Riven Wight

Melodramatic Deities and an Ageless Taste for Pizza

Dreams are such odd things. They lurk in the depths of the mind, emerging when we succumb to the sweet, healing unconsciousness of sleep. For most, they are little more than wisps of visions that blow away with the waking world. They are quickly lost and forgotten, leaving only the haunting feeling that something had happened inside your head while you slumbered. And even that was rare for some, their dreams consumed by the darkness of the mind long before waking.
But Anora had not had that luxury for far too long. She was sure she had gone to bed, but the persistent, steady crunch reminiscent of gravel beneath her feet filled the darkness she had thought only a moment before to have been the product of sleep. Shadows. She was wading on expert feet through the obsidian blanket of shadows. She had the feeling she had been traveling for a while, yet she did not feel worn from the journey.
Streams of light streaked through the wall of black, but Anora did not so much as blink at the sudden light. The rays created a gray haze before the darkness fully pulled away, and she could not help but marvel at the vividness of the colors of her surroundings. Beautiful, but deadly-looking shades of deep red saturated the cloudless sky, illuminating the world despite the lack of a visible sun. Contrasting shades of a white expanse stretched around her, rounding off then dropping into red oblivion far in the distance. The indentations left by her steps allowed light shadows to pool inside them. But it was not just her sight that felt enhanced; every one of her senses had intensified as if someone had cranked her body’s perception dial to its breaking point. From the gentle breeze carrying a sour scent, to the sensation of the gravel beneath her feet, this relatively quiet place was unquestionably real, even more tangible than the world she had left behind.
Further off, gigantic, baseless pillars that could put even the Tokyo Skytree to shame surrounded her like a stone forest. It was impossible to tell whether the massive, perfectly round structures were one or thousands of miles away. Some of them leaned drunkenly while others stood straighter than she thought possible. She glanced from them to the gravel through which they seemed to have sprouted, as opposed to being built upon.
No, not gravel. Bones. For as far as she could see, a harrowing array of human-like bones littered the ground and cracked unnervingly beneath each of her steps, the occasional small skull smiling emptily up at her.
She tried to gasp, to step back, but her body did not obey her. It kept going forward. Of course it did. She was on a mission, and this was no ordinary dream, even by her standards. This time, her body was not hers, driven forward by a consciousness not her own.
A scratching rumble sent a violent tremble through the ground beneath her feet, and a thought not of her thinking, yet oddly fitting all the same, crossed her mind: He’s here.
Not-her-body tensed, ready for action. Where was he?
With a chest-rattling eruption, a colossal hand burst from the ground, sending a rain of bones clattering for miles. Its enormous palm reached slowly toward the ground as if hoping to pull up the rest of its body still hidden below. Its skin appeared to ripple as thousands of mouths opened. What looked unnervingly like blood blood gushed from their lips. The shock and dread blooming in not-her combined with the fearful awe that flooded through Anora.
What sounded like the tortured wails of millions of souls trapped in the underworld sent a shock wave toward her from the hand, knocking her back. She skidded painfully to her back, the carpet of bones poking at her through her clothes.
Not-her cursed and scrambled to her feet. If I don’t make the first move, he’ll--

* * *

Realizing she had regained full sensation of her own body, Anora jumped up from her bed, an electric purple energy speckled with gold forming around her hands. She had to attack first, but her blanket caught around her legs and made her fall to the floor with a shout. The energy she had summoned burst unintentionally from her hands and shot into her dresser. The wood of one of the drawers shattered, sending an array of splinters and scorched undergarments into the air before falling about the threadbare carpet.
Her heart still pounding madly in her chest, Anora pushed her upper body up and looked around, slowly registering the familiar surroundings of her bedroom. The peeling wallpaper that displayed an ugly, faded floral pattern. Her desk, the only thing messy about the room, cluttered with stray papers, half-finished drawings, and paintbrushes unwisely left dipped in water. The few posters and pictures she had put up to try countering the wallpaper. Then, there was her dresser, now minus one drawer. With a groan, she plopped fully onto the carpet, her arms on the floor above her head.
“Could my dreams get any weirder?” she asked the brown carpet. Though it offered her no answer, at least it was not made of bone. She could feel her black hair sticking up at odd angles, making her scalp itch as it tried to fall back into place.
Without fully sitting up, she twisted her body to get a look at her alarm clock. It told her it was a little past noon.
“Crap!” She hurried to her feet, this time careful to not let her blanket best her. She had wanted to get up earlier, but either her alarm failed to go off, or she slept through it. Either way, if she wanted to make it to the grocery store before her shift at the dinner, she would have to book it, or wait until tomorrow. With only enough food in the apartment to make a Jell-O and Lucky Charms sandwich, there was no way she was waiting.
As quickly as she could and trying to not think about her dream, she got ready for her day. She donned a tight-fitting black t-shirt adorned almost elegantly with a leather strip of silver studs on one side and various sizes of chains draped over the other, a matching pair of pants, and her current favorite pair of mid-calf platform boots decorated with exaggeratedly large buckles, her favorite knife hidden inside the left one.
As she hurried from her room, she paused to glance at the mess on her desk. The partially-painted sketch on top depicted a fierce, bloody battle she had borne witness to in yet another of her increasing dreams. She shuddered at the thought of the hand that had haunted her last night. That was certainly another one to put in the books. Her dreams had felt real since they began, but this had taken it to a whole new level.
Deciding her dresser could wait until later, she hurried from the apartment, pausing only to debate whether or not she wanted to take her car. Deciding it would be quicker, she grabbed her car keys from a dish on the small kitchen table, grabbed her handbag from beside it, and hurried from the two-roomed apartment.
She rushed down the creaky stairs to the first floor, her car keys swirling absently around one finger by a key ring, then emerged into the summery outdoors. She blinked slightly in the sunlight, examining the lawn suspiciously as if expecting another hand to come bursting through the ground.
Though she could not say what, there was something different about today. Something she could not quite place her finger on felt off, almost like there was an extra buzz in the air.
A feeling of paranoia stepped down her spine, making her frown. Looking around in a vain attempt at locating any reason for the sensation, Anora gripped her keys and made her way slowly across the grassy lawn between complexes toward the parking lot where her hand-me-down BMW waited.

Deleted

Izzy tried to pull away from the onslaught, hoping for a moment, even a mere partial second, of a reprieve. A mental and physical agony mingling with a fury fueled in part by the lingering pain burned in her eyes and displayed on her face. The metallic taste of her own blood from the short time it took her to heal coated her tongue in a film. Her chest and shoulders heaved with each breath. Though her body kept healing, she did not know how much more of this torture she could take.
She wanted--needed--this to be over. By any means possible. It took much of her willpower to not just simply give in. But a quick glance to the farmhouse was enough to remind her of why she could not.
Gathering what strength to fight she still had, she let out an angered cry and charged once more into the fray, though every part of her desired to run in the opposite direction. The moment Cerasus let his guard down, she leapt on him, trying to pin his arms to his sides, and her long, sharp fangs aimed at the soft flesh at the base of his neck.

They Live Among Us (Vampiricchild x Siaya)

Victoria’s brows raised slightly at Illyad’s last comment. She stored the bit of information that warlocks were, apparently, immortal away with the rest of the little she knew about supernaturals.
“Great,” she said dully, rubbing a hand over her forehead. “Add that to the ‘To Do’ list before tomorrow night. What do you need to contact them? How long...” She looked to the front door. “How long do you think until she comes back?”
She stared at the door through any answer she may gain, only half-listening. All this trouble because of her. Whenever it fell quiet or, at the very least, a pause ensued, she returned her head to her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with the apology. “For bringing this on you,” she elaborated. “You should be out there worrying about saving the city, not...” she let the statement trail off with a heavy sigh.

Mystery Inc: No Trace Left Behind { Angel & Siaya }

Nate moseyed through the house, not wanting to risk missing anything. Every time he heard something, be it a floorboard creaking beneath his own feet, the rumble of the furnace kicking on or off, or a gentle moan of the building settling, he startled and pressed himself against a wall, his thumb hovering over the switch on his flashlight. And every time, he scowled and scolded himself for letting himself be afraid of simple sounds. Normal sounds. If someone wanted inside, they would have already been here and gone months ago.
Finally, he neared the stairs that led to the second story that housed the bedrooms and the upper floor of Velma’s lab. As he passed a door left open a crack, he heard the gentle, familiar swish of an opening window.
Once more, Nate pressed himself against the wall beside the door and clicked his flashlight off as the soft thud of someone stumbling inside followed the sound of the window. Someone else was here. Had the criminal responsible for all this decided to return to the crime scene, after all this time?
Without fully thinking it through, Nate gripped his hefty flashlight like a club, kicked the door the rest of the way open, and rushed inside with a guttural shout, hoping, at the very least, to catch whoever-it-was off guard. Alas, the door bounced off the jam on the wall directly beside it and swung back toward him. He shouted again, this time in surprise as the edge of the door clipped him before he could move out of its way. His back hit the wall, accidentally flipping the light switch beside the door frame and flooding what was a large storage room with light.

Mystic Orphanage (Aristocles and Siaya Dragalorn)

As always, take your time. I understand being busy.

Oh dear crap. Good luck with that! xD You'll probably wish it was something as docile as a madhouse by the end of it all.

Schooled in Magic

@OfWindAndRain

Woo! Page two! *High five!*

Schooled in Magic

Jazelle returned Priscilla’s smile with a forced one of her own, then followed a few paces behind the older girl. She frequently glanced about the corridor with wary eyes, looking for any other branches off the one they traversed, any sign of stairs, or anyone else lurking about.
How big is this place? she wondered when the straight walk stretched impossibly onward. She kept her hands in her hoodie’s pocket, her posture slightly hunched and shoulders tense.
It was not until the third time they passed one of the windows, faintly admiring the view, that she realized they were going in a circle. Without making any perceivable turns. Her pace faltered, and she looked around with new interest and mistrust. Were they stuck in some kind of loop? Was this some sort of trap Sunder had set up?
Either way, Priscilla had not stopped. Jazelle contemplated waiting there to see if the girl would pass by again, but deemed it unwise to lose sight of her and hurried to catch up. It was impossible to say what, if anything, would happen if she stayed behind.
She was about to ask about it when they passed the window once more, but, at long last, the hall changed, offering them a new sight. And what a strange sight it was. Even the atmosphere here was different. Her pace slowed as she tried to examine the multifarious contents crowding the furniture pressed against the stone walls, ranging from the familiar to the unidentifiable, from the mundane to the grotesque.
Are these... enchanted items? she wondered. As they passed, she moved slightly closer to one wall to get a better look at the skeletal candle-holder, the wax of the candles not so much as dripping despite the flames burning at the wicks.
She cast a glance to Priscilla to make sure she was neither looking nor getting too far ahead, and reached to touch one of the bones of the hand, wanting to see if they were real. Before her hand got too close, an electric buzz kissed her fingers and spread painfully up her arm. She drew back with a hiss and griped her arm with the other hand, but the sensation vanished as quickly as it had come.
"Don't try to touch enchanted objects," she grumbled to herself under her breath, then, with a frown, once more caught up with Priscilla.
When they reached the double doors, their size giving Jazelle pause, and entered the dining room, she stopped just inside and gawked at the room before her. Though she was not sure what she had expected, this certainly wasn’t it. For all its grandeur, the tables on either side of the fire and chef’s table looked dismally empty with the few people to occupy the many seats situated at each.
Then, her gaze settled on Sunder sitting at the third table directly across from her, the flames of the fire flaring up and occasionally blocking the sight of him. Judging by his expression, he liked mornings just about as much as Jazelle did on a school day.
Jazelle startled slightly when Priscilla spoke, giving a reminder of her presence. She nodded absently, then paused. She opened her mouth to ask, “How long is awhile, exactly?” but the servant had already turned and left.
Jazelle scowled after her, then looked back to Sunder. She glanced to the food on the cook's table, her stomach rumbling from the delectable smell of cooked meats and baked bread that pervaded the room, then made her way around the tables in a slow, yet confident pace as she he reluctantly went to follow Priscilla’s instruction.
“Mornin’, Sunshine,” she intoned as she pulled out a seat beside Sunder and sat, angling it slightly toward him and leaving what she hoped was a safe distance between them. She replaced her hand in her pocket, and slumped lazily in the chair, trying to hide her unease, though her eyes remained as alert as ever.

Mystery Inc: No Trace Left Behind { Angel & Siaya }

The large building sat gloomily beneath the night sky. Even the blue-and-white “MI” sign on the front rested in shadow, the letters illuminated only by the streetlights out front. The windows stared out like the blank, lifeless eyes of a corpse. Weeds had begun to strangle the grass in the lawn, which looked like it had not been kept up for the past month, and crept along the wide driveway leading around to a garage in the back. Strings of police tape were rolled out around the yard’s perimeter, but a few pieces had fallen from their stakes and now billowed in the gentle breeze of the night like a flag at half-mast, mourning the vanished residence of the house.
Nathanial sat in the cab of his truck about a block away, his vehicle parked in the shadows between streetlights. By the soft glow of the dome light, he reread a news article dated about three months ago. Though he could recite it by heart by now, its headline still stared back at him mockingly: “Mystery Inc.: Vanished, or Abandoned?” Everyone seemed to think the answer was abandoned. He glanced to the front page of another paper sitting on the seat beside him, this one dated more recently with a much different headline: “Prison Break Reported: Criminals on the Loose... Again.”
The police had not seen any conclusive connection between the two and thus brushed it aside, but Nate was not so quick to rule it out. Yes, it had happened a month after Mystery Inc.’s disappearance, but someone had to have helped them escape, didn’t they?
He gave a heavy sigh and ran a hand over the unfamiliar prickly stubble on his cheeks and chin, the sleeves of his denim jacket rolled up to his elbows. He glanced up to the home of Mystery Inc. His cousin’s home. He had watched it most of the day, but not a single soul came or went. It was as abandoned as Coolsville felt.
Deciding it would do no good putting it off any longer, Nate patted the pocket in his jacket to be sure his set of lock picks were in place, cast a quick glance about the street to check for any stray pedestrians or police patrols, then exited his truck. He ducked back in to grab a heavy flashlight, then turned to face the Mystery Inc. headquarters.
Trying--but failing miserably--to look as inconspicuous as possible, he strode along the sidewalk. His eyes darted about suspiciously, and he flinched at every boisterous chirp of a cricket as if an officer had just called out for him to stop.
But no one tried to stop him. Even the breeze had died down. He trod carefully, preventing the heels of his boots from making too much noise against the concrete sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder as he reached the door, and carefully undid what little of the crime scene tape remained on it. He tried the handle, but found it locked.
He heaved a sigh. It had at least been worth a try.
Nate knelt down so his head was closer to level with the lock, and pulled his set of lock picks from his pocket. He balanced it on his knee, chose what he needed, then clicked his flashlight on. Balancing the light between his shoulder and chin so the beam shone on the lock, he set to work. Though there were a few different locks, it only took him a few seconds each before he heard the tumblers click and the bolt pull back.
Note to self: he thought once he had finished, quickly putting the lock picks away, suggest they install better locks.
With the lock picks safely stored away, he cast another glance around the street, then slowly opened the door, which moved on silent hinges. He stepped inside and quickly shut and re-locked the door behind him before turning the beam of his flashlight to the round entrance room, careful to not shine it directly on any windows.
It looked exactly as he remembered it.
At the center of the room’s paneled floor, a couple steps led down into a circular area with a blue carpet brandishing the Mystery Inc. emblem. A curved couch lined the circle on one side, its back sticking up above the dip, with a television screen and stand opposite it. A couple archways led deeper into the house. His beam glittered on the kitchen appliances visible beyond an open space in the wall, a few stools sitting at a bar table built below it. The entire area screamed a mix of modern technology and 70s décor.
A small smile quirked at the corners of Nate’s lips. Though it had been so long since he had stepped foot in here, only the technology had changed. And then there was the sense of emptiness, of loneliness that hung thickly in the air, as if even the building mourned for its tenants.
He walked around the dip, and headed toward one of the archways. If he wanted to find clues, Fred’s room was as good a place as any to start. If they had been getting ready to attend a gathering, that was the most likely place Fred would have been last, probably admiring himself in a mirror as he adjusted his ascot.
With his beam carefully sweeping his surroundings and eyes kept open for anything that might hint at what had happened, he headed deeper into the home.

Deleted

The outcome of her blow made Izzy falter in shocked horror, but the emotion scarcely had time to register before her own head was detached from her body. It was an unnerving feeling, to say the least, being nothing but a head, with no sensations beside the glimpse of two headless bodies before the world went black. When she came to only a second later, she gasped and staggered back when she realized the sensation of having a full body had returned.
Her eyes wide, she reached up and gently fingered her neck as if checking that her head was securely fixed to it, all but her head spattered in glistening crimson.
She swallowed hard and looked to Cerasus, who had recuperated just as quickly. That ruled out beheading as a means of vampire slaying. And she was fresh out of wooden stakes to try the other method she had heard of. If it was a test of whose immortality and regeneration would give out first, she doubted hers would hold up to his. Her gaze settled for a moment on his jugular at the thought of the remaining option.
When he leapt at her, Izzy dodged his attacks as well as she could, her body turning and crouching slightly to make his target as small as possible. She stepped to attempt getting a clear shot to his side and thrust a couple jabs before trying to pull away, watching for any opportunities.

Mystic Orphanage (Aristocles and Siaya Dragalorn)

@Aristocles

Oh my gosh, I'm a jerk. I didn't even realize you posted here. How the flip did I miss that? If that happens again, you're welcome (and encouraged, really) to PM me and yell at me.

I've seen people posting statuses for Discord, but I've never tried it out.