Multi-Battle Round 3: Church Rooftops

[Silence Sei]

Matches start tonight at midnight CST. Participants are

Roht Mirage
Doge
Quentin Boone

Vs

Max Dirks
Philomel
Core Beast

[Roht Mirage]

“This is a trap,” Nety puffed in the morning chill.

“I know,” Astarelle answered.

They approached the old church from the east. The sun rose behind their backs, baking the snow-encrusted scene until it wafted just slightly with vapor. As silently as possible, the two women crept through the field behind the church. The wheat was tall and long overdue for harvest. It was also dying. Each heavy step made the sickly stalks crackle and bow as if the women were giants mowing through a diseased forest. Gods willing, they would not become part of it. There were already casualties among the stalks; cows that had escaped their pens in the clash of armies only to die from eating the tainted crop. Nety retched as the stalks parted on her red boots to reveal another bloated corpse. Its mouth had been carved into a long, predatory smile by maggots going after the soft meats. The maggots were now dead as well. A puddle of them lay under the cow's snout as if it had vomited them up.

“I need you to wait here,” Astarelle said as she came to a stop. She turned her Fallien-tanned and cold-reddened face to Nety, imploring her to follow orders that she had little right to give.

“Right here?” the local woman asked. She pointed a gloved hand at the bed of stalks, dead and trampled below her, then indicated how close this spot was to poor Mr. Smiley, clown bovine.

Astarelle rolled her eyes. “Okay. Nearby.” She unbuttoned the top of her green, fur-lined coat and drew out a pendant of blue sapphire. She stripped off her gloves, pocketed them, then pressed both palms to the dangling stone. When they separated, her left palm held the pendant with its thick sapphire heart, and the other held the chips that were normally set into the decorative inlay. The chips trembled to life before disappearing up her sleeve. “I'll teleport to you if I get in trouble,” she said as she pulled the pendant high, untangled the string from her hair, and handed it to Nety.

“This is already trouble,” the woman's eyes said, but she held her tongue and put the necklace over her head. It quickly found a home below a shorter necklace that Nety had taken to stroking absently.

“If you feel the chips touching Leila,” she indicated where they had disappeared into her sleeve, then gestured to where the pendant was already hidden against Nety's chest., “You know what I mean...right?” Nety nodded. “If you feel her, you pull her.”

“What about-”

“I'll get out on my own,” Astarelle interjected as if the words had already been chambered. She turned away and lifted her head above the snowy stalks. Above her, the church wall rose, a monolith of aged wooden beams with supports of that strange, black Eiskalt rock. A long window was set high in it, but the glare of the sun behind them kept her from seeing if it was a stained glass mural like the churches in Corone. Up higher, the roof lay strangely flat. She had noticed that Eiskalt architecture placed great trust in their stonework to bear the burden of so much snow. “I'm supposed to meet someone up there,” Astarelle mused with a small whistle.

“You could go inside. There are stairs to the steeple,” Nety advised.

Astarelle gave her a sardonic grin. “Now, that sounds like a trap.” She lifted her hand to show that climbing hooks of hard-packed sand now extended from her wrists. They would do well enough so long as she stuck to the wall's wooden sections.

Nety grabbed one arm just below the hook, then flushed as if she had surprised even herself. Nonetheless, she leaned in and gave Astarelle a kiss on the cheek. “Bring Leila home,” she whispered, “And thank you.” Without waiting for a response, she crackled back into the forest of stalks, likely to find a hiding place with less dead company.

Astarelle stared after her for a moment, debating whether or not the kiss was an Eiskalt custom. She knew enough about the woman to suspect it wasn't. With only a slight blush, she put the thought aside. I'll make sure your heart doesn't break again so soon, she promised, I'll bring her back.

Holding to that promise, she rushed from the field in a crouching run that took her to the wall of the church. There, her hooks found purchase, and she began to climb.

[Philomel]

Silver silence slips into non-existence as the whisper drifts across the ash-ridden, haunted city. Momentuous towers now lie in ruins, thousands of decapitated buildings shiver with their insides lay bare to the elements and the cold lick of icy wind drifts in from the lake nearby. Burning or burnt pieces slumber unpeacefully, dogs slowly die from exhaustion, and the refugees in the far edge run the last few feet to seeming freedom. All around them is horror, and hatred, and dishonesty. There is fear, and cries and mourning.

And upon the wind the murmur is carried; a song that is worth the breath that speaks it.

"I amar prestar aen. Han matho ne nen. Han matho ned cae. A han noston ned gwilith."

She held the child's hand with a firm grip, almost squeezing but never causing pain. A low set of battlements about a foot high was the only border between them upon the flat roof and the long drop to the ground below. As one of the few remaining standing structures within the city the church was a god-send, a place to keep an eagle eye. It was tall above the rest of the fallen landscape, with its mighty double towers and brass bell, few walls and simple slate. Perfect of all it was easy to stand on and Philomel could keep a firm footing whilst keeping this girl safe and from harm. Because that was the plan.

With her back to where the most likely place of ascent was - the only wall that was not crumbling or had some form of handhold - the faun-whore, the great Nightingale, held tightly onto the blonde-haired human and promised that she would not hurt her. As the alien words were spoken by some form of spirit over what remained of the city, she closed her eyes and began to dream of another time, and another world, that was not dying and did not need to burn.

My Goddess, Philomel prayed inside of her mind, Great Mother Drys, I know it is you who speaks. Bring blessing now, and bring the rain. Let this world flourish again.

Clatter. Clink. Clop.

The child let out a light shriek. She turned and tried to run towards the place of ascent, but seemed to forget she was attached to Philomel. After she had been delivered by that woman she had struggled to get away from the "demon goat" for some time before the assassin-whore had quelled her. Now she was behaving, lest she be "taught a lesson" by the "demon goat's foxy" or be turned to toast. The said foxy was gone, absent from sight, and perhaps the girl called Leila noticed this, for she struggled greatly when the clitter-clatter came.

She yelped as she was tugged back. "Astarelle!"

"Back child!" Philomel hissed with grating teeth. "Back!"

The child whined as if she were a dog. A puppy under discipline, under punishment.

Clatter. Clonk. Cliinnggg.

Slam.

A piece of metal, a curved and wicked hook flashed in the dusk-light and settled itself over the battlements. Attached to it was the elements of a single lightly-fleshed hand.

"Astar-"

The faun-whore shoved the girl behind her, and stood her ground. Her hold on Leila's hand moved to the wrist, and she tightened her grip, hard, until there was a little gulp.

Clomp.

Toussles of brown hair appeared.

"ASTARELLLLLE!"

"Fuck's SAKE, kid!" Philomel screamed, her eyes flashing with ire, mouth open, everything about her livid. "Can't you bloody have a moment's patience?!"

[Roht Mirage]

In a maneuver far less stealthy than Astarelle had planned, especially with Leila shouting, she scrambled over the battlement. The announcement of her entrance, she accepted happily just to see that the girl was safe. However, three realizations immediately unnerved her.

The city that stretched beyond the front of the church still looked like a war zone. How long had it been since the real fighting? Even now, homes smoldered, sending up plumes that could by no means be read as chimney smoke. There were also refugees still about. They moved as small, pale specks in the streets. Whether scavengers or simply lost -as Leila had been for two blasted weeks- they all had the haggard hunch of the damned. It was a stark contrast to the rising sun against the field behind her, whose glare hid the signs of disease. On two sides of the church, the afterlives of sin and purity were personified. Which one was meant for her, she wondered bitterly.

The girl's captor also gave her pause. She knew the goat-woman, Philomel, a 'faun' some might call her if they cared to be polite. It had been some time since she had seen her in Corone, drawing a very pleased Jensen Ambrose on her arm through the night. Astarelle found herself blushing in spite of herself. She had shared something with Jensen just recently -nonsexual, of course- that the faun-whore could not have given him for all the gold in the world. Regardless, why was she here? Holding a captive child, standing before a war zone as if to lord over it.

Lastly, and the point of worry sharp enough to draw blood; Leila's attire. When Astarelle and Jensen had found her, she had been surviving with scraps of both clothing and food, all of it caked with soot. She had looked darker than a Fallien girl as Catherine Remi stole her away on bloody angel wings. Now, she was dressed in a thick brown coat with white skirts peeking out the bottom. The warm fabrics had a few lines of smudged filth, but the outfit was positively regal compared to the desolation beyond the church's steeple. A resentment immediately swelled in Astarelle. If Catherine had dolled her up as a point of mockery, it would be just like the vile woman. If Philomel had- No, she couldn't have. Leila looked like a lovely young lady, not a pint-sized prostitute.

“I thought that it was only men's pants you invaded for money,” Astarelle snapped, thinking briefly that it might be inappropriate with the girl there. After what she had seen so far, though... “How could you be part of this?” She lifted her arms, allowing the sleeves of her coat to drape and drink back in the climbing hooks of sand. It should have been a sign of disarmament, a willingness to speak, but Philomel would know how quickly Astarelle could strike. The gem chips shifted, hidden against one arm. Bury her, the whore knew that trick as well.

“Astarelle!” Leila called desperately - strangely. She had not been so vocal in the ruins. Some of that might have been due to hunger, but there seemed more to her urgency.

What did you and that angel of death do to her? she wanted to ask. Instead, she took a deep breath, motioned for the child to calm down, then locked a scalding glare on Philomel.

“What do you want?”

[Philomel]

OOC: I was meaning it to be hooks but I le poppited in some more obvious description. Thank you.

In the spirit of the irony of the moment Philomel found herself bursting into laughter.

"What do I want? Darling isn't it what you want that is the reason you are here?!"

It was rather a stupid question. The sand-girl was well ... the client in this case. It was Philomel who had the girl, who had been 'gifted' with this little bundle of wimpering human. Or rather, dumped and told to set up a meeting with the desert princess Astarelle in order to 'negociate'. Why Astarelle was so obsessed with the small child the faun-whore could not be sure - yet it gave her precisely something to do here. A purpose. A suitable and worthwhile occupation in these ashy ends of the disappointing war that had ended in far less death Philomel had hoped to deal out.

Behind her teeth she clicked her tongue. She held the intense glare with Astarelle, saying nothing and simply waiting for a reply as her mind began to drift. Drifted - but not in a way that compromised her concentration in anyway. Instead it floated, or half of her floated, into a space between Here and There, between Her and Him, flowing into the void and finding where the fleet small padded paws worked over the dusty cobbles.

His nose was raised in the air and his eyes were focused on the tall towers that stood above the wreckage of the city. In some place between leaving Philomel and Leila, the soppy girl, and partaking on his secret mission, he had turned back towards the Cathedral. So proud, so tall, so holy above the fire and smoke and rubble.

Which meant one thing - that he had been successful.

Upon first sight of the fox earth-spirit Leila had shrieked. It was a habit of hers. But soon Philomel had bade him go and leave them as she took the child to the place they were supposed to meet the Ixian Knight representative. Fortuitously enough it had been on top a church roof, useful for Veridian to find his way back to and meet her. Them.

Them. As their minds connected Veridian confirmed what Philomel hoped. A tilt over his shoulder and she saw the men following him, the wraiths of black that were what foot soldiers of the assassin's army he could find. They were underlings, hired help, initiates of a simple mind but nevertheless needed for this task. One look at the russet fox and they had known their assistance was needed. Five of them followed, swift and silent shadows, armed to the bare skin with steel and iron weaponry.

They aimed for the place behind the broken wall and past the upturned wheelbarrow that Philomel had used. The several steps and doors that led to a back hallway, giving access to the bell tower and an easy window that opened onto the rooftop. It had taken her a few minutes to clamber up, small girl in tow, and get in position here, and perhaps it would take faster for them. Faster, and easier. They knew where they were going.

Wickedly, the assassin-whore let out a low snigger. She lowered her head so her horns pointed to the desert princess. Her hold tightened on the tiny thing stuck behind her hooves, and her eyes slowly blinked.

"So. My question is, sand-girl, what is it you want?"

[Roht Mirage]

She's stalling.

Astarelle's suspicions were confirmed. If Philomel wanted Ixian secrets or a prisoner exchange, she would have said so. The faun was nothing if not direct. Their first meeting had shown her that much. When the faun had a point -provided there was no tease afoot- she made it known.

“You know bloody well what I want,” Astarelle snarled, more show than anything. Her arms were slack at her sides and her palms open toward the captor and captive. From the back of her cuff, the chips of sapphire trailed out like ants. They traversed the back of her arm and to the center of her back, then slithered airborne directly behind her. Astarelle's body would hide their movement as they snaked over the battlement.

“The question, then,” she said as she raised one finger and took a curt step forward. There was still a long span between them, but one she had to cross carefully. “Is 'what can I offer'. I hear that a commander of your forces was captured. Surrendered himself, rather. Trading him might bring him to a crueler end, but I'm willing to arrange it.” She gave a devious smirk, hoping to stir some camaraderie in the moral-less creature. “Or... there is a refugee camp I might be able to direct you toward.”

Leila shot a dark look around the faun's furred hip, and Astarelle nearly choked. The girl should have known it was a lie. She had heard enough from Astarelle's honeyed lips. Those two weeks of desolation had been filled with the promise that her mother was waiting back at the camp. There had been opportunities to tell the poor girl the truth; many opportunities. Astarelle hadn't. It was only in the moment of Catherine taking her captive that Leila learned her mother had died in the very first attack.

She knew the golden rule: Astarelle Set'Roh lies. So, why did she glare as if she believed the traitorous terms?

Astarelle blinked hard against the moisture in her eyes, lest it freeze in the cold air. “Name your price,” she intoned, forcing the humility in her voice. As she spoke, the gem chips circled around the outer edge of the battlements, just low enough to keep from being seen. If one were to look from the ground, though, they would see what seemed a glittering line of morning dew.

Hopefully, Nety saw, and was ready.

Bunnying on gem chips is kosher.

[Philomel]

The air rang with chiming bells as Philomel laughed into the night.

"Seriously, darling, you think I am that disgusting? You Ixian lot, you have your suppositions but this beats the lot!"

Her spare hand ruffled the little girl's locks as fondly as if she were Philomel's own daughter. Or niece. A great smile spread itself across the faun's face as she watched the sand-girl - whom she still held a grudge against for taking away the 'generous' Jensen Ambrose that night - glance down at the kid. A brief look of sorrow passed across Astarelle's face. Was that - were those tears? Hard and fast she blinked, much to Philomel's amusement as she was asked to name her price.

"This child is worth a lot more to you than I," the faun-whore easily figured, and therefore announced. "So really its how much you are willing to pay. Unless you wish yourself a righteous bitch all over again and want to steal this darling pile of gold right from under my nose like you did with Jensen."

With a twitch of her hair Philomel sent her plait over her shoulder. It swung, then came to a rest behind her, were her two knives lay in wait, longing to taste blood.

"He was a bit of a pompous sod, but then, drunk males tend to give a lot more cash for their desires than sober ones. Something which Leila has learnt well on her little journey in the last few days." Looking down at the nervous child, the faun chided her a bit. "Haven't you enjoyed yourself with us, my dear?"

Leila's huge round eyes were gorgeous and innocent, but in the depths of war Philomel knew she could not be persuaded. Simply, she raised an eyebrow, and began to turn away from her, back to Astarelle.

Blink. Something caught the flittering corner of her eye. Immediately all of the Nightingale's senses went on high alert, and she spread her awareness savagely. Her thoughts, her nature, her sixth sense, spread to each corner of the earth she stood on, with the earth and the rooftop. Her nose raised to the air and sniffed and smelt the cunning of the familiar fox who -

Lunged by her hip. His form flittered through the same window Philomel had been in, accompanied by a savage growl. A glimmering shone in his clamped jaws and there was the definite ring of tinkling around them as if steel rain was falling. Veridian, her beloved earth spirit companion landed on light paws as Philomel looked around, glancing. She saw scattered amounts of tiny blue gems surrounding her, strange and glistening. They were the same ones Astarelle had used before, and - gods forbid - the same Philomel had seen around a corner in this city as she had fought to survive.

Forcing Leila around to her front the assassin-whpre began to retreat rapidly. She knew the five men waited in the tower behind her, but they would wait so long as she ordered them to. Only Veridian was out for now, because he acted on his own, independent of the world and it was by his choice that he had saved Philomel's hide once again.

Crouching down, she let out a coarse goat-like warrior bleat. Her horns ducked down, issuing a direct challenge to the - the flipping human.

"What tricks are you playing, Astarelle?"

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle smirked – because it covered the despair at her foiled plan, because the only advantage she had was the faun's jangled nerves.

“You know my tricks, luv,” she said as coyly as a coiled viper and hoped to invoke, with one word, the grinning hostility of a pale demon she had once shared a dance with. “And you know that I only take what doesn't belong to you. Leila, for example, belongs with Nety.” She meant the last part for the girl's ears.

Leila perked up. The distrust in her gaze softened. “Nety's here?” she called out hopefully as her gaze flitted around. She resisted Philomel's pull just slightly.

“I can send you to her,” Astarelle said as earnestly as she could. With one hand, she gestured for the gem chips to dance into the air. They just barely avoided the snapping jaws of the faun's pet.

The girl watched them float and shimmer against the rising sun. Hope stirred on her face.

Thank you, Astarelle thought with a long blink and the release of a tense breath. She didn't realize until now that she had been holding it. You have every reason not to believe me. With a scowl, she forced the venomous self-doubt away.

“And if that doesn't work,” she added as she took a sinuous step forward to match Philomel's retreat, “Then we'll just walk out of here.” With both hands, she sent the gems even higher as if returning home a clutch of stars that were up past their bedtime.

“Over my dead body,” the faun snapped. She didn't sound nearly as rattled anymore.

Astarelle just smiled and spread her arms wide in mock submission. The sun felt good against the backs of her hands, and she wished it would bring her Fallien's warmth. At the very least, perhaps its glare would keep Philomel from tracking Astarelle's gaze as she willed the gem chips to drift toward the peak of the bell tower.

~

Nety leered down the sights of her oversized crossbow. She had no idea where the invaders had acquired it, but it felt like her's after all these weeks. With practice, her aim was improving. However, she doubted she could make the shot. To simply get a view on Leila's horned captor -where had that thing come from?- she now knelt a good distance away from the church. “Do something, Astarelle,” she whispered anxiously.

Even that dog from their initial rescue was sneaking around! It had circled the building as if trying to get in. And here Nety crouched in the sickly grain like just another cow rotting away while Leila was in danger. She had to do something. Leila would be her responsibility; her mother gone, her father distant, suicidal, and possibly dead of disease. All she had left was the lady in red boots.

“Gods bless this bolt,” Nety breathed as he finger caressed the trigger.

A burst of warmth swelled against her chest, and she thought for a moment that it might just be the gods' good will. Quickly, though, she realized what it was. “Finally,” she sighed as she lowered the crossbow to her side and fished the sapphire pendant out of her coat. In a sweaty hand that stung against the chill, she held it forward and imagined herself reaching through it. Whatever was on the other side didn't feel like Leila as far as she could decipher. But, she couldn't risk the girl's life for that doubt, not when she barely understood the magic of Astarelle's strange necklace.

With all that was in her, she imagined the circle of gem chips returning home.

They did. Gods be praised, it worked! But, what they brought with them was no child. It was a metal bar nearly as thick as a tree trunk. Nety yelped and jumped back before it flattened her toes. The nonsensical thing planted itself into the soil, crushing what little life remained from the wheat below. For a single, fleeting, incomprehensible moment, Nety stared. The bar's center was worn deeply as if something heavy had not just hung from it, but swung back and forth.

The moment ended with a resonant crash of metal on wood. Nety snapped her head toward the church that had just dropped its bell. The horrible sound was that of the tower's topmost floor catching it, then creaking, and finally failing with a splintered cry to make the forests weep. The other floors would fair little better as the bell gathered momentum towards its final toll.

Amid the cacophony of the first crash, Nety caught from the corner of her eye the blur of Astarelle charging Leila's captor, and she resumed praying.

[Philomel]

The last clang of the bell echoed over the haunted city as a death toll, heavy and weeping. It rang out loud and crying as the brass instrument itself fell to the earth, taking much of the toppermost stonework, mortar and slate with it. The inside of the tower was wooden, and as the side of the tower was ripped open the top two floors were assailed by the metal. Little Leila, all nervous and a young wreck, turned her head and watched as the last standing structute of the district was sent into disarray.

She was shocked to see five shadows battle out of the window the demon-goat had brought her through. They were like beasts coming from the depths of hell, escaping as their home was destroyed around them. The first hopped out, then another one was pushed back by a third. The one that was pushed back suddenly let out a light scream and was cast into oblivion as the floor behind them was broken. Scrabbling, the third and another fought to gain ground onto the roof, and luckily they both did before the tower itself crunched under its own weight and collapsed backwards. Wood splintered and stonework dust flew into the air. Leil covered her eyes quickly, but not before she saw a second body caught under a beam of wood.

As soon as the sand-pompous-princess began to charge, Philomel lost all will to grip onto the child. Her hands swapped from gripping the wrist to fully swinging out her steel sword, The Bastard, from his sheath and sending him singing into the air. Glorious and high he raided the skies, joined with his minor brother her keris dagger that she hoisted out as a second blade. With her previous experience from this witch she was sure she would need it. After all, the sand magic the girl concocted was nothing short of demonic.

A cocophany of grunts caught her attention, as well as the obvious crashing. The Nightingale glanced back, quickly, as fast as she could, and spied that her soldiers had tumbled from their hiding place. Not on her order, by any chance, but because of the tower apparently breaking in two. Her fast eyes counted ontly three men in black, but three would be enough for now.

Switching attention back to the oncoming sand-storm her hooves planted themselves heavily and prepared to brace for impact as she yelled out her swift orders.

"Keep ahold of the girl!" she shouted to them, "If you have to take her with you. Do not let this bitch have her, under any circumstances!"

And with that she took a solid step forwards and raised her nose to the air. She smelled - anger, dust, attitude, awakening. Her brow furrowed, and her precious beloved earth-spirit finally turned from his task in making sure all those tiny sapphires were no where to be seen. He growled to the three assassin foot soldiers who paused, but then set themselves into motion to take Leila into their custody, then joined Philomel's side. Together they settled close in their bond and waited hoof and paw.

As Astarelle moved Philomel watched the smooth form of her muscles contract and contrightly merge. What little skin was exposed was a peachy-golden which was vividly beautiful against the darkness of the coat. Despite this, Philomel could see the buldging boobs, the womanly figure; it was all there under the fabrc. Sizeable hips, thin waist, pretty decent for an appreciative eye, and Philomel certainly had the eye for contemplating beauty.

A grin spread across her face as she prepared for the onslaught, buried herself into determination. Just when the sand-princess was close enough she let out a sly wink.

"Fuck me good, sand-bitch," she whispered, charmingly, "Or let me fuck you until you run as wet as Salvar's snows."

[Roht Mirage]

Though the distraction was of her own design, Astarelle found herself bewildered as she ran. She had to slow just to keep her footing on the frosted, shaking roof.

From the tower, three stealth-clad figures swarmed like bees from a falling hive. Others were caught by the bell as it tunnelled to the ground floor, crashing and thrumming almost loud enough to cover their terse screams. “Bury me,” Astarelle gaped as the tower collapsed – some pieces crumbling inward, some strewn outward. She almost felt guilty to topple what little remained standing in the city. But, Eiskalt had already scarred her.

Her fingers, four of which were shortened by one knuckle, fumbled over the front of her coat as she watched the hand-off of the girl; still too far away for her to act. She could barely see Leila behind the three bodies. Then, the faun stepped forward to meet her, blocking Astarelle's vision with her matronly bosom. And the words that came from her mouth –by the depths- Astarelle stopped more for that than the appearance of Philomel's blades.

You disgusting little...

Her mind staggered; her mouth even more. “You- You- Bury you.” She ripped open her coat as she shouted, “Get out of my way!”

Two lengths of reed jumped to her hands, their ends still rough from where Catherine Remi had cut her beloved staff in twain. Below her coat, now flapping open, an expanse of sand clung to her snug inner-layers. It padded her figure in such a way as to tease the imagination, provided it was hidden. Bared, it seemed affixed to her like a sentient mass, and it did little to dispel that notion as it surged from her body to form a gritty cloud.

With a flip of her wrists, Astarelle sent the two half-staves flying forward and wide. They wouldn't hit Philomel or her snapping pet, but would clatter toward the back corners of the roof. The plume of sand surged ahead of her in wide enough a dispersion that she could still clearly see the faun through the grains. Only a small amount remained near her feet, wreathing about her boots like an aura. As she took a single step, the sand slipped between the rooftop and the boot's deep treads, providing enough friction for her to lunge with startling speed.

She entered the cloud of sand just as its other side would reach Philomel, and she flinched against the grit that hopefully stung the faun's eyes. “Fuck this, jihta,” she snarled. Her hands cut through the cloud, fingers curling as if she might grab one of the faun's weapons by the blade. Anyone would think her a fool were it not for the sand that left the cloud to coat her hands. Almost instantly, it took on a rigid, crystalline shine as if she was grasping with the stoney talons of a gargoyle.

In her rage, she didn't hear the far off twang of a crossbow, nor the whistle of a bolt crossing the roof. It was trained on Leila's captors, high enough to hit one of them in the head and leave the girl safe... gods willing.

[Philomel]

As the sand surrounded them, blowing up a storm as stinging as a swarm of bees, Philomel found her voice rising above the chaos. She had quickly closed her eyes as soon as the beachy substance had been released, and slashed out randomly with her keris dagger to protect her blind body. Guarding herself, she let out orders, to the men she did not need to look at, but knew were there. Veridian's eyes served well enough as her own, and he was shrouded by the blinding effect of the sand by the faun's own body.

"Get the girl down and out of here!" she screamed, "One of you should -"

Her voice was smartly cut off by the taste of sand in her mouth. Disgusted, she spat it out. As she did so her hooves, her natural sensitive feet, picked up the essence of the surrounding ground, the dust and earth, and felt the sand falling to join it. It was falling as fast as it had seemingly come, telling her earth-awakened body that in fact this storm was already abating. Her very nose twitched and smelt no direct sand in front of it, but there was something else, a whizzing, whirring through the air that had -

Grabbed the hilt of her precious keris and was pulling it away with alarming strength.

"That is not how to fuck!" Philomel growled back, thrusting her face into the sand-girl's.

From this close she could see her grey, grey eyes, as grey as the slate on the rock. From this close, she could see the fine, fine tattoos, that identified Astarelle as unique. From this close she could see the long, long strands of hair, each a different burnette from the last. The two different ... staffs of wood, whatever they were for, remained in their corners partially behind Philomel, but for now she did not care about them. Veridian was somewhere nipping at strands of sand, or strands of something, guarding Philomel's feet from any enemies, but right now Philomel did not need to worry. There was a thump and a twang and something buried itself into the wood or body of a man behind her, but Philomel did not care.

All she cared about was Astarelle.

They set about into a tug-of-war over the knife that had ended so many lives, spilt so much blood, been the ending to countless vengeance tragedies. It was a farce, in a way, hilt versus blade, sand-human versus faun, strength versus will. In such a tightly cramped space Philomel could barely move her other arm in order to swing down with her sword and gain some ground. She did not want to move, that would be weakness, and her teeth were so well gnashed together words could only be spat. It was alarming that Astarelle had the ability to grip the blade of a prized knife like that, but then the sands were entangled around her hand emphatically and created gloves similar to chainmail.

Eventually strength won out, the Farohtian princess managed to grapple the keris away.

Philomel took a rudimentary step back, crying out fearlessly, and swishing her sword, The Bastard, around because now her arm was free to exact revenge.

The entire "battle" lasted a few seconds, but it could have been hours. Now with more space to swing the Nightingale, the faun who worshipped lust and blood pressed forwards, swinging herself into a series of serious and abusive slashes. She saw the pale blade of her beloved keris in the hands of this Ixian bitchess, and it filled her with ire beyond anything. Her fury swam up and her blood pumped itself full of adrenaline, sending the glorious sword closer to its desired mark. Her lips now no longer constrained by her gritted teeth could form another pout and she gave a mighty bellowing roar.

"That's it, baby, show me what your made of. Yes - yes - yeessss!"

She slashed and swished and clashed, taking hoofsteps forwards as much as she could bare. All the while behind her the men had all but disappeared. One had clearly taken Leila away, for Veridian saw and communicated this clearly. Another had indeed died, from his skull pertruded a bolt from a crossbow. As Philomel set about to turn this princess into a whore and to flirt her into a pit of defeat, a thing happened that neither of them could have predicted. Neither in the hells of a bell tower collapsing world.

A large part of the roof behind Astarelle, just above where a certain sanctuary had been set alight, exploded in a pit of behemothian fire.


I noticed in the Church Interior that Core Beast had set part of the church alight, and realised it might cause a cave in...

Also, as a quick synopsis Philomel closed her eyes and literally jsut waved her blades madly in front of her until she sensed the sand falling to the earth. Her and Astarelle fight over control of Phi's keris for a while, Astarelle won, and now Philomel has gone back to being back and swinging her sword in random strokes. She has left the stave for now. The fox covered her feet. One man is dead from Nety's crossbow, the two others have escaped with Leila down the remains of the tower staircase.

[Doge]

My hind quarters felt the rush of air move passed it as I watched the field slowly move further away. For a moment I was afraid that I would crash into the roof and hurt myself, but I remembered my Newtonian physics and that I was as the peak of my arch, meaning that my force wo-

The thought left my mind as I collided with a someone. The man, I soon found out was clad in black, stumbled forwards as my rump and the back of his head met. He released the arm of the little girl he was holding as he fell forwards, and I followed a similar set of the actions as I bounced off his head and rolled across the ground. I couldn't make out much as I lay on the ground, the air seemed filled with smoke and dust, and a shape loomed over me. For a second my eyes, nay perhaps my memories, betrayed me as I saw Lucy. She came closer, her visage shimmering away and another little girl replaced her. This one too looked familiar, this time I placed the face. Her and the sand woman had been with the refugees.

She helped me to my feet, soft hands causing more than a little bitter sweet memories. It took a few moments before the dizziness mostly subsided and I could make out the chaotic roof top. The dark clad man was one of two, the other lying on the ground with a bolt through his head. I saw then, through the smoke a goat legged woman and the sand woman. I realised that was who the woman in the field was talking about. Leila cowered behind me, although crouched as she was she was still bigger than me. I needed time to think. I was right near the edge of the roof, the only way down seemingly the hole from which the bell had fallen. It however would lead to either fire at best, or at worst the fire demon.

Doge enters! Knocked out man with Leila and is now with her at the edge of the roof

[Core Beast]

Downfall Finally pulled himself up and stood, then looked down in time to see a little girl who trembled and cried in terror as soon as she saw me, A man who was knocked out cold, that mutt that had avoided his fight so far, A faun that seemed to have swung a knife around wildly, and a young lady who seemed to be the faun's opponent. The balrog took only a second to bend down towards the dog's level and said "You know you stinken mutt, it is the will of Lady Balorious, the Goddess of blood, that we fight. Do not deny her will by running again." Downfall then sent a "Flaming Roar" at the stupid mutt. The 150o flames reached three feet in front of the Balrog ready to engulf the poor mutt who decided to anger him.


OOC: Entered the roof and shot 150o flames at Doge.

[Roht Mirage]

Philomel fought like a rabid beast; a notion that would have been amusing at any other time. “Shut it!” Astarelle ordered over the clash of the faun's thick sword and the pilfered dagger in her sand-stiffened hands. She was purely on the defensive – cautious steps taking her away from the bell tower, blade held to deflect the faun's euphoric fury.

“I'm not doing this for your pleasure, jihta,” Astarelle snapped, though it didn't have the usual venom. Her attention was divided between the whore, the fox, and Leila's handlers. In response to her indecision, the two halves of her staff rattled against the rooftop. Noisily, they carved ripples in the snow and clattered against the raised parapets in the corners. If Astarelle could just get a look at the men in black without Philomel getting in the way, the staves would have jumped to the girl's aid, but the faun was pushing too hard.

Suddenly, her earlier wish for warmth on her back was answered as maliciously as if by a trickster djinn. The roof behind her crumbled, then roared as hungry flames found a banquet of fresh air and lunged upward to devour it all.

Astarelle just gaped with her head half turned – a quick glance for the flames, then back to Philomel. The faun was advancing, trying to goad her into the plume of fire before it receded. Below Astarelle's boots, the stone was already steaming away its white coat enough for spiderweb cracks to become visible. Smoke hissed from the fissures, forcing them to grow and multiply.

“Bury me,” she finally managed to curse. She was out of options. The faun's sword was poised to cut her open should she run in any direction that wasn't aflame or crumbling; if that blasted fox didn't just trip her on the way.

Flames licked the hem of her coat. She could feel the warmth blooming behind her calves. Urgently, she shrugged her shoulders out of the garment that had seen her through her entire Eiskalt campaign and left it to burn. Clad in form-fitting and high-necked black wool, she charged directly at the faun. Sand came from the other direction, surging around the whore's ankles and enveloping her pet before passing. It formed a golden plate over Astarelle's shoulder just as the sword came down, allowing her to scrap along the bottom edge, bump against Philomel's knuckles and elbow, then plant all of her weight against the faun's formidable bosom. The sound of crumbling stone followed her – too fast. She pushed with all of her might, trying to unseat the bestial abomination of a woman before the fiery void claimed her.

She caught a momentary glimpse over Philomel's shoulder, barely registering what she saw. For some reason, perhaps a trick of the flickering light, she saw a yellow streak appear from the tower's scar. What followed it was an extension of the fires below, formed into the hulking, horrible shape of a man. No, a monster. And Leila was still over there.

Then, she saw only airborne fragments of stone and the teasing dance of firelight as the rooftop below her and Philomel ceased to be.

Sorry, folks. Going down. Astarelle and Philomel leave the rooftop. Bunnying was okayed. Doge, take care of Leila.

[Philomel]

In the first instance, it felt as if she was tricked. Or Veridian had been tricked.

Philomel was sure her fox companion had seen the two footsoldiers of the Crimson Hand take Leila and drag her down the broken tower staircase, but apparently he had simply been mistaken. Many things happened in quick succession as she tried to push Astarelle into the mighty blaze just behind her, yet all of the faun's movements were reactionary as she tried to piece together that which had occurred. Veridian had seen the men there, with the girl, then he had seen them gone. Disappeared from behind the assassin-whore as if they had attended to her orders and taken the girl away. However - they had merely darted out of sight down a broken part of the tower wall for a single moment, intending to take the staircase, now open to the elements, and one of them had gone.

The other had not. He was now slumped with head on the rocks below, unconcious or dead like those poor souls who had been liberated off their feet when the bell tower had first crashed asunder. And beside him the little girl cowered, with a strange yellow dog that had the smug face of a mongrel, attempting to communicate to her through slobbers and drool that he was her friend.

The Nightingale had seen this through the mind of the Earth Spirit before Astarelle had embraced her. With a raucous cheer Philomel flung her arm back around the sand-girl and screamed in her ear, "Yes, yes we were meant to be together my love!" before rubbing her volumptuous breast against the shoulders. A wicked smile and a lustful grin was that which showed on her face as sand gathered around them, desiring them both to fly away to a happy ever after. Male, female, they were both the same to Philomel. As long as she could seduce, she was the matriarch, and no one - No One - would ever compromise that glorious position.

Then the sounds of thunder, a strike like a cow bell and breaking wood. No sooner had she forced their hold to become eternally uncomfortable for the Farohtian bitch than the ground of slate and dust and remaining sands splintered open, making the gaping maw of the hole wider. It was like a pit of hell, the mouth of a gigantic beast that wished to swallow the two lovers and allow them to burn together as a final sacrifice to Love. Philomel's voice ricocheyed into laughter, and as she fell her spirit felt as if it were finally free, flying in this paradise of chaotic wreckage ...

Upon the edge of the broken hole the valiant Veridian stood, his golden eyes wide and passionate. A soft whine came from his throat as he saw his beloved toppling away into the flames. His small fist-sized heart pounded beneath his russet skin and his tail drooped along the ground, simply too low to ever want to shake again. He felt her heart begin to slip away as her obsession for the death and body of the sand-girl she held onto began to overwhelm their joined minds. Sometimes, of course, Philomel did feel a mark of sympathy for a client, or a particular hunger for a life she had been hired to take, but each time it burned the Earth Spirit's inside emphatically, without remorse.

From what their connection told him she was still alive, though he knew there might be pain to follow. He hoped - wished - desired, that the resolved to survive was as high upon Astarelle's list as it was in his and Philomel's. That meant that there was more chance of not-death. As they fell beyond the smoke, and so the line of sight, he turned his head back to where his major mistake had been, where the girl was curled up, free and alive beside the body of the mutt and now near a massive - Drys above, what the hell was it - a ... demon?

Twenty feet of black shadow and curling flames stood facing the dog and the child. Smoke rose from its back, in its hand was a mighty whip, it breathed power and darkness and terror. And it was approaching the two small creatures.

Veridian tilted his head, whined slightly more, attempting to capture the shadow-beast's attention. After all, darkness was good, Philomel had often said, and it served her and Veridian's purposes well. The familiar padded his paws, checked once to see if Philomel was still alive according to their mind connection, then he sprang forwards. He danced and he nickered softly, telling the monster he was a friend, and perhaps - perhaps the demon would agree.


I have edited partly to fit in with what Doge/Downfall has said regarding the men. Basically, Philomel has fallen with Astarelle but left her familiar, Veridian, so I can still flirt with Astarelle and try to kill Doge at the same time :D Veridian is counted as an ability of mine.

[Doge]

My eyes cleared, vision returned, orbs of justice ready to save women and take names. My aims were slightly thrown to the side by two facts. First was that I realised I was standing on the shattered remains of the bell tower, the second was that the hole created by the falling bell which would have made the perfect exit, contained the fire giant.

Drats! I cursed at the sudden appearance of the creature that I had hopped had tolled his last bell. The creature lifted his hand towards me and I acted.

I twisted around Leila and pushed between her legs so she was sitting on my back. My proud body not out of the game yet, I will save this little girl! My body tenses, a ripple of energy and poetic note. The shock wave of my blast sent the fire attack back towards the beast. I on the other hand hurried in the other direction.

Leila's hands gripped my neck tightly, her small form clasp not unlike the heroes of old to their horses. I twisted outside of the wreckage of the bell tower and across the roof. At least, what was left of the roof. The billowing flames arches up higher than even my impressive frame, I spun and dodges through their fiery wrath, following the outside of the wall towards the front. I knew that at least my small, albeit heroic, body would be able to walk where the giant could not follow.

I reached the front of the church, the breathing of Leila nearly as loud as the fire. I turned, my gold fur touched with black. There was little for me to do, I was trapped with the edge of the building on one side and fire on the other. I took a few steps backwards and paused.

“Woof!”

With those encouraging words to my rider I ran and leapt off the building.

Exit to interior (outside)

[Core Beast]

Downfall was surprised when his own flames were rebounded back to him. Sure it didn't even leave a mark, but it was rare for someone to actually be able to deflect his attacks. He smiled as he stood up and watched the dog run away with the little girl on it's back. So you choose to defy the Goddess of blood? thought downfall as the dog leapt off the building. walked towards the edge and looked down. A woman had grabbed the little girl and the dog, both of which looked out cold, the dog worse off than the little girl. Downfall just watched as the woman carried the two away. Downfall frowned but then was told by the Blood Goddess that it was alright, we would fight another day. I then heard a snapping sound as the roof under me caved, And I started to fall into the sanctuary below.


OOC: Exit to Interior

[Philomel]

Veridian:

As the last of all, the fox-formed Earth Spirit remained upon the roof. His lithe feet, knowing of the tumbling and breaking roof had sent his instincts fully into prowess, after he had been ignored entirely by the darkness monster of shadow and ancient evil. Obviously his whining had never been high enough.

He had leapt onto the remains of what was the bell tower as the last slates and bricks burst into flame and took with them all that was left to stabily stand upon. His great golden eyes blinked, his maw opened as he began to pant, softly, silently. Sitting back on his haunches into the pit that his beloved had fallen down, then the mutt dog, the girl he presumed, and the behemoth ally. Musing for a moment, he gently prodded at the door between his and Philomel's mind - then closed it, dramatically fast as he realise her infatuation for the sand-girl had just gotten wilder.

Huffing through his fine black nostrils he flicked the ivory-tipped fluffy tail and skipped down the steps of the staircase that were just accessible of the bell tower. Half way down he found the last remaining living assassin foot-soldier, who was all but terrified, and nose him gently. Together, the two of them made the way down and out of the cathedral, back to the graveyard and the gardens, to watch the last building of Eiskalt burn to the ground.

So beautiful, so etheral. A vestige of decent chaos.