Riven Wight

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

Just thought I would pop in and say hello for whenever you get the time to check the Guild! I'm back in town, but still currently behind on replies. Which will hopefully change this week.

So, yeah. Happy May, and I hope all is well on your end!

Through the Doors of our hearts - Finished

With the odd hours I keep, it's still technically before my weekend's end. That counts, right? xD

@Saltwater Thief: If Alexander would intervene before Ryker could pick up the dagger, let me know and I'll edit to end the post with him reaching for it (or wherever you'd prefer) instead, if that works for you.

Through the Doors of our hearts - Finished

At the short pause, Ryker opened his mouth to specify who he had meant by ‘Ms. Heatstroke’ in case that was the problem. But his mouth snapped shut and his eyes widened when laughter bubbled from Alexander in answer.
A concerned confusion settled over Ryker’s angular features. He took a step back and looked his new roommate over with a cautious, calculating eye. The last time he had seen someone laugh like that, they had been bitten by a snickering snake. That had been a week to remember. And not in a good way.
“Everything alright, mate?” Ryker asked, his brows rising.
Thankfully, Alexander’s laughing fit ended quickly in an apology.
Ryker’s hopes rose a fraction when Alexander began to actually answer his question. Though he had no idea exactly what ‘as Nonesense as they come’ meant, he rather liked the sound of it.
Before he could ask what ‘the talk’ was, Alexander grabbed Ryker’s luggage and continued up the stairs. With a half shrug, he followed, his steps unhurried.
He kept careful track of where he was relative to the front exit. Though the mansion was not small—its halls huge compared to the cramped, horribly claustrophobic space of the car—the number of walls between him and the outdoors made him nervous. His gaze lingered on every window they passed, part of him wanting to run to it and pry it open. No matter the temperature inside or out, the air indoors always felt a little too warm, stuffy, and stale to him.
Ryker stopped a pace behind Alexander when the boy paused to open a door. He fidgeted with the hood of his hoodie, the garment still slung over his shoulder.
Once the door was open, Ryker stepped in tentatively behind his roommate, uneager to see his newest cell room.
Ryker stopped in the doorway and blinked at the sight before him. He took in the glorious mess of what could only be Alexander’s half of the room. A familiar kind of mess. His gaze hovered over the impressive dagger sitting among other tools if a carver.
A grin spread over Ryker’s lips as he stepped fully inside. The stark contrast of the cleanliness of the other half of the room nearly made him laugh. It looked like the perfect ‘Before and After’ picture, cut straight down the middle. Even the warm, earthy scent of shaved wood fought against the sharp odor of cleaning supplies and freshly washed bedding.
“You kidding?” Ryker began when Alexander apologized a second time. “It’s ruddy brilliant!”
Not waiting for the other boy’s explanation, Ryker tossed his hoodie on the perfectly made bed and practically sprinted to a window placed squarely on the line between the halves of the room. Only half listening as Alexander spoke, he quickly unlocked the window and lifted it open as a bell rung through the halls and filtered into the bedroom.
He inhaled deeply as a flowery summer breeze blew through the screen. With even that minuscule bit of the outdoors inside, he felt a bit better almost immediately. He let out a quick laugh when Alexander confirmed which side of the room was his.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” He turned to face Alexander with a good-natured smirk, his eyes slowly lightening to a pale green. He crossed his arms over his bare scared chest. His hide-wrapped pendant hung just above his forearms.
“Thanks. I think,” he offered with a doubtful snort to Alexander’s unsure welcome. The back of his messy black hair ruffled in another gentle breeze as his attention turned to the tidy dresser and its contents.
“I have a friend back in Never… wood High,” he corrected unconvincingly as he easily picked his way toward the dresser, “who carves.”
Without bothering to ask permission—and trying to not further think on Pan at the moment—he reached to pick up the dagger.

Shackles of Revenge

Though this is quite late…

Of course! We’re delving into a character set that’s new or semi-new to you, so questions are expected and quite encouraged. And you’re welcome, though you did the hard part of actually ending it. ;-)

Sounds about how I feel while editing SDC. Or any of my writings, really. xD No worries about mistakes! Though, going back to your first IC post here, this is a wonderful, rare opportunity for me to read and comment on something longer that you wrote with just your own characters interacting! So, I do have some comments and suggestions to make, if you’re okay with that!

Comments and Suggestions

Comments:

> I know I've said it in our chat, but I want to compliment again how you added Lydia’s parents in there. It makes sense and gives a taster of what kind of people they are!

> Dreams are so much fun to play with. xD Yep, that’d be a nightmare in my book. But dang. Figures she would only have a break-out free face in a nightmare.

> I feel for Lydia with Allison’s enjoyment of watching medical shows. And yelling at the TV in the meantime.

> “Grimacing at the fridge packed with odd-smelling leftovers, she weeded through a collection of beer and snatched her soda.” The number of things just the contents of a fridge can tell someone about a family is shocking! Excellent! Your small, life-giving details never cease to amaze me.

> Tee hee! He called her “Squirt.” I love her interactions with Mr. Prescott. Again, you show so much about the characters in such a short span of time! He’s such a guy. xD

> Your dialogue is wonderful and realistic, as usual!

> “Today was going to be a good, stress-free day.” Good luck with that, Lydia. >:-D

Suggestions:

> Section breaks. Normally, when there’s some sort of break like that, one can expect a fairly decent time skip, significant scene change, or a character switch. The last one feels appropriate to me because of how you begin the following section, going from her house to somewhere else in Lion’s Ridge, but the others have a less distinctive change; it’s still Lydia, and she basically goes from one room/area of the house to another with little, if any, time shift. A quick sentence about once she was ready, she headed through the house could replace that first one, then there is enough of a link between, “She was already gone,” and, “Outdoors, Lydia took a deep breath” for it to be one event after the other, no extra sentence (or section break) needed.

> This is probably more of a personal preference, but I figured I would add it in, anyway. In transitioning from dream to reality, something a bit sharper, if you will, can help add the same bit of shock that the character feels. Basically, in place of a transition sentence, maybe use an extra space or some other kind of lesser spacer between the end of the dream and when the character wakes up, and then throw the reader directly into a new mindset by waking the character up. Another method I favor for giving that distinction between a dream and reality is using italics for the dream, but even that has its drawbacks. It’s been a while since I read anything involving dreams. The double return are the most common methods I can recall, but I'm sure there are others out there. Like I said, in the end, this topic is more preference based, I'd say, and changes from one writer/reader to the next, but that’s my two cents on the matter.

> Keep an eye out for the unnecessary passive voice. If a passive phrase can be changed without losing the sentence meaning, then change it if you can. The active voice is often a better option. While the passive voice has its place in many cases, the more you can avoid it, the better! Words to check are mostly forms of “to be,” such as “be,” “been,” “were,” “is,” “are,” “was,” and “had.” There's more to the passive voice than certain, specific words, but that's a good place to start. Dialogue is an exclusion. People use the passive voice often when they talk, so trying to always use the active voice there could make for some forced/unrealistic dialogue.
A Couple Examples: “The linoleum was cold against her feet, earning another shiver from the brunette.” Personally, I find “was” (and “had”) is one of the most difficult to eliminate, and easiest to use. It’s one that I need to work on weeding out a bit more, I think, as well. But here’s one possible difference between using that passive “was” vs. something more active: “The cold of the linoleum floor against her feet earned another shiver from the brunette.”
--“Beads of sweat were on his brow…” vs. “Beads of sweat glistened on/gathered on/rolled down/[pick your poison] his brow” or even simply, “Sweat beaded on his brow…”
--“The screams in her nightmare sounded in her mind. They hadn't been human.” vs. “The screams from her nightmare sounded in her mind. Inhuman screams.”

See/feel the difference between that passive and active voice?

> Unnecessary “that.” It’s easy to do. I know. But “that” can create wordiness, and be borderline passive depending on usage. If it can be removed from a sentence without affecting clarity, then nix it. Again, dialogue can be an exception, especially if the character in question has a thing for overusing “that,” and definitely has its place in writing. It's just a matter of figuring out where, exactly, that place is.

Writing is hard. But in my opinion, that’s one of the things that makes it so beautiful! Keep up the great work!

Shackles of Revenge

Ava scrunched her nose playfully at Lidia’s joke. “Oh, get over yourself, stuffy-pants.”
She pulled Lydia into a quick, friendly hug. As soon as she released her friend, Ava started moseying down the sidewalk. She glanced to Lidia, making sure the other girl followed. It was far too nice a day to stay indoors.
The sun warmed Ava’s arms, their fair skin left bare by her tie-dye tang top. A temporary tattoo wrapped her right forearm, creating the illusion of a shimmery tribal-patterned snake coiling down it. Its head rested on the back of her hand. A series of flowers rained down from her opposite shoulder, some more faded than others and in various stages of peeling off.
She paused at Lydia’s question. Placing a hand to her chin, she tapped her lips in mock contemplation.
“Hmm. That’s always an option.” A sly grin pulled at her vibrant lips from behind her finger. She moved her hands and placed her thumbs in the pockets of her shorts. “Especially since it’ll take us past Jason’s house.” She drew out the last two words, her shoulders bobbing theatrically with the tease.

Through the Doors of our hearts - Finished

Hi! :-D

I'm working on getting back into the swing of things at home after being gone, but should probably let you know that I hope to get to replies by the weekend's end. Hoping for before, but when does life ever go according to plan? Thanks for your guys' patience, and sorry about the wait for something for Ryker! <3

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

No matter what, Elayra had to keep Drust’s full attention. Prevent him from taking too much notice of Ghent’s ghostly form.
“Drust,” she began, deciding to at least try talking him down. “You need to fight against this.” Her voice mingled with the distant cries of the dead. His head straightened to look to her. “You’re stronger than the Curse! Whatever this place is making you feel, it’s wrong.” She swallowed, unsure if she wanted more to convince him or herself of the statement.
Drust’s head twitched violently to the side and an almost choked snarl floated through the gray darkness.
Holding her breath, she forced herself to relax her sword and take a small step toward him. “Listen to me, Drust.” Her gaze flicked over the shadowy mass of his face. “Not the forest. Not… not her. But me.”
Drust’s shoulders rose in a deep breath and he bent his head.
Elayra eyed him suspiciously, cautiously, and took another partial step forward. His silence unnerved her, his voice the only easy tell in the dark for if the Curse remained in control.
“We’re going to break this Curse. For you. For everyone.” False confidence strengthened her voice.
Drust clenched his fists. He released them, and his entire stance relaxed.
She inhaled, daring to hope. Elayra took another uneasy step forward so they stood only a sword’s length apart. “And we’re going to do it together. The two—three of us.” She cast Ghent half a glance. “We need you, Drust!”
“Yes. You do.”
Before Elayra could fully register the malicious, gravely undertone still in his voice, Drust struck out like a viper.
She tried to jump back and raise her sword, but he grabbed her left wrist, the blade pointed away from him. He slid his hand closer to hers as she threw a right hook at his jaw.
Drust tilted and blocked her punch with a raised forearm. He knocked her right arm to the side and twisted her left hand. Elayra gasped through her teeth and relinquished the sword to him to keep him from snapping her wrist.
The moment he released her, she ducked down and kicked out at his knees as well as she could. The near complete darkness made it difficult to predict his movements and turned the two into little more than fighting black blurs weaving through the small clearing. Sparks of phantom energy flashed through the woods, granting quick, eerie glimpses tainted with green, gold, and white.
He hopped back with snarl. Her shoe grazed his trousers. He struck out at her legs, then, as she pulled away and straightened, he landed a side kick to her stomach.
The wind knocked from her and she stumbled back into a tree. The bruise on her back protested. Before she could suck in a breath, Drust pinned her against the rough bark. She grit her teeth as he placed the blade of her saber against her throat.
“Because you’re no warrior.” He made a sound somewhere between a tisk and cluck, his words stiff. “Can’t even keep your sword.”
“Snap out of it, Drust!” she hissed.
“Can’t keep your mouth shut.” He pressed the blade harder, and she closed her mouth. “Can’t go two steps without wreaking havoc. Always bickering. Arguing. Threatening your pathetic companion. If the Queen doesn’t kill him, you will!”
Elayra swallowed, the action uncomfortable beneath the blade. “I won’t,” she breathed, her voice betraying her in a tremble. “You know I won’t. Just like I know this isn’t you!”
“You. Know. Nothing!” he finished in a low, hair-raising growl.
He removed the sword from her throat. She tried to push him away and kicked at him. But he was too close and his strength pressing against her too great for her to create enough force to deal any significant damage.
A phantom flash of sickly green glinted malevolently on the blade as Drust turned his hand with the saber. He raised it and aimed the pummel at Elayra’s temple.

A small, grim smile pulled at Smaya’s lips at Ghent’s eagerness. “You called on the Spirataum, young Madrail. The call of a vinifcium will always be answered.” She watched as he closed his eyes. “Concentrate on returning yourself. The tichari have their own means of traveling between realms.”
With a gentle sigh, her body turned into emerald mist. The ghostly tendrils around her coiled further away, some even dipping as if in a reverent bow. Even Margen turned toward her, stretched out, and bowed his head to his paws in a respectful farewell.
“There is much you must know.” Her disembodied voice echoed around the Betwixt, whispering between glittering speckles. “Yet so little time.” The mist coiled upward then dispersed with a gentle rush. “May we meet again,” the fading remnants of her voice uttered, “son of Hatter.”
Even with Smaya gone, the tendrils kept their distance from Ghent. One ventured a little too close to Margen, and the fox spun around and nipped at it playfully. An electric bluish-white light buzzed down the coil. It recoiled then raced away.
As Ghent concentrated, a cold chill seeped down his spine before washing over him. The gentle light of the Betwixt filtering through his eyelids gave way to the darkness of night. Noises filled his ears. Banshee screeches and the screams of the fallen. Brave war cries and the last fearful whispers of the dying. They came in a garbled mush, as if his head had submerged underwater. But they remained only sounds, their emotions kept at bay.
One voice rose above the others, Elayra’s voice, more solid than the cries of the spirits, yet just as muted: “Just like I know this isn’t you!”
The ground felt suddenly real beneath him as if it had risen to greet his return, the grass chilled and vines hard.
The veil filtering sound disappeared as he fully returned to the physical world. The cries of the dead vanished. But in their wake, Drust’s voice, thick with the Curse, broke through the night:
“You. Know. Nothing!”

Through the Doors of our hearts - Finished

Hey! Sorry, guys. Time got away from me. And I am currently getting ready to go out of town until after the first weekend of May. I will try to get to a post before then, but if I do not, that is why. If this ends up advancing before then, feel free to drag Ryker wherever you need him to be, and, if the GMs are okay with it, I will catch him up when I can.

Sorry for the short notice. It kind of crept up on me.

Salutations, and all that jazz

Welcome, welcome!

Oh my gosh. Gaia Online. If it makes you feel any better, I used Gaia. And, uh, high-five for a mutual "fear of the sun." xD

Best of luck to you! I hope you find what you're looking for here on this site!

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Oh my gosh. I did some research to find out what sounds foxes actually make. FOXES SCREAM!