When his guests had finished their impromptu breakfast, Ulric bustled around cleaning up, rejecting offers of help with a preemptory "Sit, sit, just relax awhile, I've got it." to their collective bemusement. Even Geyrt, whose role as a Shadow had her mostly acting in a subservient position, was treated as he had been taught so long ago by his parents, rules of hospitality ingrained in him. Courtesy with neighbors and treating guests like they were visiting diplomats was one of the bedrock social underpinnings that survived collapse, long polished during the centuries spent in underground oasis safe from nuclear fallout. The escort and his Shadow, hardened warriors all, found themselves warm, fed, watered, and comfortable while Ulric pitter-pattered around his home. Going through these habits, long unpracticed though they may have been, was comforting in their familiarity, in spite of the, call it rural, environment.
Finished with his tasks, Ulric fixed another pot of tea. They'd be getting to work soon and a last cup would provide lingering warmth as they labored in the frigid air outside. Once the last sip had been downed, Christ set his team to order. He, Cleaver, and Twin Two would scout North, since their route in had come mostly from the South-East. Signs of the invaders had totally vanished upon leaving the [Ancient's Gate], indicative of fieldcraft and specifically designed magics from a group well versed in going undetected. That they had left any sign at all was mostly due to the resistance of the Gate itself to any external spell work, it was like the mana was locked into place within the confines of the ruin, preventing casting other than the Gate's own workings. Twin One would help Ulric and Geyrt clear the camp of snow and assemble a sled, after which they would start going through the items Ulric wanted to bring back to Irielhos.
With a click of wooden cups on the stone firepit rim, the scouting party departed. Ulric wished them luck, the faster Christ found out who was lurking around the faster they could figure out what to do about it. Specifically, Ulric would know what he might do about it. With a final glance at the rapidly receding Elf party, Ulric decided it was time to get on with clearing camp. It was not even mid-morning, they had all day, short though those were becoming.
Considering that there were potential threats wandering around the area, even though they hadn't been spotted Twin One agreed with Geyrt that the former Hunter's talents were best spent keeping a perimeter and ensuring that nothing crept up on them. As Ulric and Twin One started removing snow by piling fine powdered snow onto hides, which would then be dumped outside the camp proper, Geyrt vanished into the surrounding brush. Good luck animals, Ulric said with an imagined salute, your apex predator has gone on the hunt.
Time passed swiftly then, with the steady rhythm of sweeping and throwing snow followed by hauling and dumping it. He and Twin One had soon worked out a system, Twin One would pile up snow on a series of furs tied together by a loop through which Ulric could run his spear, creating a wide fur drag, which Ulric would then pull to the edge of camp and dump into an ever-growing pile. Two of these drags were laid out so that while Ulric pulled the first away Twin One could pile snow onto the second keeping a steady pace of clearing. Ulric didn't mind doing the donkey work, the willingness of this proud soldier to scoop snow out of his camp was more than he would have expected. In a matter of an hour and a half, the immediate camp was snow free, excepting the dense layer they'd compacted with their feet while working. Geyrt would stop in periodically to report "All's clear" before disappearing again. Once, she deposited a wolf corpse. Truly she was a ghost out there in that winter cloak.
Ulric stood smiling, his breath coming deep and even, regular bursts of fog rolling out into the brisk air. He felt the deep warmth of exertion in his limbs as he surveyed the clear area. A large pile of snow beyond the rockpool made a near-chest-height wall ten meters long, a demarcation of the camp's Southern border, within the wattle and stake fence.
With that done, they could figure out the sled. Ulric asked Twin One if he knew how to make one or if they would have to carpenter one up from scratch. Twin One informed him that he knew the method to make a durable pack sled for hauling wounded and gear. At the instruction of Twin One, Ulric cut some poles from an already felled [Steelwood] with his axe, choosing limbs as thick as his wrist. It took another couple of minutes while he shaved the bark from them, setting that aside to use for baskets later. Twice he had to stop and touch up the incredibly hard edge, even the bone of the [Forest Lord] needing some refining after working against those incredibly durable fibers. He used the haft of his trophy trident, itself made of bizarrely hard metal, as a honing rod. With some even, measured strokes, the curved axe blade sang its high-pitched whine as Ulric guided the edge back to sharpness. Carefully, he ran his thumb across the edge to test it, satisfied that the tool was ready to work. While he prepared the framing poles, Twin One was readying lengths of rope, and working some cross pieces down with his belt knife, a two-sided monster that looked better suited as a spearhead. More than once the Elf cursed in his own tongue at the resistance of the [Steelwood].
"It's a bitch, is it not? Maybe you'll have better luck if you let your husband do it." Ulric gibed, noticing the warrior's struggle.
"Ahh, if only; the nights at least would be warmer." Remarked Twin One, recognizing the jest for what it was before he observed casually, "Fortune favors you, Glade Chief. We cannot all of us be so ugly the wood parts in fear."
Ahh, that was a pretty good one, he'd have to remember that one to hit Geyrt with later. Not that she'd take it seriously, given her beauty. Eh, replace ugly with spiteful. Raising a pole in salute to the Aes'r warrior's joke, he returned to his work.
[Steelwood] seriously was an absolute motherfucker. And a miracle. That species was Ulric's source of material for most of his constructed shelter, his bowstaves, and his tool handles. Cleaned lengths and rounds, stacked on one end of the camp had taken more than a little of his time, once he'd understood how universally incredible the stuff was. Mature trees contained plenty of long straight branches if you could get to them. In some ways, the tree grew like Yew, all knotty whirling grained evergreen and rough-barked from the roots to about a meter from the ends of branches, before smoothing to finely textured gray, those were too large and difficult to work with so Ulric ignored them. The younger trees though tended to sprout in Hazel-like clumps of straight arm thick-trunks about a meter up from the root base, in those the bark was completely smooth and the grains lacked the knots that made them impervious to his axe. Ulric had coppiced this one early on, after he'd gotten his [Forest Lord] hip bone shaped into an axe blade that would actually cut it. The outer bark was too rigid and had to be cut off, but the inner bark peeled in long broad strips which could be separated into straight fibers, fantastic for rope making, or, as he had already proven, basketweaving.
Twin One and Ulric soon had a set of lashed poles on a solid frame, Twin One having had brought plenty of rope along in his pack, as did all experienced soldiers in the field. At the guidance of the Elf, they assembled the sled with solid side walls which could be covered by hides to create a pretty nifty almost enclosed area to pack gear. At three meters long by two meters wide, the foot print of the sled was manageable, if only just, once loaded. After a moment’s examination at the slick job of Elven carpentry, the former engineer got an idea.
Ulric split a pole into two flat runners. He then used his brace or hand drill, his masterpiece of modern technology, to bore holes to dowl into the sled frame. These would help the sled run smoothly along the snow and Twin One approved of the addition. Even though both of them were no slackers, [Steelwood] was a proper bastard to work with. It took strength, concentration, and a sharp tool of great hardness to shape, and thus, Twin One and Ulric did not complete the thing until the dusk had begun casting shadows deep into the glade.
Geyrt scared Ulric into a near fight by placing a hand on his shoulder, her approaching presence completely undetected as he and Twin One discussed how to secure their items to the sled. Her smug grin at his strangled curse and jump was short-lived. He’d already been devising a plan to get some payback for her various slights.
Ulric gave her the task of testing the sled's pull by hauling him and Twin One around camp in punishment for her sins. Twin One casually discussed the various uses and habits of beasts of burden in Elven farming villages as Ulric's Shadow pulled them, both seated somewhat uncomfortably cross-legged on the fur-lined frame whose unforgiving poles refused to bend. As she pulled through the snow Ulric could hear her steady curses and see her complaints made visible as puffs of mist in the frosty air, their cadence matching her stride as she circled the fallen giant that marked the center of the glade. Not often did the man take so blatant a pleasure in putting Geyrt to work but this was satisfying vengeance. Still, he did have some remorse when Twin One suggested another lap. Her curses were louder this time round, and slightly more breathless.
Ulric made it up to her by taking a turn pulling the two Elves around the camp along the trail Geyrt had broken. He was surprised that the proud Huntress wasn’t too offended by her recent use as a mule to agree but she and Twin One sat happily while he gave them a tour around the glade. Afterwards, Twin One insisted on a turn, saying "It is my privilege to bear the Glade Chief and his Shadow on royal procession" with a playful grin whose cause was clear when he took off at a sprint, the now thoroughly smoothed path allowing the sled to race rapidly in its course. Ulric and Geyrt rattled around in the sled with as much poise as they could, their asses bouncing off the none too cozy [Steelwood] frame as Twin One hauled them around the glade at full tilt. Ulric thanked Twin One for his services, his hand rubbing a likely bruised hip bone. His Shadow grimaced but refused to acknowledge her abused anatomy where Twin One could observe and take satisfaction. Panting heavily from the exertion of his prank, Twin One left no doubt that he was quite aware of the quality of his work.
Ulric had to applaud him, the old boy took his life into his own hands fearlessly. It was a well-executed trap as well, neither he nor his Shadow had seen it coming. Doubtless, Twin One had recognized the potential when he'd experienced the rather more sedate pace of the first trip and determined that the opportunity wouldn't rise again as they later realized exactly how uncomfortable the hard [Steelwood] frame would be at a jostling.
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"Can I suggest a bit of extra padding to the Glade Chief's bedroll? Likewise to yours, noble Taipan, you appear a little shaken by your ride." Cracked Twin One.
"My bedroll is none of your business, Froka, unless you would like your corpse to pad it." Spat Geyrt, her hands twitching to avoid comforting her throbbing buttock.
“And I am NOT a Taipan” She hissed in Elvish.
An exaggerated sigh escaped the grinning warrior, "Ahh beautiful one, even my corpse would be honored to find itself in such a prized mausoleum. And, if you are not a serpent of such ill repute, why are you yet so venomous?" Retorted Twin One, who might be known as Froka, unless that was a profane utterance unfamiliar to Ulric's growing Elvish vocabulary.
Geyrt's scowl left no doubt that the grizzled soldier had won the round, and she said nothing further, unwilling to risk going any deeper down that rabbit hole. Instead, she turned her ire towards his own person.
“Do you see what you have done? Your taunting false name is now known to all of Iriel. I will never get my own name back with them now, always it will be ‘Taipan this, Taipan that’ and it will be only blood kin that utter my proper calling.” Lamented his Shadow with deep resignation.
Ulric was a great believer in names holding a certain power so he wasn’t entirely unmoved by her complaint. However.
“I calls’em as I sees’em Lady and, at the time of our meeting, you didn’t give me any reason not to be less than flattering. I still have a scar from an arrow, that SOMEBODY poisoned, on my leg. I can’t help it that your own folk thought the moniker appropriate enough to stick.” The embattled man retorted.
Fortunately, he was spared any further grievance as Christ and his party had returned. Ulric turned his attention to the scouts as the lovely woman continued to practice drilling holes into his spine with her eyes. Was this how Bald’rt managed to be so hard to reach? Bearing Vedyr’s ire against his back through the centuries was as good a way to find lesser threats of no concern as Ulric might think of. What were a few threats of war against the constance of impending doom from behind?
He concentrated on the returning party. News wasn’t great, nor was it entirely bad. Thirty kilometers out and back in, in a serpentine pattern that should have found any passage other than directly back towards the [Ancient’s Gate] and no sign. Of any kind. No fires, no trail markers, no waypoints, no broken branches. Nothing. The scouting Iriel’en were clearly concerned by the absence of tracks, it told them that specialists of great skill were involved, but Ulric didn't bother offering any advice. He didn't know what the Iriel'en equivalent was for "Go teach your grandma to suck eggs" but he'd rather not find out. Christ delivered his report in silence and the group took a few minutes to silently ponder the implications.
As the scouts surveyed the now cleared camp and gave the sled an appraising view Christ presented himself to Ulric somewhat formally. It was a distinctly odd feeling, having a guy older than you, physical appearance aside, who had also puked into the same pale in training acting like a junior officer addressing a colonel.
"It is my regret that we were unable to find any sign of our foes, Glade Chief. It may well be that they did not turn North or that they angled to follow the escarpment and thus keep a flank secure. We have no way of knowing with any certainty, thus it is my best judgement that, until the interlopers are found, we double our watches, two on and three off. Your Shadow you may use to your satisfaction, I would not think to command her in your place." Christ reported with tight expression.
He was clearly not happy about being unable to find these guys, whoever they were. No sense beating a dead horse though, they'd done as well as anybody could expect with their numbers and the sheer scale of terrain to cover.
"Don't worry too much Christ, I'm sure you'll pick up a trail before too long. It's hard to imagine anyone getting too far out here without leaving any sign at all.” Ulric consoled the, in his mind, young man.
“Look on the bright side, between the snows, the short days, and the cold up here they probably aren't making good time with all this stealth. I have no idea what conditions are like up in the canopy at this time of year but if the monsters up there are active in the Winter, it would be a poor strategy to attempt to run the tree tops.”
Ulric looked up and indicated the leafless but still too dense to see through mass of criss crossing branches, each every bit as large as any normal ancient oak tree.
“I spent enough time up there, you don't want to play with some of the critters running around the canopy. We'll do what we came to do here in the glade and then we can devote the whole team to pursuit, if that course of action seems good to you." He offered.
Nodding, Christ looked over at the sled. He gave it a brief examination and seemed well satisfied by the results.
"It is a good war sled you have prepared Glade Chief, no doubt you've seen that Froka is a practiced hand with carpentry." the young Elf praised.
"Indeed he is Christ, thanks for lending him today. I think with what we managed to accomplish today we can probably pack the sled tomorrow and winterize the shelter. I'll want to empty the food caches to avoid tempting beasts into camp while I'm gone and secure some things your people might find useful. The rest of that [Steelwood] tree, for one; Froka was pretty impressed with it." Ulric said, indicating that they should retire to the shelter, for true dark was only minutes away.
Twin Two, at least he was reasonably sure it was Twin Two, the pair of them had shuffled beyond his ability to be certain soon after their reunion, retrieved water while Cleaver rekindled the fire. Santa and Christ busied themselves chopping up more firewood. Twin One, Froka, unless it was the other one? Anyway, whoever they were, they waited for Ulric's instructions. Ulric, again, would cook up something special using his limited herb and spice supply.
These were things he was going to have to cultivate on a larger scale next spring, he would have been caught a wide margin short of the end of this bitter season without many of the niceties he leaned on to make dried meat and tubers palatable. The seasons on Varda appeared to be slower to change than his old world, if Winter was expected to last five months to his expected three.
This time, he decided on a rather special rock stir fry and soup. Breakfast had been the first step in his plan, a sweet invitation. Now, he would lay the killing blow. First, he had the Elf he was almost sure was Twin One soak the dried meat, [Blade Elk] backstraps, originally, that Ulric retrieved from a pit larder outside the shelter, in hot water and gently massage it to reconstitute it. While the meat rehydrated, he sliced thinly some tubers and added them to the water Twin One was working into the meat, so they could absorb some of the smokey meat flavor. His, now resting, guests munched on offered berry leather from what few kilos of berries he and Brighteyes had gathered during the boy’s convalescence, while they waited. Clearly the Iriel’en were looking forwards to this meal. Oh boy, were they in for a doozy. Ulric restrained an evil chuckle that might give away his intentions.
Heating a large flat stone directly on the coals he began to slice the now moist meat into thin strips. Next, he diced the glade garlic and onions, as well as healthy quantity of his ultimate weapon, retrieved from a sealed clay jar, a powdered herb that he carefully avoided getting onto his hands or face. He also avoided getting it close enough to any of the Elves resting in the shelter, he didn’t want to spoil the surprise. This particular plant most reminded him of Basil, with a twist. These ingredients he mashed into the meat with a wooden mallet he'd long ago carved for exactly this purpose. As the odors began to fill the shelter, none of his guests suspected anything.
Next, he went to his specially made containers for rendered lard, a storage of [Forest Lord], [Bolt Deer], and [Blade Elk] fats, each in individual containers. These were a small matter of pride for Ulric. When he'd discovered how precisely [Water Jet] could cut, he'd cut rounds off of the branch tips of his fallen elder tree, each thick around as his thigh, and, along with a [Forest Lord] rib chisel, hollowed them. Then he'd carefully removed a thin round and carved a recess to allow it to nest on top of the hollowed container, making a cap. Some molten glassresin inlaid allowed him to get a near perfect seal, so effective he wasn't able to smell the rich oils in the containers that otherwise might have drawn scavengers or worse. He hadn't had time to make more than three of them but they were on his list of projects to do to store about everything he'd gathered.
From his [Forest Lord] container he scooped a dollop of beast lard onto the heated griddle stone. Sizzling and melting oils released succulent odor, filling the shelter with its aroma, tasty compared to the beast's pungent smell. Now he tossed the spiced meat strips onto the greased rock and stirred with the back edge of his bone knife, the sweet onion and potent garlic almost hiding the distinct sharpness of the herb. When the meat was ready, as was clear due to its slight char and caramelization of the onion, he scraped it into a huge wooden bowl before replacing the griddle stone with the soup pot, using wooden poles to lift the griddle to its resting place safely. Leafy greens, more garlic and onion, an earthy root paste that reminded him of miso, and salt were added to the simmering tubers. When the soup turned fragrant, he poured the pot into the bowl with the meat. Stir-fried spicy meat soup was finally ready to portion out.
This dish was one of Brighteyes' favorites, the kid loved the hot stuff and Ulric was glad to comply, spicy food being one of the things he'd come to miss about the Before. He was glad he'd given the pepper herb a second chance, he'd thought he'd poisoned himself the first time he'd tested it. It was like Basil, if Basil packed the heat of a Carolina Reaper pepper.
The looks on his guest’s faces was again reward enough for Ulric to be slightly profligate in his use of limited ingredient stocks. Nobody would accuse Ulric Einar of substandard wilderness cuisine, not after he'd suffered several indignities figuring out which of the glade plants wouldn't cause a rash, projectile vomit, or it's even worse counterpart from the opposite end, or multiple symptoms of toxicity, one of which included the worst psychedelic trip of his life; fifteen minutes of being warped to the center of the universe as a cosmic snail.
The special herb he'd added, dubbed [Reaperfern], he’d utilized generously. It was among the most potent in his arsenal, and had the most incredible delayed burn of anything he'd ever experienced. There was a minute long grace period before its power became obvious. Ulric found it fascinating to observe the different responses to the dish amongst the hardened veteran soldiers.
Cleaver's wide-eyed panic and rush for the water hole outside was refreshing for its honesty, fortunately, he was able to rally and complete the meal, Elven endurance tested greatly. Santa coughed violently mid-way through, having accidently inhaled some of the spice into his nose as he breathed heavily to avoid inflaming his stinging tongue, his curses in Elvish were interesting and when he fled the shelter to vomit loudly outside Ulric was sympathetic. He snacked on travel rations and directed a hateful grin towards Ulric that promised comeuppance. Twins One and Two sweated heavily, noses running freely but, otherwise, showed no sign of impairment as they ate, bold souls unwilling to allow the other to yield in the face of adversity. Christ battled hiccups for the first five minutes of the meal before bravely settling into the pain. Geyrt Iriel proved indestructible and shared her little brother's passion for the good stuff, only a slight sheen of perspiration on her forehead evidenced the effect of the spicy meat soup. For Ulric's own part he was with the Twins, sweat and mucous flowed from his face as he relished the burn spreading through his mouth.
The meal ended with last of the soup, Geyrt slurping the final rich broth from the pot to bring it to a close. A contented sigh and smacking of lips accompanied the return of the empty pot to the shelter floor.
It was a few minutes before any of the party was willing to risk speaking. Christ was the first to recover and break the silence.
"Ulric, there was a time I thought you a barbarian, incapable of decency. I now know that to be true, but you also have a great gift for food. Thank you again for this repast." He declared.
Ulric accepted this praise with grace, offering his own exaltation, "You are very welcome, Christ, I am humbled to have the opportunity to serve such brave warriors in my home. None wept, even if tears flowed. You are all worthy people."
"Young Brighteyes found this meal to be among his favorites and recommended it to be served, if the opportunity ever arose. I must commend my Shadow, ever unflappable, she is the greatest among us. The Iriel's blood line shows its strength." Ulric finished.
Geyrt accepted Ulric's accolade as her due, a shallow bow to the room acknowledging her lessers.
Cleaver, the worst of his suffering behind him now, offered a thought for the future.
"We'll all be lucky to get out of this glade with our guts inside us. Ye gods what is it going to do to me on its way out?"
Ulric nodded with the certainty of a prophet, knowing exactly what it was going to do to them on its way out.
"There will be no shame in your howls tomorrow, we are all of us brothers in lava butts." He offered.