Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

Pickle, being the oddity that he was, looked on ahead in anticipation of the noose without paying any mind to the myriad shuffling around him. To say that his mind was on what he was seeing would be to give him too much credit. He thought of the cold on his wet fingertips and the crunch of each obnoxious bite. A pickle did not have any worth if it did not have a crunch when one bit into it, after all. To that end, the officers in position were assured that the suspect in question wasn't dealing with poisons or acids.

It would be some embarrassment if he did end up falling over inexplicably due to some grievous mishandling of dubious substances...

The wait went on for a short time longer until words were exchanged over at the group stationed by the wagon.

"It doesn't seem like our drakes are planning to whisk the princess out of her tower."

The cryptic message was stated by one guard and passed along the chain, most of the receivers not knowing what it meant. Inconspicuously, officers patrolled and passed on the words to city hall staff, who then slipped through the doors discreetly to meet with Desrium.

"They may be biding their time, or calling our bluff. We need to move on to the next stage."


When the doors to city hall opened again, the one the crowd saw was the paladin. The most rowdy of the vain nobles hushed, and the rest of the festivity of the event drained away thereafter. A wave of quiet from the front of the crowd to the back, as Desrium strode onwards to the gallows. Natalie's cell was unlocked, and she was retrieved from her custody.

"Make a show," Kenneth muttered as he feigned a few tugs on her shackles.

"How about you just tell everyone I've resigned myself to fate and be done with it?" she replied irritably as she threw herself about against him and Johnathon.

Doing her best to seem like an inconvenience, and indeed, to actually be one as a form of spite to the two detectives in particular, Natalie was brought to the loop of rope waiting for her neck. Desrium came to stand beside her as her head was put through the noose.


"Not today," Fury said to himself. He lined his arrowhead up, took account of the windage, angle and distance to his mark, hummed a tone and then pitched his aim upwards. He let the arrow fly. The thrum of the string was a strange, barely perceptible noise down below, with the quiet of all in attendance; with the exception of one set of ears. And one who did not have any ears, technically.

The arrow swooped down from Fury's perch towards the rope over Natalie's head over the span of a few seconds.

It took the tiniest fraction of that time for Desrium to raise his gauntlet directly into its path. The arrowhead ran through his palm and the shaft caught on its fletching. The unexpected motion, and the unexpected spectacle, made more than a few people jump back, including the detectives on the platform and Natalie herself, who covered herself with her arms futilely.

As it dawned upon the assembly what had just happened, the hidden light within Desrium grew brighter and reached out into the noon air. Orange tendrils wrapped around the foreign object impaling his hand, and orange tendrils eroded the wood until the arrow fell apart at the armored being's heavy boots. Green light and sparks jumped from the wound.

Fury saw another light from his perch. A glimmer of intensifying red that, despite the gap between himself and the rest of the proceedings, he knew was focused on him.

Morale breaker.

[Hopeflower]

Oh, Viho had just enough time to think as the reality of the situation tried to penetrate his surprise. He was having trouble tearing his gaze from the spectacle that was Desrium's hand. That's...new. Not a man perpetually in armor, then.

Then Arsenic's insistent nudging at his mind snapped him back to the present, and the attention of the psychomancers focused in the direction the arrow had come from. The mute scanned the nearby rooftops for a familiar flicker of motion - the hem of Rowan's coat flitting out of sight. He couldn't see a thing, which meant she was in place, as she'd said she'd be.

The scarred assassin breathed in slowly, inched just a few more steps along a slick roof edge. Then she leaned out from behind her cover and took her own aim, and returned an arrow. She wasn't quite on par with Arsenic's marksmanship, but damn if the bow and arrows Andruil had jokingly gifted her weren't things of beauty. And for all of Arsenic's tricks and illusions, he lacked the light step and the balance of a seasoned dancer.

All said, it meant Rowan was close enough to the archer that it would take a gargantuan stroke of bad luck for her to miss.

[The Kingpin]

Andruil's gaze shot from the pickle-eater beside him to the arrow in Desrium's hand, and from that, to the source of the shot. They had begun. Wasting no time, he swung a fist up into the man's jaw, a stunning blow that allowed the man to experience the crunching of one of his pickles in a way not entirely intended. In the next instant, his gauntleted hand clenched around the man's messy, ruffled shirt and heaved upwards, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the archway of the gate, shimmering yellow gaze fixed on him.

"It's rude to eat at an execution."

[C S]

Fury tumbled down the side of the building. Draxonians loved their fixtures of metal and brick, and he hit every protrusion and vaulted detailing on the way down. His body spun and turned with each painful impact, but for what it was worth, for as unpleasant as the experience was, by time he hit the pavement on the street opposite city hall's gates, he was going slowly enough to not immediately die on impact. Or make a mess. More of a mess. He had an arrow lodged inside his trunk and the many ensuing tumbles meant it had been jostled and driven deeper into him.

It was after that final thud that Pickle coughed a wad of mostly-chewed namesake onto Andruil's cheek. The man, to his credit or infamy, held onto his pickle jar defiantly.

And poured the rest of its contents over his attacker's face.

[Hopeflower]

Fury's staggered descent would have made for an almost comical sight if not for the fact that the serrated arrowhead being jarred meant he was being torn farther open. As it was, Viho watched with cold gray eyes, taking in every splash of blood, and he turned away to let someone else deal with the injured man. Or he started to. After a moment of consideration, before he turned his attention to the more pressing matter of the other two Stalkers, he reached out and stole whatever shreds of consciousness Fury might have been clinging to.

Then his mind met with the others'. Two still unaccounted for. Be ready.

With that message received, Arsenic in his Ambrosia guise slipped toward the edges of the crowd, to maximize their combined range. It would be a stretch, but hopefully they wouldn't be straining themselves for long.

Vix stepped back to avoid the spray of brine with an almost inaudible growl of disgust, and let one of her daggers drop into her palm. With Viho's warning in mind, she turned to keep one eye on their surroundings. She wasn't supposed to be here to join the fight, but like she'd said, an extra set of blades never hurt. Especially when someone's eyes might need rinsing out.

[The Kingpin]

The Knight managed to avert his gaze quickly enough to avoid a jar of pickles and brine to the eyes, but it did not save him from the sudden, nearly overwhelming stench of it.

Definitely one of Xilo's.

It was with that thought that the Knight released the man's shirt, letting him drop about a foot before pressing his grip forward again, this time catching him by the throat.

"It is also rude to spill food on strangers. But then, Xilo always was one to take pleasure in being rude," he stated as he wiped away what he could. It didn't help.

[C S]

Pickle gagged as though the manhandling was going to make him sick. In all likeliness, it probably was. Pickle was lanky and the farthest thing from imposing in his awkward tendencies. Common wisdom commonly advised against underestimating foes, however. Pickle was no exception, bringing the empty jar down atop Andruil's head. It didn't break. The glass was either that strong, or Pickle that weak.


Glee, like a lady of dignity, put a few fingers on her lips to contain herself after what she'd just seen. It would be very unbecoming of her if she ended up the same way -- like Pickle and Fury -- just because she appreciated the fine timing and expertly juxtaposed bumbles. Fate was the weaver of the most exquisite comedies.

She said as much to the people next to her. Their alarm and confusion earned her some strange looks. And then she kept on speaking, and their aversion melted away to a trance.

"... Take for instance. What say you punch him in the face... and then you punch someone else entirely and..." She grinned wryly. "Riot."

Flesh thumped against flesh, fists in the faces of strangers that devolved into a storm of wild blows. Screams of those uninvolved rang out as Glee slipped her way through the mask of chaos behind her. Now now, there was a thought. As she took others by the shoulders and beseeched them with her words -- "Don't just stand there! Join in!" -- she wondered how it would end if the red-eyed overseer on the platform was taken under her spell.

How was that for dismantling this farce of a city?

[Hopeflower]

The itch of someone else's magic was a lure to any psychomancer. Especially when the magic in question belonged to a latent psychomancer. The power of suggestion was a wonderful, terrifying gift, seductive to both the wielder and all they influenced.

So it was that Arsenic honed in on the source of the sudden mayhem. Not that it was easy getting there. He was peripherally aware of Viho fighting to gain control of the crowd, sending waves of calm - lethargy, even - through their minds. It wasn't going to be enough as long as the person responsible was conscious, however. Wherever things would begin to calm, a fresh wave of fighting would reinvigorate the rioters.

Grimacing, Arsenic shook his hand out before he broke someone's nose to get them out of his way. His knuckles, he reflected with a measure of dryness, were going to bruise at this rate.

[The Kingpin]

The blow did jolt the Knight's senses, however. A momentary lapse in his strength, a moment in which the man slid a foot downwards from his spot against the wall, before Andruil's grip clenched tightly around his throat once more, so much so that it was choking. In that same moment, he took hold of the jar-holding arm with his free hand and twisted it, until it was bent up between his shoulder blades. Only as that happened did he release the man, pinning him face first against the wall, the blow perhaps a bit more powerful than necessary. Not that a criminal knocked unconscious was a bad thing. His nose would heal in time.

It was in the wake of this that he started hearing the wails and war-cries of people in the crowd. That took him by surprise. What the blazes was going on back there?

[C S]

Pickle kicked out behind him, grunting and groaning. When all else failed, aim for the crotch. Even if he was in a position where he couldn't exactly aim. He'd know if he hit true, however. He was sure of that. The pickles made him strong.



Glee took a woman in a thick coat with tall collars by the shoulder, spun her around and was going to send her into the fray until she saw her face. She tsked, annoyed. "Well isn't this something."

"You're surprised? I'm not." Laughter shook her hands off, glanced back at the maelstrom, and then continued on with a hurried stride away from the mass of bodies wailing on each other.

"Hmm. Fair enough." Glee's style of getting things done was distinctive, despite being used so sparingly. She moved along, threw her arms around a couple and spoke her inciting words. She tucked her arms in to let the two race on to fight their temporary crusade. "Nevertheless, Laughter. You'd best stay out of my way with your freaky powders and potions," she said to herself as she closed in on her goal.




"What is this madness?" Natalie asked. Johnathon pulled the noose off of her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You've done your part. Let's get you out of here."

Kenneth puffed out his chest. "I'm willing to carry the damsel, if she wishes. I've ha--" He remembered that he was the one that knocked her out that night. He coughed over his words. Not the best thing to do, saying he had experience carrying Natalie. It was already too late. Under her wooden mask, her cheeks were flushed and a pang of sadness and guilt gripped her heart.

Desrium looked at the rapidly closing hole in his palm, then nodded to the detectives. "Take her to safety."

He would have to intervene directly before things worsened. He knew exactly where Glee was, could practically pinpoint her face from the crowd. She was coming to him. Desrium walked to the edge of the platform, eased himself onto the courtyard proper, and parted the broken assembly. Between the fleeing attendees and Glee's valiant approach, it was not long at all until they were face to helm with one another.

"Hello there. My name is Snake's Glee. You don't seem like the type to smile too often."

"I cannot say that I am," Desrium replied.

"Would you like to?" Glee demonstrated with a grin dripping sarcasm and her condescending attitude.

"If your magic is that powerful," said the armored being.

Glee blinked, arched a brow, then cocked her head. "What?"

"Is there a problem?"

"... What the hell are you?" she hissed.

"I am Desrium."

[Hopeflower]

It was about that time that Arsenic finally struggled his way out of the crowd, sparing a second to be grateful that nobody he'd just hit would ever recognize him. Breathing raggedly, with blood on his knuckles and a bruise darkening on his cheek, the illusion he'd woven made for a bit of a sight.

Not that Glee saw him coming, distracted as she was, when he took the last few long strides to close the gap between them. To give his fists a break, he struck at the base of her skull with his elbow. Not content to leave it at that, he followed it up with making damn sure he'd knocked her out.

And Vix, given a full view of the moment thanks to the parting of the crowd, managed to contain her reaction to a shake of the head. She glanced back to make sure Andruil still had things under control, the dagger tapping a staccato rhythm against her thigh.

Viho felt it the moment Glee's influence was cut off, and made quick work of quieting things down. He made himself suck in a deep breath. Three down. One to go. He skirted the edge of the crowd, making his way toward Laughter. The quicker this ended, the less likely something else was to give way to chaos.

[The Kingpin]

Pickle's fevered attempts to break free were cut short the moment Andruil saw what he was trying to do, pulling him back and kicking out the backs of his legs, forcing him down on his knees. Almost in that same instant, the Knight pressed forth with a mental jab, a sudden exhausting, lethargic heaviness imposing itself upon Pickle's thoughts; something Nick had taught Andruil during his time learning more defensive techniques. He decided it was best he at least try a non-violent method to subdue him, before he resorted to targetting pressure points.

"You will stop struggling. Or you will feel terrible pain. You don't want to feel pain." His voice was carried with a calm that seemed out of place in the moment, and one that was amplified in the Stalker's mind to the point it drowned out the ambient noise.

[C S]

"I want a pickle!" the Stalker protested, before his ability to speak crumbled and he started spouting distressed gibberish.



Desrium's eyes settled on Snake's Glee. Unforgiving though her dispatching was, she was given a small mercy. Her head hadn't landed on his feet when she fell. "Am I really the morale breaker here, Byron?" he pondered. When the moment passed, Desrium looked to the elf who he knew very well from a magical standpoint. He did not know him -- him -- by this face.

Arsenic was met with silence against Desrium's unblinking, and unflinching stature.

Right about when the elf might have pinned the silence on some kind of disfavor, the metal figure shifted. His eyes darted across the way and appeared to lock onto a target that was not immediately evident. But he'd smelled the sweet and tangy odor wafting from her direction. Without a nose.

"Directly ahead. She appears to be mixing substances in containers. This may be dangerous to you."

Habit compelled Desrium to march on ahead and see to the matter himself. Desrium had enough command of the moment to recognize this.

"She is the one taking cover behind a stack of boxes on the other side of the square. Do you see her?" he asked Arsenic.

[Hopeflower]

Rather than ponder what Desrium might be making of "Ambrosia", Arsenic turned his attention and awareness in the direction indicated. It didn't take him long to pinpoint the woman in question. 'Got her. Thanks.' In keeping with the illusion, his voice was also one Desrium was unfamiliar with. In favor of reflecting on that, Arsenic chose to note the inexperience Laughter was displaying. Mixing her brews in the middle of the action - no good. A misstep on his end or hers could make for an extremely unpleasant outcome for both of them.

He drew his adatas and started to make his way over, taking note of Viho's position. They'd need to choose their timing wisely, and stay out of range of whatever she might be mixing. And for once, he was glad to know Viho was listening when he got the sense of that thought being acknowledged.

[C S]

Unbeknownst to Arsenic, there was no other way to prepare Laughter's weapon of choice. There was only one way to activate the reagents. Her thoughts sped through the procedure and her deft hands moved just as quickly. Caps came off, powder and solutions were poured, shaken, swished around.

Almost as if she sensed the two closing in on her -- the crowd had dispersed enough to make her feel fairly exposed, damn Glee and her brashness -- Laughter sprung up from her cover and tossed her canisters out to greet the elves.

[Hopeflower]

With the reflexes of an assassin, Arsenic sprang back and ducked his head, crossing his forearms in front of his face to protect it from whatever had just been mixed. He was vaguely aware that Vix might have shouted -

And Viho, with an inward snarl that was vicious enough to carry over his connection to each of his allies, tapped into his new abilities once more and flung his arm out to snatch the canisters out of the air. For good measure, he threw them right back. Twice as hard.

[C S]

It wasn't acid.

It wasn't poison.

It wasn't even knockout powder inside the repurposed canteens and waterskins.

The pinkish gas that wafted out of the containers and expanded outwards into a lazy cloud was lighter than air. Those who breathed it in found their voices several pitches higher. If that was not enough reason to giggle, the contents of the gas itself was. It induced laughter. Various herbs had been broken down by mixtures and made inert, waiting for the time that an activation agent sprung forth the reaction that was now wafting through the courtyard of city hall.

The gas moved quicker than any person on their feet, traces of it reaching people farthest away from the showdown.

Those very same people giggled, snorted and chortled as those closer to the epicenter were brought to their knees with violent laughter.

Laughter. Enveloped right in the middle of the cloud, her unsteady hands reached for the other bottles, prying them out of her coat. She couldn't risk the rest of the concoction going off. She would surely suffocate laughing if it did.

[The Kingpin]

Andruil was quick to pull his scarf up over his face as he saw the pink gas disperse into the courtyard. If he was irritated before, he was genuinely angry now. Forced to choose between the noxious smell of pickle brine over...whatever the hell that remaining Stalker had just unleashed on the people in the area. One sharp whistle later, a screech sounded out above, and the Stalker was being hit from above and behind by the large, sharp talons of several pounds of Griffinhawk, the woman brought face first to the ground, Shiryaz flying off almost immediately as the gas kicked in.

Andruil noted that, for whatever reason, he had the urge to...laugh? Why in the name of the Divines would he feel like laughing now of all times? It was a chuckle, at first. Then the thought of how Shiryaz had brought down the Stalker floated back into his mind. And it became a snicker. He was as confused as he was disturbed by his reaction to it all, and in the corner of his mind, beneath the surprisingly demanding urge to lose himself to laughter, he realised; that was what it was. A laughing gas.

It really wasn't as funny as his reaction made it out to be. Really.

[Hopeflower]

Even with his nose and mouth covered, Arsenic wasn't spared the effects of the gas. Despite the futility of it, instinct kept his face buried in the crook of one elbow even as he registered the sudden bruising sensation of collapsing to his knees. His other hand went for his throat. The noise he was making could never be described as laughter, even by the most addled individual. It was a rasping, a rattling wheeze, as though he'd suddenly found himself choking. An awful sound that had nothing to do with the gas and everything to do with the fact that his vocal cords were ruined.

Viho was little better off. He fought his damnedest for control, and succeeded in only creating an even more violently shuddering mess of himself...albeit a mostly silent one. He shredded his fingertips on icy stone, clenching and releasing his fists repeatedly, and the pain brought him back to reality. A little. Enough to recognize that he couldn't get up, and that in this moment, he was terrified. For his son.

Get up!

Though Arsenic heard, he could not obey any more than Viho could stand, himself.

[C S]

Of all the things Laughter was concerned about before justice found her in the form of a bird and a cold floor, a concussion wasn't one of them. Maybe it should have been. Because she most definitely had a concussion. Across the way, Desrium saw the unsteady flight of the eleventh hour hero, and made special note of it. Of all the things he had been concerned about before the last Stalker was brought down, the gathering of people brought low by laughter was not one. It was a strange day when the armored being foresaw the brawling in the courtyard albeit for completely different reasons, but not this.

He glanced to the rooftop Rowan was, and determined that the gas would not reach her. She was in no peril of losing herself and ending up next to Fury. He would have to take that into account. Desrium walked into the thicket of the cloud, his red eyes leaving a strange trail in the misty cover, his metal mouth opened.

He stopped where his vision was most obscured, and turned his helm to the sky.

And inhaled.

Which, of course, was not like any normal inhalation. It was more akin to a vortex, vacuuming the worst exposure to Laughter's brew. It created a fittingly odd sound. It was as though a storm were raging, far, far away. A softly howling wind that cleared the air shortly after it began, for the most part. The traces that had spread too far would blow away in the ambient wind, perhaps to bring some joy to someone in some other district. A snicker, if nothing else.



When that was done, Desrium pinpointed Shiryaz in the sky, and prepared to catch the addled raptor.