Philomel Fight Club {Closed}

Radasanth was a bustling metropolis, full of people from every wall of life. People rushed back and forth, pushing past Nevin as he calmly made his way through the streets. He had already noted a place to get the metallic portions of his own and Sketch's weapons forged, that had been easy enough. He had even ducked inside and made sure they could handle the metalwork, and the master Smith of the forge had been a bit upset that Nevin had dare to question his skills. But he could, and knew how to work with Plynt without burning the metal to ashes.

So, with that confirmed, it was time to find their trainer. All he had to go on was Avis' instructions on how to find the woman, and Nevin had to admit that "check the half-decent brothels" wasn't much to go on. But. It's what he had, and he knew that he at least, needed to learn how to fight better. For too long he had been stumbling along, and the battles that he had gotten into had rarely gone well for him. The struggles to escape their captors with Stare had been close, too close - cracked ribs, heavy bruising, injured stomach... No. He couldn't keep going like this. So a weapon, and training was necessary.

He had already changed his diet, adding in supplements that would help encourage muscle growth, and had started doing some regular exercise beyond just his explorations, and while he hadn't seen any changes yet, Nevin knew that it was only a matter of time. So, with training, he might actually not be completely reliant on luck, magic, and others.

"Well hello there handsome. What can we here at the Emerald Lily do for you today? You're coming in a bit earlier than our normal customers." Nevin blinked twice coming out of his thoughts to look at the woman who was now sitting across from him at the small table. She was dressed modestly but sensually, a light green shift keeping her decency, while a diaphanous gown clung to her form - clearly designed to tittilate observers, but to shift attention away from herself.

The alchemist hadn't realized that the building he had gone into was a brother - he had honestly come in here just searching for place to get a drink and sit for a minute to think. The last few places that he had tried, both the madams and their girls had just stared at him blankly - but they had been rather seedy, nothing at all like this place. Maybe that had been his trouble - he had not been to a brothel here ever before, so had no idea where the decent brothels were or what they looked like. Sheer luck had brought him here - maybe she could help?

"I'm looking for someone, a friend of the half-celestial sent me looking." Nevin watched with bated breath for her reaction. For a second there was a glimmer of dislike that slipped across the woman's features - gone so fast that if he had not specifically been watching for it he would have missed it. Then she was smiling pleasantly as she reached out and patted his hand.

"You poor boy. Have some more to drink while I get a message to the person you're looking for. What did you need?"

"Uhm. I'm trying to get training." The woman nodded and stroked his hand before standing and walking off, her hips twisting sensually, subconsciously, as she strode away. Nevin drained the rest of his mead and asked for another round, fighting down the blush that had tried to creep up his cheeks. Now, to wait.

"Matriarch!" the call came, "Someone has ... Well a message from a friend of the crow."

Immediately she looked up from where she was in the fortress courtyard, calmly cleaning her moderate array of weaponry. The sun streamed from between greying clouds, alighting on the stonework, kitchen garden and her long mythril main blade with severe power. It did much to reflect the impact that the words had on her as she stood up, two hooves firmly planted on the ground.

"What?" she replied, ears perking upwards, "Who? Where?"

"Radasanth!" the announcer - a tall, white haired beauty who had a history of abusive ex-lovers - said, rushing up to her. Eyes large and hair a mess it was clear she considered it urgent. "They used the words 'a friend of the half-celestial'."

For a moment all Philomel van der Aart did was stare at the messenger, her brow furrowing deeper and deeper. Thoughts flew through her mind of where she had come close to the half-celestial - Vitruvion, she had later learned his name was. A large amount of confusion had led to her be abused in his dungeon of horrors, and now he seemed very eager to fix their 'relationship'. Once he had learnt who she exactly was and what power she really had. His aide and steward, Stare the kenku - the crow as she was now colloquially known as by the Gilded Lily - had been sent twice now in order to parlay and assist with information. She had definitely had an impact on Philomel, for after their most recent meeting Philomel had given permission for her to use their friendship as a tool, if the need should arise. All Stare would have to do was go to a brothel and state that the friend of the half-celestial was calling.

"You did say that a friend of the crow has sent a message?"

The beauty paused and then nodded awkwardly. "I did ... Perhaps the crow is willing to grant some monetary exchange?"

Philomel almost laughed, now sheathing her fine mythril sword, Nameless, into its sheath. Gathering the rest of her items she began to ready herself, letting out a sigh.

"... Did they say what they wanted?"

With her hands behind her back the beauty nodded. "Yes Matriarch. Training I believe."

Her brow rose again, coming completely out of its steadily lowering depression.

"Wait, what? Stare let her friend contact me ... To train them?"

There was a pause. "Well ... You are very good at swordswomanship, my lady. You have trained ... All of us, really."

Philomel breathed in slow and grumbled under her breath. "Stupid ... Taking me for advantage. Just because I ..." She sighed for a long moment, cursing Stare silently in her mind. "How do we send back a polite refusal without-"

Oh let's just go, came a soft voice in her head.

Twisting sharply around Philomel and the beauty watched as a red and white, elegant form jumped down from atop the kitchen roof. Hidden in shadows he had been lying in wait all this time, ready to let Philomel know his precise opinion on the matter.

The faun blinked at the fox now approaching them and folded her arms. "What reasons do you give for us going?" Philomel asked of her greatest friend, and partner of her mind, Veridian - the fox-form earth-spirit.

Oh, entertainment mainly, he lifted his upper lip in a full-fanged grin. That, and the more allies we make, Philomel, the greater. Stare would only make interesting friends, to be sure.

The beauty glanced between fox and faun, unable to hear what Veridian was saying but entirely used to it. It was a common thing to see their Matriarch of this hidden fortress and mighty guild speaking outloud to her fox friend.

"If I may be so bold, my lady, why don't you combine it with a training series with your crew? You have said ever since the issue with the vampires and Captain Cain that you should teach them new techniques."

Veridian nodded his head a great many times. Exactly. You wanted to teach them more, more is your chance. Combine these, put the Feisty Fox into harbour and ... Well. Exciting.

Huffing, Philomel glanced between them and felt her heart sink. Truly all she wanted was an excuse not to do anything today, but it seemed that was not going to work. Even her own daughter was out, riding through the woods with Vaeron, her father. Ever since their own trip out when Philomel had been fighting vampires at the edge of Tular Celandine and Vaeron had seemed to get on surprisingly better than before ...

"Ugh, fine," she growled, rolling her eyes. "But we're going on Delath."

Veridian blinked but nodded his head, marching ahead with his paws. Dragon fastest after you, he agreed, and started the first steps for a new adventure.

"Sir?" It was the woman from before - that had been surprisingly fast, probably just sent a magical message of some kind to this person that he was looking for. Nevin sat up straighter, blinking away the light doze he had fallen into while waiting. "Sir, Milady will be on her way. She has requested that you head to the dock - there will be a fox with golden eyes waiting to meet you." Nevin stood up and bowed to the woman, making her giggle. The comment about the fox was a bit odd -but considering he had a magical bird that had flown who knows how many miles while trying to find him because their magic had synced, he couldn't really say anything about a golden-eyed fox. The woman waved him off with a titter that she hid behind one hand.

Nevin stretched as he walked outside. While he had been able to get out faster than he had expected, his body and joints had gotten a bit stiff as time passed. Now that he had started the process of meeting the trainer, he needed to find where Sketch had gotten to. Hopefully the orator was still at the Inn and hadn't wandered off to tell stories somewhere. As he walked through the streets, Nevin frowned to himself slightly. There was a chance, if this trainer was irritated over having to train him, that she would be even more upset about having to train two people, one of whom didn't even know Stare, or whoever her half-celestial friend was. Well - they could meet this person and talk with them, at the very least, and work things out from there. Perhaps Nevin could offer alchemical aid of some kind?

Sketch thankfully was still at the inn that he and Nevin had rented rooms at. He was currently in the bar portion of the place, shoving food into his mouth still at an alarming rate. Well, at less of an alarming rate, but the alchemist thought that might be because he was getting used to how much the story-teller ate on a normal basis. The man seemed to use some of his physical reserves in order to work his summonings for his Grym, and ate a lot in order to make up for that. When Nevin informed him of the need to meet at the docks, the other man had nodded and gone to his room to retrieve his belongings. Nevin did the same - and when they had gathered up all their belongings again, Nevin nodded to him and led the way towards the docks where he had been told to meet the.... fox.

It took roughly half an hour since the message had been passed back to Nevin for them to reach the docks, where there was indeed a fox sitting on top of some creates near the entrance to the piers. The small forest creature was dozing in the afternoon sun, and cracked open an eyelid as Nevin approached him. It sat up, stretching and letting out a yawn as it shook itself, then hopped off of the box. It glanced up and down Nevin, then switched its piercing gaze to Sketch, examining him as well. It didn't seem satisfied, or irritated, but neutral, judging them without revealing anything. It twisted its head, jerking it in one direction, then led the way towards a ship moored at one of the piers. The two men followed, Nevin looking around as he tried to figure out just who it was they were trying to meet.

So there Sketch was, a master storyteller and summoner of Malefic horrors, visions of terror and occasional rock eating dwarfs, following a fox down a dock. Sketch had to wonder if this was normal for Nevin, getting orders to follow strange animals on wooden piers. The young man must get around.

Sketch had come to the port at the urging of Nevin as they were in the process of acquiring and learning how to fight with weapons. The last time Sketch had seen the Alchemist, they'd experimented with a new sleep drug to help Sketch end his nightmares, and find the metal to make their weapons. Nevin had always been a good friend to Sketch, and he would trust the young man in anything he said he could do, yet Sketch couldn't help but find it strange that the pair were given specific instructions to follow the animal to the ship.

Sketch shrugged the feeling off, he guessed that he wasn't in a position to judge what was normal, he summoned monsters and living nightmares on a regular basis. The whole point of learning how to use a weapon was to relie less on the Grym to help defend himself as he delved into the mysteries surrounding the Living monsters.

As the trio were led towards the ship, Sketch felt a jolt of excitement at the thought of being around real pirates, like the ones from the stories. The romantic notions of swashbuckling and witty retorts crept to his mind bringing a grin to his face.
The ship was gorgeous, not that Sketch had much experience with them.

Nevin and Sketch walked right up to the ship, and suddenly the Fox stopped before going up the ramp leading to the boat. The fox took one last look at the pair, and sat down and yawned, Sketch had to admit that was cute.

Thump, thump, thump.

She strode down the stairs with the volume of thunder, her head high and long plait flowing like a river in the breeze. In the middle of the walkway Veridian still sat, his back to the sun and the glory of his golden eyes resplendent for all to see. As she came up the height of the ship's edge, and then paused with one foot on the platform that eventually led to the two humans before her, Philomel took in a slow, weary breath.

And carefully, calculatingly, took in the measure of the men.

One was young, with dark eyes and a bald head. He stood with a certain amount of caution as she came up the ramp but no surprise. On his torso was wrapped a drakescale chaser piece. The other man, more middle aged than not, had grey streaks in black hair and even darker eyes than the other. He wore strange garments that Philomel had heard was called a 'suit'. Upon his pale face was a kinder look, but one filled with equal curiousity. They had followed a fox here, one with golden eyes, and been told ... Well, Philomel knew not what they had been told about her; her true nature and abilities.

Thus, she paused, lips pursed slightly, before she continued down the gangway, pausing only to run her fingers through Veridian's fur. She would appear to them, in all her battle finery, as a warrior. Young dragonscale breastplate that covered just beyond her underbust, matched by a titanium chainmail beneath that, covering to her hips. She wore a matching pauldron on her right shoulder as well as titanium gauntlets that shone in the sun. Across her back was a hefty scabbard for a good sized sword and around her waist was a myriad of fabrics holding various other weapons. This was all set off by the noise behind her, where from the grunts and rings of practise swordplay came, concocted up on the ship deck itself.

Veridian the fox let out a soft purr as he was cuddled, and then Philomel went on. She stopped before the men, just off the edge of the walkway and looked from one to the other again.

"Are you the ones Stare sent?" She asked, in a strong and purposeful voice. "If you are then you have come to fight. I am Philomel van der Aart, Matriarch and Captain of this ship. This is my companion, Veridian Ryuusan. He is more than a fox and I am more than a faun. I have fifteen years of battle and teaching behind me."

Resting a hand over a green hilt she paused.

"Let's start with your names, and how the Drys you know Stare ... And then I'll actually decide if your worth my time."

Nevin stepped forward after taking a minute to take stock of the woman that had approached them. It was very easy to see that she carried herself as a fighter, a commander - her armor and weapon were not just ornate, but functional, and worn with a great degree of familiarity. Her critical eye had already swept over them - he had no idea if they had been found wanting or not, might never know for that matter - and he knew that whoever she was, she could train them to fight. Or knew someone who could, hopefully.

"That would be correct Lady van der Aart. I am... I hope I am someone Stare calls friend.
I am Nevin Aimaparapoiitis, an Alchemist that she met in Stonevale. Through a rather unfortunate encounter, we both became entangled with some unsavory individuals who styled themselves as bounty hunters, as their prisoners. We managed to escape them, but I was untrained in combat, and fear I slowed down her escape." Whether that was true or not, he at least felt that way. He squared his shoulders and set his lips in a thin line.

"I rather thoroughly detest being a burden, so after we were safe, I asked if she knew anyone who could train me in combat. The man beside me is known as Sketch - he has joined me because the village of Stonevale was recently assaulted by Goblins, and wishes to learn to defend himself. At least, that is my understanding of the situation. The bird who is currently gliding over head is Aphrael, my companion." There was a melodic trill from up above as the crow in question felt her partner's attention on her for a moment.

Nevin was, meanwhile, studying Philomel's face. There was something familiar about it. He knew he had never seen the woman before, but for some reason he felt like he had seen her face before. But not quite - the features were not quite right, off from the niggling sense of recognition. It would bother him until he figured it out, but for now he would put it out of his head.

Sketch stood in front of the ship, the salt air licking his face. Sketch relished the sensation, he'd never seen the ocean before. The rough hewn wooden dock under his feet swayed slightly under his feet and he could hear the gulls laughing in the distance.

The faun that traversed the walkway in front of them was a beautiful specimen, clad in the scales of dragons and strong, shining chain, straight out of a heroic epic. She didn't cut the traditional figure of a pirate captain that came to mind, but she certainly looked like a formidable warrior. She spoke to the pair with a voice of practiced authority, and the sound of it made Sketch stand straighter.

Nevin introduced himself and answered the captain's questions about someone named "Stare" whom Sketch had never heard of before. At the mention of a prison break, Sketch couldn't help but stare at the man. In the time that he'd known Nevin, he'd never thought of him as a coward, yet he never seemed the overly adventurous sort who'd get into trouble.

Once it was Sketch's turn to introduce himself, he mustered as much respect and dignity as he could, "Captain Van der Art,I am Sketch, Speaker for the Grym," he gave his deepest bow, his hand over his chest in salute. "Never have I heard of a finer vessel since the tale of Varian Stormblessed." He gave the golden eyed fox an equal bow, "The only person I know in this whole situation is Sir Nevin, unfortunately I've never had the pleasure of meeting this "Stare". I however humbally request your tutelage, Mistress. I have journies I must take, and I doubt my chances of survival with my skills as they are currently." Sketch didn't lift his head from the bow until the captain addressed him, trying to keep his voice calm, sincere and dispassionate.

Sketch didn't want to seem like he was groveling, all of his words were more of a form of sincere flattery, truth be told. As things stood, he wouldn't be able to uncover any of the deeper mysteries of the Grym without running into something that could either over power his mindless Grym, or catch him off guard, and he'd be done.

The prospect of the weapon Nevin had designed was something he rather enjoyed. As a blade it'd allow him to defend himself, and the chain would allow him to bind enemies for his Grym. The downside was that such a versatile weapon was just as likely to hurt him if he didn't know what he was doing. Sketch hoped deeply that the pirate captain would allow him to stay and study under her.

For a short moment Philomel's gaze floated between the two men, taking their introductions into account. Her interest lay mainly with the one who styled himself Nevin - the one who claimed to have been in an event with Stare. She creased her brow, considering the kenku, then the powerful man who she served, and then admitted that like her own self, enemies were likely to be made for them all. It made Nevin an interesting person. If he was embroiled in such things, then he too had to be of some distinct power.

Sketch on the other hands ... Well he mentioned something called 'gryms'. Philomel had no idea what he meant, but she was sure it was particularly pointant. Probably some power or element that she had yet to fight against. Her lips pursed together and she glanced down at Veridian to get his assessment of the time.

Simply, the fox yawned and stretched to his feet.

Yes, he said.

And he twisted with a sweep of his brush tail and leapt up the rest of the ramp to scurry into the ship. Philomel paused a moment, and then sighed.

"You are lucky he likes you," he told both of the men. Lifting a hand from her mythril sword she spread it after the earth-spirit, nodding. "You come up this ramp and you become my students for the time being. You want to learn, you listen, like any of my crew."

She lowered her hand again. "Right now I am taking my sailors through a series of practise maneouvers and lessons. They are basic, but will advance quickly, gearing up to an eventual test against my ... Well. You will see." She looked at them seriously.

"I presume you brought your own weapons. Follow me if you have and you agree to my terms."

And with that, without even looking at them again, she twisted around to ascend the ship ... To come down into the deck full of sword-practise female pirates. The sounds of metal on metal and wood on wood rang in her ears like a melody.

Nevin took a deep breath and settled his shoulders. Philomel was not quite what he had been expecting from a friend of Stare's - but then again, he really only knew Avis herself, Raevin, and Vitruvion, so he supposed he didn't have much of a barometer to compare the fauness to. She had been brusque, and Nevin still didn't know if she approved of them or not - he was leaning in the direction of 'not' at the moment.

He did still wonder why she seemed familiar. For some reason her face was sticking with him, like he had seen it for an extended period of time. But it still wasn't quite right - the face that was nagging at the back of his mind had never been so cold and commanding. It was disorienting, and the difference in expression combined with the minor differences in facial features was enough that he just could not place it. Not that it mattered for now, but the alchemist knew it would continue to poke the back of his mind until he could solve it.

Still, she had at least accepted them enough to offer them a place on her crew, at least temporarily. That was what was important for now, and what he would focus on. Nevin dropped one hand down to make sure that the whip that he had acquired - not the barbed Plynt whip he intended on having made for actual use, just a bullhide whip - was still strapped to his waist, and nodded to Sketch. That, and a dagger would be the weapons he focused on practicing and learning with - crossbows were just a matter of aim and experience, and his staff had been lost when he was kidnapped by the bounty hunters.

Weapon assured, Nevin took another breath to steady himself. He had been on ships before - had to, to travel to Corone - but this would be the first time he wasn't just a passenger. That done, he strode up the gangplank after Philomel, his steps only hesitating slightly at the sight of the training and combat going on. Well, that was another way he might be able to make himself useful while learning - offering his services in crafting alchemical solutions to help with fatigue or wounds.

Now, to find who he would be reporting to. The Fauness seemed like a busy individual, he doubted she would have the time to train them herself.

Sketch checked on the farming sickle and length of chain he'd brought, he couldn't tell if they were particularly good quality weapons, but the sickle didn't feel too heavy in his hand, and he could swing it without difficulty. She agreed to train them, and Sketch wouldn't be found lacking in effort. He wondered who the captain was, he'd never heard stories of a faun captain. She seemed genuinely capable, Sketch figured that was all that mattered.

He wondered at Nevin's historyt as they walked aboard the vessel, he'd never thought to ask the alchemist about his past. He knew that the man was a capable healer, he'd saved lives when a small band of goblins invaded the small mining town of Stonevale, and he had a background in blacksmithing and herbalism. Sketch often caught him at his counter with his head in some book about magic or occultism, he wondered what else the chemist knew. He'd seemed to be genuinely surprised about his Grym, which made Sketch a little sad, as it meant that he most likely didn't know anything about them that Sketch hadn't shown him.

Nevin and Sketch walked up the boarding ramp to the ship, the sounds of the training drills booming out from the ship deck. The crew consisted of females practicing various sword thrusts and slashes. The pair walked up and the sailor leading the training indicated a spot for them to stand and motioned for them to follow along. The crew practiced a long horizontal slash that was suited for the cutlasses that were commonly used by sailors.

As Sketch tried the slash, the instructor walked over to him, 'No, no rookie. If ye swing with yer feet like that, ye'll fall over before ye cut someone. You need to stand with yer feet in a line, and be ready to shift them if ye attack or defend." She taught Sketch various ways to retreat or press forward, focusing on his footwork before trying to educate him on how to use his weapon. Sketch found the information useful, and could definitely see the benefit of learning the footwork first.

He ran through the drills as the rest of the crew focused on the swordplay. The dancing footwork was hard to perform as the ship rocked underneath his feet. He tried to focus on mastering the foot placements as quickly and deftly as he could so he could move on to the next stages of the training. He drowned out everything else but the instructions he was given, wanting to make the most of the time he had. By the end of the first hour, he felt confident in the foot motions and his ability to move around the ship without falling down.

Philomel watched as one of her finest soldiers - a strong woman called Glenda, who had been steadily moving up through the ranks over time - set the two humans in motion. As a human herself Glenda was perhaps the best option for the two for them, for she understood their strengths and weaknesses best. When the older man got the move called 'the serpent uppercut' completely out of shape, Glenda was there for rush over and give him direct pointers.

From where she stood, at the edge of the fighting field and slowly packing around, Philomel allowed herself a good view of all of the soldiers and crew there. Twenty of them were more adept at bows, however she had required they still joined in today. The purpose of this task, over the next few days of her time, was to get them focused as one unit. Having Nevin and this Sketchy one here was merely an addition. A way of seeing what sort of friends that Stare the crow had. If they wished to practise and learn then this was currently the best place for them, as Glenda took them through the first day of simple stances and basic movements.

That one has no balance.

Philomel glanced over to find Veridian sitting crouched on the balstrade of the ship. She blinked and raised a brow. Which one? There's a few lacking in perfection.

His nose gestured to the side where the two new men were. One, the younger, was apparently trying all the movements but without a proper weapon in it hands. The faun saw he had a whip tucked into his belt, but it would only take a madman to attempt to use that in such a practise combat situation, when running though the most basic footwork. Instead, he had somehow got hold of a wooden practise piece. She grunted a choke of laughter.

"He's not balanced because the moves are made by me taking in to account the weight of an average weapon," she sighed. "Idiot Glenda, didn't she ..."

Rolling her eyes, Philomel pushed herself off from the wall. As she did she continued to watch the two humans, still taking in the measure of them. She found overall them to be determined, a confused expression but a willingness to just go with what they had - they had been, quite deliberately, thrown right in the deep end. It was often her idea of testing out the waters of any new fighter. It told her that they were very new, and so clearly their idea of needing combat training was real, but it also told them that they were so thirsty for education that they were trying their best to fulfill what Glenda, an experienced fighter, told them. They were far below the basic skill of any of the crew, however still they managed to grasp some of the more basic concepts and it generally told Philomel what she needed -

That she liked these people.

It took her a moment to duck into the armoury that was off the side of the deck and step out with a steel sword. The edges were dulled and a little tired, but with work they would become as good as new. Taking it she headed over, circling right the way around and complementing those warriors who were doing well, until she got to Sketch and Nevin. She had wanted to be impressed, and now she was impressed upon, and thus she came to stand right beside them. She held out the steel sword to Nevin, hilt first, blade carefully balanced over her forearms.

"Try this, Nevin, Alchemist," she said quietly. "At least for now, for practise." She eyed him, then the other, "When this session is done, Glenda will call a break. Come and see me at the front of the ship near the figure head."

And she offered them a single bow of the head before turning away. Off to go to Glenda and murmur with her about the next steps in the general training of everyone.

Nevin was growing more and more exasperated with himself by the minute. He hadn't bothered getting himself a regular weapon - the whip he had designed was vicious enough to serve him well in place of a normal sword or something. He had hoped to get training in how to use a whip, but the woman in charge of the training time was having absolutely none of it.

"Look pretty boy. The captain says you learn just the same as the rest of the girls, so there's going to be none of your loud, showy, ineffective whip popping here. You'll learn to use a sword. Take this, and swing." She had grabbed up what looked like a half-rotted wooden sword and shoved it into his hands with a glare, daring him to challenge her on this. Instead, Nevin had gritted his teeth and gotten to work.

The motions were repetitive, which he could handle. The problem that he was encountering was that this piece of wood carved into the shape of a sword was horribly off balance to him - he had been working on exercises to strengthen his wrist and forearm to use his whip, and the motions that Glenda was having them practice were focused on upper arm strength. When he tried to get advice from her on what he was doing wrong, she had just glared at him and told him to keep swinging.

So he had just. kept. swinging. His arms were burning, but he was not going to let just a bit of pain keep him from the chance to actually learn to fight. So on he had gone, trying to maintain footing with something that felt wrong to use - when he heard the rather distinctive clop of hooves on wood. He paused a moment as Philomel came up to him and handed him a sword, and then told them to find her at the break.

A few testing swings after she had left, and Nevin could already tell a difference. That wooden sword had been in poor condition and poorly weighted, and this was... It felt better in the hand, that was for sure. Still not right for him, but considering he was beginning to doubt he would find anyone who could actually train him to fight with a whip, he would take what he could get. With a grim set to his lips, the Alchemist went back to swinging.

"Good job Stringbean. That's right, Full Pace, move forward. Advance ye lump, faster. Good, now backwards, keep yer feet straight, mind yer terrain. Good, don't trip Beanpole, if ye trip, ye die. Good, yer making progress, Stretch, was it? Well, Stretch, yer catching on well, I figure ye and the redhead earned yerselves a break. G'on an' relax before we move on to exercises." Glenda, the instructor's name was Glenda he'd learned, had been tutoring Sketch on his footwork, and he'd caught on to the rather mobile fighting style that she'd been teaching him.

Sketch was feeling excited from the rush of the training, he'd felt like he was picking up the footwork quickly, and his body was naturally light so he was able to get speed behind the moves. He'd been working on these moves as Nevin worked on his moves with a wooden sword.

Nevin was looking just as tired as Sketch when the break was called, and he was happy to know that his friend was just as eager to learn as himself. The captain had given Nevin a metal sword as the training went on, and the lean storyteller wondered if Nevin would be able to even swing the heavy thing after all the training they'd already done.

Sketch walked over to the alchemist with a flask of water, and offered the drink to the redheaded scholar. "So Nevin, I see they have you working with a sword for now, before you work on whips eh? They seem to have us both on basics, I've been running footwork drills for some sort of fencing. I'm interested on what they'll teach me next." Sketch waited for the man to finish his water, and then nodded in the direction of the captain.

The pair made their way through the other sailors littering the deck, resting after their exertion. They stopped near the front of the ship, and made a quick attempt to straighten themselves up, and continued to the figurehead to see the captain and see what she'd wanted to discuss.

Before her stretched the vast ocean, but for her it was not a border. Philomel van der Aart's power still stretched far to the corners of the world, covering seas and forests and hills. Even though many things had happened over time - there had been a war with the Crimson Hand - the assassin guild. Its leader, Philomel's old friend, and enemy, Lichensith Ulroke had ... Well. Shinsou van Osiris, one of her closest friends and a person she could have considered a relationship with, had all but gone missing, lost to her on the wind, but she had managed to go on. She had survived, the need for the Brotherhood of the Castigars as allies shrinking each day as made her women better fighters and led them into a new era with an heir and a princess ...

Your friends are here.

She looked back over her shoulder. Away from the wild sea that sloshed it's clear, salty waves over her mighty ship. Light streamed down and stabbed it in a thousand brilliant shards of brilliance but it did not quell it's energy. Very unlike the two exhausted men standing there, their untrained bodies shaking with the tension of a single morning's sword practice. Slowly her brows rose, comparing them to the steady frame of the fox who had alerted them to her, and was poised not ten metres from either group.

Let's call them my 'new' friends, darling, Philomel said as she pushed herself around, So many have gone.

Veridian let out a small huff, thinking of Shinsou Osiris and Madison Freebird, who they had not heard of much recently. Once very good friends to Philomel, now both gone. Now she had ... Well, the father of her daughter for one, and whatever new people the crow decided to throw at her.

The Matriarch started heading over, hand moving to rest on the hilt of her sword as she moved - it swinging marvellously. She eyed the bald man and the older man and watched the sweat drop from their foreheads, the strain of their chests. Blades were still clutched in hand, uneasily in the Nevin-kid's place, and it made Philomel smile. In her world, after all, sweat meant hard work. And hard work earned respect.

Gesturing to them she pointed over to the side of the ship, where the foremast here hid a large glory from view. A pile of blankets, a mound of cushions. A series of ornate bowls filled with food, and a dozen bottles of different drinks with goblets for each. Philomel indicated for both men to sit, still wordless - there was something about the situation that she felt didn't need words. Maybe because they looked starved of oxygen and forcing them to speak would be cruel. Thus she took her time to wait for them and sat down herself, even though she was fully clothed in her dragonhide and mythril armour (it made it somewhat easier that fauns never covered their legs in war). She lounged against the cushions as Veridian wandered over, his tail flicking a greeting to the two newcomers. The fox leapt and then landed on her lap, she began to pour wine.

And offer it to them, and actually get to know them.

And then begin.

"So, tell me more about yourselves, and precisely what you want from this. And how was Glenda at teaching you?"

Nevin's shoulders were burning, his arm on fire with exertion - but he kept a death grip on the sword. He absolutely refused to let it drop. Putting the blade down at this point would be giving up on what he had been trying to learn, admitting defeat to the woman who had called him a pretty boy, and he had no intentions whatsoever of letting her win this. So he kept swinging, long after his muscles gave up crying out for him to stop. When the call fro the break came, he took the water from Sketch and downed half of it in one swallow before closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. The Alchemist had no idea how it was that the other man wasn't in the least bit sore - he almost seemed bright and chipper as they walked towards the meeting spot to see Philomel. He frowned at the other man's question.

"Not precisely. It seems Glenda does not have a good opinion of my trying to learn to use whips in combat. I'll just do what I can, and take it as strength training exercises. And exercises in patience." He quieted down as they reached the front of the ship, where Philomel was standing, staring out at the sea. She gestured for them to follow, and Nevin shifted slightly before pacing along behind her, his footsteps stumbling slightly when he took in the rather luxurious resting area. The captain sat down, her fox curling into her lap, and she poured a glass of wine before placing the bottle down next to a couple other glasses. Cautiously, Nevin sat down across from her, laying the dull sword across his lap, hilt still near his hand as he poured a glass of wine for himself, though he didn't imagine he'd be drinking too much of it.

"I am, as I said before, an Alchemist by trade. Primarily located in the mining village of Stonevale, though I've closed it up for the time being as I further myself." He frowned and ran the finger of one hand around the rim of the glass, staring into the red liquid. "I am tired of being a liability, and needing to rely on others for my own well-keeping. I had hoped to learn to use a whip in combat, but the instructor...deems that I should learn a sword instead." He was not about to badmouth one of her crew in front of the Faun captain, that seemed like a recipe for being tossed overboard. He took a deep breath and drank a bit of the wine, closing his eyes to think as he waited for Sketch to speak.

Sketch took out his clay pipe and filled it with tobacco, lit it, and let the air fill with the smokey scent that allowed his body to relax. He looked at Nevin, he truely seemed exhausted. Sketch was a little sore, but he was used to walking, climbing and running as he traveled the countryside, so his legs were actually in good shape. He thought about the steel blade, and wondered how he'd fair if he'd practiced with it like Nevin did, and doubted he'd do as well by half.

He inhaled deeply of the tobacco, and spoke to the captain, "Captain, as I said before, I am Sketch, and I carry the honor of being a storyteller and I call myself "Speaker for the Grym," which are a race of sentient nightmares that take the forms of peoples fear. For some reason, I have no recollection of my past before a few years back, when I awoke naked in the woods covered in dirt. The only thing I had with me that gave any clues was a particular bruise around my neck which has yet to heal." Sketch loosened the tie around his neck and lowered the collar of his dress shirt to reveal a purple and green band running around his neck.

"I have no idea why I'm able to summon these monsters, but they come both when I call and when I dream. Sir Nevin here was responsible for me being able to gain any semblance of a sleep cycle by creating a sleeping potion for me. I'm determined to find what these creatures and I have in common, and why I seem to be the only person able to control them as I do. I've already had to face things that I could barely survive against, and if I'm to progress further along my chosen course, I need to learn how to fight. If I can't, I'm not going to survive for long." Sketch allowed the finality of the last statement reach its full gravity before he continued on.

"I will say that I've had a few run ins with danger though, giant wolves, bandits and even a small goblin raid on Stonevale, so please don't think me useless in a fight, my skills are just more suited to using the Grym to fight for me, which isn't always an option." Sketch let the smoke drift out of his mouth rather than blow, as to not offend the other two.

He sat back against his chair and drank water as he allowed his mind to get to its relaxed state. "Allow me to show you what I do, ma'am." He straightened up in his chair, shook his arms out a little, and spoke in his deep baritone, "Once upon a time, there was a race of tiny men, so strong that they could move mountains and shatter diamonds. They loved the Earth, and it loved them back, granting them riches untold." A dark mist began the roll across the floor, and the sky grew darker.

Rising out of the shadows, a small, muscular, bearded man with a comical nose walked out of the mist."This is Grumpy ma'am, he's a dwarf,
and he's one of my more docile and friendly Grym. They don't always have to be terrifying, I think." Grumpy blinked for a second with his beady eyes, stomped on the floor lightly a few times, and let out a panicked yelp as he ran to a post that was in the room, gripped it and shivered.
"My guess is, that being so connected to the Earth and all, being at sea, surrounded by water on all sides, he's afraid. Interesting, what do you think Nevin?" Sketch turned his head to the alchemist, who'd seen the dwarf once already.

Without having discovered recently that much patience in herself Philomel listened to every word. As first Nevin, then at length, the man 'Sketch' spoke, she found herself enraptured in a world of beings that were otherwise unknown to her. Slowly her eyes shone, and her lips curled in the corners as they told them their lives, and their connection to Stare, because these new things were entirely brilliant and beautiful.

That was until Sketch decided to summon a fat, ugly dwarf on the gorgeous blankets that made their sitting area. A dwarf who looked sour, then shrieked and ran right for the mast. Holding it on for dear life the strange dwarf with the odd temperament began to shake.

Philomel's brows rose to the top of her head. Slowly she raised a hand and the gatherings of dust and dirt around them begin to shiver, tingle ... And then rice. Smoothly and practised, they swarmed together, dodging past head and heart at her command, not getting any bigger than flakes of dirt from their jackets. It was the sea after all. Instead the particles were all tiny and as she began to construct the statue before them.

Fweumph. And she had made a dwarf shaped ghostly shroud of lose dirt. A near copy of Grumpy, but unmoving. His eyes were dead, his essence was made of the scraps of earth that falls into the sides of boats, the minor ends of gumpowder and the clumps of dirt from landlubber's boots.

For a single second that had held - then it had slumped as the magic and the gravity that was no longer there so ...

"Not as impressive I know. But it's just part of what I do," she smiled. "Your ... Grym is very fine." She smiled at the dwarf for a moment and nodded to herself.

"Wonderfully fine. I can teach you how to fight with them if you like. Veridian and I fight as a pair, and I have other friends.,," Then she looked at Nevin. "And you want to know how to fight with a whip." She grinned.

"Though the complete practise in these simple steps is key, you can learn what you want. The simple steps you do with Glenda now are for footwork, for art, and for getting your body into shape. You learn them, you learn the base from which everything else is built."

"But after that ... I can help. Are you prepared to spend the time and effort that it will cost?" She sat up a little straighter, looking them directly in the eye, first Nevin and then Sketch. "Because it will not be easy."

That thing, that blasted thing. There was no way, to Nevin's mind, that 'Grumpy' was not a fully functioning individual all on its own. Sketch had called the Grym 'sentient' before, but the Alchemist had presumed it was merely sapient, as some people could confuse the two terms. But no - watching the dwarf Grym cling to the mast for dear life, Nevin knew. He knew, that the Grym were not just nightmares. They were something else, something more, and Sketch was... What, calling them in? Inviting them over with his tales?

Consideration of the summoned beings was put on hold as Philomel spoke. She summation what they wanted to learn rather adriotly, and Nevin nodded at her words. Fighting with a whip was his goal indeed - the barbed weapon that was waiting for him would be devastating to those caught in its coils. Once it was made, that is. For now, the simple hide whip would let him practice using a whip without hurting himself.

And as for learning footwork and balance... The chunk of metal on his lap would suffice for now. And he had been called far worse things than 'pretty boy' before - though he didn't know why Glenda seemed to dislike him, but like Sketch. Maybe something about the other man appealed to the female pirate? He didn't particularly mind - Glenda was human, and Nevin preferred to keep his distance from those when he could outside of business.

"Lady van der Aart, I will tread this.
Path as long as necessary to achieve my goals, no. Matter how arduous it might become. If I had been even a bit better, Av-Stare would have not had to fight as hard when we were escaping. While capable, she was injured, and I should have been more reliable than I was for her." Nevin's hand tightened around the hilt of the sword, hard enough that his gloves and the sword hilt creaked under the pressure.

Grumpy looked at the dirt that fell from the copy of himself, squeeled in delight, and ran to the small pile of dirt that had been created. He began to take the dirt in handfuls, and scoop it into his pockets. He then trudged over, slowly, to Sketch, gave him a crisp salute, and sat down.

Feeling better eh, little guy? Sketch thought to himself with a smile. He rose on his long legs, and gave a deep bow to the captain, he was utterly impressed by the ease that she used her magic. ”My lady, it would be an honor to study with you. I hope one day my skills can come close to those that you possess. I’m prepared to give everything I have to learn.”

He gave an equal bow to the golden eyed fox, not wanting to give unintentional offense. Sketch motioned to Grumpy, and the Dwarf took his queue to stand up and salute the two as well. Grumpy turned to Nevin, went over and gave the Alchemist a salute as well.

Sketch could tell by the look that he gave the dwarf, that Nevin had some reservations about it, and to be honest, Sketch wondered why the dwarf didn’t act like the cackling monsters that he typically summoned to fight. Sketch had given Grumpy quite a bit of leeway when first creating him, giving him senses and knowledge that Sketch himself didn’t possess.
Allowing that, the freedom to fill in the gaps of his being so to speak, seemed to have created a more complete being.

The thoughts of the dwarf were quickly drowned out as Sketch contemplated the possibilities of fighting with his Grym more completely, and the thought excited him.

He moved over to Nevin, “Well Nevin, it seems we’re students together. Officially now, it’s good to be working along side you sir.” The Storyteller held his hand out for Nevin, thankful for the young man’s help in this journey.

A soft smile passed over Philomel's lips as she compared one man to the other. Truly, they were friends, and though that might cause problems were they ever to be pitted against one another in this training practise, it would serve them better for their futures. Good friends who were capable of fighting also were always better than none.

A breeze fell across where they sat and she leant forwards to pluck a grape from the bunch as she listened to the words of the soon to be warriors. Dropping it into her mouth she heard them promise that they would do what it takes to become capable. It was then that the glorious idea stuck into her head, of truly testing them once their time was done here.

The bows were sweet and polite, and nothing that Philomel was stranger to. She responded with curt nods and patience. Waiting until the men were completely done she continued to eat and drink, then moved onto her knees. Beside her Veridian stretched, long and tired, opening his maw and even tickling the air with a small burp of flame. Philomel waited until he too was ready, placing her hands on her lap.

Done? she asked when he was back on his haunches.

He looked at her, golden eyes gleaming. Indeed. Why did you need to wait for me?

Because you are part of this too. And with words of excited nature she told him of her plan. A way to find excitement amongst these likely long days of toil and sweat. Something for them all work towards against, filling them with readiness, satisfaction, wonder ...

With Veridian's consent Philomel faced back to the alchemist and storyteller.

"I am prepared to train you entirely. To give you the basics of a fighting ability that you yourselves will need to hone over the next few years, with constant practise. I cannot make you legendary warriors right away but I can give you the tools in order to begin you on that path."

She rolled back her shoulders and sat straight.

"Four days is what I am offering. Four days of tiring, grilling practise. The mornings are standard sessions with all, giving you skills on footwork, reflexive maneouvers and a general understanding of what happens on a battlefield. You will learn the basics of what we term the fox's dance - a series of exercises I made myself and which contain many various moves that you can use later in real fights. The afternoons will contain more personal tutoring, with me, or with others that you prefer, focusing on your own personal weapons, skills and magical abilities." She paused. "Apologies, Veridian and me will teach you, if you prefer us."

The fox purred and she nodded.

"Then after those four days you will be tested. In a way that I will not let you know yet but that will truly make you understand what you have learnt and see your own skill."

She looked from man to man.

"Is this acceptable?"

Nevin shifted, straightening his back as she explained to them her plan. It was more than he could have hoped for - even a few days of training with someone who was actually skilled in combat would give him a basis to learn off of - that was how he had trained himself in alchemy to this point, and he felt that he was fairly accomplished in that regard. He bowed to his head to her.

"For myself, Lady, that is more than agreeable. Four days of training is more than I have had so far, and I will put everything I have into learning what you offer. I...there is a place that I wish to see destroyed, and getting started on making me capable of helping in that will suit me quite well. I can only hope that I will be able to accomplish the test you set before me." And he did hope that he would be successful in this. Being able to defend himself would be a huge help - it was starting to become problematic, that he was left to fumble and desperately fight to achieve any hope of victory, when others were actually trained. It would also make his exploration much easier to accomplish - not having to worry about random animal or bandit attacks would be a huge help.

He didn't know what Sketch's overall goal was - he knew the man wanted to learn more about the beings he summoned, but would knowing how to fight help in that regard? Still. It would be nice to have at least one face he recognized somewhere on the ship - Lady Philomel was somewhat friendly, but until he had finished his tutelage under her he wouldn't dare get too close. Aside from her, he had already seen that at least one of these warrior women - that ....why does that remind me of something? - did not care for him at all. Sketch being here to take some of the attention off of him would....help his sanity, he felt.

Sketch beamed at the captain, and he gave again, a steep bow, "Ma'am, for four days, I shall give you everything I am in order to accomplish the training as effectively as possible." Four days, he'd work so hard that he'd sweat blood during these four days. He would learn everything he could, and set out with his new weapon once it was forged, pursuing the name that the witch had given him. "The Unfettered King" was a question he needed an answer to, and he hoped with the training under his belt, that he'd be ready to brave the dangers to find them.

He thought over what Nevin had said. There is a place I wish to see destroyed. Sketch pondered over the words, and wondered just how little the alchemist was keeping from him. He was afraid of the man going off by himself, and he knew that he would be greatly saddened if anything happened to his friend. "Nevin, I know not what you intend to do or face in your future, but know that if you ever require my assistance, all you ever need do is ask.
You've aided me time and again, and my life would be lessened by your absence. You are one I truly name as a friend, and that means much to me."

Captain, Veridian, I know that we both came and imposed on you, and I thank you for taking us in. The debt I owe you both can't be easily repaid, but should you ever ask it, know that I will be there for you as well." Sketch felt that it was his obligation to the captain to fulfill any request she presented to him, and that the pair of them would be stout allies in the future. He was excited to see what the next days held for them, and he was determined to give everything he had to master his lessons and make sure that the captains efforts didn't go to waste.

"Well, with that," and Philomel stood, pleased.

Calmly, she brushed off the minor dirt that had gathered over her when her rough ghost of the Grym Grumpy had fallen away to pieces. It came in small tufts from her fur, and needed a good beating for a couple of seconds, ending with a good patter of her hooves. Afterwards she slid down her hands over her elegant and perfectly made armour, ridding it of the minor blemishes therein. A small scuff remained on the side of her left breast but she decided it could wait until later, and thus she finished her cleaning with a short and simple nod.

"I am pleased we have come to an accord. What I suggest now is that you eat your fill and then join the ladies back down below. A further part of the Serpent's Trance will be taught by Glenda, of which I recommend you complete. After that I will show you to your sleeping quarters, if you are willing to stay here-"

There was a sudden, delighted squeal. The faun looked abruptly over to the edge of the ship, where the harbour was. From her standing vantage point she could see the source of the cry - a small figure skipping its way up the jetty. Brown hair, a bright silvery weapon in hand - instantly Philomel knew who it was, and what she needed to do. Break off, and get away.

She paused. "If that is not of comfort for you, then there are ... inns on shore that I am associated with, where you can stay for free. All of this," she gestured around her, "Will cost you nothing, do not worry on that point. My crew need training anyway, and so the costs are entirely included. I need to go now however."

Leaning down she extended a hand. In a matter of a few lithe strokes Veridian took the hint and climbed on, first digging his claws into her vembraces, and then launching his body up to her pauldron. Once there he balanced his long, elegant body around her shoulders and arranged himself like a rich lady's scarf. He could have gotten away with it, peeking as he did behind her violet hair, were it not for the fact his tail twitched and his golden eyes blinked. After a moment he entirely relaxed, letting out a breath of air and leaning against her neck.

Philomel looked from man to man, and then gestured at the food that still remained there. "As I say, eat, be merry. And discuss amongst yourselves where you would care to rest your heads. But yes," she looked back up to the harbour, where now a second figure had appeared - a man with hands in his pockets. "I need to go."

And then she nodded a little, before turning, and heading quickly down to the gangway.

Where her small, grinning daughter was tottering up to her.

Nevin watched her go down the ship, and he had stood up himself to look over at who had squealed so loudly like that. The man felt his eyes go wide as he saw the two figures - a small child and a rather large man - and several things that hadn't made sense before suddenly clicked into place with almost painful clarity. Now he knew why Lady Philomel had seemed so familiar even though he knew he had never seen her before. And it was why the thought of her having an army of warrior women had reminded him of something.

So, the little one's predictions had come true. That was... Terrifying. Those who could pierce the veil of time would always have tremendous and terrible impacts on the world around them. He wondered if Philomel knew of her daughter's gift. It was definitely something she needed to be aware of - and preferably before any of the foul forces that inhabited this world learned of it. Normally he would never break another's secret - but Celandine was a small child still, and Philomel her mother. If anyone needed to know, it was the Faun - and Vaeron as well, as her guard.

Time enough to share that later - he would be spending time every day with Philomel, training and learning how to use a whip with her. For now, he would need to deal with.... Glenda. The woman's irritation with him would not ruin the chance he had to learn, he refused to let that happen. He took a deep breath and gripped his practice sword tightly.

"Well my friend. It seems that our efforts to find a trainer have paid off in a bounty. I can only hope that our training bears fruit. Now then. I don't know about you, but I think eating fast and returning to... Glenda, will best be done quickly. I also think, finding out from Lady Philomel where she has lodgings on land will be a good idea for myself - I don't think Glenda likes me much. " That said, the Alchemist quickly prepared himself a wrap of food, shoving meats and veggies into a chunk of bread which practically vanished down his throat. He shot a grimace at his friend and headed downstairs, once more subjecting himself to Glenda' barked orders on what to do.

Getting a room on land was a brilliant idea for him. He already had an idea of what those 'inns' were - he'd been in one already. Hmm. Yes, staying on land would be an excellent idea. And it would give him a chance to break this dry spell - the man had been celibate for long enough now. Relationships wouldn't work for him - but his gold would spend as well as any others'. Getting around his issue of showing skin would be the hardest part in that regard, but he couldn't fathom that he was the only customer who didn't want to bare his skin. And he had learned that people here in Corone didn't care about that much about his skin - or blood magic.

Sketch sat and watched as Nevin ate his food like, well, Sketch did. The alchemist must really want to go back to his training. The storyteller was extremely excited to begin again as well. Sketch ran a hand through his shaggy hair, grabbed a plate and began to eat alongside his friend. The lean man attempted to fill up as much as he could so he'd have the energy to try the footwork with a weapon this time.

Sketch already had a room in town, he always tried to have a job lined up when he took prolonged stays in a place. He figured that if he wanted to continue doing the training, and his job as a storyteller, he'd be tired indeed. The "Whistling Pig" was a fantastic little place, right in the center of town, surrounded by cafes and shops.

Sketch was feeling refreshed after a good meal in his stomach and water in his system. He picked up his sickle and walked back to Glenda, the quaint woman who'd been kind enough to help him out when he was struggling. "Alright madam, I'm ready to continue. Where would you like me to begin?"

"Ay Stretch. Have a good lunch with the captain then? Well, back ta work ya wee twig. I want ya ta follow me exactly, watch my wrists." Glenda began to trace her blade in the air in a series of straight thrusts and twisting motions with the weapon. Sketch tried to follow along as best as he could, getting corrections as he made mistakes. After 30 minutes or so, Sketch's wrist started getting heavy, and his reactions began to slow. Glenda caught the lack of strength, "Stretch, if ya want to do this, ya need to do this right. Work through the pain lad."

Sketch did his best to keep up with Glenda's movements, and when she left to go help others in their practice, he continued. Eventually, he was out of breath and sweating hard. He felt as if his wrist was on fire, but he felt good and fairly capable of doing this on his own, at least in practice. He took a quick break, and soaked his wrist in a barrel of cold water. Sketch felt the elation of a good, defining workout.

After a few minutes of soaking his wrist, he shook it out, and it felt relatively workable. Glenda came over and drew her weapon, "Alright kid,
yer looking halfway decent. Yer wrist 'ell get tougher as you practice. Now, yer gonna put both lesson's together. These lessons er gonna get rough as ya work yer body." She moved in full fluid motions, combining both the footwork and the thrusts, parries and slices that she'd taught earlier. Sketch worked through these movements and tried to keep up. Mastering these moves would take more than just an afternoon, but he felt he had a strong basis to work on.

That evening the two gentlemen were invited to go to lay their heads to rest on the pillows of a fine 'inn' near the harbour called the Maiden and the Fighter. In it they would find various women and a singular pair of men who were quite particularly dressed. They would be greeted with fine smiles and led to private rooms. Apologies would be given as forwarding for the possibility of disturbing noises through the nights.

The next day the sun rose high and the exercises of the former day took place. Glenda placed them through set two of the Serpent's Trance, a series of rigurous lunges and backstabs. Halfway through a small child stumbled into place and practised with them. Her hair was a stream of chestnut and her legs were those of a goat with hooves. With a small blouse she held a steel scimitar over her head and began swishing and kicking with the rest of them.

Ten minutes later it was clear she had done all of this before. She was, as the people rumoured, the darling of the crew, and a princess. Though just an apparent age of five, she swept through the movements as easy as the eldest and most experienced of the warriors there.

As the time came to an end, and people were heaving and puffing and wiping sweat. From their brows, the young girl stood up straight. She looked left to right and seemed entirely uneffected by the entire thing. Frowning she sheathed her blade and then went to walk off, wandering like a lost princess.

The rest of the people began to push out, going to the sides to relax and calm, get their hearts back to a normal beating order. They breathed, they chatted little, they sat back and sank down, the floor emptying little by little.

Making a wide berth in the centre, into which two women strode. One a faun, the mightiest of fauns, who was drawing her long white, slightly curved blade. And the other Glenda herself. Slowly the two of them strode, fresh faced and bright and they came to stand opposite one another. The crowds fell silent apart from the shocked heart thinks and the gasps and murmurs.

Philomel their leader faced off against Glenda and smirked. She counted loud:

"ONE. TWO."

And then.

They ran at each other.

Training for Nevin ended up divided into three segments. The first, and most time consuming one, ate about half of his days, was the training in the foot work and some training in sword play. While he would not be a master swordsman, he at least at this point wouldn't hurt himself in trying to use a sword to fight if he had to. The main thing he picked up from this training was actually footwork - he learned to move around, dancing through combat and around people. He actually ended up aggravating a few of the warrior women - because he took to avoiding hits with an almost unnatural glee, and focused his own blows on 'bleeding' attacks. No heavy strikes, but fast and light cuts that would debilitate if they hadn't been using blunted practice swords. And since he never went in for power blows, they found it hard to catch him off balance - which just frustrated them more. But they did amuse themselves whenever Glenda came by and forced him to fight the way they were - most of the women didn't blame him for not doing that. It was obvious that while he was getting stronger, he had focused on raising his studies rather than his physique, so for now in a direct match he ended up worse than any of them. Still, they didn't take it easy on him when he was forced to fight in more direct blows. But for the four days, half of each spent doing this, he poured everything into this, engraving the training into his mind as he worked. He would be able to practice these moves even after they had finished training, so memorizing everything he could would only serve him well in the future.

His second project was the training sessions with Philomel on learning how to fight with whips. Her strategy focused on using the whip to deal blunt damage, or to bind her foes, as most whips were meant more as supplemental weapons than as something intended for direct combat. Combining the whip binding targets with her obvious skill with a sword gave the Faun captain a devastating advantage, as she left her targets vulnerable to attack. Nevin did his best to pick up what she was teaching him - even if he didn't have the same strategy in mind, binding foes in the coils of his barbed whip would be, if anything, even more dastardly. After all, being trapped inside of the barbs would just make it so that when they struggled, they would tear up their flesh. Aside from that, he focused on glancing, indirect blows - meant to whittle away at his foes and slowly strip them of flesh and blood as his barbs carved away skin and the plynt absorbed their blood. A nasty weapon, and not one that looked enticing, as he finally got it made and showed it to the Faun.

During those training sessions, he also made sure to tell her about meeting Celandine back in Stonevale - he didn't mention what Vaeron had been purchasing, but he did mention having seen the man. But the real reason he brought it up was to make sure that the Faun knew of her daughter's prophetic abilities. It seemed she had already known, but she did appreciate the heads up - though she didn't know why Celandine had 'seen' them meeting. She also asked him to keep it quiet - it seemed like him, she was aware of the dangers posed to those with the power to see into the future. That accomplished, he did start talking with her about other things when they took the time to rest between training.

After that, after the day of training on the ship, he would go back to the 'inn' and spend coin, and then 'train' with the women there. He picked up massaging - among other things - and decided that this was a skill he would be sure to continue training even after this. Aside from that it was...relaxing to have this form of release once more, after years of celibacy.

Thread Title: Philomel Fight Club
Judgment Type: No Judgment

Nevin receives 1100 EXP and 110 GP!

Philomel receives 1452 EXP and 100 GP!

The Crooked Knight receives 704 EXP and 88 GP!

Congratulations!

All rewards added.

Nevin reaches level 6!