Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

Syria's countenance took on a decidedly focused appearance as she fixated on the plate in front of her. It looked and smelled delicious, rice and meat drenched in sauce. With so many spices in the mix, she could only imagine the trickery that would be unleashed on her tastebuds when she took a spoonful. Tasting a new dish was not what she was considering at the moment, however. True to her ways, she shared her musings with Septimus, "One can hold the ingredients, water and all, over a fire and mix with the mind, can they not? The especially gifted can induce boiling through magical means as well, no?"

[The Kingpin]

Ameen looked down at his plate, smiling as he looked up at his wife. "The spirits have blessed us all today. Our Beshayir is here, Sufyan is behind bars, and we are a family once more," said the trader as he looked over across those at the table.

Beshayir was notably stiff in how she was sitting, looking down at the food with a glassy look in her eyes, as though she wasn't really there with them at that moment. Her hands were in her lap just under the table, balled into fists as her nails dug into her palms. No one else there could have felt it, but to her, it was as if a snake had coiled itself around her stomach and was crushing it. The lump in her throat made even breathing difficult, and she found herself biting down on her own tongue so hard she was probably drawing blood. Whether she was or wasn't mattered little right now.

"Beshayir? What's wrong, dear?" asked Ameen worriedly, seeing the sunken, forlorn look in the girl's face as she looked up, her eyes bloodshot and wet as she tried desperately to rein in her emotions.

The wall had crumbled. No. It had disintegrated.

Trembling for a couple of seconds, the collective weight of two and a half years of locked away grief, sadness and loneliness came crashing down, the girl losing her control completely as she wept. Rawabi was on her in the blink of an eye, her food forgotten as she embraced the girl, pleading for some explanation of what was wrong. Septimus watched, confused and concerned, a hand on her shoulder as he tried to comfort her, tried to find out what bothered her. Her mind was a veritable hurricane of emotion that physically hurt him to try and touch, forcing him to recoil for the first time since he had tried to speak to Desrium's mind two years prior. For the first time since he had met the young elf, he found himself completely powerless to help.

[C S]

It took just a little while longer for Syria's understanding to adapt to the situation. She was stunned at first by Beshayir's tears, her mind scrambling to identify the cause as a mother was prone to. Confusion met with the impulse to act, and the lady sat at a loss all her own, watching things with a disconnectedness that was almost numbing. What to do? What had been done?

Instead of powerlessness, Syria looked down at her plate and the image faded away to contemplation. "You're a strong girl, but we are more alike than you may realize. If you ever feel the need to talk to me about something, don't you hesitate."

Well, Beshayir clearly did not want to speak about whatever it was that brought her low this way. That stung a little. You're a strong girl, stood out in unfortunate contrast. Too strong for too long, and now the consequences of stress were reaping their due from the poor elf. It was a disservice to distill her turmoil into two years. Each month, week, day, hour, minute and second...

Syria put a hand on her mouth when she felt herself shake once.

This would not end well at all if the two of them broke.

We are more alike than you may realize.

If only Beshayir knew how. The tragedy of it all, to know what she did and know what Septimus had only just realized.

They couldn't heal Beshayir, that was entirely up to her. All they could do was be there. It was with this knowledge, she put her hand on Septimus' shoulder and shook her head.

[The Kingpin]

As it happened, the only person to have dinner warm that day was Ceridwen, outside of the house and temporarily oblivious to Beshayir's plight until her crying became audible beyond the walls. Everyone else had been emotionally tied in knots at the sight of Beshayir's breakdown. Concern, uncertainty and helplessness reigned in the Hifaadhi household, everyone present to try and help Beshayir through what she was experiencing, even though nothing could be done.

It was nearly an hour before the young Pyromancer settled enough to be able to communicate, or at least, until she could have communicated if she wished. As it happened, she preferred silence. Basic bodily needs won out temporarily, and she had actually gotten around to eating her food, which the Scholar managed to reheat. It did not return to how it was when it was served. Nor could it have.

Septimus, much like Ameen and Rawabi, could do nothing but watch on in concern, present to offer her support. Ceridwen had tried to speak up, to offer comforts and promises that all was well, that she understood how the elf felt. Septimus had prevented her, however. It was a treacherously fragile peace the girl had found, one that did nothing to alleviate the chaos her emotions were wreaking upon her. It was, at best, the eye of the storm.

It was on the tailcoats of this that Ameen took Syria and Septimus aside while Rawabi stayed with Beshayir.

"I think it would be best," he started, a hand on the Scholar's shoulder as he looked back towards the dining room. "...if you let Beshayir stay with us here for a while. To give her some time to settle, and perhaps talk out her feelings with us."

Septimus didn't know what to think of that.

"I know what you're thinking, Septimus. Do not worry. She is in good hands here. But one must remember that she has been alone for a long time. Take it from me as a Caravaneer, a few months travelling does not a family make. She is more likely to speak to us than she is to speak to you about what troubles her. And for now, that is what is most important."

[C S]

"Yes." The single word Syria had said in that same amount of time, as silent as Beshayir until she made her agreement. One that extended to Septimus' behalf, even if he was not okay with the decision, nor if he understood it. "Trust me on this one," was her unspoken request while making a verbal one. "Septimus... if you can part with the compass... I think it find its greatest use with Beshayir."

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar considered what Ameen said for a while, nodding after some thought. Reaching out towards the satchel, which he'd left by Syria's staff, the compass floated out and zipped across to him. Closing his hand around it as it connected, he held it out to Ameen.

"What is the significance of this compass?" asked Ameen curiously.

"Beshayir will understand. We will be back in a day or two. Or whenever you feel it wise," assured the Scholar.

"Whenever I feel it wise? How will you know?" asked the trader.

"I have my methods," assured the Scholar.

[C S]

Syria hummed a neutral "mm". It was beginning to feel like they had just reunited after tracking Morrelie down, and now their little family was split up again. There would be no check-ins before Beshayir went to sleep, either. Syria hummed again. They would be with her through the compass, as innately unmagical though it happened to be. Sentiment was an unappreciated enchantment, it appeared.

[The Kingpin]

"I see. Well, in that case, I wish you the best of luck, and my sincerest thanks...for understanding. When Beshayir feels ready, I am sure you will find out."

The Scholar nodded graciously, before turning to the door. Beshayir's wand was with her, but her staff was not. Like the compass, it too rose from the satchel, though unlike the compass, it propped itself against the wall. Accompanied by it were two sets of clothes, which stacked themselves neatly on a nearby chair. Ameen opened the door for them to depart, and stepped aside to let them out. "We will see you soon," stated the Scholar with a smile, stepping aside to allow Syria out. Ceridwen was already waiting outside, a concerned look on her otherwise avian face.

[C S]

"Be seeing you," Syria added. Downtrodden in spite of her rationalizations and hope for the best, her footsteps were heavy up until she passed the coat rack. It was then that her staff, without warning, became animate and rushed to her side, hovering just a little past her to allow the mage to take a seat without pausing in stride.

[The Kingpin]

Septimus stepped out behind Syria, looking back at Ameen. In exchange for the unsettled look on the Scholar's face, Ameen simply gave an appreciative smile, nodding his thanks and farewell as he closed the door behind them.

It was all of three seconds and as many feet from the house that Septimus gave a long, frustrated sigh. "I had so hoped that today would bring joy to Beshayir. Instead, I brought her this."

"You know that's not true," responded Ceridwen with a firm look.

With hesitation, the Scholar nodded. "I do... But it is frustrating to see someone so...so sad and be unable to do anything."

[C S]

"It was bound to happen sooner or later, Septimus. It would be unhealthy for her to continue as she has been, with all of this behind her," Syria said quietly. It harkened back to when Septimus first found her in the jungle, that same soft-spoken, shyness that she had overcome for the most part in the dragon's company. "All we can do is show that we care... but we can't smother her. And we can't tell her how to feel and think. All we can do is wait... and look forward to the best. Remember? 'In following the development of a work in progress, it is as much a detriment to focus on the flaws of that work as it is to be impatient for the finished piece. There is always something to commend at each step of the way'."

[The Kingpin]

Septimus considered discussing that point, but with how he was feeling at the moment, he dropped the matter. Looking between Syria and Ceridwen, he decided to address the most pressing matter at the moment. "I suppose it's time we headed for the inn. Have an early night and decide how to proceed in the morning," he stated. It wasn't much of a request for input. Not that there was much of a choice. Dragons or not, it was unwise to try and sleep beyond the walls. The cold and the churning desert sands would swiftly kill those foolish enough not to heed them, and while the Scholar was safe of one of those, he was not so safe from the other.

[C S]

After a shrug, the mage replied, "Maybe in the morning we can go looking for those birds we heard about in the market. Maybe see one of those ships going on their way..." She sighed. "It might give us some time to think about where we go from here... Drakhunmiir is still in the works but..." Another shrug. Saying I don't know the best she could, Syria pointed her staff down the narrow street and began to drift on.

[The Kingpin]

The following morning was a laid back affair. With the sun in the early stages of its journey across the blue expanse above, the Scholar headed out with Ceridwen in tow, taking Syria to the place where they were told there were cactus-eating birds of incredible colours and song.

It was with this intention Septimus presently soared over the desert sands, near one of the few areas of solid sand in the Asterian desert, where the ground was sufficiently firm that dunes did not traverse its expanse and bury everything in their path. He was steadily descending towards the ground, taking in the details of the surroundings. Small lizards scampered across the sands at the sight of the massive shadow passing overhead, and serpents buried themselves under the sand. The cries of hawks could be heard at varying distances, the territorial birds flustered but not about to try and defend their territory against something to which they were no more significant than flies.

Patches of green, tiny shrubs and singular shoots of foliage spoke of water beneath the surface, though the Scholar was certain that it would be of no use to something like him. No doubt, the plants contained plenty of water within their roots, as he had been told of such things by locals in Thimeyra.

The cacti were, surprisingly, oddly shaped things, tall and branching with bulbous tips with bristly yellow bulges, presumably what would form blossoms in the spring.

[Hopeflower]

As the shadow of the dragon's wings disturbed lizards and mammals from their foraging, some of the panicked prey ran straight into the jaws of a much smaller predator. A large desert gecko screamed loudly as it was snatched from the ground, its hide pierced by sharp claws. The opportunistic Oniare startled - giving itself away as a young hunter, inexperienced with the sounds its prey could and would make - and then quickly tucked in its forelimbs and did its best to disappear behind a shrub. Nearby, its companions had gone very still themselves, depending on camouflage to keep out of sight. The routine morning hunt, after all, did not involve getting themselves eaten by a dragon.

[C S]

As they neared the ground, Syria noted with some degree of disappointment that they were more than likely not going to see what they came out for. If the hawks were not a ward against the small birds, then Septimus himself surely was. Ceridwen on her own would have frightened them off, even. One of those particular oversights that yesterday's events blinded the mage to.

At the very least, she remembered to put her hat on her head to block the sun and keep the glare out of her eyes. The lenses that covered them kept any stray wafts of sand out of them as well. She had her mouth and nose tucked into her wirshah for failing to tie a scarf over her face.

[The Kingpin]

The Son of Storms slowed himself with a couple of final wingbeats, landing with a soft thump. His eyes settled where he had heard the squeal of something in the peripheries of his senses, behind him as he was approaching to land. Ceridwen landed next to him, wings flexing before they furled. "So where are these birds you told me about Septimus?" she asked.

The Scholar did not respond, scanning the surroundings carefully. Sniffing the air, he began to slowly walk, searching for the source of what he had heard. He could not have picked up the scent of blood, so small was the animal slain. But he did smell some things that were vaguely familiar, yet foreign to him. Scents stronger than what he'd expect for the typical snakes that inhabited the area.

"Septimus?" she chirped.

"There's something here," he responded in his growling, rumbling tongue, Syria catching the meaning only through the psychic connection he had with her.

[C S]

She lifted her mouth out of her clothes to clarify this meaning, saying, "Something that isn't a paropera" for Ceridwen's benefit. She surveyed the horizon, the earthy tones of the landscape contrasting sharply with the clear blue of the sky. She adjusted how she sat on Septimus' shoulders to look out behind him as well. Everything was so open in the desert, it was easy for things to just blend together, framed by dunes that wished to be mountains off in the distance. "Not a Warral, either?" she asked the Scholar.

[Hopeflower]

Very, very slowly, the blunt head of an older Oniare cocked to fix the dragon in the stare of a single pale eye. Its pupil was a dark slit against the sandy tones of its face, dilating and contracting as the reptilian tried to make sense of the bigger predator's behavior. This was not a hunting strategy it recognized. The dragons that occasionally swooped over the dunes were much smaller, and like the hawks that also called the environment home, favored diving attacks.

And this one had a human on its back. The Oniare's forked tongue inched out of its mouth, curling to taste the dusty air and confirm what it was seeing was not a trick of the desert.

What madness was this?

[The Kingpin]

"Bigger than your typical Warral," he responded as he turned around, careful to avoid crushing the snakes in the sand beneath his feet.

The movement in his peripheries caught his attention, his sapphire gaze settling on one particular spot. It was a miniscule movement, no larger than a twig, but the movement was just fast enough that it could not have been a trick of the wind, and just slow enough that it couldn't have been a scampering reptile. And so it was that the Hueilin's blue eyes met the Oniare's sandy coloured one.

Hmm.

His head tilted ever so slightly, curious about what he was seeing. It was barely moving, and its camouflage was such that he wasn't even sure how much of what he was seeing was the creature and how much the desert around it. It was little surprise he hadn't seen it from the air, even with his sharp eyesight. They must've been quite still even as he approached from the horizon.