Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

That was an unexpected shift in topic for Syria, yet one that was not entirely without basis. As she assembled her thoughts, part of her insisted she should have seen it coming.

"Ah... it's a complicated thing," as most things along this line of thought were, Syria noted internally, "I wouldn't call it 'subjugation' in most respects. Domestication, such as with livestock and pets, is a product of symbiosis that comes about through convenience... though pets undoubtedly are better off for it, I'll admit. Animals used for mounts are treated with the same level of care, for the sake of their health and performance as mounts. Wyverns, though..." Syria trailed off, and spoke up a few moments later when she couldn't find a delicate way to phrase her words. "Powerful, majestic creatures are seen as challengers by some. To best them is a show of strength. To impose one's self over them is an even more impressive feat." The mage placed special emphasis on the word to share her contempt for the notion.

Holding out a hand to the dragoness, Syria offered softly, "I would dare to say there are a lot more of us who respect nature more than those who would hold themselves greater than it, but we've got some problems to work on nevertheless. But that's always been the case with us two-legged big-thinkers."

[The Kingpin]

"I see...I don't like the thought that anything is subject to another's will...But I see," responded Ceridwen, head lowered. She spent a moment getting over the memory of her last encounter with the former sort of people.

"But what if the animal is taken in as a pet? Given love and affection, given food...That can't be bad?" asked Beshayir as she swivelled on her spot to face the dragoness.

"You are young, Beshayir, and inexperienced. And lucky never to have been trapped. To be trapped in a place, even if loved, is not a pleasant thing. Could you imagine never being able to leave Septimus's satchel for the rest of your life?" asked Ceridwen, her head tilting.

The young elf blinked, considering the dragoness's words for a moment before retorting, "For a few months that was the case...while I was brought back to health...But I never said that the pet wouldn't be able to move around. Just kept close enough that I could care for it? Cats do that of their own will all the time in Thimeyra."

"It would depend on the animal's choice," responded Ceridwen after some thought. "If it comes to you of its own will, and is free to leave whenever it wishes, then there is no harm. It is not subjugated. It is not denied its freedom. I'm speaking of those who lock their pets in a cage, or in a house, and never let them leave. That is cruel."

[C S]

After learning of the developments with Perioul, Syria was inclined to agree with Ceridwen. "But you have to keep in mind that it comes down to what is best for the pet. If it would prefer being let loose and is denied that happiness, then yes, it would be a detriment. However, some creatures couldn't be bothered with the world outside of their homes, or the places where they roam, for the safety their lives afford them. This is why wild animals don't make good pets; they are too accustomed to living in accordance with their instincts. The opposite is why domesticated animals wouldn't do well in the wild; they can't compete with their untamed brethren to survive on their own."

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir nodded slowly, understanding what they meant now. "Then perhaps it'd be best if I didn't try and take a yurbu as a pet," she mused.

The cascading of water drew their attention from their thoughts as Septimus finally emerged from the lake, a brief shudder shaking most of the water off his hide before a hiss marked the evaporation of what was left with a thick cloud of white. The Son of Storms stretched his wings with a groan that had the waterfowl honking and bolting across the water to get away from the massive beast that had suddenly risen from beneath them.

"Bathe well?" chirped the dragoness curiously.

"Well enough. I believe it might be time we left here. The herds that roam the area are avoiding the lake whenever they can afford it. I would rather not disrupt their lives any further," he noted as he glanced over his shoulder towards the water, where the waterfowl were congregating on the opposite bank.

[C S]

"And nature runs its course, ever swift and true..." Syria thought, for there was seldom a better example of these unwritten laws than the hunting habits of a dragon. Of all the ways her thoughts could return to the tangent that started the conversations, Septimus' return to the surface was one of the more unexpected. On the same level as the direction the conversation had taken, really. "Ready when you are," the mage said aloud, knowing that too much time spent in one place was likewise as much a disruption for Septimus' life.

[Hopeflower]

In the wake of the events that his students had gotten caught up in, and subsequently brought to Johnathon and Viho's attention, the psychomancy instructor had made it his priority to begin to teach his class basic offensive magic. He'd barely given himself time to rest, and now poured what energy he didn't strictly need for teaching into honing his newfound psychokinesis.

And, with two more or less fully functioning arms, he'd gone and gotten himself a rather nice belated Solstice gift. The sabre wasn't Viho's old scimitar, and it didn't hold the same sentimental value, but its edge was just as finely honed. And most importantly, its balance and weight agreed with him; the familiar practice steps came fluidly, and there was a vicious satisfaction in picturing the curved blade splitting flesh.

There was yet more added practicality to favoring a lighter blade, Viho was quickly discovering. With a little extra concentration, he found that even if his grip loosened or slipped, he could keep the sabre in his hand. That, he noted, was something worth experimenting with. He'd called Charles' sword to him, after all - so maybe if he -

"Please don't throw your sword at me."

Firel's voice was a wake-up call. Viho blinked, registering that he'd unconsciously moved to test out his idea. He adjusted his grip on the weapon and lowered it. "I apologize. I didn't realize you were there."

"Obviously," the younger psychomancer replied dryly. Firel took a deliberate step sideways, as though concerned that Viho might still throw the sword. "I hoped you'd be here, but I wasn't sure, what with...all the recent excitement."

"The excitement hasn't done much to stop me from being here yet," Viho said, sliding his sword into its sheath. "Did you need me for something?"

Firel struggled with himself briefly before he blurted, "I hoped - well, I've wanted to ask you, but you've been busy..." He huffed a frustrated sigh, scuffing his toe against the classroom floor. "It's...my mom has trouble with her memory."

Viho blinked, caught a little off guard. "I'm sorry to hear it," he offered when the silence threatened to stretch on for too long.

The younger elf hunched his shoulders a little and nodded tightly. As though it hurt his pride, he hurried through continuing, "I wanted to ask you if psychomancy can reverse memory loss."

After a quiet moment of puzzling that sentence out, Viho leveled a serious stare at his student. He spoke slowly, suddenly reminded that even for all of his experience, all of his years of life, there were things that he just didn't know. "Truthfully, I couldn't tell you. Psychomancy relies in part on what already exists within a person's mind. True, we can plant suggestions and touch memories people had thought forgotten - but I can't say I've ever tried to recover something a person can't recall at all."

He could see the moment that Firel interpreted that as there's nothing anyone can do, and something twisted painfully upon watching his student's hopes start to crumble.

"Then there's nothing for it," Firel said softly, turning away.

"I didn't say that," Viho corrected gently. "I said I hadn't tried it, not that it was impossible." Firel still looked unconvinced, so he added, "I think it's worth looking into. Perhaps someone more experienced than myself has made an attempt."

"Maybe." Firel set his bag on his usual bench and sat down slowly, as though he'd aged several decades during the conversation. He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to pull himself together. "It's been hard, watching her forget about everyone she loves."

Mild alarm went streaking down Viho's spine. It was one thing to roll with the surprises that came with being around Dahnae. It was another thing entirely to try and support his students emotionally when he wasn't exactly the greatest example when it came to solving personal problems.

To his relief, Firel didn't wait for him to find the right comforting words. He shook his head and said, "But you're not here to listen to me talk about my home life."

"Maybe not," Viho replied, taking the opening he was given, "but I can encourage you to continue researching this. You may find more than what I can tell you."

Firel eyed him, then offered a small, tired smile. "Well, I guess it won't do me any good to give up after I came all this way to do just that."

[The Kingpin]

Beshayir was quick to move to the satchel, summoning her staff for the sole purpose of easing herself in without spilling her tea. Septimus reached for the fireplace, extinguishing it in an instant as their camp dismantled in seconds. The teapot joined Beshayir inside the satchel, settling on a large wooden tray on a table. From there, the barbecue spit disassembled and slipped into its container, soon being wrapped tight and joining the other things in the satchel. The Scholar's wings flexed as he glanced between Syria and Ceridwen. "Any requests on a place to go?" On cue, the long rectangular case that was on one of the bookshelves emerged from the satchel, the map within sliding out and unfurling.

[C S]

"Not exactly a place, but we do have some presents to drop off, and as of now, no prior engagements that will have us preoccupied with things." Syria grew quiet and glanced to Ceridwen from the corner of her vision. "Maybe after we catch up with the others, we can fly back to Brodudika and speak to Desrium about what we learned in Zuppoland. Maybe he can tell us how Zuppoland used to deal with things," Syria glanced to Ceridwen again, "back in the day."

[The Kingpin]

The Scholar nodded agreeably as he growled, "I suppose we could, yes. Ceridwen, any thoughts?"

The dragoness gave a non-committal shrug in response. "I don't know many places of interest in Aster, Septimus. I'll go where you want to go." She glanced off into the distance briefly before adding, "As long as it's not the ocean... or anywhere else that's deep."

It served as a sobering reminder of the dragoness's limited bravery in the face of the goliaths that roamed the world. "As you wish. Well then, it seems we have our heading. Syria, would you rather accompany Beshayir, or stay outside for this trip?" he asked as he reached out to his satchels, the two large, ornate bags floating over and strapping to his body using their many harnesses. Polished steel buckles glinted in the light as they slid into place and pinned themselves into notches in the sturdy leather straps. It was a sight as impressive as it was discomforting to Ceridwen, herself distrusting of anything crafted by the hands of humans and elves. Still, she would not criticise. She couldn't, even if she wanted to.

[C S]

Syria meditated on the question with her arms and legs crossed. Before too long, she replied, "I could do with some flying on my staff, to be honest. And what a transition it's been, flying on staves." Syria started to pick herself off of the ground when she said, "You go from walking, or riding on a Frondfoot cart to skimming over the countryside, and sooner or later you fly as high and as far as dragons."

[The Kingpin]

"Not quite as far. Not alone, at least," quipped Ceridwen. "You can't fly in your sleep," she clarified.

"Now now, Ceridwen. No need to be confrontational. Remember that not all dragons can do that either." It was a pointed retort, and one that made a good point.

"I suppose. I suppose I can't expect Syria to mean the very highest of dragon-kind," chirped Ceridwen with a loftiness that threatened to fall back into one of her supposed aristocratic trances.

"Might I also remind you that you have as much in common with birds as you do with dragons," jabbed the Son of Storms with a smirk.

That shattered the dragoness's delusion quite promptly, and a sharp squawk voiced her offence. "How dare you!" she twittered against a backdrop of deep, rumbling laughter. "At least I'm not part fish!"

"I never said that you were part anything, my dear. I said that you have traits in common with them. The plumage, the beak, the singing. It's nothing to be ashamed of, mind. If anything, you bear the finest traits of avian kind, and none of the lesser ones," praised Septimus as he flexed his wings.

Ceridwen's feathers smoothed out and her chest puffed out with pride in response to the larger dragon's praise. "That is true. I am what birds wish they could be." And with that, she took flight, seemingly deciding to try and get out of earshot before Septimus had a chance to append a but to his statement. To her fortune, he chose not to, instead simply handing Syria her staff and bag, and taking to the air in pursuit of the feather-clad dragoness. Not that that was difficult. Ceridwen had no idea where she was going, after all.

[C S]

The mage's bag floated over to her aloft on green while she straddled her staff. The strap slung itself over her neck and shoulder about the same time as she kicked off of the loam around the lake, rising steadily into the air thereafter. Syria thought back to the waterfowl and burrowbeak, finding the previous exchange more than a little ironic. "At least you don't eat toads, Ceridwen," Syria muttered to herself.

"At least, I haven't seen you eat toads..."

She pulled back on her staff and flipped her protective lenses down from her hat, tucking herself close to the body of the instrument as it accelerated after the Scholar.

[The Kingpin]

It wasn't too long before the trio were flying over familiar territory. The village walls were a grey outline against a pale ground in the distance, and a few moments of observation decided their approach. Septimus had learned from his previous visits that the two dragons that made this village their home were territorial. Aviva and Zar may have been on relatively friendly terms with him, but they were also parents to a vulnerable clutch now, and he knew they wouldn't take kindly to anything startling their young. With the weather being as harsh as it was, and predators either hibernating or desperate to find food, their tolerance would be even more fleeting now than usual if he were to use his usual approach.

So, it was with that in mind that he circled around once he was close enough, flying low to the ground to find a less conventional approach. Flying around and over the lake, he took a few moments and a passing glance at Syria and Ceridwen before tilting himself downwards, pulling his wings tightly to his form and relying on his memory on the depth of the lake. A spectacular crash rang out over the lake as the Scholar plunged through the layer of ice, steam rising from the impact point as the ice split into several massive sections, water washing up over the surface as it heaved and churned around the entry point. Ceridwen was left staring, speechless. She had done something similar elsewhere, but never on such a scale. Ice so thick it was foggy and pale would smash her bones if she tried to punch through it that way. She was left hovering and looking between the ice and Syria, wondering how to react to this. A few minutes later, steam was rising from the side of the lake closest to the village, or rather, closest to the end that wasn't near the dragon nest, and Septimus emerged in a plume of white vapour.

Beshayir had been jolted with that action, her whole bubble of peace and comfort turned topsy turvy, and she found herself upside down on her bed, holding on for dear life, her sketch and the tray on which it was placed tossed across the satchel. Amazingly, the tea was perfectly intact. It was almost as if Septimus wanted to give her a scare.

[Hopeflower]

The young mage in training was not the only one Septimus' stunt scared. Despite his intention to avoid spooking the Extraxl family, a shrieking roar rang out in response to the disturbance. It was only moments before a dappled splash of black and yellow stood contrasted against the snow. Aviva flared her wings defensively, smoke curling from her nostrils and parted jaws. Her mate was nowhere to be seen - probably out hunting, but it wouldn't be long before the noise drew his attention.

Within the village walls, everyone who had been hurrying about their daily business startled badly. Some of the assassins rushed out of the inn, drawing various weapons as they did. Several children screamed and ran to their mothers, seeking reassurance that the world was not falling to pieces around them. Their parents, however, were just as bewildered as they ushered their tearful kids inside.

And poor Brionna jolted, knocking over the tea that she'd just made with an elbow. She yelped when some of the steaming liquid inevitably splashed onto her, and cursed at length. She'd never thought she'd have a reason, but she found herself putting to use all of the colorful phrases that Vix and Rowan had taught her as she stood torn between pulling out her knives and cleaning up the mess.

[C S]

A moment or so after the alerts had gone high Syria looked to Ceridwen and offered a meager, "Sometimes, when you need to stop really fast, a crash can be useful. A crash into ice is better than crashing into the ground so... I guess I can sort of see what he was thinking... but I don't think he accounted for the noise a dragon the size of an inn can make when he stops like that."

[The Kingpin]

"...Why is it again that he is considered to be wise and intelligent among dragons?" asked Ceridwen more than a bit confused. She had never seen the results of Septimus being bored, and could not have said that this was a case of that. It seemed more like he had chosen to burn the village rather than leave gifts there. The fact he seemed not to have done so, however, had her slowly descending to his position.

A decidedly less aggressive rumbling call answered Aviva's roar as the Scholar walked up to the gates of the village. The guards were visibly shaken from the sudden turn of events, and held their weapons out in warning until they saw the Son of Storms emerge from the forest. "Septimus? What happened?" asked one of the guards, not yet lowering his weapon.

"I didn't have anywhere to land," responded Septimus simply. "The trees are too close for my wings and I didn't want to scare the whelps on the other side of the village," he added with a shrug.

"Um...With all due respect, you've scared the entire village, whelps and all," responded the guard bluntly.

"Oh. Pity. I will have to apologise when I'm inside," rumbled a nonchalant Scholar as he began to walk forward.

"I'm sorry err...my...lord? But until the Assassins come here and decide, we can't really let you in," explained the guard that had seemingly taken up the role of the speaker in the exchange. "You did stir a panic within the walls, and the dragons probably aren't too pleased. Letting you in now would endanger the ones inside by extension."

Septimus nodded slowly. "Reasonable. Very well, call someone over to the gates so I can speak to them. I'm really only here to deliver something," he stated simply.

It was about that time that the cover of the satchel was pushed aside and a decidedly frazzled looking Beshayir looked around warily. Once she saw that Septimus wasn't fighting for his life, she took the opportunity to vent her irritation. "Septimus, what was that for?! I was drawing a picture, now it's a mess!" she ranted.

The Scholar's neck craned around under one wing to look at the elf, an innocent smile on his muzzle. "I'm sorry, dear. I will help you fix it. At least the tea didn't spill," he offered, only to be hit on the muzzle with a comically small fireball that fizzled out on contact with his hide.

"You did it on purpose!" she exclaimed, looking wholly unamused as she stuck her wand back into its sheath at her side. "You'd better fix it," was the final grumble she gave before plunging back into the satchel. It left the Scholar blinking with a mixture of amusement and surprise at the decidedly fiery scolding he received from the young apprentice.

[C S]

"Say what you will about my supposed temper, Seppy; I don't think there's an argument as to whom, among Beshayir and I, is the more vocal," said Syria a little while later, settling down onto the ground next to Ceridwen. "Not that I blame her. I've got enough nonsensical scribbles in my journal because somebody decided to be rowdy."

[Hopeflower]

Though her challenge had been decidedly bloodthirsty, Aviva did not move from her position. She did, however, make sure to let Septimus know just how unamused she was. The deep growl that rattled in her throat and chest did not invite him or his companions to come any closer.

Shortly, Akando stood before the scholar with Dante at his shoulder, looking about as impressed as the rattled young mother. Upon seeing the source of the commotion, the guildmaster folded his arms and muttered something under his breath, too low to catch.

"Septimus. I assume you have a good reason for nearly scaring half of the village into an early grave," he greeted the dragon. "Though seeing as Arsenic isn't here, I'm not sure what that might be."

[The Kingpin]

"As it turns out, approaching high would have unsettled Aviva and her young. Approaching low would have smashed my wings. I'm too big a dragon to slide across the ice, so I did the next best thing. Which...just so happened to be plunging through the ice. You have my apologies," explained the Scholar, his head lowered apologetically.

The Son of Storms cleared his throat after a few moments, lifting his head level with the Assassin's own in order to address him. "But to answer your question, I'm here to deliver some gifts for Arsenic, Andruil, Vix and Rowan. I felt it would be wise to leave the gifts here for them. It's been a while since we last spoke, and I'm uncertain as to their current location."

[Hopeflower]

"Last we knew, they were still in Brodudika," Akando replied, glancing at Dante.

His second in command offered a shrug and a somewhat bemused, "They did say they might be gone for some time when they left. Research trip, I think."

Akando grunted, returning his attention to Septimus. "Provided you can make it all the way to the inn without giving someone a heart attack, you can leave your gifts with Brionna," he said. "She'll keep them safe."