The lesser cold of the afternoon was refreshing against his skin, and the Twins wheeled overhead, showering the plains with their glory. At least, he thought, finding a moment of clarity within the building rage, the Elf gets to die on a good day for it. Now that he'd come to it, he actually found the anger had fallen away completely. Hmm…he was reminded of the time he'd killed the Lordling. There is an island of calm within the storm. Just as well too, he really didn't want to hurt the rest of these people and Blood Rage was probably going to result in all of them dying. When he thought about it that way, this really was for the best. He did need to check with Taipan first though.

"Taipan, it occurs to me that I might be overreacting to this idiot's provocation. How do your people respond to such as this?" He asked, ignoring, for the moment, the idiot in question.

A toss of her blue-black hair, short locks bouncing, made for a heady contrast to the intensely predatorial way her bronze flecked eyes took in the world around her. When they locked onto the idiot, he became visibly less enthusiastic in his buffoonery.

"My Father would have already turned this fool to ashes. Mother would proclaim his life to be at an end, set forth the challenge, and carve out his throat. Any of the most restrained Iriel'en Hunters would demand he make apology for his words and then vanish from their sight for a year or see the challenge laid." She informed him.

That sounded about right.

"Sounds about right. By any chance, do you want to take him? I can see that little glint in your eye that says you're feeling stabby. I don't mind, if you would rather." Ulric offered, in a conversation unthinkable to him half a year prior.

Taipan smiled, but with enough edge to it to make it clear that there was going to be very little funny Ha Ha involved, "Thank you Ulric, but no. I still believe you need to harden yourself, and you worry sometimes too much about allowing the Lord Instinct to guide you. Its Call is not always unwise, a Lord brooks no challenge to their throne, even if it be a humble camp fire. For myself, I tired of watering the roots with men like this thirty years ago."

Fair enough.

"Welp. I guess that's that. I hope there aren't too many people that love you." Ulric said, forgetting that these didn't speak his native language.

Something in his expression must have indicated how things were going to go.

"No! Joclyn you idiot, he's going to kill you!" Cried the failed peacekeeper, grabbing the arm of the idiot only to have her hand thrown free contemptuously.

Yep, Ulric thought, you are correct, Joclyn here should have listened to you earlier.

"He's a mage fool! And one that knows how to use the blade he holds. You are stirring a fight we do not need, cousin, for no reason. Let us leave, there is plenty of time to reach the next hostel." Implored the other peace keeper.

Also true, Ulric confirmed mentally. Good thing the rest of them are smarter than this one, solid chance they all get to live when this is done.

Chest bared, scars running their jagged tracery across him Ulric gave the moron a eulogy, in a tone devoid of any particular menace.

"I am going to bury you here, before your kin, and hope that the rest of them allow your stupidity to die with you."

There is a particularly horrifying effect of someone announcing that they are going to do harm to you without any emotion whatsoever. At that point, you are made aware that you face a rational being whose entire mind has turned itself to the task of deleting you from the living collective.

The proclamation, the knowing grin of his Shadow unseen behind him, and the imposing physical stature of the Human man stole the confidence from him and his expression sickened, vapid grin fading at last.

The challenge was laid. Seconds were sorted in a few moments, Taipan to be his, and the rude woman to be poor dead Joclyn's. Poor Joclyn hadn't yet obtained the proof of his demise but that was coming. Soon.

The Elf before him, standing opposite the scribed ten meter radius circle that would constitute the boundaries of their challenge, did not look as if he was as happy about where things had led as he had before. He had not used [Scan] and neither had Ulric. That little piece of semi religion was still being adhered to then. In a world where someone could, with the proper training, view what amounted to your living resume at will, Ulric was exceedingly happy that there was a powerful taboo in effect for doing so outside of active combat.

[Scanning] someone was about the same as cocking a gun, or drawing steel, and, normally, got the same response.

Ulric wasn't born of these lands but he did try to adhere to the major covenants and social compacts, lest he be acting as a barbarian in truth. He didn't know what this Elf in front of him had to offer but he was willing to bet it wasn't anything near as good as what Christ could do, nor would it hold a candle to his darling wife, who was fiddling with her knife handle and glaring at the Legranel female that had chosen to be Joclyn's second.

His core thrummed, almost with anticipation, as if his fighting instinct were joined to that nexus of power that lived inside him. He couldn't deny that there was a growing part of him that found the Contest, the moment of struggle between himself and his adversary, where they put each other before the river Styx more exciting than before. He didn't exactly look forward to this situation but, now that they were here, he could admit to himself that there was a sort of adrenaline-soaked joy in it.

Find me a man who is more alive, Ulric noted to himself.

The overseer, one of the impartial Lagranel who had not yet spoken up until they declared themselves without stake in this matter, being of a completely different "roost" from the rest of the troop, raise his hand.

"Here is the challenge between Joclyn of the Legranel and the Valin who has claimed this Haven for himself and his partner. No accord could be found, no peace under the Endless Blue, and so it is combat, without limit, as decided by Joclyn, who was challenged, here and now by Ulric, his challenger. May their grudge be settled thus." Intoned the She-elf, as a judge before a court.

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As her hand dropped she declared, "To an End!".

[Warrior's Instinct]

The cool clear calm of the combat skill settled into him and he was in the Undan Ready by the time the last syllable of the judge faded. Adrenaline had already washed down his back and he was nearly humming with its energy.

Joclyn drew his sword, a one-handed leaf bladed spatha and his belt knife, a forearm long almost tanto shaped thing, an unadorned bone hilt with a sturdy leather wrap for both. Good. At least this one wouldn't get their weapon tangled in their clothes. The blades of the Legranel's instruments appeared to be some kind of bronze. Would their craftsmanship hold against Uldin’s art?

Ulric hefted Xef'tocht easily in one hand. He wondered how well his Deathless Steel edge would fare against the Elf's. One way to know. A simple Moh's test would do, for now.

Ulric moved easily between steps, their endlessly practiced angles ground into him by ruthless teachers, a side step, a half lunge to sell the feinted stab, and a quick raise of his wrists to deliver a short chop that his opponent struggled to deflect, having gone half way through a guard to stop the feint.

Blades met with a muted clang, somewhat surprising for how hard he'd swung and he retreated immediately upon contact, as Taipan had instructed through lashing his forearms.

Poor Joclyn's footwork was terrible. His hands were fast though, credit to his heritage, and even as he blocked the stroke, his dagger reached for Ulric's arms just as he swiftly withdrew from his attack, returning to ready in a breath.

Ulric's gray eyes turned to his enemy's blade and he had the answer to his question: there, at the site where they'd joined swords, was a deep notch cut into the clearly softer metal of Joclyn's spatha.

The Elf didn't fail to notice either, his eyes widening when he saw the centimeter deep gouge in his primary weapon. Joclyn's stance shifted as he took a hesitating back step.

Distraction. Mistake. Ulric was moving even before his conscious mind recognized the lapse in defense, driven by the sharp lessons of Christ's beatings and aided by the surety of Idra'se's Dance. Calling the magic, he joined his core's exuberance to his body.

[Surge]

He pulsed the acceleration to find his angle and strike, the tip of his sword hissing towards the Elf's neck in a horizontal cut from the knife side, fading the skill after a short moment, the follow through of his attack being unassisted.

Joclyn's fast hands saved his life again, he managed to block with his knife and sword, their back edges drawing blood as they slammed into his face from the blow. He rocked slightly and caught his balance. As Ulric returned to ready, circling constantly towards that knife side, threatening another cut from the direction that was harder to guard.

Both knife and sword had an obvious tear in their flats. The cutting power of Xef'tocht, empowered by a [Surge] Strike had ripped into the far softer metal of those blocking weapons. Ulric fought down a smile, concentrating on the Elf's everything. He'd tried twice to kill the Elf once from the front, once from the side. Both times his opponent had been unable to keep the attacks from forcing a block, unable to respond in time to parry or counter effectively.

The Elf was quick though, he had to give him that. Never underestimate speed, a two-handed fighter was a dangerous counter puncher. Strangely though, he couldn't detect any sense of threat from the adversary. Joclyn's steps were hesitant, never forward, never challenging Ulric's space. Always backwards, always in retreat. Scared.

Keeping his eyes on the plains Elf, Ulric suddenly realized that his opponent was…deficient. Not worthy. He was starting to lose some of his blood thirst, now that he wasn't so juiced up on murder. [Warrior's Instinct] had brought him to a calm and he saw that Joclyn's face was written in what might be described as stark terror. This was no warrior. The understanding made him distantly angry at the idiot's willingness to tempt fate challenging strangers.

Growling, Ulric stepped into a rapid series of slashes at the Elf's body, his back and shoulders bringing the long blade into a glittering blur that his opponent barely managed to survive. Loud rings of clashing, grunts as the Elf struggled to hold his grip against the blows that carved into his spatha and dagger. Ulric pressed the idiot, smashing his guard with a rising [Surge] assisted strike that pulled the quick handed Elf's arms high with its force and Joclyn finally abandoned any semblence of defense.

Desperately the Elf tried to attack, an almost childish effort that had to be aborted, the Elf breaking away by throwing himself into a roll to escape being gutted by Ulric's ripost from the slow, clumsy attempt at a thrust. Ulric followed the evasion, his feet sure, while his enemy’s were barely under him. Ulric used a high stance right to low left feint which drew exaggerated response from the overmatched Elf, before his wrists rotated to flick the blade left to low right, drawing a clean line across Joclyn's sword arm, from bicep to forearm. The wound opened as the spatha fell toward the ground from numb fingers.

Stumbling, the Legranel dropped his knife to grasp the handle of his longer weapon in his off-hand, before it could be lost and its superior range lost with it. Poor Joclyn stood with despair inscribed on his features.

His sword had a half dozen bites out of it and shook with tremors. A few more failed parries and the thing was as like to fold in half as to deflect Ulric's cuts. He'd never block one handed. This was a complete farce. Ulric was never one to underestimate an enemy, he'd made it a point to fight with power, aggression, and the assumption that his opponent was stronger and faster than he expected. But this…Joclyn was either the best actor he'd ever seen or a total incompetent.

"How old are you boy?" Ulric asked in Elvish, disbelieving that any seasoned adult would have committed themselves to a mortal combat with so little ability.

He never stopped his circling, kept Xef'tocht readied to break through Joclyn's guard. The next rush he'd use [Surge] and end this stupidity.

The scared Elf had to swallow and his eyes widened when they dropped to see the blood running freely from his limp arm. Droplets painted the withered grass beneath his feet with a steady patter.

"F-Fifty sev-seven cycles. W-why?" Joclyn couldn't help his stutter, or the higher pitch of his shaking voice.

"Fifty-seven." Ulric echoed flatly. Older than him, but barely more than a child to the Elves. Iriel'en weren't even considered adults until they were fifty. Hell, they didn't even stop maturing completely until they were seventy. He had to suppress a sigh.

"And this, this is the first time you've had a blade at you, one that seeks your life?" He, checked.

The Elf didn't even speak this time, nodding, his face tan skin blanched from fear.

Ulric looked to the other plainsfolk, as if to say "Really?". The rest of them looked like they'd been caught in the open by Greater Beasts. His opponent’s second, the scarred female who had been itching for a fight a few minutes ago looked to greatly regret her choices, by the pained grimace she wore. The two would be peacekeepers had clearly already seen their kin's demise playing out and gazed sadly over the scribed arena.

Insanity. What were they thinking? Ulric questioned, keeping his eyes on the shivering, bleeding Lagranel that had proven so wanting.

"Fuck." Ulric noted.

"Taipan, I'm not sure I have the stomach for this anymore." Ulric called over his shoulder, keeping the loudmouthed youth in sight, disgust loud in his voice, "He's a goddamned childish fool who needs a lesson, but this is just sad. It feels like I'm killing a cripple. Thoughts?"

The dark elf shrugged, "Fools feed the roots as well as any, and more frequently. But it is your decision lover, to stay your sword or to see the insult paid in full. Know that, if he weren't inept, he would almost certainly have gone for your life without the mercy you feel."

Fuck.

Ulric was purely out of the mood now.

He'd killed men these past months. Done it in cold blood and in Rage. He'd slept well afterwards too, after coming to terms with the more brutal necessities of warfare. This one though, this one would sit ill with him, he had a feeling. Joclyn over there was an ignorant little shit, contemptuous of Otherkin and ignorant of what lurked beyond the grass of his homeland. Nevertheless, he was more or less just a young idiot and Ulric had been one once, had made mistakes in judgement. Those had never involved mixing racism and blood sports but, what are you gonna do? Varda was a hard place. This one's folks should have known better than to let him out of sight unattended.

Budding empathy and the whispers of the Lord Instinct warred briefly, though that vengeful thing was lessened now that Ulric had realized that Poor Joclyn was no threat at all. Just a loud frat boy, letting his dick steal all the blood that could have let his brain do some thinking. Did this Elf, of a similar age to Christ, deserve to die? That was the question.

Sighing, Ulric jammed Xef'tocht's point into the cold, loamy soil to sway hypnotically.

"Alright boy, here's your last chance. Drop that sorry excuse for a sword and try me with those noodle arms and I'll only beat sense into you, an asskicking is still owed for the lip you've served. But I won't kill you. Otherwise, I'm-"

He was interrupted by the soft thud of the sword hitting the matted grass and dirt at the Elf's feet. Joclyn, it would appear, was not entirely without functional brain operation.

"You are being too kind Ulric. This one has not earned your mercy, only your contempt. And his friends are too soft willed to temper the failings of their kin, they are all of them weak." Advised Taipan, deliberately using her native tongue to make her feelings known to her kin who flinched at her venom.

A predator was his wife, unapologetically so. It would do him well to consider that she had lived so long by being unhesitant about delivering violence. She was not wrong to be as she was, nor were the rest of her people who were so similarly inclined to leave no enemies alive behind them as they walked their life's path.

Still. He was not them. Ulric was not so unaware of himself as to be blind to the hypocrisy of sparing this barely adult compared to the others he'd left dead, such as the one that had laid hands on Taipan in the common room in Seinajok. Dead was dead, and the reasons mattered little, did the corpse no good. Was this mercy growth? After all, only the strong get to decide when to give less than their full strength. Or was his reluctance a decay of his spirit, the will he needed to cultivate to survive this world?

Whatever, he'd figure it out later, he still had to teach Poor Joclyn over here to mind his manners.