Interesting Times (Ulric)

[Ulric]

“Hide? Whose hide?” Ulric was confused. He didn’t remember Sam being a tanner. Certainly, he would have smelled the urine and other… substances used in the leather making process. No, that wasn’t right. Sam worked in the stubbles. Stibbles? Stables. “Gotta kill the horses,” Ulric mumbled. He knew he’d forgotten something. But where were they? Sneaky bastards were probably watching him from the rooftops. I bet they have wings, his eyes narrowed. I bet they fly around and eat babies. Sam was in bed with the enemy though, so did that make him an accomplice? “Sam, do you eat babies?” Ulric whispered to his companion, smearing the lad’s cheek with a mixture of blood and saliva. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell on you,” he promised as the knights passed them by. “What’re you looking at, ironbritches?” he scowled.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

On second (albeit blurry) thought, he decided hiding in the stables was probably not the best idea. He kept forgetting that Ulric was afraid of horses to the point where Sam had to question his sanity. They were horses. Herbivores. Friends-of-man. Perhaps Ulric had been molested by priests of Rhysol in his youth. "Were you an altar boy?" he asked. Then, "Don't mind my cousin. He was kicked in the head by a horse when he was young. He doesn't know what he's saying." With that, he covered Ulric's mouth, trying not to tweak his broken nose.

[Ulric]

“Grawp!” Ulric exclaimed as Sam tweaked his nose. He tried to say more, but the hand muffled his words. So he licked it. Mmm – it has a nice, salty flavor. Ulric liked salt. It was a good preservative for fish, especially when used in conjunction with smoking or drying. In Ravok he’d always stored a portion of his catch to ward against the famine that never came. Good old Rhysol, Ulric snickered, always eager to dismember some poor bastard, but Ovek forbid he let any of his people starve. Come to think of it, he was ravenous. ‘I want food,’ Ulric tried to say, but the hand was still there. Still, hands were food, weren’t they? Just like the arms and legs and shoulders and… Sam didn’t have much meat on his bones, did he? But that was of little consequence. If the Myrians ate people, why couldn’t he? “Gnom!” Ulric sank his teeth into Sam’s hand. He would feast well tonight.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Ow, shyke!" he said, pulling his injured hand away and punching Ulric in the face. Luckily, he remembered about the broken nose at the last moment and caught him in the chin instead. "No biting. No death. No jail." He tried to think clearly. "These are our rules for the night. Why the petch did you bite me?" The knights seemed to have passed them by for the time being; likely they would rather not have to deal with a pair of drunks unless they became truly a nuisance to the peace. They didn't know Ulric and Sam very well, obviously. "Were you an altar boy?" he asked again, remember his previous line of questioning miraculously.

[Ulric]

“I ate a candle, once. Does that count?” Ulric shook his aching head to clear it. He’d been fortunate to escape the altars of Rhysol in his youth. Word on the canals was that the priests had a taste for flesh. Wait, what does that make me? Ulric was confused. Eating people wasn’t such a bad thing, was it? If a group of people was starving to death, it surely wasn’t wrong to put the weakest out of their misery and provide the rest a better chance of survival. Besides, who didn’t like the sound of sizzling meat over a fire? “I’m hungry,” whined Ulric. “Can’t we find some food? Like a pie or something? Or cakes. I like cakes.” He would have suggested Konti, but that might’ve run afoul of the first rule. Bet they’d taste good, he speculated. Better than Sam, at any rate.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"You ate a candle?" he asked, shocked. "Um, ah... well, let's go find some food." He certainly wouldn't take Ulric to the Stables or he'd likely try to eat some horses and then Sam would get fired. "Do you want to go to the Golden Dragon? There's food there and ladies. Or gentlemen if you want gentlemen." After all, Ulric had already tried to sully Sam's honor. Or what was left of it.

[Ulric]

“I don’t want ladies or gentlemen!” Ulric wailed. “I want prosticpubes… and Konti. Lots and lots of them! And I also want a pet Zith named Pyter and an Ethaefal for a dancing master. I need to learn how to dance,” he explained. Ulric’s hunger was great, but his curiousity was greater. He’d seldom ventured inside the passages of Stormhold. But now, flushed with liquid courage, he wanted to conduct an investigation. Surely there were all sorts of treasures and secrets inside if only he was bold enough to seek them out. “Lets go in, Sam,” he gurgled happily, “I want to look into the vaults.”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"But I don't think they keep Konti and Ethaefal and dancing in there..." Of course, he assumed they were hoarding gold and weapons and pre-Valterrian treasures and... ooh, with all of that he could rebuild his pavilion. Then he and Ulric and probably Jaeden could go to Kalea where the women were randy and free with their wares -- or so he had heard -- and make plenty of babies to fill up the ranks of this would-be Drykas pavilion. "But I don't want all my babies to be firecrotches. I want my babies to have eyes." He looked at Ulric, distracted. "You look like a rabbit."

[Ulric]

“Rabbit?” Ulric flicked his head from side to side and sniffed the cool night’s air. He didn’t see any rabbits. Perhaps they were monsters? A warren of oversized bunnies wouldn’t have surprised him the slightest bit. If anything, he’d try to join them and perhaps become a rabbit rider. No wait – that sounded dirty. He needed another title. Sir Ulric the Rabbit Rider, perhaps? “I think we should become knights,” Ulric suggested. “Right now. I mean, go in and sign some papers, show our stuff, and talk to the tree. How hard could it be?” Hee-hee, that rhymes! I could be a poet, too. A knightly poet! Ulric indulged this fantasy for a few moments, until it promptly slipped from his mind. “Stormhold ho!” He exclaimed and blew a series of blasts on his flute-dagger-trumpet. Fwee! Fwee! Fwee!

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"But don't knights have to, like, follow the rules?" he asked, yawning and reaching for straws. "You have a bit of a problem following rules, Ulric. I mean, really." People were starting to open their windows and curse at Ulric for his flute playing, and after yelling at a few to shut up, Sam began to wonder if he shouldn't try to quiet the man down. The real world kept ruining his beer buzz!