Observe, Young One, the Stars Above (Open)

[Philomel]

It was pirouetting to the classic of the theatre.

It was a sashay to the thumping beat in a square dance hall.

It was a left-two in the swaying motion of a wild, faunish country swing, a dance of glory, a dance of beauty, a dance of absolute joy.

Blade against blade, they scraped earth and sky, sandstone and cloud. With the sun beating down harsh, as it peeked from behind the cumulus and the stratocumulus, the two forms of the beautiful women merged together into one blur. There was a moment of sychronisation as, truly, they actually echoed the steps of a formal dance, and then there was the rage of perfect battle.

The white curve of Philomel's sword scratched air, carved the world around her in twain. She found that her opponent was a wonder in the art of swordplay, a master. Barely ever did an entry open, there was little to no chink in her armour, apart from those that were so minute that as soon as Philomel noticed it, it clsoed again.

Whistling through her teeth in not so much anger as admiration, Philomel allowed the waltz to continue for some time, before she new it was time to end. Time to give the final bow, to wave to the audience, to love the band and send gratitude flowers to the mages who operated the sound effects. A smile curved at the corner of her mouth, a musing tense. It became a giggle, a laugh of some happy kind, before she left her partner there, alone, and vanished into the earth.

And at the same time Veridian launched his foxy self from behind the red-haired opponent, right where he had been serrupticiously pacing, waiting, hiding for the right time. He threw his body, now the time ripe and beautiful, at the exposed back leg, jaws open, teeth long and sharp as little daggers, ready to turn this ballet into a tragedy.

[Mordelain]

Suresh knew better than to forewarn his daughter of the threat as it lunged. He watched, in abject horror, as teeth met with skin and undid the beauty found in the women’s mirrored symmetry. He let his hands fall to his sides, deflated, and advanced across the broken flagstones.

“That is enough!” His voice boomed over the whip of the wind as it continued to kick sand to the sky and erode the illusory tower from existence.

Mordelain did not scream at first. She simply dropped to her knees, as though struck by fatigue. Veridian let its jaw tear flesh before it retreated to the faun’s side. It slinked and slid, bloodied maw a snarl of victory and deceit. Only when free of her attacker did she register the pain. It spread up her leg and engulfed her.

“Sand worm’s guts!” she whelped. She winced. She dropped onto her back and twisted uncomfortably to set her eyes on the wound. She did not like what she saw.

“We are done here.” The merchant’s tone left no question about his sincerity. He pointed politely to the door that appeared on the far side of the tower’s viewing platform. “You are victorious.”

Mordelain, torn between frustration with Suresh and agony could only cradle her leg. When she realised that blood less would soon be her undoing, she yanked the sash from around her waist and made a hasty tourniquet. Whilst it would only buy time, it would be spent scolding her mentor.

[Philomel]

Heart hammering wildly in her chest, Philomel immediately lowered her blade and stepped back, bowing to her worthy adversary.

She had re-appeared, come from the other side of the rabbit-hole so to speak, to the side of their opponent. Pausing there, she had waited until Veridian made his lunge, and then was to sweep in in a stroke in an attempt to finish the fiery girl off. But then - well then, the voice had roared over the dias, causing the very sand beneath their toes to shake.

"Enough," he said, "That is enough ... We are done here."

Better for them to bow out politely than to extend the pain. And Philomel, if anything, was perfectly honourable. Despite perhaps others not believing this particular suggestion to the Matriarch's personality, she was in her opinion, and in the opinion of many of her followers. Therefore she bent at the waist, not lowering herself enough to take her eyesight from the assemblage of the red-head but being genteel and respectful all the same.

Veridian slipped around, blood still dripping from his maw. Paws were silent as the grave as they brought his body around to be beside his companion's hoof. Together they stood as a symbol of respect, facing not the man but their combatant, honouring her for she was undoubtably worthy to be honoured.

"We thank you for the fight," Philomel said, her eyes sparkling, rising out of her bow. Eyes only for Mordelain.

"... Would you allow me to heal you?"

[Mordelain]

Kindness was not often the guest of the Ai’bron. Yet, despite convention, here in the unlikeliest of beings there was mercy. For centuries, before she settled on Althanas, Mordelain would have expected a trap. A cruel trick played by tyrants and sycophants. Though the faun was a strange beast, the Troubadour doubted she was as worse as some of the enemies she had on the other worlds of the Khalithrism.

“I…,” she hesitated. Pain spiked and made her wince. “I think I’d be okay with that.”

She straightened her leg as much as she could and set her palms flat against the dry stone behind her to steady herself. Even the most potent healing magic would require bolstering her nerves and readying for things to get worse before they got better.

“That’s quite the companion you have,” she added, gesturing to her bite and to the fox-like creature. “Friends like that are hard to come by on a world like this.”

The wind howled. Effervescent trails of sand, whipped straight from the rock of the ancient, illusory tower drifted into the setting sun’s glare. The landscape, from the vantage point of heaven itself set ablaze. Orange, red, gold, yellow, every shade of citrus and inferno began to seep through the bland sand backdrop that coloured their battle.

[Philomel]

Under a shaft of rose sunlight, powered and directed through a hole in the thinning clouds, the companions stood as one. Philomel took a short time as the red-haired opponent, of whom they still did not know the name of, looked at the ankle wound. Using a piece of fabric from the many folds that made up her belt she wiped her white blade before sliding it back into its sheath. Now weaponless, with nothing but her dignity to keep her there, and her genuine concern, she paused and considered leaving, before the woman spoke again.

"Quite a companion you have ... Friends like that are hard to come by."

Veridian was in current process of cleaning his muzzle. He blinked at the comment, and then twisted his head towards Philomel. Slowly he lowered his paw as he made his thoughts known.

Did we ever introduce ourselves? he asked.

A smile that was beginning to already form at Philomel's mouth grew. No, we did not, she replied in kind, in mind.

The fox-formed spirit sneezed once before rising, as elegant as a jaguar. Padding over to where Mordelain was, he faced her directly, lifting up his eyes to directly stare into hers. Into this gaze, lit into starlight by his brilliant golden irises, he poured in his intelligence, his understanding, his vast compassion and person. As he tried to make her see and not just speak to his gorgeous companion-for-life, his small mouth opened as if desiring nothing more than to speak - except all that came out was a small howling whine.

"May I introduce Veridian Ryuusan," Philomel translated. She laughed lightly, a bell in the summer breeze. "He says, 'It is a pleasure to meet you, hair of red. This is my companion Philomel van der Terra, and together we are a force to be reckoned with.'" After a pause, Philomel kept grinning and continued, "He is an earth-spirit, a type of spiritual creature ... And we both are honoured to have fought with you-"

"Might we have the pleasure of your name?"

[Mordelain]

“I am Mordelain Saythrou. I am Tama, though my home world was long ago destroyed.” Her description sounded less grandiose than theirs, but she was mortal, corporeal, and growing tired beyond measure.

The wound on her ankle congealed quickly, and by the time introductions were over, the clot had stuck. This gave the il’Jhain small relief, but without aid, she would be unable to leave the Citadel’s fighting dome on her own volition. She gestured to Veridian.

“Might that offer of aid be fulfilled?” Her smile, bright as the sun and the flame-lick of her hair showed she meant them no harm.

To support her request she sent her weapons into the ether, reeling through time and space and distances few on Althanas could quantify. The partisan dropped to the floor of a long forgotten bedchamber on the world of Petra, one of Mordelain’s homes from homes when she fell into reflective periods in Althanas’s winter months.

The kukri re-appeared in its sheath in Suresh, her father’s, city residence. It hung on the back of her chair on the sunroof, where they often partook in thick, date syrup coffee and pitta at first light. Thinking of both places made her feel homesick, and thus, in her current state, meek and afraid. She hoped her trust in the duo was not misplaced.

“Perhaps, when I am well again, I can show the ruins of that world to you.” Her lips curled into a feeble smile, eyes glistening, cheeks flush with signs of encroaching unconsciousness from bloodloss.

[Philomel]

Philomel and her darling exchanged a short and concise look. Veridian grinned, showing his teeth and showed the world that he approved of their opponent for this day.

Taking a further step back, the faun-whore lowered herself into a gesture that she never usually did. In times gone by she had considered herself far too above the individuals who demanded the respect, in terms of power and greatness. But this - this time was different. Now it was an oppurtunity for honour and equality. She curtseyed in a way no faun could, then rose again. As she rose she began to stride forwards, her hand swaying out to the side and then into that hand gathering all the scatterings of dust and soil that were nearby enough to be at her aid.

She stopped opposite the woman, perhaps five feet. In her palm was pooled dirt an inch high and glistening like tiny shards of starlight. This, she proferred forwards.

"By the blessings of Drys I would touch your wound," she said in a warm voice. "With their power I can close and heal it," she smiled, genuinely, and lowered herself onto one knee to present the blessed dirt.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

"Quite the performance."

A heavily distorted voice crackled through the wall of the time and space continuum. The cylindrical wall of the interior of the Citadel’s portal rippled and crackled as the plasma like substance comprising it bent to Shinsou's every whim. Anomalies morphed and swirled in front of his face before screaming into a whirling orbit of white orbs. As this acidic, liquefied existence began to congeal into something resembling reality, the Golden King stood, arms folded, his eyes locked firmly onto the two shapes ahead of him. At first the figures in front of Shinsou were no more than a shimmer of mist that diffused through air ahead of him, in front of the looming, crumbling tower. As his portal snapped shut and his eyes adjusted, they drifted closer towards him and became slightly out of focus, like a poorly taken photograph, before finally sharpening into existence.

For a moment all was silent. It wasn’t long before Shinsou got to the crux of why he had materialised into the arena. Flitting his golden eyes towards the hunched form of the faun, he paced forward slowly and stopped a few feet away.

“I am Shinsou Vaan Osiris of Telgradia. I presume you are Philomel van der Aart?”

Staring back at him were a pair of confused grey eyes. Though murky in colour, they seemed tempered and wild, seemingly piercing through Shinsou’s skin to his very core. They were truly a stark contrast to the former emperor’s own calm and subtle gaze. In truth, she was more beautiful than the premonition had foretold, but a dangerous premonition it had been indeed.

“This is going to be difficult to ask of you, but I need your assistance once your business here is concluded. I can offer gold, and you can name your price.”

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Congratulations!

Mordelain receives 960 EXP and 100 GP!
Philomel receives 1300 EXP and 110 GP!

Please note I will not be claiming any rewards for my cameo.

[Rayleigh]

All EXP and GP have been added!