Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

Syria, not privy to such acute vision, used her staff to help her steady her feet as she stood up and looked out from her warm, charcoal vantage point. Even then, the desert reflected in the glass in front of her eyes, and she saw nothing but a humbling vastness prone to make one reconsider their place in the world, or other spiritual compulsions of the like.

"The things you can tell just by smelling, Septimus," she commented, at a loss as to what he seemed to have discovered.

[Hopeflower]

Spotted, the smaller reptile tensed, then half-lifted itself onto long, digitigrade legs, its forelimbs starting to spread into a defensive posture in a rather futile attempt to make itself look bigger. Its tail lashed once and the tips of its splayed toes curled into the sand as the Oniare made ready to bolt. Around the curious dragon, the three or four other Oniare took up similarly uncertain positions. To run would use up precious energy and might provoke a chase-response. To hold their ground might give an unintentionally aggressive vibe.

A low, unsure chitter went around the group, individuals tipping their heads towards each other in clear response.

What is it?

How fast does it run?

How quickly does it take flight?

What does it want?

[The Kingpin]

"The nose of a Hueilin is a formidable thing...Well, some Hueilin," responded the Scholar.

"Hey!" chirped Ceridwen, offended by the jab. "My sense of smell is just fine!" she retorted.

"I suppose it would have to be to set you sneezing when you smelled spices," he noted. A low growl was Ceridwen's only response to that, the Scholar quickly silencing her with a look when the serpentine creatures revealed themselves.

They were curious things, now that he got a closer look at them. Like bipedal lizards, but with snake-like features. Their heads were not unlike the sand vipers dotting the surrounding area, hidden under bushes and shrubs to avoid the hawks overhead. He reached out psychically as they started to communicate, reading their thoughts rather than listening to their words.

And in response, he conveyed a simple message. Peace. I mean no harm.

His form shifted, imploding in on itself with a cloud of smoke, until, in a few moments, the Scholarly elf stood where the dragon once had. He was careful to set his feet down far from the few serpents hiding around him, though most had slithered away on his arrival. He was equally careful not to let Syria's temporarily floating form touch down near anything dangerous either.

Ultimately, they stood side by side, the Scholar and the Mage, with the Thunderkin standing beside him as the largest thing there for the time being. She was, however, somewhat unsettled by these humanoid reptilian hunters. Septimus assured her she need not be. There was no harm they could inflict on them that he couldn't intercept. They would not know it, but he knew their thoughts as swiftly as they occurred to them.

[C S]

Syria was the sort to be stunned into silence by these things, if not the encounter with strange peoples -- the masked bird-like folk from the Wispwood came to mind, on top of her journey into the jungle -- then Septimus levitating her about. Capable of levitating his food, indeed. However, the mage had one staunch observation to make. "For all his talks of being a Snake, he didn't look anything like these ones here..."

[Hopeflower]

And as quickly as the dragon changed forms, a new thought swept through the group and was conveyed in their hisses. If one listened closely enough, the tone shifted from unease to shock.

Elfskin.

There was a brief, rapid-fire exchange of unsettling sounds. Hisses, rough clicks that transitioned into sounds like snarls. Then one voice rose above the others in what was nearly a bark, so sharp and demanding was the noise.

The oldest of the hunting party stepped forward. She was a veteran of combat; the scales of her neck and chest were split by a nasty set of scars, and many smaller ones marked her arms and legs. Her hide shivered and, in a display that was somewhat more unsettling than the dragon's, dark skin flowed from her spine to cover her reptilian appearance. Her human form was bare from the hips up save for a length of light fabric wrapped around the base of her ribcage and draped over one shoulder, and her lower half was clad in a skirt that hung loosely on her waist.

Reptilian eyes regarded the elf coolly, then took in the human that accompanied him. She spoke in a voice that rasped, as though she didn't often find reason to speak to people not of her race. "Elfskin," she greeted him. She dragged out her "s"s in a manner that fit with the reptilian that had just stood before the dragon. "It is an honor."

[The Kingpin]

"Hm?" asked the Scholar, glancing towards the Mage.

"Elfskin?" chirped Ceridwen, genuinely confused. "You're a celebrated hero with snake people too?" she asked the Scholar.

"Manners, Ceridwen," he warned for a moment, before meeting the shapeshifter's gaze. Nodding graciously, he responded. "I am flattered you think so highly of me. I have not met any of your kind before. Seen some, perhaps. Forest-dwelling ones, but similar to you. Reclusive." He clasped his hands behind his back, looking between her and the other reptilians around them. "I have tried to learn all I can of Aster's peoples and wonders, but I have yet to learn anything substantial of you," he noted, deciding not to mention the occasional myths of serpent people that floated around in the more rural cities. He felt there was no point telling them that they were the subjects of bedtime stories and warnings that were given to misbehaving children.

[Hopeflower]

"Hero, no," the Oniare stated with a glance at the smaller dragon. "But his coming brings the beginning of necessary change to our kind." She said nothing of her forest-loving kin and seemed perfectly content to let the human's comment go unremarked upon. They seemed unaware that the Oniare took many shapes and laid claim to woodlands and deserts, oceans and rivers, mountains and caverns alike. Instead, she lifted her chin a little and addressed his admission of knowing little of them with, "This is by design. We have not wished to be known."

[C S]

Syria stole a sideways glance at Septimus. There was no telling what else the Scholar had seen in one-hundred fifty odd years of wandering Aster. He'd made references to a few misadventures of his, nothing of any real detail. Syria wondered how she would have reacted if he had told her he'd seen members of an undiscovered race of people. She wasn't entirely grounded in living the moment. Xilo wasn't something worth remembering while she was making contact --

"Necessary change?" the mage repeated, cocking her head. After 'we have not wished to be known', it seemed the most apt question to ask the elder of the pack.

[Hopeflower]

Slit pupils focused on the human with all of the intensity of a predator's gaze. "Change that we have needed," the Oniare repeated, spelling it out as though the woman was having difficulty understanding. She made no effort to elaborate, though it was clear from her tone that she knew that was what the human had been asking her to do.

[The Kingpin]

"Understandable," responded the Scholar with a nod. "My own kind spent a long time in seclusion from the world. It is only recently that we have ventured out to stand alongside the rest of Aster."

"Some would argue it was a bad idea," quipped Ceridwen under her breath.

"And they would be fools, because we have been weakened by our isolation," said the Scholar over his shoulder. "Though enough of that. How would my arrival bring about change when I have never met your people face to face? What could my influence be among your kind?" he asked. He noted the blank looks in the faces of the others, none of them seeming to know what transpired. They did not understand them. Interesting.

[Hopeflower]

The Oniare turned her gaze to the elf now, faintly impatient. It seemed there was something about their exchange that she thought he should have been grasping faster than this. "Tell me, firekin," she said, and gestured between them. "As we are now, skinwalking brothers, what would you say the main difference between us is?"

[C S]

"If I may speak from experience, Septimus, when meeting a secluded people who wish to break that seclusion..." Syria looked back to the elder, "If you would allow me to draw conjecture, you would like an emissary of a sort, yes?"

[The Kingpin]

He pondered the matter for some time, taking note of Syria's suggestion for a moment. But knowing what he knew of the stories of these creatures, he could deduce that they had no interest in meeting the other races, emissary or otherwise. It would simply welcome destruction. "I don't think so, Syria," he noted, looking to the Mage briefly, before addressing the Matriarch of the reptilian group once more. "Presumably, the difference lies in our reasons. Being as reclusive and secretive as you are, you would prefer never to mingle with mankind...But if such a circumstance is to arise, you would need a way to remain undetected. You do it for safety, to wander the world of men without fear of the threat they pose. To have your peace undisturbed. I, on the other hand, do it for convenience. A form as massive and destructive as my own would cause chaos walking down a street in a human city, and would be nearly impossible in anything smaller. It would cause others to fear me, and would mean I would be unwelcome in the places I wish to go. Am I mistaken in my assessment? Or is that specifically the change you seek to make?" he questioned.

It was a statement that had Ceridwen thoughtful. It was a convenient solution, she realised. To wander the world of men without fear of the threat they pose. It was a motive she herself could subscribe to.

[Hopeflower]

The Oniare, halfway through opening her mouth to deliver a blistering response to the human, shut it again and reconsidered her words. "We need no emissary," she finally replied. "Were we to reveal our nature tomorrow, all would find us so deeply rooted that we would be...difficult to remove." She said it simply, matter-of-factly. "We have been watching for lifetimes longer than you have been venturing."

She paused, paced a few steps closer. She moved with the fluid grace of a hunter, and she stopped in front of the woman, quietly sizing her up. "But warm-bloods," she said slowly, "are as rats to our kin." She glanced at her brothers and sisters, hovering uncertainly and unsure of what was passing between their leader and the dragon. "And so it is that the old ways dictate that skinwalkers must be lesser."

The Oniare paused, turned to the elf. "Yet here stands one who would hunt us, given half a chance, wearing the skin of an elf."

[The Kingpin]

"So it is a question of power. You see power in the abilities of a shapeshifter, while others among your kind see a flaw," responded the Scholar, stepping forward almost imperceptibly, simply putting himself in a position to deflect the huntress should her sharp tongue become anything more than a figurative one. "I can see why that would be...problematic."

"But surely if humans and their kind are like rats among you, then you, the better hunters, should be revered?" chirped Ceridwen, still not seeing the 'traditional' reasoning.

"It is hard to understand the logic, but it is not unheard of," noted the Scholar, nodding to Ceri. "Our own kind are not that much unlike yours in that regard, either. The humanoid races in general, be they mammal or reptile or otherwise, are all seen as lesser. Weaker creatures. Fragile. Vulnerable. Some would believe them intellectually inferior as well as physically. But unlike your kin, ours recognise that there is more to a being than its appearance, and there is much merit to be had in the thoughts and actions of others."

[C S]

Syria could only pinch the bridge of her nose. In all fairness, she got the same response when she broached the emissary idea in the jungle as well. She was listening to the basis of every slaying outing, be it man against dragons or, if the elder wasn't exaggerating, man against... her people. Many would not need much prodding to hunt them down, which would explain the emphasis on staying hidden. It did not help anything much when these people thought so little of... everyone else.

"What a shambles," the mage said simply.

[Hopeflower]

The Oniare cocked her head, her expression unmoved by either assessment. "You say nothing that I do not already know," she pointed out, somewhat coldly. "I would not have said change was necessary had I not needed to tear the respect I deserved from my mother's throat."

[The Kingpin]

"Unfortunate," responded the Scholar. He couldn't say it surprised him. He himself had once considered doing the same to one of his parents. "But such is the price of progress," he concluded, eyes narrowing somewhat. "Then there is only one matter left to question: How many of your kind will die until this change is achieved? If the belief of your inferiority is so widespread among your kind, and a peaceful outcome is not possible, there can be only two outcomes...Either you and your sympathisers will be slain by your brethren, or they will be slain by you. Should you succeed, will the surviving of your number be sufficient to survive the world and its trials?" It was a question he found himself forced to pose. Not too long ago, such a question had been one Draxon could not resolve, and the price of it was the entire kingdom.

[Hopeflower]

Human lips pulled back in a smile that was all very inhuman teeth. "When warm-bloods were shedding their fur and learning to walk upright, we stalked the shadows around their fires. When they pushed into our lands to build their cities, we adapted and spun our own myths. Our clutches number in the hundreds." The Oniare in human skin let her expression smooth out again. "We are survivors. We will adapt as we have learned we must."

[C S]

Syria raised her staff in a bid to catch the attention of the other woman -- she was still a woman, right? Underneath the disguise, she was still a woman of her kind -- and spoke. "It would be stating the obvious, something you don't appreciate but for the sake of clarity, I must, to say that we are not alike as people. I also empathize, that living a life being belittled for a great gift is a struggle. However, you must realize that war is only a downward spiral. No matter who triumphs in your divide, when the day dawns that your people are discovered by the other races of Aster, there will be a conflict that has the potential to be worse than the wars that have left elven kingdoms to the east as ruins."

I do not claim a title, or any distinction. Septimus still waits for the day I do, but I have no interest for the time being. What I will do, however, is be a voice of reason where even he is not able. Some reminder of kindness when all else are ramping up for conflict. It is all I ask for, really.

It was time to be that last voice of reason. Kindness, emotion did not part of the equation. That much was clear when the one she spoke to killed her own mother. All the while, Syria felt a pulsating pain in her temples, for she knew that it was very likely that she would be ignored, and history would run its course all over again. The mage's knuckles paled, but she knew she had to be firm in the face of this fear. The only way she had a chance to change this hunter's mind was to command her respect.

Command her respect while being something she thought a pest -- "Oh Septimus, Desrium, and whatever is left of your divines, lend me this one miracle."


"There is a way to change this fate," she said, letting her staff down to her side. "A way to work towards terms that satisfy you, and an understanding that won't put your people at odds with the rest of Aster's people."