For two days, Ulric did little other than attempt to manipulate his magic, to use the spellforms that he’d trained to mastery. Under tutelage of Shor, Bathe, and Vedyr he’d found some measure of aptitude for magecraft, had applied the principles of his Earthen science to hone their mental algorithms so finely polished and mana flows refined to perfection, as denoted by the Akashic’s bestowal of the coveted rank V moniker for true comprehension. Nothing was working correctly, even when it did anything at all.
Once more, Ulric drew heavily on his awakened core, the ever moving mana racing through him unlike the placid forms before. He focused his will on the eternally self-searching Ceraun and pulled it into unaspected form the neutral mana from which he could then shape Infrig.
Hardening his will and keeping the image of the frozen blade clear in his mind he failed completely, again, to cast [Ice Blade]. A drawing up of ice, only for the crystal to shift and shatter, diamond dust glittering in the air, drifting, as the spell unraveled. This was the third time in a row.
"Seven hells!" Ulric yelled, frustrated.
At Gother's prompting he'd begun manipulating his mana, reverting it and then reshaping it to make his standard list of spells. It was exceedingly difficult and far slower than he was accustomed. He felt almost like he'd taken a step backwards in his magical prowess. He hadn't been this slow to get these mental algorithms rolling since he'd initially taught himself the magic way, way back in around his campfire lit evenings in the glade.
If he'd had this much trouble when that mage attacked him he'd be a dead man. Hell, he probably would have struggled to cast well enough to kill the [Heckler Monkeys]. This sucked.
"This sucks." He told the room, speaking to no one in particular.
"Is awakening your core supposed to be a good thing?" Ulric asked sarcastically.
"Your core, the instrument of your connection between Varda's manasphere and your will, has been rebuilt entirely. It is the first days, give it some time." Suggested Taipan.
Instead of saying "You give it some time." like a juvenile, Ulric merely thought it. Like a juvenile. Damnit, he was feeling inadequate now that one of his greatest weapons had been pretty effectively neutered.
Breathing deeply a few times to recenter, Ulric broke down and asked.
"Okay, what am I doing wrong? The spell feels like it's…falling apart, somehow. Like it vibrates as the mana forms."
Gother stroked his beard and waved a hand as if it was to be expected.
"It's to be expected." He said.
Ulric very carefully did not spit on the ground.
"Your core is attuned to Ceraun now Glade Chief. Ceraun, by its nature is in motion. It is heavily composed of Motis, the primordial mana form of movement. By contrast, Infrig has a most predominant component of Desidia, unmotion. These two are incompatible and your attempts to revert your mana are failing to purify the mana completely. Think of it in this way, your mana is Vanished Night but you are trying to create pure water, even the slightest imperfection of your distillations is going to cause the Motis left behind to contaminate, breaking apart the Infrig matrix." Gother said, in the most drawn out way to say "Git gud" possible.
Ulric sighed. At least most of his other spells were fine. A little slow, but still potent. [Stone Wall] didn't want to fine down like he'd done to make the track on their wild ride back to Irielhos from the [Ancient's Plateau] but he could live with that. Not having access to an entire element was different. He'd have to live with it a while though, Gother had suggested that it could be years before he was back to full speed with his other than lightning magics.
"Too much bitterness ruins the Kav tea, Glade Chief." Instructor Gother said, with a loud clap of hands that nearly pulled a jump from Ulric as he wallowed in his own incompetence.
"Let us instead, demonstrate the advantage of the new Adept, unable to effectively multitask, over the Apprentice with their flexible, but less focused magics." the Elf suggested, "Use your most potent Ceraun spell, to see how it has changed. Allow your newly awakened core to truly flex its might."
At this point, Ulric was down for some wanton destruction.
Ulric drew one of the small throwing knives he now had strapped on over his pants, a practice he had neglected since going unarmored in the fortress but now resumed since he'd recovered from the attack. The armor itself was still in the possession of Uldin and that was on Ulric's to do list. The burly Smith had been swamped with trying to make up the shortfalls of a dozen or so of his colleagues being murdered by the shitbird mage hit squad.
Ulric had decided to just let the man work, fucking with artisans was a good way to have your stuff done sometime next decade.
"Alright, here we go."
Ulric sent his mind down the familiar pathways, the mental circuit to produce the flow of charge and found that he was wasting his time. He didn't need to do that anymore, Ceraun was moving already. All he had to do was suggest that it should move faster and it did. Power cycled from his core at an alarming rate. A random arc of violet light leapt from the hand holding the knife to burn a scar across the floor before it jumped to track another wriggling line of char. Ulric had to clamp down on his mana, to harden his control over the flows. He'd hit breakdown so fast he hadn't realized he was there yet. It was so…natural.
A casual throw of the knife sent it spinning to strike the wooden target, damaged slightly from the earlier practice. As the hilt bounced from the dense wood, Ulric released the torrent that had been building at an alarming rate.
[Lightning Javalin]
HISS. BOOOOMM.
The wooden pillar exploded into kindling and flaming shrapnel, scattering small torches across the amphitheater.
Ulric was stunned. That was even stronger than the overcharged version he'd used against Captain Firecracker. The same mage who'd basically shrugged off his best shot using juiced up [Cinderpearls].
Taipan had covered her ears, prepared for the incredibly disorienting blast of sound, especially for sensitive Elven hearing.
Even better, at the moment of release Ulric could feel that he could do much, much better. He didn't have to fight the mana any longer, it moved at a whim, rather than being driven. The real problem was keeping it from lashing out at random.
Gother looked at the smoking wreck of his pillar and glanced towards Ulric.
"I had heard that you were able to join with the flow of Ceraun but I hadn't believed it. Surely, they mispoke. But no, there is no doubt, you are indeed touching the energy even as it turns loose its destruction. Perhaps you did not draw the Primordial's attention by accident at all." Hypothesized the Wizard.
This was just knowing what electricity is being put to work. Applied fundamental theories of physics, that's all. And, if it was now so easy to manipulate the movements of charges and fields, he was going to start figuring out how to do the fancy shit. Electromagnetism. Lasers. Radar. The stuff that would put him in a new weight class as far as his offensive and defensive spells were concerned.
Try ambushing me when I've got a goddamned heart beat sensor field that extends a half click out you bastards.
Ulric was still holding a grudge on account of the burning. The maddened whisper of rage and murder that liked to occupy his brainstem urged him to go forth and share that grudge before he stepped on it. It could be distracting, going on like that.
"Now, let us see the spell that was the end of the last Guardian of the Ancient's Plateau." Requested Gother.
This was an oldie but a goodie. The twice evolved spell had begun as something he had to be touching to use and had metamorphed into a devastating single tendril of power that extended some two or so meters away. Ulric had considered it to be something of a trump card for melee combat. Not much would stand up to having a souped up arc welder applied to it.
Easy as thought he called up the flow of energy, mana eager for release. Directing it was the problem. It had a natural tendency to reach out towards things he concentrated on, fortunately or he'd have never been able to use it without risking killing everything around him. It similarly had a tendency to reach towards other things after those first things were destroyed unless he shifted his focus. Just letting it run loose made it ground against the floor nearby.
Ulric started to release it, but held his hand. Wait a second. A shifted focus, a new target. Why only one? Why not many targets? And why did it have to start with him, Ceraun carried power with it like a bucket carries water. It's not like there wasn't enough power to do it either, he wasn't even noticing this strain on his core. What about…one target after another, in series. He was pretty sure he could do it now that he didn't waste so much effort with mana harmonization and generating the flows. His core was running like a supercharged generator, spinning up energy on demand.
Just right now he shelved the idea, he'd be experimenting with this later though.
Reaching out with a thread of mana he allowed the pent up Ceraun to pour out
[Voltaic Riot]
Blistering violet light tore into the base of the pillar that had been ruined, chewing deep scores out of it, accompanied by an intensely angry buzz, like all the hornets in the world. Redirecting the flow he pushed it towards another piece of broken wood, which was torn apart by the current, and then to another, and another, snapping the arcing light like a whip between targets.
He realized he was burning through his mana at a ridiculous pace and cut off the flow. Watcher's Tits, that spell was almost alive. Hungry.
There was a draw-back to this kind of power. It was too easy. There was no resistance to any of it, the mana just flowed out of him, eager to bring its crackling touch. Ulric could drain himself of his entire mana reserve in a couple of seconds. He could make a lightning bolt as thick as his torso and face mana exhaustion with a bare thought.
This was a good way to atomize himself, if he didn't learn to control it.
"Well?" He asked the attending Elves, hopeful.
Taipan wagged her hand tilting it back and forth in a gesture that said "So-so"
Gother was even more ambivalent.
"It's a start. You're burning through your reserves so quickly that it's impressive. And wasting so much mana that would clearly kill lesser classed warriors and beasts a half dozen times over. It's…sloppy. Unrefined. We will do better." Gother said getting interested in the project as he spoke.
Here it comes, Ulric thought. Attend, he told himself.
"Attend." Spoke Gother. The lesson got even harder.
************
Ulric felt like a wrung out mop. In a somewhat strange twist, he wasn't exhausted from any physical or even magical perspective, his newly tuned mana construct was cranking along nicely. No, he was plain, old fashioned, brain beat.
The mental exercises for adapting his old methods for spellwork to include the initialization by reverting Ceraunic mana to unaspected mana was demanding. It required a dedicated bit of attention or contaminating influences ruined the workings. Unlike before, when he'd failed to properly attune a manaform, getting close enough was fine, because where he was successful in generating a specific elemental mana, it would sort of automatically resonate with the unrefined mana around it, pulling that along with it to grant him what he needed for his spell to operate. Without the crutch of unaspected mana harmonizing itself for him, he was struggling.
His old core had been like having training wheels. The awakened one was like being handed a super car with paddle shifters. It demanded a degree of skill from him that he didn't quite have. Except for utilizing the native element, that is. So long as it was Ceraun, Ulric could cast with a speed and power that were exponentially greater than he'd ever managed before.
This was Gother's trap. The failed Adept, never learned to utilize their previous abilities, they leaned into their awakened core's attunement. It resulted in a pretty drastic magical power spike. A big ooomph. But it was brittle growth. Ulric was with the aged Elf mage on this one. It sucked super hard to have to relearn to use his magic. It felt bad to be bad. However, intentionally choosing to throw away the other manaforms just because it was inconvenient was a huge mistake. He would be, effectively, choosing to forget all the knowledge and theory of his prior life that empowered his casting to be greater than was normal. Unacceptable.
His musings were interrupted by the same older gentleman, the Duty who had accompanied Halet so long ago to "invite" him to his training lessons. The grey haired elf wasn't near so ancient as his curmudgeonly magic tutor but was definitely…well marinaded in life.
"Glade Chief, it is a pleasure to find you well. You are invited to attend upon young Lord Lumyt'seit. At your earliest convenience, of course." Said the liveried Elf with the gentle calm of a mountain face.
Translation: If you ain't dyin' get your ass over there. Orders received and obeyed, my good Elf!
"Thank you Duty, I will see what need the Golden Crown has for me." He said, hunting for a tenth the poise the older man possessed.
They must practice that in front of a mirror for a couple of decades or something. Smooth as fresh goose shit.
"Let's go see what's going on with your little brother Taipan. He probably wouldn't call unless it was important, the kids got problems enough without wrangling my cranky ass." Ulric tried in his improved Elvish.
"Very well, Glade Chief. If you need carrying let me know, you appear worn by the day's efforts." Teased the Sylvan goddess.
He was just about whipped enough to call her bluff. It would serve her right for her lip. And he'd be able to fondle her while she walked. Bonus. No, Ulric, that's just the tiredness talking, letting your hindbrain take over. Down, Simba!
Ulric started walking before he unmanned himself by asking for a piggy back ride. Taipan fell into step just behind him. Neither slowed until they had reached the upper most level of the fortress, the seat of power in Irielhos, buried amongst the crown of branches at its apex. Through a massive set of wondrously worked bronze doors, which opened as lightly as if made of balsa wood, sat the audience chamber, a combination of throne room and great hall. In the back were the personal apartments of the Iriels.
In the seat that had, until recently, been occupied by one Bald'rt Iriel, until his near assassination by Elf Bane poisoning, sat Brighteyes, Interim Lord of Iriel. A golden haired, fair complected Elf child with piercing emerald irises flecked a deep gold. Hence his nickname from Ulric, levied upon their first days together, when he'd tired of calling the then nameless child "Boy", Brighteyes.
Lord Brighteyes Iriel was the picture of his mother, one of the highland Elf tribes, the Melond. He was also an Adept mage at the tender age of twenty-eight, a prodigy. A sharp kid was Brighteyes. He'd need it all, he was in the cookpot up to his neck.
When they presented themselves before the throne, Child King sitting on his father's too large place, Ulric could tell the kid was having a tough time. He also had the grit of his sire and dam in him. Iriel was in good hands, young though they might be.
"Good evening Brighteyes, what has your knickers twisted?" Ulric asked, with their customary casualness with one another.
"Thank you for coming so quickly Ulric, old age is hard on short-lived joints, or so I am told." Returned the not-quite child.
A running gag. Ulric couldn't help but think of himself as an old man at times, the attitudes of his former life creeping in, even though he wore a youthful body in its prime. In nearly all other ways that mattered, he was amongst a people who could very easily call him a child. His age in this world was less than that of the Elven boy king on the throne.
"To business Ulric Glade Chief. You need to depart on your mission immediately. Tomorrow even." Said Lord Brighteyes, stunning Ulric.
Brighteyes had been one of the most vocal opponents of Ulric's stated goal of taking a giant, flaming shit on the Prosper thugs that had ordered the attacks against Iriel and the Orlethrem nations in general.
Now he was not only in favor but suggesting Ulric basically just take off? What changed?
"Alright little buddy, dish. What have you learned?" Ulric prodded.
Brighteyes scrubbed his face briefly, letting the guise of an unflappable ruler slip for a moment. Cute kid. Soon enough though he pulled his shit together and looked the part of the Golden Crown, proxy ruler of the confederated Aes'r tribes. The biggest swinging dick the Elves had while in war time, which they were.
"Not very much, and yet, I am following one your 'hunches' Glade Chief." Brighteyes admitted.
"All of this time I have listened to the reports given to my Father. I have sat while my Mothers debated and charted possible courses with him. When your reports of the actions in the [Forest of the Forgotten] were shared I began to have suspicions. Your hypothesis of a long-lived guiding the enemy through several generations of their rulers struck the final doubt from my mind." the young Oberon declared.
"Our actions so far have been taken with the full wisdom of our people. We have acted in accord with the age-old strategies and perspectives of our kin before us, that have led us to victory time and again. In doing so I feel that we have become predictable. Our enemy is wise to our ideologies and has predicted our movements. Even now, doctrine says that I should marshal our troops along the borders of Orlethrem, to capture the Prespang forces like a net and draw them into Elf lands to strangle them, as we have done for generations. The conventional dogma says to send Zelussin attack fleets upriver to control movements East and West across the continent, and drive a stake into Prosper, sieging their capital." The golden-haired elf said, his eyes distant, as if playing the scenarios out in his mind.
Which he probably was, the lad was trained by the best his kin had to offer and had natural talent. Precocious, his status said. The Akashic record told no lie.
"This," Brighteyes continued, "is why I will do none of these things except to send a diversionary force upriver to burn out the Prespang fortifications that have too long encroached, unpruned by the Zelussin for fear they would eat their profits in retribution. Well. There will be no river trade while I am King, and not until I am convinced that we do not feed vipers to strengthen their venom." Scoffed the boy, in a tone very unlike one you'd expect from a child, more like a fed-up soldier.
"Until the fangs are pulled I will choke Prosper with the threads they sought to use to bind the continent to their will. Trade. I will leverage the combined forces and infrastructure of Orlethrem to create trade routes that beggar the merchant kings in their golden thrones. And I will close those trade routes to any who would send goods or buy them from those monsters. All will soon know that they have used the Bane, the Aktinia sail already to guarantee this, risking the Winter storms to bring word to all ports of call. Soon, it will be common knowledge that trade with Prespang is war against Orlethrem." He announced.
The kid was thoroughly on a roll now, his demeanor bespeaking the fury of the losses incurred thanks to the attentions of Prosper, from the murder of his friend to the deaths of his tutors in the attack and all the kin wounded and killed that same day, to say nothing of the sorry state of his parents.
"For the armies of Orlethrem I have a different task than receiving the forces of our enemies. Instead of a net I will employ our warriors and Hunters as a bullwhip. I will strike deep incursions along the borders, raiding and destroying infrastructure. We will poison their wells. We will burn their villages and kill their livestock. Nothing that can be eaten will be left, as locusts we will strip the lands. Then we will withdraw, before a counter force can be mustered. The greater part of Orlethrem's armies will remain in reserve, guarding the Sanctums and new trade routes, and will posture to raze Prosper should they combine their armies to push deeply into Elven territory." Promised the young Lord of Iriel.
"Our enemies wished for a war and they will have it, but on our terms. My terms. I will not offer them a single engagement in the field, if they want to fight Elves they will do it on the run. We will not fight a single battle, and they will never be allowed to draw down. When they withdraw I will advance, when they advance I will withdraw to another target. Their incursions into Orlethrem will find empty fields and abandoned villages, we can afford to vacate these lands and turn them into a waste of their supplies. This I will do for a generation of their kind, without rest. Any village, fort, or township within two hundred leagues of the border with Orlethrem will be culled. When their people realize that they cannot hide behind their slow armies, and that they cannot eat their arms and armors, then perhaps they will realize the foolishness of attacking the Aes'r." Brighteyes, Heir Lumyt'seit of the Iriel'en, burned with cold fury.
Welp. That settled that, for Ulric. He'd always suspected that fucking around with the Elves was a bad idea and now he knew it for true. If whoever was responsible for all this horror thought they'd made their lives easier by getting Bald'rt out of the way, they were badly mistaken. The apple falleth not far from the tree in Iriel. They were really going to regret not killing that lad when they had the chance.
Which begged the question, why was it suddenly that Brighteyes wanted him to go out there?
"Alright Brighteyes, I'm with you so far. You're talking my language for going all scorched earth on anybody that would attempt to use dirty bombs. My question is, why is it that you want me to get a move on now, rather than in the three or four weeks like I'd planned?" Ulric prompted.
The striking gaze levied on him served to remind Ulric that, in a very fundamental way, Elves were not Human. They had a completely different mindset. Their similarities were only that, similarity. Not sameness.
"It pains me that I would treat a friend so, but I will not lie to you or deceive you, Ulric. I want you to go now so that you can be my gauntleted fist, striking my enemies between the eyes while I arrange my forces. You will divert them. Likely hurt them. Maybe, you will even be able to do exactly as you intend and find a way to drive a knife into their leadership. But, even if not, you will have their attention. By the time they realize that I have no intention of using conventional strategy and that you are an independent actor, I will have my positions entrenched and my raid teams dispersed to inflict the maximum harm on them until they can group enough forces to stop them." Confessed his little buddy.
"Is that all? Brighteyes, you don't have to feel bad about that." He told the youth.
Surprise painted the childish features, cutting into that bloodthirsty mindset that had settled into him.
"I do not?" He asked.
"Nope. Not at all. I'd be glad to go sucker punch those assholes for you. It'd be my pleasure." Ulric told the Elf honestly.
It really would. He'd do just about anything to shut up the hateful imp screaming retribution in the back of his head. That shit hadn't let up for over two months. As long as Ulric even subconsciously thought that an enemy was plotting some kind of aggression or incursion against his home in the glade, the Lord Instinct that had become part of him on taking ownership of the mantle [Lord of the Ancient Glade] would not cease urging him to destroy that enemy. Preferably from behind, before it could feel his breath on its neck. It was that kind of thing.
Honestly, the extra few weeks were just him delaying the inevitable because Ulric had not, at one time, been a fundamentally violent person. He just mostly wanted to be left the hell alone. Only these dirtbags weren't going to allow that and he discovered in this world that he actually did sort of have a knack and inclination for settling things the old-fashioned way.
You'll kill people just following orders if you do this Ulric, people who never did a thing to you, he reminded himself.
Krieg ist die Hölle. Tough shit. They made their choices and Ulric was going to be their consequence, they didn't have a right to regret it later. Ask the bits of him that had fallen off while Taipan carried him to the Medicos for sympathy.
Of course, that had been before his core had gone critical. Now, he really could use the extra time to rebuild his spellforms. Hmm…can't I just do that on the road? After I spend the day hunting, at night, by the fire, just like the old days. He wouldn't really have to worry about being attacked in the evening, not with Taipan around. She was far, far more dangerous than he was in the dark. Mostly during the day too, but he'd closed that gap significantly and would even more so once he got his magic straightened out again.
His first friend on Varda blinked a couple of times before smiling.
"Thank you, Ulric Glade Chief. I was worried that I sent a friend into harm's way against their wishes. I would not do that to you if it were not a thing I considered necessary for my people. Would you share a meal with me? It may be the last we have together until we meet again in Ony'ro Varden, Varda's Dream." Offered Brighteyes.
"I'd be glad to lad. I've been busy lately, let me tell you some stories. Ohh! I'll tell you about the time I kicked your Sister's ass using a [Stone Wall] and a pouch of grease." He said getting excited about the memory.
"He did not 'kick my ass'. It was a dirty trick and it did not work again." Denied his Shadow fervently.
Her eyes when she realized she couldn't pull her bow string or hold weapons with grease all over her hands and the way she'd skidded across the slick floor still brought a smile to his face.
For two days, Ulric did little other than attempt to manipulate his magic, to use the spellforms that he’d trained to mastery. Under tutelage of Shor, Bathe, and Vedyr he’d found some measure of aptitude for magecraft, had applied the principles of his Earthen science to hone their mental algorithms so finely polished and mana flows refined to perfection, as denoted by the Akashic’s bestowal of the coveted rank V moniker for true comprehension. Nothing was working correctly, even when it did anything at all.
Once more, Ulric drew heavily on his awakened core, the ever moving mana racing through him unlike the placid forms before. He focused his will on the eternally self-searching Ceraun and pulled it into unaspected form the neutral mana from which he could then shape Infrig.
Hardening his will and keeping the image of the frozen blade clear in his mind he failed completely, again, to cast [Ice Blade]. A drawing up of ice, only for the crystal to shift and shatter, diamond dust glittering in the air, drifting, as the spell unraveled. This was the third time in a row.
"Seven hells!" Ulric yelled, frustrated.
At Gother's prompting he'd begun manipulating his mana, reverting it and then reshaping it to make his standard list of spells. It was exceedingly difficult and far slower than he was accustomed. He felt almost like he'd taken a step backwards in his magical prowess. He hadn't been this slow to get these mental algorithms rolling since he'd initially taught himself the magic way, way back in around his campfire lit evenings in the glade.
If he'd had this much trouble when that mage attacked him he'd be a dead man. Hell, he probably would have struggled to cast well enough to kill the [Heckler Monkeys]. This sucked.
"This sucks." He told the room, speaking to no one in particular.
"Is awakening your core supposed to be a good thing?" Ulric asked sarcastically.
"Your core, the instrument of your connection between Varda's manasphere and your will, has been rebuilt entirely. It is the first days, give it some time." Suggested Taipan.
Instead of saying "You give it some time." like a juvenile, Ulric merely thought it. Like a juvenile. Damnit, he was feeling inadequate now that one of his greatest weapons had been pretty effectively neutered.
Breathing deeply a few times to recenter, Ulric broke down and asked.
"Okay, what am I doing wrong? The spell feels like it's…falling apart, somehow. Like it vibrates as the mana forms."
Gother stroked his beard and waved a hand as if it was to be expected.
"It's to be expected." He said.
Ulric very carefully did not spit on the ground.
"Your core is attuned to Ceraun now Glade Chief. Ceraun, by its nature is in motion. It is heavily composed of Motis, the primordial mana form of movement. By contrast, Infrig has a most predominant component of Desidia, unmotion. These two are incompatible and your attempts to revert your mana are failing to purify the mana completely. Think of it in this way, your mana is Vanished Night but you are trying to create pure water, even the slightest imperfection of your distillations is going to cause the Motis left behind to contaminate, breaking apart the Infrig matrix." Gother said, in the most drawn out way to say "Git gud" possible.
Ulric sighed. At least most of his other spells were fine. A little slow, but still potent. [Stone Wall] didn't want to fine down like he'd done to make the track on their wild ride back to Irielhos from the [Ancient's Plateau] but he could live with that. Not having access to an entire element was different. He'd have to live with it a while though, Gother had suggested that it could be years before he was back to full speed with his other than lightning magics.
"Too much bitterness ruins the Kav tea, Glade Chief." Instructor Gother said, with a loud clap of hands that nearly pulled a jump from Ulric as he wallowed in his own incompetence.
"Let us instead, demonstrate the advantage of the new Adept, unable to effectively multitask, over the Apprentice with their flexible, but less focused magics." the Elf suggested, "Use your most potent Ceraun spell, to see how it has changed. Allow your newly awakened core to truly flex its might."
At this point, Ulric was down for some wanton destruction.
Ulric drew one of the small throwing knives he now had strapped on over his pants, a practice he had neglected since going unarmored in the fortress but now resumed since he'd recovered from the attack. The armor itself was still in the possession of Uldin and that was on Ulric's to do list. The burly Smith had been swamped with trying to make up the shortfalls of a dozen or so of his colleagues being murdered by the shitbird mage hit squad.
Ulric had decided to just let the man work, fucking with artisans was a good way to have your stuff done sometime next decade.
"Alright, here we go."
Ulric sent his mind down the familiar pathways, the mental circuit to produce the flow of charge and found that he was wasting his time. He didn't need to do that anymore, Ceraun was moving already. All he had to do was suggest that it should move faster and it did. Power cycled from his core at an alarming rate. A random arc of violet light leapt from the hand holding the knife to burn a scar across the floor before it jumped to track another wriggling line of char. Ulric had to clamp down on his mana, to harden his control over the flows. He'd hit breakdown so fast he hadn't realized he was there yet. It was so…natural.
A casual throw of the knife sent it spinning to strike the wooden target, damaged slightly from the earlier practice. As the hilt bounced from the dense wood, Ulric released the torrent that had been building at an alarming rate.
[Lightning Javalin]
HISS. BOOOOMM.
The wooden pillar exploded into kindling and flaming shrapnel, scattering small torches across the amphitheater.
Ulric was stunned. That was even stronger than the overcharged version he'd used against Captain Firecracker. The same mage who'd basically shrugged off his best shot using juiced up [Cinderpearls].
Taipan had covered her ears, prepared for the incredibly disorienting blast of sound, especially for sensitive Elven hearing.
Even better, at the moment of release Ulric could feel that he could do much, much better. He didn't have to fight the mana any longer, it moved at a whim, rather than being driven. The real problem was keeping it from lashing out at random.
Gother looked at the smoking wreck of his pillar and glanced towards Ulric.
"I had heard that you were able to join with the flow of Ceraun but I hadn't believed it. Surely, they mispoke. But no, there is no doubt, you are indeed touching the energy even as it turns loose its destruction. Perhaps you did not draw the Primordial's attention by accident at all." Hypothesized the Wizard.
This was just knowing what electricity is being put to work. Applied fundamental theories of physics, that's all. And, if it was now so easy to manipulate the movements of charges and fields, he was going to start figuring out how to do the fancy shit. Electromagnetism. Lasers. Radar. The stuff that would put him in a new weight class as far as his offensive and defensive spells were concerned.
Try ambushing me when I've got a goddamned heart beat sensor field that extends a half click out you bastards.
Ulric was still holding a grudge on account of the burning. The maddened whisper of rage and murder that liked to occupy his brainstem urged him to go forth and share that grudge before he stepped on it. It could be distracting, going on like that.
"Now, let us see the spell that was the end of the last Guardian of the Ancient's Plateau." Requested Gother.
This was an oldie but a goodie. The twice evolved spell had begun as something he had to be touching to use and had metamorphed into a devastating single tendril of power that extended some two or so meters away. Ulric had considered it to be something of a trump card for melee combat. Not much would stand up to having a souped up arc welder applied to it.
Easy as thought he called up the flow of energy, mana eager for release. Directing it was the problem. It had a natural tendency to reach out towards things he concentrated on, fortunately or he'd have never been able to use it without risking killing everything around him. It similarly had a tendency to reach towards other things after those first things were destroyed unless he shifted his focus. Just letting it run loose made it ground against the floor nearby.
Ulric started to release it, but held his hand. Wait a second. A shifted focus, a new target. Why only one? Why not many targets? And why did it have to start with him, Ceraun carried power with it like a bucket carries water. It's not like there wasn't enough power to do it either, he wasn't even noticing this strain on his core. What about…one target after another, in series. He was pretty sure he could do it now that he didn't waste so much effort with mana harmonization and generating the flows. His core was running like a supercharged generator, spinning up energy on demand.
Just right now he shelved the idea, he'd be experimenting with this later though.
Reaching out with a thread of mana he allowed the pent up Ceraun to pour out
[Voltaic Riot]
Blistering violet light tore into the base of the pillar that had been ruined, chewing deep scores out of it, accompanied by an intensely angry buzz, like all the hornets in the world. Redirecting the flow he pushed it towards another piece of broken wood, which was torn apart by the current, and then to another, and another, snapping the arcing light like a whip between targets.
He realized he was burning through his mana at a ridiculous pace and cut off the flow. Watcher's Tits, that spell was almost alive. Hungry.
There was a draw-back to this kind of power. It was too easy. There was no resistance to any of it, the mana just flowed out of him, eager to bring its crackling touch. Ulric could drain himself of his entire mana reserve in a couple of seconds. He could make a lightning bolt as thick as his torso and face mana exhaustion with a bare thought.
This was a good way to atomize himself, if he didn't learn to control it.
"Well?" He asked the attending Elves, hopeful.
Taipan wagged her hand tilting it back and forth in a gesture that said "So-so"
Gother was even more ambivalent.
"It's a start. You're burning through your reserves so quickly that it's impressive. And wasting so much mana that would clearly kill lesser classed warriors and beasts a half dozen times over. It's…sloppy. Unrefined. We will do better." Gother said getting interested in the project as he spoke.
Here it comes, Ulric thought. Attend, he told himself.
"Attend." Spoke Gother. The lesson got even harder.
************
Ulric felt like a wrung out mop. In a somewhat strange twist, he wasn't exhausted from any physical or even magical perspective, his newly tuned mana construct was cranking along nicely. No, he was plain, old fashioned, brain beat.
The mental exercises for adapting his old methods for spellwork to include the initialization by reverting Ceraunic mana to unaspected mana was demanding. It required a dedicated bit of attention or contaminating influences ruined the workings. Unlike before, when he'd failed to properly attune a manaform, getting close enough was fine, because where he was successful in generating a specific elemental mana, it would sort of automatically resonate with the unrefined mana around it, pulling that along with it to grant him what he needed for his spell to operate. Without the crutch of unaspected mana harmonizing itself for him, he was struggling.
His old core had been like having training wheels. The awakened one was like being handed a super car with paddle shifters. It demanded a degree of skill from him that he didn't quite have. Except for utilizing the native element, that is. So long as it was Ceraun, Ulric could cast with a speed and power that were exponentially greater than he'd ever managed before.
This was Gother's trap. The failed Adept, never learned to utilize their previous abilities, they leaned into their awakened core's attunement. It resulted in a pretty drastic magical power spike. A big ooomph. But it was brittle growth. Ulric was with the aged Elf mage on this one. It sucked super hard to have to relearn to use his magic. It felt bad to be bad. However, intentionally choosing to throw away the other manaforms just because it was inconvenient was a huge mistake. He would be, effectively, choosing to forget all the knowledge and theory of his prior life that empowered his casting to be greater than was normal. Unacceptable.
His musings were interrupted by the same older gentleman, the Duty who had accompanied Halet so long ago to "invite" him to his training lessons. The grey haired elf wasn't near so ancient as his curmudgeonly magic tutor but was definitely…well marinaded in life.
"Glade Chief, it is a pleasure to find you well. You are invited to attend upon young Lord Lumyt'seit. At your earliest convenience, of course." Said the liveried Elf with the gentle calm of a mountain face.
Translation: If you ain't dyin' get your ass over there. Orders received and obeyed, my good Elf!
"Thank you Duty, I will see what need the Golden Crown has for me." He said, hunting for a tenth the poise the older man possessed.
They must practice that in front of a mirror for a couple of decades or something. Smooth as fresh goose shit.
"Let's go see what's going on with your little brother Taipan. He probably wouldn't call unless it was important, the kids got problems enough without wrangling my cranky ass." Ulric tried in his improved Elvish.
"Very well, Glade Chief. If you need carrying let me know, you appear worn by the day's efforts." Teased the Sylvan goddess.
He was just about whipped enough to call her bluff. It would serve her right for her lip. And he'd be able to fondle her while she walked. Bonus. No, Ulric, that's just the tiredness talking, letting your hindbrain take over. Down, Simba!
Ulric started walking before he unmanned himself by asking for a piggy back ride. Taipan fell into step just behind him. Neither slowed until they had reached the upper most level of the fortress, the seat of power in Irielhos, buried amongst the crown of branches at its apex. Through a massive set of wondrously worked bronze doors, which opened as lightly as if made of balsa wood, sat the audience chamber, a combination of throne room and great hall. In the back were the personal apartments of the Iriels.
In the seat that had, until recently, been occupied by one Bald'rt Iriel, until his near assassination by Elf Bane poisoning, sat Brighteyes, Interim Lord of Iriel. A golden haired, fair complected Elf child with piercing emerald irises flecked a deep gold. Hence his nickname from Ulric, levied upon their first days together, when he'd tired of calling the then nameless child "Boy", Brighteyes.
Lord Brighteyes Iriel was the picture of his mother, one of the highland Elf tribes, the Melond. He was also an Adept mage at the tender age of twenty-eight, a prodigy. A sharp kid was Brighteyes. He'd need it all, he was in the cookpot up to his neck.
When they presented themselves before the throne, Child King sitting on his father's too large place, Ulric could tell the kid was having a tough time. He also had the grit of his sire and dam in him. Iriel was in good hands, young though they might be.
"Good evening Brighteyes, what has your knickers twisted?" Ulric asked, with their customary casualness with one another.
"Thank you for coming so quickly Ulric, old age is hard on short-lived joints, or so I am told." Returned the not-quite child.
A running gag. Ulric couldn't help but think of himself as an old man at times, the attitudes of his former life creeping in, even though he wore a youthful body in its prime. In nearly all other ways that mattered, he was amongst a people who could very easily call him a child. His age in this world was less than that of the Elven boy king on the throne.
"To business Ulric Glade Chief. You need to depart on your mission immediately. Tomorrow even." Said Lord Brighteyes, stunning Ulric.
Brighteyes had been one of the most vocal opponents of Ulric's stated goal of taking a giant, flaming shit on the Prosper thugs that had ordered the attacks against Iriel and the Orlethrem nations in general.
Now he was not only in favor but suggesting Ulric basically just take off? What changed?
"Alright little buddy, dish. What have you learned?" Ulric prodded.
Brighteyes scrubbed his face briefly, letting the guise of an unflappable ruler slip for a moment. Cute kid. Soon enough though he pulled his shit together and looked the part of the Golden Crown, proxy ruler of the confederated Aes'r tribes. The biggest swinging dick the Elves had while in war time, which they were.
"Not very much, and yet, I am following one your 'hunches' Glade Chief." Brighteyes admitted.
"All of this time I have listened to the reports given to my Father. I have sat while my Mothers debated and charted possible courses with him. When your reports of the actions in the [Forest of the Forgotten] were shared I began to have suspicions. Your hypothesis of a long-lived guiding the enemy through several generations of their rulers struck the final doubt from my mind." the young Oberon declared.
"Our actions so far have been taken with the full wisdom of our people. We have acted in accord with the age-old strategies and perspectives of our kin before us, that have led us to victory time and again. In doing so I feel that we have become predictable. Our enemy is wise to our ideologies and has predicted our movements. Even now, doctrine says that I should marshal our troops along the borders of Orlethrem, to capture the Prespang forces like a net and draw them into Elf lands to strangle them, as we have done for generations. The conventional dogma says to send Zelussin attack fleets upriver to control movements East and West across the continent, and drive a stake into Prosper, sieging their capital." The golden-haired elf said, his eyes distant, as if playing the scenarios out in his mind.
Which he probably was, the lad was trained by the best his kin had to offer and had natural talent. Precocious, his status said. The Akashic record told no lie.
"This," Brighteyes continued, "is why I will do none of these things except to send a diversionary force upriver to burn out the Prespang fortifications that have too long encroached, unpruned by the Zelussin for fear they would eat their profits in retribution. Well. There will be no river trade while I am King, and not until I am convinced that we do not feed vipers to strengthen their venom." Scoffed the boy, in a tone very unlike one you'd expect from a child, more like a fed-up soldier.
"Until the fangs are pulled I will choke Prosper with the threads they sought to use to bind the continent to their will. Trade. I will leverage the combined forces and infrastructure of Orlethrem to create trade routes that beggar the merchant kings in their golden thrones. And I will close those trade routes to any who would send goods or buy them from those monsters. All will soon know that they have used the Bane, the Aktinia sail already to guarantee this, risking the Winter storms to bring word to all ports of call. Soon, it will be common knowledge that trade with Prespang is war against Orlethrem." He announced.
The kid was thoroughly on a roll now, his demeanor bespeaking the fury of the losses incurred thanks to the attentions of Prosper, from the murder of his friend to the deaths of his tutors in the attack and all the kin wounded and killed that same day, to say nothing of the sorry state of his parents.
"For the armies of Orlethrem I have a different task than receiving the forces of our enemies. Instead of a net I will employ our warriors and Hunters as a bullwhip. I will strike deep incursions along the borders, raiding and destroying infrastructure. We will poison their wells. We will burn their villages and kill their livestock. Nothing that can be eaten will be left, as locusts we will strip the lands. Then we will withdraw, before a counter force can be mustered. The greater part of Orlethrem's armies will remain in reserve, guarding the Sanctums and new trade routes, and will posture to raze Prosper should they combine their armies to push deeply into Elven territory." Promised the young Lord of Iriel.
"Our enemies wished for a war and they will have it, but on our terms. My terms. I will not offer them a single engagement in the field, if they want to fight Elves they will do it on the run. We will not fight a single battle, and they will never be allowed to draw down. When they withdraw I will advance, when they advance I will withdraw to another target. Their incursions into Orlethrem will find empty fields and abandoned villages, we can afford to vacate these lands and turn them into a waste of their supplies. This I will do for a generation of their kind, without rest. Any village, fort, or township within two hundred leagues of the border with Orlethrem will be culled. When their people realize that they cannot hide behind their slow armies, and that they cannot eat their arms and armors, then perhaps they will realize the foolishness of attacking the Aes'r." Brighteyes, Heir Lumyt'seit of the Iriel'en, burned with cold fury.
Welp. That settled that, for Ulric. He'd always suspected that fucking around with the Elves was a bad idea and now he knew it for true. If whoever was responsible for all this horror thought they'd made their lives easier by getting Bald'rt out of the way, they were badly mistaken. The apple falleth not far from the tree in Iriel. They were really going to regret not killing that lad when they had the chance.
Which begged the question, why was it suddenly that Brighteyes wanted him to go out there?
"Alright Brighteyes, I'm with you so far. You're talking my language for going all scorched earth on anybody that would attempt to use dirty bombs. My question is, why is it that you want me to get a move on now, rather than in the three or four weeks like I'd planned?" Ulric prompted.
The striking gaze levied on him served to remind Ulric that, in a very fundamental way, Elves were not Human. They had a completely different mindset. Their similarities were only that, similarity. Not sameness.
"It pains me that I would treat a friend so, but I will not lie to you or deceive you, Ulric. I want you to go now so that you can be my gauntleted fist, striking my enemies between the eyes while I arrange my forces. You will divert them. Likely hurt them. Maybe, you will even be able to do exactly as you intend and find a way to drive a knife into their leadership. But, even if not, you will have their attention. By the time they realize that I have no intention of using conventional strategy and that you are an independent actor, I will have my positions entrenched and my raid teams dispersed to inflict the maximum harm on them until they can group enough forces to stop them." Confessed his little buddy.
"Is that all? Brighteyes, you don't have to feel bad about that." He told the youth.
Surprise painted the childish features, cutting into that bloodthirsty mindset that had settled into him.
"I do not?" He asked.
"Nope. Not at all. I'd be glad to go sucker punch those assholes for you. It'd be my pleasure." Ulric told the Elf honestly.
It really would. He'd do just about anything to shut up the hateful imp screaming retribution in the back of his head. That shit hadn't let up for over two months. As long as Ulric even subconsciously thought that an enemy was plotting some kind of aggression or incursion against his home in the glade, the Lord Instinct that had become part of him on taking ownership of the mantle [Lord of the Ancient Glade] would not cease urging him to destroy that enemy. Preferably from behind, before it could feel his breath on its neck. It was that kind of thing.
Honestly, the extra few weeks were just him delaying the inevitable because Ulric had not, at one time, been a fundamentally violent person. He just mostly wanted to be left the hell alone. Only these dirtbags weren't going to allow that and he discovered in this world that he actually did sort of have a knack and inclination for settling things the old-fashioned way.
You'll kill people just following orders if you do this Ulric, people who never did a thing to you, he reminded himself.
Krieg ist die Hölle. Tough shit. They made their choices and Ulric was going to be their consequence, they didn't have a right to regret it later. Ask the bits of him that had fallen off while Taipan carried him to the Medicos for sympathy.
Of course, that had been before his core had gone critical. Now, he really could use the extra time to rebuild his spellforms. Hmm…can't I just do that on the road? After I spend the day hunting, at night, by the fire, just like the old days. He wouldn't really have to worry about being attacked in the evening, not with Taipan around. She was far, far more dangerous than he was in the dark. Mostly during the day too, but he'd closed that gap significantly and would even more so once he got his magic straightened out again.
His first friend on Varda blinked a couple of times before smiling.
"Thank you, Ulric Glade Chief. I was worried that I sent a friend into harm's way against their wishes. I would not do that to you if it were not a thing I considered necessary for my people. Would you share a meal with me? It may be the last we have together until we meet again in Ony'ro Varden, Varda's Dream." Offered Brighteyes.
"I'd be glad to lad. I've been busy lately, let me tell you some stories. Ohh! I'll tell you about the time I kicked your Sister's ass using a [Stone Wall] and a pouch of grease." He said getting excited about the memory.
"He did not 'kick my ass'. It was a dirty trick and it did not work again." Denied his Shadow fervently.
Her eyes when she realized she couldn't pull her bow string or hold weapons with grease all over her hands and the way she'd skidded across the slick floor still brought a smile to his face.
