All The Worlds To See (Closed)

[Mordelain]

[Mordelain]

Closed to Philomel.

Set following the Adventurer's Crown.

“Althanas, as you call it, is but one of a million planets. There are more worlds in the cosmos than anyone can hope to visit. The Tama tried once they realised they had the power to do so, but the explorations often proved fatal. Hundreds were eaten, hunted, trapped, or worse.”

Mordelain spoke softly and carefully. The Judicial Flower was not the sort of tearoom that these types of stories would be welcome, never mind understood. Philomel and her companion sat opposite, leant forwards slightly, excited an understatement. She listened with the childlike glee the il’Jhain had missed seeing in her pupils, her days of storytelling almost forgotten.

“I can’t imagine…,” the faun whispered.

The tearoom was a sleepy, well-respected establishment on the corner of Market Road and Drury Avenue, two prominent parts of Radasanth’s sprawling retail district. The background noise was a murmur of polite numerations and the clinking of bone china. The counter, serviced by two pert serving girls in black and lace let out occasional hisses and the sound of butter knives designing icing into increasingly complicated shapes.

“Before the Priories were established, the Tama stopped planes walking. We learnt how to dance, weave, and sing, ready for when we could traverse the Void safely. In those days, our intentions were pure – spread stories wherever we could. Almost three hundred years passed, by your reckoning, before we began to search for other worlds again. Before we could travel safely.”

“Safely?” Philomel picked up her coffee cup, blue flowers and spirals about its brim, and rested the cup in her hands. “Is there something in there?” She made a mental note to probe for an explanation about the Tama’s intentions, when an appropriate moment arose.

“In the Void?” Mordelain raised an eyebrow. “No. But, without an anchor to the world you wish to travel to you may enter, but never leave.”

“Oh.” Philomel drank her coffee and gathered her thoughts. “Is that what happened to your kin?”

Mordelain had wondered. When she first arrived on Althanas, before the Vhadya, the thought of her sisters trapped, wandering aimlessly through a tapestry of other worlds haunted her dreams. Most of her childhood had been an education on how to avoid such a horrible, unending fate, and yet no amount of practice could prepare you for the experience.

“I suspect many of them perished when they tried to escape Junkyo’s destruction. The Cataclysm disrupted the pathways we had built, tearing apart the Oculi and devastating each of the planets connected to the Void in strange ways.”

“That’s so sad. I’m sorry Mordelain.” The faun drained her cup and set it delicately onto her saucer. “Have you tried to look for survivors?”

Silence.

“…No.” Mordelain sunk into her chair. “There are too many tombs and cemeteries on Hudde for there to be more than a handful. They blamed us, rightly so for the loss of loved ones and cities…” The riots lasted for over a year, and murder and hatred found its way to societies that had never known sadness or terror.

“I’m not familiar enough with Fallieni history to understand.” Phi, again, made a note to learn more of Mordelain’s history when it felt right to press the matter. The look on her friend’s face, diminished of its creative glee, warned her against doing so now.

[Mordelain]

Given the reaction of the civilisations the Tama had all but enslaved, she did not feel right giving any survivors a chance of reclaiming their empire. She had wanted to, but fear and doubt got the better of her. The fate of the Tama, in her mind, was sealed – she was of the il’Jhain, now, and her home was here on Althanas.

“Coradan and I have talked about it, in great, lengthy,” she sighed for effect, “laborious detail.” She leant forwards and picked up a floral cake slice, which matched the cups. “We could never agree on what to do, so didn’t.”

“Is that why I am here?”

“Ha, no, no, nothing as morbid as hunting for corpses. I have asked you for help of another kind.”

The cake stand at the centre of their table drew Mordelain’s attention away from the matter at hand. She used the time to think about quite how to word her proposal, and, of course, to cut the cake provided by the host in the polite manner.

“Do tell!”

Viridian opened a sleepy at Philomel’s feet, the purpose of these visit finally to hand. He looked up at the table’s edge, and then unfurled in a flurry of stretches and tail whips.

“Well, I cannot eat this cake all by myself, for one thing.” She cut into the fruitcake and again, dividing it into a half and two quarters. She set the quarters, one a piece onto two equally floral plates and left the quarter on the stand. “Secondly, I need someone to accompany me on a journey.”

“Yes!” Phi said, a little too loud. She baulked as the pressure of middle-aged women glaring bore into her back. “I mean, cake and company, splendid!”

“Not quite.” The il’Jhain offered Phi a plate, who took it with fork already in hand and a broad, hungry smile on her face. “Don’t think I forgot about you, Viridian,” she said smarmily. She leant over the table edge and set the cake stand before the elemental.

“How come he gets the bigger piece?” the faun protested. She carefully forked a small morsel into her mouth, unlike her companion, who dug into his without as much as a whiff of etiquette.

“Well,” Mordelain re-appeared, “he’s got a bigger mouth.” She smirked. “It is tea loaf, orange and pecan the label said, and a little hint of cinnamon because Mrs Whiffle thinks ‘it’s good for young ladies’ complexions’.”

Philomel tried not to snigger.

“<Plus, she’ll get fat,>” Viridian added, after a well-timed pause.

Mordelain saw Philomel jolt, and winced on the fox’s behalf as a tip of a boot clipped his stomach.

“<Fatter,>” he snarled back, mouth full of crumbs.

“Now, you two! Play nice. I want you to both come with me. On a journey. Through the Khalithrism.”

Although Philomel nodded in agreement, it took her several more mouthfuls of cake and inappropriate noises to realise what Mordelain was asking of them. Her eyes widened.

“I’m sorry, what? Planes walk?”

[Mordelain]

“Yes. No adventure is complete without company. Help me find the cat people a new home.” Mordelain had thought long and hard about making such a journey, and ever since she, and other likeminded individuals had met aboard the Gilded Lily, she decided it would be with Philomel.

“But, I thought you couldn’t do that?” Philomel frowned. In the camp, the planes walker had described the processes involved in taking a living being into the Void. “Wait, no, the more important question…why would I, when you’ve just spent an hour telling me how dangerous it is?”

“Was. Not is.” Mordelain smirked. Philomel’s curiosity and her willingness to shake her own beliefs were one of the many reasons the il’Jhain could think of no one better. “It will just disorient you, demolish your world views, and mayhap terrify you for good measure.” Then there is the vomiting , she wanted to add. There would be time to prepare her for that later.

The tearoom quietened as Philomel looked for answers in the currents and cinnamon be speckled crumbs on her plate. She ate the remnants gingerly, as though guilty at having to ruin such perfect baking.

“Okay…,” she said softly, after a long, reflective pause.

“Okay?” A little hope returned to Mordelain’s heart after months spent withering away in Irrakam University’s dusty library.

“I’ll go with you.” Viridian nuzzled her leg, as though offering silent consent. The faun smirked, “On one condition.”

“I’d expect no less.”

“What about the ladies?”

Mordelain had the fortune of knowing to whom Philomel referred. She had met them on their adventure to the refugee camp, and come to like one of the more headstrong women in particular. She polished off the last of her own cake with the same enthusiasm Philomel had shared over her own slice.

“Can they not manage with you for just a short spell?” she asked teasingly.

“Of course, but, they will almost certainly want to see this!” The faun’s ears twitched. Mordelain could not be sure if it was the sugar, or the excitement starting to take hold.

“Hmm…,” she mused. She rested her chin on her hand to calculate the strain and risk involved in jumping with more than one in tow. She doubted she had the strength to attempt such a feat. Had the portal between Althanas and Junkyo still stood, then perhaps…

“Mordelain?” Philomel pleaded.

The Il’Jhain looked up surprised she had zoned out for so long. Under the effect of caffeine and a long morning, her mind raced and her heart pounded with tomorrow’s promise.

“If you think that they can comprehend the Void…other worlds, and all that implies then I don’t see why they cannot accompany us.” She gestured at the serving girl, who nodded curtly before making her way over to the table.

“Then it’s settled!” Phi chirped. Her enthusiasm reminded her of just why Mordelain believed Philomel was the one to rebuild the bridges between worlds. A world crushing drive to push her own already debauched boundaries did wonders for the il’Jhain’s confidence.

[Mordelain]

“The coffee and cake are, as ever Jennifer, made with love.”

Philomel realised the subject had been changed because the serving girl had moved into earshot. She followed suit, careful not to cause a scandal.

“Can we get that to go?” She pointed to the cake stand, on which stood a second, equally beautiful fruitcake laced with whiskey and, from the strong aroma of bergamot, Philomel assumed Earl grey.

Jennifer stopped mid-step, jaw agog.

“Oh. Forgive my companion. May we have a cake box, and of course, the bill.”

“Err, yes, that’s what I said?” Phi shrugged. She looked back and forth between Mordelain and Jennifer.

Jennifer scooped in, picked up the cake stand with one hand and the floral teapot and the dregs with the other. She curtsied, as was customary for all waiting staff to do in Radasanth’s few still respectable establishments and returned to the counter.

“Don’t worry, Phi. Like much of Radasanth’s archaic ways, this tearoom is amongst the most stubborn. They keep a hold of the old ways as though their business depended on it.” She chuckled. “Frankly, I could eat that cake off horseshit and still think I’m in heaven.”

The faun raised an eyebrow.

“She is appalled by the Common tongue, yet undeterred by the horns?”

“Ha! Well, Corone is driven by politics and pleasantries more so than by controversies of faith and race.” For that, Mordelain was grateful. The worlds of the Khalithrism, when they travelled to them, would not be quite so forgiving of the sight of a well-dressed faun betrothed to maritime puns.

“<And she is oh so fond of controversy.>”

Mordelain and Phi jumped, suddenly remembering Viridian, now sated on cake and the growing heat of the spring afternoon at their feet. They looked over the table edge to see him cleaning his paws of errant cake crumbs, and swishing his tail with a mixture of mischief and contentment. Now Mordelain thought about it, why had nobody so much as looked at the fox?

“What does that mean?” Phi reached out and patted her companion forcibly on the back of his head. A half-veiled threat measured playfully between old friends.

“Oh, I think I’ve seen enough of you to know what that might mean,” Mordelain smirked. She pushed away from the table stood. “I’m afraid we’ll have to take a more subtle approach to our journey than our excitable endeavours with the slavers.”

“<I can still smell cat piss.>” The fox wrestled himself free of Philomel’s ‘affections’, before the pat turned into something less accommodating. He slinked away to the door, and out into the afternoon air.

“Do we have to bring him too?” Phi asked, deflated. She set herself to tidying the cutlery and plates into neat piles.

“I thought you two were as incapable as me and my wonderful father?” Mordelain assisted, scooping crumbs onto one plate to stack them. “If he makes it another night, he can come. I’m afraid we’ve much more to discuss before its ‘settled’, however.”

Their imminent departure drew cautious glances from the scattering of middle ages couples spread throughout the tearoom. The Judicial Flower would not miss them as much as they would miss the baking. Mordelain picked up her scarf from the back of her chair and wrapped it casually about her neck.

“Go on?” Phi erred. She stood herself, and buttoned up her embroidered overcoat. Despite the sun, Radasanth never quite got warm enough to be unprepared.

“Meet me on the veranda whilst I settle up with the host. We can discuss Oculi, Coradan, and time relativity on our return to the ship.”

Their plans made, Mordelain walked to the counter, riffling in her belt pouch for some coin as Philomel strode from the tearoom in search of barbed witticisms and the calming aura of the elemental.

[Philomel]

A calm breeze flittered across the harbour walls and pier. Flags in weak joy flapped enough to let their colours, but not their symbols, be seen. Tied-up sails moved, snapping against the heavy wood of their masts and posts, reminding all that this was a places of the sea. This was a place of ships. This was a place of discovery and not yet undertaken voyages.

At the end of an iron and oak jetty, in the centre of the dock where larger ships surrounded it and looked down with fearsome figurehead eyes, the Feisty Fox was harboured. Peaceful, it balanced upon the water, a bare and simple sloop without any adornments. Sometimes there were rich red silks hanging over the side and opulent decorations to invite the wealthy and the hungry onto her decks, but tonight there was nothing. No summons or soliciation for anyone of any kind to come aboard, no sign or indication that there was an open invitation.

For those who recognised her carved fox at the prow they might start heading in that direction, hoping for some drink or sexual pleasure (so long as they could afford it), but they would be turned away. The Feisty Fox was not open for business, it was closed, not willing to take any customers tonight. Her deck had no chairs, tables or bar, and the woman walking were simply dressed in their sailing outfits. Though admittedly still fine and somewhat revealing in some cases, the clothes were just there for comfort and sensibility, not expressing any sign of opportunity. And thus any man or woman or somewhere in between who strode up the ship's ramp who did not work there was suitably turned in the other direction.

"So what exactly ... could you explain again?"

On the first floor down there was a large room, cut off from all regular entrances and accessibly only through the captain's quarters. It was large enough for the dramatic ebony table that took up much of its room and the usual eight heavy chairs that surrounded. A large cabinet also, filled with drinks and hundreds of tightly bound scrolls stood to the back of the space, but besides all of this there was nothing else in the room.

Apart of course for the six people all standing or seated.

Between them, on the table, was stretched a large map of Radasanth, Corone, the sea and the surrounding area. Minor details, such as tiny currents and minor rivulets running into there were etched, as well as the markings of a new island right at the south of the map, drawn in fresh black ink.

At the head of the table stood Philomel, the smell of tea still lingering on her fingertips. She looked to the person who had drawn up the question - the First Mate (or captain when Philomel was not there) of the ship, Henrietta Starr - and blinked a few times. The burly human female stared back at the faun and folded her arms.

[Philomel]

"Well?"

Philomel frowned somewhat. "It is as I explained. I will be going on a voyage with Mordelain Saythrou, a demi-goddess of sorts, to find a new world for the slaves to live."

"And when you mean 'world' you mean ..."

"Literally, yes, a whole new planet, possibly universe. Many others exist, our relationship with Shinsou Vaan Osiris and others has confirmed that."

The First Mate furrowed her brow more. "But how do other worlds -"

"Just listen to her, Starr," came a rough growl from the side. All eyes turned to see the hulking figure of Vaeron Rameses in the corner, the only man in this place and allowed on the ship, asides personal guests. As per normal the mage and best friend of Philomel had only a loose shirt and trousers on and bow slung over his shoulder. In his hands he carefully twisted the indigo dagger that was such a source for his power.

Henrietta glared. "I don't take orders from you, Mage," she spat.

Unsmiling, most because he was physically unable to, Vaeron began to move. He kicked his way from the wall, gesturing with the dagger so its point was angled towards the ship mate.

"Don't you even-"

"Enough!" Philomel barked, interrupting them.

All eyes turned back to her. Henrietta still was tensed with rage, and Vaeron looked ready to commit murder, but their attention was back to her. Both had enough sense in them to listen.

Angrily, the faun looked from one to the other. "I do not have time for you two to argue. Not in the slightest. We need to get the cat-folk to new home, and this is the best way for it."

"For you to go on a voyage that barely makes sense? That is crazy!"

"Henrietta, I take bolder risks every day," Philomel answered, her hand curling into a light fist as she pressed it onto the table. "Every day, all the time. I face death constantly in every major battle, mission and task that I take on. Every battle I fight, every tournament."

"But they have reasons behind them," Henrietta retorted, raising a hand up, "They have glory at the end a purpose. I still don't get why we even went to the island in the first place, why the moggies needed our help when -"

"Well it turned out, didn't it, that they were slaves," the faun, her Matriarch and captain demanded, "And also that the vast majority were female, helpless and in need of assitance and communication. That I, thanks to Veridian, was able to provide. I know you argued going there in the first place, but the actual chance to see a species never yet discovered and have that connection was too good not to miss, and it was a good thing we did. Yes, we are not the most morally-sighted or lawful of communities, but what we do is we help the needy, and that was what and is what the cat-folk are."

[Philomel]

At the conclusion of the rant, Henrietta fell somewhat silent. Her body, however, was still tense and it was clear that she had lots more yet to say. Ever since she had been promoted to the permanent position of First Mate, and therefore captain when Philomel was not on board the ship - due to Philomel's mother's death - she had become more and more argumentative. Growing in her demands and attitude she had begun to question more decisions, raise more problems upon the ship, and create issues where there needed to be none. This had caused her to dramatically begin to lose some popularity upon the boat itself, causing her to take more disciplinary actions, and raised the tension between her and Vearon to a state of permanence. Ever since the two of them had met there had been issues. She had always believed that he had no place within the Gilded Lily, let alone the Feisty Fox which was deliberately supposed to be only piloted by females, and disputed his authority. Vaeron did not care for her at all, and often told Philomel that he believed the woman should not even be allowed in the Guild any longer for the complications she provided, and the slowly changing views over the treatment of all men, not ust those who were enemies of the Gilded Lily

But whatever she might say, Philomel would never abandon Vaeron. He was her friend, and possibly the only non-fox she would and could never have. The faun looked over to him, raising an eyebrow as he stepped forwards, taking a place right beside her and leaning the tip of his blade into the wood of the table.

"The Princess made the decision and we went with it," he said in a low voice, addressing Henrietta directly and using the name for Philomel that he had first coined when the two of them had initially met, "And as were her suspicions at the time, our help was needed. The Gilded Lily stands for justice against the authorities that darken this land, and the liberation of all under evil rule, which usually happen to be male. But it also extends to slavers, and that is why the Princess was right in making the decision that she did. All first curiosity aside, what was revealed about the cat-folk ended up being exactly in our interests, and it is now our right to find them a proper home."

Henrietta huffed, "This still is not right. I get your personal interests, Matriarch - the battles and fights you individually engage in, for they are yours - but not ones like these that involve the whole crew. What if the cat-folk had ended up being little more than savages?"

"For fuck's sake - all life is precious!" shouted Philomel suddenly at her. "All innocent life anyway, and these people are closer to me than you could ever know. I was curious, yes, at what they were and what sort of issues they had, and it turned out they needed us."

"Oh, and apparently now I also have to deal with that boy - Gideon I think his name is," Henrietta ranted on, "He has fallen for Pester Ramone, and has joined the crew without even asking me!"

"He asked me, and I approved it," Philomel answered, "He will be with us as long as he needs and desires. He is a good man, and though eventually our methods of doing things might drive him away, he is my guest." She paused and glared at the First Mate. "Unless you have problems with who I approve of my guests now?"

All around the table, hands fled to the handles of weapons. To the far side of Henrietta an elf called Maverik, the commander of the Feisty Fox's warriors and all things battle-related, readied herself into a fighting crouch. Opposite her the dainty figure of her often partner Gosling, a human and a master in secretarial skills and more recently martial arts, did the same. The last being in the room, Veridian himself, the beloved fox-form earth spirit and the beloved of Philomel, raised his hackles and bared teeth so that every weapon, aside from Philomel's herself, was bared in readiness against Henrietta, warning her to be very careful with her next words.

The First Mate put up her hands, though very unwillingly, and spat out an answer, "No, of course not, Matriarch. My oath to the Gilded Lily is still my oath."

"Then good," Philomel nodded, moving her hand to the side to lower Vaeron's shimmering dagger, "We do not have a problem here."

She smiled briefly to the First Mate, and then, needing nothing more than to get out of the room, turned and did just that.

[Philomel]

Her hoofsteps were fast and fluid. They carried her out of the room, as her chest heaved and fell quickly. At her side she clenched and unclenched her fist, trying not in any way to make a grab for her stark white blade or the magic that yearned to rise up. Slamming the door shut behind her she still walked, straight into the captains cabin with the large bed in one corner and the myriad of shelves, cabinets and tables within it, then out of this again and up the double flights of stairs at the end of a short corridor onto the upper deck. This was one that overlooked the lower deck, where on a brothel night the main entertainment would go on, with direct access to the booths, or sleeping rooms for the over-night guests.

Stopping at the railing she finally let out a great, frustated yell. It echoed over the wooden panels, sent shivers into the sails and vibrated into the masts. Though short, it lasted in the ear longer than was necessary, and was well addressed to her rage. Below on the deck two pairs of eyes turned up against the dim light in concern - those of Gideon the knight and Pester the Lily member who had been with him since the rescue of the cat-folk. They looked at her, curious, for a moment, before going back to their own eager business of discussion and minor flirtation.

Footsteps came up behind and then beside her. The taller and heavier-built figure of Vaeron appeared, standing sideways to have a good glimpse of his friend faun.

"I warned you about this," he said in a low voice, "About Henrietta a long time ago."

"Yes, and whatever you say, Vaeron, she still must remain captain until I have a direct reason to get rid of her. She is too knowledgeable in our business to just get rid of."

His fingers tapped an errant tune on the hilt of his now-sheathed dagger. "I know. But she is becoming too dangerous."

She breathed in, and ground her teeth together. "I cannot just kill her for no reason."

"Then my offer still stands. I will."

Philomel shook her head sternly. "No, we just need Maverik to make sure she doesn't go too mad with power. And while I am away I will give Gosling enough written authority to undermine any issue or decree that Henrietta comes up with that may cause an issue."

There was a pause in his words, "So - you still mean to go?"

"I have to. I have to finish what I started with these people. Mordelain Saythrou knows exactly what she is doing with this, I know her skill and I trust it. Harmony told me enough of the journey that she went with her on the island."

Vaeron looked at her a while, then nodded, "Fine. But I have one condition."

She raised an eyebrow, turning her head towards him, "One condition before what? You let me go on this?" Her look was curious, asking if he was giving her orders now - which would be a very new direction for their relationship. One that was odd indeed and without pre-indication.

Slowly the Mage nodded, his nose flaring in the way that he did that indicated him smiling. Two large scars, either side of his face, disabled him from being able to do so on a permanant scale. "Indeed. I do."

"And ... what might that be?"

"That I come with you," he answered, "And Pester also. I doubt the Gideon boy could bare to leave her behind. That, accumulated with Maverik and Gosling organising things here should allow you to keep your head on straight and allow me to protect you from any sort of secret thing that Henrietta may, or may not have, begun."

Philomel blinked a few times, a little confused but then she nodded. It was common, anyway, for Vaeron to accompany her on minor quests and even go on ones of his own. Though he was under the oath of the Gilded Lily he had far more authority than any, could leave when he wanted, and was one of the only people who got away with telling her his blatant point of view.

"Very well," she said, "I accept."

"Oh, and give Harmony more power here," he told her, "The elf deserves it after all she went through on the island with the cat-folk. After all she did for us, and all of the skills she has shown. I am pretty sure that her loyalty lies with you and it is yet another to keep an eye on the Starr woman. I don't want her inciting any sort of renegade army or revolution."

The faun smiled slightly, her eyes moving to the corner where she saw the golden eyes of Veridian appear, his form padding out of the stairway and over towards her. Carefully she bent down and extended a hand to be waiting to scratch him behind his ear.

"I hate to not trust her, but if you want it, then I agree," Philomel said quietly, "I agree."