Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

Viho was several blocks away by time the paladin and his bundled up companion reached the grand cascade of steps that led up to the church. They stood on the pavement running past it and gazed up at the pillars lined up around the perimeter of black stone. The church, true to its history in the district of nobles, was a marvel to look at. Its sharp, angular surfaces reflected the surroundings. Buildings and sky were melded together in the stonework mirrors, accentuated by the glare of the rising sun against its side.

Natalie took a seat on the bottommost stair to rest her legs. She rocked her body from side to side in tune to the rhythm of the viking song being sung. This one was not a slow and humbling hymn of praise. It was still very much voices giving praise, but in no way was it humbling. The rhymes came quick with gruff, harsh words and dips into the Vanguardian lexicon that did not take away from the message to the casual listener. Vanguard sits in shadow for half the year and is bathed in light the other half; they were the embodiment of the dusk and dawn.



... Bitter cold sinks to our bones,
Makes us doubt the sun ever shone,
But our furs and blades won't be denied!
Through the days that are nights, and the nights that are days,
That great light will dawn on the other side!

Bring your worst, Faafengar, the time has nearly come
For you and your pack to retreat!
The ice has left the sky,
Left the ground beneath our feet,
Now fear of the Doomfang can leave Vanguard numb...!



It was interesting to Desrium how such a boastful song could be so self-deprecating. If the Vikings did not have one fantastic obstacle to contend with, it was another, or another, and perhaps one that only surfaced after a certain number of years in a cyclical pattern of adversity that the people of that island invariably triumphed over. Through their own actions or otherwise, that was notwithstanding as long as there was a viking still standing to represent their home.


"I guess that just because you live where it's cold and snowy all the time, doesn't mean you have to like it," Natalie commented after listening to several more songs. Desrium hummed his agreement.

"It seems to be a cultural norm among the Vanguardians to lament the winter. Even their champion, one who can summon warmth."

Natalie ruminated on that one for a while longer. "What a strange bunch of people."

"You may think so now; in time, I believe all who live in this city will understand one another, given time."

"Jeez. You'd think it would be overwhelming to be so... idealistic all the time." Natalie rested her back against the step behind her -- the cushioning of her clothing making it a lot more comfortable than what she expected -- and set her hands in her lap. "But you're not like... most people." There was a concentrated effort to remember what the armored being had said. "He's no greater than anyone else."

Whether or not he was aware of Natalie's struggle, Desrium did not make it evident, nor did he take what she said as the slight she feared he did. "I have seen things change since the years I was young to the present. Small things, and some large things. If I grow even older, I think I will see things change further. That is my reasoning," Desrium explained.

Natalie nodded slowly. His wording was something else she found odd. She shouldn't be imagining a suit of armor progressively growing taller and... fearsome. But she did, and it was disconcerting on a level she had not considered previously. "It seems sound." Eager to move on to things a bit closer to what she was used to, Natalie stood up and hopped back onto the cobblestone sidewalk. "Shall we continue?"

Desrium nodded, and followed after Natalie after one last look at the church.

It did not take much to remind the Stalwart of his previous standing as Justicar. The mornings spent listening to murmuring prayers and battle-hymns seemed so very close after hearing the vikings.

He hoped the day had been bright for the fellowship across the water.

[The Kingpin]

Andruil was not so concerned with retreading his own steps. He had already done his rounds the previous day and knew that to wander the streets around where he would be located during their ambush would be to arouse unnecessary suspicion. It would be best to keep his public visibility at a minimum until it was time to spring the trap.

It was in light of this that he currently sat in front of a table, a whetstone located atop it. On the floor by his feet were a file, a small tin of oil, a second whetstone, and a bowl of water. On a stool at his side sat a mug of tea, the Knight periodically taking sips from it. His sword was held in his hand, glistening with the oil as it was slowly and carefully being sharpened, driven in alternating sweeps against the whetstone.

It had been a while since his blade was last honed, and he knew it was due for a bit of work. And with no better way of passing the time that did not entail distracting the others from their peace, he decided it was time to do what came naturally to him.

[Hopeflower]

Peace was not the word to use when it came to Arsenic's state of mind. He'd fallen into a quiet, focused mood, and had mostly been speaking only when spoken to all morning. His responses hadn't been rude, but hadn't invited conversation, either. An edge of danger had settled into every movement, and he watched everything around him with a calculating look in his eye. It wasn't through any fault of his friends' - this was simply the assassin mindset bleeding through.

And it was because he was in his state that he was the first of them to turn when Rowan walked back through the door, breathing hard but looking more awake than she had before she'd left. Her coat was open, he noted, and he leveled a mildly disapproving look at her.

"What?" she asked, not quite defensively, and crossed the room to ruffle his hair. "Some of us mortals sweat when we work out."

'You'll catch your death one of these days,' he replied with the ghost of a snort, 'and I'm sure mom will be there to tell you she warned you to button your coat.'

"I'll bring the 'you were absolutely right and I should have listened' apology bouquet with me to the afterlife," Rowan assured him.

[The Kingpin]

The early morning breeze gusted through the latticed windows of the Hifaadhi household as Ameen pulled Beshayir's coat tightly around her. Rawabi leaned forward just as soon as she could get past her husband's arms and embraced her granddaughter. It was hard to really take in how much Beshayir looked like her mother now. Clad in a silken beige blouse, densely woven brown trousers, and a maroon coat-tailed jacket under the wirshah she was gifted by the Scholar, she looked every bit the capable adventurer her mother once was in her earliest years alone. It brought a tear to the merchant woman's eyes. It was in an effort to hide that fact that Rawabi tugged Beshayir's jacket hood, maroon and lined with dense fur, over her head, noting with some interest that the hood had a peak that extended over the girl's forehead, meant to stave off both rain and sun.

"We will be back in the city every six months," she said once Beshayir's tapping on her shoulder lost their affectionate nature and took on a more desperate feel. Releasing the girl who was most likely starting to worry about her breathing, Rawabi stepped back with a soft smile, handing her a sack. "Something for your journeys. A little taste of home.

Septimus stood a few feet away, giving the family their space. "We will be able to keep in touch much more frequently than that, if you like," he reminded, Ameen nodding as he recalled the Scholar's mention of an Eye of some kind.

[C S]

"Don't be surprised if you hear voices in your heads that aren't your own at any time," Syria began. It was quickly apparent to her how much of a madwoman she sounded like. "They'd be most likely ours, unless you know any other magic-users nearby. Er. I don't want you to hurt yourself if we get into contact at an inopportune time, like when you are cutting veggies or moving heavy things..." She forced a cough. "So, anyway; if you want to see Beshayir, it would be nothing at all for us to swing by for a visit."

[The Kingpin]

"That is kind of you," responded Rawabi as she looked over Beshayir's shoulder to the Mage. "Please make sure to tell us about the things you see and learn in your travels," she asked, looking to her granddaughter.

Beshayir nodded, a small smile crossing her features. "I think...That I will make a journal. So that I don't forget. Maybe one day I can tell you a story, like the ones you used to tell me of your travels," she answered, looking between her grandparents as she gave them both one last embrace, feeling the compass pressed between her chest and the shoulders of the two older elves.

Ameen chuckled softly at that, ruffling the girl's hair as he planted a kiss on her forehead. "Then I think it is time you go on and start. You are already in the company of a powerful mage and a dragon...It sounds like your epic has already begun!"

With that, Beshayir released the two older elves, and walked over to the Scholar and Mage, following them towards the door. Ameen and Rawabi followed to the threshold to see them off, watching them step outside as the chilly winter breeze blew through the house in force, as if welcoming the young girl back into the reaches of the harsh world beyond. To say she was smiling, or joyful for what she would meet out there would be a lie. But she was ready to face it.

[C S]

Syria looked over her shoulder to say farewell to the elven couple, adding a wave and a smile for them to remember her by. As if they needed further aid to keep the redheaded mage in green in their memories. Once outside, she called out, "Ceridwen!" to the feathered dragon underneath the covers of her own wings and wrapped up by her tail. "It's time to go, friend! Are your feathers fluffed enough to fly?"

[The Kingpin]

"Feathers can't fly when fluffed," was Ceridwen's only response to that, her eyes peeking out from amidst the plumage on her chest. "But yes, I'm ready to fly. I will meet you above the city," she responded. Wasting no more time, she unfurled her wings and took flight, leaping up and beating her wings rapidly as she ascended, Ameen and Rawabi closing their door swiftly to keep the gust from blowing sand into the house. Moments later, it was the Scholar's turn, putting some space between himself and the two at his side as he allowed his draconic form to emerge.

The sight was one that stirred the young Pyromancer's attention. She hadn't thought she'd missed it so much, or that it could stir such childish wonder or excitement in her after all this time. It seemed some things just never got old. Like Septimus blowing Sufyan off his feet, she thought darkly. She had to admit she actually enjoyed that one, mean-spirited of her as it was to think so. It had been...satisfying.

[C S]

While she was distracted, Syria had used her magic to retrieve something of Beshayir's. She couldn't summon it since it wasn't her magic it obeyed anymore, but she could still draw it from Septimus' satchel with her telekinesis. That wasn't to downplay the stubbornness of the staff. It was taken by the green light, but Syria could feel it resisting her pull. She took hold of the staff and then held it out for Beshayir to take.

"How about some flying practice?" Syria suggested.

[The Kingpin]

Blinking for a moment as she eyed the staff, Beshayir reached out to hold it. She was not simply imagining it. She genuinely did feel out of touch. What two days could do. But as her grip tightened around the instrument and her magic flowed through it, it jumped to attention, jolting with energy as it responded to her. "I think I could manage that," she said. It was as she said this that the Scholar spread his wings and arched them around himself, a powerful gust kicking up underneath him as his runes shone bright. It only took a few moments for him to generate enough lift to raise him high above the buildings, giving him the clearance to spread his wings until he took to the sky ahead of them. Beshayir straddled the staff and braced until the gust kicked up in the Hueilin's wake died down, only then daring to try and take flight.

[C S]

Syria got onto her staff and took off thereafter. Compared to Septimus, the disturbance she created when mana rushed around her was but a sneeze, one that distorted light and pushed some dust away. Syria flew behind Beshayir, an encouraging presence, ready to catch her should she be at risk of falling. This was the highest Beshayir had flown, going past the mudbrick houses and soon reaching a height where the palace itself appeared to ascend over the cityscape of Thimeyra. It was as thrilling as it was daunting, purposely putting distance between one's feet and the ground.

"Find your rhythm and stay true to it. There's no rush."





Far away at the end of the travel to land outside of royal elvish territory, there laid a crater. The region was in the transition of landscapes that would become the empty quarter of mobile dunes and cliffs of sand. Far from what one would call a true desert, the environment was wide and open. Intimidatingly so. Mountains that were so nearby and a staple of the skyline in Niyera were small ripples of earth that one's thumb could blot out when held close to the eye. To the north, the Razors were even less impressive, how far away they were. With those exceptions, the surrounding land was an extensive plains with very few trees and rocks. It was the kind of the place that forced one to appreciate the magnitude of the sky above. Sky and earth. There were rivers as well, snaking across the snowy surface, out of sight. The group of soldiers did not encounter any on their road, however. The water they saw was the water at the bottom of the rocky bowl.

Where the earth fell away, water reigned. A huge pale lake with hints of cyan and navy swirling in the waves. The water roiled without any breeze, and for this it seemed like no matter how cold it got, the surface never froze. At the center of the lake was a speck of stone, which would have gone unnoticed if not for the walkway that extended out to it. Out of sight at the lip of the crater, but not unheard, was the bustling that would be more in line with a city setting.

The soldiers walked down one of the many sets of steps that led down into the depths of the crater. The spectacle of this place put any colosseum and stadium to shame. Where there would be benches in a constructed ring, there were entire shops. Stalls and depots, carved into the rim of the crater and staggered along the angle of descent. Whole roads of stone ran around the crater, concentric and also inclined to the depths of the crater.

They had heard the place before they saw it, walking along that lonely road underneath the massive sky.

And then, when they had worked their way through the bustle on each level of the descent, they were finally able to walk down the pathway over the water's surface. One could not see more than a few feet into the lake, but there was a veritable harbor built at the shore. Small fishing boats trawled the water in motion for bounties to trade and cook.

At the end of the walk, there was a contingent of dwarves wearing small suits of distinction. Around them were clusters of waterwheels and winches. Their shoulders were capped off in gold and burgundy, fringed tassels danced when they parted formation to let the visitors through. The two divisions hauled on the chains connected to the wooden trapdoor inlaid in the floor of the rocky terminal. The door opened, and the group were beckoned into it.

In entering, they had stepped beneath the lake. Sunlight and wide blue skies gave way to the tones of gray of stone and the range of reds and orange of torchlight. The crackling flames were accompanied by a downright industrial ambience of gears and cranks. The group went down the spiraling stairway in the inverted tower, followed by the guards until they came to a level where they could see several caged lifts arranged in a circle. Some of the lifts were already underway, unable to be seen. Others were waiting for passengers.

The soldiers were put into one, and the helpful bunch of short assistants waved goodbye after everyone was guided into a car. It was the most innocent way to torture the faint of heart. The assistants then pulled a lever, causing a chain event of mechanisms sliding in and out, turning and finally releasing the braking blocks of a waterwheel at the surface. The wheel turned in the perpetually churning waters, and the motion put the system of chains and rope into motion.

The caged lift lurched and then began its gradual descent down the rest of the way through the inverted tower. Torches lit the way. Then, without any warning, the containing walls of the towers ended, and the soldiers were privileged to a sight seen by few. A massive chasm beneath the crater lake. Gargantuan metal struts formed a mind boggling scaffolding at the very edges of the chamber. Enormous chains hung all around them in the open descent, lit by the thousands of little lights of the fortress below. A steady stream of water and mist poured down from an opening hidden away in the shadows above.

The waterfall drew the eye to something that could have been taken for a dwarven sculpture. It was anything but.

The figure, humanoid, had many legs, more than a spider. It would have had that many arms, however several of the limbs were missing or incomplete. It was a goliath made out of wood in addition to rock. Petrified with age, and impervious to rot. Sets of arms were splayed out as though the being was reeling from something. More than a few of them were broken off at the elbows and a length of the forearms. The other sets, however, were poised in a more offensive manner. Clawed digits were clasping at the air, as if they were being driven into something.

At various places in the body of wood and stone there were great breaks and cracks where ages of erosion were ravaging the remains of this being. For the safety of the fortress, the worst places of erosion were reinforced with beams of metal and supported by the hanging chains. Inside each huge crack, the glowing eyes of bat-like creatures could be seen, each pair more numerous than the points of light at the bottom of the chasm.

Baaz looked upon the being frozen in and being preyed upon by time. It was something like this that had attacked Crestvale. Immanis' Black Beast would have been lost in its scale.

This was some degrees of terrifying.

[The Kingpin]

"You know, at some point in your life you see something that just makes you wonder if the world is doing what it does just to **** with you. This was that point for me."

The delivery was deadpan and unexpected as Matthias stared out of one side of the gondola, his hands clasped behind his back. His hair had been combed backwards and tied into a low, courtly ponytail. He had grown his beard out some, both to shelter against the cold and to make him a bit more recognisable to his contact.

His expression would have been hard to read with this lighting, his angle meaning the torches didn't quite shine across his weathered face. But were he to turn, they would have been able to see the ghost of a smile across his features. This was the extent of his trade empire in Aster. Beyond this place, goods only came periodically, brought in by distant traders and suppliers who then passed them on to him from here.

[C S]

The biting inquiry Chandra had about that was, "The many-armed giant, or the stronghold beneath the ground underneath the lake?"

"I'm sure he meant the idea of dwarves piling up tons and tons of rock and dirt in the middle of the water and then tunneling through, only to discover they needed to add a bunch of carts at the end because they didn't expect to hit a cavern," Baaz replied. The ridiculousness of the idea, the fact that she was looking at the result of said idea, and the unexplained gargantuan that passed by so slowly due to its sheer size was a unique combination that whittled away at her short, fiery temper.

This place was ********.

"Um. I hope the streets aren't open. If things are living in the ceiling then... uh... I think the books called it guano..." Valeria looked over to Urlox, a cross between uncertainty and worry coloring her expression.

The bearded captain held onto the gondola bars and chuckled to himself, looking around with a child-like exuberance.

"Oh..." Valeria hugged her arms around herself and tried to take her mind away from the open space they were hanging over.

[The Kingpin]

"The fact such massive beings existed at one point, that somehow the races of Aster would find a way to turn their corpses into a home. Makes one feel very small and inconsequential," he stated in response to the two Rangers. "It's a reminder that whatever illusions of self-importance you may have are just that; illusions."


It was a further few minutes before the gondola came to a halt at the base of the cavern. The gondola slid into a docking station of sorts; an outer cage or frame that kept it stable. Taking note of the lack of machinery down here, Matthias surmised that a simple pull of a lever at the top, or some other mechanism, would switch the gears driving the gondola down into the cavern and reverse the route to bring it back to the top.

Matthias glanced off to one side of the large circular docking station to an oversized gondola; a cargo lift through which goods were transported in bulk through a combination of gears, waterwheels and torque-enhancing pulleys to amplify the carrying weight of the lift. In his earliest visits here, that was the lift he used to transport such things as lumber textiles and food down to the Dwarves of the Earth Shifter's Tomb

[C S]

As they were prone to, the other soldiers stepped off onto the platform with thoughts directed onto other things already. There was an impressive gate across a metal walkway. Rosy gold was overlaid on the steel path as black as char, set into diamond patterns. There were a few installations visible below, the entrances of mines. Lanterns hanging from the mouths of the tunnels shone dimly in comparison to the brimming brightness that beckoned the visitors to the doors fashioned after the visor of a helm. They were rounded around the corners and slotted, the guard station visible on the other side.

Valeria was caught up on what Matthias had said. Corpses. Plural. One was obvious. Where was the other? Or did he mean there were other places like this one? She didn't have any time to ponder it too deeply or ask out loud; the group was moving right ahead to enter the fortress.

[The Kingpin]

The gate was open to the incoming guests, as was routine in times of peace. Matthias noted how collectively redundant dwarven defences tended to be. Even if an invading force were to capture and use the lifts, the gate would hold them back effortlessly as no powerful siege engine could be brought down here strong enough to punch through it, even with the cargo lift. And that was assuming they even got as far as the lifts before the dwarven fortifications up in the crater bowl obliterated them.

[C S]

Guards had sent the group off across the subterranean gulf. More guards still accompanied them through the checkpoint. "Heavily armed, the lot of yous. Not just the self-defending sort, either," the short, scruffy boss of the bunch observed without looking back from his place at the front of the pack. Their company, without the imposition of needing to be stealthy at all times, stood out as a military contingent from their uniforms to the gear they lugged about on their backs.

"Don't cause trouble in Vonaeghardt, if ye know what's good for ye."

Urlox suppressed the urge to chuckle some more. The second overbearing short person he'd come across in this extended away mission.

[The Kingpin]

"You needn't worry, master dwarf. Despite appearances, I am a trader. I've been dealing with a local merchant by the name of Grundveldt for quite some time. Textiles, lumber and dried foods, mostly," explained Matthias in as amicable a tone as his gruff voice allowed. "I'm here to take a loan to ease my journey home. The road has been a...harsh one, in past months."

[C S]

There was a short sound, not quite a laugh, upon hearing the name of the Wanderer's contact. "Sounds like the name of another one of our outposts. Isn't it?" someone in the group of dwarves commented offhandedly. "I think I know the name," said another. The mumbling stopped after a terse growl from the commander.

"No need to poke holes in the tall-one's story."

"Aye. You will all be poking 'oles in us, if we step out of line, heh." Urlox seemed very pleased with himself when he said that.

Baaz and Chandra exchanged a glance as a couple of guards did the same.

Not your usual mercenary band escorting a merchant.

[The Kingpin]

It wasn't long until the band of travellers and their dwarven escort made it to Grundveldt's Emporium; a lavish, if out of the way establishment carved out of the rock of the cavern floor, giving it a bottle-like quality offset by a network of bronze pipes that wrapped the entire structure. The inside was a veritable warehouse, piled floor to ceiling with wares of numerous sorts, though the goods Matthias claimed to supply were notably in limited stock; a side effect of his absence.

"What the devil happened to you?" asked Varist Grundveldt, a red maned dwarf with a gut just big enough that it made his bushy beard look even bigger and bushier than it really was.

"The world," responded Matt offhandedly, earning a confused look from Varist, who then looked to his escort.