Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"Thank you, brother. I would not be at ease with this arrangement were it not for your supervision," rumbled the Scholar appreciatively. In light of the circumstances in the city and the general mood he felt in the air, he was torn about the matter, even though he would not deny the young elf the very drive that spurred him on. After all, it was the very thing that had made her as strong as she already was.

"Where is this burrow that she's waiting for us at?" asked Ceridwen, eager but a bit uncertain, now that the moment had finally come. Was she really capable to watch over Beshayir as she had promised? Last time she'd been drawn away by the allure of the Thunderbird's power and mystique, but Beshayir had Willow and Oak to watch her. This time, they were in a City of Friends that had shown that it wasn't quite as friendly as it wanted to be.



"Your heart is heavy, dear Lazarus. I feel it, and it pains me. What troubles you so?" whispered that familiar silky voice that both comforted the Hueilin and made him squirm in discomfort. It was like she was everywhere.

"I have heard word of a certain... dragon, that I am acquainted with," he began, catching himself when he almost said friend. Septimus was, at best, a mutual friend. And even that was a stretch.

"Oh? What have you heard?" lilted Tulia, that honeyed scent wafting from her as she hung from one of the trees he was resting under. Her legs were bent in ways that no truly humanoid creature's legs should bend, looking like the legs of a bat in how bowlegged they were, only differing in the fact that in place of multiple toes, she simply had warped her feet into a pair of deadly looking hooks, gouging into the wood of the branch she clung to. He couldn't see that, his eyes closed as they were, and his head resting on the ground against his flank. But he had seen her do it before, and so he knew that to be the case now.

"That he has been places, and done things. Things completely unrelated to his task," snarled the obsidian drake.

"What is his task?" asked the inky-skinned avatar, her words soaked in a curiosity that seemed almost too interested.

"He was tasked with finding the exiled of our kind and bringing them home, Mayara included," explained Lazarus, his lips curling into a snarl. "He had sworn to do all he could to bring them back. He even argued with me over it, insisted that he was trying his best. But what he's doing... That does not seem like his best effort."

"And what is it he's been doing?"

"You mean aside from taking trips to Crestvale and spreading rumours of a 'Kraken'? He's been to some tiny city somewhere north-east of us to visit a friend. He's visited the desert a couple of times too. He apparently caught a group of pirates out there. There's even been sightings of him in Mercutio. If the exiles were there we'd have found them by now!" snarled the obsidian drake, his tail lashing violently against one of the trees a few feet away, branches striking one another and raining down to the ground below, broken from the force of the blow.

"His actions are certainly deceptive," cooed Tulia, her toothy maw curving into that uncomfortable smile he refused to look at. Indeed, it was why his head remained firmly on the grounds, and why his eyes did not open, so unpleasant was her visage. "Such treachery shouldn't go unpunished... But now is not the time, dear Lazarus. Lend me your patience a bit longer. You will have retribution... We will bring the deceiver to justice soon enough. Other things are more important though. We must first find Mayara."

[C S]

"I will take you there. It is not far, relatively," Desrium replied, which allowed him to segue into addressing Septimus. "Evisa is highly capable from my experiences with her. I would not be at ease myself, had she refused my request."

Syria took the opportunity to say, "Pass on our deepest thanks to her as well," before she broached without skipping a beat, "Relatively?"

"The elemental burrow is close enough to the city that Evisa can commute to it and back with ease, but it is out of the way of the daily traffic that Brodudika attracts. However it should be noted, Evisa is quite adept at physically tasking undertakings."

"So I've heard... sounds like the grounds for a morning hike before classes start." Syria beamed a smile at Ceridwen. "Sounds fun, doesn't it?"

[The Kingpin]

Ceridwen gave a hesitant nod to that. "I think so. I don't know if I'll particularly enjoy walking for very long distances on the rocky grounds out there, but I think I could learn to like it," she chirped, offering a positive outlook on what was to come. "Well, as long as Beshayir enjoys it?" she added, looking down to the young elf.

Beshayir smirked, her expression mischievous as she responded, "I think I'm going to enjoy it very much. I'll enjoy learning how the rocky grounds outside the city are different from the streets of home."

"That's the spirit," rumbled the Scholar cheerfully. His head lowered until it was close enough to gently nudge and rub against the young elf, offering his affections first to her, then to the dragoness. "Take care of eachother," he said, before shifting his attention to Syria. "Shall we?"

[C S]

The redheaded mage gave the Scholar a firm nod, and repositioned herself on her staff in preparation for his eventual ascent. "If you don't feel like walking, you could always do some flying exercises too!" she added offhandedly to Beshayir and Ceridwen, one hand adjusting how her hat sat on her head, and then flipping down her flight lenses. Syria tensed a moment later. "Ah... but nothing too involved. Not until we get you a cap like this to keep your head and eyes nice and safe," she cautioned as she kicked off of the cobblestone pavement.

[The Kingpin]

"Maybe if I get bored of jumping over rocks and dropping from dangerous heights," commented Beshayir with a smirk once the mage was out of earshot.

"Hey," warned Septimus. "We mean it. Be careful, alright?"

"I will be. Always am. It's how I survived," she responded flatly, patting the Scholar's muzzle when it lowered back to eye level to fix her with a stern look. "Relax. I'll be careful. Promise," she assured him with a smile. "Go on. The sooner you leave, the sooner you get back. I'm missing your cooking already," she added a moment later.

Septimus sighed at that, looking over to Ceridwen. "Mir toth sulekord, amaniir. Mar du amakhmor," he growled. She is your responsibility, sister.

Ceridwen nodded in response. "Dolvarashmor, amanuur. Beshayir volnaveirum." Don't fear, brother. Beshayir will not be harmed.

And with that, Septimus leapt, taking to the air and spreading his wings once his magic had lifted him above the buildings, the Hueilin moving in pursuit of the emerald mage as he began to arc in the direction of the Twin Cities... or what was left of them.

[C S]

Septimus' shadowed figure blended into the cloud-screened encroaching dusk shortly thereafter, high above the incomplete walls and the reverent stares of silver guards on the battlements.

"Take care," came Desrium's delayed wishes, spoken absently and reserved for after the couple's departure. He felt it would have been a sour finality if he said this last goodbye, after having to part ways so many times before. The moment was ephemeral, and the armored being's red eyes, aided by a shift of his helm, rested on the dragoness and child, where they would have been blank and vacant otherwise.

"And it is our turn to start moving," he said to them. The gate's dividers, accompanied by the chorus of chains and mechanisms, began to rise when he turned to face the way out of Brodudika. Desrium strode forward with uncanny familiarity of his surroundings. Each subsequent grate was hoisted up in front of him seconds before he reached them. The gate operators at each stage stopped to salute him as he passed, and he nodded to each one with routine rhythm.

[The Kingpin]

The dragoness and the elf followed the Stalwart slowly, both a bit hesitant; Ceridwen for her instinctual discomfort around him, and Beshayir because she had yet to become familiar enough with him to be at ease. The receding silhouette of the Scholar had Beshayir feeling ever so slightly uncertain, despite her boasts and reassurances.

[C S]

Consequently, the hike out to the elementals' burrow was an outing of few words, and Desrium led the way by a generous margin. It was just how things were, and the armored being knew that when the pair were with Evisa, their pensiveness would be alleviated. He was grateful that they were willing to put up with him as they had, and that the process was not as difficult as it could have been.

The sun disappeared behind the western range partway into the walk. By then, the surrounding trees were thick enough that they blocked out signs of the city behind them. There was no lamplight on the walls to be seen. No purple banner fluttering in the breeze, which had picked up into a strong winter's wind on the precipice of a substantial rain. The wind howled between the trunks and branches, and the open canopy overhead gave way to the sight of churning gray-blue clouds, lit by the last of the evening light.

In response to the storm-gloom, Desrium's eyes illuminated the forest floor and washed up the heights of the nearby trees. It was an even more unsettling thing to witness, the shape advancing through the woods with a scarlet envoy reaching out in nearly all directions. The Paladin's back was turned into deep shadow in contrast to the bright light that spilled from his helmet.

Though he did himself no favors in winning Ceridwen and Beshayir over in lighting the way for them, Desrium's thoughts did not dwell. He was thankful that Septimus and Syria were able to avoid the inclimate weather entirely.

[The Kingpin]

The dragoness and the elf followed, standing by each other's sides closely, Ceridwen to overcome the primal restlessness she felt here near the Stalwart, and Beshayir because the gloom made it difficult to see, even with the crimson light flooding the surroundings. The angle of the light source meant she couldn't see any shadows, and it gave everything ahead of them a very flat, unpredictable nature.

"Very gloomy... Evisa seemed like such an energetic one. I can't imagine what she would see in a place like this," chirped Ceridwen.

"Nervous?" jabbed Beshayir, mostly to distract herself from her own feelings.

"Nervous? Pff. Beshi dear, I am a dragon. I don't feel nervous. I'm just pondering Evisa's motives for being here."

"It's okay to be nervous," stated the elf.

"I'm not nervous!" insisted Ceridwen, a momentary hesitation in her voice. "Ask Desrium. I'm sure he agrees that I am not nervous."

"You ask him. You're the one trying to argue against me. Septimus told me that it was 'up to the denying party to put forward their proof'," responded Beshayir with a slightly smug smirk, which only widened when Ceridwen looked at her uncomfortably.

[C S]

"These acres are not so cheerless most of the time," Desrium spoke up without looking behind him. "Under ideal conditions, the night can be tranquil. Not this coming night, though. The burrow will be good shelter from the rain at any rate."

[The Kingpin]

"I have not ever slept in a burrow before. Under bridges and between boxes in alleys... But never in a burrow," responded Beshayir a bit wistfully. "Have you?" she asked, the question pointed at the Stalwart.

[C S]

"I cannot say I have," Desrium replied. "I do not sleep as others do. However, I have waited nights away underneath bridges, and made myself scarce in less frequented streets. In that way, I can relate to you." Ironically. Zuppoland, a nation surrounded by water throughout its history, whereas Thimeyra was the polar opposite. Desrium found it interesting how this stark contrast found common ground in shipping, granted the methodologies were equally opposed.

One sector of the armored being's ruminations entertained the notion that one day in the future, a goliath rock-eating morrath would be commissioned to carry a landship on its chitinous back, and Thimeyra's inverted reflection of Zuppoland would be all the more strengthened.

[The Kingpin]

"I couldn't afford to stay in unfrequented streets. I had to stay in busy but sheltered ones. Unfrequented streets were... dangerous for someone like me," responded the young elf hesitantly. "Some Thimeyrans would sooner be animals than follow the teachings of the ancestors."

[C S]

Another division of Desrium's mind went to the elf's wording. Given what he knew of old elvish customs, specifically those of the east due to his time collecting material for Brodudika's archives, the irreverence for animals in this context struck him as odd. Ironic, still. Beshayir's world was far removed from the one that Andruil and Vixen were aware of, and was indicative of Thimeyra's unique culture. Insights like this allowed Desrium to understand with a little more clarity than before, why Septimus shaped himself after these people. And in so keeping with the Scholar's scholarly habits, Desrium had to inquire further.

"Excuse me if I speak of things you would rather not address. I am aware of the difficulties you have faced in life... but I do not grasp your meaning. What do you mean by 'ancestors'?"

[The Kingpin]

"Hmm?" was Beshayir's first reaction, taken by surprise by the question. "Oh. Hmm," she stated thoughtfully, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Well, it's a bit of a story. I don't know how to explain it without telling you the beliefs of my people. Have you ever heard of the Keeper of Souls?"

[C S]

"I have not," Desrium replied, and he had a feeling that Beshayir was not referring to the reaper. "Who... or what... is this Soul-Keeper?"

[The Kingpin]

"The Soul-Keeper planted a soul in every living thing. Our souls are half of who we are, but they don't belong to us. We've only been given them for a little while," started off Beshayir. "The ancestors were the first elves to learn of the Soul-Keeper. The forefathers of our people. There were twenty one among them that were chosen by the Soul-Keeper. Their duty was to preserve life and remind us of the duties we have to each other. To be kind, generous, compassionate, loyal, brave, vigilant, and wise. To respect each other and the importance of every being, from the smallest insect to the biggest dragon. They were told to remind us of the sanc-" she said, halting mid-word as she realised she couldn't remember the other half of it. "The importance of our souls. To make sure we never forget that it is the most valuable thing we have. It is life, and it is... fragile. It is also not ours. Not really."

"So you don't have the right to your own lives? How you live?" chirped Ceridwen, having been taken by surprise by what Beshayir had said. It was tempting to deny her statement entirely. Her pride pratically begged her to deny it, to dismiss it as false, to assert that her soul was her life, her soul, was her own, and that no one had any right to it. But it seemed the young girl was absorbed in her explanation of it, and alone as they were, she felt it would be unfair to them both to speak out now.

"We do... So long as we don't do anything that would make our souls... dirty," responded the elf. "Those who kill, who steal, who-" she trailed off, lingering on a particularly dark memory for a split second longer than she had liked. Shaking off the thought, she continued, "... who treat others badly and... and hurt them for their own pleasure... Those people have dirtied their souls. The Soul-Keeper doesn't like that."

It was clear there was some measure of emotional weight behind what she had said, and Ceridwen was reminded of what she had learned of the girl in Thimeyra not long ago. What must she have experienced that would make her feel as she did now? Suddenly, the gloomy sky seemed less a result of the whims of the weather and more a manifestation of feelings left buried.

[C S]

"I see," said the Stalwart, piecing together the myriad parts of Beshayir's puzzle. Faith in the Soul-Keeper was the premier faith of the old elvish collective in the west, and perhaps farther still until the great schism that divided the east. Desrium saw parallels between this tale and what he was told by Cleotaire as well. Could it be that the twenty-one prophets were elves of yore that learned of the Eight, and over time their teachings of eight became one supernatural figure complete with mythology?

Every culture has a creation myth. Every single one, regardless of distance from one another, heritage... species.

Desrium's thoughts then went to Cleotaire. Her actions may not have redefined Thimeyran beliefs, but to be labeled Life Bringer by those who believed in a Soul-Keeper... truly she was beloved by the desert elves. Something she must have known for a great many ages by now. Her unsteadiness at the concept of attachment in general slowly unraveled in the armored being's mind.

Finally, Desrium reflected on how this all related to Beshayir, and then spoke. All of this, in the span of a short, thoughtful pause on the armored being's part.

"You have my deepest respects, Beshayir. To be faced with those who would abandon the tenets that govern decency at such a young age, yet reaching where you have; it is truly remarkable. Although, would I be in contention with the Soul-Keeper to believe that one with a dirty soul can strive to be clean again, through grit and conviction?"

[The Kingpin]

The girl lingered a bit in thought, working out what Desrium was asking exactly and considering possible examples, before she finally settled on an answer. "I dont... think so. The soul is a sacred and priceless thing... But if one were to kill someone, but in doing so save two... I think the Soul-Keeper would appreciate those deeds. Septimus is like that. I haven't seen him... kill people. Not with my eyes. But I do know he only does it for a good reason."

"Like saving me," offered Ceridwen, seeing the conflict that arose in the young elf for a few moments and helping comfort her.

"Yes. I don't think his or Syria's souls are dir-" she began, stopping herself. Different words. Different words for the same meaning. "Tainted," she corrected herself after some thought, remembering the word. "I don't think their souls are tainted. Or Ceridwen's."

[C S]

Desrium hummed contemplatively, the tinny sound easily lost in the forest ambiance to Beshayir, but unnaturally distinct to the dragoness. He conceded that the ideals of forgiveness and absolution were a comfort in Beshayir's scenario, but they left something to be desired. Disregarding the technicality of creatures that fed upon other creatures for survival, he thought of it from the example of Morrelie. She was one who had no qualms regarding cutting down swaths of those she deemed enemies, and vehemently believed in her own justice. Once again, Desrium faced that formidable obstacle presented by reforming a wrongdoer who refused to acknowledge their wrongs.

"This is difficult wisdom to philosophize at any age, and your input is impressive," Desrium said, admitting to himself that he had been unreasonable in pursuing this inquiry. Beshayir was not a Thimeyran priest. Exploring his dilemma through her was overbearing and insensitive to the struggles of her life.