When Ulric woke up, muted chaos greeted him as windows, arched woven walls, and a large skylight revealed the muted light of pre-dawn. The table on which he'd dozed off had served as well a pillow as a pinched nut does a "how do you do?". Not fucking well. He was not the only man exploring the possibilities of bare table top as an orthopedic sleep aid. Many forms were seated, others draped, and some curled underneath its sturdy glory. All hail the table, final destination of the partygoers. Duties were roaming at large collecting leftovers, half-empty kegs sometimes, fully empty kegs most of the time, and the other detritus of a wild hullabaloo.
Not everyone had made it to Lala land with clothes intact. Ulric was treated to several shapely bottoms littering the room, sometimes with likewise stripped partners and sometimes alone. Surely things hadn't gotten that out of control though. Not in the middle of the grand Hall of their esteemed lordships. Surely.
Ulric could only hazard a guess on that count, Hal'et had taught him that when Elves saw someone they wanted they didn't pussy foot around. They also held no truck with casual monogamy, generally speaking, although Brighteyes claimed that marriage partners were frequently life-long and singular. Bald’rt’s harem was more a function of political finessing, bindings of concords between tribes, and a healthy dose of intentional eugenics rather than business as usual.
History said pre-collapse pseudo-fundamentalism had infested societal norms in his home world. Already on the wane, most cults faded away completely when seven in ten humans died due to starvation, radiation poisoning, war, or any of a plethora of diseases that had run rampant during the century of collapse. Any that were left were ostracized when they attempted to resist vaccination, gene treatment, and controlled birth protocols. Not killed, just turned out from the subterranean shelters with a full pack of supplies and a pat on the back for luck. The beliefs of a few were not tolerated as being an excuse to doom the species.
He was raised by singular parents of a more traditional style but that was by no means the general rule, his folks were just introverted nerds that happened to luck into each other at a conference and stuck like ants in amber. They passed their traits on too well. Ulric didn’t have the social stamina to be interested in juggling partners. Lessons learned the hard way, that.
Rubbing his eyes to clear the bleary wash of the party he looked around for something to drink. Water. He was looking for good, clean, pure water to drink. That beer had sucker punched him, all mellow and smooth. He hadn't noticed the potency until it was too late. Must have been a slow burn too, he normally woke up in the middle of the night from beer drunks. Not anything close to as aggressive as the spirits though and Ulric was grateful to whatever gods wanted to accept thanks that he hadn't gotten into any of that. That hangover was worse than a car wreck, and he would know. He found a pitcher that contained the good stuff and helped himself to a couple of mugs before pouring a third to nurse.
On closer inspection, one of the pairs of forms strewn about was Brighteyes and his Shadow. They were two of the wiser parties, having scrounged up a blanket and, somehow, actual pillows and taken their repose on the floor. They were cuddled up warmly and Ulric didn't have the heart to break up the pair. It was disconcerting to see his Shadow with that goofy drooling face compared to her normal rigidity. He was used to Brighteyes' snoring, they'd shared a shelter for weeks and the kid had sounded through a broken horn through some of it. Made a right cute pair they did.
The age thing for Elves was weird in Ulric's mind. While his brain throbbed, he couldn't help but consider the impact it must have on Elven development, if only to distract himself from hearing his own blood pulse behind his eyeballs. One of them a couple of decades, the other well over a century. Brighteyes looked like he might be ten, pushing twelve. Geyrt could have easily fit in at a junior college. For all their years though, they had experienced comparatively little compared to Ulric's estimations. He figured he could chalk that up to the lack of a way to access global historical archives at a whim.
On his old world, with the info web and social net being ubiquitous, especially once global infrastructure was restored only a few decades prior to his birth, all the knowledge of the human race was accessible at a relatively early age. Developing minds were exposed to the full range of human experience, lacking much of the emotional readiness or experience to contextualize it.
The result had been an odd blending of adulthood and childhood, mostly dependent on the mental maturation rate of the particular individual and to what extent their parents effectively managed child-rearing. That was a mixed bag, but lessons were learned from the post-internet upheavals of the precollapse. He himself had come away from that condition with a healthy level of mistrust for human motivations and a respect for the potential for the destructive impulse that could lead them to mob together to do all kinds of awful shit, especially where financial gain was involved. Historical archives were some sobering reads.
The Elves reminded him a little of that scenario only, instead of the internet being the complicating factor it was sheer longevity. You hang around long enough and you're bound to learn something, he figured. But the lack of communication and transportation technology vastly limited the scope of experience. Geyrt, for all her years, while no doubt a master of her domain in the Deep Wood, and a veritable globe trotter for one of her kin, would have almost no contact with island-faring or mountainous life and thus would be largely ignorant of it. Her attitudes toward magic and the extent of Ulric's own experiences were a good example of how settled their mentality could be on things. They were highly resistant to change or, at least, his Shadow had proven to be that way. Could be she was just stubborn.
On the other hand, Brighteyes had displayed remarkable emotional stability for a kid of his apparent age. Most Elves had that facet to them, that smooth evenness to their personalities. Grounded, that's what they were. His best working hypothesis was that their slow aging permitted them time to adjust to their physical condition and the lack of rapid fluctuation let them settle emotionally into a more comfortable arrangement. Humans aged so fast that they were, effectively, completely different physical creatures every decade, and that had profound impacts on their mindscape and emotional condition. Constantly adjusting to an ever-changing body probably had some role in Human instability. Aes’r were then, physically, less volatile than Valin.
Even that dead putz from the other day was waxing shrewd rather than flighty, even if he was a spoiled ass prince of his own puddle. Benefits of long years. Hadn't stopped him from drowning in deep water though and Ulric wasn't too proud to admit that was a lesson he most certainly should take heed of before it was him plastered all over some throne room.
Just don't talk shit to strangers, he told himself. Best thing you can do is shut up until you figure out who the dangerous ones are. He let those words of wisdom simmer while he downed another mug of water. Must be purified, he hadn't had any, let us call them Mexico City moments, since arriving. Regular as a clock he was. And grateful for it. His mind drifted back, as it did often, to the glade.
There had been dark times while he'd been experimentally foraging in the glade for edible plants. Most were fine, but there had been a couple of evil species. One particular shrub had edible leaves but the inner bark would squeeze your bowel into knots for hours while you voided hard enough to aerosolize. It was like labor but with a nightmarish payout. Add in a few other noxious herbs and some potently toxic ones and Ulric felt glad to be enjoying the bounty of safe foods again. Especially since winter was on in full. The air was distinctly cooler and had been sharp as he'd made his way to the hall yesterday, just the way he liked it. It wasn’t cold if your skin didn’t pucker on exposure.
These scrambled meditations from an abused brain were halted when the royal pups were wakened by Duties, who needed to pick up around them. They'd given Ulric a muted acknowledgment as they'd gone by, he'd absent-mindedly piled up spent mugs, stacked plates, and bowls as he'd sat nursing his hangover and rambling morning thoughts. Cleaning up while the liver and kidneys paid for your sins had been a tradition of decades, as he’d self-medicated by way of degenerative alcoholism. Fortunately, he’d been harvested by the Watcher before he could really explore all the wonder that particular abuse had in store.
The brother-sister pair stretched heartily and yawned. Geyrt made this exceedingly cute murmuring burble afterward that Ulric wished he could record and play back at her from time to time when she was being shitty, or when he was. She apparently noticed his observations because his Shadow abruptly put her game face on and rose, shaking Brighteyes to full waking before bustling the both of them over to the table at which Ulric was gradually reviving.
"Good morning young Iriels. Hope you slept better than I did, the table leaves some to be desired as a bed. Not its fault really, it was born to be a table and all, and who could have foreseen a fast promotion to sleepware?" Ulric greeted cheerfully.
"And to you Glade Chief. You rested well enough to be thinking strange twisty thoughts again. Why would a table be promoted? It is a table." Geyrt informed him smartly.
"Don't you talk about table like that, you don't know his hopes and dreams. Shhh, there, there table, she didn't mean it." Ulric consoled his table top.
These shenanigans made his Shadow scoff but she smiled briefly so he knew she wasn't completely beyond hope. No laugh though, so victory was not at hand.
"Good morning, Ulric. The Festival, it was an experience eh?" Brighteyes prompted through sleepy yawns.
"It was certainly that Brighteyes. You lot sure know how to throw a rager of a party. Hope I didn't cause too much trouble for your dad, but he seemed to have things well in hand, last I recalled. That shitbird's geezer seemed like he was about to try to cause problems but Bald'rt intercepted him nicely." Ulric said.
Not that he had to tell Brighteyes that, the kid had been front and center for the entire thing. Wild. A mere boy but overseeing duels. These Iriels were too hard core sometimes. Brighteyes only nodded, as if such things were commonplace. Which he went ahead and confirmed.
"Festival is a celebration Ulric but also a time for certain…conventions to relax. Many things are said on Festival day that would not be spoken aloud else when. This is why many couplings are formed on Festival and why so many travel to lands outside their own for the event. It is a chance to see and experience strange sights and clans outside one's own." the lad explained.
"Thanks to this mixing of peoples and the loss of inhibitions, duels during Festival are not uncommon at all. Eldest Sister here was responsible for almost yearly fights until she stopped attending. Father got tired of overseeing them so when I turned twenty he put me in charge of administering disputes. Mother Bathe was not happy, at first, but was glad to see me being trusted to represent our people at court at my age." continued Brighteyes with a chuckle at his sister's chagrin.
Ulric sat mulling that over for a minute. He'd been chewing on the dickhat's motivations on and off for the rest of the evening until he'd gotten drunk and forgotten all about him. While he chewed on it the two of them retrieved a plate of leftovers and another pitcher of water. The three of them picked at the refreshments as they talked.
"Brighteyes, tell me something, what was that fucker's problem? He pretty much walked up as soon as he physically could and I can't see that he wanted anything else than to get himself dead. Maybe by me, maybe by you, maybe by your sister. Hell, judging by what you told me, he qualified for evaporation by your dad at least twice." Ulric said sardonically.
Brighteyes laughed at that comment and Geyrt looked smug for some reason. If Ulric hadn't killed the guy she definitely would have, there was zero doubt on that account. Her social position and consideration for her family's reputation was all that had stopped her from burying him as soon as he'd started in, near as Ulric could tell. Probably she'd have waited for him to go take a piss and carve his spine to put on her wall, Predator style.
Brighteyes answered the question when he'd finished his mirth, his tone took on an edge of weight though to indicate that Ulric should pay close attention, which he did, sitting up straight.
"That was Heir Sam'sav Morion, first son and Lordling of House Morion. They are a Great House of the Zellusin, the river folk. You remember I spoke of them, yes?"
The golden-haired youth only waited a moment for Ulric's nod before he continued.
"That clan holds sway over a large part of the trade that comes up or down the Zelus and they have the most contacts in Prosper, the human citadel that controls access to the great sea Vatyn. Also, blood enemies of Iriel."
"He was a boorish oaf with hungry hands that made a nuisance of himself with the daughters of every hold he visited is what he was. And his House is a den of spiders spinning golden threads to choke their kin for advantage with Prespang's money." Interjected Geyrt hotly.
Brighteyes accepted that addendum with a raised hand as if to say "I'll allow it". Nice to learn the knob had been as pleasant elsewhere as he had been yesterday. And Ulric's Shadow had already tried to kill him once over it. Brighteyes had said she'd ended the drought beneath his feet so she'd gutted him in the middle of a Festival past. Cripes, and the guy still had the balls to shoot his mouth off in front of her? Ulric had done Orlethrem a favor, they were wasting resources feeding that idiot.
"For all his bragging, he was not overestimating his House's worth. They truly do account for around a third of the trade that comes through the river. As such his family is one of the richest in Orlethrem. They have also taken severe losses since Iriel closed trade when I was taken. Father put Orlethrem on stand by for war, as was his right as Crown." Brighteyes soldiered on past his sister's interruption.
Hmm…that would explain the grudge against the Iriels. Brighteyes' capture had instigated his father's lockdown of the borders and his sister had publicly shamed the lordling. So, the Iriels had, one way or another, cost the house money and face. But what did that have to do with Ulric? He voiced the question and the one-day Lord of Iriel answered with a greater awareness of political intrigue than Ulric was expecting.
“In all likelihood, their house’s spies gathered that you, an unknown human of no repute, were by some method granted holding of the Sacred Grove, and this ownership had been acknowledged by my Father. It would be like them to immediately plot to take it through dishonorable means, such as killing the lord of the land in a duel, knowing there were no heirs. By this way they could revenge themselves against my family and gain a new avenue to enrich themselves because Morions are gilded jackals.” The youth concluded.
“That’s…okay, I think I get it. The Morion fucker thought he had an easy target. Fair enough. Kind of fucked up that the first impulse would be to kill a guy to steal his shit, Brighteyes. Sort of makes me worry a little about my idea of building up relations with other tribes. But, alright, greed operates on Varda, same as gravity. Why in the hell was he going so hard after your sister then?”
It was Geyrt who answered, and she was still visibly pissed at the recollection.
"That is because I could not, by law, challenge him for spewing his filth. I am your Shadow now Glade Chief, not a citizen of Iriel. I am considered to be part of your household, part of your person. He was not insulting Iriel with his attack he was insulting you. It allowed the yak stool to say whatever he wanted without facing me or Father who could have taken exception on my behalf. I would have had to wait for him to leave Irielhos and kill him quietly instead of publicly. It could have taken years to catch the [Sap Weasel] in the wilds away from his escort." She said still smoldering.
"Oh. Well. In that case, you're welcome, although the only reason I didn't wait around is because I was afraid you'd get him first. That and I was mad enough to eat iron filings and shit horseshoes." Ulric admitted, deciding not to mention the doom whisper of instinct that had been kind of leading the charge.
A thought occurred to him.
"Geyrt, since you're my Shadow could I have let you take the challenge in my place? Or given you leave to snatch him out from under his minders and stuff him down a latrine or something?" Ulric asked.
Brighteyes didn't seem too thrilled about those prospects, but if Ulric was a betting man he would have bet the kid's more evil-minded sibling would have gladly done those things.
"I would have gladly done those things Glade Chief; nothing would have given me greater satisfaction than to cut Lordling Morion's yapping tongue free from his throat." the dark woman answered with enthusiasm.
She paused only a moment before continuing on, Brighteyes had looked about to speak and, it would seem, Geyrt was heading off some kind of commentary on that notion.
"I am glad you did not choose that route though; it speaks better of you among us that you would answer the challenge yourself and at that moment. Especially with Father."
That made the youth nod decisively.
"Exactly so, Eldest Sister. A Shadow is considered part of your person Glade Chief but Iriel'en disapprove of letting another fight in one's place. This is also a better way because any who doubted your claim to Lordship will know its veracity without [Scan] or viewing your status directly." Brighteyes agreed.
"There is also the way you killed Sam'sav Morion. Word will spread of this. That you refused any weapon or your own magical ability and mauled your opponent without shedding blood. Well, without much blood. It was very impressive Ulric. Some people here are fortunate not to have earned your ire with their flagrant antagonisms, despite knowing full well the contents of your status." the young lordling finished, with a parting shot for his sister.
Geyrt drew up and directed a scowl to her sibling.
"I have hunted far more dangerous beasts in the wild Lumyt'seit. If I had not run for three days on end because some kin of mine had been escorted back home like a stray kitten I could have taken him. If you will excuse me Ulric Glade Chief." Exclaimed the proud young woman.
"Oh no, do go on, my Shadow. I think you're making enough excuses for all of us, I need not add any." Ulric chimed.
That earned him the transfer of her scowl and a wide grin from Brighteyes. Not that he didn't agree with her, just that he wasn't going to give her any ideas about it. The victor got to write the history and Ulric wasn't going to let her get away with thinking she could have stomped him any time she liked. Even if, maybe, she could have. All that mattered was, in this timeline, she hadn't and that was that.
Brighteyes managed to divert her with an expert hand though. Probably the result of much practice.
"Speaking of hunting Eldest Sister, I see you have acquired a new bow. It is strangely familiar though, I feel as if I have seen it before. Indeed, it almost matches the one that Ulric made for me. You did not badger him into giving you his bow, did you? I would expect better Sister, even from you." Brighteyes teased.
Geyrt grabbed the strung bow she had been sleeping with, Hah! Knew it! defensively before denying the charges.
"I did not! That is not what happened at all. Tell him Ulric! Tell him it was a replacement for my bow that you broke, that I had nothing to do with its giving." She cried, gravely flustered by the accusations.
Ulric decided that she would not be getting off the hook so easily. Not when the setup was this good. Ulric covered his face in his hands.
"You should have seen her Brighteyes. She would not stop accusing me of the murder of her bow. She claimed all sorts of things, life debt, the blood of a first child, my pension. For hours at a time. I had no choice but to give up my precious bow or never know peace." he said with feigned sorrow.
That got her going. Spluttering and wide-eyed she garbled some kind of protest while Ulric and Brighteyes laughed at her. It was only a few moments before she caught on they were both taking turns setting her up but they were sweet vengeance.
"You have spent too long with this man Lumyt'seit, you are picking up his bad habits. I cannot be surrounded by men who behave like Father, it is a fate worse than death." She scolded.
Bald'rt Iriel, [Lord of the Deep Wood] and Crown of Orlethrem, appeared behind his daughter as if summoned from one of the blacker pits of hell and casually pinched his daughter's ear pulling a strangled yelp from her that echoed through the Great Hall.
"Worse than death is it my little [Shadow Panther]? You would wound my fatherly soul with such vitriol? Add this to the crimes you have committed, including brow-beating your Honor into yielding his admittedly fine instrument to you. I had thought you raised better but now I see that I have truly failed you." the Elf Lord said loudly, so the entire hall could hear.
"Father!? Father! Please let go, I surrender! And we were all jesting see? All in good fun, was it not Lumyt'seit? Ulric?" She appealed to her enemies in desperation.
Ulric shared a glance with his boyish comrade and then both of them with his host.
They burst out laughing while the woman soothed her pinched ear, now reddening from their combined efforts. She stuck her tongue out at them, which only made it better.
When Ulric woke up, muted chaos greeted him as windows, arched woven walls, and a large skylight revealed the muted light of pre-dawn. The table on which he'd dozed off had served as well a pillow as a pinched nut does a "how do you do?". Not fucking well. He was not the only man exploring the possibilities of bare table top as an orthopedic sleep aid. Many forms were seated, others draped, and some curled underneath its sturdy glory. All hail the table, final destination of the partygoers. Duties were roaming at large collecting leftovers, half-empty kegs sometimes, fully empty kegs most of the time, and the other detritus of a wild hullabaloo.
Not everyone had made it to Lala land with clothes intact. Ulric was treated to several shapely bottoms littering the room, sometimes with likewise stripped partners and sometimes alone. Surely things hadn't gotten that out of control though. Not in the middle of the grand Hall of their esteemed lordships. Surely.
Ulric could only hazard a guess on that count, Hal'et had taught him that when Elves saw someone they wanted they didn't pussy foot around. They also held no truck with casual monogamy, generally speaking, although Brighteyes claimed that marriage partners were frequently life-long and singular. Bald’rt’s harem was more a function of political finessing, bindings of concords between tribes, and a healthy dose of intentional eugenics rather than business as usual.
History said pre-collapse pseudo-fundamentalism had infested societal norms in his home world. Already on the wane, most cults faded away completely when seven in ten humans died due to starvation, radiation poisoning, war, or any of a plethora of diseases that had run rampant during the century of collapse. Any that were left were ostracized when they attempted to resist vaccination, gene treatment, and controlled birth protocols. Not killed, just turned out from the subterranean shelters with a full pack of supplies and a pat on the back for luck. The beliefs of a few were not tolerated as being an excuse to doom the species.
He was raised by singular parents of a more traditional style but that was by no means the general rule, his folks were just introverted nerds that happened to luck into each other at a conference and stuck like ants in amber. They passed their traits on too well. Ulric didn’t have the social stamina to be interested in juggling partners. Lessons learned the hard way, that.
Rubbing his eyes to clear the bleary wash of the party he looked around for something to drink. Water. He was looking for good, clean, pure water to drink. That beer had sucker punched him, all mellow and smooth. He hadn't noticed the potency until it was too late. Must have been a slow burn too, he normally woke up in the middle of the night from beer drunks. Not anything close to as aggressive as the spirits though and Ulric was grateful to whatever gods wanted to accept thanks that he hadn't gotten into any of that. That hangover was worse than a car wreck, and he would know. He found a pitcher that contained the good stuff and helped himself to a couple of mugs before pouring a third to nurse.
On closer inspection, one of the pairs of forms strewn about was Brighteyes and his Shadow. They were two of the wiser parties, having scrounged up a blanket and, somehow, actual pillows and taken their repose on the floor. They were cuddled up warmly and Ulric didn't have the heart to break up the pair. It was disconcerting to see his Shadow with that goofy drooling face compared to her normal rigidity. He was used to Brighteyes' snoring, they'd shared a shelter for weeks and the kid had sounded through a broken horn through some of it. Made a right cute pair they did.
The age thing for Elves was weird in Ulric's mind. While his brain throbbed, he couldn't help but consider the impact it must have on Elven development, if only to distract himself from hearing his own blood pulse behind his eyeballs. One of them a couple of decades, the other well over a century. Brighteyes looked like he might be ten, pushing twelve. Geyrt could have easily fit in at a junior college. For all their years though, they had experienced comparatively little compared to Ulric's estimations. He figured he could chalk that up to the lack of a way to access global historical archives at a whim.
On his old world, with the info web and social net being ubiquitous, especially once global infrastructure was restored only a few decades prior to his birth, all the knowledge of the human race was accessible at a relatively early age. Developing minds were exposed to the full range of human experience, lacking much of the emotional readiness or experience to contextualize it.
The result had been an odd blending of adulthood and childhood, mostly dependent on the mental maturation rate of the particular individual and to what extent their parents effectively managed child-rearing. That was a mixed bag, but lessons were learned from the post-internet upheavals of the precollapse. He himself had come away from that condition with a healthy level of mistrust for human motivations and a respect for the potential for the destructive impulse that could lead them to mob together to do all kinds of awful shit, especially where financial gain was involved. Historical archives were some sobering reads.
The Elves reminded him a little of that scenario only, instead of the internet being the complicating factor it was sheer longevity. You hang around long enough and you're bound to learn something, he figured. But the lack of communication and transportation technology vastly limited the scope of experience. Geyrt, for all her years, while no doubt a master of her domain in the Deep Wood, and a veritable globe trotter for one of her kin, would have almost no contact with island-faring or mountainous life and thus would be largely ignorant of it. Her attitudes toward magic and the extent of Ulric's own experiences were a good example of how settled their mentality could be on things. They were highly resistant to change or, at least, his Shadow had proven to be that way. Could be she was just stubborn.
On the other hand, Brighteyes had displayed remarkable emotional stability for a kid of his apparent age. Most Elves had that facet to them, that smooth evenness to their personalities. Grounded, that's what they were. His best working hypothesis was that their slow aging permitted them time to adjust to their physical condition and the lack of rapid fluctuation let them settle emotionally into a more comfortable arrangement. Humans aged so fast that they were, effectively, completely different physical creatures every decade, and that had profound impacts on their mindscape and emotional condition. Constantly adjusting to an ever-changing body probably had some role in Human instability. Aes’r were then, physically, less volatile than Valin.
Even that dead putz from the other day was waxing shrewd rather than flighty, even if he was a spoiled ass prince of his own puddle. Benefits of long years. Hadn't stopped him from drowning in deep water though and Ulric wasn't too proud to admit that was a lesson he most certainly should take heed of before it was him plastered all over some throne room.
Just don't talk shit to strangers, he told himself. Best thing you can do is shut up until you figure out who the dangerous ones are. He let those words of wisdom simmer while he downed another mug of water. Must be purified, he hadn't had any, let us call them Mexico City moments, since arriving. Regular as a clock he was. And grateful for it. His mind drifted back, as it did often, to the glade.
There had been dark times while he'd been experimentally foraging in the glade for edible plants. Most were fine, but there had been a couple of evil species. One particular shrub had edible leaves but the inner bark would squeeze your bowel into knots for hours while you voided hard enough to aerosolize. It was like labor but with a nightmarish payout. Add in a few other noxious herbs and some potently toxic ones and Ulric felt glad to be enjoying the bounty of safe foods again. Especially since winter was on in full. The air was distinctly cooler and had been sharp as he'd made his way to the hall yesterday, just the way he liked it. It wasn’t cold if your skin didn’t pucker on exposure.
These scrambled meditations from an abused brain were halted when the royal pups were wakened by Duties, who needed to pick up around them. They'd given Ulric a muted acknowledgment as they'd gone by, he'd absent-mindedly piled up spent mugs, stacked plates, and bowls as he'd sat nursing his hangover and rambling morning thoughts. Cleaning up while the liver and kidneys paid for your sins had been a tradition of decades, as he’d self-medicated by way of degenerative alcoholism. Fortunately, he’d been harvested by the Watcher before he could really explore all the wonder that particular abuse had in store.
The brother-sister pair stretched heartily and yawned. Geyrt made this exceedingly cute murmuring burble afterward that Ulric wished he could record and play back at her from time to time when she was being shitty, or when he was. She apparently noticed his observations because his Shadow abruptly put her game face on and rose, shaking Brighteyes to full waking before bustling the both of them over to the table at which Ulric was gradually reviving.
"Good morning young Iriels. Hope you slept better than I did, the table leaves some to be desired as a bed. Not its fault really, it was born to be a table and all, and who could have foreseen a fast promotion to sleepware?" Ulric greeted cheerfully.
"And to you Glade Chief. You rested well enough to be thinking strange twisty thoughts again. Why would a table be promoted? It is a table." Geyrt informed him smartly.
"Don't you talk about table like that, you don't know his hopes and dreams. Shhh, there, there table, she didn't mean it." Ulric consoled his table top.
These shenanigans made his Shadow scoff but she smiled briefly so he knew she wasn't completely beyond hope. No laugh though, so victory was not at hand.
"Good morning, Ulric. The Festival, it was an experience eh?" Brighteyes prompted through sleepy yawns.
"It was certainly that Brighteyes. You lot sure know how to throw a rager of a party. Hope I didn't cause too much trouble for your dad, but he seemed to have things well in hand, last I recalled. That shitbird's geezer seemed like he was about to try to cause problems but Bald'rt intercepted him nicely." Ulric said.
Not that he had to tell Brighteyes that, the kid had been front and center for the entire thing. Wild. A mere boy but overseeing duels. These Iriels were too hard core sometimes. Brighteyes only nodded, as if such things were commonplace. Which he went ahead and confirmed.
"Festival is a celebration Ulric but also a time for certain…conventions to relax. Many things are said on Festival day that would not be spoken aloud else when. This is why many couplings are formed on Festival and why so many travel to lands outside their own for the event. It is a chance to see and experience strange sights and clans outside one's own." the lad explained.
"Thanks to this mixing of peoples and the loss of inhibitions, duels during Festival are not uncommon at all. Eldest Sister here was responsible for almost yearly fights until she stopped attending. Father got tired of overseeing them so when I turned twenty he put me in charge of administering disputes. Mother Bathe was not happy, at first, but was glad to see me being trusted to represent our people at court at my age." continued Brighteyes with a chuckle at his sister's chagrin.
Ulric sat mulling that over for a minute. He'd been chewing on the dickhat's motivations on and off for the rest of the evening until he'd gotten drunk and forgotten all about him. While he chewed on it the two of them retrieved a plate of leftovers and another pitcher of water. The three of them picked at the refreshments as they talked.
"Brighteyes, tell me something, what was that fucker's problem? He pretty much walked up as soon as he physically could and I can't see that he wanted anything else than to get himself dead. Maybe by me, maybe by you, maybe by your sister. Hell, judging by what you told me, he qualified for evaporation by your dad at least twice." Ulric said sardonically.
Brighteyes laughed at that comment and Geyrt looked smug for some reason. If Ulric hadn't killed the guy she definitely would have, there was zero doubt on that account. Her social position and consideration for her family's reputation was all that had stopped her from burying him as soon as he'd started in, near as Ulric could tell. Probably she'd have waited for him to go take a piss and carve his spine to put on her wall, Predator style.
Brighteyes answered the question when he'd finished his mirth, his tone took on an edge of weight though to indicate that Ulric should pay close attention, which he did, sitting up straight.
"That was Heir Sam'sav Morion, first son and Lordling of House Morion. They are a Great House of the Zellusin, the river folk. You remember I spoke of them, yes?"
The golden-haired youth only waited a moment for Ulric's nod before he continued.
"That clan holds sway over a large part of the trade that comes up or down the Zelus and they have the most contacts in Prosper, the human citadel that controls access to the great sea Vatyn. Also, blood enemies of Iriel."
"He was a boorish oaf with hungry hands that made a nuisance of himself with the daughters of every hold he visited is what he was. And his House is a den of spiders spinning golden threads to choke their kin for advantage with Prespang's money." Interjected Geyrt hotly.
Brighteyes accepted that addendum with a raised hand as if to say "I'll allow it". Nice to learn the knob had been as pleasant elsewhere as he had been yesterday. And Ulric's Shadow had already tried to kill him once over it. Brighteyes had said she'd ended the drought beneath his feet so she'd gutted him in the middle of a Festival past. Cripes, and the guy still had the balls to shoot his mouth off in front of her? Ulric had done Orlethrem a favor, they were wasting resources feeding that idiot.
"For all his bragging, he was not overestimating his House's worth. They truly do account for around a third of the trade that comes through the river. As such his family is one of the richest in Orlethrem. They have also taken severe losses since Iriel closed trade when I was taken. Father put Orlethrem on stand by for war, as was his right as Crown." Brighteyes soldiered on past his sister's interruption.
Hmm…that would explain the grudge against the Iriels. Brighteyes' capture had instigated his father's lockdown of the borders and his sister had publicly shamed the lordling. So, the Iriels had, one way or another, cost the house money and face. But what did that have to do with Ulric? He voiced the question and the one-day Lord of Iriel answered with a greater awareness of political intrigue than Ulric was expecting.
“In all likelihood, their house’s spies gathered that you, an unknown human of no repute, were by some method granted holding of the Sacred Grove, and this ownership had been acknowledged by my Father. It would be like them to immediately plot to take it through dishonorable means, such as killing the lord of the land in a duel, knowing there were no heirs. By this way they could revenge themselves against my family and gain a new avenue to enrich themselves because Morions are gilded jackals.” The youth concluded.
“That’s…okay, I think I get it. The Morion fucker thought he had an easy target. Fair enough. Kind of fucked up that the first impulse would be to kill a guy to steal his shit, Brighteyes. Sort of makes me worry a little about my idea of building up relations with other tribes. But, alright, greed operates on Varda, same as gravity. Why in the hell was he going so hard after your sister then?”
It was Geyrt who answered, and she was still visibly pissed at the recollection.
"That is because I could not, by law, challenge him for spewing his filth. I am your Shadow now Glade Chief, not a citizen of Iriel. I am considered to be part of your household, part of your person. He was not insulting Iriel with his attack he was insulting you. It allowed the yak stool to say whatever he wanted without facing me or Father who could have taken exception on my behalf. I would have had to wait for him to leave Irielhos and kill him quietly instead of publicly. It could have taken years to catch the [Sap Weasel] in the wilds away from his escort." She said still smoldering.
"Oh. Well. In that case, you're welcome, although the only reason I didn't wait around is because I was afraid you'd get him first. That and I was mad enough to eat iron filings and shit horseshoes." Ulric admitted, deciding not to mention the doom whisper of instinct that had been kind of leading the charge.
A thought occurred to him.
"Geyrt, since you're my Shadow could I have let you take the challenge in my place? Or given you leave to snatch him out from under his minders and stuff him down a latrine or something?" Ulric asked.
Brighteyes didn't seem too thrilled about those prospects, but if Ulric was a betting man he would have bet the kid's more evil-minded sibling would have gladly done those things.
"I would have gladly done those things Glade Chief; nothing would have given me greater satisfaction than to cut Lordling Morion's yapping tongue free from his throat." the dark woman answered with enthusiasm.
She paused only a moment before continuing on, Brighteyes had looked about to speak and, it would seem, Geyrt was heading off some kind of commentary on that notion.
"I am glad you did not choose that route though; it speaks better of you among us that you would answer the challenge yourself and at that moment. Especially with Father."
That made the youth nod decisively.
"Exactly so, Eldest Sister. A Shadow is considered part of your person Glade Chief but Iriel'en disapprove of letting another fight in one's place. This is also a better way because any who doubted your claim to Lordship will know its veracity without [Scan] or viewing your status directly." Brighteyes agreed.
"There is also the way you killed Sam'sav Morion. Word will spread of this. That you refused any weapon or your own magical ability and mauled your opponent without shedding blood. Well, without much blood. It was very impressive Ulric. Some people here are fortunate not to have earned your ire with their flagrant antagonisms, despite knowing full well the contents of your status." the young lordling finished, with a parting shot for his sister.
Geyrt drew up and directed a scowl to her sibling.
"I have hunted far more dangerous beasts in the wild Lumyt'seit. If I had not run for three days on end because some kin of mine had been escorted back home like a stray kitten I could have taken him. If you will excuse me Ulric Glade Chief." Exclaimed the proud young woman.
"Oh no, do go on, my Shadow. I think you're making enough excuses for all of us, I need not add any." Ulric chimed.
That earned him the transfer of her scowl and a wide grin from Brighteyes. Not that he didn't agree with her, just that he wasn't going to give her any ideas about it. The victor got to write the history and Ulric wasn't going to let her get away with thinking she could have stomped him any time she liked. Even if, maybe, she could have. All that mattered was, in this timeline, she hadn't and that was that.
Brighteyes managed to divert her with an expert hand though. Probably the result of much practice.
"Speaking of hunting Eldest Sister, I see you have acquired a new bow. It is strangely familiar though, I feel as if I have seen it before. Indeed, it almost matches the one that Ulric made for me. You did not badger him into giving you his bow, did you? I would expect better Sister, even from you." Brighteyes teased.
Geyrt grabbed the strung bow she had been sleeping with, Hah! Knew it! defensively before denying the charges.
"I did not! That is not what happened at all. Tell him Ulric! Tell him it was a replacement for my bow that you broke, that I had nothing to do with its giving." She cried, gravely flustered by the accusations.
Ulric decided that she would not be getting off the hook so easily. Not when the setup was this good. Ulric covered his face in his hands.
"You should have seen her Brighteyes. She would not stop accusing me of the murder of her bow. She claimed all sorts of things, life debt, the blood of a first child, my pension. For hours at a time. I had no choice but to give up my precious bow or never know peace." he said with feigned sorrow.
That got her going. Spluttering and wide-eyed she garbled some kind of protest while Ulric and Brighteyes laughed at her. It was only a few moments before she caught on they were both taking turns setting her up but they were sweet vengeance.
"You have spent too long with this man Lumyt'seit, you are picking up his bad habits. I cannot be surrounded by men who behave like Father, it is a fate worse than death." She scolded.
Bald'rt Iriel, [Lord of the Deep Wood] and Crown of Orlethrem, appeared behind his daughter as if summoned from one of the blacker pits of hell and casually pinched his daughter's ear pulling a strangled yelp from her that echoed through the Great Hall.
"Worse than death is it my little [Shadow Panther]? You would wound my fatherly soul with such vitriol? Add this to the crimes you have committed, including brow-beating your Honor into yielding his admittedly fine instrument to you. I had thought you raised better but now I see that I have truly failed you." the Elf Lord said loudly, so the entire hall could hear.
"Father!? Father! Please let go, I surrender! And we were all jesting see? All in good fun, was it not Lumyt'seit? Ulric?" She appealed to her enemies in desperation.
Ulric shared a glance with his boyish comrade and then both of them with his host.
They burst out laughing while the woman soothed her pinched ear, now reddening from their combined efforts. She stuck her tongue out at them, which only made it better.
