Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

Desrium reached over his shoulder and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. It retained its alien aura, as if it wasn’t something that had been with him for hundreds of years. It was like it was just newly forged from the forlorn processes that created it in the first place. It sunk in finally, that this wasn’t his sword. The True Blood Omen was well and truly destroyed in the battle for Aster. This weapon reserved for only the most depraved and vehement sinners, bearing the mark of darkness, it needed a new name.

“As do you,” Cleotaire pointed out. “A Champion still to some, but not to yourself. A benefactor, but that is not your true calling either.”

“Mm,” Desrium hummed, flexing his grip on the sword.

“If you would allow me, I can bestow a new title upon you. One you can carry outside of my chamber, one you can take across Aster.”

After a moment of silent deliberation, Desrium kneeled and bowed his head. Cleotaire shifted again and placed her fingertip upon his helm.

“From now, you will be known as Desrium the Stalwart. A paladin for your own cause. Your own champion. What name will you give your righteous blade?” Cleotaire removed her finger and sat back.

“The Blood Dragon’s Fang,” the armored being -- the Stalwart Paladin -- said. It came naturally, like an epiphany. A way for the memory of Jiier to heal the wounds left by his kind’s devastating claws.

“Then rise, Desrium the Stalwart, wielder of the Blood Dragon’s Fang.”

The paladin did so.

“And now for your trial. You will need to carve your resolution from your past image. To once and for all, overcome those ties and stand as your own.”

“To act my age,” Desrium responded, to which the Life Bringer nodded.

“You have indeed grown since you last were here. Take your paces away from my throne and prepare yourself.”

“This will not disturb Andruil?”

“Andruil has bigger things to worry about, to be frank. I will make sure nothing interferes with his test.”

Desrium nodded, and proceeded. He turned away from Cleotaire and drew the Fang from its sheath. He held it sure in his grasp as he walked. The blade of the Blood Omen needed to redeem itself in many ways, still.

“Stand your ground,” Cleotaire ordered. Desrium stopped walking. Then he felt her magic at work. Her very essence radiated from her body and surged into the chamber’s floor before her throne. Just like before. Another unfortunate phantom to test his resolve.

Desrium turned to face the figure rising from the stone. It was peculiar. The vague humanoid shape was hunched over on all fours, struggling to stand. Particles of sand and dust swirled around it in a way that Desrium did not recall from his battle with the Stone Simian.

Little by little his opponent started to stand. The dust storm around the figure began to coalesce. Desrium could only watch as the storm cemented paradoxically into fabric. A robe, draped over a stone warrior. Cleotaire narrowed her eyes, and a tunic rose from the shape and wrapped around its upper torso, then the impressions of straps and a belt wrapped around that. A kite shield, no doubt bearing the sigil of the sun, formed from the fluid rock and was placed upon the warrior’s back.

Desrium’s surprise and disbelief reached its peak when the stone double reached a hand out towards him, palm down to the floor. Obeying the silent command, the earth shifted, cracking, then reforming into what the warrior’s will wished.

The holy lance was reincarnated before the paladin’s red eyes, and it rose in full glory straight from the Life Bringer’s chamber, into the double’s hand. It took the Lance by its handle and twisted it about with the seasoned prowess of a fully realized Justicar.

“What --”

In a flash, both of the Stone Champion’s hands held the revived Lance. In another, the robed warrior shot into the air, the killing end of the spear aimed for Desrium’s chest.

[The Kingpin]

"It is the sign of a good ruler that they are able to mingle with their subjects, Princess Adsila," offered the Duke, freshly parting from an aged delegate from the neighbouring kingdom of Germania, his interaction having been brief, but no less tiresome.

[Hopeflower]

As quickly as the pair had found their relative peace, they assumed their expected roles again. Arsenic averted his eyes and lowered his head, falling silent as a servant was supposed to be.

Vixen, on the other hand, found the energy to muster a smile the right shade of polite. "Surely a ruler can be forgiven a moment's rest before they get back to mingling, Sir Lyall." She smoothed her skirt absently, already wondering how long this latest in a long string of mostly meaningless conversations was to last.

[C S]

A terrible noise as the paladin’s armor tore open ensued. The stark black prongs of the stone spear, onyx or perhaps obsidian, they were embedded deep into Desrium’s body. His mana ichor spilled out green around the dual blades, and he just stared at the weapon.

The holy Lance, now against the Blood Dragon’s Fang. The two of them out of time. When these storied blades met prior, the roles were reversed.

The Stone Justicar readjusted its hold on the spear. One gauntlet of rock reached forward to take it closer to its blades, and then the warrior lifted Desrium clear off the ground, spun, and launched him across the chamber. The metal shell twisted in the air to land with a resounding thud, but by time his boots were on the ground again, his robed opponent was already speeding towards him. A sight that many a demon had seen before being vanquished to their netherworld.

Desrium rose from his crouched stance and brought the Fang up with him in a wide arc with both hands on the hilt and all his weight on his leading foot. The side of the toothed blade met the two prongs with a clash of bravado, parrying the Stone Justicar’s swing. The paladin took the brunt of his opponent’s momentum as a mountain stands up to a gale. The Stone Justicar came to an abrupt stop, dual blades locked with Desrium’s.

It did not last long. The spear retracted, rock gauntlets found their place on its length, and then its prongs were sent at Desrium again, this time aiming for the jagged edged sword itself. The Stone Justicar had the sword in between the prongs and was about to twist the spear to trap it, but with speed to match, Desrium pulled the Fang out of the maneuver.

Compensating, the Stone Justicar transitioned into a slashing swing from the jab, and Desrium turned the inside of his sword’s curve towards the incoming attack. The prongs slammed against the metal and Desrium turned his sword so that the spear rode down the length of its spine up to the tip, where a firm shove from its wielder made space between the two weapons.

The Stone Justicar was unwavering in its aggression and sent another sideways swing at the paladin, which he deflected with a deft one-handed parry. But then the spear split in the Stone Justicar’s hands, literally breaking apart at the midline. In the next split-second, Desrium’s double held two single-bladed spears in its hands.

”Oh.”

And then the attack was back on with unrelenting ferocity. Desrium’s arms were blurs as he tracked the two spears and moved the Fang to parry, sparks flying and metal ringing as the wounds in the metal one’s chest came closer to sealing completely. The Stone Justicar kept pace with the paladin, and Desrium suspected that he was being trapped in a pattern. He had to be ready to catch that slip that could mean him losing an arm or a leg. Or several limbs at once.

Desrium disengaged, jumping backwards a step. Those few seconds were enough for him to read his opponent and act accordingly. The Stone Justicar pressed on. The Stalwart Paladin let himself drop to the floor, deflecting a swing with his sword and propping himself up with his free hand. Before the second spear could make good on the opening, Desrium sweeped a kick into his foe’s legs.

The armored being spun with his momentum and was back in a solid stance, the Fang held in front of him while the Stone Justicar engaged in a sequence of rolls to get away from him, soon rolling back onto its feet. It stood regally and held the spears apart from one another, and then they began to warp akin to melting glass. The stone became tensile and the spears became whip-like. Desrium watched the stone warrior put the two in one hand, then reach over its back to draw the shield.

So now it had come to this.

[The Kingpin]

"It is a sign of a good host to make sure his guests are always at ease, princess," responded the Duke with a gracious smile. All the while however, something gnawed at him. Something was not right. He thought something was odd before, but now, he genuinely felt as much. "And of course, far be it from me to unsettle such a highly regarded guest," he added as he tried to pinpoint what was off about it all. The servant, for some reason, seemed familiar. He couldn't make a matter of it now, not while speaking to the princess, it would be borderline scandalous. But he made a mental note to have one of his agents in the room fill him in on the man's background.

[Hopeflower]

"Thank you for the concern, sir, but these things become second nature after a while." Vixen had certainly been doing this long enough to have learned that. The young princess's smile gained an involuntarily wry edge and she tilted her head, inwardly zeroing in on the Duke's emphasis on her remaining calm. A moment's study told her that he seemed...very distracted. Curious. After a slight pause, she ventured, "Forgive me if I'm prying, but is everything alright?"

[C S]

The whips lashed out at Desrium, wrapping around his sword-arm. The Stone Justicar pulled, not to bring Desrium toward it, but knowing he would hold his position. Using Desrium as an anchor, the robed fighter flew through the air by the lines of stone and brought the shield crashing atop the paladin’s helm. The combined impacts of the shield and the rest of the Stone Justicar sent Desrium backwards, and when his opponent sprung off of him, the kicks it delivered sent him to the floor.

When Desrium rose again, the Stone Justicar was a short distance away. The shield was on its back once more, the spears were solid again, and they were held crossed over each other.

Cracks ran down their length. Desrium cocked his head. Were they really just ordinary stone weapons, unable to meet his metal? Impossible. He remained on guard, wise to trickery. It made no difference, however. There was nothing he could do to counter what had happened in actuality. Each crack, each flake of spear was suspended around the Stone Justicar as a veritable cloud of flechettes, innumerable sharp edges.

A fully realized Justicar emulated through rock. Desrium did not have time to be impressed. The barrage came swiftly with a sweep of a stone hand. Each tiny shard flew forward in unison and perforated the paladin’s shell. Scratches, cuts and full on penetration of his armor, slamming into the front and emerging through the back before the inferno of magic contained within could corrode them.

Desrium reeled, and his body spewed arcs of his inner energies. Green light and sparks enveloped him as he staggered backwards from the swarm of needle-like pieces that wound their way in and out of him repeatedly, going so far as to smash through his ruby-like eyes. The blankness within the robe’s hood watched on as it bested the armored warrior.

He did not know what his sword’s power was. He could not hope to call upon it now. As he was torn asunder by the assault, Desrium weighed the implications of his failure. By being unable to beat this persona of his, he would go on with the knowledge of being subpar to who he was as the keeper of the Lance, as the Champion of Moria.

They were vast shoes to fill. Not everyone could say they were a god’s chosen. The blessed power of the Lance made him a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield with his fellow Justicars. Ghul taught him well. Every lesson and every triumph was ripping him apart at the seams, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

If there was one key thing that Ghul taught Desrium, it was to never stop fighting. One demon, ten trillion, or a single stone duplicate pretending to be the hand of the Dawnmother. Flares of crimson shot out of his ruined visage.

[The Kingpin]

"Nothing you need stress over, princess," responded the Duke off-handedly, playing off his distraction. "If I may be candid, perhaps I've simply been in this throne room for too long. Too many troubled advisors, noblemen and traders asking that I settle their troubles. It makes it difficult to think of this room as anything but a source of stress, even on a pleasant night such as this. I will have to host the next banquet in the palace garden next time, to make the most of the lovely summer evenings, the open air...Free ourselves of the stuffiness of walls for a change," he said half-jokingly as he looked towards the tall windows of the hall. That was definitely off. He could have sworn the Summer Solstice Banquet was supposed to be had in the palace garden. He said nothing of it, however. Not in front of the guests.

[Hopeflower]

"As you say, sir." Vixen's curiosity was far from satisfied, but the deflection told her not to keep pushing. "I'm told the moon blossoms are beautiful this time of year," she added, allowing the conversation to flow back toward something devoid of meaning. "They don't grow half as well in Lysanthir."

[C S]

The Stalwart dug his boots down. He was off promptly after. There was no time to blink before he impacted with the Stone Justicar and kept going, his empty hand lodged within the hood of the sand-robe. What he was holding onto, a face or something else, Desrium did not know. His hole-riddled body revealing the burning presence within carried the stone double across the chamber in a heartbeat.

The shards of the Lance chased after him, gravitating towards one another and building up to become the full spear responding to its user’s call.

Desrium threw the Stone Justicar to the ground. His next footstep slammed down atop it thereafter, and caved in its abdomen. He stepped off of the crushed body, spun and led the edge of the spear down the back of his sword again, leading its strike until he was able to take it in his own hand.

Before his opponent could break it down again, Desrium twisted it in his gauntlet as he once did on the wastelands of Tyrbenetus and then impaled the Stone Justicar through the head with the copy of the holy Lance. He leaped around his incapacitated enemy and brought the Fang upon its limbs, slicing off the double’s arms and legs by time he was done.

Desrium regarded what he had accomplished. For the time being, it appeared he had succeeded. For all the damage he’d taken -- much of his limbs stripped away and blasting arcs of orange beams into the air, massive holes in his torso and midsection, his broken eyes -- he had overcome. Once more.

He had secured his identity. He was more than just a deity’s servant. He was Desrium. But Cleotaire wasn’t doing anything just yet. He looked over his shoulder at the desert queen. She met his ruined gaze.

And then it happened. A most terrible bellow that came from the Stone Justicar. A perfect replica of Desrium’s scream when his robe had been incinerated and likewise, the sheer magnitude of the sound turned the double’s robe into the sand and dust it was made from.

Desrium’s gaze shot back around to see what he had done. This broken enemy of his own image. That horrible sound. How could he be so... monstrous? When it was all over, the stone double and the imitation Lance crumbled away into fine powdery grains that blew away on a breeze that was not there.

[The Kingpin]

"Then perhaps I will have to arrange for a summer getaway to be built for you and their majesties the King and Queen in Riverdale. Perhaps near Lake Sylmyral," offered the Duke jovially. "I can personally confirm the moon blossoms grow in fields there. The drake's tongue roses, too. It is quite the sight to enjoy, and close to the vineyards, should you ever crave Irrydil honey wine from its source," he elaborated. There it was again. That nagging urge that something was out of place. What was it about honey wine specifically that struck him so?

[Hopeflower]

Before Andruil could examine that thought more closely, as he described the scene, so it was. It was a nearly seamless transition from inside to a lakeside, but it was immediately clear that some time had passed.

Vixen's cheeks had hollowed just slightly, accenting the angles of her cheekbones and jaw. The hint of dark shadows under her eyes wasn't quite covered up by the layer of makeup. She stood barefoot in the lake's shallows, and in stark contrast to the formal wear she'd been wearing but a moment before, a loose dress of softer but no less expensive material hung to just below her knees. In her hands, she cradled a small firefly, watching its light blink in and out of existence.

"I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around how beautiful it is here," she was saying, as though continuing a conversation they'd just been having. The ease with which she spoke to Andruil suggested that they'd become more familiar in that missing time. Or perhaps the serenity of the place made her forget, for just a little while, the responsibilities she would one day inherit. "You didn't have to do all of this for us." As she finished speaking, the firefly took flight. She watched its path with some curiosity, wondering what it was like to fly. In that moment, she seemed strangely unguarded.

[C S]

“Desrium,” Cleotaire called.

Desrium went to her throne and kneeled. Slowly, his being repaired itself.

“You have done well, Desrium. You have great strength in both will and body, but there is always a balance, as you know.”

“That fury exists within me. It is... disturbing.”

“You named your sword after Jiier. When Jiier and Eredar became one, they spawned a being, a new divine. A god of wrath.”

“I remember it well,” Desrium said. As if he could ever forget. Forget about anything.

“It is a potent, but very unstable strength, such anger. I am going to have you make a promise to me, because I know how much those mean to you.”

“Promise?”

“Never act out of wrath again. Not against even a demon. With that power in your sword, it could mean disaster.”

Desrium let his gaze drop as he considered this warning. Yes, that was fair. He was not so fond of that raging version of himself, anyway. “I promise.”

“Good.” Cleotaire looked visibly relieved as she turned her eyes to Andruil. Now it was time to see how strong he was.

[The Kingpin]

"I would accept nothing less. Our families have been so close they may as well have been one, and have been that way for millennia. All our other allies forsook us, while the Adsila's stood firm. Much of my family may be gone, but I will not be the one to forget what you've done for us. We are where we are today, thanks to you. This is the least I could do in return," responded Andruil, standing beside the princess as he looked out over the lake.

He felt uncomfortable, even though the peace and tranquility of this place seemed to chase away anxiety. The young princess looked tired. He could see it more and more clearly every time they met. He knew why, of course. Valenhad's network of agents made sure that not much escaped the ears of the King and his advisors. Queen Cholena was ill, and had been for a while now. The King of the Adsila kingdom was struggling to carry out his duties to his kingdom in the wake of the duties he owed his wife. As a result, young Princess Vixen was forced to carry out the duties her parents could not.

It worried him. For while the old prejudices of the Archer dynasty had long since dissolved, their lust for power had, in recent years, returned. Boulstered by his son Prince Sebastian, King Salazar II had set his eyes towards reforging the military legend that the kingdom had been infamous for during the reign of King Valenhad Archer; the Elfslayer. No more than two years ago, the King had, through a series of orchestrated 'orc invasions' and not-quite-unfounded rumours of corruption within the church, brought Germania to its knees and absorbed it. Draxon, now the sole human power left in Eastern Aster, was starting to disintegrate amidst widespread unrest which may also have been subtly influenced by the King's agents.

Valenhad had ceased being a mere kingdom, and was looming on that threshold most would call an Empire. The people of the kingdom were conflicted on the matter, as was the Duke. For while a larger kingdom meant a more secure one, it also meant many more foes, both without and within. Old allies were no longer so eager to side with Valenhad. New factions, such as the unexpected rise of a flight of dragons known as the Hueilin to the North, openly opposed the kingdom's actions, if only verbally. It would not be long before coalitions formed and the deposition of the monarch was called for. For the first time in thousands of years, House Lyall was in a precarious political situation...

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

Pamela had produced a large fang from her pocket at the question - something she had snagged after the wyvern's head had met the ground in a violent fashion, coming loose in the process even before the beast's demise.

"Not a problem."


With that, the red woman had made her leave from the town. Her "allies" clearly had a change of heart while she was away; at first she had considered the possibility that they had witnessed the battle somehow, but soon decided against it. Her senses were simply too keen to let such a thing happen. Perhaps the sound of her confrontation with the poachers had turned their stomachs sour - were they really that new to battle? They seemed several degrees more apt than the greenhorns employed in the town's guard, but it was hard to say how true this held.

What was certain was that she was no longer welcome.

Back in Brodudika, Pamela used the wyvern's fang as proof of her deed and reported the destruction of the poachers. She received her payment shortly after, but such a thing was of little import - she performed these feats for a very different purpose.

[C S]

School was school.

Work was work.

And the weather sucked.

But that didn't matter because Dahnae was a jungle cat. Freely so, thanks to Viho's continued coaxing and regulating of her energy. But regulating her energy wasn't something she was worried about. It was cold out, but her yellow and black fur did well to keep her warm. The pelt was almost more effective than the big coat she lugged around on her person. Which was just fine for her, because she was going fast.

She sprinted down the street. Everyone in her way jumped aside and made space -- finally! In this city so big and cramped at times, she was finally breaking loose and doing what she wanted. And right now she was hungry.

[Hopeflower]

For a nearly uncomfortably long moment, it seemed Vixen would let the conversation die there. She slowly dragged her gaze away from the sky to look at the Duke. Having been as busy as she had been since her mother had fallen ill, the political concerns weighing on him hadn't escaped her notice either. Once, they might have. Had things been different - had Queen Cholena not been wasting away in her bed as they stood there - Vixen might have been free to be young for a little while longer.

Alas, fate was not so kind.

"I won't forget this kindness," Vixen said quietly. So quietly that it could have been lost in the wind and the waves, if Andruil chose not to hear. She cleared her throat and added more clearly, "But you didn't want to speak to me about this, surely?"

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

The thought crossed the red woman's mind to inquire about further quests, but she decided against it - it was unnecessary, for the time being.

She was sated.

Instead, Pamela made her way back into Brodudika proper, intent on finding a nice inn. Although many of the luxuries offered there would be wasted on her, her innate inclination towards seclusion remained strong. That, and her fondness for a warm cup of tea.

Brodudika was as dreary as it had been when she had first set out, if not more so. Although the rain had since passed, the onset of night and the leftover moisture made for a very monotonous journey. People milled about with their business as usual, ignorant to the world around them as much as they could afford. It was these times, under such mundane circumstances, that Pamela felt the most at ease. Everyone was concerned only with themselves, and the world was quiet.

It reminded her of places far removed...

[C S]

"Oh holy hell, what is that thing!?" a voice exclaimed not far off from the woman enjoying the peace of the scenery, effectively ruining that peace. The milling crowds came apart in a wild scattering a few streets up from Pamela. Another moment passed and revealed the one responsible. The large cat skidded about on her paws, eyes darting about between the people she alarmed.

They weren't what she smelled.

Dahnae slowed in the middle of the street and angled her nose high. It, whatever it was, was near. She could smell it. It smelled like blood.

And while she usually was not attracted to such a morbid thing, her cat-self was more than enthused. Blood meant food, in her mind.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

Among the crowd that stopped to stare, there was only one figure that continued moving without pause. The red woman had her eyes on the cat-creature, but her expression appeared neutral, unworried. Her intent remained the same, no matter the interruption.