Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"It sounds to me like you're positively looking for trouble," teased the Scholar as he returned the gesture, a peck on the Daavenian's cheek in turn. "Let's see how our little shopping trip goes, and see where that leads," he added as he rose to his feet, the plates stacking themselves neatly on the tray and hovering determinedly back to the street chef's stand, all traces of food on the plates mysteriously absent.

[C S]

"In the course of adventure for honey to lift our human and dragon hearts together, for the goal of lifting our metal friend's non-heart, I do decree, my fair Septimus, that trouble of a nondescript sort is exactly what we need. Or, if the mood should strike us, a drink-laden journey through pages of fine prose and tired romances. Ceridwen seems to be enjoying them from what I gather," Syria responded as the chef made a sound of pleasant surprise in the distance. His plates don't usually return to him as clean as they were before he sent them out. His day only seemed to get better and better.

The mage pulled herself over the dragon in disguise and sat upon his lap, drumming her hands on her legs idly. "I may use some of that next time I need to do some writing. Not the exact words, but the structure seems nice." She kissed Septimus on the nose next before calling her staff to her grip, proceeding to shift from the Scholar to it and hovering in place in wait.

[The Kingpin]

"I shudder to think what perception of people she will have after a few of those things," said the Scholar as he stood, making to head towards the marketplace. "Most likely something along the lines of how vain, fickle and pathetic they seem to be," he added, laughing at the mental image he'd given himself. "You...did tell her that those stories were completely fictional and that people weren't really like that...right?" he asked, a brief moment of worry overcoming his good humour.

[C S]

"Certainly. But they're just so audaciously enticing that I would not be surprised if we hear her speaking like a character from one of them, melodramatically expositing her Ceri woes. Perhaps a few stray thoughts along those lines." Syria cleared her throat as she pulled alongside Septimus. "Not speaking from experience or anything."

[The Kingpin]

"Of course not," responded the Scholarly Elf, grinning at the memory of one novel-fuelled melodramatic outburst in particular. "Not at all." He made a note to see if he could find a mirror while he was shopping. Syria could stand to see herself sometimes. Plus he was certain Beshayir would appreciate it. With all their focus on her magical education it was sometimes easy to forget she had a penchant for wanting to look her best when she wasn't hiding in the satchel. He liked to think that was his handiwork, but in truth, he guessed she may have been that way thanks to her parents. A thought to ponder another day.

[C S]

The young elf herself was on the fourth floor of Septimus place. Unlike the seventh, which was entirely devoted to the training of psychomancers for how particular the art can be across multiple personalities, the fourth floor was used for more entry-level studies. The door at the fourth floor landing opened up into a small hallway lined with doors opposite it with their room numbers embossed with metalwork on the brick-tiled walls next to them. Each door opened up to quaint classrooms. In place of individual desks, they all had rows of benches and long tables for students of a sizable range, young and old. Podiums at the front of the classroom were where instructors taught from, with relevant materials around the rooms for the enrichment of the lesson.

The herbology room, for instance, was filled with exotic flora in hanging pots and window-side troughs. The room where the theory of fundamental elemental charms was taught had samples of earth, water, air and fire contained in glass tanks, winding tubes and cylinders, generally equipment associated with alchemy and enchantment. The classes that dealt with those topics, likewise, were serviced with laboratory workstations for such exercises.

However, where Beshayir was now, was not one of these classrooms. She had been for most of the morning, listening to a lecture, reading along in her tomes, and taking notes. Now, it was time to get off of her behind and practice.

Also on the fourth floor, at the end of the hall, was the entrance of a rotunda. Its domed ceiling shot higher than what the hallway and classrooms outside of it would lead one to believe. All fine decor and symbols of posh royalty had been stripped out, leaving a sparse space with pleasantly yellowed walls with diamond-patterned tiles, and a sturdy bricked floor.

This was a magical gymnasium of sorts. Students in all manner of dress, formal robes to casual shirts and overalls, stretched and focused their minds as their instructor paced. She was in a light blue outfit that was not quite a suit. It looked as regal as one, but her sleeves were cut short, revealing a vest she wore underneath her shirt. Her skin was pale for a pyromancy teacher, but looks were many times deceiving. Her hair, a sharp orange, had dyes of blue and yellow in it, and jeweled ties that shimmered in the light streaming through the high-set windows.

Her head could have been taken for a brazier from a distance, on a windy day.

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir was just one of many students in this room. Clad in a pair of pants a blouse and her wirshah, the young girl was standing between two other students. As per the rules of these exercises, students were arranged in two rows, back to back and spaced somewhat apart, giving the teacher room to walk between them and inspect their form. The rule, so she had been told when she was brought here for the first time, was made such because once upon a time not very long ago, one student had accidentally lit another one on fire because he was too close to him while practising. It was a worrying story, but a necessary lesson on the precautions students here had to take.

[C S]

A few weeks into the semester of sorts, and the instructor, an Orthelia Ryndhert, had her students well versed in proper form, breathing and discipline. Not even the youngest of her bunch were throwing sparks by snapping their finger tips against each other, or making puffs of fire in between their palms when she wasn't looking. Not without her instruction.

Ryndhert, after pacing a few times in between the rows, stopped near the entrance of the gymnasium. She clicked her boots together, which echoed in the huge room, and served as the cue for the others to prepare for their practicum. She spun around, held a gloved hand out to her side, fingers wrapped up in a fist.

"Steady stream!" she announced. As a whole, her class became fluid, backs bending and arms moving, pulling magical energy from their surroundings with their fingers like a weaver putting together a quilt. Palms came together, flashes of heat became visible, and though they all moved as one, each student had their own way of sending jets of fire blasting forth in front of them.

Some looked like dancers as they spun in place, tracing patterns with the tips of their footwear that burned with mana before they burned as flame. Others were like potent martial artists, channeling physical power into each movement as much as magic. More still were calculating minds that popped and locked their joints, turning their hands up and over to collect balls of fire before sending them out as plumes that lit up the gym.

Orthelia's normally pale blue eyes were the spectrum of heat as she watched on with a hawk's attentiveness.

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir was no exception. Holding her wand hand out to her side, she tilted the tip upwards, raising her hand as though she were lifting a whip. With a simple flick, the stream of flames spilled forth. It was an elegant little thing, about three feet long, spiralling in on itself like a tiny cyclone, starting a deep blue at the tip of her wand and fading to a warm orange further out. For the first couple of seconds it writhed somewhat, as though it was struggling against her will, but then it evened out into a controlled jet, on par with any of her class mates.

[C S]

Orthelia's fist shot up. The sparing motion was enough to wrangle control of the roaring blazes and send them all racing over her students' heads. Her fingers flexed as she spaced her feet apart, becoming the anchor, the spire, to which the mass of burning was linked and controlled. Even then, it was a beastly thing to behold. So bright it was that it made the whole room gleam, and so close to the learning mages that it felt as if summer had returned in the dead of winter.

The roiling mass of equalizing flame truly looked like a constructed star underneath Orthelia's power. This part of the exercise was not about producing the hottest, more viral fire. It was about having the strength and fortitude to best a wild inferno.

"Dismantle!" came the instructor's simple order. Put the fire out -- best her will to keep it ignited.

[The Kingpin]

In a moment, the Elvish Apprentice had changed stances, the tip of her wand glimmering once more as she jabbed the instrument forward at the flaming orb, as if trying to skewer it, before pulling back. In a curious inversion of what she had done earlier, a tendril of white fire stretched from the orb to the wand quite literally aiming to dismantle the orb with the aid of the others. Despite what she was doing, she felt no heat in the wand's grip or shaft, the flames broken down into mana long before they could reach her. Mana is the source of all things, she remembered being told. Control mana, and you have the potential to do incredible things.

[C S]

Many minds following the same train of thought followed. Thread by flaming thread, the burning ball was taken apart by hands, wands and staves reaching up to it and draining it of mana. Under the collective of the students, the overbearing heat did not stand a chance. Like a literal light, it was put out, a wave of cool falling upon the students as a reward for their execution of the task. The gym became a lot more comfortable without the orb.

"Textbook!" Orthelia said to her class, clapping her hands a few times. It confused a few of the students, who assumed this was a new command she was issuing them, but had no idea what exactly she wanted them to do. "Much improvement over the last time we tried that exercise. But don't let it get to your heads just yet," said the teacher as she made her way around the two rows.

Another figure entered the gym then, wearing a shadowy gray dress and a pointed cap. She looked like she were more at home dealing with spells of concealment, so what business did she have dealing with illuminating fire?

"For these next sets of practical lessons, I'll need an assistant. Give a warm welcome to Moira Everby." The pyromancer nodded across the way to the newcomer, who bowed her shaded face back. "She's a hydromancer, usually teaches on the level below us. Anyway, how about we demonstrate what fire can really do?"

"I believe it will be more of a perspective on how poignant water can be in some situations," Moira countered, masked by politeness and decorum. "Do we have anyone here studying multiple elements at once?"

"I'm taking aeromancy!" came a voice from the crowd, followed by a few others concurring, and a couple proclaiming their study of terramancy.

"No hydromancers just yet. Maybe I will convince you to consider?" Moira looked up with a smile that shined in the shadows of her cap. She held a hand out, and from her person several beads flew into her palm. She clicked them together to a fast rhythm, and drew water from the previously heated air. It began as a thick mist before whips of liquid water were drawn out from vapors.

Orthelia clapped her hands together again, with a lot more force than before. When she pried them apart again, her palms were on fire. "No plugging your courses during my time, Moira!"

"Ah, fair enough," replied the hydromancer.

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir raised her hand in response to the inquiry, though shrunk away when she saw the Pyromancy teacher cut the newcomer off, not wanting to get in trouble.

In spite of it all, she was proud of herself over the Dismantling exercise. Maybe now when Septimus wanted to cook or make tea she could be the one to light and extinguish the fire. And perhaps for a change, she wouldn't be completely defenceless without Syria or Septimus to watch over her.

[C S]

"Now don't be alarmed, class," Orthelia was quick to say as a buffer as she and Moira began to counter-circle one another. She stepped to one side and Moira stepped to the other, looking like a couple of legitimate magical duelists.

And they were, technically.

"This is a demonstration of what a few years' worth of practice and study will do you," Moira continued.

"Whenever you use magic like this, always remember: discipline is key. We've already got a bunch of burned fingers and burned classmates because of lapses of attention and self-control. After you see this, you'll want to make sure nothing like that will happen ever again under your watch. After this, you're going to want to use all your skills to prevent it when it's about to happen to someone else!"

With her speech out of the way, Orthelia threw her hand up and lobbed a fireball over the class, to which Moira coalesced her whips into a mitten around her hand to catch it. It went out in a billow of steam, but the hydromancer extracted the lost moisture right out of the gas and sent it arcing over the distance between her and Orthelia as icicle darts.

Orthelia, with a wry grin, pointed a finger at the incoming ice and made a "pew" sound with her lips as she fired off tiny flaming bolts into them.

So it was that the two mages exchanged blows, drawing shapes and designs with the mist they produced when water and fire collided, a show for the students to see and marvel at how close the danger was, yet no one was getting hurt.

[The Kingpin]

The elf observed with intrigue as the duelists all but danced around one another in their demonstrations. She was eager to one day be able to achieve that level of proficiency, though she noted, with a mixture of pride and disappointment, that this was nothing to what she'd seen the Scholar accomplish. But then, he was apparently a hundred and fifty years old, and a dragon. Fire was his to control, and his cryomancy drew upon hydromancy frequently enough that she could assume he was greatly talented with that as well.

What wasn't so easy to compare was Syria's magic. She was a self taught mage, but most of her magic wasn't elemental, so it made her wonder what kind of magic a trained mage in her field could do. What was her field called anyway? Shield-o-mancy? Protectomancy? She discarded the silly thoughts. It was probably something much more impressive than that. Something as fancy as Psychomancy or Aetheromancy...

[C S]

While Beshayir considered these thoughts, the duel grew more elaborate with each retort and counter.

Moira was running up steps of water held solid beneath her shoes. They formed with each step she took, elevating her higher and higher up until she jumped off and brought them around her body as a dense ball. As it passed around her back, it compressed on itself further until it sprayed out at the pyromancer as an impressive jet, making a hiss as it cut through the air and left those underneath it feeling oddly refreshed.

She slowed her fall to the floor by condensing water around her shoes and hands, achieving an appearance of levitation, while Orthelia danced within her volatile shield, a somewhat opaque barrier of orange that was licked by tongues of fire. She pulled the energy into herself and then dropped to the floor, palms pressed against it.

In another moment, she was thrown into the air by an eruption of fire that she corralled in such a way as to keep it from reaching the students. Orthelia cocked her arm back to send a shot of flame at Moira, but the hydromancer called the steam below to her will and had it hit her opponent as a splash of freezing water. The shock of it was enough to throw Orthelia's plan off and, missing her opportunity, used her magic to shoot jets from her boots to slow her descent to the gymnasium floor.

[The Kingpin]

The Elvish Apprentice continued to observe the actions of the two, giving Orthelia the larger share of it. While Moira certainly had skills the girl wanted to know, she didn't have enough knowledge to be able to actually learn any of it now. But Orthelia's skills, she'd already been taught the basics of, and that in turn allowed the girl to try and figure out how she was doing what she was doing, and how to replicate it. She wouldn't be hovering by the power of flames through her boots any time soon, but that did not mean she could not employ possible techniques in other regards...

[C S]

Daylight being a fleeting thing meant that by time Beshayir's lesson was over, the sky was darkening over Brodudika. It did not help matters that the mountains to the west already put the city into a cold shade. The sky steeped into purple while the rocks far away were striking silhouettes with burning, sundown edges. The street lamps were lit just a little while ago, soft orange on the banks of snow to the side of the busy streets.

Septimus and Syria, with their barrel of honey acquired, waited by Jiier's Corner for Ceridwen and Beshayir.



"It's taken us a bit over a month, but our trusted moles have done some trusty things," reported Byron to the smaller assembly of division heads. Frequent disappearances of key figures in public staff would be cause for alarm, so the cause of rooting out the rot in Brodudika was left to the man who, by the basis of being tough, was made head of the security taskforce.

Byron stomped over to the table and placed the envelope of documents he had been provided by a few 'volunteers'. Nameless fighters in the dark who had, on more than one occasion, had foiled what would have been a bad night for many elven denizens in the city. In that, there was a clear trend. What wasn't so clear were attacks on people who did not have elven blood in them, but that was to be a point of discussion now.

The others present were officers from Brodudika's combined guards. Valenhadian, Vanguardian, Daavenian, and a few of the city's native peacekeepers who had been nothing less than examplary in their roles. The men and women in their distinctive uniforms shared the documents among themselves after the envelope was opened and they perused the contents of the pages with a certain grittiness befitting their occupations.

"The ones implicated in that plot, all abiding Greshlynk worshippers," said a woman from the Vale after a few minutes.

"All listed as part of the parish. Frequent attendees, to this day." A viking snorted. "I've made some friends in the Drakkon faith. These people are a disgrace to their good name."

Murmurs of agreement ensued. Byron nodded. "The people who worship Greshlynk aren't the problem here. It's the damn purists who want to bring back the castes of blood-ranking and aristocracy. Probably the ones who stand to benefit from the system the most."

"Storeowners. Merchants. Traders. All of these professions, these people represent."

"No wonder how they had the money to throw at poachers."

Byron grunted in agreement.

"They've got a lot more strings to pull than we imagined. But luck is still on our side for now. We've got good people willing to break some heads if they get out of hand. We've got the benefactor behind our walls, and we've got the benefactor's dragon allies suppressing their movements even more," he said to the officers.

"This page here says the 'Parsing Program' is advancing steadily. When will we be seeing some resources from that?" asked one of the Daavenian troopers.

"Miss Trianarch is keeping a close eye on it. When it has individuals ready for recruitment, I'll be the first to let you all know," Byron replied. "For now, we know elves and elven sympathizers are first on the list of endangered. People from more foreign origins and cultures are right under them. We've got the manpower to keep a serious incident in check for now, but we need to get planning on how to handle the one that slips through our fingers."

"I'm taking a liking to the name 'Avenging Blitz'."

[Hopeflower]

In the end, Viho managed to get his students to recover from their distraction and walked out of the classroom feeling it had been a productive day. Firel accompanied him out of the building, seeming reluctant to be caught alone by Evisa. Viho, however, was not going to be the one to guard Firel from the lesson he'd asked for so intently.

"You'll be fine. See you tomorrow, bright and early." And the teacher waved as he turned to head to the boarding house.

Firel decided his best bet was to pick up the pace. He popped the collar of his jacket and tucked his chin, both as a shield from the cold and in the hope of partially hiding his face.

[C S]

Over the next while, rapid footsteps became audible behind Firel. Before it could bring him too much panic, Dahnae slowed down from her jogging pace and cautiously came up to his side, eying him curiously. "What'cha doin'?" she asked.

Solaurn walked out of the door that evening, her Friend, as always, not far behind. Things seemed so different now, however. It felt as if she had stepped into another life from the one she had previously. It wasn't so much the new lessons to learn and the practice she'd have to put in to be any good at... anything, really, but the fact that this little companion of hers wasn't what she thought she was.

That wasn't quite it either. Solaurn looked sideways at the vaun, as she discovered they called themselves, and pondered her being. She'd gathered very early on in her travels that this Gwenviere was an intelligent and spry entity, but she did not expect the actuality of the matter to be so shocking, or so sad. Sad to her, at least. She couldn't imagine what it was like to have the ability to articulate complex thoughts in a language no one understood. It left very little to the imagination as to why the vaun were not a more widespread race.

Gwen was a strange case, Solaurn knew now, and she felt sorry for her. They were friends, but now all of their conversations would seem one-sided in her eyes. "Learn how to read minds soon, okay, Gwen?"