Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

As the conversation gave way to an uneasy silence, the Scholar found himself reflecting on his own actions. Memories of times his judgement had proven harmful rather than helpful, where his will to help had instead harmed. Where his intervention in the will of nations caused a kingdom to crumble and its people to die. He thought back to his earlier years in Drakhunmiir. Of how he had been the victim that had to be protected. Of how bitterly some regarded him simply due to his lineage as the son of the Stormweaver.

Do not give way to doubt, for it is a cruel and opportunistic thing, warned the voice of Focus in his mind. Remember what you learned from Will and Joy, and embrace the knowledge that to make mistakes is natural. Nothing that has lived or will live will ever be a being of perfection.



"So what did I miss?" asked the Knight curiously, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, even though his gaze never left the books in front of him; the books that Vix herself had been reading up until they left to get their drink a couple of hours ago.

[Hopeflower]

"The fact that you're in my spot, for one," Vix answered, any barb in her words soothed by a gentle touch as she nudged at Andruil to get him to move aside. "Average lunch, really. Nick tried to get me to melt my face off and he still won't get a tattoo."

[C S]

Metal boots climbed the steps and a metal hand opened the door to the precinct. Past the goliath stone knights, a few officers conversed amongst themselves. Avenging Blitz was nearing the end of its first phase. Some staffers were freed up by the processing of recent arrests while others were still being carried out. The progress was like the most intricate clock, always advancing onwards, but slowly due to the gears within gears within gears that drove the mechanism, large and small, turning quickly or lento. And sometimes, components shifted out of place to idle and rest.

And more often than not, the idle pieces fumbled to look busy or preoccupied by some pressing matter when Desrium drew near. Heels clicked against the tiled floor, voices became hardened with resolve. The armored being looked to each face, and nodded in appreciation. He could not tell them to return to how they were because they all wanted to impress him. He also knew they would relax once he was away from them. That was his understanding that could not be helped.

Desrium went to Johnathon's office, knowing as he usually did exactly where he and the woman of the hour were. He knocked on the door, Johnathon called out that he could enter, and then jumped a little in his seat. "Benefactor," Johnathon greeted the armored being as he settled back into his seat.

"Detective." Desrium closed the door and stood in front of it. In this instance, his red robe was draped over his metal form. It was probably best to get into the habit of wearing it when engaging with formalities such as these.

Desrium turned his head to meet the gaze of Natalie. Johnathon had been startled by the expected but unannounced arrival, but Natalie was trembling in her seat.



"I try not to speak too highly of others," Johnathon had said to her not too long ago. He dusted off a few textbooks of hefty legislative reading, copies of which Faruq had been studying at city hall. As he stowed them away in drawers, he continued, "The benefactor... Desrium. You can say that Daavenians have a strange footing where he is concerned. I wouldn't call it candid, but our historians are among the few who remember him as he was before he... he founded a city-state, to be completely upfront."

Natalie was afraid, of course. The tale of Desrium, that is to say, the tale of common Draxonians told about Desrium with individual spins and embellishments, was not something she was completely unaware of. Statues had been built of this warrior of another kind within the kingdom, before its fall. Soldiers who came back from that terrible war spoke of this immortal construct of unliving might who commanded wild magic that cut down monster and man alike. They spoke of a light in the Dark God's shadows that could not be stifled.

She never thought in her life she would lay eyes upon him as he truly was. She was told of all the things he'd done for people without voice and denied strength.



Natalie shook in her seat because part of her feared the warrior of the tales, and another feared the Champion of the Downtrodden. The warrior of the tales would destroy her for being an enemy on another battlefield. The Champion of the Downtrodden would destroy her for daring to undo his grand work. Johnathon had tried to alleviate her fears with assurances of the armored being's benign presence, but his efforts were hindered by the knowledge that it was Desrium's decisions that ultimately brought them all to this point in time.

"This is it." The robe and its effects obscured the sheath on the armored being's back, but not enough to hide the hilt of the sword within it. "He is here to kill me, or drag me out along the road for all to see before he kills me."

Johnathon and Desrium both cocked their heads at the whimpering Natalie made, followed by a sputter and an onset of tears. The detective folded his hands and sat back in his chair. Well this was... uncomfortable.

Desrium stood where he was, watching on in silence while Natalie broke down. After a while, he gradually lowered himself to one knee.

"Do you feel better?" inquired the Stalwart.

"Do I--?" Natalie sniffled. "You're not here to kill me?"

"I was told you were willing to change your ways, and use your former connections to the advantage of Brodudika," Desrium replied.

The woman was silent. Anxiety was still a static at the fringes of her thoughts, crackling warnings and visions of pain and suffering. She had trouble swallowing as she nodded. The elf, Viho, he had written the letter. Her saving grace. This wasn't the end, though Desrium looked like death. Death wore a red robe and had red eyes, in her mind.

"Then I am here to thank you, and assure you that your life is much more valuable than this one service, pivotal though it will be in bringing a swift end to a danger facing this city's citizens."

"Thank... me? You..."

"Yes."

"I don't understand." Who was doing whom the favor here?

"It is a confusing time, at large, and personally," Desrium replied. "You are feeling lost, and alone. I too, know this pain."

Natalie wiped her eyes. "You?" The one who can fly without wings, and level platoons with one swing of his arms. What pain could he ever know?

Desrium bowed his helm. "There were moments where only the Dawnmother's example kept the pessimism out of my thoughts, and reinforced my spirits when they were at their most fragile."

"How does a suit of armor get religious?" Natalie blurted out. It was the most ridiculous thing. Where was the unfaltering war machine? The untiring bringer of destruction?

Desrium rose to his full height again. His tall stature brought fresh fear into Natalie's heart, thumping away in her chest.

"You are lost in time and place, correct?" he asked her. She nodded.

"Y-yes."

"I too, was lost in time and place. In a moment of great distress, at a time when I was most lost, She found me, and showed me the way back. My memories of a broken promise, and the blood on my hands." Desrium clenched a fist. "And the knowledge that balance could be restored, if I only strived to."

Desrium opened his hand and returned it to his side.

"You think me so much more than you. I am not. I am made mortal by my flaws. I am like you, if lesser."

"Lesser?"

"Mortals like you know what it is like to be brave. They know when to lay down their lives for a cause and go on regardless of the peril. I know bravery in small amounts. It is not bravery for me to do battle when I am cursed to prevail in most examples. It is this flaw, I believe, that makes me lesser."

Natalie recalled what Vix told her. Bravery. "I can be a hero like you, then? Because I am afraid, but keep going?"

"Go on regardless," Desrium advised, nodding. "And you can be a hero like him." He looked to Johnathon. "Or any others who give their time to let Brodudika grow."

[The Kingpin]

Andruil stepped aside at the prompt, the kept his eyes scanning over the book for a few moments longer, seeing if he could find anything else of note, pausing as he did a double-take at what the Innkeeper had said. "Melt your face off?" he asked, thoroughly confused and jarred from his thoughts.

[Hopeflower]

"Nick," Vix explained clearly, taking her seat and covering a laugh with a cough, "can have a cruel sense of humor when the mood strikes him." She laced her fingers and rested her chin on them. "It usually involves him telling someone his food isn't all that spicy and inviting them to try it."

[The Kingpin]

"Ah," responded the Knight, stifling a chuckle of his own. "I would be a liar if I said I have not done likewise on occasion," he added, thinking back to one particular prank that had his brother diving into one of the palace fountains.

[Hopeflower]

"You're horrible people," Vix informed the knight with all due seriousness, but she was smiling.

[The Kingpin]

"Perhaps. To be fair, usually I am as much a victim as a perpetrator," he stated, his grin gaining that mischievous lopsided look that was so distinctive. More seriously, he added, "So it seems the reading has uncovered some topics of intrigue." With that, he set his book down beside the one he had been reading, showing the two to the Innkeeper. "The Ruhnin," he offered, allowing Vix some peace to read what he was referring to.

[Hopeflower]

Vix bit back a joke about the complete lack of transition between topics and leaned forward to skim the sections Andruil had pointed out. She sat back with a quiet sigh and offered, "Interesting indeed." And related to what she was looking for, but not closely enough. She reached for her own book, to get back to work, and tried not to wonder if they were chasing another dead end.

[The Kingpin]

"It will help you find your way in life."

"Hm?"

Beshayir cradled the brass instrument in her hands, seemingly lost in thought. She was sitting by a window as the golden glare of the afternoon sun filtered through the lattice shutters. Her legs were pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. The dull surface of the compass's protective shell reflected the fiery red of her dress; one of two garments she had brought with the Scholar and the Mage a few days ago.

How far that seemed to be now.

"Beshayir?"

The voice shook her from her reverie, causing her to look up at where it had come from. A concerned mask adorned the wizened features of her grandfather, the elvish trader fixing his gaze on her and her compass.

"Baba Ameen?" she asked, a bit confused.

"You said something a moment ago. What did you mean?" he asked.

"I did?...Oh. Oh, yes," she responded, looking back at the compass as she pressed a button on the top, releasing the clasp and exposing the compass. "It's something that Syria told me about this compass...It's been in her family since before her people left the Westlands."

"She asked Septimus to give it to me, to pass on to you," stated the merchant.

"She gave it to Desrium...One of the heroes of the War...and a close friend of them both. He gave it to Septimus when they were in Tyrbenetus," she explained wistfully.

"Tyrbenetus? The Demon-lands?" asked Ameen, not quite believing his ears.

Beshayir nodded, tracing a finger across the S.L. etched into the surface. Sylias Letant. Syria Letant. The Letants both. "Yes. They went there to fight demons for a time...Before Septimus returned, met Syria, and found me," she explained.

"And Desrium gave it to Septimus?"

"Yes." Her answer was simple, distracted, as she flipped the compass in her hands, examining every detail of the thing that until now she'd only ever seen a couple of times, usually hanging around the Scholar's neck, or in his wirshah or waistcoat.

"And what of what you said?" asked Ameen.

The girl hummed, letting the compass drop from her grip, stopping as she caught it by the end of its chain, hanging it in front of her face and observing how the light of the sun shimmered off its surface and left a glowing reflection against the wall. "It's what everyone who has ever passed it on has said...'It will help you find your way in life.'"

[C S]

Hours later, when the afternoon sun was burning the western horizon and purple and blue were creeping in from the east, the trio walked up the narrow street to the Hifaadhi residence. Firelight shone through the windows of the blocky houses, bringing out the colors in assorted palms and other small plants set in hanging gardens, which blended into the shadows the walls and alleys created.

When they reached Ameen's door, Syria took point and trotted up to it. Staff held close to her for spiritual strength, she brought her knuckles against the wood and stepped back to wait.

[The Kingpin]

For a long moment, there was silence.

Septimus walked up beside her, a hand resting on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. A moment later, the sound of sandals on a hard stone floor could be heard, and the rattle of locks being disengaged reached their ears. The door then swung open, Ameen standing before them, looking somewhat surprised. "Oh...Septimus...Syria, Ceri-"

"Ceridwen," completed the dragoness as she felt he was getting stuck on her name. She managed to avoid sounding offended, even if the Scholar could tell she was a bit disappointed that hers wasn't so easily remembered.

"Ceridwen," echoed Ameen, smiling. "I was not expecting you. Please, come in. We will be in the living room," he said, pointing over his shoulder towards a specific corner of the house. The dragoness nodded, making her way over to the corresponding window.

[C S]

Syria bowed. "Thank you, and good evening. I hope your day hasn't been too hectic and that life's bothers have passed by your home without pause." She looked Ameen in the eyes and gave him a well-meaning smile. "Unless we've interrupted something, in which case I have no shortage of remorse for being such a bother."

[The Kingpin]

"Not at all, Syria. Neither of you are ever a bother," stated Ameen as he stepped aside, letting the two in and closing the door behind them. "Beshayir has spent much of the morning and earlier this afternoon speaking to Rawabi and I. She should be down soon," he explained.

"Is she feeling better?" asked the Scholar, glancing sideways to the merchant.

The elf sighed, shrugging his shoulders a bit helplessly. "She's better than she was...But I feel the weight of everything has struck her with a darkness that may taint her mood for some time to come," he explained.

"How do you mean?"

"She has told me much of her story. Not all, but much of it. Such terrors should not be visited on anyone...much less a young lady rendered so vulnerable from poverty, abandonment and hunger. I shudder to think of what she has not told me." There was a sadness in his tone and gaze that his face did a valiant job of hiding; the skill of an expert trader and bargainer. "She can speak, interact...She helped her grandmother with preparing dinner earlier...but it is clear that the Beshayir we all saw before her...incident was a mask. A brave face to hide and bury what she felt. Perhaps even from herself. That mask is gone. I fear the Beshayir you will see from now on may not be the young lady you have come to know," he warned, keeping his voice down as he circled round a corner and into the living room, where Ceridwen's eyes could be seen shimmering in the candle light through the shutters.

[C S]

Syria was tempted to pat Ameen on the back as she had done before with Septimus. She could imagine the worry that possibility could bring the elder. To go two years without his granddaughter only to find that the girl he knew was lost to the ravages of her misfortune... it was a harrowing thought. There were parents who lamented their children growing up in their homes with every passing day and Ameen did not even have that luxury.

"A mask it may have been, there were figments of reality. Of her compassion, humor, happiness. No matter where she is when she comes back to us, she will still be Beshayir. And we will always accept her, and love her," said the lady.

[The Kingpin]

"I admire your kindness and resolve," said Ameen as he walked over to his preferred chair in the living room, lifting the shutter near the window so that Ceridwen could see them.

"She is as much our daughter as she is your granddaughter, Ameen. We have no intention of that ever changing. We will be there for her no matter the darkness she faces."

"And I thank you for it. Both of you. You show a kindness and commitment that many in this city would do well to heed," said the merchant, about to say something else when he saw that Beshayir was standing in the doorway. Her hair hung loosely over her shoulders, down her chest and back, lacking the braiding that Syria was prone to give the platinum blonde locks. Her face was noticeably less energetic than they knew it to be. In a way, she seemed aged, as if years had passed in the last two days, and her expression was one of mild surprise, and something else that wasn't quite so clear.

"Septimus...Syria... I didn't know you were coming," she said as she walked in, seeming as though she was walking on eggshells in how careful and measured her steps were. As she reached the two, she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around them.

[C S]

The next morning, Brodudika's benefactor walked the streets after walking through the night as he was wont to do. The streetlights had yet to be extinguished, casting their light on the cobblestone and pavement in wait of the first daylight reaching the city through arboreal wilderness and over the incomplete fortifications.

Meetings were not things outside of his usual duties when it came to the benefit of the city. The elven advisors spoke with him, though not as frequently as was needed when the city was first taken under their leadership. The city representatives and district heads also had sparing discussions about infrastructure and logistics, the pathways that fed their efforts to enrich and better conditions. Their needs were things Desrium covered with the advisors, which led to concise and streamlined itineraries that dictated budgets and labor. Antar's cabinet were wizards and wizardesses of another sort when it came to administration.

Desrium's meeting was not with the elven council this morning. He stopped at the bottom of the precinct's steps, and a bundled up Natalie Gardner rose from her seat on them to join him there. Provisions provided by the officers as the armored being requested, as part of the efforts to bring the woman back from the brink. Her head was under a hood, her face under a wide scarf. Only her eyes were visible in the darkness of her covers, which were in line with the style of the city's unofficial officers. Hidden by a guise of "normality"; perfect for one who could not be seen in public, as a convict or as an ally to travesties.

"Shall we go?" asked the armored being, under his red robe.

Natalie nodded, a gesture made small by the layers of clothes over her body.

They walked together in the hours before sunlight. Desrium was strange company for the woman. His presence was a sense of uncertainty and security in a confusing paradox. What he represented very much unsettled Natalie, but who among the most vile hiding in the streets would bring their true colors to light before scarlet eyes? If only the masses could be so lucky. Alas, wherever Desrium was not, people were at risk. No matter how many honest knights stood vigil, and how many volunteers watched on from heights, nowhere was completely safe.

But Natalie was told of these matters. The two of them walked and talked. Her eyes welled when she was told of stone towers without nobles. Banquet halls converted to more practical requisitions and places where meals were prepared for those without anywhere else to find food. Ballrooms without dance, but practice for vying warriors of the blade, wand and staff and anything else in between. Archives denied to the peasants, now bastions of learning and the exchange of thoughts.

This flower growing out of the ash and rubble of Draxon, and Snicker wanted to burn it. Natalie thought her feet heavy the further they walked, heavy with guilt. Desrium, no matter how slow her pace became, stayed by her side, and continued to speak.

"This patch of grass and trees... I suggested it be called Jiier's Corner, because it reminded me of the home of a dear friend. A place of serenity, where clarity can be found for those in search of it." He looked away from the boulder to Natalie.

"I don't need clarity," she replied quietly. "I feel the way I do because everything is clear to me. I know what I've got to do, even if I don't know where I fit in, in all of this." Natalie held her arms apart and spun in place, her eyes to the cloudy skies above. A few bright stars shone through where the cloud cover was thinnest.

"It is a start. However, it is a mistake to refuse insight, great or small. We can never see the end of a journey while standing at the start, no matter how great our desire is to embark."

Natalie faced Desrium, thought on his words, and nodded a few times. She reflected on one such insight she supposed. The tales she had heard of this strange suit of armor were quite some degrees off from the truth.

The two of them went on, and the skies gradually lightened as the sun started to rise from the east. Desrium stopped in his tracks without warning. Natalie went on a few feet until it registered to her she was not hearing the rhythm of the armored being's boots on the stone beneath her heels. She looked back at him and asked, "Desrium?"

He was gazing off towards a church some ways away from them. At Natalie's voice, he looked to her. She could not hear what he was hearing. The voices carried, though they were quieted by the thick doors and walls. The windows and any other openings in the stone place of worship were what let Desrium listen in. One of the voices was Evisa, he recognized.



The skies torn wide, praise be her Grace,
The light that saved Aster's armies!
We once were lost, but now we're found;
Were blind, but now we can see...

'Twas Grace that taught our hearts to heal
And through Grace, our fears relieved;
To Her words we all did adhere
The hour She first appeared.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares,
we have already come;
'Twas Grace that brought us safe thus far,
And Grace will lead us on.

When we've been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as Her sun,
We've no less days to sing Her praise
Than when we first begun.

The skies torn wide, praise be her Grace
The light that saved Aster's armies!
We once were lost, but now we're found;
Were blind, but now we can see.



Desrium could visualize the Lady of Light without her helmet on before a gathering of her countrymen wearing their winged helms, bowed in hallowed reverence of the Dawnmother while surrounded by effigies of a dragon. The song spoke to him. Moved him.

"Pardon me," Desrium told Natalie.

He then took a knee where he once stood, hands held over the other. For lack of tears to shed, Desrium lowered his helm to them and rested it there as the sun continued to rise.

[Hopeflower]

Desrium was not the only one to take note of the singing. Left restless by the previous day's planning, Viho had taken to wandering the wider streets, where an ambush was less likely to succeed. Now he stood where he, too, had stopped in his tracks in front of the church. He didn't consider himself a man of faith, though perhaps once he might have. Even so, the melody was familiar, and the voices raised in song spoke to a unity that reached beyond the borders people drew between themselves.

He would later blame being caught up in the singing for the fact that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he was spoken to.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Rowan asked quietly. She stood relaxed, though she was breathless as though she'd been jogging, with one hand on her hip and her gaze on Viho. There might have been something wistful in the twist of her mouth when she glanced past him to the church.

"Truly," he agreed. Then he turned his attention to her. "On your way to join them?"

Rowan started, as though surprised to be asked. "I, ah..." She huffed a short laugh and rubbed at the back of her neck. "I don't really do that anymore. Unless someone buys me a drink or five."

"No?" Viho cocked his head. "A shame." And he let the matter rest.

She took a moment to be grateful for that before she cleared her throat and asked, "So, were you on your way to make your singing debut?"

It startled a genuine, if quiet laugh from him. "Me? That would be something, wouldn't it? I fear I'd be stuck to the spot with nerves for fifty more years."

"Nerves? From you?" Rowan shifted her weight and folded her arms, giving him a searching look. "Never took you for someone who got pre-performance jitters."

"Only for the important things." He clasped his hands behind his back and straightened, aware of the dual nature their conversation had just taken on. It seemed that she'd been filled in...on some of the bigger details, at least.

Rowan tilted her head, chewing on that, and said, "Makes sense." There was a barb there, and it wouldn't be entirely truthful to say it missed its mark. "You have people who have your back now, though. I'd say that counts for a lot."

"And I am grateful for everything I have been given since coming here." Viho just...needed to give those people a solid reason why their faith in him wasn't misplaced.

Rowan's gaze bored into him, piercing - hunting for what, he didn't know. Whatever she sought, she must have found, because she gave him a short nod and took a step back. "I should get going. If I'm gone too long, the others will decide morning jogs are a bad idea." At his glance to the still somewhat slippery stone beneath their feet, she scoffed and added, "I'm careful." Then she clapped him on the shoulder - surprising him with the easy nature of the gesture - and slipped past him, waving as she went.

Viho was left to ponder both the upcoming staged execution and the company his son kept.

[C S]

After a mild wait, the bundled up woman asked, "Are you... praying?" Natalie cocked her head and hopped from tiptoe to tiptoe around the Stalwart in a furtive dance. "Should I be praying too? Is that the custom of this city?"

Desrium stirred. He moved his head away from his hands and began to rise, saying, "Your customs are your own. Brodudika will not impose any upon you."

Natalie gave him some space to stand. She doubted that her layers of fabric padding would do anything to make any mishap and impact with Desrium's armored shell any less painful than it was bound to be. Unseen, she set her lip ponderously. "What if I wanted to worship the Dark God? Or become a patron of the demonic?"

It was Desrium's turn to slowly incline his helm.

"Hypothetically speaking, I mean. This city can't just allow any kind of culture to propagate, surely. Someone, somewhere, will always disagree with someone else about how they live their life." Natalie looked to the ground, thought, then cleared her throat. Looking back to Desrium, she added, "This is Natalie speaking, not Snicker, just to be clear."

Desrium hummed his acknowledgement. "Draxonians still worship Greshlynk here. Likewise, worship of any divine, traitor or not, is welcome here. And while I would be one to disagree with reverence of the demonic, it too has a place in Brodudika. In all cases, this reverence must not be grounds to bring harm to others, and if it is, then for sake of peace and justice, it must be abolished."

That was reasonable by Natalie's measure. Divines help the poor sods who did turn to Dark God and devil worship. She could see no reason why anyone would, but if even the most extreme cases of religious freedom were met without persecution here...

Well, someone was bound to appreciate it, for any number of reasons.

As though he sensed her consideration on the matter, Desrium waited until she reached her conclusion before inquiring, "Do you wish to continue?"

"Of course," Natalie agreed.

Desrium could not let Evisa meet her just yet; her closeness to Viho meant that to do so risked inciting something the morning and the plan at large could well do without. All the same, he felt it a disservice to deny Natalie the songs he could hear, but she could not. Not until they got closer to the church.

[Hopeflower]

As the first few notes of another hymn reached him, Viho flipped the collar of his coat up to better combat the chill and continued on his way. While his thoughts wandered, muscle memory took over, and he was free to go back over the plan as many times as he deemed necessary. Which was, admittedly, several more times than anyone else might have agreed was necessary.

As he'd told Andruil, Viho didn't intend to leave anything up to chance. So while they were waiting for the city to wake up, he looked at their approach from every angle and tried to adjust for how crafty - or not - their targets might be when cornered.

Targets. Ha. He wondered if that was how his son would assess these people. Just four more criminals that were marked for death.

Considering that, Viho had to concede that if he thought that way, Arsenic wouldn't be wrong.