Vignette - The Mountain King

“I sometimes think you got the short end of the stick, Mountain King.” An ethereal projection lounged beside a forge of natural stone overhanging a river of magma. Watching while the squat, but massively muscled figure before him poured molten metal into clay moulds.

“I can’t keep ye out ye daft blighter, but can ye not distract me when I’m working?”

“You’re always working, I would never get a word in edgewise.”

“‘Twould be a fine thing.” Disgruntled but knowing the damn apparition wouldn’t go away, he finally responded. “What stick, and why’s the short end mine.”

“You could call it a species's specialty. You’re legendary workers of metal, in a world where metalwork falls far behind magic. A legendary sword is just another sharp piece of metal, I have better ways of killing then poking things.”

The dwarf snorted in disgust, “Is that what's got yer drawers in a twist? Poppycock and balderdash. The forge will always have its place, and the craftmasters will never fall behind ye loony finger twiddlers. The metal sings and if ye ken the way of singing back, then ye’ll never worry about effective ways of killing.”

“Your metal is inanimate. A dead thing. Does this singing occur on anything but the metaphorical level?”

“Look who knows so much! I apologize, yer majesty, I didn’t realize I stood before the font of all knowledge.”

“Right right, get it out of your system why don’t you.”

He spat out the side of his mouth, watching sharply as the metal in the moulds cooled, watching for bubbles and deformations that might predict flaws in metal. Nodding in satisfaction at some unseen cue, he used a pair of tongs to flip the molds and dump bars onto an already well mounded stack. “All existence has a voice, a desire to be. Else ‘twould be just magic,” He paused grasping for words, “chaos maybe? Or potential not yet realized. Whatever.” He considered that then shrugged and continued, “This-” he gestured to clay molds, empty but still smoking and the mound of bars, “-is copper from the roots of the mountain. Purified by magma, the blood of the earth and given a new form. T’will be forged with heat and violence in time. Can ye ask for more in a weapon? Its history’s there to be used if ye can just be bothered to quit twiddling your fingers and look! Call it sing’n, call it intent, call it history, call it anything ye damn please, but call on it! Anything else is a waste.”

He paused for a moment, idly tapping at a bar, “We didna get the short end of anything. If ye’ve the wits to listen, to hear the story of what ye use, then, and only then, ye’ll see the real gift of my people. Work with the world and a drop of magic will do more than me best keg working crosswise.”

Chapter 2

They moved through the forest in a staggered gaggle. Not a column, nor a skirmish line, but perhaps an organic halfway between. A column would work on a road or path, but those were a death sentence in the deep jungle. Game trails and paths were where the predators waited in ambush for food. Likewise a skirmish line would stumble into every carnivorous plant or danger area without allowing more than a few men to deal with it.

This was not the old world, and old world tactics often came up short. A wide front of scouts loaded down with defensive enchantments backed up by a block of heavy hitters. It was a fairly standard formation. Or at least it started as one, but then they were moving at a sprint through irregular terrain. Deep valleys between roots bigger than an old world house. Trees that were frequently 50ft in diameter. Thorny bushes that more resemble the trees of Timothy’s youth than the massive monsters that towered overhead further broke up the available sight lines and paths. Sometimes they split to go around, sometimes an augmented jump took them over the obstacles.

Blocks and lines didn’t last in this environment. With well trained teams, and these were that and more, you adjusted on the fly. Hold to your zones and firing lines and double or triple up for when an obstacle threw that all to hell. It worked well enough. Just so long as the number in the party stayed under a soft cap of fifty. Five groups of 9 or 10 supporting one another, but only remaining in formation to themselves. Anything larger just descended into chaos and attracted more trouble than the extra members, spread all over hell and gone, could solve. This was no decisive campaign, where fights were fought to the long and bitter end and a flag pounded into the resultant territory. It was a race. If humans moved faster than the predators congregated, then they won. If not… Well, don’t!

It may’ve been standard, but it was not to Timothy’s taste. More reactive than predictive. The scouts in front, luridly bright on the magic plain with their defensive enchantments at full power were as much bait as spotters. The magic was contained, not a beacon for anything beyond sight range, but unmistakable at close range. A glowing ember that didn’t radiate light, but couldn’t be missed. Darting forward they startled predators and prey into action. Sometimes they killed what they ‘spotted,’ other times they had to react when the beasts got stuck in the defensive wards.

It was a clear violation of one of Timothy's basic rules for magic combat. He grimaced, reflecting on a frustratingly bright student…

“How do you win a fight? Act while ensuring that your opponent cannot act.”

“Teacher… you might as well tell me that the pointy end goes in the other man! It’s not very helpful.”

“Maybe not, but your question is pretty damn broad! But, as I am rather fond of you and hope that you continue to remain among the living, I’ll try to explain.”

He cleared his throat, while arranging his thoughts. Some things he had worked out. Some cribbed or stolen from Arthurs font of military trivia. Sung Tsu might sound like a ‘confucius say’ joke, but the content was pretty damn useful. Then again, they didn’t often feild enough people in a group for strategy, best just talk about tactics… when he could split the two up!

“You might break victory down into three things. Information, reach, and mobility. There are many other contributors, but these three will do for now.”

“First lets deal with information because it occurs before most realize the battle has started. And it will continue to control the directions of the conflict far after the ‘fight’ is done. It’s the conflict between stealth and detection in its many forms. If you know your opponent is marching to war before he leaves the city gates then what will you have waiting for him when he arrives? On a smaller scale, if you can find him in the shrubbery, but he can’t find you, then how can you lose? You can engage when it is advantageous and if it never is advantageous the initiative to retreat lies with you as well.“

“Next is reach.” and something he made up wholesale. He still wasn’t sure why the masters never talked about it. “The ability to project violence while you remain outside your opponent's ability to do the same. From an old world gun to melee weapons, and now to magic. If you can locate and kill your opponent at 100 feet out, but he can only do the same at 50, then you have 50 feet unopposed to kill him. If you can kill him at 5 feet of range, but he only has 4 the same applies. The wise wizard creates as large a gap between the two as possible, then makes sure his opponents stay in that gap.”

“The last bit is how you do that. Mobility. But it’s not just about moving fast. It’s a relative thing. Trapping your opponent in a pit while you stand above him? Good mobility! If you can move faster, longer and/or more effectively than your opponent, then he never gets to leave the band of unopposed death your reach offers. You, again, decide where and how the fight will occur. Things like food supplies and towns or objectives you MUST defend can also play into it, but let's keep it simple for now.”

He paused at that, going over the last sentence, “Simple, heh, it’s easy to say right? It’s not easy to do. But remember, you win a fight by dealing with your opponent, not by giving him opportunities to deal with you. Act! Don’t just sit around and react.”

“Your way is not very sportsmanlike, teacher.”

He shook off the memory, this wasn’t a place for woolgathering. The fact remained that they were letting many of their opponents choose the engagement window. That could and did work! But it caused wounds and damaged the wards. They had to assume the scouts would survive the occasional first attack. A less than palatable assumption, but one that Timothy didn’t have to put up with. But then, he had options that his, and Donalds, bodyguards didn’t. Detection skills were his area of expertise.

He wasn’t alone in trying this method. Several members of the patrol were using sweeper wands, called weep in the field, even for the plural. Weep, not weeps. No S’s again. At the speeds they were moving the wands did not have time to fully sweep the surroundings. They were limited to a direction and a distance at a time. It made them light and easy to use without throwing back lots of false positives. It didn’t matter if there were 10 siren’s within 10 miles, it did matter if one was 250 feet south, southwest. But when you were moving at 25 miles an hour or better, even 500 feet wasn’t much time to react.

Timothy did have some advantages, though.

A shriveled bat ear fetish flickered to life. Bat’s eyes were not their primary vehicle of perception. Their ears were, but they ‘saw’ all the same. A half spherical pulse flickered out through the magic field looking for specific reactions. There was too much going on to understand everything his senses were telling him. That could take hours in a half meditative trance. The solution was the same as usual: make a tool to narrow it down. A bracelet, in this case, on his upper arm keyed his perception to the six icons engraved on its surface. The most common, or most dangerous, predators he expected to see in this part of the jungle. It left quite a few nasty species to slip through, but trade offs were everywhere. The six were the main cause of death in forward hunter teams.

First on the list was the ever elusive and fiendishly intelligent, wolf packs. Sized more along the lines of a draft horse they were incredibly quick, traveled in packs and had a sense of smell that meant they usually found you not the other way around.

Tucker captured a few, and that was a tale in itself, claiming he missed his dog. Timothy had his doubts on whether the taming would take. They were not just overly large dogs, and intelligence had a way of being ornery. It would be pretty damn cool if he pulled it off.

Hogs came next, multiple tons of pork on the hoof with a proficiency in absorbing and releasing motion. They weren’t that dangerous, comparatively, to the many predators of the woods. What they were was plentiful! Quantity did have a quality all of its own. They also often were the focal point of nearby predators. The base level of the local food chains, if you found a passel, then you found things waiting for dinner too.

Following that was the chameleon cats, a name he still regretted giving the giant leopards. They could not only hide their spots, but were nearly invisible. They didn’t ‘suddenly’ attack. No, you never saw them till you looked back and found a missing friend.

Shadow snakes were less of a problem usually, they were nocturnal and, outside of a lightning quick short range strike, rather slow. But that lack of speed could be a very bad thing. They were slow enough to slide right through a motion ward then strike while inside it. A real killer for night watchmen, unsecured holds or if you walked close to where they rested for the day. If any of these cases happened then pray that your armor holds. Their poison was lethal to beasts a full Tier above them, much less to humans. Too bad there’d been no successful attempts at bottling it. Mystic bullshit. Timothy would figure it out eventually.

The next danger was siren parrots, brightly colorful birds that sang like their namesakes baiting beasts or men to their deaths. Feeding the carnivorous fruit trees it nested in and in turn feeding on the fruits the tree produced. When the weak of will heard the bird it was already too late. On the bright side, the fruit was quite valuable. Even for a group like theirs, odds were a few would falter. Even if a friend snapped you out of it, it was a distraction and something would be there to take advantage. No thanks, go well around.

Last, but certainly not least was a plant rather than an animal. Acid ferns. A light brush and deposit a chunk of liquifying flesh. They rarely killed, but the liquid they were soaked in would strip off a layer of flesh through cloth or hide without the victim noticing for a good minute, then the topical painkiller faded and an incredible level of pain struck the victim. Agony enough to put men into systemic shock. The damn things looked almost identical to the common forest ferns that coated most of the jungle floor (and kept the air pure in Runehold!). A very attentive man might notice the unnatural wet sheen the fern sported. If he was moving slowly and paying attention. The first was right out, even if they were by definition an attentive crew. Inattentive men didn’t survive to become elites.

The list wasn’t comprehensive, there were numerous arboreal rodents, plants and birds of various carnivorous stripes that had to be dealt with manually.Tradeoffs, Timothy reminded himself yet again. He focused on the circular pulses he was imitating, snapping out in the blink of an eye to several miles of range. No time to watch as they ran, inattention brings death, we know this! That was what tools were for!

It paid off with unfortunate regularity. A Cat from the branches above, mid Tier 2 from the faintness of the response, luminesced to his senses as it passed through the wavefront. The reaction was quick and ruthless. He had plenty of practice by this point. A piranha head fetish hanging from one of his belt tethers pulsed to life and took a bite from the cat’s brain. Cats were ambush predators, turn that ambush around and they were squishy as hell. Punching through the stealth, ah there's the rub. At midway through the second Tier it wasn’t much trouble to detect, high Tier two was still doable. Beyond that… well it paid to have good static defenses!

He raised his Hog bone staff, heavily carved with runes filled with amber descending in an unbroken stream from the large orb at the pintel. An orb that held a six inch mosquito trapped in its clouded amber depths. Motion and trapping, it was overkill for the current task. A pulse of will and the body's downward motion was arrested, then directed over to the collectors.

Waste not, want not. Everything from this jungle was valuable. The men in question triggered a series of enchantments with the ease of long use. Removing intestines from the beast without cutting into or otherwise damaging the hide and laying out a short term preservative spell. The hide was the most valuable part of a cat. Embedded with the intent to hide, it was the base material for the hunting cloaks every man in the escort wore. It contained their magic signature for a time. Like insulation on a cold day. They’d bleed through eventually if left alone, but that was a fool's choice. A deliberate bleed off at a chosen location was much preferred. Like an entrail pile that was going to attract attention anyway. On que the squads flapped their cloaks permeating the area with a burst of presence.

Then they were sealed back up and sprinting away.

The rest of the man sized beast was tossed on a luggage dolly as they ran. A 15 foot canoe hovering on a hull of hovercroc leather, the dollie was already beginning to fill with bodies, mushrooms and many other valuable objects. A cornucopia of the jungle’s bounty.

The pause was little more than a footnote, kill, gut, release magic, run. All the while never stop looking. The rules of the jungle in action. Pay attention or die. Keep moving or die. Don’t bleed, don’t make noise, and more than a few more. The jungle was their teacher. Their trainer and their treasure trove. Some men hated it. They rarely survived. Hate precluded understanding. Precluded respect. Some loved it, and basked in its beauty. That was only really dangerous if they started assuming that the love was returned. She was worthy of love, but she didn’t tolerate fools.

They moved through the jungle, occasional hand gestures or quiet bird calls redirected their path around obstacles and away from conflict where possible, through it at a sprint and massed firepower when not.

Like now, Timothy observed the hand signals as the command decision was made to go through the next obstacle. Hogs, a full passel spread out ahead, foraging over too much territory to go around. Even with the chameleon cloaks their signatures would burn through if they got within eyesight. No, It would take too long to detour and would likely run into one of the predators feeding from this passel. It was less of a risk to deal with the devil they knew. Staves were pulled from where they were strapped and fetishes of various forms readied for the coming conflicts. The piranha skull fetish was a favorite, but more than a few warmed up crimson blood tattoos under their clothing. Even a few coup sticks were retrieved as Paradisians buttered up their personal spirits for a bit of shamanism.

The ELR’s Timothy had been so proud of were not in evidence. They were worthless against Tiered beasts. Punching through a beast's aura took an effort of will. A direct contest that the stored charge of a ELR just didn’t have. They were effective against the normal beasts and beast waves of the valleys but no one on this trek would waste the weight on one.

They sped up for the remaining 100 yards, nautilus looking shells absorbed the sounds for a brief moment, letting them close the distance undetected. The magic contained inside them could warn the hogs, but that took a bit to propagate.

Contact. The earth opened up to swallow a few beasts even as chunks of their skulls were removed and lightning lept from a man's hands to ark through a quad. The filled nautilus shells transmuted and released the stored sound into the feral hunting cry of dire hippo. Unnatural in this climate, it was still a sound that lived in the psyche of the hogs, a terrifying warning of imminent death.

The first assault was overwhelming, half the passel was slaughtered before the warning and pained squeals overwrote the war cry and they started to react. Nearly equal in numbers before the first assault, the patrol held nothing back, blasting away with raw aggression mixed with cold precision along the short sightlines of the jungle. Little room to see, little room for the hogs to realize what was happening.

But little was not none. In the feral berserker rage that typified their species the males and older females turned into the face of the ambush and charged. Releasing stores of motion to turn their bodies into living misles of enormous weight and power while the piglets and young mothers scattered into the underbrush. At the head of the charge was a massive bristleback boar. At half again the size of his minions this was the Tiered leader of the pack and he was pissed.

He was also, at mid Tier 2, completely outclassed. Donald made a complicated gesture and ripped several gallons of blood out through his eyes, his chant barely carried but Timothy could make it out. “From leader to led, see eye to eye.” The floating pool of blood exploded into small droplets homing in to blind the rest of the passel. Brutally efficient as always.

They were an old foe and every man and woman here had fought them many, many times. There was no shock or surprise when with three quarters dead and the survivors blind, they still threw themselves forward with desperate rage. A biological imperative to give the young time to get away. Nobility in swine. Ironic at times, but true.

Striking trees and rocks as they bulled through. Without surprise or shock all they had was berserker bravery and it wasn’t enough. They stood against the cream of the guardian crop. The futile remnant charge met a thin line of men and women with Hog bone staves, braced end down against the earth and angled forward; they shunted the hog's momentum into the ground, displacing clouds of dirt and debri. They redirected rather than absorb as his first enchantments had. Safer that way, no danger of overfilling the staves and having a pop off detonation.

Using their own bones against them struck some as morbid. Timothy thought of it as respect. They were a potent foe, even noble at times. Worthy of being used to augment humanities power. They in turn ate humans to empower themselves. Fair enough on either side. Respect was needed, hate got you killed.

The charge stopped cold and a few last clouds of blood and snapping spells put an end to it. A quick scan found the best quality meat, and a pass with an enchanted cleaver, symbolic rather than actually used to cut, removed the prime cuts from a few select animals. Any that were close to a Tier up were worth harvesting. The lead boar was straight gold on the hoof. Difficult to move but much too valuable to leave. A few quick hand gestures and Timothy found himself reassigned. The collectors removed the guts and tossed it onto a now overloaded dollie. There were levels of overloaded though, and Timothy was a old hand at this one. With a gesture Timothy snagged controls for the canoe and augmented it's hovering and movement enchantments with his staff.

Then they were blitzing away. It was why they held nothing back and forced the fight to an early, and somewhat wasteful, conclusion. The commotion would attract every predator for miles. Too much blood, too much sound. They couldn’t afford to linger. There is no such thing as overkill, Timothy reminded himself, just keep firing and I need to reload!

There was enough fresh meat behind them that it should bait the predators to it, rather than to their party. Tiered beasts had a degree of intelligence. It was unlikely that they would fight a well armed party when free meat was available. But ‘should’ was not something wisemen counted on, and the dollies were loaded down with enough Tiered meat and valuable produce to bait the beasts into making an attempt, despite the suppression fields enchanted into them.

They moved. Faster than old world sprinters yet able to keep it up for the entire day. The Tiered meat changed many things. Timothy could only manage because he cheated. Maintaining several enchantments to lighten his weight and to lend power to his steps.

They continued, pausing rarely and never fully stopping. Avoid where they could, hit like the hand of an angry god when they couldn't, but always, always keep moving. And the sleds behind them filled to the bursting while minor wounds and bruises accumulated as strikes slipped through here or there.

Welcome to the jungle.

They made good time, making Threshold Treeholm in just over 9 hours. It was unique as far as Thresholds went. The same blood building took on an entirely different form here. It was shaped like one of the larger forest giants. A massive root base reached out to embrace the jungle floor while a trunk towered up into the foliage above. But the natural colors were completely wrong if they meant it to blend in. All blood buildings came out in reds and blacks. It made the interiors sensual and indolent. Or at least Timothy thought so. Others called them gothic and morbid. Tomayto, tomahto.

What no one could argue with was that it looked like no natural tree. Sure a bit of illusion fixed that… but it could have made a turnip look like a redwood. If they were going to use an illusion anyway, why make it look like a tree? A proper wizard's tower would have done just as well. Sure if you touched a wall colored with an illusion it was not going to key you in on the trick, but. The ever present but. The texture was nothing like bark either! Rough, almost like stone. Petrified wood was the closest analogy.

Timothy just shook his head and let it go. It definitely made them unique. And if he was ignoring the lack of visual and textual fidelity he had to admit it had advantages. The upper reaches provide access to the bottom layer of the jungle canopy. Just the bottom of three layers at present, but in time they hoped to grow it up through all three. The current height was just under 350 feet and they would have to grow an additional 150 minimum to reach the treetops.

They were called forest giants for a reason.

The layer they could already safely (relatively) reach was valuable beyond belief. Fruit bearing vines whose crop could purify even the thankfully rare Tier 3 beast meats. A flower so full of vitality that, once mixed and brewed, could regrow a missing limb. Not all at once mind, it took repeated applications over half a year for a full arm. But it gave hope to the mained. And hope could be beyond simple value.

Those who needed that hope were not few. Some even were the flower harvesters, having lost a fight for a newly grown treasure. The heights were populated by a vibrant and abundant ecosystem of both prey and predator. Unfortunately, with an emphasis on the predators. That wealth was not free for the taking. More than a few treasure seekers didn’t manage to return with ‘only’ a missing limb. Many had fallen, both literally and figuratively from those lofty branches.

Such was life. He had to keep that always in the front of his mind. They weren’t risking their lives for ‘just’ wealth. Those resources were desperately needed. Humanity was surviving but it was not a done deal. It was a constant struggle and there was very little flex room. They grew stronger by the month, by the year. But so did the beasts who wandered in from rougher climes. Humans purged the Tiered beasts from their locales. But where there were no humans the beasts purged each other and grew ever stronger as the victors fed on the losers.

He walked carefully, following the guides precisely across a maze of interweaving roots, each thicker than he was tall, bypassing the many traps and subtle defenses that had been added to the threshold since he was last here. Sure his outer wards were impressive, and the gold standard for new way stations. But, one layer of defenses was seldom enough. Anyone with a brain kept right on building layers as and when they could.

He could see the journey's end, the trunk rising up ahead of them, could feel the bath he was desperate for and the hot food that would come with it. He restrained those thoughts with an effort of will. It was always a temptation to let down your guard when the end of the journey was in sight. But that made it an excellent spot to get ambushed. He forced his brain to stay engaged. To keep his eyes, physical and mystical, peeled. There would be time enough for food, drink and a bath later. They weren’t inside the threshold yet. It didn’t matter if they were inside the outer wards, it was never acceptable to let your guard down till you were actually inside.

Twisting and ducking under a final unnaturally textured root he spotted the entrance. Not that anyone unfamiliar with the threshold would recognize it as such. Merely a slightly different looking knot on the side of the exposed tap root. Eyes still peeled, he followed the guide in a magic assisted leap off the root on a collision course for that knot over ten feet away. Sliding through the illusion he landed and moved forward to make room. This room was often referred to as the outer kill room. The walls were chinked with weapons slits well above human eye level, looking down on the room to avoid ‘friendly’ fire. The gate farther in was not currently visible. It changed position regularly, the joys of a living building.

The room was big enough for the forty of them plus the two guides, but not with the luggage dollies included. They split into two sections with barely more than 3 hand signals. Twenty one in the first batch with one floating canoe while the second group set up defensive positions and waited. Even with half of the squad the canoe took up a lot of space. They were left packed in like fish in a barrel. At the mercy of the hidden defenders should they prove hostile. Humans were not the only things that could manage illusions.

The guide did a quick headcount, nodded and raised a badge, a piece of thick leather embossed with an image of the tree they stood inside. With an act of will the badge lit up, not uniformly but in a recognizable pattern. The code of the day.

The threshold irised open a previously blank wall, blood ‘wood’ organically flowing apart in a twisting spiral to make an entrance. One at a time, pausing for a full scan, they moved through into ‘safe’ territory. Finally, as Arthur would say, inside the wire. The tension started to bleed from him. It wasn’t an instant process. And it was an individual one. Each man and woman on the 5 teams had different habits, different stress tells and even more varied ways of dealing with that stress. The only common thing is that they did deal with it.

Those who couldn’t were no longer present. The human mind was both powerful and fragile. Veteran guardians learned to use that power while protecting the fragility. Those who didn’t shattered.

They’d built up a lot of stress over the past week and change. Time spent ‘out in the dark’ had a way of getting to you. The Dark. The green could have been used just as well, but something about the twilight land beneath the ever present canopy triggered instinctive dread. Trees so large that after years of feeding this Threshold had still not reached their height. Shadows that disappeared in the depths of a moonless night rather than fleeing under the light of day. They’d braved that wild, predator filled landscape to build a new threshold.

But ‘building’ implied it was not ‘built’ when they reached it. A full suit of expensive temporary guardian enchantments were not the same as proper defense in depth. They’d slept with one eye open, if they slept at all, for the week it took to emplace the outer wards and to grow the core of the blood building. More or less constant low level combat as they fought off, or killed the local wildlife. Both in self defense and as a necessary step to fuel the Thresholds birth. They had come fully loaded with healing supplies and stored enchantments.

They were returning mostly empty. The wounds from the day's march should have been taken care of with a potion immediately to hide the blood scent. They’d toughed it out and wasted valuable mana on isolation enchantments. It was a damn good thing they were several cuts above the required Tier of this area.

But desires and relaxation methods would have to wait for a time. They stood in a loose formation waiting. A team was your life line in the jungle. Your brothers and sisters, you didn’t wander off and party till everyone was safe. They paused for a time, then the stream of ragged cloaked guardians started up again and Timothy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He snapped through a quick headcount, aware that a good seven others were doing the same, all accounted for and both canoes were already moving off to the sorting rooms. They would deal with the evaluation and bargaining tomorrow, for now he followed the flow of bodies into the transit shaft.

He had built this ‘elevator’ and it was pretty damn cool, if he did say so. A quick flex of his will to connect with the enchantment and he floated upwards at a good clip, dodging side to side as necessary. And it was necessary, he didn’t float alone, they’d all piled in laughing, pushing and shoving on their way up to a bath, a beer and maybe even a companion. Not in any particular order either. Arthur said it felt a lot like indoor skydiving tunnels from the old world, just without the wind constantly blowing. Timothy had never been skydiving, indoor or otherwise, so he couldn’t say.

The runes worked on a completely different symbolic intent. Inlaid with a liquid extracted from jellyfish they let you float up and down, not fly or fall. It was a blast, but it was a busy time of day, hunting teems coming in for the night in a more or less steady stream so sticking around for recreation was frowned upon… That would occur later, a solid hour after full dark it would become a full contact sport field, and that might be just what the doctor ordered. With 40 of these muscleheads with him, female companionship was not terribly likely. He would just have to make do with Null-G-ball. Played vertically with a net on levels 10 and 30 where magic was not just encouraged but required, it was a hell of a romp.

Later, for now he tumbled out of the shaft into a large common room nearly identical to the one he had just helped build, only with considerably more in the way of nicknacks, wall art and filled bottles behind the bar. Sven, nodding at several of the permanent residents, jumped up on a table to address the patrol. “Cut loose! You earned it and there is more than enough coin in the sleds below to pay. Make sure any of your wounds get taken care of before you get to drinking but other than that have fun. It was rough out there, and I know we said home tomorrow, we aren’t doing that. The day after will be safer and still soon enough. A night to party, half a day to recover and a half a day to repair and re-arm. A good night's sleep without a hangover, I’m looking at you Rog and I’m not laughing,” The man singled out had the decency to stare down at his feet in shame. He was damn lucky to be alive after that event, “and we’ll make Paradise a day late. Expect a nice bonus all around for a successfully built new Threshold and three cheers for all that left returning intact!”

He got his three cheers and then some! It was deafening and echoed from more than just the guard detail. The occupants of the common room, both permanent and seasonal, were jungle runners too. A full crew returned safe and without major injuries was reason enough to celebrate. Add in a new Threshold and it was damn near christmas. A place where you could push your Tier higher while on the look out for adventure and wealth. Any one of them could be the one to discover a new food or enchanting materials to set their small world aflutter.

Timothy turned away from the bar as the men split into their various preferred pleasures. Sven would arrange rooms with the local Cardea. Named after the Roman goddess who was the guardian of the thresholds, they were a foursome who, appropriately, guarded and ruled the Threshold. Four people so that they could support each other, and so there would always be an awake mind holding the wards. Two could do it if things were desperate, four gave some safety room and the opportunity for breaks. Part bartender, part innkeeper, part stablemaster and part master of arms. With most jungle runners being out and about looking for treasure somebody had to take care of the station and hold down the defenses.

The Cardea were bound by their duties and as partial owners could not leave without replacement. It wasn’t a simple thing to hold those defenses over an extended period of time. It took specialized training and no small amount of personal power. Replacements were not a common commodity.

In exchange for their sacrifice anyone who wanted the protection and luxuries of a threshold, and everyone did, paid. An offering of blood, flesh and bone for the Threshold itself. The constant supply kept it fed and growing. But that was just the building, its attendants also needed recompense.

They sacrificed the opportunity to go out looking for growth opportunities. But they held the defenses, they could not be weak. The defenders mustn’t fall behind in the pursuit of strength. On the plus side, while restrictive, the job was usually safer than that of a jungle runner. Just so long as the Threshold held, if it fell the runners might escape but the Cardea went down with the ship.

It balanced out. The Threshold’s portion was mostly cast offs. A chameleon cat's furry hide was the most valuable portion. The flesh, bone and blood was still Tiered meat and bone, but it was not a popular choice for eating. Enough less popular that it didn’t make sense to ship it back to the river valleys. A batch of locals, getting paid for another of those useful niches, slept during the day and worked at night while the runners slept. They would take the harvests and render them down to the valuable bits. Sort, skin, butcher and preserve. They were experienced enough to handle, and price, nearly anything and their fairness was guaranteed by the simple expedient of a once a week trip to the truth stage in the baths. A public attestation that they had given fair value and cheated no one over the last week did wonders for would be corruption. Still they were human, every once in a while someone got greedy. When the stage muted them, the lies became obvious and comeuppance was not far behind.

Walking back towards the shaft he nodded to Nix who was heading in the same direction. “Food or a bath?”

She grimaced pointing to her head. A very nice head with brown hair in a short bob cut, “Bath, brushed under a glue vine early in the run, it’s been driving me nuts all day.”

He winced. Glue vines were exactly what they sounded like. Coated in a thick layer of sap they fed on the decaying corpses of insects and, occasionally, significantly larger animals. The sap was strong enough to use for construction when you didn’t have a joiner handy. It could be concentrated by boiling it down, but even in a raw state she must have lost a chunk of hair to escape. Or, he corrected himself as he got a better look at the back of her head, she cut a chunk out of the vine and it was still in her hair, and likely glued to her shirt and cloak as well. That was going to be a stone cold bitch to work out, baths or no.

He could have helped… but he was working on suppressing that impulse. If he fixed every little thing people didn’t learn. They didn’t grow. They didn’t need him to step in, they were competent people who could figure it out. If they ran into a snage, well, they knew where to find him. “No such excuse for me, I would just like to feel clean. The water levels weren’t high enough to use the new baths yet.”

Dropping down the shaft they dodged around a few returning runners, he even recognized most of them. This branch of forts originated in Paradise and while there were plenty of other towns guardians who had moseyed along looking for a change, the core was still people he had grown to know quite well over the last half decade. He said hello, slapped backs and promised to catch up later, but he didn't stop while doing it. That bath was calling to him.

Nix did the same, only more so. He was the barely social wizard afterall, she had no such problem. She wouldn’t have been hired for the current task if she’d not been a respected, well liked member of the runners community. When you lived out of eachothers pockets for a week it wasn’t a good idea to bring troublemakers along. Proven competence and the ability to fit in with a team were required. He didn’t pick names out of a hat when his own life was also on the line.

They dropped down past the ground layers and into the underground. Soft glowing, flowering vines graced the sides of the shaft surrounding the various openings at each level, well spread out to maintain the structural strength of the trunk. He kicked off the back wall and arrowed through the opening with a small bath carved above it, pulsing his belt enchantment to arrest the fall, twisting lightly to land on his feet at a slow walk. He was not an acrobat by inclination or training, but cheating was a thing and he was damn good at it.

The bath was a little piece of home, smaller in scale than the standard full baths, now present in every settlement of the trade network, but still the same shapes, concepts and more importantly, feel. He dug out a personal token, merely a coin with his mark on it, but one made from significantly expensive materials. Like a black AM ex card it told its story of wealth with no room for confusion. He tossed it to a cook in a small shack along the wall and gave a polite but hurried purchase request for dinner. The cook was a guardian as well, making a bit of extra coin at night with her cooking skills. He glanced at Nix with a raised eyebrow then tripled the order. All that muscle and size took more fuel then his mostly mark 1 human variant.

His personal mark on the token would let her know who to bill and the enchantment on it would let her call him when it was ready. In some ways it was overkill. This was not the inner valleys where pay was required up front. But he didn’t look like a runner. He looked like a norm. Like a leech. Proof of power and money went a long way to smoothing things over.

Rapidly stripping down he carefully went over his various enchantments. Checking for damage, physical or mystical and cleaning, oiling, or otherwise preserving them as he went. The bath called, but a man or, he cast a sideways glance at the mostly undressed Nix beside him, a woman who let their weapons and armor fall into disrepair, was not likely to survive. Gear got taken care of first. Then carefully locked in a wall locker. Thievery was all but unheard of, but those were his life line. It didn’t pay to take chances.

The jungle cloth clothing, already fraying and broken in places from the rough travel, was wadded up and tossed into a recycle hamper. That was what the hamper was there for. Anyone who activated the enchantment on it could pick up a temporary suit of clothing made from the thrown away dregs. For what was usually one use clothing to get you back to your rooms, it was more than sufficient.

Finally free of the required responsibilities he gratefully splashed into the cleaning pool. Grabbing a scrub brush and beginning to remove the accumulated grime of a week living rough, he tried to hit that happy medium of people watching. To be aware and appreciative of the unclothed female bodies around him without being creepy. Fully ignoring a body that was a work of art was insulting. Blatant staring was an invitation for a fight. But Goldilocks that bitch and everyone was a happy camper.

It was not just built up stress talking when he glanced at Nix. She was worth a stare or three. Tiered meat had given her five inches of extra height and a clearly defined six pack without removing deceptively soft femine curves. The woman was built and he let his eyes and face communicate that as he continued to scrub away the muck and grime. She was also taken so he didn’t linger with the appraisal.

Her return look of confusion brought a chuckle out of him. That was the reason he’d tossed the token to the attendant all over again. Nix’s confusion was something he was long used to. He ran the jungle with them. Fought beside them. Those actions had an image in her head that looked far more like Donald than like him. An image of size and musculature that he did not in any way fit. Even long-time acquaintances would have that poleaxed look occasionally, a mental disconnect between expectations and reality.

After a last rinse he climbed out of the cleaning pool and jumped into the much larger soaking pool, releasing a relieved sigh as the water began to shove tendrils of relaxing heat into his muscles. He just drifted for several moments before lazely swimming forward to snag an unoccupied pillar seat. The forest of columns, enough below ground to be solid stone instead of part of the ‘tree,’ sticking up from underwater broke the pool up into lots of little nooks and avenues, cutting back on his sightlines, which was a pity with the abundant eye candy, but also made the setting intimate rather than the impersonal sameness of an old world swimming pool.

It would be a bit till dinner, he reached back for a standard strap and slipped it over his arms to rest high on his chest, holding him up above water. A nap would be a fine thing.

Habit had him rolling out of bed at the crack of dawn. That roll almost lost him his not-yet-acquired breakfast. Null-G ball had been everything he needed, requiring both focus and aggression. And bleeding the remnant adrenaline from his system as he used it up in a non lethal environment.

After a full day’s run, he was not at the top of his game, despite the nap. That just made it better. The enchantments used in the game were ones he made, there needed to be a small handicap to keep things fair. Emphasis on small. Ascetic living and constant mental training had turned his will into a thing of tempered steel. He may be lacking in mana capacity compared to the Beast meat doping magic users around him, but that's what precharged enchantments were for.

This was his game, floating up or down was willpower based, redirecting the motion of his opponents was also will based. But it wasn’t all in his favor. Mass, and the muscles that came with it, still had a say. Kicking off the walls was a time honored tactic, and one where he fell far behind.

Despite that he had managed a pretty decent showing. A few goals and some truly gnarly checks. Mass redirected into a wall was its own kind of brutal. It was all in good fun and he even offered to pay for a healing potion if the pansy wanted to go crying to the medward. An offer that was politely declined. Politely in this context led to him having a black eye so fair was fair. He smiled at the memory through a truly pounding headache. He had pushed it pretty hard to keep up and hadn’t made it to bed before midnight.

He threw on a set of clothes, jungle cloth as usual, in a hurry while a yawn threatened to split his face. Then he slowed down massively, forcing his misfiring brain to fully concentrate for a few moments. He carefully went over his belt of charms. Sure, he had already done this in the baths yesterday, but it was a habit at this point, and a necessary one. His check found no tampering or signs of potential failure. Slinging it around his hips he decided against taking the staff. The belt was like a holstered firearm, acceptable anywhere but the staff was more like an assault rifle. It wasn’t forbidden to take it to breakfast, but it could be awkward trying to find a place to put it without tripping people. It was also too valuable to just leave lying around. A quick and dirty sealing ward attached the staff to the wall. A would-be thief could wait for a few hours, or cut a large hole in the wall. It wasn’t moving short of that.

His affairs in order, he slipped out the door and down the shaft towards the common room and, hopefully, breakfast. Someone must have been watching for him because he had a companion as he left the transit shaft.

“Morning Runefather, I trust you slept well?”

He didn’t even wince anymore at the title. Everyone had either that or a handle. Names were a bit too dangerous to calmly bandy about. Your close family members might use it in private, but then again they might not. You had to have a fair amount of skill to use a name against someone, but there were more than a few about who had that skill. Timothy mentally grimaced, he was still doing catch up work on that. With enchantments keyed to his name erasing it from any written works. Even a few to encourage people to forget, but that only worked reliably on the norms. At best it might work on some of the weaker guardians. He did almost wince as the volume interacted with his aching head but managed to suppress that too.

“Morning Cardea.” He’d had high hopes for a decline in formality. It didn’t work out that way. Titles just made it worse.

“Might I take up some of your time, I understand you won’t be leaving until tomorrow morning?”

He wanted to groan, he could just see his rest day evaporating. Still, responsibility was a burden you didn’t get to put down whenever you pleased. He paused to think about that. Something was wrong with his logic there, but his head ached too much to find it. “Sure, can we speak over breakfast or do you need some privacy?”

“Breakfast will do just fine.”

That was just as well. When people wanted something but didn’t want to admit it, well it could get dicey. He moved to the sideboard with a purpose. Meat from the night before sauteed with a number of local mushroom species kept as fresh as when it came out of the pan by a blood ward stasis field. Not bad at all. He snagged a moderate portion as well as a full water jug and two cups. Leaving a tip in the bowl, he slid over to a mostly empty table. It was a four person low affair shaped like a flattened mushroom surrounded by two of the usual leather couches. A bit awkward if you tried to sit up at it, but half reclining with the plate in one hand it was quite comfortable. It was also why the plates were more like large flat bowls. Blood buildings were quick, safe and convenient but growing a traditional chair and tables with all the spindly legs was just not in the cards.

The Cardea read the mood well enough to give him a few uninterrupted minutes to bolt down some of the food, merely drinking a bit while waiting. When Timothy had about half finished he started speaking. “I understand you have a new class graduating soon.”

Thankfully that didn’t require a response. He had promised the first batch would be ready this year. Any one paying attention already knew that. He sighed internally, just as well he didn’t need to speak. Apparently the headache was bothering him more than he thought. He needed to tamp that down before he made an enemy for no reason.

Failing to get a response the Cardea continued somewhat awkwardly. “We're doing extremely well here. On track to pay off our start up loans in no more than a year, not the 20 we originally projected. With an additional threshold out from here, we could make the jump from to full hold.”

Ahhh, now Timothy had this conversation pegged. He rarely got involved in the lawmaking, and then only to try to veto a particularly bad law, that did not mean he wasn’t aware of the rules. To become a full hold you needed the protection of perimeter thresholds, have fully paid off your start up loans and a Pathfinder on site. The last one was key. New threats were cropping up on a regular basis, anything permanent needed the protection of someone with the ability to adapt with changing conditions.

Few thresholds had that protection full time. It was provided for them by the Union, or at least a portion of it’s first generation pathfinders. Origins as they were now called, father or mother as gender required. Father of Runes, Father of Blood, Father of Brotherhood, Mother of the Green and another three dozen spread over 27 towns in the union. 25 Timothy corrected himself, Templeton and that asshat Bensen were not official members nor were the North Korean Fear casters. The irony being the latter was slowly coming along, but the former not so much.

They provided guidance and support for the thresholds. Not their full attention, but the right to call on them with questions and get solid help, not just answers, in return. They were spread too many ways to offer more. Until now that is, when a new batch was ready to step up.

Safe or no, the change of status had some large benefits to the community. Thresholds were limited to guardians of an appropriate tier. Low level 2’s for Treeholm, meaning they could punch a spell through the resistance of a basic Tier 2 beast solo, and up to a mid with their respective teams. That was the bare minimum requirement for survival here, but it had some severe drawbacks. There were no waiters. No career cooks. No short term stress relieving companionship. None of the many luxuries that a full time support staff could bring.

Giving the man the benefit of the doubt, there were also no families. Pregnant women had to rotate back to the valleys or risk their children living in a prison. House arrest in many ways, stuck in the threshold until they could awaken.

If they could awaken. Otherwise it was a life sentence.

They couldn’t risk the trip back as a norm. Risk in this case was code for suicide. It was a hard, dangerous run for the augmented. For a norm? It would take ten times as long, and what's worse, they would be moving too slowly to avoid fights. If they couldn’t kill the beasts quickly and break contact then it would turn into a feeding frenzy.

Still Timothy gave him time to beat around the bush for a few more minutes while finishing the meat and mushroom fry. It at least was well worth his attention. He polished off the last few scraps and drained the cup of water before interrupting the man.

“No.”

“...Excuse me?”

“You already know, or at least you damn well should, my students aren’t going to be ‘assigned’ anywhere. They’re free people, living free lives, just like you and me. They’ll have many, many offers. If you want to snag a Pathfinder then make sure you come out of that contest on top.”

“Free people? Am I free Runefather? Can I leave this post to visit a child?”

“You chose it, more than chose it, you fought for the opportunity! Beat out a number of other applicants for the spot as I recall.”

“I did! I fought hard for it, and I don’t regret it even now. But I do want a family. Is that too much to ask? To have a family. To see my children grow. Not leave my wife to raise them alone for 15 years.” He took a deep breath, fighting back some pent up frustration. “I know I signed up for this, I’m not backtracking and I’ll fully enforce the strictures. I’m following the rules by talking to you, not trying to dodge around them. This is the official way to make my desires possible.”

He paused for a minute, running his hands through his hair. “It’s not just for me either. Many of the harvester teams would like to have a little more than just a courtesy room here. They want a permanent home. Something with some warmth to it and maybe children to raise.”

Timothy sighed, the man wasn’t wrong, and he wasn’t crying wolf. That didn’t mean what he was asking was Timothy’s to give. “It’s not an unreasonable desire. It is an unreasonable request. They’re free agents. They have to make that choice on their own.”

“Yes, but you can make suggestions and recommendations, right? That’s all I am asking for. A recommendation. You have seen our home, hell you helped build it! Tell me it isn’t a jewel among thresholds.”

“I understood what you wanted from the get go. My answer is no. I do have considerable influence. If I made a ‘recommendation’, how would it be different from an assignment? I won't do that to them. Not only is it unfair to the students, it would be terminally stupid for me.” He held up a hand to stop the Cardea. “Let me fill you in on a few things. It starts with a simple question. How is a school for the best and brightest of the entire Union not an excuse for holding hostages?”

The room fell silent. They’d gathered a decent audience by now, the issue was one that was emotionally charged to begin with and they’d hardly been quiet. It was why, along with the fact that the first class was about to graduate, that he was willing to let some of the behind the scenes negotiations surface.

“When we finish here I’ll walk down to the baths and swear to it.” Best to leave no doubts in their minds. Fucking this up could cause a considerable amount of unnecessary ill will and chaos. Maybe even destabilize the union as an outside chance. Oh not right away, but enough hummingbirds could bleed out a hog. “All the self awakened, ages 13-15 mostly, from the entire network were concentrated at Paradise. You know that. What you don’t know is the infighting that went on before that was agreed to. Accusations of poaching. Was this just an excuse to take the next generation from each town and keep them for ourselves? Was it an excuse to force the Union members to behave at the threat of losing their future? Why Paradise instead of one of their holds, that one, by the way, was the easiest. Paradise is smack dab in the middle where most of the river tributaries meet. Location, location, location.”

He poured another cup of water while he let that percolate. Taking a gulp he spoke again. “Promises were made to allay those fears. First, to the best of our abilities we would teach them about magic. Not indoctrinate them about governmental BS or our brand of morals. Promises made under verification, and with some pretty nasty magical consequences on top of the purely political ones. I have to project images of the classes to each of their holds so they can see what's going on. I have to dot fucking I’s and cross asinine t’s all to keep every damn member willing and happy. I assure you I have many things I would prefer to spend my time on. But I do it anyway. I hold people's hands and assure them that yes, little johnny is in the best school available. Because it’s needed!”

“There is a massive amount of oversight and that brings me to another promise. We aren't trying to steal their new pathfinders, we’re trying to improve their performance and let them meet their peers. I gave an oath, and I will have to reswear it on the stage again, that I did not direct them where to go from here. Some will go back to their hometowns. Some might go to the thresholds that protect those towns. But it will be their own idea. Their, and only their, choice. I fought damn hard to make sure they had the freedom to make that choice, rather than be conscripted by default.”

He paused to let that sink in. “I can not and will not give you what you want.”

“He really can’t,” Donald's voice, followed by his large frame, broke through the surrounding crowd. The gorgeous lady under his arm was a pretty clear indication on how he de-stressed. “and, much as I like him, if he tried I would be oathbound to slap him down for it. Along with every other Origin in the Union. We’re to different, even if we are working at it. No one wants to have their children return contemptuous of their history. Timothy was our compromise. A man who thinks magic itself more important than politics, and can swear to it under verification too! Before I met him I would’ve thought ambition was required for those willing to become a pathfinder.”

Timothy snorted. It wasn’t that he didn’t have ambitions. They were just much bigger than wasting his time trying to tell a bunch of humans what to do! There was an entire unexplored world out there begging to be understood. Why would he become a glorified nanny? That was a good way to be tethered for the long hall. It was bad enough being the nanny to the youngsters, and that had a set shelf life and a damn good reason. If he trained them up right, then he could be spared to do his own things.

“Oh, we have other teachers come and go to expand the students' horizons. But Timothys stayed the course for all of it to keep the focus on magic, not indoctrination.”

A shorter, stocky man to the side took a step forward, waiting for the Cardea’s nod to speak. “You both are in key spots in the Union right? Why are you out here putting up another outpost?” His tone added the word ‘just’ to that statement.

Timothy waved Donald ahead. He had the stage, and frankly was better at this sort of thing then Timothy anyway. “Your handle?”

“I’m called Two-Branch, Second Blood Father.“ At Donalds raised eyebrow he elaborated. “I fell from a branch up top.” He pointed upwards towards the canopy. “Smashed into one branch and kept falling, landed on the next. Most of 60 feet.”

“Survived two branches, lucky!” He said with admiration. For the handle not the event. A lucky handle was a touchstone. A rabbit's foot.

A muttering of agreement broke from the crowd.

“Two-branch, do you really think putting up a Threshold is a simple task? Familiarity may bring contempt but surely you realize you live in a marvel that is the combined brainchild of no less than seven Origins?”

The rumble from the crowd surprised Timothy. He thought this was public knowledge. About half the audience was surprised if he was any judge.

Donald continued speaking, taking on a chanting cadance. “The Mother of the Green created the idea for the outer wards. Confusion and misdirection over overt conflict. But they were the protections of her garden, her home. Not something another could build or wield. The Father of Runes” He pointed to Timothy, “Made it usable by guardians, and a light enough burden that they could be held for a day. Wards would hold back the world, but they would not provide a home and comfort for the living. The Fathers of Blood had a solution.” Timothy snickered quietly, that damn chant was bad enough without referring to himself in third person, “They made a blood seed and grew a living building to shelter the brave. But these were but pieces to the puzzle. The Father of Binding saw the full picture. He bound the wards to the building and the building to the Cardea. Wards, building and Cardea became the Threshold.”

“But one Cardea had to sleep. He could not maintain the wards for the full cycle, every cycle. The Father of Brotherhood said ‘if one won’t do, then four will’. He joined four together as one and let them share the burden. But four as one nearly forgot they were four and not one. One without sanity. The Father of Spirits created a cushion, a filter. He awakened the spirit of the building to stand between them. Now the four made one could become four or one at need.”

Donald smiled, “Now that I’m done with the official legend, thank the Father of Song for that by the way-” Oh, Timothy wanted to thank him alright. Thank him with a bat. He liked Gareth, but Bards and Minstrels all seemed to have the same weakness. An inability to respect truth when it got in the way of a good story. “-the practical part is that you’re living in the most advanced piece of magic in the entire Union.” Close, but Timothy would place money on his scrying room. No point ruining a good story though. “Much of the creation was done before we ever set out. Sceptres carved, a blood seed born, the Cardea picked and bound to the seed and proto wards. But some of it can’t be done from safety. We have to risk big brains, small body here-” He pointed to Timothy again, who ignored him. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. “To finish the job. I assure you, we wouldn’t let him take that risk if we had any other choice. We need him and despite what you said about being a free person. There’s free, and then there’s Free. You’re stuck in this threshold, Cardea. He's stuck by our need, when the right people tell him he can’t go out and play, he listens.”

And damn Timothy if that wasn’t true. He should have left their asses long since… Dammit.

They caught up with him later in the baths. Apparently if at first they didn’t succeed, then annoy the hell out of the wizard.

“Rune Father, can we speak?”

“The violence wards are active, so I guess I can’t stop you.”

“Ahh..” They always seemed to get a bit wide eyed when he wasn’t the tip top of politeness. Wasn’t that one of the benefits of power, not having to beat around the bush for 20 minutes just to say hello. He’d far too much to do on a daily basis to waste his time that way. When he did get a day off, like today was supposed to be, he wasn’t going to waste it on diplomacy!

Timothy sighed and tried to move things along. “Just tell me what you want, alright? I’m a wizard. Leave the polite non-talk for the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned diplomats and politicians.”

He struggled internally for a minute, then caved. “Is there any other way? The union, hell the humans who make it up, can’t afford for experienced guardians to take a 15 year break to have children.”

That was a shift in tone alright, almost as it- “Did Blood Father coach you?”

He looked almost guilty, but soldiered on. “I took certain advice he offered, is that a problem?”

“Huh, no problem, by all means go on.”

“Can you give us an avoidance talisman?”

“Fuck No!”

“Rune Father, please! You didn’t even think about it! It’s not like the enchant doesn’t already exist. Those Bensenite assholes use it all the time.”

“You going to invite one of them to help you?”

The Cardea spat over his shoulder to ward off the ill luck. A rather disgusting thing to do in the communal baths. At least the water was fully cleansed several times a day. ”I’m desperate, not an idiot! But they started using that enchantment years ago, you have definitely made a copy by now.”

Flattering and annoying in one go. Timothy sighed, “...You’re not wrong. Now tell me, why haven't I made it widely available? Despite the hype, I do usually provide useful enchantments for sale.”

He looked aside, gritting his teeth.

“Come now, you were a talented student back in the day. I don’t need to spoon feed you on this.”

“They’re weak.”

“Yeees, like cardboard cutouts of what they should be by now. No fights, no struggle. Just hide under the auspices of your man made God. I may have figured it out, but there is no way I’m letting that disease get a start.”

“Then just use it for transport runs with norms. We don’t have to throw the baby out with the bathwater!”

“You’re more powerful then I am if you think you can make that stick. Sure at first it’s just a monthly transport route, then some one finds a good use for it. Just a little duck out to harvest a flower, it won't hurt anyone. No! Even if you could prevent the abuse of the enchant I still wouldn’t let you use it. It has a rather nasty flaw that you might not be aware of. It only averts creatures at or below your strength. It taps into the subconscious deferral to strength that most beasts have. The strength of your will warns them that you’re stronger. If you’re not… then it's a challenge not a ward off.”

“But they’re weak!” He snarled, somewhat bewildered by the turn in the conversation. “They can’t ward away anything with their strength.”

“Ahhh, but it’s not their strength that wards the beasts away.”

His eyes tighten in understanding. “Bensen.” It gave Timothy a kick to picture the time Bensen must be having. Out of courtesy most people didn’t use names. It didn’t matter yet for guardians, but any pathfinder was considerably more sensitive to the background magic field. Your name being spoken was distracting. Mike, First Blood Father now he reminded himself, likened it to a mosquito zapper. Not an immediate demand for attention, but certainly obnoxious.

“Yep. They channel his will. I somehow doubt you want to deal with that.”

He thought for a moment, “But the brotherhood could probably manage it in teams.”

Bingo, he was a talented student, “They probably could, but how many would it take? And how many Thresholds do we have that would all want a piece? We’re already struggling to man new outposts. No, the numbers don’t work.” It was not a new problem. Timothy's been working on it for over three years. He had the germ of an idea, but he wouldn’t speak of that until he had a proven success. False hope was no favor. He would not Daikatana his way to the top of their shit list.

The Cardea sighed, “Can’t you offer me some hope at least?”

“I don’t do hope, Cardea. I do results.” He held the man's eyes, letting his reputation speak for him. He didn’t let it linger for long enough to become a dominance challenge. He hated wasting time on that shit. “In the meantime keep thinking up new ideas. Any one of them might be the spark I need to solve this. Make sure you also send an offer to the graduation ceremony.” Timothy waited as the man used his drink to hide his dissatisfaction with such a long odds option. When his mouth was good and full Timothy continued. “Someone has to win the lottery.”

It was a very good thing the pool was cleaned so often.

The next leg of the trip was comparatively easy enough that Timothy could split his attention to ponder the problem. Only the first third was in the jungle depths, then it lightened up as they hit the river valley proper. It was a dramatic, and hard fought, difference. Even Treeholm was kind and easy compared to where the unnamed new Threshold stood. It would take time and blood to partially pacify it.

Pacify.

It was such a misuse of the term. The number of aggressive beasts would not decrease. That would take a power far greater than they possessed. No, what they could do, and did, was kill off the higher Tier beasts in an area. Removing the brains that made their vast numbers truly dangerous. Low Tier beast packs would kill and feast upon each other until the survivors became higher Tier. Wide scale detection and on-call kill teams managed to preserve humanity's dominance over the valleys. But it was a constant struggle. Ironically, that was not a bad thing. Humans were not so different from the beasts. Feed on the conflict and flesh of the defeated in order to grow. So far they were just a hair better at it.

Alpha predators of the region. For now at least.

The true threat wasn’t home grown Tiered beasts. It was the migration of a much higher Tier of beast. Something both smart and powerful enough to contest that alpha status. Like ‘himself’ if he ever tired of tri yearly offerings. They could not afford to rest on their laurels. Constant growth was the only way to provide safety for the young.

For the young. Treeholm’s Cardea were not wrong. The next generation was needed to continue the process. If all their best and brightest were prevented from procreating it would be a gross disservice to the race!

The thresholds were the first step in the Union's plans. A defensive position strong enough to hold out against the hordes, even those led by a high Tier beast. Either hold on long enough for help to arrive or provide enough of an advantage for the defenders to assassinate the leaders. Without leadership the hordes would disperse or die with little issue.

The second step needed to provide more than a base for those people. They needed a home! Survival was not enough. They needed to truly live as well. For many that meant children, company and all the little luxuries that made up the valley holds.

He didn’t have a blueprint to make all this work. Constant struggle and improvement applied to him as much or more so than to any others. The luggage dollies were a previous attempt that failed to fix the issue. Something that could keep up the pace required while transporting a few norms or dependents. It didn’t work. Large parties caused feeding frenzies. But small parties could not keep every little beast from the norms. The guardians had augmented vitality, fairly significant personal defenses and the sheer experience required to notice and react to incoming threats. Even stationary threats like glue vines or acid ferns would remove layers of flesh from a guardian, they would flat kill a norm.

The canoes were not his only attempt, nor his only failure, but they seemed to follow a trend. It didn’t work for its intended purpose but it did a smash bang up job as a luggage dolly. Every failure was a solution for a different problem.

He was damn sick of solving the wrong problem.

That thought kept him steaming inside for the rest of the trip. The shorter sprint to Paradise. Treeholm was a day's journey out, but whose days? A nine to ten hour sprint for low Tier 2 guardians was only a 6 or 7 hour trip for Timothy, Donald and their fully Tier 3 guard detail.

The courier boat, through the stinking putrid swamp, home was barely an afterthought.