[Iron League] The Wrath of the Elements

[Philomel]

Feel the earth. Let it flow through you. Let it run through your veins, and feel its life. That red-hot magma you can feel thousands of metres below, and recognise its effects - that is the blood of the planet and it can be felt by you. So let it. Feel the pulse of its beating heart and know that the world is waiting for you.

Over and over in her head she repeated the mantra, as her awareness melted into that of the world below. One hand pressed to the cold rock beneath her, Philomel was concentrating hard, eyes closed tightly shut. Through layers of stone, dirt and dying plants she could sense the energies flowing there, the underground streams of water and the tiny creatures crawling around. She could hear the trickle of water running off rocks, feel the death of a crumbling leaf starved of sustinance, and taste the lichen on the tongue of a bug slowly chewing his way to survival. With a keen desire and an open willingness, Philomel could understand the earth from where she stood right now upon this literal boulder of a starting platform, and know that just under fifty metres away were two individuals simply waiting for her to enter. And for her to fight.

Well?

The question came directly into her head, a soft male voice but with the grunt of animalism within it. Peeking open one eye the faun Philomel saw two intense golden irises watching her from the body of a fox, as he stood on the vast tundra landscape. Ripples of movement ran up and down his body - simple tricks of the white sunlight and wind one might say at a glance, but Philomel knew better. She knew they belonged to the sparks of want from the spirit of fire that lived deep in his chest. A want that kept him warm in this nearing frigid world and longed to dance and conquer.

Two of them, Philomel replied, sucking in a slow and uneasy breath. Looking east she gestured with a nod of her head where their opponents were already. One likely a human, or close enough with a fight build and another who is ... more. Stronger, heavier built, more impact on the ground around her. Probably both female, but I cannot be certain about the second.

She, herself, was beating against the cold with the thick fur that grew around her legs, and a thick shawl that she had hurriedly pulled on when they had been faced with this madness, over the top of her brand new dragonscale and mythril chainmail breastplate. Her companion, the fox-form earth-spirit Veridian, he of the golden eyes and fire, also had fur but he did not even shiver as she did. Instead he ran at a toasty temperature, as if by a warm fire in the dead of winter and seemed perfectly satisfied with their situation.

It is not even snowing, he scoffed.

The season is on the turn, Philomel argued, Yes, beloved, it is not the Berevar wilds but it certainly is not fair in terms of warmth. We will need to be careful here, where we place our footing. There may be icier surfaces.

There might be, or maybe not, Veridian said, swinging his brush tail and looking over, just up the rise where the two beings were hidden, just out of view. There are rocks. Your hooves are good with rocks.

I am thinking full assault with Delath, Philomel said, rising up into a full, straight backed stance again. Slowly she drew out her long, white, slightly curved sword known as Nameless, called so purely for the fact she had never come up with anything. Maybe.

Veridian shook his head, and opened his jaw, revealing rows of teeth and a deep red heat in the back of his throat. Me first, he declared, stretching for a moment, and then starting out at a trot. Me first.

Then the small, two foot long fox began to ascend the rise, his brush tail flashing back and forth as he did. Tongue slightly out he aimed right for the place where their two fighters would be, leaving Philomel to gape, uncertain in his wake.

Then hurriedly she sighed and started after him in a low run, picking up the pace with her hooves - which rightly did manage to catch fine on the rocks beneath them - and swinging up her sword at the same time into a guarded position.

Well, this is starting unceremoniously, she muttered.