Riven Wight

Mystic Orphanage (Aristocles and Siaya Dragalorn)

Thayva mirrored Serapis’ sigh and nodded. “I’ve asked a couple of the staff to spread the word of a meeting once the children are in bed.” Her tail curled around to the front of her body, and she gripped it lightly in one clawed hand, messing with the cuff near its tip. “It will all work itself out in the end. It always does,” she said distantly, just as much to reassure herself as Serapis.

* * *

Nick let out a loud laugh that gained a glances from a couple other boys near them. “Your one true love!” he whispered, leaning slightly toward Jorn so only the human and dwarf could hear him, a smirk still on his face. “Now that’s an interesting pair!” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “You’d make such an adorable couple.”

Deleted

Izzy returned Carasus’s golden stare for a short moment before looking away. Though calmer now, less menacing, she still could not bring herself to meet his gaze for long.
Calm, she thought with a snort. Right.
Her nose pulled up in a half snarl at, yet again, being called his servant, but she bit her tongue. Her expression turned to one of surprise as he gave his request.
“What?” He wanted to talk? She looked back up to him, ignoring the urge to turn away, as he continued. “Okay,” she answered uncertainly, drawing out the word. She drew in a breath and slowly returned to her feet, still keeping a fair distance between them. She tried to keep her voice even as she continued. “And what is it we need to discuss?”

Deleted

Izzy focused on trying to even out her breaths, her gaze never leaving the floor. She shifted her weight beneath the feeling of his stare and shoved her hands in her pockets. It was all she could do to keep from collapsing. The King of Aberrations indeed. She glanced to the door as Cerasus grinned, wanting to get as far away from him as possible, from the surge of power emanating from him. A shudder ran down her spine.
She gasped and startled back at his outburst in answer to her comment, her wide eyes rising to him in surprise. She blinked a few times as she incredulously watched him bound around the room. She shied away from him, keeping as much space between the two of them as possible for fear he had gone mad. It was strange, even unsettling to watch someone in the skin of a grown man and radiating such an overwhelming presence prance about like the child she had first seen him as after being turned.
“I think you spent too much time as a kid,” she breathed as his childlike giggling filled the room. “It’s infected your brain.”
When his demeanor and laughter changed in a heartbeat, it felt like her stomach dropped. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature encompassed her, and she stepped ever so slightly closer to the door, which she had left open.
She watched him warily as he went to an interior wall. Expecting his strike to only leave a large hole in its wake, Izzy gasped and stumbled back at the effect his fist had, tripping on her own feet and falling hard to the floor of the classroom as the walls and part of the ceiling of the building completely collapsed, stirring up a plume of plaster dust and debris, and a squealing rain of desks crashing down from the upper floor over the classrooms. She sat there, stunned. For a couple seconds, her lungs forgot how to work. At last, she managed a quivering exhale as the dust slowly began to settle.
What have I done? she thought, still staring at the gaping hole in the ceiling. She scooted back a couple inches, not trusting herself to return to her feet. She could not get far enough away soon enough. As soon I’m human, she told herself, he won’t be my problem anymore.
“W-what...” she faltered, and swallowed against her fear, unsure if she should ask her question. If he could do that to the building, she shuddered to think what he could do to her if she got on his nerves. She hated to imagine what might have happened to his last thrall, if that rumor was true. “What about our deal?” she finished softly, her voice quiet even in her own ears. “Your limbs for my return to humanity?”

To Cure a Curse

Rayadell woke early. The sun had yet to show its face, yet she heard the sounds of others moving just outside her locked door as a couple others made their way to the main floor.
Though she was sure she had only gotten a few hours of sleep, anticipation granted her an extra boost of energy. She had not unpacked anything the night before. A wooden bowl the barmaid had brought to her filled with soup the previous evening sat empty beside the bowl on the small dresser, a tattered washcloth resting on the bowl’s brim.
Rayadell got up and went to the bowl. Water filled about half of it. Though it had been warm when the waitress had poured it, now, hours later, the water was cold. Though she had the ability to fix that, Rayadell quickly splashed it on her face, its chill washing away what sleep still clung to her mind like sticky cobwebs. She dried her face quickly, then gave her wings a nice, long stretch. With a sad, irritated sigh, she reluctantly pulled them back into her body as tightly as she could, situated her backpack between them, then draped the cloak over her shoulders.
She missed the days when she could roam her hometown without having to hide them, when she could move freely, not laden by the cloak.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. But she was past that. She had to be. Those days were long gone, and there was no going back. No undoing the horrors of her past. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to put them behind her, to forget them, some part of her refused to let it go.
Opening her eyes, her usual, stoic look settling over her face, she grabbed her staff. She took a moment to run a hand down the intricately carved vines that resembled the real things, shockingly realistic animals prancing or hiding within the wooden plants. Her fingers paused on her favorite animal--at least of the ones she had spotted so far: a snow fox, sitting there, looking out at its surroundings with a sly glean in its blue eyes, its head cocked as if it had not a care in the world. Gripping the staff firmly in one hand, she grabbed the room key from the bed and headed to the main floor.
She paused on the stairs as the all too familiar sound of a deep, sonorous snoring that would have impressed a dragon reached her ears. She rolled her eyes, then entered the tavern.
Though the seats were empty save for a couple people bent over a simple breakfast, it was far less crowded than when she had last seen it. The barmaid stood in front of the counter, violently shaking a slumbering Valos, who sat in the same spot with his arms draped over the counter.
“I’ve got this,” Rayadell told the barmaid with a smirk as she sat the key down on the counter.
The girl’s curly black locks bounced slightly when she looked to the Elagon. “I’ve tried everything, miss,” she said exasperatedly. “There be no waking ’im. He’s disturbing the other customers!” She gestured to a man at a table who was glaring darkly at Valos. He looked about ready to lunge at the man.
“Not everything.” She nodded for the girl to stand further back.
Once the barmaid had obliged, Rayadell examined the stool he sat on for a short second, deciding on how much effort she would need to put forth.
“Valos!” she yelled, drawing out his name angrily as she kicked the barstool out from under him.
He gave a surprised shout as the stool went one way, throwing his body another. He caught himself on the counter, now as awake as he had been asleep. With surprising speed for someone of his bulk, he swung around with a fist held out.
Despite his speed, Rayadell was still faster. She had spent enough time with him before to tell he had drank too much, the drink dulling and slowing his senses. She easily ducked beneath his arm, kicked his legs out from under him, then placed a foot on his chest to keep him on the floor, the end of her staff resting against his throat.
“You’re getting slow in your old age,” she taunted with a smugness in her voice as she quickly removed the staff and her foot before he could try to retaliate. She offered him a hand up.
He grumbled foully under his breath. Ignoring her helping hand, he pulled himself up using another stool.
“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.” Rayadell grabbed her key and handed it to the barmaid.
“Thanks.” The girl gave a small smile and nodded toward Valos.
Rayadell only gave a nod in welcome. She headed to the door as Valos, still grumbling to himself, slapped a few coins onto the counter.
Though the sun still had yet to rise above the horizon, casting the world in a dull gray light preceding its arrival, people had already begun to traverse the streets. Candles glowed in a few windows.
She cast a quick glance around the street, pulled her hood over her face, then headed out into the town to pick up a couple supplies before making her way to Caldavail. If she wanted time to scope the area out, to search for any sign of misgivings, she would have to move fast.
With that thought, she quickened her pace and headed deeper into the town.

They Live Among Us (Vampiricchild x Siaya)

Nyaira lazily waved away Illyad’s request. “Whatever you wish.” Despite her nonchalant tone, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something was not right. Even so, she had come too far to stop now. It could easily have been a ploy to get her to leave. All the same, as she slowly went through the remaining few rooms--the bathroom, Illyad’s room--she kept a wary eye out for any tricks or traps. The girl’s scent lingered in the bathroom, but the warlock’s bedroom was devoid of her smell.
Slowly, with a glance back down the hall, keeping an ever wary eye on the two men, she reached for the doorknob of the guest room in which Victoria hid, curled in the corner of a closet, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to still both it and her breathing.

Deleted

Izzy looked at Cerasus curiously at his mellow reaction to Riley’s involvement. When he took a bite of the heart, her stomach did an uneasy flip and she turned away from him.
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Her face twisted in disgust, she hurried a bit further down the hall, leaving her staff against the wall.
She paced the halls for what felt an eternity as he ate behind the closed door, her mind reeling. Home. She was so close to getting home, to being capable of putting everything behind her, to getting what she had wanted from the beginning. But had she made the right choice, giving him everything he needed to return to power for her own gain? She glanced down once, partially surprised she had not worn a trench into the floor.
With pacing doing little for her, she sat heavily against one wall, pulled her knees toward her chest, and laid her arms and head atop them. She took a few deep breaths to try steadying both her thoughts and impatience at the time it was taking Cerasus. She busied herself instead with thinking of the things she would do as soon as she was human again, of her plans, both old and new.
Izzy inhaled and sat up straight when the atmosphere in the hall changed with the renewal of Carasus’ power, making her second guess her decision once more. What had she allowed to return?
Her gaze darkened when he called her from the classroom, the strong voice familiar.
“I’m not your servant,” she muttered almost automatically under her breath. “And I have a name.” Still, she stood, albeit slowly, and hesitantly made her way back to the classroom.
She paused with her hand on the knob, ignoring the small, grimy window in the door, inhaled deeply, then entered. What she found waiting for her stole her breath away.
Izzy stared at him with both dread and awe. She swallowed hard, and pried her gaze from him with no little effort, casting it instead to the floor.
“You..." she cleared her throat. "You’re looking better.”

Mystic Orphanage (Aristocles and Siaya Dragalorn)

In their quaint apartment, Thayva paused in the doorway to where her husband was nearly done organizing books. She leaned against the doorframe, watching him and his cleanliness quirk lovingly. She sighed softly, not wanting to interrupt or add more stress about having to add something else to their shopping list.
When he turned and spoke to her, she tried to give him a small smile. “It will be, love. The dining hall is back to normal. The children and staff scrubbed it spotless, and I sent them off to bathe. We all need that tonight." She was sure she smelled quite rancid, though she had long since grown fairly used to the stench. "But, Ferdinand informed me that we’re dangerously low on cleaning supplies,” she finished with a frown.

* * *

Nick, dressed similarly to his companions, gave a snorted laugh in agreement with Aurelian. His mind already wandered back to the book, as well as a couple academic assignments, as they waited for a couple tables to free. He grinned when Jorn showed a concern for the dwarf.
“Uh huh,” Nick raised an eyebrow when Jorn looked to the floor. “And you’re thinking about her." He placed his hands on the back of his head and leaned toward Jorn as he continued in a playfully taunting voice. "Bet she’s thinking about you, too, wherever she is."

Mystic Orphanage (Aristocles and Siaya Dragalorn)

Hey, sorry for disappearing. Just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be working on getting replies out, er, later today or sometime Thursday.

To Cure a Curse

Choo, choo!

Sorry it took me a while, @POOHEAD189, but here it is! ^.^ We didn't set a name for it, so I just plugged something in there. Let me know if you have any ideas to change it to.

Oh, and for the record, I did warn you that my first and loner posts tend to get a bit long at times. xD

Okay, I'm overdo for sleep. Talk to you later!

To Cure a Curse

The long, fiery fingers of twilight stretched across the sky, the sun a large, glowing orb on the horizon. Beneath the few meager wisps of clouds that hung below the heavens, the white puffs turned into smears of blood by the struggling daylight, a small town rested. Houses and inns, bakeries and tailors all nestled together among other shops and taverns. Most the denizens of the quaint place were either finishing up their day’s work, or already heading home for the night.
Home. Where their friends or loved ones waited, where spouses or children would greet them upon their arrival, would dine together, then huddle around the warm hearth as the mild spring day gave way to the lingering chill of the night.
Rayadell, clad in her usual brown cloak with the hood drawn over her head, wove her way through the dirt streets, a bulge at her back easily mistaken for a large pack hidden beneath the garment. She leaned her weight onto the intricately carved staff she held, the silvery metal tipping either end glinting in the fading light. Alas, it was not to the home of a spouse that her feet led her, nor to the company of friends where she could spend the night laughing and drinking and eating her fill in good company.
Bruised and battered from a fight with a young chimera that had somehow managed to wander into the local area, Rayadell made her way to an inn with a worn, painted sign with the words, “The Laughing Phoenix” surrounding the fiery head of a phoenix. With the proof of the chimera’s eradication delivered, one of the pouches at her belt was weighted by a fair amount of gold. It would be enough to last her for a while... at least, as long as the inn did not charge an arm and a leg for a half-decent meal and a bed for the night.
Inside, the stench of stale ale and sweaty bodies permeated the main floor tavern. No matter how often she smelt it, she feared she would never get used to it, to the smell of humans and other races trying to drown their sorrows or relax after a long day by staring into a flagon of cheap alcohol.
Though the gaze of the single, silvery eye not obscured by her black-tipped white hair darkened, the rest of her even expression never changed.
She quickly surveyed the half-empty tavern, taking in the few halflings, dwarves, and humans who occupied the tables. The light of a couple lanterns cast shadows over their faces. All were men, save for the waitress who flitted about the tables, flirting with the customers as she cleared tables and delivered food and drinks. Her simple, stained skirts twirled about her body as she moved.
Rayadell turned her attention from them when a man with a bow leaning against his table, a hood drawn over his face and his feet crossed at the ankles on the table, took an interest in looking back at her.
With easy, elegant steps, she went to the bar where a mousy man in his thirties leaned over from behind the counter, trying to arouse another three times as thick as him and covered in furs who looked to have passed out on his stool, his head turned away from her.
The mousy man looked to her, frustration pulling at his thin lips. With a sigh, he left the unconscious man and stepped toward her.
“What can I do for ya, miss?” he asked with a slight accent, looking her over, taking in her youthful appearance and snowy complexion.
“I need a room for the night,” she said softly, her voice just loud enough to rise above the noise of a group of dwarves who had begun to sing a drinking shanty horribly off-key. Her eyes narrowed and her head twitched toward the offending group. “Single bed. And a hot meal.”
“It’s a solair for an unshared room,” he informed her, crossing his arms. “Five krazeals for a meal.”
“Fair enough.” She was in no mood to argue, her body ready for a nice, long rest. She reached into one of her belt pouches, and pulled out two solairs--round, golden coins with a small hole in the center--and placed them on the worn countertop. “If you have it brought to my room, you can keep the change.”
“As ya wish, miss.” He greedily snatched up the coins. “One mo, and I’ll get a key for ya.”
“Thanks,” she said with a nod.
“I’d know that voice of yours anywhere,” a deep voice slurred as the man on the stool raised his head high enough to turn it to look to her. “If the world ain’t small, I’ll eat my coat.”
Rayadell exhaled through her nose, and irritation settled over her face. Her long fingernails drummed once against the countertop as she turned her head to look to him. He sported a long, bushy beard the color of honey. His green eyes glittered dully, and were slightly glazed over from either sleep or intoxication, if not a bit of both. His skin was dark and weathered, a scar running over his mouth lifting the corner of his lips in an eternal smirk.
“If it ain’t the Silver Wanderer herself!”
Rayadell scowled at the nickname the man had given her when they had traveled together nearly a year past. No matter how hard she had discouraged it, the burly human insisted on calling her it.
“Valos,” she greeted irritably with a stiff nod. “It’s been a while.”
“Eleven months, two weeks, and three days,” he grunted, his head lowering back to the countertop and eyes closing.
“I’m flattered you’d bother to remember that.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
He did not respond, and, for a moment, she thought he had passed out again.
“You’re looking well,” he grumbled, his eyes opening.
She lifted an eyebrow, hoping the barkeep would return soon. “I’d say the same, but then I’d be a liar.” She tapped the nails of her free hand impatiently on the counter, her hands covered by a pair of leather, fingerless gloves.
Valos let out a deep, rumbling laugh that ended in a hiccup that looked like it traveled through his entire body.
How long does it take to retrieve a key? she thought irritably, glancing to the door between shelves of bottles and mugs that the barkeep had disappeared through.
The feeling of being watched crept down Rayadell’s spine. She glanced over her shoulder, and found the man at the table, his face hidden in his hood, still looking in her direction. Her eyes narrowed.
“What name should I put for ya, miss?” the barkeep said when he finally reappeared. He placed a brass key on the counter and slid it toward her.
“Took you long enough,” she snapped at him.
“Tarora Shadefell,” Valos answered the barkeep’s question for her, her alias rolling off his tongue sluggishly as he turned his mug in his hands and stared at it with a newfound interest.
The barkeep glanced to him with a scowl, then looked to Rayadell for confirmation, a frown still pulling at his lips.
She nodded as she took the key, a piece of parchment hanging by a leather cord with “16” scrawled messily on it.
“Top floor.” The barkeep pulled out a crude wad of parchment and quickly scribbled her name down. “Last room on the left. Food’ll be brought to ya by the hour’s end. Be out by an hour after sunrise.”
Rayadell nodded, then headed for the stairs visible in a hall opposite the entrance.
“Try to not cause too much trouble,” she muttered to Valos as she passed, who only grunted in response, then placed his mug on the counter with the demand for a refill.
Rayadell hurried to her assigned room, eager to rest her weary body. The steps creaked beneath her, and the lamps that lined the walls in even intervals cast eerie shadows down the bare hallway at the top floor. The heels of her tall boots clicked lightly against the floorboards.
The room was fairly small, a single lantern casting its meager light over the two even smaller beds, one pushed against either wall to the left and right. Two pathetic, crude dressers sat against the wall opposite her, a bowl for washing setting on both the furnishings. She entered, locked the door behind her--leaving the key in the lock--then went to one of the beds. Slowly, she leaned her staff against the wall beside the head of the bed, then, making sure the sole window in the room was blocked by the curtains, removed the cloak.
A pack was strapped to her back, its form rather narrow. On either side of it, a set of silvery bat-like wings were tucked against her body at a rather uncomfortable-looking angle, and a tail of fine, silvery scales curled up beneath the pack.
With a relieved moan, she stretched her wings and uncurled her tail, the translucent membranes spiderwebbed with purple and blue veins.
She quickly unstrapped the pack and placed it on the floor beside the bed, her tail swishing slightly behind her from where it protruded from her self-tailored pair of pants. She went to the center of the room, and stretched her wings again from the open back of her shirt. She extended them to their full impressive span.
She gasped when a knock sounded at the door, her wings drawing in and her body crouching defensively. But no one tried to enter. No one spoke from the other side, requesting entrance.
Instead, an envelope slid in through the bottom of the door.
Rayadell stared at it for a moment, then glanced around the room before cautiously picking it up. She flipped it over in her hands. Though there was nothing on the front, someone had written five simple words in a shimmering red ink on the back: “Leave response at room 7.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, she reached into the envelope and pulled out the folded letter inside.
The moment she unfolded it, she gasped at the name it was addressed to. She folded it, and quickly unlocked the door. She carefully poked her head out into the hall and looked down either side, but whoever had left her the note was gone.
Taking a deep breath, she retreated back into her room. She relocked the door, then unfolded the letter once more to read through the elegant script of the letter.

Rayadell Farrodane,
We give our sincerest apologies for the suddenness of the message, but we have found ourselves in dire need of your assistance. Alas, we cannot give the details of the mission by such an insecure method, for there are others who would gladly intercept this letter. We beseech you, come to Caldavail upon the 19th of this month so we may discuss the particulars of what we would request of you. However, we can tell you this: it is a retrieval operation.
I assure you, we do not ask this of you lightheartedly, and will reward you most handsomely. Should you accept the terms and return successful, we believe we have a way to alleviate you of the curse that has haunted you for all these years.
Sincerely,
Mr. and Mrs. Carish

For a moment, Rayadell forgot how to breathe. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, or a trap. But she had not used her real name in many years. There was nearly no one who should know it, and yet, whoever the Carishes were, they did. She read the letter twice more, her gaze lingering on the last line of the letter. Subconsciously, she raised a hand to finger the swirling marks her curse had left on her face, the marks she kept hidden behind her hair.
Caldavail was a small village a few hours’ travel from where she was. Which was just as well; the morrow was marked the nineteenth. If she left early enough, she would be capable of making it in time.
And if it’s a trap? her voice of caution asked.
And what if it’s not? came her silent rebuttal.
She read the letter again, then once more for good measure, as if the red ink would reform and tell her if it was a trick or not. But the words did not change.
“Dash it,” she muttered. “It’s worth it.” She hurried to the bed, placed the letter and envelope on the thin bedding long enough for her to tuck her wings into her back and replace her cloak.
Locating a plume-less quill and a bottle of half-dried ink, Rayadell scrawled out her response on the front of the envelope: “I’ll be there.”
Folding the letter and placing it in the pouch with her money, she left her room and headed for room seven. She found it on the floor beneath her, and knocked. No one answered. After trying again with the same result, she slid the envelope beneath the door, then hurried back to her room. If she wanted to get up early enough to make it before nightfall, she would have to call it an early night.