Declaration

[Philomel]

An intro of my own making to bring in the war between the Crimson Hand and the Gilded Lily. If you wish to join please PM. Open really to anyone fighting on the side of the Gilded Lily in the clan war coming.

It came on the wings of a cruel-beaked crow.

His claws were like daggers, piercing the clouds as he flew, and his wings were deathly shrouds. However he lacked the size of a great bird and so he was, by breed, reduced from 'raven' to 'crow' in a finality of scientific words. This deduction he did not carry well, for he had a great rage about him, and as he descended, down to the three-masted ship waiting in the docks, he let out a mighty daring caw.

The figure in the crow's nest looked up. Mouth gaping open, she saw the corvid duck directly for the ship. Twisting around she grabbed the moutpiece of the goat-horn loudspeaker and bellowed defiantly into it. Black wings continued to fall, and they beat her around the head as they passed.

"INCOMING BIRD!" she yelled.

Below her, the entire ship heard her words - and rushed into movement.

Coming alive like an organism in itself the deck became a flurry of activity. From decks below swarmed warriors and sailors and half-dressed deckhands, all female, rushing all as one. They all looked up, straight up into the sky, and began to yell and roar as the bird came into land. Hands rose, people clumped and a crowd began to gather as it looked as it the crow was heading towards the bow. They raced up the forecastle stairs, jeering and calling out, as the black-suited corvid, now startled from his wits from the vivacity of the crew began to caw in distaste and find somewhere safer to land. Other than a whore's arms.

"HOI!" bellowed a sudden male voice. "HHOIIII!"

It was like a foghorn over a storm, and so deep was it that the entire hoarde of women found themselves stopping in shock. Frozen in that moment of time, the onrushing crowd halted in their steps, their excitement in that moment fading. Hands began to lower, all eyes turned around to focus on the single figure now on the main deck, standing beside the bottom of the mainmast. Despairingly different from the rest of the crew, being the only man and surprisingly senior rank to many of them, he stood as a lone soldier in a battle that had been cancelled before it was fought.

His face ever a picture of grimness, he attempted a smile and failed, not for the first time. With around forty women currently staring at him, he felt somewhat awkward. Silence fell, not even a whisper, and fidgeting occurred. It was only when the moment of pure madness began that the crow finally decided it was a good time to land and parked itself on the rigging by the man's feet.

Perfect.

Vaeron the mage saw the note harnessed carefully onto the birds back, snuggled between the shoulders of the wings. He also saw the delicate tiny red hand stamped on the black leather, a clear sign for anyone with keen perception of who this letter was from.

Grimacing at the ships crew, another attempt at a smile, the mage bent down to scoop up the corvid. Then, turning his back to them he began to walk back to the officer's quarters, that place beneath the afterdeck.

[Philomel]

Oh my bloody damn Drys ...

"What the fuck?!"

"Exactly my sentiment, Princess. One would think they would do it more delicately."

He reclined back on a wooden dining chair with arms, his tough boots crossed over and resting on the table. In his hand he held a pewter tankard, the letter itself now gone and in the tensely-muscled hands of the captain of the ship. As she glared and her nails began to dig into the paper Vaeron took a swig of his beer, and let out a single grumble from his throat. That which was his unique way of laughing.

The light in the officer's mess was dull, for the windows were not entirely big and the curtains of some of them were drawn to keep the sun out from the older faun's eyes. A lantern was lit on the table, but this did not quite suffice in brightness, for it only really highlighted three of the room's five occupants.

Definiantly a large oak tabel took up the centre of the room, a table adorned in maps and drink. It was at the end of this that the sole male sailor of the ship sat, or rather half-lay, after bringing in his message. Opposite him, in the darkened corner, dozed an elderly faun, though her energy was alarming great in amount, when it needed to be. Sitting on two chairs on a longer side, to the left of the man, were two more people, one an elf and the other a human. Both were tough and muscled, and one was clearly a warrior whilst the other was a hardened sailor. Both of their looks, though, were centered towards the final member of the room, the mighty faun captain who was on her hooves, staring at the piece of paper in her hands, the message that the crow had brought.

"What the fuck?" she swore, again.

Maverik, the warrior elf, leaned onto the table, her armoured elbow clanking as she did. Both her and her neighbour had dumbfounded expressions, not knowing anymore than the table as to what the piece of paper said.

"Matriarch, what exactly is it that-"

"Its insanity, that is what it is!"

Philomel van der Aart twisted around to stare Maverik straight in the eyes. Such a stare, it is to be said, that the tough, unbreakable warrior of one hundred battles and a couple more years, found herself wordlessly gaping at the effect of it.

"Uhh ... okay ..."

Vaeron, still in his slouched position, taking pride of place purely because of his 'friendship' with Philomel, laughed again in his unique way, and received a death-glare also from the Captain / Matriarch / one he called "Princess." The look did not affect him, however, for this sort of treatment from her he was entirely used to. He just scratched his nose, turned to the waiting and bemused warrior and sailor and told them straight.

"Princess has received a declaration of war, a declaration to the Gilded Lily. And its by our allies, those Red Hand folk no less. How amusing is that?"

[Philomel]

The gasp and roar of shock was enough to awaken the sleeping old faun in the corner. Sitting up with a jolt she gazed around, watching the proceeds in the room with confusion and intrigue.

The gasp had come from the human hardened sailor, a woman of four-and-thirty years, with short brown hair and a scar across her cheek. Her name was Henrietta Starr, and technically she was the Second Mate of the vessel, though she had only been aboard The Fiesty Fox for less than two months. Brought in for her knowledge of sailing and because Philomel now realised that they needed to expand beyond back and forth expeditions between Eluriand and Radasanth, she had little to say apart from gasping.

Oppositely, the roar of shock had come from Maverik, a long-time resident of the vessel, now into her eighth month of service. In this time, between being saved from gang rapists by Philomel, and being forced to put up with Vaeron's dry humour, she had grown only more tough. She served Philomel with undying loyalty, seeing her as a saviour and messiah beyond anything, and the message on the letter only got her more angry. Vehemently, she banged a mailed fist on the table as she stood, sending tankards toppling and Lacey in the corner moaning, much to the raising of an eyebrow from Vaeron.

He watched as the elder faun, mother of Philomel, muttered about the noise, complained loudly to Philomel, then rolled over and fell back asleep. Then his eyes turned to Philomel herself, standing there with the crumpled paper in her hand, staring at it again with intense frustration.

"Matriarch," Maverik demanded. "This is not to be born. Let me go with three of my best warriors and I will crush these vermin with my toes!"

"Big knockers-"

"Shut up, mage, else I squeeze your balls with my fist!"

"Not very good at threats are you?"

"I will cut your heart out with a-"

Savagely Maverik turned on the mage, and not for the first time threatened him. Henrietta, luckily on the other side of Maverik, ducked her head, and pushed her chair a little away from the table, still wordless, and still frightened of the way the elf and human acted around one another.

"Maverik!" Philomel barked.

Attention drew towards her. The only one who was lazy to respond, as usual, was Vaeron, who as relaxed as if the Crimson Hand had invited them to a ball. Maverik, under the intense glare of her Martriach, nodded, and dropped back into her seat. She grumbled under her breath, however, still wanting to kill Vaeron more than anything, but her loyalty to Philomel stopped her. In any other life one might of said they were in love, but there was a problem in that Maverik hated everyone but Philomel, and Vaeron was secretly gay.

Although of course Philomel knew. She had figured it out a long time ago, when the two had first met on this very ship, when he had helped her take over it.

"Sorry," Maverik mumbled.

Carefully, Philomel watched her for a while, and then nodded. She lowered the paper.

Straightening her spine she coughed before starting.

"Vaeron is right. This paper does declare a declaration of war from the Crimson Hand."

Maverik muttered, "I knew it, those fag-"

"However!" Philomel interjected, before Maverik said the word, a word she knew would crush Vaeron's heart. "However ..." The elf folded her arms, irritated. "However, it's not a declaration of the usual sort."

She paused, her expression a twist of anger, annoyance and acceptance.

"They want to meet on equal ground, on the Skavian Wilds. Its to do with whether I have the capacity to lead a Guild as potentially powerful as the Gilded Lily without their control. Yes, I am their Master of Secrets, and for no small reason either, but they see us as something of a potential threat. I realised that when Zelrius Blackfyre came to join us."

Her mouth twitched into a smile.

"Basically Maddison, Miss Freebird, sees me as something to be reckoned with. Or rather, sees what I have built as something to be reckoned with. For we're not just a group of ex-whores anymore. We are mercenaries, pirates, warriors, and spies. We are assassins, mothers, children and interregators. We are awesome."

All listened with baited breath as she looked from one to the other. First to Vaeron, a trusted ally mage, then to Maverik, her most loyal bodyguard, and then to Henrietta, her recent uncertain expert. She even gestured to her mother behind her, the snoozing form of a person she would always put up with, no matter what occurred.

Philomel paused, then shrugged. "As long as Veridian is happy, we will meet this threat head-on. We will show Freebird, her companion Drak'Shal and her pet Ulroke that we have the ability to exist on our own accord.

"We will fight."

[Philomel]

Of course, there was one more being to convince that this war would go ahead.

The darling of the Gilded Lily, the totem, the object of worship and the brilliant name sake for the ship, sat at the bow above his likeness, carved immortally as the figurehead. Nestled between the two giant wooden ears, Veridian Ryuusan looked over the great harbour of the city of Scara Brae, boats upon ships upon boats spread out before him like a garden, ripe for a pirate's picking. The Fiesty Fox was moored at the end of a jetty, all signs of pirating life down, her crew still on board, merely resting and gathering supplies before heading out to more open waters.

Gently he laid his head on his paws, breathing out through his black nose in a huff of air. Flicking his ears a little with the intrigue of all the random sounds of lapping waves, calling gulls and happy sailors, he lay in wait until something happened. Part of him longed to get on with this journey and head to Raiaera, their proposed destination. There he could meet with Farragise once more, discuss their equal growing interest in history and search through the books of some library to satisfy their literature gluttony.

When the sailors and warriors gathered and began to shout over the crow incoming he had perked up his head, but found no more interest in it than that. Crows came rarely, but their news was usually boring. Few knew where to find The Fiesty Fox on its journeys, and few birds could be trained to seek it out, but always the messages were of some simple new request to join the Gilded Lily, or a request of rent from the Pirate King, and that was all. They never found true excitement in the heart of the beloved fox, no matter if they were enthralling to Philomel.

And so he had ignored all the commotion, not listened when Vaeron came to collect the bird, and kept his mind to himself when Philomel had conducted her meeting with her 'officers'. There were a graet many meetings these days that she had between herself, her mother and the three or four main people of the ship. Philomel liked her life as a sailor, and Veridian happily amused her. So long as he was longed for, fed well and given the right amount of deserved attention, it was good enough for him. His desire, after all, in life, was to be with Philomel, to protect her, and to make her happy. She died, so did his heart, he died, he just came back. She was everything to him, and so he followed her wherever she went, granting her all the powers Drys let him bestow. Earth spirit and beautiful faun, they went so well together; so immortally well together.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

Now this was different. His ears pricked up, he lifted up his chin. Turning his head away from the great view of the ships he found the sun of his existence striding towards him. Happiness filled him. She was coming to him, and this meant she wanted his advice. Advice he was always willing to give, advice he always wanted her to have, for his life was hers, and hers was his. They were forever combined into one fighting warrior ...

Philomel!

[Philomel]

"Veridian," she said, and immediately her tone worried him.

He had been ready to leap off of the figurehead's head, his body in a stance displaying so. But when he heard the stress and anger in her voice he stopped, relaxed his muscles to just take a standing pose, and then tensed again with agitation. His bright golden eyes shone at her, iridescent in the glorious summer sun.

What is it? he replied, fast, brutal.

Though he was connected to her mentally, and could, when she allowed, see through her eyes, he could not read her thoughts. Neither could she, his. They had their connection, but had their privacy. It was beautiful and personal.

Wincing slightly at his words, she sighed, before taking a step closer, and revealing the crunched paper in her hand. Quickly she unfolded it, then turned it around to face him, so that he could read the individual words, spelt out in official cursive hand, so elegant yet so threatening, a paper so horrid that she would have thrown it away, were it not for the importance of it.

Slowly, Veridian's eyes traversed over it. They flicked left to right, top to bottom, then looped back again. He was as silent as death, and as expressionless as a serpent. Several times he seemed to re-read words, phrases, whole sentences, and Philomel could only wait with baited breath for his reaction as she allowed him to see what the Crimson Hand now deemed them as.

Dangerous. A threat. Possibly far too chaotic. Deadly.

Time ticked by. He revealed nothing in his mind, no words or comments. It took him an age to read the message, but Philomel knew she had to be patient.

She had to wait, to allow him to come to his own mind.

Eventually, so eventually, his eyes flickered up to meet hers. They were narrowed, intense, glaring. Signifying, in the very least, anger.

Slowly she lowered the paper, an uneasy smile on her face.

"I want to fight," she said, uncertainly to him. "I want to meet this, head on."

Veridian hissed, then he shook his body out of tension and sat back. He pointed his nose to the ground, thinking, mulling over the entire situation.

A declaration of war. Against the Gilded Lily. Against Philomel. Against him.

"... Verid-"

Bite them. Bite out their throats, he suddenly agreed, Bite out every single one of their villanous throats.

[Philomel]

"Veridian, they're not quite villains," her brow furrowed, tucking the paper away, "But they are the enemy."

Bite out their throats! he yelled, and finished it off with a loud harsh bark.

Wincing, she stepped forwards, and proceeded to scoop him off the wooden fox's head. He did not struggle, in fact he embraced the hold - it was as close to an embrace as the two of them ever got - though he was still angry. Thrashing his tail freely left to right he bared his teeth and growled as she turned and carried him back down to the main deck.

"You are more angry than me," she muttered. Veridian entirely agreed.

There were few sailors on the deck. Most, after the commotion with the crow, had settled back to their usual duties and occupations. A few even were preparing for a trip into the harbour, to go get supplies or use their well-earnt share of the gold on beer and exciting treasures. They were curious about the bird's message, but they also trusted their Matriarch to tell them what was in it when it was time. She would give all details, all plans openly and without secret, for that was the sort of woman she was. Honest, trustworthy, righteous.

So Philomel appeared in their eyes.

They simply smiled and nodded their heads as she passed, one even bowing specifically to Veridian. His ego for a moment swelled with pride, and Philomel felt the tension in his muscles relax, his rage in his mind dissipate, before it returned full blast and he was hissing again.

Rogues. Vagrants. Heathens.

You are not Farragise, she chided him, Just becaues they do not worship Drys does not make them heathens. Now please, calm down. We need to look at this objectively.

He dug his forepaw's claws into the locks of her hair. Philomel gritted her teeth, but she was used to the pain.

They treat you like a dog. Like a slave. You are not their's to order about, you are an independent creature who has found your own source of power. We are the greatest we have ever been, Philomel, and they want to ruin it.

Carefully, adjusting her hold on him so she could open the door to the officer's mess, Philomel moved to enter where the others were waiting. Yes, dearest, I agree. But we are still young, we still have a long way to go. Its the potential of this Guild that they fear, the potential of what we can accomplish and they want to gain control of that.

They fear us? He let out a gakking laugh as he used his forepaw strength to clamber up onto her shoulders. Well they should fear us. They should acknowledge us as strong and independent, like you teach these women to be.

They deserve to be shown, the sexist beasts.

[Philomel]

When the pair entered - that couple ever bonded in supreme loyalty, spiritual friendship and a thing as close to 'love' without ever mentioning 'love' - all eyes turned to them. It appeared that the elder faun had now awoken and come concious into the world, for she was now sitting at the table at the right hand side of Vaeron. Quite grumpy she looked, as if pulled from a kind dream and forced to admit that it was not real and this stinking world was reality. Vaeron looked entirely bored, still propped up by his ankles on the table, though clearly most tense stuck between two females he did not particularly like.

As soon as Philomel came in, he visibly relaxed. The door opened parallel to the long side of the table, so that it scraped by the back of Henrietta's chair. The tough sailor winced a little, but said nothing as she too watched their captain stride around the edge of the table to sit then at the opposite end to Vaeron. Letting the door slam shut on its own, she took her seat, Veridian slipping off when he was close enough to the table, upon which he curled up but in easy viewing of the 'officers'.

There was a pause as Philomel's eyes flittered from one to the other with a cautious stare. She neither smiled nor frowned, just held a steady expression that hinted at determination above all else. As she moved her hands slowly to cup them in front of her and rest them on the table the door opened once more - and a seventh member hurried in.

Her long crimson bunches swayed in rhythm as she ran in. Awkwardly she smiled to the company as she shut the door behind her.

"Sorry I'm late. I had some um ... work."

In her arm, pressed against her torso, was a stash of papers. The peek of a map could be seen, as well as the beginnings of a list of names that a keen eye would notice were names of the sailors aboard The Fiesty Fox. She glanced at Philomel, throwing her an apologetic look. After a moment's pause, the Matriarch nodded, kindly, forgiving her, and the red-haired girl, a small, cute and strong-willed girl nick-named Gosling, hurried around to take the seat immediately to Philomel's left.

Vaeron raised an eyebrow at Philomel at this new addition, but a careful minute shake of the head told him to not ask any more questions. Instead, Philomel made the first move - she took the piece of paper that was so rude and horrific to all of them, and laid it on the table in front of her. Unfolding this, and then offering for the crimson bunches to place her papers down, she waited patiently until all was ready. Then she coughed, placed a hand on Veridian's back, and began.

"So. Veridian is in agreement. We will fight."

[Philomel]

A silence filled the air.

Pregnant, it remained for quite some time, stealing all the noise and murdering it until a later time. Until it rose again, was regranted life or simply just hadn't been properly killed in the first place.

The fox broke it. He huffed, then turned his head to prod Philomel's hand on his back, impatiently.

Immediately once this was enacted, conversation broke out.

Gosling was the closest to Philomel, and so was heard by her ears first.

"So it is true, we did receive-"

Vaeron's loud booming voice interrupted her.

"Princess, are you absolutely sure you want to-"

Maverik then decided to chime in.

"Let me lead the war, Matriarch. I will take the Gilded Warriors and we will strike off every one of their-"

"Daughter. We should-"

"Well, the ship could certainly survive an attack if-"

Hoi, stroke me, I said.

Finally Philomel reacted to one of the six speaking to her. Looking down, she nodded at Veridian and began scratching him behind the ears, just as he had desired when nosing her. Satisfied now, he settled down and prepared to be more amused as everyone kept on talking.

Eventually the faun-whore gave up and thumped her spare fist on the table. It knocked Veridian a little and he scowled but made no more complaints. He was getting the best treatment. Everyone else fell silent once more, looking at her expectantly. She sighed, then addressed them all together.

"All of you. Honestly!" Neatly she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, paused, then continued when satisfied they were all listening.

"Right, now you are all quiet, I can address your concerns." Firstly she turned to Gosling. "Yes, Gosling, this is all true. We did receive a declaration of war from the Crimson Hand, exactly as the letter described. I assume you let the bird loose alright?"

Gosling nodded, "Right after Vaeron told me the news, told me to keep quiet - which I did, I promise, and I got rid of all the stragglers."

She received a fond smile. "Thank you. Now ... Henrietta I don't think this is going to get to a sea battle, but I thank you anyway for keeping the guns in check as always. Maverik, yes the Warriors may be needed, but I don't want you to plan any castrations just yet. Vaeron, I am sure I want to go to battle, and mother - I have no idea what you were going to say."

Lacey, the ex-whore faun, paused, and then grinned. "Well, neither do I. Give me a sword and I will join the fight though."

"You have that iron dagger I bought you."

"Ah, true."

Their questions all answered, the 'officers' made different movements according to their personalities. Vaeron leaned forwards, his expression one of 'not amused' and took up his goblet he had left on the table, whilst Lacey beside him just looked down at her breasts and muttered to herself. Maverik and Henrietta turned to each other and proceeded to grunt as Gosling just looked adorable in a little meek way.

[Philomel]

Satisfied that they were all listening to her now and not going to interrupt her for a second time, Philomel returned to her elegant hand clasping. Veridian moaned a little, but admitted it was a better look for her to seem calm and patient at the same time as comanding. Exactly what her resting hands illustrated.

"Weapons can be sorted out in due time," she continued. "We will make sure all of our warriors are armed well. The fact is, however, that this is a declaration against the Gilded Lily, and thus we must tell all of our associates that this occurring. Hence ..." she looked at Gosling. "Dear."

Gosling smiled awkwardly, but then nodded and reached into her cardigan pocket. From it she pulled a fine white quill and a bottle of black ink. Laying these on the table she proceeded to separate the papers she had brought with her until she found a blank one. This she spread out under her dainty fingertips, then she took up the quill, unstoppered the bottle, dipped in the nib of the writing implement and moved it to the top of the page.

Expectantly, then, she looked up at Philomel, poised on her every word.

Gracefully Philomel inclined her head, and then began. "'Dear lovers, informants, warriors and champions of the weak. The Crimson Hand has declared war on us. We find this strange seeing as our alliance with them has remained strong, and Philomel-'"

"Better put, 'our beloved Matriarch Philomel van der Aart,'" Maverik leaned over and prodded the table with her point. All eyes turned to her and stared, apart from Gosling who just giggled, and wrote it down before anyone could tell her not to. The elf warrior shrugged in response. "What? It sounds better."

Philomel raised her eyebrows a little - then continued in the same fashion, "fine ... 'our beloved whatever ... is Master of Secrets for their very own society. Their fear, it seems, is that we our becoming too powerful,'" she adjusted her seating to be more comfortable before continuing the dictation. "... 'And that they see the potential of our growth as a threat.' New paragraph."

Gosling's pen moved down the page.

"'In this spirit we-"

"'We call upon all our members, not just our warriors, to come fight with us. All women who believe in the devious way, all whores who longed to be freed from the bonds of your pimps, all men who understand the power of a listening ear - come join us! We fight to defend ourselves, to gain the right to be noticed across the world! To rise up against all bonds, to-'"

"Maverik."

Maverik looked down, and gave an apologetic grin. She was standing, and had a knee actually on the table, ready to rise on top if needed. With fist in the air she looked purposeful, a rising star in the world of feminity, and invariably rude within the room. Her eyes on Philomel's she received nothing but an unamused expression for yet another interruption. Grumbling under her breath she got down from her stance, and got back in her seat.

There was a tight pause in the air, and Philomel sighed, "Right, I am guessing you wrote that Gosling ..." Gosling shrugged. "Anyway. Add, 'We humbly request our associates in the familiar guilds. We call upon the Black Sails Armada, help your sister ship in this time of need. We call on The Order of the Golden Dawn. Come assist us and strengthen our alliance bonds ...' Add whomever else might answer us. Place in all the usual felictations, greetings, then copy it as many times as needed and seal and send it off."

With a firm nod, she finished, then returned to looking at the room. "We also need to send a reply to the Crimson Hand. I need someone to take care of this."

Maverik began to stand, but then Vaeron raised his goblet and cut her to the chase.

"Princess, let me handle it."

The two mages joined eye contact. Of all the people in the officer's mess Philomel knew she could tolerate him the most. Even over her mother she knew he understood her, saw her for her potential, for who she truly was and appreciated the complexities of using magic with all other forms of power. Not only was he a skilled astronomer, but he was also a great scholar, speaker and letter writer. With this form of delicacy she trusted him, far more than the angry 'how dare you' note that Maverik would create.

"Get it to them by evening," she told him. "The rest of you, I need you to go gather everyone on the ship. We are going to handle this whole operation carefully, delicately, and with strength. Every one of you needs to be behind me."

There rose a mixture of replies, but most of them were acceptances. It made her smile.

"Its going to be hard, but we will show our power in all of this. We win, we get our true independence, we lose ... well we will find out what will happen. But by Drys, lets hope it does not come to that."

[Lye]

"If you lose," spoke a familiar voice above the ringing of chains, "I will see to it our alliance stays strong and your ladies are returned as good as new."

"Do not speak to the Matriarch unless given permission, dog!" A thud of fist on flesh sounded and from the shadows of the doorway, a white haired assassin emerged.

Lye staggered to a stop, hindered by the shackles around his ankles, wrists, and throat. Behind him, two meaty deckhands followed. Both of them were female but looked as though they had snapped many a man in twine with bare hands. The captive lifted his head and met eyes with the faun Matriarch. The small vixen on the velvet cushion beside her put his hairs on end and bared sharp, white teeth.

"Good to see you again, Veridian." Lye cracked a wry grin before the deckhand rapped her closed fist against the back of his skull.

Philomel raised a hand to stay her warriors. With a bow of their heads, they stepped away from the captive.

The silence in the room told him what he wanted to know. Tensions were high, and war plans were already being made. Since the mutiny, all of the Crimson Hands saw the tyrant in a negative light. Now, they were presented with the opportunity to carve the flesh off his own bones. He expected some of them to follow on his side of the conflict, but only because the former leaders stood beside him. Were it not for Madison and Aurelianus, Lye's head would be staked outside the gates of the Seventh Sanctum. A reminder that even scum has a moral code not to be broken.

By the end of this false war, that fate may still come to pass.

The pale assassin cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and began in an unusually smooth tone, "If the Matriarch would be so kind as to discuss terms, I would like to have a moment with her in privacy."

Let me see just how diplomatic you can be, Master of Secrets.

[Philomel]

She gazed at him for a moment, intrigue and concern flickering behind those grey irises. Veridian beside her glanced to the door, which by now, it was clear, had remained hanging ajar, not quite on its latch, leaving enough excuse for Babs and Daisy, the two largest of the deckhands, to bring Ulroke straight in. In his own unique style he smoothly glided in from the shadows, in a very similar fashion to how Veridian remembered. As Philomel stood there, half in surprise which she hid well, half in interest, the fox pushed himself up onto his paws to stand and swung his long brush tail.

A murmur started in the room from the "officers". It ended shortly, however, with Vaeron the mage swinging down his legs from the table, and then standing. Chugging back what remained in his goblet he grunted, and then gestured for everyone to leave the room.

"Give the man his time," he said. "He wouldn't kill her now."

A few glares came his way. Most incessantly from Lacey who seemed appalled that even she was being asked to leave. But Ulroke seemed patient, and in a way understanding. Philomel kept silent and kept careful eye contact with him as Vaeron organised for everyone else to vacate the premises. They shuffled out in various voices and ways, but eventually all went.

Vaeron was the last to leave. He came around the longside of the table opposite the door, herding all before him. Coming up behind Philomel he looked the one they called Lichensith up and down, eyeing at the shackles and chains that were likely more adornments than anything, peace gesturers. By experience he knew a familiar magic-wielder when he saw one, and when the three of them were the only ones left in the room - even Babs and Daisy had left - Vaeron placed a hand on the still silent Philomel's shoulder, and spoke to her.

"You're fine, Princess. You'll do fine."

And without a smile, for he never smiled, he moved past Ulroke and strode out of the door. He turned at the last moment, before fully shutting the door behind him, his eyes for a final joining to Philomel's - and then he was gone, leaving the last three people still in the room.

Veridian grinned up at Lye. Reaching over, Philomel scratched him behind the ear.

"So, Ulroke. You have my undivided attention, now."