Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

Much like other areas of the Great Conch, the throne room was different from how Septimus had last seen it. Considerably so, he realised. The walls shared the purple and blue hues of the rest of the inner city, but was offset by yellow and orange to contrast, in softer shades. The ground had changed in such a way that it looked like the entire throne room floor was the surface of one massive pearl, further exoticised by a layer of transparent material that could have been glass or ice.

Sheemaka sat atop his throne; a large, half buried conch shell, the opening of which was curved in such a way as to make it into a surprisingly comfortable looking seat, angled to give the illusion of symmetry. Smaller, clam-shaped seats extended out to either side of him, only about two thirds of them occupied. With the lack of any important matters requiring their attention, a good portion of the advisory council was absent, tending to other matters in their daily lives.

The Sovereign himself was wrapped in glistening robes of brilliant fish scale, his silver conch-headed staff propped up against the right arm of the throne. The crystalline shell shimmered with shafts of pink and yellow light, looking like a tiny star was trapped in the core of the shell's myriad chambers. Much like last time they had met, Septimus noted Sheemaka was tracing a slender finger through his prehensile beard tendrils, his pale silver gaze fixed on the quartet before him, a more jovial expression on his statuesque features than last they had seen. Beshayir, in that moment, was somewhat unsettled to be standing in the presence of this city's equivalent of a Qa'id, barefoot in his court. The fact that Syria was no different was the only thing helping to ease her uncertainty over it.

"It has been a long time since last we spoke, Septimus. Where has life taken you over the past two years?" asked Sheemaka as he leaned forward, the tendrils of his 'beard' curling around his finger as he stroked it thoughtfully.

"Many places, not all of them pleasant, your majesty," answered the Scholar, about to continue when Sheemaka raised a finger to stop him.

"I allowed you to call me that last time as you were unacquainted with our customs. But you should know otherwise by now. The sovereign of Zuppoland is referred to as such only by his soldiers and advisors. Guests are to speak to me as a friend. No titles," he said in a tone that was both friendly and chastising at once.

"Of course, Sheemaka. I will keep that in mind," responded the Scholar amusedly at that.

"See that you do," added Sheemaka in response as he leaned forward, looking at the mage, the elf and the dragoness at Septimus's side. "You have grown quite a bit since we last spoke, Septimus. I dare say you're even more frightening to have here than you were last time, and there aren't even any hostilities this time around!" he exclaimed with a laugh, the Scholar allowing a chuckle himself.

"Hostilities? Did something happen here previously?" chirped Ceridwen, tilting her head.

"Desrium's standing among the people of Zuppoland was very...uncomfortable, back then. And as it happened, I was here with him. Some threats were thrown around but it is a matter that is behind us now," explained Septimus with a shrug.

[C S]

"And we are all the better for it," Syria interjected, then executed a grand, dancing twirl to absorb all of the scenery to be had in the regal conch throne room. She stopped with her eyes on Sheemaka, and she smiled as she looked up at him. "It is too nice a place for anyone to be angry and waving weapons around."

Syria then looked at her toes, wiggling them contemplatively.

"You don't mind that your guests are all without footwear, hm?"

[The Kingpin]

"Well within the Great Conch, and the palace specifically, it is a bit peculiar. But I can't say that it is unheard of. From what my soldiers tell me, the ground on the mainland feels very different to how it does here."

"Quite," quipped Septimus knowingly, entertained by it all.

"It's soft. But firm. But soft," said Beshayir, still not sure how to describe it.

[C S]

"And yet so very firm," Syria affirmed one last time. "Which is to say nothing of the rest of your kingdom's wonders, and how wonderful it is that even the ground is so enrapturing. That is to say nothing of the 'sky' over your city and the wondrous creatures in swimming 'flight'."

The mage bowed, silently thanking the throne room audience for paying her words attention. Inwardly, she prided her confidence and flow of speech, something she'd never have attempted before getting to know Septimus as she had. Maybe there was an emissary in her after all, not just a drafter of treatises.

"Let me introduce myself and the others you haven't met yet. I am Syria Letant." She gestured to herself, then placed a hand on Beshayir's shoulder. "This is Beshayir Hifaadhi." Syria then patted Ceridwen on the side. "Ceridwen Maelgwynni."

[The Kingpin]

"Welcome to my court, all of you. For those of you who aren't already aware, I am Sheemaka Subaitis, sovereign of the Zuppo people and keeper of the history, lore and laws of Zuppoland," stated the Zuppo monarch, repeating his full title and station in a manner that none but the Scholar would have been able to tell was repeated from memory. After all, he had said that exact same phrase when they first met.

"Besha-yir...You resemble my soldiers' descriptions of the Silverlake Elves. Is there a connection?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, Qa'idi-um...I mean, Sheemaka. I am a Thimeyran," explained Beshayir, her voice quiet as she tried to overcome her own timidness.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that," admitted Sheemaka, predictably. "Could you repeat, please?"

"I said," started Beshayir more forcefully, "I am Thimeyran. I come from the city your men spoke of." The statement was a bit more forceful than she felt was polite, and it showed when she immediately stepped back behind the Scholar's forelimb afterwards.

"I see. Thimeyran. I will remember that name," stated Sheemaka, his sunken, worn features twisting into a smile before he looked to Syria. "What of you, dancer-poet Letant? Where do you hail from?" he asked, genuinely well meaning, though it took some effort for the Scholar to keep from laughing at the mislabelling born of the Mage-Maiden's peculiar antics.

[C S]

The Mage-Maiden in turn understood what is was like for her old habit of naming all of Septimus' hobbies and professions to be redirected unto her. Back then her favorite in-joke between herself and the Scholar pertained to earthen-flame, rather than brittle bones. It was not lost on her that Sheemaka most likely honestly believed that she was a dancing poet, and wont to amend his title if he were to learn of her writing. The precedent was set by the Zuppo who roamed Aster on heavy metal boots.

"I come from Daaven," she said to Sheemaka. "I may not match your soldiers' descriptions of my people tucked away on a plain hidden by misty mountains, but..." Syria put her hands to the collar of her Wirshah. "... I am wearing green."

[The Kingpin]

"Ah," responded Sheemaka, thoughtful. "Yes, I remember now. The 'Green-and-Silvers'. I was told they were competent warriors, but nothing was said of their penchant for dancing and poetry. It's a convenient turn of events," he stated, shifting in his throne. "I get to see some of Daaven's other talents."

"She's not-" started Ceridwen, before the Scholar cut her off.

"Syria is a lady of many talents. I need not even begin to discuss her talents in the realms of writing and magic," he stated, offering a much more diplomatic correction than the dragoness beside him nearly went with.

"Oh my! That is quite the list of accomplishments. An 'Enlightener' is a rare and valued thing in the world today, Zuppoland as much as anywhere else," claimed the king with a smile.

[C S]

Syria bowed again, this time to hide the steadily deepening shade of red that her cheeks were becoming. Though her confidence in herself had grown considerably, being put on the spot as the center of attention -- before a king and his court, at that -- was not something she was entirely comfortable with. Syria pulled in a breath and spoke before anyone could mention the green bird: "It is an honor to have my worth be recognized by your majesty, Sheemaka, yet I am but a humble guest in your domain; I wish to learn more of it and not fill your valuable time with details of my personal exploits."

[The Kingpin]

"My time's value differs from day to day, my dear. A kingdom under the sea does not get many delegates, and the matters of the people are quite easily remedied by the responsible authorities. It leaves someone like me with a surplus of time, when my advisors aren't busy talking my ears off with superfluous legislature," responded Sheemaka with a chuckle. Reaching for his staff, he tapped it once against the glossy floor, a pair of chairs rising up and morphing into existence out of the transparent surface for the Mage-Maiden and her elvish charge. Beside them, two bulbous but visibly supple formations also rose from the ground, looking like jellyfish, if not for the fact they were part of the floor. "But, seeing as you are so interested, I suppose I could tell you a bit about our history. Please, get comfortable."

Ceridwen gave one of the 'beds' an experimental poke, feeling it give under her paw and twittering confusedly as she recoiled. When she saw it hadn't actually moved towards her, she tested it again, noting that it was stationary, but soft. At that, she looked towards the Scholar questioningly, wondering if she should trust it. She saw him climb onto the larger counterpart to her own 'jelly-bed', shifting until he was comfortable and lying on his side. His long, fan-tipped tail curled around in front of him as he craned his neck, furling his wings against his flanks, one lifted slightly from his side to allow for the fact he was lying on it. The dragoness reluctantly did the same, though she ended up sitting in a posture more akin to a roosting bird.

Beshayir, having observed the humorous behaviour of the dragoness to its conclusion, finally did the same, sitting on the glassy-looking seat that had been summoned for her and realising with some surprise that it was quite comfortable, softly cushioned and, contrary to her expectations, quite dry.

"So tell me, what is it you would like to know?"

[C S]

Syria took her seat next to Beshayir. The answer to the monarch's question came to her easier than she'd anticipated. "I would like to know the history of your people and kingdom, to be completely succinct in my request. There are many books about this island, once deemed lost to time. They are filled with more myth than truths, I think." Syria thought back to Desrium's short stay at her inn. He had been reading one such book. That recollection took on a more morose tone. Lost to him Zuppoland had been, but Desrium was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, a phantom memory of a tragedy he had unwittingly caused.

[The Kingpin]

"Then it would be best to start at the beginning," responded Sheemaka as he lifted his staff, settling it across his lap. Septimus noted that in the background, the advisors were gesturing to the King and the guests, some of them laughing. Apparently they were in for a spectacle.

"So Zuppo people were historically a community of people that came from one of the elvish city-states in the East, vassals of Irrydil. They left the kingdom fifteen hundred years ago because angry elves didn't want them there anymore because they were elf-human half-breeds. Then they went to a human kingdom and left them because angry humans didn't want them there anymore because they were elf-human half-breeds," started Sheemaka at a pace that had Ceridwen reeling, her expression blank as she blinked, trying to process what he'd just said.

"And then we went to the beach and saw an island in the far distance and decided it would be a good place to stay because peace and isolation were wonderful things. So the Zuppo purchased ships from the fishing villages on the coast and sailed across to the island, where we decided to make a village. But then we started asking how we should make the houses in our village. Some wanted human houses and some wanted elvish houses, and no one could agree. So we thought about it and realised that we didn't have a culture of our own and everything was in fact either elvish or human. So we decided to come up with out own culture and a language to match."

"Make a language? Is that even possible?" asked Septimus, taken by surprise by the statement.

"We are proof that it is. But first we decided on how to make our houses look. Someone saw some shells on the ground and propped them together and went 'look, a house', and then everyone decided it was an ingenious idea. From there everyone started crafting houses inspired by shells and coral, and before long we had a large town of these things. And then we invented the language. I say invented but it was more like finding new ways to say things. More efficient ways. It was also a time of great distrust of those who may have been spying for the elves and humans so we did our best to make it as strange and unlike the Asterian languages as we could while still making it comprehensible, so then the spies might get confused and be unable to relay useful information to their masters," continued Sheemaka, barely skipping a beat as he lifted his staff, gesturing at the ceiling, the waterfalls lining the walls spilling upwards instead until it formed a watery film across its surface.

An image appeared soon after of a surface Zuppoland that seemed strange and yet familiar. It bore surprising resemblance to Daaven in its structure and layout, yet was cast in a new light by the aquatic theme. "As we grew and prospered, the relations with the humans and elves improved. The war was already raging between Valenhad and Irrydil, and the humans realised that they needed friends that didn't want to fill them with arrows. As it happened, the elves also realised they needed friends that didn't want to fill them with arrows. So they stopped spying on us and everything was good between our peoples. Then the elves lost and Valenhad took over their lands. Then an archdemon attacked and tried to make the most of the chaos and misery to grow powerful. But a dragon showed up and sealed it away and taught some of our people to be demon slayers and left them with a warning that we would all die if we didn't learn to protect ourselves," he continued, the image gradually shifting through several select instances as he spoke.

"Around that time, the refugees of the war, elf and human both, came to Zuppoland to start a new life, and we became much bigger. Until the demon slayers accidentally made Desrium. And then spent their time trying to unmake Desrium. And ended up unmaking a lot of other things in the process. People got angry with them and they went into hiding, and after that, the entire island sank because they tried to unmake Desrium. Only our city survived that. Everything else got unmade, coincidentally. And since then we've lived quietly under the sea, slowly rebuilding. The current city is about the size of half of Zuppoland at its peak. We lost three cities, but the capital has grown to the size of the other three combined."

It was here that he took a deep breath, sighing afterwards as he smiled. "I'm getting too old for this. Did I cover everything?" he asked. The reaction he got had his advisors sniggering, Ceridwen and Beshayir both blinking at him, seemingly lost. Septimus, however, was still outstandingly focused, and seemed for all the world to have absorbed every single word. The result of a lot of time spent gathering stories, written and spoken both. They could not have known that he was, for a few moments, reflecting on how similar Sheemaka's storytelling was to Buruq's. If perhaps more focused than the Ambassador's.

[C S]

"I can't think of anything else to ask right now," Syria replied. To her merit, she was faring better than Beshayir and Ceridwen. Syria was still a few paces behind Septimus in putting all the pieces together in her head, but it was due to his training of her that she was not completely lost at all. Digesting what she was just told was another bout of practice, though she was not immediately aware of it. "The best way to learn..."

"Really, all I can comment on is how similar your people's story is to Daaven, up to a point. My people were just humans who had grown weary of elves to the west, who were mostly unaffected by the deteriorated relationships of the east. They went in search of a place where they could be themselves without pestering anyone, or being pestered by anyone else. We too had our own language, granted, a permutation of western elvish." Syria tapped a finger on her cheek. What else was there to say?

"Ah... if only we had seashells to liven up the early Daavenian architecture... those are hard to come by in the heartlands... surrounded by forests and mountains. Though, my father had collected a few ancient samples that were stuck in rock layers at the base of a few peaks, along with the bones of some fish."

[The Kingpin]

"Interesting. We have found traces of ancient shells in the deep sea cliffs as well. Many kinds, for that matter. Ancient leviathans, squid and shellfish, all sorts of things," responded Sheemaka as he waved his staff's tip at the ceiling, the conch ornament shimmering pink for a brief moment before the water on the ceiling flowed back down to the waterfalls around the room, resuming their normal flow a moment later.

"You mentioned that the Order went into hiding, Sheemaka," rumbled the Scholar, his head tilting ever so slightly to imply he was taken by surprise at that fact. "Does that mean they did not stay in their tower?"

"That would be correct, yes. They departed for some other location. Incidentally, the tower, and the school attached to it, are among the few parts of old Zuppoland that did not get lost when the island plunged into the sea. The commonfolk believe it is a bad sign; remnants of the curse of the Blood Omen, or some lingering foul magic brought about by the Order's dealings in those days. No one will go near it, and those that do have a tendency to disappear."

"And you have not investigated the claims?" asked the Scholar.

Sheemaka shook his head. "It would be a waste of resources. We have signs and fences all around the location forbidding entry to anyone not authorised, and marked it a hazardous area. Anyone who ignores the warnings deserves what becomes of them, as far as I am concerned. In a place like Zuppoland, we cannot afford to hold everyone's hands. The difficulties brought about by our world mean that fortune and survival favour the intelligent. The fact of the matter is that I have no intention to throw valuable lives at a problem that can simply be blocked off and ignored." he said matter-of-factly.

[C S]

The Mage-Maiden raised a brow. Sheemaka's reasoning was sound, she supposed. Syria also thought of a few times when she and Septimus were guilty of purposely ignoring signs of danger. Yuraelia... Morrelie...

And the old sanctuary, too. Syria felt that itching inclination to learn more. "Would you be willing to... authorize Septimus and I to take a look? To find out why people disappear?"

[The Kingpin]

That threw the king off balance, his silvery eyes widening somewhat. "Oh. No, certainly not. I could never allow guests to venture into such a dangerous place on our behalf. That wouldn't do at all."

"With respect, Sheemaka," interjected Septimus just before the sovereign could continue, "This is our occupation of sorts. Much of what I have done in the past year has revolved around eliminating dangers just like the one you're describing."

That caused Sheemaka to pause. "Oh... I see. Well, experienced or not, I have no intention of you doing this without compensation. If it is your job, then you will be paid for it."

"We couldn't accept-"

"You will. It's that or you are prevented from accessing the sanctuary," interjected Sheemaka, his tone making it clear the decision was final.

With a sigh, Septimus relented. "As you wish, Sheemaka. Allow us to enter, and we will discuss payment after we've finished," rumbled the Son of Storms.

"Agreed. Arraka?" said Sheemaka, looking over to one of the other Zuppo elders in his court, this one serving as a scribe. He drew a sheet of what looked like parchment, along with a quill, and began to write out the order.

[C S]

"I say we ask for a seashell, so that we can make Beshayir a necklace," Syria conveyed to Septimus while she crossed her legs and did her best to look like an innocent, dainty damsel.

[The Kingpin]

"Perhaps. Something small but beautiful," responded the Hueilin. "I see you've taken an interest in making jewelry. Are you planning to settle down in a village somewhere?" he asked jokingly.

Beshayir looked between the Scholar and Sheemaka, unsure of how to take what had transpired. Ceridwen wasn't much better off, inwardly cursing the fact that the Scholar had managed to get himself into another pointlessly dangerous situation.

[C S]

"I wouldn't do that to you. Beshayir just deserves some nice things, and the wait can be long sometimes in that satchel of yours. I don't know how to play those Tyrbenetan cards."




From that point on, the Zuppo exhibition became a more serious mission. The perils were not that as to match Yuraelia -- at least, that's what the underlying understanding was. If there was an amalgamation of magic and malice traipsing about those old magus grounds the likes of the sylvari, Syria reckoned that it would have made itself more obvious than it had thus far. That still left the possibility of a guardian golem, devised by paranoid mages to protect their secrets. Or, in a more disturbing method, police their own ranks so that there would be no repeats of the night Desrium was born into this world.

Whichever was the reality, this was not an undertaking to be taken lightly. Septimus and Syria were confident they would be able to look after Ceridwen and Beshayir, dismantle the dangers of the sanctuary, and be back to admiring the colors of Zuppoland's interior.

Because color was not something the outskirts of the capital had much of. Past the dome, diffused as they were, the colors of the reef were exuberant and radiating energy. Standing immediately before the seascape was the brick and mortar dating back centuries, drab with disrepair. The dragon pair was assembled before the aged iron of the courtyard gate. The orange of its rust streaked the bars and hinges. The stone columns that supported them were in a cracked state of disrepair, smeared with mud.

Syria pushed the flap of the satchel up, staff in hand. "I'm glad we put our shoes back on, huh, Beshi?" she called down to the young elf still inside.

[The Kingpin]

"Definitely. That metal doesn't look like it would feel as pleasant as the sand," noted Beshayir apprehensively. She honestly did not like that they were going to another of these old places. She still occasionally had nightmares about the Sylvari. But she knew the Scholar's duty was a priority, and that this place had claimed lives, so she did not challenge his decision.

No sooner had she spoken of the rusted metal than the Son of Storms reached forward, taloned paws gripping and shattering the brittle gate with little effort, a loud clang sounding out as bars that had been welded and wrought centuries ago were undone in an instant, heavy thuds punctuating the separated shards' plummet to the soft, spongy, sandy floor.

A nonchalant wave of his paw caused the shards to be swept aside, curling into a large ball of metal which subsequently condensed itself into a lump no larger than a man's head. And with that, the dragon advanced, into a realm most famously known for being the birthplace of the one he considered a brother.

[C S]

"Nor would the loose bits of brick, wood and glass... or stone." That wasn't something she'd been expecting to see. As Septimus walked onwards into the mages' grounds, it became more evident that these reaches of the city were not always protected by the city's dome barrier. Beds of kelp, dried up and dead, replaced the lawn that would have been on either side of the path leading up to the complex dead ahead.

Said complex was partially buried under aquatic drift. Dunes of ocean sand, the likes that carried massive stone slabs, had settled over part of the sanctuary. The breathtaking lobby of the Order's university had its roof caved in from the sheer weight, much less the boulders that were embedded within the sand, pushed along by mighty currents. The staircase and upper balcony were lost beneath the grave of pale yellow substrate. Dark red rocks jutted out of the walls and windows.