Riven Wight

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Smaya’s head tilted gently to one side when Ghent shook his. A small, bitter-sweet smile pulled fleetingly at the corner of her lips. When the boy met her gaze, she blinked once, slowly.
She sighed, the melancholy sound reverberating unnaturally loud in the powdery quiet that settled around them in the Betwixt. “So young and naïve. How cruel the fates have been,” she finished through another sigh.
“Yet, it is by fate you arrived here, young vinifcium,” she unhurriedly answered his uncertainty. “Fate and your own will and concentration. But I cannot lead you to a ‘Safe Zone,’” she said the phrase carefully, her lips quirking once more, “for I cannot reside long outside the Betwixt. But the tichari can.”
She placed her thumb and pointer finger in her mouth and blew. A sweet, yet shrill whistle echoed around them, ringing even once she stopped. It faded slowly into the distance, lasting far longer than any natural whistle.
A flash of silvery blue burst into life a few yards behind her. It darted about, growing closer as it wove through the wisps of spirits. The tendrils coiled and danced away from the streak of sparkling electric mist, avoiding the light as it slunk and bounced about them playfully, full of life and energy.
It floated to a stop near Smaya. The elements gathered around it in a wavering cloud, then settled, forming into a small fox the same silvery blue. It came to little more than a foot tall standing, the edges of its form soft, blurred. Its mist steamed from its body and poured from the end of its fluffy tail, leaving a ghostly afterimage of it as it swished behind the fox.
Silver and blue sparks crackled on its fur as it strutted toward Smaya, then sat at her feet. The creature turned its glowing white eyes up to Smaya. Its large ears twitched in every direction, picking up sounds only it could hear. It let out a fizzing, inquisitive yip.
Smaya bent and reached down to stroke the fox. Its fur crackled beneath her touch. “Deliver this young man,” she glanced to Ghent, and the fox did the same, “and his two companions safely to one of the Hollow Sanctums.” She straightened, still looking down at the fox.
The tichari sat straighter, and gave a short, birdlike yipping yowl in confirmation. It stood, turned to Ghent, and trotted over to him, leaving a short, glittering trail behind it as it moved.
Smaya looked back to Ghent. “Return to your realm, and Margen will show you the way.”
The fox stopped a safe distance from Ghent, staring up at him. Its head cocked to the side and it whined, pawing impatiently at the ground.
Smaya returned her hands to their steepled position in front of her, her draping sleeves billowing with the movement. “I will do what I can to keep the forest’s trapped souls from harming you on your journey. But I cannot hold them back for long.”

Elayra grit her teeth and swallowed hard against her fear. “But the best warrior you’ll ever meet,” she growled in response to Drust’s insult.
Hoping the cloak still wrapped around him compromised enough of his balance, she did not give him time to respond. Swiftly, she wrapped her legs around him, gripped his arms at the elbow, and used all her strength to yank him to the side.
Despite his resistance, he snarled as one of his arms buckled, making him lurch forward. Incapable of effectively adjusting himself fast enough, Drust’s full weight fell on her. The pain in her right shoulder flared, before she shifted him to the side and weaseled out from beneath the rest of him.
Not bothering to try keeping him from rising, she scrambled on hands and knees to her saber. She gripped it, a scarce second of triumph blossoming in her at the security the weight of the weapon brought with it. She scrambled to her feet as Drust at last freed himself of the cloak, kicking it from his legs.
Elayra faced him, sword held defensively across her front. She spared Ghent's translucent form half a glance as Drust stood, his knees slightly bent. The boy's body glowed gently amidst the darkness, unmoving save for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. Silently pleading him to hurry up, she quickly returned her attention to Drust.
Despite her slight advantage with a weapon, she tried to not allow the confidence it lent get in the way. She knew all too well what he could do even without a blade.
Drust glowered down at her. He bore his clenched teeth angrily, his stance teetering on the edge of feral. His neck twitched violently to one side.
For second, she dared to hope it was a sign that enough of his true self remained to fight against the Curse. Alas, if it did, it was not enough; Drust's stance remained unwavering, ready for the attack.

To Cure a Curse

Quick question: by Calanon and Brogach having a bond, do you mean just a random/commonplace type bond that can form between animal and person, or something more elf related, something a bit deeper than that more average person-animal connection? Asking to figure out Rayadell's level of understanding to that.

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

I totally understand getting caught up in the moment and just wanting to write out everything. And in general, I typically don't mind reading and/or responding to longer posts. Maybe it's because I've been mostly just a GM, not your average player, for such a long time now, but having little to no influence in even simpler matters is more than a little frustrating. I'm quite okay with being led, nudged, and dragged every now and again to where my character(s) needs to be for things to ultimately work out. It's your plot, after all, so you know what's set in stone (major, necessary events) and what can be changed (exactly how and even when the characters make it to those major events, and even what may happen during the said events), but by writing such long, action-assuming posts in this situation, you're not giving me the chance to alter or even just mildly effect the course of events with Anora's actions. Which is kind of the point in doing a roleplay instead of just writing a story on your own. Having a character or two not under your control who could ultimately bring about unexpected/unplanned events, and take you down roads you were not necessarily planning in the first place. Keeps you on your toes, and makes you have to utilize your imagination a bit more to adjust or work around when the other player does something unexpected.

Maybe instead of asking me what she would do, take that as a clue that you should stop there and let me show you what she does. If you want to keep writing, have at it; as a suggestion, write it out on a separate document or something, but post only up to the point where my character could actually cause a change, even if it's slight, then edit the rest of what you have saved accordingly before posting it next.
Sorry, the way it is going at the moment just kind of makes me feel like I'm not contributing much. The only way to chase away that discomfort is to give me a chance to prove to you that I can actually contribute more than just simple responses to what you give me, and subtly help move things onward.

Awesome! Glad her powers work out, then. If you think of anything I should know right off about her using them, just let me know!

Well, I probably do have a limit, but it's pretty high up there (depending on the circumstances, I suppose), and, like I said, even higher in written form since I can kind of control what I 'see' a bit more than in visual media. Perfect, about the preferences being okay with you!

Good question! That will involve plenty of rambling in answer, for a warning. xD Though I don't like playing off of the concept of gay relationships, I recognize that it's a part of culture nowadays, and thus is something likely to be mentioned somewhere, even just in passing, in a lot of media. Most modern live action shows have at least one gay character in them, be it a permanent character or one who just passes through. I can usually tolerate just a mention to the fact that there are gay couples out there in situations out of my control, but I can't stand showing significant affection between such couples. With that said, I prefer not to have those in a story, especially one I'm personally involved in, in any shape or form since I don't care about being "politically correct" or trying to get the attention of "various types of audiences." In short, I'd rather not. Just doesn't seem necessary or relevant to me in the long run, either, besides to appease a certain audience. Which I'm not apart of.

Side note: I do love and respect gay people in real life as much as straight people! Heck, I have family who are gay (one is my favorite aunt on that side of the family). I don't agree with their lifestyles, but people are people, no matter what lifestyle they live. As long as they respect my boundaries, I'll respect theirs. I won't support it, but I won't judge or ridicule them for it. Besides. Most of the gay people I've met have had some pretty darn awesome personalities.

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

Anora’s fingers instead brushed over Darsby’s chest, his muscles surprisingly firm beneath the thin gown. She pulled away and inhaled when he turned to her, unsure of what to expect from this odd man. A couple purple sparks flashed into life around her fingers at her uncertainty.
“Because you’re the only other person here with powers!” she answered his first question, her voice hushed.
As soon as it left her mouth, she questioned the validity of the statement. Was he the only other person in the building with powers? Or could there be others—in the hospital, or even anywhere else in the city—lurking about, hiding what they could do, just as she had?
Darsby did not give her time to think about it. At his accusatory words and his reminder that she had hit him, her teeth snapped closed and she glanced away.
“I’m sorry,” she offered quietly. “But if it’s not you doing it, then who?” She looked up at him, but he had already turned and started toward the receptionist’s desk.
She frowned, irritation at being ignored mingling with her guilt. She hurried after him. Anora’s steps faltered as the movement of him checking his ammunition caught her eye.
She stepped up beside him, keeping a wary eye on the weapon. Her attention turned instead to his face when he looked to her and spoke.
Her brow rose at the understatement of everything being just a little crazy. She watched him, her irritation giving way to concern at the tremble in his hand as he ran it through his hair. Whether he shook from fatigue or fear was anyone’s guess with his unchanging expression.
Anora glanced to the “average” people when Darsby gestured to them. Does that mean there’re magic communities out there? she wondered, a spark of excitement igniting in her chest.
She let out a snorted chuckle at his comments about himself. “At least you’re self-aware, I suppose,” she said with a smirk.
But the expression vanished nearly as quickly as it had come.
Gunshots rang from further in the hospitial. The teenage girl in the waiting room shouted in shock, and the family huddled closer together. Anora’s breath caught in her throat as she looked, wide-eyed toward the door through which one of the police officers had left. The door that had muted the shots.
Her head twitched slightly toward the female officer at the sound of her talking on the radio. Anora's heart skipped a couple beats when only static answered the woman.
She glanced to Darsby, who looked disturbingly calm. He knew something, but seemed to have no inclination to share with the rest of the panicking class.
She bit her lip as the officer headed to the door, wanting to tell her to stay put, that whatever was going on was probably beyond the woman’s pay grade, but she resisted. There was nothing she could say that the woman would believe.
Startled, she flinched away, more purple sparks flashing into life around her tensed fingers, when Darsby spat out his cigarette and it burst from existence with a fiery pop.
Anora’s attention snapped to the receptionist when the woman finally noticed Darsby. Anora glanced between the man and the receptionist just to make sure, then to where his cigarette had exploded. Its swirling gray smoke had nearly dissipated, apparently lifting whatever spell it had cast to keep Darsby hidden.
She focused back on Darsby and the situation at hand as the woman called out to him a second time.
“HEY!” Anora shouted in a panic when he pointed the gun at the receptionist.
In a swift motion, she extended an open palm toward him. In the span of a blink, her eyes glowed gently, their colors intensifying, and sparkling gold lightning and purple mist shot from her palm to encompass the gun a second before he began to lower it.
At her mental direction, her powers formed a solid bubble around the barrel and reached toward his wrist, the translucent violet streaked with gold. But it did not hold.
Anora gasped as a sensation she had never felt before emanated through her. She felt as her powers dripped away from his gun as it lowered, sliding from it and melting into a fine lilac mist before vanishing.
Her hand dropped to her side and she let out a shaky breath.
Darsby spared her scarcely a glance and faint sigh before heading through the door. It closed behind him, leaving Anora staring at it.
Darsby had brushed her powers away as if they were little more than an irritating gnat. She raised a hand in front of her and looked down to it, her phone still clutched in the other. Purple and gold flashed to life, jumping between her fingers. They licked over her hand, making her skin tingle pleasantly with the power radiating from it.
She took a deep breath. Terrified whispers and a conversation heated by panic between the elderly man and the young receptionist sounded behind her.
Whatever caused the power outage had to be powerful. Though she had no clue how much more so—or less than—Darsby, she could not even stop him from shooting someone had he wanted to.
She glanced over her shoulder as the receptionist tried to calm the elderly man, his wife clutching at one of his arms. She considered staying, to make sure these people would be okay if anything came bursting into the waiting room. Even if she could not do much, she could at least try. But that meant letting her only link to the world of magic walk away. It meant letting Darsby, still recovering, face whatever danger lurked about alone in his injured state. That she may never get the answers she wanted, needed.
“Miss?” the receptionist called uneasily out to Anora.
She exhaled slowly, her decision made. She shoved her phone in a pocket and her powers extinguished. Before the receptionist could address her again, she hurried through the door after Darsby.
Though he had quite the head start, she could still see him further down the hall, his shock of pink hair and limping gait hard to miss. She adjusted the straps of her backpack, then ran after him, closing the distance between them as quickly as she could.
Doctors and nurses scurried about like ants under a magnifying glass, creating obstacles she had to skirt around. The hall was an echoing mess of noise. Shouts from the staff carryied from adjoining halls as they tried to rush patients to safety, shutting doors or ushering people into the safety of tornado shelters. Those they had yet to get to called out from their rooms, some even daring to venture outside for answer. Various machines powered by the backup generators or their own power supplies beeped, buzzed, and clicked away madly.
The angry red lighting bathing the halls did little to help the situation. It turned carts, wheelchairs, and stands for IVs into a menacing-looking mix of shadows and tinted light.
“Darsby!” she shouted. She slowed to match his pace as she neared. “If you’re actually sorry about getting me dragged into this, then at least tell me what ’this’ is! I’d even settle for the Cliff’s Notes version!”

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

Hey, sorry, it's been one of those weeks. I'll do my best to get to a proper response here and, well, everywhere else this upcoming week!

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

The woman’s woeful gaze followed Ghent as he stood. Despite the tremble in his voice, her expression never wavered, making it impossible to read anything beyond the stain of grief.
She blinked slowly at his question. Around her, the whispering wisps darted near, then curled away, as if afraid to get too close.
“I am Smaya,” she answered, her voice even in its melancholy. “The guardian of Hollow Forest and those trapped in this between place.” The tips of her multi-colored hair wafted and curled in a phantom breeze.
A few more clouds of mist gathered as near to Ghent as they dared. Their forms condensed into vaguely human shapes. Some looked burly, others emaciated. Some crouched, sneaking closer to get a better look at the living boy in their midst. The closer they got, the more details became visible, and their hollow whispers grew louder.
Leather and metal armor. Some wounded and bloody, others not. Most were men, with a couple weathered, warrior-looking females among them. Gnarled, scarred faces. Faces that looked intact, their expressions showing a mix of curiosity and anguish.
Smaya lazily waved a hand in an arch in front of her. The spirits burst back into indistinct tendrils that slithered off to join the others swirling amidst the grayness.
“You must excuse them,” she said through a mournful sigh. “It has been many years since a vinifcium last graced the Betwixt, let alone this prison.”
In the spirits’ absence, flashes of color ghosted across the landscape. Snippets of translucent trees, plants, and earth faded in then out of existence. For a split second, the insubstantial form of Elayra flickered into sight a few feet from where Ghent stood. She leapt hastily forward, reaching out for what looked indistinctly like her sword, but before Ghent could make out more, she vanished inside more swirling fog.
“Even those of us born of the Spiritayum have long awaited your return.” Smaya’s emerald eyes never strayed from Ghent. They sought out his as she continued. “On behalf of the Spiritayum and those trapped within the Betwixt, welcome home, young Madrail. Welcome to Wonderland.”

Movement from Drust caught Elayra’s eye. Without hesitation, she began to stand and reached for her saber, but she acted too late.
Drust’s bound feet kicked her in the chest, making her tumble backwards. Winded, she struggled to suck in a breath for a precious moment as she scrambled to her feet.
She spun to face Drust. Just enough light remained for her to make him out. He swiftly sat up and reached to pry his feet free. His angered snarls joined the distant shrieks and howls that had begun to echo through the trees.
Elayra glanced between Drust and her saber still in the ground scarcely a foot from him. Taking a breath and hoping the Knight was too preoccupied with the cloak, she made a lunge for the sword with her better arm.
Drust’s attention snapped toward her. In the instant it took for her to clear the space between them, Drust tucked his feet in and sprung for the sword. Or rather, Elayra.
Her fingers centimeters from closing around the sword’s hilt, Drust slammed into her. She shouted in a mix of surprise and pain as they both toppled to the ground, her head just missing an elm tree.
He gripped her shoulders, simultaneously keeping himself up and pinning her down. His face hovered above hers, leering down at her. Though the falling night had drained the world’s colors, she could tell that little, if anything, of his pupils remained. The dark veins pulsated with a vengeance out from the corners of his eyes.
“Such a stupid little princess, aren’t you?” A gravely undertone saturated his voice. A shudder ran down Elayra’s spine.
As she had predicted, Drust had woken up very much Curse-driven.

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

Great! Thanks! I'll try to get an IC response up either, well, today now, or tomorrow.

Alrighty! I've no worries about that, but thanks for letting me know. I mean, she's technically an amateur, I would imagine, in the whole grand scheme of things.

Have a good morning at training!

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

Sorry this is extremely long for OOC. xD

Question, then! What would happen if Anora used her powers to create a shield around Darsby’s gun when he raises it at the receptionist? Would it remain as long as she wanted it, or would he end up countering it somehow?

As a suggestion, too, if you think it would help, you could perhaps shorten your posts up a bit, stopping at areas where my character’s reactions could potentially cause a change, instead of possibly having to delete or change a good portion of the rest of your work. Don’t get me wrong; I love writing long posts, it just isn’t a requirement to keep my interest. Both long and short posts have their purposes, of course! If there’s a certain section that nothing another PC does can change stuff, then long can help get that across. But short can also give more options and open more doors without having to go back and edit a crapton.

I believe I have described the appearance of Anora’s powers when I have her use them. They’re predominantly purple and gold, and create an electric mist unless she shapes it. If she hardens it, the object it's hardened into is translucent. I also elaborate on what she can do with them as well as her weakness in her profile. Read that, then let me know if you still have questions? A couple things to add, though: if she ignores the symptoms of overuse, tries to push it further than what her energy levels allow, or uses it frequently in large bursts that slowly drain her without her taking the necessary measures to rebuild her strength, she could fall comatose, if not fatally so. I’m not sure what the strongest attack she could do is, since it all depends on her energy level and willpower. And imagination, regarding what exactly she can do and does with it. So any one of the listed abilities could be her strongest attack, if she puts enough of both of those behind it, and what form she makes it take, which is limited only by her imagination (and if her stored energy/will is great enough to accomplish what she wants, of course). The more of her magic she uses in one go, the more and quicker it drains her. I also have on there that they’re not fully fledged, so she has room to grow and change with it as needed, but she’ll be pretty good with her powers since she’s been using and experimenting with them most of her life.

Edit: As for how it functions, depending on what rules of magic you have, I was thinking it's a sort of a manifestation of her aura, of her being itself, and a sort of collective energy from being a Guardian (if we're still going with that). It uses that collective energy as well as her own to generate its strength and manifest. Its color comes form that aura aspect, which is reflected in her eye color (windows to the soul, an' all that!)

How does all that sound to you?

Still haven’t really found out what my limit for gore is. If it’s any help, I can watch the show Supernatural pretty easily, and my tolerance for gore is higher when with written than visual media. I do love torturing characters more than I probably should, enjoy realistic bloodshed, have no problem writing out violent/bloody scenes (to an extent), and have no issues with/am all for my character(s) being on the receiving end of violence and/or torture of the mental or physical type. Especially if they do something stupid and totally had it coming. Which also means you can expect me to not be one of those people who never lets their characters get hurt. Basically, if you’re okay with it, I’ll probably just have to let you know if you manage to stumble upon a line I didn’t know I had.

Though not entirely gore related, I figure I should let you know about what I won't do, period: gay relationships, and nothing sexually related, be it via gore or otherwise. My lack of tolerance for sexual aspects is the same throughout all media. I can’t even stand watching Law in Order: SUV, and such references have threatened to make me stop watching Supernatural on a number of occasions because of their frequency. Nudity is also out for me, butts being as far as I would accept for showing private areas. ;-) Because I swear, butts were made for the soul purpose of being comedic relief. Otherwise, as long as people are at least in their undies, I’m good. Just undies is awkward for me, mind, and never makes for scenes I enjoy in media, but it’s not something I can’t tolerate, especially when done for practical instead of sexual purposes.

I do have full preferences listed on my profile, though they haven’t really changed since our first go at this. Heh. But don’t worry about it being dark. I typically enjoy dark and love super-creepy stuff, so keep that coming all you want. I also end up being extremely-to-excessively a bit sadistic myself to my characters. In person, I don’t like hurting people. But give me a fictitious character to write for who I can throw into all manner of afflictions, and I’ll tear him/her apart quite gladly—so long as it goes along with the story and doesn’t take anything away from that plot.

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

Next time I want to potentially interrupt, I'll make it a point to ask you here what kind of reaction she would get, then write that in my next response, if that would work for you! Or we could decide if her reaction would warrant a change in your post instead of just a passing mention in mine. How does that sound?

Bad weather, huh? Got a lot of snow last week, I take it?

Eh, been better, been worse. Thanks!

I'm sorry to hear that you've been getting bad news from home. If it is anything you would like to talk about--or rant about, while someone listens to your woes--know I'm here for you! Shoot me a PM if you'd like, instead of posting it publicly. Know, though, that I would take no offence if you would rather not, and I hope that things get better for you and your family soon, my friend!

And don't worry about delayed posts. Take all the time you need. Emotional stress is a terrible thing, and I know that inspiration can be a fickle master at the best of times.

Shackles of Revenge

Out of all the houses in Lion’s Ridge, Ava’s was one of the only two easily distinguishable from the rest. All thanks to Ava.
Located in one of many roundabouts, her house stood out beside its plain. earth-toned neighbors. Flags hung from either side of the porch, one of the Irish flag and the other of a rainbow peace symbol. Various chimes hung on hooks from the porch’s awning, each jingling with their own tunes in the light summer breeze. Colorful metal wind spinners stuck out from the lawn and lined the sidewalk, swirling lazily.
Ava sat on a porch swing. Celtic knotwork she had painted decorated the wooden swing, forming various types of wildlife. It creaked as it swung, Ava keeping it moving with her bare feet. She hummed softly to herself, finishing up a level of Candy Crush on her phone as she waited for Lydia to arrive.
She glanced up from her game, checking to see if her best friend was anywhere nearby. A couple houses from hers, Mr. Higgens—a balding man in his late sixties—irritably pulled up weeds from a garden filled with herbs Ava could scarcely begin to pronounce. Her gaze lingered on him for only a moment before her greenish gray eyes settled on movement further down the street. Even from the distance, she recognized Lydia making her way toward the house.
A smile spread over her orange-painted lips. She offered a vigorous wave, then shoved her phone in a pocket of her tattered-looking jean shorts. Quickly slipping on a pair of flipflops near the swing, she hurried to the sidewalk.
The mid-morning sun set her fiery hair ablaze as she strolled toward Lydia. Her flipflops clopped unhurriedly against the pavement, closing the distance between her and Lydia.
“Lidy!” she called as she neared, ready to greet her friend with her customary ‘hello hug.’