#dwc2024

November DWC 2024 Day 4 - Surrender / Tranquil ((Edgar Allan Poe's 'The Raven' has always been a favorite, this is a little spin on it for The Construct!))

Long have I been serving, heeding; while this foreign soul lies pleading, seeking something sacred that it has not ever known before. Thus I worship in his splendor, yearning for a sweet surrender, of merciful affections well permitted in times of yore. Let this wanderer’s fate be freed or take him only to adore. This I desire, and nothing more. 

Now I’m drifting ever farther, losing sight of my departure, not surviving, only thriving in these ceaseless times of war. My path my own to be carefree, treading lightly out to sea, choppy waters were something I had never learned to abhor. I sink to the depths, never glancing upon the tranquil shore. Waiting, hoping, nevermore.

November DWC Day 2 - Eternal

Patience wears thin, but I shall remain diligent. Waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel, yet it seems to grow  more distant and dimmer with every passing day.

Further and further pushed back into the eternal darkness. The familiar, enveloping black where the foulest of creatures flourish, unseen and unknown and feared by most.

A place of comfort, A place of advantage. I am not afraid of the dark, it is where I thrive.

DWC November 2024

Day 4: Surrender/Tranquil

OC: Lilliana Whitedawn, Sin'dorei "Felblood"

@daily-writing-challenge

Art Source, Artist

The long, lean blonde rode the path to the Whitedawn estate at a slow trot... closing her eyes, giving Tiberius the reins - old as he was, the faithful charger knew his way home well enough. She could feel the heat of the afternoon sun prickling at her skin, as her leathers grew warm... and for a moment, she let herself simply bask in the sun, drinking in the scent of a garden in bloom – pausing only a moment to enjoy a spot of shade beneath orange and yellow leaves.

That's when she saw it – the crimson strider heading towards her at practically break-neck speed - which could only mean one thing. She swung a leg up and over the massive equine, hopping down to brace herself as the bird came careening towards her.

November DWC 2024 Day 7 - Peculiar This is a bit of a combination story for @dicenne and @talonoa

Dicenne smiled brightly at the older man, “So what do you think?”

Talonoa crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair as he considered the request. It wasn’t a terrible idea, celebrating Pilgrim’s Bounty here at their camp and inviting family and friends to Dornogal to celebrate with them for a day. Not everyone would have been able to go home anyways, and the city itself was somewhat safe at the moment. No worse than a lot of other major cities, at least. Their mages could portal people directly into the camp as well to avoid having to walk through the entire city to get here. 

Naturally, the safety logistics were at the forefront of his mind, always wanting to ensure his crew was safe and secure. With extra people he would feel extra on edge, but at the same time nothing had happened to them in Dornogal. The city’s perimeter was well guarded and he had become well acquainted with the surrounding mercenary camps. 

Seeing friends and family was always a morale booster, and a lot of the crew would likely appreciate being able to show their loved ones what their work was like. It also meant he would probably have to meet all these people and make pleasant small talk for hours. Not his strong suit, but he respected his crew, and by extension their families, and wanted to show it.

“Fine, but the rest of you get to plan the festivities and you need to keep me updated with every step. I will take care of the extra security needed, but if something comes up between then and now, we’ll need to cancel it.” Talon offered his own smile in return. It may have looked a little peculiar coming from him given he typically presented a blank or slightly vexed expression, but he also tried his best to be friendly and fair with everyone. 

“Thank you, you’ll have a great time, I know it.” Dice departed Talon’s tent with a skip in his step, off to relay the news to the others. 

He would need to get a head count of how many people would be coming, coordinate with their mages to get some portals out at specific meeting points, and suck up to their head chef so he could at least be in charge of the turkeys and other meats (he was very specific about that, after all). They would need extra food and drink, tables, chairs, a large tent, some music, decorations, and much more. It was a lot, but it would be worth it. Luckily, the long-time member of the Succulent Tart had ‘just a little’ experience in planning such events. He wouldn’t have been able to host his usual open house in Ratchet for the holiday for all the strays having nowhere else to go, and this was an excellent alternative. Kara had been wanting to come to Dornogal for a visit and this was the perfect opportunity for her to do so.

November DWC 2024 Day 6 - Crack tw: death, blood

~Years ago~

Ellarielle stared down at the dead body of her husband as a variety of emotions welled up within, but the one that prevailed was horror. There was no doubt in her mind that he was dead, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. She swallowed and looked up to her twin sister, Vienyos, both bloodied, battered, and in shock. 

Arlior Esh’ul was one of those men that was perfectly charming at first: Intelligent, well spoken, confident, and quite wealthy given his noble standing. The Descatoire twins had come from the noble class themselves, although not quite as prominent nor as established as the Esh’uls.  Both Ella and Vie studied vinification and worked at the Twilight Vineyards, although Vie’s real passion was in singing and could often be found doing so in various clubs all over Suramar. It had earned her the nickname ‘The Suramar Siren’ and she had become a sought after addition to any grand soiree. Ellarielle was content with a simpler life. She and Arlior had been a good match, set to carry on the lineage for both families and were, for a very long time, seemingly happy.  Vienyos knew better, and as time passed the signs became more and more apparent, especially after Arlior proclaimed himself a loyalist to Grand Magistrix Elisande when she allied with the Burning Legion. It wasn’t a surprise, the majority of the nobility had done so given they were already awarded and cared little for Suramar’s lower classes. But that was not how the Descatoires were raised, and they had found that their purpose in life was to aid those less fortunate than themselves. They happened to be just in the right place at the right time to do so.

“Wh…why did….what…” What do you even say after watching your sister murder your husband of thousands of years?

“Ella, he was going to -kill- you.” So maybe cracking a meat tenderizer against the back of the skull multiple times was overkill and made things messier than they could have been, but it was the most readily available weapon in reach of Vie. Plus, he was abusing her sister, and likely had been for a while, and she was no longer going to stand for it. Ellarielle was too much of a pacifist to take it into her own hands. “He was hurting you, I couldn’t just–”

“No, no…” Ella rushed over to her side and cupped Vie’s cheeks before pulling her into a tight hug, “You did the right thing. You …you saved me…thank you. There was no other choice.” She wasn’t going to make her sister feel any worse for doing what had to be done despite the currently mixed emotions. This was the man she loved, or had loved, for so long. They had built a comfortable life together, even if she had been sneaking around behind his back as a part of the rebellion. It wasn’t right to let anyone wither when she had access to the very source that would allow that not to happen. Unfortunately, he was too smart and had too many spies to not find out, but she was not prepared for this. She released Vie and wiped the mix of tears and blood from her cheeks, straightening her gown as she looked back down at the dead body, “What do we do?”

They weren’t exactly schooled in how to dispose of a dead body, but surely someone within the rebellion would know and be able to help out. Both women looked at each other and spoke in unison, “Margaux.”

November DWC 2024 Day 5 - Skill

Rumors say if you mark your door with a red stripe, you will beckon The Chameleon to appear the next night. The name of the target is all that he needs, the desires you speak shall always succeed.

Beware thoughts of betrayal, he shall see through your sin, The Chameleon adapts and always blends in. You won’t know his name, you won’t see his face, unless you seek death, stay in his good grace.

The price may be steep, but you will not regret, despite what you see, you are of no threat. The job will be done with much time to spare, The Chameleon’s craft is beyond compare.

Inistellan Volanthus is a man of many skills, the greatest of which is lying. He had been lying to everyone he had ever met ever since he could remember when his father, Lord Fin’endal, told him that he was to become the next Chameleon. The Chameleon was a figure whispered about only in shadows, one of the greatest assassins that seemed to transcend time itself. The Chameleon had been around for millenia, and in some circles anytime anyone of importance died in a suspicious manner, it was assumed to have been the work of the famed assassin. No one knew that there had been multiple versions of The Chameleon, except for the Fin’endal’s since it was, essentially, the family business.

Not that Stellan uses that name anymore. After passing on the title and parting ways with the moniker, it was typical for the retired Chameleon to take on a completely new life. That is exactly what he had done, multiple times in fact. Inistellan Volanthus was the fourth name and face that Cazmilan Fin’endal Senior had chosen, and quite possibly his last.

It had at first been a burden to him, having been taught and molded from a young age that this was to be his life. He ended up resenting his father in the end only to take the older man’s life while still accepting the family title. The world needed and still needs people like The Chameleon, at least in his opinion. Eventually, he grew to enjoy it. He still participated in everything he otherwise would have and held a completely ‘normal’ life outside of his secret life: Marriage, children, friendships, lovers, hobbies, routine. It had always felt as if he were two different people forced inside of one body, but perhaps that was just a part of the ‘family trait’.

Every Chameleon was meant to have a public face of great renown. His father before him had been a notable Magister, and his son who now carries the title is a principal dancer in the Royal Ballet of Silvermoon. Stellan himself was the piano player for the Silvermoon Orchestra during his first life until he ‘died’. That was one skill he still enjoys quite a bit to this day, practicing often on his own grand piano in his humble apartment.

His second life had him see work as a boatswain on an at-the-time well-known pirate ship. Othikess Starfall had always been good with his hands, excellent at carpentry and had a knack for melee combat. The open seas were so peaceful and calming after a lifetime of constant practicing and having to be perfect.

Vethan Sunsong was his third life, a vagabond who had oftentimes volunteered as a farmhand in return for a meal and a bed to sleep in for a night before moving on. Traveling everywhere, he learned about various cultures and struggles all over Azeroth and picked up new languages along the way. A favorite, if not for his desire for the finer things in life.

Every version of himself had taught him a lifetime's worth of skills, bringing him to the man he is today. Inistellan Volanthus was a Farstrider for some time before eventually retiring into mercenary and security work. It isn’t as fast-paced as some of his other lives, but he is getting older now and slowing down is natural. He still surprises many, especially in the sparring ring. It’s difficult to trick a man who had spent his life tricking others, not to mention a man that had been trained at his level. But they will never know.

For now, he is content and comfortable. His children thrive in ways he never did: Cazmilan Junior with his ballet and expertise as the Chameleon, and Vixannya Ana'diel with her macabre art. He has friends, beautiful lovers, a home, wealth, and security. Perhaps Inistellan Volanthus is truly the classy gentleman he was meant to be all along.

@cazthechameleon @cazmilan @vixannya @themercenaries

November DWC 2024 Day 5 - Captive / Skill

Taking leave away from the mercenary camp had been a necessity for everyone, not that Xylaes had a home to go to these days. The fall of Dalaran had destroyed both his place of work and his home, and he hadn’t had a chance to make alternative arrangements yet. Too busy being held captive in Azj-Kahet and then on his personal vendetta and rescue missions. Not that he had the funds to be able to afford a new home, a fact that didn’t seem to bother him. He had been homeless before, this wasn’t anything new and he had friends that would offer him a place to crash if need be.

Xylaes’s son Garren had decided to return to his home in Bel’ameth for a week or two for his own leave, and it felt like a good time for the older man to finally take his own as well. He hadn’t been invited over to Garren’s house, and honestly he didn’t expect it. Everyone needed their time alone and away.

It was difficult to know where to go now. Had he become a void elf? Would he even be welcome in Silvermoon City anymore? He didn’t look like the others with his tanned skin and dirty blond hair. Nor had his eyes turned blue like the majority of the void elves possessed; his now looked as if he were about to commit some major war crimes while laughing maniacally. His voice hadn’t developed the dark echo, nor had his blood turned purple either - except, oddly enough, in that one arm. That foreign, replanted arm taken from someone who had pissed off the House of Constructs in Maldraxxus all those years ago. 

There had been no luck in identifying the previous owner of this arm, there were no fingerprints and even a little bit of blood scrying gave no information, only more questions The runes on the arm weren’t anything he nor any historians of any races had recognized. It wasn’t until Pollux had mentioned that the Shadowlands were likely the afterlife for all planets in all universes that Xylaes had thought, that just maybe, this was from someone not of this world. It made sense, it was the only thing that made sense at this point.

Xylaes was just a wild blend of contradictions now. Void magic, but not a traditional void elf. Now also brimming with magic, but still mostly immune to it. Unpracticed with his new skills, but somehow knowing exactly how to use some of them.

He had some wild times in his life, but this was taking the cake and eating it too. Xylaes didn’t mind it. He was overdue for a shift in his trajectory and maybe this was exactly what he needed. He had been hiding himself away for the comfort of others ever since the change happened; he saw the uneasy looks and hesitation in some of their approaches. Maybe it was time to fully embrace whatever this new path would bring.

Taking out his comm, he typed out a message and sent it away to the one person that had already been helping him down a new path: Ouro An'dar.

‘Hey, I got some leave to take. Need help with anything?’

November DWC 2024 Day 4 - Tranquil

He had assumed her to be a spirit at first. She wasn’t the first nor would she be the last unfamiliar soul that Jace encountered in these parts; it was common knowledge among the carnies that should you perish on Darkmoon Island, it was difficult, if not impossible, to leave. It wasn’t a frightening sight, nor unusual for the ghosts to gain enough energy and show themselves every now and then, especially during the witching hours. 

She didn’t notice him watching her, nor did she seem to have any qualms about stepping into that dark forest, hand extended in front of herself as if she were being led. Curiosity got the better of Jace and he quietly followed; he was one of the few that had nothing to fear here, and if she were just a spirit, neither should she. He wrapped his arms around his core to aid in keeping the warmth in, the forests could get chilly during the night and despite the thick canopy of trees and foliage, it had always felt colder here than anywhere else on the island. 

Her movements were graceful, almost like those of a trained ballerina, and her opalescent, sheer gown did nothing to shield her against the frigid temperature; not that she seemed to care. When she reached the clearing at the center of the forest, she paused, unblinking. There she stood and stared for what felt like hours at something unseen; light, wavy hair billowing in the breezeless space. It was completely devoid of sound here, almost as if one were inside of an anechoic chamber. The fauna knew to avoid this cursed place, making it all the more unsettling. Jace could hear the sound of his own heart beating and blood circulating through his veins, even with shallow breaths, he could hear his lungs and diaphragm expanding and contracting with each gentle rise and fall.

It was always uncomfortable, but he was mesmerized. 

Eventually she stepped closer to the center of the clearing, arm extending and reaching for something he couldn’t see. With a slight shift of his weight, a branch creaked beneath his boot and the spectral woman startled and stumbled backwards, an expression of horror replacing the previously tranquil one. But she wasn’t looking at him, she was still staring at something unseen to him and suddenly vanished.

Jace stood up straighter and briskly made his way towards the space she had previously occupied, looking around for something, anything. He wasn’t even sure what. 

She was gone.

He made his way back towards his camp with a melody in his head that demanded to be written down: Her theme. Everyone had their own theme, and sometimes it took a while for him to determine what would fit a specific person. However, once he had his empty staff paper in hand, the entire song flowed freely.

~ 1 ½ Years Later ~

Jace sat on the ledge at Fancy Cakes, sipping quietly on his coffee as he watched the other patrons. Indulging in some sweet treats was an excellent way to begin a night of busking, and he tried to make it a habit to come here at least once a month. 

The evening was relatively quieter than usual, but he never minded just chilling and being with others. Deep blue eyes watched as the blonde-haired woman wandered up the steps to give her order to Braedyn, and when she turned around he nearly choked on his coffee. He didn’t give himself away, his poker face had grown too strong throughout the years of working for Silas Darkmoon. It had been well over a year now, but he knew. The theme came back into his mind the moment he saw her face.

This was her. The ‘spirit’ he had seen in the Darkmoon Forest. Alive and in the flesh. How could this be possible?

This references a story you can read ---> HERE