Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

"Well, we're not letting them go to waste," responded Matthias resolutely, though there was a notable hint of amusement in his tone. "On the bright side," he added, chuckling, "we would be able to travel halfway to Daaven with all of this!"

[C S]

"Aye!" Urlox agreed, seemingly all too eager to settle for this arrangement. Baaz did not have any quips to make about this honey-glazed turn of events; just another quiet observation of the jolly man who had no qualms about running someone through the back or setting them alight as punishment for a crime.

"The portrait of Daavenian justice, this one is..." she thought with a set lip, one hand on her hip while Chandra and Valeria went to take their seats on another bench. Valeria stopped to take a bun from Matthias' bag and busied herself by taking small bites. This way, she would have an excuse to keep quiet and to herself. Baaz said nothing about that as well; only sparing a thought that this was Urlox's next grooming project. The man did not give her many reasons to be partial of him. She'd gone as far as to voice the opinion that he was evil.

Maybe he was. Urlox had said that much himself, Baaz recalled at that moment, fixing the bearded man a studying look. He was questionable in his morality and soundness of mind, but was disarmingly amicable in his simple ways. As questionable as he was, he'd also managed to gain the respect of his fellow soldiers and this stranger with ties to Valenhad. What an unorthodox mixture of qualities for a leader. With Niyera behind them all, maybe it was time to stop griping about Vonaeghardt and start exploring the true character of Matthias. He owed her a sparring match.

Something for another time. More bruises to replace the ones that had cleared up since her fight with Chandra. Until then, they could do with simple things. Like talking.


Talking was what Chandra did while Baaz stood staring off into space, clutching her bag of buns, and while Valeria remained in silence nibbling at her pastry.

"So they turned a great sword into a...?" she trailed off so that Urlox could offer an alternative. He didn't. The guard captain only shrugged and reached for another bun.

"I reckon it can 'andle the work of a mace, 'ammer, axe and acts like a sword after everything else is done. Might be a little of a shield, too, if I can pinpoint the technique."

Baaz regained her sense of direction in the conversation, and her eyes went to what she could see of his new sword. 'Sword'. "Ah... that's the thing about legends... everyone retells them a little differently as time goes on... but as far as dwarves go, this doesn't surprise me. It seems very in line with a dwarf's take on that sword's story: turn the giant blade into a compact giant blade."

"Is a bit much to call it a mace, 'ammer and axe that sometimes works as a sword and can maybe work as a shield," Urlox replied. "Matt thought it was a road sign, so maybe I'll just call it 'Yield'. Because someone up to no good is better off yielding before I 'ave to 'it them with it!"

Chandra hummed. "You wouldn't be hitting them, as much as crushing them flat, no?"

"Crusher it is!" Urlox announced then and there. "The sword that can crush!"

"Poetic," Baaz drawled. It was somewhat worrying. What other nuances had she picked up from Cassidy?

[The Kingpin]

"A name as blunt as its edge, and as the man wielding it," joked Matthias as he continued eating the buns, one after another disappearing as he satisfied a hunger that had plagued him since the previous night. He noticed the guard captain seemed a bit more eager to unleash it upon his foes than was strictly necessary, and couldn't help wondering if this wasn't the mission that had pushed him just a bit too far. He made a note of keeping an eye on him for the time being.

[C S]

"Ah, they'll say it's useless. Too short to serve any role in a good and proper fight. Too 'eavy to wield -- will leave me open for anyone with a quick 'and and quick steel," Urlox stated. With a zeal, he took another bun and took a huge bite out of it, as he did before. "I look forward to showing them all 'ow wrong they are about my Crusher, 'ere. Dwarven craft, 'uman skill and spirit!"

"I wonder who would be fool enough to test you after your borderline reign of terror," Baaz responded silently. The reason his sword was a legend at all was because of how it cut its mark into Daaven's history in the last few decades. A laughable weapon it may be now, but the man behind it was still infamous for his ability to do battle.

Baaz couldn't judge him too harshly in this light, however. Was she not the same? The evil she saw in Urlox was an evil she felt inside her. Alas, poor Bianca, whose blood was distinct on her hands only for the fact that it was blood with a name. Everyone the ranger had felled in the past had a face, but the majority were nameless enemies ousted from her thoughts by rationalization and numbing exploits. A name to go with a face made that face last. Bianca was another stain on her soul, and the longer Baaz dwelled on this tangent, the louder the reptile's laughter echoed in her thoughts. Another name that wasn't bound to go away any time soon.

The one who criticized the most oftentimes is the one with the most flaws to be criticized.

[The Kingpin]

"If it's as heavy as it looks, you'll probably not even need to worry about burial arrangements. Hammer them into the earth where they stand," grunted the Wanderer as he ate another bun. He pondered the statement with some amusement, wondering whether dwarves would look at them twice over such a morbid conversation. On the one hand, they were dwarves, but on the other hand, this was a more peaceful city than most dwarven fortresses he knew of. Most likely a result of the water and foliage that took the place of liquid stone and sulfur.

[C S]

That put another layer on the pile of Urlox's mirth. Unable to laugh audibly due to his mouth being full, he slapped himself on the knee to express his amusement in spirit. A pleasantly simple man with a truly dark sensibility. Chandra was some measure resigned when she commented offhandedly, "Of all the fights he's won, you'll be the one to kill him, Matthias. Kill him with your humor." How a friendship the likes of this blossomed, Chandra felt that would be too long a story to tell if she dared asked.

It was as though Urlox tapped into her thoughts when he was able to speak again, adding: "And plant a sprout! Beats a gravestone, and looks more pleasing to the eye!"

Baaz couldn't help a chuckle, ghoulish as the subject was. Urlox was a man who took after nature, and history showed that he was more than willing to beat people to a pulp for their willful disregard of it.

[The Kingpin]

"My brother never liked having me around at grand events. Too rough around the edges for Valenhad's gentry," responded Matthias matter-of-factly. "Apparently my humour's hard to digest with a roast and wine. Not much of a surprise poor Thimeas here's having trouble doing so with a mouthful of bread."

There was something he missed. The banquets. Much as Kaelan disliked Matthias's game of making aristocrats' stomachs turn and noses wrinkle, he was family, and that meant he never missed an event. Both he and...

He cut that thought short. He couldn't think about that anymore. It was in the past. Pleasant nostalgia was a poisoned dagger, slowly being twisted in a bleeding wound. It would give him nothing but pain to think about such things. Once, he had been a half of a whole, a cheerful and jolly duo that had left their mark on at least one of their nephews with their antics.

But no longer.

The sudden dark turn in his thoughts was far reaching. It left its mark on his expression, his smile having sunk, over several moments, from a small smile, to a blank, absent look, sucked into his own thoughts and away from the world around him.

[C S]

True as ever, Matthias received a pat on the back that was a tad too forceful, and heard the laughter escape Urlox that sounded like it was reverberating in the captain's lungs before leaving his mouth. "Don't be so glum, Matt! It's no problem with digesting your 'umor!"

"Digesting it a little too well?" Chandra offered.

"Getting drunk off of it!" Urlox offered instead, then chuckled deeply. "Heh, heh."

Valeria froze mid-nibble. Her gaze went to Baaz, who met it. The two of them had the same thought: Urlox and sweets was toeing a dangerous line already. An Urlox that was drunk was a herald of doom.

[The Kingpin]

The pat pulled the Wanderer back to the present, leaving him to blink in a moment of confusion. Hearing Urlox's statement, he made an effort to return to the cheerful mood of the moment.

"Then I'd best stop amusing you, hadn't I?" he grunted with a sidelong glance to the guard captain. "Do it too much and I'll have to lug you around like a sack of especially rowdy potatoes. With a weaponised road sign tied to it."

It was an odd mental image. Urlox was certainly the bigger of the two of them, and wasn't really what one would call lightly muscled. The man was built like the world's most jovial ox. But for all that, Matthias was no less powerful, and indeed, may well have actually surpassed his burly bearded brother-in-arms.

He had to, after all.

[C S]

"All the best things come in moderation," Urlox replied. Whether or not that was an agreement or not was up in the air.

Chandra's eyes dropped to the sack of buns by Matthias, then traveled over to Baaz. Moderation. "One may say that all the best things are rationed, no?"

"Implies you're divvying up Matthias' ability to make Urlox laugh. Given how Urlox finds humor in everything else, I don't think you need to worry about that running out," said Baaz.

"I was referring to our primary food supply for the next week," Chandra replied dryly.

"Oh."





The more things change, the more they stay the same.

That was what went through Johnathon's head near the end of the workday. He was, as he tended to be, situated at his desk with piles of reports written, and even more material that needed to be written. Some of it still pertained to the issue of the Stalkers; the bureaucratic backdraft left in the days after their detention and executions. Included in that was Natalie's pardoning and permittance to work and home in Brodudika, along with the tiring legal jostle that came with bystanders to the final operation being reimbursed for their minor injuries and emotional distress. No success came without its bitter aftereffects when steeped in the realm of legislation.

It was on this fact that the detective ruminated on, his mind traveling to macabre depths, given the time and silence as inches to creep. Thus was the weight of his responsibility. Behind his desk, hands folded, Johnathon considered something he found reproachable, although he recognized it was only a natural inclination for the average man whose lens of the world was distorted as his.

"Bounties are given out from city hall day after day and are turned in just as frequently if all goes well. Justice decided by a sword makes less paperwork."

All the world's evil boiled down to choices. All who opposed those choices ultimately had to write about them at every juncture. In doing these reports, one reflected on how the more things changed, the more things stayed the same. The few reports Johnathon was able to complete relating to the newest troubles to cross his desk confirmed just as much, if he were in a cynical disposition and chose to reread them as such. More senseless conspiracies with the goal of unbridled death and destruction, only on another level entirely through extraordinary means.

If this was Brodudika in times of peace, Johnathon started hoping he did not witness what this city-state being at war would entail. He also hoped he was not being purposefully naive to avoid an unfortunate truth: that Brodudika was already feeling the fires of civil war. It was a small comfort to perceive these threats as splinters willing to see the whole oak fall, that they were minor distractions in the way of the city's highest calling, but was it really so? Johnathon had a hard time labeling a potential wyvern attack, and the arcane creation of a siege engine, a distraction. Then again, aside from being internal, civil wars needed outspoken dissenters resorting to violence to be considered civil wars. The records of these events as they unfolded were examples of this, the most recent being Valenhad's own foray into domestic upsets over far-reaching political issues. Until the contrary revealed itself to be true, the enemies of Brodudika were too cowardly to openly back their cause and mark themselves rebels.

"Distractions with a lot of 'clout'." That seemed to describe things pretty well, according to the Green-Coat. That was enough philosophizing on the nature of nations based on the crimes which plagued them, however. With the time still left in the day, he had to comb through what he knew now to get the information necessary vital for the development of a strategy with the same kind of naming convention as Avenging Blitz.



Sitting at his desk with stacks of paper on either side of him and his hands folded, Johnathon cleared his mind of superfluous thoughts. The same techniques that were conducive to hypnosis were useful for meditation, granted, he did not need to use the pocketwatch on himself. He focused on a cabinet instead, and held his gaze on that spot until the memory of that morning replayed in his head.

He heard the door knocking. It wasn't long after he'd settled down into the office. Johnathon had mused with all the fidelity of a seasoned detective that this was probably a sign of his day taking an early turn. After calling out for his visitor -- or visitors -- to come in, Johnathon had his internal monologue validated. In a show of lesser skills in deduction, he saw that he'd be dealing with a few faces, not counting his partner.

"Mister Marshton," the Green-Coat greeted Kenneth, who also opted for the last name in his response.

"Mister Doris, the best of the morning I hope."

Johnathon looked to the lady in grays and her companions. A city official, a researcher dwarf... and Dahnae. What a way to start things off. It was a small fortune that Natalie was out, and still was out, establishing the foundations of a new life. Maybe that was the best of the morning here. One small cosmic concession in exchange for everything else. Johnathon as much.

"As good as it will be, I guess." The detective looked to the ladies and asked them, "To what do I owe the so-called pleasure?" Johnathon offered the one seat in front of his desk to his guests. They looked to one another, and after a moment, Moria took it. Dahnae had her own idea of what constituted as rest, and Solaurn didn't want to be favored for her petite stature.

"No bar-chat today, I'm afraid," Moira said, shooting Kenneth a glance. "You can consider what I'm about to say a chat in of itself, but not the most enjoyable of sorts." She laid her book on the desk and flipped the pages. The first pamphlet was exposed, and Johnathon raised a brow. Then she revealed the next one, and the one after that.

Moira stacked the weathered booklets and pushed them over to Johnathon before sitting back in the chair. "I saw some suspicious individuals try to stow these away in the city hall archives. I believe they were keeping them there for pickup. I don't think they would want to keep their secret texts in a public library."

"Not longer than they would need to," Kenneth replied. "In what way were they 'suspicious'?"

"They were dressed for long-distance traveling, but instead of stopping by city hall for a job like everyone else decked out in gear like that, they decided to pay the library a visit. I found that suitably odd. It became even more odd when I saw that they were wary of being followed."

Kenneth nodded. "That's pretty suspicious."

"They also presumably stalked me and threatened to kill me in a few distinct scenarios."

Kenneth and Johnathon exchanged a look. Solaurn cleared her throat uncomfortably. Moira continued, "Really, if it weren't for the delivery girl's nose, I wouldn't be speaking to you right now."

"Miss Araya has a unique sense for these..." Mishaps was what Johnathon wanted to say. "... Incidents."

"Thanks, mister Dorkies." Since everyone was throwing around last names, Dahnae thought she'd get in on that too.

"Doris." Johnathon looked to the dwarf and asked, "What do you know of this event, miss...?"

"Bvadrisl," Solaurn answered, since everyone was going by last names, "and I can't say I know much at all past basic descriptions of the perpetrators in question. I was following Dahnae when she ran off to find miss Everby."

Kenneth broached, "I suppose the question here is 'what does Dahnae know'?" He eyed the girl expectantly.

She pulled in a loud breath and said, "Dahnae knows what they smell like," with a degree of finality on the subject.

That was useful knowledge all the same by Johnathon's measure. "Thank you, Dahnae."

"You're welcome, Dorkis."

Moira added, "I also overheard a conversation they were having in the library." She proceeded to explain the general context of her eavesdropping and the booklets, the 'gospels' as they were called.

After Moira finished telling her story, Johnathon said to his partner, "Kenneth, I'm going to need you to get these books to the magic department. They'll get their experts on making sure these things aren't cursed, first and foremost."

Kenneth grunted his affirmation and gathered up the pamphlets, and then he was out of the office with his city-roaming speed.

"Miss Everby, I'm going to need to ask you a few more questions."

"No problem at all."

"Miss Bvadrisl, Dahnae, you can go. If your involvement is required in the future, I'll have an officer approach you directly if I can't myself."

Solaurn nodded, and looked to where Dahnae had been standing literally a second ago. "Let's get going, then," was on the tip of her tongue. Solaurn turned the other way and saw Dahnae opening the bottommost drawer of a filing cabinet.

Dahnae held eye contact with Johnathon as she eased herself into the drawer. "I need to rest my legs," was her only explanation as she squeezed into the tight space, nestling herself atop the bound notes and reports.

Johnathon had to remind himself that the girl was, in some measure, some kind of cat. With that reminder came the disbelief that not long ago at all, he had to carry her to a clinic. Days later, she was sitting in his cabinet.



Ironically, while this was an effective way to glean clarity from memories and was invaluable to Johnathon's writings, the extensive attention to detail accelerated the deterioration of reliable recollection in the long term. In this way, the majority of Johnathon's work-related memories existed most purely as the reports he submitted to the relevant parties over the course of his career. What he kept for himself were just the strongest impressions of his time in the mud.

He would be more chipper if he were able to lose those impressions in the process as well.

[The Kingpin]

Another day, another adventure.

Or so it seemed to be for the young pyromancer, curled up in her blanket, reluctant to rise from the warmth she was encompassed in. It was a wonder how Septimus somehow managed to successfully keep them moving so consistently. From the stony heart of a dwarven stronghold, to the peaks of the Boldrim, to the bottom of the sea.

It made her wonder how much longer they could keep it up before they ran out of places to go.


Their ability to find new, exotic destinations was the farthest thing from Ceridwen's mind. Curled up under one of the Scholar's wings, she was enjoying the first restful sleep since the Kraken incident. The only reason she was able to sleep so easily was Septimus monitoring her and doing what he could to comfort her when she grew restless.

The Son of Storms was lounging by a roaring fire; one he'd ignited no more than half an hour ago, to give his companions a more comfortable start to their day when they woke. They were a few dozen yards into one of the naked forests of Aster, a small clearing amidst dense thickets that offered some shelter from the chilling gusts sweeping through the plains beyond the treeline. The sky was a blend of oranges, pinks and blues that seemed disarmingly warm and soothing for the frigid air that separated it from those below.

[C S]

A little while later, when the red sun had risen to the point of turning yellow, and the rest of the sky took on its azure visage, Syria woke. The mage got out of bed and made a concentrated effort to be quiet, for the walls of the satchel were solid cushion. She had no idea what time of day it was on this rare occasion when Septimus was not maintaining the enchantment that linked his vision to the satchels. Syria did not need to step quietly for too long, however -- one was hard pressed to be loud at all when surrounded by supple padding, although the point remains -- as she found Beshayir awake in her bed surely enough after a couple of passes. Awake, but lazing about. Syria tussled her hair and greeted her, but stumbled on whether or not she should be telling Beshayir good morning.

Some swift mental contact with Septimus cleared up that bit of confusion, and marked the first bout of ditziness of the day, which coincided with Septimus' first amusement of the day. Recovering from the slip with all the eloquence of one as easily flustered as she was, which meant flushed cheeks and mumbling under her breath, Syria cleared her table of her writing, which she'd completed the night before. As a result of her entry being so substantial, she made a special note at the end: that it took a full day after the fact to finish it, and that the day was mostly dedicated to rest and reorienting herself.

With that squared away, she rummaged through some clothes of hers and Beshayir's, got herself ready and went off on her staff. She didn't have to keep a house, technically, but there was laundry to do and Septimus had mentioned a water source nearby when Syria inquired about if he'd seen any. A water spring, somewhere along winter in a naked forest. Syria appreciated the minor irony.

Washing clothes was always a quick chore for the mage, for the fortune that she was indeed a mage. Rinsing was simply a round of telekinesis in flowing water and drying was a combination of hanging and wringing with that same telekinesis. A small exercise in enchantment added the fragrance of soap when none was used, and Syria returned to pack everything away.

As far as adventurous mornings went, this was a quiet one. Until Syria saw that Beshayir hadn't left bed in all that time. At that point, Syria went over to her bed, took a seat and then asked, "How'd you feel about a hot bathing session?"

[The Kingpin]

"I get cold after a hot bath," mumbled the elf as she peeked through her little mound of blankets, wiggling slightly so that she disappeared in them completely, with the exception of her eyes.

[C S]

"Interesting point to make, when the 'bath' would also be cold around this time of year, out where we are. I'm sure Septimus wouldn't mind helping keep the cold away once we get the water going, though," Syria responded.

[The Kingpin]

"...What about getting there? And getting the water going? It'll be cold," argued Beshayir simply, blinking within the shadowy folds of her fluffy sanctum. "And what about the floor? That's cold too."

[C S]

"We are mages, dear. We fly where we don't want to walk. You also have a coat that negates the elements; should I swaddle you in that and levitate you to the water?" said Syria sweetly.

[The Kingpin]

At first, Beshayir mumbled something, seeming hesitant to agree to it, but ultimately shifted from her bed. She pushed her head out of the blankets first, a mess of platinum blonde hair framing her somewhat sleepy, somewhat grumpy face. A mess, she noted, that was Syria's doing. "Okay," she said quietly. She liked the comfort of not having to wear boots and other things all day, and she was half tempted to try and get away with the long days of sleeping and being lazy that she had when she first joined them, even though she knew she probably couldn't get away with it now as she could then.

No harm in trying.

[C S]

"Agreeing to being swaddled and levitated? My, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you probably do need some more sleep!" Syria joked. The elf's coat was already in her hands, called by her magic as a ruffling banner of peculiar fabric.

[The Kingpin]

"'m comfy here. You have to make it worth being un-comfy," responded the girl, a lop-sided smirk tugging gently at the edge of her mouth. She wasn't entirely uncooperative, though. She'd shifted out of the blanket mostly, keeping it draped over her shoulders and crossed legs, trying her best to stay warm. It was worth noting that, excellent though the satchel's insulation was, it still didn't keep out the piercing cold completely.

[C S]

Syria nodded understandingly, and tried to keep her knowing features from dipping into the territory of smug. She draped Beshayir's Wirshah over her shoulders. "There we go," said the mage, "all nice and comfy." Until the blankets underneath started making the girl overheat, little by little. Syria was willing to play the waiting game.