Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

Sure enough, it didn't take long before the wirshah started to warm the blanket's cool exterior, which passed through to the comfortably warm Beshayir. While there was no measure of heat that could genuinely make her uncomfortable, she was certainly drifting outside of the range of what she considered ideal.

In spite of it, the elf didn't play Syria's waiting game for too long, out of simple pity more than anything else. It seemed her adoptive mother had forgotten that detail about Thimeyrans. Shrugging her shoulders, she let the blanket fall off after pinning the collar of her wirshah in place with her chin, a fluid movement seeing her dressed in the coat, though not the rest of her outfit, neatly folded on a nearby chair. Rising onto her knees, she pulled the wirshah's ends over the rumpled blanket, then pulled the blanket over the coat, reversing what Syria had done. "But wouldn't it be cold for me out there now, if the water isn't ready?" she asked innocently.

[C S]

A pause was conceded for Syria to convene mentally with Septimus. After the few moments of silence, with Syria looking upon Beshayir with a soft smile, the redheaded mage responded, "It would be, but Septimus is already handling it for us. Septimus is also pretty warm, given that he's a... dragon." Syria thought back to the matriarch of the humanoid serpents, and her use of the term 'warm-blood' when referring to people in a general sense. It was an irony she felt she should have pointed out at the time. Then again, in as bizarre a situation, it was little wonder why it had eluded her thoughts. Maybe for the best.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

Some distance from the city of Brodudika, a strange party trudged their way through the early morning light. The leading body, a man of notable height and slim stature, was armored from head to toe – the armor itself very ornate, but in serious disrepair – and was equipped with an almost impractically long sword that swayed at his hip as he moved. The man’s arms were behind his head, and his gait seemed leisurely and without care, as if merely going for a stroll.

Behind him, trailing by several feet, was a girl of comparatively unassuming nature. Clothed in simple leather garments and a cloak, she appeared unarmed and uninterested, her gaze level and neutral. Perched on her shoulder, however, was an ashen whelp, easily the size of a large bird of prey. Although its companion marched onward without delay, the little dragon’s gaze seemed far more serious, and significantly more judging.

“I find it difficult to believe that a being of your caliber has been searching for this long.”

The whelp spoke with a voice that seemed highly inappropriate for its appearance. Deep and guttural, the intent of its words was clear. Despite this, the target of its scorn merely shrugged.
“Give me a break. I don’t have the ability to locate whoever I wish at any given time. I am mortal, after all,” the armored being, known to them now as Morialus, replied evenly. “Have to do things the old fashioned way – by asking around. Thankfully for me, the savior of Tyrbenetus isn’t exactly a nobody.”

“I also find it difficult to believe that place was really rid of its plight,” the little dragon, known only as Hex, retorted. Morialus sympathized – after speaking with the two for some time, he came to know that the whelp had lived most of his life on the living hell that was Tyrbenetus.

“That’s part of why I’m looking for him. Last I checked, the situation there was as hopeless as it ever was. Then, suddenly, poof! The day is saved, and the reason why is always Desrium, Desrium, Desrium,” Morialus explained, looking back at his companions.

Hex and his counterpart – the girl known as Grama – had no vested interest in this Desrium, but decided to join Morialus on his journey anyway. Initially enemies, they found that, despite the menacing aura that constantly surrounded the man, he was anything but dangerous. His strength, however, was undeniable – given their situation, remaining close to such an imposing ally seemed to be a good plan. As far as the man himself was concerned, they were joining him simply out of curiosity and a lack of anything else to do. They had no intention to correct this belief, and he seemed to have no intention to challenge it.

“And the other part?” Grama chimed in, her involvement prompting a bit of surprise from both Hex and Morialus.

“I intend to fight him, of course,” Morialus replied simply, turning back to the road ahead. “As I understand it, he is the last of the Justicar. He needs to prove his worth. To me. Personally. Anything else, and I will never be satisfied.”

Grama’s level gaze turned to Hex, a slight curious intent tinged in her eyes. The little dragon was good at reading the girl’s finer emotions, and decided to explain.

“’Justicar’ refers both to an order and a position within that order. The Order of the Justicars consists of warriors that have been fighting the demons on Tyrbenetus since time immemorial. They were its last remaining defense,” the whelp boomed, his reptilian gaze meeting his companion’s evenly. Living where he had for so long, he had extensive contact with the Order – their vessel, meant to bring a chapter to Aster, was what bore him to the land in the first place.

“The Justicar itself is a hero among heroes; a champion destined to bring about change. There have been many who have filled the position of Justicar, but as I understand it, the position was vacant for a very long time. Until Desrium of Aster filled it, after his involvement with the Traitor God’s defeat.”

“One of the *******’s many accomplishments,” Morialus chimed in, his tone light. “He’s had his creepy golem hands in many different affairs over the years. All are fairly well known, which makes it easy to hear about him, but also difficult to track him down all the same.”

The armored man stopped, taking a moment to look at a crudely drawn map wedged at his waist.

“Doesn’t help that so much has changed since I was last here, either. Geographically speaking.”

“You’ve been to Aster before?” Hex asked, turning his attention back to Morialus.

“Back before Eredar’s first stint. I happened to be traveling around at the time when he went off the deep end. Was one of the first to get the hell out as a result.” A brief silence followed, prompting the man to look back at his comrades. “Do you fault me for leaving?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

“I understand your situation is…complex. But with your power, you could have prevented many deaths in the future, if it had stopped there,” Hex replied, meeting the man’s unseen gaze.
Morialus laughed. The sound was genuine, free of any negative connotation.

“I’ve no idea what you two have faced in your lives, but Eredar and his ilk were in a league of their own. Even if I was as powerful as I am now back then – which I wasn’t, by the way – I wouldn’t have stood a sliver of a chance against him,” he explained, as if stating simple facts. “All of us with a brain knew that if they were to use their power against us, there was nothing we could do. What with their personal credo of non-interference, it was pretty up in the air whether or not Leyuna would survive at all for a while. Luckily for us, they took responsibility for Eredar’s actions and put a stop to it.”

“Isn’t it blasphemous to expect your gods to fail?” Grama chimed in once again. Despite the severity of her accusation, her intent was more of curiosity than anything else.

“Let’s make something clear,” Morialus began, turning to face the two again. “The Dawnmother is my goddess. The others are merely her siblings. They themselves told us time and time again that they were not gods – they were simply powerful beings that wished to use their power for the benefit of others. It was the decision of the mortal races to revere them as they did.”

“If one is a god to you, wouldn’t that make the others gods by relation?” Hex retorted, both confused and accusing.

“Moria became a goddess to me when she saved me and my people from ruin. Tyrbenetus has been a crapshack since its inception – there was always something weird about it, like it drifted close to the demons’ realm or something, which made it easy to break through. Despite this, and despite having an array of so-called gods all across the planet, only Moria used her power to help us. The others left us to die, all in the name of ‘avoiding interference.’”

The issue was clearly one of personal importance to the man, but he spoke freely, without judging the two for questioning his behavior – and the two could see his point.

“Anyway, this should be the place,” Morialus announced, turning back to the path ahead. Sure enough, peaking through the early morning fog were the battlements of a sizable city. “It’s said to be a hub for the adventuring sort, and from what I’ve heard, it has some involvement with our so-called hero. Either way, it should be a good place to ask around.”

The man’s companions could find no fault with that, and the three quickly made their way inside.

[C S]

Gates of steel rose to beckon the travelers onwards. The garrison stationed atop it and at its sides were stony in their demeanor as they saw the newcomers through the gates, and then the passageway on the other side of them. They were not as privy to that creeping aura, but their hearts were filled with an ominous weight that they could not explain. The sight of a dragon was normally a boon for these men of the drake allegiance, but Hex could not alleviate this inexplicable wrongness that morning.

Each guard, in their own way, reconciled with their moment of shakiness. Some reasoned it was the stranger's physique that threw their composure. He was not human underneath his armor. He probably wasn't of any other race common to Aster, given the foreign design of the plates that adorned his body. It was understandable that some would feel uneasy around something so radically different to what they were used to... even if most of them felt that was not the ideal way to react to such differences. Whatever their reasons were, the body of silvery soldiers did not share their collective trepidation to the arrival of these characters with each other. It was a matter of pride more than anything. No one wanted to be the one to point out their misplaced security, and harm their integrity as an enforcer of peace and order. It was an important image to maintain, given the city's current racial tensions, and the suspicions of corruption with in the knightly ranks...

At any rate, Morialus' helm was only a few feet away from the bottom of the portcullis held aloft by chains and gears as he, Grama and Hex by way of being on her shoulder made their way through the unfinished, steel plated wall. The light on the other side of the tunnel was silvery, and then bloomed into all the colors of life once they were back into the open street, surrounded by quaint wooden cottages. Unlike Viho's introduction to Brodudika, construction in the residential district of the city was more or less complete. Aside from the sense of newness lining these paths of cobblestone, it almost seemed as if this was how things always were. A complete facelift of a place that was supposed to be just a few degrees above a hovel for peasants, the destination for the previously unwanted and disposable.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

The three moved through the town with a purpose - guided by Morialus, who clearly had some insight or another as to where they needed to go. According to his sources, Brodudika's town hall served as the center for its adventuring populace.

"It makes some sense for such a hero type to end up in a place like this," the man thought aloud as they walked, ignoring the varied looks he was getting by those he passed. It was clear that the phenomenon was something he was quite used to. "Though some of the people I talked to said he's involved in the governing of the city. Some say he even founded it. I find that a little more difficult to believe, personally."

"Heroes often settle into a more domestic life over time, using their status to secure a position of power and luxury," Hex retorted, though by the tone of his voice he clearly did not approve of such a lifestyle.

"The Justicar may be a hero of heroes, but it is not a hero hero." Morialus stopped as a large building came into view - citizens of all shapes and sizes filtered in and out of it, despite the earliness of the morning. "Besides, this Desrium is supposed to be an immortal. It's not like he got weak in the knees from old age and decided to sit on his arse for the rest of his life."

The man gestured for his companions to follow, leaving them little time to process what he said - or meant - as they made their way inside.

[C S]

After opening and entering through the door, the traveler of wide, distant lands was in quite the predicament. The hallway on the other side was just wider than his shoulders, and his helm had only centimeters of room, teetering on grazing the ceiling overhead. What this meant for his company was clear as the day outside: they couldn't get past.

They did not need to.

The one they had been looking for, for so long, was at the end of the hallway, red eyes as bright as the sconces that kept the place lit.

"Like the ancient tales of Tyrbenetus, you bring a hidden malice inside a vessel of decor," Desrium stated. What his voice lacked in intent and conviction, he showed in his stance. His hands were at his sides, but he stood to block further entry into city hall. Not that Morialus would have had an easy time doing so, if he wished to keep the paintings on the walls and the vases standing intact.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"Hmm..." Morialus hummed, contorting himself into an even more awkward position to place a gauntlet to his helm, as if in thought.

"Y-you...!"

It was Hex, however, who spoke first. The little dragon's eyes were wide, his dawning realization clear.

"So it was him," Grama interrupted matter-of-factly from her position behind the wedged Morialus. "The one from the temple."

Hex had certainly heard the name 'Desrium' before - from his time with the Order of the Justicars - but until he saw the armored being with his own eyes, he had completely forgot that they had met personally. Shortly after, Grama had collapsed, experiencing another episode of her...condition. The incident overshadowed the name. Until now.

"Wait, you guys have met him before?" Morialus asked, rounding on the two with a horrible sound as his helm scraped against the interior of the building. "That would have been nice to know, ya know!"

"Sorry..." Hex apologized, his face looking no less agonized. "Our meeting before was...less than pleasant."

[C S]

The Stalwart had his own moment of rumination. From what little he'd seen, he made a few conclusions. One was that the woman and the dragon whelp were not forced to accompany the other armored being in the hallway. The two of them were still as mysterious as ever, and while Desrium still did not have any answers as to what their motivations were, he could put any curiosities he had about sensing their approach aside for the time being. Another, less pertinent conclusion was that he would have to seek some repairs for the roof.

"You may carry a malice, but you are not here for malice," Desrium voiced another one of his conclusions, one with more relevance to the matter at hand. "Is this correct?"

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"On the contrary!" Morialus replied, looking back at Desrium with another horrific noise. "I am an archdemon, here to seek revenge on the savior of Tyrbenetus."

The man laughed, a horrible, harsh sound that seemed believable only when coupled with the incredible wrongness that saturated his entire being.

"What is he...?" Hex asked Grama telepathically, raising a scaled brow at the man's antics. The girl looked into the whelp's eyes, her gaze sympathetic, but said nothing. Instead, she turned and walked away from the scene, back into the streets beyond.

[C S]

"I see. Then you have come a long way with a streamlined purpose. For this, I believe you can afford to wait a little longer, to do battle outside of the city," Desrium replied.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"Asking courtesy from a demon?" Morialus replied with a laugh. "You're as strange as they said you were. Fine. Let us depart, shall we?"

[C S]

Desrium held a metal hand out to signal after you. He couldn't necessarily get past the man in the larger armor, for the same reason why Grama and Hex could not enter the building.

A demon who found him strange was something that had Desrium silently pondering this new, well out of the norm, situation. Desrium had his reasons to be a tad incredulous regarding the claim to unholy heritage. It was true that there was a terribleness that clung to this being, a blight so great that all other scourges and plagues were consumed by it; however, that same all-consuming vortex of evil could not mask something else present as well.

It was evidence that his opponent-to-be was extremely ancient in his own right, for him to have any kind of contrast against that disheartening evil. It was not conclusive evidence though; Desrium learned from Xrtylxx that demonkind had a functionally limitless repertoire of surprises for those on the corporeal plane. Desrium considered that what he sensed was a mark of another kind of power that no Justicar had ever faced before, which painted bleak odds in his favor. It was a miracle that brought about the Puppetmaster's demise. No such intervention would come twice in Desrium's favor.

Go on regardless. As he led Morialus to the spot that he and Evisa had done battle days prior, Desrium felt his drive being tested. He either vanquished this foe, whose name he did not know, by his own merit, or he bought Brodudika time by delaying him. If the tide of battle was in the "demon's" control, then Desrium would use his titanic voice to sound his distress. No one would come to help him, of course. It would be a signal for the people of Brodudika to evacuate, as it meant their benefactor and guardian could not protect them. That responsibility would fall to all other creeds who sought to safeguard the future. Perhaps the call to avenge Brodudika would keep their fires lit against this new enemy...

Desrium was prepared to lose. In the keeping of balance in all things, he was prepared to win as well. After all, he asked courtesy from a demon, and he was obliged that courtesy.

"Here we are," said the Stalwart Paladin, in the middle of the clearing, made larger by the elemental viking's heat. The cold, dry bark of the surrounding treeline was notably darker than one would expect a wintery forest's scenery to be.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

Arriving shortly behind Desrium, Morialus remained near the edge of the clearing. His sightless helm scanned his surroundings with another hum of interest.

"It seems we are not the only ones to do battle here," he observed, crouching. The man's gauntlet scraped at the ground, pushing through the snow to the soil beneath. "Another accomplishment of yours, I take it?" Morialus concluded, straightening with a level stare aimed at the former Justicar.

[C S]

"In one sense." Desrium turned in place and stood as he was before the taller figure. He was not as tall as Radamand, so it was not apt to view him as a giant as far as Desrium was concerned.

The Stalwart put a hand on the medallion hanging from his plated neck, and he hummed. "A gift that could not be destroyed so easily," he mused. The red robe that was safely immaterial. The same could not be said of the chain that it was bound to. It reminded him of the vitorite pendent that was lost in the last bout for Tyrbenetus.

Then again, the medallion survived Evisa. Desrium took heart in this.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"Don't get all sentimental on me, now," Morialus replied lightly.

The man's stance began to change.

By all appearances, it looked like half the posture of a martial artist - one leg was in front of the other, his waist was lower to the ground, and his posture was that of rigid discipline. In spite of this, the man did not raise his fists or draw his weapon; his upper half remained relaxed, as if the transition to a fighting stance had stopped at the waist.

[C S]

"A symbol of what one fights for is a potent thing to carry into battle," Desrium retorted. His hand left his ornament and he too assumed his fighting stance, that of the Blood Dragon. One foot in front of the other, gauntlets held ahead, fingers splayed like claws.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"I advise you draw your blade, hero of Tyrbenetus," Morialus stated, his gaze shifting to the weapon in Desrium's possession.

"I do not mean to disrespect your ability by not drawing my own, but believe me, you'll want to fight with everything you have from the start."

[C S]

"A demonic mentor. Very well." That was all Desrium had to say about that. In some warped sense of honor, the Paladin drew his toothed sword, and held it at the ready across his metal trunk. This "demon" wanted a true fight right from the start, and earned it by keeping innocents out of its sights up to now.

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

"...Interesting."

Morialus shifted and, in the second that followed, sprang. The man's body moved forward like a corkscrew, his feet periodically touching the ground. This served only to increase his advance, and before another second had passed, the armored being's fist was aimed at Desrium's midsection in a slight uppercut, his body almost parallel to the ground.

[C S]

This did not leave much time for Desrium to consciously think up a counter. The speed of thought gave him a margin to make one decision. Desrium had decided then, that unlike with Evisa, blocking that punch with his sword would be a bad idea. Not for any damage it may incur, but for the immediate effect of trying to absorb so much kinetic energy in such a relatively small area. That immediate effect being, blown sky-high by the large warrior's fist.

His boots anchored to the ground by his pose, Desrium could not roll or jump out of the way fast enough to avoid the impact. He opted for another option entirely: he bent himself backwards, pulling his body out of the way of the strike, and balancing on one palm held out behind and off to the side of his torso. This allowed him to pull one foot from the ground, and send it straight into the hyper-fast so-called demon.