Ulric leaned heavily back on the hard iron battlements that stood so high over the Vatyn, symbol of the dominance of Prosper, casting her shadow over Prespang as her walls did the mouth of the Zelas. He was tired, so tired. The harsh burning of his hip was now pulsing with his heart beat, the combat focus had faded, taking with it the dulling of agony. Hurts ignored during the violence, the muffled beneath full throttle roar of the Lord Instinct came alive all over him. Multiple pieces of metal had slipped past the broken remnants of his cuirass' plates, lodging themselves in him. Ulric was at least vaguely surprised he hadn't gone into shock.
Credit due, the Watcher had done good work on him. The instrument of the Immortal Gaze had served its purpose, if it broke now, no harm done.
Mana burn was in full effect, adding to the pains in his battered conscious. With a wry grin, Ulric checked his status, a thing he so rarely did.
[Status]
image [https://imgur.com/1MEOQhK.png]
And it went on including the collection of spells of various kinds he'd figured out, but he let the image fade too tired to concentrate long on anything. He was so very tired.
Goddamn girthy thing, Ulric sighed. His level was a lot higher now, whatever the hell that meant. The Akashic impact of ridding the world of an immortal evil, he guessed. Guessing hurt about as much as trying to move, so he let the status go and tried not to do much of anything to make the bleeding worse. There was some indication from the distant signals making it through the wreck of his body that all was not well inside him. It was surprising how not bothered he was by that. It had been a wild ride, but he'd done what he set out to do.
Eyes closed, the Reforged man had to admit he'd done a lot of living this past half Vardan year. More than the last twenty of his old life, easily. He'd fought hard, pretty much since day one, waking up naked in fern gully to come face to face with an old monster with nothing but primitive weapons. Surviving the Plateau, earning acceptance from the Iriel'en, traveling a good way across a continent, most of it full of pissed off super animals, and beating the ass off an empire of slaving genocidal fuckers. Ulric was due for a break. Now seemed a good time to start. He started to drift off when he came aware of the scuffle of fast-moving leather against iron hull and a disturbance of the air from something moving at high velocity terminated in the clatter of a hard landing. Somebody was in a hurry, he noted.
"You are not allowed to die, Ulric. Mine is the hand that will slay you." Taipan announced from somewhere nearby, her tone holding far more warmth, tinged with a heavy note of concern, compared to the words she chose.
Her normally effervescent, lilting voice was strained, tired. Sounded like she was about as tired as he was.
Eyes still closed, he hoped she took the feeble wave of his hand in her direction as assent. Ulric really could go for a nap right about then, his wife could handle things until he woke up, he was confident. Rough shaking jerked him back awake.
"Stay awake! Do not touch your magic, but concentrate on it, feel its flow, as Mother Bathe has taught you, this will hurt." Came the gruff commands of a veteran of many battlefields.
Ulric didn't even want to think about magic, but he did his best to do as his lovely wife asked. Hands peeled the remains of the cuirass off him and Taipan went to work on him, ruthlessly dressing and cleaning the punctures left by the tiny iron slugs that had managed to slip past the compromised [Forest Lord] bone plates. She was correct, it did hurt quite a bit. Good thing most things hurt just then, a little more wasn't much difference. He regretted the loss of Uldin's gift, there wouldn't be another one of those armors in all the wide world, the [Forest Lord] had been the last of its kind and Ulric's equipment was the majority of the usable bone sections.
Idle thoughts like that distracted him from the sound of pieces of metal clinking from the hard structure beneath him, fragments being pulled by deft fingers from their resting places within his body. Several times he felt Taipan go to her belt knife, she had to cut some of the projectiles out of him. It hurt fantastically, even with a sharp blade and a practiced hand, but Ulric was too ragged out to squirm or even moan loudly. At some point he passed out.
Seagulls woke him up, calling from the skies above. Eyes glued shut from long unconsciousness saw enough light from beneath their heavy lids to know it was daylight under the dance of the Twins. A strong breeze played over his face. The air was fresh and clean, but something was missing from its bouquet. It took several minutes for the glacial processing power of the convalescent former engineer to realize what was absent: salt. The cold spray that drifted onto the deck of the rolling ship held none of the brine, a sure sign that he was, at long last, away from the Vatyn.
He couldn't say he was sad to see it go, his time spent in the company of the sea had been anything but peaceful. Images burned into his memory of a brave friend giving his life for his people, of Elves pushed beyond sanity by cruelty, of monstrous beasts and desperate fights, of a cold lump of regret for a bunch of troops following orders that would see them never to return home, of a fanatic committed to burning her own people alive, and of an enemy, worn down by the betrayal of a life of service to an evil cause, who made of his life an answer to the crimes he'd committed in its name. So much dying and pain, all accompanied by the melody of the ocean's waves. It would be years before he could separate the sound of the sea from the memories.
A failed attempt to swallow that cost more effort than it should have was the first real eye opener, metaphorically, that all was not well with Ulric Einar. Fortunately, the watching eyes of a Shadow noted his minor movement and she came immediately to prop him up and force water past cracked lips. Ulric drank slowly, until the water skin was taken away and he was laid back down. He slept again then, and woke later. This time, he actually managed to crack eyelids enough to see the oranges and reds and indigos of a sunset, and then was gone again until mid-morning the next day.
When he opened his eyes this next time, Taipan was waiting with food. She was gorgeous, full lips, nut brown skin, faint traceries of scars, and a thick bandage across her chest. Worry kicked in, she'd been hurt, probably fighting with that savage mercenary killer of Elves. He opened his mouth to say something stupid about her injury but a spoon entered his mouth, cutting him off because he could either swallow the food or choke on it. It was warm, rich, and savory. A thick broth, an entire bowl full was ladled into him, alongside a plate of hardtack soaked in said broth. He twice tried to slow the force feeding to ask about her and a threat to either eat or have her chew it for him and feed him like a mother eagle, force him to subside. While his doting huntress fed him like a small child, he learned then that he'd missed a few things since the walls of Prosper.
Firstly, as his nose detected they were sailing down the Zelas, had, in fact, already left behind the lands of the Celestin entirely and were far south, nearing to where they would put in port and make way by a much smaller boat up the tributary rivers through the Zelussin territory back into Iriel. Oh! Right! Ulric distantly recalled that the abandoned city beneath Iriel'hos used many water wheels fed by a big river. Second, as soon as the Lich of Prosper had been killed the spells holding the ships had unraveled and they'd sailed over to the wall. Mage Brodin had woven a willow scaffold to help get Ulric and Taipan back down to the boats. She glossed over her injuries and said little of the fight against Vars.
"A warrior that hones their blade on the defenseless finds it dulled against a true foe. Vars Elfbane's dance was no match for the teachings of Idra'se, or the fangs of a Taipan."
Her injury was mostly attributed to having pushed herself to mana exhaustion already pressuring the Lich with her Iskios skills. She'd broken the mighty barrier the undead wizard had created with the aid of a phenomenally potent catalyst staff, powered by a fully-fledged [Arcanite Diamond]. Those distractions had forced the mage to split its attention, weakened its defenses so that he had time to craft an electromagnetic accelerator spell he'd on and off again theory crafted ever since figuring out that he could manipulate the forces described by Coulomb, Maxwell, and Tesla.
She had collected the pieces of the Lich's catalyst, a trophy of the slaying of the creature, the only thing left of the thing. That staff had been a thing of magiteck beauty, bringing to fruition many of the theories Ulric had had to prevent eroding the integrity of the philosopher's stone under extreme magical loading. Its success had been made clear by the sheer weight of magic the bastard had thrown against them. Ulric had to grant the Lich that much, from one engineer of the arcane to another, the sonofabitch had done careful, meticulous, work. It was ruined now, of course, but Ulric could probably reverse engineer it with time and the advice of some capable folks, such as Shor and Uldin.
The third piece of news was what shocked him fully awake though.
"What the hell do you mean two weeks!?" the Reforged man croaked weakly, trying and failing to sit up.
A raised eyebrow and a wagging finger chided him. In case he wasn't completely on board with Doc Taipan's suggestion she added curtly "You will relax and stop your squirming, Ulric Einar [Lord of the Ancient Glade], or I will dose you with something that will keep you down another two."
Threatened credibly, Ulric tried not to sulk. She even used his full title of address when she did it, she was serious. Two weeks asleep? That wasn't sleep, that was a friggin coma! It took a slight effort, but Ulric managed to pulse his core, feeling the sluggish flow of Ceraun inside himself. Sluggish wasn't something that normally could be mentioned in the same breath as the essence of lightning. Bad news.
"Care to tell me how I'm still alive, Wife? I'm not a doctor, but I probably ought to be a little dead." He asked, trying to get his limited faculties around his profound weakness.
A male voice, the Treebender Brodin, in fact, answered for her, "She operated on you while she bled to death from a wound stitched together by Iskios. I had to pack the both of you down from the wall, unconscious, and soaked in your own blood. If not for Master Geras' instructing a small cohort of the Aes'r in Sano, neither of you would have survived, and that is a certainty. By all the Seven Heavens above, you both cut closer than eel fur."
It was now Ulric's turn to bend a demanding eyebrow on his partner.
"Lady of the Glade, I am quite certain I have told you, in no uncertain terms, never to trade your life for mine." He scolded, absolutely serious.
That had come very soon after she'd made their status "official". He objected then to the whole Shadow thing, especially the lack of value for the inferior position's life, over that of their "Honor" or whatever. They both knew that they led a dangerous life and had taken a path that would promise great risk to both of them. They had agreed not to trade lives, that if one should be lost, the other would not try to sacrifice themselves. Now that he had cause to ponder on it, she'd never actually promised not to. The tricksome woman just very strongly implied and led him to believe that she wouldn't do any such fool thing.
Ears dipped a bit under his disapproving stare, before bouncing back and she lifted her chin, "I never agreed! And if you would simply stop trying to get yourself killed it would be much easier to keep you safe!"
"Taipan." Was all he said, his tone telling her the rest.
He wasn't letting her off this time. Not so long ago she'd taken him to task for doing things that were dangerous without regard for himself, with the specter or her grief to flog him into compliance. Well what was good for the gander was good for the goose.
She wilted, and looked away from his reproach.
"I had my chance once, Wife, I had a whole lifetime. This world is a gift, one I wouldn't trade away for anything. But. When it is done, it will be done, and I am content with that. What I would not be content with is to wake to a day knowing that the only reason for that sunrise was that you paid for it with your own life." Ulric remonstrated gently, too strained to properly yell.
Pride warred briefly in her before she accepted his decision. Fair was fair.
"Fine, then, Ulric Glade Chief," she told him with no little anger, "Next time I will just leave you to die. Then I don't have to have mine own words thrown back at me by an ungrateful manling."
Charitable in defeat was his Taipan.
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"I love you too." Ulric responded, which neatly disarmed her budding temper.
He had gotten better at handling snakes, to judge by the slight blush and shake of her growing hair. The black, almost blue was almost completely down the back of her neck now, and a loose tuft of bang covered one eye, fiddled with by a finger absently.
Brodin went on then, rolling his eyes at the both of them, "Behave, the both of you! It was not certain that you would wake, Lord Einar, those who drink too deeply of the mana sometimes never do, or, if they do, are lessened greatly. Whatever gifts imparted to you seem to have preserved you from that fate. Lady Taipan should have lain on a stretcher beside you, rather than taking watch. It has slowed her healing greatly, in spite of the tending of our budding healers' choir."
Eternally at the young mage's side was his once slave Leor wife, her cat ears flicking, and her smile disarming.
"They cannot help it, my gentle darling! Look how they dote on each other, like ones who have only eyes for the other! I would also rather throw the coin of my life to buy your own dearest!" She exclaimed, embarrassing basically every sentient in earshot.
"Say not such a thing!" Mage Brodin scolded, and he whirled away with the catkin girl, her giggling all the while, in spite of his muted whisperings of outrage.
Twice born Valin and Aes'r Iriel'en both sighed relief at the departure of the taxing lovebirds.
When they were gone, Taipan moved to sit beside him on her bedroll, which was laid out next to the rather comfortable feather down mattress that had been summoned from somewhere to be his recovery bed. He asked about it and was informed that the Orlethrem had made it themselves, a few days after the battle at the Gateway to Vatyn, hunting and plucking the birds and sewing the cloth. Ulric found himself greatly touched by the gesture. When he made the mistake of saying so, a nearby owner of pointy ears told him they would have done anything to keep Taipan from putting another unfortunate through the agony of her being their wife.
Taipan threw a knife with her off hand, grunting at the strain, and missed, and Ulric wasn't certain at all that she had tried to miss. The laughing ass fled, taking the knife with him, promising to forge it into a promise gift of hair pins for his sweetheart, as soon as he found someone to work the bellows and hold tongs, as the fellow had only the one hand. He called across the deck to ask a young male to be said sweetheart and was given reply of a series of hand gestures Ulric knew to mean "Drown yourself".
"Gods they're assholes." Ulric commented, still not quite certain how to deal with these folk who appeared determined to follow him home.
He had to admit that they'd grown on him, secretly. Them and the others from the freeman town in Kistalfer forest.
Shifting slightly in the comfort of the down padding he had to acknowledge with a muttered "They make damned good feather mattresses though, I have to grant them that much."
Now this took him back, he'd spent not insignificant amount of time bedridden after that dickass pyromancer fireballed him. This time he'd fireballed himself from the inside, not to mention the pelting he'd taken from those little iron needles. The sharp twinges from his hip socket indicated that the bones still weren't totally healed either, his normally rapid recovery wasn't kicking in.
"How are you, Taipan, really?" He inquired to the sitting woman.
She undid her jacket, a jacket with a rather large patch sewn into it to show a broad, rough scar that traveled through her collar bone, across the top of her chest and around to the back of her shoulder. By the look of it, she'd come close to being carved in half. Ulric was suddenly keenly aware how ridiculous was her not only slaying Vars but then also ascending the massive wall and treating him. What a gal.
Head shaking at the absurdity of the woman, he couldn't help teasing her a bit, "You didn't need to let the mook put an axe into you to prove you're tough. How'd he manage to do that, anyhow? You're way too fast when you spar with me."
Rueful, the Iriel'en huntress restored her dress, still deliberately ginger in her movements as she replied, "I put all my mana into the arrows sent to break the Lich's barriers and evading several of the spells sent to kill me. Not all the magic the creature wielded was being aimed at yourself, though you were certainly too busy to see all the battlefield. When we met, the murdering filth was fresh and at the zenith of his powers, while mine were tapped completely. It was as favorable a condition of battle as the beast could have asked."
Ulric breathed a few deep breaths thinking that over. What if he'd come across the solar spear wielding captain of those soldiers exhausted? Dealing with her had taken a fair majority of his ability, she was the better melee fighter, he had been the better battlemage. Without the use of his core's talents and mana exhausted he'd have been easy meat. Taipan had given her all to give him a chance to close the gap with the Lich, to eat away its defenses, supporting him from behind.
He hadn't known that when he'd commanded her to take on the high caliber warrior or he'd have chosen differently. And poorly. Had Vars slowed the both of them long enough to give that undead wizard time to cook up something as grand as the Infrig spell that froze the sea and trapped their ships they'd probably have been uber killed. Worse, Ulric might have panicked and used the railgun spell on the Beastkin to keep Taipan safe, rather than nearly destroying the Lich outright with the working.
He couldn't imagine that suffering that much damage hadn't had some detrimental effect on the mage's ability to wield its stolen powers.
"You said nothing." He accused, gently.
A rare smile painted her sylvan features, exotic eyes twinkling, "My Glade Chief is too good a husband. You would not have left my side if you had known, and our true nemesis was atop the walls wielding power overwhelming. Only by allowing you to achieve complete focus on the task of undoing the creature could victory be found. The only one that could have stopped the Lich was the [Lord of the Ancient Glade]. And you did."
Taipan was gifted at "told you so's" so Ulric didn't let it sting too much that she'd protected him from himself. He was gladdened greatly that he'd found a partner smarter than he was.
"You old folks are pretty sharp sometimes." He informed the Elf woman nearly four times his age, for all that she rarely showed it outright.
A raised eyebrow and a musical snort greeted his sally.
"And it must be the fervor of youth that lends you such vital energy, Ulric," She rejoined, growing more somber, "I did what I was able, but, in truth, you did most of the harm to yourself. I saw the spell you met power to power. I would not have thought anyone but my father could do such a thing. And then you continued to strive and crushed the Lich with another such strike. Even for you, that was far too deep a draw on the Field. I have seen warriors consume themselves in such a way, wielding far less power."
The athletic woman scootched over to sit next to him, placing her hip and side next to him to share the warmth of contact. A delicate hand stroked his face softly, relishing the touch that had nearly been lost.
"I do not think you know how little hope any of us had for your survival. Even the Elves who treated you thought they poured water through sand in the attempt to repair the havoc to your body and core."
Ulric took a bit to mull that over, and also to think on his status before he said anything. He had a theory.
"I have a theory regarding that, Taipan, and you may feel free to tell me that I’m worms in the head again, " Ulric began, "My soul stat is twenty, which is higher than anybody I've seen, and I have over twenty more due to various things that I have done since my second life started. I think, maybe, that sort of holds me together a bit, that it increases my resilience toward mana and all this Akashic shit. I think souls are what tie a person to Varda, and the greater the soul, the greater the connection."
Taipan did not stop her petting but did zone out for a moment, biting her bottom lip as she did when she was bending considerable horsepower to some problem. She eventually smiled and shrugged.
"Mayhap. Souls are the realm of the Immortal Gaze, Ulric, and it was that one's working to bring you unto Varda. Perhaps this is another of the signs of its touch, a greater capacity to be connected to your classes, to bring forth the talents of those who walked those paths before you. We know little of such things, classes are tied to the soul and it is forbidden to do soul magic, to touch or alter a soul. Hushed whispers will tell you doomsaying of the creation of new Abyssals from such acts. Others say you call the Watcher's wrath down on yourself. I care not, if your soul is the reason I may hold you tonight, then I am gladdened."
As usual, his wife took the most direct route in her thoughts, carving out the details that didn't matter. He had to admit, he agreed with her on this one. Without data to say one way or the other? Who gives a shit? All that mattered, really, was that he was here. He really hoped he hadn't managed to cripple himself though. Maybe that was asking too much.
The facts were: he lived, his Taipan lived, and the assholes who'd put them down this road didn't. Ulric Einar could settle for that. Everything else was, honestly, bonus credit.
When he didn't say anything to countermand her, his wife took silence for consent and wrapped herself, gently, around him, with nothing but the voices of the gulls overhead to break their thoughtful quiet. Ulric fell asleep again, not so much later, warm inside and out.
Waking later, he was not subjected to Taipan's ruthless feeding and enjoyed another substantial broth and bread affair. This one was spiced up by the injection of a fresh caught fish, tangy and pleasant, kind of like alligator and salmon. He devoured the meal heartily, accompanied by wife and several Orlethrem who Ulric realized, somewhat belatedly, were the healer trainees that had maybe saved his life.
They shared little in common beyond those hallmarks of the Aes'r, being of a variety of the clans of the Orlethrem. All wore thick cotton robes, white with forest green sashes, a sort of common theme for Elf medics. None of these junior mages had a Sano core, they had only just begun their lessons with Geras before the old High mage's death. Ulric had been treated by master healers in Irielhos, deft weavers of mana that had restored him from horrific burns, leaving him almost entirely unmarked. In fact, they'd done so well that the only lingering sign of the event was the hair that grew in white on his head. When these laid hands, unlike the gentle flows of restoring magic he felt more like he was sitting through a low amp electric shock treatment, coupled with a lot of muscle spasms. The slop of their attempts to repair the damage done him by the shrapnel and his own magic left them tired quickly, and limited what they could accomplish in one sitting.
Fortunately, back in familiar territory and safe from threat by the watchful guard of Zelussin who patrolled both from small, fast cutters and along the banks of the great river, the medics had harmonized their cores with the local flows of Varda's Field. Elven cores replenished themselves rapidly, much more rapidly than a human core, and the result was a fairly low downtime on their efforts to put him and his mate back together. He was not the only one who got to taste the tremendously uncomfortable tendings. Deep was the hurt his Shadow had received, though she had attempted to downplay it, and the Sano trainees strove mightily to reduce the amount of long-term damage or loss of function that such a wound might inflict on even her physique.
Taipan took her medicine with stoicism, this not being the first time she'd received what amounted to extended first aid from wounds taken in the field. Together in their impromptu hospital beds, Ulric got a few stories of Iriel'en heroes that sounded like something out of the Odyssey from her while trees grew ever taller around them, marking the approach to Iriel, the Deep Wood of the Elves.
It was odd for a man surrounded by new and strangeness to feel so much like he was going home, but that was the sense Ulric got every kilometer that passed that carried them closer to the heart of the land that had birthed his wife. Perhaps some of her sentiment was bleeding into him. Then again, the closer they got to Iriel, the closer he came to the glade and that called to him like a lode stone now. Longing in every bone pulled at Ulric to return to the [Plateau of Ancients], to the land into which he'd been Reforged.
What really stuck to him in the long hours spent doing not much was how much had happened in the brief time. More or less, he'd been on Varda for about three seasons. Born in the Autumn, figuring out how to survive on the Plateau, Winter with the Elves learning to master his body and core, and Spring spent transforming from a green as grass raw recruit into a somewhat hardened warrior. Hard to believe. There was a little pride in him for how far he'd come. Ulric had worked bitterly hard at not getting himself killed. Not that he'd done it all by himself, of course. He owed much to the Elves, most especially to the one snoring softly at his side. Without Taipan's skills he'd probably never have managed to cross the long leagues of hostile wilderness. Without those green and bronze flecked eyes watching his back he might have been killed in a dozen of the scrapes they'd come through almost unscathed. Never to be forgotten was Galed Uldin, godfather to Taipan, friend of Bald'rt, who had employed his skills to sheathe Ulric in a protection that had saved his life times untold, who had crafted the sword that had let the Glade Chief use his powers to their fullest.
No merely excellent blade would have withstood Ceraun's dance, not once, but twice. Whatever connection to the Prime Ulric had was stamped into his classes and that strength was a thing raw and primal as the great sprite itself. A regular metal sword would probably have melted to slag under that kind of manaflow. Ulric fondly patted the indigo and cyan patterned blade lying nearby, studying the runes carved into its metal, runes enchanted with the core of the [Forest Lord], the soul of the old monster returned to its original purpose: guarding the Forest of the Forgotten.
It was only a couple of days later that their stalwart ship brought them to an unassuming dock next to a sprawling Elven city, one that was similar in some ways to that of the Iriel'en capital and Trachn'ir of the Celestin, but distinct. Potem'aal, it was called by Taipan. Ulric walked slowly down the gangplank from the vessel, the big carrack now one of three that was his very own, by virtue of a bargain struck with Baron Tras Kistalfer. To judge by the two other vessels that were tying off and the contents of his purse, Ulric Einar was a wealthy man of means.
Ruefully, he grinned at his circumstances.
"Wonder if it might buy me some peace and fucking quiet?" He whispered, confident in the answer to that particular question.
A twitch of ears and a sidelong glance from the proud Amazon next to him showed that she had heard his skeptical inquiry.
"You would ask the Coven to descend to fold your bedsheets as soon as be forgotten by the currents upon Varda, Glade Chief. The Immortal Gaze does not expend its efforts on a reforging for but a single purpose. Your work is not done." She told him in her mother tongue.
Ulric shook his head and replied in his own much worse Elvish, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, let an old man dream, would you?"
All the response he got to that was a ruffle of his hair and a sassy wink. Friggin Taipans.
The presence of a hundred mixed Valin and beastkin, alongside the obviously scarred and frequently maimed bramble of Elves with him provoked quite a bit of bustling curiosity in the Zelussin city. The Riverfolk had known for days that they were coming, but for many, their advent was still something far outside of the usual. Ulric was gratified that the presence of kin of long time and very recent enemies, cousins of those who had brought war to their doorsteps was only sufficient to motivate bald stares of interest in the locals.
Distinctly accented Elvish, the dialect of the Zelussin, washed around him as he followed a rather finely dressed Elf buck who had greeted them and who now led them along through the massively far flung trade hub. Ulric saw pretty much all the kinds of Elves that existed in his slow precession toward a hilltop bearing a complex of squared off courtyards, vaguely reminiscent of the ancient Japanese style of construction. A lot of meticulously cared for rock gardens, overhanging porches surrounded long corridors, each which wrapped back onto themselves, and from which sliding doors made up of very thin blue shaved bark panels revealed marvelously geometric patterns of décor, angular and yet symbolic of the nature around them. Ulric was much impressed by the aesthetic of the Zelussin. Where they revered the flowing currents of the river after which they were named, they had a uniquely geometric representations in their architecture and design. It meshed together in an incredibly satisfying manner.
"We are being taken to meet with the Chief of the Zelussin, Glade Chief. Much shame did the Lord Morion bring on the Riverfolk, and they will strive mightily to save face after the treason of his former House. Do not be unkind to the Zelussin here, they were amongst those who threw themselves most fervently against the armies that came for the Havens, and many here lost kin to preserve the lives of the innocent. These are men and women of honor." Advised Taipan quietly at his side.
Ulric grunted an affirmation at that news, recalling his friction with the Morion household. That one was still on the loose, banished from Orlethrem with whatever kith and kin who would follow him, but with a sword of Damocles over his head. If ever a Hunter came across him with an open shot, they would take it. Couldn't have happened to a better guy, the reforged man groused to himself.
They approached a rather more ornately decorated pavilion, its gate carved to suggest looking upon a river that flowed on into the distant horizon. It was so cleverly fashioned that Ulric didn't even see where it parted until the doors slid into recesses into the wall, splitting apart to reveal the interior of the homes of the highest house of the Zelussin tribe of Orlethrem. More of the pseudojapanese architecture and design, with distinctly Elven appreciation for fine wood work and a minimalistic use of stone or metal. These Elf carpenters had even the old Swiss carvers beat all to shit, it was impressive as hell.
Gawking like a tourist, Ulric was led along to a huge hall. The Gladefolk who followed him were escorted to a side hall and Brodin declined Ulric's ask to come with him to talk to the big wigs.
"I have no desire to lead or to be thought anything but a humble tender of trees, Lord Einar." Mage Brodin said, a lingering tightness in his eyes, "Too much harm have the Mages of Prosper done to the land. I will see to things green and growing, and a life of peace with my dearest. I think I will renounce violence, to harm nothing and no one, until my ending, to atone for the blood spilled by my kind."
With a gentle pat on the shoulder and an understanding nod Ulric let the man go to his chosen path. The part of him that had grown up on old Earth wished he could have done the same, but that wasn't in the cards. As Taipan liked to teasingly remind him, Ulric Einar was [Lord of the Ancient Glade] and that meant his was a different course. And, if he was being completely honest about it? He was satisfied with it. Peace was a warrior's garden, tended lovingly through exquisite violence. If anyone tried to place themselves as obstacle to the growers and the makers, then it was Ulric's task to crush them, to clear the way. The distant growl of the Lord Instinct, resonating with his thoughts whispered in agreement with his thoughts.