Varda Walk [Psychological Adventure Fantasy Slowburn litrpg--COMPLETE]

Ulric was feeling about two parts resignation to three parts relief at that moment. It wasn't just all in his head. Well, it was, but it wasn't just him imagining things. He had, effectively, picked up a strongly territorial instinct. Aggravating. And enlightening. As he had suspected, stats were bullshit and the whole Akashic record thing was a two-way street with no road signs. At no point had Ulric made a conscious decision to become a Forest Lord encore and, yet, that had sort of just happened, no input required from him, thank you very much. In a similar vein to his objection to having been saddled with Geyrt, he was also leashed to the glade and to his own role by a near compulsion to guard it.

Were he a paranoid man, he'd start to think Varda itself was making plans for his future. He shook off that whimsical thought, which was too far-fetched even for this fairy tale land. What wasn't in doubt was the need to get the impulses under wraps, to dominate them before they dominated him.

Between the stimulation of the guard impulse by invaders, the stress of a man dying, and being exhausted from their race to save Darla, just right now, Ulric was not a happy dude.

Bald'rt, wise in the ways of the world as he was, was plainly aware of Ulric's state of mind.

"This comes as news to you, not entirely welcome, at that, I see. It is unfortunate that I cannot offer any greater consolation to you than this Ulric: you will adjust. Matters are not helped that you have driven yourself to exhaustion, bodily and magically, in your celerity to return. I am grateful for this sacrifice on your part. If it helps, know that it was not for nothing, the labor and innovations you made to speed my warrior home." the grateful Chief of Iriel told him.

"Just before you arrived, I was given word that the healers are confident that Darla will make a complete recovery. They were equally confident that his leg would not have been salvageable had not he arrived so quickly, and that he would never have swung sword or pulled bow, had not you brought him to aid with such haste. Thank you, again, friend of my kin." Thanked the Elven Lord.

It made Ulric slightly uncomfortable, the obvious gratitude of the normally so flippant and casual Iriel'en King. He'd gotten one of those men killed by being there. That was not, evidently, how the Iriel'en saw things. Even so, he didn't want to linger under the Elven King's attention, he wanted, more than anything to be by himself, to find a quiet space to just be for a bit. Ulric's goose was, metaphorically, cooked.

Before he could bow himself out with a lack of grace though, he was saved from an unlikely quarter.

"My honor is weary, Lord Iriel, Father. It has been a long road. I would put this audience at an end, for now, until Ulric has had time to recover from the ordeal. There will be time on the morrow to make plans for the future, now that the immediate threats are outlined." Prompted Geyrt from behind him.

Ulric was a little surprised, she was in a generous mood was his Shadow.

Especially given that she had to be suffering at least a little, the woman had traveled farther than anyone else, by far, during their expedition, and had proven a pillar of security on which the rest of her kin had greatly relied. In spite of a few, er, mishaps with forgetting a possibly crucial spell that might have saved some effort, Ulric realized that it was highly likely the group would have been doomed without her aid.

As awkward as the girl was around other people, out in the wilderness, she was a savant. Hmm…exceptional at her craft, notoriously high standards and unsociability that made her challenging to establish relationships…nope, didn't remind him of anybody.

Bald'rt nodded his agreement with his daughter and bid Ulric rest and recuperate before attending a "strategy supper", his words, not Ulric's, next evening.

Of the march back to his borrowed apartments, Ulric couldn't have summoned any recall but a profound feeling of indebtedness towards these people who sheltered him, right up until his face hit a feather pillow and sleep claimed him. When next he gained awareness, it was due to the light of the Twins spilling into his room.

A loud yawn punctuated a joint cracking stretch as Ulric came awake.

Muscles worn by use the previous day protested briefly before bowing to the inevitable. He was laying on top of his blankets, in the buff, with his armor and clothes scattered in a trail from door to bed. Still cramped, he made a point to do a few repetitions of his morning stretch from his seat on the bed, his back pressed firmly against the wooden headboard. Slowly, the muscle stiffness in his back and shoulders broke loose and he sighed with relief, staring at the far wall of his room.

For a few moments Ulric just…was.

No thought, no worries, no memories, only a silent, meditative appreciation for the golden light that gilded the wooden floors and cast sharp reliefs onto the masterful carvings that embellished most all of the walls, ceilings, and furniture. The artistry was immensely peaceful, calming. Beautific natural themes settled Ulric's mind and he sort of drifted for an unknown count of minutes.

Eventually, though, he came back to himself. There was business to attend. For all that the trip to the glade had been eventful, it had solved few problems, while discovering even more pressing ones.

With a heavy sigh, Ulric accepted that he was going to have to get his ass in gear. First things first, he made for the privy. As a shiver of relief poured through him, he realized that he hadn't done the necessary for solid wastes since returning. His eyes widened when he recalled the spicy stew crafted as a gift and a joke for his guests. Oh dear. That might be a problem.

"I am so, so sorry, future me. Forgive me my sins." Ulric told the room.

Shaking his head at the inevitable, Ulric padded back to his bed side and began a series of stretches shown him by Christ and the other royal guards during their daily training with Idra'se. The methodical stretch of hamstrings, Achilles, tibialis muscles, back, and trunk helped greatly to open his body up to the rigors of the exercises. They also felt pretty good, once you got used to them. His reforged body had the limberness of a child's body, he could bend over to lay his chest against his knees and palm the floor, which he did, holding the position for ten short breaths before bending backwards to arch his spine in a bridge, feet and hands flat for the same set of breaths.

With an easy flex of his core and a shifting of his weight to his hands, Ulric transitioned to a vertical handstand. Fifty handstand pushups, then he lowered his legs to rest on the bed, near enough to a forty-five-degree angle, and did fifty more pushups, and, lastly, he rested his feet on the floor and did his final fifty in a horizontal diamond hand position that put more stress on his triceps than his shoulders.

Variety was good in body work-outs, it forced the muscles and joints to coordinate differently. Flexibility was imperative to building real strength without creating fail points that would cause injury. Such was the philosophy of Idra and Ulric was a believer. The master swordsman moved like he was made of water, all liquid power without a hint of hesitation or inconstancy in his motions.

Warm-up complete, Ulric ran through the prescribed balance exercise that he had been unable to complete during the hectic rush back from his home in the glade. Events had made the luxury of a workout routine impossible. Light perspiration beaded his forehead by the time the tenth repetition was complete and he felt the inner warmth that accompanied his morning routine.

The almost meditative nature of the exercise helped clear his head and put him in a good place mentally, a positive starting point from which to attack the challenges of the day. And there would be challenges. As much as he hated to rile up the Lord Instinct, as Bald'rt had called it, he couldn't help but think what might be done to penetrate the veil of magical cover those men were using to traverse the canopy. On the same topic of note, he needed to develop his own magical cover, a way to deny remote scrying of his position or even general location.

If he could figure out how the spells were anchored, he was pretty sure he could finagle a way to become "slippery" so that such attempts would find no purchase on him. Creating an area denial ran into the problem that a clever mage would realize that there were specific locations denied them, and then he might as well have put a huge "Here I am!" flag on his back. Better to sort of just mirror the magical imprint of his location, absent whatever mana signature the spell used to locate him, reporting no presence like hacking a security camera to show an empty room. There was the tiny problem of not knowing how to do that, but if Geyrt could use her [Hunter's Mark] on him a couple of times he was pretty sure he could find a way to figure out how those spells worked and spoof them.

The next problem was one of equipment. His bone plate lorica was a godsend. It had literally saved his life, on more than one occasion, and he was convinced that whatever prehistoric armorer had designed the segmentata, they had been a genius. Despite Ulric's relative lack of skill and tooling, he'd managed a simulacrum of the old Roman design that was nigh impenetrable by the beasts and weapons he'd encountered. His weapon, on the other hand, was a disaster.

The too-long metal trident had twice proved unwieldy for his frame, he simply wasn't large enough a man to use it as it was intended. Attacking monsters, especially of the sort of agile groups like the Heckler Monkeys and Polar Weasels, had proved too easily capable of getting inside the range of the bladed tines of his weapon. They had forced him into a close-quarters fight without much use of the instrument occupying both his hands.

At the ranges the trident was best used, he would honestly have been better off just using his powerful array of mid-range offensive spellwork. [Cinderpearl], [Hydrocutter], [Flame Crash], and any of his Ceraun spells would have served him better in his last fight. If not for that magic, Geyrt would have been mauled, probably badly, having left her back unguarded to kill the monster off his legs. That thing would have gotten to the insides of his thighs and opened a femoral artery before he could get out from under the one on his chest.

The thought sent a small roil through his guts. Too close, had it been, too close by far.

So, the trident had to go. He wasn't sure what to replace it with, he was, a neophyte when it came to melee combat. At no point in his old life had he ever considered he'd find himself fending off howling monsters with nothing but a spear or dagger, but here he was. A spear, appropriately sized and with less clumsy a business district than the very specifically purposed trident head, would be a good choice. Spears had been the most fundamental weapon of humanity throughout antiquity, after all.

Problem was, a spear really only did one thing, put a hole in a single target and required both hands to be used effectively. It didn't have any offensive potential beyond that and Ulric was three times shy now of having both of his hands tied up holding a pole between himself and sharp teeth. Ulric sat naked on his bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling while he mulled the problem over.

No spears, too clunky, too limited. A bow? Almost certainly the best option at range, once he found time to replace the one he'd gifted his Shadow. That had been a good decision, for multiple reasons, it turned out. For one it had made her happy, and for another, the weapon made his already formidable Shadow a truly fearsome opponent. She had proven to be a much better handler of his bow than he ever would be. She'd saved both his and Darla's lives with it, and Ulric regretted that decision not at all. But, even if he replaced that bow with another of equivalent power, it still didn't solve the problem of what he would do were he ambushed from close range again. He needed a melee option, and not a spear.

No, he was leaning more heavily on a bladed weapon, an axe, or a sword. Not to toot his own horn, but he was strong and fast, gods-given gifts that he had honed greatly in his days of savagery in the glade. Idra's training regimen was adding to those foundations. A largish sword, perhaps of the bastard variety, would be something that could be used in one hand or two and not greatly lose effectiveness, which would allow him to take advantage of his greatest advantage: magic.

Ulric wasn't under the illusion that he would be a master swordsman any time in the near future. But what he could do is buy space, make an enemy leery of getting too close with a big sharp blade between him and whatever threat he faced, which would create openings to blast them to smithereens. One of the bastards he'd killed saving Brighteyes had called him a spellsword, and that was what he intended to be. Which meant it was finally time to go see a smith and get some options.

Ulric dressed from one of the sets of clothes that had been provided in the wardrobe occupying one corner of his apartment. Those masterful artisans of the domestic had, somehow, provided an assortment of fitted suites and robes. He had no idea how they'd obtained his measurements, and he wasn't willing to go down the rabbit hole of wondering at their methods. Just accept that the Duties were all-powerful and all-knowing and move on with life.

Close-fitting cotton-ish underclothes, of a dark grey went on first, a rather efficient affair that resembled a tank top and athletic short onesie. It had ties across the body to cinch it up tightly. On top of that, Ulric chose the thin silk long-sleeved shirt and stout canvas pants, both in some kind of muted green. After he'd tucked in the shirt so it could hang loosely and grant his arms and shoulders freedom, he put on his old leather belt with its companion knife sheath, handle of said knife jutting proudly from his hip. Over the rest, Ulric put on a thick woolen robe that fell to his calves. Its jet-black color was accented by vibrant green scrolling vines, with small flowers here in there, embroidered in a deep red.

Attired thusly, he was, likely, the best dressed he'd ever been in either of his lives. That said something for his attitude on fashion in his previous life, which hadn't changed greatly, but had evolved to at least appreciate how much effort and skill went into the production of this finery. Knowing that these clothes had all been made by hand, from fibers painstakingly woven from their sources without access to industrial machinery, and tailored specifically for him was humbling. He didn't deserve such treatment, and he would wear these with gratitude.

At some point, Geyrt must have heard him stirring around. A set of three loud knocks drew his attention from the wonders of the Elven artisans and the consideration of his hosts.

"Enter, Geyrt, and good morning." Ulric called to his door.

The heavy door to the interior rooms opened soundlessly.

In strode athletic desire made flesh, looking far less ragged than she had the previous day. A good night's sleep had done wonders, those dark rims under her eyes were gone and her stride had regained its usual vigor. He wasn't the only one run down from the pace of events in the glade. Today should be a welcome departure from their hectic race. Geyrt was dressed for business but not war today, wearing those heavy robes and loose trousers she preferred for casual affairs in the citadel. Today's colors favored whites and greens.

A few strides into the room and she seemed to take notice of him for the first time. She stopped short and frowned slightly, expression neutral. Her ears, normally a giveaway when she was particularly excited or bothered were still. Emerald-flecked bronze eyes dissected him as she took an overly long moment to look him over, absent any spoken word.

As accustomed to her oddities as he was becoming, she still had a way of throwing him off without trying. Getting a wordless visual inspection, as if checking him over for lice, first thing in the morning was another way she accomplished her seeming goal of disturbing Ulric's peace. Gods what he would not do to get a look at what was going on behind those eyes.

Eventually, she must have found what she was looking for, she nodded to herself and strode to stand before him.

"Good morning, Ulric, I am glad that you have decided to finally dress your station. Too often you seem to ignore your status as a visiting Lord and dress the way a lowly warrior recruit would." Said his Shadow, her tone only lightly admonishing.

In fact, if Ulric wasn't completely mistaken the woman sounded very nearly pleased.

"Your choices were appropriate, it is good that I will not have to teach you how to clothe yourself. Now, perhaps, you will not embarrass the both of us publicly." She continued.

Ahh…Geyrt, never change.

Ulric chose to take the exchange in whatever spirit made his life easiest.

"Thank you for your approval, Shadow, it is well that you won't need to dress me. I seem to be bad at it, poor Hal'et tried her best and the clothes just seemed to always return to the floor." Ulric said lightly.

That got a roll of eyes and a slight toss of her braid, which was enough to bring a smile to Ulric's mouth.

"All jesting aside, I am glad you approve, Geyrt. I have to give credit where it belongs though, the Duties are incredible. Everything was fitted and tailored exactly even without measurements taken. I have no idea how they pulled that off, but they're miracle workers." Ulric said, thoroughly impressed.

Geyrt, mollified somewhat, dropped a small bomb on him.

"They measured you while you slept your second night, Glade Chief, so that they could begin preparing suitable garments. It was friend Hal'et's suggestion, you seemed too…exhausted…to bother waking for the task." Said the woman, a small smile finding its way to her face.

Oof. Touche' lass. Ulric gave her a couple of brief finger guns, to let her know she had won the exchange. She brushed a small bit of nonexistent dust off her shoulder to acknowledge her victory. Similar exchanges were somewhat commonplace these days. Jab and riposte, first blood takes the victory.

"If there's nothing more pressing for the morning, I was thinking of seeing a weaponsmith Geyrt. Any recommendations?" He asked, turning his mind back to serious business.

The Elf woman chewed her lip briefly as she considered, no longer nonplussed by his sudden switches in train of thought.

"It is difficult, Glade Chief, most of the smiths are occupied with commissions from the Crown, on behalf of preparations for what is most certainly to be open warfare in the spring. That said, there is one name that comes to mind: Galed Uldin."

She smiled as if she had thought of something funny, so brief he might have imagined it, except that he hadn't. Good humor was rare enough on her features to stand out.

His Shadow spoke evenly, as if not to get Ulric's hopes up. Her hands gestured ambiguously, to emphasize the uncertainty of this line of action.

"He is, technically, retired, but accepts commissions from time to time on any projects he feels might prove interesting. Your oddly effective armor, and its unique composition would definitely catch his eye. He might be tempted into some work for an outsider if he were able to examine your armor and some of the materials from the glade." She answered at last.

That was all? Deal. And he didn't question the stipulation in the slightest.

Gifted artisans were always a little odd. He'd known a machinist that could make any part you wanted to tolerances of micrometers, with only a description and a picture of the location in the device in which it would be placed. He could do the rest in his own head. But he wouldn't touch the thing until you brought him coffee and donuts personally; the odd man considered it a common courtesy between professionals. And those better not be mass-marketed donuts either. Fresh bakery product, glazed, don't you dare taint them with sprinkles or you were never getting those parts.

"Is that all!? Done, and done!" Ulric exclaimed.

This was something he'd awaited for over a month, ever since he'd met Brighteyes. The chance to see an Elven artisan work their craft, turn raw material into artful purpose.

Ulric was almost giddy.

Hurrying around the room he grabbed a few Steelwood poles, lashing them together with hide laces from his pack. Next, he stuffed his armor into the woven bark basket and looped its handles over the poles, before emptying his pack of survival gear to fill it with various odds and ends, such as glassresin sheets, a cylinder of horn glue, a whole Bladefern Elk antler, braided tendon cords, and some handwidth strips of Forest Lord leather. Lastly, to his Shadow's bemusement, he stuffed her arms with a couple of Forest Lord bones, a rib, a femur, and a scapula, to be specific, along with his great metal trident before filling his own hands with his large cookpot laden with the cores of various creatures, Bolt Deer, Bladefern Elk, Golden Heckler Monkey, Fellwolf, and others, their jeweled crystalline facets throwing refracted light of varying hues.

"Let's go Geyrt, let's go! We've got places to be and people to see!" trilled Ulric happily.

The Elven Huntress stared at the man who held the reins to her future with amazement. Gone was his easily broken attempt at reserved dignity, he was almost bouncing as he chivvied her out of the room, with the cookpot of chiming cores.

She squawked slightly at his insistent pushes out of the room but didn't complain, his giddy enthusiasm being infectious. It reminded her of her brother when he was enraptured with some diversion or other. Instead of goading him she maintained her quiet calm and followed as quickly as she could, arms full of awkward payload that shifted as she matched her worms in the head Honor's pace. The man was very nearly skipping down the hall.

Unbelievable.

He halted abruptly at the end of the hall, woven bag swinging wildly from its pole at the sudden stop. Turning, he admitted sheepishly, "Ah…I don't know how to get there. Perhaps, Geyrt, you would take the lead?"

She restrained a smile, "Of course, Ulric, it is my duty. Let us see what services Master Uldin has to offer." Geyrt said with a measured voice.

"Follow me, Glade Chief." And, securing more firmly the items he'd foisted off on her, she set off down the opposite direction, back the way they had come, to lead her Honor to the home and smithy of a most renowned, and absurdly finicky, blacksmith.

Ulric followed, his eyes barely seeing her back for the distracted thoughts racing through his mind. They were off to see a smith! A magical smith, with magical tools, who could make who the hell knows what kind of bullshit artifacts!

It was a lovely day for a walk. Or he would have liked to say except that he'd been picking his Shadow's brain while she led him through pavilions and down lifts to the craftsman's floor and saw none of the fortress for his unending inquisition. No, she didn't know how cores formed, only that they were a component of almost all developed life and grew in size and complexity with the power of their hosts. No, she didn't know how mana integrated with materials to give them special properties or how those metaphysical properties blended in the act of alchemy or metallurgy and stop pestering me with your nonsense.

He subsided when she asked herself, aloud, whether throwing herself off the fortress would be preferable to enduring any more questions. They completed the trip while he was lost in consideration of these mysteries around him.

"We have arrived, Ulric, this is the workshop and home of Galed Uldin, Master smith." Geyrt reported dully, bringing him up from his contemplations.

Her demeanor fairly cried out suppression of emotion or maybe lack of enthusiasm, which was somewhat unexpected. His odd ball Elf companion was normally cool but not reserved. The entire time they'd walked the young woman's gait and posture suggested that she was working against her own interests or had something on her mind. Ulric would soon learn why his Shadow was so hesitant.

"I have said it once, but it bears repeating: Smith Uldin is a master of peerless skill and has made unfathomable wealth through his commissions for the Greater Houses. He is also incredibly hard to deal with, and will only take up jobs that he sees as worth his time, in these days." She warned him, and would have been gesturing emphatically had her arms not been full of the detritus of his hunts.

"It may well be that he turns you away without hearing your request, I have not known him to make a weapon for Otherkin in my lifetime. Knock on his door three times and wait." Instructed the woman reluctantly.

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Geyrt Iriel, the woman known for her relentless foul attitude and irascibility, claims that this man is a challenge to work with? Ulric had to know now, if from nothing other than sheer morbid curiosity.

Bracing himself to face an onslaught of insults and Elvish nonsense, Ulric gave three solid knocks on the solid, carved door. The resounding echoes faded and Ulric waited, observing the various reliefs depicting anvils, chisels, smithing tools of various natures, fire, and forge. He became very acquainted with these as he'd been standing there a good five minutes. The frosty air had grown no warmer as they stood waiting.

Ulric raised his hand to knock again but a warning shake of Geyrt's head dissuaded him. So. This was to be the first game they played, was it? Ulric focused his will inwards and ran through the mana circulation exercises he'd learned from his magic tutors, the esteemed wives and co-conspirators of the Lord of Iriel.

Mana began to cycle from core, to organs, to extremities, and back to core. Slowly at first, as if a heavy mass, and then faster, the energy began to flow. Pulses of hot and cold accompanied this exercise, which reminded Ulric of his mana sickness, a fever brought on by his newly reforged body's novelty to magic. This sensation lacked the depth and unpleasantness of that illness, more like icy hot but in your blood. Ok, so it takes a little getting used to. Or…maybe a lot of getting used to, but whatever!

Bathe's instructions and gentle guidance had taught Ulric to take this flow of energy and to diffuse it, to gently pressure it into his flesh, infusing the very tissue with magical force. Doing this slowly, systematically, throughout his body caused it to verily hum with potency. The woman herself was capable of utilizing her mana to manifest inhuman bodily strength, speed, and agility, as well as the durability of reinforced armor plating. Ulric was relatively certain that Bathe Iriel was bullet proof and could wrestle a gorilla into submission with ease.

For himself, a mere novice in the practice, he felt vaguely warm, energetic, and like he might need to pee.

As well that the circulation and infusion techniques took time, because they spent another fifteen minutes standing outside the door. Geyrt was trimming and cleaning her finger nails with her knife, with amazing patience, uncharacteristic of her normal inclination to be about her business. In spite of this mana technique being a necessary practice to one day successfully awaken his core, and prevent catastrophic death by mana reaction, Ulric was growing irritable, his initial excitement for seeing Elven smith work tainted by this outright rudeness.

Was the Smith even in? Fifteen minutes turned into an hour, and his mood steadily degenerated. While Ulric was losing it, Geyrt seemed to think nothing was amiss. Where the hell was that Smith?

"Unhöflichkeit ist ein Fluch der Zivilisation" murmured Ulric in his grandmother's tone.

It was one of the old battleship's favorite phrases. Rudeness is a bane of civilization. Teasing, light mockery, some ribbing to remind the over serious that nobody gets out of this alive, these were acceptable, within reason. But to go out of your way to waste someone's time or to obstruct for the sake of obstruction, or still worse, sheer inconsiderate thoughtlessness, these were anathema.

A well-crafted slight that demonstrated attention to one's target, knowledge of their person, and careful consideration of how to prod them, that was a near demonstration of affection. But to ignore someone, to treat them as nothing, that was a profound insult. Even were this some kind of test, Ulric did not appreciate such games. Especially when they were based on the premise that he was a person of so little value that they could be ignored without consequence. Say "No." if that was your decision, but don't jack people around. It's goddamned discourteous. This train of thought repeated, and again, faster, and again. The spiral of aggravation hit critical mass.

Fuck it, play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Ulric summoned every last ounce of strength, braced himself, and, while ignoring the apoplectic expression on his Shadow's face, kicked the door in from its beautifully crafted frame.

The door exploded into the room to hang from its bottom hinge, the top ripped free of the wood completely, and rebounded off the wall, caught by Ulric's outstretched hand as he entered the room, with the basket grasped awkwardly in the other.

"Halloow!" He yelled sarcastically, as he saw a startled Elf sitting in a reclining chair, wearing a heavy leather apron, and thick gloves of scaled material tucked into his wide belt, drinking a mug whose scent hit Ulric's nose sharply.

Was that…Scotch?

The Elf, a handsome auburn-haired man of that eerily indeterminate age that bespoke Elven maturity looked down at the door splinters in his lap and back up to Ulric. Slowly he pulled a finger length shard of door out of his mug and delicately dropped the wooden splinter to the floor, his cyan and copper eyes fixing themselves on the intruder in his entryway.

Ulric adjusted his one-handed grip on the basket of cores to lower it softly to the floor and made a respectful bow.

"Greetings Smith Uldin, I have come to offer you a project you might find interesting! I am Ulric Einar, a guest of the Iriel'en for the Winter. So glad am I to make your acquaintance, and to interrupt your day drinking, apparently!" He said with a forced cheerfulness.

He glanced at the ruin of the barrier he'd kicked before addressing the bastard Elf again with razored sarcasm, "Forgiveness, my knock seems to have loosened your door. A pity that, you should probably question thoroughly the rascal who hung it."

The Smith frowned and set his mug onto a finely carved end table. With measured grace he rose from the pillowed softness of his recliner to stand slightly taller than even Ulric, a giant of his race. Powerful shoulders and rippling cords in his forearms knotted as his fists clenched briefly. He returned the small bow curtly, habits of centuries taking control of his body. He looked betrayed at his own routine gesture and snarled.

"I am the rascal that hung that door. And carved it. And the frame as well." Growled the melodious tenor voice, at odds with his rough features and scowling demeanor.

Both looked at the savaged wreck that had been fine wood work, as lovely an example of Elven craft as was to be found anywhere. Ulric grinned spitefully, seeing the obvious gap in defenses.

"I fear there may have been some exaggeration then, if your smithing skills are equal to your carpentry, goodman Uldin."

The Smith's teeth ground and he spit to the side upon his own floor. Ulric was pretty sure the Elf was about to do something drastic when Geyrt filtered in behind him and tried to pretend invisibility.

She failed utterly. As soon as she stood fully in view the hateful gaze of the Smith transformed into adoration and, ignoring Ulric completely, he rushed over with incredible quickness to bury the suddenly shy woman in a hug, pinning the odds and ins in her arms to her body. The lopsided door might as well have vanished.

"Little Girl! You break this old Elf's heart, how long has it been?!" The voice cried out in mock pain and he swung back and forth, lifting Ulric's shadow, her feet dangling this way and that in his grip.

What the fuck? The Reforged man mouthed silently, stunned to stillness.

Ulric couldn't believe it. Little Girl? Geyrt? Since when? And…what is this? This asshole was ready to throw down and now he's gone all teary eyed while he shakes a woman Ulric was certain would have dirked him for even thinking of hugging her. And she's just taking it?

What the fuck?

Ulric's Shadow began to struggle her muffled cries escaping his burly chest and thick apron.

"Uncle Galed! Uncle Galed, please! I am not a little girl any more, you have to stop doing this every time! You're embarrassing me!" She begged.

Begged? And in that sweet voice? Where was the knife? Where was the scorn and ridicule?

The Smith was having none of it. He rubbed his face into the top of her head, shushing the woman while she tried to escape.

"Nonsense, you are always my Little Girl! And if you would stop taking so long to come and see me it might be that I do not miss so greatly and have to make up for lost time, eh?" Said the absurd Elf, lowering the tall woman back to the floor like a child, before he ruffled her hair as she squawked indignantly.

"Besides, who is there around to be embarrassed? Hm? Certainly not this human beast, who has violated my door. What is he doing here anyway? Besides interrupting my morning tea?" The man continued turning to scowl at Ulric while Geyrt fended off his hands and backed out of reach.

Tea? Ulric scoffed.

"The hell that's tea!" He protested, unwilling to believe that claim.

"That mug's contents would catch a spark and burn hotter than lamp oil. It's not even noon!" Ulric asserted, disbelieving before turning on his Shadow.

"Geyrt, what is this? You…you're not being like you! You never said anything about an Uncle, and Bald'rt didn't mention anything about any brothers." Ulric questioned still reeling.

None of this made sense. Not the huge Elf, not the affectionate mauling his Shadow had just taken, none of it.

It was the giant Elf that spoke, his oddly melodious voice at odds with the rest of him.

"He would not have mentioned me, would he? Too busy mucking around with those women and plotting to rule the world to stop and see an old friend. And worse, sending off his precious darling to run around in the forest instead of visiting her dear Uncle Galed! I have a mind to go see that Grain Weevil and drag him out to taste some grass. It's been far too long." Declared the rugged Smith hotly.

Geyrt paused in her attempts to smooth down the disturbed tangle of her hair, the top portion of her braid fairly ruined, to turn an abashed look at Ulric and a slightly panicked one at "Uncle Galed".

"It…it didn't come up. I have been kept busy running here and yon for your service and Mother Vedyr insists on wasting my every evening with her 'This is how a proper Aes'r woman acts' lectures." Deflected the woman unsteadily, her voice doing an unflattering impression of her mother that would likely have earned a few more bruises if it had been overheard.

"And what do you mean I am not being myself? I am always myself! What is that supposed mean, Ulric?" She continued her voice returning to its normal irascible tone.

"Indeed!" Chimed in the giant Smith warningly "What is that supposed to mean? You would not be implying anything about my Little Girl, would you? And look at her! Who are you to treat my darling as a carriage mule? What hold did a puffed-up transient like you get on my Little Girl?!"

This…had not gone at all like he had intended.

This can't be real life, Ulric told himself. Geyrt isn't acting like a teenage girl meeting her favorite uncle who spoils her and the legendary smith isn't a great honking body builder that sounds like the classical musician Michael Jackson. I refuse to believe this.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Ulric failed to will himself awake. His hand came away and, nope, still here in this workshop of horrors. None of this makes sense. Now he had two Elves glaring at him. Geyrt had unceremoniously tossed the carried items to the floor next to the core basket and was tapping her foot, arms crossed. The Smith had both hands on his hips and was leaning forward like a yakuza waiting for his victim to give him a reason to go get the crow bar. Little Girl? Geyrt Iriel? A tiger stuffed into an Elf's skin?

A frost laden wind gusted into the room, chilling his back through the broken door. The cold acted as a catalyst, replacing the profound confusion with anger. He'd had enough of this.

"That 'Little Girl' is a Blood Thorn and everybody knows it!" Ulric burst incredulous at the huge Elf, before turning to address his Shadow pretending innocence.

He couldn't help pointing at her with a vibrating finger, "Even Brighteyes admits it, and the boy adores you, same for your father, so don't give me that 'What is that supposed to mean' business!"

Addressing her with his full attention, Ulric couldn't keep the outright aggravation from his voice any longer, dealing with these people was getting on his last nerve.

"Don't think I don't know you take satisfaction in being a pain in the ass Geyrt, I know both of your parents by now and the fruit didn't fall that far from the wanker tree. And You!" Ulric raged, turning to face the auburn-haired giant, his finger held up like a weapon, aimed in that Elf's general direction,

"I am not a transient, I am a guest of the household on account of I pulled Geyrt's brother's nuts off a fire and discovered a scheme by some fuckers to pierce the Orlethrem defenses while they go a viking around my godsdamned plateau! I am also the [Lord of the Ancient Glade] and that 'Little Girl' over there is my Shadow! By her own Father's decision, not mine," He added glaring at his Shadow, who feigned innocence, "On account of she attempted murder in the first degree, murder in the second degree, and then murder in the first degree, again, by proxy, against my person, so she'll hump gear until the stars die if that's what I want her to do!"

He swiped a hand over his face and pulled his beard a moment from sheer agitation before continuing to dress down the pair of Elves, "You, on the other hand, want to fuck with people, for fun, or to distract yourself from however the fuck it is you've decided to waste a couple of centuries doing and I'll have you know now that no rude bastard is wasting my time for free! So, either you want to make yourself useful while your kin get ready to go to war or I find a smith that doesn't have his ears tucked between his balls!" He ranted.

Ulric was shouting. Ulric never shouted. He was not a shouter. But they had chewed through his last nerve.

It was always like this.

Whenever his Shadow got embarrassed, no matter by who, Ulric had to take shit off her. He wouldn't have been surprised if this entire visit was set up by her, knowing how it would turn out, as some sort of elaborate prank. She loved doing that. Like her Father before her, she was an artist at being an asshole, she was just a lot quieter about it, using silent Elven dignity as a chameleon uses its color to cloak her douche-baggery. Well, she won, he was livid.

The two Elves stood amazed. They traded glances and then looked back at him with those glittering eyes.

The Smith suddenly relaxed and straightened, the hostility vanishing like dew under daylight. Instead, he turned his attention to the darkly beautiful woman.

"Little Girl what does he mean that you are his Shadow? What have you done?" Inquired the man softly, in a hurt tone.

Now it was Geyrt's turn to be uncomfortable again. Her gaze fell away from Ulric to find obsession with the floor. Ulric could hear her mumbling and see her lips moving but couldn't make out what she said, her ears drooped while she rocked on her heels. She looked more miserable than when her Father had sentenced her to Ulric's life without parole until he died.

"Uncle Galed" wasn't having any of that. He raised her chin with a finger under it, forcing her to look into his almost blue, copper flecked eyes.

"I have asked you a question Geyrt Iriel, and I am expecting my heart sworn daughter to answer." Smith Uldin said, his voice demanding but gentle.

Geyrt ceased her squirming and accepted the inevitable. Ulric wanted to break in, to help her out, her obvious vulnerability was incredibly jarring, but he couldn't. These events were all around him and he was sitting in the middle of the pot, but this right here? This was between the two of them, it was not Ulric's place to intervene.

Ulric saw the fight go out of her, her shoulders settled and then she firmed up. Quietly she told her story, sparing herself nothing, as Brighteyes had told it those weeks ago before Bald'rt and his court.

"…And it was the [Lord of the Deep Wood]'s, no, it was Father's judgement to spare my life. I am given to service to be Ulric Glade Chief's Shadow, to be a Hunter no more for Iriel until his life is at its end." She said, unhappily.

"I will do this thing, because I must, Uncle. I am at peace with it now." Finished the proud Huntress solemnly, but most certainly not peacefully.

Smith Uldin looked like someone had shot his dog. Slowly, he turned his attention away from his "Little Girl" to face Ulric, before giving a small bow, with gestures that Ulric hadn't seen before. He rose gracefully, with none of the hostility from before.

"I must apologize then Glade Chief, for my behavior." The giant smith intoned

"I thought you another would be noble's get, here to waste my time hunting glory, or attempting to impress my Little Girl by throwing their money around, fool's errand though that be. I may…also have a slight tendency to overreact when I feel my Heartsworn daughter is being put into uncomfortable positions and try to drive those individuals away. Forgive me my rudeness."

Ulric was caught flat footed by the docility of the irascible Elf. Compared to before, he was being downright nice. Most of Ulric's temper had fled when Geyrt hung herself from her cross in the face of the huge Elf's disappointment. That the stolid smith had used Human to apologize was an additional layer of contrition.

Ulric tried to return the bow as best as he was able, no sense not taking an olive branch when it was offered, especially not when he still intended to ask the man for his skills. All of this up to now was mostly a combination of the Smith being a talented, but bored, dick and Ulric possibly overreacting to obvious provocations. Which he should not do and he felt slightly embarrassed for losing his temper so easily.

"I accept your apology, Smith Uldin. I am also at fault for losing my temper. Sorry about the door, it was more than adequately constructed and hung." Ulric said with sincerity, trying not to murder his vowels.

Honestly, the Smith had seemed less angry about the door's breaking than about the inference that his craftsmanship was subpar. Ulric's admission of this took some of the nettle out of his expression. They rose from their courtesies and gazed neutrally at one another, the board reset, as it were.

Geyrt had stepped back into Ulric's shadow, her customary place when he was dealing with her kin in official capacities wherein she was expected to behave as more of an extension of his own being than an individual. She still didn't look happy but at least the obvious pain of recounting her shame was gone from those smooth features.

The Smith spoke first, his eyes taking in the materials strewn across the floor for the first time.

"I am given to understand that you would hire my services, Glade Chief. I will tell you now that that my skills come dear, and possibly not at all, unless I deem the task worth doing." Said Galed Uldin with utter seriousness.

Business at last, Ulric thought.

"So I have been informed. It was made known to me that you enjoyed a challenge, and could be swayed by the offer of some more exotic materials with which to work, as well as a chance to study a few innovations that I have come by in my experiences." Ulric explained, indicating the basket and objects Geyrt had deposited on the entryway floor.

Ulric's raised eyebrow at those goods made the woman's ears twitch.

He was pretty sure she shouldn't have dropped what he'd asked her to carry so she could scold him. Whatever, everybody knew she was shit at not losing her temper, best not to dwell on it or he'd do little else. Did Elves have Shadow obedience schools?

Nevermind.

The sky was blue, the Twins rose daily over Varda, and Geyrt Iriel would forget herself when she was piqued, which was damn near always. Returning his attention to the mass of Elven muscle and his heavy leather forging gear, Ulric tried to figure out how to make his offer. After a moment of thought he decided that it would be best to show the Smith the armor to get his attention, the rest could come after.

Kneeling to retrieve the armor he'd packed away, Ulric pulled its bone and hide segments free and hung them over his chest, as one might a sweatshirt one was considering in the shops. The hide and pale bone draped in front of him and the Smith's eyes were drawn irresistibly to its features. Naked curiosity was clear on the Elf's face, his hands twitched with the desire to go over the cuirass. Ulric approached the smith and offered the cuirass, its pauldrons, and the armored skirt, for his inspection.

Galed Uldin took the pieces into his hands and, unceremoniously, wordlessly, left the room to enter his smithy, leaving Ulric and Geyrt without a word. Ulric looked to Geyrt for some indication of what he was supposed to do and her shrug fairly screamed "Who knows?". Ulric knew he hated when a customer or administrative jerkoff hovered over his shoulders, so he left the Smith to his review and began to arrange the items on the floor into some semblance of order, according to what beast of origin from which it came. Geyrt jumped a little and joined him even offering a muttered "Apologies" as she did.

Soon enough, they had the Forest Lord hide and bones in a small stack, the various Bolt Deer pieces in another, a similar pile including the whole antler for the Bladefern Elk, and a mix of the Fellwolf materials. The cores to each went next to their respective piles. Amongst them all, the shimmering facets of gold and emerald that was the Forest Lord's core stood resplendent. It had lost none of its glow and, to Ulric's more refined senses, fairly radiated mana with a faint tinge of violent intent. The oversized trident and claymore-sized scimitar Ulric laid in front of the various stacks, the only materials made of metal to be found.

Ulric didn't even know what kind of steel they were. The trident was a blue-gray, dense, and incredibly hard since the only thing he had that scratched it was Forest Lord bone. The scimitar was silver and had wave patterns such as were found in some of the old Feudal Japan antique blades he'd seen in museums of the pre-collapse, ancient even compared to that time period. The scimitar wasn't as dense as the trident and its blade flexed more easily. Its blade must have had a wildly hardening temper though, it could scratch the trident, where the spine of that great sword would not. It was interesting to Ulric that the metal workers would know about variable metal grain structures and had to be a result of differential heat treating and tempers. No such thing had been done with the trident, it seemed to be a monolithic single piece of material, shaped, somehow, and polished to show no visible grind marks.

Ulric craved again a microscope to look at the grain structures and a way to determine the elemental metallic compositions. The trident's blue color meant it had to be an alloy of some kind. Both did, really. Neither material oxidized visibly to Ulric. They had lost none of their luster in the months since the slaying of their owners and Ulric had done nothing to stop the effects of air and water on their surfaces.

What are the odds that the metals of this world simply lacked the property of reacting to air, but had all of the other metallic features? None. Some things just had to be the same or Ulric despaired of ever predicting how materials in this world interacted

With a sigh, he set aside his concerns. He could test macro properties, tabulate their component materials, and he could infer their causation with enough testing. It'd just take forever. Or. Just ask the damned professionals.

Glancing over at his dusky sidekick, he noticed she was still somewhat withdrawn. Nothing had been resolved between herself and Uldin, they'd just put aside the issue to attend to business is all. Probably until they could do so in private, for which Ulric was immensely grateful, it was uncomfortable as hell sitting through that. Even so, he didn't want to be a completely insensitive schmuck about it.

"So Geyrt," he began abruptly, which got a slight flinch out of his brooding assistant, "I couldn't help but notice that one Galed Uldin referred to you in a rather familiar manner. Not to pry too much, but would you care to explain?" Ulric inquired, when her gilded green eyes met his.

The Elf woman's heavy sigh shouted that she very much did care to explain, but her sense of duty won out, she'd already violated propriety by brow beating Ulric earlier and neglecting to mention her connections with the Smith. A relationship that may have allowed Ulric to sidestep some of the peculiar Smith's tendencies to harass new clients or test their resolve. But she'd enjoyed watching her Honor squirm, so it evened out in her mind. Her role demanded that she do whatever she could to advance Ulric's interests though and establishing a direct line to one of the most talented smiths in Iriel was most assuredly in his interests, so she had to come through here.

"Galed Uldin is a long friend of my father, one of his innermost rings. They grew up together, they shared battlefields together, and he is a close cousin to my dam, Vedyr. He, in truth, is the one who introduced them to start their courtship." Geyrt explained, running a hand over her braid.

Her eyes roamed the room drinking in the familiar chaos. A stool stacked with metal bars, a cabinet with various drawers opened, fabrics, leathers, and papers strewn randomly peeking out, and the flotsam of a hundred half-finished projects lying about the home. Uldin was, to all appearances, a man who followed his inspirations as they came to him. The open bottle of booze was still sitting on his end table next to the chair, its scent adding to the smells of oil, leather, and metal that stamped the room with a distinctive aura. It was just like it always had been, a second home to Geyrt's senses.

"When I was born, Father declared Uncle Uldin to be the one who would take custody of me should he perish. It never happened, of course, and I grew of age, so it became a moot point, but Uncle Uldin treated me as his own. In his own way he was like a second father to me and…my older brother…and it was he that cared for me while my parents took vengeance for the murder of Eldest brother. He has no natural children, he devotes himself too much to his craft to be long interrupted. Besides, he prefers the company of males to females." She continued.

A brief twirk of her lips revealed the amusement of some thought or other circling around that alien Elf brain.

"Indeed, Glade Chief, you are of the form that Uncle prefers. He likes them broad, and tall, and a little ugly." Prodded his Shadow, without remorse.

Ulric grimaced. He didn't swing that way but he'd been down this particular road already. A longtime work friend batting for the other team had frequently taken him to bars and establishments catering to that sort as "Gay bait", his words that. He'd gotten free drinks and a surprisingly relaxing night out with the boys, and his friend got to bat clean up on the rejected offers. Or, occasionally, he was "the boyfriend" whenever Remy, said friend, needed a night without too much undo attention but didn't want to stay home.

Being a social lubricant and deterrent to his friend was fine with Ulric, he lacked the awareness and interpersonal skills to even notice when it was happening, most of the time, and when he was aware of it, he was fine with the situation, what else were friends for? The rather effeminate, and far more attractive, lad had always reciprocated when Ulric wanted a night out on the town. Remy's adeptness at weaving in and out of conversations and the ease with which he seemed to find rapport with total strangers had always left Ulric with a feeling of awe, and, more than once, a temporary girlfriend. As a wingman, Remy was your go-to guy.

"Gods bless you Remy, wherever you are. May you have that kitchen remodel you always wanted and the matching wardrobes you so diligently cultivated prosper." Ulric gave a silent prayer to that old pal.

His grimace had more to do with remembering just how isolated he'd become in his last years, neglecting Remy and a few others who had deserved better from him, than something so trivial as another man finding him attractive. It had always been a compliment in his mind and the closed-minded relics of proto-society who bitched about what people did in their bedrooms always struck him as backwards in the extreme. Hopefully, Elven society didn't share those kinds of hang-ups. In fact, Ulric was curious enough that he had to know.

"Are individuals who share attractions to others of the same gender shunned amongst the Elves Geyrt?" He asked.

Her eyebrows squinted in confusion, "Why would they be?" She answered with a question of her own.

That cleared that up. Nice, no homophobes in Elf land. Wait a second, had she just called him ugly? He was on the point of pressing her on that when she moved on.

"I am simply pointing out to you that, now that he has moved on from trying to drive you away out of principle, Uncle Uldin is without hesitation in pursuing his interests." She clarified.

He had a thought. It occurred to Ulric that he was in need of this particular Elf's services and, the man was purported to find him attractive. Ulric rolled his sleeves up to reveal powerful forearms and adjusted his posture to broaden his shoulders. Geyrt looked askance at him.

"What are you doing?" She asked, baffled.

"I'm working your Uncle for leverage by showing some sex appeal to get a better deal on crafting stuff." He answered honestly.

She scowled at him, "But you don't have such interests? I have never seen you give male Elf's attention such as you do the females. He is my Uncle Uldin, you will not play with his heart in this way Ulric." scolded the woman, crossing her arms in front of her chest, which, ironically enough, lent her greater influence over him. He wasn't a shallow man, well, not completely, but her beauty was like a chipping hammer against his will.

He wondered if all of them were born with that gift.

Either they were completely unaware of their power or totally aware and wielded it with the precision of a surgeon. It couldn't be something in between. Many beers had been drunk amongst the male kind discussing this topic, but still no progress had been made in generating a consensus. They remained as beffudled now as when they were figuring out how to rub sticks to make fire to impress the lass with the lovely, glossy pelt and slightly more opposable thumbs next to them. He couldn't withstand her indignation.

And she was right.

Grumbling, Ulric acquiesced, returning his sleeves to their normal state and relaxing into his normal semi-slouch. Sure, sure, a little cleavage here and there to boost your tips is fine but gods forbid Ulric show a little arm for some better rates. He couldn't deny the legitimacy of her complaint, she did have a point. Gaming Uldin's preferences was a kind of dirty move, absent any inclination on Ulric's part in that direction. Okay, Okay, he wouldn't use his body to leverage advantages against people with whom he had no intention of following through, fine. Yeesh. Being a decent person is fucking work.

With his dirty plans foiled by Geyrt's compassion for her "Uncle" Ulric was going to have to do this the hard way, with a fair exchange of goods and services. Like a mook.