Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[Hopeflower]

The Oniare made a quiet sound that couldn't have come from a human throat. A soft reminder that the human was not dealing with someone unfamiliar with the way warm-blooded races worked. She circled around the barrier that was the dragon's elf-body and took a few slow, deliberate steps toward the woman. She stopped just outside of what she had figured out was the limit of the dragon's tolerance and leaned forward, pale golden eyes glittering.

"You think we are acting without understanding the danger to ourselves and our people?" she asked softly, dangerously. "We have watched your history unfold, child. But pray tell," she bid the human, "what you think it is we have not considered."

[C S]

"This disdain which is the root of your problems," Syria replied. "Do you really think you would be so devalued as you are, if your kind didn't see people like me as vermin?"

[Hopeflower]

The Oniare snorted, chittered impatiently. "Your ancestors were prey to the old ones," she said. "Their view has not changed, nor will it change. To be rid of it, to give my brothers and sisters their voices back, the Elders must be eliminated. And they will be. Make no mistake, child," she added, "this is not war we skinwalkers are starting. It is a slaughter."


"Behind a curtain of towering pines, the sun settling red..."

Snick.

"A city hidden high in the hills comes out to honor the dead."

Snick.

"Families somberly walk through the town, they build altars and pray..."

Snick.

"Clean the tombs and clutch rosaries, and speak of better days."

Snick.

Arsenic did his best not to move with one of Rowan's knives so close to his face, but he did comment on her song. 'Don't tell me you're mourning my hair.' For indeed, Rowan had decided she was finally fed up with the fact that Arsenic had yet to cut his gradually lengthening hair, and this was the morning she'd chosen to do something about it.

"No, but it helps to have a tune to work to. Now don't squirm." A cold blade touching the back of his neck did make Arsenic's hand involuntarily twitch toward one of his pockets.

Vix, going over her notes while sipping her morning tea, glanced up to check Rowan's progress. The scarred woman was surprisingly efficient at cutting hair. But then, she thought, maybe it wasn't so surprising, given how short Rowan kept her own hair.

[C S]

"That's precisely the problem," Syria deadpanned in a way very similar to that of the reptile in her own limited patience. "Before you decide that you want heads to roll and the turmoil that brings," she went onto say, suppressing the unpleasant reminders of duels on Daaven's main road decided by one oversize sword, "make one... one final effort. If it fails then you may execute your 'slaughter' but don't act without making one last play for cooperation. There may be avenues that will change your leaders' minds, yet."

[Hopeflower]

The Oniare stared for a long moment, letting that sink in.

Then she threw back her head and laughed. She laughed long, the sound both derisive and disbelieving.

When she calmed, she aimed a sneer at the woman. "Marvelous idea! Why, in thousands of years of history, has no skinwalker ever attempted to make themselves heard to a party who has always told us our opinions are worthless? Truly, we have needed the perspective of a human to bring this solution to our attention."

In her pause to let that sink in, a ripple of chittering went around the other watching Oniare.

"Talking," the skinwalker snarled, "has gotten skinwalkers nowhere."

[C S]

Syria did her best to not let the condescending nature dishearten her. Cultural barriers and disposition be disregarded, concordance was the single amicable goal for all sapient life. Preventing more bloodshed that the world could sorely do without, if nothing else. But how to make such a case to things that had strong ancestral ties to hunting?

The only reason they were even speaking was because Septimus happened to be higher up on the food chain.

"Oh dear."

"Thousands of years old you may be, you must know that the sapients of Aster are not what you used to... er... prey on eons prior. I mean no disrespect when I say, unfortunately, we can and probably will out-hunt you all. We've outlasted Blood Dragons, after all. The tides have changed, and if your elders won't accept that and give your kin the autonomy you deserve..."

Syria's skin crawled. Hearing those words from her mouth. Surreal did not even begin to describe it.

"... Well, you can always bring a dragon before them."

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar cleared his throat then, intervening before things had a chance to deteriorate further. "I think it has been made clear, Syria, that our help is neither needed nor welcome. Nor, for that matter, is our input," he noted firmly. "They have not, after all, spent these years of isolation blind as my own kind have. They have been watching. Learning. Adapting. If anything, I believe it'll come down to sheer numbers as to who succeeds were the two sides to clash," he continued, a hand settling on the Mage's shoulder and subtly coaxing her back, recovering the space between the her and the Oniare Matron that had been circumvented a moment prior.

"That being said, such a clash is hypothetical, and not the topic of this discussion. The matter is one of internal strife and unrest. Strife that they have attempted to resolve diplomatically for thousands of years. Longer than either of us have lived. If it could have been resolved or even driven slowly towards a better situation diplomatically, it would have by now. The fact it seems very much to have stayed the same says one thing; it will continue to stay that way so long as those who perpetuate it are in power." He turned his focus to the Oniare.

"You are the desert dwellers of your kind. I cannot know how far beyond it you have ventured, or how much knowledge has reached you from beyond. But I can tell you of my knowledge, that it may help you. I saw another place much like your own community. And I saw them facing just such strife. That place no longer exists. Those who sought change took it. But supporters of the old way fought to return to those beliefs. In the end, the inability for one side to decisively end the conflict destroyed their entire kingdom. You may have heard of it, from those who your skinwalkers spoke to, those who came from beyond the desert. The Kingdom of Draxon. The Dragon Worshippers who saw elves as filth, vermin to be trampled underfoot if they failed to heed the command of the ruling class. Now their cities are in ruins, their people are dead, and their lands are swarming with beasts that grew fat and strong off their corpses," he continued, pacing back and forth, noting Ceridwen's silence and discomfort, the realisation that her earlier consideration would not protect her as she thought suddenly sinking in.

Eventually he stopped, turning once more to look the older Oniare in the eyes. "You say you know. You say you have considered. You say you have contingencies for such things. And I believe you. I will leave you to do with your future what you will, just as my father and I did with ours. I wish you luck in bringing a brighter age to your kind. But be wary. For just as you have considered and planned for this day, so too will your foes have done the same. It is often the feathers of the eagle that guide the arrow that kills it." Looking between the Oniare and her subordinates, her apparent students, he finally evened his tone into something slightly less firm and more amicable. "That is my input on the matter. Whether it is of use to you or not is yours to decide. I hope that it will come in handy. If not, then I suppose there is nothing to help it. If, by some odd, unforeseen chance, you decide that my aid could be of use to you, I would be willing to offer it."

[Hopeflower]

As the dragon spoke, the Oniare seemed to settle down. She stepped back, the agitation brewing over some perceived insult in the human's attitude calming. When she spoke again, it was to advise the human, "The elfskin speaks wisely. You would do well to abandon the notion that every conflict can be resolved peacefully, child. Some must be faced with teeth and claws." And she turned back to the elf. "Our own teeth and claws, as you said. It is our right to take what has been denied. We will not be denied the right to do so, as well."

[C S]

"I probably would. But I won't. Nonetheless, I wish you... as well as I possibly can." responded the mage. It would be ugly no matter the ultimate end.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholarly Elf eased as the situation seemed to simmer down to more preferable terms. It allowed him to return to one particular curiosity that had been nagging at him since the moment he learned of his significance as an image to the Oniare. "I have one question, if you would allow me the privilege of asking," he stated, addressing the Matron. "Why did you choose to tell me all this, when you could have departed without so much as a word?" he asked. "You do not seem to wish for my aid, my input on your affairs is an intrusive and unpleasant thing, so it does not seem to be that either. Your secretive nature would normally be against interacting with others as you are now...So I find myself wondering, what motive do you have to address me on this matter?"

[Hopeflower]

"As naive as your pet human is, she has one valid point," the Oniare replied, seeming to dismiss the woman's words altogether. Empty pleasantries were apparently something else she had little patience for. "The time when my kind must either reveal themselves or be discovered is drawing nearer. Our homes are shrinking as civilization expands, and the prey is disappearing with them. In order to adapt well enough to survive, all of the old ways must die." She glanced away, at the other Oniare. "In order for us not to be hunted for our skins, it must be understood that we are people, not monsters."

[The Kingpin]

"That," noted the Scholar, "Is something I can help with. But in order to do so, you must understand that I will need to know more about your kind. Your customs, your culture and traditions, your beliefs. Things that will cast you in an appealing light. From that, I can make a book, which can be spread around Aster until what you wish for the world to know is common knowledge. You will be seen as an exotic people, strange and intriguing, but people nonetheless."

[Hopeflower]

The Oniare chittered, understanding and faint discomfort combined. She glanced up at the sun's position, considered the long history of her people, and said, "You ask for much information, and time is precious." She let go of her illusion and paced away a few steps. Her subordinates, sensing it was time to get back to the hunt, slipped away in different directions, disappearing from sight. "I will consider. Seek us when the day cools again."

And then she, too, had blended back into the desert.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar watched the Oniare depart, glancing towards Syria and Ceridwen for a moment and blinking. "Any suggestions on a way to pass the time?" he asked jokingly, his draconic form taking the place of the Scholarly elf moments later, sending what remained of their patch's native dangers scurrying for shelter, fearful to linger in the presence of such a massive predator...

[C S]

"Musings on a preamble announcing the merits of understanding that gentle elvish features and rough orcish ones are all beautiful in their own unique ways, and that even the fearsome serpent is a..." Syria paused to scratch a cheek. After a moment to gather her thoughts she continued, "I wouldn't call them friendly but at least they aren't like the Bobaronk of the west. Or any storytime spook. Dearie dearie."

She held out her staff to sit on it and looked up at the two dragons. "... Want to keep looking for birds?"

[The Kingpin]

"We could. I believe I know where we can find a few," responded the Scholar with a small smile. It was perhaps time he paid a visit to the Life Bringer's domain. Flexing his wings, he glanced to Syria. "Care to jump on, or would you rather take your staff where we're headed?" he asked, even as the rustle of feathers announced Ceridwen's ascent.

[C S]

"I can fly beside you seeing as we've got time to spare. Time to think-talk about things." The made laid herself prone on the staff, her hands firm behind its blue flower while her ankles were hooked together around the other end. Her lenses were already in position for flight, so she wasted no more time before she soared into the air after Ceridwen.



Some time later into the day, Viho's classroom was oddly vocal for what it was. There was no idle chatter, but grunts and frustrated huffs. The students were split evenly into two groups and were lined up with their desks facing one another. Their instructions were simple: to keep their bodies still in a meditative pose, but to flex their mental fortitude against one another. It was not an exercise in offensive capability, but perseverance of one's self. Mind over matter. Defend one's mind from intrusion using past lessons of shielding, while maintaining peace within. Any falter meant having another's mental noise disrupt this tranquility, hence the sounds of students scolding themselves or passively voicing their annoyance.

[Hopeflower]

While his students practiced their basics, Viho was revisiting his. He was unable to stop himself from prodding at the new aspect of his magic. It was familiar and yet not - his, but completely different from what he was used to using. He had turned his back to his classroom after the second time he'd pushed too hard and sent something flying.

He'd get that quill out of the ceiling eventually. Probably. Somewhere, there was a balance between levitating something and throwing it.

Viho just...had yet to find it.

[C S]

All in all, the lesson was an effective way of mixing the fundamentals of psychomancy together in an unpredictable scenario to test the wits of the students. Each sparring pair had to contend with their opponents and the fumbling of their teacher without nudging the slightest bit off of their psycho-spiritual center. While the students at this point were far from uninitiated, inexperience made it a task of endurance as much as it was a test of skill. There was only so much one's mind could take, being made to focus on nothingness as barrages of stimuli and memories chipped away at their mental barriers.

Solaurn and Gwenviere, naturally, were pitted against each other. The dwarf, as promised, was given her black and white uniform and a pair of goggles. She wore the goggles over her forehead as a band that held her hair, the large glassy cups that were the lenses gleaming. Gwenviere's attire was unchanged, washed every night at the clinic and speedily dried through use of her peculiar feather. That detail was something Solaurn gleaned through their link, the smallest of bridges, but a bridge nevertheless. Flashes of images from the vaun's unique point of view, low to the ground she was even when standing upright. Not that Solaurn was supposed to be seeing them...

Mind over matter. Especially for Firel, whose battle was at the mercy of Dahnae.

[The Kingpin]

The trio eventually reached the domain of the Life Bringer, herds of creatures of every shape and size wandering through a veritable forest amidst the dunes.

Flocks of birds wandered back and forth across the valley, the Son of Storms noting that there was a ravine that led to an even more lush area of the oasis, where firm ground, small puddles and desert plants gave way to groves of palm trees, grassy earth and a weaving river that seemed to coil around in a very localised area. He did not recall it being there, but then, his previous visits were lower altitude and from the same direction, which had led to a portion of the oasis obscuring the verdant pit.

He smiled with satisfaction as he saw a cluster of about five small birds perched on a cactus plant, their lustrous feathers every bit as beautiful as the duster Syria had bought Ceridwen. Indeed, they seemed even more so, even at this great distance.

Time for a closer look.

Circling round with a beat of his massive wings, he descended into a gentle glide to the ground, making sure to slow his approach to cause as little disturbance as possible. Heeding the lesson from last time, Ceridwen did likewise.