//------------------------------// // Act 4- Chapter 8: Negotiations // Story: Icon: Remnants of the North // by Vixavior //------------------------------// Negotiations Proofread by TehSporkBandit ”Listen carefully, Nithinger. Can you hear it? Can you hear the voices, the ones rising upon the black pinions of the great carrion birds?" Iblis's loathsome whisper carries in a breathy hiss as intimate and venomous as a jilted lover. His sanctimonious reverence passes by needlelike teeth and pencil-thin lips that twist into a mirthless smile. The Gremlin pulls away, though half a dozen claws latch onto you and roughly shepherd you down the hallways and up to the staircase once again. All of it, ostensibly, to bring you to Ulf, but they were taking the most roundabout route imaginable. At the second floor from the top, you glimpse an earthy blur from your periphery. Turning slightly, bringing the object into focus, the ragged tail of a robe materializes just long enough for it to disappear again inside a wide doorway. The heavy double doors are shut loudly, but one rocks back on its hinges with a tortured groan. From behind it rises a low harmonic chorus with dozens of sibilant voices melding together in some deluded hymn. A liturgical tone rasps, “…and up, up to the lands we take flight. Upon the wings of change, down to the valley of death, all await the Day of Destiny…” You slow your jaunt and try to linger; another sharp prod in your lower back drives you up the steps. A short climb up the circling stairwell brings you back to that room you’d fought in. The Carrion Lord's body is gone but the gristly stain still mars the ground. This time, you are directed to the right, towards the door near the disordered table with its two broken chairs. Flecks of wood and one shattered chair leg still lay under the trestle table itself. The first of your escort props the tall door open for you. An uncomfortable moment passes before Iblis waves a claw to usher you inside. Even before setting a foot inside, you catch the beckoning scent of roasted meat, fresh breads, and a plethora of other delectable temptations. The sterile light grey gives way to something slightly more sumptuous, though admittedly it’s not as grand as some halls you’d imagined. To your left is the very end of a long trestle table trailing off further into the room and a number of crude wooden table settings large enough to seat an army. Opposite it is a great roaring fire, its flames lick at a roasting spit while a cauldron bubbles away, collecting the drippings beneath the bent bough of what could be venison or something uncomfortably close. “Angle.” Ulf’s unmistakable voice booms out as a Gremlin scurries by with its head bowed and an empty clay pitcher in claw. You walk past the small intervening stone corner and see the rest of the banquet hall runs the full length of the tower. A series of grand stained glass windows cover the far walls, letting in little light but lending the room a regal bearing. At the very end, seated beneath a great white banner with a Raven and a two pronged cross, is the aged marauder lord. There was no throne of skulls, horns, antlers, swords, or anything else particularly decorative. The fur cloaked barbarian shovels a hunk of bread in his mouth and licks his fingers clean. He smiles, a strange sight indeed, but not as strange as the welcoming wave he gives you, “Come in!” Along the last quarter of the table are large platters of baked fish flecked in almond slivers, steaming heaps of diced potatoes and carrots, golden breads, soft white cheeses studded with nuts and savoury ornamentation, roasted bird and chunks of amber glazed meats. Aside from Ulf, yourself, and two scuttling servers, the room stands empty. “Sit, sit.” He entreats you with a jovial tone. With his ruddy face, thick fur cloak, and deep green garments, surrounded by a decadent feast and the pleasant hues of candle light, Ulf uncannily resembles Dicken's Ghost of Christmas Present. The uncomfortable shuffle across also removes you further from the comforting warmth of the fire. “I always thought that I would be long dead before I actually saw another man. When we saw signs that we might be wrong,” he halts and chortles; the noise sounds like rolling thunder. “I said you nothing but their cowardly fear of mecome back to haunt them. My chief retainer and thane, Iblis, said he could deal with any spirit. He said he found and destroyed the witch, claiming it was just a reflection through an unholy mirror. But here you are, alive, in the flesh. And you are an Angle! By the will of God and work of the Nornar, to good omens!” Ulf raises a two tined fork with a hunk of meat on the end. Every step closer reveals more detail in his sanguine visage. Even the scratched lenses don’t obscure much as they look like just one more line on the man's craggy face. He isn't as you first recalled; beneath the great helm is a mop of wiry white hair as untamed as the north wind, matching his thick white beard that curls at its ends like a stereotypical wizard. His face is leathery and wrinkled with age though his green eyes gleam with the shine of an intelligence honed by wit of age rather than the neglect of youth. He wasn’t dressed in fine adornments, he was no Olaf, but cloaked in rough homespun with a broad cloak fringed in white rabbit fur as the single touch of elegance. The only other notable item is something you had seen in dreams: the threaded Alicorn horn. The Icon of Theophilus hangs around his neck, the knowledge of its presence seems to dispel some of the disarming charm on display. “The Carrion Lords call you ‘Crystal Eyes’ because of those.” He casually points to your face, and thus your glasses. “They tell me that those improve sight. Much like a…" he trails off for a moment before uttering a guttural curse, likely directed at not having a word for what he meant, “a vision bottle!” His apparent pause seemed halting, as if awaiting confirmation. As your eyes skim over the table, you could see the paint flecked axe just to his left, well out of your reach, where as a carving knife rests alongside his plate, jammed through a roasted ham hock. In that interminable silence, you take your seat and nervously look up at him. What went on in that man’s twisted mind? Was he some bipolar warlord capable of the greatest boons and most horrific crimes? This couldn't be the Ulf that haunted your memories, it neither looked nor felt like your dreams. You were never supposed to look a king in the eyes without permission, yet Ulf just leans on his elbow as if devoid of any notion of lordship or nobility. “And what do your pets call you, Angle?” With a loud 'harumph', you clear your throat and try to keep your voice from wavering, “My friends just call me Rightly.” “Then, I hope to be able to call you by that before the end of the day.” He leans back and points towards your cup. A Gremlin scuttles out from the darkness and upends a wineskin, pouring the deep sanguine drink into a wooden goblet where it pools and froths. Nevertheless, it looks all too similar to the blood spilt over the floor in the next room. “Why would a warlord care about that? You could call me Princess Amadala if you wanted to and what say would I have? I’m a prisoner, as are my frien-” you are cut off, but not by a blade, or by some harsh bellow, but a surprising laugh that echoes around the halls in a mocking retort to your vitriol fueled start to a rant. “You’re no prisoner or slave! My Lord wouldn’t tolerate that.” “Well it’s not like we’re dinner guests either.” You spit back but already this was faring differently from some grand confrontation and ‘kneel before me or else’ confrontation. Instead, the warlord pushes over a plate of meat with the sharp serving fork. “Not yet, but you might still be welcome guests. You and all your pets… I am hospitable.” The grease dripping meat was pig, deer, or maybe even a pony. The thought that you could have just been offered meat from a sentient being bubbles up unbidden in your stomach and causes it to flip. On a technical level, if you ate them, it wasn’t cannibalism but it certainly fell into some grey territory. For the sake of alleviating that worry you reach for something else, a stunted apple perched on the side of the plate as if it were garnish. You pick it up and take a bite. The crab apple had been crisp and sour at one point, but soaked in grease and roasted along with tripe and ham hocks, it has turned tepid, sour, slippery, and mushy. It is revolting. Choking back the revulsion is difficult and you hear Ulf’s amused chortle. “Not one for meat? Hmm, I imagine enough time among the Horses of the Lowlands would change your taste. Tell me-” he interrupts himself with a whistle which summons a pair of Gremlins tending to the spit roast, “bring some of the Five’s food for our guest.” With that done he looks back at you, “How long have you been here, Angle?” “A few months.” “Then you have picked up their language well. It is similar to Saxland, your ancestral lands.” He leans in and waves you over as if letting you in on an inside joke, “Now and then I catch some of them speaking Vollundi.” The name flashes across your mind as a name belonging to Northern France, they were words etched in your memories from the visions bestowed by Princess Luna. “I’m surprised the Nortmann received us so poorly. No matter. You have been here for months, I have been here for thirteen years. For ten I have traveled the mountains and subdued the Gremlin tribes. Remarkable, fascinating creatures, but prone to squabbling. So, not much different from home.” He erupts into gales of laughter, prompting you to imitate the gesture. It is hard to tell if he meant that as irony or a joke. Settling down, he continues his narrative while pushing a plain wooden goblet your way, “Eventually, they saw reason. Part of this was that I became friends with Hunnin, Corax, the gatekeeper. He and his kin liked the stories of the old gods, and the Gremlins came to like them as well. It’s nothing more than tales, but a good tale is yet a good tale. A strong tale.” He leans back in some golden memory spawned fugue. You could have picked up that knife and tried to slit his throat, but the vicious thought passes as much by your lack of determination as the suddenness of the repast. “So I saw in the paintings.” You recall the iconic murals spiraling up the staircase from the undermountain passages. “Why am I here?” You look at the drink, seeing that it is deep red and figure it is probably wine. Taking a sip, it was warm and something far thicker and stranger with a sweetness that warms rather than burns the back of your throat. “Kondition. It’s a spice wine, like the Latins had. A friend had a fondness for it, and took the recipe with him when he left that land. He was much like the others you deal with, and like all my guests. Unicorns.” Ulf explains unprompted. Perhaps he is trying to build a bridge, perhaps you being a human had some becalming effect on him. “So I take it you’re not killing them like you did the others?” It was blunt, but ‘killing’ is still more diplomatic than ‘murdering.’ You shift uncomfortably, ready to roll back and sprint to the door, hoping he couldn’t throw that axe or knife with that much precision. “No-no.” He waves and turns up a lip, passing the accusation off as if it were nothing but a pedestrian quibble. “They’re here for a very important purpose. A purpose that I had hoped you could come to understand. Tell me, are you aware of the Embodiments of harmony?” Alarm bells ring in your head. Sure, the whole ‘Elements of Harmony’ thing had come up, and two of them were imprisoned by Ulf. The question was, did he know that? The name is wrong but so close that it couldn’t be coincidental. You take another swig of the sweet wine and answer, “Vaguely. I have heard about them.” “Then let me explain. Each land has five fundamental ‘embodiments’, remnants of something purely good.” He holds up a hand, spreading his fingers, “Five chances, five guides. They impart succor without question, they give without reward, they trust without proof, they include others without limits, and they will never mislead you. Together, they create something new, and once you find it, the secret of lasting peace is yours for the taking. If you find the magic element, you rule the land and can do so to create a new golden age.” He lets that all sink in, though you were already well aware of the purported Elements. It was nothing was strictly new, but he seemed to be driving at something that was already self-evident. “The magic element, unity.” What? ‘Unity’? Ulf continues as you mull over what he said. “Everyone must find this out, every people, every world, and every realm has the five. The sixth comes with the combination of these elements. Unity. Peace. Olaf, my king and king of the Northmen, embraced these five tenets. He started to pave a way to peace and prosperity, but treachery and selfishness claimed him and the Unicorn seer, too.” With a languishing sigh he reaches for his drink. Was he saying that for effect, or did he actually believe it? It wasn’t like telling him the truth of the matter was liable to actually help. “So the sixth element is ‘Unity’?” It gets a simple nod. “Under who?” Ulf pauses for a moment or two before commenting with complete detachment, “Us, of course.” And there’s the catch. “We found the Icon, it was meant for us. You and your Angles are part of that. Me and the five Embodiments of Harmony will open up the land, solidifying rule under one who understands this well. I believe the Alicorn, Twilight Sparkle, to be this very element.” You choke back surprise as a platter of fruit and wheat settles under your nose, delivered by one of the cowed Gremlin servers. Food was inconsequential; Ulf had touched on something but was just strange enough for it to matter. He was right about the individual, but entirely wrong about her relevance. “A-and how…” you clear your throat, “do you know that it’s Twilight Sparkle and not Princess Celestia, Luna, or Cadence?” “Cadence?” A note of inquisitive interest lingers at the edge of his voice. Son of a bitch, was I not supposed to say that? Regardless, Ulf continues, “Once, I sought their audience in a manner that I was told by a very reliable source of knowledge. He saw it, so it did work and I am convinced. But did either volunteer the knowledge? No. Did either take notice of us? No. At least, not until I took action. Then they noticed, the Carrion Lords were right all along, power and fear of losing it awakens any from their slumber. Shock them, and you will have their attention. Iblis said it was so, and he was right. These Carrion Lords, the Gremlin tribes,” Ulf swirls his goblet and quaffs the rest with a sigh, “They know the Horses. I am not so prideful as to doubt them and their expertise. They've served very well. Rest assured, the Princesses know and this for the best.” Silence, that is the only operating sound for a few moments longer. Ulf obliviously sips his drink as recognition crosses your mind. Something is off. Sure, this was all before the incident with Nightmare Moon, but he had conquered the Gremlins and now he listened to them regarding the Equestrians. But the Gremlins hated ponies and seemed to prey on them. “So Iblis told you all that?” Ulf nods. You continue after a moment of thought, “So what do you want with me and my friends?” “Nothing.” He flatly quips and drains the rest of his goblet. “Then why are we here?” “I assume you’re here to cause problems. But, now you know what is at stake. I feel convinced that after the Day of Destiny, the day where a renewed vision and the Embodiments combine, the Queen of Twilight will return me home to finish the work Saint Olaf began.” To Ulf it was merely a few trifling years, not the millennium time difference you knew. “So you’re not out to kill all Unicorn-kind?” He furrows his brow at you in surprise, but the assurance of safety was a necessity. Seeing your hesitance, he raises one hand, “Of course not.” “Then why did you focus on them?” He shifts to his side and drums his fingers on his goblet rim, “I didn’t. Many were just requirements of Unicorns being so close together. I couldn’t afford letting the Embodiments of Harmony run away and not understand the true nature their importance.” “That’s not what the messages said. Besides, what if they already know and are dealing with it in this world, hypothetically speaking that is.” To that he remains quiet. Another discomforting shift brings Ulf forward. This time there is a hint of malice playing across his weathered brow. “I am kept informed by my Lieutenant, Iblis would have known so I would have known. Do not take me for a fool, the Five did not even known each other or their purposes when we took them it. Either that's ignorance and we will help them see their potential, or lies and we will make them fulfill their potential. You see, this is for all who dwell in these lands. I'm doing this for their own good.” He nods in finality and leans back while waving over his servants to refill the goblet. You sit in silence and process his plans. A smile once more returns to his face as he continues, “The Gremlins merely received word of the truth first, the Day of Destiny. The Horses will come to know this peace in time. Their tyrannical monarchs will be replaced, and Twilight Sparkle will rule Equestria. I collected the five hidden Embodiments like my omens said I should. I found each of the sigils. With their help in creating the sixth, we can bring about absolute good. And with the power of an Alicorn, like that who came before her, we can go back home to reveal the truth of the Five to all corners of the earth. We can make everywhere better. I don’t believe you are as vile as the Swedes, though you wore their coat and colours long enough. You see? After the Day of Destiny, you and your pets may go. I give them to you.” The tone is nearly apocryphal. “I’m supposed to listen to a butcher? Celestia and Luna have done everything possible for their people, their ponies. How much more ‘good’ can you get than that? You, you cut six ponies to pieces! You’re terrifying ponies into submission. Why would you let us go?” The outburst that tears itself from your throat is shocking in retrospect, and more than a little unwise. Ulf’s blink of confusion doesn't stop him from flexing his hand around the hilt of the serving knife. “Six what? I have done no such thing. You think us predators? You have heard of the Changelings, yes? You have heard of beasts which prey upon terror and revel in destruction. I will protect them all, not the individual, but everyone from the lowest thrall and carl, to the greatest chieftain and queen. I will give them what they need, not what they want!” He stands, and in a flash, draws the carving knife. With a bellow he brings the glittering arc down, causing you to recoil as the knife slams down through the ham hock, shaking the whole table. His calloused hand reaches out and grabs your collar, wrenching you forward and dragging you halfway across the table. “Ask the Gremlins, ask the changelings, ask your buffalo, or the many other creatures not included in Celestia's order! This is for everyone, there is nothing that I will tear down that I will not build up even greater than before! I have taken nothing for myself! Unity, that’s what you don’t understand! By the grace of the Alicorn Queen, we’ll spread the Embodiments back to our world, and to whatever lies beyond. I… I...!” He stops and suddenly tosses you back in your chair before letting go of the knife, “I am generous. You will live. Like I promised Olaf.” Ulf continues after pulling the knife free, “You stay here, you and your... friends, taken care of, fed, and when the Day of Destiny comes, you will leave. Iblis!” The door creaks open, “You called, Mighty One?” The one-fanged creature slinks into the room, keeping his gaze down and all but groveling as he spreads his arms wide with a bow. “Take him back to his chambers with his Horses” Ulf flicks his wrist at you dismissively. “Yes, Ulf, of course.” He grins, flashing a broken fanged smirk as a dozen armed Gremlins clamber into the hall to whisk you away. You're harangued back into the main room and pushed into the stairwell where Iblis shuts the door behind you The group stops cold and looks at their leader. “Why'd we-” you start for just an instant, half turning as you feel a strong pair of clawed hands slam you in the back, sending you tumbling down the flight of stairs. Your heart jumps as you claw out, furiously trying to stop your descent as the first narrow step rushes up to strike you in the face. There's no handhold or chance to arrest your fall as you bounce off the stone, each sharp edge sending fresh bolts of pain radiating through your body. You come to a stop, sliding down a few more stairs and lay in a bruised and battered heap. Your glasses awkwardly hang off your nose, one of the arms bent at an unnatural angle and the right lens has a crack running right through the center. The sound of footsteps swim through your mind as you vaguely register the Gremlins racing down after you. You reach out to feel the wall just as the robed figures appear again. Iblis drifts behind a few of his cohorts, “I said the post-mortal winds would find you, so I’m not going to kill you. But thank you, human, you’ve done a lot more than you know.” “Screw you.” Yyou wheeze out and try to rise to all fours, clutching the carved stone for support. He smiles and squats in front of you, perched like a gargoyle and grinning like a lunatic. “I really thought that by tearing the guts out of that one Pony that looked like you, I'd kill you, too. Pity.” He gently and almost kindly tilts your chin up, “He had a spine, too, and I broke it as well. Oh, but I have a little memento for you.” Your vision swims as he raises his balled up fist and brings it crashing down in a vicious haymaker. There is a sharp throbbing pain as something rattles around in your mouth. You spit it out and listen to something hard skip down the staircase before it's lost to sight. A moment of sickening revelation dawns on you: the coppery taste of blood is overpowering and your left incisor throbs as you feel the sharp broken edge of the tooth with your tongue. Every breath of air is enough to send stabbing pains through your body. “I could tear you to pieces myself, or just tell Ulf you did that and he’d probably do it for me.” You spit out blood as another stream dribbles down your chin. The Gremlin leans towards you. Iblis is close enough that you could probably whip your arm around his neck and snap it like a twig before any of his guards could aid him. You'd killed one Carrion Lord, surely Iblis would be easier. “Yes, he probably would. But think about that carefully, human.” A hook from a window pole jabs your back as another group of raggedy Gremlins on the steps behind your nemesis flash a haphazard array of curved blades and vicious picks. You place your palms flat on the stone and heave yourself up, seeing that grin hovering in front of your face. It is now a mirror of one of your own smiles. “Feel free to tell Ulf anything you want. By all means, Nithinger, go ahead.” He pats the rapidly swelling side of your face, plunging you into a fresh world of pain, “But tell me, what do you think he’d do to Miss Rarity? You wouldn't want him to know one of his ‘Embodiments of Harmony’ is a worthless fraud, would you? The cover up is convincing, but it won’t last forever without me and my kind overlooking it. For now, I’d recommend you just, hmm… roll with it.” He shoves you tumbling into space, and the only thing to hear is the cascading echo of Iblis's mocking laughter.