Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

As Septimus paced through the courtyard of the university, his gaze washed over the kelp beds and sand dunes, rubble littering the area that could not possibly have come from the initial collapse of the island. It made him contemplate what must have gone through the minds of those who lived on the island on that fateful day. Those in this university, this arcane sanctuary, that had not been near the centre of the capital city, would have seen death as the ocean itself invaded their halls.

"I had expected less to be standing...But I hadn't expected to see...kelp, under the dome. It appears there was once a time when the dome was much smaller," he noted.

"I thought you said that the mana well here was destroyed? Where are they getting the power to keep expanding the dome, if not from that?" asked Ceridwen as she gave the Son of Storms a look of curiosity and bewilderment.

"Good question. I have a couple of theories, but we will have to look into it later." It was clear Septimus was not about to let his focus drift from the matter at hand.

He paced through the courtyard for some time before his eyes settled on a number of oddly conspicuous holes in the sanctuary walls. They were not holes caused by massive impacts, or at least, not the current state of those holes. Rubble was piled in small mounds under each of them, and it was clear that they were the result of crumbling repairs to older damage.

He was looking at the entry and exit holes of Desrium's time here. It was an oddly uncomfortable sensation that came to him with that realisation.

[C S]

Syria too noted that the breaches stood out from the rest of the building. Time had made the ocean its accomplice in muddying the matter, figuratively and literally, but she knew enough from what she saw to glean that the wall at this part of the sanctuary was knocked outwards. This wasn't the result of water bursting through doors and windows, as seen elsewhere on the grounds. There was an absence of ocean sand here, as well. The holes themselves were a unique shape. They were taller than they were wide, and roughly oblong in shape. They were just big enough for a person to fit through, although cracks radiated outwards through the brick, mortar and the rotting wood inside the building.

The Mage-Maiden recited her signature spell. Impulse had her drawing the same conclusion Septimus had, but she was hesitant to believe it. That was not how knowledge was gained; gut feelings without evidence to support them in any rational capacity. More than that, however, it was the deeper implications that unsettled her. She hoped the gray specters of mana and time would prove her wrong.

What she saw was nothing. The complete opposite of Yuraelia. Where the mana vortex meant there was just too much to see, here at the sanctuary, there was just a void. "A cataclysm to fracture the records of time itself..." Syria muttered, left with only what her heart was telling her, echoing what Septimus knew deep down inside.

[The Kingpin]

"As expected. The destruction wrought upon this place was absolute," rumbled the dragon as he wandered through the courtyard. The barely definable remnants of ancient statues sat, some toppled over, others half buried in the sand. He looked to where he suspected the crater of Desrium's first landing after leaving the castle would have been. Of course, there would be no trace of it. It had been several centuries after that, that Zuppoland was sunk, after all. And several more between then and now. A low growl escaped him as he considered the fact he didn't know what truly transpired that day, or at least, had not seen it. Tales were the extent of what he had.

It was frustrating.

So far however, there was no trace of any magical aura that implied anything was amiss here. They would have to look deeper. The Son of Storms looked up at the tall doorway of the university entrance, large and grand enough to allow even him to enter. He surmised that at one time, imposing wooden doors would have stood there, closing off the inside from the prying eyes beyond. Those doors had rotted away hundreds of years ago.

It seemed like the logical place to head next.

[C S]

"Back to the front door, then," Syria observed. The mage rested her chin on her knuckles, her arm slung over the side of the satchel. Septimus' talons tore through brown, brittle kelp, crunching along the way to the part of the structure that was overtaken by sand and debris. He neared the set of stairs at the threshold of the entrance, which he would have overstepped in a single stride. Before he did, Syria commented to Ceridwen, "You don't suppose saltwater is conducive to mold, do you?"

Not that she expected the wild dragoness to have ever cared about mold at any point in her long life, up to now.

[The Kingpin]

Ceridwen cocked her head at that, a brief chirp punctuating her confusion. "What is...mould?" she asked. She started to ascend the stairs even as the Scholar reached a forelimb over the entire flight, a heavy crunching thud being heard as the worn and fragile steps had their marble panels fractured and crushed underfoot. He did however stop once the significance of what Syria was asking came to mind. "I have not read much on the topic, but it may be wise of you to investigate other areas of the castle while I explore the interior."

[C S]

"Mhm," Syria replied. "It's either that, or stay in the satchel, and I think we can do better than than just tagging along for the ride." Syria looked into the bag, at Beshayir. "Isn't that right?" she said, beckoning her to retrieve her staff for a little bit of surveillance flying. Turning her attention back to Septimus, she extended a psychic calm to the Scholar. "I know this place is upsetting to be in, but it is still a historical site. I won't blame you for not leaving it undamaged, but I ask with all my impartiality that you make an effort not to break things deliberately."

She said that much with a smile on her face, though it did have her wondering, "People have been poking around here and disappearing, yet we had to break down the gate to get inside. It might be best for Beshayir and I to go looking around back; to see if there are any other ways to enter the area."

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir nodded, bouncing off the bed where she had been sitting and grabbing her staff, making for the satchel flap.

"I will do what I can," responded the Hueilin simply. "Ceridwen, would you mind accompanying them? I will feel more at ease if they are watched," he added.

"Are you sure you will be-" she started, only to see the Scholar fixing her with a sharp stare.

"I have fought demons and dark gods, and faced off with the embodiment of the agony, hatred and rage of a million dead elves, dwarves and humans in a city cursed by their folly. I will be fine."

"Understood," growled the dragoness tersely as she turned away from the Son of Storms, awaiting the other two.

[C S]

"Regardless; if something happens, don't you delay in calling us back over to you," Syria said sternly on Ceridwen's behalf. "And if you need to break some things to get out of harm's way, it can't be helped. My impartiality for this place ends the moment you're at risk of getting hurt, understood?" The playful edge to her words did not detract from how earnest they were. Syria pulled herself over the flap of the satchel and fell onto her staff, which bobbed underneath her and then floated out from Septimus' side like a boat being launched from a dock.

[The Kingpin]

"I have my doubts that anything here still exists that would make breaking things to escape necessary. I'm already feeling intimately familiar with Desrium's plight. Everything is so fragile."

Beshayir flew out of the satchel in hot pursuit, zipping out and past the mage before circling around and coming to a halt. Ceridwen below her, began to step away from the stairs, looking around for a point of potential interest.

[C S]

"Excellent form," the Mage-Maiden complimented Beshayir's flying. To Septimus, she responded, "The only thing we know is how much we don't know. The maxim for any enterprising mind, eh? I pray that we don't find that you fit into that 'everything', for something that can render a dragon fragile is some kind of bad news."

[The Kingpin]

"It is fair to keep an open mind and remember that the unexpected may lurk around every corner," started the Scholar as he looked down at the mage, his expression flat, almost stony. "That said, I am confident in my senses. I feel that this will not be a case like Yuraelia. No Sylvari awaits us here."

[C S]

"Just something that makes people disappear inexplicably, without any outward indication of what that thing is," Syria reminded Septimus. It also put things into perspective for herself, as well. This investigation would be routine if they were just able to hone in on a magical disturbance and study it for a little while.

"You can only say 'be careful' so many times before it becomes a form of stalling, I confess," the mage said with some resignation. "So I'll just tell you to be so one last time and hope for the best, dear."

[The Kingpin]

"Of course. You know I always am. And that I'd ask the same of you three," responded the Son of Storms, his gaze shifting from Syria, to Beshayir, and then to Ceridwen. And without further delay, he looked forward once more, and continued his ascent of the cracking steps and into the entrance hall of the ancient university.

Ceridwen watched the Scholar go with some trepidation. Perhaps it was the way the two spoke, but it lent itself to building up a danger that may or may not actually be there. Their behaviour made her nervous, and she hated it. The mage was obviously only being wary, and watchful for her draconic lover's safety, but the way in which she did it was so dramatic that it was as if she knew some unforeseen terror awaited that would end them all.

Beshayir was under no such illusions of unlikely but nonetheless threatening threats. She had seen the Sylvari. She had felt it. She knew what horrors awaited in the realm of the dead and forgotten. And even though this particular instance was simply a ruin on the edge of a bustling city, it was nonetheless an abandoned place, left to rot. And as any Thimeyran who knew their culture and history would tell you, dark things dwelt in dark places forgotten. It would soon show just how dark a thing dwelt in this forgotten place. If nothing else, it was already home to dark memories for many.

[C S]

"We need you airborne, Ceri," Syria called down to the dragoness, interrupting her internal voices that spoke of doom and gloom. "Maybe your dragon-eyes can see things that Beshi and I can't!"

[The Kingpin]

Ceridwen needed no coaxing to enter her element. In moments, her feathered wings were spread, and she had taken flight. Beshayir circled around once more, halting beside Syria. Her staff teetered momentarily as her focus drifted, but she quickly regained it and was level once more.


The Scholar meanwhile stood in the middle of the vast entrance hall. Part of the roof had caved in and buried a portion of the room, blocking off access to one of the hallways, and much of the room was buried under vast amounts of sand. Two more were open, though seaweed and bones littered the area, and the scuttling of crabs could be heard in the unseen shadows outside his reach.

The walls were tall and grand, split into several very tall floors, each high enough to fit him. Pillars supported the upper levels, hairline cracks riddling some of them, while others lay in piles of dust and rubble on the ground. He noted that there were pockmarks and craters in the walls with halos of newer stone around their edges, which, combined with the rubble under each of the larger holes, painted a picture of conflict. Looking towards one particularly large hole, he was treated to a sight that left him with no doubt as to what all this damage was caused by. The hole, like others he had seen, was taller than it was wide, oblong in its shape and narrow enough that it could fit a grown man almost perfectly, with a bit of room to spare. Rubble had fallen away onto the floor, and a closer look revealed that several more holes extended beyond that one, in the same direction. Looking up, he saw, through the hole in the ceiling, the tower he had seen in the distance as he approached.

This was where Desrium made his valiant assault on the Order's Sanctuary. This was where he fought them in an attempt to save Ithra. This was where he first learned of his relationship with magic. Where he first became mana infused. Where the Order had learned that he was the antithesis of everything they knew and had at their disposal.

A low growl escaped the Scholar as he chose one of the hallways. He could not follow through every hole. The building was frail, and some of the holes to the tower had collapsed on themselves. It would be wiser to go around and find the intended path to the tower. So with that in mind, he began his walk down one of the halls. Massive, marble-lined pathways with towering windows as tall as the Scholar himself. Not a single window was intact after all these years, the remnants of many of them forming piles of dusty, mostly-opaque shards on the inside and outside of the windows themselves.

[C S]

Septimus' traversing of the hallway unused for so long had him seeing a mix of the past and present.

There was a stairwell past the line of windows, one which would have been mirrored at the end of one of the other obstructed passages. A sign rusted until it was illegible was mounted on the wall in front of the steps. Floors upon floors of classrooms were above the dragon, and the sign would have denoted them all and their respective departments of study and teaching. As it was now, this was just a nameless stairway in a nameless wing of a castle that deserved no name.

Buildups of silt and minerals caked the surfaces. Salty stalactites hung from banisters and overhangs, railings and windowsills. Metal benches were coated in rust, riddled with holes and were flaking oranges and reds. Patches of dark where there wouldn't be shadows were the vicious growths of mold that Syria had spoken of.

There were but a few bookcases on the floor, the pages long gone, leaving only the rotting leather. The titles were things the Scholar could only guess at.


Syria, Beshayir and Ceridwen saw similar sights outside of the university. They flitted about over the seashell-shingled roofs, where sand did not cover them. The brine of the sea had coated the rear of the castle grounds with the hard grime, a pale green in color. And as the mage had suspected, there were places in the surrounding fencing where the metal had collapsed into rusted piles, and places where brick had fallen out from the supports of the castle's exterior wall. Glass and artifacts of daily living were strewn about, like the aftermath of a shipwreck.

"Dearie dearie," Syria said to Beshayir, "this is why we fly. Can you imagine trying to walk through that?"

[The Kingpin]

Septimus observed the relentless decay that plagued the castle with an inquisitive gaze. It was humbling, to see such a structure of undoubted grandeur reduced to a dilapidated husk. Whatever former glory it may have had was washed away by the tides of time, leaving only the brittle bones of a memory everyone would rather bury.

Knowing now what he did, he was tempted to oblige that wish. But it was not his place to do so. For now, he simply followed the passageways, scanning his surroundings for traces of those who had disappeared.



"I'd prefer not to," responded Beshayir uncomfortably. No glint gave away metal debris and utensils below, but the dark red and brown specks on otherwise pristine white sands were just as clear a beacon of what awaited them below. This place was a place of darkness. That much could not be denied. But it was how this darkness manifested that unsettled her most. It was much like the mould Syria had asked about; clinging to the very premises of the ancient school. "What was this place?" she asked, flying alongside the mage with carefully controlled movements, wary of getting too close for fear she'd end up hurting them both.

Ceridwen meanwhile, scanned the surroundings, gaze shifting to various fixtures of the landscape, occasionally halting when she saw movement in the castle, only to see the dark silhouette of the Son of Storms behind the windows. She noted with some discomfort that there was a particularly tall reddish lance, set beside the rubble of what looked like it could have been a statue of a man in robes. The lance in question was smooth around the hands which still gripped it, but rapidly frayed into jagged spikes of rust, looking for all the world like some devilish weapon to kill creatures too large for conventional swords and spears. She imagined that if ever a lance existed for killing dragons, that menacing, rust-red rod would be it. It took her a few moments more to remember that she had already seen such a weapon, in the form of an illusion, pale blue and pristine in its design; the Cloudburst arrow that had been intended to take the Scholar's life. The unspeakable cruelty of mankind was a dark and deplorable thing. But she could not let it shake her.

[C S]

"Sheemaka said this used to be a school, like the ones that stand in Valenhad. Remember how things looked like in Mercutio?" Syria replied. It was the best way to frame it for Beshayir, she believed. "There are some buildings in Mercutio that are like the tower you used to get your lessons from in Brodudika, except they could fit everything in that tower and more across a bigger area, with more classrooms and students. That's what this place used to be, even though it doesn't look like it anymore."

"On the subject of things not looking like much..."

"Hey, Ceridwen! Do you see anything of interest?" Syria called out to the Thunderkin.

[The Kingpin]

"Tracks!" called back Ceridwen simply as she banked left, dropping downwards towards the ground, making a point to approach from a far enough distance that she didn't disturb the prints. Footprints of a sort, though whose, she wasn't sure. It seemed she had found traces of one of those who had wandered into this place.


Beshayir was close behind the dragoness, her mind still in a daze as she tried to wrap her head around the fact that this place was once something akin to the schools of Mercutio and Brodudika.

[C S]

Syria swooped in after the others and pulled up on her staff to slow herself down a few feet off of the ground. At this height, she could see the footprints, which were deceptively normal tracks. They could have been the tracks of someone who lived on Aster. But then again, Zuppo people retained footwear as part of their culture, no matter how fun it was to walk about the city barefoot.

"Nice find, Ceridwen. Dragon-eyes truly are a marvel," Syria said as she traced the direction of the prints with her gaze. The ocean-worn castle seemed even more impressive from her low vantage point, without Septimus' overwhelming scale to offset matters. "Oh, that's a bad idea..." the mage said quietly when she saw that the tracks led to a doorway without its set of doors. Were people disappearing for the simple fact that they were breathing in harmful fungus inside the many halls within those castle walls?