Private Tales A Dream Straying in Daylight

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Ryna

Ryna

Damnably Transcendent
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Character Biography
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The Magician King

A weaver of magic,

Able to fetter a soul.

A Fate doomed to be tragic,

Unable to become whole.​
Near the Gulf of Ryt, there was a Kingdom left standing because they groveled the best out of everyone else. Mothal never showed mercy, but a pact shrouded in blood and magic had been made. Generations of royal blood would bear a burden, a sacrifice that only a father and son would know, unable to speak aloud. The burden passed through generations until it finally fell on one golden prince.

He donned the gold sun crown and sat upon the grand marble throne. He would not bow to Mothal and would no longer carry the burden. His father had a plan he could not execute, but knew the golden prince could. Skilled enchanters and diviners brought forth the beings of magic and bound them to the crown. But these creatures needed to be kept alive and well. The Magician King had them slumber and dream as he hoarded their power for the inevitable war to come.

Neither human nor beast, yet a docile pet, the Court Sorcerer was to keep the Dreamers alive for as long as she lived, letting the golden crown retain its power. Alongside the golden crown, she too was passed down from one Magician King to the next, each king dying quicker than the last. After one ruthless man, the woman who watched the dreamers ran, seeing a nightmare within the golden crown. She was chased, battered, and hunted.

When she appeared amongst the thick mist around Crobhear Lake, wyld life left her alone, though scavengers remained nearby. They trailed after her like a long, white veil that belonged to a most loved bride. They circled her at night and came close when she shut her eyes for too long. Peace alluded her, now hunted by mages and mercenaries, bears and vultures. She had once mediated between nature and humanity, but now, both saw her as only something to take and have.
 
The upward swing of the hammer came with remarkable speed. It didn't cut the air like a sword. It barely made a sound. Right up until it struck the orc underneath her jaw, that was.

The crack rang out. There was no more noise after she collapsed. A single, fatal blow. Jhyrrack set the haft of his hammer on the ground and leaned on it.

He stood in the middle of an orc scouting party. What had been a scouting party. All four were dead. His broad chest rose and fell slowly. He had barely warmed himself up before the fight was done.

Like many that had come before, they had assumed him to be a slow, lumbering beast. They had been better scouts than fighters. Which was why they had to die. They had found their quarry.

He had been following them to let them do the hard work.

“You are not a worthy chase,” he said.
For the coin on offer, he had expected a great mage or terrifying shape shifter.

Instead he stood before something frail and exhausted. From the curved hunting knife on the ground, he expected one of the orcs had planned to put it out of its misery and keep the head.

He might have done the same, but he had been told to bring it back alive.

“Can you walk?”
 
A head heavy with horns had turned to look at the deep voice that declared her unworthy. She saw the curved knife before her, which, in the hands of an orc, had made her whimper and plead for mercy. Now, it seemed like her only salvation. She raised her head to someone who initially seemed her savior, but Ryna had been on the run for months.

He only wanted to eliminate his competition, like yesterday's black bear chasing off a great vulture that had gotten too close to her. Limpid blue eyes took one look at his face, arching her neck all the way back to see the two large horns that sprouted from the swath of crimson hair that hung over impossibly broad shoulders.

Another like her? No, there was no tang or salt of magic in the air. She looked back at the hunting knife, eyes quickly darting back to the scarred face. Hands pawed at the ground, gripping grass and damp earth as she shifted from her side onto her knees, head lowered so she could confirm the hunting knife hadn’t disappeared.

“I can walk.” Her soft voice, once gentle and suited for soothing melodies alongside a harp or lyre, was now hoarse and gruff. Her bare toes dug into the ground, and Ryna started to rise, slowly and unsteadily. She took a deep breath, paused as she did so, and then launched herself towards the hunting knife with an outstretched hand.
 
“I would not…”

But she continued with the motion, diving for the ground. Jhyrack rolled his eyes. He left the hammer. Its handle slowly tipped over, landing to the earth with a dull thud. It landed right in front of the glassy eyes of one of its victims.

Jhyrack only needed one step to get closer, but he skidded to one knee to bring himself down to her level.

“You will only…” he grunted as his hand snapped out to grab her forearm.
 
Ryna hadn’t even gotten back up on her feet before his large hand ensnared her. She jumped in her skin, fear and adrenaline metamorphosing into a dark and heady cocktail that left her unable to move. She did not fight, she did not run, she froze. Ryna had to grip the knife’s handle with two hands — not because it was so large but because she needed another hand to help steady it.

Tears welled in her eyes. They caught her now, and she had no magic to aid her. Getting the knife wasn’t going to do her any good, she had never once stabbed a man, and especially no one the size of her captor. She remained still and silent for only a moment longer before dropping the curved blade. Even if he hadn’t caught her, if she ran away again, would she even manage to get far before something else got her?

Now she regretted going all out when they had first gone after her. She thought that using grand spells, lost to time and forgotten, would deter others from coming after her. Instead, it had left a bloody trail for others to follow.

“We are far from the Magician King. Even if you use a portal stone, my magic will return to me.” She tilted her head, glaring at her captor. The shimmer of magic, though frail like blue moonlight, showed for a moment in her eyes. “And then I will kill you like all the others.”
 
Those broad shoulders gave a big shrug. Unlike for a human, the gesture had to start somewhere and roll in a wave down his shoulders.

He let go of her forearm. There were weapons all around them. He decided to leave the hooked knife where it came to rest.

Would she try another one? He wondered to himself. He was quite a frightening sight. Did she think he might rape her? She was rather pathetic, if pleasing to the eye, but Jhyrack would not do such a thing. He would only carry out torture if he had a good reason.

“Very well,” he said. “Tell me when you feel ready and you can try me!” Jhyrack declared
He stood upright, towering far above her. He had been told this was a worthwhile bounty. Instead she had been run ragged by the pursuit. She looked soft. The wilderness had probably done as much damage as anything else.

“Do not try that again. You look hungry.”
He met her gaze and held it. He waited to see how she would react before he turned his back.
 
Dry, cracked lips parted as her fawn brown brows creased together, befuddled by his words. Her stomach held not a single ounce of pride or shame that Ryna felt in this moment, growling loud and proud at the words spoken. Many questions bombarded her in that moment. With her arm free, she wrapped it around her stomach. She wondered if he knew who she was, if he was actually after her, and if he was cocksure.

A quick glance down at the orcs, never to be alive again, had her stomach flip-flopping between hunger and disgust. If there was anything to retch, she might have done it now, since the Fates decided to play a cruel joke on her.

“What do you want?” Her muscles, despite being weak and sore, remained stiff. “Who are you?” She wasn’t sure if she should try running or stay where she was. He was big. He was strong. He was a predator despite his horns. She reluctantly admired those horns then — their distinct shape and color, how they reeked of brute strength and power.
 
“I am Jhyrack,” he declared proudly. He let that settle for a moment, but there was no hint of recognition. He frowned.

“Bounty hunter from Molthal. What I want is more fame - clearly - and gold. What I need is to take you back and get some of that.”
He had a name back at home but he was tired of the challenges it offered. Whether he could tolerate the lands of men for long was another matter.

“We are calm now? No more grabbing knife?”

His resonant chest wanted to bellow, whilst his tongue still struggled to wrap itself around the common trade language.
He took two steps back. A strike wouldn't be fatal to him, but he didn't want to have to try and yank out a knife that had been stuck in his back.

Turning around he moved to roll one of the orcs with his foot. This one had a pack. He took the leather waterskin and unrolled some string and cloth to find a bundle of dry, salted meat.

“Ryna, you do not look well enough to carry this bag. Eat, drink. I will carry.”

He watched to see how she reacted to her name.

He picked up his hammer and looked to the treeline. His own pack had been left there before his charge. He grinned as he remembered their panic as they turned to see him roaring down the slope towards them.
 
She didn’t recognize the name, but only a fool could not know what it meant when a bounty hunter from Mothal was after a mark. An involuntary shiver, from the base of her head down to her pelvis, overtook her, and Ryna swallowed the hard lump in her throat.

“Ha,” she breathed out a discordant laugh that even irony couldn’t finish. A bounty hunter, who came from the place she had once protected the Magician King from, was now after her to bring her back. She pushed dirty pale blonde hair over an even dirtier pointed ear before she looked back up to Jhyrack when he said her name.

Her face twisted and scrunched into something pathetic and hopeful.

“I haven’t heard my name in months,” Ryna reached for the meat and water skin, taking one in each hand. He was right, even if it was insulting, that she was in no condition to carry a bag. She was as ruined and ragged as the dress she wore, not having the sense to change clothes when she had left months ago.

She knew she smelled (pond water was not suitable for bathing in and always left a swampy smell on her or her clothes, and sometimes, not even magic could fix that.) Her dress, once as blue as the sky with a corset of lavender and pink flowers surrounded by spring green leaves, was as tattered and filthy as she felt.

Maybe giving up wasn’t so bad. She went for the water skin first, drinking more than she should have, and causing pain in her side. Ryna looked at Jhyrack again. Healthy, tall, and strong, grinning as he held his hammer, his focus away from her. She brought the dried meat to her mouth, chewing slowly, ignoring the ache in her jaw. He’d be able to keep other bounty hunters from taking her.

“How much are they offering for me?” She asked when she had swallowed, looking down at her lap to keep from glaring at him any further. “As much gold as I weigh? As you weigh? Some princess’s hand in marriage? Do I go up in price with every passing month?” She took another bite, every chew leading her down a new trail of thoughts, a silent journey that led her to a new plan of escape.
 
“Hah!”

The sound rang out, sharp and clear. The state of his quarry, the grime rubbed into skin and clothes, had not escaped him. It affected his next plan. He took great care of his flaming red mane and his clothing and armour.

“If I could be paid gold to my weight, there would be no more work.”

It was a lie. He didn't just need the gold. He needed a name too. It was still amusing to picture a statue of himself cast from gold.

“Could buy a small town with that. It's enough though. I don't suppose you're carrying enough to make me another offer,” he laughed.

He turned his head, looking to the rocky hills above the trees.

“We will be picking a path up,” he told her. “Get above the main paths. Can you walk or are you being carried?”
 
She did not want him to carry her, even if there was an ache in her ankle that shot up to her calf. The piece of dried meat, only half eaten, was wrapped back up with the others. She tied the twine tightly, making a neat bow that suited hair ribbons. Ryna didn’t laugh with him, barely concealing a grimace of disgust at his exuberance. She was glad his attention moved quickly from her to other things.

Ryna rose, using an arm to hold the waterskin and rolled cloth pressed tight against her chest. Out of habit, her free hand went to grab the length of her skirts, but there was no need to do so anymore; her skirts were less full now, having left behind a good chunk of fabric after being chased down a rocky hill.

"I’ll walk," She said, voice stiff as she tilted up her chin, rolling her shoulder blades and presuming perfect posture despite the fatigue. She took a step and only stumbled, steadying herself quickly with the aid of an arm off to the side. The sight of the orc hunting party fully greeted her this time, now that fear had subsided, her head could be clear.

Their limp bodies, broken and mangled by the blunt force of a hammer, were reminders. She looked back at Jhyrack, at the way a smile always seemed to be hinted at by his lips. She would not end up like these orcs. Ryna tried forcing a smile, but her lips only twitched in anticipation.

“Lead the way.”
 
“Yes. But keep up. I will slow when we reach the trees. Do not try anything foolish. I will not be cruel unless I have to.”

Jhyrack was not the greatest tracker that ever lived. If he could follow the orcs then it stood to reason that others could too. He was hardly able to cover his tracks easily; he weighed as much as a small pony.

The rocky path would not only prevent footprints, it would lead them up away from prying eyes.

He led them just through the treeline. It was cooler, the woods keeping moisture in the air. He set down his hammer and picked up his pack from the base of an old oak.

“We'll pick through the woods. Watch where I step.”

He went ahead, avoiding thick roots and poisonous plants. He picked mossy ground that would soak up each step and avoided damaging the undergrowth.

“Who did you piss off anyway?”
 
It was hard to keep up; his strides were far longer than hers. She huffed after him, taking three times as many steps as he needed to, ignoring the scrape of branches and wild grasses against her bare calves. She slipped once when the path got steeper, seemingly out of nowhere and for no good reason. The rocks tumbling down scared something in the underbrush meters below them.

Jhyrack’s words thundered between her ears. Do not try anything foolish. But she had to, or else. I will not be cruel unless I have to. She doubted that, with that faint smile ever present on his face as he bashed an orc's head in. By the time they had gotten to where he had left his stuff, she was panting, chest heaving erratically. She felt thirsty again but didn’t open the waterskin. The bounty hunter was already on the move. Ryna didn’t complain, and even though her heart didn’t slow, underneath the cool shade, she felt less like she’d keel over.

”Your employer.” Ryna said between breaths. “The Magician King. Or maybe you’ve only seen the twin advisors, Edelweiss and Anneliese.” Those twins had been particularly troublesome for the last five years. It was clear how much she disliked them, spitting out their name as if swallowing those words would poison her. “I am surprised he’d hire someone from Mothal. They’re our— his— Kingdom’s sworn enemy.” She sucked in a large breath.

”He must be desperate.” Her tone changed, softer, worrisome. A desperate man is a frightening thing. She had seen it firsthand with the first Magician King, what he did to protect his kingdom. Ryna grew quiet again, listening to the sound of their footsteps. She had begun trailing too far behind.
 
“Hhmph, I answer to no one,” Jhyrack grunted.

She had a point, but he wasn't about to admit to being subservient to any side of a war. He wouldn't be a piece in someone else's game. Not again.

He turned. He had both hands resting on the haft of his hammer, which was laid across his shoulders. His elbows point out to his sides.

Jhyrack waited for her to catch up.

It was not much farther until they reached a slope and he picked a path that wound upwards. The sound of running water grew on volume and soon they would be following a stream up out of the valley. He slowed his pace even further.

“Someone mentioned twins. Didn't meet them. Is a good bounty. Must really want you.”

One eyebrow went up

“How'd you piss this king off?”
 
“I refused him.” That softness in her voice was gone. Her resolution’s roots reached into the deepest region of her heart; it hadn’t changed from that night, even as she tumbled and toiled into the throes of being hunted in a wilderness she barely knew. For her answer would always remain the same for the question that invaded her mind in the night’s quietest hours: she would rather die than abuse the power she once guarded.

Even now, staring blue daggers into the brawn of her captor as he held that heavy hammer with ease, she would rather die.

"I grew up answering to others." She continued. “This is my punishment for saying no.” There was no need to get into all the messiness that came from living at court as a dolled-up pet. She had worn ribbons not only in her hair but tied around her horns. She had slippers that fit her perfectly, as well as dresses tailored to suit her body. They never gave her anything old or used, and she could walk around the grounds unsupervised as long as everything was calm.

She had spent her mornings with a book in the gardens, trying to read but distracted by the birds. Just like now, as one twittered a short, jaunty song, she had inclined her chin in that direction, in case she might catch the bird. She should have just turned into one and flown further away, but she had feared not having the supplies she had hastily grabbed.

Someone had ambushed her months ago, leaving those supplies far behind.

Finally, she asked the questions that had been nagging at her the entire walk.

"Why haven’t you tied me up? Or stuffed my mouth? And for how long must we walk up?"
 
“Oh,” went the chimera when she explained the situation.

There was something unsavory about this entire contract now. It was part of the deal. He didn’t ask too many questions. Life was hard. More often than not he was running down criminals and monsters and that brought a little satisfaction.

Not that he would lose much sleep. There were worse fates than being the pet of a king.

Jhyrack was picking a more careful path upwards. He chose moss and rocks to avoid leaving a trail.

“I may tie you at night. Do not take that personally. I would only stuff something into your mouth if you got too annoying.”
He decided to stop short of a crude joke.
He found a spot where the terrain leveled off and the steam formed a small pool. Jhyrack stopped and set down his pack.

“Sit.”

He unrolled two small bundles of waxed parchment. A sweet, floral scent rose from them.

“Take that dress off,” he told her firmly. “For your hair, for your body. I can deal with you talking, but not your stench any longer,”
Those long red manes had not remained in such condition naturally.
 
She sat on a small boulder near the stream, glad and ready for a rest — and perhaps more accustomed to listening to others than she realized, or maybe understanding that by remaining docile, she could stay without restraints in the night. She’d have to earn his trust or remain pathetic for that to happen. The waterskin and bundled package of meat fell into her lap before she set them aside. There was a fallen tree to her side that had fallen years ago, one end leaning up against the rock she sat upon now.

The air around the pool was calm, and soon, welcoming fragrances greeted her. She relaxed in that moment, listening to the burble and gurgle of the stream below. Now she could appreciate the moss and lichen, looking at the scenery and seeing it for its beauty instead of its strangeness.

Ryna flushed red, wrapping her arms around herself and hugging herself tight.

“Pervert.” She said, appalled, embarrassed, and nervous. For she knew she did smell, and she knew she was dirty. She had assumed, however, that by walking behind Jhyrack…. Her eyes widened, was that why he had been so far in front of her, was that why it felt like she had been chasing after him, had he secretly been running from her stench? Ryna turned an even deeper shade of red, now glowering at the bounty hunter. “Just because I am your captive does not give you the right to demand something so lascivious as gawking at my body.” She hugged herself tighter, heat flaring over her chest from embarrassment.

“If you had manners, you’d at least turn around.”
 
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He sighed.

“You will undress and I will wash your clothes or I will cut them from your body and burn them - and all their fleas - in a fire.”

He let that sink in for the count of three before continuing. He didn't want it to seem that he was simply doing as he was told.

“I will turn around for the count of ten or until I hear you hit the water,” he offered.
He left the soaps where they were and walked around to turn his back on his quarry.
 
Just as anger rushed through her and she opened her mouth to dispute the fact that she was not covered in fleas, Jhyrack turned. She wouldn’t hesitate for more than a moment, quickly hooking her thumbs into the neckline, once blue and gold, now only brown and browner.

”On my count to ten. One,” She said, slipping arms out of her sleeves. “Two.” Ryna glanced over to the bounty hunter, seeing if he would peek before undoing the ties behind her. “Three.” Just in case she turned her back and leaned over, long strands of pale, tangled hair slipped over her shoulders as she hurried with the task. “Four.” Gods, she had tied this so much tighter than she used to since she had lost weight. “Five.” She pulled the dress down, hurriedly stepping over it.

“Six.” In only a thin slip, she peeled it from her body and over her head, ignoring the yellowing from sweat. She pulled down a pair of small shorts at the count of seven, and at the count of eight, she had tidied her clothes into a pile so her dress could hide the intimates she was most ashamed of. “Nine,” she covered her front with her arms and hands, briskly walking to the pool and quickly stepping into it despite the cold.

“Ten.” Just as she sat down, once again hugging herself as she shivered and her teeth chattered. “I d-don’t s-s-suppose you ha-have a c-comb?”
 
“Of course I do.”

He had slipped off his boots and rolled up the hems of his pants as she undressed.

The count of ten was roundly undone by Jhyrack grabbing a brush, stepping into the shallow edge of the pool, looking down at her and offering it.

It was a smooth, polished ivory handle and a thick set of soft bristles. It would be a little large in her hand. The contrast to the other tool she had seen him used, still propped against a rock, could not have been greater.

“I am going to scrub your clothes now,” he said.

Not that he had fully ruled out burning them.

“It is probably safe to build a fire here. Maybe I will do that first.”
 
Ryna had draped her hair over her, pushing pieces over her shoulder to waterfall down her chest before pooling about her body in a deep gold brown. Her hair was thin like silk; it wouldn’t sink for a few minutes; instead, it lay upon the water’s surface. Slowly, with each second, she became accustomed to the cold and could start to feel her body’s warmth slowly radiate out and past her.

She reached for the brush.

“It’s heavy.” She observed, and a brow raised almost suspiciously. She pressed her fingers against the bristles, tickling her palm when she caressed it flat against it. It was soft and well-kept. She turned her head over her shoulder, noting for the first time that his hair wasn’t what she would picture for a bounty hunter. She placed the brush down and instead took some soap.

She started with her horns first, as she always had, even as a child. A soft sigh escaped her lips, muscles no longer taut as she used two hands to work one horn at a time, from base to pointy, sharp tip, before beginning to clean her hair, starting at her tender scalp. Her nails were strong, closer to claws than a well-manicured hand of a lady at court. But another sigh made clear how divine it felt to her as she used her nails to scratch at where her horns began.

“You are clean.” She stated. “I’ve always heard Mothal cared little for cleanliness. But it’s important to you. A custom I am not aware of?”
 
“A custom?” he asked curiously. His heavy gaze lingered a moment more than was polite before he turned.

Jhyrack took the complete bundle of clothes and dunked it. With them soaking, he plopped them at the edge of the water so they would not get washed away.

Having padded away from the water he walked to the nearest tree. It was only as tall as he was, but he didn't need thick firewood for the night, just enough to burn bright and warm her and her clothes back through.

“I just like being clean,” he offered with a shrug. “Imagine this much hair, knotted and gnarled. Eugh.”

He snapped dry branches through his fingers as if he was sprinkling salt. He stripped some shavings with his claw and soon had a small fire going using an old tinderbox that had been in a pouch at his belt.

If he lost his pack, he wanted to be able to drink to be able to make a fire and to butcher a kill to eat. That was what led to the items he carried on his person.

Jhyrack sat at the waterside, feet immersed, as he took his scrubbing stone and started on her clothes.
 
She could imagine a rat's nest instead of the fiery mane he now maintained. After all, that had been the state of her hair for a while. She had diligently washed every bit of her hair as he spoke, and when he had finished, she dropped low into the pool, dunking her head under the water with only the first curve of white ram horns poking out.

The cold sting against her face was shocking but refreshing, revitalizing another series of body shakes as she rinsed her hair. She arose with a gasp for air, throwing her hair over her head to keep it out of her face. An arc of crystal-clear water droplets shimmered like the Lessat crescent. Her hands cupped over her face, pushing water out from her eyes.

When she turned to Jhyrack now, washing her clothes and scrubbing them with a stone, the irony of this large and mighty bounty hunter doing something so domestic was not lost on her. She bet, based on the size of his shoulders and biceps, that he scrubbed clothes better than the Magician King’s garment washers.

“And so you carry an ivory brush, soap, and a scrubbing stone. Are you always traveling, then? No home you go back to?” She asked, taking more soap and rubbing it into her skin. “Not that I am complaining, this is a very nice soap. It smells divine.”
 
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