Avatar of Riven Wight

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2 mos ago
Current @Grey Dust: Of course not. Then it's ice water.
3 likes
5 mos ago
When you know you should get ready for bed, but then a cat sits on your lap.
4 likes
1 yr ago
It's interesting being the indecisive introverted leader of your group of very indecisive introverted friends.
10 likes
3 yrs ago
It's fun to think that play-by-post roleplays are basically just one giant rough draft.
13 likes
3 yrs ago
A quick thank you to Mahz and his minions for making this site into what it is! I've yet to encounter a RP site so aesthetically & OCD pleasing. You guys are the best!
17 likes

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It was so... kind of you to stop by.

Most Recent Posts

From a Potentially Pending Roleplay












A small speck of relief lightened Nikita at the elf’s quick response. She almost laughed as she watched the realization of the implication of his hasty answer dawn on him. Her lips betrayed her, quirking upward as he tried to backtrack, only managing to dig the hole further.
Until…
Others could be looking for him. Alone for now, but for how long, she didn’t know. Nor, it seemed, did he. Her subtle smile folded down instantly.
Her hand subconsciously tightened at her weapon. At last, the elf’s gaze flicked to it. The speed with which surprise and fear replaced his childlike joviality startled her into taking a step back of her own, ready to draw the weapon, her heart pounding in her throat.
But still, the elf didn’t immediately attack, didn’t start muttering some sort of curse.
Do they need to vocalize a curse? The thought sent a shudder down her spine. She started to draw the weapon when he spoke again, but hesitated when she realized he was still speaking English. And he was only returning her question, displaying the same amount of fear as she’d fought to keep hidden.
Nikita eyed him, watching his emotions play with free innocence across his face. Slowly, she took a deep, steadying breath, and shook her head.
“I came out here alone,” she said grudgingly. “But hunters sometimes come out this way, and I have family in the village,” she added, hoping to instill the same sense of, ‘kill me, and others might come and avenge me,’ in him as his words had in her.
Not that any of the hunters would bother to help her if they passed by. Most of them would be happy to be rid of her. Nor would anyone but Nico really care if she didn’t come home. Only him and Penelope, and, for all the healer’s bravery, she wouldn’t risk her own skin to avenge Nikita.
But the elf didn’t need to know that.
She pried her hand away from her machete. She slowly moved her hands to the side, palms facing him, showing she held no other weapons. The tattered work gloves she’d donned to chop wood still covered them, practically forgotten in the rush of the morning’s events.
“I meant it when I said I mean you no harm. As long as you don’t mean me any harm. Deal?” With a silent prayer that his countenance wasn’t just a well-honed act, she met his gaze and cautiously reached out a hand toward him for a handshake to seal the statement.
Not that she thought that would really mean anything to an elf, but it felt like the right thing to do. Or, at least, it was something to do, even if it wasn’t the right thing.
There were at least a dozen different ways this could go wrong.
Sorry if I've already asked, but based on what I've read about Illion, am I correct in imagining him as basically wearing his emotions?
This section is here, so why not start shoving my murderous little darlings from here into one place?

(Uncreative placeholder for the first post, just in case. But... I'm suddenly lazy and noticed the time. Note to self: Get them up tomorrow. -Ish.)
Relief washed through Nikita when it looked like the elf had believed her. But the relief was short-lived. Though his response sounded innocent enough, her breath caught when he countered her backward step.
She tensed, distantly wondering if this was what a rabbit felt like when it faced a fox.
She cast a discrete glance toward her hidden pitfall. If things went south, perhaps she could back him into it, and escape while he tried to untangle himself from the net. At least that way, if she was cursed, she'd have at least gotten a blow of her own in.
When she tried to take another step away, he began to circle her. Her fingers twitched toward her weapon, itching to draw it. When he rounded behind her, she was torn for just an instant between keeping him in sight and not showing him her fear.
Fear won out.
She turned her head to follow his motions as he circled her. Sizing her up. Perhaps trying to decide on the best means of punishment for her transgression of simply existing in the same forest today.
Though she doubted it usefulness, she slowly allowed her fingers to wrap around the hilt of her machete.
“How come your ears are so short?”
For a moment, only confused static existed inside her head as she tried to process the question. Not giving her time to think over the first one, he shot off two others of equal caliber.
“Do I what?” She turned to fully face the elf. The genuine curiosity she saw in his eyes threw her for as much of a loop as his line of questioning did. She squinted at him, hunting for any signs he meant ill will, but, now that she was actively looking for it, nothing about him was remotely what she’d expect from a predator hunting its prey.
He’d first addressed her in what she could only guess was his native language. And now this. Her eyes widened as realization dawned on her.
He was either acting, or he was oblivious about what she was. He hadn’t corrected her on calling him an elf, so she had to be right on that front. But, needless to say, this wasn’t how she’d expected meeting one to go.
Unless, of course, his ignorance really did mark him as a child. Which ignited a horrifying thought: where there was a child, a parent wasn't usually too far off, ready to attack anything that got too close to its young.
“No,” she answered with slow caution. If nothing else, not answering struck her as a bad idea. “I don’t have a tail. Or fangs. I don’t know why my ears aren’t longer.” She subconsciously reached up to the tips of her rounded ears, and glanced at his pointed ones. “It’s just how it is. Do you know why your ears are so long?” She cringed, realizing the challenge in that rebuttal too late for her mouth to stop.
“Why are you out here?” she ventured, eyeing him, her curiosity as wary as his was open. “Are... there more of you out here?” She couldn't keep the terror at that thought from her voice. She glanced nervously to the surrounding trees, though nothing else stirred, then quickly returned her attention to the elf.
Hope the wait was worth it! xD A vampire feeding NOT always being all dainty and elegant is one of my favoite routes with that, and it felt like it would fit with other descriptions you've given, so I hope you don't mind! If I ever break your idea of vampires for this (or for Vander's abilities in particular) enough to bother you, please don't hesitate to let me know!

I'm in a similar boat with driving. I have some weird medical things that prevent me from it, so I rely on others for rides!

Eh, if you can't find the photo, no worries! As long as you describe her and throw in the occasional reminder. Of course, do whatever works best for you, though! While a benefit to a RP is that you can get away with replacing a description with a photo, I personally like keeping in the practice of describing things So, you know, sorry now for repeated info like that. Enough habits tend to bleed over from here into my writing as is. xD I remember I once started using the BBC tags for italics in something I'd had zero intention to post anywhere. Was using Word, so didn't have any reason to use it.

I am so lost with that vine! xD But oh my gosh. That sounds like a fun imagining!

Edit: By the way, I meant to ask. What in the world is a "spin?" I tried looking it up, and got info about a trick for "flair bartending," but it looks to me like that might not be right, considering what it is. I, uh, don't go to bars. I swear, I really am over 21! 😆😕 Those "weird medical things" have just turned drinking into something super annoying and really not smart for me to do, and I haven't found any other reason to go to a bar.

Alex more than came trough for Ruby. The other girl always knew just how to cheer Ruby up, her genuineness enough to melt even the hardest or most distraught of hearts. As long as you didn’t insult her height, that was.
Ruby perked up at the prospect of Alex having good news.
“Hmmm?” she hummed, her tone already lightening. “Good news with alcohol. I like the way you think!” She tapped her temple, one eyes scrunching shut.
Ruby watched Alex as she began to put together a drink with enough chocolaty flavors to satisfy the most potent of cravings. Or create it. Until that moment, Ruby hadn’t realized how badly she needed chocolate.
She eagerly caught the glass as it slid over the bar, the motion making her straighten up in her seat. For all the blue-haired girl’s clumsiness, she made some of the meanest mixed drinks.
As Alex sat across from her, Ruby licked happily at the mound of whipped cream atop the drink.
“There are three things in this world you can never have too much of.” Ruby paused to lick off her whipped cream mustache. “Weekends, chocolate, and whipped cream.”
Her attention split between the milkshake and Alex as her friend elaborated on her good news.
“A paid vacation!” Ruby’s eyes widened animatedly. “Color me jealous!” If there was anyone in this city who deserved a paid vacation, it was Alex, hands-down. But the other girl continued before Ruby could say so.
“Mm, a plan?” She placed her elbow on the bar, then rested her chin on the back of her hand. “Do tell!” She sipped at her own drink as Alex poured herself some. Her eyes widened. “Zom, this. Is. Amazing!
As Alex explained her plan, a grin grew over Ruby’s face, her boy woes forgotten. “You had me at ‘revenge outfits!’ It’s about time you got something nice for yourself!” She hooked her feet through the foot ring and leaned back contemplatively. “I’ll have to double check to see if he’s going this weekend. Parker said it’s here all month. If he isn’t, well. Revenge outfit practice run for karaoke night!”
She raised her glass toward Alex in cheers. “Either way, we rule, Tom drools!”





The night sung to Vander. It reeked of power and promise. Of steel and flesh. Though the streets of the city were left to bathe in a lonely night, the recent smells of humans still ghosted the streets.
It made the predator inside him bustle with excitement. With hunger.
But he needed to be smart. This was a smaller city than his last. Though he suspected humans went missing here often enough—they always did—he couldn’t risk feeding on someone who would be missed. Not immediately. He hadn’t taken so many precautions against Brahm just to ruin this himself on his first night.
Somewhere in roughly the heart of the city, Vander paused at the opening to an alleyway. The ash-black of his dress shirt and darker fitted jeans melded perfectly with the shadows between streetlights.
Hands at his sides, he closed his eyes. Control. He needed to keep control. At least for now. Tapping each of his left-hand fingers against his thumb in turn—a habit from his human days that he’d kept in attempt to stay connected to some part of his humanity—he took a deep breath and reached out with all his senses.
In the neighborhood around the lake, the scent of humans had been fainter, more spread out and faded from time—a whiff of day-old brownies lingering in the oven.
But here, where vagrants roamed and drunks were just beginning to leave bars and night clubs, it was something else entirely—the aroma of a banquet permeating a hall to toying with the senses. It was just a matter of figuring out which hall led to the feast.
His finger-tapping faltered as the ache of the bloodhaze seeped through him like acid. Acid that demanded to be diluted.
But the only thing he found in his immediate area was residue, lingering imprints of humans long since settled elsewhere.
Except…
His eyes opened, their hazel irises consumed by his dark pupils. Something between a grimace and a grin twisted his face. He’d hunted enough vagrants to pick out the subtle—and not so subtle—tells in their scent. The only ones who ever noticed the loss of the homeless, were other homeless. And the worries of the homeless were so often beneath the concerns of the authorities.
He’d found his prey.
Swift and silent as a shadow, he turned into the alley. It connected to a couple others, branching off into a miniature network of dead-end roads, but he followed the scent like a hound.
He slowed as he spotted the lump of a figure huddled against a dumpster. Though hidden in the dumpster's shadow, his scent nearly overpowered by its stench, Vander could make out every detail. He sighed, disheartened; the predator in him had been hoping for a chase. The chase always made it so much more exciting.
The beat of the vagrant’s heart sped up, and his breathing grew shallower. The man clasped his blanket tighter, as if it could hide him from the danger in his midst. He was awake, then.
This close to his prey, the bloodhaze drummed through Vander with a vengeance, it’s burn no longer a pulsing demand, but an inexorable compulsion.
Ein schlafendes Schwein zum schlachten!” he chortled, barely aware of his own words.
‘A sleeping pig to the slaughter.’
The man tensely uncovered himself, the folds of his tattered blanket billowing with his already pungent scent. The shick of a pocket knife opening was the last thing the bloodhaze needed to take full control, the drum of the man’s heart overwhelmingly loud in Vander's ears. He felt the familiar tug as his teeth extended into a mouthful of fangs.
“Look. I don’ wan’ any—”
The homeless man didn’t get the chance to finish. In a fraction of one of the man’s now frantic heartbeats, Vander had rushed to him in a fluid blur. He slammed the man’s back against the brick wall, one hand at his throat and the other his weapon-wielding wrist.
The man choked on a scream as his wrist snapped with a simple twist, sending the knife clattering to the ground.
Vander slid his hand to cover the man’s mouth, jerked his victim’s head to the side, then sunk his fangs into the man’s neck. They tore through flesh and artery with all the accuracy and elegance of a rabid wolf.
The man tried to scream again, but Vander’s palm muffled the sound. With some part of him aware of the dangers of the man being heard, the vampire touched the vagrant's mind with his.
Schweige schwein!
‘Silence, pig!’
Though the man didn’t know the language, Vander’s powers did. The man’s cries unwillingly faded to terrified whimpers.
Then, the only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed, was the sweetly-tangy taste of blood.
The vagrant’s fear and pain floated from his mind to the vampire’s in a disjointed blur of colors and emotion, whetting the appetite of the bloodhaze.
But even as it riled inside him, the burn of it through Vander’s veins and throat became a satisfied, soothing hum as he drank. Some small part of him hidden in the depths of his mind tried to tell himself to stop, to leave the vagrant alive, but that taste, that relief from the eternal ache was sweeter than the thought of freedom. Sweeter, even, than a promise of vengeance.
It wasn’t until the man’s pounding heart stopped, the blood flow ebbing, and his struggles ceased that Vander regained some semblance of control.
With a chesty growl somewhere between satisfied and disgusted, he forced himself to pull away from the now empty husk. The cruel, acidic monster of immortality begged for more, its appetite both quenched, yet whetted.
Breaths coming in heaves, he closed his eyes and fought to get the lusty agony of the haze to something more manageable.
Control. Control!
Releasing his last breath, he felt his fangs retract. Slowly, he looked down at the newest corpse he had to add to his already innumerable count, the side of its throat torn open. The gore glistened in the faint glow from a dim light at a back door a few yards down. Tantalizing crimson had dripped from the wound, soaking into the man’s already soiled shirt. His vacant eyes, frozen in wide terror, stared vacantly at Vander over the hand still at the corpse's mouth.
Jaw set into a trained stoicism, Vander wiped his sleeve at the blood he felt dripping down his chin. He’d learned long ago to never wear any of his favorite shirts on a hunt.
His gaze shifted to the metal dumpster. With a quick glance to the door, he swiftly opened the dumpster, then tossed the corpse inside as easily as if it was a feather-filled trash bag.
He held his hand out above the opening. With little more than a thought, small flames dripped down from his palm, and set the corpse ablaze.
Ruhe in frieden,” he muttered. This time catching himself in his native tongue, he repeated, “Rest in peace. From one lost soul to another.”
Vander turned his back on the rising smoke and flickering flames, stilling his breaths to avoid the all too familiar smell of cooking flesh.
Such a beautiful thing, fire. It could bring a calming warmth or agonizing death. Better yet, his fire would leave no evidence of his murder, and put itself out before it could do too much damage to the dumpster.
It had proven to be a power well worth honing.
Ignoring the guilt seething behind his callous mask, Vander strode toward the alley’s nearest opening. With each step, his form became less corporeal, blurring before shifting entirely into smoke. His column swirled amongst the growing mass rising from the dumpster, then rode the wind back toward his temporary home.

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