The two of them proceeded through the evacuated city. Ulric was incredibly disappointed that this had to be the first way He would experience this bastion of Aes'r-Iriel.
Had it been its usual bustling self he could imagine what kind of geek bonanza it would have been. As it was, it was a testament to the commitment of the people here to preserve life above infrastructure.
He recalled the stories of people refusing to evacuate incoming hurricanes. The news then went on to pretend shock that recovery crews were picking bodies from the wreckage. All the while, he had wondered if it was him, traipsing around in the twilight zone or if they were sane and it was him that was nuts. Turns out, it was a little of column A and a little of column B.
"Brighteyes, where exactly did everybody go?" Ulric prompted, glancing around at the wide, empty bridges and soaring, but vacant pavilions, "Taipan said they were hidden in the deep wood, but I sort of thought Iriel was the deep wood."
The youth turned those flashing eyes to him, so foreign for their shape and the metallic glitter within their irises, "When war threatens we abandon the settlements proper, to hide in prepared fortified positions. These are secret and I cannot tell you their locations or any more about them. It is not that I do not trust you, this is not a Valin thing, the locations are something only the [Lord of the Deep Wood] may reveal, it is simply not my secret to tell." Brighteyes returned.
Ulric wasn't offended in the slightest at this. It was a completely rational thing to preserve the hiding places of your kin. And he told Brighteyes so.
The kid's expression did indicate he was glad that Ulric wouldn't be insulted by the exclusion from this knowledge. They were, at the end of the day, different peoples and had only known one another for a bare month. Comparatively that was an eye blink for these races of pointy eared, not Humans.
Brighteyes did feel comfortable enough to describe the evacuation process though. Ulric listened raptly while they approached a particularly massive tree that stood far above the rest in this area. A spiraling structure wrapped its truck. The tops of the trees in their neck of the woods blocked the sight of the upper stories. Seems like that was their destination. Brighteyes was concluding his story about Iriel'en war stance.
"About the strongholds I can say that they are eons old and all are made of [Heartwood]. Never has an enemy survived long enough to breach the few strongholds, that I know of. Any enemies that find one are not allowed to leave the woods. These are killed to a man to preserve the secret safety of the Iriel'en." the Princeling described.
Grim faced, the boy continued in a tone brooking no sympathy for those who would bring conflict to the lands of his kin, "There are no prisoners in war for Iriel, Ulric. If an enemy lies wounded in the deep wood they are finished and we do not capture foes. We allow enemies to flee the field of battle, to withdraw, if they can survive pursuit by Hunters. Some of the other clans are willing to trade prisoners, to ransom survivers. If this is their choice, so be it, every clan has its own ways. A deep wood elf who decides to become a warrior declares themselves dead when war begins. Their family holds a funeral. Other clans know this, we have no armed conflicts with other tribes of Aes'r, nor the neighboring Svartalfin, the dwarves. Prespang's people forget this, so we must remind them that an enemy's bones belong to the roots in the deep wood."
Intense. Things had spiraled pretty wildly out of control then if these guys were on the war path. All because some greedy, ignorant pricks decided to stir shit and kidnap the prince of the hardest asses in all Elvendom.
They rounded a bend, and Ulric stared covetously at what had to be a cold forge and emptied smithy, how he burned to see metal working from a smith. His attention was diverted, as the pair were confronted with a great lift up to the bottom of that enormous spiraling fortress, church, palace, or whatever the hell it was. And here, Ulric saw the first Elves of the deep wood. To a man they were beautiful. And scary.
Various shades between a dark tan and a near aboriginal ebony were represented. Occasionally, a pale figure stood out, colored like Brighteyes. Hair ranged from the deep black, near blue, of Taipan to an almost reddish brown. Skin color and hair were not connected genetically, some of the darkest faces were bordered by the lightest hair. Eyes were all that slightly slanted almond shape and colors abounded, mostly shades of green, more shades of green than Ulric had ever seen in one place. Intensely staring emerald, lime, olive, celedon, kaitoke, these peered from fine though furrowed brows. Dotted within the group was a few crimsons, golden browns, and light silvers, all flecked with various almost metallic sheens between red and yellow.
They were attired as warriors, bows, spears, fighting knives being the most common. Here and there he saw hand axes and even a couple with a long curved sword nearly as long as its wielder. To a man (or woman, the warriors came as frequently female as male) they wore light armor reminiscent of samurai but without the flashy colors. Underneath the efficient but functional armor was some kind of undercoat made up of what appeared to be metallic fishcales, though he couldn't see it well under the more obvious armor. There was no ceremony in their gear all was grey, brown, and green. Ulric could well imagine that this lot could stand invisible in the wood below or from the branches above.
All in all they made for an intimidating welcome wagon. And Ulric was getting some very "The dwarf breathes so loudly" vibes from them. These dudes were clearly not a happy bunch. Not that Ulric blamed them or anything they had every right to be on edge. Still. Having some two score or so hostile glares directed your way, with plenty of sharp metal behind it, was nerve wracking.
Very carefully not making movements that could be construed as an invitation to be riddled with arrows, Ulric turned to Brighteyes.
"Hey, look, Home Sweet Home, eh? They even rolled out the welcome mat. You ah, you wanna say something to let these fine gentlemen, er, gentle-elfs, know it's all good?" He asked the boy who was now probably his only promise of safe travels.
The Elven lordling was now as relaxed as he'd ever been. He looked up at Ulric and made a soothing gesture.
"It is ok now Ulric, no reason for fear. We are safe here. My father sends his personal guard to escort us, no enemy will come close." Brighteyes assured him.
Stepping forward towards the extremely serious business looking warriors Brighteyes waved almost casually and shouted.
"Idra, I am now returned! I and my companion, who is under my guestright, have already encountered Sister Geyrt. She should have gone ahead to announced us. Please, lead the way to father, there is much to tell. I have been told of war and other doings but we have a another situation that is dire for our people, and closer to home than Prespang."
One of the soldiers near the front of the pack returned Brighteyes greeting, though far more muted. He had the darkest skin tone coupled with reddish brown hair and red orange eyes, flecked gold. Scars criss crossed his otherwise smooth features, one of them dragging up his mouth in a grin that wasn't. They were faded, old, indicating that this warrior had long outlived whoever had managed to touch him. His presence was imposing, he gave off a kind of pressure that Ulric hadn't ever felt from any one thing, except maybe the [Forest Lord], though there was nothing savage in this sensation. More like a tornado that was choosing not to spin.
"Lumyt'seit, the Iriel'en are gladdened beyond words for your safety. But all is not well in Orlethrem. You will go to your father now to learn what has transpired and to receive his judgment. As will your…companion. Forgiveness, I see the wear of the road on you but you must follow me young lord, we go there now to your father's hall." Announced the scarred warrior who must have been Idra.
Most of Brighteyes' enthusiasm left at that pronouncement. The more normal serious expression he wore returned, redoubled, and he gestured for Ulric to follow and Ulric couldn't see anything to do but walk in the shadow of the Elven prince. Coming to visit the Elves was looking like a bad idea, more and more. He could see himself liking them, certainly respecting them, but if they took it into their heads that he was an enemy he knew, without a single, solitary doubt that they'd kill him like a rabid dog.
Soon enough, they stood on the platform, built alike the others with the seamless miracle wood underfoot supported by enormous rope latticework. A soldier activated the lift, a simple hook that was removed from the railing, and the lift rose.
Ulric tried to focus on the mechanism that operated it, rather than the encircling warriors. Probably some sort of passively turning engine powered by water wheel, although the water was far, far below, which meant a complex transmission system, that was likely inactivated by a tensioner clutch or flywheel. Whatever the case the lift rose smoothly other than the initial press of the acceleration. They rose about fifty meters straight up to the lowest level of the structure. Instead of stopping there though they moved on up, bypassing five more landing areas as the structure spiraled around its great living pillar. They broke through the canopy, and Ulric was treated to another sight unmatched.
Below them spread out the forest metropolis of Iriel. From above, the true scope of the deep wood home of the Aes'r could be seen and appreciated. It was as if Peter Jackson and a team of druids got their heads together to magic out the most impressive arboreal city imaginable. If only Ulric wasn't so busy ignoring the gaggle of hostile bodies that could probably murder him in their sleep if they so decided. This close, he noticed that all of them carried scars, some faint, some recent on hands, arms, and more rarely faces. One wore a facemask that held a prosthetic nose where his own had been removed, somehow. Ulric did his best not to insult anybody by staring.
It was slightly difficult. They were prettier than any set of a blockbuster film, scars and all. Bodies ranged from slim to curvaceous but all were clearly athletes. Men and women, it didn't matter, they put to shame any section of humanity he'd ever encountered in his old life. Most were not as tall as Ulric, which made him feel even more out of place. It also made clearer what an absolute specimen Taipan was. She was easily the most well put together member of her kind he'd seen. A jewel carved perfectly from uranium that one was.
He wasn't absolutely sure but something was off about these folk. Unless they purposefully chose only the rarest, most aesthetic for their soldiers, unlikely, there was some serious genetic fuckery going on here. They can't all be this flawless. Maybe this had something to do with the cultivation of the world the Watcher had spoken of. She'd described his own world as being a sort of victim of some kind of cosmic shenanigans by space demons. The Watcher there was gone and his territory left untended. What had the Impossible called it? Evolution through chaos. As apt a way to describe it as any. This world though was under the protection and guidance of its own deity, planetary gardener, thing. The existence of cores and physical optimization he was noting in its organisms was a clear sign that there was a methodological structure pushing things along in a certain direction. Variance was still in full effect, but the more destructive edge of it seemed to have been ground off. He had no idea how such a thing was possible. Yet again he had to chalk this one up in the "Fucking Magic, I guess" column.
His meditation on natural selection and pseudomystical eugenics was cut off when their lift reached the highest level of the fortified structure. Smallest in diameter here, matching the tapering of the tallest tree he'd ever seen outside of the Arboreal skyscrapers of the Plateau, easily dwarfing the surrounding forest, was the palace formed from the flesh of the massive trunk, the great crown spreading widely above and around them.
To his eye, it was both built into and grown out of the central tree. The fortress city in general had that same sort of maybe built maybe not aesthetic. He'd noticed that each spiral was supported by a separate limb, which flew like a curving buttress beneath its respective level and terminated branching outwards away from the structure and trunk alike. Those branches and leaves shielded the structure from view from afar. It was unlikely anyone knew there was a castle in this particular tree unless they also knew exactly where to look. Each level nested a good few meters into the massive trunk, which Ulric would have thought would be detrimental to the tree but he figured they knew what they were doing. Everything about this structure screamed We Are One With the Wood to his senses.
This top most level was near the spreading crown of the giant. Great looped vines, larger than many of the trees of his home world, encircled and draped the branches reaching down into the tree tops below. Ferns, grasses, moss, smaller trees themselves, grew freely on the surface of this monarch. It wasn't as large as the colossi of the plateau, but it was damned close, and if his budding mana sensitivity wasn't off the mark, the entire place damned near vibrated with arcane potency. The wood beneath his boots hummed with its vital strength.
So far as the palatial castle building itself, they were faced with great arching doors, the portal of a massive organic fence that guarded this place, carved to look like intertwined limbs or roots. Some kind of silvery metal had been inlaid along the travel of the meshing wood and the result was, astoundingly, intricately, beautiful. The rest of the design showed a similar level of avante gard bioart and metallic posh. Whoever was the architect, chef's kiss, they had nailed it. This place was sylvan royalty to a T.
The not so unsubtle herding of the warriors brought them through tall halls, many rooms, some with doors and some without, inviting free exploration. Through it all was a sort of airy freshness. Light infiltrated through numerous windows. Ulric was again unsure of how the hell they kept this place heated in the winter. The wind had not relented, had even picked up since the warming spell Brighteyes said heralded a seasonal storm, and there was a distinct draft within the walls of this fortress/palace.
Naked, polished wooden floors abounded, absent any stonework. The elves were, apparently, not great fans of tile, nor did they believe in rugs. You got bare wood floors and you were going to like it. That there was a gentle warmth emanating from that surface that made him think of a spring morning's sun on a back deck made it entirely comfortable to his booted feet. The soft drum of booted feet, his loudest by far, upon the entryway to the hall of the Elven Lord, carried them towards a door most definitely out of fantasy.
Finally, Ulric's gawking came to an end when they were presented with the first large scale metal work he'd seen. A huge, four meter tall set of arched doors, made entirely of what appeared to be brass. Of course, they were inscribed with a relief that suggested vines, flowers, flowing in intricate knots. Plain to see, but with a suggestion of being hidden were nasty looking thorns in the reliefs of verdure. If that wasn't a message he didn't know what was.
The doors were swung open weightlessly towards the outside and Ulric barely had time to appreciate them before they were presented before an audience room complete with a throne carved into the trunk of the living tree upon which sat Taipan, if she'd been born a male. The similarity was highly disturbing. Piercing emerald eyes were almost striated in deep orange. The man, elf, who was clearly Brighteyes' father and ruler here, beheld the room with a countenance that brooked no nonsense. They'd have gotten on well, this man and Ulric's departed grandmother. The major difference was that, if the scarred elf warrior earlier had been a tornado, then the King upon his throne was the eye of a hurricane. Both were disasters, the difference was scale. Ulric's hairs stood on end and the pit of his stomache knotted when that gaze took him in.
He was an ant. A bitey, fierce, and entirely determined ant. But all it took was a thumb to smash him. He tried hard not to unman himself by shaking.
The warriors marched the pair up to a circular relief, some kind of representation of the twin suns of Varda, moons, and various astrological symbols before leaving to stand at attention to either side of the throne.
So then, they were to be judged by the heavens were they? Ulric found himself being mildly angry at the arrogance in that statement, symbolic as it was. The anger was good. It helped to offset the fear. Not to replace it mind, there was no denying the danger before and around him, but it removed the sharper edge from the terror, enough to think.
So caught up had he been, he'd missed that Taipan was up on the dais slightly behind her father. Again, that incredible similarity jarred. Other than a squarer jaw, thinner lips, and a different eye dazzle, to say nothing of the Taipan's incredible bedonk and gabonzas, they were fucking twins, what in the hell? Same height, same hue, same hair, even the braids were similar, if slightly differently patterned.
Taipan must have noticed Ulric's comparison because she turned sideways to make a different profile. Ulric filed that little tell away, it might point to an insecurity he could abuse later in conversation. You know, if he was alive more than the fifteen or so minutes he currently estimated his life expectancy to be. There is, in fact, a point, where fatalism does surpass terror. A sort of comfort blanket for the doomed.
The [Lord of the Deep Wood] let the two of them stew under his gaze for a minute before he started talking. By the time he did, Ulric had managed to transition from certain death to aggravated confusion. Why was he still alive? What was the point of all this song and dance, if they were going to kill him? And, if they were going to kill him anyway, what was the difference? Unless they weren't going to kill him and this was some kind of game. A game Ulric could play, even if he didn't know all the rules, Brighteyes had prepared him some for what to expect.
Ulric was surprised at how grateful he was for Bald'rt, Chief of Iriel, father of Brighteyes, to have a deep voice and not sound like his daughter, which probably meant he was dissociating slightly because he really ought to be more afraid. The mind is strange under intense stress, his was becoming more so as [Warrior's Instinct] kicked on to further dampen him to an almost even keel. He was also incredibly glad of his lessons in the elf tongue. He didn't get it all one for one but he had a pretty good idea of what was going on.
"Lumyt'seit, my son, you are alive and well. This relieves me of a grief beyond words. It is unfortunate that I could not have learned of your safety before now; events have traveled far in advance of your return. I fear things are now in motion that cannot be returned to rest until many lives are lost. I do not say this to lie blame at your feet, my child, the fault lies in those who invaded the sanctity of my domain and laid harm before my people. I only say this so you know that, in some ways, my hands are tied and my disposition is set as the roots of Heartwood. We are at war. The Iriel'en are hidden and the Hunters sharpen their knives. It would seem that a Blood Moon must rise again on Prespang." The lord of the wood intoned gravely.
That's where the kid learned to talk like a judge then, Ulric thought. Every word carried the weight of a ruler who was committed to doing great and terrible things in the name of preserving his people's home. Brighteyes, cheeky as he was, did not offer a response and Ulric was pretty sure that he would not until one was asked.
That heavy gaze turned to Ulric and he was proud of himself for not flinching. This being on his wooden throne was easily the scariest thing he'd seen since the [Forest Lord]. The mind behind those eyes was dissecting the world, sharp as glassresin.
"And then there is the matter of you, Human. You have come here to Elven land under the guest right of my son, but I have not given you leave to enter the Deep Wood, and your presence here is, by my word of old, a death sentence. I will hear from Lumyt'seit the reason for your why he has brought you to my lands. But first: Is it true you struck my daughter, Human?"
That got up Ulric's back alright. So he'd ask Brighteyes with Ulric standing right here would he? As if his own thoughts on the matter were of no consequence. Not to mention, he hadn't bothered to so much as introduce himself, nor make a welcome, nor offer a courtesy of any kind. Hauled straight into an inquisition, and on account of a person who had not once, but twice, tried to kill him, maybe three times if you included not mentioning the godsdamned poison on her arrows and waiting for him to expire. And again with all this Human stuff, like not having pointy ears was the only thing that mattered.
Fine. If it's got to be this way, then fine. Sometimes a man has to face the lightning, prepared to go out with his boots on. You only live once. Well, maybe, in his case, twice.
"Greetings to you as well, anonymous Elf Lord. The courtesy of your hall warms the heart of all who visit, I am sure." He began.
Brighteyes turned violently and began making shushing gestures. Ulric could feel the sharpening of intents from the assembled warriors.
An almost smile appeared on the face of Taipan, mirrored creepily by her father on his throne. Fuck he wished they'd stop doing that.
"Oh? And who is it that finds the accommodations of Bald'rt Iriel [Lord of the Deep Woods] lacking? And you still have not answered my question, thou of the short lived races." Lord Father Bald'rt said, a dangerous tone slipping into his voice.
"Some lives are shorter than others, Lordship, birth race be damned. The name of the one responsible for taking custody of your heir, slaying his enemies, nursing him back to health, and preserving his safety all the long way from the [Plateau of Ancient's] is Ulric Einar [Lord of the Ancient Glade]. And as to your daughter, I did not so much strike her as I did throw her to the ground and run Ceraun down her until she behaved, a condition that was tragically brief in its duration." Ulric said evenly.
When the smile disappeared from Taipan's face Ulric decided that this was all the reward life could have offered in that moment. Her Sire, of course, did not find this information to be so welcome. Brighteyes was on the verge of an outburst and was only restraining himself by the skin of his teeth.
"[Lord of the Ancient Glade]? You would have the cheek to lay claim to that sacred wild from its owner and parade such falsehood in front of me? And to have brought pain to my innocent offspring to boot? There will be an accounting for this--"
This fucking guy Ulric thought.
"Ask her yourself, this blameless child of yours." He said, cutting off the owner of the hall, ignoring the sudden quiet in the room.
"If my word means so little to you, ask her who has already [Scan]'ed me for the truth of things. Ask her also how it came to be that I inflicted such punishment on her person. And if you say a single false word, Taipan, I will trust Lumyt'seit to judge my challenge, as he has offered." Ulric growled, his poor but sufficient Elvish reminding the woman of her brother's warning.
He had long ago decided that he would not be held under another's power. Live or die. If someone wanted to think they held him in their grip then he'd leave this world with his teeth in their hand, if needs be. That he would be subjected to this kind of treatment was beyond galling. It was infuriating. That whispering voice of violent intent was singing sweet songs in his mind now. Somebody was going to pay for this. He didn't really mind who anymore.
Brighteyes finally broke his silence.
"This is unjust father. You dishonor me with such treatment. If this man were of a kind with the ones who took me he would lie dead in the woods already, at my own hands. He has come with me in good faith, to bring weight to my news that the [Forest Lord] has fallen and that the Plateau now seethes. The forests will move, the Greater Beasts are disturbed and will soon vie for the space the [Forest Lord] occupied. We face danger from inside the wood, and from the plateau. In no way does my guest merit such questioning. If anything, I am to blame for these events, I was foolish enough to be taken. Then I was too weak to return by myself, forcing this man to accompany me, on the brink of Winter, from his home. I will not have my guest subjected to this charade father. We will hear Geyrt tell her story openly, and then I will tell mine, and then you may judge before all."
The boy was clearly livid. It made Ulric a little happy that he'd put himself out there like that, even in front of this father about whom he was clearly in awe. For that matter, Ulric was a little in awe of him too. But he'd go to his grave before he let them know he could sweat.
Bald'rt Iriel was not a person accustomed to being interrupted in his own throne room. He let the feeling of that swirl around in his mind and was readying a death sentence when his only son also spoke out of turn. Now here was something.
The Elven lord's fingers tapped absently on his chin as he considered murder, mercy, and the possibilities before him. Eventually he spoke, a winter lake's calm in his tone.
"Very well then, Lumyt'seit. You have grown in attitude, if not stature, on your journey. Before I ask for your sister's tale, in full, I would have yours. I have already heard some of what Geyrt has to say, and I have already learned some of what she has not said from other eyes and ears. Tell me what has transpired to throw all of Iriel into upheaval. It may be that I was too hasty, that I owe both of you an apology. It may also be that I will declare you exiled for ten years to your mother's homeland and your human guest thrown from my borders like a thief, if I do not take the pleasure of killing him myself out-right."
Brighteyes looked relieved. Apparently the worst moment was past. Ulric himself was not convinced. He felt like something non obvious was going on here, like there were layers to this meeting beyond what was being said. Brighteyes had spoken of his father like a hero. The kid wasn't an idiot and, if Ulric was any judge of character at all, the Chief of Iriel was a lot more than a pretentious thug. So why this song and dance? Things had gone too fast, too much happening, too much information coming in and him being alternately too scared and pissed to catch on before, but now he was getting some weird vibes as the lizard in his skull started crunching numbers.
There was some definite elf cultural fuckery about. He been feeling the edges of it ever since Brighteyes had sort of taken custody of him and he could feel layers of it, like a movement in the corner of his eyes, just out of sight. He didn't understand what was going on around him, but he knew he'd been dragged to the center of something important.
Looking around the room full of armed to the teeth elder warriors who could carve him to pieces, and the creature upon the throne that could pronounce his death with a word or cause it with his will alone, and Ulric missed his home something fierce.
The two of them proceeded through the evacuated city. Ulric was incredibly disappointed that this had to be the first way He would experience this bastion of Aes'r-Iriel.
Had it been its usual bustling self he could imagine what kind of geek bonanza it would have been. As it was, it was a testament to the commitment of the people here to preserve life above infrastructure.
He recalled the stories of people refusing to evacuate incoming hurricanes. The news then went on to pretend shock that recovery crews were picking bodies from the wreckage. All the while, he had wondered if it was him, traipsing around in the twilight zone or if they were sane and it was him that was nuts. Turns out, it was a little of column A and a little of column B.
"Brighteyes, where exactly did everybody go?" Ulric prompted, glancing around at the wide, empty bridges and soaring, but vacant pavilions, "Taipan said they were hidden in the deep wood, but I sort of thought Iriel was the deep wood."
The youth turned those flashing eyes to him, so foreign for their shape and the metallic glitter within their irises, "When war threatens we abandon the settlements proper, to hide in prepared fortified positions. These are secret and I cannot tell you their locations or any more about them. It is not that I do not trust you, this is not a Valin thing, the locations are something only the [Lord of the Deep Wood] may reveal, it is simply not my secret to tell." Brighteyes returned.
Ulric wasn't offended in the slightest at this. It was a completely rational thing to preserve the hiding places of your kin. And he told Brighteyes so.
The kid's expression did indicate he was glad that Ulric wouldn't be insulted by the exclusion from this knowledge. They were, at the end of the day, different peoples and had only known one another for a bare month. Comparatively that was an eye blink for these races of pointy eared, not Humans.
Brighteyes did feel comfortable enough to describe the evacuation process though. Ulric listened raptly while they approached a particularly massive tree that stood far above the rest in this area. A spiraling structure wrapped its truck. The tops of the trees in their neck of the woods blocked the sight of the upper stories. Seems like that was their destination. Brighteyes was concluding his story about Iriel'en war stance.
"About the strongholds I can say that they are eons old and all are made of [Heartwood]. Never has an enemy survived long enough to breach the few strongholds, that I know of. Any enemies that find one are not allowed to leave the woods. These are killed to a man to preserve the secret safety of the Iriel'en." the Princeling described.
Grim faced, the boy continued in a tone brooking no sympathy for those who would bring conflict to the lands of his kin, "There are no prisoners in war for Iriel, Ulric. If an enemy lies wounded in the deep wood they are finished and we do not capture foes. We allow enemies to flee the field of battle, to withdraw, if they can survive pursuit by Hunters. Some of the other clans are willing to trade prisoners, to ransom survivers. If this is their choice, so be it, every clan has its own ways. A deep wood elf who decides to become a warrior declares themselves dead when war begins. Their family holds a funeral. Other clans know this, we have no armed conflicts with other tribes of Aes'r, nor the neighboring Svartalfin, the dwarves. Prespang's people forget this, so we must remind them that an enemy's bones belong to the roots in the deep wood."
Intense. Things had spiraled pretty wildly out of control then if these guys were on the war path. All because some greedy, ignorant pricks decided to stir shit and kidnap the prince of the hardest asses in all Elvendom.
They rounded a bend, and Ulric stared covetously at what had to be a cold forge and emptied smithy, how he burned to see metal working from a smith. His attention was diverted, as the pair were confronted with a great lift up to the bottom of that enormous spiraling fortress, church, palace, or whatever the hell it was. And here, Ulric saw the first Elves of the deep wood. To a man they were beautiful. And scary.
Various shades between a dark tan and a near aboriginal ebony were represented. Occasionally, a pale figure stood out, colored like Brighteyes. Hair ranged from the deep black, near blue, of Taipan to an almost reddish brown. Skin color and hair were not connected genetically, some of the darkest faces were bordered by the lightest hair. Eyes were all that slightly slanted almond shape and colors abounded, mostly shades of green, more shades of green than Ulric had ever seen in one place. Intensely staring emerald, lime, olive, celedon, kaitoke, these peered from fine though furrowed brows. Dotted within the group was a few crimsons, golden browns, and light silvers, all flecked with various almost metallic sheens between red and yellow.
They were attired as warriors, bows, spears, fighting knives being the most common. Here and there he saw hand axes and even a couple with a long curved sword nearly as long as its wielder. To a man (or woman, the warriors came as frequently female as male) they wore light armor reminiscent of samurai but without the flashy colors. Underneath the efficient but functional armor was some kind of undercoat made up of what appeared to be metallic fishcales, though he couldn't see it well under the more obvious armor. There was no ceremony in their gear all was grey, brown, and green. Ulric could well imagine that this lot could stand invisible in the wood below or from the branches above.
All in all they made for an intimidating welcome wagon. And Ulric was getting some very "The dwarf breathes so loudly" vibes from them. These dudes were clearly not a happy bunch. Not that Ulric blamed them or anything they had every right to be on edge. Still. Having some two score or so hostile glares directed your way, with plenty of sharp metal behind it, was nerve wracking.
Very carefully not making movements that could be construed as an invitation to be riddled with arrows, Ulric turned to Brighteyes.
"Hey, look, Home Sweet Home, eh? They even rolled out the welcome mat. You ah, you wanna say something to let these fine gentlemen, er, gentle-elfs, know it's all good?" He asked the boy who was now probably his only promise of safe travels.
The Elven lordling was now as relaxed as he'd ever been. He looked up at Ulric and made a soothing gesture.
"It is ok now Ulric, no reason for fear. We are safe here. My father sends his personal guard to escort us, no enemy will come close." Brighteyes assured him.
Stepping forward towards the extremely serious business looking warriors Brighteyes waved almost casually and shouted.
"Idra, I am now returned! I and my companion, who is under my guestright, have already encountered Sister Geyrt. She should have gone ahead to announced us. Please, lead the way to father, there is much to tell. I have been told of war and other doings but we have a another situation that is dire for our people, and closer to home than Prespang."
One of the soldiers near the front of the pack returned Brighteyes greeting, though far more muted. He had the darkest skin tone coupled with reddish brown hair and red orange eyes, flecked gold. Scars criss crossed his otherwise smooth features, one of them dragging up his mouth in a grin that wasn't. They were faded, old, indicating that this warrior had long outlived whoever had managed to touch him. His presence was imposing, he gave off a kind of pressure that Ulric hadn't ever felt from any one thing, except maybe the [Forest Lord], though there was nothing savage in this sensation. More like a tornado that was choosing not to spin.
"Lumyt'seit, the Iriel'en are gladdened beyond words for your safety. But all is not well in Orlethrem. You will go to your father now to learn what has transpired and to receive his judgment. As will your…companion. Forgiveness, I see the wear of the road on you but you must follow me young lord, we go there now to your father's hall." Announced the scarred warrior who must have been Idra.
Most of Brighteyes' enthusiasm left at that pronouncement. The more normal serious expression he wore returned, redoubled, and he gestured for Ulric to follow and Ulric couldn't see anything to do but walk in the shadow of the Elven prince. Coming to visit the Elves was looking like a bad idea, more and more. He could see himself liking them, certainly respecting them, but if they took it into their heads that he was an enemy he knew, without a single, solitary doubt that they'd kill him like a rabid dog.
Soon enough, they stood on the platform, built alike the others with the seamless miracle wood underfoot supported by enormous rope latticework. A soldier activated the lift, a simple hook that was removed from the railing, and the lift rose.
Ulric tried to focus on the mechanism that operated it, rather than the encircling warriors. Probably some sort of passively turning engine powered by water wheel, although the water was far, far below, which meant a complex transmission system, that was likely inactivated by a tensioner clutch or flywheel. Whatever the case the lift rose smoothly other than the initial press of the acceleration. They rose about fifty meters straight up to the lowest level of the structure. Instead of stopping there though they moved on up, bypassing five more landing areas as the structure spiraled around its great living pillar. They broke through the canopy, and Ulric was treated to another sight unmatched.
Below them spread out the forest metropolis of Iriel. From above, the true scope of the deep wood home of the Aes'r could be seen and appreciated. It was as if Peter Jackson and a team of druids got their heads together to magic out the most impressive arboreal city imaginable. If only Ulric wasn't so busy ignoring the gaggle of hostile bodies that could probably murder him in their sleep if they so decided. This close, he noticed that all of them carried scars, some faint, some recent on hands, arms, and more rarely faces. One wore a facemask that held a prosthetic nose where his own had been removed, somehow. Ulric did his best not to insult anybody by staring.
It was slightly difficult. They were prettier than any set of a blockbuster film, scars and all. Bodies ranged from slim to curvaceous but all were clearly athletes. Men and women, it didn't matter, they put to shame any section of humanity he'd ever encountered in his old life. Most were not as tall as Ulric, which made him feel even more out of place. It also made clearer what an absolute specimen Taipan was. She was easily the most well put together member of her kind he'd seen. A jewel carved perfectly from uranium that one was.
He wasn't absolutely sure but something was off about these folk. Unless they purposefully chose only the rarest, most aesthetic for their soldiers, unlikely, there was some serious genetic fuckery going on here. They can't all be this flawless. Maybe this had something to do with the cultivation of the world the Watcher had spoken of. She'd described his own world as being a sort of victim of some kind of cosmic shenanigans by space demons. The Watcher there was gone and his territory left untended. What had the Impossible called it? Evolution through chaos. As apt a way to describe it as any. This world though was under the protection and guidance of its own deity, planetary gardener, thing. The existence of cores and physical optimization he was noting in its organisms was a clear sign that there was a methodological structure pushing things along in a certain direction. Variance was still in full effect, but the more destructive edge of it seemed to have been ground off. He had no idea how such a thing was possible. Yet again he had to chalk this one up in the "Fucking Magic, I guess" column.
His meditation on natural selection and pseudomystical eugenics was cut off when their lift reached the highest level of the fortified structure. Smallest in diameter here, matching the tapering of the tallest tree he'd ever seen outside of the Arboreal skyscrapers of the Plateau, easily dwarfing the surrounding forest, was the palace formed from the flesh of the massive trunk, the great crown spreading widely above and around them.
To his eye, it was both built into and grown out of the central tree. The fortress city in general had that same sort of maybe built maybe not aesthetic. He'd noticed that each spiral was supported by a separate limb, which flew like a curving buttress beneath its respective level and terminated branching outwards away from the structure and trunk alike. Those branches and leaves shielded the structure from view from afar. It was unlikely anyone knew there was a castle in this particular tree unless they also knew exactly where to look. Each level nested a good few meters into the massive trunk, which Ulric would have thought would be detrimental to the tree but he figured they knew what they were doing. Everything about this structure screamed We Are One With the Wood to his senses.
This top most level was near the spreading crown of the giant. Great looped vines, larger than many of the trees of his home world, encircled and draped the branches reaching down into the tree tops below. Ferns, grasses, moss, smaller trees themselves, grew freely on the surface of this monarch. It wasn't as large as the colossi of the plateau, but it was damned close, and if his budding mana sensitivity wasn't off the mark, the entire place damned near vibrated with arcane potency. The wood beneath his boots hummed with its vital strength.
So far as the palatial castle building itself, they were faced with great arching doors, the portal of a massive organic fence that guarded this place, carved to look like intertwined limbs or roots. Some kind of silvery metal had been inlaid along the travel of the meshing wood and the result was, astoundingly, intricately, beautiful. The rest of the design showed a similar level of avante gard bioart and metallic posh. Whoever was the architect, chef's kiss, they had nailed it. This place was sylvan royalty to a T.
The not so unsubtle herding of the warriors brought them through tall halls, many rooms, some with doors and some without, inviting free exploration. Through it all was a sort of airy freshness. Light infiltrated through numerous windows. Ulric was again unsure of how the hell they kept this place heated in the winter. The wind had not relented, had even picked up since the warming spell Brighteyes said heralded a seasonal storm, and there was a distinct draft within the walls of this fortress/palace.
Naked, polished wooden floors abounded, absent any stonework. The elves were, apparently, not great fans of tile, nor did they believe in rugs. You got bare wood floors and you were going to like it. That there was a gentle warmth emanating from that surface that made him think of a spring morning's sun on a back deck made it entirely comfortable to his booted feet. The soft drum of booted feet, his loudest by far, upon the entryway to the hall of the Elven Lord, carried them towards a door most definitely out of fantasy.
Finally, Ulric's gawking came to an end when they were presented with the first large scale metal work he'd seen. A huge, four meter tall set of arched doors, made entirely of what appeared to be brass. Of course, they were inscribed with a relief that suggested vines, flowers, flowing in intricate knots. Plain to see, but with a suggestion of being hidden were nasty looking thorns in the reliefs of verdure. If that wasn't a message he didn't know what was.
The doors were swung open weightlessly towards the outside and Ulric barely had time to appreciate them before they were presented before an audience room complete with a throne carved into the trunk of the living tree upon which sat Taipan, if she'd been born a male. The similarity was highly disturbing. Piercing emerald eyes were almost striated in deep orange. The man, elf, who was clearly Brighteyes' father and ruler here, beheld the room with a countenance that brooked no nonsense. They'd have gotten on well, this man and Ulric's departed grandmother. The major difference was that, if the scarred elf warrior earlier had been a tornado, then the King upon his throne was the eye of a hurricane. Both were disasters, the difference was scale. Ulric's hairs stood on end and the pit of his stomache knotted when that gaze took him in.
He was an ant. A bitey, fierce, and entirely determined ant. But all it took was a thumb to smash him. He tried hard not to unman himself by shaking.
The warriors marched the pair up to a circular relief, some kind of representation of the twin suns of Varda, moons, and various astrological symbols before leaving to stand at attention to either side of the throne.
So then, they were to be judged by the heavens were they? Ulric found himself being mildly angry at the arrogance in that statement, symbolic as it was. The anger was good. It helped to offset the fear. Not to replace it mind, there was no denying the danger before and around him, but it removed the sharper edge from the terror, enough to think.
So caught up had he been, he'd missed that Taipan was up on the dais slightly behind her father. Again, that incredible similarity jarred. Other than a squarer jaw, thinner lips, and a different eye dazzle, to say nothing of the Taipan's incredible bedonk and gabonzas, they were fucking twins, what in the hell? Same height, same hue, same hair, even the braids were similar, if slightly differently patterned.
Taipan must have noticed Ulric's comparison because she turned sideways to make a different profile. Ulric filed that little tell away, it might point to an insecurity he could abuse later in conversation. You know, if he was alive more than the fifteen or so minutes he currently estimated his life expectancy to be. There is, in fact, a point, where fatalism does surpass terror. A sort of comfort blanket for the doomed.
The [Lord of the Deep Wood] let the two of them stew under his gaze for a minute before he started talking. By the time he did, Ulric had managed to transition from certain death to aggravated confusion. Why was he still alive? What was the point of all this song and dance, if they were going to kill him? And, if they were going to kill him anyway, what was the difference? Unless they weren't going to kill him and this was some kind of game. A game Ulric could play, even if he didn't know all the rules, Brighteyes had prepared him some for what to expect.
Ulric was surprised at how grateful he was for Bald'rt, Chief of Iriel, father of Brighteyes, to have a deep voice and not sound like his daughter, which probably meant he was dissociating slightly because he really ought to be more afraid. The mind is strange under intense stress, his was becoming more so as [Warrior's Instinct] kicked on to further dampen him to an almost even keel. He was also incredibly glad of his lessons in the elf tongue. He didn't get it all one for one but he had a pretty good idea of what was going on.
"Lumyt'seit, my son, you are alive and well. This relieves me of a grief beyond words. It is unfortunate that I could not have learned of your safety before now; events have traveled far in advance of your return. I fear things are now in motion that cannot be returned to rest until many lives are lost. I do not say this to lie blame at your feet, my child, the fault lies in those who invaded the sanctity of my domain and laid harm before my people. I only say this so you know that, in some ways, my hands are tied and my disposition is set as the roots of Heartwood. We are at war. The Iriel'en are hidden and the Hunters sharpen their knives. It would seem that a Blood Moon must rise again on Prespang." The lord of the wood intoned gravely.
That's where the kid learned to talk like a judge then, Ulric thought. Every word carried the weight of a ruler who was committed to doing great and terrible things in the name of preserving his people's home. Brighteyes, cheeky as he was, did not offer a response and Ulric was pretty sure that he would not until one was asked.
That heavy gaze turned to Ulric and he was proud of himself for not flinching. This being on his wooden throne was easily the scariest thing he'd seen since the [Forest Lord]. The mind behind those eyes was dissecting the world, sharp as glassresin.
"And then there is the matter of you, Human. You have come here to Elven land under the guest right of my son, but I have not given you leave to enter the Deep Wood, and your presence here is, by my word of old, a death sentence. I will hear from Lumyt'seit the reason for your why he has brought you to my lands. But first: Is it true you struck my daughter, Human?"
That got up Ulric's back alright. So he'd ask Brighteyes with Ulric standing right here would he? As if his own thoughts on the matter were of no consequence. Not to mention, he hadn't bothered to so much as introduce himself, nor make a welcome, nor offer a courtesy of any kind. Hauled straight into an inquisition, and on account of a person who had not once, but twice, tried to kill him, maybe three times if you included not mentioning the godsdamned poison on her arrows and waiting for him to expire. And again with all this Human stuff, like not having pointy ears was the only thing that mattered.
Fine. If it's got to be this way, then fine. Sometimes a man has to face the lightning, prepared to go out with his boots on. You only live once. Well, maybe, in his case, twice.
"Greetings to you as well, anonymous Elf Lord. The courtesy of your hall warms the heart of all who visit, I am sure." He began.
Brighteyes turned violently and began making shushing gestures. Ulric could feel the sharpening of intents from the assembled warriors.
An almost smile appeared on the face of Taipan, mirrored creepily by her father on his throne. Fuck he wished they'd stop doing that.
"Oh? And who is it that finds the accommodations of Bald'rt Iriel [Lord of the Deep Woods] lacking? And you still have not answered my question, thou of the short lived races." Lord Father Bald'rt said, a dangerous tone slipping into his voice.
"Some lives are shorter than others, Lordship, birth race be damned. The name of the one responsible for taking custody of your heir, slaying his enemies, nursing him back to health, and preserving his safety all the long way from the [Plateau of Ancient's] is Ulric Einar [Lord of the Ancient Glade]. And as to your daughter, I did not so much strike her as I did throw her to the ground and run Ceraun down her until she behaved, a condition that was tragically brief in its duration." Ulric said evenly.
When the smile disappeared from Taipan's face Ulric decided that this was all the reward life could have offered in that moment. Her Sire, of course, did not find this information to be so welcome. Brighteyes was on the verge of an outburst and was only restraining himself by the skin of his teeth.
"[Lord of the Ancient Glade]? You would have the cheek to lay claim to that sacred wild from its owner and parade such falsehood in front of me? And to have brought pain to my innocent offspring to boot? There will be an accounting for this--"
This fucking guy Ulric thought.
"Ask her yourself, this blameless child of yours." He said, cutting off the owner of the hall, ignoring the sudden quiet in the room.
"If my word means so little to you, ask her who has already [Scan]'ed me for the truth of things. Ask her also how it came to be that I inflicted such punishment on her person. And if you say a single false word, Taipan, I will trust Lumyt'seit to judge my challenge, as he has offered." Ulric growled, his poor but sufficient Elvish reminding the woman of her brother's warning.
He had long ago decided that he would not be held under another's power. Live or die. If someone wanted to think they held him in their grip then he'd leave this world with his teeth in their hand, if needs be. That he would be subjected to this kind of treatment was beyond galling. It was infuriating. That whispering voice of violent intent was singing sweet songs in his mind now. Somebody was going to pay for this. He didn't really mind who anymore.
Brighteyes finally broke his silence.
"This is unjust father. You dishonor me with such treatment. If this man were of a kind with the ones who took me he would lie dead in the woods already, at my own hands. He has come with me in good faith, to bring weight to my news that the [Forest Lord] has fallen and that the Plateau now seethes. The forests will move, the Greater Beasts are disturbed and will soon vie for the space the [Forest Lord] occupied. We face danger from inside the wood, and from the plateau. In no way does my guest merit such questioning. If anything, I am to blame for these events, I was foolish enough to be taken. Then I was too weak to return by myself, forcing this man to accompany me, on the brink of Winter, from his home. I will not have my guest subjected to this charade father. We will hear Geyrt tell her story openly, and then I will tell mine, and then you may judge before all."
The boy was clearly livid. It made Ulric a little happy that he'd put himself out there like that, even in front of this father about whom he was clearly in awe. For that matter, Ulric was a little in awe of him too. But he'd go to his grave before he let them know he could sweat.
Bald'rt Iriel was not a person accustomed to being interrupted in his own throne room. He let the feeling of that swirl around in his mind and was readying a death sentence when his only son also spoke out of turn. Now here was something.
The Elven lord's fingers tapped absently on his chin as he considered murder, mercy, and the possibilities before him. Eventually he spoke, a winter lake's calm in his tone.
"Very well then, Lumyt'seit. You have grown in attitude, if not stature, on your journey. Before I ask for your sister's tale, in full, I would have yours. I have already heard some of what Geyrt has to say, and I have already learned some of what she has not said from other eyes and ears. Tell me what has transpired to throw all of Iriel into upheaval. It may be that I was too hasty, that I owe both of you an apology. It may also be that I will declare you exiled for ten years to your mother's homeland and your human guest thrown from my borders like a thief, if I do not take the pleasure of killing him myself out-right."
Brighteyes looked relieved. Apparently the worst moment was past. Ulric himself was not convinced. He felt like something non obvious was going on here, like there were layers to this meeting beyond what was being said. Brighteyes had spoken of his father like a hero. The kid wasn't an idiot and, if Ulric was any judge of character at all, the Chief of Iriel was a lot more than a pretentious thug. So why this song and dance? Things had gone too fast, too much happening, too much information coming in and him being alternately too scared and pissed to catch on before, but now he was getting some weird vibes as the lizard in his skull started crunching numbers.
There was some definite elf cultural fuckery about. He been feeling the edges of it ever since Brighteyes had sort of taken custody of him and he could feel layers of it, like a movement in the corner of his eyes, just out of sight. He didn't understand what was going on around him, but he knew he'd been dragged to the center of something important.
Looking around the room full of armed to the teeth elder warriors who could carve him to pieces, and the creature upon the throne that could pronounce his death with a word or cause it with his will alone, and Ulric missed his home something fierce.
