Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"Fair enough," responded Andruil in agreement. Twisting in his chair to look at Shiryaz, he smirked. "It seems he's taken a liking to you, Rowan. At this rate you'll be expected to do that every time he enters the inn," he joked as he saw what passed for a blissful look in the raptor's eyes.

[Hopeflower]

"That assumes I'll be here every time," Rowan replied with a smile that was just a shade too tired for one her age. "Nick will have to pick up the slack."

'And that's assuming I'll be here every time you're not,' Arsenic said, recovering from his minor laughing fit with an impressively straight face. 'Besides, he doesn't think much of me.'

The offhanded comment got the attention of the women, and a curious head tilt from Vix. "You know that for sure, do you?" the innkeeper asked, mostly teasing.

Arsenic blinked once, cocked his head right back at her, and said in a tone that gently implied he was stating the very obvious, 'Psychomancer.'

[The Kingpin]

The Knight raised a brow curiously, looking between the Assassin and the Raptor.

"I should try that some time. I've always wondered what goes on in that head of his," said Andruil, thoroughly amused at the thought the bird thought little of Arsenic. He couldn't see why. Well, aside from the fact Shiryaz's attempts to get some attention had been ignored.

[Hopeflower]

For reasons known only to him and Shiryaz for the moment, that made Arsenic smirk. 'I'll leave it to you to find out, then,' he said, sounding almost as entertained as Andruil was.

Vix eyed Arsenic, a little wary. "Do I even want to know?"

'I expect you'll hear about it either way.' The mute stretched and resettled himself, throwing one leg over the arm of his chair and resting his back against the other. With his tea mug cradled in his hands, he looked entirely ready to relax the rest of the day away.

As old habits died hard, Rowan found herself fighting the temptation to go outside and gather snowballs to pelt him with. She contained the urge by focusing on the bird she was petting. Being denied warranted a little extra scratching, she reasoned.

[C S]

Snowfall was upon the small inlet down Aster's eastern coast. The sky was overtaken by a pale glow, clouds mingling with one another in such a way that they formed a blanket over the sea, and the water reflected the shining beauty. The waves were bright as they rose and fell, foam creeping up the snowy sands and leaving stretches of damp sand and slush. There were docks that reached out into the shallows and connected to wooden paths that went up the beach to the cluster of huts and shacks nestled in the treeline. Taller piers stood on fine, interlocking struts held together by vine ropes. Boats were tied up to both the docks and piers, long, thin constructions with a balancing pontoon held out to one side. They bobbed about in the waves, rolling the oars inside back and forth.

This deceptively tropical locale was well on its way to being the face of winter, according to the mage sitting just past the reach of the tides with her new staff across her lap. In keeping his promise about boats, Septimus had flown down to this spot for its cove, and it was a breathtaking thing to behold. The bluffs around this small bay were bonafied cliffs that rolled out from higher ground inland, covered in greenery and trees at the top. Past the soil there, the earth became a striking collection of browns, reds and oranges all the way down to the beach that serpentined around them, making a shallow bend where the fishing village settled down. In the past, they would have been visible from the cliffs of Zuppoland...

When the weather was better, though cold still, Syria went out in one of the boats with Beshayir and rowed her way up and down the coastline until sunset. The Scholar took to the water in much the same way he had in Daaven's lake, rolling about in the deep and breaking the surface on occasion, looking like some mythical maritime legend when he did.

But now it was snowing and the waterborne winds were racing up the sheer walls, directing a chill right into the village. Though her Wirshah negated the harrowing winter, and her gloves and boots kept her hands and feet warm, it was for the best that she stayed out of the water for the duration of the snow.

Syria rather liked boating.

But for now she occupied herself doing small tests with her staff. Diana had given her the means to cast protective spells more efficiently, and Syria's small steps into this practice had her pointing the flower idol on her staff towards the ocean's edge and focusing. Light appeared within the gem-like ornament, most apparent around the edges of the blue petals, and a low thrum preceded the warping of light past the staff. The water rolling in hit an invisible obstacle and flowed around the field of mana, a visible depression in the surf that lasted for a moment or two before dissipating.

Syria was rather taken with this effect, too.

[The Kingpin]

Septimus spent a significantly longer time in the water than Syria and Beshayir had. Unbothered by the chill and missing the feel of swimming, he had jumped at the opportunity to do so, literally as well as figuratively.

And yet, once he was actually in the water, he only spent a fractionally larger amount of time in it than out of it. The sound of explosive splashes interrupted the even roar of the surf every few minutes as the dragon launched himself from the seabed to the surface, breaching and flipping in mid air with speed and force that would baffle the average bystander before coming back down with a heavy crash. A good portion of the waves Syria was blocking with her staff were actually the wake of the dragon's excited manoeuvres.

"He looks so happy," mused Beshayir as she watched the drake from her spot at Syria's side. Flipping between her fingers was her wand, the maccasar instrument glinting in the light of the mage's spells, a shimmer going through the ruby at its base and glimmering off the silvery patterns that traced the spiral-carved shape running along the length of it. Ever since Septimus and Syria had revealed the gift to her, she had been in love with it. It was the kind of beautiful that seemed surreal. It was beyond what any piece of furniture could match, that was for sure. It even rivalled the Scholar's sword, which, up until recently, she thought was a thing of unmatched beauty.



"To be fair, I don't think Shiryaz thinks much of anyone. He made a habit of tormenting Pyranex over the past few days during my trip. I'm amazed he didn't get electrocuted," joked the Knight as he took another sip of his tea, noting there wasn't much left.

[C S]

"In all fairness, you look pretty pleased with yourself as well," Syria said to the girl bundled up in her winter coat. Last time she wore it, she'd fallen asleep with it on. It spoke to her tolerance of heat, but what else would a desert native have but an expanded resistance to all things toasty?

[The Kingpin]

"I learned to do magic," responded the Elf as she looked up at Syria with a smile, wide hazel eyes meeting green ones with a mixture of excitement and pride. "A little...But I did it," she added afterwards, realising she hadn't quite been successful in sustaining her little spell.

A splash up ahead drew her attention, the Scholar seeming to bend at an angle she never thought him capable of, doing a full one-eighty degree turn, a fish of surprising size in his jaws as it was drawn below the surface. She tilted her head a bit, wondering why the fish looked familiar, with it's big tail and tall dorsal fin. She was tempted to ask about it, but didn't for now.

[C S]

Syria put an arm around Beshayir's shoulder, brimming with more pride than she probably had any right to be. It was a motherly thing more than it was her teaching of the child. Absently, the lady looked up and down the beach to confirm that they were alone on it. A pity. She would have liked to do as other Daavenian mothers did, and flag down the nearest passerby to tell them what a wonderful child she had.

She knew Beshayir would have hated it, as many other children did in the city on the plains. It was something Willow liked to do with her, when she was younger. There would be other times to mess with her daughter, though, so she said instead, "If he keeps that up, you might have to learn magic strong enough to heal a dragon next. I believe in you. Ceri will be glad to help, I think."

[The Kingpin]

The Elf's eyes practically lit up with excitement at that. "Do you really think she will?" she asked eagerly, just as another splash sounded out, the dragoness emerging from the water and soaring a good dozen feet before hitting the water again, the Scholar erupting from beneath the waves in pursuit. Ceridwen had mentioned her penchant for healing magic a few days ago, when Beshayir asked her if all Hueilin healed as fast as she did.

[C S]

"I mean... if she doesn't hurt herself..." Syria answered. It was all jest, even by her worrisome standards for the safety of her friends. Septimus was a bundle of energy without outlet if he was drawn away from places that reminded him of home for too long. If he couldn't swim, fish and roast whatever he caught on his spit, then Syria was bound to be the focus of his play.

His vibrant, fragrant, flowery play.

And Ceridwen... she just needed some time to make new, happier memories than the ones she'd come to know in her captivity. Chasing and being chased by Septimus after thoroughly exploring caves of solid ice seemed to be doing wonders for her recovery. Helping her heal emotionally as well as she was able to physically.

[The Kingpin]

A thoughtful hmm was Beshayir's response to that. She watched the dragons play, or at the very least, watched the brief moments they appeared above the surface. The limitations were soon to end however, as Ceridwen burst from the water like a dart, a single flap of her slender wings shaking the water off them as she took flight, vertically. An explosion of water followed as the Scholar pursued her, his form engulfed in steam as he instantly vaporised the water clinging to his scaly form. The Elf girl's eyes went wide in amazement at the spectacular display, somewhat in shock at the thought that this is what the dragons called playing.

"It's beautiful..." she said, somewhat taken aback by the sight.

"Speaking of beautiful things," echoed the Scholar's voice in all their minds at once, "How would you all like to see where Desrium once lived? It isn't far from us, and I think you will enjoy seeing it."

"Okay!" responded the Elf aloud, even as the two dragons ducked and weaved around one another. Septimus would swoop down and nudge Ceridwen on the back, an occasional nip or bap with his paw, only for her to suddenly duck, drop and circle around him, pecking at him in turn as he struggled to right himself in order to do the same in kind. They were like enormous flying cats, the Elf thought, and the mental image amused her greatly.

[C S]

"That sounds wonderful, dear," Syria replied, and couldn't help the afterthought that there had been another reason why Septimus chose to return to this spot more than any other. He had mentioned the fishing village before, but perhaps it had taken on a different significance when the Scholar learned of its proximity to that less than mythical myth...?

They really needed to do something about their elusive metal friend.

Another thing for another time. Right now, she wanted to make Beshayir laugh, and she'd gotten wind of her thoughts. "You think that's something?" Syria asked, then chuckled. She conveyed imagery of Septimus' father, the Stormweaver himself and not his decorative figureheads in Mercutio. Arashi looked as she last saw him, the dragon illuminated against a dark sky by the flames of retribution in what was once the Shadepines. Her point of view had been low to the ground then, standing in front of the legendary drake whose very presence radiated power. The enormous, maned mage of Khulruud, ender of demons.

He had whiskers, just like Septimus.

[The Kingpin]

"...What is that?" asked the Elvish girl, awestruck by the sight of the dragon. Beshayir had never actually seen him. She had seen effigies of him in Mercutio, though they were different enough that they weren't necessarily him, and sufficiently so that she did not make the connection. Instead, she saw a huge and clearly powerful dragon. She saw the whiskers, more numerous and longer than those of Septimus; something that genuinely gave him a cat-like look, but in light of all the other details and the atmospheric nature of his surroundings, it didn't quite make her giggle. Instead she just looked on in wonder.

[C S]

"That is Arashi, Septimus' father. He meows." Syria waited with a grin on her face.

[The Kingpin]

The girl's head turned so fast her neck ached in complaint. "...No. He meows?!" she asked incredulously, a giggle escaping her despite herself.

[C S]

"Seppy is part cat, to some degree," Syria continued with abandon, "if it wasn't from Arashi, then it was Arashi's father." Syria held out a hand and squinted an eye, holding onto her staff with her other hand and squeezing. A tiny flicker of green appeared in her hand, and from the ripples of light, she made a tiny copy of Septimus' draconic avatar. That small manifestation that the Scholar was so fond of for its ability to pester -- interact -- with her. She had it display its more feline behaviors, craning its neck forward to an almost painful degree, rolling over, pacing around in circles before finally lying down in her palm.

"See? Cat is in Septimus' blood. And his father meows."

[The Kingpin]

The Elf giggled at that, a sound she tried to subdue but was unsuccessful in doing, the image before her only further fuelling her reaction.

"Just what are you filling that poor girl's head with now, Syria?" rumbled the Scholar as he soared past overhead, flying so low his tail passed by a few feet in front of them. A chilly gust followed, which surprisingly did not blast them with a wave of sand, a sparse wall of the stuff stopping dead a few feet from them before dropping to the ground once more as the Scholar ascended.

[C S]

"Just vapid gossip, Septimus," the mage replied with an internal mirth because that, at least, was technically accurate. She did well to regain her composure and focus, and said to Beshayir, "But yes, Seppy's cat-heritage aside and strange Hueilin breeding in general, let's get in some more practice, shall we?"

She reaffirmed her hold on her staff, and as if to punctuate her words, Syria got bold and channeled a surge of energy into her staff, which in turn amplified it with a heart-thumping bass. Seawater was coming in at that moment, but a portion of the wave was suddenly splashed back by the projection from the blue rose, foam curling up the edge of the barrier visible as a green glimmer, before it lost sustenance and let the water flow as it was.

[Hopeflower]

A low hum, almost more contentment than a response, came from the mute assassin. 'Must have been some trip, if you couldn't get him to behave himself.' Arsenic's curious golden gaze flicked from Andruil to Vix and back. That sense that something was just slightly off was still nudging at him. Without digging, he couldn't pin it down.

Leave it alone, Rowan advised, taking him somewhat by surprise. Let them get around to it in their own time.