A Fae, A Faun and a Human

((opening rated mature - set after Staff and Sword.))

As she felt their bodies align, Philomel took a long, deep breath in. Below her in the depths of the Sword and Staff were people she had loved, hated and desired, people who she wanted dearly and longed to be rid of. For one, there was Lichensith Ulroke, a man with whom she had a complicated past but currently felt hurt from. What he had done to the woman Shinsou loved. What he had tried to do with the Crimson Hand by displaying his power. What she had seen from the rumours about him and his projects that filtered into the one brothel she had influence in in Salvar ... the presence of him sickened her.

Therefore she had had to leave that room, and she had needed a distraction. The option before her had been so easy to reach out and take - a few words and a willingness. Storm Veritas, a man whom she knew much of but knew personally little, the man who was the partner to Shinsou van Osiris in the Brotherhood of Castgars. Shinsou, that man whom Phi had seen, wanted, and then realised it couldn't be. No relationship could be for her.

Taking another breath in she twisted to face Storm, her clothes and weapons now strewn about her. Curves and generous breasts - far larger than she cared to admit. Around her face her hair cascaded, a storm of violet, darkest purple, and tinges of chestnut, the natural colour peeking through. Tapered ears were smooth of fur and her lips were pursed slightly, set amongst flawless skin. There was a reason why she was so successful as a whore, and she was called the Matriarch of them, and right now she was willing to show him.

Slowly her hand extended out, and she invited him to step closer. As their flesh met she began to carress and kiss him, being as gentle as she could. Slowly she went, for peace was what she needed right now, joy was what she was granting him. In the moments where she was not brushing her lips across his skin she spoke soft and warm.

"Tell me what you want and I will grant it," she said, "I will give you the world tonight if you so desire."

And underneath them, almost directly a giant rabbit was waiting, wondering if the young man-boy was going to ascend her back along with the dying fox. As the rabbit, Mao, and the fox, Veridian, felt the touches beginning between their mind-companion Philomel and her new human lover, they closed them off, allowing her time. Even though Veridian might be hurting from the pain of acid spilt from the mouth of a veangeful Briarheart, he was not going to disturb her. His task had been to see this man-boy, the fae Fenn, to safety, and that was his plan. It was still his plan. It was the rabbit's plan.

Thus as the human and faun above made love the fox, rabbit and fae below made peace.

For all his travels and experiences upon the great open world of Althanas, Storm couldn’t help but feel a tinge of uncertainty entering the encounter. Philomel was unquestionably beautiful; her perfect skin and thick, pillow soft lips as feminine and stunning as any he’d ever seen. Her clean, violet hair and delicate jawline yielded to heaving breasts that would stagger even the most experienced adventurer. It was further south that bred his introspection, for Philomel was a faun.

In truth, the fur-lined legs were bizarre to him; a distinctly inhuman characteristic in the space where women were typically at their most delicate, their most feminine. He wrestled with this for only a moment, considering those that he had known laying judgment for his embrace of this “creature”. It was a juvenile inhibition, and he knew it.

Who the hell are you honestly trying to impress? Are you going to wait for your second lifetime to stop giving a shit?!

Whatever reservations the electromancer clung to vanished like dust in the wind at the moment she kissed him. Her lips were liquid with purchase; a hypnotic softness that shook the aging magician to his knees. Immediately, his fingers ran down her soft back, and he felt her long, slender fingers begin to dance up and down his frame.

“I want you; all of you. I want as much as you can offer.” His eyes had spread wide and wild, lust driven and white-blue in color. The tavern bedroom was a mess, with several empty and half empty glasses strewn about bedside tables and upon the floor. Beaten, water-stained hardwoods offered streams of light to the bedlam below, where a raucous crowd fought and cheered and drank. To Storm Veritas, it was all nebulous; a cloud of existential nonsense that served as mere distraction from the enchantress before him.

With Philomel’s arms about his neck, he wished only for an opportunity to freeze time. He wished to savor in her touch, to tease her skin and lick and nip at her sensitive areas. He wished to explore her, to enjoy her like no other, and drink her in like a fine cask of wine. He wished to give himself to her, to allow her to do as she pleased, to take whatever he could supply.

Wait for the perfect moment in your next life. Enjoy this first trip.

With a dip in his knees he swung his sinewy, surprisingly powerful arms beneath her knees, hoisting her at the gently laying her on the bed. Her smile, filled with brilliant white teeth, was enough to encourage him further. The soft groan that hummed from her lips when he yielded his own temptation by taking one of her nipples in his mouth was so profoundly erotic that it nearly ended his encounter.

The wizard was experienced here, but decidedly outclassed. He proceeded slowly, with great caution, and the sex-drunk grin of an experimenting teenager. He would learn much as he relished in the role of student.

Through the streets of Radasanth Mao escorted her charges. The boy-man who was more magical than human rode with ease upon the back of a huge wolf, who was almost the size of her own giant self. She was wary of the creature, but he seemed fine enough, panting and padding as she bounded. Veridian was slumped across her back, like a hunted prize, his head lolling slightly with each fresh leap. He was, to put it lightly, exhausted; the breath expelling from his lungs shallowly as he fought to remain concious. In truth he could give up and die, but that would leave the man-boy alone to face up to Maverik - Philomel's one time bodyguard and now captain of the Gilded Lily, the Feisty Fox. With exception of having Mao, the rabbit. And if there was one thing Mao was not entirely brilliant at, it was communication. Yes, she had intelligence, but words and writing alluded her. Instead there was just the stream of images, smells and other senses that flowed from her mind into those of her community companions.

Thus Veridian stayed alive, his eyes drooping closed but his will as strong as iron.

I must stay strong, he kept telling himself as the acid burnt through his flesh, I must stay alive.

---

Elsewhere, Philomel felt very much alive. Throwing back her head she groaned to the ceiling and the sky beyond, eyes half-closed herself but following a very different emotion. After all endorphins and adrenaline was rushing through her veins at a high, rapid rate. As the man moved her gently, swinging her body around so he sat on top she welcomed the change, letting her body simply appreciate the rush of energy that came. Her fine furred body would be found to be adequately less hairy down where it mattered, so any hopes of a good night would be guaranteed.

Many had tried to pleasure her over the years, and few had truly succeeded, but tonight was one of those times. After all, it had been Philomel who had suggested it, and thus there was no forcing of joy, no work to be done, no monetary exchange that was to be made. There was just freedom - she could actually enjoy herself without needing to think to much and thus she did, moaning as he teased her body with little to no hesitation. Placing her hands on his hips Philomel drew Storm Veritas close, whispering to him with soft, encouraging words.

"Come and be mine," she murmured to him.

And he did. They did. They became, in the words of the old religious testemonies, as one flesh, faun meeting human, druid and summoner meeting wizard. To such an extent that the creaking of the bed that they created as he rocked gently back and forth atop her could be made from the corridor outside.

---

"Fleeking ..." the huge, leather-clad, black-haired woman, who stood at a massive six foot ten inches tall, swore loudly and ran - rather, stomped in a fast manner - over to the giant rabbit. With hands the size of dinner plates and a face as red as a storm she lifted Veridian's body from the back of the creature and paused, craddling him easily in her hands.

For a while she simply stared, blue eyes wondering over the russet red and blood red body, some flesh exposed and fur entirely ruined. She sucked in her breath via her tongue so it made a rasping, worried sound before she looked over to look at the boy-man on the wolf's back. A wolf who seemed much happier than the rest of them to be here.

"So what's with you then?" she asked Fenn, "Bringing me an almost dead Matriarch's fox, eh?"

Her eyes narrowed, as she stood on the thin board that led up to the three-masted, mighty wooden ship. The place which could, if all went well, provide healing for the earth-spirit doused in briarheart acid.

"Eh?" her voice was gravelly, hoarse but strong, and her form was the same. She waited for the fae to answer, with as much patience as a bear has scales.

So this was where Mao had wanted to take him! Over Corone’s loping hills, through the thick forests, and onto its rocky shoreline. To this polished ship, and this fierce, bulky lady. This rather gruff, seaworthy lady. Daugi greeted the woman with a perplexed “Wuff?” and a thump of her tail. Fenn simply flashed her a nervous grin.

“You going to tell me, or…?” Her tone was bristling, impatient. Impatience was a quality he shared in spades.

Giving his oblivious mutt a scratch between the ears, the tiny fae slide off her back. On unsteady legs, he poked at the saltwater-slick deck with a toe. Frost spiraled from his icy touch. He scrawled quickly in the feathery white dustingd -- also with his toes. I NOT HURT FOXFRIEND. WERE IN TAVERN, LADY OF PLANTS DID. UCKY SIZZLING SPIT. CAN FIX, RIGHT? Worry flashed across his face, drooping his ears and drawing his mouth into a tight frown. MAO-BUNNY BROUGHT HERE… FOR REASONS? PURPLE FAUN PHI WANTED, NOT SURE WHY.

The captain’s arms crossed over one another as she read his explanation, bulging biceps on display. Fenn was a bit twitchy-nervous around this bastion of strength… but he was also kind of tempted to poke her biceps, to see if they were more steel than squish. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to quell this dangerous urge. He’d probably chased enough terrible trains of thought for today. Probably.

“Seems an odd story to me. Eh, he telling the truth?” she asked, turning her head to poor, bedraggled Veridian, still stubbornly shuddering from his burns.

The fox gave her a limp nod and sighed, as if to say that the story was all too true for him.

Begrudgingly, the captain-lady tipped her head towards -- well, Fenn didn’t really know the name of it. The stick-y-out bit of ship with a door in it, leading inside. “If the Matriarch sent you, I won’t be the one to turn you away. You have a name?”

FENN.

When they were done, the wizard collapsed aside her in a heap, laughing at the preposterous enjoyment he had just been blessed with. There was something about release that brought him a wild blend of ecstasy and exhaustion, distilled with an aftertaste of clarity of thought and focus. He could reflect on the moment, knowing decidedly the wisdom of his decision making in the immediate aftermath. To his relief, there was not a shred of regret or doubt. He had been given one of the great experiences a man can have in this short journey.

“You are more parts sorceress than I thought.” A charming smirk as he pushed himself up against the headboard, propping his glistening back against the wooden rails. She had finished with a violent shake at near the same time; were she not actually satisfied she faked it well enough to squash any concerns that he would have harbored.

The smell of sex was heavy in the room, and it was the most bizarre of all the great scents upon the earth. In moments of passion, it was an aphrodisiac, further driving them ahead with vigor and energy. In the refractory seconds, it was sour and almost offensive; a relic of past sins that seemed to belong to other people. In either event, the scent was soon overpowered as Storm snapped his fingers, producing a small flame above his cherrywood bowl. The tobacco hopped to life, filling his mouth and lungs with a smooth, satisfying warmth that added a deeper level of clarity to his thought.

Do fauns smoke? That’s what they’re called, “fauns”, right? Until twenty minutes ago, I didn’t have any goddamned idea what they were capable of. Pleasant surprise that they aren’t easily offended.

A devilish grin further spread across pursed lips as he considered the thought, before slowly exhaling a deep pair of lungs full of rich smoke. He turned to the slightly open window as he did so, only now noting the sharp cool air coming in from the night.

He spun back in bed, facing forward and laying eyes upon the bizarre beauty that had risen nude from the bed once more. She was breathtaking in her own unique way. The wizard leaned forward, stretching a long, tautly muscled arm to her with the pipe still glowing at the end.

“Do you smoke? I find it clears the head well, and you certainly dominated my attention pretty completely.” He smiled once more, a bit more aware of how sophomoric is lovestruck nature must seem.

“You’re welcome to crash here if you don’t have plans; no reason to scoot you off. Radasanth will still be waiting when I get back, and there’s always a new fool with a pocket to lighten.”

The ambiguity of his comment was not unintentional; he felt confident that this new adventure of a female had a few more tricks up her sleeve. Tomorrow, the winds would drive his sails.

Quietly Philomel observed the man as he pulled out a pipe and lit it with a practised hand. Her naked, perfect form, honed after years of fighting and professional love-making lounged against the headboard. As she settled herself there she raised her hands up and calmly combed her fingers through her hair, scooping through the long, purple locks to bring it to the front and over her left shoulder. Then she began the task of weaving it all into a delicate-looking but truly strong plait, not letting any strand of hair excape her dextrous fingers.

Eyes alive and bright she watched Storm, as he spoke softly and methodically. A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth as he asked if she smoked - then continued on without giving her a moment to answer. For her, it mattered little. His words, after all, were full of compliments and it made her feel confident that she still had 'it' after all these years.

As he finished and her lithe fingers finshed her plait she tied her hair off with a firm and practised knot and let the silence extend. Only when she was satisfied with her work did she sit up straighter, but still with her legs curled before her in a seductive, her heart thumping as she thought of what she had just done. Who she had just slept with. Him. Storm Veritas, partner to Shinsou van Osiris.

"I have smoked in the past," she answered, every movement precise and seductive still - she was merely doing it out of habit now. "I have been known to smoke a great deal. But moreover, we fauns drink actually. We have priests and people who brew holy alcohol to praise our goddess, Drys. Primarily a beverage called 'Headbutt,' so-named for its kick and strength."

She let her hands fall to her lap.

"I am pleased that we had this time to get to know one another, Mr Veritas. I have heard much about you and was always curious when Shinsou mentioned you," she smiled through the powerful memories of the Telgradian burning at her mind. "He holds you in high esteem. As to your proposal I -"

Suddenly she was cut off as a voice she very much recognised resounded into her head.

Philomel! Veridian said, his tone soft but strong, Philomel, if you are done, we very much need you here. Fenn you see, I - He broke off and then sent her a mental image of a thin boy-like wrist. On that wrist was the horrible and grotesque placement of severely burned and chafed skin, that could barely be called skin at all. In some parts it had been ruined away to leave red raw flesh at the surface that was in various stages of healing but looked so close to manacle marks that Philomel knew they just had to be. Veridian was sitting with Fenn on the inside of the ship whilst the boy-man was treated to a variety of foods and goodies as Maverik guarded nearby. He had been persuaded though to take a bath (along with his huge wolf, he had insisted) and now Veridian was able to see the marks fully as they poked from his sleeves, all clean.

She sat up, staring into the middle distance, smile fading away fast. Instantly her seduction was gone, and instead her form was alert, like that of a fine elven bow, waiting for its arrow to be released. Tense, but still naked she turned to Storm, back straight and positively even more alluring.

"The boy-man Fenn, the one from downstairs, is at my ship. He has been there some hours I think, whilst we ourselves were busy. Veridian, however - my fox friend - smelt something a lot like blood on his wrist but could not get a good view - until now. He just sent me an image of severely ruined skin and ... I suspect Amari is involved."

Slipping onto the side of the bed, she stared at Storm hard.

"Come with me, help me find out what has happened. Then we can continue what we began here."

Fenn liked food.

Fenn liked it when there was lots of food.

Deep in the dining hall of Philomel’s vessel, there was indeed lots of food. The table was heaped high with dishes; there were platters of fowl stuffed with nuts, countless cheeses, breads, preserved fruits, vegetables, and even some condiments for them. The bowls that once held honey were all depleted by now though. Most of the platters closest to Fenn were depleted, actually, and only growing moreso. Every so often, he would sliiide a piece of gravy-slathered meat underneath the table. Daugi’s wide, toothy maw would gratefully claim the offering for her own. She was slowly getting a taste for human food. Oops.

Veridian watched in his way of wordless judgement. Thankfully, he was doing marginally better when compared to before. Still limping, still looking miserable and semi-bald, but not whimpering in agony. The captain lady — who had gruffly introduced herself as Mav — had gotten a few other ladies on the ship to take a look at him earlier, a little before she’d sternly sent Fenn to get a hot bath. Apparently, no-one appreciated the fine layer of dirt and mud-spatter that he’d accumulated over the past few months. Pffft. It wasn’t as if he smelled or anything. Probably.

That was okay with the boy though. It had been a very bubbly bath, and warm enough him to not become one big block of ice. His clothes had been washed too. They smelled like flowers.

Speaking of that bath though…

Veridian had taken an odd interest in Fenn’s wrists and ankles. He’d been snatching glances and discrete sniffs of blackened cuff-patches ever since the bubbly-warm bath. Whenever he caught the fox investigating, it sent big alarm bell’s clanging in the boy’s head. So, he hid them from sight in the folds of his cloak very carefully now. Nosy vulpine; that was Fenn’s business, and Fenn’s alone.

Captain Mav the Mighty sat a little ways off from Fenn’s spot at the table. She seemed to be watching over him; whether it was out of desire to protect him, or to protect everything else from him, the fae wasn’t certain. “You eat like a wild boar,” she observed. “How you fit all that in you, I can’t imagine.”

He grinned from ear to ear (honestly not knowing either) and crammed another buttery roll into his mouth.

It was good that the boat wasn't much in motion yet; sea travel made him sick as a dog. There was a gentle swaying, but it bothered Fenn minimally in the moment. An unease in the pit of his gut at the most. Were it to get too tumultuous, he was going to have to find an open window and hand over his lunch to the salty waves.

Which was funny, he thought. Normally one would get food from the sea, not give the sea the food they already had.

Fenn was pretty sure that, aside from imminent danger, uncontrollable retching was the only way anyone was going to get their hands on his meal.

As the fae pondered this, Veridian caught his attention. The fox yipped, gracefully clambered onto the table, and breathed a warm fog on the polished wood. He quickly dragged his paw across it to spell something out. Like before, he imitated the choppy, capitalized way Fenn wrote.

PHILOMEL WILL ARRIVE SOON.

Fenn blinked at the writing as it faded and gave an unconcerned shrug in return. Fine with him! Whatever questions she had for him, he was willing enough to give answers. The boy’s amicability was often directly proportional to his state of comfort. Free food and a hot bath had made him very comfortable at the time being…

The beautiful pile of taut, smooth flesh and hypnotic curves spoke to him in the midst of his recovery process. She had to go to the docks, to meet with the funny little fellow that had identified himself as “Fenn” only hours earlier, when the tavern thumped and rolled with a special, rhythmic type of mayhem. For a moment, the unequivocal acceptance washed over him as a reflex, before the still-somewhat bizarre reality of the faun hit him with a punch to the kidneys.

And how precisely does she get there? Can she run with those powerful legs, or hop up, fur-on-fur atop Attila? Didn’t precisely walk through THAT part of the plan.

The pipe glowed a wild orange-yellow as he sucked a deep lungful of the rich, oaky tobacco. He considered the situation as he planned his words; far be it from him to come across as condescending after she had curled his toes so decidedly. Worse, he wanted to learn more about the boy; ever since Taische had gone missing, his paternal instincts had been left wanting.

“My horse is outside, my great big Attila. He’s stubborn as a mule, but strong as three f*cking oxen. If you’d like a ride, we can make double time coming into port east of here.”

It was probably best not to assume much of the situation; perhaps Philomel was wont to ride on a daily basis. Perhaps she could run as fast as the heavy-assed stallion leather-strapped to the dreadwood cinch-post outside the tavern.

Either way, smooth-play it; no reason to act surprised by any reaction. A little late for that.

Standing, he pulled up the dress trousers even over his own backside, only somewhat consciously flexing the sinewy muscles about his back as he tied the tailored cloth. The siren behind him may have been looking; Storm Veritas was too damned old to miss the opportunity to look attractive. With only a few flickering candles to light him, and alcohol in his system to pull the flesh tight to his muscles, he laughed as he realized this was about as good as it gets.

A glance back; she was so comfortable. So secure; even without any clothes, the ravishing beauty knew damned well how fantastic she looked. No woman would ever sit about a bed with her breasts exposed without a strong confidence that those looking would like what they saw. In this instance, there was certainly no cause for concern; she was a vision of unusual, unparalleled marvel.

I’d love to pretend I had the will to NOT follow you down some ill-begotten rabbit hole, but who in the hell am I kidding?!

A brilliant smile appeared on her face. Gracefully she slipped right off the edge of the bed to stand, hooves firmly on the ground. Stretching her body to its full, naked delight she posed for a moment as an ancient statue, perfect in form. Her eyes fixed on Storm she drank in his own mostly naked (from what she could see of him) body, and then nodded once.

Deftly she began to move, walking around the room with a practised amount of grace and ease. Simply put, she was seductive in every swing of her hips, in every sinew of her flesh. Even her hands were placed in the most precise of places, owing from years of trained swordsmanship and love-making. Determined as she was, Philomel was in her element and she would appear as a goddess to a religion-starved man.

"I have a steed," said she in a formal tone as she picked up her blouse. Sweeping it over her head she condemned Storm from being able to see her bare breasts. For now. "A tera'k, my people call them. A form of ... Bovine. Similar to a Salvarian oxen I guess."

Pulling down the white blouse down to her hips she admitted the rest, "Though, admittedly he is not here, so a ride would be generous, if your horse can carry two."

Picking up a small corset she slipped back over to communication with Veridian.

We are on our way, beloved, she told him. How is the boy?

Resisting my charm, Veridian said, showing her an image of Fenn pulling his wrist away.

Philomel cringed slightly, anxious that they might be facing a harder conversation than she wanted with Fenn, but that was that.

Just ... Keep him there, she replied. As long as you can. Give him a tour of the ship?

Veridian nodded and showed an image of him looking at Maverik, the bulky warrior, and suggesting the trip with a flick of his tail and a scrawl in frosting that had been steadily spreading across the table. There were many good cakes and pastries, and Veridian hardly got to ear them. Therefore he had stuffed his face - was still stuffing his face with the sweet buns. Apparently Philomel did not like them much, hence they were not on their menu often.

Maverik nodded, and Veridian relayed this back to the faun. Who was now pulling on her many layers of fabric that was both a belt, a sort of covering for her butt, and a holder for her assorted weaponry.

"Tell me, were you in those Crystal Caves at all?" She asked. "It seemed anyone who was anyone was," she pulled a knot tight and faced storm. "If you have no idea what I am talking about, then you weren't, but ..." Her hand lightly rested on the pommel of the sword she had gained from there.

"Anyway, I am guessing you have paid already for this room, which means we can leave directly." She shook back her long mane of hair and took a - now clothed - stance of power and purpose.

"We can have more enjoyment later?"

Storm’s eyes widened a bit at Philomel’s mention of the Crystal Caves. He had been there, fought aside her, and had the sword in the room to show for it. Perhaps more interestingly, he had been teleported to the caves from a hotel room not so different than this one, with only a pair of worn dress pants upon him. The sword had wrestled him from sleep, where he lay aside another professional.

You screw too many whores. Been keeping the profession bustling for a decade or more, now. Lucky the damn thing has rotted over and fallen off from all the trouble it causes you.

Silently, the wizard strode to a tall bureau, where he unfolded discarded clothes and continued dressing once more, proudly displaying his oft blue-glowing Rat. The blade thus far had proven much more trouble than its worth, but the electromancer hoped that eventually the tide would turn and his sword would be of more use than to balance weight on his belt.

“Here, this is the sword; took it from a casino operator that ran a few hustles outside of Concordia. I did win the weapon, more or less fair and square, before he tried to cross me. We know how those stories oft end.”

He flipped the blade once, watching the hilt topple dutifully before landing in his hand. The sword was finely balanced, if unspectacular. Re-sheathing the phallic item, Storm spoke effortlessly as he attended to realigning the buttons on his half-silk shirt.

“Thing was a glorified paperweight before the caverns. Then they all glowed a sapphire blue – things got wild. I think you even brought out that snake-monster friend of yours, if memory serves.”

A quick comb through his hair pulled his peppered hair taut to his head, and he smiled at the mirror in the corner, finding a stray hair to extract between two teeth silently. He looked every part the diplomat again, and was ready to take action.

“Attila can carry the two of us, and a few hundred pounds of cargo. Strong as three oxen and dumb as ten hammers, that one.” Looking at his shoes, he smiled; the great black stallion was a consistent source of humor, and perhaps his most loyal companion.

The bedroom door opened with a creak, and the gentleman gestured at the opening for the incredible beauty. At the last moment as she stepped to exit, he pivoted on her, grasping her with a firm tenderness at the hip and pulling his second hand to her feminine jaw. Without delay, the aging aristocrat kissed her firmly, surprising her for a moment but remaining gentle and non-threatening. The kiss was only firm enough to make his intentions clear; they were intentions he would reiterate before following her out.

“More enjoyment ‘later’ sounds wonderful. The sooner we can deliver that ‘later’, the better.”

Eventually, the fae was gently (yet insistently) dragged away from his infinite snacking in order to tour the ship itself. Exploration, food, bath… it was all very nice, but something slow not-adding-up here. Why all this, if someone didn’t want something from him? For the most part, Veridian led the way, limping and proud. Mav trailed behind. She was a strongly striding reminder that sticky-fingered stealing from this sensuous ship was a stupidly shitty idea.

And boy, there was a lot to ste- er, see.

There was an officer’s mess, and also rooms for the officers to sleep in — Mav included. Fenn was not invited directly into these rooms. There was an infirmary too; Daugi, nails click-clacking on the floor alongside her little fae-pup, wuffed in approval at the faintest scent of blood. Many rooms were just store rooms with items in crates, and sailor-people-sleeping rooms with bunk beds as their most prominent feature.

The map room was probably his favorite part of the tour. Technically, it was called the “Officer’s Meet”, but fuck if he was going to call a room with a table covered in tan papery sea charts anything other than “map room”.

Later, they passed very hurriedly by a gilded hallway of ten polished doors. Briefly, Fenn got a peek in one of the rooms before Veridian nudged him onward. Silky beds, ornate furniture. Very comfy. Curious noises came a room that the fae was urged past particularly quickly.

Funny thing was, Fenn had been faintly aware of human copulation as a thing that happened since he was fifteenish years old and accidentally walked in on two of his older thieves’ gang friends having at it in Forstford. His interest in the practice was… minimal. Odd things normally aroused his curiosity, but uh, it just seemed a little too squishy-weird for him. Still, he shot Veridian a pointed look as they passed that gilded room, as if to say that he wasn’t a total idiot.

Finally, they were out on the big deck again. It was pretty late out; the sun was melting into the great sea, tinging the sky orange and the sea red. Daugi happily lolled her tongue out into the salty breeze. As Fenn took a curious peek over the edge of the boat — and nearly threw up into the churning waters below — Veridian hobbled towards the ramp-thing that led to the pier beside them. There he sat with his tail tucked over his feet, as if waiting for someone.

Probably purple-hair-busty-faun-lady Phi, Fenn figured as he lost his lunch for real. Stupid boats.

Quite stunned was she with the kiss that she simply stared for a few moments, lips parted and brows raised. With nothing to say she simply ... Looked at him. Entirely lost. Indeed, she had not been expecting it at all. Perhaps one might have expected to - what with their past night and her past history - but rarely ever did a client kiss her on the way out. As gentle and as lingering as that.

When her senses came back to her Philomel straightened, and nodded.

"Very ... Flattering," she said with a light astonishment note in her voice, and then turned to duck out of the room head downstairs.

The Sword and Staff had reasonably ended it's charades for the night. A few characters - an elf, a cat person ('nekojin' was the term they apparently liked) and a singularly drunk human, to name some - were still there. Her eyes brushed over the scene, lighting for a moment on the table where a few choice people had decided to play cards. It had been the first time in too many months that she had seen Lichensith Ulroke.

Shaking herself, once more, out of the stupor, Philomel made sure Storm was following her. With a brief check in with Veridian, who was currently showing Fenn around the ship along with a grumpy Maverik, she started to the back, where she knew the stables were. There she found a woman of her Gilded Lily, finishing off a man in the hay. She gave her raised eyebrows but continued in, the prostitute making a small nervous smile.

Various horses were here - beautiful geldings and elegant mares. There was a gorgeous pale-coated shire horse, and a dark, brooding grumpy stallion. Also in there were a couple of riding goats, that Philomel turned her nose up at it.

"They shouldn't ride such gracious creatures," she complained.

Then she turned to Storm. "Well then. Which one is Attila?"

--

Back on the ship Veridian was following Maverik and Fenn, looking around the Officers' Meet with them. His keen eyes kept watching the young elf, curious as well as wary. What he had smelt on Fenn's wrist was cruelty and malice, an intent to destroy what was good. Immense dislike settled within him for the person who had done such things to a being more vulnerable than themselves - no matter how stupid they might be. I.e. steal Madison the Plantface's cards.

He swished his tail and snapped suddenly when he saw the man-boy reach for a particularly fine quill sitting on the edge of a map. Already knowing of what trouble Fenn could get himself into, Veridian was careful not to let him get into trouble with someone worse - Philomel herself.

The stables weren’t unoccupied, and Storm, still fully satisfied, still could not help but steal a glance at the attractive woman fellating an old, swarthy man with his suit sprawled across hay. It was a spectacular sight, and the wizard wondered if that rich fool would have to invent a story of falling into straw to someone at home. Considering the late hour, it was unlikely the rotund receiver was going anywhere soon.

Can’t say I haven’t been there, but –GODS- man, clean it up. You’re not a kid.

Philomel had continued along to the horses, and found Attila to be unreceptive. This was to be expected; there weren’t more than two or three in the world that the surly steed welcomed at first blush. As if playing, the great black beast bucked his head low and butted it with some force at the Storm as he arrived, knocking him up in the air and back, no doubt smelling the woman upon him.

“Easy, boy, settle!”

With a firm word, the experienced scoundrel raised a hand, his electromagnetic abilities hooking the steel rings that hung from the horse’s bridle. The rings dutifully rose, with the stallion’s head gently rising with them. Attila calmed immediately, assured of his master. The painless demonstration left no doubt with the powerful mount who the alpha was in his relationship.

Turning, the moonlit stable lit a cool yellow-green glow upon the magician’s face as he spoke to the magnificent beauty.

“This, my dear, is Attila. He warms up slowly to most, but will learn to like you quickly. He has a lot of stubborn asshole in him, but he’s not so bad underneath it.”

Spinning on his left foot, Storm leapt with an ease and grace that completely defied his advancing age. If Attila’s back stood five feet from the ground, the wizard could easily have landed there on his feet, this with only a modest effort. Skillfully, he slid slow into the saddle, no doubt having landed hard and rendering himself temporarily sexually useless in the past. Adjusting the saddlebags to the front of the saddle, the wizard popped a few iron snaps and slid a small leather sheet backwards, the form of a human backside lightly worn.

Been a while since that seat was filled.

His mind wandered a bit, considering the only one who had ridden the horse on her first pass. Karuka was an odd lot, with bizarre abilities and a charm that enamored some and infuriated others. Regardless, she had loved him, and he loved her. When Karuka and her lovely green eyed progeny Taische O’Sheean disappeared, it had left a hole in the electromancer that none had filled since.

And she’d kick your ass for moping and dragging and feeling bad for yourself. There’s work to do and money to make. Focus on the here and now.

Smiling again, he extended a hand, one the faun certainly did not need. She was polite enough, but hopped up with an athleticism that clearly rivaled his own.

Fenn was feeling slightly tired, and slightly bored. He stared into the water below. All the contents of his stomach had been forcibly claimed by the waves. The salty breeze billowing in his face did not make him feel any better about his lamentable newly-lightened load of lunch. His seasickness would pass. Eventually. Soft fur brushed up against the blackened skin of his ankles. The puck rubbed his eyes and glanced down at Veridian, who had joined him by his side -- mostly to take a look at the rough skin.

Fenn squeaked in annoyance. At this point, he was slightly to seasick to shoo the fox off of that sensitive scarring. He needed a few minutes to recover before caring. YOU KNOW WHEN PHILOMEL FAUN ARRIVE? he asked in frost, after sinking queasily to the deck.

The fox twitched his tail, eyes lit with with knowing. He tossed his head in the direction of the dock.

There was the thunder of hooves on the horizon.

The huge black, gorgeous stallion began to slow, and Philomel threw herself off the back of it. Racing up the gangplank, now fully clothed and loaded with weaponry she marched straight forth. Those members of the crew who were eager for the early light scattered as they came into her path. Concerned looks, lips parting, they murmured as they recognised her determination and vivacity.

The need to get done what it was that drove her.

Up here.

She was sent a very clear image of the figurehead of the ship. Gently it swayed up and down and a small fair-haired man-child stood unsure behind it. Behind was the proud stature of Maverik, a being not to be underestimated. She had stayed guard with the young man for the past good few hours, shadowing him along with Veridian. Where the earth-spirit was the gentle, amusing kind, she was more a bodyguard - ever presence and willing to be imposing.

Running up the stairs Philomel for a moment forgot about Storm until she turned back. She could see him just getting off Attila, eyebrows rising.

"Up here," she repeated Veridian's words.

She gestured to where the fox, the fae and the warrior were already, bared against the life of the sea.

Then she raced, hooves thumping on the wood. Up onto the upper deck she went over to where Fenn was looking pale and stormed over. She reached out and took the boy's shoulder and turned him around. It was a forced movement, but one that needed to be done, in her mind. All she was, all of her instincts and desires of motherhood pounded through her body, calling her protect this small man. Though she knew him to be older, her maternal sound still rang wild bells because he looked so young.

Bending down on one knee she looked seriously into his eyes.

"Who did this to you?"

(Thought to squeeze in a poast — hope this is okay, Storm!)

He had half closed as he stared into the nausea-making waves. Dark, frothy, foamy. They’d probably look better if they were frozen. Philomel and the Storm man were boarding the ship, and they’d be over in a moment to talk about… whatever. He didn't know.

Suddenly, a strong hand yanked him by the shoulder to face a different direction, eliciting a shocked squeak out of him. He wobbled a little in place, still queasy from being on the boat. The matronly faun Phi, busty and purple haired as ever, was kneeling at his height. Her face was too close to his. Her face was also very lined with worry. Why was she worried? Should that worry him?

“Who did this to you?”

She demanded it in a voice of restrained righteous fury. Not directed at him — thankfully — but it was there. For a moment, Fenn stared at her with blank bug eyes and a half-open mouth, not quite understanding the question. Did… what? Who did what?

If he had a working tongue, it’d have been in knots. Then he thought about Veridian’s sniffing inquisition, and it clicked.

Ahh. Nope. Nopenopenope. A nervous frost trickled up the young puck’s cloak, a few flecks creeping up the faun’s hands. It was a fighting instinct, and one he suppressed with a clenching in his hands. He liked Phi enough to not want to give her frostbite. But he didn’t like anyone enough to bring that shit back up again. Fear flashed across his features and was quickly replaced by something more stoic, harder and colder.

A vague shrug was given. That was technically an answer, wasn’t it?

Ugh, this boat is pretty small. Small boats and big horses are never a good time.

Attila stood firm on the thick, sturdy oak of the dock, locking his huge legs at the bulbous knees that were not to be trifled with. This horse was not much for negotiation, and in spite of the charms the wizard had over the great beast, he knew better than to force the hand. Hopping off, Storm athletically popped up to the front of the steed, gently rubbing the massive face by the nostrils to the crown, rubbing the incredible muscled mandible as well.

“Easy big fella. Little boat, short trip. I’m coming with you, and bringing plenty of sugar. LOTS of them.” A gentle smile, he opened his palm, a half dozen sugar cubes greedily devoured by the huge horse. Bobbing his head, Attila marched forward, grudgingly acquiescing to board.

Storm walked Attila under the covered deck of the boat to the bowels of the ship, which smelled an odd blend of ginger, cinnamon, and urine. It was quite clean here, however the sins of the past aboard the ship lingered long after they had been mopped with seawater and vinegar.

“Over here, big fella. Two days, max, and you get four days of lettuce, carrots, and sugar for your troubles. I’ll walk your fat ass back into shape when we hit land, I promise.” Gesturing to a cordoned stable filled with fresh hay and lots of food, Storm noticed a small “reserved” tag hung off the front door of the fencing. As Attila chuffed himself comfortable, spraying a bit of pee to mark his new quarters, Veritas took it upon himself to mark off this particular docking for his mount. Extending his finger, a small blue flame flickered to life, striking out the label on the aforementioned “reserved” tag. The name that once read “Her Majesty’s Pride” was incinerated; beneath it, a new and simple title:

ATTILA

I doubt we’ll get any complaints a few crowns can’t fix.

A minute or two later, the wizard was back up to the top deck, assured his horse was quartered fairly and seeing none in the area to question him. His eyes found a few errant shiphands; beautiful women that averted their gaze immediately as the terrible magician surveyed the ship. It didn’t take long to find a small crowd, with the little Fenn-fellow chattering up towards the staggeringly pillow-titted Philomel and all her glory.

Jackpot, we’re golden.

Before moving over, Storm approached one shiphand, a slightly haggard, waifish blond of forty or so that clearly longed to not be involved. Unfazed, Storm was the diplomat; his toothy smile and open, empty hands appearing as nonthreatening as imaginable.

“Lucky day for you, my friend! Fifty crowns bonus to keep my big fella down there happy. His name is Attila, and I recognize he’s a bit of a pain in the ass.”

As though from thin air, a handful of shining golden coins emerged in the wizards hand, widening the eyes of the sailor immediately. Without hesitation, Storm pressed all of them into the palm of the over-tanned, confused woman. They shared smiles as the wizard leaned in to speak more clearly.

”Fifty more when we land; one hundred if he’s still in good spirits. If you see someone screwing with him, stop them immediately and come to me. I can handle any hard-asses that may get upset that he’s loud on choppy water or takes a runny dump.

“If anything bad happens to him… well, shit…”

Turning his head across the boat, Storm focused on two rivets holding a dock handle to the wood. Nearby, a fishing gaffe rested against the deck, the metal handle of which caught the wizard’s attention. Storm raised a hand, twisting his fingers to manipulate the steel from thirty feet away. The handle snapped off effortlessly, the two-foot segment twisting in the air into a hemisphere. The arc was then spun forcefully into the wood beneath the rivets, forming a bizarre image of a frowning face about the wood.

”Nothing bad is going to happen…”

Standing, Storm smiled again, his sinister tone leaving altogether as he clapped the back of the ship-hand as though greeting an old friend. He left to join his friends, certain now that his steed was to be well-cared for.

Philomel was still in a tetchy mood. At the man-child's shrug she raised an eyebrow and did not seem at all impressed.

"Fenn. That is not what I am looking for. You have been ... tortured by someone. I want to know who."

Although, despite that question, Philomel had a sinking feeling that she knew exactly who it might be. Whatever changing, maddening people had been in that pub last night. Everyone who was anyone had really happened to be in Raieara, running away from the dark storm. But there had been one individual who stood out for the faun of fauns, one certain, red-haired crazy woman who had exchanged various odd looks with Fenn. The same woman who was Shinsou's lover.

By what she knew of this boy, he was a type of fae. Fae, or as they were sometimes known, Faerie, had weaknesses like most other races. For fauns, fire was their enemy, and Philomel was one of the only ones of her kind that she knew of who was not entirely afraid if the burning element. Fae, on the other hand, were partially known to have an ill relationship with iron, and with the metal so easy to access, numerous as it was, it would not be hard for someone to find the right manacles and bind a certain small, innocent being with them.

After a moment of staring into those large, green eyes, Philomel finally let her hand go from his shoulder. And there she stood, arms folding across her chest, but still looking down at him.

"I only want to make certain that you are not in danger, Fenn," she spoke to him, using his name for the first time. "Call it an instinct if you will, but you barely look older than my own daughter."

Veridian slunk up to sit beside the boy. He turned his pointy black nose and pressed it to Fenn's side. You are a good person. You do not deserve this.

Philomel paused, then translated. "We are only concerned for your well being."

She glanced over to see Storm now striding up the stairs to the upper deck and gave him a small nod before returning to the Fae. "Let us go below decks," she suggested. "And get this out of the open air."

With that she nodded over to where Storm was, and twisted sharply to lead the way down to the Officer's Mess. A private room, reserved for her, Veridian, Maverik and a few other choice individuals. She did not look to see if Fenn came, but rather gestured at Storm and looped arms with the warrior when she came to his side, to escort him to their destination. Veridian, on the other hand, stayed right by Fenn, and kept looking at him. It took less than a second for Maverik to join them, grunting her presence.

The sea was never terribly comfortable to Storm, however his company brought him a pair of very distinctive distractions that made the pending journey entirely more palatable. The little fairy-looking fellow was a natural entertainer; he was objectively adorable, eccentric and mischievous. In a different time, a more bitter version of the electromancer would have found Fenn to be a terrible annoyance, and likely punted the diminutive fellow overboard. Here with a near permanent smile borne from the sexual prowess of the faun, Storm was nearly smitten by the little man.

Philomel had taken him by the arm and coerced him right below deck, where the metal heels of his dress boots echoed thuds of his presence on the heavy, treated oak. The high quality vessel felt like a floating hotel, and the little room was suspiciously seductie for a room found a boat; there were fine cotton linens and small candle lights and even an incense smoker, actively kicking off a lovely fragrance of something like lavender. The room appeared a walking contradiction to the basic rules of nautical safety.

Romance is obviously a priority here, which explains the female-only deckhands. This place must have been a floating f*ck-wagon before this fine lady changed her craft…

…by the Gods, Phi; do your surprises ever stop?

His curious gaze about the room had transformed into a sharp, knowing taunt in the form of a steely-eyed stare at the buxom faun. He embraced her softly, feeling her magnificence press gently against him and immediately instigate a desire to adjust his belt line. Kissing her quickly with a near-innocent affection, his whisper was sharp.

“You know, a lesser man would be pretty intimidated by how good you are at the whole seduction process. You’re damned lucky I’m getting old enough to have abandoned the delusion that I have to match your skills.”

Drinking in her beauty, Storm had to laugh at this preposterous conquest of his. From her feather fine and silk smooth hair to hornet-stung lips or bright, sharp, mirrored grey eyes, she was a vision. Her body, a fine mesh of soft and as though sculpted by a master craftsman, was the type that could start wars.

The little man was pattering about outside; the wizard could hear the patter of feet that was just slightly to frequent to be an adult, and alerted him that it was unlikely he’d be able to bed the faun without interruption. The realization flared his nostrils instinctively, and a vision of firing the little bastard into the open seas calmed his annoyance.

Shit, it’s barely 2 hours past the midday; you didn’t expect to get lucky that easily, did you? Besides, she’s too damned good and you’re too f*cking old; you’d be sleeping through dinnertime.

His eyes focused in the taut squint of a falcon, the mage turned to find the boy. Best to be interrupted on something closer to one’s own terms, he presumed.

As they dove back into the belly of the boat, Fenn was still slightly jumpy, and more than a little grumpy, about the conversation he had just had to sit through. “Tortured” was a word that made an itchy feeling burn around his wrists. It set his ankles on fire, wanting to flee from the mention, the memory. No way by Titainia’s tits did he want to discuss that, even if it was what Philomel the Purple had brought him in for in the first place. That was between him and Amari and poor Daugi. The Faun could find something else to chat about, or Fenn would find it for her! Yet, while on the subject, a small part of him wondered if he could find a way to return Amari the… “favor”... someday. Somehow. The greater mass of him, staunchly in the that-was-past-and-she-is-a-frightening-evil camp, was hoping to just avoid her altogether if possible.

Yeah. That was it. He had fulfilled his daily quota of internal drama.

But Fenn hid his anxiety well with by springing himself into running about the ship’s halls while Storm distracted Phi with some very flattering words. He noticed — oh, certainly, he had noticed — the look of lust in the man’s eyes when they settled on the faun. He noticed the gentle, caressing way Storm spoke to her. It made the little fae snort a little. Had they had enough of having at it at the inn, or did they need some privacy again?

Now that the boy had a rough layout of the ship in mind from his earlier touring, it was easy enough to dash about the halls like the restless little scoundrel that he was. Veridian nipped close at his heels. Fenn had little in the way of an exact destination, but very definitely it was “away”.

He wondered abstractly if the map room included a sketch of the inside of the boat.

A sudden tug on the end of his pantlegs caused Fenn to stumble to a stop. He glanced behind him at the ever-pervasive Veridian, whose teeth were sunk into the fabric, tail swishing in irritation. Spitting out the threads, the fox huffed hot air onto the polished wood underfoot. OUR CONVERSATION ISN’T OVER YET, he spelled.

Fenn kneeled only long enough to read the words and etch out a cold reply. Cheeks puffed out in a useless display of anger, he slapped out his thoughts in biting frost. MY BUSINESS. STOP WRITING LIKE ME. With flattened ears, he very deliberately stood up and turned away from the fox.

Then hesitated.

His knifish ears twitched.

Was that… was that yelling on the docks outside? From the deck, Daugi bayed threateningly back.

And the noise came the faun was immediately on edge. She twisted away from the handsome Storm, though her hands remained within reaching distance of him. Her tapered ears pricked up like those of a startled deer caught in lantern light and her face swivelled towards the door. Quickly, one hand went to the hilt of her sword at her back, seizing it with such ferocity it seemed she was already prepared to run into battle. But then, was not she always?

"That does not sound pleasant," she said as she pulled away from Storm, the sound – that was a mixture between shouting, jeering and crying – became louder.

Her eyes glanced around until they latched onto the window that made up one of the sides of the Officers' Mess. Clomping over to it with her huge hooves making a din comparable to the yelling outside, Philomel leant to peer and see what she could from this. It was not the most appropriate; the butt of the ship looked out upon the sea and she had to crane around to be up to even catch the barest glimpse of the jetty. Her horn clanged lightly on the glass as she strained to see where she was sure the din was coming from. When she could no longer get any further, she backed away fast, then came across the room and grabbed her recent lover's hand.

"We will need to go up," she declared, pushing the door aside that had been slightly ajar and separated them from the small fairy boy. She saw the eyes of her beloved fox, peering as golden glow is from the darkness of the shadow, then looked back to Fenn. "Stay here," she advised the child who is not a child.

They started walking. Further along the corridor they met the mighty warrior Maverik once more who had remained further behind when it became clear what Storm's intentions were. Privacy, naturally, would always be a possibility for the Matriarch. Yet now they had a disturbance, and it needed to be sorted. Thus, the three warriors began the climb to the deck again where the chorus of chaos began to become more defined. There was the thumping feet on the ground, the roar of an angry mob. And it was headed straight towards them, towards her precious ship. As they gained into the brilliance of sunlight Philomel drew her sword, letting the ring of the metal be as loud as possible and her eyes became pits furious darkness.

Before them was a small, but malevolent crowd, almost at the ship – and at the front was the furious bartender of the tavern where they had spent the night before.

Violence was not entirely uncommon upon Althanas, but that made it no less pleasant or unsettling. Storm was filled with a host of instincts as he walked by the side of the faun. Her appearance was both incredibly sexy to some and off-putting to those that would seek to cleanse other races from the earth, so he would want to protect her from human-borne malevolence. She could also more than handle herself; she was possibly more powerful than he was, and certainly topped him in raw physical power.

Stay calm. How hard are we going, here?

The rabble that had reached the docks was a throng, perhaps a dozen deep, and they had grabbed one of the ship's hands, a lovely thirty-something woman that one was joking about and another held, pinning her arms behind her back and leaving her wriggling for freedom. The taunting was vile and lowbrow, something Storm may have joked about a few decades ago but he found entirely despicable today.

"Are we full bore against these assholes? Or do we hold back, hide the powers, and get out of here?" This walking question to Philomel came as they both marched headlong into the wild.

There was a logic to it. If they showcased their supernatural abilities to the crowd, they would turn their boat into a bullseye for any of the crowd that got away. For the ungifted, taking down a boat full of magic users was a pathway to local heroism. The entirety of the uprising of slovenly monsters would henceforth need to die if Storm lifted one man from a belt buckle or fired a single electric blast. Sneering, he noticed that most of the men on the dock were out of shape, armed with clubs or swords rather than guns, and were mostly at least a little drunk. He hadn't heard a response from his wise, wandering lady, but made the executive decision; for now, at least.

Don't need to bring the thunder for this band of dickholes.

Storm pulled a dagger into each hand; he had grabbed them so smoothly that he didn't break stride. His eyes locked with the frontmost hostage taker; the one holding the girl. These men were cowards, the wizard decided, and he would offer them no negotiation. Spinning off his right foot, he executed a simple hop and turn behind the girl, driving his daggers into the man's shoulders and through the meat of his biceps, and the man's eyes flung wide with fear and anguish. The young girl was released and moved toward the boat; Storm stepped back, withdrawing the blades and driving his left heel squarely through the jaw of the hostage taker, knocking him entirely unconscious, bleeding significantly from his arms.

Two full steps from the now confused crowd, Storm hoped that the identity of the dapper traveler and the buxom faun hadn't been tipped yet. He spoke with a severity that he almost never offered.

"Take your man and bring him home... Or keep coming for the ladies and I promise you each and every one of you sons of bitches will beg for his fate."