#augustday32025

Day 3 - Primal

Mirri stirred within the grove she was helping to nurture into being, where flowering vines twined through her teal hair as though to bind her to the earth. At her whisper, they loosened, reluctant but yielding, slipping free like children from a mother’s hand. She rose, stretching into the soft green light of the Dream.

“You have rested your heart long enough, child.”

The voice was rough, ancient, and when she turned, Ursoc loomed above her. His breath gusted over her, nearly toppling her. Still, she smiled.

“Ah, but great Ursoc, this is the Dream. What else is one to do here but rest?”

“Do not sass me, spirit-healer.” His dark gaze was heavy as stone. “You hide from what you feel. You hide from Her. Tell me, what did you learn of dragons?”

Mirri lowered herself back to the earth, legs folded neatly beneath her. Her green eyes lifted to meet his. “That they are not everlasting,” she whispered. She had seen Ysera fall. She had seen corruption twist light into shadow. And she had begged, oh, how she had begged, for her spirit to return.

“But she did return,” Ursoc pressed. “Why are you here at my feet, and not at hers?”

Her breath caught. “Not all spirits can be called back,” she murmured. “I tried.”

He said nothing for a long time, his silence as deep as roots in stone. Then his words struck like claws. “Tyrande found her spirit. Are you jealous that she did what you could not?”

A startled laugh broke from her. “I have no illusions of being a hero. But we all mourned her. Should not our tears have been enough? Should they not have washed her clean of corruption? Let her rise again?”

His eyes narrowed, piercing her to her marrow. “Why then do you linger here? Why have you not gone to the new tree? To embrace your Mother’s return?”

The vines stirred at her touch, curling into her lap like children seeking solace. “So much remains untended,” she whispered. “Secrets in roots, places waiting for care. My grove grows so slowly…”

“Your grove?” Ursoc’s growl shook the air. “Do you own the place of worship, little one?”

The words stung. “No. I own nothing of the land. If anything, it owns me.”

The bear leaned closer, scenting her very soul. “Then hear me: you must make peace with your Mother. Your heart aches still for her. Go to the sacred place. Go to her.”

She closed her eyes. “I tried. But it felt wrong, with him.”

Ursoc’s rumble was low and wild. “Then tell me, what else did you learn of dragons?”

Her voice trembled. “That I could not love one.”

The great bear nosed gently at her hair, a warmth that shook her to her core. “Because you were always meant to love a bear.”

The words struck her like a pulse of earth. The grove fell away, dream folding into dream.

When she opened her eyes, she was not alone. She lay cradled in arms strong and warm as mountains, her head resting against a chest that rose and fell like the slow breath of the wild itself. Her bear, her love, had been called down from the mountains to love her. He stirred, pressing his nose into her hair as though scent alone could bind her to him.

“Mmm… did you rest well?” he murmured.

Mirri nestled closer, the lingering echo of Ursoc still thrumming in her chest. “Always,” she whispered, “in your arms.”

(I have not written anything for Mirri in too long and the prompt was exactly right for my recent thoughts of her.)

Day 3: Twitterpated/Primal

I'd seen people in love - truly in love. The joy that moved with them, the way things around them softened as if their companionship, their laughter was enough to transform any space into one of warmth. The way their eyes always sought their partners not for approval but to communicate something no one else could hear. That silent language that came with comfort and affection and devotion.  

I'd never had that kind of connection, I had never asked for it. With all that I had done, with all that I had endured, I was content to just have the silence. The peace that came with the quiet of a solitary life, yet one where I could still be gentle. Where my hands could help to carry the burdens that were too heavy for others - where I did not need to hurt or command anyone. I could just be a silent witness to their grief as I knew it well, I knew how to navigate all the roads though it. I could help others stumble down that path with compassion until they were strong enough to walk on their own. And then I would return to the beginning, to assist the next person who looked at me like their world had been shattered - who was lost on how to move forward. 

Maybe this was my self imposed penance, to witness the aftermath of death, to become its companion and to learn how to help those who had been left behind. 

But when I saw those wintry eyes, the distance they held, the brokenness…I found I couldn't look away. I could not simply set him down the path and let him carry it. I didn't know why it hit me so hard, but that pain on his face was just one I couldn't tolerate. Not after everything he'd once done for me. I owed him my life, the peace I had managed to find, and I knew I wanted to do everything I could to help ease that suffering. Even if it was just ensuring that he ate. Or offering him a quiet place to sit and listen to the breeze over the lake. Or a warm cup of coffee. I would share what I had if it meant he would not…look at the world like that anymore. 

I do not know when him looking at me started to make me feel like he was seeing me and not simply looking for a lifeline. When looking back at him became something I did with a fondness that surpassed simple compassion. When I started wanting to make him smile or when I had to start hiding my own because being with him was starting to make me feel things I had no name for, had no experience with.

It was only after many weeks, after he had come for me when I thought no one would, after I had been run through with that unforgiving steel and was bleeding out on a sandy stretch of beach that I realized…maybe what I felt went beyond friendship. Maybe it was the way those cool eyes had no longer been broken when they looked at me, but fierce, how he had touched my face and told me to stay with him that solidified that feeling. Even if I still certainly wanted to be his friend, maybe I cared more for him than friends did. 

It was how his eyes had found mine, how they stripped all the weight of the world away, how the very act of looking at me touched something deep inside my heart that had been born restless - incomplete and bitter for it, perhaps. They brought something to life that I may never have known was missing but had always expected was not present…until he looked at me like that. 

Until I realized that I might love him more than the silence.

((This got away from me, and it's late, so not even edited for typos, sorry! It's long.)) ( @themercenaries - getting into shenanigans ) She had fought devourers before. She knew their tactics and how their instincts moved them. Tinnaire flicked sticky, navy-colored blood off her saber and reached for her cleaning cloth before sheathing it. Though the fight with the odd creatures had been unexpected, she felt her blood rushing pleasantly. Fire magic still thrilled through her mana. Tinn could feel an audacious smile starting to pull at her lips. Yes. Being back out at the front was kind of nic--

It was felt, more than heard, a sort of boom that hit your feet and traveled up your spine. Everything paused. Her thoughts, breath, and the chatter and chuckles of relief; everyone waited that one stretched heartbeat.

ssssSSSSSSCCCHHHMMMMM -- sand shifted and skittered as if dancing on a drum. The vibrations began subtle but swiftly grew exponentially to rattle teeth in the skull. The frozen shock of the moment before was shattered all at once and people found themselves scrabbling back toward the caravans and the Eco-Dome.

There was a sinkhole-like collapse, and then a fountain of fine, pearlescent sand erupted with the head of a large devouring serpent rising with an ear shattering scream.

Well shit.

She didn’t even pull out the saber again, instead her instincts gave her a blade made of pure fire to hold at her hand, and she heard Talonoa start to shout orders. She pressed forward with a new job to do.

TW: Violence, injury and blood

August 19 - Day 3 Twitterpated/Primal

They were so close to The Oasis.

Fiorenze adjusted her grip on staff as her eyes snapped up to rifts opening in the air around the eco-dome and, worse, their caravan full of supplies and non-combat travelers. “Protect the caravan!” Talon's command cut clear through the start of the panic. She ran then, athleticism and elvish grace keeping her light on her feet across the fine sand of the ruined planet.

Twitterpated/Primal

“No matter,” Gideon shrugged. “Can’t say the brood fetched near what I’d hoped anyhow. Not in Tiragarde anyway.”

He squinted an eye. “But I hear those mages up in Dalaran fancy little beasties trailin’ after ’em. Makes ’em feel high and mighty, don’t it?”

“You don’t say?” Cormac raised a brow.

Gideon scratched at his beard, leaning closer. “Aren’t mages the ones what burned their eyes out for those demons?”

He nodded solemnly. “Heard that, once.”

Cormac let out a booming laugh. “No no, don't you worry. They’ve got a whole council decidin’ who burns their eyes out.”

“Well then,” The merchant sighed, smiling awkwardly. “Long as they don’t come askin’ me to join up with em, I hear Broken Shore’s downright lovely this time ah year.”

He fished a hand in one of the crates between them, hemming and hawing as eyes searched the squirming mass of creatures.

“By the tides, they’re unfortunate-lookin’ little things. Can’t say I’ve ever been fond ah the ones what get tangled up in me nets neither.”

Cormac only grinned, patiently crossing his arms.

“You’re certain,” Gideon flicked a glance to the rogue. “A lady’s gonna take this as a romantic gift?”

“Oh, indeed,” Cormac said with the kind of confidence only a madman—or someone in love—could muster. “But she ain’t no ordinary lady, no sir. Smarter than half the mages in Dalaran, I'd say. Wouldn’t go burnin’ her eyes out for just anybody.”

Gideon gave a low whistle. “Well, curiosity’s as good as jewels to some, I reckon. ’Specially the sort knows what they want and won’t hear a word against it.”

“Aye,” Cormac nodded, satisfaction shining in his eyes. “That’s the ticket with this one.”

The crate wiggled in protest. “Ah!” Gideon carefully lifted out a strange, squirming bundle, offering it up. “This be the one.”

As it slipped into Cormac’s waiting hands, yellow eyes yawned with an anxious chirp. Limbs curled and uncurled in his grip, one noticeably shorter than the rest. The runt of the clutch—almost adorable for something born of Shadow.

“She’ll like this one,” he said quietly. Not just because it was curious, or rare, but because it was stubborn, not quite what it should have been. Eluvianna had a way of treasuring such things. Perhaps because she was one herself.

Cormac smiled as he gently prodded a finger at the Mindbender’s tentacles.

“Priceless, ain't ya?”

A long, drawn-out sigh slipped from Draeun’s lips at the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Heeeey, Drae!”

He didn’t bother turning at first, only flicked a glance over his shoulder with measured disdain. “I told you to call me Draeun.”

The girl lifted her hands in mock surrender, smiling as if playfulness could soften the edge in his voice. “Sorry, Draeun,” she echoed, dragging the name out in teasing repetition. “So I was wondering…”

Her words tumbled endlessly, but Draeun had already shut her out. Bent over his workbench, he soldered two wires together, his entire being locked in the glow of circuitry. The girl’s voice became background noise—the meaningless hum of a machine.

“…so, what do you say?”

Draeun finally lifted his head, blinking as though waking from a trance. “Hm?”

Her confidence faltered instantly. “About… the dance?”

“Oh.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment before drifting back to the components before him. He leaned in again, hands steady, voice flat. “No.”

“No?” Her voice cracked. “That’s it?”

“What more do you want me to say?” he asked, his tone as sterile as the tools around him. “No, thank you? I hardly see why I should thank you for asking. I am disinterested.”

Color drained from her face, humiliation bleeding through her expression. “But I thought—”

This time he looked up fully. His dark eyes locked onto hers with chilling precision, his words stripped of mercy.

“You thought the single act of kindness I showed you was something more. That I meant to flirt.” His voice cut like a scalpel. “It was in the mechanical shop, wasn’t it? You were mangling a device so badly I had no choice but to correct you—for my own sanity. That had nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with how I feel about you. It was simply the correction of an error.”

He adjusted his glasses with one finger, his gaze never wavering. “So I say again—no.”

Her breath hitched. For a heartbeat she stood frozen, staring into the void of his indifference. Then her body broke with shudders, and she fled, sobs trailing behind her.

Silence surrounded him again. Draeun exhaled slowly, a quiet relief, and turned back to his project. The soldering iron hissed to life once more as if nothing had interrupted him.

How much meaning could be conveyed in a word?

How deep a message could a single string of letters convey?

Too much, sometimes- and yet other times, not anywhere near enough. Altherei had heard of this language having words for complex emotions that didn’t exist in that tongue: the feeling of wanting to return to a home that no longer exists; the realization others are living complex daily lives; the process of rebuilding and remaking things from broken pieces to create a more beautiful whole.

Who came up with those words, she wondered. What led them to create a singular expression to express a deeper and more profound feeling? Why?

Despite having what she considered a wide and thorough vocabulary, Altherei struggled more often than she liked to find words. Some of it, she knew, came from the ever-present, quiet concern of making sure she chose the right words- words that were diplomatic, kind, unobtrusive, unoffensive. The words least likely to cause ripple or distress.

Or the words that would best soothe a hurting friend, even when it seemed like no words existed. Words that could express more deeply and more keenly, I’m here for you.

Other times, it came from something as simple (and yet complex) as not understanding her own feelings herself. When did something move from friendship, to twitterpated, to love? Did they all exist at once, like separate faces of a die? Was it a progression of intensity where each built on the last, becoming something new yet the sum of its parts? Or even then, were they all separate emotions and experiences, separately defined, with only brief areas of overlap shared among them?

Was it all of those things, or none of them, or some of them?

She liked the idea of being able to categorize such things- to have little boxes in which she could sort them all; metrics by which she could keep track and stock, and by that logic, understand herself.

If only the mercurial things known as emotions played so nicely, like her beloved sciences. There was a methodology there, a clear means to get from point A to point B.. usually. Not so with feelings; after all, how could words adequately describe the sentiment of home being a person, not a place? How could they convey the intense, soul-chilling cold felt in the pit of the soul when betrayed by a trusted friend? How could they capture the bright and simple joy of just.. enjoying being in the moment, existing where one was?

Realistically, she knew they were questions without real answers, or answers she’d find particularly satisfying. In equal part, she knew that where words might fail, actions spoke- and louder, as the adage went. Each had their time and place, their pros and cons. Not that she was entirely sure where that line was, either.

No one needed to tell Altherei she overthought nearly everything. How many things she overthought, well, she’d never say. But perhaps- just perhaps- she could learn to rely on her words less.. and her actions, more. Maybe then, she’d find that the truest answer lay neither in words alone, nor actions alone.

The truth of it, as so often was the case, was somewhere in the middle; in that gray area between words and actions, where the two met and intertwined and became something greater than their separates.

And that? Well, that was something no one could describe.

A piece from Nahi’s performance at the Tournament of Ages to this music.  All Shook Up by Whissel

Nahilvi dances to the front of the stage with a sweet, maybe a little goofy, smile. She wears black leather pants tucked into boots, paired with a red-and-gold mesh top that shimmers under the lights. “Uh-huh, I’m all shook up.” She fans her face dramatically, then turns to the side with playful flair. “Well bless my soul, what’s wrong with me?”

Wiggling her hips in time with the beat, she sings with a laugh in her voice. “I’m itching like a woman on a fuzzy tree… I’m in love, I’m all shook up!” The audience cheers as she leans forward, blowing her partner a teasing kiss.

“Oh-oh-oh, yeah, yeah. I’m in love, love!” she finishes, spinning lightly on her heel, her energy crackling with both mischief and charm.

The blonde Sin’dorei follows just a few steps behind Nahi, dressed similarly, slipping easily into her rhythm. His arm wraps around her waist, his other hand catching hers with practiced ease. A gentle press at her shoulder is all it takes to guide his beautiful partner into a graceful spin, her hair swirling as she turns.

With a quick tug, he pulls her back until she’s facing him again, their movements flowing together as if they’ve done this countless times before. A smirk curves across his lips, playful and sure, deepening into a dimple that draws her eyes to him.

Laughing softly as she ends up in front of him, Nahi breathes out the next lines, her voice sweet and teasing. “Well, my hands are shaky and my knees are weak, I can't seem to stand on my own two feet.” A dramatic sigh escapes her as she turns away, letting herself fall back with complete abandon. “Who do you think of when you have such luck? I’m in love, I’m all shook up.”

There is no hesitation, she knows without doubt he will catch her. And when his arms close around her, she finishes “Oh-oh-oh, hey, yeah, I’m in love!” Joy surging through the words as she leans against him, glowing with the thrill of both the song and the man holding her steady.

No chance he would ever allow his songstress to fall. He catches her with effortless ease, steady and sure. His hand slides down to capture her wrist, holding her as though she belongs nowhere else. Leaning forward, he brushes a tender kiss across her forehead before guiding her upright again.

His hand slips to clasp with hers, the gesture both protective and claiming. Chemistry hums in the space between them, unspoken but unmistakable, drawing them even deeper in the moment.

Blushing, she sings with her eyes locked firmly on his,  “I’m all shook up now, I’m all shook up.” A flirty shimmy brings her closer, before she spins, her hair settling down the middle of her back. “I’m all shook up, I’m all shook up!”

Snapping her fingers to the beat, she lets her arms swing wide, her feet kicking high with infectious energy. The music seems to pour straight through her, driving her kicks and flicks into a precise but fast pace. Her voice rings clear with the next lines, “Well, please don’t ask me what’s on my mind, I’m a little mixed up, but I’m feelin’ fine!” Her grin flashes, equal parts teasing and challenging, daring him to keep pace.

Taking one of her hands, he looks into her eyes and smiles, warm and steady. The dance picks up pace, but he matches her every step with effortless strength, moving as if they’ve danced together a hundred times before. Every every kick, every playful step feels seamless, their connection undeniable, he is the perfect partner, keeping up with her energy while still letting her shine.

The song pours from her lips with a sparkle in her eyes, “When he touched my hand, what a chill I got. His lips are like a volcano and hot.” Her palm presses softly against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath, grounding her even as her heart races.

With a cute wrinkling of her nose, she pushes him back just enough to keep him guessing. “I’m proud to say I’m his buttercup. I’m in love, I’m all shook up!” She leans in slightly, waiting for his next move, her grin daring him to match her energy and mischief.

His brow lifts, and he chuckles, amused by her teasing. With a quick, playful tug, he tries to reclaim her hands, his movements easy but determined, matching her step for step.

Twirling just out of reach, she laughs as he grabs at the air where she had just been. “Oh-oh-oh, hey, yeah… I’m in love, oh yeah, yeah, yeah!” Each time he reaches, she spins away with a brilliant grin, her eyes sparkling like stars above them.

The music swells, filling the night, and her chuckle blends seamlessly with the rhythm. Their hearts move in perfect sync, every step, twirl, and playful dodge a shared language of joy. “Oh-oh-oh, hey, yeah… I’m in love, oh yeah, yeah, yeah!” she belts again, letting the words tumble out with all the giddy delight of the moment.

Striding behind her, trying to bring her back into his arms. With a quick, confident move, he catches her wrist. In one fluid motion, he pulls her against his body, and together they begin to twirl across the stage, their movements perfectly in sync. Each spin carries them closer to the front of the stage, their exhilaration blending with the rhythm, the world shrinking to just the two of them moving as one.

Her voice rings out, strong and lively, carrying a joyful tremble in every word. “I’m all shook up now, I’m all shook up. I’m all shook up now, I’m all shook up…” Heat flares between them as they look into each other's eyes, spinning together in one final, dizzying twirl.The world around them fades, and with a breathless, radiant smile, she finishes, “I’m all shook up, I’m all shook up!”