Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[Hopeflower]

The mute elf snorted, while Rowan tipped her head back and laughed openly. 'And now you know why I don't often get drunk anymore.'

"I would imagine all the times I told you to lay off the alcohol while you healed helped you kick the habit," Vix noted, reaching up to poke at an old scar on Arsenic's jaw.

'That too.' He offered her a crooked smile.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar smiled at that. "I'm flattered. There was a time when I was by far the less threatening of the two of us." It was an honest statement, if a light-hearted one. "I have to admit though, I have not done much reading of Frondfoot territorial displays. I'd hate to scare him away completely, and would rather not just magic him into calming down," he added rather sheepishly as he stepped to the side and forward slightly, positioning himself between Syria and Beshayir, and the Frondfoot.

"Pity. I had prepared for a rather pleasant evening of precisely that. I believe it's well deserved, considering the recent stress and troubles," responded the Knight. He decided not to mention what, exactly he had brought for them to drink. It was as much a surprise as everything else, after all.

[Hopeflower]

At that, Arsenic snapped his fingers as though hit by a sudden revelation. 'I knew I left something at home,' he said, as if to himself.

Rowan fixed him with a curious look. "Booze?"

'Ear plugs.' He stepped aside in a motion as smooth as Rowan's earlier not quite dance steps, grinning as he neatly avoided the punch Vix threw at his shoulder. She took a step after him, poised to try again, driving him back another step.

[C S]

"He knows you're a friend. He's just a bundle of protectiveness and 'not-wanting-to-be-showed-up'ness," said Syria as she stepped up to the forefront. "Mister."

Perioul's snout turned to the side slightly before pointing back at Septimus. "Mister." Syria repeated with a firmness that she never showed to other people. Perioul looked as if he winced at the tone. It was nowhere as imposing as his own vocalizations, nevertheless it definitely had an effect on him to ironic and comedic ends.

"Come on, Perioul. Leave Septimus alone."

Perioul made a rolling grumble.

"No, you leave my friends alone, mister."

Perioul looked at Syria, snout pointed to the ground. His small shoulders sagged.

"There's my Perioul." Syria stepped closer and threw her arms around his midsection. "What are you doing out here? I hear you're... married?"

Perioul cocked his head and flared his nostrils. "Look at you! You're so big, and you've made your own nest. You used to flip your water dish, Perry! What are you doing making nests, huh!?" Syria teased. The lizard's tail-tip flicked as if to show his bashfulness.

"You must have seen me visiting the inn those times and thought, 'gee, my old lady's done pretty well for herself. I don't have to keep her company when she reads anymore, or look out for her when we're off exploring. She's got this big tough dragon-elf, and I'm happy for her. It's time I got out of here myself, because Scioux isn't nearly as interesting to be around'. He's certainly fed you well, I have to say."

She meant to say more, but something caught in Syria's throat. "Perry--"

And the blue lizard let his chin rest on her shoulder. He brushed the side of his snout on her cheek, and snorted softly. After that, Syria nodded. "I see. You've gotten old enough, it's about that time. Time to leave your mark out where you belong, and not in your pen. I understand, now. I'll miss you. I miss you even when I'm traveling, what am I saying."

Syria let go of the Frondfoot, and he lowered himself to the ground, frill settling flat against his neck. He looked up curiously at the mage. "She's lucky to have you, you know that? The only Frondfoot that could make a break through Daaven, during the busiest time of the year! And here you are. I don't think you'll let me see her, and that's okay."

Syria smiled and patted Perioul on the nose. "Be happy, friend."

Perioul brushed his head against Syria's leg in turn, then brought his bulk about to walk back to the entrance of his den.

[The Kingpin]

"I can't help being skilled," quipped Andruil, ducking as if to avoid an object someone might have thrown his way. "But why would you need earplugs when you could just as readily join in on the merriment? After all, it is the Solstice," he added. He was saying that a lot, today.


The Scholar waited for the Frondfoot to to turn away before setting a hand on the Mage's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "Everyone grows up eventually, hm?" he offered, more a reminder than a question. It had implications for Beshayir that he did not think the mage realised in that moment. Then again, they were in the satchel together most of the time. It would be rather hard not to notice the subtle changes, especially now that the young elf was no longer starving and had begun to catch up on her growing. The changes would only increase from here.

[Hopeflower]

Arsenic gave Andruil an unimpressed look, complete with arched brow. 'I did not show you that I could weave very thorough illusions so you could try to convince me to abuse that ability,' he said. But the corner of his mouth twitched.

Rowan barked a laugh, covering the ingrained stab of concern. Arsenic seemed to be doing okay with these kinds of jokes, even after telling his friends about his genuine lack of interest in, well, anyone. That was enough for her.

"Can you blame him? It's a branch of magic that begs to be abused," she teased, giving the mute elf a friendly nudge to the ribs.

[C S]

"I've handled him since he was a tiny hatchling. They live so long... it's easy to forget when they stop being babies and are ready to have some of their own. If you'd been around here during last year's Guthander, and told me this would be my last year having him around the house..." Syria wiped a tear from her eye. She wasn't sad, as far as she was aware. It was more of a recognition that she'd reached the end of something. More accurately, what she had became something else.

She supposed her kindly parents would feel the same in a few short hours. Fitting that she got to experience it before putting it on them.

[The Kingpin]

"The lady speaks sense," jabbed the Knight, pressing the advantage while he had it. "The possibilities are endless. That said, I was more inviting you, yourself, rather than some strange psycho...spectral illusion of you, to join the fun."


In a mirror of Syria's own thoughts, the Scholar added, "And just as you watched him grow up, now so have you. There is a saying among my kind, which I will not repeat literally, but which does say something to the effect of "It is wise to experience it oneself before inflicting it upon others, and it's wise to know the end before you begin." As it turns out, you've fulfilled a tenet of the Hueilin creed without ever being one."

[C S]

"It seems a lofty bit of wisdom, Septimus. I think the closest thing that we humans have is, 'hindsight is twenty-twenty'. The numbers come from some technicality with spectacles, and how well one's eyes are. Er, in other words... hindsight has perfect vision." Syria's thoughts digressed from the rawness of letting Perioul move on with his life, and to the intricacies of idiom that the sharp-sighted Septimus would not understand.

A reminder of the difference between man and drake. A welcome one.

[Hopeflower]

'As if I had the chance to get out of it to begin with,' Arsenic replied, giving a one shouldered shrug and inclining his head toward Rowan.

"It's a holiday," she declared, folding her arms and leveling a stern look at the mute assassin. "No brooding, remember?"

Vix linked arms with Arsenic decisively and promised, "Can't speak for anyone else, but I won't make you do anything too scandalous. I swear," she added with a grin when he gave her an unconvinced glance.

"I might," Rowan quipped, sensing the opening and taking it before he could reply.

To that, Arsenic rolled his eyes, but his tone was fond when he retorted, 'I know you might.'

[The Kingpin]

"Knowing how human vision is, would that mean mine is two hundred-two hundred?" questioned the Scholar, genuinely curious. He had not read any medical texts that mentioned spectacles and eyesight before. This was new information to him.

"No one's going to make you do anything. We'll just... coax you with the use of alcohol into joining us in the fun," stated Andruil with a lopsided grin as he began to walk. "But we can discuss the specifics of our night of merriment and debauchery later. I would say a good meal is in order, wouldn't you?"

[C S]

"That would mean you are very cross-eyed, my friend. Like... eyes facing into your own skull, cross-eyed. Or maybe even eyes that spin about in their sockets all the time, or flop about every time you turn your head. I wouldn't describe your jewels as such at all," Syria responded.

[Hopeflower]

"Definitely," Vix agreed. "We would have met up with you sooner, but Nick here found a museum to get lost in."

Arsenic coughed and looked away, coloring faintly. 'You could have said something.'

"And ruin your fun? Perish the thought," teased Rowan. "Besides, it was interesting. The tour guide really knew her stuff."

[The Kingpin]

"I would have been with you, but I had to," he started, halting before he could finish the sentence, deciding to adjust the phrasing slightly. "...tend to something," was what he settled on. A less than brilliant save, he had to admit, but it would do. The whole statement was over in a couple of seconds, so the pause wasn't particularly noticeable, and could have passed for him trying to find the right words for what he wanted to say. "I'm in a generous mood today... So why don't you lead me to the nicest inn, tavern or restaurant you can think of in this city? Meals on me."


"...I will avoid proving you wrong just this once. But only because I don't think my credibility would hold together very well for Beshi if she saw a dragon go cross-eyed," stated the Scholar, only half-joking. He had an image to uphold, after all...

[C S]

Later on, firelight, be they streetlamps or an incandescent collection in the city square, overtook the formerly snowed-in Brodudika. Carried by the breeze, Desrium could hear the many voices singing their hymns. No two were alike, these seasonal songs. Not all of them came from the same cultural origin. The sounds mixed and traveled far, and the Stalwart heard them all as one, and he heard them all as separate as he made his way to his own place of celebration.

Thus was his affinity of senses, as was his design. It held true for sights: decorations hanging from doors and windowsills that belonged to all kinds of traditions, some more prominent, some obscure, but all put on display and welcomed. Collectively, the shades of reds and greens, yellows and white, be they fabric or a craft, turned even the more rigid and official upper districts cheery. Individually, they represented the diverse people that made up the population. Even the few vikings put their native horns and wings of ivory up on posts for all to revel in.

The smells; all the inns and community housing pumped rich smells through their chimneys as the smoke rose into the evening. The tastes, as peoples separated by climates and distance regaled in each other's customs. The touch... well that all depended on the person and how comfortable they were about such things, didn't it?

It was their life to enjoy, another year coming to a close in a few days.

Desrium would not be joining them. He would be too out of place in any party, not that he would have much to do aside from standing around, trying not to hurt anyone or damage something. However, he would show his kinship regardless, even if it was a private affair.

Desrium stopped at Jiier's Corner, a small sack dangling from the string in his metal hand.

"Hello again, friends. It's been a long time since we've last spoke."

He sat down in the snowy field, just in front of the big boulder, and laid out its contents. A gem studded grail. A gem bound in a silver circlet.

"I know how much you like shiny things, Jiier. I would feel ashamed for the stereotype, had I not seen it for myself in Vanguard. The cup is no idol of Soel, forgive me, but I did not want to impose on anyone for my present to you. It is all the same to you, isn't it?"

Desrium held his medallion in his other hand, and let his hold stay. "How... do you feel about red? Xrtylxx's deed to spite you has not gone unpunished, but I am uncertain still, us two scorned with Blood. I feel as if you would wear it proudly, as a challenge but... I am not you, as much as I would like to share your unerring strength."

Desrium hummed a tone. "I mean not to interrupt your peace, friend. A merry Solstice to you."

He placed the grail on its base next to the large rock.

"Ithra. Have you been watching? Do you recall when I would predict your appearances through a door, or by a window? Do you recall how much you disliked it? You are at an interesting vantage point, if you have been watching. As strong as my magical senses are, and as disciplined as my meditation is, I cannot feel you anywhere. Somehow I know you are near, as Jiier is. I cannot explain."

Desrium hummed again. "Perhaps it is not the time to explain, even if I could." He placed the sizable set gem inside of the grail.

"I am sorry for all you must have seen, if you have been watching. I am sorry that it was my own power that has robbed you of a grave. My words cannot abolish my sins, but I feel the need to speak them before this day is through. Dokido Singajingle, Ithra. I ask that you continue to watch, if you have already been doing so."

[Hopeflower]

Despite Rowan's insistence that she wasn't in Brodudika to put on a show or draw attention to herself, once the bonfire had been lit it had taken less and less coaxing - though a mug of alcohol certainly helped - for Vix to finally convince her to join in the dancing, at least. The women were two of several fleet-footed dark silhouettes not far from the tall flames, with the light occasionally flashing off of the innkeeper's unbound red hair or the buckles of Rowan's boots. Their dance was not one that was immediately recognizable, being based in the style of fighting that Rowan had developed and become quite comfortable with and adapted to the flow of the music. Even though Vix had warned Rowan that she was rusty, having not trained with the older women in years, she was keeping up remarkably well. And when she put a foot wrong or was at risk of losing her balance, Rowan was there to catch her and guide her into a series of steps that had her finding her rhythm again.

Well back from the dancers, but still within the range of the roaring fire's heat, Arsenic lounged comfortably, still nursing his first drink. He appeared completely content to watch and admire, and not make a fool of himself. It was little different from the way he enjoyed the celebration back home - though in the village he could, on occasion, be convinced to add a flare of magic to it all. A leap in the flame to follow a dancer's kick, an illusion of animals frolicking within the fire...perhaps even a timeline of the year's events, if it had been a year to celebrate. It was not something he was sure would be appreciated here.

And some distance from all of them, Viho had followed through on his plans. He was sipping from a mug of tea, a book in his lap, while he listened to the merriment around him and took advantage of the heat the bonfire radiated to soothe the ache in his shoulder. For the moment, he was quite content, if wondering if his wife could see this, and would have been happy to see so many people from all over Aster come together to celebrate this night.

[The Kingpin]

With the bowls and pots empty, the fire roaring and the glasses and mugs full, the house settled into a content and cheerful lull. Beshayir was still poking at a scrap of roast with her fork, full, but still wishing she could have more. As it turned out, there was an ample supply of mashed potatoes for her. She didn't eat it all, of course. Septimus had done a valiant job of that, though even he could not have eaten as much as Willow had prepared simply because he was not, strictly speaking, that much of an omnivore. He did have enough of it though to confirm that it was very skillfully made.

All in all, however, Septimus did an impressive job of living up to his warning. He had eaten the vast majority of what had been made, halting only for fear that there would not be enough for everyone else, including an unfortunately absent dragoness.

His own dish, predictably, was all but literally wiped clean of food. It turned out that, while he may have been a dragon at birth, he was still quite capable of using a knife and fork. It did a lot to solidify his reputation. The fact he was clad in his Thimeyran formal attire only furthered the image of the Hueilin Emissary. A foreign delegate he may have been, but he most certainly was not the one he appeared to be.

"I will have to see to it I have improved by the time the next Guthander comes round. It appears I still have quite a bit to learn about cooking, yet," he commented as he set the utensils down on the plate side by side. "I will have to pick up the pace to be ready in time for the next family dinner."




Andruil had been dancing with the best of them, caught in the middle of the crowd of dancers with his own blend of folk jigs and intricate whirls. Over the course of the evening he had managed to work in a bit of Rowan's own style of dancing as well, adding it to the cultural melting pot that was his brand of dancing. Were it not for the feverish pace of the music, one could have sworn that there was some ballroom dancing mixed into his style as well, but as it was, the flowing dancing and cheerful jigs overwhelmed the structured dances of Riverdale Court.

It was after a good while of this that he proceeded to steer his way towards Vix and Rowan. While the two were very much bound up in their own dance, he did a good job of drawing the attention given to him to the two assassins. Halfway through yet another blisteringly fast jig, he called, "We will want to head inside soon! There's something I want to show you before you're all too sleepy to appreciate it!"

[Hopeflower]

"Sleepy? We should convince you to stay in the village next year!" Rowan laughed, catching Vix around the waist and lifting as she added a spontaneous spin to their duet; one of the innkeeper's legs instinctively hooked over the older woman's hip in what came as close to scandalous as they'd been so far. "The dancing goes on all night." So saying, Rowan set Vix down and let her regain her bearings. The scarred assassin was barely out of breath, but in Vix the exertion was starting to show. She backed up a few paces to give Rowan room while she tried to catch her breath.

[C S]

"While I cannot speak for your cooking, Septimus, I can make a case to take to the council hall itself that my family is one of style and substance," said the old professor. He chuckled afterwards, nudging Willow with his elbow while pointing at the well-dressed elf with his fork. "I thought it odd when you two stepped into your bag. I thought I took my time getting ready. And then you come out looking like you're dressed for a wedding, not Guthander dinner."

"Hush now, Oak. Syria would ask me to make her an official wedding dress if she had any plans of marriage," Willow said as she wiped her hands on a napkin.

"About that," Syria said, looking up from her plate with a barely concealed, self-deprecating smirk.

"Oh dear."

"Ha," the professor laughed dryly, nudging his wife as if to say I told you so.

"Dear...!?"

"Granny!?" Syria replied.

"So... is this your wedding... the pre-ceremony... the announcement... what?"

"... All of the above!" Syria said.

The professor put a hand on his chest and sat back, laughing to the cottage's roof. Willow reached across the table to take Syria's hands, then Septimus'. "I'm happy for you both but--"

"Do we have your blessing?" Syria asked expectantly.

"Dear, we already gave you our blessings when we let you pal around with a dragon, you don't need to worry about that foolishness. But it's happening, and I'm still young to be giddy about it! All of the above? No rings, no dance by the lake?"

[The Kingpin]

Andruil was quick to accompany Vix, his pace slowing to match her own as he eased her out of the thick of the dancing crowd towards the peripheries. "Why do I get the feeling she is going to regret everything when she wakes up?" he asked with a laugh once they had moved far enough from the bonfire and dancers that he could be heard.



Beshayir seemed to be positively vibrating in her seat from the excitement. It culminated with her bouncing out of it and wrapping her arms around Syria, the faintest squeak of glee escaping her at the news. "I suppose we could invest in a nice ring. Though I think it is a bit cold for a dance by the lake at the moment, would you not agree?" questioned the Scholar with a smile. Not giving a chance for them to answer, he followed with "Among my kind, jewellery is rarely the most reliable choice for a bond such as 'marriage'. Dragons, well... we tend to get into scuffles, so aside from the rare earring or bracelet, most jewellery isn't the wisest choice to have. However," he began as he rolled up a sleeve, revealing the glowing runes on his arm. "...Runecrafting, on the other hand, is something we use to commemorate matters such as this. Marks on the skin, much like tattoos. In a way, ones runes are their lineage. Everything is recorded there. And a marriage rune is the trading of one another's lineage runes, simplified."