Time marches on. The rebel Adept and his lass were found at the far edge of the budding village from where Ulric had begun his search, because, of course they were.

It was an interesting sight, the combination of rather ordinary shaping of stakes for a palisade and ropes tied to pull tree limbs down, where they were held together. Then the mage went to work, passing his glowing green hands over the limbs and the wood joined together seamlessly, as if it had always grown that way, the tension in the holding lines now slack because the bend of the branches was fixed to their new arrangement. From what Ulric could see of the operation, it did not cost the Germen mage much in terms of power, he skipped merrily to the next branch and repeated the process, many times over, and where there had been a thick, but easily passable forest, there was now a tree high woven fence, the palisade stakes acting more as anchors and space fillers than the true meat of the living wall.

Ulric was suitably impressed. He'd already concluded that using what already was, was a far more efficient use of magical strength, but having it demonstrated with such relatively rapid casting, and without exhausting the young mage in the slightest, so far as he could tell, reinforced the lesson.

Neat. Maybe he should try to figure out how Germen and Sano worked. Healing magic was a somewhat glaring weakness in his toolkit. Only problem was, he didn't know how he was going to learn if he didn't have someone to teach him. Knowing the basics of cell physiology was a far cry from using Sano to conduct major surgery, rejuvenate diseased or damaged tissues, or synchronously repair multiple organ systems in coordination. Not any time soon, he had a feeling. Ulric had quite enough on his plate currently.

"Ho there! Adept Brodin, you are true to your word, you weave a live palisade at a pace I wouldn't have believed!" Ulric greeted the young mage enthusiastically.

Protection from the forest's denizens and, in the near future, perhaps more soldiers was a blessing he hadn't counted on. Nice it was, to have someone around he didn't have to take care of, besides Taipan, of course.

The boyish mage dipped his chin in a slight bow before standing straight with satisfaction in his task.

"It is the least that I could do, for those who have taken us in. Especially in light of my own past and the wrongs of my people against these Elves. We are, all of us, grateful to you all for your generosity." Brodin said solemnly.

The Leor girl squeezed the mage's arm gently and her cat ears flicked in excitement before she cheered her boy on loudly.

"My Brodin is the best Tree Weaver in all of Prespang! He will make of this forest a living labyrinth if you give him a month to do so!" She exclaimed, enjoying the freckled mage's blush.

The catkin might not even be exaggerating, Ulric agreed silently. He had, in a morning's time, created a good kilometer circumference of nigh impassable arboreal fencing. It would take a dedicated team of sawyers or a good damned hot flame to burn through a green wood barrier such as was being fashioned here.

"I have actually come to you to ask you for a minor boon of your talents, Mage Brodin." Ulric told the boy seriously.

He thought of the Adept as a young man, mostly because of his baby face and that naïve, slightly lost look he tended to wear, but the Germen Mage was at least the age of Ulric's own body, which meant that he was the same age Ulric had been when he'd died in the before. For some reason, Ulric still felt every bit the cynical old man, in spite of his youthful flesh. He was probably about a million years old at heart.

"Oh? I would be glad to be of service Lord Einar. Tell me what I might do for you, please!" Enjoined the allied mage.

It felt weird as hell to be given such deference but it would make things even more awkward if he got all strange about it, so Ulric powered on, as if it were common place to be the Big Wig.

"Nothing so great, Mage Brodin. My hunters have run off with my flag staff to use for catching game and I find myself in need. My banner is rather too large to drag conveniently." Ulric said, indicating the tightly bound and gagged prisoner by lifting her from his shoulder in one hand and giving her a slight shake before replacing her.

The volume and pace of muffled cursing increased from behind his shoulder and he grinned his satisfaction in her discomfit. Served her right, being shitty to his wife, a little rough questioning or no.

The young mage and his partner's eyebrows rose at that and the nearby Elves grinned wolfishly. They were all of them of a like mind with his Shadow, and, he was not so surprised to find, himself on this matter.

"I see," Brodin said dubiously, "Well not to worry Lord Einar, I can coax a proper pole free from one of these older [Seaside Hickories] in short order."

Together, the four of them marched off to a spot just outside the encampment proper to find a suitable old grey beard of a tree. They located just the ticket a few minutes later. Dominating a copse of younger trees, no doubt its seedlings, a massive tower of a hundred meter hickory spread wide its crown, gnarled bark telling a story of ages standing vigil over this section of wood. Brodin approached the tree with the sort of reverence that Ulric had only witnessed from the Iriel'en and immediately his impression of the lad improved further.

The Germen Mage knew proper respect for his elders, it would seem.

Ulric watched devout hands rest against the rough, deeply ridged bark and a gentle green tracing began to unfurl from the locus of contact. Rapidly, a writhing tangle of deep viridian rivulets, all tuned to the harmony of things green and growing, soared up the trunk of the old tree, disappearing into its spreading crown.

"Ware! The old senior offers us its boon, but it is on us to keep our heads unsplit!" Called Adept Brodin after a few moments.

True to tale, a five meter long ridge pole, smooth, as if it had been finely sanded, fell from the limbs high above, twirling as it careened off of branches in its descent.

Taipan made the catch, snagging the pole with some effort, both from the weight of the thing, coupled with the momentum of its fall, and from her still tender midsection. She handled it though and Ulric snaked the end through the bindings of his captive, through loops tied for just such a purpose and raised her high overhead, his living declaration of parley. If he wanted it to be a declaration of war, he'd have made sure just to leave the head.

"Ah! A finer rod from which to hang than you truly deserve!" Remarked Ulric to his prisoner, before addressing the Tree Weaving Adept respectfully.

"My thanks Mage Brodin, for this. It was wonderful to witness your art. All of the time, I find the workings of those who revere the magic to be a treat to see." He complimented.

The Leor woman positively beamed, seeing her besotted Mage receive proper accolade for his craft. The young man himself just smiled cheerfully, and inclined his head, maintaining a proper dignity. It only took a few minutes to return to the budding village, new banner held high, and they left the young mage and his irrepressable partner to their tasks. The young mage tending the bowed branches to create a densely bound fence of live trees, the young catkin girl cheering him on.

"Cute kids." Ulric noted to his partner.

"Agreed." Taipan replied, before observing, "If only you were as obedient as young Brodin. I would have less work than trying to wrangle a worms in the head Valin with a meteor for a core."

Ulric knew a prodding jest when he heard one. An invitation to battle, then.

"But would that mine own guide were as warm and affectionate. Certain someones around here nearly chill the bathwater with their gaze." He retorted.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

A mild growl behind him told him his shaft sped true this morning. Aha! Where it bleeds, it can be killed!

"For a long while, I was afraid that you had suffered nerve damage, freezing your face in that cruel frown. But look! Even mentioning the demon seems to call its presence!" Ulric cried in false alarm.

She was about to try a cutting rebuttle but Ulric wasn't going to let her find balance in offense, "Perhaps you are in need of healing, wife, to pull the wrinkles premature from such scowling visage!"

"Myert! Ulric you Jarltyn heathen of a [Bark Weasel]! It will be you that needs healing if you carry on in this way. Ask mine father how many coats he has ruined, showing Vedyr that kind of cheek!"

Ahh, she was so irritated she used the Aes'r tongue out from habit. He was living rent free in between those lovely ears now.

"Alas! Only brave Bald'rt would know how best to tickle his [Shadow Panther] under her chin. Would that I could ask him now for his wisdom in taming the fairer side of Aes'r-Iriel'en." Ulric drove on, heedless of danger.

He could taste victory. She had erred greatly in mentioning her father to him. It only served to remind him, and her, that the two men, so dissimilar in features, very much had the same sense of sharp humor. If there was anything she hated, it was when Ulric was successfully needling her in the manner of her father. Mostly because it was extremely effective.

"You will be asking him how to unsew your mouth from the bottoms of your feet!" Roared Taipan, her strident tone grabbing the attention of the surrounding Aes'r, who immediately knew fun when they heard it, and stopped their doings to enjoy the show.

"A fitting end to the man who braved [Forest Lord's] wrath, only to meet his doom at the fangs of a Greater and so much more beautiful beast!" Ulric observed, his voice carrying widely.

"Knave!" She accused, trying not to crack a smile.

"Hellcat!" He retorted, truthfully.

"Compliments will win you nothing, Ulric Einar!" Taipan fibbed, playing with a lock of midnight hair.

"I would lose then, if only to find my fate in the delicious shade of a splendid Shadow." He proclaimed, earning a vibrant bounce of ears and a hurried look around.

Taipan only truly got embarrassed when he flirted with her shamelessly.

"Tonight then! Now stop this carrying on." His mate leaned in close, grinning her fierce, sharp toothed smile while she held his eyes with hers.

Breathing her in like this, all vibrancy and Taipan-ness, it was almost easy to ignore the goings on around him.

"As you wish, [Lady of the Glade]. It would be unseemly to continue, only your ears unsettle me so." Ulric desisted gladly, taking a parting shot below the belt to cement for all time his win this day.

That last earned him another bounce of ears and an even more vigorous darting of eyes, to make sure none had heard. She poked him repeatedly in the ribs, using her other hand to quickly hush him with a blushing, "Don't say things like that, Ulric! Not where the others can see!".

Contrary to the strenuous objections, and his previous slanders, his Taipan's gaze was decidedly warm.

Victory would be sweet this evening.

They continued their leisurely stroll through the camp. Ulric was certain the parting observation from a She-Elf in the clearing was meant to be heard by all.

"Mark you well brothers, that is the work of a master Hunter against dangerous quarry."

Ulric took some amount of pride in that. He was a [Snake Charmer] and Taipan was a Taipan. Oh, she was cute and blushing, mortified by having her ears mentioned now, but later, there would be glorious aggression!

He'd never been much of a lady's man, back in the Before. Hookups were one thing, but real, lasting relationships might as well have been dew before a sunrise, destined to fade before long. Come to think of it, he still wasn't running a great track record with the single life.

Hal'et had more or less decided to come after him for a giggle, which wasn't so much his doing as hers, and giggles were had. Taipan was a result of some kind of weird Elf cultural shit, a mutual similarity in being somewhat antisocial peoples that never quite got along with their peers, and circumstance, with Ulric basically being an adventure, conundrum, and challenge, all in one bundle to the lass. He was, through some odd combination of events, basically Taipan catnip. The Legranal Herdrider, Prenya, was more Taipan's doing than his own, he swore the woman could easily pull more tail than he ever could. Even other Aes'r women thought his Shadow-Wife was hot.

Rebirth had changed many things, but not even dying could make him cool. However! He was confidently terrible at picking up women, and confidence was attractive. Right? That probably wasn't how that worked. It mattered little. An almost supernaturally attractive Elf woman who was probably also a serial killer by the strict definition, enjoyed his goofy awkwardness mixed with brooding confusion about how to respond emotionally to anything, and that's what was important.

It was a good thing he'd been able to keep his good humor in all this, otherwise, the courses down which he rafted upon Varda might have gotten to him.

They Valin Lord and Aes'r Lady navigated the not quite warren that was springing up across what had been an unassuming thicket surrounding a small glade. The creek that seasonally overran to drown the undergrowth that made that glade burbled pleasantly, an undertone beneath the sounds of labors towards some measure of civilization. That same creek made for chilly, but refreshing bathing after he and his lass had helped wherever they were needed for the rest of the morning.

His talented woods craft wife got drafted for rope weaving duty. He watched a moment before he departed, her deft fingers flying through the braiding of prepared wood fibers to prepare a tight, durable cordage that would easily hold a [Blade Elk's] bulk suspended to drain its life's blood after being hunted. The other weavers made their own ropes of a similar quality but Taipan's speed was unmatched, and she looked almost like a village girl chatting and heckling the other Elves as they worked. Ulric found that he could almost be grateful for the adoption of all these Aes'r foundlings. Never happier had Ulric found his thorny mate than these past few weeks.

A few moments basking in the glow of Elven weaving was all he got, his lot was a harsher one: manual labor.

"Glade Chief! When you are done ogling your woman and wasting the day away flirting under the Twins, your back is needed!" Called an unceremonious Legranel, whose one arm waved, flagging him down.

"Fine!" He called in return, heading that way, a pile of worked lumber spelling his doom, "You're just jealous that you can't ogle her!"

The razzing Elf's eyes squinted and he turned his head in the direction of the dark skinned jewel of Iriel, mocking confusion, "I cannot? But she is just over there, and mine eyes see just as they did, two arms or one. A comely thing, but too tall for my taste, I'm not the climber I once was."

Ulric couldn't help but chortle at the self-deprecation, the Orlethrem were taking their maiming in stride. He pitched in to haul finished timbers to where they were needed, dug post holes for their setting, and worked a minor bit of Terra with his core to raise short [Stonewalls] that acted as bracing to hold them in place. Once the Aes'r and Prespangers overseeing construction saw that, he was press ganged into doing it for all the load bearing timbers being driven, until his core ran dry.

Above it all, bound to a flag staff of living hardwood set into the soft earth and braced to resist toppling, a baleful glare surveyed the growing village with deep seated contempt.

Never in her life had Triella Horang been so thoroughly mortified.

First, Brownie poison had nearly killed the entire detachment and only working the healing mages to their deaths, supported by the rest of the Choir, had kept all from succumbing to the toxin. Then that traitor had leapt on the chance to betray his City, murdering the remaining mages in a mad bid to buy time for some of the villagers to escape, including that furry slave he had managed to free.

Just when she had suppressed the rebels and put their huts to the torch for their trespasses that Barbarian mage had ambushed them. Triella Horang, Captain of Kistalfer's garrison forces and newly appointed Praetorian of Prosper had been defeated utterly. She was beaten in single combat, where she had outnumbered her enemy at the outset of battle. Her men had barely managed to even touch the enemy before they had been slaughtered.

Triella was a veteran of a half dozen engagements with the barbarian tribes in the Outer Reaches. She'd faced down the Tundra Walkers to the North, with their potent ice and frigid wind spells, the dwellers of the high mountains to the West, with their tenacious defensive tank classes, and the savage hand to hand melee fighters of the wide plains that marked themselves head to toe to declare their status, none of which had the kind of complex ritual scarring of this Ulric creature. He was a league beyond all of them. Power, speed, awareness, and destructive spells unlike anything she'd seen from a wilding caster. The ridiculously fine armor and that devastating weapon on top of it all made the barbarian the most complete warrior she'd seen since Baron Kistalfer himself.

How that dangerous an adversary had come a mere fortnight from the walls of Prosper herself undeterred was a ludicrous failing in the Magister's information networks. And that failure was compounded by her own loss.

She had been crippled, her prospects for attaining the highest position possible for one not of the Merchant Lords' personal houses were gone. Triella would never again be able to wield a blade. Her abilities were potent, her class's fundamentals run deep and strong, but she could not utilize them with only a single three fingered hand. Prosper had no use for cripples. Now, a Praetorian was vanquished before she'd even received her mantle, her men annihilated, and Kistalfer left weakened against the ragged horde around her.

That had not been enough for the barbarian.

Instead of granting her a warrior's death on the field, he had taken her prisoner, had bound her like a hunted animal and paraded her through his camp of Knife Ears and blood traitors. Then he'd turned his bitch of a Brownie wife loose on her person, to suffer the degradation of being mauled by that one's cruel arts. Triella had, in a moment of weakness that made her defeat seem a minor set back in comparison, broken with shameful ease. She had given what she had to give, unable to hold back in the face of the arrogant disdain of her Brownie torturer. Barely had the wicked creature even begun before she was unable to hold back her knowledge.

Now, to grind the shame of her defeat to the bones, she was born aloft above the din of Prosper's enemies, come together to make a mockery of the tenants of Prespang's common law and the edicts of the Magisters while they plotted insurrection and war, a living banner to her own vanquishing. The brute calling himself [Lord of the Ancient Glade] had proven a beast in truth, remorseless and implacable in his loathsomeness.

No matter what curses she hurled against the creature it merely smiled its evil smile and proved its own disgusting nature by whispering sweet nothings to a black hearted murderess, daughter of an even blacker hearted monster in the Blood Moon. Triella would know no peace until both were dead, consigned to the flames alive in punishment for their affront to the Manifest Destiny of Prosper to bring Order and Civilization to the continent.

Triella tried to utter another string of invective from behind the cloying gag but choked slightly, unable to breathe easily through her newly broken nose, struck down by that vicious brown skinned hag of an Elf while bound. Honorless dogs! Coughing down the mucus, spit, and blood that were clogging her nose and throat she tasted shame, along with the acrid metallic flavor of blood.

Ulric looked up briefly at the hacking cough of his bargaining chip. He hoped she liked the view, all these Prespang Valin and Jormun, striving and aiding one another as if they were one clan. This was the way it should be, the way it would be, when he had destroyed Prosper and freed the lands of the Merchant Lords' corroding influence.

He only paid the hateful pawn of the oppressors brief notice. A headache was looming from being, politely, squeezed dry of mana to help set the support beams for about a score of new structures. Longhouses, a couple of smithies, and who knows what else he'd helped to ready for roofing and siding. All Ulric knew at that moment was that he was pooped. And hungry.

Which reminded him, he wasn't certain how long it had been since his prisoner had either eaten or voided waste. By the smell of her she was due a dunking in the creek and he'd have to see her fed a gruel. He wasn't overly interested in her comfort, but he needed her alive and he wasn't into petty cruelty. As much as this woman had earned her fate, he wasn't so callous as to deliberately starve a captive.

Taking up again his standard, Ulric, without ceremony, dipped the prisoner into the cold, fast running creek and waved her around vigorously in the clean waters. Hateful eyes stared murder at him while he did and he wasn't exactly sure why this most recent indignity should rate as much compared to what had gone before but women were odd creatures sometimes. Maybe she couldn't swim. Regardless, most of the dirt and odor sloughed off her into the creek so he took the still dripping flag pole and braced it against his shoulder, taking off toward his shelter.