Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[Hopeflower]

Much. Too much. Viho inclined his head to beckon to the shapeshifter. "Indulge an old man and walk with me while I tell you," he invited. His stomach was insisting his meager breakfast hadn't been enough to make up for exerting himself, and the cold air might help clear his head.

[C S]

Dahnae pulled her face from her clothes and pushed up with her legs, rocking backwards on her bottom before springing herself forward off of the step. She landed with a soft patter out on the pavement, waiting for Viho to join her on the street.

[Hopeflower]

With a tired half-smile, Viho fell into step beside his student. He didn't tell her what he'd done. Didn't let himself watch it all play out again in his mind's eye. In fact, in the time it took for him to recount the events of the morning and the night before, and find somewhere to have a hot meal, the only thing Viho told Dahnae about what happened to Charles and Natalie was that they had been dealt with.

"There are more of them out there," he concluded. "And I don't know how safe it is to have you all keep coming to class." Didn't know how safe it was for them to stay home.

[C S]

"But if we don't come to class, you will be all lonely-like classroom decoration," Dahnae countered, and after a brief silence to further frame her position, she added, "And you won't get paid."

[Hopeflower]

"A small price, if it means keeping my students away from further harm," he replied. It wasn't as though his money was going toward paying for staying at the boarding house anymore, after all. And with confirmation of the names and faces of the people he was after, it might be time that he and the Green-Coats cracked down anyway.

[C S]

Dahnae made a sound that could have easily been taken for a growl. It was almost indignant. "What about the people-persons who still want to learn? Firel will be grump-pants forever if you don't teach, dwarf-lady and feather-girl won't learn how to talk-speak to each other and..." She pulled her hat off of her head and stuck it on Viho's. "How is anyone going to know how to fight with and defend their heads without you?"

[Hopeflower]

Viho had been about to take a sip of his drink - something hot that tasted vaguely of mint and vanilla. He lowered his mug a bit to fix Dahnae with a somewhat bemused look. "I didn't say I planned to stop teaching. But it may be that taking care of this problem has to come first, to avoid putting people in more danger."

[C S]

Dahnae blinked a few times, and tried not to think about her pestering dreams. "Will you have help?" she asked, unaware of the fidgeting her fingers had gotten up to. They twitched in her mittens, unable to be contained in loose fists in her pockets.

[Hopeflower]

"I will," the psychomancer assured her. "I would not be considering this if I didn't believe we have enough to find the people we're looking for." Find, yes. Catching them was another matter, but if there was anything to take away from his encounter with Charles...they were just people who had been dealt a bad hand, and been given the tools and the will to be cruel. Hopefully, it wouldn't be an especially violent affair.

[The Kingpin]

Ameen gave the young Pyromancer's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, a reminder that he was there for her. The fact that any granddaughter of his had to steal to survive was scandalous, but it was necessary in this case. She could not be blamed.

"I never took more than I needed. A piece of bread here, a shvarma there. Some fruit when I craved it. I took a couple of dresses at some points...a blue one, the first time. It was short, because I needed something I could use to run... And I grew out of it quickly. I had to get a bigger one later. Yellow...with flower embroidery. It made running difficult, and was very obvious... But the dust and dirt faded the colours quickly. It lasted me until Syria and Septimus found me," she continued, shrugging her shoulder to gently free herself from her grandfather's hand, feeling how it had tightened.

"I became talented in a skill I never wanted to learn. Many of the other children were caught and jailed, or disciplined and released...But they never caught me," she said, turning to look at Ameen, her eyes bloodshot and moist with barely contained grief. "There wasn't anything I could do...was there? You don't...You don't think badly of me for it, do you?" she asked pleadingly.

"No, dear. I don't. What you did was what you had to do. And I'd much rather have you as you are than have lost you over such a thing," responded Ameen, offering his arms up to her a second time, the girl accepting the embrace. He could not hear her, for she was too proud, even now, but the trembling of her shoulders and the dampness of one of his own told him she had fallen to her tears once more.

[C S]

For some reason, Dahnae wasn't convinced. She had the laepardi on her side, and it almost didn't mean anything because the one she was up against had a knife. A knife. No swords, no armor, and no weird powder that put people to sleep. Viho was classroom decoration who had gotten his arm back not even a week ago. He could speak in people's heads, and Dahnae couldn't grasp what that truly meant in a fight, but she was worried for her teacher.

"Take the glowy-frost lady with you. Take the heavy-thumper red-eyed one with you. Find the dogmun and take him with you, too. Take everyone you can and come back safe," Dahnae told the older elf.

[Hopeflower]

"Of course," Viho promised. In truth, he'd planned to approach them all and more. Whoever he got was the team of people that he'd have to be prepared to work with. He figured - hoped - that it would probably tip the scales that little bit farther in his favor if he could convince Arsenic to help him. Xilo's followers might have been anticipating one psychomancer, but two of them working together presented a hell of a problem even for those well-versed in magic.

[C S]

The girl was satisfied with the promise, yet not all the way at peace with Viho's decision. There was a yearning to offer her support as well. Bellator. She was also very afraid of what that meant. All her life she was expected to be a warrior, a hunter. Maybe if she had abided by the vision others had for her, she would have been half-decent at it. The fragility of mortality would not leave her be in her dreams. It was so very easy to take one bad hit and have it be the last.

"Can I have my hat back?" she asked.

[Hopeflower]

The corner of Viho's mouth twitched. He pulled Dahnae's hat from his head and handed it back to her. "Mind your mittens until it's all over," he advised.

[C S]

Dahnae held her hat in between herself and Viho and gave him a stare. Her orange irises appeared to dominate the area of her eyes, leaving very little of the sclera visible as her pupils expanded to absurd amount. In the very literal blink of an eye, Dahnae's had become more feline. While Viho would assume it was the comment about her mittens sinking deep, Dahnae hoped that her teacher wouldn't actually be trading blows with anyone. Pushing them around with weird arm-magic, maybe. Making their head hurt, perhaps.

Leave the ones who can shrug of a stab wound to risk being stabbed.

[Hopeflower]

For some reason, Viho tilted his head. Maybe it was that Dahnae's stare was too intense to be thinking about mittens, or that he sensed something of her concerns. Whatever he picked up on, he said more gently, "I'm harder to kill than I look."

[C S]

At that, Dahnae leaned over to rest her head against the teacher's shoulder.

Unsurprisingly, perhaps, she started to purr.

[Hopeflower]

Viho's hand found Dahnae's hair and stroked once, reassuringly. He couldn't be as certain as he sounded, of course. Each of the four people he had yet to encounter was an unknown - a name and a face, without any clues as to what their weapons or fighting styles might be. But they had to try and end things, or they would only keep escalating.

Not something he was willing to risk.

[C S]

Back behind his desk, Johnathon was sorting out his head. Every so often a thought would materialize and he would make a conscious decision to shoo it away. In doing so, he only became more aware of it. It did not make it easy to progress forwards; this thought that right then, while he sat in silent contemplation, Jesse was slitting Charles' throat and having him bleed out into a trough. If he had been unconscious, that is. If he had woken back up and had another series of throes with her around, Jesse would have been forced to use her electrifying talents to subdue him before she ended his life, only reading his rites off after he was departed. As much as he wanted to not think about this, Johnathon was inclined to believe it had happened so. A tragic death for a tragic life.

He took his head in his hands. This was the complete opposite of what he wanted. Keep the heart out of these affairs, that was the prime rule. If an officer got too personal with a case it was all over, their impartial judgement would be compromised and any tangible contributions to the cause would evaporate. He had to keep the lizard out of his mind.

The goal. The goal.

He just needed a ray of light. Something more than just good faith that the world was not a whirlpool of despair. Something easier to grasp than a city of mercenaries and selfless heroes vying to make a better tomorrow. Someone just like any other who had been through the worst but was still intact and decent.

"John?"

Johnathon pulled his face from his palms to look up at Natalie. Absently, he made an amendment to his wish: intact and decent through their own integrity, not a fluke of magic. A strange pain struck him afterwards. That wasn't fair to Natalie. She wasn't any lesser for how she got this way.This was all very confusing, no matter how much it seemed that the Green-Coat could not be fazed by anything.

The woman continued, oblivious to his inner turmoil, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with Jesse earlier. Patterns..." Natalie took her seat on the other side of the desk and folded her hands. She swallowed hard, which did nothing to alleviate the shallowness in her breaths. An anxiety was building in her as she was made to confront an unfortunate truth.

"I didn't mean anything by it," Johnathon replied smoothly. "It was just rhetoric. Jargon common to my usual dealings."

"No it isn't John." Natalie closed her eyes and let her head brace against the back of her chair. "I... was... am... ill. Ill. But I am not a child, John. Not anymore, I don't think. I don't need a contrived and painless lie anymore."

Johnathon let out a quiet sigh and sat up.

"I know that my memories don't line up with reality. I know that it isn't summer anymore, and I know that this isn't Freyr-Lunge, and I am of sound enough mind to recognize that I probably don't want to know what it is that I am missing because of how you and everyone else here treats me. It feels like you're expecting me to... to flip out one day, while simultaneously trying to keep me blissfully ignorant about everything."

Natalie covered her mouth to stifle a sob. "This isn't normal. I don't live in a jailhouse. As much as I'd like to be grateful for the kindness I've been shown, I can't because I doubt it's ever been genuine."

Johnathon watched her shake, battling to maintain her composure as the tears slowly came.

"I'm sorry for what I've done. I really am, even if I don't know what it is. But I need you to tell me, John. Tell me why I'm here, so that I can make sense of things. Because right now, it feels like I am at the brink of madness. I know what I do know without a doubt, and without a doubt I know that what I know is wrong. Help me, Johnathon."

"Alright." The detective cleared his throat.

Can't save them all. Sometimes, maybe no one could be saved.

Johnathon told Natalie of her other self and the murder she almost committed in the name of an idol she no longer remembered. Johnathon told her about the elf she had seen, the one who had broken her and made her what she was at present. The woman was an astute one. Johnathon saw the understanding creep into her sad expression clear as day. Understanding in the form of devastation.

Natalie put her head in her lap and broke down. "I'm sorry," she rasped whenever she could through the sobs.

"I never meant to stoop so low."

"Nobody ever does." The detective sighed again. "Look, Natalie -- miss Gardener -- as much as you might want this to be the end, it does not have to be," Johnathon said to the distraught woman. She looked to him through her fingers, eyes reddened, hair hanging over her face. "It will be hard at first, but if you really do regret everything, I can help you continue your life without Snicker ever being a part of it. Would you like that?"

Natalie bowed her head.

There was no saving them all. Sometimes there was just the one.

[The Kingpin]

The first revolution of the Acrovox gave out a horrible wail, not unlike the howling of wind in a squall. Steadily the sound repeated, getting louder and more harrowing, until it sounded like the heavens themselves were screaming in some unholy anguish. It was at the peak of one of these revolutions, as the howling reached its loudest, that a bolt of lightning struck the artefact, and the first connection was made between the construct and its intended recipient. In the blink of an eye, a flash of light seemed to snake above the clouds, weaving its way through the astral fringe in a jagged line straight for the desert.

It connected with the Scholar indirectly, the light shining bright over Thimeyra with no evident source or destination, even as the link was secured.


"Septimus."

The voice almost made the Son of Storms jump in surprise, his meditative sleep shattered in an instant.

"Peace, Septimus. It is Arashi."

The Scholar calmed somewhat, noting the second message seemed weaker than the first. "Father? How are you speaking to me? Where are you?"

"Near Drakhunmiir. There is a question of some urgency I needed to ask."

"How are you speaking to me from Drakhunmiir? I do not recall that you had an Eye," he noted. That said, Arashi had, on very rare occasions, reached out to him before. Never so intrusively or over such a distance, however. That was usually his area of expertise.

"A question for another time. I do not know how long I can sustain this link. We are trying to find a solution for Elwen."

"A solution? I thought it was an incurable ailment," said the Scholar, surprised.

"Far from an ailment, but yes, it is very difficult to cure. This curse has rooted itself deep. Nothing I nor Buruq know can negate it, because it is bound to the mask by an Onokruun Artisan."

"So you're speaking to me?" asked the Scholar, somewhat surprised.

"You're our last option. None of your mother's friends are talented enough, and none that I know would be willing to do me any favours," explained the Stormweaver. "I spoke to Thurduunax, and he suggested you may know of an Onokruun dragon that may be able to help."

Then it clicked. "Yes. The Terramancer. I don't know his name, but he seemed knowledgeable in the art of the mask. He took note of it in a race living in Wispwood last time we spoke. He also taught me what I needed to know in order to work on unlocking my Spirit Form. I could speak to him, if it would help," offered Septimus, suddenly quite eager. The thought that perhaps, just maybe, he'd be able to help bring back his grandmother was something that commanded his full attention.

"If there is anything he can do to aid us, then yes. She may be the key to unravelling a plot that has been kept hidden from the rest of our kind for thousands of years. Since I was your age."

"Understood. I will see what I can do," responded the Son of Storms. "When I have an answer, I will reach out to you. Farewell, father," he concluded.

And with that, the boom of thunder tore across the desert skies, and the Thimeyrans knew their first thunderclap in nearly three years. Many would later see it as a good omen, even if some swore that some devilry was afoot. To most, it was just another wonder to be attributed to the Hueilin Emissary...