The old elf turned immediately and left the room, vanishing like a mirage. Spry then, for his age. Once he was gone, the children all started moving around and chattering, like a switch was turned on. Ulric was ready to get the fuck out of there. He stood and strode to the door. Glances and gazes followed him out. As well they should. A room full of Elven children in loose light long sleeved shirts and pants and there he was a full-grown man in heathen bone armor. At least he'd left the spear in his rooms.
Exiting the room, Ulric saw Geyrt turn so he wouldn't see her satisfied smirk. That was fine, he knew the source of this. There would be an opportunity to return this favor. For now, though, he was going to take this as a chance to improve his language skills, to learn what things were important enough to teach children, which would give him insights into the cultural levers that moved these people, and to confuse his adversary by pretending to be a completely willing victim. Lulling them into a false sense of security might prompt them to reveal a flaw in their defenses. There was even some remote chance that Bald'rt actually thought these sorts of lessons were valuable in and of themselves. A laughably small chance, but not something to disregard out of hand.
He took off down the hall at a rapid pace. Turning into one of the empty rooms he went to a bookcase and picked a tome at random, opening it gently. Before his eyes crawled a pace full of symbols vaguely akin to sanskrit in appearance. He saw repeats of symbols, accents of base symbols, and line breaks that suggested the text was written vertically. Whether left to right or right to left, or perhaps even something more complex was unknown. About this Ulric was willing to tolerate no jests, he was not happy about being illiterate. Turning to Geyrt who had entered behind him, for a change, he said in a tone that brooked no nonsense.
"You will begin teaching me to read and write the Elf script, it is definitely in my interests to not be an illiterate, and you’re certainly more than capable. We can use this book as a primer. I intend to be fluent before the end of winter, so long as we’ve got the time and I don’t take up bark harvesting, inspired by Master Gother’s rousing sermons. I read prodigiously in my old world and I find the lack of such to be a deficiency in this life that must be corrected. Immediately."
It would seem that if he was going to get anywhere this morning with learning anything it would only be if he was at the helm. He'd already put up with an hour of their nonsense and one of the things Ulric found truly intolerable was to have his time wasted. Not to mention that, if he had to endure Geyrt, he was going to at least put her to use.
Pointing to the page of the open book he commanded "Read you this page to me, in your own tongue, tracing a finger over the words as you read them. It will help me to understand the flow of the text."
If the woman took offense, she didn't show it. Instead, she began reading the page, tracing her finger lightly over the page. Top to bottom, right to left, the symbols appeared to be phonyms. That little dash was some kind of comma or phrase separator, those accents were tied to tense, somehow, and it appeared that a line underneath the symbol denoted the end of a sentence while a double underline marked the end of a paragraph. Ulric wasn't worried about what the actual meaning of the page, he merely wanted the structure. Thanks be to the Watcher's miracle orbs that they didn't have a completely different lingual and written structure. Like the Swiss with their Swiss-German spoken language and their high German written language, the mad men. Or, forbid the thought, an ideogram script, like the Han characters of old Chinese, that bears almost no connection to its spoken construct. No, this was more akin to the northern european languages of his old world. So similar to Icelandic, that Ulric had to wonder if there were linguistic transfers between worlds. Maybe people like him contributed to minor cultural transfers between worlds. Dimensional immigrants. That very nearly pulled a laugh out of him.
Geyrt, for her part, merely accepted her Honor's smile as more evidence of his insanity. As she read the page, she couldn't help but be surprised at the intensity of his study of the page. He seemed to her to flit between a childlike naivete and a predator's focus. It was disorienting. Now was fully the hunting bird. His stupid grin did nothing to bely the hawkish study of the text over which her finger traced as she read. This, at least, was a less objectionable use of time than being used as a page as some Shadows were employed.
She was vaguely worried. He hadn't responded greatly to the joke lesson earlier. Surely he didn't think that it was unintentional that he be attending a children's class? Her father's prank was well played. He had met his commitment in full, had secured her Honor a place with one of the premier instructors in the entire citadel, but for the youths' time slot. And yet, the strange man had gone in, had made no noise, had attended the full lesson, and had left with no apparent rancor. Had he missed it? Or was he pretending ignorance out of respect? Impossible to know with this one. She would keep her guard up, he had shown he was of a mind with her father and that man could wait years to make even a debt.
Ulric would have been glad that his Shadow was so off balance and would have, if he knew, been unable to resist prodding to see if she would topple. As it was, the page was all. Spoken grammar was similar to written grammar and while he couldn't nail down a specific alphabet or set of phonemes just yet, he had a big picture sort of idea how it went. This was doable. He wouldn't have to memorize ten thousand distinct characters, just figure out the rules for punctuation and the spelling norms. After that he would be able to construct simple sentences himself and, once his vocabulary improved, be able to read the lower-level texts. Hopefully these people didn't tend towards Victorian writing styles, an absolute chore to chew through.
When his Shadow finished the page, he retreated into his own mind letting the patterns and symbols scrawl around while his brain kicked things into place. Fingers snapping, he was immersed in how the punctuation marks were used to chunk the script into phrases and distinct statements. This book, apparently some kind of catalogue of trade agreements through history, kept things brief and tidy. Names, dates, details of arrangements, and without embellishment. It was actually a good primer. He could figure out verb subject object agreement, tenses, dating and numerical standards, and get some cultural insights as to the values of different things produced by the Elves, as well as what they saw valuable to obtain from Otherkin. All in all, a lucky strike.
Turning suddenly to his Shadow he saw she was studying him as intently as he studied the page. A ball of mysteries was this woman. Beautiful and reserved. Bold but defensive. And always so serious. To look so much like her father, she had inherited none of his good humor. At least they appeared to have achieved a semblance of peace between them. There would always be friction though even were he not a sarcastic bastard. Even her brother Brighteyes had admitted that she was a difficult person and her father had more than implied that she was a pain in the ass. It had only been a couple of days though, maybe they'd get used to each other.
"Thank you for that Geyrt. I will review my observations now about the way this is constructed. If I make a mistake, please correct me." Ulric asked of her in Elvish.
He'd basically had the broad strokes correct. The odd accents could not only be verb tenses though, they could also denote prepositions. In, on, towards, away, all utilized a particular accent in a particular position. This use made the text slightly hard to read, but he’d get used to it once he memorized where things belonged. At least they didn’t invert verb subject agreement. The droids you are looking for, these are not. Making specific adjustments to the verbs’ symbols to modify them seemed a strangely straightforward way of handling the situation and would be easier to remember. When he asked if he could take the tome with him though he was greeted with a negative however. Books and scrolls from the libraries could not be removed from their respective rooms. A copy could be ordered but such a thing would take the back burner for the upcoming war preparations. It might be weeks before anyone could get to doing it. Looks like he would be burning some midnight oil in this stygian hall of education.
Geyrt reminded him that they were slated for a training session with the warriors, led by Bald'rt's chief guard just after noon. That should be interesting. He'd never done any kind of fight training personally, not outside of his mandatory military service, which hadn’t gone to great lengths on hand to hand fighting, cause, you know, guns and all. A history buff, he’d enjoyed depictions of war and action movies, random collections of videos online regarding archaic combat forms, and a dedicated following of the olympics were the extent of his knowledge. It had been surprising how much you could pick up, especially when your body did what you told it to. He wondered if he would be able to learn to move like the Elves from this. Geyrt's flowing grace during her ambush had been a wonderful thing to behold, even if it had been aimed at him. Hal'et had done it too during their play. She'd moved like liquid around him. Probably not something he'd be able to replicate any time soon, no matter how fit he was. But that would all be later, they had at least an hour to kill.
Ulric refused to ask about the "lesson" he'd attended. That would be allowed to play out as it would. Instead, he found himself wanting to go outside and watch the storm roll through. At his request Geyrt led the way.
They retraced their steps to leave the lecture hall. As soon as they left the rather closed in atmosphere they were blasted by an arctic wind. Gusts pushed, waned, and returned with redoubled force. The clouds were rolling in dark, forboding. Twenty minutes walking found them on a pavilion on the eleventh level of Irielhos, where most of the royal guard would bunk, dine, and train. Ulric asked if these warriors rotated duties like the others. That was an affirmative, although they almost never took a year off, instead rotating into the ranks of the active Hunters. Geyrt told him with pride in her people that there was a yearly competition to determine who would get to hold a position as royal guard. It sounded like a ferocious ordeal, days without sleep, physical exhaustion tests, combat training, and sparring, all scored for points. After a week the best two hundred would be selected for royal guard, the rest would return to their normal duties as Hunters, or warriors, or whatever. When Ulric asked if the royal guard were better fighters than the warriors they’d seen in the other pavilions, she actually laughed. These guys were, apparently, on another level. And of their leader Idra, Geyrt spoke of the man with an awe that said he had gone even further beyond.
"Idra'se, se being how we refer to knighted warriors, is very nearly the equal of my father. He is one of the few that the Lord of Iriel cannot simply mow down through overwhelming power. For all his japes, his casual attitudes, my father, Bald'rt Iriel, is the strongest pure fighter in Orlethrem. Idra'se is probably number four. Lumyt'seit's mother, Mother Bathe, is number two, by the way. If she wanted to, she could probably defeat father but prefers to make peace and allies rather than leave a wreckage wherever she strides, unlike Father Bald'rt. You will listen to every command of Idra'se, he is doing you a great service by granting you himself as an instructor while we ready for war. Many warriors would fight for the opportunity to build on your tree." Geyrt lectured.
She sounded almost warm speaking of Bald'rt's scarred senior guard. Interesting. A mentor? A lover? A comrade in arms? Maybe all of the above. Whatever the case, clearly this guy rated a step higher than the rest. Ulric was actually looking forward to this now. Here he'd been thinking it would be like the supposed lesson earlier.
They had arrived at the exposed pavilion a full hour early. Ulric very deliberately did not want to eat before the training just in case there was a lot of "drop and give me fifty Mr!" kind of activity. Not that he'd ever seen an elf do a pushup, but you can never be too careful. As a result, they saw Idra coming. He turned the corner and, Ulric had to admit, was the very image of a hardened soldier. Face controlled, eyes seemed to absorb the entire sight before him, and he strode with the same liquid grace, but firmer, as if he had no intent of going around anything. The scar that drug at his mouth ran halfway up his face and must have been a wicked wound while fresh.
Ulric waved.
The warrior gave no outward sign he saw the gesture but, upon seeing them bore down on them with the surety of a stone down a rock face. Ulric was absentmindedly dodging Geyrt's hair ring as it whipped about in the gusting wind and the woman herself was pretending he wasn't playing a game with her hair. He'd have the head movement of a professional boxer if they stood out there all day. He gave it up when his Shadow glared at him, and grabbed her own flailing hair ring. Idra actually smiled at these antics when he reached them, an expression that would have scared a hardened man to piss himself in a dark alley with those scars. He also gave Geyrt a small nod, just a subtle acknowledgment of her presence. Ulric had nearly forgotten that most of the Elves were actually rather fun to be around with only few exceptions.
"Welcome to the royal guard barracks Ulric Glade Chief, it is good that you arrive early. How has the day found you?" the Warrior inquired in a mellow baritone, first in Elvish and then in Human.
"It finds us well today Idra'se. We have breakfasted and attended a most fascinating morning lesson. We might discuss the finer points of bark shaving if you find leisure time. How does yourself fare?" Ulric returned in his limited, but improving! Elvish.
Ulric's comment about the lesson turned the man's smile into a sardonic grin. It would seem then, that everyone was in the know.
"I have graduated Instructor Gother's lessons once in this life, therefore I believe that I have had my fill. We will surely find other topics for discussion, unless your passion drives you in that direction. I am busy, as I will always be in these times, and, probably, until my roots wither and my trunk stands bare." Returned the soldier.
The smile faded to his default cool consideration as the warrior turned their meeting to business.
"What know you about combat with body and weapons Glade Chief? I must determine your level of experience, that I can remove all of the bad habits they have instilled." Idra'se requested.
That was an easy one, and, yet, perhaps more complicated than it first seemed.
"I am an experienced hunter Idra'se, with a bow. I have hunted with spear as well but this was mostly done to challenge my stalking skills, not to learn fighting. Other than that, I have watched a great deal of demonstration by masters of hand to hand fighting, and some less…practical demonstrations by weapons. My experience in both is minimal. I am afraid I have leaned mostly on my magical abilities and agility in battles so far, with the exception of harpooning and knifing some [Heckler Monkeys]." Ulric replied, hoping his mention of watching professional MMA, Boxing, HEMA, and Olympic fighting sports wasn't too unfair to describe as watching masters.
Later, he would find out it wasn’t the same. At all.
The Elvish was coming easier now. Practice makes perfect, after all, and it was probably no small thing to have sat under Instructor Gother's droning lecture, droning but immaculately pronounced, to improve his grasp of the language.
Idra nodded along and briefly smiled when Ulric mentioned the monkeys. Brighteyes had done a hell of a pantomime of the fight with them in the throne room, to the joy of all. His enthusiastic jabs, stabs, and leaps depicting the battle in full were better than any play Ulric had ever seen.
After a moment's contemplation the Warrior came to a decision about his approach.
"Then you know next to nothing. That is good, there will be little to undo. I have been tasked with teaching you how to fight and I will do so in the way of Elves. If you want to learn how it is Otherkin, Humans included, conduct themselves you will need one of them to teach you. I have only been on the other side of that and have not been impressed greatly. Not that they had long to try, mind. Efficiency of motion is, among many other concepts, one of the things I hope to instill in you." spoke Idra'se, in a businesslike manner.
"It probably would not have changed my estimation greatly but it is good to know, at least, that we may start clean. If you wish, you may challenge me to a spar now, to get it out of the way. All young Elves believe they know better than the trainers and we always end up giving them an applied lesson to drive home the importance of fundamentals. If not, we will begin the lesson immediately, though you may, at any time, request a spar if you feel it necessary. I will have less time to directly oversee you when the others arrive at the pavilion." he continued.
Ulric nearly choked when Idra offered to spar but as he went on it seemed that it was just a veteran teacher's experience with Elven rookies. Spar this man? Yeah, right, Ulric thought, just give me a second to sign this will.
"Nope, I'm good Idra'se. Not gonna be necessary today. You just do what you think is best and I'll try to follow along." Said Ulric.
"Excellent Glade Chief." Idra said in Human before continuing.
"Then here is where we will begin. As the Heartwood underneath us is the firmament upon which we stand, the Heartwood of combat is positioning and positioning is determined by footwork. The victory is gained, without exception, by having the ability to break your enemy’s defenses, to move past them or to prevent them from offering counter to your attack. Magic changes the conditions for what constitutes your and your opponents' positions but we will leave that out. Such lessons come much higher up in the branches, when your fundamentals are sound. Today, and for all the days we have together I would guess, we will learn the Dance of One Thousand Steps."
That was a suitably confounding mix of arcane and practical. Ulric felt like Idra should probably invest in a long white hair wig and a long, narrow, beard of the same color. Probably some White robes as well. He was giving off some real Grandmaster of the Leaf Palm Fist vibes. But if this man stood close to that monster on the throne, he was well worth listening to and Ulric was determined to do whatever it took to not get killed to death.
"Show me, Sensei." Ulric said, seriously.
At Idra's confused look, Ulric had to explain that the term meant the master of a school of combat. Apparently, Earth terms did not translate to human automatically, you had to intentionally think of the Earth term to use it, otherwise the words that spilled out of your mouth would be in Human.
After clarifying though, Idra continued on, assuming a stance with feet placed precisely just outside of hips, one foot leading hips by a third of a meter, the back foot behind by the same distance, feet turned so that the lead foot was about fifteen degrees counterclockwise of north, the rear twenty five degrees counterclockwise of north shoulders turned so that the lead shoulder was aligned with lead hip, knees bent in a light crouch. And, just like that, Idra transformed from a dedicated guardsman into a weapon. He gave off a feeling like a drawn blade, it nearly made Ulric's hackles rise. The elf only came up to Ulric's chin but he felt like he was twenty feet tall.
All that, just from a simple change of stance. Both feet were planted but his weight was perfectly balanced just ever so slightly more on the back foot than the front. Ulric hoped that was comfortable and, admittedly, the Elf looked like he could petrify at any moment, so still he was. Ulric had a feeling he was going to be doing it for a while. How hard could it be?
Oh child, Future Ulric whispered across time.
"In the Dance there are many steps but this one is the first. This is called the covered ready, with the left foot back. The next step is the advance ready." Idra explained before sliding his feet to reverse his stance without a single wiggle in balance.
"The backmost foot is called the root, the front the branch. This is because the back leg is the source of your support, your connection to the ground, and around which you must center your balance. The branch is your connection to the air your mobility, your advance or your retreat. Any step which transfers your weight to your branch leg is called a committed step because once you have done this you are obligated to move your root or have your stance destroyed. Such movements are meant to be transitional and transient. You never want your opponent to read these or they will attack you knowing that you must move your root. In the Dance, each step is meant to gain advantage, even if that advantage is gained by giving ground or sacrificing a lesser position for a greater one later." The Warrior continued his body held in utter stillness.
The elf left his ready and that weird pressure disappeared. Wild. He came over to stand next to Ulric, Hmming as he did.
"You have no other clothes, Glade Chief? You should have something comfortable and light to practice in. This armor is strong and not badly made but it changes your balance and you should learn the Dance with only your body. You will adjust naturally in armor to accommodate it but it is a hindrance now." Idra said seriously before turning to address Geyrt.
"Shadow, you know where the spare silks are stored, retrieve a set for your Honor, he is tall but there should be some suitable." He commanded.
Geyrt snapped to attention by instinct and then ran into the airy building behind the pavilion. She was only gone a few moments before she returned with a set of those black under clothes and stuffed them into his chest. Almost letting them drop to the floor before Ulric caught them.
Ulric was amazed. Just like that, not a scowl, not a hesitation, not a single thing but this Taipan was sent running to fetch. He might have [Snake Charmer] but Idra was the [King Cobra].
"I gotta learn how you did that." Ulric mumbled.
Both sets of long ears twitched. One owner scowled while the other's lips twitched upwards.
He stood there for a second holding the silks. Appropriately named. Looking around briefly at the empty pavilion Ulric shrugged before removing his armor, stripping out of his clothes and dressing in the provided clothes. They were absolutely the best feeling clothes he'd ever worn. Smooth, light, flexible. While tight they didn't constrict him at all, having an easy elasticity. The long sleeves ended only a few centimeters from his wrist and ankles, so not a bad fit. Thus dressed he turned back to find the two Elves on the pavilion looking bemused.
"What?" Ulric asked.
"You would have been able to change inside the barracks Glade Chief, but it is good that you do not fear your own body's sight." Idra said with suppressed humor.
Geyrt merely sniffed and muttered to herself. Ah yeah, he had just used his own nakedness to tease her earlier hadn't he? Well, if you've got it flaunt it. An ass like this was wasted in clothes anyway. He looked to Idra and thanked him earnestly.
"I will keep that in mind Idra'se. And, thank you, really, for the use of these clothes. They are a truly wonderful gift. I've never worn anything so fine."
Nodding the elf dismissed it as nothing and set about getting Ulric into the first step of their Dance. He was precise as a clockmaker, pushing here, shifting a foot there. He didn't stop until he had Ulric situated in that light crouch with perfection.
"There. That is it. This is the first step, the undan ready. It is how you will engage your opponents, it is the foundation of your Dance, and it must be flawless. Any weakness, any imperfection of balance and the opponent will begin to chip away at you if they don't destroy you instantly." Idra spoke.
"Now, watch and see how to move into the second step, the fyir ready. Some dogmas would have it that the undan ready is the only starting point for the dance but this is not so. Undan or fyir, they are equivalent and an effective warrior should be as comfortable in one as the other. If you ever find yourself, Glade Chief, favoring one over the other you should spend an entire week deliberately strengthening the weaker stance. Failure to do so will lead to a tell, a habit to move to one side over the other, which an observant enemy will quickly identify and use against you." The elf warned, before sliding into the reverse stance with weightless grace.
Ulric's mind immediately flashed to the game with Hal'et. The only way he'd managed to close the gap with her was one such tell. Ambidextrous was the way to go, as Ulric had begun to practice back in the glade. It was why he used the bow, his knife, his axe, all tools with both hands. He favored his right hand too much, as he learned when a shrapnel wound put that hand into painful reminder for every task. He was cross-dominant in all kinds of fucked up ways anyhow. Bat right handed, throw left handed. Brush your teeth left handed, shave right handed. Write left handed, draw or paint right handed. Much of that had translated to Ulric's new form, probably more from habit than anything else. If Idra said laterality was a weakness Ulric would be determined to snuff it out.
Putting thought into action he mimicked the veteran warrior's transition from the southpaw stance, the undan, to the orthodox, fyir stance. It felt alright, his balance was good, neither leaning forwards or backwards. He felt like he could change direction whichever way he needed. Idra-sensei was not impressed, as he immediately left his position to nudge, prod, push, and origami Ulric into the proper state. Millimeters were kilometers to this exacting taskmaster. Wonder of wonders though, Ulric could feel the difference in those adjustments. A slight improvement to his center of balance, a greater feeling of control of his position.
Satisfied, Idra'se stepped back to observe for an entire minute, silent. He was looking for something but Ulric had no idea what it was and simply stood, arms hanging to his sides. Eventually the elf finished checking off whatever boxes he needed to decide what would come next.
"You are passable. You do not wobble, your feet remain rooted, and the balance is good. Did you find either of these more or less comfortable?" the Warrior asked.
Ulric thought about it a moment. Both positions were odd given their specificity so was anything really comfortable? He decided it would mostly come down to trying to move out of this and do something to know.
"Not particularly. I don't think I'll know until I start trying to move. The exact orientation you have moved me into is oddly stable, and I can see why you did it now, the feeling is different. I don't think I could just do it on my own though, something would be off." Ulric replied.
The Elf had moved his left foot by literal one or two degrees to be satisfied. Surely that was unfeasible in an actual duel, that kind of exacting body positioning.
"Do you really have this kind of precision when you fight?" Ulric queried somewhat disbelieving.
"You may find out whenever you wish Glade Chief, I will always accept your spar." said Idra.
There was something there, Ulric's senses were tingling. The warrior was baiting a trap. No. Not yet. Ulric wasn't going to put his foot in it, not until he had a better idea of the nature of the game. Elves played hard ball, he wasn't going to take any chances. Besides, when he'd demonstrated the movements, the Master Warrior actually had been exactly perfect every time. Amazing what a few hundred years of practice will do for you.
"Not necessary, Idra'se. Just…impressive as hell is all." Ulric replied, accepting the word of the master.
Idra took the compliment with a slight nod of acknowledgment and echoed Ulrics own thoughts.
"Dedicated practice, for three hundred or so years, produces mastery even for the clumsiest bungler. But you do not have so long to work so let us both hope for a little talent, eh? Come, we return to it." Idra joked, along similar lines to what Ulric had just been thinking.
He took Ulric through the next ten steps starting from their southpaw ready. A root forward step that put Ulric in a deep lunge, knee over ankle. Return to undan ready. A root side step, resulting in a deep side lunge, like a runner's stretch. Return to undan ready. A root back step, that Ulric automatically turned into fyir ready until Idra prodded and modified into something like a wrestling crouch. Ulric did not like this root back step, it felt awkward as hell. Return to undan ready. A root cross step, even worse than the back step as it had one knee nearly tucked behind the other. Return to undan ready.
Next, Ulric was guided through a series of branching steps, his weight remained firmly on the rooting foot but partially shifted to the stepping foot which was extended almost fully. He had no idea what purpose these served. He adhered to his instruction and suffered through his corrections to perform the branching side step, forward step, backward step, and crossing steps. They then went back through the entire thing from the fyir ready feet reversed. Lastly, two squared up steps, the first such neutral position, twinned roots, that put Ulric into a deep linebacker's crouch. That led to a straight-legged attention, the sky step, an appropriate name, as it was the highest his shoulders had been for the last hour.
At each turn Idra found errors and corrected them. Each ready was fixed to perfection. Ulric was amazed to find that he was sweating. It wasn't that what they were doing was exactly hard, it was just…precise. It demanded complete attention and control. Ulric's body was overcompensating, tightening muscles that probably didn't need to be tightened while he focused on meeting the exacting demands of his trainer. All the while Ulric had no clue how you were supposed to do this during an actual fight.
Warriors began trickling in as they finished going through the steps. What was it, twelve of them now? Dance of One Thousand Steps. Surely to fuck they were kidding?
