[BoC] Shadow Over Concordia

[Philomel]

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[Philomel]

It has been said that nobody is a villain in their own story. That in fact, we're all the heroes of our own stories. This story will make you wonder who are the true villains in the world, and who are the heroes.

There was a reason why Philomel van der Aart hated the Ixian Knights.

Many questioned her, and many were confused with her continued dislike, despite the fact the Knights had fallen to bare rumours. Instead those elite warriors, the Corone Rangers, had taken up the protection of the Concordia forest and beyond, that place that Philomel had sworn to protect for the sake of her beloved goddess. The Ixian Knights had once vied with them and other milititary able organisations for power in these parts, to occupy the vast spaces within Corone herself - however they had fallen quiet ever since the death of one of their dearest beloved daughters. Only murmurs of those strange beings, the Orlouges, the great family of mystic mages, remained, and the occasional face appearing in the Citadel records. Why then, many asked - mostly her own mighty warriors remaining in the Gilded Lily - was Philomel still intent on hunting them down?

"It's a matter of principle," she muttered to herself.

"What is that now?" came the replying question from behind her. Philomel twisted back her head to lock eye contact with the firm-jawed, olive-skinned, framed with brown haired face of Vaeron - her best friend, fellow mage and only male Gilded Lily member. He arched an eyebrow back, glancing away only to check that his shire horses's hooves, Meglodon's hooves, were claiming the thin pathway safely.

They strode along the narrow road of a cliff face. To one side the grey granite of the rest of the mighty hill projected high into the sky, and to the other there was an open drop with the tops of trees barely tickling them now, demonstrating the distance they had come through this forest. Behind Vaeron tailed many more horses, perhaps forty or so, each with their own warrior and other burdens, and before Philomel there paced the current leader - Veridian, her beloved fox familiar with his nose in the air, sniffing out the safest route. They had been travelling for what seemed eons, yet was a few hours, clambering up this delicate path towards the promise of the settlement atop. So her scouts had told.

"It's nothing," Philomel said grumpily, turning back around.

She wound her fingers back into the dense, soft fur of her huge tera'k mount, his bovine hooves perfect for this sort of stoney path. Personally, she felt the safest on this road. Her tera'k's kind were known for their ability to clamber up near vertical heights, despite their massive size, and even if she did fall it would take but a second for the earth-dragon Telath to burst from the cave side and catch her on his back. Right now she could feel his satisfying familiar presence, curling through the softer earth beneath her, guided by both his sense of the world and hers. It was elegant and beautiful, and brought her closer to Drys in a way that had never really been sought before in the history of faun kind.

"Clearly not nothing," Vaeron raised an eyebrow. "You are thinking of the Ixian Knights again, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Philomel admonished him.

He just snorted, but did not smile. The man, injured from an old fight, could not do so.

"Just what is the reason?" he asked, not for the first time, and definitely not the last.

"They stand for everything I don't like," she threw back at him. "Is that not enough?!"

Vaeron shook his head, running a hand down Megladon's neck to her foreleg thigh. "No, it is not, Princess. And it never has been."

[Philomel]

The scouts that had gone before had been only brief of their description.

It had taken some days for them to return to the ship after they had been initially sent out, and their news was positive and negative. Some scouts had had no hope, no word of any fortress that was available for occupancy, others had simply whispered of ruins - both dark, haunted and mysterious. One scout had returned with mention of a castle that could have been that of the Ixian Knights, and Philomel had been all but ready to send out an army - but then the confession that it might have been a hallucination spawned from contact with the reuga reuga poison shrub made all hopes become severe doubts.

Instead, the decision had been made by Philomel's irritated admission that the reuga reuga was indeed powerful, and the rest of her colonels had persuaded for them to head to the apparent fortress on the cliffside, seemingly abandoned and intact. A fortress at least was better than a castle. A full set of buildings and rooms to rest in and explore, to house an army that was only a days ride away from the harboured ship. It was perfect and silent, and greatly defendable because of the cliff, and thus a grumpy faun, a gay mage and thirty ex-prositutes clambered up the vertical drop to their new abode.

The gates to the array of buildings were open. Like a dungeon's portcullis they were spiked and thickly iron, set into a archway. Inviting they were, however, and so no battleram was needed in order to gain access. They were dark, painted black, matching the dark grey of the stonework, contrasting to the bright white of the lichen. As Philomel twisted her tera'k straight through the gates she remained on guard, knowing that despite the openness of this place there still could be enemies.

"If there were archers, they would have got us on the path," Vaeron muttered.

Philomel nodded, but still remained wary. Reaching over her shoulder she loosened her sword from its hilt, keeping in that position as she became the first to pass from outside to in.

Entering within the wall led to a oddly shaped long courtyard, surrounded by buildings on all sides and more or less taking up the entire plateau of land that was available on this cliff. To one side the cliff continued up until the tree line overlooked it, creating a shadow. Recognisable buildings were a stable, a long building that presumably was barracks and the large keep the the far end. The keep was two stories, with two levels of parapets for archers. A tower stood beside it, tall and elegant, and all was made in the same dark grey stone, almost the same as the cliff itself. The general architechture was remarkably and strangely elven in design, and so lacked the clunkiness of a pure defensible fort, but rather it suggested a home of some sort, a forest-dwelling for a lord.

She was quiet as her soldiers came in behind her, the horses and mules spreading out amongst the courtyard, baring all the supplies needed to start a new home. Suspicion still kept within her and she glanced around, eyes narrowed. Weeds and dirt indeed was around this place, making it look unkept to some extent, but there was still a general unease for her. It was almost as if it was not dirty enough, and the weeds were not high enough for this fortress to be entirely abandoned. And so, glancing over to Vaeron she nodded, drawing out her sword.

"I think we are not alone," she murmured.

[Philomel]

They came, from under them.

Like insects crawling from the depths of the earth the creatures came. Slabs that had seemed perfectly slotted into place, cobbles that merged with the general mosaic of the courtyard, were suddenly thrown upwards. Some horses reared as those beneath their hooves and bellies were dislocated, and the feeling that the general earth was all together. A few warriors were tossed to the ground, but the tera'k kept his grounding as around him and Philomel appeared three gruesome looking goblins, with gnarled faces and uneven tusks. They garbled in a ruinous tongue, waving dented and chipped iron scimitars.

Philomel did not bother to even look back at Vaeron, time was precious. She simply yelled, "TO WAR!" and the entire courtyard exploded into battle.

The goblins came swift and numerous, but they poorly armed and even more poorly trained. Though they were numerous and came out from their holes in droves, the swift army of the Gilded Lily reacted well. After the initial shock the troops righted themselves. Those still on horseback had a clear advantage as they cleaved their way through leather armour and bloodshot eyes; those not recieved a few wounds before gaining to their feet and striking down the force. As some goblins tried to grab for the supplies, a hardy group of two elves, one human and a centaur gathered together to defend them, screaming defensively before lowering pike and rapier. Thirty Lily Warriors were there, and thirty Lily Warriors fought, as well as the male mage and the faun Matriarch, all to defend what they hoped would be there home.

Or rather, drive the current occupants out.

Swathing like ants, the goblins came in many waves. Philomel cursed slightly that she had not walked here, for then her hooves would have been on the ground and by the mystic of her earth sensuality she would have felt the living souls waiting under the ground. But what was done was done. No sooner had she felled her three initial opponents than three more came, and she had no more time for cursing. Her tera'k did all that he could, dofting his mighty skull and horns, and literally felling over the ugly creatures like a condemned forest. Philomel swiped left and right, calling on her ability to summon rocks to cover her legs as a defense, and in doing so she exposed more ground. More goblins poured out around her, at least fifteen could be counted as she stuggled to retain her balance, and they all charged at her. In the distance she could hear the voice of Vaeron yelling out to her, but he was surely fighting a battle of his own. A first nick appeared on her leg, just at the hip and she shrieked before swinging with more violence and impatience, that was before -

Rescue.

Two creatures burst from the side lines. One was a great giant fox, nearly six feet in length now and burning with intense fire from nose to tail. Swift and punctual he came in to bite and set ablaze the enemies of his beloved. Larger than them even Veridian used the segment of the fire spirit inside of him to burn and destroy the goblins, helping in the general joy of the battle.

The second creature was a mighty one, that no one expected. Coming up from the very holes the goblins had appeared, the savage head of Delath the dragon breathed air. He roared, high and terrible, before snapping straight for the nearest soon-to-be corpse. He tore away a large chunk of the ten goblins who had currently corraled two humans into a corner, then hissed before pouncing on more. Though his scales were soft and pliable his jaws were still that of a beast, and he took mouthfuls of the small meals before plunging back into the earth.

The tide turning well, the Gilded Lily beings fought back. With a firey fox and a dragon on their side, they cheered with ecstasy and a renewed hope. The centaur and her companions defending the supplies jeered at their attackers and decided to advance suddenly, rather than simply defend, and threw themselves forwards with vigour. Goblin ranks began to thin, and when Delath appeared again he had yet more corpses within his maw. Fight came back into play, and victory could be smelt. Vaeron finally neared his dear friend, his legendary indigo blue blade alight with a shimmering edge, and he called to her.

"Tunnels," he said, "There are tunnels."

And Philomel looked at him as if to say, 'Yes you idiot, there are bloody tunnels.'

[Philomel]

The battle was short, but not sweet.

Two warriors were lost, and though the victory was a clear one, every death in the Gilded Lily was treated as a loss. The settlement of a new era for the society became a solemn silence. The goblins bodies were unceremoniously thrown over the cliff side, where it was clear from that view there was a waterfall that ran from under the fortress itself down into the canyon. Though it was clear of the main path up, it was still large, running like a savage wound with water that soon turned sickly khaki with the blood of the goblin bodies.

General camp was established, after it was throughly tested that there were no other inhabitants of this place. Philomel made the decision that they would stay together for the night, and not begin exploration of the place until they properly mourned their dead - thus were tents and pavillions erected in the main courtyard. All of the horses, plus Meglagon and the Matriarch's tera'k were taken to what they had figured were the stables, and became the first real occupants of the castle. It left more space for the company to gather together and swiftly build a temporary home, as well as two stone-ringed low-lying pyres in the centre of it all.

After some exploration it became clear that the mountain to the back of the fortress levelled out somewhat until the crest of a densely forested hill. A small path led up here, and wood was found as well as kindling to build a large enough stack upon which to lay the corpses. They were identified as Sylvia De Orcy, a human blonde-haired beauty, who had been known in her village as a whore-witch, and Jauli Hau Pi, the only cat-folk to be in the Gilded Lily, who had come from a large city and had grown up as an orphan and eventually learnt to earn money by selling her body to disgusting beaurocrats. Though it was known that Jauli, for her race, did have a certain religion, Philomel was determined for them to be buried in the honour of Drys.

When the sun dipped down beyond the horizon, the company gathered together around the pyres. The bodies were set on these, low enough for all to see and a large mound of earth was close by. Philomel took prime place, as both Matriarch and priestess, standing between the two stacks of stone and wood and dry leaves. She waited until the sky turned pink, and then spoke the first words that were not whispers since the battle had ended.

"Dearest children of earth, dear women of strength. We are gathered here to remember our sisters by the light of twilight, under the grace of Drys. They fought and they fell, bravely and well, amongst the song of trees and nature's world. Their blood melted with the stone, and into Drys' arms they now come to rest. Our proud sisters, Sylvia De Orcy and Jauli Hau Pi..."

She raised aloft two stalks above her head, crossing them in the air. These she had searched for in the wood alone, following her instinct but also the voice in her head. At first she had gone in with no particular idea of what she would find, but once she had discovered them she had known. And by the time she had come out she was certain. Two stalks, that were just stalks today but usually were branches, that represented the nature of the deceased. Drys had spoken to her, and Philomel had found the two plants that were the human and the cat-folk in vegetation form, and now held them up for all to see.

"For the bold cat-folk Jauli," she murmured, gazing up at the intersection of these now holy objects. "What else but knotted catnip, the twisted love of her people. And for Sylvia, the docile white ivy, that looks with gentleness, yet strangles with ease. These are our sisters, these are the daughters of Drys, brought into her copse by the grace of her glory." Gently, she swallowed, thinking of the girls.

It had been her who had found Jauli on the street that time. Passing by, she had been in a carriage rented for her by a noble patron and looked like an individual of expense. Jauli, covered in dirt and suffering unkindly from sores on her feet and hair loss by stress, stopped the coach to beg for a client. With one look Philomel had made up her decision, and had taken Jauli on board the carriage. She had cancelled the meeting with her patron, sent back the money he had thus far paid, and went to introduce Jauli to a life anew.

Slyvia she did not know as well. But she had picked up a reputation in the Gilded Lily for being bold and brash. She had a way of flattering men and seducing them with just her eyes, and then dispatching them just as quick with a stroke of her sharp knife's edge. It was the type of female huntress Philomel prized, what she sought, and thus she was incredibly proud.

What Philomel was always proud of.

Both of the girls had their stories, had their glories and their skills, and they would never be forgotten.

[Philomel]

Over the next few days the fortress was thoroughly explored. The great sigil of the Gilded Lily, a white lily on a slate grey background, picked out by the edges in sage and chimaera-egg pink, was raised above the keep. It was evident by the state of disrepair that no formal army had been present here for some time, aside from the goblins. Their previous existence and habitation could be found in the lower-floor ragged tents and a poor quality forge that they had made. Without much fuss the evidence of them was burnt away and Delath was sent on an exploration into the hill to completely clear them out.

The keep itself was three stories high, not including turrets and parapet surrounding the vaulted roof. From it the walls expanded to encompass the lower halls, the stables and all other outbuildings. For the majority of the lilies they moved into the outbuildings, tearing out any useless walls and setting themselves up into dormitories of various numbers. It was deemed quickly that the lower floor of the keep would be reserved for domestic issues - the kitchens, mess hall and so on. The second floor was then given the title of strategy, and then at the very top Philomel, Vaeron and the three commanders she had promoted were all given private accomodation.

After she had washed in the rudimentary but now working shower Philomel went into the courtyard. Following close at her heels Veridian came also, watching the settling in of the new inhabitants with intrigue. He tilted his head on sight of a young maiden doing nothing but sewing a white lily onto a huge grey banner, and echoed his interest about it, but Philomel only laughed and carried on.

Right to the gate.

Where a white-haired elf stood, fair of face and grace, gazing out down the path they had come and dressed in full mail. She had a vague smile on her face and her eyes were bright. They brightened further when the faun-Matriarch came to stand beside her.

"My lady," she bowed, courteously.

Philomel gently smiled and waved her hand as if to say, and also to say, 'there is no need.' "Anything, Isa?" she asked

The elf shook her head slowly. "Nothing as yet. I spotted your dragon coming up out of the cliff wall some time ago, but there was no evidence of goblin-folk."

The faun nodded slowly, looking out down through the open gate and to one of the small waterfalls beyond, that just slipped by to the right of the path, spurting out of the cliffside like a spider darting from her nest. "He has not informed me of anything as yet," said she, and her eyes went slightly off focus.

Isa (Garna) raised her chin slightly, noticing the difference in her Matriarch's gaze. Subtly she bit her lip in anticipation, knowing that Philomel was contacting Delath mentally, something which excited her greatly. Of all the magics in the world, having a familiar with whom you share a mind had always made her heart leap, and fortunate for she was it that the leader of her company had two.

"Nothing as yet," Philomel repeated, her eyes slipping back to focus. Gently, she smiled. "Well maybe nothing to come. Hopefully we are alone here now."

"It has been three days thus," Isa nodded, "And there have been no goblins, nor renegades spotted via the walls. Truly, I think we are alone here, my lady."

"One should hope," the faun sighed, "One must hope. For if not more war will come, and we need this time to recuperate and begin to build our stationary lives."

"Hence chosing this abandoned and extremely remote fortress," Isa grinned.

Philomel paused, but then joined her in the smile. "Exactly," she agreed, "Exactly. It is just what we need."

[Philomel]

"I want to thank you, my lady" Isa Garna said, after a long moment of silence had passed between them.

"Hmm?" Philomel half turned to her, though her 'hmm' was only of vague interest. Her true concentration was on the roadway, the valley and the perfect beauty her tribe had now come to make home in. Fair weather blessed them, and the sun was a warm white orb worshipped by thin light-grey clouds. A soft measure of psithurism washed over all, a melody in the nature. It was joined by the sprinkling of the water from the falls, small and dainty, unheard of but by the patient ear, with some drops like the faint clip-clop of a distant horse.

"I said I want to thank you," Isa said with a stronger voice.

At that the faun turned to gaze at her. With head tilted slightly she smiled, satisfied at where they were and how far they had all come. How adventurous the last two years had been. First her tiny empire had been just one brothel, then it had advanced into two, then several. Then she had met the dread pirate king Malachi, and from him obtained her ship, the Feisty Fox and sailed under his flag with Althanas' first sea-bourne brothel. Then there had been direct wars, and progress into establishing roots in other countries - so much so that almost half of all Raiaeran whore-houses now in the large towns and cities could claim to have some link with her name. The Gilded Lily had grown from being an establishment of a society, to a spy guild, a pirate crew, a political authority and now an army with its own fortress. Philomel was incredibly proud - and the Matriarch of all. She thought of her friends and allies, both past and present - Aurelianus Drak'Shal, Madison Freebird, Lichensith Ulroke, and more recently Shinsou Vaan Osiris - and smiled as she knew now that her names would be with the greatest of them in the history books, so that generations to come people would know her name.

"It's absolutely my pleasure, dear," the faun said softly to her elf guard. Definitely commander material, now she came to think of it. "I mean - it is not just I, but all of us. Every woman and Vaeron under the flag of the Lily."

"You have brought us far," Isa said, still looking at her.

"That was my intention." Philomel laughed softly, and began to turn away. "But my pleasure, honestly. Now I should get-"

"Madam!" came a cry from above.

Isa and Philomel looked vertically upwards. A bow-woman leant over the parapet from above the gate, her arm pointing away from them back towards the road. She looked directly down at elf and faun, eyes wide and voice tense.

"Madam, my lady, a rider!"

All suddenly tensed. Siezing the hilt of her sword, but not drawing, Philomel strode to the gate, Isa quick at her side. True enough there was a rider fast approaching up the steep road, an amoured man by the looks of it, a man definitely not of the Gilded Lily. Philomel's eyes narrowed, curious and also immediately suspicious of what sort of outsider might know that they were here. As he approached it became clear he was alone, and galloping at full speed with a white scrap of fabric tied to the tack of his horse.

Isa came right to her shoulder, perceptively frowning at the sight.

"He is flying white? Why, who is he?" she asked, as if Philomel knew the answers.

The Matriarch nodded and tensed even more. "He is but one man," she said quietly. Pausing for a moment, she contacted Veridian and told him to make Vaeron alert. Raising a hand she then signalled the archer atop the gate, "Aim fire," she told her, "And hold."

A raised eyebrow came from the elf; "What are your plans my lady?" she asked.

Philomel ignored her, just waiting for the yell of, "ready!" from above, signalling the archer's draw. Only at that did the faun slowly release her hand from the hilt of her sword - then begin advancing forwards, straight towards the rider.

"My lady!" Isa gasped, grabbing her own blade.

Firmly, Philomel snapped out a hand, telling her to be still. She continued on, walking through the safety of the outer walls, and right in the centre of the path where the rider was. Isa stopped sharp, but did not place back her weapon, most anxious for her lady. Yet still, Philomel strode, and the rider made no move to slow, twisting up the sharp route and aiming into the last home stretch. Visor pulled down low it was impossible to tell his expression, but it was clear he came with some haste. He made no move to take a weapon, thus Philomel kept walking, her chin high, and determination set.

Still he galloped, faster than ever.

"I am Matriarch Philomel van der Aart!" she annouced in a terribly loud voice, "Leader of these people and proprietor of this fortress. If you come here seeking to lay a claim to it then you will slow your horse and surrender for conversation."

Leaving an empty pause, she waited for him to reply - but none came. Still, he advanced. Sucking on her tongue in agitation, Isa had to mentally hold herself back from charging in. The archer on the other hand was as calm as a summer sea on a cloudless day, not losing a shot, not even tempted. Similarly Philomel kept herself serene. Beginning to slow her pace, she prepared to transfer her energy into the earth and use her teleporation skill which would allow her to almost instantly appear on the other side of the rider. She could then move to flank him from behind and thoroughly wish he was never born. Plan was what she had, and personally she knew it would work to her advantage. No single mounted warrior could threaten her.

"You will stop now!" she cried out, suddenly coming to a halt and raising her empty hand. The rider was less than ten metres away.

As if on her word, though perhaps not, the armoured warrior twisted around his steed, so her flank was facing the faun Matriarch. Reaching to his right side - not his left where one could safely assume a sword would be - he took something, and then, wordlessly, held it out.

It was a biege scroll, tightly rolled, and on the seal were the elaborate letters B - O - C inscribed.

[Philomel]

The horse pulled to a sharp halt, and the visored rider there still did not speak as he offered the scroll like offering a sack of diamonds. Precious was his burden, elegant was his gesture, and the narrow slit where his eyes peeked out told of a great duty.

Tilting her head ever so slightly, Philomel acknowledged him by a courteous nod. As she read the letters, she was instantly aware of this man's good intentions - or at the very least peaceful ones, and thus she tensed as she curled her fingers around the other end of the paper. It was not a firm hold at first, but rather careful as she tried to assess from his demeanor what sort of message this might be, but it became so when he sat up straighter, removing his hand.

No sooner had he handed it to her, and a gaze of mutual respect had passed between them, than the rider swiftly turned. His mare snorted, and he kicked her bronze flanks to suddenly send her galloping off back down the cliff-side path, as brief as they had come. Philomel watched with bright, intelligent eyes, the paper rustling as her fist tightened around it. She waited until he disappeared around the first sharp corner of the path, and then she waited for a moment longer - before she herself twisted back to begin the short climb back into her strong hold.

Isa was by her side in the shake of a merry lamb's tail, born in the fullness of spring. Eager was she to protect her ultimate charge, and eager was she to see what the rider had all been about. However, Philomel did not open the letter, rather she continued to stride through the portcullis and towards the keep. The inquisitive guard tilted her head and caught sight of the three letters on the large red seal.

"What is Bee - oh - see?" she asked quietly as her Matriarch took the first step beyond her.

Immediately the faun-whore stopped. Eyes blinking with surprise once, she turned her head and fixed the elf guard over her shoulder with a hard stare.

Ferocity. Determination. A soul so deep and a life so led by the wills of others that it had become hard, often bitter, resolute.

Isa dropped her gaze instantly, muteness taking hold. For a minute juncture Philomel looked back at her before departing, leaving all - Isa, the guard in the battlements, the horses being assessed for their shoes, the attendants and the other associated, miscellaneous workers of the Gilded Lily - to just watch her.

In awe.

As her hooves clattered on the cobbles towards the keep.

As the hooves of the rider's mare shattered down the steep cliff path.

As shadows came to Concordia, and the fortress of the Gilded Lily, and a new chapter in Philomel's life began.

[Philomel]

Slowly she turned, eyes keeping on the scroll for the minute it took her to amble back up the path. Indeed, she twisted right away from the rider who had delivered the message threw up dirt as he galloped back away. He had caused such a fuss coming, and was now disappearing with so little effort that it seemed worthless in the grand scheme of excitement that he had come at all.

Except he had passed the letter. Into the hands of the Matriarch. And now that very faun was striding up, getting fast and faster as her eyes lifted up from the scroll to walk back through the gates.

"Close the gates behind me," she ordered as she marched through, brows furrowing.

Isa skittered through the iron as it began to creaking shut, her armour jostling and slowing her down so that she could not quite keep up with the faun. Even though she was an elf, and thus swift and strong and very experienced in the art of fighting with steel plating, she still did not have the capacity to follow the determination of the supernatural creature before her.

A friend, another guard, skidded to her side as Philomel kept walking, right past everyone, over the cobbles and straight towards the largest building of the keep.

"What is it?" lips whispered to Isa. "What has she got?"

Isa frowned and shook her head. She glanced back a little, watching the darting of the black horse as it turned the tightest corner to continue its decent downwards. Back to whatever mysterious place it came, full of strange initials and secrets so devastating it made Philomel ignore all others. Obviously, highly important and perhaps rather detrimental to their state of being as a society. Though, it did not help to get carried away in emotions.

"She got a message," Isa murmured back, "With the letters B - O - C on them, but I have no idea what that means."

The friend mouth crumpled into a frown also. Arms folded. Chain mail clinked.

"Letters?" she asked, rather confused. "What could simple letters be?"

"Obviously a code," Isa whispered back. "A code for something possibly devastating," she faced her friend and fixed her with a straight stare. Focused. Determined.

"But whatever may happen, we know where we stand."

Her friend tilted her head a little quisitively.

Isa the elf pulled her chin high, and loosened her arms to stand tall.

"We stand with the woman who has pulled us all out of the depths of despair. Who has led us to victory time and time again. We stand with our matriarch, who deserves our undying devotion."

"... Until we die of course."

Isa paused, then shrugged. "True. Until we die."

[Philomel]

The door banged open with a loud slam. Swiftly the room's occupant turned around, his eyebrows arching into a perfect curve, the muscles on his chest expanding as he dripped with sweat. Halfway through a training session in his hand he had a bow and across the long, thin space opposite him was a nearly decimated large log of wood. But his attention turned from destruction in that time. He spun away from the practise of his art, all magic and no arrows, to pull his attention to the disturbance - and the introduction to his world of his interrupting best friend.

"This!" She thrust out the piece of paper towards him. It fluttered in the artificial breeze made when she so violently flapped it.

Slowly, Vaeron the great mage blinked and he lowered the bow in his hand. For a while he just stared at the faun, holding out the paper, previously a scroll, and said nothing. She paused, purposefully in her pose of strong stance and arm out-stretched, waiting for his reaction. He let the wait expand, confused himself and rather irritated that she had so rudely interrupted his training. And barged into his room without so much as a sentence.

"You could knock," he said with a low voice, twisting away, not even looking at the sheet of paper.

He walked over to the side of the long, thin space, moving to place his bow on top of a large, battered cabinet that he had managed to find, beside his strung-up hammock. Running a hand through his hair he paused for his own sake, stretching back, rolling his shoulders - and then began a detoxing stretch-down.

Philomel became infuriated. "This isn't a laughing matter Vaeron! This is serious!"

"And I am not laughing, Princess," Vaeron turned his head over his shoulder to fix her with a stare.

In the warm light of the day, coming in through the windows dotted along one of the long walls, the scars on his cheeks stood out. Two perfect curves, matching almost identically that looked as though they were part of a punishment but were really just an accident of fate. They kept the man's expression in a permanant state of non-chalance - though admittedly he could frown a lot more than that. The meaning of the words resounded around the room, reflecting in the facial damage and the fact he could never smile, and thus never truly express laughter; Philomel lost her train of thought in that moment.

She pursed her lips. "I - I - no but -"

Shaking herself, and hating the fact that she was speaking to the only individual - bar Veridian and Delath of course - who could leave her somewhat speechless, she growled to herself before continuing.

"Look," she raised her arm and shook the paper again, a light rustling filling the air as she did. "Look, this is from them. It's from them!"

He kept looking at her with the same non-plused face.

"'Them'? Great. Its from 'them'."

He did not sound amused. Indeed, he sounded immensely sarcastic, because he was being so.

Philomel growled. "Vaeron!"

"Princess!"

[Philomel]

"Look!" she finally walked right up to him, turning the paper around to face her. He rolled his eyes and continued his rest-down from his training whilst she immediately launched into the reading of the letter.

"Look," she came to stand a couple of feet from him, and lifted it up.

"'For the attention of Philomel van der Aart, Matriarch of the Gilded Lily. For her and her associates.'"

"Well nice that they included the rest of us," Vaeron muttered, leaning over into a position he liked to call, 'surrender to the sea'. It was a complicated form, and involved placing one leg forwards, bent at the knee and lowering one arm to rest on that joint. Your other arm would then be stretched out before you, thereby working on the muscles all the way up one side of your body.

Philomel did not seem impressed. Instead, she kept reading.

"'Your recent actions have come to our attention. We address you in recognition of this, as an individual of considerable power and influence. We-'"

"At least they understand that," the mage said in a dull tone, coming to stand upright and turn fully towards her. "Many do seem to underestimate what we have built."

The faun-whore paused, looking sharply up from the letter. "What 'we' have built?" she questioned in a brutal rebuttal.

Vaeron simply raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Exactly. 'We.' You would not be here without me, Princess. Now," he flourished a hand. "You may continue."

Red rose to her cheeks, and a small amount of chagrin as she felt both angered and embarressed that he was able to speak to her like such. Really, he was the only man who could, all others she sharply reminded of her authority, and they felt the brutal sting of her wrath. Instead, though, Vaeron had been there through her entire journey - from when she had first been a prisoner on the pirate ship he had been employed on, to now when they were in the prime of their power. He had watched her grow, and had invested a great amount of his own sanity into her life, that truly sometimes she imagined that he was the one behind the Gilded Lily.

The mage got quickly bored by her stunned silence. He rapped his fingers on the wooden, hollow cabinet, catching her attention.

"Hmm?"

"Keep reading!" he reminded her.

Philomel blushed a few times, and then rushed to pick up from where she was. "Uhh. Right. Yes. 'We know where your new base is, having tracked you thus far, and express an interest in your future. We also understand you have an interest in the future of Corone. Thus,'" she paused and looked right up to Vaeron, "'We propose a treaty, wherein you will assist us.

"'Signed, the Brotherhood of the Castigars.'"

[Philomel]

Immediately Vaeron looked intrigued.

"The Brotherhood, hmm? Finally understanding your worth."

"They tracked us here, Vaeron," she seethed, waving the paper before she slammed it down on the cabinet. "To here, where no one else is supposed to know about. Our stronghold, secret fortress..."

"That is incredibly defensible, and guarded by fifty of your finest warriors," he shrugged before folding his arms. "And you have plenty more back on the ship, and in that base on that island you wanted."

"The island doesn't count," she waved a hand sharply, "That mission was a failure."

"A failure of some sweet adventure," he curled his lip. The closest he got to a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "Anyway. Nevertheless. The fact cannot be denied that they found us here."

"To be honest, following a small army through a forest is not hard. And the Brotherhood clearly are more powerful than they confess to being," he paused, and raised his chin to scratch it. "This is a good thing, though I am wary."

Philomel stressed, reaching up to anxiously fiddle with her long purple braid. "I have heard so many stories."

"So many myths, you mean," the human took a step closer to her, finally extending a hand to place it on her shoulder. Caught in that moment, Philomel froze, not exactly used to close contact, but she knew it was meant to be for her own comfort. She looked up to him, straight into his eyes. "Myths," he said determinedly, fixing her with the kindest stare he had. "Myths, and nothing more."

"But -"

"You are strong, Princess," he quietly and softly said. "I have watched you grow so much through this year, and I am honestly proud to be your friend. Despite the fact you are an idiot."

The faun stuck out her bottom lip in the rare focus of a pout. "You are the idiot," she muttered.

Vaeron laughed, but without smiling it came out as a rough hackle. She knew it well though and knew the intent was good.

"Look," he continued when he was done. "We must be wary, because we know these people, and their extent. However, we know that such an alliance as this will set us in good stead." He paused. "Right, they say that ... what, you 'will' assist us and 'we tracked you,' which are obviously threats, but then you have sailed through threats like this before. Think of your Red Hand friends."

"Crimson Hand," she said quietly, but she was smiling.

Again, the mage gave his hyena-like laugh, that most would find disturbing but she found endearing. He patted her shoulder gently.

"You'll do fine, Princess. You'll do far. And this alliance is something you should accept."

"Well, I think we have little choice in the matter," she found her eyes wandering to the paper again. Where it said, 'you will assist us' ...

Vaeron removed his hand, nodding with a joy in his voice. An amusement, a merriment and a certainity.

"No, we do not," he replied. "But we at least can find a way to use it to our advantage."

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Philomel receives 2510 EXP (including a 1.5x bonus for completing the thread during the Althanas Festival) and 135 GP!

This thread will now be submitted to the workshop for peer review!