Daily Writing Challenge 2021

Day 21 - Rendezvous / Carnage

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Arlyn sat on one of the rock shelves overlooking the crucible, watching the activity below with little interest. It has been a few months since she arrived -as best as she could tell- on a doomed quest to find the soul of her brother. Against all odds, she succeeded... but he wasn't Jake anymore. Like most kyrian, his memories were discarded.

The singer sighed. It was time she faced reality and return home. She left a letter to Granny and Gramps that she was going on an adventure and will be away for a while, but she didn't want to worry them for too long. She had just one last thing to do. The sound of steps made her turn.

"Liendra notified me of the location. You wished to speak with me." The kyrian spoke with a neutral tone.

"Thank you for coming, Kelador." Arlyn replied politely. "I'm... I'm going back, to Azeroth."

"I see." The man replied after a brief silence. If hiw words affected the singer, she didn't show it.

"Before I do, I have a selfish request. Will you listen to my song?"

She was waiting with bated breath and only exhaled with relief once he nodded. Her humming started after Kelador was seated, his piercing gaze only fueling her determination further.

" A brother's cry, a thief's crime A life paying the ultimate price Shattered hearts are left to cope How to fill the gaping hole Yet burns the spark of cruel hope Of an advanture with little to lose For I cannot leave the past behind If only to meet one last time "

Arlyn didn't try to stop her tears once it was over, unable to meet Kelador's eyes just yet. Suddenly a pair of arms embraced her and Arlyn was sobbing into his chest. He held her without a word until her tears dried up.

"S-sorry..."

"Don't apologize. You've been carrying that burden for a while, didn't you?" He consoled gently, the indifference gone from his tone.

"Also... it is likely presumptuous of me for saying this, but I will do so. You know I only have memory of your name and that we were conencted, but nothing else of my former life. It is very likely I am him... and I don't want my death to hold you back any longer. You have your life ahead of you, live it to the fullest. That is my wish, and I believe it woudl be the same if I had my memories."

Fresh tears ran down on Arlyn's cheeks, but she only nodded with a sad smile. She hugged Kelador again, and with her farewell done, slowly limped away. She felt dejected, but also lighter, as if the weight she carried was lessened considerably... and didn't look back.

-

Kelador watched the figure of the human gettign smaller and smaller in silence, even as a winged kyrian landed beside him.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Liendra asked with a slight frown.

"Yes, it is better this way, for her sake." he replied with a sad smile.

"You could have told the truth."

"I know. I could have told Arlyn I remember pieces of our life together, and her tears as I lay dying in her arms... but it would have made things even harder for her." He shook his head. "My little sister is like a bird, and I want her to fly free, not to be caged by the past and shackled by my death."

"I understand... and she is really talented." Liendra crossed her arms, the human surprised her this time.

"That she is. The song... I almost couldn't keep my act together. But I stand by my decision. She has her life ahead of her still. And who knows what the future brings..."

--

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 21 - Carnage

Warnings: Mention of death/violence

Aerden hadn’t expected to return to Vixannya’s gallery so soon after the grand opening, or even at all for that matter. He enjoyed her art and thought she did an amazing job with the exhibition, but seeing painted death on canvas wasn’t his preferred genre of hers. Yet here he was, standing in the final room and staring up at the massive 15x12 painting of the Maw. 

The first night he viewed it he had this same feeling, but with so many familiar faces around he didn’t want to stare and think about it for too long. What happened to those poor mortals in the Maw was absolute carnage; it was difficult to look at but at the same time he found it difficult to look away. He had asked her briefly where she got the idea, but she said she had been alone when it suddenly came to her months ago.

With a squint, he stepped in closer, brows furrowed as he studied the little faceless, bloody figures sprawled dead and thrown asunder. Eyes darted around, searching for something without knowing exactly what. The longer he stared, the more familiarity he saw: The woman with the long, red braid, the older man with the shock of white hair, it was all too much of a coincidence to not be true. 

He had already thought that may be the case, but when he finally decided to accept that assumption he felt light-headed and like he wanted to vomit. He wavered in place as he could feel the blood leave his face; he needed to get far away from this. Tearing his gaze away, he made a dash for the exit and didn’t stop until he reached the portal that took him out of the city.

That was his platoon.

‘How do u do it? How do u get past all those thoughts of the death u seen?’

Pollux frowned as he stared at the message on his comm from Aerden that had pinged him earlier in the morning. There was no simple response to a question like that aside from saying that you don’t, but that wasn’t what he would want to hear. War fundamentally changes someone no matter how hard they try to hold onto the person they were before. Pollux had seen it drive some to the brink of madness and beyond, but all things considered his son had been handling everything exceptionally well. Better than most.

Pollux could recall his own early days in the military and his first battles; those are the ones that would always stick with you no matter where your career took you. He could even still clearly remember the names and faces of those that had been lost there. While death in general may not have bothered him as it once had, it never became any easier to witness. Especially now.

He knew that Aerden still struggled at times when it came to talking about the Legion, and his experiences recently within the Maw would no doubt stay with him long after as well. Pollux knew what happened to his son’s platoon in that terrible place, but they had yet to really speak much about it. He would when he was ready. It hurt his heart, both as a father and as a military leader. There was nothing he could say that would magically make it better, it was all a part of the experience of being a soldier. At least he would not be alone, and in this line of work that was everything.

‘Rendezvous @ my place, 1300 hours?’ This conversation was not one to be had over comm messages.

She’d come alone last month, but this month she’d asked to rendezvous with Helal and his gaggle of children. A perfect outing. Khaeris smiled to see the girls all wrapping the battlemage around their little fingers. Arro’wen held onto Khaeris’s hand, watching his little sisters each trying to pull their father in a different direction. It was almost close for the month and they herded themselves all toward the tables at the food court. Helal came back with all their drinks and strawberry funnel cake. It wasn’t long before the girls looked like they had spilled blood in their feast, sticky syrup and chunks of fruit plastered to cheeks and fingers, nevermind coating their teeth. Khaeris laughed harder than she had in months when the twin girls turned to her and both BEAMED strawberry carnage at her. It was, all at once, hilarious and vicious.

Definitely Helal’s daughters.

@daily-writing-challenge

The Fourth War pushed Leo'mar's tolerance to its limits. At a time when the people of Azeroth needed to finally recover and rebuild from constant conflict, jumping into a new war with one another felt ridiculous.

Especially with the giant sword sticking out of the world.

(Find information about the Daily Writing Challenge here.) @daily-writing-challenge

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, gore, death, cannibalism, general carnage

Summary: In the aftermath of yesterday's attempted kidnapping, Indy has a dream about another case of captivity she overcame, and the revenge that had come with it.

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What’s the worst thing you’ve ever eaten? Ranek had once asked Indy.

Ogre. It’s a long story, and I was very angry.

****

Indraste was finally asleep. Twist was most likely still outside her window, but she was dead to the world, and an old, familiar nightmare was dragging her even deeper down. She made a distressed noise, tossing to one side, which caused the mirror Blix had given her to fall from her hand. And then, the memories came, seeping into her dreams and turning them sour. But after a day like she’d just had, it was only to be expected.

Indy had gotten captured by ogres during her time in Nagrand, after a night of solo drunken revelry left her black-out drunk. She’d woken in a cage in the bottom of their mound, and had immediately tried to break free, causing several of them to attempt to spear her through the bars. When she’d shifted into a cat to try to get away with a bit more agility, the brutes had cheered. In broken words, they’d told her that if she was a “good kitty,” they’d feed her. But if she kept trying to get out, they’d let her starve. This was the point where the dream always brought her.

Carnage ( @daily-writing-challenge​​, @serararku )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Content Warning: Blood/Gore/Suggestive Themes

Theme: Heilung - In Maidjan

A dozen corpses lay sprawled in the searing heat. If S’rarku Nuhn has his way, a dozen more will join them.

“YAAARGH!” S’rarku bellowed with a voice that rolled across the sands like thunder. The flash of light from the tip of his glaive and the fight was over as quickly as it began; the terrified Miqo'te Tia saw the glint of his demise and tasted the bite of the Nunh’s thrust, tearing through leather, flesh, and bone alike. He let out a short-lived shriek before the glaive reemerged through his back, spilling his blood onto the sand. S’rarku gripped the shaft of his mighty weapon before spinning it in his hands, splitting his foe in twain from chest to collar. “HAHAHA! Another weak pathetic fool! Another offering to Azeyma!” The old man threw his head back and laughed again, twirling his glaive until the blade was clean again. “Who dares challenge me?! Who’s next to offer their bodies to the Warden?!”

All seventeen wifes watched in the shade of their tents, along with his twenty daughters and three sons. S’yuun, his favorite wife, simply looked on in disgust: bored, inattentive, and unimpressed. “How much longer must we endure this dreadful heat? S’rarku?! Hurry up and defeat the rest of those Tia so we can go to the hot springs!”

Her husband turned to face his wives with the biggest grin on his face. “Soon, my lovelies! Let me cleave just a few more and we’ll all go together! I promise!” S’rarku was a monster in Miqo'te skin once, unmatched in strength and absolutely fearless. But now he was old, with a crown of silver hair, and an undying lust to relive his glory days. Young Tia, desperate for breeding rights, travel from all over Eorzea to challenge ‘an old Nunh with one foot in the grave already’; but once they find the Zu Tribe, the folly of their greed often takes a heavy - and permanent - toll. “YAAAGH! AGAIN!”

Another Tia rushed forward for his best chance at living a life surrounded by his own wives and children. S’rarku leapt high into the air with a single bound, blinding his challenger when his fearful gaze brushed against the glaring sun. He caught sight of the Nunh’s shadow dashing across his face, before he saw the familiar glint of the tip of that terrifying glaive.

His wives turned away in disgust while doing their best to cover the many eyes of their children, but S’era looked on, awestruck and nauseous. She watched her father gore and gut the Tia like the prize after a day’s hunt, spilling his organs out into the sand with a wet flop; it sounded like an overturned barrel of fish being emptied onto a pier. The young Miqo'te woman covered her mouth but not her eyes, refusing to look away from such a gruesome execution. S’rarku tossed the now inside-out body away before pointing his glaive toward the others. “A death more painful and gruesome awaits the next one! And the next one! And the next one! HAHAHAHA!” Many aspiring challengers wisely decided to live today and fight tomorrow. S’rarku balanced his glaive on his shoulder and watched the cowards turn to flee, knowing his daughters would remain unsullied, and his wives would remain his. One by one their courage failed them. One by one they abandoned their hopes and dreams to return to their tribes empty handed, or try their luck challenging other Nunhs elsewhere.

All but one. The last Tia remaining stood there in silence with a concentrated look in his burning orange eyes. It wasn’t until S'rarku was finished laughing at the vanishing cowards did he notice him. “YOU THERE!” He bellowed again, pointing a finger at the Tia. “Look around and bear witness to the fate of all who seek my daughters and wives! Will you not flee while you still breathe?!”

Despite his calm and focused demeanor, the Tia’s tail flicked and twitched about in eager anticipation. “My name is U'tage Tia! I have watched you slaughter Tia stronger, faster, and braver than I, but I have something none of them possessed!”

Intrigued, S'rarku sneered before asking, “And what might that be?!”

“Patience!” U'tage pulled himself free of his jerkin and dropped it into the sand. His body was well toned, yet he was still a fraction of the brawn of his opponent. Even worse, he had no scars of any kind - the telltale signs of an inexperienced Miqo'te. The moment his jerkin came off, the interest and curiosity of the women in attendance collectively died off. “I’ve studied your movement, learned your techniques, and observed your strengths and weaknesses! I’m going to defeat you right here in front of your family. Then I’m going to pleasure your wives. Then I’m going to fill your daughters with my seed. What do you think about that?” S'rarku threw his head back and belly-laughed, far harder and louder than he had all day. Yet his wives remained silent, knowing that laugh all too well; it was forced, and he was furious. With nothing else left to be said, U’tage grabbed the hilt of the blade fastened to his lower back, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long - S'rarku soared across the sand with all his fury propelling him! Tha-thump. In a heartbeat the glaive was thrust toward his chest, striking little more than air. Tha-thump. It caught a few strands of fur from an ear when he ducked underneath. Tha-thump. A side step saved him from being cleaved in half. Tha-thump. It came down again, slashing the sand between his outstretched legs.

U'tage couldn’t keep this up for much longer. Tha-thump! His body was screaming for rest. Tha-thump! But the heart pumped, and his limbs obeyed. Tha-thump! With each miss, the glaive came closer and closer! Tha-thump! Blood splashed across his chest when the razor edge cut through his skin! Tha-thump! He was out of time-! Tha-thump! One last surge of strength pulled his blade from its scabbard and clanged the fatal thrust away from his chest!

SHWIIIING!

S'rarku and U'tage stood there under the pummeling heat of the desert sun, both covered in sweat and panting. The gilded scimitar gleamed and glimmered in the brilliant sunlight, captivating all who looked upon the golden blade; it was enough to even give S'rarku pause from his bloodlust.

“Who did you kill to steal something like that?” He called out in between labored breaths.

U'tage spit into the sand before pointing the tip of his sword toward his foe. “All you need to worry about is how sharp it is. Have you caught your breath yet, old man, or do you need more time?"

"You have a warrior’s heart, I’ll give you that much! Hahaha!” S'rarku swung his glaive around his body like it weighed nothing. “But I can see right through you, boy! Your legs ache! Your body falters! You pretend you’re not exhausted even as you stand there, slick with your own blood! But for your effort, your death will be clean! You have earned that much!”

It was now or never. U'tage took the initiative this time and charged fast and low toward S'rarku with his scimitar out to his side. If he could just throw him off balance, or better yet- get behind him, victory would be his. But S'rarku had the strength and the reach; getting close enough for a killing blow would be no easy task.

S'era gasped at the song their blades sang when they met, a chorus of sharp rings and soft hums. Her heart fluttered as she watched this stranger dance with her father, their feet and tails whipping up sand and dust while they leapt through the air and twirled around each other. What was this feeling? This tingling in her stomach? This rising warmth between her legs? Her mother noticed her firstborn daughter’s labored breathing, and instantly knew it wasn’t from the searing desert heat. “Patience, kitten.” She smiled, rubbing S’era’s back. “These feelings mean you are a woman now… but not in the eyes of our tribe. You will have to wait until you are of proper age.”

Then suddenly, S'rarku swung his glaive down from above to split him from collar to waist, but he wasn’t fast enough. U'tage moved like water, flowing around the blade to let it bite at the skin on his forearm. Then they stood there, almost hugging in a friendly embrace, before S'rarku coughed up blood, and his trembling hands released his glaive. With a sharp twist of his wrist, U’tage split his stomach open to spill his entrails onto the hot golden sand.

S'rarku collapsed to one knee in shocked disbelief, cradling his innards in his trembling hands. Agony gripped him like the heat of the desert, and he knew no amount of healing would save him from this mortal injury; the fight was over, and so was he. Yet he was too proud to admit defeat. Too used to spilling the blood of his kin. Too accustomed to his life as a Nunh. S'rarku bellowed with all the fury he could muster, even as blood oozed from his mouth and his slick entrails slipped from his fingers. He rose to his feet with his waning strength, turned to face his foe, and charged; if he would not survive this day, then he swore on the Warden herself that he would take this Tia with him!

S'era covered her mouth and gasped at how easily U'tage spun on his exhausted feet, how his blade hummed through the air, and how silent her father’s beheading was. His lifeless body took one step without his head before crumbling into the sand, never to move again. “It… is done!” U’tage shouted in between labored gasps for air, his body slick with warm blood and cold sweat. He was one foot in the grave himself, with barely enough strength to spare; he staggered a few steps before the grip on his scimitar faltered, and it slid into the sand with a soft thunk.

“Rise, kitten.” S’era’s mother softly commanded, taking her by the hand. One by one the widows of S’rarku and all of his children rose in silent solidarity at the death and replacement of their Nunh. “Show U’tage the respect he has earned.”

“Come forth, champion.” Elder S’huuna commanded. S’rarku’s children guided the ancient Miqo'te woman from the comfort of the shade to face the winner of this deadly duel. “You have succeeded where so many have failed… you have killed the great S’rarku.” She opened her useless glazed eyes when she spoke the defeated Nunh’s name one last time. “What is your name, stranger?”

“Ahh… U’tage Ti- no…” U’tage caught himself before he finished. “U’tage Nunh, Elder.”

“Still wrong.” S’huuna turned to the direction of her family. “This man is now S’tage Nunh, from this day, until a Tia defeats him! I feared Azeyma would take me before I saw our sect of the Zu Tribe receive a new Nunh, but the Warden herself has granted me the privilege of sending our fallen champion off to the afterlife!” She turned back to S’tage and smiled. “What do you want us to do now?”

“Bury the fallen Tia.” S’tage commanded, finally catching his breath. “They don’t deserve to be left for the carrion birds.” He ran a trembling hand across his chest, wincing from the gash S’rarku gave him as a parting gift; it was deeper than he realized.

“And for the one you replaced?” She asked, hesitantly.

“Burn his corpse.” S’tage turned to look at his remains. He clapped his hands together and bowed. “Let him be devoured in flame so he may walk unburdened in the sunlight of Azeyma.”

S’era began to trot over to the new Nunh, but her mother caught her by the shoulder. “Wait with your sisters. S’tage must be cleaned by me and his new wives.” The idea of her mother claiming the right of first wife was oddly infuriating.

“B-but I’m old enough to carry children! It’s not fair!” Her mother was already heading over to her new husband, along with the rest of S’era’s aunts. Left alone to keep her half-siblings from running out to poke and disrespect the bodies, she helplessly watched as S’tage was swarmed by the attention of other women.

Staring at him from this distance made her knees weak. His silver hair was beautiful, even with it stained red with blood. Behind his filthy face sat two orange eyes that burned like the sunset on the last day of the desert summer. S’era was so busy swooning over him from a distance, in fact, that she barely had time to notice her half siblings making kissy faces at her. She so desperately wanted to be his first wife, but she knew she couldn’t go against the wishes of her mother and aunts.

“Let’s get you cleaned, healed, and rested.” Her mother smiled, taking S’tage by the hand.

Day 21, DWC 2021

CW: Mentions of war/violence/death

Some carnage is easier to see than others—easier to stomach. Ainsley wanted to believe that. But after too many instances of running through battlefields trying to reach the injured and fight back the evil, she surmised that carnage was simply…carnage. Destruction. Hurt. Anger. Fear. Grief. It wasn’t easier, or more bearable. It simply…was. From the battlefield, where the clash of swords and rain of gunfire rang loudly in her ears, to the triage areas where anguished cries tore at the heart, it was all the same brand of chaos.

War was ugly. And it only kept getting uglier.

The work of a combat medic and battle priest wasn’t easy, but she found an unsettling stillness under the pressure that helped her do what she needed to. There were times where Ainsley wondered how it developed—that ability to run into the midst of bloodshed and do her job. A clear mind, steady hand, and a stalwart resolve to help those who need it is what she was told by the many medical officers she served under. It was praise that she didn’t necessarily want to hear, but she took it and ran with it. Sometimes literally. Straight into the firefight.

Find calm in the chaos.

It was only later, after each conflict after conflict, where that stalwart resolve and clear mind would slowly be eroded away. No one would warned her about the carnage in your own head after seeing so much red.

Find calm in the chaos.

It would find its way back time after time, that calm, if anything out of sheer necessity. But it never got easier, and she didn’t think it ever could. For each battle she ran into, each conflict she found herself in the middle of, it was all the same. Chaos. Destruction. Carnage.