Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[Hopeflower]

"Something to hope for. I'd like to see them, too," Vix said, taking the chance to step forward and into the room. Never did get the chance to thank Syria for the orchid, she mused, starting to look around for a promising place to begin her search. A new thought had her freezing in place for just a second, tucking it away to consider asking about if she ran into Syria and the subject came up.

She hadn't thought they'd be able to find Septimus, but...he had a direct link to her grandfather. Everything she could ever hope to learn was right there, if only she had just enough luck.


A few more flights of stairs later, and Arsenic's shoulders stiffened. 'Of course,' he growled. 'I knew this was too convenient.'

"What's the matter?" Rowan aimed a confused frown at him, stopped with one foot on the next step and her body half-turned toward him.

Arsenic exhaled sharply and said, 'It couldn't just be any old psychomancer, could it? No, naturally it's Viho teaching this class.' He spoke too bitterly for his own liking.

Rowan paled a shade or two, but her gaze stayed steady as her expression cleared. "Nick," she said quietly, "I know how you feel about him, but I need you to be calm right now. Can you do that for me?"

Arsenic nearly bristled at being spoken to as though he was ten years old again. In that moment, he realized the air around him was all but crackling with barely-leashed energy. He made himself take a couple of deep breaths and forced his magic to to settle. It wouldn't do to hurt someone because he couldn't control his anger. Not trusting himself to speak, he gave a single short nod.

"Thank you," Rowan murmured. "Now. We're going to go up there, and we're all going to talk like adults. Okay?"

'Rowan,' Arsenic almost pleaded, his "voice" strained, 'I tried to work with him and he hurt my family. I can't.'

She looked at him for a long moment, her jaw set and her expression determined. "You can," she said. "I'm not asking you to forgive. I doubt Viho expects that you ever will. I'm asking you to talk to him like you should have when he came back."

'He knows what he did.'

"We all do." Rowan's gaze never wavered. "I'm not saying he was blameless. I'm saying you need to try and move past this."

The Arsenic of nearly two decades before would have been furious with her, would have lashed out and accused her of asking him to forget Zaltana. The man he'd grown into understood what she was saying, but didn't know what to do. He had a choice here - move forward or run away. Running would almost certainly have been easier, and Rowan wasn't forcing him to keep walking up these stairs.

But all of the running he'd done since Zaltana died was forward, launching himself toward being able to accomplish his goal of killing Viho.

Somewhere in between was a middle ground, and he knew that was what Rowan was asking him to strive for now. He just...didn't know how.

As though she'd developed the gift of psychomancy in the few minutes they'd been standing there, she reached down and said, "I can help, Nick. I just need to know that you're going to try."

For some reason, those seemed to be the magic words. The fight left Arsenic for the moment, leaving him feeling strangely drained and unable to do more than take her hand. 'I can't promise anything other than that.'

"You don't have to." She squeezed gently and they resumed their climb, with Rowan humming a soothing melody under her breath. It didn't do much to help, this close to Viho, but Arsenic appreciated it anyway.

[C S]

Desrium made a quiet hum, and then started off on his way. "Take care, the two of you," he left them with as he took his not-so-speedy leave. He did not need to know the purpose of Vixen's visit, or the specifics she wished to learn from the archives. The most he took away from the encounter was that Andruil and Pyranex were most likely in the city again, along with whoever else accompanied them on this latest trip. Friends of Septimus and Syria that would not have nearly as much time as they'd like to spend with the two of them, because of him.

He thought it a shamble. It shouldn't have been so.

Septimus must have been feeling the same way, the armored being reflected. Septimus must have thought it unacceptable that he was being hunted by this phantom of Zuppoland.

The two of them perpetually incensed over the particulars of each other.

One and the same.


Moira shrugged her shoulders as she watched the armored being's slow departure. "They say he always shows up wherever he's needed, whenever he's needed. I don't see it, to be frank." She whistled a short tune and looked inside of the archives, spotting flittering motion across the way, down the line of rails. "I assume that's Syria," she stated.

The manifest of the library's contents was a plaque inside a glass case in the center of the reception area. The bronze plate was held up at a shallow angle for easy reading if one was standing in front of the case, and its contents scrawled on towards the right side, blocky columns of titles and the rows where one could find them.

Syria skimmed the titles of books while drifting about on her staff, doing rolls at random as she tried to find something that caught her eye. Politics was a dry read. Trying to pick out a narrative that wasn't about how some faction took up swords and trampled another consumed her focus to the point that she hadn't even noticed the newcomers. The last thing she had done that wasn't related to finding an interesting book was say her goodbyes to the Stalwart.


Gwenviere's writing came to a sudden stop and she turned her snout up, making a chirruping sound which was innately curious to listeners. Solaurn glanced over to the vaun. Did she smell something interesting? How was she to even ask, knowing what she did currently? She could only watch as she wiggled in place before dropping out of her chair. The vaun trotted over on all fours to the window, where she hopped up onto the ledge and stood to look at Viho questioningly.

"What's going on?" she chittered.

[Hopeflower]

Following Moira's gaze, Vix squinted for a moment before she nodded. "That's her. Long time no see, Syria!" she called out to the mage, lifting one hand in greeting.


Viho glanced down at Gwenviere, his gray eyes dark and his lips pressed into a grim line. He made an effort to smooth out his expression for the sake of not worrying his students. We're about to have a visitor, he told her. My son. He's not especially fond of me. And damn if that wasn't the understatement of the day. The energy not far from their floor was churning with distress - and rage.

He could only hope Arsenic had enough sense not to tear the building apart to get to him.

[C S]

If it wasn't the innkeeper's voice itself that gave Syria a start, it was the ensuing echo that rebounded off of the high ceiling and far walls. She clung tightly to her staff, having been in the middle of a roll and thus, upside down at the time. After righting herself, Syria spun herself around and waved. "It's good to see you again, Vixen, but please: this is a library!" Syria conveyed. Though she only knew of one other being inside the archives, the acoustics of the place were a wonder!


Gwenviere shuffled about in place, hopping once to look out of the window, and again to look at the door. "I can't imagine why," she responded, at a genuine loss. Not many had the heart or patience to deal with something like herself, so if anyone stood to appreciate Viho's efforts the most, it was her.

[Hopeflower]

Vix offered an apologetic smile and a half-shrug. Sorry. I lack any other means of getting someone's attention, she thought, trusting Syria would pick it up. She advanced into the room, taking her time looking around as she did. At least ones that wouldn't be appreciated even less than a slightly raised voice. How have you been?


It's a bit of a lengthy story, Viho said, and it's not a happy one. The long and the short of it is I am a man with many mistakes to my name, and the biggest ones I made involved my family. Arsenic has had to live with the consequences of my decisions for a very long time.

He turned when someone knocked gently at the door and said aloud, "Come in."

It was not Arsenic that stepped through first, but Rowan. "Viho Deimos," she said, dragging out his name a little. "I would be surprised that you're still kicking, but I have it on good authority that you're hard to kill." She leaned against the wall next to the doorframe, crossing her legs and arms casually.

"Rowan," he greeted her in turn. "What brings you here?"

"Funny you should ask," she said, tilting her head toward the door. "He brought me to this building, specifically. We're not here just to hassle you, though, don't worry." She glanced at the other people in the room, understanding what the receptionist had meant by rodent. "Students of yours?"

"Yes." Viho cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. "Are you going to come inside, Arsenic?" he asked, raising his voice a little.

At first, there was no response. Then slow footsteps until Arsenic was through the doorway and standing beside Rowan. Where she was taking in the room with vague curiosity, the mute kept his eyes firmly on Viho. 'I can't say it's good to see you,' he said, his deep voice unmistakably acidic. 'So you've come to hide here.'

"Not to hide," Viho corrected quietly. "To start over."

Arsenic's lip curled. 'That easily, huh.'

"No." Viho twitched his injured shoulder, watched Arsenic's gaze dart to the impaired movement. He could see the assassin taking in the weakness, the slightly strange way Viho held the arm in an attempt to minimize discomfort. "I don't get to just forget everything."

[C S]

Syria pulled back on her staff and floated over to meet Vix halfway, then threw her arms around her in a proper greeting. All while balancing on the staff, granted, the elf aided in that as well.

"Aside from a few hiccups and --" A potent memory of the sylvari chose to surface at that moment, which broughft along with it the aftermath of the slayer's camp. "-- Hiccups, I have been wonderful! How about you?"

Moira couldn't help her smile, and chose to quietly dismiss herself. She slipped out of the door like the shadow she so resembled while Syria had her head resting on Vix's shoulder, and closed it just as silently.


Gwenviere could feel the animosity swelling. Curiously, it radiated only from the newcomers. From Viho, she only detected discomfort. Shame? Outnumbered and in a less than ideal environment to handle this happening, Gwen thought Viho had been caught in an unfortunate trap.

She jumped down from the windowsill and stood between Viho and the others, chattering her defense of him that only the elves could comprehend. To Rowan, the rodent just seemed upset and was gnashing her small but sharp teeth.

[The Kingpin]

Smoke and ash faded from view as the Scholar floated with the current, the blackened dirt below giving way to colours, hues, coral and tropical fish bringing an energy to the water that was absent moments before.

Swimming among the corals and unaffected by the anemones was Syria, dressed as she had been that day at the Daavenian lake. Or at least, that's who it seemed to be. As she looked up at him, he saw that, while her features were generally accurate, her eyes were his own.

One thing that was distinctly Syria's however was her expression. A broad smile, warm and welcoming.

"Dealing with one's rage is poisonous," she said. "Fear of loss is a strong motivator, but it shouldn't be allowed to dominate you," she added, mirroring what Focus had said not long ago.

"It's difficult not to agree with those thoughts," the Scholar admitted.

"I know. But that's why you fall back on moments of peace, moments that made you genuinely happy, moments when you were completely confident in what you did, and why. Moments like your intervention to save Uriel so long ago."

"I left a woman to her death," responded Septimus, displeased with his decision at that time.

"Maybe. But you also saved Uriel from an early death. You punished a village of people who saw you and all like you as animals. Assuming Eredar's onslaught has not wiped them off the face of Aster, they probably learned quite a bit since then. And Uriel is still out there, somewhere. You gave him another chance at life. You did the same for many people. Beshayir, for instance. If not for your decision to take her in she'd still be begging and stealing to avoid starvation. Instead she's a growing mage, more confident and capable with her abilities by the day. And that's to say nothing of the lives you saved by sealing the World Scar. Or even Desrium."

"Desrium didn't need my help," responded Septimus, as Joy grinned yet wider.

"To survive? Maybe. But to flourish as he has? That is your honour to hold proudly. Without you he would never have met Jiier. Nor Antar. Nor Cleotaire. Nor Andruil. Nor Arashi or the Justicars. So many of the things that make him who he is, he has you to thank for."

[Hopeflower]

"I've been well, if keeping busy," Vix said, returning the hug warmly. "You know how it is - there's always a meal to be made or sheets that need washing." Things that she hoped weren't piling up in her absence, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Besides, this was more important. "And Septimus and Beshayir? How are they doing?"


Two pairs of eyes - one black and unreadable, the other hazel and definitely surprised - fixed on the vaun, while Rowan's gaze snapped to Arsenic to gauge his reaction. For a minute, it looked to her like all Arsenic did was listen. She couldn't imagine what to, though, until he spoke.

'A few good deeds,' he said, 'don't erase everything else.'

"No," Viho agreed, lowering his voice. "They don't. I can't give you your mother back, Arsenic, nor can I take back the fact that I hurt your friends. What's done is done." He spread his hands to indicate his classroom. "Asking for forgiveness is not an option - but I can try to do better."

Rowan set a hand on Arsenic's shoulder, squeezing a little to try and get him to relax some. "That's what I was hoping to hear." We don't have to ignore the past, she directed at the mute assassin. But letting it rule our lives is a destructive road to go down. You can see that, can't you?

Slowly, so slowly she wondered if she was imagining it, she felt the tension ease out of Arsenic's muscles.

[C S]

The mage found that to be a partly difficult question to answer. How was Septimus doing, deep down where he shoveled his insecurities and vulnerabilities so that he could be a soldier-dragon, defender of truth and innocence? Did he still juggle with his introspection on mortality? Did thoughts of war pester him still? She knew full well he was furious that his dearest friend was threatened, but that was understandable at the very least. By his very nature, addressing the lingering wounds that did not show on his resilient scales was a fleeting task. Doing so was her greatest challenge, trumping the likes of teaching herself magic.

"Septimus is going through some... things, right now." Syria considered her words. "I guess I am too, really. Uh, but Beshayir is a gem. She's been taking lessons in magic too... pyromancy... hoping to tackle some other forms of 'mancies'." Syria broke the embrace and held Vix at arm's length, gasping softly. "We have another dragon-friend too! Ceridwen, a Hueilin like Septimus. She's a gem too. I'll have to introduce you... soon."

Juggling thoughts of her upcoming undertaking and trying to hold a normal conversation emphasized her scatterbrained tendencies.



"I don't think I follow everything that's going on here. It doesn't help that I can't understand one part of this dialogue, and can't hear another," Solaurn spoke up. Her voice was as stern as it conveyed her puzzlement, genuinely unable to comprehend what drama was unfolding before her eyes. Not enough insight to see both sides. Or any side. She swung her short legs to the side of her chair and slid herself down to the floor.

She walked over to Gwen and held a hand out to the vaun, whose hunched stance spoke to her elevated stress. Gwen turned her nose to the gesture and sniffed loudly, and Solaurn inched closer until she was running a palm along the back of the strange girl's neck. Gwenviere snorted, then visibly relaxed in much the same way as the young elf.

"I'm not going to ask that you all forget whatever problems you all have with each other. Just that you handle them outside of class time. As an aside, my friend here gets riled up easily by this sort of thing, evidently." Solaurn reached for Gwenviere's hand, and the vaun took hers. With that, the dwarf started leading her back to their seats.

"If I am allowed to make an argument at all," the dwarf said on the way back, "supposedly a super-powered suit of armor chose Viho personally to teach this class. If that is the thing being disputed, it seems a bit of an uphill battle to challenge... that."

[Hopeflower]

Vix, true to her nature, put one of her hands on Syria's and aimed a concerned look at the mage. Everything, apparently, was not as wonderful as she'd said. She opened her mouth to press gently, stopped, and changed tack. "Sounds like quite the tale," Vix said instead, keeping her tone light. "You'll have to fill me in some time. Maybe over dinner. Are you staying in the city long?"


"It's not that," Viho replied before Arsenic had the chance to make another biting comment. He started for the door, beckoning Rowan and Arsenic to follow. Over his shoulder, Viho added, "Give yourself time to breathe before you tackle that tablet again, Solaurn." Once the door was firmly shut behind them, the psychomancy instructor gave himself all of a second to be angry that he'd lost control of the situation, and a second more to let go of that anger.

"I must ask you," he said tightly, "not to disturb my class again. You were very lucky that you walked in while I was giving them a break."

"Explains why there were so few of them," Rowan muttered. She coughed to clear her throat. "I apologize, Viho. When we heard there was a school that was teaching psychomancy here, I didn't think you'd be the teacher."

Viho gave her a long, assessing look before he nodded shortly. "Of course not." His gaze shifted to Arsenic. "But that doesn't change that I am."

Arsenic shifted his weight and looked away. 'Look, I have more important things to worry about, too.'

"I'm sure," Viho murmured.

'But if I ever find out this school has been using those kids to do harm or mistreating them,' Arsenic continued coldly, turning his glare back on Viho, 'I will come back. And I won't leave without your head.'

Viho paused, made a noise that wasn't quite a chuckle, and said, "Spoken like a true assassin."

"Let's hope it won't come to that," Rowan said, giving Arsenic a gentle but firm nudge toward the stairs.

"Let's," the older psychomancer agreed, and stood watching as the assassins left.

[C S]

"... No," Syria decided to say, recognizing that masking things was a foolish endeavor.

She didn't have the time that she would be otherwise implying she had, and that wasn't fair to someone she only saw every... several months, at best?

"I will be off on another gallivant across Aster with Septimus soon, and I hope you don't think it's some conscious effort to cut our meetings short," she began, shoulders sagging at the thought. What Septimus had let slip echoed in her mind, no matter how much she tried to keep it from coloring her impressions of the innkeeper. The scar on her face, and feeling her scars when they hugged made it that much more difficult. Syria wanted to be a beacon of pleasantries in her difficult life.

Things just weren't working out that way.

"Desrium... I don't think it's much of a secret that he's close to Septimus. Practically brothers, the two of them. Strange... metal and drake brothers." Syria hummed, then shook her head when she found herself on a tangent. Focus. She looked up to the tall shelves off to her side, and wondered just how sharp Faruq's ears were. And not just in how pointy they were. "Septimus isn't pleased that there is someone out there who wants to kill him," Syria said plainly, meeting Vix's eyes again. "So... that's why time is so short for us right now."

[Hopeflower]

The innkeeper's hum was soft and understanding. That Vix didn't appear much more than quietly disappointed was testament to the fact that she was well adjusted to only seeing friends for a short time. She did, after all, live with people who were always coming and going.

"Another time, then," she said, squeezing Syria's hand gently and releasing it. "You all know where to find the village. In the meantime..." Something a little dark and a lot worried crossed her expression, so quickly that one could blink and miss it. "Look after yourselves, won't you?"

[C S]

"We think we have a strategy that may work," Syria was quick to say as an assurance, for Vix, for herself. Another reminder that precautions had been taken.

...and demons do not need an excuse to kill...

Precautions only went so far.

"We aren't going to fight her, for all it's worth," she clarified.

[Hopeflower]

Vix blinked at that, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a thoughtful moment. Anyone who was capable of posing a threat to Desrium should probably be given a wide berth on principle, but... "I can't imagine Septimus letting Desrium face her alone, if she's this dangerous," she said quietly.

[C S]

"We're hoping to buy him some more time, if nothing else." Syria let her eyes drift to the ground and she swung her legs back and forth, pensive. "He made... a promise... He doesn't want to fight her if he can help it, but she won't have it any other way, so the only option we have left is to make sure they don't meet again for a good while. In that time, maybe something will happen that will change her mind, and no one has to die."

[Hopeflower]

Vix nodded slowly, but Syria's words made her feel like something heavy had settled in her gut. No one has to die. In an ideal world, nobody would ever have to die.

She knew firsthand that this was far from an ideal world.

Vix chose her words with care when she finally asked, "And if that doesn't work?"

[C S]

"I don't know," Syria admitted, only to grit her teeth and make a sound that could vaguely be taken as a growl. "Okay, I have an idea. But..." She started to shake, and it was becoming very clear that she was holding back tears. "This is the last viable play for a peaceful end. What am I saying? This is the only viable play for a peaceful end. If it fails, Desrium will make his own, and he said it himself that he expects it to go nowhere."

Syria swallowed hard and collected her words. "So she... Morrelie... disregards everything he has to say, and... she takes advantage of his reluctance and kills him." She wiped her eyes on a sleeve. "Or... Desrium proves himself yet again, and kills her. He breaks his promise, and Morrelie goes to her grave vindicated in her beliefs."

She sat up and cleared her throat. "That's what will happen if it doesn't work, I figure."

[Hopeflower]

Vix hummed again as she reached out to put a compassionate hand on Syria's shoulder. There was no comfort she could offer that wouldn't be spouting empty platitudes, not really. In that moment, she understood Syria was a far gentler soul than most. Not exactly naive or inexperienced, but empathetic to a fault. Perhaps it was best that she had ended up traveling with Septimus, then. Under any other circumstances, Syria might very easily have gotten into a situation that would get her killed.

It was this line of thought and the information she'd just been given that prompted Vix to say as carefully as she could, "Given what you've said, it doesn't sound like this Morrelie is going to change her mind. More time for you applies to whatever she's doing to prepare, too." And with that understanding, she felt for Desrium, too. Much as a peaceful solution would have been nice, someone that set on a goal couldn't be persuaded to do otherwise. From where Vix stood, a violent end to the situation was the only one she could see.

[C S]

"I'm hoping the Stormweaver will be able to do something about that. Last I spoke to Septimus, he was looking into it." Syria sighed. "Arashi's dealt with demons for even longer than Desrium has. It's a sordid affair, but if there's anyone out there who is an expert when it comes to such evil... but it's all just a cycle of aggression. All for justice. It's what she truly believes: that Desrium needs to be purged from the world because..."

She chuckled dryly. "That's a long story. I don't think I'm at liberty to share it."

[The Kingpin]

"What about Draxon? I tried to impose values on them that were not their own, I even helped someone who shared my values become king... And all that did was breed unrest and instability among its ranks... And that ended up bringing the entire kingdom to its knees. Most of it is too dangerous for travellers now. Monsters roaming the countryside... Bandits and thieves, highwaymen, all manner of threats prowl the kingdom's territory because of my mistakes," stated Septimus, uncomfortable.

"Draxon was crumbling long before you stepped in, brother," came another voice. Deeper, rougher, metallic. The Scholar looked down, spotting, of all things, Desrium, standing amidst the coral. Of course, it was not actually Desrium. Like Syria, his eyes were not his own. In place of red jewels, blue, sapphire orbs, somewhere between those of his Mana Infused State and the Scholar's own glowing gaze, stared up at him.

"It was because Draxon was crumbling that you intervened. Draco killed his father and usurped the throne. That was the first thing to go wrong, and something you had no hand in. Draco sided with an archdemon and had most of his forces decimated, weakening the security of all the cities in the kingdom as a result; another thing you had no hand in. Draco committed suicide out of guilt, leaving the kingdom without an heir; yet another thing. Immanis sought to rule; the 'Executioner'. His cruelty was storied. His reaction to you was just another example of what was to become of Draxon's elvish populace. Your intervention was your first step to becoming a Justicar. You did what was right."

"What was right got people killed. Many of them. Far too many," responded the Scholar. "Was it really right then?

"Right and wrong is never black and white. Anything anyone does will have consequences. But those deaths were not a consequence of your actions. Do you not think that Immanis's cruelty would have caused many deaths? Or even a revolt which would ultimately bring about the same result? Draxon's fall was inevitable. It was not because of your actions. It was in spite of them."


The Scholar didn't know what to think. This figure before him both did and did not sound like Desrium. And it was a part of his mind. For a being that had spent much of the past two years observing all the ways in which Desrium both differed from and emulated the sapient races of Aster, the realisation that a part of his mind was quite literally emulating the former Champion came as a shock.

"Interesting that I see you as Desrium," commented the Scholar, relenting from the train of their conversation, admitting that there was truth to what the figure had said.

"I am as you made me. I am Desrium... because that is what Desrium embodies to you," stated the figure.

It made sense. Desrium would be the image used to represent such a... resolute attitude. The real Desrium was very much that, in a word. Resolute. Stalwart. He was the embodiment of the will to overcome any obstacle, and incidentally, he was the reason behind many of the Scholar's decisions. Taking him along on his journeys, choosing to go to Tyrbenetus... taking on the mantle of Justicar formally... While his own will to better himself, to transcend his own boundaries, was a great motivator for his actions, the will to stand beside and support Desrium, the closest thing to a brother he had, was no small part of it. And perhaps most importantly of all, he was arguably the most important figure in his life outside of his family. Even Syria, dear to him as she was, and Beshayir too, were not so close to him as the Stalwart.

"He is not simply an ideal. You should know this," stated Will.

"I do," responded Septimus.

"And yet you perceive him to be perfect. The perfect figure of will and motivation. If you did not, I would not be as I am. Am I mistaken?" inquired the figure.

"No...But am I wrong to think that he is what you describe him to be?"

"Yes." The answer was instantaneous.

"How so? I have never once seen Desrium hesitate," retorted the Scholar.

"Oh, but you have. Many times. Think back. You should remember at least one occasion. After all, you commented on it," stated Will in a tone that seemed, for the briefest of moments, to have a smugness to it more befitting Arashi than Desrium.

And he was right. The Scholar did remember. It was a very vivid memory. Geysers that filled the sky with colour, a forest that he later learned was mana-touched, magical leaves and fruit taking on new colours and properties he and Desrium had not lingered to see, though they very nearly had, if not for Desrium's uncertainty, torn between staying to learn more of the environment and departing to learn what had caused those very geysers to erupt.

"That's right. Just one of many times he has wavered. The truth is, you and he are not unalike. Unintentional though it may be, what you told him during your earliest meeting was very true. You truly are 'fate's reflection' of one another. Down to the concerns you hold," explained Will.

Septimus stared, his head tilting, seemingly lost. He wasn't sure how his psyche worked, but clearly he was observing things he had not actually observed. Or was this how his mind processed newly observed details in older experiences recorded by his so-called 'perfect memory'? A way of re-analysing what he saw before, finding knowledge he had not seen prior? Perhaps this, more than any magical power, was the true strength of the Hueilin...

"Consider, for example, your current concerns. What angers you most? At this moment in time?"

"Morrelie," responded the Scholar almost the moment Desri-... Will, stopped speaking.

"Why?"

... Why? "What do you mean, 'Why'? After all she's done... All she wants to do?"

"What is that, exactly?"

"To kill Desrium," responded Septimus.

"Exactly. You are angry because Morrelie wants to kill Desrium. Because despite everything he's done, despite how far he's come, he is still being hunted. And do you remember how Desrium responded to your statements insisting on helping him against her? Or anything else that was his concern but not yours?"

"He asked me not to."

"He hates the fact that you are, willingly or otherwise, imposed upon by the troubles he faces. That every time he faces an obstacle and you are present, you step in at the expense of your own peace, to try and remove it," explained Will.

"How does that make us alike?"

"You hate that he is suffering undeserved troubles, and he hates that you are suffering undeserved troubles. Be they truly yours or simply those you take up as your own." stated Will in a monotone that sounded very much like Desrium's.