Softness, heat, sweet smell, and sweeter taste assaulted him without pause. The knife he'd drawn to tear out his attacker's innards dropped to the stones below, forgotten, that hand far better occupied pulling his assailant down to grope, squeeze, rub, and generally get handsy with his long lost wife.
Taipan was returned! And how!
Breaths stolen between bouts of passion took on a slightly frantic tempo. He'd never missed anything like he'd missed this touch. The Elf woman, by her determined efforts against his armor's straps, felt the same way. Cracked open like a turtle, the cuirass was pulled away and he took the chance to let the sight of the dusky Persian hide, flashing emerald and bronze flecked eyes, and black silken hair, cut short, soak into him. And what a sight.
Flared hips hidden behind thick pants, made of a sort of fine canvas or tough denim and leather boots that rode all the way to mid-thigh, laced tightly to reveal the lithe form of those legs they covered. A pouch laden belt held those pants, along with a separate knife belt with its sheath and a variety of vials, many of which were poisons or antidotes to those poisons. The robust coat extended just past the belt and buttoned to a high neck, guarding the delicate slope of her neck from thorns, branches or, sometimes, claws and fangs of the beasts or blades of enemies. Even the thick material of the coat couldn't hide her full chest or the sculpture of her shoulders and arms, strong despite their efficient breadth. His Iriel'en wife was a marvel of athleticism.
Best of all, her lovely face was canted in that familiar tilt, with a small upturn of her lips that said she was well pleased.
Damned right she was, Ulric only wore his Iriel'en warrior blacks beneath his armor, the fine silken threads form fitting his frame. If Taipan was an Olympic volley ball player, then Ulric was a gold medalist power lifter. Broad across the back and sturdy shoulders, combined with his thighs and calves made clothing something that required specific tailoring for one of his height.
Thus paused in their consideration of one another, Ulric attempted to greet his wife, only to have her toss aside his priceless armor, crafted by her godfather, like trash and she covered his mouth softly with her hand, with a mild shake of her head.
"No, Ulric, do not speak. This is a time for staying silent." His Shadow advised, her lilting voice slightly breathless.
Smart lass was Taipan. She further demonstrated her wisdom by putting his hands to use undoing the many small loops that held her coat closed. It was a task he relished. Off came the coat and then the undershirt, drenched by the effort of her travel. He noted then as he drank her in that she was thinner than he'd last seen her and showed faint signs of hard travel. The cuts from her fight with the Leor assassin had left faint, pale scars tracing her body and face. Those did not diminish her in the slightest with their contrast to the satin skin they crossed. His lady had lost weight, had gone through hard times.
Ulric decided that the rest of Varda was going to godsdamned well wait. Just right now, this lad was going to see his lass bedded, wrapped in a blanket, and then fed until she had not the strength nor inclination to move until morning. The faint wrinkle of what happened in the morning twitched and then disappeared, wadded up and thrown into a lock box in his brain. Just for safe measure he wrapped mental chains around it and threw it down a well. Today and tonight, there was only Taipan. Now he had to finish getting out of this damned armor. It was an enthusiastic helper he had in his lovely wife.
Wordlessly they did those things that lovers do including the ones normally reserved for special occasions, or, in this case, when they had been too long apart. It wasn't until much later that they said those things that lovers said when they were too long apart.
The pair of them currently sat naked under a blanket, ladling stew from a kettle he'd drug into the nook. It was cramped with two bodies, the large travel packs, and the heavy kettle but neither wanted to separate just yet, not even for a little leg room.
Taipan's satisfied exhalation through her nostrils announced the end of her eating, her bowl filled three times and emptied three times.
"I had almost forgotten how gifted you are with a few spices and a humble pot, Ulric. From here I will not move for some time I think." Purred the Elf contentedly.
All according to keikaku, Ulric muahahahed to himself evilly.
Show her a good time, properly, within her boundaries, and then feed her well, and you were past half way to captivating a likely lass. Advice from his father, who insisted on starting Ulric down the path of the house husband early, in spite of a younger Ulric's rough edges and slight misanthropy. Theirs was a happy marriage, his folks from in the Before.
Granted, he and Taipan were already joined by the decree of Bald'rt that had made Taipan his Shadow, more an extension of his person than not, and she herself had later tied him back in return through an old Iriel'en wedding rite, without asking him. Win some, lose some, break even on the house. Nevertheless, Ulric liked a good hearty meal with some pizazz and heat to it and the Iriel'en lady warming his hip suited him in this. Varda had a plethora of herbs, roots, and seeds, and other assorted botanical supplements to food. The trick was figuring out which ones would poison you and how to prepare them to neutralize the toxins. He'd learned that some of the better tasting spices had to be paired specifically to another and served together to completely prevent all the adverse effects. Sort of added a new angle on preparing a meal that if you flubbed your seasoning, you suffered debilitating cramps and heart palpitations.
This was the first time he'd been able to relax, completely relax, since the Legranel Moot. Even getting half wild with Varrock, he'd had to keep half an eye towards anyone trying something stupid, whether they knew who he was or just wanted to stir up trouble with the visitor from afar. Not now though. Just right now, all was well on Varda.
Until tomorrow, whispered his traitor brain and he immediately strangled the thought in its infancy. All's well on Varda, he said, daring his brain to try again and force him to [Voltaic Grip] himself in retribution. That'll teach the sonofabitch, he muttered internally.
"Ulric I can hear that worm ridden thing grinding away from next to me. What knots tie you?" Taipan asked him, breaking him from his thoughts.
Damn, she really did have a bead on him.
Reluctantly, he allowed her to draw him from hiding.
"I might have to kill all those Celestin outside tomorrow." He told the Elf woman sadly.
His Shadow knew he wasn't joking and took his hand to give it a squeeze, saying calmly, "They will deserve it then."
Surprise lit his features and he stared at the woman, "Really?" He asked, needing to verify his hearing wasn't busted.
She began poking him repeatedly in the side, her stiffened finger prodding the space between his ribs until he managed to fish around and pin the offending digit, and her hand, to his side.
"You over think every single thing, Glade Chief. Even the things that go without saying." Taipan informed him, without sarcasm, "I heard you as I approached, you can be quite loud when you are angry. If this place was one of those where Prosper was attempting to create the Bane and those people were intended as its fuel then they cannot be allowed to stay here. No matter what."
The jabbing finger had stopped attempting to extract itself to prod him and he released it as she continued her thought.
"If you have thought on this fact and decided that the only thing to be done is to slay the broken Elves then that is what must happen. Prosper must not have them." Concluded Taipan, definitively.
A little milder, echoing his own hesitation on the matter but much less than himself, she said simply, "If they cannot even find the will to live for themselves, then their death is already a thing done in truth. It is cowardice that they make another finish it."
"Some didn't." Ulric said woodenly, remembering the cliff.
Her hand gently scrubbed through his hair, comforting, "Ahh, my dear Valin." She crooned softly, "You tried so hard to save them all, I know. But it was not in your or any power but those who chose these deeds. They carry the weight of the wrongness here."
Ulric found he could only nod, he didn't trust his voice. It was true, but it still hurt. They stayed silent for a time. Eventually his Shadow said, without sadness, "I will kill my cousins tomorrow in your place, if they cannot find it in themselves to live. But only if you wish."
Immediately Ulric was denying her, without thinking, "No! No, it is my task." He told her, too harshly at first but mellowing immediately.
None of it was her fault, and she was offering him a kindness. One he couldn't accept.
Firmly, Ulric made clear the commitment that made her proud of him, "I have given them my word and I will see it through to the end. Whichever end they choose."
They remained in somber silence, with Taipan petting his head gently and holding him to her chest. At least until a wayward nipple slipped too close to his nose and he bit it, drawing a yowl from her and then they were off to the races again. It had been a long couple of months for both of them and tomorrow would come no matter how they spent tonight.
When the Twins rose over those craggy hills and fog laden highlands, sixty-seven Celestin stood under the red skies of what was once Port Edunshire, ready to travel. Thirty-eight of the most broken, cruelest flayed, inside and out, had gone to the cliff in the night and found their peace. Ulric did not have to wet his knife in an innocent's blood, and he would beg the favor of any god that roamed this land that it would shelter the souls of those brave Elves. They had suffered more than any three lives put together. In his book, the universe owed them one. He owed them one, for not having to bear that weight on himself.
It still sucked. Yep, he summarized, looking out over the grey rocks, the mossy greens interspersed, and the sixty-seven Elves that had decided that they would try to live, Ulric old boy, this is still a turd sandwich, you just didn’t need to add the dysentery mustard. Taipan, in her own way, tried to make him feel better by rubbing his bottom.
After he had swatted her hand away, with a squinting glare to convey how deeply inappropriate that was, he continued to review the troops. They were battered. Most of them had scars. Some lay upon crude litters, their bones broken. Others had the desire to live but not the strength, so badly had they been beaten, raped, starved, or any combination thereof.
Ulric was not an overly emotional man. Some might even say he was a frigid asshole. He would disagree, offering evidence that he could also be an unrepentant horn dog, a raging homicidal berserker, and, occasionally, merely an irritable prick. But the scene that greeted him this morning was one to pluck even the heartstrings of the most cynical and jaded of persons.
Nobody with a functional conscience could not look out over the hillside and not know courage when they saw it. These folk deserved to be given a chance to live and he would see they got that chance. No matter how many of Prespang's civil servants or guardsmen he had to tear apart to make that happen. Port Edunshire had very simply done away with the remaining compunctions Ulric had about his chosen course of action.
Was Prespang to blame for the ills facing this continent? Not really, no. They were, in fact, victims as much as anyone else. However. They were wearing the jerseys of team Atrocity and Ulric was going to take that personally. The bodies lying broken upon the rocks at the bottom of this cliff, the ones floating in the surf of Vatyn, drifting in its currents, and the huge pit nearly filled with their predecessors sort of changed the game for him.
There was a war, way back when, that his ancestors had fought in, where they had been the ones following orders to participate in horrors against the innocent. Many of those had been, at least in their own eyes, fundamentally decent people who thought that they served their country and society by taking the orders of evil fuckers. Only problem is, taking the orders of evil fuckers, indeed, not actively attempting to destroy the evil fuckers, made you one yourself. There are no bystanders. Every choice is one of consequence, even the choice to stand aside. That was the lesson learned by those who came after, once they'd rebuilt their society after the war. Every man or woman bears the burden to do what is right and to resist those who would do what is wrong. Neutrality is a lie.
And so, it was with a heavy heart that Ulric Einar was going to be forced to war with any and every individual he came across that stood in the way between himself and the Merchant Lords. Or who attempted to stop him from sending these poor Celestin home. Everybody was going to be given a choice in the matter: Step away from Prosper, shed the chains they had wrapped around your throats, or face the [Lord of the Ancient Glade] in his wrath.
He hadn't signed up for this shit. Dour expression locked in place, he noticed a gentle breeze behind him. It passed across his back plate and the armored skirt that covered his legs to the side. Then it went under.
The searching hand had returned to finagle his rump and he turned to scold her, "By the Dancing Twins above woman, can't you see I'm being sad over here?!"
His mate simply leveled her slightly tilted almond shaped eyes, glittering in the light at him and pointed out, "And? You'll be less sad if I play with your bottom."
Turning, she made to raise her coat over her hips and her knees did something to make her stunning rump roll at him threateningly, "Or perhaps you might play with mine?" his Taipan teased, utterly shameless.
Her Bald'rt genes were awakened fully, it would take days before she settled down. They would be good days. But wholly inappropriate for the sight arrayed before him. Even so, he couldn’t look at her without being distracted and she knew it, by her quiet chuckle when he deliberately turned away from her. She was just teasing him to help him keep from stewing over this tragedy.
Straightening himself to regain some semblance of dignity, Ulric addressed the survivors of Port Edunshire.
"You are ready to live then?" He called out over the hill, hoping the answer would be yes and that he wasn't going to have to kill anybody.
The now clothed, crudely bathed, bandaged, and reasonably fed crowd returned a muted, but firm, "We wish to go home!" to him.
Good enough. He wanted to go home too. But not yet. Not until the doing was done.
"Then that is what we shall do! March behind me. Care for yourselves and your kin next to you. I will not go fast but you may still have to hurry to keep up." Ulric ordered, in Elvish.
"And you!" He said towards his imminently unhelpful Shadow.
"And me?" She replied, lightly, her expression one of complete innocence, hiding pure darkness.
Ulric dropped it, and the finger he'd been raising. There was little point trying to fight back. He might as well throw rocks at smoke, he'd hit nothing but still be covered by it.
Deflated somewhat, he hefted his pack into place and began the slow walk down from the hill that would remain burned into his memories for the rest of his life, along the coast to find boats for the Lowlands forest folk limping behind him. He was joined by his Shadow and she strolled easily along beside him, apparently unencumbered by the weight of what had happened here.
It wasn't that the Huntress did not care, only that she had done what she was able to and would not fixate on what could not be changed. It was an Elf thing. They didn't really live in the past, only the now and the future. Sometimes it made for jarring interactions. Two Iriel'en might duel each other for an intentional slight, coming at each other with extreme ferocity, and immediately become friendly following the outcome, the matter settled completely in their minds. Done was done with the Aes'r. Ulric wished he could play that particular card from their deck all the time, and emulated the mindset whenever he could.
The ones that had chosen the cliff were those that were unable to leave behind what had happened to them, had faced an entire future where that hell would follow them in every waking moment. To be an Elf, with centuries ahead, and be caught by the past was suffering, a half-life. He did not blame them their decision. Even now, the survivors were struggling against their hurts and injuries now, but their thoughts were turned towards a future where they once more lived freely in their forest homes. Joy was ahead of them, even if it was far away.
"Have I ever told you that Elves are sort of weird?" He asked his Wife, as he picked his steps between loose stones and those made slick by the damp, misting air of the highlands.
She raised a thin eyebrow at him and her lovely lilting voice was low as she set her trap, "Do tell."
"Well, first of all, you all have either the most fatalistic or the least encumbered by the past psychology that I have ever seen. You don't seem to forget anything but you just keep those memories in a little bin and they stay there, never coming out to bother you." He told her.
"And?" She prompted, smooth gait almost seeming to make her hover over the difficult terrain.
"And it's damned near unnatural." Ulric told her seriously, recalling all the ways that his own recollections seemed to find their way to the fore, drifting like bubbles through hot tar before emerging to the surface of his conscious mind.
Tilting his chin to examine her marvelous form's motion and the beauty that still had an almost physical impact on him, he informed his wife in a matter of fact tone that, "I can be sitting at dinner and will suddenly relive an excruciatingly awkward conversation with a schoolmate twenty three years before, who I have not spoken to, seen, or heard from for two decades, and still be mortified by it."
Sweet bell chimes of laughter carried in the ocean breeze for a moment before she controlled herself.
"Ahhh, Glade Chief, that sounds very much like you. But let me be so bold as to suggest that it is you Valin, and you more than most, by far, that are weird for being so unable to control your own minds." His Taipan rebutted.
It's like the woman had never even heard of an intrusive thought. No wonder she thought he had worms in the head, little burrowers digging up the past to come haunt the present. Here it comes, she's going to say it.
"This is why you are worms in the head." She said it.
"Unsinn!" He retorted in his grandmother's tongue.
Perhaps she was correct, he had to leave some room for doubt. But how under the dancing Twins do you simply never have stray thoughts creep their way through the cracks? Perhaps there was a fundamental difference in neuronal function. Human brains might as well be a collection of cobwebs being laid by a hundred spiders simultaneously, each talking to their immediate neighbors but no one else. The resulting tangle was comprehensive but, shall we say, not entirely well organized or tidy as it might have been. Those loose ends of electrochemical signaling and evolutionary drive to consider and avoid negative outcomes created the conditions for adverse experiences to somewhat inevitably skip to the fore, overtop of, say, remembering Taipan's expression when he went down on her. It was a damned good expression.
"And what else does my twisty Valin find strange in his Aes'r friends?" Taipan urged, enjoying the game.
"The lot of you are too emotionally stable." He told her plainly, his eyes growing distant as he contemplated the Iriel'en response to death and grief from the attack on their home and now the Celestin to the brutality inflicted on them.
"It's probably related to the first thing, but you Elves are relatively robust towards trauma. You feel and emote dynamically, but spring back to stable set points, perhaps different than before the trauma, as a result of internalizing the experiences so completely, but stable. Like a willow tree bending in a high wind, just to snap back to upright when it passes.” Ulric punctuated that by waving a hand, as if it were bent over, before returning upright.
Thumbing toward the milling Elves that were putting themselves together he said, more seriously, “Like these Celestin behind us. I know some of them didn't, but most of them did, and all they needed was a boot in the ass to get them there, one way or the other. It's a kind of emotional durability I don't think many Valin of my old world come close to possessing, though I read some horror stories that suggest otherwise. I know I don't." Ulric confided, still coming to realizations about these pointy eared not humans.
In point of fact, Taipan had been one of those slightly deviant cases.
Before she'd put it behind her, she'd allowed a tragedy early in her life to carry forward with her. Not in the form of her vendetta, Elves held a grudge like nobody's business, but in her emotional closed-offness and persistent defensiveness.
That was not the way of the Aes'r, to reject the new because of the old, to bias so intensely and hate. Healthy suspicion and skepticism, sure, but not hate, not normally. Part of the hard reset in her attitudes was related to her having let go of some of that prior trauma. In a way, she'd committed suicide, allowing the person of the past to die so that she could grow into the future. Cutting her braid and abandoning her old name were the outward expressions of that internal realignment. He'd heard of similar things in human psychology but he wasn't sure it was as decisive and hard a transition as what Taipan had showed him.
"Perhaps you are right, Ulric. But is that a bad thing?" She inquired.
He looked up from his examination of his path, to meet her viridian stare, and immediately denied that, "Hell no! It's just weird, like I said." Ulric explained, sharing his rumination on Varda being a garden, of sorts, " It makes me think that the Watcher's tending of the people in this world didn't just play a role in optimizing the physical bodies but also the minds of the creatures of Varda. Makes sense, [Polar Weasels] are kind of like a big version of an extinct mammal called a wolverine from my old world, but even though they both ambushed prey, the [Polar Weasels] were way smarter about it, more cunning in their positioning and attack."
She came out of left field and hit him with an observation he hadn't made yet.
"Have you ever considered, Ulric," Taipan's melodic voice suggested, "That you are also a product of the Eternal Gaze's workings and that your own legacy weaknesses are a matter of conditioning? You seem to be robust until you brood. Could it be that the contamination from the experience and memory of your past life and not a product of whatever in the hells you mean when you say your 'hardware' is what makes you any different?"
He almost stopped walking for his confusion. It was an interesting concept. The more he rolled it around, the more validity it held. Mental patterns are incredibly potent and can generate neural patterns all their own, not the other way round. It was very possible that Ulric's brain was, by its nature of having been created by the Watcher, along with the rest of him, substantially different in its construction than his old Earth body, with its long dead planet tending godcreature unable to guide that world. Then his mindscape was more a function of his routines and memories, more flexible than he'd given himself credit. Perhaps that was why he'd found himself changing somewhat rapidly since his reforging. Fascinating conjecture.
His lady wife threw another hot take at him, smiling as she did.
"Have you perhaps not noticed, oh [Lord of the Ancient Glade], that you are more like the Aes'r now than when you arrived in our lands? For a man ripped from one life and thrown naked into another, you have demonstrated rather exceptional strength of purpose and a sound heart."
Hmm…perhaps she was onto something. He did tend to fixate less, did release the past with more ease, came back to level more quickly, in spite of the massively, aggressively, bewildering circumstances in which he'd found himself this half Vardan year, and more now, gone.
"Which one of your parents did you get that big, luscious brain from Taipan, your da or your mum?" He asked her.
She ruffled his recently shorn hair playfully, and whispered into his ear, "Ohh, wouldn't you like to know? But that would be telling."
Friggin Taipan. But she’d helped break him out from the looming depression and the incredible rawness of her cousins’ pain, and that was worth something. Worth a lot, really.
The lands between Bartala and their next pocket of civilization in Prespang, another City State called Kistalfer, was almost exclusively that same sort of sparsely treed highlands rises, frequently interrupted by deep fjords, and the lows all inevitably led to vast marshes and peat bogs, which eventually rose slightly to the vast plains of the Legranel. There was good reason why most trade was conducted by boat in Prespang. Ulric's route had, by some grace of fortune, and probably a fair amount of foresight by Taipan, gone the western end of Prespang where the land tended to become more gently rolling forested foothills, before breaking up into still volcanically active basalt plateaus and deep, glacier carved canyons, referred to as the Outer Reaches. North of these was the coniferous taiga of the Endless Pines, also known as the Northern Wastes. Overland travel through Prespang was rough going and didn't let up until one reached prairie land staked out by the Orlethrem's Plains Elves. It was a source of historical tension between the peoples that predated the current troubles.
As they were now saddled with a number of near invalids, Ulric and Taipan kept to the highlands and high ridges, not wanting to subject fresh wounds and weak systems to the damp and insect ridden marshes. It meant a great deal of sideways progress as they followed the coast, having to go around the steep fjords, and, frequently, being forced to descend a slope only to immediately climb the next one. Needless to say, the hours of foot travel were not ones which made rapid progress. Even so, slow going was still going.
When he and Taipan weren't teasing one another they were mostly silent, the one basking in the presence of the other. And there was great teasing. Particularly, he had let slip that he'd missed the border town and, in a major snaffu well on its way to a fuckup, gone completely across the huge open plains between Legranel lands and the coast of the Vatyn, crossing some thousand kilometers of outback Prespang without being able to correct his mistake, spending months in the wild. Taipan chewed that mistake like a dog the finest thigh bone.
"Where are we now, Glade Chief? Perhaps you will lead us all the way to the Coven before we reach our goal? Hmmm?" She mocked him, the Coven being one of the ways to refer to the cluster of moons that orbited Varda in tandem.
He made the Iriel'en gesture that implied one was of ignoble birth and riddled with defects towards her, which made her throw a rock at him, bouncing the projectile off of his chest plate harmlessly.
Behind them, one of the Celestin men made sound like they were being sick, and another, a woman this time suggested they all stop and, in her words "let these two shameless [Fireplume Wrens] fuck each other into silence already and spare us their flirting."
Ulric suspected that one of being a mind reader because that was exactly what he'd intended, only to come a bit later that evening. How did she know?
His winsome wife, of noble bearing and dignified manner, lowered her pants to show them her rump, yelling "If you sad, rootless, cripples had one of these waiting for you, you'd maybe walk a little faster so that I could!"
It was a sound strategy. She did have a nice rump, among other things. He was just slightly amazed that she would mock recently tortured refugees with it. Taipan was a Taipan, she bit when provoked.
The exchange did increase spirits somewhat. The Celestin were starting to come back to themselves, as the immediacy of their experience faded away. Simply walking on their own two feet, towards a destination that led towards home did wonders for their wounded souls.
A stand of scraggly, wind twisted trees marked the place where they would make camp. It wasn't much but, between the trees and the scattered boulders, there would be a break in the sea winds and cover from a gathering of cumulonimbus clouds closing in on them from the Vatyn. The Twins had just passed Midsunsfall and the lengthening days meant several hours of daylight in which to get folk comfortably ensconced. There was light to go on, but the wounded were done, their litters heavy, and their limbs shaking.
He called a stop and cast his eyes around for the best place to bed down.
A circular formation of boulders around a hollow where a once larger boulder had migrated its way down the hillside made for a welcome easy shelter site. Ulric only needed to create a set of four [Skyshield] diamond shapes fitted to create a peaked "ceiling" over the formation to complete the improvised shelter. The rain would shed easily off the Caelum barrier and they would not need to cut boughs or make lean-tos to stay dry.
Admiringly, his Shadow observed, "You are becoming more proficient with your magics Glade Chief. Have you been practicing?"
Do endless mental simulations and repetitive casts for near enough to two months while guiding a pair of jumped up water buffalo through the savannahs count? Evidently it did for something, he actually was getting better with his spells, especially since he'd figured out how to more easily revert his magic to baseline. Doing it Shor and Gother's way worked, but his way was, for him specifically, faster.
"I have, dearest wife. Thank you for noticing." Ulric preened.
"Is that why you were repairing Uncle Uldin's armor?" She asked innocently.
He deflated a bit at that, as he'd taken an unnecessary wound in that encounter. The armor had probably saved his life or, at the very least, prevented a catastrophic injury that almost certainly would have left him without use of his right arm. It was an unforced error.
Hedging a bit, he grumbled, "Well, I wouldn't say that precisely. I wasn't really practicing at the time, more like executing. Fighting mages is hard." He complained, without irony.
"Oh? Is it? Tell me more, dearest Husband." Urged the incisive Amazon sardonically.
So, Ulric told her about it. The whole thing, starting with the bandits, the M’rakur, the doings in Bartala, Varrock, bombing the port, razing the docks along the Vatyn, and cleansing Port Edunshire.
When he was done Taipan wore sympathy on her features. It was sort of a hell of a story. Ulric had to wonder if he drew trouble like a magnet drew iron filings or, more likely, all these evils would have merely continued on with no one there to bring them to a halt. The reagents for the reaction were there, it merely required the presence of a catalyst to bring them forwards to completion. Ulric was that catalyst. He brought change wherever he went, and rarely peacefully. It was difficult to rationalize that reality with his ultimate objective of living a peaceful life.
"Well, that's my story." Ulric concluded, drily, "How'd you keep busy, Taipan?"
Now his predatory Shadow did smile and it was all the [Shadow Panther] in her.
"Much as I did before ever I met you Ulric. I hunted Valin in the forests like rabid [Heckler Monkeys] and wrought terror upon them." She told him, satisfaction dripping from her sultry voice.
He should have known.
"I should have known." Ulric admitted, before applying a needle, "I'm out here saving Elves and freeing Beastkin and you're killing every Human you can get your hands on."
The tinkling peals of her lovely, murderess's giggle, rang out.
"I had to make up for lost time Ulric," his Taipan told him seriously, "I feared that I might have grown dull spending my days in service to you. But I found that the old habits die hard and it came back to me faster than I'd expected. Prosper's invaders have learned to fear a Taipan's bite."
He was pretty sure she was joking. At least a little…Or, no, probably not. At the end of the day, his lovely lass was, in fact, a Taipan.
Ulric had long since accepted that part of her. It was sort of cute in an "I keep horrifically venomous pets in my basement, you wanna see?" kind of way. Ulric dismissed a mental image of her wearing too many bracelets over black clothes with fishnet stocking and an eye brow piercing chained to a nose piercing, chained to a nose piercing, with black mascera around her eyes. Goth girl Elf was a good look on her. Down, Simba!
So it was that he was able to tell his Shadow, without sarcasm, "Well, love, so long as you're having fun, I'm happy for you."
Truly, his life was a bear on a unicycle away from a three ring circus. Watcher, are you not entertained?
Softness, heat, sweet smell, and sweeter taste assaulted him without pause. The knife he'd drawn to tear out his attacker's innards dropped to the stones below, forgotten, that hand far better occupied pulling his assailant down to grope, squeeze, rub, and generally get handsy with his long lost wife.
Taipan was returned! And how!
Breaths stolen between bouts of passion took on a slightly frantic tempo. He'd never missed anything like he'd missed this touch. The Elf woman, by her determined efforts against his armor's straps, felt the same way. Cracked open like a turtle, the cuirass was pulled away and he took the chance to let the sight of the dusky Persian hide, flashing emerald and bronze flecked eyes, and black silken hair, cut short, soak into him. And what a sight.
Flared hips hidden behind thick pants, made of a sort of fine canvas or tough denim and leather boots that rode all the way to mid-thigh, laced tightly to reveal the lithe form of those legs they covered. A pouch laden belt held those pants, along with a separate knife belt with its sheath and a variety of vials, many of which were poisons or antidotes to those poisons. The robust coat extended just past the belt and buttoned to a high neck, guarding the delicate slope of her neck from thorns, branches or, sometimes, claws and fangs of the beasts or blades of enemies. Even the thick material of the coat couldn't hide her full chest or the sculpture of her shoulders and arms, strong despite their efficient breadth. His Iriel'en wife was a marvel of athleticism.
Best of all, her lovely face was canted in that familiar tilt, with a small upturn of her lips that said she was well pleased.
Damned right she was, Ulric only wore his Iriel'en warrior blacks beneath his armor, the fine silken threads form fitting his frame. If Taipan was an Olympic volley ball player, then Ulric was a gold medalist power lifter. Broad across the back and sturdy shoulders, combined with his thighs and calves made clothing something that required specific tailoring for one of his height.
Thus paused in their consideration of one another, Ulric attempted to greet his wife, only to have her toss aside his priceless armor, crafted by her godfather, like trash and she covered his mouth softly with her hand, with a mild shake of her head.
"No, Ulric, do not speak. This is a time for staying silent." His Shadow advised, her lilting voice slightly breathless.
Smart lass was Taipan. She further demonstrated her wisdom by putting his hands to use undoing the many small loops that held her coat closed. It was a task he relished. Off came the coat and then the undershirt, drenched by the effort of her travel. He noted then as he drank her in that she was thinner than he'd last seen her and showed faint signs of hard travel. The cuts from her fight with the Leor assassin had left faint, pale scars tracing her body and face. Those did not diminish her in the slightest with their contrast to the satin skin they crossed. His lady had lost weight, had gone through hard times.
Ulric decided that the rest of Varda was going to godsdamned well wait. Just right now, this lad was going to see his lass bedded, wrapped in a blanket, and then fed until she had not the strength nor inclination to move until morning. The faint wrinkle of what happened in the morning twitched and then disappeared, wadded up and thrown into a lock box in his brain. Just for safe measure he wrapped mental chains around it and threw it down a well. Today and tonight, there was only Taipan. Now he had to finish getting out of this damned armor. It was an enthusiastic helper he had in his lovely wife.
Wordlessly they did those things that lovers do including the ones normally reserved for special occasions, or, in this case, when they had been too long apart. It wasn't until much later that they said those things that lovers said when they were too long apart.
The pair of them currently sat naked under a blanket, ladling stew from a kettle he'd drug into the nook. It was cramped with two bodies, the large travel packs, and the heavy kettle but neither wanted to separate just yet, not even for a little leg room.
Taipan's satisfied exhalation through her nostrils announced the end of her eating, her bowl filled three times and emptied three times.
"I had almost forgotten how gifted you are with a few spices and a humble pot, Ulric. From here I will not move for some time I think." Purred the Elf contentedly.
All according to keikaku, Ulric muahahahed to himself evilly.
Show her a good time, properly, within her boundaries, and then feed her well, and you were past half way to captivating a likely lass. Advice from his father, who insisted on starting Ulric down the path of the house husband early, in spite of a younger Ulric's rough edges and slight misanthropy. Theirs was a happy marriage, his folks from in the Before.
Granted, he and Taipan were already joined by the decree of Bald'rt that had made Taipan his Shadow, more an extension of his person than not, and she herself had later tied him back in return through an old Iriel'en wedding rite, without asking him. Win some, lose some, break even on the house. Nevertheless, Ulric liked a good hearty meal with some pizazz and heat to it and the Iriel'en lady warming his hip suited him in this. Varda had a plethora of herbs, roots, and seeds, and other assorted botanical supplements to food. The trick was figuring out which ones would poison you and how to prepare them to neutralize the toxins. He'd learned that some of the better tasting spices had to be paired specifically to another and served together to completely prevent all the adverse effects. Sort of added a new angle on preparing a meal that if you flubbed your seasoning, you suffered debilitating cramps and heart palpitations.
This was the first time he'd been able to relax, completely relax, since the Legranel Moot. Even getting half wild with Varrock, he'd had to keep half an eye towards anyone trying something stupid, whether they knew who he was or just wanted to stir up trouble with the visitor from afar. Not now though. Just right now, all was well on Varda.
Until tomorrow, whispered his traitor brain and he immediately strangled the thought in its infancy. All's well on Varda, he said, daring his brain to try again and force him to [Voltaic Grip] himself in retribution. That'll teach the sonofabitch, he muttered internally.
"Ulric I can hear that worm ridden thing grinding away from next to me. What knots tie you?" Taipan asked him, breaking him from his thoughts.
Damn, she really did have a bead on him.
Reluctantly, he allowed her to draw him from hiding.
"I might have to kill all those Celestin outside tomorrow." He told the Elf woman sadly.
His Shadow knew he wasn't joking and took his hand to give it a squeeze, saying calmly, "They will deserve it then."
Surprise lit his features and he stared at the woman, "Really?" He asked, needing to verify his hearing wasn't busted.
She began poking him repeatedly in the side, her stiffened finger prodding the space between his ribs until he managed to fish around and pin the offending digit, and her hand, to his side.
"You over think every single thing, Glade Chief. Even the things that go without saying." Taipan informed him, without sarcasm, "I heard you as I approached, you can be quite loud when you are angry. If this place was one of those where Prosper was attempting to create the Bane and those people were intended as its fuel then they cannot be allowed to stay here. No matter what."
The jabbing finger had stopped attempting to extract itself to prod him and he released it as she continued her thought.
"If you have thought on this fact and decided that the only thing to be done is to slay the broken Elves then that is what must happen. Prosper must not have them." Concluded Taipan, definitively.
A little milder, echoing his own hesitation on the matter but much less than himself, she said simply, "If they cannot even find the will to live for themselves, then their death is already a thing done in truth. It is cowardice that they make another finish it."
"Some didn't." Ulric said woodenly, remembering the cliff.
Her hand gently scrubbed through his hair, comforting, "Ahh, my dear Valin." She crooned softly, "You tried so hard to save them all, I know. But it was not in your or any power but those who chose these deeds. They carry the weight of the wrongness here."
Ulric found he could only nod, he didn't trust his voice. It was true, but it still hurt. They stayed silent for a time. Eventually his Shadow said, without sadness, "I will kill my cousins tomorrow in your place, if they cannot find it in themselves to live. But only if you wish."
Immediately Ulric was denying her, without thinking, "No! No, it is my task." He told her, too harshly at first but mellowing immediately.
None of it was her fault, and she was offering him a kindness. One he couldn't accept.
Firmly, Ulric made clear the commitment that made her proud of him, "I have given them my word and I will see it through to the end. Whichever end they choose."
They remained in somber silence, with Taipan petting his head gently and holding him to her chest. At least until a wayward nipple slipped too close to his nose and he bit it, drawing a yowl from her and then they were off to the races again. It had been a long couple of months for both of them and tomorrow would come no matter how they spent tonight.
When the Twins rose over those craggy hills and fog laden highlands, sixty-seven Celestin stood under the red skies of what was once Port Edunshire, ready to travel. Thirty-eight of the most broken, cruelest flayed, inside and out, had gone to the cliff in the night and found their peace. Ulric did not have to wet his knife in an innocent's blood, and he would beg the favor of any god that roamed this land that it would shelter the souls of those brave Elves. They had suffered more than any three lives put together. In his book, the universe owed them one. He owed them one, for not having to bear that weight on himself.
It still sucked. Yep, he summarized, looking out over the grey rocks, the mossy greens interspersed, and the sixty-seven Elves that had decided that they would try to live, Ulric old boy, this is still a turd sandwich, you just didn’t need to add the dysentery mustard. Taipan, in her own way, tried to make him feel better by rubbing his bottom.
After he had swatted her hand away, with a squinting glare to convey how deeply inappropriate that was, he continued to review the troops. They were battered. Most of them had scars. Some lay upon crude litters, their bones broken. Others had the desire to live but not the strength, so badly had they been beaten, raped, starved, or any combination thereof.
Ulric was not an overly emotional man. Some might even say he was a frigid asshole. He would disagree, offering evidence that he could also be an unrepentant horn dog, a raging homicidal berserker, and, occasionally, merely an irritable prick. But the scene that greeted him this morning was one to pluck even the heartstrings of the most cynical and jaded of persons.
Nobody with a functional conscience could not look out over the hillside and not know courage when they saw it. These folk deserved to be given a chance to live and he would see they got that chance. No matter how many of Prespang's civil servants or guardsmen he had to tear apart to make that happen. Port Edunshire had very simply done away with the remaining compunctions Ulric had about his chosen course of action.
Was Prespang to blame for the ills facing this continent? Not really, no. They were, in fact, victims as much as anyone else. However. They were wearing the jerseys of team Atrocity and Ulric was going to take that personally. The bodies lying broken upon the rocks at the bottom of this cliff, the ones floating in the surf of Vatyn, drifting in its currents, and the huge pit nearly filled with their predecessors sort of changed the game for him.
There was a war, way back when, that his ancestors had fought in, where they had been the ones following orders to participate in horrors against the innocent. Many of those had been, at least in their own eyes, fundamentally decent people who thought that they served their country and society by taking the orders of evil fuckers. Only problem is, taking the orders of evil fuckers, indeed, not actively attempting to destroy the evil fuckers, made you one yourself. There are no bystanders. Every choice is one of consequence, even the choice to stand aside. That was the lesson learned by those who came after, once they'd rebuilt their society after the war. Every man or woman bears the burden to do what is right and to resist those who would do what is wrong. Neutrality is a lie.
And so, it was with a heavy heart that Ulric Einar was going to be forced to war with any and every individual he came across that stood in the way between himself and the Merchant Lords. Or who attempted to stop him from sending these poor Celestin home. Everybody was going to be given a choice in the matter: Step away from Prosper, shed the chains they had wrapped around your throats, or face the [Lord of the Ancient Glade] in his wrath.
He hadn't signed up for this shit. Dour expression locked in place, he noticed a gentle breeze behind him. It passed across his back plate and the armored skirt that covered his legs to the side. Then it went under.
The searching hand had returned to finagle his rump and he turned to scold her, "By the Dancing Twins above woman, can't you see I'm being sad over here?!"
His mate simply leveled her slightly tilted almond shaped eyes, glittering in the light at him and pointed out, "And? You'll be less sad if I play with your bottom."
Turning, she made to raise her coat over her hips and her knees did something to make her stunning rump roll at him threateningly, "Or perhaps you might play with mine?" his Taipan teased, utterly shameless.
Her Bald'rt genes were awakened fully, it would take days before she settled down. They would be good days. But wholly inappropriate for the sight arrayed before him. Even so, he couldn’t look at her without being distracted and she knew it, by her quiet chuckle when he deliberately turned away from her. She was just teasing him to help him keep from stewing over this tragedy.
Straightening himself to regain some semblance of dignity, Ulric addressed the survivors of Port Edunshire.
"You are ready to live then?" He called out over the hill, hoping the answer would be yes and that he wasn't going to have to kill anybody.
The now clothed, crudely bathed, bandaged, and reasonably fed crowd returned a muted, but firm, "We wish to go home!" to him.
Good enough. He wanted to go home too. But not yet. Not until the doing was done.
"Then that is what we shall do! March behind me. Care for yourselves and your kin next to you. I will not go fast but you may still have to hurry to keep up." Ulric ordered, in Elvish.
"And you!" He said towards his imminently unhelpful Shadow.
"And me?" She replied, lightly, her expression one of complete innocence, hiding pure darkness.
Ulric dropped it, and the finger he'd been raising. There was little point trying to fight back. He might as well throw rocks at smoke, he'd hit nothing but still be covered by it.
Deflated somewhat, he hefted his pack into place and began the slow walk down from the hill that would remain burned into his memories for the rest of his life, along the coast to find boats for the Lowlands forest folk limping behind him. He was joined by his Shadow and she strolled easily along beside him, apparently unencumbered by the weight of what had happened here.
It wasn't that the Huntress did not care, only that she had done what she was able to and would not fixate on what could not be changed. It was an Elf thing. They didn't really live in the past, only the now and the future. Sometimes it made for jarring interactions. Two Iriel'en might duel each other for an intentional slight, coming at each other with extreme ferocity, and immediately become friendly following the outcome, the matter settled completely in their minds. Done was done with the Aes'r. Ulric wished he could play that particular card from their deck all the time, and emulated the mindset whenever he could.
The ones that had chosen the cliff were those that were unable to leave behind what had happened to them, had faced an entire future where that hell would follow them in every waking moment. To be an Elf, with centuries ahead, and be caught by the past was suffering, a half-life. He did not blame them their decision. Even now, the survivors were struggling against their hurts and injuries now, but their thoughts were turned towards a future where they once more lived freely in their forest homes. Joy was ahead of them, even if it was far away.
"Have I ever told you that Elves are sort of weird?" He asked his Wife, as he picked his steps between loose stones and those made slick by the damp, misting air of the highlands.
She raised a thin eyebrow at him and her lovely lilting voice was low as she set her trap, "Do tell."
"Well, first of all, you all have either the most fatalistic or the least encumbered by the past psychology that I have ever seen. You don't seem to forget anything but you just keep those memories in a little bin and they stay there, never coming out to bother you." He told her.
"And?" She prompted, smooth gait almost seeming to make her hover over the difficult terrain.
"And it's damned near unnatural." Ulric told her seriously, recalling all the ways that his own recollections seemed to find their way to the fore, drifting like bubbles through hot tar before emerging to the surface of his conscious mind.
Tilting his chin to examine her marvelous form's motion and the beauty that still had an almost physical impact on him, he informed his wife in a matter of fact tone that, "I can be sitting at dinner and will suddenly relive an excruciatingly awkward conversation with a schoolmate twenty three years before, who I have not spoken to, seen, or heard from for two decades, and still be mortified by it."
Sweet bell chimes of laughter carried in the ocean breeze for a moment before she controlled herself.
"Ahhh, Glade Chief, that sounds very much like you. But let me be so bold as to suggest that it is you Valin, and you more than most, by far, that are weird for being so unable to control your own minds." His Taipan rebutted.
It's like the woman had never even heard of an intrusive thought. No wonder she thought he had worms in the head, little burrowers digging up the past to come haunt the present. Here it comes, she's going to say it.
"This is why you are worms in the head." She said it.
"Unsinn!" He retorted in his grandmother's tongue.
Perhaps she was correct, he had to leave some room for doubt. But how under the dancing Twins do you simply never have stray thoughts creep their way through the cracks? Perhaps there was a fundamental difference in neuronal function. Human brains might as well be a collection of cobwebs being laid by a hundred spiders simultaneously, each talking to their immediate neighbors but no one else. The resulting tangle was comprehensive but, shall we say, not entirely well organized or tidy as it might have been. Those loose ends of electrochemical signaling and evolutionary drive to consider and avoid negative outcomes created the conditions for adverse experiences to somewhat inevitably skip to the fore, overtop of, say, remembering Taipan's expression when he went down on her. It was a damned good expression.
"And what else does my twisty Valin find strange in his Aes'r friends?" Taipan urged, enjoying the game.
"The lot of you are too emotionally stable." He told her plainly, his eyes growing distant as he contemplated the Iriel'en response to death and grief from the attack on their home and now the Celestin to the brutality inflicted on them.
"It's probably related to the first thing, but you Elves are relatively robust towards trauma. You feel and emote dynamically, but spring back to stable set points, perhaps different than before the trauma, as a result of internalizing the experiences so completely, but stable. Like a willow tree bending in a high wind, just to snap back to upright when it passes.” Ulric punctuated that by waving a hand, as if it were bent over, before returning upright.
Thumbing toward the milling Elves that were putting themselves together he said, more seriously, “Like these Celestin behind us. I know some of them didn't, but most of them did, and all they needed was a boot in the ass to get them there, one way or the other. It's a kind of emotional durability I don't think many Valin of my old world come close to possessing, though I read some horror stories that suggest otherwise. I know I don't." Ulric confided, still coming to realizations about these pointy eared not humans.
In point of fact, Taipan had been one of those slightly deviant cases.
Before she'd put it behind her, she'd allowed a tragedy early in her life to carry forward with her. Not in the form of her vendetta, Elves held a grudge like nobody's business, but in her emotional closed-offness and persistent defensiveness.
That was not the way of the Aes'r, to reject the new because of the old, to bias so intensely and hate. Healthy suspicion and skepticism, sure, but not hate, not normally. Part of the hard reset in her attitudes was related to her having let go of some of that prior trauma. In a way, she'd committed suicide, allowing the person of the past to die so that she could grow into the future. Cutting her braid and abandoning her old name were the outward expressions of that internal realignment. He'd heard of similar things in human psychology but he wasn't sure it was as decisive and hard a transition as what Taipan had showed him.
"Perhaps you are right, Ulric. But is that a bad thing?" She inquired.
He looked up from his examination of his path, to meet her viridian stare, and immediately denied that, "Hell no! It's just weird, like I said." Ulric explained, sharing his rumination on Varda being a garden, of sorts, " It makes me think that the Watcher's tending of the people in this world didn't just play a role in optimizing the physical bodies but also the minds of the creatures of Varda. Makes sense, [Polar Weasels] are kind of like a big version of an extinct mammal called a wolverine from my old world, but even though they both ambushed prey, the [Polar Weasels] were way smarter about it, more cunning in their positioning and attack."
She came out of left field and hit him with an observation he hadn't made yet.
"Have you ever considered, Ulric," Taipan's melodic voice suggested, "That you are also a product of the Eternal Gaze's workings and that your own legacy weaknesses are a matter of conditioning? You seem to be robust until you brood. Could it be that the contamination from the experience and memory of your past life and not a product of whatever in the hells you mean when you say your 'hardware' is what makes you any different?"
He almost stopped walking for his confusion. It was an interesting concept. The more he rolled it around, the more validity it held. Mental patterns are incredibly potent and can generate neural patterns all their own, not the other way round. It was very possible that Ulric's brain was, by its nature of having been created by the Watcher, along with the rest of him, substantially different in its construction than his old Earth body, with its long dead planet tending godcreature unable to guide that world. Then his mindscape was more a function of his routines and memories, more flexible than he'd given himself credit. Perhaps that was why he'd found himself changing somewhat rapidly since his reforging. Fascinating conjecture.
His lady wife threw another hot take at him, smiling as she did.
"Have you perhaps not noticed, oh [Lord of the Ancient Glade], that you are more like the Aes'r now than when you arrived in our lands? For a man ripped from one life and thrown naked into another, you have demonstrated rather exceptional strength of purpose and a sound heart."
Hmm…perhaps she was onto something. He did tend to fixate less, did release the past with more ease, came back to level more quickly, in spite of the massively, aggressively, bewildering circumstances in which he'd found himself this half Vardan year, and more now, gone.
"Which one of your parents did you get that big, luscious brain from Taipan, your da or your mum?" He asked her.
She ruffled his recently shorn hair playfully, and whispered into his ear, "Ohh, wouldn't you like to know? But that would be telling."
Friggin Taipan. But she’d helped break him out from the looming depression and the incredible rawness of her cousins’ pain, and that was worth something. Worth a lot, really.
The lands between Bartala and their next pocket of civilization in Prespang, another City State called Kistalfer, was almost exclusively that same sort of sparsely treed highlands rises, frequently interrupted by deep fjords, and the lows all inevitably led to vast marshes and peat bogs, which eventually rose slightly to the vast plains of the Legranel. There was good reason why most trade was conducted by boat in Prespang. Ulric's route had, by some grace of fortune, and probably a fair amount of foresight by Taipan, gone the western end of Prespang where the land tended to become more gently rolling forested foothills, before breaking up into still volcanically active basalt plateaus and deep, glacier carved canyons, referred to as the Outer Reaches. North of these was the coniferous taiga of the Endless Pines, also known as the Northern Wastes. Overland travel through Prespang was rough going and didn't let up until one reached prairie land staked out by the Orlethrem's Plains Elves. It was a source of historical tension between the peoples that predated the current troubles.
As they were now saddled with a number of near invalids, Ulric and Taipan kept to the highlands and high ridges, not wanting to subject fresh wounds and weak systems to the damp and insect ridden marshes. It meant a great deal of sideways progress as they followed the coast, having to go around the steep fjords, and, frequently, being forced to descend a slope only to immediately climb the next one. Needless to say, the hours of foot travel were not ones which made rapid progress. Even so, slow going was still going.
When he and Taipan weren't teasing one another they were mostly silent, the one basking in the presence of the other. And there was great teasing. Particularly, he had let slip that he'd missed the border town and, in a major snaffu well on its way to a fuckup, gone completely across the huge open plains between Legranel lands and the coast of the Vatyn, crossing some thousand kilometers of outback Prespang without being able to correct his mistake, spending months in the wild. Taipan chewed that mistake like a dog the finest thigh bone.
"Where are we now, Glade Chief? Perhaps you will lead us all the way to the Coven before we reach our goal? Hmmm?" She mocked him, the Coven being one of the ways to refer to the cluster of moons that orbited Varda in tandem.
He made the Iriel'en gesture that implied one was of ignoble birth and riddled with defects towards her, which made her throw a rock at him, bouncing the projectile off of his chest plate harmlessly.
Behind them, one of the Celestin men made sound like they were being sick, and another, a woman this time suggested they all stop and, in her words "let these two shameless [Fireplume Wrens] fuck each other into silence already and spare us their flirting."
Ulric suspected that one of being a mind reader because that was exactly what he'd intended, only to come a bit later that evening. How did she know?
His winsome wife, of noble bearing and dignified manner, lowered her pants to show them her rump, yelling "If you sad, rootless, cripples had one of these waiting for you, you'd maybe walk a little faster so that I could!"
It was a sound strategy. She did have a nice rump, among other things. He was just slightly amazed that she would mock recently tortured refugees with it. Taipan was a Taipan, she bit when provoked.
The exchange did increase spirits somewhat. The Celestin were starting to come back to themselves, as the immediacy of their experience faded away. Simply walking on their own two feet, towards a destination that led towards home did wonders for their wounded souls.
A stand of scraggly, wind twisted trees marked the place where they would make camp. It wasn't much but, between the trees and the scattered boulders, there would be a break in the sea winds and cover from a gathering of cumulonimbus clouds closing in on them from the Vatyn. The Twins had just passed Midsunsfall and the lengthening days meant several hours of daylight in which to get folk comfortably ensconced. There was light to go on, but the wounded were done, their litters heavy, and their limbs shaking.
He called a stop and cast his eyes around for the best place to bed down.
A circular formation of boulders around a hollow where a once larger boulder had migrated its way down the hillside made for a welcome easy shelter site. Ulric only needed to create a set of four [Skyshield] diamond shapes fitted to create a peaked "ceiling" over the formation to complete the improvised shelter. The rain would shed easily off the Caelum barrier and they would not need to cut boughs or make lean-tos to stay dry.
Admiringly, his Shadow observed, "You are becoming more proficient with your magics Glade Chief. Have you been practicing?"
Do endless mental simulations and repetitive casts for near enough to two months while guiding a pair of jumped up water buffalo through the savannahs count? Evidently it did for something, he actually was getting better with his spells, especially since he'd figured out how to more easily revert his magic to baseline. Doing it Shor and Gother's way worked, but his way was, for him specifically, faster.
"I have, dearest wife. Thank you for noticing." Ulric preened.
"Is that why you were repairing Uncle Uldin's armor?" She asked innocently.
He deflated a bit at that, as he'd taken an unnecessary wound in that encounter. The armor had probably saved his life or, at the very least, prevented a catastrophic injury that almost certainly would have left him without use of his right arm. It was an unforced error.
Hedging a bit, he grumbled, "Well, I wouldn't say that precisely. I wasn't really practicing at the time, more like executing. Fighting mages is hard." He complained, without irony.
"Oh? Is it? Tell me more, dearest Husband." Urged the incisive Amazon sardonically.
So, Ulric told her about it. The whole thing, starting with the bandits, the M’rakur, the doings in Bartala, Varrock, bombing the port, razing the docks along the Vatyn, and cleansing Port Edunshire.
When he was done Taipan wore sympathy on her features. It was sort of a hell of a story. Ulric had to wonder if he drew trouble like a magnet drew iron filings or, more likely, all these evils would have merely continued on with no one there to bring them to a halt. The reagents for the reaction were there, it merely required the presence of a catalyst to bring them forwards to completion. Ulric was that catalyst. He brought change wherever he went, and rarely peacefully. It was difficult to rationalize that reality with his ultimate objective of living a peaceful life.
"Well, that's my story." Ulric concluded, drily, "How'd you keep busy, Taipan?"
Now his predatory Shadow did smile and it was all the [Shadow Panther] in her.
"Much as I did before ever I met you Ulric. I hunted Valin in the forests like rabid [Heckler Monkeys] and wrought terror upon them." She told him, satisfaction dripping from her sultry voice.
He should have known.
"I should have known." Ulric admitted, before applying a needle, "I'm out here saving Elves and freeing Beastkin and you're killing every Human you can get your hands on."
The tinkling peals of her lovely, murderess's giggle, rang out.
"I had to make up for lost time Ulric," his Taipan told him seriously, "I feared that I might have grown dull spending my days in service to you. But I found that the old habits die hard and it came back to me faster than I'd expected. Prosper's invaders have learned to fear a Taipan's bite."
He was pretty sure she was joking. At least a little…Or, no, probably not. At the end of the day, his lovely lass was, in fact, a Taipan.
Ulric had long since accepted that part of her. It was sort of cute in an "I keep horrifically venomous pets in my basement, you wanna see?" kind of way. Ulric dismissed a mental image of her wearing too many bracelets over black clothes with fishnet stocking and an eye brow piercing chained to a nose piercing, chained to a nose piercing, with black mascera around her eyes. Goth girl Elf was a good look on her. Down, Simba!
So it was that he was able to tell his Shadow, without sarcasm, "Well, love, so long as you're having fun, I'm happy for you."
Truly, his life was a bear on a unicycle away from a three ring circus. Watcher, are you not entertained?
