Fauns At Sea

[Philomel]

Set just after The Past the Beauty and the Ballad. All about Philomel taking to the sea, and finding her mother. If you like fauns, or pirates, just PM me if you want to be a part of this adventure.

Rated Mature. Warning: mature content starting at post 14.

Somewhere off the Coast of Corone.

Three nights and three days.

It had been that long now since they had set sail. Sunset had become dusk, which had turned into night, then to morning three times, and now it was happening for the fourth. Crimson rays stretched out lazily across the sky, being a magenta pink as they tickled the halfway line of clouds. From there the blue quickly became a kindly indigo, relying on old tried measures for lowering the sun down beyond the horizon. The moon hung as a milky orb, waiting for its moment to be the brightest light out there, and the stars barely poked their noses out from under the comfort of their daytime beds.

All this was reflected in the casual surface of what the fauns called the Connecting Sea, that part between the large mainland and Corone. Philomel leaned over the side of the ship, resting on her forearms, watching the sea and sky. She held a look of contentment in her eyes and a serene calm in the rest of her features. Her hair was loosely plaited back as usual, and now fully dyed a deep violet; partly in order to disguise her from those Alerans who still wanted her blood, partly for the sake of the idea of a new life.

Her new found passion, the Gilded Lily, had been going for two weeks now, ever since her return to Radasath after the failed trip to the faunish homeland - Paradisia. Things had happened there that she could not explain, for the vague answers Veridian gave her about them were nothing at all to go by. All he had said was that Drys had saved her, and had killed the stranger faun who had captured her. That same faun who had revered the Earth Spirit as some sort of a god, then judged Philomel guilty for his death when she had only been defending herself. His death - Veridian's death, if he had even died in the first place. Those few scenes were far too confusing and disorientating. They battered her mind, made her weary and caused her to feel nauseous on this sea voyage she had already spent too long gaining her constitution for.

"Lady," came a grumble from behind her.

A grumble and a stomp. As she turned she saw the one-legged old sailor, known to most simply as Legless, clomping his way towards her, his gnarled crutch under his right arm. He had a permanent despairing look about him, the way that all old men do whom have lost hope of having a normal life, and stared with icy blue eyes at her.

"Master Legless," she said as politely as she could. To go with this she added a soft, pretty smile and cupped her hands before her.

He chewed the inside of his lip, glancing down at her buxom bosom, which was covered with a white blouse for the sake of keeping up an appearance of sweetness, and then he grunted.

"You'll wants to go down below deck. There's talks of a storming tonight."

Philomel frowned. She looked back over to where she had been looking at the sky. Checking, she perused the sunset and then turned back to the sailor.

"It seems a clear sky to me ..." she said.

"Aye but there," he lifted his crutch in the air, pointing to the opposite way. He held his balance for a moment, then flopped back onto the point of his support with a stomp. "There storm clouds is brewing, dark ones in the night there. And we have an ill wind, I can smells it."

The faun-whore raised her eyebrow, but glanced over to the other side. Blinking for a while she looked into the indigo inky depths of the heavens, before spotting what he meant. A low single dark cloud on the horizon, barely visible for the lack of light surrounding it, and as lonely as a mountain goat on a broad cliff.

"That is not a storm," she replied, "That is a single cloud, and look," she pointed upwards, to where the band of clouds tinged with pink were idly discussing the state of the seas, "There are more. Not very stormy, now."

Legless raised his spare hand and tapped his rounded piggy nose, "I knows there is a storm," he growled, "I knows it. I can smells it."

[Philomel]

The storm raged outside, claiming the world as its own. Below decks, tucked away in a corner of the hull, on the secondary level, Philomel waited for the tempest to pass. She passed the first half an hour trying to make herself comfortable with blankets and a cushion, but it was no use. Eventually she strode up to the luckiest sailor and offered him her services for the night in exchange for his hammock. It was an easily made exchange. Hooking up the hammock in her chosen corner she waited out the storm in the softest way possible, lying on her side and holding Veridian close to her chest. The fox in no way enjoyed lightning. Or rain. Or water for that matter. He was an Earth Spirit born to roam the forests and plains, not to take to the oceans on voyages of exploration.

Mercilessly the ship was tossed about as if it were no more than a rag doll, caught in the clutches of a furious bully. Its sails were down but yet it still ripped them from many of the masts, gnashing at them with teeth of thunder. Giant behemoth waves battered against the sides, sending echoes through the chambers of the ship's belly. For some seasoned sailors this was just another night at sea, and they walked around with steady legs, tending to the various portholes that were knocked open and let in volumes of water and ran up and down the single open ladder hatch leading to the deck. Philomel could hear the yelling of the captain and of Legless where she lay, trying to contend with the wild weather and gain dominance, but neither in this world would win. The sailors were stout-hearted and determined, and the storm perhaps even more so. The battle began suddenly and continued long after the sky was black, no stars to even glimpse from the pieces of heaven.

So suddenly it had come. The faun-whore respected the seamen for their bravery, and she watched them scurry to and fro. They had taken the word of their one-legged ocean expert and scrabbled to prepare the ship for stormy weather, though, like Philomel, some of them had doubted. It clashed like a sudden dawn with the boat, and threatened to drown it in a matter of moments, had not the sailors been so skilled. They had wrestled back control of their ship from the rain and wind, and let Fate herself decide who was going to be the victor.

Thump, thump, thump. Well she knew who that was.

The faun-whore had been looking down at her darling, curled up as he was into a tight russet ball. Upon his forehead was a tiny piece of true dirt, straight from the vial attached to a chain around her neck - a piece of dirt from under the ash tree he was born in. It gave some sort of comfort at least, for it was the place also where he had felt the touch of Drys' stave and thus been reborn directly from where he had died. The spot itself was now a lighter orange than the rest of his fur, and it bloomed with a faint glow as if kissed by an angel. Philomel called it his crown, he just called it his forehead and thought little of it other than where he like to be scratched.

She looked up, however, at the thumping sound. She attempted a smile at the hobbling man, using the beams across the roof as much as his crutch to support him as the ship continued to be tossed. However, she could not altogether summon the means for a smile because of the situation. Neither could he. Legless just looked at her grimly as he collapsed against a side wall and stared at her.

"Its bad," he bellowed over the maddening, howling wind, "It is very bad, Lady faun."

[Philomel]

Sitting up Philomel swung her furry legs over the side of the hammock, startled at Legless' words. Angrily the hammock rocked with the wildness of the storm, threatening to send her tipping to the floor, but she was steady. Who complained more was the Earth Spirit. At the removal of her comforting bosom he let out a high frightened yelp, as if no more than a two week year old cub, and turned quickly to try to find her again. Her hands swept down and she picked him up, only to hold him once more to her plump round breasts and stroke his ears. It took a while for him to find the peace again, but once he found the right place to nuzzle his muzzle into, he was quiet.

Patiently, Legless waited for the pair to settle their differences, holding onto the side of the ship for usefulness. Once Philomel was looking back at him he repeated his words, letting her know just how serious the storm was getting. She could see from his hair and his oilskin that nothing could avoid the rain, not even his usually protected neck. His eyes were bloodshot with overwork and where he stood he created a small puddle of wet in the otherwise dry space.

"The storming is very bad," he said.

Philomel nodded, holding onto the hammock with one hand to steady her body as it was rocked again. "Yes, I can see that," she responded. "Do you have any idea how long it will last from now?"

"Well we has already been at war for three hours by the captain's counting," Legless roared over a clap of thunder, "And there is none sign of it stopping soon."

"So you came down to tell me that we are going to be here a little longer?" Philomel blinked, breathing out as the thunder died down and it was quiet for a few moments, "Perhaps hours more?"

The old one-legged man frowned, adjusting his stance, "I thought you would wants to know."

"Know nothing you mean," the faun-whore muttered.

Savagely the wind hit the side of the ship, sending a raucous noise around them. Nearing her Legless yelled.

"Sorrys, what did you said?"

"Nothing!" she roared back.

Veridian yowled.

After a while the old sailor left again. The thump of his crutch could not be heard, this time, over the zephyr's breath. Barely able to even hear the shouts of the captain anymore Philomel sat there, legs still dangling over the side and still cupping her beloved to her chest, feeling grim and not feeling alive at all. Useless was all she could think of the sailor right now, useless and stupid for coming down to tell her that there was no visible end to this tragedy. For a moment she had considered offering to go with him to the deck to help - but then who would be there for Veridian. Such a strong individual in combat, the Earth Spirit barely could cope with these tossing seas. It was the worst nightmare of his, as her father was of hers, and his claws dug into her top as the wooden vessel moved in the terrible weather.

She lay back down, sighing and unable now to hear even the nearby creaking of wood. A great frown was on her face, but her spirit was calm, at least for now. All she could do was close her eyes and try to picture what she wanted to see. That was - Concordia forest, in all its beauty. Trees of green and brown, angled and ranged as far as east as from the west. Deer and rabbits made it their home, as well as quiet creatures of magic and mystery. There were oasises and butterflies, spirits and secrets, all waiting for the faun and fox to explore.

Desperately, she tried to cling to this dream, and through the majesty of their shared mindedness, she gifted it to Veridian also. He shifted a little, but then settled, taking to the idea whole-heartedly for there was nothing else to do. Together they closed their eyes and desperately clung to their idea of paradise, of that place near the faun homeleand yet so far from its cruelty. It was a place of peace and loneliness, made just for them where no one else could come and play. No interruptions, not even from a dream-weaver could make it into their land, for it was an unconquerable world.

Or that was how they liked to think of it.

[Philomel]

Of course.

Paradise never came.

Wham!

They were awoken from their strange stupor by the suddeness of a noise louder than any other told by the storm. Like a narrator the tempest so far had dictated every twist and turn, every pattern and weather change, every climax and fall, until the seamen and seawomen were beginning to feel like they had no say in the matters at all. It had been a great triumph, at least, to keep the ship afloat in such a story, for the character's hands were nimble and they were many, and they tended to the pages like diligent workers.

However, this interjection was never foretold. It was another author, another creator, who came along and asserted his dominant authority over the tale. Angrily he slammed his own plot into that of the ship, and sent it aching over to one side. The ship itself was battered, sideways, across the waves, and though no damage appeared directly where Philomel was, she could hear the ship screaming in pain. The clatter was huge, monumental and thoroughly rude. Leaping to her hooves she shoved the Earth Spirit to the side, roaring at him loudly. When he could not hear her she shouted angrily in his mind.

Stop squealing, something has happened. We need to go, fast.

Veridian was quaking, feverishly, in his black socks, yet he seemed to get her drift. Despite his dislike of the storm he shook himself, whining yet nodding to her command. He watched as she grabbed her whole vestiage of adornments that had been stowed away in a bolted-down crate. The dragonscale breastplate was hard to put on. She slipped twice and hit against the wall. As she did the second time another wham occurred to the side of the ship, but this time near the front, sending it tipping back. For a moment gravity was ill-defined as the stern became the bottom, and only Veridian was well in his swinging hammock.

The faun-whore watched as the few sailors in the distance who were below deck with her clutched onto furniture and ropes in order not to fall over. She herself clung onto the wall, and sucked in her breath tightly. For a moment the entire vessel was on its end, titled at a dangerous angle ... then it fell forwards again, and smashed back into the sea with alarming consequences.

She was thrown onto her face, and only her hands saved her from a broken nose. There was a pause in the storm, enough for her storm tilt her head and hear a cocophany of voices above. Roaring and cursing and beating. She heard the screams of pain and the ugliness of someone dying.

Definitely dying. Definite pain, definite battle. A battle in a battle, against men and against elements. Two in one. The thing that had slammed into them? Another ship. The reason why so few sailors were down here now? Another crew? The difficulty factor that this was being raised by? Exponential. Nearing impossible.

Her eyes narrowed, fearlessly, as she pushed herself to her feet and realised that this war was only getting worse with the passing moment. Savagely she pulled out her remaining garnments, and strapped on every last weapon with some difficulty due to the weather. However, the sounds were clear and her mind was set. In her hand went the naked blade of her white tongue of faun-justice and behind her Veridian closely followed.

[Philomel]

Each hoofstep soundless between the cries of battle above and the lashings of the storm outside, Philomel raged her way up to the top deck. Behind her Veridian ran, eager to keep by her side in this frightening time, with his light paws as close as he could be to her hooves. Together they transcended the wooden stairway and merged into a dark mess of blood and rain. It was almost to obvious who was the villain and who was the defender in this case, for the parties looked as different from one another as one could imagine. She had expected for them to look like any two mercenary armies clashing in battle - and that was just the same. Dressed all in cloth and leather, armed with the same swords and bows, each side killing as many as the next.

Instead, however, the enemy, the ones who were attacked, had painstakingly made themselves to look like pirates. They were all human, and they all wore a bright red scarf about their neck. Upon their heads was a hat of some kind, though relatively the colour was black. They each had a damascus steel sword, which was unfortunately carving through the iron and steel weapons of Philomel's friendly crew like a stabber through butter. Her friendly crew also were much more drenched-looking than the other men, and were far more tired than these fresh pirates from the attacking vessel, which did not bode well for the faun and her companion.

A quick glance told her that already the battle was nearing its climax, and that clearly the ones she sailed with were losing. Over near the foot of the stairs leading to the upper deck she saw Legless, hitting as many as he could get his hands on with a crowbar and the knobbly end of his crutch. The sailor she had promised a night with in exchange for his hammock was also alive, trying to parry two pirates with his dented steel rapier and a tiny dagger. Other than that many bodies were on the floor, and many of whom she recognised. Where she popped her head up there were various friendly bodies around her, enough to assess and make an executive decision. For it was clear that the ship would be overrun without something dramatic and strong, something to turn the tide against these damascus-armed brigands. Something that was miraculous, powerful, magical even and would surely have them all dancing with joy when she won them a victory.

The faun-whore sighed, muttering about how useless sailors were in getting them from place to place. As the thunder clashed again and a great wave smashed once more into the side of the ship, all fights were stopped for the moment - except one. Feet were knocked off course with the sudden fearsome threat of the storm, and several cries were heard. The deck went sideways for a few seconds, people were drenched in salty water and one man was knocked overboard. Yet one - one was steady. She had hooves, not slippery shoes, and these were goat hooves, excellently made for climbing up vast mountain cliff sides - so why not dance through a ship that is battling men and storm?

Over their heads the Nightingale bounded, and as she reached the maximum height of her parabola lightening crashed. Those below of religious belief saw a goddess, and those of fear saw a nightmare, but either way she came to reap their souls from their bodies. She sailed high and landed low, coming to a halt as the ship righted itself, with mythril blade in one hand and a dark green short knife in the other. Amongst the attackers she descended, a wicked grin on her face and purple hair streaming out to the side in the savage wind.

Her mouth opened and she bellowed through the wind and rain, "I am here to take your lives!"

... But apparently they did not hear her.

Rather, they attacked. With a roar. And she retaliated, setting her keris dagger on fire, and burning a hole right through their ranks and lives. Mercilessly. In defence of her own self. Saving her bloody useless sailors from utter extinction.

[Philomel]

Indeed, she felt like the good Grim Reaper. Flashing forwards first with flames, and then with a blade as white as snow, the assassin-whore danced, weaving her steps to the tune of the tempest. The thunder was her drum beat, the crash of waves the cymbals, and the powerful nuances of the cries of fear and death from the men in the midst of battle - they were the main melody. She settled scores that had only just arisen, and slaughtered two men who were side by side fighting in battle, but clearly had some trust issues with one another. Their red blood splattered on the deck below, likely becoming a permanant decoration unless some poor sod was issued to clean it up in the next hour.

As she spilt flames some people went on fire, but it was only enough to set a rope or two ablaze. Yet, they were far too damp by now for their heat to last more than a few seconds. Mostly the fire from the plynt dagger acted as a detergent, frightening the pirates away from the faun, like they were ordinary bears. Or wolves. Or rabbits. Feral rabbits, wanting to kill them, so they hunted out their camp in the dark dead of night.

For minutes she shook the hearts of men and took lives with her. Some of them had deadly stunned faces, seeing such a beautiful mostly-naked girl taking their lives. When all of them were men with hats it was understandable. Some stared at her legs as the last thing they saw, but more still had eyes fixed on her breasts, buldging beneath the drakescale. And as they waited and watched this demonic reaper they did not look long enough to their feet to notice the streak of russet-red that brought with it tooth and claw. Veridian scampered his way aound boots and bare feet to be with his beloved, still fearing the storm in all of its power. Yes he brought with him his instruments of pain he was in no mood to use them, still, apparently. Instead, once within her reach, he slithered his way like an uneager snake in her hoof space and stayed there, only moving to avoid being trampled on, always within the ring of her protective blades.

They were soon able to get away from being encircled and in sight of a wall. A few looks here and there told Philomel that they could either fight there, or jump. She was doing well at the moment as she could - despite Veridian's uselessness here. Yet a wall would provide useful protection for one side and enable her to mow down bodies faster. It was a jutt out of the usual upper deck, a piece where the boat's wheel was kept upon. It approached the middle mast, then failed miserably stop anywhere sensible and just gave a huge oblong chunk sticking into the main deck, hence why Philomel had not yet fallen in love with this ship. With this point, however, to her back she could keep her pathetic astraphobic familiar safe.

Mentally she told him of her plan, calculating the distance with estimation. Veridian was too afraid to give back a intelligible reply, so she sucked in her breath and hoped he would do the same. Pausing, then swinging out suddenly wildly with her blades, she created a space big enough to move into, then wrenched the wood beneath them apart. Wood, being of the earth and having small dirt and dust particles constantly lodged between them, gave a good enough base to jump through. A hole appeared, something similar to a black hole in the centre of a deadly galaxy, and the two creatures were pulled down with it. They 'jumped' through it, and were instantaneously delivered to the place by the wall, the ground beneath that opening up in a mirage-like way. It was a simple jump, a breath of a portal that gave rise to rumours of those who had already called her a goddess, and also those who claimed she was death itself.

Poor sailors and pirates, she concluded, as she burst upon the new men, taking yet more lives. They barely know what they are doing.

[Philomel]

Within ten minutes she entirely gave up on the Lover. Its flaming blade, though it was a good deterrant, was near useless in this humid weather. Therefore, she turned it off, and allowed herself to resort purely to fighting via sword and dagger, as if she was any fighter, except that she had magic, and through her hooves could tell where the men were coming from.

Wood is part of earth, and via it she had an acute sense of where things were, and where pools of fighting was dominating. She could tell that nearby against the staircase two men fought against four others, and behind them there was empty space. To another side were a small pile of bodies, created by the bored deckhands of the pirate ship, doing what they did best in a battle and so resorted to caretaking. Over back where she had begun the faun-whore gained a vague sense of some championing, with Legless screaming to his fellows to surge on, and so the sailors did, with hearts of honour and with brave stances, holding their ground for ugly ship and glory and their wives and children!

... Even so, they were severely outnumbered.

Even with her help, Philomel could not stop the many from killing.

She danced as well as she could, and even imagined up a mad dust storm to blind five warriors at once. It flew around her, nipping speckles of dirt and miniscule stones. Warping in the rain and with the life of the storm around it, it seemed more disasterous than it actually was, and hit with the power of a tornado. Or, at least, that was how the pirates around her reacted as she released the earth magic. They cried out in pain, many dropping their blades and swapping to claw at their eyes, with those around them who were unaffected pausing for a moment to come to terms with what had happened. Philomel bit through the freezing rain and slashed madly, left and right, taking advantage of that moment to attempt to press forwards ... yet.

Yet.

The pirate's ranks were soon filled. These men were fresh-bodied and awake, filled with the ideal of wanting to keep going. From where she stood Philomel could not see the attacking ship, but she knew that it must be far larger than the ugly one she was on, purely because of the size of this crew. Yes, she cut them down, and yes, she gave a new angle to "her side's" fight. But she was one individual in a hoard of many others, and one brilliant warrior does not win a war.

Minutes past, and she could not get further than a few steps without the ranks being filled again. Hail started coming, and once or twice a wave crashed into the ship which was large enough to sweep a couple of sailors overboard. The battles ceased for a moment as all fighters fought to stay standing and balanced, and in this Philomel did have the upper hand. Hooves gave her stability beyond any slippy shoe. However, those moments were just moments, and microcosms when it came to the grand scale of the event. Her mythril sword was a good bet against the damascus blades, and neither chipped the other, they just bounced, so this was not an advantage - it was just an even fair. She maimed many times more than she killed, so that at least there was not a large build of bodies around her. The truly injured were dragged away by friends in the crowd, back behind their ranks, between where the spots of ugly-ship sailors and the mass of pirates existed. There, supposedly, they were left to be tended, and their spaces would be filled by yet more fresh-faced, rain-drenched buccaneers.

Philomel cursed the sky as one blade out of the four she currently parried, slipped past her defences and sharply nicked her arm. Like a rabid cat she spat, linking minds with the still fearful Veridian behind her, and telling him they were to move again. She sucked in breath. Once more the earth opened, and once more it pulled them from that spot and sent them into a space of unsuspecting enemies. Shivering, the usually agile and useful fox hid between her hooves and she through herself with vigour into another fight. Her sword sang, melody after melody, but the pirates kept on coming, and after a while she took no more lives. Her arm grew weaker, and she was bitter.

So she moved again, angrily. This time she went to where she had begun, all the way to the stairwell where her friendly sailors had held their ground, and her heart felt ill. Sick. Like it had been through hell and was now, once again, experiencing the behemoth tongues of flames with the stench of brimstone.

Of the ten or so she had left there, only four remained. The rest had become fodder for the hungry storm. Legless barely was standing, his crutch having been hacked to pieces where he stood, and now he was sitting on a barrel receiving death-lunge after death-lunge after death-lunge. Blood coursed down his body from several places, and altogether he looked haggered, like age had suddenly hit him in this prime. His hair was stuck to the side of his face by both rain and sweat, and as she watched Philomel saw the beads of both liquids lit in the shattering brightness of a bolt of lightening.

Savage, brilliant, beautiful, deadly.

She bit back a scream, and with her remaining arm, through herself back into the fray. Hating herself. Detesting herself.

Ashamed to think that despite all of her skills and her years of assassination she could not turn a battle from one tide to another. She was not a mistress of fate, she was a failed matriarch of nothing. Sorrowfully, horrifyingly, painfully. She could not, no matter what, change the outcome in a single point of destined history.

[Philomel]

Long after the last drop of blood had dripped, the storm raged. Nature, in all her splendour, kept on with the wind and rain and turmoil, as the two ships sailed away - driven by practised hands - away from danger. She had no real care that a savage battle had been fought here, and that the lives of many a man and good-hearted warrior had been taken, some even by her waves. To her the battle had been nothing, it had been an event in her circular history, as she strove to balance the sun with the tempest and the hot with the cold. Her duty was to heat and cold, light and dark, and not to the matters of pirates and sailors fighting for their lives. For the most part she ignored them as the ships, once peaceful, were turned away from the eye of the storm and sent towards the edge, for pirates make better sailors than the best of the hired sea merchants.

Philomel had glimpsed two words on the side of the attacking ship before she had finally been defeated and taken below deck. The carved name proudly declared her to be the Fiesty Fish. Part of it made the faun-whore want to chortle, and she still found herself ridiculously grinning as she leaned back against the bars of her cage. Beside her, curled up tight on the floor, was Veridian. He was thin enough to fit through the metal railings, hence why they had chosen to place a chain around his neck without placing such adornments on the faun. Other prisoners, at least, the few who had survived, were not so lucky. They were cuffed and shackled, and all shoved to stand against a wall together, whilst the whore and her familiar were given their own small room with a seat, a hammock and even a chamber pot. Albeit, they were all in the place commonly known as the "brig" and all were clearly prisoners of the pirate attackers, yet there was obvious particular favour to the pretty faun who had defeated half their army.

Or perhaps they had realised chains were not made for an earth mage. Philomel had one earth jump to use, but now it was useless. Despite their reputed savagery the pirates had on board their own set of magicians, and two of them together created a very nice ward around her bars. It had a very pleasant glow that was rather distant to the un-tutored eye, but for those of keensight it glimmered like a summer horizon and had the complexity of starshine. Philomel found it enjoyable to watch the twinkling of these lights, and she tried to point it out to Veridian but he preferred to snooze. Yea, he found the chain around his neck uncomfortable, however without any weapons on her or any use of magic the faun-whore found it impossible to loosen. And he was exahusted from all the energy of bring afraid.

Now they were out of the storm he was calm. Astrophobia was a curse, indeed, but it was at least easier than paterphobia. Though Philomel had long since determined that her father would never again enter her life, it still did not stop the idea of ghosts, or nightmares. Indeed, now she herself had witnessed and fought at first hand the monsters that were reanimated corpses, and all on the back of a dragon too. What was to stop someone finding the place she had hidden her father's body and bringing him back as some twisted sick punishment? It would be so much harsher than placing her in a cage like she was now.

Her eyes wandered over to the remaining crew of the ugly ship. There were so few of the many that had been at the start, and they were gagged to the extent that they had to breathe through their noses. In her mind it was a little harsh - they could not even sit down, the poor sods - but she did not think it wise, yet, to argue against their captors. At least she could feel satisfied that she and Veridian were treated well. Whether that was because of her gender, or her beauty, or her magic, she could not be sure, but for now she had to just be greatful. For now, she decided, it was good to wait. So far they had not spoken to her; they had just led her to this little cell and set the ward, and that had been all. It had been enough.

It was enough. She sighed a little, then smiled again and watched the sleeping fox, her heart's companion, enjoying the quiet of the evening. Crows cawed, gulls shrieked and waves lightly thumped against the wood outside, but it was calm. And it was safe.

At least for now, it was safe.

[Philomel]

They came like the silent chills of winter.

Philomel had once more grown used to the gentle rise and fall of the ship in casual water. She could tell they were headed to a place with a full wind in their sails, for her natural sense of the earth gave her some sort of knowledge of movement. Due to the magical ward surrounding their cell she could not fully determine who was where and what lay beyond her small patch of earth, due to the simple fact that the magic was disallowed - but a passive, inate awareness still lay there. After all, the ward did not stop her from looking into Veridian's dreams and seeing those many spiralling patterns of browns and greens, merging and pressing together in numerous, effortless forms.

Of course, she had tried to break the ward, but her attempts were barely worth mentioning. Her first time approaching the line had given a sharp, brutal shock to the system, - something like a sting by a scorpion - and the second had left her dazed and prone for a few, awful minutes. After these two endevours had failed the faun-whore quickly came to the realisation that, though she deemed herself to be a capable earth mage, two were still stronger than one in this case. And there was the possibility that one's speciality was in the protective arts, just as hers was in manipulating the earth.

They came together, as she expected, as one body and two pairs of determined eyes. They were led by a proud man with a peaked hat and one of the bright red neckerchiefs, though his was tied like a cravat. The two mages were dressed like ostentacious, arrogant wizards of old universities, but with a pirating twist, with their usual robes hitched up and tied around their wait, with their pointed hats swapped for tricorns, and their long beards plaited into elegant knots so they looked more brigand than lecturer. One had green eyes, and the other blue, but beyond this Philomel did not know them. Behind these again, following like uneager dogs, came four members of the ordinary crew, all armed with several blades and showing different variants of boredom.

Ignoring the other prisoners all together, the full attention of this party was on Philomel and her fox companion. As they approached the piqued her interest, but her mind quickly grew determined to be as sophisticatedly proud of this as possible. If they were wary of her as a mage, then she would let them - perhaps let them grow fear. Her eyes went quickly from one man to the other - for they were all male, no females - as she sat leaning against the back wall of her cage, hooves partly tucked underneath her and her arm just stretched far enough to comb through the hair on the ears of Veridian.

He still lay there, snoozing. Though she could tell he was surfacing to conciousness.

Gently, the assassin-whore let a smile grow upon her lips, and she titled her head back to better gaze at these individuals. A quick assessment of their expressions and the way they held themselves told her practised mind that at least the main man, Mr Cravat, was a serious bloke who would kill her before he trusted her. Mr Green-Eyes mage was a little kinder around the wrinkles than Mr Blue-Eyes but like Mr Cravat they held a sense of determination and tenacity. None would be hard to please. It was not a forunate beginning, but at least it gave the Nightingale something to start with. With her free hand she swept her plait over her shoulder, and came to stare straight at Mr Cravat, who was clearly in charge. Locking gaze with him she waited for him to start, knowing that she was definitely not going to give the first word - for after all, they had only given her silence until this meeting.

Unless they never meant to speak now. They simply could all be coming to stare at her.

Like an animal in a zoo. For Drys' sake, she was half goat, not full goat! Beastiality did not even come into it. It was her race's human half that made them sentient. It was so immature, these people who treated her kind like they were lesser beings, just because they shared some DNA with some farm beast - yet, what about orcs? They were far uglier, and if it was anything to go by, they were closer related to demonic toads than humanoids, or so it seemed.

"Your name."

Thoughts interrupted, she blinked, confused for a moment. "Huh? You what now?"

Mr Cravat's eyes rapidly darkened, his brows furrowing like great hills collapsing in an earthquake. "Your name," he hissed.

Obviously a temper problem. Philomel wanted to retort, as was usual, but situation was not exactly in her favour here. So she answered, as polite and fast as she could.

"Ah. Call me the Nightingale, if you please."

She finished it off with a gentle, flourishing smile. Mr Green Eyes smiled back.

He was elbowed sharply in the ribs by his co-mage. Coughing sharply he hid the smile back up, and received some disaapproving looks from Mr Cravat, his superior. Philomel just sat there, the same smile on her face, though her eyes slightly shone now, encouraged that her charm was working.

"I mean your real name, witch," Mr Cravat harshly spat. "And do not go trying any more sarcastic tones with me. You may have magic, but you are powerless here, so long as you are under our custody."

Immediately, the smile from the faun-whore's face fell. So, kindness and politeness were not going to work here. Instead, clearly, this man considered her to be a dangerous threat to himself and possibly his crew, if indeed he was the captain. Her usual charm and large breasts, along with seduction, were not worth it - though the rest of the men seemed to already be entranced with her. Three of the four soldiers had their eyes on her breasts. The two mages were trying not to. Desperately.

Avant-gardly she drummed her fingers along her thigh, staring Mr Cravat right in the eyes, pausing for a moment before considering. Her fingers that stroked Veridian quickly nudged him awake, and her mind worked savagely to quickly fill him in with what was happening. Ears twitched back, his nose sniffed, and he turned his muzzle to gaze likewise at the man there, lording it over them and powerfully standing, seeming more than what he was, perhaps, yet displaying the obvious truth of his command here. The Earth Spirit yawned a little, flicked his tail and gave his advice.

I am awake. We tell truth, then we may get free.

The faun-whore grumbled, but shrugged. Her mouth opened, and then she showed Mr Cravat the same vivacity, her eyes gleaming in brillance.

"My name is Philomel van der Aart," she said, "I am a whore, assassin, and blessed by Drys, my goddess. This is my familiar, the Earth Spirit Veridian Ryuusan, immortal and glorious. I am a earth mage, if you really want to call me that, and I recently helped to slay a dragon. Now, who might you be?"

[Philomel]

Silence fell across the brig for a moment. It was so quiet you could hear the creak of the lamps as they swung in their brackets, swayed by the movement of the water. There was also the uncomfortable shuffling of the other prisoners, wanting to be in a cell and not trussed up like sides of bacon. Philomel fought against the full temptation to look at them, and instead she focused on Mr Cravat, her whole being now centered on him. For her it was essential that Veridian's gamble paid, and that their absolute truth gave them their lives. It seemed, in anyway, the best thing to say. It also occurred to her, in that moment, that the other sailors from the ugly ship did not quite know the whole truth - they had only known the whore part of her story, and not the assassin part, and to them Veridian was a fox, and they had no idea about her magic or her real name - but to be honest they hardly mattered now. Philomel might never meet them again, after all.

A while passed. Mr Blue Eyes and Mr Green Eyes began to sign to one another using common spell hand signals.

"I am Rait Cardew," Mr Cravat, or Rait Cardew, finally annouced. "I am first mate aboard this pirate vessel, the Fiesty Fish, under Captain Tanglebeard. These are the mages, Master Lavishingham of the star-god Earlon, and Master Vaeron of Boundary Magic." He raised an eyebrow, pointedly nodding at the ward line that surrounded the cell, "Between them they have the workings of a grand master. They will keep you contained for now."

Philomel pursed her lips, not at all liking the sound of that last sentence. For a while she stared at the man who called himself Rait, then licked her lips and continued, switching her attention to Mr Green Eyes, aka Lavishingham.

"Earlon, is he not a Raiaeran star-god? How does a human come to worship such a being?"

Lavishingham blinked in surprise, having not expected the direct communication from the prisoner. Almost helplessly he looked at his companion, uncertain of whether to discuss it with him or reply directly to her. But, of course, it was Rait who answered.

"He was raised in that place," he responded, smoothly and darkly, "Humans make up for a small percentage of the people, so it was easy for him to pick up the elven god as his own. And how do you come to worship yours, hmm?"

Philomel found herself suddenly grinning. As the mentioning of Drys was finally coming into conversation, Veridian deemed it time to get up. He swung his tail left to right, and let out an annoyed nicker at the presence of the chain. Slowly he clambered over to Philomel and pushed his body onto her lap, patting her fur down flat before he took his place. Once suitably comfortable he sat back on his haunches and twisted around to face Rait Cardew, golden eyes glinting.

Tell them I do not like this chain, he said, And that Drys is far more powerful than any of them put together. And that if they do not let us go she will cause this ship to run aground. Tell them I am irritated now, because they forced you to wake me up, and they should know that my kind do not like to be woken up so rudely.

Well you could have slept more if you weren't so afraid of storms, Philomel reminded him.

Shut up, the fox said, Tell them what I said. I am tired.

And with that he left her to do as he bid, smoothly collapsing back into a curled form. He tucked paws underneath his belly and stuck his nose out into the air before them so that he could watch all proceedings from where he lay, though he meant everything in seriousness. He just could not relate it himself.

The rude things.

Internally, the Nightingale sighed. Of course she did not want to say these things, but in a way they needed to be done. If only simply to get the attention desired and to make their captors aware of the sincerity of their situation and plea. So, she sucked in her breath before spilling it all, one in full spiel, using such phrases as "Veridian says" and "Veridian thinks" all the way through. Rait Cardew just silently listened, and waited. He let the words come.

In that moment, therefore, Philomel realised this first mate was actually pretty wise.

[Philomel]

"You seem to have a high opinion of your goddess," Rait looked from fox to faun, folding his arms slowly.

Philomel let out a genuine shrug. Veridian joined her with a wrinkling of his coal black nose. "She has saved our lives on multiple occaisions. Though Veridian is the provider of my power, she is the source behind it, and it is by her will that I am a mage."

She dropped the words there, letting them hang in the air. The very sound of them surprised her, coming from between her lips. It was the single noun, 'mage,' that she had never before dreamed of naming herself, yet there it was, naked in the light of day. Blinking slowly the faun-whore frowned a little, but then shrugged again, realising what she said was entirely true, though it had never fully dawned on her. She was a mage, she did have magic, even though her whoring and assassinations predated and presidented over it entirely.

For her, magic was just another tool that she was rapidly learning and becoming master of, due to either her connection with Veridian, or Drys' love for her, or both. Either way, it was obviously useful now, and Philomel knew that without it she would likely be dead.

"I worship no god. I am an escapee from the Etheral Sway."

She found herself nodding, "Yu-up. Those bitches can be seriously terrifying."

There was a pregnant pause. Her gaze floated to the green eyed mage, Lavishingham, knowing that he was the kindest and the one who had already smiled at her. This meant he was labelled by her as the most manipulatable, and thus, likely, the one to free her the fastest. Letting her full adorable aspect come out she battered her lashes and curled her finger around a stray piece of hair, pretending, that in that moment, she was flattered by his attentions.

Lavishingham's face was slapped, just as the mage was beginning to respond. For a moment the green eyes blinked, dazed, but then he seemed to realise the obstruction of the metal bars again, rather than what was beyond it. Rait harshly berated him.

"Did you not hear her say she was a whore, Lavishingham. Pull yourself together!" Leaving the mage to get his own sense of reality back, he turned back to Philomel, a scathing look in his eyes. "Do not try that, again, witch. Most of these men are weak-minded but it will not work on me. If you try it again I will have you bound like your fellow sailors over there, and bind your fox, do you understand?"

The words almost slipped. It was so easy, and it was such a habit that she had to bite them back with such vigour. Words of, "Bind me up tight, baby," because it was a habit - by Drys, it was her profession - but it was plain that such things were not useful here. Rait Cardew had made that clear.

She just curtly inclined her head, once, in response.

"Anyway," Rait continued, raising his chin. He raised his voice also, turning slightly in the direction of the other sailors, strapped up there near the wall. He now addressed everyone, including Philomel, with words of destiny. "Your ship now belongs to us, and you and your crew will be dealt with come morning. Piracy, or death, that will be your choices. If we accept you as one of the pirate crew you will start off as all captured crews do - first as galley slaves for a year, then working your way up. Death will be by throwing off the side of the ship, you will all be separated, and all the treasure from the ship is ours ..." He paused, turning to one of the back guards, the one who was not still enthralled with the faun-whores breasts. "Anything I missed?"

"Captain," the pirate garbled.

"Ah yes," Rait smiled, "Is the captain dead or is he here?"

He threw the question to Philomel, seeing as she was the only one not gagged. She blinked, then shook her head. "I have utterly no idea. I never met him. I was a passenger on the ship, heading to Salvar. I paid them in gold, they gave me a lift. It is how these usually work. Though I believe the ugly ship is a merchant sloop, with wood and tea, was it not, as cargo?"

Her question was thrown to Veridian. The Earth Spirit yawned, then nodded. Chose it because of the tea.

"Indeed," she said, "We chose to hire the space because of the smell of tea. Literally I could not give half a penny towards most of those men there, but I would rather not be threatened with galley slavery, thank you. I believe, if you really are determined to make something of me ... well I am a very good entertainer."

[Philomel]

The day after her interrogation Rait came in with a troupe of pirate "guards" and released the ugly ship sailors from their uncomfortable prison. There was a great sigh of relief from them, but it was short lived as each was uncermoniously and literarally dragged away. The red nerckerchiefs of the buccaneers were just a hint of what would befall them when they reached the deck, and Philomel for once was glad she was not an ordinary warrior, claimed by unruly sea pirates. Throughout the afternoon she could hear screams rising above the crashing of the waves and the howling of the wind, screams of agony and torture. Screams which eventually went, come nightfall, along with five heavy splashes straight into the sea.

So the crew of the Dora was entirely gone, leaving only their passengers, the faun and the fox, remaining where they were.

As the last of the splashes died down and the water became still once more, Philomel saw a figure skulking over by the top of the stairs. Her eyes blinked, slowly as she leaned towards the door of her cage, in order to get a better look. The brown heavy robes and the tricorn perched on top of his head told her most of what she needed to know. A focused peer and a flash of green then gave her the rest of the information of this figure, and his name.

Slowly, ever so slowly and gently and elegantly, the faun-whore raised her right hand and pressed it against the cold metal of her prison bars. She did not slip her fingers around the outside - no, for that would go over the ward barrier and this visitor would likely hide. Running a tongue over her smooth lips, the Nightingale paused for a moment, taking in the attitude of the single, lone man, and then she whispered to him as a woman would whisper to a lover.

"Lavishingham ..." she said, letting her voice tenderly carress the air between them. "Are they ... is it done? Are the others now all .... dead?"

The man crashed down the stairs, gulping harshly in as he did. As he came into full view the light of the latern caught his face and Philomel could see him in all his glory.

Clearly the man had been crying. His hair was matted, thick with sweat, and stuck to his head and face. His cheeks glimmered with pearls and rivers of tears, which originated from his blodshot eyes. His clothes themselves were crumpled, worn and dirty in some places; where he had run his cuffs repeatedly over his eyes, where he had hunkered down into a sorrowful ball and wept, where he had stumbled, and collapsed, causing everything dirty to cling to him.

At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped, then stared at her as a living totem of pure despair. Those bright green eyes caught her slate grey ones and he just seemed to lose himself. Upon realisation of his situation, Philomel took a moment, and inwardly smiled, her instincts kicking in. Beside her Veridian twitched his tail, suddenly realising the same - the event and the possibilities here - and in her mind he nodded vehemently, a great many times.

Desperation could be so easily manipulated. Especially if you are a practised whore, trained in the arts of making people fall in love with you. Which came in useful when you needed something. And Philomel needed many things in this moment. Most importantly - to be free.

The man was drowning in melancholy and had come to her, obviously, because he needed a place to go, and also needed someone to talk to. He had come to her, believing she could relieve his pain, and that was one easy step towards complete trust. The Nightingale pressed her face to the bars of her cage. His left hand, now, touched the metal, and his eyes widened in sympathy as she put herself wholly into the act of wanting to ease his pain. Empathy. Empathetic. Love.

"You can talk to me," she said.

[Philomel]

The mage of sorrows fell to his knees in front of the steel cage, inches from the ward line. His hands curled into fists so that the skin was tainted pale to a snow white, and then, without any hesitation, he pressed his knuckles to his temples. Eyes were watering, and he screwed them up to try to cease the torrent, whilst his mouth twisted into a tired line of agony.

"Nnnnggghh - ahhh!" he bit back, swallowed back, a scream that could have lasted a lifetime.

Philomel mirrored this with a wide-eyed, supportive look, one that begged the man to be well. Her fingers itched to go forwards, an use the art of sensitive touch in order to comfort - and thus push more of her authority over - him, yet there was still the ward to defy her. If she really wanted to make an impression she could have used the pain as part of her performance, showing desperation as a sign of absolute compassion ... But for this stage in the development of seduction it was far too early. Besides, Lavishingham had already been through the interviews with her. He had already seen her bitchy side. Philomel had to establish a wave-length with this man, and comfort him - without rushing anything.

"Lavishingham ..." she whispered, her voice tilting on desperation. "No, please. Don't ... everything will be alright ..."

"He killed them," he moaned. As he did one hand uncurled from the fist, and his fingers buried themselves into his hair. "Cardew killed them, after toturing them, causing them pain, making them scream when there was no information to be given. I never - I never wanted to see death, I never wanted to know it. I only came here on this ship because they offered me good money and - and Vaeron said it was a good vessel full of honest men. Pirates perhaps, but still honest and good and keeping the laws of ... oh Earlon ..."

Philomel moved herself, pushing suddenly up with her legs so she was crouching, but up high, and so her entire torso and lap was leaning against the bars. Her legs, the naked gap between them, bar from the fur, was just a hand's movement away from him. That freezing touch of the steel was on her cheeks, icing them to a snow-like tendency. Gently her lips moved, pressed together like two halves of a peach, pouting at first, then uttering kindly sussuration.

"I understand. Honestly I do. What do you think I felt when I heard the throes of battle above me? I threw myself in, only to defend myself. I never wanted to kill, I never wanted to harm people. I only use my magic for my own benefit, no others. I honestly understand, Lavisingham, I do. The screams ... the screams," she stopped, closed her eyes and gave an enacted swallow. Then she continued in a haunted whisper. "The screams will haunt me until the end of my life."

"Me too," he moaned, "Me too. And I - I always thought of myself a strong man."

Eyebrows rose, looking at the man in pity. He grasped his hair, and tugged at it, as if wanting to send his head to pieces, and bleed from his skull forever.

"And I a strong woman."

The green eyes finally opened. The knuckle fell away from the crown, and the mage found himself staring straight at a feminine front piece. Quickly he blinked, then glanced up to find her eyes. With that, she caught him, holding him in a stare, and locking him there so he was the prisoner and not she. Grey eyes, those grey eyes, mistress of many a heart and the desire of many a good wife, held him, securely, finally ready to begin this dance of passion. They glinted, passionately. His mouth opened, longingly. Smooth tongue ran across those full lips. Swollen breasts pressed against steel bars. Inviting. Alluring. Capturing.

"Lavishingham," she groaned with the hint of an orgasm. "Lavishingham ..."

And within half an hour, the mage was eternally hers.

[Philomel]

Mature content, please skip over if you do not want to read.

Of course it had to be just when he was reaching for his key.

Thunderous steps. Boom, boom, boom. A shout.

"Lavishingham!"

Stuck in a terribly awkward position. Both of them. One of Lavishingham's hands was reaching for his magical key, yes, the one which would open the door of her cage, but the other was by his waist. His trousers were down, and he was standing, mirroring Philomel's own stance as they stood face to face. Spread legs and an open mouth, the only sound that they had made in the past five minutes was growing amounts of groans and moans, excelling to the point where she could sense a scream coming on. Carefully she was avoiding completely allowing herself to receive an orgasm. For she had to be in control here, she had to keep her head. So she kept all touch to a minimum, meanwhile as he completely lost himself to his personal massage.

They froze as the voice echoed around the room.

"Lavishingham!"

This time it was way higher, and closer. Both pairs of eyes, the grey and the green, flickered over to the stairs to where the voice's origin was. There was a pregnant, nervous pause, then quickly the two lovers reacted. Lavishingham was worse, for he had to dress himself again. Philomel simply had to close her legs and arrange her fur so it did not look so disturbed. There was plenty of shuffling, and a spirited, teasing nicker from the back of the cell. The faun-whore moved back, quickly, to be beside her darling, as the figure from the stairs made his slow way forwards.

He spoke in a hushed, shocked tone.

"Lavishingham?! What were you ..." the blue eyes stared at the mage as he tried to tie his trousers again with fumbling fingers. "You ..." Vaeron twisted around to stare at Philomel, "You ... you ..."

Say it, Veridian told her, quickly, Say the thing you always say.

Say in these sort of situations. For a single moment Philomel did not want to. Entirely, she could not bring herself to do it, to use Lavishingham so. He was such a cute man, an innocent man, and she had filled his head with the craziest of fantasties that he would never have even dreamed of. It seemed unreasonable to treat him like this, and lead him to a place where she had no desire at all to meet him - but then she stopped and remembered the situation. Of all things here, she did not want to die at the hands of a crazy pirate first-mate.

"We are in love!" she declared, proud and strong.

Vaeron barely battered an eyelid. He turned back to Lavishingham.

"You. Always getting head-over-heels obsessed with every exotic woman you come across. Mate, snap out of it alright, we have to get out of here."

[Philomel]

Dumbly, stupidly, like a old satyr priest drunk on Headbutt, Lavishingham blinked at his colleague. At the sound of Philomel's deceleration he had frozen, hand still at the bottom of his trouser waistband - though at least them and his underpants were now covering his delicates - and looking as dim-witted as ever.

He was entirely doused in the essence of shock.

Vaeron rolled his eyes, and scowled as he turned back to the prisoner in the cage.

"I don't care what you made him believe, witch bitch," he said in a sour tone, "But that was not funny. We'll be going now so good luck with your death."

Reaching out the boundary mage grabbed the spare hand of the fool. Lavishingham let out a little yell, as if Vaeron had grabbed something more sensitive, but stumbled forward a step. The two of them, one leading, the other forced, twisted around to face the stairs again and get the hell out of here.

A foot raised in the air. Ready to step. Ready to get away from him on his own accord, dragging the sorry lump of the besotted fool with him, and commit to whatever monstrosities he had to in order to disembark from this ship of madness ...

"Stop!" Philomel yelled, shrieked, cried out. Vaeron turned, glared at her with steadily darkening eyes. "Stop ..." The faun-whore said, quieter and gentler. This time, the mages paused, and gave her the time of the day, despite the apparent desperation to be going.

"... Stop. Wait. Where are you going? What are you doing? Whatever it is, I can help!"

Vaeron scoffed. Lavishingham tried to speak but only succeeded in making a little 'o' with his lips.

"No, wait!" Philomel's entire attention now was on Vaeron. "I can help! Seriously. If you are trying to get off this ship ..."

She had already won Lavishingham's heart and forever love. To the extent where he was a muttering idiot. For now it was the blue-eyed man she needed to convince.

She continued with the voice of need.

"Look, Vaeron ... Mage." Her hand pressed against the bars of her cell, and beside her Veridian sat, his golden eyes glinting as the same as hers. "I have not bewitched your friend. He was just far to easy to overwhelm. You would have done the same in my place."

A blink. The arms folded.

"And ..."

Her voice uttered a gasp. "You - you cant leave me here! Whatever is going on, for clearly something is, jerk. Don't deny it." - the mage neither did nor said anything - "... Yes, well. I am not here to die. What I can do is help you get out of here. A boundary mage and a servant of Eanor cannot get far on a boat but by damn I'm a faun of earth and I can make earthquakes."

The fox beside her nodded, so his steel chain jangled.

And she is pretty good.

"Yes thank you, dear."

She paused, lost in her place. Vaeron was still waiting to be impressed.

"Ummm ... Oh. Yes. So if its a general you want to get off this ship, we can help you. I know how to make anyone fall at my feet, unless they are homosexual. Proof is in the fool," she gestured at Lavishingham.

The boundary mage glanced at his fellow, then shrugged. The evidence, after all, could not be denied. He waved a hand for her to go on, clearly finding her points intriguing - for he had not left yet.

The Nightingale frowned for a moment, thinking.

"Look. I have an Earth Spirit. I also come with power and influence. Free me now, Vaeron, and I will owe you. I swear on it."

Glistening, her grey eyes of starlight gazed at him in the dimness of this cellar. Above them she could hear the mixed chants of cheering and mutters of a revolution, clearly between those who supported the mad murders and those who did not. The mages were very on the "did not" side and Philomel, for all she was worth was determined to make it for her advantage. After all, she was the faun of Radasanth, the Matriarch of this Gilded Lily and there was very little anyone could do to spoil her plans.

The boundary mage deliberated, deciding. He looked her up and down, thinking of her use and her faults and her denyings. Those blue eyes swept from the faun to the fox, trying to figure the relationship between the two and what extent it gave her in terms of power. He considered her use, her ability and her stance in life, and how she was in relation to his easy-loving friend there ... And then he nodded.

Finally.

He ... Nodded.

"Fine," he said, "Deal. The plan is to take the captain, whom nobody has seen for two weeks, hostage and bargain our way out of here. That or we just fight our way to a longboat."

"Either is easy," Philomel nodded, eagerly.

"But one thing first ...

"I get a vial of your blood."

[Philomel]

Blood. Of all things, her blood.

Dumbfounded, stunned into silence, the Matriarch stared at the Boundary Mage as wordless as a mute in church. Her lips barely moved, so shocked was she by the insanity of the inquiry, and her eyes even lost the ability to blink as for a short while all they could do was glare.

A vial. Of her blood?

"You want wh-"

Rudely, sharply, violently, her words were cut off. But not by requester. Nor by the whistful lover that stood between them, on the precipice of having a heart attack because of his divided loyalties. And neither were her words cut off by the chained fox-form Earth Spirit who scratched at the padlock that was the crux of all his problems, unable to perform magic himself because of his gods-damned species.

No. All four of the creatures in the brig were silent as the grave. However, the stairs that led to the deck were open to the elements and all the shouting. Shouting that was rapidly moving up in brutality. Simple words were thrown, that grew into insults. Then that was followed by the sound a punch, a body hitting the floor right overhead, causing all of them to look up. Straight up to the wooden ceiling at the same time as fast-paced steps thundered down the staircase.

Eyes moved fast, spying the beginning of a mob, yelling and brandishing clubs and damascus blades. There were five of them there, all of them supporting the crimson scarf of the pirate ship, but some had lost their hats. Dreadlocked and unwashed hair swam in the air behind them as they rushed forwards, screaming so much that the air stank of their unbrushed and broken teeth.

"ARRGGGGHHHH!" they screamed, their blades and deathly embraces aimed straight at the woman in the cage. "KILL HER BEFORE THE OTHERS FIND OUT!"

The seconds available were nano-seconds. But Vaeron made his mind up within a micro-spec of a moment. His hand snapped out, his lips hurriedly whispered a novel-length spell, and a bright purple light flashed from his hand. In between his fingers a key appeared, or rather, it formed, and passed through the ward like nothing had ever been there. Lavishingham just stood, astounded, facing the oncoming pirates with no idea of what to do or to expect, the lone mage able to fight at this moment. But completely useless, as one of his new allies was imprisoned and the other was currently busy freeing her.

Yet - yet.

Key met keyhole. Or rather, it brushed in the lightest way against the outermost limit of the metal and the door sprang open. Always having been ready from the very first moment Philomel leapt out, bowling Vaeron over in the process. Energy rushed into her like the torrent of a tsunami - powerful enough to bring a behemoth to his knees - and she began the fall as soon as she had begun the rise. Magic, pure raw magic of nature and trees and the feeling of life, came to her aid, and with a mighty and brave yell she pushed it out of her as she landed on a single hoof, an inch from the fallen Boundary mage. Two feet from her the pirates had been tickling the air with their blades - now they were thrown back as a spasm wrecked through the planks, ripping them apart, a horrifying surge of intensity that went from her, right across the depth of the room.

They were thrown back, catastrophically. At such close range to her all five of the men were caught by the earthquake. The nearest man was merely sent stumbling, however the two men to the rear were subject to the fullest force of the building wave of energy. Mercilessly they were cast off their feet, right back into the staircase. One of them was unfortunate enough for the nape of their neck to smash right into the sharp edge of one of the steps, scattering his skull and brains over it. The rest of the company of pirates were either knocked unconcious or broke a leg - and the one at the front just lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, traumatised.

Their assailants dealt with, Philomel whipped back around, her violet plait circling with her. Stretching her body right up to his straightest point she ignored Lavishingham and stepped back over the recovering Vaeron. Grabbing the key from his slightly shaking hand she went to attend to the ever faithful Veridian.

"I need my sword, the rest of my weapons and my breastplate," she said in a demanding tone and a compelling voice. "That man at the front, also, is concious, so one of you kill him."

Behind her Vaeron pushed himself to his feet, his eyes narrowing.

"Did you really need to knock me to the ground?" he asked.

Twisting her head to peek over her shoulder as she turned the key in the padlock, Philomel glared right back at him.

"When there are five marauders coming to kill us all, you can be the one to save our lives."

Clunk, click. The bolt came out of the hole. Savagely Veridian ripped his neck out from the confines of the chain, then proceeded to attack the thing with growls and his claws. His beloved then stood, slipping the magical key into the folds of her fabric belt, and addressed both mages together.

"You are not getting a vial of my blood. But I will help you get off this chaos of a ship and give you full lives when we get back to Radasanth."

She smiled, took some steps forwards, past the uncertain mages. Calmly she slammed her hoof into the slowly awakening fore-pirate's neck, sending a loud snapping noise through the room. The two mages jumped. Veridian yawned. Philomel grinned.

"Now, tell me everything about this ship," she said, rolling her shoulders back, the pleasure of dominating once more flooding back into her. "And how best we might get off it."

[Philomel]

Fat tears began to roll down Lavishingham's face. His lips trembled as he murmured to himself, "Why is my love such a beautiful, powerful killer? Why is my love so wonderful?"

Philomel, the Nightingale, entirely ignored him and focused her attention on Vaeron. Behind the Boundary mage the Earth Spirit padded forwards on light feet, glad to now be out of that confined space and not bound by the chain. Vaeron himself ignored the fox and instead folded his arms across the front of his tunic, his robe abandoned on the floor after he had been pushed over.

"Everything about the ship?" he said, raising his eyebrow.

"Yes," the faun-whore said impatiently. "Yes! Look," her hands gestured to the bodies beside and around her, "These are just the first. Likely those who support Rait Cardew in killing all prisoners. But where will that stop? They came to kill me but they will kill you two next as the two outsiders. We need to get to the captain now and speak some sense into him to calm this whole fight down, otherwise we will lose the entire ship and the sanity of this crew ... Are you even listening to me?!"

In furiousness she glared as Vaeron turned and strode over to the side of the room. Lavishingham was still entirely useless, and Philomel began to regret choosing him as a literal lover. It seemed that when he was head over heels he lost all sense of normal reality. Her initial idea had been to get him on her side so that he would free her, but now that was more or less to waste. Perhaps he might do as one young man had done before for her, and jump in front of an oncoming crossbow bolt in order to save her a major amount of pain - however that was just about as good a use Philomel could think for him. Most of her hope now lay in the way of Vaeron, the more headstrong of the pair, and now he was heading off in the wrong direction. Veridian kept his golden eyes in way of the staircase, watching for the inevitable new batch of warriors, as she vented her rage.

"Will you stop that and just listen to me? What are you doing? We need to go."

"I thought you wanted this?"

A whistle in the air. Some flew through it as he threw something, and instinctively Philomel whipped out a hand. She was surprised to see her drakescale breastplate in her palm, somewhat screwed up and rolled to what extent it could do. For a moment her eyes looked at the human suspciously, but then she shrugged and pulled the armour on, snuggling into it and hitching up her short cropped shirt so it was tucked away under the skin.

"Weapons?" she asked.

He strode over to her, long legs carrying him in long strides, with the covered blades wrapped in his arms. As he passed Lavishingham he nudged the fool with his elbow. The besotted one blinked once, then twice and nodded.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah. Lets go do whatever Philomel wants."

[Philomel]

Armed and dangerous now, free from her cage, and wanting nothing more than to slaughter thousands, the Nightingale stood at the bottom of the stairs with her two fellow mages in tow. Now use allies she spoke in a hushed voice as the three of them looked upwards through the hatch opening and discussed the best plan of action. Above them blows and curse words were being exchanged, between the group who were loyal to Rait Cardew and those who were not. Clearly the Captain was still unheard from, somewhere in his cabin in the depths of the hull, a silent shadow of authority of whom nothing could really be known.

"I think finding the Captain is our best chance of success," the faun-whore said, spreading out her awareness. "As far as I can tell there is your basic fighting up there. Not many bodies, just anger. I think our fine assailants here were simply rogues who had prematurely gotten wound up."

In her mind, however, she was having another conversation. Being a woman, and a solidly epic one at it, Philomel was able to multitask, which included having two conversations at once. Connected mentally as she was to Veridian she could speak to him at the same time as suggest the open plan to the mages.

We need to keep an eye on those two, she said to him. Any chance they could still turn against us. I will take care of the death, you watch the mages.

The one of sparkling golden eyes and earthy depths entirely agreed.

Vaeron, oblivious of this, replied to her plan suggestion.

"The Captain will give us some power, but we could just go to the longboats and get off this ship. It is closer."

Her eyebrows met as a 'v' atop her nose, "And how do you propose we even find our way back home? Are you a sailor or a man of the wind?"

"No, but Lavishingham is a follower of the Raiaeran god of the stars. So navigation will not be an issue."

".... Unless its day time," Philomel pointed out.

"Ah. True."

There was a pause in the conversation. Then a sigh from the lovestruck idiot. The faun-whore reached over and clipped him over the temples.

"If you are going to be useful to me, darling, then try to pull yourself together and help us out of here."

Lavishingham jumped, letting out a small squeal, then wiped his wet eyes.

Casually, Philomel continued. "Veridian and I can take one of you to the deck, but the other will have to fight his way. Wherever the Captain is, whatever he is doing, we are heading there. Because you are so useless at telling me about the ship and its crew, I will leave it up to you to figure if any of the sailors up there will help us in any way."

Into his hand Vaeron fitted a indigo dagger, one that he had had the entire time, apparently. The blade itself had an eerie night-like colour to it, that seemed to light up in its darkness and pulsate when in his palm. From his head he removed his black tricorn and threw it to the side to be with his fallen robe. Now dressed almost utterly like a normal everyday man he drew himself to his full height, then let his own opinion sweep over their company and be the final say.

"Let us make a deal. You and your small friend there go first. Use your magic to get you onto the deck, then you push towards the stairs, killing as few as possible. Lavishingham and I will come and meet you once space is clear and then together we go get Captain Tanglebeard? Deal?"

"So ... basically most of the fighting is left to Veridian and I?" Philomel frowned.

"Exactly. Now. Off you go and prove your worth. You try and fight for yourself up there and maybe you'll be captured again, and this time just killed. Or you clear the way for Lavishingham and I and we all have a much better chance of making it ... your choice."

She scoffed, and rolled her eyes, but she searched around in the place she had prepared her awareness and found a gap between two shouting groups, just perfect for her to land. Or appear. Or rise up from. Twitching her plait over her shoulder, the faun-whore dragged out her white blade, still unnamed for all the foolish fates to have it, and she sucked in her breath. Her beloved fox moved into her side, soft tail swishing to come into contact with her hoof's ankle, and then the magic took over. It sung. It danced. It laughed.

And the two of them jumped through the Drys' blessed portal.

[Philomel]

Thrust then, into the midst of the chaos, Philomel paused, beforeletting out a half-hearted smile. Around her were most of the pirate crew, swarming as a spillage over the main deck. Many were organised into personal arguments, some were marking their differences with more homosexual methods. Months on a ship without female company ... It hardly surprised the faun. She just turned her smile into a smirk and addressed the two companies either side of her. Some had their hands on the hilts of their daggers and long knives, others were determined to avoid bloodshed and had cast their weapons to the ground - yet all were silent as the grave.

Drawing herself to her full height the Nightingale balanced her white sword with the emerald blade of The Lover in opposite hands. Her eyes drifted across the allies of the First Mate and the ones who did not care for unnecessary violence, their counterparts, and slowly she licked her lips in order to dry them. Veridian readied himself for any idiocracy on the pirates' behalf, as she finally spoke.

"So ..." she said in a surprisingly cheery voice, "can anyone tell me where the captain's cabin is?"

The silence was untenderly, unsubtly broken. All at once a roar rose up. All those who hadn't wanted bloodshed betwixt their comrades now changed their mind. They grabbed their discarded weapons and yelled as one.

Reactions decided, Philomel sighed, and then shrugged. Their decision. Swinging up with both blades at the same time as the exhausted breath left her luscious lips, she piroutted, and then charged. As they yelled, she yelled back, and her slash with two blades became a twist of stormy air. She summoned up the magic and energy of what a microsecond would give her, then sent the dust straight to the faces between her and the stairwell. It looked like a tornado, and attacked like sandstorm. Suddenly distracted, those pirates, whom were the same in her eyes in this time, screeched in pain as they clawed at their eyes, and it was easy to bound over them, avoiding those she had not affected entirely.

Behind these brigands were more brigands, and they were faced with the shocking sight of a faun-whore who held a mythril blade like starlight and her keris knife that was now blazing in fire. Some gasped, others just stepped back, realising that this was not a time to stop such an enraged female. One tried by stepping in behind her to strike her back, likely one of the First Mate's lot who loved murder, but he was firmly absconded by the jaws of a fox. His throat was torn out, his body was thrown to the side, and somehow this struck the other men as either a threat ... Or a reason to step down.

Philomel set a tricorn on fire with the flaming Lover, delighted in the upgrade she had granted it, and then paused for a moment. Her eyes washed over the blinded, struck dumb and dead men, and her tongue clicked behind her teeth. Certainly she had made an impact.

Therefore, she tried her question again, realising she may have somewhat more of a chance now.

"So where is the Captain's cabin?"

[Philomel]

Fluke and Fortitude. It seemed the men were very much not eager to fight today. Indeed, Philomel had expected a bloodbath and here she was - standing amongst men who were turning into pacifists.

Twisting around, between the two groups of pirates, divided by affinity to Rait Cardew, she addressed them all, watching their dumb silence.

"Tell me," she insisted, spoke again, re-iterated. "Where is the Captain's cabin?"

A few of them were still staring, stunned, at the man with the torn out throat. Veridian sat on his crumpled form, an immense amount of pride swelling his chest. His white underbelly was puffed out like a lion's mane, ruffled and on end, with fluffiness not underestimated. His muzzle was caked in blood, and his golden eyes glistened, daring anyone to come near, extremely satisfied in his kill.

A man began to shriek. He yelled, and screamed, as he battered the hat off his head and sent it to the ground. That unmistakeable whiff of singed hair filled the air, and Philomel blinked for a moment, until she realised that the hat was the one she had set on fire, and it had reached the man's head. Finally.

"Your hat must have been wet," she concluded, in her wisdom.

Brightly she smiled, and pulled at the trigger that ceased the flames upon the plynt dagger. They died, then cut out, leaving the Lover to display just its emerald blade. Lowering it, just slightly, the faun-whore watched as the man proceeded to stamp on the tricorn, cursing her loudly. The weak fire on the hat tried to stay alive, but his boots were tough leather and strong like a bull, and therefore killed it right out. A small whisp of smoke and a small hiss and the panic was shortly over.

Everyone just stared around, mostly horrified, looking at the chaos that the Nightingale's brief introduction had indicted. As those few who had been blinded began to gain the ability to see again, whispers began, and then words. Pauses, brief mumblings, and some sighs. Private looks from one to the other, hands moved to blade hilts and others fumbled with the buttons of their coats.

Philomel paused, then shrugged, lowering her weapons. In her mind, however, her awareness was vast and concentrated. It spanned twenty metres around her, to the edges of any men watching. It would tell her if they moved, if their gravity shifted, if they so much as altered their weight to another foot. If a leaf fell, she would know, and if hearts sank, she would sense it. Not by smell or by sight but by simple and magical awareness she knew what she was doing, and she knew what they were doing.

She bit her lip, then addressed them all, asking the question again.

"Dear gentlemen, pray where is the Captain's Cabin?"

[Philomel]

"HALT!"

Every head in the near vacinity popped up to attention. Philomel with her blades held erect but not in any threatening level, turned along with the mass, her grey eyes shimmering silver, echoing the cold depths of the sea surrounding them. Behind them, if one stared, they could see endless life, an energy that was not going to cease any time soon, so awakened had she been now, so alert was she now, so alive as she was now because of her recent freedom.

Striding over from the other side of the deck, with cronies in tow, Rait Cardew waded his way towards her. With a massive machete in hand, which he had procured apparently in the past day, he swept the sailors aside like they were nothing but sheaves of wheat to be felled. A head taller than much of the rest of the people, he aimed directly for the faun, with whom he had clear eye contact as head bobbed out of the way. All was silent, all was dead, as the first mate who had caused all this raucous, aimed for the emancipated whore. Eyes flickered form man to woman, those uncertain of Rait's power in the first place somewhat between loyalties at this time. A few almost seemed to dare to stand in the first mate's way, but they quickly changed their minds seeing the fury within his soul. For though they might disagree with his murderous methods, the faun was still the enemy. She was still the last surviving member of their recently captured crew. She was still the threat. And Rait Cardew was still their master.

He moved like a giant crushing mountains, scattering the winds before him. Philomel stood there, in silence, a small smirk coming to her lips as she fully turned around to him. Exposing her back like this without guard, was perhaps stupid, but she had doubts that these pirates of indecision would attack her now. After all, they all seemed to respect Rait, whatever his tendencies, and they all seemed to realise that this was not their fight. Those closest to the captain, a few guards and likely his second in command, followed close behind, yet the faun doubted very much that if it came to blows, they would attack her along with the first mate.

Pirates, for whatever their type, were strangely fair when it came to duels.

In her mind she locked conciousness with Veridian. As her tongue stroked across her lips and she raised her mythril blade as a sign to Rait that she would not go down lightly, she spoke to him.

You are my back up. You are my soul, she said, Do not let him see you, and be the shadow behind.

Veridian flicked his tail, relaying a sense of amusement at her use of aureate tones, and then he slunk off the body. Going to near silence, he used the favour of the crowd's attention to be able to slink behind feet and circle his way around to where Rait would end up standing before. Ducking down, becoming invisible in the tense crowd, he let himself be the shadow behind.

Rait came to a halt before the faun-whore, and the crowd between them washed to the side like a tide. A gap, perhaps ten feet across, was left between them, enough for either be able to tickle each other's breaths with their blades' tips, but no more.

[Philomel]

Dull empty silence. Only the lapping of the gentle waves was any sort of indication of setting. Breath could have been heard, indeed, by those of keen senses, but not by the faun or the first mate buccaneer. There was no wind - the sails were almost completely still - and no birds called overhead. There was simply a lack of music and a lack of tone that expressed emptiness, loss, sorrow, grief, hate, anger, revenge, intent, annoyance, desire, need, passion, hunger, thirst, want, want, want ...

"Hurrr-AH!" he screamed as he threw himself at her.

She raised her sword at the right moment, having been ready for an onslaught such as this. Together, their blades smacked with a dark sound. In his eyes, as they locked blades, she was surprised to find the shimmering of insanity beneath his fury. For a moment, it stunned her, but then acceptance came as she realised that, really, he had been mad all along. It explained, really, everything, from his near-obsession towards power, and then his murderous inclinations.

Heavily, she shoved him away from her. It took its time, and its energy, for she discovered the man was strong. By his sword, which she recognised as possibly dehlar more than damascus, he had to have many thick muscles. A further assessment as he was thrown back, and then balanced himself, told her that he was steady on his toes, and a practised fighter. For her, this could prove a disadvantage, if they kept fighting blade to blade and that was all, for though she could usually go on with endurance for some time, she would tire quickly against such a man. His brawn and brute power was enough to perhaps crush her within a few slashes, hence his easy ability to overwhelm many of the hearts of these men. His height and mere presence was enough to make a damsel fall to her knees in mercy.

But - but by Drys, Philomel was no mere damsel. True, she recognised that her strength was nothing to his. True, she understood that her height was nothing to his. True, she realised that her alliances on this boat was nothing to his ... but she was no mere damsel. A damsel was a helpless girl in a tower, a love-struck fool in a meadow. A damsel was a fool in a frock, with long blonde hair and Philomel's hair was violet, for Drys' sake, nowhere close to blonde!

Rait Cardew flew himself in for another thwack. Philomel yelled out in faunish and slammed her hoof on the ground.

"Zi gem za'gengen!" You are earth-less!

The deck between then ripped up into shreds. Vast and ugly, the vibration ripped from her foot outwards in a straight, purposeful line towards the bastard. Able to fell trees at close range and cause cracks in heavy cement, the earthquake was all that she was, and all that she had, into one movement to strike right at his soul. As he attempted to step forth he was thrown back by the energy surging towards him. The quake raged through the ground, then through him, making his bones shake and his muscles scream in pain. Completely not expecting such a thing, Rait could do nothing to stop himself from flying right into the torso of his closest compadres, where they toppled back in a clump.

Slump. Bump.

Veridian, still hiding amongst the feet, silently chuckled to himself, finding the power of his dearest love, once more, enchanting.

Slowly, after holding her stance for a moment of caution, Philomel straightened, lowering her weapon once more. She moved her hoof back to be beside the other and support her body, checking those around her in case of anger. But nay - they all seemed enchanted by her, or warned at the very least. The man with the burnt hat was staring with his jaw hanging open, simply speechless because of her awesome actions.

"Hmm," the faun nodded, smiling a little, "Now you know that I am not defenseless." She moved to walk towards the staircase, and this time the pirates just let her through with no fuss. "Now, who is up for a mutiny against that wreck?" she offered, and then held out a hand.

The hand was taken. Vaeron appeared from the hole in the deck with Lavishingham in tow, blinking at the light. His eyes looked around in surprise at the way the pirates now moved around Philomel, but then he shrugged.

"I shouldn't have thought you did anything less," he surmised, "You'll have them all in love with you by the end of this."

The faun grinned, moving herself into an appropriate position with the other two mages, now the three of them ready to take over this ship if that is what it required.

"Oh, that I hope," she said, "That I sincerely hope."

[Philomel]

Savagely, Rait Cardew struggled to his feet. One of his friends attempted to help him, but the first mate just shoved him away, determined to seem strong and 'a man' even though a woman had just tripped him over. Into his hand he placed his machete once more, ripped away as it had been for a moment with the force of the earthquake.

He stared death at the faun, who was now the head of a magical arrow of destruction. She grinned back, and shoved out her tongue, all to waggle it. In response to the craziness of such an infantile gesture, his eyes popped forwards out their sockets in fury, and he took a step forwards to roar at her.

"Rrraahhh! Get off my ship!"

Philomel gaffawed, swinging her sword around in a playful gesture.

"Love, you get off my ship. You might as well admit it now," she straightened, rolling back her shoulders, "This will be mine. When I finally find your captain."

A low hiss came from behind the clenched teeth of Rait. He bent forwards, low over his machete, not exactly in the best position to look at her in her eyes, but all the better to snarl like an animal. As he did so, he used his spare hand to gesture behind him to his comrades. A flap of his palm. A wave. Angry, rude, commanding. Veridian watched from the sidelines, carefully noticing the way they looked at each other in uncertainty before then moving to do as the first mate requested. As they got into lines of rough fighting position behind him, he contacted Philomel directly.

The murderer supporters may be easy to persuade after the mad one is dead, he said, I see conflict in their souls.

Philomel nodded, openly, but nobody knew why. Vaeron looked at her oddly, standing there at her right with his indigo dagger ready to strike at any body, and his hand ready to form wards of the greatest strength - but he decided there was nothing about it. After all, she had already proved herself to be a very strange sort of faun-mage.

Stay where you are, if you will, darling, the Nightingale replied to her ultimate ally. We may need you soon.

Veridian nodded, stretched a little, but remained quiet amongst the legs of the distracted. He kept an eye on the main action.

"I would never allow such a one as you to take this ship from me!" Rait Cardew roared, "A woman could never captain, a captured bitch will never govern. You shouldn't even know how to fight!"

"Ugh!"

Philomel rolled her eyes in distaste, and looked left and then right. The two mages, the boundary one with no apparent lustiness towards her, and the one of the star-god who was unavoidably hers forever-more, both acknowledged her in different ways, showing their attendance. Flicking the switch on her keris dagger, she set the blade alight once more, and prepared for the use of magic. Her words following were short and sharp, her meaning clear.

"We kill this bastard first, then we find the captain," she said - and then she raised her voice to address all; "All those pirates who hate your first mate, join with us now and kill him and his men, and we will allow you your lives. This is now the time for mutiny if ever there was one, so join with me and these two mongrels and your lives will be hells so much better."

She spat, and then she laughed.

"Oh hells," she sniggered, eyeing up Rait Cardew for the last time. "Your lives will be so much better."

[Philomel]

It was easy. It was swift. No sooner had she really spoken than there was a quiet pause - but only for men to draw out their weapons.

With a cry of absolute energy and adrenaline the pirates ran and smashed into each other. In a speedy, swift blast of action swords began to be slashed and there was even the stinking boom of a couple of ancient pistols. Smoke rose from somewhere over Philomel's shoulder, but she did not turn to look. Instead she swung her white blade left to right and surged forwards and a cry of emphatic glee upon her lips.

"TO ME!" she screeched. And to her they flocked.

In a brilliant surge of fate and a bright spur of life the bucaneers plundered their own ship. Some turned directly to their neighbours and began a fierce blade-to-blade battle with them, others came to her side and either tried to kill her, or defend her. The lucky situation was was that she had two mages with her also, to either of her flanks, who were willing to slaughter in order to keep her alive - for one was devoted to her in terms of love, and the other had figured out her use. Vaeron did not say anything about her claim over the ship; he just kept his indigo dagger erect and summoned up dark shadowy wards to block various blows to his person.

Rait Cardew stood before them, a plain simple expression of intense anger on his visage. His allies, already having been close by him like Philomel's were, heartily defended him from those who were on the faun's side. He however, was fully turned towards Philomel, with the close gap between them still empty for no person dared to even transpose it. They knew the tension between these two new nemesises and respected it.

Suddenly, he broke line. Machete high in the air he shrieked as he darted towards her, spit flying from between his thin, dirty lips. Equaling his agression, though with far more excited noises in her voice, Philomel danced, and met him with neat, elegant precision.

Blades locked, and then glanced off each other as they began to duel. White on deep grey it was as ugly as it was beautiful, a match of the enchanting assassin-whore against the gruff bastard. The others gave them clear space, respecting the arena whilst to either side their close allies defended them whole heartedly, even sparring each to each at times. Philomel found herself filling with great joy as she got deeper into the match, her strength neither greater nor less than Rait.

But of course, she had a hidden ally. And earth spirits get bored when they have waited long enough for something to happen. When Rait was leaning over her at a moment of brilliant swordsmanship, Veridian took his chance without any word to her. Philomel had fought Rait for little more than a minute, but the fox found his moment.

Slithering out from under a stomping foot, he threw himself upwards and straight onto the first mate's back. With a breath of apprehension he gripped his claws into the fabric of his tunic, ripped his way up like a razor-clawed ferret, and then met the neck. Rait had hardly any time to react - for at his front already was an aggressor who would kill him if an opening provided itself, and at the back the fox was swift. Veridian spat, pounced, then plunged his jaws into the back of Rait Cardew's neck, ripping out his central nervous system in one sweet blow. The bloody, punctured body fell to the ground beneath him, crumbling like the mighty tower of Babel, as dead as he had never been, as quick as had one had never dreamed occurring.

[Philomel]

Blood spilt to the floor.

Messily, it dyed the woodwork almost instant red.

Hair and skin would stick to it, but they could be cleaned up later. The blood, however, would not so easily be scraped off. But it was okay, though, it was fine. A dark patch on a single deck could be used as a warning for others later.

Philomel looked up from the corpse, her eyes blinking slightly in surprise, but mostly in acceptance. She nodded once to Veridian, in view now behind the slumped body, and then glanced from each of Rait's closest allies.

Decisions came to her mind simply, as simply as the fox licked the blood from his maw.

"Kill them," she ordered, clear and precise, lifting her blade to point at them. "Kill them now."

She ordered no one in particular, but people instantly responded. One of them was Lavishingham, and he blasted a fine beam of starlight right into the centre of one pirate's heart. It burned a hole that barely singed, and killed him instantly. Others were slain with swift knocks of a hilt on their skulls, and others still fought back. They would fight back, and their fights would last some time. More than Philomel had now to spare.

Twisting on her hoof she turned away, satisfied the men would kill all those who opposed her authority. In her wake Vaeron and Lavishingham followed, the former running a little to catch up to her.

"So what's the plan now, princess?" he hissed, darkly in her ear. "You seem to have this all so very sorted out."

"We get the captain," the faun said, simply, tucking away her white sword and putting into hand solely The Lover. "We get the captain, force him to swear the ship over to me. Then, I have a crew, all those who want to go can, and you two get to go ... back to whatever town you like."

A growl ripped from his throat. Reaching out he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her right back.

"You get the ship?"

Philomel just looked at the boundary mage, her eyebrow arching. A laugh played in her chest. "Yes dear, me. I get it. You two can have the ugly one, or be given money and go where you will. The men, here, at least for now are loyal to me and the captain who is about to be mercifully marooned."

Vaeron spat on the ground at her feet. Behind him came a tight, low hiss, and he moved a foot to feign a kick at the earth spirit's side.

"Stop, it, please," Philomel sighed, holding out a hand between them. Vaeron looked down, saw where Veridian was preparing to pounce and rip out his throat also. The same as Rait. The same as any enemy of Philomel ... "Stop." She paused, and then turned to directly address Vaeron.

"Look, Vaeron. If you want a ship, then please, by all means take this when I am done. But I believe I will have more use for her."

Those dark eyes, matching the shade of his dagger, pierced into her. For a while all he did was glare, clearly thinking, but then he turned his face roughly away - rudely, one might say. Philomel just took the gesture as a sign of stalemate, and though she was very quickly growing to the idea of running a ship, she let the argument, at least for now, lie.

Taking the fighting crew into her scope of vision, Philomel nodded once as she saw the clear victory on their behalf that was coming to truth. Vaeron to one side, trying to avoid her, and Lavishingham, utterly quiet beyond all means at the moment, so lost was in in the faun's beauty, to the other, she lifted her chin, then pronounced herself forwards. She asked the closest friendly warrior where the Captain's quarters were, and without any moment's pause he pointed to the other side of the main deck, where a door was nestled beneath a set of stairs. Authority already playing out, the faun was satisfied, and she headed towards the place where Captain Tanglebeard's home was - the Captain who had been missing for far too long.

[Philomel]

Mature content, next two posts. Nudity.

"Captain Tanglebeard!"

The door crashed open violently, torn off its hinges with a literal earth-shattering feat of power.

"Your time sir ..."

The three of them charged in, weapons held high, eyes on fire.

"As Captain of this ship ..."

She stopped dead in the middle of the floor. Behind her Vaeron and Lavishingham did also, subject as they were to the funnel approach to the room.

Her voice faded away in confusion.

"Is o- ... Lacey?!"

Across on the other side cabin, sitting up on the plushy chaise longue, another faun stared back in equal surprise. She was bare naked from neck to torso, with her only adornment being a tricorn hat perched between her horns. Her hands were light fists on either side of her, each resting near the bare feet of a large sailor who sat behind her, his nakedness at least hidden by her body.

Beside Philomel the other mages squeezed into place to gain a better view of the faun and the man. The man, much like his name suggested, had a huge beard of matted mess, clearly unwashed for many a year, and he tried to cover it - as well as the rest of his entire self - hurriedly with a throw. But it was the faun that Philomel had attention for, and as she lowered her sword as well as her spare hand that had been preparing to summon whatever spell she needed, her lips moved, but no words came out. Strangely, for her, she was silent as her eyes focused in on the other female who she recognised so well and not in the slightest expected to see here.

"Uhhhh ..."

"Who is that, Princess?" Vaeron asked, pointing at the naked Lacey with his indigo dagger. "How do you know her?"

Philomel winced, and looked sideways at him with an apologetic smile, before turning back to the chaise longue. Lacey, on the other hand, found her tongue and the ability to stand up, proudly presenting herself. Behind her the Captain hurried to place the throw where her body had saved him so far.

Lacey took a step forwards, eyebrows raised.

"Well, I did not expect to see you here, Philomel. How very interesting. How did you do that to the door? And what have you done with your hair?!"

Vaeron placed a firm hand on Philomel's shoulder, demanding her attention. "Princess!"

"Sh-she's nn-n-naked ..." Lavishingham managed to murmur out, shaking at the knees. In his mind he was imagining Philomel in the same lack of attire.

"I ..." awkwardly Philomel bit her lip, and turned around to Vaeron. "Well, this is my mother, Vaeron. I have no idea how the fuck she got here, and I think she has no idea how the fuck I got here either." She tried a laugh and it came out weak and uncertain, "Well what a series of coincidences this day is giving so far ..."

[Philomel]

By no means was the Boundary mage impressed.

"Your ... mother? ... How?!"

"Oh, believe me, I want to know as passionately as you do," Philomel muttered, now using tone as she had found her voice. She paused, cleared her throat, then turned back to her mother, rolling back her shoulders and straightening.

"Right," she declared, trying to get over the fact that her fucking mother was here, "Right, yes, well. Mother, no time for pleasantries, but we have things we must be doing."

Lacey van der Aart smirked a little, but nodded. Stepping to the side she waved a hand to the Captain, clever enough to know that it was he Philomel was here to see.

"Yes, thank you," her daughter inclined her head, still awkward with the oddity of the situation, but gaining back her prowess with each passing moment. Quickly, she breathed in, looking straight down at the confused, bewildered Captain who had been out of reality for more than three weeks - and for obvious reasons. They stood right up before him.

"Yes," Philomel repeated, raising her white blade once more. Tightening her grip on its hilt she used it to point directly at the man.

"Captain Tanglebeard ..." Either side of her the other mages joined her in taking stances of strength and authority. Lacey stood off to the side, mildly amused. "Captain Tanglebeard, your time as Captain of this ship is over. Your absence," - Lacey sniggered - "Has not gone unnoticed, and well, I just raised a mutiny against your first mate, who is now dead. In this spirit I have taken over the ship, and there are a number of sailors who I believe support me."

The self-styled Nightingale paused, then nodded, "Yes, do you yield your ship to me?"

The Captain, wide-eyed and terrified stared at her for a moment, huddled in his throw, caught in the middle of an indecent act. He mumbled something in a quiet voice. Something incoherent.

There was a pause. The three mages all looked oddly at each other. Lavishingham leaned over to Vaeron and whispered, "What did he say?"

Another mumble, again indecipherable.

"Um ... what?" Philomel asked.

"Gah, he said 'alright,' you deaf faun," Lacey said, finally, getting her voice in. She clattered her hooves as she came back to stand once again in front of Philomel. "Congratulations daughter, you have a ship. Now. You can answer me ...

"What did you do with your hair?"

[Philomel]

---------------------

"Its rather ... lacking."

Philomel rolled her eyes as Lacey van der Aart made yet another derogatory comment about the ship. She had said, of course, the first few times, that the Dora, the ship Philomel had initially been on, and the one she was now letting be prepared for voyage, was worse, but of course her mother did not listen. Instead she just kept talking of The Fiesty Fish, saying that Philomel could do better, maybe get a galleon instead of this frigate, muttering that the mast wasn't high enough, that the figurehead was "all wrong," yadda, yadda, yadda ...

The faun who styled herself the Nightingale leant against the barriers of her new ship, letting her moaning mother catch up with her. Under the summer sun, her eyes gently floated across the shimmering waters of the ocean, and came to rest on the Dora. The depressive sloop, drab and easily defeated, was being loaded as she watched, barrels hauled up the sides by shirtless sailors and hemp ropes. With tired eyes most of them had hastily wrapped wounds, and confused looks, for they were unsure, really, of where they were in life right now. After all, they had just supported a mutiny and yet their new Captain was not one of their kind - she was a woman, not of their crew and a faun.

Those who had fought with Rait Cardew had either been dispensed of or set into the brig, though this did not make anything easier for the mutineers. The battle had been short and descisive, after all, with the original Captain having been dragged out naked before them, publicly shamed and then asked to swear loyalty to her. And so all the men had followed suit. Strange, but wonderful, and they had no idea what to make of it. Philomel had no idea what to make of it. Especially as her mother had all but miraculously appeared.

Running a hand through her violet loose locks, she looked finally back to her mother and answered the original question. "I dyed it," she said, "Now you can tell me how you got here?"

Lacey tipped her head to the side, looking around them for a moment. Subtly, she winked at one of the few passing sailors, and then came to lean beside her daughter.

"Well, Carapree was not exciting after I had been there six months. Too boring, too dull." Her eyes floated over to the freshly reboarded deck, where the upraised planks of wood, that had been upset by Philomel's earthquake, had wrecked the whole idea of 'walking.' "Yes, so I needed excitement. This ship happened to pass by there once to get supplies, I saw the opportunity, seduced Tanglebeard and that was done."

A pale-skinned hand rolled into a point, and demanded to know about the fixed deck. "Now, what is that stuff all about?"

Philomel paused, frowning a little before realising what her mother was saying.

"Oh. Oh yes, I am magical now. Drys blessed me."

The comment caused a pause in the conversation. A definite, long pause.

"You- whh ... Nn- wh- You ... what now? Drys?!" The shock was clear, as clear as the blue sky and the shining sea.

Casually, Philomel shrugged. "Yeah, its to do with Veridian and so on. You know, my companion, wherever he might be." Indeed, the fox-formed earth spirit had not been seen since they dragged Tanglebeard's naked behind out. "Magic, from him. I do all sorts of earth-based stuff. Earth mage they call it I think. It was a bummer for them to capture me."

Lacey's eyes were huge. "Just how did they capture you, if you are so powerful?"

"Oh," Philomel paused, waved a hand, "One of the other mages figured out quite fast that I had a connection to Veridian. He managed to corner him, ward off his magic, did something ... anyway, cut off the connection between us."

Awkward moment. Quite horrific. Lacey stared somewhat in horror, but Philomel seemed ill effected.

"Oh, it is fine," she shrugged, "This is the first time I have ever heard of such a thing. And besides, the man is now besotted with me as the Captain is with you. He would never attack me in that way, ever again. We have power here, dear mother. We have won." Gently, she leant against her mother's shoulder.

"And trust me, we will not lose now."

[Philomel]

For a while Lacey looked at her daughter, letting her eyes wander over the 'child' she had not seen in just over a year. Lips pursed, she perused the strongly defined chin, the proudly straight neck, the flow of violet hair that framed the face that could dominate men's hearts. In no few words, she was proud of Philomel, satisfied in knowing that she was much to blame for the creation of such a faun.

Many things, however, had not been her doing. The magic, for instance, that was entirely a surprise. As Philomel traced the grain of the wood on the barrier that kept them from falling into the sea, Lacey saw dirt almost magnetically coming to the fingers aid. Like a flock of magpies to a silver dish, or a murder of crows to tasty carrion, the smal particles seemed to zoom there, attracted by the peach-tinged skin and the blessing of the goddess inside. Gently, the dirt came, and settled on her finger, creating a second skin for a moment until Philomel shook it off.

Raising an eyebrow, Lacey stared at her, asking no question apart from the obvious.

Uselessly, Philomel just shrugged. "A lot has changed," she said, casually, "I am much more than you remember me. Mort is dead, I have followers now, they call me Matriarch, and now I have my own ship." Wickedly, she grinned. "And now I have you back."

"Hmmm," Lacey grunted, folding her arms. Twisting back to the deck of The Fiesty Fish she watched as the majority of sailors packed up their belongings to head for the Dora. "No one has me."

"Apart from maybe Tanglebeard," Philomel nodded over to the nearest longboat where the said ex-Captain was currently making his awkward first step off his old frigate.

"Pah, he never had me. As I said, I was just bored."

"Of course mother."

Philomel leaned away from the bannister finally and stretched. She counted how many sailors were currently getting into boats and hoped she had enough at least who wanted to stay with her, her mother, Veridian and the two mages in order to get back home. It was strange to see that Tanglebeard was not in favour for being Captain of the Dora. Instead a sultry man had taken charge, one that Philomel recognised as being 'on her side' when the fights had just begun. But then, she supposed, with Tanglebeard having been absent for three weeks until now, and that mixed with his naked shaming, it was perhaps wise he was not leader.

In all else, it was definite that she was going to be the Captain of this ship. That was definite, and no one douted that, even Lacey.

"So are you staying around?" Philomel asked.

Lacey blinked, stared at her. "Hmmm?"

"I plan to sail this ship firstly back to Radasanth to pick up a crew and then set sail. I mean to fully commit to this mission, mother, in sailing it under my own flag."

The elder faun gafawed, "And what flag is that, daughter? A vagina?!"

"No, a fox with a lily. For the Gilded Lily. And for darling Veridian ..." she paused, and mused. "Perhaps we should change the figurehead. And the name."

A michievious grin spread across her face.

"How about ... The Fiesty ... Fox?"

[Philomel]

Dramatic pause. Lacey was speechless.

Then, quite from nowhere expected, came an assessment of the new name.

Fox. I like Fox. Foxes are good.

Quite joyously, she gasped, turning around in a flourish of merry purple and cheering. "Darling," the faun exclaimed, opening out her arms wide, "Where just have you been?!"

Into her arms Veridian leapt, his russet coat sparkling crimson in the sunlight. Indeed, it did a merry dancing across the tips of his fur, sparkling a gold that matched his intelligent hunter's eyes, before dispersing off into the sky. Gently he nuzzled her shoulder, laying his white chin on the pale skin of his shoulder, as Lacey looked confused, yet also quietly satisfied.

Satisfied her daughter was, for once, happy. The Old Gods only new how as a child she had not.

"Herrmmm, hermm."

Vaeron interjected with a loud cough. He came from the same direction as Veridian, clearly having been following the fox. Philomel was somewhat amused to see he had exchanged his hitched-up robe for a tunic and seamans trousers. The tricorn that he had worn on his salt and pepper hair was now gone, leaving the mane of his locks to flow free. His startlingly blue eyes stared out from what else was dark and tanned, giving a feeling of life in the aging but dangerous man.

Both fauns turned, fire lighting up in their eyes.

"Yes, Vaeron?" Philomel asked him.

The mage of Earlon, the Raiaeran star god and master of seas, blinked at her before continuing his address.

"There are some things you should know, Princess, before you firmly take command of this vessel."

As he spoke he strode forwards. Philomel noticed his hands were behind his back and that his indigo dagger, the one that had pulsated with dark starlight through the battle, was tucked into his belt. She had to be aware of danger, always wary and always checking. One never knew what dangers one might find after you lead a mutiny.

She raised her proud chin. "Yes?"

"Tanglebeard did not own this ship. The Pirate King Malachi did. You allowing Tanglebeard to live will set you in good stead with his books, but you must know - this ship still belongs to him, even if her Captain changes."

A burst of irritation struck through Philomel. It stabbed her heart, briefly, but then left. Sucking in breath through her gritted teeth she calmed as she hugged Veridian close to her chest.

Her mother swore loudly. Philomel just dealt with it.

"Right," she growled, "Well I guess I should have realised. I have heard of this man, after all. A friend of mine has a ship technically owned by him also."

Her mind strayed to Lye Ulroke, that strange assassin lord fighting for power. She found herself suddenly realising that he was right about a great many things - about life, about killing, about obsession, and in a slight moment of sorrow she looked away. It was not that she was angry about the fact she could not own this ship, rather it was an annoyance that only now she had to find out. In any case her power was still the same. She still had a frigate, with which to do as she liked, a ship that could be entirely run by the ex-whores of tomorrow and sail the seas to steal the hearts and souls of men. Beside her Lacey was muttering under her breath in rage, but Philomel was indifferent.

"And ... " Vaeron stopped in front of her. He grinned as he swept out with his hand. Philomel siezed suddenly, anxious to discover what dangers lay in wait for her - but then she saw it was his very own hat. Her eyes caught glimpse of the word, 'renegade' crudely embroidered onto the edge of it, before he plonked it on her head. "You have a chance to buy the ship yourself, for a set price if you ever want. Malachi has it in all of his deals. I am sure he will be pleased with you, seeing as you have basically brought another ship under his control."

He nodded at the Dora.

Philomel watched him carefully, raising an eyebrow. In her mind she smiled as she realised she loved the way the tricon settled beautifully between her two horns. Vaeron chuckled, and then patted her shoulder.

"I do not say this often, but I like you Princess. You have a good heart. I look forwards to seeing what you become."

[Philomel]

Name of Thread: Fauns At Sea (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?28354-Fauns-At-Sea)
Judgement Type: Workshop Submission
Participants: Philomel

Rewards:
Philomel (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?17225-Philomel) receives:
3770 EXP
220 GP

Spoils request of "Mage's Key: A key that can open any door, one that is locked normally or magically up to level 4 enchantments," temporarily approved (waiting for final admin approval) at rate of a steel key at advanced enchantment level.

[Lye]

EXP & GP added!