[Iron League] The Dancing Stones

[Philomel]

The first thing she noticed was the skin-crawling wind.

Like the genesis wind of an oncoming hurricane it whipped at high speeds and with a bite that could force the mightiest man to his knees. For a faun, thickly furred from the waist down, there was a natural protection for at least some of the body. Yet, it did not serve the rest of her humanoid form. Thus, bending down and trying her best to shelter against the doorframe that opened onto this empty stone dais, Philomel unwrapped part of her many-fabriced belt. Beside her the lithe, russet form of Veridian stalked, his body tense and alert - clearly he was having the same reaction to the wind as she. Fell weather had been their foe many times - and winds like this were always foreboding. They sang the arrival of a devious future, one to be wary of of that stank of deception and harm.

Using part of her as a cover as she unfurled a length of fur and wrapped it around her neck, the golden eyes of the fox peered out over what seemed a large field. It was a land of emptiness, of a void that sank eternally in darkness, save for the stone pillars that stuck up like stalagmites from the gloom. Their tops were flat, and various grasses, dirts and rocks appeared on them - at least he and his companions would not be short of their element. Being the only land between them and an area in the distance that seemed identical, this place was dangerous and likely treacherous. One wrong footing would send any of them plummeting down into the endless nullity beyond.

As Philomel wrapped more fabric around her face, covering her mouth and nose, he relayed this information to his beloved faun, showing her what he did through their immortal mental connection.

Is there anyone else here? she asked, tying the last knot of the wool around her face.

Veridian dared to take a step forward and test the wind. It buffetted harsh against his side, rippling over the red and white strands like a wave - but he found he could stand his ground. His lowness to the earth was his ally here, and the wind, though it was harsh, was not enough to knock him from his paws. The chill also was not enough to quell him, for he felt the fire, born of the tenth of a fire demon living within him, swarm to command and fill him with warmth.

Staring through the cavitied plain he spied two other sizable stone plinths. One was empty, but the other had a being stride through the whispers of the breeze: a two-legged being, dark and mysterious and baring a strange, curved and wicked-looking weapon.

He showed her what he saw. Philomel made a slight face but twisted around, now her purple hair caught back beneath the semi-mask she wore. Her horns protruded still, uncvoered and massive, ready to face their foe. Letting out a slow breath she thought about the best weapons in this situation, comparing the weight of the two hand-and-a-half swords on her back, to the crossbow at her side and the various daggers at her waist. For protection she had her drake-scale half chest-plate and leather gauntlets - they could stay. But for the rest ...

What had led her here was mere curiosity. A new challenger, they had said, was within Radasanth, a man by a name she knew not. A 'William Arcus' of some apparent fame, but a man who she knew little about. At least he was not on the Gilded Lily radar. Whether friend or enemy, Philomel was here to find out. For there were few heroes and villains that she did not know in her home city, who walked the streets and visited the brothels that she herself was Matriarch of.

Perhaps he has just been living in shadow? Veridian suggested, lifting his head up to her. Philomel paused, before reaching into the folds at her waist. From them she drew out the smallest black helmet, that was made to look like a fox's skull. This she fixed over his upper face and jaw, where two small holes allowed for his gleaming golden eyes to peer out.

That should protect your face at least from the worst of the breeze.

Veridian nodded, showing her directly that indeed he could see much better. In fact, his view of the man was quite clearer now that he was not contending with the strain of a hungry wind.

Delath will need to come up here, Philomel said, now sorting through her weapons. Dragging the two swords from her back she winced as she tried to decide whether or not she could take them both. And Mao is with him.

Just what their opponent might say and think when they revealed the final two of their party - a tiny rabbit riding atop a twenty foot earth dragon - was anyone's guess. It made Veridian chitter with amusement as he judged how far he might be able to jump. The closest pillar at least was close, but ones in the distance were further.

Keep both, Veridian answered her unasked question. Get rid of the daggers, but keep the swords. I suspect both the Rabbit and Nameless will be useful.

Comparing the slightly curved, mythril blade to the green-hilted, ivory, straight one, Philomel grunted. Both of them will be, she agreed as she started dropping a volume of throwing knives and daggers to the ground. Until I need.

Veridian nodded. Until we both need to.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The Citadel was a place where one could cheat the reaper itself, or suffer at the hands of its patrons over and over in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. Rarely, other than to train or to sate some perverted urge to kill, would any man, woman or child set foot in the place without good reason.

It made Shinsou Vaan Osiris think about his own reasons for wanting to join the Iron League.

As the Telgradian stood in front of a polished granite table, he found himself asking why, time after time, he revisited this monolith of the Ai’Brone’s creation. Water glistened on walls of polished stone behind the Ai’Brone attending to him as a cohort of orange robed monks washed them with cloths. The turquoise pommel of Stygian shone in the elegant lamplight of the Citadel’s foyer. A brisk breeze stirred the hairs on his neck from the open doorway behind him, and through that entrance a low sun beat down on his back, casting its soft orange glaze over Radasanth.

Time after time he competed here. His reasoning in the years before; to train, to build up his strength, did not carry the same mote of honesty as it used to. Shinsou’s powers had not only returned, but had grown exponentially. There was no more need to train. The truth was that even with all of this power at his command, the Telgradian still got a rush from fighting. It was instinct. His heart skipped a beat every time his sword pierced another’s flesh. His screams of pain echoed his numerous failures in the arena, but they were there to remind him that perfection was sin. Perfection would make everything pointless. No-one ever learned anything without falling down along the way, and Shinsou was no exception. Some people strived for godhood. Most who came here even lived their lives depending on reaching it. They were always disappointed. His mind was held prisoner to the simple fact that he obsessed over being tested and being pushed to his very limits. Here, in this Citadel, Shinsou admitted the reason for his persistance in the Citadel was the one small truth that defined him.

He constantly needed to learn; about himself and the extraordinary people who lived here. People who might become allies. People who might become threats to him.

This is why it required almost no thought whatsoever to sign up to the Iron League.

“Your opponents are powerful. Philomel van der Aart, the second ranked fighter. William Arcus; ranked sixth but far more dangerous than that rank suggests. Do you wish to proceed?"

The strange voice belonged to a strange face, curiously nondescript for a monk of the Ai'Brone and framed with a rotund set of cheeks. His robe was the colour of earth after rain; the hallmark of a League Warden. How many months had passed since Shinsou had last faced such a challenge? Only the Faun's name stood out at first. Given his connections to her, it wasn't strange that the name jogged some feelings within him. Other, more disconnected ones followed, though. They weren't feelings of love, or friendship. No. This time they were feelings of determination; a competitiveness burning to get out. Tactical thoughts flooded his focused mind as Shinsou began to analyse.

Philomel's here. She'll no doubt have brought Delath and Veridian, too. Her transformations will make things difficult, but it won't be anything I can't handle. As for Arcus? I heard bits from Storm Veritas, but I don't know enough about him apart from the fact he's a raging mentalist. Hopefully, that's an exaduration.

Clenched fists turned his knuckles white.

“Where do I rank?”

The League Warden met Shinsou's golden gaze, then glanced away.

"Number one. Don't let it go to your head, or you'll be number six by the end of the day."

***

The stone chamber crumbled from sight, torn apart by the machinations of the Ai'Brone portal. Before long the arena appeared and reality returned, piecemeal, over a period of fifteen seconds.

As Shinsou's foot touched terra firma, a brisk breeze gathered force into what felt like a gale wind that gave his skin the numb sensation of needles. Wide blue skies replaced the grimy stone interior of the Citadel's chamber. The platform on which he stood faced its opposite number across a plethora of unstable pillars. The arena was large enough to play to his strengths, Shinsou figured, and the pillars themselves were tightly spaced. Neither smell nor sound interfered with the ambience of this, and suddenly it occured to him that his opponents were already supposed to be here. The Telgradian could see what appeared to be the infamous fiery form of William Arcus on the corresponding platform ahead. He had no need to rely on memory any more for details about the man; everything he needed to know he could feel in his stomach like a lead weight trying to pound its way through his lower intestines, such was the sheer power Arcus emitted. Who was this man? A powerful practitioner of either the arcane or incarnate arts, to have such a strong presence. Demonic or undead by the manner of his appearance, and angry.

There was, however, something missing. Philomel was supposed to be here, too, but the Telgradian couldn't sense her presence correctly due to the interference from Arcus's ferocious power. It was then, as he looked around, that a problem appeared. A faun shaped problem, to be precise, on a platform to his right.

Shinsou finished scanning the shifting environment, betraying no unease. Pushing aside a partition of chestnut hair so that they better revealed his eyes, he turned to face a guarded Philomel and her familiars, watching him from across the way. She was probably expecting a monologue, or some sort of arrogant or playful statement of intent, judging by the way she perused him with her sceptical expression and almost bristled at him expectantly. Indeed, the faun would have been forgiven for thinking that way. Perhaps she expected a greeting, or at least an acknowledgment.

However, there were no such words for her. Instead those inscrutable golden irises pierced her, penetrated her; daring her to make a move against him. She would assume that, by now, she had the measure of her friend, but today he was a totally different animal and his facial expression did nothing to hide that. Disconnected and determined, Shinsou was a very dangerous man.

Sorry, Phi. You can chew me out for this on the other side. Come, Enpera.

Shinsou Vaan Osiris, the leader of the Brotherhood of the Castigars, rose to his full height and snapped his right palm open as the green and silver guard of his treasured sword manifested within his grasp. The other two sheaths on his belt, tucked in, slapped against the inside of his white greatcoat and the side of his waist. His expression was almost hollow with dark circles framing his eyes.

There was no sense wasting time.

Go for the throat of this fight, before anyone steals a march on you.

In his left hand, Shinsou called forth an intricate arcane glyph of purple and black, one that smouldered in his weathered flesh. As the symbol pulsated, two vines of dark matter crept up from the floor besides him, each curling around the hilts of Shira and Stygian. They violently pulled the blades from their sheathes; Shira to Shinsou's left facing William Arcus, and Stygian threatening Philomel on his right. In his own hand, he wielded Enpera menacingly.

The game was set. Three swords in play, two opponents and a thirty foot reach. Anyone who dared to enter the field would have a hailstorm of steel to contend with, but that wasn't much of a threat right now. He needed to make his opponents move.

"Nightfall."

With a crackle, the right tentacle curled back and heaved Stygian's form through the air as hard as it could, launching the deadly elven blade at Philomel. At best, it would cut her and she would succumb to its power of suggestion. At worst, it would force her to move into the arena, where she would be within reach of his deadly assistants.