3 Days Remain: ‘Friendship’

[Mari]

Closed to Philomel + Shinsou : Bunnying Approved by all parties
-------------------------


Knife’s Edge. The Bustling hub of Salvar.

It was more like ‘You can’t fuckin’ find anything here’ city. The place was so congratulated. Nothing like the quiet and sparsity of Rubbletown. Amari’s free time was rare and far between, and she did not want to waste her three days wandering aimlessly in the city. Her Master; Lichensith Ulroke’ had given her free reign to do as she pleases and go where she pleased for 3 days, before she had to return to the Inner Sanctum. Amari knew it was some form of test. Everything was with him. She adored him, but she needed her own space to work on her own thoughts. Namely, what was happening with her appearance as of late.

It had only been a few months since her unwilling induction into the Crimson Hand. Back then, she had fought tooth and nail against her silver haired captor. Now, she fought tooth and nail for him. Oh how people change.

Amari sighed as she found another library. This one looked bigger than the last at least. She headed inside and was greeted by the smell of musty old books and a toothless grinning old man. “Ello luv, can I help ya?”

Amari shook her head. “Just looking.”

The man sat back down behind the large desk. Amari bit her lower lip. Truthfully. She really did need help. She needed a lot of it. She could barely read, but the topics she wanted information on were considered taboo to discuss.

Apparently, it was also taboo to stock them in any sort of store, library or archive too.

The redheaded woman murmured in a frustrating tone, as she wandered aimlessly down an aisle of books. “I Just want to know what hell I am…” She picked up a random book, frowning as she attempted to read the title. ‘The History of Merchant routes between Corone and Salvar: 3rd Edition’

Or, as Amari read it; ‘The History of something routes something Corone and Salvar: 3rd Something.” She placed it back on the shelf.

“This was a stupid idea.”

Amari wondered if she should have asked Madison to join her, or at least invest in the vine clad woman’s help. Amari quite liked Madison - even her appearance. Alas, even Amari knew that the rest of Salvar would not look upon the briarheart with such amicable feelings.

[Philomel]

When the rumours came to the shores of Radasanth they immediately were carried by the ears of Lilies. Whispers upon the lips of undercover geniuses, wrapped around the fingers of the secret-keepers of Althanas, brought them with pride and with persuasion. They came to the Corone capital city, to the harbour where the houses of public rest were made available. And to these ones that were brothels run by great matrons rather than pimps, they fell into the enchantment and the bribery of the Gilded Lily. And in time - which was very short indeed -the rumours became messages and were taken on silver-winged pigeon-back to the fortress in the centre of Concordia forest, to the final ears of the Gilded Lily's matriarch herself, Philomel Van der Aart.

At least they would have been, were not for the fact she was in Radansanth itself, conducting her tours and inspection of the brothel, to ensure the females remained free, and felt no pressure from men with clubs, or with rudimentary boom-sticks.

Her mouth fell open at the sound of it.

"Ulroke has done what?"

Of course she knew the Crimson Hand had been established again. It had not taken Philomel long to hear of the words, 'The Hand is alive,' and firmly begin plans to defend herself. She was sure they would come for her, either in peace or in war, and make some sort of decleration. Her brief conversations with Shinsou vaan Osiris had set out the long-term goal - for them both to join the Hand - but that was some time away. And the whole recent business with Aurelianus Drak-Shal making her aware he was back with his setting up of a war between her brothels and local gangs ... Well. Her old life was certainly coming back to haunt the faun, the one-time assassin, and now matriarch of a whole band of brothels, with an army, a secret-keeping order, and so on.

And now they had struck again. Ulroke had taken in a young girl as his own, and broken her to the point that it was likely she was going to become his slave for eternity. Bound by chains of confused loyalty and who-knows what else. Ulroke, the man who had been Madison Freebird's puppet for all that time (admittedly Philomel liked Madison, one of the rare people she could stand), and was now seemingly back in control of his assassin empire, ready to strike back with one of his newest projects.

"Fucking hell," Philomel back-handed the messenger, a stout young man who was so un-spy looking he made the perfect spy.

There was rushed apologies as a couple of girls belonging to the brothel came forth to help him back ot his feet. But it didn't stop the anger of the faun.

"How could he?!" she roared.

There was no answer, just silence broken by more hushed apologies.

"Well?!"

Looking around with glaring eyes, the pupils with a dark intense fire behind, Philomel waited. But no answer came. No one could give it in this room.

She frowned, pursing her lips together. Then, clicking her hooves she twisted sharply and paused only to fling a heavy gold piece at the man.

"Take this as an apology. Ladies, give him a fine night also, free of charge. And tell your matron Delilah that I am leaving here to go straight to Salvar. If anyone asks, that is where I will be."

There were just words, no faun, in the room, as the last few syllables came out. Her thuds of moving anger carried her away, down the stairs already, into the distance. Likely straight to her ship where she would embark and ... well. Disappear.

The ladies left looked at each other, and awkwardly smiled. It was the first time they had met their matriarch, and now they understood why she was who she was.

----

Salvar

She tracked her down quickly and without much difficulty. Although the Gilded Lilys control did not (yet) extend this far north in the main continent, it was certainly easy to find someone in Knife's Edge if you were familiar with the city. And Philomel knew it well. All her years before she had become a matriarch in her own right were spent here, wandering the streets and learning the ways of a Crimson Hand assassin. SHe knew just who to ask, just where to persuade, and hence she was sent to the right library on the right street.

She was alone, but that was best for this time. For these sort of missions where she could seek herself. Pursing her lips she pushed open the door and simply nodded to the burly book-keeper before pushing her way in.

The description was firmly in her mind. Late twenties female, unmistakable dark crimson hair. Dark green eyes, with a ring around the iris. So unique, so lovely. Easy to find.

Books were her friend here, shelves would provide a cover for the conversation. She went past many declarations and treatises, following the path that she made in her mind, concentrating on her earth-sense to tell her where the living bodies were. Round the corner and - she found her.

She stopped. And grinned. She leant against a bookshelf, her front to the girl's back.

"Well hello there," she said.

[Mari]

Amari had her hand on another book, “Rubbletowns Rat Problem: An In Depth Look at the mating and habitual patterns throughout the years.” She tilted it down ready to pull it out but paused at the sound of another.

Amari had faintly noticed the woman’s presence earlier as she not so sneakily clopped through the aisles with her hooven feet, but the woman chose to pay the other no mind. Why would she?

“Yes?” Amari asked, grabbing the book. Unaware of its dreadfully boring contents. She turned to face the other woman. Tri-coloured eyes of brilliant green, broken by shards of crimson and gold glanced over the woman more slowly this time.

Philomel was looking for a lady with red hair and bi-coloured eyes; but Amari differed from her initial description. Her eyes now broken with crimson, and her once pristine milky skin showing cracks, as though she were a china doll about to break.

The stranger wasn’t human; Amari was familiar with the look of the race, but not it’s name. Her hair, a vibrant violent hung long and low in a plait that tickled her nearly exposed hip-bones. The woman had two curling horns protruded from the side of her head, dangerously pointed.Her skin, barely covered mind you, was healthy and sun-kissed.


Guess the lady ain’t from Salvar then. Amari thought to herself.

Amari’s eyes paused at her navel. She appeared to have some sort of tattoo, but it was difficult to make out. Then, there was her most obvious feature...chestnut brown fur and cloven hooves.

Amari’s eyes travelled back up to her face. The woman didn’t seem hostile. Nor did she evoke any sort of fear from Amari. Not that anyone did, really. With the exception of Aurelianus.

If anything; the woman extruded an odd sense of familiarity. Despite Amari never meeting her, or anyone like her before. It was difficult to explain, it was almost like her aura, or her mana...energy...whatever the heck it was called - was similar in fashion to Amari's, or more so. To the forest.

Yes. That's what this woman reminded Amari of. A forest.

This only piqued Amari's curiosity.

Amari tilted her head slightly to the side, unaware of the long minutes of silence that had dragged on between the two. Finally, she spoke, curt and short.

“Did you need something from me?” Amari asked, straight to the point.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Three miles away

A roar echoed across the icy cavern he had chosen for his solitude. Golden eyes, sharp and bright aghast the cold whites and blues of the Salvarian winterscape, instinctively scanned the glistening icicles and sparking rocks that stretched for an eternity around him for any signs of movement.

Osiris knew what manner of beast the roar belonged to. They were phantasms, spiritual beings that manifest after answering the summons of a Telgradian sword spirit; specifically Shira, Shinsou's sword. They were looking for him, and now they had found him.

The first of their number loomed from within a frigid white mist, the cold, illuminating flare of its blue eyes burning in their eye sockets. The Telgradian figured Shira had tapped into his memory to summon such a warrior, as this one resembled a Jal Shey skirmisher. It crept malevolently through the fog and towards its opponent, an enchanted sword billowing glowing blue flames as it enticed the young Osiris towards his doom.

Shinsou Vaan Osiris needed only a moment.

Shira Kurohitsugi.

He called upon his blade to grant him strength, and moments later an arsenal of icy spears slunk through a cold void behind him, shimmering with power. Osiris's gaze followed the trail of the creature before he suddenly commanded the salvo forward ferociously with the flick of his wrist. The sickening crunch of dehlar strength ice smashing through bone and sinew rattled about the cave and the phantasm's agonised cries shook the even the icicles above them.

Now nothing more than a frost ravaged heap of torn flesh, the beast's eyes flickered and faded. Its ethereal corpse suddenly immolated itself in odd firefly like wisps of silver as Shinsou exhaled a stream of steam into the Salvarian air and blinked.

Is this the best you can do, Shira?

The remains of the beast disintegrated and vanished into the artic maw.

Don't be ridiculous, Shinsou. We haven't even started yet. Do you want to wield me? If you truly want that power, you'll have to beg me. I am not Enpera, and I do not lend my strength so freely as it did. It is your task to subjugate me. Only then will I yield to you.

The icemold sword Shira, or rather the spirit of the same name that inhabited the blade and from which Shinsou drew his power, replied from somewhere inside his mind. Telecommunication between sword and master was something the Telgradian still had to get used to. Shira had been Shinsou's only companion on the exploration of Salvar, their fight against the slavers and the encounter with the enigmatic Amari. It had only become sentient in the last week, which, according to Telgradian lore, meant that Shinsou had formed a pact with the sword and now had to work to earn its respect.

"Let me appear before you."

Shira ‘spoke’ as a low rumbling began to roll across the icy hideout. Sudden pillars of blue light parted the shadows of the cave and a figure manifested from the core of the sword.

“Shira?” Shinsou queried in amazement. It was the first time he had seen Shira in the flesh.

"Yes. Prepare yourself, because this is going to get considerably more difficult for you."

The woman's voice flowed like silk, seeping into his mind and every pore, every opening, every fragile piece of his being. It was then Osiris's senses, previously caught up in Shira's training, felt something from outside the cavern he had sealed himself in. A tingling within his gut signified the presence of a familiar power.

"Philomel" The Telgradian smiled. It had been too long since they had last met, the object of his ever insatiable curiosity choosing to keep herself busy with matters of the Guilded Lily. He resolved to visit her after his work here was done. "I wonder what she is doing in Salvar? And...no, wait. What's this? Can't be...!"

His muscles felt disconnected from his mind as another sweeping sensation slid across his gut. It was heavy, cumbersome and unpleasant, but it shouldn't have been.

"Amari?"

He knew it couldn't have been anyone else; the feeling was too distinct. But something wasn't right. Darkness swelled at the fulcrum of her soul.

“Amari?” He repeated, awestruck.

"You lack discipline, Shinsou! Focus, unless you want to die!"

Without waiting for the Telgradian's words to fade, Shira manifested two more phantasms. They danced around Osiris, each equipped with a blade intricately inscribed with glowing glyphs.

Shinsou frowned at the interruption, saying nothing but turning to face his training partners. Only when he was close enough to see the very specks of fire in their eyes did the Telgradian force his hand. Pure adrenaline overpowered him as he lurched forward, removing his right glove as he dove. Osiris instinctively ducked the first slash from the left and evaded a downwards cleave from the right by leaping backwards half a step. The manoeuvre bought him the precious few seconds needed to reach the arm of the first phantasm.

Shatter.

A hundred small patches of white ice burst up the fur lined arm of the ethereal beast from where Shinsou had touched it. Dazzlingly bright and beautiful, they lingered for only a moment before spreading and bursting forth jagged spikes of ice that obliterated half of the creature's body in an instant, ending its short life. The second phantasm jolted forwards clumsily, but met a similar fate as Shinsou's palm grasped its face and impaled it sickeningly with a large spear of glistening ice.

"Good," Shira remarked as the two phantasms vacated the cave, dissolving into the air. "...but you're still distracted. Whatever it is that is concerning you, attend to it. That's enough for today. Deal with whatever business you must in order to clear your mind."

Even before the second attack had died down Shinsou had made up his mind. Retrieving Shira's blade with a flick of his wrist, his body held low and muscles tensing with the effort, he wrapped himself in his cloak and made his way out of the frozen proving grounds.

“Why is Philomel with her, and why do I sense such a disjointed and burning energy from Amari?” Shinsou's monologue begged for answers, but there were none to spare. The last things he saw as he slipped into the blissful snowscape of Salvar's path to Knife's Edge were the white-topped mountains that beckoned to travellers under a cold, crescent moon.

[Philomel]

A soft breeze fluttered into the room.

It was fairly dark, being far back into the library itself, with few windows and only dim lighting from a couple of uniquely flickering candles. So unique that they seemed to be harmoniously bouncing back and forth rhythms to each other, beating a tune that only they could decipher, for naught but a fire-spirit could know how to listen to them. Which was the bass and which was the suprano, only the gods understood. But then, maybe it was just a song to the gods.

The breeze came through some uninteresting window or door, and swept up behind Philomel. Causing her loose hairs around her head to wave merrily, she was caught off guard for a moment, as she looked at the girl.

The girl with the description that had been false. Her eyes were not green laced with a ring of gold. They were miracles. Scarlet-speckled, crimson-created, garnet-glorified miracles.

Breathing in sharp she let her eyes wander over the strange beauty that stood before her. Achingly paling skin, touched by the darkness and cold that lay in Salvar, was lined at the edges with hairline cracks. Like a china vase that had smashed, then painstakingly reassembled using every last dust particle and piece, the lines looked harmless and only really noticeable in this light when one drew close.

"You are Amari Ciel L'Olfsden, yes?" she asked with a voice verging on delight.

Her tail twiched, her tapered ears flickered. In the shadows her heart's companion finally started to emerge - the fox-form earth-spirit Veridian - his eyes glinting just as entranced as her.

It is her, it must be, he spoke directly into the mind of his beloved, so only she could hear, She is the one we are looking for, and just by the appearance, it is clear she will be a strong ally. He paused, coming to stand by Philomel's hooves, his eyes gazing upwards to Amari with the same intense fashion as she.

We must make her ours.

And if she resists? Philomel asked, hand clasping around the hilt of her sword.

If Amari did resist, if she did choose to fight, at least the two of them, the fox and the faun, were well equiped to defend themselves. With an arrary of weaponry strapped to her waist, including a fiery knife that would always come back when called, and a half-breastplate of dragon-skin, Philomel was by no means vulnerable. Added to this she had her horns and Veridian had his bite. They could win, even without Drys' gift of magic coming into this equation.

Well you can use your charm, Veridian answered, lips snaking up so his mouth formed a strange smile. I know how good you are with that.

[Mari]

The two stood just metres apart. Eyes soaking up every intricate detail of the other. A symphony of silence enthralling both women. It was the faun who broke the silence with an elated smile in her sing-song voice.

Amari almost dropped the book at the mention of her name. Her old name. Her dead name. Not only that, but it was uttered with such unabashed delight. For a moment, Amari was worried the other woman was going to step forward and embrace her. Amari’s eyes narrowed as she lowered her face. Her lips twisted into a thin line. She was not impressed.

“Only two living people should know that name.” Amari said in a low, calculating tone. “My Master.” She paused, noting that the other woman had her hand on the hilt of her blade. “And another, from my past - whom seeks my head.” She said, speaking of Shinsou. Still under the belief that he wanted her dead. Her demeanor rigid.


“I doubt you align yourself with my Master.” Amari muttered. “Else you’d know my name is Red ” she placed a strong emphasis on the word. “So I assume you’re with him.” Amari turned and placed the book back on the shelf. “Which means you want my head. Alas - stranger. I can’t have you do that.” Amari took off her leather gloves. “I’m not a fighter, but - I quite like my head where it is. So don’t expect me to be an easy mark, oh…” Amari paused. Turning to face the strange woman and the even stranger creature.

A fox..or what seemed to be a fox had its small form wrapped around Phi’s shoulders. Amari wasn’t sure what it was. A mix of surprise and concern etched across her delicate features. It grinned at her. As though it were chuckling. Amari tore her eyes away from the creature, clearing her throat.

“But before we get carried away with our unpleasantries, let me introduce myself.” She held her hand out to Philomel. “I’m Red.”

Philomel seemed to loosen the grip of her blade. She glanced at Amari’s hand with suspicion. Hesitation. She was wise to do so. Still, she reached out to clasp it with her free hand.

bingo

Amari’s hand clasped over hers, and for a brief second...there was nothing but the warmth of silken skin clenched tightly in silken skin. Then. There was a tickle, a burning sensation erupted upon the faun’s hands. Amari’s hand emitted a faint, angry red glow. Anari didn’t intend to hurt the woman, not excessively, and she told herself she’d heal her right up if she were no threat. But Amari wanted to send a message. She may have no weapons, but she was not to be messed with.

Her arm twitched as the burning sensation intensified. The faun’s skin began to blister and burn; forming into a 2nd degree burn. By the twitching of Amari’s own hand, tt was clear Amari also felt the pain. However, her skin remained blister free.

“Now. who are you?”

[Philomel]

Holy crap, was her first reaction.

Then she voiced her response.

"Fucking Drys snaken!" Her gasp resounded the same emotions as she pulled her hand sharply back. Like-minded, and able to feel not so much the pain, but the actual horror and hatred and disgust of the burn through their mental connection, Veridian hissed sharply. Pulling back his top lip, so the fleshy pink of his gums and the sharp canines capable of ripping spines from backs, he snarled viciously.

Philomel's eyes quickly dropped down to her hand as the girl stood there, smirking with the sound of her voice and demanded to know who they were.

Along the upper palm was a series of fierce red blemishes, tinged in some parts by albino white. The breakout continued down the thenar section, where the majority of Amari's fingers had lain briefly, and were now brightly becoming scarlet. Raised skin spoke of blistering, and the rapid acceleration of dying epidermis. Lowering her hand, and allowing the agony to continue briefly whilst she addressed the more prominent problem, the faun glared harshly.

It was not as if she had not experienced pain before.

"That was not necessary," she retorted to the asker, without answering the question proposed. "Not entirely necessary. Your name is Amari, and that is what I know you as, and that is what you shall be. That is until I decide otherwise, less I actually allow Veridian here to rip your throat out."

At the mention of his name the fox-form spirit thudded to the floor space between the two female warriors. Sharply and savagely he continued his growl as Philomel took the couple of steps back to allow herself room to bend down and shove her hand straight onto the top of a row of books - where dust had particularly gathered and allowed her to thickly jam her wound alongside it. Her eyes remained on Amari, however and she just narrowed her eyes.

"And as to add to that note, I do not align myself with you 'master,' instead he has learnt to respect me as you will do also. I am not with him, I have no association with him, other than that of the past, and Drys above bitch, that was not necessary!"

She's not going to be ours now, Veridian muttered back to her, Not with you swearing at her like that.

Philomel ignored him and just continued to glare at the red-head. "My name is Philomel van der Aart, and you should have heard of me. If not, then the Crimson Hand is really still the shambles it was when I left."

[Mari]

Amari crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one side. Jutting out a hip. Watching calmly as the other woman sharply drew her hand away and swore. A low rumble of a growl momentarily bought Amari’s attention downward to the fox-like creature. “Tch.” Amari wasn’t worried. The damn thing could jump up and rip out her jugular for all she cared. At least that way the two would leave her the damn hell alone. One of the Ravens would just come and revive her.

“It was.” Amari said. “It was very necessary. You come in here. Say a dead name, your hand on a weapon. What I can only assume is a familiar at your side. I coulda snapped your bones, rotted your flesh. Course that’s too extreme. I just wanted to issue a warning.” Amari paused as the stranger jammed her hand atop a pile of books. The action was so out of the ordinary it jarred Amari’s attention.

“The hell are you-” She shook her head. Now was not the time to question such an action. Amari cleared her throat, continuing. “From my position, you’re coming at me aggressively. I have every damn right to show that I am not a fuckin’ pushover. And I ain’t fuckin’ Amari. That dumb ass naive woman died. I’m Red .” She put emphasis on the name again. “Call me anything else, and I’ll outright ignore you.”

Amari’s eyes darted back to the strangers burnt hand, and how it was now in an inch thick pile of dust. Her brows furrowed. That’s a sure fire way to get something infected.

“Here.” Amari said exasperated as she stepped forward and grabbed the faun woman’s arm, guiding her hand away from the books. The fox at her feet gave an audible growl, a warning. “Oh shut it.” Amari spat at the fox.

“I ain’t gonna watch some dumb idiot get an infected wound. I think I made myself clear, so I suppose ya don't need to keep the burn.” She clasped her hand over the wound. The faun gave an audible gasp and went to jerk her hand away, but Amari gripped tighter. “Do you really think I’m going to injure an already burnt hand?” She snapped.

A new light bubbled up from her touch, this time a soft amber glow. It leaked into the burns and seeped deep below the skin tissue. It healed the burn and blisters and sent tingling sensations of warmth up the other woman’s arm. Unlike the angry red glow, this one had healed her. Not only that, but it wasn’t forced. It felt natural to Amari. If the faun were perceptive enough, she’d feel a calming sensation from the glow. As though it were coaxing her into blissful contentment.

The feeling, as relaxing as it was didn't last. Amari’s arm twitched and she let go. She started to rub her palm. “Fuck me…” She muttered under her breath. Still feeling the pain of the wounds she healed.

The woman, now healed began to speak again. This time about who she was, and her apparent association with the Crimson Hand.

So she does know my Master. I should probably mention this woman to him.

Amari had half a mind to slap a burn right onto the faun’s cheek. She disapproved of the self-absorbed attitude, Philomel was too high and mighty for Amari’s liking. Amari knew Lichensith didn’t respect her. He only had respect for one man, and that was Aurelianus.

Who the hell does this bitch think she is? Amari thought bitterly, returning the woman’s glare with one of her own. She refrained from the violent action, despite her urges. Amari took a deep breath and exhaled sharply through her teeth. If she did that, she’d be more of a child than her Master. And if she were to injure the faun again, what would have been the point of Amari healing her hand in the first place?

“Awfully full of yourself, don’t you think?” Amari muttered, rolling her eyes. “Haven’t heard of ya, and don’t really care to. Now, if you don’t mind - I am rather busy right now.” Amari glanced over at the seemingly endless rows of books. “So unless ya got something important to say, you can fuck right off, Philomel Van Der Aart.”

Amari turned to pull out yet another book from the shelf. In the process knocking one down. The old, yellowed book fell to the floor and opened up to a random page. It was gratuitous luck. The page that lay open was an illustration of a few people. One of which looked exactly like Amari. Even in black and white etchings, it was clear it was the very same woman. The book itself was uninteresting; it detailed the foundations of a small town that no longer existed. What was interesting was the fact that Amari was in it.

It was a clue, and it was exactly what she was looking for. Too bad she hadn’t seen it. Instead, she had her tri-coloured eyes squarely on another history book, reading something about trade routes.

[vaeron]

It was cold. Far too cold, even for a sailor's liking. Especially one used to wearing naught but his bare chest, fearing not even the angry sea tempest.

Rameses Vaeron sucked on his tongue and clicked it a couple of harsh times behind his teeth. Arms folded against his chest he leant, rather non-chalantly, against the doorpost of the library. He only presumed that it was also a bookshop for the attemptingly sly movements of money he had so far caught the bulky receptionist making through the ajar door. Whether these book transactions were legal or not didn't deny the idea in his mind that it was a shop, for any exchange of money for goods was a sale. Be it drugs or flour.

He wore a knotted brown scarf around his neck, made apparently belovedly by one of the higher ranking ladies of Philomel's court. He liked to call them the "Gilded Girls" instead of the standard "Lilies," for they were quite high-strung and had each an air of power around them, as if shimmering with gold. This particular woman, Eshia by name, had made it for him before she had realised his sexual orientation and the reason behind why he had never flirted with any of the women so far. Then she had become down-hearted and much rushed explanation had had to be made.

"Feck, dammit," Vaeron muttered as he remembered her expression. But still, the scarf was kept and by the many hells it was useful to battle the bitter wind that was picking up around Knife's Edge this wary afternoon. As a current blasted against his exposed cheek he lifted the scarf side up and buried his face even more it its woollen contents, wishing that Philomel would be quicker.

They had come here by the good ship The Feisty Fox, then left it hidden in the Salvarian northlands with a skeleton crew, to travel down the three miles or two down here. It was just him, her and the wee foxy master Veridian (one might count the likely presence of the earth-dragon Delath, forever moving around in the ground beneath Philomel, but for this sort of adventure he was not within the sailor / mage's calculations). They were a merry company, albeit the lack of merriment on his part for cold was the enemy. Philomel had gained the news of the presence of Lichensith Ulroke's little new protoge and had decided to interfere.

Just like her. Besides, as she had said, 'A trip to see the Crimson Hand was overdue.'

"Crimson Hand, my arse," muttered Vaeron. He didn't care about an apparent old assassin order that was re-awakening, all he cared about was his last single friend in the universe, and that was Philomel, whom he dubbed 'Princess.' So despite his grumblings he still came with her, but only to protect her.

Hence standing here. In the cold.

He looked up and down the street, empty for the most part, and let his eyes wander past the shadowy forms - until one became uncomfortably clearer. And closer. And as he watched, the figure approached. It was a figure roughly the same size and build as himself, though walking with more of an authority. Blades pointedly hung at sides, not hidden for shape, and altogether uncomfortably giving off an uneasy feeling, as it slid out from the thin mist that caught the blustery world in its hold.

As the figure came further, the feeling was given a reason. And Vaeron's eyes grew as he began to understand why this shape was so interesting to him. He muttered in awe under his breath as he stepped away from the doorpost, all previous intrigue into the library-keeper's life gone, and now passionately focused on the man coming forth as recognition came. Recognition of a fight. Recognition of nights at bars. Recognition of silent looks, and agreed attentions and mutual respect for a certain faun.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Vaeron asked in a rushed voice as he took a step forwards and Shinsou vaan Osiris entered the story. His heart beat, his hands froze and his confusion reigned. This certainly had made the day a lot more interesting.

[Philomel]

Several feelings came to her at the one breath.

The first was a certain respect for this woman. Girl. Lady. She was clearly someone of at least well-bred attitude, the type that Philomel hungered for. SHe had the air of someone who would never say yes unless they absolutely needed to, someone who would push off a rapist even if he or she was stronger and then stab them in the throat for good measure. This was the sort of person Philomel sought, daily, to join her elitest group of women, and suddenly she felt she wanted her even more.

The second emotion that came was admiration. Not so much for the fact that Amari - Red - healed her hand, but for the utter issue that she was undoing what she had just done. Addressing the clear mistake, and in some way, though it might have been unintentional, earning a trickle of trust from both faun and fox.

The last emotion was utter, respulsive shock and horror. To not have heard her name. To have Ulroke as her very master and to never have heard the murmur of the legendary faun who led women out of their terrible lives and into light. To not know the power that resided within Philomel, and - most heinous of all - in this case, Red would have not even heard a whisper of the only goddess who matters. Drys herself. The almighty. The creator of all that is faun and tree. The bestower of Philomel's great power.

She was caught in these emotions, these concerns that filled the air around her as Red avoided Veridian, dismissing him if he was only a beast. Philomel began to slowly loosen her lips as the woman walked off. Knowing she was well protected here (for any warning of incoming danger would be halted at least for a short while by Vaeron at the doorway) she inhaled slowly and rolled back her shoulders, preparing for the onslaught of the words.

As Red turned away from her.

As the back of the find crimson curls were revealed, lucious and delicate and resounding at the same time.

As silence fell, ready to be broken again.

"If you haven't heard of me then your 'master' made a mistake. And do not dismiss Veridian like he is some animal. We could take you in a heartbeat. We are-"

Then her words were cut off as the sound - thwump - came. And the leather-bound book fell to the floor. Open on those exact pages. The image of the hand-etched girl, so unmistakeably perfect in similarlity to the woman who stood before her stared up at Philomel and she suddenly knew that this meeting had not ended.

She drew in her breath as she leaned down, bending at fluffy backwards knee and took the book delicately in her tanned-back hands. Her grey eyes wandered over the picture as she rose again, and her mighty sword clanged against the various other knives she had with her. Her breasts rose and fell beneath her corseted half chest-guard.

Eyes flicked between the image, then the words beside, describing a festive scene and a woman called 'Amari,' and then up to the figure of the long-lived glory herself, and a slow smile came to Philomel's face. Her chin rose up, her erstwhile and loyal beloved fox peeked up, knowing the exact thoughts running through her head and both grinned.

"You're not a human, are you?" Philomel quietly said.