Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

The Wanderer slowed down as the approached the corner, taking the chance of being closer to the noise and thus more easily detected in exchange for extra support in case his next decision was as ill advised as it had potential to be.

That decision was predictable, but necessary; he pressed up against the corner and, with an arm across his chest, blade outwards and held firmly to swing if needed, he peeked round the corner for signs of trouble.

[C S]

Matthias saw a squad of Royal Arms operatives. These officers, numbering about ten, didn't wear the robes of the covert agents, rather, they were equipped for their engagement. Lightweight black plating covered their limbs and torso, bracers over their elbows and knees. Leather gloves protected their hands, and the whole uniform was completed by a yellow overcoat bearing the insignia of the oak and vines in black over the right breast.

They blocked off the way to the street. Five equipped with flamberge sabers were crouched in front of the five in the rear holding composite bows. These bows did not have a single string, but many, each one attached to fixtures on the ends of the limbs that were cut to resemble the branches of a tree, complete with embossed detailing for an organic bark appearance. There was no imitating a Royal Arms weapon, that was for sure, as powerful as the high standards they were crafted to meet.

[The Kingpin]

Wonderful.

The Wanderer signalled to Urlox that the way ahead wasn't as safe as they would have liked, mouthing the word ambush. He stepped away from the corner so that the Guard Captain could see for himself, wishing for once that Valadrian were with them. The Court Mage was a master of distraction and had a knack for causing absolute bedlam when the situation required it. Unfortunately, they didn't have the luxury of a former Vindicator among their party; an oversight on his part, but one that could not have been helped.

[C S]

"Ah," Urlox mouthed after he got his look at the expertly composed trap awaiting them. No doubt the sight was mirrored on the opposite side of the alley, and once word got out as to their position, the other squad would be mobilizing to tighten the noose, as it were. No way to run, no time to plan, pressure to instill a panic in less astute combatants.

"Gimme a tick," Urlox mumbled. He turned around to behold his blaze of destruction, table leg propped up on his shoulder and meat cleaver tapping against the side of his thigh. He had an idea of what to do here, but it was a matter of finding the thing. If nothing else, go by the smell.

As the seconds turned to minutes, the officers were wary of the abrupt silence that had descended upon the alley. What had become of the crashing turmoil? Fingers were tossed about as succinct gestures, the squad of elves formulating an attack strategy without words. They came to the agreement with pumped fists, that they were to advance and survey the situation.

The sword-wielding elves took their first steps towards the corner, creeping with utmost quiet in the middle of Niyera to their targets. They heard a noise as they drew closer, almost like a cooing. They paid it no mind, focused on putting down dangerous threats. Their swords, held close, were about to round the corner.

That was when a creature, similar in build to a chicken, was tossed out in front of them, squawking and shrieking with wings flapping erratically. A few arrows were loosed on reflex, a few swords stabbed and slashed at the sudden sound and movement.

"Oi, always taken by the slow boil!" shouted Urlox as he darted out from behind his cover with Matt in tow.

[The Kingpin]

The distraction was a potent, but short-lived one, and Matthias knew something had to be done in order to keep them from shooting the duo as they retreated. Lunging for one of the staggered operatives, he grabbed the elf by the throat and, with one swift spin, sent him flying into the others with enough force to bowl the entire unit over, keeping them preoccupied as he joined the Guard Captain in bolting further down the alley.

[C S]

"Reminds me of my commando days!" Urlox said over a shoulder to Matthias when he caught up. "You'll be surprised by what you find when you crack open a few pots and boxes! Something's bound to come in 'andy when in a jam!" He looked ahead to see a brick wall rapidly approaching, and he dug his heels down to slide to a stop. This put a decisive stop to this escape route.

Urlox looked on either side of him. The intersecting alley here cut across all the way through to the other street over, past the one the restaurant was located on, and the street where the squad of elves were waiting. Acting on the logic that the other street was under Royal Arms lock and key, Urlox pointed for the second option. "It'll be a longer run to our 'in-case-of-bad-things' spot, but if it keeps them off their feet, it's our best bet, yeah?"

[The Kingpin]

"Definitely," responded Matthias, wasting no time as he made his way down the alley, blades once more in hand. As he ran, he drew a mental map of where they were going and where they needed to be, recollecting the memories of the past several days and the various routes they used to get around. This was hardly the most out-of-the-way path they'd taken...

[C S]

The restaurant was completely vacated. Staff and customer alike were shooed from the place, leaving only the Royal Arms to prowl up and down the aisles of tables, careful where they placed their boots. Their presence did nothing to alleviate the royal mess the restaurant had become. Standing near the table where Urlox and Matthias had sat at was a tall officer, the uniform belonging to that of a superior: a deep navy blue suit with a black cowl and cape. A wide tophat rested atop his head.

He spoke to the dwarf, who eyed the reddened tarp over the fallen agent from time to time. The two injured were off elsewhere, being treated.

"You said it was Elias you saw?"

"Yes sir... but he looked more... older... since we last saw him, somehow."

"Hardship, or a deliberate attempt to disguise himself. Whichever may be the truth, he's made a careless mistake today."

"Seems a bit too careless. A false convenience, if you would?"

"Do you mean to tell me Elias has a near-perfect twin in our city that we're only now learning about?"

"How much do we really know about the Lyall brothers?"

"Not enough to explain the madman you described. I cannot fathom how anyone could do that with a table."

"A secret operative of the Black Hand?"

"They do not use such... seemingly brainless tactics." Seemingly brainless, secretly very effective, apparently.

"This does not make any sense. Our information came out of the slums, right? Some street-rat desperate for food ratting out their neighbors?"

"We will get to the bottom of this, yet."

He had to. To keep things from coming to light, he needed Elias dead, and all his loose ends neatly tied by unmarked graves out in the woodlands. This development was a stray thread threatening to unravel everything.



Before the hour was through, Matthias and Urlox made it to a part of the city far from the glamor of stone trees and bridges over sparkling channels of water. It was almost tucked away behind the tall buildings and pristine streets. It was a relatively small plot of land with a pathetic picket fence walling it off from the rest of the city. The Niyera junkyard, for the things that could not be easily disposed of, the affront to the elvish tradition of being close to nature. Stonework, metalwork and glasswork littered the plot, rejected and without use. Half-rotted furnishings baked in the sun and soaked in the rain.

The guard captain popped open a fairly recent addition to the kingdom of the discarded treasures, a robust chest made of some kind of hardwood. It was a simple thing, with an intact clasp, so its contents were well protected. The two men, in the true junkyard spirit, parted with their disguises and took back their effects. Urlox had his black armor back on and his imposing broadsword on his waist. Matthias had his concealed gear, including his gauntlets.

[The Kingpin]

Belts, buckles and bandoliers were being strapped into position as Matthias reflected on what had transpired earlier. They would have to change tactics, move to a different position.

Tightening the last of the straps on his gauntlets, he flexed his fingers. They may have seemed large on Dundorf, but for the Wanderer, they fit, quite literally, like a glove. The bulge of his arms as a result of the equipment was easy to hide under the cloak and poncho of his normal attire, something that could easily be shrugged off as being the traits of a broad-shouldered man; which wasn't wrong. Even unarmoured, Matthias was physically a very imposing figure, even among men, to say nothing of the typically lithe and more slightly-built elves.

"We can't have that happen again. Now that they think Elias is in the city the security will be heightened. It may be wise if I avoid moving in the streets. The stench that would cling to me from cisterns would be a dead giveaway in any infiltration mission, so that is out of the question...Bandages across the face would be suspicious...I am not sure what the best way to evade detection in this situation would be. Any thoughts, Thimeas?" he inquired, glancing over to the Guard Captain.

[C S]

"You don't 'ave a beard." The observation came plainly as Urlox adjusted his grip on the table leg, hands shifting up and down the length of it. He had one eye squinted while searching for the ideal hold. "It is cold out. A man without a beard could be forgiven for wearing a scarf tight. Topped with a complimentary 'at, you'd be without a face by my measure."

He whistled a drawn out tone, then adjusted his hold on the table leg a little more. "You're a bit too much of a boulder to get away with wearing one of those pale-masks. Come to think of it, though, not even the lasses would, either. Ears aren't up to par and such."

At the word "par", Urlox pulled his arms over his head and then flung the table leg ahead of him. It spun through the air and Urlox watched with excited anticipation as it made its inevitable arc into an empty drum. It thundered distantly and Urlox threw a fist up. "Ha! I've still got it!" Urlox then reached for the meat cleaver that he had laid on the chest.

[The Kingpin]

"I don't think it would work even if I could pull off the masked look," responded Matthias off-handedly. "They're subordinates. Range is limited by the ones ordering them around. I would stand out quite noticeably if I strayed from their orders," he explained as he flipped the dwarf's dagger in hand, the elegant blade flipping end over end between his plated fingers. It was a very finely crafted weapon, most likely an heirloom or a reward for exceptional service. Not that it mattered. It now served a new master.

[C S]

"True enough. Which makes me ponder another thing," Urlox began. In much the same way as before, he started to gauge the attributes of the cleaver in his grasp, finding its point of balance along the handle. "That elf-y bunch got into costume after the fact. Undercover officers. Sneaky, sneaky elves. Luckily for us, it seems like their specialty is those kinds of stinger operations, so it's not like the streets are crawling with them at any given time. Informants, on the other 'and, that's another story..."

Urlox spun the cleaver about in his fingers deftly, eyes zeroing in on the barrel. He cocked his arm back and then sprung it loose, sending the steel whipping through the air with deadly affinity. The muted thud a few seconds later spoke towards the captain's accuracy. "I 'ad a ranger who was fond of this sort of thing before ... what was 'is name...?"

[The Kingpin]

"That's what I'm worried about. I should have considered the chance someone in the slums with big eyes and a bigger mouth would report the odd-looking newcomers in exchange for a few crumbs of food and a fresh moth-eaten blanket to wrap themselves in," mused the Wanderer with no small amount of bitterness. "Things never change. In the slums, the poor look for anything they can to earn them some coin to eat, and in the wealthy districts, the rich and care-free occupy themselves by staring out of their windows at the goings-on of the world around them, looking for the next shred of gossip. Both are a menace."

[C S]

Urlox gave Matthias a sideways look, then grunted, his thoughts drifting to the sour mood of his friend. He didn't have some deep insight about the world generations of people before him had created. He had no grand wisdom to smooth the wrinkles of a canvas so overwhelmingly enormous as to be incomprehensible. What he said instead was, "We can attack the injustices of the world when we find Elias and beat the stuffing out of 'im." To that, Urlox locked his fingers together and cracked his knuckles.

[The Kingpin]

"That is an understatement of what I plan to do to the fool. Perhaps I'll even give what's left to these marionettes. Drape him over the Liullwyn estate gates like an oversized wolf pelt," responded Matthias, the blade in hand flipping between his fingers a bit too fast than was probably safe, demonstrating a level of practice with such weapons that was out of place in the repertoire of a trader; a telling sign of his old occupation.

[C S]

"Getting 'im all the way there without anyone 'aving a fit is going to take some doing. I'll take that challenge," said Urlox, followed by a hearty laugh. "It will be a good show that their problems won't just end with Elias; something to make them rue the day they took a traitor into the fold."

Before he could make a comment on the Royal Arms and proclaim their failure to stop them, Urlox caught flashes of yellow outside of the junkyard's fence. The man stood there, mouth agape, a moment of pride quickly turning to that of surprise and urgency. "When you think of devils!" he muttered, spinning on his heels and hunkering down beside the chest.

[The Kingpin]

Just as quickly, the Wanderer stepped around behind an armoire, standing straight as he could manage and relying on his outfit to disguise him as a coat-stand draped in more than a few layers of fabric. It was a passable imitation, but the fact the armoire concealed him almost entirely compensated for that. Being thus disguised, he remained stiff as a statue, looking round the corner of the large wardrobe at the incoming guards. How had they found him again so quickly?

It mattered little. This time, he was ready...and he would leave them in a state that prevented future pursuit.

[C S]

The elves were quick to advance on the junkyard while the two men were lying in hiding. It wouldn't be long at all before they were found out. There were more eyes in the team of Royal Arms than there were places to hide in the enclosure of refuse. For whatever small comfort it provided, the junkyard being out of the public eye meant the ensuing violence would go unheard of for a long time until a scout was sent out to report on the lack of contact with the yellow-jackets.

That was assuming Urlox and Matthias were able to fight them all and take their blood-drenched leave.

The main gate squeaked open, and the soldiers of Niyera poured in, double file. They parted to the left and right respectively, swords and bows in hand. Their formation divided the junkyard plot into columns, and an exchange of gestures in between each soldier reaffirmed the plan. They were going to comb the aisles of garbage, no one straying too far from the other. They were the sum of the two squads that were supposed to cut off the escape from the restaurant in the alleyways. Among them were kleidde, their mannerisms a dead giveaway of their abilities to the two sharp-eyed warriors. They were the elves that turned their noses to the sky in search of scents. That answered Matthias' unspoken inquiry, while simultaneously driving in how perilous things had become. The smells of the junkyard would muddle the trail, though. The two were not without hope.

The elves must have thought it a strange twist of fate that their fugitives would end up trapping themselves in a figurative cage with no way out that didn't involve going through refined practitioners of the art of war. Yet, after the demonstration earlier, they must have been cautious of some military brilliance. Military was the keyword here. This randomer with Elias was no lowly mercenary or career criminal.

They marched across the parched, cracked dirt, trampling weeds underfoot, opening every door there was to be opened, be it stagecoaches that had outlived their usefulness, wardrobes or dressing booths. The elves in yellow would leave no nook or cranny unchecked.

[The Kingpin]

The clatter of metal on wood sounded out near the far Eastern edge of the scrapyard, sounding like a dagger or a piece of armour or provisions had struck a table and was being dragged through even more; the possible sign of a clumsy or feverish escape attempt.




The ashen-scaled dragon pressed his muzzle to the neck of the powerful dragoness beside him. She pulled away from the gesture at first, before calming somewhat. A single golden eye settled on the Stormweaver, who responded with a tilt of his head. “What are you doing?” rumbled the dragoness.
“Is a dragon not allowed to be affectionate with his mate, Rulukhiir?” rumbled the Experimentalist softly.

“Not when he has yet to regain that right, Rulukhuur,” responded the dragoness.

“And yet you call me that,” responded Arashi with a small, but nonetheless pleased smile.

“Words and actions are two different things, Arashi. Don't mistake soft words for a soft heart. Mine has long since hardened. You have yourself to thank for that,” growled Tanwen as she turned her head to look at him with a firm, inquisitive gaze.

“Of course,” responded the Stormweaver cautiously, seeing her test for what it was. “As you wish, Tanwen,” he stated, simply. She eased somewhat at that. Clearly it was the answer she was hoping for. He had stopped trying to force reconciliation. Progress.

"Time will tell if you regain that right. Maybe one day..." she growled as she straightened, glancing towards the shadow looming in the distance. "It appears he's found us," she added a moment later. It was still hard to wrap her head around the sheer size of the Ambassador. His wingspan alone was a terrifying thing to behold from the ground, and she could see why many of the younger Hueilin had come back bearing rumours among the humans of another Age of Desolation, a second draconic war akin to that against the Blood Dragons. Few in those first few hours could have known, much less believed, that that enormous drake was a Hueilin, so huge as he was by comparison.

The Ambassador arrived swiftly, all things considered. He had been summoned by the Stormweaver mere hours ago, and told only that his apprentice required aid in regards to the Clan Lords, nothing more. Understandably intrigued and concerned, he had wasted no time.

So it was understandable that he seemed somewhat bewildered at the sight of two dragons, resting at Aster's Western shore, a few miles from the borders of one of the southernmost Elvish Kingdoms, and on a shore where the snows were all but absent.

"Greetings Arashi, Tanwen. I pray I did not keep you waiting for too long?" he questioned, the massive drake's form sprawling out across a good portion of the beach.

"Not at all, Buruq," responded Tanwen with a kindly smile, one that the Ambassador noted had been denied Arashi in all the time he had seen the two together in recent times. Things were progressing slowly, but that was to be expected. "We need your help," she started.

"Of course. Whatever I can help with, I will surely do," he responded pleasantly.

"Thank you, hulukhriin. The matter in question is Cyndeyrn," started Arashi.

"The Lord of Maelgwyn? Whatever's the matter?" questioned the Ambassador, his brow furrowing. "A family dispute? No, it can't be that. Last I saw all was well between you and he, aside from his displeasure over the business between Tanwen and the others over your rebellion," he pondered aloud, until Arashi cleared his throat a bit louder than was necessary. "Oh my, pardon me. It appears I let my thoughts run away with me. You were saying?" he responded, reigning in his rampant theorising.

"Arashi has informed me that...certain things transpired between my father and the other Clan Lords a long time ago. Something that cost my mother her mind, if he is to be believed. He says that the reason my father stood with the other Clan Lords against him was that he feared the same would be done to me if he sided with Arashi," explained Tanwen, struggling to accept that she herself was saying these things.

"Is that so?" questioned Buruq, his brows arching with great intrigue. "That is an interesting explanation...And I suppose it would explain why Cyndeyrn has the odd habit of looking towards the other Lords before speaking...I did find that quite peculiar when I began observing them...In Syravoras, Clan Lords were chosen for being unrelenting in their views. Decisions involving all the Clans were taken from the overlaps in all the views, which were then adapted to best suit the majority," explained the Ambassador, reflecting on how things had changed while he was in Tyrbenetus solemnly.

"...But if Cyndeyrn has been threatened, bullied into subservience to one, or several of the other Clans, then that is going to cost all of Maelgwyn their say in Hueilin affairs. Yes, I believe this does need investigating...both for the sake of your peace of mind, and for the sake of your entire clan," rumbled Buruq firmly. "If this is truly the case, then it may be time that there was a change of leadership within the Hueilin Clans. Especially considering the dangers that may threaten our peace in the future. The clans must be able to function autonomously, but they should also be able to function together without sacrificing the well-being of one clan or another."

"I was thinking a good way to find out would be to have Tanwen ask her father, privately, somewhere away from Drakhunmiir. Perhaps with your aid, and out of reach of the other Clan Lords, he would be more willing to speak of what happened," suggested Arashi.

"A reasonable plan of action. What of you, Tanwen? Do you agree with this idea?" inquired the Ambassador.

"I'm not sure...Wouldn't it raise suspicion if my father suddenly departed Drakhunmiir? He has been prone to staying close to home even after Thurduunax lifted the ban on leaving. Staying with mother," wondered Tanwen, a bit uncertain as to Arashi's plan.

"Arashi, I believe you said to me that Thurduunax was a wise and considerate leader? One that helped stave off the aggression aimed at Tanwen?" inquired Buruq as his gaze settled on the Stormweaver.

"Yes, I did. He has done a lot for my family...Truth be told he's done what I wish I could have done for them," responded the Experimentalist, a bit crestfallen at the thought.

"Then I will have Cyndeyrn speak with him. He will leave Elwen with Thurduunax before he comes to meet with us," decided the Ambassador simply.

"Fair enough. I will keep my distance, then. I hope you are successful. What I learned shocked me, but it is a secret Cyndeyrn keeps close to the chest," decided Arashi.

"Why keep your distance?" questioned Buruq.

"I would prefer he isn't present. Words are cheap, and he has used magic to sway things in his favour before. I would rather not have to second-guess my own father's words," stated Tanwen simply; a statement that, though repeated frequently over the past few weeks, did not lose its stinging edge in the eyes of the Stormweaver. It was a constant reminder of how badly he had damaged his relationship with Tanwen. He would have to let her have her space, and experience the truth in his words on her own, if he wanted to have any hope of repairing that damage...

[C S]

There was knocking at Desrium's personal "quarters". Small knuckles that did not find their way to his door, but the semicircular window directly opposite it. That was a first for him, to be beckoned from outside the window. Like his advisers, he'd come to expect a knock on the door when he was to be summoned for a task. Otherwise, as he was prone to, Desrium would venture out into the city and find something that required his attention.

New though the experience was, he was not surprised in the most explicit nature of the word. Yes, there was a woman floating outside of his usual haunt, but he had felt her presence on the edge of his peripheries well before this moment of their meeting. Desrium undid the locks on the casements and opened the window for Syria to enter.

"Hello," she said afterwards with a smile and wave, having shifted from her staff to take a seat on the lip of the window frame. "I hope this isn't a bad time."

Syria took note of the empty quality of the room. There were few furnishings outside of a table and some chairs that Desrium couldn't even sit on. There were not even curtains on the windows. At the same time, she reasoned this was perfect for the armored being. He would have settled for the barest of minimums, and this attic guard post was just a little more than that, and in Desrium's perception of things, that meant he had as much riches to call his own as the Qa'id of Thimeyra.

"Not at all. Hello again, Syria," Desrium replied. He stood before the window with his arms behind his back, his demeanor making this unusual encounter the most common thing in the world.

"I see that Septimus got our gift to you." Syria's gaze had gone to the corner of the mostly empty attic, where the barrel of honey had been placed. The image of Desrium carrying it through the lower floors of city hall and up the many flights of stairs to this topmost of levels was a funny one to her to say the least. "Did anyone ask any questions?"

"Very rarely am I approached with inquiries, but I do not doubt that they were had," Desrium answered.

"Septimus lives to confuse. Even from afar." Syria ran a hand through the length of hair free under her hat. Sheepishly, she added, "I guess I am an enabler of that."

"His spirit is free. It always was. He proved this to me very shortly into our travels together." Desrium's eyes glimmered slightly, and then he continued, "He was smaller, then."

"So he's told me. I've seen that Septimus... er... 'seen', that is to say, have seen him with my mind on a few occasions. It must have been quite something to see him then, with your own eyes." Syria's tone had grown wistful by the end of her statement, and at the mention of "eyes", she had leaned forward to inspect the gentle glow in Desrium's.

"I have seen a few dragons, of a variety of shapes and sizes. Each one was something to behold. I find dragons to be creatures that are impressive across their many kinds," the armored being said.

"Oh sure, I'm not going to argue to the contrary," Syria responded with a wave of her hand. She pulled her rose-tipped staff over her lap and kicked a foot out like a schoolgirl. "I just think that tiny bodied, big-headed Septimus would have been cute, is all."

Desrium hummed. He had very little to comment on in that regard. While Syria sang her praises of Septimus' looks, both elven and draconic, his thoughts drifted to the celestial mare, and he found it amusing that on some level, he could empathize with the mage. He was glad that Septimus was able to make her feel as he did when he was graced with Lady Moria.

Alas, as fate's reflection of himself, Septimus too would know what it was like to lose such a treasure. It was a grimness that made his eyes darken, for that would be the day he lost a dear friend, as well, and any parallel to the amalgamation of divinity that was so otherworldly and wrong was a dreadful thing to consider with Syria's memory.

"--srium? Desrium? Is this actually a bad time, and you were just too polite to say so?"

Desrium realized he had been looking at his pointed boots. A short while with his thoughts had him hanging his helm, as he had been before Syria's arrival. He was reflecting on -- bearing the weight of -- the life he would live, coveting the bond of brotherhood, while being so far away from his brother. It had to be this way. Septimus couldn't be dragged into more conflict and strife; not after what he had done to send him away from Tyrbenetus. That same conflict and strife would have him storing all the kindness bestowed upon him by the Scholar, and Desrium could not help but feel that his protectiveness would rot into the bitterness of greed.

"I was just thinking." For all the good -- or bad -- it was doing.

"Oh." Syria cocked her head. "I know you aren't the talkative one..." it took so long to learn of the armored being's harrowing past, "... but do you want to talk about it?"

"I used to discuss such things with Inarius, the patron of the holy Lance," was Desrium's reply. He looked up to the rafters. "I suppose I am relearning how to cope on my lonesome."

That was almost too much for Syria to take. Knowing what she knew now, it was a stabbing pain in her heart. "You don't have to." She bit her lip. "I mean... Septimus told me. You don't have to go back to that kind of sadness, with whatever it is that's got you down. I can help. You can tell me things, too."

"I appreciate the offer. However, this is something that must be done. Your place is with Septimus, Ceridwen, and the child, Beshayir. I will not have these grievances be what keep you here when Septimus is gone. I will not accept your concern on the matter, either."

Syria frowned. She'd heard Desrium speak this way before. It was right before he decided to go off for months on end, building a city and being all across Aster, the most difficult suit of armor in history to track down by enemy or friend. There was no debating with him. "I... wish I could make you as happy as I try to make Septimus."

"You make Septimus happy. That is joy that I can use myself, against any despair that I may face," Desrium told Syria. "I do not think I am the only one who feels this way. Wherever you go, someone will find some strength from you." Desrium bowed his helm. "For that, I thank you."

Syria's frown lessened upon hearing that, the corners of her lips curling ever so slightly into a smile. Desrium's way of speaking did not lend itself well to cheering someone up, but the intent behind his words was enough to sooth her worry and sympathy.

"I wanted to speak to you before the time comes that we have to make our way to Thimeyra. To give you something to look on fondly when you're dealing with city-business day in and day out. I didn't know when you'd be preoccupied with something again, so I just took the chance while I sensed that you were up here. The guards weren't too pleased with me. I tend to have that effect from time to time."

"You have succeeded in your goal, Syria. I reiterate that your efforts, and your friendship, as much as Septimus', will overcome any sorrow I may feel in several of your lifetimes. It is because of this, I can say that I will go on regardless."

Syria pulled in a resigned breath. "Well, you are the Stalwart. For good reason."

"And you were meant to soar."

Syria raised a brow. "Meant to... soar. Soar?"

"Septimus told me of the thunderbird when I inquired about the events that have transpired since we parted ways. In doing so he told me of your father, and your gift."

The mage rolled her head to one side and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yep. That's Septimus, alright. But that makes me wonder, you must have known since that night we met."

"I was aware of a power you possessed, yes. I did not comprehend it, as yourself didn't. At the time, despite this aura about you, you were no different than any other human I had met. You were not a mage then, and you were not inert magically." Desrium's eyes shined with the recollection of that time. "In all honesty, it was something I dismissed as meaningless, ignorant as I was with my damaged mind. I do believe it was a deciding factor in our future friendship, however."

"How so?" Syria inquired with a curiosity, craning herself closer to Desrium with the same rapt enthusiasm as a child hearing their favorite bedtime story.

"My best description of the phenomena would be that you are touched by fate, as Septimus is. To what extent, I do not have the wisdom to say, just the insight to realize as much. Your dealings with Septimus are proof that you are an extraordinary human."

Syria rolled her eyes. "Says the most extraordinary thing on this side of Aster."

"We will be locked eternally in a battle of humility, Syria," Desrium replied, and he gestured to the city outside of the window with a metal hand. "You have much better ways to spend that time, and Brodudika could use some of your joy."

It would do the city well, in these times. A trickle of joy from one soul to the next, all throughout the reaches of the unfinished walls.

"Mm. I should find Septimus, then. The last time I left him alone for as long as this, he nearly scared Ceridwen's spirits back to summer."