Crossing of Steel

Attachment 3976

Quote:

---

Set a long time back in the past, when Shinsou and Phi first properly meet. Closed to Shinsou

---

Thickly the scent of gloriosa daisies, dahlias, marigolds and yarrow filled the air. As if there was a fog rolling off on the shore, coming from a foreign place and spreading over onto the land. Salt mixed with the floral smell, giving the image of summer and sea broiling into one existence, with a bright sun beaming down confirming the reality of this. Barely was there a stretch of sand between the ocean and field - a simple few metres of dune was necessary for this world. Thick dry grasses quickly became moisture and green, with the flooding of the flowers spilling out as an effortless quilt.

And coming up from this beauty, ascending into the air with no support but the very atmosphere was the stairway. Hewn from a bright white stone it was perhaps two feet thick and two metres in width. Steadily it rose, flowers bordering each even step, winding upwards. Bright foliage and sweet smells eventually became all that one knew as it led upwards, away and into nowhere. Into the sky, into the clouds and the blue, until it was no more than a pinprick. Endless, it was, magical and unknown in source or destination. Simple in design, incling from the ground, there was only sea and field as far as eyes could see. Beauty, infinite beauty.

The door, naturally by her design, disappeared as soon as she stepped through it. A thin smile settled over her face as she found the place exactly how she had requested. Certainly the monks had managed to be true to her word. Even the flowers were the correct ones she had spoken of. All to remind her of those that she used to hang out to dry with her mother when she was so young, so many years ago.

Hopefully he would arrive. The man she was eager to meet, finally after their strange meeting between mind and soul. Indeed, he had come to her as if in a dream, telling her that their futures were intertwined. Then there had been those moments between letter, the words saying, "You ... have come to our attention," and "We propose a treaty," until this day, this time when she had decided to make the connection. To offer him what he wanted - the chance to test her steel against his. To prove herself to the Brotherhood as a useful protoge.

Of course this could have happened sooner, but as things went business was business. He, apparently, had been busy, and she had been setting up her great fortress in the Concordia forest. A palace of secrecy and feminity, of bravity and strength. Not to be known to anyone - yet the Brotherhood had found her there. And he - Shinsou van Osiris was a spokesperson for them, a man that had their intentions to heart.

A heart in a man she would now meet, and be able to touch his flesh. With her blade. In this field of a staircase.

The unfamiliar black threads still flickered at the edges of his fingers. They weren't the product of his magic, as they usually were whenever Shinsou summoned his dark matter. No. These tendrils were passive, wispy streams that ebbed away as their withered tips met the air.

They were the remnants of his desperation.

As the last of them dissipated, the Telgradian drew his breath and looked around at the crumpled corpses that littered Whitevale’s otherwise empty streets. They had come at him, the seven insurrectionists sent by the former Brotherhood councillor Ducos, with every intention to kill him. They had nearly succeeded, too. Blood whetted his mouth where the butt of a sword had cracked his jaw; raw pain like nothing he had ever experienced ran through his back where he had been struck with a hammer. It had taken everything the Telgradian had to destroy his assailants. As Shinsou Vaan Osiris settled his throbbing spine firmly against the frozen bark of a nearby tree, he gazed upon the icy streaks that scarred the roads and the buildings of Whitevale’s houses. They had been the hallmarks of his assault. One of them led through a pile of crimson, frosty slush that was slowly pooling at a resident’s doorstep.

That melting ice was now a puddle that had once been a person, specifically the leader of the group. Shinsou had made an example of him. The rest had been afforded more comfortable deaths, each cut by Shira’s blade with speed and precision. Their carotid arteries had been slashed to minimise the bleed-out time.

It wasn’t the manner of their deaths that had been unusual, but their delivery. It had started shortly after the original raid on Whitevale. Shinsou had been ambushed during a clandestine operation, one that was tracking the movement of soldiers in an attempt to discern Ducos’s whereabouts. He had become surrounded and then, much like some sort of internal switch had been flipped, Osiris would soon be deeply enveloped in some sort of murderous black energy not unlike his usual dark abilities. He had become quicker than usual and his enemies seemed to experience terrible visions or hallucinations that threw them off guard. It had only happened once within the first two weeks, but then it begun to occur again and again as the Telgradian tapped into the source of his power. Eventually, he'd found a way to snap back into the world and control everything, albeit for a limited time.

Shinsou’s stubbornness kept him from using this new ability at first. He had decided that, in time, he would never need to use it. It was a foolish thing, he thought, to rely on such artificial and frivolous thing to survive. This time, though, Osiris had folded. After taking a heavy beating, it had taken no more than thirty seconds from the first icy blast towards Ducos’s men to activate what he called the Arbiter of Shadows and massacre the offending assassins. Dancing with great fluidity through the murky darkness of night, a demonic looking Shinsou Vaan Osiris had killed everyone with such precision and finesse it startled even him.

Now, the disorientation of the transformation was beginning to ebb. Quiet, with a face as unmoving as a mountain, Shinsou knew that simply relying on the Arbiter’s extraordinary abilities could not protect him forever. For the sake of his own well being, and that of the Brotherhood, Shinsou needed to recruit.

So, recruit he did.

Out of Character:

One month later

"Philomel Van der Aart" The name came as a whisper from dry lips as the Telgradian remembered his observations from the outcome of the aptly named Osiris Open. The faun had come into combat with both Storm Veritas and Madison Freebird in the final of his own tournament. The Telgradian had wanted all of them. Eventually co-owning the Brotherhood with Storm Veritas, Osiris decided that Freebird was too dangerous to have anywhere near the organisation. But, as he moved down the hall of the Citadel, throwing open the first door on the left, he knew that the faun was the missing piece he was looking for. She had beauty, intrigue and fire. He could feel her soul throbbing in his gut, brimming with an energy he knew well. That energy represented the sum of her parts; her magical potential, her physical strength and every little characteristic and nuance in-between.

But just how strong are you, really? It was the question that Shinsou asked everyone; even himself. But then, to know that, one would have to know what strength really was. The definition of it was loose. He had debated it with John Cromwell. Shinsou had decided the weighted average of “being powerful enough to forge your own destiny” and “knowing how to use that power correctly” was probably the closet approximation to a solid definition. At least the one he knew. But, still, what quantity of that weighted average did Philomel possess?

That was the question, and the answer lay inside a manifestation of paradise itself.

As Shinsou stepped through the gate and onto the spongy field of moss and grass, the bright sunlight touched on every detail, enhancing every bit of the greenery. Ahead of him was an endless stairway, crafted from a shimmering white stone that stretched on to beyond the limitations of his vision. Flowers adorned the sides of every other step, carving a path upwards between two acres of earth, but the sun reflecting off of the stone made it that much more difficult to behold.

A pleasant breeze blew in from over the open fields, causing his white cape to dance in its grasp, merrily and carefree. In stark contrast, his enchanted gauntlets and pot-marked titanium armour paid homage to the violence that had been carried out within and upon him; the whole reason for him being here.

Something flickered at the foot of the staircase. It caught his eye for just a second, but Shinsou was already closing the distance, Shira in hand, before the thought could try to escape from his mind. It was a sword, long, gleaming; the faun’s acclaimed favourite blade. The dark, furry outline of the waiting Philomel stained the landscape. Oddly, neither of her familiars seemed to be with her; at least in physical form. Tugging his golden eyes loose from the sword, he held his ground just before her, watching as the world moved on behind her with the brightly burning sun and the carefree wind.

"Finally, Philomel Van der Aart," Shinsou said, clutching Shira close to his chest, “we meet face to face. It has been quite some time since I last saw you,” the puzzled expression on the faun’s face explained that Philomel was not aware of his spectator role in the Osiris Open. He moved to correct himself. “By that, I mean I had been keeping an eye on you. Your performance in the final of my little game, against Veritas and Freebird, was excellent. As you are here with me now, I can assume there won’t be a further need for talking.”

Shinsou stood upright but relaxed. A smile crept over his face as he closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze rushing by him and ruffling his unkempt brown hair.

“Am I right?”

Curiousity glinted in her eyes as she saw him approach her. His lithe, muscular form that shouted 'warrior' and 'fighter' strode across the grasses towards the dunes with a powerful purpose. Words spilled from his mouth and she allowed her head to tilt a little as he spoke of the tournament that he had created and subjected her and others to. He spoke of it like a fond memory, a strange dream - a strangely blithe manner for a man who they said was establishing a private group of individuals who longed to champion the idea of what is power. With their focus upon Corone it had been only sensibility to communicate with Philomel, who was, after all, the Matriarch of a feminist guild based in Radasanth itself.

"You are right in the idea that I am the same Philomel who received your letter ..." she replied, her eyes still washing over him with inquisitiveness. For the faun had heard much of this man, even seen him in her mind's eye, and through the shifting patterns of an illusion, but never in the physical sense. Their waltz of understanding and communication had been far too long for her not to build up an interest, and get excited about this simple prospect of seeing him in the flesh. To fight. Hopefully to kill him.

"But speaking is another thing," she continued, "For when one fights one needs to establish some form of understanding between them and their opponent, and also likely to practise the art of taunting."

Carefully she angled a hoof backwards, minorly backing away as his steps brought him closer, and then too close for comfort. She knew he was here to attack her, and he knew he was here to test her mettle, but there was a moment here before they crossed blades that Philomel wanted to satisfy her curiousity as to his particular personality - over and above his melee ability.

Leaping slightly, with a skip and a careful balancing act, the faun backed away onto the sand. This was beyond the bottome step, and now where she could see the seamless grey underside of the eternal, impossible staircase. To Shinsou Vaan Osiris it might seem like cowardice, but to her it was simply biding time, to learn more about him before hell broke loose. And she killed him. For she couldn't imagine that he might kill her. Unless he did. That would be embarressing.

Then there was the problem that she was also waiting for something else, or rather someone else, but like often, Veridian was being late. He had decided to tell her to go ahead and chase a mouse in one of the Citadel corridors and then he would 'join her later in the balance of time'. It often did occur that the fox-form earth spirit joined in the battles later in time than others (and then Delath the earth-born dragon ever later than that), yet she still liked him to be there at the start ... just in case. She contained enough power as it was, her connection to Drys their goddess having grown rapidly ever since the two of them had met, yet he was always a comfort. An ideal.

"I have heard much of you," she stalled, letting her white blade rest against her shoulder - taking a 'let's delay this fight a little' sort of stance, "And I do know why we are here, but I am wondering first, before we begin, I would like to know your personal keen interest in this all. I want to know why the Brotherhood have chosen you."

Calm but a bit wary of the faun, Shinsou listened carefully as Philomel queried how the Brotherhood had come to choose him as their flag bearer. His eyes followed curiously as she stepped back, ensuring there was plenty of distance between them. Whatever her intentions, it seemed to him that she had put distance between them to distract him with a question in the hope that the Telgradian wouldn’t notice the absence of her partners.

This did not settle well with him at all. More talking meant more delays.The implication that he would be caught on the back foot was ludicrous. Instead of immediately answering her question, Shinsou countered with one of his own.

“Are you worried that your fox and your dragon haven’t arrived yet?” Shinsou asked.

He wondered if Philomel had realised that he had been watching her all along in the Osiris Open. He knew about her familiars; how they fought together, ate together, slept together. Especially Veridian, the fox. Shinsou had found it odd that he had not sensed their presences when he arrived in the Citadel – rarely were the pair not at van der Aart’s side – and had wondered if they had been hiding in some sort of ploy by the faun to ambush him. His soul sense ability told him this was not the case – they just simply weren’t there.

There was a silence. Shinsou Vaan Osiris then found himself pondering her question as the breeze stroked his features. I want to know why the Brotherhood have chosen you. Usually, this would go against his usual Citadel protocol. They were there to fight, not to debate purpose or reason. The combat itself would be all the conversation they needed. Shinsou wanted to start, and levelled Shira’s edge by his side. Yet, even as he did, a risky idea was brewing in his mind.

Philomel van der Aart wouldn’t be fighting to the limits of her capabilities without her familiars, and he knew it. So, the Telgradian wanted them there. He needed her to fight him with everything she had, because the individual pieces were far weaker than the sum of its parts. Scanning the periphery of the field, and then beyond to the ocean on the horizon, Shinsou eyed for the fox and the dragon again in case his senses had failed him. Still, there was nothing.

His sword arm relaxed, bringing Shira down to his side. As the sun beat down about the two of them, shielded lightly by the winding staircase above, Shinsou pulled another deep breath into his lungs and let the air cool him from the inside. The smooth buzz settled his fast-twitching brain.

“We’ll wait for them,” Shinsou started, referring to Veridian and Delath, “But while we do, I’ll answer your question. You wanted to know why the Brotherhood had chosen me?”

Shinsou brushed away the strands of brown hair from his face. Philomel looked back at him, following his words carefully, as the sunlight above started to break apart owing to new clouds that had rolled in above.

“They didn’t. It was me who chose them. If you can’t best me today, Philomel van der Aart, perhaps you’ll come a little closer to understanding why.”

"Only a little closer?" Her eyebrow twitched slightly, rising to gaze at him with stern regard. "You mean that this fight, that may well end in one of our deaths, is only for a little closer understanding?"

Her voice was rich with disappointment, and the way she casually held the blade against her shoulder showed a similar lack of regard for him ... though reality was somehat different. With hooves evenly balanced and body tense, Philomel kept ready for any sudden and swift attack. Her careful vision kept note of the way he moved, acted and spoke. Sword hanging by his side he kept up appearance of nonchalance, but it might have been as much of a ruse as hers. Chin perking up a little she kept on with her words, not allowing him to answer.

After all, he had already stated he wanted to wait for her companions to turn up. To continue idle chatter before their swords truly crossed in a matter of importance. Maybe it was for some higher purpose - to distract her, tire her out, cause her to be weary or even rile up her temper and thus cause a myriad of different options to take advantage of - or maybe it was merely to get her to provide more information. More details, perhaps, about the Gilded Lily and what threats it might hold against the Brotherhood.

Furthermore, that was her previous experience with the old mighty guild that was the Crimson Hand. Those assassins who had first invited her as part of them when she had begun her journey to legend.

Opening her mouth, she began to give rambling chatter, throwing accusations and questions at his face. "Why would a man who seems singularly capable of holding his own throw in his lot with an ages old, rejuvinated guild. Wht interests do you have? Do you mean to use my ladies for their own will or even try to best me for their loyalty? Because they are one thing you shall not get from me. Their loyalty lies not just in me, but themselves as individuals, as sole fighters, business women, sailors, robbers. They are ..."

Something flickered at the corner of her eye. Philomel paused, but only briefly as she saw an invisible doorway open onto the green of the field that stretched to the horizon beyond Shinsou's back. Then the thin dark shape disappeared back into the landscape, and there was no more door. Only a skulking red-tinged shape that crept amongst the grass, and made it silently swish and swim. Lips parting slightly she realised that finally one of her soul-dear friends was coming to the fight, and this would allow things to begin.

Begin ... though perhaps Shinsou did not need to know it was about to. An ambush was perfect.

Therefore, Philomel continued, after locking brief eye contact with Veridian's golden eyes. Then she looked back up to the Telgradian and made her stance even more casual. Her words went on:

"They are special to each and, I warn you, not likely to go back to their previous lives. Many have tried to pull them back under the power of pimps, but I will not let anyone try to steal back their freedom. Never." Darkly, her eyes flashed. Somewhere in the near distance Veridian paused, eyeing up Shinsou's back. His jaws began to open and his muscles tensed, readying himself for the leap. "Never will I let them go," she explained, "And never will anyone ever hold me back."

The attack was soundless. It was rapid. The fox-form earth spirit ran at the Telgradian's back, and then leapt high. His jaws agape, he aimed for the upper arm as Philomel dug down her awareness to the ground. Down she explored, down she delved, finding the sense of the deep-dwelling dragon who curled beneath them all, and called him into battle.