Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[Hopeflower]

"Steady now. Set your pace and don't forget to breathe. Push your limits, but be aware of them."

It was probably the most common lecture new students would always receive. Firel had heard it time and time again by now - and much as he was a little sick of it, he recognized its necessity. Andruil hadn't heard it yet. Being so familiar with the lesson allowed him the luxury of tuning Viho out and focusing on practicing what he'd learned.

"These are your basics. Remember them," Viho concluded.

[C S]

The rangers could have seen the top of Niyera's wall despite being nowhere near at the time. Being away on mission, the city's wall wasn't something they thought about, but that morn was a striking reminder, almost a karmic reprimand, of what they had forgotten. It had appeared to rise with them as they crested a small incline in the dirt road, emerging as a mountain did out of the landscape.

Mountain was perhaps the most literal description of what they had seen from the distance. The bricks of Niyera's fortifications were the foundation of the city's integrity, but that was no excuse for them to look anything less than splendid. Details were embossed onto the face of the wall, so fine and minute they were, that they could only be appreciated as a whole to visitors well away from the threshold of the gates themselves. What the trio saw at that point in their trip, for the second time since their operation first began, was a sprawling excerpt from some ancient rock face. Sheer-dwelling creatures of woolen coats, no doubt enormous in actuality, stood as dainty figures upon equally dainty outcrops and platforms. Wrinkled stone held onto past snow as any other mountain did.

"I feel bad for the messenger birds. Them, and the poor schmuck who had to sit somewhere out there, sending the birds back and forth to let the carvers know where they made mistakes," Baaz had said with a hand raised over her brow to block the sun.

"Nary a thought to the toil of the workers in correspondence?" Chandra retorted after trudging up beside her. "I can't imagine the role of observer being weighed as much as the artists themselves."

"I read that it was done with magic. One of the first grand mages in Aster's history, an elf, presumably, transcribed everything you see onto the wall. Supposedly, it only took a few minutes. Also supposedly, it's a mural to where they achieved enlightenment about the uses of mana."

Baaz and Chandra looked back to Valeria. She, in turn, was looking at the snow on the side of the road, nudging a rock back and forth with the tip of a boot.

"I don't know if it's true, but I'd like to think so. Some rare insight into one of the first elven civilizations. To think that a god could have wiped it all away before I ever had the chance to come out this far, to learn what I have. It almost makes the sword-toting and arrow-slinging worth it."

Baaz took it upon herself then to walk over and spin the rookie around. It wasn't as forceful a gesture as it could have been, what with Baaz smiling kindly at the downtrodden girl. "I think it's getting a bit too hot under all of your clothes, lass. It's starting to scramble your head a bit."

"You think so?"

"I was in the same... uh... boat once, let's just say. Nevertheless, you promise to keep things steady for a tad longer, and I promise to get you somewhere where you can cool off."



Thus, it was the promise that carried them the rest of the way to Niyera. At the gates, a guard had wondered if the three of them were carrying the blubber of some poor arctic creature as contraband. Chandra, speaking for the others under the guise that they were so foreign as to not know the language, joked, "Even if we were, would you really be so willing to confiscate it? Contraband blubber does not keep well, I would imagine, especially after the hike it took to get here." She lacked any hint of a Daavenian accent in doing so, and made a conscious effort to drop the mannerisms of the east. Where she hailed from was a riddle the elves could ponder long after they were back in the city.

They were granted access through the stylized, vine-wrapped gates and made a roundabout heading for the agreed upon meeting place: a bustling plaza, where faces were easily lost and conversations were drowned out by tens of others. It was here, while they waited for their commander and Matthias, that Valeria sought out asylum from the heat by splashing her face with water from an extravagant fountain while Baaz and Chandra shielded her away from those who would see to it that she didn't.

[The Kingpin]

The three rangers would not have long to wait. Matthias had come by this plaza several times since speaking to Thimeas of their suspected arrival, though never reusing the same look twice. Sometimes he was a dockhand looking for some nico for his pipe, others a foreign merchant inquiring about the price of leather. It was a talent that had been honed over the past year. Enigmatic, illusive, and highly mobile, the Wanderer may as well have been a ghost, so difficult was it to track him down.

[C S]

Valeria turned away from the fountain and slowly lowered herself to the pavement at the base of the fountain, where she could feel stray droplets landing on her face, and sighed.

"Everything's fine back there?" Chandra inquired, to which Valeria replied with a tiny voice, a last ditch determination.

"Uh huh." Really, what she would have liked was to get out of the long, bulky coat and take up Baaz's suggestion of finding a bathhouse to take refuge in for the rest of the day. She was a soldier, and she had to tough this out. "This too, shall pass. Eventually."

"Buck up lass, almost past the worst of it," said Baaz.

[The Kingpin]

"Indeed you are," stated the gruff voice of the Wanderer as he stepped through the crowds. He took note of their attire. Big, bulky and foreign; they stood out, but not to the extent of drawing suspicion. Not in a place that was so commercially successful as Niyera. He was clad in relatively simple clothing. A basic shirt, brown trousers, a broad tricorne hat and heavy boots. His arms were wrapped in coarse cloth, which served the role of gloves; a poor man's gloves. None could have suspected that this was Matthias Lyall, the successful merchant and patron of the arts from Riverdale.

[C S]

Extensive planning went into each stage of the mission. Even so, nobody could account for every possibility. The rangers knew Matthias was going to keep himself concealed, but how he chose to do so was as variable as the breeze that blew back and forth in the square of stalls and other myriad shops. It took but a moment's notice after the man announced his arrival for Baaz to go reaching into her coat, as if to produce some coins for a beggar.

"Operation was a success," Chandra said, leaning close to Matthias and speaking softly. "We managed to bring back some material concerning Elias. Time to get off the streets."

Valeria huffed another exasperated breath. She didn't hear the exchange, but she knew there was still some walking yet in store for her.

[The Kingpin]

"Let's not waste time. Things have changed a bit since you left," he stated briefly as he began to make his way through the crowds, the shops and the various crates and light fixtures dotting the square. His path would be a winding one, unpredictable to any who may have been appointed to follow the rangers.

[C S]

Perhaps counter-intuitively, the rangers held back to keep those same potential observers guessing. Baaz pantomimed closing up her pockets, her charity finished. She kept an eye on Matthias, and Chandra got to work helping Valeria back to her feet.

"Hefting great weights is just the beginning. Maybe I should suggest it to Urlox to have these coats be part of standard training," Chandra commented as she pulled the rookie up by her arms.

"If you feel it would make a better soldier," Valeria replied, toeing the line between army-firm and suitably subtle so as to not be overheard. Inwardly, her response was, "Please don't."

Baaz glanced back at the two of them to make sure they were ready to move, then nodded towards where Matthias was heading. Chandra nodded as well and then started walking. Baaz and Valeria fell into step behind her as they would follow a guide and interpreter, maintaining their cover.

[The Kingpin]

The Wanderer kept a brisk but inconspicuous pace, moving only slow enough for his companions to keep track of one another in pursuit of him, and only stopping once they had reached a safe location. His time acting as a dockhand had served him well; he was able to track down a damaged drydock. Under routine maintenance, but put on hold for the time being due to an 'unexpected shortage of resources', or in other words, the sinking of the vessel meant to bring said resources in. It had been an unexpected boon for them, but one that he knew would not last.

"Our 'friends' tracked us down twice. The scrapyard is compromised, and they are aware that I am in the city, or rather, that 'Elias' is in the city. I think it's safe to say they intend to keep chasing us down no matter how evasive we are. Hence our current arrangement," he explained, an arm gesturing at the wood, stone, barrels, tarps and scaffolding that formed their little shelter in the depths of the drydock. "As you can imagine it means we've been rather...busy."

[C S]

Baaz and Chandra listened to Matthias, sitting cross-legged on packing crates that had been already pried open, discarded on the unused dock. Valeria braced on one behind them, glancing between the two and wondering what they were making of what they had been told so far. She was finally out of the cursed coat, and now she had to consider the possibility that their mission could be undermined at any time! Never a dull moment when running subterfuge, that was for sure. She tried to keep her fraying nerves managed.

Baaz leaned forward and made a thoughtful hum. "What manner of trouble," she said, "for what could possibly be a few bites to eat and a coin to spend. Maybe Trupont was onto something, after all, when she said that we could have been better neighbors. It could have helped to have a few street rat connections to run interference for us."

"You think a few gestures of goodwill would have organized the slum-forsaken in our favor instead of just being taken advantage of, Baaz?" Chandra asked dryly.

Baaz shrugged. "We'll never know now, will we?"

[The Kingpin]

The dim glow of Matthias's pipe cast an orange tinge on his face for the briefest of moments before fading away. "Whatever the case, it means we'll have to be more careful from now on. They're searching for Elias, and now that they think he's in the city, they are going to increase their patrols." His eyes narrowed as he inspected the rangers, now that they were no longer concealed by their heavy coats, and were no longer behind him. "What's the story behind the bruises? Royal Arms do that to you?" he inquired...

[C S]

"No, we did well to keep out of direct combat with them. Even burned down one of their safehouses so that it was like we were never in Gryerwun," Baaz said.

"They... um... they did it to each other," Valeria broached nervously. "I needed to rest during the transit back and... they had history with one another. That's what they told me..."

Baaz grunted.

"On the subject of our mission, I suppose now would be a good time to report what happened," Chandra said, deftly changing the gears of the conversation. "Upon infiltration we came into contact with a kleidde. We were able to incapacitate her before she proved too problematic, but knew she would go missing before long. We eliminated the enemy agents at their meeting place and retrieved some information about their internal workings." Chandra looked to Baaz, who was undoing the rope fastenings around her chest and waist.

Baaz swung the case around when she was finished, resting it in her lap. "It's come a long way from that fireplace, I'll tell you that much for free."

[The Kingpin]

A somewhat unimpressed expression coloured the Wanderer's features when he heard that two of the Rangers had beaten each other silly. It faded however, once he learned that they had recovered some information. "Not bad. A fireplace, eh? The clever little sprites," he trailed off. "Did you catch sight of any other Kleidde agents during your time there? Or just the one?" he asked, deciding it was best to be sure before pressing forward.

[C S]

"Just the one. I've deduced they were a task force sent to hunt down Elias directly on the way back. The same way they used kleidde to track you back to the scrapyard," Chandra replied.

"Royal Arms; what's so royal about it? Such an emphasis on art, and they use their soldiers like 'ounds, I tell you! There is no art in it!" came Urlox's less than pleased input from the veritable tent of tarps.

[The Kingpin]

"Very intelligent, very dangerous hounds. You three did well to get out of that without more grievous injuries. I see Thimeas chose you well," interjected Matthias as he glanced towards where Urlox was sitting, the Guard Captain sharpening that pillar he called a sword. His mind humoured another, unvoiced train of thought; the consideration that they had come across a gravely incompetent Kleidde, which seemed more likely to explain how they had been able to get away unscathed. Perhaps this one's set of skills did not lend itself as well to ambushes as his family's own school of Klaeddhur did. Or maybe they truly were so skilled as to legitimately dispatch it without difficulty. He supposed it would make sense, if that were indeed the case, that the Guard Captain would choose them specifically. But then, if they were so skilled, how could they be so disorganised, so internally disorderly, as to fight as they did? Such bruises made trying to avoid detection more difficult, and that would stay the case until they healed. Further, the young one, Valeria, seemed not to have it in her to do what they must've done. And yet they had. Deciding not to linger on those thoughts, he quickly directed his concerns towards something more important. "Let us see what it is exactly our 'friends' have uncovered on that two-faced serpent I called a brother."

[C S]

Baaz undid the clasps on the case, and they released with a satisfying click and clack when brass slipped across brass. She then slid herself off of the crate, dropping down to the planks of the dock and then moving over to Matthias to hand the case over to him. Baaz did find it ironic that, for all of the detective work the Royal Arms had done to put them in the lead in the hunt for Elias, it would be the detective skills of the man's own brother that would level the playing field. Meanwhile, Urlox redoubled his attention on sharpening his weighty sword, as if he sensed that the time to use it again was drawing near.

The information retrieved turned out to be a reconnaissance dossier assembled on the movements of Elias, far out on the countryside. The countryside, in this case, was the Crumpled Crust mountain range. Far out of the city and up a staggering height was where the traitor's sanctuary was said to be. With the knowledge that this report was meant to be retrieved and disseminated throughout the rest of the task force out for his blood, it was pretty much set in stone for the agents that this was where they had to be next. The Royal Arms, deprived of this vital discovery, were still grasping wildly at straws in Gryerwun and Niyera after the last upset. For the first time in nearly two months, things were looking up for the Daavenians and the grizzled Wanderer.

It was said that the Crumpled Crust passage was the scene for many a showdown throughout history. Not much had been said about the mountain itself. Three days had elapsed before they reached the outskirts of Elias' hideout. One day was spent preparing, for this was going to be an especially prolonged affair. The next day was spent going through the motions of disguises to leave Niyera, and then the long walk out of the city, straying from the course before the tunnel in order to climb. The next day was spent staking out the location and drawing up attack plans.

At this new day, Elias was due to meet his reflection.

[The Kingpin]

Far from the rugged cliffs and jagged peaks of Crumpled Crust, the Son of Storms soared, wandering East Aster's various territories, his figure a speck in the sky, so small he could have passed for a bird when seen from the ground. He'd been doing this for days now, searching for traces of Morrelie. He began to think he would have to break his promise to Beshayir that he would be back before a week had passed.

His meditation had gone on for hours on end, much of his time spent in a state of self-imposed sensory deprivation. His senses had been retracted, and instead he had reached out with those senses that were beyond the realm of the mundane. Like a spider's web, his psychic and arcane reach sensed anything and everything for a vast distance, hoping against hope that Morrelie would do something, anything, to give away her position, and that he would know it when it happened.

For several days, he thought he was wasting his time. But now, just when hope seemed lost, the call he had hoped to hear, the twang on his web's strings, finally came. And as he had hoped, he knew it when he felt it. He could see it, even at this great distance, a pulse of mana in shades he had seldom seen in his lifetime. It was a kind of magic he could not describe. The kind so charged with rage and hatred that it rivalled any monstrosity he had ever fought on the shores, plains and deserts of Tyrbenetus. The only difference was, this was not demonic magic. "Syria. I've found her."

[C S]

The mage had been waiting just as Septimus had been for this very moment. Now that it was finally upon her, the first thing she did was groan.

The last few nights hadn't been particularly restful. She'd said much to the contrary in speaking to Beshayir, that she was fine save for missing the child, that she had been eating well and was in good spirits. The little lies mothers told. Both the lady and the dragon were running frazzled in searching for Morrelie, for very different reasons.

Syria pulled herself from her bed, throwing her covers aside. She was tired and anxious, but ready all the same. She slipped her feet into her boots, which she had left waiting next to her bed every day after leaving Daaven, and the laces pulled themselves together surrounded by green. She stood up and navigated the clutter of the room, one hand outstretched to catch her coat at the end of its flight from one end of the satchel to the other. Syria draped the wirshah over herself, buttoned it up and tucked her hair into the collar, topped off by her hat that she plucked off of her table in passing.

Lastly, she took her staff in her hands. The flap of the satchel flew up, and she left the floor atop her instrument.

"Alrighty, mister Brittlebones; I'd say we look the part of demon-attack survivors. Now we just need to keep our magic under wraps so that Morrelie thinks the same. Oh, and remember -- of course you remember -- flattery. Lots and lots of flattery."

When she learned of what Arashi had planned for Morrelie, and subsequently, the connection they shared with one another, Syria found it apt to appeal to the Interceptor's sense of grandeur. Desperate souls pleading for help seemed like it would do the trick. It was by the far the most likely tactic that would set her on the course towards what she viewed as a deity, though Arashi himself had expressed his doubts as to whether Morrelie still held those beliefs.

Syria was disappointed that Septimus never did get a chance to pass her regards onto the Stormweaver. She was sure to do so herself, should they be successful. And then it was right off to the "vacation spot".


Down on the ground, carcasses thudded heavily onto the grassy fields, streaking them red as they tumbled down knolls and gullies. Entrails rained down after them, followed finally by a reddened mist blowing with the wind. In the middle of the desecration of meat and guts stood the millennial mage, huffing and puffing while mana swirled around her, visible and otherwise. The atmosphere was charged with her presence, and bolts of electricity struck out at random at various distances away from the woman wrapped up in her uniform. They scorched the grassy fields black, but no matter how many times the whips of energy lashed out, they did not venture too close to the source.

Morrelie pulled in a breath as she folded her hands, holding them over her core to rein in herself.

"That was excessive," she chastised herself flatly, paying no mind to the dismembered body parts that littered the greenery. Tiggamaxises. The remains, barely recognizable, of the large feline predators.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar nodded, A clawed arm reaching out and gripping Syria, staff and all, pulling her to his chest. Pulling his wings in, he dropped like a stone, reaching the ground fast and levelling out mere feet from ground level. A few moments of flying in the direction of the millenial mage were followed by a mid-air transformation. A second later he was on his feet, skidding to a halt, only the faintest barrier of magic protecting his shoes from being worn to nothing from the speed, that too disappearing once he stopped.

Contrary to the usual attire, the Scholar's outfit was considerably more mundane, a simple pair of pants and a beige shirt that could have passed for one that had not been washed. His form was still that of the Thimeyran elf, but with his eyes taking on a fairly natural icy blue tinge, and his runes fading completely from sight, he could have passed for any Thimeyran Syria had ever met.

The mage herself was held tight to his chest even now, though he carefully let her get back onto her feet, keeping a firm grip on her as he did so.

[C S]

To say that the lady was shaken would be an understatement. The Scholar's magic had shielded her from the chill of freefall and the crushing forces of gravity, but she saw Aster as a small thing grow vast in mere moments. In the time it took her to get ready for the undertaking, Septimus had covered an obscene amount of distance and she was right there to see it all, to feel her stomach sink. It wasn't entirely new to her. The ends of the world, and the disregard for the hearts of mortals.

"Right. Just adds to the character..." Syria mumbled, her legs trembling, one arm around Septimus' waist holding him close in kind.