Prior to Raye's return to RhyDin
In the lonely old inn by the side of the road was a man swathed in clothes that didn't fit quite right. Everything was a touch too large for his deceptively frail body, but he paid this little mind and it offered no hindrance to his motions. He was tall and had a mess of disheveled dark hair atop his head, his skin was pale and his eyes were the blue of clear, tropical waters. The lips were most suited to a smile but remained pursed in concentration instead. He stood before a small gathering of travelers, atop an old and round table that served as his stage. His bare toes wiggled against the rough wood, he liked the feeling. The fingers of his hands were long and dexterous and they twisted and contorted into shapes of the most complicated variety.
His left hand was outstretched as he crouched down on the table and turned his gaze upon the patrons that watched with varying degrees of curiosity. He smiled at them and the expression lit up his face like a child beaming for joy, but it washed away with the glow of golden light that began to flicker to life in his palm as it faced skywards. The light grew and coalesced into a smooth ball that shone prettily and threw soft light over the walls and his angular features. He twisted with dancer's grace on a heel as his foot lifted from the table and crossed with his knee. The ball flew from one hand to the next and changed colors. It was red, then green, then blue and yellow and finally gold again. His back was to the room. The man leaned backwards until his spine looked as though it were about to snap, but remarkably, it kept bending. He looked upside down at the patrons and then tossed the ball outward. It erupted from his fingertips with a warm blast of air that did little more than ruffle hair.
It scattered like dust, sparkling in the air as it was caught up by breezes and winds that were not there. It was like walking into a fairy tale, the air alight with thousands of tiny pixies as the fluttered about on erratic paths. They too, changed colors, reflecting vibrant hue in the spectrum before he whirled a hand through the air and a long strip of flames shot from his fingertip and lashed against the walls. Someone gasped, but the fire harmed no surface and continued along until it had rounded up all the little orbs of light and brought them back to his free, waiting hand.
Golds and reds were the dominant hues that danced in the air around him. They surrounded his slender body as his arms lifted and spread out. The whip of flames died. The light swarmed over his limbs and became wings and with one, strong flap, he rose from the ground and sent more of the sparkling lights all about the room. He rose until his head brushed the rafters above, then with one final flap, he disappeared in a roar of fire.
For several moments there was no sign of his presence. Then the hearth on the other side of the room erupted with a violent jet of flames and he came hopping out, the fire still licking the back of his legs as he hauled himself out with his hands against the rough stone. Soot stained his feet and pants but he dusted them off without much issue and smiled as all the pixies of light he had left in the air returned to his waiting grasp and winked out of existence.
Rayvinn, still road weary and bedraggled, sat upon a hard bench in the common room of this very same lonely roadside inn. One booted foot was tossed upon the trestle table in front of her, the other leg bent at the knee and pressed close to her chest with the sole of her boot resting against the edge of the table. Sitting with her back in a slight slouch against the lumpy rough stone wall, obviously to prevent an attack from behind; she glanced about the room with no particular interest at all. She was tired and half starved, a fact that her already too thin body wasn?t kind in revealing with the more-than-usual protrusion of collarbones against the softly clinging white cotton of a simple tank top worn beneath the opened front of her protective leather jacket.
A tankard of dark ale was lifted to gingerly press against chapped lips split by numerous cuts. Grimacing slightly as the liquid touched upon the cuts, she managed to drink several sips before lowering the tankard to the bench next to the side of her outstretched leg. Her head was canted to the side momentarily as she caught sight of a tall, disheveled man climbing atop a table to use it as a stage. Her first thought upon assessing him was that he had a gentle face, her second that he was barefoot which nearly caused her to applaud like a child since she very much enjoyed her bare toes upon any number of surfaces. It was odd that Raye should see gentleness or find even a hint of glee in any being after the events of the past few months. However, there it was.
The softly sloping angles of cheekbone and strong jaw drew the eye but it was the slight lines around his lips that held it, beckoning that one not look away before the reward of a smile was gifted them. A ghost of a smile, more crooked and wilted than anything, touched upon one corner of her mouth as she watched the concentrated purse of his lips. Just as the laugh lines had promised, it wasn?t long before the gathering of patrons were rewarded with something far brighter than the dim light of the room. It was the sort of smile that disarmed, charmed and comforted all at once. As he shared it with the small crowd, she was certain each patron must feel, just as she did, that he was smiling only for them. It was an amazingly innocent gleam that had been absent from her life for these many months and Raye might have actually felt a pang from loss of such a small yet brilliant detail in an otherwise dreary day...except that sweet illumination was replaced by an even greater brightness.
Being a dancer, she could properly appreciate the grace he exuded as he twisted and contorted, but her attention was drawn from the man?s smooth angular features to the awe inspiring ball of light that flashed and flickered in a prism of colors with each toss between his hands. Enraptured by the colorful and shiny display, as she was wont to be; heavily shadowed jade eyes widened further, seeming less haunted than even a moment prior.
As he contorted into the back bend and tossed the ball of light at the audience, Raye?s outstretched leg was dropped from the trestle table to the bench directly in front of her rear end. That foot was used for leverage to propel herself, in one effortless graceful movement, into a standing position upon the bench. The leg that had been bent with a foot to the edge of the table remained in position so that she appeared ready to leap at any moment.
With the soft rush of air through the cascading waves of not entirely presentable hair, Rayvinn tilted her head back and closed her eyes momentarily, reveling in the warmth and magic of the moment. She, more than likely, appeared ludicrous to some of the other patrons but this possibility was lost on the enthralled elf. Thick veils of sooty lashes fluttered and lifted as the sparkly fairy dust flew about her, drawing a childlike gasp of glee from lips that had been silent in this manner for far too long. Finally tossing caution to the wind, she leaped fully onto the table with her arms outstretched above her head; twirling in circles as she attempted to catch the motes of colorful light with her hands and tongue.
A shriek of glee emitted from some deep reaching place within, the place she hid and protected the precious child she had been; and she leaped from one table to the next as his wings of light were flapped and he arose to the rafters. She had every intention of touching those wings and as she finally arrived to his makeshift stage...he disappeared. ?No. Nono. Come back!? She whirled around, gaze casting about every which way. Her face was crestfallen, perhaps there had never been such a pitiful expression of disappointment as she was exhibiting now. A delicate boned hand was waving passively through the air at the remaining pixies of light, attempting to banish them from the air around her, when the violent eruption from the hearth caused her to spin about and see him emerge. Her waving hand was dropped to her hip in a stance mirroring the accusation she softly cast, as if it were the most normal conversation in the world to be having. ?Your wings are gone. And you are filthy.?
"I never had wings," he replied as she confronted, rocking back on his heels like a strong breeze had threatened to knock him off of his feet. He leaned forward in the next instant and peered at her with a vibrant eye, the other was closed tight. "I'm not filthy, either. It's just a little ash. Ash isn't dirty, it's just ash. You wipe it away with a wave of your hand and then it's all better," he waved a hand to demonstrate. "See?" nothing actually came of it.
Her eyes narrowed slightly beneath one arched brow as she watched him rock so nonchalantly and deny the existence of the wings she was absolutely positive that she had seen; obviously he was trying to trick her.
"You had them. I saw them and they were glorious living beings of light!" Still possessed of much whimsy, Raye twirled once; as her voice took on the high drama of an actress. However, this was no act; this was the child like innocence that, at times, possessed the mentally deranged elf. At other times...well, nevermind that!
"I just wanted to touch them. I imagine they would feel warm and silky, thrumming with life." Oh, such a despondent sigh was given as she relived the heavy loss of only moments earlier..
Not missing a beat, the despondency and dramatic flair migrated elsewhere as she once again assumed the pose of curved hip meets hand in a jutting stance of defiance. A lightly callused hand, there was no help for this--she was a swordswoman, was snaked out to grasp the hand he was waving around. A soft unladylike snort was given for his effort as she shook his hand quite floppishly, "That hand is filthy from ash. Ash is filthy."
In the lonely old inn by the side of the road was a man swathed in clothes that didn't fit quite right. Everything was a touch too large for his deceptively frail body, but he paid this little mind and it offered no hindrance to his motions. He was tall and had a mess of disheveled dark hair atop his head, his skin was pale and his eyes were the blue of clear, tropical waters. The lips were most suited to a smile but remained pursed in concentration instead. He stood before a small gathering of travelers, atop an old and round table that served as his stage. His bare toes wiggled against the rough wood, he liked the feeling. The fingers of his hands were long and dexterous and they twisted and contorted into shapes of the most complicated variety.
His left hand was outstretched as he crouched down on the table and turned his gaze upon the patrons that watched with varying degrees of curiosity. He smiled at them and the expression lit up his face like a child beaming for joy, but it washed away with the glow of golden light that began to flicker to life in his palm as it faced skywards. The light grew and coalesced into a smooth ball that shone prettily and threw soft light over the walls and his angular features. He twisted with dancer's grace on a heel as his foot lifted from the table and crossed with his knee. The ball flew from one hand to the next and changed colors. It was red, then green, then blue and yellow and finally gold again. His back was to the room. The man leaned backwards until his spine looked as though it were about to snap, but remarkably, it kept bending. He looked upside down at the patrons and then tossed the ball outward. It erupted from his fingertips with a warm blast of air that did little more than ruffle hair.
It scattered like dust, sparkling in the air as it was caught up by breezes and winds that were not there. It was like walking into a fairy tale, the air alight with thousands of tiny pixies as the fluttered about on erratic paths. They too, changed colors, reflecting vibrant hue in the spectrum before he whirled a hand through the air and a long strip of flames shot from his fingertip and lashed against the walls. Someone gasped, but the fire harmed no surface and continued along until it had rounded up all the little orbs of light and brought them back to his free, waiting hand.
Golds and reds were the dominant hues that danced in the air around him. They surrounded his slender body as his arms lifted and spread out. The whip of flames died. The light swarmed over his limbs and became wings and with one, strong flap, he rose from the ground and sent more of the sparkling lights all about the room. He rose until his head brushed the rafters above, then with one final flap, he disappeared in a roar of fire.
For several moments there was no sign of his presence. Then the hearth on the other side of the room erupted with a violent jet of flames and he came hopping out, the fire still licking the back of his legs as he hauled himself out with his hands against the rough stone. Soot stained his feet and pants but he dusted them off without much issue and smiled as all the pixies of light he had left in the air returned to his waiting grasp and winked out of existence.
Rayvinn, still road weary and bedraggled, sat upon a hard bench in the common room of this very same lonely roadside inn. One booted foot was tossed upon the trestle table in front of her, the other leg bent at the knee and pressed close to her chest with the sole of her boot resting against the edge of the table. Sitting with her back in a slight slouch against the lumpy rough stone wall, obviously to prevent an attack from behind; she glanced about the room with no particular interest at all. She was tired and half starved, a fact that her already too thin body wasn?t kind in revealing with the more-than-usual protrusion of collarbones against the softly clinging white cotton of a simple tank top worn beneath the opened front of her protective leather jacket.
A tankard of dark ale was lifted to gingerly press against chapped lips split by numerous cuts. Grimacing slightly as the liquid touched upon the cuts, she managed to drink several sips before lowering the tankard to the bench next to the side of her outstretched leg. Her head was canted to the side momentarily as she caught sight of a tall, disheveled man climbing atop a table to use it as a stage. Her first thought upon assessing him was that he had a gentle face, her second that he was barefoot which nearly caused her to applaud like a child since she very much enjoyed her bare toes upon any number of surfaces. It was odd that Raye should see gentleness or find even a hint of glee in any being after the events of the past few months. However, there it was.
The softly sloping angles of cheekbone and strong jaw drew the eye but it was the slight lines around his lips that held it, beckoning that one not look away before the reward of a smile was gifted them. A ghost of a smile, more crooked and wilted than anything, touched upon one corner of her mouth as she watched the concentrated purse of his lips. Just as the laugh lines had promised, it wasn?t long before the gathering of patrons were rewarded with something far brighter than the dim light of the room. It was the sort of smile that disarmed, charmed and comforted all at once. As he shared it with the small crowd, she was certain each patron must feel, just as she did, that he was smiling only for them. It was an amazingly innocent gleam that had been absent from her life for these many months and Raye might have actually felt a pang from loss of such a small yet brilliant detail in an otherwise dreary day...except that sweet illumination was replaced by an even greater brightness.
Being a dancer, she could properly appreciate the grace he exuded as he twisted and contorted, but her attention was drawn from the man?s smooth angular features to the awe inspiring ball of light that flashed and flickered in a prism of colors with each toss between his hands. Enraptured by the colorful and shiny display, as she was wont to be; heavily shadowed jade eyes widened further, seeming less haunted than even a moment prior.
As he contorted into the back bend and tossed the ball of light at the audience, Raye?s outstretched leg was dropped from the trestle table to the bench directly in front of her rear end. That foot was used for leverage to propel herself, in one effortless graceful movement, into a standing position upon the bench. The leg that had been bent with a foot to the edge of the table remained in position so that she appeared ready to leap at any moment.
With the soft rush of air through the cascading waves of not entirely presentable hair, Rayvinn tilted her head back and closed her eyes momentarily, reveling in the warmth and magic of the moment. She, more than likely, appeared ludicrous to some of the other patrons but this possibility was lost on the enthralled elf. Thick veils of sooty lashes fluttered and lifted as the sparkly fairy dust flew about her, drawing a childlike gasp of glee from lips that had been silent in this manner for far too long. Finally tossing caution to the wind, she leaped fully onto the table with her arms outstretched above her head; twirling in circles as she attempted to catch the motes of colorful light with her hands and tongue.
A shriek of glee emitted from some deep reaching place within, the place she hid and protected the precious child she had been; and she leaped from one table to the next as his wings of light were flapped and he arose to the rafters. She had every intention of touching those wings and as she finally arrived to his makeshift stage...he disappeared. ?No. Nono. Come back!? She whirled around, gaze casting about every which way. Her face was crestfallen, perhaps there had never been such a pitiful expression of disappointment as she was exhibiting now. A delicate boned hand was waving passively through the air at the remaining pixies of light, attempting to banish them from the air around her, when the violent eruption from the hearth caused her to spin about and see him emerge. Her waving hand was dropped to her hip in a stance mirroring the accusation she softly cast, as if it were the most normal conversation in the world to be having. ?Your wings are gone. And you are filthy.?
"I never had wings," he replied as she confronted, rocking back on his heels like a strong breeze had threatened to knock him off of his feet. He leaned forward in the next instant and peered at her with a vibrant eye, the other was closed tight. "I'm not filthy, either. It's just a little ash. Ash isn't dirty, it's just ash. You wipe it away with a wave of your hand and then it's all better," he waved a hand to demonstrate. "See?" nothing actually came of it.
Her eyes narrowed slightly beneath one arched brow as she watched him rock so nonchalantly and deny the existence of the wings she was absolutely positive that she had seen; obviously he was trying to trick her.
"You had them. I saw them and they were glorious living beings of light!" Still possessed of much whimsy, Raye twirled once; as her voice took on the high drama of an actress. However, this was no act; this was the child like innocence that, at times, possessed the mentally deranged elf. At other times...well, nevermind that!
"I just wanted to touch them. I imagine they would feel warm and silky, thrumming with life." Oh, such a despondent sigh was given as she relived the heavy loss of only moments earlier..
Not missing a beat, the despondency and dramatic flair migrated elsewhere as she once again assumed the pose of curved hip meets hand in a jutting stance of defiance. A lightly callused hand, there was no help for this--she was a swordswoman, was snaked out to grasp the hand he was waving around. A soft unladylike snort was given for his effort as she shook his hand quite floppishly, "That hand is filthy from ash. Ash is filthy."