Riven Wight

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

The moment he fell through the glowing oval, Ghent was surrounded by the pastel blue of the portal’s pathway, swirls of white spiraling lazily about. Any sense of up or down vanished. The straps on his backpack and any other lose clothing drifted around him as if submerged in water, yet he felt as dry as was possible after leaving the deluge of Earth behind, each breath—if he managed them—taking in only air.
In the span of the average blink, the white swirls coiled away, replaced instead by electric streaks of red so dark they looked black. The baby blue of the portal shifted to match, turning an unnerving blood red.
A pinprick of golden-green light sparked to life in front of him. It widened, appearing to grow nearer as if he fell toward it, creating the only evidence of motion. Voices no louder than a whisper broke the quiet of the portal’s pathway, echoing through his mind as well as in his ears.
“And who are you to seek my advice?” asked the bored, conceited whisper of a man.
“Ha! That ain’t gonna happen, nohow!” a female chortled confidently, a second woman’s voice that sounded similar to the first joining in on ‘nohow.”
“Long live the White Queen!” a passionate battle cry sounded, the strong, deep voice perhaps familiar in a foggy, long-forgotten way. But any familiarity it may strike was interrupted by a cruel, blood-chilling chuckle.
“Your head is mine, little queen,” the smooth, menacing voice of a woman filled the sickly-colored void just before the light became blinding and consumed Ghent.
The portal spat Ghent up and out onto his back, the lush, green leaves of a grand oak tree spreading over him and blocking his view of anything beyond its foliage. The thick, springy grass beneath him cushioned his landing, making it feel more like he had landed on the world’s lumpiest mattress instead of solid ground. At least, where his backpack was not pressing against him. Though the golden-green light had dimmed, it still remained, coating the world around him in its soft, almost calming light. Despite the horrors he had heard about Wonderland, something about this place felt almost peaceful. Untouched. Perhaps even sacred. Even he would be incapable of denying the presence of magic hanging thickly in the air here and buzzing about him excitedly, like an invisible welcoming party.
He had made it. After fourteen years, whether he liked it or not, Ghent had found his way back to Wonderland.

Unsure if he had slept, Drust paced the grassy field of the center of Harrow Hollow Hill. The magically formed mountains created a barrier around what was once Wonderland’s version of Grand Central Station for world travel, making it difficult, at best, to tell the time. There, in the little slice that remained reminiscent of times before the Era of Crimson Destruction, it was always light, the sky a small pinprick far up in the distance.
It was quiet here. Far too quiet.
Drust scowled up at the orb hovering high above the center of the massive field, its gentle golden-green glow turning his skin an unpleasant shade of yellow.
With a snarl, he looked away and gripped his head in his hands.
Something was wrong. Not with Elayra and Ghent, as far as he knew, but with him. The scrambled mess of memories and emotions the partial effects of the Curse turned his mind into had felt more chaotic since world jumping. The regret and anger, sorrow and fear, and every other negative emotion it fed on and amplified fought against him, against the man he knew he once was, with more vigor than normal.
Something about Earth’s younger magic must have granted the Curse in him the nourishment it needed to grow. It was the only thing that made sense. While magic could stave off magic, so, too, could it nurse off each other. And the Crimson Curse was a parasitic magic, among other things.
No matter what, he could not give into it. He would not let the Curse and wretched Red Sorceress win! He had made a promise to the White Queen and Hatter he planned on upholding until his dying breath. For Elayra’s sake, he had to keep it under control. Be the master of what little of his mind remained fully his. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. Or now, as he had to remind himself, Ghent.
Ghent. Drust snorted. That boy could barely hold his own in a fist fight, and cowered at the sight of his shadow. That was what he had to train to be strong enough to face the Red Sorceress as quickly as possible. He could scarcely believe the fate of his home rested on the incompetent shoulders of two teenagers.
Wonderland was indubitably doomed.
His face twisted in a snarl at himself for letting the doubt creep in. Positive. He had to think positive.
Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt at calming himself, he drew his katana from its sheath still strapped to his back. He felt an uneasy quiver ripple through the untainted magic of the field at the weapon’s presence, but ignored it.
Drust stepped to the center of the field. The branches of the dozen vast oak trees stretched toward him and entwined with each other, their leaves thick and rich enough to make many other trees in Wonderland jealous. Their trunks pressed against the rocky walls of the field, their gnarly roots spread out about them, digging into the sweet earth. The large, circular opening in each set of roots near the base of their tree's trunk still sunk down into a dark hole. All vacant reminders of the past. All, but one.
He turned toward the only tree whose rooted opening was illuminated by a bluish-white light, a circle with a + through it glowing faintly on its bark. The symbol for Earth’s portal.
He held his katana vertically in front of him and stood there, little more than a statue as he watched the portal for a couple short moments, listening to the dreaded peaceful silence. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on clearing his mind and focusing on the familiar weight of the blade, on the worn softness of its white leather grip. It was a memento from the past and a promise to the future, an object that still linked him to his brothers in arms. It was more than just a simple sword. It was, in a sense, a part of him.
Opening his eyes, he slowly worked through a set of attacks, concentrating on each smooth sweep of the blade as he flowed from one stance to the next. He paid closer attention than necessary to each controlled tense of a muscle, to every exhale, willing the movements to melt away as much of the stress and anxiety that fueled the Curse as it could.
Then, the magic in the air shifted, and he saw the portal flicker in the corner of his eye.
He spun toward it, shifting his grip on his katana to a more aggressive stance, ready to fight anything that came through that did not have one of his charges’ faces. Realizing the portal’s magic was dying, the glow growing softer, his eyes widened and he sucked in a breath.
“Come on, Elayra!” he grumbled under his breath. He took a step toward it, careful to give whoever—if anyone—came through enough clearance for the portal to eject them.
The portal flickered again, then its glow flared. Drust gripped his sword tighter, his body tensing in preparation a second before someone flew out of it onto the grass.
Recognizing the newcomer, Drust swiped his sword in front of him, the blade making a light swishing noise as he moved it to his side and stepped toward Ghent.
“Ghent.” He glanced to the portal, expecting it to flash again and Elayra to pop out and land beside Ghent. But neither happened. His eyes snapped back to Ghent, panic in their black-lined red. “Where’s Elayra?” he half snapped, half snarled, taking another step toward the boy, his neck twitching slightly as he looked between Ghent and the portal.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Hey, maybe we’ll start a trend! Call us… the Silent Notebooks? Or the whole thing the Introverted Conversation Initiative? Eh. We can work on a title.

Heh, glad you think so, and that it helped! ^.^ And yay for Sherlock! Hey, you asked, and that’s what matters! ;-) I highly encourage questions, so please, always feel free to ask them when they arise, no matter how simple you may think they are. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll enjoy looking it up and learning something new along with you!

Like I’ve said, paragraphs can be flippin’ hard. I’ve made plenty of mistakes with them in my posts, I’m sure! Sometimes, I feel like I end up starting too many paragraphs. Heh. I’ve obsessed over whether or not I should (and where to) break up paragraphs more times than I care to think about. Then let a Google search decide for me, when I'm not too lazy to fight with my internet.

Muhahaha. Then that last sentence did its job. >:-D So, what say you to one last post with Miles’ reactions, then I’ll start my next one with what Ghent would have experienced in the portal, and what he finds on the opposite side? Or, if you would rather just get into it, again, I’ll edit to add that to my last post.

As a side note, we've got gunshots, broken store windows, destroyed storerooms, and panther-like yowls and roars; Mrs. Saxon is going to be one satisfied neighborhood gossip for a while.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

The shadowmire’s ears twitched, and irritation flashed in the beast’s eyes—rather, the Queen’s watchful enchantment—when Miles’ called out to it. It’s tail flicked as if to lash at him again, but it did not have time.
Nothing could have prepared Elayra for the earsplitting ring of the gunshots. She gasped and covered her ears as the confined space amplified the noise.
The shadowmire yowled in pain when Miles’ bullets hit their target, its volume contending with the bang of the gun. It shook its head violently, its body thrashing about and sending sprays of rain from its fur and scales.
Elayra ducked and sidestepped to avoid its tail as the beast spun toward miles with an almost metallic, feline roar, but her attention snapped to the portal a single lunge away from her when it flickered. She inhaled and glanced between Miles and the shadowmire, and the portal.
“Sorry, Miles,” she muttered as the beast’s scaly segments scrunched together in preparation to pounce at the current greater threat.
Saliva strung over its sharp teeth as it bore its impossible number of wicked teeth at the gun-wielding man. It kept one eye closed, thick blood dripping down from its corner to soak the fur of its face. Its tail shot in front of it, both a distraction and attempt at disarming him again.
“Keep it angry,” she shouted at Miles as she stepped sideways toward the portal, unsure if the usual tactics would work with the Red Queen backing the creature up, “and you keep it stupid!” With that, she jumped into the swirling portal as it flickered again.
The moment she stepped through, the magic of the portal let out a final, long pulse, like the last weary moan of the dying. It sucked together into its glowing crack, but even that snuffed itself out like an eye closing for the last time.
As if it sensed that the portal—and its desired prey—had vanished, the shadowmire let out another howl. An almost feminine, human air mingled eerily with it, before its injured body sunk into a pool of shadows that raced away over the walls and to the rooftops.
In the alley, a scrap of dirtied, brown fabric stuck out from the dead-end where the portal had been: a small scrap of Elayra’s dress that had not quite made it through. A scrap that created the only solid evidence that the Wonerlander had roamed the streets of Earth.

MONSTORY

Izzy frowned at Riley’s pleasant, yet mocking laugh, then looked to Holden uncertainty, watching for any signs of hostility in him at the action. Not that she thought she could do much if he actually did brandish a knife or other weapon he had not handed over.
She listened and watched the two exchange words, glancing around once at the prospect of gods being everywhere.
“Huh?” She looked to Riley at her name, expecting him to use her in a mocking example, but she caught no such derision. Well, not exactly what happened, but… Her thought cut off when his voice changed to a near snarl. She shuddered. It had been so long since she had been on the receiving end of that, since she had first met him, she had forgotten how intimidating and exactly how infuriating he could be when he wanted.
She blinked in surprise at Holden’s reaction, and could only stare at him. He would stop, just like that? She shook her head lightly, the two leaving her time only to listen once more.
“He’ll help you help yourself,” she elaborated after Riley’s denial of helping Holden.
At Riley’s statement about it being the wrong time, her shoulders sunk with an inward groan at the thought of having to ride back with Holden only to return again, then smirked at Holden’s correct guess that Riley did not work for free.
When Riley looked to her, she automatically returned his gaze. Her brows rose in an unspoken, “What? Don’t bring me into this.”
She glared at him for a short second at the price he gave, before sighing; after all, vampires were messy business, while apparently, as he made it sound, the Crab was a bit more passive, less dangerous.
“Alright, Complainy McComplainerson,” Izzy said to Holden through a sigh once the two had come to a solid agreement. She stepped slowly toward the door. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

You most definitely are not the only one! Heh. It’s the entire conversation for me, really. Goes into not liking to talk in general. Maybe I should start bringing a notepad with me everywhere so I can write what I want to say, and pretend I’m a mute.

I’m glad I could be that inspiration for you! Proof that you have improved is in the posts. :-)

Ooh! Paragraph question!

Of course I don’t mind! So long as you can put up with my answers. Paragraphs are tricky little things. If you ask me, anyone who says otherwise is either lying, or doing it wrong. *Considers your example for a couple minutes.* Okay. Brace yourself for a long-winded answer with no small amount of rambling, I’m sure. Because “short” isn’t in my vocabulary when it comes to this stuff.

Paragraph Stuffs

The Short, Rather Unhelpful Answer: I can definitely see that being confusing! I would break it up at the “After,” and when shifting to Elayra.

My Reasoning (The More Helpful Bit): One reason to change paragraphs is when you have a passage of time, no matter how short. “After,” “A few days/hours/etc. later,” “Soon,” and “At some point” are all a few good indicators for that. Then, you also start a new paragraph when you shift subjects, and/or actions are not directly linked to those in the previous paragraph. I would leave where you indicated at the dialogue because the prior sentence is about Ghent, and the dialogue goes along with the actions, connecting the two. I imagine him stepping in closer and speaking in a fluid action. However, in this case, I’m not sure if that’s a personal style choice, or a rule of paragraphs. So. I’ll have to look that up when my internet isn’t being stupid.
Do note, though, that it is normally okay to keep dialogue with dialogue, even when broken by actions, so long as it is the same person and you do not shift completely to someone else in those actions.
Example of that last bit:

Because I warned you about rambling

“Oh, come on, Mariah!” Daniel smirked when she frowned at his taunt. “Don’t be such a fraidy cat.” He jerked his head toward the abandoned house, and stepped toward it. “Unless you want to wait out here in the dark, all alone?”

(Mentions her actions, but it’s still focused on him, and does not shift dialogue topics.)

Vs.

“Oh, come on, Mariah!”
Mariah frowned at Daniel’s taunting tone, making him smirk.
“Don’t be such a fraidy cat.” Daniel jerked his head toward the abandoned house, and stepped toward it. “Unless you want to wait out here in the dark, all alone?”

(Shifts from his dialogue into her response and what it makes him do, then back into his dialogue.)

Anyway, back to the actual question at hand. With the above said…

Final Suggested Paragraphs

“R-right. Sure.” Ghent hoped he didn’t sound as uncertain as he felt. [Bonus tip: the repeats in a stutter do not get capitalized, since they are no longer beginning the sentence.]
After an awkward pause, he gripped the straps of his backpack and stepped in closer. “Like this? Or… no? Yes?”
Elayra was already moving, but Ghent couldn’t tell if he was too close, or not close enough. Cringing at his own awkwardness, he settled on keeping two steps between them.

Hope that answered your question sufficiently without becoming a jumbled, indecipherable mess! If it’s more confusing than it’s worth, let me know. :-) Also, I totally feel you, Ghent. I cringe at my own awkwardness quite regularly.

Question: Do you mind if, since Ghent got shoved through first, what happens to him there waits a post or so while we finish up with Earth for now? If you would rather not wait, I’ll edit to add that in!

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

“I’ll be right behind you!” The anger and frustration in Elayra’s voice at Ghent’s hesitation was drowned out only by Miles’ shout.
When Ghent finally obeyed to an extent and ran for the portal, Elayra hurried after, now a pace behind Miles. Her steps slowed just long enough for her to draw her only, pathetic weapon in case the man’s gun failed. It was at least better than nothing.
She did not turn her back on the shadow as it jerked and twisted drunkenly over the wall, taunting Miles to try shooting it.
When the two males stopped, Elayra almost collided with Miles.
“What’s going on?!” she shouted in a panic, glancing over her shoulder to see Ghent frozen in place still at least a yard from the portal. “Go, Featherhead!”
Thankfully, Miles shoved Ghent with enough force to make the boy stumble back just far enough to fall into the portal. The bluish-white of it flared for a short second as he fell through, his shout echoing loudly down the alleyway and making the shadow quiver as if in laughter.
Before the light had time to fade to its normal intensity, leaving no sign of Ghent behind, the shadow stilled. In the blink of an eye, the black shadowmire that had escaped death by her or Drust's hands lunged from the pool's depths, the monster's body stretched to its full length. The darkness clung to its even blacker fur as it formed the rest of the creature’s body, the two red clovers standing out on its head and rear like drops of blood. It bore its menacing fangs in a wide snarl and stretched its claws toward Miles and Elayra as it soared through the air at them.
Elayra grit her teeth and threw herself to the side toward the portal, tucking her body into a summersault made slightly awkward by her pack just before the monster landed. Its accordion-like body landed surprisingly softly for such a large cat. Its form separated her from Miles and Miles from the portal as its long, impossible tail whipped toward him after his weapon-wielding hand.
She hopped to her feet and spun toward the monster, its gaze and wicked grin on her. Revenge raged in the beast’s eyes, but that was not what made Elayra’s breath catch in her lungs. They glowed brighter than they should have, even in the muddled light of the rainy day. A gleam of calculating intelligence swirled in their depths, a gleam unlike any she had ever seen naturally reside in a shadowmire. A bone-chilling, gut-wrenching, familiar gleam that looked more magically human than supernaturally animal.
The Red Sorceress was watching.

Of Science and Magic

O.O Yeah, I can see how that would drive someone a bit batty, having a lot of people under one roof.

This.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Glad I brought it up, then! :-)

Ha! Yeah, best get to that, and soon! I always feel so weird, and know I’m super awkward when talking on the phone, so I get that. I’m lucky in that I don’t have any family or friends like that. Well, okay. The couple family members I have like that don’t have my number. So.

Well, I’d say you did quite brilliantly! Please, no editing needed, unless you really, really want to! I was grinning through the whole thing. I still love how well you play your characters, and Ghent’s resistance and Miles’ reactions! <3 And your writing in general challenges me to be at my best, so I thank you for that.

I plan on working on my post sometime today. Or, uh, Sunday morning, depending on how you look at it, and what life decides to throw at me.

MONSTORY

Izzy almost sighed in relief when Riley chimed in with a better explanation, watching Holden’s reaction until Riley mentioned the child having a name.
Her attention snapped to him. “Wait, what?”
Her head cocked at the concept of the child being ‘more stable as an aberration.’ She had not thought about that, that he might be ‘unstable’ without the power of a name. All the same, she could not help but snigger at the one Riley chose.
“Damien Riley,” she tried out the name and looked to the child’s corner, incapable of saying it without a small grin, wondering what, if anything, the child thought of it. It sounded so odd, so normal, referring to him by it, but naming the child was something she had refused to do, as if he really was little more than a pet, so Damien would have do.
Holden interrupted her contemplation, reminding her of why they had come there in the first place.
She rolled her eyes at Riley’s usual statement of only helping yourself, realizing she had forgotten to warn Holden about that. Holden's reaction made her shift her weight awkwardly, glancing between the two males.
When Riley gave another of his favorite sayings, she groaned lightly, resisting the urge to slap a palm to her forehead. She was suddenly quite glad she had Holden’s weapons safely tucked away in her backpack. But, of course, Riley was Riley. There was nothing she could do about that. At least he seemed to win Holden over enough to get his story out of him.
Izzy stayed standing, looking to the child—to Damien as Holden spoke. When he finished, she turned her head toward Riley expectantly.
She was not disappointed.
Her eyes widened slightly at the concept of the crab causing someone to ‘cease to exist.’ She glanced to Holden, wondering if that was still a possibility if what it had done was not reversed.
“Hey,” she interrupted at Holden’s skeptical tone, “it sounds about as plausible as a crab that sucked out your weight. But here we are. So.”
She listened silently, until Riley finished.
“Say what now?” Izzy stepped slightly away from Holden, turning to fully face him as she looked him over, then around him as if perhaps she would see some sort of spectral creature hovering about, now that its existence had been brought to light. But he looked the same as he had thirty seconds ago. “So, how does he get rid of it? Because I have the feeling a restraining order won’t work very well.”

MONSTORY

When Holden interrupted her with a nudge, Izzy looked to him exasperatedly, expecting an earful about being the one to mention his issue, or another one of his complaints. Instead, she found him pointing.
“What’s what?” she asked to his question as her gaze followed his finger to the corner. “Oh,” she said when she noticed the familiar sight of the child.
She had not even realized he was in there, not even bothered to think about whether or not he would be. But Holden had, and even had the sense to ask the right question. Her gaze shifted to him, eyeing him without turning her head from the vampire child’s direction.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” she answered with a stiff shrug, glancing toward Riley as if hoping for a hand in giving an answer that would be more satisfactory to Holden. “Just… a ghost, of sorts. He can’t hurt you, even if he wanted to.”