The Past, the Beauty and the Ballad

[Philomel]

This thread is dedicated to the amounts of poetry I have written, and is based some time after the actions of Good Relations. It is a Philomel Solo, or a Philomel plus whoever wants to join. Just PM me if you want. Its sort of a me trying to find the enthusiasm in Althanas again, after my very nasty threat to quit.

The passive west wind blew at a moderate degree, washing over the skin as a blanket of calm. With a burning hot sun in the clear blue sky the breeze was a comfort and brought blessing rather than wrath. The loosely made dreadlocks of her now purely chestnut hair hung loose about her shoulders with the spare strands flowing to the east. Closing her eyes Philomel tipped her head back to breathe in the fresh air as she continued to stride, each hoofstep as soft as the last.

In this field outside the walls of Radasanth the grass flowed like a river towards the direction that the monestry lay. It was a plain low homely building made of rough sandstone blocks, each of enormous size and settled into a bed of simple foundations. A quiet brook ran alongside it, ever increasing the sense of peace, but no path curved towards it. Instead Philomel made her own way, through the grass and wind, through the sunlight and soil, smiling for the simple sake of not being called upon by drunkard clients. For today was a different day, with a different task, and she had even left Veridian to wander the streets without her. She had not her bustier and make-up on, but rather a blouse and bodice with a simple loin cloth which gave her respectibility and pride. Today was not a day of sex and killing but of quietness and reflection, and her heart was light and merry.

For even whores need a rest.

As she came to the verandah that made up the front of the building, a small figure detatched itself from the dim shadows and shuffled towards her. He was short, and soft-spoken, with the tails of his beige robe trailing behind him. Two tiny eyes saw her approaching as she finally opened her eyes and a hand peeked out from the depths of a sleeve. The individual smiled as she made eye contact with him and then made a brief wave. With a satisfied soul, and a happy heart Philomel waved back and came towards him.

The dwarf monk was soft spoken as he addressed her in a gentle tone.

"Lady Nightingale," he said, "I pleased to see you again."

The faun inclined her head to the robed man, rather honoured to have been called thus. Subtle lips that were lucious but not emphasised curled into a smile as she replied in a likewise kind tone.

"Thank you for allowing me here, Brother Gendris. Father Draak sends his regards."

A happy laugh came from the mouth of the monk as he stretched his arm, wordlessly inviting Philomel inside. She took this cue and went onwards, enjoying the holiday as it was granted and given.

Gendris' smile widened. "What would you like to look at today? We have some rather marvellous books that you requested last time and are now available for your perusal."

Twisting her head slightly so as to be able to watch where she stepped and also look at the dwarf's face, Philomel replied, intrigued.

"The History of Jagged Peaks also?"

"Indeed," Gendris said, stepping back into the coolness of the verandah, "Indeed, Lady Nightingale. You should be able to find what you are looking for there."

Philomel could not help it. She let out a small gasp of delight as she eagerly walked onwards, straight into the depths of the Religious Private Library, available only for those who were monks of any religion minus the Cult of the Etheral Sway, and their compatriots. Her hands clapped together in glee.

"Then I may find the answer," she mused to herself, excited like a four year old faun at the prospect of chocolate, "Finally, I may be able to find answers."

Answers to what she had never known - where she had come from and what she was. The history of Fauns in Althanas.

[Philomel]

"The Jagged Peaks, ranging from the North to midway down Corone's spine stands at the eastern coastline, acting as a natural defence to any sea-faring attack. Many ships and monsters have tried, but failed, to assail Corone from that edge, but none have ever prevailed because of the uneven rocky surface. If one were to ascend the highest peak they would see ocean for miles, and few sails, for clever men know to avoid the eastern side of Corone. Humans and Elves alike have harboured much love for the high cliffs and the low valleys, but none live there, for they know the harshness of the place. The Jagged Peaks are the sentinals of the once mighty Corone Empire, and guard the hopes of those living in Radasanth."

---

The first thing they brought her was a steaming hot cup of idensiln green tea. The very scent of it as it was carried across the room to her small desk filled Philomel with a sweet euphoria she could not have hoped for on this most relaxed of days. Snuggling into the cushions of her specially requested armchair she waited for the tea, then spoke up about precisely what books she wanted to see from the monks' private collections.

"If you have that one on the History of the Jagged Peaks I would like to begin with that," she asked in a soft, kind voice. "Then perhaps look at the flora and fauna of ancient North Corone, including the dendronology. After that ... studies of the various nomadic and neandrathal early cultures, studies of ruins and so on ... That would be perfect."

Gendris looked at her in silence for a while, then inclined his head. Without another word he turned, and beckoned his assistants with him, to go off and find all that Philomel requested. For a brief moment the fan-whore felt a twang of guilt, watching the underlings as they disappeared along the various shelves to do her biding. But as she blew into her hot tea, levelling her bottom lip with the rim of the cup, the guilt flew away on guilded wings, only to be replaced by sheer excitement. Her seat was dead comfy, her day as clear as the sky outside. She had no client, no task to get to, no person to kill today. All she had was freedom and monks at her beckoning to get her drink and food galore. It was the rare chance she had for holiday and to spoil herself, and the faun-whore was not going to waste it.

A Complete Analysis of the Jagged Mountains was brought to her, a novel-length treatise by Amos Je'Faith. For a while all the faun did was look at its perfect brown leather cover and admire the gilded golden edge. Her head tilted to the side as she simply looked and breathed, cupping the tea. It lay there beneath her, still and inanimate, but silent. All she had to do was open it, and the words would spill out, but for some reason she could not bring herself to dive straight in. Instead she just looked, eyes dancing, longing and waiting, extending the suspense.

So long she had waited. So many days and months, even years. Being brought up in Radasanth had been hard, with a mother who spoke nothing of Paradisia, the faun homeland, and had given no hint to where fauns came from. Philomel barely knew if she was an accident of creation or a direct descendent of some god, it was not clear. For her whole life she had just been told, "You are a faun, not a human or elf or dwarf so be proud." Be proud, sure, but what for, why? What made her so different, what gave fauns a right to think themselves above others, apart from the fact they were more beautiful?

The thought was brief but clear in Philomel's mind, and she sighed. Her thoughts drifted to her half-brother, and the brief hour that they had spoken of Paradisia. He had seemed highly enthusiastic about the place, but revealed that he himself knew little of the actual history of how fauns got there, or of the inner towns. After all he was a man of the farmland, near a place called Eden Lake, and he knew as much as Philomel did - that supposedly the first faun was called Pan, and Satyrs were ugly brutes.

Carefully she placed down her cup of tea, and rested her fingers on the edge of the book. As she touched it a warmth filled her, from short tail-tip to horns. Gently she shivered, a smile coming to her face. Slowly and surely, that was how she would take it, one word at a time. She could not rush this, she had to just ... take in the theory and geography and history as gently as possible and fill her hooves with a firm base before they skipped to find a home.

Half an hour later she turned to the front page and her eyes began to devour the language, lips moving in sychonisation.

"The Jagged Peaks, ranging from the North to midway down Corone's spine stands at the eastern coastline ..."

[Philomel]

The gravities collided.

Plates and oceans and tides gathered,
The moon hanging like an orb above,
Continents met each other in kisses,
The water embracing the earth in love.

The gravities collided.

Jutting like a sword out of the sea,
The mountains arose from flat plains,
Rivers ran fast and smooth to carve,
Changing the land to never be the same.

The gravities collided.

Beasts and birds thus came next,
Ghouls and elves and wolves alike,
Vampires thirsted for endless blood,
And dwarves told men to take a hike.

The gravities collided.

What, they asked, was its base name?
What to call these blessed lands?
As they toiled and explored and mined,
They separated water from sand.

The gravities collided.

God-blessed or alternatively chanced,
They left creationist theories to the scholars,
They took up lives and worlds and races,
And chose "Althanas" for romantics and lovers.

The gravities collided.

The world developed as the races spread,
Choosing diversity over plain ordinary,
So many formed, so many developed,
And each created their own story.

Gravities collided.

[Philomel]

When you are alone there is perfection.

There is nobody to tell you what to do, to be over your shoulder or breathing down your finely formed neck. There is not a voice at your ear, despite the mass of loose half-deadlocks framing your face, whispering things like, "Get back to work." All there is is what you yourself tell yourself, for you are all by yourself and you are yourself.

Selflessly.

Buckling down she could do what she desired. Sit in any seat she liked and read anything she wanted, in the vast interior of the grand library. All the knowledge of the six regions was at her disposal, including the vague remnants of information leaked from Lornius. Prison or vagabond camp, it still had a history and culture and thus there were treatises on it stuffed into books and stuffed into this warehosue of knowledge. Philomel moved from shelf to shelf, perusing at her leisure with no fear of being told to stop or get on with her life. As far as she was concerned this was her life, and this was where she belonged.

A snuffling yowl. A poke at her mind from a mental distance told her that Veridian was nearby. She turned, sniffed the air lightly and looked over the doorway some vast distance away.

White-tipped tail curled around him he sat on his haunches, looking at her across the room with icterine eyes. Softly he blinked but he sent no communication, no sense or words of any kind, knowing that she was satisfied in her world right here. He knew her closer than a lover.

Settling down onto his belly he laid head on paws and watched as she continued her search. Her vibrant hooves took her from window to wall, to centre of room, slowly and steadily. She picked up odd books here and there, opened them and then placed them back on shelves. Every so often she would become engrossed in one and murmur out words in a bleating tone, then sigh. A smile spread across her face as she worked and read - the sweet satisfaction of scholarly worth. So but knowledge, and so much time.

It was hers, and no one could stop her now.

[Philomel]

Someone had once asked her what it was like to be beautiful. And Philomel had turned around and given them a straight, honest answer.

"Just look at my breasts, honey, and tell me they are not useful."

The man had become so gobsmacked, and his eyes lost in so much wonder at the volumous balls of fat, that he had forgotten the power of speech and remained there, tongue lolling and just staring. Eventually one of his friends had literally had to drag him away, and persuaded him that there was more to life than gawping at a woman's cleavage. It had taken some time for the fool to be sobered.

The faun-whore thought of him as she replaced the book of sexual health research back on the shelf. He had been a particuarly young man, with blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. His countenance had been one of strength and good-breeding and his face round and fair. Considerably, she had seen a future for him, one where he would end up as some sort of diplomat or ambassador, after the good education his parents had paid for him to go through. He would, of course, also provided her with a lot of money for whatever his type might be, but she had had the desire to play with him, rather than let him into her bed.

Such a fool. So like many of those she had dealt with in her years. Ones similar to the monks who tended to her now, accepted they did not ask questions and they did not look. It was against their order, after all, against their rules, and they were dedicated to their books of law, like a mother bird is dedicated to her children. Some of them barely raised their eyes from the floor as they brought her teas and small amounts of food, not daring to glance in case their desires caught their spirits and took over their bodies, reducing them to a state of fornication.

Terrible, terrible things. Philomel smiled as she turned around, finding now that she had no book open, no book in hand and none in a pile to read. Her eyes glanced briefly to Veridian, but he was still fast asleep where he had curled up an hour or so earlier. In this form he looked so peaceful, so loveable, and she loved the sound of his quiet snores, the twitches of his tail, the faint colours of what she could glean of his dreams. Their minds were connected, and comfortably so since the last month, but still she could not see into his mind and he not into hers. All she noticed were the swirling greens and blues of exterior thought that could be sky or could be water, depending on perspective.

As she moved around the shelves her fingers wandered but her mind did not. She kept focused on the face of the foolish man, and what he had said. She imagined him now, here, with her, perhaps striding along the opposite aisle and watching his footsteps. His hair would fall across his cheek, obscuring his face from view and she would spend hours wondering what he was thinking and what he was feeling, and her mind would become obsessed.

Though he was like any other man, he was also a dominant part of her dreams. He was, after all, one out of the hundreds, maybe thousands, she had blessed with her beauty or expressed love to, or both. In his simplicity and his short time upon looking at her he had created a strong permanent memory, a figure for times to come. He was like the words in these books - permanant images created long ago but set into something real in order to make them memories for future readers. So many people had, after all, walked past these shelves and touched these spines, whispering words of love and honour to the ink and paper.

Softly she breathed, and reached out to take another. Songs of Paradise, it was called. She scratched her head, sighing a little, but shrugging, turning her attention away from the fool and back to historical discovery. She might as well. She might as well read and attempt at another brief epic. Another night of ugly order and beautiful chaos.

Her fingers tip-toed down the leather and flicked the parchment to the first page.

Songs of Paradise, it read, Collected and Comprised by Marten Maus, from the four corners of the world.

Chapter One ... Alerar

[Philomel]

Songs of Paradise.
Collected by Marten Maus.
Chapter Seven ... Various Others
Song Three - The Nature of the Faun, found in an ancient manuscript in a library outside Concordia

In the early days, before the dawn
Of humanoids, before they did spawn,
Had strolled northwards to Salvar -
Great creatures had wandered far.
There were mighty giants of renown
Who claimed the mountains as their own,
Then the sons of gods, beast and bird
Who came in all shapes, good and absurd
They so roamed far and long and wide,
Took the entire Althanas into their stride,
And into their midst a half-goat came,
A creature who was called Pan by name.

Hairy of leg and horned of head
He made the grasses his oyster bed
Intending to implant a pearl of insight
And show his strength, show his might.
As humans and elves and others wrought
Their destruction and then sought,
A peaceful home to call their own,
Pan had already his wicked seeds sown.
Upon Corona the humans did land,
Pulling up their carved boats onto sand,
But there already the Father of Fauns stood,
And welcomed them as natives could.

He gave them bread and honey and milk
Traded hemp fabrics for their silk,
Sweet smiles gave he to no ends
And guided them into false pretence.
In his wicked eye they saw no wrong
Gave into his charming rhyme and song,
Danced to his pipes night and day
Sang of their new world as he stole away.
When the sun hung highest in the sky,
The good people let out a wretched cry,
For what was this they did see?
But their elders covered in shit and wee.

And so the hunting horn did sound,
Sending a tremble through the ground,
Into the forest of Concordia,
Heard all over, both near and far.
Chasing, racing, charging they went,
With exceeding angered, malicious intent,
To hunt the beast that mocked them so,
The horned one, who could not say no,
To any challenge, ridiculous or strange,
His pipe’s song had a wicked range,
And challenged back with eager pride,
Knowing all was within his cloven stride.

Easily, so easily, he outwitted them all,
Letting them rise, then letting them fall,
Like a puppeteer he pulled their strings,
Their arms and legs and other things,
He bedded a human woman or three,
Forced a proud warrior to his knee,
For this was his land, it was his domain,
And Corone could never be the same.
As the years went and humanity spread,
Mischievous Pan was always just ahead,
He knew this world without limit,
Every wood, shore, pond, and everything in it.

'Twixt mountain and tree eventually he stopped,
And to his old hairy knees he dropped,
Sighed, exhausted to the ground,
Looked around him to all around.
Grey eyes stared past snow white hair,
Sighed out with less wicked despair,
For he was of great old age now,
And knew his time was running out.
So towards an ash tree he crept,
And to the Tree Goddess Drys he wept,
Prayed for his kind to not just end,
But for her a fauness to him send.

And thus Eden, the mother faun, was born,
Into this world with hair and horn,
She greeted Pan with a sacred smile,
And they mated for many a while,
Fucked and drank and danced their way,
To a heaven where only they could stay.
Eight healthy children had they soon,
The Pan begged of Drys one last boon,
To give his family a perfect bliss,
Before he died - would that be amiss?
And so, to them, paradise was given,
In the form of a sweet earthly heaven.

[Philomel]

The cold never bothered her anyway.

Two strong and furred legs gave insiluation to her bottom half in all weathers, even in the coldest Salvar winter, and she did not need to dress as alluring all of the time. Today she had on a perfectly respectable blouse, cardigan and jacket that covered down to her waist. Chestnut hair lined with a fading tinge of violet draped around her shoulders like lion's mane, the dreadlocks in them having been combed out and discarded of ever since Eiskalt. With a spirit of an eagle she stood there at the entrance to past and future, not knowing what would happen next.

Behind her, just in the shadows of the elm trees the dwarf auroch stood, leant to her by Mister Draak until she found her own beast of burden. Ironically, in her head, she was thinking of getting a goat. Some form of evil battle steed that was more her than her own self.

But for now, this small bull suited. Her entire array of plated armour and gauntlets was packed away in bags, and her sword was hidden under the saddle. All she currently was armed with were her various knives, five in all, that were buried in the depths of her belt. She stood there, seemingly unarmed and waiting, staring into the distance.

Upon the saddle, in the crook where she had been sitting, Veridian was curled, safe and cuddled. He was like a warming pillow, keeping the saddle just the right temperature until she took it again. Delath had remained at home for this whole trip. A library was not a place for a dragon, and neither was a trip into a forest. He would have messed this up, gone here and then there, nibbling bark and dangerous mushrooms until he had fallen ill, then she would have had to taken him to Leaf and he would have asked just what she was doing so alone in Concordia forest.

Hence why she had found this place by herself. Followed a few of his spoken clues perhaps, but much she had figured out for herself from Marten Maus' collection. The various poems and his notes had left a trail of clues like breadcumbs to lead the faun-kids astray, into the deepest darkest part of the woods and then out into paradise.

Or, more rightly, out into Paradisia.

[Philomel]

She tried the path of difficult tread
Her hooves paced, in darkness' stead.
The leaves cascaded vastly overhead,
Creating a blanket under which to bed.

Under hoof were dried leaves abound,
With much sweet fungus to be found.
Toadstools made rings large and round,
To trap young children, safe and sound.

These youngsters, if orphans they be,
Who had never had a good bold family,
Would be taken to the court of King Faerie,
And the rest would be eaten, or set free.

So was the haunting rumour of the wood,
To keep children doing as they should,
And to keep them away from the hood,
Of the secret passage that darkly stood.

The one that led to a country sublime,
A place escaping society, trade and time.
A paradise not for my eyes or thine,
But only for those of horn and of wine.

Oh it is known well that Drys did bless
Her children with great humbleness
And a recipe for wine of such sweetness
That others would kill for its flavour fullest.

So wine and grapes of wrath and wit,
Caused the fauns to have run and hid,
In the forest of deepest darkness amid,
Come to the base of the Peaks of Jagged.

Or so it said, for wine is such the best of all,
And it brought a rise before the first fall,
Its the part of us that makes us all call
And jeer and say "let's have a ball!"

And so the faun trekked her tired way,
Though hill and valley by night and day,
She hardly knew what to do or to say
But knew she wanted not to meet the Fae.

Scarcely two steps did she quietly go,
Than from the foliage burst a hoe,
He looked gay and flamboyant, held a bow,
And made his declaration quite the show.

"Attend here," said he, dressed in green.
"What do you here, what do you mean?
To come into this secret place so clean,
That needs none of humans - oh great Queen!"

It was then he looked at our heroine
And saw she was quite the faun, quite thin,
Perfect eyes, knees, hair and perfect chin,
Perfect hooves and perfect furry skin.

"You must come in!" He cried in delight,
"Come out of the shadow of the night.
Oh sister dear of strength and might,
Come into the fauns' final rest from flight!"

And so in she went the Paradise not far,
Where there no blame, naught to mar
To the place by name called Paradisia
Where all is perfect, all doors are ajar ...

The past is the future, or that's the idea
In reality there is nothing good or sincere,
All is black with lies and mounds of fear -
To have peace here you must now hear,

Or listen, if I am being crystal clear,
Please, fair person, lend me your ear,
And learn from this tale oh so dear,
And never enter Concordia by the path that leads to this faunish hell.

[Philomel]

"And thus, the story goes that the downfall of the faunish race was down to two factors - one; xenophobia and hatred towards them by all other races, and two; the gift of Headbutt wine that Drys so bestowed to us with glory and honour. It is a well known fact that the drink itself drove the other races to such jealously that they deigned it proper to beat it out of us."

Two fingers were held up in the air, the others folded against his palm. His other hand still held the yew bow that he had challenged her with, grasping it lightly as if he was not worried about her stealing it at all. Upon his face was the most cheerful expression, showing the pure joy that he had upon meeting a 'lost' faun as he called her. Walking only slightly in front he tried to keep up the conversation, though she was quiet and only had eyes to stare at him.

"So ... yes. That is the truth of the matter, Sren," the strange faun said, using the faunish term for 'lost' as her name. "A common misconception it is that the great father Pan was cruel and devious. In fact, the other races were hard and mean, and feared our closeness to the goddess, hence they chased us away. That and their desire to taste our holy drink. I presume you have not had it. Of course you have not, being lost and all," he let out a scathing, snorting laugh, "So innocent and lost, well that will change very soon. The door to Paradisia is not far now, we are almost at the valley you see. It was so fortunate that you manage to come across the entrance, so fortunate!"

Beside her hooves Veridian trotted, calm and serene, though his mind was not so. He was screaming internally, full of rage and ire. His claws were out and left great score marks in the dirt, ripping up blades of grass and weeds as the strange faun kept going on and on. Why Philomel was putting up with these lies, and in part, insults, he hardly understood, for she was more than this. She was the Nightingale, the one who strikes in the darkness, the faun-whore, the assassin-whore, the beauty of a thousand brothels. Why was she letting this man call her 'lost' when she perfectly knew who she was? Why was she taking a history lesson from this clearly bias faun, who strutted like a know-it-all and had the attitude of a prebusecent bastard?

Philomel ... he eventually said into her mind, struggling hard to keep his form collected and cool. Philomel, I swear I will-

"It is so lovely to see you have a pet," the strange faun smiled weirdly, "Such a cute one as well. Tell me, where did you find such a beast, and how did you train it? We have dogs and cats and oxen, all sort of beasts of burden in Paradisia, but none of such extraordinary beauty. It is so difficult to have a dumb creature obey you, and walk beside you like so, but then - then you are a faun," another bright, scoffing laugh, "You have a way with creatures of the dirt, as we all do. Getting them to obey us is all under Drys' gifts ..."

Alright, this is ridiculous!

Veridian stopped where he was and let out a loud, angered bark. His black lips drew back from white fangs, and he let out a long hiss, staring darkly at the faun archer who claimed to be leading them to paradise. The man himself blinked, then frowned a little, hearing the growl. Leaning on his bow as a support he bent halfway down towards the Earth Spirit in a condescending way, bending past Philomel who had stopped walking also, but was now just staring into space.

"I think it has been spooked by something, Sren. It seems angered all of a sudden. Does it do this often? I have sometimes seen dogs similar when there is another dog around and they are proclaiming their territory. Perhaps there is another fox in the woods?"

YOU are the dog! Veridian roared.

He rocked back onto his haunches, letting rip a savage roar from his maw. His mucles tensed as his tail whipped up, gathering in energy to ricochet off from the ground and aim to launch himself at this foul bastard, to go and tear out his throat and teach him a-

Veridian, don't! Philomel yelled, mentally.

Physically, she stepped forwards, raising an arm. She held out her hand, fingers spread and palm flat towards Veridian, clearly indicating for him to stay.

No, she whispered, No, don't.

Her eyes were shimmering, the light bouncing off them in a myriad of stars as she gazed at Veridian.

But he insulted you, and me, the fox gnashed his fangs together, He is of the mud, of the darkness, of the stuff that makes this world horrid and disgusting. He is not fit to live!

Ver-

I will not let anyone live that treats you so!

She sighed. Openly and physically. Darling ...

"Sren? Is everything okay?"

There was a heartbeat. A pause. Destinies of swirling vortexes, times and instances rushed past her, rushed past them. They were in the centre of a timeline, of a simple lifetime. They were in a world that had two paths - one back and one forward, and by all standards Philomel did not know which one to take. She could stay quiet. Oh yes, she could see it now - stay silent and go with him. Be taken to Paradisia, act the part of the innocent maiden. She would be showered with gifts and held in high esteem as the one who was lost, but is now found, and she would be insulted every step of the way. This stranger faun would not leave her side. He would be constantly there, a constant nuscience, poking her, annoying her until she burst out and stabbed him, full in the chest in front of everyone. And then there would be a great upcry, the satyrs would come and beat her body until she was bruised and almost dead and the world would be a much harsher place.

Or ... or she could speak out.

[Philomel]

"Okay, one by name is not 'Sren' it is Philomel," she held up a long pale finger, but it was rigid and unbreakable; "Two, my 'dog' here is not even a fox, he is an Earth Spirit, and by the love of Drys, you should respect him as such. So. Yes. He is angry with you."

She buried daggers into him with her eyes.

For a while all he did was stare at her, astounded. His eyes moved from hers to those of the Earth Spirit, standing there with upper lip pulled back, growling at him. He was silent, his mouth dropped open a few inches and he let out the lightest gasp that the forest had ever heard.

"Oh my," he said, "I am so sorry, good sir! Do let me apologise, I didn't at all mean to hurt your feelings."

He moved onto his knees, dropping to them with a solid sound. His hand let go of the bow to place them flat on the floor and he moved into a regal kowtow in front of the fox-form spirit. Firmly his head knocked off the ground, and he was grovelling before Veridian like he was a god, begging his forgiveness in case all else failed and he was destroyed for insulting him in the first place.

"My good sir, please, please forgive me. And let me not be the reason you punish your maid servant here. I will still be willing to accept her into my household if you so wished."

Philomel let out a great breath of 'what-the-fuck...'.

"Now excuse me, Mr know-it-all faun-head, but I am no maid servant. Veridian here is my friend and we travel together and-"

"How dare you!" the stranger faun suddenly seethed, rounding on her. "How dare you speak so in front of his lordship! Can you not tell I am trying to gain back for your forgiveness? After all those times you have walked in front of him or beside him?"

Her eyes widened, she blinked fury. "You called him a dog!"

"I did not know what he was, you bitch! Yet you did. All these hoofsteps!"

"You have no idea what you are talking about!"

Veridian flicked his tail, eager and loving of one instance being worshipped, angry and bitter in the other that Philomel was being berated. In the back of his throat he let out a small growl, trying to turn the attention back to him and then they might listen and things could be sorted out the sane way ...

"I so do! I have hundreds of dealings with holy rabbits!"

"What have rabbits got to fucking do with my friend!"

The stranger faun turned to her, bringing up one leg to place one hoof flat on the ground, the other still on its knee. His chin was lowered slightly, horns pointing towards her in a threatening manner, ready to attack if needed.

"How dare you insult my god."

Exasperated she raised her hands in front of her. "Your god? How is he 'your god' now? Drys is god, not him! He is barely tall enough to reach a stool!"

"You absolute bitch!"

"You absolute bastard."

"You are-"

"Ugly? Insulting? Evil?"

"NNNUURGGHHH!"

Philomel!

The stranger faun threw himself at her, savagely and madly. If one looked closer they could have seen the veins popping in the whites of his eyes, or the line of the tendons that held the muscles together. And the details on his horns where lines of age had made them ragged edges in some places, smooth in others, with crevices and chips and dark patches where the sun had never found time to bleach them.

Those horns were aiming at her chest, her heart. Despite her hardy person she was not protected at this time. She had nothing on but a chest, and a full-horned headbutt would send her back for metres. In a way she knew it was a possibility of it coming, so her hand was grasping a sword, but the close range of it she his strength she could never have predicted. He hissed, roared, being the only one in this company who had seen the broken branch behind her, ready to steak her gut. Anger flared in his eyes and nostrils, rage lived in his soul and took him over, throwing his body forwards. Barely had she any time to raise her blade but she did, just in time as he thundered towards her ...

Thwump.

Her knfie caught something. His horns caught something. The energy was less than what she had been expecting, but it still hurt. She fell to the ground, growling somewhat as she felt something sharp sticking into her back, but the energy had decreased so much it did not pierce. It just stabbed, lightly, and caused her to groan in pain.

There was another groan of pain. Over there, in the distance. Around her peripheral. She could hardly blink because of the agony so her eyes strained against the dust upon them and the tears surrounding the pupils, but something in her mind told her it was serious. Something warm and sticky was on her knuckle and by the scent of it she was sure it was blood. Blood from the dagger that had pierced something, blood from the thing that she had stabbed. So far, so good. She swallowed, paused, then tried to push herself into a sitting position. A wave of nausea swept up to her head. Nope, no good. Maybe try -

Bash. Boom.

A heavy fist collided with her head. Along with a severe hiss of, "You bitch. You murderer."

She slammed back into the ground, somewhere, ugly. A rock was there, jarring and it hit her head. She tasted bile in her mouth.

"You murderer ..."

Under the duress of pain she tried to blink, confused mostly for the main part. Her eyes, swimming with wet moved from what looked like the grey of a dagger in her hand, to the large fleshy figure leaning over her, to the brown tree, to the green grass and the droplets of blood surrounding the nice fallen russet ...

Oh my Drys ...

Thump.

She let it come, again. Her eyes filled with more pain but she could not help stare at the orange-red form. In her mind she savagely willed it to move. She wished it was a hoax, a dream, an example of a hallucination. But she could smell the blood, she could feel the blood and she could see the blood, dripping onto the grass. It was bleeding, it was her knife, it was ...

Whump.

"You fucking bitch murderer!"

Fucking ...

Oh gods. Oh fucking gods.

Knife. Wound. Fox. Blood.

Her knife, her fox. His blood. What the ...

No. It was not possible. It was not possible. She could not ... She would never. He must have jumped to save the faun hitting her and - and - he also saw that broken branch and - and - no. No, no. Her knife, her knife, her fucking knife!

"You will pay!" the stranger faun screamed. "You will!"

Punch.

Yes, she begged, lying back in the grass. She let him wrench the dagger from her hand. Her mind went out to connect to Veridian but there was ... nothing. Nothing but blackness, nothing but emptiness. Nothing, just a swirling vortex of hopelessness. Because she had already ended it. Yes, please, make me pay.

[Philomel]

The Past.

Come now little hoofsteps
Patter your heart away
Come now little hoofsteps
Daddy has gone astray.
But don't worry little hoofsteps
Though he's left his little family
But don't worry little hoofsteps
Because its where he wants to be.

[Philomel]

The Beauty.

She came as a bright light.

No - not as a light, but as a darkness.

Yet, her aura was glowing. Wildly. Unpredictably. Beautifully. White, so perfect white, with flakes of brown dust falling like snow; as if the soil and a star had a child and willed it to rain. To reign.

Her wings were made of birch branches, spiralling off to the length of infinity. Leaves created the necessary membrane, fluttering endlessly as the apendages held her aloft and they swept back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Yet. Yet, she was anchored to the ground by the train of her dress. It was formed of spider webs and twigs of many trees, combined together in a woven fabric, and as light as the air. It grew wider and thicker as it dropped to the earth, where the twigs turned into roots and dug into the ground, snaking off in many directions to find a source of nourishment to feed her ravenous body.

Her hair was light, like the wind, and was pale yellow-white. Upon her brow was adorned a wreath of olive branches, and they intermingled with her locks as if growing from them. Her hair was cut short at the shoulder, yet still was substantial enough to create a mane. Nay, a halo.

In her left hand she held a stave of ash wood. In the crook of her right elbow was nestled a book. Upon its binding were written the words Gymen van der Ger, translated to Nature of the Faun. She blinked, slowly, her grass green eyes as gentle as a newborn calf's, as she hovered above the Earth Spirit, her body one with the earth and one with the sky. Her lips curled into a smile as she bent down to touch his temples with the end of her stave.

And in his head, she murmured. Awake. Awake my dear.

His still bloody form lay frozen for a moment, but then it subtly began to move. His tail twitched, just a flicker, and a paw flinched. Like a puppy having a dream he scraped a claw along the ground, a muscle here and there twitching. Spasm, inches of veins - he fell still, quietly.

She laughed, then leaned gently over him, and breathed a breath into his nostrils.

Awake!

There was silence. There was stillness, all around. It was a cascade of emptiness, a void of a forest with only a goddess to fly above the storms of life. No wind, no insects, just silence and utter painless, nothingless, emtpiness, nothing ...

AWAKE!

He sneezed. The coughed, a bright little adorable cough. Both ears flicked forwards as he shook his muzzle, scrabbling those little paws into the earth. He let out a light gasp of a breath, wheezing for air, before leaping to his ready feet, all sign of any injury gone.

His white-tipped tail swished along the ground and he pranched in front of her.

Hello, Drys, he said, merrily, Hello, hello, hello ...

[Philomel]

The Ballad.

Marten Maus.

What sort of a man was he? He had lived hundreds, maybe a thousand years ago and gained poems and stories from across the world. A song collector, a story collector, a philosopher perhaps. The foreward briefly spoke of him, and the legend surrounding him - apparently he was a human wise man who had made it his purpose in life to collect theories of paradise and creation from every single culture in the world, no matter how obscure or small. Including faunish culture, it seemed, and in doing so exposing a great part of hidden heritage that even the Faun of Radasanth had not known.

She imagined him, pacing the same steps she was taking. Walking around this place, "twixt mountain and tree," as it was written in the ballad, searching for Paradisia. He would be dressed in a patchwork cloak, leaning on an old staff and rooting around like a warthog in the dried leaves. He might have even had a companion with him, as she did with her, though it would not be the same. After all she was made speechless and bound, with no weapons.

Her hands were behind firmly her back, held together with hemp rope. In her mouth was stuffed an old rag and yet more more was holding that in place. Over her chest rope circled, time and time again, with no kindness for her bruises, all to keep her in her place. The remainder tail end of it was tied to her front, near her belly button and trailed from there to his hand. His hand that also held the dagger she had killed her beloved with, killed her darling, darling, darling ...

Tears dripped down her face as she fought against the will to try again. He was dead, yes, that was clear by the familiar thoughts coming from his mind - the same ones she had felt once before and had never again wanted to feel. It was a lonesome world in there, a true isolation, a desert of nothing. Only hopelessness and a void just a dark soul. This stranger faun was taking her to judgement apparently, back to Paradisia to face her fate. Face a trial of xenophobic elders, and then be put to death the day she found her homeland. How ironic and how beautiful, but how deathly ... No, she could not dare to try to find him again. The feeling would be too intense, too painful, too sorrowful. She might as well die, right here, right now, and never have to live through that experience again.

Being immortal was no excuse for it. With her going to face her trial they would never be a mile in the same vacinity, and so never have that contact. He would not be able to find Paradisia on his own, she would never be able to leave. They would both suffer, both cry, both want to never live ever more and fall down into a pit of despair, over and over and over again ...

Bam.

Boom.

Thud.

In the blink of an eye, his hold loosened. In the blink of an eye he was standing - then he was falling. In the blink of an eye he was down, belly down in the dirt, his head at a ninety degree angle from the rest of him, with a cold blank stare in his eyes. Cold and lifeless and ended.

Oh. My. Goddess ...

Goddess indeed, came the voice of reason, Yes, goddess!

She could not move. Her hooves were planted, frozen in the ground, stuck and still. And her eyes could only stare at the corpse beside her, the being that had suddenly died without any prior reasoning, without any warning. Just fallen over and -bam.

"He ... hh-he ... uh ... he ...." was all that she could manage with her muffled mouth.

Is dead, my love. Soft paws, scampering over the ground. A brush of a furred warm tail against her ankle. A press of cold smooth nose against her flesh. Is dead, by Drys' will. Now, come. We should be gone from this place.

Her breathing was fast, quickening with increased time. She ... the words in her head. She gulped, shaking herself. This was a dream. No, no this was a dream.

What - what the fuck?

Veridian let out a foxy sigh, glad finally to hear some sort of normal language from her. But still she did not move, so he scampered around to where the dead faun lay and bounced up to sit on the shoulder near the broken neck. He forced his way into her line of sight.

I just told you, he nickered, impatiently, Drys ended his life. She does not want you coming here. Now we must go!

She stared at him, straight in the eyes.

Who are you?

He sighed, impatiently, flicking his tail. Ah, right. Drys brought me back to life. Right where I died. Where you killed me by mistake. Which I forgive you for. He yawned a little, already knowing the story, personally, Now she killed this one because ... she did not like him. She likes you.

You ... you were ... dead?

Yes, and I forgive you. Can you please stay still for me to take that gag out?

She blinked, still understandably very shaken.

Launching himself from the shoulder he aimed for her chest. Without anyway to catch him she just had to make do as he scrambled against her shoulder and tangled his paws into her hair. She winced for a moment, but his body was agile, abd he made short work of ripping the gag from her both.

"But - b-but you were ... Drys is ...? Drys is - is ... why?"

She carefully dropped to her knees, allowing him the chance to get down there also and rip her bonds apart with his teeth.

Never ask gods and goddesses their reasonings, Veridian said, tearing the rops into shreds. It never makes sense to me.

[Ranger]

The Past, the Beauty and the Ballad (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?27743-The-Past-the-Beauty-and-the-Ballad)


Well, hello there Ms. Philomel. I will be judging this for you and offering what assistance I can. I must say, I’m excited to get to reading this thread. If you have any comments, concerns, or general questions feel free to PM me and I will be happy to help further once this is posted.


Plot 15
The plot was well done and offered a unique look at your character which allowed the readers to join in with you in your journey of understanding your nature, that of the fauns, and a creation tale. It was a different way to tell a story, without the typical violent or action packed narrative, that still held my interest and was enjoyable to read. Though I was curious as to just what this library was supposed to be, or where, because it seemed –through your description- that it was almost Khal’jaren’s library in the Black Desert.

The pacing, at times, seemed to get a little muddled. For the most part though, it flowed well and kept a steady enough speed that I did not get bogged down or lose interest. The last two stanza’s of the third post were a bit awkward, but the rest of it was good. After that the posts seemed to really be almost portions of another story, all pulled into this one yet not flowing with the beginning as clearly and resolutely. You opened posts 4, 5, and 7 with one or two sentences and then it felt like you went down a bit of a rabbit hole till you wrapped your way back into the overall purpose and plot.

Post 7 starts almost a completely different story altogether that as a reader I was suddenly lost, trying to figure out what just happened and how it came about. As the reader I got that you left the library and went to the forest, but the way the transition happened was rather abrupt.

As a reader I was a little curious as to why these books were available for her to read and review in the past, as she had been there before, but she had not taken the opportunity to read them then.

Character 19
There were certain actions that you put into the narrative that were so perfectly worked into the narrative that as a reader I could not help but smile. At times you showed your character by offering insight into what made her comfortable, and not just what made her happy but how she actually felt when she was. It was very well done.

How much time you spent on pondering the opening of the book slowed the narrative down a bit, making it a rather slow for the reader – such as why did it take her half an hour (from post 2) to start the first page? I understood the general reasoning behind it and why Philomel took the time – because it was something she had long awaited and anticipated – but putting it in here as a note. If you were looking for the answers to your past and suddenly had the chance to find them, as a reader I would have expected you to jump right in with a little bit of reverent anticipation, but not to linger as much.

Dialogue became confusing at a certain point, as I mentioned above and below, because of the narrative style that you began writing in. I wasn’t sure who was talking a couple times, and when I was sure who it was I wondered as to the nature of the dialogue and how it fit with the story.

Prose 17
And it seemed that the overall writing style you were using completely changed from post to post? It really made the thread confusing. For example, post 9 seemed to flow more like a stream of conscious narrative, which is hard to follow and lends to a rather staccato pace.

“It was a plain low homely building made of rough sandstone blocks…” Post 1 :: Comma’s needed between plain, low, and homely because they are coordinate adjectives working in conjunction as a means of explaining the building.

“In this field outside the walls of Radasanth the grass flowed like a river towards the direction that the monestry lay.” :: Post 1 :: This is a hint at present tense in a past tense narrative. Also, monestry I think is supposed to be monastery.

“Two tiny eyes saw her approaching as she finally opened her eyes…” Post 1 :: It’s one of my pet peeves, seeing the same wording multiple times in a sentence or so close to each other. Eyes was used 3 times in two sentences here. A suggestion would be to change it so that his face (which has more useful synonyms as well) turned to her, or she to him. Something so that ‘eyes’ aren’t used so often. Not a huge issue, just a suggestion.

“With a satisfied soul, and a happy heart Philomel waved back and came towards him.” Post 1 :: the comma after soul is not necessary. An aside I’m attaching to this, and it’s a nit-picky thing I know, but your use of the word “came” is what I want to make note of. You tend to use it in place of potentially more subtle additions to the narrative that could breathe even more life into an already well-rounded writing style. Examples:



“As she came to the verandah that made up the front of the building…” Instead you could use something like a descriptive word of how she walked, her stride or something of similar nature.

“A happy laugh came from the mouth of the monk as he stretched his arm…” Likewise, use of a form of how he laughed – a happy laugh escaped like a yawn or a happy laugh suddenly slipped. Instead of using the same word to create a phrase there are opportunities and easy spots for technique to be worked into the story that offer the chance for potentially higher scores in the Technique score.


Post 3 “And dwarves told men to take a hike.” :: I thought that with the style of the poetry that you were writing this single line stood out like a sore thumb, just not exactly flowing with the rest of the post. However, the rest of the poetic posts were well done and I enjoyed them and the different style, it is nice to see different writing thrown into a story to try and change things up and I commend you for that.

Clarity was unfortunately a weakness of the second half of the thread, because after the 7th post it became hard to follow and understand exactly what was going on, who was speaking, and the general story became heavily muddled. However, the opening narrative was very well written and the poetic portions of the thread were enjoyably smooth for the most part.

Wildcard 6
I truly appreciate the style that you chose to write this in, as it is unique and challenging. For the most part it was very enjoyable, even when I was confused. The beginning of the thread caught my interest, whereas the middle on caught me off-guard.

Score :: 57
1380 exp and 150 gold

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added!