[From 3.1] Her River, My Blood; Her Rock, My Bone

FOUR YEARS AGO

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"This is my home it's where I belong
From the clouds in the sky, to the roots and stones
See the sun in the sky make me feel so high
I see the full moon shine, make me feel so fine

Her river, my blood; her rock, my bone;
Her earth, my muscle; her heart, my soul
Her children my children, their freedom my goal
I'll be fightin' fightin' fightin' fightin' fightin for them all."

Omnia - Earth Warrior

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People say that the Red Forest, or Lindequalmë, is a deadly place, full of horrors and terrifying twists of manipulated nature. Within its leafy walls lies a myriad of life-seeking plants that will strip a man's flesh from his bones, poisonous vines that have no other want than to intoxicate, and monsters of behemoth proportions. They say that once it was the greatest of the great forests and the envy of every nature goddess and saint, but then after the Tap was cut off the Forgotten One Pode sickened it with her ill magic. Apparently no one can enter the forest and hope to stay sane, for the blood-thirstiness of its nature has become so much that it has stained the very bark of each tree a deep crimson.

They say this, with fear lingering on the tips of their tongues and the points of their pen-nibs, cataloguing all the experiences of a thousand and one beings - yet. Yet. They never seek to approach the idea that, perhaps, other creatures, aside from the accepted sentient species, may indeed be at home in this most evil of places.

In the steadily reconstructed great halls of the Grand Library in Eluriand, Veridian Ryuusan, a fox by form and Earth Spirit by species, lay on his belly reading the Chronicle and Aftermath of the War of the Tap, by an obscure scholar called Marquis Meaden Garth. Apparently this High Elf had been just a child during the great rampage that had bled the world dry of magic, and he recalled his memories on the pages of the Chronicle. It spoke of Forgotten Ones and briefly of Xem'Zund and then went on for great many pages of how seemingly overnight Elves in particular lost the ability to even summon a light. It gave a detailed construction of how Meaden Garth supposed how magic might now occur, through various means. His suggested such things as Aleraran progressive science, new gods and Hadia. He gave authority towards saints, technology and alien races, as yet undiscovered. He considered ghosts, secret organisations and gruffalos ... but.

Veridian was horrified to read that the man did not give any attribute to nature spirits. So angered was he that he sat up, bold and tail swishing madly, and used both paw and muzzle to slam the book closed. Once the back cover had slammed down on all the pages, then he pounced and trampled on the book, hissing for all he was worth.

"... is everything alright, dearest?"

His ears pricked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Ceasing his irritated clawing and padding on the leather he twisted his head around to stare behind him, in the direction of the words. Pausing, and then spitting just once more, his body followed through the turn until he faced the talker. By no surprise in any way it was the one he called his 'beloved' and thought of as the closest thing he would ever have to a mate.

The faun of Radasanth, the Matriarch of the Gilded Lily - Philomel Serkena van der Aart.

Blinking his bright golden eyes once he pulled back his lips to show his brilliant ivory, and very sharp, teeth as a indication of his current emotional state. Swinging once more his russet and white-tipped tail back and forth, Veridian answered the faun, directly into her mind.

He is a rootless demon, a scurvy cur, a thing earthless and void of nature, who deserves nothing more than to be boiled in a bath of fat!

Philomel raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth flickering into a smile.

"Who is this now? What has he written?" she said, for she was no an idiot and could see that Veridian was furious over a book.

The Earth Spirit seethed, sharply hissing through his gnashed teeth, and scratched at the cover a few more times before replying to her.

He claims that magic can come from everything, from ghosts and technology and all sorts of places, but never once mentions nature spirits! How dare he forget about us! How dare he, dare he, dare he!

Intrigued, now, about this seemingly rude author, Philomel moved slightly to the side to get a look at the binding. Her eyes quickly read the title, and the name of the author, pausing for a moment in commentary as she did so. Veridian continued to make deep dents in the leatherwork of the piece, something which would not be easily repaired. For a while the faun was quiet, thinking to herself and in all honesty getting highly amused at the display of anger of the otherwise adorable creature, and then she leaned back, nodding.

"Likely he is dead now, anyway, love. The War of the Tap was decades, centuries back in time, and whatever he knows, or indeed, does not know, is nothing compared to you," she leaned forwards, aiming to scratch the fox behind his ears. "For you know better."

Dead? No, indeed, Philomel, he is an elf, and of so little heart that he seeks to insult me and all my kin. This book - it contains nothing of my species and our power, throughout the War and throughout the entire history of the Red Forest. Why - see here.

Now the Earth Spirit left the Chronicle and Aftermath of the War of the Tap's cover, and landed on the table top, made of oak wood. He barked, once, and his furious note echoed around the great chamber of the place, bouncing off the tapestried walls to an audience only of books and the faun. After this noise, however, he then ascended onto another book, and scraped at this one, and pointed his nose to a further five volumes, all lined up on the table, each with their own scarred covers. Each had obviously not satisified the Earth Spirit in terms of their history or facts. From what Philomel could see they ranged from everything to do with a book on the flora and fauna of the Red Forest, to a 'simple' treaty on the movements of beasts through the main continent of Althanas. However, all had been deemed terrible works, and suffered the wrath of her familiar.

Unredeemers, unblessed! Earthless, dirtless, scavengers! They are rootless, all of them, terrible of deed and of word, and all of them should suffer in pots of fat!

Marquis Meaden Garth, Forthright Beckinsdale, Joe Lancey, Sir Gwaine, Popsina Marina Fine, Fat Monk Jim and Scholar IV.

Seven writers, seven different texts, and all which claimed to be significant treatises of study in their field. According to all the introductions these particular authors were connected with in depth studies and analysis, experts in all rights with various accolades, awards and titles given for their achievements. Together they covered everything to do with Raiaeran history and geography, from the plants to a brief history of what happened in the area of the greatest forest from beginning to end. There was focus upon Raiaera, mainly for the library's location reasons, and most of the books were chosen for their particular association to the Red Forest. The Red Forest, where wild things grow and evil resides, and where nature has truly gone havoc to the point of dissolution.

Its an abomination! Veridian declared, as Philomel wrote down a list of the names at his bequest, None of them even mention Earth Spirits, whereas our association with the Red Forest has been millenia in the making and the process! We helped form its branches, its leaves and its depths, we fought against Pode's influence where none would dare make a stand! We still go in there, and survive and help the vegetation to thrive, even if it might be a bit twisted but - but - but! Frustrated, he snarled at a bright, happy drawing of Fat Monk Jim. None of them mention us, not even once!

"Darling," the faun-whore said, writing slowly in a calligraphic hand, so each point of every word swirled and meandered in an aesthetic, artful way; "Have you considered that maybe they just never heard of an Earth Spirit?"

Veridian paused in his attacking, and blinked. He looked around at the books he had definitely marked for life and the table they sat on, which was likewise damaged, and sniffed.

Hmmmm ... but why wouldn't they have, Philomel? Are we not the most beautiful of species?

He turned to face her, his great golden eyes cutely sparkling. His soft hair with the little tufts that stood out from his pointed ears all drooped in a condescendingly gorgeous way, and he took on an adorable half-smile. Philomel was entirely forced to give one answer to the question because of this, which only made it worse because she was incredibly bais on this whole matter, also.

"Well of course you are," she said, sighing, suddenly feeling as if she just had to pick him up and coo into his ear for all of time, "But ... but ... can it not be that they have never seen one of your kind? Beauty and knowing are two things, Veridian."

You knew of my kind before you met me.

"Yes, but that is because I am a faun, dearest, and we are children of Drys, as you are."

The fox arched his neck, looking up at the bright chandeliers that lit the great wooden hall, I know that I am, certainly. Some might claim different, but I know her true power. I have met her.

He let out a nicker, as Philomel rolled her eyes. Veridian never stopped proudly declaring the fact these days, that he had met their goddess and she had not. It was pure pride, and her emotion to it was pure jealousy, though neither would ever admit it. Instead she just let him flaunt his blessed experience, and continued in her scriptive writing.

In any case, the Earth Spirit concluded, These seven people are guilty of high treason, if I have any say in the matter. They must be found, if still alive, and their wrongs righted. That or they will be killed.

"Sorry ..." Philomel gave a weak smile to the elf at the desk as she dropped the pile of books.

The elf blinked, and her expression turned devoutly sour as her eyes bore into the sinful scratches and nibbles now forever scarring the leatherwork. With an apologetic wince Philomel slid a small pouch of clinking money across the desk, then quickly whisked her hand away.

Philomel!

The end of the russet and white tail was already whipping around the corner into the entrance hallway of the library. Quickly, Philomel gave a slight bow of her head to the shocked and horrified elf who was now left with these mistreated volumes, and then turned on her hoof. Leaving money was a sign of a peace treaty, something she would not usually do, but the circumstances were a little too hilarious for the faun not too. Maybe some other time she would come back and take the same amount of gold from the library itself ... but then, the Nightingale had always respected houses of learning. They were great institutions of research and development, no matter how 'wrong' their works might be, according to Veridian. Therefore, she did not act as the rude whore she usually did, and apologised, before walking swiftly away, her weapons lightly clanging, after her familiar.

Outside of the library, beyond the giant doors that were constantly open, the two beings of Corone stepped into the main street of Eluriand. It was a place a long way from home, in a city that was as urban as Radasanth, yet so different in terms of architechture and stonework. Base grey in its masonry and elegant in structure it boasted a beauty that was beyond human conception, yet barely something of elvish design. Some of the buildings were decrepit, still stuck in that way since the wars that had ravaged this country, yet other were new as an attempt by the government to awaken a new form of social identity in the ragged people of Raiaera.

The faun and the fox were two very awkward beings in this place, and as they strode down the roads between high arches and pointed ears many odd looks came their way. People stared at the weapon-laden, big-breasted beauty, and they commented upon sight of those startingly brilliant gold eyes of Veridian. They gossiped and laughed, and frowned and wondered what sort of folk were encroaching on their city, striding through like they belonged here, when most clearly they did not.

Despite these happenings, however, Veridian continued on. His tail swished, left to right, and his nose pointed in the air like a black beacon of directional purposes. For him this was a time of desperation and barbarianism, to cut off the head of the scholars before any other dire mistakes were made, and for Philomel, for a rare circumstance, it was her time to follow. The Earth Spirit seemed to know where he was headed, and he made no real contact to his darling to tell her where it was. They had not really been long in Eluriand, after all - just a couple of days, mostly to get quotes on supplies for the ship, and so did not know the city well. Philomel already knew that they were not headed back to the harbour and the ships beyond, for Veridian's nose was pointed in the air and not towards the sea, and for a moment she was tempted to ask where he was intending to go.

She bit her lip, caught between utter amusement, and utter confusion. Slowly, she opened up her mind.

Veridian ...

Here! he suddenly declared, swinging a sharp right.

Philomel paused, then blinked, her eyes rapidly expanding. Before them was a building, a bungalow, set into a terrace and very strange. It was not the sort of place she would ever, ever, choose to go into, mainly because of its content. It was fashioned of rough sandy-toned brick, and had a smell coming from an open window of bog-breath and frog's legs. Little shutters stood to the side of each window sill, painted a fuscia pink, the same colour that matched the door, and Philomel was horrified to see that it was here the fox was proudly walking towards.

Philomel absolutely hated fuchsia. In fact she hated almost every single type of pink, whether bright or dull, sparkling or scary, purple-ish or close to red. The only time she would ever like them, she considered, was if there was a breed of animal that had the colour pigment as its coat, and then maybe - maybe - she could use it as a deterrent to keep particular Ixian Knight warriors away.

Yet - this was not Philomel's gig. No indeed, she did not know where she was, and in this case it did not matter if she hated the look of the out-of-place cottage, with open shutters and a thatched roof. There she was, standing in a cobbled street in Raiaera, entirely under the direction of Veridian. For now, for this day, their sense of place and purpose was under his black nose; partly for the amusement she got from seeing him so angry, partly for the simple realisation that he was as important to her as her own life was. Therefore she gave up resisting as the fox marched forwards, and then opened the door for him, for his forepaws had no capability to twist the brass door knob.

He did not look at her. He did not let out a sound but rather grumbled a, "thanks," into her mind before wondering into the room.

From what the faun-whore could see, and smell, the house was old. Rather too old, with peeling wall paper and only candles for light when gas was a definite modern thing that Alerar had surely given to the Raiaerans. The light was dull, therefore, and did not illuminate the low-ceiling narrow space well, which had a large wooden table dominating much of the room. A cast-iron stove stood to the back wall, and onto this was placed a mighty cauldron, from which smoke spilled like a fountain. All over the hearth the stonework was black, as black as the dirty dress that the woman on the stool was clothed in, as she slowly stirred the mixture.

Philomel paused, realising that they had trespassed onto some sort of home-brewery affair. From the stench in the air it was clear this woman either knew not how to cook or thought the old stories of witchcraft were real, and that by boiling sheep's piss and rodent tails together, one could brew up love. By the short pointy hat the faun assumed the latter was true, and so she decided the right approach was to speak calmly and slowly to this old mad crone. Coughing, she rolled back her shoulders and prepared to begin.

"Ma-"

"Ohhhhh hello dearie!" the woman suddenly said.

The voice, sweet and lined with delicious seduction, made Philomel jump. Her mouth opened and closed for a moment, until she realised that the woman was not looking at her, but rather Veridian, whom she had totally been ignoring. The fox-form Earth Spirit had wound his way over the the crone, and was brushing his tail back and forth across her ankle, his mouth open and ... smiling like this person was familiar to him and he liked her.

"Yes, yes, she is right in the back," the crone reached down to scratch him behind the ears. "And you may leave your familiar here, if you wish."

For a moment Philomel was taken aback. Entirely confused, she folded her arms, then addressed the woman sternly.

"What familiar? What are you talking about?"

The crone turned and waved a hand at the faun, before reaching down and stroking Veridian once more.

"She's a bit noisy and rude for a noble like you," she cooed to him, "I don't know why you put up with it."

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From Farragise's the ancient Rabbit's Perspective:

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My back room was something to be jealous of. I had it all to myself.

Being the primary 'bread winner' between Esmeralda and me, it was only natural that I took the best for myself. Behind the front room, wherein Esmeralda had her mighty cauldron within that massive fireplace, I had the expanse of what one would call the living area, a place not for any of her customers, but rather, me and my students.

My Earth-brother stepped through the door into my space, leaving his companion behind. I heard the moans and mutterings of a female, and assumed 'human' by what noises I heard. Elves were usually quieter - both the light and dark kind - and dwarves had much deeper voices and tended to complain less. All in all I prefer dwarves to other races, majorly for their affinity to the Earth. They know the gentle sounds it makes as the giant plates moves, they understand the ancient scars of metallic rocks that are dried veins of her crust, and they comprehend those sighs that the whole continent makes as water beats against her shores. They understand things, they feel them - and then are frank and beautifully truthful. They don't just groan.

I opened my mind, and connected to Veridian's as he strode in, russet paws silent as a soft breeze through the grasslands of paradise. Looking straight into those golden eyes I had not seen for almost ten years now I locked solid attention to him and said the first thoughts that came into my head.

You have picked up some odd company.

I enjoyed reading your letters, Veridian said, coming up to my chaise longue and greeting me with a nose-to-nose touch. I bent down to acquiese this arrangement.

My left ear twitched, and I thumped slightly with my hind leg as a sign of slight annoyance. You avoid the question, Veridian.

The fox-form being of my kin shuffled back, and then sat back on his haunches. With wickedly white canines he grinned and replied in that frank manner I had loved so very much and reminded me of those dwarves.

There never was a question, Farragise, he said.

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From Farragise's the ancient Rabbit's Perspective:

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A pause filled the stale air. For a moment I looked at my Earth-brother in serious caution, wondering if truly he meant to mock me - but then I realised that this was the thing they called 'humour.' I found it funny.

Grunting laughter came from my lepidorae throat. Very amusing, Earth-brother, I replied, Very amusing!

Casually I stretched out my mighty hind legs, and then moved to leap off the chaise longue to stand before him. Curious it was with our sizes, for our two forms naturally were much different from one another. I, as a rabbit, should have been something of a fifth of his length, however this had never been a fact. Standing at little over half a metre to the shoulder I was the same sitting height as him, in his fox form, though our lengths of course were dwarfed by his brush tail. My ears, tall and erect at that time, tickled the air above him, but for all intents and purposes our size was perfect to look at each other in the eyes, and for me to have a decent conversation with the kin I called my Earth-brother.

So, I continued, once he had finished his reply - a simple wolfish grin. Tell me about that thing outside. She seemed very unhappy that Esmerelda called her your familiar. I twisted an ear to sound out if the two-legged was still making a moan. She was not, which was at least a comfort.

Veridian's tail swished once, then came around to tuck beside his body. I twitched my nose, delicately, sniffing the air. I could tell he felt uneasy, and uncertain, which was common for people in my presence to feel so, but mainly for the reason I chose to directly address the problem of his companion.

Philomel is the best of allies anyone could want, he said, rather defensively. As to the term 'familiar' it is something she is unused to. You know that your relationship with Esmerelda is different than other two-legged and beast-form creature relationships. Philomel exists in a world where she has power, and is very used to power, and I am her ... companion, if you will. He shuffled his forepaws, It is often I who is called the familiar.

Pah! I declared. You, be her familiar?! The female is lucky you even bless her with your noble company.

I thank you, Farragise, for your compliments, he dipped his muzzle in the air, looking down to the wooden floor suddenly, But you underestimate her. You have not even met her properly.

I have read your letters, I said, connecting to his first comment when he had come in here. Come in here and spoken to me after ten long years of not seeing each other, in which a world of things had occurred. In which he had been reborn several times, gained a companion, gained something of a slave status in life it seemed ... And they have told me that you think she is bold, strong and useful.

Veridian looked straight at me again, She is, Farragise. She is the best of people.

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From Farragise's the ancient Rabbit's Perspective:

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Slightly, I raised my chin, baring the furry underside where my greying mane came to a point.

The best? I pondered, The best? I thought of Esmerelda, and her grandfather beyond that. The two two-leggeds that I knew (elves in race). They were both kind, gentle, and had done what I suggested most of the time through their lives, which was extremely useful. Though I did not know what had become of the old man after his work with myself and the Behemoth who still lived inside of me, I remembered his goodness in freeing me from that repetitive irritating voice (i.e. the Behemoth) from whom I had been plagued for many years.

But she is not an elf, I said, Nor dwarf as far as I can tell. Human ... really Veridian? You think a human is better than the company of another of your Earth-kin.

There was a pause. Veridian frowned at me in the best way his vuples face could allow him to. Human? he said, confused, No ... she is a faun. One of Drys' other creations. I am sure I mentioned that in my first ever letter.

The next pause was longer. In fact it was pregnant with the sun. My ears flattened along my back and in me awakened a whole new meaning to the word 'awkward.'

Oh ... I said, Ah.

Indeed, I did not remember it being there, or ever reading it. But by the fact that Veridian had stated it probably meant that my fears were entirely true - that I had not read his letters thoroughly enough. In my sense of attention span versus the interesting points of the thing that is to be read, Veridian's letters did not rate highly. Indeed, letters in general did not rate very highly in my desire to read them properly. Letters, in comparison to books or ancient artefacts, were not life-changing - unless of course they contained a particularly imperative fact which had to the power to change one's opinion of an Earth-brother's companion.

Behemoth's balls, I cursed, Well, excellent choice then, brother. Drys gave us fauns to be kin of the Earth too, and thus they are better than any other. Congratulations on the species.

Then I paused, But not on her whining nature.

Indeed, Veridian said, surprisingly fast and accepting. Strangely, his tone did not even draw attention to the fact I had entirely misjudged his choice of familiar, when considering her species (evidently incorrectly). A glint in his eye spoke of amusement, but nothing more. It seemed he held no grudge and understood that my continual interest in reading his letters every time they came was not a thing to be relied upon.

She complains, but as do you, he smiled again, and got to his feet to patter over and sit right by my side. Good to see you again, Earth-sister, he said.

And I, feeling a little less awkward now, thanks to his forgiveness, replied in kind.

I suggest we gather together a group of comrades, Veridian suggested as he strode out from the room. His brush tail swept delicately from side to side, creating its own personal breeze. Ones who can insist on this venture.

Aragarron certainly, came the reply into his head, from the mind of the large white rabbit that hopped beside him. Perhaps Meridal also. And Quentzado.

Philomel's eyebrows arched as soon as she saw the bunny. Standing in the same position as before, when Veridian had first disappeared into the back room, she was indecently casual in her taking in of his appearance.

Simply she blinked, cocking her head back and then the faun-whore let out a little snort. Eyes rolled slightly, hoof kicked away from the wall and she found herself leaning down to peer at the white fluff from on high.

"Well aren't you cute?" she chided.

Immediately, she regretted that all.

No sooner had she spoken than a well-aimed kick was sent at her shin bone. There was a light thud and a groan as she groaned and clutched her leg.. A bleat escaped her pouting lips as she cursed the very day the rabbit was born.

"What the-"

Cuteness is not a definition of me, the proud lepidorae said, literally stepping on her. His foot turned into a hop and he skipped over to the front door where, Philomel saw as she craned her neck - still reeling from the pain to her leg, there was propped a sort of infantile crossbow. The sort one would expect a childling would have in training to be a mighty warrior.

"She's a bit of a dick," Philomel hissed at Veridian, as the fox-form spirit slunk into the room also.

A lovely dick, Veridian replied. A dick without a dick.

And that, apparently, was the end of that.

From high upon an elm tree branch, by the light of twilight clear, he spied the playful world of the forest below, bathed as it was in the foetal moonbeams. Leaves fell in spiralling circles, carving their way through air and breeze. Hunting and scavanging small mammals sniffed their ways along familiar paths to find those berries they had hid long ago. Crackles and splinters of the dead leaves rolled a single word off the tongue - 'autumn' - and with that word came a fresh chill wind, a creeping darkness and something of the mad to the edge of the chaos within ... there.

There was the blood red and stark white of the Red Forest, an expanse of woodland so wild and unpredictable that nature had no real claim to such adjectives. The scittering creatures that survived at the edge of the ugly world within were holding on by the skin of their canines and the tips of their claws. Amongst the dangers that threatened them were not just other hunters, but also carniverous plants and spells so old that Drys herself feared them. Drys of course, for the uneducated being, the tree goddess who had made both faun and earth spirit, two fine examples of creature that were epitome of beauty and style.

Veridian opened his mouth and emitted something between a yawn and an uncompromising hiss. Leaning back up to his paws and no longer in his lying position he twisted around, before bounding back down to the ground. He used the thickening branches like stepping stones, hopping and climbing down one at a time, though it was in such an expert way that it took him little time at all. He noticed that here, at least, the elm tree looked like am elm, with its proud broad leaves and bushy crown. There was a tinge of the red to many leaves, but this could definitely be down to the time of year and not just the whims of the maddened forest.

Gathering his wits for the last, and largest, bound, he landed in a pile of dying foliage, and rolled until he came to the hooves and paws of his waiting companions. There were more now, five in total of claw and roar, dark of eye and light of fur. Amongst them was his white-coated 'sister' and his faunish beloved, with a definite degree of separation between them. They stood at opposite ends of the odd group, caught between love for him and loyalty to themselves; all awaiting the fox's decision.

The golden eyes darted from impatient rabbit, to temperate hind, to great bear, to panting wild dog and frustrated faun. A grin spread across his face as he looked at the company he had chosen, that he had gathered, that he had persuaded to come here, to this place, at this time.

He paused, before speaking.