Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"Maybe we could see where the prints came from? Figure out how they were getting in?" suggested Ceridwen, tilting her head questioningly. She hated to admit it, but she was never a very good tracker, and figuring out mysteries was something she typically left to the more circumstantially astute.

[C S]

"I doubt we'd be able to patch up the fence," Syria replied. Crossing her arms, she added, "And I don't think it would do much to stop people from trespassing despite the signs. Somehow, we need to find out what is it about this place that's luring people to it. What could still be here after so many years, magical or otherwise?" The Mage-Maiden blinked a few times.

"Hey... Ceridwen. You're capable of tapping into these kinds of phenomena, right? That's how you found the thunderbird, hm?"

[The Kingpin]

The dragoness blinked at that, uncertainty colouring her features briefly before she shrugged. "I don't know if its really something so big. I just sort of...felt it. Like something was calling to me," she explained. It was halfway through that statement that she realised how similar that may have been to what happened here. "I suppose I could try," she conceded, closing her eyes as she had done that night in the cave. Closing her eyes to listen.

[C S]

Syria gestured to Beshayir, waving a hand towards the ground. She then demonstrated what she meant by it, silently lowering herself onto her feet and then sitting down on the ground so that Ceridwen wouldn't have to deal with any interference on her and soon, the young pyromancer's, part.

[The Kingpin]

Following Desrium's path proved more difficult than Septimus had initially predicted. Weaving in and out of hallways, changing direction to avoid caved in segments of the castle, it had slowed him down considerably.

But eventually, he found it. The inner tower. The Scholar looked around at what, on first appearance, looked to be storm-damage. Sea-damage, rather. The sand formed a massive rise on one end of the courtyard, giving access to the roof of the university's lower segment, and portions of the walls had come down entirely, giving an easy view to the inside.

Closer inspection revealed other things however. Things once hidden. Things the Order wanted buried and forgotten.

They were little things, mostly. Hairline seams around shoe-sized stones in an otherwise flat ground. Every few feet, instead of a shoe-shaped stone, a shoe-shaped hole could be seen, where wind, weather or the sundering of the island had shaken loose the repairs. The holes and stones were clearly Desrium's path, showing clearly his route from the external reaches of the university, into the tower proper. Bigger details such as jagged marks of destruction across the walls of the tower, holes caused by stray spells, or ones that had gone through Desrium's shell and out the other end.

So much effort to halt him. So much unnecessary violence. So much unnecessary hate. The torture Desrium went through in order to save his friend was alone sufficient to make the dragon's blood boil. One of their mages now sought his destruction, bearing all the hatred and ignorance that her entire order had held long ago. Had they known then what she knew now, his brother would have been dead before they had ever met. That mere thought was something that caused the dragon to scar the earth anew, talons digging into marble and granite flooring as though it were mere mud.

[C S]

A pungent smell reached the dragon long before he entered the tower. When Septimus reached its entrance, he was confronted with a chasm, a central void in which the stairs that spiraled up into the tower's tallest floors were no more. The well remained, cracked and broken, bearing evidence that there was once a flight of stairs, but no more than that. Looking up the chasm, Septimus saw the rooms above in various states of serious disrepair. Streams of pale light shone in through holes in the walls and roof.

And that only left the dark depths. The smell of stagnant water, a reservoir of sickness and toxins that had collected in the chamber beneath the tower, and since evaporated. Septimus had no reason to venture further.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar's thoughts continued down their dark and terrible spiral, thoughts of what had transpired here, what had been, what was, and what could yet come to pass, all vying for dominance in the war between fury and reason. It was amongst these thoughts that one particular realisation shone like a beacon; the hottest fireball in the hellish pit that was his emotions; the realisation that the roles of Ithra and Desrium were now occupied by Desrium and himself. He had saved the Stalwart once through misdirection. But he knew that there was no way he could fend Morrelie off forever. She would eventually find him, and if nothing was done, she would kill him.

And Septimus was powerless to stop her.

The Son of Storms, for all his titles, all his achievements, all his influence, intelligence and wisdom, all his focus and reason, could do nothing to directly oppose her.

It was perhaps that realisation that cast this tower in a new light. A monument to knowledge, advancement, peace and prosperity it may have been, once upon a time. But no longer. Now, it was a monument to ignorance, abasement, war and suffering. It was the blood-stained banner of a person, of a group, that would sooner see a creature destroyed than understood.

It would be a funeral pyre to the very beliefs it represented.


The furious bellow that tore forth from the dragon's throat could have been heard as far as the gates of the Great Conch. A shockwave of energy spilled forth from his form, kicking up dust and rubble and blowing it against the walls of the surrounding university as the dragon's wings were spread wide, casting wide shadows over the courtyard. Swinging his head sideways, his formidable horns tore vicious gouges into the stone wall of the tower as he withdrew, jaws parting as he snarled. A plume of blue flames shot forth and engulfed the entire ground floor, flowing through the entrance and washing down into its depths and up the gutted shaft at its centre. The ensuing explosion launched rubble of every conceivable size out of the windows in a series of blasts that blew out floor after floor, until the flames spilled forth from the roof in a spectacular blast of molten rock, metal and debris, raining down on the courtyard like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption. Tarry black smoke plumed into the sky overhead as the dragon took flight, a powerful wingbeat launching him over the tower entirely. A second wingbeat saw him circling around the spire, sapphire eyes burning white as a guttural incantation echoed off the castle's walls.

Ceridwen's gaze jolted towards the source of the sound, eyes wide as she heard what sounded like a fight. The sound of a spell of some sort was followed by a terrible boom, a pillar of red and black energy exploding out of the centre of the castle. The rattle of collapsing brick and mortar was deafening, like an unending thunderclap that shook the very earth beneath them.

The faint silhouette of the dragon could be seen circling through the smoke and dust above the crumbling tower, a blue-white fireball shooting down from the sky like a meteorite from the dragon's maw. An ear-shattering boom sounded out as the fireball hit the burning roof of the tower, blowing ash and cinders in every direction. The burning debris was eclipsed only by the glow of the dragon's eyes, pluming tendrils of brilliant blue light spilling around his brows and up into the sky, trailing behind him as he moved. The Scholar landed atop the toppling tower a moment later, the action proving to be the final, finishing blow that levelled the once mighty spire. Below, the entire inner courtyard fractured and broke, collapsing into the floor below it and flattening the lower, farther reaching chambers of the Order's once proud claim to power. By the time Ceridwen crossed the roof of the castle and could look in, she could see only the furious fiery silhouette of a Hueilin enthralled by a dragon rage; the first time she had seen such a thing with her own eyes. Standing amidst the smoke, the ground burned beneath him, his eyes, runes and maw shining like beacons in the blackness. His jagged fangs cast a shadow against the soot and dust swirling around his form that left an image no less terrifying than any blood dragon the history books told of. It was in that moment that the Fury of the Scholar was allowed to surface, if only for a moment.

Dealing with one's rage is poisonous...

Letting it have free reign will rob you of focus...


Focus.


A low rumble escaped the Son of Storms, the fires of his gaze and maw fading, the trails of blue billowing from his eyes beginning to dissipate in the smoke until they were no more.

Focus.

[C S]

A dome shimmered underneath a shimmering dome.

Lines of mana raced across the incorporeal surface, strobing and branching off in a chromatic gradient, tracing a crystalline pattern across the hardened green light.

Syria stood next to Beshayir, staff held firmly in front of her. The blue rose shined its inner light brightly, projecting the barrier that protected the two of them from the shrapnel raining down from the sky beneath the sea. Burning rubble and glowing slag, and all in between, hit a brunt force and were driven into the kelp beds. However, they did not make contact with Syria's barrier.

They did not get that close, for green wings were extended over the Mage-Maiden's dome, and the very air around it rushed to blow the dangers away. It was only when only smoke was visible above them that the elemental guardian disappeared into mist, and the barrier dematerialized inwards from the edges.

At the moment of last light, Syria said breathlessly to Beshayir, "See? This... is why you practice."

She then thought back to Ceridwen's great speed. The dragoness was up and moving before the shield had fully formed around her. Syria figured she was eager to tell Septimus off, if she wasn't already chattering away at the Scholar. Syria's greater concern was what had prompted Septimus to use what she'd come to call the 'exploding death spray'. As far as bad omens went, that was pretty bad.

[The Kingpin]

Fury is poisonous. Losing oneself to it is a detriment to all involved. Your friends will question your motives. Your allies will fear you. Your loved ones will doubt your emotional integrity.

Channel what fury you feel into something beneficial. Instead of rage, embrace focus. Focus on that which angers you, and learn to harness that anger into seeking your solution, seeking peace. Embrace the tranquility of the mind....For what but the mind can wield your power effectively? What but the mind can solve the matters that anger you most?


Ceridwen watched as the patterns and runes, even the glow of the Scholar's eyes, faded from sight. In an instant, it was like the Son of Storms had disappeared, consumed in the destruction he had wrought. She looked around wildly for a threat, sensing nothing despite it all, confused by what was happening. The raining slag and churning cinders froze and dropped to the floor in lumps of ice around her, a field of frost protecting her for the most part. She had no shield in the traditional sense, but her magic, limited though it was, was sufficient to keep most of the dangers at bay.

[C S]

The pair of mages took to the air in search of Ceridwen, and but a glance was all it took to spot the small dragon, overlooking the smouldering pit. They flew over to the patch of roof she was on, the shelled shingles around Ceridwen covered in a thin layer of frost and piles of debris that had settled around her. Most of what she deflected rolled off the side of the castle, and was added to the rubble on the ground.

"Is he alright?" Syria asked Ceridwen.

[The Kingpin]

"I think so," responded Ceridwen uncertainly as she watched the cloud of smoke for signs of the dragon within. She could see no sign of what may have caused the outburst, no sign of a living, prominent threat. It was as if it was just a random act of violence and destruction.

Suddenly a pulse of light shone within the smoke, looking for all the world like lightning behind a cloud, glowing steadily brighter. Vast wings suddenly spread out of the cloud of ash, broad and imposing, the membranes indiscernible from the night sky, dark and star-speckled. The cosmos itself was reflected in the dragon's wings so perfectly that they could have been gateways to the heavens. The dragon's head emerged from the smoke a moment later, hide shimmering as it drifted in and out of corporeality, the edges of the dragon's silhouette looking like a mirage given physical form. The Scholar's sapphire gaze shone so brightly and impossibly blue that it put the sea above them itself to shame, looking as though his eyes were made of raw mana. A low, growling sigh escaped him, the sound both organic and not, a faint echo accompanying it, as though he were inside a cave, even here, in the open. His horns, once sharply segmented and shell like, were now smooth and sleek, the segments almost flush against the length of them as they arched and forked into an elaborate crown. His runes and patterns were as dark as night, and his talons had all taken on a dark grey hue, glossy and streaked with traces of blue that seemed to glimmer and fade like embers in burning coal.

In all, he was barely recognisable.

Glancing around and above him, the Scholar hummed thoughtfully, rearing up on his hind legs as his wings pushed down to support him, a hand reaching forward. All at once, the cloud of smoke that had filled the sky over the castle imploded on itself, swirling like a tornado that shrunk until it pooled into an orb in his taloned hand, writhing violently as his fingers closed suddenly into a fist, a faint puff of black spilling out between his fingers briefly before disappearing. When his fingers parted once more, only black powder remained, pouring to the ground like sand. It was now that his audience could see him in full, the sight of his hide shimmering with the light of an aurora.

Moments later, the unbearable heat of the burning courtyard seemed to fade, fires extinguishing themselves, slag solidifying, the result of his rage, much like the rage itself, dying in moments. Before long, no one could have guessed that the destruction was not hundreds of years old. The only exception to this was the ground beneath his feet and wings, everything that touched him directly glowing orange with the heat of his hide.

It was then that the Ephemeral Scholar looked up to the roof of the castle, his gaze settling on the two mages and the dragoness, noting the flabbergasted expressions on their faces with a smile.

"I had a feeling you'd probably react like that."

[C S]

All of Syria's worries that Septimus' life was in danger shriveled up in that instance.

"What did I say about breaking things!?" she exclaimed, her mind a haphazard mixture of intrigue, awe and frustration. There were hints of that temper she swore she did not have in her desperate words as Syria ran a hand through her hair. What were they going to tell Sheemaka? All of Zuppoland must have heard the sounds of devastation. Whether or not they heard the roar was never in question; just like Brodudika, Septimus had a penchant for shouting thunder.

Thunder alone did not convey that power, though.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar shrugged, smiling somewhat sheepishly. "It was an eyesore."

[C S]

Syria hiked her staff up over a shoulder as if it were a spear, and threw it in very much the same manner one would throw a spear. The staff accounted for her lack of strength and any practical aim -- it would have fallen away pathetically had it been an inert rod of wood -- and soared over to Septimus.

Where it rammed the blue rose into the bottom of his jaw. Repeatedly.

[The Kingpin]

After the first couple of impacts, the staff passed through the dragon's skull and out the other side.

"It's also where Ithra died. Where Desrium lost his first friend."

The dragon leaned to one side, grabbing the staff between two talons and flipped it in his grip for a moment, before flicking it back towards the mage with equal force, only slowing when it reached her, giving her a nudge on the chest.

Beshayir simply watched the two incredulously. It was the most surreal thing. This...figure that was supposed to be Septimus, glowing with so much power he dwarfed nearly every other thing she had ever seen, was practically toying with an exasperated Syria while standing in the midst of the ruins of a castle tower and its courtyard. Claiming it was an eyesore.

Ceridwen was no less baffled. "But why?!" she squawked, voicing what was on everyone's mind.

"I did not like that so many good things had fallen to ruin, so many good people have died...and yet this thing was still standing. I did not like what it represented. That Morrelie is still out there, still a threat, and one that I may very well prove helpless to stop. I do not like that just as Desrium has lost a close friend to these people, I may yet lose him. There are many reasons why. But to simplify...It was an eyesore. And an insult to all the good in the world. If Sheemaka wants to charge me for the damages, then I will gladly pay. The satisfaction is worth it. But to tell you the truth, I doubt he will be bothered."

[C S]

Syria begrudgingly took her staff back. "Well of course he wouldn't be bothered," she said while part of her pondered the implications of what just happened. Was Septimus able to direct her staff for the fact that he was a powerful, magic inclined dragon, or was it for the fact that he was only a few degrees of separation from what one could call a ghost... or an elemental. "You can just claim that you had to do it to rid this place of its malady. You wouldn't be entirely dishonest, saying that much."

Was this what that exile, Chassan, had accomplished?

"I can't help feeling a bit overwhelmed. I am excited for you, but we still have a job to finish, and we haven't made any progress with it!"

[The Kingpin]

"Not entirely true," responded the Scholar simply, his gaze shifting towards one corner of the courtyard. The ground had crumbled there as it had everywhere else, but it had revealed a segment of the level below that was sheltered by the foundations of the rest of the castle. "This form brings with it some interesting benefits," he explained. Indeed, his ability to sense mana and auras had increased a hundredfold. Even now, he could see the magical auras of Syria, Ceridwen and Beshayir as though they were beacons, their colours, their inclinations, their emotions...They were so easily read.

And just as he could read them, he could read the auras of this place and all things within it. He sensed a veritable field of magic coming from deeper in the castle. It was strange, unlike any magic he had seen or sensed before. But whether that was the result of his heightened mana sense or simply the fact this was an exotic form of magic, he couldn't say. One thing he did realise however, was the fact that he now understood what Desrium saw. This must have been how magic looked to him.

[C S]

"We could use details, Septimus. What do you know?" the mage inquired, her eyes dancing in between the astral dragon and what his eyes were apparently looking at. What it was that had caught his attention, Syria couldn't say. All she saw was rubble and stars. Those were stars plastered across Septimus' 'body', right?

[The Kingpin]

"That some strange magic binds that part of the castle. What kind of magic, I cannot say. But whatever it is, the latent aura it gives us is what has been drawing these people to this place," responded the Scholar simply. That did pose the question of what happened to them however.

"We haven't found anyone, though. We found footprints, but I haven't been able to track any of them down. Do you think they just got lost roaming the halls, or consumed by the magic?" asked Ceridwen.

"Nothing so dark as evil magic. I believe a much more mundane fate befell them."

[C S]

"The mold." Syria shook her head. "This place should rightfully be condemned... but alas, for respect of the deceased, it needs to stand. It is Sheemaka's decision, what should become of this place, for his people." With that said, she inched her way to the edge of the castle roof and straddled her staff. Syria pushed off over open air. "The only thing we can do is disable this bewitching spell, so no one else is compelled to wander to their demise."