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.
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, to him it 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, brace himself, and 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.
"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? 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 Ulric 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.
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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 [Glade Wolf] 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 undue 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 backward 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.
Ulric examined the various stacks of parts and pieces. Problem with negotiations is that you have to know the perceived worth of your goods and the man simply did not. The deer, elk, and wolf stuff was probably relatively low value, prey animals, by their natures, were too common to generate a rarity that made their demand outstrip the supply. The predators might go for a little higher, surely the [Glade Wolves] and [Fell Wolves] didn't occur frequently enough to glut the markets with their materials, but they also hadn’t been particularly hard to hunt, which meant the Elves would have them aplenty, provided these sorts roamed around the plateau. The real prize, of course, would be the [Forest Lord], old Gigabear himself. That creature was priceless, yet another reason Ulric cringed at the thought of having extincted the species.
Gods forbid, Ulric thought with self-recrimination that he should become what he so hated from his prior world. His only consolation was that the creature was already on its deathbed, like a majestic old lion who had been cast out of its pride, it was doomed to fade when its strength no longer permitted the hunt. That and it'd ambushed him without remorse and would have eaten him more or less alive had he not prevailed.
All this wool-gathering was just an attempt to put into perspective just what bargaining room he really had here. Ulric looked up from the pile to his Shadow and couldn't help a small sigh. He really was a creature of habit. Here he was trying to decipher on his own, absent a literal lifetime of context or socioeconomic background, on a foreign world, while standing next to him was a literal professional Hunter, of a people renowned for their forest craft. Giving himself three solid knocks with his knuckles against his forehead to encourage the neurons in the old gray slug living in his skull to maybe work a little harder, Ulric turned to his companion-servant-bodyguard-person.
"So, Geyrt, what do you think the value of this stuff will be to Uldin?" He inquired casually.
She looked up quickly, apparently startled out of some introspection herself.
"The [Bladefern Elk] is a particularly fine specimen, as all the creatures of the [Ancient's Plateau] seem to be. It will be of moderate worth, especially the antler, the small blades are prized for shaving, fine carving, and other such precision cutting tools. They are also of an aesthetic value, few ever grow so large in the lower forests. Other than that, it is of little interest to a man such as my Uncle, though he could put all of what you have brought to use. The [Bolt Deer] is of almost no use however, they are too weak to make sturdy equipment, same for the varieties of wolf you have brought." Said the expert Hunter, dashing Ulric's hopes of a big score from the wolves.
"Other than to make somewhat warmer than usual rugs or blankets I do not know that Uncle Uldin would have any use for the pelts," she continued "They might be of greater value to trade to the River-folk though, such predators venture rarely to the bottoms near Zelus, preferring the deeper reaches of Iriel. The cores are all useful, as you know, but are also too common to be truly valued for Uncle Uldin's work. Only the [Forest Lord]'s materials would be of high enough quality to truly interest him, he has a taste for the exotic and experimentation in his projects." Geyrt analyzed.
She tossed her hair, braid launching over her shoulder to hang behind her. Ulric noticed she tended to do that when she was mulling something over while she talked. Sort of like his hand ticks. After a brief pause, she went on, having reached some conclusion or other.
"You could not know this but Uncle Uldin is widely regarded to be one of the finest weapon smiths of Orlethrem. There are those better in some regards than he, of course, those who specialize in other directions and aspects of the craft, and, of course, there are the dwarves who have elevated smithing into more art than craft. But in Iriel, none could better serve your purpose than my Uncle." She expounded.
A slight frown appeared but quickly vanished, becoming contemplative. Ulric wasn't used to this kind of emotional honesty from her. The Elf woman was normally a nice even mix of indignation, detached calm, and slightly racist snobbery. This more relaxed posture was kind of refreshing, really.
He normally only got to see her respond differently when he was doing something she thought was either massively stupid or, according to her preconceptions, impossible. Watching her decide what to say was actually sort of informative, his Shadow was pretty on guard and this moment of lowered defenses was a chance to learn a little more about how she ticked. Fairly important, since he was now responsible for her care and she was, theoretically, bound to him for his entire godsdamned life.
"Normally he would never consider making something for otherkin, too many times such things inevitably end up being used against the Elves, a few short human generations down the line." She explained, just almost apologetic.
She honestly didn't need to be, Ulric understood very well how disheartening it would be to make a weapon for a person only to find that their grandkids, within a relatively short time span in your own existence, were using it to murder your kin. No, he couldn't really blame Uldin at all now, could he? There were, unfortunately, some disturbing parallels between the humans of this world and the humans of his old one. Perhaps, humanity was inherently possessed of a somewhat destructive bent, through-out all the universes. Or maybe these here were just the offshoots of their merchant-pirate lord ancesters being greedy dicks and that kind of rubbed off on their descendants. Hard to say without learning more about them.
"In your case, it is my belief that he will be willing to make exception, on my account, and in recognition of your aid given to our people. He will certainly demand to have your armor and you must not give him this easily, every piece of your conquest of the ancient terror must be bargained against its weight in purest core dust, for they are each never to be seen again." She said emphatically, stressing the need to leverage Ulric's only real source of treasury.
He focused his attention to Geyrt who was trying to explain the market values and hypothetical uses for the goods before her but she was using unfamiliar terms, probably for some kind of trade currency, and, up to that point, Ulric hadn't actually interacted with money at any point in his entire rebirthing. Which was fucking amazing now that he thought about it. Unfortunately, the clarifying questions on his tongue were not to be.
Smith Uldin tore through the door to his smithy and glared at Ulric then back to the armor clutched in his muscled arms like his first-born child and back to Ulric.
"Who made this? I must speak to them, their tool skills are childlike and clumsy beyond reason, but the concept…it is genius. Where did you acquire this item Ulric?" Pressed Smith Uldin with intensity bordering on religious zeal.
"Oh. I…uh…made it myself. Based on designs from my people's historical archives." Ulric revealed tentatively, still uncertain exactly how much of his previous world he actually wanted to inject into this one.
The burly Elf crossed the space to the table on which Ulric had been reviewing stacks of body parts and entered into Ulric's personal space, standing a few centimeters away. Ulric immediately retreated a couple of steps to a comfortable distance, only to have the Elf move to intercept. This process repeated until Ulric was backed up to the broken doorway and contemplated flight.
Geyrt intervened, stepping between the two of them and taking her psuedo relative by the shoulders, guiding him to the chair he had sat whence they'd entered. The Elf went gratefully and poured a slug of the potent liquor into his cup, tossing it back without tasting before pouring another that Geyrt swiped from his hand before it made it to his mouth. He frowned at her before taking a long chug from the bottle directly. Face scrunched from the bite of the alcohol he settled down. The armor remained clutched against his body.
"Forgive me. It has been a while since I saw something so interestingly foreign. I lost myself. Please come in Glade Chief, and sit. Little Girl, thank you for bringing me to my senses, you should sit too, we may be awhile discussing terms. I will take a contract on behalf of your Honor if we can come to an agreement." Smith Uldin said, indicating a few of the chairs stacked with bits of odds and ends.
Ulric looked to his Shadow and, at her nod, cleared himself a chair and pulled it over to sit a reasonable distance from Uldin, though carefully out of arm's reach. Geyrt did the same seating herself only a small separation from Ulric and unmistakably in alignment with him, a reminder of her role in this discussion. It was nice to know he had an ally, Smith Uldin was proving a somewhat disconcerting force to be reckoned with.
"Now that everyone is settled, I would like to begin our proceedings with a toast to this newest ally of the Elves." Intoned the giant Elf raising the bottle of spirits.
Alarm bells jangled in Ulric's brain, whispered warnings of the last time he'd indulged in Elvish spirits and their impact on his judgment. Vague memories of detonating a fruit washed through him. He'd also woken up with a complete stranger, though that was probably more a result of her decision making than his. In any case, beginning negotiations by imbibing something that would strip varnish was probably not a solid play. He nearly snorted when he recalled the Elf calling it “Tea”.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Smith Uldin, but other duties will require my attention this afternoon and I would see to them with a clear head. It would not do to waste Lady Shor's time being muddled with drink." Ulric declined with a raised hand.
Geyrt had returned to her cool impassiveness but Ulric saw the glint of approval in her almond shaped eyes. She had a way of flattening her eyebrows when she was in favor of his actions. It was a subtle thing and Ulric was admittedly not the best reader of people, but he'd been practicing on her for weeks by this time, his study being largely motivated by the eminent goal to avoid getting stabbed.
Those small details and gestures were also a necessary part of understanding Elven language. Like Italians, they did a great deal of their communication with their hands and faces. As had become patently obvious to him, an Elf's ears would say volumes about the owner's emotional state. This little tidbit of knowledge helped in his decision as the downwards flick of Uldin's own eartips as well as shouted "Damnit". So. One trap evaded. There would be more.
Ulric leaned forward and got down to the business of haggling with the Elven Smith, his anchor being the knowledge that he truly needed nothing. He'd been born into this world naked and, if needs be, he could face it down with cheeks bare to the wind.
Anything more was just bonus.