Ulric jerked to waking, his body tense. He'd dreamed vividly last night and often, a rarity for him. Before coming to Varda dreams remembered were unheard of. Since his arrival, he dreamed much more frequently but they were mostly harmless things. Pizza, a strange interaction with a coworker at a job long since forgotten to his waking mind, sex. Sometimes nightmares of the [Forest Lord]. Most of his nightmares had that fell beast in them somewhere, frequently including it peeling his skin off. It helped soothe him afterward to remember that he had eaten the thing and wore its own hide as his breeches and coat.
This dream had straddled the line between nightmare and abstract unreality but with such an intense presence that he had trouble shaking it off. He remembered still the pelting rain on his skin. He'd been caught out in the storm, tied to the top of the great tree that supported Irielhos. Winds laden with ice raked him viciously, and thunder deafened him. And through it all the lightning. Striking his form to a cinder. But he didn't die, instead, the falling rain rebuilt him piece by piece, the droplets made of tiny fragments of himself. He'd dreamed that he could see himself as if by an outside observer and that the falling rain was made of his own substance at times. Then again the lightning would shatter his being. Over and over. Through it all, the man tied to the tree laughed insanely.
Shivering slightly, Ulric released a held breath and extracted himself from the blankets, damp from a cold sweat.
"The hell was that all about?" He asked the room.
No answer was forthcoming so Ulric relieved himself in the bathroom. Standing before the elegant curves of the polished wooden throne he took a moment to thank all of the gods and ancestors of the lands that the Elves were masters of the mundane magics of the toilet. The majesty of plumbing operated simply, using a pulled lever that "flushed" by power of a magitech device to stream a pulse of water, and disappear waste into a sewer whose design he was sure he'd be fascinated to have described to him. Ulric gave himself a smell test and grimaced slightly. Definitely he was in need of a bath. For now, he satisfied himself with a cloth and a bucket of water, scrubbing rigorously and ridding himself of the smell of sweat. Cleanliness had returned his awareness of body odor, no longer did his brain ignore the scent of humanity on him. Probably just as well, hunting when you stank to high heaven was made far more difficult than it needed to be.
A glance through the woven veranda doors revealed darkness, indicating he'd woken pre-dawn, as had become his norm back in the glade but which habit had been disrupted these first few days amongst the Elves. Blame their booze. And their women.
Ulric stretched, arms overhead, and ran his fingers through his long hair, down past his shoulders now and still tied in a loose tail. Something would need to be done about the hair. he was finding it obnoxious. Same for the beard. He didn't mind the extra hair but it definitely needed some attention. Ulric had taken to trimming his beard with a particularly long, straight section of glassresin, near to a straight razor. He'd left that fortunate piece behind in his shelter and now regretted it. His knife was sharp enough to cut hair but didn't quite have that narrow blade geometry that made shaving easy. It would have to do though, the beard was now a soup strainer.
Pulling the bone knife free of its belt sheath Ulric used a bowl of water as a mirror and trimmed the beard back to reason, leaving its thick fullness to curl three or four centimeters from his skin. Briefly, Ulric considered completely removing the sideburns but that was a job better saved for when he had access to his razor. For now, he settled for a trim. On his hair, he enacted a solution for which he had long resolved to avoid. A braid. The loose hair of the tail was the issue and so Ulric wove the hair as he had grass, forming a tight weave that left little in the way of free strands. Ulric thought of the wooden ring that had terminated the complex braids of Geyrt and her mother Vedyr. No telling if that had some sort of cultural significance, so Ulric simply tied the end of his own far simpler weave with a leather thong to secure it.
Thus groomed, Ulric returned to the main room of the apartment and dressed. Hints of daylight, an ever so slight brightening, told the story of sunsrise not far away. Ulric opened the balcony door and was greeted by bitterly cold air, as it had been before the sudden warming, the false summer days preceding Winter's Herald. Skin prickled and Ulric basked in the refreshing flow of chilled sky around him.
The forest was transformed. Trees now denuded of their leaves stood stark. Golden browns littered the forest floor, now visible below. Only the ever-green coniferous stands kept their firlike needles. It reinforced just how high above the ground Irielhos stood now that the woodland canopy no longer acted as a raised roof. They were way the hell up there, maybe half a kilometer. Rolling hills and running creeks stretched away in the predawn twilight, still mostly hidden. Sunsrise would bring a marvelous vantage. There wasn't enough light to be certain but Ulric thought it smelled like a frost might be on.
If the grandoise moon had been in the sky he'd have been able to see as if by silvered daylight, the full moon was exceptionally bright on Varda. Come to think of it, he still didn't properly know the names for the stars this planet orbited or the moon that circled it. The suns were called The Twins and the Moon was simply the Moon. Interesting. It may have been that the Elves, with their myriad of terms for the trees, the skies, and the creatures were simply not so very interested in the heavens beyond.
Closing the balcony doors and cutting off the gentle gusts of winter air, Ulric turned back to the table holding the last of his spoils from the kitchens. Precious little compared to the original heaping contents but a light breakfast of fruit, juice, bread, and a last sliver of cheese was sufficient to tide him over.
The room was currently not quite as dark as the outside, there being a set of lamps, magically driven to produce a soft orange light. It was interesting that the mechanism to control the lamps was completely analog, a simple wooden switch that was pulled horizontally to dim or brighten the lamp. The resemblance to a rheostat switch was almost jarring in its familiarity. The variable mana flow device perhaps indicated something about physical mana circuits that made Ulric have to resist an intense urge to disassemble the lamps when he was first shown their use. It was curious, the fluid combination of medieval technology, candles, torches, fire pits, etc. with the obviously magical lamps, heated stone griddles, and perfectly controlled bathwater, to say nothing of the arcane insulation of the citadel's structure to produce airtight seals and temperature control.
The results were impossible to deny, he was comfortable. The Elven kingdom had achieved a semblance of modern convenience that was equivalent to, even surpassing, many remote hunting or fishing cabins in which Ulric had stayed. If there was a phone somewhere, Ulric would have been hard-pressed to point out a significant difference. Other than the long-eared beautiful folk who roamed its hallways, of course. In stark contrast to the efficient, functional nature of the facilities of Irielhos was the absolute wonder that was Elven carpentry and artistry, applied to every surface. Ulric's ceiling appeared to be a forest canopy in full flowering bloom, with vines interlacing between branches, mossy trails falling from limbs, and leaves of various types filling the spaces between. It gave an appearance of depth that Ulric would have thought impossible if he weren't right there experiencing its spectacle.
Between the self-care and the enchanting vista of Irielhos, Ulric had mostly shaken off the remnants of the night's disturbing dreamscape. He was in the middle of a set of stances, preceded by the same stretching routine as yesterday, when a forceful knock sounded on his door, the wooden echo tearing the peace of the morning.
Ulric rose and went to the chamber door, pulling it open with suspicion. Geyrt didn't knock like that. More rap-tappa-tap-tap than thud-bang. At first, he thought he was wrong, that his Shadow had sprung an overly enthusiastic knock on him. But no, the first impression left and Ulric beheld the Lord of Iriel, his mortal enemy in casual buffoonery, grinning in his usual, resplendent, finery.
"Welcome the morn Glade Chief, you rise early do you not? When busty circumstances do not conspire to keep you abed." Proclaimed Bald'rt, winking at him.
Ulric suppressed the sigh that had been building as soon as he saw the man. Game face Ulric. He smells your fear.
"My thanks to you, Lord Bald'rt. It has long been my habit to begin my day before the suns begin theirs. I hope that you haven't been troubled out of your own blankets on my account, or perhaps, on account of difficulties of the estate? Please come in, and be at ease. Perhaps I can provide some safe harbor against the circling troubles." Ulric said easily, opening the door wide to grant his sponsor shelter.
The Elf waved him off easily but with a put-upon expression.
"We are a lively pair this morning, I see. You have my gratitude for the kind offer but no, no, no, I cannot burden you so my guest. My difficulties weigh too heavily, even a mighty back such as mine risks harm driving them before me. I'm afraid you would come to grievous harm attempting such challenging terrain. Perhaps when you've matured." Beamed the Elven Lord.
Ulric had to concede that point, the damned Elf was a slippery one. No doubt, he had spent centuries honing his craft of implication and double entendre.
"I have come to personally extend an invitation to the festivities of Iriel, now that Winter's Herald has gone and the vigil is done. This year is sadly lacking, given most of my kin have assumed a war footing in preparation for a no doubt busy spring. The Sanctuaries will be holding their own festivals in absentia, while we here will celebrate heartily all the more for looming threats. The better to cast them aside when the time comes." Carried on Lord Bald'rt, his voice took on a faint edge at the last.
Like a sword checked in its sheath to be ready for drawing. The [Lord of the Deep Wood] was prepared to go forth and bring woe to his enemies. Ulric's estimate was that it would be about a metric fuckton of woe too. The Elf was going to have to leave someone alive this time to carry the story or they'd be doing this again in another couple of centuries. If history was any indication at all, it was absolutely mad hat that anyone would think to try these folk after even casual exposure to them. Then again, perhaps that was the problem. Humans didn't get to experience the deep wood peoples, they only saw the softer outer layers of Orlethrem. Of the hardened Iriel'en they only knew when it was time for the knives to come out. Still. You'd think somebody would have written it down somewhere: "Do not fuck with the Elves. They'll kill ya to death."
Ulric turned his attention back to matters at hand.
"I will run out of thanks if you keep this up Iriel Chief. It would be my pleasure to join your people in their celebration. Ah. I am afraid I lack the knowledge of proper protocols. Shall I await a certain time to attend your hall, is there a specific location to which I should go? I am afraid I have only my loaned blacks, courtesy of Idra'se, and my fighting gear for dress. Either of these is fine by me, I would attend as best fitting as possible." Said Ulric with gratitude.
He wasn't even exaggerating really, it was an incredible courtesy for Bald'rt, Lord of the land, to personally act as a bellboy to give Ulric an invitation to the festivities.
Bald'rt merely smiled away the thanks.
"It is no such great thing, Glade Chief. You returned my son to me and you have managed to corral my dearest, if most troublesome, daughter away from the coming conflict. I could ask no better keeper to see to her safety, not when all of my most trusted kin will be tasked towards the defense of home. My stubborn, headstrong, wonderful little [Shadow Panther] would have hunted her enemies ruthlessly and no doubt carved terror into their pitiful hearts. But she would have driven too hard and too deep and I fear she would have certainly been slain in her fury. Better to have her by your side Ulric, even indentured unto the lifespan of one such as we, than that." Bald'rt admitted growing rarely serious and sounding utterly sincere.
He also straight up admitted using Ulric as a convenient excuse to tie his daughter down and out of direct action. A halter made up of her cultural obligations to protect her from the consequences of pursuing their vendetta. Ulric found he could not be angry with the man, who had only done as any father might when faced with impossible decisions. He chose the one that would let his daughter live and perhaps live long and happily. That didn't change Ulric's situation; he'd been effectively forced into some kind of fucked up lord-to-vassal arrangement with a notoriously difficult to get along with, if gorgeous, woman who would no doubt outlive him by centuries. But at least he could understand why it was happening to him, shallow solace though it was. The Elf King's posture and tone said that he regretted nothing. Ulric's said he couldn't blame him but he felt like he needed to make sure to clear the air between them. There probably weren't many that Bald'rt Iriel would trust to keep his little girl safe; why he'd thought Ulric, of all people, would do it remained beyond him.
"I had suspected as much with regards to Geyrt and this whole Shadow arrangement. Hal'et also suggested this to be the case in passing. Just so you know you're an absolute dickhead for doing it, especially since you left me with no room to escape." Ulric spoke his mind evenly.
"But I understand why you'd do it and it doesn't change that I'll honor my commitments. I like your people, Bald'rt, and even if you are a flagrant asshole, I find myself liking you as well. You are a good sort and I wish you lose not a one of your kin in the thrashing of those bastards who would war monger and hurt a little boy. I'll take care of Geyrt, best as I can if we don't strangle each other first." he finished.
Bald'rt's grin returned in force and he clapped Ulric on the back, which nearly sent him stumbling out the apartment door.
"It is good that you see with clarity Ulric, and can ride the currents of life without drowning. You are a good man, from all I have heard and seen of you; it would have been a tragedy to have slain you when first we met, at Geyrt's insistence. Let us allow the water to flow down the river unfettered."
The Lord of Iriel intoned somewhat excitedly in his deep voice, "Today is a day to celebrate life, the living, and the bounty of the year past. You have my gratitude for releasing her to her family yesterday, it was not a thing you owed. A Shadow is part of her Honor, before previous obligations of kin, but I did enjoy pampering my daughter once more before she must become again yours. I will leave you to gather yourself as you see fit, you may wear anything you wish although I would recommend comfort, above all. Your Shadow should be readying herself to return to her duties and will be able to escort you as needed. Well enough then, I'm away, Glade Chief to tend the house and prepare for events. Good morning again and I will see you at the festival." the Elven chief said, departing swiftly as he'd come.
Ulric stood in his doorway for a few minutes processing the encounter. Always a wild ride dealing with the airy [Lord of the Deep Wood]. At least he had some confirmation about hows and whys things had played out as they had. Say what you would, Bald'rt Iriel loved his children deeply and would do whatever he had to, to see them safe.
Since the cloistering was at an end and Ulric had already eaten, he resolved that he was going to go for a real bath. That brief scrub earlier was not going to scratch the itch after all he decided. Besides, a good soak to help think things over would do him wonders.
Ulric jerked to waking, his body tense. He'd dreamed vividly last night and often, a rarity for him. Before coming to Varda dreams remembered were unheard of. Since his arrival, he dreamed much more frequently but they were mostly harmless things. Pizza, a strange interaction with a coworker at a job long since forgotten to his waking mind, sex. Sometimes nightmares of the [Forest Lord]. Most of his nightmares had that fell beast in them somewhere, frequently including it peeling his skin off. It helped soothe him afterward to remember that he had eaten the thing and wore its own hide as his breeches and coat.
This dream had straddled the line between nightmare and abstract unreality but with such an intense presence that he had trouble shaking it off. He remembered still the pelting rain on his skin. He'd been caught out in the storm, tied to the top of the great tree that supported Irielhos. Winds laden with ice raked him viciously, and thunder deafened him. And through it all the lightning. Striking his form to a cinder. But he didn't die, instead, the falling rain rebuilt him piece by piece, the droplets made of tiny fragments of himself. He'd dreamed that he could see himself as if by an outside observer and that the falling rain was made of his own substance at times. Then again the lightning would shatter his being. Over and over. Through it all, the man tied to the tree laughed insanely.
Shivering slightly, Ulric released a held breath and extracted himself from the blankets, damp from a cold sweat.
"The hell was that all about?" He asked the room.
No answer was forthcoming so Ulric relieved himself in the bathroom. Standing before the elegant curves of the polished wooden throne he took a moment to thank all of the gods and ancestors of the lands that the Elves were masters of the mundane magics of the toilet. The majesty of plumbing operated simply, using a pulled lever that "flushed" by power of a magitech device to stream a pulse of water, and disappear waste into a sewer whose design he was sure he'd be fascinated to have described to him. Ulric gave himself a smell test and grimaced slightly. Definitely he was in need of a bath. For now, he satisfied himself with a cloth and a bucket of water, scrubbing rigorously and ridding himself of the smell of sweat. Cleanliness had returned his awareness of body odor, no longer did his brain ignore the scent of humanity on him. Probably just as well, hunting when you stank to high heaven was made far more difficult than it needed to be.
A glance through the woven veranda doors revealed darkness, indicating he'd woken pre-dawn, as had become his norm back in the glade but which habit had been disrupted these first few days amongst the Elves. Blame their booze. And their women.
Ulric stretched, arms overhead, and ran his fingers through his long hair, down past his shoulders now and still tied in a loose tail. Something would need to be done about the hair. he was finding it obnoxious. Same for the beard. He didn't mind the extra hair but it definitely needed some attention. Ulric had taken to trimming his beard with a particularly long, straight section of glassresin, near to a straight razor. He'd left that fortunate piece behind in his shelter and now regretted it. His knife was sharp enough to cut hair but didn't quite have that narrow blade geometry that made shaving easy. It would have to do though, the beard was now a soup strainer.
Pulling the bone knife free of its belt sheath Ulric used a bowl of water as a mirror and trimmed the beard back to reason, leaving its thick fullness to curl three or four centimeters from his skin. Briefly, Ulric considered completely removing the sideburns but that was a job better saved for when he had access to his razor. For now, he settled for a trim. On his hair, he enacted a solution for which he had long resolved to avoid. A braid. The loose hair of the tail was the issue and so Ulric wove the hair as he had grass, forming a tight weave that left little in the way of free strands. Ulric thought of the wooden ring that had terminated the complex braids of Geyrt and her mother Vedyr. No telling if that had some sort of cultural significance, so Ulric simply tied the end of his own far simpler weave with a leather thong to secure it.
Thus groomed, Ulric returned to the main room of the apartment and dressed. Hints of daylight, an ever so slight brightening, told the story of sunsrise not far away. Ulric opened the balcony door and was greeted by bitterly cold air, as it had been before the sudden warming, the false summer days preceding Winter's Herald. Skin prickled and Ulric basked in the refreshing flow of chilled sky around him.
The forest was transformed. Trees now denuded of their leaves stood stark. Golden browns littered the forest floor, now visible below. Only the ever-green coniferous stands kept their firlike needles. It reinforced just how high above the ground Irielhos stood now that the woodland canopy no longer acted as a raised roof. They were way the hell up there, maybe half a kilometer. Rolling hills and running creeks stretched away in the predawn twilight, still mostly hidden. Sunsrise would bring a marvelous vantage. There wasn't enough light to be certain but Ulric thought it smelled like a frost might be on.
If the grandoise moon had been in the sky he'd have been able to see as if by silvered daylight, the full moon was exceptionally bright on Varda. Come to think of it, he still didn't properly know the names for the stars this planet orbited or the moon that circled it. The suns were called The Twins and the Moon was simply the Moon. Interesting. It may have been that the Elves, with their myriad of terms for the trees, the skies, and the creatures were simply not so very interested in the heavens beyond.
Closing the balcony doors and cutting off the gentle gusts of winter air, Ulric turned back to the table holding the last of his spoils from the kitchens. Precious little compared to the original heaping contents but a light breakfast of fruit, juice, bread, and a last sliver of cheese was sufficient to tide him over.
The room was currently not quite as dark as the outside, there being a set of lamps, magically driven to produce a soft orange light. It was interesting that the mechanism to control the lamps was completely analog, a simple wooden switch that was pulled horizontally to dim or brighten the lamp. The resemblance to a rheostat switch was almost jarring in its familiarity. The variable mana flow device perhaps indicated something about physical mana circuits that made Ulric have to resist an intense urge to disassemble the lamps when he was first shown their use. It was curious, the fluid combination of medieval technology, candles, torches, fire pits, etc. with the obviously magical lamps, heated stone griddles, and perfectly controlled bathwater, to say nothing of the arcane insulation of the citadel's structure to produce airtight seals and temperature control.
The results were impossible to deny, he was comfortable. The Elven kingdom had achieved a semblance of modern convenience that was equivalent to, even surpassing, many remote hunting or fishing cabins in which Ulric had stayed. If there was a phone somewhere, Ulric would have been hard-pressed to point out a significant difference. Other than the long-eared beautiful folk who roamed its hallways, of course. In stark contrast to the efficient, functional nature of the facilities of Irielhos was the absolute wonder that was Elven carpentry and artistry, applied to every surface. Ulric's ceiling appeared to be a forest canopy in full flowering bloom, with vines interlacing between branches, mossy trails falling from limbs, and leaves of various types filling the spaces between. It gave an appearance of depth that Ulric would have thought impossible if he weren't right there experiencing its spectacle.
Between the self-care and the enchanting vista of Irielhos, Ulric had mostly shaken off the remnants of the night's disturbing dreamscape. He was in the middle of a set of stances, preceded by the same stretching routine as yesterday, when a forceful knock sounded on his door, the wooden echo tearing the peace of the morning.
Ulric rose and went to the chamber door, pulling it open with suspicion. Geyrt didn't knock like that. More rap-tappa-tap-tap than thud-bang. At first, he thought he was wrong, that his Shadow had sprung an overly enthusiastic knock on him. But no, the first impression left and Ulric beheld the Lord of Iriel, his mortal enemy in casual buffoonery, grinning in his usual, resplendent, finery.
"Welcome the morn Glade Chief, you rise early do you not? When busty circumstances do not conspire to keep you abed." Proclaimed Bald'rt, winking at him.
Ulric suppressed the sigh that had been building as soon as he saw the man. Game face Ulric. He smells your fear.
"My thanks to you, Lord Bald'rt. It has long been my habit to begin my day before the suns begin theirs. I hope that you haven't been troubled out of your own blankets on my account, or perhaps, on account of difficulties of the estate? Please come in, and be at ease. Perhaps I can provide some safe harbor against the circling troubles." Ulric said easily, opening the door wide to grant his sponsor shelter.
The Elf waved him off easily but with a put-upon expression.
"We are a lively pair this morning, I see. You have my gratitude for the kind offer but no, no, no, I cannot burden you so my guest. My difficulties weigh too heavily, even a mighty back such as mine risks harm driving them before me. I'm afraid you would come to grievous harm attempting such challenging terrain. Perhaps when you've matured." Beamed the Elven Lord.
Ulric had to concede that point, the damned Elf was a slippery one. No doubt, he had spent centuries honing his craft of implication and double entendre.
"I have come to personally extend an invitation to the festivities of Iriel, now that Winter's Herald has gone and the vigil is done. This year is sadly lacking, given most of my kin have assumed a war footing in preparation for a no doubt busy spring. The Sanctuaries will be holding their own festivals in absentia, while we here will celebrate heartily all the more for looming threats. The better to cast them aside when the time comes." Carried on Lord Bald'rt, his voice took on a faint edge at the last.
Like a sword checked in its sheath to be ready for drawing. The [Lord of the Deep Wood] was prepared to go forth and bring woe to his enemies. Ulric's estimate was that it would be about a metric fuckton of woe too. The Elf was going to have to leave someone alive this time to carry the story or they'd be doing this again in another couple of centuries. If history was any indication at all, it was absolutely mad hat that anyone would think to try these folk after even casual exposure to them. Then again, perhaps that was the problem. Humans didn't get to experience the deep wood peoples, they only saw the softer outer layers of Orlethrem. Of the hardened Iriel'en they only knew when it was time for the knives to come out. Still. You'd think somebody would have written it down somewhere: "Do not fuck with the Elves. They'll kill ya to death."
Ulric turned his attention back to matters at hand.
"I will run out of thanks if you keep this up Iriel Chief. It would be my pleasure to join your people in their celebration. Ah. I am afraid I lack the knowledge of proper protocols. Shall I await a certain time to attend your hall, is there a specific location to which I should go? I am afraid I have only my loaned blacks, courtesy of Idra'se, and my fighting gear for dress. Either of these is fine by me, I would attend as best fitting as possible." Said Ulric with gratitude.
He wasn't even exaggerating really, it was an incredible courtesy for Bald'rt, Lord of the land, to personally act as a bellboy to give Ulric an invitation to the festivities.
Bald'rt merely smiled away the thanks.
"It is no such great thing, Glade Chief. You returned my son to me and you have managed to corral my dearest, if most troublesome, daughter away from the coming conflict. I could ask no better keeper to see to her safety, not when all of my most trusted kin will be tasked towards the defense of home. My stubborn, headstrong, wonderful little [Shadow Panther] would have hunted her enemies ruthlessly and no doubt carved terror into their pitiful hearts. But she would have driven too hard and too deep and I fear she would have certainly been slain in her fury. Better to have her by your side Ulric, even indentured unto the lifespan of one such as we, than that." Bald'rt admitted growing rarely serious and sounding utterly sincere.
He also straight up admitted using Ulric as a convenient excuse to tie his daughter down and out of direct action. A halter made up of her cultural obligations to protect her from the consequences of pursuing their vendetta. Ulric found he could not be angry with the man, who had only done as any father might when faced with impossible decisions. He chose the one that would let his daughter live and perhaps live long and happily. That didn't change Ulric's situation; he'd been effectively forced into some kind of fucked up lord-to-vassal arrangement with a notoriously difficult to get along with, if gorgeous, woman who would no doubt outlive him by centuries. But at least he could understand why it was happening to him, shallow solace though it was. The Elf King's posture and tone said that he regretted nothing. Ulric's said he couldn't blame him but he felt like he needed to make sure to clear the air between them. There probably weren't many that Bald'rt Iriel would trust to keep his little girl safe; why he'd thought Ulric, of all people, would do it remained beyond him.
"I had suspected as much with regards to Geyrt and this whole Shadow arrangement. Hal'et also suggested this to be the case in passing. Just so you know you're an absolute dickhead for doing it, especially since you left me with no room to escape." Ulric spoke his mind evenly.
"But I understand why you'd do it and it doesn't change that I'll honor my commitments. I like your people, Bald'rt, and even if you are a flagrant asshole, I find myself liking you as well. You are a good sort and I wish you lose not a one of your kin in the thrashing of those bastards who would war monger and hurt a little boy. I'll take care of Geyrt, best as I can if we don't strangle each other first." he finished.
Bald'rt's grin returned in force and he clapped Ulric on the back, which nearly sent him stumbling out the apartment door.
"It is good that you see with clarity Ulric, and can ride the currents of life without drowning. You are a good man, from all I have heard and seen of you; it would have been a tragedy to have slain you when first we met, at Geyrt's insistence. Let us allow the water to flow down the river unfettered."
The Lord of Iriel intoned somewhat excitedly in his deep voice, "Today is a day to celebrate life, the living, and the bounty of the year past. You have my gratitude for releasing her to her family yesterday, it was not a thing you owed. A Shadow is part of her Honor, before previous obligations of kin, but I did enjoy pampering my daughter once more before she must become again yours. I will leave you to gather yourself as you see fit, you may wear anything you wish although I would recommend comfort, above all. Your Shadow should be readying herself to return to her duties and will be able to escort you as needed. Well enough then, I'm away, Glade Chief to tend the house and prepare for events. Good morning again and I will see you at the festival." the Elven chief said, departing swiftly as he'd come.
Ulric stood in his doorway for a few minutes processing the encounter. Always a wild ride dealing with the airy [Lord of the Deep Wood]. At least he had some confirmation about hows and whys things had played out as they had. Say what you would, Bald'rt Iriel loved his children deeply and would do whatever he had to, to see them safe.
Since the cloistering was at an end and Ulric had already eaten, he resolved that he was going to go for a real bath. That brief scrub earlier was not going to scratch the itch after all he decided. Besides, a good soak to help think things over would do him wonders.
