Ulric needed to jot down a note: Never haggle with Geyrt.
The woman had a lawyer's cut throat instincts and attention to details. A dozen times, Uldin made a relatively benign sounding, to Ulric's ears, clause or demand only to have it eviscerated by his Shadow as a gross concession, the depth of which she decried with gusto. Jonny Cochran couldn't have put on a better show. It was clear she had an edge in the negotiations too: Uldin couldn't say no to his "Little Girl". The incisive, shrewd, Smith nearly flinched whenever she voiced her disapproval with a requirement and hesitated to push back against some of her, to Ulric, more far-fetched claims. The end result was clear, Ulric would be getting a great deal of work done not quite pro bono, but pretty close to it. All it cost him was the materials he’d intended to sell off anyhow. That and some metallurgy.
At the heart of the matter was this: Ulric had the knowledge of thousands of years of human arms and armors technology and the body parts of one of the greatest beasts the world had ever known as resources. Neither of these were exactly reproducible, although there were surely going to be parallels. Therefore, for a Smith of Uldin's incredible talents, the opportunity to gain this knowledge and work with these materials was a powerful carrot to go along side Geyrt's negotiating sticks. Ulric was also going to pay him with every beast core he'd collected to date, excepting the Gigabear's, a hefty sum according to Geyrt's assertions. Those cores came from beasts that might not have been strictly uncommon but the [Ancient's Plateau] imparted a quality all of its own on its denizens, whose cores were washed daily in the dense manasphere of that place.
The contract was finalized with a firm handshake and a signature, in the actual blood of both signatories. Ulric would provide all of the materials for the crafting of a weapon and a new set of armor. Master Smith Uldin's descriptions of his own work as that of a "Genius infant with clubbed fingers" was less than flattering. Ulric consoled himself by knowing that it was the first armor he'd ever made out of anything but cardboard and brass and it had worked well enough to save his life at least twice. For the Elf craftsmen it was an eyesore made of diamonds.
The crudeness of the crafting seemed to offend the Elf's sensibilities and he declared that it was a shame to the gods of crafting to leave such immaculate concepts so poorly executed. As such, the armor would be redone by himself, for a modest fee. It was an obvious ruse, Galed Uldin hadn't so much as put the leather and plate cuirass down since he'd laid hands on it.
The weapon was a slightly different matter. Once he'd agreed to the task Smith Uldin's entire being narrowed to its completion. Even half-way into the bag, as he'd continued drinking during the entire negotiation, he maintained a razor sharp focus on the specifics. What type of weapon? The gigantic elf had asked. Ulric explained his desires and was told "You will want a modified Sith". When Ulric became immediately confused the weapon smith explained that the Elven traditions classified bladed weapons into Drak, stabbing swords, or Sith, cutting swords. From there they were subcategorized based on their size. The same word also made up one of the subcategories, which boggled the man for a moment.
A Drak was broken down into the smallsword, which could range anywhere from a long stilleto to a rapier in size, called a Drik; a Drak, or hand sword, which could be as large as an estoc of Ulric's old-world conventions; and a Drek, a two-handed great sword of the same general form as those ancient Danish two handers but scaled as if for giants, blades near to two and half meters long. Uldin explained that Drek were uncommon, as thrusting blades had a tendency to bind or break off when used on beasts large enough to require them and were just immense overkill when applied to humanoid foes. "Just ask for a pike and be done with it" the musical soprano voice said sarcastically, at extreme odds with his corded muscle layered on muscle form.
Seriously, Uldin was the swollest Elf Ulric had ever seen.
Instead, the experienced craftsman, no stranger to combat himself though he'd left that part of his life far behind, recommended a cutting blade the Sith. Similarly to their stabbing brethren, the cutting blades were subclassed according to size. A Seth was the small variant, of similar form to the kopis, kukri, or as hefty as a Lombardian cleaver, whose upsized variant Ulric had seen utilized by that Elven warrior Ulric had named for such weapon, the eponymous Cleaver aka Nahl'ir. A one-handed cutting blade was a Sith and could be as large as a Dadao or Grosse Messer, which were traditionally two-handed weapons in Earthen history. The great cutting blades, the Sath, were massive affairs with wide blades. They were purposed for killing mounts or taking limbs off of very large beasts. According to the descriptions, the massive weapons, whose reach and momentum would be unsuited for slaying men, were preferred by Beastkin and Ogran, Ogre folk, who had the raw power to wield them.
Ulric was still, in many ways, unaccustomed to the realities of this deadly planet Varda. The large mammalian species had been long gone by the time humanity re-emerged from nuclear shelters, though it was hypothesized that the induced ice age would promote their eventual return. He had to struggle to remember that even lesser dangerous game in this world were fantastically more powerful and physically potent than anything on his old world, especially in the post collapse ecosystem.
As such, when Smith Uldin pulled a blade that looked like it was made to decapitate rhinos, Ulric was still caught off guard. At first, he instantly dismissed the need for a weapon as outrageously oversized as that one. Then he recalled the [Crimson Bull] that had erupted from the brush of the canopy and envisioned trying to stop one from running him down and trampling him. Suddenly it wasn't outrageous at all, anything less was comically underpowered in the face of those radical threats. Ulric voiced his concerns handling that kind of monstrous weapon. The response from the Elf was surprisingly practical: just grab a few and take some swings to see how it feels.
Handing Ulric an armful of failed projects, masterworks for lesser smiths but unsellable trash in his own eyes, Uldin marched them all out into the cold to work him through a few exercises to test the heft of each type of blade. The smallest ones he rejected immediately. Anything small enough to use a shortsword on he could just use his belt knife and would do him no good against a Greater beast. The larger classes, the Sith and the Sath, were up for debate. On the one hand, the Sith were much more comfortable to use but lacked the reach and overwhelming killing potential of a the much larger Sath.
Throughout it all, Galed Uldin watched him with a honed eye noting every motion, every tendency. When Ulric had gone through several cycles with each of the test weapons, the Smith halted him and they returned to the inside of the eccentric Elf's house/workshop. Ulric took a moment to put up a [Stonewall] to hold the door in place with an apologetic smile for the Elf, nevermind that it could have been avoided had the oddball craftsman not been messing with him on purpose.
After a few pointed questions from the keen artisan, which Ulric did his utmost to answer as fully as he was able, "Uncle Uldin" reiterated his original statement that a modified Sith would be most suitable for Ulric's purposes. Neither as large as the Sath but not on the smaller end of the Sith, Ulric was glad when the experienced Smith suggested a compromise. He pulled a catalogue of blade geometries he'd compiled, dumping the stack of documents and catalogues that lay atop it into the floor as he did, to show Ulric his intent. After a brief period of consideration, Ulric decided that when a professional makes a recommendation, you should probably just take their word for it. Ignoring the advice of a master artisan of Galed Uldin's reputation was like telling Einstein he made an algebra mistake.
The seasoned Weaponsmith suggested that one of Ulric's build and unique power should avoid an overlarge blade, it would decrease his mobility and his strength would allow a smaller weapon to achieve mostly similar results. Skill would make up for its slightly abbreviated range. Speaking of skill, Geyrt reminded him that he had problems enough with the Thousand Steps Dance without having a weapon so large he would trip over it, and that helped settle things.
In the end, Ulric was guided towards a Sith-Yelan, a large leaf bladed sword of vaguely Celtic shape. The handle was drawn to scale and would easily be some thirty centimeters long, enough room to grip one or two handed, in the bastard sword style, and the blade extended to well over a meter, maybe 120 centimeters or so, plenty large enough to deal with any but the more massive beasts; Ulric was determined that those should be dealt with by either magical bombardment or swift retreat in any case.
Then there was the shape. The recurve portion of the double-sided blade near its hilt would give it a tremendous cutting power but without the heavy forward weighting of the Falcata or similarly heavily recurve blade shapes. That was important for an unskilled warrior like Ulric, he would be less committed to any one strike and able to recover from mistakes more quickly, at the cost of some potential power. It also had the benefit of a fairly precise point, allowing the weapon to be utilized as a highly effective penetrating weapon, even if that wasn't its primary use. Flexibility was a powerful plus to Ulric's thinking. The decision pleased both of the Elves in the room and, they being far more experienced in the martial than himself, that sealed the deal.
All parties were in for a surprise when the Smith asked for the materials to be used and Ulric provided the overlarge blued metal trident and silver cutlass. Instantly Uldin's features turned to an angry grimace when he examined the barbed trident.
"Where did you find this weapon Glade Chief?" He demanded all good humor gone.
The semi drunken haze to his features vanished like smoke in the wind. He'd been at least partially faking it then during their negotiations, the crafty devil. Ulric couldn't attend nugget of information any longer though, the knotted muscles of the craftsman's forearms as he laid hold of the trident weren’t for show. He took that trident away from Ulric like a grown man retrieving a forbidden item from a child. A small child.
Suddenly Ulric was very glad indeed that he hadn't had to tango with the Elf. He'd almost forgotten that basically all of the older individuals were certified badasses. The pampered river fop who'd tried to duel him was an exception, not a rule.
"This thing is an enemy of our people, it reeks of Elf blood spilled. It is also made of [Helite Adamant], [Spellbreaker Steel] the Humans call it, of a single piece. There are only a handful of similar pieces that I am aware of and none of them are in the possession of any but the inner circles of Prespang's elite murderers.” Growled Smith Uldin, hatefully.
The smith’s powerful hands clenched as if he meant to bend the trident over his knee as his intensely focused aquamarine and copper eyes dissected the object.
“The bastards have paid fortunes to dwarf kingdoms to secure rights to the adamant ore, and have hired assassins for culling outside craftsmen capable of imbuing Magebane. I must know Ulric, from where did you obtain this?" Reiterated Smith Uldin with ferver.
Ulric was shocked. He'd been carrying the thing around Irielhos for weeks now and no one had realized a thing. Trust a Master Smith to instantly recognize the truth of the instrument he'd blithely packed around the heart of Elvendom.
"I took it off the body of one of the assholes who took Brighteyes, excuse me, Heir Lumyt'seit. Specifically, a Beastkin with wolven features who went by the name of Graus and claimed the title Elfbane. I didn't put two and two together but the thing broke through two of my spells like they were made of glass. I thought it was because I was trash at casting spells." Ulric recounted.
Ulric's explanation calmed the stout Elf greatly. In fact, if Ulric wasn't mistaken, the dude might have been suppressing a grin. Ah. He'd killed the guy who had a title called Elfbane. Probably you don't get a title like that but for being a pure fucker for cold blooded murder of Orlethrem.
"This is a better thing you have done for the Aes'r than you know then Glade Chief. You have my people's thanks, and my own, Ulric. Graus was a monster. He and his pack have acted as mercenaries, assassins, and thugs for hire on behalf of Prespang, mostly under contract directly for Prosper's merchant lords. Graus made a name for himself by attacking villages while their Hunters were absent and slaughtering the defenseless villagers, after he'd had his fill of torturing them. Many warriors in Irielhos now are here because they found their kith and kin savaged and will not rest until the blood debt is paid." Uldin punctuated this sordid tale by spitting again on his own floor.
Ulric took note of the gesture and realized that it indicated a far greater depth of enmity than he had suspected. This Graus fucker had been a real piece of work then. Ulric felt a little bad for respecting the dickbag for a warrior now. Nobody who slaughtered innocents, targeted them when their protectors were gone to inflict maximum harm, merited that kind of consideration, no matter their courage in battle and skill at arms. Sort of made Ulric want to kill him again. Or maybe find this Vars guy the bastard mentioned and pay him a visit. He was roused from murderous contemplation by his Shadow's hand on his shoulder.
She held a slight alarm in her eyes, which confused him until he realized he'd been clenching his fists and blood was seeping between the fingers. When he relaxed his hands he saw he'd cut himself on his own fingernails. His apologetic smile and a sheepish shrug put her at rest somewhat while he wiped his hands on his pants.
Her midnight braid swung as she shook her head at him in bemusement. Keeping him from harm would appear to include from himself.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
He had a feeling Geyrt would have her work cut out for her. Varda was starting to reveal a few problems of the "Some fuckers gotta die" variety and Ulric wasn't sure that he was prepared to share a planet with those sorts anymore. Priorities Einar, you have to sort yourself out before you can sort the world, Ulric reminded himself.
Uldin had shed his ill mood, somewhat, and look upon Ulric with a better light.
"You truly do not have any animosity at all for Elf kin do you Ulric?" The Smith said with slight disbelief.
"You have no idea how uncommon this is, not on this continent. I have heard of the Cindercone islands being blends of peoples living in peace but the hostility between Prespang and Orlethrem is millennia old. It makes me happier that Little Girl is in your care then. Perhaps Bald'rt wasn't smoking the Skyleaf when he gave her to you." Uldin mused.
A sudden loud clap slightly startled Ulric. He'd forgotten these people liked to make hard transitions in conversation by doing that, even though he'd caught himself doing the same. Social plasticity, that was called or some shit.
"Well, enough of that. An enemy of our people is slain and you have brought me his weapon as a trophy. It would please me greatly to melt this abomination down and give it form to arm you against those same enemies. I am afraid I do not get out very often, Ulric, my passions are often spent following the whims of my calling, what do you know of the metal stuff of these lands?" Questioned the Master Smith in a smooth melodic tone.
Ulric shook himself quickly, casting off his continued disjunction between the Smith's grizzled appearance and that choir boy voice.
"In this world? I have a feeling that I know both a great deal and nothing at all." Ulric confessed.
"A majority of my professional life once was spent studying the properties and characteristics of metals, in the practice of metallurgy in my prior world. In that sense, if my suspicions about the familiarity of this world's folk with microstructure are valid, I may be this world's foremost expert in metallic substances." Ulric said, without boasting.
"And yet, my world was one without magic. We had no cores, no mana. All I have seen since my reforging has shown that the very substance of existence here is saturated with mana. The materials do not behave as they did on my home world. So, all of my previous assumptions and accrued knowledge are damn near guaranteed to be at least partly invalidated by the presence of mana's influences on all it touches." He concluded.
"Hmm…" the artisan murmured doubtfully, with a slight skepticism evident in his eyes, "What is this…this mikrostractyre that you speak of? I have not heard this term before." the Smith questioned.
Ulric realized with a start that he really wouldn't have, would he? Ulric used terms that didn't have direct translations in this world from his old, the Akashic connection seemed to be doing some heavy lifting to make his thoughts fit the form of the Human species language. He had to remind himself that didn't mean that anyone else was going to understand. He'd probably been losing people constantly by using jargon, out of habit, and explained, at least in part, why Geyrt thought he was crazy sometimes. Somebody babbling witch speak and nonsense every so often while explaining things nobody had ever seen before was easily going to make you a candidate for getting fitted for a straight-jacket. He'd need to break it down for the Smith to catch his meaning.
"Metal particles form patterns, as you've no doubt observed, within the material. I have always heard these distinct groupings of particles in specific orientation called grains. The ratios and distribution of different metal particles within the grains and sizes of the crystals determine the overall properties of the alloy, the…"
"Gods of the Earth and Skies, don't get him started like this Uncle. He will go on for hours speaking riddles." Geyrt interjected then, cutting him off before Ulric could properly explain.
Uldin, for his own part, looked interested. Even if he wasn't entirely following.
"Whatever he says, it is likely the truth, Uncle Uldin." his Shadow said, begrudgingly, to assuage him for her rudeness, which she knew got his back up.
"Since he has arrived, in a time span that I had though impossible, my Honor has gained an unheard of mastery of certain magics, particularly ones based on elemental mana. I have not seen the like other than Mother Shor. He has claimed, without any intention to deceive, that it is because his people trained their entire lives in mage craft, the understanding of the flows of the world, and knowledge of arcana but were unable themselves to touch the mana directly.”
Her posture said she still found that an absurdity, training for something one could never do oneself, like a fish spending its life learning to fly.
“He does have the ability to do some things with Ceraun that all of the Magi I have spoken to say are impossible. Not Shor nor even my Dam will attempt some of his spellforms, and you know Vedyr’s skill at handling elemental magics is second to none." the dusky Elf beauty said, disbelief still coloring her words.
Ulric nearly gawped at her, shocked to his core. Praise? From Geyrt Iriel?
"What takes years of study and practice he has done in weeks, and I can only attribute this to the otherworldly knowledge he carries. He isn't nearly bright enough to have done these things by talent alone." She concluded.
Ouch. Fair, but ouch. Ulric resisted the urge to say something sarcastic towards her, she was honestly doing her best to support him. She just couldn't help being her was all.
"Interesting…" Uldin said, with an appreciative glance at Ulric.
"A fighter, a mage, and a craftsman? And pretty, to boot. You are unbound are you not Ulric? Because it has been a good while since last I bedded a man and we might find a few diversions to accompany a talk of these 'microstructures' you speak of." Propositioned the Elf bluntly, ignoring Geyrt's groan and closed eyes as she tried to hide from the sudden situation that she herself had suggested possible earlier.
It would appear that, while the imagined event was a matter for humor to the lass, the reality was a bit cringe inducing when she was present for it. Ulric briefly entertained the thought of Geyrt having to wait on him while he visited "Aunt Uldin". It was probably funnier to him than it should have been. But he wasn't used to this kind of attention and, it wouldn't be right to string the Elf along just to dick with Geyrt. Still, seeing his Shadow forced to endure her "Uncle's" flirting was kind of amusing.
Ulric was determinedly trying not to laugh at her abashed posture, he didn't want to make the man himself think he was laughing at the offer, it was clearly sincere and he didn't take kindly to stepping on people's hearts for no reason. Not, at least, when he was aware that these things were going on. He could be a little dense. Sometimes. Frequently. Okay if he was being entirely honest, he'd been told by a female friend, more than once, that if he were any thicker he could swallow Uranium and not get sick. He couldn't avoid some evidence of the hilarity of Geyrt's discomfiture, however.
The burly Elf crossed his arms and glanced between the two of them, Geyrt's pained expression and Ulric's concealed humor.
Uldin suddenly burst out disbelieving, "You are not bedding my Little Girl are you!? Because I will warn you now, no matter how nice your bottom I will hang you by the heels if you harm a hair on her head without her say so! Besides, you are far too pretty to waste on her, she will turn your hairs gray long before they should be.”
The Smith turned a considering eye on the Valin oddity and his expression became uncomfortably approving.
“Hmm…although…now I look closer on you…Yes, indeed, Ulric, you cut a fine picture with refined silver hair. I have some dyes that could achieve the look. Perhaps a shave though, that soup strainer simply must go. I have decided, you may not have him Little Girl, I want him for myself."
The whiplash inducing words spilling from that crazy ass Elf's mouth caught both Ulric and his Shadow flatfooted. This was, what, the third time? Ulric was going to have to start carrying around a sign. He shared a look with his Shadow, before she hid her eyes with her hand hoping to vanish. It was one of those rare occasions when they were completely on the same page.
Waving his hands gently to placate the equal parts riled up momma hen and thirsty single mom, Ulric tried to defuse the situation. And he was going to flat out ignore that last part, best to just pretend he hadn't heard anything regarding his getting styled to Master Uldin’s preferences.
"Now, now, don't you worry about that, Smith Uldin. I promise you, the relationship between myself and Geyrt is strictly business. I'd never try to leverage my authority to take advantage of her and, if it makes you feel any better, I doubt very much that I could, even if I tried. I've had a taste of one of her poisoned arrows already and that is plenty enough for me, thanks." Ulric told him emphatically.
That seemed to make the woman in question happy as well. At least, she stopped hiding her face behind her hand, as she tended to do while being mortified. In any case, he felt like the situation was back under control. And it was, Galed Uldin's posture had relaxed several notches. Right up until Geyrt had to open her fat mouth.
"This is so. Ulric has already made proposition to me and made his appreciation of my form clear. He accepted my… rejection…and has not pressed, as is appropriate, Uncle. Since taking up my role we have shared the baths and observed each other's forms on many occasions and he keeps his gaze on my hips politely discreet.”
Ulric coughed into his hand to avoid having to look at anybody directly. Rejection? Proposition? His intentional slanderous shit-talking was now a proposition, was it? And her very definite try at putting a knife in his lungs was a rejection. Yes. Of course. It was a generous way to describe that whole scenario.
“And, I have to admit," she said, shooting him a wry glance, “that even though he does have some redeeming qualities, I am not interested in being anything other than an agent of his House. While he did duel and kill a Zelussin Lordling for his taunts and naked desire towards taking ownership of me, the Glade Chief was simply defending his honor and his claim to his status.” She said, nodding definitively.
Ulric was almost relieved until she kept going.
“Indeed, although I am frequently laying hands to his person in the fulfillment of my role, he has never taken advantage or been untoward. I didn't even accept the [Forest Lord] core he offered to bind me to his side, and don't think that wasn't a shock, although I don't think the worms in the head Valin knew quite what he was doing at the time." She finished, with a satisfied expression.
Ulric wanted to cover his eyes now. How? How did she manage to say nothing quite untrue, but in the worst possible way? And he was going to have to start wearing sunglasses, or something, he was sure he had fixed the staring. Turning from the absolute disaster that had spilled out of his Shadow, Ulric saw that the protective Elf was judging him. Yeah. That there was some definite judgment.
"That…uh…none of that is what it sounds like." Ulric defended himself lamely.
Geyrt immediately took issue. Because of course she did.
"What do you mean Glade Chief? Nothing I said was grounds for concern. I did not even mention all of the times I have been attendant with you naked in your rooms." She said, hammering the final nail into his coffin.
Smith Uldin was fingering the knife in his belt and had a very direct aura about his person. Suddenly he brightened. The damned elf was grinning! Ulric was so completely fucking lost at this point.
"I should have known one as pretty as you would eventually twist my heart." the tall Elf said, with humor in his tone.
"You could have simply said you were courting your Shadow, Ulric, it is nothing to be ashamed of. But no. I will not accept your relationship until my Little Girl has made a formal announcement, until then I will consider you unbound. My intentions will be nothing less than honorable, I assure you, Glade Chief.”
A put-upon sigh escaped the Smith, “We can table this discussion, for now, I find the project you have given me has stirred my curiosity and I want to get on with my work while the inspiration breathes fresh air. You will, I am afraid, have to be elsewhere while I work Glade Chief. You are far too distracting to have wondering around the smithy while I try to concentrate. However, do stop by in a week or so, I should be glad to take you on a tour of the…house." the Smith said, his voice making very clear exactly which part of the house he wanted to tour.
Ulric was ready to run. This entire ordeal was more than he had bargained for and his reserves of decorum were gone. Godsdamned Geyrt. Godsdamned Crazy Smith. His hermetic ass couldn't handle this anymore.
"Well, Uh…I'll have to take a rain check on that Uldin, but thank you for your…flattering directness. I'm pretty busy myself, war's on, you know, and…uh…I gotta go meet with the Bald'rt later, I think.” Ulric evaded, trying to find any excuse to get out of here before either one of the Iriel’en found a way to verbally ambush him.
He pointed to the materials stacked in the room, “You can, uh, just keep all the materials here, if you want, you know, sort of just tinker with them. And, you know, use anything you want, Hell use the [Forest Lord] stuff if you like! I'd be glad to talk some metallurgy later though! Just uh…whenever I can get time. Welp! See you later then, thanks for all the help! And, you know, sorry about the door, it shouldn't fall down now, at least." Ulric babbled, before fleeing the room.
He didn't look back, Geyrt could find her way back to her rooms just fine, he needed to get the hell away from Elves for a bit. Maybe get something to eat. This fiasco had taken way more time and energy than he'd been prepared for. Watcher's tits, how exactly had that gone so poorly? It just didn't make sense.
*********
With the odd man gone the two Elves looked at one another waiting a few minutes to be sure he was gone before trading grips, their expressions openly delighted.
All had gone according to plan, minus the improvisations made when opportunity presented. She had met with Uncle Uldin early one morning a few weeks ago, before their journey to the glade, to place herself before his judgment. She had dreaded it but it could not be put off forever. Even now, having to recount the events again made her truly uncomfortable, her bastion of an Uncle had been greatly disappointed in her, and still was, that part of the meeting had not been a ruse. Uldin had not known she had been so far reduced to a Shadow, she had only told him that she had failed her people and been stripped of her titles and position to serve penance. The depth of that clarification today was now clear in his demeanor. Geyrt knew her Uncle would adjust to this new reality, as she would. His knowing was unavoidable. Even so. This meeting had been worth it. Her Honor’s complete route was beyond price. All she’d had to do was bring them together and allow the salty Valin oddity to interact with her quirksome Uncle and let them be themselves. The joke would play itself then.
Geyrt knew Ulric would eventually want to meet with an Elven smith, he talked of it every other day, it seemed, and when her Uncle found out about her Honor's apparent interest, he wanted to meet the man and accept work for him, the better to know to whom his Little Girl was entrusted and to give him the ability to keep her more safely.
"Is it always this easy to get to him?" Uldin asked, giving her arm a strong squeeze.
"Always." Geyrt replied smugly. "I may be bound, Uncle Uldin, but he is the one who will be punished. Father thought to save me, taking my choice from matters, and I admit that it was deserved, I erred greatly. But that doesn't mean I won't extract a price." The Elf woman declared with intent.
The master artisan straightened his stiff leather apron unnecessarily and directed a somewhat longing look in the direction of the odd man's flight.
"My door was an unexpected sacrifice." Uncle Uldin said with slight pique before addressing his loved, though troublesome, proxy daughter.
“Truly you should have told me he designed that armor himself, I nearly ruined your scheme from excitement. I would speak more with the man.” Muttered the only half-jokingly smitten craftsman.
“He is hiding the greater part of his knowledge, I can feel it. It reminds me of speaking with some of those cagey Svartalfin artisans, guarding their secrets like dragons. Especially with regards to these metal grains he speaks of…already I see ways to take advantage of such arrangements, if indeed their orientations are so intimately connected to the qualities of the ingots. In fact, I would wager you my hammer that I-what?“ the Smith said.
The Smith was interrupted by Geyrt’s outstretched hand.
“Please, Uncle, you are reminding me of my Honor. You both talk to yourselves out loud, compelling your guests to suffer through your tangents. At least I do not have to endure pure madness from your end.” Complained the woman vehemently.
"Why is it, my wayward Not Child, that you have gone to such lengths to antagonize the man who now holds your draw string? I did not ask before. This little escapade seemed a fine distraction from my crafting block, and, you were right, truly this project has invigorated my spirit. But, having met this man and taken some measure of him, I would know why you were so intent on aggravating him. After all, I am not the only one here who enjoys a broad-shouldered man. Do not think I have not caught your own glances, though you hide them well." Uldin probed.
Geyrt flipped her hand, dismissively. "I have my reasons." she proclaimed lightly.
Uldin was skeptical. There was good reason that his heart sworn daughter was frequently alone, she seemed determined to test those around her continuously. Where most Iriel'en did this with a light spirit, his Little Girl's thorns were always barbed, always driven slightly too deep. She was just like her father, never knowing when to ease her prodding. And, more unfortunately, she took the worst of her Mother's vindictiveness when she felt slighted. He idly wondered what her Honor had done, other than stubbornly continuing to live, to so incense her.
"Hmm…Don't be too hard on him Little Girl.” Advised the Elder Elf gently, knowing by experience that she responded best to gentle redirection than direct opposition
“He didn't ask for this, any of it. My judgment, by what you have told me, if you value it, is that he is a decent man, lost, cast adrift to fend for himself in a strange and dangerous land and, to my eyes, he has done his best by you.” Uldin spoke over his headstrong, admittedly spoiled heart sworn child who was protesting vehemently.
“Reforged, if all the tales are to be believed, are doomed to live a life of struggle, through times of great upheaval. And your Honor will be forced to the center of it, I think. He won't be able to help himself. Which means you are now part of the that destiny, and it will be dangerous. Please take care of yourself, I know how you get, Little Girl. Also, I know he doesn't see me in that way, but put in a good word for me, will you? I have earned this for helping you to harass your Honor." The Smith requested seriously.