Byte

On the Wings of Dragons

Nimmy: "I'm with the dwarf, fuck off."

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

Post's up! Apparently weekend in my mind is a Wednesday. Hope Trish's magic responded accordingly.

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

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Trish muttered the words, focused more on matching the cadence and speed at which Juniper chanted than getting it right on the first try. The second run was smoother, still clumsy on the final bits because she found the words humorous. The third run was good. Solid. Firm. She kept it.

“From now until then, may this magic unite. Bind us always in Nature’s light.”

Trish could feel an unknown force surge through her body. Almost hot to the touch in a sense, like a fire being reignited as another log touches the simmering flames. Familiar, almost, as her muscles tensed in response. Because, fuck, it felt suspiciously like that first time her bedding caught on fire and she got grounded for smoking indoors. Not that she did smoke, but at that point she’d latched onto the lie and had long since stopped correcting how her parents misinterpreted any consequences when they caught her.

“Beatrice Olivia McKinley!”

Trish could already imagine the shrill shriek of her perfectionist mother, wide-eyed and fuming when she caught her daughter in the middle of changing her pillow cover. The argument that followed had the punk girl’s signature scowl staring into some polished, practiced mug that her mother used when counting to ten and composing herself. Trish simply threw expletives and obscene gestures at a living brick wall of a human being. Because in the end what mattered to her parents was composure, meticulousness and not looking like next week’s gossip.

Trish’s face scrunched, instinct telling her to fight the feeling while another softer voice told her to relax. Breathe in, breathe out. What normally followed the sudden heat and burning sensation wasn’t the anxious licking of flames at every flammable furniture or object, but the crackle of a campfire after a long trek in the mud. Trish’s body decided it could relax at that. Set shoulders lowering, flexed fingers not curling into fists but a natural state as though wanting to hold that feeling.

Trish’s body glowed, then that spark of a fire at her fingertips. Not aggressive, but measured where the small flame grew and crawled along tattooed arms up to her shoulders. Clothing not catching fire this time around. Good. Standing here naked would’ve been awkward. Her magic flickered, the charm activating through a newfound bond, flame-like wings sprawling outward from her shoulders. It held for a moment, then settled back. Retreating the way the flame came.

… And what lingered wasn’t the smoke of a raging forest fire, but the soothing warmth of something settling like found family.

“That was… New.” Definitely unexpected. For once Trish didn’t offer her usual quip or any sideways comment. Just drank in the experience for a moment.

Intriguingly's

Post is up! Sorry for the delay and all that.

Intriguingly's

Allie was in her element. Places like these crawled with stories she could tell in that exaggerated tone where Amanda and her other friends needed to stare incredulous and in awe at the same time. Tiny oil paintings of swirls and shapes that probably depicted humans like Edvard Munch’s The Scream. Very disproportionate, and yet very funny. The smirk crept wider, head tilted into something curious when her eyes fell on the other visitors. A young woman, somewhere around her age, maybe not. Looked bookish, the type her kind used to irritate for sport in high school because back then she didn’t know better. The skater gal’s smirk became an apologetic smile while she browsed the rest of the shop.

The other people, some influencer who’d been recording when he stepped in made Allie’s nose scrunch. Not that she had much ground to stand on. She overshared pretty much anything, but to strangers? Yeah, not exactly worth her time if she was being honest. The other man, tall, broad shouldered. Honestly a variety of people around.

Allie huffed, her attention caught by the sudden clang of something clattering down. Maybe falling, she couldn’t quite say. The shrill voice of the owner ringing out with what she figured must either be annoyance or a default tone. Allie sidled along stacks of second hand books and some old Victorian-style oil lamp when she noticed the stand-up mirror. Decorated with an ornate wooden frame. Those classic swirls and cured oak. It glowed at the edges of the mirror. Allie paused, blinked to make sure she wasn’t dreaming and it did it again as if responding.

“That, ah…” She scratched her cheek, eyes trying to catch any attention. A vague gesture towards the mirror’s third glow, like a pulse that made her imagine she could travel through into a different realm. “Anyone else seeing this?” She asked nobody in particular, doubt laced in her usually chirpy voice. Her sneakers squeaked when she took a half step back, mouth open. Perplexed.

On the Wings of Dragons

Nimethel

Nimethel

Name: Nimethel

Age: 28

Description:
Coiled muscle and a lithe frame. As a Beastkin, Nimethel is built for long chases and longer stillness. Not exactly a strong arm, but fast and limber. Short for her kind, which she feels is an advantage in her typical line of work. Black-spotted grey fur and yellow cat’s eyes. Wears leathers and cloaks, tight fits, silver mane of hair done up in braids she once learned from the Dwarves.

Nimethel is curt before she is kind. Direct before she shows emotion. Not grumpy, but generally unfamiliar with immediate kindness and kinship. Formality serves her better, and is more honest when responding to hostility and caution than openness.

Race: Beastkin - Mountain lion

Nation: Feros-born

Magic type: Mana - Nimethel’s abilities are more obfuscation than grand displays of roaring storms and raging waters. She uses stealth, and enjoys the minimalist nature of proving that mana doesn’t need to be thrown like a weight in boxing matches.

Abilities:
Nimethel’s abilities center around hiding in plain sight. Flickers of light refracted to cover tracks, shadows curled where they didn't provide enough cover. If necessary Nimethel can use it offensively as well. Shadow-y tendrils to restrain or cut opponents. Illusions to distract and give her opportunity to strike in stealth. Owns an enchanted bow that allows her to fire magically conjured light arrows.

Background:
A beastkin with no tribe, Nimethel has survived the majority of Feros life stealing, reaving and particularly never staying in one place for far too long. Perhaps expected given Beastkin nomadic ways, but hers were always frequent. Leaving when the footing got too hot and her face was drawn on a wanted poster. She didn’t become a dragon rider by choice. Rather, Nimethel bonded with the only creature she ever could. A dragon who, much like herself, decidedly avoided the light and refused to be bound by pack or clan. The choice to actually join the alliance, however? That was a cruel proposition by government officials when Nimethel was finally in cuffs. Be sentenced or serve in an effort to fight a greater threat. That Nirri was implied a not-so-merciful end made the Beastkin clench her teeth and accept the terms. Not out of love or hate for something that may well be an unstoppable force, but because they might've hurt Nirri.

And that... Was enough.

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Nyrrimae

Dragon name: Nyrrimae “Niri”

Type: Ferosi Bonepale Wyrm

Description:
A young female dragon of the Feros deserts where it roamed underground and endured warmth and cold alike. Nyrrimae is a Wyrmling that has lived her life in darkness and shadow. Effectively blind and senses by smell, hearing and a special membrane along her limbs, neck and tail to detect vibrations. Bonepale scales, paler eyes, frills along her spine. Three-toed claws on short legs mostly meant for digging through rough stone and dense dirt. The typical dragon's breath is a powerful echolocation that doubles as a sonic scream to disorient foes. Her wings are sturdy yet small, making travel for more than one rider an impossible task. She’s big, but not necessarily a giant. Relatively small and dense compared to many other dragons. Bulky in order to survive the land and endurance to withstand potential hazards. Nyrrimae isn’t fast, her kind never is.

Intriguingly's

@Stryder BC Definitely still here! Sorry for letting peeps worry!

Shadow's Vigil (SporkoBug x Byte)

Ophelia nodded attentively at Naomi’s instructions and suggestions, though couldn’t help but allow the tiniest of bemused smiles to twitch at her normally thinned lips when the older woman mentioned knitting projects. “There’s this romance book I’ve been reading, I’ll bring that.” Cheeks flushed a little at the admission of reading something so sappy. The other things were eagerly remembered as well. Toiletries, assuming they’d be capable of washing at all, spare clothes.

“Right, civilians shouldn’t peg us as troublemakers.” That made sense, and it was a fact Ophelia made sure to remember like scripture. Stealth and a measured approach since common folk typically had no knowledge of the Ether and its influence beyond weird occurrences they’d often attribute to folklore or just an anomaly in their typical lives. As for weapons she could bring the Vigil’s signature weapons. Sword, hunting knife. Some salt, and of course any rituals they might need.

Or actually hoped they wouldn’t need.

The younger woman sighed, fingers flexing as if the letter had left its mark. Naomi seemed so serena, practiced despite the idea that they’d have to brave Ether-tainted grounds. The thought alone sent shivers down Ophelia’s spine before steeling herself into it.

Or pretending to, at least.

“I must gather my things. Quill and ink, too.” She paused once she stood, her hand clasping at an imaginary pendant. “For documenting. They expect an accounting of our findings. Detailed, even.” Ophelia’s head bowed evenly, only a small dip to show her honest respect to Naomi while thoughts and plans raced through her ever rattling mind.

“I will see to provisions as well.” A soft smile as she turned to leave. “Do you enjoy candied ginger, Mama Moose?” The question was innocent enough to make anyone think Ophelia was many years younger than she actually was. Practiced in theory, but green on the field. She’d essentially been given her examination properly now.

On the Wings of Dragons (No longer recruiting for now)

Tentatively interested. Is there any information about how dragon riders are chosen/trained? Meeting and bonding with dragons how that works specifically?

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

Lovely post! Will work on a reply over the weekend. Just out of curiosity, we're free to interpret how our witches experience the new bond and how their magic may respond to it, right?