Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[Hopeflower]

"Just mind your footing, whichever number of feet you're walking on," Firel said, crossing something out and making an adjustment, evidently displeased with some conclusion he'd drawn. "Sometimes you don't see the ice until you've already landed on your ***."

Viho set his hand on Solaurn's shoulder and squeezed in a brief show of support, then released her. "You're under no obligation to work with them, but should you be interested, they've expressed a wish for you to join their staff," he told her. "The project you'd be working on to begin with is experimental, and the end goal is to improve limb functionality."

[C S]

"I will protect my bottom," Dahnae promised, and then hugged Firel's head.


"Oh." Solaurn looked up at Viho, then to the assembly of researchers. "Your limb." It did not take much more to convince the dwarf. "You put in the time to teach me about magic, I'll use what I know to help you. It only seems fair," she said, earning an approving applause from Gwenviere.

[Hopeflower]

Firel made a quiet sound akin to a growl at having his vision partially obscured, but it was noteworthy that he didn't actually fight Dahnae's display of affection. "Watch your nose, too," he muttered, as close to teasing as he'd come since they'd met.

The psychomancy instructor didn't insult Solaurn's intelligence by attempting to deny it. "Much appreciated," he said instead. "I'll leave you to get started, then."

[C S]

"And I will protect my nose." Dahnae buried it in Firel's hair.


Solaurn took her steps forward and Gwenviere made to follow.

"Not this time, little friend," Solaurn said, stopping and putting a hand on the vaun's small shoulder. Gwenviere chattered questioningly. "You still need to learn how to speak with your mind. You won't make any progress with that down here." Gwen cocked her head, seeing the sense in what she was told, but also conflicted about going on without her companion. "I'll see if I can work here and make it to class, but if not, maybe you can teach me when you've become a psychomancer too."

Solaurn patted the small feather bearer on the head. "We can still walk home together, when the day is through."

Reluctantly, Gwen nodded, and turned back to Viho, dragging her tail along.

[The Kingpin]

The Son of Storms smiled as he gripped at the front of her wirshah, tugging the edges slightly so that the coat settled more flatteringly, having been ruffled by her exit. "Nobody would know it was flowing like the mane of a siren in a little pool near Brackenvald not twelve hours ago," he commented with a lopsided grin.

"Oh..." responded the young elf at the explanation, still not quite getting it. A few of the words were still relatively new to her, or at least, infrequent enough that she wasn't completely comfortable with using them yet. She got the jist of the story, at least, though it did not help her envision this man who had a giant metal pie-flipper with him.

Thinking on the noise outside, she wondered. Her expression lit up when she pondered the possible cause of the racket, and rushed out of the room, mug of chocolate milk forgotten as she made her way to a window.



Andruil observed the two, smiling. Their banter was as amusing as it was endearing. This girl truly was more cat than person, and it made for a curiously adorable sight. Now he knew what Evisa had been talking about when she'd mentioned dog-boys chasing cat-girls around.

"Stay warm," he offered, realising in hindsight that it was somewhat redundant. "Don't stay outside more than you need to. You can't protect your nose when you're stiff as a board from the cold," he added.

[C S]

"And splayed across the pillows, sheets and your face when we finally decided to call it a night," Syria added, setting her hands around Septimus' waist. It was tempting to lay her hands on the nearby estate, but people nearby were just now begrudgingly going about as they were before the dragon jostled up their day. "You'll be pleased to know that I've put the 'room' back into order as well, not just my hair. Which reminds me."

Syria reached into her coat pocket and slipped her flower into the bun, the stem sticking out of the other side. "Now what do you think?"


Willow, bowl still in hand, followed Beshayir to the window, mixing away. "What's the matter, Beshayir?" she asked, noting the excited anticipation in the girl's small body. She was practically pressed against the glass! Only one thing could have gotten her so antsy, but she didn't jump at the impulse to open the door, for both their sakes. If it wasn't them, they would both be pretty disappointed, and it would have been awkward all around.

[The Kingpin]

"Positively bewitching," said the Scholar as he gave the Mage an appraising look, stepping closer for a moment to trace a finger across each of its outer petals, rich purple-white streaks appearing along their centres from middle to edge.


The young elf's face really was pressed against the glass, her cheek against the chill surface as she watched through the frost-hazed panes. It was enough, however, for her to be certain. Stepping back, she moved towards the door, trying not to be completely childish in doing so. After all, she was more a young lady than a girl, much as her relatively short stature implied otherwise.

[C S]

The lady took Septimus' hand in hers, her face bright with joy. "Oh, look what you've done, Scholar" she teased, "you've turned my cheeks as red as my hair. If I were wearing white, I'd be a Guthander decoration to stand up outside of someone's door." She then raised a brow. "Do you feel that, Seppy? That's a magical aura... Daavenians aren't keen on magic so that means..." The mage's eyes widened with the implication.

[The Kingpin]

That moment, the door pulled open, Beshayir looking at the two of them, beaming. "Thank the Life Bringer for your safety," she said as she rushed at the two, embracing them both as best she could, an arm around each of them. The Scholar returned the gesture, his own arm wrapping around the young Pyromancer as he planted a kiss on her head. "Hello to you too, dear," he said with a smile.

[C S]

Syria's staff descended until the redhead was set on the ground, knees dug into the snow. One arm held the elf close to her as she said, "Beshayir, you've gotten stronger in the last few days! I sensed you before I saw you!" She was ecstatic to see her daughter again, but now an unexpected pride was mingling with her swirling emotions. Just like that, Syria gave Beshayir a shower of kisses; on her cheek, in her hair. Willow watched from just inside the doorway, smiling. She would let them have their moment, but in her mind she was going to do the same to Syria when she had the earliest opportunity.

[The Kingpin]

The endless barrage of kisses drew a giggle from the elf, who wasn't used to getting quite so much affection. It was something she appreciated more than her reaction showed, squeezing a bit more firmly now that she properly had her arms around her two adoptive parents. "I was practising since you left. Every day, from morning to afternoon."

The explanation came rather unexpectedly, as if it didn't quite fit. And it didn't, in the context of a person currently getting plastered with kisses. Still, it did explain how she'd grown stronger, though perhaps not how she had done so without exhausting herself and her reserves. Something to inquire about later, thought the Scholar.

[C S]

In another instance of Syria's thoughts being unintentionally synchronized with Septimus', she replied, "Such determination! You'll keep yourself busy, but you'll also burn yourself out if you push yourself too hard. We'd have contacted you earlier in the evening if we knew you were so hard at work; a young Beshi needs her rest, after all." The mage did not go back to smothering Beshayir with kisses for the sake of giving her some time to breathe.

[The Kingpin]

"Mm," responded the elf, perhaps a bit non-committally. "I'm careful. I don't do too much," she said with a shrug as she looked up at the two as if searching for something, injuries, marks, scars from the battle. And while she probably would have seen a few marks if she were to look in the right places, they most certainly were not the marks of battle. Not that they couldn't pass for them.

"But to have grown so much magically in a few days...I find it hard to believe you weren't practising every waking minute of the past week," the Scholar commented.

"I've been dancing," she stated. Again, it seemed off-handed.

[C S]

"Dancing, now?" Syria asked, genuinely surprised. She knew Beshayir had a penchant for drawing when she was not reading, but she had no idea she also danced. Then again, it could have been something she only recently picked up. How did that equate to stronger magic, though? Syria looked at Beshayir warmly, captivated by the elf.

[The Kingpin]

"Mhm!" responded the elf with a smile. "My mother taught me how to dance many years ago. She told me that the Life Bringer created our lake by dancing in the desert. It is the way the world moves. It is not still or static. It flows. It dances. So I thought maybe, if I danced, I would understand my magic better," she explained.

The Scholar stared, dumbfounded. The language of mana, no, of the world, deciphered and put to use by a girl a fraction his age. And she didn't even realise it.

"Syria, our little Beshi's a prodigy."

"A prodi-who?"

[C S]

"Someone who is especially gifted when it comes to a certain skill or art," Syria explained in her teaching-tone of voice. She switched back to her regular mannerisms right after, saying, "And you are nothing less than a gift to Septimus and I. The timing of it all is quite impeccable, huh Septimus?"

[The Kingpin]

"Quite." He had been so carried away with writing books for the young elf to learn from. Perhaps she was the one that should be writing the books for those like him, instead.

"I'm a... gift? How?" the elf asked, taken aback by the description.

"A sweet, kind-hearted and brilliant young girl like you is a blessing to everyone who knows her. We're very lucky to have you," explained the Scholar.

[C S]

"I'm just sorry we couldn't bring you something for the season. Your very first Guthander and we couldn't get you a present! Not to mention, Oak and Willow..." Before Syria could beat herself up too hard about it, Willow stepped out onto her porch and called out, "There's nothing you could buy or make that can match just having you around after you dangled your behinds over the jaws of life!"

"Grandma!" Syria exclaimed, serving both as a greeting and her voicing her surprise at her wording.

"Come give this old woman a hug, the two of you!" Willow all but demanded.

Syria smiled and looked back to Beshayir. "We'll make up for it in Thimeyra, yeah?" She said quickly, before picking herself up out of the snow.

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir nodded with a smile, making room for the two to greet the old Daavenian. Septimus gave her shoulder a squeeze as he passed. It was a small gesture, but no less indicative of his pride in her. It was a pleasant feeling. Something that reminded her of her father. She wasn't quite sure what to think of that train of thought.

The Scholar helped Syria to her feet, leading her to Willow with one hand, as the other arm was held out, welcoming an embrace.

[C S]

Willow stopped her stirring and tucked her bowl into the crook of the arm opposite the two, leaning into their collective hug and humming happily. "Ah, you got away from those jaws, but they didn't let you go unscathed," she observed in her close proximity.

"It's going to take a few nights' worth of rest to make up for the sleep we lost," Syria stated with no shortage of relief for being done with the task of finding Morrelie. "Do we bear the marks of tiredness?"

"You bear marks, I can say that much."

"Oh." Syria swiveled her head back and forth. "Where's Ceridwen?" she asked with masked decisiveness, something that would tickle Septimus' humor.

"Oh, off in the mountains, still. If I had to wager, I'd say she rather enjoys them. Roomier than our neck of the woods," Willow replied.