Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"That is quite the compliment," responded the Scholar ponderously. For something that came to mind on a whim to be compared in security to a royal's means of communication was a flattering notion, and one that stroked that draconic pride that lay deep behind the cloak of humility he wore.

Looking over to Syria, he asked, "I suppose we're all done here, then. To city hall?"

[C S]

"To city hall," Syria confirmed, hooking Septimus' arm with hers. "I don't think that took as long as Ceridwen feared! The silly dragon-girl," she quipped. The receptionist raised a brow as they began to depart the school's lobby.

"And thank you for your time, helpful mister!" the mage called over her shoulder to the man behind the desk. He smiled a small smile, here to serve but glad to be recognized for that service.

[The Kingpin]

No sooner had the door opened than a predictably unsettled Ceridwen appeared, staring back at them. It seemed she hadn't yet reacclimatised to the din of city life. With a sigh, the Scholar said, "It looks like we're going to need to get used to roaming these streets again." Though there was no masking the fact that by we he meant she, specifically.



Beshayir stood in the middle of the classroom, checking her posture, her wand in hand, held much like an orchestra conductor, the base of it pressed against the base of her palm, held between her index, middle finger and thumb. Taking a few deep breaths, she calmed herself, trying to rest from the ascent to the classroom a few minutes earlier and brace for the coming performance. When she had concluded her preparations, she smiled, looking at her instructor. "I'm ready."

[C S]

Orthelia nodded to Beshayir. The instructor was the only one standing at the moment in the vast room. Her other students were sat down on the dancefloor in a semicircle behind her, giving Beshayir more than enough space to use her magic, while Ryndhert was in position to intercept any hazards that may escape the young elf's control. Orthelia was an exemplary image of confidence where she was standing, arms crossed behind her back. She had the pressure of ensuring everyone's safety on her shoulders, and she did not show it one bit. A self-assurance born from years of experience.

[The Kingpin]

Taking one last calming breath, the young girl began to dance. Swaying to some internal tune none but she could hear, her arms and legs spread outwards as she began a series of steps, forward, left, then backwards, her right leg sweeping behind her, then reversing the motions and beginning a mirror image of it to the right. And so it began, the movements initiating rather lightly, with limited range, but growing wider and wilder as she went, her wand shimmering white as a burst of flame extended into what seemed to be a fiery whip, streaming behind her in twirls emphasised by her motions.

Moments later, one particularly energetic twirl was followed by a flick of her wand, the fire rippling with the motion of the twirl flowing down the length of the flaming whip in her wake and culminating in a sharp crack. The flash that accompanied it travelled back up the whip, turning the orange flames pale yellow as sparks burst from the origin point. Rather than dropping to the floor and fizzling out, these sparks grew to become two fist-sized fireballs that orbited the elf, seemingly bound to the motions of her hands rather than the wand itself. They too began to follow the motions of her dance, which had gained an electrifying edge to it, so feverish and energetic was her pace. The mana permeating the air around her, simultaneously absorbed and expelled, caused the air on the trailing edges of her limbs to glow a bluish hue.

She swung her arms out, sending the fireballs loose in opposing directions, only for her flame whip to swing after them with two more cracks. Bright flashes accompanied each one as the tendril of flame met the fireballs, the first contact turning the whip white, and the next turning it blue. The whip was flicked back towards the elf as she made one final motion, a hand meeting the ground as her legs swung out to one side, the girl swinging around on her palm and pushing off, her feet reaching the ground in a kneel as the tendril coiled around itself above her, forming a sphere. Slowly standing to her feet, she held the sphere high above her head, taking a few deep breaths. With her performance concluded, she retracted the flames, which imploded in on themselves and back into the wand's tip, the glow fading a few moments later. Returning her gaze to the crowd around her, and then the teacher, she smiled, her breathing fast but steady, controlled despite her skin glistening with the sweat of the heat and exertion.

[C S]

Orthelia signaled one of her students to get Beshayir a cup of water. The class had a keg for refreshments near the entrance, which was needed when one's practice involved cranking up the heat with each spell cast. A dance routine was an added stress, but a spectacle nonetheless. But it was still a strain that Orthelia observed, and her expertise and instinct told her to handle that promptly. Beshayir was given her cup, and in that time Orthelia gathered her assessment.

"Lazy, you definitely haven't been. You've been pushing your body in addition to your pyromancy." Orthelia pushed the thought of Beshayir's fumbles from her thoughts. A misstep in a more relaxed dance could lead to bruised palms and knees. A misstep in this winding number while fire erupted from the very air would be problematic indeed. That was aside from the child seemingly inventing a new style of pyromancy, however. A style that was steeped in her culture, and unseen in eastern Aster.

"Do mages cast magic like that where you come from?" the instructor inquired, while the rest of the class remained quiet, partly from awe, partly from a desire to learn how they could accomplish feats similar to Beshayir's.

[The Kingpin]

The young elf took the cup gratefully as she settled on the ground, crossing her legs under her. "Not that I know of," she answered after a slow, long sip of the cool liquid. "But the Life Bringer, the elemental that made the lake my city was built around, did. It is said she created the lake by dancing in the sands. By joining the world in its motions," she explained. Downing the last of the water in a second steady swallow, she gave a contented sigh.

[C S]

"A dancing elemental in the desert... eh, she must have gotten mighty thirsty herself. Explains why she made a lake," Orthelia said offhandedly, unaware of the slight she had committed against the Thimeyran beliefs. The folklore of a distant city wasn't what captivated her in the face of a new form of casting. Prodigious would be what the other institutions would describe it. The kind of happening that would see Beshayir swept off to one of the palace-schools in Mercutio, or another similar establishment for further learning. Orthelia would not put Beshayir through that now, though. At the end of her course, she would mention this possibility, but for now, the girl just wanted to practice and improve. Wild machinations for a future she may not even want had to wait a while.

Practice and improve.

"Right off the bat, I can see where your new art could use some work: you'll need a lot of stamina to maintain concentration and execution. I can help you work on that." And this was what gave Orthelia cause to grin, as she went on to introduce to the rest of her class, "The next level to pyromancy isn't the fire you can make outside of yourself. It's the fire you light in your heart, and spirit." She spoke to all of them, spinning on the heels of her shoes to meet each and every one of their enraptured eyes.

"To be a master of pyromancy is to be a master of passion; unable to be restrained from your desires, and unflappable before the most trying of trials."

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir listened intently, holding her tongue at the comment the instructor had made of the Life Bringer for the sake of not irritating one who had just offered her praise. Rising to her feet, she quietly made her way over to the keg for a refill of her cup, and then made her way to a chair, to listen to what more her teacher had to say.

[C S]

"Pyromancy is an easy skill to discover by accident among magically adepts experimenting with basic channeling. Alchemists are able to create pseudo-pyromancies by mixing the right ingredients together," Orthelia continued, "the way of fire is an ancient thing, maybe as old as the world itself, and that is why it can be found in so many things. One of the first tidbits they teach you in magical histories is that elementals are the oldest living things we know of, and I don't think it's any coincidence that fire was one of the ways life arose on Leyuna, right after magic itself."

The instructor went on to lecture on the particulars of pyromancy. "Pyromancy is the most fun magic, and I think you will all agree. You get to do the cool -- hot -- things first without needing all that cumbersome meditation and reading. Though they help."

The ironic disregard of academia got a few chuckles out of the crowd. The joke rarely did any better with previous bunches in Orthelia's tenure as a teacher.

"There is so much more to the art than just casting fire from your wands, though! You can bend the way heat affects you, and not even the hottest summer, or scorching desert can whittle down your resolve. You can inspire others with a burning vigor, or soothe and heal... once you fully grasp all the ways fire can be expressed in mana, you will find yourself at a crossroads where you can branch into any other field of magic. If you're so bold, you can find an avenue into hydromancy, or another elemental school!"

[The Kingpin]

The mention of other avenues of magic greatly interested the young elvish mage, and as she considered the various possibilities Orthelia spoke of, one particular discipline stood out; healing. Immediately, Syria came to mind, and her unenthusiastic tolerance of the discipline for the sake of the young elf's happiness was shown to, for the first time, have a potential solution. Beshayir felt she finally had what she needed to sway the older mage to a more sympathetic view on pyromancy. Perhaps she could be convinced to genuinely take a liking to it after all.

[Hopeflower]

The class was just settling in for their morning meditation when Solaurn and Gwen walked in. Viho, perched on his desk as opposed to the chair behind it as usual, cocked his head and gestured for them to take their seats. The agitation they brought with them threatened to set the energy in the room churning, and he reached out to soothe it unthinkingly.

Easy, he cautioned gently. The further along the class progressed, the more sensitive some students would become to the minds around them. What's wrong?

[C S]

Solaurn and Gwenviere replied nearly at the same time. Solaurn was first by the tiniest margin, her response being an I don't know, but that's why I came to you, whereas Gwenviere conveyed to Viho her fear of the overbearing... thing out and about. In that bundle of nerves, the elf saw glimpses of her story. Snippets of time, vignetted by a haze: the wear of months in her memory. The sequence began with darkness giving way to a wooden hollow; a room that was unlike most Viho had ever seen in his life. The walls were hewn and made even more irregular by the way they curved and dipped.

Gwenviere rose from her bed of packed leaves and went over to a row of twigs tacked onto the wall to serve as hooks, where she retrieved one of several identical dresses that matched the one she wore up to that day. She then made a beeline for the other side of the hollow, where she rolled a circular wooden door to one side and stepped out onto a pathway outside of her room. The vaun slid the door back into position, and walked along the huge, winding branch immediately outside of her dwelling.

There were others like hers to be seen all around the leafy length of the tree limb. They looked like gigantic bird nests, the exteriors a collection of bits of wood tied with plants roped into strong vines, and corked off with round doors. Glass-less windows allowed the verdant light shining through the canopy to light up the treehomes of the Evershade.

The memory faded, then regained new focus with the vaun a long way from home. The forested surroundings were replaced by a spread of loam, the bird songs replaced by the ambiance of crashing water, and the closer trickling of a stream. A tall, misty mountain awaited her. The haze overtook this segment of memory, and when clarity returned, Viho witnessed from her perspective, the climb up the craggy mountain. Another shift, and he was greeted with the bird atop the mountain once again, overpowering in scope.

The memory changed to that of Gwenviere falling down the side of the mountain, the air rushing past her, fur rippling and mane obscuring her vision until she slowed on a cushion of air, and touched down gently on the sand next to the roaring falls.

[Hopeflower]

The snippets of memory weren't enough of a story to make sense of, but they were vivid enough to nearly scatter Viho's concentration. He pressed his thumb nail into the pad of his index finger hard to jolt himself back to the present. A frown creased his brow, caused not by the stab of pain, but by the fear that had set off the chain reaction of memories. That had come through the clearest - but he hadn't caught just what had spooked Gwen so badly.

I'm afraid I don't quite follow, he confessed, taking the opportunity for what it was and trying to help guide her into giving him more information. He slid off the desk and crossed the room to crouch in front of the vaun. What's in the city? he asked, hoping being more direct would help her sort her thoughts.

[C S]

The vaun made the same trilling Solaurn had heard earlier. The sound made Dahnae's ears twitch; thankfully, her mind was on another plane far from where she was, to stalk whatever her interpretation of the conscious was. Gwenviere's mind delved deeper into her unspoken account, great tracts of land transitioning into each other across hours. The mountain scenery became a road through woods, the way out of the Boldrim frequented by Daavenians. Gwenviere went up the gentle slopes that preceded the pass through the foothills when the sun was high, and reached another wood when it had set.

In the evening of that day, the familiar shade of the undergrowth engulfed the small furred lady. She navigated the thickets and fallen logs deftly, paws taking to the dirt and lumber with seasoned precision. There was little that could have lurked in the darkness that she was not prepared to face -- or more accurately, run away from. But as she neared the marble steps of the ancient temple, the structure emerging steadily through the screen of bushes in her way, Gwenviere felt the malicious wrongness settle in the pit of her being. A presence that triggered every instinct of hers to stay away. With a subdued yelp, her breath caught in her throat, Gwenviere turned away from Agnaroth and scampered off into the heart of the woods, where she eventually came across the buried goliath.

[Hopeflower]

Viho rocked back on his heels, thinking fast even as he urged the distress within Gwen to calm. This was...beyond him. Without even a glimpse of what had the vaun so worked up, he had nothing to go on but a gut feeling. Instinct, as it were. He hummed quietly, low in his throat. Such things had led him astray as often as they'd been accurate, so he had to narrow this down. Maybe find out if it was a threat at all before he did anything.

Where did you sense this? He started carefully sifting through her recent memories, looking for anything and everything that might give him clues as to whether or not there was a need to be worried.

[C S]

Gwenviere thought back to her commute from the clinic that morning. It had been fairly normal, people that were used to seeing her around on the streets paid her no mind, and visitors who hadn't a clue what a vaun was gawked and gaped their mouths as she was used to them doing. The walk was uneventful, up until the same terror gripped her small heart from a source unknown. Big buildings hid big things. Big things. Faint pieces of conversation. Murmuring of the ashen giant, and a sword far too large for its own good. Far too large for the giant that carried it, even.

[Hopeflower]

Viho examined it all with a critical eye. While he knew the route, it didn't give him anything specific...up until the sword was noted. He caught that detail, held it, turned it over. Let it go. That particular detail was one he'd seen in various similarly confused and concerned minds since Desrium's disturbance. He'd yet to see the...visitor for himself, but if the newcomer had checked out with Evisa and Desrium, he couldn't very well argue.

It's alright, he assured Gwen and Solaurn as he straightened. Desrium has a guest in the city. I would guess that he's the source of your fear, Gwen.

[C S]

The vaun tucked into herself and sat on her haunches, somehow looking even smaller while her eyes grew larger. Solaurn had the same thought she did, evidently. She leaned over to one side to peek around Viho, affirming that the others were well in their exercises. Not wanting to bother them, she let the though drift aimlessly. But why would Desrium let such a fearsome thing inside the city?

[Hopeflower]

From a certain perspective, Viho mused, turning to eye the students himself, Desrium himself is a fearsome being. The man has also apparently made friends with dragons and people of various backgrounds, many of which come from troubled places. He spread his hands and lifted his shoulders a fraction in a tiny shrug. It's easy to make the case that this is a city of wanderers. Perhaps his guest is simply another such being.