#day52021

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 5 - Music

Taric shot up in bed as the blaring music yanked him abruptly from his deep slumber. It took him a few to get his wits about him, squinting across the room through the blanket of night and realizing that his music player had been turned on. Thinking nothing of it in his groggy state, he shuffled across the way to turn it off before crawling back under his covers.

At the exact moment he drifted off, yet again the music started blaring, startling him into nearly toppling off of his bed this time. Clicking his bed lamp on, he sat there and stared for a few minutes, trying to puzzle together in his head why the damn thing kept turning on. He was too tired for this. It wouldn’t be the first time spirits played tricks on him, this was a common occurrence throughout his entire life. Better tricks than trying to harm him, at least.  His brow furrowed in confusion, he had his apartment protected from this very type of intrusion. Had the wards failed? Maybe it was time to refresh them. Or maybe something had figured out a way through them. Either way, enough was enough.

“If you want something I’ll talk to you in the morning. Just please…” He gestured towards his bedroom door before dragging himself over to the music player once again to shut it off with an annoyed grunt. “Some of us still require sleep.”

With his back now turned, his bed lamp suddenly flickered out. “Ohhh for fuck sake…” He spun around to return to his bed, tripping over a shoe that he didn’t remember leaving out in the process, and smacking down hard into the wooden floor with a groan. That was it. This spirit was getting banished whether they wanted it or not. Not something he wanted to deal with at three in the morning, but if he wanted to sleep then something needed to happen.

Back on his feet, he rubbed at his sore knee and hobbled over to his bed to turn on the lamp - at the same moment the music player turned on...again. Whipping around, tension in his entire body, outrage in his expression, murder in his eyes, he spotted the culprit.

“Trick-r-treat, trick-r-treat, trick-r-treat!” The bird playfully squawked while bobbing his head up and down, clearly proud of himself. Pickles, his cockatiel, normally slept in a cage down in Taric’s alchemy shop, The Red Rook. Somehow he managed to escape and decided it was time to play.

“PICKLES!” The bird immediately let out a sad whistle before making his escape to avoid any sort of punishment that may be coming. Taric looked out from his doorway and yelled down the hall, “I’ll deal with you tomorrow!” Slamming the door shut, he locked it, and went back to bed, but not before making a mental note to get a new lock for the cage, or maybe even a new cage.

Weeks Ago

The life of a ‘sailor’ and mercenary could get tedious, especially on those long nights after a particularly shitty day. Morale could be difficult to keep up; everyone missed the warmth of their own beds, the taste of home-cooked meals, and most importantly...fun. The crew members of the Lady Lillium were no stranger to this feeling whether they were out at sea or offering mercenary services at war. There was always good conversation, plenty of alcohol, a variety of drugs, even the occasional group of ‘hired entertainment’, but sometimes it wasn’t enough to forget the surroundings.

Red couldn’t even guess what day it was at this point, or if it were night or day; it was impossible to differentiate between the two anywhere in the Shadowlands. Everything always felt and looked exactly the same, and after being in the Maw for weeks, maybe months now, he had completely lost track of time. It would be disconcerting for everyone returning to Azeroth, but that was a problem for future Red.

Their camp had been unusually quiet this evening, thankfully no one had died within their crew, but there had been some close calls and a few injuries. Even their neighboring crews and the surrounding military camps were strangely silent. It was difficult to keep in good spirits when there seemed to be no progress made, and it had been like this for weeks. Red sat at the entrance of their tent, casually puffing on a cigarette while he watched the passers-by try to hold it together. While he was accustomed to being in the land of the dead given his family’s innate ability to walk in the shadows, most here were not and the existential crisis that presented was obviously too much for some.

A distinguished, silver-haired high elf stepped out of the tent, extending Red’s acoustic guitar towards him with one hand. Kriell, the crew’s medic, was a no-nonsense type of man. Why he stuck around with this rowdy bunch for this long was beyond Red, but it probably had something to do with loyalty towards their Captain, Felonous, and his father, the Captain that came before him. Kriell was a good man and knew his shit. No one ever got sick on his watch, and Red had witnessed first hand the older gentleman healing some wounds that probably should have been fatal. So when he made a request, which was rare, you did what he asked. Plus, it seemed like the crew could use a distraction.

Red stubbed out his cigarette and took the guitar as he rose to his feet with a grunt. Immediately a few of his crewmates wandered over and took a seat around the fire, watching and waiting to see what the tattooed elf had in store for them tonight. This was obviously a common occurrence among the group, Red brought his guitar with him on any mission for this reason. It made people forget for a while, and fuck knows they all needed it. 

He had been playing guitar for about as long as he could remember, centuries at this point. His parents made him choose an instrument when he was young and while they weren’t overly fond of his decision at the time, he developed an interest in it very quickly that kept him occupied and out of their sight. Originally classically trained, his style evolved over the decades into more of a percussive fingerstyle thanks to his time spent within the traveling faire. A story for another time. It better suited him and his taste in music, not to mention it was a style many were not well-acquainted with.

By the time he finished setting up and tuning, a few others from outside of their crew wandered up to listen to what they assumed would be ‘campfire tunes’. His first song began simply enough, although the moment he started drumming his fingers and slapping his palm against various parts of the body of the instrument to emulate the sound of percussion while fingers expertly flew through licks and riffs, he was pretty sure he saw one human do a spit-take and an orc drop his entire mug of ale before letting out a raucous cheer. 

Eventually more mercenaries and soldiers rolled up, breaking out coolers filled with ale and whiskey to share as well as whatever food from home they had been sent in care packages. The melancholic atmosphere gradually gave way to one of revelry and joy. Red would have to thank Kriell later.

Kharris wrote very carefully, frowning enough to hint at her dimples. Once her hand writing would have been elegant. She would have easily written the scant few words on her paper. But now, even after years relearning, her writing was crisp but lacking any grace. It was sticks stomping on a page instead of ribbons dancing to unheard music. Her writing looked angry to her. It made her words sound cold. How would they seem if reading and writing had never been scraped away from her mind when her soul had been injured all those years ago? When her spirit had become friable and tore like tissue paper? Deliberately, she set the dip pen down before. Any who knew her would know it was to push away the temptation to throw it. An ink droplet hung at the tip, threatening to add its own emotion to the page. She used to periodically keep a journal. And now, periodically, she attempted again. To order her thoughts and sort through her emotions. She had wanted to write something worthwhile. Something that would mean something. There were changes coming, even if just shifts in thinking. She needed to talk to Aelberyn. Then she would need to talk to Iloam. She had already spoken to Asarel. Her dark eyes narrowed down at the letters. She pushed up from the chair and walked away.

My love is savage.

@daily-writing-challenge

Luminash, eyes closed, breathed in deep the aroma of his morning tea. The leaves, still floating about in the cup, shared the autumnal hues of Suramar’s wilds, and their scent took him out of the city, away from the sight of the shimmering traces of energy from the shield, still so recently stripped away. Some children, he saw, still looked with faces of joy and wonder at the sky above, especially the sun, so different from what had once enveloped the city of eternal dusk.

Across the marketplace, nearly empty at this early hour, especially since many Shal’dorei who remained in the city still preferred the comforting cover of the starry sky above to the piercing, warming day, was a quartet of musicians. The dance of fingers over harp strings, the harmony of bow over others, completed the magister’s relaxing morning.

He loved that about Suramar. Even in the busiest parts of the city, there was music. Often, the melodies were bittersweet. When they sang, they sang for the lost moon and stars, the world they left behind; they also sang of hope for their future, the creation of their own path and their own glory in their very own world.

There was music elsewhere, too. In the very air, in those same shimmering traces of the barrier. It was not music heard with the ear, but Luminash felt it somewhere inside, deep in his bones, in his very blood. The music of the Arcane, singing through the gentle vibrations in space that followed in its wake, it was as if the magister had another sense. Perhaps two, for if he focused, those waves, the ripples of sound, danced before his eyes like the aurora over Northrend. Part of him had been born with it, that part he had taken into himself from somewhere beyond, the part that was now strictly Luminash. He scarcely remembered how he had seen and heard the world before that day, and hoped that Jaskian could experience it now too, through their bond.

He tilted his head towards the sky, still dark, stars still shining, the horizon only just growing rosy with dawn’s fingers. In another field of stars, a vision beneath the wilds of Gorgrond, he had heard their music as well, countless worlds placed into harmony - Order - by the Titans, whose blood was pure magic. Nothing compared to its beautiful perfection. He longed so to hear it again, as much as the mournful chorists yearned to see the moon and stars. Perhaps someday he would. For now, though, there was the dance of strings in the marketplace.

He smiled to himself. That was enough.

As a Farstrider, Leo'mar got to spend plenty of time to the south. While this some times meant visiting Human settlements, most of the time this meant Leo spent time carefully concealed within Troll territory.

Day 5, DWC 2021

It if wasn’t for the raging, alcohol-induced headache she was currently nursing in the corner of the tavern with a large flagon of water and bowl of stew, then Ainsley would have been one of the many voices joined in with the chorus of Dwarven musicians filling the room with music and merriment that carried over from the day’s activities.

“Ye sure ye don’t want to join with them, lass?”

Ainsley looked up at the barkeep, smiling sympathetically down at her. “Ah, no…I don’t think I’m…physically able.”

The music rang loudly in her ears causing the persistent throb in her head only to amplify, but she couldn’t help but enjoy the general livelihood that thrummed throughout the room. She felt at home.

A laugh escaped the barkeep, “Ye sure about that? Earlier today ye burst in with another group, singin’ loudly about the magic of Dwarven ale and playin’ along with your shawm.”

“My what?”

Memories blurred in the priestess’s head, as she tried to remember which group she walked in here with earlier—probably another Dwarvish contingent of musicians—what exactly it was she did, and why on Azeroth she got absolutely sloshed in the middle of the day.

Oh right, she remembered. It’s Brewfest.

Obsession ( @daily-writing-challenge @corohveldha​ )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Coroh found herself staring at the dying campfire once supper was made and eaten. Out here in the wilderness of the Black Shroud one could only find solace with a warm meal and trustworthy friends. Unfortunately she only had one of those; the woman was besieged by murderous bandits on all sides, but they would do far worse than simply kill her. The untamed wilderness with killers and cutthroats was no place for a beautiful young woman like her. They were tempted enough as is, but one wrong slip -- she bends over a cooking pot with one of them behind her, her dress catches on a twig and one of them catches a look of her thighs, she makes the mistake of sleeping on her stomach and gets caught alone, and it’s all over.

Thankfully the leader of this motley crew was not only the closest thing she had to a friend out here, but he was none other than K’thalen the Thrice-Shamed. Coroh suspected they feared him more than they respected him, but it hardly made a difference to her; they wouldn’t lay a hand on her without his permission, and he was seldom generous when it came to sharing the loot from the wagons they raided, much less the only girl within malms of their den. One man couldn’t ignore the beckoning scent of a woman grown, and tried to help himself to a slice of Coroh cake.

K’thalen cut off the hand he touched her with, and within the day he decided to come back and finish what he started.

She couldn’t help but stare at his bloodstained tunic as he sat across the dwindling flames, tuning a six-string guitar he claimed for himself from their last raid. He seemed so calm after gutting one of his companions… his striking yellow gaze focused on his instrument like he had just come back from a stroll in the woods. As always she had so many questions she wanted to ask him. Why stay here in the Shroud where he could be claimed by the Greenwrath for his blatant disrespect to the forest? Out of the whole group, only K’thalen and Coroh were native born in the Black Shroud, and only they cared about the Greenwrath. “We would be much better off in the lush fields of La Noscea, or maybe even in the desert wastes of Thanalan…” Coroh blinked as she watched the man hold the guitar aloft with a satisfied half-smirk flashing across his face. Then it dawned on her…

K’thalen spent the first bells of each day setting offerings beneath the oldest trees he could find. He threatened to kill the first man who took an axe to the forest, forcing them to subsist on foreign lumber to keep their campfires going, which often resulted in many a cold and dreary night. Even after spilling the blood of innocent merchants, he would never just leave their corpses to rot in the woods -- he would order his men to drag them to the nearest clearing to be buried if they couldn’t find a suitable river, and he always, always forbade Coroh from joining them on their raids.

He was trying to gain favor with the forest. He was obsessed with avoiding the Greenwrath for them both!

(This is a story that gives a little bit of background for both Ema here as well as my main, Bella.  Timing is immediately after the purge in Dalaran.)

DWC 2021 Day 5- Music/Savage

Music Link here.

After staring at the similarly aged girl on the hospital cot, and seeing her fight for her life Ema worked in desperation to try and heal her wounds and make sure that she had pulled through after Ema worked so hard to rescue her in the streets of Dalaran.  She couldn’t help but feel a kinship with the fiery haired girl so when she had felt the radiant heat that seemed constant decrease, a greater sense of urgency came upon her.  

Recalling the savage assault that she had arrived to when the other girl had fallen to the ground, Ema had winced in pain when she had seen the other woman fall to the ground.  The ensuing fight between the healer and the silver covenant lasted for some time and ended with Ema casting a spell to disorient them for long enough that she could pick up the other and carrying her off to the Dragonhawks. Finally after several long moments of contemplation, the healer returned to the reality in front of her and stared at the girl who had begun to bleed again.  Looking over to her friend, she mouthed the word ‘help’ to him and the pair had started working on the mage yet again, tending to her every wound.

The two healers worked until she was stabilized again, then took a bit of a break, continuing to look over the patient.The Second had watched the red head and spoke with a sadness in his voice,  “You know, maybe she’s just not...” But before the second healer could finish the thought, Ema had interjected harshly and shook her head,  “No, don’t you even finish that sentence.  She’ll make it.  She has to.”  The second healer looked over to her with a quizzical expression, “What is it with this one that you are overly  dedicated to save her?  She’s already had a life threatening injury from whenever she had that slash inflicted to her stomach area, it might be her...”  Then seeing the scolding look from Ema, he had stopped again and hung her head like a dejected puppy. Shrugging, Ema continued to stare at the magus,  “I don’t know.  I think she just kind of reminds me of myself.  And I think I can.  It would be easier if she would sleep instead of tossing and turning all night.  It would help aid in the recovery but I don’t know how I can help her to do that. To ease her mind enough to let her sleep.”

Knowing full well he would get something thrown at him in saying this, as soon as Ema stood up to change out the magus’s bandages, Wiath had called out,  “You know, you could always sing to her” and right as he always was, a pillow from one of the open cots came flying at his head and he laughed, “What?  Your singing is really quite soothing, in my opinion, and it would help her out, I think?  She seems the musical sort?”  Pushing her eyebrows together, Ema laughed and looked at him as if he was crazy,  “She’s a mage.  A Sunreaver at that, I can’t really see how music would help her. Perhaps we need a psych consult for you.  Actually, make you a deal.  I will do it if you sing with me.”  

A shit-eating grin comes over her lips for a split second when she feels like she has him but quickly fades as Wiath pounced on it and said “Deal.  I don’t mind, in fact I can even play my guitar with ya.”  Standing with her mouth agape, she never figured he would agree to it, and feeling as if all of the blood quickly drained from her face, she stood there and looked around at the room of healers that were staring straight at her.  Then after her friend went up to her and argued with her in hushed tones, she finally did agree to sing and she looked over at Bella and frowned softly, almost looking as she was apologizing for the song choice.

Then, after singing(song up above) Ema had noted that Bella had, in fact, looked like she had improved her health, and the radiant heat seemed to be warming back up.  Throwing another pillow at her friend for good measure and to get him back for such a good suggestion, she felt relieved that putting herself out there like that would, in fact, help.