Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"He seemed angry when he first found me. I thought he was going to hit me," said Beshayir. There was something about the way she worded it that took away the severity of what she was describing. Septimus found it humorously endearing.

"Hit you?"

"Yes. He ran at me and hissed and I moved out of the way. But he calmed down after... He recognised me. Or maybe he recognised Syria's staff. I don't know," she stated sheepishly. "I think it was me he recognised."

[C S]

"Frondfoots are very intelligent, it's a shame they can't speak. That said, if he's... um." Syria chose Beshayir's wording. "If he's married, then he will be defensive of his wife and uh... children." Syria sighed. "Septimus?" she asked, more than a little at a loss.

[Hopeflower]

The psychomancy instructor blinked at Dahnae a couple of times, at a bit of a loss for words. "I guess I'll take that as a compliment," he finally settled on, though he wasn't really sure if it was meant to be one.


'Yes, I think so,' Arsenic decided after a quick glance at his companions. As he turned, a skull he'd missed in the wealth of information and other bones caught his eye - and the fact that he knew it was out of place in this particular display was almost as unsettling as the fact that it was there at all.

The reptilian skull itself was more or less intact, which was impressive, given the delicate-looking bone structure of the lower jaw. On closer inspection, however, it was clear that the jaw itself hadn't been all that badly damaged - it was made up of a few loosely-connected bones, which were themselves only loosely connected to the upper jaw, and not at all connected in the front. The serpent-like feature was impossible to mistake, as were those long, lethal-looking recurved teeth.

And the fangs. Arsenic had never gotten a proper look at Sami's fangs, but if they were anything like this...they were massive, equipped to deal a lethal dose of venom with no trouble at all.

He wondered at which gods had smiled upon Rutgers and helped him evade getting bitten.

Unknown venomous reptile, suspected to be a very early ancestor of some wyvern species, the plate beside the Oniare skull helpfully informed museum visitors. He took it all in with what he hoped was a sufficiently interested and definitely not spooked expression, all while a detached corner of his mind noted that Sami would probably laugh herself half to death if she knew this was here.

[The Kingpin]

"Yes, dear?" asked the Scholar, thoroughly enjoying Syria's attempts to explain things to the young Pyromancer.

"Ooooh," responded Beshayir, seeming more than a bit thoughtful by that explanation. "Well I was practising my flying and pyromancy... Maybe he thought I'd hurt his wife?" she speculated.

[C S]

"It is a fact," Dahnae insisted without clarifying a thing. She then proceeded to wolf down her other pastry.



"It's an oddity, isn't it?" the guide commented beside Arsenic. "I don't agree with the classification, to be frank. The skull shares qualities that wouldn't be odd given that some dragon species have convergent anatomy with serpents, but look at the back of the skull, there." The guide stepped around the display to show her point. As opposed to a vacancy that would suggest where the spine would continue on in the neck, there was a cap of bone, segmented into small plates. It gave the back of the skull a rounded, humanoid quality, leading into the guide's argument, "This might belong to an actual race of people out there. It's a recent find, unlike the ancestors of flight. Ah, but my personal theories aren't what I'm paid for. Let's get on with things, shall we?"

With that, the guide was off to find the stairs to the next story, leaving Arsenic to make of her words what he would.



"It's a possibility," Syria said to Beshayir, then looked to the Scholar. "Do you think you can help me see him one last time?" she broached.

[The Kingpin]

"Of course," said the Scholar with a smile. "I suppose it's a good thing we didn't take off our coats, hm?" he commented as he made for the door. Beshayir was already ahead of him, grabbing her coat and hat, wanting to accompany the two.

[Hopeflower]

"I...see." He didn't see, and since Dahnae didn't seem inclined to elaborate, it was apparently going to remain a mystery. Viho made himself finish his first pastry, washing the thick taste of sugar out of the back of his throat with the minty milk. The aftertaste of vanilla did a lot to keep him from slipping back into his memories.


A chill crawled down Arsenic's spine. This museum guide was more spot-on than she could possibly know - and maybe a little too sharp for her own good. He might need to bring this to Sami's attention after all. It seemed the Oniare were gradually drawing closer and closer to being revealed as reality rather than myth. Given her kind's typical reaction to being discovered...he didn't imagine it would end well.

But then, would telling their resident Oniare end any differently?

It wasn't a question he could answer. Not yet, anyway.

Forcing the subject from his mind, he started after the guide, turned to Rowan and Vix and said, 'Sorry to drag you two along. It's not boring you, is it?'

The innkeeper offered him a smile, keeping pace and seeming content to be taken along for the tour. "Not at all, love. Don't apologize for enjoying yourself."

'If you're - '

"We're sure," Rowan interrupted, slipping her arm around Arsenic's waist and giving him a brief squeeze. "I mean, I don't understand all of this, but it's still interesting."

[C S]

Syria sighed again. It was closer to contentment this time, with a tinge of relief. She finished off her roll with a few quick bites, levitated another few so that Septimus could snack while they searched, and went after him out into the foyer. "Be back soon, Willow!" she called out behind her.

"At least it's just a walk in the 'backyard' this time!" Willow called out in kind, poking her head through the kitchen door to see them out.



The museum's top floor was similar to the layout below. Display cases sectioned off by the shiny ropes, torches and hanging lamps giving everything a warm shade of orange. Banners depicting scenes from prehistory hung from the walls, made by the very same people trusted by the armored being to make a symbol of unity for the city. That was outside of the visitor's scope of knowledge for the time being. All they would take away from the craft was the detail that was gleaned from only a few shades of yarn, peoples erecting huts that grew into villages, breeding clans and tribes and the rise of civilization as they knew it.

Sets of armor, old and modern stood where actual specimens did not, for concerns of cultural insensitivity and the morbid affair of acquiring them. Set pieces were arranged throughout the rooms, landscapes in miniature. Plains, forests and jungles, mountains, swamps and caverns.

[Hopeflower]

Walking from display to display, Arsenic felt some of his unease melt away to be replaced by fresh curiosity. 'We need a museum back home,' he remarked to Rowan.

She chuckled heartily. "Sure. We could put it right next to Vix's inn. Of course, it might put us on the map..."

'I don't think Vix or Akando would mind the extra business.'

"No, but I'd need to come up with a proper name for the place," Vix pointed out with a laugh of her own.

The mute elf was distracted from the banter by a diorama that seemed to depict the different humanoid races diverging. Dwarf, orc, human, goblin, and elf, each walking their separate paths and adapting as their chosen environments dictated they must to avoid dying out.

'Do you suppose mana has a hand in all of this?' he wondered aloud after a long moment of study, half to himself. It seemed a likely factor in such fundamentally similar species looking so different - and in gigantic reptiles gaining the ability to lift their many-ton bodies into flight.

[C S]

"Mana would explain many oddities about the sapient races of Aster, and the world at large, I would presume. 'Presumptions are a noose to progress', but I will dare to say as much," said the museum guide, wafting about the room as she was.

"Shapeshifters, for instance. Their bodies share the line of the first of our kinds, and we share the line of those that became us. Some of them are still around. Primates, monkeys. Two arms, two legs, a head. Granted, we lost our tails a long time ago."

The guide chuckled. "But shapeshifters can forgo this history and step into the lineage of other creatures entirely, some of them familiar, some of them not, blending aspects of sapient, beast and magic. We know now after the fall of the Dark God that all life that bears flesh and blood is derived from mana, and mana can change things in living creatures if they are saturated with it for a certain period of time. We already see the effect to a lesser degree in those who use magic heavily in their lives -- they are built much more slimmer than your average person. So, in summary and to answer your question, mana... magic... has always been a part of this process we call life, and the matter of our origins. The most fantastical dragon, and most elusive unicorn, they all came from mana."

The guide frowned, then. The inevitable end that all her colleagues hit, and it seemed that no mortal mind would ever grasp the truth past this point. "How... isn't exactly clear. It would be so easy to attribute it to gods. One tried to kill us, and one saved us. But here's the thing: the ancients who recorded their first encounters with the divines? From what we understand from what they left behind, the gods did not take credit for any creation myth. They only imparted the wisdom of justice, and being well to one another."

"So our mystery is, if the gods didn't make us, then why is magic so intrinsically linked to life, and why are the ley lines where they are?" The guide shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. "Blimey, that was long-winded of me. Forgive the rant, I'm still new to all of this. Don't get me started on where the benefactor fits into all of this -- they say he was created. As in, a mage made life with his own magic. The act of eons, done overnight! I can't even--!"

[The Kingpin]

Pushing her arms into the sleeves of the wirshah, Beshayir hummed cheerfully, stepping towards the side of the door and tugging her fluffy hat on, waiting on the Scholar. Septimus wasted no time, turning the handle and pulling the door inwards, stepping aside. "Ladies first?" he offered the two, Beshayir offering a little curtsy in response before stepping over the threshold.



Andruil found the boarding house to be devoid of his friends, disappointment colouring his expression. Still, he didn't let it weigh on him. It was the Solstice after all, and their scents were still relatively fresh. So long as the weather didn't worsen, and he was quick, he could find them.

"We're here now. Would you mind removing this...clutter you have piled on my back?" The rasping tone in which it was spoken was a telltale sign that Pyranex's patience was just about at its limit.

"Of course. Give me a few moments," said the Knight, knowing better than to try a teasing jab when the gryphon was this irritable. He hopped off the beast's back, grabbing the quiver and strapping it, temporarily, around one of his legs. Out of sight, out of mind, and no one would think to take a closer look at what could be very unusual arrows.

He then reached into the saddlebags proper, drawing the two boxes withincarefully, tucking one under each arm. "Have fun, Pyranex. Perhaps I will see you in the morning," stated the Knight jovially. The gryphon huffed at that, spreading his wings as he circled round, before flying off. "How is it I always end up with the temperamental ones?" he murmured as he walked up to the door, tilting his arm down just enough for his fingers to touch the door handle, all while trying not to drop the crate of honey wine. Sometimes he wished he had the ability to turn into a spider instead of a wolf. This was one of them. With a click, the door opened, and he nudged it inwards with his boot, making his careful, box-laden way up the steps to the two rooms they had rented.

[C S]

Though Septimus was the last one out of the cottage, he swiftly and surely took the lead again. He had a dragon's nose, and thus the search for Perioul was not going to be an incredibly time consuming affair. It was an unexpected parallel to his armored companion directing his flight across plains and hills of sand. Instead of wings, Septimus relied on his elven legs. Instead of desert, he was in the transformed forests that still grew within Daaven's enclosing walls, boots crunching through the snow and arms pushing branches and bushes aside for Syria and Beshayir.

The scent took them back to Beshayir's chance encounter with the Frondfoot pair. At that point, Syria's experiences in the southern jungles came to play, noting the few footprints that were left in the frozen soil and snow, distinct splayed toes that gave the lizards their distinctive names. Their tails left defined disturbances in the leaflitter as well. With Septimus led by the aged scents and Syria reading their tracks, the trio came to the edge of the Frondfoot nesting site which Syria identified. "You see all those scratch marks on the trees? It's not something that Frondfoots do on purpose. To the first Daavenians, they thought they were being warned. In some ways, that's valid. It's more of an aftereffect, however. The Frondfoots are just getting materials for their mound, and those materials include the tips of branches and twigs."

The trees they had ventured into, true to the mage's description, bore the evidence of low branches snapped off by lizard mouths, right at the height that one would stand when reared up. Intriguingly, some branches higher than Perioul could ever reach were chomped apart, signs that he and his mate were working as a pair.

Another, shorter walk, brought the trio to the mound.

It was an enormous hump of dirt, sticks and leaves, piled up high, and wide enough for the two giant reptiles to live inside.

"Remember what I said about panting?" Syria asked, on the basis of explaining. "Well, it only works if they aren't out in the open. Believe it or not, that structure of theirs is just a really complicated blanket, but I don't expect Frondfoots to ever discover the art of weaving. Their fingers don't allow for it."

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar took note of every detail the Mage pointed out with increasing interest. The footprints, he had seen, as well as the trails left by their tails. Both in person and in books, the distinctive marks left in their path were well documented. What was new to him however was den-crafting practices. Seeing trunks stripped of branches and bark was intriguing in that it mirrored some of the Hueilin's own habits, albeit to a limited degree. Beshayir, all throughout this venture, watched on with rapt attention and considerable intrigue.

"Most wouldn't expect a dragon to cook, either," noted the Scholar half-jokingly, when the Mage made her comment. If there was one thing that could be said about life, it was that it did not hesitate to find a way if it meant a better future.

[C S]

"I could believe that a Frondfoot could learn to cook, some day. Perioul's watched me do it from small. Think of it: Perioul passing on the knowledge of man to his kind after scampering out of the inn, through the city, to this little patch of wilderness." Syria's response was subdued, far from the joking inclination of her words. She'd gone out to see and learn about the world, and her old friend wouldn't be waiting for her at the inn she called a home. Suddenly, the meaning of many years were being called into question, and it pained her.

At the sound of voices -- familiar voices -- the tip of a blue snout emerged from the mouth of the den. Orange eyes glimmered dimly in the shade of the tunnel.

[Hopeflower]

With sweeping, graceful steps, Rowan all but danced her way ahead of Arsenic and Vix, caught up for a moment in the increasingly festive nature of the celebrations unfolding in Brodudika's streets. It was nowhere near as lively as home, not yet, and she couldn't help but reflect on ways to help fix that herself. Not, she reminded herself, that she was sure if her usual brand of chaos would be welcome here.

On that thought, she spun to face her companions - faster than necessary, so it was more of a twirl, really, and a wonder that she didn't lose her balance on the snow-slick stone. "You think they'd let us build a bonfire?" she asked, walking backwards so the elves didn't have to worry about running into her.

Vix cocked her head at the scarred assassin. "In the middle of the city?"

"Better than outside the city, really, given what might come out after dark."

'I find it hard to believe they'd take kindly to a massive fire so close to the homes they're trying to rebuild,' Arsenic pointed out, failing to entirely suppress his smile. 'It's less difficult to imagine them objecting to you performing for them.'

Rowan lifted her chin and pointed a finger at him. "That," she stated firmly, "is not happening. For one thing, I don't have Lily or Brionna with me."

Vix waved a little. "I'm not on their level, but I could help," she reminded the older woman. She had, at one point, been one of Rowan's students.

"And for another thing," Rowan continued, spinning around and waving a hand dismissively, "I only perform in the village."

Is that why you left a way for Akando to get in touch with Beckett? Vix wondered, but she didn't ask. Instead she shrugged easily, leaving that where it was. "Fair enough. Seems a shame not to dance on the Solstice, though."

'I manage,' Arsenic noted, getting nearly identical amused snorts.

"Only because nobody has managed to drag you into it in years," Rowan almost complained.

Arsenic chuckled softly. 'The beauty of being taller and faster than most of the people you know.'

[The Kingpin]

Those orange eyes were met with brilliant cyan ones, the Scholar making eye contact momentarily as he responded, "Before you know it there would be a Frondfoot Inn right next door to yours, competing for your customers." It sounded less like a joke than a lament for the future of Daaven, and that, perhaps more than the words themselves, was funny enough that Beshayir burst into a fit of giggles.



"Most," echoed Andruil as he rounded a corner mere feet ahead of the trio, that typically sly grin on his face a telltale sign that mischief was afoot. "Care to dance, Ambrosia? I'm sure there's a hidden band of minstrels around here somewhere who will break into song and dance with us if we start," he offered, the grin only getting wider.

[C S]

"Frondfoot Inn --" Syria did not get to ruminate on the image that would have surely conjured up. Perioul hoisted himself out of the tunnel and released a sharp breath through his nostrils. The rush had a bite to it, like the crack of a whip. Beshayir didn't need to imagine what it would sound like for a Frondfoot to actually whip something with its mighty tail. It sounded worse.

Syria was well acquainted with this behavior though. Where it might have intimidated someone unfamiliar with the lizards, and in truth, it had scared her as a child, she was now well versed in the body language of Perioul as to know exactly what his meaning was. "Oh, Seppy. You've made him feel insecure. I guess you looked into his eyes, huh?"

[Hopeflower]

'I seem to recall being faster than you, too,' Arsenic drawled, sticking his hands in his pockets as though unconcerned with being able to get away if any of them actually tried to rope him into anything.

Rowan came to a somewhat clumsy stop next to Andruil thanks to an unnoticed patch of ice, contrasting her previous fluid movement. "You'll never convince him," she remarked. "It's the long legs. They give him so much confidence in running away."

"And climbing trees," Vix chimed in.

Arsenic simply shrugged, not denying any of it.

[The Kingpin]

"For a moment, yes. It's a bit difficult not to when they were the only things aside from his nose that were visible," admitted the Scholar with a shrug. Beshayir was thankful she was behind the two when Perioul issued his warning, so that they would not have seen the fact she had jumped at the sharp sound.

The Knight reached his hands out when Rowan skidded, prepared to catch her if she failed to stop herself, only dropping his arms once he was sure she was steady on her feet. "I still feel sorry for that woman," said Andruil to that, lowering his head and shaking it in feigned sympathy for a person he'd never met, trying and failing to hide the trembling shoulders that accompanied his muted laughter.

[C S]

"You're still a dragon, you know. They're sensitive to this sort of thing. When Desrium was in my inn the first time--"

Perioul shifted from side to side. His forelimbs shoved off of the earth in his swaying, using the momentum to rise onto his rear legs and then balancing out. Arms dangling in front of him, claws splayed, Perioul advanced, standing taller than the Scholarly elf, frill wriggling, about to flare. It was quite a sight, to be stared down by such a reptile.

Syria, again, was no stranger to this behavior. "... He did that. He did just that."