The Fire Rises: Attack on Tylmerande

[Philomel]

It was dark, and the wind howled around the crags of the Lily like a beast caged. Hidden somewhere deep within the Concordia Forest it was a secret forbidden by many to even seek. Jagged and bare, the rockface with its natural ledge upon which the fortress was precariously perched was battered by harsh, cold rains and horrendous hail, sounding like a thousand lost voices crying for sympathy.

It was dark, and four warriors stood at the apex of the cliff itself, wrapped in leathers and furs, the soft side turned against their skin. Together they huddled, their fire long past able to live in the precipitation, staring out and down towards the fortress and it's long, angled path that was cut into the rock. They were watchers, dedicated women of undying resolution, who would remain here until fire fell from the skies, signalling the end of all things. Yet tonight of all nights was their task essential; to watch the twisting road, to signal should an attack come straight to their doorstep.

It was dark, and within the narrow keep of the fortress, the Matriarch of the Gilded Lily glared madly at the paper before her. Ragged and torn it had already been thumbed to a limp rag, despite the fact it had been preserved in its journey there within a leather scroll case. Not even the savage storm could compare to the faun's rage, however, as she seethed with eyes burning, fingernails scoring deeply into the woodwork, teeth cracking as they were shoved unnaturally hard together.

From the shadows of the small, private chamber - all bare stone and simple wooden furniture - stepped two creatures. One was a human man, his face cut by a myriad of scars on his cheeks, and the other was a lithe, russet red creature, akin to a fox but standing upon his hind legs and six feet tall. Silently, they looked to one another as the faun curled a hand into a fist and raised it with tension springing tight to every muscle, and wincing, they watched as the hand came down and slammed into the table, immediately breaking it in twain. Paper flew high, candlesticks clanged to the floor, their light quickly snuffed out. Ink spilt, pens broke, sighs came.

"Fucking HELL!" she roared. "How could he - how - how?!"

"Princess..." the man with the scars - Rameses Vaeron - spoke, in a soft voice. He was both the father of her daughter, her general and her best friend, outside of the fox.

Quickly she held up a hand, shoving it, palm side in his direction, as the table lay before them, now useless with splinters still spiralling to the floor.

"I don't want it. He has [I]no[I] excuse."

"But how do we know ... It is him?" Vaeron dared to speak further. "Was there not a split in the Brotherhood forces. That other lover ... Storm?"

"'Lover'? Bah, one night he got, that was all," Philomel kicked hard at a table leg, sending it wildly crashing against the wall. The fox being leapt lightly into a close by chair, huge brush tail swinging to and fro.

"Yet still ... The missive says 'forces are gathering' at Tylmarande's border, not who commands them. It might not be Os-"

"Don't say his name," she snapped. "In fact ... I forbid anyone to say his name. He's nothing more than dirt to me."

Vaeron glanced at the fox, who now leant against the back of the chair, his rump at the apex. Golden eyes blinked back at him. Still, Vaeron was not used to this new form of Veridian, Philomel's soul partner, and thus it was unnerving to see a second bipedal animal in the room. Veridian made no verbal comment, and the human took a few seconds to glance back to Philomel, knowing that when all was well, she would be back within Shinsou van Osiris' bed.

"It will be a misunderstanding, surely," he stressed. 'This," he gestured at the paper, "is ... just a stretch of the army's legs, a practise, an argument they have with the Baron there, or, as I said, the other one, Storm, trying his luck. I could go to Whitevale and ascertain-"

"No," Philomel shook her head, and a great crack of thunder briefly illuminated her face. Bold, eyes silver with fury that hell could not even be compared to, horns that were ready to gore. "No, go straight to the city in the barony, it's called Tylmarande itself, I think. Go the harbour, take the ship. Take ..." she looked down at the table, now in two large pieces and many more jagged splinters, "a hundred of the Lilies from here. It won't be enough, we have never had an army comparable to his but we will do."

"We will?" Vaeron looked confused. Though he did have questions about her recited plan, this was the most pressing.

Philomel nodded once, "We will. I will go to Radasanth itself. If he even dares to try to take my country one edge of land ... He'll have an army of whores to contend with."

Vaeron blinked. "Wait ... all the Lily whores?"

"Nobody makes an army and has it threaten my homeland. Now, you go, the rest of the army will follow close behind on foot, and I will arrive later. With our full force." Philomel spat. "It's their home as much as mine. I did not train them all to fight for nothing."

"You trained them to defend themselves," Vaeron answered, daringly.

"And they are defending themselves in this," she hissed, "Their livelihoods, the peace I hold with the rangers and the Assembly in Radasanth ... I have not worked this hard so an ex lover of mine can take it all away!"

Vaeron blinked at the pre-determiner 'ex' but said nothing on it. "As I said, Princess, it might just be Storm."

"Either way, he doesn't threaten my country," she pursed her lips, and then threw her gaze to Veridian. She spoke in a calmer voice. "What are you doing, beloved?"

Golden eyes turned from the papers on the floor. Slowly he blinked, huge pupils lights of glory. "I go with the mage," he said carefully, in a voice that rumbled like the thunder outside. "then you see the truth."

"Truth?" she frowned, "what truth?"

"Is yet to be seen," he shrugged as he leant forwards and skipped from the chair towards her. "Armour and sword please."