[BoC] The Fire Will Burn Us Both

--closed to Shinsou--

The light of the late evening flushed across the sky in ribbons of colour. Cyan, magenta, saffron and purple, spiralling across the mostly indigo sky as the last remnants of the sunshine. Tipping her head back Philomel breathed in the duck air, filling her lungs with near twilight and fully lay back to worship it in its entirety. Flat against the low graded slanting roof, resting back against the terracotta tiles. She was on top of one of her most wealthy establishments, one of the first she had ever taken over, and placed in the hands of one of her most trustworthy apprentices, Gosling.

Life often didn't get this better.

She thought about the recent battle in the high tower of the citadel, of the strange sandstone arena and the foreign beauty she had fought against. She considered the way she had, in all senses, left with an ally more than an enemy after it. And she remembered the way that after it the shimmering form of a stranger had come to her, glowing in her minds eye but also physically, telling her his name and purpose.

Shinsou vaan Osiris. A man of mystery and a man who needed her help.

It was curious how he had found her. Philomel made it deliberately difficult for those who sought her to never directly meet her first. It was nowadays always a meeting with one of her representatives, less it be Madison Briarheart or the master assassin Lye Ulroke. Possibly even Aurelianus Drak'Shal but he had apparently been holed up in his House of Sin for some time now, never seen by the public since the Crimson Hand had fallen apart. And not being found also meant her mind. After all she was directly connected to one of the most powerful earth spirits in existence, time had proved. He, like her, was blessed by Drys, their goddess, and thus the two of them were a force to be reckoned with. The fox and the faun, some spoke of - and beyond that the dragon. Definitely not able to be discovered easily.

So she had thought. Frowning with the memory she opened her eyes again and sighed to the blue skies. She wished night to come, and business to begin. Maybe even she would bestow herself on some lucky man tonight, for a very high price of course, but lucky he would be. Temptation came into her and she stretched, not able to lie here any longer. She sat up, grumbling to herself, though thankful she was at least in the Black Rose, one of her most prized possessions.

You were never far from the sea in Corone. The scent of it was always there, a powerful, salty whiff that incensed the nostrils and cleared the senses. On the coast's southern side, when the wind was high and blowing from the south, the waves would shatter on the rock wall of the cliff face and spray would rattle over the debris of the weathered heights.

As Shinsou peered out of the rickety wooden shutters protecting the safehouse windows, his eyes veering across the rugged cliff edges not so far away, he was reminded fleetingly of his homeland. How after the Telgradian civil war, storms had battered the port of Mythandria for a week and the winds that had carried the sea spray to the harbour tore down scaffolding about the buildings under repair. Waves had besieged the docks and the scattered timber debris of sunken ships had clattered on the stones. Then, the corpses came, the horrible rotting stench of flesh hanging over the port for weeks afterwards.

Another storm beat at the cliffs tonight, and monstrous waves shattered white against the jagged walls. In the dark, the watching Telgradian could see the explosions of foam from the breaking tides and they reminded him of the smoke rising from the Telgradian positions as they tried in desperation to hang on to the battle. He could see each and every dark magic assault he had cast into scores of the reunited rank and file Telgradian army. Shinsou had watched them burn to ash amidst what had to be the most terrible of battlefields anyone had ever served on.

But that had been almost five years ago, in a past conflict on a now distant world. Or Telgradia was at least distant to him. Since arriving on Althanas, Shinsou had fought for bandits, rogues and any bastard who would pay him enough gold to do their dirty work just to get by. But now the Telgradian was starting to find his footing on this new world. His powers had returned quickly. He was learning to love this planet. Shinsou had earned enough gold to start whatever kind of life he wanted, and a year ago that would have been a quiet life away from fighting. That was before Telgradia’s Council of Five had come looking for him, though, before the threat of a Telgradian invasion on Althanas reared its head.

That was the crux of the matter now. That was why he had chosen to align with the Brotherhood. Shinsou knew that this planned uprising in Corone would serve a larger purpose in the end, much bigger than a petty squabble over territory, sovereignty or power. The Telgradian didn’t expect anyone to understand until the proper moment, even though people would be uncertain as to just what he was really resolving by bringing the Castigars to power. It was all about consolidation, the unification of an entire planet under one banner so that they could meet a Telgradian, or any other threat, head on. The fight of the original Castigars, those small bands of survivors who had scattered all over the globe to evade extermination after their original defeat, had finished. Now, a new era was under construction. Very soon, the Brotherhood of the Castigars would re-establish themselves in global society with Shinsou and his men at the front.

That was his true vision.

As with the uncertainty of the future, and of when that glorious day of unification would arrive, there was the same uncertainty again about the violence of this storm. Just when he thought the waves had done their worst, another two or three would explode in sudden bursts, the white water would bloom above the wall like smoke from a tar fire, and the spray would be driven by the wind to spatter against the cliffs like grapeshot.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Soap, running a hand through his wiry brown hair, looked out of the window and then back to a gazing Shinsou.

“None to share, Soap; apart from those on our assignments.” The Telgradian replied with a wry smile.

The Brotherhood agent ignored Shinsou’s reproof. He and the Telgradian had been partners for too long and Soap knew precisely what liberties he could take with his.

"You’re looking more cheerful than ever, Shinsou. They must have another suicide mission for us."

With one final glance out to sea from the comfort of the Brotherhood safehouse, Shinsou carefully closed and bolted the shutters, securing the ropes that held them to in order to prevent the harsh winds from tearing at them. Soap flicked a cigarette into the roaring fire beside them.

"I wish they'd post us abroad, just to get away from those madmen on the council."

Shinsou, his hands gently stripping the hilt of his sword Enpera, pretended not to hear the remark. He knew what it meant but the subject was a dangerous one. The ruling council saw that the Brotherhood’s ideals, however they dressed them up as being about unification, were really about glory and power. Shinsou, along with Soap, had different ideas about what was needed from the final product of the uprising and knew the day would have to come where they usurped power forcibly from those pulling the strings. To speak of it, though, invited trouble.

“They’ll be dealt with in time.”

The door of the ruined cottage slammed open and a giant of a man stepped into the room. He looked, and dressed, like a naval officer, despite Shinsou recognising him as being a Brotherhood envoy. The man grinned as he took off his cocked hat and nodded at Shinsou, ignoring Soap’s dark glare. "The warrior returns to Corone. How's the day, old boy?"

“Fine, Harore. What brings you here?”

Soap collected his coat as if he was about to leave but the envoy held up his hand. "Stay, Soap. I have a treat for you; one that even a heathen like you might enjoy." He took a dark bottle out of his sack and raised an eyebrow to Shinsou. "You don't mind?"

The Telgradian shook his head. Harore set the bottle on the table and pulled the cork.

"You visited the faun, I believe?" asked Harore.

"Philomel van der Aart? Yes."

"That's very interesting," Harore’s hazel eyes lit up, his lips parting to take a gulp of the murky liquid in the bottle, "How did you find her?"

"You don't always look with your eyes" Shinsou gulped down a vast quantity of the pungent drink before passing it to Soap, who snatched it away and supped. "I found her in the Citadel and tried to arrange a meeting. She’s the matriarch of the Black Rose, and I hear she has influence with the Gilded Lily."

Harore said nothing, pausing in his careful pouring of the Tokay wine. "You are right, and that’s why I’m here. I have a job for you." Harore's eyes twinkled. "And what a wonderful job it is, too."

"For the last time, no!"

Blades froze in midair. A shield keeping half a torso protected tilted as its owner's hold was untensed. Eyes beneath carefully tied back hair blinked and flicked over to where their Matriarch stood, completely nearing her wits end.

Her hands in the air and looking part of a mock theatrical Philomel stared from one woman to the other.

"I am training you to be warriors, not circus performers!" she yelled. "Honestly, the next time I see one more feint used incorrectly I will eat mud."

It was not worth mentioning that the faun had indeed before eaten mud, and actually enjoyed the taste of it. If either woman poised with weapons still aloft had any idea of this they did wisely not to express it. Instead they remained exactly how they were, down to the shimmer of light glinting off the cheap steel practise swords, and watched as Philomel lowered her arms and strode over to them.

Unforgivingly she grabbed the first warrior - an elf maiden with a history of alcoholism and abuse - and pulled down her elbow, tucking it near the hip. "Keep your arms close to your body," she advised, or rather ordered. "Ready to react and not making those ridiculous sweeping gestures." She then moved to the other - a half orc who was known for her inherited shield and tusks - and shoved her, though softly, in the side. Promptly the pushed damsel fell. "And feet," Philomel stood over her, brow still furrowed, glaring at the half-orc as she struggled to find her shield once more. "You want your feet a good spread apart, able to move but not able to be tripped. You need to move much, but not enough to be a maddened bezerker. I am teaching you to fight with prowess and significance, not as a barbarian."

The half-orc grunted harshly, but rolled to her feet. Grabbing her sword once more she moved back into being in front of the elf and looked down at her feet. She moved them two feet apart, one behind the other. Philomel shook her head and eased one back with the movement of her own hoof.

"Balance," she told them, "Is key. Using your strengths," she turned to look the elf up and down, adjusting her stance a little more, "Is key, and using your enemy's weaknesses against them." Taking a step back she checked them and nodded, before walking back to her original point. "Remember each movement is a master work, the stroke of a artisans paintbrush. You cannot take anything back, so trust your instincts, but also use your head."

She folded her arms and nodded.

"Again."

There was a pause, a brief one, then the elf and half-orc growled and set into motion. Soon the courtyard once more was filled with clangings and shouts.

Philomel watched with satisfaction as both the trainee Gilded Lily members, those whom she had begun to fondly referring simply as Lilies, took on her notes right away and went over the fight again. Still fresh from the haunted brothels of the past they were young women who had fallen on hard times and into the hands of undeserving pimps. They had had little knowledge of love making or fighting or confidence, only how to be raped. Philomel had found these two recently personally, thriving on the street corners trying to fulfil their quota, and she had known just then that they needed her. Being so close to The Black Rose she had brought them here and set them under the care of Gosling, satisfied that her with her kind nature would be able to appeal to them.

And so far it had worked. Right now Philomel was using her time to train these two up to the rank of warrior, giving them new skills and possibly an offering later of a place on her hired ship. She smiled finally as they took on her words and fought better, neither toppling or failing to land a blow.