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?”
 
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