[Iron League] The Wrath of the Elements

[Philomel]

Strong, this one, Philomel commented as she fought back a series of progressively more savage blows. Mighty and-

I come, hissed Veridian, charging straight for her.

His body now at its greatest glory, he was burning the ground beneath his paws. Steam rose, the freezing cold barely able to comprehend the great heat that steamed from him. Eyes like embers he was a charging bull, massive and uncomphrending. He watched as Philomel looked in utter confusion as her red head opponent swing her sword around to grasp it by the handle.

"What are you doing?" Philomel asked, before the hilt and pommel came for her skull.

Desperately she matched strength with speed, sweeping her sword into wilder and wilder gestures. Pride beat like a marching bands' drum in his chest as he made the tundra landscape warm again, blessing it like a new spring. Then he twisted his attention back onto his original foe - the black-haired one.

And he saw her downed, presumably altered in balance by the thunder of Philomel's earthquake. Various shallow cracks in the earth spoke of its success, ripping this cold world in to like his heated body did. She was downed, and not even looking at him, and thus - he skidded to a halt. He huffed, tilting his head and honestly not wanting to be that sneaky bastard this time - not any time - that took advantage of the enemy's weakness.

There, he paused, then let out a loud bark.

Philomel twisted her head with shock, and received a quick, eager bash to her forearm. Eyes wide, Veridian regretted his sense of honour briefly, before Philomel twisted back quickly into her fight, rolling back her injuries and bashed shoulder. The fox-form earth-spirit - or, rather, part fire-spirit now, for he had allowed that tenth of his soul to take over - turned his head back to the black-haired girl and lowered himself into a crouch. Summoning up enough firey breath into his lungs he waited for her to notice him, and stand.

And when she did he would release the heat that was gathering behind his gritted canines. A tongue of flame wound dart out, shaped like jaws, and snap at whatever stood a metre away - currently her.

All for honour, all for a good fight.

Philomel threw her body and mind into her blade dance ... blade and hilt dance, with the strong one opposite her, relying on her own ability to bring in more blows than someone normal could hope to. Because magic - for now, that was not for use. The earthquake had been but an initial display with their power. Now she wanted to dance, blade to blade. She switched hands to hold Nameless, the sword, with her uninjured arm and grew determination to win.