What followed were some of the least pleasant days Ulric Einar, Twice Born of Earth had ever experienced up to that point. He'd put in a word with a duty to hold a meeting with Lord Bald'rt Iriel to pass along his suspicions, not necessarily because he believed he had the inside edge on anybody around these parts but, maybe, he was coming at it from an angle that was new. His background had produced thought processes that were distinct from his inhuman neighbors. Bald'rt was, unfortunately, not available, having left the citadel to conduct business with the Orlethrem. His Lordship was due back shortly and would meet with Ulric when he had the time.

Fair enough.

Whatever had come up to cancel their dinner plan was likely heinous in nature and Ulric had all he could handle, currently.

Training was as he had come to expect: dismal, grueling, and painful. That it was now also being done with a silently judging gaze laden with outright disapproval was just icing on the cake. There was, however, indisputable progress. He'd gotten good enough at the basics of moving that Idra would not disallow sparring matches with the other guardsmen. That went about as well as he expected, and his bruises soon had bruises.

It wasn't maliciousness, he was just slow to react and bad when he did. Getting less slow and less bad, but still.

At least Gother had remained consistently boring, if eminently informative. Learning herbology and cultivation of alchemical reagents from a guy that was probably around when the techniques were invented was nifty. Ulric's time in chemistry coursework were well spent, he had a feeling he could see the connections between bioactivity in various oils and herbal treatments and the nature of the molecules participating in them. How those components married to magic was still nebulous.

He saw the reasoning behind this herb, Moonlit Silverbloom being profoundly neurotoxic in high doses, its symptoms indicated a strongly voltage gated sodium channel blocking chemical profile. Victims expressed a rapid paralyzing of the skeletal muscles, including the diaphragm, and sudden cardiac arrest ala good old Tetrodotoxin. Nothing too crazy there, but his attempts to marry the Before's biochemistry clashed against pure Vardan weird when it turned out that herb, in lower doses, and compounded with this other one here, would facilitate a temporary, but potent increase in mana regeneration.

Why? Did it make a core draw harder on ambient mana? Process it faster? And that was one of the more normal effects described by the withered Elf meister.

Even more fantastic, when Gother demonstrated a plant that manifested a fiery cloak around the petals of its flower that could be rendered to produce agents that healed burns with stunning alacrity, as if consuming the destroyed flesh to regenerate it, he saw no way to internalize the mechanisms behind so potent a biochemical process. Phoenix Orchids was the apt name of that particular plant and it was thoroughly magical in nature. Another, Frostvine gave off an aura of cold so intense it brought fog into the room when removed from its sealed container. It bore fruits that rendered one nearly immune to the effects of exposure to subzero temperatures. How? No fucking clue. Something, something, consolidation of the manaweave within one's body to reflect Infrig ambiance.

His time with the Dragon Ladies was similarly productive, if exhausting mentally.

Shor was tightening his grasp daily on manaforms and the abstractions of what he was doing with his spellwork. Trying to reconcile Elven mysticism with his knowledge of physical mechanisms regarding energy and matter was enough to give him headaches. The struggle was pouring water on fertile ground. He understood far better now why certain manipulations were necessary, and Vedyr was quick to then translate those whys into hows, strengthening his casting. [Cinderpearl] was the culminating achievement of that study, no new spellforms came clear to him, but Ulric felt like he was edging around a breakthrough regarding multiple elemental interactions. As usual, he needed more time, but that was water pouring through sand around these parts.

Bathe continued her efforts to teach him how to cycle and concentrate his magic through his body, and the effects were starting to bear fruit: Ulric was definitively tougher and his stamina recovered faster than before, with no change to his status. His core was actively strengthening his body, like training your lungs made you a better swimmer. The body magic was still in its infancy but he was getting there. He'd better, this was key to surviving his core's eventual awakening, according to the Elf Queens.

The ladies informed him that they would be departing, each had a task that required her particular gifts and Ulric should continue practicing cycling and infusing mana, if nothing else.

It was, by now, clear to all that there had been some sort of falling out between him and his Shadow. Absent her parents' presence, his Shadow grew even more overtly hostile. Still not speaking to him but using every other means at her disposal to demonstrate her displeasure with his insistence on existing. If he'd known this was what would come of laughing at her status, he'd have gagged himself with his belt. The other Elves were circumspect, at first, and somewhat amused later.

He had detected heavy notes of disapproval from the Dragons and Idra however, mostly directed towards the former Princess, though they clearly thought he was failing to handle the situation properly. Mostly because he was, damn it.

Nobody was saying anything though, and Ulric still didn't know how to broach the situation without being an angry bastard about it, that being his natural state. What would an Elf do? He resolved to ask Bald'rt when the Iriel'en King returned. It was his daughter and his fault for saddling Ulric with her hateful, if sumptuous, ass in the first place.

One thing was sure: This couldn't last.

Neither of them was the type to leave things alone forever.

He shouldn't have been surprised when the wheels came off the bus, even though he was.

After three days of impasse, he found himself on the training floor of Idra's royal guards. He was standing in one of the two dozen steps of the Dance, alternating painstakingly slow movements supposed to be performed at breakneck speed, and frozen solid, trying to keep his muscles from rebelling while he held a suitably balanced posture. Stance work. He loved it, he hated it, and it was Idra'se's passion in life. Here, at least, all his problems vanished for a few precious minutes, buried under the focused exertion.

Ulric completed his last repetition under the smoldering gaze of the serpent behind him who had long since stopped offering suggested improvements, happy to make his spine itch with her eyeballing. It no longer made him chuckle when one of the Royal guards observed how hot the suns seemed to beat upon his back. This round was of particular difficulty, full of crossing steps and half step retreats, motions that Ulric knew would prove useful should he ever have the need to dodge buckshot at close quarters. He actually looked forwards to the inevitable strikes he was going to take from sparring partners. At least his knees wouldn't feel like pretzels. Per usual he quickly went zero and two against the experienced Elves.

Raising himself up after a painful reminder that livers did not like practice swords hitting them, he saw his partner give a salute with their blade. The Elf, Sinna, elder sister of Hal'et, praised brightly, "That was a fine riposte, Glade Chief. Too slow coming, but the intuition is building. I think your body has started to gain a feel for the rhythm of the Dance."

He cheered up a little at the first good news in a while.

"His riposte was harmless to any but a child. Not even that." Came the incisive voice of his Shadow, the first time he'd heard it since their spat.

"And his movements remain clumsy beyond reason. At this rate, he will use his sword for a cane before a proper weapon." Added Geyrt with open contempt.

Ulric was at his breaking point. He knew this was some kind of set up. That she'd chosen to break her silence now and in front of the rest of the warriors. Don't let her think you weak, whispered Hal'et's warning.

"Good of you to deign to share your thoughts, Geyrt." Ulric rejoined, tersely, "Though I cannot help but notice that they offer nothing useful, as has been the rule as of late. Why don't you piss off somewhere else, since you don't feel like doing your duty, rather than interfering with those who do?"

It was a hard dig. The Iriel'en didn't have much use for slackers, this bunch in particular. Worse, it was true. A Shadow's role was well defined: Do all in your power to serve the interests of your Honor. The tall drink of water over there had done nothing but glare at him for nearly a week now and everybody knew it. He was past caring about embarrassing her now, not when she was being a snit while he worked his ass off over here.

Ulric figured he'd worried just about enough about her feelings. You don't like where you're at, what you're doing, or who you're doing it for? Tough shit. Do your job or go the hell on. It was time to force her to get her act together.

Ears bounced once and stilled, and Geyrt's expression went dark.

"I would be glad to show you what you lack, Glade Chief. If but you had roots long enough to stand the storm's blow." Came the Huntress's challenge.

This here was what he'd been warned about. The former Iriel'en princess and notorious Blood Thorn of a woman was doing what she always did when someone slighted her, or she thought they had. She was going to try to shame them publicly. Either he could take her up on her offer and, most likely, get his ass kicked, or he could step aside from it. Neither option was good. No matter what he did here, he wasn't going to be salvaging his dignity, or fixing what was broken between him and this resentful Elf. One of them though, would cost him the respect of the warriors with whom he'd trained. That made the decision simple. Simple isn't the same as easy.

Under the considering eyes of the sparring guardsmen and Idra who was keeping a show of disinterest while overseeing the courtyard Ulric did the only thing he could do.

"You're out of line Taipan, but it's fine. Unlike some, I'm not too proud to learn what is needed to become what I wish to be." Ulric accepted, his use of her title setting her teeth to grinding.

Green and bronze flecked eyes glittering, the Paragon Iriel'en snatched the training weapon from the grasp of Sinna, whose own expression tightened, and the set of her jaw promised the slight had been tallied. Ignoring the guardsman, his Shadow took up a ready stance, lithe form fairly humming with eagerness.

Ulric knew better than to think she'd make the mistake from before. No overextensions this time that he could use against her. No linear advance, absent guard. This time, he knew the Elf was going to use every single advantage of her training and heritage against him. And he couldn't use any of the tools his core offered.

Like this, he was fighting with one hand behind his back, while she was completely at ease. He didn't have a snowball's chance. But that wasn't the point then, was it? All he had to do here was let her know he was here. Winning only mattered if you died when you lost. Defeat was like finding out your experiment disproved your hypothesis, it just showed you another opportunity to become better, a new avenue of research, not an ending.

Carefully, as precisely as he could, Ulric assumed the Undan ready, his sword held in a one-handed grip, soft wood blade slanted across his body to close attack angles and point aligned with the face of his opponent, threatening.

He regripped the wrapped handle, sweat cold against his palms. Geyrt was on the move before his fingers finished clinching.

Ulric tracked left following the sidestep, he half turned and took a half backstep and managed to parry the blurred stab at his heart, awkward in his motion because it had come from the opposite side he expected. Somehow, Geyrt had managed to slide to the other direction while he was watching the tip of her sword come in. Clever girl. Retreat was the only option, he worked the practice sword desperately, warding away precise thrusts that always targeted a weakness in his stance or a gap in his defense. Hip, root knee, offhand shoulder, neck, branch knee, neck again, chest, it was all he could do to pivot and step out from her attacks while the wood of his sword cracked against hers.

A stab turned into a cut without warning, the point coming back, like a magic trick, to her shoulder even as his attempted parry turned his sword wide. He caught the whistling blade under his sword arm, the impact slapping ribs and bruising the flesh instantly.

"Mmmgh! Fuck!" He grunted, wincing hard.

Maybe it was a difference of opinion, but where she looked smug about the hit, he was feeling pretty good about it. It had taken her all of about ten seconds to land the strike, and that was five longer than he thought it would take. He was doing twice as good as expected!

Her blade lowered and he watched her sneer at his obvious pain, "So easy. Is there even a point to you being here?" She asked.

He thought about Christ, throwing himself into Idra'se's jaws on a daily basis. He remembered setting the chess a.i. to grandmaster when he learned the game. It was the same mindset. That was the attitude of people who wanted to go destroy their limits.

Beating somebody worse or even was just doing what you're supposed to. It was expected, of no value. There was no point beginning if you weren't willing to lose against an enemy beyond you. That enemy was always going to come, eventually. Finding victory against someone better than you was always the taste of ambrosia to him. There was nothing weak in standing up to someone you knew you couldn't beat.

It wasn't smart. But it wasn't weak.

"You wouldn't understand if I told you." He told her, surprised that he wasn't angry with her anymore.

She wouldn't. Born to it, she was. Doubtless, Geyrt Iriel had devoted herself to her craft, but he doubted if she'd ever actually struggled, especially not when her family had been able to provide the best for her, to lift her up from below. Pitting herself against her lessers was the norm, not the exception.

The only thing Ulric Einar had ever been given was his name, good people to call parents, and an honest god given second chance. A chance he wasn't going to let come to nothing because he was afraid of getting hit a few times.

He got back into his stance, keeping his legs looser this time.

"Whenever you're ready, Princess." He told her.

On she came. Without the smile.

Over the course of a half hour, Ulric got beat most ways you can in a sword fight, but not by the same way twice. Without using any magic, minus the bolstering of his class abilities, just using fundamentals of fighting mostly learned here, he gave his best. It wasn't good enough to do much more than make the slaughter take a little longer.

Geyrt lived up to her reputation and he never got close to a clean hit, even if he made her work to get around them on occasion. He was picking himself up after getting his bell rung by a real tricky circling cut that came from a parry on the downstroke that he'd been certain was going to land. He reached up and felt a gnarly goose egg forming just above and behind his ear. More than a little blood he wiped off on his pants. Scalp wounds always bled like crazy. Nausea tickled his stomach and he wasn't totally certain what day it was, so he might be slightly concussed.

But he wasn't going to let 'ole Pointy Ears McBitch over there know it.

He resumed his Undan, this time with a two-handed grip so he didn't drop the damned thing. Holding a sword correctly while trying not to vomit was harder than it looked. So was getting your feet right, especially when there were four of them and you couldn't be exactly sure whose were whose.

Geyrt must have felt like his refusal to quit was another kind of insult, because she came in for murder. Ulric watched the wooden blade wave, mesmerizing as it darted forward in a slash there was no way under the Twinned Suns he was ever going to block. To his surprise, a wood blade appeared and caught the strike cold, the report of the blades sounding like a gunshot.

He had to check his hands, confused. Nope. Not his.

Ulric felt a solid, if not quite dainty hand on his shoulder and looked over to see Christ beside him. Was a good dude was Christ. Both of him.

I do believe Geyrt tagged me harder than I thought, concluded Ulric, genius that he was.

Geyrt's surprise at having her fun interrupted was replaced with fury. She opened her mouth to protest and Christ cut her off in a tone that was overly casual.

"Shadow, your enthusiasm motivates me beyond words. I find I cannot help but join the both of you. Please do give me the pleasure of a round." Requested the youngest of the elite Elves.

Idra had come from his position of oversight. Scrambled though his brains were, Ulric was pretty sure he looked displeased. Well, more displeased than usual during training.

Ulric let his own sword fall to his side and just concentrated on being upright.

"I would also like to see your growth, Shadow. Indulge us, just this once." The swordmaster requested as he strode to observe, all liquid grace and latent violence.

The other warriors cleared away instinctively, giving the scarred Elf space. He had that kind of presence did old Idra. Ulric realized the others had gathered to watch the events proceeding.

"It is hard to see the finer aspects of form, when you spar so vigorously against a trainee only days into being allowed to exchange blows with his seniors." Idra said, so evenly that he might as well have shouted.

It was a bit surprising.

Ulric had accepted his ass kicking as necessary to stand up to Geyrt's attempts to shame him in front of the soldiers. He wouldn't have thought that they'd feel it necessary to intervene, not against one of their own. A fuzzy part of him reminded "She isn't one of them anymore, not really." He frowned. The point was to show her he wasn't afraid of her. Which, maybe he had already done.

A less mature, machismo voice said to him "I don't need anybody to protect me from the likes of her". Rational forces rallied momentarily and rebutted "You're maybe leaking brain juice and beat to shit, of course you do."

While he argued with himself, Christ stood with ease, the point of his sword low, hands loose on the hilt, like it might slip free any moment.

Geyrt seemed to wither a bit under the scrutiny of her peers, even though, so far as he could tell, this was what she'd wanted. He was confused. The concussion wasn't helping. Hadn't the cohort looked down on the visitors who stayed in the sparring ring with Idra far beyond the point that it was clear they didn't belong there?

Ulric shook his head and regretted it when things kept turning even after his head had stopped. Maybe it was because they saw honor in refusing to be downcast. When it came to that, he'd never seen a guardsman be anything but supportive, in their barbed, frequently unpleasantly blunt manner, towards another.

Heedless of the goings on, Ulric decided he was going to sit down. He turned and made it a few steps before being guided by a calloused palm to a bench seat. Idra himself took a seat next to him and gestured with his chin towards the sparring ring.

"Brittle trees never stand the test of time." Opened Bald'rt's right hand man, suitably cryptic.

"They always break. Strong though they appear, withstanding without bending all that comes against them, sooner or later a wind comes from an angle that turns their strength to nothing. Then they uproot and their flaws become clear. Heartwood is only hard when it has to be, else it is flexible as Jade Willow." Continued the Elf.

Ulric was certain this was related to something, but, for the life of him he couldn't tell what it might be. Maybe he'd been talking to Instructor Gother, every other word out of the wizened teacher's mouth was roots this, leaves that.

"Idra'se, no offense, but I've been hit in the head too many times recently to have any idea what the fuck you're talking about." The battered man confessed.

The hideous scar at the corner of the old warrior's mouth tweaked upwards as he smiled for a moment. Then the grin vanished and he turned a grim gaze on the sparring circle, its wood inlays demarking the roughly four-meter diameter area where combatants would be allowed to go without being considered in flight or pressed so hard that they were declared overmatched.

Christ hadn't moved since assuming an almost sleepy Undan, his sword still held loosely, its tip almost touching the planks of the pavilion. Geyrt was in her usual precise stance, like a hunting cat making ready to pounce.

Ulric didn't know how they decided to start the match but he knew that he didn't see Christ's sword before it rose to hit the bottom of Geyrt's hilt precisely enough to send the training sword skyward, torn free of her grasp. The younger warrior flowed forward without pause, and Ulric did see the sword come down hard in a two-handed stroke against her collar bone. Yeowch. Except that the blow touched like a feather, perfectly controlled violence of motion.

His Shadow lacked nothing for courage, she hadn't blinked when the seemingly brutal blow fell. She was, evidently surprised when it did not land with said power. Her lips pursed, like she'd bitten into lemons, as she went to retrieve the sparring weapon, but when she readied herself for another round, that changed.

Christ turned and left the ring, saying only "I have seen what I needed."

It must have been some kind of insult. Had to be. The tall woman scowled at the ground intensely enough Ulric was suspicious it would catch fire. A moment later, Sinna took Christ's place in the circle.

"I too wish to see your growth, Shadow. Show me what you have learned all these years hunting Otherkin from the treetops of the wilds." Demanded the shorter, darker Elf, her tone clearly sarcastic.

Geyrt was even less well pleased than she had been a moment before. But anger was being displaced by something else.

They both assumed their stances. Sinna was textbook, absent Christ's informal ease. Then the Elves came together in a rush, blades crossed near each other's throats. Evenly matched. But only for a moment. Sword weaving through complex cuts, stabs, and parries, Sinna began to run through what looked like one of Idra's exercises, steps and half steps coming fluid rhythm. Slowly, at first, then faster, the elder soldier, by increments and subtle edges of advantage, drove Geyrt back, pushing her into a defensive posture. He knew his Shadow was trying, was searching with her sword for a gap in the attack. There simply wasn't one, and the senior soldier came on, faster and faster. After a minute of relentless pressure, Geyrt's retreating foot broke the ring of the circle and Sinna's thrust made a humming sound as it drove to lay softly against his Shadow's neck.

The female warrior withdrew her weapon and left the ring saying "I have seen what I needed."

Ah. Ulric saw the point now. They were doing to her what she had been doing to him. Christ through his sheer intuitive talent for fighting. Sinna with superior mastery of the Dance. Only they weren't going too far, were restraining themselves to send their message and withdrawing with dignity, without gratuitous pain. Under the watchful gaze of Idra, these greatest of their kin were trying to teach his poor Shadow character. He wondered if she even realized it.

The Royal Guard were nothing if not thorough. Each one took a place in the ring, each mirroring some variant of the opening "Show me what you have learned." And then, each proceeded to soundly thrash his Shadow before leaving the ring saying "I have seen what I needed".

By the end of it, Ulric knew the woman felt worse than he looked.

The guardsmen hadn't so much as left a bruise on her flesh. No, the beating was all inside her head. Speaking of which, his was a mess. Fortunately, a Sano mage, a healer, had come over to do a little laying on of hands. The cold wash of healing magic ran through him, leaving particularly chilled sensations where the bruises had gone deepest. So, more or less all over his sides, chest, arms, and head.

He realized the extent of the injuries he'd received once the cleansing artistry of the Sano Magus cleared his mind. They departed as swiftly as they'd come, satisfied that all was handled, leaving him to his musings. Geyrt had whooped him proper, not just defeated she'd gone out of her way to hurt him. But he hadn't given her the satisfaction of backing down. And he never would. He would, however, make sure he didn't underestimate the lessons the Royal Guards had to teach again. All the lessons, not just the ones with weapons.

There wasn't much to be said after that. Idra ended the practice with reminders to "Observe well that determination without experience leads to defeat, and strategy without strength leads to embarrassment."

A not so subtle dig at both he and Geyrt, who were, in a way, intruding on the normally closed grounds wherein the Royal Guards honed themselves.

Ulric caught the scarred Elf's eye and nodded that he'd received the message not to bring his problems into the training grounds again. He owed Christ a beer, or a snort of Elf coke if they did that, or whatever he could scrounge up that the dude was about, for catching that last swing before it mashed his face. Healers did good work, but he wouldn't be pretty anymore after that. Speaking of, the most illustrious Geyrt Iriel was doing her best to pretend that nobody else existed on the planet. It was another bed of her own making, and Ulric was no longer inclined to feel too badly about her lying in it.

His sympathy was gone about three blows to the noggin ago.

Given that his magic instructors were gone, he had a notion to retire to his bed early after a quick raid on the mess hall. He spotted the not quite chastened former Hunter on her way to do the same thing. After a few calming breaths he decided he needed to go make plain his thoughts on the matter at hand. It was well past time he dealt with this.

"Sit, Geyrt, we need to discuss some things." Ulric said, gently as he was able, which wasn't much.

When his Shadow turned and made to leave his heart hardened substantially. Angry or not, he wasn't going to permit rudeness from her. He was no longer under embargo from using his magic and he'd encase her in ice if that's what it took.

"Shadow, I did not ask you a question, I did not permit you to leave, and I have already made clear I will not tolerate disrespect from you. Now sit the fuck down before you bring even more embarrassment to your people." He commanded.

Her eyes widened before narrowing to that face ruining glare. But she sat.

"It seems not even taking food will I be given peace from you Glade Chief." She whispered harshly, "Surely there are others for you to look at, you may as well stuff me into bed and be done-"

"Get over yourself woman." He cut her off, pulling this thorn now, since she'd offered it, "I'd sooner put a Heckler Monkey in the sack than you, they're less annoying. I'm going to say this one godsdamned time and you better remember it: This," Ulric growled gesturing with his hand up and down, "Isn't worth dealing with the awful person behind it." he declared with finality.

"Now that we've got that out of the way, let's get back to what I really wanted to get through your head." Ulric continued, determined to have this nonsense out before he met with Bald'rt.

One less thing to have on his mind while he talked with the grownups.

"I'm about to commit to going to war as an ally of your people and, from what I can tell, you're absolutely useless to me." He berated her bluntly, which drew her up short.

"Out in the wilds, as a scout against the beasts? There's no single person I'd rather have backing me up. No one. You're everything I could ask for in a comrade out there." Ulric told her, honestly.

She seemed surprised that he would admit it, as if he'd been unfair to her at any point, which he hadn't, other than their first meeting where he'd responded less than charitably to her attempt at feathering him. But he wasn't finished yet.

"In a war though? Against a thinking enemy that knows how to push belligerent Elf buttons? The first time someone figures out that all they have to do to turn you from your task is to get under your skin, it's over. They'll draw you out into a trap and that'll be it, only you'll be hanging me out to dry alongside you. Soldiers in a unit need to rely on each other, they need to trust each other to do their part. I'll be honest with you Geyrt, I don't. I don't trust you at all to forget your pride and do what needs doing. To me, you're an arrogant child who needs to grow up." Ulric let her have it.

Then he really came in swinging.

"And, you know what? I'm not the only person who thinks so, your kin just aren't willing to tell you on account of who you are, or were. You wanna know why your folk have a problem with you? It isn't because you're a pain in the ass, Bald'rt Iriel is walking proof that your people love an asshole, it's because you're a waste of potential. You have everything, you've got the total package. And it's wasted on you. You could've been a hero to your people, instead, you spent a half century on a grudge and threw everybody that doesn't have pointy ears in along with the ones who earned your resentment."

"You insult me, you have no right to say these things!" She hissed at him, getting in his face.

She was furious denial incarnate. And Ulric wasn't having any of her shit.

He jabbed a finger at her, "Bullshit. Tell me I'm wrong. Go ahead. Lie to me." He challenged.

Her mouth worked soundlessly. She started to object several times, to voice a denial. Each time she had to stop. He wasn't saying anything she hadn't come to suspect, wasn't telling her anything she didn't know, only putting it under the light of the Twins so others could see. Still hurt from his laughter at her status, at being branded by his pejorative, from her shaming in front of the warrior elite of her clan, and now from this haranguing that cut too close to what her own Mother had been flogging her with in recent weeks, she wanted to lash out.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Ulric ignored her brief floundering deciding he'd come to the end of his rope.

"I've tried with you, I really have. I've tried to understand, I've tried to see it from your perspective, but I'm out of patience." He said, riding over top of her strangled protests

Now he came to the heart of it, and he found he was angry about this next bit, "All of this? Over a joke so funny the entire fucked up planet went along with it? I got the feeling that you got so pissed when I laughed at you because what you really think, deep down, is that I'm some kind of lesser creature that had the gall to find you amusing. And, for that? You can kiss my Human ass."

Geyrt sat back at that and her face was carefully blank. Which was as much an admission as he needed.

Disgusted, Ulric decided he was pretty much finished dealing with this situation.

"Normally, I'd tell you to go pound sand, because I'm not willing to tolerate much in the way of other people's nonsense. But. I promised your father I'd take care of you, and that is what I will do. So, once and for all, what exactly is your fucking problem?" He put all his cards on the table.

"My problem is that I am slaved to a contemptible an-" She cut off when she saw lightning in Ulric's eyes.

He'd told her once, long ago, that if she called him animal again, he'd kill her. She could see him already preparing to do it, could feel the mana warping around him. She knew that, if she finished that word, she'd die. The last time she'd actually felt mana twisting like this, was when her father had disintegrated a Prosper ambassador for directing filth towards her little brother in court. He'd done it without so much as a word. Just a flash of crimson light.

Ice poured down her spine when she realized how close she'd come. Fear. In her? Of him? It made her angry all over again. But she didn't finish the word.

"I think I've had enough of the sight of you for a little while Geyrt." Ulric told her feeling tired now, tired, and so close to murder he could taste it.

"Go back to your rooms, stay there until I send for you. Say nothing. When I have time and the desire to be around more unpleasantness I'll call, but, just right now, you're making me sick." He ordered softly, barely above a whisper.

She rose again and he didn't bother to look.

So much for charming anything. All he'd managed to do was unload on her, drive her into a corner, and then, nearly kill her for being too upset to think straight. Gods she pissed him off so bad. And now he'd fucked it up. Probably for good, all because he'd laughed at her.

"I'm such a fucking asshole." He told the table quietly.

Ulric was, for once, utterly defeated. He was, in fact, quite finished with this day already, and there was more to come.

On the one hand, he was glad to have put his issues with Geyrt out in the open, if in the worst way he could have managed. Go figure. On the other, he had, unfortunately, confirmed that most of the problems were either in her head or his. Which meant that there was rather little he could do about the situation unless he found some way to reconcile his humanity, her fucked up situation, and his own absence of ability to not be an objective bastard when he was uncomfortable.

He was mostly alright with being viewed as incompetent, that part would, eventually, go away. If it didn't leave him buried somewhere first. No, it was definitely the racism that stuck in his craw. He'd actually thought they were passed that shit. Ulric wasn't used to being let down when a person turned out to be kind of awful. Normally he expected it, at least a little. It was then, all the more off putting that he could feel disappointed in her, even if he really had no basis for that.

She'd been pretty consistently down on humanity since their meeting. Nothing he could do about that, he wasn't lying when he told her he was trying. Fitting in with the Elf folk, learning their language, patiently adjusting to their odd culture, even trying to adhere to as many of their norms as possible, even where they were vastly different from anything he'd experienced in his home. He'd given it his best shot, but the interplanetary traveler had to admit that he didn't have what it took to convince her that humans were worth a second look.

Ulric wasn't even sure he could blame her, all things being equal. Not much indicated that humanity was worth that chance, no matter how little he himself had to do with the creatures that shared his form on this world.

Fed up with all of it, Ulric drug himself back to his apartments and fell onto the bed. His thoughts raced, his guts twisted. After running himself around in circles for a few minutes thinking about what great fun it was going to be to have the woman hovering around again in the future, Ulric tried to refocus on the budding understanding of what the hell was up with this inevitable war.

Once a student of history, a hobby adopted as a break from engineering topics, he felt he was onto something with his grasp on the game being played by his soon to be enemies. Part of him wondered if he even really had an enemy in those people. Did they even know he existed? He had a hard time believing they were totally unaware of him, which meant they would also know that he was the one who had intercepted their kidnapping attempt.

So, yes, probably there would be no friends or allies abroad when he left Orlethrem. He had essentially been committed from the moment he'd let that first arrow fly. There was nothing for it though, they had made their bed by hurting a kid, he'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

The missing piece was the win condition. Ulric didn't know what the enemy considered their strategic end point. Was it genocide? A border adjustment? A depletion of the Orlethrem military power to win renegotiation of trade rights? Assassinating a few key leaders to weaken the Elves leadership and create a power vacuum? He didn't know. Mostly because his rational mind struggled to accept that there was any goal worth causing the deaths of hundreds or thousands of people in violent conflict.

He'd have to ask the crafty Elf King he planned to meet in another hour. Fuck. Probably word had already reached that one's overlong ears and he'd be subjected to some form of needling on the matter or another. Maybe it was finally ask for tips dealing with the man's daughter. Surely, if anyone knew, it would be him.

There would be time enough for all that later, Ulric decided.

First, he had to take a piss. As he did, he grimaced at another fresh bite out of his self-esteem. Geyrt had beaten the honest fuck out of him and he'd been doing well not to be laid out on a stretcher. He'd played by all their rules, spotting her maximum advantage against his lack of the only real weapon he had in his magical firepower. That part of his training at least was enough to earn praise from the Dragons and herself. Begrudging, reluctant praise, but honest. He had to wonder how much of that was because he was doing just so well, for a mere Human. Those were the kind of thoughts that were just a kick in the teeth. He stopped in the door way to his apartments and shook his head.

It saved his life.

The windows turned to white fire and Ulric was thrown violently through the back wall of the bathroom as his balcony evaporated. Frozen air rushed into the room, washing away the scorching heat that remained of the fire magic.

Ulric struggled to raise himself. He was on his back. Maybe. Something fell and hit his face and he was pretty sure he was actually on his back now, in spite of the ringing in his head and the flashing lights in his eyes. Up wouldn't stop turning into down though. Grabbing onto the remains of some piece of broken furniture in the adjacent room he struggled to leverage himself up, his left arm wouldn't work correctly. The dazed man flopped around for a grasping moment, couldn't feel himself, like he was numb. He pulled himself up and promptly fell back through the hole his body had made going through the wall, distantly feeling another set of abrasions against the broken Heartwood of the portal.

Ears ringing, room spinning, Ulric fought to his feet and saw what was left of the room. Half of it was simply gone, burned away. The other half was destroyed by force and flame. What hadn't been burned was thrown against the back wall, as he had been. His bed was still on fire. He liked that bed. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he absently wiped it away, the sight in front of him refusing to make sense.

Looking at his hand he was surprised to see that his sweat was red now.

Hadn't he seen that before? That wasn't right, vertigo as a past moment and present blurred together. He looked up and staggered forwards, away from the bathroom wall, entering the remains of the room and looking out into the air. He breathed for the first time in what seemed like a while and was surprised to find that it hurt, badly. His eyes moved away from the blood on his hand, streaked with black, like a sweeping tribal tattoo, to his arm, similarly blackened, to his, barely, clothed chest and swept down to the floor, taking himself in.

Smoke still coiled away from his charred inner clothes, the outer ones had mostly burned away and hung loosely from the singed belt around his waist. The Forest Lord leather of the belt was the only thing that had escaped the blast unharmed. He could see his shins through the fragments of his pants and they looked like he'd been rolling around in a charcoal grill. Ouch.

Sound came back suddenly, but there was only the roaring of his own blood in his ears. That and the crackle of a remnant blaze in his room.

Wind suddenly rushed strongly into the room, sending him off balance to lean against a turned over dresser charred black, his rags fluttering and whipping against the gusts.

Where there had been blue sky and distant vista was now a stranger, a human, which surprised Ulric greatly. He hadn't seen a human since…he was having trouble placing it. There was definitely something wrong with him, his mind wouldn't focus on what he wanted it to.

The strange man was middle aged, face deeply lined, and hard angled. Eyes of a deep amber pitilessly bored into him. Ulric took in strange robes, like a military trench coat, all charcoal grey.

Ulric realized that the man was also flying, standing weightlessly in the air supported on a small pillar of flame. His attention turned to the man's upraised hand and his deep gravelly voice boomed with contempt.

"You should have stayed in your hovel, and out of the way, traitor. Instead, you are ended."

Flame blossomed from his palm, blue white and the sphere grew rapidly until it was a half meter globe of destruction.

Adrenaline flooded through Ulric's body, pushing away the confusion, the shock, and his injuries. He had no armor. No weapons. He'd left everything behind with Uldin, like a fool. Varda punished mistakes. Time slowed and Ulric cast as rapidly as he could.

Ulric reached for his saturated core, felt the strength there drawing warmth into his body as his will drove mana into the form of a barrier of insulating air. He layered two more behind it, building a set of incrementally smaller, stronger shields to prevent the air between them from superheating as they resisted the spell and twisted the Caelum into Incendere, as Shor had shown him, to immediately form a shield of spinning jewels of pure combustion behind these to absorb whatever remained of the magic of the man attacking him. Or his instincts were wrong, it would do nothing, and he would die.

[Skyshield]

[Skyshield]

[Skyshield]

[Cindershield]

The ball of flame lanced out into Ulric's shields dispersing the first into an iridescent plasma, before the second boiled off then shattered, and hit the third which simply broke apart as the fireball dispersed, washing over the shield in a hemisphere of coruscating flame.

Ulric's [Cindershield] took in the remaining flame, pulling the heat into it to drive the three whirling crimson pearls of Incindere to greater brightness, iridescent diamonds of heat. The temperature of the air skyrocketed for a brief moment and Ulric screamed as he felt his already burned skin exposed to this newest punishment until the whirling gems of his mana drank it away.

Barely registering the stunned expression of the floating man Ulric turned loose of his shield, sending the three burning jewels at his enemy without a word.

[Cinderpearl]

The streaking comets, amplified, greater than any he'd cast on his own, slammed into an invisible barrier and erupted, the heated shockwaves reigniting the charred edges of his apartments.

The man's expression calmed and he examined his defenses with forced casualness. He mumbled to himself and one eye twitched.

"That was a near thing. They didn't mention that you were casting adept rank spells, I will be collecting an additional payment for that oversight. Hmm…I did not expect another pyromancer. Perhaps…What are you doing?"

Ulric hadn't stopped casting since he'd started. Even while his [Cindershield] was absorbing the last bits of mana he hadn't stopped channeling his core. Gripped in his hand was his belt knife, a carved Forest Lord fang, and he was pouring every last bit of himself into the spiral of Ceraun linking his will to the knife. He needed some time. Just a few seconds.

Piss him off Ulric, it's what you're good at.

He yelled with as much biting sarcasm as he could, "I'm killing you, you fucking idiot! What do you think I'm doing!? You wouldn't mind telling me who I'm going to kill next would you? I am so very godsdamned curious who would have sent you all this way to end up a grease stain."

The older mage's eyes narrowed.

"Killing me? You? A jumped up peasant fresh from shitting in a hole? Oh, that's rich. You'll regret that blood traitor. You're weak, barely standing, but this time I'll turn you and this Knife Ear's nest into ash."

The man reached into the upper body of his robe and drew a gnarled wand of black wood. He started doing something that made the air between them shimmer with heat. Ulric's skin flared in pain at the touch. Whatever he was doing, it was a doozy. And also, too damned slow.

Ulric's overcharge finished, all the mana left in his being tuned to the Ceraun screaming through his core, a tempest forced into servitude. He hurled the knife as hard as he could, sending it spinning towards the mage, polished bone glittering in the evening sunlight.

The mage smirked his contempt at the slow-moving projectile whose handle burned away to smoke as it entered the region his Incendere was turning to a firestorm and the blade, simple bone, drove more deeply into his barrier than he would have thought possible. His grin vanished when he saw the brilliant arcs begin pouring off the half-roasted upstart he'd been hired to slay. He tried to trigger his spell. Too late.

Forcing his eyes to stay open, the hand that loosed the knife clenched into a fist and Ulric freed the magic.

[Lightning Javalin]

The world vanished in searing light and a roar of sound that drowned out his own desperate rage.

When he regained sight, he realized that he was looking into a blue, blue sky, fingers of whispy cirrus gliding as they traversed the horizon. The twins were in a different place than they had been when last he'd seen them behind the bastard who had tried to kill him.

Of that individual Ulric had a feeling there wouldn't be enough left to bury in a match book. He'd never overcharged that spell; it seemed like massive overkill. He would have laughed, if he could.

He was on his back probably. He couldn't actually feel much of anything, not even the burns. When he tried to move nothing happened. Ulric was distantly aware that he might still be breathing but he was just too tired to care. Something blocked the fading sunlight, an abrupt shadow. Ulric found his consciousness fading, the ringing in his ears that might have been shouting pulling him under as he dove into a peaceful abyss.

Waking was a gradual thing. He drifted for a long time, in a place where thought didn't exist, only a vague awareness of existence. It was nice. Nice things don't last, of course. As soon as thought returned there was also pain. Pain all over him. Inside, outside, it didn't really matter. He must have made a sound. It probably wasn't the sort of thing he'd have been proud of.

A strange Elven face loomed abruptly over him, red eyes flecked with bronze. Remarkable. They were all so beautiful, these folk.

They were saying something but Ulric must have passed out again because it was a different face now. Concern painted these features, and the lips moved, their musical voice filling his ears. Ulric couldn't make it out for some reason. He heard sounds but they didn't mean anything.

Was he on drugs? The buzzing in his head said, adamantly, "You bet your sweet ass you are".

It was a good thing, was drugs. Very nice. Mellow. Marshmallow. Gods Ulric was hungry for some smores. He started to ask for some, before he remembered that it was, without a doubt, impossible for there to be marshmallows. He was going to invent marshmallows. Just mix some gelatin, syrup, and sugar, cook it down, and whip with a mixer. He'd have to make a mixer first. No problem, a motorized version of his brace drill, easy. Mmm…drilling for marshmallows.

Oh yeah, he was so damned high.

Hands placed on his cheeks turned his face towards the voice that was talking gibberish. Some part of Ulric's brain decided to get off its ass and work to make languages happen.

"..nd me? Ulric, can you understand me? I need you to tell me if you are with us yet." the voice said, so pretty. A pretty face and a pretty voice. He wouldn't mention the face though, that would be rude.

"Huummm, mum, muumm" He tried before realizing he needed saliva in his mouth.

He swallowed a few times and tried again "Yeah, I'm here, I think, Pretty Voice. What can I do you for? I got animal skins out the yazoo and, like, a bazillion trees. Oh! I can magic too! You wanna see some fucking magic?" Ulric was excited to show this awesome stranger some magic.

"No, no, no! Please, Ulric, not right now. I don't need to see any magic right now, thank you." Pretty Voice said, startled, for some reason.

"You have been asleep for a few days, you might be confused, do you know who you are?" She asked carefully.

"I'm the new Forest Lord. Do you want to make marshmallows with me? I think I can do it with magic, so I don't have to make a blender. Wind blender! It's pretty great stuff, marshmallows are. Like eating sweet air. Ahh yeah. It's been, like, forever since I had marshmallows. You'd like them." Ulric assured the Pretty Voice.

"Thank you Ulric, yes, I am sure that I would but we need to check on you first ok? Can you feel when we do this?" the voice asked, her eyes blinking rapidly for a moment like she hadn't understood him and immediately there was a prick somewhere on the bottom of Ulric's foot.

"Did you just stab my foot? Because yes, and that's not real nice Pretty Voice, you're supposed to ask people before you stab them. Or, maybe, yeah, you need to duel them first. You shouldn't duel me Pretty Voice, I'm sorry, but I'd have to kill you pretty bad and that makes me sad. A sad lad." Ulric informed the voice, already bracing himself for another tragedy.

Pretty Voice looked up at someone else across the room, alarm on her face.

"It's ok, Grendha, he's not violent, just confused." the owner of a different voice said.

She looked relieved and turned her attention back to him, still holding his cheeks in her hand so he couldn't turn his head to find the newest voice.

"It's ok Ulric, no one is stabbing you. We are checking to see if your wounds are recovering and if you have regained feeling. You were burned and we had to heal you while you slept. Everything will be fine, just let me know if you can feel the poke." Pretty Voice, Grendha said calmingly, if still cautious.

That was ok with him, as long as he wasn't being stabbed. And, even better! He didn't have to kill anybody! That was nice. He'd have to start killing a whole bunch of people in a little bit. Like that mage. And whoever paid him. And whoever paid them. Yep, old Ulric was gonna have to go kill a heap of people. Not now though.

He let them know when he felt the pokes as they traced their way up his legs onto his stomach, which tickled, his chest, neck, and even his face. Ulric realized, that the hands on his face were touching his bare skin, he didn't have a beard anymore. As the poking continued, Ulric realized that he didn't have hair anymore.

That sonofabitching mage burned his hair away! Ulric tried to get angry and failed. He was so glad he'd lightninged that dick-ass, pedophile-coat wearing mage into vapor. The poking continued. Just how much skin had he lost? It was a good thing he was high as a giraffe's ass or he might have been upset about it.

Eventually the prodding ended and, judging by the creep of a pronounced ache into his bones, some of the drugs were wearing off. That was going to absolutely ruin Ulric's happy fun time. Burns were not a great experience. Ulric thought briefly about Harvey Dent, his erstwhile coworker who'd taken a steam jet to the face. Old Harvey. Now there was a guy with a sense of humor. Life gave him lemons and he said "Fuck it, gimme the whole barrel, and who else wants Whiskey Sours!?"

Ulric grunted as the ache became a more pronounced throbbing that was, more or less, everywhere. He felt like he'd had a belt sander run over him, but in a distant sort of way. He couldn't see himself while Pretty Voice was holding him. He was only vaguely worried that she didn't have to try very hard to keep him still.

"That would be the medication running its course. He's going to be in some discomfort but, if the feeling has returned, I believe we probably have managed to heal the worst damage. It is always a difficult thing with burns. This must be done slowly, it will take some time to recover his strength. We will need at least three more session until I have cleared him. Blood infection is still a risk, as is secondary Drowned Lungs." Said the other voice in dry clipped tones pronounced with a certainty Ulric could only attribute to a doctor.

Grendha nodded and turned back to him. "Did you hear that Ulric? You understand, yes? Good. Rest now, sleep, if you can. I will give you more food and water in an hour or so." she said, releasing her hold on him. She strode away and Ulric saw that she wore simple white robes, at least, they had been white before someone bled all over them. He really hoped that wasn't his. It might explain how tired he was though.

"That was not nearly so bad as I thought it would be," Pretty Voice whispered conspiratorially, "I did not think he would survive with so much of his body charred, most of him was at least slightly burned. You have done a fine job Yes'ri, a very fine job."

Oh, by the Dancing Twins, the doctor was named Yessiree! That was one of Ulric's favorite sayings. He was probably going to have some fun with the Elf when he returned, if Ulric was awake and not septic. He was really starting to feel that pain, like his whole body was bruised and raw. He also realized that his left arm was in a sling. A sling! They hadn't just healed it away. That was probably important but he couldn't say why.

He looked around at himself with bleary eyes, but the motion cost him an unbelievable amount of effort. He was mummified in some kind of dark brown cloth that was similar to cotton, just woolier. It didn't feel wooly though, Oh! There was a silk layer underneath it all. He was double wrapped, for freshness.

The doctor had pronounced bags under his eyes. To be honest, the Elf looked like he might be about ready to collapse. Ulric was about ready to collapse too, he laid his head back before the room went too crazy.

They must not have known his hearing was rather sharp or they'd have whispered more quietly. Charred? That was, what? Third degree burns and then some? He actually should not be alive, char meant deep full thickness burns and he was a toasty boy. He must not have inhaled the fire. He was so smart, only lava fish breathe fire.

"The credit does not belong to me, as much as I would enjoy basking in your esteem Grendha." The doctor smiled at the nurse, who was smiling back at him.

Get a room! Ulric wanted to shout, but the medicos continued on "He has freakish life force for one so young. I am not completely convinced that he would have died of those wounds. There would have been terrible scarring and great pain, of course, but I think he would have yet lived. The story goes that he killed the Assault Mage in that state, Grendha. Terrifying strength is it not?"

The pair of them clasped hands as they exited the room, "It is Yes'ri. I thought I might flee when he started talking about dueling." the woman shuddered, closing the door behind her, "I cannot believe Lord Iriel has allied so close with a monster like that."

Suddenly Ulric wasn't feeling so charitable about Pretty Voice. He hadn't done anything to her had he? Probably not, he'd never even seen her before. Maybe she didn't like marshmallows. Blasphemy, Ulric, do not even think such a thing. Hmm…but none of the warriors or royal guards thought he was a monster so that was good. Maybe soldiers tended to disregard the fine details when they were puking, struggling, and suffering together. He had trouble worrying about it.

Oh! Wait! Geyrt thought he was a monster too! Or, maybe just an animal. Yeah, that was what she said, wasn't it? He was Curious George, the magic monkey. He tried to giggle and failed. Oh well, hue hue internally. They really had loaded him up, he couldn't think very well. And he was starting to hurt now.

Outside the door, he heard, some muffled voices. More clearly, Yessiree gave the go ahead "You may enter but be quiet and do not excite him, the drugs are suppressing pain and stress will erode their effect."

Uh oh. But he loved stress! It was his seventh favorite thing. Right next to justifiable homicide. He wanted to see who came in to visit him but he was too busy passing out.

Ulric wasn't high the next time he opened his eyes. He knew that because he was immediately in an absolutely breath-taking amount of pain. Literally breath taking, he'd instinctively gasped before his jaws locked so he didn't scream.

After a few seconds of full body vibration, some part of his brain turned off and he wasn't hurting as much. Now he was just back down to a nice, layered, agony. The effort left him panting, feeling wrung out.

Immediately he flashed back to the hospital room in which he'd learned that his legs wouldn't recover, that he would be an effective cripple.

Ulric suppressed the urge to panic. He'd been burned, not crushed, he still had all his bits. Skin would regrow, eventually. Probably? Did the Elves know how to do skin grafts? Or, you know just magic stuff. He could live with magic stuff, grafts were a messy prolonged thing that took months to heal.

"Self-assess old man." Ulric told the room.

He was alone. His entire body was bandaged, except for his head. He must have covered up by reflex. One arm was in a sling, the entire shoulder area felt not ok. Probably the one that had broken through the heartwood wall of his bathroom. That shit was denser than oak, it was a wonder he hadn't been pasted.

"Bless you Watcher, and both of your perfect boobs." He prayed.

From there down, bandages. He was, as he had realized while thoroughly stoned, double layered. First some kind of silk, probably to reduce the aggravation to his ravaged tissue, and then in a more insulating cloth. He had no clothes. At least the blankets were nice and soft, what little of them he could feel.

Mostly, he was exhausted. Deep down exhausted. And in quite a bit of pain.

With an effort of will, Ulric summoned his status. The news was not good.

[Status]

Name Ulric Einar

Class: Elementalist

Subclass: Warrior

Might

19(+4)

Height

2.08m

 

Grace

17(+4)

Weight

94kg

Impetus

17(+4)

Age

Error! 43/26

Cogitation

21(+9)

Sex

Male

 

 

 

 

Wisdom

16(+14)

Core Resonance: Tempered-Unaspected

 

 

Ingenuity

18(+7)

Sapient Race:

 

 

Durability

16(+4)

Valin* (Highlands tribal)

 

 

Soul

18(+20)

Status: Gravely wounded (-8 all physical parameters), multiple burns of 4th degree, thirty percent third degree, forty percent second degree, five percent first degree, broken collar bone, broken left humorus, exhaustion (forced healing), bruising general, slight deyhydration, naked, Mana saturation

Core Reserve

120%

Core Regen

125%

Base Traits

Reforged, Field Conduit, Core Capacitor, Warrior's Instincts

Titles

Twice Borne, Lord of the Ancient Glade, Destroyer of the Forest Lord, Snake Charmer

Class Traits

Elemental Refinement, Battlemage

Class Skills

Core Pulse, Overcharge

Subclass Traits

Armor Fitting, Basic Weapon Proficiency, Longbow Proficiency

Sublass Skills

Battle Rhythm

Thaumaturgy

Voltaic Grip (V), Flame Crash (V), Hydrocutter (V), Stone Wall (IV), Windscythe (V), Ice Blade (III), Absolute Zero (III), Lightning Javelin (IV), Voltaic Riot (III), Cinder Pearl (III), Cinder Shield (III)

He was pretty fucked up. Since his Reforging, he hadn't been this badly injured, ever. Not even close to it. The depth of his physical trauma was reflected in the fact that he wasn't regenerating stamina at all, which explained the constant physical tiredness. Bruising, general. He would have chuckled if it wouldn't have been excruciating.

What really caught his eye though was his mana value, it was flickering constantly between around ninety-seven and one hundred percent. Normally, at mana saturation, his mana was sitting capped at 110%, and wouldn't his old sports coaches have just yucked it up at that? Now though, it would appear that his core was, somehow, utilizing the excess mana to funnel it into supporting his damaged body. Maybe it was even speeding up his natural healing.

Neat. He was even more grateful for this not quite human body, he totally should have been dead. The explosion that destroyed his room was definitely enough, it had turned his furniture into kindling. Same thing for the second fireball, that kind of scorching could flash fry a normal person. Somehow, he'd absorbed the residual heat into his [Cindershield]. A pretty neat trick that, and something to keep in mind, mana could interact with other mana in ways he hadn't considered. If he weren't so completely drained, he'd love to examine it.

Best not to do anything mana related. A niggling little Something told him keeping his core saturated might be the only difference between being awake and alert and being a vegetable.

What a massively shitty day that had been.

Ulric hoped Bald'rt hadn't minded being stood up on account of he was busy being a smoking ruin.

His brain clicked, and he whispered "Holy shit."

Voice gravely, dried throat hoarse, he found himself narrating the unthinkable to the room, "They went after Irielhos, attacked it directly. They got through the wards. No way it was just that one asshole. How did they get in without Bald'rt knowing? Did they go for anyone else? Did they go after the Iriels?"

Questions raced, slipping away before he could leverage any purchase. He made himself dizzy and had to relax. When the lightheadedness faded, he slowly tried to put the events in order.

First, his room got blasted. Then, somewhere between half a minute and a minute later, Captain Firecracker was floating where his balcony had been and tried to fireball him. Maybe half a minute later, Captain Firecracker's ghost was telling his ancestors about his new lord and savior Thor. After that, Ulric had no idea what might have occurred. So, maybe two minutes, tops, from first strike to sublimation.

No way could that kind of precision been an accident. Mutterings of the recently departed pyromancer suggested that Ulric had been the target, specifically. They knew where he slept. Worse, Captain Firecracker had known where he was, in real time. And, here he'd been unsure if he was a known quantity.

Which brought him to his next question: Who else had been attacked?

Nobody risked this kind of assault unless they planned to make it stick, whatever vulnerability they'd exploited would be closed. No way, this was a one-shot deal that had to make it count. Ulric had fucked up one of their goals, sort of. He might not be dead but he was definitely not going to be dancing anytime soon. So where else had they struck? Bald'rt. Had to be. They wouldn't have done all this for just him. But a play to take out the Blood Moon? That was worth it.

His mutterings and half coherent ramblings were interrupted by the door opening.

Geyrt entered the room stealthily, with a look that suggested she had done this several times already. He could tell because her eyes didn't scan the room layout, she already knew where everything was. She froze when she saw him awake and looking at her, totally deer in the headlights. A moment, and then her usual grace reasserted itself and she closed the door. Gliding, silent steps took her to the chair near the bed and she sat stiffly. She'd been crying. Not for him, he was sure, so things were bad.

"Who else did they try to assassinate Geyrt?" He asked evenly, freezing her again with the question, which she hadn't expected to come so soon.

It took her a few moments before she was ready but he wasn't pressing. He didn't have the strength to argue with her or to deal with any of her usual nonsense. It didn't look like she did either though, and not because she'd been wounded. Unless there was something underneath her clothes, which were back to her Hunter's gear, full combat readiness, she was unharmed.

"There were six definite targets we know of. Other casualties were almost certainly of opportunity, just a case of maximum harm in minimum time. Father, Youngest Brother, Idra'se, the Hunter's Headquarters, the Smithies, and You. One Adept Assault Mage for each target, except for father; they sent twelve for him, led by an arch Cryomancer." She said, devoid of emotion.

"Heir Lumyt'seit was in the presence of his tutors who fought and were slain, though they took their attacker with them leaving him unharmed. Idra'se slew his opponent within moments and went to the aid of my father; he cut down the Cryomancer but was badly wounded and will be bedridden for weeks. We do not know if he will ever be able to fight at full strength without both of his eyes. The Hunters Headquarters are gone, nearly a third of those gathered there are dead or too badly wounded to continue on as Hunters. Iriel has lost an eighth of our total Hunters in the attack. The Smithies are a total loss with at least a dozen of the craftsmen themselves dead or crippled. Father scattered the first seven of his attackers in the first moments of the attack, until the archmage was able to restrain him temporarily. He was able to free himself and destroy the remaining adepts but not before one cut him with a weapon tainted by Aes'r Bane. Bald'rt Iriel, Crown of Orlethrem, [Lord of the Deep Wood] is not expected to survive the night, unless the combined efforts of Bathe, Shor, and Vedyr are able to purge the Bane from his body and mana." She recounted in that same deadened tone.

Ulric closed his eyes and wished he could do the same for his ears.

He didn't want to watch his Shadow weep.

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