Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[Hopeflower]

In a quiet corner of a building that smelled of old paper and secrets lost to time, Vix struck paydirt.

We have only our best guesses as to why shapeshifting was once, and is no longer, a common gift. Here, we attempt to explain how the ability may have come to be - and why it is ultimately disappearing.

In a time before law, when magic ran wild and stained the very earth it touched with colors we no longer have names for, the Divines brought forth the first sentient creatures. They were given life and the urge to preserve it, intelligence and the desire to learn. These first beasts were neither living nor dead, but were instead as magic given form. These were the beings that came to be known as Guardian Spirits to the elves - Ruhnin, and Iupan, and Faranel, and Iirsha, and many more besides. Over time, as the first magic settled into ley lines and dispersed into the ground and our water, so too did the power of these beasts weaken, until they were little more than what we might call ghosts.

Whether or not history's interpretations of their motivations are accurate - for indeed, there are conflicting accounts as to when and where they would appear to the elves - one thing is clear. At some point, the royal Elven families gained the ability to understand and bond with the first beasts. What is not clear is how. It may have been there were rituals performed, or it may have been that these beasts took possession of them, and the exposure to concentrated mana gave the elves the ability to shapeshift. What is understood is that as time went on, as the beasts weakened, so too did the strength of this gift wane.

By the time the war between men and elves was looming, only a handful of families were still producing shapeshifters. Of those, fewer still were strong enough to induce full-body transformations in themselves. Now, only pockets of people with such an ability remain, scattered among the wilds and hidden among our cities.

Paydirt, but the payoff was looking more like false gold the longer she looked at it. It was an inaccurate retelling of events, as far as she was aware. Still, she copied the passage down before she let herself slump. Come here to find answers and all we get are dead ends and more questions, Vix mused, drumming her fingernails on the page. After another moment's consideration, she added that to her notes. Maybe it was unnecessary, but it made her feel a little better.

"Found something new?" Rowan asked, noting the innkeeper's slight frown.

"Maybe." Vix pushed the book toward her, and Arsenic leaned in to get a look, too. "Whether or not it's worth anything is the question."

Arsenic hummed. 'That's been the question every step of the way, so far,' he observed with a tilt of his head. 'Don't get frustrated. We knew it probably wouldn't be a quick or easy search.'

"Yeah," Vix sighed.

[C S]

Black-furred murderer.

The time when the implications of everything weighed on Rutgers was upon him. The man, haggard and conflicted, sat with his back against a snowbank. It was supported by a fallen tree, the log torn open by some unknown violence. Leaves and rocks were inside of the hollow, the home of a small animal out to forage, telling by the trail of paw prints scattered about in the ice. It was times like these that Rutgers felt like an animal himself.

Black-furred murderer. Maybe he should crawl into the hollow and have a roof over his head for once in these journeys of his. In the law of the wild, the den's previous occupant would just have to find another shelter, or die out in the cold. Black-furred murderer.

Rutgers didn't regret killing Copper because of this. People blind to his decrepit reality, the depths he sank to, their opinions meant nothing to him. As long as he was out of range of their persecution, that was enough for him. But still. Black-furred murderer. To be so close to the things he hunted, to be on that threshold. Finding his way back to the village was his thinnest of threads holding him away from the brink that came with knowing that his deeds came without thanks and were ultimately pointless. What would have happened if he didn't find the Roundabout when he did? What if he had encountered another village like Opalden while he was still lost?

Rutgers explored these discomforting thoughts. Instead of people knocked unconscious and people battered into submission, there could have been bodies strewn about a wooden hall. Blood dripping from tapestries and windowsills. Innards on the outside. A crime of passion, of instinct -- instinct. That voice in the darkest depths of mankind that rang true across the generations, across families, across denominations. Pale skinned or dark, it mattered not. Bushman or city slicker, it mattered not.

Mankind was adept at warfare, favored by the manner of breeding to die by the bushel for ideals and personal gain. Whatever traits perpetuated these ugly facets of humanity were what dictated the scourge of blood. Rutgers wondered what his most ugly face would be, if that seal of integrity was broken. What kind of monster would he be if he became what he hunted?

Black-furred murderer.

It was times like these that Rutgers felt like an animal himself.

[The Kingpin]

Andruil was perched on the corner of the desk, a crate of books by his side, on in his hand, and another open beside him. He heard the others talking, but was barely paying attention, too consumed in what he'd stumbled across.

"Hold that thought," said the Knight, interrupting them as he cleared his thought. "Tales have floated around for centuries of hidden shelters made by the elves to wait out the war to end all wars. Never in my life did I think I would stumble across one while going flower-hunting. But so it happened that, on my way to the peak of mount Talapan, the ground gave way beneath my feet. I found my Lamb's Lug Roses. Dozens of bushes of them, as it happened. And between them, the remains of six men, and two others, presumably also men, with different armour. Fearful of the forbidden ground upon which I had trespassed, I was quick to collect my samples, and departed post-haste. It is here, to you, dear reader, that I divulge this information. For only the well learned, the scholarly, should know of that place, lest it be desecrated by treasure hunters." He looked up to the trio with a thoughtful look. "By chance do you have a map of the old Adsila kingdom borders in any of those books? That mountain name sounds familiar... I believe I have heard it once or twice during my lessons with Valadrian when I was younger."



It had been some time since they had put the land of dunes and dark elves behind them when the Son of Storms finally chose to stop to rest. This morning was only twelve hours into that stop, much of which had been spent sleeping, for all of them.

As it stood now however, the Scholar was sitting before what amounted to a bonfire in human terms. Several logs blown over in a recent storm and half buried in snow served as the kindling, and the fire had been nearly impossible to ignite traditionally, so powerful were the winds. Even now, with the fire roaring before them, the harsh weather made it difficult to keep the cinders from flying and the logs to be blown over in their fragile, crumbling state.

It was for this reason that they were as they were now. The Scholar sat on his haunches, vast wings spread outwards and around the fire. Ceridwen was pressed against his side, fluffed up and chirping periodically as she rested in the crook of the Scholar's wing and flank. Beshayir had just climbed out of the satchel, fully dressed and thirsty for something more warming and tasty than water from the skins.

Held over the fire by magic and some improvised extensions, was the spit, from which the teapot was held, the steam rising from within in thick plumes that were blown away with the wind.

[C S]

Syria was not far from the fire, on another valiant attempt to start a meal going. She'd found a large, flat rock to use as a searing surface, and she had an arrangement of meat strips placed on it to sizzle away. That was the idea in any case. The howling winds were not very conducive to cooking like this, but the mage was stubborn.

Oh was she stubborn.

She resorted to magic to keep everything in place, green light washing over the rock and the edibles placed on top of it, and was in the process of passing it through the fire to warm things up as needed. But with the fire under attack, flickering and swirling about unpredictably, Syria was left remiss, wishing for a stove. Stoves were easy.

The mage set her lip resolutely after a few tries. This method was a lot easier down in the jungle. It was harder to find dry wood to burn, but once Syria had a shelter set up, cooking was a breeze. Though she could have used anything but a breeze right now, with the exception of rain or snow, or any of their cousins such as hail.

Syria began making some progress in her latest attempt, juices beginning to rise from the meat and crackle away on the stone. Things were looking promising, until the wind blew and beat the fire down, robbing the bonfire of the warmth it exuded. With her cooking rapidly cooling off, Syria huffed and stomped her foot.

"Oh come on!"

Which was enough for her immaterial viridian shadow to show its face. Bright green light washed over the others, the bird almost matching Septimus' scale. Syria's mouth gaped in realizing what she'd inadvertently done, but rather than shrinking away from the moment, the bird tossed its beak to the sky and spread its huge wings.

The howling gale was suddenly and decisively silenced. Things were rendered still.

And the fire returned to its normal dealings, licking at the floating stone and cooking the morsels upon it.

"Um." Syria moved a hand back and forth, directing the stone as she would a pan, and shifted the meats about as though she were stirring them with a spoon, all while trying not to think about the raptor suspended in the air behind her, crackling with volts of electricity and surging with mana.

[Hopeflower]

"Uh, somewhere," Vix said, stretching to reach one of the older books she'd set aside. "Give me a minute." She glanced at the index and started flipping pages, looking for the map Andruil wanted.

"Accidental discoveries," Rowan remarked. "My favorite kind."

Having found the page she was after, Vix turned the book so they could all study the map. "I don't think that poor soul would agree with you," she replied, trying not to wonder if any of those bones might have belonged to members of her family.

[The Kingpin]

Ceridwen looked between the Scholar and Syria, noting that the Son of Storms was wearing an expression similar to the one she expected she wore too, brows raised as high as they could be.

"Temper temper, dear," rumbled the Scholar teasingly through the low rumble that seemed to persist within him constantly, his body itself radiating warmth that seemed to keep the cold at bay so efficiently that it was no wonder the dragoness beside him was fluffed up and twittering. She was genuinely comfortable.

Beshayir managed a small giggle at that, dropping to the ground and huddling up between the Scholar's forelimbs, getting the best view of the Mage's performance after the Scholar's own lofty perspective. It was one of a few things that earned such a response from her lately. It was not an instantaneous recovery by any means, but like veins of gold shimmering amidst a backdrop of coal, threads of the Beshayir they knew could be seen slowly emerging in this new, more mature, more emotionally jaded elf.



Andruil looked down at the map, scanning over it for details. It was not a thoroughly topographical map, as it was meant mainly to mark villages, towns and cities within the kingdom's borders, but it was enough that he could draw upon his memory to narrow his search. Eventually, he found what he was looking for.

"It's near the border," he stated, a finger settling on a name that, while similar, was written in letters that bore little resemblance to the script they all used now. "I don't think there are any major towns or cities near there. It's between Wispwood and Shadepines," he noted, somewhat surprised. It made sense, to put a place so far from civilisation. Without any enticing targets for the human forces, it was the ideal hiding spot away from the war. A place where they could wait it out...or perhaps have their last stand?

[C S]

Syria gave Septimus a sidelong regard and then turned her back to him, much like Ceridwen had hidden herself from her after the incident with the staff. "... I don't have a temper," she retorted quietly, easily lost in the snap and pop of the bonfire if not for the Scholar's draconic hearing. Syria moved the improvised skillet off of the flames shortly after, smoke rising off of the tenderly charred strips. Her magic then went to the teapot, taking it in Septimus' stead.

As Syria brought the food and drink over to Beshayir, the gigantic green bird must have felt its duty fulfilled, for now. It looked down at the redheaded woman and slowly retracted its wings, coalescing and condensing into formless vapors that circulated around her. Syria set her things down and sat before the windbreaker that Septimus' body served as. She cleared her throat.

[Hopeflower]

'Plenty of room,' Arsenic murmured, taking in the location with a tilt of his head. 'They might have been able to hold out there for some time, depending on how far ahead they planned. And it'd be relatively easy to defend, with a mountain at their back.' The number of skeletons suggested they'd at least attempted it. There was no telling what might be farther inside, how many more people had found their end there.

The thought gave him pause and he glanced at Vix. She'd closed her eyes and seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He started, 'We don't - '

"I know we don't have to check it out," she interrupted softly, "but I think I want to."

Arsenic looked to Rowan for help. The scarred assassin hesitated, sighed, and said, "It's your call, Vix, but I don't think that's a great idea. There are some things that you can't prepare yourself to face."

Vix gave her a long, sad look, and asked simply, "You think this will be worse than everything else?"

"I think it'll be a lot to take in all at once. But like I said, your call."

[The Kingpin]

"The shiny green bird seems to disagree with you, my dear," rumbled the Hueilin simply. His satchel shifted a few feet away as a meal more fitting for the two dragons emerged from within. Beshayir took the plate with her hands thankfully, relishing the warmth of it against her cold fingers in particular. The wirshah kept most of her warm, but there were portions that did not benefit from that protection entirely. A set of four mugs floated over shortly afterwards, lining themselves up in a row to be filled.

"Where are we going next?" she asked after a long but comfortable silence.

It was a question that actually had the Scholar wondering. Where were they going? He hadn't really put much thought into it when they departed Thimeyra, thinking instead that anywhere far from there was good, to get Beshayir away from the memories that had brought on her hardship over the past week.

"I have been thinking," he began, his tone voicing a discomfort that even pulled the half asleep Ceridwen from her slumber. "We were originally going to go to Drakhunmiir, to speak to Thurduunax about the possibility of marital rites and perhaps, to craft us some runes," he explained, speaking to the elf and mage both.

"...But?" asked Beshayir, looking up at him, a look in her eyes that seemed to suggest she knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"There are a few problems. My grandmother, Elwen, is ill. Cursed by another dragon in Drakhunmiir, a Clan Lord. He had several conspirators, responsible for many crimes. Buruq and my parents are planning to break the curse, and depose most of the Clan Lords for their involvement, but it means that Drakhunmiir is going to be very...volatile."

Ceridwen wanted to give her input. She could see the confusion on Beshayir's face, though not Syria's, from this angle, her view obscured by the Scholar's shoulder. She expected it was much the same.

"There will be much bitterness, anger, fury thrown about. In such a place, even the smallest disturbance to the norm would illicit a harsh response. You know that the Hueilin have spent thousands of years behind a barrier, keeping any trespasser out. They wouldn't take kindly to me bringing either of you with me, much less to join us as we intended to have done."

He could already hear the gentler concerns his mother had put forth, repeated, amplified and stripped of any gentle glaze they may have had. Questions of why a son of Khulruud and Maelgwyn, a son of the Hueilin, 'first and mightiest of Aster's drakes', would defile that name and title by taking such a thing as a human as a mate of all things. The fact he knew that those were the least biting of the responses he and Syria were likely to get while they were there was sufficient enough to dismiss that plan, if only for a while. But now that he thought about it...

"So I was thinking that perhaps, for now, we could delay that plan. Until circumstances allowed for it. I was thinking we might instead go somewhere none of you have been before. Well, aside from seeing it in passing," he rumbled.




A creasing brow and uncertain expression did not look at home on Andruil's face, but it voiced much of how he felt on the matter. "Homes long ravaged by war seldom make for an easy sight. If this horticulturist came across six at the very entrance of that place, I shudder to imagine what we may find inside. It may be...difficult, Vix. I don't see much more we will learn here, and this is the first potential lead we have had so far...even if it is a rather bleak one. So I suppose...it is your choice whether or not we pursue this."

[Hopeflower]

Vix's fingertips trembled where they rested on the tabletop. She curled her hands into loose fists to hide it. Took a deep breath, let it out again slowly. "I've taken the time to grieve already," she said, half to herself. "Knowing that I may find relatives in there doesn't change that I've known they were probably all long dead for a while. So let's look into it."

Arsenic glanced from her to Rowan to Andruil and back. Vix's worst relapses were years behind her, but that didn't mean she couldn't have another. They'd need to handle it very, very carefully if she started to show signs that she wasn't dealing with things as well as she thought she was.

'Okay,' he said, leaving it in her hands. 'I suppose that leaves us back at finding the best way to get started.'

[C S]

"Ah." Syria's reaction might have been lacking with the pang of disappointment... but it wasn't like Septimus was being unreasonable. He had mentioned to her in the past that these 'territory disputes' were how the Hueilin managed their numbers. It wasn't the most enthralling talk, but it was enlightening. And with the leaders of Hueilin being the ones in dispute...

"Where do you have in mind?"

[The Kingpin]

"Well," started Andruil as he slid off the table, standing straight and twisting to loosen up. "With the weather as it is, I believe we will need to arrange for some transportation. Walking on foot from here to mount Talapan, and then climbing to where this place is hidden, and then leaving and going wherever we have to go after that is not going to be a pleasant experience," he explained, reaching for a strip of paper he had been using for a bookmark, tearing it in half, and putting one half in the book he was holding, the other being placed in the one that spoke of the Primal Spirits.


"Zuppoland. I think it is time you got to see where Desrium came from. Or at least, what has become of it."

"But why go there again?" asked Ceridwen, tilting her head in thinly veiled bewilderment.

"Because looking at it from a distance does not show you its true beauty. I also believe it would be a learning experience for all of you," explained the Scholar.

"For us? What is it you want to show?" asked the Thunderkin, craning her neck now to look up at the larger drake.

The Scholar sighed, reaching a clawed hand forward as the teapot tilted, filling the mugs before settling back in its spot over the fire. "We have two aspiring mages here. And you are a young Hueilin with magical potential to match my own. I saw it myself two years ago. It is why I am as I am today. I feel you all could benefit from that lesson, yourselves," he explained as he floated his drink to his own lips, tilting the contents back and letting the tea linger on his tongue for a short time, before swallowing it.

[C S]

Syria inclined her head. "But part of that experience involved being attacked by a god."

It wasn't likely that there would be another inexplicable attack on Zuppoland, now that there were plans to revisit the aquatic kingdom. Nevertheless, Septimus' wording was... odd, to Syria. Then again, after having Desrium in his company, the Scholar's definition of strange fluctuated from cultural differences to another level entirely.

"Maybe we can enjoy more wintery shores around the surrounding islands to the south afterwards. They might surprise us, and be warm this time of year," she contributed to the reformed plans.

[The Kingpin]

"Eredar was not the only testament to the power of corrupted magic there, Syria" was the Scholar's simple response to that.

To the others, he simply hummed thoughtfully. "We could, yes. I believe some of the islands down there would be quite nice around this time of year. Far enough South, the weather would be mild. Not cold, but not uncomfortably hot either. And I remember the waters being a beautiful shade of blue around some of them. It would be a nice place to stay for a while."

[Hopeflower]

Rowan hummed, faintly approving. Then she turned a thoughtful look on Arsenic, and he tried to brace himself for what might come out of her mouth. "In the meantime, it might be a good idea to ask Viho some questions about all of this while we still have the chance."

...Braced in the wrong direction, was Arsenic's assessment of his response to that suggestion. And yet. 'Guess there's no reason not to,' he said with a measure of reluctance. 'When?'

"Seems like lunch time is a pretty fair bet," Vix put in, standing up to crack her own spine. "He won't be teaching his class, assuming he's had his students start coming in again."

[C S]

While Beshayir and Ceridwen delighted in the idea of temperate weather -- not like this windstorm -- Syria became more resigned. A ditz she would be forever. Being a ditz, it was an occupational hazard to be blindsided by unfortunate details and their implications.

So this was definitely the Septimus accustomed to Desrium she was dealing with.

[The Kingpin]

"Then perhaps we can meet at the school after I arrange for some mounts?" suggested Andruil, picking up the two books, to be put in one of Pyranex's saddlebags.

[Hopeflower]

"Sounds like a plan." Rowan reached out and slapped Arsenic on the back hard enough to startle a cough out of him. "C'mon, kid."

He stood carefully so as not to aggravate his knees, snarking, 'Was that necessary?'

"Absolutely."

[The Kingpin]

Between the Scholar's decision to venture to Zuppoland, and the actual action of going there, a couple of hours passed, in which the two dragons ate their fill, slaked their thirst, and enjoyed some tea together with the desert-treading Pyromancer and the Mage-Maiden of Daaven. From there, they took flight, crossing the few miles of land to the coastal shores of Aster, at which point they descended to the blue world beneath the waves.

Finding the City of the Conch was a trivial exercise for the Son of Storms at this point. Entering, however, took a bit of doing.

The city was no less isolationist than it had been before the war, making the most of the fact that it was inaccessible to the ordinary man to retain their security. But for those things that could reach them, they were consistently wary.

"Why is this a problem now? I have been here in the past and faced no issues when gaining entry."

"Last time, you were a lone dragon. And we had not yet seen your full capabilities. Now there are two of you, and many of us have witnessed the destruction you wrought upon the battlefield two years ago," responded the City Guard at the entrance.

"I was on your side during the battle, fighting with your men against a common foe! We saved Aster at each other's side. Surely you don't think I would come now to cause destruction upon your home?" asked Septimus, surprised. "Please speak to Sheemaka. Tell him Septimus has come to visit."

There was some hesitation in that, the guard's somewhat piscine features still managing to express dissatisfaction with the request. But before he could respond further, a messenger emerged from the entrance to the city, swimming up to where the guard held them off. Clad in robes of pink and orange, with a helm that seemed reminiscent of a scorpionfish, he was clearly an authority figure, or acted with the authority of someone else.

"Headclunka nogo. Sheemaka chatawant der minizappaderg. Hibbaploz yur listneryeppa."

The words were completely incomprehensible to all in his party but himself, the Mage and elf both listening through the shelter of the satchel. The Scholar was quick to explain what was said. 'Halt, guard captain. Sheemaka wishes to speak with the Stormweaver's son. He has requested your cooperation.'

The guard sighed, looking between the Hueilin dragons and the messenger, before nodding. With that, he pointed his lance; a veritable trident made of what looked like some form of crustacean shell and fish bones, or the fangs of some vicious leviathan, towards the circular gates of the city. The Scholar nodded graciously, and made his way forward.



Beyond the realm of reefs and leviathans, Andruil ascended the steps of the school until he finally found himself on the seventh floor. Shiryaz was perched on his shoulder, standing shorter than he normally did with his feathers fluffed, his head all but tucked between his wings to ward off the cold.

Pyranex had been a hassle to track down once arrangements for mounts were taken care of. It took the better part of an hour to find him, resting amidst snow-capped rocks not far from where Septimus had taken on a form of light a couple of weeks prior. He had caught himself some woodland animal, big enough to be a form of broad-horned deer that he wasn't entirely familiar with. Not that he could have positively identified it, in the state it was. The Storm Gryphon had done quite a job of destroying it in his effort to eat. From there, he managed to bring him back to the school with some difficulty, where he now waited, down by the entrance.

He paused once he reached the classroom, listening for sounds of a lesson and sensing the presences of those within, before carefully rapping on the opaque window taking up the upper half of the door.

[C S]

"We did not discuss language beneath the ocean before," Syria commented to no one in particular.

Sat at her desk, she ran through the clay tiles from Tyrbenetus, going through the layers of painted cards absently. Smokey warriors. Golden-plated warriors. Scythes and swords. Syria glanced up from the tiles when she saw that shimmering dome grow closer. It dominated the view from the transparent satchel lining, and it looked almost incandescent. The translucent wall of magic was such a striking color of deep blue, matching the tones found in vitorite veins. A blue to stand out even when surrounded by water.

The radiance spilled over everything inside the bag, every book on the shelf and every trinket and chest tucked away into corners. And yet it did nothing to dull the brilliant hues of the massive shell at the dome's core, in shades of red and pink and gold. Syria was going to ask where the gates were, however, she saw the vaguest shape on the other side of the dome that implied a city entrance. Which still begged the question: how were they supposed to get inside?

Septimus' confident advance told that he knew the answer, and Ceridwen followed, perhaps wondering the same thing the mage was. "Er. Septimus?"

As soon as she sent the thought from her head to the dragon's she saw the fabric of the dome stretch around him. It grew more transparent the more he pressed against it, and like the rubber made in Daaven, it expanded and contoured to his and Ceridwen's body. It was an especially unique sight from within the satchel, as the dome was plastered across the side of the exterior surface.

Then there was a point when the dome retracted suddenly, faster than the blink of an eye. The places where Septimus and Ceridwen walked through rippled, and the warbling waves traveled up the heights of the barrier for a short while. After that moment passed, the dome was rigid, giving the impression that it was glass-like.

Inside the dome, the outermost reaches of the city-state were laid before the visitors. Pillars made out of coral towered high over them, vibrant and living in spite of being without access to water, crawling with sea stars and other kinds of sedentary ocean life.

Syria adjusted her inquiry. "... How did that feel?"