Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"Initially we simply burned the places where mould went rampant. But we quickly learned that our air supply couldn't be replenished fast enough to keep up with large scale burning. Then we started employing a different method," explained Sheemaka.

"And that was?" asked the Scholar, tilting his head.

"Boiling water. Using magic to keep water in liquid form at temperatures far exceeding its actual boiling point, we were able to destroy the mould. For something the size of the ruins however, in a place like that, we will have to form a second, smaller dome encompassing the entire castle, and then fill it with water and boil it. Once the purge is complete, we simply nullify the magic, which causes the water to vaporise, and disperse into the air. We then draw it out, and funnel it towards the outer dome, to be released into the sea."

"Impressive," responded the Son of Storms.

Sheemaka nodded. "It's quite ingenious. It solves the air problem, kills the mould, and leaves most things intact. Coral and living structures are destroyed by it, but they don't accumulate mould," he stated.

That caused the Scholar to raise a brow in surprise. "They don't?"

"No, they don't. In fact, they feed on it."

[C S]

"You mean... the colorful rocky stuff out there and around the city is alive?" the Daavenian mage pressed with a youthful astonishment. Syria opened her mouth again to comment on the Steward of Storms and the coral mace he carried, though she could not assemble the right words, she felt. How did one go about explaining that there was a giant stationed at an ancient temple in the heart of Aster, with a weapon such as that? It would have been a story on par with Sheemaka's abridged account of Zuppoland's history, without his seasoned expertise in condensing events. Syria sat back in her seat after deciding against it.

[The Kingpin]

"Indeed it is. It is constantly growing and ever changing. It is the only reason Zuppoland still stands. It allowed us to rebuild even when the resources for it were not available. Today, very little of the old Zuppoland still exists. It has been replaced by the coral and the shells. Hence why we are the City of the Conch. We stopped being a city of stone a very long time ago. No amount of restoration can change that," said Sheemaka simply.

"Intriguing," responded the Scholar, his gaze lingering on Syria for a moment as she had her moment of discomfort "I have a...friend, I suppose is the only fair word, who lives in the heart of Aster. He is very large, and wields a-" he broached in an attempt to get the mage the information she sought, only for it to be interrupted by the sovereign.

"Radamand, yes. I have been informed he had a mace made of coral. And before you ask, yes, that coral is most likely alive. Those of my men in his proximity informed me that they could feel it."

It was the Scholar's turn to be surprised. On multiple counts. Sheemaka clearly did not need to be on the battlefield to know intimately what had transpired. Something he supposed was to be expected from the king of a people who quite literally passed on their memories to their successors. But what surprised him even more was this implication of a sense for life. "They could feel it?" he echoed.

"Indeed. The thing about being struck by the blast wave of a destroyed mana well is that it has a tendency to twist you into something very different than what you were. I'm sure you will agree that this," began the marine monarch as he traced a finger to one of the tendrils on his chin, tugging at it as it curled around one of his digits. "...is not the feature of anything remotely related to the humans, dwarves and elves of the surface. We are quite irreversibly a different race to our mainland brethren. Sapients of a different kind. The ability to sense life is just one more curious trait we have acquired."

[C S]

Syria tried her best not to follow that trail of irony back to she who would be best left unnamed. A people who could feel the presence of life without the sense of a mage for mana, and one individual without any regard for it. Ah, but that was the catch, wasn't it? Liorick had written that the holdover mage wasn't a born Zuppolandian...

Her reprieve from stormy thoughts beckoned a more pressing storm, as the sound of plating sliding over plating reached her ears. She turned to look behind her, and saw a company of Zuppo guards assembled at the entrance to the throne room, their armor tinted green, webbed formations accenting the mail in between the solid metal.

[The Kingpin]

"Meins bosar! Hububba der peeps negastahp. Allgo peeps ooti nopazoinks. Sortating zoomyheera."

My King! The unrest of the populace hasn't ceased. They're too fearful. Something is coming.

It was a statement that did not need to be said. Sheemaka had felt what the guard meant to tell him even before he finished speaking.

"Amma jangle der nopyscreecha. Uba outy der noobyfrens," responded the sovereign to the guard, before turning his attention to his guests, all of which were visibly unsettled at this point.

"What's wrong?" asked the Scholar, knowing the urgency in their voices to be telling of imminent danger. The last time he had heard it, Eredar was assaulting the city.

"Something is coming. Something big, and immensely powerful. I believe I know what it is, and I pray I am wrong. Regardless, I have a favour to ask," said Sheemaka as he gripped his staff tightly, pressing its end against the ground as he rose to his feet.

"If it's a threat, we will aid you in fighting it. You need only say the wo-" started the Scholar.

"No. You will pass on a message to the port authorities of Crestvale. Take this with you," said Sheemaka, his tone sharp and commanding in a way that made it clear it was no longer a request, but an order. The ground's glassy, icy appearance warped, and out of it came a transparent conch shell. It was a small thing, about the size of one's palm, but within it shimmered the same light that shone in the top of the Monarch's staff. It nestled itself in the Scholar's palm. "They are to cease all trade with us until instructed otherwise. Any failure to do so will pose a risk to both them and us. Our borders are henceforth closed. Go now, or risk being sealed in with us. We will send our own messenger once the matter has been resolved."

"I do not understand. Why can we not fight with yo-"

"This is not a foe that can be fought. Only death comes of it. You wait, you hide, and when the time comes, and the threat has passed, you rise to live free once more. You will see what I mean before you reach the surface, I believe. Whatever you do, if you see it, do not engage it. Ignore it, and depart. We will be fine. But we cannot guarantee the same for any who do not heed this warning. Go now, friend. And may the Conch protect you."

Before the Scholar even knew what was happening ,the company of guards had fallen into formation around the quartet, and had turned to face the entrance of the throne room. Sheemaka, having concluded his conversation, lifted his staff before striking down, a sound like a thunderclap filling the throne room. Immediately, the cool, gentle hues of the curved walls that made the interior of the Conch, from throne room to the outer reaches of the inner city, were replaced with the reds, blacks, whites and yellows. A deep, rumbling sound rang out, like the world's largest warhorn being blown, the city's alarm call heard throughout the city, everyone within the Dome hearing it and moving towards their homes. Workplaces were emptied, shops practically abandoned on the spot, streets cleared.

[C S]

Syria got out of her chair and went to help Beshayir out of hers, feeling more than a little swept up in the moment. It reminded her of the young elf's response to seeing a shark during their first underwater excursion, except it went without saying that things had changed. Septimus' company did not confer the protection of what would naturally be an apex predator.

That meant something even higher up on the ecological hierarchy was closing in on the city, and the mage could only wonder as to what that was as she was escorted alongside Septimus and Ceridwen, clasping Beshayir's hand in her own. Like the feathered Thunderkin had been, Syria was left with a pit of fear for that unknown, and the implications this shift of perspective entailed.

[The Kingpin]

Ceridwen's head could have been on a swivel, for how fast it was shifting. The Scholar had leapt forward ahead of the soldiers as he shifted, the cloud of smoke barely having time to clear before the dragon was striding towards the exit. Ceridwen kept close to him, if only because she felt marginally safer at his side than trailing behind him. She did not have to worry about that for long, though, as he soon slowed to allow Syria and Beshayir to join him. "You two might want to jump into the satchels for this. I don't know what it is that's waiting outside the dome, but we may need to be quick when we inevitably have to deal with it," he warned. Beshayir did not even hesitate, taking the advice immediately, both to make herself less of a hindrance and to gain the welcome shelter from the frightening turn of events. Everything was going wrong so fast and she had no idea why or what was responsible.

[C S]

Syria was more reluctant to leave Septimus' side. One of the guards leading them out of the palace knew the language well enough to follow it to an extent, evidently, as he offered a string of phrases Syria thought encouraging from the tone in which they were said. The guard agreed with Septimus, and with the kingdom's hosts feeling so strongly about the issue, the Mage-Maiden was hard pressed not to be disagreeable.

"Alright," she decided. Syria got her staff into hovering position and sat onto it, before raising herself up and into the satchel. "Time is of the essence. Every second counts."

[The Kingpin]

It was when the group reached the wall of the dome that the guards stopped. Over the blaring of the alarm horn in the distance, a rumbling bellow rang out as a leviathan shot past overhead. The long, bulky beast propelled itself forward with four vast flippers, its long, crocodilian jaws lancing through the water with an efficiency that was scarcely matched by any other marine creature.

"Is that the cause of the disturba-" started the Scholar, cut off mid-sentence as he, and just about everyone else present felt it. A terrible, gut-wrenching, bone-chilling feeling of pure and overpowering dread. It was as if any emotion anyone present could possibly have had had been rent from their hearts and replaced with fear so overwhelming it all but consumed them, in a way even the Sylvari couldn't have ever dreamed of rivalling.

Looking towards where the Leviathan went, Septimus saw what was coming before most; the gargantuan aura of something vast and terrible. He realised then why Sheemaka had said it was not something that could be fought. Nothing he knew of in this city could fight this. Nothing even came close.

Ceridwen was less able to see the thing that had alarmed the Scholar so, though she was easily as terrified by the horrible aura it exuded. Within the satchel, Beshayir was huddled up on the bed, biting her lip to fight the urge to whimper. She had vowed never to let herself be so weak, but there were not many things that could be strong in the face of this.

"Clashlesmasha dat, bumbaderp. Uba deffo derpahur iffin uba tickheader uba stronkamor dat," said the leader of the contingent of guards, putting on a brave face despite the break in his voice.

Fight that, *******. You're an absolute moron if you think you're stronger than that.

The Scholar's eyes were fixed on the aura, until the snapping of fingers drew his attention.

"Outy outy asahaulo, noobyfrens. Tickerticka runfasta."

Leave swiftly, friends. Time is short.

The Scholar nodded thankfully, but said nothing as he rushed for the dome wall. Passing through it much as he had when he entered, he found himself immediately drawn in an unseen current, the ocean pulling and pushing against him in ways that were not present when he arrived. He saw creatures of every shape and size scattering, some burying themselves in the silt below, others swimming off into the shadows, into reefs, underwater caves and deeper into the ocean.

Time seemed to pass like sap down a tree trunk, slow and sticky, every second clinging on for five more in the perceptions of the Scholar and his company as they put City of the Conch behind them, heading for the surface. They were within viewing distance just long enough to see just what it was that had caused the alarm.

The fading light of a setting sun above cast a glow across the hide of the bellowing leviathan as it circled below. A massive, spiked, serpentine limb, so colossal as to dwarf the leviathan entirely, darted out of the darkness of the deeper depths and swung down upon it. The barbs running the length of the visible parts of the tendril impaled the animal and dragged it into the darkness, and the bellowing ceased. The dome's glimmering surface faded, and a moment later, the entire city seemed to disappear against the backdrop of the ocean floor; the culmination of their emergency response. The leviathan had served its purpose, and bought them the time they needed to hide.

The Scholar bore witness to fear incarnate in those following seconds as out of the depths came a huge mass of what, at first glance, seemed to be a school of deep sea fish, something leading the real threat, or fleeing it. That was until he saw how evenly the luminescent speckles moved, acting as one figure. The light struck them, and he realised it was not a gargantuan school of fish, but a single creature; a beast so huge as to rival the dome itself in size. Six terrible red eyes, all slitted horizontally, glared out from the darkness created by the blood of the leviathan, slowly emerging from within the sanguine cloud and proving to be as deep a red in their own right. Each crimson orb seemed nearly as large as the Hueilin himself. The monstrosity soon emerged entirely as it swam past beneath them, its proportionately tiny eyes making the dragon feel very small and inconsequential. It was little wonder why it had ignored him. He wasn’t even worth the effort to snatch up into its colossal maw. He realised around that time that he wasn't worth noticing by this abysmal terror. Rows upon rows of armoured plates covered its back, and a vast, shark like dorsal fin drifted past mere feet to the Scholar's right, covered in scars and harpoons. Its massive, diamond-shaped tail fin passed moments later, the Scholar having to fight the downward current as it pulled away from him and towards the sea floor, tossed about in the ensuing vortex as it drifted away into the black in search of food that was not far off.
Moments later, a school of leviathans bolted from a cave a few hundred yards away, barely visible as specks in the aquatic fog, the hapless sea-dwellers seeking shelter that did not exist, from a foe that would show no mercy. Over a half dozen tendrils reached out, each swinging down and impaling a leviathan before dragging it back to a maw Septimus saw for a split second, wide, shark like and lined with rows upon rows of hooked triangular teeth.

Sparing no more time to linger in the vicinity of this tyrant of the sea, the Scholar drove himself towards the surface with all the power his wings and tail could muster, finding Ceridwen far ahead of him, having bolted the moment the first leviathan died. Water gave way to air, and his tail gave way for his wings as powerful strokes launched him far into the sky, the Son of Storms not ceasing until he was amidst the clouds. He knew in that moment what he had just seen.

A Kraken.

[C S]

Right about then, Syria was with Beshayir atop her bed. The Mage-Maiden's arms were around the girl in a bid to offer comfort and glean comfort for herself. There had been a great escalation of events this day, and while she was sure her mind was still intact, it was a distinct possibility that she would question herself after writing down her recollection of these events; more so than previously. As she held onto the quivering elf, quivering herself, Syria tossed about the notion in her musings that maybe things would be easier if this all was the machinations of a mind on the outskirts of lucidity. Only the fact that all four of them experienced the same thing, undeniably, stood in the way of this comfort.

So this was real.

Ramifications of history leading to previously undiscovered secrets underneath the sky beneath the sea; all the while firmly rooted in the seat of the abyss. They went to Zuppoland to learn, the band of four. Thus, they learned: insights into the starry void and the strength of a dragon's Focus; and were immediately humbled by the overpowering morbid whims that existed in this warped mirror of Leyuna, the world whose sky ended where Leyuna's began.

Syria balked to consider this was the way of Leyuna in its natural balance. If this was the extent of the natural world, then the way of the divine and truly supernatural was well outside of the scope of the minds of the living... living in the usual sense of the word. There was a time when the mage did not need to make a distinction like that.

That time seems so long ago, now.

[The Kingpin]

That night was a restless one for the Son of Storms. It took meditation and his pipe to finally drift off into slumber; one that was nonetheless uncomfortable.

He had known there were gods. He had known that were archdemons. He had known there were elementals.

But the knowledge that something like the Kraken existed was something that unsettled him immensely.

Some would probably laugh at his naivete.

Had they seen it as he had, heard it as he had, felt its aura as he had, they most certainly would not be laughing.

That horrific, droning, haunting call. The blood red gaze. That sense of utter despair and dread. The sheer, all-encompassing fear that he knew now was unnatural.

He had known that fiercer things existed than leviathans in the oceans. It was inevitable that something bigger and more powerful showed itself. The Primordial Elementals were just one example of that.

In a way, was this not an elemental itself? Or if not that, then an aspect, the very embodiment of fear itself.


Eventually, the Scholar managed to steer his thoughts away from the matter of the Kraken, delving into earlier events that day in order to take refuge from his discomfort.

In doing so, he found himself returning to the matter of what he had told Sheemaka. Or more specifically, the implications of it.

Sheemaka was told a tale that was more fiction than fact. A lie told with the intent of freeing Desrium and his creator from the dangers of more grief-fuelled blame. In doing so, he had fabricated a story meant to redirect that blame, that hatred and rage that would no doubt come from the families of those lost, and to set it against a common foe.

It was a lie. It was questionable. Syria was right in that.

But then, had they not done the same thing before? Had they not turned Morrelie away from Desrium through a lie, to direct her wrath elsewhere, however temporary that was?

Syria had not spoken out against that plan. Indeed, she was the one who suggested it.

It was something they would need to discuss.

[C S]

Sleep did not come easy for Syria either. She ended up staying in Beshayir's bed with the young elf, and drifted off to sleep with her company. Neither of them wanted to be alone through the night after what they saw below the waves -- what was still below the waves. Dawn roused the mage from her sleep, the sunlight rising over the horizon just off of Septimus' tail-end. That meant the first of the day's red rays broke the layer of purple clouds and shone right into her eyes.

Syria groggily turned over and reached out for her coat, which was folded and tucked away on the floor beside the bed. The coat was used as a shield against the rising sun at first, and as Syria worked her way out of bed without waking Beshayir, she put it on properly. "Good morning, Septimus," she communicated to the Scholar. "How is Ceridwen?"

Syria walked over to her bag and pulled out her journal, ink and a quill to do the writing she was not of mind and sound body to do the night before. She sat at her desk, opened to a blank page and marked her starting point.

[The Kingpin]

"As well as can be expected," responded the Scholar evenly, his gaze shifting to the dragoness flying a few dozen feet away, their wing tips almost touching. "Yesterday was a difficult one for her."

Indeed it had been.

For a dragoness with a deep-seated fear of humanoid creatures; things so much smaller than her, coming face to face with the Kraken had shaken her deeply. She flew alongside the Scholar, but he was not entirely sure she was awake, or at least, awake enough that he could have spoken to her ordinarily. Her mind was elsewhere, trapped in a maelstrom of emotions, not least of which was fear.

It had killed them so easily. It was so massive. It would have slain them had it thought them worth the effort.

These were all thoughts that would haunt her nightmares for weeks to come. It was one thing to fear a creature that had to struggle to bring you low. It was another thing to face a creature so much mightier than you that your life was an unsubstantial fleck in the peripheries of its world, to be swept away if it ever became problematic.

[C S]

"Difficult for us all." Syria gazed off from her page to the far wall of the satchel, a quadrant of transparent lining giving her a view of the eastern seaboard of Aster. Beaches and rocky coves, lagoons and swamps, all lined this stretch of land, and Syria saw where the sand ended and the cliffs wherein which Crestvale's reach into the sea began. "Do you ever wonder how it is that we are drawn to things thought myths? Lost cities, elemental birds, snake-like people that can mimic the humanoid figure... and now devil fish."

Her eyes followed the easy motion of a long, three-masted vessel some distance out from the plateaus that rose from the ocean, the crests of waves flickering with the red sun around its bow. Syria knew that coastal guards prowled the hours of night and the hours of the early morn to ward off pirates. What she didn't know was that the formations of rock that rose from the sea were recent things, where Crestvale's natural fortifications were broken down by warring monoliths of water.

[The Kingpin]

"Is it not to be expected? We are scholars, seeking the most enigmatic of knowledge, in the most uncharted of places. And one of us is a dragon with a penchant for earthen flames and dealings with the divine. If anything, I'd find it alarming if we didn't encounter such unheard of things in our travels," responded the Scholar, both amused and intrigued at that particular self-reflection. It really had been an interesting road he had walked. He left Drakhunmiir so many years ago now...He had never imagined, then, that he would have seen what he ultimately saw. Nor had he imagined that he would become what he had.

From Arashi's Exile to the Celestial Scholar. An interesting road, indeed.



The Scholar's first sight of the perimeter of Crestvale was that of the towering royal palace. Imposing as ever, it stood out as the highest point in the region aside from the mountains looming on the northern and north-western horizons. The city around it was a sprawling network of streets and warehouses and factories, with the residential and trade districts filling the gaps in between. Hueilin of nearly every clan could be seen soaring, swooping, and flitting back and forth across the vast metropolis as they carried out their duties. He did not know where, but somewhere among them, he knew that Sardanus and Eirwyn were hard at work too.

The inner city's recovery was coming along steadily, if still showing the scars of destruction. The harbour and the areas around it, however, were, to the Scholar's great surprise, practically pristine, brought back to full working capacity far ahead of his expectations.

The guard towers were another matter, however. Several of them were still in ruins, their positioning meaning they were difficult to repair. He was able to deduce, based on the appearances of the structures, that they had opted to do them one at a time. Some of the towers were a uniform grey, the contrast in their detailing coming in their pale walkways, trebuchet platforms and arcane artillery batteries. Others were worn and more varied in their colour, shades of green, white and brown finding a place on the grey stone. These were older towers, bearing their natural wear and tear like a badge of honour.

And then there were the ones that were not. More specifically, they were the towers that had been reduced to mounds of rubble, rough, jagged, broken stumps of brick and mortar, remnants of legends millennia old, swept away in the tide of an elemental's wrath.

The city's mighty walls were likewise being worked on in districts, segments that were brought back to capacity systematically. Septimus noted that the very edges of the area that had been struck by the elemental were already repaired. The more gravely damaged areas, however, were still a work in progress. The very centre of the wall was still being built up from the ground. The first third of the wall's height had been rebuilt, with scaffolding rising up from it to prepare it for the next stage of construction. Notably however, the areas around it that were higher up had not been touched, save for support scaffolding to prevent any collapses. It seemed that they wanted to build the top-most levels of the wall simultaneously, in order to make it stronger as a whole. How exactly they intended to compensate for the separate construction of lower levels was a matter the Scholar did not know, and one he would leave to the engineers and architects to accomplish without inquiry.

One thing the Scholar took note of was the fact that the entire Crestvale fleet was outside the harbour, floating a few miles off shore as silent sentinels and a reminder that, while battered, Valenhad was not broken.

[C S]

According to Syria's persuasions, the bird's eye outlook of Crestvale was woefully transient compared to what followed immediately after. Although she and the still-sleeping Beshayir did not feel the inherent tug and push of gravity and air, seeing Septimus' maneuver unfold was still something that had Syria hunkering down in her seat with her lips as a thin line. "This is fine," she thought, as she lost sight of rooftops and spires and the horizon as a whole. Spotted dawn sky filled her vision, and then that rolled away to be replaced with a candid view of the harbor from above.

In that Septimus had arched his back to loop about in flight, and was diving towards the docks that had a fleet of merchant ships moored. The dragon as big as Syria's inn, dropping nose-first towards timbers and ropes. Syria could not feel the acceleration and subsequent deceleration, when Septimus reared up once more to beat his wings, the downstroke gusting across the surface of the water to send rogue waves lapping at the barrel-shaped hulls of the ships. She could not feel these forces, but her imagination was enough for her.

"Another token thought for my lovely Scholar," Syria began, tapping her quill against her page. There were several small paragraphs scrawled across the parchment, though the thought the mage had been putting onto paper was markedly interrupted the moment Septimus went inverted. "Do you ever wonder what went through Desrium's metal head when he was sat on your shoulders, instead of tucked away in a nice, comfortable satchel like I am?"

[The Kingpin]

"Sometimes," responded the Scholar casually as he hovered for a few more moments, choosing a spot to land before descending onto the pier with a thump. Ceridwen followed close behind, landing at the very edge of the dock, her tail held rigid over the edge of it, pointing straight down towards the water as she leaned forward with head and wings, standing straight and following. "I have learned that Desrium is of the tendency to get wrapped up in deep thought more often than his lack of expression would have you believe. So I would not at all be surprised if there was a marked absence of thought on what happened during my landing manoeuvres. Well, after the first couple of times I did it, at least. As for what he thought those first couple of times, your guess is as good as mine. I never thought to ask."

[C S]

"Ah," Syria replied. Then, as she had been told by the dragon multiple times before, she added: "You should have."

[The Kingpin]

"Perhaps. But not all dragons are so vain," was the Scholar's only reply to that. "Not that I believe you think me vain, mind. At least, not outside our little 'games'."

From the pier, the walk to the admiralty office was a swift and straightforward one. Literally as well as figuratively, as it was only three flights of stairs in a straight line from the entrance to the harbour to get to the brass-plated double-doors. They were held open at that particular moment, a pair of wooden wedges located under the doors to keep them from swinging shut, and a wide desk could be seen beyond it, where the harbour master and admiralty representative sat.

The Scholar entered amidst a cloud of black, the dragon that had blotted out all the dawn light passing through the office door replaced with the relatively lithe form of the Scholarly Elf, and almost immediately, there was a change in attitude by those present. Everyone recognised the Son of Storms in this city. The black skin, sapphire eyes and ornate satchels were very distinctive.

[C S]

When the dragon-in-disguise was prompted to explain the meaning of his visit, there was but a momentary pause before the bag on his back opened with a green glow that melded with the dawn's radiance and the decorative lamps that were on the big wooden desks, and also hanging from the ceiling. Out of the open bag came Sheemaka's royal decree, which placed itself before the officer and lost its lime luster. And then the satchel closed with that same magical accord.