#day12020

Daily Writing Challenge 2020, Day 1

It was, now that she was in the thick of it, perhaps not the best day to be tidying up in this particular manner.  Letters and small trinkets lay scattered around the tiny fold down table in her vardo. All pulled one-by-one out of the small wooden chest she’d kept. They were sentimental things, and usually she was very unattached to such things. But these were some that still tugged at her heartstrings. Familiar handwriting recalled familiar voices.

She’d only meant to come back to the wagon for an hour or so. Pollux was being called back out soon. Tomorrow, in fact. But he was gone into a briefing--she assumed--and he wouldn’t be back until later in the evening. So the minutes marched by in the  shape of words on pages.

The first. It was probably the first letter he’d sent her. A reply to a drunk letter she’d sent that she couldn’t remember the contents of. It would go on to become a pattern between them for a while. They even made a point of it, back then. His handwriting had been wobbly, but that was the alcohol, she’d come to learn. He was ambidextrous. He wasn’t, however, a poet.

Khaeris folded the letter back and tucked it into the little box where it rested with other letters that had touched her. She was smiling, but it was bittersweet. There would be no drunk letters from him, soon enough. Just occasional voice messages or quick notes to check in when he was able. He’d do what he could, when he could.

It was tempting to get very drunk--it was Brewfest after all!--and write him a letter, like the old days before they were lovers. What secrets would she spill? What unmonitored thoughts would fall onto a page? She smirked and fought with herself. Did she really want to spend her last night with him drunk?

Did she really want to spend the VERY early morning goodbye hungover? No. She didn’t. The first few days would be emotional enough.

There was a knock at the vardo door and Pollux called out, “I brought dinner; curry! Lets go eat?” First things first;first, she’d kiss him. Then she would miss him. Better to enjoy what time they had.

mentions: @polluxhale​

Daily Writing Challenge Day 1 - First The first time it happened, it had been a complete accident. He was five years old and wondered why his eyes didn’t look like his mother’s.  Hers were such a lovely, dark shade of brown and he wanted his to be the same.  So, he made them look the same, much to his mother’s surprise.  She had some training in arcane magic, but certainly not illusion magic; this must have been a trait from his father. It only stayed that way for two minutes that first time.

His mother was forced to hire a tutor, illusion magic could be extremely dangerous in untrained hands.  It wasn’t just about using the magic itself, but knowing when and where was appropriate for such a thing. But being a half-elf with the ability to change one’s appearance was a gift to the bullied and abused.  How easy it was to change the shape of his ears and the color of his eyes to fit in. Being able to set foot in any city or town and not be stared at or called names was an amazing feeling.  It was such a minor change, but it made a huge difference in his life.

His teenage years were when he used these tricks the most.  He had adopted another persona outside of his home life and his studies.  Brown eyes, human ears, and that was all it took to make him fit in with the rest of the Stormwind inhabitants. It was so nice to be accepted and to be noticed in a good way, that he began to resent the time he had to spend outside of this new Ryland.  His mother never gave him a reason to hate his actual appearance, but he began to resent and blame her as well.

This lasted for years of his life, until he met Sela. She was a couple years older than him, but it was obvious that she too was a half-elf.  He first saw her in the park, reading a book with tears in her eyes.  It was obvious that she wasn’t really paying much attention to the book, he was all too familiar with that expression.  He approached her as his adopted persona, but it didn’t take long for her to see through the facade, and for the first time in a long time he didn’t want to be that ‘fake’ him. She already knew the struggles, but even more so since she was an orphan.

He had offered to help her, to change her appearance for her.  He was pretty certain that he could do this trick on others at this point, but she refused.  Despite the bullying, and the abuse, and the tears, she didn’t want to change. She never once berated him for his own choices, it was tempting to take away the thing that could otherwise cause so much pain. Even with the tears in her eyes, there was strength in her words: “This is me, and I am perfect as I am despite what anyone else may think. As long as I know it, that’s what matters.”

She was perfect, and that day changed his life in more ways than one.

Day 1 - First/Explosion

Hammer blows echoed in the late afternoon air as the soft ocean breeze came in through the quiet ramparts of Fort Daelin. The smithy drawing to close of a work as the fires began to simmer to a low warmth for the night, sang its last songs of iron and sweat. A loud whistle would blow forth as cling and clangs of honest work silenced to be followed by the mortal words of workers. Upturned buckets, cries for ale, and the general milling of tradesmen gathering as they stalked out of the shop, their heavy boots thumping as they left for the evening. Trailing behind them all would come a fairly common pair, similar and different in the almost subtle and obvious ways.

A tall handsome woman with her hair held tight in a min shouldered a hammer with ease, her other hand deftly raising a dirty cloth to wipe sweat grime from her face. She was broad and strong, Kul Tiran as they come with thick arms for hoisting sail and the steady step of one born to sea. Sarasam Styrnlock was a woman born with an affinity for shaping metal as she was communing with the tides. An easy smile lit her face she walked with her companion, the easy banter common between the two. “Up fer a pint?”

Her companion was different in all kinds of ways, the most obvious being an elderly man with thick white mustaches and clean bald head that glistened with sweat and oil. A mass of scars, wrinkles, and manner of lines gave the impression of living history, in truth he was one of the few left with those memories. Despite time’s march his step matched hers easily, the gait they followed ingrained more in blood than friendship. Erlain Candell bore no hammer now but he did wipe his neck down with a similar rag, releasing a weary sigh. “Are you sure your old enough, Miss Styrnlock?”

“Pfft, blow it out yer arse, ol man.” Sarasam rolled her eyes at Erlain but smiled nonetheless as she stalked along with him. “Come on now, could use a beer after today. Wars cooled but damned if the orders don’t stop.”

“Your people need to rebuild their lives, Sara. It’s not easy.” Lain replies patiently as they walked out into the orange and red of the slow setting sun, their slowing as they reached the gate of the blacksmiths yard.

Sarasam once again rolled her eyes as they stopped to chat, shaking her head. “I know ya used to be a holier than thou type-“

“My faith has never faltered.”

Sara grimaced at being interrupted by the old man, who was doing his best to remain stern in the face of the younger woman. Blue eyes narrowing as she rolled her shoulders and set her hammer to the side. “Damnit Lain, can you just not interrupt me for once?”

There was no reply as she nodded to herself and began to speak again. “Like I was saying, you don’t have to lay on the sermons to me. I know we’re in quite a mess but we’ll come out of it. The Tidemothers with us and the fleets returned and the damn Dark Lady is gone. Can we have a moments peace? A moment to collect ourselves?”

There was silence again as Sarasam felt a weight on her shoulders that did not involve the weight of iron or the turn of steel. She had it on her for some time since she’d last ventured out to Drustvar and came into service with some Inquisitors heading off to Vol’Dun. She’d met a man, a man she suspected of being more than a comrade in arms to her. That man of course was linked to her friend here and if that was the case, then they too shared a bond beyond work.

“Lain something has been digging at me for some time, and I need to talk to you about it.” Sarasam lowered her eyes to cross her arms about her stomach, a nestling ache at what she suspected. “I need to talk to you about a man I met some time ago.”

There was silence still as she turned to look at her friend, the world tumbling as she felt an odd burn in her eyes and throat. “His name was Eld.”

Erlain was slumped on the ground, resting on his knees as if in prayer with palms open and knuckles in the dirt. His head was bowed and face hidden in his chest, motionless and silent in the waning sunset of a coming autumn night.

Sara stared speechless at Lain, her hands falling away from her stomach as fast as the earth was beneath her feet to bring her to her knees before him. By now the burning in her eyes had released a steady stream of tears as she reached a shaky hand out to his bent head. Rough fingertips touched the toughened skin and gently traced around his cheek to his neck. No response. No reaction. No beat.

Erlain Candell was gone.

@daily-writing-challenge

(TW:Gore/Death)

@daily-writing-challenge

There were days where Ren’fiki spent his mornings sobering up in a ragged bedroll, nursing his headache with a strange mix of egg and Darkroot Vodka. His stone-roughed face curled in disgust, only managing to drink half before placing it beside him and standing up.

Okay, man. You got to get yourself together. He thought to himself as he took one wobblily step after another. Why did I turn to alcohol? Father always talked about hangovers… My head hurts. ahh. He ran his fingers through his red hair, glowing blue eyes peeking out between his squinted lids. 

Maybe I’m not ready to be a prelate.

It wasn’t as if Ren’fiki hadn’t killed before, he’s of high blood but he never found it much fun to live life as a captive soldier, in fact, he spent most of his nights as a youth in the streets of Dazar’alor. Low-bloods end up traded for gold, runaways living on the street, or picked up by pirates to sail the seas. Therefore, it was easy to bully out whatever snot-nosed kid ends up on his turf. But he never actually killed anything humanoid. Most of his victims, however, were of the critter variety, and all were eaten in a respectful way. Though he’d boast about a grand adventure that ended in the killing of a raptor, it was nothing more than an overgrown saurid. 

Killing another Troll for fun though? 

That’s something I’ve always thought of as a last-ditch effort, not something to throw around willy-nilly, but it felt as if it was to these soldiers. I see what some of these people have to do to survive and it feels cruel to punish them like this. Stealing from them is one thing but I could never imagine murdering someone.

A sudden breath caught in Ren’fiki’s throat. His body began to shiver as cold sweat beaded down his neck. A figure sat quietly in the shadows, glowing blue pupils staring daggers back at him. The same eyes that burned into his mind as the smell of iron sunk into his nose and the back of his throat. 

Blood flashed before his eyes, a memory playing before him like he was watching it in the third person. The only thing the old troll did wrong was sleeping in the way of the prelate. Ren’fiki witnessed the way his Prelate guardian swung his ax into the shoulder of the beggar, watching as his body folded inward and collapsed to the floor.

 “Sir! That’s enough.” The Paladin rushed to the side of the victim, but it was clear that the ax had reached all the way to the spine, severing the body in half. There wasn’t much time left. “I’m going to tell the High Prelate of your cruelty.”

The young Zandalari look away from the gruesome act, his shaking eyes looking at his fellow apprentice who in turn, didn’t move a muscle. In fact, he was completely relaxed. The fact sent chills down Ren’s spine.

“Weak tusklings like you can’t handle this job. You’re supposed to enact the will of the king, not what you want. Getting rid of filth is nothing more than cleaning the streets.” The Prelate’s crooked nose and uneven eyes would come close to Ren’fiki, close enough to smell his rancid breath from behind his mask. “I dare you.” The Prelate said in response, plucking his ax from the withering beggar. 

As soon as the blade parted from the flesh, blood erupted from the wound, and no matter how much he tried to heal the wound with the power of Rezan or stop the bleeding with his hands manually, it just wouldn’t stop. Skin and flesh would seep through until guts spilled out around his fingers. Ren’fiki brought his hands to his face, fresh blood staining his cheeks. 

That was the first time I saw someone die.

After some time, the nightmares crawled back into the deepest darkest corners of his mind. Ren’fiki’s familiar room caught his attention, the sensation of his ragged bedroll comfortable under his rough fingertips. He was back, at least for the moment, he thought to himself, finally getting himself ready for the day.

(( Thanks for running this, @daily-writing-challenge​ ! Been a long while since I’ve had the motivation to make myself write for this character or work on who she is, so having a ‘reason’ to do it through the prompts makes it more fun! <3 ))

She could feel the heat of the explosion from the other ship beat against her face - waves rocking her own sleek ship for long moments after, as she let the keen senses imparted to her by the fel, by the demon she was now, aid her. If there were survivors...she’d know. She only left survivors when she needed a fearful tale told in a far-off dingy bar where sailors weren’t sure how true the tale was, or not.

You had to build a reputation slowly. Carefully. Especially, for her - one life could not impact the other. A dutiful Crusader does not, after all, condone such matters as she preferred dealing in - the penitent shadow of a Knight could not be connected with the Dread Pirate towering on her ship across the water, as the screams of sailors dying bloody carried over the liquid expanse with a clarity she savored.

She hadn’t been a very good noble before, really - always shirking her duty, or stumbling under the pressure of knowing that the livelihood of others depended on her capabilities....never knowing who to listen to, or what course of action was best.

She’d changed, since then - not for the better, some would argue...and vehemently, at that, given the curl of horns atop her platinum blonde head. And yet...she’d not only taken her estate from the clutches of a man who’d tormented her nearly her entire century-and-some of life, but she’d brought it back from the brink of ruin. The stolen goods below deck would ensure that her people continued to live well. 

Those born with confidence, curiosity and fearlessness are destined for failure. It is in that failure that they learn deeper than those that do not want to question their limits. "I know what I am doing." "You're not ready for those techniques, idiot. Just return the book where you got it, and maybe you won't get punished!" hushed whispers in a corner of one of the libraries. "No. I don't think I will." the youthful man with decorated long sapphire hair and academy issued robes with a shimmer of his own illusion speaks with his usual smugness. "I should report you, Talthorn." a grumbling friend grits his teeth in his presence.

"You won't." he smirks knowingly. "You're too much of a coward that's frightened of their punishments. Are you still afraid of a few lashings?" His lips press out into a pout, his finger dancing at that pursed lip and condescending voice to emphasize. Laughter rolls over him as he finishes making fun of his friend for right now. "Why are we friends again?" "Because you need someone to help you with theory I imagine." Talthorn is half listening again, reading through the material in his hand he already been trying days prior. "You do understand how dangerous this is. Right? You have not even mastered the basics in class missile conjuration and projection. Diving right into amplifying those without controlled practice could create disaster!" "Hmm? Did you say something?" the tone in his voice was lingering on insulting indifference. "What are you hoping to achieve by breaking rules you clearly know you should not? This is not the way to get noticed if that is what you are thinking." "Mediocrity is not for everyone, Saedas. Stay in your little sandbox if you want. I intend to make history." Talthorn shuts the book and looks up with a devious grin. "Syl'voran!" an instructor screeches in their direction, having both of them wince in painful surprise. "Yes ma'am! I'll be right there." Putting the book away quickly, all it takes is a snap and blink to bring Talthorn across the room. He knew an exam was today and he was ready for it. The older woman with a strict expression gives her usual irritated glare she gave to most of the students. She was not anyone's favorite instructor and she graded rather harshly. Talthorn was annoyingly charismatic, which made her even more disgruntled by his presence. Scratching her quill in loud writing on the parchment, she takes a moment to push up her spectacles and finds the young man flashing her a broad smile. "May I just say how lovely you look to-" Cutting him off she points with the feather straight to the targets in front of them. "Shoot the targets. Three controlled arcane missiles in sequence." Talthorn gives a bit of a shrug, not hurt that she didn't want to talk. He knew this was going to be a longer test. It was the -perfect- time to show off his new skills!    Looking over at the targets, the young man's eyes begin to dance with fervor! Already weaving his spell beautifully, he channels powerful bursts of energy toward the targets with hazardous results. It was not the controlled pulses that he and his other peers had been practicing, so they were akin more to bombs than bullets coursing through the air in volatile force. The deafening sounds as each projectile detonated had Talthorn watch the results in amazement as he felt the aftershocks where he was standing! The targets were shattered sending some of the other students screaming and running out of this library and testing zone. All he kept thinking of, was how he could improve on this technique already! This was gorgeous! Standing there in the aftermath of this disaster, the windswept and now dirty and arcane dusted student and instructor slowly look at each other. Talthorn's gradual fake attempt at a smile appeared out of courtesy as he knew full well that he was in a lot of trouble. He wasn't sorry. The older woman grew more and more infuriated, looking as if she might yell if she thought this delinquent would hear it! He is met with a swift crack of the clipboard on the back of his head. It would be the first of many satisfying explosive failures. @daily-writing-challenge​

Day one - First/explosion

This was a long needed break from everything going on. They had went back to her old hunting grounds near her old hut. So it was something they still felt was home. Even the storm was familiar for them. It was pitch black outside, cold, rainy, a night most would hide out inside where it’s dry and warm. Jursol was not like others. She and her pack of raptors sat outside listening to the rain falling on the forest canopy, rain drops falling on their heads as the raptors tried to bite at the falling droplets. The Zandelari sat near them watching in amusement as they enjoyed this fine night, moving to join the fun after observing for a bit. Her body began to sway to the sounds of night music as she hummed happily. Everything was going well for a while till the storm suddenly got worse. Thunder boomed in the clouds as lighting started crashing in the sky. The pack of raptors looked to Jursol, who was already rushing them back to safety. Moving into her old hut as the raptors huddled together, their eyes watching Jursol as she made a fire to dry and warm them up. Outside the storm was just pounding the jungle. Jursol was nosy as one can be and went to look out a small window. For a moment she remembered her time caring for an elf she had rescued, and come to trust over their time working together. Her mind started to wonder on this.

*BOOM!* Jursol and the raptors all jumped startled by the loud sound that seemed like an explosion. The Zandalari’s raptor like eyes saw happened. Rushing out her door into the storm as she looked in horror. Lighting had struck a tree that was used for hiding stolen gun power!!! “Dis be bad, very bad.” Speaking to herself as she ran back in. They were not near the danger zone, but she was unsure who or what animals may have been. Her raptors looks to her when she came back in and knew something was wrong. Each one moved to stand in front of her as if waiting for orders. A wave of her hand had them ready to act. “We be helpin now. Spread out, find any survivors. Bring dem to me. Animal or otherwise. Herd dem if need be. Let us be goin!” Her voice was full of determination as the group ran out the door to the fire. Many animals were rushing and scrambling to find a safe place to hide. Raptors could smell them and did everything to make them move, but if all else failed they’d call for Jursol. She was doing her part as well as she tried to deal with the fire. Grabbing a huge handful of the wet dirt, or well mud at this point, her large clawed arm began tossing it at the fires base. One raptor moved to her side and started to dig a hole around the tree, as another brought her a bucket of water. Grabbing it from the raptor as she used that to fill up the hold. “We be needin more!” Yelling as she ran to the nearest water source, before running to collect it and get back. The raptors noticed and started to help by packin the mud onto the fire, each getting burns from doing so. Rain still pouring down probably helped a lot with this. Jursol noticed the raptors were being hurt and motioned for them to stop. She took over as slowly the fire was dying. Jursol continued to put it out until there was noting left of risk. By the end her arms were cover in burns. Mawa moved to her side nudging her back. “Mawa, I be alright.” She said petting the raptor. “A few burns not be killing me.” While it was clear she was in pain, she would live. A wave of her arm and they were off headed back to the hut. The animals that were near the fire were fine, none even got a burn. Sadly one of her raptors had found something left behind during the panic. A small baby raptor!!! His eyes seemed damaged badly, and he had burns that needed to be treated. Reaching out for it as she took the unconscious baby in her arm. “He be needin treatment before we be findin da motha. Glancing to her side she noticed a body, badly burned. A closer inspection showed it was a raptor. Female. Probably the babies mother. Her heart sank as she started to head for her hut. “Dis be a bad first meeting little one. Jo be safe now. Once back at the hut his healing would begin.