The wood brightened with the same gradual rise of light that had characterized the previous morning. Such a subtle transition from soft ghostly silver to warm golden aura. Subtle but impactful, Ulric was heartened when he noticed that the sheen of night was gone. That moment had come when Ulric was finishing his meditations on how to bottle lightning. Well, he thought, not as much bottle it as throw it.
Ceraun was dangerous because of how difficult it was to control and how fast things could go from ok to very goddamn not ok. In the case of his previous attempt, he'd known he was using magical force to create a potential difference between two locations, only he'd forgotten a very basic principle in that the destination changed the potential needed to ionize a path. He'd needed all his concentration to wrangle his own mana and hadn't properly set his target destination until he'd already reached the point of no return. That could not happen again.
A safe [Lightning Strike] needed a destination before the casting started, he couldn't just build the charge and then choose a place to let it go as he had before, it was too demanding on his will and focus to isolate that potential. Once it reached the strength to start ionizing air it was too late, was too squirrelly. He could always do what he had that first time and use the budding strike to form its own channel; like using a dammed lake's pressure to carve a spillway that had been. It was overkill, it was chaotic, and it was too dangerous to be practical at this point. He hadn't chosen a specific target, Ulric had basically thrown it "not here" and hoped for the best. Which was why his hand was still healing from a shrapnel wound. On the other hand, no pun intended, choosing the target, building the spark gap channel, and then creating the potential was ass backwards. He'd be locking himself into a specific location vastly increasing the opportunity for his target to move out of the spell's reach. There had to be a balance.
It was the work of the entire night to think of a work around. A way to balance the necessity of having a target destination to which the spell would arc before casting and having the ability to choose his target on the fly to avoid being committed until the latest possible moment. The solution he'd come up with to balance the inflexibility of creating the path before building the charge was to create a focal point that would carry the ion bridge and to move that to the target mechanically, totally separate from the magical effort of casting. In other words, he would build the potential between the focus, a held object, and throw it at his intended target releasing the spell when his focus reached the target.
A major compromise, in Ulric's opinion, as it vastly reduced one of the spell's advantages: instantaneous speed of attack. Now the spell would be limited to the speed at which he could throw the focus, which could be dodged far more easily. He might be able to deviate the path of the channel slightly away from the focus at the last second. Maybe. But it would allow him to safely charge the spell and direct it, as the focus would build its own channel while it traveled through the air and guide the following bolt to its location. Having control was worth the loss of speed. He could charge the spell, link it to his focus, throw the focus at a moving target, and release the spell. Ulric would be able to leverage that into more power which meant that he would have the first spell he considered to be lethal enough to consider a counter to the monsters roaming Varda's landscape.
Theory was sound but he'd not test it until he had a chance to talk to someone who had experience. They were too close to the Elven homeland to be mucking about with it. Ulric chafed wanting to implement his methods and refine them, but knowing your limits was important. And he didn't want another scolding from Brighteyes.
That thought prompted Ulric to shake off the thought fugue and get back into the here and now. Shit to be done. And today was the day that Brighteyes said they should reach the Elven lands proper. He'd get to see an entire Elven kingdom. That thought made him smile as he got up and set about the camp tasks, now utterly habitual, with the exception of the gingerness at which he used his injured left arm. Still swollen that was, and still significantly painful. Come to think of it, Ulric hadn't been injured to any significant degree in months before he'd rescued Brighteyes.
"Cursed child begone." Ulric chuckled. It made him a little sad that he'd soon be leaving the little guy behind. The glade's silence would be deeper for a while after his return.
He woke his black cat's totem and turned him loose on breakfast. They had long since established an easy quiet during the morning hours. Each had a designated set of responsibilities and they carried them out to the choir of birdcalls that dripped from the forest canopy. Cold wind blew sharply this morn and shook loose leaves down into camp, to swirl between tree trunks and amongst the thin underbrush.
With a kick of dirt over the last of the campfire's coals they departed.
"Brighteyes, you think we'll get to your home today?" Ulric asked an good few hours after they'd started, while they stalked through winding forest paths.
The elf hummed for a second before responding.
"Is not too likely we get all the way to Iriel." He admitted. "We travel slowly, not as a fault, we are only two in number and it is best to use caution."
A moment's delay and Brighteyes continued. "We are well inside elfland now though, and the paths show marks of hunters, not just the beasts."
Pointing downwards Brighteyes indicated the beaten track they now traversed. Ulric couldn't see any evidence that would indicate its origin as anything other than the tread of hoof, paws, or other beast-sign.
"How do you know Elves helped make this path?" Ulric inquired, pushing one of only a few overhanging branches from his way.
"They place guidestones. Every ten-span steps there is stone to side of trail to signal it is an Elf road on the forest floor. Hunters do this on any track they use from year to year, but only on the surest and least dangerous. Any path known to use by monsters or greater hunting animals is marked with sign on tree trunks, obvious to all." His guide responded.
And, now that he mentioned it, Ulric noticed the small stones that had appeared to be completely natural protuberances occurred far too regularly to be so. He'd not have noticed their interval as his eyes were mostly busy scanning the surrounding wood for danger, not examining the trail beneath his feet.
"Aah, clever, a road with markings that won't scare the game from their tracks." Ulric congratulated.
Ulric was impressed. It was a tedious and exceedingly painstaking way to differentiate this trail from the myriad others that crisscrossed these wilds. It was also the act of a people who were willing to invest substantial time into ensuring that the safest ways through the forest were known to those who knew to look. These hunters Brighteyes spoke of were appearing more and more likely to also make up the scouting and policing roles of their society, in addition to just taking game.
At that thought Ulric suddenly came to a realization. The last time Brighteyes had been in the company of humans he'd been assaulted and kidnapped. A scion of one of the ruling clans of the Elves had been taken by men. What are the odds that they'd called off the hunt after only a few weeks? If it were him, hunters would be roaming the wood for sign if it took a decade. And those hunters would have very specific orders about what to do with the captors.
"Brighteyes, when we encounter your people, what the hell are we going to tell them? Also, it occurs to me that I'm a pretty decent target to shoot at from out of the trees and none of your people know that I'm not part of the lot that attacked you."
Ulric wasn't planning to deceive anyone or anything, he just wanted to know how they were going to take the return of their young lord with an admittedly less than reputable looking human. It was not helping Ulric's frame of mind that Brighteyes had, his expression changing swiftly from furrowed brow to wide eyed startle, apparently, not thought about the possibility of a zealous Elven hunter schwacking him from the bush to "rescue" their prince. It was, after all, how he'd rescued Brighteyes in the first place, with a little magically inclined aggression helping the cause towards the end.
"Ah. Ulric, we may have problem." Brighteyes tone grew grave.
Shit.
"Shit." Ulric gave voice to his assessment of the situation.
Brighteyes nodded his agreement.
"Is bad shit Ulric Glade Chief; for once worms in head are not wrong. Elven hunters spend more time in treetops traveling the arbor roads than on marked paths. They might see us and think you escorting me to raiders camp. If they attack you are probably full of arrows before we know they see us."
"Would it help if we travel while singing or something? Sort of let them know we're not on bad terms?" He was fishing desperately now.
"They would assume it to be part of some trap. And the sound would make you an easier target. They probably just shoot you from cover and wait a while for the rest of poachers to come, to easier kill them as they investigate. Then they come and take me back to Iriel." Brighteyes said, putting nails in Ulric's coffin with casual ease.
"Tell me you have a plan to keep me from being murdered by your kin Brighteyes. I am far too pretty to die in an ambush." Ulric was coping, as was his norm, with dry humor. It tended to get even drier as things got worse. Right now it was positively Saharan.
Brighteyes glanced at him with confusion for a moment.
"Ulric Glade Chief, I am sorry, but Elves see things differently. Elf hunters would admire even as they draw back bows. Is not our way to let…you are making fun again are you not?"
The reborn man found joy in his heart as the elf's confusion turned to a scowl.
"Is not time for japes. You are chasing the [Forest Lord]." Brighteyes scolded.
"Chasing the [Forest Lord]?" Ulric asked.
"It means finding certain violent death to the Elf people. And most other peoples, now my thoughts bend to it." the elf clarified.
Ah. Wasn't that good news though? Ulric had, in fact, killed the [Forest Lord]. It was an act that was so unlikely as to never be repeated, born of desperate panic, and abetted by the full gifts of a godly being. But still. Done was done. That probably wouldn't carry water with the Elves here. Maybe make them shoot from slightly farther away, really, just to take no chances.
"Sorry Brighteyes, it's a habit of mine to make light of bad news." Ulric offered an olive branch to his stressed companion.
"…Accepted Ulric and I am also sorry, is not my place to judge. Is also an Elf thing to laugh at danger. But I owe you debt and it will go ill with me to let you be killed by my own folk as you return me to my home. I can find no humor in this."
That made Brighteyes' discomfiture a bit clearer to Ulric. It was a matter of his obligation or honor or however Elves conceptualized such things.
"Let's maybe take a little rest and work this out ahead of time then." the man suggested. The Elf gladly acceded and they found a shaded place just to the side of the marked path to take a lunch and decide how to proceed.
As they chewed their dried rations so did their minds work on the awkward scenario of being ambushed by Brighteyes' kin and Ulric, the person who saved him, being murdered as a compatriot of those men that Ulric had, himself, killed.
"So." Ulric started. "The main problem is that your hunters don't know what the poachers looked like or that they are all dead, as they went into the canopy of the Ancient Plateau in their flight and were killed by me and later eaten by its beasts, leaving basically no evidence of who they were or how many. So if they see us, they can easily assume I was one of your captors, fled the beasts back down, and shoot me on sight."
At Brighteyes confirmation Ulric went on.
"Then what we need is a way to very clearly broadcast that you are not under duress, that I am not a child harming scum bag, and that we are what we appear to be: a bewildered hermit bringing a rescued Elven youth home. Before I die of a powerful allergy to arrows." Ulric summarized.
"Is so Ulric. But is also more complicated. You are slayer of [Forest Lord] and have been recognized through the All-Knowledge as [Lord of Ancient Glade]. This is no small thing, no man, no creature but the old ravager has walked the Plateau in ages. This makes you of status with clan chiefs and makes attack on you a declaration of war between our peoples. And it is between us a debt of blood, from one ruler to another, this is a not small thing and will go badly if I allow you to be killed while you do a service to Iriel." Brighteyes explained.
That did sort of put a weird spin on things.
"We've never really discussed it Brighteyes, but I don't actually have any peoples. You've never mentioned it, even after you saw my status, and I thank you for your respect of my privacy, but we may need to get things out in the open. I was not born on this world. I was born, and lived the great majority of, an entire human lifespan in another place. Similar in some ways, wildly different in others. There was no magic there, no cores, no mana at all, so far as we ever determined, although I'm starting to have some thoughts about that as I learn more about how mana works here. I was, at the end of my life in that world, destroyed, then reforged here in this one in a young man's body, up on the Plateau not far from the glade by a creature called a Watcher. It wasn't even half a year ago. I'm not a lord of anything. I'm a semi competent hunter, a fledgling warrior by necessity, and a terribly ignorant magic user. Nobody is going to miss me, certainly there won't be a war over it."
Ulric felt better about laying everything out in the open. He'd never been actively trying to hide anything but neither had he volunteered a great deal about how he had ended up in the Glade, in a place where no one had any right to be.
Brighteyes disagreed.
"All these true only makes it worse." the Elf lord pronounced flatly.
"People have been brought between the stars and up from the great dreamings of other gods before. Happens every few Elf generations. Not always Humans. Sometimes Elf. Sometimes Beastkin. A few times Dwarves. Worst was Demonkin. Always though, the Reforged carry great destiny. Always they end up changing face of Varda. Not always good. Sometimes terrible. You are already proof. [Forest Lord] is dead now and in heart of Orlethrem we will feel its absence most keenly, but ripples reach out. My debt is to see you live, my duty to see you not shake Iriel to pieces with weight of your passing. There is chance that if my people tracked me to [Ancient Gate] they despair of finding me alive. May not know about death of [Forest Lord] directly. Older hunters may consider it, the forests will move without him and they have feel for breath of the wood. Dangerous things come now, try to claim the vast territory. Has already started. [Golden Heckler Monkey] is not supposed to be found so close to normal hunting grounds."
Well damn. That was a little on the sobering side. Ulric had not considered that his new life had any implicit meaning with respect to anyone else or with their histories. He especially had not thought that his existence would be something of great import to another civilization, or had shaken up the normal workings of this land. If Brighteyes' message was implying though that people like him had a tendency to rock the boat and make a tsunami, then things were already grossly out of Ulric's wheelhouse.
Ulric scratched his head, fingers running through hair matted in Journey's dust as they'd been unable to bathe since leaving the glade, running things over in his mind. It didn't add up. He was just a dude. All he'd done since getting this second chance was scrape, claw, and scratch his way to survival, admittedly while loving every damned bit of it. Nothing he'd accomplished so far had been anything but desperate struggle against the odds and sheer mule headed stubbornness. Still, ignorance had so far already cost Ulric skin and he wasn't looking to destabilize the homeland of the first intelligent folk he'd met so best to let Brighteyes set course for now.
He nearly sighed at the thought of being led around by a kid before he remembered that people in his own world's history had been considered adults for centuries at that age. Different game, different rules. Besides, the boy so far carried himself with poise far above his years.
"Ok then Brighteyes, I see what you're saying. You'll not get any argument from me that the last thing we both want is your kin taking shots at me, nor do I want any part of conflict with your people. So what we need is a plan, to make sure that everybody knows I mean no harm and that you aren't being held against your will through some sneaky plot. I'm coming up blank though."
And he was. Maybe it was an overactive imagination but Ulric couldn't think of anything they could do that wouldn't appear to be a ruse to any watching elves or get them both eaten if something attacked. If the hunters of this land traveled in triplets, they were already down a man for what was considered safe travels, so tying Ulric's hands or not carrying weapons was a hard no. It was a near certainty that the Elven hunters or warriors looking for their kin would most likely have the advantage of position from the branches above. Ulric knew personally how powerful that was, especially when you also had surprise on your side. He had no illusion about his archery skills compared to that of these folk. They needed to reduce the odds of some random attack or sudden ambush, give the Elves they came across reason to not be hasty. The hunters wouldn't take a shot that risked their lordling so staying close to Brighteyes was a definite yes. In the same way, any sort of threatening or perceived power over him would be a definite no and objections would be fletched. Tricky. If only he looked like an Elf. Wait.
"Brighteyes, I know I'm worms in head, but how would the Elven hunters even know it was you or that I wasn't an elf if they couldn't see our faces?" Ulric asked.
That gave the kid pause. He considered it before sharing his thoughts.
"This just barely possible. Humans almost never this far in deep wood, is one reason I investigate sign of the raiders in our lands. We see a Beastkin and Human from monster trail and go to find them butchering monster for core. We were so surprised to see otherkin that we allow them to take flank. Idiocy. But if Hunters cannot see faces and you are not speaking we may pass for elf travelers. We are outfitted like nomadic warriors from other clans. Might work. Until they use [Scan]."
Ulric's budding enthusiasm died on the vine. He'd forgot about [Scan]. Cheating ass magical bullshit. Maybe there were ways around it.
"Is there, I dunno, any way to spoof [Scan]? Stop it from revealing us or make it say I'm an elf or something?"
One definitive shake killed that before the lad even said anything.
"No. [Scan] is reading All-Knowledge and All-Knowledge never lies. There is case where some cannot have status read, but only if they are far, far, above in power. You are much stronger than me, Ulric, but I still [Scan] easily. Hunters have no problem, even have skills to make their [Scan] more potent. But is not bad idea to go with faces covered. At least Hunters probably do not shoot immediately, gives time put you under protection."
Even if they couldn't deny [Scan], at least they probably prevented being shot from cover. That was definitely not nothing.
"Good enough reason for me Brighteyes. We might want us a little camp kiddo, it's going to take bit but I'll make a mask."
"You can make masks, Ulric?" Brighteyes was strangely intrigued. Odd. He was normally a little more skeptical of Ulric's ideas.
"No way to know but to try right?" Ulric replied.
Ulric pulled his axe free of its pack loop and the two of them took a few minutes to find a suitable dead standing. Ulric got one first. Thick as his thigh, it had long ago shed its limbs. A few taps on the trunk confirmed its soundness though, it hadn't yet succumbed to rot. Just gotten stiff with death and lost its limbs to the wind. Which, Ulric realized, had picked up significantly over the course of the day. It had also, strangely, warmed strongly to a resting comfort level, even without their heavier clothing.
"Brighteyes, is it just me or is it a little warm today?" Ulric voiced his curiosity.
"Not just you. This warmth is the dying Autumn. Very, very soon is [Winter's Herald Storm] and the festival. We need get to Iriel Ulric, the storm will bring strong wind, heavy rain. It is not good to be caught unsheltered." the elf assured him.
Not that Ulric was half-assing or anything but the warning did spur him to proper action and he had soon dropped the dead tree and peeled its bark. A steadily maintained [Wind Blade] had done proper work shedding the old bark like paper and had planed the six meter log to a flat surface, if not a level one. Seven more casts completed the debarking as he and Brighteyes rolled the log. He tried a [Wind Blade] to cut the log into segments but a single cast only did half the job and Ulric wasn't going to deplete himself just to save some axe strokes. He was already down to half his pool.
A few chops finished the cut, followed a vertical chop to render the octagonal "round" into two halves roughly the width of his face. His bone knife, awls, and some convincing with heavy strikes from the side of his axe would make the two wide eye slits large enough to view out of but he'd have to cut the curve of the mask to really know how good visibility would be. For now he marked the eye locations with a quick scribing of the awl, as well as a rough outline of his face, a sharply rounded U with a flat line across the top.
Brighteyes set up camp, borrowing Ulric's axe to work the remaining timber into firewood, their journey abruptly halted while they made accommodations to prevent Ulric from dying to the welcome wagon. Ulric went to work with his knife.
The wood brightened with the same gradual rise of light that had characterized the previous morning. Such a subtle transition from soft ghostly silver to warm golden aura. Subtle but impactful, Ulric was heartened when he noticed that the sheen of night was gone. That moment had come when Ulric was finishing his meditations on how to bottle lightning. Well, he thought, not as much bottle it as throw it.
Ceraun was dangerous because of how difficult it was to control and how fast things could go from ok to very goddamn not ok. In the case of his previous attempt, he'd known he was using magical force to create a potential difference between two locations, only he'd forgotten a very basic principle in that the destination changed the potential needed to ionize a path. He'd needed all his concentration to wrangle his own mana and hadn't properly set his target destination until he'd already reached the point of no return. That could not happen again.
A safe [Lightning Strike] needed a destination before the casting started, he couldn't just build the charge and then choose a place to let it go as he had before, it was too demanding on his will and focus to isolate that potential. Once it reached the strength to start ionizing air it was too late, was too squirrelly. He could always do what he had that first time and use the budding strike to form its own channel; like using a dammed lake's pressure to carve a spillway that had been. It was overkill, it was chaotic, and it was too dangerous to be practical at this point. He hadn't chosen a specific target, Ulric had basically thrown it "not here" and hoped for the best. Which was why his hand was still healing from a shrapnel wound. On the other hand, no pun intended, choosing the target, building the spark gap channel, and then creating the potential was ass backwards. He'd be locking himself into a specific location vastly increasing the opportunity for his target to move out of the spell's reach. There had to be a balance.
It was the work of the entire night to think of a work around. A way to balance the necessity of having a target destination to which the spell would arc before casting and having the ability to choose his target on the fly to avoid being committed until the latest possible moment. The solution he'd come up with to balance the inflexibility of creating the path before building the charge was to create a focal point that would carry the ion bridge and to move that to the target mechanically, totally separate from the magical effort of casting. In other words, he would build the potential between the focus, a held object, and throw it at his intended target releasing the spell when his focus reached the target.
A major compromise, in Ulric's opinion, as it vastly reduced one of the spell's advantages: instantaneous speed of attack. Now the spell would be limited to the speed at which he could throw the focus, which could be dodged far more easily. He might be able to deviate the path of the channel slightly away from the focus at the last second. Maybe. But it would allow him to safely charge the spell and direct it, as the focus would build its own channel while it traveled through the air and guide the following bolt to its location. Having control was worth the loss of speed. He could charge the spell, link it to his focus, throw the focus at a moving target, and release the spell. Ulric would be able to leverage that into more power which meant that he would have the first spell he considered to be lethal enough to consider a counter to the monsters roaming Varda's landscape.
Theory was sound but he'd not test it until he had a chance to talk to someone who had experience. They were too close to the Elven homeland to be mucking about with it. Ulric chafed wanting to implement his methods and refine them, but knowing your limits was important. And he didn't want another scolding from Brighteyes.
That thought prompted Ulric to shake off the thought fugue and get back into the here and now. Shit to be done. And today was the day that Brighteyes said they should reach the Elven lands proper. He'd get to see an entire Elven kingdom. That thought made him smile as he got up and set about the camp tasks, now utterly habitual, with the exception of the gingerness at which he used his injured left arm. Still swollen that was, and still significantly painful. Come to think of it, Ulric hadn't been injured to any significant degree in months before he'd rescued Brighteyes.
"Cursed child begone." Ulric chuckled. It made him a little sad that he'd soon be leaving the little guy behind. The glade's silence would be deeper for a while after his return.
He woke his black cat's totem and turned him loose on breakfast. They had long since established an easy quiet during the morning hours. Each had a designated set of responsibilities and they carried them out to the choir of birdcalls that dripped from the forest canopy. Cold wind blew sharply this morn and shook loose leaves down into camp, to swirl between tree trunks and amongst the thin underbrush.
With a kick of dirt over the last of the campfire's coals they departed.
"Brighteyes, you think we'll get to your home today?" Ulric asked an good few hours after they'd started, while they stalked through winding forest paths.
The elf hummed for a second before responding.
"Is not too likely we get all the way to Iriel." He admitted. "We travel slowly, not as a fault, we are only two in number and it is best to use caution."
A moment's delay and Brighteyes continued. "We are well inside elfland now though, and the paths show marks of hunters, not just the beasts."
Pointing downwards Brighteyes indicated the beaten track they now traversed. Ulric couldn't see any evidence that would indicate its origin as anything other than the tread of hoof, paws, or other beast-sign.
"How do you know Elves helped make this path?" Ulric inquired, pushing one of only a few overhanging branches from his way.
"They place guidestones. Every ten-span steps there is stone to side of trail to signal it is an Elf road on the forest floor. Hunters do this on any track they use from year to year, but only on the surest and least dangerous. Any path known to use by monsters or greater hunting animals is marked with sign on tree trunks, obvious to all." His guide responded.
And, now that he mentioned it, Ulric noticed the small stones that had appeared to be completely natural protuberances occurred far too regularly to be so. He'd not have noticed their interval as his eyes were mostly busy scanning the surrounding wood for danger, not examining the trail beneath his feet.
"Aah, clever, a road with markings that won't scare the game from their tracks." Ulric congratulated.
Ulric was impressed. It was a tedious and exceedingly painstaking way to differentiate this trail from the myriad others that crisscrossed these wilds. It was also the act of a people who were willing to invest substantial time into ensuring that the safest ways through the forest were known to those who knew to look. These hunters Brighteyes spoke of were appearing more and more likely to also make up the scouting and policing roles of their society, in addition to just taking game.
At that thought Ulric suddenly came to a realization. The last time Brighteyes had been in the company of humans he'd been assaulted and kidnapped. A scion of one of the ruling clans of the Elves had been taken by men. What are the odds that they'd called off the hunt after only a few weeks? If it were him, hunters would be roaming the wood for sign if it took a decade. And those hunters would have very specific orders about what to do with the captors.
"Brighteyes, when we encounter your people, what the hell are we going to tell them? Also, it occurs to me that I'm a pretty decent target to shoot at from out of the trees and none of your people know that I'm not part of the lot that attacked you."
Ulric wasn't planning to deceive anyone or anything, he just wanted to know how they were going to take the return of their young lord with an admittedly less than reputable looking human. It was not helping Ulric's frame of mind that Brighteyes had, his expression changing swiftly from furrowed brow to wide eyed startle, apparently, not thought about the possibility of a zealous Elven hunter schwacking him from the bush to "rescue" their prince. It was, after all, how he'd rescued Brighteyes in the first place, with a little magically inclined aggression helping the cause towards the end.
"Ah. Ulric, we may have problem." Brighteyes tone grew grave.
Shit.
"Shit." Ulric gave voice to his assessment of the situation.
Brighteyes nodded his agreement.
"Is bad shit Ulric Glade Chief; for once worms in head are not wrong. Elven hunters spend more time in treetops traveling the arbor roads than on marked paths. They might see us and think you escorting me to raiders camp. If they attack you are probably full of arrows before we know they see us."
"Would it help if we travel while singing or something? Sort of let them know we're not on bad terms?" He was fishing desperately now.
"They would assume it to be part of some trap. And the sound would make you an easier target. They probably just shoot you from cover and wait a while for the rest of poachers to come, to easier kill them as they investigate. Then they come and take me back to Iriel." Brighteyes said, putting nails in Ulric's coffin with casual ease.
"Tell me you have a plan to keep me from being murdered by your kin Brighteyes. I am far too pretty to die in an ambush." Ulric was coping, as was his norm, with dry humor. It tended to get even drier as things got worse. Right now it was positively Saharan.
Brighteyes glanced at him with confusion for a moment.
"Ulric Glade Chief, I am sorry, but Elves see things differently. Elf hunters would admire even as they draw back bows. Is not our way to let…you are making fun again are you not?"
The reborn man found joy in his heart as the elf's confusion turned to a scowl.
"Is not time for japes. You are chasing the [Forest Lord]." Brighteyes scolded.
"Chasing the [Forest Lord]?" Ulric asked.
"It means finding certain violent death to the Elf people. And most other peoples, now my thoughts bend to it." the elf clarified.
Ah. Wasn't that good news though? Ulric had, in fact, killed the [Forest Lord]. It was an act that was so unlikely as to never be repeated, born of desperate panic, and abetted by the full gifts of a godly being. But still. Done was done. That probably wouldn't carry water with the Elves here. Maybe make them shoot from slightly farther away, really, just to take no chances.
"Sorry Brighteyes, it's a habit of mine to make light of bad news." Ulric offered an olive branch to his stressed companion.
"…Accepted Ulric and I am also sorry, is not my place to judge. Is also an Elf thing to laugh at danger. But I owe you debt and it will go ill with me to let you be killed by my own folk as you return me to my home. I can find no humor in this."
That made Brighteyes' discomfiture a bit clearer to Ulric. It was a matter of his obligation or honor or however Elves conceptualized such things.
"Let's maybe take a little rest and work this out ahead of time then." the man suggested. The Elf gladly acceded and they found a shaded place just to the side of the marked path to take a lunch and decide how to proceed.
As they chewed their dried rations so did their minds work on the awkward scenario of being ambushed by Brighteyes' kin and Ulric, the person who saved him, being murdered as a compatriot of those men that Ulric had, himself, killed.
"So." Ulric started. "The main problem is that your hunters don't know what the poachers looked like or that they are all dead, as they went into the canopy of the Ancient Plateau in their flight and were killed by me and later eaten by its beasts, leaving basically no evidence of who they were or how many. So if they see us, they can easily assume I was one of your captors, fled the beasts back down, and shoot me on sight."
At Brighteyes confirmation Ulric went on.
"Then what we need is a way to very clearly broadcast that you are not under duress, that I am not a child harming scum bag, and that we are what we appear to be: a bewildered hermit bringing a rescued Elven youth home. Before I die of a powerful allergy to arrows." Ulric summarized.
"Is so Ulric. But is also more complicated. You are slayer of [Forest Lord] and have been recognized through the All-Knowledge as [Lord of Ancient Glade]. This is no small thing, no man, no creature but the old ravager has walked the Plateau in ages. This makes you of status with clan chiefs and makes attack on you a declaration of war between our peoples. And it is between us a debt of blood, from one ruler to another, this is a not small thing and will go badly if I allow you to be killed while you do a service to Iriel." Brighteyes explained.
That did sort of put a weird spin on things.
"We've never really discussed it Brighteyes, but I don't actually have any peoples. You've never mentioned it, even after you saw my status, and I thank you for your respect of my privacy, but we may need to get things out in the open. I was not born on this world. I was born, and lived the great majority of, an entire human lifespan in another place. Similar in some ways, wildly different in others. There was no magic there, no cores, no mana at all, so far as we ever determined, although I'm starting to have some thoughts about that as I learn more about how mana works here. I was, at the end of my life in that world, destroyed, then reforged here in this one in a young man's body, up on the Plateau not far from the glade by a creature called a Watcher. It wasn't even half a year ago. I'm not a lord of anything. I'm a semi competent hunter, a fledgling warrior by necessity, and a terribly ignorant magic user. Nobody is going to miss me, certainly there won't be a war over it."
Ulric felt better about laying everything out in the open. He'd never been actively trying to hide anything but neither had he volunteered a great deal about how he had ended up in the Glade, in a place where no one had any right to be.
Brighteyes disagreed.
"All these true only makes it worse." the Elf lord pronounced flatly.
"People have been brought between the stars and up from the great dreamings of other gods before. Happens every few Elf generations. Not always Humans. Sometimes Elf. Sometimes Beastkin. A few times Dwarves. Worst was Demonkin. Always though, the Reforged carry great destiny. Always they end up changing face of Varda. Not always good. Sometimes terrible. You are already proof. [Forest Lord] is dead now and in heart of Orlethrem we will feel its absence most keenly, but ripples reach out. My debt is to see you live, my duty to see you not shake Iriel to pieces with weight of your passing. There is chance that if my people tracked me to [Ancient Gate] they despair of finding me alive. May not know about death of [Forest Lord] directly. Older hunters may consider it, the forests will move without him and they have feel for breath of the wood. Dangerous things come now, try to claim the vast territory. Has already started. [Golden Heckler Monkey] is not supposed to be found so close to normal hunting grounds."
Well damn. That was a little on the sobering side. Ulric had not considered that his new life had any implicit meaning with respect to anyone else or with their histories. He especially had not thought that his existence would be something of great import to another civilization, or had shaken up the normal workings of this land. If Brighteyes' message was implying though that people like him had a tendency to rock the boat and make a tsunami, then things were already grossly out of Ulric's wheelhouse.
Ulric scratched his head, fingers running through hair matted in Journey's dust as they'd been unable to bathe since leaving the glade, running things over in his mind. It didn't add up. He was just a dude. All he'd done since getting this second chance was scrape, claw, and scratch his way to survival, admittedly while loving every damned bit of it. Nothing he'd accomplished so far had been anything but desperate struggle against the odds and sheer mule headed stubbornness. Still, ignorance had so far already cost Ulric skin and he wasn't looking to destabilize the homeland of the first intelligent folk he'd met so best to let Brighteyes set course for now.
He nearly sighed at the thought of being led around by a kid before he remembered that people in his own world's history had been considered adults for centuries at that age. Different game, different rules. Besides, the boy so far carried himself with poise far above his years.
"Ok then Brighteyes, I see what you're saying. You'll not get any argument from me that the last thing we both want is your kin taking shots at me, nor do I want any part of conflict with your people. So what we need is a plan, to make sure that everybody knows I mean no harm and that you aren't being held against your will through some sneaky plot. I'm coming up blank though."
And he was. Maybe it was an overactive imagination but Ulric couldn't think of anything they could do that wouldn't appear to be a ruse to any watching elves or get them both eaten if something attacked. If the hunters of this land traveled in triplets, they were already down a man for what was considered safe travels, so tying Ulric's hands or not carrying weapons was a hard no. It was a near certainty that the Elven hunters or warriors looking for their kin would most likely have the advantage of position from the branches above. Ulric knew personally how powerful that was, especially when you also had surprise on your side. He had no illusion about his archery skills compared to that of these folk. They needed to reduce the odds of some random attack or sudden ambush, give the Elves they came across reason to not be hasty. The hunters wouldn't take a shot that risked their lordling so staying close to Brighteyes was a definite yes. In the same way, any sort of threatening or perceived power over him would be a definite no and objections would be fletched. Tricky. If only he looked like an Elf. Wait.
"Brighteyes, I know I'm worms in head, but how would the Elven hunters even know it was you or that I wasn't an elf if they couldn't see our faces?" Ulric asked.
That gave the kid pause. He considered it before sharing his thoughts.
"This just barely possible. Humans almost never this far in deep wood, is one reason I investigate sign of the raiders in our lands. We see a Beastkin and Human from monster trail and go to find them butchering monster for core. We were so surprised to see otherkin that we allow them to take flank. Idiocy. But if Hunters cannot see faces and you are not speaking we may pass for elf travelers. We are outfitted like nomadic warriors from other clans. Might work. Until they use [Scan]."
Ulric's budding enthusiasm died on the vine. He'd forgot about [Scan]. Cheating ass magical bullshit. Maybe there were ways around it.
"Is there, I dunno, any way to spoof [Scan]? Stop it from revealing us or make it say I'm an elf or something?"
One definitive shake killed that before the lad even said anything.
"No. [Scan] is reading All-Knowledge and All-Knowledge never lies. There is case where some cannot have status read, but only if they are far, far, above in power. You are much stronger than me, Ulric, but I still [Scan] easily. Hunters have no problem, even have skills to make their [Scan] more potent. But is not bad idea to go with faces covered. At least Hunters probably do not shoot immediately, gives time put you under protection."
Even if they couldn't deny [Scan], at least they probably prevented being shot from cover. That was definitely not nothing.
"Good enough reason for me Brighteyes. We might want us a little camp kiddo, it's going to take bit but I'll make a mask."
"You can make masks, Ulric?" Brighteyes was strangely intrigued. Odd. He was normally a little more skeptical of Ulric's ideas.
"No way to know but to try right?" Ulric replied.
Ulric pulled his axe free of its pack loop and the two of them took a few minutes to find a suitable dead standing. Ulric got one first. Thick as his thigh, it had long ago shed its limbs. A few taps on the trunk confirmed its soundness though, it hadn't yet succumbed to rot. Just gotten stiff with death and lost its limbs to the wind. Which, Ulric realized, had picked up significantly over the course of the day. It had also, strangely, warmed strongly to a resting comfort level, even without their heavier clothing.
"Brighteyes, is it just me or is it a little warm today?" Ulric voiced his curiosity.
"Not just you. This warmth is the dying Autumn. Very, very soon is [Winter's Herald Storm] and the festival. We need get to Iriel Ulric, the storm will bring strong wind, heavy rain. It is not good to be caught unsheltered." the elf assured him.
Not that Ulric was half-assing or anything but the warning did spur him to proper action and he had soon dropped the dead tree and peeled its bark. A steadily maintained [Wind Blade] had done proper work shedding the old bark like paper and had planed the six meter log to a flat surface, if not a level one. Seven more casts completed the debarking as he and Brighteyes rolled the log. He tried a [Wind Blade] to cut the log into segments but a single cast only did half the job and Ulric wasn't going to deplete himself just to save some axe strokes. He was already down to half his pool.
A few chops finished the cut, followed a vertical chop to render the octagonal "round" into two halves roughly the width of his face. His bone knife, awls, and some convincing with heavy strikes from the side of his axe would make the two wide eye slits large enough to view out of but he'd have to cut the curve of the mask to really know how good visibility would be. For now he marked the eye locations with a quick scribing of the awl, as well as a rough outline of his face, a sharply rounded U with a flat line across the top.
Brighteyes set up camp, borrowing Ulric's axe to work the remaining timber into firewood, their journey abruptly halted while they made accommodations to prevent Ulric from dying to the welcome wagon. Ulric went to work with his knife.
