He'd made it back from his foray into the city with a good few hours to spare. The four-by-five-meter room was pretty closed in, which made doing his balancing exercises a little awkward, but manageable. With that in mind, Ulric stripped down, again to reduce the amount of sweat he would be introducing into his garments. Doing the laundry by hand was exactly no fun, he and Taipan had spent enough hours dunking and mauling their clothes in a stream with soap to not want to do it ever again. Cleanliness wasn't merely a matter for the finicky either. Out in the wilds, excessive body smell signaled you to the beasts, flagged your position for anything large enough to be interested in taking a whack at you. Vardan wilderness was not in short supply of beasts that qualified. Taipan was a stickler for some things and not bringing in ravening hordes was on that list, hence his newfound detest for lye soap. The laundresses of Irielhos were much missed.
He was in the middle of the exercise routine, brain off, core cycling Ceraun into his muscles and joints in a gradual process of saturation that Bathe Iriel had insisted would help refine his control and elevate his body's integration with the magic that circulated through his mana channels. Stepping into a low crouch, on the toes of one foot with the other leg extended almost parallel to the ground, heel supporting the rest of his weight he shifted, slowly, into a forward lunge, hold, straighten up vertically with the body's weight on the supporting leg with the other barely in contact with the floor. Reverse the process and repeat it with the other leg doing the supporting. All the while, Ulric tried to maintain the almost zen absence of fixed thought, losing himself to the motion and to the thrumming cycles of his core.
The difference between the highest echelon of close combat fighters and the lesser was in their ability to utilize their cores to bolster their abilities naturally, synchronizing the movement of muscle and magic. The classes augmented this process, and increased its rapidity and efficiency, like training wheels. Masters like Idra didn't need the class to facilitate his swordsmanship, he was able to deploy his full strength without thought, like he was born to it. Christ, to a far lesser extent, did the same, though that one was at the beginning of the road that Idra had spent centuries walking.
Ulric was far behind these two and, after his last examination of Taipan's status, was now farther behind Taipan than he had been when they'd joined the Legranel. Prior to that, he'd been catching up, particularly after the awakening of his core and the vast increase in the ease of controlling his Ceraunic mana. There were fits and jumps though, the growth was not smooth. Taipan had been stuck at what she called a wall, a plateau of her skills, which limited her climb in potential. Breaking through that wall had let her find a new ceiling, far above the one before. He was certain his own abilities would stagnate, the physical growth in his stats had halted months ago, courtesy of the Royal Guard conditioning and relentless Taipan's training regime. Ulric had a hunch his own wall was related to the bizarre synthesis of individual skills that had produced the ability called [Ceraun's Dance, First Movement], that little addendum being a hint that he was entering new territory.
He straightened after completing the set of motions and began his routine of pushups, dips, and core exercises. Fear was what was holding him back, as much as he hated to admit it.
Once, just when his core awakened, he'd been held in the grasp of a being that was so far beyond his mundane reality that he barely believed it. Only the lightning burns feathering his skin convinced him it was real. He'd witnessed, perhaps even called, the attention of, the Prime elemental of lightning. It was like the electromagnetic force granted consciousness, a gigantic sprite in the upper atmosphere of the planet.
The touch of its consciousness had just very nearly scoured Ulric's mind clean, which would have allowed his newly awakened core to birth a lightning elemental in the husk that remained. Spooky. The feeling of connection, with everything, like a bass vibration that sounded through reality at a fundamental level, was one of the clearest memories of that meeting. And, just for a moment, Ulric had felt that note when he'd given himself over to his instincts in a desperate moment to kill the [Amberfang] that was leaping to take Taipan's back. [Ceraun's Dance] had, so far as he could tell let him become a living lightning strike. He was pretty sure that if Smith Uldin's work wasn't so good, his sword would have melted or warped to have that kind of energy running through it.
He was now hanging from the door frame by his fingertips, removing one finger at a time to hold his weight with ever less support. Five-second holds from full grip to index fingers only. Then back to full. Then to the small finger only. Then ring only. Middle. And, now to do it all again but with only a single hand at a time. His forearms were more than burning halfway through it.
Ulric couldn't afford to let fear cripple him. He hadn't used the odd Akashic class skill since, it had fucking wrecked him for one thing and drained his core like nothing he'd ever experienced for the other. Ulric didn't like being afraid. Especially not of himself. He was going to have to find the courage to step up, summon that mantle of power again, and try to keep himself intact long enough to seize control of it. No pain, no gain.
He dropped from the door with hands almost numb and had to clench them repeatedly to squeeze the blood back into the abused digits. Pain. Just like building muscle required some element of destruction, developing his connection to the Ceraunic Knight class was going to require some damage. All to the greater good. For better or worse, Ulric was [Lord of the Ancient Glade]. That was going to bring challenges, threats, and responsibilities. It already had. His new life hung in the balance hinged around simple might. He'd have laughed it off if his failure didn't also have a chance of hurting other people. Being responsible for other people was not something Ulric was comfortable with. Nearly his entire life in the Before, he'd been alone, and happy for it. At no point had he ever had what might be considered a relationship that entailed someone depending utterly on him.
The Iriel'en needed him to succeed. The Aes'r as a whole, needed him to succeed. They weren't defenseless, weren't helpless victims. Far from it. But if he didn't manage to at least throw a wrench into the machine that was Prosper's dominance of Prespang they faced a grim future of being slowly whittled away by superior numbers. The Legranel had already lost the ruling line, to a man, and were now reestablishing their chain of command. The mad gambit to send a hit squad of hard-to-come-by Adept Mages to remove the Iriel family had failed, sort of. It hadn't killed the Iriels, but it had sorely weakened them in the short term. Enough that the impending attack on the newly discovered Havens had a chance to succeed, wiping out most of what constituted Iriel's people. If the core of Orlethrem fell, it wouldn't take long to isolate and destroy the rest.
A loud knock shook him out of his brooding. There came the smooth turning of the mechanisms of the lock and the door swung inwards. A couple of the Inn's hired hands walked in hauling the big wooden tub. The young man and similarly aged woman, perhaps just a few years shy of his own apparent age, made easy work of getting the turned in the hall and partially into the room. They halted abruptly and stared at him incredulously, for some reason. Did he have something on his face?
As the pair's cheeks reddened slightly Ulric realized that he was still standing in the middle of his room, buck-naked, and covered in sweat. Oh. Oh dear. Well, they hadn't exactly given him time to dress now, had they? Now was the time to fuck with them.
Grinning widely Ulric ushered the pair in with a welcoming wave of his hand, "Come, come, thank you so very much for bringing the tub! Just throw it any old place, please."
The pair wilted as he approached to tug at the tub and pull it fully inside his apartment. Neither one would meet his eyes and also worked hard not to look at the heathen barbarian so carelessly flaunting himself in front of them. Gods this joke never got old.
"You'll have to forgive my state of dress, or rather, the lack. I prefer to take my exercise without the interference of stifling clothes. The better to ease movement, you know." He issued the fake apology with bubbly cheerfulness.
The pair nearly fled, but found their courage and faced him down with every last ounce of professional decorum.
"Our pardon, guest, we did not mean to interrupt. Did you still require the bath? We can return later, it is no problem. At all." The man said hurriedly, hoping to escape.
"Oh, no, no problem, I did ask for the bath, after all. Not your fault I grew impatient and forgot myself in the exertion. No, no, I couldn't trouble you to move this thing again. Please, proceed, carry on as if I weren't even here." Ulric responded, cutting off the retreat.
"Er. It takes a moment to fill the tub, honored guest, perhaps you would be more comfortable waiting with clothes on? The air holds a slight chill. Very slight. Umm…not that it shows." The woman offered, trying desperately to find a way out of this trap.
"Really? The winds carry a refreshing breeze most days on the expanse outside your high walls, in its absence I could not tell. Thank you for your consideration, but I am quite comfortable. Please, do go on a bath after working up a sweat is a joy I do look forward to." Ulric replied easily, well aware that there was no evident chill.
The pair exchanged a brief glance of doomed acceptance before resigning themselves.
With his eyes locked firmly over Ulric's shoulder, the man raised his arms over the tub and Ulric felt a sensation from his mana sense, a feeling of dampness, like a gathering fog. The woman joined him, staring devoutly into the bottom of the tub. The air thickened somewhat and water began to condense in a growing sphere over the tub. Ulric watched this process with fascination. He had so much to learn about magic and its uses. He didn't know exactly how the pair were coordinating their spellwork but the lack of apparent effort suggested they were sharing the magical load. The growth of the water orb accelerated until it just almost grew larger than the diameter of the tub before it broke apart, falling in heavy rain to fill the tub to three-quarters of its height. The pair released a heavy breath before the man lowered a hand into the water and his eyes grew distant as he concentrated on weaving his next spell.
A few moments passed without any evident change but, within a count of ten, the surface of the bath began to give off gentle steam.
The man withdrew his hand and lowered the rolled-up sleeve. He turned and, with an almost apologetic nod towards the woman, fled with as much dignity as he could.
A glare from his abandoned partner followed him, promising retribution. She cut off, recalling her duties, and returned to trying very hard to not look at him, failing, and then trying again. Alright, alright, he'd let her off the hook, now that her moral support was gone.
"Thank you, very much, the both of you. I appreciate your diligence, and the hospitality of this house. Here, for the trouble." Ulric said, digging through his purse briefly for a pair of Eld Knights.
Tipping was not a norm in his prior life, nor was it a thing within Irielhos. The Duties were compensated commensurate with their responsibilities, that is to say exceedingly well both in stipend and respect from the residents of the fortress. Elsewhere though, tips were common, especially for the servers, maids, and cooks. Taipan had trained him in the appropriate habits of remuneration.
The poor serving girl's eyes widened slightly at the carvings on the coins, a larger weight than she would have expected from this uncultured heathen, but she received them gladly and both went into her purse. Ulric knew with certainty that there would not be an even split, given that her partner had so ruthlessly abandoned her. It was fair, courage had its reward, sometimes.
A brief dip of chin and raise of dress hem and hurried, "Your generosity gladdens, call the house for any further needs, Honored Guest." before she pivoted in place and fairly well dashed into the hall, cutting like a running back to break sightline with the room.
Ahh yes. Now that was a nice diversion. Ulric went to the door and gently closed it before he retrieved a bar of soap and lowered himself with a contented sigh into the water, heated just below his ideal but acceptably hot. Glorious.
Try as you might, there was only so much that could be accomplished with a wet rag. A good full soak just scratched a different itch. Ulric didn't leave the tub until the water had cooled to room temperature and left a measurable amount of his weight in grime, exfoliated skin, and clay that refused to part from him. His hair was also properly degreased.
Which reminded him, his grooming was, shall we say, insufficient for attending an official proceeding as a guest. It would not do to bring embarrassment to the host and Ulric could not abide rudeness. Taking advantage of the water, Ulric shaved himself over the tub, removing the fast-growing beard that had taken over his lower jaw and cheeks while traveling from the Moot. He went ahead and trimmed his hair as well. Cutting your own hair with a belt knife is a thing that takes patience and a damned sharp knife. Ulric had both. He still could not recommend it where even a middling barber with a pair of shears was available. Even so, by the time the Twins were well into their descent, he had assumed an almost presentable visage.
He had to admit, he did rugged but civilized well.
A knock on his door sounded and the still naked man considered another round of "Come on up then!" but decided against it. Too much of a good thing ruined its enjoyment.
"A moment, if you please! I will be dressed presently." Ulric announced.
It only took a few minutes to don his garments and stomp his feet into his boots to settle them on his socked feet.
He opened the door and saw that it was Varrock, the Lupid Beastkin wearing a rather fine red coat of wool with silk, a somewhat rare commodity here, sewn into interesting depictions of wolves hunting great stags through a stylized forest. It almost looked like ink art, with broad strokes and abstract shapes, but done in black silk. Ulric appreciated the workmanship of Varrock's finery.
"Good to see you, Old Man Varrock. I trust that we are on time?" Ulric greeted the Elder Beastkin.
The low growling voice answered without particular venom, "Certainly, I would not be late to the decline of my line. It is good to know that you had a face under all that scruff. Valin never do grow beards properly."
Ulric had to smile at the grumpy old codger. Normal people would simply say "Clean shave." and move on. Varrock was too much the irascible coot to settle for such niceties. His grandmother, may her hell-cat soul rest in peace, would have got on swimmingly with this guy.
"Right then. Let us go so that I may see all the workings of the great Varrock be made to shit through subpar matrimony." Ulric said, digging the old wolf a little in return.
"Agh, you only twist the knife you irritating pup! It hurts almost as much as my head did this morning. Thanks to you, for returning me to my room, there may be some redeeming qualities for you yet." The Lupid said, squeezing in his gratitude while bitching, which was the only way you were going to receive it.
A nod of acknowledgment was sufficient, he wouldn't judge the Beastkin too harshly, not knowing the full depth of the man's misery regarding his clan's loss of stature over the years.
"Lead us on then, Varrock. I will be your second." Ulric told him, with a gesture down the hall.
The Wolfkin drew himself up, straightening his spine to face what came, and he announced their departures like a captain launching into rough surf and stormy seas, "We go."
The golden light of the Twins was dimmed by the heavy cloud cover that had threatened since yesterday. A storm was blowing in and the darkness of the skies promised some rough weather. The gusts hadn't yet started to herald the rain's arrival but it would come not far following the fall of dark, if Ulric's experience were not nothing.
Through the main avenues, Varrock led the odd couple, both striding in comfortable silence. Ulric was surprised when the Beastkin took them up to the gate to the second tier, paying for their passage. The guards did not attempt to ransom Ulric this time, apparently respecting the Elder Beastkin's reputation. They continued to make their way through the city, the sidewalks busy but not terribly so. Ulric wore his sword, at Varrock's insistence. Some curious glances were directed towards the pair but that wasn't exactly surprising. The old boy cleaned up nicely and his gait, steady and confident suggested that he owned the ground he walked. Only people who commanded respect and had the ability to back it up carried themselves in such a way. That fact was reinforced when the Lupid took them up to the gate of the third and penultimate tier of Bartala, which Ulric had not yet entered. A Sil Squire was the fee to enter, which was a considerable sum to simply be allowed to walk through the gate but the Wolfkin didn't so much as blink.
Forget mere surprise, Ulric was now mighty curious what had this surprising coot drinking himself into a coma in a, please grant me forgiveness Innkeeper, oh thou of righteous fury, do not strike me, dive.
There was a possibility that Varrock had slightly understated his clan's fortunes. Seemed like something the old goat would do.
"I heard an interesting rumor earlier this afternoon, while I made a few last round arrangements." the Wolfkin said, with thinly veiled humor.
"Oh?" Ulric replied noncommital, he wasn't sure where this was going.
"Indeed. A long-time Captain of a trading vessel I know said he witnessed a barbarian savage threaten to break a café attendant in half and shake him down for most of a Sil Drake." The Elder Lupid said with a carefully neutral tone, struggling not to reveal his amusement.
"Ah. Yes. That." Ulric said, a little bashful about his loss of temper.
"In point of fact," Ulric remonstrated, "I did not shake him down for most of a Sil Drake. He asked for one, instead of the three Eld Squires that was the real price of the meal, and I gave him a count of five to make change. On his life."
Now the Lupid couldn't restrain a chuckle any longer and shook his head at the younger man, whose overwhelming lack of subtlety reminded him of the simpler, more honest days in his homeland. It would seem that the old ways were alive and well in whatever backwater from which the Clansman prince haled. Varrock did not know why they had sent one of their scions into the world, carrying his fortune and a blade that must have been a clan treasure by its craftsmanship, but it had the scent of a tale worth telling.
"You must understand, young hunter, that such things are not done in prosperous, safe, domesticated Bartala." Offered the elder to the younger man, not willing to scold for a course of action he respected, and yet which might lead to trouble.
"These folk, these well-bred, well-kempt citizens of one of the jewels of Prespang, they have no idea that bringing insult towards a man is a thing that might have consequences. It is not their way, especially not where the Magistrate would never support the honor of a barbarian over the word of a citizen. Prosper's laws are written for their sakes, to keep the peace so that coin continues to flow, personal integrity does not enter into it." Instructed Varrock, still fighting back a grin at the imagined sight of the poor attendant, probably feeling for the first time the threat for his own life.
With a brief considering pause, he reflected musingly, "To hold one's life on their name and deed, it is a thing of the Wastes, the Reaches, and, I suppose, of those most reclusive Tree Sleepers in Iriel, if rumors are to be believed. Harsh lands and hard lives breed respect for one's word, and its use. These people," gestured the Lupid contemptuously, "have never struggled for their lives before beasts or bandits or desperate rivals with nothing to lose and everything to gain by their death. They do not understand." Reflected the Beastkin with a note of sadness in his tone.
They walked along in silence for a few more moments, Ulric taking in the advice of the old salt and appreciating that he cared enough to offer any.
"But I will say, that in the hold where I was born and raised, if a man attempted such an intentional deception they would have their throat torn and the tribe would not bury them, that, even dead, their shame would not be hidden from the skies." Added Varrock eventually.
Ulric smiled at that piece of information. The old boy was a solid sort and everything he'd learned of him and his clan said that they were folk of hardy nature, honest, and fair. If they were a little hard-edged and quick to anger, Ulric couldn't judge. Prosper's hegemony had done the Lupid clans an ill turn, isolating and fragmenting them. They had also, through the draft selections of the Baron of Bartala, recruited heavily from them. To the detriment of the clans.
"Thank you for your wisdom, Elder. I find little patience for the small cruelties these people seem so willing to inflict. As for the magisters…well, their writ extends to the walls of this city in my eyes and Varda is vast." Ulric said to his new drinking buddy, fishing a little for the Lupid's disposition.
He wasn't disappointed.
The wolfish grin was back in full as he grumbled, "If it did not bring the full weight of Prosper's army down on my people, a magister would not show his back to the grass outside Bartala."
The smiled faded quickly though as Varrock lamented, "I could lay a hundred wrongs deserving of blood at their feet. Alas, I have children. And those children have children. It is not in this old man's heart to put their lives at stake, even for justice."
Yeah. Ulric understood that. Sometimes the cost was too high. Sometimes you had too much to lose to do the right thing so you chose a bunch of less right things. The decline of Varrock's clan was a case study in compromise. But he couldn't blame the Beastkin for their reluctance to escalate, to call down Prosper's might on his folk. The nail that sticks up gets hammered down.
He'd made it back from his foray into the city with a good few hours to spare. The four-by-five-meter room was pretty closed in, which made doing his balancing exercises a little awkward, but manageable. With that in mind, Ulric stripped down, again to reduce the amount of sweat he would be introducing into his garments. Doing the laundry by hand was exactly no fun, he and Taipan had spent enough hours dunking and mauling their clothes in a stream with soap to not want to do it ever again. Cleanliness wasn't merely a matter for the finicky either. Out in the wilds, excessive body smell signaled you to the beasts, flagged your position for anything large enough to be interested in taking a whack at you. Vardan wilderness was not in short supply of beasts that qualified. Taipan was a stickler for some things and not bringing in ravening hordes was on that list, hence his newfound detest for lye soap. The laundresses of Irielhos were much missed.
He was in the middle of the exercise routine, brain off, core cycling Ceraun into his muscles and joints in a gradual process of saturation that Bathe Iriel had insisted would help refine his control and elevate his body's integration with the magic that circulated through his mana channels. Stepping into a low crouch, on the toes of one foot with the other leg extended almost parallel to the ground, heel supporting the rest of his weight he shifted, slowly, into a forward lunge, hold, straighten up vertically with the body's weight on the supporting leg with the other barely in contact with the floor. Reverse the process and repeat it with the other leg doing the supporting. All the while, Ulric tried to maintain the almost zen absence of fixed thought, losing himself to the motion and to the thrumming cycles of his core.
The difference between the highest echelon of close combat fighters and the lesser was in their ability to utilize their cores to bolster their abilities naturally, synchronizing the movement of muscle and magic. The classes augmented this process, and increased its rapidity and efficiency, like training wheels. Masters like Idra didn't need the class to facilitate his swordsmanship, he was able to deploy his full strength without thought, like he was born to it. Christ, to a far lesser extent, did the same, though that one was at the beginning of the road that Idra had spent centuries walking.
Ulric was far behind these two and, after his last examination of Taipan's status, was now farther behind Taipan than he had been when they'd joined the Legranel. Prior to that, he'd been catching up, particularly after the awakening of his core and the vast increase in the ease of controlling his Ceraunic mana. There were fits and jumps though, the growth was not smooth. Taipan had been stuck at what she called a wall, a plateau of her skills, which limited her climb in potential. Breaking through that wall had let her find a new ceiling, far above the one before. He was certain his own abilities would stagnate, the physical growth in his stats had halted months ago, courtesy of the Royal Guard conditioning and relentless Taipan's training regime. Ulric had a hunch his own wall was related to the bizarre synthesis of individual skills that had produced the ability called [Ceraun's Dance, First Movement], that little addendum being a hint that he was entering new territory.
He straightened after completing the set of motions and began his routine of pushups, dips, and core exercises. Fear was what was holding him back, as much as he hated to admit it.
Once, just when his core awakened, he'd been held in the grasp of a being that was so far beyond his mundane reality that he barely believed it. Only the lightning burns feathering his skin convinced him it was real. He'd witnessed, perhaps even called, the attention of, the Prime elemental of lightning. It was like the electromagnetic force granted consciousness, a gigantic sprite in the upper atmosphere of the planet.
The touch of its consciousness had just very nearly scoured Ulric's mind clean, which would have allowed his newly awakened core to birth a lightning elemental in the husk that remained. Spooky. The feeling of connection, with everything, like a bass vibration that sounded through reality at a fundamental level, was one of the clearest memories of that meeting. And, just for a moment, Ulric had felt that note when he'd given himself over to his instincts in a desperate moment to kill the [Amberfang] that was leaping to take Taipan's back. [Ceraun's Dance] had, so far as he could tell let him become a living lightning strike. He was pretty sure that if Smith Uldin's work wasn't so good, his sword would have melted or warped to have that kind of energy running through it.
He was now hanging from the door frame by his fingertips, removing one finger at a time to hold his weight with ever less support. Five-second holds from full grip to index fingers only. Then back to full. Then to the small finger only. Then ring only. Middle. And, now to do it all again but with only a single hand at a time. His forearms were more than burning halfway through it.
Ulric couldn't afford to let fear cripple him. He hadn't used the odd Akashic class skill since, it had fucking wrecked him for one thing and drained his core like nothing he'd ever experienced for the other. Ulric didn't like being afraid. Especially not of himself. He was going to have to find the courage to step up, summon that mantle of power again, and try to keep himself intact long enough to seize control of it. No pain, no gain.
He dropped from the door with hands almost numb and had to clench them repeatedly to squeeze the blood back into the abused digits. Pain. Just like building muscle required some element of destruction, developing his connection to the Ceraunic Knight class was going to require some damage. All to the greater good. For better or worse, Ulric was [Lord of the Ancient Glade]. That was going to bring challenges, threats, and responsibilities. It already had. His new life hung in the balance hinged around simple might. He'd have laughed it off if his failure didn't also have a chance of hurting other people. Being responsible for other people was not something Ulric was comfortable with. Nearly his entire life in the Before, he'd been alone, and happy for it. At no point had he ever had what might be considered a relationship that entailed someone depending utterly on him.
The Iriel'en needed him to succeed. The Aes'r as a whole, needed him to succeed. They weren't defenseless, weren't helpless victims. Far from it. But if he didn't manage to at least throw a wrench into the machine that was Prosper's dominance of Prespang they faced a grim future of being slowly whittled away by superior numbers. The Legranel had already lost the ruling line, to a man, and were now reestablishing their chain of command. The mad gambit to send a hit squad of hard-to-come-by Adept Mages to remove the Iriel family had failed, sort of. It hadn't killed the Iriels, but it had sorely weakened them in the short term. Enough that the impending attack on the newly discovered Havens had a chance to succeed, wiping out most of what constituted Iriel's people. If the core of Orlethrem fell, it wouldn't take long to isolate and destroy the rest.
A loud knock shook him out of his brooding. There came the smooth turning of the mechanisms of the lock and the door swung inwards. A couple of the Inn's hired hands walked in hauling the big wooden tub. The young man and similarly aged woman, perhaps just a few years shy of his own apparent age, made easy work of getting the turned in the hall and partially into the room. They halted abruptly and stared at him incredulously, for some reason. Did he have something on his face?
As the pair's cheeks reddened slightly Ulric realized that he was still standing in the middle of his room, buck-naked, and covered in sweat. Oh. Oh dear. Well, they hadn't exactly given him time to dress now, had they? Now was the time to fuck with them.
Grinning widely Ulric ushered the pair in with a welcoming wave of his hand, "Come, come, thank you so very much for bringing the tub! Just throw it any old place, please."
The pair wilted as he approached to tug at the tub and pull it fully inside his apartment. Neither one would meet his eyes and also worked hard not to look at the heathen barbarian so carelessly flaunting himself in front of them. Gods this joke never got old.
"You'll have to forgive my state of dress, or rather, the lack. I prefer to take my exercise without the interference of stifling clothes. The better to ease movement, you know." He issued the fake apology with bubbly cheerfulness.
The pair nearly fled, but found their courage and faced him down with every last ounce of professional decorum.
"Our pardon, guest, we did not mean to interrupt. Did you still require the bath? We can return later, it is no problem. At all." The man said hurriedly, hoping to escape.
"Oh, no, no problem, I did ask for the bath, after all. Not your fault I grew impatient and forgot myself in the exertion. No, no, I couldn't trouble you to move this thing again. Please, proceed, carry on as if I weren't even here." Ulric responded, cutting off the retreat.
"Er. It takes a moment to fill the tub, honored guest, perhaps you would be more comfortable waiting with clothes on? The air holds a slight chill. Very slight. Umm…not that it shows." The woman offered, trying desperately to find a way out of this trap.
"Really? The winds carry a refreshing breeze most days on the expanse outside your high walls, in its absence I could not tell. Thank you for your consideration, but I am quite comfortable. Please, do go on a bath after working up a sweat is a joy I do look forward to." Ulric replied easily, well aware that there was no evident chill.
The pair exchanged a brief glance of doomed acceptance before resigning themselves.
With his eyes locked firmly over Ulric's shoulder, the man raised his arms over the tub and Ulric felt a sensation from his mana sense, a feeling of dampness, like a gathering fog. The woman joined him, staring devoutly into the bottom of the tub. The air thickened somewhat and water began to condense in a growing sphere over the tub. Ulric watched this process with fascination. He had so much to learn about magic and its uses. He didn't know exactly how the pair were coordinating their spellwork but the lack of apparent effort suggested they were sharing the magical load. The growth of the water orb accelerated until it just almost grew larger than the diameter of the tub before it broke apart, falling in heavy rain to fill the tub to three-quarters of its height. The pair released a heavy breath before the man lowered a hand into the water and his eyes grew distant as he concentrated on weaving his next spell.
A few moments passed without any evident change but, within a count of ten, the surface of the bath began to give off gentle steam.
The man withdrew his hand and lowered the rolled-up sleeve. He turned and, with an almost apologetic nod towards the woman, fled with as much dignity as he could.
A glare from his abandoned partner followed him, promising retribution. She cut off, recalling her duties, and returned to trying very hard to not look at him, failing, and then trying again. Alright, alright, he'd let her off the hook, now that her moral support was gone.
"Thank you, very much, the both of you. I appreciate your diligence, and the hospitality of this house. Here, for the trouble." Ulric said, digging through his purse briefly for a pair of Eld Knights.
Tipping was not a norm in his prior life, nor was it a thing within Irielhos. The Duties were compensated commensurate with their responsibilities, that is to say exceedingly well both in stipend and respect from the residents of the fortress. Elsewhere though, tips were common, especially for the servers, maids, and cooks. Taipan had trained him in the appropriate habits of remuneration.
The poor serving girl's eyes widened slightly at the carvings on the coins, a larger weight than she would have expected from this uncultured heathen, but she received them gladly and both went into her purse. Ulric knew with certainty that there would not be an even split, given that her partner had so ruthlessly abandoned her. It was fair, courage had its reward, sometimes.
A brief dip of chin and raise of dress hem and hurried, "Your generosity gladdens, call the house for any further needs, Honored Guest." before she pivoted in place and fairly well dashed into the hall, cutting like a running back to break sightline with the room.
Ahh yes. Now that was a nice diversion. Ulric went to the door and gently closed it before he retrieved a bar of soap and lowered himself with a contented sigh into the water, heated just below his ideal but acceptably hot. Glorious.
Try as you might, there was only so much that could be accomplished with a wet rag. A good full soak just scratched a different itch. Ulric didn't leave the tub until the water had cooled to room temperature and left a measurable amount of his weight in grime, exfoliated skin, and clay that refused to part from him. His hair was also properly degreased.
Which reminded him, his grooming was, shall we say, insufficient for attending an official proceeding as a guest. It would not do to bring embarrassment to the host and Ulric could not abide rudeness. Taking advantage of the water, Ulric shaved himself over the tub, removing the fast-growing beard that had taken over his lower jaw and cheeks while traveling from the Moot. He went ahead and trimmed his hair as well. Cutting your own hair with a belt knife is a thing that takes patience and a damned sharp knife. Ulric had both. He still could not recommend it where even a middling barber with a pair of shears was available. Even so, by the time the Twins were well into their descent, he had assumed an almost presentable visage.
He had to admit, he did rugged but civilized well.
A knock on his door sounded and the still naked man considered another round of "Come on up then!" but decided against it. Too much of a good thing ruined its enjoyment.
"A moment, if you please! I will be dressed presently." Ulric announced.
It only took a few minutes to don his garments and stomp his feet into his boots to settle them on his socked feet.
He opened the door and saw that it was Varrock, the Lupid Beastkin wearing a rather fine red coat of wool with silk, a somewhat rare commodity here, sewn into interesting depictions of wolves hunting great stags through a stylized forest. It almost looked like ink art, with broad strokes and abstract shapes, but done in black silk. Ulric appreciated the workmanship of Varrock's finery.
"Good to see you, Old Man Varrock. I trust that we are on time?" Ulric greeted the Elder Beastkin.
The low growling voice answered without particular venom, "Certainly, I would not be late to the decline of my line. It is good to know that you had a face under all that scruff. Valin never do grow beards properly."
Ulric had to smile at the grumpy old codger. Normal people would simply say "Clean shave." and move on. Varrock was too much the irascible coot to settle for such niceties. His grandmother, may her hell-cat soul rest in peace, would have got on swimmingly with this guy.
"Right then. Let us go so that I may see all the workings of the great Varrock be made to shit through subpar matrimony." Ulric said, digging the old wolf a little in return.
"Agh, you only twist the knife you irritating pup! It hurts almost as much as my head did this morning. Thanks to you, for returning me to my room, there may be some redeeming qualities for you yet." The Lupid said, squeezing in his gratitude while bitching, which was the only way you were going to receive it.
A nod of acknowledgment was sufficient, he wouldn't judge the Beastkin too harshly, not knowing the full depth of the man's misery regarding his clan's loss of stature over the years.
"Lead us on then, Varrock. I will be your second." Ulric told him, with a gesture down the hall.
The Wolfkin drew himself up, straightening his spine to face what came, and he announced their departures like a captain launching into rough surf and stormy seas, "We go."
The golden light of the Twins was dimmed by the heavy cloud cover that had threatened since yesterday. A storm was blowing in and the darkness of the skies promised some rough weather. The gusts hadn't yet started to herald the rain's arrival but it would come not far following the fall of dark, if Ulric's experience were not nothing.
Through the main avenues, Varrock led the odd couple, both striding in comfortable silence. Ulric was surprised when the Beastkin took them up to the gate to the second tier, paying for their passage. The guards did not attempt to ransom Ulric this time, apparently respecting the Elder Beastkin's reputation. They continued to make their way through the city, the sidewalks busy but not terribly so. Ulric wore his sword, at Varrock's insistence. Some curious glances were directed towards the pair but that wasn't exactly surprising. The old boy cleaned up nicely and his gait, steady and confident suggested that he owned the ground he walked. Only people who commanded respect and had the ability to back it up carried themselves in such a way. That fact was reinforced when the Lupid took them up to the gate of the third and penultimate tier of Bartala, which Ulric had not yet entered. A Sil Squire was the fee to enter, which was a considerable sum to simply be allowed to walk through the gate but the Wolfkin didn't so much as blink.
Forget mere surprise, Ulric was now mighty curious what had this surprising coot drinking himself into a coma in a, please grant me forgiveness Innkeeper, oh thou of righteous fury, do not strike me, dive.
There was a possibility that Varrock had slightly understated his clan's fortunes. Seemed like something the old goat would do.
"I heard an interesting rumor earlier this afternoon, while I made a few last round arrangements." the Wolfkin said, with thinly veiled humor.
"Oh?" Ulric replied noncommital, he wasn't sure where this was going.
"Indeed. A long-time Captain of a trading vessel I know said he witnessed a barbarian savage threaten to break a café attendant in half and shake him down for most of a Sil Drake." The Elder Lupid said with a carefully neutral tone, struggling not to reveal his amusement.
"Ah. Yes. That." Ulric said, a little bashful about his loss of temper.
"In point of fact," Ulric remonstrated, "I did not shake him down for most of a Sil Drake. He asked for one, instead of the three Eld Squires that was the real price of the meal, and I gave him a count of five to make change. On his life."
Now the Lupid couldn't restrain a chuckle any longer and shook his head at the younger man, whose overwhelming lack of subtlety reminded him of the simpler, more honest days in his homeland. It would seem that the old ways were alive and well in whatever backwater from which the Clansman prince haled. Varrock did not know why they had sent one of their scions into the world, carrying his fortune and a blade that must have been a clan treasure by its craftsmanship, but it had the scent of a tale worth telling.
"You must understand, young hunter, that such things are not done in prosperous, safe, domesticated Bartala." Offered the elder to the younger man, not willing to scold for a course of action he respected, and yet which might lead to trouble.
"These folk, these well-bred, well-kempt citizens of one of the jewels of Prespang, they have no idea that bringing insult towards a man is a thing that might have consequences. It is not their way, especially not where the Magistrate would never support the honor of a barbarian over the word of a citizen. Prosper's laws are written for their sakes, to keep the peace so that coin continues to flow, personal integrity does not enter into it." Instructed Varrock, still fighting back a grin at the imagined sight of the poor attendant, probably feeling for the first time the threat for his own life.
With a brief considering pause, he reflected musingly, "To hold one's life on their name and deed, it is a thing of the Wastes, the Reaches, and, I suppose, of those most reclusive Tree Sleepers in Iriel, if rumors are to be believed. Harsh lands and hard lives breed respect for one's word, and its use. These people," gestured the Lupid contemptuously, "have never struggled for their lives before beasts or bandits or desperate rivals with nothing to lose and everything to gain by their death. They do not understand." Reflected the Beastkin with a note of sadness in his tone.
They walked along in silence for a few more moments, Ulric taking in the advice of the old salt and appreciating that he cared enough to offer any.
"But I will say, that in the hold where I was born and raised, if a man attempted such an intentional deception they would have their throat torn and the tribe would not bury them, that, even dead, their shame would not be hidden from the skies." Added Varrock eventually.
Ulric smiled at that piece of information. The old boy was a solid sort and everything he'd learned of him and his clan said that they were folk of hardy nature, honest, and fair. If they were a little hard-edged and quick to anger, Ulric couldn't judge. Prosper's hegemony had done the Lupid clans an ill turn, isolating and fragmenting them. They had also, through the draft selections of the Baron of Bartala, recruited heavily from them. To the detriment of the clans.
"Thank you for your wisdom, Elder. I find little patience for the small cruelties these people seem so willing to inflict. As for the magisters…well, their writ extends to the walls of this city in my eyes and Varda is vast." Ulric said to his new drinking buddy, fishing a little for the Lupid's disposition.
He wasn't disappointed.
The wolfish grin was back in full as he grumbled, "If it did not bring the full weight of Prosper's army down on my people, a magister would not show his back to the grass outside Bartala."
The smiled faded quickly though as Varrock lamented, "I could lay a hundred wrongs deserving of blood at their feet. Alas, I have children. And those children have children. It is not in this old man's heart to put their lives at stake, even for justice."
Yeah. Ulric understood that. Sometimes the cost was too high. Sometimes you had too much to lose to do the right thing so you chose a bunch of less right things. The decline of Varrock's clan was a case study in compromise. But he couldn't blame the Beastkin for their reluctance to escalate, to call down Prosper's might on his folk. The nail that sticks up gets hammered down.
