Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

"I have survived Morrelie. Dyrineyr will need to re-earn my fear." With that, Jahkid began to rise. "I will make best speed to Drakhunmiir, after a stop to the Vale city of Mercutio. In return for past deeds there, I will ask the Arcaenum for supplies to disenchant and reforge the offending mask."



Satisfied, Syria called back her staff and said, "And you share his weaknesses. Good thing we are all friends here, then."

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar's demeanour calmed noticeably over the psychic link. At last, he saw a path to a somewhat normal family. "You have my thanks, hulukhriin. I will inform my kin of your coming."



Ceridwen was still trying to recover from her confusion. "What...did you do?" she chirped, her head tilting the other way, one eye slightly wider than the other.

[C S]

"I will not keep them waiting longer than absolutely necessary." A minor provision. Jahkid would need to eat whatever could as he flew from the swamp to the eastern hold, then up to the Kirrahara carrying his materials. A few days to a week, but no more than that.


"The Hueilin are ticklish to staves," Syria said as she ran a finger over the ice ball casually. "Just one of the many findings recorded in my journal." She sounded so innocent, directing her staff back towards the bag with a teasing slowness, giving Ceridwen more than enough time to watch it leave her be.

[The Kingpin]

"Understood," replied the Son of Storms, letting his grip on the link begin to weaken. "In that case, I will leave you be. Unless you would rather have me aid you in your endeavour?"



Ceridwen was very still for the extent of time the staff receded, only relaxing once it was gone. Slowly, she lifted and spread a wing, beginning to preen it as she watched out of the corner of one eye.

[C S]

"I have wasted too much time after my defeat. To reaffirm my place in the world, and my standing as a dragon, I must go on this journey alone. You will be sure to hear from me, or about me, when I see it through," said the Shaman.



"We're still friends, right?" Syria broached, containing her laughter behind flushed cheeks.

[The Kingpin]

"As you wish, hulukhriin. Until we speak again," concluded the Scholar, as his link to the Terramancer dissolved, the frozen swamp dissolving into a haze of black, the smells and sounds that accompanied it all melting into a blur as the Son of Storms ended his meditation, feeling once more the warmth of the sun on his scales and the sounds of the bazaar down below. Time to give Syria and Ceridwen an update.



Ceridwen, as it happened, was still staring at the mage distrustfully as she preened her flight feathers. She had no way to express it, but were she a human, or some other clan of Hueilin more inclined to having lips, she would most certainly have been pouting at that moment.

[C S]

"Because I'm still your friend," Syria added in the returning silence between herself and the dragoness.

[The Kingpin]

Ceridwen, in response, slowly hid her head behind the wing she was preening, until only her eye and the crest above it were visible.

[C S]

"I'll read you more stories and make you more tea," the mage offered with a hint of a sing-song tone to her words.

[The Kingpin]

The dragoness's eyes narrowed as she stared at Syria, before slowly raising her head back into sight. "Only if it's that...cinnamon? The cinnamon tea."


It wasn't long before the Son of Storms descended to the streets. His elven form wove between the crowds with little effort as he made his way to the inn where he and Syria had chosen to stay. Turning around a corner, he entered the alley by the inn, pausing as he saw the peculiar interaction between the two and pressing against a wall so as not to interrupt. He was curious as to their conversation.

[C S]

"Anything for a friend," Syria said with a smile, passing a finger over the ice one last time before she picked herself up from the floor.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar's brow arched curiously as he stepped into view, a smirk tugging at one corner of his lips. "What are you two up to?" he asked amusedly.

Ceridwen's crest fluffed up in surprise at that, jolted from her preening session with a twitter that most certainly would have floored Beshayir were she here to hear it.

[C S]

Syria fared slightly better for lack of feathers to fluff in a start. She looked to the direction of Septimus' voice and said to him with a weak chuckle, "I was brokering for forgiveness. Ceridwen was waiting for me to make good on my bargain. The question that remains is, what were you up to?"

[The Kingpin]

"Seeking the recovery of a relative," explained the Scholar with a shrug.

"Who?" asked Ceridwen, suddenly intrigued. She had not heard of this.

"Elwen of Clan Onokruun. My grandmother," responded Septimus simply.

[C S]

"Ah. That's a story to be shared over tea, I think." As she spoke, Syria sent the ball of ice the same way as her staff, the tiny object soon disappearing into the satchel. "I'll be back soon," she told the two dragons, and then went into the inn. She returned after a little wait, a tray floating behind her as she stepped out into the back alley again. On it was the gold and silver kettle and the cups for the three of them, and Syria set things up back where Ceridwen was lying down. Tea and stories, except she wouldn't be reading them to the dragoness. The mage poured out the cups, handed one to Septimus and floated another to Ceridwen. And so they were set to listen to what the Scholar had to say.



Around this time was when Dahnae was almost through with her rounds. Her bag of letters was mostly empty, and waved about behind her as its strap clung loosely across her body. With every light-footed stride, it flopped about. Only the force of the girl's acceleration kept the letters firmly planted against the bottom of the purse. Even as she ran across the exteriors of tall buildings and balanced on the frames of awnings, buttresses and rooftops.

One letter was proving to be a pain. The recipient was the red-eyed stompy one, and he was supposed to be around city hall most of the time. The problem was: he wasn't around city hall. Dahnae had checked. She ran through the gates and scaled the black wall of the slate, reaching the semicircle windowpanes at the uppermost floor where the armored being was said to dwell. Dahnae knocked, waited a few seconds, and knocked some more.

"Lemme in, got letter."

He wasn't there, and there were guards gathering at ground level, yelling things at her. Dahnae huffed, then hopped about until she was back in the mob of knightly guards, looking up blankly at their helmeted visages as they questioned her.

"Where is the red-eyed metal stompy-stompy?" she asked when they had quieted down for her to make her case.

That was when she was informed that he had left to do some dealings elsewhere in the district. The thought occurred to the girl that she could have asked these people that earlier and save some time. Oh well.

Without waiting for any resolution to be reached among the guards, Dahnae ran off again, slipping easily through their encompassing ranks and leaving the grounds of city hall all together thereafter.

She deferred to the senses of the laepardi to guide her from then on. When she felt a churning in her gut that told her to stay away from where she was headed, she grumbled irritably to herself and stayed the course. The feeling intensified as she tore through the overhead of many city streets until eventually, Dahnae let herself drop.

She landed in front of the armored being, who had stopped moving upon detecting her erratic presence. He stood on the pavement, looking down at her without saying a word. Desrium waited for her to stand before saying, "Hello again."

"Stompy-foot metal man guy, you!" Dahnae exclaimed. She reached into her bag with a passion, flicked through the few remaining letters, and held out the one addressed to the armored being. She held it up to his metal face and shook it. "Take it. Take-it take-it. Take the paper."

"Thank you." Desrium did as he was told. Dahnae, with her duty done, listened to her instincts and proceeded to put distance between herself and Brodudika's benefactor. He finished reading the letter when she was several blocks away, humming thoughtfully.

One seeking absolution through service.

"This can be arranged."

Sensitive as the material in question was, Desrium opened his metal mouth and stuffed the correspondence into it.

[Hopeflower]

'Be straight with me, Vix. Are you trying to kill me?'

A twitch at the corners of her mouth. "No."

'Drive me insane it is, then,' Arsenic concluded, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment's pause, he sighed and added quietly, 'Alright, I guess I'm in. Though I would have liked to be able to give some input on the matter before you roped me into helping Viho.'

"I didn't rope you into anything," Vix pointed out mildly. "He was probably going to ask you to help even if Andruil and I hadn't run into him. Getting us involved just adds weight to his request." She knew that this had to be uncomfortable for Arsenic. A handful of relatively calm conversations didn't mean he was on good terms with his father. Still, she was only the messenger - Viho was simply the kind of man to make use of the hand he was dealt.

Not unlike Arsenic, really.

'Yes, I realize.' They fell into a companionable silence, for all appearances just two friends on their way back to the library archives after lunch. Are you going to get involved? he broached silently.

Vix glanced at him, her expression hard to read. I don't know that I'll need to. But nothing's saying I can't be there anyway, so I can offer you support if things go sour.

He didn't let his uncertainty bleed through. Like Andruil, he had good reason to want her to avoid the conflict - or at least avoid publicly making herself part of it. She - they - were already in enough danger, just being who they were and where they were, and they weren't in Brodudika to make a change. But without fussing over her, he replied, As long as you're sure.

Her hand found his and squeezed once, reassuringly. With any luck, I'll just be a spectator.

[C S]

Standing outside of the tall set of doors to the public library was the woman of dark water that Vix had seen in city hall. The teacher whose lessons were quite infrequent in actuality. Technicalities and ho-hum. Academia was something that bored her despite it being in the purview of her duties as part of the city representatives. Moira took any and all breaks she could from it, while still being in the presence of official buildings and tomes so as to make a believable case that she wasn't off wasting time.

It wasn't her explicit goal to waste time, standing outside of the library, honestly. She'd picked up on a fragment of a detail, that gathered up more and more connections, and what she with left with was a tidbit of interest. The sprawling dragon, the shadow over Brodudika... and the likenesses of brass, silver, marble and stone. Moira peered up at the door's engravings, the coiling mass of scale that was Greshlynk. The Draxonian god had no wings but the profile matched what she'd heard people describe the wyrm to be. Of course, there were differences in the rendering. She could never discover if it was completely true, what she'd heard the devout discuss with one another in town squares and churches. The return of the dragon god, or a representation of the dragon god.

It was damn uncanny, nonetheless. Maybe if she did some reading on the subject; cross-reference the emergence of the iconography against any written records pertaining to the creature known as the Stormweaver...

"Might be easier to learn a new kind of magic," Moira mused. If nothing else, she could appreciate the artwork. Things happened so fast in the city that it was easy to forget that everyone within its walls were surrounded by history and culture. Perhaps not the best history and culture, but a story all the same.

[The Kingpin]

"...But why? Surely if she was so powerful, she would have been the best candidate to lead her clan. Couldn't they see that the clans as a whole would be more powerful for her leadership?" questioned Ceridwen, still having a hard time wrapping her head around it.

"Some time ago I told you of their motives. Power and control. Elwen, from what I was told, was a strong, firm and uncompromising dragoness, much like my mother now. Having her by his side, Cyndeyrn would be more likely to be able to break up their control of the Clans. Indeed, she could probably be the champion of that dismantlement. And seeing that Cyndeyrn at the time was also a strong and persistent dragon in his own right, they could not afford a pair of Clan Lords like that to exist. So they broke her before she could take power, and in the process, pacified her mate."

The dragoness stared, her expression, limited though it was, still managing to convey how deeply unsettled she was by this revelation.

[C S]

"Likely." The word left a bad taste in Syria's tongue. "The insecurity of leaders..." She moved her cup away from her lips and shook her head. What she knew now turned what Septimus had shown her of his grandmother on its head. The elder dragon with a love of slugs could have been the tip of a spear of much good in Drakhunmiir. How did it ever make sense to sacrifice her to maintain the status quo? "They need to be punished. What is the consequence for this conspiracy?"

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar hummed thoughtfully as he tried to recall what could be said about that. "In theory, it would be exile, the same verdict given to my father for his supposed conspiracy against them. But now, I'm not sure. I don't think there's ever been a situation like this...Or at least, not one that was revealed to the Clans publically. And they will undoubtedly fight when the accusation is pointed their way," he stated ponderously.

"Whatever the case, I think that Buruq will have much to say on the matter. He's a fairly diplomatic one as far as Hueilin go. I have never known him to use force to make his opinion heard, but I've also never seen him leading anyone. His power makes his authority absolute, if he wishes for it. No one would challenge him simply because he could probably annihilate the bulk of the Hueilin single-handedly if he ever had reason to," he continued, sipping some tea himself, tilting Ceridwen's mug for her as her beak parted. "But at the same time, he's hesitant to intervene for that same reason. The last time we spoke about it, he said that the Hueilin of Drakhunmiir should be free to create their own future, not be bound to the vision of someone like him, so thoroughly embedded in the past."

"But doesn't that age mean he has more experience? A better understanding of how the clans should go forward?" asked the dragoness after swallowing her tea.

"Maybe. But we have to remember that the difference between us and him is one of aeons. He only barely counts as what we would today call a Hueilin. He comes from a time when the Clans barely differed in looks or abilities, where they were unified in all but ideology. Looking at us now, each clan is very different from the other, and only the abundance of food, territory and inter-clan mating keeps us from tearing one another apart. We are not the Hueilin he knew, and he is not the Hueilin we know," explained the Son of Storms, feeling a measure of pain in describing his mentor so. "But regardless of how one chooses to perceive him, he feels he may be an obstacle to our growth, no different from the Clan Lords. Or at least, that's the impression I got from him when we last spoke about it." It was an uncomfortable thought, knowing that the good and the bad were both obstacles in the same sense. "My father and Cyndeyrn are in a position to speak about it, but unless my grandmother's mind can be recovered, it'll fall to their word against the Clan Lords. They'd be outnumbered, and easily made to be the enemy. The Lords will simply say that Cyndeyrn's fallen under Arashi's sway, and that this is further proof that he needs to be killed rather than allowed to leave. It would be nothing short of a slaughter, with all sides losing."



Far from the City in the Sands, Andruil sat, once more in the library, his legs crossed and a book open in his lap, drawn into a particularly intriguing paragraph in one of the books he'd borrowed from Vix. It mentioned the 'Blood of the Wolf', a phrase he had encountered a couple of times in other tomes they had been reading as of late. It mentioned two brothers and something about 'waking the Ruhnin'. Another peculiar phrase.

Closing the book around one of his fingers to keep track of the page, he went to check one of the books Vix had been looking at earlier. I could have sworn I have seen that name earlier.