Legacy

[Philomel]

Pre-story to the killing of Lye Ulroke.

"Protect that which is most precious to you. Protect those who you hold closest to your heart."

That day the wind was on fire. Some ill-fitting warm current, presumably from a foreign shore, swept high into the Jagged Peaks. As the sun born earnestly down with a cloudless sky there was little to do but sweat and moan. The pool that the army of the Gilded Lily had made just two months before was filled to the brim with cool water, stolen from the central fortress well. Several bodies dangled out of it in a myriad of poses, some fully naked, others dressed in limited clothing. They laughed and cheered, being not the ones currently surveying the mighty forest from the battlements of the cliff-borne castle.

A sheer cliff above and below, the Lily Fortress was a monument to the guarded hearts of the feminists that lay within her walls. Accessible only via a steep winding cliff path it was well protected and well-maintained. Any one on the gatehouse could see the entire path, and thus cry out if any unknown rider, messenger or army was making its way upwards. Of course, there was the risk that someone could attack from above, assailing down the sharp clifface from the peak above - but getting there was difficult. It was full of traps that the Lily members had purposefully set up, and in a forest full of wild animals. There was also a constant camp of four or five women atop that craggy peak, waiting for such an attack to happen.

But guarding on such a day like today was nauseous. It was exhausting, terrible and full of perspiration. Chainmail was a compromise - wear it and you were stiffling, take it off and you were vulnerable. It was the same with weapons - carry too many and you tired quickly, carry too few ... well.

Philomel van der Aart, Matriarch of the Lily, proud faun and beloved of the goddess Drys, spared no expense. Draped in every weapon she possessed, especially the two white-bladed swords that acted as her main hands, she strode along the battlements taking her turn in duty. Though her position did not require her to, recently she had made it her mission to show the girls that she had rescued - often single-handedly and personally - from slavery, abusive partners and pimps, that she was one of them. That her own story was just like theirs, beginning in a brothel called the Crouching Tiger so long ago. With her mother, a rapist, a punishing pimp ...

Now the Crouching Tiger lay in ashes, a testement to the beginning of what had now become a legacy. A name whispered on the lips of defeated whores across the land, a name murmured by many women underneath their controlling husbands. A name rumoured through the slavery streets of Salvar and the city-state of Hernsford, Keribas ... A name of hope.

But that hope was beginning to dwindle in Philomel's own heart. For she had heard the talk. The talk that the Crimson Hand, the assassin's guild she had once been part of and where she had begun her assent to power, was recreated, and back under the control of Lichensith Ulroke. That snake. Even though the man himself had been under the influence of Maddison Freebird the Briarheart for a while - and that in itself had made the Crimson Hand at least tamer, and more bareable - he was still a monster. The ways he had manipulated the girl Amari, the lover of Philomel's close friend - and possibly dead - Shinsou, and had heartlessly once set the entire Crimson Hand against each other to fight, just for his own amusement - those were unforgiveable things, in the faun's opinion. They were the actions of a mad man, a crazed power0hungry serpent, who longed for nothing more than to have power.

Power. But not the freedom that Philomel promised. Instead bloody, thirsty power that made a throne out of corpses.

Slowly, Philomel van der Aart breathed, tilting her face up to the sun. Her eyes blinked, rapidly, but she kept looking, let her eyes wander over the blue, blue skies. With her hair plaited down her neck she sighed into the warm wind, wishing it would rain like it had not for almost two weeks, and that the rain would bring better things. Her heart heavy, and her weapons baring her back down she let out a groan, wondering what she should do about this. For surely, soon, Lye would send out his assassin and shadowy army to claim her glory, to tear down everything she had built up.

Now he was back, now he had his power again.

"I need to protect my own," she whispered, suddenly, her eyes dropping back to the road. The empty road. "I need to protect her, before he finds out."

And with that she signalled to the gatekeeper that she was ending her own watch early, and heading away. The gatekeper nodded, letting her go, for no one argued with the Matriarch.

And Philomel thundered down the stone steps, past the pool in the courtyard. She headed straight for the keep, where her and a few chosen others rooms were, all to head to the map. And the books. And the documents.

Everything that mentioned her daughter.