Lore of Leyuna RPG (FRPG)

[C S]

"A more recent spar that you may have heard about, and the lasting effects you may have felt while you were in the city," Desrium answered.

"Your disturbance," Syria presumed, to which Desrium nodded.

[The Kingpin]

"I suspected as much," responded the Scholar, his scaled brows furrowing. "I take it there is some significance to your vagueness?" he asked, trying not to let on that it was a matter that had made him uncomfortable in ways even Desrium's unnatural aura did not.

[C S]

"There is much to tell, and--"

"We're not asking the right questions," Syria completed the thought concisely, having been on the other end of it so many times before. "Right." Haste and patience had different rewards when one dealt with Desrium. Balance in all things, to use the armored being's prior words. "How about we start from the beginning?" Syria offered. It seemed the most general way to broach the subject and keep Desrium talking.

[The Kingpin]

"Agreed. I would like to know how this all came to occur," rumbled Septimus, reflecting on Desrium's unique method of delivering information.

The dragoness, meanwhile, observed with intrigue as the conversation played out, wondering silently why the Stalwart insisted on putting his friends through so many hoops in order to address the questions they asked.

[C S]

"The beginning, then. You may want to get comfortable," Desrium told his audience. His tale would be long, and his method of delivery... dry.

The true beginning went back to the night his sword was returned to him in Thimeyra. That was his first clue that there was something more to his sword than outward appearances let on. The dark that no one but he could see. No one, but the Life Giver, that is. The desert queen withheld her judgement during their first meeting with him and Septimus. For what, Desrium could only speculate.

"Perhaps she erred on the side of her reservations to fully assess the implications she was presented with. In all her years, the gods had been removed from her dominion. I do not blame her for not being able to immediately understand the powers that I had inadvertently brought before her."

Desrium proceeded to refresh them on the details of his return to the Life Bringer's chamber after the imbalance that threw the world into disorder was rectified. The imbalance that brought the young elementals to the surface world, leading to Evisa's involvement in Brodudika, and the suspicion that brought about Andruil's investigation. While remedying Valenhad's unease was a relatively easy task, remedying the knight's personal dilemma required a more concentrated effort, and a journey back to the sands. They knew how he became the Stalwart Paladin.

And it was then that they were told of what Desrium discovered the morn when he delved deep into the memories contained within his sword. That Cleotaire had laid down measures to prevent catastrophe. The solution she arrived at after given sufficient time to gauge the threat. Cleotaire saved him from being consumed by the pain of a god, and Evisa helped him ascertain that he had control over his weapon's divine qualities.

"It seems to resonate with my memories of the Lance. It manifests itself after its impression," he ended on, as his wings dispersed and disappeared from sight.

[The Kingpin]

"Curious," rumbled the Scholar, his tone contemplative. "It doesn't surprise me that there was more power locked away in your weapon than last it was in your hands...But the fact that none of us could see it...That makes me wonder, somewhat," he elaborated, stretching a limb that had stiffened during the story until a particularly loud crack was heard. "One wonders what powers, if any, may be locked away in the other weapon I found in that cave. And what significance they may yet have that would have made it so important as to be placed by the divines in their final moments."

"Wait..You're joking, right? With the whole 'divines' thing. It's just a fancy title for some group of elementals or something. Right?" asked Ceridwen, finding the reverence and weight behind the title a bit hard to take seriously.

[C S]

"If you would prefer to view them that way," Desrium said to Ceridwen. "Each of them were known by several names over the course of history. In many ways, they are what their devoted made of them. It stands to reason then, that conversely, those of another faith, or those who did not witness their miracles, may not be so accepting of what they were."

"... But they were gods, right?" Syria wondered. She was sitting on Septimus' side with the enraptured posture of one listening to a campfire tale. Her staff was laid over her lap and her chin rested on her knuckles.

The day a pillar of light shot into the heavens, visible from nearly all walks of Aster, and maybe even as far as the decks of ships embarked from its shores, was still pristine in her memory. How could that be anything but a divine act? And there were those who were there, when the goddess ended the night that threatened to bring the lives of all to a slow, cold end. Their stories were modern day, verifiable gospel! Then there was the Stalwart himself, whose service in the name of Moria made him a legend... if there was any one person who could vouch for the truth behind the faith, it would be him. Right? His sword was blessed. The staff Septimus had tucked away could be blessed.

Right?

"They possessed power and knowledge unfathomable, and showed this world's inhabitants compassion. For that, they were seen as gods. This is why I choose to see them as gods. I doubt they cared for how they were perceived as, so long as the tenets of peace and decency prevailed in those who listened to their teachings."

[The Kingpin]

"A title is little more than that. For a being as old and powerful as that, I can't imagine she would care much what others chose to call her by," stated the Scholar simply. "I did not have much time to experience the personalities of the others. But I did see enough of the Dawnmother to see that she cared little for such superficial things. Hers was a peaceful soul, and she sought to spread that throughout the world."

"A peaceful soul," repeated Ceridwen thoughtfully. It was as much to bring herself down from the alarm over the thought of actual physical divinities wandering the earth as it was to remind herself that this one was benign. Or at least, was supposedly benign.

She had spent much of her life amongst powers that would bring lesser creatures to bow down and worship, which meant that the idea of true gods was a delusional one as far as she was concerned. To her, the most powerful force she had ever seen was an ancient elemental that tamed the weather to its will. It was little wonder that when encountering the faithful worshippers that dedicated themselves to the likes of Greshlynk, she turned her nose up in disgust, believing them to be the fantasies of a weak race desperate to find a crutch to encumber with all the hardships and problems they faced in their lives. To now have that opinion shattered, to be faced with the fact that there were actually things out there that did warrant such reverence was a very unnerving one. "A peaceful soul," she hummed again, clinging to that small comfort. "How do you know?"

"Many of the things that shaped Desrium and I into who we are today are a direct result of her guidance, her teachings, and her direction," explained Septimus with an understanding smile. "We are part of the Order of Justicars, a creed modelled after the legend of an ancient hero. Desrium himself is The Justicar; the Champion of Moria," he elaborated, glancing to Desrium for a moment. "And I... am a bearer of knowledge, and an equaliser in places where darkness and cruelty has been allowed to rule over the good. I do not believe I would have come to care so much for those weaker than myself, had I not had Moria, and later, my father, as role models of such."

[C S]

The empty pang Desrium felt hearing Septimus describe what Moria meant to them both was unknowable to the gathering as a whole. That hollowness was a combination of what they thought they knew of the goddess, what they knew for certain about the pantheon at large, and his personal understanding of the lie perpetuated by those who represented the ultimate good. Moria and her kin were no more because they forewent their self-interests for the sake of all that was... bringing an end to a crisis they had spent years innumerable avoiding to prolong their own lives. The heroic paradox that validated as well as contradicted all he and Septimus were taught.

Which left the armored being's unstated sentimentality to Moria to ache. If only he were like Radamand, whose intense zealotry was enough to numb the absence of his chosen goddess.

"The ancient hero, origin of the Justicars..." Desrium began, reflecting. "This brings me to the conclusion of my tale, for now. That legend is real, and nearby. He is the final reason for all that you see here, and is the cause of any elevated discomfort you may experience in Brodudika."

"Pardon me?" Syria replied, her eyes wide with shock. "We lose track of your whereabouts when you're supposed to be stationed in one place, but you're telling me that someone... older than the recent ages past... is just staying in Brodudika?"

"As well as Hex. And Grama." Desrium spoke the names while looking to the Scholar specifically.

[The Kingpin]

The Scholars brows raised at that, surprise a practical tapestry across his features. "That is interesting," he rumbled. His inquiries with the Assassins after that first fateful encounter had given him nothing to go off. As far as they had been concerned, Grama was no different than your typical human, if of peculiar styling and mannerisms. And Hex was her pet.

"What is it with you and your friends that makes you a magnet for freaks and terrors?" chirped Ceridwen in disbelief.

"Fate's reflection," responded the Scholar cryptically.

"What?" asked the dragoness.

"Nothing," he deflected. Turning his attention back to Desrium, he pressed on with "Why are they here? Have they said?"

[C S]

"They are here as company for Morialus; first of the Justicars and the namesake of the Dawnmother. For why, I cannot say, nor how they came to travel with him," Desrium replied. "Morialus sought me out to... gauge my abilities."

"Disturbance." Syria said the word with a grit that tumbled off of her tongue instead of rolling.

"Morialus came to discover that Tyrbenetus' war was over. He wanted to know what it was that brought this about."

"He didn't ask?"

"He did not," Desrium confirmed. "He claimed he was an archdemon. I reacted thusly."

[Turbo Tyrannophonic]

On the outskirts of Brodudika, situated quite a distance from the hustle and bustle of the city itself, was the first of the Justicar himself. The man, clad in his darkened armor as he was, lay on his back, his head propped up on a rock, one leg placed over his knee, bobbing idly. The activity of Brodudika was but a dim murmur in the background from his position; his surroundings would be incredibly tranquil if not for the rhythmic sound of metal-on-metal.

"Do you intend to laze around during your stay here?"

The voice, gruff and with a bestial tinge, came from above. Morialus' head turned, watching a shape, like a large bird of prey, soar over him and land a short distance away.

"What was it you said about heroes wasting away in the lap of luxury?" continued Hex, clawing his way over to the man.

"Oh, what luxury I've found!" Morialus exclaimed, thrusting his hands upward. "Beautiful! I've never been so blessed!"

There was a pause.

"I'm using a rock as a pillow and I'm lying on the ground," the man sneered, his tone considerably darker.

Hex snorted.

"You know what I mean."

"I've seen the likes of Little Mr. Savior of Tyrbenetus before," Morialus explained, returning his hands to his chest. "He's a magnet for trouble, of varying magnitudes. It's only a matter of time before something interesting happens." He paused once more. "Something adequate, anyway," he clarified.

He was not talking about the level of interest.

"For once, we agree," Hex replied, looking toward the city beyond. A city of heroes and adventurers, founded and led by one of considerable merit. These types of places tended to attract danger like moths to a flame. "But are you really satisfied with just lying here?"

"I once was trapped in a fetal position for over a year," Morialus retorted. "To be clear, it took me that year and some ought months to get out - it was not something I did by choice. Some sturdy stuff, that box. Enchanted."

Hex gave the man a look, his reptilian brows furrowed.

"A lot happens when you're immortal and really damn old."

As Hex continued his attempt to process this, another figure drew near. The familiar form of Grama, carrying a leather bag and with her hood drawn, appeared over Morialus' shoulder. A moment later, Hex launched himself onto her shoulder, where he remained perched.

"Welcome back," the man greeted with a lazy wave. "I assume you got the goods for you and ol' Hex?"

Grama placed the bag on the ground at her usual pace, before straightening and pulling off her hood. On either side of the girl's head were two sharp, pointed ears.

"I'm an elf now," she stated, matter-of-factly.

Morialus stared at her for a few moments, gesturing with an upturned hand as if to say "what the hell?"

"You get used to it," Hex replied with a sigh.

[The Kingpin]

"Well...I was expecting you to tell me some surprising things about this visitor of yours... But that he was the namesake for Moria... That, I did not expect."

"Well, it does explain the mess," chirped the dragoness, looking around to survey the damage more closely.

"It does. It resolves many of the questions I had as to how so much damage could have been dealt to this place. I take it he's still around, seeing as that aura of... unpleasantness still permeates the city?" he asked. He silently wondered how long it would take for the more magically attuned of the city's more recent visitors would take up arms against Desrium with the belief that he was the source of that terrible feeling. A city of darkness in the making, they would no doubt call it. He dreaded the thought of Morrelie hearing of it. Knowing what he knew of her now, she would likely fly into an overzealous frenzy and use it as justification to put Desrium back at the top of her hit-list...

[C S]

"He is," Desrium replied.

"I knew you were bad with animals... well... not by your own doing... but..." Syria bit her lip. "Let's try that again, shall we...?"

"Why does Morialus carry this ominous air wherever he goes?" the armored being ventured.

Syria nodded and smiled appreciatively.

Desrium paused for a moment of quiet respect for the timeless hero. "It is his burden that he volunteered for. The Eight left the bravehearted of Tyrbenetus to win it back from its siege because they knew it was possible, if only the way was found. According to Morialus, however, this was only after Lady Moria intervened directly, and sealed away a... power. If the demonic forces remained connected to it, there would have been no hope for Tyrbenetus, and the rest of Leyuna."

Looking to Septimus again, the armored being told him, "The lore of the Justicars mentioned 'weapons' of the Dawnmother. We always assumed that meant the sentinel towers, in addition the Lance of the Justicar. This is not so. The first weapon was a sword entrusted to Morialus, which contains the malaise to this day, and forever more, if Morialus keeps to his duty. The demands of this duty meant he had to leave Tyrbenetus for that same amount of time... that is, until I..."

Desrium grew silent. It was a distinct possibility that Morialus was not simply making sure he had not grown complacent in their duel. It was a distinct possibility that the first Justicar felt the need to show his strength to the one who allowed him to go home, after all these uncountable years. A rite of respect and honor, weathered away by time's rigors into eccentricity and battle tendency.

[The Kingpin]

"Until you removed the reason that necessitated his self-imposed exile," continued Septimus, noting the way the Stalwart trailed off, seemingly in thought. "Perhaps this spar was more than simply testing your mettle?" he asked, putting into words what the Paladin was thinking.

[C S]

The result was something akin to the Scholar conversing with the aspects of his psyche. Outside of the self, Septimus unwittingly witnessed the force described by the spirit-linked duo that wandered the lands: duality; and he had no way to recognize it. Neither did Syria, who looked at Desrium ponderously while he pondered Septimus' words. His red gaze went to the upturned soil, then wandered to the pile of timbers. The armored being hummed, examining the notion from all the angles available to him.

"I cannot speak for any ulterior motivations, for I simply do not know Morialus well enough to infer them," Desrium concluded. "It is a... compelling correlation, but to assert it as anything more is to make baseless conjecture. What I do know is that Morialus is extremely powerful and proficient in battle, despite his demeanor outside of combat. My achievement in Tyrbenetus is understandably... farfetched, for someone of my age and... stature. It begs to reason that Morialus would want to know how I did what so many others could not."

[The Kingpin]

"Well your age is something that cannot be helped. But your stature," started the Scholar.

"You're not going to tell me you can make him grow?" chirped Ceridwen incredulously.

"No need," responded the Son of Storms. "I would argue he is a giant as he is, if perhaps in a smaller frame," he stated as he watched Desrium with an amused smile.

If Ceridwen could have looked at Septimus cross-eyed in that moment, she would have. But instead, she tilted her head, clearly confused. "Come again?"

"He is a giant in a smaller frame," repeated the Scholar.

"Giants are called that based on their frame, Septimus. How could what you said make sense?"

The Scholar chuckled at that. "You haven't carried him on your back for several years," he growled simply, further baffling the dragoness. Before she could question it further, however, he decided to bring matters back into focus. "You are a being of great strength and noble intentions, Desrium. Not many in this world can be said to be so. And as it happens, we have learned that that extends beyond your conscious past."

[C S]

Hearing this, Desrium was left in roughly the same place as Ceridwen in terms of bewilderment. "My conscious past?" The wording struck him as a little odd, and he could not immediately glean what it was referring to.

"Ah... Zuppoland." Syria adjusted how she was sitting on Septimus' side, rolling over to one side to lounge and rest her head on the dragon's shoulder. "We had taken a trip there to learn more than we did at the time, and ended up... learning a fair bit about an assortment of things." Part of that was directed to Septimus and his newfound state of being. Part of that was directed to the run-in with the Kraken, left ambiguous for Ceridwen's good.

[The Kingpin]

"Indeed. Members of Zuppoland's community were inexplicably disappearing. We were asked to look into the matter and learn the cause. In so doing, we found the Order's sanctum. And more importantly, Liorick's." There was a subtle satisfaction in the Scholar's tone as he said that. "What we found there was interesting," he concluded.

[C S]

Desrium spent the next moment piecing everything together. The matter of his conscious past, and the distinction between what Liorick and the Order of Mages considered their sanctuaries, were what allowed the armored being to arrive at the same place Septimus and Syria were. Whereas they needed to physically go to the place where time did not progress to gain their findings, Desrium had the trailblazing mage's recollections. Visions of places he hadn't been and a wealth of information gained from tomes he'd never touched.

"Dense manuscripts surrounding the study of demonology and material sciences. Magical procedures combined with applied sciences that defy my comprehension to this day," he said. Scholarly though his friend was, Desrium did not expect him to have much insight past that. Opening one of the mage's research collections presented one with an impassable reading in the Zuppo script, referencing rites lost to history and knowledge that teetered on the discovery of the Progenitor. Madman's ravings to the uninitiated. Ironic, how the man attempted to preserve and share what so few aside from Aderalia could even comprehend.