Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"Oh, I don't know about that. This place can be quite cosy," responded the Scholar, trying to mask the entertained expression on his face, and the cause, by distracting himself with conversation. "I'd wager she's looking into an audience with the local celebrity," he added a moment later. Standing at the doorway as he was, he picked up the scents that had thus far been locked inside the house. "Vanilla. Cinammon... is that ginger I smell, too?" he asked, genuinely curious.

[C S]

Willow pushed aside her unspoken inquiries of mountain-celebrities and why it would take so long to seek an audience with them. Septimus was just having a laugh with an old lady with his insinuations of thunderbirds. That's what Willow thought of it. "I hope being heroes for your metal friend has worked up an appetite," she said, then broke the embrace to get back to her mixing. "I've been working on something of a feast!"

"No surprise there. You make a feast for every Guthander," Syria jabbed affectionately. "A feast of flaky pastries and confectioneries."

[The Kingpin]

"How do you eat it all?" asked a small voice behind the two new arrivals, Beshayir peaking over Syria's shoulder, chin propped on it.

"You...weren't joking about it being a feast, were you?" asked Septimus, finally realising how considerable a collection of dishes it must have been to stun the girl that had recently become a veritable eating machine.

[C S]

"As a family, of course!"

Syria chuckled. "She redefines 'feast' every time she cooks a lot. A feast for her and Oak alone is different than a feast for them and myself, so--"

"A feast for a dragon, a young lady, an older young lady, and her parents. I even have something planned for Ceridwen, should she show up today."

"So two dragons," Syria countered.

"How about you get inside and start making yourselves at home, hmm?"

[The Kingpin]

"Thank you," responded the Scholar to the offer, though he stepped aside for the Mage and Pyromancer to pass through ahead of him, Beshayir taking the cue and promptly crossing over into the warm house, still in her sleeping gown as she was. She decided she'd give her adoptive parents a brief respite from her attentions while she changed into something cosier.

[C S]

Syria went through the door next, expecting Septimus to be right behind her, as was reasonable to assume. However, before she could so much as comment on the wreaths that were strung up over the frame, Willow caught her in a one-handed hug and proceeded to dispense an onslaught of kisses. "Granny!" Syria yelped as she staggered to one side. Willow's stance was ironclad, and she held the mage in place for the many kisses.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar chuckled at the sight, leaning against the wall and just out of reach. No sense giving Syria a way out of an old lady's loving affections. "Come now Syria, surely you knew this was coming?" he asked amusedly.

Beshayir, meanwhile, left the protesting Mage behind her as she rushed up the stairs, rounding a corner and entering her room, the closing of the door audible moments later.

[C S]

"Not like this!" came Syria's muffled response. Willow laughed and released the mage, who then stumbled a few paces in disorientation. "Where am I?" she seemed to mumble in her daze. When she put her staff on the floor, a surge of light pushed her stray, ruffled hairs out of her face and weaved them back into her neat bun.

"Ah, Syria," said the old professor upon his entry into the foyer. "It is good to see you again. Same to you, Septimus. Granted, our last meeting came at the tail-end of a long... and nice nap." He did not appear to register Syria's minor crisis as Willow chuckled deeply. "Willow, love, a most delightful Guthander to you. My deepest regret for not helping you in the kitchen."

"None of that, Oak." Willow went right back to stirring. "We both know that it's a miracle that I can still move about as I do in our age, no need to run yourself ragged trying to keep up!" she teased, as Oak was still in his pajamas, night cap hanging over one side of his face.

[The Kingpin]

"Good to see you too, Professor. Apologies for the unannounced arrival. Though I must say everything seems to be going smoothly as ever, here. A merry Guthander to you both," stated the Son of Storms cheerfully as he patted Syria on the shoulder. "There there, dear," he offered the Mage, adjusting the flower in her hair ever so slightly.

[C S]

"Unannounced, but punctual, and appreciated. Beshayir has been a wonder to have around, and knowing you two haven't... hmm. Let's leave those sour thoughts for a less happy season then."

"Let's," Willow agreed on her way back to her kitchen, sensing that her holiday morsels needed to both be taken from the heat and put on the flames. Her little mixture was finally stirred to a fluff that would eventually become a light and airy cake.

Syria gave Septimus her thanks, then looked back to the professor when he asked, "So why do you have your hair up so? It's the first time I've seen you do anything with it, other than tying it into a braid when you work a stove."

"I'll tell you later, Oak, with Willow and Beshayir."

"Ah. I see." The old man chuckled. "If there was a day for any special occasions--"

"--It would be the day of special occasions?" Syria interjected. It was a favorite saying of the professor's. She never thought it would ever apply to herself. Not in the way things were lining up to be.

Oak wagged a finger, heading back to the stairs. "I will take my time getting ready, in that case."

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar nodded to the Professor, before walking towards the kitchen, curious to see what else Willow had been up to. As soon as he was no longer obstructing it, the front door swung shut with a muffled thud. He noted, with some admiration, that it did not rattle as most doors did at this time of year. It seemed the Daavenians were also good with their hinges and latches; something he hadn't seen outside the Valenhadian provincial capitals, and even then, only on the more stately houses and buildings; libraries and the like. It was telling of how thoroughly distributed good technology was in the city. Something to inquire about later, he decided.

[C S]

Syria met Septimus at the doorway, peeking into the busy kitchen. Chances were that Willow was up before the sun was. Trays were set out with completed dishes, pans were full of prepared meals. Even the sausages were sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon. "This could be us, you know," she said to the Scholar, watching Willow work and knowing better than to offer her assistance. Willow had her own workflow, and was extremely short with anyone or anything that stood to disrupt it. "I suppose this is where I get it from, really. I insist on cooking for a dragon, and Willow cooks for two."

[The Kingpin]

"Perhaps. I really don't think either of you should go to such troubles on our account. Food isn't exactly cheap, after all," responded the Scholar with a smile. "I'd end up eating you all out of house and home if I let you do as you do on a regular basis," he noted. It was true. It was only Drakhunmiir's massive mana well that allowed the ecosystem there to cope with the demands of so many dragons. It was no mistake that dragons of his size tended not to settle a specific territory. Most places simply could not sustain them. It was also why they were so rare.

The Scholarly Elf observed the elderly Daavenian move through her kitchen with the efficiency of one who had spent much of her life doing such things. His gaze drifted across the many dishes laid out for the meal of the evening, wondering how on earth they would have the space to serve it all. Jars and bottles and shakers of dozens of different spices and seasonings littered specific parts of the kitchen's counter-tops, most likely deliberately positioned there so that they would not get lost amidst the various dishes. Seeing everything in pots and pans and bowls as they were seemed to indicate it was going to be a lunch rather than a dinner. As well it should be, as such a heavy meal would take most of them quite a while to digest. The clean-up job was something he decided he would insist on handling. It was the least he could do after he devoured a good half or more of it, all things considered.

[C S]

"I don't foresee special occasions breaking anything for the two of us, or Willow, for that matter," Syria replied. She then became thoughtful, for while she had spoken of Daaven's celebrations, Septimus hadn't mentioned anything of the sort among the Hueilin. Their culture was something she'd have to become versed in sooner, rather than later. "Hmm. Let's compromise. I'll put my kitchen-hands to work on Guthander Solstice and...?" She inclined her head towards Septimus, waiting for his input.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "Qudum Hueiniir" he settled on after some consideration. "The Ancestral Soul...Festival, I suppose. That is the closest I can come to an actual translation of the last part of that phrase. It's the only actual festive event we have that rivals Guthander for its extent. A day of remembrance for our ancestors, of the efforts they made, the hardships they weathered, in their journey from Syravoras to Aster." He had to admit he was a bit at a loss over it all. The various festive holidays of the human and elvish races of Aster were the first major culture shock he experienced when he left Drakhunmiir. For while normally humans, elves and Hueilin tended to carry out mostly similarly on a daily basis, with each having their own duty, their own purpose that they worked at every day, however minor or inconsequential it may be, the festivals were something the Hueilin lacked. Between Qudum Hueiniir and the mating cycle, that more or less summed up the only major events that affected all the Hueilin. Each Clan had its own isolated events, to be sure. But for something as wide spread and far reaching as Guthander for Daaven, the only analogue the Soul Dragons had was the festival of remembrance.

[C S]

Syria fumbled with the words in a very Beshayir-like way, earning a quiet laugh from Willow as she carried out her solo waltz about the kitchen. "It's settled then," the mage said after her fifth attempt at the phrase and getting caught on the 'Hway-in' syllable. She would have to increase the dexterity of her tongue to become fluent in some Hueilin words as well. Things to write about in her journal, in addition to her more bodily experiences with dragon-kind.

[The Kingpin]

"Qudum, like the sound of a drum," he started, mimicking the tapping of a drum. "Hway-near. Easy," he said cheerfully after he'd given the Mage some time to absorb the first part. The similarity to their elvish charge was not lost on him, and indeed, he found it quite endearing.

It was almost as he thought such that the thudding of her feet on the stairs could be heard, the young girl coming down the steps, rounding the railing at the end and running towards the two at the kitchen entrance. Black socks covered her feet, thick and warm as would be expected of winter wear. Dark brown pants and a dark red blouse were her choice of attire for the day, a thin leather belt wrapping around her waist from which a couple of small pouches hung, one long and thin, containing her wand, and the other shorter, rounded, a coin purse with a few knick-knacks placed within it. Also tucked under and hanging over the belt was a pair of white mittens, the same shade as her wirshah, which hung on a coat-rack by the door. Curiously, a thick furry hat was perched precariously over said wirshah, a deep brown hue that had an interesting sheen in the light. The Scholar was surprised, both for the fact it was there and the fact he hadn't noticed it prior. Had she gone shopping for winter clothing while they were away?

[C S]

Syria belted out a string of Daaven's dialect of elvish to Septimus, so fast that even to Willow it sounded like gibberish. Seeing Beshayir, she continued speaking in her homeland tongue, then caught herself. "What I meant to say was, you look stunning, Beshi."

[The Kingpin]

"Indeed. Our little firestarter has quite the fashion sense," commented Septimus with a smile.

Beshayir's face lit up at that. She had picked out the ensemble herself during her trip to the market using the gold Septimus and Syria had left with the Barks. It had gotten her several sets of clothes and the belt, among a few other things.

[C S]

"We may have to look into setting up a loom in the satchel," Syria mused, rubbing her chin. "If she has such a sense of style, Aster stands to benefit from her designing clothing."

At that, Willow cleared her throat loudly, but did not deviate from her cooking.