Riven Wight

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Fists held at her sides, Elayra’s brows furrowed slightly as she watched Ghent’s expression change and his demeanor loosen. He looked almost… humbled. As if a bit of understanding had, at last, sunk into his arrogant brain.
She let out a heavy sigh of relief when Ghent gave his response.
“The night’s still young,” she muttered under her breath as Ghent’s voice trailed off.
Drust snorted at her quiet statement, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Elayra grimaced, pausing to make sure she had not created a trigger. But Drust still looked as calm as the Knight could get, his gaze hard and muscles ever at the ready. She had the suspicion he agreed with her.
She turned to her knot and she reached for the rope just as Ghent spoke again.
“What are you waiting for, Blondie?”
You to get some common sense, she thought, only just managing to bite the retort back from forming on her tongue. She needed to think of Drust. To focus on not aggravating him by fighting with Ghent.
This was going to be a long night.
Teeth clenched, she cast Ghent a quick glare as she untied the last couple loops of the knot binding Drust’s wrists.
“It was half untied, you ignoramus!” Elayra straightened and turned to Ghent as the rope fell away.
Scowling, the Knight maneuvered himself so he sat on the ground.
Elayra crossed her arms. “I’d say yours looks like an infant chimp did it, but that’d be an insult to the chimp.”
“Elayra,” Drust bit.
It was going to be a very long night indeed.
Elayra’s mouth snapped shut. Her aggravation glowed in her eyes almost as intensely as the flickering flames. She looked to Drust in time to see him locate the knot in question.
Drust’s scowl deepened. With a simple tug at the bulk of the knot, it came loose.
Elayra shot Ghent a smug smirk, doing her best to hide it from Drust.
“My pack?” Drust unwrapped the rope from around his legs. The effort he put into ignoring his charges’ eternal bickering strained on his face. His fingers froze as another thought struck him. “My katana?” A hint of panic entered his harsh voice, his gaze snapping to Elayra.
“We’ve got it,” Elayra hurriedly reassured. “In your pack.” She nodded to where his pack sat on the opposite side of the fire.
Drust relaxed slightly. He gave a jerky nod and grunted his approval. He looked to where she indicated, the firelight glinting eerily on the glazed crimson of his irises.
Completely freed, he stood. He inhaled, the sound a mix of a hiss and snarl as he wavered on his feet. He lurched forward, scrunching his eyes tight and gripping his head.
“Drust!” Elayra stepped to his side. She reached one hand toward him to try helping him to stay upright. Unsure what caused his distress, the other wrapped the hilt of her sword, just in case.
Drust gripped Elayra’s shoulder, steadying himself.
Elayra gasped; his sudden added weight and tight hold on her already aching shoulder sent a spike of pain down it and to her back.
Drust opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused. He hastily released Elayra and instead dropped to one knee before the campfire.
“I hate sleeping mist,” he growled, running a hand through his dark, messy hair. Bits of dirt and grass knocked free and fell to his shoulders. He looked sideways at Elayra, concern and self-loathing flashing momentarily over his face.
Elayra resisted the urge to rub her shoulder. Determined to keep her ‘I'm fine’ card in play as always, she stepped around the fire to retrieve his pack for him, doing her best to avoid further bothering her injuries.
“I don’t need it, girl.”
Elayra paused at his usual snapping tone, ready to lift the pack by one of its straps.
Drust nodded stiffly to the ground. “Sit.” He glanced to Ghent. “I’ve seen corpses that look more alive than you two. Don’t deny it,” He added with a snort when Elayra opened her mouth to protest. “Even Knights know they have limits, girl. Rest. Eat. And I’m sure you have questions,” he added to Ghent through a sigh. “Only a fool wouldn’t.”
Elayra made a snide look that said, ‘Well, it is Ghent.’ Exhaling, she reluctantly did as Drust ordered. She sat beside her smaller pack, basking in the field of warmth the flames created. She had been going for so long, she dreaded the inevitable outcome of rest almost as much as what would happen if she kept going.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

At Ghent’s unexpected shout, Elayra jumped, a hand going from the knotted rope to the hilt of her saber. Drust’s head turned to look behind him. Remorse abandoning its place, a scowl pulled at Drust’s face.
Elayra unintentionally mimicked the Knight’s expression, glowering at Ghent. “What does it look like I’m doing, Featherhead?” She released her sword and returned both hands to the knot. “I’m untying him!”
At Ghent’s unnecessary reminder of what Drust had done, Elayra’s teeth clenched. Her back still ached and a dull throb at the base of her head threatened to turn into a headache, giving her more than enough of a reminder on its own of what had happened.
Drust stiffened, gaze turning to the front of him and hands tightening into fists.
When Ghent nearly hit Drust with the glowing end of the stick, Elayra instinctively and swiftly reached out to grab it’s unenchanted bark. “Watch it, you ignoramus!” She jerked it aside, angling it away from Drust and careful to not hit herself or Ghent in the process.
She leaned closer to Ghent, weary ire glowing in her gray eyes. “What, you don’t trust my judgment?” she growled. “You don’t think I know what I’m doing after spending my entire life with him? You think I can’t—”
“Enough!” Drust shouted through his teeth.
Elayra winced and looked to the ground. Reluctantly, she released her hold on Ghent’s enchanted weapon.
“And I was worried you’d started to get along,” Drust sneered, making Elayra grimace. He looked over his shoulder to see Elayra better, his face drawn.
Elayra thought she saw the dark veins on his face pulse, but hoped it was only a trick of the flickering firelight.
“You know how our world works. He,” Drust jerked his head toward Ghent, the action merging with a twitch, “doesn’t.”
Drust let out a heavy, slow breath and looked forward once more, his chin lowered. “My word would mean nothing, boy.” Loathing saturated his voice, his words clipped. “I can’t control the Curse. I can only fight against it until it wins.”
“It feeds on his negative emotions and thoughts,” Elayra put in, her voice stiff, but quiet. She stared at the ground between her and Drust, not wanting to look directly at either of her companions. “The stronger those are…”
“The more strength it gives the Curse to fully consume me,” Drust finished for her flatly. “It’s as parasitic as what it feeds on. My emotions and thoughts fuel the Curse as much as the Curse fuels them until only it and its desires remain.” His fists squeezed tighter behind him.
“He’s not fully Curse-ridden.” Elayra glanced to Ghent, a trained wary eye at least partially on Drust. “He’s the only half-Cursed we know of. But that’s why he can fight it. Why he’s actually cognitive, unlike the Forsaken or Forgen. If nothing else, it’s made him stronger.”
“That also makes me more dangerous than the Forsaken or their offspring.” He glanced toward Elayra, a warming shining in his veined eyes.
He looked away with a sigh and shake of his head. “The Curse should have killed me with the rest of the Black and White Knights the instant it touched us. But it didn’t. Elayra thankfully remained sound. But I… I became this!” he finished in a low snarl, disgust and hatred saturating his voice. His neck twitched more violently than before. He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes, making himself take a few deep breaths.
Elayra fully looked to him, her expression as firm as her words. “My guardian and teacher is what you became. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. I trust you, Drust. If anyone can keep the Curse in check, it’s you.”
Drust snorted. “We digress,” he changed the subject darkly. He shifted his hands uncomfortably within the rope. The loosened knots gave him a bit more slack, but either it was not enough for him to easily pull free, or he chose to remain bound.
“Your caution is admirable, boy,” he began, his voice back to a forced cold calm. He tilted his head toward Ghent. “I swore long ago to protect you and Elayra. The only thing I can swear to you now is that I will never willingly break that oath. Even if it means my life. If that’s not enough for you, so be it. I’d suggest finding a better way to tie me down for the night for your own peace of mind.” He moved his arms, puling the rope as far apart as it allowed in emphasis.
“We’re not—!”
“Quiet, girl!” Drust snapped with another twitch of his neck, interrupting Elayra’s protest. “I’m not giving this choice to you! Ghent’s the one I nearly killed. Not you.”
Elayra’s mouth snapped shut and she exhaled heatedly. Teeth clenched and face hard from irritation, she looked to Ghent, her expression daring him to deny Drust’s release.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Hmm. I forgot I never actually responded to your last OOC here. Sorry!

Yep! So don't ever worry about that. It's all about learning and, most importantly, having fun! Which yep, I'm having a flippin' blast here!

Aww, well, thanks! I appreciate it, and am happy you do find humor in it! I appreciate you taking the time to put an example. :-)

I sometimes forget they're blue, too. xD When I suddenly remember is about when I put the reminders in IC!

On to what I had actually come here to say that made me realize I never replied:

Your description works just fine, but just as a quick reminder since it's been a while: it’s Earth’s magic that was extremely eager and excitable. Wonderland’s magic is typically a bit less so, especially to those new to it. Wonderland’s magic has to get used to Ghent before it will readily come to his every command when his emotions aren’t intensely influencing his choices, but once there’s that connection—which Ghent has from his first use of it at the portals' gate—it will come because of his race.

The difference in aura Ghent may notice is that on Earth, it’s almost childlike (or like a new puppy, to keep with the analogy I used in IC), curious and overly enthusiastic. In Wonderland, on the other hand, it’s like a weathered veteran or old, wounded hound. It’s ancient and well-used, and would feel/act proud and impatient. He may also notice that the stronger and more uncontrolled his emotions when he calls on it, the quicker the world’s magic will pick up on his commands/desires and react.

Most of that will likely get explained to Ghent in detail at some point, but thought I would put that here for future reference if we take a while to get to that. I imagine it would be soon-ish, though, now that they have the potential of having some down time to ask and answer questions.

Shackles of Revenge

HA! Yes. xD Wonderful GIFs! The contrast between this at the moment and ALoWaN is kind of funny, if you think about it.

It was perfectly fine you assumed that! There wasn't anywhere else Ava would go. Besides, she would want to stick around to see how things panned out. She's the type of girl who will see her evil best friend plots to the end. Thanks for checking!

I'd say you definitely paid closer attention to detail your last post! Wonderful! You even utilized description in action. Really, absolutely fantastic! I grinned when you played off of Ava's pondering about the mailbox. And like how you led into the cat by using the calendar. I'll always approve of a cat. And I must compliment you, as always, on your realistic dialogue!

Two-three years works just fine, I think!

Tee hee! ^.^ Great, about being on board with all that! No rush in figuring all that out. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask! I'm happy you're enjoying it so far! I am as well. For not having written for a female MC for a while, you're doing great! I already love the relationship between the characters so far.

Shackles of Revenge

Ava watched, amusement plastered on her face, as Jason and Lydia interacted. Though she could not see her friend’s face, she could practically feel the embarrassed heat radiating from the other girl. That, or she was being cooked alive in her hoodie. One of the two.
Ava’s money was on the first.
She only just managed to stifle a laugh when Jason pushed from the mailbox, leaving it a tad more bent than before. Her tongue rolled around in her mouth, forming an unspoken, I knew it!
Ava would have gladly doubled-down on her bet with the murderous look Lydia cast her.
Her lips pulled tight in an attempt at suppressing her grin. She shrugged lightly at Lydia’s silent threat.
Her expression unwavering, she returned her thumbs to her pockets and followed behind her friend into Jason’s horrendously cluttered garage. The familiar smell of oil, gas, and metal hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of stale beer. While the calendar drew Lydia’s attention, Ava paused to look at the abused dartboard.
“Nice shot,” she commented. She looked over her shoulder at Jason with a smirk. “Who’d you have over?”
Before Jason could respond to her quip, a gentle meow sounded above them. Excitement about there being a cat nearby settling in her, she looked frantically for the source of the sound.
Her gaze found it at about the same time as Lydia.
“Well, hello there!” she greeted, Jason momentarily forgotten. The cat’s tail swished irately behind it, dangling down from the opposite side of the rafter. Ava’s head cocked toward Jason when he spoke. “Aww, poor thing.”
Hoping to coax the cat down from hiding, she reached fully into one of her front pockets. She pulled out a few of the cat treats she often kept with her. She held them up toward Hanna, hoping the smell would entice her down.
“C’mon, pretty kitty!” she called in a soothing tone, Lydia’s glance going unnoticed. “There’s no mean ol’ dog here.”
To Ava’s delight, the cat slunk elegantly across the rafter and used a stack of boxes to return to the ground. The cat sauntered over to her with another meow and rubbed against her legs, looking up at her expectantly.
Ava crouched down, careful of the worktable she was nearly crammed against. She placed the treats on the concrete floor, and Hanna chowed down happily. She ran a hand over the animal’s soft fur as it ate.
She looked up when Jason spoke from the opposite side of the motorcycle. She looked to the bike as if noticing it for the first time. Her brows rose, glad Lydia was the one in the spotlight for the question at the moment.
The cat finished the treats and pawed at Ava for more. Instead, Ava took the now purring cat in her arms and stood. Hanna meowed in protest.
“Even you can’t deny this is a sick ride.”
“Why? Does it have a cold?” Her eyes widened and her voice sounded so sincerely concerned it could have fooled a human lie detector. At last, she fully took in the plain-looking bike. She shrugged, the cat squirming in her arms. “Bikes aren’t really my area of expertise. It’s a cruiser, right?” She let the cat jump free from her.
Hanna glared at her, her tail swishing indignantly, before she rushed off to find a new hiding place.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra listened closely as Ghent repeated both words, making sure he said each one right. She gave a slight, nearly imperceptible nod when he pronounced them correctly.
She blinked in the ever-fading light. What had once been a bright, electric glow had dimmed to a disorientating blue tint, casting just enough light to make out the vague shapes around her. A shiver ran through her, the chill of the night seeping even into the clearing. Even the Safe Zone could not keep out the weather.
In the partial light, she was certain she saw Drust’s shoulders move, trying to adjust. A gentle groan rose from the Knight, confirming her thought.
Elayra stood and pulled her sword from the ground as Ghent reached toward the woodpile.
When Ghent braved focusing on calling upon the world’s magic, it took longer to reach him than it had in his last panicked haste. It toyed once more around the edges of his senses, like a sound just faint enough to know something was there, watching, just out of sight, before slinking into clear view.
Elayra glanced toward the boy at the sound of his voice, only for him to trail off. She frowned at his hesitation, but forced herself to refocus on her task, not Ghent’s.
The magic flared around Ghent, more irritated than even Elayra at his pause. It pulsed around him, the sensation driving deep into Ghent as if to give him an impatient shove at being kept waiting yet again.
“Igniculous!”
In an instant, the sensation of the magic’s presence intensified, releasing its impatience. It welled in his core, creating an uncomfortable heat. It spread down his outstretched arms, momentarily driving the cold from his body. A burst of flame shot from his palms into the woodpile, its release draining the warmth with it.
The logs of the wood caught as if drenched in too much lighter fluid. They burst into a blazing fire with a startling whoosh. A few sparks sputtered up into the air above as the orbs of blue fizzled out of existence.
Elayra jumped and spun around to face Ghent, ready to cut Drust’s binds if they needed to flee. Instead, she stared in shock at the rutilant flames setting the clearing aglow. They settled down within the confines of the circle of stones, content without the influence of magic to gnaw on the dead tree limbs.
Fabric rustled against fabric as Drust stirred once more.
Elayra spun back to face her guardian, his form now a mix of golden light and shadows. He tried to move his arms, but the rope snagged them, keeping them in place. He froze, his wrists still pulling the rope taught.
“Elayra!” he shouted in a growled, sleepy panic as he pulled at the ropes anew.
“Drust!” Elayra half hopped, half ran the couple necessary steps to put herself in front of him as he managed to raise his upper body. “We’re fine!” Keeping as safe of a distance from him as the small clearing allowed, she crouched before the now kneeling man.
Partially illuminated by the fire, his chest heaved with heavy, angered breaths. A few bits of dirt and grass stuck to his lean face, but did little to counter the menace twisting his pale lips. The black-veined red of his irises pulsed steadily, threatening to consume even his pupils. The lines stretching from the corners of his eyes throbbed in time with the others, spreading dangerously over his skin.
“Drust, listen!” Elayra implored, struggling to keep her anxiety and fatigue from showing. Though not fully consumed by the Curse, Drust was far too close to it for comfort. She cast a quick glance toward Ghent, trying to tell him with her gaze alone to stay quiet. “We’re safe. All of us.”
It took Drust a moment to focus on Elayra. He blinked hard and shook his head, trying to clear the lingering effects of the sleeping mist. He closed his eyes and took a few breaths. The crackle and snapping of the fire chewing on its food filled the clearing.
“You… found a Safe Zone.” His words came in a groggy, tight slur.
Elayra let out a relieved sigh. She practically melted into a kneeling position on the grass; no gravely undertone marred his voice. Slowly, even the dark veins stretching over his alabaster skin shrunk to their normal size and stilled.
Finally, something had gone as she had hoped. Mostly.
“Ghent found a tichari,” she explained, incapable of keeping her relief from her voice.
“Good,” he appraised with a nod. He took another breath and opened his eyes, meeting Elayra’s gaze. He looked her over, concern in his eyes, and his jaw clenched. He glanced down with a heavy sigh, then jerked his head backward, indicating his bindings.
Elayra hesitated. If something aggravated the Curse again, she would not last long against him. As much as she wanted to trust him, the Curse’s instability in him had grown. But leaving him tied up when he appeared to have it under control felt wrong. Besides, if something happened and they needed him...
She eyed him for just a moment in her debate before speaking. “Are you—”
“I’m fine,” he cut her off, his tone cool but even.
“I was going to ask if you’re sure,” she offered a weary, half-hearted smirk, “but that works, too.”
Drust raised an eyebrow, watching as she sheathed her sword. She stood slowly, stepped to Drust’s side, and reached for the rope.
Drust bowed his head and took another deep breath. “Elayra—”
“Yeah,” she interrupted, recognizing the uncharacteristically soft tone and quiet voice. Her volume matched his, her attention focused more on Drust’s bound hands then necessary. “I know.” She hated when he apologized.
She felt his back move with another sigh as she reached to begin untying the knot she had made, wanting to save as much rope as possible. Especially if they ended up needing it again.

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

Anora stopped beside Darsby when the man at last paused. She fidgeted with a strap of her backpack as she once more took in the frail appearance of the man. No matter how well armed, difficulties simply standing never made for a fair fight.
She met his gaze when he at last addressed her, the clamor of the hospital sounding all around them. She blinked in surprise at the tone he used instead of the tired, almost callous one she had already grown to expect.
She inhaled slowly at the concept of her and Darsby being ‘edible.’ Which meant everyone in the hospital could make for a decent afternoon snack. She winced when he carelessly scratched his head with his weapon, her gaze watching it uneasily.
“Great. Very helpful,” she muttered, a tinge of fear at the unknown mingling with exasperation. She watched him as he leaned forward, sniffing at the air. “What in the world are you doing?”
Curious, she, too, sniffed, wondering what smell he was trying to find. Only the overwhelming scents of sanitizer and body odor greeted her.
Her attention returned to him when he continued speaking, only to pause again.
“A… host?” She gawked at him as he decided on a direction. “Wait, wait, wait,” she hurried after him, speaking quickly. “We talking demonic possession, or invasion of the body snatchers?” She took a deep breath, catching Darsby’s glance in the corner of her eye, the hubbub of a hospital in panic fading more into background noise.
Part of her felt like this had to be a dream, from his magic to the chaos around them. Perhaps her lucid dreams had taken an unusual turn, and she was still in bed. But then, this felt different. Her real life had never integrated itself into them before, the drabness of reality merging with the luridness of her dreams.
There’s always a first for everything…
Darsby’s voice regained her attention, interrupting her silent debate. Her steps faltered when she again met his gaze, his expression uncharacteristically empathetic.
Anora took another deep breath and nodded once. Though she hated not at least knowing exactly what she was up against, another part of her relished the excitement of not knowing. Besides, the panic and terror hanging thick in the air reminded her that now was not exactly the time for explanations or debating on what was real. She could decide if she was dreaming later.
Right now, Darsby was—or at least seemed to be—on a mission to save the people in the hospital. And she out to make sure he succeeded. She was the reason he could hardly walk straight. The least she could do was make sure he survived.
Though his empathy disappeared as suddenly as it had come, at least it had been something. She stepped after them, determination on her face as she kept a vigilant eye out for the next few paces, ready to look away at the smallest hint of blue.
Noticing a woman who looked about ready to play hero against the heroes—if Darsby really was one of the good guys—Anora moved to place herself between Darsby and the woman. Purple crackled at her fingertips, ready to create a barrier to keep the woman back, but the magic proved unnecessary.
The piercing bang of gunshots echoed down the hall, freezing Anora’s feet, heart, and lungs for a precious second. Screams rang off the tiles as shouting workers, patients, and guests scurried for cover. The woman lost her nerve and ducked into the nearest room, slamming the door behind her. Anora could only stare down the hall, hoping the shots meant a police officer had taken down whatever plagued the wing.
An instinct to run toward the sound, to make sure no one had been hurt, made her take a hasty step forward before the lighting flickered ominously where the hall branched off again. In the silence of everyone taking cover, a sliding scuttle replaced the sounds of fear in the now mostly deserted space.
She gasped and stumbled back when something crawled into their view only a few yards away. She watched the spider-like creature, eyes wide in awe and fear. It clumsily banged into anything it could find, searching, oblivious to its remaining audience. The clatter of medical equipment, papers, and furniture scattering over the linoleum drowned out the soft sound of of its lurching movements.
She took another partial step back so she stood slightly behind Darsby. “What—” she began, but Darsby interrupted.
“I…” She quickly wiped the shock from her face as well as she could, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the monster's rumpus. “Yeah,” she affirmed, her voice firm. “I’ve got this.”
Acting quickly before the thing’s attention turned to them, Anora moved her right foot forward, angling herself toward the creature and giving her a better shot. Purple mist formed and curled over her arm, the gold ring of her eyes intensifying and their violet glowing faintly in the dim light.
She watched the creature for only a second as it crashed its way closer, then thrust her arm toward it.
In the blink of an eye, energy surged down her hand and from her fingers, lighting the hallway. Four strands of misty black-speckled-violet and golden sparks shot toward the creature, following Anora’s silent orders to tangle around the monster from all sides, ready to shift trajectory or explode into a confining shield if the spidery thing tried to dodge or attack.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

“Of course you do, Featherhead,” Elayra snorted. “You could always refuse and let us have to sit in the dark all night. With the moans of the ghosts to keep us company.”
As if a spirit had heard her words, a quiet, muffled moan floated through the clearing. A ghostly form blurred from the clearing’s magic flitted in and out of existence at the edge of the area, its pale body appearing to reflect the dimming blue light and set it aglow.
Elayra tensed, her empty hand clenching around the hilt of her sword.
“Sure. Control the magic,” she answered his second question. Exhaling heavily, she stiffly forced her hand from her sword and reached into the center of the wood pile. She quickly created a small pocket amidst the kindling.
“This,” she held up the small cotton ball between two fingers, “is a CottonTail fire starter. Can't find anything easier to light.” She placed the fire starter in the kindling pocket. “But fire’s the worst thing to start a beginner off on,” she continued darkly, drawing once more on the few lessons in magic Drust had given her. “Igniculus is supposed to summon a small flame, but a spark’s all Drust and I can ever manage even with stronger spells. And that’s when we’re lucky. For just a spark…”
She trailed off, her mouth twisting upward for a moment in thought. She tried to remember the spell for a simple focus word, one beneath even igniculus. She had known it once, but ill-use had faded the memory. Her scowl returned.
“I… can’t remember,” she admitted grudgingly. “You’ll just have to try igniculus.” She sighed, hating the idea of Ghent using fire magic at all with his track record. “Focus on the fire starter, and only the fire starter, and command just a tiny flame from the magic. Hold your hands over the wood if you think it’ll help.”
Drust groaned and shifted. Elayra’s hand went again to her sword.
“Don’t even think about Drust,” she began without taking her eyes from her guardian. “If he wakes up Curse driven, I’ll deal with him while you focus on not burning us all alive.”
Without waiting for Ghent’s response, she stood and took the couple strides to place herself between Ghent and Drust. She did her best to not show the fatigue that made her muscles complain against her movements.
Jaw tight, she drew her sword, the metallic hiss of the blade sliding free a reassuring sound to her. She stuck its tip in the ground and crouched behind it. Her left hand gripped the hilt, ready to pull it free.
“Extinguo puts fires out.” She angled herself to keep Ghent in her peripherals, ready to either spring away from flames or to pacify Drust if he woke up with the Crimson Curse in charge. “Especially magic fires. Practice saying both before you try.”

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

Aaah! Hello! And welcome back! Sorry for the delay. I haven't been getting on much as of late. Been distracted with other things. I'm absolutely still up for this roleplay if you are! And have the patience to wait for responses from me. Heh. My list of projects is really long at the moment, so my inspiration is everywhere yet often nowhere.

Anyway. Hope everything worked out well and is going good for you! I'm going to send you my email in a PM, if you don't mind, if I haven't done so already. Just so you have it. If I get into one of my avoiding-the-internet moods, you're welcome to poke me on there. Or chat if you have a gmail account/Hangouts.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra shot Ghent a murderous glare at his reminder of her thanks. “Shut up and do what I said!” she snapped, her attention shifting between Ghent and Drust. She scowled as she noticed the blue glow from Margen’s lights had dimmed since forming.
As Ghent rooted around in her backpack, she stole a glance to the orbs. As she feared, they looked smaller, the electricity a bit less energetic than before.
“Hurry up, Featherhead!” she muttered, casting another glance toward the small box she had abandoned at the side of the stacked wood.
She released a heavy breath she had not realized she held when Ghent found the rope.
She moved closer to Drust as Ghent rejoined her, shoving the rope at her. She gave a quick, stiff nod to Ghent’s first request. Letting the rope fall to the ground and using her aching arm more as a support, she helped roll Drust over onto his stomach.
The fatigue eating at her muscles made the man feel heavier than she expected. He moaned and shifted at the movement. Elayra swore she saw his eyelids flutter, but it could easily have been a trick of the light.
“Too much time, too much extra rope,” she snapped at Ghent’s suggestion of how to tie up Drust. She swiftly drew her dagger and cut two lengths of rope out of the longer strand. She replaced her weapon and tossed the longer of the two pieces to Ghent. “Get his feet.” She sat on Drust’s back, one knee on either side of the massive man. “Make sure it’s above his boots,” she added hastily.
Even if he messes that up, she thought to herself, pulling both of Drust’s hands behind his back, it’ll still trip him up for a second if we need it to… but we won’t need it to, she tried convincing herself.
She made short work of Drust’s hands. With familiar, practiced movements, she looped the rope around his wrists in an intricate, tight knot. One of his hands reflexively tried to jerk away, nearly pulling her off balance, but she grit her teeth and held it firmly until she finished.
Not wanting to waste the remaining light, she quickly got up from Drust and returned to the firepit.
“Got that, Featherhead?” she asked, sparing Ghent barely a glance as she hastily stuffed dried leaves and smaller twigs in the opening of the wood pile.
She popped the top of the lid open, its hinges squeaking lightly, and let out a low, dismayed growl. Two compartments created the inside of the box, one housing a couple wads of what looked like extra fluffy cotton, and the other empty.
Regardless, she pulled out one of the fluffy white balls, the orbs of light growing ever smaller and casting more shadows over the clearing. Just smaller than your average cotton ball, she cupped it in her hand and took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind and reach out to the magic of the world.
She felt the magic against her subconsciousness, sick and angry, a creature caged within its own domain. It made a pit form in her stomach as it tried to knowledge her, coming in quick weak lashes as it fought against the Curse.
Gaze intent on the cottony ball, she breathed out, “Igniculus!”
She felt the magic try to surge in her palm, only to fall away from her, the focus word not strong enough to break past the Curse’s restrictions. She grit her teeth and tried again, saying the word louder and with more conviction, but it offered no improvement.
She glared at Ghent in the remaining light. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Feel like using more magic?” she growled reluctantly, rubbing her thumb against the feathery soft ball of fluff.