“What are you plannin’ to do when you catch up to her?” The imp’s shrill voice grated on Nimneth’s last nerve. Gaktuk lounged on the velvet cushion, dropping a fig-like fruit into his huge mouth. Why were the mouths of imps so big, anyway?! “You ever think about just letting it go?”

Oh, because they can’t shut up. Nim stalked across the room; to her annoyance he followed. “I want her to feel the way I felt for years. Powerless. Controlled. It’s her turn to be at my beck and call.” “It doesn’t work that way and you know it.”

Nimneth only just kept her hands from slamming on the table. She took a deep breath and held her tongue’s sharp knives. Little bastard never seemed to notice when she sliced him open with her words anyway. Asshole was too irritating to notice when he’d been filleted from stem to stern. “It. Will. Be. Enough.” “Nah. It’ll never be enough for your obsession. Got a little crush, dontcha?” He laughed. Nimneth might have held her tongue but they were in the ‘kitchen’ and there were literal knives aplenty.

The imp teleported out of the spot the knife flashed, only to appear on to the counter next to the succubus. “She fixed up the wards, you know. Better than last time.” Gaktuk leaned back on his disproportionate hands, unruffled by her attempted violence. Nim looked at him through her lashes, taking deep breaths. “I have another job for you Tuk.” “Just one. Then I’m done. Gonna retire to somewhere far far from Azeroth. Somewhere safer. Eat fruit and read trashy romance novels for the rest of my existence.” He laughed, ears flopping and sharp teeth flashing. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d do that, too.” Her tail lashed. The imp could go drown himself for all she cared. Once this last job was done. “All right, whatcha want for this final bit?” “Bones. A lot of them.”

@daily-writing-challenge

Part 1

“Well he’s fucked now.” “He’ll last two seconds…”

Dajjalen paid no mind towards the mocking voices among the attentive gathering.  He was not the first among the supplicants to step into the summoning ring, but he was the first to come face to face with a Doomguard.  Not often did such a powerful demon appear, and when they did the fights never lasted long, nor ended well for the potential hunter. 

Despite the constant jeers, his resolve never once wavered and he was determined to remain steadfast. The man was a hardened warrior through and through, for centuries he had fought on the front lines of the various wars that had plagued their world, this was not a battle that he was going to lose, not this time.  

Constant, vigorous training and a prepared knowledge of weak points would aid him well, but it was his unrivaled obsession for vengeance that would win him this battle. This was a demon that he was intimately familiar with, this was a demon he had fought before and had wounded before. The very same demon that had mercilessly slain his wife, his daughter, his son: An image that was forever burned into his mind and would be for the remainder of his life. Had any other demon materialized within that circle, Dajjalen would have taken his own life, this would be the only one he would accept and he knew, without a doubt, that this would be the only one that would appear for him.

"Please tell me you have it?" The young gnome was only slightly jittering in excitement as the elderly man perused his shop records. wonderous Ancient Tomes was just Pin's kind of store, one she hadn't managed to find in her explorations of the floating city of Dalaran. She happened to be there on business, looking through the photography shop across the way and picking up both the new model of snapper screen, and a good tripod.

The sign of the old shop had the moniker of a moldy old tome, and Pin coldn't help but enter. Unfortunately the proprietor, another gnome, but likely in his 130's or so, mostly had magical books, spell scrolls, and a few fables and fantasy stories.

When she asked if he had any first edition 'Hargles Adventurer's guide to Azeroth'. Expecting he would have never heard of it, she was surprised to see him stroking his beard thoughtfully... "One moment...."

"Ahh.. here we are..." her walked over to the back wall and perused the shelves... pulling out an old familiar book with a blue cover, an illustration of a mustached gnome swinging from a vine, evading spears thrown at him from off screen.

She smiled fondly, running her hand over the familiar bumps and grooves, losing herself to her memories. Her father smiling happily as he reads, sitting in front of a roaring fire, making sure to do all the voices. She'd gone back to her home later in life, but couldn't find her father's old book, likely looted at some point.

"How much?" she asked, hopeful it was actually for sale.

The old gnome smiled a bit, giving his mustache a twirl, a bit of life returning to his features... "i've not been able to sell that old thing in years, I'll part with it for a gold.

Hargle relented after a good two minutes of the young girl insisting he take her offer of 100 gold, putting it away in his register. He waved her off, smiling to himself.

Day 28, DWC 2021

She wasn’t sure if she would have called it an obsession or just plain attention-seeking, but Ainsley often found herself wondering what her life would have been like if she continued seeking trouble.

But it was that very trouble that led her to where she was now. Her obsession with throwing punches caused those hands to inadvertently become those of a healer, though she supposed being a professional fighter was never in the cards—none of her punches were ever very effective.

“I can’t believe you became a healer because some kids dared you,” Sammy once told her in between fits of laughter.

She couldn’t really believe it either, and often wondered where life would’ve taken her if her penchant for ruckus-causing stuck with her, or if those snot-nosed kids’ dares were to pick up brass knuckles rather than scalpels.

Imagine these hands, she thought amusedly, staring at her knuckles. They would be still stained with blood. It seemed that part of fate was inevitable. But it wasn’t all that hard to imagine. That itch would sometimes return—usually some asshole would say or do something, and it was all Ainsley could do but think of socking them right in the kisser. As her thoughts continued she was wondering, for whatever reason, if that itch was suddenly resurfacing.

Perhaps it was time to return to some training.

“People have been going mad in Silvermoon.”

Mad might have been an understatement. The kingdom of Quel'thalas had been devastated. The Scourge could not be stopped from their relentless parade through the Elven lands, and now the Sunwell had become tainted.