The pair of, he had a hard time getting his head around it, siblings, had given Ulric much to think on and he withdrew mentally trusting his guides to keep things on track.
Well, alright, more like, trusting Brighteyes to keep things on track, the other one he was pretty sure would sprinkle poison into her footprints if she thought it would soak through his boots.
Damn it. Why had life gotten so damned complicated so damned quickly? Elf cultural nonsense, a war, the possibility of his having triggered the entire thing by killing the [Forest Lord], and lastly, but certainly not leastly, the distinct possibility that he was going batshit. The disturbing internal changes that he was experiencing were occupying Ulric's thoughts completely. He couldn't even enjoy properly the incredible diffuse capital city unfolding above him, which was a damned shame because it was, objectively, an absolute treasure.
Eventually though, they came to a rather large river. Brighteyes told him its name but he wasn't paying enough attention to remember. It took the arrival of a huge lift platform to snap him out of his funk. Huge ropes anchored to the opposite sides of the eight meter square (for once) platform, all along the sides in a network, like a fishing net. It looked like one anchor every meter or so and they were meshed with the others, forming a woven array that, eventually, joined into a single mammoth cable. It must be on an incredibly large spool.
Ulric may have underestimated the potential for the elves to move large masses from the forest floor into the arboreal metropolis. That lift was super overkill for just people. Experimentally, he tapped the wood below his feet with the points of his metal trident. A low pitched clang rang out, plank left completely unmarked. This material was harder than his [Steelwood] trees, maybe harder than whatever the hell metal the trident was made of. Impervious, it seemed. Which begged the question, how the hell had they cut and milled it? Even more questions. Gods he'd love to put this stuff under a hydraulic press and get its stress strain curve. He bet the modulus would be way closer to the gigapascals of steel than it would be to the kilopascals of regular timber. Magical wood. Go ahead, think it. It's fine, we all did. Now that's out of our systems. Even the sound it made when struck was sharper than it should be. Lower pitched, granted, than most metals but who the hell knew how the fibers were arranged in there? They wove and knotted in the visible surface grains, almost like Celtic patterns with the saplines contrasting strongly.
Kneeling down, Ulric drew his fingers across the surface, feeling the distinct grain, though at a very high degree of polish. This platform had been sanded. Sanded fine, that had to be at least a thousand grit finish, maybe more like three thousand. Microgrit grade sanding on a material harder than metal? Gods’ blood, who did they hate enough to give that job to? Though, maybe they didn't even have to sand it, maybe it grew like that...he wasn't in Kansas anymore, that was sure.
Brighteyes noticed his examination but said nothing. The same was true of Taipan, just with more scowling.
"Hmmm…." he murmured still crouched, trident held as a resting pole. He drew his bone knife and dropped the point against the surface. It bit. Barely. That confirmed some of his suspicions about the mysterious strength of the [Forest Lord] bones. He could have been more aggressive about dealing with those arrows. They'd never have penetrated the plates of his armor, same with her knife.
What a monster, to have bones made of something like this.
Satisfied with that test, he re-sheathed the knife and placed his hand against the grain. This time he drew gently on his core, just touching the mana circulating through his body. He'd practiced this many times back on the plateau, while he'd learned to create his basic elemental spells. The ability had come with his Elementalist class, after an incredible amount of time sitting like a Jedi out in the woods just...feeling...the world with his core.
Eyes closed, he concentrated, felt the cycle of hot turning cold, the pulse all his of own against the world. Slowly, faintly, there was a…resistance, a counter beat. It was difficult to describe but he found that, with practice, he could use his own core to "sound" mana sort of like a set of tuning forks. The component elements, primordials rang a single note, pure, distinct, and unmistakable. Also scary as fuck for their purity, like they'd destroy you for the arrogance of playing god to touch them. The derived or natural elements were more nuanced, like a chord, safe, stable, workable. Living things were a song, harmonies and melodies interplaying.
What passed for his spellwork was like a new guitarist trying to figure out how to play by reading taps. Just having the notes wasn't good enough to make music. He understood what the major principles were, but he didn't know the technicality to construct anything truly incredible on his own. Just because you recognize "fire" doesn't mean you can wield it as your own. He'd barely scraped the surface of what his core could do or what possibility might be waiting if only he weren’t so damned ignorant.
This platform, the substance of it, was a grand orchestra. Whatever tree had produced this timber was a marvel of the elements. It harmonized heavily with the strength of Terra, the solid stone roots of the world, but with Aquae’s fluidity tempering this rigidity with flexibility. Germen, the mana of plant growth, wove into these, pulling them together, like the base beat keeping the cohesive whole, Sano, the essence of health, kept it healthy and strong, and through it all rang out Vita, the purity of life. This wood wasn't dead. It lived still, somehow, without leaves or roots, but, slowly, like it was hibernating.
Ulric looked up to Brighteyes unable to put his thoughts and sensations into words. "What the hell kind of tree made this platform Brighteyes? I've never felt anything like it."
The both of them had been watching him intently. The young prince with interest at what surprises his benefactor might offer now with this odd pulsing mana, the viperish Hunter with suspicion at what evils he was enacting. At Ulric's question, Taipan frowned and made a gesture as if to cut Brighteyes off. Now he was really damned curious.
"What do you feel Ulric? What does the wood say to your senses?" Brighteyes asked, answering question with question.
Damn, he hated when they went all Socrates on him.
"It feels like this entire platform is made of a single tree that might as well be living stone. It bends, if you have enough force, but it won't break. Ever. It heals itself. It's alive, which doesn't make any sense, because it's clearly been worked. Sawn, planed, sanded, it's one of the most processed materials I've seen in your structures, but it's still goddamned alive. Just. I dunno…asleep or something. It's like, if you just sit in on the ground for a while it'll put down roots and start growing again."
He did his best to describe it but he was well beyond his experience. This shit just didn't exist on Earth. It didn't have any analogues either. As a matter of fact, there was a lot of that going around. There was no good reason why the [Forest Lord]'s bone should be as hard as it was without being massively heavy. A wooden deck platform should not be able to hold anything remotely close to the weight suggested that it did by those cables. It had been a little while since Ulric had gotten the pure strangeness of Varda thrown into his face. Impossible materials made his teeth itch.
However, Brighteyes only expressed agreement with his rambling summary.
"This is more so than not, Ulric. These lifts, and many of our strongest buildings, they are all made from the same tree. The [Heartwood]. It only grows here in Iriel. We believe that it is related to the Great Ones of the [Plateau of Ancients], perhaps an offshoot. To our tales it was a gift from those who have gone before to the elves. Only Elven craftsmen can work it, Svartalfin try but they say it dulls their tools too quickly to be worth the effort. The wood is still alive, can still grow, when treated properly. This platform, one day, will return to the soil and become a new tree. Long, long after the end of our time. Dead, the wood is worth nothing, it becomes brittle, falls apart. There are several such trees in the deep wood but we learn that making something out of lumber from the same tree causes the pieces to grow together, to join, become a single piece. These are some of the secrets that the Humans who would become our enemies, want to take for themselves."
Taipan, as usual, objected to Ulric's anything.
"Yes, and this creature is one of them! These are not secrets to be giving away to an enemy, Lumyt'seit. You have no idea where this animal will run off to, no doubt to sell such knowledge."
Ulric had been willing to keep the peace. He was purely fine putting the past behind them, and taking the odd jab here or there from this lady to not make trouble beyond what he'd already apologized for. But this Elf was on his last nerve with the animal stuff. Enough was enough.
Standing upright Ulric threw aside all pretense of amiability. Veins stood out on forearms, his grip on the trident made the weapon vibrate and he radiated threat. He was all but channeling mana, core thrumming with intent. Whatever that thing was that was growing in his skull was making noise like a diesel engine, each rumble a different promise of violence.
"Hear me well, you vicious kvetch: I gave you a pass, because your brother asked. Because he asked, and for no other reason, Taipan, you are alive when I very much wanted otherwise and when I definitely could have made it otherwise. You would call me an enemy to this young man for whom I have deepest respect and towards a people with whom I hold no grudge, on the side of the evil ones I killed to keep him from their grasp. I agreed to let offenses of the past slide. But past is past and now I have heard you call me animal for the last time in this life. If you offer me one more insult, I'll come over there and break you like kindling over my knee, you mark my words."
He meant it. All of it. As quickly as that, she had gone from a person to a thing, a snake in truth. And not one he was going to leave alive to bite him later. He might not be able to win a fair fight but he wasn't going to give her a fair fight. If one more ugly word crossed those wonderful lips he was going to go after her with every last thing he had. This was why he hated dealing with people, it seemed as if, for every Brighteyes, there were fifty Taipans.
She was considering it, he saw it in her eyes. Weighing the odds. Pride, contempt, and some flicker of something, worry? Washed through her features almost too fast to discern. He knew because he was already awash with adrenaline, his entire being on the edge of violent motion, and focused on her every move. Ultimately, something settled it in her mind. Whether it was the open hostility in his voice or his posture he did not know. Maybe it was the last dying gasp of her sense of self preservation. Probably it was the disappointment in her kin's eyes, the frown on his face that she would throw aside his feelings. Whatever the case, she turned her back on him, unwilling even to look at him.
"Fine. I still think you do not belong here. I believe you should go back to wherever you come from and leave Elven land to Elves. But I cannot stop my brother from patronage and he is free to choose his pet…partners even an… a human. This is on your head now Lumyt'seit, I wash my hands of it."
Not even waiting for a response from either of them, she activated the lift. It rose rather more quickly than Ulric was expecting. Just a minute later they reached the landing area and the first of the civilization of Iriel Ulric could see from the perspective of their natives. Before the lift even came to rest, Taipan was gone, simply jumping from the lift to bound off across walkways, turning and twisting away between the arboreal alleys.
Never in two lives had he never been so glad to see someone gone.
Sonofabitch, what a vile personality he thought. And he would know, he'd never been that companionable a human, but, yikes.
"Brighteyes, how is it possible that you and that creature, are related?" He asked.
Brighteyes sighed deeply.
"I am sorry Ulric. This is how she is. Not all elves hateful like that towards the Otherkin. Not even most. We just want to live our lives in peace. It is difficult for, what are you calling my sister, a Taipon?"
"Taipan, Brighteyes. They're a venomous snake in my old world. Notorious for lethally toxic venom and high aggression." He corrected.
"Mmm. This is apt. Geyrt, Taipan, has a deep resentment against Humans and Beastkin. Long before I was born, my father had another son, his first born. He was elder to Geyrt and she worshipped him, followed him everywhere is what I have been told. He was visiting the Zellussin, the Riverfolk, carrying messages from father to their chief. A band of Humans and Beastkin pirates raided the boat he was on, mercenaries, hired by Prosper, the power that controls the city states of Prespang's Human territories. They butchered all the passengers, burned the boat, trying to cover their tracks. Father finds out anyway and goes himself to kill them all, they remember still the Blood Moon, even a hundred years later. He declared Iriel a grave yard to unpermitted travel by Humans or Beastkin. Sister never forgave the Otherkin who took her brother. She became a Hunter, to kill any who enter Elven land without permit, to be a weapon for her kin. My father does not look kindly upon the people of Prosper, the human city where those pirates were from, and who were paying them to steal cargo from Elven barges, even now, when those who did this thing are gone." Brighteyes explained, an old sadness in his voice.
"It is a thing of Elves to only care deeply for few people. It is hurtful to lose loved ones and long is the grief of one who lives as long as we do. This is why we marry only once or twice even in such a long span of time. Even most Aes'r interact with each other as only acquaintances, it is difficult to be accepted into an inner ring or tight social circle. You must normally be introduced by one of the members first, and they will only do this if they trust you completely. I explain this to you so you can understand. My sister is far more isolated than most, and her brother was one of the only true rings she have, and the one she was closest to most of her life. Then he was taken and she closed herself off for a very long time. When I was born, she attached to me and we are as the vine to the tree. I love my sister and she is devoted to me. It would have hurt her savagely to imagine losing me the way she lost her elder brother. I do not excuse her treatment of you, you are right to stand up for yourself, no elf would swallow such insults and she knows this. I only tell you this so you understand it is not you she hates, not really. She hates the ones who took her family, her only friends."
Now that was a bitter tale indeed. For all the wonder and fantastic of this world, Varda was no perfect paradise. That did little to ease the sting of being treated like garbage. But, at least, it was almost understandable. Even so. Ulric had given her his word and he intended to keep it. Brighteyes was a good person but his sister was an asshole. It took one to know one.
"So, explain for me why you two look so different. I haven't seen anyone since we got here so I can't compare. Are there major differences in appearance in Elven folk? Even inside the same families?" Ulric was hoping these questions weren't rude but he was heading deep into foreign lands and he wanted to know enough not to say anything that would get him challenged to a duel every few steps. And besides, this was awkward as hell and he needed a distraction badly.
Brighteyes did look a little more relieved to find a safer topic while they walked through the emptied city. It was sort of creepy, like being watched by the ghosts of the vanished people. Ulric wasn't even sure if that wasn't a real thing. If there was magic, too beautiful fae-folk, and whatnot, who knows what other jeepers creepers were running around from his previous life's folklore.
"That much is clear if you see our parents. My father has three wives, he is, ummm…unusual in this respect. But it is less uncommon for rulers to marry multiple times, the confederate clans like to solidify ties through kinship. In any case, my mother is from the Highlands, Melond, and they have pale skin and hair, it is she I take after, mostly. Geyrt's mother is from Iriel, the deep wood Elves tend to be darker in coloration. Father himself is very similar in appearance to Geyrt. The various tribes do intermarry, this is part of the purpose of Winter festival, but there are distinct differences in their appearances, for the most part. Only the nomadic clan, Narii', who have no home and travel throughout Orlethrem have no definitive appearance, they intermarry too frequently." Brighteyes lectured.
Ulric was glad of the instruction, it lessened the heavy atmosphere of the empty streets, which should have been teeming with peoples living their lives, and the discord between himself and the lad's terror of a sister. So, there were different clans. And the clans were united under a sort of common banner, which is what Orlethrem was, a confederated nation. Kind of like the Iroquois. That was sort of nifty. He was going to ask about linguistic differences before he realized how dumb that was here. Varda had some kind of species language connection through the Akashic record. They just spoke Elf.
This Father person sounded like a tough pill. If he was anything like his daughter Ulric was headed for the hills, magic teachers and trade be damned.
"You've mentioned your dad a lot. What's he like? His name was Bald'rt right?" Ulric asked, as casually as he could manage.
Brighteyes actually smiled. Ok that was a good sign.
"Father is chief of Iriel. To be precise, he is [Lord of the Deep Wood], and is much respected in Orlethrem. So much so that in the last moot, some fifty years ago, he was named Crown, the tie breaker for votes and war leader should Orlethrem go to war, which they have, so he is acting lord of Orlethrem at this moment. Father is…the strongest person I know. He is doting on his children but relentless against enemies. Some of his court are terrified of him, and I have heard rumors of his younger days, when he was of wilder temper, but I never see that side of him." Brighteyes instructed, thoroughly scaring the shit out of him.
"Ah," the golden haired youth exclaimed, as if remembering something important, "Ulric, you must never instigate or challenge Father. You would beat my sister but my father would destroy you and not notice. His is not called Iriel's Blood Moon for nothing. You have a habit of searching for places to put needles, even if you don't drive them as deeply as you might. This is possibly unwise with Father. He might laugh if the jape is well pointed, you two have the same sort of humor, but if you say something insulting out of bounds, from ignorance, he will put you on the challenge floor before the hour and kill you dead. I have seen this myself. A new ambassador, ignorant, puffed up and full of himself, questioned my heritage because of my skin and hair, the fool did not bother seeing my eyes and bones are clearly from the paternal line, and Father ended the drought beneath the man's feet before he was finished speaking." Brighteyes finished narrating, still smiling.
Alrighty then, Ulric thought. Don't dick around with the Elf king. Actually, the way the kid was still smiling, as if at a funny story about somebody getting a dirt nap, and the way he'd used his knife and bow, maybe don't dick around with the Elf prince either. The sister was no slouch, come to think of it. You know what? Just maybe think twice about fucking around with any of them.
Wait that drought thing, that was familiar.
"You know, Brighteyes, your sister threatened me with that. Ending the drought, and all. What does that mean exactly? I have a guess but I'd like to confirm it with you." Ulric prompted.
"Oh, that means to open the belly so that the organs fall to the ground and perforate the heart, letting the lifeblood empty where they stand. It is considered shameful, because of how badly you fight that an opponent can create such wounds. Most combats are expected to end when one fighter cannot hold a weapon from wounds to the arms and hands, stand from wounds to the legs, or through a fatal stab if defenses are open. But to take a broad cut across the body is to fight like a pig."
Sonofabitching elves just did not play around at all. Might be hope for getting along with these people after all, if they didn't fucking kill him.
Ulric found himself laughing. Brighteyes asked his question with a raising of his namesake.
"Nothing little man. Just thinking that you Aes'r are my kind of people after all."
Brighteyes nodded back at him, his smile turning into a rare grin.
"I am not a man but you are not wrong. You are worms in head Ulric but are of a kind with the Elves. It will be a shame if you die young." the young elf told him confidently
"Word." Ulric replied.
The pair of, he had a hard time getting his head around it, siblings, had given Ulric much to think on and he withdrew mentally trusting his guides to keep things on track.
Well, alright, more like, trusting Brighteyes to keep things on track, the other one he was pretty sure would sprinkle poison into her footprints if she thought it would soak through his boots.
Damn it. Why had life gotten so damned complicated so damned quickly? Elf cultural nonsense, a war, the possibility of his having triggered the entire thing by killing the [Forest Lord], and lastly, but certainly not leastly, the distinct possibility that he was going batshit. The disturbing internal changes that he was experiencing were occupying Ulric's thoughts completely. He couldn't even enjoy properly the incredible diffuse capital city unfolding above him, which was a damned shame because it was, objectively, an absolute treasure.
Eventually though, they came to a rather large river. Brighteyes told him its name but he wasn't paying enough attention to remember. It took the arrival of a huge lift platform to snap him out of his funk. Huge ropes anchored to the opposite sides of the eight meter square (for once) platform, all along the sides in a network, like a fishing net. It looked like one anchor every meter or so and they were meshed with the others, forming a woven array that, eventually, joined into a single mammoth cable. It must be on an incredibly large spool.
Ulric may have underestimated the potential for the elves to move large masses from the forest floor into the arboreal metropolis. That lift was super overkill for just people. Experimentally, he tapped the wood below his feet with the points of his metal trident. A low pitched clang rang out, plank left completely unmarked. This material was harder than his [Steelwood] trees, maybe harder than whatever the hell metal the trident was made of. Impervious, it seemed. Which begged the question, how the hell had they cut and milled it? Even more questions. Gods he'd love to put this stuff under a hydraulic press and get its stress strain curve. He bet the modulus would be way closer to the gigapascals of steel than it would be to the kilopascals of regular timber. Magical wood. Go ahead, think it. It's fine, we all did. Now that's out of our systems. Even the sound it made when struck was sharper than it should be. Lower pitched, granted, than most metals but who the hell knew how the fibers were arranged in there? They wove and knotted in the visible surface grains, almost like Celtic patterns with the saplines contrasting strongly.
Kneeling down, Ulric drew his fingers across the surface, feeling the distinct grain, though at a very high degree of polish. This platform had been sanded. Sanded fine, that had to be at least a thousand grit finish, maybe more like three thousand. Microgrit grade sanding on a material harder than metal? Gods’ blood, who did they hate enough to give that job to? Though, maybe they didn't even have to sand it, maybe it grew like that...he wasn't in Kansas anymore, that was sure.
Brighteyes noticed his examination but said nothing. The same was true of Taipan, just with more scowling.
"Hmmm…." he murmured still crouched, trident held as a resting pole. He drew his bone knife and dropped the point against the surface. It bit. Barely. That confirmed some of his suspicions about the mysterious strength of the [Forest Lord] bones. He could have been more aggressive about dealing with those arrows. They'd never have penetrated the plates of his armor, same with her knife.
What a monster, to have bones made of something like this.
Satisfied with that test, he re-sheathed the knife and placed his hand against the grain. This time he drew gently on his core, just touching the mana circulating through his body. He'd practiced this many times back on the plateau, while he'd learned to create his basic elemental spells. The ability had come with his Elementalist class, after an incredible amount of time sitting like a Jedi out in the woods just...feeling...the world with his core.
Eyes closed, he concentrated, felt the cycle of hot turning cold, the pulse all his of own against the world. Slowly, faintly, there was a…resistance, a counter beat. It was difficult to describe but he found that, with practice, he could use his own core to "sound" mana sort of like a set of tuning forks. The component elements, primordials rang a single note, pure, distinct, and unmistakable. Also scary as fuck for their purity, like they'd destroy you for the arrogance of playing god to touch them. The derived or natural elements were more nuanced, like a chord, safe, stable, workable. Living things were a song, harmonies and melodies interplaying.
What passed for his spellwork was like a new guitarist trying to figure out how to play by reading taps. Just having the notes wasn't good enough to make music. He understood what the major principles were, but he didn't know the technicality to construct anything truly incredible on his own. Just because you recognize "fire" doesn't mean you can wield it as your own. He'd barely scraped the surface of what his core could do or what possibility might be waiting if only he weren’t so damned ignorant.
This platform, the substance of it, was a grand orchestra. Whatever tree had produced this timber was a marvel of the elements. It harmonized heavily with the strength of Terra, the solid stone roots of the world, but with Aquae’s fluidity tempering this rigidity with flexibility. Germen, the mana of plant growth, wove into these, pulling them together, like the base beat keeping the cohesive whole, Sano, the essence of health, kept it healthy and strong, and through it all rang out Vita, the purity of life. This wood wasn't dead. It lived still, somehow, without leaves or roots, but, slowly, like it was hibernating.
Ulric looked up to Brighteyes unable to put his thoughts and sensations into words. "What the hell kind of tree made this platform Brighteyes? I've never felt anything like it."
The both of them had been watching him intently. The young prince with interest at what surprises his benefactor might offer now with this odd pulsing mana, the viperish Hunter with suspicion at what evils he was enacting. At Ulric's question, Taipan frowned and made a gesture as if to cut Brighteyes off. Now he was really damned curious.
"What do you feel Ulric? What does the wood say to your senses?" Brighteyes asked, answering question with question.
Damn, he hated when they went all Socrates on him.
"It feels like this entire platform is made of a single tree that might as well be living stone. It bends, if you have enough force, but it won't break. Ever. It heals itself. It's alive, which doesn't make any sense, because it's clearly been worked. Sawn, planed, sanded, it's one of the most processed materials I've seen in your structures, but it's still goddamned alive. Just. I dunno…asleep or something. It's like, if you just sit in on the ground for a while it'll put down roots and start growing again."
He did his best to describe it but he was well beyond his experience. This shit just didn't exist on Earth. It didn't have any analogues either. As a matter of fact, there was a lot of that going around. There was no good reason why the [Forest Lord]'s bone should be as hard as it was without being massively heavy. A wooden deck platform should not be able to hold anything remotely close to the weight suggested that it did by those cables. It had been a little while since Ulric had gotten the pure strangeness of Varda thrown into his face. Impossible materials made his teeth itch.
However, Brighteyes only expressed agreement with his rambling summary.
"This is more so than not, Ulric. These lifts, and many of our strongest buildings, they are all made from the same tree. The [Heartwood]. It only grows here in Iriel. We believe that it is related to the Great Ones of the [Plateau of Ancients], perhaps an offshoot. To our tales it was a gift from those who have gone before to the elves. Only Elven craftsmen can work it, Svartalfin try but they say it dulls their tools too quickly to be worth the effort. The wood is still alive, can still grow, when treated properly. This platform, one day, will return to the soil and become a new tree. Long, long after the end of our time. Dead, the wood is worth nothing, it becomes brittle, falls apart. There are several such trees in the deep wood but we learn that making something out of lumber from the same tree causes the pieces to grow together, to join, become a single piece. These are some of the secrets that the Humans who would become our enemies, want to take for themselves."
Taipan, as usual, objected to Ulric's anything.
"Yes, and this creature is one of them! These are not secrets to be giving away to an enemy, Lumyt'seit. You have no idea where this animal will run off to, no doubt to sell such knowledge."
Ulric had been willing to keep the peace. He was purely fine putting the past behind them, and taking the odd jab here or there from this lady to not make trouble beyond what he'd already apologized for. But this Elf was on his last nerve with the animal stuff. Enough was enough.
Standing upright Ulric threw aside all pretense of amiability. Veins stood out on forearms, his grip on the trident made the weapon vibrate and he radiated threat. He was all but channeling mana, core thrumming with intent. Whatever that thing was that was growing in his skull was making noise like a diesel engine, each rumble a different promise of violence.
"Hear me well, you vicious kvetch: I gave you a pass, because your brother asked. Because he asked, and for no other reason, Taipan, you are alive when I very much wanted otherwise and when I definitely could have made it otherwise. You would call me an enemy to this young man for whom I have deepest respect and towards a people with whom I hold no grudge, on the side of the evil ones I killed to keep him from their grasp. I agreed to let offenses of the past slide. But past is past and now I have heard you call me animal for the last time in this life. If you offer me one more insult, I'll come over there and break you like kindling over my knee, you mark my words."
He meant it. All of it. As quickly as that, she had gone from a person to a thing, a snake in truth. And not one he was going to leave alive to bite him later. He might not be able to win a fair fight but he wasn't going to give her a fair fight. If one more ugly word crossed those wonderful lips he was going to go after her with every last thing he had. This was why he hated dealing with people, it seemed as if, for every Brighteyes, there were fifty Taipans.
She was considering it, he saw it in her eyes. Weighing the odds. Pride, contempt, and some flicker of something, worry? Washed through her features almost too fast to discern. He knew because he was already awash with adrenaline, his entire being on the edge of violent motion, and focused on her every move. Ultimately, something settled it in her mind. Whether it was the open hostility in his voice or his posture he did not know. Maybe it was the last dying gasp of her sense of self preservation. Probably it was the disappointment in her kin's eyes, the frown on his face that she would throw aside his feelings. Whatever the case, she turned her back on him, unwilling even to look at him.
"Fine. I still think you do not belong here. I believe you should go back to wherever you come from and leave Elven land to Elves. But I cannot stop my brother from patronage and he is free to choose his pet…partners even an… a human. This is on your head now Lumyt'seit, I wash my hands of it."
Not even waiting for a response from either of them, she activated the lift. It rose rather more quickly than Ulric was expecting. Just a minute later they reached the landing area and the first of the civilization of Iriel Ulric could see from the perspective of their natives. Before the lift even came to rest, Taipan was gone, simply jumping from the lift to bound off across walkways, turning and twisting away between the arboreal alleys.
Never in two lives had he never been so glad to see someone gone.
Sonofabitch, what a vile personality he thought. And he would know, he'd never been that companionable a human, but, yikes.
"Brighteyes, how is it possible that you and that creature, are related?" He asked.
Brighteyes sighed deeply.
"I am sorry Ulric. This is how she is. Not all elves hateful like that towards the Otherkin. Not even most. We just want to live our lives in peace. It is difficult for, what are you calling my sister, a Taipon?"
"Taipan, Brighteyes. They're a venomous snake in my old world. Notorious for lethally toxic venom and high aggression." He corrected.
"Mmm. This is apt. Geyrt, Taipan, has a deep resentment against Humans and Beastkin. Long before I was born, my father had another son, his first born. He was elder to Geyrt and she worshipped him, followed him everywhere is what I have been told. He was visiting the Zellussin, the Riverfolk, carrying messages from father to their chief. A band of Humans and Beastkin pirates raided the boat he was on, mercenaries, hired by Prosper, the power that controls the city states of Prespang's Human territories. They butchered all the passengers, burned the boat, trying to cover their tracks. Father finds out anyway and goes himself to kill them all, they remember still the Blood Moon, even a hundred years later. He declared Iriel a grave yard to unpermitted travel by Humans or Beastkin. Sister never forgave the Otherkin who took her brother. She became a Hunter, to kill any who enter Elven land without permit, to be a weapon for her kin. My father does not look kindly upon the people of Prosper, the human city where those pirates were from, and who were paying them to steal cargo from Elven barges, even now, when those who did this thing are gone." Brighteyes explained, an old sadness in his voice.
"It is a thing of Elves to only care deeply for few people. It is hurtful to lose loved ones and long is the grief of one who lives as long as we do. This is why we marry only once or twice even in such a long span of time. Even most Aes'r interact with each other as only acquaintances, it is difficult to be accepted into an inner ring or tight social circle. You must normally be introduced by one of the members first, and they will only do this if they trust you completely. I explain this to you so you can understand. My sister is far more isolated than most, and her brother was one of the only true rings she have, and the one she was closest to most of her life. Then he was taken and she closed herself off for a very long time. When I was born, she attached to me and we are as the vine to the tree. I love my sister and she is devoted to me. It would have hurt her savagely to imagine losing me the way she lost her elder brother. I do not excuse her treatment of you, you are right to stand up for yourself, no elf would swallow such insults and she knows this. I only tell you this so you understand it is not you she hates, not really. She hates the ones who took her family, her only friends."
Now that was a bitter tale indeed. For all the wonder and fantastic of this world, Varda was no perfect paradise. That did little to ease the sting of being treated like garbage. But, at least, it was almost understandable. Even so. Ulric had given her his word and he intended to keep it. Brighteyes was a good person but his sister was an asshole. It took one to know one.
"So, explain for me why you two look so different. I haven't seen anyone since we got here so I can't compare. Are there major differences in appearance in Elven folk? Even inside the same families?" Ulric was hoping these questions weren't rude but he was heading deep into foreign lands and he wanted to know enough not to say anything that would get him challenged to a duel every few steps. And besides, this was awkward as hell and he needed a distraction badly.
Brighteyes did look a little more relieved to find a safer topic while they walked through the emptied city. It was sort of creepy, like being watched by the ghosts of the vanished people. Ulric wasn't even sure if that wasn't a real thing. If there was magic, too beautiful fae-folk, and whatnot, who knows what other jeepers creepers were running around from his previous life's folklore.
"That much is clear if you see our parents. My father has three wives, he is, ummm…unusual in this respect. But it is less uncommon for rulers to marry multiple times, the confederate clans like to solidify ties through kinship. In any case, my mother is from the Highlands, Melond, and they have pale skin and hair, it is she I take after, mostly. Geyrt's mother is from Iriel, the deep wood Elves tend to be darker in coloration. Father himself is very similar in appearance to Geyrt. The various tribes do intermarry, this is part of the purpose of Winter festival, but there are distinct differences in their appearances, for the most part. Only the nomadic clan, Narii', who have no home and travel throughout Orlethrem have no definitive appearance, they intermarry too frequently." Brighteyes lectured.
Ulric was glad of the instruction, it lessened the heavy atmosphere of the empty streets, which should have been teeming with peoples living their lives, and the discord between himself and the lad's terror of a sister. So, there were different clans. And the clans were united under a sort of common banner, which is what Orlethrem was, a confederated nation. Kind of like the Iroquois. That was sort of nifty. He was going to ask about linguistic differences before he realized how dumb that was here. Varda had some kind of species language connection through the Akashic record. They just spoke Elf.
This Father person sounded like a tough pill. If he was anything like his daughter Ulric was headed for the hills, magic teachers and trade be damned.
"You've mentioned your dad a lot. What's he like? His name was Bald'rt right?" Ulric asked, as casually as he could manage.
Brighteyes actually smiled. Ok that was a good sign.
"Father is chief of Iriel. To be precise, he is [Lord of the Deep Wood], and is much respected in Orlethrem. So much so that in the last moot, some fifty years ago, he was named Crown, the tie breaker for votes and war leader should Orlethrem go to war, which they have, so he is acting lord of Orlethrem at this moment. Father is…the strongest person I know. He is doting on his children but relentless against enemies. Some of his court are terrified of him, and I have heard rumors of his younger days, when he was of wilder temper, but I never see that side of him." Brighteyes instructed, thoroughly scaring the shit out of him.
"Ah," the golden haired youth exclaimed, as if remembering something important, "Ulric, you must never instigate or challenge Father. You would beat my sister but my father would destroy you and not notice. His is not called Iriel's Blood Moon for nothing. You have a habit of searching for places to put needles, even if you don't drive them as deeply as you might. This is possibly unwise with Father. He might laugh if the jape is well pointed, you two have the same sort of humor, but if you say something insulting out of bounds, from ignorance, he will put you on the challenge floor before the hour and kill you dead. I have seen this myself. A new ambassador, ignorant, puffed up and full of himself, questioned my heritage because of my skin and hair, the fool did not bother seeing my eyes and bones are clearly from the paternal line, and Father ended the drought beneath the man's feet before he was finished speaking." Brighteyes finished narrating, still smiling.
Alrighty then, Ulric thought. Don't dick around with the Elf king. Actually, the way the kid was still smiling, as if at a funny story about somebody getting a dirt nap, and the way he'd used his knife and bow, maybe don't dick around with the Elf prince either. The sister was no slouch, come to think of it. You know what? Just maybe think twice about fucking around with any of them.
Wait that drought thing, that was familiar.
"You know, Brighteyes, your sister threatened me with that. Ending the drought, and all. What does that mean exactly? I have a guess but I'd like to confirm it with you." Ulric prompted.
"Oh, that means to open the belly so that the organs fall to the ground and perforate the heart, letting the lifeblood empty where they stand. It is considered shameful, because of how badly you fight that an opponent can create such wounds. Most combats are expected to end when one fighter cannot hold a weapon from wounds to the arms and hands, stand from wounds to the legs, or through a fatal stab if defenses are open. But to take a broad cut across the body is to fight like a pig."
Sonofabitching elves just did not play around at all. Might be hope for getting along with these people after all, if they didn't fucking kill him.
Ulric found himself laughing. Brighteyes asked his question with a raising of his namesake.
"Nothing little man. Just thinking that you Aes'r are my kind of people after all."
Brighteyes nodded back at him, his smile turning into a rare grin.
"I am not a man but you are not wrong. You are worms in head Ulric but are of a kind with the Elves. It will be a shame if you die young." the young elf told him confidently
"Word." Ulric replied.
