Almost the moment the admiralty representative touched the crystalline shell, it melted, pouring onto the desk in a manner that had him scrambling to move away the documents underneath. In the time he took to do so, the liquid had soaked into one particular sheet of paper, where it dried as a form of ink, forming words.
The decree was there, written plain as day, with no quill or hand to write it.
After a few moments of reading, the representative looked up at the Scholar.
"And you know of why this decree was put into effect?" he asked, brushing and curling the edges of his moustache thoughtfully.
"Yes. A Kraken."
"Excuse me?"
"I did not stutter. You know exactly what I said."
"A Kraken?"
The Scholar nodded. "Slightly larger than your entire harbour. It devoured eleven leviathans in the span of a few seconds."
"That's preposterous!"
"Three years ago, some would have said that a giant shadow god that would threaten us all with destruction was preposterous. Two years ago some would have said that the concept of a continent at war with demons was preposterous. A few months ago, some would have said that a giant water elemental destroying a large portion of Crestvale was preposterous." The Scholar's expression was stony.
The representative sighed as he nodded. "Point taken. Very well. I will call off all interactions with Zuppoland until further notice. You may leave. I can take it from here."
The Son of Storms nodded, acknowledging the representative's statement as he turned to depart. Just as simply as he had arrived, he left, the short conversation little more than a brief entry into the life of a man who would likely never see him again.
Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by The Kingpin » Sat Dec 17, 2016 6:48 pm
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
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The Kingpin - Webmaster
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by C S » Sat Dec 17, 2016 8:09 pm
High in the nearby Kirrahara, the conspiracy to undermine a conspiracy was underway.
Underwater, at the bottom of Drakhunmiir's mountaintop lake, the dragons were gathered for their moment of truth. It was a prolonged moment, in truth, for the Shaman sent by Septimus had a prolonged and precise ritual to assemble. One could not expect any less from an undertaking which required a visit to the Arcaenum. Even then, Jahkid's detour to that establishment was not for exotic materials that the average alchemist could only dream of manipulating, or creating in their own arcane engines. The transaction was made for bulk, a generous donation of resources and the means to carry them back to the mountain. It was an aged agreement; the delayed payment for the Shaman's involvement in disenchanting the toxic amulet from Draxon.
Delayed as it was, Jahkid came to learn that this arrangement would mean he had his own outstanding debt to the Arcaenum pending. A favor for a favor, with interest. Politics were politics no matter what dealt in them: dragon, man, elf or otherwise. All the same, it would take as long as it did for Jahkid to incur this debt, if not longer, for him to repay it with interest. A binding obligation that was not overwhelmingly constricting, and in some respects, mutually beneficial. The Shaman's pursuits aligned with the Arx Arcaenum's, after all. Forwarding one end only assisted the advancement of another.
Politics.
Hidden away in Arashi's secret workshop of sorts, it mattered not. The Arx Arcaenum would have jumped at the bit to learn of Onokruun's crafting specialties, but Jahkid would offer them no avenues for such things. His clan authorities had a vested interest in his unannounced return, and he told them nothing other than he had returned for rest, after having his spirits broken far beyond their borders. That much was the truth, and nothing else left his mouth to be considered a lie as he worked in the dark belly of the submerged chamber.
The sack he had fetched from Valenhad lay empty nearby, devoid of its contents: silvery metals in brick form, with patterns of dark gray and black imbued in the substance. Ordinary iron waiting to be elevated to something grander by an Onokruun's expertise. Jahkid could not go to the veins of his clan for material; it would have aroused too much suspicion. What he would create would suffice for now. It would be up to Elwen herself to take the results of his actions and enact the metamorphosis to produce the gift of a new mask.
The bricks of metal were assembled methodically, beginning with a circular foundation. The corners of individual bricks were placed side by side until the crude ring was completed, then came the next layer. And the next. Bricks upon bricks, stack in such a way as to make a vaguely hive-like structure. It was ugly, blocky, and rough to look at in the first stage of its completion. The bricks made the curvature of the shape sharp angles.
Jahkid, with claws of Hueilin steel over his natural ones, proceeded to shape his creation. Without any source of fire or heat, the air around the hive distorted and rippled. Only the feeling of circulating mana could explain the shift of events, as the iron heated and shined the orange of a forge. The impurities were driven from the material, gathering inside of the hive, heated to an absurd degree.
The slag worked its way through the heated iron towards Jahkid, milling a hole through the structure without damaging the basic composition of the metal. The Shaman used the slag to further refine the metal construction, making smaller holes for air to be let into the core. When he was finished, the iron was left to cool.
The orange glow faded to a stainless finish of metallic gray, the surface smooth and without imperfection. Inside, the impure slag was kept at forging temperatures, and the Shaman sat on his haunches, claws held over his device like a mystic would tend to a crystal ball. The inside of the forge glimmered violently as strands of mana were made to materialize, a rapidly rotating field of energy kept in check by Jahkid's magic. The dragon rumbled his reverent chanting in a trance-like state as he kindled this arcane heat, containing temperatures that could break all but the most resilient of enchantments, and melt all but the most miraculous of artifacts.
Underwater, at the bottom of Drakhunmiir's mountaintop lake, the dragons were gathered for their moment of truth. It was a prolonged moment, in truth, for the Shaman sent by Septimus had a prolonged and precise ritual to assemble. One could not expect any less from an undertaking which required a visit to the Arcaenum. Even then, Jahkid's detour to that establishment was not for exotic materials that the average alchemist could only dream of manipulating, or creating in their own arcane engines. The transaction was made for bulk, a generous donation of resources and the means to carry them back to the mountain. It was an aged agreement; the delayed payment for the Shaman's involvement in disenchanting the toxic amulet from Draxon.
Delayed as it was, Jahkid came to learn that this arrangement would mean he had his own outstanding debt to the Arcaenum pending. A favor for a favor, with interest. Politics were politics no matter what dealt in them: dragon, man, elf or otherwise. All the same, it would take as long as it did for Jahkid to incur this debt, if not longer, for him to repay it with interest. A binding obligation that was not overwhelmingly constricting, and in some respects, mutually beneficial. The Shaman's pursuits aligned with the Arx Arcaenum's, after all. Forwarding one end only assisted the advancement of another.
Politics.
Hidden away in Arashi's secret workshop of sorts, it mattered not. The Arx Arcaenum would have jumped at the bit to learn of Onokruun's crafting specialties, but Jahkid would offer them no avenues for such things. His clan authorities had a vested interest in his unannounced return, and he told them nothing other than he had returned for rest, after having his spirits broken far beyond their borders. That much was the truth, and nothing else left his mouth to be considered a lie as he worked in the dark belly of the submerged chamber.
The sack he had fetched from Valenhad lay empty nearby, devoid of its contents: silvery metals in brick form, with patterns of dark gray and black imbued in the substance. Ordinary iron waiting to be elevated to something grander by an Onokruun's expertise. Jahkid could not go to the veins of his clan for material; it would have aroused too much suspicion. What he would create would suffice for now. It would be up to Elwen herself to take the results of his actions and enact the metamorphosis to produce the gift of a new mask.
The bricks of metal were assembled methodically, beginning with a circular foundation. The corners of individual bricks were placed side by side until the crude ring was completed, then came the next layer. And the next. Bricks upon bricks, stack in such a way as to make a vaguely hive-like structure. It was ugly, blocky, and rough to look at in the first stage of its completion. The bricks made the curvature of the shape sharp angles.
Jahkid, with claws of Hueilin steel over his natural ones, proceeded to shape his creation. Without any source of fire or heat, the air around the hive distorted and rippled. Only the feeling of circulating mana could explain the shift of events, as the iron heated and shined the orange of a forge. The impurities were driven from the material, gathering inside of the hive, heated to an absurd degree.
The slag worked its way through the heated iron towards Jahkid, milling a hole through the structure without damaging the basic composition of the metal. The Shaman used the slag to further refine the metal construction, making smaller holes for air to be let into the core. When he was finished, the iron was left to cool.
The orange glow faded to a stainless finish of metallic gray, the surface smooth and without imperfection. Inside, the impure slag was kept at forging temperatures, and the Shaman sat on his haunches, claws held over his device like a mystic would tend to a crystal ball. The inside of the forge glimmered violently as strands of mana were made to materialize, a rapidly rotating field of energy kept in check by Jahkid's magic. The dragon rumbled his reverent chanting in a trance-like state as he kindled this arcane heat, containing temperatures that could break all but the most resilient of enchantments, and melt all but the most miraculous of artifacts.
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C S - Bae Fish
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by The Kingpin » Sat Dec 17, 2016 10:35 pm
Jahkid occupied one part of the laboratory, accompanied by the Stormweaver who oversaw his procedure, while Buruq and the others occupied another.
The Experimentalist observed with rapt attention, taking note of every step the Shaman took in his ritualistic preparations. It was not magic he fully understood, but that, in itself, was what drew him. Were this not an attempt to right a wrong dealt by another, he would be observing simply to learn. Perhaps, when all of this was over, when his duties to Aster were concluded, when he could afford to shrug the weight of the world from his steel-scaled shoulders, he would seek mentorship, to learn such arts.
Perhaps he would have a semblance of normalcy yet.
Elwen sat, curled up against the wall of the vast chamber. Her long, armoured form lacked much of what would be her naturally imposing stature, curled low as she was. Scute-lined armour gave way to broad wings that wrapped around her like a cloak, currently serving as her shelter. With her body shackled down as it was, it was all she could do to help herself feel at ease. The guilt in Cyndeyrn's eyes was monumental. How else was one supposed to keep a dragon still for treatment to right a broken mind?
It was with great difficulty that she was brought here. She had sensed the mask even before she saw it, and it put her on edge. "Never. Never. Away! The voice of the arcane must remain silent!" she babbled as glassy orange eyes stared dimly towards the Shaman's forge. The glow in her gaze was a mere reflection of the fire within, lacking its own shine. It had been extinguished long ago.
Tanwen lay beside her, flank to flank, murmuring encouragement much as she would for Septimus. Much as Elwen had once done for her. Her old lullabies and tales of wisdom and bravery, her reassurances that she had nothing to fear, all rang out between the two in an endless mantra. She was Elwen of Clan Onokruun; the most talented artisan of her generation, and one of the candidates for Clan Lord and Hueilin Artificer. She was a paragon of precision and skill and a producer of creations that baffled and awed all who bore witness to them.
They were like foggy, forgotten memories. Memories born within dreams. Dreams born in youth. They were so distant as to be non-existent. It was only the steady mantra of a familiar voice that gave it substance.
But it would be another magic entirely that cast off the fog and brought those memories to light.
The ring of light floating above the two dragonesses pulsated with steadily growing power. It was magic unseen in Drakhunmiir. Unseen even in Aster. For it was the magic the Ambassador had learned from his studies of the Lance that fuelled this ritual. It was the magic of the Dawnmother that he sought to replicate.
To some, it would be blasphemous. But then, it wouldn't be the first time he had acted against the ideals of others. He had, after all, wielded Cloudburst Arrows against dragons. He had ventured into the minds of thousands and rendered their psyches mere putty in his hands. He had tortured and stolen from demons. He was Buruq, the Ambassador. Buruq, the Uncaring. Buruq the Undying. He bore many titles, all of them an affront to the common convictions of those who called him friend.
The Experimentalist observed with rapt attention, taking note of every step the Shaman took in his ritualistic preparations. It was not magic he fully understood, but that, in itself, was what drew him. Were this not an attempt to right a wrong dealt by another, he would be observing simply to learn. Perhaps, when all of this was over, when his duties to Aster were concluded, when he could afford to shrug the weight of the world from his steel-scaled shoulders, he would seek mentorship, to learn such arts.
Perhaps he would have a semblance of normalcy yet.
Elwen sat, curled up against the wall of the vast chamber. Her long, armoured form lacked much of what would be her naturally imposing stature, curled low as she was. Scute-lined armour gave way to broad wings that wrapped around her like a cloak, currently serving as her shelter. With her body shackled down as it was, it was all she could do to help herself feel at ease. The guilt in Cyndeyrn's eyes was monumental. How else was one supposed to keep a dragon still for treatment to right a broken mind?
It was with great difficulty that she was brought here. She had sensed the mask even before she saw it, and it put her on edge. "Never. Never. Away! The voice of the arcane must remain silent!" she babbled as glassy orange eyes stared dimly towards the Shaman's forge. The glow in her gaze was a mere reflection of the fire within, lacking its own shine. It had been extinguished long ago.
Tanwen lay beside her, flank to flank, murmuring encouragement much as she would for Septimus. Much as Elwen had once done for her. Her old lullabies and tales of wisdom and bravery, her reassurances that she had nothing to fear, all rang out between the two in an endless mantra. She was Elwen of Clan Onokruun; the most talented artisan of her generation, and one of the candidates for Clan Lord and Hueilin Artificer. She was a paragon of precision and skill and a producer of creations that baffled and awed all who bore witness to them.
They were like foggy, forgotten memories. Memories born within dreams. Dreams born in youth. They were so distant as to be non-existent. It was only the steady mantra of a familiar voice that gave it substance.
But it would be another magic entirely that cast off the fog and brought those memories to light.
The ring of light floating above the two dragonesses pulsated with steadily growing power. It was magic unseen in Drakhunmiir. Unseen even in Aster. For it was the magic the Ambassador had learned from his studies of the Lance that fuelled this ritual. It was the magic of the Dawnmother that he sought to replicate.
To some, it would be blasphemous. But then, it wouldn't be the first time he had acted against the ideals of others. He had, after all, wielded Cloudburst Arrows against dragons. He had ventured into the minds of thousands and rendered their psyches mere putty in his hands. He had tortured and stolen from demons. He was Buruq, the Ambassador. Buruq, the Uncaring. Buruq the Undying. He bore many titles, all of them an affront to the common convictions of those who called him friend.
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
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The Kingpin - Webmaster
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by C S » Sat Dec 17, 2016 11:07 pm
"It is the worth of the soul that gives the craft worth," growled Jahkid, the only words to leave his mouth that could have been understood by the others after what seemed to be hours of incantations.
He shuffled his rear legs backwards to make some room between himself and the forge, his hands held in such a way as to appear as if he were pushing something back. The radiating power within the forge was a force that wanted to reduce everything to its basic elements, and would do so if given half the chance. To be kin with this force, to an Onokruun, was to be truly alive. Using one's spirit and mind to change the world itself in some small degree, for a ring, a piercing, a mask. How many Onokruun whelps have been watching their elders become forge-kins while Jahkid was away, enticed by their futures, where they would be the ones creating constructs of legendary quality, imbued with powers yet known?
There was much training that went into a whelp becoming able to tame such rampant, dangerous magic. The idea of willingly summoning it went against any notion of survival and some would argue, reason. But this was not a matter of survival, or reason. This was art.
"It is the worth of the soul..." Jahkid said. There was several feet of distance between himself and the forge. "... That gives the craft worth."
His metal claws hooked themselves onto the eye-holes of Elwen's hexed mask.
"From the craft, the world will return, to be shaped by the soul again."
The inlaid eye of the Shaman's mask took on a golden outline, and Elwen's mask levitated from his claws. It was fed to the iron hive, and through the small holes cut into the forge, shafts of prismatic light beamed out into the laboratory at large. A subdued wailing was audible as Elwen's mask was shredded by a quantum wind, and its components were made to race as particles in the energetic circuit encapsulated in the forge. As the heated glow advanced through the mask, just as quickly, the mask dissolved within the molded iron.
He shuffled his rear legs backwards to make some room between himself and the forge, his hands held in such a way as to appear as if he were pushing something back. The radiating power within the forge was a force that wanted to reduce everything to its basic elements, and would do so if given half the chance. To be kin with this force, to an Onokruun, was to be truly alive. Using one's spirit and mind to change the world itself in some small degree, for a ring, a piercing, a mask. How many Onokruun whelps have been watching their elders become forge-kins while Jahkid was away, enticed by their futures, where they would be the ones creating constructs of legendary quality, imbued with powers yet known?
There was much training that went into a whelp becoming able to tame such rampant, dangerous magic. The idea of willingly summoning it went against any notion of survival and some would argue, reason. But this was not a matter of survival, or reason. This was art.
"It is the worth of the soul..." Jahkid said. There was several feet of distance between himself and the forge. "... That gives the craft worth."
His metal claws hooked themselves onto the eye-holes of Elwen's hexed mask.
"From the craft, the world will return, to be shaped by the soul again."
The inlaid eye of the Shaman's mask took on a golden outline, and Elwen's mask levitated from his claws. It was fed to the iron hive, and through the small holes cut into the forge, shafts of prismatic light beamed out into the laboratory at large. A subdued wailing was audible as Elwen's mask was shredded by a quantum wind, and its components were made to race as particles in the energetic circuit encapsulated in the forge. As the heated glow advanced through the mask, just as quickly, the mask dissolved within the molded iron.
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C S - Bae Fish
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by The Kingpin » Sat Dec 17, 2016 11:38 pm
A sharp bellow rang out over the roar of the hive forge, Elwen squirming in place as the destruction of the hex manifested as physical pain, like barbed tendrils coiling around her mind. Her short, stocky crocodilian jaws snapped rapidly as she fought to defend herself from something she could not see, until the glow of Buruq's magic intensified.
An unnatural calm swept over her, her mind liberated of much of the hex's terrible remnants, the impact on her thoughts present but the pain subsiding. She was allowed to feel new emotions now. New sensations. Where once there was agony and fear, now she felt loss. Where once dread reigned, now came...liberation.
What had happened?
Tanwen nestled herself under her mother's wing, her reassuring coos and whispered comforts contrasting with the fact she herself acted to take comfort in her mother's presence. It was a strange theory Buruq had suggested, but the fact that Elwen was seeming to calm, to improve, suggested there was a germ of truth in it. So she went along with it for now, hoping that the Ambassador's suggestion to bring forth the most fundamental of Elwen's core drives, that of a mother, would be enough to rouse the Onokruun dragoness from her centuries-old daze.
"I presume the mask itself will dissolve what's left of this affliction?" asked Buruq as he looked up from where he now worked, meeting the gaze of the Stormweaver, who looked back with concern. The comment was indicative that some of the Artificer's Curse still remained. This was as far as he had planned in regards to ways to remove it. For it to have been a multi-base hex, spread between the mask and Elwen herself, was something he had not prepared for. He had to trust in the Shaman to handle what remained.
An unnatural calm swept over her, her mind liberated of much of the hex's terrible remnants, the impact on her thoughts present but the pain subsiding. She was allowed to feel new emotions now. New sensations. Where once there was agony and fear, now she felt loss. Where once dread reigned, now came...liberation.
What had happened?
Tanwen nestled herself under her mother's wing, her reassuring coos and whispered comforts contrasting with the fact she herself acted to take comfort in her mother's presence. It was a strange theory Buruq had suggested, but the fact that Elwen was seeming to calm, to improve, suggested there was a germ of truth in it. So she went along with it for now, hoping that the Ambassador's suggestion to bring forth the most fundamental of Elwen's core drives, that of a mother, would be enough to rouse the Onokruun dragoness from her centuries-old daze.
"I presume the mask itself will dissolve what's left of this affliction?" asked Buruq as he looked up from where he now worked, meeting the gaze of the Stormweaver, who looked back with concern. The comment was indicative that some of the Artificer's Curse still remained. This was as far as he had planned in regards to ways to remove it. For it to have been a multi-base hex, spread between the mask and Elwen herself, was something he had not prepared for. He had to trust in the Shaman to handle what remained.
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
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The Kingpin - Webmaster
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- Location: Kuwait
Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by C S » Sun Dec 18, 2016 12:13 am
"The mask has been freed from the ill-willed tampering, and the process will be complete when it is returned to its raw state: the billet that Elwen had created, before drawing it out into the form she desired," Jahkid replied evenly.
There was a relief in his own voice as the inherent violence of the forge began to reach equilibrium. The magic contained in the forge decreased from a maelstrom of incinerating heat to an orderly orbit of concentrated mana. The metal of Elwen's mask was rendered a gas that obeyed this flow, drawn out into incandescent lines that pulsated and glimmered, a plasma.
The impure slag was also part of this gaseous mixture of metal, and as before, Jahkid began to separate it out from his final product. The material of Elwen's mask precipitated out of the plasma ring, a molten rain that pooled at the base of the forge without melting the stone underneath. Little by little, the glowing droplets coated the enclosed ground and collected with one another, soon forming a disk of melted metal.
Jahkid returned the volatile magic to its latent state of being. It dispersed through the holes in the forge as a colorful gas, drawing out the slag vapors with it. It left an acrid sensation in the nostrils and mouths of those closest to the forge, but they being dragons, it was only a mild inconvenience that came with metalworking. Were they less hardy creatures, the heat of the gas would have scarred their hides, and the toxicity of the fumes would have been caustic in nature.
"The Chosen Mask is a reflection of its maker. Functionally, it and its maker are one. A mask can be put through heat to purify it, and then tempered in water to give it strength. So too, must the soul of the maker be put through trial, and tempered with love and care," the Shaman explained next. Turning his serpentine neck to view the Ambassador, he said, "The last of the hex shall be overcome through Elwen's own will, should she have the conviction to return, and the strength to make it so. And she will be made stronger to know that you all have given and done so much to have her return."
There was a relief in his own voice as the inherent violence of the forge began to reach equilibrium. The magic contained in the forge decreased from a maelstrom of incinerating heat to an orderly orbit of concentrated mana. The metal of Elwen's mask was rendered a gas that obeyed this flow, drawn out into incandescent lines that pulsated and glimmered, a plasma.
The impure slag was also part of this gaseous mixture of metal, and as before, Jahkid began to separate it out from his final product. The material of Elwen's mask precipitated out of the plasma ring, a molten rain that pooled at the base of the forge without melting the stone underneath. Little by little, the glowing droplets coated the enclosed ground and collected with one another, soon forming a disk of melted metal.
Jahkid returned the volatile magic to its latent state of being. It dispersed through the holes in the forge as a colorful gas, drawing out the slag vapors with it. It left an acrid sensation in the nostrils and mouths of those closest to the forge, but they being dragons, it was only a mild inconvenience that came with metalworking. Were they less hardy creatures, the heat of the gas would have scarred their hides, and the toxicity of the fumes would have been caustic in nature.
"The Chosen Mask is a reflection of its maker. Functionally, it and its maker are one. A mask can be put through heat to purify it, and then tempered in water to give it strength. So too, must the soul of the maker be put through trial, and tempered with love and care," the Shaman explained next. Turning his serpentine neck to view the Ambassador, he said, "The last of the hex shall be overcome through Elwen's own will, should she have the conviction to return, and the strength to make it so. And she will be made stronger to know that you all have given and done so much to have her return."
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by The Kingpin » Thu Dec 22, 2016 8:55 pm
The Ambassador's expression darkened as the aura of magic around Elwen faded. Her nerves and discomfort had not lost any of their severity. Her fearful murmurs had not died down. If anything, they were more frantic. Her eyes stared at Jahkid's forge and his creation with a manic fear, her eyes glassy and seemingly sightless, as though she were staring through whatever it was she feared and staring off into the space beyond it.
"I have seen many fear and madness curses in Tyrbenetus...But none I have encountered were quite so intricate. The Demons relied on sheer power to overpower their victims' thoughts. This Dyrineyr has crafted a literal labyrinth within her mind through that mask, so that the strength of Elwen's own mind is rendered null. The link may be broken, but the labyrinth remains. My magic is not enough to unravel it," rumbled Buruq as a couple of clawed fingers massaged his brows and temples tiredly. He had thought himself a powerful psychomancer, but it seemed that this was something he simply couldn't crack, much like the mask. "The Hueilin have come far since my time."
Arashi looked up from Jahkid's craft, his eyes narrowing. Walking over to the dragoness curled up in the corner of the laboratory, he leaned in, glancing towards Tanwen. "May I...?" he asked.
"No."
"Yes."
The responses came simultaneously, Cyndeyrn refusing, while Tanwen approved.
"You're dangerous, Arashi. You've bent and twisted far too many to your will to get your way. How do I know you won't ruin my mate's mind?" snarled the Lord of Maelgwyn.
"Because I have every reason to see her nursed back to strength," rumbled the Stormweaver as his head lifted, sapphire eyes shimmering brightly. "I have made mistakes in my life. We all know that, and I have felt the bite of them every step of the way. I have tried to right them. To do Tanwen justice, even if you refuse to allow me to do the same for you," he snarled, craning his neck until his head was held higher than the older Clan Lord. "Elwen has suffered. The other Clan Lords are foes to us both, as well as to her. She deserves to be helped, and Tanwen deserves to have her mother back. If you refuse to allow it, then you will be denying them both. I will leave it to Tanwen to decide, but if you persist against her wishes, then it will be you who must deal with the consequences."
"Are you threatening me, Stormweaver?" snarled Cyndeyrn, eyes narrowing.
"Nakhriin, I understand your fears," interjected Buruq, his colossal head lifting over them both. "Your mate has suffered much. This whole family has. But you must understand that it is a family despite its struggles. If you do not trust one another, then it is no longer a family." His statement carried with it a weightiness of tone that implied he was all too familiar with the reality of what it bore.
"Ha. Family. I don't see his hulukhriini here with us. Some family they ar-"
The ensuing snarl shook the entire laboratory.
"Keep them out of this, Cyndeyrn. Had the clans had the presence of reason that should be expected of them, my parents would not have had to flee for their lives over the actions of a flawed son. It is as much your fault as it is the rest of Drakhunmiir's that they are not present with us now. The only reason I have not sought them out yet is that we can do more for Elwen here than I can do for them beyond the Veil. Now, will you stop being so confrontational and allow us to give Elwen the chance at a normal life she deserves? Or do you intend to stall her recovery further?"
There was no response to the Stormweaver's thunderous retort. Elwen still quivered where she lay, but she seemingly had not been affected by the outburst. Whatever terror she was experiencing blinded her to even that.
"Very well then. Buruq, if you please, I will need space," he rumbled, the runes across his form coming to life in a wave starting at his forehead and spreading outwards, until his charcoal grey scales were shimmering with white light.
The Ambassador acknowledged his request, stepping away, and Tanwen rose to do the same, until Arashi's clawed paw settled on her shoulder. She looked up at the paw, then met the Stormweaver's sapphire gaze, looking into them searchingly.
"Your mother does not know me. Not really. We only met after she was stricken with the curse. Her mind will not ease when the Elwen within sees me. She does know you, however. I will need your help to bring her peace," explained the Stormweaver.
"Did you hit your head, Arashi? You know I have no magical powers to speak of. All I have are my scales and my flames, and neither are very good at fixing broken minds," she responded incredulously.
"Have faith in me, Tanwen. I will bring you with me."
"Bring me? Where?" rumbled the dragoness as she pressed up against her mother's side.
"Buruq said that Elwen's mind has been turned into a labyrinth. So we will enter it," he stated simply.
"This isn't the time for jokes," growled Cyndeyrn.
"Did you hear me laugh?" questioned the Stormweaver, his gaze hardening as he fixed the former Runecrafter with a glare. "I meant exactly what I said. If Elwen's mind is a labyrinth, then we will enter it. We will find her, and we will aid her in dismantling this curse brick by metaphorical brick until she is once more in full control of her own mind."
Tanwen seemed to hesitate, thinking it over for a few moments.
"This is madness. Labyrinths are designed to be inescapable, you could end up dying of starvation before you ever-"
"Alright."
"What?" questioned Cyndeyrn.
"I said alright," reiterated the alabaster dragoness.
"Then let us begin. Buruq, can you watch over things in the mean time?" asked the Stormweaver.
"Nakhriin, I have watched over an entire keep for an aeon. Watching you for a few hours will be a small matter."
"Thank you, my friend. And thank you, Jahkid. I am indebted to you."
"I have seen many fear and madness curses in Tyrbenetus...But none I have encountered were quite so intricate. The Demons relied on sheer power to overpower their victims' thoughts. This Dyrineyr has crafted a literal labyrinth within her mind through that mask, so that the strength of Elwen's own mind is rendered null. The link may be broken, but the labyrinth remains. My magic is not enough to unravel it," rumbled Buruq as a couple of clawed fingers massaged his brows and temples tiredly. He had thought himself a powerful psychomancer, but it seemed that this was something he simply couldn't crack, much like the mask. "The Hueilin have come far since my time."
Arashi looked up from Jahkid's craft, his eyes narrowing. Walking over to the dragoness curled up in the corner of the laboratory, he leaned in, glancing towards Tanwen. "May I...?" he asked.
"No."
"Yes."
The responses came simultaneously, Cyndeyrn refusing, while Tanwen approved.
"You're dangerous, Arashi. You've bent and twisted far too many to your will to get your way. How do I know you won't ruin my mate's mind?" snarled the Lord of Maelgwyn.
"Because I have every reason to see her nursed back to strength," rumbled the Stormweaver as his head lifted, sapphire eyes shimmering brightly. "I have made mistakes in my life. We all know that, and I have felt the bite of them every step of the way. I have tried to right them. To do Tanwen justice, even if you refuse to allow me to do the same for you," he snarled, craning his neck until his head was held higher than the older Clan Lord. "Elwen has suffered. The other Clan Lords are foes to us both, as well as to her. She deserves to be helped, and Tanwen deserves to have her mother back. If you refuse to allow it, then you will be denying them both. I will leave it to Tanwen to decide, but if you persist against her wishes, then it will be you who must deal with the consequences."
"Are you threatening me, Stormweaver?" snarled Cyndeyrn, eyes narrowing.
"Nakhriin, I understand your fears," interjected Buruq, his colossal head lifting over them both. "Your mate has suffered much. This whole family has. But you must understand that it is a family despite its struggles. If you do not trust one another, then it is no longer a family." His statement carried with it a weightiness of tone that implied he was all too familiar with the reality of what it bore.
"Ha. Family. I don't see his hulukhriini here with us. Some family they ar-"
The ensuing snarl shook the entire laboratory.
"Keep them out of this, Cyndeyrn. Had the clans had the presence of reason that should be expected of them, my parents would not have had to flee for their lives over the actions of a flawed son. It is as much your fault as it is the rest of Drakhunmiir's that they are not present with us now. The only reason I have not sought them out yet is that we can do more for Elwen here than I can do for them beyond the Veil. Now, will you stop being so confrontational and allow us to give Elwen the chance at a normal life she deserves? Or do you intend to stall her recovery further?"
There was no response to the Stormweaver's thunderous retort. Elwen still quivered where she lay, but she seemingly had not been affected by the outburst. Whatever terror she was experiencing blinded her to even that.
"Very well then. Buruq, if you please, I will need space," he rumbled, the runes across his form coming to life in a wave starting at his forehead and spreading outwards, until his charcoal grey scales were shimmering with white light.
The Ambassador acknowledged his request, stepping away, and Tanwen rose to do the same, until Arashi's clawed paw settled on her shoulder. She looked up at the paw, then met the Stormweaver's sapphire gaze, looking into them searchingly.
"Your mother does not know me. Not really. We only met after she was stricken with the curse. Her mind will not ease when the Elwen within sees me. She does know you, however. I will need your help to bring her peace," explained the Stormweaver.
"Did you hit your head, Arashi? You know I have no magical powers to speak of. All I have are my scales and my flames, and neither are very good at fixing broken minds," she responded incredulously.
"Have faith in me, Tanwen. I will bring you with me."
"Bring me? Where?" rumbled the dragoness as she pressed up against her mother's side.
"Buruq said that Elwen's mind has been turned into a labyrinth. So we will enter it," he stated simply.
"This isn't the time for jokes," growled Cyndeyrn.
"Did you hear me laugh?" questioned the Stormweaver, his gaze hardening as he fixed the former Runecrafter with a glare. "I meant exactly what I said. If Elwen's mind is a labyrinth, then we will enter it. We will find her, and we will aid her in dismantling this curse brick by metaphorical brick until she is once more in full control of her own mind."
Tanwen seemed to hesitate, thinking it over for a few moments.
"This is madness. Labyrinths are designed to be inescapable, you could end up dying of starvation before you ever-"
"Alright."
"What?" questioned Cyndeyrn.
"I said alright," reiterated the alabaster dragoness.
"Then let us begin. Buruq, can you watch over things in the mean time?" asked the Stormweaver.
"Nakhriin, I have watched over an entire keep for an aeon. Watching you for a few hours will be a small matter."
"Thank you, my friend. And thank you, Jahkid. I am indebted to you."
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
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The Kingpin - Webmaster
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by C S » Thu Dec 22, 2016 9:47 pm
Reminded of a man under a black pelt who gave what little he had to give before walking away into the frontier, Jahkid replied, "I will not have your debt, hulukhriin. I have grown tired of such a baser tide of obligations, between the tendencies of my own clan, and the world which exists outside of Drakhunmiir." Simultaneously as he spoke, he lifted the forge from the floor of the laboratory to free the disk of metal completely. Jahkid turned to look at Arashi afterwards with eyes covered by a mask that was chipped and scratched, nodding to the infamous wyrm.
Jahkid could not have understood everything that brought him before these dragons on this day, though he was not one to be caught on such particular details in the first place. Deep down, he felt the motions of fate were at play, and his vision of that which the naked eye was blind to offered him a sight of the Stormweaver that did not blend with the notions held against him. Like a painting with colors not properly mixed, Jahkid could see elements that lent themselves to the denouncing tales, and elements that contradicted them. In this doubt, Jahkid felt sound in his actions.
Jahkid could not have understood everything that brought him before these dragons on this day, though he was not one to be caught on such particular details in the first place. Deep down, he felt the motions of fate were at play, and his vision of that which the naked eye was blind to offered him a sight of the Stormweaver that did not blend with the notions held against him. Like a painting with colors not properly mixed, Jahkid could see elements that lent themselves to the denouncing tales, and elements that contradicted them. In this doubt, Jahkid felt sound in his actions.
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by The Kingpin » Fri Dec 23, 2016 10:18 pm
"That is kind of you, nakhriin. It means much to us that you are doing this. Whether you will have it or not, this is not a kindness that will be forgotten," rumbled the Stormweaver as he settled beside the two dragonesses.
Buruq could be seen settling around the dragons, notably seeming to form a physical wall between them and Cyndeyrn. His eyes were shimmering beacons, ever watchful and ever mindful of what was to unfold in the coming hours, and what dangers were posed to his charges in that time, both from within and without.
Arashi's tail curled around his form as an aura of calm seemed to wash over him and all around him, the very air losing some of its vividness, light of blue and green and gold dimming until everything for several feet around the Experimentalist was a flattened greyscale. At the heart of this faded field, his eyes, once sapphire, had turned deepest purple; a sharp contrast from the surroundings, as he began to meditate. Tanwen and Elwen both could be seen physically easing and calming, the former's eyes drooping as though she were falling asleep, the latter falling still as the terrors that haunted her waking moments had been chased away into the realm of dreams. It was in this realm where the final battle for Elwen's mind would be fought. For where, but the mind, could matters of the mind be solved?
Buruq could be seen settling around the dragons, notably seeming to form a physical wall between them and Cyndeyrn. His eyes were shimmering beacons, ever watchful and ever mindful of what was to unfold in the coming hours, and what dangers were posed to his charges in that time, both from within and without.
Arashi's tail curled around his form as an aura of calm seemed to wash over him and all around him, the very air losing some of its vividness, light of blue and green and gold dimming until everything for several feet around the Experimentalist was a flattened greyscale. At the heart of this faded field, his eyes, once sapphire, had turned deepest purple; a sharp contrast from the surroundings, as he began to meditate. Tanwen and Elwen both could be seen physically easing and calming, the former's eyes drooping as though she were falling asleep, the latter falling still as the terrors that haunted her waking moments had been chased away into the realm of dreams. It was in this realm where the final battle for Elwen's mind would be fought. For where, but the mind, could matters of the mind be solved?
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by C S » Fri Dec 23, 2016 10:51 pm
To the ones still with him, Jahkid spoke as he set down the iron forge. "Be wary of your minds and hearts," were his words to Buruq and Cyndeyrn. Jahkid passed his masked sight between the two of them and added, "Though Elwen is not seeing with her true eyes, and not hearing with her true ears, by the virtue of being alive, she feels truly. The plane of dreams is a sensitive place to visit, because it is an interpretation of reality, not a reflection of it, and is fed by the aspects of the mind outside of our control. In Elwen, these aspects have been given too much power. Absolute serenity is the only way to ensure that our actions do not impair the Stormweaver's progress inadvertently..."
As it was outside, the outstanding tension also existed inside the old dragoness' mind. Around Arashi and Tanwen's avatars, an uncontested fog roiled and churned. Perhaps fog did not describe it fully -- perhaps it was more in line with storm clouds, dark, charged and dangerous. No matter how much he tried, the Experimentalist could not command this constricting haze that robbed him and the White Flame of their sight. If this was what the aura of calm manifested itself as... just how bad was this realm when Elwen was gripped by her terrors?
As it was outside, the outstanding tension also existed inside the old dragoness' mind. Around Arashi and Tanwen's avatars, an uncontested fog roiled and churned. Perhaps fog did not describe it fully -- perhaps it was more in line with storm clouds, dark, charged and dangerous. No matter how much he tried, the Experimentalist could not command this constricting haze that robbed him and the White Flame of their sight. If this was what the aura of calm manifested itself as... just how bad was this realm when Elwen was gripped by her terrors?
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by The Kingpin » Fri Dec 23, 2016 11:46 pm
Darkness wasn't quite sufficient to describe how this stormy aura affected their surroundings. While their immediate surroundings were well lit enough by the two's inherent glow that they could more or less see where they were going, that visibility fettered off sharply mere feet ahead of them, meaning they could barely see what would realistically be a mere couple of yards ahead of them for the sheer crushing blackness that dominated this realm of the mind. It was, despite that, sufficient to identify a few key facts.
Much as Buruq had described it, they seemed to be in the midst of a tunnel, no doubt part of a vast network of paths that made up this labyrinth. Surfaces bore no recognisable features, merely bare stone, almost completely flat. The featurelessness of the walls seemed to work with the turbulent manifestation of corrupted calm around them to rob them of any sense of scale. Here, they could have been as small as cats, or as vast as the Kirrahara, and would be none the wiser. In the end, it mattered little.
The paths were rectangular things, narrower at the top than the bottom, further amplifying that sense of oppressive restriction. It was so small, the Stormweaver realised, that in order to turn around, they would have to rear up, contort their necks in uncomfortable ways, and press themselves against the walls, all so that they could face back the way they had come. It was a labyrinth intentionally designed to control their movement and force their compliance.
"By the qudum..." rasped Tanwen, completely at a loss.
"I had not expected it to be so dire. We will need to be wary. If this is the dominant state of her mindscape, then there is no telling what horrors await once the curse reacts to interference," rumbled Arashi. In this realm, the two bore an appearance not too far removed from their Spirit Forms, or at least, what would have served as Spirit Forms in the real world, were Tanwen to achieve her own. The White Flame, true to her title, resembled white fire given life, her wings and fins rippling and shimmering, tongues of flame licking at the air around her. Her eyes shone like coals, golden with heat and yet falling shy of the light of her hide.
The Stormweaver, meanwhile, had taken on his Spirit Form as it was sometimes known to manifest. The dragon's entire body seemed to wind and twist with each step, like miniature clouds were taking form and moving to serve as his legs. Glowing, crackling scales covered the grey cloud that made up his body, seeming to fork and strike the surrounding stone, tiny scorch marks left in his wake that disappeared moments later, drawing the Stormweaver's attention.
"They're disappearing?" asked Tanwen, catching on just as he had.
The Stormweaver's eyes narrowed as he began to pace before the entrance, looking around them and at the edges of the claustrophobic entrance, examining the place for traps. Seeing none, he began to enter, gesturing for Tanwen to follow as he spoke. "The hex. Dyrineyr was thorough in seeing to it that this hex sustained itself. Probably so that Elwen wouldn't be able to break free on her own. He knew the odds of getting one of his own clan and a powerful psychomancer together to unravel this affliction was unlikely, and he knew no one in her family had the skills necessary. He had intended for this to be a permanent curse." The tongue was, surprisingly, Asterian, rather than Hueilin speech.
A low snarl escaped Tanwen's throat as she followed, though she held her tongue on that note, instead being drawn by the more prominent curiosity.
"You're using mortal-speech? The tongue of the Asterians? Why?"
"This curse may well have been made to listen to thoughts and circumvent them. Our conversations are only thought in this place. While Elwen, and by extension, the curse, can hear our thoughts, that does not necessarily mean that they understand them," explained Arashi matter of factly.
"I am not sure I follow...Does that even make sense? Isn't the tongue introduced after the thought is formed?"
"Yes and no. In the mind, one can think in a language. When we speak, we are simply transforming the thoughts from our tongue, to that through which we want to communicate," he explained. "Think of it like the Onokruun masks. It would be like trying to decipher the techniques that went into one of those masks, without understanding the nuances of the soul-connection inherent in their methods. Anything done without that knowledge would be a pale imitation of a real mask."
He could not see her expression, but her voice served to convey her scepticism sufficiently regardless as she responded, "I find this talk of thinking in tongues very...strange, but if it will give us an edge in this, then so be it."
Much as Buruq had described it, they seemed to be in the midst of a tunnel, no doubt part of a vast network of paths that made up this labyrinth. Surfaces bore no recognisable features, merely bare stone, almost completely flat. The featurelessness of the walls seemed to work with the turbulent manifestation of corrupted calm around them to rob them of any sense of scale. Here, they could have been as small as cats, or as vast as the Kirrahara, and would be none the wiser. In the end, it mattered little.
The paths were rectangular things, narrower at the top than the bottom, further amplifying that sense of oppressive restriction. It was so small, the Stormweaver realised, that in order to turn around, they would have to rear up, contort their necks in uncomfortable ways, and press themselves against the walls, all so that they could face back the way they had come. It was a labyrinth intentionally designed to control their movement and force their compliance.
"By the qudum..." rasped Tanwen, completely at a loss.
"I had not expected it to be so dire. We will need to be wary. If this is the dominant state of her mindscape, then there is no telling what horrors await once the curse reacts to interference," rumbled Arashi. In this realm, the two bore an appearance not too far removed from their Spirit Forms, or at least, what would have served as Spirit Forms in the real world, were Tanwen to achieve her own. The White Flame, true to her title, resembled white fire given life, her wings and fins rippling and shimmering, tongues of flame licking at the air around her. Her eyes shone like coals, golden with heat and yet falling shy of the light of her hide.
The Stormweaver, meanwhile, had taken on his Spirit Form as it was sometimes known to manifest. The dragon's entire body seemed to wind and twist with each step, like miniature clouds were taking form and moving to serve as his legs. Glowing, crackling scales covered the grey cloud that made up his body, seeming to fork and strike the surrounding stone, tiny scorch marks left in his wake that disappeared moments later, drawing the Stormweaver's attention.
"They're disappearing?" asked Tanwen, catching on just as he had.
The Stormweaver's eyes narrowed as he began to pace before the entrance, looking around them and at the edges of the claustrophobic entrance, examining the place for traps. Seeing none, he began to enter, gesturing for Tanwen to follow as he spoke. "The hex. Dyrineyr was thorough in seeing to it that this hex sustained itself. Probably so that Elwen wouldn't be able to break free on her own. He knew the odds of getting one of his own clan and a powerful psychomancer together to unravel this affliction was unlikely, and he knew no one in her family had the skills necessary. He had intended for this to be a permanent curse." The tongue was, surprisingly, Asterian, rather than Hueilin speech.
A low snarl escaped Tanwen's throat as she followed, though she held her tongue on that note, instead being drawn by the more prominent curiosity.
"You're using mortal-speech? The tongue of the Asterians? Why?"
"This curse may well have been made to listen to thoughts and circumvent them. Our conversations are only thought in this place. While Elwen, and by extension, the curse, can hear our thoughts, that does not necessarily mean that they understand them," explained Arashi matter of factly.
"I am not sure I follow...Does that even make sense? Isn't the tongue introduced after the thought is formed?"
"Yes and no. In the mind, one can think in a language. When we speak, we are simply transforming the thoughts from our tongue, to that through which we want to communicate," he explained. "Think of it like the Onokruun masks. It would be like trying to decipher the techniques that went into one of those masks, without understanding the nuances of the soul-connection inherent in their methods. Anything done without that knowledge would be a pale imitation of a real mask."
He could not see her expression, but her voice served to convey her scepticism sufficiently regardless as she responded, "I find this talk of thinking in tongues very...strange, but if it will give us an edge in this, then so be it."
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by C S » Sat Dec 24, 2016 1:03 am
The topic of masks, as it turned out, was pertinent to events outside of Elwen's mind at that very moment. Jahkid's back was to the others again.
"I waived my debt with Arashi for another reason, unrelated to Elwen. In the time after I was defeated, and left with the knowledge of my eventual fate, I succumbed to despair, and consigned myself to waiting for what I thought was inevitable. Septimus reached out to me looking for wisdom, and he revealed to me a light I had thought extinguished."
Jahkid's metal-tipped claws reached up to either side of his gray, static visage. They clinked onto the surface of his scarred mask, and ever so gingerly, he lifted it off of the bridge of his snout. The separation of metal from scale came with a soft light that could have been taken as a trickery of the eye, an illusion. Jahkid knew full well that the electrical arcs that jumped from his skin to the mask were quite real, however transient that they were. Unseen by Cyndeyrn and Buruq, the mask grew even darker in coloration, dull. Specks and splotches of black were ingrained in the mask around the gouges and scratches, looking uncannily like how an infection would in flesh. This was the true face of the Shaman's cursed mask.
"My fate is inevitable, only if I allow it to be so," said the dragon to the ancient of Syravoras. A patron of Dezeriah. "And my worth is paramount with the worth of my soul."
Jahkid placed his mask into the mouth of the iron forge.
"If my soul is of the merit to endure this flame, I shall overcome."
Thus, Jahkid held his claws apart to kindle the forge. He drew that wild, consuming mana, that which rendered materials to their smallest components and held them apart for scrutiny. Light shined through the ventilation holes, and roared out from the entrance of the forge. The scarred Shaman winced and jolted, contorting painfully.
But he did not let that otherworldly pyre grow out of his control, for it was a willing agony. Like one who flagellated for their moral constitution, Jahkid held his soul over inferno to be judged, and forgiven of the blight placed upon it.
"I waived my debt with Arashi for another reason, unrelated to Elwen. In the time after I was defeated, and left with the knowledge of my eventual fate, I succumbed to despair, and consigned myself to waiting for what I thought was inevitable. Septimus reached out to me looking for wisdom, and he revealed to me a light I had thought extinguished."
Jahkid's metal-tipped claws reached up to either side of his gray, static visage. They clinked onto the surface of his scarred mask, and ever so gingerly, he lifted it off of the bridge of his snout. The separation of metal from scale came with a soft light that could have been taken as a trickery of the eye, an illusion. Jahkid knew full well that the electrical arcs that jumped from his skin to the mask were quite real, however transient that they were. Unseen by Cyndeyrn and Buruq, the mask grew even darker in coloration, dull. Specks and splotches of black were ingrained in the mask around the gouges and scratches, looking uncannily like how an infection would in flesh. This was the true face of the Shaman's cursed mask.
"My fate is inevitable, only if I allow it to be so," said the dragon to the ancient of Syravoras. A patron of Dezeriah. "And my worth is paramount with the worth of my soul."
Jahkid placed his mask into the mouth of the iron forge.
"If my soul is of the merit to endure this flame, I shall overcome."
Thus, Jahkid held his claws apart to kindle the forge. He drew that wild, consuming mana, that which rendered materials to their smallest components and held them apart for scrutiny. Light shined through the ventilation holes, and roared out from the entrance of the forge. The scarred Shaman winced and jolted, contorting painfully.
But he did not let that otherworldly pyre grow out of his control, for it was a willing agony. Like one who flagellated for their moral constitution, Jahkid held his soul over inferno to be judged, and forgiven of the blight placed upon it.
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by The Kingpin » Sat Dec 24, 2016 1:59 am
"O-Oh. Oh. Oh my...your path has been a bitter one. Oh yes, very bitter indeed..."
Buruq observed, thoughtful as he saw, for a moment, a glimpse of the unmasked Onokruun. It was a moment he took advantage of, riding the tailcoats of the Shaman's thoughts and learning with it what it was Septimus had shown him the light against. The words of the Onokruun drake were ones at once strange and familiar, resembling the laments of Buruq's own kindred, and yet addressing matters they did not face.
It was with this that his reflections were shared, the advice of a dragon unfathomably old falling on the ears of two exceedingly young by comparison. "But you know, to overcome is to be Hueilin, nakhriin. You face the hardships that countless before you have. Well, not quite the same ones, but similar ones, definitely. As others have suffered, so too, you suffer. As others have ascended past the ailments of their souls, now too, shall you do the same." His scales seemed to shimmer and reflect the light of the forge as he observed the Shaman's pain. He noted Cyndeyrn's silence, trapped in his own lamentations.
"I have..." he started, pausing for a moment to rephrase, before trying again, "It pains me to say that...Well, I have seen the trials and hardships of trillions in my lifetime. So many terrible, terrible things have happened over the aeon that I have lived. It really is quite...quite difficult to ponder...But I have seen the fall of my brothers and sisters from grace, the destruction of what purity remained in their souls under weights they were never meant to carry. I know all too well what it is to feel singularly crushed by destiny. To be given a fate worse than death." His voice had taken a dark turn the entire time he spoke, his final few sentences gaining a disturbing, even menacing edge, as though there was a hint of something not entirely benign nor entirely sane behind them, before he caught himself.
In the next moment, it was gone, and in its place was the Ambassador as kind, as resolute, as unwavering as he had ever been. He continued, "So too, do I know what it is to strike that destiny down and forge a new path. And I can promise you that the... the power to transcend destiny is within you. So forge on, nakhriin. Embrace the Dezeriah."
"So are we simply going to keep walking until we eventually find her? How long will that even take if we are aimless?" asked the dragoness.
"You do not sense her?" asked the Stormweaver, pausing so abruptly that Tanwen was walking over his tail before she could stop herself.
"No. Should I?" she asked, growing suddenly concerned.
Arashi's tone responded with something resembling resignation as he focused his magic, "I suppose magical acuity would account for such things even here, but I had thought your link to her would serve in place of that." Momentarily losing his corporeality, Arashi seemed to contort and twist in on himself, coiling and bending like a cloud so that he was facing Tanwen, his two cloud-like arms reaching forward and engulfing her head. For a moment, she thought to recoil away from him, but the soothing sound of his reassurances convinced her to be still.
"Be calm, rulukhiir. I will grant you the sight of what is and is not. It will give you the guidance needed to see your mother."
Dancing across her Clan Rune for a few moments, arcs of electricity seemed to form a web on her forehead, before dissipating, a cloud of steam following right afterwards. By the end of it, she looked no different, but suddenly, she saw something beyond the walls.
An aura of some sort, distant and faint, seemed to call to her. It was less something she could outright see, and more like an inversion of something that should have been seen, like the glow behind one's eyelids after staring at a bright light. With it came a yearning she couldn't quite explain, a desperate need to pursue that distant, stationary glow. It was the need to find Elwen, to free her mother from this waking nightmare that had gone far too long.
"Now, you see this place as I do," rumbled the Stormweaver, once more standing ahead of her as he had been, though when he had the time to get back to that position, she could not have guessed.
"And you see its dangers."
She paused halfway through scanning the world behind her, her head snapping towards her mate so suddenly it struck the wall of the tunnel with an echoing crack that seemed to float on the air endlessly.
It was then that she saw what he meant. If Elwen was a glow behind eyelids, then what she saw now were the shadows left on open eyes by that same light that created the glow. They weaved and turned, snaking their way towards the two, and the hallway seemed to stretch and rise.
The curse was reacting to them.
Buruq observed, thoughtful as he saw, for a moment, a glimpse of the unmasked Onokruun. It was a moment he took advantage of, riding the tailcoats of the Shaman's thoughts and learning with it what it was Septimus had shown him the light against. The words of the Onokruun drake were ones at once strange and familiar, resembling the laments of Buruq's own kindred, and yet addressing matters they did not face.
It was with this that his reflections were shared, the advice of a dragon unfathomably old falling on the ears of two exceedingly young by comparison. "But you know, to overcome is to be Hueilin, nakhriin. You face the hardships that countless before you have. Well, not quite the same ones, but similar ones, definitely. As others have suffered, so too, you suffer. As others have ascended past the ailments of their souls, now too, shall you do the same." His scales seemed to shimmer and reflect the light of the forge as he observed the Shaman's pain. He noted Cyndeyrn's silence, trapped in his own lamentations.
"I have..." he started, pausing for a moment to rephrase, before trying again, "It pains me to say that...Well, I have seen the trials and hardships of trillions in my lifetime. So many terrible, terrible things have happened over the aeon that I have lived. It really is quite...quite difficult to ponder...But I have seen the fall of my brothers and sisters from grace, the destruction of what purity remained in their souls under weights they were never meant to carry. I know all too well what it is to feel singularly crushed by destiny. To be given a fate worse than death." His voice had taken a dark turn the entire time he spoke, his final few sentences gaining a disturbing, even menacing edge, as though there was a hint of something not entirely benign nor entirely sane behind them, before he caught himself.
In the next moment, it was gone, and in its place was the Ambassador as kind, as resolute, as unwavering as he had ever been. He continued, "So too, do I know what it is to strike that destiny down and forge a new path. And I can promise you that the... the power to transcend destiny is within you. So forge on, nakhriin. Embrace the Dezeriah."
"So are we simply going to keep walking until we eventually find her? How long will that even take if we are aimless?" asked the dragoness.
"You do not sense her?" asked the Stormweaver, pausing so abruptly that Tanwen was walking over his tail before she could stop herself.
"No. Should I?" she asked, growing suddenly concerned.
Arashi's tone responded with something resembling resignation as he focused his magic, "I suppose magical acuity would account for such things even here, but I had thought your link to her would serve in place of that." Momentarily losing his corporeality, Arashi seemed to contort and twist in on himself, coiling and bending like a cloud so that he was facing Tanwen, his two cloud-like arms reaching forward and engulfing her head. For a moment, she thought to recoil away from him, but the soothing sound of his reassurances convinced her to be still.
"Be calm, rulukhiir. I will grant you the sight of what is and is not. It will give you the guidance needed to see your mother."
Dancing across her Clan Rune for a few moments, arcs of electricity seemed to form a web on her forehead, before dissipating, a cloud of steam following right afterwards. By the end of it, she looked no different, but suddenly, she saw something beyond the walls.
An aura of some sort, distant and faint, seemed to call to her. It was less something she could outright see, and more like an inversion of something that should have been seen, like the glow behind one's eyelids after staring at a bright light. With it came a yearning she couldn't quite explain, a desperate need to pursue that distant, stationary glow. It was the need to find Elwen, to free her mother from this waking nightmare that had gone far too long.
"Now, you see this place as I do," rumbled the Stormweaver, once more standing ahead of her as he had been, though when he had the time to get back to that position, she could not have guessed.
"And you see its dangers."
She paused halfway through scanning the world behind her, her head snapping towards her mate so suddenly it struck the wall of the tunnel with an echoing crack that seemed to float on the air endlessly.
It was then that she saw what he meant. If Elwen was a glow behind eyelids, then what she saw now were the shadows left on open eyes by that same light that created the glow. They weaved and turned, snaking their way towards the two, and the hallway seemed to stretch and rise.
The curse was reacting to them.
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
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The Kingpin - Webmaster
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by C S » Sat Dec 24, 2016 2:36 am
The lapse in the Ambassador's demeanor went unnoticed for the most part by the terramancer dragon. In truth, much of what the eldest drake said went over his head in the pit of his pain. He heard, but could not listen. That was enough. The sound of a voice, echoing on the outskirts of the Shaman's awareness, a relay to his spirit where his body was failing. It kept him grounded as sensations faded away, in time to the condensation of liquid metal, what became of his shell-branded mask.
Jahkid was a gray dragon. His muscles bulged underneath scutes, spines and osteoderms -- armor that had been stripped away and penetrated, resulting in pale tones of flesh patterned in grooves all along his body. The Shaman looked the part of a warrior that relied on his body's might over magic, but he looked far older than he had any right to be. Jahkid looked as old as a dragon that had lived well over ten millennia, yet he was actually but a fraction of that age. The evidence lied upon his face, bare of its enchanted protection.
A thick, bony crest made a sharp V along his brow. Sharp brown and white scales overlapped, their ends rolling in on themselves and pointing upwards, creating a serrated appearance over silvery eyes. A compliment of large scales sat midway up the Shaman's face, normally covered by his mask. Wrinkles ran branching channels in flesh not covered by this natural armor, and they flexed with the relief the dragon felt at the end of his task.
Jahkid shuffled away from his forge, then collapsed, the deed done, and the light of the forge dissipating.
When he came back depended on his will to return.
All the same, in Elwen's mind, the shadowy wraiths that closed in on the intruders took on more defined forms on the other end of the smoke. Their silhouettes were barely visible in the murk, but they would have been familiar things to Tanwen. The rotund, fleshy bodies of slugs were twisted to uncomfortable proportions, and made to resemble bulky eels. Multiple feelers waved and probed the air, the shape distorted by the smoke, and they moved with a slick, slimy ambiance.
Jahkid was a gray dragon. His muscles bulged underneath scutes, spines and osteoderms -- armor that had been stripped away and penetrated, resulting in pale tones of flesh patterned in grooves all along his body. The Shaman looked the part of a warrior that relied on his body's might over magic, but he looked far older than he had any right to be. Jahkid looked as old as a dragon that had lived well over ten millennia, yet he was actually but a fraction of that age. The evidence lied upon his face, bare of its enchanted protection.
A thick, bony crest made a sharp V along his brow. Sharp brown and white scales overlapped, their ends rolling in on themselves and pointing upwards, creating a serrated appearance over silvery eyes. A compliment of large scales sat midway up the Shaman's face, normally covered by his mask. Wrinkles ran branching channels in flesh not covered by this natural armor, and they flexed with the relief the dragon felt at the end of his task.
Jahkid shuffled away from his forge, then collapsed, the deed done, and the light of the forge dissipating.
When he came back depended on his will to return.
All the same, in Elwen's mind, the shadowy wraiths that closed in on the intruders took on more defined forms on the other end of the smoke. Their silhouettes were barely visible in the murk, but they would have been familiar things to Tanwen. The rotund, fleshy bodies of slugs were twisted to uncomfortable proportions, and made to resemble bulky eels. Multiple feelers waved and probed the air, the shape distorted by the smoke, and they moved with a slick, slimy ambiance.
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by The Kingpin » Sun Dec 25, 2016 11:11 pm
The White Flame's snarl was the only warning Arashi was given before a brilliant pale fireball streaked past over his head, striking the first monstrosity head on and engulfing it in a roaring inferno, a massive cloud of smoke spilling out in all directions and obscuring their view.
"Not wise," growled Arashi.
"It worked, didn't it?" asked the dragoness with a smug smirk, watching as the smoke began to clear.
Sure enough, the blast had obliterated the approaching abominations, their slimy, viscous, tarry remains splattered across the walls and corners, limbs squirming and twitching.
"Let us move quickly. It's not over," warned the Stormweaver, earning a questioning look from Tanwen, but one which was shrugged aside in order to press on.
And he pressed on with haste. Moving several times their original speed, he was at this point moving as quickly as he could manage within these confines.
A sickly gurgling sound behind them was the answer to the unspoken question. Lifting her head and turning it just enough to be able to look out of the corner of her eye, Tanwen saw the faintest traces of movement behind her, the aura of the abominations pulling together once more, now forming twice as many entities as there were before, even though their repulsive visages couldn't be seen through the fog that blanketed them.
The curse, once more, was reacting to them.
"Not wise," growled Arashi.
"It worked, didn't it?" asked the dragoness with a smug smirk, watching as the smoke began to clear.
Sure enough, the blast had obliterated the approaching abominations, their slimy, viscous, tarry remains splattered across the walls and corners, limbs squirming and twitching.
"Let us move quickly. It's not over," warned the Stormweaver, earning a questioning look from Tanwen, but one which was shrugged aside in order to press on.
And he pressed on with haste. Moving several times their original speed, he was at this point moving as quickly as he could manage within these confines.
A sickly gurgling sound behind them was the answer to the unspoken question. Lifting her head and turning it just enough to be able to look out of the corner of her eye, Tanwen saw the faintest traces of movement behind her, the aura of the abominations pulling together once more, now forming twice as many entities as there were before, even though their repulsive visages couldn't be seen through the fog that blanketed them.
The curse, once more, was reacting to them.
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
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The Kingpin - Webmaster
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by C S » Sun Dec 25, 2016 11:55 pm
Scenery of the polar opposite awaited the Scholar and his companions. Ceridwen kept pace with him, Beshayir and Syria during the walk from a food stall, which fed the unstated astonishment of the mage. Flying while asleep was quite a feat that dragons were readily capable of. Walking without the presence of mind to know as much was truly remarkable. That was as far as remarkable went at the time. Unlike Septimus' parents, the path they all walked was well within the norm.
Smooth, pale bricks were under their heels. The small road went out into a meadow in the heart of Crestvale, which had a perimeter of trees with braided branches around it. There wasn't any snow out over the field, and there were a few flowers scattered around the area, unperturbed by the winter cold. After a little bit of walking, the quartet came up to one of a few picnic benches. Septimus and Syria took their seats opposite each other, and Beshayir sat beside the mage while the sleeping Ceridwen divined that they had come to a stop, and so opted to sitting on her haunches next to the bench. Ceridwen's beak was tucked into her feathered chest, her tail coiled around herself and her wings became her covers.
The few people around the park at that hour sent a few extraneous glances their way. It was hard not to -- it wasn't common for people of Crestvale to take their dragons out for a walk. It also wasn't common for a runic desert elf to be among them. Things had changed after the attack on the city, but this happening was still drastic enough to land it in the territory of strange. Perhaps not as strange as the unexpected revelation of liquid goliaths off of Valenhad's shores.
Smooth, pale bricks were under their heels. The small road went out into a meadow in the heart of Crestvale, which had a perimeter of trees with braided branches around it. There wasn't any snow out over the field, and there were a few flowers scattered around the area, unperturbed by the winter cold. After a little bit of walking, the quartet came up to one of a few picnic benches. Septimus and Syria took their seats opposite each other, and Beshayir sat beside the mage while the sleeping Ceridwen divined that they had come to a stop, and so opted to sitting on her haunches next to the bench. Ceridwen's beak was tucked into her feathered chest, her tail coiled around herself and her wings became her covers.
The few people around the park at that hour sent a few extraneous glances their way. It was hard not to -- it wasn't common for people of Crestvale to take their dragons out for a walk. It also wasn't common for a runic desert elf to be among them. Things had changed after the attack on the city, but this happening was still drastic enough to land it in the territory of strange. Perhaps not as strange as the unexpected revelation of liquid goliaths off of Valenhad's shores.
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by The Kingpin » Mon Dec 26, 2016 10:42 pm
The Scholar paid the bystanders no heed, relaxing in the little grove far from the hustle of the city, dining on a breakfast made of freshly baked pastry laced with fruit preserve. It wasn't quite what he would have preferred, but Hueilin were omnivores, and it was far from being an unpleasant meal, as far as food went.
His mind was as distant as Ceridwen's in that moment, though not in the same sense. Where Ceridwen was quite thoroughly asleep, he was pondering, coming back to a thought he had been forced to set aside previously.
"Syria?" he asked lowly between mouthfuls of the pastry.
Beshayir, only partially paying attention, was munching on a piece of her own pastry with her right hand, while her left hand was preoccupied with a piece of soft coal and a sheet of paper. She was drawing a vaguely egg-shaped object with a lump at the top, though the occasional click of her tongue hinted she was getting frustrated with something.
His mind was as distant as Ceridwen's in that moment, though not in the same sense. Where Ceridwen was quite thoroughly asleep, he was pondering, coming back to a thought he had been forced to set aside previously.
"Syria?" he asked lowly between mouthfuls of the pastry.
Beshayir, only partially paying attention, was munching on a piece of her own pastry with her right hand, while her left hand was preoccupied with a piece of soft coal and a sheet of paper. She was drawing a vaguely egg-shaped object with a lump at the top, though the occasional click of her tongue hinted she was getting frustrated with something.
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
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The Kingpin - Webmaster
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by C S » Mon Dec 26, 2016 11:04 pm
The mage's focus was on keeping crumbs from falling on the table and herself before Septimus spoke, eyeing the bites she took from her roll warily. The way her pupils shifted ever so slightly from the baked good to the Scholar's contemplative features, pensive and just the tiniest bit distrusting, was the comedic inverse of his mood.
"Septimus?" Syria responded without being aware of the layers of thought conveyed in Septimus' quiet voice. She wasn't even aware of the crumbs caught on the corner of her mouth.
"Septimus?" Syria responded without being aware of the layers of thought conveyed in Septimus' quiet voice. She wasn't even aware of the crumbs caught on the corner of her mouth.
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C S - Bae Fish
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by The Kingpin » Mon Dec 26, 2016 11:11 pm
"Yesterday, you questioned how moral it was to lie to Sheemaka to protect Desrium. At the time, your argument was that it was wrong of us to do it, no matter the situation," he continued, holding his pastry in one hand, aloft over his plate, but temporarily neglected.
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG
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The Kingpin - Webmaster
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Re: Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)
by C S » Mon Dec 26, 2016 11:14 pm
Worry flushed Syria's expression, and she immediately disregarded her apprehension about her flaky breakfast. She set it down in her plate, dusting herself in crumbs and powder. "Did we overlook something?" she asked, fearful of having to add to their deceit.
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