Riven Wight

Mystic Orphanage (Aristocles and Siaya Dragalorn)

Thayva shook her head at Serapis’ last comment. “We have a while yet before the children should be in bed. It’d be wiser to wait. Less of a chance a pair of stray ears will overhear. We need not worry the children. They have enough of those as it is.”
She glanced to the nearest window as a loud peal of thunder shook the orphanage. The flames of the lanterns hung about the room flickered as if they, too, felt the raging storm outside as a harsh flash of lightning fought against the soft orange glow of the flames.
A frown pulled at Thayva’s lips as she hoped they would suffer no external damages from the storm.

* * *

Nick shrugged, offering no other insight into the non-relationship. He leaned around Jorn, watching as the few boys in front of them went to take their turn, making the three friends next.
He looked to Jorn when he heard his name, his mind taking a short moment to fully register the conversation.
“It’s better than begging on the streets,” he muttered. “We get an education, learn how to handle ourselves in a fight… There’re a couple free spaces,” he pointed to where four tables had freed up.

Deleted

Izzy looked to Cerasus in surprise. “Really?”
Slowly, Izzy moved to the end of the railing, her gaze leaving him only to make sure she did not step over the edge of the roof. She sat and crossed her legs beneath her, and placed her hands on her knees. She sat there awkwardly, trying to think of something to talk about, her eyes turning out toward the faint glow of streetlights of the town she called home.
“So, uh...” she began, looking at him sideways and trying to sound at least semi-friendly. “Where’s the mysterious Cerasus Orion Damocles from?” she finished, voicing the first conversation piece she could think of.

To Cure a Curse

Yeah, sleep is just a little important. xD I bid you a good night and even better slumber, my friend! Until the morrow!

Deleted

What’s wrong with here? she thought, exhaling through her nose, but she dared not voice the complaint. When he left the room, Izzy hurried after him at a consistent jog. She had expected Cerasus to head to the front door, but instead they ascended through the building.
Realizing what Cerasus was looking for, she opened her mouth and pointed toward where the stairs to the roof were, but he had already stepped into a classroom. She went after him, catching the door before it swung closed on squeaky hinges.
“The stairs are just--” Her words cut off with a gasp and she stepped away as a portion of the ceiling blew apart with no more than a glare from him. She leaned her weight heavily on the door frame, her fingers digging into it as the residue of his energy exertion flowed over her, making her shudder, and debris of the ceiling rained down on Cerasus, apparently no more of an irritation than the afternoon drizzle had been for her.
She watched with fearful awe, a knot forming in her stomach, as a pair of wings spread out from his back, making him look that much more like a creature of the night, like the king of darkness itself.
“Show off,” she muttered, trying to sound teasing, to lighten the atmosphere, if even by a fraction, but her voice shook.
She did not bother trying to mimic his transformation.
Steady, legs, she thought, prying her fingers from the door frame. She ran into the room and jumped up through the hole after Cerasus, hoping he was not expecting her to follow on wings. She landed catlike on the roof, then straightened and looked around for him. Thankfully, he had not taken off from the roof, situating himself not far from his self-made exit.
With his back to her and his posture an almost human one, he looked less menacing. But the waves of power that rolled form him warned her otherwise, made her feel like a pathetic excuse of an existence, an existence bound to serve the likes of him, to attend to his every whim. He was a statue carved from the finest marble and formed by the hands of the most talented of sculptors, while she was little more than a mound of playdough squeezed into a messy blob by the hands of a toddler.
The knot in her stomach tightened painfully. She looked to the rooftop, scrunched her eyes shut, and formed her hands into tight fists as she shook her head in an attempt at expelling the thought and feeling.
I am not his servant, she told herself, holding her breath, her mental voice growing stronger as she continued. I’m not his thrall. And I am not inferior to him!
She glanced up when she heard Cerasus’ voice, flinching when she noticed him looking at her. She shook her head at his question, sure he already knew the answer. The overwhelming urge to do as he requested made her walk toward him, but she refused to let him have that much power over her. Though there was plenty of space beside Cerasus where the fencing had fallen, she went to where a portion of it still clung to the rooftop a few feet away and gripped a part of the rusty railing.
“I’d rather stand, thanks,” she said, her voice stiffer and quieter than she would have liked. She tried to keep her posture straight and confident, and expression impassive, not wanting to show him how strong of an effect just his mere presence had on her.
She let silence fall around them for a short moment, trying to steady her nerves, before taking a deep breath.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked without looking to him, the hollow bar beginning to cave in beneath her grip.

Schooled in Magic

Jazelle’s steps faltered for a short second at Sunder’s age. “A hundred...!” She shook her head in disbelief, listening as the girl continued.
She nodded as if she knew what Priscilla was talking about. Though she no longer gripped the knife, she kept her hands in the pocket, casting her gaze around the corridors as she spoke. At least Priscilla had only nice things to say about Sunder. But, then again, she was a servant, so whether or not the girl would even dare speak ill of him if she did have such a view, Jazelle could not say.
When gorgons came into the conversation, Jazelle came to a stop, her mouth agape. Gorgons? Half-Fae? Could this place get any stranger?
Or more interesting? a voice asked in the back of her mind as she hurried to catch up with Priscilla, only to stop outside a door.
“Uh... Thank you?” Jazelle said uncertainly at being called “a nice one.”
Jazelle instinctively leaned away when the older girl reached toward her. At her comment, Jazelle glanced from the plush fabric of her hoodie to the courser cloth of Priscilla’s robe.
“Yeah. It is,” she said, wondering exactly how out of place the garment was here. Deciding there would likely be no harm in it, she leaned back toward the older girl to let her touch the fabric, Jazelle's muscles tense at closing a portion of the space she had kept between them. “Probably a stupid question, but what’s a Lone Power?”

Schooled in Magic

@OfWindAndRain
Spoken like a true writer. :-)

I don't think you mentioned any of that. Thanks! How far into the medieval do the more advanced ones get? Or, if I end up mentioning it in passing (like in a quick examination of the area) do you care if that's one of the areas I just go where the wind takes it?

Schooled in Magic

Jazelle eyed Sunder suspiciously as a smile spread over his face at her answer, making the corners of her lips dip down. She stepped back when he stood, her hand once more clutching at the knife, but he only began ruffling through papers as if they had concluded the most normal meeting in the world. She watched him cautiously, silently, as he rapped on his desk, then glanced quickly around the room, wondering whether the action was some sort of signal or a simple tick.
That question was answered quickly. Having been standing near the door with her focus on Sunder, she jumped away from it with an alarmed shout when someone knocked on it, her heart pounding with a new vigor. She instinctively brandished the knife and expertly flipped out the blade as she scolded herself for not thinking there could be others around.
When a girl who looked not much older than her entered, Jazelle straightened. Slowly, she folded the knife and returned it to her pocket with a glance to Sunder as he addressed the maid. She snorted when he decided she would be eating breakfast with him. Noticing him angle toward her, she turned her attention to him.
“Excuse me?” She interrupted, her head tilted down and brows up at being told she was not to leave. She glared at him as he bid her goodnight, not bothering to return the gesture. She stood there a moment longer than necessary, making Priscilla wait, then slowly followed her out the room.
Jazelle walked a few feet back from the girl, glancing over her shoulder every couple seconds. Once Sunder’s study was a fair distance away, she quickened her pace to catch up with and walk beside Priscilla. Still, she kept as much distance between them as she could, doing her best to remember the route they took.
“So,” she started slowly, her voice quiet. “What’s his,” she nodded back the way they had come, “story?"

Schooled in Magic

Woo! Sorry for the wait from me. Been an interesting few days. Heh.

I like your description of the light spell!

Schooled in Magic

When silence ensued between them for a short moment, Jazelle shifted her weight beneath his gaze. When he raised a hand, she took a half step back and angled her body, her grip on her closed knife tightening and arm ready to pull it out, though she was sure it would do no good.
When he only created an orb of light above his palm, her grip loosened slightly, and a close-lipped grin made her mouth rise on one side. She had seen his fight with the Necromancer, but had paid little mind to the magic he used then. Here, she found she could not draw her attention away from the show of magic, as simple as it was.
She only looked away from the light when Sunder threatened to turn her into a statue. Her eyes narrowed irritably at him, but she just gave another shrug at it. She had had worse threats thrown her way.
"I've always wondered what it'd be like to be a statue," she mused quietly. She leaned her weight onto her back foot. Though she had the feeling that, unlike the other threats she had received, this one was not empty, she refused to show her unease. Even though he had rescued her--as far as she could tell--she did not take kindly to people who used such tactics to bring obedience.
At his comment about where she came from, she gave him a look that said, “Well, you’re not wrong.” She lifted her chin when he asked his question, debating as she reluctantly released her knife to cross her arms over her chest. He certainly made a point. Even if she would wake up in a hospital somewhere the moment she laid down, she could at least enjoy the reprieve from her life back home to its fullest extent.
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a quick answer, even though she had one ready, she looked him in the eye as she responded. “It’d probably be smart to sleep on it. No reason to rush a decision that’ll make or break me.” She returned her hands to the long pocket.

Schooled in Magic

Already standing, Jazelle watched Sunder with wary eyes as he approached, her head turning to at least keep him partially in her peripheral view as he went behind her to cut the rope. As soon as she felt the severed binds drop from her, she quickly stepped away and spun around to face him as he backed off. She looked away from him only long enough to glance at the red marks left in the rope’s wake, her shoulders aching slightly in protest from their rough treatment in such an awkward position. She rubbed her wrists tenderly as she returned her cautious stare to Sunder.
Jazelle’s eyes narrowed when he muttered something under his breath. When a gentle buzzing tingle made her arm hairs stand on end, her hand went to the pocket concealing her knife. Though she had no idea what it meant--and doubted her knife would do much good--she had the feeling that there was a connection between the two events.
She gripped the body of the butterfly knife, the chill and weight of the metal reassuring as he turned and headed toward the door without a word, and paused.
She stood in the middle of the room, staring after him. He wanted her to follow. She cast a quick glance about the room. It was not like she had many options. Hesitantly, she followed after him, keeping a few feet between them. In the corridor, she paused and glanced behind her toward the path not taken. She stared hard at the stairs leading into the depths of the building, contemplating running the opposite direction. Either way, the unknown awaited her, but only one direction offered her the possibility of any kind of answers. At least, so long as Sunder held no malice toward her, as he had displayed thus far.
Her grip never loosening on her knife, she discretely transferred it from her pants pocket into her hoodie, shoved both hands inside the muff, and followed after Sunder, her gait determined and shoulders down and back.
Inside his office, she remained near the door, head bent slightly, as he headed to his desk, ignoring his gesture to take a seat. She watched him and took in the new surroundings from beneath the partial vail of her blond hair.
Jazelle stared at Sunder with a slightly blank look as he began. She raised an eyebrow as he smiled dryly.
“Well, aren’t you a modest one?” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
A snigger burst from her when he said she had magic. By the time he raised an eyebrow, her snigger turned into a loud, “Ha!”
“Never had a dream like this before,” she muttered, looking to the corner with an amused smirk. “Man, my brain’s weird.” She looked back to Sunder, her expression unchanging, and replaced her hand in her hoodie’s muff. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to be a half-giant who’s the Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Whitehall, would you?”
Jazelle regarded him for a moment when he finished speaking. “Jazelle Sanders. Probably the most non-magical girl in my entire state. Sorry to disappoint, but I think your Necromancer friend made a mistake.” In emphasis, she raised a hand toward a wall and willed something--anything--to happen. Nothing did. She returned her hand to the fuzzy insides of the front pocket, and shrugged. “Never even bent a spoon before. So, unless your ‘most prestigious magical academy’ can fix that, looks like I’m out of luck.” Not that I had any to begin with, she added to herself, her brows raising slightly.