Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"Give that back you damned mutt!" shouted a merchant as a peculiarly plump white dog floated back and forth across the market, a woven basket hanging from its mouth.

Just as Syria had suspected, the Scholar was up to his shenanigans once more. This time using a stray dog as his tool of choice. The people of Brodudika had grown wise to the dragon-in-disguise's penchant for playful trickery, and those who could not spare the time for it tended to avoid him, while those who could, tended to follow him whenever they saw him, eager to see what would transpire next.

It stood to reason then that this time, he made sure to be somewhere out of the public eye, the elf sprawled out on his picnic cloth, draped over the roof of a nearby inn. It was high enough that most at ground level couldn't see him even if they looked up, but the overhanging slanted roof meant that he could peek over the edge. Laying on his front as he was, he was able to watch while still keeping a limited, hard to detect profile.

And so he sat, a finger pointed at the dog as he observed the merchant's frustrations, perhaps amplified by the fact the dog was not simply running through the air, but rolling, tumbling, flying upside down and backwards away and around him.

He was not cruel, however. He kept a sharp eye on the merchant's wares, and anyone who tried to take advantage of his preoccupation frequently found that whatever they stole mysteriously vanished a moment later, to appear where it had been on the merchant's display. And he did tend to buy enough of the merchant's wears to make up for the time he'd wasted. Usually.

[C S]

It made things difficult for the standby heroes of Brodudika around the scene. Those bravehearted individuals who charged out of the onlooking crowd to tackle ne'er do wells to the ground, proclaiming their acts of justice and decrying sneaky thieves, invariably found that their culprits had inexplicably become innocent in the span of their charge and fumble to the pavement. The absolute shock of both parties when they realized what had happened was almost as priceless as the poor addled merchant. The longer Septimus went about with his yipping dog, even more passerby do-gooders were roped into action, only to find that their villains had nothing on them. It was a bewitching day for the city's vigilantes.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar didn't concern himself too much with the disappointments of would-be heroes. It wasn't often he could say he was watching everything, but this was one such case. Even though his actions to entertain himself drew the attention of guardians away from potential troublemakers, the Hueilin himself was wary of anyone trying to make the most of the distraction for his or her own ends. After all, he would be a very poor role model to the people of Brodudika if he aided criminals with his occasional mischief. At the end of the day, he was still a Justicar of Moria.



"As you wish, my dear, as you wish. Arashi? What do you intend to do in the mean time?" inquired Buruq as he glanced from the White Flame to the Stormweaver.

"I...have a Dhahaka to hunt. And a cult to kill," responded the Magus after a moment's hesitation, his eyes, for the first time in months, regaining their brilliant white glow as he reached out across Aster to his Nephilim; his Bloodhounds. It was time to start hunting down the Brotherhood actively...

"Good luck, Arashi. You know who to call if our foes seem more...entrenched than we thought," stated the Ambassador. Arashi didn't need the offer, he knew. He'd grown into quite the powerful Justicar. But he knew the Stormweaver, for all his strength, had been alienated by most of those he sought to protect...and powerful though the body and mind were, the soul at their core could only take so much...

[C S]

Syria teetered on the windowsill with her staff at the ready to take flight. She saw a few shiny figures below writhing in animated ways, probably shaking their fists and shouting at her insolence. "I'm sorry, sir and lady guards, but your benefactor is a friend of mine!"

Maybe she shouldn't have taken it upon herself to circumvent the usual authority this building had. The symbol of the big black manor was less powerful with a tiny woman in green floating around the top. Those who cared for such appearances clearly did not care for Desrium as she and Septimus did, Syria figured. With that logic, she respectfully decided not to entertain the notion. The guards could make as much a fuss as they wanted, it wasn't like they could sprout wings and accost her directly.

At least, they weren't likely to.

Before she made her move to fly over the rooftops of Brodudika, Syria looked back to the red-eyed being in the shade of the attic. One last thing that made her heart twinge with worry. "She wants to kill you."

"... Yes." Septimus spared no detail from Syria, Desrium knew now.

"What will happen when she finds you?"

"I will approach her with reason, so that she may finally understand the truth that brought Zuppoland low. Maybe then she will turn away from this misguided quest. If not, then the terms of our engagement should be more clear." Desrium clenched a fist tightly and turned his helm aside. Syria could only guess as to where his focus was.

"Terms of engagement?" she pondered.

"I made a promise, once."

Syria nodded slowly, beginning to follow the train of thought. "And if she continues with her convictions, even while knowing that you don't want to hurt her?"

"Then she is beyond saving, and her claims of heroics are hollow comforts to rationalize her terrible actions," said Desrium. It was in the way he was postured, the image of tenseness though he had no muscles to tense, that told Syria that this resolution was a begrudging one.

"This is something that's been eating at you for a long time, huh Desrium?"

"It is her expectation to face me in a battle for her life. To grant her death would only validate the hatred that drives her. At the same time, I feel that clemency is not something she is interested in. She believes she is righteous in her violence, and that my death is a necessary thing."

Syria scoffed. "She will force your hand against her, and then justify her senselessness because of it." They threw him into the Well in their ruthless lust for his destruction, obliterated their own island as a result, and then blamed him for it. Things were still the same, all these centuries later.

"If it is at all possible to salvage what good remains by quelling the darkness in her, then I will do what I must," Desrium pledged.

"But you don't think you have much of a chance in that, do you?" Syria already knew the answer, and the sadness was evident in her features.

"I do not."

"... What about Septimus and I?" Syria suggested.

Desrium's eyes exploded. The whole attic was flushed with red. The mage's eyes widened in surprise. "Desrium!?"

"I cannot." His voice remained a monotone despite the blaze that shone from his gaze, keen on her as it was, rippling crimson covering every recess in the room. "I cannot allow this. Morrelie will crush everything she feels will stand in her way -- even Liorick was wary of her nature. If she were to discover your friendship with me, her hunt would extend to you two, Ceridwen and Beshayir."

He could not bring himself to say that Morrelie would try to kill them all. It utterly tore at him. A part of him wanted to march out of Brodudika's gates and find her, so that such a thing could never happen. The part of him that kept him in check was the side that knew that such a fear was a folly. To pursue violence from an imagined danger was not the path of justice. And as long Morrelie's wrath only concerned him, then she could remain out there in the distance, biding her time and plotting. As long as no one else was in danger, then this could be contained.

With that small comfort, the flaring of Desrium's eyes subsided, as did the intensity of his light.

As long as no one was so daring -- or so foolish -- as to approach the Interceptor in her warpath, there would be no more casualties; and the elementals that foiled her attempt on that fateful day were under the protection of the Lady of Light. In the same vein, anyone sharing Evisa's fearlessness with the misfortune to cross paths with Morrelie could full well be victims of her magic.

That was a far less comforting thought.

"You said you would do anything for peace," Syria stated plainly after she had seen that the armored being had calmed. "If you cannot do it alone, then Septimus and I will help." What I will do, however, is be a voice of reason where even he is not able. Some reminder of kindness when all else are ramping up for conflict.

"I beg of you Syria, do not."

The mage's heart was heavy. Those simple words carried with them such turmoil. But who was she as a friend, as any person who claimed decency, really, to leave Desrium to this inevitable disaster that could cost him his life? "I will talk to Septimus about it, and once we have a plan, we will seek you out again. We won't leave you alone, Desrium, no matter how much you insist on going through fires so that others won't have to."

Desrium could only watch as Syria dropped from the window, disappearing from sight, only to reappear as a streak of green zipping towards the thicket of stone and steel towers. He lowered himself to his knees, his robe falling around his legs as he bent down. The paladin began his meditations to rebalance his beset mind and judgement.

At the very least, he accepted that he was deserving of being told off as such. He had been too blunt with Septimus and Syria in past dealings, even for his tastes.

[The Kingpin]

Amusing as a flying dog had been, even that eventually grew boring for the Scholar, the pup and the basket in its possession both dropping to the floor as Septimus rolled onto his back, closer to the middle of the building's roof and even further out of sight. He ended up staring at the cloudy sky above; an almost numbingly familiar one at this point. That said, it was not the only thing he saw from that position. Off in the distance, departing from city hall, was the Daavenian Mage. He frowned. He had not seen her moving with such speed in an urban area before; something that boded ill. Somehow, he had a feeling he knew what was to blame for it...

[C S]

Upon drawing closer, it was apparent that Syria was not in the most playful of moods. She looked for all her worth, a lady on a mission, uncharacteristically serious. The mage angled herself backwards as she came to a sudden and decisive stop over the roof, which caused a distortion of light around the staff's tip as it brought forth a rush of mana. Syria sat up as it then eased its way down to where Septimus was lying, no longer buffeted by the wind of her own motion.

"Fancy finding you up here," she said to the dragon in disguise before her staff rested at a hover a couple of feet from the shingles of the roof.

[The Kingpin]

"You know me; always trying to stay on top of things," responded the Scholar as he sat up,drawing one leg up somewhat and bracing his foot against the roof to keep from slipping. "You look...unsettled. Is something the matter?" he asked...

[C S]

"I'm afraid so. More than your terrible way with words, at that." Syria cracked a small smile. Septimus was a comfort for her, and it seemed that all he needed to do was to say something for its effects to take hold. The smile faded when she began to collect her thoughts to explain herself.

[The Kingpin]

"Let me guess...Morrelie?" he inquired. It wasn't difficult to assume. After all, little else that occupied the Paladin would be so grave a matter as to upset the Mage so. All other possible problems were little things, things that could be remedied with time and perseverance, things that ultimately held no grave threat to their Stalwart friend.

[C S]

Syria nodded. She swung her legs around the staff in the same moment that her magic ceased to keep it aloft. The soles of her boots thumped against the rooftop and her hands were behind her, holding onto her staff. "I don't suppose you'll mind if I join you down there," she said offhandedly, and did not wait for a reply before sitting down beside Septimus, staff braced against a shoulder.

[The Kingpin]

"Please. I could use the company," responded Septimus as he set an arm on his knee, his free hand settling on the Mage's shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze.

[C S]

"Company," Syria echoed. "Ah, if only Desrium was still in the habit of keeping friends around." She chuckled ruefully. "Well, it doesn't matter whether or not he wants us to help him with Morrelie or not, we're going to anyway." Syria blinked a couple of times. In her deliberations, she may have missed a few steps... such as explaining to Septimus what she intended to do.

What did she intend to do?

"Uh... I was hoping we could... I don't know... do something so that Desrium won't... be in danger of dying? I guess?"

[The Kingpin]

"You're not alone in wanting to stop this madwoman before she can hurt Desrium," stated the Scholar slowly as he considered what Syria had said. "But by the sounds of things, she may well kill us when we confront her. Any plan to turn her away from Desrium will have to be meticulously thought out, and carefully executed. Remember that we owe it to Beshayir not to be reckless, now more than ever," he warned. It was true. Were it not for Beshayir, he probably would be willing to go to his potential doom if it meant he may save Desrium from the same fate against this old, mad and very dangerous foe. As it was however, he could not afford it.

[C S]

Syria tucked her legs in and rested her chin on her knees. "Desrium doesn't think he could convince her not to fight. If he's the one that taught you how to solve a conflict without fighting, and he doesn't think he's got a good shot at it..."

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar nodded. "She may very well be completely insane. At the very least, we can be certain she's completely blind with rage, and has been for a very, very long time, if she's been hunting him for eight hundred years. As much as I would like to resolve the matter peacefully, I don't think it is actually possible," he stated grimly. Already, a hundred different scenarios had been painted in his mind, images coming to mind of friends and allies trying to aid him and dying to the Interceptor in the process.

"I know you hate the thought of violence in any form, but this time, I don't think there is a way out of it. Anything other than killing or crippling her will only slow her down, but not stop her, and if we are going to try and directly oppose her, we will need to be sure we do so with enough force that she is crushed, otherwise someone is likely going to die to her before she is stopped," he concluded, gritting his teeth. He hated bringing up matters like this with Syria, particularly after the dragonslayer incident...but there was no helping it this time.

[C S]

Syria scrunched up her features with displeasure and looked at Septimus from the corners of her vision. "But that's exactly what she wants! It's what she expects, and Desrium knows it!" As disconcerting as it was, the thought that it was all that Morrelie knew crossed her mind. For someone who believed there was always a peaceful means to problem, it was fairly disturbing.

It also made her stop and think deeper.

"It's what she expects... so... if it's a fight she wants all the time... we don't engage? And by we I mean you, naturally." The lady pursed her lips, then continued, "So we don't give her a reason to fight. We don't mention Desrium. We don't tell her who we are. She's wasted enough time wallowing in hate, she could stand to waste some more."

Syria smirked wickedly. "What do you say, Scholar? Are you up for a little yarn-spinning fun?"

[The Kingpin]

"I will stand beside you regardless of how mad a plan it seems to be...But we need a solution to Ceridwen and Beshayir...I don't think either of them would be safe on a venture like this...You and I have faced dangerous things before, we could handle ourselves if things turned deadly...but if we were to fall, they'd be defenceless," said the Scholar. To the Mage, it may have seemed fun, but for the Son of Storms, the veteran of Tyrbenetus, the potential far-reaching consequences dampened any potential excitement there was to be had.

"Desrium tried not to engage her. She engaged him regardless. The traits she seems to possess put her more in line with a demon than anything else...and demons do not need an excuse to kill," he added, to punctuate his point.

[C S]

"Oh. Oh." Syria hadn't thought about that. The more she did, the more she fixated on how unfair the prospects were. Fight or don't fight, just the mere act of approaching this mage from a mostly-forgotten nation was a gamble. They couldn't just give up. Syria swallowed hard. "Standing by peace wouldn't mean anything if you weren't willing to die for it, right?" she asked herself.

She didn't have an answer to that one.

"We can ask Desrium to watch over them while they're still here," Syria replied. "If we head off relatively soon, we may be able to pull all of this off and be back to keep our plans, too."

[The Kingpin]

"That is assuming Desrium does not use this as a means of preventing us from going through with it. Ceridwen can take care of herself, but she may not be inclined to stay around and put herself through hardship for Beshayir without us to take over the responsibility from her. To guarantee her safety, Ceridwen would have to be around Beshayir constantly. At all hours," reflected the dragon in disguise. It was true that over the past couple of months Ceridwen had grown attached to the young elf, but as had been made abundantly clear mere days ago, her first concern was herself. Everyone else came afterwards. He feared what that would mean if her patience over a reckless decision that cost her her freedom and peace ran out.

[C S]

"Good point. We can always take her to Oak and Willow's... she'd be able to get accustomed to everything before the celebrations begin." As fast as Septimus was, the time it would take to reach Daaven would be time that Morrelie had to continue on her course, to whatever dastardly end it would bring. They had little recourse, however. "At least this way, we know she'd be in capable hands... even if I did turn out to be a ditz taken by madness for all of this..." Syria ran a hand through her loose hair, smiling sheepishly.