The two men looked at one another again, sharing a moment of certainty that whatever was going on over there boded ill for them. Nodding resolutely to each other, they advanced upon their respective partners ready to face whatever the women had conjured up between them.
Ulric made a conscious effort to pretend he had not noticed the “woman talk” and his Shadow did him the favor of pretending she had not noticed him noticing. Such was how Varda spins, sometimes, to the good of all. Ulric then broke the news to his Shadow using Human, not with an intent to hide their conversation but just to speed things along.
"I have us a room Taipan, rented for three days and paid in full. Wrinkle is, we gotta take a bath outside first and burn our clothes." He informed his comrade in stank.
He picked at the fabric on his shoulder deliberately and the pinch of cloth tore free like char cloth, crumbling easily between his fingers.
Heaving a heavy sigh, carefully without inhaling through his nose first, he regretted again the encounter with the monster. He really had like those clothes, and they were a good long ways from Irielhos now so there was little chance of replacing them.
"It is as well, Ulric, I cannot bear this for much longer.” Taipan woed aloud, “Let us be on our way then, the sooner we have done with it, the sooner I can drink myself stupid and pretend this day did not happen." Taipan said doggedly.
If she was ready to day drink she was definitely in some pretty ferocious discomfort. His Shadow wasn't quite a teetotaler but she did not have a habit of imbibing anything but well-watered wines or her more common teas. Except for that one time with the mushrooms, but that was a special case.
"I get it Taipan, I'll grab the sled, and we'll be on our way. We're going to need new clothes, you got any clue where I need to go to handle that?" He asked, getting the harness settled.
She considered it briefly, her eyes hidden beneath the wrapped cloth covering most of her face. It was hard to track her thinking when he couldn't read her expression. Fortunately, one need not be a mind reader to know sheer misery when its caricature was before them.
"A tailor will have the symbol for 'silk' over their door, I have taught you this character before yes?" She checked.
Hmm…he had to think about it for a moment. Cloth, cotton, bags, sewing, silk…Silk! Okay, yeah, he remembered that one. Illiterate pig, the man cursed himself again, vowing to learn proper reading when he was allowed to settle down for awhile without war fuckery on the horizon.
"Yep, I remember it Taipan.” He answered, feeling a little badly that she’d gotten hosed so thoroughly pulling his bacon off the fire when the monster stunned the two of them with that sonic attack.
“Tell you what, you get first dibs on the bath and I'll try to get any old thing to cover us and you can accompany me tomorrow to find some real replacements for our stuff,” Ulric offered, before sharing some of his doubts on the matter of their equipment and its functionality going forwards.
“I’m worried mainly that the packs are going to be a no go, in addition to the travel gear. My smell isn't completely back yet, but there's still this background…feeling of it being fucking awful. Plus, we'd probably drag in any predator for leagues if we went out there like this."
She only briefly considered that before accepting gratefully. Just a bit before she’d have been unwilling to turn him loose on his own, unescorted through Celestin townships where he could say or do something silly from ignorance. Her quick agreement was further indication of her suffering.
When he started to pull the sled, he felt an additional weight on it and noted that his Shadow was sitting cross-legged at the front of the thing.
Frowning, he had to inquire "And what exactly in the hell are you doing there?"
To which she responded, "Getting what I deserve.”
Gesturing forwards like Godking Xerxes from the slave born throne she commanded “Now, pull you great draft oxen of a Valin, pull for your new Aes’r Lord of Stench."
He wasn’t sure if the locals spoke human well enough to know the extent to which he was getting sassed. Any thought to a master-slave relationship ruse was out the window with queen brown bosoms of the Amazons sitting there on the sled expecting him to haul her around. He looked around briefly to see to what extent his indentured servitude was being observed.
Both the Guards were leveling raised eyebrows towards the two of them. Damn. If he didn't get the hell out of here, she was going to start embarrassing him, he could feel it in the playfulness of her tone. Her sense of humor was almost entirely consumed by the need to ruthlessly tease and discomfit through overly casual observations that a decent person wouldn't voice aloud. Blasted woman. It was fun playing the game though, he’d just chalk this one down in his Black Book to get her back later.
Ulric leaned into the harness and pushed hard with his legs to get the sled moving, hampered slightly by the additional luggage of his Shadow. She was a tall lady for an Elf, and, with her physique, not exactly light. Nothing for it, he knew better than to put up too much resistance when she got like this. In her own way, she was worse than Bald'rt, combining her mother's incisiveness and her father's blatant disregard for social mores or decency whenever she chose.
Chugging along with his burdens, he nevertheless heard the conversation between the two women as the guards had been relieved at the wall to "escort" their visitors.
It was an odd experience. Normally his Shadow was so standoffish that even her own kin rarely spoke to her, unless they were warriors trading pointers or insults. Here she was though, just going all BFFs with this strange Lowlands Elf guard. Ulric was…happy for her? Maybe she was starting to open up a little bit. Watcher's tits, he hoped she hadn't stumbled across a spirit kindred to herself, the world wasn't ready for two Taipans.
The guard, trying to ignore the more pointedly ribald aspects of the discussion going on behind him focused on Ulric. Nobody offered to help with the sled, of course. Assholes.
"Forgive my saying, Ulric? Ulric, but you have a good command of Elvish, with a distinct Iriel'en note to it. I take it you have learned from your guide? Or should I say partner?" Joldir asked, still feeling him out.
Ulric didn't mind, he and his Shadow had spent considerable time discussing their plans and cover stories and he wasn't afraid of this level of scrutiny catching him off guard.
"This is so, Guardsman Joldir." Ulric started, before the guard interposed a fast "Just Joldir, please."
"Joldir then, forgive me, my people assign ranks to each other in conversation out of habit, unless they are amongst friends. It is a habit of many years I have not yet lost in my travels. The distant reaches have many clans and few of them are entirely friendly. Courtesy is a boon for avoiding unnecessary troubles." Ulric said, keeping in character and not answering the guard's question.
He was trying to play a careful game here, pretending to get sidetracked in conversation to see which things captured the guard's attention and which leads he would follow more intently. It was important to determine if any information had gotten out about he and his Shadow's departure, which was why they'd decided to use their real names, such as Taipan’s was these days.
If those were out here in Orlethrem, their plan was shot anyway, because that meant that word had escaped Irielhos and if it was loose from the fortress, it was probably a lost cause to be totally incognito. In that case, they’d have to keep to the hazardous wilds between settlements and hope that the speed of their travel bought them breathing room to evade notice. There couldn’t be people watching absolutely everywhere for them, after all.
The only time such word could have escaped was during the Festival of Year's End when the bigwigs of Orlethrem had visited and Bald'rt had introduced him. When he'd had to duel a jumped up Riverfolk lordling and murder him for being a colossal dick, and for trying to kill him and steal his shit. That said, the Iriel'en were unlikely to have loose lips and so it fell to the visiting Lords and Lordlings to be responsible for spreading that kind of sensitive information. Only the father of the dead idiot was a likely candidate, one Lord Morion, who was definitely nursing a grudge.
Better to find out now that they were compromised than later, closer to the border and Prespang's forces or Prosper agents.
Joldir had taken a moment to think over Ulric’s fairly innocuous statement, turning things over for himself patiently. He was in no hurry, the two travelers weren’t going anywhere soon. The guard nodded as if the explanation made sense before continuing his investigation.
"Indeed. It is of no import. So, tell me, how is it that a Human goes in the company of an Iriel'en Hunter? You may not be aware of this being of the short-lived races and not greatly familiar with the politics of these lands, but Iriel is historically no great friend of Humans. Bad blood, much of it spilled to the forest floor, on both sides." Joldir led.
Ulric fielded that one easily enough. He more or less told the truth.
"An odd tale, as such things often are, Joldir.” Ulric began, using his barroom story telling voice, “I was escorting precious cargo, worth a king's ransom I tell you! Then, from out of the trees come a half dozen arrows!”
He made a gesture of surprise with his hands as he continued pulling his cargo before telling the mostly true tale, “It is all I can do to keep myself alive but I am fortunate, and, if I may boast a little, a fair hand in a fight. I closed on my attacker and managed to cripple their bow by cutting its string. Then, what do I see before mine eyes but the utter vision of a beauty unmatched, glaring murder at me.” Ulric said, thumbing back over his shoulder to indicate the Iriel’en girl on her seat of honor.
Joldir and his comrade followed the gesture and took in the blindfolded but still very clearly stacked specimen of Elvendom and nodded their agreement with the assessment. Yes, indeed, the Elf on the sled did indeed possess an uncommon robustness of form, even amongst the almost universally attractive Aes’r. She did also give the indication of a somewhat cutting disposition.
Ulric continued and dropped his tone to a conspiratorial whisper, “It turns out, my cargo was under the protection of an Iriel'en of notable reputation who had sent a Hunter to escort the prize to their domain.”
Louder now, and not bothering to hide his chagrin about how that meeting had gone, being shot at from the trees without warning and all, something he still gave Taipan a hard time about even to this day, he told the now enthralled Joldir, “The only problem was, the noble person who was to receive this particular prize had not notified their Hunter as to who exactly it was that brought the goods. Being an Iriel’en, of no particular love for Valin or Otherkin generally, she who sits upon my sled right now took exception to my presence so close to an Elven city.”
A loud snort came from behind them, and a lilting “Hah! Serves you right, wondering the Deep Wood.”
In a conciliatory tone he carried on the story, “You see what I have to deal with? Even so, she was not entirely to blame, I had not known in my youthful folly, that it was not done to simply roam the wilds as you please, especially for a manling. But it happened that the cargo was found damaged upon its delivery and my host was surpassingly furious. The Elf Lord demanded satisfaction and, when she could not provide suitable answer, she was assigned to my person as reparation for the damage.”
Joldir and his female partner nodded at that, it was not done to leave debts unpaid amongst the Aes’r. If one could not come up with means to make whole the injury it wasn’t uncommon to use one’s own service as restitution.
“We traveled widely together after that, mostly through dangerous lands and, after a fashion, became comfortable with one another. Enough so that she decided to continue on, even when my journeys were to take me outside of Orlethrem into the reaches of Prespang. That is where I seek to return now, it being near to the start of the trade season.” Ulric concluded the rehearsed cover story he and Taipan had agreed upon.
It was almost entirely true, if slightly skewed. Brighteyes had been worth a King's ransom, being a King's son, and he carried his skin with him always, making it delicate cargo. That Taipan had nominated herself the one to go investigate Brighteyes' return was not necessary information. Minor adjustments to the tale just served to mask his origins more than anything else.
The Celestin guardsman interjected, seeing a chance to pry without seeming to, “And now? What has you so far inside of Orlethrem in these cold days, this many leagues distant from the Outer Reaches of Prespang?”
“I winter in the South these days. It is far more comfortable than enduring the blizzards of my ancestral home. Truthfully, I do not get on so well with the tribesmen as I ought. I mostly prefer the wilds and only the company of that sharp tongued wench back there." Ulric answered immediately, looking over his shoulder and grinning at the seated Elf.
Taipan stuck her tongue out at him and made a chopping motion with her hand. Take that Missy!
The village guards were suitably impressed.
"Aye, now that is a tale. I admit I haven't heard its like, but it makes things clearer. Ever are the Deepwoods folk sticklers for their pride and a debt unpaid would not pass. A fair hand in a fight you say…You are over modest, youth of the tribes, it is a rare thing to see a Ravager bested with so little price paid." The female guard, Seralin he thought, praised.
Joldir very carefully did not mention that Ulric had defused his "assassination" attempt like a professional. Young, but not so naïve.
Whatever places the Valin had been were not trifling, his response had been swift, decisive, and showed evidence of experience dealing with such attacks. Joldir didn't eliminate the possibility that the pair were Prespang spies or killers but it was increasingly unlikely. Firstly, it was unheard of for one of the Deep Woods folk to consort with Otherkin, let alone their historical enemy Prosper.
Secondly, those agents that did make it this far into Aes’r lands simply didn't wander around Orlethrem as if they owned the place, like these two did. Joldir was exceptional at detecting untruths, his [Stalwart Guardian] class gave him insight into such attempts. The man was either lying with such incredible ease or telling too much truth for it to be the difference to register to his senses. Either way, he was near certain that they were not in his town to cause trouble, merely caught up in unfortunate circumstance.
Still. The sooner he got rid of them the better, in his eyes. He hadn't come out to this flyspeck to wage wars, or sniff out Prosper’s agents. He needed to pry whatever answers he could from these two.
To all evidence, his partner was engaged in a deep discussion of textiles with the Huntress and they were right now debating the merits of wool against waxed canvas for travel coats. The true intent of Seralin was to determine if she could catch her conversational partner in some kind of ignorance or slip that might unveil more to their nature and intents. That talk led to the female guard lamenting the destruction of their clothes, whose cut and quality were uncommon as Iriel did not freely trade in bulk for such things.
The She-Elf associate of the supposed trader turned that aside, making intimations that she preferred her partner outside of his clothes. Perhaps the barbarian tribes were far more open about these things than was typical of many of the oddly conservative minded Valin clans. Seralin was now walking herself down that rabbit hole with her Deep Woods cousin, in rather more flagrant fashion than even he was used to. To his credit, the man didn't appear to be disturbed by the bald remarks. For his own part, the guardsman surely wouldn't have cared to be described in such detail to strangers, even if it was high praise.
Fucking Taipan, Ulric yelled to himself, keeping his expression studiously clear.
He wasn't modest about his body but he didn't go around telling everybody every detail either. If he leaned over and started telling the guardsman about her various odds and ends he was positive she'd be taking issue with a sharp instrument. Never mind, it's fine, you'll never see these people again, let her say whatever she wants if it keeps them from thinking too much Ulric reminded himself.
Instead of concentrating on the women, he returned his attention to the conversation with the clearly still probing guard Joldir.
"This monster here, it is common to your region?” Ulric asked.
“Not at all, Ancient’s mercy, not at all,” Denied Joldir fervently, “This variant beast is one of the few that has plagued the surrounding forest for the last few years. We’ve lost a few merchant trains to it and a group of bounty hunters that went out towards the end of the trade season to end it never returned. Why it left its normal domain and approached the outskirts of Seinajok is strange, and, no doubts worrying.”
Ulric didn’t doubt that one bit. Seeing such a monster close to home would give him the willies too.
“I am afraid I cannot take too great a praise in the beast’s death.” He told the pair of Celestin coppers, “It was a great deal more fortune than I am comfortable admitting with the creature, this [Shrieking Ravager]? I have encountered similar beasts but this one lived up to its name, its cry stunned a smaller prey and revealed the nature of the threat before we engaged it.”
Without exaggeration he indicated Taipan and gave honest praise where it was due, “In truth, I give most of the credit for the kill to my Hunter friend. She is as skilled with her bow as her people's reputation would suggest, and put several shafts into it, blunting its attack. Her poisons did great damage to the beast and it was well on its way unto death without a single action on my part.”
Ulric couldn’t keep the self-recrimination from his tone now, as his mind drifted back over the events of the attack, “On her own, I have little doubt that my partner would have simply disengaged and run the monster in circles until it succumbed. My presence though forced her to face it directly, for my own safety. While I can defend myself, unfortunately, we neither of us were prepared for the creatures hindquarters weapon. I would not again like to encounter such a monster." Ulric told the guard, neglecting to mention his role in the fight to shift attention to Taipan.
All according to plan, and, again, almost entirely true.
"Mmm. Yes,” Seralin agreed, “The Iriel'en have a reputation for being fierce combatants at range.”
At this, Joldir found his opening to inquire, “I noticed, speaking of weapons, that not all the wounds were from arrows and that you carry quite the blade on your back. It fairly radiates its potency. Who made it?" Asked the guardsman too casually.
The guard knew very damned well who had crafted that sword, its maker's mark was shown in tales of legendary victories for the Orlethrem, especially where Iriel'en heroes were involved in the recent centuries. What he wanted to know was how under the stars a Human had come to own it.
His sword was a topic of great debate betwixt him and Taipan on the way to the village. Ulric had anticipated the question. The wounds of the beast would be seen and hiding his sword was nearly impossible, so best not to cause other questions by outright denial. He figured though that it would be best to put the investigations to rest by simply telling them that a Svartalfin made it, given Smith Uldin's description of the metal work being similar to their own.
Taipan disagreed, suggesting that an older, experienced Elf would recognize the work of Iriel'en smiths, especially her Uncle's lauded craft, given that his maker's mark was easily distinguished upon the blade. In the end, Ulric decided to trust his Shadow's experience. Just as well he had, so that he could spin her suggested yarn.
"It was bought at dear price, though far less than its true worth. My partner called in a dear favor for the opportunity to have it from its owner, who was no longer inclined to leave that redoubt of the Iriel’en. They do not welcome outsiders, as you well know.” Ulric answered carefully.
“Without my dear Taipan acting as an intermediary there is no doubt I’d have ever got my foot in the door with such a one who then held it, outside kicking the door in,” Ulric sidestepped, not mentioning that was exactly what had happened.
Taipan’s quiet laugh from her perch was taken as just indulging in the image, rather than the memory.
“I did not know the reality of the weapon, its powers or its value until well after I’d acquired it. According to the lovely lass up there on her sled throne, the blade bears the maker's mark of a legend of the Deepwoods folk, one Master Smith Galed Uldin, whose art has not been seen in generations. He never sold his craft to non Iriel'en so I knew I had something precious. It has lived up to its maker's reputation." Ulric praised easily, not needing to exaggerate that last statement in the slightest.
The Guardsman grunted like he'd been kicked so Ulric knew he'd thrown the man for a loop.
"Forgive my saying, trader, but, even now, you do not appreciate the true worth of that sword if, indeed, it was made by Galed Uldin. It is a wonder that none have tried to take it from you." Joldir said, leaving the suggestion open.
"I never said that they had not, had I?" Ulric said quickly, "It lives up to its maker's reputation." He repeated.
The Elf accepted that readily enough. He had first-hand experience that more than suggested a would be robber would have no good end trying to take that wonderful sword from the Human who pulled the heavily laden sled with apparent ease, not straining or breathing with difficulty, though they'd come most of the way across the village.
Far stronger than most of his kin, the barbarians in those reaches must be impressive. And fast too. He'd planned to put his knife on the man's chest to see if he flinched and had not expected to have his draw snuffed or the killing grip put on his throat before he could react to the move. Those grey eyes had without a doubt passed his death through them and decided against it. That was the gaze of a man who had had blood on his hands and would again. Something to remember.
Joldir had data enough to clear them of most of his suspicions though. Not all the mystery was solved, however, but then, whenever was it? There were still the burns and the clearly liquified or glassified bones on the head but he'd probed enough and found nothing out of place except that the two themselves were such an unlikely couple. That they were was clear enough. They moved in the way that two long in one another's company did, comfortably and naturally around each other. The Hunter was clearly one of her kin's image, ill-tempered and with a tongue like a dagger but she gazed fondly on her partner's back. And spoke far too candidly about his rear. For his part, the barbarian took her jabs patiently, well trained to her habits. He wondered if the man knew he wasn't running the show or if he simply didn't care.
Ahh well, he was over curious. A good trait in a guardsman but it got him into trouble occasionally.
"Here at last." Ulric announced, coming to a stop at the inn's modest stable. "If you don't mind, Joldir, I have to tend to my partner's wounds and see to our baths. We aren't allowed inside until we dispose of these foul clothes so I must acquire some temporary garb as well. Needless to say, my troubles are not yet over."
Ulric had got in some quality people watching on their way in, between his first trip into the town and now this slower paced one. Of note, these people were not fighters, mostly. For the first time he was getting a look at what the commonfolk of Orlethrem had to offer, at least in this region. Of the Iriel'en, he'd seen only the Royals, the combatants, the Duties of the fortress, and the accompanying craftsmen immediately necessary for supporting the warriors. Here, he saw far more variability in dress. Due to the season, heavy coats frequently accompanied the outerwear, of a similar sort of cut to a trench coat, but in flannel. Those coats looked uber warm.
Interestingly, there was a distinct lack of pants, which the Iriel'en favored. Here they seemed to prefer thick wool dresses of just past knee length, with some kind of tall furred boots that covered their calves. Both the men and the women wore these not quite kilts. There wasn't a whole lot of dimorphism in dress, the men and women shared virtually the same dress to his eyes. Truly, there wasn't much beyond the obvious to distinguish the sexes other than that the women kept their hair in various braids and buns, while the men wore short cropped hair. Since Elves were mostly smooth featured and comely by default he had some trouble telling people apart.
It was, just as before, at the Festival, that their belt knives served to distinguish individuals most easily. Each with a different hilt, sheath, and, frequently, style of blade. He'd had it explained to him that those knives were indicators of the profession and standing of their bearers but the rules for that went so far over his head they were experiencing different weather.
The guardsman bid them a temporary farewell and gave report to his superiors, leaving his far younger partner to keep watch from a discrete distance.
Ulric saw that, in an empty stable stall, a large wooden tub was already filled and steaming. On its outer rim was a hook where hung a sturdy scrub brush and a puck of soap on a string. The water would cool quickly in the cold air, so Ulric hustled his Shadow off the sled and assisted her to the side of the tub. She stripped off easily, uncaring if any saw, because such was the way of Iriel'en bathing. They enjoyed common baths and were not shy of their bodies under those circumstances.
"How are your eyes Taipan, still pained?" He inquired.
She nodded, "Improving, but still I cannot have much use of them for at least a few hours. Take ease Ulric, the worst of that is past." She answered.
"Now go! Shoo! Find for us something to wear and be not gone long, the water cools rapidly and I'll not have you complaining about a cold bath." She chivvied him away.
Likely she just didn't want him fawning over her. He scoffed. As if. He was no mother hen and she was far too grown to be a chick. He left her to her scrubbing, hurrying away the faster to join her in ridding himself of this wicked stench.
A few minutes roaming down the wide packed dirt streets found the symbol he was looking for, a symbolic needle and cloth bolt that bespoke a tailor's shop. He knocked on the door, realizing that he'd win no friends carrying his odor into their shop. A few seconds passed and he was getting ready to knock again when the door opened quickly and a short male Elf glared at him, his fist ready to knock right around the forehead area of said Elf.
"Don't beat my door, now what do ye waaaagh!" the Elf retched, before continuing angrily, "Sweet gods above and below what hellish stink have ye brought to mine doorstep?"
"Good afternoon shopkeep, that is the reason I have knocked instead of entering your abode. I and my traveling companion ran afoul, quite literally, of a creature not so far from your town. We were both of us covered in its musk in the act of slaying it. I am here to make purchase of two sets of traveling gear for the both of us. For now though, I merely need any rough thing that may provide decency until you may have us measured. My partner is about yay tall," Ulric indicated with his hand, "and about so around." he finished measuring with his hands in a circle transcribing her imagined diameter at the thickest part of her hips.
The Tailor frowned but realized he was being offered a nice windfall, the trade season wasn't for some weeks yet and this would be a fine chance to make a little extra coin when normally he was slow enough to be entirely too bored.
"Aye, that is the rumor that has gone round. Very well, ye're in some luck, in the end. I have a set of working shirts and pants that'll do until I can fit ye tomorrow. Marken me, neither will be of any great quality, they are fer the stallboys who've nay deigned to pay. Yers will be too small unlessen ye remove the sleeves and the bottoms of the legs." the Tailor said, anticipating a profitable exchange.
Ulric nodded, that would work just fine.
"That is acceptable, what do you ask for the rough wear?" He asked.
"One Sil drake apiece." Said the Tailor, attempting highway robbery.
"I'll eat these reeking boots first. One eld crown for both." Ulric rejected immediately.
He recognized an insanely inflated price when he heard it and, if he didn't challenge it, his cover as a merchant would be instantly blown. He still suspected his counter offer was too high but he needed at least the appearance of being offended by the Tailor's initial number.
The Tailor smirked, knowing he had the upper hand, now that he'd gotten a too high counter offer. Witless barbarians, even if they were experienced hagglers in their own lands.
"Three eld crowns for both or I'll pull ye up a table and watch ye're dinner on those boots." Countered the Tailor, knowing he had the upper hand in this but not wanting to drive the man off completely, not for the amount of coin he'd make on the job.
Ulric grimaced, letting the Tailor know he wasn't pleased. "Done, though I may consider leaving future beasts to roam around your lands next time. You might try getting them to buy cloth." He said with heavy sarcasm as he laid the coins out.
The Tailor grinned as he pocketed his good fortune and went to the racks in the back of his shop. He didn't even need to look to find the finished but unpaid for work attire, this was a truly slow period for his business. Sturdy canvas and flax, nothing special other than holding up to a beating. Both in a dingy grey that wouldn't easily stain with oxshit, the most common beasts that were stabled, from farmers and trade wagons.
Ulric took them without further complaint and saw that he was definitely going to have to tear the sleeves off of the larger of the two, his shoulders weren’t going to fit a garment sewn for the normally slim Elves. Even the other was slightly too short for Taipan, her being a tall lady for one of her kind.
"My thanks, shopkeep. I'll be back around tomorrow and pray you've found some mercy in your heart for bedraggled travelers." Ulric said in parting, earning another grin from the Tailor.
Yeah, that's about what he figured. He was happier in the glade when money wasn't a thing.
He returned to the stable and saw that his Shadow was in the act of scrubbing some of his favorite places. He crept up slowly, planning a prank before he realized that his smell was going to give him away.
Damnit. Stupid skunk.
Defeated, he approached his Shadow and announced the results of his mission.
"This one has a report! Clothing has been acquired but this one must admit a robbery has occurred. I am sorry, I could not stop the heartless thug from making away with his ill-gotten gains." Ulric said before he narrated his shame.
Taipan giggled openly at his defeat and told him it was a time-honored tradition for the rubes out in the boonies to fleece strange travelers. She also informed him that he'd done better than he knew: it would have been even more suspicious if he'd gotten a fair deal.
That did take a bit of the sting out of it. Deciding that was as close to a win as he was going to get, he stripped out of the ruined robes one last time, lamenting their parting, and joined his Shadow in the large tub. She yelped and complained briefly, not expecting him to actually join her in it. Soon enough though they came to an arrangement; her settled on his lap and his arms resting on the sides of the tub. The water was still warm enough to be pleasant against the cool afternoon air above it.
Ulric breathed a long, relaxed exhalation of peace. At last, a break in the journey that didn't involve screaming or life-threatening harm. For a few minutes he simply was.
After that, he started getting curious. His partner was, frequently, a mystery to him, an enigma that begged to be solved, at least in part. For instance, Ulric had not been able to pin down where the borders for acceptable discussion might lie. Taipan hadn't had any problem at all narrating things he wouldn't have discussed aloud to anybody that hadn't been there. His earlier suppositions that she might tend towards prudishness were long gone, the woman was highly sexual when she wanted to be, just selective in the extreme, and, slightly, standoffish from over pursuit in her youth. When it was with someone she trusted, and whose company she wanted, she was quite liberal.
He tested that by letting his hands roam, earning another yelp from his Shadow.
"Aah! Ulric Gla- What do you think you are doing!? Unhand those!" She croaked.
"I refuse!" He denied her, being careful not to hang on too tightly but leaving her no room to dislodge him. "I could not help but notice some rather daring claims made as I pulled us through the village. Would you care to explain how you so cavalierly speak of our chambers to a complete stranger Taipan?" He interrogated calmly, punctuating his questions with squeezes that drew more sounds from his Shadow.
"Enough! We were merely discussing hypotheticals! I was expla-aaaaahhhmmm, stop that you degenerate, we are in public!” His partner argued semantics while under assault.
“I was only helping her to catch her interest, she pursues her partner in the guards and it would have been out of character if I pretended indifference! You must believe me, now stop with that…mmm…petting!” Ordered the well groped Elf, thoroughly chastised, and Ulric desisted with his investigation.
“Later, Ulric, and you may continue to your heart’s delight." Taipan declared him in a husky tone, growing keen on the idea.
"Promise?" He checked with a final emphasis.
"Promise. Now, focus on removing that horrific stench. You may scrub me, no fondling, and then I am going to escape so that you may focus on your own person, once I have done your back." Taipan told him unable to hide her smile at the anticipation of a good back scrub.
Following their exchange of cleaning services, the glorious woman left the tub to quickly rub herself dry on a provided towel before donning the rough working tunic and pants that were tailored for an Elf near a hand shorter than herself. Ulric was surprised to find that his Shadow had rediscovered capris. The shortened lengths didn't do much to protect from the bite of the winter's afternoon though, and his Shadow muttered imprecations against the slain beast.
Deprived of any toys to occupy his attention, Ulric took the soap and cloth and applied themselves without mercy. He was pretty sure that he'd sacrificed most of the surface layers of tissue before he extracted himself from the now too cool for comfort water, but the odor did not follow him from the tub. He'd sign any contract any demon had to offer had that not been the case.
While he had scrubbed, and lathered, and then scrubbed, and lathered, and prayed to anything listening to remove the smell from his hair, Taipan burned their garb. He could see the faint sadness in her expression; She'd been wearing those clothes since he'd known her, that same sturdy grey-green doublet, the same canvas pants, and her warrior’s black silks under it. The only thing that survived was her boots, too low to catch the blast of funk, for which Ulric was eternally grateful. He loved those thigh high boots.
For himself, he would also miss his Iriel'en travel robes, finer material he'd never worn and more comfortable to travel in he couldn't imagine, a blend of layers that resisted the elements without being too heavy to make moving anything less than effortless. He allowed himself a little materialistic regret, even though, all things considered, their clothes were a small price to pay for not being killed by the sound wielding creature, the [Shrieking Ravager] these people called it.
True to the tailor's claim, He had to remove both the sleeves and to create a small tear down the middle of the chest to allow for his much broader upper body to fit into the shirt. The pants were tight but he'd just have to live with it, for now, after he'd removed the calves from them. Taipan, through barely open and bleary eyes, told him to have tomorrow's pants use the exact same size in the rear as these he wore and he knew that he could do no such thing. It felt like he had a pair of hands on his finer anatomy and he was distinctly self-conscious as they walked around the stable yard locating the sled in an out of the way nook near the stable's small paddock.
Thankfully, they'd dropped their packs before the fight or those would have had to remain outside as well.
The requisite tasks complete, the two of them entered the inn and found a seat at a small table near the hearth of the common room. There they deposited the heavily laden packs, he put his sword next to the chair, propped against the wall, and, finally, got to enjoy a moment of peace.
A roaming barmaid came around soon and then they made an order of the Inn's dinner. Soon, both were able to wolf down a crunchy bread, slabs of mystery meat, which was delicious, and a preserved vegetable stew. It was heavenly. Hearty, salty, thick, and with a few novel items that had not been available in Irielhos. Plenty of mushrooms, some celery stalk things that were topped in creamed cheese or something.
Murmurs of villager chatter filled the low-ceilinged room, as did the mortared stone hearth's heat. It being the middle of the afternoon, village Elves wandered in, and those who had been already awhile wandered out, the even traffic having something of a beat to it. Smells of woodsmoke, drink, some kind of heady smoke weed from a few scattered pipes, cookpots in the kitchens, and the general odor of “humanity” pervaded the low roofed common room.
Ulric found this ambiance extremely cozy, wholly different from the sort of imperial court feel of Irielhos. This was much more down to earth, possibly because the inn was actually built upon the ground and not a magical tree fortress. Fewer relief carvings dotted the walls, in fact, he saw that the beams that made up the place were almost exclusively rough-hewn. Perhaps a sign of the relative youth of this place, compared to the centuries upon centuries of Ireilhos, and the city beneath it. He'd have pictured this kind of place if someone were to describe an old Viking longhouse or some such.
Now, if only he could be certain of the peoples here.
Speaking of which, their minders had likewise found a table and occupied themselves in idle conversations over a shared meal, or at least they kept a casual expression while they made heinous plots. Since Ulric couldn't detect any inclination towards their being up to no good, he was forced to assume that they might actually be honest folk doing their jobs. But maybe not. His companion knew him too well and detected his slight discomfit.
"Ulric, stop with your roving eyes, it is fine." Taipan chastised mildly, despite being unable to see him.
"Did anyone mean harm they would have done something already. I cannot see much, but I hear fine, all is as it should be. Order us an ale or whatever swill is available, it will take the edge off of your nerves and the burn from my orbs." Suggested Taipan from her seat across the small inn table.
He must have been too obviously eyeballing the room. Well, fine, so he was a little jumpy. Her assurance did put him at ease though, and he got up to execute her recommendation.
The tiny Innkeep worked her own bar and efficiently secured a couple of ceramic mugs, a dark grey clay by the look of them, from the grid of such containers hanging from pegs on the wall behind her counter. Oddly enough, the short Elf secured the mugs with a long stick. The ease of practice, hooking the handles and passing the mugs down the length of wood into her waiting hands, like a performance of some street vender, made it almost look like common sense to be unable to reach your own earthenware otherwise. Huh. Why had she put the mugs so high up that she had to use a stick to reach them? Mysteries will abound.
At least these were honest to gods steiner mugs, not glass, but close enough. Ulric was a little surprised to see so much use of stone or ceramic material in these folk, where it was virtually nonexistent amongst the Iriel'en. Interesting, the little differences between Elf clans. Still not much metal work to speak of.
He paid for their drinks, a few bronze servants each. Never a man to be profligate in his old life, he found that he had an almost hereditary reluctance to spend money. Which didn’t really make sense, given how little need he’d had for it in this new life.
As he walked their mugs back to the table, filled with a pale bitter beer in which he noted a distinct citrus flavor from his sipping off the tops of the heads, he was surprised that he had any attachment to the concept of money. It had been almost ten months since he'd even considered symbolic wealth. Some habits were well entrenched. His parents had preached conservative finances and, it seems, those lessons had stuck somewhere deep in his psychology. It was enough to put a smirk on his face. His old mam in particular had been a stickler for Living Within One's Means. He liked to think she'd be proud of him being moderate in his fiscal choices.
He had almost reached their table when he saw that, in the chair he'd intended to reclaim, sat instead a blond Elf of lightly tanned European complexion, the common hue of the Celestin, his silvered eyes lacking the metallic flecks so characteristic of the Elf tribes. The Elf’s build was that normal slim athleticism typical of these people but the ears were only a few centimeters too long and not as pointed as the rest of the patrons in the hearth room. Hmm…was this one a half breed? All the Elves he’d seen to this point had very distinct vibrant luster in those peculiar pigment flecks in their irises.
Was it some kind of sex-linked allele maybe? Or, maybe, just…wait, no, stop it, Ulric cut himself off. Later Ulric, worry about hereditary fuckery later. For now, the dude is in your chair and looking at your wounded Shadow like she’s something he’d like to eat.
The interloper in his chair wore garb that marked him for some sort of local soldiery, lightly armored leather jerkin, greaves, and vambraces. The usual long belt knife was accompanied by a short, broad spatha in a second sword belt, all plain dark leather. The boots were muddy and the gear ill-kempt enough that Idra would have been personally insulted at the lack of care given one’s field kit. The uninvited guest was also smirking and tossing his bangs while staring down the ill-fitting worker's shirt Taipan wore while he gobbled some sort of nonsense in Elvish, too far away for Ulric to make out against the background wash of the village folk in their cups and at their dinners.
Immediate irritation suffused Ulric’s expression, but they were trying to keep a low profile so he clamped down on it. Just when he took hold of his emotions, his hands took hold of the mug handles and he heard the distinct clicking of ceramic breaking, the handles snapping when he heard a particularly blatant suggestion towards Taipan’s person. Now he had to carefully keep holding the stupid mugs, if he relaxed his grip they'd fall to the floor. And he’d have to pay for the mugs and the ale. Fuck.
Ulric took a single long, deep breath in through his nose, held it for a long ten count and released it, slowly, through his mouth to get his temper in line. His steps became more measured and sedate, giving him time to relax as he approached.
Taipan, though he couldn't see most of her expression through the cloth wraps, was not appearing to offer much in the way of welcome for their impromptu guest. That didn't appear to register on the Elf's face, not that he was doing much observing anything above the neck by the way he undressed her with his eyes.
Ulric's teeth ground lightly and he set the mugs down on the table as gently as he could, managing not to slop any of the beer as he did. The Elf didn't do himself any favors in Ulric's estimation, giving him an exceedingly dismissive once over and a light Hmmph that seemed more like an invitation to being dribbled off of the floor a few times than anything else.
Iriel’en didn’t play games like this. Any Deep Woods Elf Ulric had ever known would have already been telling their antagonist to get their ass somewhere they didn’t mind bleeding and get ready to use said ass to cash that check their mouth was writing.
Steady lad, he told himself. Easy. Just stay calm and we'll take our leisure in the room. This sort had been a somewhat common occurrence in Ulric's experiences in the night life scene. Jackasses who liked to play fuck around and find out were a dime a dozen in the young folks’ bars, especially when the lasses were dancing and the lads were a bit soused. Just don't give them any undue attention and they'll take the hint. Withdraw, if at all possible, and refuse them the chance to garner attention and they’ll normally go somewhere else to find their fun. And, if you can’t make an easy retreat or they push their luck, you drill their nose, pull their shirt over their head and start laying into their kidneys so’s that next morning piss reminds them not to be a clown with strangers.
He'd only had to do that a few times. Normally he didn’t have to. His frequent bar room pal and interior decorator had his back. Gods, for a kid as disarming and laid back as Remy had been, he’d sucker punch a wiseass like a mousetrap slamming down on an unsuspecting pest. Ulric could use old Remy here right about now.
Forcing a smile, he addressed his Shadow with as much equanimity as possible. Stay frosty Old Man. Cool. Ice cold.
"Taipan, it seems the common room grows busy. Shall we retire?" He said with too measured casualness.
"Oh, it seems the pet has returned. A pity.” Blondie declared loudly to the room, projecting his voice to make sure the rest of the patrons heard him.
Yep. Ulric Einar was going to beat this Elf like a drum, that’s what was going to happen tonight. Perfect way to end the day, really.
“As I was saying,” the loudmouth interloper said, from Ulric’s chair, “I have another two weeks before the caravans begin running in the north, what say you ditch this boring ape and I'll show you more refined touch?" the Elf asked, as if Ulric were not there.
"I think not." Taipan said clearly, disdain dripping from her tone, “You have had your ask and I have no interest, as you would know if you were not a preening halfwit.”
"Let us be gone Ulric, I think that I would find the quiet of our rooms more to my liking. This one’s presence fouls the ale." The former hunter announced, equally loudly for the room’s benefit.
She made to rise and the Elf's hand snapped out to take her forearm roughly, holding her in her seat.
"I did not say you were allowed to go, you Human's bitch!" He spat.
Ulric didn't see the Guardsman or his partner approaching from their seats, having observed the goings on and come to retrieve the Elf, a too late attempt to defuse the situation. Ulric didn't see his partner's other hand moving like a viper, drawing her belt knife to open the soldier's throat. Ulric didn't see anything except the slight grimace of pain on his Shadow's face and the creature who was causing it.
His hands locked onto the soldier, gripping the shoulder and chest and he lifted him from his chair, turning his body to sling the slight form away. A sixty-five kilo mass thrown four meters hits a sturdy hardwood table with plenty of force to break it, it turns out. Doesn't do the person that does the breaking much good either. Before the swearing soldier extracted himself from the table's remains Ulric grabbed his leather cuirass and pulled him into the short vicious left hook that dislocated his jaw. He lifted the Elf higher and slammed him back into the kindling and floor, drumming the Elf's head against it. The meaty thud was satisfying to something inside him, satisfying enough that lifted the limp body even higher this time and brought it down again, harder. He had to drop the Elf when a couple of Blondie's friends dove into his legs and waist trying to tackle him.
They might as well have tried to tackle Warren Sapp. He'd have laughed if he wasn't pissed.
Ulric made them regret their decisions immediately when he dropped a twelve to six elbow onto the back of the one trying to tangle his thighs, smashing something and dropping him to the floor before he wrapped his other arm around the one on his waist, a guillotine choke squeezing the neck. Hands groped ineffectually on his arm and he drove his knee sharply into the exposed chest, driving the wind from his victim who gave a strangled cry, so he could choke him harder. He was reaching down to take the Elf's head in his hand and twist it backwards when three more forms hit him and succeeded in moving his balance. He had to release the gasping, half unconscious Elf to stay upright.
His hand over a face, Ulric kicked the one of the attacker’s legs out from under him and shoved him into some neighboring tables, their patrons none too happy about having their meals and beverages turned into their laps.
A fist from somewhere caught his cheek, snapping his head to the side and he caught the next attempt, broke the offending arm, and twisted the bones for good measure. After that, things pretty well devolved into total chaos.
Someone drew steel behind him and suffered for it when Taipan cut the tendons in the would-be ambusher's wrist before knifing a kidney. Ulric didn't see any of that though, he was too busy laying about him. Punches came in and he ducked into them, covered them, or slipped them, taking minor damage before answering with greater evil.
Somebody broke a mug over his head and he kicked in their knee. After fighting free of another two trying to get hold of his arms he donkey kicked one of the assailants who'd come running in from behind, heedless, hard enough to launch the bastard backwards and then set about practicing every single act of violence he'd ever learned on the rest. The Iriel'en Royal guard were good teachers. Taipan was even better, for this nasty kind of fighting.
A pause left him standing, bruised, a cut lip, a bloody nose, and probably a black eye if the discomfort in his cheek were any indication, with his Shadow behind him, blood running down the edge of her knife from the couple of Celestin who'd thought to bring weapons into the fray. On the opposite side were a small group of new challengers. They didn’t look like they were having fun anymore and a couple fingered daggers but didn’t draw them after a hasty look at the blindfolded Elf who’d badly stabbed a couple of their comrades for pulling steel.
Only a few moments had passed in normal time. Sitting at their dinner’s, Joldir and Seralin had drawn their batons and warded away as many of the Inn patrons as they could reach before heading into the melee. The village’s guards waded in, cudgels swinging to concuss and drove their kinfolk back. They had the sense not to get within reach of Ulric and make themselves targets, instead, they prevented extending the rampage by providing new fuel.
When a minute went by without anyone getting close enough for him to grab, the blood red faded from his vision and Ulric regained some measure of rational, conscious thought. He immediately was glad to see he hadn't used magic. Or his sword. There weren't any obvious corpses, even though some of them wouldn't be doing much any time soon. He resisted the urge to stomp the groaning form at his feet.
At some point, his already slightly torn shirt had been completely ripped away. The lightning scars from his awakening burned a faint violet and he realized that, while he wasn't actively using his core’s power, Ceraun was cycling a hair's breadth away from being released, all his will had to do was whisper. That would have been very bad.
Joldir, red in the face, was screaming at the villagers "What makes you think this was a good idea, heh!? Think the bull Ravager on that sled outside just killed itself do you!? And for what? So Barsol, the idiot caravan guard nobody lets around their daughter, can put his hands where they are not wanted? What in the hells did you daft [Bark Weasels] suppose was going to happen, eh!? Mark my words, if any one of you takes another step forward, I'll wash my hands of this and we can just bury the lot of you tomorrow in the same hole!"
Oh, well, there was the voice of reason.
Taipan made her thoughts on matters plain as well, her lilting voice raised high enough that all could hear her, "My Valin partner is too kind hearted. From now on, you face me and he is the only one I have ever left alive behind me. I will kill as many of you dirt scrubbers as volunteers."
It was a clear enough statement of where she stood. He didn't doubt at all that, if anybody got cute, he was going to see his Taipan do some fairly awful things to their anatomy blindfold or no. She had that look about her at the moment. Ulric wasn't so sure he wasn't going to join her, even though he'd settled down some. Fortunately, the cause of all of this mayhem was unmoving where Ulric had left him. If he saw that bastard so much as twitch, he wasn't sure he had enough restraint to not go over there to correct that problem.
The villagers, the ones still uninjured anyway, looked abashed. Four out of the six worse off were also out of season caravan guards wintering there at the inn, familiar faces all, but not natives of the village. The other two were known drunks and troublemakers. So, really, no one who mattered greatly had been affected, right? Just two travelers who'd actually done the people a favor killing off a beast so close to their farmlands being accosted by some transient thugs, mostly. Some few nursed a couple of bruises, maybe a loose or missing tooth, but no real damage. None of their business at all really. Thusly becalmed, the villagers sort of mumbled a general apology to the air and departed, after they hauled the caravan guards outside under the fuming glare of Joldir and his partner.
The two men looked at one another again, sharing a moment of certainty that whatever was going on over there boded ill for them. Nodding resolutely to each other, they advanced upon their respective partners ready to face whatever the women had conjured up between them.
Ulric made a conscious effort to pretend he had not noticed the “woman talk” and his Shadow did him the favor of pretending she had not noticed him noticing. Such was how Varda spins, sometimes, to the good of all. Ulric then broke the news to his Shadow using Human, not with an intent to hide their conversation but just to speed things along.
"I have us a room Taipan, rented for three days and paid in full. Wrinkle is, we gotta take a bath outside first and burn our clothes." He informed his comrade in stank.
He picked at the fabric on his shoulder deliberately and the pinch of cloth tore free like char cloth, crumbling easily between his fingers.
Heaving a heavy sigh, carefully without inhaling through his nose first, he regretted again the encounter with the monster. He really had like those clothes, and they were a good long ways from Irielhos now so there was little chance of replacing them.
"It is as well, Ulric, I cannot bear this for much longer.” Taipan woed aloud, “Let us be on our way then, the sooner we have done with it, the sooner I can drink myself stupid and pretend this day did not happen." Taipan said doggedly.
If she was ready to day drink she was definitely in some pretty ferocious discomfort. His Shadow wasn't quite a teetotaler but she did not have a habit of imbibing anything but well-watered wines or her more common teas. Except for that one time with the mushrooms, but that was a special case.
"I get it Taipan, I'll grab the sled, and we'll be on our way. We're going to need new clothes, you got any clue where I need to go to handle that?" He asked, getting the harness settled.
She considered it briefly, her eyes hidden beneath the wrapped cloth covering most of her face. It was hard to track her thinking when he couldn't read her expression. Fortunately, one need not be a mind reader to know sheer misery when its caricature was before them.
"A tailor will have the symbol for 'silk' over their door, I have taught you this character before yes?" She checked.
Hmm…he had to think about it for a moment. Cloth, cotton, bags, sewing, silk…Silk! Okay, yeah, he remembered that one. Illiterate pig, the man cursed himself again, vowing to learn proper reading when he was allowed to settle down for awhile without war fuckery on the horizon.
"Yep, I remember it Taipan.” He answered, feeling a little badly that she’d gotten hosed so thoroughly pulling his bacon off the fire when the monster stunned the two of them with that sonic attack.
“Tell you what, you get first dibs on the bath and I'll try to get any old thing to cover us and you can accompany me tomorrow to find some real replacements for our stuff,” Ulric offered, before sharing some of his doubts on the matter of their equipment and its functionality going forwards.
“I’m worried mainly that the packs are going to be a no go, in addition to the travel gear. My smell isn't completely back yet, but there's still this background…feeling of it being fucking awful. Plus, we'd probably drag in any predator for leagues if we went out there like this."
She only briefly considered that before accepting gratefully. Just a bit before she’d have been unwilling to turn him loose on his own, unescorted through Celestin townships where he could say or do something silly from ignorance. Her quick agreement was further indication of her suffering.
When he started to pull the sled, he felt an additional weight on it and noted that his Shadow was sitting cross-legged at the front of the thing.
Frowning, he had to inquire "And what exactly in the hell are you doing there?"
To which she responded, "Getting what I deserve.”
Gesturing forwards like Godking Xerxes from the slave born throne she commanded “Now, pull you great draft oxen of a Valin, pull for your new Aes’r Lord of Stench."
He wasn’t sure if the locals spoke human well enough to know the extent to which he was getting sassed. Any thought to a master-slave relationship ruse was out the window with queen brown bosoms of the Amazons sitting there on the sled expecting him to haul her around. He looked around briefly to see to what extent his indentured servitude was being observed.
Both the Guards were leveling raised eyebrows towards the two of them. Damn. If he didn't get the hell out of here, she was going to start embarrassing him, he could feel it in the playfulness of her tone. Her sense of humor was almost entirely consumed by the need to ruthlessly tease and discomfit through overly casual observations that a decent person wouldn't voice aloud. Blasted woman. It was fun playing the game though, he’d just chalk this one down in his Black Book to get her back later.
Ulric leaned into the harness and pushed hard with his legs to get the sled moving, hampered slightly by the additional luggage of his Shadow. She was a tall lady for an Elf, and, with her physique, not exactly light. Nothing for it, he knew better than to put up too much resistance when she got like this. In her own way, she was worse than Bald'rt, combining her mother's incisiveness and her father's blatant disregard for social mores or decency whenever she chose.
Chugging along with his burdens, he nevertheless heard the conversation between the two women as the guards had been relieved at the wall to "escort" their visitors.
It was an odd experience. Normally his Shadow was so standoffish that even her own kin rarely spoke to her, unless they were warriors trading pointers or insults. Here she was though, just going all BFFs with this strange Lowlands Elf guard. Ulric was…happy for her? Maybe she was starting to open up a little bit. Watcher's tits, he hoped she hadn't stumbled across a spirit kindred to herself, the world wasn't ready for two Taipans.
The guard, trying to ignore the more pointedly ribald aspects of the discussion going on behind him focused on Ulric. Nobody offered to help with the sled, of course. Assholes.
"Forgive my saying, Ulric? Ulric, but you have a good command of Elvish, with a distinct Iriel'en note to it. I take it you have learned from your guide? Or should I say partner?" Joldir asked, still feeling him out.
Ulric didn't mind, he and his Shadow had spent considerable time discussing their plans and cover stories and he wasn't afraid of this level of scrutiny catching him off guard.
"This is so, Guardsman Joldir." Ulric started, before the guard interposed a fast "Just Joldir, please."
"Joldir then, forgive me, my people assign ranks to each other in conversation out of habit, unless they are amongst friends. It is a habit of many years I have not yet lost in my travels. The distant reaches have many clans and few of them are entirely friendly. Courtesy is a boon for avoiding unnecessary troubles." Ulric said, keeping in character and not answering the guard's question.
He was trying to play a careful game here, pretending to get sidetracked in conversation to see which things captured the guard's attention and which leads he would follow more intently. It was important to determine if any information had gotten out about he and his Shadow's departure, which was why they'd decided to use their real names, such as Taipan’s was these days.
If those were out here in Orlethrem, their plan was shot anyway, because that meant that word had escaped Irielhos and if it was loose from the fortress, it was probably a lost cause to be totally incognito. In that case, they’d have to keep to the hazardous wilds between settlements and hope that the speed of their travel bought them breathing room to evade notice. There couldn’t be people watching absolutely everywhere for them, after all.
The only time such word could have escaped was during the Festival of Year's End when the bigwigs of Orlethrem had visited and Bald'rt had introduced him. When he'd had to duel a jumped up Riverfolk lordling and murder him for being a colossal dick, and for trying to kill him and steal his shit. That said, the Iriel'en were unlikely to have loose lips and so it fell to the visiting Lords and Lordlings to be responsible for spreading that kind of sensitive information. Only the father of the dead idiot was a likely candidate, one Lord Morion, who was definitely nursing a grudge.
Better to find out now that they were compromised than later, closer to the border and Prespang's forces or Prosper agents.
Joldir had taken a moment to think over Ulric’s fairly innocuous statement, turning things over for himself patiently. He was in no hurry, the two travelers weren’t going anywhere soon. The guard nodded as if the explanation made sense before continuing his investigation.
"Indeed. It is of no import. So, tell me, how is it that a Human goes in the company of an Iriel'en Hunter? You may not be aware of this being of the short-lived races and not greatly familiar with the politics of these lands, but Iriel is historically no great friend of Humans. Bad blood, much of it spilled to the forest floor, on both sides." Joldir led.
Ulric fielded that one easily enough. He more or less told the truth.
"An odd tale, as such things often are, Joldir.” Ulric began, using his barroom story telling voice, “I was escorting precious cargo, worth a king's ransom I tell you! Then, from out of the trees come a half dozen arrows!”
He made a gesture of surprise with his hands as he continued pulling his cargo before telling the mostly true tale, “It is all I can do to keep myself alive but I am fortunate, and, if I may boast a little, a fair hand in a fight. I closed on my attacker and managed to cripple their bow by cutting its string. Then, what do I see before mine eyes but the utter vision of a beauty unmatched, glaring murder at me.” Ulric said, thumbing back over his shoulder to indicate the Iriel’en girl on her seat of honor.
Joldir and his comrade followed the gesture and took in the blindfolded but still very clearly stacked specimen of Elvendom and nodded their agreement with the assessment. Yes, indeed, the Elf on the sled did indeed possess an uncommon robustness of form, even amongst the almost universally attractive Aes’r. She did also give the indication of a somewhat cutting disposition.
Ulric continued and dropped his tone to a conspiratorial whisper, “It turns out, my cargo was under the protection of an Iriel'en of notable reputation who had sent a Hunter to escort the prize to their domain.”
Louder now, and not bothering to hide his chagrin about how that meeting had gone, being shot at from the trees without warning and all, something he still gave Taipan a hard time about even to this day, he told the now enthralled Joldir, “The only problem was, the noble person who was to receive this particular prize had not notified their Hunter as to who exactly it was that brought the goods. Being an Iriel’en, of no particular love for Valin or Otherkin generally, she who sits upon my sled right now took exception to my presence so close to an Elven city.”
A loud snort came from behind them, and a lilting “Hah! Serves you right, wondering the Deep Wood.”
In a conciliatory tone he carried on the story, “You see what I have to deal with? Even so, she was not entirely to blame, I had not known in my youthful folly, that it was not done to simply roam the wilds as you please, especially for a manling. But it happened that the cargo was found damaged upon its delivery and my host was surpassingly furious. The Elf Lord demanded satisfaction and, when she could not provide suitable answer, she was assigned to my person as reparation for the damage.”
Joldir and his female partner nodded at that, it was not done to leave debts unpaid amongst the Aes’r. If one could not come up with means to make whole the injury it wasn’t uncommon to use one’s own service as restitution.
“We traveled widely together after that, mostly through dangerous lands and, after a fashion, became comfortable with one another. Enough so that she decided to continue on, even when my journeys were to take me outside of Orlethrem into the reaches of Prespang. That is where I seek to return now, it being near to the start of the trade season.” Ulric concluded the rehearsed cover story he and Taipan had agreed upon.
It was almost entirely true, if slightly skewed. Brighteyes had been worth a King's ransom, being a King's son, and he carried his skin with him always, making it delicate cargo. That Taipan had nominated herself the one to go investigate Brighteyes' return was not necessary information. Minor adjustments to the tale just served to mask his origins more than anything else.
The Celestin guardsman interjected, seeing a chance to pry without seeming to, “And now? What has you so far inside of Orlethrem in these cold days, this many leagues distant from the Outer Reaches of Prespang?”
“I winter in the South these days. It is far more comfortable than enduring the blizzards of my ancestral home. Truthfully, I do not get on so well with the tribesmen as I ought. I mostly prefer the wilds and only the company of that sharp tongued wench back there." Ulric answered immediately, looking over his shoulder and grinning at the seated Elf.
Taipan stuck her tongue out at him and made a chopping motion with her hand. Take that Missy!
The village guards were suitably impressed.
"Aye, now that is a tale. I admit I haven't heard its like, but it makes things clearer. Ever are the Deepwoods folk sticklers for their pride and a debt unpaid would not pass. A fair hand in a fight you say…You are over modest, youth of the tribes, it is a rare thing to see a Ravager bested with so little price paid." The female guard, Seralin he thought, praised.
Joldir very carefully did not mention that Ulric had defused his "assassination" attempt like a professional. Young, but not so naïve.
Whatever places the Valin had been were not trifling, his response had been swift, decisive, and showed evidence of experience dealing with such attacks. Joldir didn't eliminate the possibility that the pair were Prespang spies or killers but it was increasingly unlikely. Firstly, it was unheard of for one of the Deep Woods folk to consort with Otherkin, let alone their historical enemy Prosper.
Secondly, those agents that did make it this far into Aes’r lands simply didn't wander around Orlethrem as if they owned the place, like these two did. Joldir was exceptional at detecting untruths, his [Stalwart Guardian] class gave him insight into such attempts. The man was either lying with such incredible ease or telling too much truth for it to be the difference to register to his senses. Either way, he was near certain that they were not in his town to cause trouble, merely caught up in unfortunate circumstance.
Still. The sooner he got rid of them the better, in his eyes. He hadn't come out to this flyspeck to wage wars, or sniff out Prosper’s agents. He needed to pry whatever answers he could from these two.
To all evidence, his partner was engaged in a deep discussion of textiles with the Huntress and they were right now debating the merits of wool against waxed canvas for travel coats. The true intent of Seralin was to determine if she could catch her conversational partner in some kind of ignorance or slip that might unveil more to their nature and intents. That talk led to the female guard lamenting the destruction of their clothes, whose cut and quality were uncommon as Iriel did not freely trade in bulk for such things.
The She-Elf associate of the supposed trader turned that aside, making intimations that she preferred her partner outside of his clothes. Perhaps the barbarian tribes were far more open about these things than was typical of many of the oddly conservative minded Valin clans. Seralin was now walking herself down that rabbit hole with her Deep Woods cousin, in rather more flagrant fashion than even he was used to. To his credit, the man didn't appear to be disturbed by the bald remarks. For his own part, the guardsman surely wouldn't have cared to be described in such detail to strangers, even if it was high praise.
Fucking Taipan, Ulric yelled to himself, keeping his expression studiously clear.
He wasn't modest about his body but he didn't go around telling everybody every detail either. If he leaned over and started telling the guardsman about her various odds and ends he was positive she'd be taking issue with a sharp instrument. Never mind, it's fine, you'll never see these people again, let her say whatever she wants if it keeps them from thinking too much Ulric reminded himself.
Instead of concentrating on the women, he returned his attention to the conversation with the clearly still probing guard Joldir.
"This monster here, it is common to your region?” Ulric asked.
“Not at all, Ancient’s mercy, not at all,” Denied Joldir fervently, “This variant beast is one of the few that has plagued the surrounding forest for the last few years. We’ve lost a few merchant trains to it and a group of bounty hunters that went out towards the end of the trade season to end it never returned. Why it left its normal domain and approached the outskirts of Seinajok is strange, and, no doubts worrying.”
Ulric didn’t doubt that one bit. Seeing such a monster close to home would give him the willies too.
“I am afraid I cannot take too great a praise in the beast’s death.” He told the pair of Celestin coppers, “It was a great deal more fortune than I am comfortable admitting with the creature, this [Shrieking Ravager]? I have encountered similar beasts but this one lived up to its name, its cry stunned a smaller prey and revealed the nature of the threat before we engaged it.”
Without exaggeration he indicated Taipan and gave honest praise where it was due, “In truth, I give most of the credit for the kill to my Hunter friend. She is as skilled with her bow as her people's reputation would suggest, and put several shafts into it, blunting its attack. Her poisons did great damage to the beast and it was well on its way unto death without a single action on my part.”
Ulric couldn’t keep the self-recrimination from his tone now, as his mind drifted back over the events of the attack, “On her own, I have little doubt that my partner would have simply disengaged and run the monster in circles until it succumbed. My presence though forced her to face it directly, for my own safety. While I can defend myself, unfortunately, we neither of us were prepared for the creatures hindquarters weapon. I would not again like to encounter such a monster." Ulric told the guard, neglecting to mention his role in the fight to shift attention to Taipan.
All according to plan, and, again, almost entirely true.
"Mmm. Yes,” Seralin agreed, “The Iriel'en have a reputation for being fierce combatants at range.”
At this, Joldir found his opening to inquire, “I noticed, speaking of weapons, that not all the wounds were from arrows and that you carry quite the blade on your back. It fairly radiates its potency. Who made it?" Asked the guardsman too casually.
The guard knew very damned well who had crafted that sword, its maker's mark was shown in tales of legendary victories for the Orlethrem, especially where Iriel'en heroes were involved in the recent centuries. What he wanted to know was how under the stars a Human had come to own it.
His sword was a topic of great debate betwixt him and Taipan on the way to the village. Ulric had anticipated the question. The wounds of the beast would be seen and hiding his sword was nearly impossible, so best not to cause other questions by outright denial. He figured though that it would be best to put the investigations to rest by simply telling them that a Svartalfin made it, given Smith Uldin's description of the metal work being similar to their own.
Taipan disagreed, suggesting that an older, experienced Elf would recognize the work of Iriel'en smiths, especially her Uncle's lauded craft, given that his maker's mark was easily distinguished upon the blade. In the end, Ulric decided to trust his Shadow's experience. Just as well he had, so that he could spin her suggested yarn.
"It was bought at dear price, though far less than its true worth. My partner called in a dear favor for the opportunity to have it from its owner, who was no longer inclined to leave that redoubt of the Iriel’en. They do not welcome outsiders, as you well know.” Ulric answered carefully.
“Without my dear Taipan acting as an intermediary there is no doubt I’d have ever got my foot in the door with such a one who then held it, outside kicking the door in,” Ulric sidestepped, not mentioning that was exactly what had happened.
Taipan’s quiet laugh from her perch was taken as just indulging in the image, rather than the memory.
“I did not know the reality of the weapon, its powers or its value until well after I’d acquired it. According to the lovely lass up there on her sled throne, the blade bears the maker's mark of a legend of the Deepwoods folk, one Master Smith Galed Uldin, whose art has not been seen in generations. He never sold his craft to non Iriel'en so I knew I had something precious. It has lived up to its maker's reputation." Ulric praised easily, not needing to exaggerate that last statement in the slightest.
The Guardsman grunted like he'd been kicked so Ulric knew he'd thrown the man for a loop.
"Forgive my saying, trader, but, even now, you do not appreciate the true worth of that sword if, indeed, it was made by Galed Uldin. It is a wonder that none have tried to take it from you." Joldir said, leaving the suggestion open.
"I never said that they had not, had I?" Ulric said quickly, "It lives up to its maker's reputation." He repeated.
The Elf accepted that readily enough. He had first-hand experience that more than suggested a would be robber would have no good end trying to take that wonderful sword from the Human who pulled the heavily laden sled with apparent ease, not straining or breathing with difficulty, though they'd come most of the way across the village.
Far stronger than most of his kin, the barbarians in those reaches must be impressive. And fast too. He'd planned to put his knife on the man's chest to see if he flinched and had not expected to have his draw snuffed or the killing grip put on his throat before he could react to the move. Those grey eyes had without a doubt passed his death through them and decided against it. That was the gaze of a man who had had blood on his hands and would again. Something to remember.
Joldir had data enough to clear them of most of his suspicions though. Not all the mystery was solved, however, but then, whenever was it? There were still the burns and the clearly liquified or glassified bones on the head but he'd probed enough and found nothing out of place except that the two themselves were such an unlikely couple. That they were was clear enough. They moved in the way that two long in one another's company did, comfortably and naturally around each other. The Hunter was clearly one of her kin's image, ill-tempered and with a tongue like a dagger but she gazed fondly on her partner's back. And spoke far too candidly about his rear. For his part, the barbarian took her jabs patiently, well trained to her habits. He wondered if the man knew he wasn't running the show or if he simply didn't care.
Ahh well, he was over curious. A good trait in a guardsman but it got him into trouble occasionally.
"Here at last." Ulric announced, coming to a stop at the inn's modest stable. "If you don't mind, Joldir, I have to tend to my partner's wounds and see to our baths. We aren't allowed inside until we dispose of these foul clothes so I must acquire some temporary garb as well. Needless to say, my troubles are not yet over."
Ulric had got in some quality people watching on their way in, between his first trip into the town and now this slower paced one. Of note, these people were not fighters, mostly. For the first time he was getting a look at what the commonfolk of Orlethrem had to offer, at least in this region. Of the Iriel'en, he'd seen only the Royals, the combatants, the Duties of the fortress, and the accompanying craftsmen immediately necessary for supporting the warriors. Here, he saw far more variability in dress. Due to the season, heavy coats frequently accompanied the outerwear, of a similar sort of cut to a trench coat, but in flannel. Those coats looked uber warm.
Interestingly, there was a distinct lack of pants, which the Iriel'en favored. Here they seemed to prefer thick wool dresses of just past knee length, with some kind of tall furred boots that covered their calves. Both the men and the women wore these not quite kilts. There wasn't a whole lot of dimorphism in dress, the men and women shared virtually the same dress to his eyes. Truly, there wasn't much beyond the obvious to distinguish the sexes other than that the women kept their hair in various braids and buns, while the men wore short cropped hair. Since Elves were mostly smooth featured and comely by default he had some trouble telling people apart.
It was, just as before, at the Festival, that their belt knives served to distinguish individuals most easily. Each with a different hilt, sheath, and, frequently, style of blade. He'd had it explained to him that those knives were indicators of the profession and standing of their bearers but the rules for that went so far over his head they were experiencing different weather.
The guardsman bid them a temporary farewell and gave report to his superiors, leaving his far younger partner to keep watch from a discrete distance.
Ulric saw that, in an empty stable stall, a large wooden tub was already filled and steaming. On its outer rim was a hook where hung a sturdy scrub brush and a puck of soap on a string. The water would cool quickly in the cold air, so Ulric hustled his Shadow off the sled and assisted her to the side of the tub. She stripped off easily, uncaring if any saw, because such was the way of Iriel'en bathing. They enjoyed common baths and were not shy of their bodies under those circumstances.
"How are your eyes Taipan, still pained?" He inquired.
She nodded, "Improving, but still I cannot have much use of them for at least a few hours. Take ease Ulric, the worst of that is past." She answered.
"Now go! Shoo! Find for us something to wear and be not gone long, the water cools rapidly and I'll not have you complaining about a cold bath." She chivvied him away.
Likely she just didn't want him fawning over her. He scoffed. As if. He was no mother hen and she was far too grown to be a chick. He left her to her scrubbing, hurrying away the faster to join her in ridding himself of this wicked stench.
A few minutes roaming down the wide packed dirt streets found the symbol he was looking for, a symbolic needle and cloth bolt that bespoke a tailor's shop. He knocked on the door, realizing that he'd win no friends carrying his odor into their shop. A few seconds passed and he was getting ready to knock again when the door opened quickly and a short male Elf glared at him, his fist ready to knock right around the forehead area of said Elf.
"Don't beat my door, now what do ye waaaagh!" the Elf retched, before continuing angrily, "Sweet gods above and below what hellish stink have ye brought to mine doorstep?"
"Good afternoon shopkeep, that is the reason I have knocked instead of entering your abode. I and my traveling companion ran afoul, quite literally, of a creature not so far from your town. We were both of us covered in its musk in the act of slaying it. I am here to make purchase of two sets of traveling gear for the both of us. For now though, I merely need any rough thing that may provide decency until you may have us measured. My partner is about yay tall," Ulric indicated with his hand, "and about so around." he finished measuring with his hands in a circle transcribing her imagined diameter at the thickest part of her hips.
The Tailor frowned but realized he was being offered a nice windfall, the trade season wasn't for some weeks yet and this would be a fine chance to make a little extra coin when normally he was slow enough to be entirely too bored.
"Aye, that is the rumor that has gone round. Very well, ye're in some luck, in the end. I have a set of working shirts and pants that'll do until I can fit ye tomorrow. Marken me, neither will be of any great quality, they are fer the stallboys who've nay deigned to pay. Yers will be too small unlessen ye remove the sleeves and the bottoms of the legs." the Tailor said, anticipating a profitable exchange.
Ulric nodded, that would work just fine.
"That is acceptable, what do you ask for the rough wear?" He asked.
"One Sil drake apiece." Said the Tailor, attempting highway robbery.
"I'll eat these reeking boots first. One eld crown for both." Ulric rejected immediately.
He recognized an insanely inflated price when he heard it and, if he didn't challenge it, his cover as a merchant would be instantly blown. He still suspected his counter offer was too high but he needed at least the appearance of being offended by the Tailor's initial number.
The Tailor smirked, knowing he had the upper hand, now that he'd gotten a too high counter offer. Witless barbarians, even if they were experienced hagglers in their own lands.
"Three eld crowns for both or I'll pull ye up a table and watch ye're dinner on those boots." Countered the Tailor, knowing he had the upper hand in this but not wanting to drive the man off completely, not for the amount of coin he'd make on the job.
Ulric grimaced, letting the Tailor know he wasn't pleased. "Done, though I may consider leaving future beasts to roam around your lands next time. You might try getting them to buy cloth." He said with heavy sarcasm as he laid the coins out.
The Tailor grinned as he pocketed his good fortune and went to the racks in the back of his shop. He didn't even need to look to find the finished but unpaid for work attire, this was a truly slow period for his business. Sturdy canvas and flax, nothing special other than holding up to a beating. Both in a dingy grey that wouldn't easily stain with oxshit, the most common beasts that were stabled, from farmers and trade wagons.
Ulric took them without further complaint and saw that he was definitely going to have to tear the sleeves off of the larger of the two, his shoulders weren’t going to fit a garment sewn for the normally slim Elves. Even the other was slightly too short for Taipan, her being a tall lady for one of her kind.
"My thanks, shopkeep. I'll be back around tomorrow and pray you've found some mercy in your heart for bedraggled travelers." Ulric said in parting, earning another grin from the Tailor.
Yeah, that's about what he figured. He was happier in the glade when money wasn't a thing.
He returned to the stable and saw that his Shadow was in the act of scrubbing some of his favorite places. He crept up slowly, planning a prank before he realized that his smell was going to give him away.
Damnit. Stupid skunk.
Defeated, he approached his Shadow and announced the results of his mission.
"This one has a report! Clothing has been acquired but this one must admit a robbery has occurred. I am sorry, I could not stop the heartless thug from making away with his ill-gotten gains." Ulric said before he narrated his shame.
Taipan giggled openly at his defeat and told him it was a time-honored tradition for the rubes out in the boonies to fleece strange travelers. She also informed him that he'd done better than he knew: it would have been even more suspicious if he'd gotten a fair deal.
That did take a bit of the sting out of it. Deciding that was as close to a win as he was going to get, he stripped out of the ruined robes one last time, lamenting their parting, and joined his Shadow in the large tub. She yelped and complained briefly, not expecting him to actually join her in it. Soon enough though they came to an arrangement; her settled on his lap and his arms resting on the sides of the tub. The water was still warm enough to be pleasant against the cool afternoon air above it.
Ulric breathed a long, relaxed exhalation of peace. At last, a break in the journey that didn't involve screaming or life-threatening harm. For a few minutes he simply was.
After that, he started getting curious. His partner was, frequently, a mystery to him, an enigma that begged to be solved, at least in part. For instance, Ulric had not been able to pin down where the borders for acceptable discussion might lie. Taipan hadn't had any problem at all narrating things he wouldn't have discussed aloud to anybody that hadn't been there. His earlier suppositions that she might tend towards prudishness were long gone, the woman was highly sexual when she wanted to be, just selective in the extreme, and, slightly, standoffish from over pursuit in her youth. When it was with someone she trusted, and whose company she wanted, she was quite liberal.
He tested that by letting his hands roam, earning another yelp from his Shadow.
"Aah! Ulric Gla- What do you think you are doing!? Unhand those!" She croaked.
"I refuse!" He denied her, being careful not to hang on too tightly but leaving her no room to dislodge him. "I could not help but notice some rather daring claims made as I pulled us through the village. Would you care to explain how you so cavalierly speak of our chambers to a complete stranger Taipan?" He interrogated calmly, punctuating his questions with squeezes that drew more sounds from his Shadow.
"Enough! We were merely discussing hypotheticals! I was expla-aaaaahhhmmm, stop that you degenerate, we are in public!” His partner argued semantics while under assault.
“I was only helping her to catch her interest, she pursues her partner in the guards and it would have been out of character if I pretended indifference! You must believe me, now stop with that…mmm…petting!” Ordered the well groped Elf, thoroughly chastised, and Ulric desisted with his investigation.
“Later, Ulric, and you may continue to your heart’s delight." Taipan declared him in a husky tone, growing keen on the idea.
"Promise?" He checked with a final emphasis.
"Promise. Now, focus on removing that horrific stench. You may scrub me, no fondling, and then I am going to escape so that you may focus on your own person, once I have done your back." Taipan told him unable to hide her smile at the anticipation of a good back scrub.
Following their exchange of cleaning services, the glorious woman left the tub to quickly rub herself dry on a provided towel before donning the rough working tunic and pants that were tailored for an Elf near a hand shorter than herself. Ulric was surprised to find that his Shadow had rediscovered capris. The shortened lengths didn't do much to protect from the bite of the winter's afternoon though, and his Shadow muttered imprecations against the slain beast.
Deprived of any toys to occupy his attention, Ulric took the soap and cloth and applied themselves without mercy. He was pretty sure that he'd sacrificed most of the surface layers of tissue before he extracted himself from the now too cool for comfort water, but the odor did not follow him from the tub. He'd sign any contract any demon had to offer had that not been the case.
While he had scrubbed, and lathered, and then scrubbed, and lathered, and prayed to anything listening to remove the smell from his hair, Taipan burned their garb. He could see the faint sadness in her expression; She'd been wearing those clothes since he'd known her, that same sturdy grey-green doublet, the same canvas pants, and her warrior’s black silks under it. The only thing that survived was her boots, too low to catch the blast of funk, for which Ulric was eternally grateful. He loved those thigh high boots.
For himself, he would also miss his Iriel'en travel robes, finer material he'd never worn and more comfortable to travel in he couldn't imagine, a blend of layers that resisted the elements without being too heavy to make moving anything less than effortless. He allowed himself a little materialistic regret, even though, all things considered, their clothes were a small price to pay for not being killed by the sound wielding creature, the [Shrieking Ravager] these people called it.
True to the tailor's claim, He had to remove both the sleeves and to create a small tear down the middle of the chest to allow for his much broader upper body to fit into the shirt. The pants were tight but he'd just have to live with it, for now, after he'd removed the calves from them. Taipan, through barely open and bleary eyes, told him to have tomorrow's pants use the exact same size in the rear as these he wore and he knew that he could do no such thing. It felt like he had a pair of hands on his finer anatomy and he was distinctly self-conscious as they walked around the stable yard locating the sled in an out of the way nook near the stable's small paddock.
Thankfully, they'd dropped their packs before the fight or those would have had to remain outside as well.
The requisite tasks complete, the two of them entered the inn and found a seat at a small table near the hearth of the common room. There they deposited the heavily laden packs, he put his sword next to the chair, propped against the wall, and, finally, got to enjoy a moment of peace.
A roaming barmaid came around soon and then they made an order of the Inn's dinner. Soon, both were able to wolf down a crunchy bread, slabs of mystery meat, which was delicious, and a preserved vegetable stew. It was heavenly. Hearty, salty, thick, and with a few novel items that had not been available in Irielhos. Plenty of mushrooms, some celery stalk things that were topped in creamed cheese or something.
Murmurs of villager chatter filled the low-ceilinged room, as did the mortared stone hearth's heat. It being the middle of the afternoon, village Elves wandered in, and those who had been already awhile wandered out, the even traffic having something of a beat to it. Smells of woodsmoke, drink, some kind of heady smoke weed from a few scattered pipes, cookpots in the kitchens, and the general odor of “humanity” pervaded the low roofed common room.
Ulric found this ambiance extremely cozy, wholly different from the sort of imperial court feel of Irielhos. This was much more down to earth, possibly because the inn was actually built upon the ground and not a magical tree fortress. Fewer relief carvings dotted the walls, in fact, he saw that the beams that made up the place were almost exclusively rough-hewn. Perhaps a sign of the relative youth of this place, compared to the centuries upon centuries of Ireilhos, and the city beneath it. He'd have pictured this kind of place if someone were to describe an old Viking longhouse or some such.
Now, if only he could be certain of the peoples here.
Speaking of which, their minders had likewise found a table and occupied themselves in idle conversations over a shared meal, or at least they kept a casual expression while they made heinous plots. Since Ulric couldn't detect any inclination towards their being up to no good, he was forced to assume that they might actually be honest folk doing their jobs. But maybe not. His companion knew him too well and detected his slight discomfit.
"Ulric, stop with your roving eyes, it is fine." Taipan chastised mildly, despite being unable to see him.
"Did anyone mean harm they would have done something already. I cannot see much, but I hear fine, all is as it should be. Order us an ale or whatever swill is available, it will take the edge off of your nerves and the burn from my orbs." Suggested Taipan from her seat across the small inn table.
He must have been too obviously eyeballing the room. Well, fine, so he was a little jumpy. Her assurance did put him at ease though, and he got up to execute her recommendation.
The tiny Innkeep worked her own bar and efficiently secured a couple of ceramic mugs, a dark grey clay by the look of them, from the grid of such containers hanging from pegs on the wall behind her counter. Oddly enough, the short Elf secured the mugs with a long stick. The ease of practice, hooking the handles and passing the mugs down the length of wood into her waiting hands, like a performance of some street vender, made it almost look like common sense to be unable to reach your own earthenware otherwise. Huh. Why had she put the mugs so high up that she had to use a stick to reach them? Mysteries will abound.
At least these were honest to gods steiner mugs, not glass, but close enough. Ulric was a little surprised to see so much use of stone or ceramic material in these folk, where it was virtually nonexistent amongst the Iriel'en. Interesting, the little differences between Elf clans. Still not much metal work to speak of.
He paid for their drinks, a few bronze servants each. Never a man to be profligate in his old life, he found that he had an almost hereditary reluctance to spend money. Which didn’t really make sense, given how little need he’d had for it in this new life.
As he walked their mugs back to the table, filled with a pale bitter beer in which he noted a distinct citrus flavor from his sipping off the tops of the heads, he was surprised that he had any attachment to the concept of money. It had been almost ten months since he'd even considered symbolic wealth. Some habits were well entrenched. His parents had preached conservative finances and, it seems, those lessons had stuck somewhere deep in his psychology. It was enough to put a smirk on his face. His old mam in particular had been a stickler for Living Within One's Means. He liked to think she'd be proud of him being moderate in his fiscal choices.
He had almost reached their table when he saw that, in the chair he'd intended to reclaim, sat instead a blond Elf of lightly tanned European complexion, the common hue of the Celestin, his silvered eyes lacking the metallic flecks so characteristic of the Elf tribes. The Elf’s build was that normal slim athleticism typical of these people but the ears were only a few centimeters too long and not as pointed as the rest of the patrons in the hearth room. Hmm…was this one a half breed? All the Elves he’d seen to this point had very distinct vibrant luster in those peculiar pigment flecks in their irises.
Was it some kind of sex-linked allele maybe? Or, maybe, just…wait, no, stop it, Ulric cut himself off. Later Ulric, worry about hereditary fuckery later. For now, the dude is in your chair and looking at your wounded Shadow like she’s something he’d like to eat.
The interloper in his chair wore garb that marked him for some sort of local soldiery, lightly armored leather jerkin, greaves, and vambraces. The usual long belt knife was accompanied by a short, broad spatha in a second sword belt, all plain dark leather. The boots were muddy and the gear ill-kempt enough that Idra would have been personally insulted at the lack of care given one’s field kit. The uninvited guest was also smirking and tossing his bangs while staring down the ill-fitting worker's shirt Taipan wore while he gobbled some sort of nonsense in Elvish, too far away for Ulric to make out against the background wash of the village folk in their cups and at their dinners.
Immediate irritation suffused Ulric’s expression, but they were trying to keep a low profile so he clamped down on it. Just when he took hold of his emotions, his hands took hold of the mug handles and he heard the distinct clicking of ceramic breaking, the handles snapping when he heard a particularly blatant suggestion towards Taipan’s person. Now he had to carefully keep holding the stupid mugs, if he relaxed his grip they'd fall to the floor. And he’d have to pay for the mugs and the ale. Fuck.
Ulric took a single long, deep breath in through his nose, held it for a long ten count and released it, slowly, through his mouth to get his temper in line. His steps became more measured and sedate, giving him time to relax as he approached.
Taipan, though he couldn't see most of her expression through the cloth wraps, was not appearing to offer much in the way of welcome for their impromptu guest. That didn't appear to register on the Elf's face, not that he was doing much observing anything above the neck by the way he undressed her with his eyes.
Ulric's teeth ground lightly and he set the mugs down on the table as gently as he could, managing not to slop any of the beer as he did. The Elf didn't do himself any favors in Ulric's estimation, giving him an exceedingly dismissive once over and a light Hmmph that seemed more like an invitation to being dribbled off of the floor a few times than anything else.
Iriel’en didn’t play games like this. Any Deep Woods Elf Ulric had ever known would have already been telling their antagonist to get their ass somewhere they didn’t mind bleeding and get ready to use said ass to cash that check their mouth was writing.
Steady lad, he told himself. Easy. Just stay calm and we'll take our leisure in the room. This sort had been a somewhat common occurrence in Ulric's experiences in the night life scene. Jackasses who liked to play fuck around and find out were a dime a dozen in the young folks’ bars, especially when the lasses were dancing and the lads were a bit soused. Just don't give them any undue attention and they'll take the hint. Withdraw, if at all possible, and refuse them the chance to garner attention and they’ll normally go somewhere else to find their fun. And, if you can’t make an easy retreat or they push their luck, you drill their nose, pull their shirt over their head and start laying into their kidneys so’s that next morning piss reminds them not to be a clown with strangers.
He'd only had to do that a few times. Normally he didn’t have to. His frequent bar room pal and interior decorator had his back. Gods, for a kid as disarming and laid back as Remy had been, he’d sucker punch a wiseass like a mousetrap slamming down on an unsuspecting pest. Ulric could use old Remy here right about now.
Forcing a smile, he addressed his Shadow with as much equanimity as possible. Stay frosty Old Man. Cool. Ice cold.
"Taipan, it seems the common room grows busy. Shall we retire?" He said with too measured casualness.
"Oh, it seems the pet has returned. A pity.” Blondie declared loudly to the room, projecting his voice to make sure the rest of the patrons heard him.
Yep. Ulric Einar was going to beat this Elf like a drum, that’s what was going to happen tonight. Perfect way to end the day, really.
“As I was saying,” the loudmouth interloper said, from Ulric’s chair, “I have another two weeks before the caravans begin running in the north, what say you ditch this boring ape and I'll show you more refined touch?" the Elf asked, as if Ulric were not there.
"I think not." Taipan said clearly, disdain dripping from her tone, “You have had your ask and I have no interest, as you would know if you were not a preening halfwit.”
"Let us be gone Ulric, I think that I would find the quiet of our rooms more to my liking. This one’s presence fouls the ale." The former hunter announced, equally loudly for the room’s benefit.
She made to rise and the Elf's hand snapped out to take her forearm roughly, holding her in her seat.
"I did not say you were allowed to go, you Human's bitch!" He spat.
Ulric didn't see the Guardsman or his partner approaching from their seats, having observed the goings on and come to retrieve the Elf, a too late attempt to defuse the situation. Ulric didn't see his partner's other hand moving like a viper, drawing her belt knife to open the soldier's throat. Ulric didn't see anything except the slight grimace of pain on his Shadow's face and the creature who was causing it.
His hands locked onto the soldier, gripping the shoulder and chest and he lifted him from his chair, turning his body to sling the slight form away. A sixty-five kilo mass thrown four meters hits a sturdy hardwood table with plenty of force to break it, it turns out. Doesn't do the person that does the breaking much good either. Before the swearing soldier extracted himself from the table's remains Ulric grabbed his leather cuirass and pulled him into the short vicious left hook that dislocated his jaw. He lifted the Elf higher and slammed him back into the kindling and floor, drumming the Elf's head against it. The meaty thud was satisfying to something inside him, satisfying enough that lifted the limp body even higher this time and brought it down again, harder. He had to drop the Elf when a couple of Blondie's friends dove into his legs and waist trying to tackle him.
They might as well have tried to tackle Warren Sapp. He'd have laughed if he wasn't pissed.
Ulric made them regret their decisions immediately when he dropped a twelve to six elbow onto the back of the one trying to tangle his thighs, smashing something and dropping him to the floor before he wrapped his other arm around the one on his waist, a guillotine choke squeezing the neck. Hands groped ineffectually on his arm and he drove his knee sharply into the exposed chest, driving the wind from his victim who gave a strangled cry, so he could choke him harder. He was reaching down to take the Elf's head in his hand and twist it backwards when three more forms hit him and succeeded in moving his balance. He had to release the gasping, half unconscious Elf to stay upright.
His hand over a face, Ulric kicked the one of the attacker’s legs out from under him and shoved him into some neighboring tables, their patrons none too happy about having their meals and beverages turned into their laps.
A fist from somewhere caught his cheek, snapping his head to the side and he caught the next attempt, broke the offending arm, and twisted the bones for good measure. After that, things pretty well devolved into total chaos.
Someone drew steel behind him and suffered for it when Taipan cut the tendons in the would-be ambusher's wrist before knifing a kidney. Ulric didn't see any of that though, he was too busy laying about him. Punches came in and he ducked into them, covered them, or slipped them, taking minor damage before answering with greater evil.
Somebody broke a mug over his head and he kicked in their knee. After fighting free of another two trying to get hold of his arms he donkey kicked one of the assailants who'd come running in from behind, heedless, hard enough to launch the bastard backwards and then set about practicing every single act of violence he'd ever learned on the rest. The Iriel'en Royal guard were good teachers. Taipan was even better, for this nasty kind of fighting.
A pause left him standing, bruised, a cut lip, a bloody nose, and probably a black eye if the discomfort in his cheek were any indication, with his Shadow behind him, blood running down the edge of her knife from the couple of Celestin who'd thought to bring weapons into the fray. On the opposite side were a small group of new challengers. They didn’t look like they were having fun anymore and a couple fingered daggers but didn’t draw them after a hasty look at the blindfolded Elf who’d badly stabbed a couple of their comrades for pulling steel.
Only a few moments had passed in normal time. Sitting at their dinner’s, Joldir and Seralin had drawn their batons and warded away as many of the Inn patrons as they could reach before heading into the melee. The village’s guards waded in, cudgels swinging to concuss and drove their kinfolk back. They had the sense not to get within reach of Ulric and make themselves targets, instead, they prevented extending the rampage by providing new fuel.
When a minute went by without anyone getting close enough for him to grab, the blood red faded from his vision and Ulric regained some measure of rational, conscious thought. He immediately was glad to see he hadn't used magic. Or his sword. There weren't any obvious corpses, even though some of them wouldn't be doing much any time soon. He resisted the urge to stomp the groaning form at his feet.
At some point, his already slightly torn shirt had been completely ripped away. The lightning scars from his awakening burned a faint violet and he realized that, while he wasn't actively using his core’s power, Ceraun was cycling a hair's breadth away from being released, all his will had to do was whisper. That would have been very bad.
Joldir, red in the face, was screaming at the villagers "What makes you think this was a good idea, heh!? Think the bull Ravager on that sled outside just killed itself do you!? And for what? So Barsol, the idiot caravan guard nobody lets around their daughter, can put his hands where they are not wanted? What in the hells did you daft [Bark Weasels] suppose was going to happen, eh!? Mark my words, if any one of you takes another step forward, I'll wash my hands of this and we can just bury the lot of you tomorrow in the same hole!"
Oh, well, there was the voice of reason.
Taipan made her thoughts on matters plain as well, her lilting voice raised high enough that all could hear her, "My Valin partner is too kind hearted. From now on, you face me and he is the only one I have ever left alive behind me. I will kill as many of you dirt scrubbers as volunteers."
It was a clear enough statement of where she stood. He didn't doubt at all that, if anybody got cute, he was going to see his Taipan do some fairly awful things to their anatomy blindfold or no. She had that look about her at the moment. Ulric wasn't so sure he wasn't going to join her, even though he'd settled down some. Fortunately, the cause of all of this mayhem was unmoving where Ulric had left him. If he saw that bastard so much as twitch, he wasn't sure he had enough restraint to not go over there to correct that problem.
The villagers, the ones still uninjured anyway, looked abashed. Four out of the six worse off were also out of season caravan guards wintering there at the inn, familiar faces all, but not natives of the village. The other two were known drunks and troublemakers. So, really, no one who mattered greatly had been affected, right? Just two travelers who'd actually done the people a favor killing off a beast so close to their farmlands being accosted by some transient thugs, mostly. Some few nursed a couple of bruises, maybe a loose or missing tooth, but no real damage. None of their business at all really. Thusly becalmed, the villagers sort of mumbled a general apology to the air and departed, after they hauled the caravan guards outside under the fuming glare of Joldir and his partner.
