[The following story takes place a few weeks back, after the rescue of The Spectre from Alliance hands.]
Breathe, Taeonthrial.
Her chest hurt. A deep, pressing weight closed in upon her; a fog so thick and dark she could not part it even with her brightest of memories. First, necessity alone had carried her through her grief. Akaela, bonded to her through living magic, snuffed out like failed kindling. She had not even been there to lessen his pain, her back to him as she fled and left him to his fate, Phidi cradled in her arms and clinging on to life.
Hope, a weak candle under the sail of the Alliance ship they had commandeered, stubbornly clung to her breast as their small party of seven escaped. Hope lived, that she might return to find him still alive when all of this was over. Hope had even dug in its fingernails, bleeding and raw, when a scant few moments later a vast emptiness opened up in her heart and the bond she shared with him shattered, and broke.
Far in the distance, upon the isle they fled growing smaller with each passing minute, light shot forth into the sky. She paused and watched and hoped.
She did not cry, not yet. Redmoor left upon the helm, she had work to do. The Spectre, grubby and starved and bruised as she was, was not in any immediate danger. Baelânar was the best healing for her right now. Farmight, fallen and still unconscious but not so severely wounded that she required her most pressing attention - given to Emberfall to tend to her in the meantime. Ashelanar, though, was in a sorry state. It was through a lip bitten so hard that it almost bled that Taeonthrial worked, the void in her chest demanding that it be felt with each pass of magic from her fingers. Each mote deepened the wound that should not have been there, yet was. She had failed him, and he would remember it in his rebirth.
In the end, she hadnât even been able to help Xelda. The wound was too grievous, Taeonthrialâs magic too weak. The failure sat heavy in her breast as she cleansed and bandaged the void where an eye had once been and she prepared herself to deliver the news herself upon the womanâs awakening.
Hope did not abandon her until the ship was docked and she was alone, left to mind its decks whilst the hustle of an army buzzed on below her in the freshly retaken port. She didnât even notice how her knuckles turned white around the handle of the ships wheel she clutched, nor did she really notice the chill that set upon her tear-tracked face.
Commanders Emberheart and Dawnbrook are dead.
She had been right there- not more than a forced march away. She could have made it. She could have helped them. Could have saved them, perhaps. Or perhaps she too would have fallen with them, and perhaps the Spectre would still be in her jail cell and those five sent rescue her would be gone instead. The pit-pat of blood against the deck as it fell from her bleeding nail beds broke her from her trance- the pain was hot and sharp and but a momentary distraction. She watched it for a moment, bright crimson against her skin, the only blood she had shed so far in this gods damnable war.
She should have been there.
An anguished cry rose up and choked in her throat, the sound garbled and pathetic as she sank down to her knees and slumped against the post of the wheel. Above her, Elune shone bright, mocking her for her treachery. Was this to be her punishment? Was she to watch her friends die one by one for daring to leave behind all that had been false in her life? Was she to never hear Lirelleâs bright laughter as they dreamt up ridiculous plots that would surely drive the Oracle up the wall- never to see Sederis frown at her when she chastised him for being so reckless again? Never to feel the subtle, warm relief when she returned to the infirmary to see the feisty little priest cussing out paperwork or only half-jokingly suggesting that she might take her knife to the next idiot who asked a stupid question?
Never.
In a fit of rage she tore the moonstone pendant from her neck; nearly toppled over the side of the ship with the force she threw it into the ocean. Watched it sink, the glow ebbing under the tides until it was too deep to see. The wooden rails under her palms bowed and cracked and groaned as her anger grew forth in the form of barbed vines, the spirit of the Earth answering her when Elune had all but abandoned her. This was all wrong- her friends, dead or dying; her kin now her enemy, sworn to rob her of the happiness she had only just begun to carve out for herself. What use was Oakvale if Akaela had died anyway? What use were they when the power they had promised her hadnât been enough? What use was Oakvale when she was so very far away from their guidance, without Aleriel to guide her hand.
Oakvale was not here, but the earth and the sea and the sky and the fires of her anger were and they stole the light of Elune from her eyes and stained them dark with vengeance.
The druid sank down against the bars and vines of her own making, unafraid of their sharp barbs. The roil in her chest only grew and swelled and made her feel sick with anger and grief until she could do nothing but cry.
Taeonthrial wasnât sure how long she sobbed for. She cried until the hurt in her chest turned numb and her body had no more tears to give. She sat there until the quiet, scritch-scratching claws of something coming towards her drew her attention. Phidi, leafy flesh torn and barely mended by what little Tae had been able to muster for him by the time she was done with everyone else aboard, half dragged-half hobbled his way to her. Noiselessly, he reached for her as a toddler might his mother, arms outstretched and wanting of her comfort. She blinked at him. Once, twice, pulled him close.
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Prompt 11: World Building, First Person What if World of Warcraft took a different turn with its inspiration? What if the game was actually based entirely around science fantasy, particularly cyberpunk? I was a cheesy bitch and did The Modern AU(âą). For a long piece, use what skills youâve learned and practiced to narrate AS your character in this different world.
What would their occupation be? What is the world like? Factions? Races? Conflicts? Try to write about a normal or abnormal day for your character in this worldâis their name different too? Write in your characterâs perspective, and take on a very in-depth look of a different personality and worldview.
[I was very cheesy and went balls deep into a Modern AU story to exercise a more modern narrative style. Lots of references to others and events from World of Warcraft roleplay or Thanidielâs background, try to catch them all. alsoimsorrythiswassolong.
âAlright, alright. Just, shut the fuck up for, like, I donât know, an hour. Ethan, cradle your beer, youâre good at that. Elena⊠I donât gotta tell you shit.
Letâs start with⊠the beginning.
So, letâs just get this shit out of the way. Auberry, up in Fresno County, California. Small-time fucking town. My dad was a new recruit to the police department, there. First-generation son to some Lithuanians that couldnât read shit for English. My mom is a Mono Indian, from the Big Sandy Rancheria next door.
1990, Dad knocked her up when she was in town. I was the result, that she passed right back to Dad. Grew up happy without her, ran around just fine with myself, my Staffordshire, Ted, and all of the neighborhood backdoors left open. Grandparents were out of the picture by then, and Dad had shit hours, so it was up to the Abuelas and Grandma Sallys. Suited all of us just fine.
One day, Dad gets shot up breaking up a domestic dispute. I was six. And as much as we all want to think about those crazy stories up on Reddit and Facebook, no one fucking walks away from a hunting rifle. His coworkers stopped by, took me to the tribe headquarters in town to figure out what to do with me. Off to Big Sandy they sent my ass. I hear the Grandma next to us took Ted.
As much as I want to say things got more chill from there, it didnât. See, my mom was half-white, already. Mix that with some straight-out-of-Europe dude, and you get a blue-eyed blonde haired kid running around with the Mono. Mom didnât want me either, and she made that damned clear to the elders, so I was back to being a community effort on a new Grandmaâs sofa.
Bless Grandma, she tried. Fed me. Taught me a handful of Monachi. Taught me how to fucking read and write English. Driving, eventually. Hooked me up with a new dog too when I got there, Tamuapaya, albino-assed thing. All of the good parental shit youâre supposed to do, with everything she had.
I ended up as black of a sheep as it gets, though. Scraped with the other kids whenever we crossed each other, dogs got in on it too. Adults couldnât fucking stand me outside of Grandma âcause I didnât think they deserved anything but lip. And, let me just say, itâs fucking awkward when you realize youâre a fag, hours out from a real city. I was never really accepted with them outside of cook-outs, but that was when you had to take everyone registered in the tribe.
Eventually, I get old enough to start itching to work. So I start the uphill battle of doing the most shit possible small-jobs for the most shit payout for these folk, and as you two know, I am stubborn as fucking shit about my work. So I did every bit of work they pissed at me, with fucking excellence.
Then that got too small when I was like, fifteen, and wanted some real fucking cash. The other black sheep got me then, and let me know it was easy money running drugs between us, peeps at the Casino, Auberry, and Fresno. Next thing I know, Iâm sitting in a truck bed heading to Fresâ at 1 A.M. in the morning to pick up with them.
Didnât take long for Grandma to figure out I wasnât running off to catch friends at Auberry. She switched me more times than I can remember to try to beat it out of me. Didnât work, and she didnât have any full-on proof to get others in it, either - hid the FUCK out of the cash and what we were distributing.
So, eventually, Iâm like⊠seventeen? And Iâm passing crack to this military guy visiting relatives in Auberry and wanted some fun up by the Casino. And when he puts the cash in my hand and I put the bag in his, he doesnât tell me to fuck off. He gives me a good look, asks how old I am, I tell him, and he asks me what the fuck am I going to do out here for another seventy years. I donât even get to answer when he tells me I should get the fuck out of here, go talk to a recruiter at Fresâ.
That got me thinking, so a year later, Iâve found all of my documents and shit in Grandmaâs house. I have a pile of cash. And I want to get the fuck out of this shithole. I stuff it all into my backpack, I go with the boys to Fresâ. I dump off all of my shit into Christianâs bag; free myself of it. I take a bus to get my ass right to the opposite end of the city. Spend my night in a homeless shelter with my backpack underneath my shirt and sweater, my arms wrapped around it, sleeping on my stomache, and a switch under the extra jacket I was using a pillow.
Next day, I get a free gym trial. I shower and make myself look as respectable as I need. After that, I open up a Bank of America and drop the eight-k. I had into my first savings. I keep three-hundred on me, I grab some Burger King, and I make my way to the Army recruiter.
Guy helps me get set up because itâs like the third time in my life Iâve done paperwork excluding the bank, which did like⊠everything, for me. After that, itâs floating between the shelter, gym, and getting odd jobs helping at taquerias and panaderias, with their dishes or pushing garbage and carts around for a month. Taking all of those damned test and then waiting for them to process. Grabbed an iPhone 3G during the wait, that was pretty cool.
Fort Jackson for a year, as it goes. Nothing significant in the grand scheme of things; shit was fresh hell, but nothing I couldnât handle. For the most part. Met Casey there. My age. Actually graduated H.S., attending community nearby for sports medicine. It would still be another two years before fags could be open in the military, but we⊠got together. When we could. You couldâ⊠it was dating. We started dating when I was in B.C.T. And made it work after that.
After basic, I get hauled off all over the place. Okinawa, Hawaii, Ansbach. Mid-2011, they let us be out and loud in the U.S. military. Bad move for my career, but, first thing I did when I took my leave is fuck Casey and ask her to marry me. No ring or any big romantic gesture, we didnât work like that. She said, yeah, sure. The process went underway, itâs all done by the time Iâm heading back to like, Fort Irwin.
Weâre separated for a while, then, like, she graduated, because she was a lot fucking smarter than me. And she started living with me on base. Which is fucking awesome. Itâs not what I asked for, because she had all of this potential to work with back at home. But, hey, she wanted to travel too. We had our years, we were fucking twenty-years old. I let her come.
So we fucked around in South Korea, Alaska, Italy, itâs almost a blur after everything. Eventually, I get put out in Camp K.A.I.A. in Afghanistan. Sheâs back in Kansas, âcause, naturally, theyâre hesitant on letting me drag a U.S. civy out there of all bases. Itâs seven months into my deployment, she wants to visit and I let her.
April 28th, 2014. I took her out, a bit south of the airport in city proper for a meal, in the early morning. We were eating lamb korma with turnipsâ I still canât fucking handle smelling and eating lamb. Or any soft fucking food: deuces to mashed potatoes and bolognese. God.
So we were eatingâ⊠we were eating that. And there was an airplane with a fucked engine that had been making its way towards the airport. It didnât get close to the runaway. It veered and dropped, right into the city. The wing went right through our building.
I was sitting northward. She was sitting southward. My mind slowed down time, and I watched the way all of this debris and broken cable and a fucking airplane slammed into her back. She hits the table and itâs shooting off. All I see is blood and curry everywhere, then it hits me, too.
I wake up in the hospital two days later. My head feels like shit because my brain got ping-ponged. A sheet of metal opened up my torso from collar to hip, and a piece of flying drywall smashed my right cheek and orbital socket. They couldnât save the eye. The ceiling falling after meant some heavy shit landed onto my left hand. They couldnât save that either. And they couldnât save Casey. She died on contact.
âIâm fine, by the way. Just pass over the whiskey. Iâm not finished.
Cutting that long story of recovery short, I stabilize. They get to Landstuhl in Germany. Eventually, I end up back in the States. Sans eye and hand. A little ugly, now, too. Medical discharge. Sucks, but Iâm hooked up with a nice prosthetic, at the least. That all takes about eight months to wrap up - not a lot of interest in keeping an uneducated, handless, soldier around.
And, you know, thatâs where you come in, Ethan. I donât think Elena knows this part about us, so bear with me. Ethan, here, was my Sergeant for a damned while. His ass phased out in â13. We always got along great, he kept up with us babies even when he was out. Group texts were a great invention; Snapchat groups even better. Now we both get to see all of the stupid shit the rest of those idiots are doing on deployment.
Ethan is basically like my fucking dad. So when fates aligned and I was in the Brooklyn military hospital, he started driving down from his apartment in the city, seeing me about once a week on his weekends. Then, when I was out, he offered me a place to stay, no costs. Naturally, I fucking took it. The last thing I was going to do now that I was out, was gonna walk my ass back to the Mono in that Cali shithole. Not fucking smart to be alone after the shit that had happened.
And, honestly? It worked really well. I used the time heâd be gone with his job at the nearby library to do⊠basically all of the adult shit I didnât do in the military. Got my license, borrowing the car from his coworker and our close friend, Esther (nice girl, did volleyball and track for high-school and college, then decided she liked things quiet). Took the bus to therapy with a guy through the V.A., âtill I grabbed a beat up 2009 Chevy truck from Craigslist. Eventually, started classes for a G.E.D. too. Collected my military checks, saved it all and got pocket-money with a part-time at some flower hippyâs cafeâand, you know, I never realized how fucking hard it is to make legit money in the âreal worldâ until then. Ethan, youâre a fucking saint. Like, three-hundred or whatever a week? Chump ass change compared to when I bounced with the kids in Fresâ.
All of that good shit. Plus, it was nice that we both had a drinking buddy. And we both had a way of navigating each otherâs bullshit well. Like, Elena, you just heard my wife-story. And youâve heard about the fire, too. Itâs not the fucking same, but it worked out that we had about an inkling of what to do when the other dudeâs fucked up.
Eventually, itâs the day for appointment hell. Check up, physical therapy, actual therapy, then likely, a stop by the pharmacist. Itâs like, early â16, at this point. And before we even get started, the doctor sits me down. Starts talking about this experimental stem-cell research, for organ implantation. Taylor says itâs not at a complex enough stage to restore my hand, but my eye and facial scars would be within the window of possibility. Gives me a card for a Brianna Lalwani-Jindal if Iâm interested in volunteering for it.
I get through the day. I finally catch a meal at Jersey Mikeâs, and after me and Ethan talk about it over some Coors, like if I wanna do it and how it feels fucking weird, to like, erase what happened to Casey through this, I say, sure, Iâll call. Itâs like, eight P.M. She answers like four seconds before it just shoots to her voicemail. The bitch fucking slurs out like she snorted too much Vico, ââyeah, I know Iâm fucking late, Iâll be there, I prooomise.â
So me and Ethan pick our jaws off the floor hearing this shit and Iâm like, âNah, Tony Dawson. Doctor Taylor Woodson at the Brooklyn V.A. Hospital referred me to you, about your research trials with the organ implantation. Lalwani?â
Thereâs a gasp, a lot of shuffling, and a lot of me and Ethan passing around another beer can between us. Then she really starts spilling and it becomes a game of my fucking brain trying to comprehend this Indian accent mixed with that lightspeed fucking way people from those big cities talk, like âOh shit, okay, okay, okay. Yeah, youâve got me. Where do you live? What are you missing? When can I meet you? Tomorrow?â
So I tell her about my fucked-up face, but really, I want to know what the fuck I just got myself into with this chick. I donât get the chance, she blurts out over me, âSounds great! EYE will see you later, Tony. Tomorrow. Four P.M., Just⊠show back at the Hospital. Weâll find a vacant office. Ciao.â Then the fucker hangs up. Eventually, we decide that I should probably text the number back, at least. My âSee you then.â gets back a kissy-face and âI like coffee.â Subtle.
A vanilla latte and unsweetened black tea, fifteen minutes of us wandering the Hospital, thirty minutes of her talking my ear off about a bunch of medical-scientific garbage, then five minutes of us filling out all of the paperwork, and I was Briâs new, shiny, case study.
Skipping over all of the shit she ran my face through, weâll sum it up as: I need contacts and I fucking hate it, but she did what she set out to do. The meetings themselves, were more interesting. I donât know if she like, fucking sensed that Iâd let her get away with her shit. But Iâm going to assume that, since she still has her fucking job.
It got unprofessional, pretty fast. Like, beyond what she already hit me with. Iâm not sure what got into me, honestly. I hadnât even considered another girl since the crash. But I spent our introductions looking at her like a piece of meat whenever her back was turned. First real meeting, sheâs prodding me about all of my personal interests and shit in some fucked small talk, starting to get into my dating life. I take a risk and just drop straight out that I dig chicks.
She gets a bit quiet, which doesnât make much of a difference because itâs clear already that sheâs a fucking loudmouth. But she gets curious, and keeps looking at me after that the whole time Iâm there. Then the meeting after that, we ended up on some fucking talk about blindfolds for some reason, and let me just say that she got a little too into that before we started talking about how, like, I needed to turn down my drinking.
So the whole time Iâm letting her and the other doctors Frankenstein my face, there is sexual tension to cut with at every goddamned interaction to be had. It never gets anywhere, because neither of us are fucking stupid. But, just, Jesus Christ.
Cut to a year later at the end of 2016. My face is put back together. Getting used to fucking contacts, getting used to checking my emails for interview requests out of the wazoo for five-hundred documentaries and news sites, after her teamâs paper on me came out. By all accounts, Iâm looking good and so is the implant. Sheâs onto new volunteers, my appointments are getting passed to another doctor on her team and stretched out to semi-annuals. That should be the end of the story.
But, uh, couldnât get her out of my head, frankly. Not for a lack of trying, either. By now, I was really amping the weights at gym to try to get my energy out. Quit the hippy cafe and lined up a new job in armed security. Did my registration for online classes at the community, for a Statistics program. Eventually, itâs like, I donât know, two months, after the last time I saw her. Ethan drags me out to a bar. Ethan fucks off. I meet a girl, some rich one, named Valencia. We get to talking, for like, fifteen minutes. Next thing I know, Iâm texting Ethan Iâll show up later and I spent the night at her place.
Itâs fucking great, Valenciaâs fucking great. But Iâm texting Bri the next afternoon at Starbucks that I want to see her that goddamned night. She shoots me the address of another bar, says to bring friends. Naturally, that means I tag in Ethan and Esther. We show up, she has good olâ Elena here.
Everyone clicks just like that. And thatâs fucking great. Lots of material to work through, especially when Bri started going on about how she and Elena met; some wild case when she was a med. student and the Roma communities in the whole state were having outbreaks. Apparently Elena helped with her outreach a lot, a sort of guide between worlds. Then the two quiet girls started going on about their herb gardens, not to even mention all of the stupid military stories me and Ethan had. We hung out for a long ass while. Eventually, weâre all back at Briâs place. And our BOI Ethan, here, finally communicates whatâs up to you and Esther. So Esther âtakes you two out to for fast foodâ and out of our hairs.
Shit takes even shorter than Valencia. Bri locks the door, we fuck. Then I wake up in the morning, wake her up for another fuck. We sleep around, get some take-out for a late⊠brunch⊠hang out, I end up taking her with me to that huge football party Tim was hosting and meeting up with the whole friend group. Then itâs just straight back to her place for a repeat performance.
So, basically, it went from zero to like we had always been fucking dating. I practically moved in with her after the first two weeks. I know all of my stuff ended up in there by the fourth month. Then we put me on the lease entirely sometime during the seventh month when she was renewing it. It all flowed natural as shit too, I didnât even know how âfastâ we were going âtill about the third time I was throwing shit I needed into boxes to toss at Briâs and Ethan called me the fuck out when he asked: I just said itâs convenient with how much closer to work she is.
And I know a lot of people were, and still do, giving me shit about it, or just about the whole relationship in general. Apparently we talk too hard at each other and act too casual for it to be serious. Looks like some sorta fling, especially considering our âdifferencesâ as people put it. You know, racist people, or people who think Iâm fucking stupid âcause I got a gun in the drawer.
But lemme just say that I think it takes some real fucking balls in a person, where the first time she ever woke up to me having a PTSD episode, is to slide her ass out of bed, rummage through my coat for my medication, and slap my benzos in front of me with leftover tea and a Crunch bar. All without a single word. It takes real balls, any other person, after getting that from her, is just a discount bitch.
Itâs not all her pampering me, either. I realized quick sheâs a âtalkerâ with her research. If she isnât with one of us, sheâs locked in the bedroom with a stack of journal articles and a Macbook talking off Lukeâs ears like he can fucking bark back. So I started reading everything she had and really going over her teamâs paper on me, plus whatever the fuck else her scholar databases had, and a lot of Dictionary.com. And, one weekend, sheâs complaining to me over coffee and tea about her shit, I pop that shit right back at her, her jaw drops, she probably shits herself a little. And, from then on, Iâm her new interactive rubber duck. And people think Iâm fucking dumb.
I mean, not to mention all of the random shit I pay for that bitch, with all of the money Iâve been getting lately between disability, financial aid, and work.
So, weâre basically to the present now. There isnât much detail to fill in after that besides that life is pretty fucking great and Bri is pretty fucking great, from then to now, the middle of Year of Our Lord, 2018. Which takes us to the crux of this whole ass speech Iâve been going on.
Now you two know my life-story. What I wanna know, now that weâre all open and drunk here, is your fucking thoughts on if Iâd be making the best, or the worst, decision of my life if I asked her to hitch with me. Iâll be fucking real; I donât fucking know what itâs like to make a good choice besides like, I donât know, where to buy my graphics cards.â
I watch the two shitfaces in front of me process what the fuck I just said. Elena brightens like the Irish daisy she is, pressing her hands together, abso-fucking-lutely wiggling in her seat. Her purple scarf slides off the back of the chair in the process. Ethan is still stretched out across the whole damned table like heâs gonna pass out, with the dopiest smile stretching across his face, but as usual, heâs the âloudâ one of the two and starts to talk over Elenaâs vague âOh⊠ohâŠ!â
âDude? Thatâs⊠thatâs great. Thatâs really fucking great. I⊠Man. Fucking, just fucking go forââ
âSo are we just a homeless shelter now, or like, is this a reverse Alcoholics Anonymous?â The door slams shut, Luke is rushing off of the couch, and all four of us are just JEERING (barking) Briâs name back at her, like it makes it fucking better that these idiots are still in the apartment.
âI was thinking homeless shelter and giving them the living room.â
âCool. Maybe the floorâll delay Ethan breaking his back another day.â
âHey⊠hey, man. I ainât that old.â
âOh! Donât say that - what if it does happen?â
Twiddle Gray and Twiddle Orange are both looking at me funny right now, considering what was cut into, and Bri is starting to pick that up as sheâs putting her keys and shit away.
âSo! What were you all talking about? Are you finally leaving me?â
âFood, actually. We were thinking that Himalayan place you like. They can eat the basic bitch shit, I was gonna grab us fried okra and tandoori.â
âI hope you arenât expecting me to pick my ass up from the couch, now. That shit, ainât happening. Long day working with by-the-book dunderfucks.â
The Twiddles give each a look, then, and then Ethan launches in.
âNah⊠naaaaah. You know what? You sit there. You hang out. The three of us will walk down, sober up.â
âWith how you made my fucking apartment smell, not sure if thatâs gonna happen. But âkay. Have fun, leave me all alone. After I just came back from work. A l o n e.â
The three of us are already draining our waters and grabbing our jackets and wallets. I push Elena towards the door and Ethan is right after her as I shoot back at her,
âShut the fuck up, you whiny bitch. Thirty minutes. Youâd be spending it ignoring us and doing your shitty Buzzfeed quizzes anyway.â
âI mean - youâre right. But youâre still leaving me alone. Shit friends. Shit girlfriend,â she sighs, âWhat a shit life.â
Elena is the one pushing me through the door now by my arm, forcing me and Ethanâs fat asses into the hallway as she tries to assure Bri.
âTae throwing a rock at his head because HE DESERVES IT >8)â
Still rude, but yes he do. It just reminded me so much of the moment in Emperorâs New Groove where Kuzco chucks a rock at Pachaâs head.
So here we are.
@thenaaru
Dawnbrook deposited Emberheart quite hurriedly into my care. He appears to be mostly fine and his injuries will heal. I suspect the two children of Allamar peeled from his leg are more the reason I have been summoned.
[Log: 12:57am]
Emberheart is fine. More urgently the two children brought in with him appear to have only recently become afflicted. Whilst in quarantine they have shown signs of deterioration- heart palpitations, some stress when breathing. They seem to behave more like feral children than the first three I soothed. Definitely more cognitive.
[Log: 1:14am]
Almost immediately after my prior entry, one of the children began to seize. Black lesions noted, do not appear to have previously been there. I have admitted both as patients under my direct care despite concerns from my colleagues. The Nightmareâs hold upon them does not feel so strong- I hope to stop, if not reverse, their afflictions. I have left Akaela channelling what nature magic he can to slow their decline.
[Log: 1:38am]
Both children have developed tremors and experienced short seizures. There appear to be some kind of growths rapidly sprouting from their lesions- I suspect this is the nightmare taint---
The entry scrawled off, as if abandoned mid sentence. Taeonthrial had all but thrown down her pen, the sound of wet, rasping breath demanding her attention.
âShh-- itâs alright sweetheart-,â she was cut off by the grasping of small hands on the edge of her robes, no longer white but stained with smears of black bile and blood.
âMinn-- minnâd--â
Minnâda. The word was not so different in Thalassian as in her native tongue. Inside her chest, her heart cracked a little more and she reached over with a gentle hand to stroke back sweat soaked hair. If she saved this child, did they even have a minnâda to comfort them still? Sentimental thoughts for another time, she could grieve for all that had been lost when her work was done.
Not that she had much time left anyway. Akaela had worked to stop the infection, halted it- merely put a roadblock in its path. But the Nightmare was clever. It was a crafty foe, one that had almost outwitted Azeroth several times over. Almost, but not quite. Each time, it had been beaten back in the Dream--
The Dream.
Taeonthrial stopped and stilled. Entering the Dream was not as easy as it once had been- but from thereâŠ.yes, from there she might be able to purge the Nightmare from these frail and tiny bodies. She swallowed hard. A druid alone in the Dream was a druid at risk and she was no master of the art, but she saw no other way. Perhaps with time, with any information she might gleam, they would find another way.
Another drowning breath at her side snapped her from her mind. She could not, would not, watch them die too. All around her she heard the distant rattles of last breaths, the rustle of clean white sheets as another fight was lost. Taking a deep breath, Taeonthrial picked up her notes and hastily scribbled down her intentions.
-
[Log: 1:44am]
I am entering the Emerald Dream, from within I plan to purge the Nightmare from both patients. Do not move my physical body for I fear I shall be lost otherwise.
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That would have to do. There was no time to make the proper preparations, no time to set up a nice comfortable barrow or seek out a guardian for the body her spirit would leave behind. Akaela would simply have to both keep watch and channel and she would have to pray it was enough.
âAlright, anaâanor, itâs going to be alright,â she spoke softly as she sat cross legged upon the floor between the two cots. In each hand she clasped too-small fingers that couldnât quite break free of their rigor-- and then, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
The dream was quiet. Her connection to it was weak, it felt as if some thick fog stilled her movements. But it was here. The Nightmare. She could feel it like a spider crawling up her neck. Tip-toe. Tip-toe. Tip-toe. She looked and she looked and she looked, unable to freely walk the dream yet desperate to glimpse something that might help. She looked everywhere except down.
She looked down.
Taeonthrial gagged. The hands she held in hers werenât those of children. As she stared down she watched as their forms swayed and swelled as if made of oil. A thick, black oil stained with crimson. Instinctively she recoiled, ichor dripping from her fingertips. The grotesque forms of would-be children stared right back up at her, unblinking. Slowly, they reached up and up and up and up until they could touch her face. She trembled, rooted in place.
âMinnâdâŠ.minnâŠ...whereâsminnâŠ.â
Black bile rising, thorns and vines and-- Tae plunged her hands into the undulating creatures, squeezing her eyes closed. If the Dream abandoned her now, she would be lost to the Nightmare. Another druid fallen, another child lost.
âMother MoonâŠ,â she gasped, the warmth under her palms suddenly igniting and surging through her veins. Taeonthrial grit her teeth and summoned forth great, needle sharp vines that punctured the Not Children as husks- and then she struck them down. Beneath her feet, bright flowers grew wild, whipping up into a frenzy of purifying blooms around the torn and broken bodies of the Nightmare.
âAndu-falah-dor!â
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[Log: 10:09am]
Emberward Leafbinder appears to be stable, as do her patients. Whatever she did within the Dream seems to have purged the disease from both children. All symptoms are no longer progressing and appear to be in reverse despite no longer receiving aid from the ancient. Temperatures in both children have returned to normal, lesions are no longer secreting black sebum. Initial cognitive tests indicate some minor brain damage has occured, though it is certainly too early to ascertain the extent of any lasting damage. Â Leafbinder will likely need rest for a day or two before she can return to work.
Iâve done Avie and Maaike, so Iâll do plant momther.
Pastime: Three hobbies they have.
Herbalism and alchemy are big ones; she spends a lot of of her time channelling her druidic abilities into growing medicinal plants and making salves or tinctures from them.
Sailing- unsurprisingly, Taeonthrial will spend as much time as she can out on the ocean. She has her own, smaller yacht that she will take out herself rather than hauling Her Ladyâs Grace and her crew out.
Dagger play. Taeonthrial likes to keep her combat skills sharp despite finding herself being more a mender than pirate sailor these days. She favours dual-wielding lightweight daggers and is usually always happy to spar.
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DAY SIXTEEN: Write about a time your character reflected upon something.
The deck of Her Ladyâs Grace was quiet, all decked out in colours of crimson and gold with banners showing fire and phoenixes. Quelâthalas. It was everywhere; the deck beneath her feet, her crew, the sails of her ship - the very oath she had taken. Taeonthrial had never been loyal to Darnassus, for a long time her loyalty had lain outside the law. Her people would have cast her aside without a second thought with cries of piracy and witchcraft. Here was her second chance, a ship given to her on the end of a promise that if she stepped a foot out of line she would find herself wishing she were hung. The Spectre was a sharp woman, but she was right. She took a great risk in taking a kalâdorei captain under the flag of the Crimson Fleet, a kalâdorei with hundreds of years as Mate of the notorious Khalind Starlock; his lover, student and ultimately, betrayer. She feared the day she saw the living ship upon the horizon.
And what had her decision brought her? A ship? The right to call herself captain? Every choice she had made from the day she had left the Galestorm behind her had only taken her further away from the one thing her heart ached for. The gentle rustle of leaves at her side reminded her she had at least one friend with unquestionable loyalty to her; for all she complained about Akaela, it was undeniable that the little sapling would follow her to the ends of Azeroth. Even when she had taken him from the gale tree, told him he would likely never see it again, he had simply placed a flower in her palms and followed her anyway. Taeonthrial laughed, how sad was it that a tree bore more loyalty than her?
She missed them, sometimes. Anlathia, Khalind. Taegann and Adnox. Velmiera too. But none of them as much as she missed Tulav. They had crossed paths since, once or twice. An infirmary, a bar. His refusal to speak to her about their broken engagement hurt. It made her angry - she had no right to be. Every time she looked to the stars her heart cracked a little more and she knew she would still give her soul to him if only he would ask.
âLost in thought, Captain?â
âYou donât have to call me that when no-one is around, Bhal.â
Bhaltair shrugged, coming to stand aside his sister with his arms folded across his chest. âYouâre thinking about him again.â
âThem. Iâm thinking about them.â
âBut mostly him.â
He was met with silence even as he turned a scrupulous golden eye down upon her. He had never much liked Tulav, but at least she had been happy for the short time they had been together. Taeonthrial stubbornly ignored his look, fearing the conversation or questions that might come of it should she engage him. Bhaltair sighed and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. âYou should rest soon, we have a meeting with the Anchorage harbourmaster an hour after sunrise. Moon forsaken blood elves and their mornings.â
She nodded and then she was alone again. Bhaltair at least knew when to leave her to her thoughts. Slowly, she turned her eyes to the stars; the sight of them hurt, as she had expected. Someone had once told her she was more beautiful than each and every twinkling light up there in the sky. Against her chest, on a leather string around her neck, lay a ring given to her by the same person. It had never made it to her finger; but she never gave up hope that one day it would if only he would let her love him again.
