(( CLOSED AND HIGHLY MATURE CONTENT. ))

Concordia Forest. Midnight.

By torchlight she walked, by hoof she strode, a fair lady amongst the tall, green trees. Softly her hooves traipsed over moss and leaf, eyes gently weaving to and fro across the landscape. She felt safe, lost in the world of which she knew well. Though far she was from the secret path that led to the cliff of her fortress, Philomel van der Aart was in the forest that she had called home for so very long. It was here, after all, that at the age of fifteen, almost twenty years ago now, that she had met a young fox-formed earth-spirit called Veridian. They had come to share a bond that was stronger than any brother, mother or lover, with a shared appreciation for life and even more likely twin souls. Somewhere, out in this nearby vacinity, was that very ash tree that Philomel regarded as holy, where she had met Veridian and where she had come each time of significance in her life.

Last time was to commemorate the welcoming of her daughter into her life once more. The time before that was the death of her mother. Now, Philomel was walking alone and quiet, a smile on her lips, for two things. One, to thank her goddess, Drys, for awakening the intelligence within the dragon Delath, and the other for the longer overdue dedication of the rabbit prince Mao's soul.

Before her, as a beacon of hope, she held up the lantern. She trod the practised path with firm hooves, knowing that they would not let her down under any circumstances. Her mind was not searching between the trees and ground, but rather she kept her concentration to the words she was certain she was going to say - both to the bodiless spirits she was sure who listened to her prayers and to Drys. Dressed in a short, simple gown of gossamer, she strode as she was, rarely decently covered and with purpose. Only her trusted sword, Nameless, was strapped to her back, for that was all she needed.

So went the theory.

So had the vast majority of other times that she had been here.

Alas. Not today. Instead ancient enemies and the demons that she had awoken before within hearts had arisen. One man, intent on both revenge and harm, had come to the place he had spent nearly a whole month tracking and finding information about. With just a small handful of those who had remained his friends and dedicated servants, he had finally hatched his plan, and had been lying in wait for nearly a full week. Planning. Plotting. With knowledge on their side and enough resources to conquer, they were definitely prepared.

"NOW!" came the cry.

And Philomel had very little time to react. Five men were there, suddenly. Two swung down from trees, having been following her up there silently for more than half a mile now, and two more sprung from brush cover - literally no more than a metre away. One last one slid from behind a tree and ran at her with a massive club.

The Matriarch gasped, instantly dropping her lantern and lifting a hand to grab the hilt of her sword. Her wrist was grabbed by one of the ones from the underbrush - dressed, as she saw, like the others, in dark mottled grey clothing - but she screeched at him and kicked him away with a good hoof to balls. The second underbrush dodged at her with a wicked-looking jagged dagger, but as she was, she was fast. Her blade came down and met his with a clash as she spied the one running up to her from behind, out of the corner of her eye. At the same time the two swinging down from the trees were drawing blades. She hissed and ducked down, aiming to avoid the club. As she did she slammed her hoof once more down on the ground and -

A shudder ran through the world. Rock-shattering earthquake spasmed out through the ground in a ten foot radius, angled from her foot as the cynosure and ompahlos. The two looming at her, and he she had already collapsed to the ground were thrown backwards as jarring tremours ran through their bones. Each one of them cried out in a variety of tones, and a sickening crack spoke of a breaking bone. Jeering, Philomel began to spin, glancing for where she had dropped her lantern, which should be still intact for its well-built quality, however -

She had forgotten the air. The two men flying at her from above had no connection to the ground. As she searched, they came down like great winged birds, and landed with soft "ommphhs!" on her. One was on her back, the other at her legs, and she was forced to start combat again, swirling, trying to reach behind her to where a dagger was pressing into her flesh. Her body started rapidly mutating, her gossamer dress ripping as she began to get hairer. Desperation as it was, she responded to the cries of the deeper instincts within her, even as pricking at her ankle began.

"DEATH!" she screeched.

Wumph!