Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"Then that will be where we go once we have reached the shore," growled the dragon firmly. Glancing towards Ceridwen, he made a low, guttural rumble, an unspoken inquiry into the state of the Maelgwyn dragoness. She responded with another high pitched chitter, which provided the Scholar with all he needed to know. And with that, he made his way towards the surface. It was about time, for in the peripheries of the visible, the Scholar sensed the presence of Leviathans. They were hungry.

The Scholar's tail swept, up and down, his wings and fins serving as much a role in his propulsion as the tailfins themselves. Ceridwen followed in the dragon's wake, putting a lot of effort in to keep up. Were she not such an active and energetic dragoness, she would probably have been exhausted by the time they reached the surface. But as it turned out, that was not the case.

[C S]

Syria took her staff and she and Beshayir made a retreat to the satchel. The Daavenian's magic flipped up the flap of the bag and floated her daughter and herself down into its cozy confines while Septimus powered along on the waves. From within, the mage closed the satchel. The Scholar and Thunderkin took to the skies then as they did, Ceridwen speeding through the snowfall and shedding the seawater from her body with sheer acceleration alone while Septimus beat his wings and rode an expansion of thermals, momentarily turning the snow into rain as he flew after the speedier dragoness.

The one, who despite her greater mobility in the air and stamina for flight, had no idea where she was going. The two dragons flew with the snowstorm inland, and the sun taken by the clouds went along its path, out of sight. The sky darkened as the wind howled and frost fell upon the world below. Patches of brown and stubborn patches of green all were coated white by time Septimus flew over Brodudika once more.

It was early into the night when his wing-beats were audible to the forest floor, and even a little bit past it.

Underground, tucked away from winter, the elementals dwelled peacefully, idling and playing with one another. A few took to the walls of the chamber and used their sharp fingers to carve their impressions into the rock. Simple drawings that looked like they could have been primitive runes. A few of the smaller individuals went over each other's work, creating more and more elaborate pieces yet maintaining a look of inexperience with jagged, simple lines.

Evisa, lounging on the shoulder of Bouldron, pushed her helmet up just a little at the sound she heard intermingling with the blizzard. The sounds of wings in the night. If there wasn't anything more Vanguardian. Bouldron rolled his head to one side and made a questioning rumble.

"Don't worry about it," Evisa said. "It pokes its head down here, we sock its teeth out. Deal?"

An affirmative grunt and enthused nodding followed, prompting the viking to lay her head down on her friend to steady his giant body. "Easy now, don't throw your scout leader around!"

Nestled in the woods was the Stalwart Paladin himself. He had been meditating over the latest developments in the city of friends, and his other worries with Morrelie. The distance, and proximity to the mountains, they consoled his never-ceasing mind. It was fully possible that one of these days, the Interceptor would live up to her name and catch wind of Brodudika, and that day would be the day the city became another target for her drive.

However, ever since he felt that familiar presence approaching, and he heard the ensuing thumping in the air, Desrium had taken it upon himself to wait for the time being. To let things... be.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar soared far above the snowy grounds around Brodudika; what was once Grymhaven.

"You know, it's funny. The map in my satchel was purchased in this city months ago," he growled.

"Here? That beautiful thing was made here?" chirped Ceridwen, taken aback at the revelation. She had taken a liking to the craftsmanship of Septimus's map. It was the kind of thing she expected to exist in the fabled treasure hoards of mythical drakes. For it to have been made in such a dingy looking place boggled her mind. Perhaps it looked nicer from the ground.

"Yes. Back then the city was called Grymhaven and belonged to the Draxon Kingdom. It's changed since then. There weren't so many fortifications when I last saw it. And...Not as many buildings either," noted the Scholar, eyeing the handful of tall, imposing buildings among the older stone structures in the city. What's more, there were more houses, and they seemed, at least from up here, to be more uniformly built. It was as if the Elvish sector and the slums had dissolved, and the Drak residences spread out over the whole city. Well, in a sense, at least. The quality of the Drak residences was no longer restricted to their 'sector'. Perhaps Desrium had had the notion abolished? He would have to ask.

"You know, I wonder...Last time I visited, there was a land owner outside the walls who hated elves. I wonder if he's still around. Perhaps I may visit him again and see what's become of him," he mused, entertained with the mental image. Maybe. Just maybe. He didn't want to aggravate Desrium's people...anymore than the Armoured Being had aggravated them himself.

On the topic of the Guardian of Brodudika, it was time the Scholar focused on finding him. As he soared over the plains leading to Brodudika, he noted an almost startling rise in the magical aura of the place. Auras of many beings, and ones he found to be familiar.

"Elementals," he growled thoughtfully.

"What?" trilled the dragoness flying above him, somewhat confused, thinking she may have misheard him.

"Elementals. Like the Thunderbird you encountered, but smaller. There's a number of them here," he growled. Then, as suddenly as he encountered the aura, it disappeared. No, not only that, but all magical energy simply ceased to exist.

"There you are," he growled, smirking to himself. Desrium, for all the growing he'd done over the years, never changed. It was time he paid his friend a visit. A booming roar rang out across the plains, a deep and powerful sound that rose above the blizzard. It was a sound most here had never heard, but one his friend undoubtedly would recognise.

[C S]

It was like thunder in the blizzard. A punch of sound that, only as it faded into the howling frost, could be identified as coming from something living. People far away in the streets of the city stopped in their tracks to look to the sky in awe, fear and general confusion. What a strange place they had all congregated around. More than a few people standing too close to buildings had snow dislodged from windows, awnings, hanging signs and balconies falling upon their heads, to the delight of the young at heart and concern of those compelled to lend their strength and care to others.

The Night of the Dragon's Bellow.

Those with words in their minds and sentiment in their hearts would be sure to put their considerations to paper. The lore of Brodudika.

And to Septimus, red bloomed in between the barrens, like the light of a campfire, leading his friend the rest of the way through the night.

The past came to life upon this stormy, winter's night.

[The Kingpin]

Fate's reflection in another.

Ceridwen watched the Scholar bank and weave with precision she was surprised he had, avoiding trees that a dragon his size shouldn't have been able to evade, one last thump sounding as he halted himself in an instant, before dropping to the forest floor, snow and soil kicked up from the landing, the Scholar's head hanging no more than a couple of feet before the former Champion of Moria.

The dragon's head lifted slowly, brilliant cobalt eyes casting a glow to rival that of the Paladin's red, a plume of steam spilling forth from the drake's maw so thick it would have made vision impossible if not for the blizzard blowing it aside almost immediately. The Scholar's features curled into a smile as he straightened, his neck rising into the familiar S shape so distinctive to dragonkind as he looked down at his friend.

"You've been busy, I see."

[C S]

"I would hope you have not been idle as well, Scholar," said the armored being as he looked up upon his old companion. It would appear that was truly the case, Desrium noted. The second Hueilin, Syria and Beshayir.

[The Kingpin]

"I wouldn't dream of it," responded Septimus with a smile. Behind him, Ceridwen landed, her wings furling on her back as she walked up, carefully, to the Scholar's side.

"Granted, my endeavours have not been quite as material as yours. Syria and Beshayir can show you what they have accomplished. As for the dragoness beside me, I believe I should allow her to introduce herself personally," rumbled the Scholar, Ceridwen looking at him uncomfortably, taken by surprise.

"My name is Ceridwen...of Clan Maelgwyn," she chirped a moment later, feeling quite self-conscious.

"Ceridwen here was in a difficult situation recently. That has been resolved, however," explained the dragon briefly. "Though I see you've improved more than just the city. That robe is quite fetching on you, if I may say," he added, taking in the details of the garment. Where had he acquired this?

[C S]

For that, Desrium shifted into a kneel upon both knees, shedding the snow that had accumulated on his metal body in the process. "Well met," he said to Ceridwen, and then began to rise. "Thank you," he replied to Septimus. "Qa'id Antar insisted on giving me a gift that I could not lose in my duties."

[The Kingpin]

"Very generous of him. Though I believe he may sometimes be too generous for his own good," mused the Scholar. "I sensed Elementals on my way here. Has something happened since we last spoke?" inquired the dragon.

[C S]

"Much," said the Paladin.

And he felt relief. No pain could distress him, but the burden on his mind and... his soul...

He who could carry the weight of the world on his spiked shoulders felt relief, that finally there was one to ask such a question. And who else but the Scholar of Khulruud was the one to do so?

It had been far too long.

"Too much to share in the snow," Desrium stated. In his way, he turned, arms held behind his back, and proceeded to walk through the trees.

Over the course of the next few weeks in the city of friends, Desrium told his guests of the half-elf muse who, presumably to this very day, roamed Aster. They had known about this Alen'ta, at least Septimus and Syria did, but they had no inkling that since they left Thimeyra the performer had taken to wandering. Through that strange one, Desrium found the elementals after revisiting the cathedral of Eredar. He was brief in the details surrounding the Two Cities, however.

He told them of Evisa, the prideful viking whose spirit for battle had been curbed by a sense of duty for the young and nearly defenseless. Even then, the elementals proved to be a handful, as evident by his tale of when Novarah, Lady of Light, attempted to teach the others how to read.

Desrium told the tale of Andruil's visit to Brodudika, attempting to climb into a window right before his red eyes. From there, he told the tale of his time in the sand, be it on a sledder or sprinting though the dunes on his own two feet. Cleotaire, the Stone Justicar, Andruil's ring.

It was an insightful time. Syria still wished to inquire about Desrium's past, though she couldn't for the life of her find a time that seemed conducive to her intrigue.

Septimus knew. When the Scholar was alone in the streets made vacant by his imposing reputation since the night of his fateful roar, Desrium told him.

He told Septimus everything.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar wandered the snow-covered streets of Brodudika in solitude, exploring the newly established parts of the city. It was a curious thing, time. Change happened so fast he sometimes forgot that it had actually been several months since his last visit here.

And yet, some things had not changed. Elves, though bolder, were still careful not to go anywhere too dark or with too few people wandering it. He felt the eyes of the occasional embittered elder follow him whenever he donned the form of the Scholarly Elf. It was clear that, in spite of Desrium's progress, there was still much to be done before Brodudika truly became a 'City of Friends'.



It had taken the past several weeks for any considerable progress to be made with Vix's endeavour. Andruil's letter to Riverdale had paid off, and a week after that a shipment or supplies to the village was accompanied by a small chest, stocked with six books and a letter, written in Valadrian's handwriting. Andruil's hopes had proven correct, and the Court Mage proved to be quite knowledgeable on the matter, going as far as to mark certain chapters half the books that would prove of interest to the Innkeeper.

Andruil had spent more than a couple of late nights sitting at the foot of his usual chair, a couple of books to his right, his personal journal on his left, and a quill in hand. To the surprise of everyone, he proved to be quite studious when he needed to be; something he always deflected as being remnants of his time under tutelage in the Crestvale residence.

It turned out there was more than the Adsilas to be studied here. Information about the Liullwyns of Irrydil turned up in some of these books, some of it being details he never knew. He would not have taken such an interest in it, were it not for the fact that it mentioned a lot of political activities between Irrydil and Illyria towards the end of their days as independent, free monarchies. Andruil suspected there could be more to be gained in this venture than simply reconstructing an element of the forgotten past of Illyria. Following his instincts and the belief that he could make use of what he had uncovered, he made sure to include those in his notes.

Today was another such day of note taking, the Elf sat in his chair, a mug of tea beside him, a book on one lap, his journal on the other, and Shiryaz looking over his shoulder as though he were reading it with him. The Elvish Knight was confident that now, he had gathered much of what he needed. However, some pieces were still needed, and he felt he knew where he could find them.

Brodudika.

[C S]

Behind Septimus was the bit of green space, seemingly out of place in the street. The big boulder's snowcover had been struck by children, who drew funny cartoonish faces with their fingers before running off giggling down the street. Their work was left for all to see, next to the man in bundles and scarves who flipped flatcakes at his food stand. He whistled as he did his dealings, spreading batter on a sizzling griddle and serving up the breakfast meats and eggs.

He did not expect the woman in green to come sweeping out from far yonder with an ecstatic look on her face. "Septimus!" Syria called out as she pulled up on her staff, slowing herself down as the street chef muttered and grumbled to himself a couple of yards away.

"Sep-Seppy," Syria all but sang, stopping beside the elf. "I've done it, Seppy," she said with a broad smile, folding her arms as she hovered along, proud of herself.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar raised a brow in response, somewhat taken by surprise by the sudden turn of events. "Done what, my dear?" he asked, barely managing to stifle a chuckle. The smell of the food on the griddle was enticing, and the Drake's stomach yearned for a good meal. Perhaps this could become a breakfast conversation...

[Hopeflower]

In the weeks that had passed, Viho hadn't been idle. As the days grew colder and the nights stretched longer, it only seemed to push him to do more. To be better. Recruitment had been slow, and not everyone he'd pulled aside to speak to had agreed that the school was for them. Even so, his success was evident in the fact that his class had more than tripled in size. Admittedly, that left it still rather small in number, but he was confident that before long, word of mouth would draw more students in.

In the meantime, he did his best to get them all on level footing. They came to him with differing strengths and weaknesses, and often wielding a different type of magic, much like Dahnae. As the class size grew, it would only get more challenging. Viho was determined to meet that challenge with every ounce of skill he had.

"Backs straight, keep your breathing even. Good. Excellent." He paused in pacing between desks here and there, to gently correct posture or remind someone not to hyperventilate. Every now and then, Viho would adjust his left shoulder with no small amount of discomfort. The cold, while it drove him to get as much done in as he could in a short amount of time, only aggravated his injury. He clenched his teeth against the deep ache and soldiered on, giving himself little time to think about his mistakes.

He would do better.


Where Andruil had put quill to paper in pursuit of information on the Adsilas and their once-great kingdom, Arsenic had taken the opportunity to break in his new art set. The assassin had dragged Vix out of the village, away from the areas where her shifting might cause more than a few problems, and told her to pose. It was now that the extent to which the mute had practiced his craft became clear. He was never seen without his fingers blackened by charcoal and ink, these days. He'd drawn dozens of references of Vix in her Iupan form, doing everything from standing still to lying down to hunting down the odd unfortunate critter. His sketches, though mostly on the rough side, captured fluid motion and tight, wiry strength.

With his references close at hand, Arsenic drew what he pictured as being close to the events that the Adsilas had once depicted in carvings. He based them on what Vix had seen at the palace in Crestvale and in Lusio's memories. Most of these, Arsenic scrapped with little thought. Only the two or three that he thought came the closest he could get without more references were kept to work from later. They were close approximations, but they weren't right.

His insistence on getting it as close as he could amused and concerned Vix in equal measure.

"I'm not expecting perfection," she'd told him after one of his drawing sessions. She'd watched him flexing his wrist and shaking out his hand as though he was in pain, and wondered if they should take it slower. It wasn't as though taking a break for a day or two would kill them.

Arsenic, however, wouldn't hear it. 'It's not good enough if it's not the closest I can get,' he told her, and went right back to sketching.

Vix found herself all but singing Rowan's praises when the scarred woman had finally run out of patience and dragged Arsenic out to spar for a while. So it was that they'd found a routine. When Vix and Brionna were done with the day's chores, Arsenic was done drawing for the day, and Rowan had decided she'd kicked the excess energy out of him, they'd settle by the fire to flip through the sketches and Vix's stolen journal. Vix herself couldn't offer much more than what Cholena had had time to teach her, but it was enough for her to point it out when their nameless traveler got a guess wrong.

The young innkeeper, overwhelmed with the support she'd been offered, dared to hope that it would all come together. If her throat tightened a little at just the thought, well...nobody else needed to know.

[C S]

"I have done it," the mage emphasized. She couldn't help but chortle to herself, how incredibly taken she was by her own ideas. "It came to me in my dreams the other night, if you'd believe it," she said before another fit of laughter to herself. "Desrium gets called around the city to deal with things ever now and again, right?" She did not wait for an answer, expounding, "Well, I say I go tell him that someone at the library needs to fetch a book from a really high shelf and they have brittle bones so they can't use a ladder! So Desrium, being the nice thing that he is, comes along with me and it turns out that mister brittle-bones is you!"

She took a few calming breaths, panted and rested her hands on her lap.

"So... uh. That's my plan. And somehow we find out about Desrium's life up to now. Or more of it, I'd assume."



Out from the stairwell, the viking's bladed helmet poked through the classroom's door. "A-hey hey, people!" she called out without warning before ducking away, pulling the door mostly shut in doing so.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar smiled. No, it wasn't just a smile. The amused grin on his face was so wide it seemed he'd burst the next moment with mirth.

And indeed he did. A thoroughly entertained laugh escaped the Hueilin in disguise as he set a hand on the Mage's shoulder, shaking his head. "Syria, Syria, Syria...What am I to do with you?" he asked as he reigned in the amusement.

"Come with me. Let's get something to eat. I have a story to tell you," he concluded finally, taking the Mage's hand and leading her, atop her staff, with him towards the old man's stall.

[Hopeflower]

Viho suppressed a twitch at the sensation of half a dozen mental shields reacting to the unexpected interruption. A few flickered and failed entirely as their owners' concentration was broken. "Hello, Evisa."

[C S]

The mage tilted her head, and unabashedly offered, "You will feed me and tell me things, yes. But what about my glorious plan?" She seemed genuinely distraught at Septimus' reaction. While it was understandable that a dragon with brittle bones would be a tragically comedic thing to behold, and taking advantage of Desrium's good nature was an unfortunate part of her scheme, she was really invested in this nightly vision of hers!

Then again, she ate really late after reviewing Beshayir's progress in magic practice at the ministry building...

Syria frowned and put a finger on her lips. Not quite the best advice to take, that. Hindsight. She shrugged her shoulders and made a mental note.



"Thought I'd stop by. A bit out of the way from the elemental cave, sure, and maybe I should actually give a da--" Evisa cleared her throat, which echoed in the stairs. Proper academic language. "-- Observe school hours, but what's the harm in a mind-magic pop quiz?" She shoved the door open again and, leaning out from the doorframe, waved to the class of six.

[Hopeflower]

"No harm at all," Viho replied, feeling nerves spike around the room, most prominently from Firel. The younger psychomancer had come a long way in the past few weeks, but he was still concerned that his knowledge wasn't as strong as it could be. It was something that Viho had resolved to try and fix as time passed, with mixed success.

[C S]

"I get the feeling that isn't the case -- I wouldn't be thinking whatever you're thinking little miss pouty-pants over there!" Evisa pointed fingers at her helm's eye-holes and then directed them to the young lady with pigtails across the way. "Don't mess with th-- anyway. Viho, aren't you missing one?"