Quest for the Lyre of Orphaeo

[Philomel]

She pursed her lips as she thought, running her hands deep into the matted fur of her tera'k. The beast of burden, now calmed amid the absence of danger, lumbered beneath them as he carried them to their destination. For the current moment at least they were out amongst the cleaner area of the forest - a place that seemed to have been touched by the beginnings of the magical healings. After Pode had died it was said that certain parts of the woodland had begun to cling back to a more peaceful and natural existence. Here, birds sang high in the branchs, and the leaves of the trees were emerald green and saffron yellow. A soft breeze fluttered against their naked skin, and a silent satisfaction fell over the companions.

"I have never been to Dheathian," Philomel mused, having continued the game for some time now. The great continent had been mentioned several times, and she had begun to be impressed by the amount of travelling the demigod had done. "I have not had a reason to go at all."

Breaker smiled at her comment and kept looking ahead at their path. It was a clear one, for the trees did not grow thickly here, but rather sparsely. There was still enough of them for the landscape to be considered a 'forest,' yet few enough to see the gentle sun's rays softly encouraging life. "It is a place different to this one," he said, simply, but truthfully, "full of jungle, danger and new races."

She nodded slowly, "I have seen such strange creatures. New beings that legend only speaks of." She carefully brushed a hair from her face, and then laid down her hand again to cup around the form of Veridian. He curled up on the head of the saddle before both of them, chest rising and falling as he succumbed to a leisurely sleep. "Of course some would call Veridian and I mysterious and strange, but it is dependent where one comes from."

As if in response to her the tera'k suddenly let out a long, mellow low, huffing into the air. Philomel felt a smile come to her face and she breathed deliberately slowly to take in the cold, but refreshing air.

"Your company is well worth it, Breaker," she finally admitted, "and I thank you for it. The great Drys has been generous with gifting you to me as a companion."

~*~

"So ... the people comin' fer this ... thing are a man and a woman? A single man and a woman?"

Not for the first time No-One glared around at her 'hired help'. With a scarf pulled up around her mouth and nose and the rest of her head shadowed in a well-fitting cowl, her dark gaze was more intense. There was little hair or skin to be seen elsewhere on her body, and it caused him to feel slightly disturbed in the fact that he still did not know if she really was a 'she' ... or anything at all.

"Yes, now stop asking stupid questions."

"They're no' stupid if they give a needed answer," he shrugged. Pulling up his arm he hefted his mighty mattock and rested it against his shoulder. "And I needed tae know tha'."

"You needed to know what I had already told you?" she snapped in a cruel-barbed tone.

Undaunted by her, Feardon nodded, "Aye. Ye migh' have said 'a man and a woman' and mean' them with all their armies. Ye never know, do ye?"

"I said a man and a woman, and that is what I meant!" sharply, she turned back around, focusing her mind forwards.

Over the ground her feet trudged, wrapped in leather bindings and made her as silent as a hunting owl on wing. Feardon walked slightly behind her, larger by far in stature and size, but still feeling lesser. It was not common for him to feel so, despite the fact he lived as a professional barbarian for hire. Usually, in some way he could feel stronger - whether it was by strength, fighting ability or simple mass. Yet, with No-One there was an air of constant failure. There was something about her, by the way she talked, or acted, or was presented, that made him feel, in all ways, so very underwhelming.

"Are ye magic or somethin'?" Feardon spoke the thought that had awoken in his head.

No-One didn't stop. But neither did she cast her malicious stare. Instead, she kept walking, her pace exactly the same.

"Yes," she admitted, though she did not sound guilty. In fact she sounded proud. "I have magic from my god."

His eyebrows rose. He thought of her, and where she had come from - from the religious fantical culture of the demon-god Bark'al'tol. For those who had seen his hellish temple, and lived to tell the tale, there was everlasting prowess, but also darkness. He was a god of chaos, of horror and torture, worshipped by the angered few who thrived on such things. If No-One was a gifted one of Bark'al'tol it certainly meant for Feardon one thing - he should not cross her at any moment. It was said that his mage's could raise the dead, kill a man with a look, and fill your mind with false thoughts. Dire thoughts. Fearful thoughts.

"I see," he murmured quietly, and he looked away.

And for him that was that. The die was cast, the model set. For though he regarded himself as someone of power, of might and fear, he knew in that moment who led his expedition. And it was not because she had paid him.