Riven Wight

Schooled in Magic

@OfWindAndRain
How's it going? How are things? Have anything planned for Halloween?

To Cure a Curse

@POOHEAD189
I tried to make it short, but it didn't quite work out that way. xD

Also, let me know if you think any changes should be made to the character profile! Which, you know, is pretty long as well. *Sigh.* Figured I should get that up. Even if I'm still slacking with the bio.

To Cure a Curse

Alias: Currently, she goes by Tarora Shadefell.

Actual Age: Somewhere in her forties. She opted to stop keeping track soon after she was cursed, seeing no point in it.

Appeared Age: She’s often told she looks somewhere between 17 and 19. Which sometimes means people underestimate her, which she quite enjoys proving to be a bad idea.

Race: Elagon--A powerful breed that is essentially a type of dragon-elf half-breed. For nearly eight-hundred years, the world has believed this race to be extinct, cutting the once proud species down to little more than fanciful, terror-filled lore to scare children into behaving. And even then, the race has been distorted into a neigh unrecognizable form in stories. The race was once hunted by humans for their rarity and the superstition that by having one in or around your household--alive or dead--guarantees long life and riches for anyone residing there. Alas, with the death of those of Rayadell’s clan around thirty years past, as far as she knows, she truly is the last of her kind.

Dragon Bloodline: Her line stems from silver dragons. Her family had prided itself for many generations about their dragon and elf sides being neigh equal, giving them the potential of being the strongest of their kin.

Appearance: Rayadell has the agile, lithe, form of an elf. She stands at about 5’6,” has slightly pointed ears, a snowy complexion, and silver eyes with pupils that constrict into slits. She usually keeps her white hair trimmed so it’s shorter in the back, but long in the front, which is rarely seen not covering the left side of her face. The tips of the longer portions are stained black. She also tends to keep her strong fingernails fairly long. On the dragon side of things, she has a tail covered in fine, silver scales, and it ends in a slender, sharp spade. White feathery spines run down from about her mid-back to the tip of her tail. She also has a pair of leathery wings, their arms covered in the same type of scales as her tail, and the membranes a translucent white spiderwebbed with purple and blue veins. Finally, in various areas, her skin gives way to scales on various parts of her body, as described below.

Distinguishing Marks: Scales: The base of the right side of her neck to the end of the shoulder, which also extends to create a sinuous line down her back. Triangular patches on both hands extending from the wrist to her middle knuckle. Her left side, following her rib cage then stretching toward her bellybutton and pooling near her heart. The tops of her feet. Other: Rayadell has one other mark of note: swirling, silvery spirals with black speckles that makes it glitter sinisterly in the right light with a malicious magic. They mark the left side of her face from the corner of her eye to her jawbone. She usually easily conceals this with her hair.

Clothes Wear: Rayadell does everything in her power to keep her dragon aspects hidden, to keep suspicion from arousing around her. Which, thankfully, proves to be a fairly easy--if not annoying--task. She usually wars a pair of fingerless gloves, and, for when she goes into towns, has a worn brown cloak that serves the purpose of hiding her tail and wings when she has them tucked into her body as tightly as possible. With such things as wings and a tail to accommodate, she usually wears something with an open back, and customizes the pants and belt she wears to allow for her tail. She also has a belt that has a couple small pouches on it, a waterskin, and her knife. Jewelry: Despite her attraction to such things, she has very few jewelry items. She has a gold pendant with silver accents creating peacocks on either side of an amethyst, and a few chains connecting to the pendant. She also has a thin golden bangle studded with various gemstones that alerts its wearer of nearby spells and enchantments intended to harm dragons or other reptilian species.

Inventory: In addition to the pouches on her belt, she also has a small pack she has modified to be capable of being strapped to fit just between her wings. In the Backpack: A couple spare changes of clothes. A bit of food, for in case she is incapable of catching or finding anything to eat on her travels. A small kit with medical supplies. Some rope, because you never know when that'll come in handy. In One Belt Pouch: Small whetstone for her knife (the blades of her staff are enchanted, and rarely, if ever, dull), a few coins from a few different currencies tucked away in a smaller pouch, needle and thread for quick repairs. In the Other Belt Pouch: This one is specially designed and padded to safely hold six small vials of liquid: 1) A vial of clear liquid that shimmers a light purple when shaken. A good sleeping draught. “Draught of the Sleeping Fool.” 2) One of a liquid that looks like molten gold. A strong healing potion known to cure many poisons as well as physical wounds. “Sanitum Elixir.” 3) A liquid of a fiery, swirling red. With a little magical boost, it creates an explosion upon breaking. “Burning Flask.” 4) An opalescent liquid. Induces a temporary bout of insanity in whoever drinks it. “Insanity’s Awakening.” 5) A thick, vibrant green liquid. A truth serum. 6) A vial half the size of the others partially filled with a black liquid, and is kept in a hidden pocket inside the pouch. A fast-acting, deadly poison. “Death’s Shadow.”

Weapons: A dussack knife, just in case. A duo-bladed staff: Made of a sturdy wood that has withstood many a battle, it is carved and painted with such skill that it looks as if hundreds of leafy vines wove together with the sole purpose of creating it, the forms of various types of creatures roosting, peering, and prancing through the plants. A band of a silver metal tips it at either end, and, with a little use of her magic, the blades, which rest hidden inside the sturdy shaft, will emerge. She uses it as both a walking staff and a weapon when the need arises. She purchased this from a band of traveling sorcerers known as The Great Rerecri, who were renowned for their fine crafts and powerful enchantments--and for dealing with anyone--before their time came to an end around twenty-five years ago.

Physical Abilities: She is a good fighter with staves and other polearms, and decent with the bow. She has the speed and elegance of an elf, good low-light vision, enhanced senses, and is a fair flyer (but excellent diver), though she doesn’t often utilize that form of travel for fear of being spotted. She also has a high heat and cold tolerance.

Magical Abilities: She is capable of communicating with nature, and can cast a select few spells, though using magic physically drains her and she is not very good at it, and there are plenty of times when even nature will shy away from her and refuse to speak to her because it can sense the curse about her. From her dragon blood, she is capable of controlling and conjuring white fire.

Languages: Common, Elven, and Draconic.

Personality: To the eyes of the world, Rayadell has grown cold and callous, shutting everyone out and trusting no one. She is a loner, keeping to herself and avoiding working with others, but, beyond her hard shell, she longs to be close to someone, and has a kind heart, even if it does not outright show. She desires to use the curse that has been cast on her to do good, to use the life it’s given her to help and save as many people as she can. She is a fierce fighter and protector, though she is careful to never grow close to anyone. When she is being paid to accomplish something, or if she has already agreed to aid someone, no matter what it is, she will see it through to the end, and do everything in her power to see that the mission is successful. However, she has a quick temper, and a malice worthy of a drow if you really get on her bad side.

Major Positive Traits: Resolute. Honorable. Adaptable. Adventurous. Seemingly fearless. Self-reliant. Active.

Major Negative Traits: Short-tempered. Aloof. Untrusting. Harsh. Impatient. Restless.

Ticks and Tags: Ticks: She frequently fingers the necklace she always wears, or plays with her knife. When she gets angry or extremely frustrated and is not careful to catch herself, she will either let out a beastly, guttural growl, or a plume of smoke rises from her nostrils... if not both. Tags: The feeling of the magic of the curse (as explained below) is noticeable to the right people when within close proximity. She always smells faintly of rain and evergreen needles. She is extremely short with, well, everyone.

Cherished Object: The necklace as described in “Clothes Wear.”

Other: Her dragon blood has given her an affinity for fine art, expertly cut gems, intricate carvings, and jewelry, though she does not keep much of any of that about her person. Unlike many types of elves, she is incapable of living off a vegetarian diet, and needs to consume meat to survive.

The Curse: The short version? She’s cursed to spend eternity alone. The long version? Better pull up a seat. There are two main parts to the curse: 1) It has essentially given her eternal life, and, even if she wanted to end it all, it prevents her from allowing her own demise. 2) Should she fall in love, death would soon befall the object of her affection. However, through the years, she has also found that if she so much as works too closely with people for too long, her companions will begin to fall ill over time, the curse slowly draining the life from them unless she leaves them far behind. She has found that there’s no predicting how long it will take the curse to affect those around her thustly, the amount of time varying from one person to the next. It could take days, weeks, months... Another, secondary effect of the curse is that, while the rest of her race was capable of masking their dragon side, she is bound to her mixed form, ever winged, tailed, and partially scaled. As Rayadell has regretfully found out, while she is capable of telling others of her curse, anyone to whom she tells the details are marked for a gruesome death. Finally, anyone with decent experience in magic can sense the dark powers of the curse around her. Many animals as well as plants can also sense this.

Bio: (I feel so lazy right now with this...)

To Cure a Curse

The sweet aroma of boiling meat and vegetables permeated the home alongside the pungent scent of a fire. The house was warm compared to the outdoors, making Rayadell realize how chilly it had been outside for a spring evening.
Rayadell tugged her hood from her head as she looked around.
Movement in a doorway to her left made the girl spin toward it as she gripped the staff in both hands. Her body hunched and ready to fight or defend, with a gentle magical push, two silvery blades sprung from the ends of her staff as she turned.
A plump woman with short curly hair gave a surprised shout and stepped back, her eyes wide. “My land, girl!” The woman placed a hand over her heart, her gaze on Rayadell’s weapon. “You trying to give me a heart attack? Put that away, would you? You’re in no danger here.” She gripped the stained apron wrapped around her plain skirts and flicked it irritably at her guest.
Rayadell eyed the woman for a long moment. She looked somewhere in her late twenties to early thirties. Her lips were pursed into pale lines, and her dark hair curled closely into her tan oval face. Her warm brown eyes held an air of kindness and hardship in almost a motherly sort of way.
Slowly, Rayadell straightened, though her grip on the staff did not waver. “Mrs. Carish?”
“Call me Thea, hon.” The woman’s lips pulled up in a nervous smile. “Would you prefer Rayadell, or... what was it you’re going by? Tarora? Or perhaps--"
“Rayadell’s fine,” she snapped. “Since you know it, anyway.”
“As you wish. Now, if you would be so kind as to--” Thea gestured to Rayadell’s staff.
“How do you know it? I haven’t used that name in years.”
Thea gave a kind, yet sorrowful smile. “We did our research, hon. We’re rather good at it. Alas,” she gave a sad sigh, pain shimmering wetly in her eyes, “when a life hangs in the balance, one can take no chances. We need the best, and only the best. But that’s a story to be told once Calanon arrives. He, too, must have plenty of questions.” She glanced to the door behind Rayadell. “Hopefully he won’t be too much longer.”
Rayadell’s gaze darkened. She had not expected to have an adventuring partner.
“Come, please.” She gestured toward the room beyond her, where an iron stove with a pot was just visible through the gap. “I have a nice pot of stew on. It should be about ready, and I imagine you must be famished after your journey. My husband’s just around back collecting more wood.”
The plump woman turned and headed into the kitchen, casting Rayadell only a reassuring glance before heading to the stove.
Slowly, Rayadell held her staff vertically in front of her and, with another magical push, the blades retracted into the staff, leaving only the metal tips on either end. Ever wary, she entered the kitchen.
A small, simple room, it had a couple cupboards on the walls. An iron stove rested near the far wall with a water basin beside it. Off to the side was a table with four chairs.
“Have a seat, if you’d like.” Thea gestured toward the table with a wooden ladle.
“I’m fine.” She paused, watching Thea stir her stew. She cast a quick glance around the room, looking for any potential eavesdroppers. “Your letter. It said you know about my... predicament.”
“Yes, hon.” Thea glanced toward Rayadell pityingly.
“Then you’ll take no offence when I say I work alone.”
“You’ve worked with others before.”
“Yes, but--”
“So you have the experience needed to watch for the signs your curse is affecting someone else.”
“Yes.” Rayadell looked at her suspiciously. “How do you--”
“We were research experts in another life.” Thea turned toward Rayadell and crossed her arms, the ladle still in hand. “If there’s even the slightest shred of information out there, you can bet we’ll find it. But that’s beside the point right now. This isn’t something anyone could do alone. It requires at least two. That’s a part of our conditions. But that's all to be discussed with everyone over dinner.” The woman gave Rayadell a stern look, telling the girl that her word was final.
Rayadell jumped and held her staff defensively when the back door opened, and a bare-chested man with dark, weathered skin entered with an armful of cut wood.
“Oh!” he said over his pile in a deep voice, looking to Rayadell. “Good!” He crossed the room and deposited the wood as Rayadell stepped a bit closer toward the door to avoid being cornered.
The man brushed his hands off on his tattered trousers, then thrust a hand toward Rayadell to shake. “Merek Carish. You must be Farrodane.”
“Rayadell, dear,” Thea called over her shoulder as she once more stirred the stew.
Rayadell nodded in greeting, but ignored his hand.
“Go watch for Calanon, won’t you?” Thea requested sweetly. “Hopefully Salven found him before he could get too badly lost.”
Merek chuckled. “I’m sure he’s fine.” All the same, he gave a nod at Rayadell, then hurried behind her through the doorway to the front door.
Rayadell stepped around the table to stand closer to the back exit. She stood there, still as a statue, her staff gripped tightly in one hand as she watched Thea. Her senses were on alert, and her gaze stony as she waited for this mysterious Calanon to arrive. Rather, to get the answer she truly wanted: did they really know of a way to cure her of her curse, of a secret to succeeding in the very task she had devoted so many years of her life to, only to fail, or was this indeed some sort of trap?

Deleted

“Uh huh,” Izzy drawled dubiously at his too-quick response. She cast him a sideways look, her head tilting slightly toward her knees. “For an ancient, all-powerful vampire, you could really do with working on your lying skills.” Her lips tugged upward in an amused half-smile.
She shifted her gaze once more out to the scene beyond the rooftop as Cerasus spoke.
“Dull? But, the world’s always changing. There’s always something new to see, and so much of it out there. See something one year, and it might be completely different the next. Well, other than here, anyway.”
Izzy groaned at being called 'my servant.'
“Would you please stop calling me that!” she moaned toward the sky, the request emboldened by his current amicableness. “Call me ‘Helga’ for all I care. Just not... that.” She exhaled through her nose, then sighed. She cast him a curious glance as his last statement registered. “Well. 'The Hot-Blooded, Cold-Blooded, Iron-Blooded Vampire' is just a little too long,” she finished lightly.

Deleted

As vague as his answer was, shock crossed Izzy’s face at the single word. “I’m... I’m sorry.”
Her gaze followed Cerasus as he returned to sit at the roof’s edge, a seed of pity for the vampire’s tribulations sprouting in her. When he looked to her, she did not immediately look away. Unsure what to say as he finished, she turned her attention to the rooftop and sat, pulling her knees to her chest and draping her arms over them.
She stared out at the fields and trees beyond the tangled mass of weeds of the schoolyard for a couple moments, then took a deep breath.
“Thank you, Cerasus,” she began quietly. “For sparing me. And rescuing me that first day.”

Schooled in Magic

“Don’t they sound like cheery people,” Jazelle grumbled when Priscilla finished her answer. The only other question now bouncing around her head was one she was sure Priscilla would be incapable of answering: out of everyone else to choose from--Lone Powers, those with chairs in the White Council, and who knew who else--why had the Necromancer wanted her? She was not even from this world. It was an intriguing mystery. Dangerous, but intriguing.
Maybe I should write a book. The corner of Jazelle’s lips pulled up fractionally in a smirk at the thought.
Her brows rose at Priscilla’s forced smile, watching the girl open the door to what she assumed was to be her bedroom.
Sleep in. That sounded like quite the lovely notion. Since moving back in with her dad, she had made it a point to wake far earlier than him to avoid the risk of running into him in the mornings. Of course, it had not always worked what with his work--and drinking--hours as scattered as they were, but nine times out of ten, she managed to sneak out of the house undetected.
Then, she remembered her backpack. She glanced to the shoulder she had had it slung over. She had left it in the courtyard. With the Necromancer.
She scowled at her thoughts as Priscilla’s words trailed off.
“What?” Jazelle focused on the other girl. “Oh,” she said when Priscilla’s last words registered. She took in the girl’s expression, her eyes showing what she hoped to be Jazelle’s answer. “No. But thanks,” she added. She glanced around the corridor, then slowly stepped into the room awaiting her.

To Cure a Curse

@POOHEAD189
Hey, maybe they'll spread the word and it'll be Orc-free for a while!

Deleted

Izzy released a breath she had not realized she had held when Cerasus drew the sword away.
“Oh.” She shuddered when he turned the blade toward himself, for the most part expecting what followed. After all, he had to have gotten it there in the first place somehow. All the same, it was a strange thing to see, fascinating, but simultaneously disturbing. “That’s... an interesting storage system you’ve got there,” she said, her voice tense and a hand over her stomach as the sword fully disappeared.
“How did he die," she began slowly, partially expecting him to answer with as simple a response as he had to 'what happened to him,' "that the real thing was lost?” Izzy shifted her gaze from where the sword had vanished to Cerasus’ handsome face.

Deleted

Izzy placed her hands on her elbows, watching Cerasus’ show of swordplay. There was a lethal beauty and power to each of the movements that held her captivated, that made her not want to blink for fear of missing something.
She inhaled and gripped her elbows tighter when the blade passed silently through the pole. Her attention locked on it, expecting the next brush of a breeze to knock it over, but it remained standing. She gasped and staggered back when he raised the sword toward her, her gaze focused on the deadly point as he answered her question.
“You seem no worse for wear,” she said softly, “after, you know, pulling it from your stomach.”