Riven Wight

Blood Trails (Siaya-Dragalorn x AutumnFrost)

Taya Turner

Full Name: Taya Celest Turner

Nickname: She prefers her full first name, but her family likes to call her Tay. It’s taking some getting used to being called by her surname. Let alone Agent Turner.

Age on File: 24

Appeared Age: Often hears around 19. And that she “looks rather young to be an agent.”

General Appearance: Taya stands at around 5-feet, 7-inches tall, and weighs around 130 lbs, depending on the day. She has a fairly pleasant, lean face. Artificial dark blond streaks highlight her otherwise brown hair, which she has cut just long enough to successfully tie up in a ponytail to keep it out of her way. She has hazel eyes that appear to shift from greenish-gray to golden brown. She is also relatively tan from spending a good deal of time outside in the sun, especially from frequent physical training outdoors.

Distinguishing Marks: She has a tattoo of an elegant crescent moon draped with gold chains on her right shoulder. A series of purple and red roses bloom across the bottom curve of the crescent. Its placement allows it to be fairly easily covered by a simple t-shirt if need be. The design is from a drawing her dad drew up for her on a card he gave her when she graduated high school. A few months before the man died in a car accident.

Clothes Wear: When on the job, she wears simple business casual clothes, with dark pants and typically neutral colored shirts. However, she wears more comfortable shoes than what’s standard for that particular attire, making sure to be ready for anything. Off the job, she wears whatever she finds comfortable for that day, from shorts and a tang top to jeans and a hoodie.

Accessories: Besides a belt for her gun, maybe the occasional set of earrings when she remembers she has the holes for them.

Weapons: Standard issue 9mm Glock.

Skills: She’s fairly agile, well-trained in self-defense, and proficient at shooting.

Personality: Taya is a bubbly, kind girl who is typically good with people. Though she’s often been told that the job would eat someone like her alive, she never lost heart, and proved herself time and again both through her schooling and in both the written and physical fitness tests required to enter the FBI. She can be serious when she needs to be, but often gets overly passionate about things. She is determined to do her part in keeping people safe, no matter the cost to her. She still has the temperament and spark of a hopeful youth in her eyes, and a bit of a bounce in her step she often tries to hide to avoid looking as fresh out of the academy as she actually is.

Opinion on the Werewolves: There’s no way she’d outright admit it, especially to her new partner, but the apparent reveal about werewolves being more than monsters from legend equally excites and frightens her. She wants to be a believer, but since she hasn’t actually seen the wolves for herself to know that it was real and not a hoax, she keeps a fair dose of skepticism about her. Though, of course, that was until getting the assignment to keep an eye on one William Grant, an advocate for the supposed werewolves. After all, what kind of agent would she be if she believed every little tale she heard?

Ticks and Tags: She often mutters to herself or otherwise makes some kind of noise when she think’s she’s alone and it’s a little too quiet. Tends to tap her chin or tug at her ear while thinking.

Family: Parents: Isabel Turner, Johnathan Turner (deceased). Siblings: Owen Turner, age 20, currently a local police officer in his current town. Sophia Turner, age 14, with no desire to go into law enforcement.

FBI Rank: Newbie field agent. Though, she has to admit, she’s still a bit in shock about that. For some reason, the well-known Eli Archer, a.k.a. the Undertaker, decided to request her as his newest field partner. Though she'd like to think it has to do with receiving top scores in nearly every aspect of her exams and he saw potential in her, she has the suspicion it has more to do with him needing someone not so, well, cold to deal with other people, and she simply got lucky. Which, with the apparent rumor he's rather superstitious, she can’t help but wonder if he’s hoping that “beginner's luck” will follow her and rub off on him in turn.

---

Eli Archer

Full Name: Azriel Eli Archer.

Nickname: He always goes by Eli, never his first name. Most people don't even know it's not his first name. But unless you’re someone he considers an equal or one of his superiors, it’s Archer. Though, there’s a joke in the bureau where they refer to him the Undertaker because of, well, his everything. He’s well aware of it, but with the amount of sway he has with the director, they don’t dare call him that to his face. Much to his chagrin, the Undertaker nickname has migrated even beyond his coworkers, becoming something even others outside the FBI know him as.

Age on File: 37

Appeared Age: At a quick glance, he hears late twenties to early thirties. But the aura about him from the way he carries himself usually fixes this underestimate.

General Appearance: Eli is a tall, thin man, standing at roughly 6-foot 2-inches. He has pointed, slender features, from his dark eyebrows to his chin and nose. He has fair skin, icy blue eyes, and prefers to keep his grayish-black hair slicked back. He’s also a lot more fit than you’d expect from your average American 37-year-old.

Distinguishing Marks: He has a thin, pale scar running from the corner of his jaw down to his prominent collarbone on his left side. Another scar creates a jagged X on top of his right hand.

Clothes Wear: Gray and black suits, and neatly polished dress shoes. His coworkers have often held debates on whether or not the man sleeps in the things.

Accessories: A single silver stud earring in his left ear. A smartwatch he wears on his right wrist, though it’s often covered up by the sleeve of his suit jacket. A black leather belt. Otherwise, he keeps his badge tucked inside a hidden pocket in his jacket.

Weapons: A standard-issue 9mm Glock handgun with standard bullets. He has a secondary Sig P226 he’s purchased for himself. He always keeps spare bullets in his car.

Skills: He’s well-versed in martial arts and self-defense, is a marksman with his guns, and knows multiple languages.

Personality: Eli’s the cold, aloof type. It takes a lot to impress him. His only love seems to be his work, and it shows in his devotion to the job. He’s extremely blunt and straightforward. What patience he shows is always a cracked mask, and he holds himself with an air of dignity that demands respect. To this end, it’s helpful for him to have a more sociable agent as a partner. He’s also, surprisingly, rather superstitious. He does his best to avoid your typical, well, superstitions. Unless he’s on a chase or other work-related incident that requires him to put this aside, he’ll avoid walking under ladders, tries to not step on cracks, and all that good ol’ stuff. He even keeps a rabbit’s foot (an actual rabbit’s foot, not a fake one) on his keychain, and a four-leaf clover preserved in resin hangs from the mirror of his car. A car that, like him, always smells of sage and cinnamon, and is kept clean to the point of obsessiveness.

Opinion on the Werewolves: He hates the whole situation. He loathes that he got assigned to babysit one of the ‘wolves, and isn’t afraid to say so, but isn’t the type to turn down a case when it’s given to him. He’s a fan of the belief that the whole thing’s some sort of elaborate hoax, and advocates for that ruling becoming the popular belief.

Quirks: If his arms aren’t crossed when standing idle, the fingers of one hand are likely tapping against his pantleg, almost like he’s playing the piano one-handed.

Tags: Always smells of an odd mix of sage and cinnamon. If you get a whiff of this, chances are, he’s fairly close by. He’s also well known for going through a lot of partners. Not too many can stand working that close with him, and often request a transfer within a month. Which he likes to think of as weeding out the weaklings.

Family: Deceased.

FBI Rank: Seasoned field agent. Despite his reputation as the Undertaker, he’s highly respected and often gets high-profile cases. His case record is impeccable, with only one case in his whole fourteen-year career ever going unsolved. And that one he still, to this day, blames on his no-good partner at the time.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Arla took another deep breath. On the up side, the gate hadn’t opened that she’d noticed. It seemed Rayth had at least taken her threats to heart. Or, at the very least, hadn’t deemed her worth coming after.
Unless he’s taking a less direct rout. The thought crept into her mind. She looked behind her again, half expecting to come face-to-face with the red-eyed boy. But, of course, only empty field met her.
Legs itching for action, she stood and moved to step back around the train cars toward the fence. But the motion made it feel like someone had tilted the ground under her feet. Scowling, she put a hand on the metal of the car to steady herself.
Whatever she did, she’d have to wait for that to wear off first.
Keeping one hand on the car as much as possible, she moved around to the side of the train facing the fairgrounds. She took deep, slow breaths, hoping the clear air would help chase out the effects of the smoke.
She walked along the train, trying to get a feel for the size of the fairground. Further ahead, she could make out where the fence turned at a corner of the grounds. Its wood turned into mesh fencing to keep intruders off the train tracks, marking where one area ended and the other continued.
She turned to head back toward where she’d started. With the way she’d acted, she suspected getting Rayth away from the others now would be difficult, especially if he had stayed at the afterparty. If she couldn’t get him out, then somehow, she needed to get a message to the ringmistress. She had to warn her that…
Arla paused and ran a hand down her face with a soft groan. Warn her of what?
She doubted telling the woman that she had a vampire in her circus would do anything besides have Arla dubbed as certifiable. As quick as she’d come to accept it, she knew how difficult it would be for anyone else to swallow.
Maybe, if she diluted the truth just enough, leaving out the vampire bit, she would have a chance of getting through to Frieda. But then, if they were really all like family, all it could take was a single appalled denial from Rayth to overrule her accusation. She had, after all, just shown up out of nowhere, while Rayth had had his place among them established for who knows how long.
But she had to at least try to warn Frieda, even if she wouldn’t take her word for it. Which meant she’d need another way back in. That, and a way to get the woman alone without going back to the afterparty.
She glanced up to the tent tops rising well above the fence. The Big Top was an option. Perhaps she could find a worker somewhere around there willing to request Frieda’s presence for her.
All the thinking was starting to make her head ache. Though, she supposed, it could just be an aftereffect of the incense. Hopefully from her reaction to it starting to wear off.
She passed the gate she’d come through. All she had to do was find another entrance. Another gate fairly close to the Big Top would be nice, but she supposed if she absolutely had to, she knew a spot where she could make it over the top.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Ah, gotchya. I don't know. I feel like it'd be easier to actually get her to stay/go back if I hadn't had her notice that. I swear. I know what that brain fog feels like first-hand. Just minus the drug part. xD Anyway, I didn't want to end up making you wait longer than necessary depending on your response here, but wanted to wait for it before trying to work around myself, just in case, so did type up that alternate in free time last night. Tacked it onto the end of that IC post in a hider.

I know it's minor. I'm honestly also trying to make my next post easier on me, too, without inadvertently making things difficult on you with editing or anything. xD One of those, "Wait... what did I just do to myself?!" moments that dawned when spurred to figure out how she'd react from here. Be easier and more character-fitting, I feel, to convince her to go back/hang around with the fear of a single entity, than the fear of the many.

Anyway. It's actually past my bedtime--the joy of being nocturnal, and taking a nap when you shouldn't have. Popped on here before getting ready to lay down, saw the response, and figured I'd get this in before crashing. Let me know what you think and don't mind me doing, I'll erase the unneeded version via IC when I get up and have time, and get started on an actual reply after that.

Also, patience from you is so greatly appreciated, you have no idea. So thanks much! Have a good one!

Blood Trails (Siaya-Dragalorn x AutumnFrost)

Okay. OCD satisfied! xD

Love that this starts in winter! I'm so sick of summer it isn't funny. Mmm. Hot chocolate. And ooh! So it's the classic turned/created werewolves, not born-into-it werewolves! Or a mix thereof? Either way, cool!

A'right! Down to business! Where, exactly, is it we're starting here? Like, where in the timeline? Is this before or after the werewolves reveal their existence? Is their meeting for something regarding the pre-mentioned murder(s), or something just before? Maybe, since he ended up being one of those on the front line for the reveal, he basically has FBI handlers recruited to look into him more and both help keep him safe from those hostile against the idea, and to make sure that the people of the city are safe from him. Oh, and on him, how old does he appear in current RP time? Same as when he lost his family?

Then, what would you say to humans still being on the skeptical side? Like, some believe it's real, others think it's an elaborate hoax, while still more are on the fence about it? Would indicate it's something extremely new.

Then, did we want use our own fictitious city for this, or base it off of a real-world one (with creative liberties)? Or... we could mix it. Base it off of a real-world city, but it's set sort of in an alternate dimension type deal? Either way, since he's a face of it all, I feel like a larger, prominent city might fit nicely. Makes for more the potential of larger trouble. What say you? And are you okay with me making a pair of agents rather than just one? I feel like they'd likely get sent out in a pair for something like this. One would likely be more of the dominant MC for me, while the other would be more an important secondary.

And I feel like we need to name the event of them coming out. Give it an acronym or something. Seems like something society would do. Hmm. My brain has one suggestion to offer for that right now:
The W.I.R. (pronounced Weer?) Project? Short for Werewolves Interpolation Reveal?

Oh, and what are the abilities of your werewolves? Like, how would their skills help in a murder investigation? What could they pick out or not pick out from something like that, and can they smell/sense other supernatural creatures nearby?

Blood Trails (Siaya-Dragalorn x AutumnFrost)

[Secondary Reserve]

Blood Trails (Siaya-Dragalorn x AutumnFrost)

Nutshell synopsis: A tale of a werewolf who teams up with two FBI agents in order to solve a series of murders in a time soon after werewolves revealed their existence to the world.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Sorry for not responding here sooner. Thank you sooo much for answering and confirming all that! I like the reason behind the hunters not attacking the place. And fantastic regarding the defenses!

So, I struggled with my last post. Among other reasons (the muse went on strike for me. Musta given the wrong offering or something xD) I had been trying to figure out whether or not you were trying to imply you were hoping she would notice what was going on behind her or not. Honestly, I should have just asked if you were trying to give a nudge toward that with the comments about her finding out anyway, but apparently I was in a mood and, obviously, didn't. *Rolls eyes exasperatedly at self.* Anyway, your last post did make me question that. So! Regardless, because of her recent supernatural encounter, she'd wind up leaving the afterparty and not wanting him to follow. Too fresh in her mind for her to consider hanging with a vampire at the moment, no matter how harmless he's been. She'd leave with different reactions since she wouldn't have the concern about other creatures, but it wouldn't be difficult to make a couple tweaks to take that out without ultimately voiding yours!

Sorry for not asking about that in the first place! :-/

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Sorry for the wait here! Correct! Well, with the given information. Omitten say 14 to keep it simple and be on the safe side. But if you want to get into the technicalities of it, the Forgen would be, at the oldest, somewhere between 13 and 14. Those initially affected would include the current unborn at the time the Curse was enacted, so most actual 14-year-olds would be a Forsaken rather than a Forgen.

"If it looks even remotely like it’s under fourteen, don’t go near it.”

Elayra

Which essentially means that most of the animals of Wonderland are Forgen now, with the rare long-lived exception, while the human population is a good mix of them and the Forsaken.

...I actually forgot about the Safe Zone thing. xD Thanks for letting me know!

Welcome to the English language. Glad it actually made sense and helped you out! Remember, if there's something you're not sure about, but you need a quicker answer and I don't get to you soon enough, Google is a great resource! Most of what I know comes from my grandfather, school teachers/professors, personal research, and--be it consciously or subconsciously--paying attention to certain things while reading!

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Arla’s brows rose at Rayth’s expressive reaction to her question. She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her, or genuinely surprised. Either way, she hadn’t thought it was that stupid or shocking of a guess. She tilted his head as he took a deep breath, deciding he was being genuine. That, or one good actor.
Rayth’s tone made her steps hesitate as the boy answered her. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, trying to figure out what else it could be. Then, he met her gaze. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
She stopped at the completion of his answer. That only one of those two was an act.
For a moment, she wasn’t sure she heard him right. Or he was trying to freak her out, to keep with the show. Rather, she hoped he was messing with her.
“You can’t seriously be implying…” But the sincerity in his eyes cut the words short. Whether his gaze or something else, she was certain he wasn’t lying. Somehow, it made perfect sense.
Her muscles tensed and heart quickened. A mix of exasperation and the alert fear of recognition hardened her emerald gaze. There was apparently no escaping the supernatural.
She moved one hand to her side, thankful she had forgotten to hide the hunting knife at her belt before entering the circus. Her fingers twitched toward it, brushing the hilt, but she hesitated. Unlike the last thing she’d used it on, chances were, Rayth could disarm her in a blink. And he knew his way around a blade far better than she did.
Yet, his tone and the way he held himself made him look more… subdued. It hadn’t been a threat. Simply a statement of fact, as if a vampire being in a circus was a simple part of another typical day. Her fear gave way an inch, making her brow furrow in confused curiosity. He was shockingly ready to tell her he wasn’t human—even if indirectly.
She tried to take a couple breaths to steady herself and her panicking thoughts. He didn’t feel like an immediate danger to her. Her first impression of him even struck her as someone she would look forward to getting to know.
But that didn’t change that he wasn’t human. And the only reason she could think of for him to be so quick to tell her what he was, was he didn’t expect her to live to see the next morning to start trouble for him over it.
She took a couple steps away from him and swallowed, her gaze shifting toward the lawn, but still keeping Rayth’s legs in sight.
She shook her head subtly in disbelief at her foul luck. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think she was somehow attracting these things now.
“I’m not doing this again,” she breathed, her jaw tight. Her fingers tensed around her knife’s handle, trying to hide their trembling.
As confident in her running abilities as she was, at the moment, she was lucky to be capable of walking. But unlike before, she knew the way out. And here, she wasn’t alone. If he tried to follow her out, all she had to do was make a scene, to shout loud enough to gain the attention of the partygoers. As strong as lore made vampires out to be, he’d be vastly outnumbered here. Or so she hoped.
She raised her gaze back to his face, hard determination mingling with the fear in her eyes. Despite the sinking certainty he could overpower her before she could even think to draw it, she still kept her hold on the knife, ready to pull it out if he so much as twitched in a way she didn’t like. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had.
She edged slowly toward the gate, careful to keep some distance between them. She kept her gaze fixed on Rayth, using his stable sight as a new anchor to hopefully keep the fog in her mind at bay.
“I’ve already dealt with two of your murderous pals,” she hissed, trying to sound menacing while struggling to keep a slight tremor from her voice. She reached a hand out to the gate, using her peripherals to find the latch. “If you don’t want to make that tally three,” she lifted the latch, glad when it came free easily, “I suggest you don’t come after me.”
Without giving him the time to respond, she opened the gate and slipped out of the backyard. Heart pounding in her throat, she pulled it shut behind her. She stepped backward away from the gate, not daring to take her eyes off it yet. If an enraged vampire was going to come after her, she’d rather know.
She hissed when she again stumbled over her own feet on the more earthy, uneven ground outside the fenced fairgrounds. This time, she managed to stay on her feet without aid.
And the gate remained closed.
Reluctantly, she took her eyes from it long enough to scan the new surroundings of the railroad. More of a private affair, a train sat on a set of tracks a few yards from fence. A logo akin to the one on the black invitation stood out on the sides of a few of the cars.
With a last, backward glance to the gate, she hurried toward the train. She took it slower than she would have liked, not comfortable with trying to run with her head still filled with the wisps of fog from her incense allergy. Worried the quick motion of glancing behind her would make her lose her balance, she kept her gaze ahead.
She carefully made it to the opposite side of the car, out of direct sight from anyone who may come through the gate. Taking a deep, shaky breath of the warm, evening air, she leaned her back heavily against the train car. The scent of the incense lingered in her nostrils and on her clothes, mingling with the smells of metal, oil, and residue of carnival confections.
Arla scanned the area behind the train and fairground, searching for pursuers—be it Rayth, or somehow the warehouse-duo seeking vengeance. Only empty field and another set of unoccupied train tracks greeted her.
She let out a heavy exhale. She pushed from the train car and crouched near the car’s front. She peered around it between the space between the connected cars, absently watching the gate. To steady herself, she placed one hand on the metal of the train car above her.
A small voice at the back of her mind urged her to stop and think things through. So far, she’d taken things as they came, one improvisation after another. Having dozed off during the day on the bus ride to L.A., she hadn’t fully stopped to consider a practical plan B if the circus didn’t work out.
Her hand clenched into a fist and she huffed out a breath toward the ground. The circus had been her best hope of escaping both the tedium of her home life, and the supernaturals possibly still tracking her. But even it apparently had a monster problem. A problem she doubted any of them knew they had.
She cast another glance around her, then closed her eyes. She took a few slow, deep breaths, trying to slow her heart rate and calm her raging, crowded mind. She concentrated on the feel of the darkness around her, on the soft, cool shadow of the train car draped over her.
Though she never could figure out why, once the sun set, the darkness felt more like a comforting friend than a conniving foe. It silently spurred her on, promising to aid her where it could in whatever escapades she took on. Focusing on that sensation, she felt the tension and alarm from running into another supernatural monster ease up. Though not by much, it was enough for her to subtract it as a mental obstacle. Even the haze of the incense lifted a fraction.
She opened her eyes and looked back to the gate. A handful of blinding lights still shone about the fairgrounds, making her squint slightly as she looked above it.
She shifted her weight as her conscience nagged at her. Frieda had been kind to her, offering her sanctuary, and in return, Arla had fled, leaving the ringmistress to deal with the monster hiding in plain sight on her own. There was no telling what damage he could do before someone realized he wasn’t human. If they even realized it.
Though she’d only spent a few minutes with the ringmistress, she couldn’t bring herself to just leave the woman and her troop. With a frustrated growl, she ran her tongue over her teeth in contemplation.
She needed a plan. Because unlike her last encounter, there was more than her own life at stake. She had to find some way to get him out of there, away from where he could hurt someone… and preferably without getting herself killed in the process.
She scowled. Planning was never her strong suit as soon as the change the night brought with it settled in.
Her fingers moved to tap against her knife’s handle. There had to be something she could do. But the question was, what?

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra’s grip tightened around her sword at Ghent’s bold question, his words only whetting her anger. She watched as Ghent did as she told him. Or half of it, at least, the fabric-like sheaths still covering the blades.
“Being under attack isn’t something to joke about!” She swiped her sword through the air in emphasis to her heated words. “If it’s danger you want, I’ll give it to you.” Her chin tilted downward, her voice growing dangerously soft, “Unsheathe your weapon, Humpty Dumpty!” she growled, assuming ‘Princess Mononoke’ was another of his Earth references. “Unless you’d… rather… I…”
Her words trailed off. Her head cocked slightly, catching on to a sound she had failed to notice above her shouts. Or, rather, the lack of sound. The forest had fallen quiet. Too quiet to have fled from her volume alone.
It was the quiet of prey hiding from a predator.
Elayra spun around, breath held and gaze searching. She groaned inwardly. There was no telling what had heard them. All because Ghent had decided to play a twisted joke.
“Unsheathe your weapon,” she repeated over her shoulder to Ghent. This time, soft urgency replaced her loud fury.
Her gaze settled on a small mound of mossy rocks no more than three yards from her. It lurked between where the trees grew closer together, and where they became sparser nearer to the stream. A mound she was certain hadn’t been there before.
Sensing it’d been seen, the pile of rocks came to life. Streaks of fiery red and onyx ignited to life between the stones of its body. It lifted its rocky head, dirt caked between each rock like glue keeping it together.
Its glowing crimson eyes settled on Elayra. Black veins flashed through the ethereal light of its eyes like lightening. A deep hunger shown in their depths. Chunks of loose dirt fell to the ground from its body as it stood on four long legs made from hundreds of pebbles.
Recognition dawned over Elayra as their eyes met. She didn’t dare look away from the creature’s gaze, the gesture seeming to keep them both locked in place.
“Get in the water,” she commanded, not looking to Ghent and keeping her voice low. She stepped back to follow her own instructions without taking her eyes from the newcomer.
At the first sign of movement toward the flowing stream, the rock of the beast’s head cracked opened into a round mouth. It let out a grinding roar. Jagged, crystalline teeth bared, it leapt at Elayra.
Another stony growl rose from nearer to Ghent. The higher-pitched sound rang through the woods as a second, leaner-looking rock monster rushed at him. Two thorny, vine-like tongues unrolled from its mouth. They lashed out like a whip. One reached to latch on to the wrist of Ghent’s weapon-wielding hand, the other his throat, an attempt at disarming him before it’s hefty body could hit its mark.