To Bless The Earth With Blood

[Philomel]

Bellow to the world, I am damn looking for a fight.

That was close enough to what he had said. Standing there, looking like Mr Grumpy Goat Leaf had frowned as Philomel had paced around the courtyard, her short tail swishing and her eyes bright with energy. Her hands had curled and uncurled into fists and a rough redness had been on her cheeks like the fury of the Fates. Madly her lips had been curled into a maniac smile as she had professed her desire just to kick some ass.

"I feel so guhhh," the faun-whore had said, "So much energy and so little time. I need to punch something."

Leaf had pouted, had folded his arms over his chest. Behind him his three little pigs had somewhat cowered, knowing that her sharp hooves could bring any of them to their four knees. Though Thor was hedging his bets and poked out with a trotter every time her footsteps carried her past. He had patted the dust, eyes wide, then had scurried back as she'd glared down, squeaking bright and cheeky.

The half-brother was disheartened, and he had related his feelings.

"You are just looking for a fight."

She had stopped, paused, then had shrugged. "Yes, yes I am Leaf. That is exactly what I am looking for. A fight."

----

So therefore, here she was. In a temple of sorts. A wide expanse of white pillars circulating around a grassy plain was what the Ai'Borone had shown her to. It was a clearing in a fanciful wood of a fairytale quality, with birds chirping under the summer sky and flowers growing around the edge. Philomel could swear she heard the murmuring of a brook nearby, washing its winding way through the elegant land that barely inclined in any direction. It just seemed flat and perfect, a place to meditate under stars and sun, with each of the marble sentinals marking out the borders of this holy place.

There was no door, no way to gain exit - just the atmosphere and the glory of the environment. Picture paradise, calm and marvellous. Philomel strode forwards, breathing softly as the smile extended into her cheeks and tickled her ears. Yes, this was a place, a place of serenity that she could fully concentrate in and reduce an enemy to moans and sobs. It was ideal to be soaked with blood.

Gently she loosened her mythril sword from its sheath and rolled her shoulders back. Her plated steel armour sung lightly, and merrily. Light shone, and glinted. The faun-whore chuckled.

"Give me something to kill," she whispered to the air, "Oh please, oh please, oh glory."

And she twisted slowly around in a circle, exactly in the centre of the pillar circle, watching. Her spirit waited, her heart begged. Begged for blood to spill.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

My apologies for the delay, dahling.

My recent transformations have made me immune to all sorts of disease and sickness, but I still feel queasy after having teleportation magic used on me.

I fell down to one knee in the grassy forest, the midday sun poking through countless interwoven branches and warming my back in spots as I tried to calm down my twisting and turning innards.

Deep breaths, that's all. In, out. In, out.

I slowly stood back up, and began turning around to get a feel for my surroundings. I stood in the middle of a forest that appeared to be ripped from the pages of an illustrated children's book. I could hear birds chirping overhead, see various picturesque collections of flowers, and a short distance away, a small clearing encircled by stone pillars with a figure slowly twirling around at its center. The figure held a thin length of shiny metal that was unmistakably a weapon, even from this distance.

I took my time making my way through the wooded area towards the clearing, watching with no small amount of curiosity my supposed opponent as feelings of familiarity filled my mind. The figure was clearly a faun--either that or one intense free-spirited woman--given the amount of hair on her legs. She was several inches taller than myself, and her upper body was decked out in steel plate armor. Curved horns grew from the sides of her head, and a flowing mane of brown and purple hair swayed with her eager movements in the breeze.

Ah, no wonder she was slowly looking familiar to me--I did indeed know this girl. She too was a member of the Order of the Crimson Hand, and had gone to Eiskalt with the rest of the man-with-the-impossible-to-remember-name's forces, which he had abandoned to chase around Jensen Ambrose with stars in his eyes. I had heard talk of her savage accomplishments during those harrowing weeks.

Philomel van der Aart. Manic, nympho, psychotic, adorable ol' Philomel.

Undoing the clasp that kept my cloak around my shoulders, I let the pitch black cloth cascade to the grassy floor as I entered the clearing. "Well, isn't this a surprise," I said with an approximation of a bemused grin on my face. The faun whipped around and held her sword at the ready. The warm summer sun splashed down on me, and the exposed snarl of vines that were my arms greedily drank up the rays. I could feel the energy coursing through my veins.

Two small wisps of purple plague escaped near the corners of my mouth, dissipating in the breeze that blew between us. "Good to see you again, kid. I trust you got out of that frozen hellhole just fine?"

[Philomel]

"I assume you mean Eiskalt," Philomel retorted, looking the girl up and down. "And I assume the 'kid' is a knock on my physical appearance."

She glanced down at her goat legs, twisting one slightly on hoof-point.

"They are quite beautiful, I guess."

Then her gaze snapped back to the shorter black-haired maiden, the girl who had leaves poking from under her sleeves, and she flicked her plait back over her shoulder. Tightening her hand on her mythril blade, Philomel assessed the situation, and her opposition for this one fight, musing as she went. They were both of similar nature. They were both of similar temperament. They both served as assassins in some vicinity in the world, and they both were here to fight. Allies in some ways, but enemies for this one fine day. Bemusing as events were, strange as times occurred, it seemed that today they had both been bored and thus come to the Citadel looking for someone to clash swords with.

Though, unfortunately, it seemed as though Madison had no blade. With a tilt of her chin and a peer to either side of the feminine form before her, the faun-whore asked a question which would not obviously be answered simply.

"What do you fight with?"

In the brush by the edge of the fairytale ring of pillars, something stirred. It had a white-tipped tail and bright gold eyes, though it was hidden well in the long grass. It hunkered down, a silent predator in patient await, sitting, or crouching, waiting for a time to strike. He kept his ears pointed forwards, listening into the conversation as he felt the presence of Philomel, his beloved, and her power of sense spreading out across the ground around her.

Can you feel any disturbances, Philomel, he asked, Can you feel her power?

And Philomel's mental reply was uncomfortable as she waited for the Plaguelord to respond.

I can, she said, in a nervous tone, I can, and I worry for us.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I offered up no weapons, but a shrug of my shoulders and shake of my head instead. "I don't have anything to fight with, sadly. I recently sold most of my considerable collection in order to buy a new, even deadlier toy; but unfortunately, it's still being forged as we speak."

A sigh escaped my lips, along with another small puff of plague-ridden haze. "But then again, as I proved over the past month or so, I am a weapon."

I briefly recalled flickering moments of my memory of the Eiskalt War, and all of the carnage that came with it. I won't bore you with the details; they're there if you ask around enough.

There was plenty of truth to what I had said about being a weapon. During the events of the war--or shortly before? I don't recall--I was abducted, and experimented upon by some unknown entity or entities. I don't remember the actual process itself; all I remember is going to sleep one night, fully human save for a mechanical right arm, and then waking up with a set of stitches in my chest, and writhing masses of gnarled vines that quickly braided themselves into arms, hands, and fingers. And then I discovered that I could produce and breathe pure plague, secrete a corrosive, flesh-melting acid, and even sprout additional vines in places that you wouldn't dream of things growing. And then I was unceremoniously knocked out and put back where I was found, days prior, with my entire Crimson Hand crew and myself wondering what the hell had happened.

But when you become a living, breathing means to an end, you tend to forget about the questions running around in the back of your mind and instead do what just comes... naturally.

...I'm sorry, I'm rambling. Where was I? Oh, yes, Philomel.

The faun with the braided hair had her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. I knew from reports and talk that she was more than adequate with the weapon. I was curious to see how skilled she actually was (perhaps she could be of use to me on a future mission for the Order?). That, of course, meant that I would have to get up close and personal.

But, I can take that risk. I'm faster. Stronger. Far more vicious. And she looked tense, anxious, and perhaps even just a bit afraid.

"Are you ready?" I asked. Without waiting for a response, I bolted forth through the forest clearing, my speed boosted by the rays of the sun, and spat forth a jet of purple plague haze once I was within range of her. No matter how she decided to react, no matter what direction she would slash at me with her sword, I was ready to feint out of the way.

[Philomel]

Ready?

Philomel believed she was always ready. Precisely ready for what, exactly, entirely depended on the situation, but today she was ready for a fight.

Albeit, she had been ready for a normal fight. Her brow furrowed as the girl told her that she had no weapons. Or that she, herself, was a weapon. Of course, the Nightingale faun liked to consider herself a weapon as well. Most definitely a weapon in bed - that had been proved many times before - but also, her skill with her dancing mythril blade was almost incomparable. Ever since she had been blessed enough to purchase it Philomel had barely let it out of her sight. Still by her side, of course, was the Lover, her keris dagger that had taken the life of so many guilty and innocent people, but it only ever got to see the light of day when death was due.

Today, luckily, did seem like a day when death should be due. The girl that called her, irritatingly, "kid" began to run at her, opening her lips. Still quite far away Philomel knew she had time to spare before the assault would begin. Yet she claimed to be a weapon than need weapons, which left a rather mystic mystery to be solved.

Philomel narrowed and focused her eyes on those lips. From them she spied an elegant purple mist begin to spew out, something between smoke and fog. Immediately her nerves tingled, and her nose hairs stood on end. She did not even need to sniff to discover the stale stench of a sickly-sweet medics ward, lined with nothing but white-washed walls and thick cotton curtains. It was cold, unsavoury, and not the type of scent one would expect from a gracefully running girl.

The violet mist spread from the lips as Madison rushed forwards, a vacant expression on her face. The stench got vaster, more intense and stronger, assaulting the nostrils as well as Philomel's mouth. Ugly, disgusting taste.

She spat, violently, before tugging out a throwing dagger. Grasping it with her forefinger and thumb she aimed, then let it fly, aiming right for the girl's heart. Before she could find out if it hit or not, Philomel dragged out her mythril blade, then turned and breathed unsteadily in the pure air.

Out of the corner of her eye she kept watching, and waiting. She knew that the purple mist was evil and dangerous, otherwise the scent would be for nothing, and so she concluded that it was dark. Just as the black-haired assailant who "was a weapon" descended on her, the faun-whore gasped a fresh breath, before turning back around and holding herself steady, patient to see if the dagger had found its mark, and willing to slice down hard at any direct hit.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

For such a tall woman, decked out in plate mail and all, Philomel was pretty damn agile.

The faun quickly juked out of the way of my toxic breath, her hooves beating down hard on the damp, moss-covered earth of the forest clearing. She went off at an awkward angle I wasn't expecting, and instead of tearing sword from scabbard, she unsheathed a throwing knife and whipped it at me. For all the good my sun-boosted speed could do me, her dodge and my momentum left her a prime opening. I twisted my body around as Phi's arm came down and released the dagger. The steel whizzed through the air and caught my vine-knit shoulder just slightly, slashing through green in what ultimately amounted in a small flesh wound. I barely felt it, I barely even whimpered. Just sort of scrunched my face slightly as I tried to regain my footing in my mad dash to end the battle early.

I came to a slippery, skidding halt, my black leather boots scuffing up dirt and grass. As the plague mist began dissipating between us, I could see my Crimson Hand associate reach towards her blade, ripping it from its home and brandishing it high in the air. The sword shimmered in the midday sun, casting a faint white glow of its thin blade.

Quite a lovely, impressive little blade, I think. But how well could she wield it?

My lips cracked into a thin, crooked smile as four thick lengths of vines broke flesh and erupted from between my should blades. She could parry one, perhaps two assaults. But could Philomel answer four?

The lengths of greenery began dripping acid at their edges and arced around my body, shooting forth at an amazing speed. I sent two up high along curved paths, hoping to wrap them around her wrists or neck; the other two went low, looking to bind her legs. "Let's see you dance away now, Phi," I called after her tauntingly.

[Philomel]

Armed with mythril blade in one hand and another throwing knife in the other, Philomel danced. She learnt, quickly, to breathe to the side and avoid that sickly purple smoke, because that was likely not in any way good for health. By its scent, anyway, it was poisonous and would likely cause nausea.

With her blades, however, at least she could have some sort of chance. She watched with glee as her first throwing knife powered through the air and struck down a vine. No sooner had that happened, however, then, four more vines seemed to shoot out of nowhere, and the faun-whore barely had time to see them in her peripheral vision.

Parrying the one to the immediate left, then ducking down and around, the Nightingale aimed to dodged them. Her eyes glanced, quick, around, as fast as she could, but the vegetation came with the speed of a live bullet from a boom-bang. Though Philomel was thankful that this girl, the bitch-darling of the Crimson Hand, had no such weapons, she was still wary of the things that flew towards her. They were ungainly, unnatural, despite their obvious plant-like state. Quickly the faun hacked at the one blocking her way, and jumped up high above the other, beneath it, spiralling towards her feet.

She took the challenge of a duck and roll, wanting to get away as fast as possible, yet the fellow female assassin seemed to be more skilled than that.

The last vine, that which the faun had not parried, dodged or sliced at, found a hoof and tugged. In a spirit of aching Philomel fell to the ground with a grunt. She began to flail, almost uselessly at the air with her weapons, trying to find the source of the binding in order to chop it off; and in her mind she knew she would soon resort to desperation.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The faun's skills with the blade were on full display as my vines chased after her dancing form across the forest clearing. Philomel's sword found home against numerous strikes against my vines, hacking away at them and parrying any attempts they made to bind her. But, she couldn't keep her eyes and weapon everyone at once; and eventually one length found home around her fur-covered ankle. I used her momentum and maneuvers against her, pulled hard, and sent her tumbling to the moss-covered ground.

A grin crept onto my face as I retracted the three free vines. The temptation to describe the assassin-whore's flailing around in order to free herself as fauny was too much; but I didn't want to risk pissing her off with another racial pun.

Philomel's blade continued dancing erratically through the air, the sharp edges searching frantically for the vine that had tripped her up. It was in that moment that I realized that I had no real follow-up, for once. It would be too dangerous to directly approach her, briar-knit fists balled up and ready to fire like steam engine pistons. She could easily roll out of the way of another breath of the ol' plague. I could get caught with a nasty kick from her hoof, I could run right into the tip of her weapon, she could find purchase against the floor of the forest and spring up for a quick retaliation...

But, I had no real choice. It sucked not having any real ranged attacks in a situation like that.

I pivoted my foot against the soft ground and burst forth at full-speed. My lungs filled with another breath of disease, which I exhaled in a thick, wide, short-range cloud at the faun. It was more of a distraction than anything, for I continued charging towards her, fists knotted up and dripping acid.

If all went according to plan, Philomel would roll out of the way of the plague and I would catch her just in time to mount her and sock her in the face, both breaking and melting her jaw before she could cut me to ribbons with her sword. I wonder what the Ai'Brone monks would have to say about that.

[Philomel]

There was no time for faffing, or dancing, or playing. Indeed, she had already likely lost.

She considered the recent events. Her brother had just sparked a reality into her life. Painstakingly, now, she was attempting to turn him into a warrior, rather than the useless truffle-hunting pig-loving farmer he was. Those swine that followed him around were more or less useless to her, and the fact they existed make her all the more determined to turn him into something fortunate, for her.

Yet, Leaf van der Terra, using that blameful accursed name of her wretched, mad father, had his own mind set in stone, and his own beliefs. She sent him to the Citadel, yea, but he played his own game and tried to find a path which was suiting to him. No matter what Philomel introduced him to, he seemed disinterested, and in a way it was harmful to her own being - but it was the truth. It was life. It was as unavoidable as the current poison blowing towards the faun-whore on the breath of the woman who was death to her very fingertips.

Poison. Leaf liked poison. He liked his fungus; they fascinated him. Perhaps he could have helped here, if Philomel had the time to call to him.

Yet, no, she could not. Instead she had only the time allotted to her. Immediately as the purple smoke began to exhale towards her, the faun stopped breathing. She took no time for an intake, for there was none. Rather, she exerted the energy through her spine. It hurt, agonisingly, but she did it. It was better than being impaled by the Madison Briarheart who was current sailing towards her with vivacity. Her back straightened, swinging the top half of her body onto her buttocks, straight bashing through any vines that came at her - and she swung her horns forwards.

In order to meet the girl. Fingers pale and eyes popping from lack of oxygen, the faun-whore balanced the truth between headbutt and dagger and went for the former. Once she was at an angle enough not to smell that poison for a microcosm of a second, did she breathe in. Short, sharp, fast. Hoping that the fog did not reach her. Hoping her headbutt landed, hoping that soon she could get the upper hand in this foolish day.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

In an interesting turn of events, the killer courtesan didn't roll out of the way of my lingering cloud of plague. I swiftly pivoted on my left foot and corrected my mad dash towards her fallen form. My boots pounded the grass-covered ground as I drew close, and I bent over and prepared to jump on her.

I was over her when, to my surprise, she bolted upright. Her head shot through the purple haze of disease and death and collided with my own, horn-first. A thunderous crack ripped through the forest clearing and echoed against the trees. My head felt like it had exploded. My vision flashed white. I recoiled back, stumbling around a bit before collapsing to the forest floor, the fall cushioned by the soft, damp dirt.

I... I think something's broken. I gripped my face with acid-tipped fingers, my flesh immune to its effects anyway. What the fuck was her skull made of, reinforced steel?!

"You fucking bitch!" I howled. "Oh gods..." I was overcome with an incredible pain. Now, I can tolerate a lot of things. I'm a tough girl and all. But there's something to be said about how much damage a full-force collision with an overgrown goat can cause. I... I honestly think there might be a fracture or something. I seriously am not feeling well. I am dizzy, this headache is not going away, and stars are floating in my vision (which is also blurry, go fucking figure).

A trickle of something began to slowly creep down my forehead. I touched it with a briar-knit finger and pulled away to see a trail of dark crimson blood mixing with the light amber acid that covered my finger, the colors swirling together as if they were some sort of children's candy.

I was able to roll over on my knees and elbows. The moss and dirt, still damp with morning dew, felt cool against the plant matter skin of my vine-woven arms. A drop of blood fell from my forehead and splattered against a blade of grass. I still felt dizzy, and my brain revolted with a sharp jolt of pain whenever I tried to make it do something useful so Philomel wouldn't get up and take advantage of the opening her cheap tactics created.

...No, actually. Let her come. If she wants to be a cheating bitch, I'll show her how it's really done. I rose to one knee, and turned to face the faun, my eyes simmering with pain and anger. Come at me, whore. I fucking dare you.

[Philomel]

Familiarity.

Philomel felt the full force of her horns, and the energy pounded through that headbutt, flow from her into the plague-maestro. That sense of the release of the kinetic power was so full of the essence of déja vu that it almost frightened the faun whore. Yet, she did not let that stop her from her movements. The flow of decisions had already been released, and in mad precision she let lose the next motions in a scattering wave, all taking place staccato from one nano-second to the next one.

The headbutt had landed, and that was the beginning of her rise. Indeed, it had all been a gamble from the beginning, whether or not Madison would see it coming, but now it had paid off and it was time to forget all else and go with the half-spontaneous plan.

First off all, the faun-whore took her breath, and with it oxygen came rushing back into her lungs. Blood pumped, fearlessly, around her body, taking the life back into temporarily deprived areas. With the opponent now grounded for that moment, and dazed, Philomel could do as she wished and get herself free. Savagely she dug her dagger point right into the vine that still held her ankle and the thing fell away easily. From there she automated into the second - or was it the third? - movement, tucking her hooves beneath her and lifting her body up at the same time by leaning on her mythril blade. Now, up and free she could run. Run far away, as fast as her hooves carried her, as Madison shot out with nasty-sounding curses.

As the Briarheart rose to face the faun, the faun was already gone, staggering across the grasses. Following her hoofsteps backwards, however, tracing them as if they were golden, something lithe and very much alive and well, bounced. It flew from paw to paw, the creature not as yet affected in this battle, and until now, hiding from all that had occurred. Philomel had not even spoken to him, leaving him to his own devices as he simply watched his beloved get beaten down by live branches.

Russet with gleaming golden eyes, the Earth Spirit fox burst onto the scene, lips drawn back to reveal wickedly sharp teeth. A snarl ripped from his throat, echoing the enraged roars of the plague-singer, but he was not bleeding from the head. His anger was not of pain, but rather of justice; an attempt to gain Philomel one small chance in this war of probably death.

He threw himself at Madison, distracting her from the fast retreating and injured faun. His claws extended and his jaw opened, reaching for anything he could get his hold on. He would rip and tear, no matter whether throat or vegetative arm or fabric, all for the chance of a new escalation in this battle perhaps not even worth fighting for.

Looking for a fight?

Philomel had been looking for a fight. Now she was just desperate.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I felt the sharpened tip of the faun's dagger dig into the vine that held her leg. I took a quick breath and winced before letting go and withdrawing the vine back into my body. I expected Philomel to immediately bolt upright and chase me down, but instead she booked it the other way. In her wake, and quickly approaching me, was a fox. The beast was about the size of a small dog, with reddish-brown fur. Its lips were pulled back in a nasty snarl that showed off rows of sharp, white teeth.

Shit! I tried to scramble up to my feet, but the pain in my head doubled up and I fell back down on my ass on the cold forest floor. My face twisted in horror as the animal closed the distance between us with blinding speed and leaped into the air. I put up my arms to guard my face, and the little bastard chomped down on my right forearm, its momentum pushing us to the ground.

"Aaargh! You little fucker!" I screamed at the snarling beast through clenched teeth as it whipped its head back and forth, trying to tear through the vines that my arm was constructed from. I wished for a large stone or tree trunk to burst forth from the ground so I could bash the fox's skull against it and decorate the forest with its brains.

Instead, my body shook, almost involuntarily. A thin pool of acid built up beneath every pore of skin, both flesh and vine. In a violent shudder that bent my spine backwards, the acid burst forth in a small cloud of amber droplets that enveloped me. The acid cloud splattered my clothes, soaked the ground, and saturated the fur of the fox. More importantly, a substantial amount of it erupted from the vines that it had in its mouth. The vile, corrosive liquid began to smoke and sizzle the animal's flesh inside its mouth and throat. It immediately let go and began to cry out with an unholy screech that quickly died into a wretched, coughing garble as it began working on its vocal chords and esophagus. The horrifying scent of burning meat and hair began to fill the air, mixing with the aroma of damp earth and grass.

The fox continued to writhe in agony as I surveyed the damage it had done. Its teeth tore up my skin pretty good on my right arm, and there was this thick reddish-purple ooze slowly dripping from the bite wounds. I clenched and unclenched my briar-knit fist to see if everything was still working. Each twitch of my fingers sent a fresh crackle of pain up my arm, but at least it still worked. A thin strand of vine grew from my forearm, near the wound, and wrapped itself around it tightly in some sort of makeshift bandage.

I slowly rose to my feet, my head pounding from the headbutt, ragged breaths and whispered curses coming from my mouth, my arm aching something fierce, my lithe form speckled with drops of acid from the violent burst.

"Let's see what else you got," I howled at the faun from across the clearing.

[Philomel]

Furiously Philomel shook her head, still running for her life. She barely dared to turn around. Questions flooded her mind, simple ones and more fearsome ones. Ones like: what this right? Was this mad? Was she a coward now for fleeing as she was, and letting Veridian take the brunt of the attack? She was - she had so little right now, so few words against Madison's novel. So few stems against the Briarheart's forest. So few steak knives against the army of ballistae that were flying right at her, ready to destroy and kill.

Survival. Just simple survival. Naturally, for she was eternally linked in the mind to Veridian, Philomel felt the brutality of the poison that seeped into him. Not just his fur, but his insides were bubbling up, being mutilated and intoxicated as the faun's hooves carried her as far away as possible. This clearing, with its ring of white pillars and the gentle wood beyond, was little more than a prison, and all of Philomel's emotions began to come down to a single one - regret. Yes, indeed, she regretted ever being, "guh" and complaining to Leaf that she had nothing. She regretted even stepping into the Citadel and declaring herself ready to fight. Of course she had had to end up with the Den Mother of the Crimson Hand as an opponent - a woman vastly more powerful than herself with abilities beyond anything Philomel knew about. All she had was a faint dust storm ability that caused temporary blindness if nothing else, and she had some really fast legs.

Oh and a fit body. One could never forget the fit, hot, gorgeous body.

It HURTS, he screamed, right into her head.

The Nightingale winced, and slowed her pace. Behind her she heard the tail end of some shouted words, but they were just a mumble now beyond the distance that was between the human-plant-thing and the faun. For the faun was running, as far as she could and she had almost made the other side of the strange arena, where the smell of flowers and leaves was strong and the sun was only half visible beneath the covering forest crown.

Of course it does, she replied in a tentative voice. But there is not much I can do ... I am going to try to find the door.

But of course, there was none. She had ordered it without such a thing, without an exit and without an escape route, so itching had she been for some combat. And now she was here, trapped, abused and partly injured. And her only ally was dying from internal poisoning.

Swiftly she turned, and glared across the grassland at the enemy. The villain. The vice. That thing. She took a few paces forwards, close enough to most likely place Madison within hearing range, and she raised her chin. All to pretend that she just found this dull.

"This fight is boring now," she declared, in the best and most compelling voice she could muster, though at its fraying edges it was lined with anxiety, "Let us call it a draw."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

"Let us call it a draw."

A draw.

"The fight is boring now," the faun had said to me.

Boring. The word rang hollow inside my mind. A cruel smile curled my lips. Boring. Yeah, sure it is, you stupid bitch.

"Are you sure about that? I'm actually having the time of my life right now!" My voice rang across the grassy clearing towards the weave of brush and trees that Philomel had retreated into. No; there would be no draw. Not today. Draws are for cowards who are too scared to admit that they've been outwitted and outmatched. "Come on out, dear. Let's finish this like women."

There was no answer, no sounds but the chirping of birds, buzzing of bugs, and the wheezing of a dying fox at my feet woven in the midday breeze. I looked down at the pitiful creature. Its spasms had long stopped, resigning itself to the deadly acids that had been disintegrating its flesh and fur. The fox's breathing was ragged and shallow as it desperately tried to take in oxygen that merely escaped through the slowly-growing holes within its throat. I had nearly felt sorry for hurting the thing like I had; but the throbbing pain in my arm reminded me why such actions were necessary.

I slowly walked over to the helpless animal. The animal laid on its side, little bits of smoke wafting off its body as the acid continued its vile work. I placed my boot on the fox's throat and pressed down slightly. The creature gurgled in pained protest, and squirmed as much as its body would allow it. "There will be no draw. There's only 'I win', or 'we both lose'."

Again, no answer came from beyond the bushes at the edge of the forest clearing. I pursed my lips in disappointment, and pressed down my foot on the creature's neck. This brought around a bout of squirming and writhing as I began choking the life from the wretched, bitey little beast. It tried to cry out for its friend, but it could only manage hoarse gasping.

"Get out here, Philomel," I said with the sternness of a mother summoning her children for a dinner they did not want before it got cold. "Skip your furry little ass out here right now before I close this thing's throat." I pushed harder against the fox's neck, crushing its windpipe more and more to show her that I wasn't messing around.

Several lengths of acid-tipped vines emerged from my wrists in anticipation of the whore's response.

[Philomel]

A gasp spasmed through her system like a shovel full of ice down her spine. Letting out the gulping breath Philomel found herself, quite suddenly, falling to the ground and onto her knees as the full depth of Veridian's pain was translated into her mind. With all that he was, the Earth Spirit fully opened up his mind and cried out in mercy to her, begging her to relieve his shuddering.

Yes, before he had died, and that had caused nothing but agonising torture, both physically, emotionally and mentally to her. He had also been injured in similar ways, and sometimes the pain had sent Philomel into a decided and swift attack, fueled by adrenaline. Other times Veridian had closed himself off entirely, like that time he had fallen from the side of the bridge to nowhere and over nowhere, falling down, deep down into a bottomless pit. That time he had realised that with such a small arena Philomel had had only two choices: concentrate on his descent that could last an eternity, or fight on with the foe at the time - the young winged seraphim called Ioder - and possibly win. In the end that was precisely what had happened for the faun. Always, however, with the choice to close his mind off or open it ... always every time was different, as every fight was different, and suddenly this time Veridian Ryuusan realised that he may actually die a dangerous, horrible death.

Thus he released his mind full brim to his beloved, in a sudden and quick action, and caused her to be subject to all the pain of being poisoned and having one's neck trampled upon in one sick, terrifying blow.

PHILOMEL! he screamed.

"Get out here, Philomel!" the demon-capable monster of vines and toxins said. "Skip - something - out here, otherwise I will close this thing's throat."

Madison Freebird's direct response in the mass of foliage, where the faun knelt amongst the green green leaves, was a piercing, hateful shriek. It was sent over the metres between Briarheart and goat-hybrid, a wave of intense communication that screamed all sorts of detestful and spiteful things. Underneath the toe of the boot, the fox groaned more, barely able to breath under the might of the crush on his throat, barely able to think through the excruciation. All he could do was cry out with his mind all the more intently, knowing that this time he did definitely not want to suffer any more.

There was a pause. Likely Madison was getting impatient. Philomel imagined her moving, closing her fists, crushing further down on Veridian's neck ...

"NOO!" she yelled, raising her head back to the sky, "NO!"

And her palm shot out, straight. A raging storm of dirt and dust flew from around her, having been summoned sub-consciously by the faun in the deepest recesses of her panicked mind. It shot forwards, with the speed of a tornado, but as small as a bush, heading straight to the Briarheart with a vivacity and a presence that could not be stopped by any sort of vine. It would not cause any direct damage, no, but how Madison was formed it would easily get between the gaps of her branches and leaves, and sting her eyes, would it be that her eyes be open.

As this occurred, Philomel grabbed the closest thing to hand - which was her keris dagger -and with the speed of a faun, threw it directly after the dust cloud. Concealed by that mass, the dagger would aim to her heart, though it would lose momentum in the length of the field. However, the faun's anger was true as was usually her aim. She could only get back to her hooves and draw her sword in readiness, hoping that this at least would cause enough time for Veridian to sneak out and run for his life.

Run for his life.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

It wasn't the assassin-whore that emerged from the bushes, but a thick cloud of rotating dust and debris instead. It moved with an incredible speed across the grassy clearing, catching me completely off guard.

"Shit," I muttered as I threw my arms up in front of my face in a futile effort to block Philomel's desperate attack. Dirt and grit spun around me like a small tornado, the wind blowing my hair around. It got into my eyes, it got into my mouth, it created microscopic abrasions across my skin.

My eyes teared up, and I was overcome with a coughing fit as my body tried its damnedest to rid itself of the dirt and dust. I opened my eyes to try and see what was going on, but was only greeted with a cloudy uncertainty. I furiously rubbed the water out, but only aggravated things further.

"Shit," I screamed louder this time. While I had been stumbling around from the effects of the miniature dust devil, Philomel's little fox friend had wormed its way out from underneath my boot and had limped off into the protection of the bushes beyond the clearing's edge.

I was furious. The faun had resorted to dirty tricks in order to gain the upper hand here. Thick, acid-drenched vines started lashing out at anything and everything within range. I might not be able to see her; but, gods damn her, I could still reach that bitch.

"Where are you, Philomel?" I howled as I stumbled around, nearly slipping on the damp mossy forest floor once or twice. "I'm going to kill you!"

It was in that moment that I felt a heavy weight against my chest, like I had been kicked. A spark of intense pain stopped me in my tracks. I was having trouble breathing, and I could feel myself growing more and more light-headed. It was painful to move. My vines went slack in the air as I opened my eyes and looked down.

To my infinite surprise, I could make out the shape of a dagger that had pierced my chest, its blade pushing through flesh and muscle to find the soft, vital organs buried within.

I began to feel the wave of overwhelming calm that washes over you upon your death. I looked up to see the faun cautiously emerging from the bushes, her sword drawn and held at the ready. Her eyes flitted between the dagger buried in my chest, the vines that laid at my feet, and her dying friend off to the side.

I raised a briar-knit hand into the air, but fell face-first onto the forest floor before I could express my anger and pain with my middle finger.

[Philomel]

Her only concern was him. After the storm had been sent, she waited for three seconds, then took a cautious step from the cover of the forest. Hooves moving as nervously as so called tender-prints, of a faun kid taking her first step, the faun-whore poked her head from the foliage, eyes searching around for any sign of her precious boy.

Still in her mind he was screaming. Still in her mind he was writhing in agony. Still in her mind she could feel the intense burning of throat, heart and lungs, and even muscle as he fought against the acid that was threatening to kill him. And her own body, in this light, felt as if it were dying, slowly, but still dying as all the feelings lay exposed from his mind to hers, sending her rage to the extreme and her desire to cuddle him and hold him forever to the maximum.

Sword held ready she looked around, scanning the broad grasses, and found much the direction of Madison composed of dust. Bright green and lavish, the field still held a great joy, shining under the bright sun, entirely oblivious of this deathly fight. It seemed to completely not care of the struggling red-orange being, barely able to walk and basically dragging his hind legs with his front. Yet Philomel did care, and it took her moments to see with her hooves connected to the earth, connected to the magic she possessed, and then see with her eyes. Despite the pain in her system she found she had the ability to run, and run she did, right to his form.

Eyes wide, panicked and desperate, she fled to him, hardly caring if the keris dagger had found its mark. Indeed, she expected it to have fallen short somewhere, stuck in the dirt. She expected Madison to be temporarily distracted by the dust storm, and then she would come for faun and fox both, raging in all of her vine-and-poison power. But that would not matter - for through it all Philomel and Veridian would be together, and maybe die together, and they would be resurrected together by those grumpy old monks. The Briarheart would win, but who cared? As long as the two beasts of earth were one and the same, eternally bound in emotion.

A vine ripped up, right through the ground, but her awareness was alive and working. Philomel leapt over it, then cut through the next one that spasmed towards her. Injuries abstained before were weaknesses, but they would never stop her from achieving her goal of being with her beloved, of dying with her beloved. That, after all, was the ideal in all of this. Her lips ripped apart. She screamed over the vegetation.

"Veridian!"

Philomel!

Limping, injured, dying.

"I come, my love!"

"I'm going to kill you!" the shriek of the Briarheart came.

Ahhhh, Philomel thought, a smile coming to her face, Ahh, perfect. You will have killed us both, but we will always win for what we share in our hearts. Pain is nothing. Just a hindrance.

She slashed and stomped, and jumped and seemingly flew. A vine smacked into her side, causing her to fly off target, and the faun fell, heavily to the ground. She felt the juddering harshness judder through her bones, but she barely cared for she could see him coming. In this moment, in this time, he was only a few inches away, within a hand's reach. Him, there, shuddering with such weakness and horror.

Phi - Philomelll ...

She moved onto her knees, barely caring any more of what Madison would do to them. Because she had him, and they shared everything, deepest of all the pain of acid death. Pain, but not reality, yet the mentality was perhaps worse. He gave her a weak smile, she lifted him up and cuddled his soft fur right to her chest, where their hearts could beat in sychronisation.

Philomel ...

"Hush now, my darling, do not worry. This will soon be over."

She leaned down to kiss him, her luscious lips formed in the mark of eternal friendship to press against his muzzle.

"Hush now ... It will be over. She will be gone."

It took her ten full minutes to realise that no more vines were coming and that the dagger was sticking out of the Briarheart's chest. Dead. Done. Nothing. Gone.

Dead.


Please note: This began when Philomel was at level 3, and her abilities were very different to what they are now. Hence this being finished off with a "weaker" Philomel than current events would show.

[Hysteria]

Plot:

Story: (Out of 10 Points)

Philomel – 4
This was somewhat weak at the start. There wasn’t much of a sense of the world around Phi apart from her brother, and the relationship wasn’t clearly articulated until later in the thread. She wanted to fight, but why? Why was she angry? Why did that disappear so quickly? There was some mentioning of her history prior with the crimson hand, but a lot of it came from BABE.

BlackAndBlueEyes – 7
Good job linking Madison’s past and current storylines. Sneaking in how she became the creature she is today was also a nice touch. Overall I felt like this was another chapter in her story and could see some of the past.


Setting: (Out of 10 Points)

Philomel – 5
I was a bit disappointed here. You set the scene, but it could have been done with more flair or emotion. It could have been integrated with your posts as part of the action. I’d have liked a better description of Philomel as well. She is a unique character, how she interacts with the world around her is similarly unique.

BlackAndBlueEyes – 6
Good job with the soft descriptions at the start and there was some nice imagery of the blood and acid. Also sense of smell for the (poor) burning fox. I know first person doesn’t lend itself well to being descriptive, but don’t skim over things like your attacks. This is where we see cross over between setting and action, you can link the two given the way your attacks work.

Pacing: (Out of 10 Points)

Philomel – 6
Your sudden interlude of a flashback with Leaf was out of place and your sudden run away went on for too long. Otherwise you did a good job of keeping everything moving.

BlackAndBlueEyes – 7
You kept everything moving along well. The thread length lent itself for a fairly quick pace.

Character:
Communication: (Out of 10 Points)

Philomel – 5
I found some of the words used a bit jarring. For example in your first post I didn’t get much meaning for the interaction between Leaf and Phi. Apart from her saying ‘I want a fight’ and then him saying ‘you just want a fight’, which of course she does, she just said she did, you could have said more with less here. The interactions between Veridian and Phi felt odd as well. Non-verbal communication could have been used here, for example having Phi punch something rather than saying ‘I want to punch something’ would have conveyed the message better.

BlackAndBlueEyes – 7
There wasn’t heaps to go on, but generally you did well. Anger, emotion and the like were expressed well through dialogue. Just remember the setting. You’re in a field, so it’s unnatural to chat at a normal volume. ‘Get out here, Philomel.”, seemed odd without the exclamation.


Action: (Out of 10 Points)

Philomel – 4
Phi has an interesting physiology. It was a missed opportunity not to focus on that while she was moving around. You also took a long time in your posts for your actions that stretched out Madison’s. For example, Madison threw four vines at you, then you had a mini-duel with them while Madison was just standing there. Also, you need to take some damage from attacks(!!!), and your armour seemed at odds with your character’s spritely movements. The other movements, the headbutt for example were well done.

BlackAndBlueEyes – 7
I’d like to see more description of your poison clouds. Nothing onerous, but how far they shoot, how long they stay in the air, what they do if they are inhaled, etc. Even if you just hint at it. Otherwise your movements were simple, clear and appropriate.

Persona: (Out of 10 Points)

Philomel – 6
I mentioned this under communication and story, but it would have been nice to have Phi fleshed out more. The sudden flashback and contrast to her brother was nice, but at the moment she seems like a poor player, full of sound and fury but signifying nothing. Who is she? What does she want by fighting? I need more! I got enough that from a less mature writer I’d be happy, but I know you can do better.

BlackAndBlueEyes – 8
You did a good job exploring her, or perhaps I should say, she did a good job telling us about herself. For a first person perspective I’d expect this to be pretty high scoring and it was. She was sarcastic, angry and painfully bitter at parts.


Prose:
Mechanics: (Out of 10 Points)

Philomel – 5
I expected a bit more here. You were really manic at the start, and kept putting in half sentences. After the thread started this was better, but still somewhat lacking. A couple of times I found myself re-writing your sentences in my head to improve the flow. Perhaps this is a stylistic choice, but it seemed to jar quite a bit. Your sentences sometimes ran on a bit with three or so commas in them. While I don’t believe there was much gramtically wrong, the way It effected the flow stopped the score from being higher.

BlackAndBlueEyes – 8
I can’t really fault you much here. Madison’s narration has a distinct flow that changes with her mood. You use the first person style well, and it comes through by adding depth.


Clarity: (Out of 10 Points)

Philomel – 6
Generally I knew what was going on, but a few times it was a bit awkward and I lost track of which character ‘she’ was. I’d encourage you to also establish your alternative names early. Nightingale threw me for a second, I thought it was her weapon. Be careful changing your narrative voice here too, sometimes it was all-knowing, other times it wasn’t.

BlackAndBlueEyes – 8
I can’t fault you here really. Sometimes I wanted more, more description, or more focus on something that Madison skimmed over.

Technique: (Out of 10 Points)
Philomel – 5
I think you got slightly carried away at the start, and then couldn’t follow though with the same gusto that you entered the thread with. You style at the start was somewhat manic as I said before. “Her hands had curled and uncurled into fists and a rough redness had been on her cheeks like the fury of the Fates. Madly her lips had been curled into a maniac smile as she had professed her desire just to kick some ass.” You’re throwing descriptors at the reader here. Calm down, pull back one or two and focus on them to make them meaningful.

BlackAndBlueEyes – 7
Good use of first person. I’d have liked to see that come out more clearly when Madison was head-butted. You describe a white flash, but given that Madison is the one describing it you could have done that better. If you get knocked like that you often don’t remember what happened, or it just flashes and you’re on the ground. Otherwise breaking Madison’s thoughts with the story was good. The use of humour was very well done here too.

Wildcard: (Out of 10 Points)

Philomel – 6
You need to take damage from attacks! You inhaled a lot of poison, but a post later you were (figuratively) skipping through the trees. Also, I really didn’t get the relationship between Veridian and Phi here. From other threads it was really strong, now it seemed fairly one sided and lacked the impact it could have had.

BlackAndBlueEyes – 7
Ya’ did good kid. More seriously, you had some strong parts of this thread, but it is a bit same-same as your others. I’d like to see you experiment more with your style. That’s a personal preference, but careful you don’t just stick to what you know.

Total:
Philomel – 52
BlackAndBlueEyes – 73

BlackAndBlueEyes wins!

BaBE receives: 3000xp! 60gp!
Philomel receives: 375xp! 30gp!

[Hysteria]

xp and gp added!