Typhuun: ::The night’s perfect stillness was marred only by the flickering motions of the countless fireflies that seemed to hang suspended in the air like organic Christmas lights. Thin shafts of moonlight pierced through the green canopy overhead, freckling the ground below. Where the moonlight hit, one could see the tiny drops of dew on the soft, green grass whose scent filled the air with a soothing, natural aura that was a welcome and revitalizing change from the rancid atmosphere of the taverns. Typhuun walked barefoot across the glade, feeling the cool, wet grass and the damp soil beneath his feet. He breathed deeply, taking in the fresh, remedial scent of the woodlands. All around him was green: the emerald shards of the grass, the dark, bluish green of the moss that spread over the nearby rocks and trees, the light, yellowish green of the leaves. The silver moonlight illuminated the glade, giving it a glowing, ethereal look that was almost holy in its sheer beauty.:: . . . Of doves in silver feathered sleep. . . ::Typhuun murmured the words of a poem he had read long ago in some forgotten time. Was it possible to go back to those times? Could the healing nature of these sacred woodlands work so far as to erase the centuries of darkness and restore the lost innocence of that forgotten childhood? Typhuun supposed it could be done. It might take years of atonement, but surely goodness was not completely out of his reach. Surely a god who could create all this could do something so simple as provide atonement for one of his lost children. . . but he was not a child of God, was he? The son of parents whose races bared fangs at God, he may very well have been damned at birth. . . Typhuun pushed the thought out of his mind. It mattered not. He could try to atone for his wrongs, and if he could not do so; if he could not join God, then at least he could live his life in the presence of His creation. He breathed in the forest air again. Suddenly he broke into a run, sprinting fleetly across the forest glade so quickly his feet scarcely touched the dewy grass. He leaped into the air, unfurling his indigo wings and letting them carry him across the glade. He closed his eyes, feeling the wind’s caress on his face, feeling his long, indigo hair flowing out behind him. The wind carried him into a clearing, and he floated down to rest upon a large rock overlooking a gurgling brook. He lay facedown on the rock, resting his chin on his arms and looking down into the brook as he finished the poem he had been reciting earlier.::
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws and a silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

::A large mosquito buzzed about his ear. There was a brief blur of motion, and the insect fell in two pieces. His bladed tail continued forward on its trajectory, then sank downwards into the stream. A small circular ripple expanded outward from the point where his tail had struck the water’s surface. Typhuun moved his tail about in circles, making tiny whirlpools here and there. After awhile, he relaxed and let the running water flow soothingly against his tail. He turned over to look up at the sky. Above him were the stars, singing their silent, silver song. Typhuun wondered if the hand of God had ever been more inspired than when it painted the scene he saw tonight. He lay back, listening to the stars’ song and becoming one with it; adding his own harmonies to the melody which only those whose minds have been awakened can hear at all::

II Tiphareth II: ::Tiphareth, not having ceased in her recent wanderings even for so much as a meal, or a drink, came upon the serene little scene within the wood. Through moonlight and daylight alike she had walked, the angle of her head hardly moving from one side to the other, contrarily, hidden oculi kept closely trained to a point consistently before her on the ground, though not really seeing. It appeared she had been lost in deep thought for days. The faint spring in her step, reminiscent of happier days, and more carefree times, was gone completely, and replaced again by the once abandoned rigidly ordered gait, characteristic of severe military influence, and though she still moved with ease and fluidity, she was bordering on the definition of a march, or trudge. The trek to nowhere in particular might lead an observer to believe she was on a non descript mission to discover less about her destination, and more about herself. It seemed the soldier had a bit of "soul searching" to do herself. An ordinary creature in her situation would have in all likelihood, stumbled over obstacles in the path many times over by now, she was so involved in her ponderings. Tiphareth, was anything but the typical ordinary creature, and moved over and around the stones, bushes, and whatever else happened to get in her way as if guided by something mental, not bothering to actually look at anything she needed to pass by, even as she slid to one side or the other. Second nature steered her onward in measured paces, a bit larger than one would think typical for a woman of her height. She walked moderately quickly, and in each footstep was uniformity. She appeared as always, enshrouded from head to toe in an armor anything but of this world, thick alien substance leeching to every toned inch of her as if it was a second skin. It was highly doubtful that there was even space enough left between the hybrid's flesh and the armored suit for a breath of air. A cape of sorts drifted to scarcely below her knees, undulating gently with the smooth steps, and ending just as the boot tops were tied off with twin silver straps. They clung to lithe legs just as the rest of the gear seemed indelibly bound to her; finely honed muscles evident as they clenched and relaxed rhythmically even through the material as she walked. A thin belt restrained the free flowing tails of trench neatly about her trim waist, and from that point and above it was much less a cape of any sort, and much more a tight fitting jacket. Rare patches of naked skin could be spied in between thick leather straps criss crossing her chest until they lost themselves behind the edges of trench, directly below which the proud medallion of soldier was firmly nestled against her bare abdomen. Her arms cloaked in sleeves and gloves, all the exact same obsidian color and uncanny texture of armor, narrow shoulders nuzzled beneath solid plates of armor. Her chest, and the patterned openings to skin was the only glimpse to be caught of flesh on the whole of her, as her neck and head were entirely concealed behind a cowl of impenetrable shadow. It was impersonal, yes, very much so, and she'd modeled her appearance in this manner purposely, for an explicit reason. No longer could anyone or anything pierce through the intangible to meet the sapphire hues once burning with her zeal for life. No form of light could do the slightest to enlighten the darkened spaces before the delicate visage. She did not appear inviting, warm, any of that. Truly she'd been in something of an anti-social stent, and as of yet none had dared to try and coax her out of it. Which suited the soldier's likings, perfectly. She really didn't have the care nor the time to bother with pests lately. Her thoughts had wandered to the subject of her baby son, just when a sixth sense, acquired through many hours of combat, alerted her to the presence of someone else close by. Deep in thought she had been, but first and foremost she was a soldier, created as such and trained relentlessly to ensure that she would never deviate too far from her original purpose. Thus the communion with things past was put roughly on hold as she turned her head level, rather than tilted perpetually to the earth before her, and came to a stop, one slender gloved hand resting against the trunk of an elm she'd halted nearby, and very much alert to her surroundings now, unseen eyes darting from side to side, she stood in wait::

Typhuun: ::Typhuun’s psychic energies were far more acute than most, and he detected the stranger while she was still a number of yards away. A strange buzzing sensation rattled in his head, alerting him to the fact that he was soon to have company. He stretched out tendrils of thought towards the visitor, trying to learn his or her identity. He got a strange response, the likes of which he didn’t get very often at all. The stranger’s mind was completely blocked off to psychic invasion. Precious few beings could achieve such a feat, and usually those that could were only able to do so when they wanted to. This one apparently had this defense as a natural reflex. Such a thing was very rare. As this thought flashed through his mind in a fraction of a second, he quickly sat up on the rock. He was usually able to detect attacks before they came, due to his limited power of premonition, but he was going to be wary, just the same. While Typhuun had few enemies, those that he did have were generally of the extremely tough variety, and he needed to be ready for anything.

The stranger emerged from the shadows, stopping under an elm about fifty yards away. Typhuun’s twin abysses were very adept at taking in light, which gave him excellent night vision akin to that of an owl. He peered over to the visitor, and blinked several times in surprise, his eyes widening. Tiphareth Nightshade? He had never thought that she would be the type to be traipsing about the woodlands at night, but he had been wrong many times before. He breathed a sigh of relief. He bore Tiphareth no ill will, although he couldn’t say the same about her husband; and he hoped that she bore him none. He pondered what to do for a few seconds; she apparently could not see him, as was evident by the caution she was taking. Using his telekinetic power, he channeled the vibrations of his voice over to her so that it sounded as though he were standing right next to her:: It’s only me, Typhuun. ::He didn’t know if that was the right thing to say or not, but it couldn’t hurt. He didn’t want to scare her off by bounding after her before she could see who he was. He would never admit this to himself, but he was a tiny bit lonely, and most any company would be better than none. He wasn’t sure how much company Tiphareth would be; come to think of it she did look rather introverted, didn’t she? He wasn’t sure, but it had looked like she wasn’t even aware of her surroundings in the few seconds he had been watching her before she detected him. Now he began to wonder if he had made a mistake in addressing her. The last thing he wanted was an encounter with more of that sarcastic cynicism that the majority of people in this realm seemed to possess. Still, they were alone. There was no reason why they couldn’t have a decent conversation, perhaps even a good one. These thoughts passed through his head in an inestimably short time, and with only a slight pause, he added:: You can relax. . .

II Tiphareth II: ::The would-be prying psychic sense was not overlooked by her as the hybrid stood in flawless void of motion next to the massive tree beneath the moonlight, feathering down through boughs and leaves, losing a measure of it's intensity, and brightness with every successive inch. By the time the shards of countless moonbeams had chance to spill over her form, they did very little to illuminate the shady figure. Being as she herself was in possession of a good deal of psychic skill, was it really to be questioned that she'd notice someone with similar abilities attempting to tap into her thoughts uninvited? She need do absolutely nothing to keep the curious mind out of hers, however. Only one other could tap into her thoughts, and that was for the simple fact that they were the only two of the curious spliced species, and both harnessing quite capably, strong psychic powers of their own, unique to the race. Her mind was sealed off completely as far as anyone or anything else was concerned. So it would have garnered him or her, this prying one, about as much success, had they tried to break into a safe, using a toothpick, and tweezers, for tools. Tiphareth picked up on the identity of the being in immediate proximity in a few fleeting portions of a second, her eyes, though they were hidden, were still possessed with an inhuman level of acuity, and even in the darkness she'd noticed the movements of the other across the distance, and focused in on them immediately, soon discerning the various features, and the curious bladed tail, particularly, is what triggered recognition in her memory. The psychic abilities, were another large clue, as she recalled him trying something similar before. She chuckled quietly to herself, somewhat pitying the less fortunate creatures, who populated the realm, who were laughably less richly equipped than she, for keeping the prying minds of others out. Apparently she'd not happened across a complete stranger this night, but someone whom she'd had the opportunity to talk to, on occasion, though she wouldn't really say that she knew Typhuun, she simply knew of him, slightly. And she assumed, simultaneously, that the same would probably be thought of her, by the distant acquaintance. This thought was shrugged off non chalantly. All of this had transpired before the little trick of throwing his voice, and so by the time he introduced himself, she'd already figured out who it was on her own. She found it a tad amusing also, that he'd construed her being alert, as being anything but relaxed at the same time. She was one to be endlessly comfortable even if she was heightening her senses in the slightest, to learn a little more perhaps, about her surroundings, or her company. She quite frankly feared nothing, and no one. It wasn't a move of foolishness, or arrogance, or anything of the like, it was simply her being in possession of certain key bits of knowledge as to the intricacies of her race, and her calm, cool confidence in her own abilities. No one had ever challenged her for her life, and lived through the ordeal. So the soldier was undaunted, unwavering in her bravery. She wasn't particularly jumping for joy at the prospect of company, honestly she could think of two, at most, people she would genuinely enjoy being able to speak to; she was capable of civility, however, and seeing as she didn't have any quarrels with this person she'd happened across, for that express reason, simply continuing on in her walking, and not stopping, or even saying a word, was thrown out in the list of options she had left to her. She supposed, that it would hurt nothing if she paused for a while, to talk to Typhuun, and so, a bit reluctantly, as she never really could throw off the mantle of a natural recluse completely, she levitated herself above the forest floor with a very small mental request, and effortlessly flew across the distance to land lightly on booted feet, the slight rise of platformed heels sinking down into the lush grasses, which bejeweled the sides and soles with sparkling drops of silver dew. She was perhaps seven feet or so, away from him, a comfortable distance, more or less. She'd made no use of her wings for the flight, which weren't even there at the moment; she could call them into view and banish them back out of it at will, and flying with, or without their use, were both options left to her. Sarcastic, and cynical, were perhaps never exhibited better by anyone in the entire realm, than they were in Tiphareth, much to what could be Typhuun's dismay, as soon as he picked up on the facts, but how could he have known..? Nice, just wasn't in the equation as far as Tiphareth and her mannerisms went. She was still, starkly impersonal, even more so up close than she had been from afar, what with the hood never parting from it's drape about her head and neck. Her face, the thing people recognized her by more than any other aspect, was simply not there, as odd as it may be to gaze into a void of matter where a creature's head should be, and see only nothing, yet that was the case. Her voice was as always, void of warm emotion, only the faintest hints at anything less than welcoming were to be picked up on as she spoke:: A lack of relaxation, and being alert, shouldn't be mistaken for the same state of being, unless of course, one were speaking of dull witted little mortal creatures, in which case, you would probably be right in assuming they were one in the same. Of course, I am none of the three.

Typhuun: ::Typhuun began to realize just how little he knew about Tiphareth Nightshade as he saw her float effortlessly across the clearing. He hadn’t known she could do that, and while it didn’t surprise him that she had abilities beyond her appearance, it proved to him that he had much to learn. His eyes widened as she entered the clearing. She hadn’t been looking too well the last time he had seen her, but as she approached and the silver moonlight washed over her, she appeared ghastly; a mere spectre of her former self. Typhuun remembered well the first time they had met: it had been near some large obelisk. She and her husband Darian had been but two faces in the crowd, and how happy they seemed back then! He remembered the two of them constantly joking around, even as he and Darian quarelled and eventually fought. That joy; that exhilaration of simply being alive. . . it had faded away with the past year. Typhuun could not help but think of a grand old oak tree he had once seen, which, after many years, had withered away. What great sorrow was responsible for this withering? Typhuun couldn’t begin to guess, nor did he want to. A strange sadness came over him, and with it indignancy that anything or anyone should do such a thing to anyone. What is left after the joy in life is gone? Nothing but years of imprisonment, which, for such an immortal creature as Tiphareth, would be unbearably long. He looked up as she spoke. Yes, the voice was the same as always. Completely lacking in anything that would give even the slightest hint of warmth or friendliness. Her words surprised him somewhat; of course he hadn’t meant his greeting to be insulting. He had simply forgotten momentarily that Tiphareth Nightshade was not one to be nervous upon meeting an armed and powerful being in the woods at night. He tried to respond as tactfully and gracefully as possible.:: My apologies, Tiphareth. I had momentarily forgotten just who you are. Forgive me. ::He shivered a bit; her words had chilled him with their arctic frigidity. He wasn’t sure exactly what to say. After a short pause, he continued:: So, how are you tonight?

II Tiphareth II: ::Though she may have appeared unhappy, that should never be mistaken for emaciated, unhealthy, or weakened to even moderate or slight degrees. Poor, or sickly, just wasn't something that Tiphareth exuded well at all. She'd been not simply built, but genetically engineered, with outward strength foremost in the minds of her creators. She was to have been one of undaunted verve, ardor and vitality. The vitality was displayed more these days in the form of a defiant abhorrence of life, in lieu of any gratitude for, or quiet joy in her existence. Though still able to appear feminine to some degree, it was coupled and balanced delicately with an obvious musculature, which alluded vaguely to brute strength, lurking just beneath the facade of "ordinary" might. Brawn and brain resided, not in equal measures, for any wise being would be quick to assert that vast power without intelligence enough to properly wield it, was utterly worthless. A relative genius stood diffident, though not completely informally either, those few feet away, one hand moving almost too swiftly to be spied as she flicked away one flitting night-glowing annoyance on wings, which was sent propelling away from it's flight of irritation close to where her head should have been, sailing directly into a boulder resting behind her, where it's days of being a nuisance promptly expired. Hidden lips tightened and stretched into the very faintest of smiles, deep beneath the curtainous inky sable abyss about her head. It was a very strange sense of humor triggered, when he asked how she was.. as not even she took the efforts to care about such things herself. She just found it odd, and interesting on an indifferent, almost scientific level, that anyone would pretend to be anything other than a solitary avaricious character, when clearly all that was to be rewarded for acting in a sympathetic manner, was that those same selfish tendencies would emerge eventually, leaving the optimist wounded, or worse, as they had left themselves foolishly open to the injury. But perhaps to humor the spirit of conversation, she divulged, somewhat readily, her frame of mind that evening, to a certain degree at any rate:: I suppose it could be summed up by contemplative. And yourself? ::Keeping her attention focused upon, and herself facing her company, the hybrid took a meditative stance, hovering some four feet above the moist earth, and wordlessly drew a massive katana from the thin air, grasping at nothing, but within her fist there appeared the handle, and just above, the hilt, the rest of the thin, gently curving sword appearing soon afterward all in turn. Legs crossed over each other neatly, nimbly, and she laid the sword across her lap, resting on each knee and extending easily to two and a half feet beyond the resting points, on either side of her, to say nothing of the two feet before her. In all the measure came to seven feet, Masamune longer than she was tall, by more than a span of both of her hands, connected at the thumb, and stretched from finger to finger.::

Typhuun: ::Of course he had never thought of her as physically withered. Indeed, it was her figure that had given him an indication of who she was; tall, sleek; stronger than the average woman, or man for that matter. However, he had detected something different about her that had not been there the first time he had met her. Perhaps by some quirk of fate he had first met her on one of those nights, extremely rare as they may be, when she was happy. As it was the first time he had met her, it was perceived by him to be the norm, and inaccurate as that perception may have been, it was the one he took. Thus, to see her on this night as he had before she had noticed him; head looking down at the ground, with apparent ignorance and apathy of her surroundings, and to hear that icy coldness in her voice which betrayed her indifference, or perhaps even disdain for all those aspects of warmth and connection which she had seemed to enjoy when he had first met her, made it quite fair for him to perceive her to have withered, if not in physique, then in spirit. This change may well have taken place months ago, but Typhuun had only recently returned to this realm, having been gone for nearly a year. And he had acquired his own sorrows during that time; he was changed as well. Precious few of those who had known him well during his last stay in this realm still remained to notice this change, however, and so it mattered not. He thought about her words for a moment. "Contemplative," she had said. That was a word he could certainly relate to, having done much contemplation himself over these past few nights.:: Likewise ::he said in a thoughtful tone.:: I find that the simplicity of these woodlands lends itself well to such an endeavor, would you not agree? ::His eyes widened as Masamune materialized in front of her; he had never seen the sword before. Both Unforgiven and Anathema were of the long sword design, but this one stretched a good two feet longer than either of them. It was simply extraordinary. He hoped she meant him no ill will, for a sword like that would surely be a deadly one indeed in the hands of a skilled swordsman, which he had no reason to believe she was anything but. Still, he could usually detect attacks a tenth of a second or so before they happened, giving him ample time to get away.:: That’s a magnificent sword. What do you call it?

II Tiphareth II: ::If anything the soldier regarded any warm emotion now as something useless at best, and despicable at worst. Old learned habits had ingrained these beliefs into her; kept solitary, and virtually caged for years doesn't always have the most agreeable effects on a child's development of healthy social skills. She'd arrived cast away on this plain with those customs firmly set, and over time had allowed them to be questioned and finally abandoned, only to be sent reeling back into the familiar foreign indifference to nearly everything, sometimes even when she herself was concerned. Emotion banished away and down again, it was a turning full circle for the hybrid. She'd begun this cold, calculating, tried to escape it, only to come crawling back to cling with an unrelenting, almost feverish resolve to old ways. She was neither happy nor unhappy, simplistically, void of feeling, which was her norm. Deep in thought she'd been found many a time in days long since extinct, and that habit too, seemed to have returned to her.:: Engrossed in my thoughts beyond the point of needing to register the setting.. ::She spoke a measure more quietly, now finally casting a quick glance around her and noting the peaceful evergreen surroundings. Indeed her mental wanderings had more than dominated her conscious attention, and as for the forest, she was only passing through, like so many landscapes having come and gone before.:: I don't think I would have seen this at all had I not stopped. ::She fell to thoughtful silence for a short period, curling fingers loosely about one medium black sphere embedded into the hilt, as she was questioned.:: Masamune ::She answered simply, odd syllables falling rhythmically from unseen lips. And she hadn't meant any harm, malice, or even intimidation in summoning the weapon, she merely liked to have it close by from time to time, not that she foresaw the need to use it, but solely for the purpose of strengthening the bond with it. True, it would appear that she regarded the katana as if it were a living entity, a pet, or a familiar perhaps, instead of the seemingly lifeless metal that gloved fingers began to gently stroke, but the fact would soon be revealed, as the alien ore commenced to hum so faintly, and pulse with an ominous, and yet soft erudite sheen, just at her touch, that it was anything but an ordinary sword. Largely it was perhaps the only thing she consistently showered affection upon. Such mannerisms and odd behavior weren't really that strange considering she was simplistically, a soldier, born and bred. Even with the lowest ranking of military personnel, necessity demanded that there be at least a moderate tie to his equipment. Tiphareth, seeing as she was one of two persons so exalted in their positions in the soldier hierarchy, there were none higher, and thus her skill and attachment to her sword was practically unrivaled. It could be said that her sword was all she knew, if all the aspects of the hybrid were to be returned back to the very basic beginnings. The use of single, and twin katanas had been rigorously practiced throughout the whole of her childhood, adolescence, and teenage years. The extent of her days were to eat, breathe, and sleep Masamune. It had procured a very focused, and one sided lifestyle but the grueling conditioning had reached it's original goal and she'd completed her training the very epitome of fearless warrior, with her weapon more than mastered.::

On to part two