Eiksalt War Round 2: Philomel Vs Devon Steel

[Silence Sei]

The Merc with the Mouth attempts to take down the Fantastic Faun!

Matches will begin Tuesday, May 13th at 12:01 AM Central Standard Time and last for two weeks. Good Luck!

[Philomel]

"I'd like to watch you burn, my dear,
I'd like to watch you burn,
To take a ship to the mouth of hell,
And leave you there to burn.

I'd like to watch you scream, my dear,
I'd like to watch you scream,
See the three-headed beast tear your flesh,
Bite, chew, devour until you scream."

The song was an old one, one of many ages past. Connections between countries, peoples and races were clear due to the sharing of mythos.

She stood in an elegant posture before the mural. Hues of crimson, violent orange and glistening gold stood out from the others as her chestnut eyes scanned over its expanse. The three-headed beast took centre stage, with three heads triumphant, coming in the form of something snake-like, sharp-toothed, bristle-tongued, keen-eyed. Beneath its right fore-foot, with sickle-shaped claws, one plummeting into the back of her neck, was the girl, the "my dear" from the ancient song. In this depiction her hair was streaming and blonde and her back was arched in everlasting pain. Bright eyes echoed the endless but silent scream that came from her wide open mouth, screams that seemed to form the twisting shapes of the flames. In a seemingly mocking gesture Philomel copied the form of one of the flames, a subtle smile coming to her lips.

"The words of poets," she mused, glancing straight up, "The words of fools."

Her mind meandered to a text she had once read, in the grand library of Radasanth, one that spoke of poets. It said that poets were "sure scribbling fools," and that though Lady Fortune practically forms them into being, she also abandons them as soon as she has ever done so. Her work as a type of pseudo-goddess, or simply a figurehead in some impractical imagination, was not useful in any sense - unless someone wanted to be deliberately depressing. To fauns, or at least to this faun, she seemed entirely useless. Just as useless as Philomel felt.

Standing there, alone, in the emptiness of the abandoned temple. If it was a temple at all. At least some form of grand hall.

After the shortcoming battle in the throne room there had been catastrophe. Warriors of both sides of the war had fled; taking what little life they had left, and leaving ruinous Eiskalt for others to deal with. Others had died. Houses had been randsacked, others turned to ashes. A constant stench of burning and burnt, bloody and dead, and opening and wide-open sewers caused indeterminable chaos. It struck the wandering faun's nostrils, causing most of the super-sense she relied on there to be converted to being fruitless and ineffectual. It seemed as if the three-headed beast truly had struck, and opened the mouth of hell right into the capital city.

Tyranta, Philomel reminded herself to be the name of it. Something of little prestigious effect, that did not especially cause joyous excitement.

Turning away from the mural the Faun of Blood and Love found herself bored. Bored, and bored, and more bored. Slipping out her glimmering steel keris dagger, shaped ironically enough like a flame, she stepped across the marble floor. Each step was a stomp of defiance, calling out to anyone who could hear.

I am here, her hooves declared, I am here. Come find me.

[Devon Steel]

Devon stalked slowly through the Cathedral that lay in the heart of Tyranta. His heels clicked out a wordless beat, steady and calming, while he berated himself internally for his failure.

His second loss to the leader of Misery Business, Zack Blaze, grated on his nerves in a way that few things did. Simply envisioning the arrogant youth's pale face set a fire alight in his veins. He would crush, smash, and tear Zack to pieces. Anything that stood in his path would receive the same treatment.

'No one makes a fool out of Devon Steel.. And they NEVER do it twice!' The frost-haired mercenary swore to himself, in an effort to satisfy his wounded ego. His slow footsteps became stomps of rage and frustration, beating out a song of anger to all who listened. Devon ignored the bright colors and intricate details of the murals hung along the walls; they were pleasures of the flesh, beautiful only to those who claimed aesthetic had meaning. He had focus. He was sure of his goal: He would kill Zack Blaze.

Then, a foreign sound reached his ears and drew his wrath away from his own hateful musings. Click! Clack! Click! Clack! The sound of hooves on ancient stone sounded out, singing a challenge and awaiting an answer. Steel followed the sound, through twisting corridors and towering doorways. The noise echoed louder as he approached, giving him a rough estimation of the challenger's proximity.

He turned down an adjacent hallway, towards where the sound originated. His tan face contorted in a wicked grin as he saw the source: A female faun, with brown fur covering every inch of her from hip to hoof. Thick horns rose from an admittedly alluring face; an odd contrast, as though he was looking at a demon and an angel in one.

She held a dagger in one delicate hand, warning of thorns hidden under the petals of the rose. He would have to be more careful this time; the scar traced along his chiseled abs and thick chest served as a deterrent to reckless action.

Devon planted his best foot forward, stomping out his own shout of defiance. I have found you, It spoke wordlessly. What now?

[Philomel]

Echoing through the temple's halls, like the symphony of an avalanche, the stamp invaded her privacy. Like a giant toddler calling out for attention, it demand her attend to it. Slight amounts of dust flew up into the air to create minature, temporary mists. Small loose pebbles loosened themselves from the cracked pillars and rolled to the floor. Her head turned, eyes blinking as she focused on the creature. Some distance away, still, in this wide, columned room - yet clearly human from his shoddy appearance.

The assassin-whore, first and only of her kind, let out a enunciated sigh.

"Human," she voiced in an unimpressed manner. "One more human. Your race are endless."

She cricked her neck, right-to-left, then left-to-right, embracing the popping of the bone and muscle. With one finger on the tip of the blade of her keris dagger and her other hand holding the pommel, she twirled her favoured weapon in repetitive motions. Light glanced off the rises and falls of the waves, but only subtly so, for the dimness of the light in this place. All the meanwhile she kept her eyes upon the approaching man. Each step he took added a small amount of growth in her smile. Edging, and edging, minutely, into an emphatic grin.

"Greetings," the faun inclined her head politely, "My name is Philomel. I am here in behalf of the ..." her eyes wandered up and down his body, taking in what hints she could. Most likely he was younger than her, by the youth in his features. His body was toned somewhat, the sign of a being used to weaponry. He had stark white hair, strange and bizarre as it sounded, and this suggested to her a sense of arrogant pride; the sort she did not care for.

Grandly she clicked her tongue behind her teeth, very slightly lifting her chin to look at him down her elegant nose.

"On behalf on myself," she concluded. "And who are you here for?"

Her twisting knife dug into her finger. It pierced the skin lightly and caused a droplet of red to form. For a moment the droplet hung, motionless suspended in a sideways gravity, stuck to the folds of her fingerprint - then it dropped. Pooling on the floor it became a red stain in the grey cobbles, and the light played havoc in its reflective qualities.

[Devon Steel]

"I'm not here for anyone, or any petty cause. I'm here for one reason: Zack Blaze.." Devon growled at the faun, grinding his teeth in rage at the thought of the blonde brawler.

He watched her macabre ritual with undisguised interest. The sight of his own blood drove the tan figher into a rage, but the blood of others' held a grim fascination for him. Devon loved to dominate and humiliate; to strike and beat and break until his opponent lay in a pool of their own gore. A wicked snarl tore across his face. The prospect of battle, whether it be against Blaze or this Philomel, started his blood running like molten steel through his veins. If he could not beat Zack, he would vent his endless rage on this unsuspecting faun.

Devon cracked his thick, meaty neck with a wet pop-pop-pop, pop-pop-pop, as though he was mocking the furry female. He shook out his arms, warming his corded muscles and preparing them for heavy exertion. The grisly murals surrounding them only served to incense the fighter further. Visions of bloodshed, hatred, and fallen foes filled his mind. He was the three-headed beast, and she the maiden; he would rend, and tear, and shred her to bits.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess you work for these freaks helping Zack. Is that right?" He inquired, his muscles tense and ready to act.

[Philomel]

The keris dagger shimmered under the candle-lit light, an undulating wave of silverin beauty. Her smooth tongue ran across her faintly pouting lips, as luciously and enticingly as she dared. With eyes shining with bright intensity and glee she looked at this young adolescent boy, and felt her heart pound slightly with the revelation of his deduction.

Bright laughter cascaded around them, uttering from her throat, from between her lips.

"You needn't go out on a limb. I was sent here by a friend at first, for a completely different reason ..." she mused slightly, "But then when I saw what was occurring ... one might as well 'jump in' as they say."

The laughter died, leaving just a plain smile on her face. As it did so she flipped the blade around, tossing it into the air before catching it in her right hand. There, she held it, firm and steady, as she waved her left to the side of her, and nothing untoward occurred.

"You wish to fight me I presume," she continued, lowering her chin again.

This time, instead of peering down at him like some lady of a high realm, she faced him as a warrior, as a fighter, just in sight of the curls of her horns. She steadied herself, preparing for any form of sudden onslaught. Enemies, after all, always had a tendency towards surprising and sudden attacks.

Yet also so did she have them, as a potential. Somewhere, nearby, she was sure, Veridian lay in patient wait. Strapped to her back was The Bastard - her sword, the perfect tool for cleaving heads off those who deserved it. Deep inside her body the magic was rising, writhing, abiding, forming, ready to leap out and create something beautiful and unexpected.

Weaponry. Assorted arsenal. That was the key to the unsolvable here, the map to the labrinth of how to simply win. A sharp mind, fast legs, excellent ability learn, surely would get her somewhere.

She lowered her body further into a crouch as she prepared for whatever tricks this being might have. Her lips drew back, revealing the wicked smile of a malicious maniac. They moved as she hammered out her witty deneumont.

"Unless ... unless you wish to fuck me instead."

[Silence Sei]

Devon wrote the better story, but Phi posted more frequently. In the end, Philomel gets the victory for this one.

Philomel advances

Devon Steel is eliminated.