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[.Introduction]

ie.
This Journal belongs to Ryugen ((Erik Nihls)) and his/her pet __________.
Only Shop Staff and Ryugen are allowed to post in this Journal, please don't post without permission.

Owner Statistics:

Ryugen:
A prickly breedables addict, a yaoi fan and an avid reader who does not like planing girls and can't stand pairings with only breeding in mind.

RP Owner Statistics:

Erik Nihls: A western 'dhampir' (effectively a half vampire), who doesn't seem to have inherited any of the glamorous traits of vampiredom.
Nihls appears to be of an inditerminate but older age, his face is faintly pitted and scarred, making his sharp features appear even sharper, his greyed hair is thick and unrully, and his intense eyes are an disturbing shade not imcomprable to orange clay.
An bit codgity and cynical, Nihls quickly quiets around authority figures and tends to let them have their way, his primary interest as far as court goes seeming to be his violin.
If there was ever a shred of youth in the aged looking Dhampir, it's hard to see it.

Accomidation: ((Home sweet Home.))
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Description in the works

Toybox:
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The Toybox is currently empty

Extra
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Journal: ]The Orb had arrived, if orbs really did that sort of thing under their own power, the night of 'the dream'. Which ordinarily he wouldn't bother classifying in such an spesific fashion as to deliniate it from other nights, save that it was so particularly unusual.
It was unusual because Erik Nihls never dreamed of childhood. Some in fact, argued that he had never -been- a child, but instead had grumped his way into existance, an bow in one hand, violin in the other, and an perpetual scowl on his pitted, too old for his age face.
Nightmares perhaps, or strange dreams of winning across the night sky on leathery wings....perhaps dreaming of being on stage under the feverish glare of a spotlight, sawing away at his violin, which in dreams was -always- a Stradavarious...or better. If there was something better than the fabled Stradavarious it really could belong to him only in dreams....
These were the sort of things he dreamed about. Not like 'The Dream'.

In The Dream, he'd been a boy again, perhaps a little before he'd lost the oportunity to truly be a youth, and had sunk fully into a world that revolved around two things, survival and the violin. He still remembered games then, playing even, and he bolted through an garden labrynth at dusk without feeling the nervous itch to tune his instrument or seek for watching eyes. His hair, which then was wild and black, though it had greyed quickly, hanging loose around his face. Back then it had made his peculiar eyes stand out even more, like some kind of halloween cat, but he hadn't cared.
He was searching for something in the dream, wandering through the towering green hedges following......
He wasn't sure what it was. A whisp of color, a ribbon? An gown or a coat? It drifted just ahead of him, leading him further and further onward, until he could feel, in the way one feels such things in dreams, the idea of 'home' growing smaller and smaller like a fading tickle at the back of his neck, but such was the urgensy of his chase that he continued.
He'd awakened making a desperate lunge to try and lay hands on that flicker of color, and awakened because he'd felt his boney hand close around a cool sphere of glass, startling him awake.
It had been lying in his hand then, an purplish sphere with dancing colors inside, and some curious, hard to dissern symbol at it's heart that made it look faintly like a piercing, blue and fushia eye. Some of the marks looked a little like moon phases, but he couldn't entirely puzzle it out, though if it was an eye of some form, it made his own clay orange eyes look almost tame by comparison.
When he'd gotten ready for the day, he'd found himself sliding it carefuly into a slightly ragged coat pocket, unable to say for sure -why- it was important, but knowing only that it was.

Journal: The Dream: 2The dream again....or something like it. I fell asleep in my chair, paging through an old book to clear my head. I was looking for any reference to such orbs, though I confess myself at a loss. It doesn't -seem- to be vampire magic, or at least if it is, it's beyond my abilities to puzzle it out. It doesn't in fact seem to do anything harmful.
If anything it's....at best...only in danger of indusing whimsy. It glows from within, I've noticed. I had at first thought maybe it was a trick of the light but no, it seems to be self illuminated, and the smoke inside moves faintly, like a faint draft through the smoke of an extinguished candle.
I had the book on my lap, and I think I was looking at the orb when I dosed off, so perhaps that explains the dream. Or perhaps there's no explination at all. My...'beloved' father, whoever he may have been...rumor has as being one of the mad clans. Perhaps that unstable blood is merely rising in me as I grow older.
I certainly seem to doze off a little more these days, as I did then.
I dreamed of the labrynth again, walking further and further into it's leafy confines, though this time I was myself, and I was following the sound of a childs laughter. Slowly, the bushes gave way to stone walls, some twice my height, which glittered faintly, though I couldn't have told you if it were a dusting of Mica or some sort of less pleasant gleam that made them that way.
Straggling vines climbed the walls, and there was lichen, though out of the corners of my eyes, it seemed to move.
So did the walls I think, since it was at best by happy accident that I stumbled across the little enclave where the voices came from.
There was a boy sitting in the center of things, well dressed, in bright colors, as children like. Not my drab, owlish colors, which I admit are designed to make me vanish more, and he turned to grin at me as I approached. His hair was black, and his eyes were, like mine, brilliant clay orange, and with a shock I realized he was me, as I had been once. Grinning, he ran over to me as I stood dumbfounded, and took my boney hand in his, and clapped something warm and around into it, which, I realized with another start, by it's now familiar gaudy glow....was the orb.
"It's a Dream." He said, the boy I mean, since I don't know that I can rightfuly say it was me. "Isn't it wonderful?"
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I woke with an start at the sound of the clock in the hall, chiming the hour, and a rather stiff neck from dozing in my chair. The book, alas, had slid to the floor while I slept, and I'm afraid I broke the spine of it, and bent a few pages, but it's otherwise alright. The orb? It was...of course, perhaps I should have expected this...in my hand again.
Mayhaps I should be more alarmed by this. I'm too old and too suspicious of harm to generaly -like- things that are so unusual....but I can't say I've felt this refreshed in a very long time.
If it's a dream...I hope it lingers a touch longer.

JournalI met a rather interesting young man in the park yesterday. Rather to say....I ran into him. Or if you want to be further technical about it...he ran into me. Rather vigorously in fact, while chasing an glass ball down the hill. One a not inconsiderable amount like my own, save that, if anything, it's even more gaudy.
It seems to have had an particular effect of making my own 'bit of trouble' act out even more, as the ink splatters on this page can sadly attest.
More dreams of the hedge maze and the Labrynth, though really it's hard to say if I accomplish anything in such dreams, as last night I found no one, just long stretches of pathway.
I wonder if Tame, the young man I met in the park has such dreams....[
Probably he would prefer I not ask, however polite he behaves. I'm an frightening old Gargoyle.