Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"I am. But it's always fun to hear you say it. After all, when else will I get to hear that side of you but in the wilderness, alone...and without the prying ears of an impressionable Pyromancer within reach of us?" A couple of mugs floated over a moment later, both brimming with Northern Cream, settling in the snow beside the two.

[C S]

"Well, you do have a perfect memory. I'm just saying." Syria shrugged. "You also have your dreams... whenever you should decide to sleep. Those are yours alone, though."

[The Kingpin]

"Well...Dreams may not be as consistent and memorable as actual memories...But I could recover those too, with a bit of effort. It may be something fun to explore at some point," mused the Scholar as he reached for his mug, holding it in two hands and sipping it as he set his elbows on either side of the mage's waist. "On that note, however... What did you show Morrelie that put her off so?"

[C S]

Syria chuckled at the answer that came to her mind. "Something she's been long without, Seppy. I showed her love. She took exception to it."

[The Kingpin]

"I see..." he said, his tone softening. Smiling, he reached a hand forward, caressing the mage's cheek. "I had a feeling that would be the case...Though I would hope she wasn't let into our most intimate moments," he added, knowing the odds were Morrelie spent a fleeting moment in that very pool with them. It almost made his skin crawl to think she'd been given that privilege. But, at least it had turned her away from prying further.

[C S]

"I wouldn't dare," Syria replied, then giggled. "She saw what I saw with my face buried in your chest, which is to say not much at all. It got the point across. I recall some comment about 'half-breed children'. She has so much ability; to think she could be so wrong." The redhead smirked and shrugged again.

[The Kingpin]

"About what? The fact they would be half-breeds if it were possible? Or the fact that we'd ever be able to have children in the first place?" he questioned, a hint of his philosophical nature seeping into the question. He lay there prone, halfway up her form, one hand wrapped around a mug of Northern Cream and another over one of the three undone buttons of the Mage's top. If it had been anyone else, it would've been a paradoxical sight. But for the Scholar, it was just another day in the life of a maverick, no different than the day a future brother came across him by a fire, reading a book and cooking fish. For all his unpredictability, some things never changed.

[C S]

"The latter. If she had any inkling that you were actually a dragon..." Syria paused. "I can't say for sure, actually," she went onto say after a ponderous moment. "I would not put it past her to have a grudge against the Hueilin for what your father did to her fellowship. But that doesn't matter now, does it, mister Khulruudi? We have our impressionable pyromancer back in Daaven, our impressionable Thunderkin roaming the mountains, and we have our time together."

Syria put her hands on Septimus' cheeks and bumped her forehead against his. "So let's leave that witch out of our thoughts for a long, long while, hmm?"

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar smiled, tracing a finger along the edge of the Mage's gently curved jawline. "Agreed. Drink?" he offered, the other mug floating over a moment later. In the background, the ridgehorn flank was already dripping with juices, the arcane flame proving to be much quicker at cooking the large helping of food than a regular fire. Interestingly enough, sometime during their conversation, a small sandy mount had formed in the middle of the fire, the contents being something to complement the meat. A number of different types of seasoning could also be seen, stacked on the barrel of Northern Cream.

[C S]

"I would be delighted," Syria said while reaching for the mug and wrapping her fingers around it. Her other hand slipped underneath Septimus' chin. "Admittedly, I'd rather be sitting up for this part." Her smile was small and kind as she started wriggling about to accentuate her point.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholarly Elf propped himself up on his elbows and lifted himself onto his knees when the Mage tried to shift, getting his weight off her so that she could move. He noted with some amusement that undoing three buttons was probably a bit too much, revealing a bit more than could be called gentlemanly of him. Implying that doing it at all was gentlemanly, he chided himself, equal parts amused and disappointed in himself. He'd been in Andruil's company a bit too much, it seemed. For a moment, he worried for her comfort, chilly as the weather was. But then, with the wirshah and the heat of the arcane flame not a few feet from them, he reasoned that it probably wasn't that bad. It definitely was not a look she'd want to be wearing anywhere less secluded, however.

And with that thought trailing on the edge of his focus, he let himself relax, taking another sip of his drink and rolling to the side, onto his back... and right into the prodding of some kind of stick or grass. Ow. Definitely need to get rid of these rags. Toss them in the fire when I go into the pool, perhaps, he mused as he shifted into a position that wasn't quite as uncomfortable, propping his back against a tree. He reached behind him, plucking the stick that had poked against his clothing out from under him, noting the point at its tip. He was no more vulnerable like this than his dragon form, but with elvish skin came elvish sensitivity... A far cry from the dull, inconsequential sensations felt through the larger, sturdier scales that dotted his draconic hide.

[C S]

Syria, now free to sit as she wished, lifted her back off of the snow and moved to Septimus' side. She leaned over to rest her elbow in his lap, at the same time pressing her back against his torso in a very deliberate way that would have been innocent enough at any other time in any other circumstance. However, with her other hand off to her side, her coat hung open at her bosom, and Syria hummed softly to herself as she sipped her preferred celebratory beverage, comfortable in the nook of Septimus' arm. She was well aware of what he would see every time he looked down at her, just as she was well aware of his coy play.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar rested his cheek against the Mage's head, his free arm draped around her lazily. A finger found its way to a lock of her fire-hued hair, twirling it around the finger casually as he enjoyed the moment. His gaze was, as expected, settled downwards, though he was not quite as distracted as his behaviour implied.

Perhaps a bit unexpectedly, a question formed on the Elf's lips; "Where would you like to go...once all this is over with?" It was innocent, distracted, perhaps even completely thoughtless; no different than asking about one's favourite colour.

[C S]

Syria moved the mug from her lips to have a laugh to herself. It was a quality distinctly unique to the Scholar to have such wandering thoughts in the middle of their flirtatious back-and-forth. That wasn't the only thing she found funny. "What an uncertain time to be looking ahead to. I suppose the most healthy thing to do is to not fixate on it. Instead, we stick to what we've always been doing: trying to find your exiles, learning more about this world we call our own, and maybe, just maybe, we'll crack a god's riddle, yet."

[The Kingpin]

"We'll get to that in time," he responded, contemplating the gravity of the tasks that lay ahead. The Exiles were a scattered, reclusive bunch, and he'd learned that not all of them wanted to be found, much less to return. With eleven of them, it was a momentous task for one dragon to tackle.

Then there was Worldcarver. A matter he preferred to leave buried, both figuratively and literally, for now. His frustration had been intense for so long that he had miraculously managed to burn himself out. So for now, he chose to submit to his father's wisdom on the matter. It was clear that someone was destined to unravel the riddle and free the hammer from its god-forged tomb. He held the key, but that key was in pieces; one that needed to be put together to be usable. The opportunity to do so, the clues to how the pieces had to be assembled, would present themselves in time. No sense worrying about it now.

"But if you could go anywhere you wanted, is there any place in particular? I mean, aside from right here in my arms, with a delicious meal, a good drink and a very inviting pool?" he elaborated, the faint tug of his cheeks as he smiled undoubtedly felt by the mage.

[C S]

Syria bit her lip and reflected on the question. Anywhere she wanted? It was a broad question to ask. On the deck of a ship to a new land, if it didn't take months to get there. Somewhere with lessons to learn, history and culture... The question of where she wanted to go out of anywhere in the world boiled down to "everywhere". Needless to say, she was not pleased with her answer, and she bit her lip a little harder. "Realistic, Letant. Think realistically."

Thinking realistically produced a response that still seemed like it hinged on fantasy. "It would be nice to see Drakhunmiir with my own eyes, come to think of it." She thought back to Septimus calling her his wife, and blushed.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar hummed thoughtfully for a moment, seeming to consider it seriously. "You know," he began, taking another sip of his drink. "Two months ago I would have said that was impossible," he stated as he tucked the lock of hair behind one of Syria's ears.

[C S]

"Hmm. I can't call that particularly good timing on my part, but I am happy to hear it," Syria replied. She looked up to the Scholar's face, and gave him a more unobstructed view of her cleavage in doing so. "What's changed?" she asked, eyes large an captivated, the young mage genuinely unaware.

[The Kingpin]

"Well," he started, his hand casually inching down her shoulder, following the collar of her coat. A finger traced the open front of the wirshah, gradually easing it wider apart, intending to gently draw attention to just how compromising the look was, the blouse underneath cut low enough that it gave the Scholar an eye-full. "For one, my efforts for Aster and for the Hueilin have had time to sink in and be recognised. And for another," he continued, that same finger drifting inwards and back up towards the Mage's collar bone, "now I have Buruq and Thurduunax on my side. Them being the sensible dragons they are, could probably help me leverage a visit by a lone mage, so long as you stay in my company."

[C S]

"Ah ha." Syria blinked. "Like you visiting my own humble mountains, yes?" she asked without looking away from the Scholarly elf.