#day272021

Blood ( @daily-writing-challenge​ )

World: Original Story

Content Warning: Blood (obviously) and gore

The land was silent. The night calm.

Colors of orange and white bled together in the strangling dark. Osvald could see the torches of his home from here, but he was so far away. His cruel heart reminded him of his failure with every beat, sending jolting agony up through his entrails he so desperately tried to hold in place. Biting cold and gnawing frost feasted on his skin, and as he staggered a few more steps, his strength failed and his balance betrayed him. He collapsed face first into the frozen dirt, with his body screaming for mercy, his limbs twitching and shaking from the pain; yet he still refused to give up, digging his bloodied fingers into the rime and soil to drag himself back to Hamarr Village. He had to warn them… he had to warn them all before it was too late!

Loud were the lumbering feet from behind, with each footstep growing closer and heavier. Despite being disarmed and disemboweled, Osvald forced himself onto his side in a desperate gamble to defend what little he had left- but he was too slow, too weak, and fading fast. He saw blistered and frostbitten feet ripped bloody by the thorny underbrush and razor-sharp ice crumbling beneath the toes. When the creature stopped before him, a handful of maggots and blood-gorged grubs dropped onto Osvald’s legs; his eyes slowly trailed up to see a long stained beard writhing and dancing from the parasites burrowing within, with a stench foul enough to wake the dead. A gnarled hand reached down and took him by the head, skin stretched taut over elongated and bony fingers. The creature lifted him off the ground with its monstrous strength and brought him close to its face, nearly  four meters high. With clenched teeth and dangling intestines, Osvald closed his eyes and silently hoped his death would be quick and merciful.

“You fought well. Your ancestors would be proud.” A gurgling rolled from the back of its throat when it spoke to him. “Your soul belongs to the Mourning Mother. But your flesh… your flesh is mine.” Osvald slowly opened his eyes just in time to see into the face of this monster. It wore a crown of bones molded to appear like antlers, or long withered branches, with a mask that stopped just beneath its nose; its lips were tattered and stretched taught, revealing blackened teeth and rotting flesh alike- with parasites squirming in and out of the bloodsoaked beard and mustache, with writhing tendrils sliding around just beneath its skin. "I can change your pain to pleasure.” The terrible voice wracked his body like a feverish plague, causing his own heart to skip a beat with each word it squeezed out. Every time it opened its mouth, worms and other grubs spilled out from the holes in its cheeks. “I can give you things you never knew you wanted… if you so choose…”

With the last morsel of strength left in his dying body, Osvald spit blood into the creature’s face. “My flesh… for the earth… my soul… to Valhaal!”

Day 27, DWC 2021

Red was always such a glaring color. Ainsley never could get rid of it. It came with the territory. No matter how many times she scrubbed her hands raw, blood never seemed to truly go away.

Her hands, rough and calloused, were the hands of a caretaker, but it didn’t always feel like it. The light in too many people’s eyes had gone out under those hands. And even those saved still left a stain.

As she would vigorously wash away at them, watching dazedly as water slowly tainted with blood, she wondered when her hands would ever truly be clean. If such thing were even possible.

Some days her tears would drip down, joining in with the corrupted water. Her nails would dig into each hand, clawing at them aggressively, as if they themselves were possessed and she was trying to rid them of the demonic filth, begging…begging for it to go away. It still never truly did.

‘Oh, Ainsley’ she would think grimly, arms hanging limply at her sides and spent of all energy. ‘You live in the wrong world to want such things.’

Clean, pretty hands. There was no way, no such thing. At least not for her.

She looked at the meal she’d made. It didn’t look half bad! The green beans may have been slightly overdone, strawberry and spinach salad added more color. The rolls had been from a mix and one row had burnt, but she had tried. About three of them looked truly good and most of the rest salvageable. She had cooked! She smiled wide to herself and put her freshly washed hands on her hips.

She did not particularly ever want to do this again!

It was unlikely to be the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten, but Tinnaire was fairly certain Andy wouldn’t mind. He was bringing that Hearthstone game his friend had taught him and he’d promised to bring dessert. An evening together with a friend would start the weekend out right!

@daily-writing-challenge

day 27 Delicious/Blood

He had to be missing something.

Osric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before letting his head fall into his hands. He’d gone over the records time and time again. Every piece of information Edalene brought to him, he reviewed and tried to place it - but there was still something that just wasn’t right.

“What if you never get the whole story, Osric? Can’t you be satisfied with the fact that your father wasn’t the thug everyone suspected and leave it at that?”

He glanced up, closing the book on the table in front of him as he met his sister’s gaze. “Someone knows what happened - why things happened as they did. Who...my father was doesn’t matter, but I’d like to understand why.”

Edalene drummed her fingers against the arm of her chair before standing up with a huff. “This is dangerously close to becoming an obsession, Ozzy. But let me see who I can chat with while I’m home over the next few weeks - perhaps we can find an answer to this nagging question of yours.”

Osric tilted his head, standing up from the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. “...You’ve always been curious...about everything - and yet this you seem to have no interest in. That’s unlike you, Edalene. Don’t you want to know why?”

He stepped around the coffee table, his narrowed gaze meeting his sisters as he came to stand in front of her. “You already know...don’t you?”

“I don’t. I have my suspicions - but being as I have no proof, I prefer to keep those to myself.” She reached up and aimed a well-placed flick against her brother’s ear, moving towards the door as he recoiled.

“One day, Edalene...you and I are going to have an honest conversation about several things….”

“But that day isn’t today, big brother. I have work - don’t stay in here with that book too long.” She tossed a wave over her shoulder before stepping out of the apartment, closing the door behind her and leaving Osric to his thoughts...and the books.

He sighed again moving towards the door himself - a little fresh air would do him good...nothing was gained by obsessing over unanswered questions.

Though he was a fairly decent cook, Leo'mar wasn't a baker. Maybe it was that he already put effort into cooking food and mixing potions and drinks, but he left the desserts to the professionals. There were a lot of amazing professionals in Silvermoon.

It was never a secret to Vixannya that Inistellan Volanthus was her biological father. Of course, he didn’t go by that name at the time of her birth, and instead was known as Cazmilan Fin’endal Senior, or The Chameleon. As far as she knew, she was the only one that was aware of the latter, and aware of her half-brother taking up the mantle of the famed assassin upon their father’s retirement. She was of no threat to either of them, she quite enjoyed hoarding secrets. Especially family secrets.

Her mother, Aurolaina Ana’diel, was a family friend of the Fin’endals; a best friend to Stellan’s wife Delorrah at the time. Needless to say that after Aurolaina had gotten pregnant by her friend’s husband, that friendship had crumbled and she was on her own. She was almost certain that Stellan had given her a large sum of gold to quiet her; single mothers with unknown fathers were highly frowned upon in those days, especially within high society. If only that ‘high society’ knew of her mother’s other habits

Stellan had told Vixannya before that she inherited a ‘touch of his dark side’, and while that was true, it seemed to work in perfect harmony with the darker side she had also inherited from her mother. Aurolaina was a blood mage, or as she preferred to be called, a blood witch. Mage was far too gentle for some of her practices. Many considered that type of magic to be far too taboo, and naturally people fear what they don’t understand. So she kept it hidden away, using it only for personal reasons and with those she trusted.

Vixannya herself was naturally gifted, although a lot of her magic was more destructive in nature. A perfect combination of genetics to create the perfect storm. Thankfully, control had been learned early on. She was a smart child and understood that some things were meant to remain a secret, and she became very good at keeping them. Anyways, no one would ever expect the sweet little doe-eyed child.

After Annya had grown and moved away from home, her mother passed from ‘heart complications’. She always had a sinking feeling that she had simply become tired of this life and made her own heart stop beating. Annya couldn’t be upset by that, if anyone understood the intricacies of life and death, it was her. Not to mention that she foretold this death long ago and had already been subconsciously prepared for it. Aurolaina left this world peacefully, and that’s all anyone could ask for. 

It wasn’t until years later that she finally decided to reunite with her father. He was literally a different man now, but Vixannya knew. She had a premonition of his death when she knew him as Cazmilan Fin’endal Senior, and witnessing the same death for Inistellan Volanthus was too much of a coincidence. For now she posed as one of his clients at the Red Moon, it was the perfect cover-up. As much as they both would love to acknowledge the other as family, it was best for all parties involved that their secrets be kept.