Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

"I'll take it to my old room," Syria said before Willow could insist on carrying the chest up the stairs. She set her cup down on the tray and then, without laying a hand on it, lifted it up as she climbed up the porch to enter the cottage. Willow watched her go, followed by green light, and crossed her arms. At some point, one had to wonder if Daaven's disfavor of magic came down to a matter of basic pride.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar's mug floated after Syria and settled evenly on the tray. It was only a couple of moments before he stepped off the porch and into the street, putting some distance between himself and everything around him, wisps of smokey magic swirling around his elven form.

[C S]

Syria sent the chest up the stairs and into her old room, tucking it against the wall so that it would be out of Beshayir's way, yet easy to access. The room was spartan, but well maintained in the years since she moved out of the cottage. The window over the headboard faced the east, so when the sun crested the Boldrim, the room was filled with daylight, which lasted until a short time into the afternoon. Of course, the shutters meant that the room could also stay as dark as Beshayir wished it to be. A candle stand promised late nights in her books when she should be well asleep.

Once Beshayir's things were in place for the girl to make herself at home in due time, Syria sent the tray to the kitchen. When she finally appeared on the porch for the last time, she said to Willow, "I clinked the dish."

"You clinked-- oh dear." Willow shook her head. On her way inside to deal with the woken professor, and to explain the things that had happened in his slumber, Willow put a hand on the mage's shoulder. "Septimus is set to go. May all the blessings you've accumulated thus far be with you."

"I'll keep them handy while hoping I don't have to use them."

"Good lass."

Syria then looked over to Beshayir as Willow went through the door. She held her arms apart for one last hug goodbye.

[The Kingpin]

The young elf put on a brave face, hugging Syria perhaps a bit too forcefully, squeezing the Mage tightly for several moments. It was only with great difficulty that she finally, reluctantly let go. She dared not say a word, knowing her brittle mask would probably crack if she opened her mouth.

A laurel of flowers seemed to sprout in the midst of the girl's hair, wrapping around her head like a little colourful crown, the gesture accompanied by the same warm, reassuring comfort that the Scholar had given Syria only a few minutes ago.

The dragon's wings flexed, the membranes ruffling as they stretched and slackened with the movements, bracing for the flight.

[C S]

"We have the Eye. We will talk to you every night before you go to bed. You have my word," Syria promised Beshayir. She put her hand through her platinum hair, and then willed her legs to pull her away. The sooner they were off, the sooner they could blaze through their search across Aster's skies, and the sooner hey could be back with Beshayir.

On the plus side of things: Morrelie was most likely in the stretch of land between Daaven and Brodudika. With a little dedication and persistence, and some help with magical perception, they were bound to find her... eventually.

[The Kingpin]

Once Syria was close enough, the Scholar lifted her onto his back, a dull blue glow encircling her as she settled in place. He made his way down the road, wanting to avoid kicking up enough snow to bury the first floor of Willow's house. Once he was far enough, his wings spread, a thump audible even at the other end of the street sounding out as the dragon ascended into the skies. Ceridwen stepped closer to the young elf, nudging her gently, not noticing that a flower necklace began to sprout around her densely feathered collar.

[Hopeflower]

As Viho had anticipated, finding Desrium wasn't as simple as walking to where he'd last been seen. It took the psychomancer the better part of a few hours to finally catch up, during which he went out of his way to inform the students he happened to pass that the day was theirs. Some of them, he also took the time to inform of the danger and tell them not to walk home from class alone. By the time he did run into Desrium, it was well after class would usually start.

If only he could claim to have shown such foresight in all matters.

"Just the man I was hoping to find," Viho greeted the armored being, coming to a stop beside him and clasping his hands behind his back. He'd calmed, somewhat, during his search - but that undercurrent of fury was still humming beneath the surface, agitating his magic and stiffening his posture. "If I'm not interrupting anything, I'd like to talk to you."


Arsenic had said he'd meet Viho at the hospital, but after he and Firel had found Dahnae's room, the mute assassin had found himself uninclined to linger. He was an outsider in this particular situation. It felt intrusive to stay while Firel tried to absorb the reality of the situation - Arsenic had turned away after he'd dropped into a chair next to Dahnae's bed. Some things weren't meant for a stranger to witness.

And so Arsenic found himself wandering a little aimlessly, headed in the general direction of the boarding house where he and his friends were staying, but not really in the mood to go back and waste the day sitting around. Exploring the city didn't really sound much more productive, but he wasn't sure he wanted to find Vix and Rowan either. Research was all fine and well, but he itched to be doing something.

Which left Arsenic the option of looking for an archery range, at least - but he was almost certain he was walking in the wrong direction to find one. Hell, if nothing else, he could hope a pickpocket was clumsy enough to get spotted.


There was a knot forming in Firel's upper back. He rolled his shoulder to try and ease the discomfort brought on by sitting with his elbows on his knees for hours at a time, but other than that he didn't acknowledge that he wasn't doing himself or Dahnae any good sitting here. He'd been silent except for his breathing since Arsenic brought him here.

Now he sighed raggedly and wondered if he should say something to her. But what was there to say? She wouldn't hear it even if he spoke, and the only thing he could think of was -

"You're so damn reckless." It came out hoarse, rougher and a little angrier - okay, a lot angrier - than Firel would have liked, but there was no one to overhear. He was pretty sure there was no one, at least. He shook his head, sitting up only to fix his gaze on the ceiling. "Viho's going to give us all another talk about not rushing into things, you realize? You're going to have to suffer through that too, when you wake up. I could practically hear him planning the lecture."

He fell silent again, counting his own heartbeats and trying not to wonder if Dahnae's heart was struggling to keep her blood flowing. It was such a small thing, but so vital. Something so many people took for granted - but right now, he'd never been more aware of how easy it was to make that steady, even beating stop.

"Should have wasted less time worrying about whether I could walk up stairs and worried more about yourself."

Later, he'd deny that his voice cracked with everything that he had. But had anyone been listening, they surely wouldn't have thought him lesser for it. It wasn't easy to see a friend battling for their life.

[C S]

Desrium slowed to a halt then and there without splitting the pavement underneath his boots. "By all means," he replied simply, detecting the underlying urgency behind Viho's behavior. It was for that, Desrium's attention did not stick with being called a man, a sort of recognition that he had been denied for much of his existence. Rather, he wondered why Viho was here with him, instead of seven stories above the street with his students.



A hand found its way to Firel's back. A bit lower than he would have appreciated, but it could not be helped. Solaurn was a dwarf, and her arms were only so long.

Like Arsenic before her, she thought she was being intrusive. She had overheard snippets of his lament in walking past Dahnae's bed in search of Gwen, whose stubborn chattering earlier convinced her that the vaun was not willing to leave the clinic today. Solaurn felt she was most needed here, though, if only for the fact that grief was better shared, and not left to fester in one's solitude.

[Hopeflower]

"I've given my class the day to themselves," Viho began, "because one of them is currently in the hospital. She was nearly killed last night." The psychomancer cocked his head, cool gray eyes assessing Desrium without giving away much of what Viho was thinking. "I'm sure you're aware that elves are being attacked with increasing frequency - and I would hope steps are being taken to do something about it."


Firel jumped - or flinched - at the unexpected contact. He hadn't even heard Solaurn come in. That he didn't immediately turn on her was a sign that all of his rage had been redirected, for the moment, to whoever had done this to their fellow student.

He hastily rubbed at his eyes to check that they were still dry, cleared his throat and said, "Sorry. Was I too loud?" His voice was steadier, if far more subdued now than any of them had heard it before.

[C S]

Desrium's gaze fell, his spirit dealt a great blow. Another, atop many as of late. "Yes," Desrium said, finding some solace in that another life hadn't been lost... stolen. However, Viho seeking him out was a sign of things of a greater scope. Desrium knew that much. "Your fellow citizens have found it within themselves to rise to the issue to address it in ways that I cannot, personally. Those I would hold accountable hide in darkness, and shy away from light."

At that, the Stalwart's scarlet eyes pulsed. He held his clenched fists behind his back, similar to Viho himself.

"I suspect this is not the answer you are interested in."



"No," Solaurn replied coolly. After that, she took her hand off of the elf and stepped a little closer to Dahnae's sleeping form. "You can be, in a place that won't disturb the other patients, if that is how you feel. I wouldn't blame you," she said after a moment of thought. "Her hearing is remarkable. She might hear you, still."

[Hopeflower]

"I have no doubt they're the reason things aren't worse," Viho replied. "However, it's likely they're dealing with an organized group that's aware of what they're doing. They can't be everywhere at once." He took a quiet, measured breath. Let it out just as slowly, reigning in the agitation that threatened to spill over. "A more permanent solution is necessary."


Firel didn't quite smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Something to consider if she doesn't wake up soon, maybe." He aimed for joking, but fell a little short. He sighed quietly and added after a short pause, "It's almost funny. You spend years thinking you and your family and friends are safe, but you always hear people talking about things like this. And you always think 'it could have been me or someone I know', but it never really sinks in that it could. Until..." He trailed off, aware that he was rambling, that this was probably the most he'd said to Solaurn since she joined the class.

"Sorry," he repeated, wondering if he should just shut his mouth now and save her the trouble of asking him to.

[C S]

"Yes," Desrium agreed. "It is why you are here, admittedly. I had hoped this time would not be upon us so soon, nevertheless, I have planned for its eventuality. Let us not loiter." With that, the armored being started off again. Those that meant harm hid in the guise of the ordinary, where they were just as likely to listen in on things best kept from them. Desrium knew the noise of the city's thoughts would prevent Viho from picking out individuals trying to do just that from the street.


"Stopping yourself like that won't help you with much. You either get it out, or risk it nagging at you," Solaurn replied. "I do see how that may be difficult though, since I am a stranger. I can leave you to make your peace."

[The Kingpin]

The Knight was back on the hunt. Breakfast was intentionally at one of the various street vendors near the Upper District of the city, allowing him to keep an eye on the people wandering the streets. So far, no luck.

He was, to the average passer-by, an equally average denizen of the city. The Wirshah was hidden under a second coat, this one a dark green thing that was big, baggy, but relatively thin. He found, interestingly enough, that his wirshah was cooler than it was, adapting to the fact the cold wind wasn't hitting it directly. It meant that while it still kept him warm, he was collectively cooler than without the extra coat. Bulky, baggy and useful for throwing off his appearance amidst the general populace. With the hood up, few could have guessed who he was.

And so his day had begun. He'd chosen to start lingering near various guardposts around the area, walking through the streets amidst the crowds, seemingly busying himself with various shops while always paying mind to those around him. Looking for a couple of men in green coats near the guard posts was a pathetically weak lead, but it was the only one he had. He decided to observe, at least for the time being. An inquiry with the guards at a later date would be his last resort, but he didn't want to depend on that unless he had no choice. No sense alerting others to his intentions...

[C S]

Since the conclusion of the interrogation, Johnathon relocated to the ground floor of the precinct. His office was tucked away in the back of the building, where he was privy to a desk, a cushioned chair, some cabinets and bookshelves, which were all mostly empty. Sat at the desk with a candle burning, the detective wrote down the important details.

The names.

The aliases.

Mentions of the Snake. He may have been dead, but this person was the prime motivator for these lunatics. A martyr for anarchists, degenerates, sadists and everyone in that warped spectrum. Johnathon tapped his quill on the desk, its feather waving about. He tapped his feet anxiously.

"Who was the Snake?" It was a question that needed answering. Natalie spoke of him with reverence, but hypnosis didn't get anything more than that out of her. No matter how loose her lips were when under the power of suggestion, some part of her must have known better than to share those precious details with an investigator. Some kind of religious devotion.

Wasn't that a disconcerting thought. "Cultist?" Anything was likely, and Johnathon couldn't be certain about the likely things. He needed a better lead to follow. It was while he was contemplating this, Kenneth opened the door to his reclusive thinking chamber.

"Your coat needs a wash," Johnathon deadpanned.

"So does yours." Kenneth braced against one of the sparse shelves. "Can't stick around for too long. Just stopping by to see if we've learned anything from our stab-happy harlot."

Johnathon held up the parchment he was writing on. Kenny walked up to the desk and took it. His eyes passed over the lines of writing. He wouldn't remember all the details, but it was enough to assure him that they were making some kind of progress. "We've got a nest of snakes in our town, huh?"

"It's the wrong damn season for it. Jessie's digging up the names to go with the abstract they are going by," Johnathon explained. "It'll be something for the two of us to find out: who the Snake himself was."

"If this is the lot he's inspired, I'd say he was an incorrigible Draxonian criminal that was making the most out of the collapse of the kingdom, before he made a misstep." Kenny thumbed his nose. "Did she give you a description of him, Johnny-boy?"

"Nothing we can use. It's like she wants us to be intrigued by him, to keep some mystique. It's probably how he carried himself back when he was alive. He's conditioned them to view him in that way."

"You don't reckon that he was actually covered in scales, do you?" Kenneth figured that a disfigurement like that wouldn't be something the leader of a movement would want everyone knowing about. It would drive him to wear clothing that covered as much skin as possible, like robes and cloaks. It would explain what Natalie was wearing.

"I won't rule it out, but it'd be pretty out there," Johnathon replied.

Kenny grunted and then gave Johnathon's notes back. "Give me your coat. I'm going to stop by the wash before I hit the streets again. Dried blood isn't something you want on you for days on end."

Johnathon tensed, swallowed hard, and then nodded. He had a few memories that he could have done without. He didn't need his coat reminding him of them constantly. Johnathon undid the buttons and pulled it off of his back, handing it to Kenneth, who threw it over one of his shoulders. The other Coat waved and took his leave, leaving Johnathon in his cotton shirt to continue taking notes.



By now the rangers were almost through the mountain pass, undetected throughout the night and the hours of the morning. They did not scale its walls, for they were too finely carved, and its ceiling was too high to traverse with stealth. With their second trip through it on the way back to the Niyera nearly done with, the three had shared sentiments that the tunnel couldn't have been just an elven endeavor. Somehow, elves and dwarves must have put aside their differences to produce such a marvel on Aster. Even then, the idea of knife-ears joining forces with rock-smashers was still a notion otherworldly in character, an audacious and preposterous thought to ever present. It seemed more likely, and took less explanation to simply wave it away as a product of magic.

"They would be arguing too much," Baaz purported, "I've seen a few dwarves in my time. They like to drink, then they get argumentative. And the elves, they'd take issue with how much the dwarves were drinking, so then the dwarves would just argue about that."

Chandra held her arms up over her shoulders as she walked underneath the blazes contained in golden metal, listening to Baaz's case. Absently, she retorted, "The idea of elves taking issue with how much others are drinking seems very... hypocritical to me."

"No, you don't understand. Elves enjoy their drink and flings. Dwarves enjoy drinking more. There are only a few dwarves that like anything more than drink, and those are the dwarves that dig," said Baaz.

"Checkpoint ahead," Valeria stated flatly. The extent of her contribution to the discussion were variations of 'the walls look nice'. Past that, she had taken to making more plain observations. Plainer observations. It had proven useful in getting out of sight of oncoming or departing wagon traffic. After the understated alert, they would scatter into the flickering shadows of the braziers and hold their positions, keeping small profiles until the risk of discovery was gone.

Baaz found that her idleness in conversation made the moments that required them to stop speaking more pronounced, grave, that the only times when she would actively engage with them were the times she wanted to do everything she could to not engage anyone else.

What a long, sorry road Valeria was walking, in both literal and figurative senses. The clusters of stopped caravans were useful to them, however. While elvish guards in gray coats talked with flashy, well dressed merchants, the rangers moved on quiet feet in conspiring darkness. They crouched in the broken shadows that the wagon wheels and the canvas roofs cast, meandering their way underneath the transports on occasion to stay out of the patrols of bow-toting guards. They were searching the goods and making sure that things were not being smuggled out of Gryerwun.

It was a short exercise that resulted in them mingling in the cargo bed of a cart. They had overheard mentions of the capital from the driver showing papers to the officers, at the outpost tucked inside the other end of the mountain. Awkwardly bunched up against canvas sacks and boxes, it was an uncomfortable wait for the trio before the wagon lurched, pulled by its indomitable steed. The coach was not roped up to an actual horse, though it shared a few similarities in build. The legs were much longer, as was the neck, and the head only shared a few similarities. The animal did not move with a horse's trot, but a long, striding gait that was almost ambling.

The rangers listened to the sounds of the squeaking wheels and creaking panels for a while, until the orange hued shade of the wagon cover gradually brightened. Daylight. They were out of the tunnel and on their way.

"I argue that the elves would simply adapt, Baaz. They cannot out-drink a dwarf, but they will certainly get drunk enough to entertain sleeping with them, and I doubt a dwarf would argue with such terms," Chandra continued matter of factly.

"Not enough dwarf-elf mixes running around Gryerwun or Niyera to speak to such a thing," Baaz countered quickly. She arched a brow and bit her lip. "You don't suppose that's because they're all gnomes, and dwarf-elves are sent into our forests?"

"You think a dwarf-elf would look like a gnome?"

"Dwarves are hairy people, Chandra."

"I... Baaz..." Chandra shook her head.

"Elves like magic," Baaz added. "Some magic dwarf-elf coupling could make a gnome, I bet."

"Walgruuf..." Chandra wanted to tell her to shut up, but that had a chance of ending very badly. "... Be quiet, Walgruuf."

Valeria had taken to resting her head on a sack, probably stuffed with vegetables of a sort, using it as a pillow. She let her mind drift away from Chandra and Baaz as she waited for sleep to take her.

[The Kingpin]

"Why must she be in my care?" he had asked. It was a reasonable question. Elwen of Clan Onokruun was a strong and well loved dragoness. Her antics and quirks were endearing in that 'eccentric older dragon' sort of way, or so he had been told by many of the younger dragons of Drakhunmiir.

"Arashi has warned Tanwen that there is more in play here in Drakhunmiir than she realises, but she does not want to believe him. She must speak to her father to learn the truth, and she must do it alone. Her father will not oblige her requests without help, and she does not fully trust me to watch over her mother when she does this. She trusts you, however," explained Buruq, his tone firmer and more focused, commanding, even, than Thurduunax had ever heard from the Ancestral Drake in the short time he had known him.

So reluctantly, he had complied with the request. He had taken up a perch under the guise of seeking rest, and watched Elwen's den carefully.



Not long after that, Buruq had summoned Cyndeyrn, tracking him down beneath the lake of Drakhunmiir, and asked that he accompany the Ambassador to a cavern in the depths of the lake. Uncertain, but not wanting to offend the ancient Hueilin, he complied. What he found was a long, winding tunnel, one that Buruq only managed to enter by virtue of his shapeshifting, even the Lord of Maelgwyn struggling to follow.

At the end of it was a large empty chamber, lit by small blue flames all along the walls, thick veins of brilliant vitorite streaking between them that could have been cracks in reality itself. Stone formations that could have been tables and very wide, flat benches ran all along them. The opposite end was a raised surface covered in glowing moss, and in the centre was a perfectly circular, perfectly flat black vitorite platform, another identical one mirroring it on the ceiling. It was a thing of awe-inspiring intricacy and proportion, something he had not known existed in Drakhunmiir. He could not have known that he had just set foot in Arashi's old laboratory; the place the Stormweaver went to get away from the rest of his kind, the other Lords and even his mate. He sensed no trace of unusual magic in this place; only the latent aura of the Mana Well that was probably quite close to this place.

"Why have you called me here, Qudumakhriin?" he asked uncertainly as he looked up at Buruq, who paced into the room, curling his vast form around the platform before resting on his stomach.

"I'm afraid that is something to be discussed with another, Mythruuv kuv Maelgwyn," responded Buruq simply.

"Another?" asked Cyndeyrn, growing more unsettled by the minute. Something was very wrong here.

"Father," rumbled an all too familiar voice behind him. The Lord of Maelgwyn whirled around in surprise, his golden gaze meeting its twin in his daughter's own.

"Tanwen? What... What is going on?" he asked, pausing to refine his shaken, unsettled tone into something more authoritative.

"Nothing to fear, father," she growled lowly, though it was not the relief he sought.

"You did not answer my question, Tanwen," he rumbled, his expression losing some of its concern and taking on something else... Irritation? No. Frustration.

"Hulunuur," started Tanwen hesitantly, her expression mirroring her father's own so much it was uncanny. "I need to ask you a question."

"You brought me all the way here, to this... place to ask me a question?" he asked, the realisation dawning on his face as his heart sank. "Oh no... Nakhniir, what have you heard from that treacherous mate of yours?" he snarled, his voice shaking with something that wasn't anger.

"I would not be so quick to say such of him if I were you, nakhriin," rumbled Buruq's voice behind him, his head swivelling to look at the brilliant white gaze of the Ambassador, like beacons in the dark room that cast the fine scales around them in an ever so slightly menacing shadow.

"He tells me that what happened to Huluniir was no accident," continued Tanwen lowly, drawing the Lord of Maelgwyn's attention once more. The look in his eyes was something she had never seen before. Absolute, bone-chilling terror.

[Hopeflower]

Viho nodded, maybe a little stiffly, and fell in beside Desrium. If he thought about it, he wasn't entirely surprised that this was the ulterior motive for bringing him to the city. Kindness, after all, came with strings attached more often than not. On top of that, there was always going to be something more to ask of anyone who could wield magic, especially a psychomancer. The ability to read and manipulate minds made them excellent guards and spies, among other things.

That thought led to a somewhat more unsettling one. Given that this, specifically, was why he was here begged the question - was his class being set up to become some sort of city watch? Skilled psychomancers working in a group could very well make for an intimidating force, once they knew what they were doing...

Something to ask about once this particular threat was dealt with.


Firel shook his head and stood, his legs and back protesting after being inactive for so long. "It's not my place to kick you out." He did a marginally better job at a lighthearted tone this time. "I should...probably go and eat something, anyway." He'd forgotten to grab something on the way to school, having been wrapped up in...some theory he couldn't even recall now. Funny. He'd stayed up late reading up on it, and come to school meaning to ask Viho about it - and it was gone now.

He'd worry about it later. He'd never live it down if Dahnae awoke to learn he hadn't been taking care of himself.

[C S]

"I will also admit that my plans are more akin to guidelines than any scheme with a goal," Desrium began. "For example, it was not foresight that resulted in our meeting coinciding with the elementals' arrival to the city. As a direct consequence, your presence along with theirs made Valenhad question my purpose for Brodudika. They assumed I was preparing weapons."

It was impossible to tell where the armored being was looking at any given time, but the elf could have felt Desrium's focus on him from the corner of one red glare. Whether or not it was so wasn't something that could be tested in the moment. It was just a sensation that came with the words, "I am not expecting you to create weapons with your teachings."




"Sadness on an empty stomach is a war fought on two fronts. The battlefield is your mind," was Solaurn's response to that, turning around to fix Firel a small dwarven smile. "It is a saying from my mountainhome. A close translation of the saying, at the very least."

To that, a groggy voice said, "Flatcakes are happy... cakes."

[The Kingpin]

It was a few moments before he responded. He took a deep breath, attempting to mask his fear with an illusion of frustration, though the shakiness as he released the breath was telling of his true feelings in that moment. "I-I have already told you, Nakhniir. W-What happened to your mother was a tragic accident while she was in one of the caverns. A damaged catalyst... in one of her experiments, it exploded and destroyed her mask while she was casting a spell." It was a response that did not come naturally, too fast to be the words of one convinced of the truth of what he said.

And for that reason, Tanwen's gaze was stony, harsh and clearly sceptical. One of her talons clacked against the stone floor, chipping the rock just a bit more with each tap of the menacing blades against the time-worn surface; a physical manifestation of her impatience with her father's evasiveness. "Arashi disagrees. He thinks one of the Clan Lords is responsible," she responded. Short, simple and straight to the point. It was ironic that the very tone she had used with Arashi was now being used on her own father. It was an irony that she did not overlook.

"W-What? No. No Tanwen, that's ridiculous. The Clan Lords would never-"

His response was cut off by the White Flame. "He also said that it was retaliatory. For something you did against their will."

Silence. The dripping of water off the cave ceiling rang so loud in the crushing silence of the room that Cyndeyrn would have compared it to the sounds of bell-towers had he ever been close enough to a city to hear them.

"I..." he started. He could not find the words to respond. How had Arashi learned of that? Had he really dug that deeply into the minds of the Clan Lords, to learn of the most closely guarded secret in living memory? What else then, did he know?

"You what, father? We both know the story was a lie. What really happened to mother?" she rumbled, her tone icy, the harshness of those words as painful as any wound.

[Hopeflower]

"Even if you were, I would tell you none of my students would be ready for such things for quite a while," Viho replied firmly. And he would have held to that for as long as possible. Long enough, perhaps, to get his students out of the city. Whether or not he could have accomplished that on his own was, it seemed, not a concern. For the present. "As it is, I'm glad to hear they won't be pushed into something they may or may not be suited for."


Firel didn't exactly jump out of his skin, but he did freeze mid-turn. "Your timing is as remarkable as ever," he said, relief ruining his attempt at deadpanning. Automatically, he glanced around for a pitcher of water, or a nurse to bring one.

[C S]

"The choice is theirs when you feel that there is nothing more you can teach them; to join a unit that specializes in seeking out troublesome individuals of the sort that is responsible for the upheaval," Desrium told the elf. "They are just as free to not do this, and to do what they are compelled to do. There is no obligation."

The armored being did not bother addressing the point that none of the students were ready. A great sticking point in his plan, or guideline, had been the time it took to produce formidable psychomancers. How willing they would be to join the city's defensive measures was another hurdle altogether. Viho being here was significant all on its own, however. When Desrium gave his offer, he had said he needed a psychomancer, not a trained class of them.

If what he suspected was indeed true, then he had his one psychomancer. And that meant he had to take action past meditation to return function to his arm.


"Ah, not quite." Solaurn stepped off of the rim of the bedframe, her report colored by disappointment. "It is a good sign that she will recover, but she is still fast asleep."

Dahnae mumbled something, shuffled about on the bed, as if to turn over, but the dull aches and stings must have deterred her in her dreams. She let out a difficult breath, which would have been a frustrated huff had she been at full health.

"Still... a perceptive sleeper, to react to the things said around her. It goes with her nature, doesn't it?"