RIVEN
Details
Full Name: Riven Kyon Stark (unused last name)
Race: Avialae
Sex: Male
Age: 22
Height: 8' 6'' (260 cm)
Weight: 612 lbs (278 kg)
Birthdate: 45th Day of Searing, Year 97 of the 6th Age
Birthplace: Hills around Nivenhain
Profession: Researcher
Housing: Grounds of the Palace of the First Wind, Kalzasi
Partners: Taelian Ela'Rannoch
Titles: None
Factions: Great House Novalys (partially)
Fluencies: Common, Synskrit
Conversationals: None
Ineptitudes: None
Appearance
A quick glance is more than enough to notice that Riven is a large man by any standards. The young Avialae towers up to eight and a half feet tall, an easy foot over the tallest of their people; matched by a very bulky and muscular build, broad shouldered, strong and defined and covered in a fine coat of golden fuzz in all the right places. One could easily guess, and rightfully so, that there must be some Jastai blood in his genetic heritage. His left arm sports a distinctive marking: the Cardinal Rune of Elementalism, faintly glowing in an electric blue hue.
Although the first impression of such a monumental man could be intimidating (and Riven can be intimidating if he wants to) a more careful scrutiny shows this is far from reality. His face, usually conveying a curious half-smile or a dreamy expression, lost in thought, is properly framed by his short, classic cut golden hair, a tad longer and spikier in the top than in the faded sides; styled upwards if he feels like putting in the effort, a mess of blond locks if he’s just not in the mood. Matching, blond facial hair ranging from a rough stubble to a short beard covers the lower part of his face; again, that depends on how much time has passed since he’s shaved. All in all, his facial structure remains pretty masculine; although there’s a certain boyish look to him, especially given his attitude in most situations, his chiseled jawline proves that he’s done growing up and is a man in full right.
His eyes are further proof of his Jastai heritage, and probably the most clear of the few hints on his body: they are fiery rings of hot, blue glowing fire, the patterns around his pupil swirling and changing constantly in a mesmerizing chaos. In the dark, they glow faintly electric blue, if one is attentive enough to watch. A well proportioned, good mix between celestial and Greek nose highlights his face, joined by average sized lips that hide a handsome, wide and luminous smile and a deep, rich laugh behind them, rarely heard by strangers. He’s usually described as very handsome, even if the guy is a tad… elusive.
Lastly, his wings are a sight to behold: jet black large wings, with the pointy tips characteristics of the falcon, his striped feathers are black on black, alternating matt stripes with shiny ones that let off and oddly bluish reflection, reminiscent of the fire within his eyes. Extended, they cover a good span, reaching up to 20 feet from tip to tip; however he usually has them well folded and stuck to his back, only moving them slightly to express feelings; to strangers, his wings probably reveal way more information than his inexpressive face.
Personality
Upon meeting Riven, one could say he’s a bit… eccentric. People tend to have trouble understanding his mindset; however, there’s a few essential points to understanding him.
First and foremost, Riven is a curious man; his hunger for knowledge, his desire to learn about the slightest nuances of things and expand his already vast understanding of the world is hard to match. He wants to understand the inner workings of the world he lives in, the marvel that exists right before him; for him, that’s ultimately the most precious, intriguing and beautiful part of the world. He also wants to be an active part in expanding this knowledge and improving the lives of everyone in Ransera. This also applies to people; the more he understands someone, the more likely he is to like them and the more open he is with them. He thinks that, as long as it doesn’t involve hurting anybody, the end justifies the means; he isn’t above skipping permissions, borrowing or even stealing from selfish people that hoard precious knowledge if that means he can advance in his investigations.
He could also be described as careless and with a large tendency to daydream; partly, this is part of his important introspective tendencies. He tends to keep things to himself unless asked, and his mind is a tireless worker, always creating new ideas on what to investigate or how he understands a certain concept. He’s easily distracted, and sometimes he appreciates a close person pulling him back on the ground.
His harsh, emotionally suppressing upbringing also plays a major part on the shaping of his personality, and is a source of trouble to him. Although his long stay in Kalzasi has made him more open and trusting of people, he still has a hard time opening up; strangers meeting Riven for the first time without intending to actually talk to him will dismiss the man as cold and distant. However, once he gets to open up he has a great sense of humor and an easiness to engage in deep, meaningful conversation.
He has ended up enjoying a good fight though: he likes the adrenaline of combat and sparring, and isn’t against violence used for protection. Nonetheless, he’s disgusted by purposeless slaughter, and he’ll mostly only use his combat abilities if he’s attacked first. He’s not too competitive though; he can take a lose unless personally challenged by a person he cares about.
Deep down, at his core, he’s a kind, brave soul; he wants to preserve nature untainted and cares for people in situations of injustice, and will use his power to speak up and stand up for those in need. He is careful and timid when approaching people he has an interest in, at first; after a good time blooming, he’ll be confident, cheerful, fun and witty, and always with something interesting to do if one wants to join him. As he lacks restraint, he can also be irresponsible and underestimate the consequences of his actions if he’s way too excited about something. He’s loyal: he never forgets the people that have helped him get out of hard situations, and he’ll try to be by their side in their times of need. However, the opposite is true as well; he’ll need time to forgive someone that has hurt or wronged him.
History
Riven’s birth wasn’t one to make a lot of noise… But it was looked forward to, although in different ways by both of his parents. His father was Karsten Stark, a bastard born Celebrant Knight Argent and a fervent devout of the Kindred. Fooled by the spirits and believing to be their next chosen one, he decided to sire a descendant to carry on his legacy; the Kindred gave him their blessing, for he was a useful warrior, even if he was prone to rage and mistrust. With nothing more than his goals in mind, he went out into the city and stumbled upon a beautiful performance: a Jastai woman danced among bluish flames, using her inherent abilities to give them shape and join her in a sensuous display. Captivated by her excellent control and powerful moves, Karsten guessed Jastai blood would make his (expected) son an even bigger and stronger soldier than him, and so he put on a fake smile, extended his wings a bit, and clapped loudly when the woman’s performance ended. He stuck around as she gathered her things and the money she’d been rewarded, and then pulled up a large sum of coin; Suziri, as that was her name, smiled and agreed to be bought a drink by the handsome gentleman… Which ended up being eight for her, four for him. They ended up in her inn room, and when they were done, Karsten offered her money to stay in Nivenhain, in a cozy apartment, if she kept dancing every day at the same hour and the same place. Believing she could, at least, have found true love, the young Suziri agreed.
Karsten was quick to tell their masters about his plan; the Kindred, intrigued by the possibility of a half-Jastai Avialae joining their ranks, agreed. Night after night, he visited Suziri and watched her dance; then they went back to her room until the moons were at their zeniths. Two weeks later, she finally gave him the news she had dreaded, but Karsten had been waiting to hear: she was pregnant. Promising the Jastai to always take care of her and to stay calm, Karsten went back to the Knighthood and sent a doctor specialized in taking care of Avialae pregnancies. Then he vanished from Suziri’s life, back to his duties as a Knight. His goal was fulfilled.
Suziri found herself lost and alone in a city she didn’t know, as she was a nomad performer; having been all over the world, she found it strange to stay in a single place, in a room too small for her, waiting for her lover for days that became weeks, then months. She also feared for her child’s life; she loved him, but the physician had explained that Karsten had sent him there to avoid the common miscarriages in Avialae pregnancies. Besides, as far as Suziri knew, half-Jastai didn’t have it easy either when it came to survive pregnancy. Four months later, she decided she had to start to take the matter in her own hands; grabbing the money Karsten had sent her, she took a stroll into the city to buy the traditional herbs Jastai used to take care of their mixed babies’ health. That walk changed her view on the city; she started to feel more welcome and decided to explore it, trying to get to know the land that had shaped her lover. She wasn’t as bored anymore, but the more acquaintances she met… The more she understood how Lorien worked, and the worse the rumors she heard.
Suziri was heavily pregnant when all the rumors started to match, like the pieces of a puzzle: the argent knights that had the city subdued; the winged men that served the horrid spirits that crossed the dark skies; the continuous news of people that had defied the church, murdered. There was a repeated name in some of those stories; the Kindred’s Black Butcher, the heartless knight that smiled while he plunged his blade into the hearts of thieves and heretics alike. It was when she met a weeping woman that things finally made terrible sense; in tears, she told him the Butcher had found his son praying to Wraedan and with two swings of his sword, the shrine was broken and his son, dead. For her, she said, there was no monster worse than the one going by the name of Karsten Stark. Suziri found his legs failing and herself vomiting on the sidewalk, disgusted and betrayed, and about to give birth to the son of a heartless man. She quickly gathered her things and left the apartment, and she ran for the hills as much as her body allowed her. In the middle of a small Dratori camp, she gave birth to who would become Riven, a small, blond baby with two tiny ruffles of black feathers in his little back. He was an adorable child… And at the same time, her mother had no doubt that it was what Karsten looked like as a baby. She named him Kyon: the name of a winged legendary hero from the mountains in Karnor. After that, she hid; she knew it was time for her lover to come back and she managed to avoid the Knighthood for weeks… But as Ash changed into Frost, she was forced to approach the city for better food… And Karsten was there, waiting for her. Kicking the woman to the floor, he took the baby and had Suziri imprisoned for treason. Why he didn’t end her life right there… People who witnessed it didn’t know.
Karsten took care of the child. Refusing to call his son the name her mother had given him, he entrusted him to the Omen to be taken care of; before he left, he named the boy Riven, although his birth name was still embroidered in the warm blanket enveloping him. Taken in by an Avialae Curate and ex-knight, Riven was raised in the ways of the Omen, although the curate played with him and took good care of him when they were far from the church’s vigilant eyes. No one told him who his parents were; all he had was his name, Riven Kyon. Although strange, Riven’s early childhood wasn’t the hardest one; no one managed to impose the church’s beliefs on him, and by the time he learned how to read, he discovered countless worlds far from Lorien in the Omen’s large library. It wasn’t weird to find him asleep on a table, falling passed out on a book.
Karsten first came back when Riven turned seven, in the middle of Searing: crashing the boy’s small birthday celebration, he presented himself as a Knight-Apostle sent by the Kindred themselves, requiring the boy to begin his martial training. Having receiving none whatsoever, the Curate in charge of him tried to argue that the boy was way too young; a fast back fist strike to his face was enough to silence him and knock him to the ground; the minute Riven tried to come to his aid, he was grabbed by the neck and lifted up in the air, gasping for air and flapping his wings frantically until Karsten dropped him. His tears earned him another hit, and his protests, a kick when he was already on the floor. He was smart or scared enough to stay silent as Karsten took him to his keep, further in the mountains to the north, and made one of his most ruthless knights start instructing him until he could exchange blows without being slammed to the ground right from the start. The training forced him to delete all individuality; he had been chosen to be a soldier for the Kindred, and he was just a weapon for his magnificent masters to use. Karsten administered the beatings himself if he cried, smiled or complained; rage was the only emotion allowed. If Karsten volunteered to spar with Riven himself… He knew he was not going to get out of bed next morning.
A couple of years later, the child had developed a distinctive fighting style, full of evasive maneuvers and acrobatics that profited his lighter body, his smaller size and his wings; Karsten was impressed enough not to insult him for once, and let him choose a weapon from the armory to start using it. He quickly chose the twin blades: light enough and fast enough to wield without changing his style too much. He was also initiated in magic; Karsten insisted that the boy had to be made an Elementalist, and so the rune was inscribed in his left arm, a large, fiery mark that pulsed blue, the same fiery color his eyes had inherited from his mother. His threshold sickness was a weird one; it only lasted three days, with varying times in which he felt extremely heavy and sleepy, to slight chills and coziness. The agony came on the second day though; his skin opened, bled and closed again continuously, his bones causing tremendous pain, making him unable to move without screaming in agony. The Curate stayed by his side during the whole process, but there was nothing he could do.
His teenage years started pretty much in the same fashion; Riven was growing into a strong young man, as big as some of the human Errants he sparred with; he was also starting to defeat them, one by one, his style evolving as he grew, his torrents of flame, kicks and fists reminding his father of a dancer he once met. He moved constantly from the fortress back to the church; the Curate still took care of him, fed him and brought him new books to read whenever he could, and the rare instances Riven allowed himself to cry, usually with a black eye after a beating he was there to comfort him and tell him that there was a big world out there. That was the hope keeping Riven alive: there was a large world out there, and he was going to see it. He was going to leave Nivenhain, and never look back at that awful place.
The night of his fifteen birthday he did it: he knew he would have at least a week’s worth of rest since Karsten would be attending some other business, and he couldn’t stand staying there anymore. He had grown to be a capable warrior, a resourceful elementalist and an intelligent young man. He was beginning to understand certain circumstances… And he hated them. His hatred started to fuel his goals, and the 45th of Searing of the year 112, he decided it was enough. He gathered his things in a bag, picked up his blades, and left in the middle of the night, a quick, thankful note for the Curate. He flew south: he knew he needed to leave Lorien as soon as possible, and his dark wings covered him in the night, boosting himself with wind and fire whenever there was no population to spot him. When dawn came, he looked for shelter and rested, starting his journey again at dusk. There started a long journey to the West; the moment Riven understood what he’d done, he realized the Knighthood wouldn’t let him go; Karsten himself would kill him or worse, get him back.
The curate had read the note; considering the boy deserved better, he feigned he was still living with him for as long as he could extend the lie. When two weeks later Karsten himself busted the doors of the abbey open, he refused to talk, but the Knight quickly got rid of him, finding the note in one of his pockets. Cursing himself, he knew the boy had condemned both to certain death should the Kindred notice. He decided he would bring him back before anybody noticed; if he could fix his mistake, his masters would be merciful to him and the kid. However, Riven was long gone; Karsten started tracking him, gathering news about a winged boy looking like a foot shorter, younger version of him. He quickly got on track; Riven had exited Lorien by the southern border, and he seemed to be headed to Daravin.
In the meanwhile, Riven was traversing the borderlands between Lorien and Daravin; he still had some gold in his pockets, but he was starting to run out of food; that meant his gold was going to be gone soon as well… And he just didn’t have anything else he could use to sell; he had gotten out of the abbey with the only belongings he had plus a couple loafs of bread and some meat pie. That food was long gone, and the only thing he had been buying was cheap bread loafs in the few villages that had been ready to accept his money. And still… He knew he would have to resort to other methods.
Always chased by his father, who slowly but steadily began to get closer to him, Riven crossed the borderlands in five weeks. Daravin didn’t welcome him particularly well either; he had ran out of money, and the few times he had resorted to ask in villages for some food he had been severely threatened; a kid had even thrown rocks at his black wings. He had learned to keep them low and covered when near people though; he resorted to steal fruit and bread from the poor peasants’ barns at night; he wasn’t proud of himself, but he didn’t have many options, and he didn’t take enough to really harm those families. He traveled west for four weeks in Daravin; he reached the Gravekeep mountains, and the cold and the strong winds managed to force him to cross the wide mountain range in more or less two weeks. He was still worried; he felt the pressure coming for him… And he was more and more tired everyday. He had barely eaten in the mountains; although he’d rationed his bread and apples, he had spent three days with an empty stomach, eating the few berries he’d seen before in bakeries in Lorien. And that had been just a handful. He reached the Wildking's Forge, and Karsten was right behind his feet.
It was in the forests in the Forge that his journey had seemed to come to an end. Karsten was always just days away from his current location; he didn’t know it, but he couldn’t help but feel scared, in constant fear of who would be sent to finish him. The forest was a better land to live in though; the large elven population, mainly Dratori, were always ready to help, and they would offer him spare food and water if they had any; having been drinking in dirty streams and rain ponds, Riven couldn’t help but abuse their hospitality a bit. He never stayed long though, heading west week after week. No one seemed to hate the Avialae there, though; many assumed he came from the west, and mentioned a Jewel of the North, asking if it was as beautiful as tales said; Riven never knew what to answer.. But it seemed there were winged people past Turoth as well. He wondered if they were a tribe of Avian Rathari… But again, some had recognized him as an Avialae. He was puzzled.
Six weeks later, by the time he reached the forests between Tedezar and Antiris, the moment Riven had dreaded the most finally arrived. As he flew over the treetops, a black figure appeared in the distance behind him; he stopped. Big mistake. The figure screamed, triumphant, and chased him. Riven’s heart began beating loudly as Karsten kept getting closer and closer, a faster and more experienced flier now that he had visual contact. He couldn’t risk getting under the trees and getting stuck in a branch; he decided to stop before he exhausted himself and waited for Karsten to get to him. The Knight-Apostle threatened to kill him if he didn’t stop and come back; promised daily discipline until he forgot he had ever fled Lorien. Riven had been made to obey him, and that wouldn’t change. But Riven stood firm, weapons drawn, his wings carefully flapping in place as he studied his instructor. He looked genuinely mad; there was a tint of psychotic impulses behind his eyes, and he had no doubt he would keep true to his word. But Riven could not go back.
He stood his ground as Karsten charged first. Both of his blades had a hard time responding to the large sword he wielded with deadly precision; a flurry of slashes, punches and kicks came after that, and Riven could barely defend himself; he was full of shallow cuts that still bled, and Karsten was running circles around him. Channeling the power of the elements though his swords, he tried to blast him off with a wind jet, but he managed to stay up; then came the fire, but he managed to avoid that, thrusting his sword right at Riven’s heart… Just to move it in the last moment, cutting the boy’s shoulders. And in that moment, it hit Riven: Karsten was not going to kill him. He wanted him alive; maybe because he needed him for the Kindred, maybe because he was… Shaking his head, Riven noticed that fact was the only thing keeping him alive… And the only thing he could use to win the battle. He managed to block most of his attacks after that; Karsten was starting to show signs of fatigue as well… And that made him less careful. There was one last blow; Riven left his chest uncovered for a second on purpose… And Karsten spun to avoid piercing the boy’s heart. It was a split second in which Riven generated a huge blast of fire that set the man’s wings ablaze; screaming in agony and no longer supported by his burning feathers, he pathetically tried to avoid his fall, only partially slowing it down as he kept screaming, trying to put the flames on his back and wings out.
Riven flew west as fast as he could; he didn’t want to look back and face what he’d done. That was the first time he had actually killed a man; a monster who deserved it, but maybe also… He had more problems than the actual need for rest and the trauma; the last fireblast hadn’t been properly controlled, and the boy had overstepped. For the first time, he felt his body set aflame; he had a major fever, and he was starting to make massive efforts to keep consciousness hours before he could find a place to rest. A week and a half of flying later, he managed to reach the base of the blackridge mountains and collapsed in a secluded cave; he woke up later with a terrible beaten body, his head banging and burning and making him dizzy. He was sure that a few of his ribs were broken; by the feel of it, his forearm as well, but it could be a bruise. And the wounds… He had managed to clean them with soap, but still didn’t look good. He was tired of the journey, beaten and sick. The other side of the lake might have had Karsten ready to behead him for burning his wings though; Riven climbed the range up with the strength he could gather. He spent yet another week and a half in the mountains; he couldn’t go as fast or walk as much, but he had managed to fly properly for a few hours a day; however, the general weakness in his body was getting worse. He was hungry; he had only half a loaf of bread left, and he ate it to try and help his body recover.
The last day of his journey, 149 days later, was a blurry mess. He decided to actually fly over the mountain range; his legs didn’t respond properly and he was beginning to be sure about the fracture in his forearm. He flew west, close to the ground in case he needed to land suddenly; his fever was hitting hard, and his eyes were starting to close due to sheer exhaustion. He needed to get past the mountains though; the only barrier capable of separating him from his chaser. Snow was beginning to pile up in the peaks, and he found himself admiring them as he kept going forward; he was beginning to find it hard to think straight. Suddenly though, a large building crossed his sight. And another. Tall wooden buildings on rocky peaks and pillars, their inhabitants staring at the poorly flying boy. The clouds still covered the lower areas of the city; the highes gardens of Kalzasi, the Jewel of the North, extended just less than 50 feet under Riven. “Oh, a city above the clouds…” was all he had managed to think before his mind started to shut down, his eyes started to close themselves as his black wings made twice the effort to keep him airborne; in reality, they had only managed to decelerate his fall; he was still spiraling down.
Completely unconscious, he crashlanded on the Novalys estate.
Seven years later, Riven’s found himself a place in Kalzasi, and even if he’s ready to explore the world, he’s willing to stay. He lives in the same grounds he once fell on; the Great House Novalys lent him a small hut in the gardens, and he’s found a stable life, away from pain and mistrust. Riven’s earned himself a respectable role in the scientific community in Karnor; he works as a researcher and naturalist, exploring the ecosystems surrounding Kalzasi and documenting them for the Academy; from time to time, he also takes care of the animals in the Sanctuary. He also fulfills certain tasks for the Great House Novalys: takes care of one of the gardens, helps build devices to improve the lifestyle in the city, and sometimes, he joins the Heir on his official business. Most of the people in Kalzasi keep wondering about him; should they ask, Riven will probably say he’s just the gardener.
