Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

A series of twitters from the dragoness at his side seemed to voice how peculiar a sensation it was, Ceridwen shaking herself off and fluffing and flexing her plumage as if trying to get rid of water that wasn't there. For the Scholar, it was summarised in two words. "It tickled."

Beshayir looked around as she heard the random comment the Scholar had made, before looking to Syria and realising it must have been a response to a question. Reaching out magically, she sensed the latent aura of Syria's recent telepathy, confirming her suspicions.

His sapphire gaze fixated on the latest addition to the city's decorative features; the coral pillars that stood high and proud, defying their very biology in their structure. Blade coral grew in long, vertical sheets that snaked and bent across the pillar's surface, light refracting off their surface in such a way that it seemed as though they were made of oyster shell. Between the layers, he could see patterns that arched and bent and twisted tightly, the surface of the pillars looking like brain coral, even though their vertical form was a direct contradiction of what he knew. Remnants of a Mana Well that had thoroughly saturated an entire area.

"As for your earlier comment..." he went on to say as he lifted his wings, noting that Beshayir was already nudging at the edges of the satchel, eager to step out and experience this place firsthand. "Zuppo has been spoken in this form, or a form like it, since before it was sunk to the bottom of the sea."

[C S]

"Not so much a case of language under the sea, as much as it is a case of language being taken... taken to the sea. And not in the way that ships do. Huh." Syria ran a hand through her hair and sat back in her seat. This had gotten more involved than she intended it to. "Tickled, you say," she went on, smiling as she looked up to the ceiling of the satchel. "Zuppoland's almighty, ocean-defying dome, is but a giant staff to the Scholar and Maelgwynni?"

[The Kingpin]

"Don't let them hear that. They may take offence to it," responded the Scholar, making sure his voice was restricted to the insides of the satchel.

"You didn't warn me that it would do that!" protested Ceridwen as she looked up at the Son of Storms, feeling...violated. "You should have warned me!" she repeated, uncomfortable over the experience, frustration joining that discomfort when she saw the smile in the larger drake's expression. "What?"

"It's funny. I thought it would be entertaining to see your reaction. It was," he explained simply, snickering as he heard the irritated grumble and twitter that followed, lifting a wing out of reach as she pecked and nipped at his shoulder chastisingly, even though she knew it did nothing but amuse him further. For a dragon so used to being impregnable and untouched, the sensation of having such a material sweep across their entire body in such a way was certainly something that took some getting used to.

Beshayir was too busy taking note of something a lot more mundane than the effects of a bubble wall. Stepping carefully alongside the dragons, she took in the sensation of what the ground felt like underfoot. She had left her boots in the satchel when she jumped out, specifically to feel this particular detail. It was strange how the sand was more...cohesive here. It wasn't powdering like the sand in Thimeyra, but it wasn't coarse like the sand of the beach. It was...almost like mud, but mud that didn't stick. It was oddly spongy, yet didn't give so much that it slowed her movement. It was like it refused to give to things that pressed down on it, yet bent slightly and shifted. It was a strange and thoroughly enjoyable experience for her; one that spurred her to keep exploring within reach of the Scholar, walking a bit ahead to see one of the pillars up close, to take in the texture and colour of their formation. A brief 'Look, don't touch' was all the Scholar said against this, and she was wary to heed it.

[C S]

Syria, following Beshayir's lead, left her boots behind as well and went on excursion. The mage laughed quietly upon feeling the unfamiliar texture underneath the soles of her feet, her next few steps falling under the distinction of skipping. When she had settled and become comfortable with the spongy sand, Syria walked close to Ceridwen. There was a thought she was hesitant to voice, how she noticed how Ceridwen didn't like to be prodded, and was adverse to things clinging to her. There was a good chance that they were perfectly harmless and innocent quirks of Ceridwen's personality. There was also a good chance they were holdovers from her days of captivity. Syria did not want to be the one to bring up those terrible memories... but like Beshayir, the time would come where Ceridwen would have to confront them on her own.

Syria swallowed hard, and made a note to prepare herself in advance.

[Hopeflower]

"It's open," Viho's voice called from within. He sounded tired, and looked much like he was battling illness. It wasn't hard to imagine he'd suffered much of the same aftereffects that Arsenic had. It was also fairly obvious that his lunch had been interrupted; he was stirring it while talking to the trio already in his company.

As if to preempt the fact that he wouldn't get to finish his meal until he'd satisfied whatever new curiosity had driven them all to seek him out, Viho put a bite of soup in his mouth before it could get colder. Only after he'd swallowed did he turn to Vix and say, apparently responding to a question that Andruil had missed, "I do hope you know I can only tell you what I know. I'm no substitute for a person who studied these things extensively."

"Of course," she replied, glancing at Arsenic. "We only thought it would be a good idea to ask before we leave."

The psychomancy instructor hummed neutrally. "If you insist. Ask, then."

[The Kingpin]

Ignorant of the Mage-Maiden's lament, Beshayir reached for her hand, gripping it in her own as she drew her off towards something that drew her curiosity. That something, it turned out, was a statue. An incredibly old and worn looking statue, bearing features that looked nothing like the modern Zuppolandian people. An elaborate head of hair, forming multiple curls in a look that seemed at once aristocratic and ridiculous, topped the statue. It was not an original fixture of the effigy, but something added recently, made of bleached shells. The entire statue was bound in colourful strings of seaweed, and a pair of clay jugs were placed at its feet. The girl was overjoyed by how festive it looked, not realising that that was exactly why it looked as it did.

Septimus too, found it curious. Things had changed since his last visit. The pillars seemed more long lasting, monuments to something perhaps, but the seaweed strands, the improvised wig, the jugs, they were all temporary things, added as some form of vandalism perhaps? Or more likely, an event?

"Is it always this way here? Why do they have so many pointless decorations?" asked Ceridwen.

Septimus took note of that, his head tilting thoughtfully as he took note of the fact that the decorations were not exclusive to the statue, but were draped and stretched across various buildings and even worn by the common folk milling through the streets. "No," he said, intrigued. "It must be an event of some sort."



Andruil stepped in silently, making his way to a desk and sitting atop it, preferring not to speak and instead let the others pose their questions in peace.

[C S]

"The Solstice celebrations were only a week ago," Syria pointed out. "If these are decorations for Zuppoland's holiday, then their dedication to the season has to be commended. I figure dwarves celebrate underground, far away from both the sun and moon, but these people are underwater. They have all my praise for finding a use for seaweed before it becomes... odorous."

[The Kingpin]

"Well considering how high off the ground they are, it could be that they are somewhat odorous," suggested the Scholar, walking forward after the mage and leaning down to take a sniff, the seaweed swaying towards him, drawn by his breath. His brows arched as he added, a moment later, "I stand corrected. Completely odourless."

"The Singajingle celebrations last a week, but the decorations stay up for a full lunar month," explained the messenger, who had caught up to them after a temporary delay. "It wouldn't do to use regular seaweed for that. Thankfully, Zuppoland has no shortage of rare and exotic seaweed," he added jokingly as he pressed ahead.

"You speak Asterian?" asked Ceridwen, shocked.

"Indeed. King Sheemaka made it a requirement for all his more prominent staff, his messengers, the leaders of the city guard and the commanders under his er...command, and most of the nobility. If we are to be recognised as members of the Asterian community, we must reconnect. That includes language."

[C S]

Syria took her hand out of Beshayir's and began to stroke the girl's hair. She responded to the messenger with, "It is a good first step. Now all that's left is to devise a way for ships to sink and float on command, and Zuppoland can become accessible to others who aren't so lucky as to have aquatic dragon companions to travel with."

[The Kingpin]

"Oh no, we'd never bother with something so inefficient. We have already been working on a plan with the Valenhadians to start taming leviathans and use them for transportation," explained the messenger.

"Ah, so you're the ones who gave them that idea. I have ridden aboard a leviathan vessel," responded the Scholar.

"Gave them the idea? With all due respect, Storm-son, we taught them. The only thing they did was design a vessel to be worn on a leviathan's back. They would not know how to tame them without us," said the messenger, running a hand through his hair and adjusting the ponytail at the end, careful not to disturb the twin rows of scorpionfish-like quills running from his forehead to his scalp.

"You tame those monsters?" asked Ceridwen, surprised. "How?"

"That would be giving away trade secrets," responded the messenger with a smirk.

"Well...Why would you need something that massive under your control?" she asked instead.

The messenger's expression sunk visibly, gaining a grave manner about it. "Protection," he said simply.

[C S]

"I do suppose ones with intentions to bring war under the sea would be perturbed by gigantic sea serpents of the fish-like and reptilian persuasion," Syria presumed. The recourse to fall back to when ballistae did not work too well when water was involved, especially saltwater. It seemed logical to the Daavenian, who had already marveled at this civilization without a wall.

[The Kingpin]

"Also a valuable benefit. And the main interest Valenhad had in the concept," responded the messenger with a shrug.

The Scholar wondered on that for a bit, but decided not to press it, as the messenger seemed evasive on the matter. "What other things have come from your dealings with the surface?" he asked, redirecting the conversation to more easily accessible material.

"Well, trade aside, we have had a standing diplomatic mission with the mainland to try and repair the damage inflicted on our reputation by certain undesirables that once lived among us," explained the messenger matter of factly, clearly appreciating the shift in topic.

Ceridwen tilted her head at that, drawn from her thoughts of leviathans and other sea monsters. "Undesirables?" Thoughts went back to the supposed undesirables of Hueilin society; the exiles banished by Arashi supposedly for their own benefit.

"The Order. After the Desunka business, and the subsequent actions he has conducted for Aster aside from his actions during the war, we were put in a rather delicate situation with newly made allies. So King Sheemaka sent a diplomatic mission to try and enhance relations as well as disavow the Order's affiliation to the Kingdom of Zuppoland, so as to avoid any political backlash there may be in the future."

Septimus nodded at that, pleased with the news. His friend was no longer deemed a foe of the kingdom, then. "What of the Order themselves? Didn't they kick up a fuss on the matter?" he asked.

The messenger shook his head. "Far from it. Zappader-..err, the Stormweaver, visited shortly after the war. We don't know what transpired, but his actions caused the Order to dissolve completely. No trace of them remains in the city, and it seems the few known members it still had have gone on to reform their lives."

[C S]

"Ah... Desrium. Not Desunka, please." Syria bowed her head politely, as it was not her meaning to seem rude. Desunka just seemed condescending, like purposely mispronouncing someone's name. Desrium called himself Desrium, and logically it was the same in Zuppo as it was in Asterian. He could have named his city anything, in any language, and he chose his native tongue. "You can respect that, can't you?"

[The Kingpin]

"I...suppose, if you would prefer. There is not really a difference," responded the messenger, somewhat confused. "It is just his name in our tongue. Well, technically, the Zuppo adaptation of a phrase the Stormweaver taught us, long ago."

"Dezeriah," stated Septimus simply, drawing the looks of Ceridwen, Beshayir and the messenger collectively, though for different reasons.

"Deze-what?" asked Ceridwen, having never heard the term.

"Of course. I suppose it makes sense his progeny would know of the term," said the messenger, though he looked to Ceridwen in surprise. "Are you not familiar with it, err...?"

"Ceridwen. And no, I am not."

Beshayir listened in, curious of what was going on and intrigued by this little moment of collective confusion.

"It is not a term remembered by Aster's Hueilin. It dates back to Syravoras; our original home. My father learned it from Buruq."

[C S]

"Buruq is a very old, and very enigmatic dragon," Syria explained. "I haven't met him personally, but he seems nice. One of the oldest examples of a Hueilin, Septimus told me. Very different from the modern day dragons of Drakhunmiir, for it. But as Septimus would attest, Desrium insists on the 'rium' part of his name. He calls himself Desrium invariably."

[Hopeflower]

"We've been here researching my family," Vix began after a pause to gather her thoughts. "We were hoping you might be able to tell us more than what the history books have led us to."

Viho had used the time to continue eating; he looked up at her now, interested despite himself. Adsila, she'd introduced herself as to Johnathon. It wasn't every day that one learned they'd met one of royal blood.

Instead of commenting, he said instead, "I doubt it, but I suppose it depends on what exactly you're asking."

She lifted her chin. "I want to know where they might have run, when the war finally broke out. Where would they have hidden?"

The older elf hummed and finally set his lunch aside, giving them his full attention. "Where, indeed. Where was there to hide?" He spread his hands and shrugged. "I wasn't around during the worst of it, so I couldn't give you any specifics. Those are secrets that are probably lost to history. I do, however know someone who might know more. I can tell you where to find her."

'We'd appreciate that,' Arsenic said, setting a hand on Vix's shoulder.

Viho reached for a stack of blank pieces of parchment and pulled one toward him, starting to write as he relayed, "Her name is Calpurnia. She goes by Callie. You'll want to aim for the coast and follow it North. You'll find a fishing town called Sarton, by the mouth of the Red River."

Rowan was closest. As she reached for the directions he held out to her, she hesitated and gave him a searching look. "You're sure you can't tell us anything?"

Gray eyes regarded her with a touch of sadness. "I know there are some secrets that are better left buried," he replied. "But it's not my place to try and dissuade you."

[The Kingpin]

"Of course. I will keep that in mind when discussing him in the future," responded the messenger simply, in a tone that only vaguely implied that he meant none of it.

"To put it simply, Ceridwen, dezeriah is the Hueilin belief of self-determination. In Asterian it translates to 'Follow not the flow of life's river, for not all rivers end at sea, but forge instead your own stream, that it may one day become the river which others aspire to follow'. Buruq taught it to me during my training in Tyrbenetus," explained the Scholar, an intrigued Ceridwen listening closely, trying to piece it together in their own tongue to see how it would be described now.

At this point, they had approached the entrance of the Conch proper. The imposing structure towered over them, looking no less impressive that the Crestvale Spire or Arx Arcaenum in Mercutio. Pinks, reds, oranges, blues and purples of countless shades intermingled in the fine, polished surfaces of the massive shell, each groove and rise in the shell's relatively flat surface at the bottom spiralling and expanding before culminating in an impressively colourful arched spike at the apex of the conch's flaring form, looking almost like a crown surrounding a rapidly narrowing point. The Scholar noted that that too, had changed. The Conch's appearance had shifted since he had last been there. He said as much to the messenger.

"Oh yes. Because of the nature of where the city stands, its nature and appearance are both in constant flux. The base of the conch touches the uppermost reaches of a ley line, or so they say, and because of that, it is constantly changing. Likewise for everything beneath the Dome. It is why some of the oldest living Zuppo may in some cases look more piscine than some of the younger ones. We may not have seasons, but we are no less children of a cyclical world." The enthusiasm with which he said it seemed to imply he was quite intrigued and pleased by the thought, regardless of how true it may have been.

It was something Beshayir caught up on, however. "Where I come from," she started as she stepped up so she was side by side with the Scholar. "...Seasons don't differ much. We don't have the four seasons of the rest of Aster. Only two. One that is very hot, and another that is...less hot, and sometimes cloudy. We follow the cycles of the moon and the paths of the winds and how they influence our lake and the dunes around us res....rescep..."

"Respectively," offered the Scholar with a smile.

"Respectively. Thank you."

"You tell the time of year through the currents of the wind...Very interesting," stated the messenger. It seemed this one was something of a scholar himself, so intrigued with uncommon knowledge as he was.


"Then I suppose that is all. You have my thanks for your aid, Viho," said the Knight simply as he took in the feel of the classroom and committed it to memory, from the pale walls and vast windows, to the scents of those he had shared this classroom with for a time, to the sound of pigeons roosting on the windowsill.

[C S]

"I used to explore the southern reaches of Aster. If I had to guess, I would hazard just a little bit farther south than we are now. When you're so far down--" The word took on a whole new meaning to Syria when she was walking on the bottom of the seabed, technically, enormous jewels of sovereignty notwithstanding. "-- the only seasons you can identify is the dry season, and the wet. I imagine both those things being obsolete strands of thought to your people, sir messenger." Because even with the ocean held over the city, Zuppoland's cool climate and the constantly moving patterns of light created by waves at the surface fostered a feeling of constant moisture that was not unpleasant, as if it were humid outside. Everything just had that sensation that it should have been covered in morning dew.

And of course, a city underwater did not feel the rain, even when the surface grew dark and murky due to stormy skies.

[Hopeflower]

"Don't thank me yet. You may not want to, once you've found whatever you're looking for," Viho remarked. He went to resume his lunch and paused when he caught the strange look on Arsenic's face. "Yes?"

'Nothing. It's just occurred to me - shapeshifting from a humanoid form to an animal form isn't entirely unique to Elven royalty, is it?'

Viho tilted his head. "It's not my field, so I couldn't say for certain," he replied, "but it strikes me as highly unlikely. As far as I'm aware, no one branch of magic is unique to part of a race, or even a race as a whole."

Arsenic made a quiet noise of understanding. 'So any accounts of spirits gifting magic - '

"Are likely conjecture at best," Viho said, "and are religious beliefs bleeding into whatever text you were reading at worst."

Rowan grunted. "So the shapeshifter you're teaching isn't likely to be related to what we're looking for. Got it."

He blinked - the only sign he gave of his surprise. "To my knowledge, that would be true."

"I see," Vix said softly. "Well, thank you for your time." She stood to go and offered her hand. "And - thank you. For doing your best to help Brodudika." She smiled crookedly. They'd never be friends, but the fact that she'd had the wrong impression of him before they'd ever spoken was something that needed acknowledging.

After a short pause in which it seemed Viho was too stunned to respond, he took her hand and shook it. "No thanks required," he replied. It was, after all, part of his job now.

[The Kingpin]

"Maydeni," offered the messenger, finally introducing a name for them to refer to him by. "And you would be correct, miss..."

"Syria," offered the Scholar.

"Miss Syria. That said, we are sufficiently linked to the surface that we still follow a lunar calendar, which still functions well for farming seaweed and catching fish," explained Maydeni as he led the group into the Great Conch, Beshayir bracing for a change in light, only to be taken completely by surprise. Once inside the Conch proper, she noted that the walls took on an assortment of different shades of purples. Water flowed down from walls and coral pillars that seemed to adhere to surfaces at angles that defied gravity, sticking to horizontal segments and snaking back and forth, flowing upwards and even crossing small gaps in a web of liquid as it made its way to various wells and pools around the inner city.

Beshayir took note of the fact that unlike the buildings outside the Conch, the ones on the inside still bore some resemblance to the houses of the surface. Stone and mortar structures, worn with age, split the inner city into districts that, were she to look down from above, would have looked like the interior of an actual conch shell. It was an irony lost on most that this resemblance ended up becoming the blueprint around which the Great Conch formed.

"The people of Zuppoland have been hard at work trying to build a future for us...Since the war and our connection to old and new allies alike, it drew the older members of our community to speak of the days of old. That in turn has bred nostalgia in the younger generations. We have since sought to try and restore some of our more historical landmarks," explained Maydeni as he took a brief detour, gesturing for them to follow.

What Septimus in particular found intriguing was the fact that this time, he was able to observe a lot more of the ancient capital of Zuppoland than he had on his first visit, mainly because now he was actively comparing and contrasting what he saw with what he knew of the Zuppoland of old. The canals were, shockingly, still there, fed by the water of the Conch. He had not even noticed them last time, their paths avoiding the main roads as they did. Or perhaps there was something else?

"The canals you see around us are an example of that. They were drained and neglected until recently. Now they're a network to transport goods around the city, just as they were nearly a millennium ago. For a long time the Order had hold of the King's Council, and they had insisted on keeping the canals drained because at one time, Desunk- Desrium, used the water to hide from them. A sore spot for the mages apparently."

"It still is, for some. One of the Order's mages is still trying to destroy him," responded Septimus.

"Still?...I genuinely do not know what to say. What a life they must have, to find no better way to spend their time than chase something for a millennium."

Andruil straightened, giving the Psychomancer a gracious nod, a gesture of thanks that was not quite elaborate or formal enough to be called a bow, but translated his good intentions well enough. "We were foes once...But I feel I can appreciate that we have been allies, too. So in the interest of preserving that, I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavours."