Ulric was about eighty percent certain that Taipan would forgive him for the prank, given a few days to cool off. They were getting along swimmingly ever since her change of heart. Frequent bonking didn’t hurt. In any case, he had found that he couldn’t resist one last bit of getting even before they left the fortress and, as he’d mulled it over, he’d come to believe that Uldin was just the man for the job. There had been only a little doubt in Ulric that the eccentric smith would help him.
Two pieces of information gave him reason to think Taipan's sometimes guardian would be willing to lay an ambush for her, one whom he loved so dearly. The first was that the Smith had been all too willing to ruthlessly mortify what amounted to a visiting member of Royalty, or at least a Great House, that is to say, one Ulric Einar, [Lord of the Ancient Glade], on first meeting. The second was that the man was claimed by Bald'rt Iriel as a friend close as brothers and anyone who held such regard from that Elf was a soulless jackal pretending decency to lure victims. Which is to say, of course, he'd love to drive his goddaughter bananas.
"Honestly? She took it better than I thought. You were really laying it on thick. She's gotten a much better hold of her temper." Ulric admitted.
"Ahh, yes. My Little Girl has grown up, at last. I am grateful to you Ulric." the older man said, serious now.
"We had let her go too long, had failed to step in and direct her until she had become set in her foundations. I do not know how it is that you convinced her to let go of her vendetta, her destructive hates but I thank you."
Ulric waved his hands gently, "I don't think I did anything. That part was her, all I did was yell at her, to no good end." he told the Smith.
"I think…maybe it was Bald'rt being hurt more than anything. She saw just about everybody she cared for almost killed. She saw her home damaged. And she hadn't been there to stop any of it because she was sitting in her room nursing her pride. Of course, I am to blame for that. But even so, for Taipan, being useless while her kin are hurt is probably the worst thing she could ever experience. Whatever the case, I'm not sure I'll ever know why she decided to let go." Ulric concluded, without conclusion.
He'd mulled it over many times but had not discussed it with anyone. This Elf, who unquestionably, without reservation, held Taipan in the highest regard, seemed a perfect choice.
The Smith poured himself a cup of the whiskey he'd drank last time. Ulric couldn't help a raised eyebrow, it wasn't even mid-morning!
"In truth? It does not matter. All that does is that she no longer shames herself by being less than she could be." Summarized Taipan's Uncle.
He raised the glass in salute.
"Sanos!" the Elf toasted him, downing it easily.
"Would you like a cup for yourself, Glade Chief? I would be glad to pour for you, who have been such a boon to my family." Offered Uldin sincerely.
"No, thank you, and I mean it, but I really do have to leave today. Brighteyes explained the lay of the land yesterday evening and I agree with him. I do believe that little guy is going to be hell on wheels for those war-criminal jackasses who started all this." Ulric declined, just as sincerely.
His next question could be construed as rude and he genuinely did not want to offend the baffling Elf who had his Shadow’s regard and a talent beyond mere words for metalwork, but he just had to know.
“I don’t mean to disrespect you Smith Uldin, so feel free to disregard this question as ignorance of a Human savage, but, do you…ya know, act like this all of the time?” Ulric tested, gingerly.
Uldin smiled brightly, which allayed Ulric’s fears that he’d stepped on toes.
“Not at all Glade Chief, Ulric, as a matter of fact, I am normally quite reserved. But you are pretty, Bald’rt speaks the world of you though you are young, and you bring my Little Girl around, and that changes things. Besides, there is some fun to be had in making peoples who take themselves too seriously very uncomfortable.” the Elf man revealed with a somewhat less flamboyant attitude than before.
“Mark me well though Ulric, I would not tease you were I not also serious. That would be in poor taste. Now, I am afraid we must get onto the matter of which you are here, aside from the friendly trapping of friends. Time follows the Twins.”
With a slight regret on his features, that they had to come to business and leave the teasing and japes at the wayside, Uldin got down to it.
"I have finished your weapon…and the armor. I apologize, Ulric Glade Chief, I know you made it for yourself, and that is a thing that attaches one to their creations, but I could not allow you to leave wearing it. You will grow your craft, in time, but, for now, I have taken it upon myself to ensure that the thing is done with polish and with all the skill I could bring to bear." The master craftsman apologized unnecessarily.
No part of Ulric could disagree with Smith Uldin's assessment. Ulric was a complete novice, reliant on many failures and the half-developed skills of a previous life.
"Come, to the smithy, I had just finished putting my maker's mark on them. I know you have wanted to see the inside of the shop, would that we could have had time to discuss the arts with more depth. Perhaps when you return? Perhaps over dinner?" Asked Uldin casually.
Ulric rose and followed the Elf, answering as he did.
"I would be honored to share a meal and trade knowledge with a master of his craft. But I won't sleep over. As wonderful a specimen of Elf kind as you are, Uldin, you were born with a set of danglers and my own is enough for me to handle."
A wave of his hand and a subtle turning of fingers shared disappointment and also acceptance. The Elves did a lot of that kind of thing with their hands. You could miss half a conversation if you only listened to what they said.
"Think on it again, if my Little Girl breaks your heart. But! Enough of the jests, we are here. My workshop, my beating heart." Said the Smith.
It was clear that he wasn't overstating that last bit. Where the inside of the home was pure chaos, the smithy was crystalline order. Racks, anvil, hammers, tables, troughs, all of it in perfect placement to optimize the Master Smith's workflow. Everything just so. The heights of the tables matched perfectly Uldin's figure, the lengths and diameters of the handles the stroke of his arm, and the grip of his hands.
Worn smooth were the paths the craftsman's feet had padded untold numbers of times through the centuries. All of it felt…correct.
And there, on a table by a high polish grinding wheel, still coated in blue-silver dust, lay the commission and the gift.
The commission was…a work of art. The hilt appeared to be of woven saplings, a third of a meter of green wood grown together into a solid piece, the grip appearing knobbed but quite even, if grainy to the touch. Ulric had laid his hand on it without a thought. It rested comfortably, almost pleasantly in his hand with his fingers easily around it. The wood wouldn't slip, not even covered in blood, water, or mud. Up towards the top, the hilt grew into a wider base with curled projections that formed a subtle guard. Four "leaves" metallic projections sprouted up the crosspiece onto the blade.
"It is wonderful, Uncle." Whispered a soft feminine voice behind him, making him twitch.
Taipan had returned from her fit of temper, mollified by the obvious passion of her adoptive Uncle, who looked like a father showing his favored son to his relatives for the first time. She stood behind him, her gaze as rapt on the wonderous show of skill as was his.
That blade was a hand wide at the base, tapering gradually up its meter and a half-length, longer than any sword he'd ever seen in a museum, except for the great claymores. As Uldin had suggested it was shaped as a cutter with a distinctly recurving base up towards a sharp gently backward curving spear point. Ulric thought it was single-edged, at first, the obvious cutting side ground at a gradual angle near to the midline of the broad sword. The reverse side, shaped straighter though with gradual recurve to mirror the cutting edge, looked blunt in profile, but a careful eye noted it had a very aggressive chisel edge when viewed at a different angle. Hidden, almost. The metal of the blade was a deep midnight blue, far darker than had been the lighter cyan trident, only the polished cutting edge had that lighter azure color. Inset into the base of the blade, inset with jet-black metal of unknown origin, was a strangely familiar symbol, the trefoil knot. All along the secret back edge ran a series of runes in a language Ulric did not know. The blackened metal they were inset with very nearly hummed when he held the weapon.
It was art. But it was a weapon meant to destroy. He could feel it in the weight balanced forward of the bottom third of the blade, as if to throw itself into a cut. The tip sharp down both sides to penetrate deep into a Greater beast or to find the gaps in armor. Even the pommel, at first holding the appearance of nested leaves, each proved to be razors, a strike with that would lacerate deeply. Ulric felt joy. Then sadness. That a man of Galed Uldin's gift would have to use it to make such things. That so beautiful an object would, ultimately, create carnage.
Well. If some people's kids would stop being sons of bitches then maybe people like him wouldn't have to go kill them and people like Uldin wouldn't have to make things to go kill them with.
Ulric marveled at the commission, its balance, weight, heft, and reach were immaculate. Perfect.
"Did you name it yet?" He asked the Smith, who shook his head to indicate the negative.
"I thought you might want to, Glade Chief, some prefer to name their own weapons." replied the Master.
"They are fools then. Name it Galed Uldin, you have earned more than that right by making something like this. Even someone like me, who’s never seen let, alone held, so fine an instrument knows that." Ulric told the artisan, who smiled, as if that was the correct answer.
"Then it is named Xef'tocht. The Glade's Smite or Glade Wrath, depending on how archaic the form. Not many even know the language well enough to be pedantic about it." Uldin complied, conferring his greatest work a name befitting it.
Ulric held it reverently. He couldn't make fun of Taipan for sleeping with her bow anymore, even though she hadn't done that in a while, mostly at his insistence. She moved around in her sleep and clubbed him with it too frequently.
"Anything I ought to know about it?" Ulric asked pointedly.
This weapon was hiding secrets, he could feel it.
"For starters, the back edge is sharper than the front, though I played a few tricks to hide it. If you hold it as you should, your enemy won't know they fight a double-sided blade until it's too late. That said, there is an enchantment laid to prevent the backside from cutting you so you can palm and work the blade as a Sath, though it lacks the length. It isn't quite a Drak-Sith hybrid, point's too broad for it, but it'll stab nicely enough, better than most other weapons like it." Said the smith smugly. A two-sided cut and thrust sword that looked like a one-sided slashing blade was a mean trick indeed.
"It's alloyed from your old Magebane trident, and the curved Sath you brought which had me shitting myself when I melted it down to find True Steel hidden by a coat of silvered iron. Whoever those men were, they carried a small fortune in their sheathes, not that it did them good in the end. The True Steel I alloyed with the Magebane. A delicate process, demanding perfection in the smelt and the forge. I may be the only living Aes'r who could do it and the Svartalfin won't, not for anybody but their own." Uldin informed him, this time beaming with real pride.
"The result is Afthar'ts Atzalis, the deathless metal. Rare, Ulric, more than rare. It resists external mana while conducting it internally.” Taipan’s godfather commented, running his hand along the dark blue metal, sharpy accented with its cyan Hamon line, the wavelike patterns found on some far Eastern pieces of historical swordcraft.
Uldin’s hand glowed a soft, bright silver as he did, his magic rippling into the sword’s body and traveling up and down the edge for a moment. He lifted the reverent hand away and created some kind of silvered disk of magic that looked solid, sharp, and dangerous. The Smith brought that silvered mana construct back and then slammed it viciously against the side of his creation, where the construct shattered into hard fragments that pinged around the room’s furniture. A couple embedded themselves into the occupants’ of the room's clothes and he and Taipan had to fish them out from their travel gear while side-eying the captivated craftsman in vain, as he was not paying them the slightest attention. He looked up after another long moment of regarding the blade’s edge, smiling with satisfaction and his eyes flicked between them somewhat guiltily when he realized he’d forgotten about them for a moment. His apology was limited to a shrug though. If everyone else knew the weapon as he did they’d understand.
“The metal is hard enough to make working Magebane a pleasant pastime,” he told them smugly, “but flexes so that a gifted smith can make blades out of it. I have not smelted personally this alloy before, but have held a small fragment, once. It’s seldom made on so large a scale, the Magebane was precious hard to come by, and the True Steel more difficult to work with than worth the hassle of learning its tricks.”
He gestured with his chin to a bar of the dark blue alloy sitting on his Forge’s bellows.
“Some of the stock remains, I would ask your permission to keep it for mine own use, if you would allow me Glade Chief." Uldin requested, with far more humility than was required.
That was an easy one. Anything like that was functionally useless to Ulric, he'd never be able to fabricate anything with it. By the sounds of it, the only one in the fortress who could was standing in front of him.
"Done, Uldin, and with my thanks. In fact, the offer I made you to use anything I brought still stands, be my guest. If I'm not mistaken, you used [Heartwood] on this hilt. That on its own is a kingly gift, the rest of it…is too great a piece for me. That you would go so far on my account is…well…I can't say it properly. Thank you." Ulric said awkwardly.
The Elf brought his hand down on Ulric’s shoulder hard enough to set his feet stinging, his wide smile taking in Ulric and the smith guided his hand to the runes inscribed on the blade’s core. Black inscription of some material that glittered menacingly from its inlay felt oddly warm to his hand.
“The rest of the crafting is superb, easily my best work to date,” Commented Uldin with casualness hiding his excitement by a whisker, “But this is what makes it yours and yours alone Glade Chief. Push your core’s strength into the runes and keep your hands away from the edges. You will not need the priming charge of mana in the future, it drinks the mana from the air.”
Ulric did so, feeling the lightning magic in his body rush headlong into the symbols, they flared violet before returning to their obsidian tone, one after the other, as if the etched signs were being read aloud through the mana.
Edges of the blade pulsed and Ulric felt a bodily hesitation to be close to those sharpened lengths. This thing that Uldin had made was dangerous. And it wanted to do harm.
He looked up at the Smith who radiated joy, even as he stood away. Like a parent watching his child wed away happily.
“I did as you said that I could, and used the [Forest Lord]’s core to perform the anchoring of the enchantments. You would not believe the malevolent violence that resided inside those facets, within the mana itself.” Ulric confided as if sharing a secret, “It tried to destroy me three times, even while I rendered it into the runes. This weapon will not fade, its spells will not fail, and it will cut. It will cut almost anything. I could not find anything in this entire shop that it could not cut, even its own stock is scratched by the magic of the edge. Truly it holds the Glade’s wrath inside it.”
Ulric shook his head in wonder at the working, unbelieving. So this is how you use a beast’s core eh? He couldn’t help but quietly laugh to himself. Magical bullshit. A faecraft sword imbued with a maddened fell creature’s spirit. The first life he ever ended on this world, bound into a weapon to serve him. Now this was something fantastic.
Taipan broke her silence, intoning “So the Old Terror died, and so it now lives again, its purpose returned to guard the [Forest of the Forgotten] from any who would intrude on its domain.”
She pulled her gaze from the Artifact on the table and held him with her intensity. Her musical voice pitched low she told him “This is your House’s herald, its standard and symbol of your line, Ulric. The [Forest Lord]’s core would have been declaration enough of your status but this, this Xef’tocht is far beyond a simple declaration. It is a threat towards those who would put themselves against you and yours.”
Her lovely lips lifted in a wry smile.
“Do I need to tell you not to lose it, Ulric?” She asked drily.
He returned her grin with his own. No, indeed. The sword alone was a treasure beyond words. A treasure that far exceeded the pittance of knowledge and material he’d traded for it. Even the core that breathed arcane life into the metal’s enchantments was a far lesser thing than the whole itself.
Galed Uldin rubbed a finger under his nose and cleared his throat before he embarrassed himself before his guests.
“Before I unman myself, take a look at my other little project. Ahh, now this was a bit of fun!” The Smith led them over to another spot in the smithy. There on a wooden bust was Ulric’s armor.
Or, at least, it had been. Somehow, the old craftsman had made a wonder that almost dwarfed even the magnificence of the sword.
Where Ulric had roughly cobbled leather straps, bindings, and crude plates of bone with his forest tools, the Master had shaved, shaped, and bound immaculate fittings of layered plates. In a striking divergence, the bones were no longer bleached white but had been polished to a glasslike smoothness and lacquered black.
It was still a vaguely Roman-style cuirass, but far more…draconic. Just as the overlapping fish-scale armor worn under Elven coats and plates was used to emphasize flexibility, now, so too did his bone plates, in larger, faceted, scales. The much larger layers of hardened bone had been recessed so that they overlapped to close the gaps that had existed in his old design. The whole thing appeared as a hybridization of Roman and far Eastern, perhaps, Feudal Japan, stylization. Gone were his lacings, replaced now by rivets, to secure the thing to a sub-armor of peened links, chain mail, to close what few weaknesses there were over joints. His Pauldrons had been given similar treatment, they now fitted in overlaps that would no longer inhibit his shoulders at all. Underneath it all, the [Forest Lord] leather remained, offering that ancient beast's protection should anything slip past the polished bone plates.
The matching vambrace, shin guards, and armored skirt were likewise repurposed and reborn to suit Uldin's vision. Lastly, wholly made new, as Ulric had lacked the skill, was a helmet made from the skull of the old terror. Far too large to be worn in its entirety, of course, it had been reduced, truncated to mold to his form. The lower jaw had been carved into a visor that could be lowered into place to cover the front of his face, giving the helmet the visage of a smaller version of that monster. More chain mail draped from the helmet to cover his neck.
The deathless metal Sith was a creation of menace and destructive intent. This bone and chain set was art. Elegant, practical, efficiently engineered art.
Ulric looked to the large Elf who stood almost bashfully to the side.
"Uldin…what were you thinking? I can't take that armor. That's…it's…you remade it almost entirely from scratch?" Ulric asked, perplexed. Awed.
A sword and armor, both gifts of untold worth. Brighteyes had spoken of Dungeons and Artifacts, back in the Glade. He'd whispered in a hushed voice of creations beyond what could be made by the races today. Blades that never dulled. Shields that drank the mana of magics directed against them. Exotic devices produced eternal songs that lulled listeners into a timeless daze.
Xef’tocht was one in truth, its potency and form left no doubt of that. Ulric had a feeling that this armor was, while not as magically potent, it was in the same ballpark as those deep-delved items of yore. A team of machinists couldn't have fabricated those plates with more precision or fitted them with such subtlety. Ulric didn't have to put it on to know that it would fit perfectly, and would shed nearly any conventional weapon that it came across. It would take a weapon as great as the blade the Elf had crafted to defeat it.
There was no way Ulric could wear that. He'd turn heads wherever he went. Rumors would fly. His plan required becoming invisible, that armor would mark him as some kind of conquering Hero out of legend. He couldn't accept such a thing.
A sheepish grin took over the Smith's face as he saw his artistry appreciated. His eyes fairly burned from excitement as his hand stroked the gleaming umber helmet.
"I admit that I got a little carried away. But the ideas! They would not stop. I dreamt of the shapings of the plates! I could not eat without seeing the lapping of riveted, faceted geometries that would turn sword, spear, arrow, or knife. That thing drove me mad Glade Chief, and happier I have not been in forty years.” Exulted the Smith happily, beginning to pace manically.
He started fiddling with securing straps, demonstrating their bindings and adjustments and, for all that he gave his attention to the two people in the room, they might not have been there as he muttered, “I will make others like it, improving on it, using this prototype to outstrip it.”
Turning back to Ulric and his partner Galed Uldin said shamelessly of his artwork “Forgive me for saying, but that piece will be the least of the armors I make in the next few years.”
Aaand he was gone again, inspecting the flawless plates, their polished surfaces, and articulating interfaces.
Ulric heard the melodic pitch of the smith’s voice coming from around his broad back as he lifted it from its place on the bust, “And the enchantments!” the Elf said, stuffing his work into Ulric’s arms.
“I have not even been able to devise the proper runic layers and mana weave that will render it untouchable. It is mundane. A masterwork, but not quite an artifact. Yet. Return it to me, Ulric, when you are done with your journey this year. I will finish it. Right now? It is merely my finest bit of armoring. It is a child's toy compared to what I will do in a decade's time." Assured the savant, pointing to his temple, where the ideas were still turning around breaking and reforming.
"If only the Svartalfin would have shown me their techniques!” Uldin moaned, suddenly aggravated and slightly sad.
“This thing you brought me, it used many of their concepts, and arrangements of material that I had never had the chance to see up close. For giving me so great a passion again you will take this armor and your enemies will come to know it with as much fear as the Mad Guardian from whose body it was made. And. If you should come to the lands of the Svartalfin, underneath the Heaven's Reach Mountains, tell them that Galed Uldin made it and return to tell me of the expression on their faces." Commanded Uldin with a look of supreme satisfaction.
Galed Uldin would not be denied in this. Ulric wasn't worthy to wear something so precious. His mission precluded its use, at least until a moment of utmost need drove him. When that time came, he could imagine what beautiful horror he would enact on the bastards that had given him so much pain, had violated the sanctity of his forest home. It was with an effort that Ulric pulled his thoughts out of a pool of blood, driving back the raging voice to its cubby in his hindbrain. That thing got a little unhinged if he dwelt on it too forcefully.
It was with an air of Arthur receiving Excalibur that Ulric took Xef'tocht, the Glade Wrath, and belted it onto a clever half-sheath that fit across his back. All it took was a pull to free a tensioning strap and a twist to unlatch the two sides of the sheath, freeing the blade. Uldin showed him how to refit the sheathe to its blade and recommended a few hours of practice to commit the task to body memory.
The armor Ulric wrapped in [Bolt Deer] hide, bundled so that it would not be seen. That bundle went into the bottom of his pack. He'd try it on, somewhere private to be sure he could don the gear in a hurry but he'd not wear it casually or until it was time to do a great deal of killing. So not until later. Maybe sooner than later.
"Oh! And Ulric?" said Uldin suddenly, as if it had only just occurred to him, "Keep my Little Girl safe eh? You are pretty, but I will hold you responsible for anything that happens to her. If she dies, friend of my kin or no, I will have to kill you." the Elf said, softly.
Soft as a velvet glove over a diamond fist.
"Heard and understood, Smith Uldin. Wish us luck." Ulric said, with a salute that was not mocking at all.
Ulric was about eighty percent certain that Taipan would forgive him for the prank, given a few days to cool off. They were getting along swimmingly ever since her change of heart. Frequent bonking didn’t hurt. In any case, he had found that he couldn’t resist one last bit of getting even before they left the fortress and, as he’d mulled it over, he’d come to believe that Uldin was just the man for the job. There had been only a little doubt in Ulric that the eccentric smith would help him.
Two pieces of information gave him reason to think Taipan's sometimes guardian would be willing to lay an ambush for her, one whom he loved so dearly. The first was that the Smith had been all too willing to ruthlessly mortify what amounted to a visiting member of Royalty, or at least a Great House, that is to say, one Ulric Einar, [Lord of the Ancient Glade], on first meeting. The second was that the man was claimed by Bald'rt Iriel as a friend close as brothers and anyone who held such regard from that Elf was a soulless jackal pretending decency to lure victims. Which is to say, of course, he'd love to drive his goddaughter bananas.
"Honestly? She took it better than I thought. You were really laying it on thick. She's gotten a much better hold of her temper." Ulric admitted.
"Ahh, yes. My Little Girl has grown up, at last. I am grateful to you Ulric." the older man said, serious now.
"We had let her go too long, had failed to step in and direct her until she had become set in her foundations. I do not know how it is that you convinced her to let go of her vendetta, her destructive hates but I thank you."
Ulric waved his hands gently, "I don't think I did anything. That part was her, all I did was yell at her, to no good end." he told the Smith.
"I think…maybe it was Bald'rt being hurt more than anything. She saw just about everybody she cared for almost killed. She saw her home damaged. And she hadn't been there to stop any of it because she was sitting in her room nursing her pride. Of course, I am to blame for that. But even so, for Taipan, being useless while her kin are hurt is probably the worst thing she could ever experience. Whatever the case, I'm not sure I'll ever know why she decided to let go." Ulric concluded, without conclusion.
He'd mulled it over many times but had not discussed it with anyone. This Elf, who unquestionably, without reservation, held Taipan in the highest regard, seemed a perfect choice.
The Smith poured himself a cup of the whiskey he'd drank last time. Ulric couldn't help a raised eyebrow, it wasn't even mid-morning!
"In truth? It does not matter. All that does is that she no longer shames herself by being less than she could be." Summarized Taipan's Uncle.
He raised the glass in salute.
"Sanos!" the Elf toasted him, downing it easily.
"Would you like a cup for yourself, Glade Chief? I would be glad to pour for you, who have been such a boon to my family." Offered Uldin sincerely.
"No, thank you, and I mean it, but I really do have to leave today. Brighteyes explained the lay of the land yesterday evening and I agree with him. I do believe that little guy is going to be hell on wheels for those war-criminal jackasses who started all this." Ulric declined, just as sincerely.
His next question could be construed as rude and he genuinely did not want to offend the baffling Elf who had his Shadow’s regard and a talent beyond mere words for metalwork, but he just had to know.
“I don’t mean to disrespect you Smith Uldin, so feel free to disregard this question as ignorance of a Human savage, but, do you…ya know, act like this all of the time?” Ulric tested, gingerly.
Uldin smiled brightly, which allayed Ulric’s fears that he’d stepped on toes.
“Not at all Glade Chief, Ulric, as a matter of fact, I am normally quite reserved. But you are pretty, Bald’rt speaks the world of you though you are young, and you bring my Little Girl around, and that changes things. Besides, there is some fun to be had in making peoples who take themselves too seriously very uncomfortable.” the Elf man revealed with a somewhat less flamboyant attitude than before.
“Mark me well though Ulric, I would not tease you were I not also serious. That would be in poor taste. Now, I am afraid we must get onto the matter of which you are here, aside from the friendly trapping of friends. Time follows the Twins.”
With a slight regret on his features, that they had to come to business and leave the teasing and japes at the wayside, Uldin got down to it.
"I have finished your weapon…and the armor. I apologize, Ulric Glade Chief, I know you made it for yourself, and that is a thing that attaches one to their creations, but I could not allow you to leave wearing it. You will grow your craft, in time, but, for now, I have taken it upon myself to ensure that the thing is done with polish and with all the skill I could bring to bear." The master craftsman apologized unnecessarily.
No part of Ulric could disagree with Smith Uldin's assessment. Ulric was a complete novice, reliant on many failures and the half-developed skills of a previous life.
"Come, to the smithy, I had just finished putting my maker's mark on them. I know you have wanted to see the inside of the shop, would that we could have had time to discuss the arts with more depth. Perhaps when you return? Perhaps over dinner?" Asked Uldin casually.
Ulric rose and followed the Elf, answering as he did.
"I would be honored to share a meal and trade knowledge with a master of his craft. But I won't sleep over. As wonderful a specimen of Elf kind as you are, Uldin, you were born with a set of danglers and my own is enough for me to handle."
A wave of his hand and a subtle turning of fingers shared disappointment and also acceptance. The Elves did a lot of that kind of thing with their hands. You could miss half a conversation if you only listened to what they said.
"Think on it again, if my Little Girl breaks your heart. But! Enough of the jests, we are here. My workshop, my beating heart." Said the Smith.
It was clear that he wasn't overstating that last bit. Where the inside of the home was pure chaos, the smithy was crystalline order. Racks, anvil, hammers, tables, troughs, all of it in perfect placement to optimize the Master Smith's workflow. Everything just so. The heights of the tables matched perfectly Uldin's figure, the lengths and diameters of the handles the stroke of his arm, and the grip of his hands.
Worn smooth were the paths the craftsman's feet had padded untold numbers of times through the centuries. All of it felt…correct.
And there, on a table by a high polish grinding wheel, still coated in blue-silver dust, lay the commission and the gift.
The commission was…a work of art. The hilt appeared to be of woven saplings, a third of a meter of green wood grown together into a solid piece, the grip appearing knobbed but quite even, if grainy to the touch. Ulric had laid his hand on it without a thought. It rested comfortably, almost pleasantly in his hand with his fingers easily around it. The wood wouldn't slip, not even covered in blood, water, or mud. Up towards the top, the hilt grew into a wider base with curled projections that formed a subtle guard. Four "leaves" metallic projections sprouted up the crosspiece onto the blade.
"It is wonderful, Uncle." Whispered a soft feminine voice behind him, making him twitch.
Taipan had returned from her fit of temper, mollified by the obvious passion of her adoptive Uncle, who looked like a father showing his favored son to his relatives for the first time. She stood behind him, her gaze as rapt on the wonderous show of skill as was his.
That blade was a hand wide at the base, tapering gradually up its meter and a half-length, longer than any sword he'd ever seen in a museum, except for the great claymores. As Uldin had suggested it was shaped as a cutter with a distinctly recurving base up towards a sharp gently backward curving spear point. Ulric thought it was single-edged, at first, the obvious cutting side ground at a gradual angle near to the midline of the broad sword. The reverse side, shaped straighter though with gradual recurve to mirror the cutting edge, looked blunt in profile, but a careful eye noted it had a very aggressive chisel edge when viewed at a different angle. Hidden, almost. The metal of the blade was a deep midnight blue, far darker than had been the lighter cyan trident, only the polished cutting edge had that lighter azure color. Inset into the base of the blade, inset with jet-black metal of unknown origin, was a strangely familiar symbol, the trefoil knot. All along the secret back edge ran a series of runes in a language Ulric did not know. The blackened metal they were inset with very nearly hummed when he held the weapon.
It was art. But it was a weapon meant to destroy. He could feel it in the weight balanced forward of the bottom third of the blade, as if to throw itself into a cut. The tip sharp down both sides to penetrate deep into a Greater beast or to find the gaps in armor. Even the pommel, at first holding the appearance of nested leaves, each proved to be razors, a strike with that would lacerate deeply. Ulric felt joy. Then sadness. That a man of Galed Uldin's gift would have to use it to make such things. That so beautiful an object would, ultimately, create carnage.
Well. If some people's kids would stop being sons of bitches then maybe people like him wouldn't have to go kill them and people like Uldin wouldn't have to make things to go kill them with.
Ulric marveled at the commission, its balance, weight, heft, and reach were immaculate. Perfect.
"Did you name it yet?" He asked the Smith, who shook his head to indicate the negative.
"I thought you might want to, Glade Chief, some prefer to name their own weapons." replied the Master.
"They are fools then. Name it Galed Uldin, you have earned more than that right by making something like this. Even someone like me, who’s never seen let, alone held, so fine an instrument knows that." Ulric told the artisan, who smiled, as if that was the correct answer.
"Then it is named Xef'tocht. The Glade's Smite or Glade Wrath, depending on how archaic the form. Not many even know the language well enough to be pedantic about it." Uldin complied, conferring his greatest work a name befitting it.
Ulric held it reverently. He couldn't make fun of Taipan for sleeping with her bow anymore, even though she hadn't done that in a while, mostly at his insistence. She moved around in her sleep and clubbed him with it too frequently.
"Anything I ought to know about it?" Ulric asked pointedly.
This weapon was hiding secrets, he could feel it.
"For starters, the back edge is sharper than the front, though I played a few tricks to hide it. If you hold it as you should, your enemy won't know they fight a double-sided blade until it's too late. That said, there is an enchantment laid to prevent the backside from cutting you so you can palm and work the blade as a Sath, though it lacks the length. It isn't quite a Drak-Sith hybrid, point's too broad for it, but it'll stab nicely enough, better than most other weapons like it." Said the smith smugly. A two-sided cut and thrust sword that looked like a one-sided slashing blade was a mean trick indeed.
"It's alloyed from your old Magebane trident, and the curved Sath you brought which had me shitting myself when I melted it down to find True Steel hidden by a coat of silvered iron. Whoever those men were, they carried a small fortune in their sheathes, not that it did them good in the end. The True Steel I alloyed with the Magebane. A delicate process, demanding perfection in the smelt and the forge. I may be the only living Aes'r who could do it and the Svartalfin won't, not for anybody but their own." Uldin informed him, this time beaming with real pride.
"The result is Afthar'ts Atzalis, the deathless metal. Rare, Ulric, more than rare. It resists external mana while conducting it internally.” Taipan’s godfather commented, running his hand along the dark blue metal, sharpy accented with its cyan Hamon line, the wavelike patterns found on some far Eastern pieces of historical swordcraft.
Uldin’s hand glowed a soft, bright silver as he did, his magic rippling into the sword’s body and traveling up and down the edge for a moment. He lifted the reverent hand away and created some kind of silvered disk of magic that looked solid, sharp, and dangerous. The Smith brought that silvered mana construct back and then slammed it viciously against the side of his creation, where the construct shattered into hard fragments that pinged around the room’s furniture. A couple embedded themselves into the occupants’ of the room's clothes and he and Taipan had to fish them out from their travel gear while side-eying the captivated craftsman in vain, as he was not paying them the slightest attention. He looked up after another long moment of regarding the blade’s edge, smiling with satisfaction and his eyes flicked between them somewhat guiltily when he realized he’d forgotten about them for a moment. His apology was limited to a shrug though. If everyone else knew the weapon as he did they’d understand.
“The metal is hard enough to make working Magebane a pleasant pastime,” he told them smugly, “but flexes so that a gifted smith can make blades out of it. I have not smelted personally this alloy before, but have held a small fragment, once. It’s seldom made on so large a scale, the Magebane was precious hard to come by, and the True Steel more difficult to work with than worth the hassle of learning its tricks.”
He gestured with his chin to a bar of the dark blue alloy sitting on his Forge’s bellows.
“Some of the stock remains, I would ask your permission to keep it for mine own use, if you would allow me Glade Chief." Uldin requested, with far more humility than was required.
That was an easy one. Anything like that was functionally useless to Ulric, he'd never be able to fabricate anything with it. By the sounds of it, the only one in the fortress who could was standing in front of him.
"Done, Uldin, and with my thanks. In fact, the offer I made you to use anything I brought still stands, be my guest. If I'm not mistaken, you used [Heartwood] on this hilt. That on its own is a kingly gift, the rest of it…is too great a piece for me. That you would go so far on my account is…well…I can't say it properly. Thank you." Ulric said awkwardly.
The Elf brought his hand down on Ulric’s shoulder hard enough to set his feet stinging, his wide smile taking in Ulric and the smith guided his hand to the runes inscribed on the blade’s core. Black inscription of some material that glittered menacingly from its inlay felt oddly warm to his hand.
“The rest of the crafting is superb, easily my best work to date,” Commented Uldin with casualness hiding his excitement by a whisker, “But this is what makes it yours and yours alone Glade Chief. Push your core’s strength into the runes and keep your hands away from the edges. You will not need the priming charge of mana in the future, it drinks the mana from the air.”
Ulric did so, feeling the lightning magic in his body rush headlong into the symbols, they flared violet before returning to their obsidian tone, one after the other, as if the etched signs were being read aloud through the mana.
Edges of the blade pulsed and Ulric felt a bodily hesitation to be close to those sharpened lengths. This thing that Uldin had made was dangerous. And it wanted to do harm.
He looked up at the Smith who radiated joy, even as he stood away. Like a parent watching his child wed away happily.
“I did as you said that I could, and used the [Forest Lord]’s core to perform the anchoring of the enchantments. You would not believe the malevolent violence that resided inside those facets, within the mana itself.” Ulric confided as if sharing a secret, “It tried to destroy me three times, even while I rendered it into the runes. This weapon will not fade, its spells will not fail, and it will cut. It will cut almost anything. I could not find anything in this entire shop that it could not cut, even its own stock is scratched by the magic of the edge. Truly it holds the Glade’s wrath inside it.”
Ulric shook his head in wonder at the working, unbelieving. So this is how you use a beast’s core eh? He couldn’t help but quietly laugh to himself. Magical bullshit. A faecraft sword imbued with a maddened fell creature’s spirit. The first life he ever ended on this world, bound into a weapon to serve him. Now this was something fantastic.
Taipan broke her silence, intoning “So the Old Terror died, and so it now lives again, its purpose returned to guard the [Forest of the Forgotten] from any who would intrude on its domain.”
She pulled her gaze from the Artifact on the table and held him with her intensity. Her musical voice pitched low she told him “This is your House’s herald, its standard and symbol of your line, Ulric. The [Forest Lord]’s core would have been declaration enough of your status but this, this Xef’tocht is far beyond a simple declaration. It is a threat towards those who would put themselves against you and yours.”
Her lovely lips lifted in a wry smile.
“Do I need to tell you not to lose it, Ulric?” She asked drily.
He returned her grin with his own. No, indeed. The sword alone was a treasure beyond words. A treasure that far exceeded the pittance of knowledge and material he’d traded for it. Even the core that breathed arcane life into the metal’s enchantments was a far lesser thing than the whole itself.
Galed Uldin rubbed a finger under his nose and cleared his throat before he embarrassed himself before his guests.
“Before I unman myself, take a look at my other little project. Ahh, now this was a bit of fun!” The Smith led them over to another spot in the smithy. There on a wooden bust was Ulric’s armor.
Or, at least, it had been. Somehow, the old craftsman had made a wonder that almost dwarfed even the magnificence of the sword.
Where Ulric had roughly cobbled leather straps, bindings, and crude plates of bone with his forest tools, the Master had shaved, shaped, and bound immaculate fittings of layered plates. In a striking divergence, the bones were no longer bleached white but had been polished to a glasslike smoothness and lacquered black.
It was still a vaguely Roman-style cuirass, but far more…draconic. Just as the overlapping fish-scale armor worn under Elven coats and plates was used to emphasize flexibility, now, so too did his bone plates, in larger, faceted, scales. The much larger layers of hardened bone had been recessed so that they overlapped to close the gaps that had existed in his old design. The whole thing appeared as a hybridization of Roman and far Eastern, perhaps, Feudal Japan, stylization. Gone were his lacings, replaced now by rivets, to secure the thing to a sub-armor of peened links, chain mail, to close what few weaknesses there were over joints. His Pauldrons had been given similar treatment, they now fitted in overlaps that would no longer inhibit his shoulders at all. Underneath it all, the [Forest Lord] leather remained, offering that ancient beast's protection should anything slip past the polished bone plates.
The matching vambrace, shin guards, and armored skirt were likewise repurposed and reborn to suit Uldin's vision. Lastly, wholly made new, as Ulric had lacked the skill, was a helmet made from the skull of the old terror. Far too large to be worn in its entirety, of course, it had been reduced, truncated to mold to his form. The lower jaw had been carved into a visor that could be lowered into place to cover the front of his face, giving the helmet the visage of a smaller version of that monster. More chain mail draped from the helmet to cover his neck.
The deathless metal Sith was a creation of menace and destructive intent. This bone and chain set was art. Elegant, practical, efficiently engineered art.
Ulric looked to the large Elf who stood almost bashfully to the side.
"Uldin…what were you thinking? I can't take that armor. That's…it's…you remade it almost entirely from scratch?" Ulric asked, perplexed. Awed.
A sword and armor, both gifts of untold worth. Brighteyes had spoken of Dungeons and Artifacts, back in the Glade. He'd whispered in a hushed voice of creations beyond what could be made by the races today. Blades that never dulled. Shields that drank the mana of magics directed against them. Exotic devices produced eternal songs that lulled listeners into a timeless daze.
Xef’tocht was one in truth, its potency and form left no doubt of that. Ulric had a feeling that this armor was, while not as magically potent, it was in the same ballpark as those deep-delved items of yore. A team of machinists couldn't have fabricated those plates with more precision or fitted them with such subtlety. Ulric didn't have to put it on to know that it would fit perfectly, and would shed nearly any conventional weapon that it came across. It would take a weapon as great as the blade the Elf had crafted to defeat it.
There was no way Ulric could wear that. He'd turn heads wherever he went. Rumors would fly. His plan required becoming invisible, that armor would mark him as some kind of conquering Hero out of legend. He couldn't accept such a thing.
A sheepish grin took over the Smith's face as he saw his artistry appreciated. His eyes fairly burned from excitement as his hand stroked the gleaming umber helmet.
"I admit that I got a little carried away. But the ideas! They would not stop. I dreamt of the shapings of the plates! I could not eat without seeing the lapping of riveted, faceted geometries that would turn sword, spear, arrow, or knife. That thing drove me mad Glade Chief, and happier I have not been in forty years.” Exulted the Smith happily, beginning to pace manically.
He started fiddling with securing straps, demonstrating their bindings and adjustments and, for all that he gave his attention to the two people in the room, they might not have been there as he muttered, “I will make others like it, improving on it, using this prototype to outstrip it.”
Turning back to Ulric and his partner Galed Uldin said shamelessly of his artwork “Forgive me for saying, but that piece will be the least of the armors I make in the next few years.”
Aaand he was gone again, inspecting the flawless plates, their polished surfaces, and articulating interfaces.
Ulric heard the melodic pitch of the smith’s voice coming from around his broad back as he lifted it from its place on the bust, “And the enchantments!” the Elf said, stuffing his work into Ulric’s arms.
“I have not even been able to devise the proper runic layers and mana weave that will render it untouchable. It is mundane. A masterwork, but not quite an artifact. Yet. Return it to me, Ulric, when you are done with your journey this year. I will finish it. Right now? It is merely my finest bit of armoring. It is a child's toy compared to what I will do in a decade's time." Assured the savant, pointing to his temple, where the ideas were still turning around breaking and reforming.
"If only the Svartalfin would have shown me their techniques!” Uldin moaned, suddenly aggravated and slightly sad.
“This thing you brought me, it used many of their concepts, and arrangements of material that I had never had the chance to see up close. For giving me so great a passion again you will take this armor and your enemies will come to know it with as much fear as the Mad Guardian from whose body it was made. And. If you should come to the lands of the Svartalfin, underneath the Heaven's Reach Mountains, tell them that Galed Uldin made it and return to tell me of the expression on their faces." Commanded Uldin with a look of supreme satisfaction.
Galed Uldin would not be denied in this. Ulric wasn't worthy to wear something so precious. His mission precluded its use, at least until a moment of utmost need drove him. When that time came, he could imagine what beautiful horror he would enact on the bastards that had given him so much pain, had violated the sanctity of his forest home. It was with an effort that Ulric pulled his thoughts out of a pool of blood, driving back the raging voice to its cubby in his hindbrain. That thing got a little unhinged if he dwelt on it too forcefully.
It was with an air of Arthur receiving Excalibur that Ulric took Xef'tocht, the Glade Wrath, and belted it onto a clever half-sheath that fit across his back. All it took was a pull to free a tensioning strap and a twist to unlatch the two sides of the sheath, freeing the blade. Uldin showed him how to refit the sheathe to its blade and recommended a few hours of practice to commit the task to body memory.
The armor Ulric wrapped in [Bolt Deer] hide, bundled so that it would not be seen. That bundle went into the bottom of his pack. He'd try it on, somewhere private to be sure he could don the gear in a hurry but he'd not wear it casually or until it was time to do a great deal of killing. So not until later. Maybe sooner than later.
"Oh! And Ulric?" said Uldin suddenly, as if it had only just occurred to him, "Keep my Little Girl safe eh? You are pretty, but I will hold you responsible for anything that happens to her. If she dies, friend of my kin or no, I will have to kill you." the Elf said, softly.
Soft as a velvet glove over a diamond fist.
"Heard and understood, Smith Uldin. Wish us luck." Ulric said, with a salute that was not mocking at all.
