Riven Wight

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Izzy gave a growled sigh when Cerasus finished, and ran a hand through her hair. He didn’t know anything about Guillotine Cutter’s fighting, which meant she was going in blinder than she had with the other two. He was a human, and did more damage than those with some sort of vampiric ability.
“Great.” She pulled her hand from her hair. “So, pretty much just keep doing what I’ve been doing, and learn in the process.”
When Riley left and Cerasus headed to bed, Izzy slowly made her way to her claimed classroom. She rummaged through her backpack, which was now filled with the clean clothes Trevor had kindly brought, while the plastic bags had her dirtied outfits shoved in them. Finding her pair of spare sneakers, she pulled them out, placed them on the floor, and shoved a pair of socks inside one.
She sat on a set of desks she had put together, their tops fairly cleaned from days spent using them as the world’s hardest mattress. She placed one foot on a knee and brushed off some of the layer of dirt that had coated her sole. She glanced to the closed door, then back to her foot. After a couple moments of trying to use matter generation, she sighed in defeat, and laid back on the desks.
After a while, her mind racing with everything from the night, she fell into a fitful slumber.

* * *

Izzy had overslept. By the time her nightmares abated, allowing her to truly fall asleep, it had been late. Unsure what time it was, consciousness had just decided to return to her when Trevor's familiar footfalls greeted her.
Her eyes sprung open, and she sat upright with a yawn. She could feel her hair sticking out at odd angles, and quickly jumped from the desks, pulled her hair tie out, and brushed her hair with the brush she had left on another desk near her pack.
“Evening, Trevor,” she returned his greeting lightly and smiled at him as she replaced her hair tie. She blinked in the light of Trevor's flashlight as he sat it down. She looked him over, searching for any sign of his injury from the previous evening. But even his clothes were just as semi-formal as when she had last seen him. Part of her still could not believe he was here, alive, his presence sending a flood of relief through her. The image of his torn body flashed through her mind, making her shut her eyes and push the thought aside with a shake of her head.
“How... How’re you feeling?” she asked as casually as she could, tossing the hairbrush onto her backpack.

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Izzy held her breath, watching Cerasus’ reaction with anticipation.
“Human?” Izzy repeated incredulously, thinking back to the speed at which the man had moved, speed far more superior than any human she had ever heard of, and how both Cerasus and Riley reacted to the topic.
When Cerasus finished, she blinked and raised her eyebrows.
“Guillotine Cutter,” she said slowly, making sure they were still talking about the same person. “Punk-rocker hair,” she moved her hands above her head, pretending to lift her hair into crazy spikes, “and enough metal in his face to give all airport security in a hundred-mile radius a heart attack? That guy. An archbishop? What, he a Van Helsing wannabe or something?” She ran a hand down her face. Though she had seen to an extent the damage holy relics could do to vampires, the full gravity of the title was lost to her in the absurdity of it. “What does that mean for me, then? What should I expect? Prepare for?”

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“Oh.” Izzy’s shoulders sagged slightly. Instinct. Great. Her eyes widened slightly when he offered to explain the powers--she was not ready to listen that intently.
The change in the atmosphere when Cerasus merely mentioned the name made Izzy shift her weight uneasily. She was sure that it bode ill for her when just the name could make even Riley’s smile falter. And if the hunters each claimed the limb they had torn asunder, as the state of the arm Episode had possession of implied, Guillotine Cutter had removed two, while his companions had only one apiece.
She wrapped her arms around herself and cast a quick glance between the two. “What is he?” she asked quietly. “What..." Her gaze settled back on Cerasus. "What can he do?"

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Izzy nodded at Cerasus’ question, then looked down at the sorry state of her own clothes. She suppressed a sigh when he rolled his neck, knowing a rant of some sort was surely to follow, but she had decided it best to pay closer attention to what she thought was just useless prattle from him. After all, if she had only listened better, she could have saved herself a good deal of the trouble that occurred in the athletic field. She turned to keep her eyes on him as he went to a desk.
Izzy glanced to the floor. Now there was matter generation. That was another one to add to the books.
She looked back to Cerasus, and took a step toward him, uncrossing her arms. “Can you teach me to use that? Matter generation and transformation?"

They Live Among Us (Vampiricchild x Siaya)

Nyaira turned toward Illyad long enough to give him an exaggerated pout, her shoulders moving with the expression. “Aww. Well,” she picked up her Southern drawl once more, her face scrunching up as she continued, “then you wouldn’t mind me seeing the rest of your lovely home, then, would you?” She leaned her weight back on one foot, her brows raising in a mix of amusement and suspicion at their display of composure. If the compass said the girl was here, then she trusted it told the truth.
She turned back toward the hall. “After all,” she moved a hand to her side in emphasis as she stepped forward down the hallway, her eyes scanning the couple doors ahead of her, but ears listening for any sound of movement from the two men, “it isn’t every day I get to see the infamous Illyad’s abode, now, is it?”

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Izzy startled when she noticed Cerasus out of the corner of her eye as she passed the hall in which he hung. She jumped and spun toward him, her arms raising defensively before she realized it was only him hanging from the ceiling. She cocked her head at him as if trying to see him more right-side-up, thinking how strangely fitting the position was. It's appropriateness only grew when he grinned, showing his fangs.
Her shoes would have to wait.
“Yippee,” Izzy said stiffly, watching him return to the floor.
With Trevor still on her mind, she eyed Cerasus questioningly when he asked about “that boy,” but before she could ask, “What boy?” the answer came from the main level. Her face twisted in a snort at Riley’s voice, but, nevertheless, she followed Cerasus downstairs, lagging behind a few steps.
Izzy kept a fair distance between her and Riley as he handed over the arm she had won, not wanting to be near him. When Cerasus took the arm and left, Izzy wandered toward the door and looked out at the night beyond, shuddering at the sound of Cerasus downing his arm. Trying to tune it out and keeping her back to Riley, she naturally reached toward her pocket for her phone to text Trevor, to make sure he had made it back okay--or, at least, was doing alright, since she had no idea what, if any, side effects her method of healing him might have--but remembered that Trevor still had it. She sighed, then contented herself with just placing her hand into her pocket.
All of that, she thought bitterly, because I left my stupid phone here. She closed her eyes and took a breath. But it’s over and done with, she reminded herself. He’s alive. That’s what matters.
When Cerasus’ returning footsteps replaced his munchings thankfully quicker than the last time, she turned from the door to see how he had changed. If she had not spent the last while with him, had not known what lay just behind his comely appearance, she would have said he looked rather suave. For a fleeting moment, she imagined him attending her high school, and could not help but smirk. Yet, that he was now taller than her made her feel a bit uneasy. Already, she had grown used to him being shorter, looking younger.
"Great." She crossed her arms loosely with her hands on her elbows, still looking Cerasus over. “Where are you getting the outfits?”

Schooled in Magic

@OfWindAndRain
You are most welcome, my friend. It's my pleasure. I just know that things happen, and people have their good and bad days (or weeks. Or months. xD).

Oh, good. Glad you've been going to a therapist, and that it's helping, at least a bit. Ah, that sucks. Have you tried bringing that up to them, pointing it out (in a polite fashion, of course! Heh.)? By the way, if you want me to drop the subject, just let me know. :-)

That's great that you plan on going to college. Even if at least a part of the reasoning is to get away from everything.

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Izzy nodded as Trevor answered her question, grateful that that was all he remembered. Or, at least, all he let on about remembering. Hopefully the giant hole in his shirt would not jog his memory.
“Yeah,” she said absently when he said he should go, then gave him a half smile about talking to him tomorrow. “You better.” She raised her hands once more as if to catch him if he lost his balance. She wanted to make sure he got home okay, but she knew that would only spell more trouble for him, and leaving the field in its current state and with Episode still there would be unwise. "Let me know you got home, okay?"
She watched Trevor go with worried eyes, returning his wave from where she still knelt. When he was out of sight, Izzy sighed and moved to stand, but startled back when Riley leaned over her. She snorted and gave a dry laugh, her mood shifting from relieved to irritated.
“Like you give a crap what would’ve happened to him,” she growled, standing as he continued. Slowly, she followed Riley over to Episode. When he picked him up by the collar, she thought for just a moment to stop him, not wanting him to risk the hunter's further injury and lengthening the time it took him to regain consciousness, but a part of her rather enjoyed watching the scene.
Izzy crossed her arms over her chest when he, surprisingly, came to, her murderous gaze watching as he seemed to take stalk of his injuries and feeling no pity for the pain on his face. Whatever he felt, he deserved nothing less.
Hatred burning in her eyes as he complained about “losing his edge,” she took a slight step toward him. She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted. She snorted at his apology, and raised her brows when he held a finger out to her.
“Well, thanks for the warning,” she spat, but, before she could say more, the hunter and Riley walked off.
Suspicion coating her face as she tried, but failed, to listen in on their conversation, she waited impatiently, her fingers tapping against her thigh, until, finally, Episode left.
She said nothing to Riley as the two cleaned up, wishing he would just disappear like he always did.
At least I actually know he’s here, she thought with a heavy sigh, casting him wary glances every now and again.
However, when it came to cleaning up what remained of Trevor, she was glad for his help, unintentionally leaving him the brunt of the work. Glad, at least until he decided to make a mock grave.
“You think you’re real cute, don’t you?” Izzy snapped. She swallowed and turned from him, running a hand through her bangs. “Inconsiderate creep,” she muttered under her breath as she walked away from him.
When he told her to wait at the school, she groaned. She wanted to protest, but was sure it would do no good. So, with a sigh, Izzy started toward the school, trying to not dwell on what had happened that night, though her mind kept wondering to Trevor. She limped slightly even once her foot healed from the unevenness of her soles until she paused to deposit both the remains of one shoe and the entirety of the other in a dumpster.
Her shoulders slumped when the abandoned school came into sight. She paused just outside the door, wondering if she could avoid Cerasus’ notice until Riley arrived. Mapping out the quickest way to the room where she had her things--she was sure she had shoved an extra pair of sneakers in her pack--she squeezed through the doors as quietly as she could and headed deeper into the school.

Schooled in Magic

Original Post

Alas, when Jazelle opened her eyes, she was still in the courtyard, the man claiming to be a Necromancer still tightly gripping her shoulder. She looked to the door ahead of them. What little amount of its handle that had not rusted glinted mockingly in the firelight of the torch the second figure still held.
If she was not waking up, then she had to fight back. It was her dream, after all. She looked around her, trying to find something that could be of use, or pose a distraction long enough for her to pull away and get a few good kicks in. But then, there was the other man. Or woman. Whatever it was. She turned her head, trying to get a good look at the other figure as Kyrell reached for the handle of the rotting, moss-eaten door.
Jazelle’s attention snapped back to Kyrell when a snarl distorted his face. Then, as he spun around, he released her shoulder.
Yes! Jazelle turned with him, the other figure’s gaze following it’s master’s, leaving Jazelle unwatched behind them. Not bothering to see what had riled the two up, she inched away, trying to move her hands into her pocket for her knife as the Necromancer raised both his hands, more red mist glittering in his palms.
But then came the light. A blinding flash that made Jazelle shout and scrunch her now burning eyes shut and Kyrell hiss in pain and anger sliced through the darkness. She staggered away, and her back hit the bricks of the building a second before she felt someone ram into her, arms wrapping around her.
“NO!” a vicious, inhuman voice snarled, as if multiple voices had cried out the word at once.
Jazelle shouted and squirmed in the grasp of whoever had ahold of her now before, for a split second, it felt as if the ground beneath her had vanished, the blinding white light behind her eyelids disappearing with it.

* * *

The few weeks the students attending Whitehall Academy had had off had offered the Maesters and Grandmaster no rest. They could feel the presence of something dark lurking around the school, watching, waiting. Whatever it was, it was nothing good, and they had yet to discover what, exactly, “it” was. With the council of the Maesters--those who had studied magic all their lives and come to teach at the academy at the Grandmaster’s request--the Grandmaster had decided it would be safer to change their normal starting schedule. He had sent letters to the elite few worthy to study at his school that, this term, they were to arrive beneath the cover of night come the Fatum Lunaris, a few days ahead of their normal schedule, with classes to commence at their normal start date. Any dropping off children were welcomed to stay until the morning, if need be, to provide them a safer return trip.
More Wardens than usual stood guard around the building. Each clay-and-armor beast with their slender, metal falcon-like heads and clay plumage bursting forth from their necks kept a vigilant watch. Only their heads moved, twitching toward any unusual sound. They all stood the same, the butts of their partisans resting against the ground and clawed hands adorned in bladed talons.
So far, everything had gone according to plan. No surprises. No attacks. Now, the Grandmaster watched with two of his strongest Wardens flanking him, as thirty students said their farewells and carried their luggage toward the grand building. He had just begun to hope that everything would go without a hitch, when a boom echoed around them.
In an instant, the casual stance of every Warden shifted for battle, their weapon held in both hands, ready to strike or defend, a couple giving out a surprised, metallic screech as every pair of eyes turned to the new arrivals.

* * *

“Good--" the man who had just released Jazelle began from behind her.
Before he could get more than that first word out, she opened her eyes, her gaze on the ground at her feet, took half a step forward, gave a guttural shout, and kicked back as hard as she could. She pulled at the ropes binding her arms behind her as she spun to face whoever had grabbed her, a hostile mix of fear and confusion on her face. She hissed as it felt like the rope tightened itself painfully around her slender wrists.
“Who’re you now, huh?” she shouted wildly, eyeing him before her surroundings had time to sink in. “Gandalf Junior, master of... the...?” The question trailed off when their audience finally registered. A girl who looked about a year younger than her dropped her suitcase nearby, its top popping open slightly and her mouth agape. But it was not the people dressed in period clothes, nor the coaches and carriages that drew her attention.
Her gaze hung on the bird-like creatures wielding pole arms, a few pointing their metal spikes toward her and the man.
“Oh, boy,” she said slowly, turning to look at the various other metal-clad creatures that had woven their way protectively through the gathering of teens and adults. “This... can’t be good,” she finished in a mutter. “Uh,” she continued softly, her eyes wide and hands twisting nervously around the rope as she surveyed the scene, “uncle?”

Alas, when Jazelle opened her eyes, she was still in the courtyard, the man claiming to be a Necromancer still tightly gripping her shoulder. She looked to the door ahead of them. What little amount of its handle that had not rusted glinted mockingly in the firelight of the torch the second figure still held.
If she was not waking up, then she had to fight back. It was her dream, after all. She looked around her, trying to find something that could be of use, or pose a distraction long enough for her to pull away and get a few good kicks in. But then, there was the other man. Or woman. Whatever it was. She turned her head, trying to get a good look at the other figure as Kyrell reached for the handle of the rotting, moss-eaten door.
Jazelle’s attention snapped back to Kyrell when a snarl distorted his face. To her surprise, the Necromancer spun around, releasing her shoulder in the process as he shot a burst of glowing red energy from his palm.
Yes! Jazelle turned to see what had caught the man’s attention, the crimson magic lighting the night and overpowering the waning green tint that had slowly begun to recede from the moon. Even Kyrell’s companion turned from her, leaving her unwatched behind them.
With the two's attention no longer on her, she slowly sidled away. When another man appeared in a flash, she gasped and jumped back, her bound hands brushing the ivy clinging to the stone wall around the door.
She pushed away, her eyes on the fight as she frantically tried to reach into her pants pocket. She twisted her hands between the rough ropes, trying to wiggle out from them or at least create enough slack to reach the butterfly knife stored in her pocket, hoping she could use it to sever the rope. Her charm bracelet jingled faintly with her movements. She inhaled through her nose when it felt as if the binds tightened themselves around her wrists, eliminating what little slack she had had. With a frustrated growl, she gave up with the knife and stepped further away as the new arrival punched Kyrell in the face.
Heart pounding in her chest--and unsure who she should be rooting for, if either of them--she backed further away, keeping the fighters in her view, looking away only long enough to search for any other means of escape. Then, the new man turned toward her.
Jazelle’s eyes widened when he ran at her. She turned to run, but he was faster. She shouted when he rammed into her, her eyes closing for a moment as an unfamiliar sensation surrounded them and made the hairs on her arms stand on end.
When she hit a thin carpet instead of the overgrown stone of the courtyard, the man’s weight on top of her knocked the air from her lungs and pinned her arms painfully between them. The moment his weight was off her and she could manage to inhale, she groaned as she struggled to rise to her knees, the lack of use of her arms making the action difficult.
She scanned her newest surroundings quickly. The glow of firelight bathed the room in a gentle, warm light. “Most. Lucid. Dream. Ever,” she muttered under her breath. Noticing the man who had tackled her looking her over, she locked eyes with him, a mix of fear and caution in her gaze, daring him to come closer.
“Who the freak are you, now?” she growled. “Gandalf Junior? A Hogwarts reject?” She flinched back when he crouched in front of her, and stumbled to her feet, her hands twisting behind her. She inhaled when the ropes again felt like they had impossibly tightened slightly further, biting at her skin. She eyed the hand he offered and raised her eyebrows. “Right, offer the bound girl a hand. Very nice.”
She glanced between him and a door in the tapestry-lined room, debating on how quickly she could make it there. She turned her attention fully to him as he introduced himself, a blank expression on her face at his introduction.
“Great,” she interrupted, drawing out the word.
When he finished speaking, she eyed him suspiciously, searching for any misgivings. He did not look dangerous, at least. But looks could be deceiving; he could easily be worse than Kyrell, only using a different tactic. She glanced to the door again, shifted her weight uncertainly, then looked back to Sunder, weighing her options. If she made a run for it, even if she got away, she still had no means of untying herself, and no idea where she would go, let alone what awaited her on the other side of the door. With no other feasible options, she reluctantly nodded.
“Fine,” she grumbled. Her honey-brown eyes narrowed as she warily watched his every move.

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Izzy lifted her hands toward Trevor to help him sit up, and gave a sigh of relief at his response.
“Good. I think. Here,” she added, realizing what Trevor must be looking for, “let me. Night vision, remember?” She scanned the ground for his glasses, before finding them a couple feet away as he asked his question.
“Yeah, I did.” Izzy grabbed his glasses and handed them to him. “Thanks to you. I just, uh,” she glanced toward Episode and rubbed the back of her neck, “have to wait for him to regain consciousness.” She looked back to him and frowned. “Trevor, what’s the last thing you remember?”