#dwcmay2022

((DWC May 2022 Day 2: Temperence/Gluttony; Alynore used with permission from @red-alynore))

The sun had just barely begun to creep over the mountains, fighting valiantly to cut through the pervasive gloom of the plaguelands, when the door to the recruit's barracks was quietly, gently pushed open. Within, a dozen fresh faced recruits; humans, orcs, tauren, draenei, pandaren, and even a vulpera, slept soundly, several empty barrels of ale speaking silent testament to the joys of the previous night, when they had partied and celebrated officially joining the Argent Crusade. The cool gazes of the two officers who had quietly entered took in the silent scene, before the dark brown eyes of Sergeant Grelka met the steely green gaze of Commander Alynore, who nodded to her adjutant. With a tusky grin, the orc woman lifted a brass horn to her lips, and began to play the loudest wake-up call she could. The quiet scene swiftly turned to chaos, recruits starting awake and falling out of their beds, tangled in sheets and improperly worn garments, bumping into one another and more than a few of them screaming in surprise.

"What the hell?!"

"ARE WE UNDER ATTACK?!?"

"I'm gonna throw up!"

Through the chaos, Alynore stood firmly still, waiting for the wake-up song to finish, before shouting at the top of her lungs. "RECRUITS, STAND TO ATTENTION!" she bellowed, noting which of the recruits reacted fastest to the orders given as they scrambled to stand up straight, or in some cases, as straight as they could. "I TRUST YOU ALL HAD A RESTFUL SLEEP," she continued, trying not to let her serious face crack a grin at the reactions her volume was having on the poor recruits.

"With all due respect, Commander," the bleary eyed pandaren recruit said, who's drinking experience and size doubtless left him less vulnerable to the effects of his drink, "is this really necessary?"

"Be careful of your tone, recruit Pendalo." Sergeant Grelka responded, stowing her horn. "You're addressing a superior officer, and your explanation is coming." Pendalo bowed his head in contrition, stepping back into line.

"The Argent Crusade stands in defense of all peoples of Azeroth, and the evils we stand against aren't going to wait for you to wake on your own and have a good breakfast before causing trouble. While we do not deny ourselves the pleasures of song, food, and drink," Alynore emphasized that last bit, causing a few hangovery winces, "we must always remember to temper those pleasures with an understanding of duty. Of course, if you have a problem managing that, I'm sure that the numerous sergeants and officers who remember their time as recruits will be more than happy to wake you up on time, just like Sergeant Grelka did this morning." the smile finally crawled across her face, as realization of the stakes dawned on the new group of recruits. To their credit, they did their best to hold their attention poses, despite their heads no doubt aching in response. "Now, get your kit on and be outside in five, you will be tended to by the apothecary and then training will begin in earnest. Anyone who's late will be placed under the -direct- care of Sergeant Grelka, and I know she has plenty of special labors for those who get caught in her web. Dismissed!" she called, turning on her heel and marching smartly out the door, the sergeant following in suit. As the door closed behind them, and the muffled sounds of recruits scrambling to dress themself emitted from with in, the human and orc exchanged a look, that turned into a shared smile, that became a raucous laughter with arms over shoulders. To career soldiers like them, there was no joy like fresh recruits.

DWC Day 4: Diligence (Indy) Word count: 3700 Summary: Indy plants Blix a new hand, gets hitched. Warnings: Gore from, uh, planting a hand.

@daily-writing-challenge

@blixvoronin

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"Something that you might eventually find utterly frustrating about me..." She kisses Blix's neck. "I'm an incredibly patient person.”

Blix shudders a little, a small sigh leaving her as she reluctantly lets go. "Mmh. You know, I can deal with that."

-----

Blix wasn’t eating enough. She also wasn’t sleeping enough, at least in the ways that mattered. She wasn’t bathing enough, either. But Indy had a plan, and if all went well, it would help. Not healing the wound left from her missing hand was slowly killing her as a healer, but she didn’t want to do anything she’d have to undo later. Blix had mentioned that she didn’t want a prosthetic unless there was no other option. And Indy, having healed as long as she had, had heard rumors of other options. She couldn’t grow Blix a hand back. If she’d been there when it was severed, maybe, maybe something could have been done. But…

It was possible she could still give Blix a functional, living hand. It wouldn’t be flesh, but it would get rid of the phantom pain. Indy knew how debilitating that could be from her time in the military.

Indy had been sending out a flurry of letters, to every druid she knew how to contact. Rejoining the Cenarion Circle had been a means to this end, because she would do anything for Blix. Sure, she’d been alive for roughly 900 years, but there were other healers, older, who had the information that she was so desperately seeking.

That morning, a letter had arrived. With a note, and a single seed tucked carefully into the corner of the envelope. Indy bit at her lip as she read the instructions. She read them five times, and then stepped outside the house to get some fresh air. 

This was going to hurt. It was going to hurt so very badly. But it was also going to work, and so…  it was time to talk to Blix about why her hand wasn’t still fully healed. Indy steeled herself as she walked back inside the house. She’d been a field medic. She could– she could do this. If the end result was worth it? She could inflict pain on the love of her life.

Word Count: 723 Summary: Reth deals with the fallout of some emotions. Warnings: None

@daily-writing-challenge @raevenbehindthemuse because I'm terrible. <3

Rethea finished bundling things into her pack, taking a moment to look out the window of her inn room. Since it seemed dark enough, she trudged down the stairs, through the main room, and out into the coolness of a Kul Tiran night. She found a free spot on the road that didn’t seem particularly flammable and then summoned Empress, who came into the world with a rear and an annoyed snort. She soothed her fel horse for a moment, focusing on the feel of her fur and the heat beneath her fingers.

“Ready?” She asked once Empress had acclimated to her new spot.

The horse didn’t respond, so she mounted up and got them going, up the coast, to a spot that she’d been avoiding for weeks.

Once the beach came into view, Reth slid off Empress, holding onto her pack for dear life. She stared down the beach at the water, and was briefly overcome by the voices.

Back to make another mistake?

He didn’t care. He just wanted to fuck.

Who would want to be near you? You know what you are. Frigid monster.

Reth squeezed her eyes closed and took a few deep breaths. He had cared. She had part of a geode and many good memories to remind herself of that. But what she didn’t understand was why he was gone.

If he’d told her, she would have accepted it. She was his boss, but she was a person, and….

Light, had she done something wrong?

Reth stepped away from Empress, dropping her pack hard to the ground. That off, she hauled her robes over her head, leaving her in a loose shirt and her underwear. She shivered; it was a lot colder than it had been the last time she was here. But there was a remedy for that, wasn’t there?

She let her illusions drop, idly inspecting one hand as it went cold and deeply voidblue. On this skin, her painted nails glistened like stars. But as the warmth faded from her skin, so did the need to shiver. So in this newfound comfort, she rummaged in her pack and pulled out a bag.

Once it was in hand, she began walking into the water, casting a spell as it hit her waist. She kept going until she was completely submerged, eyes closed, well aware that the water around her was glowing as she disturbed the plankton. She knew how pretty it was, here. She knew how the plankton shimmered when they were disturbed. 

She didn’t need to see it again.

Once she was deep enough in the water for her hair to be truly furious, writhing like she was some sort of naga, she opened the bag in her hands. Star Moss flowers immediately floated free, striving for the surface of the water around her. Her fingers felt through the bag, making sure that every single one of the dozens of blossoms she’d collected were free.

That done, she cast the bag aside, and let her eyes open, watching the blossoms struggle through the water. Some reached the surface, and some became saturated just beneath the water’s edge.

Reth closed her eyes again, ignoring the sting of the salt, taking a deep, magical breath.

And then she called down all the fire she had within her.

Her eyes opened, and she watched the water around her hiss into steam, the plankton within it popping out of existence, dulling the luminescence of the water. The water began to boil, and she shifted her attention to keeping herself from being damaged as one by one, the Star Moss around her withered and turned to ash.

Soon, the water was dull, dark, and slightly too warm, full of flecks of petals. She swam to the surface and took a deep breath, letting her hair free from the water it hated so very much.

This is what you do to everything, hissed one of the voices in her head.

Word Count: 500 Summary: Indy processes her emotions with her fists, in a flashback, because it’s okay now Warnings: Bar fight?

@daily-writing-challenge @asharinhun (for Arlyn) Also Cay for brief character loaning.

Over the past few months since Blix had gone missing, Indraste had been getting kicked out of more and more bars. For some, it was for starting fights. For others, it was for winning them with little effort. So she was branching out a bit, exploring the bars in Boralus. If she stumbled across her missing brother during one of these encounters, so much the better, but mostly she wanted to punch. She wanted to smell blood. And that wasn’t bad, because she could always heal everyone afterwards, right?

Nothing she did stuck. Nothing she did stuck. Now was the time to embrace that, while she waited in this horrible limbo.

So she found a bar with an underground brawling ring, and even though free-for-alls weren’t her usual source of entertainment, well… It was better than the fight she’d been in with the half-troll who probably hated her. The people there had used weapons. Here, it would just be fists. Or, well… she planned to use knees, so….

Indy was easily at least a head taller than everyone else in the ring, and she waded into it without shame, socking everyone who came close to her. A smaller human, who moved like she was used to these sorts of fights, had darted in, and Indy had grabbed her by both ears and sent her knee careening into the other woman’s eye. She fell away, and Indy focused on the taller members of the madness, lasting until the round was called.

She had a split lip and bruised ribs, but that didn’t stop her from moving to the bar as other contestants filed away. Even though she had her flask, she asked for a drink, because she didn’t want to be kicked out for supplying her own alcohol.

A tiny Kul Tiran hopped onto the chair next to her. Her physique suggested that she could take care of herself, but her black eye countered that other people did, too. Indy had a brief vision of grabbing her head and slamming it into her knee, and had a drink.

“You did good tonight!” said the human at her left. Her eye was swollen completely shut.

Indy stared at her eye. “Yeah? We’ve never met.”

But they had, and she knew. Indy took a few minutes to meet this person that she’d abused in the ring, and then felt like the worst sort of healer for indulging in these sorts of fights.

Eventually, she convinced Arlyn to let Indy heal her. But even as she did, a feeling that came from her core suggested that this wasn’t something healers did.

….But who better to beat the shit out of somebody than the person who could fix it afterwards?

((DWC May 2022 Day 1: Chastity/Lust))

"... and thus we can see that chastity is the greatest of virtues, for only in denying our baser instincts, can we truly devote ourselves to the mysteries and wonders of the Light. To free ourselves from earthly desire..."

Dolraan fought the urge to roll his eyes as the preacher droned on, sitting in the front row of the chapel, surrounded by various locals and his own small entourage of Argents. It would be rude, after all, since they were visitors, and had been so kindly invited to attend this special sermon by a young preacher whom Dolraan figured could probably use a bit of lust in his life, if only to get over himself.

His mind wandered as the dull, judgmental sermon continued, wandering through his memories to more welcome fare, passing through various trysts and encounters, before settling on a few mornings past, when he'd spent a good half hour after waking just watching his wife sleep, the dark grey of her skin contrasting with her white hair, messily draped over her face as her face mashed into her pillow, smooth skin occasionally marked by the scars of adventure all the way down to her lovely hooves, and her slender tail lazily wrapped around one of his legs.

Blinking, Dolraan forced himself back into the present, hoping the smile on his face was interpreted as polite enjoyment of the sermon, and not a mental journey to the wonders of its moral opposite. It was important to remember that there were many paths to the Light, after all. That being said, he thought, looking at how the organist kept glancing at the young preacher's rear as he continued, perhaps afterwards a few words might help set the young man on a new path.

Warnings: none Summary: Iranji picks up a new crew member. @mekandawn for encouraging my character to adopt a cat @raevenbehindthemuse for him assuming he has permission to bring a cat on board @daily-writing-challenge

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Iranji left the market, humming thoughtfully, long legs doing their best to keep from tripping over his persistent kitten companion. The little white cat mewed and scampered after him as he slipped into the Dalaran sewers, following a path he’d memorized ages ago. Walk, turn, walk, straight, and so on. The cat remained with him the entire time, as she had for the past week,  meowing occasionally and batting at the back of his foot. 

Soon, he arrived at the familiar turn-off, absently running his thumb along the small diamond carved into the tunnel wall, and stepped onto a room stacked with boxes. He checked the card table for crew, as well as the hammocks strung along the back wall behind a makeshift barrier of crates, and found that he was alone. Good. He preferred the quiet. He nudged open a crate by the card table, retrieved a dark glass bottle, and grabbed one of the chairs, turning it so the back was facing his front. He straddled it as he pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth, then leaned his arms along the backrest and sighed.

“Hm.” He looked down at the cat, who immediately hopped onto the chair behind him. He reached back with his free hand and picked her up, setting her on the table, completely ignoring someone’s now-ruined game of solitaire. “What to do with you, cub?”

She rolled onto her back and started grooming one of her paws, wiggling back and forth like only the young and uncoordinated could. Iranji had a thoughtful sip from his bottle and hummed a few more notes as he pondered what the tarot reader had said. He’d been a bit distracted, because it had been wonderfully easy to make them blush, but as far as he’d gathered, the gist of it was that it was a good thing the cat was following him.

He sneezed into his elbow and tried to keep himself from rubbing his watering eyes so soon after touching the kitten. Why in the world would he have been sent a cat of all things? The Loa had senses of humor. He reached into his pocket and thumbed free the contact information for the alchemist who could make potions to control his allergies, and looked down at the cat again. She gazed up at him with bright blue eyes and began to purr. He tentatively stretched a hand out, and she immediately flopped against it, closing her eyes and purring harder.

“Gotta admit, you’re cute.” He chuckled and petted her with his thumb, stifling another sneeze as he did. 

“Cap’n wouldn’t mind,” he decided, voice low and slow. “Great for rats. Quz might give you problems, but could manage that fine. Scared of me.” The little imp’s mouth was big, but his desire to remain whole was bigger.

He made a thoughtful noise. “Grog’ll hate you. But he’s small.” And also adaptable; his monkey hated everyone at first, but was too simple to keep it up for long.

The kitten blinked up at him, still seeming very sleepy, and he made his voice stern. “No going after my birds when you’re big. They came first.” And, honestly, they’d probably kill her.

As the kitten curled into a full ball, he kept his hand out for her, quietly making a plan. Tell Razz he’s got a new pet. Get a good stock of potions and pet supplies. Hope that tarot reader took his card for the suggestion that it was and reached out. They seemed to like cats. Strange stalker-kitten updates could be a great conversation starter.

Well. He needed to catch a portal or two, then, because he could feel his eyes getting red and itchy. Iranji rose, but realized as he did that the kitten was bonelessly heavy against his hand. He scooped her up carefully and held her to his chest as he left the Trading Co hideout and walked for the portal to Orgrimmar. “Don’t scratch, little girl,” he warned. She barely responded.

As he walked, humming quietly again, he started trying to think of names for his new charge. He could hear the crew in his head now: “Another pet, Iranji?”

Daily Writing Challenge - May 2022 - Day 2 (Catch Up) - Gluttony   TW: Cannibalism, mentions of gore and death. Sentences entirely in caps due to a shrieking imp.  Notes: Quzkol, Silas’s imp, reflects on his warlock’s gluttony for flesh.  Smallest mentions of Iranji (who is played by the other writer for this blog) and Ikezerzul (@jotaro-kuujo)

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Boring. Bore. BORED.

Every so often- very frequently often- the old man gets like this, leaving Quzkol absolutely, undeniably bored. Most times the little imp could find something to entertain himself with and with most of those times involving getting into something troublesome. Typically, Silas would be available to keep a demon-warlock bonded ‘eye’ on him. But other times, such as now, Silas was a little preoccupied.

Quzkol probably would have found the activities that lost his master to him like this strange more often if Silas wasn’t forsaken, but when the two first met Quz was perplexed by Silas’s efficiency. See, from what he understood from what he heard, new undead could be frantic and messy about eating. There were the ones that just lost their minds entirely, neglecting the option or focusing only on that. Then the others, like the later of the former, would rip and tear and frantically dig in like animals. His buddy even told him a hilarious (though annoying to the imp) tale of a warlock who lost appendages when they were set off at the sight of raw flesh. But SIlas was different. And in the beginning Quzkol would watch, and judge as he do. With the first time, he had been undeniably emotional and desperate, but not as chaotic. Now it was almost normal. Boring.

So as Silas knelt down next to the still warm corpse and tore the chest open neatly- easily pulling flesh from itself and exposing the goodies inside. Can’t see came across their bond as it did most times Silas set upon a task such as this. Quz was familiar enough with his master now to know it wasn’t a demand, just a fact. An acknowledgement. More often than not their intentions or subconscious thoughts went across the bond first, then conscious thoughts or statements. Quz threw the old man a bone (hah!) and gave a glance over- he wasn’t focusing on anything else after all. The corpse of the dark skin elf was fairly neat in how it fell. The edges were dry, withered, and now tainted by Silas’s rot magic and singed by Quz’s fire alike. Silas had warned Quz of this one’s purpose, so he was as careful with his fire as he could be. Cooking it was probably undelectable for this sort of thing anyways. Quz scrunched his nose and curled his upper lip back at the thought of the hair and the fire. Maybe around the others, because they wouldn’t enjoy it either. With the corpse in sight, Silas was able to do the mental angling to properly get his hands in where he wanted. Avoid the rot and decay and organs suffering from mana withdraw, or whatever he needed. Did it really matter? Rather than giving the thought more effort the imp decided that this was as good entertainment as he was going to get. Skipping toward the old man, doing a flip over the fallen’s staff just cause, and without meaning to replying to the bond’s question on if he was moving as a response to a threat, (no, just bored) he found the old mans robes. Palms full of loose fabric allowed the imp to climb without disturbing the process due to familiarity of the action. As Silas pulled back a cupped handful of blood and gore to drip down his open throat, Quzkol was able to find his spot on the warlock’s shoulder. Sharp claws digging in to keep purchase as the master dipped back down for more. He had to admit, for no jaw, claws of his own, or tools, the old man was good at this. Just not quick. He was taking too long, and it was boring. We should get going he sent across the mental bond. When that was ignored, he gave a frustrating growl out loud. “The trolls are gonna be LOOKING soon.” Again, nothing. “Come on! LEAVE SOME FOR THE BUZZARDS!” Quz scrambled across the old mans shoulders to the other side, grabbing an ear as he went to keep balance. The mental bond latched claws into the hyena like scruff on the back of his neck in turn, magically and mentally pointing him back to the ground. If he couldn’t be calm, he wasn’t welcome on the shoulder. So Quz calmed down physically and just yelled.

Word Count: 800 Warnings: Syya is a bitch. Summary: Syya works for Rethea. She was the one who so helpfully stole her portion of the Emberlight fortune back. Now, she’s, hm… holding down the fort while the boss is MIA?

@daily-writing-challenge

To see Syya's debut, go here.

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The innkeeper was staring up at Syya, sweating faintly. “I-I really shouldn’t–”

Syya cut him off, smiling broadly. “The boss just wants me to get some contracts so we can keep the business running while she’s on vacation.”

“She didn’t say anything about a–”

“But she’s paid for the room six months at a time, yes? She’s clearly going to be back. It makes sense that she wants one of us to help out while she’s on her break, yes?”

Syya’s empty, uncovered fel-green eyes bore down on the innkeeper, and he took a step back to the key rack, retrieving one and offering it out. “If it turns out that she doesn’t actually want to–”

She cut him off again as she reached for the key, gravelly voice amused. “You’ll what?”

She turned away from the bar and stomped up the steps without waiting for an answer. She knew what it would be anyway. Time to see what bosslady was up to in her spare time.

The key turned reluctantly in the lock, showcasing that the door hadn’t been used in weeks. When the door creaked open, she sniffed, and could smell her boss’s perfume faintly in the room. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then focused on a chair at the small table in the corner. It was covered in lingerie.

Syya snorted. So was that what she wore under her robes? 

First things first. She did a cursory search for the chest she’d brought her employer a few months back, and was mildly disappointed to see that it was nowhere in sight. Smart of her, to bank it, but not ideal for Syya. It was always good to have more money.

She looked around the room for a moment, then did a lap, floorboards creaking under her boots as she moved through the space. She kicked them off and did a half-flop onto the bed, landing on her back with a loud sigh and stretching out. Her bed felt so much better than Syya’s own– how much was she paying a week?

Her attention turned to the side table, where a leatherbound journal sat, pages very ruffled. She reached for it immediately, chuckling quietly in the silence of the room. “What do you have to say, huh Rethreth?” The nickname sounded rude coming from her voice.

Most of the book was full of boring experiments and notes on results, but there were a few pages that caught her interest. “Can’t control your hair, huh? And you present such a cool exterior.” She grinned at the pages as she kept flipping, then tossed it aside completely when it became more journal and began lamenting that the group’s officers had gone missing. 

That’s why she was here, after all. Syya took one more long, deep breath, splatting out on the bed, before rising and moving to the table in the corner, where she’d seen her boss at work so many times.

Sure enough, there were stacks of potential contracts. She flipped through them, rolling her eyes at the ones Rethea had rejected, and then set about pulling out ones that seemed promising. The rest of them still had to work, after all. When the bosses were away, the underlings would play. Hopefully these were still valid; last week, she hadn’t been certain enough that Rethea was gone to risk doing this.

Briefly, she flashed back to the time she’d tried to extort Rethea for more money after a job, and the cool and calm way the woman had threatened her life. This was a calculated risk, but she had money on the power vacuum not sorting itself out. Either the group was going to implode, or new people were going to step up.

Good things came to those who waited.

Contracts sorted, she turned to the lingerie on the opposite chair, digging through it idly. Fuck, she’d had the worst sense of color. She found a black thong and corset that smelled like perfume and shimmied out of what armor she had on. She tried them on, but quickly found that Rethea’d had a much more generous backside than she did. Conversely, when she worked her way into the top, she found her ribs and shoulders too broad for the corset to fit properly.

“We’re being led by a pear,” she laughed into the mirror, doing a twirl for the drama of it.

Well. She had what she’d come for: the contracts. Syya put her clothes back on, tossing the clothes she’d tested into a corner, and gathered the papers up again. Time to go.