#SG Site Write Feb 2017

[goaprose]

.29 Finale: Duality | SG SW 2.2017

Final Prompt: "Everything we have done or will do we will do over and over and over again— forever." Consider your character's leitmotifs. Write a story that expresses the cyclical nature of the leitmotif, and the rise and fall of these themes in your character's narrative. If it helps you to place the story to music, you may do so, but it is not required.

Iiloridan frowned over the palms of his hands, free of gloves and unencumbered by robe sleeves.  In one, a brilliant holy flame rested, wreathed around his fingertips. The glow was warm and welcoming, filling him with a calm and steady drive.  Heal. Mend. Bolster.  It was a fight to hold it, control it, wield it, as always; but it was a fight he was well used to by now.

The other palm was empty, and had lingered as such for some time; a test of endurance. The healing flame burned brightly, painlessly, without counterpart- before the priest attempted to sunder his will. His brows twitched, a painful twinge passing through his mind. The natural shadows cast by his curled, empty fingers seemed to lengthen- flickering wildly in the silhouette of the now-sputtering flame’s glow.  Iiloridan’s brow furrowed and he grimaced, teeth bared and trying to maintain his hold on the Light. Shadows curled eagerly- too eagerly, flowing like oil in water while the flame surged and waned like a shoddy, goblin-made lightning-bulb.

Trying to hold both was like trying to inhale and exhale at the same time.  He simply could not do it. Iiloridan’s focus hit a brick wall and the light sputtered out with a pitiful, trailing wisp. Shadow came easily, eagerly to his will after light was snuffed, purple and black motes coalescing into a writhing mass in his palm.  Iiloridan sighed in disappointment, otherwise calmly accepting of the dark horror in his hand.

Failure.  Again.

It was his own fault, he knew.  A failing of his own, not some weakness of the Light.  Light and Shadow were strong in equal measure, two sides of the same coin. He honored both, found something worthy of his own quiet form of worship in both, as the dual pair had been of equal use and value to him in his life. Shadows had saved him, aided him; the Light had healed those he cared about. But he’d seen other priests, those with the discipline of the art, wield one and then the other with apparent ease. As of yet, he never could.  Shadow came easy at his call, no matter how much holy light he had been channeling previously.  But the light was...reluctant to return to him, after weaving shadow. It was like whatever he used to call the light was blocked, withered away by the shade, until it could regrow.

The priest shook his head, ear twitching as he heard the sounds of shadow ravens venturing forth, curious at this old-new game of his.  He was missing something, he was sure of it. But no matter what tomes he read, nor priests he spoke with, Iiloridan could not find the answer. The caws of the ravens surrounding the priest were familiar and comforting, but even they had no resolution for him. The way of the light was foreign, the antithesis of their very being. He settled for holding the shadow for a brief time, watching shade ebb and flow across his already dark skin, allowing it to grow within his control; transfixed by the dark violet motes and the beginning hints of the void within-  A raven let out a sharp warning caw directly in his ear.

-No!

Iiloridan clenched his fist ruthlessly, crushing the frigid, writhing mass, before splaying his palm and dissipating it forcefully.  Not the void.  Even he had his limits, and that was a level of darkness he dared not delve into. Shadows could not exist without the light. But void was void. Nothingness. Empty of all but the path to madness.

He breathed, shaking out his hand.  Clasping his fingers together, the warmth of his light-touched hand seemed to warm the other with unnatural speed, but it lasted for only a few seconds. Whatever residual blessing might have been left behind, it was not enough.  Like trying to warm a frigid bath with only a single hot teacup.  

Now, he had to wait.  Wait for the light to return to him.  There had been progress on that front, over the years.  It used to take hours.  Iiloridan had reduced it down to minutes, at what he felt was his peak. ...But now, for some reason, he’d been slipping.  The time between casting shadow and the Light returning to his will was increasing.  It was becoming a problem, and he was determined to figure out why.

He lost track of time, hand curling every few minutes; empty and chilled despite beckoning the Light to his aid over and over again.  Finally, finally- the tiniest of sparks; a flame no bigger than a match head, sputtering back to life. The priest curled his palms around it, breathing it back to life with will alone.  He let it build, coaxing it to grow back to its previous strength with aching slowness; warming the parts of himself that had been chilled by shadow and void.

Iiloridan allowed himself the comfort of the light, mind and will bolstered by his own success.

And then he would try again.

unedited; SITE WRITE COMPLETE

[luciahunter6]

Favourite moments of 2018

Just before the year closes out, I thought I’ll run through my best moments of 2018. Here they are in chronological order:

End January: Extensive 4-day Numazu pilgrimage. This wasn’t my first trip down here, but it was my first one after they introduced the stamp rally. Also, it was the longest I ever stayed down there. Freezing my ass off on the cold Senbonhama beach, visiting Mission Bay for their fluffy pancakes, a whole lot of cycling until my butt hurt. It was a genuinely relaxing experience after a stressful event I helped organize, the town’s vibe is really just soothing when you’re into LL. 

Early Feb: Taiwan for Aqours Fan Meeting. I never thought I would fly to one of the East Asian countries just for a Fan Meeting level of event, but I absolutely did not regret this one at all. Excellent production value, superb selection of fan-letters, questions and mini-games, as well as a really great team of translators that TLed and retained nuances of their sentences and jokes without delay. My seats were plenty decent so it was a good view, and I also distinctly remember all the fan projects they set up. I was awed by the love of the local fan community, they’re good people. Also I’ve never been to Taiwan before so it was a good experience seeing new things. There was also a post-apocalyptic vibe in the night cityscape after the rain which I have fond memories of.

Mid May: Running into Wendy online over Discord again after 4-5 years apart? This seems like a weird thing to include here but basically back in the day when we were into Love Live!, we were both authors who would talk about our fics. And then subsequently she invited me into a LisaYuki server where I’ve met some really great people- people I’m not close to by any means, but they still show me more support than I deserve. All in all, I’m really grateful for this chance encounter for all the wonderful people I’m thankful to have met. Mid May: BanG Dream! 5th Live. This isn’t a good moment, but a painful one. I’ve talked a lot about how my planning for 5L DV started since last year, but this was one of the first moments that actually cemented my personal, emotional commitment to it. I cried a lot during this period after watching the videos, even if I hadn’t been following them beforehand. I’m still not sure why. I guess this was when I truly became fully devoted. This might also be the first time I acknowledged and put into words just what I had been doing up to that point: my personal mission to show other people the dreams that I was once shown.

Early-Mid June: Aqours 3rd Live trip. This was a hurricane trip starting with 3L Saitama, /r/LL offkai, a Numazu pilgrimage and then 3L Osaka. I really loved staying at Awashima Hotel- with a suite split between four people, it’s honestly not that bad price-wise. Having cars for us to do our pilgrimage was also pretty cool, I got to hit up spots I never would’ve been able to do otherwise, such as that mountain-top parking lot. 3L Osaka was also decently good, definitely better than Saitama. I mean overall 3L was pretty bad setlist-wise, but at least the experience was improved. But my favourite memory of 3L Osaka was our two Airbnbs: I was staying at ONIBE Airbnb on one end, and Whales Airbnb was a 5-minute walk away. On the last night, most of us just crammed around the Whales’ dining table and talked for a couple of hours. I was distinctly struck by the feeling of this Sado concept, 一期一会 (lit. One chance, one meeting). Every single meetup is precious, every moment is once in a lifetime. I love these people, and times like this is when I realise how insanely cool it is that such a connection can happen between people from such diverse walks of life around the world. That’s the power of our hobby.

Early August: BanG Dream! 5L DV in SG, Japan Park. The moment of catharsis here was real, watching everything come to fruition after a lengthy struggle. This was definitely my most impressionable moment and my achievement of the year. Finally being able to set that burden down was such an impossible relief. And the gifts and fan messages I received- irreplaceable. There were many things that could’ve gone wrong along the way, but were fine thanks to support and guidance from the people around me. Given the chance, I would like to challenge myself in similar ways in the future to see where I can further improve.

Mid September: Roselia Fan Meeting. I had committed to this one shortly after hearing about Akesan’s graduation. After being unable to attend 5L, I knew I didn’t want to sit by idly and be unable to witness this happening all over again. And thankfully, I made it into the night session with my own code from my own CD (my 3 donated ones failed heh). Night also kindly provided me with a ticket for the day session, so I was able to attend both. This was actually my first time witnessing a Roselia performance live. I still remember the excellent pacing of the sessions, and the fun questions and fanmail. And the live segments- watching Yukki’s performance was the first time I was truly able to accept her as Lisa in my eyes. Seeing them perform was amazing. Of course, those hand-written messages during the end of the night session, which caused literally everyone to break down aside from Akesan. And their final appearance back on stage as a band of four, asking for permission to turn their next event into a live performance. It was one of Roselia’s most powerful moments that I was grateful to have witnessed first-hand.

Early November: Writing my first fanfic in years. This is a minor one but something else I’m proud of. Writing a new piece was one of my goals for 2017 that I hadn’t been able to complete. I was glad I could do this again in 2018 with the help of Bandori.

Early November: Roselia Live Vier. Specifically, the reveal of Shizaki Kanon for the encore. Even though I knew what was coming beforehand, I was caught up in the hype: there was a seriously epic moment when the audience realised what they were in for as her back appeared in the pre-encore video. The noise went off the charts, and it only went even crazier as the staff came out onto stage to wheel the drums to one side. Absolutely lovely production.

Mid November: CharaExpo USA. Another insane rush with the costume project. This was honestly one of the most stressful things I had to do, almost as difficult as Japan Park & 5L DVs. But we pulled through together in the end, as a team, as a community. Of course, finally being able to meet a whole bunch of people I’ve been waiting to meet was amazing as well. And the fan messages I got, which I was really thankful for- they give me the courage to keep pushing on, to do what’s best for everyone. And oh, that moment when Nonchan made her surprise appearance on stage as well. I made sure I was there to witness the crowd’s reaction from the back and it certainly didn’t disappoint. Was even crazier than Vier’s audience, honestly.

Early December: BanG Dream! 6L Day 1: Brave New World by RAISE A SUILEN. Sneaking in just at the end of the year, RAS's live was a surprising contender for memorable moments of the year. I’ve always liked Electronic and House music, but damn, that was a show alright. A DECLARATION OF XXX was impossibly hyped on site. I can’t wait for them to release it.

Overall, a lot of things might have changed in my life, but I feel like the most visible changes were in the last few months.

It might have been the release from a lot of stress, having been working towards JPSG and BD 5L DVs. Or maybe it was having those exact things under my belt, having actual experience that gave me a little bit more confidence. Having been through all these things gives me not only precious memories in the past, but also more certainty in knowing what I am doing.

Honestly, 2018 has been a really good year to me, a pleasant change from the shitfest that was the year before. I’m thankful for all the opportunities that were given to me, all the awesome people I met along the way, and all the challenges that I was able to conquer.

I hope 2019 will be a good year for us all, too.

[goaprose]

.16: Wards | SG SW 2.2017

16th: (Throwback Thursday) Write a fragment of a story that is made up entirely of imperatives (Do this; do that). This exercise will be a sort of second-person narration, as a you is implied in the imperative.

Put down the book. Pick up the quill. Gather the ink. Lay out the parchment.

Plan. Design.

Scratch it all out. Crumple and throw the parchment. Begin again.

Plan. Design.

Chew on the end of the quill. Sputter. Frown at the quill. Continue.

Don’t forget to eat. (Forget to eat.)

Lay the runes. Weave the pattern.

Test it. Draw the pattern out, full-scale. Summon the imp. Command it into the circle. Duck!

Wipe exploded imp off your robes. Clear the slate. Begin again.

Plan. Redesign. Find the flaw.

Lay the runes. Weave the new pattern. Frown. Double-check your work. Check it again.

Don’t forget to sleep. (Forget to sleep.)

Draw out the design. Summon the imp. Try not to laugh. Command it into the circle. Watch it disappear.

Laugh!

Examine the circle. Continue testing.

Wonder where the cold food came from. Shrug. Shove it to the side. Ignore it.

Summon the felhound. Command it into the circle. Watch it disappear.

Summon the succubus. Fend off the succubus. Command it into the circle. Watch it disappear.

Summon the felguard. Fight the hold of it’s will. Fight. Win. Command it into the circle. Don’t breathe. Watch the circle glow.

Watch the felguard disappear.

Laugh. Laugh excessively.

Don’t get too smug. (Get entirely too smug.)

Pause.

...

Wonder why you’re so damn hungry.

unedited

[goaprose]

.17: Spindle | SG SW 2.2017 | Dawnmender Mission: Arcanic Anomalies

17th: Share the last thing your character got genuinely excited about.

A month past, Iiloridan had happily retreated with his own sample of the Fal’dorei silk, carefully wrapped around a greedily-clutched spool. He’d hoped for more, to use far more freely-

But with the limited supplies and the utter mess gathering them in the first place, he was glad to get his hands on a sample at all.  He carried it with him in his bags, in it’s own protective case, testing it’s uses as the opportunities arose. A moon’s turn later, there is little left on the spool at all.

Ensconced in his own workroom back home, Iiloridan quickly penned two copies of a letter to attach to the resulting notes and copies of his work, one to Dawnward Dawnsworn, and another to High Confessor Blackwood:

I am pleased to report that my research involving the Fal’dorei webs has had a number of positive outcomes. Given the time allotted, and my own interests in the matter of fabric, I chose to test the Fal’dorei threads in a number of different applications.

As for the threads themselves, they are incredibly supple for their size and weight.  The elasticity and tensile resistance the individual strands can undergo before snapping under pressure is impressive, as one would expect with spider silk, but far more so than any other varieties I have come across.  That is likely a secondary effect from the infused arcane inherent to the thread itself, if not a result of their odd source of production.

While the thread readily absorbs magic - any variety of magic -  it is not absorbent in the traditional sense, also consistent with spider silk.  It is, however, an excellent wicking agent, for both mana and traditional liquids. With that in mind, and given our limited supplies and incredible difficulty in procuring more, it’s use as a woven fabric for bandages is near-useless. However, when a single strand is woven into the weave of a fabric bandage made of more mundane thread, one can make the most use of it’s magically-absorbent properties without wasting silk unduly.  

It's absorption of magic continues until it is saturated - the saturation point, I will note, is absolutely ridiculous given it’s size -  but it also serves as an excellent conduit.  The mana energy spreads equally throughout the thread, resulting in a consistent glow and distribution along the length, and it retains the mana gained without noticeable ambient leakage, if kept in a magically-inert spool.

I would not recommend it’s use in anything of lesser quality than mageweave. The native Shal’dorei silk, once paired with a strand of the Fal’dorei spider silk, appears to make a very effective bandage for magically inflicted wounds that do not require heavy gauze or traditional absorbency. The mana-absorptive properties of the spider silk appear to be very effective at drawing both foreign magic and magical taint from an infected wound, wicking the substances away from the flesh of the afflicted patient and into the bandage, if appropriately woven.

Not long after first acquiring the silk, Iiloridan returned to E’Danaashal, revisiting some of the patients that remained in the infirmary under the effects of the black taint. He grown quite familiar with many of them, and greeted them with as much cheer as was possible.

“The antivenom project is making good progress, but in the meantime I’d like to try a new treatment, if you are agreeable.”

“‘S not like it’s going to make it any worse,” Neyetta said, exposing the arm that had been wrapped and washed and re-wrapped over and over again.  The open claw wounds had not degraded further, thanks to continual healing, but it had not improved, either.

Flushing the wound and mending untainted flesh as usual, Iiloridan rewrapped the recently-resurrected woman’s arm with the Shal’dorei silk bandage, rewoven with Fal’dorei silk threads. Neyetta blinked in surprise, stroking a careful hand across the bandage when the priest was done.  Her daughter, Ciwyn, beside her as ever, did the same, face lighting up at the texture and faintly glowing purple-blue color.

“It’s soft…”

“Indeed.  Fresh from the Broken Isles.  An experimental treatment, but one that has great promise from what I’ve seen.”

He’d left them with a few more words of reassurance, aiming to return the next day.  When he did though, there was a mild panic in the sick room.

“It’s turned black!”

The bright bandage had, in fact, turned a dull grey color overnight, but arguing semantics with a panicking patient rarely helped. He frowned over it, disconcerted but far from alarmed.

“Alright, alright, sit back and let me take a look,” he ordered, ignoring the ugly glare Neyetta’s daughter was giving him.  Peeling back the bandage with gloved hands, he steeled himself to find, at worst, an equally ugly discoloration underneath.

He was more surprised to find…nothing.

The wound was still there of course, but there was no gray color on the woman’s skin, or red discoloration. Instead, the wound looked improved, the ugly black spidering in infected veins and flesh dulled. The priest recovered quickly, shooting the pair of them a pleased grin, as though he had expected nothing less, and received tentative smiles in return as he moved to more properly examine and catalog the change in the wound.

I was able to test this on some of the workers that were still being treated for the Magemire taint in E’Danaashal, in conjunction with my other work (see additional enclosed reports.)  For fresher wounds, I would recommend paring the Fal’dorei silk with a more properly absorbent, non-silken bandage, like hexweave or windwool.

The silk is, of course, rendered useless after absorbing undesirable magics. The possibility of cleansing and sterilizing it remains, of course, but such methods are beyond my area of expertize, and may well fall within the area of costing us menders more time than it is worth.

The silk’s use as stitching also appears to be high.  While incredibly sturdy, the silk is very fine, and if threaded with care and with the appropriate number of strands for the grade of wound, should pose no higher risk to tearing the flesh than any other suture. With my limited surface-suture tests, they appear to be absorbed by the body at the same rate as similarly-weighted, more mundane spider silks.

I recommend further tests in this area, but I feel confident in their use in this application.

Perched in front of his loom, Iiloridan carefully threaded the precious lengths of silk in with the other bandage fabric - windwool, this time around.  Surrounding him were other bolts of fabric, organized and divided by make, type, and color - mageweave and netherweave, runecloth and spellcloth, moonshroud and Shal’dorei silk; spools of thread, coarse, fine, silken, heavy; runic and golden.  Other varieties of spider webbing, carefully preserved.  The spool of Fal’dorei silk was already half empty, a fair selection going into a test-bolt of fabric for the bandages.

“What’s that, Ann’da?”

“Hmm?” Iiloridan didn’t immediately look away from monitoring the looms magically-conducted motions  - much to his regret.

“It’s pretty!”

Iiloridan looked.  His ears drooped when he realized his youngest son, previously napping in his lap, had picked up the gently glowing spool of Fal’dorei silk, little fingers already pulling threads out with careless abandon. Wincing, he dropped the spindle and quickly reached for the spool, trying to untangle thread as quickly as he could without knotting it.  A lost cause.

“Aen, you know better than to touch ann’da’s thread like that!  And that’s spider web. The sort of thread that makes you all itchy.” He grimaced, setting aside the glowing tangle in favor of trying to clean off little fingers.

“Oh..  But it’s so bright!  And soft!” The boy said, staring down at his fingers as though expecting them to break into itchy red spots before his eyes. Scooping up and comforting the rapidly tearing up child, Iiloridan left the thread behind in a quick search of the house for an itch cream, one that ultimately went unneeded.

Despite the boy’s oft-sickly constitution, touching the silk seemed to have no ill effects. Further tests - eventually allowing the boy to examine and play with a scrap of glowing web, carefully supervised - had the same results.

It also, much to my pleasure and relief, appears to be largely hypoallergenic, at least to fellow Sin’dorei. Much more so than usual spider web, I would hypothesize because of the webs...unusual origins. Obviously, those with a high sensitivity to arcane should not come in contact with the silk, but the usual reaction involving spider proteins does not seem to be present with initial contact.

I would recommend further testing in this area.

All in all, I find the Fal’dorei silk to be incredibly useful, and well worth the hazards of procurement.  Should there be another mission to retrieve further supplies, I would be more than willing to join the team, especially if it will allot me additional samples to test.

I have included my comprehensive notes and mending reports on the subject with this letter; I hope they may be of use.

Sincerely, Duskward Iiloridan Sunshard

Signing his name with a flourish, Iiloridan happily put down his quill, humming a jaunty little tune.

There were, of course, applications he didn’t bother to mention in his report.  Oh, he had tested the mender applications first.  It wouldn’t do to run out of his sample without something to show for it.  But the mender was also a tailor, and he had been very, very cautious in his use of the thread.  By the end of his month of experiments, he still had some unused web-woven bandages to turn in - and a fair unused length left to test for other, entirely selfish applications.

A number of small, experimental patterns were laid out across his work desk; purely decorative bits of sewing and weaving, designed to show off the glow and mana-absorbing properties of the silk to highest effect. Iiloridan let out a short chuckle, entirely too pleased with himself as he channeled mana through the thread, webbing slowly lighting up to a brilliant glow. The thread was tough, magical, and beautiful.  Properly woven into fabrics valued more for their aesthetic properties rather than medical ones...well.  Iiloridan had to restrain himself from giggling outright.

Medical tests done for the time being, he now had the freedom to experiment.  And even if he did not receive more thread...he knew where the nasty spider-elves lurked in their webs.

minor edits

[goaprose]

.15 Thieves | SG SW 2.2017 | Sunspear Quest: Stop the Thefts

15th: FREE WRITE. Congratulations on making it halfway (+1 day) through the month!

Free write done for the Sunspear Quest: ‘Stop the Thefts’

Armor clanked heavily as the figure made her way through the opulent halls of the Dawnspire, no sword or spear but a humble clipboard and parchment clutched in a gauntleted hand.  Shalyndr Bloodquill worked her way down the list, personally visiting storerooms, cold rooms, wine cellars, and even the rooms of a few minor-ranking officers. All locations where items had been reported missing.

She skirted around the infirmary and its missing medical supplies, for personal reasons.  But a check of the list showed a similarity with the others.

Food, was the most commonly listed, missing from inventory.  Easily transported, non-perishable food, like dried meats, hard cheeses, and hardtack.  Field rations, already packed and ready to be shipped to the front. The issues with the officers missing...personal effects, she quickly realized, was unconnected, and discarded from her own search.

She searched the storeroom from top to bottom, while a guard waited impatiently from the doorway. The storeroom had outside access, the in the form of a tiny cellar window. Curiously, a heavy crate was already in front of it- not that the tall death knight needed it to see up to it, but for someone else… The window was far too small for her, even with her armor off- but it was just the right size for a child to squeeze through. The crate gave a shorter person perfect access to and from the window.

She smiled grimly when a quick inspection showed how the latch on the window could be jimmied open- from the outside.  Carefully, she replaced it as it had been.

“Guard.  I’ll need a maintenance request form, if you would show me where they are kept.”

“Ma’am.  And the window?”  He frowned.

“A trap, for the culprit, or culprits.  I believe I’ll take a watch, tonight.”

--

Shalyndr returned near dusk after completing her rounds through the other rooms on the missing inventory list. All had reported their missing inventory on the same days and within the same area, but she had not located any other obvious entry points.  And the first storeroom, she found, did not lock from within.

For these thefts at least, the storeroom was the access point.

Still clutching her clipboard, Shalyndr took up a silent vigil within the unlit stockroom, making sure the glow of her eyes would be invisible from anyone attempting to come in through the tiny window.  It was a perfectly reasonable choice - she was dead.  She hardly needed to sleep, and could maintain a watch all night. Pinfeathers, her eagle companion who was even more dead and scraggly than she was, sat with her as always, his unyielding stare locked on the little window and the hint of the moon showing through the glass.

The only noises for most of the night was the sound of her quill, rasping on parchment as she filled out her report, and the occasional thump-thump-thumps as the Dawnspire guards went about their rounds outside the door.  There was no guarantee that the tiny thief would strike again - but it had been nearly five days since the last irregular inventory count.  Whoever they were, they had to be getting hungry once again…

She was halfway through the maintenance request form for the finagled lock when Pinny perked up.  Even dead and missing the most of the flesh on his beaky head, the eagle somehow still maintained better hearing than her. She motioned him silent, and waited.

“-uick!  Get the lock!”

“I got it!  Shhhh!  Hurry up!”

The faint creak of the windowpane lifting up- followed by three faint -thumps- as small feet in cheap leather soles landed down on the crate in front of the window. She waited, but no more seemed to be forthcoming.

“Come on! I’m hungry!”

“I got my bag!  You better not have forgotten yours!”

A boy and a girl, and another she couldn’t discern, perhaps from their extreme youth. Barely more than children, she could tell from the tones of their voices and the sounds of their quick rummaging through the supplies.  The couldn’t reach up past the third shelf without straining on tiptoe.  Orphans, more than likely.  A bit young for gang members, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t already been pressed into service as ‘runners’ or pickpockets, in addition to breaking and entering.

A pity she was going to have to give them the scare of their little lives, but it was better than letting them ruin their futures. Or starve to death, once they were cut off from their source.

Stepping out from behind the shelving she had been hidden behind, it took the first child a almost comically long moment to notice her. A soft gasp, a burlap sack of dried beans falling from small hands.  Shalyndr opened her mouth-

“-Scatter!” The ringleader howled, and three little bodies blurred into motion.

Ah.  That’s how it was going to be.

A sweeping gesture sent a wave of ice across the window the children had come in through- as well as the other windows, wall, and part of the ceiling, prompting startled, high little screams.  Whoops. Immediate escape route blocked, the children bolted for the door-

And ran face-first into the watch guard waiting outside.  They squirmed and shrieked, and the guard only had two arms. The third nearly slipped away- only to be caught by the scuff by chilly gauntlets at the last moment.

“Child.  You are in serious trouble-”

“Don’t eat us!”

“I want my mommy!”

“I was just hungry!  I wanna go home!”

“Oh, for Light’s sake, child, I am not going to eat you,” Shalyndr grumped, pinching her nose even as the guard chuckled, a gentle sort of pity on his face as he kept up a careful but firm hold on the children.  She was glad for it; at least he could the humor in the situation. The children were young enough and scruffy enough looking that they could surely be given a new start and new opportunities elsewhere...

“I’m not going to eat you, but you really are in serious trouble,” she said, helping the guard match the trio off.

“I agree,” said he guard. “To the brig, with the three of you. Prisoners get three square meals a day and warm beds, at least.”

“And I’m sure some sort of jobs can be arranged, to work off the cost of what you children stole.”

There were still tears aplenty, but the notion of food kept the poor children from becoming hysterical.  Shalyndr nodded, satisfied with the catch, and getting hungry children off the streets. Yes, new opportunities for the lot of them...after they were done being thoroughly scared straight.

edited

[goaprose]

.14: Enchanting | SG SW 2.2017

14th: Write about a person or thing that your character loves.

Iiloridan Sunshard loved many, many things.

He loved his children, of course. More than anyone or anything else. The pure, unyielding love of a parent. The only beings in his world- or any other - that he would willingly give his life for- but would far more readily kill and murder and do any sort of foul deed to defend. There were no rules in the face of that love.

He loved Kalyanar, cousin in blood but truly the brother of his heart. His best friend, despite their bickering and frequent spats. Confidant and kin.

He l- He llloo--- He was very fond of Kenren, his oft-partner and lover, though he wondered why more often than he should. But he trusted him with his life, gave him his body, and allowed him near his children. Love in truth, if not in words.

He loved his family, the many kin long dead- and no so dead, though it was the love of the lost and memories bittersweet.

Likewise, he loved the mother of his children; loved her still, despite the vicious arguing, the hateful words spoken and never mended before her abrupt loss with the fire and fury of the Cataclysm.

He loved what he did; to heal and mend, the fight within himself to grasp the will to soothe wounds and wield the Light. It felt good, to be of use, to aid his people and cause. To be able to heal what should otherwise cause further loss.

...He shouldn’t love his enchanting work. It was inexorably tied to memories of his own father, who taught him the beginnings of the art, and whom he had complicated feelings for. (Loved, grudgingly, but never, ever liked.)

But he loved it. Loved it for himself, and himself only. Unlike his tailoring work, tied to pleasant memories of kin, enchanting was nothing but working his own will into the mana and dust- weaving with mana, laying magic along the lines of binding. Choosing the right dust for the right power, with the right pattern. Even disenchanting was a thrill- despite the return of the Sunwell, the fading of the ache of being without mana- ripping an object apart for the magic within was a vicious little thrill, years on.

He enjoyed it, took pleasure in it- and then he could sell it, for ready profit. How nice.

A completely selfish love, contrary and easy, in which he could take and take and had to give nothing back.

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[goaprose]

.19: Gratitude | SG SW 2.2017

19th: Your character must write a thank you note. Who is it to, and what is it about?

Sulking in a bedroll and crammed in a tent high in the mountains, Kalyanar Brightquill moved his pen across parchment, the motions jerky and letters sharp with irritation.  While he lacked access to both his own eagle and his cousin’s ravens to send mail, the book he was writing in had a magic of it’s own. Heavily enchanted, the spidery words written within would appear in the matching tome, located conveniently all the way back in Quel’thalas.

Lori,

You utter shit.

Thank you so very much for suggesting that I needed a ‘bodyguard’ for this trip.  I told you I would have been perfectly fine on my own.  I know you meant well, but this woman you’ve stuck me with lacks the wit normally given to a mule, and is twice as stubborn!

Who is crass enough to make a joke about my gods-damned leg?  This ‘friend’ of yours, apparently!  My hopes were already low enough when you mentioned she was a damn paladin, but she can’t even heal! What use is that? Of all the people to pick, you chose the dysfunctional paladin?

Furthermore, Stormheim is also utter shit, just behind you on my list, and I can’t stand this place. Fjarnskaggl is not worth this.

When I am done out here, you and I are having words, cousin.

Kal

edited; parallel to THIS letter 8)

[goaprose]

.04: Glow | SG SW 2.2017

4th: Describe your character's perfect day. 

Caravan Court was glowing. Their home was always a warm, bright place, but with glow of the evening sunset not yet faded, lighting up the sky like phoenix flame, and the lanterns and mana-strings hung throughout the court adding their warm glow and festival-like air, the estate was alive. The children certainly felt it, running to and fro with happy shrieks, chasing the luminescent firebugs that were beginning to emerge with the setting sun.

Iiloridan was sprawled out by the side the pond under the willow tree boughs, sated and happy and using his dozing lover's side as a headrest. He was warm and comfortable, their picnic dinner devoured, with only the ever-growing Iirinar still picking at his plate, curled up at his father’s side. Kalyanar had immediately retreated to the clear water after their meal, swimming lazy circuits and stretching out his lame leg. Occasionally, one of the children would toss something into the water, a stick or flower or glowing bauble, and run shrieking with laughter from the edge when Kalyanar would throw it back with an excessive splash. He eventually managed to coax Aen into the water with him, letting the small boy cling to his uncle’s back as he resumed his laps. Chirya’s voice rose higher and higher as she climbed up into the phoenix willow tree beside the pond, giggling when Iiloridan rolled back, gaze toward the sky only to see her laughing face in the branches overhead. She dangled a broken-off willow branch down from her perch, using the flexible stem and it’s bright golden leaves to tickle Kenren’s nose, making him sneeze in his sleep. Iiloridan shared a conspiring look of approval with his youngest daughter, making her laugh anew. Bella, oddly enough, was reading a book in near-silence, aside from occasional, excited squeaks; little wooden training sword briefly forgotten in the clover at her side. That the book was a tale of fighting and swordplay was not so uncharacteristic of the boisterous child, but her leaving her more gentle siblings in peace was a welcome respite. Before the evening was over, however, she would of course abandon the book in her own excitement and seek out imaginary foes, beating on tree trunks and slicing willow branches to pieces in lieu of fighting actual trolls and beasts. Only Maeldir was missing, but a fresh letter from their Illidari cousin proclaiming his health and continued survival had arrived earlier in the day, bolstering both Iiloridan and Kalyanar’s moods. Everyone was warm, happy, and as healthy as could be, and Iiloridan was surrounded by his most beloved. Perfect.

unedited

[goaprose]

.18: Towards the Sun | SG SW 2.2017

18th: Pick a lyrical song and orient a short passage around the song's lyrics or meaning. You do not have to directly copy lyrics from the song, although you could; the story can be only tangentially related if you prefer. The idea is to use a song of your choosing to inspire your text. (Link your song if you think it would be helpful for understanding, but it's not necessary!)

Rihanna - Towards The Sun

Iiloridan turned his back on the shadow altar, leaving the whispering dark and black candles behind him.  While once oddly peaceful, with the calm of the shade and the gentle caw of friendly shadow ravens surrounding him- the caws had as of late gone silent, and the shadow had grown to feel cloying and chill.  He wandered aimlessly through the great hall, passing the windows where barren asteroids orbited.  The empty view made the priest’s skin crawl, and he looked away quickly, tucking his hood close. Floating in the Great Dark, even the Light side of the Priest order hall didn’t feel quite warm enough. The chimes of the naaru, whom he felt little connection to in the first place, did nothing to soothe it.

He felt like he was being followed.  And worse still, he had a feeling he knew what it was.

Pace working up to almost a run, Iiloridan took the portal back to Dalaran. The oppressive feeling of eyes on him vanished as he found himself abruptly outside, nearly blinded by the sudden change in ambiance. Stepping out of the alcove,  Iiloridan turned his face up toward the light of the sun.  He breathed, pounding heart calming slowly.  Pulling back his hood, he closed his eyes and basked.

minor edits

[goaprose]

.13: Spring | SG SW 2.2017

13th: Start your writing with a sentence that is genuinely happy and upbeat, with no double meanings. Then end it with the same sentence, but this time it is chilling, dark, or otherwise negative.

Spring was the season of rebirth.

And in a realm of eternal spring, the land was always lush with life.  Trees bloomed and glowed; flowers blossomed, perfuming the air; Iiloridan’s children ran free and happy in the warm sunshine. Spring was the time of Noblegarden, flowers and rabbits for his youngest daughter to chase; the time for love to be in the air, if one practiced such... sentimental holidays. Iiloridan certainly didn’t. (Parchment heart cards from the kids and a timely-prepared dinner for two of his own make said otherwise.)

The wards trembled on a bright spring day.  Trembled, but did not falter; recognizing the call of blood to blood.

“Hello, Lori.”

Iiloridan’s heart plummeted. The voice was wrong.  Raspy and choked with unmended wounds.  But the tone was painfully familiar.  No one else said his nickname like that.

“...H-hello, Minn’da.”

The priest turned, even as the clammy chill only associated with the undead climbed up his spine. He watched as frost rimed it’s way down plate mail and spread to the grass and clover, wilting the bright green immediately, strands breaking off and browning with each step.  He could barely meet the gaze of glacier-blue eyes.

“Son. We need to talk.”

Spring was the season of rebirth.

minor edits

[goaprose]

.03 Eavesdropping | SG SW 2.2017

3rd: Write about a conversation your character overheard and wished they hadn't.

Semi-continuation of THIS prompt from last round

“Auntie Lyn?”

There was a slam, and Kalyanar jerked back from the door, the hand that had been raised to knock recoiling. His words went unheard over the noise, as inside the sealed room, two people were arguing. “-Vee! You can’t be serious! He’s our son! I’ve never seen him come home so upset before!” There was a thump, a plated foot stomping on a wooden floor. Despite himself, Kalyanar glanced back to the hall behind him - empty - before leaning in. “You completely overreacted.” “He doesn’t have the talent. I’m not going to waste time I could be using to teach the others trying-” “Just because you’re disappointed doesn’t mean you can just- treat him like that!” Kalyanar’s ears went back involuntarily; he’d never heard his aunt use that tone before.

“I- dammit, Shalyndr, I told you I wasn’t cut out for this!” V’liyidan’s tone turned plaintive. Scuffling footsteps, shifting in frustration. “Cut out for what?” Her suddenly icy tone rose dangerously, and despite himself, Kalyanar all but leaned against the door in fascinated horror. That was not a good sound, and from the sudden, tense silence within, his uncle knew it. “...Cut out for- teaching, that sort of parenting! I mean- I know how to- to, create a damn temporal flux, wield the arcane completely, but teaching a novice? An inept novice at that? I barely managed with Nieydrus, and you know I had even less patience with Aruenna, despite my best efforts! I can’t do it again, not even for Iiloridan!” “That doesn’t mean you can toss him aside like that, no matter how irritated you get! Just because he can’t be a mage doesn’t mean you get to stop being his father!” “I will never stop being his father! But I just can’t deal with this right now, Lyn!” “Dammit, V’liyidan Sunshard, don’t you dare turn your back on this-!” Footsteps. Kalyanar hopped back up the side of the stairs, silently scrambling up to the next landing just as the door swung open with a bang. His uncle stomped out with in a flurry, clattering down the stairs and stomping through the shop in a rush, the frustrated crackling of arcane trailing in his wake. Voices sounded outside, conversation ending abruptly with the -pop- of teleportation, before the entry door was more gently closed than it had been opened. Kalyanar’s heart was pounding in his throat. The earlier thrill of being the first to hear of such prime gossip was replaced with a sick feeling in his gut. The teen felt completely unsettled; such arguments were rare, even in their large household. More footsteps. Kalyanar peeked down, eyes widening as he dropped to a crouch at the sight of his own mother coming down the hall to join her sister, who had gone silent in the vacated room. “...Shalyndr?” His aunt’s voice responded, too soft to make out. Kalyanar crouched down, limbs still gangly with youth splaying as he crept down the stairs on all fours, peering over the edge of the stair landing back toward the room. “...Lyn, honey, you can’t blame yourself.” “I can. This is all my fault.” “If I hadn’t-...” “The blood magic has nothing to do with V’liyidan being an ass.” Kalyanar’s ears perked straight up. What? He leaned further- “-Kalyanar, be a dear and close the door on your way out,” his mother barked out abruptly, tone biting with the promise of a future scolding. He tumbled off the side of the stairwell with a thump, unable to meet their eyes as he scrambled for the door.

minor edits from original posting

[goaprose]

.01: Children | SG SW 2.2017

1st Day: Which words, phrases, or concepts do your characters most overuse in conversation, and why? In what context?

“-And Iri, bless him, is still struggling with his reading. He’s perfectly capable of penning a letter, even if his handwriting leaves a much to be desired. I just can’t figure out the cause. My boy is perfectly clever, if a bit...slow to catch on to certain academic concepts at times, though it pains me to admit it. Kal and I checked to see if he needed glasses, but his eyesight is apparently quite sharp-”

Iiloridan rambled contently on, stirring the mix of broth and vegetables and pandaren noodles that would eventually become their dinner. Kenren, his partner in crime and various other activities, sprawled out lazily next to him, nodding along and at least making an effort to comment, amused and tolerant to the long on-going topic. With one hand stirring or chopping or straining, Iiloridan’s other hand weaved and bobbed and gestured with the ebb and flow of the rather one-sided conversation, drawing Kenren’s increasingly hungry stare. His stomach rumbled.

“- we were at market about month ago, someone had direbeaks. Direbeaks, gods-damned direbeaks, straight from the Isles! My poor Chirya, bless her fluff-filled little head, called them 'half-naked hawkstriders'- hah!- but then, of course, ran right up to the pet the Light-forsaken things-”

Kenren laughed, hiding a sigh, brows furrowing as the topic continued. Iiloridan turned the strider meat that was searing nicely over the fire, but was taking entirely too long to cook.

“-never seen Aen move so fast. It was only a manawyrm, and it wasn’t even chasing him, but he ran screaming across the yard like his hair was on fire. Kalyanar completely lost his shit, all but fell over laughing, which would normally be a nice change in pace, seeing him laugh for once, but dear Aen wouldn’t talk to him for three whole days-”

“Lor. Lori.”

“And then he- hm? What?”

“Loooriii…”

Squirming over, the monk dropped his head down in Iiloridan’s lap, staring up at him pitifully.

“Oh for Light’s sake, really? Really, Kenren?”

“Yes. Pay attention to me.”

Rolling his eyes, Iiloridan used the hand he had been gesturing with to give Kenren’s spiky hair a sharp, chiding tug, laughing when he yelped.

“You’re such a demanding shit.”

“Loooor. Come on…”

Iiloridan snorted, but the hand eventually settled, carding more gently through dark hair, rubbing his nails along his scalp. Slowly, Kenren settled, previous good humor returning as he arched into the attention. The monk made a low, content sound when Iiloridan’s long fingers combed slowly through his hair, before migrating over to start rubbing around the base of an ear.

“...Bella is becoming an utter handful, I’ll have you know,” the priest continued, slowly raising a brow as though challenging his lover to interrupt again. Kenren smirked instead.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. She’s starting to remind me of you, which only makes it worse.”

“Hah! I hope she’s driving you up a wall!”

“You both drive me up a damn wall.”

“Exactly!”

@thesunguardmg @sparklepriest

[goaprose]

.05: Distance | SG SW 2.2017

5th: Write a letter or a poem to someone who is estranged or distanced from you in some fashion. This can be from your character to that person, or your character musing on a person of interest.

A letter is written, ink uncharacteristically spotty and cursive wobbly, as though penned under great duress: 

Minn Shaly- Mother Minn’da, Perhaps I will actually send this letter. Light knows I’ve hardly managed in the past- [Ink blots obscure the rest of a scratched-out sentence.] I would wish you well, but you and I both know how little that would mean. I don’t even know what I wish you as well as you can be, I suppose, given the situation. I know not where you are, but I can only assume that if anything of my mother truly remains that you have made your way to the broken isles as well, to add your skills against the Legion. If I send this letter, who knows when it might actually reach you, but I have a hunch. Perhaps I will just- [More ink splotches, as though the quill rested there for a long while.] I am well. Kalyanar is well. My children are well. There. Pleasantries are done with. As for the reason I write: Maeldir has been returned to us. Annathas, Kalenthal, and Maeldir all survived the Fall. Of the three, only Annathas and Maeldir remain. Maeldir is one of the Illidari, but firmly on the side of our people. But Anna… Maeldir tells me that she was responsible for the death of Kalenthal. Her own brother. Purposefully, and maliciously. I’m not sure why I tell you all this. As a warning, perhaps, but what have the dead to fear? I hesitate to be so distrustful of living family I say as I have difficulties penning this very letter But I dare not trust her, as much as I wish to reconcile. I know you are in contact with Aruenna. Pass the word onto her as well, if you would. It keeps managing to slip my mind every time I run into the giant bitch her, as our interactions have not improved as of late. She needs to leave me be, minna! I don’t know what would happen should I run into her. I can hardly kill family for the sake of killing family, can I? Anyway. Hopefully it is not a choice I will be forced to make. Stay safe, I suppose- Kill some Legion for us, would you? And- thank you for the distance, after last time. -Lori

unedited

[goaprose]

.07: Roadtrip | SG SW 2.2017

7th:  Music Prompt: Kärlekens Alla Färjor.

The rapid patter-patter-patter of trotting hawkstrider feet set the tone, the stout birds toting the caravan along mossy cobblestones.  The roads along the ruins of Silvermoon were empty of people, thankfully but long cleared of debris - Iiloridan and Kalyanar had seen to that themselves - both of which made the trip smooth and swift.  Despite the surroundings, the jaunt was easy and carefree; the sun was shining bright, passing a warm glow through the overgrown boughs that lined the roadway as the caravan trundled along among shining ruin.

“Market! Market! Market!” Dalchirya shrieked, bouncing up and down in her seat, before abandoning it completely. Doing a short loop through the inside of the intricately decorated vardo, she ending up tackling her twin brother, sending them tumbling into a heap on the cushions.

Kalyanar sighed, leaving them to it as little limbs flailed.  With Iiloridan up front driving the birds, it was up to him to watch the children.  And he was. Watching.

He was in no hurry to intervene. They always got worked up before the weekend bazaar trips, eager to see other children their age and to run around through the brightly colored market stalls.  But the trip-

Even shy Iirinar got excited, eagerly sticking his head outside the wide-open windows letting the balmy air flow through the wagon, blinking happily in the bright sunshine.  Bel’alah let out a warcry before joining the tussle happening between her youngest siblings, where she would eventually be overwhelmed by the pair of them working together.

The trip was all about them, a time with just family, and everything that involved.  Even with screaming children, Kalyanar was remarkably content.

Thankfully, there were rarely hard feelings or whining tears on Market Day, this trip was no exception; the warlock didn’t even have to split up the fussing himself because the shrieking quickly turned to laughter, with the twins mercilessly tickling their usually sour older sister until she begged for mercy. Iirinar made the mistake of laughing at all three of them- and was quickly dogpiled himself, his elder sister dragging him away from the window while the twins latched little fingers against his ticklish ribs, making him squeak and snort-giggle as he flailed on the well-weathered baseboards.

Kalyanar let out a laugh at the whole bunch of them, all but daring them to try the same trick on him.  He was quickly rewarded with four pairs of cheery green eyes locking on to him.  Whoops.

From the front, Iiloridan didn’t have to hide his own laughter, as thumps and giggles sounded from within the caravan behind him. Shaking his head, gave the reigns a nudge, steering them on without worry.

The soft chime of bells followed them along their way.

unedited

[goaprose]

.06: Bad Hair Day | SG SW 2.2017

"6th: Pick a cliche. Write a story based on that cliche; the phrase does not have to directly appear in the narrative. You are welcome to use multiple cliches."

Kalyanar Brightquill stared up at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes, the faintest glow of the not-yet-risen sun slowly illuminating the bedroom. Not even the fel glow could hide the red rims, the dimmed, exhausted green also highlighting the dark, bruise-like circles underneath. He’d barely slept a wink, his usual insomnia only worsened by the stormy squall had passed overhead last night from the sea.  While the true strength of it had been deflected by Quel’thalas’ magic, as per usual, the thunder and wind rattled the trees and buildings for the entire night.  The pressure change had driven him half-mad, leaving his maimed leg and hip aching far more than usual.

Eventually, he let out a growl, fed up with attempting to sleep and snarling as he fought to escape the bed; all of his tossing and turning through the stormy night had left the sheets tangled around his legs, and his bad leg was still stiff.  He thrashed, fighting the cloth without thought- only to slip to the edge of the bed in his moment of triumph, tumbling down with a thump and a vicious string of swears.

Once again, he stared up at the ceiling.  Rubbing a hand roughly across his face, the warlock fumbled about until he found his cane, painfully heaving himself up to his feet with a wheeze, briefly out of breath. Slowly staggering down the stairs of his family home with an uneven click-thump-click of cane tip and limbs, right leg stiff and half unresponsive, he nearly tripped over the discarded toys littering the main floor.  He kicked away a stuffed kodo that ensnared his cane with his good leg, not feeling a flicker of guilt as it crashed morosely into a shelf. With everyone else still asleep, Kalyanar set to stoking the fire and cooking breakfast, a thought that made his stomach churn unpleasantly.  He waited, staring into the fire, half in an exhausted daze-

Jerking back to full wakefulness when the smell of burning began to itch at his nose.

Swearing at himself, the fire, and life in general, the warlock tossed the burnt food straight out an open window, narrowly missing his cousin as he came tearing down the stairs.

“Kal!?  What’s burning- oh. Yikes.”

Iiloridan drew up short at the sight of Kalyanar’s rumpled frame, the warlock’s growl growing worse the longer Iiloridan stared.

“What.  It’s fine.  I’m not burning the place down.  It’s. Fine.”

“Gods, Kaly, you look a fright,” Iiloridan said, approaching and reaching for his cousin’s red locks, which had gone completely untended- and were a giant, tangled mess from his night of tossing and turning.  Kalyanar flinched away, batting Iiloridan’s hand back.

“It’s fine.” Kalyanar snapped, even as he raised hand to the mess, tugging at a knot, only to catch on a snarl that had entangled itself in the chain of his earrings, foolishly left on for the night.

“Hardly. Hold still.  Your hair is a damn mess.  You look like a mop.”  

“Don’t touch me.”

“Shush,” Iiloridan said, giving Kalyanar’s ear a chiding tug. Kalyanar hissed as his earrings caught again, but Iiloridan carded his hands carefully through tangled curls, drawing him up short.  

“I’ll take care of breakfast once this mess of yours is taken care of,” Iiloridan said, pushing his cousin around until he was all but reclined in the seat. Eyes going half lidded, Kalyanar allowed Lori to slowly pick his way through the knots, slowly slumping back against the plush cushions set around the hearth.

“I need a brush.  And you need a bath.”

“Hngh.  Later.”

“Mhmm.”  Iiloridan rolled his eyes, but kept at it, even after the tangles were cleared out, until Kalyanar dropped off, dozing in his seat. Just as planned.

minor edits from original

[goaprose]

.12: Talon Queen | SG SW 2.2017

12th: Write a story about your character from the perspective of an object, thing, or animal.

She was the queen. Undisputed, undefeated. The flight-leader of the flock; the mixed murder of flesh-and-blood corvids and shadow ravens at her fledgling’s beck and call.

Her fledgling. Such a conundrum. Her awkward, two-legged, no-winged kin-leader-student-provider. She doted on him often, preening down that matched a raven’s wing in color yet held no lift or flight. Weakness and strength. No flight, yet full of fight.

She had been with him since he was truly a fledgling- less than, a mere hatchling of the long-ears. The still-fresh scar of shadow that beckoned her to him had made her curious. He’d been nothing more than a tidbit, and the fact that larger, scarier things than herself had not found his bleeding trail through the Dark Wood before her was impressive. But he was something new. Something strange. He’d shone like a bauble in the void. What raven could resist the curiosity? She had lingered, taking him under her wing. Nurturing the shadow like a chick in her roost. He took to it like the sky.

They made him skilled. He made them strong.

His prey was fierce. She gathered the other shadow ravens to his side, spied and hid and crow-crow-crowed knowledge and wisdom needed to hide amongst their kin. He fed their murder with murder and death; shadow knives in the dark. The strength of foes undefeatable with wing and talon, brought into the fold.

Her fledgling fought what they could not. They defended him from what he could not resist.

Insanity of the void plucked away from delicate, mortal flesh, gobbled down eager beaks and crops. Keep the fledgling strong, grow the flock-

---What was this? Quills rustled, bristling and dark. She hissed a warning that went unanswered.

Something was near that should not be here. Something was encroaching on her territory...

Something stealthy.

Something dark.

Something ancient.

Five black eyes grew wide as feathers flew.

Her fledgling was being hunted.