Pile of Notes: Fire for Fire

"You wouldn't be acting this way if Ilgor was here." Neaves voice burned with that defiant fire.
"You need to hide behind The Great Mother's Child to feel validation of yourself, then you do not deserve to be called a daughter of Syn." Myriil growled back, his wings crackled with energy, his distaste for the Mistwalkers more than evident the entire time The Shrine Guard had stepped foot inside The Elsewhere.
She ground her teeth as she knew Ilgor wouldn't be happy if she started another fight while being here. The last one had already put a bad taste in their mouths, despite the Queen of the Fae already accepting their rank as true children of The Quartet, as well as Anlyth for that matter. The discrimination they and the Goblins of Ilgor's inner circle felt at those living here, it annoyed her to the core for it.
Ryhs stepped up to the burly Faerie, bumping massive chest to chest with the man. Though, Ryhs was strong, Neaves still knew this wasn't going to end well. "What are you going to do, Moth. Nothing, that's what." Moth had been the insult they had been tossing at the Shrine Guard for weeks now, just because what Azu had done to their race to change their wings from the original. Neaves had had enough. Her much smaller hand looked comical when she set it on Ryhs' shoulder.
Whipping his head down at her, his expression turned to stone on seeing hers. She had a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face, the Paladin of the Valley of Mists stepped away as her wings began to burn, scorching the earth she walked. "Myriil, do you know what they called me back on the Branches of the tree?".
"You will address me as Commander, Mo" He was bathed in a column of plasma from her outstretched hand, his wings dimmed as she stole the power he was so carelessly dumping into the air.
He rolled backward hard, as he smacked his head against a rock in his tumble. Barely able to regain his footing as Neaves and her inferno laced hands torn toward him, the might of a second sun baring down on him. The stone patio the fight had started at now a pool of molten lava from her strike, the Shrine Guard had enough sense to back away from the two while another of the Faeries flew off somewhere. The others clearly on edge ready to defend themselves, Rhys had his greatsword out ready to fight. Pyria already had her knives out, while Erlin knocked one of his arrows.
Myriil didn't even have time to breath while she continued her attack, trying to burn his wings away for his abuse toward them. "They called me the Witch of Ash. Boy." Her breath was fire, like a dragon of Myth and legend bathing him that hellstorm.
Her forward momentum didn't last long as Myriil finally regained himself from the onslaught, steading himself from the force in her voice. Clapping his hands together he ripped her spell in two leaving a clear path for him to charge. His wings having become molten from his fury, lightning crackling from his fingertips, sending the jolt of energy into the earth to electrocute her, and everyone else around for that matter. Though, she rose into the air with a small explosion at her feet in time to avoid it, he still launched himself again with the same trick she had just used.
Her claws of fire deflecting savage blows as the much older combatant was able to peel apart her defenses quickly. Deflecting and absorbing more and more of her fire, using it against her as blades of heat slashed down at her. Flying higher into the air, Myriil descended down to her like a meteor arcing with lightning again, only now Neaves wasn't ready for the strike. She was loath to use the new magic Ilgor had been teaching her, teaching the Walkers to embrace their Shadow Touched nature. But, it didn't seem like she had much choice.
Black fire burst from her hands as the much weightier pyromancy sent Myriil flying, his skin burned from her magic. Slashing down at him with that light absorbing flame, she incinerated the air without meaning to, the now empty space where air had been crashed back in on itself as it missed her target. The intense implosion bursting his eardrums, he hadn't realized her magic had done it until it was too late. In his mind, it didn't make sense, fire consumed yes. But, complete destruction was not something Syn had taught her children. Fear finally bubbled to the surface where rage had been.
The Faerie crashed to the ground as he could do nothing but watch as a column of black fire came down on him like a hot piece of iron waiting for the smiths hammer. He closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable, as the roar of her fire filled his ears, then nothing. He didn't feel pain like he expected, then again he wasn't expecting a faerie to die by fire. Slowly he opened his eyes, only to be plastered back to the ground from the worlds strongest backhand.
Anlyth, First Son of Syn, the Arch Valkyrie had struck his Commander to the ground again when he tried to rise. His other hand blistering from hold back Neaves and her black fire, with a flick of his wrist he tossed her backward into the waiting arms of Rhys. "Myriil, I am not happy." Anlyth's voice was deathly low, venom and disappointment dripping from each sound.
"She..." He backhanded him again, the ground cracking from the blow.
"I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY, YOU COULDN'T HOLD YOUR TOUNGE NOW YOU HAVE WITNESSED WHY." His roar made the air around the area painfully hot, even to the other faeries as they shielded their faces from the heat. "The Mistwalkers are Syn's children, they are our KIN." With another backhand, he added "FOOL."
He picked Myriil up by the throat, despite that the Commander was unconscious at this point, he continued burning the sound of his voice into his mind. "You wanted to know why, I saw what the Priestess was teaching our younger siblings and respected it! You have witnessed first hand the pyromancy of the new blood for yourself, I FORBID THAT INSULT WEEKS AGO. Yet here you are, disobeying me!" Anlyth roared as his hands began to burn. "Do I need to teach you the lesson as well?"
As Anlyth as about to burn his Commander permanently, with a soft sound, a voice echoed out as a cool hand wrapped itself around the Arch Valkyrie's arm. "That's enough. You've made your point son. Put him down." The Queen's voice as an absolute in comparison to his, all the fight leaving Anlyth in an instant. Dropping Myriil unceremoniously onto the burnt ground.