#dwc2023

[daily-writing-challenge]

DAILY WRITING CHALLENGE 2023 IS BACK!

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO USE THE ACTUAL WORD FOR THIS CHALLENGE, YOU MAY SIMPLY BASE YOUR STORY AROUND ONE OF THESE IDEAS!

Choose one or both words/IDEAS and write a story, drabble, poem, or anything else once a day, every day, for a week!

Tag @daily-writing-challenge so we can reblog your stories.

Write the number day/challenge somewhere on your story.

LIST CONTENT WARNINGS VISIBLY ABOVE STORY! (Use a ‘read more’ line if content gets too graphic.)

Tags that will be used: #novemberdwc2023,  #novemberdayX2023 (X=whatever number day you’re writing for), #yourtumblrurl

There will be no optional challenges for the weekly DWC’s, but please feel free to make up some of your own challenges!

The next writing challenge will be in FEBRUARY 2024 and last one week!

CLICK HERE FOR OTHER IMPORTANT INFORMATION!

Good luck and more importantly, HAVE FUN! Encourage your fellow writers and show them some love and support with likes/reblogs/comments!

We look forward to reading some amazing writing!

((Written word list below the cut))

Day 1 - November 26 Party - Chills

Day 2 - November 27 Success - Sin

Day 3 - November 28 Inspiration - Unresolved

Day 4 - November 29 Attention - Grief

Day 5 - November 30 Strange - Flame

Day 6 - December 1 Expectation - Selfish

Day 7 - December 2 Dream - Sting

[garrennorassin]

NOVEMBER DWC DAY 1 - CHILL

At this age, Garren knew that he had plenty of time to discover his life’s purpose. The feelings of uncertainty and of being lost were probably normal, especially given his own past and the collective, recent past of the Kaldorei. Even to this day many of them were still considered refugees, having no true place to call home and merely bouncing around like vagabonds. Yes, he had a small apartment in Dalaran now thanks to his father, Xylaes, but it wasn’t really home, was it? It had never felt like home. Nowhere had, except Darnassus, and there was no going back there.

So when he first stepped through the portal into the Emerald Dream and witnessed Amirdrassil for the first time, the abrupt wave of emotion told him everything he needed to know. 

This was home.

His once lackadaisical approach to the mercenary work had flipped in that moment. He would do everything and anything to protect this new tree, including giving his own life if necessary. The handful of other Kaldorei in the crew had felt the same pull, this had become extremely personal to all of them. To his credit, Xylaes had recognized the importance of this moment immediately and eagerly adopted and matched his son’s sudden passion. Despite being a Sin’dorei, the older man knew what this meant to Garren and would, naturally, put his own life on the line first.

They set up their camp near the Central Encampment where both military and other mercenary crews had collected for safety. It was difficult for Garren to keep his eyes focused on the ground when all they wanted to do was drift skyward to gaze at the massive World Tree growing above. It was almost impossible to differentiate between leaves and sky, the two blending in luminous harmony and emanating a feeling of tranquility. It was so easy to forget what was going on when everything felt so at peace. The days to come would bring fire and death, something Garren was all too familiar with, but at least in this moment he could cherish the serenity.

Even in the middle of the night the Encampment was abuzz with anticipation of what was to come, but Garren managed to find himself a quiet corner of the world, near one of Amirdrassil’s massive roots. Tenderly, he tugged off his gloves, one finger at a time before setting the pair aside. A hand hovered over the root, the energy radiating from the powerful being sent a chill up his spine. Almost reluctantly he flattened his palm against the bark, and at that exact moment he felt a hand press atop his bare shoulder. Immediately he startled and fell backwards over his pack as he frantically searched around for whomever had disturbed his privacy.  No one was there.  At least no one that he could see.

With a furrow in his brow, he shifted to face the tree once more, pressing a hand against it without hesitation. The feeling of warmth, love, and home was present, a sensation he hadn’t felt since… 

His breath caught in his throat. He knew this tree was born of the souls of those lost in Teldrassil. He had lost so many friends there, and the only family he had ever known for the vast majority of his life. It had to be…

“...Grandma, grandpa?”

The tree glowed beneath his touch.

@daily-writing-challenge

[dicenne]

November DWC Day 7 - Dream

No photograph nor verbal description of the Emerald Dream could ever do it justice, this was something everyone needed to see first hand for themselves. Dicenne had a good excuse to do so, as with other campaigns he would go and offer his blacksmithing services to help with repairs for broken weapons and armor. He had brought his own armor and weapons too, just in case.

He had been an on and off member of Talonoa’s mercenary crew for years now. After having spent so much time in the military, it was difficult to completely give up that lifestyle, and a mercenary crew suited him much better. The majority of the group were ex-military themselves, so it operated in a similar, albeit less strict manner of what he was already accustomed to.

Dicenne had set up his camp with them, focusing first on their repairs and then wandering about the other mercenary units to see if anyone needed his services. Despite never asking for gold, doing this had become quite the profitable endeavor. Mercenaries were great about tipping, and often followed up post-campaign with visits to his shop to get more repairs or new weapons.

One late evening, he found himself lounging near the communal fire with eyes focused upwards on Amirdrassil herself. She was a thing of beauty for certain, and born of the souls from her predecessor. A fresh start for the Kaldorei. It made him wonder if maybe the Sin’dorei should have done the same with their own city; while not all of Silvermoon had been destroyed by the Scourge, the memories that clung onto that place were difficult to move past at times.

His gaze fell onto the only remaining member of the crew still up and looking towards Amirdrassil with a thousand-yard stare. With the way the fire and shadows highlighted the half-Kaldorei’s angular jaw and shape of his nose, it was easy to see the resemblance to the young man’s father. He was never actually told that Garren was Xylaes’s son, but the observant could easily figure it out.

“You were there, right?”

Garren’s eyes drifted down to look at Dicenne, giving a slow nod of his head. There was no need to question what ‘there’ meant in this situation, it was obvious he was speaking of Teldrassil.

“I’m sorry for what you had to go through. How are you, are you doing okay here?”

Garren shrugged out of habit, but eventually spoke as his gaze drifted skywards once more. “I’m afraid of what will happen to us if we can’t save the tree.”

Dicenne nodded in agreement, “Me too, but I have faith. Practically the entire world wants, no needs, to see this all succeed, and I think we will.”

“How can you be so optimistic?” 

It was Dice’s turn to shrug. “Better than the alternative options, yeah? It’s not a belief that things will automatically get better, it’s a conviction that we can make things better.”

Garren offered a small smile in response, looking up once more. “My grandparents are a part of this. They died in Teldrassil, and now they’re here. I feel like I’m meant to be here too, with them. Together again.”

A part of Dice wondered if he spoke like this with Xylaes. Probably not. In a way, he almost felt guilty. “I’m sure they are very proud of you for being here and helping. You should be proud of yourself too, this is a huge moment in history.” 

The words clearly resonated with Garren, and shortly after the young elf excused himself for the evening, leaving Dicenne alone by the fire. In all honesty, the words had resonated with himself as well. He was never great at staying on the sidelines when he knew his friends could use his help. Maybe it was time he strapped his armor back on and threw himself into the fray.

@daily-writing-challenge @talonoa @xylaes @garrennorassin

[rylandfalkov]

NOVEMBER DWC DAY 2 - SUCCESS/SIN

Vixannya’s gallery itself was meant to warn against overindulgence in sin, yet the afterparty explicitly promoted A LOT of sin. It was all on purpose, of course, that was her brilliance. At least no one died, although surely quite a few felt like death when they awoke the following morning or afternoon. Thankfully, Ryland was still young and spry, so alcohol and drugs didn’t readily leave their lasting effect on him for very long.

The first half of the night was strictly for work, so he chose not to indulge as that would hardly be conducive to performing on various aerial apparatuses. He enjoyed showing off on the lyra and the pole, and then later partaking in some fun for those playing voyeur in the peep shows. Envy truly was the perfect sin for him to represent, whether it was making others want to be that other person with him, or even want to be him. Which, in retrospect, was ironic given he had spent the first half of his life wanting to be someone else.

The latter half of the night was spent committing just about every other sin. When he woke up butt naked in Vixannya’s bed he wasn’t surprised, even if he didn’t remember actually getting from Point A to Point B. Sera was there too, and…some other nude form he didn’t quite recognize. Totally normal.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he wandered into her kitchen and helped himself to the cup of coffee waiting for him. Annya herself was already awake, looking somehow perfectly rested and not at all hungover. There were a few other sleeping bodies scattered about in various states of undress. Really just like any other gallery ‘after-afterparty’ he attended. No one would ask questions, what happened, happened, and would never leave this flat.

Annya ruffled a hand through his hair, “You’re looking better than last time.”

“Am I? Not sure I’m feeling better. You really outdid yourself this time, an absolute success”

She simply smirked into her mug before taking a sip. She knew. “You drew quite the crowd in those peep shows, you know. Thought I was going to have to start hosing them down.” A brief pause before she turned to look out towards her living area, “Speaking of hosing down, help me throw these strangers out? They can go sleep off their hangovers elsewhere.” She flicked her fingers towards the mass of after-afterparty guests. “If you get Sera to help I’ll have you boys pampered for the rest of the day.” “Yes ma’am!” Annya truly was an excellent sugar mama.

@vixannya @serazhen @daily-writing-challenge

[rhysgoodwin]

November DWC Day 6 - Expectation

It had been some time since Rhys had socialized with any of his fellow Tarts. There were a lot of new faces he had never met, who no doubt had no idea he was a ‘behind the scenes’ member of the troupe. He picked things up and put things down, and helped to build various props and set pieces for the performers. It was a rare occasion to find him helping at any events due to his rigorous work schedule on the farm, but he was well overdue for some socializing and Dicenne’s Harvest Celebration was just the event for it.

There was a moment prior to his arrival where he almost turned around and left, worried that he wouldn’t fit in or that there would be too many questions about Aurelia. While on paper she was the daughter of the family he worked for, the Padleys, in reality she was Mrs. Padley and Rhys’s own daughter. It was quite the scandal among the farms in Elwynn Forest, but the more he learned of the local drama, the more he realized this was quite typical. Apparently attractive, young farmhands often found themselves the target of the wives of Elwynn Forest. 

The squeeze from the small hand held within his own gave him the courage he needed to keep going, and he was glad for it. Everyone was so welcoming and had no expectations, and while some may have raised their eyebrows regarding him having a daughter, it wasn’t because they were being judgmental, but only because they had no idea in the first place. She was quickly accepted into the Tart family and made fast friends with Lynesse’s similarly-aged son, Ash.

After dinner, the two sat together in a nearby grassy area where Aurelia introduced Ash to a local bunny family by name that she had just met, while Ash made the grass grow longer for their new furry friends to munch on simply by asking it politely to do so. Everyone had found it endearing, but also quite intriguing since the duo clearly displayed some serious prowess in magic. 

This was the first time that others had questioned his daughter’s skills, wondering if she was able to commune and understand all animals. Is that what she was doing? Is that what he had been doing? He always felt a kinship with the farm animals that he took care of, often finding them easier to ‘understand’ than most people. Not to mention they usually did what he asked of them. Was that magic? He just had assumed he was always good with animals and had passed that compassion down to Lia. She had a tendency to attract animals of all varieties, and Rhys had never feared them bringing harm to her.

Maybe he wasn’t as completely useless as he had felt for so much of his life. The orphan boy who couldn’t even speak until the age of ten, was never adopted, failed most of his studies; he never had much confidence in himself and could do nothing right. Until now. He did at least one thing right, and she was perfect.

@daily-writing-challenge @dicenne @gloamingdawn

[taricdarkmorn]

NOVEMBER DWC DAY 5 - STRANGE & FLAME

The Emerald Dream truly was a green thumb’s paradise, and Taric couldn’t resist answering the call. No matter how much he tried to pull away from the dangerous areas and the fighting, this particular campaign had proved far too tempting for him. The Emerald Dream had always been out of reach for the vast majority of the world, so the opportunity to see it in its full glory, along with a World Tree, would be silly to pass up.

He entered and set up camp with Red’s crew, although made certain to let them know he would not be participating in battle this time. The man wasn’t a fighter, he could fight, but he preferred only doing so in self-defense. He was strictly here to study the foliage and collect samples and seeds to hopefully use for alchemy purposes. The same plants existed within the Dream that also existed in that particular part of the waking world, yet they were at the same time strangely different. 

The first time he went to gather a sample of hochenblume, the entire plant jumped out of the ground and scurried off, leaving him confused and honestly a bit hesitant to try that again. Clearly the plant did not enjoy that one bit. Future possible samples would be given a little shake prior to taking any snippings, just in case.

When not out collecting, he made and distributed potions and salves to not only the crew’s camp, but to others in need as well. He had a bit of healing Light magic he could perform on smaller wounds and was more than happy to aid in the menial tasks so the fighters could get enough rest.

The thought of being set ablaze by Fyrakk’s shadowflame was always lingering in the back of his mind, but after spending time within The Maw, this felt like a cakewalk. Of course, he never traveled further north to witness the full spectrum of horrors, but seeing the wounded and weary return told him more than enough. As easy as it was to get lost to the Dream’s beauty, failing here meant everything would fall to flame.

@daily-writing-challenge

[karaamberlight]

NOVEMBER DWC DAY 4 - ATTENTION

Fingers ran along the thick coat of Shabby, the once stray cat, now completely settled into his domestic life within the small Silvermoon City apartment. Kara’s foot bounced to the Winter Veil music playing from her record player as she occasionally sang made-up lyrics towards Shabby himself about what a good and fat boy he was. She had finished decorating weeks ago for the holiday, and honestly considered just leaving it up all year long since colorful lights and the baked-goods scented candles were absolutely her aesthetic.

Although all of that came to a screeching halt when there was a sudden knock at the door. Kara stilled completely as her attention darted towards the closed and locked door, slowly reaching for the record player to turn the music down. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, and while it was likely something or someone completely harmless outside that door, she couldn’t help the spike in anxiety that suddenly took hold. Pressing a finger to her lips, as if Shabby would know what that meant, she stood up and tiptoed over to peek through the peephole.

No one was there, but maybe someone could still be there just hiding out of sight. She kept her gaze plastered to that peephole for five minutes….ten minutes. Still nothing. Surely whoever was there had left by now. Fingers curled around the pepper spray she kept on a nearby shelf, then unlocked and swung the door open in one quick swoop. Eyes darted left, then right, and then down at…

Flowers?

Her nose wrinkled in confusion as she set the can of pepper spray back on its shelf and picked up the bouquet of shimmery violet and white flowers arranged within a Winter Veil vase. The door was shut and locked, unlocked, then locked again just for good measure before she walked the flowers over to her table. The card was plucked from its holder and in fancy script read:

‘You’ve always been my favorite Amberlight. ~Your Secret Admirer’

Her cheeks flushed as she pressed the note to her chest, the anxiety now completely gone and replaced with something much happier and warmer. “Shaaaaabbyyyy, did you buy me flowers?” Said in a singsong voice as she looked around for the cat, who was now on the table chewing on the flowers. “Shabby, no! Silly boy, those are not good for you!” The cat was scooped up off the table and promptly spun about the living space with her as she danced to the holiday tunes.

This was going to keep her in good spirits for days to come!

@daily-writing-challenge

[polluxhale]

November DWC Day 4 - Attention

tw: brief murder in 1st paragraph

Pollux silently emerged from the shadows behind the Druid of the Flame currently protecting and shielding the flame ward, covering the druid’s mouth with a gloved hand from behind while expertly driving his dagger into the jugular. It didn’t take long for the druid to fall dead at his feet, at the exact same time three others did as well, thanks to the rest of Pollux’s team.

The four members of the Elite Forces placed explosives along the ward before stepping back to shoot a flare up into the air, signaling it was safe for Alexstrasza to destroy the final ward. The four melded back into the shadows and headed towards their rendezvous point a safe distance away from the incoming blast.

“That was easy.” Gaz remarked as they watched Alexstrasza ignite their explosives with a breath of flame, destroying the ward in a fiery eruption.

“They’re unorganized…” Pollux’s attention darted up towards the sky in search of other dangers, mainly Fyrakk. Unorganized, yes, but also completely unpredictable which made the whole situation extremely dangerous. He prided himself in often being able to predict what his enemies might do, but with this particular one it was almost impossible.

“Do you think it’ll work?”

The portals to the Emerald Dream had been blocked for nearly a week at this point, no one was able to enter and no one was able to leave. Supplies had been cut off, as had any extra aid. It wasn’t a good position to be in, but eventually a possible solution had been found. It was now or never, especially since Fyrakk had become more and more agitated with impatience. There was no telling what he would do next.

“It’s all we have right now, so let’s just hope the portal goes back up and reinforcements are able to get through…in time. If not, we’ll go to plan B.”

“What’s plan B?” Baen smirked at Pollux, almost anticipating the answer. Pollux grinned in return, flourishing daggers in both hands, “Today is a good day to die, my friends.” With a sharp whistle, four dragons emerged from the skies and landed just long enough to pick up their respective riders before heading back towards the battlefield. It was time for him to get his hands extra dirty.

@daily-writing-challenge

[theconstructsworld]

NOVEMBER DWC DAY 3 - INSPIRATION

Wherever there was war and strife, one could also find The Construct. He was drawn to conflict like a moth to a flame, yet for much of his life he remained somewhat neutral; preferring to observe rather than fully partake. The Emerald Dream was not undiscovered territory for him, the peculiar man had a way of being wherever he wanted to be, whenever he wanted to be there. After observing a dryad shift her body between the two planes of existence, he replicated her actions, much to her surprise. It seemed like such a simple task, yet the Dream was still a mystery to most. 

Until now.

Mortals showed up in droves through the opened portal to aid the cause, or to simply witness something they may never see again in their lives. He could not blame them, the draw of the unknown was always tempting. This is how Azeroth would look if these beings had never altered her surface in the first place, or what she may return to one day. It was endless, timeless, and intangible in ways the majority could never fully grasp. In some ways, he felt at home here.

But it wasn’t just this one perfect vision of Azeroth; there were layers upon layers of unfinished terrain and flawed pieces. It took The Construct some time to realize what he was looking at, and that not everyone was able to perceive the seemingly infinite layers. Some of these objects within these layers almost did not appear real, as if someone was molding them from clay and lost inspiration, stopping halfway through: A river ending abruptly against a flat surface that was possibly the start of a mountain, trees left on their sides, rolling hills giving way to absolute emptiness. 

It was bewildering, and the harder he looked the more confused he became. Amirdrassil did not exist in any of these other layers, she was only specific to this ‘finished product’ that everyone could see. Yet she was new to this world, and everything else here felt so ancient and fashioned in a very selective way. Curious.

Eventually he would try to find his answers, but for now he kept his focus on the field of battle. He found himself wandering the charred fields with a troubled crinkle in his brow. Someone or something had spent so long perfecting this spirit plane, yet these interlopers had no issues in setting it all aflame and burning away the artistry; all for the promise of gaining immortality. The fools. Death was excusable, but disruptive of things in which he found true beauty? Disgraceful.

The large ball of flame came hurling towards his chest unannounced and nearly unnoticed, but was easily absorbed into the bare flesh of an extended hand. Fools indeed. Those piercing eyes flashed gold and before the camp of the Druids of the Flame he had happened upon could react, they would suddenly find themselves transported to one of those other layers within the Dream. One of the more barren ones, just for good measure.

The Construct smiled to himself and continued his trek onwards with the camp nowhere to be seen, as if it had never existed in the first place. It was time to get a closer look at this World Tree.

@daily-writing-challenge

[xylaes]

November DWC Day 3 - Unresolved

This was quite possibly the best that Xylaes had felt about himself in a long time. Yes, the situation within the Emerald Dream was rather dire, his relationship with Garren was rocky at best, and there was a lot of unresolved conflict with Fiorenze, but dammit he felt useful again. After so many losses, it was definitely a win in his book! 

He had already spent a handful of years as a part of Talonoa’s mercenary crew, but had never really found his niche with them until this particular campaign. The Shadowlands was a hot mess, everyone could agree on that, even if all of that had led to him finally reuniting with his son, Garren, and having more time with his late wife, Callia. However when it came to the mercenary work, at that time he was considered untrustworthy and unreliable thanks to excursion alone into Maldraxxus. The heart wanted what the heart wanted, and he would have likely made the same choice today even with everything he knew that would happen. Getting captured by the House of Constructs and having an arm replantation had been worth it in the end; at least that’s what he told himself. The trauma it caused is another story, but that is neither here nor there.

He had finally worked himself into Talon’s good graces, and the retired Argent actually saw his potential and willingness to be challenged. Xylaes was given more missions, more scouting, especially in some of the more dangerous areas because he could handle it. This is what he was accustomed to, and what he had trained for during his days in the military. This was absolutely where he belonged, not working in some brothel and slowly wasting away between the legs of the rich who wanted to have a go with a ‘hardened criminal’ because it felt taboo. Fieldwork had always felt like more of a home to him than any actual living space ever had.

Plus, he had his son here with him. He had never seen Garren this focused before, but he knew why. Everyone knew what this meant to all of the Kaldorei, and Xy would do everything in his power to ensure Amirdrassil would have safe passage into the real world.

He had been away from the main encampment for about a day now, returning early in the morning to deliver his report to Talonoa before retiring to his tent. There was a small box waiting for him, with a note that read ‘Enjoy!’. This was Fio’s handwriting, and within the box was a rainbow chip cupcake - his favorite. Huh. Maybe she had gone to Fancy Cakes the other night and left this for him like she used to. He smiled to himself and dropped his pack before heading over towards the communal area to see who was up and about, and luckily she was there.

The two had a brief exchange where he thanked her for the treat and she mentioned it was for his birthday. Right, it was the end of November wasn’t it? Not that he had celebrated the occasion in decades anyways. It was just another day as far as he was concerned, but he also hadn’t realized it was already almost December. This also meant that he had definitely missed her birthday as well, which wasn’t unusual for him. A pretty purple seed he had found in his journeys was offered with a belated birthday wish and the two parted ways. A brief, but pleasant exchange.

He was tired, he was dirty, and he was 100% in ‘war mode’ while out here, leaving him oblivious to her body language and tone, and focused only on the task at hand. They had a lot to talk about still, but this was neither the time nor the place for it. Surely she was on the same page.

@fio-renze @talonoa @garrennorassin @daily-writing-challenge

[tazindrox]

November DWC Day 5 - Strange/Flame

tw: burn wound, death mentions

Tazindrox rubbed the healing balm onto his charred scales with a wince; sure, the scales aided in protecting him against a variety of attacks, but being splashed with lava was definitely not ideal in anyone’s book. This would leave behind some sort of scarring no doubt, something he was no stranger to in his Dracthyr form. Silently he wondered if it would transfer to his Visage form as well. This would be his first ‘major’ injury since the Dracthyr were released and had discovered their ability to choose a more ‘human-like’ body. Would the new scars now stay, or would they disappear like his others? He would find out soon enough.

For now, they could all revel in the fact that the massive lava serpent, Volocross, was dead. It was a tense and HOT battle, being constantly surrounded by and trying to dodge flame and lava. Others weren’t as lucky, and Taz counted his blessings that his own misfortune wasn’t any worse. He had seen some of his own brethren getting knocked into the moat of lava. Nothing would ever be found of them, and he could only hope that their deaths were swift.

Setting the balm aside. he stood and put weight on the leg; not great, but he could fight if needed. The healers would get to him a bit later, he was low on the triage totem pole and they were already working overtime. In the blink of an eye, he was now standing in his Visage form, eyeing where the fresh wound once had been. There was nothing there. His skin looked pristine despite the burning pain still emanating from it. How strange. All of it was an illusion, after all, so of course there was no need to display any blemishes.

But could he if he wanted to? He had seen others in their Visage forms with scars, had they received them in that form? It was all a big mystery to him, and likely to the majority of the others as well.  He was the one that chose this form, completely free of scars and any other distinguishing mark that might be seen as an imperfection. Had that been a conscious choice, and why?

He rubbed a hand over where the burn scar should be, face twisting briefly in pain. He wasn’t sure if he liked this, but he didn’t know how to make the wound appear on this form. Pulling out the small notebook from his pocket, he flipped the pages to a certain section and made a quick note for himself, among the dozens of others that had been written there over the past year. There were still so many questions, still so much left unknown. Questions for another time when the World Tree, and his leg, weren’t burning.

@daily-writing-challenge

[tristennedarkmorn]

November DWC Day 2 - Sin

How he had missed all of this. The bright lights, The adrenaline, The roar of the crowd, And performing with… her.

It had been years since Red and Gabbrialla had performed on a stage together, and honestly over those years he had forgotten why they ever stopped. They were the perfect deadly duo up there; she the femme fatale with the killer vocals and legs that went on for days, and he the tattooed ‘bad boy’ guitarist that could outshred the best of the best.

It was all Gabby’s idea, she was the one that had secured the contract with Vixannya to perform at her 7 Deadly Sins afterparty, then reached out to Red when her usual guitarist had to back out due to ‘family issues’. Of course he would step in and help, he could never say no to her, and he rarely did. Once upon a time, these two could be found all over Azeroth gracing smaller stages with their talent to earn some coin before traveling onto the next location. While she had continued on with her career in singing, Red’s life had taken him far away from the stage for a variety of reasons - but damn it felt good to be back.

‘Nervous’ wasn’t really in his vocabulary, but there was a certain feeling of trepidation hanging above him prior to walking out onto that stage. There were a lot of nobles and upper class in this crowd, likely a few that could very well recognize him from his previous life. But it had happened so long ago, would anyone even care anymore? Would they even remember? Did he even care if they recognized him? Probably not. It was all just an excuse at this point.

It didn’t matter anyways, the feeling melted away the moment he stepped in front of the screaming crowd. As always, Gabbrialla immediately charmed them, making half of the audience fall in love with her. She had that effect on many, and Red certainly wasn’t immune. All of this felt good and natural, and having his entire crew and all his friends there to watch reignited something within that he thought was lost. 

It wasn’t until they had walked off stage and Gabby draped an arm around his waist that he snapped out of this euphoric trance. “There’s the old Red I remember. I think you made some fans out there.”

Red smirked down at the black-haired siren, resting his own arm around her shoulders, “Pretty sure you’re the one about to have dozens of marriage proposals.”

She grinned, not arguing that. “So, you wanna do it again?”

“Hmm?”

“Perform. Do you want to keep performing with me? You don’t have to quit your day job, I’ve just missed this.” Stepping in front of him, she batted those long lashes and wet those ruby red lips. “Plus, you’re the best at what you do, and I want the best.”

Damn her.

“I’ll think about it.”

Of course he would say yes, he could never say no to her and rarely did.

Mentions of @gabbrialla and @vixannya @daily-writing-challenge

[tristayranambrosio]

Inspiration - Unresolved DWC (Day 3) My world is hues of violet black and blue. Like inky tendrils they consume my every fading light as it is born and as I stretch the confines of my captors reach I find him drawing me deeper still. 

Some would think my situation helpless, hopeless, and impossible but I live as a spoiled devotee to my Dark God's divinity.  He is asleep beside me, and I realize only now that he clutches me in his sleep, insisting even unconscious that I never leave our mingling connection unresolved or unrequited like so many had left him in the past. I resolve in silent piety and devotions to him that I will never leave, that now that I know there is something more than the pain and cruelty in this world, there is simply no other way for me but to worship this God of dark and midnight whispers.

The hollow ache in my heart is numbed. The hurt… fresh stung and torn open fissures that once threatened to dismantle me gut me and pulped my very confidence into broken strings and ash on my tongue, the coating of my throat that strangled me, and ripped the Muse that lived within… all kintsukuroied by the fabric of night. His night. My broken pieces filled with all that he was, we are when there was no space between us. When Gravity at last dictates that we collide and I no longer feel the absence, the missing parts.

I can’t explain it… I marvel at the living breathing inspiration that shares my bed and only hours ago my breath, and heart… I am exhausted… my limbs are lead but my mind spins with the lyrics, the music, they collide like comets and burst into notes on staff. My fingers itch for quill and ink, for the strings, for the feel of her fractured Kintsugi neck on my palm so that the song doesn’t leave me, so the words don’t slip from my mind-

He stirs… his fingers tangle further in my hair and he coils around me tighter dreaming, I pray, of the life we���ve found within each other’s arms. He holds me still sleeping as if he would erase the space between us and graft his skin to mine or simply sink into my chest and breathe through my lungs, and I realize my Inspiration will not leave me not any sooner than the night would it’s stars or the darkness its light.

I sing the song he’s woken in me like a Lullaby and his body stills, he settles and breathes shallow and at peace. At rest…

The pen can wait until he wakes…     

( @daily-writing-challenge )

[vixannya]

AUGUST DWC DAY 2 - HORROR

Decades ago no one would have ever thought that Vixannya Ana’diel, bastard daughter of a well-to-do noble and his wife’s best friend, would become a famous and well-respected artist. Her birth had been all the commotion among the community for a while, not that it was unusual for nobles to have a mistress - but one certainly never spoke of it and especially never got them pregnant. It was all quite the scandal, and the perfect way for Vixannya to be introduced to the world, in her opinion.

In her youth, she had always been the ‘spooky’ girl that preferred skulls and the color black. She never had many friends, but would always stand up to bullies, even if they weren’t her own. While her mother never really understood her daughter’s obsession with death, she encouraged Annya to never be ashamed of her hobbies or likes. As long as it wasn’t hurting anyone around her nor herself, what did it matter?

She had discovered her fondness for art, specifically the horror genre, when she was still very young. Most of her teachers had tried to veer her away from the macabre, but Vixannya had inherited a large amount of stubbornness from her father, and even more free-spiritedness from her mother. She wanted to become an artist, and no one was going to tell her what she could or could not paint.

She would often display her work in smaller galleries, typically around Hallow’s End when that type of art was better received. Yet it was still too taboo for most to have art depicting the death of a historical figure or the death of someone still among the living hanging in their home, even if the paintings were beautiful. They would come and look, gasp over the bloody and gory details - some even looked offended and those were her absolute favorite - but then they would simply move on.

It wasn’t until one of her recent subjects was found brutally murdered in the same way depicted in her painting that she began to make headlines. He was from an old noble family, and just so happened to be one of Vixannya’s current lovers; not that it was public knowledge, at least not until the investigation began. Her art immediately made her a suspect, yet she had a very solid alibi. That didn’t stop a group of people assuming that she must have hired someone to do it, and yet again Annya found herself in the middle of a scandal. 

Exactly where she wanted to be. Soon after the second death occurred that had been portrayed in her work, everyone wanted a Vixannya Ana’diel original. Even more wanted to be captured by her brushes, whether or not they actually believed in her abilities. The attention brought her art front and center: The upper class loved to own scandalous things made by scandalous people. She had found her calling.

@daily-writing-challenge @inistellan - father

[rylandfalkov]

NOVEMBER DWC DAY 6 - SELFISH

Shallow, selfish, arrogant, a playboy. Yes, Ryland was absolutely one or a variety of those things to most people, and he was okay with those assumptions. Anyone that may have judged him by those covers easily outed themselves as someone not worth his time anyways. He had come a long way in a short amount of time; his younger self would have hated for anyone to think of him as any of those things. In fact, he preferred never to have any attention on himself once upon a time. Given his desire to be center stage now, no one would ever believe that today.

Growing up as a half-elf and living among the Alliance wasn’t an ideal situation, but he had no choice given his mother was a human and always preferred living in Stormwind. Back then it was a bit more taboo to be different, and while things had improved over the years there would always be some who never fully accepted the mixed races. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t ask for this, but now he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Much of his early life had been spent using glamours to hide his pointed ears and glowing eyes, ensuring he would fit in better with all the humans around him. It made life easier, but at that time in his life it was exhausting to maintain the illusion at all times. At one point the bullying had gotten so bad that he attempted to cut off the tops of his ears. It wasn’t his best idea, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and sometimes you need to do something really stupid to wake yourself up. He kept the scar in place as a reminder to himself that the horrendous pain just wasn’t worth it.

Today, he was a much different person. He was proud of his younger self for getting through all those hardships. He wouldn’t be the man he was now without him. He had witnessed first hand the ugliest side of humanity and came out the other side on top. He deserved and earned to show some shallowness, selfishness, and arrogance at times - even if that wasn’t who he really was deep down.

Those closest to him knew better, and he would have it no other way.

@daily-writing-challenge

[aerdendios]

August Daily Writing Challenge Day 1 - Beginnings

The papers were signed and the date was chosen: January 8th. It was still 4 ½ months away, but Aerden knew that it would sneak up on him in no time. This would be a day of new beginnings for him, the day he would begin his training to join the Elite Forces. It had been nearly six months since he was originally approached, and after a lot of thought and talking to his father Pollux, who had been a long time member in the Forces himself, he decided to go for it.

Training didn’t necessarily indicate that he would become a member of the Elite Forces, but the training itself would open new doors and opportunities for him even if he weren’t officially accepted into the highly selective program. It would be a grueling couple of years, both physically and mentally, and he had a very short amount of time to prepare. 

He needed to practically triple his training regimen and ensure that he had his empath abilities well under control. Of course, still being out in the field didn’t allow him that much free time, but at least here he could keep his abilities honed. Not to mention another soldier within the camp would be training alongside him, so they at least had each other to confide in.

The next obstacle: Telling everyone. He was fairly certain that anyone he wanted to tell would be proud, but he also knew his free time would become more limited than it was now. Pollux had told him that he would make lifelong friends while training, but he also mentioned that his relationships back home might suffer. That it would become harder and harder to relate to civilians until he was able to find balance. Balance for Pollux didn’t come until decades later, and well after the explosion that changed his life. For some, balance never happened.

As much as Aerden wanted to think that it would be different for him, he knew better than to ignore any of the warnings. Even now he already felt that draw of wanting to be back on the field when home for too long, that feeling of being useless while resting. It happened to so many of them. In the end, he knew he made the right decision, and was both excited and nervous for the new opportunity.

He gave a final glance down at the document in hand, lips curling into a faint smile at his signed name. It’s what his mother would have wanted for him, even if it did make him a little sad. The name had brought him far more pain than happiness, so it was time for a change.

Aerden Hale

@daily-writing-challenge @polluxhale