Beauty and Rage

[Closed. A fite with Phi.]


This trip to the Citadel had proven strange. As a research member of Corone's GATE, Felicity occasionally took trips to Corone to study the meteor or help with supply runs. The girl had decided on one of these trips to return to the Citadel. Of course, along the way, she was met with bandits and rogues who took survival into their own hands. Of course, Felicity floored them.

As she rested at the steps of the towering Citadel, Felicity munched on some beef jerky. She gazed out into the Broken city, a sense of sorrow overtaking her. The crumbled buildings, the odors of death and sickness. The cloud coated sky, the ash winter. Radansanth looked as if a tornado - no, an army of tornadoes - decided to touch down and go berserk on the place. Yet, despite everything, the Citadel stood mighty as ever.

Footsteps were heard from the entrance. Felicity turned to see workers pulling a cot out of the entrance. It was an unmoving person, dead from an unknown cause. Felicity looked away, choking up, as the corpse was carried to a large cart piled with more casualties. She closed her eyes. The monks apparently had converted their sacred Citadel into a relief center. They even used their skills to heal injured and sick people. Their one stipulation was that the dead stayed dead. Resurrection was limited to the fights.

Sometimes, sick people purposefully picked fights and died so they could be resurrected in health. Not all cheated the system, however, as the worst off could not even walk.

As the clouds rolled on above, Felicity shoved the last piece of jerky into her mouth. As she chewed, she turned around and entered the Citadel.

In the lobby, a mass of beds and cots could be seen lined row after row. As dim light shone through the ancient windows, the occasional cough and moan could be heard. Once again, the young fighter felt overwhelmed.

She was approached by a monk. Cloaked, hooded, and robed as usual. The monk bowed as he asked the usual question. "Are you here for treatment or a fight?"

Felicity shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Fight."

The monk bowed again and motioned her to follow. They departed from the massive entry hall, footsteps echoing as they left. They went down a small hallway which was just the same as the entryway. Pale, stone walls and uneventful floors. It was especially cold since the ash winter started. Felicity was rubbing her arms to keep warm.

The monk opened a door and motioned for her to enter. Felicity did.

She had to shake her head to get all those beds out of her mind. The ruins, the bodies...

"No!" She shouted, eyes closed. "Focus!"

It was time to fight.

She opened her eyes to the dimension the monks created for her and her opponent.

Radasanth had burned.

Radasanth had cried.

Radasanth had lost so many lives.

But she had survived.

And now Philomel van der Aart, Matriarch and defender of the people, was striding up to the hallowed halls of the Citadel that mostly still stood tall, with her head held high. For days now she had worked endless hours in toil of bringing the city back to working order. She had met with members of the Assembly, countless warriors and volunteers, organising the clearing of the rubble and the arrangement of sick beds for those who needed it. Indeed, she had even been here, but in the workshops of the monks, where the ill and helpless were being tended to, not in the taller towers of the battlefields. All of her time had been dedicated to those who needed it, to bringing the city back to its feet, and to those she had a responsibility to - the whores and warriors of the Gilded Lily. Now because of the war with the Brotherhood and the following meteor strike, the numbers applying to the Gilded Lily had risen, so that it was likely those they had lost would be replenished in number ... but that did not heal Philomel's sorrow and anxiety. It did not resolve her stress.

Only a battle would do that.

She barely had to look at the hooded man to have him scurrying to prepare her a room. By now the faun was well known; if not before, it was now that she had been raised to the temporary honorary general for the defence of Radasanth that made her recognisable. She now seemed to have acquired a bodyguard too - a group of five battle-hardened women who spied out every corner who had not asked her but made themselves her defence. They called themselves the Gilded Quint. They knew they would only be able to watch the battle and not enter, yet still they accompanied her here as the door to the new ground began to reveal itself.

"Are you sure about this, my lady?" the archer of the group, Alois, asked. Her vivid red hair was caught up behind her with a black leather lace.

Philomel nodded, once. "I need this," she said, her face clearly lined with anxiety. "I need to ... relax."

Relaxing through fighting might have been alien and absurd to other ears, but the ladies of the Quint seemed to accept this. All but Alois, who pursed her lips and tapped a finger against her yew bow.

"But my lady -"

"No, Alois," Philomel said calmly. "No. I have had this argument with you, Delath and Veridian. I am sure. I want this alone, with nobody but me. You are not to intercede." She named her two usual companions, her beloved fox and her wingless dragon, who she had argued with for three hours that morning about her decision to come here. In normal circumstances they would fight with her, but today this was for her.

Her battle, in which she could fully let her stresses of the battle and the last few days out. Her battle, in which she could rise and use all of her abilities with no fear of permanently damaging her foe. Her battle, in which she was determined to rise victorious.

"My lady -"

"Damn open the door already!" Philomel yelled.

And the door opened. Quite suddenly. To reveal a wide green pasture, luscious and stretching as far as the eye could see. It was a spring meadow, with cows and sheep grazing far off into the distance, and daises idly growing by a lovely bubbling stream. All of this was set beneath a bright blue sky, and birds chattered and wheeled, calling for her to come in and join them in their peaceful merriment.

A perfectly blissful landscape to ruin with war.

The Matriarch grinned, savagely.

"Mine," she hissed, and with a singing of metal unhooked her mythril sword from her side. Then she turned away from her bodyguard to stalk, alone, into that place of death.

Felicity had walked the fields with a strong sense of nostalgic sorrow. She leaned as she walked, her four fingered hand brushing the tall plants which towered above the grass. She knew the names of many of these plants. She knew how they could be utilized as many different kinds of potions. The fresh sent of cow manure, mixed with the clean air and dirt, was relieving.

The wind was gentle and soothing. Felicity looked up to see green leaves floating in the air, bending to the will of the wind's currents. She steadily walked in the direction of the leaves direction. The creek slithering and babbling in the distance, she slowly dropped her guard as she stepped through the weeds. Soon, she was in front of a mighty, sturdy oak tree. It was large, powerful, soaring in height…

Felicity found herself cursing the Monks, who set up such a tantalizingly bittersweet playing field. This was meant to be a battle, not a trip down memory lane! Still, her face was somber as she looked up again. If only she could cry like the far off stream. Only remembering where she was too well, she held her tears back. The sunlight was filtered between leaves of glowing light green. One leaf fell from the tree and towards her. Felicity reached out with her hand and caught it in her palm. She gazed upon it, noticing the small specs of yellow within the color's design.

Then, she heard the distant sound of hooves. Strange, it seemed closer than the cows behind wooden fences some distance away. Plus, her magic dense was alerting her. She blinked and looked towards the hill opposite of her. There stood the most peculiar creature - a faun.

She had purple hair. Apparently, it must be natural. She had sturdy horns, like a ram's, curled like they were a natural crown. She had a curved figure, with too little clothing for Felicity's taste. She had goat like legs, with hooves which were muffled in the grass and dirt. She carried herself with a sense of excitement and regal formality. Was she from a military background? Who knew?

She turned to the direction of the faun beneath the shade as the leaf flew from her hand. As the wind continued to blow, loose strands of her orange hair flew in her face. Pushing them back, she nodded to the opponent.

"Hey." She tried to smile. "I'm Felicity Rhyolite. And you?"

Her hand fell on the sword at her hip in a relaxed manner. She did not make any moves to pull it from her sheath.

Philomel was dressed for war, in the clothes that had become so familiar to her in recent weeks. Upon her torso was her well-worn but still unbroken red dragonscale bustier breastplate, with the shimmering titanium chainmail that protected her belly to her waist. Matching the hide part of her torso protection was a shoulder guard affixed to her shoulder; less worn but still having saved her life more than once. Titanium also adorned her forearms, wrapping them in bracers of tough metal, and from her shoulders floated the shining ice-craft cloak, made of blossoms and as strong as steel yet as smooth as silk. Nothing protected her legs, yet her natural skin was tough now, blessed by the goddess she was high priestess to, with the unyielding might of damascus steel. Only her eyes and otherwise naturally sensitive areas or entrances to her internal body were exempt.

And thus she was ready for battle, the white blade of Nameless the same colour as the bright sun overhead as it bore down upon her skin. Its hilt was as grey as her eyes as she stormed towards the red-haired figure who stood amongst the long grasses in this otherwise blissful world. A few trees, Philomel noticed now, took up residence both near and far, with some sheltering livestock and other animal kin beneath their branches in the heat of the day. Just why the monks decided to conjure other life sometimes in these arenas was beyond her - was it for further entertainment or merely for aesthetic? Today it seemed the latter, and for a Matriarch frustrated by love and by the perils of war, this meant useless.

The beautiful woman who was opposite her - she whom Philomel had seen almost as soon as she had stepped from the doorway - began to form her lips and purposed a statement, and a question.

"Hey. I'm Felicity Rhyolite. And you?"

"Hey." Heyyy ... what a childish way of speaking. No formality. Just a 'hey' as if they were old friends. Philomel did not want to make friends today. She wanted to fight. Why did this individual have to know her name first? Why could they not just charge at one another, crying out for blood?

But politeness was politeness. And the Matriarch, although hungry for war and at times in her past a pirate, was still a courtesan. A woman who could, and had, held court before, who was a diplomat when she needed to be, who led hundreds of women to peace and war. One who had wound her way into the bed of one of the Assembly's councilman's beds and then managed from there to find herself involved into politics. A woman soon to be sent to Tylmerande, apparently, to parlay with the Brotherhood for the release of the harbour city ...

Pulling herself to a halt, though sword clearly drawn, Philomel sighed. She had to respond. It was only proper.

"Philomel. Van der Aart," she grunted, hoping that either the woman did not know her by name, perhaps only by reputation and/or title. Philomel would be enough here.

The faun's jaw tightened. With the point of Nameless she gestured at the world around them. "I am here to vent. In the best way I know how."

"What about you? Alright to just ... get started?"

This faun was straight to the point, direct. Felicity felt herself internally sigh in relief when Philomel proved it.

The fake smile faded as Felicity allowed herself to mellow. She could be herself. She could relate to her opponent's problem, the need to vent. She frowned as she removed her hand from her sword's hilt. "Thank goodness I don't have to pretend..." she mumbled.

As birds sang nearby, Felicity reached for the long bow on her back. Yew war bows on their own were insanely powerful due to the massive draw weight. Felicity's bow, however, was made of talymer. This war bow was more than capable of crippling and killing its target, piercing through armor... At least, if nothing else, the blunt force impact would be horrific.

The leaves of the Spring tree continued to fall as she held the bow in her hand and flicked the sturdy string. All this beauty felt so fake, so manufactured. The aroma of gentle flowers, the sounds of livestock calling in the distance. The monks always did a tremendous job with their exhibits; but this time, it still felt like it could fade like mist. It was pointless, useless. Fake, plastered on like a white lie smile. This needed to evaporate. Blood needed to be spilled. Rhyolite's inner anger started to bubble and rise in slow pools. There was nothing but rage these two people felt. That rage needed to be vented. Endless sorrow, debilitating pain. Precious release would be found in this fight. Felicity's anger issues were beyond healing through sweet stimulation. No beauty. Just agony. Just rage.

She needed to feel physical pain to drown out the mental pain. She needed to feel wounds to distract her from her losses. She needed to bleed.

"This arena is cruel." She pulled her iron arrow out and placed it into the pulling position. Her voice was tarnished in both bitterness and lacrimosa; yet the burning beneath grew more and more obvious as she started to quiver in anticipation. She needed to vent. She needed to vent so badly!

"Have you ever felt so empty, yet mad, you- ..." She shook her her, refusing to think any longer. Her energy needed to be focused on this fight, and releasing the negativity inside. She pulled herself into the archer's shooting position.

"I need to vent too."

She snapped the bow back, pulling the tall, powerful bow back in perfect skill. She watched the regal faun with eyes which seemed to glimmer in a sudden desire for combat. In this picture perfect, fake scenery, their own misery needed to be painted red on this canvas.

"Look out." She fake warned as she let go on the strong. The arrow raced towards its target, the faun's chest.

'Look out!'

It was a simple, infantile trick, as far as Philomel was concerned. Words to make her stumble, to make her pause and wonder what exactly was she supposed to look out for. Had the girl gestured, and not been hoisting a bow perhaps the faun would have fallen for that gamble. If, for instance, there had been a glance to the side, maybe Philomel's eyes would have wandered. Or a nod. As it was there was just the flamehaired beauty and the bow, being aimed directly at Philomel's heart.

Alas, the faun was a warrior. Aged now, harrowed, full of the experience of life. Thus she was strong, and she was fast, and a simple initial shot for the start of a battle that came with its own warning was easy for her to move out of the way. Speed, elegance, power: they were at her command as she leapt to the side. And a smile grew on her face - a grin that reflected the joy of the birds in the sky as they wheeled merrily above the two femme-fatales heads. Joy, pure and utter ecstasy as the fight suddenly - and swiftly, as the arrow - began.

Her sword already in her hand Philomel needed no encouragement. One, two, she bounded, hooves making dents in the soil as she let her body rise into the air. Nameless, the white blade, curved with her as she set it high against the cloudless sky, and made her dash towards Felicity. She would give no mercy, she would give no hesitation. This was a fight for both of them, without any caution. It seemed they both needed to vent, because venting was good. All the stress and strains of life, all of the difficulties - they could be forgotten about in the deluge of battle. Mettle, might, majesty: these were the things that would be tested and likely both of the women would prove as they shot these fair green fields red with blood.

Philomel let out a war cry that was not dissimilar to a bellow. She leapt off the ground in an arc that would send her straight towards the redhead, clearing the distance between them in as little time as it she could manage. All to then slash her with a stroke of her sword and attempt to engage in a bout of mythril and blade.

Possibly, Felicity could fire another shot, but the Matriarch of the Gilded Lily was no ranged fighter - she was melee.

And she would show this ... this girl what true glory was.

Obviously, the faun missed. Good.

The faun moved with enhanced speed as she raced towards her with a shinning blade. The quality weapon was raised high, reflecting sunlight, as she hammered it down. Felicity's mind snapped into the game. She pulled her sword out with her spare hand, blocking perfectly.

Felicity realized the qualities of their swords were easily different. They looked similar, as if made of different metals. Yet, the craftmanship was also dissimilar. Felicity growled as the woman bore a cocky grin. The girl tossed her bow away and forced the blade forward, then, the lock was broken. Felicity felt comfortably strong as the swords clashed again and again.

As gentle wind rustled their long hair, causing blind spots at times, Felicity met her blow to blow. Yet, she failed to land a hit. This faun was an elegant, experienced warrior. She probably had more experience than herself. Felicity realized that perhaps, wits would be needed to solve this one. Indeed, Felicity enjoyed fights like this. The leaves of the tree crunched beneath them as Felicity steadily backed up, out of the shade and into the sunlight.

The sun super heated Felicity's red hair as she started to grow in frustration. At this rate, the faun would land a blow before her! The ragechild was not willing to let this faun know her secret power yet... She hastened her steps as swerved aside, reaching into her quiver and pulling an arrow out. She then closed in, activating her plan.

She used her blade in attempts to push her opponent's blade up. Distraction one. Then, she used use her other hand to stab the arrow into her upper body. Distraction two. Felicity knew anyone skilled to handle two attacks at once. That was easy. No, Felicity planned on something else entirely. These two attacks were focused on the upper body, not beneath. Felicity knew she needed a feel for how the faun's legs worked. Those hooves has to hurt. Yet, as durable as she was, Felicity was able to brush off the idea of the pain caused by a hoof in the kisser. Felicity raised her leg, using a well placed kick to unbalance the faun's sturdy legs. Maybe, if she was stopped for a moment, Felicity could use the combination of unarmed and armed martial arts to overwhelm her.

Felicity had forgotten about the joyous scenery around her. Her mind was on her opponent. Not the flowers, not the sun, not the rolling hills surrounding them in bliss. This was war, and Felicity could not be any happier.

Whatever her initial thoughts, Philomel had to admit this girl could fight. And somehow she was keeping up with the Matriarch's steady blows, meeting them with force and aggravation.

Philomel had speed and strength on her side - the red head had determination. Both were experts in their own fields of swordswomanship. The dance they made upon that vast field was one to be inspired by, for the generations of fighters for years to come to watch in awe and hold as an example of the finest footwork, blade-work and artistry. Although, for both the faun and the human this was a battle for releasing tension. For ridding their bodies of unnecessary energy, of the worst of the anger and frustration from the war that had raged outside - and what people were calling the end of the world.

Indeed, Philomel could have gone faster. She could have been a blur of motion that the girl was hardly able to see, but this fight was not about easy winning. It was about the sound of metal on metal, the grinding of foot and hoof in the dirt. It was about disturbing the natural peace around them that was the antithesis to all their rage. Birds chirped in alarm as they fought, and flew hurriedly away on spurned wing. Blossom and grass seed was swept into the air as the accidental fatality to a blade-stroke. Peace and bliss was not supposed to be a part of their existence currently, and that was why they sought to destroy it.

Suddenly, the red-head struck out suddenly with a kick out to the Matriarch's left hoof. A daring escapade, that was the third of a set of furious blows that Philomel had blocked with skill and precision. Yet the third low-blow was deliberately thus. Low. Base. Devious. A gash, a graze, that was all it was to her hoof, but it caused enough upset for the faun to falter.

For a moment, and Felicity's blade slipped through Philomel's defences. A stern line of red appeared on the faun's cheek.

Hissing, the Matriarch slammed her sword Nameless against Felicity, using the strength of her bones and muscle to shove her backwards. At the same time the faun reared, thumping down her right (good) hoof on the ground. What it did was cause enough energy for Philomel to leap backwards, clearing the distance between her and the red-head for all the insanity that this had so far caused. And for good measure she sent a small, magical shockwave into the earth - not enough to break bone and tree, but enough to hopefully cause Felicity to become unbalanced in her own way.

Giving enough time for the faun to leap away. To clear around ten foot of space and curse the very day she first set eyes on burning hair.

"Enough for now," she growled. "What else can you do?"

Of course Philomel would respond to kick to the goat leg with anger. Felicity had prepared, but the faun was ready to clear distance. She lept away, gracefully and with elegance. The ground shook in retaliation, causing Felicity's eyes to widen. The tree nearby shook, the leaves shaking as branches bounced. The ground itself caused Felicity to fall, dropping her sword next to her. Felicity looked up to see Philomel some ten feet away from her. As the shaking stopped, Felicity picked up her sword and got up again. She imagined. however, the the time for swordplay was over.

She put the blade back in its sheath.

Some dirt had smudged Felicity's clothes. Not that she minded, she was hardly vain. Yet, as she dusted off, she stared at the faun with the intent on focus. Her next idea came not from sight, however, but from sound. Just up ahead, the sound of a creek could be heard. Felicity decided to take the fight there. Thing was, Philomel was in its path.

The redhead pulled her recurve bow out and stuck an arrow in it. She darted forth, shooting an arrow then hastily dodging to head in the river's direction. The long grasses swayed as the winds grew a tad bit stronger. Felicity lowered her bow, pulling out her swept hilt dirk in case Philomel proved too fast for her.

Felicity felt the hot sun's glare burning her. The intensity of the sun was nothing compared to what she felt. Felicity hoped that the rover would prove a cooler place to fight, to reserve energy. Even a short while under the ash clouds made her used to colder weather, espeically when Felicity had been born in raised in a snowy climate as well. Still, she was willing to roll in any direction the fight took her if this did not work. She just wanted to fight. She wanted Philomel to react. She wanted to feel the buzz of adrenaline once again.

An arrow. A single arrow.

Clearly a distraction.

Some might call it stupid. Or tardy. Even playful, but Philomel knew of the ways of war and saw it for what it was - an icon of skill, a showing of the speed, agility and stamina that this redhead had. An attempt to throw the faun of fauns off.

Despite the low blow to her leg, Philomel still had enough strength and resolve to hold her own. Thus, as the arrow flew superbly straight for her, she found time to dodge to the side and even raise the white blade of Nameless enough to knock it off course. The arrow fell to the ground, off balance now, discarded.

And the redhead - Felicity - was moving. Not answering Philomel's query. Just getting headway back into fighting.

My sort of woman, Philomel thought, with a hint of ... Lust?! Perhaps just for the fight. It had to be - just for the war, the sound and feeling of blood in her ears. Just for the fight.

Both of them needed this.

Felicity was suddenly speeding away, disappearing into the grasses that was their battlefield. A split second the arrow devious had given her, and it was a good split second. Philomel grinned, almost madly, and decided to let the battle contend for a moment - grow more exciting. After all that was why they were both here. To fight. To dance. To vent.

Why not let the battle grow more exciting?

Instead of directly chasing she stood by the arrow and watched as the fiery spirit ran away.

Seconds ticked by.

The faun savoured each one. Slowly she breathed beneath that bright white sun, waiting with excitement as she let the tension between them build ... Steadily. Slowly.

And then -

Then she sent herself into the earth, her awareness into th bsoil. She spread far and she spread wide, discovering every blade of grass and minute insect with the mere connection to the earth. Knowledge of the temporary world here came to her, from distant cow to nearby tree, and she felt the wilderness call to her - the triumph of earth.

And there was a stream. And a bipedal being not too far away.

The faun tensed. Then she laughed and began to run.

The chase had begun.

The stream was running so gracefully. Smooth water rammed against sharp, sleek stone. The whole thing was rather beautiful.

Beauty was not what Felicity had in mind.

As she skidded to a stop at the small river, she noted the cool mud. It was slippery, causing Felicity to have to slow down in order to stay standing. If the fight continued here, she would have to be careful. She could imagine the faun would have much better grip on the earth than she did. Environmental advantage. Felicity turned around with a growing sense of worry. Maybe bringing the fight here was a bad idea. Tightly squeezing the hilt of her dirk with one hand, considered her options. Longer distance combat was a bad idea here. Thus, swords were off the list. As leaves from the trees blew in the wind, as the crick trickled away, Felicity put her dagger away. She could swear she heard pounding hooves in the distant grass as she unfurled her hand. She was sweating. Obviously, the combination of warm weather and stress was doing a number on her.

The pounding grew louder. She looked up.

At an alarming speed, the purple haired opponent was charging at her with a clear grin on her face. Felicity reached for an arrow, only to fumble and drop it with her sweat laced hand. Felicity hastily tossed her bow away and wiped her hands on her pants. With the sweat taken care of, she raised her hands in preparation for a grapple. If the blade was swung, Felicity could half sword and grapple it from the faun. Then again, her antlers were another decent target if she was trying to charge her like an angry mountain goat. Whatever the option, Felicity knew that she would have to be ready for the physical discomfort of up close, dirty combat. Literally. Either could land in the mud and water depending on how this went down. Oh, how perfect this was.

Felicity smirked as she read and reacted to Philomel's next move.

Fast. Bold. Hard.

She came down with all the ferocity of her forebears, her temporary for in the mud and mire of the stream. Satyr blood, mad and thick, flowed through the Matriarch's veins, honed after years of the inter-famial relationships that abounded in that particular faun family. Philomel's abusive father had been one such, and though she hated both the memory of the man and his genetics in her, she had to be grateful for the muscle and strength such blood gave her.

She came down hard and brutal, unforgiving by any standards. The flame haired beauty matched her though well, dropping an arrow in surprise but able to keep up in temperament. Felicity aimed hands to grab Nameless from Philomel's grasp, but the satyr in her would not allow that.

Power. Fury. It seemed the women here were alike as their hands wrapped over the hilt together, fingers meeting fingers. They struggled, dancing in the mud as the faun refused to let go.

And she stared into the girl's eyes.

"Drys you are an incredible fighter," she hissed.

As they grappled, the faun offered a compliment. This caused Felicity to legitimately smile, as compliments were rarely given to her. Yet, she remembered where she was. As the mud sloshed beneath them, Felicity knew she needed to move. She could easily slip, and the grapple was turning towards Philomel's favor.

Felicity tried turning herself to the side. Letting go with one hand, she ducked and tried to aim a hard elbow at the faun's hips. Still unable to grapple the sword from her, Felicity was left with a choice: continue to grapple, stuck her, or ignore the blade entirely and simply wrestle. At this point, their bodies were pretty much touching. Heated by the battle, and the sun, they were burning as they struggled for control. They inched closer to the creek as they struggled, the mud threatening to dislodge them with every movement. Felicity swallowed, deciding to take the risk. Besides, if she bled, she bled into the liquids below. And the ground would be tainted with her nuclear blood...

Felicity finally let go.

She immediately aimed for Philomel's waistline. Foregoing all forms of caution, she decided on her plan. Wrestling. She would attempt to lock the faun in her grip, her waist and legs, and toss her over into the mud. If this went well. Philomel too was an incredible fighter, with grace and speed far surpassing Felicity's. Plus, there was still the sword in her hand...

"Oh my goods!"

Philomel was rarely taken off guard. In fact she was limited in ways that she could be surprised, mainly for the reason that she could sense the earth. It gave her an innate awareness beyond the five senses, and allowed a certain degree of steady and sure knowledge. And this was not mentioning the abilities of she concentrated - being able to sense every plant, building and being who touched the ground and dust for many miles surrounding. That was powerful indeed. Especially in the midst of battle.

But Philomel had not been listening that precise moment to the earth. Instead she had been staring the beauty into her eyes and grinding her teeth. Sword trapped anxiously between them they had been a waltz for wrestlers, arms and hands and feet precisely perched. All it had taken was flame hair to unexpectedly move and Philomel went - down!

Backwards. Thwunk.

Straight into the mud.

Nameless feel from her hand as her bottom was plunged into wet and dirty. It became a dash of snow amongst the shallow river.

The Matriarch let out a gasp, looking right up at the eyes above her, caught in surprise. She blinked, then blinked again. One two. Three four. Caught entirely out of hand, despite all the strength and mystery of her.

She did the only thing she could think of. And reacted.

She burst into laughter.