Riven Wight

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

It was roughly two months because of the holidays. I did not post from the end of November to sometime in January. And I love our brain children. So much.

My turn! I’ll never get over how wonderfully you play off of the information given, always adding something to the situation at hand, and even inserting Ghent so he becomes the direct instigator of some of the actions and dialogue I put. You do that so seamlessly. RP partner goals, there. And of course the humor in dialogue and descriptions. “That’s the sixth time! I’ve counted!”

Aah! If you ever draw him, please share! I bet he’ll look amazing. :-D

I’ve seen those, I think! And because it has your sweet and your salty all in one snack?

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra’s gaze darkened at Ghent’s request for a different weapon. Her hand twitched, wanting desperately to reclaim the weapon and demonstrate exactly what damage a ‘kinda small’ dagger could inflict.
The kris dagger’s wavy blue blade glinted indignantly at the comment as he examined it, turning it over just right so it caught a brave spear of remaining light.
“How slow are you?” she growled when he questioned what he could do. His disbelieving expression made her want to punch him. But, then, practically everything he did made her want to punch him.
Her eyes narrowed at his following questions. “Seeing as you’ve knocked out the only person” her head jerked irritably toward Drust, “who could’ve probably answered that, you’ll have to shut your eyes and wing it. That’s what you did earlier, isn’t it?” she scoffed. “So stop gawking and—” Her attention snapped to her right. She stumbled away, ready to push Ghent back with her if he did not move fast enough, as a translucent, wispy figure blinked into existence only a couple feet from them.
Its back hunched forward, it gripped its midsection as if in pain. Its body spasmed as its form glitched in and out of existence. A powdery pallor coated its garments, its form covered in leather armor. Dark streaks dripping down half its face made it impossible to get a decent look at its features.
Elayra turned and raised her sword, her thundering heart jumping into her throat.
The masculine form tilted its head back and let out a long, pained howl that merged into manic laughter. Another series of spasmic blinks wracked its form, like a video game character gone wrong. It vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, making the eerie silence it left in its wake that much more unnerving.
“Get trying!” Elayra hissed with a new panic. “Unless you want to be skinned alive by earthbound ghosts!”

Through the Doors of our hearts - Finished

“Arriving at destination, on right.”
Ryker’s head thunked back against the right-hand window. At least he would at last be capable of leaving the wretched car behind.
His parents’ attention turned to the destination in question as the car slowed.
“This it?” Karl smoothed back his short, dark hair. “Bit of an odd place for a school.”
“Looks like the pictures online.” Donna quickly checked herself in the visor mirror. She fluffed her blond hair, and made sure her makeup was still in place.
“Finally,” Ryker muttered under his breath the moment Karl put the car in park.
Ryker did not waste a second. He straightened and practically threw the car door open. Forgetting to unbuckle, the seat belt rewarded his efforts of getting out by snagging around his waist, pulling him awkwardly back inside.
Donna sighed. “Please, try to behave?” she pleaded as Karl popped the trunk and got out.
“Whatever.” He quickly unbuckled. He just remembered to grab his hoodie as he hopped out.
The afternoon sun made his black hair shimmer with a pearlescent sheen as he took in the school. Not that it looked like a school. Ryker blinked in surprise at the large mansion before him. Flowers in every color, some in shades Ryker thought had only existed in Never-Never, lined the walkway leading to the mansion. The pristine grass looked lush enough to comfortably sleep on. He swore he could almost smell the sweet scent of freshly cut grass mingling with the aroma of the flowers hanging thickly in the air.
Most importantly, it looked like an easy enough place to escape from, unnoticed. The last thing he needed was to be surrounded by more people telling him he was traumatized from his ‘ordeal’ and suffering from some sort of PTSD. What he needed was to find a way back to Never-Never.
Donna got out and quickly brushed off her black pencil skirt. She tugged at the bottom of her crimson shirt, then stepped to Ryker.
“You did pack a comb, didn’t you?” she sighed, reaching out to attempt taming Ryker’s unkempt hair.
He ducked away, brushing her hand off.
“Right next to my toothbrush,” he grumbled. He slung his hoodie over his shoulder, holding it by the hood. He slipped his opposite hand into a pocket in his cargo shorts.
Donna’s lips pursed.
Karl forced the trunk shut and joined his family, wheeling Ryker’s small suitcase behind him. He stopped beside Ryker, and refolded the collar of his button-down shirt, just for good measure, surveying the estate with a critical eye.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

Dreams are such odd things. They lurk in the depths of the mind, emerging when we succumb to the sweet, healing unconsciousness of sleep. For most, they are little more than wisps of visions that blow away with the waking world. They are quickly lost and forgotten, leaving only the haunting feeling that something had happened inside your head while you slumbered. And even that was rare for some, their dreams consumed by the forgetful darkness of the mind long before waking.
But Anora had not had the luxury of a dreamless sleep for what felt like ages.
She was sure she had gone to bed, but sounds and sensations still surrounded her. The persistent, steady crunch reminiscent of gravel beneath her feet filled the darkness she had thought was the product of sleep. But that was wrong. Shadows. She was wading on expert feet through an obsidian blanket of shadows. She had been traveling for a while, hadn’t she? Yet, the journey had done nothing to ware her down.
Streams of light streaked through the wall of black, but Anora did not so much as blink at the sudden light. The rays created a gray haze before the darkness fully pulled away. For a moment, she could only marvel at the vividness of the colors of her surroundings. Beautiful, but deadly-looking shades of deep red saturated the cloudless sky, illuminating the world despite the lack of a visible sun. Contrasting shades of a white expanse stretched around her, rounding off then dropping into crimson oblivion far in the distance. The indentations left by her steps allowed shadows to pool inside them. But it was not just her sight that felt enhanced; every one of her senses had intensified as if someone had cranked her body’s perception dial to its breaking point. From the gentle breeze carrying a sour scent, to the sensation of gravel crunching unevenly beneath her feet, this relatively quiet place was unquestionably real, more tangible, even, than the world she had left behind.
Further off, gigantic, baseless pillars that could put even the Tokyo Skytree to shame surrounded her like a stone forest. It was impossible to tell whether the massive, perfectly round structures were one or thousands of miles away. Some of them leaned drunkenly while others stood imposingly straight. She glanced from them to the gravel through which they seemed to have sprouted, as opposed to being built upon.
No, not gravel. Bones. For as far as she could see, a harrowing array of human-like bones littered the ground and cracked unnervingly beneath each of her steps, the occasional small skull smiling emptily up at her.
She tried to gasp, to step back, but her body did not obey her. It kept going forward. Of course it did. She was on a mission, and this was no ordinary dream, even by her standards. This time, her body was not hers, driven forward by a consciousness not her own.
A scratching rumble sent a violent tremble through the ground beneath her feet. A thought not of her thinking, yet fitting all the same, crossed her mind: He’s here.
Not-her-body tensed, ready for action. Where was he? For that matter, who was he?
With a chest-rattling eruption, a colossal hand burst from the ground, sending a rain of bones clattering for miles. Its enormous palm reached slowly toward the ground as if hoping to pull up the rest of its body still hidden below. Its skin appeared to ripple as thousands of mouths opened. What looked unnervingly like blood gushed from their lips. The shock and dread blooming in not-her combined with the fearful awe that flooded through Anora.
What sounded like the tortured wails of millions of souls trapped in the underworld sent a shock wave toward her from the hand, knocking her back. She skidded painfully to her back, the carpet of bones poking at her through her clothes.
Not-her cursed and scrambled to her feet. If I don’t make the first move, he’ll--

* * *

Still half in the dream, Anora jumped up from her bed, an electric purple energy speckled with gold and black forming around her hands. She had to attack first, and fast, but her blanket caught around her legs and made her fall to the floor with a shout. The energy she had summoned burst from her hands with a whizzing crackle and shot into her dresser. The wood of one of the drawers shattered, sending an array of splinters and scorched undergarments into the air before falling about the threadbare carpet.
Her heart still pounding madly in her chest, Anora pushed her upper body up and looked around. At last, she registered the familiar surroundings of her bedroom.
The peeling wallpaper displayed an ugly, faded floral pattern. Her desk, the only thing messy about the room besides the debris of the drawer now strewn over the carpet, was cluttered with stray papers, half-finished drawings, and paintbrushes lazily left dipped in water. The few posters and pictures she had put up to try countering the wallpaper stared back at her.
Her gaze settled on the damage she had done to the dresser. With a groan, she plopped fully onto the carpet, her arms on the floor above her head. It was too early to deal with that.
“Could my dreams get any weirder?” she asked into the brown carpet.
Though it offered her no answer, at least it was not made of bone. Though, it would not surprise her if there were a few skeletons hidden between the walls somewhere. She could feel her black hair sticking up at odd angles, making her scalp itch as it tried to fall back into place.
Without fully sitting up, she twisted her body to get a look at her alarm clock. It told her it was a little before noon.
“Crap!” She hurried to her feet, this time careful to not let her blanket best her. She had wanted to get up earlier, but either her alarm failed to go off, or she slept through it. Either way, if she wanted to make it to the grocery store before her shift at the dinner, she would have to book it, or wait until tomorrow. With only enough food in the apartment to make a Jell-O and Lucky Charms sandwich, there was no way she was waiting.
As quickly as she could and trying to not think about her dream, she got ready for her day. She donned a tight-fitting black t-shirt adorned elegantly with a leather strip of silver studs on one side and various sizes of chains draped over the other. A matching pair of jeans followed, and her current favorite pair of mid-calf platform boots decorated with exaggeratedly large buckles came last, a knife ever hidden inside the left one.
As she hurried from her room, she paused to glance at the mess on her desk. The partially-painted sketch on top depicted a fierce, bloody battle she had borne witness to in yet another of her increasing dreams.
She shuddered at the thought of the hand that had haunted her last night. That was certainly another one to put in the books. Her dreams had felt real since they had first begun, but this had taken it to a whole new level.
Deciding her dresser could wait until later, she hurried from her bedroom. She strode down a short hall, and paused in the living room that served as the entrance area. She glanced to her small dining table, which took up half of the kitchen, even with only two chairs. She stared at her car keys nestled in a porcelain dish atop the table, the glaze shining over gilded Chinese dragons, debating on if she wanted to take her car, or walk.
Deciding it would be quicker and mean she could stock up on more groceries than what she could carry, she grabbed her car keys, shoved the wallet beside it into her back pocket, and hurried to the front door of the single-bedroomed apartment.
She rushed down the creaky stairs to the first floor, her car keys swirling absently around one finger by a key ring, then emerged into the summery outdoors. She stopped and blinked slightly in the sunlight. Once her eyes adjusted, she examined the lawn suspiciously, half expecting another hand to come bursting through the ground. Of course, it did not.
She shifted her weight, a frown pulling at her lips. Something felt off, but she could not say what for the life of her. She shook her head, trying to brush off the notion, but a small part of her clung to it. Something different would happen today. Though the thought often crossed her mind, this time, it had to be true.
Anora gripped her keys and made her way slowly across the grassy lawn between complexes toward the parking lot where her hand-me-down BMW waited. She glanced into the backseat as she unlocked the door, making sure her worn backpack still occupied the seat she had forgotten it on the previous night.
Satisfied she had her trusty sketchbook with her, she slid inside and started the car, her stomach ready for breakfast.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

Woo! Edited her profile a bit. Added more detail. Because I have a thing for that. xD Might end up changing a bit once I get to know her better in the IC, though. Next up: IC. Which I'll probably also edit. Heh.

My swimming instructors a dragon. [Mortim / Siaya Dragalorn]

Full Name: Anora Rose Feldington. She’s told it’s a name that’s been in her family for as long as anyone can remember.

Nickname(s): Nora. Her closest friends occasionally call her Cam, which is short for “Chameleon,” gained thanks to her frequently changing her hair color.

Actual Age: 19

Appeared Age: Hears 16 or 17, much to her annoyance. Though, she's also heard in her early twenties, depending on who you ask.

Race: Guardian

Appearance: Nora is of a petite build, stands at about 5’4”, and weighs around 117 pounds. Her hair falls just below her shoulders and, though naturally a golden brown, is currently died black with bleached tips. She has a bottle of pink dye waiting to be used on the bleached strands, but, alas, her current adventure may likely see the bottle unused. However, she likes to change this every few months, rarely going with natural hair colors; the last time it was a gradient of purple and blue. Out of her entire appearance, her eyes are both the strangest and most memorable part about her: a deep amethyst lined in black and flecked with gold. As far as she knows, no one in her family history shared the same eye color.

Distinguishing Marks: She has a “birthmark” on the front of her right shoulder. It’s black and looks more like a tattoo than a birthmark. It’s in the shape of a wonky S with a V through it--a symbol representing her connection to Pahn. Being an adventurous child, she has a few minor scars from misadventures, and always tends to have one kind of bruise or another.

Clothes Wear: Pretty much along the same style as the above picture. She favors lose-fitting black jeans, dark colored shirts, and has a favorite hoodie. If she isn’t wearing the hoodie, chances are, it’ll be tied around her waist. She also always wears some kind of hefty boots designed to be both comfortable, and durable. Depending on the current color of her hair, she adds accessories that match it as an accent color to her normal Gothic (or occasionally Pastel-Goth) style.

Accessories: She has multiple ear piercings, which are always filled with an interesting combination of earrings, sometimes matching, others not. She also has a thing for belts with studs, her most worn one having a pattern of small skulls and spikes.

Occupation: Waitress at a small mom-and-pop place called The Golden Spoon. Normally works evening shifts, and stays until closing. Since she’s known the owners most of her life, they thankfully don’t care about her rather quirky hairdos, so long as it doesn’t become a problem with the customers.

Weapons: She keeps a knife in one of her boots, because “you never know when you’ll need a knife.” She found it at an antique store her mother dragged her to once. Its hilt is what looks like a varnished silver, and has various mythical creatures depicted on it, a couple of them with colored stones for eyes. Whether or not it’s actually legal for her to have something with the blade length it has—around six inches—she can’t say, but she still keeps it on her. Its sheath is carefully attached to the inside of a boot so it still keeps the weapon hidden, but accessible.

Personality: Anora has always been an adventurous girl. Growing up—and even now—she was always the instigator of the misadventures she and her friends frequently had. With a couple siblings, she was the kind of girl who would sneak out at night to enjoy the quiet of the world, and have her own, private adventures. Her curiosity, knowing no bounds, often gets her into trouble, especially when mixed with her rather impulsive behavior. She is extremely open-minded when it comes to mythical things. After all, she has powers, so why can’t there be other things out there shrouded in magic and mystery? Anora is also the kind of person who, once she gets a thought in her head, won't give up until she gets what she's after, her resolve quick and resolute, and she tends to be more self-assured than she should be, in part because of the powers she has and utilizes whenever she gets the chance.

Major Positive Traits: Open-minded. Curious. Adventurous. Feisty. Spontaneous. Independent.

Major Negative Traits: Impatient. Short-tempered. Headstrong. Impulsive. Sarcastic. Sassy. Kind of gullible. Overconfident. Disorderly/messy when it comes to cleaning.

Magic Abilities: From what she's been told, she currently believes that she controls aether. Her powers are far from fully fledged, but she currently has the ability to generate a magical energy that she has experimented with since she was a child. At present, she can use it to move objects, as an offensive strike, solidify it as a shield (though she has had little opportunity to test it against more than projectiles she had her best friend, Janet, throw at her) and potentially as weapons, and manifest it in a raw form that she can play with and form into various shapes. Though, since she was the only person she has encountered who can actually see the purple, crackling energy riddled with gold and black speckles, she does that more for her own amusement.

Physical Abilities: She is extremely quick and agile from years of practice… such as running from trouble in the many instances when she caused or ran into it. It also comes in handy as a waitress, quick reflexes often preventing mishaps. She is a decent singer, and an excellent artist.

Physical Weaknesses: She lacks upper body strength. If it came to a fight of brute strength, she would lose in a matter of seconds. She can't cook to save her life—she’s pretty sure she could burn water. Also, those mishaps I mention that she manages to avoid? She causes—or almost causes—them more often than not.

Magic Weaknesses: Her powers aren't limited. While smaller, daily things are easy to do and don't take up much energy, the greater the magic, the more of her energy it drains. If she overuses it, she could end up passing out, and when it comes to shields, they're only as sturdy as her energy levels. After any of her extended practice sessions, she usually needs to make sure to replenish her body, and take a decent rest. It also has a link to her willpower, so the stronger her will, the stronger or weaker the magic.

Mental Weaknesses: She relies heavily on her powers for small things that most people wouldn't notice, so losing them or finding out that it was all just some sort of elaborate delusion would break her spirit. She would do just about anything to keep her family and loved ones safe, so losing them would also deal a heavy blow. Though she hides it well, she's also rather depressed, hating how normal everything is. One day is exactly the same as the next, which is one reason she tends to try to make as much adventure for herself as she can.

Fears: Snakes. Of being caged, be it physically or mentally.

Ticks and Tags: Ticks: Twirls her hair. Bites lip when nervous. Rarely seen not listening to music outside of work. Always keeps a sketch pad and drawing utensils in her backpack. Has the habit of collecting random things she finds when out and about. Tags: Doodles on her hand all the time with a pen she keeps in a pocket, so always has something inked on the back of the left one. Very animated, and moves her hands frequently when she talks.

Family: Parents: Janette and Austin Feldington. Siblings: Madelyn (fourteen years) and Ethan (twelve years). Grandparents: Anora (deceased) and Jack Feldington.

Other: Is addicted to French fries slathered in both cheese and ketchup. Always brings a backpack to work that has a sketchbook and various pencils in it for something to do while on break. She draws and paints, a lot, and is extremely talented with it. Whenever she uses her powers, the gold in her eyes intensifies and the purple glows slightly.

Short Bio: Since she was a small child, Anora knew she was different, and so did her family. For one thing, while she had her mother’s hair—which her siblings also inherited—her eyes were enough to give anyone pause.
Her parents were loving people, and did their best to raise her and her siblings fairly, but for as long as she can remember, there has always been this nagging feeling lurking in the back of her mind; as much as she loves her family, she has never felt like she truly, fully belonged, like there was something more out there for her, something that she just had not yet seen. So, through the years, she has held onto the hope of finding out what, exactly, was missing.
She found herself drawn to the concept of mythological creatures and beings, studying about them in her free time. Something about the myths and lore seemed to help fill that inexplicable longing.
Then the dreams started. She was around fifteen when her dreams became haunted by lucid visions of creatures and wars she could not explain. From god-like beings and ferocious monsters, to docile creatures she had only seen through fairy tales all ran rampant through her unconscious mind, feeling more like long-forgotten memories than nightmares and dreams merely the product of her fascination.
Around when she was ten, she discovered her powers by accident one night when she was furious with her parents. After storming to her room, a purplish aura flooded her vision, before it swirled with her anger and sent things flying from any open surface.
From then on, she had another thing to devote her time and efforts to: developing and figuring out how to control the new power she had gained. Something about its use just felt right. Like it was meant to be, like she had known it was there all along, waiting for the right moment to manifest. She kept the power from her family. It was her secret, and hers alone. Excluding her best friend, that was.
For the next five to six years, she worked on controlling and using her powers, seeing what she could do with them with her limited knowledge and space to test them. The longing to find that “something missing” only grew. If she had powers, there had to be more out there, others with abilities like hers, right?
But, alas, she never encountered anyone else, at least that she knew of. That is, until she ran into him.

Backpack Contents:

(To be Updated as Necessary)

> Her current favorite sketchbook. It's thick, and its binding was was once black, but is now covered in a graffiti of paintings of random drawings she added to it. Though she hasn't had it for too long yet, it's already about 1/3 of the way full.

> A pencil pouch decorated with skulls and roses. It's packed with various types of pencils and pens for whenever inspiration for drawing strikes.

> Waterproof flashlight. Because she never knows where she's going to end up on one of her daily 'adventures,' or for how long.

> Extra batteries sealed in a Ziploc baggie.

> Three--now two--energy bars just in case she ends up overusing her powers without thinking about it, and needs an emergency snack.

> Bottle of water. One of those refillable ones. She usually tries to keep it full, but does forget about it every now and again.

> A dirt-caked chain. She can't remember where or when she picked that up, but it's decently thick and sturdy, and long enough to wrap her hand about five times. Best guess, she found it, thought it was neat, shoved it in her bag, and forgot about it.

> A couple empty Ziploc bags.

> Her wallet.

> Her phone, which she's shut off to avoid GPS tracking.

> Her favorite black hoodie. Though she usually wears it, it's been impractical to keep it even at her waist.

> Some random stones she found on her adventures and thought looked neat.

> Wrappers and loose dirt. It's in need of a cleaning, but where's the fun in stopping to do that?

To Cure a Curse

Rayadell’s eyes narrowed slightly as she listened in to the guard’s hushed conversation, unsure if they would be allowed entrance. She glanced to Calanon seated in front of her. Though she could tolerate the cold, she had no idea how well her companion would fare in spending an unplanned wintery night in the woods, if it came to that.
Thankfully, she would not have to find out. She pulled her hood back over her head as the gate opened. Their presence would be suspicious enough as it was in such small, isolated town. The last thing she needed was a breeze to brush her hair aside to display her curse’s mark for all to see.
She glanced around her from beneat hedge of her hood as Borgach made his way through the snow-dusted dirt roads. The town was pleasantly lit, the flames of torches casting a warm, welcoming glow about them.
Wary and curious gazes glanced their way. Reflexively, Rayadell’s hand twitched to raise her staff when someone called out to them. Her attention snapped toward a rather youthful peasant standing just inside the gate, his dark gaze glittering with interest. But he had only help to offer.
Rayadell nodded her thanks, unsure if the man saw as another, older man with a beard and puckered face scolded the youth. She returned her attention ahead as Calanon directed the elk. She tilted her head, ever listening for nay stray bits of conversation that could tip them off to any potential enemies.
She glanced up when Calanon turned from his perch just to get a better look at her, without compromising his stability.
She raised her chin slightly at his question, trying to gague the emotion in his voice.”
“For now, yes,” she answered simply. She gently gripped Calanon’s shoulder with her free hand as the elk turned left. “You’ve trained your beast well,” she commented offhandedly.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra snorted at Ghent’s question about trying to kill Drust. “Because you’re a featherhead, Featherhead,” she snapped, her fear forming bitterly on her tongue.
She flinched when a flash of light sparked to life only a yard away. A wicked chortle reached her ears, sending a chill down her spine. An unnerving electric sensation tickled her skin, making the hairs on her arm prickle. The spirits moved ever closer.
Her head snapped toward Drust when his body stiffened and shifted subtly.
Despite his reassurance and hasty promise, she stared at Ghent a moment more, her eyes narrowed. Finally, she nodded and relinquished the dagger to him.
“‘Bribe them out,’” she muttered at the ridiculous suggestion as she returned her full attention to the greater threat at the moment. The spirits could wait. They still had a bit of time before they became more than a nuisance. “Think I have the ghost of a rabbit hidden somewhere, do…?”
Elayra’s head raised slightly as exactly who she was traveling with struck her. Or, rather, what. She scowled. How could I be so stupid?
She slapped her free hand to her forehead, disgust at herself in her eyes. “You’re a vinifcium!” She looked to Ghent, glowering. “You can communicate with the Spiritayum.”
Drust would’ve thought of that hours ago! She glanced nervously to the surrounding trees, the darkness gathering with alarming swiftness.
Her grip on her sword tightened as Drust exhaled heavily. “And the tichari are messengers of the Spiritayum. You can bribe them out!”

Through the Doors of our hearts - Finished

Awesome. Thanks! At least I checked this time. xD

Through the Doors of our hearts - Finished

So, I'm just waiting for Feisty-Pants to get Viola inside now, right?