Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[The Kingpin]

A lingering silence followed the question as Andruil fumbled with his thoughts in an effort to salvage his haphazard analogy, before finally admitting, "...In a manner of speaking." His eyes glanced towards the Innkeeper as he managed a small, half-apologetic smile.

[Hopeflower]

Vix snorted inelegantly and reached out to pat Andruil's knee. "It's alright. You've still got your pretty face," she joked, giving him a smile that fell shy of comforting and hit the vicinity of wicked.

"It'll be about all he has once the alcohol starts to kick in," Rowan quipped, not about to let the opportunity to poke fun at Andruil go.

Callie's mouth curved into a half smile that was still tinged with confusion. "I can see how well survival has worked out for you," she commented.

[The Kingpin]

"Someone has to play the fool sometimes, for the health of the others," responded Andruil half-jokingly. "It is a sacrifice I am willing to make," he added dramatically as he crossed his legs, his hand squeezing Vix's own.

[Hopeflower]

'How fortunate for the rest of us.' Arsenic's drawl lacked its usual bite as he slipped back into the sitting room. He leaned on the back of the chair he had previously occupied, looking distracted. 'It's getting nasty outside,' he added after a brief pause, in which the wind beginning to whistle as it picked up speed was indeed audible. 'We should probably start thinking about where we're going to stay for the night.'

"Ah," Callie said, faintly dismayed. "I wish I could offer you all beds, but I haven't enough. There's an inn just down the road, though - we passed it earlier."

[The Kingpin]

"I know the one," responded Andruil as he looked between his companions and the musician. "Perhaps it would be wise if we did turn in for the night. We have been travelling for quite some time now, and a lady such as yourself no doubt has also had quite the strenuous day, yes?" he asked. Steeling himself, he downed the last of the drink, the sizeable gulp finally succeeding in making him cough as it burned its way down his throat. That second shot was definitely a bad idea, he thought to himself.

[Hopeflower]

"Be well, then," Callie replied, inclining her head.

Rowan stood and offered Vix her hand once she was sure her balance was alright, pulling the innkeeper to her feet.

Vix hesitated, uncertain what to say, before she settled on, "Good to meet you, Callie. And thanks for the help."

"Happy to give it. I hope you find what you're after." Callie turned her head toward Arsenic. "And if you see Viho again, tell him I expect a letter as long as my arm, begging forgiveness."

The corner of Arsenic's mouth twitched. 'You'll wait a long time.'

[The Kingpin]

"It has been a pleasure, Callie. To learn your story and hear your music. I pray I am fortunate enough to hear more before our stay here has concluded. Of the latter, if not the former. And if not, then I thank your for granting us this much," said the Knight with a smile he once more had to remind himself she could not see. With that, he rose from his seat, and began to make his way for the door. It was to be a long, thought-filled night for them all, it seemed. For Arsenic most of all.

[Hopeflower]

"I believe I would like to get to know my nephew and the company he keeps," Callie replied, offering a small smile of her own. "One day, perhaps."

Arsenic managed to contain his instinctive recoil this time, though he did twitch. 'Perhaps,' he echoed, and thought that it might have been too close to a promise. He turned away, letting Rowan slip an arm around him for a quick squeeze.

The more like himself he acted, the fewer questions he would face later. He hoped.

[C S]

It was a new day to crack down on a mystic mystery at the precinct.

Proceedings took place outside of the usual office where Johnathon was holed up. All hands on the case were gathered on the floor above, in a room with a sizable table at the center and an oil lamp over it for work that went on deep into the night. A low flame burned within the glass frame, and would continue to burn until the sun was high enough to brighten the land and sky. The windows that lined the sidelong wall were opened in anticipation.

The officers took up a quadrant of the table to address the compiled reports that had come back from all the ministries that had been contacted for their expertise. The magical research department had delivered unto the detective team work that may as well have been an unbound tome. Johnathon sifted through the pages, more than thankful that the language used was plain enough for him to read. There was sparing use of jargon, and what could not be avoided was defined in smaller paragraphs after the initial appearance of the terms. That said, the contents of the confiscated pamphlets were of a dire sort from what Johnathon had gotten through so far. The hefty return of information was the research division's way of contextualizing the gravity of the situation at hand.

The Green-Coat was hunched over the table, hands braced on its surface and his eyes scanning back and forth across the tanned pages that symmetrically encompassed blocks of meticulous script. Johnathon was under the impression that the reports were the result of enchanted quills, though as his mind inevitably began to wander from the journey through the reading, he began to entertain thoughts of some miserable monk-scholar being dictated to by people in stuffy coats and experimentation garb.


Out on the street, the hydromancer pulled her coat tightly together and stuffed her hands into its pockets to keep herself bound in leather and fur. She looked up from underneath the rim of her pointed at to the two guards who walked on either side of her, stoic in full plate. Their slitted visors were pulled down over their faces, the teeth of the wyrm-god outlined by red paint on the top and bottom of the armor. Their metal boots provided a steady rhythm to their pace at the side of the road.

Moira swayed ever so slightly to that beat, humming a song in her head following the intervals. She didn't think she was going to get much conversation out of her guards on her way to the precinct, which she found pretty unfortunate. If there was anything that would have made dealing with being escorted around more tolerable, it was good conversations with the bodyguards. A good chunk of Brodudika's elven population would have appreciated the measure of security afforded for her, which also made things just a tad bit more uncomfortable. As aloof and carefree as she came off to be, Moira was not blind to the looks her passing garnered. They were not the bemusement she was used to of others. They were harsher, and more critical.

Nothing much she could have done about that, she knew. It was a more achievable goal to defend one woman against a vague threat focused on her specifically than to protect every individual at risk at any moment in the day or night from an even more ambiguous enemy. Nevertheless, Moira's song was brought to an end by the thought, "The queen without a kingdom didn't have a pair of knights following her everywhere." A moment of clarity.

"You guardsmen and guardswomen -- it's hard to tell which one you may be when you have your faces covered -- impress me to no end," Moira stated without caring for a response. "The hottest days, or the coldest, it matters not. Your steel is your wear for all weather. If only I could be so grossly disciplined."

That earned her tinny chuckles from her metal bound guardians, but little else. Cutting her losses as they were, Moira went back to the song in her head. She and her guards passed the steps of the church at the moment that Natalie stepped through its dragon motif doors. On the other side of them, she took her coat off and hung it up on the rack nearby, then she smoothed out her black and green gown that signified her new role as a verger.


"Hey, Johnathon," said the teslamantic aid.

Jesse ran a finger across the uncannily smooth surface of a wood-cover book. The corners were padded by triangular cuts of leather, and the spine had overlapping leather squares sewn together by sturdy looking black string. What was truly eye-catching was the silvery circle inlaid on the front cover. It was made out of three concentric rings around a central plate. The plate had etchings of identical overlapping triangles, each consecutive triangle rotated a few degrees from the starting position so that their bases formed a densely angular shape that was not quite a circle, and their points lined up with the two outer rings, which were covered in arcane symbols.

"Any idea why the bigheads sent this book?"

Johnathon glanced up to the book in question, then to the pile of papers he had yet to get to. "Give me a moment." Johnathon went down the page he was on for mention of the book. When he did not see one, he scooped up the top of the pile and began to leaf through the pages, repeating the process and, in doing so, divvying up the tall pile into several smaller ones, until he got what he was after.

"It's called a 'multi-inquiry codex'. It's several books in one."

Jesse raised a brow and then attempted to flip the book open. It came as a great surprise that the front cover did not budge at all. "What the hell? It's like they sent us a brick."

"It essentially is a brick, if it's locked," Johnathon clarified. "One needs to specify the nature of their query before it can be opened. That's what the runes are for."

"Handy. Our own dedicated magical resource, and we can't use it because I'm fairly certain that none of us here know any combinations that could get it to open, much less give us something we could use here," Jesse observed, finding the whole thing very underwhelming. What a fancy paperweight, full of paper!

"There might be some instructions tucked away inside... all of this." Johnathon gestured to his collection of clinical arcane literature. Then there was Moira of course, and her involvement in the case, but her attendance was not exactly reliable in any formality she was a part of. And that was on a good, normal day. Now that she was to be escorted by guards to keep her from being ambushed again, there was no telling when she'd appear at places she was due.

"I could take a crack at it. Remember how I jigged the jig and got that one shed open?" Kenneth broached from across the table.

Johnathon craned his neck and inspected the book. It was as he suspected. "No keyholes, no lock. It'll take more than some directed finagling to get into this one, I'm sorry to say."

Back in the resource room, Jesse ducked down under the table to see what Kenneth had been busy with. "What's with the crates?" The other detective was on a knee looking through six boxes that were on the ground beside the table.

"Evidence boxes. Our 'civilian helpers' made the find the other night. I can deduce already that our culprits have bad fashion sense." Kenneth looked up to Jesse and smirked. "Furs aren't local. These coats were bought some ways out from here, so no tracking down clothing stalls to ask about suspicious groupies. And as you can probably guess--"

"Names in the city's visitor logs are all fake?" Jesse asked.

"So no point in sending you out to get copies."

"Small blessings, to not have to go through that again."

Kenneth nodded and went back to inspecting the coats. After a short while he hummed introspectively. "Five coats, and one coat that's been partly mauled. A little bit of belated trouble with the local wildlife, it looks like. I don't think our jungle girl's rough play will interfere too much in the alchemical testing though, since Moira said that at least one of them knows a bit of sorcery."

"With any luck, our research teams may be able to work their magic on a couple of rocks and come up with a way to track down our wand-waver down," Jesse said. That couldn't be too hard for the people who restored function to a limb, and then some.

"Maybe," Johnathon responded. "Right now, it seems to me that they are the extreme outliers in all of this. If we can catch them before anything else escalates, that would be amazing, of course. The real focus though should be finding out the ones in the city these people were trying to contact that day. Who was supposed to get those books? We put a stop to the internal operation and everything else grinds to a halt. We might just learn who our mercenary warlocks are along the way."

The door opened behind him at that precise moment, and all in the room turned to look at the newcomer. "Sounds like a reasonable strategy to begin with. Avenging Blitz was a good first strike, but there is still much work to be done, it seems." she said as she stepped inside. Moira met all the eyes turned her way, bowing her head in greeting to all the officers. "I hope I haven't missed much."

The officers all said their greetings, which blended into a murmur before the din died down and they returned to piecing together their current findings into a patchy whole that was nearing some semblance of coherence.

"We were talking about how we might nab the one who put a wand into your back not long ago," Jesse stated.

Moira chuckled, a flush of elation visible in her features underneath her wide brimmed hat. "Wonderful. I may be free to walk the streets alone sooner than I expected!"

"We can hope," said Kenneth. "It may be a bit sudden here, but do you know how to work this book?" He rapped his knuckles against the directory's solid cover.

Moira flitted over to the table and hefted the weighty book into her arms, as though she were holding a baby. "Do I know how to work this codex, he says," she cooed, tracing a finger around the rings in an oddly motherly way. She lined up runes with the vertical point of the plate: the initial triangle, and opened the codex.

Jesse slumped somewhat. No glowing, no flashy visuals. "So it's like a regular book with a fancy way of keeping people who don't know what they're doing from reading things they shouldn't?"

"In a way," said Moira with a small, wry smile. "It also rearranges its pages and writing to suit what you're looking for, if you know what to look for. These books are updated regularly back at the research division, so each one of them is the latest volume of any number of series of tomes."

"So it's a fancy book that likes to play that it's just a normal old book, then," Jesse amended.

"It's a wonderful innovation out of the labs. Now all that's left is finding a way to rapidly print books without magic, so that everyone across Aster can get access to this knowledge, albeit without the convenience of their books rewriting themselves to include new developments as they arise," Moira mused.

She then laid the book down and tapped Johnathon on the shoulder to get his attention. Amazingly, or perhaps, exactly as should be expected, the representative had opened up to the codex's entry on the recovered pamphlets.

"There weren't any hexes placed on those booklets, thankfully for all who had to handle them, myself included," she explained, " but they are bewitching for what they describe. A group of mystics approached by a hermit. A messiah figure? He instructed them to study dragons so that they could create a being that exhibited all the best traits of dragonkind. Their work was extensive, and took many years to yield results. Surprisingly, they did not take live subjects to test on. On the contrary, the mystics actively freed captive dragons."

"They sound like a nice lot," Kenneth commented. "Is the part where it all goes bad next or do we have to wait a little more for that?"

"A smidgen of a wait," Moira replied, holding the tips of her index finger and her thumb only so far apart.

"Can you clarify what you mean by 'messiah'?" Jesse inquired.

Johnathon concurred. "I would like to know how deep this Frondfoot nest goes. Is there someone out there pushing for the creation of... creatures... still?"

Moira looked at the tome vacantly. "We can't honestly say. The booklets only refer to this individual as the 'Enlightener' and they don't go into much detail about him past the fact that he was male. Or they thought he was male at the very least. They don't specify why he wanted a dragon in the first place, but in pursuit of that goal, the mystics studied wild drakes, wyverns and ventured to remote places to find even the most exotic dragons. They collected discarded shells and membranes, and tokens from the Blood Dragon wars, all so that they could one day make a shrine for their 'Enlightener' and their future progeny. And then they drew up their plans to give their own souls to flesh born from magic..."

The sailor-turned-mage looked to Kenneth and said, "This is the part where it turns bad."

"Sounds like it," Kenneth agreed flatly. "Far cry from speculating about inspiration for dragon gods."

"And more in line with trying to make one," said Moira.

Jesse shook her head. "Always a genius move."

"At this point in time, the mystics became warlocks. They dabbled in forbidden magic, magic that influences the very nature of a soul. They were planning to stitch their very beings into that of their creation, to ascend into another state of life as its guardians as well as its life force. They called their work 'Chromatus'. Things must not have gone as according to plan... their superior hybrid turned out to be a hydra, each part a blend of all the dragons the warlocks had studied before. This is why all descriptions of Chromatus don't match any of the known dragon species. The warlocks must have thought it perfect, but in reality, Chromatus was just an imitation; what they thought dragons should be. Their minds were all twisted beyond comprehension to birth a creature like that."

"A bit of an understatement," Jesse chimed in.

"Chromatus did not run rampant, however. It was... benign, in a way. A wandering giant, alone in the world. Many people encountered it; it wasn't hard to collect a few records of the incidents. Even Desrium and Septimus came across it in their journeys. But then, at some point, Chromatus just disappeared."

"Along with the 'Enlightener', I assume," Johnathon said, to which Moira nodded.

"These 'gospels' didn't come into our criminals' possession by chance. They had to have been searching for a long time to find what became of those warlocks, and to retrieve their journals." Moira sighed. "It seems to be the only logical conclusion that this plot predates even the wyvern conspiracy. Perhaps it was the lack of results which prompted our conspirators to seek the service of poachers in the first place, as a backup plan."

"Well damn," Kenneth replied plainly. "You weren't kidding about Avenging Blitz. It knocked a big dent into our terrorists' effectiveness, but we missed some key patches if none of the confiscated documents tipped us off that this thing was coming. If it weren't for you, our especially talented sneaks would have gone ahead with their scheme without anyone being wise to it."

Moira waved a hand. "I am inclined to plead humility here. It's difficult to let the praise go to my head after laying my life on the line."

"On the bright side, there's something I think we can all appreciate: if our baddies were just a little more patient, we would have all been blindsided. Now look what they have to show for their eagerness," Jesse proposed with a vindictive edge.

"Limited support from their now-arrested peers and no element of surprise. They're going to have to be on the defensive, and we're one step ahead of them already." Johnathon chuckled.

That was a pretty good bright side.

[Hopeflower]

While his night had added to his list of riddles to solve - how Brodudika could be a magnet for adventurers and remain nearly vacant where alcohol was concerned, Viho had no idea - it did nothing to prevent him from falling back into the routine of getting ready for his job. He had failed to drink away the sense that he was less of a protector than Desrium had asked him to be, but he could throw himself at his job and training until the doubt was just a whisper in the back of his mind. And so he would. With time yet before his class was to start and a sword that he sorely needed to practice with, Viho slid smoothly into familiar stances and drills. The only sound he made was a quiet click of his tongue when he found he had to correct himself. Some of what had been muscle memory felt off with this new weapon.

He would be ready, the next time he was needed. He had to be.

[C S]

A little more time was spent in delegations, wrapping up the loose ends of the meeting and ratifying documents that went into the bureaucratic logs. In the early hours before the city's fleet footed messenger woke to put her fleet footed skills to work, there were not many avenues to getting word out to a specific party at a specific place at a specific time, however. That usually wouldn't be an issue, except there was the unofficial-official who could not make the meeting, exempt from tardiness. With the cold of the morn taken into consideration, the trip to the school-tower was dismissed by the collection of officers and the one dedicated mage.

One mage was more than enough.

"Are you certain about this?" one of the uniformed individuals at the table asked, looking on as Moira scribbled onto a small sheet of paper.

"Mostly positive. My major discipline is hydromancy; can do all kinds of neat-o stuff with that, but all schools of magic start with the basics. And from the basics, we mages choose our desired path to turning the world on its head. If the world had a head," Moira explained as though her attention was perfectly split between talking and writing, seamlessly accomplishing both tasks with cool grace. A gaze was sent Jesse's way, followed by a wink. "Isn't that right, Sparky?"

Jesse made a soft grumble and curled her fingers at her side.

"Not at the nickname stage yet. My folly," Moira backpedaled with expert execution. She had more experience than her dealings with Orthelia to teach her how to diffuse an unfavorable situation.

Or provoke it. Depending.

"Anywho." Moira stood up, set her quill down and clapped her hands. "We're on our way."

"Are we?" one in the crowd asked.

And the response they got was Moira slamming her hands down on either side of the note she'd written. The color in the room appeared to drain, replaced with an overcast of blue. Dark tones of blue. Highlights of cyan. An unfelt wind rushed between every officer, rustled papers and ruffled suits, and an electrifying presence manifested as streaks of light around the hatted mage.

The note lifted steadily from its place on the table, hung in the air, fluttering in this ethereal breeze. Light began to coat it, creeping inwards towards the middle from the edges, and after it was gleaming white, the note disappeared with a blinding flash. When the audience recovered from the glare, all was as it should be. Firelight and sunlight mingled together in the room. Moira sat back in her seat, her expression a few degrees above smug.

"When can we expect Viho to receive his briefing?" Johnathon asked. When Moira had suggested her method of communication, he'd pelted her with many an inquiry. This last one was a rephrasing of similar questions already asked. It was just too out there for his mind, conditioned to facts and reason, to just accept as reality.

"Sooner since your last question, now. Now that I actually sent the thing, I mean," Moira replied with the same casual demeanor that had the gears of Johnathon's mind grinding against one another.

"But--"

"It's not so much basic magic, that. Just a trick I learned out of necessity, but it's a doozy to pull off. Needs a rested mind and body to be anything close to successful. A comfy seat doesn't hurt either." Moira shifted about on her chair and crossed her legs, resting her folded hands on the crook of her knee. "Now, you're sure Viho will be near his desk right now?"

"If he's not sitting at it, he'll be nearby." It was Johnathon's turn to reiterate information he'd already shared, not that he paid that any mind in the midst of his mild existential crisis.

"That's the only thing up in the air about this whole endeavor. I saw the classroom once, before it had a teacher. Memory's a bit foggy on it. If the letter ends up somewhere it shouldn't be, I'd at least like to think he'd have a good chance of catching it with that brain-power people say he has." Moira passed her gaze about the officers, looking absolutely nonplussed by everything.

"I suppose we'll find out later, then, hmm? No sense in just loitering around like this. You're officers; you're the ones who make other people stop loitering, no?"



As the meeting dispersed at the precinct, tiny sparkles began to appear inches over the teacher's desk. The dusting of twinkling light grew more intense, in brightness and size. The particles poured out of vacant space in all directions, rolling across the desk and extinguishing among Viho's books and papers. Then the air appeared to fold in on itself, reflecting the whole of the classroom upside down in stretched proportions, before this anomalous bubble popped and the glowing paper appeared from the void, spinning as a leaf would as it fell onto the desk.

[Hopeflower]

Honed reflex and what Viho would call a healthy dose of paranoia had him turning, the point of his blade aimed and his muscles tensed to strike, before the spectacle was over. The following realization that he remained alone came with a quiet sigh and the tentative lowering of his sword. He approached his desk and picked up the letter after making sure that nothing had been disturbed or damaged. He read quickly, his puzzled frown deepening into a scowl by the time he finished. This wasn't everything, he was certain, but what was here was enough to lead him to a conclusion that made him sick.

What a world they lived in, where people could decide pursuing something like this was preferable to quietly accepting the differences between races.

The psychomancy instructor sheathed his sword quietly and leaned against his desk, left feeling like he was in way over his head. Viho couldn't afford to let himself get bogged down, however. He needed to decide what his next move had to be - and decide swiftly. He was no detective. He'd likely be at his best and most useful doing exactly what he had been doing - not that he was eager to go digging around in any more heads.

The image of what he'd done last time graced his mind's eye again, and he forced himself not to shudder. Instead, he turned back to his desk. He had a note to destroy and a class to teach...and then he could worry about what part he'd need to play in all of this.

[C S]

Over at the place the fleet footed messenger called home, said fleet footed messenger stirred in her bed from the knocking at her door. Her entire body was underneath her covers, which writhed as the girl went through the arduous task at the start of her day to escape her cocoon of warm fabric. Dahnae undulated and rolled from side to side, pulling her sheets about with her until finally her head slipped out of the full-body sleeve she had made for herself over the course of her sleep and awakening. The rest of her body followed suit, the girl all but sliding out from her sheets and over the side of her bed until her shoulders were touching the floor.

Dahnae's neck was bent at an odd angle, but she did not seem to care. She shimmied to get her legs out from her binding comfort and then flipped over onto all fours before standing up and walking to her door. She hopped over the cushions that should have been atop the small recliner chair, but were on the floor because Dahnae preferred them this way. Though she did not have much in the way of furniture to clutter her room, her desk, night drawers and dining table were covered in pouches and bags, their contents a mystery to all but herself. On the back of a chair next to the table, her clothes from the previous night were draped to dry after she did the dreaded laundry. Through this, Dahnae got the door and opened it for her visitor.

All she was wearing were her shorts and sparing top, which was more in line with her attire had she been back home.

It made the comforter cocoon a requirement for her to sleep.

[Hopeflower]

Firel was quick to take in Dahnae's state, and just as quick to avert his eyes. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, in hindsight. It was just one more thing to add to the list of her...oddities. Most people would wear proper pants in winter.

To cover his blooming embarrassment and chase away the thought that this had been a bad idea, Firel offered the basket he was carrying. "Good morning. I figured it was my turn to get breakfast."

[C S]

"Oh oka--" Dahnae threw her head back to yawn and arched her back. Her arms were held out as her torso went inverted, and for all appearances it seemed that the girl was going to end up planting her palms down behind her feet. Almost as if she were anchored in place, Dahnae straightened with surprising ease and scratched the side of her head while smacking her lips.

"Alrighty," she said, not fully awake as her droopy eyes attested.

[Hopeflower]

Curiosity begged Firel to turn his head, but he was careful to avoid staring or bumping into Dahnae as he slipped around her. He nudged the door shut behind him, very aware of how cold it was outside, and found a table to set the basket on. He seemed to have taken note of Dahnae's preferences - whatever he'd brought smelled vaguely meaty.

"I can get out of your hair, if you prefer your privacy," he said, resolutely pretending that serving breakfast required all of his focus.

[C S]

"Nuh-uh," was Dahnae's simple response. It contained what she didn't say despite it's unassuming content. She was alone enough most of her days. She had been ever since she left home. But the weight of her request went missing in her half-drowsy state, as she went to the table to see what Firel had brought her, and to fiddle vacantly with one of the tiny canvas bags. The ensuing clang and jingle revealed the contents to be coins. Dahnae's daily pay, made into some strange collection.

[Hopeflower]

After a bit of uncertain hovering, in which it became clear that that was all of the answer he was going to get for the moment, Firel produced a napkin-wrapped bundle and a knife and fork for each of them. He took a seat and unwrapped his, revealing something like a sandwich. Where there should have been bread were fluffier versions of the flat cakes Dahnae had bought for Viho, once upon a time, and they were filled with various meats and cheese. They had been hot, when he bought them - they'd cooled somewhat in the time it took him to get here, and he hoped that wouldn't make much of a difference.

[C S]

Dahnae left her savings alone to open up her sandwich. She made an odd sound, like an awed mewling, with her eyes wide and dilated pupils dominating them. Dahnae forewent the use of utensils to gingerly bite into one of the stuffed pastries directly before lifting her head again. It dangled out of her mouth, bobbing about as she nibbled on it. Little by little it disappeared between her lips while her jaws were put to busy work. Throughout the process she held eye contact with Firel.

It was only fair that Dahnae had showed Firel where she lived after she had literally sniffed him out. If he was of the persuasion to visit her while she was in hospital care, then he would be privy to stopping by where she lived normally, without the need of bandages and poultices. She hadn't expected him to buy her anything, let alone food, though. There were no qualms to be had.

The elf who had faltered on stairs was a challenge for her to understand on the best of days, but she appreciated him nevertheless. Being fed was just another layer on top of that appreciation. It was, after all, the basis of her other unusual acquaintance.

[Hopeflower]

It was a challenge not to wrinkle his nose at the display, but somehow Firel managed to stop staring and return his focus to his own breakfast. If he'd been pressed, he wouldn't have been able to give a reason for this visit beyond "fair's fair". Dahnae was someone who defied logic at every turn - the very workings of her mind were an enigma that even a more experienced psychomancer would have found a challenge to navigate. Talking to her was often less conversation and more trying to keep up.

Firel refused to examine the possibility that he'd been missing having something resembling a friend for a long time. Since his mother's illness worsened, no doubt. Watching over her and making sure she didn't forget to take care of herself had eaten up his free time. It was only by a stroke of luck that he'd managed to find someone to help her while he went and looked for a cure for her ailment.

Instead of acknowledging that he might have been lonely, Firel told himself that he was only repaying Dahnae for the meal she'd brought him. A weak deflection at best, but one he'd stick by.