Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[Hopeflower]

"Waiting for the figurative punch in the face, actually," Firel said in a tone very reminiscent of his teacher's often dark humor. "Or the literal one." He stepped around the next patch of ice to avoid any attempted heroics from Dahnae.

[C S]

"I'm not going to hit you, son." Evisa glanced down to her book and decided she'd finish it some other time, before taking another gulp of her drink. Setting the mug down next to her, she explained, "I carry a name my people gave me long ago: Novarah. If you knew me by that name then, yes, you'd be out of luck by my reckoning. But you don't. And I don't think Viho would appreciate me dropping his class numbers." At that, she looked to Dahnae, who for the time being was too preoccupied keeping her nose intact to be bothersome.

"Not even her," the viking had to admit to herself.

[Hopeflower]

"That's comforting. I think," Firel muttered, and even he didn't know if he was being sarcastic or not. His curiosity drove him a step closer, though, and then another, not sure what to expect at this point.

[C S]

Evisa spared but a grunt of acknowledgment and then set her book aside as well to cross her legs. "I have to ask before I start telling you about myself, why's body-changer over there poking her nose?"

[Hopeflower]

"What?" Firel turned in confusion, and found himself at a loss for words for a second. "Oh. Oops. Uh, she's taken something I said too literally." He raised his voice just a bit to call, "Dahnae, you're fine. It's not going to freeze enough to fall off so soon. It'd take a lot longer."

[C S]

That drew some dry laughter from the viking. "Ha. Ha. I get it. The frostbite thing." Dahnae turned her eyes from the bridge of her nose to the others and held her gaze on them. She moved her hand away from her face, willing to listen to that extent. She tucked her fingers into the pocket of her coat and, while holding her attention on the elf and viking, brought her tongue out from the corner of her mouth to reassure herself that her nose remained where it was.

[Hopeflower]

Firel opened his mouth to explain that the cold would be worse on wet skin, stopped to think about it, and closed his mouth without saying anything. She would figure it out very quickly.

"Yeah," he sighed, turning back to Evisa. It took him a moment to recover his train of thought. "So, uh, magic," he tried, making an effort to get back on track.

[C S]

There was another bout of dry laughter at Dahnae's quiet squeal and cringing, and just a little more at her cupping her face in her hands in a desperate attempt to keep her visage in one piece. "Ha ha, right, magic," Evisa said in a demonstration of a seamless transition. She took off her helmet then and shook her head so that her strands of gravity-defying hair was sufficiently freed to wave about like tiny auroras. "I'm kinda-sorta a half-elemental, you see. And it's a damn good thing she can't see this right now so let's make this quick, lest she tries tugging at my hair this time."

[Hopeflower]

Firel did his very best not to get stuck on half-elemental and how that would even work. Fortunately for them, the lure of knowledge was a strong one. "Right," he agreed, eyes following the motion of Evisa's hair with open interest.

[C S]

In a demonstration of brevity, Evisa collected her hair together into something resembling a bun and then captured it all, hair and glowing eyes, within her helmet. With it on again, she was back to looking like any other person in the city. Any other viking, at the very least. Maybe a very distinguished viking.

"And because of my sweet mother's life decisions, I can do this." Evisa held her hand out for Firel to see, which took on its pale yellow light and radiated its telltale warmth. "Half the year in light, half the year in darkness. You can imagine how I became the champion of my people," she said. She heard Dahnae sigh in relief that her nose and skin had not been lost to the cold.

[Hopeflower]

"Not something that can be taught, then," Firel murmured, and tried not to be disappointed. The school was large, and covered many things besides psychomancy. He could find another subject that would hold his interest, surely. "That's quite the story, at least," he added.

[C S]

"You don't know a story until you hear about how I became Novarah." Evisa cocked her head. "I don't know if you'd be keen on that in place of shooting light from your punches and kicks. Viho knows, did he work it into a lesson already?"

"Nope!" Dahnae answered, reminding the viking that she had some blessed ears.

[Hopeflower]

"Maybe he plans on saving it for when we get to illusions," Firel suggested, but he couldn't deny he wanted to know sooner than that.

[C S]

Some more dry laughter.

Evisa couldn't deny that there were times back then when she wished it all was some grand illusion. "I'm willing to share if you're willing to listen," she told Firel, which got a worried tone from Dahnae. Evisa looked over to her, debated with herself and let her shoulders hang low. "Have a seat," she told the girl and gestured to the spot next to her mug and book. Her body was overtaken by her light, giving off just enough heat to mitigate the cold without getting too balmy.

[Hopeflower]

Firel didn't need any further nudging. He strode over to take a seat on the bench, lacking his usual air of impatience. In fact, lacking the familiar scowl, he almost looked his age as he studied Evisa with wonder and interest - and maybe just a little envy. Under any other circumstances, he might have considered a story a poor replacement for learning magic. As it was, the night might just help nurture the seeds Viho had planted, to help Firel learn and grow in areas other than magical ability.

[C S]

"They got me going at age seven. There's not much training you can do with a seven year old girl, but they started making me push barrels up the snowbank and carry heavy things on my shoulders. Uh, small ship anchors, buckets of water on either end of an oar... I think they had me chasing after the pesky rorshka bird that kept waking up the miidjorl..."

Evisa's story, though no more than fifteen minutes in total, sparing details where she could, spanned her life from childhood to her current young adult years. In it, she told the two of her successes and growing strength, being able to lug filled canisters of rum and ale through snowstorms by her teenage years, all by herself. She told them of Vanguard's plight with the Doomfang that began over a century ago, and how in her youth she battered bale dummies that evoked the likeness of the serpent-colossus that the ice trapped in the polar winters.

Evisa also made known her failures. As any child was wont to do, there were times when the pressures of greatness stressed her to the point of being nearly comatose. There were days when her body ached too much to do her workouts and drill her martial arts. There were days where her sparring partners, many of Vanguard's upperclassmen at the time, would beat her senseless because that was what the world was holding in store for her should she ever venture from the island.

The viking told the two of her mother, who despite wanting nothing of this fate for her daughter, was always by her side to offer support. Mother Helga, who was Evisa's light in the darkest times of the passing years.

She did not neglect to detail her brawl upon the decks of a longboat with a crew of eight, cold water splashing over the sides while the young leviathan writhed and bellowed the bite of a blizzard. From then on it was the tale of gathering the materials for the armor she wore to this day, the creation of the scaled-hide suit and helmet.

"And that's how I became Novarah, lady of light to all those who demanded by brand of justice," Evisa concluded her tale with.

"Next time, I'll tell you about how I went and fought Desrium."

[The Kingpin]

The group of misfits were not on the streets for long. In the time since they had left Jiier's Corner, Beshayir had gone into detail of exactly what she had learned and practised that day, including a moment when one student nearly lit himself on fire because he got distracted. Orthelia, understandably, was not pleased. Not so much because the student was on fire as for the fact Moira extinguished him before anyone had the opportunity to use their dismantling spells.

Before long, they were back at the Boarding house, where Ceridwen settled just outside a specially cleaned-out stable. A table and three chairs had been arranged close by, so that the dragoness would not have her dinner alone. Septimus had insisted upon it, admittedly to the displeasure of his hosts. As a compromise, he purchased the table and chairs himself, so that the only thing that changed for the hosts was where the Scholarly Trio ate their meal.

And what a meal it was! Septimus, in true Septimus style, had found a way to cook the food; a collection of choice cut steaks and beef racks, on his spit. He had had it modified a few weeks previous so that it now included a grill that fixed to the frame, so that he could use both simultaneously, or simply one, as he preferred.

Making the most of the empty, presently unused yard behind the boarding house, the Scholar had arranged his fireplace to best utilise what Desrium had arranged for them. Using the spices he recently purchased, he had succeeded in cooking a dish that could be smelled, and dreamt about, several houses downwind. It was an odd experience for the neighbours, because no sane person would dare cook outdoors in such cold weather. But then, they did not have the benefit of dragonfire as a cooking medium. In the face of the Scholar's flames, even winter was forced back.

[C S]

The backdoor of the building opened up with a cast of green, and Syria stepped out of it in reverse. "I got those blankets you wanted, Septimus," she said to the Scholar. In turning around, she revealed that she'd gone the extra mile so to speak. She had three thick covers, the kinds that would have been laid over bedding, and folded up and stacked as they were, the fluffy pile extended well over the mage's head. In fact, her head, hat and all, was used as a brace to keep everything stable.

[The Kingpin]

"Thanks, Syria," chirped Ceridwen, who was curled up in front of the fire, wrapped in her own plumage and trying to take in as much heat as possible.

Septimus smiled up at the Mage, reaching a hand towards her as the blankets floated out of her hands, stacking up on top of a pedestal of ice he summoned a moment later. "Thank you, Syria. Any trouble convincing them?" he inquired as he began to pick the steaks and racks off the grill and the spit, serving the food, along with a helping of roasted potatoes, on two wooden plates, and two enormous trays. The Scholar had reverted to his draconic form now that he was no longer in the street, and had curled almost around the whole yard. The dragoness had jumped at the opportunity and curled up against the larger drake's flank, enjoying the warmth he generated. And once the food was served, she was quick to dig in. Septimus however, waited.

[C S]

"Nothing a little reminder about how dragons are just as sapient as man is couldn't fix. A smile or two and a wish for a pleasant night kept things in the realm of pleasant conversation for the most part," Syria replied, and then smiled in about the same way as she had while speaking to the room services attendant. She slipped into her seat at the table. "Did you show Ceri and Beshi the thing we got?"