Spit out the Bone (M)

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The day had dawned brightly for Crennick Wilfhelm, director of operations within the Brotherhood of the Castigars. A red-hued sun rose over the eastern side of the island, and from the balcony of his Radasanthian suite the middle aged man surveyed the cityscape. Corone's jewel blossomed beautifully in autumn. Leaves scattered in the street and piled in golden mounds at the street's curbs. Children played in the mounds, throwing handfuls of the golden flecks into the morning sky. The men and women of the city went about their day in relative peace; each one of them, in his mind, mindful of the contribution the Brotherhood...his Brotherhood...had made to peace and prosperity in Radasanth.

In the month since Crennick's much celebrated extradition of Shinsou Vaan Osiris to the Telgradians who sought him, he and his faction had risen up the ranks and returned to the roots of their former glory, where years ago he'd served under the ruling council of the Brotherhood. That was before Shinsou Vaan Osiris and Storm Veritas had usurped the leadership, subverting the cause and setting back the work of the Castigar Council many years, in his eyes. The Iron General, they'd called him, and soon would again. Or perhaps he'd choose a different title... the Iron Regent, no, the Iron Emperor. It didn't matter. Once Storm Veritas was out of the picture, they would call him whatever he pleased.

Crennick swallowed a hearty mouthful of morning wine and placed the empty glass down on a fine teak tabletop. A woman, his aide, quietly walked over from the corner to refill his cup, her face drawn up in silent obedience. She had once belonged to Shinsou's entourage, whose manor Crennick had appropriated as his own shortly after the Telgradian's disappearance, and he'd kept the staff on to suit his needs. His greying eyes surveyed the serving girl's buttocks as she turned and walked back to the corner, eliciting a muffled acknowledgement from her mouth.

"See to it that I'm not disturbed for the morning. I am expecting company." The order was spoken softer than the sharpness of his glare would betray.

The Brotherhood general picked his teeth to remove a morsel left over from breakfast and examined his reflection in the mirror as the internal apartment door eventually banged open. A man strode in, followed by a musty smell that seemed to eminate from the library that he'd entered through. His heavy boots creaked the polished floorboards and thudded with an urgency that Crennick could not ignore. The jaded, stubble drawn face of the enforcer looked grim, with his face drawn down in a deep frown. His credentials were pinned to his chest in the form of a worn emblem.

"What?"

The large, muscular man pulled back a chair and dumped his heavy frame down in it. He spared a quick glance for the pretty serving girl in the corner and then cleared his throat and reached inside his leather jacket. A callused hand produced a folded piece of parchment and placed it on the table. The man slid the paper slowly across the teak surface, navigating a path between the platters containing the remnants of Crennicks's breakfast.

"This just arrived from Whitevale," The man said in his deep, harsh voice. He tugged at his thick beard and raked a hand through disheveled dark hair, eyes blazing like coals. "New orders," he muttered darkly.

Crennick picked up the paper and unfolded it, and after a brief glance at the tidy scrawl on the page sighed and snapped his fingers. The serving girl gasped and sprang into action, collecting a pair of half-moon spectacles from a nearby counter and presenting them to him with a half-hearted curtsy.

Director Wilfhelm,

It seems that some unforeseen developments have forced us to move ahead of schedule. As a result of this, I have decided to enact the Brotherhood Consolidation Act with immediate effect. On the day of receiving these orders, you will send half of your strength to Whitevale to attach to my personal guard. A day later, and not before, a convoy of wagons will collect your remaining men, personal effects and staff and you will be relocated to a position of strategic importance on the south of the island. Due to the high security involved in these logistics, I cannot tell you where you will be moved; only that you will be inconvenienced as little as possible for the duration.

Currently, operations are underway to remove Veritas from power. Be ready for any retalliation, and take every precaution. Use all of the resources at your disposal to ensure your security until your relocation.

Yours,
Arius

"You've read this?" Crennick asked the enforcer, and got a terse nod in return. "Send half my strength immediately to Whitevale, but double my personal guard and watch patrols." He raised a hand to quell any protest. "Tell Arius nothing in reply. I don't want any messages being intercepted."

Crennick, his crow feet eyes consuming the last of the text, tossed the parchment onto the empty breakfast platter, where it slowly soaked up the grease. So. Storm Veritas would soon be dead, or worse imprisoned somwehere horrible like Terrinore Isle. He felt no sadness for the loss of the electromancer, as he hadn't for the Telgradian. His lips curled into a wide smile. By allowing Shinsou and Storm to overthrow the council, and then subsequently get themselves taken out, the pair had unwittingly paved the way for a new Brotherhood entirely.

Today was the day the true Castigars would be born.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

One month ago, Salvar.

Brilliant orange poured out of the morning sun and across the horizon of the great white expanse. The Salvic sky was blood red and the furrowed clouds were every shade from palest pink to deep crimson. All of this colour carved into the recesses of the snow dunes that Telos Soltair traversed clumsily.

Shinsou’s father watched the daybreak from the crest of a powdery mound, following the motions of a small flock of birds that danced upon the morning light. Every now and then they would climb steeply to meet the rising dome of the sun, before banking sharply and diving back towards the distant settlement. He wondered, as he watched the birds in motion, whether everything would be alright, whether he had made the right decision to protect both Shinsou and Telgradia itself. Would wiping Shinsou’s mind a second time work? If it did, would his son be able to lead a new life away from Telgradia? What of his superiors, would they be convinced that Shinsou’s threat had truly ended? What of the Brotherhood who Shinsou had fought for, why had they betrayed their leader to him?

The thoughts troubled his tired mind as he finished watching the birds and decided to continue with his journey. Despite Telos’s strength, Shinsou’s limp, bloodied body felt heavier than iron in his arms. The muscles in his shoulders ached with a searing pain and each crunching step in the deep Salvic snow only worsened the fatigue. The captain of the Council of Five intended to carry his son to the fringes of the northern wastes; to that distant settlement. The skin on his hands and cheeks glowed red, a sign that battle with his son had taken its toll.

Perhaps that was something to be proud of. Perhaps not.

When he finally arrived at his destination, the Telgradian fell back, panting, next to the icy flat of what was to be Shinsou’s resting place. A billowing cloud of snow rose up and covered nearly every inch of his bare flesh, but Telos made no effort to move.

He was too tired.

Though Telos’s work was finally done, there was no comfort in the task. His son deserved so much better than to be betrayed by his own Brotherhood, unceremoniously dumped in the frozen wastes, a couple of miles from the nearest town. So crude were Shinsou’s injuries that they left very little to ceremony. Telos wanted to scream, and cry, and slam his first into the tundra beneath him at the infuriating and desperate unfairness of it all, but nothing came. It had to be done, for Shinsou’s sake and the sake of everyone who wanted his son out of Telgradia forever. He had to leave him here, alone, to find a new life or to perish along the way.

This is it; the price we both pay. One of recompense for the millions of innocent Telgradian lives that you extinguished, under duress or not.

Dues had to be paid, and lest the reaper claim his harvest, Telos could think of no other way to save his son.

Telos eventually feebly slid himself down to the floor, parting his legs out across the freshly disturbed snow. Sighing, he let his head fall back and he took a moment to reflect on what was going to happen now, but the Telgradian couldn’t focus on any more details. With the cold snow now starting to flake down heavily above him, the captain of the Council of Five ground his teeth and clenched his fists so tight that his bloodstained fingernails left purple crescents in the skin.

In his eyes, it wasn’t just Shinsou who had caused all this. They were all equally culpable, all of them that took part in the Telgradian Civil War and those that had turned their backs on Shinsou in the Brotherhood of the Castigars. Now, the last of what he held dear lay prostrate in front of him, no longer the man he was save for his name, his magic and his sword. Those three things he could not bear to erase. In his heart, even if Shinsou’s wandering spirit forgave him for this, the Telgradian would never sleep easily again.

As the snowstorm hit its most violent phase, and at the crescendo of Telos's guilt, he took off his own navy green drakescale coat and whipped it over his son’s body with a violent jerk, almost tearing it in half. He didn’t know Shinsou could easily survive the cold, but even if he had, he wanted his son to have one last thing that belonged to him before he disappeared forever.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The sun had long since departed. Standing on the edge of the cliffs of Corone, Shinsou gazed up at the night sky; the progression and position of the stars in the sky telling him that sunset had been roughly three hours ago.

Civilization was several miles behind him, but its noise and light were ever present as he turned to see an oily smudge of orange across the sheet of star-studded black. It marked the position of the settlement he couldn’t remember the name of. Who lived there? What was that place? The Telgradian found a tall oak and sat with his back pressed against the rough bark, the fabric of his new coat managing to soften the pressing, rough texture of the wood enough that he was beginning to nod off. The query faded into the night. Shinsou’s legs were folded loosely before him, and his hands rested atop them, gently cooled by the night air. For the time being, Osiris thrust away the nagging questions that should have kept him wide awake, until at once he collapsed.

Moments later, he opened his eyes.

The forces that governed his dreams saw fit to lift him up across miles of rolling Coronian lands to deliver him to a strange field. The dirt seemed settled, but no grass grew upon its soil.

Shinsou rose to his feet and blinked slowly, rubbing the bleariness from his eyes with the heel of his hand. The night air, colder than before, stung at his flesh as the wind picked up with sudden ferocity, its gentle playfulness from the day forgotten, now only bringing howls and moans to his ears as it rushed across the countryside. From the murky blackness, a woman seemed to simply materialize, her back to him, her red hair familiar. As she turned, her face was blurry and out of focus, like a poorly taken photograph. His expression shifted subtly; eyes opening a degree wider than before, his jaw muscles flexed - and nothing.

"Do you remember me?”

Suddenly, pain bloomed, accompanied with the taste of blood in his mouth. Thick, fat rivulets of it dribbled down his chin to splatter on his feet and the ground. The girl’s foggy image motioned to him. Her eyes were gone. Instead, her open eyelids showed empty sockets staring into a greater hell than he could imagine. The fingers of her left hand were slick bone in the moonlight, and the flesh was peeled way up to the elbow, where sticky red muscle shone. Her body stopped, just above her waist. A few inches of ropey intestine lay limply in the dirt.

“Do you remember me?!”

The question tore at his soul. Shinsou couldn’t remember her name, her face, or her form. A tornado of crimson and white suddenly tore into the wall of his dream, and as white noise replaced the words of the spectre and the ambience of this false plane of existence, he awoke from this hellish dreamscape to the bright glow of reality.

A painful reality.

Pure, blinding white made his eyes recoil horribly. That pain lingered for a moment before fading, and drawing in a deep breath, Shinsou slowly regained consciousness. A flutter of his eyelids accompanied a cold, burning sensation that overpowered his left cheek.

Snow.

Black threads still flickered at the edges of Shinsou’s vision, but the disorientation was beginning to ebb. The scenery was horizontal, as was he. His pain receptors were going into overdrive; throbbing from almost every part of his body thumping electrical warnings into his head. Clean sunlight poured over him, the light gleaming off a polished patch of ice ahead. The breast of his shirt was stained, sticky, and damp. His hair was pasted to his skull with a mixture of snow and ice, and it hung limply into his face. Blood was smeared in three wide patches on the flesh of his left hand; it was speckled in the white powder too, in tiny drops, just beneath the bottom of his hand. As he clawed his right hand forward and tried to pull himself up, sliding his right knee forward, a shooting pain jolted up his calves, through his ribcage and into his head. The sensation forced his muscles to fail, sending him crashing back into the chilling white. His laboured breath hit the cold Salvic air and turned to clouds of steam with increasing tempo.

Something flickered between the curtains of frozen hair; catching his eye for just a second, but he was back at ground level before the thought could try to escape from his mind. It was a person. Dark spots stained the human’s robed form.

"Where…am I?" He whispered before the darkness dragged him back into the void of sleep once again.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Two weeks later

Gradually, the void of black warped into something vaguely familiar.

Shadows danced along the cracked plaster walls of a bedroom as candles burned in oil lanterns over the doorway. The pungent smell of cool, rising damp wafted into the Telgradian’s nose, stirring his senses in a way he would have preferred to not have experienced. As he slowly opened his eyes and adjusted his focus, Telos could see that the sudden presence he had sensed that had jarred him from his slumber belonged to a face he knew all too well. Framed by hair the colour of oak, a man peered at him from over the other side of the room. His chair blocked his view of the door.

"Shinsou?"

How many days had passed since he had wiped his memory out, the Telgradian wondered? As Telos sat up, only the irises of his son in his room stood out on first glance. Across Shinsou's lap lay Enpera, his sword, and he gripped it just a little tighter as his father's eyes steered towards it. The Telgradian briefly sat up before glancing towards the window and began to take in the reality of today; a freezing cold, snowy dawn. Sleet began pelting the glass, and suddenly the view of the looming expanse through the flawed transparency was distorted by thick streaks of white.

"Surprised to see me?" Shinsou asked sarcastically.

Telos stared icily through the window, thinking upon the significance of everything. How did Shinsou recover his memories? Why was he here? It wouldn't be for anything friendly, judging by the atmosphere and and the way his son kept his weapon close and his grip on it tense. He could feel the weight of his queries inside him, tearing at his hazy mind.

“Am I your prisoner?”

The question crumbled from his mind as his eyes fell upon a second bed. Upon it, well within his reach, were assorted pieces of his inventory. Included were his sword, which lay atop his folded drakescale coat that Shinsou seemed to have returned. It occurred to him quickly that if he were a prisoner here, wherever here was, his son wasn’t doing a very good job of securing him. This led Telas to believe something else entirely was happening to him. Surely, no-one was stupid enough to capture someone and leave their weapons out on the bed next to them.

"You know me much better than that." Shinsou's retort was weighted with a cold, matter-of-fact undertone that left very little room for doubt. "But here is the thing; I'm not quite sure if I understand you. I know you tried to wipe my memory, again, but you either didn't do a good job of it or you purposely botched it up. I don't believe for a moment that a man as powerful and as experienced as you could fuck that up unintentionally. So, what gives?"

Unhindered, and unchallenged by his keeper, Telas rose from the bed. He hobbled slightly to the window he had been looking out of before, rolling his tongue over his teeth and clicking it in bemusement as his golden eyes fell upon the nameless whitescape.

"A man named Crennick Wilfhelm of your Brotherhood tried to give the Council of Five your location, and I decided to act before any of the other Telgradian hunting parties found you."

"Director Wilfhelm?" Shinsou scowled at the implied treachery from his own people. Crennick had always been keen to get shot of the current leadership, and Shinsou could only assume that once he had found out about the Telgradians hunting him, the backstabbing little shit had taken the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. After a moment, he turned back to Telos. "I'll deal with him soon enough, but, regardless, you didn't answer my question."

"Yes, I did." Telas's voice raised a decibel.

The wooden chair creaked beneath his mass as Shinsou leaned forward, his coat draping over the sword still balanced across his legs. The room was only dimly lit, considering the few candles, and the raging storm that blocked any moon or stars that might be present. As such, it was difficult to make out his father's expression as he stood at the window. What he was able to see resembled mild curiosity, and what might even be amusement, both of which was a surprise to him. In a similar situation, any other person would be all sharp lines and frayed nerves.

"So, are you saying that you did this to protect me, or were you working for Crennick all along?" came Shinsou's abrupt question. Truthfully, he knew the answer already - Telos was a father before he was a member of the Telgradian Council of Five, and there was no way he would have worked with a foreigner to hand his son over unless it served him some good purpose. However, until he knew more about what was going on, Shinsou would remain on his guard.

"I found an opportunity to redeem you through death, and so no-one from either Telgradia or the Brotherhood will be hunting you anymore now. You can use that time to plan what you are going to do next."

He felt the Shinsou's gaze sweep over him, and when he spoke, Shinsou did not bother to mask his skepticism. "You don't know the Brotherhood like I do. They will figure the truth out in a couple more days. Why? Because I was the one who trained most of their snouts. If they are worth their salt, and they are, we can expect a knock on the door any time soon. I don't know about you, but I'd rather make the first move than be caught with my pants down. What are you going to do now?"

There was no answer offered for the final question, as Telos was not entirely sure what to do himself. Instead, he nodded. "I never met this Crennick personally. His right hand man, Tyrin, was the one who met me. All I know is that he is staying in a safehouse in Radasanth. If you want to get to the root of your betrayal, he'd be the best start. But Shinsou, I implore you; don't do anything stupid. Never go back to Telgradia. You're dead; use that to your advantage."

The Salvic air carried its characteristic bitterness to the tavern, biting at the dancing flames of the candles that illuminated the cramped lodgings. It wasn’t any warmer in the shade where Shinsou stood on the creaking boards, yet the Telgradian did not shiver nor fidget to stave off the chill; an advantage of being immune to harsh conditions. Instead, he strode to the door, and stopped to turn the handle.

"There will be plenty more joining me come the end of the week. You can count on that."

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The storm that had threatened Corone for a few days had finally smashed into the island and the cold, driving precipitation it brought now beat at the track and its sole occupant relentlessly.

The road ‘home’ to Radasanth was quiet but for the drumming of this steady rain. With each movement on the saddle, Shinsou Vaan Osiris felt heavy droplets pound on his leather overcoat, adding weight to his shoulders and saturating his clothes. The moon’s luminescence had been choked completely by the rain clouds, so much so that only Stygian’s light helped guide his horse Slepnir on their journey. A bright ray of irrepressible silver shone from the elven blade as his white steed steadily cantered forward, his eyes using the light to seek potholes and footfalls hidden by floods.

As the outskirts of the city he had called home for so long cropped up over the horizon, barely visible through the grainy sheets of rain, The Telgradian thought upon the events that had brought him this far. It had been a few weeks since a small faction in the Brotherhood had betrayed him to his father. It seemed to him that the Brotherhood was far more willing to give the Telgradians what they wanted than face the risk of being utterly destroyed by an invasion force.

This riled Shinsou terribly. The whole point of the Brotherhood was to form a shield against foreign invaders, and the fact that they had so easily caved against the very threat that defined their existence felt like a personal insult to the guidance and leadership he had given them. But, as he ground his teeth, it was then he reminded himself it wasn’t the whole Brotherhood’s responsibility. There was a cancer there; a faction led by Crennick Wilfhelm, according to Telos, that had suddenly decided to act outside of its remit. The jury was out on the rest of Whitevale

This was just the beginning of his problems. Shinsou had no doubt that the Brotherhood’s contacts would have had their snouts to the ground to look for any trace of him the moment anyone found out he was still alive. Newspapers were still reporting his death and coming up with all sorts of bullshit theories and conspiracies. Public confidence in the Brotherhood had plummeted and the Whitevale officials that were still loyal to Shinsou and presumably Storm Veritas were demanding answers that no-one had about his whereabouts.

There was a lot of fear stirring, and the Telgradian couldn’t be sure if his sudden reappearance into the civilized world would be met with vitriol or not. More importantly, he was worried he would be spotted en-route to Crennick’s Radasanthian abode.

How the fuck am I going to sneak into a city of millions when my face is plastered all over the local media?

Shinsou switched Stygian and the reins, his right hand growing tired of holding the sword. Perhaps a re-think of his situation was in order. He didn’t have to do this. Osiris could pull out altogether and leave the Brotherhood to its own devices. Eventually, they would root Crennick and his sect out. Eventually, Storm Veritas would smell a rat and sort the situation out. It could very easily be someone else’s problem for a while.

But it doesn’t work that way, does it? What would I do, emigrate to Salvar and live in a fucking igloo for the foreseeable? It’s just not me. Besides, I’m not letting Crennick get away with stiffing me. No way.

Feeling more resolved to his task, Shinsou paused from philosophizing. The brown haired man saw an imaginary phantom of Veritas in his periphery, marching aside him with that famous smarm and pomp oozing from every pore. He was probably only one of three people who awed the Telgradian. He wasn’t exactly a good man, and was hardly obedient to a fault, but sometimes he was a genius when it came to matters of life-or-death. When direct action was needed, Storm was the only man Shinsou wanted next to him.

Wonder how he views all this? He’s probably already moved my stuff out of my room at Whitevale to make room for a pop-up bar. I hope Crennick doesn’t do something to piss him off and he shallow fries the bastard before I get to him.

His eyes steeled behind the driving droplets, rivulets of water forking down his nose and chin. As Slepnir rode on, Shinsou prepared himself for the challenges ahead in Radasanth. He hoped Crennick was still there, waiting.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Harper Malley rested his head against the cool metal of the Whitevale council chamber door. With the candles extinguished, the sunset crept in through the open curtains, casting the ceiling a rusty grey. Outside, the night shift watched the horizon like hawks; twelve guardsmen loyal to the Brotherhood cause trying to defend his township. It angered him greatly that their significance had been made a mockery of in the face of this mutiny he had just discovered.

If what he was being told was true, then his friend had been usurped by a sect of the Brotherhood even he had no prior knowledge of.

His hand ferreted around in his pocket for a piece of paper. It was one of many such scraps; encrypted notes passed from his Immortals to him, for his eyes only. The complex network of spies he had set up was so secret that even Storm Veritas knew nothing about them. Osiris had established them as the Brotherhood’s first true black operations team, and now Harper was using them to find out why Shinsou had vanished off the face of Althanas. Months of misinformation, bad informants and red herrings had turned up nothing, even for the best of his officers. But then, yesterday, a communique was intercepted to Director Crennick Wilfhelm from none other than Arius, Shinsou’s immediate and “temporary” replacement.

With a sudden jerking movement Harper stepped back and opened the door, the cool air of his council chamber rushing in. He turned, locking the door in three places, and paced forward. Continuing, he neither looked left nor right, yet had complete awareness of the figures gathered there. There was a man on the corner nearest him fronting all sorts of documentation and maps, and an aide rounding the corner to present what appeared to be some sort of letter. The candles in the chamber were all lit up. Harper’s feet stomped over the floor tile cracks, his body tense, his ears taking in every sound before he stood in front of throne on a podium.

Beneath the black hair, sodden, grey eyes glared out into the center of the room. There came a stressed groaning from the supports of his chair as the man sat his cloaked body further back into the upholstery. In the sultry air of his Whitevale chamber, a place one could only reach through either invitation or detention, the only communication between the two came when Harper screwed the paper into a ball and threw it nonchalantly into the lap of the man, a gesture that elicited no reaction at all from the man on the podium.

“Arius!” Harper hissed, his words slurred by anger. “What is the meaning of this?!”

For a moment, nothing was said, and then Arius silently rose from his chair. The room ground to a standstill as he calmly descended the steps from his throne to ground level and faced his accuser. The contrast between the two could not have been more pronounced. Harper, being a man of the sword, was heavy-set, muscular and rugged whilst Arius was thin and scholarly. Harper was middle aged and his complexion ruddy, yet the mysterious usurper was only just entering his thirties, by the looks of it.

“What is the meaning of what, director Malley?” Whilst Harper spoke with brash purpose and blatant challenge; Arius’s voice was mild, almost gentle, calm and reassuring.

“You know damned well what!” the former bellowed angrily. “Dealing with the Telgradians! Sending Crennick to do your dirty work and then putting him in a safe house in the south!”

Harper inched closer, his sandals scraping on the stony path. His beady black eyes focused hard.

Arius’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly in turn.

“Familiarize yourself with the facts, Director Malley, before you so freely accuse me of treason. My dealings were with a specific Telgradian; none other than Telos Soltair, Shinsou’s father. The Council of Five would have killed him outright had I not intervened. Crennick, I cannot speak for.”

Anger and frustration clouded Harper’s vision like a fog. Then realization struck, and the red mist dissipated from his eyes.

“You,” he growled, suddenly calm again. “You believed Telos would spare him? Then why hide Crennick in the south? What is all this subterfuge for?”

Arius didn’t reply straight away, although inwardly he could not contain his surprise at Harper’s persistence. He sighed gently as he unfurled the crumpled paper and placed it into his robes. Some shape came to his voice, odd for a man who appeared to be devoid of any expression of emotion at all. He raised a chalice to his disheveled face. Harper was unsure if he was actually consuming the contents it or simply using it as a device to antagonize him further.

“Who said I was hiding him?”

[Philomel]

Three months.

For three long months Shinsou had been lost, spirited away in the wastes of Salvar as their glorious 'gift from Akashima' had been beaten by the wild howls of a wicked storm. Somewhere in that chilling tempest Philomel had been separated from Lillith the geisha, her dear own friend Sakura and Shinsou himself, only left with her dearest fox-form companion. It had been Veridian's heat that had kept them alive - that and the might of Delath who had carried them eventually to the treacherous realm of the Seventh Sanctum. There, they had faced Lichensith Ulroke, a man who they had ...

That was another story, however. Another tale that Philomel did still not like to think about, especially on these cold nights wrapped up by her daughter Celandine, in front of the smokey fire. Oh, life had changed for her indeed. There had been friends made and lives lost. Her own small rabbit beast, who had existed with their company for just under six months had died while fighting a dire and desperate enemy. Delath had learnt to talk of all things - or rather revealed that he had been studying all this while, and was quite the genious when it came down to it. Philomel had been embroiled in a battle in a castle at the Tular Plains, made friends with a mysterious crow-girl and taught said crow-girls allies to fight. She had summoned new powers, and lost others, discovered an intent from her goddess to head towards a new future, and she had grown to love her daughter. Her dear, darling daughter. The princess, who learnt twice as fast as the next and had a strange, prophetic ability.

Three months he had been gone, and Philomel had learnt to live without the man who had once been her dearest friend, ally and almost lover. Once before, after all, she had considered him to be dead and the same emotions were simply replayed.

That was until now, when not ten minutes ago, Gosling - her aide and Celandine's governess - had ran in, her face white. Without a word the human had extended a shaking hand over to Philomel and whispered those haunting words.

"Matriarch ... Matriarch he is back."

And a decoded had been shown. "Success uncertain. New research revealed. Van Osiris is no longer in Salvar."

*-*

Two days later.

"Faster," she urged, "Faster, my dear, faster."

"Going, uh, fast as can," deeply growled the monster beneath her, his voice rippling through the air like thunder. His feet pounded the earth powerfully with each leap, energy pushed down into the ground to carry him on, up in another five metre jump that would carry him and his burden forwards. Sometimes his heavy tail thumped down and sent even more power to lanuch them even further in the air, so sometimes a good seven metres were vaulted over beneath another huge paw landed once more.

Philomel grimaced and hunkered lower over the back of her dragon. Thirty feet of turtle-scaled Delath, mottled brown and mossy green, extended and contracted beneath her. His back now bore a leather saddle, onto which the faun was literally lashed, Veridian curled up tight onto her lap.

I. Hate. This. Speed. He kept repeating.

"I know, darling," the faun sighed, "But we have to find him. We have to. If there is even a chance he is alive, I will not wait this time. I will not let it be like the last.

"We have to."

And onwards through Concordia Forest the dragon, earth-spirit and faun went, running in direction of a man who might not be there, all because of a single note.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

One could have been forgiven for thinking that a sprawling city like Radasanth was out of place as the spiritual headquarters of a paramilitary organisation. On a map, the area seemed a gargantuan urban stain; a city known more for its melting pot populace and culture throughout the ages than its capabilities as a defensive stronghold. Even though its reputation as a monastic outpost for the powerful Al’Brone did live up to expectations, it made Shinsou wonder why someone like Director Wilfhelm would choose such an open and populated area for a base of operations. Now, though, Osiris was starting to see why. Safely outside the view of the city limits, the Telgradian could see an irregularly large smattering of ironclad soldiers strangling the charm from the famous streets with their dull forms. Their armor was telltale, and not uniform either – Brotherhood guards in official steel plating mingled with clearly uniformed Radasanthian security. Even at this hour, patrols swept the roads, staying vigilant against those who they had been told were intended for dirty deeds.

He has the Radasanthian guard in his pocket too. That’s why he came here, because if you throw enough money at someone and they’ll do whatever the hell you ask. The city may be leaky, but with enough boots on the ground it will be nigh impossible to move without being seen.

A few minutes later, a frown etched upon his face, Shinsou had gotten within a few hundred feet of the city gate. Eyeing the nearest part of the perimeter, he spotted a few rosy, puffed out looking faces patrolling the border in Brotherhood colours. Unlike the vigilant, steely glares of the hawkeyed Radasanthian sentries out front, these faces sagged from the cold and the rain and their gazes seemed to trail off into the infinite beyond. It was always good to see those kinds of expressions on duty; it would seem highly unlikely that any of them would be concentrating enough to spot him when their main concern was what time their shift was over and where the warmest place to stand would be.

There’s always someone you can count on to be the clockwatchers. When I get back to Whitevale, this deadwood needs turfing out. They aren’t fit to guard a piss pot.

He was nothing if not forward thinking, and introduced a little icy mist into the palms of his hands. Slowly, Osiris reached out as if casting a line, willing the creeping fog to sneak through the side gate and hang in the air a little so as to not be too obvious. The strategy of the whole thing pleased the Telgradian. Already shivering from the rain, the sudden drop in temperature around the two men made them visibly uncomfortable. Shinsou waited for his opportunity as the low light of morning began to tease at the horizon behind him. Darkness would not provide him cover forever.

“Is it me, or has it gone a bit chilly?” The first voice spoke out within earshot of Osiris. His fellow rotund guardsman nodded. “Perked up a bit, that’s for sure. This rain is like sleet now and I’m freezing my tits off. Let’s go stand by the chimney of the ironmongers for a bit and warm up. It’ll only take a few minutes, no-one will notice. Besides, this place is on lockdown.”

Yeah, watertight you morons. Enjoy.

“Don’t fucking move!” Came a shout that almost broke Shinsou’s heart as the two skiving guards snapped to attention. Their superior, a man with a chassis like a house, stomped up behind them and shoved the more rotund one aside with a waffle iron hand. “Stay at your post, soldier. This isn’t a holiday camp! Grow some bollocks and deal with it!”

Shit. Well, at least the Brotherhood still has some professionalism in it.

Three expressions sagged at that moment, and eventually a despondent Telgradian found himself retreating a few hundred yards to formulate another plan. But, as he sat atop Slepnir, a sudden jolt of electricity bounced in his gut and crackled up his spine, a sensory nightmare like none he had ever felt before. Shinsou’s muscles felt disconnected from his mind as another sweeping sensation slid across his stomach, this time pulsing in tandem with the first. They were both heavy, cumbersome and unpleasant.

What he was sensing were two immense powers headed straight for him, about two miles out judging by the pauses in the throbbing. The two unique feelings in his body betrayed his memory, but he knew in his heart one of them could only have been Philomel van der Aart bursting towards him, and the other belonged to one of her familiars. How? Why was she here? Which one of her familiars was she with? Veridian? Delath? He used to be able to tell, but now the lines between the two had blurred, like trying to distinguish two types of blinding light; a sign that their powers had grown significantly since the last time they met. Now, there were more questions than answers.

Turning Slepnir on a canter the Telgraldian, with face a picture of both surprise and confusion, turned to face the approaching Philomel. It had been so long since he had seen his friend, and so much had happened, but he was sure that somehow, some way, her arrival here was no co-incidence.

[Philomel]

Radasanth lay before them, the hapazard, accumulated streets sprawled like some child's idealistic vision of a town, but made so with their toy building blocks of many various sizes and colours. Recently the city had been having troubles of power struggles within the militia, Philomel had heard as such for her brothels were also often (and sometimes accidentally) centres of information gathering. However her brothels existed in the times when others would not, and her hardy women strove past the apparent claimants to various powers. They lived to serve, or so they said. The real truth was others lived to serve them with given them control, but that was a whole other theory of society.

At the very least, if it came to it, her women all new how to fight. And her ship lay in rest just a couple of miles up the coast in a harbour town. If all else failed they knew their plan of action were Corone ever to be faced with all out war. For this time there was little to do but wait out the rumoured power struggle and do what they needed to do to survive.

And succeed.

It was yet another reason for Philomel to make a visitation here, but not their main one. Instead she was hunting for a man ... the man, who was cantering right towards them down the dim-lit, back street. Towards her, Veridian and -

"Delath!"

He skidded to a halt, his claws raking along the ground. All thirty feet of him curled and tensed, trying to slow down his race of attack. They were just on the very outskirts of town, where the first street had just been behind them and beyond that the sprawling of the countryside. Philomel's eyes lit up and she ground herself in, sliding one arm around Veridian as she began to hectically unbuckle her legs.

Whilst Delath was still grinding to a halt and letting out a huff of air.

They came within five feet of the man and his horse. Delath stood there, still and motionless for a second before he glared right at the gorgeous stallion, Slepnir. The fauns eyes were not for him, however, they were for the human, the beloved human, oh nine hells ...

"Shinsou!"

She leapt off the back of her dragon, taking Veridian with her. He protested, hissing until she dropped him and began running. Her eyes alive, the smile plain on her face she pushed her hooves for all the energy they were worth.

Oh my Drys.

She threw her arms around him and pulled him into the tightest, most enjoyous embrace.

"Shinsou," she exclaimed, "You are-"

"Mother ..."

Philomel dropped an arm, looking back at Delath, where his growling voice had come from. His great grass green eyes were looking cautiously at a window, where a wide eyed child was staring at the giant wyrm there, in his street.

The faun paused and stepped away from the man she had presumed dead ... Again. God's forget the question of that week, this mattered more.

"Darling, you should go," she looked to the reptilian beast. "We'll call you if we need you."

"I come if think need me," the mountain of a creature huffed but he nodded. His eyes pierced from Philomel to Shinsou, and then swing away. Soon he was stalking back down the street, a great being who had been in these quiet hours, and would go with as much silence as he could.

Slowly, Philomel paused before turning and lifting her eyes back up to one of the rare people who she could see herself living harmoniously with.

"We should get out of sight," she spoke quiet, "Come, one of my establishments is this way." She began walking, then paused and addressed the mild amusement on Shinsou's face. "And yes, Delath does talk now."

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The first reaction of Shinsou’s was to gently brush Philomel off, for the man he was known to be harboured some sort of strange social embarrassment about public affection, but that first reaction was quickly overtaken by another. For the first time in so long, Shinsou was not alone. For the first time in what felt like forever, another person cared about his well being. How long had it been since someone had held him out of more than sexual gratification, or wanting to kill him?

In that moment, his anger, his troubles and his mission crumbled away, and nothing else mattered. Philomel was here. Even the irony that the one person who made him feel this way was the faun he had so often paid to lay with him was lost on the Telgradian. Though the embrace was tight, it was short. To Shinsou, it felt like a year, and as he released he barely found the right words before the faun's mind was already set on business.

Heh. Fucking hell Phi, at least give me a moment to get my head around this. You appear out of nowhere, then Delath's all of a sudden talking and now I don't really know what to say.

"We have a lot to talk about..." Shinsou finally managed through pursed lips, not really knowing where to start, "...but I don't think I've ever been so happy to see you. Let's go; I'll fill you in when we get there."

A devilish smile spread across her face as Shinsou realized the inuendo.

"Not like that."

Half an hour later, drenched and a bit tired, The Telgradian and the Faun had arrived at one of the Gilded Lily's many establishments, the name of which Shinsou had missed on the way in. With a series of nods and bows, Philomel's girls allowed them further and further into the intestines of the building, until after climbing a staircase and passing what appeared to be yet another security check they arrived at a room that was clearly intended to be the Faun's personal quarters. It was here that Veridian, the spirit fox that followed Philomel everywhere she went, exchanged a few psychic words with his master, shot Shinsou a knowing look and disappeared into an adjacent room.

Following his host, Shinsou paced, his dress shoes clicking on the polished marble floor. The sheen, the opulence, the luxury; the entire room was an embarrassment of riches. Philomel was living well, and it was a life that the Telgradian could’ve happily shared with her.

In front of a very luxurious silk bed, complete with golden trim and satin sheets, was a chez-long. The Telgradian automatically chose the chair, not wanting to make the Faun feel uncomfortable by assuming he could just plonk himself down on the bed. As the Faun seated herself on the mattress edge, Shinsou finally found his tongue, seeing that the Faun's eyes begged for answers to more questions than she had dared to ask.

The most obvious one seemed like a good place to start.

"So yeah, I’m alive, no thanks to a small section of the Brotherhood that tried to overthrow me."

The Faun's eyes widened. To hear of the Brotherhood betraying one of their own was unheard of and Philomel seemed to quickly understand the implications.

"From what I understand, it seems like the Telgradians wanted me in exchange for Althanas's safety, and this little rebellion caved to their demands and tried to usurp me and Storm Veritas." A hint of bitterness found itself into Osiris's voice. "Luckily, my father picked me up alone, and for some reason decided to let me live. It seems he’s going to tell Telgradia I’m dead. As for Storm, I have no idea whether he is safe or not."

Philomel listened carefully as Shinsou explained his situation further. “That’s why I’m in Radasanth. Director Wilfhelm, the leader of this little sect, lives here. If I get my way, he won’t be living anywhere much longer. Then, and only then, I can get back to Whitevale and sort this mess out. The only problem is that I can’t get anywhere near the damned building. It’s right in the centre of town and the place is crawling with guards; some of them seem to be bribed Radasanth officials too.”

“But, that’s my problem. I've already involved you in far more than I have right to ask.” He kept his gaze fixed at the Faun. “As for you…”

He scrambled to find the right words, cognizant of the cold air across his wet clothes. Eventually, he smiled.

“Gods bless that you found me."