A/n: Another ruff for the weekend, trying to knock out these closing chapters of the first main arc.

Howling Thunder Ch38: Survival of the Useful

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Grandmother’s ear twitches, Walt and I are treated to a lovely hour long lesson on behavior befitting royalty. Followed by some nonsense about what separates us from actual beasts which walk on four legs. When I pointed out that our family can freely shapeshift into our animal ancestors she promptly kicked me out of the office...as planned.

Ulfa makes no complaint against my choice to raid the Turul estate. The rest of the night consists of a rather entertaining bath featuring lightning strikes entering the open window, and falling asleep to the booming thunder of the storm.

After sleeping in the next morning till noon I venture out into the rain filled streets to the craft district. Shops are closed, obviously the street carts are missing, the entire city feels empty.

The public forge is vacant, even so, small blue flames flicker from the central pit in defiance of the pouring heavens. Ulfa explains that the flames come from some undisclosed treasure underground, managed by the guild.

Before even opening the door to Patra’s shop I hear yelling from Lupa.

“Is your head filled with cat shit?! How could you possibly not notice the water flowing into the workshop? Put some rags along those window seals and if you break one more mop you’ll be carving a new one from a wet log with your teeth!”

I open the front door wide, water from the street spills into the shop, “Ah my darling mates, I’ve come to hold you close during the storm. Copper mop this up floor up already, the customers will complain.”

His mouth falls open as he takes a glance about the room in search of the non existent shoppers.

Lupa cracks a small grin but quickly hides it, “You heard him Shit for Brains, use your tail if you have to!”

This time he indignantly holds up his black, short furred tail that couldn’t hold more water than a teacup, “Really I don’t,”

I growl, “Are you disrespecting my woman?”

He immediately tucks his tail and runs off to find a mop.

Closing the door behind Mora and Ulfa, I use my fog to soak up the water I let in the room.

Lupa taps her chin, “Can you do that to my leather stock? The runt was in here flirting with that harlot, Ailu, yesterday while my delivery was getting caught in the sudden storm.”

With a nod, “Sure thing, what did Phix’s daughter want?”

She leads us to the stairs down to the work area, “Thank you, I’d hate to get further behind in work. The girl has tried a couple times to buy one of my dresses in the past. She probably was looking to see if I had any new outfits already. Father would always get mad at me for refusing to sell to her but I don’t want the little bitch making rounds with old men in my hard work.”

Lupa shivers at the thought. That does sound more than little disgusting.

“I want to make a name for myself and that name shouldn’t be associated with wide spread legs.”

Admittedly I can’t help but glance at her rather nice legs now she mentions the subject.

Mora gives a small cough, I look up to see Lupa raising a brow at me.

I grin, “Well we were on the subject, now where is that leather?”

She rolls her eyes and points to ten large crates stacked against a far wall near the white forge.

“Thank the gods for magic,” Spotting Patra staring at a large stack of dull gold coins, “Um, Patra, about that trident…”

Pulling out the pieces, I present them in front of her.

The jackal girl doesn’t seem upset at all, “What cut them so cleanly?”

Mora walks up with Kreiz’s sabre, “It’s a rather impressive blade, apparently an heirloom of the turul, one of a pair.”

Patra takes it and examines it, holding it out flat, balancing it on a finger just past the hilt, giving the tip a flick.

She puts it back in it’s sheath, “Really doesn’t seem special besides worthless to anyone without wings for arms. The shape is ridiculous, probably some enchantment on it for sharpness. Nonsense really, there are a multitude of ways to negate such things. Even a random scratch in just the right place, possibly damaging a hidden rune, and the sword becomes just a gaudy decoration.”

Handing it back to Mora she returns to her pile of coins, “I had these scrounged up and delivered this morning. They’re from a long gone human city to the southeast, seized in the war and found here in Yoden once the demons were driven out. Most the old men around here call the metal Lion Gold, from the image stamped on the coins. Give me a few weeks and I’ll have a new weapon for you, this will make up the core once I’ve decided on how I want to process them.”

As her mind seems to drift back into her work I leave her alone. Sitting down on a stool I begin to work through the crates. The afternoon passes by peacefully, working with Lupa while Ulfa lectures me on how the city drain system will manage the rainwater. I’m not surprised to find out Ulfa knows a few long forgotten passage ways for navigating the city from underground.

All the while Mora reads a book in the corner, occasionally asking Ulfa something or adding information from her own education. It finally dawns on me that she is more than double my age in years.

As evening comes, Lupa goes up to her room after simple ‘good night.’

Copper pokes his head down, “I’m going home...Should I lock up or will you be leaving Nox?”

I glance over to Patra pouring over a small pile of notes, “Lock up, I’ll be staying here tonight.”

He nods and leaves, Mora closes her book, “We’re staying?”

“Yup, I poked my head around earlier, there are a few spare rooms or you can bunk with Lupa, she should still be awake actually.”

Ulfa chuckles, “And what about me pup?”

I shrug, she never needed telling before, and honestly I’m thinking it’s best to stay slightly wary of the warg pair and Freki.

A smile creeps on my face as I sneak up behind Patra and scoop her petite form in my arms.

“Hey Fuzzy! I have work still you know?”

Pointing at the darkened window near the ceiling, “No you don’t, shop is closed for the day. I don’t know if you heard but I fought a hard battle last night.”

She smiles, “Oh, I think Mother mentioned this storm scaring away my customers was your fault.”

I nod, “Yes, and I’ll be accepting full responsibility for your profit loss.”

While letting me carry her out of the workshop she pokes my scruffy chin, “And how are you planning on working off this debt?”

“In your bed.”

Patra’s laughter sounds in the halls, “I accept, but you’ll be helping me more until the storm clears. As your mate and blacksmith I can’t have you out and about unarmed.”

I kick open her bedroom door and toss her onto the bed, “Nox Winter, reporting for duty.”

The rest of the week passes by slowly, the storm lingers. Hundreds of families are herded to the Turul estate for shelter. Most folks just take shelter in the many towers, the truly poor lived outside the walls to begin with. While the local area doesn’t suffer too much in flooding, many simple shacks are destroyed in the run off from the hills. The raised river takes a decent toll on the docks area but again, nothing that can’t be repaired within a month.

I do notice that much of the nobility, including Grandmother, seem rather upbeat. Ulfa informs me that the death toll, while low, consists of only the poorest folk whom the upperclass viewed as parasites.

While initially upset, Ulfa took me out and showed me that such a view wasn’t without merit. Plenty of lowlifes survive by stealing from hard working people or begging. Asking for handouts yet contributing nothing to the city in return aside from taking dumps in the alleyways. Convenient with the current weather washing it all away.

We watched from shadows while communities banded together to make it through the storm together while the lowlifes suffer alone. It’s all rather harsh, my guilt struggles to find ground while praises come from visitors to the castle, excited about ‘the cleansing of the riff raff.’

I find myself hiding away even more in Patra’s shop or in the Academy. However among the students a new excitement soon spreads despite the still present storm. The announcement of the challenge, a grand duel between The Lord Fenrir and former general, Miklos.

A week from the night of the raid and the people of Yoden flock towards the Royal Arena. They brave the storm to witness a proud man die in mortal combat.

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A/n: not the most cheerful chap but I wanted to touch on the bleakness of medieval life a bit. in other news, I've decided to include a teaser for the next life in the epilog for book 1. Your first hint: 1095

next chap: ROUND ONE, FIGHT!

I can see this is gonna need a bunch of clean up, but it's 3 am and i'm nodding off at meh desk. Wednesday todo list, catch up proof reading, and a pokemon chap