Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[Hopeflower]

What was looking to be a bright morning for some dawned too brightly for Viho. He sat up slowly, needing to pause for a long moment to remind himself which arm was safe to lean on. He lifted the other hand to scrub at his face, then pinched the bridge of his nose tightly in a vain attempt to ward off the pounding in his temples. He remembered having a drink last night, something strong and wonderfully hot after being out in the winter air. It wasn't a hangover that was driving nails into his skull with every heartbeat, though.

He, the man who went to such lengths to stress the importance of not overstepping one's limits to his students, had done exactly that.

Viho groaned quietly to himself and reached out for his shoulder brace, going over the events of last night in his head. In his heightened state of paranoia, he'd found more than he bargained for. A group of people doing their best not to look sketchy, and setting off every kind of alarm bell in doing so, had been hanging around the opposite end of a long alleyway. Their voices had been kept low to make it difficult to catch what they were saying, but the walls of the alley itself were their enemies. Fragments of sentences had reached the elf's sharp ears.

" -re mistakes - "

" - not my fault the bi - "

" -lmost cost us - "

This little meeting - or whatever it had been - didn't last for long. In his drive to investigate, Viho had ended up trying to identify and track easily half a dozen people at once as they went their separate ways, and nearly overwhelmed himself with information. Juggling a handful of minds was difficult enough. Any more, and it was equivalent to standing in a room full of people all talking about different things at once.

More than a little disorientating.

Even with his skull threatening to split itself open, though, Viho had a job to do. Students to teach. Maybe he'd stick to quizzing them on theory today instead of drilling them on practical material, he mused while he dragged himself out of bed.

[C S]

At a snowy street corner within the heart of the city, partners leaned their backs against the wall of one of the tall brick buildings and waited. A banner hung over them, sometimes blown by a stray wind that went through the straight. The emblem of the dragon idol. It was cold enough to make the normal morning rush sluggish. A prime opportunity for the two Daavenians. They lacked the clothing that would have denoted them as part of Brodudika's coalition, no leather padding over their green shirts and brown pants. They looked the part of civilians, though they refused to not represent their home while on duty.

There was no mistake to make here; they were on duty. Some of Byron's men put out to investigate a few things worth investigating. The Green-Coats, their preferred distinction in the cause, were detectives and fact-finders. If there was something that needed snooping into or information that didn't piece together the right way, they were the ones who would know all about that.

And a few items of interest were walking down the same street they were idling at. The steel-plated guards of Grymhaven, because as far as the Coats were concerned after last night, it was obvious that some of these people still thought they were in Grymhaven. "Good morning, officers," the lead Coat greeted the guards, pushing up the tip of his tricorn.

The visors of the guards shifted away as they passed, the two men only getting a nod of acknowledgement. The Coats didn't wait as long as they did for that treatment, however, and they didn't skip a beat in matching the pace of the armored guards. They walked with the officers and made casual conversation that was uncomfortably not.

"Another crime last night. A poor soul beaten silly until she was without wits. We have to commend you men, we heard you were spotted on the scene right after it happened."

"Not us," said one of the guards. The Coats had no way of countering that. It was hard to get a hard identity on people who had helmets over their faces at most hours of the day and night.

"Perhaps not you two," the other Green-Coat replied, "but your dutiful comrades. On the scene so quick that the perps were scared right off!"

"Who gave you all of this?" asked one the guards with a shortness that could have been taken as either a mark of guilt, or a man on duty with no time to spare entertaining this scene.

"People without names, but eyes, and very strange sleeping habits," the leading Coat answered. "But give us a tick, will ya'? You have to admit, it's a bit odd. Especially with the rumors that crimes were being reported to your head-man, Melok, and he wasn't acting on them until it was far too late."

"We can't be everywhere to save everyone," was the stoic response to that one. "We can only be grateful for the intimidation that dragons in our city bring. These crimes could be a lot worse, and far more prevalent without it."

"Mm, yes," said one of the Coats before motioning to the other to break off the questioning for now. "Keep up the good work, gentlemen." He said as much, even as the point of intrigue raised itself.

In a city filled with do-gooders; watchmen in the night and swords for hire in the day, and dragons to keep petty criminality further in check, who else but the fundamental guards of old Draxon had the lenience to act against the law and not be caught doing it? And if the principles upon which public service was built were corrupted, then it was unlikely that the sword of the covenant would find the deserving. Those who wished to kindle broken bonds would see to it that their subversion went unpunished.

It did no good at this point identifying which aspects of Brodudika were rotten on the inside. What mattered was finding that rot and cutting it out from the rest.



Quite a stone's toss away, Dahnae stood to the door to Firel's room in his resident inn. She knew because her nose told her so, having survived another cold night without falling off. Her watching of those who watched had quite a damper put on it because of that scare, but otherwise her night was fine. A few people looked at her funny, but she was used to that in her aversion of using the ground to get from place to place.

She knocked on the door, hoping she wasn't too early for the elf's liking. He liked being at school early, but this was too early for even that.

[Hopeflower]

Sure enough, the Firel that answered the door was not exactly the stiff-backed student he liked to present himself as. Half-dressed and bleary-eyed, he clearly needed a cup of tea or two to wake up properly. The dark-skinned elf blinked at Dahnae a couple of times, considered a few equally appropriate responses to this situation, and finally settled on a slightly hoarse, "Need something?"

He figured it was more polite than "what the hell are you doing here" and "how did you find me", at least.

[C S]

"I heard somewhere that a good way to apologize to someone is to buy them things. I also heard that a good way to show someone that you like them is to give them food, so I did this thing," Dahnae replied in her direct manner, with neither buffer or an attempt to make conversation. She held up her other hand, which held onto the small handle of a little wooden box. "Want to share some breakfast before class, or something," the shapeshifter inquired.

[Hopeflower]

The word "what" didn't quite leave Firel's throat, but his lips did start to form it before he caught himself. "Uh. Sure," he replied slowly, while his brain backtracked a few sentences. Very early morning was not the time to expect him to be as sharp as usual. "Wait. Apologize for what?"

[C S]

Dahnae shrugged. "You always seem like you're in a bad mood, and then you seem like you're in a bad mood with me sometimes. I just thought this would make you feel better about whatever it is that makes you feel... bad."

[The Kingpin]

The Elvish Apprentice nodded in response, careful not to make too much noise as she walked over to where Syria's old staff was propped against the wall. The older instrument looked battered and worn, but sturdy and reliable as ever. It was a surreal feeling. A few months ago she'd never dreamed of living a life with anything she could call a family again, much less learning to use magic. And now here she was; a beginning pyromancer who was having her first staff flying lesson.

[Hopeflower]

Firel considered Dahnae for a long moment. He knew perfectly well how short his temper could be. That she felt it was something she needed to apologize for was only further proof of just how rude he got sometimes.

Well. One couldn't fix first impressions, and he wasn't dressed for a proper lunch out - it was bound to be freezing outside. But...one had to take those first clumsy steps toward fixing the problem some time. And, much as they were still nearly strangers, it wasn't right to leave Dahnae waiting on the doorstep.

Wordlessly, Firel stepped back and opened the door wider. He turned his back and yawned widely, ruffling his dark hair while he shoved one arm into a shirt sleeve. The room was simple, almost unremarkably so, and the only signs of it having been lived in were the messy bedcovers and a few stray possessions. A few socks here and there, a half-written letter on the nightstand. Resting on top of the letter was a simple locket, apparently meant to be sent to whoever the letter was intended for. On his way to the small wardrobe, Firel set the room key next to them.

"Make yourself at home," he half invited, half yawned.

[C S]

"I'd need to bring more things if I wanted to do that," Dahnae replied almost cryptically. She walked over to the small table out in the middle of the room and pulled a chair up to sit in. After setting the box down, she popped the cover off and pulled out one of the narrow plates inside. Dahnae then produced a fork and skewered one of the buns lined up on her plate. They looked a little like flaky biscuits, but smelled of something beefy, which probably explained why Dahnae went after them in the first place.



"I would recommend the window as a means of exit," Syria went on to say, pointing to the shutters still over the pane, blinds draping nearby. "I think, maybe we should just walk downstairs as a start. I can feel Septimus and Ceridwen's magic around, maybe they'll like to fly a little more with us?" she asked, already making her way for the door.

[The Kingpin]

"Will we really be flying that far?" asked Beshayir, somewhat surprised. She had seen both Septimus and Ceridwen fly. They were so fast! Would they even be able to fly as low as she was probably going to be without risking hurting themselves?

[C S]

"... Probably not," the mage amended shortly after being asked the question. "But we will be flying high enough to beat out the crowds on the street, no doubt." Syria grinned as she stepped out into the hall and held the door open for Beshayir. "Wouldn't that be grand? Getting to school without waiting on anyone?"

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir nodded, smiling. "We'd better be quick...Or we won't have much time to practice before my class," she said after a moment of thought, stepping out of the room after the Mage.

[C S]

"Or get something to eat," Syria agreed, shutting the door behind them and then walking down the hall decorated with floral patterning and sconces that matched the motif, holding tiny lanterns that kept the walkways lit a nice orange-cream color. The floors were covered in a soft burgundy carpet that felt nice underneath their boots. Down the short stairs they went into the lobby, where other guests were sat at booths and tables, being served their breakfast.

Syria swerved around and made for the rear door to the place.

[The Kingpin]

As the duo made their way out of the rear door, they were met with a familiar and entertaining sight. The Scholar was licking his chops, and Ceridwen looked visibly overfed. It would've been funny had she been slightly more bloated. There was no faking the grin she had, the corners of her otherwise bird-like beak curled up in a smile, eyes closed and feathers fluffed as she sat beside the larger drake, apparently enjoying the warmth.

"Good morning, Syria, Beshayir," the larger dragon growled, a pleased grin curling across his muzzle at the sight of Beshayir fully dressed in what he assumed was 'flight gear'.

[Hopeflower]

Even a magically fatigued Viho managed to get dressed and ready to get to the school before the students started to trickle in.

"Breakfast and the strongest tea you have, please. Black," Viho requested, trying not to cringe visibly at the scraping of the coins he slid across the counter. He didn't make it a habit to eat breakfast at the boarding house when there were so many other options, but this was as close to peaceful as he was going to find in the city. Things would only get busier and noisier as the day wore on. Better to try and tackle this headache now.

At the very least, the fact that he wasn't skipping meals to get by anymore would help.


Firel sighed, lacking the energy to point out that he wasn't being literal, and tugged on a fur-lined jacket over his shirt. He reached for a bottle tucked away on top of the wardrobe, tipped something small and round into his palm, and swallowed it dry. Only then did he join Dahnae at the table.

"I should be apologizing for my behavior," he began quietly. "It's not anything that's your fault."

[C S]

"And a good morning to the both of you. You and Ceridwen seem to be in good spirits." Syria went up to Septimus and reached for his snout so that she could drape an arm over the end. "I'd have to guess that your day has been off to a fairly noteworthy start," the self-taught mage said, noticing that the Maelgwyn dragoness seemed pretty pleased with her situation. A full stomach to last her just a little longer.


Dahnae didn't say anything for a change. She took her fork in hand and reached across the table, holding out the bun for Firel to take, just a few degrees away from feeding him outright. For better or worse, the jungle girl appeared set on looking out for the elf. "It's still a little hot."

[The Kingpin]

"Let's just say we won't be going hungry for the next couple of weeks, at least," rumbled the Scholar, the dragoness beside him shaking her head to get rid of a troublesome itch, her head fluffing up considerably as a result. A yawn brought with it the flexing and folding of the feathers, laying flat along her streamlined neck shortly afterwards.

Beshayir thought the entire performance funny, barely stifling a giggle as the bird like dragon embraced her most avian traits for those precious few seconds. "We're...going to practice some flying now...before class begins," she stated, remembering Syria's addition to a previous observation and adding, "...Oh, and we're getting breakfast too."

The Scholar marvelled at how the elf seemed to be picking up some of Syria's quirks as she learned to speak. It was entertaining that the very 'ditziness' that he so cherished in the former Innkeeper's personality was making its way into the Elvish Apprentice. Like mother, like daughter, it seems, he thought amusedly.

[C S]

"If only the hominid races developed such peculiar stomachs," joked Syria before putting her hand on Beshayir's back. "Lamenting our lack of them won't help Beshi's flying, or make the ones we have less empty," she said as she led the child past the dragons, taking her to the edge of the street. Once there, the redhead started showing Beshayir the first steps.

"First, you begin your channeling preemptively. Give your instrument a charge to work with," she said, "or else you'll just end up falling flat on your face with your staff between your legs. Not the most dignified sight, no."

[The Kingpin]

"Peculiar stomachs?" questioned the dragoness, looking up at Septimus in confusion.

The Scholar shook his head. "I haven't the foggiest idea," he rumbled. "In any case, it's of little import. We're well fed, she's yet to be, and we have some time to relax before the day's duties come about," he added. He did not feel like shifting to a more compact form just yet. that could wait until he had to venture into the street. Ceridwen on the other hand, didn't feel like doing anything. As far as she was concerned, she was fed, she was comfortable, and she was warm. Time for a quick nap.


The Apprentice looked at the staff in her hand, focusing as he grip tightened around the instrument. The jewel at the top of the staff began to glimmer with magical energy as the elf channelled a stream of mana through her fingers, being careful not to overdo it. After all, she had a magic class to attend once this session was concluded. It would not do to tire herself out.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"Are you sure you want to spend your day off like this?"

The voice, gruff and bestial, echoed in the girl's mind. She turned her head slightly to face its owner, who was perched comfortably on her shoulder. The little dragon's voice remained a stark contrast to its dainty, lizard-like appearance.

"What else would I do?"

The response came telepathically, as was the norm between the two. The forest around them, tinged with the chill of morning, remained quiet and peaceful this way, save the sound of its more natural denizens. Although they had been walking for some time, the scenery from outside the village did little to change; the forest stretched for miles, covering a wide area. Their destination was a small, abandoned quarry they had noted on their travels.

The girl, clad in her usual leather armor and cloak, moved at an unhurried pace. They had left their village much earlier than was likely necessary, but had much ground to cover, and didn't know how long they would be gone - the girl had a job now, one she couldn't afford to miss if she wished to maintain her mundane existence. Regardless, it was not by her intention that they now traveled, but rather the ashen creature situated on her shoulder.

"I appreciate this," the other voice replied, its emotion genuine. The little dragon shifted to look his companion in the eye. "I just need to practice - "

The voice, despite its telepathic nature, was suddenly cut off as the dragon's focus shifted. Their path, previously clear despite the thick woodland around them, was now blocked by a tall figure, armored from head to toe. The armor itself was ornate, but its age clearly showed; scarred and rusted, it had long since past its prime. A gray plume came from the center of the helmet, which appeared to lack any sort of opening from which to see.

And from the being's waist hung a massive scabbard, easily as long as its owner was tall.

"Ah, I've found you," the armored being - identifiable as male due to its voice - stated as soon as the two took note of his arrival.

"Grama, I don't like this," the little dragon's deep voice echoed with urgency in the girl's mind. She was inclined to agree - she could feel a horrible...wrongness emanating from the man before them. It seemed strangely familiar, and yet completely alien, at the same time.

"Hmm," the man blocking their way hummed aloud, placing a gauntlet thoughtfully against where his chin should be. "You're both quite interesting, that's for sure. But I can't for the life of me figure out why he was so interested in finding you."

"We should go. Now," Hex echoed once more, the dragon's voice a mix of concern and anger.

"Hex, is he...?"

The little dragon's snarling visage was all the confirmation she needed. Hex had felt this many times before, she had found - for the place of his birth was a hell that many could scarcely imagine.

A hell created by creatures like the man before them.

It was now, and only now, that the man seemed to take note of their caution.

"Ah, right," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I know how you're feeling right now, but I assure you, I've not come here to hurt you. Do either of you know a man - well, man-like thing - by the name of Malthael? He's been looking for you." The armored being punctuated his statement with a point of his finger, directed squarely on the draconic being perched on the girl's shoulder.

"Grama, go," Hex snarled telepathically, springing off the girl's shoulder before she could respond. "I'll buy you some time."

"But, Hex - "

Before their eyes, the little dragon changed. With a rush of pure energy, its form expanded in all directions. In a matter of seconds, the dragon, which looked like nothing more than a hatchling, dwarfed its companion and enemy alike. Its ashen fur, situated on its neck like a lion's mane, wafted in the light breeze that traveled through the forest path. Its body had not only grew to match its new size, but its mass increased as well; no longer dainty and frail in appearance, the dragon bristled with raw strength, its forelimbs in particular demonstrating a great deal of muscle, giving it a slightly hunched stance. Its wings, as well, grew to match its new frame, capable of plunging the area into darkness when spread.

"Oh," the armored man said aloud, slowly lowering his extended hand. "Oh..."

The man sighed, his relaxed stance shifting into one of disciplined combat.

"This is really getting old. But sure, let's see what you've got."