It seemed a small thing, the naming of names and titles, and, against the backdrop of the dangers of Varda, it was, but such things lower barriers between peoples, which makes them important. Or so it was between the two travelers, of backgrounds that could not be more disparate, and they continued their journey into the wilds with more ease than before. Kilometers stretched on and were then swiftly discarded as the pair made way through the forest that had previously been viewed from on high.
Leaving behind the Ancient's Gate, Ulric couldn't help but notice the astounding difference in this biome compared to the one in which he'd been dropped. If he ever got to have words with that Watcher again, he'd ask Queen Blessed Hooters why he'd been brought into this world in maybe the most dangerous, most isolated place on the continent, far from civilization, and almost certain to run afoul of a super predator feared for its savagery for a millennium.
Perhaps it had been a rite of passage; the plateau had been a test to determine if he'd had the strength, cunning, and will to earn a place in this world. If so, Ulric would chalk that up forever in the “Dick move” column. Whatever the reason, this place Brighteyes called the Deep Wood consisted of forest land more comparable to the forests of Earth. If those forests hadn't been destroyed hundreds of years prior by human agriculture, industrial poison, and sheer greed, that is.
Here, a hundred species of tree rose up to form a far less oppressive, though still complete, canopy, now fractured by the gaps of fallen leaves. Some trees had gnarled bark some smooth as Aspen. Predominant were the ones that were rough like an oak, although the leaves held a shape more akin to a trefoil than the typical long series of lobes and sinuses, and rose a few hundred feet from the forest floor, with trunks at least fifteen meters in diameter at the largest. These were the tallest of the wood but far from the only large species. A completely different variety was far stranger, growing with a trunk some twenty meters around that rose thirty meters before branching wildly outward with coniferous, spruce like bows that reached another eighty or so meters up. Such occupied an incredible forest footprint but were scarce in relation to their more Earthly brethren.
Still others were akin to the maple, the sycamore, ash, the hemlock, growing between thirty and a hundred meters tall. The rich diversity of this wood was observed both in homogenous groves in their own particular places between hill and dale and in interspersed copses along the boundary zones in elevations or watershed. These lesser trees grew plentifully, able to flourish despite not reaching as tall as their giant cousins, a fact Ulric attributed to the sheer height of those, they grew so tall that they left a gap between themselves and the rest of the forest, through which sunlight could filter down.
Undergrowth was plentiful but not thick, the shade keeping it from creating the tangles Ulric had fought through on his long-ago adventurous play hikes through underdeveloped forests trying to recover from near extinction. Instead, the bushes, shrubs, herbs, and fern like plants of the forest floor were an accenting of the health of this forest, an accompaniment to the greater orchestral arrangement of the trees. Through it all, there ran what had to be definite game trails the paths stretching wide and well beaten to evidence their traffic.
In contrast to the enormous rolling hills of the plateau, which had almost certainly been created by the fall of ancient trees eons ago that had been buried under leaf falls for gods only knew how many centuries, this forest had a far gentler terrain, sloping gradually downwards towards that distant river. On the other side, approaching the highlands, it would grow far more hilly, downright rugged at the foothills, if the barest hints of the landscape from that distance could be trusted. But here, Ulric was treated to the easiest walking of his second life.
Steady rushes of water could be heard often as they marched, their packs bouncing along for their hurried pace. Streams ran, wide enough to be considered seasonal rivers, oftentimes paralleling the trail Brighteyes chose. The steep banked things, frequently with white crests of rapids in them showed evidence that the Autumn rain did indeed make its way to these wilding woods. Small tributary creeks winding around the hills sometimes pooled to create soggy wetland forests, but no bogs, at least not that Ulric saw as they trekked; just easy water and smooth trails. Brighteyes had to no fibs, he knew these woods and guided them truly.
Autumn still held strong here, less advanced than the near Winter of the plateau, the colors still rich on the leaves, the less woody plants still to succumb to frost’s bite. Ulric gawked freely, head turning to capture the sights, inhaling deeply the smells, like a dog with a new area to walk. It would appear the air at this altitude lacked the sharpness of the much higher elevation they'd left behind, and many trees were still leafed, though it was clear that wouldn't remain true for long. Even so, the middling temperatures made for a reasonably comfortable hiking condition and Ulric marveled at the ease of their travel.
It would not be beyond reason that Brighteyes was taking them through the safest, most conservative way through the wood. He followed mostly the established game trails. Occasionally they would pause while he oriented himself or climbed a nearby tree, which feat was done with all the alacrity and grace you might anticipate from a wood elf according to the Earthly lore.
Ulric pondered these odd overlaps in what the humans of his old life had created myths around and how much these myths were influenced by possible connections between worlds. The Watcher had spoken of resonance, as if the two worlds existed somehow simultaneously like waves running through and past each other but, with the possibility of interaction. Ulric had suspicions that he hadn't been moved a distance during the Watcher's miracle, but rather through dimension. Not like he could ask though.
Attention to the signs of the forest, contemplation of his old world's "might haves", and ruminating on the nature of the connection between old world mythos and this world's reality kept Ulric's mind full while the only sounds that were made between the two travelers consisted of briefly whispered directions or their soft footfalls on beaten track. Travel was swift along these well-worn trails and Ulric was glad of the relative lightness of his pack, as well as for the hardening of his body that he'd undergone those previous months on the plateau.
It was with a sudden awareness that he noticed the pair had accelerated gradually and were now rucking a pace that would have put a bunch of hardened Rangers to shame. That the recently convalescent elf could keep it for so long was highly questionable to Ulric, the kid's endurance stat didn't indicate this kind of stamina. At last, Brighteyes came to a halt and announced that their days journey was at its end. The kid was showing the signs of over exertion.
"We need stop soon Ulric, ready camp for night. It is a few hours before dark and we need clear the game paths to avoid hunting animals and monsters. They follow the trails like we do but will not stray from easy path unless provoked or find sign of food in bush. We leave little track and will get far enough off way to slip their attention. Probably." This announcement was punctuated with deep breaths and sweat clearly soaked the youth's clothes.
Definitely pushing too hard, Ulric thought.
While Brighteyes described their course of action Ulric noticed that the stumbling and frequently broken speech of their early days had, over the last few weeks, become far smoother, which slightly shamed his own efforts in Elvish. In addition, in this place, the youth spoke with greater confidence now that he was in his element. The kid seemed glad to be home and was naturally assuming a leadership role, product of habit in his homeland no doubt. In a way, Ulric was glad the baton had been passed and that he could become a more passive observer, even if that meant following the lead of what amounted to a child’s first road trip.
Fuck it, we are all of us children in the eyes of the world.
This day's pace though indicated that Ulric would need to keep a hand on the reigns, to some extent. It was a common problem for young hikers on their first big excursions. They used themselves up on the first couple of days, pushing their bodies far beyond what could be sustained for a week or more. Even though physicality was different in this place, with the beings here seemingly more robust, the same principle was being applied. He’d try not to step on the kid’s toes though, he hated backseat drivers.
"You're the boss Brighteyes, lead on. Whenever we get to a suitable place, I'll set up camp and you can work on supper."
Ulric had noted his Elven companion's subtle amusement at his attempts for burnables the previous night. Not this time though. This time, the trees were normal trees. This time, his axe would taste victory unassisted by magical shenanigans and Ulric wouldn't go to bed with a mana hangover. And, since he'd be taking care of the more rigorous chores like hauling water, gathering and splitting firewood, Brighteyes would get a chance to cooldown and rest.
For himself, this trip was similar to an overnight hunting expedition around the periphery of the glade, of which he'd had several while stalking Bladefern Elk and the other elusive game back on the plateau. Those moved rapidly, and with great awareness, used to the tremendous lethality of the canopy bound predators that normally preyed on them. Hunting those animals was a tutorial in woodcraft that forced the Reforged man to improve rapidly, or starve over the winter. Frequently, Ulric would have to double time carrying his overnight traveling gear to get ahead of the herd into an ambushing position for a clean bow shot. The natural toughness of the large game beasts meant that only a good shot would do, less than a double lung or heart and lung shot would mean you just wasted hours and a perfectly good arrow, which the wounded deer or elk would carry off with it, sprinting for kilometers before succumbing to its wound or being taken by some other predator.
Perhaps the Watcher really had put him on that plateau to give him a "safe" place to grow harder. He nearly laughed aloud at that, considering the assault of the Forest Lord, the near goring by Bolt Deer stampede, and the hilariously dangerous monsters that had rapidly infested the forest once said Forest Lord was gone. To say nothing of the stupefying number of evidently poisonous plants and mushrooms that grew with abundance within the glade.
Pushing that thought aside, he turned to the task of setting up camp, in a small clearing Brighteyes chose between a stand of the great trefoil ‘oaks’ and one of the odd branching ‘cedars’, just a hundred meters or so off the trail. His Forest Lord bone knife carved dead wood stakes like wire through clay. In a few short minutes, the teepee tripod was set up, the hide cover draped, tied, and staked. Brighteyes was clearing a spot for fire lay and, seemingly without effort, soon had a small crackling fire, to the side of which Ulric laid some small stacks of gathered limbs. A downed tree just off the side of the trail split easily under his axe and an hour after stopping for the day, they had a reasonable traveler's camp assembled, with plenty of daylight to spare.
Now they just needed some water.
Ulric found a straight enough dead standing as big as his wrist to cut down for a shoulder pole, his nose tickling at the strong cedar smell as his axe bit. On one side of the pole hung the Steelwood cookpot, on the other side was slung their, now empty, water bags. The odd unidentified metal trident he carried in his off-hand while the other held the carry pole. Brighteyes had pointed out a clear running spring, just a half kilometer before they'd stopped that would do nicely for fresh water, and Ulric made his way leisurely towards it. The smell of the last of their fresh meat roasting filled the camp as he left, with the tantalizing spicy odor of some green and purple peppers his Elven guide had assured him would be delicious, picked gleefully with commentary on their fortune for how rarely these were found so late in the season to set him to a canter to get this job done.
A few minutes jogging, and he made the spring. Cool water babbled in a narrow run, the spring having cut itself a channel through the loam of the woods to a rocky floor. Unlike the granite of Ulric's glade this substrate was something more akin to slate or limestone, loose stones rounded by water's wear dotted the channel. The first taste of spring water, cold from the ground but not frigid, was delicious.
Soon enough the containers were full and Ulric was putting a plug in their water bags.
He perked up at a strange sound back towards camp. A moment later he was running flat out, trident gripped with both hands, water forgotten, as his conscious brain synthesized the sounds the old lizard in the back of his head had already recognized as panicked screams. Brighteyes was yelling, in Elvish, and Ulric could now hear the grunts and cries of some animal along with it.
He burst into the small clearing and was immediately attacked by a chimp sized monkey holding a rock. It leapt and Ulric's trident intercepted it, overhanded thrust driving it down into the dirt before tines impaled its chest. A hard stomp on the chimp-like head and a hard jerk pulled freed the weapon and returned it to ready, while Ulric's eyes swept the camp, which was now in shambles. Barely a few seconds, absent thought, and he only now registered what was happening.
They were under attack. A mob of tawny, thickly furred monkeys, chimp-like, but a bit smaller, with large baboon fangs, angrily jumping, clutching clubs and rocks, some with vines in six fingered dexterous hands to tangle to snare.
Brighteyes had been backed against a tree, keeping the tree and camp fire between him and a dozen more of the miniature ape attackers, who were throwing stones at him, forcing him to dodge to one side or the other, with blood streaming down from above his eyebrow to show the threat they presented. Standing head and shoulders above these small tan monkeys was a far more muscular golden furred one, with deep red eyes and prouder lower canines. The golden monkey, bigger than a chimp and with powerfully bulging arms and shoulders, was leading the attack and held a massive branch, thick as Ulric's thigh, as a club. Brighteyes had only his belt knife as a weapon, although a silver flame burning from a dirked ape corpse near his feet indicated that he'd weapons enough to deal with the little monsters so long as they didn't overwhelm him.
For a second Ulric froze, uncertain what to do. He nearly felt a click in his mind as [Warrior's Instinct] took over. Calm now, except for mild anger at his own hesitation. Hesitation and anger both were swiftly displaced by a more violent, a vicious urge toward these monsters that should try to withstand him, to slay one under his protection.
What would he do? Scatter them.
Ulric charged the gold furred leader and swung the long trident at its head. It dodged back, colliding with a couple of its underlings, which were uncertain now that they were no longer just hunting a small prey but were pincered between a cornered smaller predator, and an aggressive larger one wielding a weapon.
Ulric used their hesitation. The monkeys were agile, and plentiful, but, other than their leader they were weak. Divided, they would be even weaker. He threw a hand forward.
[Stone Wall]
A curving stone arch rose serpentine amongst the beasts, splitting them into three groups, three with the leader in the middle, five on the other side of the wall with Brighteyes and the campfire, and the other half dozen isolated to the right. Best he could do on short notice, good luck Brighteyes.
The monkeys near the leader rushed him at a growling call from Goldie. Thrown rocks whistled in at impressive velocity, and Ulric grunted when they bounced off his chest and shoulder but the armor did its part, mitigated the impacts. The distraction let them close, covered their rush without his being able to ready a solid thrust to pick one off. It was close quarters from there. Brutal fighting.
A leaping monkey took a stab through the guts when it jumped ahead of its pack. Ulric stepped back, turning, and whipped the reverse side of the trident into another's knee, felt it collapse, heard the joint tear apart, and switched his grip to accept the next one, coming low at his flank. The screaming monkey still impaled on his tines threw off his next thrust, scrabbling hands scratching at Ulric's eyes, too far by a few centimeters but making him flinch when he drew back to give its companion similar placement. He extended, missed, and the little monster jumped onto his head, biting and scratching.
Goldie was coming, the cripple too, dragging itself. Ulric released his double handed grip, one hand grabbed the screaming bag of fur and slung it away where it hit the ground and rolled to its feet. He was nearly brained by the two-handed chop of the leader, but pushed the club off to the side with the trident tines, where it glanced off the forearm still held away from his body from dislodging the climber in a white hot blast of pain. Ulric winced, and yelled at the instant loss of feeling in his fingers.
Good news was, the monkey he'd stabbed was now thoroughly dead, head mashed to pulp when he'd used it to deflect the attack. Bad news was, he wouldn't be holding the trident with two hands and it was too long to use one handed well enough to work against these fast little bastards.
He knew his arm was hurt, maybe broken. More pain would come later, numbness now. He needed to finish this, he heard fighting, yowling, and Elvish cursing from behind the stone, he had no idea where the three on the right were, they might be circling around behind him getting around the wall.
Time to fight dirty. Ulric stabbed at Goldie's face, dead monkey flopping, trying to score quickly while it pulled its buried club out of the damp litter. It pulled its head back out of reach, its posture shot from the overswing, which was the point of the feint, and Ulric stomped its leg breaking the shin cleanly, like dry firewood.
He saw Climber coming from the corner of his eye and jumped back from a now howling Goldie who had fallen to the forest floor, club forgotten. The little bastard had a stone in its paws and Ulric was tired of swinging this dead monkey around so he threw the trident at it, rushing behind in its wake. Climber dodged the silver spear tips with a nimble side step, only to be buried under Ulric's tackle. The injured arm sent waves of pain from wrist to shoulder while he forearmed the little beast's chin back, holding its head against the dirt and pinning it with his body. His good right hand jerked his belt knife free and drove rapidly, pistoning the blade into its guts at an upwards angle.
The mewling of the creature told him his work was done after four or five stabs and he stood, only having taken a few seconds to slay his flanker and reassessed, gore running down his knife blade.
Goldie was now standing, it had taken up again its club, using it as a cane, ready to continue the attack, even with its leg bent horribly. Cripple was trying to rejoin Goldie crawling in a fast three-legged lope but in a straight line. That wouldn't be a problem on its own. The six on the other side of the stone barrier were still unknown, Brighteyes was shouting, monkeys were shouting, Goldie still held that club and Ulric's left arm could attest to its dangerous strength. Ulric was growing positively wrathful, angrier with every second. No chances, he needed this to be over and to get to Brighteyes. His foes were slow now, easy targets.
Ulric again raised his uninjured arm, this time reaching into his core, the thrumming hot-cold pulse building.
[Windscythe]
Goldie went down, head and left shoulder falling free from its trunk.
[Windscythe]
Cripple caught the thin cyan Caelum blade in the face and slid to a halt while its upper jaw and skull flew off into the bushes. Ulric had put an unnecessary amount of core reserve into those shots, to guarantee the quick kill, and out of a rage bordering on feral.
Ulric dashed around the [Stone Wall] with slaughter in his heart and saw carnage, but not conducted by the monkey kind.
Brighteyes stood panting, brilliant eyes wide, glittering green and gold, staring menacingly down at a pile of corpses, knife arm soaked to the elbow in blood. He looked like he'd been chewed on, bites taken from pant legs, shirt sleeves, and a nasty one on the side of his face. Around the blood spattered blond-haired juvenile Prince, the corpses of his fallen enemies, crowded between fire and stone where they had clearly been caught by Brighteyes' attack. Ulric made note that Brighteyes was not to be fucked with when he had a knife on him.
The monkeys had been gutted, lacerated, throats cut, stabbed through the eyes, knifed in the liver, lungs, heart, and one had been very clearly castrated. That silver fire burned ghostly on all the bodies, slowly consuming them, his knife’s edge coated in similarly silver lunar magic to amplify its keenness, to clearly devastating effect.
Sounds in the bush indicated that the last six, isolated from their leader and hearing agony from where their erstwhile prey had been, had executed the better part of valor.
With nothing left to fight, nothing left to kill or threaten him, Ulric relaxed, and the rage drained out to leave him empty of anything but adrenaline-fueled jittery energy.
It couldn't have been but a few minutes from hearing Brighteyes yell to standing here now. His whole body hummed with fight juice. His arm was numb but promised to make him miserable in the near future. Ulric took a deep, steadying breath to release his battle tension. [Warrior's Instinct] faded, he could feel the loss of the steadying influence on his thoughts, which immediately turned to the health of the kid.
"Brighteyes, you, uh, you okay?" Ulric offered tentatively.
Face still locked into a sharp toothed snarl, the kid looked a little rocky.
The Elven lord to be raised his head from his victims, and his eyes seemed to go out of focus a little before he shook it off, returning to that calm, dignified demeanor that had become the norm. Apparently, if you got one good and riled up, Elves got into a killing frenzy as well as humans did.
That little dude really got in there and fucked them up, Ulric applauded mentally.
"I am fine now Ulric, thank you. Our foes, they are routed?" He returned, shakily at first but evening out.
"Our foes are compost, little buddy. Nothing to worry about now."
Their fireplace was in shambles, one of the monkeys had been tossed into it and had scattered the small collection of stones and wood into charred sticks and coals. The roasting meat had been tossed aside into the dirt. Their shelter was down, its support poles shattered, apparently by Goldie's club in the early part of the attack, while Ulric was gone. The water was still half a kilometer away back at the spring.
Ulric was scanning the clearing, looking for anything that might contradict his previous statement. A distant whisper, grown louder with the violence, a part of him that he felt was new was hoping something would contradict it. He had plenty of mana left to make them regret it.
*PING*
Head jerking Ulric was already turning before he realized that the source of the sound was inside his own head. He relaxed.
*PING*
Warriors Instinct**Override**Battle Rhythm
Another spastic twitch, before he could catch himself. Ulric sighed. What the fuck was that? Override? Goddamn Varda nonsense, he groaned to himself, but, rather than indulge the bizarre status shit, he got to work to help Brighteyes dress his wounds and repair the camp, before he had to go hunt up the water, half spilled and requiring him to backtrack.
Dark was closing in rapidly, deeply twilight before they managed to return to a pre primate ambush state, but they'd reassembled the camp and the fire was going again in good order. The meat they'd rinsed off and would finish cooking in the fire, hell with a little dirt ruining their last fresh tenderloin. Of the monkey beasts that had attacked them Brighteyes had been greatly forthcoming, especially while they stacked the bodies in a pile outside camp, and lit them on fire, with the exception of the big one, which Ulric was even now skinning out, because fuck that guy. Every silver of pain in his arm was worth it to detach the bastard’s hide and he even dug out the thing’s core to put in his pack, for eventual mounting on a wall.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
These apes were called Heckler monkeys and they were normally considered a trivial threat, mostly just a nuisance, as their name implied, because they sat up in the trees and called obnoxiously while flinging branches. Heckler monkeys were easily run off and cowardly, never braving an attack on anything as large as Humans, Elves, and other civilized folk. It was the other one that had been a problem, a monster known as Golden Heckler monkey. Brighteyes had described them as an evolved form of the Heckler monkey that arose when a particularly strong, mature male's core underwent an Earth attunement. The resulting monster was far larger, far stronger, more aggressive, and able to gather more of its lesser kin under its sway; the result was a tribe of monsters able to surround and stone larger prey to death. Golden Hecklers were considered a kill on sight target by the hunters of Elven villages due to their tendency to attack isolated harvesters, lone travelers, and children.
All this he learned while the two of them removed the cores from the corpses at the lad’s insistence, and piled them outside camp. Apparently, the meat of the things was godsawful tasting and the hides rarely preserved well, being too thin for use. Goldie was a different case and was well worth the time, Brighteyes assured Ulric, when he had finished, cursing and sweating from the pulsing hurt of abused bones. The golden fur was sought after as a decorative item, and there were bounties for proofs of kill standing in Iriel’en settlements.
It had been so long since Ulric had considered value beyond living that he'd been greatly confused for a moment until he'd realized that Brighteyes was talking about money. Well, not as much as from a pelt brought in by an Elven hunter since he'd cut the body in half, but it would be something.
He had the time, now that he was seated, fed, and so he checked up on his status for the first time in a long while, to see what all the earlier fuss was about.
Ulric concentrated briefly.
[Status]
Damn, this thing was starting to get juicy, he observed, blinking a few times tiredly at the magically scribed text. Slowly, so he didn’t miss anything that might prove critical later, he reviewed the information and covered a yawn to avoid disturbing Brighteyes, who was already in his blankets.
He'd greatly expanded his status on obtaining classes, which were firmly labeled as ‘divine hocus pocus’ and ‘get out of my brain material’. It was creepy that the entire planet was, somehow, just constantly keeping tabs on you. Best not to get too wound up about that, some things a man had to live with, and he was too fucking bushed to bother tonight.
His spells were steadily improving, although he’d taken a week off to focus on preparing for the journey. No real experiments with new things, other than the somewhat ill thought out lightning bolt attempt, whose smug little “0” mark indicated it needed to go back into the oven to bake a little longer before the Akashic nonsense was ready to accept it as ready to employ.
Great, his project manager was, somehow, haunting him across space and time, and now she was judging him a deficient sorcerer, as well as an incompetent material’s science miracle worker.
“Kiss my Twice Born ass, Susan.” Ulric whispered, hoping that the universe delivered his message.
Focus on mastery of what he already had, and theory crafting how to apply magic in real scenarios had paid off. Not that he’d expected to be attacked by monkeys, but the idea of getting into a situation where multiple enemies in an open field needed to be separated had occurred to him and he had practiced the winding shape of the earthen bulwark Thaumaturgy to handle that eventuality. Not to mention he was learning a healthy caution about playing with fire, in a far more literal sense than was the case for most, with regards to creating new spellworks. There would be a time to push his magical abilities, but not until he'd learned more about the fundamentals, which was an attitude well justified by his recent over enthusiastic attempts at magery. Twice bitten, four times shy, after all.
The new class trait, [Battlemage] he examined, tucking himself into his blankets as he did.
It was…generic. No frills, just a nice acknowledgement that reflected that Ulric was actually getting pretty good at using what limited spells he had in active combat. Partly because he insisted Brighteyes throw rocks at him while he practiced most mornings, at random. Partly because he was in the habit of playing out scenarios to dissect how to approach them, ever since the close call with the Fellwolf. Long nights with little to do after dark but weave, carve, or other monotonous tasks, but not yet ready to succumb to sleep, had given Ulric time to reflect. He'd run through many, many simulated combats in his mind and outlined how to deal with a large variety of scenarios. What to do if ambushed by a single strong enemy? What to do if it was many weak ones? How to ambush a single strong enemy? How to decimate many weak ones? When is [Flame Crash] better than [Windscythe]? How do you maximize the impact of [Hydrocutter] when the enemy is moving? Does [Ice Blade] need to be used before the fight starts, to reduce delay in its use or is it better to wait until melee is already started to reduce the enemy's ability to respond? What are the optimal mana expenditures for each spell to achieve effect, without wasting his limited mana on overkill? Go shoot them at things and find out.
Over and over again he'd turned these things around in his head. Over and over again, he'd practiced using all the magic his core could provide while he learned the limits of each spell. Time was never wasted in the glade.
It was obsessive behavior, and Ulric new he was prone to obsessive behavior. That didn't stop him from doing it though. Within a few days of arriving in his new reality he'd been ambushed by a mega grizzly and, soon after, stampeded. It wasn’t paranoia if they really were out to get you. Long story short, obsessive planning sped up his response time, which culminated in this newest class trait gobbledygook.
Grey eyes staring into the fire that had died down scanned the foreign woods. Strange shadows, new sounds, a whole different feel to the place, he found himself tired but unable to fall asleep. It was Brighteyes’ watch, technically, but a glance confirmed the kid was out and Ulric didn’t blame him. Sprawled under blankets, bandaged, broken nose now healed, mostly, sounding gently instead of the raking snores from when it was a mess, the kid was clearly more at home than he and was asleep before his head was fully pillowed on his pack for what the boy had thought was a post meal nap.
Somebody had to stay up.
A deep, reluctant breath later and he was out of his blankets and throwing fresh logs on the fire, working it up until he had a solid blaze lighting this little tucked away pocket that Brighteyes had chosen for their layover. Sitting now, knees to his chin, his trident near to hand, he contemplated. Or brooded, whatever.
The topic was magic, of course. Same old splinter in his brain. He hated not knowing things and, with magic that was a lot of it. He looked at the six core spells he’d developed over a month ago. They were mostly significantly better than their first iterations, except for the Infrig one, because he didn’t really know how to improve on a really sharp icicle just yet. Failure of imagination, probably. Some of his spell improvements were theory, working out how physics interacted with magic. Mostly though, the improvements were the result of dedicated practice. No substitute for good old übung. Chance favors the prepared mind was his creed, and that spurred on Ulric's efforts at learning to protect himself from all the who knows whats at all the who knows whens and wheres he could imagine.
Climbed the canopy to see the schmorgasbord of fantastically dangerous shit roaming up there, though, that significantly increased the previously quite tame limits of his imagination. he'd began to seriously dedicate thought to finding outside the box solutions to fight back against the crazy hazards this world could throw at him.
Really, it had been Brighteyes' arrival that had disrupted the rhythm of Ulric's nights. He'd suddenly had to take care of the young elf and he'd had to make clothes and gear to outfit him, not to mention a new language to learn and an entirely new people with which to contend. He hadn't had time to go through his usual casting routines what with making preparations to make what he'd thought to be a killing climb down from the plateau.
Stupid, wonderful, magical fuckery lift; it had saved him an incredibly difficult journey, but he couldn't help but resent it a little for existing without him knowing about it.
This last scrap had lessons to learn. Ulric's main takeaway from the evening attack was the same one for most surviving novice soldiers thrown into battle. It was fast. It was sudden. And your mind did not function the same way once the adrenaline was running amok. That initial pause while his mental state transitioned from fear for Brighteyes to calculations for efficient murder was a problem.
Seconds were precious. His traits had saved him there, probably. [Warrior's Instinct] was an incredible passive boost, the delay was shortened considerably. Still unacceptable, if he planned to live long.
The only remedy that came to mind was more training.
It was why modern militaries drilled even the most simple of actions to the point of muscle memory. Reloading weapons. Firing positions. Field stripping and cleaning. Checking of attack vectors. Access to specific kit. All of it done thousands of times, sometimes in a barracks bunk, sometimes in the mud and rain, sometimes operating without sleep for two days and a guy firing a gun over your head. The point was to remove the environment as a factor. Nothing mattered other than the action, the movements, the task, and it would be done perfectly at all times.
Ulric wasn't even close to that level of readiness. It took years, not the few months he'd been able to fit in before bed. As it was, he considered himself to be adjusting well, for a reformed hermetic workaholic with substance abuse problems and formerly ruined joints. It bore some degree of awe that it had taken being murdered by god and placed naked at the whims of a hostile wilderness to make positive changes. Humans were fucking odd sometimes. He'd have to resume his nightly practice, clean up his responses using the data from this last encounter. Adding somebody to teach him how to fight with a spear for real was now on his list of major objectives, he'd only gotten hit because his technique was sloppy and he didn’t actually know how to fight with the long ass trident.
Snapping back to his present circumstances, Ulric relieved himself in the bushes and returned to sit by the fire, this time wearing his thick fur Forest Lord blanket as a cloak, hands presented to the strong warmth of the fire, hoping tomorrow was less hectic and that the kid’s wounds didn’t get infected.
Brighteyes had suffered some serious bruising from the stones, a scalp cut, and a few gnarly lacerations from teeth, claws, and what have you. Bastard monkeys really gnawed on him. Ulric didn’t get chewed, was mostly unscathed, really, other than a few minor scratches but his arm was not fine. The feeling had come back soon after the killing had ended, and it was hurting something fierce. He could close his fist and hold things but anything heavy made the whole arm throb. Goldie had been no joke, that blow had been glancing. A direct hit would have shattered his bones. They couldn’t take another one of those and keep traveling like they had today.
Nocturnal birds called while an insect chorus held a constant background with what sounded like peep frog accompaniment, and to hell with the chilly evenings. The glade had been almost silent. Disturbingly so at time. And yet this cacophony was so dynamic it proved to be more difficult for Ulric to relax. He couldn't help but try to catalogue each call and sound. It was late into Brighteyes' intended watch before he found any desire for sleep.
Ulric moved, placed himself in the opening of the travel shelter and kept the fire down low, coals burning hot but without excessive flame, with the bundle of Prince sound asleep behind him. It allowed his eyes to better adjust to the night gloom. Without the break in the canopy of the glade, this night was far deeper, more impenetrable. Even though the Coven of moons were on the way to full in the sky, there light only filtered through to impose a silver sheen on the trees and foliage below. The evensong of the wildlife had calmed and now only served as a gentle cadence to the passage of time.
A few times the sounds of footfalls outside camp had Ulric's hands tight around the shaft of the trident but these interruptions were brief and whatever investigated the camp was satisfied that it had no desire to try its luck. It reminded Ulric of his backpack trips to cougar country. He'd been alone then and had slept fitfully, even knowing that attacks were only the remotest of possibility, given that cougars were extinct. He had a feeling that the "cougar" in this country would be far less skittish and far more likely to have some form of magical bastardization into a lethal super predator.
A gentle nudge from his Elven companion broke the zen of his nighttime vigil, and Ulric rose with bleary eyes to find his bed. His arm still ached, but not with as much insistence as before and a few experimental flexes of his hand ensured he'd keep the use of it through the swelling that had painfully set in. Flashbacks of Popeye danced behind his eyes as he let the kid take watch while he grabbed some fitful shuteye.
When asked later that morning, after a light breakfast, Brighteyes confirmed that there were at least three varieties of hunting cat that would relatively easily eat a traveler taken unawares. The Elf seemed to imply that a person caught so sort of had it coming. Rough.
One of them had blending camouflage, another could jump high enough to move through tree tops and a Caelum affinity that reduced its weight to the point that it didn't make sound when it wanted, and the last was the Shadow Panther he'd seen before.
The first two Brighteyes dismissed, the third the woodland noble spoke of with great trepidation. Those could actually teleport short distances through large enough shadows. The Shadow Panther was considered by Elven hunters to be one of the greatest killers the forest had to offer. They were one of the main reasons hunters traveled in threes, Triads Brighteyes called the standard Elf squad. One to see the cat and call its presence (and probably die), one to pin it down by goading its attack (and probably die), and one to stab it through the heart from a flank (and only maybe die). That discussion fairly well mortared into place Ulric's conviction to never intentionally encounter one.
Just when he'd decided to never sleep again, Brighteyes saved him by informing him that the panther couldn't teleport at night and so was strictly diurnal, preferring to hunt along woodlines with strong shadows, as those worked best. Generally, the deeper in the wood you stayed, actually the less likely you were to have to deal with them; they were a menace to anyone harvesting trees however. Anything that broke the thick crowns of the forest to let the bright light of the Twins, the name for the paired stars, made a happy hunting ground for them, which is a part of why the Deep Wood Elves forbade cutting of trees at random. A small part, they had other more metaphysical considerations in mind that Ulric would learn of later.
Ulric told Brighteyes of the battle he saw between the Shadow Panther, Crimson Bull, and Venom Bolt Viper, that preceded the boy’s rescue. Brighteyes exclaimed that the cat had probably been a newly separated cub and was only learning to hunt as the adults were almost never seen unless they were pouncing, evading and flanking when caught in the open, rather than fighting head on. It spoke to either the level of greed possessed by those poachers or their complete ignorance that they had thought to challenge not just one but two of the most feared monsters of the forest.
Both of them were huddled next to the fire waiting for dawn to break. The cold of late fall had infiltrated the shelter, inadequate for extended time spent in this season, bringing with it that particular chill that seemed to settle into Ulric's bones. He had considered bundling up in doubled furs but decided against, if he needed to move, he didn't want to have to fight out of a tangle of blankets first, so the chill was just something to be endured. The hot coals kept the two travelers marginally comfortable while their breathes were visible against the firelight and, eventually, almost imperceptibly, true dark gave way to soft morning light. Silver moonlight, which had leant an ethereal air to the wood was replaced by gentle golden hue, the twin suns heralding their arrival somewhere beyond the great forest.
Brighteyes yawned, wincing slightly as he rubbed his eyes and grazed the cut on his eyebrow. That gesture seemed to determine that it was time to get going. They spoke little, instead each readied themselves for travel. Ulric went out again for water and noticed that Brighteyes now went armed with his bow and arrow quiver slung at the hip at all times. That great smith Failure did her job well, wielded suffering and hammered the soft and inexperienced into hardened veterans. Those she did not break first, that is.
Camp was dismantled efficiently and the two were on the move not long after daybreak. While they walked, Ulric picked his guide's brain and kilometers fell behind. He was working on his Elven again, trying to learn the proper names for the flora and fauna and fixing errors in his grammar or polishing pronunciation. Their pace was substantially slower than the day before, minor injuries and the previous day's pace having taken its toll. Eventually, he couldn’t wrap his head around anymore verb conjugations, so the pair settled into silence as the effort of travel wore into them. They made silent progress through the endless procession of trees, nevertheless, if not at the heinous near job of yesterday.
In the middle of a step Brighteyes suddenly halted, his ears twitched and Ulric nearly smiled only to have that amusement cut out by the intensity of the elf's gaze into the forest. For his part, Ulric had been paying attention and had neither heard, nor seen anything. With the casual speed only possible for someone who had done it thousands of times, Brighteyes nocked an arrow, drew to cheek, and released all inside of a breath. The arrow flew into the trees and a sharp cry was abruptly cut short.
Brighteyes looked back to Ulric and smiled
"It is a clean shot, we are eating well this day." He said, with the pride of a craftsman doing his job to satisfaction.
They stalked forward, ready for some opportunist to try to snatch the fresh kill. Blood smell permeated the area and Ulric saw why as they stepped through the copses of trees. The kid had put an arrow between a group of trees through a gap in trunks less than a quarter meter wide from forty meters away and hit the target in the throat, pouring its lifeblood out in a few moments. It looked like a wild pig, if wild pigs were the size of a yearling cow and had hide that looked somewhat like his own lamellar armor, but grainy, pebbled in texture. The only place in that armor that appeared thin enough to penetrate with an arrow was the seam beneath and behind armpits, the crotch, and a gap by its throat. Clean shot indeed.
Ulric's estimation of Elven hunters was rising drastically if this is what one of their adolescents could do. Admittedly, Brighteyes was probably on the high end of what could be expected since he'd likely had the benefit of training by the best his people could offer. Even so, it was still an impressive feat and Ulric was glad to have the opportunity to witness this Elven fieldcraft. Ulric kept watch, attention divided between trying to examine how Brighteyes went about dressing and skinning the beast and looking out for monstrous interlopers. The boar's core was a dark brown streaked with grey, half the size of a fist. It reminded Ulric of a clay bed sample.
Ulric's ears perked up as Brighteyes started explaining the process of cleaning the animal and describing his prey using his own language. It was a struggle to keep up.
"This, Ulric, is a [Plated Boar]. It is widely regarded for its succulent meats as well as for its difficulty of obtaining. See here? These plates are hard and thickened, reinforced by Terra, and they have impeccable hearing and smell. Bad eyesight though, and this one didn't see us through the trees. They are dangerous when they decide to charge, the tusks are incredibly hard and we keep them to make awls or arrow heads. The liver is mildly poisonous, something about how they digest and incorporate earth and stone from their meals. We can render it down into a gem polisher though so it fetches a good price. The hide should always be discarded though, it becomes brittle and crumbles as it dries and, even if you keep it from drying too quickly it degrades when exposed to water. You following Ulric Glade Chief?"
It took nearly as long for Ulric to understand the speech lesson as it took for Brighteyes to dismantle the boar. The lesson was well taken however, both for the linguistics and the monster encyclopedia, and both of them left with packs heavier but spirits lifted. Lilting Elvish voice trickled through the fall air interspersed by a deeper halting voice, pausing with frequent breaks to ask questions in Human as they roamed the forest paths through Iriel’s hinterland. Animals noted the pair's passage. The smell of fresh meat was offset by caution, and woodland predators left the pair alone, an instinctive danger sense warning them that no good would come of trying this prey.
They made camp at a similar time as the previous day, just a few hours before sunsdown, after having traveled an estimated forty kilometers as best Ulric could tell. They had to be around a hundred kilometers away from the Ancient's Gate at this point. It was a good pace and Brighteyes was very nearly giddy at the prospect of coming home.
Even better, winter was late coming this year and the leaves had not yet fallen to the Winter's Herald Storm, meaning he would be in time for the festival after all. His father was likely beside himself. All this he delivered to Ulric, who nodded sagely at semi regular intervals, catching little of it as the stream of Elvish was far too fast for his limited comprehension. He was tending a set of spits over the coals of a cook fire and trying to convince himself not to cheat and eat the food before it was ready.
The dripping fat of this fresh kill smoked into the fire, sending up hissing flares of flame which added to the fragrance of cooking meat. Ulric was unashamedly drooling. It smelled like pork. It looked like pork. Ulric hadn't eaten pork in what seemed like years. It had never been his favorite meat back home, always being a little too fatty for his tastes back then. Here and now, he would have chewed through the [Plated Boar]'s hide to have a bite of this flame seared haunch. Brighteyes was turning a skewer that held the boar's heart on it. He claimed it was traditional for the one who took the killing shot to eat the heart alone but he wouldn't be able to finish it by himself, and Ulric would have to help. A polite fib, the boy just wanted an excuse to share the traditional treat.
Old Ulric would have squeamishly thanked him for the opportunity before declining.
Reforged Ulric was looking forward to it.
Packed forest edibles accompanied the meats in bowls, like a pork roast salad. Cold stream water washed it down. It wasn't long before the weary but satisfied trekkers settled in for another evening. Ulric chose the second watch again. This time the chatter of the woods didn't deter him from peaceful oblivion and his waking felt like only moments from when he lay down. Brighteyes, when relieved, slept with his usual gusto, soft not quite snores through mostly healed nose barely heard compared to with the late night insects and birds of the Deep Wood. It would be a long night, but he was occupied sufficiently to avoid boredom.
Ulric Einar had got some ideas while they walked in silence and, now, he had the time to bounce them around his old noodle. Nothing like a quiet sit in the woods to get you in the mood to do some quality warlocking.
