[Final] The Osiris Open: Storm Veritas vs Philomel vs BlackandBlueEyes

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The final begins at 12am on Wednesday 3rd August and will close for judging at 12am EST on Wednesday 24th August.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

So, now we have a problem.

Shinsou's thoughts echoed through his mind as he stepped into the distorted portal lens in front of him. The Brotherhood of the Castigars had been more than pleased with his recent successes for them and had been only too happy to oblige when the Telgradian needed something from them. This time, Shinsou was under orders to do something for them.

The bastards.

Using their web of connections and their sizeable reserves of gold, there weren't many people the Brotherhood couldn't get hold of and it had been easy enough to entice warriors from all over the globe with monetary incentives. A tournament such as this had been a perfect way to systematically filter out the weak and identify those who would either be a threat or an asset to the organisation’s ambitions.

To Shinsou, it had mattered little who it was five minutes prior. Once they had been identified, it would be easy enough to put an end to them or recruit them and that would have put the matter to bed. But once he had opened the confidential report the Brotherhood had placed into his hands and had seen the names of the finalists, the colour had drained from his face.

Storm Veritas, Madison Freebird and Philomel Van der Aart.

It read like a nightmare come true, for each name was a problem for entirely different reasons. The lightning mage, Storm Veritas, was a man Shinsou wasn’t particularly fond of crossing. He had already been sent the glass eye, a token of the Brotherhood’s confidence and a mark of the chosen for the cause, but Storm had remained silent on the matter and Shinsou didn’t feel obliged to press the aggressive mage for an answer. Philomel Van der Aart, the faun, was a friend and someone in whom he had a burning personal curiosity that he did not wish wasted by the Brotherhood. As for Madison?

Someone I’d rather have stayed away from entirely. She’s unstable, unpredictable and dangerous.

As he pondered the scale of the proverbial mountain in front of him, the funnel of the Citadel’s swirling portal snapped and crackled as the electrical substance it was made from bent to Shinsou’s every whim. Strange, tendril like anomalies morphed and swirled in front of his face as his destination spun into focus.

The Telgradian judged the two foot gap between the lip of the portal and what appeared to be some sort of sandy stone floor and stepped down perfectly. He had sent word ahead to the powerful monks of the Citadel to work their magic. With an approving nod, he brushed aside a bang of brown hair and allowed his soft, golden eyes to survey what would otherwise be his masterpiece, had he constructed it himself.

The great pyramid was called The Cartographer, and was the oldest and largest of the three pyramids in the desert wastes of the Kratas Outlands bordering what was now continental Telgradia. It was the oldest of the wonders of Telgradia, and the only one to remain largely intact. One hundred thousand people had worked tirelessly on the great structure for three months of each year, during the annual Kratas floods when it was impossible to farm the land. The surrounding sodden sands were difficult to work in, but the Telgradian people were determined.

Truly, it was an astonishing work of engineering, yet it had never been finished. The top was flat and not pointed, as it should have been. It had a truncated summit which was coarse and uneven and measured about thirty square feet. Although most Telgradian pyramids were crowned with a top-stone that completed their structure, The Cartographer did not have one.

Standing at a hundred and forty six metres The Cartographer was the tallest man-made structure in Telgradia. Yet, it was not its height that made it the impressive structure it was. Its winding innards and great chambers were the features that had influenced Shinsou’s decision to use it as an arena for this ‘test’.

Originally, the Cartographer was covered by casing stones of limestone that formed a smooth outer surface; but what was seen today was the underlying core structure. There were three known chambers inside the Cartographer. The lowest chamber was cut into the bedrock upon which the pyramid was built and was unfinished, littered with masonry and debris left over from the attempted construction. Here, in this room, one of the three warriors would appear to mount their challenge.

The so-called Queen's Chamber and King's Chamber were a floor higher up within the pyramid structure, adjoined by a corridor a mile long, and it would be here that the other two contestants began their battle. Between the chambers was the main part of the Cartographer complex; a setting of buildings that included two mortuary temples in honour of various Jal Shey lords, three smaller “interior” pyramids for their wives, and a raised causeway connecting the Queen and King’s chamber.

The Cartographer was labyrinthine. It was dangerous. It was beautiful. All of it lit by torchlight alone. The shadows between those weak flames were legion, snatching at those who travelled the corridors and threatening to drag them into the abyss that loomed below the crumbling walkways.

Shinsou brushed a thread of chestnut brown hair from his face. His shining and alert eyes flitted about the superstructure of The Cartographer whilst the Telgradian stood motionless ahead of the great pyramid, his feet buried in the never-ending expanse of burning sand. He could feel the three presences begin to materialise within the vast pyramid, their auras sending cold chills down his spine and into the gusset of his stomach.

For now, all the Telgradian could do was wait for an outcome. Lufenia's diary had served him well thus far, but this place was a creation from his world. It would be the only proving ground that could truly seperate the great from the good. After all, that was the whole point.

The only question that remained was what Shinsou was prepared to do once the victor had been decided. Would he, could he, disobey the council? Or would the Telgradian carry out his orders?

That, though, is for later.

[Storm Veritas]

Storm Veritas had a way of agreeing to bad ideas on the back end of alluring promises, so it came as no surprise that the looming specter of a fat bag of cash offered under the veil of ultimate physical safety proved simply too good to pass up. Despite how shady the elaborate back channel network that reached him appeared, the magics that protected this entire charade were effective enough. That little girl and the psychotic pilgrim had put a beating on the magician, shattering rib bones like eggshells and leaving a thick trail of crimson bile in his wake. The healing was outstanding; he didn’t feel a day over fifty.

Today, he knew there would be more than one he needed to contend with. There weren’t any other details afforded, and he stepped through the doorway the courier delivered him to, a thick stone block sliding in place behind him. Torches lit the path in front of him, and the hallway smelt like a pleasant mix of mold, piss, and death.

Not another god-damned obstacle course. Taking my sweet f*cking time this go-around.

The light wouldn’t be a problem for him, and he wasn’t in much a mood to race forward. If there were two others, for all he cared they could pound on each other for a bit as he marched forward. Blasting a barely-breathing “victor” wasn’t beneath him, and his trip through the Tower of Babel had educated him on the fool’s errand that these steeplechases tended to be.

His cherrywood pipe propped between his teeth, he sucked in a warm, tingly taste of tobacco and cycled it smoothly out through his lips. The buzz hit him quickly, sharpening his vision and smoothing his nerves. He lazily extended his palm before him, a bright white glow of azure and white popping brightly ahead. Broken bricks, footfalls and dangling barbed wire emerged from the shadows as he had put an immediate end to the darkness.

Leave these idiot savages to strangle themselves and crawl on hands and knees to their death. After “Babel”, this is a chickenshit hallway.

Storm laughed at the simplicity of it all, hopping lightly and darting in and out over the holes, ducking creaking spears and moving with a fluidity likely never seen in this awful place. His only irritation came from the falling dust, which he abruptly brushed from the crisp pinstriped shoulders of his bespoke suit. He had spent four hundred crowns on the suit not a month ago; he’d need at least the jacket in good order to properly celebrate the financial windfall at the end of the labyrinth.

Win this, and forget about worrying over f*cking suits. Buy ten more, or a boat to take you to Alerar – thin silks and cheap prices there. Shit, maybe a down payment on an –airship- with this kind of cash.

A stone fell from beneath his foot, forcing him to leap suddenly to safety. There was a silence as the great rock fell, followed by a mighty crash moments later. Perhaps he wasn’t precisely on the ground floor of this… well… whatever the hell he was in.

”Whee-whoo!” He sent a sharp and piercing whistle through the corridor, noting the partial echo that returned. The hallway loomed long.

Seconds later, following a few sharp turns, Veritas found himself ducking another bramble of barbs, this one altogether familiar. This wasn’t an elaborate hallway; it was a maze.

“Well, shit.”

Along with the blessings of gray hair and wrinkles, his years had touched him with some slight modicum of wisdom. There was a trick to every maze, provided he hadn’t already screwed himself.

Stopping to take another deep pull from his pipe, Storm held the left hand bright and glowing before him as his right hand began to drag fingertips across the rough stone. Within moments, there was tangible progress – the skeletal remains of a body strewn across the floor beneath a spike, a twist of barbed wire loosely spun around the neck. He’d follow the right edge without yield, and eventually march out of the maze. Success was an if- not a when.

The hallway before him spilled into a brighter room, the details of which were undecipherable against the dark contrast of the great maze he had simply navigated. His lone casualty was two badly scraped fingertips, each worn to the point of light bleeding.

And –WHEN- I get out of here, the first thing those healers are going to fix will be my manicure. Whatever happened to a simple cage match?

As Storm soaked in what had to be the arena before him, he tapped out the last few embers from his pipe before smothering the glowing orange beneath his freshly polished wingtips.

“Well, then… looks like showtime.”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

One way to get me to hate you is to call me by my full name.

A second way to do get me to hate you is to throw a purse bursting with gold coins on a grungy tavern table while I'm trying to eat my lunch.

The current object of my ire had the audacity to commit both crimes while my face was buried deep within the latest in a series of books by one of my favorite authors.

Some rude random dared to pull me out of the fictional world of Corinthia; where the Fallen King Maladax was on a quest to depose his usurper, clear his name, and restore his kingdom to its former glory--all with the help of a magical sword wielded by his guardian angel and his lovable but tragic court jester? A younger me would have lit him on fire right then and there.

I've seen dozens like the intruder before. Ominous look in his steely eyes. Weathered, grim face. Scruffy beard covering a stone-hewn jaw, pale skin. A color scheme and dress code that screamed shadowy organization. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about him whatsoever. Yet, he carried himself like he was some big deal; allowed by divine right to interrupt the lunch break of any and all who walked the earth.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I quickly shushed him. "Leave me alone. I'm getting to a good part." I flicked the corner of the page for emphasis.

The interrupter stiffened in his boots, flustered that I refused to give him my undivided attention. "I'm afraid this matter cannot wait, Miss Freebird."

I sunk even further into the wood of my chair, raising the book up in front of my face to hide me from him. "Yes it can. The kingdom must be saved. Maladax must avenge his beloved and defeat the traitorous wizard Talzod."

"Miss Freebird--"

"It is the will of Uloron," I hissed at him.

A tense silence grew between us as I continued reading. I noted after several seconds that the man had not moved from the other side of the table. Even worse, he decided to pull up a chair and have a seat across from me. I refused to acknowledge him even harder than before.

"So I don't waste too much more of your precious time," he said with no small amount of irritation, "I will cut right to the chase."

He picked up the pregnant leather bag and lobbed it over the top of my book so it landed on the table right in front of me. "You have been chosen to compete in the finals of our tournament. This is your prize for winning your first two battles. The next round begins tonight, shortly after sundown."

I eyeballed the sack. A quick guestimate told me that there was probably enough money in here to see me through for the next couple of months. I returned to reading my book. "I haven't been chosen for shit."

"You're mistaken," he said. "You have been marked since the moment you stepped into the Citadel two weeks ago, when you fought the demon and the young knight."

A pang of recognition hit me. I recalled the two battles--simple affairs, if not forgettable. It was very curious indeed that this creep knew about them. It also triggered every warning inside my brain. I lowered the book slightly, amber light igniting in my eyes as I glared at him. "If you're smart, you'll take your money and leave. Now."

The man shook his head. "It's far too late," he intoned darkly. "My employers have chosen you, and there is no escaping them. They have watched your every move, researched every minute detail of your past."

I dog-eared the corner of the page I was on--a true show of how much of a monster I am--and set the book down on the table next to my half-eaten sandwich. "Then your employers should know not to try any of this shadowy organization bullshit with me, because I'm too old for it. I don't want any part of your stupid little tournament. So, take my advice--" I tossed the bag of gold back at him. "Get the hell out of my face, before I tear it off and mail it back to whatever basement your buddies are hanging out in."

Generic McDarkplansguy sat there, an unamused look on his face as he stared at the leather purse that threatened to spill its contents as it laid on its side. "How unfortunate that you believe you have a choice in the matter, Miss Freebird."

I gripped my book with a briar-knit hand, and moved to open it again. "Could say the same for you, really."

And that's when the club came down on the back of my skull like a ton of bricks.

* * * * * * *

I came to with a roaring "FUCK!" that echoed into eternity.

The throbbing pain slowly subsided as I furiously rubbed the back of my head, desperately trying to speed up the healing processes of my Briarheart body. It wasn't quite at the level of blinding, but it came close. Despite the fact that I must have been ambushed or something, I had to commend the strength behind the swing of any son of a bitch who can knock me out like that.

However, that probably meant that I was indeed going to fight again, and very soon.

I grumbled a long string of curses as I dusted myself off and stood up. It was very hard to get my bearings in the low amount of light afforded to me by a smattering of torches that littered the area. From what I could make out, I was in the dusty confines of an unfinished underground construction project. Scattered about haphazardly were thick blocks of rock, tools to dig deeper into the earth, wooden beams to support the caverns while they build the walls and tunnels, and various other implements that I didn't bother to identify.

The only thing I could think of was finding the hooded cow fuckers who put me here, and the infinitely creative ways I was going to dispatch every single last one of them.

...Okay, let's be fair here. I was also thinking about finding whoever my opponent was going to be, and using their flesh as a rough draft.

All that remained was to find them and get this over with.

A deep sigh escaped my gnarled lips, catching on the thin mythril of my face mask as I sat cross-legged on the dusty stone floor of the cavern or chamber or whatever it was. Slowly, I extended thick vines from my wrists and dug into the ground. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tapped into the world around me.

I never got used to the strange sensation of being able to sense every life form within a radius--from insects and spiders, all the way up to men and beasts and more. It was always a sudden rush of information and energy, and it always caught me off guard. My spine snapped straight and my four eyes rolled into the back of my skull as my brain frantically hurried to sort and process everything. In my mind, I could see everything within miles. I could visualize a rough estimate of where I was, what kind of building I was in, and where each pathway led (assuming the spiders that wove their webs made it down every hall and into every room, of course).

The world whispered to me that I was deep within the bottom levels of a giant ziggurat. All around and above me, massive chambers were connected by long, twisting, labyrinthine hallways. It was mostly devoid of life, save for two pulses in particular--and, by the gods were they strong.

The first was most definitely human, and it radiated brilliant power. A tingle that ran down my spine told me it belonged to someone who I should count myself lucky that I had not encountered before on any of my missions or experiments. Other than that, I could glean no other information from the pulse of energy.

The second was much easier to identify--Philomel van der Aart. A good friend of mine; or at least as close to a friend as I could call anyone. We butted heads and shared drinks during our time in the Crimson Hands. From the feeling that her spirit gave me, her powers had grown considerably since we last met.

In my mind's eye, I could see both the faun and the human slowly approaching each other as they navigated the maze of corridors above me. I thought for a moment about activating my teleportation stone and ambushing one of them, just to speed the process along and get this stupid fight over with.

Instead, I continued to sit there, vines planted into the cold stone of the chamber floor, completely tuned into the world around me. I would wait for Phi to put a hoof through this guy's skull or for him to do whatever he can to eliminate her before I'd make my move.

Strategy, kids.

[Philomel]

Beneath, above, surrounding. All four sides, all multi-directional ways.

The structure was unconquerable, felt condemning, made of substantial, compact and stagnant limestone. Birthed from the very bedrock it was set upon it rose gargantuan feet, perhaps miles, into the air, into a indecipherable form. Beyond that was the unknown, the living and impossible world of the mighty Citadel. Perhaps there was an exterior to this place that existed inside the arena, yet sense demanded that she deny that. All that the heavy stone gave her was a construct of earth, and beyond that her twisting suaropsidan could only see and acknowledge the sparing hollows among the lapidarian segments, not unlike that which she stood in.

To the inquisitive mind the scene was barren, and otherwise boring. With uninspiring white walls and little content but the four walls of this particular chamber there was nothing to entertain. Dim light in the form of bracketed ugly torches, hung in very frugal distances along the expanse, gave the only source of illumination so that Philomel Van Der Aart, Matriarch of the Gilded Lily's eyes needed to be narrowed and focused. After a full moment of tracking and attempting to perceive, she could see a tunnel-way, an exit from this bleak chamber with a path that sloped downwards, deeper and more subterranean into the fathomless structure.

Connection had been made directly to Delath as soon as she had stepped into this arena; her earth-dragon companion who had no wings and literally digested rock and earth as he wormed his way beneath her hooves in every battle and pace. Yet nothing in her limit gave way to sensing her Beloved, Veridian her first companion. From what she could tell using the natural awareness within her, was that Veridian was no where nearby.

Even calling him was no use.

Where is he? Where are you my darling?

There was no answer. Running an uneasy hand through her hair she felt terrifyingly unstable for a moment. Veridian had been there, in all of his russet glory, white-tipped tail whipping back and forth, stepping into the doorway along with her. As had Delath.

But now ... now ... where was he?

Surely onwards. Surely elsewhere. He would be deeper. So there she must go.

The path that led further and farther into the construct sloped at an increasing angle, and came headway to other turnings off - but there were no sentient lifeforms thus to be found. This meant no Veridian - but so far no enemies. Delath, of course, was there, spiraling his way through the apparent limestone, however he was still some large feet away. Right now, in this moment, Philomel knew that she could be attacked with due surprise - for this was, after all, a mighty battle - and she was entirely alone. Alone without her first and most precious friend in existence, alone without company save for the rolling earth-dragon (who was unpredictable to say the least) and alone without any idea what was going on.

Definitely time to embrace the beast within.

Two battles thus far. The first with a giant of a man, the second with her dear friend Vaan Osiris. The first in a forgotten village, lost to the throes of time, and the second in a sky-city, famed for angels. The first had been a near victory, and the second a near defeat, and this time ... this one ... this third and final battle would be a defiant, overwhelming, preeminent triumph. The scribes would write in it in the chronicles, children would whisper of it as adventure tales. The elite would rumour of it in the great parlours, and the elected council would crow over it in the courts. It would be the great battle of the century, the great glory for all faun kind. The Brotherhood - whatever they were, and whatever they really wanted, would know that Philomel van der Aart was a force to be reckoned with and they could judge for themselves what side to place her on.

Friend or foe.

Thoroughly, she invited in the strength of nature, the love of her goddess. Tree, earth, rock and soil rushed into her, the goodness of root, dirt and leaf. Photosynthesis felt second nature, the worms her kin, as she stretched and grew, as her horns spiralled out, as her hands worked to loosen her armour so that it would fit due to her newly fashioned corset back, and her sword ... her mighty sword.

She drew it, held it in hand as she focused on the beauty of Drys and all that was good in her life. Hair sprouted over her skin in deep chestnut, fur covered down her back to the smooth brush that was her tail. Muscles rippled, blossoming over her chest and expanding to reach areas that they never had been before, except on occasions like this one. New tendons sprung into life, skin matured, eyes became wider, deeper, with a fire so insatiable it looked as if, no matter what, under no circumstances, that it ever could be dulled.

Let alone put out.

Once complete, the terrifying form of the half-beast, half-human began to saunter ahead. Her senses were alive, her white sword was singing with a thirst for blood. Horns built for charging walls and felling them, and a face en-longed into that of the beast she was descended from, Philomel let out a unsteady bleat ...

Before throwing herself headlong down the dimly lit tunnel, directly into the fray.

Gods protect anyone who stood in this chimera's way.

[Storm Veritas]

The tunnel-maze had erupted northward into a large, impossibly lit amphitheater of stone, dust, and air that smelled of soured milk and death. Slicking his hair back smoothly to his head, Storm gazed upon the inside of the large room, one which had sloped ceilings that gave off the appearance of a hard-capped pyramid. Pulling his vest tight, he flicked away a few beads of sweat with a casual annoyance as he squared the lapels on his dress coat. All bets would be off once the fighting began, but he’d be damned if he was going to show up to the party looking less than aristocratic.

I was told there’d be two… Probably another couple half-witted sociopaths. Where are they? I wouldn’t be surprised if another soldier-type found his way to the bottom of this shithole if he had to hop through the same brick maze I had to hop through.

“Click-clack! Click-clack! Click-clack!”

A sound which distinctly resembled hooves began to reverberate into the arena. Unlike the uniform gait of his great stallion Attila, this seemed to lack the same lightness, the same smoothness. Could it have been claws tapping the ground? A bipedal beast, like the minotaur?

Storm’s head spun with delight. A minotaur! He had seen quite a few as he chased that sad little mutant girl throughout the tower of Babel. They hadn’t made much an impression upon him, except for the obvious realization that they were a decidedly easy mark. One minotaur had been found in shrapnel form upon the floor (likely following a mighty fall). The second Man-bull-pig had been splattered into red mist by an angry little girl. If the minotaur had already killed the other whateverthehell, Storm suspected a quick fight; he was in for easy money.

One suit for every day of the year. Forty-foot yacht, packed with whores for a week. My own stake in a god-damned airship.

The little business of actual execution still needed to be dealt with, as his fantasies of opulence danced in his head like so many little sugarplums. Honor and valor taught him to wait upon the arrival of his opponent, meet them squarely, and best them in fair combat. He also knew discretion to be the better part of valor, and recalled that survivors were the ones who wrote history books. Valor was for the stupid.

“Welcome to the Thunder-Dome, Piggy! Eat shit!”

With a cackle and crackle, Storm Veritas laughed as he effortlessly fired a mighty bolt of lightning at the keystone atop the suspect tunnel that had sounded the warning bell of an oncoming Minotaur (or so he presumed). Predictably, the façade of the orifice exploded with a deafening roar, the ripple effects sending shards of piercing rock in many directions. Thick black veins burst upon stone as cracks bloomed deeply upon all surfaces of the stone; a tremble shook the entire building momentarily.

Brilliant, idiot. Bring the house down on your own f*cking head. You did the same goddamned thing in Lornius, and we all know how THAT turned out, right?

Despite the enormity of his attack, the hallway did not collapse upon itself immediately. There was lots of groaning and shrieking as the stone yielded in pieces and mighty chunks, but the satisfying landslide which would bring a quick end to this whole charade did not arrive. There was a good deal of rumbling and unrecognizable noise, but no flamboyant arrival of the cliché, axe-wielding minotaur which he could summarily dispense of. Nonplussed, the magician reproduced his pipe and began tamping the bowl with his thumb as he thought.

That was a stupid goddamned line. Thunder-dome? Eat shit? Come on, Storm… be better.

Storm’s eyes remained fixated on the tunnel as he rolled the pipe through his fingers, wondering if the other adventurer planned on arriving today.

If needed, feel free to use any non-lethal bunnies.

[Philomel]

Placed in before BABE with permission from the man himself.

I will ... I will be strong and win.

I will conquer what lies in this dark fortress and discomforture all.

Their defeat will become reknown throughout the lands, and my vitory will become legendary.

I will be ...

immortalised.

Her earth-dragon waiting for his chance, her beloved best companion missing. She felt Delath, still, weaving his way through the limestone rock, and knew from him the density, the strength and power of the building, but she could still not sense Veridian in any form. Stone shook around her, energy surging through the walls and all she could think of was how she was going to win ... without Veridian.

In the heat of the moment, Philomel did the unthinkable. Caught between a unknown future upon the path ahead, and the idea of lonliness, she decided to commit.

With a light 'clang' the mythril of her sword met the limestone of the tunnel floor. Submitting to the idea of the ultimate victory, her self gave in and invited the essence of macrocosm and creation to endear her all the more. The words of a sudden, and unexpected and unplanned, enemy sung through the chambers, ricocheying off crevices and displacements into her tapered ears. And they filled her with more rage and more feelings of that she was in this alone.

“Welcome to the Thunder-Dome, Piggy! Eat shit!”

Thunder-Dome? Piggy? Eat shit?!

Philomel could have laughed. And in fact she did. As she dropped her sword, surrending it to the rock beneath, she let her body be overcome with pressure. Her heavy hooves began to expand once more, her goat-like face lengthened and strengthened, eyes suddenly building with growth and intensity. Horns spiralled beyond where they usually grew, somewhere beyond and behind in the distance and all over there were muscles reshaping the very fabric of her form, of how she looked and saw, of how she spoke and danced, of how she stood.

Slumping over, quite suddenly, agony ripped up her spine as the vertebrae realigned themselves. Shrieking, loud and clear, her laughter faded away to something terrifying, that took over and was full of pain and animalistic emotions. Her irises changed form, expanding her field of vision and all at once the structure became a thunder-dome, for it reverberated the mighty thunderous bleats from her now completely caprine mouth.

Piggy? she hissed internly, her tongue, teeth and throat not able to form the syllables of a human language. Not piggy. Not ever a pig. She sucked in a sharp breath as her arms bent and broke themselves, then reformed into strong front legs. Hands morphed, one finger expanding and growing above and beyond the others, the others disappearing as then she was given four hooves instead of her natural two.

That's my brother's thing, she said to herself, Instead, I accept the goat.

And then she bleated, loud and clear, and she roared. Lifting up her front hooves as the world began to shake around her from whatever spell the first enemy had shot at her, she prepared her skill. Slamming them back down, she let her kinetic energy plus that of the glory of Drys filter into the earth. Mightily, the spiral of earthquake blossomed out from around her, streaking through wall, ceiling and ground, straight behind and forth, towards the beast of villainy around the corner.

Whatever he was. Wherever he had suddenly come from. She was not sure. She had not been paying much attention as the worlds had spun through the stonework.

The large mountain goat Philomel had but one thing on her mind, and that was to destroy him. He was in her way, he was not interesting but to suffer the consequences of being her enemy here.

And thus, he would suffer the will of the faun.

She would, in fact, make him eat shit.

[Storm Veritas]

His electrical blast had succeeded in collapsing a portion of the tunnel, however it still appeared open enough to allow passage for any opponent fortunate enough to make it this far. If there were two others, then surely at least one of them were dead, for no simple hero or villain came spilling out through the aperture when rocks began to fall. Instead, there was a terrible cry.

”BLEEEEEE-AAT!!! BLEEEEEE-AAT! BLEEEEEE-AAT!”

The loud, thunderous sounds seemed to come from something not so dissimilar from what he had imagined. The sound could have been borne from bull, goat, or perhaps horse; whatever had caused the noise was certainly much larger than the simple minotaur he had envisioned. Moments later, several distant thumps seemed to rattle the entirety of the structure, shaking Storm’s footing and sending fine tendrils of dust and mortar gently drifting gently down from the roof above.

I wonder if this big bastard is as gargantuan as Elite Optic; don’t feel much like fighting that old big bag of bones or other similar freak-shows.

The wizard let his memory drift briefly to Lornius, where he had managed to stave off the hulking behemoth of the skeletal soldier. Elite had wielded an enormous bastard sword; one clean shot from that thing would cut through a man like a knife through warm butter. This monster could be equally lethal. Frantically, the electromancer scanned his surroundings for the hell which appeared imminent. The space was open, dry, with little covering. It was also quite high, which was nothing simple. The opportunity for Veritas to miss an electric blast was all too present.

No metal. No goddanmed metal torch sconces, spear racks or suits of armor. Shit.

With minimal capability to manipulate the arena, it made much more sense to hide and wait for the opponent to come into the open. From the safety of the labyrinth from whence he came, Storm would be afforded darkness, some blind falls, and cramped quarters; all spots which he could exploit more readily than the open space of the arena.

The magician was leaning against a wall, back to the wall as his chest heaved, scrambling to catch his breath. From two turns deep within the catacomb-styled hallway, Storm felt his heart beating like a bass drum within his chest. That yell was terrible, and it was close. Now, he was hot, sweating, and not enjoying the complete silence an iota.

’the Hell did he go? That wasn’t a dying cry, it was a battle roar… shit…

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Even from my hidden vantage point several dozen feet below Philomel and the other combatant deep within the unfinished catacombs of the structure, vines buried deep into the rock and earth, I could tell that several things were off and that the fight was about to pick up in earnest.

Let's start with the guy I'm not familiar with. From reading his pulse, I couldn't figure out much about him. It appeared normal to me, a yellow-tinted humanoid light I could see in my mind's eye--that is, until it suddenly flared out as it drew energy from the world around him and focused it into some sort of magical blast that was powerful enough to shake the entire building. As magical energy coursed through the tunnel he stood in, it rippled downward into the basement where I sat and crept up through my vines. My spine tingled, my teeth gnashed, my eyes clenched at the taste of his power.

And I did not like it. Not one bit.

Great, I get paired off against a stupidly powerful mage in the finals of this fucking tournament that I didn't want to be in in the first place.

Just my fucking luck, isn't it? All I could hope for was that he wasn't adept at pyromancy. I mean, it's not like I don't have the means to deflect magical assaults and all; I just don't want to burn through all my preventative measures before I could get in neck-snapping range.

But now let's talk about what I could read of Philomel's pulse.

What the hell has she been up to in the time since we last met?

Her pulse, shades of green and brown in the familiar shape of the faun, hunched over, mutated, and grew. I could feel her pulling life and strength from the very earth itself, adding it to her bulk and warping her shape. The colors swirled together, adding shades of brilliant, violent red as the Matriarch's form changed into something entirely unfamiliar.

I could taste the increased power emanating from her. And yet, it did not scare me any. On the contrary, it made me mildly curious more than anything.

And in that moment, as I sensed this new Philomel charging down the hallway, any desire I had to stay put and wait out the battle was taken out back and shot. My moronic sense of curiosity overcame my common sense. I took note of where the yellow-tinted pulse of life from the mage stood relative to where I was, and began compartmentalizing the stupid decision I was about to make.

These changes in my old friend deserved to be observed and cataloged. Maybe she even deserved to be dissected and studied in-depth for scientific purposes? Well, that would all depend on how cooperative she was once I started asking questions. But first, I had to figure out how to neutralize her.

Her current power levels were... an unknown. Given that the blast from the mage that shook the very earth didn't do much but rustle her braids, she was probably more powerful than I could handle on my own. I didn't want to risk approaching her by myself, either from the front or behind.

Which brings me to the mage himself. Perhaps on his own wasn't up to the task; but the two of us combined, working in tandem to take down the Matriarch? And then once that happened, I could just melt his face and crush his skull and be done with him? As I said, I have more than enough ways to get around spellslingers, so he shouldn't be that much of an issue.

Maybe this will be a very productive day after all.

I took a deep breath, ripped my vines out of the earth, felt a wave of emptiness wash over me with the sudden lack of life pulses bonding with me, threw a couple thoughts and some vague directions at the teleportation stone I wore, snapped to a different place within the structure, and exhaled quietly--all within the span of five seconds.

Can't say it was much of a change of scenery, though. Just the whole thing was considerably narrower.

I made my way down the twisting hallway, towards where I would assume that the upcoming bloodshed would take place. I rolled up my sleeves, exposing the gnarled vines of my arms to the dim light of the corridor. The amber light of my eyes shone off them as it flared in anticipation. With a quick thought, I released two clumps of parasites into the stonework of the building. The sound of cracking and tearing and unnatural growth echoed against the walls and down the length of the hall.

Within seconds, two briarbane were at my heels, their teeth gnashing and eager hisses filling the air.

It wasn't long before I could make out a figure hiding near a sharp turn towards another length of maze. It certainly wasn't Phi; so it must have been the mage. He wasn't dressed like one, though. He looked more like a politician. Clean cut, well groomed, a bit of gray in his hair. Tall, thin but athletic in frame, and dressed a hell of a lot better than most people would be in our situation.

“Hi,” I said to the stranger as I continued to eye him up and down, my tone drawn out and raspy. The amber light of my eyes flickered in his momentarily. "Looks like you could use a hand here."

The only answer came in the form of a monstrous bleating that echoed further down the hall.

I stifled a laugh.

The twins brushed up against me, waiting for a command. I could tell that they wanted to rip this guy to shreds, to feed on him, to scatter his limbs all over the place in a blood-soaked frenzy.

“No, no, he isn't the one,” I whispered to the two of them as I pulled them in for a huddle with my arms wrapped around their necks and my gnarled hands on the sides of their misshapen heads. I inhaled deeply, and allowed myself to fall into a dark place--one that was inhabited by her. I allowed myself to be overcome by her power for the briefest of moments, channeling it into my children. Pode's magic quickly went to work on the briarbane, amplifying muscle and breaking and reshaping bone as they warped into frightening monstrosities of vine, venom, and death.

A vicious grin split my face. “Go say hello to Auntie Phi, will you?”

The briarbane immediately broke out into a full run, bouncing against the walls as they turned the corner, their sharpened teeth ready to tear my old friend to ribbons.

[Philomel]

With the strength of a great typhoon, Philomel the dire-goat charged with vehemence down the passageway. She could still feel the reverberations of the warlock's and her own earth-shudders echoing through the rock. Small vibrations, after effects of two mighty uses of magics whistled through aged dirt and new moss, and though their origins were of minutes old, fading magic, they could still be felt by the most sensitive of earth-born beings.

As she skittered around the corner, all six feet and over half a ton of her muscle, heavy fur and horns, her eyes darted around. They were mad, and her whole body was wrecked with fury, born not only from the creatures wanting to destroy her here, and not only her desire to destroy them back - but something more. Something deep, something terrible, something that defied all normality, pulled the very fire from the depths of Althanas' core and sent it out in a great, unconquerable, near-imcomphrensible rage.

She could not see the vile enemy. Sending out another mighty battle cry, the notes penetrating across the gravelly grains, Philomel called him a coward. Hissing darkly, and emanating because of her throat structure another bleat, she twisted around, searching for signs of where he might have gone. There were avenues, two left, one straight ahead. Upon the ground were broken pebbles - the remains of their quaking battle. The soft light from the torches was still not much to see by, but the narrow slits of her pupils at least could perceive better than when human, and comanding forward-facing eyes. At least now she could see in a much wider arc.

Blind spot, though. At the front.

Philomel van der Goat paused, skidding to a slow halt. Uncertainly, she blinked, as the noise echoed around her.

The nose of a voice. A familiar voice. Not one she could quite put a hoof on, distracted as she was by all the excitement of the chase.

Excitement! Run! Fight! Brawl! CHARGE DOWN AND DESTROY!

"Huh?" she baa'ed.

Over here, the voice said again. Here.

"Where?"

Here! Very close to you; but watch out first for the -

Whump!

Suddenly two beings - or rather, beasts - slammed into the massive caprine's front. Blind spot indeed, for they had somehow come directly through Philomel's vision whilst she was caught off guard by the voice. The very voice that had been warning her about such things. She shrieked in pain, as the bodies, or was it just one body, crashed into her again with manic, thrashing arms.

Grotesquely, they shrieked. Tilting her head to the side the dire-goat-whore spied them in her vision. Ugly, gross things, entities of a vile nature and horrifying tendancies. They seemed to be humanoid corpse-like structures, made up of broken fragments of flora and herb, vine and earth, with wicked and pointed claws at the end and black puss oozing from their forms.

As they swung to attack again, Philomel ducked back her head, pulling it to the side. Their raking limbs were harmless against her naturally damascus-strong body, blessed so in this crazed form, and even as they rushed at her with the sable slime slipping from spiteful lips, ears, and other orificies, she in turn was defensive.

Indeed, their ambush had buckled her some, and even perhaps caused some bruises. But they were nothing to this behemoth. As her mind wandered madly between wandering what the kind creature had been to warn her so, and the rage that this battle was inducing, she pivoted on a front hoof and swayed, heavily, the horns. They caught the two herb-craft homonculi straight in the gut, sending black poison over the floor and her face. But they were hit, hard, and they did not suffer just that.

Flames.

Light flames.

Jaws of hatred and horror fastened over the ankle of one, hissing sharp and crunching what should have been bone. Horns and teeth met constructed, earthy flesh. The deadly and enraged forms of a beastly but natural nature defied the briarheart's banes, and threatened to shatter them to the abyss of mythology.

Just as Philomel realised. Just as she rejoiced, inwards, and crushed the improvised bone and muscle of the organisms. Just as she recognised the voice, in her head.

My darling Veridian, you have joined me at last.