Riven Wight

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Her mind stuck on her exchange with Trevor just as much as her triumphant over Theurge, she made the journey back to the abandoned school a bit slower than she had intended. How much would she tell Trevor? Could she really drag him into the situation she had found herself? What kind of danger would she be putting him in, and for what? The chances of a human being capable of helping her had to be dismal, at best, and as much as some small part of her wanted a friend, wanted someone of a similar mindset--at least, a human mindset--to lay everything out there with and talk it over, whether she could or could not fix things, he would just be a regret she had to leave behind and another unknown variable.
She shook her head as she neared the school to clear her mind of Trevor, replacing those thoughts with the fight. Every time she saw the school, she swore it looked more decrepit than she remembered it. Inside, she easily found Cerasus waiting for her, alone.
The way he looked at her, the pride he showed toward her, almost made her want to smile. She crossed her arms, satisfaction in her eyes and a smugness to her expression.
“I’ll grant you, you were right. I won,” she reported, though he clearly already guessed as much. “But Dramatic Theurge didn’t want me knowing how he’d concealed your arm. Said he’ll deliver it to Riley.” She paused, a look of contemplation crossing her face. “Did you know he’s the leader of a gang of vampire hunting vampires?”

Of Men and Elves (Siaya-Dragalorn x AutumnFrost)

Ryathane felt Aeylisia’s body tense beneath him, saw her muscles clench as if ready to strike. The boy backed away with feline reflexes, his hand hovering over the hilt of his short sword, ready to draw it from its sheath in an instant.
This is madness! he thought with a quiet snort. He was helping someone who could very well turn against him in the blink of an eye. And, from the looks of it, she intended to do so.
“If you want me to finish sewing your leg,” he began in a low growl, “then you need to calm down.” He enunciated the last two words carefully, forcefully. “I take it your kind has never heard of sarcasm? I meant that I didn’t expect them to declare who they were.”
A silence fell between them. Ryathane crouched, still as a statue and eyes focused on Aeylisia, his hand frozen above the hilt of his weapon, wondering what was running through the elf’s mind. She could be plotting an attack--perhaps weighing the pros and cons of killing him here and now--or had simply fallen quiet, lost in other thoughts. Either way, he did not so much as exhale until the elf finally spoke again. As bitter as her tone was, getting an answer to his question was a good sign. At least in part.
“That’s all I wanted to know.” Slowly, Ryathane returned to finish up Aeylisia’s leg. “They were likely peasants. Villagers,” he said more thinking aloud than speaking to the elf. “Or maybe hired hands to expand a town.” He ran a list of the various towns north of their current position. He had not heard rumor of any needing to expand, but perhaps he had missed it.
He quickly tied off the last of his stitches on Aeylisia’s leg, wiped the needle clean, then put all but the bandages back inside his small medical kit. He wrapped his sewing job up with the wad of bandages.
“Done.” Ryathane wiped his hands on a fairly clean part of his hooded scarf, then put the medical supplies back in their box. He would need to pick up more. The thought made him sigh. “Don’t try walking on it for a while. It might feel fine now, but you wouldn't get more than half a step.”
He closed the box, replaced it in his rugged pack, and stood. He looked into the shadows of the forest the way they had come, as if he could still see the body of the manticore they had slain, though even his eyes could not see further than a couple yards ahead of them before the darkness turned into a black wall.
"I have to take care of the manticore before something tries to run off with its carcass." Ryathane looked to Aeylisia, debating on if he wanted to waste time on asking and potentially following through with his next question. "Do you need me to build a fire first?"

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Izzy held her breath at the way his eyes bore into her. It made her feel suddenly small, as if he was staring into the darkest depths of her soul. She wished he would look somewhere else, but she found that she could not help but stare back at him, incapable of looking away herself.
She finally managed to tear her gaze from Trevor’s as he hit the nail on its head. “I was joking,” she said, her voice quiet. There was something off about this whole meeting. “About you being a serial killer.”
Izzy took the bag from Trevor with a cautious hand. “Thanks.” She offered him a tiny, wary smile.
When he finished, Izzy just stared. “You’d like to...” she said after a short pause. “What is it you think you can help with? Because I’m really not interested in a tutor for studying for the SATs,” she finished, though she knew quite well he was not talking about schoolwork. She wrapped part of the bag anxiously around her hand.

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How in the world did you track me here in the first place? Izzy wondered when he brandished her bag of books. Talk about mad skills. The look on Trevor’s face was unsettling, as if he had already put two-and-two together, or was beginning to.
She swallowed when he asked his question. So, he had seen at least part of the fight. But not clearly. At least she had that going for her. How far could she push her lies? Both she and Theurge had to have been moving at a supersonic speed. That would be fun to try explaining away.
She gave a nervous laugh. “Okay, you caught me.” She moved her fingers to pick at the little nail polish that had managed to still cling to her thumb before her hand regenerated, but there was none now. “I didn’t get the books because of my brothers. I want to either be an action movie actress or a special effects supervisor, so I was doing some research on fighting. Here seemed like the best place to set up some props and whatnot and see what I could do. I mean, wouldn’t it be great to be a part of one of The Avengers movies or something?”
She inhaled, then looked to him sideways. "How the heck did you figure I'd be even near here, of all places?" she asked, trying to shift the subject. "Should I be worried about you being a serial killer?" She took what she hoped would seem like an edgy step away from him, and looked at him through narrowed eyes.

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Once Theurge had fully disappeared, a mix between disbelief and excitement settled in Izzy, the aftereffects of the adrenaline that had ran through her making her feel a bit giddy. She took a moment to run everything that had happened through her head, and rubbed her wrists accordingly. The corners of her lips quirked up. The mouse had defeated the lion.
He’d make a better rhino than lion, she thought as she turned to survey the mess she had made of the athletic field. Something told her that the school would be thinking about installing cameras come next year.
She quickly set to work cleaning up what she could, which was rather limited since, as far as she knew, she could not exactly fuse the flagpole back together, and was fresh out of nails for the padlock on the shed.
When she went to return the field roller, she noticed someone--or, perhaps, something--lurking behind the bushes at the end of the field furthest from her, the boscage serving its purpose well of hiding the figure.
Unsure whether the onlooker was a friend or foe, her body tensed as she slowly approached the figure. When she was close enough to make out who it was, Izzy's steps ceased, and panic crossed her face.
Trevor.
She wiped the expression away as well as she could when he stood and jogged toward her. She thought about running, but it would make no difference; he had already seen her. And maybe, by some stroke of her non-existent luck, he had not seen everything.
She opened her mouth to answer his question. After a couple failed attempts, she cleared her throat, crossed her arms, and angled herself toward the battlefield.
“Some kids must’ve thought it’d be fun to vandalize the school,” she began with a frown, hoping he was only referring to her cleaning up. “I noticed the damage walking by. Figured I’d try to clean things up a bit. Make the janitors' lives a bit easier.”

Of Men and Elves (Siaya-Dragalorn x AutumnFrost)

Ryathane Azor Goldwell

Nickname: Thane, though he has found only one person in his recent travels whom he trusted enough to give his real name to.

Aliases: Eli Grimm and Shade Thatcher are his favorites, but he will, however, use as many he feels he needs.

Age: 19

Race: Just an abnormal human, as far as he's concerned, but plenty of others like to claim otherwise. Which is just fine by him.

Appearance: His medium-length hair is mostly a dark brown that sometimes looks black, though a few lighter spots streak through the strands. His eyes are heterochromatic, one a piercing blue and the other an eerie red, and often gain him unwanted attention. He has a handsomely strong, angular face, and well-toned muscles, though it’s difficult to tell the latter from beneath his normal clothes wear. He has more of a neutral skin tone, his hands are semi rough and calloused, and he stands at about 5’ 9”.

Clothes Wear: He always wears a loose black hooded scarf, which he usually keeps up to hide his face from people in towns. He wears black gloves with metal bracers over them that look layered, tall boots, and a knee-length coat tied with a thick, blue fabric belt, the coat’s uneven hem tattered from ware. He also wears a leather belt over the fabric, around which he keeps a short sword, a quiver full of arrows, and a small leather pouch. In the pouch, he keeps his money and other small trinkets for quick use. He also has a backpack in which he keeps a couple spare clothing items, a small medical pack, and food when he has it to spare. He hates carrying the pack around with him in towns, so tends to hide it either outside a city/town or somewhere in the building where he is staying.

Weapons: He has collected quite a few through the years. A small but powerful recurve bow and arrows for hunting, a short sword that that curves to create triangular point near the hilt in the otherwise straight blade, two stiletto daggers—one hidden in each boot—and a couple throwing knives tucked in a thin sheath designed to be hidden beneath his arm bracers.

Abilities: He has unusually quick reflexes, is very agile, has considerable strength, and has honed his senses to a great capacity. He is an expert marksman, hunter, fighter, and thief, and has uncanny night vision.

Personality: Though he often appears laid back and relaxed, even cocky at times, he is always on alert, ever vigilant of any who might recognize him or mean him harm. He is calculating and a loner who usually trusts no one but himself, often making him seem cold and distant. He is also a proud soul, and hates to admit defeat or outright accept help. However, to the few friends he has scattered over the land, he is loyal and even playful, and would watch their back as long as they watched his. He commonly does things based on the gain it would have for him, but, deep down, he has a kind heart and hates to see people, especially children and women, hungry and begging on the streets. He is always on the move, and takes up various jobs wherever he can to make money and get food and other supplies —that is, when he doesn’t steal it first.

Major Negative Traits: Major problem with authority. Cocky, and even a little overconfident. Doesn’t trust people, and hates admitting when he needs or receives help.

Major Positive Traits: Compassionate toward children and (some) women, though he won’t admit it. He knows well how to survive on his own. Loyal… on the rare occasion when he finds someone to give his loyalty to. Playful.

Quirks: Having spent so much time alone, he tends to talk to himself. He often fiddles with something, whether that be his weapons, a long blade of grass, or whatever is in his immediate reach.

Cherished Object: Hidden in a pocket on the inside of his pants, he keeps a pendant he believes to be a red diamond, a tarnished silver wire winding intricately around the teardrop-shaped stone. Even when he needed the money the most, he refused to sell it; it belonged to his mother, and serves as a reminder of the woman’s kindness that still clings to his memory in wispy strands.

Distinguishing Marks: Many scars mark his chest, arms, and back, each a reminder in itself of only a few of his hardships. The oldest ones from when he was a child training in combat are little more than just-visible silvery lines, while the newest of the collection are about a year old.

Bio: Born to a farming family on the outskirts of a village, Ryathane lived the first four years of his life with his loving parents. Until, one fateful night, three men clad in cloaks attacked the family in the dead of night.
Despite the attackers’ shocking skills, he and his mother managed to escape. However, the woman had been wounded and died before the night’s end. Through luck and perseverance, the child managed to reach the nearest city.
Though he was too young to fully understand what was happening around him, nightmares of the men who stole his family from him would haunt him for years to come, in later years driving him without success to search for the murderers. He has spent many years pondering over the question of who they were, those people who turned his life upside-down and inside out, and why they had chosen to attack them.
In the city, an older man in little better living state than Ryathane found the exhausted, starving boy and took him under his wing, teaching the child in the ways of a thief. Even at a young age, Ryathane displayed a talent in stealth and thievery, which the man used to his advantage. Once a well-renowned fighter, the man, who went by Nathanial Bates, also taught Ryathane how to fend for himself, his tactics brutal but effective.
When Ryathane turned eleven—his aptitude for fighting and hunting already surpassing the man’s—he discovered the man planned on selling him for a handsome price to an organization of rebels who claimed to be seeking the downfall of the royal family.
Feeling betrayed, the boy ran away, taking whatever he could carry and getting as far from the man as possible. Using his natural intuition and other skills, he managed to survive on his own, his duo-colored eyes making it difficult for him to blend in and remain unnoticed for long within the crowds of cities. He began picking up odd, even shady jobs, stealing for others for pay and other necessities.
Sometime after he turned fourteen, he banded with a small group of teenage thieves. Though they had been wary at first, his skills and budding reputation gained him at least some sliver of their trust. He spent about a year with them, and they became as close to a family as he had had in ages. He had even begun to fall deeply for one of the two female members of their ragtag group, and she for him.
Alas, when Ryathane was fifteen, the girl, Reza, betrayed him and the others of the band of thieves, turning them in.
Seemingly by accident, the authorities found them after they succeeded in pulling off a particularly large heist. Only Ryathane and, with his help, the eldest of the band—a boy two years older than Ryathane who went by Fox—escaped.
Though they tried to free the others, their plan went wrong, sabotaged by Reza, who had stayed with the others, her involvement unknown to her former companions, in case the two decided to attempt a rescue. Of the five captives, the guards killed two and severely injured Fox in the crossfire as they tried to apprehend Ryathane.
Even outnumbered, Ryathane managed to escape, carrying the wounded Fox with him despite the older boy’s protests of leaving behind his friends. They left the city that night and hid in the shelter of the forest.
The next morning, the living three of the band were hung for their “crimes against the crown,” while Reza was granted clemency and a golden reward.
The two boys stayed together only until Fox was capable of fending for himself again. Abiding by Fox’s request, the two boys parted ways.
Over the next four years, he continued to hone his skills and never stayed long in any city, town, or village, authorities forcing him to either leave or risk arrest. He lived a life filled with betrayal and pain, but still tried to find some good wherever he went. He made very few close friends and allies, but hundreds of acquaintances and even more enemies.
Rumors even began to spread of him:
A boy with duo-colored eyes who could fend off and slip out from beneath the noses of even the most skillful fighters. Who could track and kill nearly any kind of animal—magical or mundane—for the right price. A boy capable of stealing the coat from your back without you noticing until he was already long gone.

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Izzy gave a quiet, frustrated sigh at his answer. If that was how he wanted to play it, then so be it. She was not that desperate to walk away with Cerasus’ arm, though the thought of someone actually bothering to teach her something in this obscure side of the world was a nice one. Though she wanted to protest, she thought better of it.
“Fair enough.” She blinked a couple times when his body began to fade, trying to clear anything from her eyes that could be causing such an illusion, before she realized what it must be. “But remember, if you fail to deliver it, you’ve broken the deal you made.” At least, she hoped that was true. She had no idea what kind of exchange Theurge and Riley had shared.
When he offered her once more to join him, Izzy shook her head. “If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know,” she answered with a light snort, waiting until he completely vanished to turn her back to him.

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Izzy nodded to his first question, affirming his statement. When he finished, she considered him for a short moment. As upfront as he seemed, after all that, she had hoped to at least walk away with what she had come for. Especially when the alternative was getting it under the pretense of “as soon as I am able.”
“If it’s nearby, then what’s the trouble?" She glanced to his healing leg. "Or tell me where it is, if you can't bring it here."

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When her swing hit nothing, Izzy feared she had miscalculated when they would meet, but as she righted herself, she saw that Theurge had stopped, his blades raised in surrender.
She eyed him for a moment, wondering if it was a trick, then slowly lowered her giant club as he voiced the reason behind his action. Triumph blossomed in her chest.
Standing tall, she stared him down... or up, depending on how you wanted to look at it, like a mouse staring down a lion. She kept one hand gripped on the roller, just in case, and cast his still bladed arms a couple wary glances.
“My prize, then?” She raised her chin slightly, her face stern.

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Theurge, it seemed, healed significantly slower than Izzy, which was good news for her, especially with her rather poor aim. When it came to the final ball, she gave it her all before realizing exactly what she had thrown. For the short millisecond between it leaving her hand and when it hit his face, she hoped that the force of it would knock him out, but of course she had no such luck. Instead, murder rested in his all too alert eyes and sent a chill through her.
Now, she was out of ammo, not that what she had had done much good. She turned to look back in the shed, to find something else. Sitting beside the shed and partially hidden under a tarp was a field roller.
That might work.
With really no other options available to her, she cast a quick glance to Theurge, his pace quickened in rage, then rushed to the roller, pulled the tarp off, and gripped the end intended to be attached to a tractor. Though it stuck for a short moment from its lack of use for the past while, she easily pushed it out into the open, around the shed, and raced it toward Theurge.