[center][u][h1]Ulfar the Ulfwerenar - The Graelings[/h1][/u] Act Two: Duty, Honor, Vengence [s]The Saga of James Conrad[/s] [img]https://41.media.tumblr.com/1bc4ef66e311f09fd262cd0d65f0d2ea/tumblr_n86v6xxkwR1sum32jo1_500.jpg[/img] [i]Ixyan, the 8th of Gerna 1200 AU - 08.03.1200[/i][/center] The roar of laughter drifted through the crisp, cold air. Ulfar trudged through the snow drift towards the tavern. Passing a frozen puddle, he looked at his reflection. His dark eyes stared back at him, framed by his mane-like hair. He noticed the red stain around his mouth, and he washed his face with some melted snow. Looking up at the darkening sky, he tried to remember the battle. He recalled accompanying Haraldur and his warband of Huscarls to the village of Kodradfief. His recollections also went as far as the Graelings lining up against the Vargs. The jeers and shouts had echoed along the valley, both armies chanting madly, running along to the savage beat of pounding war drums. Then his memory failed. His last vision had been a huge Ymirish giant wielding a brutal two-handed axe. He stopped his reverie and decided to find out what had happened next. The mead hall was full, the clan celebrating the day's victory and the expectation of tomorrow's start of preparations for their raiding into the rich Southlands was evident. In the corner two Berserkers were engaged in a head-butting contest. They squared off a few paces apart, heads bowed down. Then, as a comrade shouted to start, they charged headlong at each other, their skulls clashing with an audible thud. The man who remains conscious the longest is deemed the winner, and contests could last for hours. Shouting for a jar of mead, Ulfar strode across the dimly lit hall to Haraldur and his fellow Huscarls. They were engaged in a loud game of knuckle-throwing, and a large pile of treasure was laid in the middle of the table as a bet. As Jarlik tossed the rune-inscribed knuckle bones against the far wall, Haraldur noticed Ulfar's approach. "By Olric's beard Ulfar, you look worse than I will tomorrow morning! Anyone would think you'd had to fight those snivelling Vargest by yourself." Ulfar sat down on the long bench beside the table and grinned wolfishly. "I probably did! Seriously though lad, how did I fare against the scum?" Haraldur settled back, obviously preparing to recount an epic speech. He was well known for his skills with words as well as the mighty axe he wielded in battle. "The Wolfclaws set out with the dark of night, their hearts full of rage at the thought of the hated vargs on their lands. With Fenris Fang and Mordins Shield they marched to war..." "I know what we damn well did lad, just tell me how many of the Vargs I killed!" "Some people just don't appreciate tradition. You have to do things the proper way, otherwise, you lose the whole feel of the baule." "Look lad, I was killing people when your father was learning which end of a sword was the sharp bit, so shut up about tradition. If you don't tell me how many of the scum I killed I'm going to bite your damned head off!" "Don't think you can scare me! My Huscarls killed forty Vargs, and then we cut down a handful of Trolls. But that wasn't all, we also scared off their chieftain, just by looking at him! You started on the Ice Giant, damned near pulled his arm off and choked him with the wet end! Then you bit the faces off a few Trolls, but they didn't seem to notice too much. After that it was all getting a bit hectic. I saw you chasing after some Vargs on large pigs, and then you were lost in the crowd." "See lad, that wasn't too difficult for you was it!" Ulfar wandered off to find somebody else to tell him how he had fared against the boar riders. He spied Frund the Dwarf - named so due to his short height more than anything- by the fireplace, arguing with another. He walked over to them and slapped Frund heartily on the back, almost knocking him over. The little man turned round, frowning murderously. His expression eased when he saw Ulfar standing behind him. "Ah. Ulfar, just the person to see. My cousin Snorri is from Araz’ark in the Northern Ridge mountains by the Empire. He says its biologically inviable for a human to turn into a wolf, and I think you could prove him wrong." "Say that again shorty, it sounded like gibberish to me, and if it was an insult you better start running!" "My cousin Snorri here reckons that you can't turn into a wolf." Frund's eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint. "He's also wagered a silver inlaid scabbard and a gold drinking horn on the matter. We might be able to split the loot up somehow..." Ulfar turned on the stranger and bent down to growl in his ear. "Can't go wolf, eh? I hope you believe the evidence of your own eyes." Ulfar began breathing deeply, and closed his eyes. He felt the taint roaring through his veins. His heart hammered in his chest and his skin tingled and itched. He felt the hairs pushing through the pores of his flesh, and he tasted the blood in his mouth from his fangs ripping through his aching gums. Letting out a howl of triumph and rage, he opened his eyes. The red haze was there, tinging the edges of his vision. He could smell the sheer terror of the now small form standing in front of him. His ears picked up the faintest sounds; the heavy breathing of the tavern's occupants, the whistle of the wind outside the thick wooden walls. A surge of energy rushed through his body, and he felt like pouncing on the hapless man. He felt his own blood trickling down the long claws that now tipped his elongated fingers. His muscles were swollen and adrenaline flowed throughout his system. The body was in prime condition, despite his human age, and he knew what it was like to be immortal. The call of the night hammered away at the back of his mind, constantly trying to seduce him. He wished to break down the doors and race off on the hunt. Applying his willpower Ulfar managed to control the animal emotions raging through his mind. He adapted his form again, allowing himself to talk more easily, though he knew from experience that to others his voice would sound slurred and basic. [color=red]"You take scabbard. And I’ll drink from goblet!"[/color] [center][b][u][h2]Imperial High Palace of the Phoenix[/h2][/u][/b] [i]Ceveut, the 5th of Gerna 1200 AU - 05.03.1200[/i] [/center] The meeting with his sister went about as well as he could have hoped. Ralltene Valaerin knew today’s affairs had only just begun. The High Houses had yet to all arrive at the Imperial Palace. Which meant there was precious little time to waste. Traditionally the members of the Prime Estates had some sway in the voting of the next Emperor when reporting to their Arch Electors. As they trusted their eyes and ears in the Capital city of Lalrial. Getting the backing of a few early could be a notable boon to his chances. Of course he could not overlook the important vote of the Arch Dawnbringer. However, until the Elder Council had decided on their new representative for the Church of the Sacred Flame. He would find better success with the prime estates. First he needed to check on Victoria, his wife and future Empress if fortune favored him, before planning their opening moves. Ralltene had the connections and name, but he would admit when it came to the realm of politics both his sister and wife easily held more experience than himself. He arrived in the halls of the Palaces eastern wing where the Duchess’s room had been prepared. He rapped the door to announce himself before entering. Victoria opened the door dressed in a light, purple-tinted nightgown, a quill and a partially written letter in her spare hand. She beckoned her husband inside and closed the door behind him, all wordlessly, before returning to her desk to continue writing. She was barely dressed, seemed somewhat tired, and her long, black hair was drawn up away from her face. Clearly, she had been relaxing in the room—or at least conducting some sort of business not particularly strenuous—for quite some time, and had had a busy day. After about a minute of continuing her writing, she decided to inquire to her husband about the day’s events. “You’ve been making rounds of the city, I trust? Charming a few Electors?” Ralltene took note of the letter his wife wrote and the state of her attire, quickly gathering she herself was no doubt already working on that very front. "I spent the morning futilely attempting to convince my older sister against placing her name forward in the election," He brushed his hand through his dark hair after taking a seat in a free chair near the desk across from his wife. "She said she would think on the matter- which is answer enough. I have learned at least that save yourself, there are no other Arch Electors within the capital. Which goes for my oldest brother as well who is still in the north last I heard.” He allowed himself a small smile as he added, “Which gives us the chance to sway their prime estates. Consolidate support there and by the time the Arch electors arrive, they will have praises for one contender from the mouths of their own Prime Magistrates. My mind goes to Lady Marra. Jakinius trained within House Tallurian, if we can steal their support we could rob him of at least one vote. Assuming he runs of course. May as well prepare the ground just in case.” He paused a moment in thought while gauging his wife's thoughts on the plan. The Duchess smirked and rolled her eyes, sparing her husband only a momentary glance before returning to her letter. “I would compliment you on the brilliance of your proposal, but I’m far too humble to ever compliment my own idea. I talked with Lady Marra earlier this evening. She seemed pliable, but perhaps excessively so. I’m afraid anyone else who might speak with her between now and when her sister arrives could sway her in another direction. Which is why I’m writing the Queen of Tellaria a letter, for her to receive the moment she arrives in Lalrial.” As he had guessed his wife had not been idle, "a grand idea.” Ralltene admitted. “That leaves the other members of the Prime Magistrates to woo. I’ve sent out my contacts and agents to get a feel for where the votes might go so we will know where to focus our efforts.” Ralltene leaned back as he laced his fingers together looking at a window. “Given House Gracieux and House Starborn’s… history, I’ll talk to Victor or whoever he decides to send to represent his house. If we can get his support we’ll have a firm foothold in the east which will at least show a strong backing to the other houses..” “Thankfully, in elections if not in war, geography is nearly irrelevant. We needn’t focus our efforts on kingdoms from any particular region of Ethica. With that in mind, my sister, Lady Zoe, has established a rapport with House Seval, of Aeche. They are likely to support us. My brother, Elouan, has also spent some time in Stormgully, the seat of House Cragmore, though to woo some Cragmore girl, not the King. Nonetheless, hopefully a family that destitute is eager to select an Emperor with a plan for economic growth in mind. The last thing the realm needs right now is for all of its able-bodied men to be given swords and marched north to impale themselves on a barbarian spear.” Victoria finished writing her letter, then neatly folded it aside, placing her quill over top of it. She then stood from her chair and walked over to approach Ralltene from behind, placing her hands upon his shoulders. The kiss she then placed upon his neck seemed to convey an intent alternate to politics, but the words she whispered into his ear did not. “We should discuss, even if only for a moment, what our plans will be should our efforts come to nought and your brother becomes Emperor.” Ralltene did not want to dwell on that prospect. He had not seen his brother in some odd five or so years but he knew his brothers manner and mind well enough to guess where he would want to take the realm. Victoria was not wrong in her summary of what might happen should Jakinius take the throne. He sighed, "Assuming that my brother wins this election. It would not be a difficult task to obtain a seat on the High Council. Perhaps with time curve his interest into one that would benefit the realm as a whole. The problem would- of course- lay in whether or not my brother listens to reason. He has ever been as stubborn as he was thick skulled.” “I would not count my sister out, however, she has survived the politics of the capital for this long not without good reason. I would not be surprised if she managed to turn things around.” The Duchess, and hopefully Empress-to-be, lingered her hold on her husband’s shoulders for a short while longer, listening to his breath and feeling his body relax slightly. Eventually, she trailed her fingertips over his forearms and off of him, then slid her lithe body into bed. She smiled, embroiled herself in the sheets, and gestured her husband to bed. Tomorrow would be a busy day, but there was no peace to the wicked. Ralltene raised an eyebrow slightly but said nothing as he joined his wife. Yes, the election to come would be a trying one he knew. Still the hardships could wait for a few candlemarks.