It had taken the two of them a solid half hour, dark was closing in rapidly, but they'd reassembled the camp and the fire was going again. 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.
They 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 lone travelers and children.
It took a few minutes but the two of them removed the cores from the corpses 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. They would skin out that monster, for the golden fur was sought after as a decorative item. 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 walking back to pick up the water, so he checked up on his status for the first time in a long while.
Ulric concentrated briefly.
[Status]
[https://i.imgur.com/Mgeq6Zh.png]
Damn, this thing was starting to get long.
He'd greatly expanded his status on obtaining classes. His spells were somewhat languishing as he'd been more focused on mastery of what he already had and theory crafting how to apply magic in real scenarios. 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, [Battle Mage], reflected that Ulric was actually getting pretty good at using what limited spells he had in active combat. It was partly instinctive. With the [Heckler monkeys] he'd felt intuitively that the best approach beating many smaller foes was to separate them into clusters, hence he'd used the initiative gained by attacking the rear of their formation by using [Stone wall] to isolate them. Mostly though the improvements were the result of dedicated practice and planning. 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 [Wind blade]? How do you maximize the impact of [Water jet]? 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?
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. Nights had not been 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 until he'd climbed the canopy to see the smorgasbord of fantastically dangerous shit roaming up there, though, that he'd began to seriously dedicate time to finding a way to fight back against the crazy hazards this world could throw at him. 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.
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.
Ulric's 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. His traits had saved him there; between [Warrior's Instinct] and [Battle Rhythm] the delay was shortened considerably. Still unacceptable if he planned to live long and 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.
Snapping back to his present circumstance Ulric retrieved the water and returned to camp so that the two could finish tending wounds. Brighteyes had suffered some serious bruising from the stones, the scalp cut, and a few lacerations from teeth, claws, and what have you. Other than that he'd come out fairly well. Ulric was mostly unscathed, other than a few minor scratches but his arm was not ok. 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.
Night had fully closed in around the two of them by the time they had finished setting camp, harvesting their kills, and taking care of themselves. Here in the forests below, unlike in the deep wood of the plateau, there was life everywhere. Nocturnal birds called while an insect chorus held a constant background with what sounded like peep frog accompaniment. The glade had been 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' watch before he found sleep.
A gentle nudge from his Elven companion broke the void and Ulric rose with bleary eyes. 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 took watch. Brighteyes was clearly more at home than he and was asleep before his head was fully pillowed on his pack.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Ulric sat in the opening of the travel shelter and kept the fire down low, coals burning hot but without excessive flame. 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 great moon was full in the sky its 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. 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.
When asked later that morning, Brighteyes confirmed that there were at least three varieties of hunting cat that would relatively easily eat a traveler taken unawares. One of them had blending camouflage, another could jump high enough to move through tree tops and a Caulum 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. Those could actually teleport short distances through large enough shadows. The [Shadow Panther] was considered by Elven hunters to be the greatest killer the forest had to offer and were the main reason hunters traveled in threes. 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 the less likely you were to have to deal with them; they were a menace to anyone harvesting trees however. Anything that broke the canopy made a happy hunting ground for them, which is a part of why the Elves forbade cutting of trees. 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]. 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.
The witching hour passed without event, spooky sounds aside. Cold of late fall 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 furs but decided against, if he needed to move he didn't want to have to fight out of a fur blanket first so the chill was just something to be endured. The hot coals kept him marginally comfortable 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 canopy.
Brighteyes woke easily, wincing slightly as he rubbed his eyes and grazed the cut on his eyebrow. 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. That great smith Failure did her job well, wielded suffering and hammered the soft and inexperienced into hardened veteran. Those she did not break first, that is.
Camp was dismantled shortly after a light meal of stewed dried meat and tubers. The two were on the move not long after daybreak. While they walked Ulric picked his guide's brain and kilometers fell behind. Ulric 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 the pair settled into silence as the effort of travel wore into them and they made silent progress through the endless procession of trees.
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. The only place in that armor that appeared thin enough to penetrate with an arrow was the seam beneath and behind armpits, crotch, and 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 monster'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 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 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 towards Elvenland. 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. 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 slept with his usual gusto, soft snores through mostly healed nose competing with the late night insects.
While firelight splashed against the forest Ulric ran through his old routine of spell practice. This time though he focused on [Lightning Strike]'s applications. He hadn't tried to use it during their previous battle, it never even occurred to him, being too much of an unknown. Now though he wiled away the dark hours working out how to optimize the spellwork, when and where to employ it, and how to limit the collateral damage such a powerful destructive force could unleash. When day rose again, it found him grinning. He'd had several ideas about how he was going to refine and control this newest bit of magic. He was slightly proud of it, it was slick if he had to say so himself. Using both fundamental principles of electricity and the spell based creation of discharge paths he'd worked out a way to keep the magic on target and to reduce the chances of a premature discharge or arc that reached back into himself. He'd had the idea while watching the arcs of [Voltaic grip] snap and pop between his hands. Every positive needed a negative. Every source a sink.
Testing this out was going to be a hoot.