Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

It took some getting used to. The lenses cast an amber filter upon the world, reminding Beshayir of the sand storms of Thimeyra, without the effects of being buried or coated in a layer of powdery dust. So this is how Syria saw the world in flight. "Do I really need it? I'm not going to be flying very fast, or very high any time soon," commented the Apprentice curiously.

[C S]

"It's more of a rite of passage, or symbol of something great, more than anything," Syria told Beshayir before she sat back on her rose-tipped staff. "You've now joined the ranks of those who fly without wings. It's something to be proud of, even as you stand to improve even further." She looked over to Septimus. "Isn't that right?"

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir's head snapped towards the dragon. She had been so wrapped up in her practice she had quite literally forgotten the dragon was there. But sure enough, a rumbling 'Mhmm' responded to the Mage, his brilliantly bright sapphire eyes observing as always, a proud smile across his muzzle.

Beshayir blushed at that, as difficult as it was to tell with a person whose skin was dark grey, her cheeks gaining a faint plum tint that seemed almost out of place on the somewhat tomboyish elf.

"Thank you," she said, a hand gripping the brim of the hat, a quiet "...for everything," following shortly after, barely audible.

[C S]

"Don't be so quick to get bashful, Beshi. We've got breakfast to track down, remember?" Syria turned herself about in her staff to side astride, leaned forward and willed herself to rise. She maintained a level more than ten feet in the air before having the staff spin about to face the young elf. "Off we go, dear, lest we run out of time!" Syria encouraged as her staff idly strafed over the road. People who had their own places to be spared a moment out of their busy days to regard the scene. For as crowded as Brodudika was prone to be with all kinds of interesting people, those who floated were few and far between. And then there was the wild child who delivered letters in a league of her own just below that kind of spectacle.

[The Kingpin]

Looking up at how high Syria had flown, the Elf eyed her staff nervously. Thinking better of her riding posture, she swung one of her legs over to the other side of it so she straddled the instrument fully. She didn't trust herself to stay balanced on the staff while in motion, and the last thing she wanted to do was fall backwards off the broom and fall ten feet.

"You can do it Beshayir. Have faith in yourself. We do," offered the Scholar with a warm smile, which earned the same from the Apprentice. And so she ascended, matching Syria's height, a bit wobbly at first, but evening out after a few moments in the air, and then she accelerated to keep pace with the Daavenian Mage.

A squeaking hiccup escaped the dragoness at the Scholar's side, waking her up from her doze. The Scholar couldn't help but chuckle at that, even as Ceridwen let herself drift back to sleep...

[Hopeflower]

After the initial surprise, Firel's expression took on a calculating edge. He made his way through his next few bites in thoughtful silence, trying to think of a way to phrase his question.

"You ever think about asking Viho to teach you to partial shift willingly?" he asked, tilting his head. "That could be useful."

[C S]

Dahnae was just about finished eating by then, helped along by the substantial fangs that dominated her jaws. She gave Firel a searching look while in mid-bite, then said after downing another piece of bun, "How thoo you know I vaasn't velling?" Naturally, her speech was impacted in a distinctly unpurposeful way, slurring and lisping around the giant teeth.

[Hopeflower]

"'Shifters who have just started their training often still need to be careful of their magic reacting to their emotions," Firel replied after taking the time to dissect that question and make sure he'd heard right. His tone implied he was reciting from a memorized textbook passage. "You were nervous just now."

[C S]

"Oh." At least that came across clear, regardless of the situation with Dahnae's teeth. The jungle girl finished off the last of her bun with a big bite, accompanied by a feral-sounding growl. She then set her fork down on her plate and sat back in her chair. "I don't rike going-vgh slow," Dahnae slurred, crossing her arms. "I'll ask if-gh I don't rearn on my own."

[Hopeflower]

"Viho's not sitting at his desk because he makes a good classroom decoration - he knows what he's doing and it's his job to answer questions," Firel said simply. He paused to finish off his bun, and concluded, "It'll go a hell of a lot faster if you ask."

[C S]

"Vut--" Dahnae exhaled sharply and motioned for Firel to wait. She honed her focus as she was taught to and, in a way that was far less abrupt than before, her mouth began to reset. Like with her other transformations, it seemed an overtly painful process, which had her jaws quivering and cheeks stretching. It was sparingly short, however, and Dahnae was back to her old self as if she hadn't had to deal with it at all. She rested her elbows on the table and said, "But I do think he's good classroom decoration, though."

[Hopeflower]

Firel made himself not examine that statement too closely, much as he wanted to protest on Viho's behalf. Were the older psychomancer around to hear, he'd probably just think it was funny. "Be that as it may, he can help."

[C S]

"First he needs to help you, the others in the bunch, and the short weirdos from yesterday," Dahnae retorted. "If I haven't figured this stuff by time you can do... mind... wobbly-mind... things, then I will ask for help." It did not seem like Firel would be changing her mind. Not without the magic he was still trying to learn. Dahnae shuffled about in her chair and fidgeted with her fork before calming down enough to say, "You're good classroom decoration, too."

[Hopeflower]

For a second, Firel wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. He settled on offering an uncertain, "Uh. Thank you?"

This morning just got weirder and weirder.

[C S]

"Can't decorate a classroom if you're late for class," Dahnae pointed out thereafter. A finger nudged her fork to the center of her plate, and then she put the plate into the carry-box. She wasn't likely to admit it was her idea of a date that put Firel behind schedule.

[Hopeflower]

The sound that escaped Firel might have been a chuckle, though he'd deny it if asked. "We'll just be on time instead of early." He stood with a fluid motion of legs and torso, and added his plate and fork to the box. Despite his words, he was quick to grab his money pouch and head for the door.

[C S]

Dahnae slapped the lid back on the box and was right after Firel with its handle in hand.

In the time after they left and locked up the room, the girl in the big coat was regretting her punctuality. It was cold out, the streets were getting packed and she couldn't go climbing on things with her basket-box on her. A casual walk, if a bit brisk given Firel's pace, was almost murder for her patience. Nevertheless, the two made it to their school building, and after the usual start for the receptionist, who had become numb to the happenings that surrounded his place of work, they made their way up to class on the seventh floor. On the way up, they came across Gwenviere and Solaurn.


Syria and Beshayir, in a twist, also found the small bakery that Dahnae had gone to for her breakfast buns. It was a tucked away shop, and if it wasn't for the stylized plaque overlooking its awning, it would have been easy to call the place a shack with a viewing window. It was quaint, and despite the small space, the shop offered chairs and a counter to eat on. An ideal stop for an otherwise mobile routine in the city, if one had the coin to spend. With breakfast handled, the two mages made best speed towards the school.

Best speed being the one that Beshayir felt most capable at, and the one that Syria felt she would be able to guarantee her safety with a telekinetic catch should she have an accident.

[The Kingpin]

"Ceridwen."

A twittering growl.

"Ceridwen, I'm not doing this again," growled the Scholar, the dragoness's entire body reverberating with the statement.

Stirring. That woke her up.

"I'm not sleeping you big brute...Is it wrong to rest after a heavy meal and a long flight?" chirped the Thunderkin as she turned her head to look the Scholar in the eye.

"No, but you're out of time. At this point, Syria and Beshayir should be heading to the school. I would like for you to be there to watch over her, if you don't mind," rumbled the larger Hueilin as he rose to his feet.

"I'll be there," grumbled Ceridwen as she too rose to her feet, her fluffed feathers pulling flat against her hide. She was thankful she had the energy to keep herself warm for a change. It had grown bothersome, trying to keep cosy while still staying near the girl's classroom; well, as close as could be managed, when several floors below. It meant several hours of sitting in place, and it meant she couldn't even move around enough to build up warmth. It had been one reason behind the previous intrusion on that other class; the flying, ironically, helped her stay warm.

"If you like, I can come by once I am done with my own errands and let you head off on your own for a while," he offered.

"I'll...get back to you on that," she chirped, flexing her wings and tail fan to make sure she was ready for flight, before leaping into the air and speeding off, the Scholar left to his own devices.

Time for a walk, he thought, stepping out of the unnatural shadows of the alley by the boarding house as the Scholarly Elf.



"Do you ever worry that your staff might suddenly...stop working?" asked Beshayir, hovering only three feet above everyone's heads, which still was around nine feet off the ground.

[C S]

"A well made staff will last as long as you will live," Syria replied, only to bite her lip after remembering she was speaking to an elf. "They will outlive your average human mage, at least. And of course, that is under the impression that the staff isn't abused over its lifespan, and is properly maintained with every use." Syria recalled her hitting a certain magical beast over the head with that very staff. That wasn't abuse, per say. And it hadn't seen much use after Yuraelia, so it was fine.

[Hopeflower]

Viho was already in the building and perched on his desk, as he usually preferred to when guiding his students through meditation. His back, however, was bent, and his elbow rested on his knee while he pressed his fingers to his temples. The stress of not being able to tell what was in his immediate surroundings was only adding to his migraine. The biggest drawback to being able to sense minds was that the inability to sense them was maddening. Paranoia-inducing. Depending on how long one had been practicing the ability, the recovery period could - and often did - kill psychomancers. It was easy to see enemies where there were none and pick the wrong fight.

To avoid potentially hurting anyone - or himself - Viho was very carefully counting everything from the floors in the building to the number of stairs between the ground floor and the seventh, over and over again. The numbers were easy to remember after being here for over a month. They grounded him, gave him something to drive back the creeping anxiety.

That hunted feeling.

Viho ignored the feeling of ice sliding down his spine and went back to counting. His students would be coming in soon, and he needed to be okay for them.

Oblivious to his teacher's plight, Firel offered a quiet, "Good morning." Now that he was waking up properly, the dark-skinned elf held himself straighter. Perhaps a little straighter than usual, as he regarded the new students with curiosity.