Philomela Flos's Story

An enchanting voice would reach Dion even in the stables, it was the fluttering sweet soprano of Philomela. She had been paid to sing in the Inn that night, and while strumming her lyre tunefully, she had begun almost as soon as he’d left, it didn’t matter that it was so late at night, this was when her performance shift started, the innkeeper thought that she had better sing when the couples starting coming in, to “ get a romantic mood going and all ‘at”, he’d said and so Philomela had sung a love song. Doing her slow and rich finger work on her Lyre to accompany the beautiful voice she had lifted to sing. Philomela’s music flowed from her lips steadily and sweetly, it might have been heard all across the village, the melody carried so well.

“Come again sweet love thy doth now invite, thy graces that refrain, to do me due delight..” The tempo quickened and the emotion of the lyrics more impassioned
“To see, To touch, To hear, To kiss, To die…With thee again, in sweetest sympathy…” The young singers voice was a graceful, bright, classical soprano with a lyrical style. Plucking each string on her lyre to accompany her melodious voice, it looked as if her fingers were dancing across the instrument.
“Come again, so I might cease to mourn, through thy unkind disdain, for now left and forlorn” Philomela seemed to be putting her soul into the words, it might have seemed as if her heavenly sound was spinning and pirouetting about the room and she hit the highest notes with ease and utter perfection. “I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die…” And she held the note on the last word for quite some time before finishing “In deadly pain, and endless misery…” She went on like this for quite some time, each refrain of the song being slightly different in emotion than the first before finally finishing and letting the very last notes ring out clear as bells and sweeter than a chorus of nightingales, an an applause she began another song.

Philomela, the singer, had noticed Dion when coming in, as she had entered almost as soon as he’d left, but hadn’t said a thing in greeting. The other kids in Anthiro didn’t like her, she could tell, they always thought she was a snob for going up every day to her Maestro Ampelius’s elegant villa to see him and his wife for Voice and Lyre lessons, they had made their fortune by being court musicians in their day and that’s what Philomela wished she could do, but she knew that was impossible, she wasn’t even of slightly noble birth, as far as she knew. Philomela was a bastard after all, so she couldn’t be sure, although, being a bastard child of a nobleman was quite a bit worse than being the legitimate daughter of a peasant. It was as if she was untouchable, especially when it came to marriage, she might have already been married off , but anyone who wed her would only go lower in the social order.

Her going up to the glittering and vast estate of Gaius Lucilius a nobleman who lived nearby, to sing for the crowds whenever he threw a party or had company only made things worse, especially since he’d given her nicer clothing, a pure white Chiton gown with gold fabric to secure it in its position draped about her willowy frame, the girls in her village had laughed and called her the pet of wealthy men and that she was like one of the animals in his menagerie, a living decoration.

Most of the women in Anthiro thought she was his new mistress, this was, surprisingly, not the case, as he had a habit of choosing ladies who were very young in comparison to himself. Philomela didn’t know why he hadn't make an advance towards her in that way, although, it did not change the fact that she appreciated that very much, and never wanted to be anyone’s concubine. Philomela had seen how well that had gone with her own mother.


Sleeping on straw beds alone, when she used to lie under silk covers in the beds of kings, this was not the life she wanted. Philomela had to make her own way, and not as someone’s property or rather someone's property for only a night. However, She supposed it had to be better than being a wife, after thinking on it a moment. At least ladies of the evening had some choice in the matter, they could refuse men if they wanted, and got paid a great deal for only one night of feigning love. Philomela did not want to sell herself, but perhaps she could someday if it meant getting to Omperus. What was so bad about lying in sin with a senator for the night, if you were to breakfast with utensils of gold the morning after?


Stepping from the Tavern after performing about six songs, each greeted with a roaring applause, Philomela leaned against it's outer walls and pondered her life in the village for a moment. Despite most of the patrons being drunken they actually seemed to break from their bawdy chatter and become silent when the young Hellenian sang. Philomela could not help but beam when this happened and In spite of anything the locals may have thought about her, they'd always recognized that she had a truly celestial voice. For this Philomela would not have changed a thing, better to have a talent, she thought, than friends or suitors.

((So I’m not plagiarizing his lyrics, The song was "Come again sweet love doth invite" by The 16th century composer John Dowland))

Larloch, exhausted after walking such a distance to this place was furious, not only did the Wizards of Omperus look down upon and treat him like dirt for his father's descent into Necromancy, they took it upon themselves to make his life miserable at every other turn as well. He'd just been laughed out of the place a tenday or so ago because he theory on Molecular Transmutation and Compound Synergy Through Layered Construction had been 'too radical and more fictitious than fact" even though the very Necromancers they mocked were on the lead front in support of his thesis. Yes it took a whole group of masters to raise a corpse but with the proper single specialization why couldn't one mage do the work of four by making a larger unit and making the units work together. The idea couldn't have been that crazy, he even intends to prove it with water...granted as a fresh apprentice out the academy basics it's far beyond him at the moment.

Actually looking up and paying attention to his surroundings he saw a girl leaning against the wall of a building, hoping Grauenland style of dress didn't make him seem like a total creep in the dark, he approached her, hopefully she'd be able to tell him where he was. Better yet, she may even be able to help him with his theory, the Tavern behind her could come later, he'd always had issues with crowds. But right now he needed a dreamer to talk to, and if a grinning girl leaning against a tavern wall didn't have dreams than he was a Tauron's bastard. He was already a Necromancer's reject so it's not like he could sink any lower, right?

"Hail, I'm Larloch may I ask your name?" Curse his voice, always so weak and soft until he started casting, then it was a rich baritone more befitting his statue, guess that's life a mage that can't talk unless he's casting but is so new to his trade he can barely cast.

Philomela stood in the moonlight that cast shadows all around her, holding her Lyre with its shining strings, and having a few quiet moments of thought. This tranquil period was abruptly interrupted by an odd looking stranger, he didn't seem to be from Anthiro or even Hellenia. The winsome singer wasn't sure about this newcomer, he was pale like her,and his looks were very much unlike the other villagers. Philomela saw him before he spoke, walking towards the tavern in these peculiar flowing robes. He looked like some sort of alchemist. However, she'd only read about them in books and never seen one in person and couldn't be sure.

His stature and manner of dress reminded her of a misty specter or whirling fog, the way his robes seemed to sway in the light breezes that graced the village. This caused her to recall the ghost stories she had heard as a child. Of course those weren't anything founded in reality, they were simply to keep her running out into the fields at nighttime, which could be dangerous in the small village that became so dark at sundown.

Why was he speaking to her? Did he think she was some sort of tavern wench or barmaid? If not he must have been up to something sinister, men who came so late into the village could be dangerous for young women like Philomela. Although, she knew the stables where Dion slept were nearby and if that scoundrel had even a pinch of honor he'd come running if she screamed. Still, she wouldn't make that assumption before attempting conversation.

Philomela curtsied demurely before lifting her voice, which was almost as musical as her song, the words softly spoken "Good evening sir, It is a rather late hour for one to be traveling alone in a strange land, is it not?" She had let him know that she was privy to the fact he was obviously not from Anthiro. She answered his question politely, but still was unsure of the man. Her name was one that rolled off the tongue with ease, perfect for a performer. "I am Called Philomela Flos, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, good sir." Philomela was trying not to be abrupt with him, but she knew not of his purpose there and was unsure of his presence, it made her somewhat uneasy.

The girl looked almost like a snow drop on tree bark, leaning there against the worn and dark wood that made up the taverns walls, she wore a light toga-like dress draped about her slender figure, hugging her waist with a bunch of ribbony golden fabric wound about the middle. Her attire, to say the least, was very different from Larloch's. She was curious to know, if he were some sort of mage from Omperus. Perhaps the man was simply passing through Anthiro, in that case she'd try to help him "Could it be that you have lost your way? Or perhaps you seek a bed for the night?" Philomela was sure he saw that they stood outside an Inn so she made no mention of it. If he had coin enough she was sure he'd stay at The Dirty Fox, if not maybe they'd allow him to sleep in the stables with Dion, Philomela wondered if he could hear their conversation from where he slept.

Argenta woke up by the sound of the book that fell off her lap down to her feet. She rubbed her blue eyes with the back of her hands and picked up the old tattered book. The candle on the table beside her flickered feebly at the bottom of its wick in a pool of clear wax. She gazed around the spacious sparsely furnished living room. She noticed her father’s cane and coat amiss from the hooks by the door still. It was getting very late and she figured it was time she should go down to the tavern to retrieve her father from the dice tables. Her father was a very shrewd man, but when he had a few drinks he had no problem gambling.

She set the book down ‘The Clans of the Desert’, a novel of outdated essays by explorers in Tulban, on the table beside her and blew out the candle. She retrieved her cloak from the hook beside the door and inspected herself in the small mirror which also hung on the wall; she tried to tame her curly black hair down with a few strokes of her fingers to no avail and headed out.
Argenta and her father lived rather isolated, their house was tucked at the back of their vineyard and it was a short walk down a gravelly road before she made it to the main road into the village. First on the way into the village she passed the blacksmiths’ workshop. To her dismay she did not see Damon when she looked into the shop, but it was very late anyways so she didn’t even know why she bothered.

It was only a minute more when she walked into the village where the Dirty Fox was centrally located in Anthiro. It was the only place opened this late at night and it was one of the only sources of light around. She stopped a few feet away, taking notice of a familiar young blonde woman standing just outside the tavern: Philomela. She always wore a posh toga and walked as if she was on air, which Argenta admitted to herself she wished she could pull off both. Philomela was always at the center of dirty gossip of the village girls that Argenta never gave any credence to; but what she was seeing before her was damning.

Argenta clutched the fabric of her blue dress nervously and trotted on by. It was not any of her business what Philomela did and she tried to keep her gaze concentrated on her feet as she went by. She only stole a glance at the suspicious stranger Philomela was talking too. He was young looking but had silver hair, dressed in strange black attire, and was even taller than Argenta herself. Very few people matched Argenta’s height except for a few young men in town; this made her worry for Philomela who was petite in comparison. Perhaps she should intervene, but she continued into the tavern.

((Moved from Cy'rell to Anthiro))

Philomela did not recognize Larloch in the least, and having grown up in the rather secluded town of Anthiro she'd have no idea who the mans father was. She could not even tell that he was from Grauenland by looking at his odd attire. Even if she knew the man before her was son to a necromancer, it was of little consequence. As she studied music not magic, although Philomela would have argued that music was more potent than any spell. The singer stood waiting patiently as the apprentice wizard talked on, he certainly liked to chat or rather explain himself in the greatest detail. She perked up a bit at the mention of Omperus, so he was from the shining city she so longed to see? She spoke to him almost in a sigh before her sky blue eyes took on a vacant look "You come here from Omperus?"

The jewel of Hellenia, with its golden chariots that glinted in the sun, bath houses made of pure alabaster, temples with high arching walls and expertly crafted columns. And the vast forum with its fountains spewing crystal clear spring water, its cobbled pathways lined with Olive and Fig trees, their scent filling the air with a saccharine aroma. Men and Women of all races and creeds intermingling within the endless markets, selling spices, silk tapestries, sparkling jewels and instruments…Oh the instruments they must have had! Peculiar woodwind instruments that made the shrillest of sounds, strings unlike the Lyre and booming hollow drums! Philomela had only owned two instruments in her lifetime, her own voice and the Lyre she held in her hands at that moment. However, her maestro had allowed her use of his Lute and taught it to her, she so longed to own one of her own, but it was an instrument from a far away land and much too expensive for the bastard daughter of a courtesan, despite being a renowned singer, she still didn't have any extra money. Her mind wondered from these thoughts and back to her musings on the place she so admired.

A city of culture, magic, philosophy, poetry, music and foreign ideas, that was the dream she had of Omperus. Philomela had only read and heard of it extensively, but never visited. So she didn't know if anything her mind had conjured up due to information from second hand sources was anything to be trusted. She was broken from the spell of the dreams that danced in her mind, upon seeing a tall woman with ebony locks and a scholarly air pass them by. It was Argenta, a silver merchants daughter who was well liked among the denizens of Anthiro. Of course, she'd said no word in greeting, the women of the town disliked Philomela with passion.

Perhaps if they thought of her as more of a human than simply "The one who shows herself off as if she were a gilded Rose." If they knew that she too held hopes in her heart and fanciful ideas in her brain, they might have treated her with more respect. But maybe not, the songstress was certain that all her dreams would sound awfully silly if mentioned aloud. That was also the reason that so very few in the village knew of the visions of Omperus that resided in her head. It would not matter if she told the villagers either way, if they were not being enchanted by her voice, they snickered behind her back. People were so funny that way, they would applaud you in the night; But when you were seen leaving a tiny room built onto a menial lemon farmer's abode, and striding into a nobleman's carriage to sing at some feast or celebration, they would whisper of you being his whore. And Philomela was no nobleman's concubine, simply a song bird with lovely plumage. Sure, the gentry were amorous of her voice and enjoyed casting their eyes in direction of her countenance, but they would never touch Philomela, as it was not permitted. This suited her just fine, and if it had been allowed she'd of quit right away, then again…Working in the heat of her uncle's orchard was not exactly ideal. And she had to repay the debt her mother owed him somehow, not to mention pay off her Maestro for all those years of free Vocal and Lyre lessons, that were still going on, amassing more and more debt.

Philomela put this out of her mind, having realized there was a man speaking to her and she had drifted off completely into the recesses of her head. In fact most of Larloch's speech had been lost on her when she went into her faraway thoughts. She tried to recollect his words, he'd said some things about magic, and then told Philomela he wanted to speak of dreams. Her pale cheeks turned to roses in embarrassment but she spoke in her ever sweet tone of voice "Please continue, Good sir. Tell me of Dreams…" Was the generic and vague reply she'd come up with, having had a split second to think of a reply, not having heard Larloch's long winded explanations, she cursed that constantly straying mind of hers.

Argenta slipped through the Tavern quietly her head bowed modestly as to not to draw attention from any of the patrons as she searched for her father.

“Argenta! My sweet charm o’ luck! Come here!” her father, Aurel, bellowed from one of the dice tables.

Argenta’s face turned bright pink and she quickly scuffled over to her father’s side. Her father still had thick curly locks growing out of his head, except for his hair was now silver, and they also grew in abundance on his face down to his chest; but he was not as tall as he once was, bent over from old age and appeared more to be a grandfather than a father.
She knelt down beside him where he sat at the table rolling dice and drinking with another merchant. The merchant gave her a cordial nod as she joined them. Her father’s cane rested against the table and her father sat concentrated on the game.

“Papa, it is time to go home. It is very late and the Tavern will be closing soon,” she said softly to him, turning the silver ring on her finger out of habit.

“Oh, I don’t believe so my dear. It won’t be closing for a while, I thinks.” he replied wine reeking from his breath, “Besides, now that you’re here, I can break this losing streak.”

Argenta knew the Tavern was not closing very soon, but that was just one tactic to get him out of the Tavern. She worried about him being able to get home by himself, though she would never say it like that because she knew it would hurt his pride. He rolled again, rigorously shaking the dice in his hand before letting them spill out. It was a bad roll. He muttered small curses under his breath and the other merchant took the rest of the coins from Aurel’s side of the table.

At this point her father conceded defeat and got up with his daughter. Argenta supported his weight and held his cane since it did no good helping maintain his balance when he was this far gone.

“I came here on my horse, dear! Go get the stable boy to fetch it, I’ll wait here.” Aurel ordered his daughter stopping short of the door and sitting down in a chair.

Argenta handed him his cane and went outside. Again, she saw Philomela and the stranger still standing together. Well.. now the stranger was sitting in front of Philomela in a peculiar fashion. Philomela appeared unengaged with him, with a spaced out look on her face. Perhaps, it was time for her to intervene. If anyone saw Philomela with an unusual stranger, the gossip hounds would really have something to talk about. Argenta had never talked to Philomela before because she had always been warned against associating with her. On the other hand, there was no one around to see her and who was she to judge Philomela in the first place? She had never talked to her before.

Argenta convinced herself to stop just before she was about to pass Philomela and Larloch, and turned to them. She heard his last question to Philomela, at which point she cut in.

“Excuse me sir, this is quite urgent,” Argenta said in a friendly and natural voice, that contradicted the aggressive look in her ice blue eyes. The impropriety of his question shocked her; what was his place to ask the dreams of people of a village he just walked in to? Was he some sort of entitled son of a politician from Omperus? She certainly didn't think so. She turned to Philomela her eyes softening, “Philomela, would you mind walking with me over to the stables? I have something to tell you.”

She held out her arm to Philomela, like an old friend, and waited patiently for her to link arms.

Involuntarily, Philomela's eyebrows rose, had the mage just simply sat upon the ground before her? With his legs folded over one another in such a strange fashion, sitting upon the grassy path that led away from the tavern that flanked her. With her standing up and Larloch posturing himself the way he did, it would have certainly been a sight to see, a bemused singer clutching a Lyre with a grauenlandian sitting at her feet. What was this man trying to do?

Philomela thanked the gods that Argenta had gone, what would be said if she was seen? That she was a lady of the evening ready to be claimed by whomever deigned to visit Anthiro? As standing outside a tavern full of drunkards, in almost pitch darkness, with an unknown man about her age, did not look virtuous at all. And anything involving Philomela tended to become exaggerated beyond measure.


He was now informing her that as an artist, she was an expert on dreams, and yet he did not even know what it was she did. Did he? Philomela hadn't mentioned it but perhaps he'd heard her singing, as her voice had a way of carrying through the village.

It was true that dreams gave purpose, but they never brought her comfort, for hers was a grand dream that few other girls from inconsequential farming villages possessed. Larloch was then explaining to her that, in his opinion, the best way to truly know someone was through knowledge of their dreams, their desires. Perhaps it was, that's what her courtesan mother had always said, albeit, she had used the word desires in place of dreams and was usually speaking of men.

Now the mage told her that Omperus was not all she might have hoped, but Philomela seemed to tune this little dash of information out. As she'd have to see for herself before tossing away her pretty expectations for the city. And Philomela certainly hoped that she would someday, at least once, see for herself what Omperus was really like.

Wait a moment…The mage spoke of being driven out of Omperus? What had he done? Was this spell weaver some sort of criminal? Perhaps he had performed some forbidden form of magic, stolen from a merchants stall, Or…Gods forbid he had committed a murder or abduction?! Philomela was somewhat frightened by this new information, granted she had a tendency to over think things, still he must have been a lawbreaker of some manner? Philomela's stomach turned at these imaginings.

She attempted to banish these thoughts when he quite boldly asked her what her own dream was, but they continued to nip at the corners of her mind and the flush of pink had abandoned her cheeks leaving them the same ivory color as the rest of her visage. "Ah..My dream ..I--"

Luckily, she was cut off by Argenta who had been walking with her silver merchant father. Philomela had often seen the raven haired and ice eyed Argenta in the market with the man, it had caused her on occasion to wonder just what it was like to have a father. Philomela had her uncle, but he had born his own children and paid her little heed. This was not a bother of course, as he'd had the grace and charity to take her disgraced mother in and keep the concubine's daughter as if she were his own. Still, the girl had never met the man who'd given her snowy skin, pale blonde hair and sky blue eyes, or so she thought.

What was this? Argenta who'd never breathed a word to the musician in her life was now asking Philomela to accompany her to the stables? Perhaps Argenta had chosen a suitor and needed a songstress to perform at the wedding? The heavily cloaked girl had never struck her as one to settle for life as a farmers wife, but possibly that had changed?

However, there was a slim chance that Argenta had actually saw the somewhat desperate situation Philomela found herself in and decided to help the much whispered about young lady out. Which would have astonishing as most village females, maidens, wenches, and matrons alike, tended to avoid Philomela as if she were the plague. It was all to due with the rumors about her, but even more so because it was generally thought that by striving for higher company and a life as a performer outside of Anthiro, she was spitting upon the simple lifestyle lived by those in the farming village.

If she was indeed trying to be of assistance, Philomela would have been extremely grateful,For she did not know what Larloch's crime had been. He could have been holding a knife behind his back, for pities sake!

Somehow feeling she was taking a gamble, the singer turned to Larloch and gave an apologetic curtsey and cooed a lie, for she had never once even chatted with Argenta in her lifetime. "My sincerest apologies, it seems my dear friend Argenta is in a state of emergency, please do excuse me, Sir."

Philomela then took Argenta's arm and put on a smile oft reserved for gentry or those she was familiar with.

When they had walked far enough away, Philomela leaned ever so slightly nearer to Argenta and whispered, her voice sounding unsteady for the first time that night"Gods bless you, That man seems to have been an exile from Omperus, I feared he was a criminal of some sort." She paused and cast her gaze downwards, hoping she was not incorrect in her assumptions. "That is why you beckoned me, is it not?"

By this time, they'd surely have reached the stables, and their speech would have almost undoubtedly woken the sleeping Dion.

Larloch nodded as when the girls walked off for the was nothing he could do about it. They had gone about five paces from him when he called out to them," In case you're wondering I was laughed out of the city after i gave my graduation theory at the wizards academy, they said a multi-element transmutation and synergy was too radical."

He didn't continue after that, he doubted either of them understood the genius of his theory but at least they were genuinely ignorant instead of being reactionary.

After seeing the look in the other girl's eyes he sincerely doubted he'd be able to stick around in the town much long. He adjusted his position to be able to face the dawn, as was his habit he would wake up before the dawn and say his prayers to Der Hehr. If everything went as planned, he'd be gone before the rest of the village woke for their daily activities.

Little did the young wizard know that Der Hehr had other plans in store for him.

Philomela heard very little of Larloch's explanation and she did not quite understand what the imposing foreigner was speaking of, in fact it sounded like the ravings of a mad man. She was glad to have left with Argenta, and to know that however much the silver merchants daughter might have been poisoned against ever speaking to Philomela, she had the honor and kindness to rescue her from someone who must have been certifiably insane.

The lily of a girl stood outside the stables a moment before seeing Dion appear and noticing the surprise on his face. It was then she remembered herself, her place among the village women. Her pale face flushed a moment and she unhooked her arm from Argenta's with an apologetic look and curtsey. Breathing a formal goodbye that was softer than silk "I beg your pardon and I thank you, Good Maiden Arhanrod." before scurrying off, as quickly as she could without appearing ungraceful. Even in her hurry, she still seemed to flutter on the air when walking, fabric from her white chiton gown billowing out behind her like thin foggy clouds as she made her way on foot, across the moonlit path leading away from the stables.

Philomela felt a bit as if she had been intruding on Argenta and her father at that time, and imagined herself a bit silly for going all that way when she could have slipped away when they'd gotten far enough from Larloch. She had to suppose it was due to having forgotten for a few split seconds that she was indeed not a friend to Argenta, nor was she a friend to any of the women in Anthiro, unless her Maestro's wife counted but they didn't actually live within the village.

The singer narrowed her crystal blue eyes when standing in the middle of the dirt road, making sure she was taking the right turn to get back to her uncle's menial lemon farm, she stood near Damon's shop then and almost considered peeking in to ask if she might borrow a lantern. Men tended to treat her with more kindness as they were the ones often present at her musical performances in Anthiro's tavern,as wives and maidens did not often grace the building. This did not change the fact that she would be ignored if one's wife or sweet heart were present.

She decided to step up to the blacksmith's storefront, and peer in to see if anyone was awake, wondering if Damon would still be working at such an hour.

“Really, Dion. You, too?” Argenta said with a shake of her head, when the drunken boy answered the door.

Argenta felt the smooth arm of her new companion slip out from hers suddenly. Philomela said a quick thank and pardoned herself before Argenta could say a word to her. She watched Philomela until she was out of sight, frowning longingly. Perhaps she had been too forward with someone who was not of her social standing; but why could she not talk to anyone she wanted to? Be friends with whom she wanted? In her heart, she knew that social ranking did not determine the quality of one’s character.

She sighed in frustration and turned back to Dion still on his butt struggling to get up.

“Thank you for answering my call. I think I’ll get the horse myself though, it seems you are in no state to be helping anyone.” She told him, hoisting him up by the arm effortlessly with a well-toned arm from plowing in her own garden.

She left him to wobble in place as she went further into the stables to search for her father’s horse. Her mind changed back to another subject: The “wizard man”. He was an exile; that meant he was possibly dangerous to people. She was one of the only two people in the village who knew about him currently, and she felt responsible for the safety of others.

“Dion, there was a stranger outside the Tavern who was harassing Philomela.” she said seriously, stopping in front of the stall where the horse was being held, “He said he was a wizard and an exile from Omperus. I think the people in the village need to be aware of him he sticks around.”

She turned her head, flipping her rebellious hair out of her eyes and peered piercingly into Dion's dark green eyes, wondering if he caught anything of what she said. Or if he took it seriously at all, because he was a very absurd boy. Then again, it seemed very absurd that an exiled wizard would come to Anthiro, and she did not realize how ridiculous it sounded.