Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

Dahnae's eyes opened, freeing lines of tears to run down her cheeks. Johnathon felt uneasy, for they looked into his, and somehow seemed to see past him. That wasn't good. They weren't glazing over, or rolling back in their sockets, but something was not right here. "Kenny, I think she's slipping away from us!"

The girl opened her mouth to reply to the voice, as she thought it was indeed a voice that she was hearing. To Johnathon and Kenny, it was a distant, frantic presence they felt in their minds, and they could ponder the meaning of it later. To Dahnae, though weakened by the space between them as it was, it was a close meeting. Close enough for spoken words.

"Classroom... decoration..." she said to what she thought was the old elf. To her eyes -- to her mind -- she was standing in front of his desk, with Viho sitting on top of it as he usually did. A reenactment of a scene earlier in the day, even, with exception to the words spoken.

Dahnae frowned. "I'm... cold. I don't... I... the cold..."

Something told her to reach for the image she was seeing.


Johnathon tensed at the hand placed upon his cheek. "I don't know who you're talking to, miss, but try to work in a roaring fire into your thoughts. Mind over matter, as they say. Just bear with me for a little while longer, please!"


Dahnae pulled her hand away and let it fall limp, her head lolling backwards. "You can't hear me. It hurts."


Johnathon felt himself shudder. "No falling apart," he admonished himself through the trembling sadness. An investigator had to stomach many grisly sights and details, but usually far after the crime was committed. He felt less like a detective here, and more like a battlefield nurse hauling the death-addled to a place where they could die in peace.

[Hopeflower]

Viho stopped so suddenly that his feet skidded on ice and snow, nearly sending him to the ground. His moment of unbalance was the only thing that prevented Arsenic from clipping his head with his elbow, and the younger elf slid to a similarly clumsy stop a few steps ahead. He didn't have time to ask what was wrong before Viho had taken off again, choosing a new direction with such certainty that Arsenic could do nothing but follow.

All the while, Viho put all of his focus into keeping contact with Dahnae's mind, thoroughly alarmed by how quickly she was slipping from his reach. I need you to listen to me carefully. Despite his fear, he made an effort to keep the projection of his voice calm. Remember our lessons on concentration. Think of warm places. Keep talking to me, I'm on my way to you.

[C S]

"I am... jungle... laepardi." Dahnae coughed, and the pain that shot through her entire body made her seize while she gasped violently. "Laepardi gozo dein..." she mumbled. She was faded, but the words still carried a distinct aggressive quality to them. The language was implicitly rough, even for a speaker on their last proverbial legs.

Ocelot in soul.

"Gozo dein... tehen"

In soul... in the end



The slackening Johnathon felt in the girl's body weighed heavier than any heaving, ghastly fit of death. One moment she was here. The next...

"Keep-to, Johnny-boy," Kenneth's voice grounded him. He had started to slow, feet heavy by melancholy. Kenneth, despite keeping his sights straight ahead of him, had sensed his resignation. "We don't stop until we do everything we can. Not until we hear that there is nothing more we can do."

"I feel like all I can do is hold her with some kind of dignity. I just feel... --"

"If that's what you must do, then do it. But don't slow down," Kenneth told the other Coat.

[Hopeflower]

There was nothing smooth or easy about sensing a life ending. Most would think the transition gradual, similar to falling asleep.

Not so. It was as abrupt as a candle going out - one second a brilliant, shining mind brimming with possibilities, the next...an emptiness.

Viho's pace slowed until he was hardly walking, his knees threatening to buckle as the reality of the situation sank in. Too slow. Not enough time to reach her, to help her. Just that morning she'd been sitting in his classroom, starting to get the hang of her shapeshifting, and now Dahnae was -

He was leaning against the wall of one of the closest buildings without being aware he'd sought the support, breathing shallowly with his stomach churning and wondering if he was going to be sick. Wondering if he'd even be ashamed if he brought up his dinner. Viho was vaguely aware of Arsenic hovering, confused, concerned despite himself - but he didn't have the words to explain.

No, that wasn't true. He did have the words, he just didn't want to voice them.

What was he supposed to do now?

Viho squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Took a deep breath. Another. And another after that. It didn't lessen the nausea, or take away the shakiness, the guilt - hell, it didn't do anything to calm him down at all. But maybe - maybe - it cleared his head a little.

He still needed to get to her. He'd need to recover her body, make sure she got a proper burial, get what information he could, and then...

'And then?' Arsenic asked, making Viho jump. He hadn't been aware of speaking out loud, either.

So. What came next, then?

Viho made himself stand up straight. "I'm going to need your help with something." He looked straight at his son. "I have no right to ask it of you - but I think it's a matter you'd want to take care of anyway."

He must have truly looked like hell, because Arsenic studied his face for a long moment, set his jaw, and nodded once. No argument, no questions asked. 'Alright.'

[C S]

The next morning came as any other did. It was cold, and the early birds were few and far between while the sun crept up into the purple sky to the east. What rays reached the city through the surrounding forests had to then go through the gaps in Brodudika's plated wall. Many things needed to be fixed, it was true. More than anything, unity seemed far away on a forlorn horizon. However, as with completing the wall, the steps towards it were gradual. Small. Sometimes, seemingly inconsequential. Present, nonetheless. When one took a moment to reflect on what was already done, they could see how far things had come since the first rivet was hammered into place.

All the more reason to see it through.


The Gateside Clinic, true to its name, was a short walk away from the gates of steel. If it weren't for the banner of a pink heart overlaid over two crossed swords, it would have been like any other building near the city entrance. That symbol was a powerful one to those who knew of its meaning. To many already, it was where they found their second shot at making a difference. Marginally more comfortable than medical aid administered on the side of some lonesome road.

Only a little.


Not for lack of amenities. The space inside the stout building was dedicated to the patients, and the doctors and nurses had their accommodations set up around their care. For that, there were almost no rooms through out the entire floor. Small offices and restrooms were the only exception. Besides them, from the moment one stepped into the clinic, they saw two rows of many, many beds on either side of the building. They were all ringed by drapes for the privacy of those being treated. Down the center, wash stations were set up, with assistants switching out the bowls of water and cloths regularly, pacing around like a hive of ants.

Lying in one cushy bed, underneath light linen was Dahnae, out of her bloodstained, torn coat. Her decency was preserved by a plain gown after her operation was finished. The gown hid the horrific mangle of skin that had been bound by stitches and wrapped further with bandages that were to be changed every hour, on the hour. A small rolling table held what remained of her morning "meal": fruits and vegetables squeezed into juice and pulp in a cup. The fruits and vegetables wouldn't have masked the doses of potions well, but the girl needed nourishment as much as the miraculous qualities of herbology.

It was unclear when the girl would wake up, but what was undeniable was the fact that she would. Her heart was still beating. She still drew breath, although lazily and haggard. Dahnae had her second chance.

[Hopeflower]

Word that Dahnae would eventually recover reached Viho as he was beginning to at least make an attempt at getting his day started. The rush of relief had left him nearly as weak as last night's grief, and he did about as poor of a job at hiding it. He left quickly after that, and found Arsenic at the school already, speaking with Firel in low tones and looking like he'd gotten about as much sleep as Viho had. They'd searched well into the night - tracking down the spot where Viho was sure he'd last sensed Dahnae, and from there facing the challenge of finding out where she'd been moved to. The blood, cooling rapidly in the winter air, had been a grim trail to follow - Viho had almost given up when the droplets had grown almost too small to see in the dark - but follow it they had.

They hadn't been able to see Dahnae, but asking about a critically injured woman of her description had told them they were in the right place.

"It looked bad, really bad," they'd been told. "She was hardly breathing when they brought her in. You're, ah, friends of hers, right?"

"I'm her teacher," Viho had replied, and his voice was remarkably steady, given how shaky his legs felt.

The pitying look was almost more than he could stand. "Leave us your name and where you're staying. We'll send word if there's any change."

As he'd left, his first thought was that the news wouldn't reach him nearly as fast as Dahnae could do her rounds.

Arsenic straightened when Viho reached them, and Firel nodded a farewell and started inside.

Viho caught his student by the shoulder. "We're going somewhere else. Class is cancelled." He'd never been more grateful for Firel's early bird tendencies - it was highly unlikely that anyone else was waiting inside.

The dark-skinned elf frowned. "Why?" He did a bit of a double take, glancing from Viho to Arsenic and back. "Family matters?" The pause stretched on for too long, and Firel's expression slowly shifted from mild confusion to alarm. "Viho?"

"We're going to visit a hospital," Viho said slowly. "Dahnae was...badly injured last night. I don't know the details yet. They say she'll wake up in time, but - "

"Let's go," Firel said, tone clipped as his face closed off. It would have been impressive, had the reason not been what it was.

'I'll take him. You go explain things to whoever you need to and we'll meet you there,' Arsenic offered. It was a remarkable shift from yesterday's attitude - since last night, the mute assassin had been quietly cooperative, giving his help without questioning Viho's motives. Under different circumstances, Viho would have been suspicious. As it was, he knew this wouldn't last, and so he had to make the most of it.

"Thank you." They exchanged nods and parted ways. Viho took a deep breath as he pulled open the school door and stepped inside.

Today was already shaping up to be a nightmare.

[C S]

Was it an irony that nearby, though well out of sight, Johnathon and an assistant of his own were back to work?

Dark stone buildings surrounded the school, and in addition to the university-library, there was a precinct. It was also an ordinary establishment that did not draw attention to itself. Its roof was one of the lowest ones in the area, and that may have been interesting on its own, maybe. It was a triangular slab supported by pillars with engraved Greshlynk likenesses wrapped around them.

Down in its lower levels, Johnny and his well dressed assistant advanced on a cold metal door at the end of an equally imposing, shadowed brick passage. The Green-Coat and the woman in light gray went through the door to the lonely cell, which held Snicker.

Like Dahnae, she had her wounds treated at the clinic, but that was all the kindess Johnathon and Kenneth afforded her when she was unconscious. What needed stitches was stitched. What had to be bound in wraps was so. Right after that, the woman in the cloak was dragged almost literally into custody.

Now it was time to get her to talk.

The assistant had a palm full of electrical energy, erratically crackling away. She lobbed it like a ball into an inlaid crystal in the ceiling, which came alive with a startling burst of sound and light. That woke up Snicker, who was leaning against the side of her cage while dozing.

"Good morning," the detective said evenly while his magic inclined partner took her leave without a word herself.

"Ooooh," Snicker cooed with no restrained excitement. She rushed the bars of the cell door despite her many injuries, the worst of which was her shredded leg. She held the bars and shook them. "Is this where you beat me up!? Come on, I look forward to your worst!"

"I'm sure you do. I'm here to just suggest that you answer my questions, though."

"Suggest?" Snicker had calmed somewhat, taken off guard. This wasn't how these things went. She stepped back into her cell, taking a seat on her single bench while the pale light of the crystal flickered overhead.

Johnathon stepped towards her, reaching into his bloodied coat as he did. He produced a pocketwatch, silver, plain. "I've had a long night because of you. My partner as well. I'm too tired to fight you. But I've got time to talk. I'll even laugh at your jokes if you want me to."

He looked to the confiscated mask on a table next to him. Beside it was the knife. "That's what you want, right? Recognition? Someone to get you? I want to get you."

"You gonna time this, watchman?"

"In a way."

Johnny held the pocketwatch by its chain and had it swinging side to side in front of Snicker's eyes. Like Dahnae, she was drawn to tracking its motion through the air. Back and forth. A tantilizing rhythm. "We're going to whatever you feel like doing. You're going to tell me whatever you want to tell me. This is your time, now."


Daavenians weren't keen on magic. Pseudo-magicks such as hypnosis, however, was fair game.

[The Kingpin]

Andruil found himself picking at his breakfast thoughtfully. His mind was wrapped up in last night's discovery. Vix, Rowan and himself had been up for a couple of hours before Arsenic returned. The news that his delay had been due to a stabbing alarmed them, but the fact that it was one of Viho's students was what had been the shocker of it all. Thoughts went back to the day he and the Mute Assassin first met, when political immunity and a bit of trickery had enabled him to get Arsenic out of Draxon's prejudice-tainted clutches.

He supposed it was only natural that crimes against elves continued even now. The rulers had changed, but the place, and its people, were the same. It was a sobering reminder that he and his friends were very much in danger here, despite the outwardly welcoming face Desrium tried to give this city. He was a slayer of demons and saviour of continents, but some evils were far hardier and more illusive than a warrior with a blade could hope to tackle. Like shadows, they faded in the light, disappearing, but not gone, returning the moment the light shone elsewhere.

He was no stranger to working in shadows. It was how he won back Valenhad from Krukev. He would have liked to have spent his time here studying his own family's history alongside Vix. But to do so would be giving importance to lives long ended at the expense of lives that were at risk of the same. Arsenic may not have allowed the Knight to accompany him, but that did not mean he would sit idly by while these matters unfolded. He would resume his search for the Green Coats today. He would follow the threads he could find until he unravelled whatever dark shadow it was that loomed over this city.

[C S]

Snicker looked like the spitting image of a well behaved schoolgirl with her legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. If only she wasn't in a dress clawed nearly to ribbons and covered in reddened bandages. The look on her face, as her eyes followed the movement of the watch, was that of contentment. Her erratic personality was wrangled and corralled by the predictable motion of the watch's chain, and Johnathon's soothing words.

"What's your name?" he asked conversationally, feeding into the setting he'd contrived. This was her time, after all.

"Natalie Gardner," she replied, moving a hand to her bosom and wearing a pleasant smile. She must have thought herself a noble being interviewed for a biography. "My friends call me Snicker."

"Because you have a cute laugh?" Johnathon inquired dryly.

"Nothing like that," Natalie laughed. "Snake's Snicker. Snake's Chuckle. Snake's Glee. We're all little pieces of Him."

To Johnathon, that sounded like, "Multiple parties involved, organized, sharing common ideology." He'd write it all down after he got everything he could get from this Natalie. "Him?"

"The Snake, of course."

"Of course." Idolized figure. "Why the Snake?"

"He was the only one who spoke any sense. Everyone is worried about making money. Everyone is worried about what others think of them." Natalie chuckled, her expression becoming knowing, as if she predicted the punchline of a joke and was waiting for things to be over with. "Everyone is running around, holding up kings and queens without knowing it. But why? Why even bother? Why not have some fun? A little bit of death and a little cowardice killed this kingdom. Could you imagine that happening everywhere? With everyone on Aster?"

Natalie sighed wistfully. "The Snake was the only one who knew what was going on. So they killed him."

Johnathon pretended to sympathize. "They always want to get rid of anyone who might be a problem." By the sounds of it, this Snake was quite a problem.

Natalie brightened considerably. "Yes! You get it!"

"I did say I wanted to understand," Johnathon deadpanned. "Anything else you want to share?"

"Uh..." Natalie stammered, then snapped her fingers. "The others want to make an example out of this place. Show how there's no coming back when things go to the Snake. Show them that there's nothing more to life than the law of the jungle. Knock down the tall towers, and give everyone their rightful spears."

"Sounds like a party." Johnathon smiled. "Now, would you like to tell me the names of everyone on the guest list?"

"With pleasure!"


Sometimes, Johnathon found his job depressing. This was one of those times.




The old woman shuffled out of her chair at the sound of the knocker behind her. She set down her knitting on the table next to it as she stood. The professor did not stir. The book over his face concealed his closed eyes and open mouth, but it did not quiet his snoring. "I don't know why he even bothers anymore," Willow thought offhandedly on the way to the door. She opened it, and delighted. "Syria!"

"Grandma Wil-- oh n--" Syria was pulled into the weaver's arms, standing no chance against her affections. Age was not a factor in how hard she was being hugged.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar watched amusedly, a hand behind his back as the other rested in a pocket of his wirshah. They had arrived earlier than planned, all things considered. Skipping a potential stop earlier had them here in record time, though a coughing and spluttering Ceridwen spent a good ten minutes berating the Scholar for suggesting she drink 'on the wing', which only amused him further as it was a skill that many Unguul drakes tended to gloat about. The fact he himself could do so and she could not only made it that much more amusing to him.

Beshayir stood behind Syria, clad in her own creamy coloured coat, keeping her warm despite the pants and blouse she wore underneath. Her silky platinum blonde hair was bound back in a braided ponytail, the first time she'd done so herself. She had it draped around her shoulder and tucked under her coat, as if to show it off to Willow while still keeping it out of the chilly winter air. She'd come a long way in a few weeks, and she was proud of it. It was a sight Septimus couldn't help but smile at. Not too long ago, the young girl had been a scruffy, scrawny mess, with ratty, grimy hair, tattered clothes and nothing but sticky fingers and a sharp mind to her name. Now here she was, a budding Pyromancer, stronger than a lot of girls her age, ready to take another shot at challenging the world. She'd grown up. No, thought the Scholar. She was grown up, at least in mind, since they met her. But now that she was nurtured, and allowed to flourish, they got to see just what a capable young lady she was on her way to becoming.

He felt he had been genuinely cruel when he told her he and Syria would have to leave her with Willow and Oak for a while. But she did not complain. She did not argue. She bit her lip to stifle what he had expected, had felt was going to be a hurt retort, but she said nothing. She simply nodded stiffly and said she understood, and that he should do whatever he needed to do. That said, She also accidentally singed the edges of a page of her book when her emotions got the better of her. She'd extinguished it almost immediately, and the damage was barely noticeable, but it was sufficient to earn her a reprimanding a short while later after she'd settled somewhat.

Ceridwen hadn't liked the idea of the Scholar and the Mage going off to fight some witch in the wilds of Aster. It was unsettling for her, and unlike Beshayir, she had made it very clear, albeit in a tongue only one other in their little party could understand, that she thought they were fools for this undertaking. But, she knew what kind of dragon Septimus was. She had heard enough stories even before she met him on that fateful day. She knew expecting him to listen was a fool's errand. In hindsight, she couldn't help but be amused despite herself. Who was the real fool between them? The Scholar hell-bent on his meeting with destiny? Or the Thunderkin who sought to stop him?

She resigned herself to lingering in and around Daaven while they were away, as far as she could manage while still keeping a wary eye on the young elf, who she'd grown quite fond of. She made it clear she wouldn't wait long. That earned a nod from the Scholar, though for one who knew him well enough, it was easy to tell he was amused.

[C S]

Willow released Syria to catch her breath, then commented on her new staff. "It must have taken a bite out of your coin purse!" she had said with a laugh.

"Not as big a bite as you'd expect, Grandma. I made this one," Syria explained, and that brought forth a shower of praise the likes of which that was not dissimilar to the way the young mage carried on with the elf.

"Grandma, please--" Syria managed to say edgewise, but it was far too late. Willow slowly kneeled, sparing her back and knees some pain, and put her hands on Beshayir's shoulders. "And you! How have you been?" the old woman asked, and did not wait for an answer before beckoning Septimus closer.

"Come now, take a seat next to the old grandmother!"

She turned her head sideways when she finally noticed Ceridwen. "Oi, 'tis a lot for an old woman to take in all at once! Good thing Syria knows I'm tough. Any other crow would have had their heart stopped!"

"Grandma!" Syria crossed her arms. She huffed, then said, "Yeah... you are tough."

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir hugged the older woman, genuinely smiling at Willow's ever-cheerful demeanour. She even giggled at her joke.

Septimus meanwhile, obliged, walking onto the porch and taking a seat beside Willow, as instructed. "You'll have to forgive the surprise. Ceridwen's a friend of mine. Ceridwen, this is Willow."

The dragoness's head seemed to grow a couple of sizes at that, the feathers adorning it fluffing up as streaks of purple and iridescent green became visible amidst the dark blackish plumage. "A pleasure," she chirped.

[Hopeflower]

"I don't understand," Firel said after quick introductions and a long, strained pause. "How'd she let herself get caught? She's got reflexes like you wouldn't - " He broke off with a heavy sigh that didn't quite conceal that his voice had started shaking badly.

'I couldn't tell you,' Arsenic replied quietly, leading with long, confident strides to encourage the crowd to part for them that much easier. 'All I know is what Viho told you.' And that this Dahnae was extremely lucky to be taking her next breath at this very moment. He didn't tell the younger elf that - Firel didn't need to know how much blood had stained the snow, how certain Viho had been that he'd just listened to Dahnae's dying thoughts.

Fortunately, something else caught Firel's attention. "You call him Viho," he observed, latching onto the first topic that wasn't my friend nearly died and might still die. Arsenic resisted the urge to grimace. "Are you - was I mistaken, earlier?"

'No. It's a bit of a long story.'

"Oh." Firel didn't seem to know what to make of that. "Sorry, I'm just - "

Arsenic cut in, 'Trying to distract yourself. I know.' Because the matter of where he and his father stood wasn't something he wanted to think about right now, he added abruptly, 'Tell me. How did you end up learning from him?'

Firel hesitated, caught by surprise, but finally said, "Well, I was kind of the first one he approached about the school. We were, I mean. Dahnae and I."

And didn't that add a new layer of meaning to why Viho was so affected by this. Arsenic hummed, motioning for Firel to go on as they walked. It wasn't much, as far as distractions went, but it was something - and that was all Arsenic could really offer.


A few minutes to choose the right words and compose himself, and Viho stepped forward to talk to the receptionist, pitching his voice low so the words wouldn't carry. He wanted to open with a "good morning", if only to be polite, but this could hardly be counted one. The simple greeting caught in Viho's throat. He merely coughed to indicate his intent to speak, and said, "Last night, one of my students was assaulted. She's alive, but badly wounded. There will be no class today - it will need to be taken out of my pay. And Dahnae will be...unable to carry out her duties until she has recovered."

He did his best to keep his tone even and his expression neutral. He might not have entirely succeeded - slow-burning rage was beginning to coil in his gut. Anger with himself, for not doing more to impress on Dahnae that she shouldn't take risks; at the person who had done this and whoever they might be with. Something within him called out for blood, to inflict pain on those responsible. And he would.

But first, this. And then he needed to find Desrium.


Vix had, despite her initial outrage and willingness to help beat the unknown attacker into a bloody paste, given in to Arsenic's insistence that she focus on what they came here for. And the others' insistence that she not go anywhere alone anymore. So it was that she and Rowan were on their way back to city hall, to continue where Vix had left off.

If Rowan's hand never left the connected hilts of her twin swords - and if Vix had made it a point to strap one dagger somewhere obvious and three others somewhere less obvious - well, neither of them commented on it. The assassin glanced into every alley they passed, on alert even in broad daylight.

It might have been largely unneeded, but Rowan hadn't survived this long without a healthy dose of paranoia.

[C S]

"Such polite dragons you associate yourself with, dear. Will she be joining our family as well?" Willow asked Syria, causing her to redden and look away.

"Yes," Syria all but coughed. A thought came to her, and in a decidedly less flustered way, she added, "We share a relative, you know. We're kin." That did its job, and left Willow mouthing what surely were many questions jumbled together as one.

"I know the feeling, believe me," said the mage, "I probably didn't look any different from you when I first learned about it."

"What are you talking about, child?"

Syria sat down on the other side of the old woman and placed the staff in her lap. "Magic is weird, grandma."

Willow grunted in agreement.




The receptionist was a grim man by tendency. He nodded, wrote down the note to himself, and then set down his quill with a sense of finality. It was not so, was it? She was still alive, just... not around right now. And maybe not for a while, but some day she would come back, right? Would it be too much to ask that things didn't change? That their barrier of personality would remain as it was, and she would be unscarred?

That was the finality in it, the man knew. "Don't fret, sir. Do what you must, we will handle the rest." A recited line that maintained the status quo as best as it could.



Johnathon stepped out of the room and shut the metal door behind him. He waited a beat, then slumped back against it, slapping a palm over his face and dragging it down his cheek.

"Rough session?" asked his lighting-handed assistant.

"No, Jessie. It was the most... trivial thing. I feel like a damn snake charmer."

Jessie raised a brow. "Awfully specific, that."

"Yeah. Fancy that," Johnathon growled, then shoved his pocketwatch back into his coat. "I need a list of names checked against the gatekeepers' ledgers. A big group of people that supposedly entered the city recently. Think you can get on that?"

"It's what I get paid to do, sir."

"Please do, and thanks."

[Hopeflower]

Viho inclined his head, outwardly agreeable. The sharp eye might have noticed the hard set to his jaw, the stiffness to his back. Such an observer might have recognized that he was about to go hunting for solutions, not compromises or platitudes. He turned to go, trusting that things were well in hand here.

"If Desrium should stop in," Viho added over his shoulder, knowing the city's benefactor could often be found checking in on how various things were going and offering a hand where he could, "I'd appreciate it if you'd let him know I'd like a word with him."

Better to cover his bases and get moving. He could find the general area Desrium had last been seen in, but that was no guarantee the armored being would still be there by the time Viho arrived.

[C S]

The man was a bit too quick to open his mouth to offer a suggestion, he realized. A habit he'd developed. I can submit a letter to city hall, if you so wished. He didn't have a courier, though. Most definitely, he did not have one fast enough to have it be a viable option. "It will be done," the receptionist said instead.

[Hopeflower]

"Thank you." With that, Viho was back out the door, sucking in a lungful of icy air and letting it out slowly. Calm. Control. He reached out, sifting through the thoughts around him until he found his lead, and then he set off.

His own thoughts, he kept contained. Emotions, he'd stressed to his students, should not be relied on when push came to shove. They tended to shred concentration, make magic run wild...make it unstable and all the more difficult to wield safely.

What Viho had yet to teach them was how to harness emotion, refine it to a razor's edge - and then when the time came, use it to their advantage.

[The Kingpin]

"We don't all burn villages and steal virgin maidens," responded Ceridwen only half-joking, having somehow taken offence to the elderly woman, though her tone did not seem to imply it. She did get a sharp look from the Scholar for that, however; a silent warning to remember what they had discussed. Having learned of her tendency to take offence at everything under the sun, he had made sure to tell her to hold her tongue around the elderly couple.

[C S]

Willow took a look around her cottage, verdant with evergreens and stubborn shrubs that cared little about the cold. "Septimus has been here before, and things are certifiably not burnt," the old woman replied. She then panned her gaze to Syria. The mage raised a brow. When the implication descended upon her, she puffed out her chest.

"I'm an adult, and I would like to keep my love life private," she said with a prideful dignity.

"Ah, just like I taught you. It does my heart good that this day has come before my memory has started going." Willow patted her on the back.

Syria sagged. "You're not that old, grandma." And some childish part of her insisted that she wouldn't ever get that old, if she retained her zest for as long as she had. Childish, she was fully aware, but it was a small comfort.

[The Kingpin]

"Strong as a Frondfoot and sharp as a carving knife," agreed the Scholar. Beshayir looked between the three, not quite catching on to the elderly woman's jab. Looking to Ceridwen, she found that they shared that, at least.