Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

While the crew were still recovering from the dust and scrambling out from under the sails draping the ship, a thud sounded out that caused the deck to splinter, Septimus standing before them. "Weapons on the ground. Assemble in the middle of the deck, hands high. You will be bound and taken to Thimeyra to stand trial. If you resist, you will have chosen death. I assure you I will not hesitate, and the fate I visit upon you for your crimes will be harsher than anything you will meet in Thimeyra. You have been warned." He spoke with a calm that bore with it confidence of his words. It was not simply a warning, but a promise.

[C S]

The surviving raiders were taken captive and carted off on an auxiliary sled that the Dreamchaser pulled along after the cargo ramp was retracted.

Very rarely was irony a vindictive force. This was one of those rare occasions.

The merchants were given back their sledder after the many harrowing hours of being hostages. It was escorted back to Thimeyran port. Back at Dhul'Valen, the intricacies of law over the dunes had custody of further proceedings. The merchants were taken to the embassy, where the damage to their ship was to be assessed and talks of reimbursement would be in order. The raiders were apprehended straight out of their dinghy by officials that awaited their more informal arrest.

The Dreamchaser, like the Dunefox, was in need of repairs, but for now, trade would flow without danger of one of the more notorious pirates in the sector. The sledder's crew had another outing to call another success, and some time of leave before they would be called to defend the trade routes again.

Septimus had his pay. Villains were crushed, and he managed to bring some back alive for trial despite being pushed to the contrary. Before he could return to the others, he happened across a person of interest in Thimeyra's customs building. Captain Siril Vern...

[The Kingpin]

"Bloody great job, sir!" exclaimed the elf cheerfully as he approached the Scholar.

"Thank you. You are?" responded Septimus as he turned to face the tanned elf, noting the black hair and green eyes, and the peculiar garb. He deduced by the hues of grey and blue in his outfit that he was from Valenhad, the outfit looking much like a modified Valenhadian naval uniform. That said, he couldn't be certain.

"Captain Siril Vern, Valenhadian Royal Navy. Captain of the Dunefox, the sorry wreck of a vessel being worked on in drydock. I hear you did quite a number on those pirates. The smell of **** follows them wherever they go, I've never seen anything quite like it!" exclaimed the captain with a laugh, clearly overjoyed at the sight.

That earned him a chuckle from the Son of Storms. "Well, it's par for the course when the thing they're up against is as big as an inn, flies faster than they could ever sail and breathes fire," he responded half-jokingly.

"Aaaah. So you're Septimus! Sir Andruil told me of you. I transported him and Desrium here not a month ago! Though I have to admit, for whatever reason, I was expecting to see you clad in a dragon-sized wirshah. Though I suppose this makes more sense," stated the captain excitedly. "So! What's become of their vessels?"

"Crippled, or outright destroyed in some cases. They're a bunch of ruined husks out in the desert now," responded the Scholar, entertained by the enthusiasm.

The gleeful grin in the captain's eyes said it all. "The ******** ambushed us during one of our patrols. We dragged down two ships with us, but they managed to ram a hole in our hull after burning one of our sails, so we couldn't keep ahead of them. We'd be dead or worse if the cavalry hadn't moved in to back us up."

"Unfortunate. But well done wrecking two of them. I don't think the Dreamchaser would have been quite so successful if it had to mingle with seven ships instead of five," noted the Scholar as the harsh orders of the Thimeyran City Guards were heard down the hall from them, raiders clapped in iron manacles shuffling towards the path leading to the city, where they would be imprisoned.

"Indeed. Glad to know the Dunefox's sling ballista gave them the beating they deserved!" stated the captain proudly. "She was the first of Valenhad's second generation Interceptors. Two ballistae. Causes all manner of chaos when a Hammerhead Bolt hits one of their ships. I've seen single shots obliterate vessels entirely! And that's to say nothing of our Hunter Class ships. Four ballistae!"

"Indeed? Impressive. I should keep an eye on future designs then. It sounds like a fascinating thing to see in action," commented the Son of Storms with a smile.

"Oh, you haven't the faintest idea. Firing a broadside with all four at once is enough to shake the entire ship! Oh, if only the environment were as forgiving as the sea. Our warships are armed with several decks of them. Twelve of them spread on two decks. Enough to batter an enemy warship to splinters!" exclaimed Vern animatedly. "But, I digress. I am sure Valenhad should have something nice for you if you were to head to the Requisitions Office in the city. As for myself, well, I'm afraid time's ticking. I have supplies to sign for and get taken back to the Dunefox. She'll be back to her good old self, terrorising raiders soon!" announced Vern firmly.

"Good luck, captain. I hope to hear tales of your exploits the next time I visit Thimeyra. Farewell," answered the Scholar, the two shaking hands before parting ways. It was time to meet back up with Syria and Beshayir. It was as he departed the customs office that a new wave of travellers came through, beasts of burden loaded with supplies, the smell of spices strong in the air as he stepped back out into the sun, making his way back to the City in the Sands...

[C S]

Back at the inn's stable, the trio of ladies of their respective kinds passed the time with some interpretation of a tea party. There was a kettle between them, tall, gold and silver; it reminded Syria of the Lance painted on one of the clay cards. This was no holy relic, not for lack of effort. It was a dazzling, beautiful thing. Its cover looked like one of the decorative minarets on top of Antar's palace, and its handle was an elegantly thin extension of gold, in contrast to the thick spout. Steam still rose from the end.

The cups they drank from -- even Ceridwen, with Syria's help -- were not nearly as fancy, but they were serviceable. Syria sipped her tea while petting the underside of Ceridwen's jaw, finding the effects humorously similar to what she saw when she did the same to Septimus. Larger than normal Frondfoots these dragons were, as indignant as they would be if told so. Maybe her nest wasn't as empty as she thought without Perioul, not that she would ever consider Ceridwen a pet.

[The Kingpin]

Ceridwen indeed seemed to mellow considerably with the Mage's attentions, the occasional twitter causing Beshayir to giggle, still having a hard time reining in her amusement over the sound that seemed completely out of place on such a large animal.

Beshayir sat cross-legged on the cushion she used as a seat, sipping her tea slowly as she watched the two, savouring the peace and quiet. It was something else to be able to rest in this place where once every corner was something to fear, now a place to relax and enjoy a mug of tea. A small smile crept across her graceful features that had nothing to do with the twittering of a horse-sized bird-dragon. She had come far. She could not say if her parents would be proud of her, but she knew that she was proud of her accomplishments.

[C S]

"It's the most peculiar thing, Ceri. I'm sure your other persona would have been utterly enthused by this courtly activity," Syria said to the dragon. Her cup was suspended by the green glow, and drew closer to Ceridwen's beak when Syria offered, "More tea, madam Maelgwynni?"

[The Kingpin]

"I don't know what you're talking about Syria," chirped the dragoness, thoroughly confused by the statement. Another 'persona'? What did she think this was? Another one of those fantastical romances she liked to read?

"You sneezed in the market yesterday," noted Beshayir with a giggle.

"I still don't see why it's so amusing," grumbled Ceridwen indignantly at that.

"You sounded like a bird! It was funny!" exclaimed Beshayir.

"You can't laugh at me for something I can't help! Unguul dragons look and sound like birds, it's just the way they are. I'm this way because my father's an Unguul," she grumbled.

At that, Beshayir stood up and walked over to the dragoness, giving her a hug that only made her plumage fluff further, though noticeably less so than she had been yesterday. "I'm not laughing to be mean. I just think it's sweet," she explained. Ceridwen, despite the fluffed feathers, turned her head up at that, unamused.

[C S]

"The tea is nice," Syria continued without paying any mind to Ceridwen's theatrics. "It tastes of some kind of fruit, with a... root-iness. Hard to describe." She sipped some more from her cup, and gently rocked Ceridwen's in front of her beak.

[The Kingpin]

An unamused look was the Mage's answer, or at least, as much of one as eyes and the corners of the dragoness's mouth could express.

"You really don't remember anything of yesterday?" asked Beshayir, bewildered.

"Not really, no. I mean, I remember what happened...I just...Don't remember speaking the way you're telling me I did," admitted the Thunderkin, frustrated. "How is that possible? Hueilin have perfect memories, this shouldn't happen to me." Reluctantly staring at the mug that seemed not to be going away any time soon, she finally opened her beak.

[C S]

Syria obliged and tipped the cup into Ceridwen's waiting mouth. A whole cup's worth was to the dragon what a sip was to her and Beshayir. As she refilled the cup with more tea, the mage said, "You deal with mysterious magic, and mysterious things happen. I can show you what you don't remember. Septimus has been teaching me neat tricks with memory."

[The Kingpin]

The dragoness tilted her head back as she swallowed, tilting her head afterwards in a bird-like fashion, her feathers fluffing up. "I would like that, Syria. I don't know if it'd be worth it...They're not my memories...So it doesn't solve my problem."

"Sometimes you can't worry about these things. My father used to say life flows like the dunes. You can't control where they go, just like you can't control where certain parts of your life lead you. You simply have to...move with it. Roll with it, to be exact," said Beshayir thoughtfully.

[C S]

"Well spoken, Beshayir. In... 'rolling with it', sometimes you need a moment to sit down and laugh about things," said Syria. She patted Ceridwen's shoulder and went on to say, "So even if they are my memories, they're memories of you that you may get some enjoyment out of." As she spoke, the mental snippets were passed on to the dragoness. They started in misty Daaven, talks of fluffing feathers, all the way to the arrival in Thimeyra and the marketplace hijinks.

[The Kingpin]

The dragoness cringed almost as soon as she was shown the memories, blinking in silence for several moments before she stated, "I didn't know it was possible for someone to want to die."

"It wasn't that bad!" responded Beshayir, somewhat alarmed.

"I got into an argument with Septimus over being called a lady. That's ridiculous!" she squawked.

Beshayir, at this point, was struggling to make sense of it all. "Have you heard some of the things Syria and Septimus talk about sometimes? It really isn't that bad!"

"What's this about things I talk about?" came the Scholar's voice as he entered the stable.

[C S]

"Septimus talked to me about arguing with you about being called a lady," Syria countered as she looked to the source of the voice. Her eyes darted about the Scholar's figure to ascertain that he had no injuries. Once that was done, she said, "Pardon me," and bolted to Septimus. Her magical hold over the kettle and Ceridwen's cup remained firm.

[The Kingpin]

"Calm down Syria, I'm still in one piece. I'm not hiding a severed arm behind my back or any other grievous injuries," he said in a tired voice that lost its convincing edge when his expression broke into a smile. "Behaved yourself while I was away?" he asked as he spread his arms. Beshayir, setting her mug down carefully, proceeded to rise to her feet to meet the Scholar.

"You have some explaining to do, Septimus," growled the dragoness with a hint of irritation as she looked over to the Son of Storms, unable to resist giving him a once over herself. Off to play hero and possibly die in the process. A heroic fool, but one she was still thankful for, considering the circumstances of their meeting.

[C S]

Syria had her arms around Septimus, as if to test his assurance for herself. "Not until he's had some time to rest and speak to me about... private things," she told Ceridwen. In the back of her mind, she realized she could have worded that better. "Tea?" she inquired, floating her cup over with the kettle in tow.

[The Kingpin]

"Private things belong in private places," retorted Ceridwen hotly, clacking her beak in protest.

"She has a point, you know," noted the Scholar with no small amount of amusement. "Yes, please."

Beshayir rushed up to hug him, caring little for the fact her arms ended up squeezing Syria against him too. It was an opportunity to be affectionate, and she was an affectionate person by nature. They could deal with it.

[C S]

The teacup moved over to Septimus' lips after Syria poured out another helping from the kettle. "I wouldn't have any aversion or protests to discussing what happened out on the desert in a more personal setting, would you, Septimus?" the mage clarified, glancing to Ceridwen from her peripheries.

[The Kingpin]

"I wouldn't mind. Granted, it wasn't exactly the most cheerful of matters to discuss, especially over a...tea party?" responded the Scholar, raising a brow as he observed the setting more closely now that his focus wasn't on the ones present.

"It's not a tea party! It's just tea... and talking... with friends... about friend stuff," retorted Ceridwen firmly. There was a hint of what could have been embarrassment in her tone as she spoke, and Septimus smirked as he caught it.

"So in other words, a tea party. Right."

"No!" hissed Ceridwen, feathers ruffled for a reason that wasn't pleasure for a change. It earned a laugh from the Scholar.

[C S]

Syria replied, "We can talk about it over tea," rocking the cup in front of Septimus as she did with Ceridwen. "Once we get that somber business dealt with, we can return to the cheer of the... uh. Not-tea party." She cleared her throat. "You certainly aren't wasting your time ruffling her feathers." Quite literally, at that.