#day32021

Pollux could create a complicated prosthesis or ocular implant from scratch. He was one of the top sharpshooters within the military, and perhaps in all of Azeroth. He was a Medal of Honor recipient, a Doctor, and a Champion: A true hero, Pollux was an accomplished man. 

However, when it came to romance? Absolute hot garbage.

He never had any good role models when it came to romance while growing up, and by the time he reached adulthood his idea of it was not leaving directly after a random hook-up, or inviting them to take a shower with him before kicking them out. His short-lived ‘relationship’ with Aerden’s mother, Casienna, had been a bit lopsided considering all of it took place during his recovery, and romance had been the last thing on his mind for much of it. After her death? He stopped trying altogether. The explosion had done a number on his body, both physically and mentally, and it became easier to avoid any type of relationship so he wouldn’t have to deal with or explain his ‘performance issues’.

Then Khaeris came into his life. What started as a close friendship blossomed into so much more, and for the first time in a long time, he actually wanted so much more. Now, years later, they were still at it and going...’strong’ didn’t seem like the right word to use here. The military needed him often, which meant long absences and little communication. It put a strain on their relationship, and he could feel it every time he returned from a lengthy deployment.

He had been home less than a week at this point, and yet again the two were trying to remember what it was like to actually spend larger amounts of time together. He had his daily debriefings which would eventually dwindle, and she seemed a little more distracted than usual. The two of them needed something, some way of reconnecting better that didn’t just involve them lounging on his couch. She had probably done enough of that while he had been away, and while he didn’t know first hand what it was like to have a significant other be swept away by war and constantly worried for them, he knew it wasn’t easy, and he knew that she was often lonely.

They were well overdue for a proper date night, and he had recently seen a flyer for a festival out in Pandaria that would be the perfect opportunity. A room at the Halfhill inn had already been secured, bags had been packed, and he had even cleaned himself up and fixed up his hair so it wasn’t just a messy mop atop his head. He looked damn good. Now, he would wait until she walked through his door after closing up her booth and whisk her away on a surprise vacation. He wasn’t perfect at this romance thing, but it was a work in progress.

Enter the ruins of Azeroth: The Ashlands.

In the years following the Legions defeat, the heroes of Azeroth had forgotten about the immortal demons that still clawed at the edge of reality. Too focused on a war being fought in the realms of death, no heroes remained to stop when the forces of Tormaaz the Gargantuan broke through the barrier between realms and washed across the continents. Just like hundreds of worlds before, Tormaaz had reduced Azeroth to a pit of salt and sand.

Many of the planets people were sacrificed and slaughtered to fuel his war machines. Those that weren’t were made into slaves. But one stood out from the crowd. One that Tormaaz could not ignore.

“You there! Elf!” his bellowing voice boomed out. His great sasumata pointing in her direction, “Come to me!”

The woman, a sin’dorei with snow white hair looked up at the great demon lord. But she did not cower. She wore the face of pride and confidence in the wake of his gruesome glory. Despite being left with nothing but scraps of linen to clothe the people, this elf had managed to create beauty out of poverty like no other. She was the queen of rags.

“What do you want, vile demon?” she spat, wholly argumentative until the very end.

“What do I want?! I, the great Tormaaz, demands you become my Empress!” he roared.

“Only a woman with such a defiant stare could ever be the wife of Tormaaz the Gargantuan!”

The woman was shocked. A demon? In love with an Elf? Could such romance be true?

“What is your name, woman?” Tormaaz asked as he lumbered forward, a great reptilian hand reaching down to scoop her up.

“The people call me Sana. You can call me that as well, Great Tormaaz,” she replied. Despite his disgusting image, she could sense the heart of a poet beating beneath his scaled breast.

Tormaaz pulled her up towards his face. The glow of orange hellfire reflecting off her pale skin as she was sat on his tusk. Crossing her legs at the knee, she looked down at the slaves of Azeroth. Her life would forever be changed.

The legions of Tormaaz mached forth. Fel flowers and bells chiming. Bilescourge chirping on the winds. Sayaad Torturers' forced slaves to scream in a cacophony that eerily sounded like the Bridal Chorus if one tried really hard to hear it.

Down an isle of lava and black stone, Sana walked with her chin held high in a dress of black and red. adorned with the skulls of the dead and glowing with the souls of the damned weaved into it’s very fabric. Sana herself had designed the dress, with the hands of a dozen shivarra to tailor it to perfection. Running behind her, the flower imp tossed felweed pedals in her wake.

Under a massive stone arch, Tormaaz watched her approach as a reverend Inquisitor demon waited. A single tear of lava rolled down the great Pitlords cheek. Sana looked up at him upon her arrival and smiled.

“Do you, Tormaaz the gargantuan, take Sana to be your unholy empress for all eternity?” asked the felfire priest.

“I do.” he answered.

“And do you, Sana, take Tormaaz the gargantuan to be your glorious emperor?”

“I do,” she answered.

“Then by the power vested in my by the dark titan himself. I now pronounce you Pitlord and Pitlady. You may kiss the bride.”

A great hulking hand reached down to pick up his new bride, pressing his sulfur stinking lips against her whole face.

smoooch

The who looked out over their demonic and slave attendants and smiled.

“HAIL EMPRESS SANA! SANA IS GOOD! SANA IS GREAT! ALL MOAN THE GREAT, GOOD, SANA!!” Tormaaz bellowed out.

The demons cheered, and the people lamented.

Thus the two returned to his throne room... to consummate the marriage properly.

It wasn’t how he’d thought to spend his vacation time with her. There were no beaches, no romantic restaurants, and no dancing. He hadn’t prepared with flowers or theater tickets--but instead with new daggers and potions. No, this wasn’t the vacation he’d been planning. But this is what she’d asked of him. This felt important. In his own mind, he didn’t want to be here. He had to compromise. His hand tightened in hers, but he wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to reassure. Oribos, and what it symbolized, was overwhelming. Renrael had considered going to the Shadowlands when the portals had been first linked. He’d never managed to get himself through one though, even with his curiosity piqued. It had felt blasphemous. It felt surreal to be here, even now. He looked up, and up. The ‘city’ stretched up so high, and so low. He ran his free hand through hair, scrubbing briefly at the back of his neck.

He’d glanced over the open chasm in the center. Just once. He’d nearly vomited. Surely someone in the Maw--he had been warned that’s where it went--would not appreciate getting hit with that. Better not to--Shit! His musing was interrupted by another one. People were just leaping in! Like armored gazelle, heads thrown back and legs pointed. He gaped and a goblin thrust herself forward, hurtling with the abandonment of a child cannonballing. Ren wasn’t usually scared of heights--regularly climbing up every Silvermoon Spire that wouldn’t get him shot--but there was something about the twisting anima magic that--

People were fucking crazy.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.” Her voice was smooth with amusement. And affection. His apprehension melted.

He glanced down at her and smirked. But she’d already looked elsewhere. Those lovely eyes nearly fever-bright and probing into all the gloaming darks--they weren’t really shadows. Whoever she was looking for, she was getting frustrated at not finding them. As if whatever spirit she sought should have apparated in the instant they’d stepped through the portal. It hadn’t. And she was getting more cross as their time in Oribos stretched. It wasn’t the vacation he’d expected. But they were together. She’d asked him to do something this important with her--it wasn’t an easy thing. He’d follow her into Hell. Or Heaven. And they said romance was dead. Ha!

@daily-writing-challenge

mentions: @trisandrah

Romance/Compromised

Some called it brainwashing. We called it training. That morning, I only earned a bloody nose for showing any semblance of brotherly love. Liam got much worse for showing me pity. He was older, he should have known better. He made sure we both wouldn't forget this time.

"Pity is an emotion that can get you killed. The only thing more dangerous is blind hate, and love."

The art of suppressing your emotions and keeping yourself in check in an intense mental clarity and calm was the harshest of the training we underwent. They say you're supposed to grow up with loving parents and enjoy your childhood freedom and innocence. My mother was an arranged marriage for my father by our Lord and grandfather just as every woman was for any of the Stoneblades for generations. It was only so it looked well and proper on paper before the courts. There was no love. Rather we bread sons or daughters, we were raised the same. Sex didn't matter, only a name and a bloodline. If we proved defective as we were raised and incapable of letting all else go, then we were dealt with via our training. Emotions got us killed in one way or another even if we weren’t the ones who pulled the trigger.

Before they gave us our first tattoos we had to first prove that we were in total control of our emotions. The runes that were placed on us had to be kept in check, we were barely allowed to feel pride once we achieved them. There was no ceremony, no graduation. It was just the next step before you became ready for field training. We were taught at a very young age that the true way to a man’s heart is six inches of metal between his ribs. Sometimes four inches would do the job but why take risks.

Villiam was the head of our unit, he was my father and he was still overseen by our grandfather Vilas. They prized Liam, he was the next in line. Their successor and the older we got the more it became a competition between us. An incident that occured when I was still a boy, or more the equivalent of a young teen by human standards, had become my trigger to turn it all off. It was the last time I was allowed to cry, the last time any of them would ever see it. It was also my first kill in the field. I was too young to have been given that level of field training, but after that day they gave me my tattoos. Maybe Liam would have gotten his too, but he had let his emotions impair him and paid the price. With the ancient runes forever etched on my skin, from that moment on my real training began.

Day 3, DWC 2021

If it wasn’t the rays of sunlight streaming through the embossed curtains of the small Dalaran room, it was the languid brush of fingers making its pathway slowly and softly up and down her bare back that awoke Ainsley from her pleasantly deep slumber.

“Mm,” she buried her face into the pillow for a few more seconds before turning towards the body pressed against her. “You know, Aedyn, rest and relaxation days are meant for sleeping in and no disturbances.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The half-elf smiled as she stared back into the sea-green eyes of the man beside her grinning back sweetly.

Suncrown Village had once been a place Leo'mar enjoyed visiting when he had free time. It had been a place he could come and relax during down time with plenty of friendly people. There had even been a girl he always made sure to visit, even if he was only passing through briefly. Whatever budding romance there may have been, unfortunately there could be no visits now.

An unconventional wedding.

That is what the talk was in the Spire back in Silvermoon. Luminash positively basked in it. Long had he been considered unconventional by his peers. Most certainly would he be the sort to be wed in the afterlife.

They had also, correctly, heard rumors - the magister had planted them himself, all true - that he and Jaskian Dawnwing were soulbinds.

(Find information on the Daily Writing Challenge here)  @daily-writing-challenge​

Warnings: None

Summary: Reth hands her heart over because of some glow bugs.

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The cave had more of an effect on Rethea than she’d been prepared for. Here Andennaris was, leading her off into the wilderness, and she had come along because she trusted him. After all the situations they had been in, and all the contracts they had completed together, she knew that she was safer with him than she was most anywhere else.

But when she’d looked up at the roof of the cavern, and seen the glow of countless little lives brightening up the pitch black around them… No. There were no words. He had seen this, and thought of her. And then he had brought her to experience it for herself. 

Before their trip to the cave, she had trusted Andennaris to keep her whole and healthy. She wore cloth into battle, after all, and was no good if she couldn’t concentrate on her spells, and he had seemed to know that instinctively and protected her from the moment he joined up with the group she was leading. Almost immediately, she had felt a kinship, more from the way he moved in public than in the small talk they exchanged on trips. They’d gotten close, thank the Light, in the intervening months, and knowing him had made everything else in her life just a bit easier.

She had wanted, very badly, to trust him with her heart, and their trip to the cave had convinced her that she’d made the right choice. 

Anyone who sees beauty in this is worth knowing. Anyone who sees beauty in this and then thinks of me is worth keeping close.

His hugs made her feel better than she had since before the Void. Sleeping next to him, with his nightmares or no, made her feel utterly content. And sharing the things that they each found joy in with one another? That was absolutely indescribable. He was the only person she didn’t feel ashamed of her hair around, as disobedient and mischievous as it was. He was the only person whom she knew would understand what the Void had done to her, and how it felt to try to live on afterward.

They were both cold to the touch, at times. They were both held a bit aside by the average person. But none of that mattered when he held her. How wonderful was it to meet someone who made sense of her, and whom she could understand in turn?