#day252021

As she lay in bed, Kharris ran her fingers over the smooth glass vial. It was familiar. It was habit. She rolled her lips before her tongue wet them. The medication in the little bottle was her own concoction, and she trusted it completely. It would do its job. It tasted of raspberry--just how she liked it. She put the empty vial back into the case, where several more waited, and just as many rested empty and ready for refilling. Reprisal never solved anything, but it did have a momentary satisfaction to it. Sometimes, for some, that was good enough. For someone who thrived in chaos, chasing those moments felt like a stone skipping across the water. Ripples met ripples and disrupted tranquility, even as the stone slipped into the deep. The meeting with Aelberyn had gone well. And she’d been right, Aelberyn was her ally in this. They were friendly enough these days. They had an understanding. The discussion had been amicable if not relaxed. Kharris had been touched by the stalwart response of the younger woman. Aelberyn was certain it would go about the way Kharris worried most about: violence. She loved Iloam’s passion, his depth of feeling. However, Asarel would not be meek, and Kharris feared Aelberyn was right about him, too: Asarel might take the opportunity to finish it all, if it came to that. And it was Kharris most caught in the middle. Her life rolling out in those ripples of reprisal constantly crashing into each other. She had time. It wasn’t as if things were in motion. And again Aelberyn and Kharris had agreed, now was not the time. She’d tell him later. Autumn was hard enough for both of them. @daily-writing-challenge Day 25 Reprisal/Immortal

@daily-writing-challenge

Warnings: none

Summary: Rethea's estranged twin sister gets a letter. (Read about the fight at the Darkmoon Faire here.)

----

Rethaal Emberlight looked down at the letter in her hand, lips thin with rage. Her sister Rethea had been found, along with an associate, which was excellent news after two years of fruitless searching. It was the manner of their discovery that was the source of her rage: she had just attacked two of their oldest childhood friends at the Darkmoon Faire. 

A conversation she'd had with her twin the day Rethea had been sent away from their home surfaced in her mind:

You think I'm some sort of monster, now. How can you believe that after we grew up together? Look at me. I'm still me. Didn't you miss me when I was exiled?

I mourn you, sister. But father and I aren't about to risk the safety of our family for the sake of nostalgia. 

Rethaal hadn't been sure they had made the correct decision, at the time. There had been a small part of her heart that had ached when she told her sister she needed to go, and after Rethea left their home she'd had to hide so that nobody would see her cry. 

But this letter proved her fears had been true. Why would her sister, if she were still her sister, attack people they had grown up playing together with at events and parties? 

No. Rethea was gone. And now there was a Void creature parading around wearing her skin and using her memories for its own ill designs.

Talonoa usually ‘woke up’ before the sun crept over the horizon, this had been a habit of his for years even after a late night. He had never been good at sleeping in, but these days he didn’t even seem to need sleep in general. He went through the motions of laying down, closing his eyes, and drifting into some type of semi-unconscious state, but it wasn’t sleep. More of a habit leftover from a lifetime of having to do so.

It wasn’t the only habit he no longer needed to do; food and drink seemed to be optional now as well. When he fought, he never got winded nor was he sore the following day. He could keep fighting, keep running, keep doing anything he wanted to do without ever growing weary and needing to rest. Whatever Gaebral had done to him all those years ago had left him at peak condition without any sign of deterioration. Eventually, there would be a catch, at least so he assumed. There always was with Gaebral. Maybe his burden was to become immortal: To never age another day while those around him continue the cycle of life. A constant process of having to watch everyone you love die. He pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, feeling the faint pulse still present. What a strange thing, to be alive and, in many ways, not at the same time.

He slipped quietly out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him so as to not wake his sleeping Lioness. With coffee in hand, he sat on the front porch and stared out over the quiet landscape of the Valley of the Four Winds. This had become their escape from the world, and while Talon had felt the inevitable draw of war after too much inactivity, he could tell that Naralinthe was growing weary of that life. 

Maybe it was time for the next chapter of their lives to begin.

It was a conversation they had discussed a handful of times before, but never actually arrived at an answer for a variety of reasons. They were both older, and with everything happening within his body he wasn’t entirely certain he was still viable; at least they had suffered no loss of intimacy. Decades ago Talon had lost his wife and two children, and outside of his current relationship those were the years he cherished most. More recently he had found out that Daxion was his biological son, but Talon had missed out on all of the grown man’s formative years. 

He missed it dearly. He missed being a father and raising a child with a woman he loved. More than anything it’s what he wanted, before whatever was happening within took his mind and his soul. That would be the worst case scenario, but it was always a possibility. For so long he had been avoiding getting tested, fearful of what the outcome may be. This is what he wanted, he needed to know and soon he would. 

He scrolled through his missed messages on his comm device, sitting up straighter as he found the one he had been waiting for. Eyes quickly scanned the doctor’s findings from his reluctant trip yesterday, and a restrained smile spread over his lips. Of course it wasn’t just his decision, and if anything he at least found comfort in the fact that he could still become a father.

There was something of a.... comfort, in being dragged across the veil of death, traveling to Oribos, seeing the endless gateways, knowing your fate.

There were no guarantees with Immortality, oblivion was a fate still possible in the afterlife, but... there was the allure of time. It helped her put things into focus, to know that the things she couldn't achieve or learn... there was eternity ahead of her.

Sadly, many of her colleagues were a bit ignorant of that fact, maybe the vast stretch of time made one more of an "in the present" mindset, or perhaps it was the importance of their roles in the afterlife. It helped to have purpose, and the myriad of souls to shepherd had the unexpected result of a variable schedule, at least.

She did wonder sometimes, though. How long before one knew what they cared to know? How ling until tastes became mundane, or experience lost the joy of the new. How many souls had languished for thousand and thousands of years, forgetting more than they ever knew.

Would they even remember their short, mortal lives? Perhaps there was wisdom in making the most of your time in life. To have more to remember, long after things fade away.

She looked back up, the castle looming in the distance, ancient, everlasting, immortal, unyielding.

... maybe it wasn't such a comforting thought after all.

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 25 - Immortal

The concept of immortality was difficult to grasp when one had only been ‘alive’ for approximately a decade, if that. This body that The Construct occupied had clearly been alive for longer, and all of the pieces lovingly put together were those of adults. As with all elves, age was near impossible to discern. If he had to guess, The Construct would assume that his soul, souls plural, or whatever it was that gave him life within this body was that of an adult as well, or perhaps that of some immortal being with their memory wiped clean or safely stashed away. There were times that this brain or this ‘soul’ within remembered instances of past lives, but there was never much there to grasp onto, nor was he all that interested in seeking out his origins any longer.

The Construct was an enigma, not only to those around him but to himself as well. Much of his early life he had assumed he had been risen as a Death Knight, but the differences were glaringly obvious now. Gaebral had not shared much with his creation, other than naming him his ‘ultimate masterpiece’. There had been no others like him afterwards, leading C to believe that perhaps he was simply a lucky accident, unable to be recreated. Or maybe whatever it was that ultimately brought him to life had been some ancient being in search of a new refuge that Gaebral had managed to coerce. The possibilities were endless and the inquiries went largely unanswered.

At some point, The Construct had given up seeking direct answers and instead devoted his time to pushing the limits of his unconventional powers. There was no purpose in trying to categorize himself, and he decided that he must be something new, something yet known to the world and written about in their books - or he would have discovered it by now. 

An anomaly contained within what appeared to be a normal elf’s body.  It really was the perfect hiding spot.

Reprisal ( @daily-writing-challenge @serararku​ )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Content Warning: Death/Violence

Theme: Berserk - Gatsu

There were dead Garleans everywhere. Bodies lay broken and crumbled in the dust by the dozens, their black helmets hid their twisted and contorted faces. What was once a cacophony of violence and mayhem had settled down to silence, with only the sound of the wind whistling across the battlefield from the northern cold front. Blades were shattered, rifles were snapped, shields were dented; ninety-nine dead men from ninety-nine families now silenced forever.

“Guugh…!” The hundredth man weakly gasped out in pain when the uchigatana pierced both lungs. S’era stood over him, her boot on his hip, her blade sinking deep beneath his armpit; she held him there in silence, listening to the man gurgle and choke on the blood filling his lungs, watching him reach out toward his gunblade… only for his helmet to fall into the dust, and his body go still. It was done- the Garlean Century, composed of a hundred soldiers was completely overwhelmed and annihilated by her ambush. Victory was sweeter than she expected, but the exhaustion from so much fighting rushed in as soon as the adrenaline wore off, and her body threatened to collapse atop the pile of corpses.

Then came the sun and its warmth. With the night officially over, S’era slowly turned to embrace the light from her goddess’ greatest champion when she squinted at the silhouette of someone approaching.

“Era.” The voice brought S’era to her knees. She left her sword where it lay, as tears began to stream down her face. “Thank you for saving me.”

S’tage stepped out of the sunlight in his prisoner rags and shackles, but the warmth of his smile remained unbesmirched. He walked with a limp and old wounds covered his arms and legs, but with three square meals a day and some physical training he would be back in his prime in no time at all. His long silver hair reached down to the base of his tail and flowed in the wind like the branches of a white blossom tree in the wind. His eyes still burned with the fiery orange flame of the sunset, despite the dirt and dried blood covering his face. He towered over her, standing as tall and as proud as he did when he faced down her father. S’tage leaned down and gently caressed her face, wiping tears and dirt away from her reddening cheeks with his thumb. “You’ve grown so strong, huh? Come on- let’s get out of here.”

S’era melted in his embrace when he pulled her into his arms. He made her feel so light in his grasp, and despite how withered his body was from malnourishment, he carried her without straining. “Tage…!” She whispered at him, rubbing her forehead against his cheek. “I found you! I finally found you!”

S’tage gave her another warm smile, before he gently opened his mouth and whispered, “EEE! EEE! EEE! EEE!”

EEE! EEE! EEE! EEE!

S’era blinked, and suddenly found herself staring up at pastel white. An alarum clock was going off in another room, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her body was heavy, cold, and stiff, and any attempt to move sent blinding pain shooting up from her stomach. All she could safely move was her head, allowing her to look around the room to see the remains of her uchigatana- the hilt was scorched and blackened, with the base of the blade twisted and snapped off. Then the memories of the ambush struck her all at once, filling her eyes with tears once again. “S’tage…” She whispered, using her voice for the first time in days.

“We aren't immortal. The day will come that all that we have will become yours. We just want to make sure that you'll be okay, and that the family will continue on after we're gone.”

It was something his father had said to Leo'mar once, following a particularly explosive episode in which he had once more angered his mother by not arriving for a planned event. Unlike the many times he had given her the slip, this time he had been busy.

Day 25, DWC 2021

It had been a while since Ainsley had saddled up Sage and taken a good, proper ride. Now that she found herself back in Stormwind, it seemed appropriate to take a good stroll out of the city like she used to when she was younger. Her courser seemed to appreciate the gesture, too, and though Ainsley wouldn’t be too quick to admit it, she had missed the crisp Elwynn air.

As she rode passed the city’s gates, she allowed herself to take in the land. It had been years she had really seen the area outside of Stormwind. The greenery hadn’t changed, and the onset of autumn had let to a cooler air, but it felt quiet—far quieter than she remembered it ever being. Ainsley continued riding further down for some time, past Goldshire, and through the tree-line into the thick of the farmland.

With the threat of the Blackrock orcs and Defias quelled, Ainsley assumed that agriculture would begin to flourish again. But the quiet deafened her. She supposed world-ending threat after world-ending threat would pull many citizens away from simpler lifestyles, but it felt strange all the same. Wild animals seemed few and far between, only the occasional critter or wild boar making their rounds would make themselves known. Ainsley found herself galloping past many creatures laying dead on the grass, herds of crows circling around them ominously. Even the usual distant cackles of local kobolds had quieted to nothing.

The land and its inhabitants were not immortal, that much she knew. And who knew what the lasting effects of the giant sword still stuck to Azeroth would continue having. The world seemed to be decaying, slowly and painfully, but subtly enough that no one would even be able to tell until the rot begins to fester and smell. She knew if she rode back onto the road and further out she would reach Westfall which was in a far, far worse state. 

With the cool breeze mussing her hair and her head clouded with thoughts of her next steps, she wondered if staying in Stormwind had any merits. She never liked the city, and she had taken any and every opportunity to escape it to offer her aid and services and further her training in all other corners of the world—it all of a sudden felt strange to feel such a disconnect from the land she had grown up in.

With a gentle tug at Sage she continued on her ride, watching as the scenery flew past her, looking as familiar as always but feeling as disparate as if she was discovering it for the first time.