Riven Wight

Schooled in Magic

Jazelle returned Sunder’s disapproving gaze with an indifferent expression as she leaned her chair so it balanced precariously on its back legs. She raised an eyebrow at a slight pause following her greeting.
“Hold that face too long, and it might stick that way,” she mused lightly. “Unless it already has.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, and nodded as if that explained everything.
She looked back to him when he started about having a backstory. “Your daughter?” she asked incredulously. “You’ve got to--”
“And don’t protest.”
Her lips pursed to the side and she exhaled through her nose.
“Lynched?” Jazelle’s chair fell back to all four legs, and she stared at him, her mouth slightly agape as she searched his expression for any sign he was messing with her. She found none.
At the first part of the quick, simple story he provided, she could not help but laugh. “Same song, second verse,” she said with a darkly amused snort. She leaned the chair once more on its back legs, wondering if he could have possibly known the truth behind his fabricated “backstory.”
She returned his stare until he glanced behind her. Her attention snapped to the side as she turned her head. She startled at the sight of the servant, and her chair threatened to topple over. She gripped the sides of the seat, steadying it as the servant placed a plate on the table in front of her, the charm bracelet around her wrist jingling lightly. She let out an frustrated breath at letting someone sneak up on her, watching the cook place a chunk of curious-looking meat among the other items already on the plate.
“Excuse me?” Jazelle’s attention returned to Sunder, looking at him from beneath her brows at the order of taking a new name. Her expression turned into a scowl as he explained himself. She threw a hand up in the air exasperatedly. “You couldn’t have told me that last night?” she growled, silently adding, Like, before I told you mine? She shoved her hands, annoyed, back into her muff, but listened to his lecture about the power of blood nonetheless.
“Okay, okay,” she grumbled when he reiterated the concept. “I get it.” Her stomach growled, and she eyed the food on the plate, its aroma tantalizing as it mingled with the warm scent of the fire. Slowly, she scooted the chair to better face the plate, still keeping a cautious eye cast about her.
“So, Dad,” she said almost mockingly as she speared a pile of eggs with a fork. She looked at Sunder sideways, her eyes slightly narrowed. “No one does something like this without there being a profit in it for them, or wanting something in return. So what’s in all this for you, huh? What do you want? Because a clear conscience doesn’t strike me as something at the top of your priority list.”

To Cure a Curse

Rayadell’s brows rose fractionally when Calanon turned to her. She opened her mouth to repeat herself, but closed it again a she registered the mild surprise in his expression in place of misunderstanding.
She did not offer to return his pleasantry of a smile, instead giving only a slight, stiff nod at Calanon’s last statement. She cast one more look behind her to the mountains, then turned her full attention to the elk. Her gaze ever wary, she slowly approached the animal, watching Calanon only with her peripheral vision. Her back still ached when she thought of the last time she had tried to mount a steed, but, if it would let her answer the call of the mountains faster, it was worth the risk.
Had the animal shown no ire toward her approach, Rayadell held her breath and placed a gentle, gloved hand on Brogach's side, feeling his fur with her bare fingertips, and waiting for Calanon to mount first.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

I hope it succeeds in helping! I will be sure to keep your willingness for feedback in mind. :-)

Oh, yeah, of course! Character profiles--in my opinion and in this case, anyway--are more general guidelines for them, anyway, not set-in-stone characteristics. Characters sometimes end up being slightly different than their profiles once a story gets going and the writer gets to know them a bit better, gets to see how they'll actually end up reacting to things (because sometimes, characters totally do things their writer didn't intend or expect).

I had an idea about the magic in Wonderland, and thought I would run it by you. Because it's always good to get technical. It would better explain why Drust would not have put as much effort into Elayra's magical capabilities, since it's a sorceress she and Ghent would have to go up against in the end.

My Thoughts: The Curse didn't just mess with people and animals, but with the flow of magic itself, interrupting how--and who--it obeys those capable of accessing it. Of course, the Red Sorceress would be capable of altering that, allowing those who serve her to not be effected. However, with everyone else (with a couple exceptions I'm sure we'll meet *Grins mischievously*), including Elayra and Drust, it only worked once to block others, and is ongoing, like a disease, passing to those born into Wonderland. Which means that Ghent would be neither recognized nor hindered by this aspect of the Curse since he escaped before it hit, allowing him full access to any magical abilities. Yea? Nay?

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Thank you! That's high praise, there! ^.^ I've been told that I can get a little too detailed, and don't be shy to give any pointers or suggestions with my writings. Feedback is a fantastic thing. :-)

Your post is wonderful! :-D I love the allusions to his past in Wonderland. Glad things are starting to slow down for you. It's always nice to be capable of having room to breathe, even a little.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

“This is taking too long!” the White Knight growled, letting his end of the deerdrin drop.
Elayra, her bow strung over her back, hissed as the full weight of the beast fell to her, making her release her end of the carcass. The beast’s body fell with a thud, making a plume of dirt and long since decayed leaves puff up around it.
“Forget the animal.” His neck and head twitched in a violent tick. “We won’t have time to skin it, anyway.” Drust turned from Elayra, and stepped slowly away, not bothering to look back.
“What?” Elayra stared at him. He stopped, his back still to her. “This thing’ll feed us for days, and you want to just leave it?”
Drust turned to face her, his nose and mouth lifted in an irritated sneer. “And I was worried you’d started losing your hearing. Come on.” He turned back around to face the twisting, dilapidated trees of the forest. “Fall behind, and I’ll add an extra two hours to your training tonight. Freestyle. No mercy.”
Fear crossed her gray gaze, but she hid it with a quick roll of her eyes. “We both know I’d win,” she said firmly.
Drust cast her a smirk over his shoulder, his head twitching again. Elayra’s brows furrowed in concern. Though a common occurrence, it had been ages since she recalled seeing that tick occur in so close of a succession.
“Make me wait; we’ll find out.” With that, he sprinted through the trees on agile feet.
Elayra groaned. She cast the carcass a quick glance, then, grumbling to herself about leaving it behind and Drust’s orders, jumped over the corpse, and ran after the White Knight.

The jagged entrance to a cave yawned in the wall of a natural, wide trench. A few dry roots dangled over it, concealing part of the top of the narrow opening. Elayra stood a couple paces behind Drust, watching him retrieve a torch hidden among a pile of branches with another twitch.
Holding the torch in one hand, he waved the other over its top. A spark flickered hesitantly. For a moment, Elayra thought it would go out, but the torch caught.
Without a word, Drust ducked into the cave, Elayra at his heels. The cave was a small, oblong shape made of a substance somewhere between dirt and stone. Near the rear, Drust placed the torch in a small hole carved into the dirt-stone, his head giving yet another twitch, then stepped closer to the wall, the torchlight casting eerie shadows over his face.
He inhaled, muttered something under his breath, and extended a flat palm toward the cave wall. Nothing happened.
“Blast it!” Drust shouted, his face distorting angrily. The black lines at the corners of his eyes pulsated and expanded fractionally over his skin. He balled his hand into a fist.
“Hey!” Elayra hurried to his side and gripped his wrist as he moved to punch the wall. She ducked nimbly out of the way as he spun and swung his other fist at her, twisting free of her grasp. “What’s wrong with you today?” She stepped back and quickly removed her bow from her, tossing it aside. She held her fists in front of her defensively as he came at her. She blocked and bobbed out of the path of a couple other well-formed punches, before she tried to tackle him to the ground.
Drust stumbled back, but did not fall. Instead, he used her momentum to toss her to the tight-packed ground.
She turned onto her back as he tried to jump on top of her. Before he landed, Elayra gripped one of his arms and kicked at his stomach, knocking him to the side. Without releasing her hold, she rolled atop him, gripping his other arm and sitting on his stomach, pinning his snarling form to the ground.
“Whatever’s going on,” Elayra began, her voice harsh and eyes searching his for any sign the Curse’s flair up would recede. The black-veined red now consumed even his pupils, leaving only the whites of his eyes. “We’ll deal with it together. Including the stupid wall. Like always.”
His chest heaving with infuriated breaths, Drust returned her stare with a wild gaze. Slowly, his breathing slowed, and his muscles relaxed slightly beneath her. He nodded.
“Good.” She returned his nod.
The moment her hold slackened, in the blink of an eye, he twisted his hands, one gripping her wrist to push her away and the other breaking free to pull at her elbow and force her weight off-balance, sending her once more to the cave floor beside him. Before she could retaliate, Drust sprung up. Trapping one of her wrists, he straddled her midsection, and firmly gripped her throat, preventing her from raising her head.
She stared up at him, her jaw squared and other hand moving to rest on the wrist of the hand around her neck. She suppressed a sigh of relief as his eyes reverted to their usual appearance.
“Together.” He released her, stood, and returned to the wall as Elayra hastily got to her feet.
She glanced sideways at him, making sure he was still of a semi-sound mind, and stood beside him. In unison, the two stretched out a palm toward the wall and muttered, “Clyesco.”
The wall shimmered, and the two strode through. A second part of the cavern greeted them. A large tree stump sat near the center like a table. The only other items taking up space consisted of two rugged traveling packs, one larger than the other, and a large brass telescope with various odd arms, dials, charms, and knobs on a stand.
“You… packed?” Elayra asked, striding over to the packs as Drust went to his telescope and set to compacting it to an impossibly small form.
“It’s open, Elayra,” he answered in a monotone as he spun one of the dials on the telescope. The contraption made a whirring sound, then fell silent.
Elayra stared at him, her mouth agape. “It’s… what?” she breathed.
“Open,” he hissed impatiently, scowling as he continued. “I knew it would happen soon. But the portal’s been open since yesterday, and I missed it until this morning!” He snatched the larger pack and shoved the telescope furiously inside. “How could I be such an imbecile?” His face distorted in a snarl.
“Take it easy,” Elayra watched him warily as he began to pace lividly. “That’s why we’re camping so close to Hollow Wood, isn’t it?” She collected her pack and slung it over a shoulder, her hand shaking slightly. She took a deep breath. “Then what’re we waiting for? We have a Madrail to find, and a self-proclaimed Queen to kill.” A smile befitting her guardian spread over her face at the thought of finally ridding the world of the Red Sorceress. The prospect of exacting revenge for what the woman had done to the world, to Drust, was a sweet one strong enough to temporarily push aside Elayra's insecurities of battling her.
Drust spun on his heels to face her, his pack held by a single strap and almost dragging against the ground. He stared at her, a twitch interrupting him as he raised his chin and looked down at her.
“You think you’re ready, do you?” he asked in his usual cool tone.
Elayra squared her shoulders, displaying more confidence than she felt and more courage and determination than seemed possible. “Let’s not keep Harrow Hollow Hill waiting.”

Melodramatic Deities and an Ageless Taste for Pizza

When Pahn did not immediately respond, Anora’s brows furrowed, wondering if he had not heard her, or if his hearing had been damaged in his fight.
“Hello?” she said, contemplating waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention. Instead, she cast another nervous glance toward the sound of the sirens. She looked back to him when he responded, and gave a sigh of relief. At least his hearing was not compromised.
Just his reaction time? she wondered, concern she did not yet fully understand crossing her face.
She watched him raise his arms, and took a small step back, wanting to neither risk getting in his way, nor miss anything of how he planned on cleaning up. Her gaze shifted to his as he opened his eyes. She inhaled at their change, but the gentle sound was overpowered by the consistent grumbling whoosh accompanying his powers and surrounding them, its volume only just surpassed by the high-pitched whine of emergency vehicles growing unnervingly closer.
Anora’s attention turned to the ground as a white glow spread about the ground around them. Her concern about the authorities all but forgotten for the moment, she turned in a circle, lifting her feet a little higher than necessary as she watched the fractures in the concrete beneath her stitch themselves together with a series of cracks. The earth shook lightly with the effort of restoring itself, even the mud caking her boots pulling away to return to where it belonged.
With her back to Pahn, wind burst from behind her, making her long black hair flail about her face. She tried to quickly gather it as mist seeped impossibly from the concrete, casting a haze over the visible world. It swirled up and around them before it shot out like a wave from a supernova.
She watched, awestruck, one hand still trying to keep control of her hair, as buildings, sidewalks, and roads alike appeared to rebuild themselves, leaving no traces of damage behind. Even the noise of the sirens abruptly snuffed out. People appeared on the completed sidewalks as the last of the mist rippled through the city, each going about their normal, mundane way, none apparently any the wiser of the battle that had commenced only minutes before. Even her own car sat where she had left it in Piggly Wiggly’s parking lot, none the worse for wear.
“What in the the...?” Anora turned in a circle, gawking. An awed smile slowly quirked at her lips. Please don’t be a dream, she silently pleaded.
The loud screech of someone slamming on their breaks abruptly pulled her back to reality--at least, what she hoped was still reality.
She shouted and jumped back as the grille of a Chevy Malibu bucked to a halt only a couple feet from her, her back nearly brushing against Pahn, her eyes wide, and heart hammering madly in her chest. Judging by the condition of the car and few dents already in the front bumper, she was shocked it even bothered to stop.
“Which question would you like answered first?”
Anora spun back around at Pahn’s voice, startled at how close she now stood to him. She had to tilt her neck slightly upward to be capable of looking him in the eye as he suggested another place to talk, his tone and posture utterly unperturbed by nearly being ran over.
“A--a pizza place?” Her brows rose incredulously, before the Malibu’s horn made her flinch. The line of traffic grew steadily behind it, and more annoying meeps and honks joined the first. “Fine!” She stepped hastily toward the sidewalk, trying to usher him out of the road. “Anywhere but the middle of the street!”

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Woo! First IC post! Thank you so much for your patience. I greatly appreciate it! Hope you don't mind that it's a bit lengthy. I'll probably be editing the second OOC post to add a list of terms, if you're okay with that. With my luck, I'll forget them otherwise. Heh.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Mist clung to the dark, barren branches of desolate trees of the Twisted Forest. The sun filtered down in a gloomy haze, casting an eerie twilight glow about the forest despite the early daylight hour. Shadows stretched longer than seemed natural from the base of trees and deadly-looking plants spattering the ground. Even the grass looked dismal, each drab blade bent as if suffering from a debilitating depression.
Elayra crouched inside a hollow in a tree trunk that looked burnt and split from a lightning strike. A cut that had only just begun to scab over created a line down the left side of her face above and below her eye. Only a couple strands of her platinum hair escaped the cowl pulled over her head, the brown and black fabric of her clothing allowing her to blend in with the forest around her. She ran a finger over the brilliant blue fletching of one of her arrows and closed her eyes, waiting. Listening. She had followed the deerdrin tracks here, its trail mingling with others in the well-traveled spot before her.
Her lips quirked up slightly as she heard the familiar sound of her prey ruffling through the woods. A gentle scratching, sniffling sound came from the tress off to her right. She opened her eyes and nocked one of her arrows, keeping its tip pointed down.
A creature resembling a muscular deer with thick legs, massive antlers that entwined together in an impossible knot, and paws with claws ambled out from between a couple bent trees about five yards in front of her. Its furless, wrinkled hide was black with perfectly circular brown patches dotted about it. It almost looked cute--at least, it would if not for the chillingly empty, glowing crimson eyes veined with black that plagued this generation of animals. Animals born into the Curse. Animals without souls and guided by only the instinct to hunt and kill. The Forgen.
Elayra silently drew back her bowstring, aiming at the beast’s heart as it sniffed at the ground with its long, slender nose like a dog hunting for a bone. She exhaled softly, one of the deerdrin’s ears twitching in her direction, then loosed the arrow.
The animal’s head snapped up, but it was too slow; the arrow sunk deep into its flesh near its heart. It let out a howl of pain that sounded more like a screeching child than an animal, then turned its snarling face to her. Thick green saliva coated the animal’s sharp teeth and strung between its jaws. The animal lunged, its claws extended.
Elayra hastily nocked another arrow and jumped backward out of the hallow tree as she let the second arrow fly. It embedded deep in the beast’s chest. With another pained snarl, it landed where the girl had just stood, and swiped at her, its head twisting madly as it tried to snag her with its antlers.
She bent back as she hopped away, just avoiding the beast’s razor-sharp claws and gnarly antlers. She reached to draw her sword sheathed opposite her quiver, but the animal gave out a bleak cry, and, with a final shudder and swing of its head, fell still.
“You’ve been gifted peace in this nightmarish world,” she muttered to the animal, the glow in its eyes fading away as life fully left it.
She gripped the beast’s antlers and, with no little effort, pulled its corpse from where it hung partially over the tree. She stopped and glared down at it, contemplating the best method of getting it back to camp. She had not planned on catching a kill this large, but she had been incapable of resisting the challenge it presented.
Her head cocked slightly, and every muscle in her body tensed at the gentle crunch of a footstep behind her. In a heartbeat, she drew her sword and spun around.
The clang of metal colliding with metal rang through the forest as saber blocked katana, making a few of the nearby trees shudder.
Her face twisted in an irritated scowl as she recognized the sword before the man.
“And I was worried you were letting your guard down.” The man smirked, his voice as smooth and cold as polish marble.
His skin, even his lips, was an alabaster white, the color made more prominent by his darker clothes. He looked in his late twenties or early thirties, and though his sharp features may have once been handsome, they were worn with stress, worry, and a tinge of insanity. His eyes bore evidence of being tainted by the Curse. His irises were a glazed dark red with spider webs of black, and onyx lines spread out from the corners of his eyes.
“I don’t need your help hunting, Drust.” She stepped back and pulled her sword from his with a shing. “I can handle myself.”
Drust let out a half-crazed laugh and swung his katana through the air. Elayra flinched back and raised her sword, ready if he decided here would make a good training arena.
The White Knight’s neck twitched with a crack as he looked to the dead deerdrin, a distant cocky smile on his lips. “You can drag this carcass back to camp by yourself, can you?”
“I’ll find a way,” Elayra snapped, following his gaze to the corpse and silently questioning her statement.
Drust snorted, and returned his katana to the sheath strapped to his back. “As entertaining as it’d be to watch that,” he gripped the beast’s antlers with gloved hands, “I’m not here for a show. We have work to do. Lift its hind feet.”
“I said I can get it my--”
Drust’s face twisted in a toothy, warning snarl, his teeth as white as the rest of him. “Grab. It’s. Legs, Elayra,” he hissed threateningly, shoving the deerdrin’s face into the ground in extra emphasis. “We’ve wasted enough time. And this,” he nodded at the animal, “isn’t going to help.”
Elayra gave a snort of her own as she sheathed her saber. “Fine.”
She went behind the dead animal and did as Drust ordered, gripping its thick legs. Together, the two began to drag the animal that would provide them meat for a few meals to come, their wary gaze constantly shifting about their surroundings, both searching for any sign of spies or other trouble as they made their way back to their camp.

Mystic Orphanage (Aristocles and Siaya Dragalorn)

If we're doing five total travelers, that leaves me with two, yes? Would you be up for them being those "old friends?" Though, would they really take a child with them on an adventure like that? Unless he was somehow a stowaway or something?

Mystic Orphanage (Aristocles and Siaya Dragalorn)

Aaand I totally forgot to answer your question. So sorry! I swear. My brain forgets to work sometimes.

I don't really mind who goes on the ruins adventure. In play, you have Ferdinand, and I have the healers. If only a couple from the orphanage, then I'm good with bringing some "old friends" in. After an inquiry, they could meet at a rendezvous point, come to the orphanage, or a mix of both, depending on who would be on the way.