Santa was missing.

Of the three Elven scouts who had departed, only two had returned, dejection hanging heavy on them. They looked like twenty clicks of bad road.

Twin One, Froka, approached Ulric and stood at attention. This couldn't be good news, Twin One's normally smooth features were rent with grief. His armor was scratched and beaten, and blood dripped from various minor wounds, red seeping through a bandage tied around his temples.

"It is with sadness that I must give report, Glade Chief. Serlic is dead, killed by some monstrous variant of a Nightblade Owl. Larger, faster, and completely invisible, as if its feathers pulled the light around themselves to cloak its form. Its wings must be razor-edged, we saw it for a moment, as it struck. The beast cut Serlic apart at the shoulders, as if with a giant blade, from a dive that none of us even saw or heard. A Greater beast, no doubt." Spoke the Elf, with determined composure.

Powering through, no doubt through decades of experience in similar, if no less tragic, situations, he continued to report their findings.

"Several arrows we sped at it, and some must have hit, but we found no sign of the beast and did not pursue. Without Serlic's skills to guide us, we were inadequate to make passage through the canopy forest, not and survive. Absent his ample abilities in pathfinding and detecting beasts we encountered more aggressive, heavily mutated variants of several lesser beasts as we returned. Each and every time we did, they threw themselves at us as if crazed. Even for experienced warriors, it was a close thing."

The Elf's eyes grew briefly distant with memory, recalling the harrowing return as he fell silent. He left without further words and saw to his brother. Ulric didn't blame him.

Cleaver approached, as ragged as Twin One, his namesake broken off at the tip, and picked up where his companion had left off.

"That place is beyond dangerous Glade Chief, you were right to be doubtful that it was used for passage. If Serlic could be taken without even a cry of warning, there are no Otherkin who could make way through that warren of Greater beasts unaided. I begin to despair of our ability to impede our enemy's progress, whatever they are attempting to achieve." the warrior said flatly, dour expression twisting his features.

Ulric's fingers twitched, and he frowned as he took in this news. He'd given the canopy a wide berth in his early roaming, the place made his skin crawl. Apparently, his instincts were good, the deeper parts of the place made even the Iriel'en scouts nervous. He'd ventured along the largest, most well-established, easily navigable paths, avoiding the tighter trails and more overgrown runs, and had traveled those only with utmost caution. Had he gotten overconfident he'd have been killed by some monster without even knowing what ate him.

Realization set in heavy, that an ally, a good and decent person with whom he'd shared travel, meals, and comradery was dead. He found himself at a loss, he didn't know what he could possibly say to these warriors. If only he could find something to offer, some benediction to ease his escort, as much as possible under the circumstances. But, try as he might, nothing sprang forward from his guilt twisted mind, other than recriminations that felt to him as more self-serving than comforting to utter aloud.

Santa had been there on Ulric's account. Taking this assignment had gotten the Elf killed and, even if Ulric had had no direct role in that coming to pass, he couldn't deny that he was responsible for these sylvan peoples nevertheless. There had to be something he could do to help them, these men were here for him.

With heaviness in his voice, Christ recounted the journey of his own party.

"Not alone were you in your struggles. The Glade Chief's Shadow led us through the twisted ways above with extreme caution. We were able to pick up the faint signal from a tracking spell, courtesy of Ulric Glade Chief's offering of reagents. With great stealth these advance scouts are moving, and quickly, without raising the Forest of the Forgotten against them. It shrieks of Prosper's mage corps at the helm."

Simmering dissatisfaction mixed with frustration now tinged Christ's retelling of the trip.

"With night on our heels we turned back. Only a quarter of the way back, we were waylaid by beasts most fearsome. They were canny, cunning, and vicious beyond question, using our scent to stage their ambush in number." He recounted.

Ulric coughed, remembering the slavering fangs that had dove for his face as he added brusquely, "Some kind of massive weasels, never seen them before, they came at us from all sides. Damn near killed Darla and me with their initial rush. They got him first and me second. If not for my Shadow and Christ's intervention we'd probably be goners. There was almost no warning, those bastards blend perfectly into the snow-covered brush and they're faster than about anything I've seen."

He scrubbed a hand through his beard trying not to think about the fact that this little expedition had maybe killed two of the Elves that had volunteered to help.

"Forgive me asking, but what did we miss? Could we have prevented these attacks? My ignorance of this world is starting to show its teeth, is encountering monsters so ferocious normal?"

Bald'rt's eldest daughter answered from her place helping Christ make a travois to carry Twin Two.

"Nothing to the first, unlikely to the second, and, lastly, no, Ulric, it is not. The Plateau of Ancients has a denser mana than any other environment I have ever encountered, and I have been everywhere within Orlethrem. It is known that mana density contributes to the evolution of Lesser beasts into Greater. The Forest of the Forgotten is this but in spades, even the Lesser beasts are of more lethal variants. I had noticed this earlier, but you appear not to be affected, perhaps as a result of your core being unusual, or for your unique circumstance having been reforged here. For us, it is like being held underwater, the mana in this place is oppressive."

Her heavy braid shimmered blue-black as she shook away her frustration.

"The monsters here are near paragons. The greatest of their kind. Polar Weasels should not be able to hide from my senses, but these did. They should not have been able to tear through armor as they did against Darla. Serlic was an extremely skilled Hunter, I have raided with him before, and had never known him to miss a single sign. That a creature could take him completely unawares makes me feel we cannot risk pursuit of our enemies through the Forest of the Forgotten. They have powerful magic at their disposal, to not only wayfind, but also to deter beasts; I do not believe that simply knowing where the monsters rest is enough to prevent their attack, they would seek out Otherkin as easy prey." Judged his Shadow clearly disturbed.

She looked up from her work at tying cross braces to hold Ulric's eyes, her own brilliant green and bronze-flecked almond eyes narrowed with concern.

"Ulric, I grow concerned. The glade and the plateau floor are almost pristinely free of beasts. It is as if the Forest Lord kept those monsters imprisoned above, kept them trapped. Without it, I do not know that it is possible to make safe habitation of the Ancient Glade. I have heard stories of similar places, where always one monster rises above the others to claim dominance of a region, a local tyrant beast. It is likely that the beasts above are in uproar, vying relentlessly amongst each other to claim that position. That struggle will inevitably drive them to seek out prey below the Forest of the Forgotten, where it will be up to you to slay them, to push them back into the canopy. That is your duty as Lord of this land, as it is my Father's in Iriel. Such is the role of all Lords recognized by the Akashic, and you will feel compelled to face them down or relinquish your position. This thing is not just a social status, it has meaning to Varda itself."

That was a long speech from her. It was also something of a revelation to him. So. The title in his stats wasn't just a free buff, not just a set of words and numbers. It was a responsibility, a crown to be worn. It didn't seem to matter that he'd mostly just fallen into it, by virtue of having to learn to survive here in the glade and having slain its former beast king in a moment of desperate panic to live. He had a duty here, to keep this ancient land free of monstrous creatures that grew ever more monstrous for the dense magical aura that pervaded it.

There was always a catch, Ulric thought.

Every deck of cards had a joker. This much he knew for certain, he wasn't ready to deal with this shit. A handful of weeks training with the best the Elves could provide wasn't anywhere near enough, and he lacked the raw power of a Bald'rt Iriel.

Ulric felt like a caterpillar, racing to find strength enough to survive its transformation. Some day he might be able to manifest the strength necessary to drive those creatures off, he might be able to become an entity as feared as the former ruler of the land. That whispering, raging instinct that had started living in his brain sometime after killing the Forest Lord, particularly when he'd killed off Brighteyes' kidnappers had something to do with it, called for him to grow, to push harder, to struggle more. Maybe it was some kind of Akashic trait, a drive to grow powerful, much like the one that Geyrt hypothesized might be accelerating the lethality of the canopy beasts.

He needed to talk to Bald'rt. Perhaps the older Elf, himself a ruler of the lands, would have the perspective to be able to explain this to make clear what impulses he was feeling and how to regulate them, maybe how to stop them.

Yet another definitely problem for which Future Ulric would need to find a solution.

"Watcher's tits, I could go for some good news right about now." Ulric beseeched the sky, overloaded on bullshit and regrets at this hasty endeavor that had come with such steep price tag.

Christ replied, as his unbeknownst namesake would have. At least at first, there was definitely an Iriel'en bent to his consolation, "Varda lays challenge at our feet that we may grow strong enough to climb above it, Glade Chief. The metal enjoys not the temper but is better for it. We mourn those who are broken and may not journey forth into the future, and we remember them that some part, at least, may be carried with us. For some, more is asked, as more was given. You are one such. It will honor Serlic if you grow from this, to one day lay these beasts by the heels and wring life from them for refusing to learn the limits of their domains." Spoke the young guardsman.

The others in the clearing gave a single sharp nod of agreement. This is the way, for the Deep Woods folk. Their lives were a honing rod, against which they raised themselves to razor sharpness. Some would perish, their strength insufficient to meet the challenge and there was no shame in that. All would, one day, fail the test, their memories carried by their kin to the distant future.

It was a hard kind of comfort, very much in line with what he had come to know and respect from these Elves. Ulric took hold of himself, there was no sense dreading what might come. He had plenty to keep himself occupied just right now.

"Thanks for that Christ. I'll do my best, I promise. Thank you all for being here, for spending your blood, and, for Serlic, your lives, on my behalf. I won't forget it and I'll be worth it, one day." Ulric thanked his escort sincerely, though he couldn't help but feel it shallow consolation against the life of a comrade of centuries.

"So do we all seek. We have a way to target our enemies, at the least, that they have failed to take into accounting." Christ confirmed, "The [Hunter's Mark] will allow our Hunters to locate the direction of our enemies and to find their trail. We must determine our course of action now. Darla is in no condition to remain on the plateau and must be gotten to Irielhos with great haste, his future as a warrior depends upon it. Two will be needed to take him with speed, who will volunteer?" Their leader asked.

"I will take my brother home. I can do this thing myself, it weakens our objectives greatly to lose two more warriors, in addition to Serlic and Darla." Spoke up Froka, Twin One, determinedly.

Ulric vetoed that immediately.

"No sense in that now, Froka. Too much has changed since we started this whole ordeal. First, we learned that there are invaders doing gods know what up here on the plateau, and now we've learned that the Forest of the Forgotten is far too dangerous to be taken lightly, yet isn't stopping those same invaders from, somehow, bypassing the hazards."

Thinking out loud, Ulric continued.

"I wouldn't risk another of you up there anyway, not without far more preparation to handle the monsters that might be encountered. We need backup. I vote we all join you, we can haul this shit maybe as fast as you can pull a litter, we get back to Irielhos, and tell Bald'rt what's going on here. Between him and the Ladies Iriel I bet they come up with an angle that we haven't. At worst, Geyrt and myself can return to the glade immediately and begin scouting from the forest floor to map out where those assholes are headed." He proposed.

"I cannot hold the [Hunter's Mark] all the way back to Irielhos, Ulric. Already it grows faint in my mind, they have traveled, though not over far, compared to how much ground we covered in returning to the glade. We outpace them by a severe margin but I will have to re-establish the link should we delay." Stated plainly his Shadow.

"Fine by me Geyrt, it still isn't worth the risk to hang around just three of us, not without having a better idea of what's going on out there. It only took a couple days to get here, we lose maybe a week? Tops? And I have complete faith in your ability to guide us faster than those jackals can move, however the hell they're managing to avoid being eaten to death." Ulric told her.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She didn't seem to expect him to have such confidence in her. He couldn't think why, she'd done miracles up there. If those critters hadn't been lying in wait, he was without doubt that she'd have seen them coming. It didn't take long for her to recover though.

A smug grin replaced the rather somber twist of her lips

"It is my gift, the hunting and killing of Otherkin who trespass where they do not belong. I am glad that you have come to understand the greatness of this Geyrt Iriel." She bragged jokingly.

It helped the party lighten the otherwise dour mood. Ulric was glad to play along if it helped their comrades recover their spirits even slightly. This day had taken a toll on all parties involved.

"Yes, yes, I'll sing the praises of my Shadow through the streets, just as soon as we've ended the drought beneath their feet and given their bones to the roots." Ulric said in mock seriousness.

These were both things that this same beautiful creature had threatened him with, once upon a time not so long ago. That he remembered seemed to impress her somewhat.

"It is a deal, Glade Chief. Now we must decide: do we travel through the night or must we wait for daylight to get Darla to Irielhos in time to save his limbs?" Geyrt asked.

Ulric passed that question to Christ, confident that his "young" sparring partner and group leader would be a better judge of their situation than a hermetic former professional nerd.

"Your thoughts, Christ? I'm not opposed to heading out right now, I've got gas in the tank yet. But I hope you all can see in the dark, cause I can't. Also, as you no doubt noticed, dark falls early under the cover of these old boys." He commented, pointing upward at the somewhat less full coverage above.

Christ thought it over briefly.

"Nahl'ir, what do you think? You are oldest among us now." Christ deferred judgment until he'd heard from their most experienced member, a good sign in a young leader.

Cleaver, Nahl'ir, answered readily, "No offense meant to the Glade Chief, but I am ready to be gone from this place with its heavy air, it's bitter cold, and the crawling feel of monstrous eyes on my back. I will help the Glade Chief pull the sled, to help make up for his blindness at night, Froka can haul his brother, Kryr'st and the lady Shadow can cover us, her ahead and yourself behind." the older elf, his statements punctuated with various hand gestures whose meaning Ulric didn't know enough about Elven society enough to interpret.

Like trying to understand that an Italian was only halfway speaking with words, their hands were doing a lot of the heavy lifting in the conversation. Christ followed easily enough and made his decision.

"A better plan I do not have, thank you Nahl'ir. Then this is what we will do, with the Glade Chief's blessing. I loathe the thought of leaving enemies in the Sacred Land but I do not think we here can do anything but spend our lives vainly trying to root them out. Better to salvage what we may and make a full report. If you are all ready, we will go now and travel slowly through the night. We can stop at the Ancient's Gate and make camp."

The group put that plan into practice, putting the injured Darla onto his litter, carried by his brother Froka. Christ took up a position behind the sled, giving it a starting push while he and Cleaver heaved and then they were off. Ulric and Nahl'ir leaned into the rope harnesses and pulled the sled holding all of his possessions, its initial resistance lessening as the snow beneath compressed to ice when they hauled. Geyrt took the lead, once again, guiding the party out from the fading glow of suns set and into the deepening gloom of the forest.

It was difficult work, pulling that sled.

Ulric might have gotten a little too excited with the loading. Between him and Cleaver, pulling mightily, with some assistance on the uphill climbs from Christ, they managed a reasonable pace, though nothing near to the speed they'd made coming the other way. Ulric lamented slightly that he had to so soon part from his home, but there was nothing for it. One Elf had died already, another's life hung in the balance. Something fucky was going on with whoever was roaming around the canopy and Ulric couldn't do shit about it in his current state. He was going to fix that, post haste. Lamenting his helplessness was the thought that dominated his mind as he mechanically drove one foot down, flexing leg muscles in time with Nahl'ir to pull the sled forward smoothly, before repeating the motion with the opposing leg. Endlessly stepping, the only thoughts that eventually held purchase were these: learn more, learn to fight, [Scan] Geyrt, and figure out how to get those assholes out of my forest.

Soon into their journey, Ulric was traveling on, literally, blind faith. His vision was superb but even his eyes couldn't penetrate the umbral forest. No moonlight filtered down here, the snow cover above was too thick. On the downhill sections, he and Nahl'ir would crest the hill, push off to get some momentum, and hop onto the sides of the sled to ride it down the inclines, sometimes picking up impressive velocity through the pitch black.

In spite of the grim nature of this return journey, Ulric couldn't help but exult in the sheer adventure of it. The bitter winter air cut like a knife into his exposed skin, he was hungry, he was tired, and he grimaced when the bruises on his leg twinged as he stepped sometimes, but here he was riding a huge sled through the snow, hauling treasures down through forgotten hills and dales past the forms of tree trunks so unfathomably massive they could be felt, even if not seen.

How long since he'd felt that life could hold so much wonder? Varda had been nothing if not consistent in this: you don't get too bored around this place.

Absent any visual landmarks it was a complete surprise when Geyrt's shout told them that they had arrived.

Now that he'd stopped, he realized that there was no moving that sled any further, he and Cleaver had been running on sheer inertia. Twin One, Froka, was in similar condition, having hauled his brother the entire distance solo. Less physically tired, though infinitely more mentally strained were Geyrt and Christ who had taken responsibility for the party's safety throughout the journey. Now that they had some idea of what they were up against from the monsters that roamed the upper reaches of the plateau they had stretched their senses to the max and maintained a total focus on each and every possible indication of threat.

It was a monumental effort to hold that kind of readiness for so long, especially when your other party members were so encumbered that they'd be of no use if a fight actually arrived. Geyrt had likely covered at least twice the distance of any other member of the group in her efforts to scout the terrain ahead. With that on top of the already brutal pace she'd maintained scouting in the canopy trails, she was as visibly exhausted as Ulric had ever seen her. All around, Aes'r ears drooped and weary warriors breathed heavily.

Breaths came in deep pants as the group came to rest inside the confines of the Ancient's Gate the ageless pillar and its platform completely, magically, free of debris. Here, on the edge of the plateau, Ulric could see the vast star field that hung above the lands of the deep wood Elves. Brilliant pinpoints of light, in myriad colors, countless, shone down on weary travelers.

The Coven hung suspended in their full glory. These three were in a new configuration, as happened frequently. Two of them had rapid, eccentric, orbits and appeared dark most nights, growing into smaller full moons over the course of the night, before the Twins sent them into obscurity during the day. The greatest one of the three moons that chased one another through the night sky was visible as a thin sliver of silver light, with the full round disks of the smaller sisters in accompaniment. Together they barely marred the starlight around them.

Tonight was one of those crisp, perfectly clear nights that served to remind a person of their ephemerality, their infinitesimal transience on universal scales. Ulric had always treasured these nights, back home. Out here, with the strange constellations of Varda unblemished by humanity's touch, he felt more at peace with his existence than ever he had known back home. Even with all the danger, the threat of looming war, challenges unknown, and his own body maybe exploding, it was all worth it. However long it lasted, it was going to be a hell of a ride.

The rest of the group must have felt something of his mood, they said nothing, gazes lost in the endless field of stars. Eventually, Christ broke the spell and began to unpack his travel kit, bedroll unfolding onto the cold stone below. The rest of the Elves followed suit. A brief discussion decided that minimum time would be spent on camp, they would forego their shelters, only resting until daylight.

Ulric untied the Forest Lord fur tarp, fingers feeling out the quick-release knots as he couldn't see them adequately with only starlight to guide. That done, he dragged the heavily furred hide off the sled and laid it down for a ground tarp. It would greatly help the party to stay warmer in their bedrolls to not have the wicked cold stone sapping the heat from them. There would be no fire this night, they were too tired, too drained to hunt for firewood and there still lingered the concern that other groups of enemy scouts might be coming to meet their comrades. They would get a rude surprise if they called the magitech lift this night.

Froka covered his brother with that person's bedroll as a blanket and set his own out next to him, to share what heat he may. Christ, Nahl'ir, and Geyrt brought theirs to lay near Ulric's own. The large hide he used to form his teepee would be a shared blanket tonight, to lock in the heat of their bodies and shed the brittle wind. In spite of the beautiful forms huddled around him, his Shadow most particularly, Ulric was unconscious before he lay flat.

Some combination of exhaustion, anxiety, and his state of mind before sleeping conspired to throw a series of incredibly vivid dreams Ulric's way. In one he was dragging the corpses of his escort on his sled, in another, he was being chased through the tangles of canopy trails by some nameless, formless, hell beast, in yet another he was one of the hell beasts hunting his former party and the as of yet unseen invaders, unrelenting until the plateau was free of sentient forms. It did not make for restful sleep. Just as well there wasn't much of it to be had, dawn rose only a few hours, at most, after the expedition had laid down.

It was with relief that Ulric rose, having been shaken awake by his Shadow's hand on his shoulder. Given that he'd seen her mangled corpse in his nightmares twice, he took a second to shake the dreams off before he extricated himself from his bedroll. Something of the lingering experience must have shown on his face because Geyrt was looking slightly concerned.

"Did your sleep hold nightmares as well, Glade Chief?" She inquired gently, which unusual softness was enough to completely throw sleep's fuzz off his brain.

"It did, Geyrt. They were of a far greater clarity than usual and had a decidedly evil bent to them. What about you? Did you wade through them as well?" He answered, and asked, curious at the source of her concern.

She dipped her chin slightly in acknowledgment but didn't elaborate.

Just as well, he didn't want to talk about them either, even if he was curious what a century old huntress of alien peoples considered nightmarish.

Foreboding dreamscapes faded as the light grew. They were packed and ready to travel with a half hour before the Twins broke above the distant mountains. Twin Two, Darla, was in rough shape. A fever had settled into him overnight despite Christ's attempts to clean the wounds. The saliva from those creatures must have been riddled with filth and disease. The party was silent as the platform descended, lowering them to the Iriel'en wood below. It would be a long day, and hard, despite the better roads to travel.

The terrain of rolling hills was mostly decline but that didn't mean it was easy going, controlling the sled on a downhill run was, in many ways, worse than its uphill drag. Midsunsrise found the group about a quarter as far as the first camp he and Brighteyes had made on their departure from the Ancient's Gate when they had pushed aggressively. They were making good time, all things considered, but it wasn't good enough.

On a level stretch of snowy woods, beside a creek that still burbled, despite the thickening ice stretching across its surface, Ulric called a halt. His legs were burning and Cleaver looked like he was about to pass out. They were pushing well beyond the limits of even hardened soldiers. As the sled came to a halt, the two of them nearly fell to the ground as they came free of the improvised harnesses. Froka was in relatively good shape, his much smaller and lighter burden was easier to handle on the far gentler rolling descent than it had been going over the great rolling hills and around the giant boles of the plateau.

Ulric, hands on his knees and trying to bring his breath under control, knew this: they had to do something different or split the party. Darla wasn't going to last long enough to reach treatment at this rate. He'd been working on an idea, these cruel hours, and it was now or never.

Raising himself up with an effort Ulric decided it was best to rip off the band-aid.

"This isn't going to work as I'd hoped." He announced to the group. "Infection is killing Darla and we're not even halfway. I have an idea to make the sleds go faster but it's not guaranteed, I haven't tried it before. If I fail, Darla needs to go on ahead, with two people, as Christ suggested, to get him to care in Irielhos and the rest of us can catch up as we're able." Ulric said, scratching his tangled beard.

"If this works, I think we can put Darla on the sled and combine our efforts to get the thing moving at a pretty good clip. What say you, Christ?" He queried their leader.

The handsome elf frowned as he assessed the situation. Eventually, he nodded, his short kempt brown hair tussled by wind and hard travel, its tail peppered with forest debris and traces of snow, including a fallen leaf whose capture of which he seemed unaware.

"Agreed, Ulric. I did not think the wounds would sour so quickly, Darla is a warrior of strong body and firm will. It must be a fierce sickness that infests his bites to draw strength so rapidly from him. Do as you will. Uf it does not work, we will send Nahl'ir ahead with Froka and I will help you to pull the sled. In familiar territory, your Shadow will be more than sufficient to keep us prewarned of danger." Christ decided.

Given the go-ahead, Ulric bent over the steel wood tracks of the sled. He'd been running this over in his mind all morning long. The sled was moving fairly well on level ground, but drifting snow and the presence of soft places caused it to dig in, friction became too great an opponent to conquer without effort. Ulric had a plan, inspired by a set of pallet haulers he'd seen in the warehouses of his old engineering company.

The haulers operated with a set of skids, and an air compressor connected to the motor, to pump a thin layer of air beneath the hauler. It floated along almost without friction, even when tons of cargo were loaded on it. Historical trivia said the same technology was used pre-collapse to make a kind of table hockey. He thought he might be able to do the same thing here, but using magic instead of an air compressor.

[Windscythe] was a spell that created condensed air, given a specific form, a fine-edged crescent blade, hard enough to cut even durable materials. The blades were also almost unimpeded by air resistance, and a slight variation of the spell might let him coat the sled skids in a layer of air that slid along the ground, just like those old haulers.

Concentrating, holding the image of what he wanted to do, and keeping the process clear in his mind, Ulric reached into the well of power sleeping in his core, tuning it to the snappy, whispy form of Caelum, and shaping it. The mana roiled as wind magic tried to escape its bonds, shaping easily but immediately trying to drift apart until Ulric's will forced it to harden, bound to the area immediately around the skid. The spell took, snapping into place, and the sled lifted as a barrier of hardened wind separated the Steelwood skids from the snowy forest floor below. Mostly transparent as Caelum was, though this dense it gave off a blue-green shimmer, Ulric could see that the pressure of the sled's weight was still crushing snow to ice. Even better.

*PING*

Skyshield (I)

A barrier of solid air created by compressing and constraining Caelum. Deadened air is immobile, acting as a sonic barrier and preventing exchange of air across the stilled air. May be layered with vacuum to amplify deadening and energy absorption aspects.

Ulric jerked, the unexpected and long unheard "sound" of his status updating startling him. His Thaumaturgy was a complete success then, no zero ranking next to the description that he had learned was an indication of a spell being incomplete, missing a vital component to function as its caster intended, as his lightning spell had been when he'd initially cast it.

Hurrying, before he lost the feel of what he'd done he repeated the process on the other side of the sled.

[Skyshield]

The sled raised to return to level and, startling the entire party, began to drift towards the frozen creek, their "level" patch of Hunter crafted trail proving not so much when friction wasn't a factor.

"Fucking hells!" Ulric yelled and took hold of the skid on his side.

He grunted as the mass of the thing pulled against him and the sled began to rotate around him, its mass dislodging him easily. He skipped a few steps until he managed to dig in his heels and get purchase, his shoulder against the side of their packed cargo keeping the sled from continuing to turn. Cleaver grabbed the sled from the opposite side bracing his body to help stabilize the unwieldy mass, and Geyrt hauled on the harness ropes, pulling the thing back to center line on the trail.

Ulric laughed nervously, glad that he hadn't sent the entire thing into the cold water on accident yet exulting in the success of his idea. It did exactly what it was supposed to do and they were in business. Maybe. Sort of. He let the sled go gingerly, watching to make sure it wasn't going to start sliding again. Cleaver and Geyrt still had hold of it though and it stayed put.

"Uhh, ok, I think we might be able to work with this. The sled has a barrier of air between the skids and the forest floor. It's near enough to frictionless, as we have just witnessed, meaning we won't have much trouble pulling it. In fact, the opposite is going to be true, once this much mass picks up steam, it's going to be a cast iron sonofabitch to turn or stop so we have to make sure we have as straight a path as possible or a way to halt its motion whenever we need to." Ulric said, already making plans, his fingers snapping at his thighs

Anchors, they could make anchors to cast into the snow and drag, arresting their momentum and providing brakes. Worst case scenario they needed to have tie offs on the sled to secure it or some kind of track. Wait, a track? Ulric stared at the snowy trail as it meandered along the creek banks before a gentle rise obscured the path ahead.

A track. He could arrange that. Probably.

Carefully, gently, Ulric channeled his well of mana again, this time with the tireless durability of Terra forefront in his mind. This was going to require finesse.

Concentrating, with as much delicacy as he could manage, Ulric reached out with a thread of Terra, imagining twin lines, run parallel to each other, along the Hunter's "road". With exquisite care and more than a little brute will, Ulric guided these threads as far as his eyes could see, a kilometer along the established Hunter's road.

[Stone Wall]

Slowly, a small ridge of stone, only just barely cresting the thin snow, pushed up along the imagined threads Ulric was holding in his mind's eye. Each "wall" was only five or so centimeters high and only a three thick but that should be more than sufficient to guide the sled between them. Provided nothing caused it to jump the track and hurtle into the forest.

Sweat beaded his brow, and ran down his face. It would have frozen if not for its salt content, the wind drifting through the forest boughs was sharp indeed this day. Ulric released the breath he unconsciously held. He'd never attempted so fine a control, it was taxing beyond belief, if not so expensive in mana as he'd feared. So little stone had he actually needed to move, but the demand was on his consciousness. It was like threading a needle, if the thread were made of glass and the slightest failure of control would break the entire thing to useless pieces. If not for the massive advancement of the spell under Shor and Vedyr's tutelage he'd have had no chance of making it work.

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He couldn't repress a smile though, it was a success! Probably, he qualified again. He was two for two on the day and maybe, just maybe, they could get Twin Two home in one piece.

"Aright, I think I've got it. We need a couple of anchors tied to ropes, to act as drag brakes or tie offs just in case something goes tits up. But this should let us just slide between the stone tracks and scoot right along." Ulric declared to the group.

He turned to find his companions staring incredulous and his wide smile turned to a cautious grin. Geyrt was slowly shaking her head, glittering almond eyes squinting in disbelief. What was that for?

"What's the with the weird looks fellas?" Ulric challenged.

Christ, who had gone to kneel next to the stone rails and test their strength, looked up.

"Ulric, did you just come up with this? Just now? The air spell on the tracks and the stone ridges as well?" The young warrior asked, his tone unbelieving.

Ulric tried to reign in his discomfort. But really, it was kind of a silly question.

"Well, I mean, yeah Christ. It's not like I planned for things to work out this way. But this is so much better than pulling that heavy bastard through the snow, right?" Ulric asked, hopeful.

The Elves looked to one another and then towards Ulric's shadow. The tall beauty shrugged before lilting in Elvish "Do not look to me for answers. The Valin is worms in the head, I have been saying this from the beginning. He is also the best natural mage I have ever seen since Mother Shore. I would try not to think about it overmuch."

Ulric was tempted to be insulted but, it wasn't like she was completely wrong. And! She'd compared him favorably to the Crimson Sphinx herself, which couldn't be a bad thing. All in all, not a bad outcome.

Clapping his hands loudly, Ulric decided to chivvy things forward. They had places to be.

"As my lovely Shadow says, don't worry about the details. We need to be moving." Said Ulric, his own poorly accented Elvish breaking the group from their stunned consideration of the new sled track.

Quickly, the Elves went into action, rigging up a few snow anchors from branches to which knives had been tied at an angle, to bite into the frozen forest floor or trees, should the need arise. These anchors had twenty-meter lengths of rope, the last remaining to the party, tied to them and lay coiled upon the Forest Lord fur tarp on top of the sled. Darla was transferred to lay as comfortably on the cargo as possible and was held in place by his brother Froka, who would ride atop the whole thing to throw anchors as needed. Geyrt would go ahead, at Ulric's request, to find the straightest possible routes, even if they didn't necessarily follow the pre-established track.

So long as the gaps between trees was wide enough to permit their improvised cargo rail through it, they would manage. Again, probably, which uncertainty drove the once engineer batty, but was simply part of life upon Varda of the infinitely unknowable. A quick conference outlined their strategy and muttered prayers to various gods and totems presaged their attempt at Schlitten Twei komma null.

Christ was now poised on one side of the sled, Ulric stood on the other. Cleaver had the harness in hand, he wouldn't wear it just in case he needed to bail out of the way of an out of control mass that would crush him to meat juice if it caught him.

"Ready!?" Ulric shouted, firming his stance behind the creek side rear skid.

"We are ready!" Cried Christ, excitement in his sterling voice, in spite of recent tragedy.

Death was not so much a stranger to his comrades. It seemed that fatalities in the line of duty, to beasts and monsters especially, were taken more in stride. Or maybe they were just tougher than Ulric was, mentally, able to compartmentalize grief better than he could. Who the fuck knows?

"Says you two! You will not rejoin the forest if this blighted thing runs away from you!" Shouted Cleaver in Elvish, ever the contrarian.

"My brother needs aid, let us be done with this thing. And may the Deep Wood hold mercy in her heart and grace for us, her children." Yelled Froka from his perch atop the sled.

"Three….Two….One….PUUUSH!" Ulric ordered.

The three movers immediately went to work, Christ and Ulric pushing from behind and Cleaver pulling from the front. Slowly, at first, and then with increasing ease, the Sled Two point Zero accelerated under the power of three strong forms. From a slow push, to a light jog, to an increasingly fast run, the team drove the sled up a small rise. As they crested the rise at a sprint, the track held the skids firmly between them with only slight rocking between the few centimeters of tolerance before the momentum of the thing took over and it stabilized, once the mass broke over onto the downhill, they were committed.

Absent friction to slow it, the sled picked up speed rapidly, outpacing even Cleaver's rapid sprint. Ulric shouted for Christ to hop on and lightly skipped up, hands grabbing the sides of the sled to stand with feet on top of the skid, legs wide to stabilize himself as his mount sped forward. Christ, quick on the uptake, mirrored that action and the two rode on the sides. Cleaver, no slouch in the athletics department, leapt straight upwards, his feet coming down on top of the front of the sled as it passed beneath him, and he crouched smoothly like a skateboarder on the front, laughing wildly in childlike glee, so unlike the normally staid warrior.

The woods around them began to blur as they careened downhill. A failure in the stone rails would have meant complete disaster, they were doing better than eighty kilometers an hour at this point. Ulric hung on for dear life, eyes straight ahead and refusing to look down at the ground racing by.

The moment of truth arrived, a wide banking curve that led to a slight uphill run. The outer skid slid smoothly against stone and the low center of gravity of their packing, thanks be to departed Serlic, prevented the cargo from tipping over, as it would have had it been any more top heavy. Cleaver leaned inwards, surfing the sled like he'd been doing it all his life. Manic joy lit his face even as the harsh passage of Winter air reddened it with its bite.

Ulric's work was good enough, the sled made the bend, inertia seemingly trying to throw Ulric wide as it rocketed through a good two g's turn, and began to ascend, slowing at gravity's insistence, though not as much as he would have thought. They would end up with plenty of momentum to clear the top and Ulric had no rails past the crest of this hill. Ulric made some quick, fuzzy, calculations in his head, estimating when to begin the deceleration that would bring them to a stop close to the top of this rise.

Trees shot by, more slowly now, but still fast enough to be a major issue if they came out of the track. Soon. Ulric's eyes sharpened as he focused on their decreasing rate of speed and the closing hill top.

Now.

"Anchors!" Ulric shouted into the wind.

Froka went into action immediately, tossing the anchor on that side to Christ and then the anchor on Ulric's side to himself. A moment of panic lurched acid into Ulric's guts as he reached one handed to catch the wooden handle without cutting himself on the blade tied to it. The boost to his reflexes and dexterity paid dividends and he managed it, then, he cast the anchor out wide to drag into the snow.

At first the wood and knife improvised device simply skittered across the surface of the powdered snow. Ulric grew concerned, briefly, but then something caught and the blade sunk deep into the snow and began to drag cutting a deep trench into the pack below. On the other side, Christ's anchor did the same and the combined forces pulled the ropes taught, vibrating as their tension began to bleed velocity from the climbing sled.

As if by magic, they slowed to a halt, a bare few meters from the top of the low hill and the end of Ulric's improvised tracks. When, finally, they had ceased to move, Ulric hopped down and placed a small bone knife pulled from the several in his leg bandoleer behind the skid, driving it deep to chalk the skid and prevent it backsliding. He hurried to do the same to the other side and then stopped, not minding the fact that he knelt in the cold snow, to sigh deeply with relief.

It worked. They had made it. No. They hadn't just made it, they had covered well over a kilometer in a time that trivialized their fastest pace at any point before. At this rate they'd make Irielhos that same afternoon, with daylight to spare. A whole day earlier than if they pulled Darla in his travois.

Ulric couldn't help an ecstatic laugh that bubbled out of him. Soon he was joined by the others, even Froka couldn't contain himself, worried as he was for his kin. Laughter slowed and halted as they looked around and considered their brief run.

Geyrt slipped up on them, her silent passage unnoticed, testament to her skill. She spoke with a tone of thinly veiled shock.

"That was one of the most outrageous things I have witnessed in one hundred years of life. And I have been exposed to my father's japes, so know that I am saying something here. What could have possibly compelled you all to think that this was a good idea?" the woman inquired with deep skepticism.

It was Cleaver who answered.

"You would not understand Shadow, not without experiencing it. That was exhilarating! I have never had such a thrill outside of a battle to death." Gushed the stolid man, who still grinned from the high of the ride.

"We used to do this kind of thing for fun, back in my homeland." Ulric explained, recalling the adventures of his childhood.

"We called it sledding. Normally you just ride a smaller sled, big enough to fit yourself and maybe one or two others. But normal travel was done in vehicles that rolled along the ground on wheels frequently at much faster speeds than we just made. Such things were considered completely common place. I'll admit it's a fair bit less well controlled here but the theory was sound. And Nahl'ir is right, you're just jealous you didn't get to ride on top of the sled." Ulric said with enthusiasm.

Cleaver nodded his agreement. "It is as the Glade Chief says, you are only jealous Shadow. You should know the joy of riding the sled. As a favor to his Lordship, I will grant you my place on the next run, when you feel the wind on your face you will know of what we speak." Declared the man.

Ulric and Cleaver and, not unsurprisingly Christ, nodded to one another.

Geyrt sighed. "Boys must always be boys, even when they wear the skin of men." She announced with exasperation.

"But fine. I will accept your challenge. I have laid out a course that matches your requirements for this newest insanity Glade Chief. There is a stretch from this hill down through a small gully and around a slight bend, a wash created by spring floods, that is nearly ten furlongs. It is, roughly, a tenth of the distance remaining to Irielhos. I will take the pull position for this run, if only to silence Nahl'ir."

Ulric walked with his Shadow to the hill's crest to inspect the route. As soon as he saw the proposed line of travel he smiled widely and looked at his over serious companion. It couldn't have been better if he'd planned it. Even as he resigned himself to the effort of creating the refined [Stone Walls] that would be required to keep their cargo, and their wounded comrade, safe, he laughed to himself.

This was going to be good.

Geyrt stood up woozy, and wiped the flecks of remaining vomit from her lips. She could do nothing for the ecstatic grin that beamed from her face. Striding over to the rest of the party, who was still recovering their collective breath from the much longer, and far faster, traverse, she broke into hurried exclamation as if she had not just been violently sick, from combination of adrenaline and the blurring, sailing, stomach twisting motion.

"I want to go again! Who will trade me? Kryr'st? Froka? I will guard your brother's life with my own, fear not! Can I?" Machine gunned the excited elf.

Cleaver, the elf known as Nahl'ir, could not help a smug approval at her enthusiasm. She was now a convert, a brother in love for the sled, and all past animosities were behind them.

"How about this?" Interjected the formerly fearsome scarred warrior, "I will take the Glade Chief's position pushing the sled, he has done the lion's share of the work for this leg of the journey, and should rest atop the sled. Froka, would you scout the way forward for a similar course to this one? Your brother is in good hands with the Glade Chief to watch over him and we make the return home in time unheard of with this method." Cleaver persuaded.

Froka, torn between the admittedly hysterical fun of the sledding and his concern for his brother, mulled the proposition briefly before he accepted. He needed to do other than sit over his brother and brood anyhow.

"Very well then Nahl'ir, I will pathfind us a way forward while the Glade Chief recovers. How many more such sets of stone track can you supply, Ulric? It must tax you to reach so far." Twin One asked considerately.

A good question. That last track had been about as much as Ulric could manage in a single go, he was, magically, pooped. He regained strength between runs, but they covered the ground so quickly it wasn't far different from a continuous casting, and, even if the amount of stone moved was minimal, it added up.

Ulric considered it carefully. No mistakes could be made. If he left so much as a single point of weakness, that part might break off at a critical juncture and derail them. After another few moments of consideration, he arrived at a conclusion.

"If I conserve my strength, maybe even leave gaps, spaces in the longest, straightest sections of the course, where we are certain to not need rails to direct us, and only create full tracks for the curving or faster sections, I can do another such run now, and, after that, only much shorter runs between rests. We'll likely have to push the sled some in between while my mana recovers." Ulric admitted.

"How far does that leave us shy of Irielhos?" He asked of the group.

"By my best reckoning," Christ said with deliberate caution, not wanting to oversell the progress they'd made, "We are over half of the journey now, and, in another run or two, will be within sight of Irielhos. It is almost certain that we arrive at the fortress today, even if we end up pushing the sled for the majority of the rest our journey."

Geyrt interposed herself between himself and Christ, eyes wide and ear tips twitching.

"Then I get to go again!? Now? Soon? Let us go now!" pressed the eager huntress, invading Ulric's personal space in her enthusiasm.

"Sure, sure, ok. Easy, lady we'll get right on it." Ulric calmed, unable to repress a smile at the contrast to her normal stoicism or mild pique.

Froka set off then, with Ulric jogging in tow to ascertain the safest, most optimal position for stone rails to keep the sled in a predetermined course. Ulric was particularly attentive to the grade and slope of the hills. It would be critical for any yaw or side slippage to be utterly avoided. Once that monster sled turned sideways, there would be no controlling it, even the anchors would likely only result in an uncontrolled roll. It took a quarter-hour, honestly needed for Ulric to recover his mana, but they set the path and Ulric raised the [Stone Walls] on his way back, Froka staying at their end point to observe and scout for signs of trouble. The rest had done little to temper the excitement of the Sled Bros.

"We're all set." Ulric announced before he climbed to take Froka's position hanging onto Darla. The Elf did not look good but, at least, didn't look much worse than the last time Ulric had laid eyes on him.

Geyrt stood tall, gripping the harness straps, near to bouncing on her toes. Christ called the count and at his holler of "Fly friends!" the troop took off, pushing at top speed. Top speed, from his place on the top of the sled instead of the side, felt a whole hell of a lot faster. Shouting something unintelligible, Geyrt jumped to take her sideways crouch, surfing the sled as it roared down the planned path.

Each bump threatened to bounce Ulric up from his seat, the jarring motion made all the more hectic as he could see, in great detail, that they were moving way too godsdamned fast for anything to survive the crash if something should go wrong. Discarding the fear of ruin, Ulric bathed in his Shadow's ululations of victory as they screamed down one hill to climb another, then to accelerate into a rightward turn whose radius threatened to push Ulric out of his seated position before another short, straight downhill accelerated them yet again. Geyrt's heavy braid flew out behind her, whipping as the rushing air caught it.

Now for the dicey part, there was an S curve coming, almost level, but a rocky outcrop and cliff had demanded a bypass and starting on the hill would have demanded more mana from Ulric than he could provide. Fortune must have been enjoying the show, Ulric's short braid danced behind him and he was grateful for the beard that sheltered the skin of his chin as they entered the set of tracks for the S curve cleanly, the rocky outcrop directly in front threatening doom. A hard lean to his right counteracted the aggressive turn, and he was briefly afraid for his Shadow who stood without any attachment to the sled.

He need not have worried, she rode the bumps and turns as if born to do it, her innate balance keeping her feet attached firmly to the Forest Lord tarp. The pressure of the turn let up briefly only to swing rapidly in the other direction, and he instinctively leaned left to brace against the opposite curve, cliff face yawing not so far away. The track held, directing the sled through this last sweeping turn, almost no speed lost thanks to the frictionless barrier spell coating the skids. Hands wide, stance of a practiced sled surfer, the Persian skinned woman in front of him was grinning maniacally, leaning out with her legs like a snowboarder to use the sled to hold her against the aggressive truns, reveling in the controlled chaos of the ride.

The sled leveled out and Ulric saw the last series of slight rolls in terrain that terminated in a long uphill that, only just, should bring the sled to a stop without recourse to the anchors. All according to keikaku.

No shout of "anchors" was necessary, Ulric had judged this hill correctly. The uphill climb terminated in a very slight upwards grade that brought their vehicle to a gentle halt, after which Christ and Cleaver chalked the skids with belt knives, as he had done earlier. Ulric's face burned from the icy air as did his hands and he flexed them to squeeze heat into the fingers.

Geyrt jumped down from her position, an uncharacteristic giggle audible. Ulric had to admit, if only to see the woman finally break out of her shell, this was all worth it. Not that he was unhappy with the sledding, it was easily the most fun he'd had since waking in the shadows of the colossi. Hard to resist being happy when you were sledding through a winter wonderland. Christ and Cleaver shared a clasp of forearms, sort of the Elven high five, and hearty exclamations in Elvish that Ulric couldn't quite make out. Definitely cheerful though.

Froka couldn't help a lift to his mood, seeing his normally reserved and focused fellows so obviously enthralled with the adventure. Even so, he reigned them in gently and they got down to business. Ulric couldn't manage another set of tracks at the moment, he was tapped out, though not quite to the point of mana exhaustion or he'd be useless the rest of the day. That brought them back to pushing the sled, a task made far easier for there being so much less resistance. Two behind, Ulric and Christ, and one in front, Cleaver, guided the sled along a path marked by Geyrt who, as usual, ranged ahead to scout for dangers and the best way forward.

Only two more sleigh rides did Ulric have in him, and short ones at that. He wasn't able to regenerate mana so very quickly while doing the work of pushing the sled up hills and trying to control its sway when the inevitable downhill demanded the team coordinate to prevent a roll. The next few hours were intensely busy but the team was rewarded: atop the next hill loomed the Elven fortress city and the Heartwood tree upon which it was built.

It was past Midsunsfall, the Twins were hanging low in the sky and their beaming rays lit the snow with gilded incandescence. It was near enough to make Ulric forget the tragedy of Santa's death and the grievous wounds of Twin Two, to say nothing of the whispered ragings in his thoughts when they turned to the trespassers roaming unfettered through the plateau. He tried not to linger overmuch on those, however, done was done and they had chosen the best possible route forward.

The consequences of these choices he could live with. Would have to live with.

Knowing that he probably would have doomed Darla to life as a cripple or death by remaining behind to indulge his own interests, now that would have been unconscionable. Shouts from up ahead brought him out of his reverie. The scouts circling the fortress had spotted them and were on the way.

Ulric stayed silent, letting Christ take charge now. He was content to box his worries up to chew on them later. For now, he'd do what he could to get Twin Two some help and to get some rest. The last few days had passed like the Winter's Herald, all tumultuous motion and crazed thunder. Now that they'd reached the relative safety of the citadel, Ulric felt, unsurprisingly, exhausted. Not only physically tired, but also mentally exhausted and his core was tapped. The others also seemed somewhat deflated, now that business again was at hand and safety meant they could relax.

Whatever tension or stress or alertness had been buoying him was gone and he knew he could just about lay down for a damned solid sleep. Soon, he told himself, but not yet. First, they needed to see Lord Iriel himself and tell him what was going on. Unfortunately, they were delayed by the Iriel'en being, understandably, sketchy about reports of Otherkin incursion. They wanted to take some time to establish that the party had not been followed or marked by alchemical and mystical means. Everybody took the examinations and wiggling fingers of some kind of Elf divination, carried out by a female elf with a head shaved bald and who wore a blindfold embroidered with cryptic sigils, with proper grace.

While he'd faded in and out, Froka and his wounded brother had disappeared, shuttled off in a gaggle of warriors to find the man what aid the healers could provide. Ulric had experienced their touch once before, the healing magic was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. It had sort of the full-body buzz of hard drugs but none of the mind fog. Something about the mana seemed to buffer your mind from the reality of flesh stitching together while it worked, almost like an anesthetic. If anything could save the man, the Sano mages would figure it out.

He and his Shadow they regarded as peaches and cream, just a few bruises and scrapes and nothing to worry about. The party split further when Christ directed Ulric to rest a moment while the rest of the group went ahead to deliver their news to Idra and their liege. Ulric didn't mind the chance to sit down a minute, with his back to a tree.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep sitting up until he was, gently, shaken awake by his weary Shadow. He had enough compassion for her to feel guilty about the nap, Geyrt had run farther than anyone during the entire trip. With all these soldiers now running around, he waved him off when he suggested she take a turn on the tree, a warrior had come to inform them that no sign of being trailed back through the forest could be found and His Pointy Eared Majesty would see them back up in the fortress.

Together, Ulric forced himself to make one last push to the citadel and took the great lifts up and through the undercity and its marvels of arboreal architecture. Whirls of bent limbs created spiral patterns, engravings of vines and summer flowers, all of these were made more austere by the late afternoon light scattering off of snow. The abandoned city was now truly ghostly, haunting for its emptiness where once vibrant bustle filled its sky bridges. Ulric noticed that he wasn't the only one out of gas, Geyrt wore her exhaustion on her face, a rare show of vulnerability. It had been a hard push, miraculous for its rapidity. Memories of rushing wind and bouncing traversal brought a tired smile to his lips, even as his energy ebbed.

The final lift up to the citadel was a welcome sight. Still more welcome, a small team of duties relieved the pair of their burdens and escorted them to the great hall at the top of the fortress. Through burnished bronze doors they went to give news to the Lord of the land.

On his throne sat the [Lord of the Deep Wood] in his normal finery and with his normal half slouch, which turned into an interested attention at their entrance. The pictures of decorum normally to his side were absent, which meant that Ulric was a little more nervous than usual. He was tired and the wives that would normally check Bald'rt's worst impulses were gone. Ulric just had to hope that the Iriel Chief was on his best behavior.

"Ulric, Kin Savior! Glad I am for your safe return, I have heard reports that there was trouble on the plateau. Odd rumors my scouts have delivered, a most interesting sight, they claim that they witnessed a team of Elven troops riding a sleigh through the wilderness at unheard-of pace. Of a note, their descriptions of a particular cackling beauty atop the sled matches my lovely little Blood thorn in appearance, if not attitude. What doings have gone on?" Welcomed the regal Elf.

"Er. Bald'rt, thank you for your warm welcome." Began Ulric, as usual trying to figure out how to navigate conversations with the fast-paced Iriel'en king.

"We ran into trouble indeed, how much I'm actually hoping you'll be able to tell me." He said, trying to compose his report.

"In the course of our investigation into unwelcome guests that we detected on the Plateau of Ancients, we were attacked by a particularly monstrous variant of Polar Weasels, in a large pack. Darla suffered a severe mauling that took infection, despite quick treatment. On return to camp, we learned of Serlic's death in action. He was killed by a Greater beast, some kind of invisible owl the size of a horse."

Gritting his teeth the regretful man couldn't meet his host's eyes, "It was my mistake. You have my deepest condolences Bald'rt, he was a brave man, a skilled Hunter, and a fine companion. I would not have scouted the canopy if I had known how virulent and active the beasts there were, they were much worse than last time I- no, sorry" He lamented, cutting himself off to focus on finishing his tale before bogging down on his failures, "With our party depleted and an enemy of unknown strength whose positions would did not exactly know, we decided to hurry our return and deliver report rather than tarry in the glade."

Taking a deep breath, now that the worst news was delivered, the loss of Serlic and the wounding of Darla, he paused. For some reason he found himself again at a loss for words, as he considered more fully, now in the safety of the fortress, that a good man had died on his behalf. An Elf of far greater age than he would ever be, rumors of magehood's blessings aside, with innumerable ties, kin, friends, and who knows what else? Was lost, irretrievably and it was Ulric's decisions that had led to it. He'd never experienced this sort of feeling before and it pained him greatly. What ifs and might haves started to loop through his consciousness, trying to find a way to generate a world where there might still be a Santa.

Bald'rt leaned back to digest this information. His eyes closed briefly when he learned of the loss of Serlic and his lips moved in a silent benediction of some kind on behalf of the fallen Hunter. He recovered quickly though, likely through unfortunate familiarity, to focus on the rest of Ulric's tale. Noticing the man, both young and yet old, obviously struggling Bald'rt offered a piece of advice given him long ago under similar circumstance and honed since by long practice, his booming voice low yet filling the room with its solemn poignance.

"When a man leads other men to battle or adventure, there are will inevitably be times when not all return. All Hunters and Warriors of Iriel know this. Serlic knew it. He chose the road because that is where his heart led. It is regrettable that he has returned to the forest's embrace but we will mourn him little, for his was a life lived in fullness and ended as he would have had it whether this season or another distant. We will carry him in our memories, to gaze into the future together as is our way, Ulric. Do not wear his death as a weight on your legs, Glade Chief, he would not have wished it. Instead, think on what his life meant to your own and use that to strengthen your own roots. This is what it is to be Iriel'en."

Bald'rt's eulogy of his kin was brief but, somehow, immensely comforting. Ulric hoped someone said something of the sort when he eventually passed. Maybe even the same Elf before him would do it, that would be nice, in its own way.

Nodding, Ulric gathered himself and continued to explain that the rapidly worsening status of Darla convinced them that they needed to expedite their return. Ulric only briefly described the creation of the super sleigh and its guided track, improvements to which he'd already worked out in theory, a monorail this time, but he shelved that tangent before it could distract him and cause an unforced error here.

When Ulric described the sled some cheer was restored to the Elf Lord's countenance.

"The air slick skids worked better than I'd hoped, and we ended up using the mostly descending terrain to our advantage, riding the sled at great speed to return Darla to his kin for treatment." Finished Ulric, trying to be matter-of-fact about the madhouse run from the Ancient's Gate to Irielhos.

"Ahhh, then the rumors were true! Your party actually rode through the deep wood at a pace to shame a bird's flight to cross distance unthinkable in so short a time! And, if I don't mistake, my dearest daughter has a new favorite pastime." Declared Lord Iriel with subdued excitement.

Ulric could detect a faint trace of envy in the Elf for his daughter, there was a scarcely hidden desire to have shared the thrill of the breakneck race through copses of trees, alongside frozen rivers, over hill and down. The mantle of office weighed heavily on this free spirit of an Elf. He fairly vibrated with a seeming pent-up desire to race out into the wood and find adventures again.

Geyrt coughed slightly from her position behind Ulric's shoulder, a sound far cuter than it should have been. A quick glance revealed the slight tinge of a repressed blush. Ulric couldn't help a slight smirk, recalling her obvious joy at the sleigh ride, which she had visibly repressed soon after the drudgery of their normal travel resumed. Her attempts at stoicism had been somewhat ruined by the giggle that escaped from time to time as they'd traveled.

"It was…a memorable journey Bald'rt. Not my first choice for how I'd wished things played out, but not the worst case either." Ulric confided.

He took a brief moment to think on the trip. A little less preparation here, not as much effort in his training with Idra and the Dragons there, and it was easy to see how things could have gone far, far worse than they had. One dead and one badly injured out of seven to depart. No, not great. But far from as bad as it could have been. He decided that, truthfully, the trip was, by most measures, a success.

"I'd be dishonest if I didn't say that we probably got luckier than we deserved, I didn't know that the [Skyshield] spell would work as I wanted, and I also didn't know if I could refine my [Stone Walls] well enough to use them to create the tracks necessary to allow such rapid runs. Without those, we dared not let the sled gain such speed and our travel would have required an extra day. Your wives are to thank for that, their tutoring bears some small fruits. Things worked out and we got Darla back and my own gear without further incident." Ulric summarized.

And now for the kicker.

"I trust you got word about the invading party?" He prompted.

Bald'rts expression soured immediately. The news of a second incursion was bound to be a sore spot, given the Elf's disposition towards Otherkin roaming through Orlethrem, let alone in his own backyard.

"I did, and do not think it was not received with gratitude. Whoever has sent these creatures knows the Sacred Grove is forbidden, and they also know that it is death to encroach unbidden on Iriel. There will be blood spilled over this and, mark my words Glade Chief, I will see that it is oceans of theirs to drops of ours." Bald'rt promised.

Ulric's brain was churning along slowly, he was keeping himself focused by will alone at this point. But he had to see this through, lives were at stake. Gathering his fading wits, he pushed to complete his report and give his host what knowledge he might, to better allow the old monarch to act.

"Geyrt adapted a spell her mothers taught her to keep track of me, in case we were separated. She says it's a [Hunter's Mark] and it worked to home in on the direction of the party that we tried to find, but we weren't able to exploit the opportunity, not with the naked hostility of the monsters still roaming in the Forest of the Forgotten, not with Darla's injuries to consider, and, most importantly, not without any idea of who, how many, or of what nature were the invaders. They could have been a couple of scouts, they could have been a score of warriors, we had no clue." Ulric informed the Chief of Iriel.

Ulric hurriedly conveyed the suspicions of the escort, experienced Hunters and warriors alike, concerning the most sinister aspect of their failure to find this foreign party.

"One and all, Kryr'st, Nahl'ir, Serlic, Geyrt, every one of our team searched for sign of the invading force and, one and all, found nothing after the Ancient's Gate. We are afeared that these men are receiving magical help to cover their tracks, and to safeguard them from the canopy beasts. Kryr'st and Geyrt are both in agreement that they likely have bypassed whatever protections guard Orlethrem from outside observation. Nothing else makes sense." the weary man concluded.

By the steady gaze in those emerald eyes, this was not a revelation.

"After much discussion, amongst my scouts, both here in Ireilhos and abroad, with Idra'se and his men, and in conference with my Lady Wives, we have determined this to be the most likely scenario." Bald'rt concurred.

"That is why my lovely brides are not in attendance now, each works to cut off the support network that must be creating this weakness in our protections." Revealed the sylvan king, his deep voice steady and flowing.

"Bathe has departed to find the collaborators divulging gaps in our defenses and silence them. Shor is, at this moment, reweaving the webs of denial that should be preventing an outside magus from gazing through the mana field within Orlethrem. When she is done, I believe the Bark ticks that infest my lands will find themselves suddenly exposed, minus the enchantments that are hiding them from my sight. Already Vedyr hunts down the sources of mana traces that have been detected. It will be with great satisfaction that my Heartwood Spear hangs their corpses along the borders of the deep wood." The [Lord of the Deep Wood] said with vengeful certainty.

Geyrt's cool gaze matched her father's, the resemblance uncanny as they mirrored their murderous intent towards those who violated the sanctity of their homeland. It was reassuring. Ulric was confident that he wouldn't have to shoulder the brunt of the effort to track and kill these men. Intellectually, that was a fantastic relief. It did nothing, however, for the whispering blood priest that began chanting doom in the back of his head when he thought about strangers near his glade. Which brought Ulric to his next and final point, the last thing he could muster the energy to discuss before he found a bed, or maybe any level surface, and passed out.

"Lord Bald'rt, there is one more matter, only tangentially related to the invaders, that I wanted to discuss with you." Ulric said, somewhat formally.

His phrasing caught the attention of the Elf King who sat a little straighter to consider him.

"It has come to my attention, for the past few months, that, uh, I may be going slightly insane." Ulric admitted.

His Shadow's grumbled "This is not news to any but the clouds passing through." behind him did nothing to make matters better.

After casting a scowl behind him that made her abruptly begin inspecting her bow for dirt, he returned to his host.

"You have to understand, in my old life I never knew violence against a sentient being. I hunted, in a very limited way, but never had I ever felt an inclination towards hurting or killing anything I didn't eat. I was, by all metrics I have to self-examine, a peaceful entity. That has, with some abruptness, changed in this world. It was first just a slightly enhanced impulsiveness, a faster tendency to action, which I was attributing to having to survive the wilderness with nothing. Humans are adaptive creatures in my home world and were able predators by nature, so I thought little of it. Just a return to form, see?" Ulric explained, trying to home in on the problem without being certain there even was one.

"But that has proven to be somewhat flawed a hypothesis. When I saw the men who had taken Brighteyes, my first thought was to destroy them. Without question, no hesitation at all, I killed the first people I met in this world and, where I expected grief, or upheaval, there was nothing, nothing but satisfaction." Ulric described the slaughter-tinged impulse as detached and clinically as he could.

"Later, when your daughter tried to ambush me, I felt again a sort of savage instinct to slaughter her who had tried to take my life, who had tried to prey on me. Without Brighteyes there to intervene, I don't know that I wouldn't have, even once she was no threat, at the moment. Then, of course, there was the idiot lordling who wanted to take my place as his own. You saw how that worked out."

Spreading his hands, the former engineer tried to explain the dissonance that he'd been trying to resolve for weeks now.

"Bald'rt, I was never a violent man but I am now. I never wanted anything in life more than I wanted to murder that chattering squirrel of a man. I feel in myself a powerful hostility towards any who would threaten my domain or person and a level of aggression that I would best describe as feral. Mostly, it seems to be something related to anything that would impinge on myself or on the plateau. I think it has something to do with this [Lord of the Ancient Glade] thing, it's gotten a lot worse since that showed up in my status." Ulric poured out his concerns, unable to stop now that he was started.

Having outlined his burgeoning insanity, Ulric waited for a response, mentally preparing himself to learn that, somehow, he'd mentally snapped under the strain of dying or some byproduct of his savage life in the wilderness. He was stunned when the Lord Iriel started laughing boisterously. He stood flabbergasted, until, after a long couple of minutes the Elf brushed tears from his eyes as he subsided. That was not exactly the response Ulric had been anticipating.

Slapping his thigh with merriment, the Lord of Iriel couldn't help a further chuckle at Ulric's discombobulation.

"Glade Chief, I am sorry, you must forgive me, I had forgotten how young you are in this world." the Elf said, reining himself in.

"What you have described is, simply put, the Lord's Instinct. Did you think the title was merely a set of words and a few additional stats, Ulric?" Bald'rt asked with raised eyebrow.

"The Akashic connection between Varda and her peoples is not so shallow. When the All-Knowledge anointed you [Lord of the Ancient Glade] it did so because you had already committed yourself to the guardianship of that land with your own life." Explained his host.

More sedately the Iriel'en King outlined concisely for the baffled man the cause for this sudden influence, "There are conditions to be met before such a thing happens, one of these nearly always includes killing a few trouble makers who would seek to trespass on your domain. One of the conditions, frequently, is also the slaying of the previous guardian, if they still live; You did that as well, when you took the life of the Forest Lord. All of these build a…calling…a drive to rule supremely within your domain. The Land gifts you strength to do so, you should have experienced a great boost within your status, which I did observe when I [Scanned] you."

Unable to suppress a wry grin, Bald'rt continued to walk his guest through the experience he himself had known so many years ago.

"Just as you claimed the glade for yourself, so did the glade claim you for its guardian, you are connected to it now. The territoriality you have experienced is completely normal and you'll get used to it in a few decades. Would that you had inherited your position from another rational being, they could have coached you through the transition. You do seem willing to learn and keep a flexible mindset, Ulric, unlike some others I can think of who may as well have ridge poles up their hind quarters."

He glanced briefly at his daughter, for some reason.

Ulric turned to look at her as well but saw nothing out of the usual. Apart from her normal feminine impact, which was starting to fade a touch into the background, anyway. Thankfully. The dusky Amazon stood impassively, her hands in a relaxed grip on the bowstave slung across her impressive chest. She returned his gaze evenly, although the tips of her ears bounced slightly under his scrutiny. Seeing nothing too out of place, he returned his gaze to the Elf King, who was already speaking.

"I took my position as [Lord of the Deep Wood] long ago, though it was through less violent means, as is the case for most of the ruling Lords these days." Bald'rt told him, eyes gazing into days past.

"When my father was tired of rule, and too crippled by various wounds to feel his people were served by his holding the crown, he passed the land to me according to tradition. We handed Iriel to its new Lord in a ceremony, Lord to Heir. I then experienced this same burgeoning need to guard my lands, and a hostility towards those who tried to challenge my new rule, similar to that which you describe. All of us bonded so to the land feel it. This relationship between lords and land is common knowledge, and any who would address you with cognizance of your status in this world are aware of it." The Iriel'en Lord explained casually.

With another glance of humor-filled eyes towards his offspring, the sire of his Shadow confided in a conspiratorial whisper that was meant to be overheard, "It would be extremely embarrassing if one, say, a Hunter seasoned in her ways, should disregard common knowledge to bungle an attack against a Lord, given their might and drive to destroy threats. The most common outcome of attempting ill-advised assassination of such a one with half-hearted effort is to be killed outright. Most Lords slay their attackers or die trying and I can only think of a few fool enough to try it, and also lucky enough to find a merciful outcome."

This time, Ulric's quick glance behind did catch the rude gesture his Shadow had directed towards her father before she could return to her façade of cool composure. He carefully restrained any emotion that might be construed as humor as the Elf Lord finished telling Ulric he wasn't really any more insane than any other landbound person that gets a primal calling to rule and protect their domain. The Elf King did not evidence that he'd noticed his daughter's lapse in decorum but several of his guards were smirking openly.

Teasing his malcontent offspring was common enough that they sometimes took pools on how long it would take to see her stomp from the hall, a summer storm on her brow.

"Lordling Morion knew it, or should have, and likewise proved his foolishness in challenging you. It is good that you self-aware and are strong-willed enough to resist the impulses, strongly do they speak in those early days. It can be distracting, at first, and has led many new to their role to do things they later regret. As you settle into your place in this world, you will feel the urges more natural, and also less insistent. I barely notice the instinct's drives but then, they are not unlike what I would always be doing and thinking as I lead the Iriel'en. When someone attempts to infringe on my reign, my lands, my mates, or my offspring, I kill them. It is like breathing for those like us. It is what we are." Bald'rt pronounced, finally.

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