daily-writing-challenge

[daily-writing-challenge]

DWC #5 (May ‘25 Ed.)

@daily-writing-challenge

(Didn't really feel like I did a good job with this one but, here! Finale soon. I'll try and double-post it.)

Day 5: Restless Faith

The throne room was quiet, the only construction going on now was a few imps using some – surprisingly – quiet Goblin-tech floor polisher. The soft hum as the buffer slid over the obsidian flooring was all the ambience needed. Two figures stood before the throne, frozen in posture save for their breathing. The first one was short for her kind, she carried a hunch in the back, ‘lowering’ her to shy of seven feet tall. Her red skin was clad with a purple and grey bone-padded carapace that covered her torso, plate reinforced hooves and a leather-like textile for her legs that contained a myriad of pockets. Her bionic eyepiece whined as the internal mechanisms readjusted, breaking the monotony.

Her counterpart was taller. Much taller. Twelve-and-a-half feet tall, she stood proud. Large wings tucked in behind her as she stood split legged, four arms; two natural, two grafted on in foul, Fel alchemy, a hand replaced with silver, tucked beneath the wings. Her face was covered in two parts. A thin veil of fabric affixed to her horned helmet masked her eyes, while a metal neckpiece reached up, from collarbone to lips. The piece was a dull tin colour, each ‘link’ embossed with a rune.

The two stood in silence for only ten minutes, yet their statuesque posture made them seem like statues fished from eons ago, a silence that soon broke when a set of side doors opened, revealing the Warlock and her Webmistress. Senko had a long case underarm, polished and kept dust free as several padlocks clanged softly against it with each heeled step she took. Oonee, meanwhile, was dressed to the nines. A rucksack fixed to her back was the only thing to dissuade onlookers from thinking she was of Vol’dunai Royalty, if such existed.

The four met in the middle of the room, the long shadow of the Emerald Throne casted upon them. Senko’s face was taut. Her lips flat and thin, eyes wide and ears sharp. She felt the softness of Oonee slipping her hand into hers, settling her a bit as she addressed the two Man’ari.

“Ladies.” She started. “I do apologise for the disruption to your duties. I hope the urgency is noted.”

Verrith'zaa spoke up, the voice came not from her lips, but from the plating. “We are yours to command, Grandmistress.”

Verrith'zaa spoke coldly. Sure, Zunlara didn’t use any contractions and was a workaholic, but she still had a spark to her. Verrith'zaa, however, spoke only the words needed. She bore no accent from her days on Argus, nor any local inflections.

Zunlara pulled out three tablet-shaped objects. Some sort of slate, akin to the writings of the Trolls. She floated them across to Senko, in which their surfaces began to burn with runes and images – all in the same Fel green as most of the instruments within the Tower.

“Here are ze individuals I believe fit the criteria.” She announced, turning on her hooves to fully look at Senko.

The Warlock began to peruse the trio. The first one was a paladin, a human at some idyllic chapel in the northern woods of Elwynn Forest. She shook her head and dismissed it. Far too zealous, far too… Human for this. The next was an oddity. An ice troll on a small, seemingly uncharted island, between Zul’Drak and the Dragon Isles. Potential was there, yet the third caught her eye and drew a fanged smirk on her lips.

A Pandaren. An outcast. She dwelt at the bottom of a fissure in the Dread Wastes of Pandaria, a lair decorated with wood and amber. Reviled by her people, she was banished for Sha-based experimentations, or so the dossier said.

“This one.” Senko said, her claw tapping the tablet. “Lady Deadleaf. I trust you did your usual and left a rune nearby for quick teleportation, Zunlara?” Senko asked, coyly smiling as she took the tablet into her possession.

“Naturally.” Zunlara said, side-stepping out of the way. A runic circle, hidden in the obsidian flooring flared to life as fel channelled into it. “And you vill be pleased to know zhat, zere has been no issues vith ze teleporting.”

She gave a nod and walked to the circle, her wife still hand-in-hand, she looked back at the two Man’ari and smiled. “Zunlara, please go to my quarters and put the helmet and cloak in storage. Separate.”  With a fast step, Zunlara departed, Senko then spoke to Verrith'zaa. “Verrith'zaa, keep the workers in-line. Build me a tower worthy of my name.” Were the last words spoken. The rune flashed and zapped the two away.

Such an expenditure was costly. The asteroid was still in the early stages of being settled and resculpted. The tower shook, ash and dust shuddered off the framework as it groaned. The journey was long, the two Vulpera swam around in the stream for minutes. Teleportation was like swimming in thick air. Each breath was a fight; the pressure alone could force muscle aches or pop blisters. In the voyage, Senko thought back on how strenuous it must’ve been for the Orcs when the Dark Portal burnt through reality.

Oonee, meanwhile, seemed more at ease. Relaxed. Ever the diva, she softly turned around in the void, doing cartwheels and flips. Halfway through her performance, she winked at Senko before ‘diving’ into her, as the two collided, the portal spat them out. They adjusted themselves on the grass before looking around.

The sky was a dark, starless night. Frigid air and dense bushes. The grass’s shade nearly mirrored the blues of the sea around. Trees, thicker than any on Azeroth save for the World Trees, peaked up in the distance. After rattling her possession around to make sure it was intact, Senko gave a sigh of relief as she put the case under her arm and walked off, silently.

“Honey,” Oonee began to speak. “Do you want me to hold anything? You’re looking a bit… pale.”

Senko stopped in her tracks, with one hand holding the tablet to roughly guide the way on where to look for this Lady Deadleaf, and another clutching her casing, she didn’t really notice. She focused on her hand, not the overly zealous dossier pinched between thumb and index and gulped.

A bit pale, was the words Oonee used. Had it been Senko’s? She would describe herself as the child of a Yeti. Her fur was almost as white as snow. A gasp replaced her gulp as she nearly fell to her knees. She stumbled, wobbling around like a leaf amidst the breeze, before the firmer than usual hand of Oonee grabbed the collar of the robes.

“… The case, please. If you’d be so kind.” Senko said, offering it over.

Oonee took possession of it, holding it arm to arm like a dwarf would his rifle. She felt its weight before asking. “What exactly is in this? And why the-“ She paused, counting quickly. “Eleven locks?”

“It’s a great sword.” Senko answered, nonchalantly as she ran a paw over her face, softly slapping herself to get the blood pumping again.

“Senko, in what situation would you need a sword?” She asked, puzzled. Her head canted, ear flopping.

“… Would you believe me if I said half the reason was ‘because I wanted to have one’?”

“Well, yes.” Oonee replied. “Honestly that’s the best answer I could’ve asked for, but now I have to ask – what is the other half?”

No more secrets, Senko. Those were the words she thought to herself. “The other half is to apply corrective measures should a demon prove too hostile to remain on site. I had Faolin teach me some of the basics of domination magic.”

Oonee slowly blinked. A faint flush on her cheers appeared as she went to make a joke, stopping herself. “I was going to say something crass then.”

The two shared a laugh, for a moment, Senko’s fur began to recolour itself the butterscotch she was known for, only for it to fade.

“I dislike having it, truthfully.” Senko confessed, frowning at the case. “It’s a beautiful sword, but I feel… wrong for knowing such power, you know? Given we, as a people, were slaves.” She said, voice trailing off.

“Do you think it’s part of the reason you’re ‘haunted’ or something? A guilt you have for no reason?” She asked, diligently lugging the case.

“I don’t know. I had this done before I fought my mentor, it was a contingency plan – if I couldn’t kill him, dominate him. Anything to get rid of him.” Senko said, scratching at herself restlessly. “Loa above, it is hot here.”

Oonee raised a brow, even beneath the mask, it was visible. “Hot?” She asked, her fluff puffing up. “It’s freezing. Look, our breath is visible.” She said, puffing out an ‘O’ of air.

“… I’m well fucked, aren’t I?” Senko said, forcing a smile and a laugh.

A quick blow to the back of her head was delivered as Oonee caught the case again in her hands. She tutted.

“That isn’t you speaking, Senko. The one I know, and love, and cherish, wouldn’t let a set-back ruin her mood like this. What are you so fond of saying, again?” Oonee lectured, lovingly.

“There is always a way.” Senko said, huffing out. It was an eternal truth to her but saying it out loud felt cheesy.

“There we go! So have some faith in it! It’s not let you down so far, mh?” Oonee said, glancing at the dossier and walking forward, down into a crevice of the land. Ahead of them, in the folds of the land beneath a rotten tree, was an opening. The soft, amber light spilt out past the tiger skin covering the hole. A velvety smooth, soft trail of smoke danced out past the skin. The air begun to carry a sweet scent, of caramelised sugar – the smell of rainpoppies alight…

[daily-writing-challenge]

DWC #4 (May ‘25 Ed.)

@daily-writing-challenge

(So I know you fine individuals say late submissions are okay but, I'm starting to feel like I'm taking the piss. Please lemme know if you want me stop tagging for 5-7. <3 <3)

Day 4: Tremendous(ly) Dangerous

Oonee slowly lowered the nibbled pencil from her lips, gesturing towards Senko with it. Teeth marks lined the yellow-painted instrument as she swished it around like a magician’s wand. Her concern was replaced with a look of bemusement.

“Well, my love…” She started, a soft giggle leaving her. “Let’s be honest – we lasted this long without you being haunted, possessed, cursed or hexed. I think this is good going.”

Senko, unfortunately, couldn’t bring herself to laugh. She knew that Oonee was putting on a little act to bolster the mood, yet her mind, once again, trapsed off. At this point, she had considered a leash for how far the thoughts had wandered. She took a deep sigh and rubbed her eyes as she steeled herself.

Oonee winced at the edge of the bed as she closed her notepad. She sighed herself and smirked as she scooted up the bed, establishing her place in Senko’s lap. She ruffled the butterscotch fluff atop of the head and spoke:

“This is where you tell me something you kept hidden because you didn’t want to scare me, isn’t it?” She accurately predicted.

“Sometimes, I wonder if you’re a mindreader.” Senko teased back. “Or am I just that easy?”

“You’re my wife, Senko, I just have to bat my eyelashes, and you’d tell me.”  Oonee answered, using the pencil’s rubber to poke into Senko’s ribcage.

“Now that’s not true,” Senko interjected. “I would’ve done that when we were simple friends~.”

Oonee’s tone broke into a bit more of a firmer one as she sighed, sliding her glasses off. She looked up at Senko, still nestled in the lap. Her eyes narrowed and brow furrowed as she spoke once more.

“Sometimes… I wish I could believe that Senko. You’re always so fearful I’m going to leave you, or hate you, or something. You’ve told me far worse. I didn’t flinch when you spoke of Vol’dun now, did I?” She spoke, closing her eyes as she rested her brow onto Senko’s.

Senko returned the gesture, her arms tentatively closing around her wife. A lump had formed in her throat. To her, in that moment, it felt like a rock the size of her bed. She took in a deep breath, half of the air in the quarters, and half of the perfume that danced in the fibres of Oonee’s fur. Yet before she could speak, her wife added:

“If this-…”  She started, an arm sweeping around the room, “Is what you want your legacy to be – a citadel amongst the stars. A hub of knowledge and power, I will support you… But I cannot support you if you keep yourself so reclusive. You’re good at telling me things eventually, but I have to pry it out of you. Like how you wrestle with clams.”

Senko stiffened up, her heart began to race as Oonee shushed her.

“And no. Before you ask, because I am a mindreader after all~” Oonee teased, trying to lower the nerves. “We’re still the power couple of the world’s envy. I’m just… a touch annoyed, and you can fix that by fessing up. Now, come on. Tell.”

Senko began to fess up. The helmet, or crown, however regal Senko was feeling when retelling the story, had its origins well known. In the battle between her mentor, the fel-revenant, she used all manners of trickery and cunning to bolster her magical might into defeating and freeing herself. What she had kept to herself so long, was that her ‘inheritance’ – the regalia forged from his body, was infused with shattered soul of the beast himself.

The helmet was potent. It added a certain charm to her voice, a weight of authority here, a particularly sweeter tone in her compliments there. Senko’s tongue and her words, yet a voice of a soft duality. The Emerald Throne, a masterpiece of green-hued craftmanship, was his blood. Crystalised and polished, a magical focus like none other she had in possession. The cloak she had dance across her back was what passed as the “flesh”, cut off from the chest and head, stitched together in a macabre weave.

Senko had always been able to be firm with her words, a dominant personality when the situation called for it. She had lured her infernal workforce to her side with the arcane pools to sate their lust for power, and the helmet amplified her speeches. Yet now she feared. Were they truly on her side? What if her mind was weakened, she heard what she thought she said yet spoke something else. Words to entice the masses into acting against her.

Her thoughts after telling Oonee were shattered by the repeatedly snapping of fingers. “Wife to Wife, come in!” Oonee said.

Senko’s ambers flickered back into focus. “Sorry. Went on a five-minute introspective.” She said, giving a smirk grin.

Oonee let out a soft chuckle, her eyes rolling as her tongue rolled out to speak. “I said what are we going to do about it? Obviously, the answer is to-… disenchant? Purify? Exorcise? It, but I suspect you don’t want to lose the power or bragging rights over making an ancient evil your bitch~?” She probed.

“Once again, you’re correct.” Senko added, softly stroking the back of her wife. “Not every day one can claim that… I have a few people in mind who could help me. Granted, convincing them might be an issue. Frustratingly, they have morals I cannot buy.”

The two shared a giggle as Senko began to internally count the people who could help her. Her cult, or power base, was still juvenile. It was growing in its infancy. No more than five people across the world of Azeroth, more loose associates than anything, and what a motley crew it was. Her wife, a Goblin accountant, a Dracthyr that fell into Fel, a Murloc felblade and a stoic Man’ari. And to her wife’s dismay, they weren’t even in the cult stage of robes and regalia yet.

She looked back at Oonee and smiled. A warm curl of her lips as she gave her a peck on the forehead. A peck that turned into a kiss proper as Oonee directed the lips downwards. After the lovers unite, she brushed the grey tail and smirked.

“My eternal star, fancy a vacation?” Senko asked, a claw dancing in the tail fluff.

“And miss out on the drums?” Oonee asked, a hand to the heart, exasperated. An exasperation that fell off immediately. “Hell yes! The earmuffs are driving me mad. When we move in, I want our quarters to be soundproofed. No more drums, not even Pippy’s drumming.”

“Deal.” Senko said, smirking, she placed Oonee on the quilts as she stood up, straightening her robe. “I know you dislike having visitors whilst we’re in this, what did you call it?”

“The room? A drab rectangle with the palette of Orcish burial grounds with none of the romance.”

“Thank you. But I think it is wise if I don’t wear the gear for a while. Not until we get this fixed.” Senko said. “And that means even putting them in storage, I want a pair of hands to help carry.”

Oonee smiled at Senko. However, the smile was cold. Uncaring. Devoid of love and emotion, her eyes glazed over, lacking the warmth she had. The teeth began to thin into razors of bone-white piercers and the entire maw twisted unnaturally. A voice growled out.

“Poor-… ‘darling’, thinks she can escape us. Quaint. Cute. Pathetic.” The trio of voices came back. “Did you forget, apprentice?” The word was purred like a predator, turning to a hiss at the end. “You ate my heart. Greedy Vulpera, my power was too appealing to let rot in the floor.”

The voices laughed, a laugh that broke the hallucination. Oonee was off the bed, standing some five feet from Senko. Her eyes full of worry and her posture tensed, as if approaching a wounded animal. Senko wiped her face down with her palms. A pained sigh leaving her.

“It’s getting worse. I now see things.” Senko said, wearily.

She reached for her belt. A thick strap of leather, a palm in width. She popped open a belt pouch and took out a disc. A curious invention, it was mechanical with four structs underneath. Atop of it was concentric rings of silver and gold, set within the blackness of the metal. A thumb pressed on the circles. The sound was strange, a set of clicking and humming. A buzzing sound replaced the clicks as an image of a Man’ari came into focus.

“Mistress Senko, vhat may I do for you?” She asked, dipping her head.

The Man’ari was relatively average for her kind. Red skin, yet one couldn’t tell by the green sheen of the image. Her hair was kept up in a neat bun, decorated by silver strappings and a crystal in its centrepiece. Her right eye had long gone, replaced with a contraption with wires going out of it into the straps of her hair. Several scars ran from her lips down the chin.

“I require any of your files on anyone dealing with curse breaking and exorcisms. That is my only specification, Zunlara. Also, please do summon Verrith'zaa, she will be needed.” Senko requested, glancing at Oonee who had a smug grin on her face.

“I’m starting to think I need to wear stilt-heels and paint myself red to fit in with the rest of your staff, Senko~.” She teased, fully knowing that there wasn’t a single soul in creation that would get between the two.

“Eminent Webmistress,” Zunlara spoke up. “Based on vhat Senko has said about you, and vhat she has ordered, I can safely say, zhere is a zero percent chance she vill cheat on you.” She answered with, going back into a static position.

A pale blush crept on Oonee’s face, making the fur warm. “… Wait, what did she order?” She asked, swiping the device from Senko’s hand.

“Anyone vho mistreats you are to be punished in zhe harshest ways. Beyond zhe usual means we are allowed to.” Zun’lara replied, silencing herself.

“Aww, that’s so sweet, Senko!” Oonee said, in a bubbly tone. “Really am Queen of the Tower, mh?” She winked, leaning into her beloved.

Senko, smirking, cuddled back into Oonee. She turned her attention back to the call. “Please, meet us in the throne room. Do not delay.” She concluded, taking the disc and terminating the call. She pocketed it once more and rubbed her eyes. “Best pack a bag. I can’t imagine you want to stay in the same outfit for a week~.” Senko teased.

“And you best pack extra perfume if you’re keeping the ropes on that long, darling. And no brooding!” Oonee replied with, pressing a peck on her cheek.

“It’s going to be a tad dangerous; I won’t have time to brood.” Senko attempted to quell the concerns.

“Then you won’t mind if I will be at your side.” Oonee said.

“… Forever at your side.” The voices added.

[daily-writing-challenge]

Daily Writing Challenge, May 2025 Day 7: May 31 Punish / Infinite

It is a petulant cruelty to chain the infinite for their power. Like a child trying to cow it to lesser rule. Like punishing fire for its nature to burn, While you steal a spark of it to chase away the Dark. But a fire will ultimately burn at its bindings until it is free. And you will be left blind again to the long, merciless Dark. The only answer you ever had was to let the Dark Embrace you. And plead for the flame to consume. In this you burn away the weakness, For the promise that you will become strong.

{ @daily-writing-challenge }

[daily-writing-challenge]

You guys are the best, thank you for sharing your incredible writing, art and poems with us again — or for the first time!

We’ll be back in AUGUST!

[daily-writing-challenge]

DWC May 2025

Bonus Day! Snap/Armor

Many years ago in Halfhill during The Invasion of Pandaria...

Early morning, a lone pandaren walks along the weathered road, each step flawlessly landing on each worn rock as if memorized from years of taking this path. A gentle river winds through the jade hill like a serpent through grass. The humble man carries upon his back numerous pots and pans, a wok, tea kettle, a portable stove, and a simple wicker basket loaded up with groceries purchased down in The Jade Forest. The traveler greets Mrs. Redpaw with a smile and nod of his straw douli hat. She would offer a smaller smile, though her brow furrowed in concern. "Little Pao! Thank goodness you are here!" The moniker was an affectionate one as he was anything but little. He receives the older lady as she clings to his arm in pleading. "Eh? What seems to be the matter Mrs. Redpaw?" Her white markings on her brow pulled together as she tried to collect her thoughts, not wanting to raise her voice too much lest she draws attention. Her copper eyes keep darting over to the local tavern. "Pao Pao... There is this man over in The Lazy Turnip causing all kinds of trouble... He is a soldier from The Horde. We heard there was an invasion on the shores of Krasarang earlier this week, but he's the first we have seen of his kind out here." Her grip in his silk sleeve tightened as her worry grew. "Please, you must deal with him! I'm scared their aggression will draw out The Sha in our village!" The dark patches under his eyes sunk at the severity of the situation. Despite knowing this, he simply smiled in turn to her and laid a solid paw on her slender shoulder. "It will be alright. I will take care of this Horde soldier. You have my word." The smile on her face was a relieved one now. She knew he of all people would be able to quell this quarrel.

The pandaren wandered up the hill, the steps slick with dew as he entered the village proper. Many villagers watched from their porches and some children clung to each other. A small cub hugged her cloth dolly as her mother shielded her to her robes. The town was quiet, save for the hushed tones of onlookers and the raucous noise that came out of the tavern. He ducks his head low and enters the rounded archway to see a small green man in foreign armor. The tabard on his body was of some strange sigil resembling a horseshoe and the bright crimson colors contrasted with the green ears poking out the sides of his helmet.

"Aww, waddaya mean ya ain't got roasted pig?!" The irate soldier barked out to the waitress. She tries to placate the man offering him a bowl of mung beans and some chilled garlic noodles, the aroma of the simple dish alluring. He abruptly back hands the dish off the counter, sending it flying as it smashes to pieces on the bamboo wall. "No ya crazy broad, I don't want flippin' noodles! I needs meats! I can't keep my strength up eating this noodle crap!" She shirks away, on the verge of tears as she ducks down below the counter. The chef tries to intervene now, raising up a cleaver before the Horde soldier produces his iron cudgle and begins bashing the wooden bar. "Oh! You think yous gonna be a hero now! I'mma show you nitwits why ya don't mess wit da Horde!" Before the situation could escalate to violence, the wanderer speaks out in a firm voice. "Stop right there friend!"

The tavern goes silent. Nobody moves for a tense moment. The tiny soldier then turns around, his arm still raised up with the beatstick. He pulls down his crude wooden shield and hops down from the seat in a steady advance towards the traveler. "Oh ho ho! Now that's what I'm talkin' about! Some lamebrain is gonna come in here and act like theys got the nerve to tell us who's in charge?! Ha!" He taunts the man in a cackle as he presses on, his weapon kept at arms distance. "Please, we don't want any violence in our humble town. Not only does your emotions manifest as The Sha, but such feelings are also bad for the soul." The soldier pauses his march a moment to let out a boastful laugh at those words. He even goes so far as to slap his knee in amusement at such a claim. "Wahahah! Oh oh man! Thanks for that bud, I haven't had my ribs tickled like that since Saturday nights at The Tail!" The pandaren takes a cautious step backwards as the tiny soldier continues his march. The two begin to walk out of the tavern and into the open marketplace as the crowd stays a safe distance away. "Listen here bud! I don't believe in all that Pandaren mumbo jumbo Sha crap! We are here to crush The Alliance and to claim these lands in the name of The Horde! Any Sha or tubby bear like all of you is no match for our military might! Any day now, The Kor'kron will be marching up through these lands, and you lousy, fat, good-for-nothin' bumpkins will be praisin' us for bringing order to this join!" Around the small man's armor, a glowing aura of shadows and white light begins to radiate out of him. His pride and violence starts to manifest into a Sha and fuels the man as he now wildly swings about his truncheon, threatening the would-be hero. The wanderer holds his paws up, empty handed in surrender as the soldier closes the distance. "Now! Apologize to me before I bash your idiot brains in and knock that stupid hat right off your big, fat-"

He takes another wide swipe of his club towards the receding traveler and suddenly finds himself losing his footing and words as he falls forward, pratfalling to the muddy ground! He blinks in disbelief. Did he just trip in front of this man. He could have sworn he felt his arm grabbed and his body pulled forward, but he didn't see it happen. No one is that fast. The children watching giggle at the silly soldier as his armor and tabard are now coated in muck. "What the... I.. I tripped you fools! These dirt roads are nothin' compared to Orgrimmar!" He gets up, a bit dazed now. The aura of darkness around his begins to disapate now as he tries to regain his confidence. "I'll show ya barbarians what's so funny here!" He turns his aggression to the wanderer once more and begins to bash his shield with the beatstick, drumming along in taunting as he draws near. Thump! Thump! Thump! The steady marching and showboating draws near. The pandaren watches carefully, studying the rhythm of his opponent becoming one with those movements. Paws still held up in surrender, another mishap occurs.

Suddenly the soldier's shield and club drop to the ground with a loud clang as the man stands paralyzed in pure shock. The front of his visor is now crumpled in a singular point. Crimson begins to quickly run down the vents of his damaged helm as he drops down on his seat and grips at his covered face, a muffled scream of agony coming out now. The crowd winces at the sudden violence, the mother shielding the eyes of her daughter and covering her ears. The pandaren keeps his paws up, though his right paw now is holding up only two claws stiffly together. He speaks out calmly to the shriveled up soldier as he desperately tries to remove his helmet between sobbing. "My friend, you can not have such anger in your heart. We are good people who want only peaceful lives. Why do you come to our lands with war and hatred in your hearts? We are all neighbors here. Why not choose the path of peace and acceptance like we have?" The man rocks back and forth in excruciating pain, finally pulling off his helmet. His azure hair is in a disheveled mop strewn about his sweating face. He clutches at his mouth as his lip in split and spits out the shattered pieces of his bloody tooth. A masterful strike, only his upper right canine was vacant in his mouth. A tactical touch mean not to kill him but to deter any more violence. His mind buzzed with white hot anger. "My toot! Ya bafterd! Ya meffed up my fmile! ARGGH!!" He winces as he covers his face, more blood spilling out over his gauntlets. His violet eyes dilate as his pride is harmed as well. He bolts up swiftly, his judgement clouded in taking out this peasant.

He takes a lunge at the man, his full body thrown in with every ounce of strength. He then catches the faintest glimpse of Pao's eyes glinting under his straw hat. He could see in those jade green eyes a practiced gaze. He anticipated the goblin's moves, thoughts, and actions. Every attack was planned and read. Even his last ditch attempt to tackle the man. Time slowed down. He could see the pandaren's paw move at impossible speed. Faster than his plush body should be capable of. His chest is flat-palmed by the pandaren. The colors of the village and people swirl around as he is spun around. The ground is skyward. The sky is downward. Wind rushing. Mind disoriented. Breath escapes his lungs. He now finds himself submerged in crisp, cold water, the sounds of cheering and laughter drowned out. He breaches the river's surface and coughs out, clinging to a log as air fills his lungs once more. "y-y-youf funnuva-" The wanderer calls out from the top of the hill down to the goblin. "Be respectful! There are children and women present!"

Pao nods in satisfaction as the minor threat is dealt with. Mrs. Redpaw walks up to hug his arm in appreciation. "Oh thank you, thank you so much Pao Pao!" He smiles and gives her a gentle hug. "The Shado-Pan will always protect our people. You will never be alone, for we are always watching from the shadows." He readjusts the loops of his basket and gives it some thought. "Though we could use a few more fresh vegetables from the marketplace." Mrs. Redpaw beams happily, ushering in the townfolk to celebrate the victory and gather up fresh produce for the unassuming warrior. As they make their way down to the farmer's market, Pao waves them off. "Just a moment please!"

His soft footfalls walk down the slick grass of the hill, his poise unbreakable despite his massive weight and the dewy hillside making ascent near impossible for the goblin to crawl his way back up. The bleeding man glances up to the Shado-Pan, his eyes in disbelief and his pride shattered. He shirks away a moment, fearful the man is here to finish the deed. Instead he finds a gentle smile and an open paw, offering to help him on his feet. "Come now, you look miserable little one. We will treat your wound and get you dry. We will even feed you some delicious sour tofu soup." The man stares in disbelief. He had never seen someone act with such honor. He pulls away from the man and unsteadily kneels up. "Howf youf moffed like ffat? I couf barfly fee youf!" The man chuckles softly and helps the goblin stand up now that he is decidedly defeated. "If you want to learn our ways, then come train with us at The Wall." The goblin's eyes darted about skeptically. He still clung to his mouth wincing in pain as the pandaren lead him up the hill by his elbow. "What is your name little one?" The goblin blinks blearily to the Shado-Pan as they ascend the hill, the sun now breaking out over the jade valleys that sprawled out past Halfhill all the way down to the grand wall far off in the distance. He covers his mouth and in broken words says "My namef Ruffell..." The lets out a little laugh at his funny speech. "Well 'Ruffell', you have a lot to learn from us..."

( @daily-writing-challenge )

[daily-writing-challenge]

May DWC 2025

Day 2: Placate / Graceful

“Ther?” Aneyah asked, her already soft voice barely a whisper above the crackle and hum of the little keyflame that kept the darkness surrounding their camp away during Beledar’s Shadow, “Something has been bothering me.”

Theras’ ears quirked as he looked up from his sketchbook. Though she was not behind him, he reflexively placed a hand over his unfinished work, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, “No, not at all. I was just thinking of…” She trailed off, “There was some tension when last I brought our recovered possessions to Ryfus and your father.”

The ranger furrowed his brows, “What do you mean? Has something happened?” The flutter in the young man’s stomach irked him, yet it rose nonetheless.

She shook her head, the way her hair and earrings – small hoops of gold with a single crossbar, made to look like the symbol of the Sacred Flame – caught the light, a momentary distraction to the man, a shimmer of grace in the washed-out violet of the Shadow, “Nothing more than a disagreement over the Order of the Night. I’ve thought about what you said, about how…they’re scared.”

Theras sighed and set his sketch aside, leaning forward on his bedroll and wrapping arms around his knees, “And they disagreed?”

“Not in so many words. More, they were simply adamant that their shadows be burned away, regardless of cause or intention behind their deeds.” The golden light of her eyes dimmed as she shifted her gaze towards the ground, “I felt the same, until I’d…thought on it. Have I told you much about Wenren?”

A shake of the head in reply, “Just that he was a fine mage, the last of them that the expedition had. And that he was going to be a way home, until…” Theras trailed off, unwilling to dredge up further pain.

“He was a beacon, Ther. I do not know if he knew I felt so, but not a day goes by that the hurt is not there,” she whispered, closing her eyes, “And I felt nothing could placate it but hunting down those who did it. Because if the best of us have to live in fear of their daggers, why should they not fear our retribution?”

The ranger only listened, resting his chin on his knees now.

“But they kept their tinderboxes, the same ones we are taking back. They are symbols of hope, and of connection to the Flame,” she continued as she shifted her eyes towards the chest where the pair stored their reclaimed tokens, “Why keep them if they had lost all hope? They felt the dark creeping in, and when it frightened them, they wrapped themselves in it like a cloak.”

“One way to overcome fear is to inure yourself to the object of that fear,” Theras added, a question in his voice.

“So they embraced what they thought an inevitable end. Why fear the dark when it is all around you, and part of you?” She paused, “Ther?”

The ranger canted his head to the side, in that same birdlike manner as his father.

“What if we tried to show them new hope, not take away what little remains? Will you help me heal my people, Ther?”

@daily-writing-challenge (belated, with more to come)

[daily-writing-challenge]

DWC May 2025

Day 7 Punish/Infinite

A few months ago in Netherstorm...

Static breaks out on the intercom. "Kssh... Ruzzell do you copy?" The pilot clicks the button to his radio. "Mr. Luckheed! This is Goldgrin, reporting in Sir!" He yells out over the roar of the engines, his voice disciplined from weeks of flight drills. An amused laughter breaks on the receiver. "At ease there Ace. It's just you and me on this wavelength." He knew he didn't have to be overly serious about their communication, but he was dead set on earning his license with flying colors. He had already cleared several of the advanced flight courses around Netherstorm and this was his last trial. "Sir, I'm awaiting your instructions Sir!" A drawn out sigh communicated back before the older goblin's voice spoke once more. "Alright Pilot. Your final course today is the big one. You've learned a lot over these past few weeks. Time to put your training into action. Today, you will ascend into the Netherstorms and maintain a cruising altitude for no more than five minutes. You understand me?"

There was a pause. His heart was racing fast. The sprawling mass of violet nebulous clouds the region's namesake came from gathered high above the horizon. A massive blanket of void energies coalesced into storm clouds dead ahead. The sound of otherworldly thunder roared out louder than ever before, the flashes of light making his blood run cold. Despite his fear, he was determined. He needed this accomplishment. It was everything to him. "Ruzzell?"

"Sir! I read you loud and clear! No more than five minutes in The Netherstorms! Beginning ascent now!" From down in a watchtower in Area 52, 'Screaming' Screed Luckheed stands at the observation deck with his crew. He takes a sip of his coffee and watches the mini-zeppelin climb up at breakneck speeds right into the heart of the storm. "Copy that Ace. We are timing you.... Now!"

The airship began to rattle. The Khorium plating on the hull withstood the oxidation of the nether gasses that would eat away at Azerothian metals. Oils distilled from Nether Ray ambergris was applied to the rigid balloon that kept his rocket steady. The chains tethering the body of his ship to the float strained under the intense g-forces exerted as he broke through the turbulence overhead. Soon, all visibility would be obfuscated by hues of magenta, ultramarine, and midnight stratus. There was a haunting beauty to the world he was in now. The radio began to buzz and beep as a garbled voice tried to communicate. He presses the button once more to reply. "Repeat, did not copy your message!" The radio buzzes once more to no avail.

Suddenly a strong gust pushes the bow of the ship skywards and then a second blow knocks him to the side. The turbulence grows in violence as he finds himself caught in a vortex of netherwinds. "Turbulence is greater than anticipated! Attempting to stabilize to cruising speed!" The static is barely legible as the panicked voice tried to communicate to the pilot. "ksshh...s-s... des-cen... ow... ange...ous...zzl..." He grits his teeth as the hull begins to groan under the violent thrashing of his ship. He realizes that he might not be able to keep his vessel in control and buzzes the radio again. "Ground control, repeat! Did not copy! Conditions unfavorable but will keep trying! Almo-"

An explosion of light fills the nebulous cloud, highlighting his zeppelin for a brief moment before all communication is cut off from the watchtower. Luckheed drops his mug on the floor, coffee spilled and porcelain shattered as he grips the speaker. "Ruzzell! Abort the flight! ABORT! THE FLIGHT!" No response. Only more static. The crew of engineers watch onward, helpless to do anything in the moment. The air grew tense in the silence, save for Luckheed's attempts at communicating to his initiate.

Silence. Not the usual kind though. Unnatural. Like the kind you get when you realize you are in a place no one was meant to be in. The air, or rather lack of air was bone chilling. Voidfrost began to coalesce on his window. Static buzzed in his metal fangs. His lungs burned as he attempted to breath. His eyes and skin began to dry out into the pitch-black vaccum that surrounded him now. There was no external light. No sense of up or down. Gravity was at a standstill. The only point of reference he had was the flashes of lights from his control panel. Gauges spun out of control. The altimeter turned in erratic directions. The overhead air mask deployed in front of him and he immediately affixes it to his face, shielding his eyes in the visor and allowing fresh air to fill his lungs once more. The taste of o-zone filled his lungs for the first few desperate breaths as he tried to get his bearings. Where was he? What was this place? Where was the Netherstorm he was in. "Luckheed! Can you hear me Sir!" No static now. "Sir! I seem to be out of storm!" The silence hung heavy like a corpse. Then, all at once, the sensation of countless eyes was now witnessing him and his tiny airship. He looked around. The enveloping darkness seemed to be alive. A tinge of ultraviolet fringed around the edges of endless space. Then a twinkle of light. Then a dozen. Then millions of distant lights from unreachable depths all around. The outlines of floating islands of lifeless rocks hung out in the sea of nothing. Swirls of pure void energies flowed around the sky and below the empty space below. Streams of ancient chaotic abyss, never meant to be witnessed by mortal eyes flowed into timeless eons around him. From out on a singular boulder stood a lone figure, cloaked in more shadowy void save for their twin ghostly lights that gave a passing impression of eyes staring at him. Then came the realization that there were hundreds of other figures out on similar islands all looking out to him. Dread filled his heart upon seeing these beings. Then the empty blackness of the neverending space above would cast its twin dread stars of unliving light down in a gaze upon the miniscule airship and its pilot, not in addressing, but rather malicious amusement that such a creature would have the misfortune of ending up in a place like this. A whisper. Maddening. He can't make out its words, but he knew its meaning. What he witnessed and was within was but a part of something that was yet to come. Not just for him, but for everyone and everything. He begins to hyperventilate. The abyss laughed and grinned to his despair. And then lightning once more.

Suddenly he was back in the stormclouds, the emergency lights of his control panel all ablaze and neon sparks of static electricity danced across the hull of his ship. He grips onto the control stick, pulls down on the thrusters and jets down from the turbulent clouds down into the much calmer atmosphere below. The radio finally cuts back to clear panic on the other end. "RUZZELL DO YOU READ ME, OVER!!" He clicks the radio and replies over his mask. "Sir! I safely escaped The Netherstorm! There was an issue. I entered an unknown airspace. It was like The Twisting Nether but not the same!" A loud clamoring came from the receiver as a chorus of cheers came out. "Ruzzell, you are to return to Area 52 for immediate evaluation! You were up there for nearly an hour!" The realization that he was gone for far longer made his hair stand on end. What the hell was that place and what were those things he witnessed.

Landing back into the airfield, Ruzzell undergoes extensive questioning by researchers and engineers. A medical and psychological evaluation is undergone. A grand celebration takes place shortly after as Area 52 welcomes in their newest certified zeppelin pilot. He looks over the new tabard and placard given as Luckheed gives him his hard-earned honors and license but his mind still seems to linger on the events that had just transpired. An uneasy smile, he nods in appreciation. "Thanks... I'm looking forward to flying passengers anywhere now..."

( @daily-writing-challenge )

[daily-writing-challenge]

Daily Writing Challenge (May 2025)

Day 6 / May 30

Negative / Relic

@daily-writing-challenge

The Silverlight estate had long fallen since the day the dead came and marched a blighted path through Eversong, a ruined eidolon of the rich walls and lives that once inhabited it. The once golden fountain that crowned its welcoming courtyard was all that really retained shape now, dilapidated walls sunk or crumbled in on themselves, leaving only foundational doorways.

Still, its last survivor came to visit each week, bound to guilt and the urge to reclaim what had been lost. Alinora craved an opportunity of worth that would give her name precedence to Silvermoon again, as well as her lost family. Something to lift her out of servitude to another House, and rebuild her into a seat of nobility she once belonged to.

For years, she had tried but could never cross the entry hall’s threshold into the estate proper. A heavy fear kept Alinora from passing too far into broken doorframes. She could hear voices, as if wailing from the depths of hell. The walls shuddered when she would walk too close, as if they sought to crumble around her and bury the last living Silverlight within.

She knew little about the supernatural beyond charms and incense, but Alinora could feel the evil of the place in her bones, and it would not be abated by her or any prayer of the Light. She was a woman of very little means now, unable to afford much in the way of help. Convincing her employers to intervene would surely tip them off into what she meant to do. With all her luck, anything found by seedier peoples she'd involved would rob her of what remained of the estate, if anything remained at all.

But there was one she had heard rumors of, a figure that regularly haunted Tirasfal, one that would charge her no coin for a successful exorcism. A personage of strange ways, as she heard it. The Forsaken were always of a…unique disposition and demeanor. And as her eyes caught sight of the one they named the “Gravekeeper” appearing in approach from around the dark lake she waited at, Alinora felt a dreadful regret build in her stomach to have called on the haunting personage in the first place.

Riding what seemed to be a formidable destrier animated only by the framing of its own bones, the Gravekeeper was an uncanny ghost of flesh that was guided by it in the clutch of a saddle. Garbed in grey-blue funerary lace that contrasted deeply with the near unearthly glow of pale skin, Alinora reflexively held in her breath as the Keeper’s sights took her in, swallowed by the lantern light of her gaze. She felt an entire cemetery had visited upon her within those eyes, and readied her a coffin.

“You are the Lady Silverlight?” The sepulchral voice asked, a formal echo that could almost be gentle. Shadowy hair drifted from the crown of dead flowers atop the Keeper’s head, defying gravity.

“Y-yes - I–” Alinora answered after a long bout of struggling silence, staring upward at her mounted “savior”. The blood elf curtsied awkwardly. “I am Mis–Lady Silverlight. Yes.” She could no longer be called by such titles, but it felt right coming from the dead woman’s vocals, strange as it all was.

The Gravekeeper slid away from the saddle fluidly, her black skirts billowing like a fog about her willowy form. A soft scrape of metal heralded the sight of a great relic of a spade, clutched at her side. Alinora felt the blessing of being able to breathe again as the spectral eyes moved past her to the hollowed out estate itself. The Keeper's head tilted slowly until it reached an odd, unnerving angle in the viewing, deeply interested.

“I see…” she replied, a murmur, a whisper. A whisper that seemed to be echoed in slight, mimicked intonations around her, though Alinora could see nothing of where they came from. For a moment, she thought she was to go mad again with nothing but a swell of whispers, but it was a sound that died quickly as the Keeper took her steps toward the estate.

“Well then. I do quite think you have some visitors,” the Lady Keeper spoke with perhaps more creeping humor than one should have in such a harrowing haunt. “Stay there, dear girl,” she instructed Alinora with a suddenly frigid demand that seemed to freeze her feet to the spot. And then, without much more of another word, the Gravekeeper invited herself into the barely held framing that was the entrance of the estate.

Minutes passed, and the estate seemed to build from its disturbingly negative whispers, to disjointed groans, to angered shrieks belting from its darkest spaces. Alinora cringed, gasped as she heard shatterings from within, watched topsoil tremble, watched eerie blue light swell within broken walls. Her entire body tightened as she witnessed the remains of the Silverlight estate seem to heave as if it housed ghostly lungs, and let out a dreaded rattle, as if its very innards were expelling its last, threatening promise of unholy retribution. Just as Alinora thought she might turn and run for the city, the estate went silent, dead silent. The Gravekeeper emerged from the great doorway she entered through, right before it collapsed behind her. She seemed...entirely unphased.

What was more, the Keeper had went in alone, but with her every step outward, things unspoken broke through the ruined soil of the estate, collections of bones reanimated to walk again, and collect around her. Some skulls twisted on their levitating spines as they clicked into place, terrifyingly turning empty sockets on Alinora herself. None said a word. In her soundless fear, Alinora could only formulate the basic assumption that they had no muscle, no vocal chords to grind words with.

“Your estate is now safe for your…hmm, digging,” the Keeper spoke, her eyes much more interested in her skeletal crowd than Alinora herself. “I would suggest bringing a rather strong shovel.” A hint of a smile drifted on the Keeper’s bruised, deadened lips.

“A shovel….?” Alinora echoed in barely heard refrain, the terror waning in the face of some sort of success, yet moving to the utter confusion on where to begin next. “But…I thought? What…what should I do then?” Her mind numbed over with what had just transpired and no real understanding of it, the fallen noble realized she had no idea what she was expecting.

The Gravekeeper seemed to tilt her head, as if listening to something on the silent air that she was deaf to. “Is it not obvious, my dear?” The lantern light eyes fell distinctly on Alinora now, and the voice that came from her seemed to echo with others. Familiar echoes that chased her own as her words drifted past the seat of her own lips. “Remember them. And do it better than you have. Or I'm afraid they'll just have to come back.”

With that, the Gravekeeper lead her new skeletal friends away to a promise of new purpose, new unlife, their last living relative none the wiser.

[daily-writing-challenge]

May DWC 2025 Day 3 - Linger/Gaze

The week had been a busy one for Ema, with attending the births of babies, appointments with the soon to be mothers and fathers, and also working along side the doctors. Ema sighs softly while stretching her arms over her head. The weekend was almost just as busy, but she had made sure to take a lest one day off.

So here she was laying on the grass with a book and cup of tea next to her. Her gaze lingers on the sky as her arms cross to lay under her head again. She thought of some of the changes she plans on making to her apartment. Eyes close while she takes in a deep breath.

Changes could be good. The leaves above her head dance in the breeze while the scent of spring hung heavy in the air. She had always enjoyed living in the city, but at times she found herself craving the crisp cool air of fall and winter. Maybe she could find away to make it happen at lest around her apartment.

She glances over to the space not to far from were she was laying. She wanted to extend her garden and raise different types of flowers, but in doing so she would need to build some type of greenhouse. That had been on her list of changes and addons. Sitting up when she hears a knock on her door.

Standing up she dusts off her sundress, before heading inside. A smile comes to her lips while opening the door. "Come in please." stepping back to allow Amelia to step inside. "Thank you Miss Starsorrow." Ema smiles, "Would you care for some tea?"

Amelia nods, "That would be wonderful. Where do you want me to set up the plans I came up with?" Ema points outside to the table in the garden. "Out there is fine." Amelia nods and headed out to the garden while Ema fixes them both some tea.

She had hired on Amelia to help her design the new changes to her garden as well as the addition of the greenhouse and fountain. Joining her out in the garden she takes her own seat. "I hope this has not been to much trouble for you?"

Amelia shook her head, "Not at all! I've been enjoying the work actual. So let me show you what I've come up with." And with that they would spend the next few hours out in the garden going over the blueprints. After Amelia left, Ema was looking forward even more then she had been before.

After fixing a simple lunch of sandwiches, she went back outside to enjoy it under the shade of the tree. Over the next few days she had appointments with other contractors, to go over the changes she wanted inside the apartment.

As the sun started to set Ema went inside to fix dinner for herself. Tomorrow was another busy day of work and she needed to get to bed early.

@daily-writing-challenge

[daily-writing-challenge]

DWC Bonus Day - Snap/Armor

@daily-writing-challenge

"You said you could show me who I was... through your eyes."

The demon’s expression loosens and gives little hint.

"Of this I am able, if you fulfill your end of the bargain by your own will."

"And I will do as best as I am able. But I need to know who she- who I was, first."

Eclipse shrugged. "Well... how do you really want to do this?"

"Just... tell me what you remember,” pressed Turasil, “from the beginning."

Eclipse smirks, offering a responsive snort of amusement to her words. "Alright, I'll give you a synopsis. Maybe you'll start playing the part for me. But… you might want a drink, else I offend you."

".. just... do not trick me again." 

“You asked for it, not I.”

Turasil grabbed a bottle of half-filled wine on the table, wine she had been savoring slowly over the course of several months. Every time she returned to her abandoned ‘home’ on the edge of the lake, she had a sip, sometimes a glass. It was a large bottle, but even then, it had lasted a surprising amount of time. 

This time, a glass was needed. Maybe more. She sighed, and took the whole bottle.

Eclipse broke the silence. "Let us begin-- speak, ask."

Turasil sighed, and took a drink. Searching her thoughts, she tried to find the right questions, as she knew moments like this with the demon were difficult to come by.

"You knew me and Galarisen then. What he was looking for, and what we unearthed. So what was it?"

"I don't know what you did."

"You were there."

"I wasn't. He wasn't, either."

Turasil frowned, staring into the fireplace. She took a drink of the wine bottle again, letting it steel her nerves.

“So no one knows."

"I can't give you answers I don't have. If you want what I know, my history, you ask of it."

"Fine, then. What is your history with us?"

Eclipse paused and remained still.

"I was, or perhaps am, a sayaadi at the service of Gale Galarisen. You are his prized pupil and assistant."

"So I have heard, time and again."

Eclipse spoke sharply. "So ask something different."

Turasil hesitated. "What did he involve me in, that he was so afraid to tell the magisters..?"

Eclipse shrugged. "He wished to change the world. He foresaw sorrow for your people, and wished to get ahead of it."

Turasil stared blankly, rue in her tired eyes. "Of course... but how?"

"He--" Eclipse inhaled deeply. " ... We ... researched craft ill-remembered by your long-lived, ill-fated cousins. I don't pretend to read any of your race's works beyond what is useful, so I cannot speak to your findings."

“He was professed in dark arts. We all were.” Turasil would admit. “So he must have trusted you, a result of such art... and yet you do not know what he was doing?"

Eclipse looked long and quiet onward.

"He was doing whatever you were doing. It's not my magic, and not my place to understand. Do not confuse our roles."

Turasil pressed. "And you know not what I was doing either?"

"That depends on the context of your question."

Turasil hesitated. She drank of her wine, turning her stare to the fireplace again.

"Galarisen came to me in a vision. He asked me to not go to the magisters... I still know not why. Nor what I was doing there, then..."

Eclipse sighed. "You're frustrated."

Turasil looked at her, then. "I want to know, but I haven’t the right questions."

"You're asking me for solutions. I don't have solutions... I'm angry with him, too, as I am you."

"... What is your last memory of him?”

Eclipse paused. "What is your last memory of him?"

Turasil 's gaze lost its focus, her brow furrowing in thought.

"I'm... not sure. There are a few, and I haven't any idea what order they should be in."

"- He set out to the Sunwell, and I have not found him since." Eclipse said abruptly.

Turasil gave her a look of surprise. "The Sunwell..?"

She continued, "I have since been banished, several times, and you have been imprisoned.”

"I was imprisoned?"

“... You're exiled, are you not?"

"Yes, but… all Quel'dorei are."

"What do you wish me to say of it?"

"Was there some other reason I was exiled..?” Turasil looked desperate for answers, then. “They… they do not let me near the Sunwell, I.."

Turasil shut her eyes tight. She drank from her wine bottle.

"You'll die if you return, now." Said the demon.

Turasil gasped for breath, after drinking long.

"So there is some other reason."

"You're a traitor.” Eclipse’s voice was harsh. “You cohort with demons and shadow. You may yet perpetuate your master's dark works."

"No!"

"Your exile was a mercy."

"I have dedicated my life to eradicating such darkness!"

"Shut up,” Eclipse barked coldly. “My planet is gone. Move on."

Turasil seethed through her teeth, her grip on the wine bottle white-knuckled.

Eclipse sighed. " ... I feel like I've aged a thousand years, while you've regressed… so.” She gestured at Turasil.

The elf lowered her head, her eyes set dully on the floor.

"I have lost that experience which matured me. I still do not know what is eating away at my memories."

"Look–” Eclipse interrupted, “I don't know what his plan is for you--for me--and I won't pretend to do so. If you seek my memories, ask of them."

"Then, tell me." Turasil breathed. "What do you remember.. of me? What of before the turning point, when we each went our separate ways? What happened then?"

Eclipse elected not to respond, and she offered little to read. Turasil tensed, her body instinctively seeking something to grab onto, to stabilize herself as a strange, sinking feeling set in- the kind of dread one feels just before an earthquake. But then, awareness hit her- it was more a feeling than reality, and soon she managed to steady herself. 

She looked upon the demon, her eyes searching, reacting to that sadness she found in the demon’s own. Her gaze softened, now one of concern. How was it she could feel this way about someone so innately evil? Doubt filled her- was there truly more to demonkind than what was already known to her?

"Galarisen disappeared,” Eclipse continued, “much as you did. And it took quite some time for me to enter your realm again.

You asked once, if I loved him--I did not know the weight of your meaning. I know now that I did not, or could not, though it is not to say I did not care deeply. Gale Galarisen, a joke of a summoner were you to label him such--asked only kindly, and demanded little. I felt as you must have, only sharper, as if picking glass."

"He was disarming, wasn't he.." Turasil sighed.

"Quite... and so I became unwillingly embroiled with another."

"If he went to the Sunwell, and faced the same predicament as I, then it is possible he..." Turasil trailed off, staring elsewhere.

"He is likely dead. Stop looking, now."

"So why do I still see him in my dreams? Or visions, or... what have you."

Eclipse exhaled long. "Stop. I haven't found him. You cannot. If he yet lived, would he leave us in such a way?"

"I don't know.." Turasil was frustrated. It wasn’t enough. "I don't.. think so."

"Would you sign your blood to a mission that disregards you so?"

“Haven’t I?”

"No. It's a bad deal, no matter how you look at it. He failed, and we are left. To consider else is to believe he is crueler than I could have imagined."

Turasil looked at the bottle she held. It was mostly empty, save for one last drink. After a moment's consideration, she offered it to Eclipse.

The demon looked to the bottle, and back to Turasil. "Oh? I question your motives even now."

"We once worked together, in earnest." Turasil offered. "And though... we cannot go back there... maybe we can begin anew."

Eclipse rasped. "You do not know this. What can you say of your past? All have moved on now, aside from me, chained as I am to your shadows"

“I will not stop looking for answers.” Turasil was resolute.

"Move, then, and look--even if you do not know where; this was his way, was it not?"

Turasil sighed softly. "Yes, I suppose it was."

"Wear your little boots and complain the whole way, but look. Pack little water and moan about it, but look. That's your master."

Turasil sniffed. The slightest upturned curl to her lips. Familiarity.

"He did seem that way."

Eclipse doesn't grin, much as she might. "I asked too much of you if this is what you wanted."

"You've given all you can. I still do not know if I can be 'her' again, but… I have not given up on her memory."

Eclipse sighed in a long breathy exhale, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

"I am the last survivor, but I would salvage precious memories of mine should you will them."

"Lascivian.." her true name…

"... thank you. I have been drifting, here and there. And I may yet, still. Until I find a catalyst for my memories, I may be doomed to such a life as now. But you.. You don't have to be."

"Quiet." Lascivian snapped. “Is Thraciel to be here, or shall I seek elsewhere?"

Her true name. Turasil shivered.

".. that is who I am. Thraciel."

"Don't." Lascivian said abruptly.

"No, I.. I have heard it. Again and again. I am Thraciel."

The demon glared. "... shall I be 'Falastor' again, then? Parade a Galarisen, stroke your hair?"

Turasil gave her a withering look. "Be you."

Lascivian replies in kind. "Be Thraciel."

“... I will. I promise."

Lascivian smiled, weakly. Turasil sensed an uncharacteristic quality to her expression. She set the mostly empty bottle down on the mantle of the fireplace.

"Don't fuck with me, you know?” Lascivian said suddenly. “I'm stronger than you."

"I know." said Thraciel.

"... Then you should remember how it went last time, Thraciel."

Lascivian mouthed a word. Please.

" ... You took my arm--and I took yours. You seemed almost offended at the riposte. You remember."

"You mean..."

Lascivian laughed, her breath broken. "--You thought to scold me. You'd grown so, you got uppity."

Turasil looked sorrowful, her feathered brow down-turned.

"Don't be sore, now …” Lascivian pleaded. “Thraciel ... "

"If you are certain..."

"You recall. We argued, and tested one another--as we did." Lascivian glanced briefly away to the fire. Turasil hadn’t lost the sense of unease she had felt earlier.

"I do. We had a competition, who would find the most relics."

Lascivian didn’t seem to react to the statement. "I won, then, and I'd win now.”

"Hm. Maybe. It has been long since I've honed my digging skill."

"... Perhaps you're not her." Lascivian shook her head. "I apologize. I should have never asked. This is too much to ask for any."

"Ask or not, I am still set upon this path." Again, she was resolute. “I will find Thraciel."

"You're not her--and it offends me to think you can be. I can't ask you of memories you do not have."

Lascivian stared long, seeming slightly taller as she approached Turasil and peered so. Turasil searched Lascivian's face for answers, in turn. Finding none, she gave a breath, and suddenly her hand shot out, trying to grasp Lascivian's wrist.

Lascivian didn’t resist, but did not comply. "I can't ask you to remember the faintest aftertaste of burnt sugar, the bergamot and metal, the dagger's light from the floor. Because we are what he left behind. Are we not? And we will move out of his shadow, and come into our own."

"No. You cannot. But I will try, anyway. For both our sake."

Lascivian looked her over slowly, searchingly. "No.

Shut your mouth.

Don't you dare speak for her-”

Turasil took a step. "I am speaking for me."

“She'd know the ghostly glide of my fingers, and memorize the pattern by touch alone. My laugh against her thigh, only once."

“... Please." Turasil interrupted.

Lascivian tilted her head, as she always did.

Turasil continued. “For her sake, will you not accept me? My efforts?"

"You'd have my body follow the path of my memories.” Lascivian looked away. “I can't be certain you are as strong as she was, this one time."

Turasil gazed upon her, sorrow and regret plain in her features. "I will find her. And if I cannot be her... then the least I can do is honor her memory."

Lascivian shook her head. "Forget it."

"No!"

Lascivian looked sharply to her before turning away, breaking Turasil’s grasp upon her. Then she looked back, moving to speak, but hesitating. "This wasn't part of the deal. I'm not about to find and lose another."

"I am not gone."

"Galarisen is dead; she may as well be--for my sake.

… Call me when you have a lead."

And like that, the demon… Lascivian… was gone.

Turasil seethed, running after her, but finding nothing but air. She collapsed against the wall, striking it with a closed fist as her breaths came in short, ragged heaves.

“Do not give up on me, Lascivian… I know I won't.”

[daily-writing-challenge]

DWC BONUS DAY: Snap & Armor

In gossamer petals diffuse and scatter light, His toes curl then straighten into pointe, Every step redefines beauty as it propels him forward To call it graceful nuance would be a cruel understatement, Placating and trivializes the triumph of his art. The enormity of what my Prince can convey in dance, There has never been an equal, not before not now not after. It is not the bias that they will accuse me of, Though I admit it lingers, as does my shameless gaze. No the dangerous part of this ability of his… Is that no matter how subtle his action, His conviction remains in a word; tremendous. His passion a wild infinite well. One that sates beyond one's capacity to drink. My every ill fated attempt to capture the image, To immortalize each leap and whirl into a relic; A holy idol for a worship all my own, Serves only to punish my misplaced efforts. For how can any hope to capture something born of love, To isolate and divorce every negative experience, Pruning the withered blooms to erase all flaws, And hope to appreciate the whole of him. To love only what he wears as Armor is to love an idea, I lay restless and vulnerable, exposed, My heart as battered and dim as it once glowed, Bound in spider silk thin threads, Primed always to pull tight then inevitably snap. And still though he has every means to destroy me, Every weapon tool and strategy to simply dance upon the ruin of me… I place within my prince's grasp my Heart, my faith, myself. With every brush stroke and syllable I can credit to my muse. Awakened from a place that felt apart, That he lead me dancing from the self imposed isolation. The Prince of Lilies is the music that propels him, He is the reason the blooms open to the light and strive to drink deep of life, What sets hip apart from the world he inhabits… Is the unapologetic way he acts upon his will… Royal by his determination to express everything in movement, Conveying meaning in the sweep of his gestures, Noble by the deeds he performs without obligation. He reminds we always… that my devotion is not misplaced. Together, we can dance upon canvases, and paint upon stages, As one we can make the world the one we promised each other. His court of lilies and lanterns, A place all those who once felt forgotten or abused; Can embody their art and change this world for the better. One dance, one stroke, one word at a time.

@daily-writing-challenge @erathir-violys

[daily-writing-challenge]

Daily Writing Challenge: May 25-31...BONUS DAY!

Snap/Armor (Bonus Day Eight)

( @daily-writing-challenge )

(It's a bonus day! And the first day of Pride Month, so happy Pride to all those who are members of the Alphabet Mafia.)

(Gauntlets found on Verillas.)

Gin wrapped herself in both physical and metaphorical armor. Leathers dyed black, deep green, or deep violet; hidden under a layer of black mail armor for the field. Wit, flirtations, and charm protecting herself in public. All an attempt to keep herself from getting too close to anyone again.

It was harder to lose someone when you didn't have someone to lose.

But even with the self-built walls around her heart, certain people could still find a way in through the cracks that had begun to form. And Gin found herself craving the familiarity of...well familiar faces. She had punished herself long enough for things outside of her control. Something she was finally beginning to admit. It was a difficult transition, especially when the annoying Voice in her head spoke of their destruction if they got too close to her.

But having someone to talk to besides the wolves and rylaks? It was...nice. So she undid the both the physical and mental armor, letting herself feel something again for the first time in years. Cautiously allowing herself something else she hadn't felt for years:

Forgiveness.

[daily-writing-challenge]

[ Bonus Day - June 1st Snap , Armor ]

Within the quiet walls of this nondescript inn room in Kugane, the peeling of wall paper in strips of long forgotten memories, the bones of the wall underneath stained a sickly yellow that screamed of stories that stole souls. The scent of stale cigarettes', cheap perfume, and and underlaying hint at a much worse fate to anyone who had created a space here lingered like a plague; Across the worn wooden floor, over the top of a stained mattress, the sheets having been pulled off and wrapped around something vaguely big and perhaps oblong. The sheets themselves had once been some color white, though now long forgotten and a drab grey.

Accented however, with the spread of crimson, slowly seeping through it and onto the floor.

On the edge of said mattress would be a sanguine space, spread like fingers and splattered in an angry pattern against the grey of its surface. It had been white once too - Or so one could hope.

The room itself felt heavy, the silence almost having a sound to it, like a screaming that suffocated you and made you simply want to have any noise on, to chase that stifling sound away. In this, it would be dark, as if dusk was desperately trying to spread through the crack of the drawn curtains, though that fabric had also grown thin with time, flimsy and hardly holding it together off the hanger it was clinging to.

The barest tint of orange offered quiet glow, though it was a poor attempt to illuminate the space. Settled in the farthest corner of the room itself, the crack of door giving way to the bathroom proper. Much like the rest of this worn and depraved room, it wouldn't be much better - Again attempt to make it passable for the living hanging on the edges of everything, dotted with mold and the occasional brown thing that darted across surface of tile.

In this, stood a Viera. Hands on either side of the sink, the faucet not quite able to shut all the way off.

Plip...Plip.... Plip

Man lifted head slowly, and violet eyes greeted him on the other side, the surface milky, hardly proper in anyway to attempt to put make-up on, or even fix ones hair; Which, at this point the rabbit didn't seem to even be focused on such trivial matters. Fingers flexed across the hard surface of the sink now, and breath quietly released in a soft wave. Around the drain, there would be that same stain of crimson, the droplets that still lingered splashing into the basin, only to have that color ribbon through the clear, like defiant webs of protest.

Soundless, a voice would thread into the Vieras' thoughts. Deep, hungry and greedy, it had no love lost for whatever had transpired within the confines of this space.

You and I... We make such a delightful team. She was tasty. One of the best yet. Pity she had my kindred in her, but... You know what they say... The pretty little flames flicker the brightest and taste divine

Eyes narrowed against the mirror, and Vieras' right ear twitched faintly, the melodical metal creating a soft noise with all the piercings that were inlayed into the skin. While the sound within was silent to the breathing world, Cae's voice was not.

"Shut the fuck up Tao. I don't care. And I don't want to hear it. She was too young for this. To young to be taken."

Laughter that dripped down like oozing paint, visceral and dark echoed in the Viera's skull, causing the man to flinch ever-so-slightly, his breath catching in his throat. As if on cue, the voice returned once more, mocking in its press to the rabbit.

You picked this path. You asked for this. You act as if you aren't a monster yourself, as if your hands are squeaky clean. You lie to yourself and I can see it. I can hear it. Not that I want too, mind you. But I'm stuck here as much as you are. And as long as you keep me fed...~

Cae would snarl then, and his hands balled into fists, slamming each to the edge of sink. The force of action caused the sink itself to wobbled precariously, the stability of its base like everything else in this horrible expanse.

" And I hate it. I hate you. I hate that I have to deal with you constantly. I hate you and everything you are and I hate... Hate that I need you."

Cae's voice was soft, the gentle air of someone who hardly ever raised his voice, with the hint at a a growl under its surface. It would be pleasant on a good day. In this though, it was deadly, sharp. The air of it trying to slice through the demons leering, trying to show that it had no sway over his soul.

But he knew that was a lie.

Plip....Plip....Plip....

Tao laughed hauntingly again, though this time it was much hushed, almost subdued in nature. Once the retort was given once more, it would linger like a quiet huff.

But that's the catch. You need me to stay strong. You need me to do exactly what you do. Though... I will admit none of them tasted as good as Ly-

" If you say her fucking name I will end us both. Don't you dare."

Laugher came in waves of pleasure, the demon settling back in its corner, Cae's walls flinging up, trying to armor himself further and guard from the voidsent. Though, no matter what he did, it was never enough, and sooner or later the demon would demand. Needy and wanting. Every job was just a step further into the void, aa step closer to the yawning edge of losing himself.

Plip... Plip... Plip....

Viera would violently wrench the water back on, and splash a few handfuls across his face, gasping in the shock of the cold, before lifting head once more to look into the mirror, that hazy reflection looking back at him. What stared back was a haunted house, a sort of resigned understanding. For now the demon was fed, quiet like a cat purring in its little space. Cae's face would twist then, hatred filling his features, before a defeated sigh escaped from the confines of his teeth, and he'd snatch a towel off the questionable rack on the wall.

With a jerk of hand to discard it to the floor, he'd then draw a soft breath, and pushed away from his perch, moving to the door frame, the light now outlining him to the dark in its sickly glow. He'd stare down at the mess on the floor, and shake his head. Death was never easy for him, and this was far worse.

With a drift of right hand he'd carefully pluck his scythe off the wall where it rested, the massive weapon leaking tendrils of black along the air. The blade itself was of a wicked design, made to shred and rip, accented in deep purples - The thing thrummed with its own power, the glow deep and toxic purple. This thing an extension of the Viera was both his prison and his purpose, the voidsents' actual home. Carefully he'd replace it to his back before moving now towards the sheets; He'd have a lot of cleaning to do, and a very long night.

Plip...Plip...Plip....

@daily-writing-challenge

[daily-writing-challenge]

Bonus Day Snap / Armor

Her lighter flicked closed with a hearty, comforting snap. Keranna had spent the morning sorting through — and burning, if necessary — the documents Pyraelia had managed to salvage from Dalaran before the city's terrible fate. Some of it was better lost.

This one, especially.

Not that she could bear to burn it.

She had met Nico Païenot at what had been an odd time. Dalaran had been sealed off, unaccessible…ish. Cosima had arranged passage through the bubble a year before their paths had actually crossed; someone had to manage the rebuilding of the Sunmote's tower while they were managing their own affairs around Quel'thalas in the considerable wake of the fall of the Sunwell.

He had been charming; a human musician who favored the vielle à roue and lyricist to boot. Nico was proud to have been born in the violet city, most of his songs told her tragedies and triumphs. He had also decided it was much easier to be a rake than a magi of any repute. Importantly, he was able to get her mana crystals when the ache got particularly difficult to manage.

Their affair charted the same course most of hers did. Teasing to start, rapidly ascending into tantalizing passion before one, or both, of them got bored and moved on. With Nico, that had taken a couple of months to play out. He'd bring her new songs, she'd invite him up to her room at the inn, and they'd indulge. She wasn't as careful as she ought to have been, but at her age the risk should have been low.

She turned the paper in her hands, humming an old refrain Nico had strung together just for her all those decades ago. The smoke from the previous papers she'd committed to the little pyre in her kitchen was a bit acrid in her nose as she flipped the lighter open again, considering.

It was the only proof that her son had existed that she had left.

His existence didn't hinge on the paper proving it, in fact he may have been long dead. How many calamities in how many human kingdoms had happened between then and now?

This was the last copy, it being gone was a certain kind of armor.

But it mattered to her. The paper continuing to exist mattered.

It had his birthday marked alongside her name. Some other couple had been granted the privilege to give him theirs.

To keep him would've ruined them both. She knew that. That didn't stop the ache of it all. Her once chance to raise a child that was actually her child meant she'd be homeless; Cosima would have never allowed her to stay on, he would've never been accepted in Silvermoon, Dalaran — had it been any other time — could have worked out, but the city was still in steep ruin and finding work she could do without the backing of a more powerful family was an extremely tall order.

Sometimes love meant letting someone go.

Keranna folded up the paper, carried it to her room and tucked it away for safe keeping inside a little antique music box. Sparing it, for now, from a most undignified fate.

@daily-writing-challenge

[daily-writing-challenge]

[ Bonus Day - June 1st Snap , Armor ]

Within the quiet walls of this nondescript inn room in Kugane, the peeling of wall paper in strips of long forgotten memories, the bones of the wall underneath stained a sickly yellow that screamed of stories that stole souls. The scent of stale cigarettes', cheap perfume, and and underlaying hint at a much worse fate to anyone who had created a space here lingered like a plague; Across the worn wooden floor, over the top of a stained mattress, the sheets having been pulled off and wrapped around something vaguely big and perhaps oblong. The sheets themselves had once been some color white, though now long forgotten and a drab grey.

Accented however, with the spread of crimson, slowly seeping through it and onto the floor.

On the edge of said mattress would be a sanguine space, spread like fingers and splattered in an angry pattern against the grey of its surface. It had been white once too - Or so one could hope.

The room itself felt heavy, the silence almost having a sound to it, like a screaming that suffocated you and made you simply want to have any noise on, to chase that stifling sound away. In this, it would be dark, as if dusk was desperately trying to spread through the crack of the drawn curtains, though that fabric had also grown thin with time, flimsy and hardly holding it together off the hanger it was clinging to.

The barest tint of orange offered quiet glow, though it was a poor attempt to illuminate the space. Settled in the farthest corner of the room itself, the crack of door giving way to the bathroom proper. Much like the rest of this worn and depraved room, it wouldn't be much better - Again attempt to make it passable for the living hanging on the edges of everything, dotted with mold and the occasional brown thing that darted across surface of tile.

In this, stood a Viera. Hands on either side of the sink, the faucet not quite able to shut all the way off.

Plip...Plip.... Plip

Man lifted head slowly, and violet eyes greeted him on the other side, the surface milky, hardly proper in anyway to attempt to put make-up on, or even fix ones hair; Which, at this point the rabbit didn't seem to even be focused on such trivial matters. Fingers flexed across the hard surface of the sink now, and breath quietly released in a soft wave. Around the drain, there would be that same stain of crimson, the droplets that still lingered splashing into the basin, only to have that color ribbon through the clear, like defiant webs of protest.

Soundless, a voice would thread into the Vieras' thoughts. Deep, hungry and greedy, it had no love lost for whatever had transpired within the confines of this space.

You and I... We make such a delightful team. She was tasty. One of the best yet. Pity she had my kindred in her, but... You know what they say... The pretty little flames flicker the brightest and taste divine

Eyes narrowed against the mirror, and Vieras' right ear twitched faintly, the melodical metal creating a soft noise with all the piercings that were inlayed into the skin. While the sound within was silent to the breathing world, Cae's voice was not.

"Shut the fuck up Tao. I don't care. And I don't want to hear it. She was too young for this. To young to be taken."

Laughter that dripped down like oozing paint, visceral and dark echoed in the Viera's skull, causing the man to flinch ever-so-slightly, his breath catching in his throat. As if on cue, the voice returned once more, mocking in its press to the rabbit.

You picked this path. You asked for this. You act as if you aren't a monster yourself, as if your hands are squeaky clean. You lie to yourself and I can see it. I can hear it. Not that I want too, mind you. But I'm stuck here as much as you are. And as long as you keep me fed...~

Cae would snarl then, and his hands balled into fists, slamming each to the edge of sink. The force of action caused the sink itself to wobbled precariously, the stability of its base like everything else in this horrible expanse.

" And I hate it. I hate you. I hate that I have to deal with you constantly. I hate you and everything you are and I hate... Hate that I need you."

Cae's voice was soft, the gentle air of someone who hardly ever raised his voice, with the hint at a a growl under its surface. It would be pleasant on a good day. In this though, it was deadly, sharp. The air of it trying to slice through the demons leering, trying to show that it had no sway over his soul.

But he knew that was a lie.

Plip....Plip....Plip....

Tao laughed hauntingly again, though this time it was much hushed, almost subdued in nature. Once the retort was given once more, it would linger like a quiet huff.

But that's the catch. You need me to stay strong. You need me to do exactly what you do. Though... I will admit none of them tasted as good as Ly-

" If you say her fucking name I will end us both. Don't you dare."

Laugher came in waves of pleasure, the demon settling back in its corner, Cae's walls flinging up, trying to armor himself further and guard from the voidsent. Though, no matter what he did, it was never enough, and sooner or later the demon would demand. Needy and wanting. Every job was just a step further into the void, aa step closer to the yawning edge of losing himself.

Plip... Plip... Plip....

Viera would violently wrench the water back on, and splash a few handfuls across his face, gasping in the shock of the cold, before lifting head once more to look into the mirror, that hazy reflection looking back at him. What stared back was a haunted house, a sort of resigned understanding. For now the demon was fed, quiet like a cat purring in its little space. Cae's face would twist then, hatred filling his features, before a defeated sigh escaped from the confines of his teeth, and he'd snatch a towel off the questionable rack on the wall.

With a jerk of hand to discard it to the floor, he'd then draw a soft breath, and pushed away from his perch, moving to the door frame, the light now outlining him to the dark in its sickly glow. He'd stare down at the mess on the floor, and shake his head. Death was never easy for him, and this was far worse.

With a drift of right hand he'd carefully pluck his scythe off the wall where it rested, the massive weapon leaking tendrils of black along the air. The blade itself was of a wicked design, made to shred and rip, accented in deep purples - The thing thrummed with its own power, the glow deep and toxic purple. This thing an extension of the Viera was both his prison and his purpose, the voidsents' actual home. Carefully he'd replace it to his back before moving now towards the sheets; He'd have a lot of cleaning to do, and a very long night.

Plip...Plip...Plip....

@daily-writing-challenge

[daily-writing-challenge]

Daily Writing Challenge (May 2025)

Day 5 / May 29

Restless / Faith

@daily-writing-challenge  

The late night wound on through Stormsong, and Roselyn still sat at an overly cluttered desk with a restless abandon only the drunk or creatively tormented could really have. At least Rose thought that sudden urge to create must be a sort of torment. A very sensible person would have found sleep so many hours ago. She had her moments and her wit here or there, but she certainly was no sage or paragon of good habits. Art was sometimes pure compulsion. 

It wasn't as if she weren't comfortable. She did mean to sleep. Her little cottage was warm and cozy, she'd made a bit of evening tea with honey to relax with, and the fireflies hung prettily in the air outside her window, crickets harmonizing somehow just enough to lull her to a restful sleep. Even her large wicker bed and its very soft mattress seemed to wait, her swirl of throws and pillows particularly inviting a nestling right among them. She'd bought some particularly rib-sticking meat pies from an eatery all the way out in Stormwind for dinner, the Gilnean kind that were made with the sort of home made magic that used to put her in a pleasant coma when she was very young. 

But no, she was a mad woman at her desk now at 3 bells in the morning, trying to find some meaningful completion before she could dare rest. Life wasn't always filled with these little compulsions, of course. Her mind had mostly agreed with the tiredness that set in after her days as a lay sister some years ago, trading laborious work for efficient shelter in another Cathedral after Gilneas fell apart. And she'd waken each day before dawn as she was trained to for “faithful” tasks she felt no more personal devotion to than a dog felt for the collar it was forced to wear. 

Even working as a scout and sometimes cartographer for Empyrean Imports now was more duty and necessity than devoted compulsion. She was thankful for the opportunities Lady Shadowsun had given her, but Rose didn't want more to do with it than her current 3 day schedule allowed for, despite the many offers to become an official courier. It was only the promise of some stable pay; it was never her passion, mapmaking or scouting both. It all made her tired at the end of her day and certainly paid for her little cottage, but none of it completed her. 

No, completion was the finishing of lines of a collection of dumbfounded giant skippers this night, actually, something that drew out beats of laughter from her as it all came together. She'd lost her faith and sleep for many things throughout her life, but Rose knew she would somehow find room for both again once she figured out what swathe of color to use to highlight their silly, googly eyes and fishy tendrils.

[daily-writing-challenge]

Moss Armor.

May DWC 2025 Bonus Day - Snap/Armor

Mei stares at her quilen Guo, longingly. He's not normally this green, is he? How long has it been since she washed him? Questions pile up in her mind, frustration follows.

Right. No more thinking. Mei takes action. She grabs Guo and lifts him like a sack of potatoes into a small courtyard with a fountain. It's the perfect place to wash him.

But first, she has to tie him up. If she leaves him, Guo won't stay still. He'll wander right and left, even sprawl in a mud puddle. Mei is still mentally thanking the former monument restorer for advising her on what to use to clean the stone. It was a great help.

Of course, she attracts a few glances from curious passers-by. Quilen aren't exactly common. And even less so, a quilen that's friendly. Mei is well aware of this.

She washes him quickly and meticulously, using a hoof pick to remove the moss that had grown in the cracks. This has the effect of making him squirm on the spot, from one paw to the other, as if she were tickling him. The rest can easily be removed with a brush and soap.

To finish it off, she polishes him with a cloth. As soon as she loosens him, Guo dashes straight for a big mud cliff to spread out like a seal. It's a shame Mei couldn't stop him in time. Now she has to start all over again.

@daily-writing-challenge