Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"If nothing else, it will make your performance all the more authentic," said the Scholar with a smile, glancing towards where he sensed the mage awaited. A knot began to coil in his gut; a sensation he didn't much enjoy, but knew he could not let distract him.

[C S]

"But that's what I... eh..." Syria trailed off, unable to find it in her to abide by the fine details. The two of them, for better or worse, truly came from dire straits.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar pressed on towards the source of the anomaly, his expression dire as the scenario he had adopted. He was thankful that they found the Millenial Mage after his father came up with a plan to tackle her. According to the Stormweaver, an abandoned village only a couple of days North-West of them, somewhere in the more desolate areas beyond Valenhad's borders, would serve as an excellent decoy. He had even gone as far as to leave an aura of demonic magic around the area to complete the effect. All the while, the Experimentalist continued his hunt for the Brotherhood, his Nephilim, or Bloodhounds, scouring the lands of Aster relentlessly in their search for the disciples of Necros...

[C S]

The scenario here was one that sickened Syria. The splatter of innards preceded Morrelie by a huge margin, and Syria was glad she hadn't eaten anything yet. It did not stop her from gagging and retching a few times, but at least she wouldn't be keeling over in illness, although the lightheadedness she felt brought about the effect regardless. There was a metallic odor in the air, something Septimus' more primal compulsions detected well before Syria did. The dragon-in-disguise knew that the blood only thickened from here on out.

[The Kingpin]

It was not something he paid attention to, though it did complicate things. "A normal person would not run towards a place where things had been viciously torn to shreds in such a manner," he stated lowly, voicing his concerns. As it was, beggars couldn't be choosers. He was lucky to find Morrelie now. "We'll have to improvise a reason," he mused. A person who killed such vicious, man-eating beasts as Tiggamaxis couldn't be all bad, was the reasoning he went with, irredeemably flawed though it may have been. Every fibre of his being screamed for him to abandon this foolhardy plan and just summon Arashi here, to obliterate her where she stood. Or better yet, call Buruq for aid. The Ambassador could dispose of the Millenial Mage with a blink of his eye, and all would be right in the world for them. But that would upset Syria. But then, when their lives were doubtlessly at risk, was it wise to let the hurt feelings of one be the deciding factor in going through with such an action?

[C S]

"We want her to kill demons, right? I'd say this is a sign of how well she can kill... demons," Syria replied, having to pause to settle her stomach. The grisly decorations started to appear in larger chunks, in morbid clusters. The foreboding sensation in the atmosphere escalated with each step closer to Morrelie. The boundary between her and the sylvari blurred further.

[The Kingpin]

"Perhaps. It's also a sign of how well she could kill us, too. And anyone else, for that matter," he responded. He chose not to continue talking, however, knowing that they would soon be within earshot at this rate.

[C S]

Syria conceded to that, not that there was any arguing it. It was for no small reason that this entire plan hinged on a gamble. Walking with the seventh child, and sole survivor of a rancid hex, Syria hoped fortune was skewed in their favor. If all else fails, fleeing was always an option. They would channel their inner, less metal-y Desrium and fly far, far away to reconsider their options--

The mage yelped and hopped over a sinewy patch, her skin crawling. Patches of yellow fur were interspersed in the green blades of grass.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar stepped around the gore as the rose atop the hill, the true extent of Morrelie's wanton destruction becoming visible. Grisly lumps of bones and viscera dotted the ground, the green grass tinted various shades of red, internal organs and fatty lumps, hair, fangs and claws scattered all over the place. In the middle of it all, the mage herself stood. The mage's attire was practical, form fitting but loose enough that it did not restrict her movement. Her eyes seemed to be visible through a slit in her mask, though nothing else of what she looked like under the clothing could be seen. The energy emanating off her was considerable, however. Were she not the one he was trying to conceal his identity from, he was certain he'd be able to walk freely without any other being sensing him, so greatly did her aura eclipse his own.

[C S]

Had she been mobile and locked firmly on her objective, Morrelie would have missed the shapes at the top of the mound. "The things you notice when you slow down a bit," she thought bitterly. What Septimus sensed radiating from her became an oppressive wall, an almost physical weight pressing down on his heart. As for Syria, she was borderline winded by the brunt of sheer force.

"She's like a walking Acharown," Syria said through her grimace.

Morrelie turned her shark-like eyes to them, saw that they were not more hostile wildlife, and paused. This was... unexpected. The masked dragon soured her demeanor towards randomers showing up out of the blue, and there had to be some reason that these two hadn't turned tail at the sight of all the blood and body parts. However, Morrelie's magic subsided to that background tension as before.

"Speak." Morrelie crossed her arms. Even at a distance, her patience was visibly ticking away.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar was genuinely taken aback at that. Looking to Syria for a moment, he took a breath. "We need help... Our village has been overrun by monsters... nay, demons. We... We barely escaped with our lives. Our families are dead, maybe worse. Everyone we've spoken to so far has turned us away, told us they could do nothing. M'lady, I implore you... You're clearly a being of great power... Is there anything you know of that could aid us? If nothing else, to put the spirits of our kin to rest," he pleaded with a graveness to his voice that was not entirely fabricated.

[C S]

Morrelie narrowed her eyes. The elf was a sort that did not live in the east. She was certain of that, as her travels in hunting down the Blood Omen had given her a solid grasp of how things were around this region of Aster. There was no accounting for travelers, she supposed as she scrutinized the two. If that was the case, they would have had to walk far, and they did bear the mark of hardship on their haggard bodies. Especially the woman with him.

"Hmm," Morrelie responded, taking just a few more moments to let the elf's words sit with her. Satisfied, for now, she continued, "I can do more for you alone than what the entirety of the Weaver's Council could accomplish in one of your thousand-year lifetimes, elf. For your plight to fall to me is a travesty."

[The Kingpin]

"The... 'Weaver's Council', m'lady? I'm... afraid I've never heard of them. There is one group I know of... The Mercutian Magus Assembly... but it would be madness to go to them at this time of year. We would die in the blizzards before we reached them," he explained, seeming very much at a loss.

[C S]

That got a small, knowing smile on the Interceptor's face, hidden away though it was. "I do not blame them for distancing themselves from that loathsome wyrm. It is a shame, that gate of theirs, but maybe once they're done banging rocks together for the pretty sparks, they can figure out how to redecorate." The idea that demons were wreaking havoc as they spoke did not weigh heavily on the mage, evidently. "Anywho, demons. How far away is this outbreak of yours, and do you suspect a cause? Some spurned youth took to rituals and witchcraft?" She asked the question with the condescending tone of one almost bored with what they deemed typical.

[The Kingpin]

His brow furrowed at that, seemingly thoughtful, trying to recall an event that never happened. "I...I don't know, m'lady. It's up in the North, near the Western edge of the Kirrahara. A little village called Amplefield. There weren't many of us there. My wife and I, her parents, my former mentor and a couple of other families... I can't imagine why anyone would dabble in such dark witchery. I was in my shop an afternoon three days ago and heard screaming. my wife and I only barely escaped... Everyone else was already being... pinned to trees, disemboweled, flayed alive... If our shop was not so far from the centre of the town, I don't think we'd have escaped."

[C S]

Morrelie's keenness picked up on the way that the woman jolted at the mention of "wife". Apparently it was so novel to her that it was able to bring out some life in her, whereas before she was dull and lethargic. Syria looked up at Septimus, partly questioning, somewhat hopeful, while trying to keep the stench of blood and the deathly sights from making her heave again. Morrelie's expression, in contrast, darkened at what was looking to be a deception.

The Interceptor turned her energies on the redhead to find out what her mind had to offer. The truth of the matter, obviously. What was worth risking the inevitable slaughter she was going to dispense, she didn't know, but was going to find out. If only to have something to humor herself after she left the two as bloodied paste for wasting her time.

Syria's heart sank. On the plus side, she was pleased with herself for improving her telepathy to the point that she was able to identify the precise moment Morrelie began to doubt her. On the negative, Morrelie was going to be rooting through her mind and she didn't have anything she could go to that did not directly incriminate Septimus and herself.

Wait--

Morrelie's eyes widened slightly, then turned to slits, disgusted with the glimpse she had just witnessed. "Vapid," she growled with such contempt for the lady in green. Empty-headed save for pleasures of the flesh. "Very well, elf. I will lay waste to this Amplefield, and the demons within. You can reestablish it with your... half-breed children... when I am through."

[The Kingpin]

"Thank you, m'lady," stated the Scholar in Disguise, lowering his head as he averted his gaze, if only to hide the offence he felt at that. Still, his gratitude was genuine, if perhaps not for the reasons Morrelie expected.

[C S]

"Spread word of the deeds of Morrelie wherever you may roam until then," were the Interceptors departing words. She was checking the position of the sun when the conversation came to a close, roughly making her calculations and adjusting her plans. Amplefield would not be much of a challenge; it was the time getting there that would prove bothersome. If she was able to retrieve some demonic essence that did not burn away after her extermination, Morrelie reckoned she could have assembled a potent weapon to use against Desunka. That would be worth it all on its own if she was able to make it a reality. Serendipity, or fate willing her victory, Morrelie did not bother with such flimsy whims. The world was as she wished it to be.

"So begone, start roaming."

[The Kingpin]

Septimus wasted no time, departing back beyond the hill, seemingly heading South-West, in the direction of Daaven. Perhaps there was time to get there yet. He dared not speak to Syria until they were definitely out of the Millenial Mage's reach, however.

[C S]

Syria pulled herself out from under Septimus' arm. The close-call had her feeling exceptionally exhausted, her legs trembling and numb. With the aid of her staff, the mage was able to raise herself up onto Septimus' back, where she hugged her arms around his trunk and locked her ankles around his waist, resting against the bag the satchel had become. An unintended benefit of her new arrangement: she did not have to dodge the remains that were strewn about. She just had to keep it from getting to her head.

On the other side of the hill, Morrelie's battle strategies were interrupted every so often by questions. Questions, like why such an idiotic person would be carrying around a staff. "Does she think magic is some toddler's toy? Yes, she probably does. She probably uses it like a damned rattle." That would stick with her, ruining her mood and the rest of her day. The next time someone stopped her, she was going to obliterate them or ignore them. There was no middle ground, it seemed.