#day42021

[aerdendios]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 4 - Accomplish

Read Part 1 ---> Here Part 2 

~I’m GoInG tO cReAtE a DiStRaCtIoN~

So stupid. 

So maybe he wasn’t going to get the others killed today, but he was definitely going to get himself killed. There was one very large, very angry, and very fiery behemoth waiting for them outside of this cave, and Aerden had no doubt in his mind that soon something smaller would be along that could fit into that narrow passage to finish them off.

If there was one thing that he knew about behemoths, is that they were not terribly bright and a distraction would probably work, at least long enough for the others to escape. That, and they were quite clunky, unable to move at high speeds aside from what their size allowed. He would have to rely on his speed and agility. As long as he could put distance between the large monster and himself, he could dodge those molten infernos, lead it away, lose it among the rocky cliffs, and then circle back to rejoin his group.

The other soldiers were prepping for a swift departure, two having to be carried and another needing support to be able to walk. The priestess was in the best shape among the lot, and they decided she would be on point. “We’re ready.” The young woman placed a hand on Aerden’s shoulder, blessing him with a magical shield. It wasn’t much, but it could be the difference between life and death. “Please be safe.”

“Just wait until the entrance is clear and go.” Aerden forced a smile to try to bring her some sort of comfort and assure her that he knew what he was doing. He didn’t. His hands were shaking, his heart was trying to beat out of his chest, and he couldn’t ever remember a time when his mouth had been so dry; but it was now or never.

He took his moment when the behemoth briefly glanced away, sprinting straight towards the hulking beast and leaping into a roll to slip between its legs. He was quick enough that it didn’t seem to notice: Not bright as predicted. This would give him ample time to create some distance between them before luring ---- 

*WHUMP*

Aerden hadn’t been paying attention to anything other than the behemoth, and at the end of his sliding roll he smacked right into something that obviously wasn’t ready for it either. A rookie mistake, Cazmilan would be so disappointed that he hadn’t been paying better attention to his surroundings. The Maw necromancer toppled over from the velocity and surprise of the impact, giving Aerden just enough time to make a quick survey of his surroundings: Charred behemoth still oblivious, necromancer down but would be up soon, Maw guard a few paces away that was just about to….

*SHUNK*

Aerden scrambled backwards and spread his legs just as the guard’s axe split the ground between them; it didn’t happen just in his comic books! The look he must have had on his face… He could laugh about that later when he was hopefully not dead. It was at that moment that everything seemed to slow down, and he could almost predict what was going to happen next. Caz mentioned this phenomena while the two trained together and Aerden had definitely experienced this before in times of panic: Tachypsychia, The Matrix Effect. Of course time didn’t actually slow down, it was just a trick of the brain, an illusion: A much needed one in this case.

Freeing one of his swords from its scabbard, he swept his leg towards the guard’s ankles, knocking him off his feet and onto his back. Aerden immediately lodged his sword down into the helmet slits, through whatever was inside, and out the back into the ground beneath. That was the problem with enemies from The Maw, some of them had corporeal forms within their armor and others were, literally, just angry sets of armor. The guard seemed out of commission, for now.

At least the necromancer had a physical body: A shriveled, disfigured one, but it would do. Something vaguely humanoid could possibly have humanoid-type anatomy; he had seen it in creatures all over, and even here in The Maw already. What happened to them after they died, since they were technically already dead, was beyond him. Only a split second had passed since he effectively pinned the guard to when he jabbed the side of his hand hard against where neck meets shoulder of the now-standing necromancer. Brachial stuns worked wonders on the living, and apparently also on this particular type of dead. The necromancer crumpled to the ground and Aerden’s attention immediately went to the behemoth.

All of that ruckus must have finally drawn its attention, because it was now reeling back, readying itself to lay down another fiery inferno. Yet again, Aerden jumped and rolled out of the way, shielding his face from the molten blast that completely ravaged the two Mawsworn he had just fallen. How poetic. He leapt to his feet and began sprinting the opposite way he had directed the remaining soldiers to go, and the behemoth easily took the bait.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw the others slipping out of the cave and moving swiftly, and freely, towards safety. Mission accomplished.

...To be continued...

@daily-writing-challenge​

[vixannya]

Day 4 - Accomplish/Macabre @daily-writing-challenge​

Optional Challenge #3 - Use both words

Vixannya backed away from the painting to get a better look at the overall appearance of the display, tilting her head one way and then the other with a squint in her analytical gaze. She still had a little over one week until the grand opening of her gallery, To Live is To Die, but perfection was in her blood and everything had to be flawless, herself included. 

The annual Hallow’s End exhibition was by far her most popular, with nobility and celebrity always in attendance, especially at the grand opening on the 1st. These things were never just about the art: the ambiance, clothing, food, and especially the after party were just as important. It was a place for the rich, powerful, and interesting to dress to the nines, rub elbows with all types, and perhaps even scandalize for an evening without fear of repercussion. Invitations were difficult to come by, but with the right connections or a hefty donation, one may find themselves on the list. 

The paintings in this particular showcase portrayed death in all of its glorious forms; appropriate for the season, but not for everyone. It was her claim to fame, how she was first discovered by the art world. Her skill itself had been polished over the years, but it was the subject matter that caught the attention of many. Especially when one of the noble clients that sat for her ended up perishing in the exact same way that her painting portrayed. She was under investigation for a while, a coincidence was unlikely in such a brutal death. Then it happened again, and again, and it kept happening. There was no way she could have been present at the time of some of the deaths depicted in her paintings, and eventually most of those who questioned her accepted that she was as she had always claimed to be: A seer.

All of it was extremely taboo to the public eye, which is probably why many sought out her gallery to purchase her work or commission her for a personal piece. Others claimed dark magic and protested, which naturally, only made it all the more popular. From then on, every year around Hallow’s End, she would open up an exhibition full of the disturbing, macabre art, and every painting would be sold in a matter of days. After her name grew in popularity and she was set in stone as an accomplished artist, she branched out into other genres, but often kept it taboo to remain true to her roots.

She jotted a few notes down into her notebook about lighting before moving onto the next painting to do the same. From here she would need to go to her final fitting for her gallery and after party look. While the opening was a strict black tie affair, the after party would be much more lenient, especially when it came to coverage. Given the hedonistic nature of her typical after parties, the invite list for that would grow much smaller, another detail she would have to go over soon. Closing her notebook, she tucked it back into her pocket before turning to admire the gallery; it was her most extravagant yet. This was going to be one hell of a party.

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC 2021 - Day 4 - Starlight & Skulls

Tinnaire sometimes sped up the process with a little heat. She was impatient, and the body modification faire was coming up quickly. She had to increase her stock! And with fire coming so naturally to her, it was hard not to nudge the process along. She tried to wait for nature when she found something in the wild, but this had been a fresh kill for sustenance, and the skeleton a gift. Besides, it was so cold here the usual processing would take too long if she let nature do all the work. That’s what she told herself, anyway, as she drew the tiny rune with a fingertip on the glass. All it would be was the tiniest warmth that settled in the large cloche jar. But it would be enough to cut days off the cycles. Her lips curled up at the corners to see condensation started. Some would say the see-through jar with the doe head was a bit macabre, but the process was fascinating and Tinnaire would not deny herself the study of it--though she had seen it hundreds of times. She stood up and surveyed the small work area she’d commandeered from Jencir. Her days here were busy and the company was good. She was adjusting her schedule, and she suspected he was, too.

The small workspace was a simple building, and he’d set her up a table and the necessary equipment. There were sharp knives that hung on the wall, buckets and rags, her paints and jars of chemicals, a barrel of snowmelt water, and over the tiny pump-handle sink there was even a window. The thick glass must have been expensive. Not for the first time, she wondered what he intended this tiny building to be in the future. The shelves had been here, too. Now they were lined with tiny taxidermied mice--a special request fondly undertaken--costumed and posed. The valiant knight in his shiny tin armor and shield was the best of that lot, obvious care taken with him. She had been experimenting with painting on the skulls, and had a few she was growing crystals on. There were frames to layout and bones to bore beading holes into. The door creaked and homestead clearing was quiet when she stepped out this late in the afternoon. The sun was dipping below the tree tops and shadows were gathering. Soon, Jencir would wake, they’d eat together, supper and breakfast, and then go about their work. Maybe after a walk or a bath. She couldn’t be bored with him pointing out constellations and she wondered, again, how many of them had changed while his people were trapped in their shield. Maybe she’d try her own hand at hunting again tonight. There was a bow just for her--his were all much too strong of draw for her--and she was determined that she’d bring in some sort of game before she left. He was already too generous with her. Her hand traced the sigil on the door to the main cabin again, and her eyes fell, knowing what it had been fortified against and why. Demons. Shadow. Fel. The glow of the runes seemed out of place here where the more natural glow of moonlight off snow seemed less rude. She looked up, and her heart swelled again. The first flicker of starlight winking strong through dusky skies fortified her. This was a good place.

Her lips quirked as she pushed inside. Anyone who wandered into her shed might get quite a fright, though.

Day 4, Daily Writing Challenge

@daily-writing-challenge

Mention: @wildswalk-the-stars and a nod to @andaerosdawnflare

[asharinhun]

Accomplish

((After Legion, before Battle for Azeroth))

The druid 's hair was blowing freely in the wind as he walked, a rarity, since he usually kept in in a low ponytail. For today however, it felt just right. It didn't take long until he reached his destination: the lake at the roots of mighty Nordrassil, the first world tree.

"Don't tell me you're brooding again, especially on a fine day like this." A teasing, gentle voice called from behind.

"I was just thinking." Asharin replied as he glanced back, greeting his wife with a smile.

"Oh? A copper for your thoughts?" Serena asked as she caught up and linked her arm with his.

"I was considering the recent events, of what we accomplished and what it means for our family."

They were an unusual couple, for more than one reason. Asha had antlers from birth, marking him as a night elf with potential to become a great druid. Cases like him were rare, but not unheard of. Serena, on the other hand, was a blood elf. The tension between Horde and Alliance didn't make their lives any easier, even if they were neutral, avoiding the conflict as much as possible.

Luckily, his daughters Kiela and Elyena accepted Serena without much fuss. All it took was one discussion, but he wasn't privy to the details. Still, their emotions were geniue, so it's fine.

"You mean, the hopefully final defeat of the Burning Legion? Are you afraid the factions will jump at each other's throat again?"

"I honestly have no idea about the latter, let's hope we will finally have some peace. But not only the Legion was beaten, finally the Emerald Dream is clear of the Nightmare. Even the Rift of Aln. I was never interested in sending my spirit to the Dream while my body sleeps and I don't plan on starting now. Just..." Asharin paused, unsure how to continue.

"You're afraid that now you got the title of Archdruid, they will ask you to do this and leave us behind. So that's what has been bothering you." Serena shook her head before resting it on his shoulder. "Don't fret on it. You are not the only new Archdruid, many promising druids received it, right? So not everything is your burden to bear, and the elders can't order you around freely anymore either. The last time they tried it turned into a mess, or so I've heard." She winked, using his own words against him.

"You're right. Maybe I'm worried over nothing." Asha placed and arm over her shoulders.

"Of yourse I am right!" Serena stuck out her tongue then chuckled. "Let's just focus on the present. We earned some peace and happiness. Let's enjoy it as long as we can." She pulled him in for a deep kiss. He just smiled and returned the kiss.

[rosecrownreserve]

DWC, Day 4 - Accomplish, Macabre

Kael'thas Sunstrider had fallen. For real this time. Many of his steadfast supporters had chosen to join their King in the afterlife than be taken and live as the traitors they were considered to be. The combined forces had been able to reclaim the Isle of Quel'danas, though they had pockets of resistance left to deal with. The Sunwell had even been restored and purified into a font of Light.

But as many celebrated, there was a lot to clean up and deal with.

Leo'mar and his father found themselves not celebrating but instead faced with the macabre task of identifying the bodies of family members that had supported the Sun King until the very end. Most of this was performed by his father, as the one that knew his family best, yet Leo remained at his side out of support even when at times he could barely make himself look upon the twisted bodies.

Not until they found the body of his mother.

Until that moment, every memory he had of her she appeared the same way. She had always been a beautiful woman, with long light red hair and eyes that seemed to twinkle with every smile. No matter how many times he had angered her with his antics, she always softened later on no matter how fierce she looked in the moment.

The woman he couldn't help but stare at now was nothing like his memories. This woman, while once beautiful, had become twisted from her use of destructive powers. Once long hair was now short with only hints of color beneath whatever had caused it to become blackened. Also blackened were her hands and patches of skin on her arms, dark patches cracked and raw from undoubted repeated damage. And her face...

Gaunt and somehow radiating hatred even in death, Leo wouldn't have believed it to be his mother if not for his father's pained confirmation. He had always wondered why she had so fervently supported the push to embrace Fel energy and all the terrible plans Kael'thas had on the other side of the Dark Portal. She had always been so reverent to the ways of Nature, what had she hoped to accomplish?

There were many questions Leo had been left with, with no way to ever receive the answers.

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 4

Accomplish/Macabre ( @daily-writing-challenge @ijirothehero​ )

World: Warcraft

Theme: Lord of the Rings OST - Rohan/Rohirrim Suite

“I was only a farmer’s boy forty years ago. Just some scrawny kid defending my father’s crops from foxes and the occasional bear. I thought… I really thought life would remain simple. Then the giant pig-men sacked Stormwind. The Night Elves stopped being myths and stories we would tell our girls claiming they protect their dreams under the full moon. The Horde conquered most of Kalimdor and now… now it seems like a new tragedy plagues us every year. War after war. When will it end? Will it ever?”

Estevot Bradshaw pulled his locket out from his collar and popped it open with the gentlest squeeze of his thumb. Inside were pictures of his two boys, Guntram and Ryland Bradshaw, and his wife, Marie Bradshaw. These mementos were supposed to give him strength through this long and arduous Northrend Campaign; but it was so hard to look at their faces and not crumble to his knees to weep. He wanted his family back more than anything… more than anything in this whole accursed world. His only solace was knowing their mangled corpses weren’t shambling around in the dark and the cold -- all three of them were burned and their urns safe from the undead. That was Highlord Tirion’s promise to him. And the only reason why he wasn’t a broken shell of a man now.

“Lord-Commander.” His squire broke the silence. “We stand ready.”

“Fetch my horse.” Estevot turned to the young boy with his face a hardened mask; he couldn’t afford to show weakness to him or anyone else. “We ride within the hour.”

The old Paladin had stuffed his armor with straw like he used to do when he was his squire’s age. It helped fight off the bitter cold nights in his Eastweald home, even if it did nothing to stop the frost in the heart of Icecrown. He found himself putting his own armor on by himself, choosing to send his squire off to find some hot cups of coffee to warm themselves during these long nights, and today was no exception. His wrinkled fingers slid into his gauntlets with ease. He tightened the straps on his greaves and treads, ensuring they wouldn’t loosen during his ride, and last but not least he carefully lifted his silver crested helm over his brow and onto his head. His flowing cape of ivory and gold danced when he stepped out of his tent and into that howling wind, where his squire, their armored horses, and three thousand soldiers waited.

Lord-Commander Estevot dug his spurs into Daybreak, and the faithful horse began trotting through the frozen mud to the front of the line. On his left and right were men from all corners of Azeroth; from burly orcs to curvacious draenei, lanky trolls to regal elves, stout dwarves to giant tauren, and lots of trustworthy humans beyond counting. What one would never find, however, is Forsaken; his trust in them was already parchment-thin from the start, but the betrayal at the Wrathgate convinced him to purge his command of any undead filth before they too got ideas of tossing plague grenades onto his head. If they want to fight the Scourge so badly they can rot with the Knights of the Ebon Blade where they rightfully belonged.

He reached the end of the encampment to gaze down the long and gentle slope toward the looming behemoth more commonly referred to as the Icecrown Citadel. Even in this freezing fog he could see them -- thousands of shadows preparing for their assault. Nay… hundreds of thousands. “We have no hope of breaching their numbers ourselves. None of us will even get close enough to the Citadel to stir the Lich King from his tower.” Lord-Commander Estevot grimaced in seething silence. “But our job isn’t to defeat the Scourge… ours is to distract the army of the damned so the elite strike teams can breach the citadel and wreak havoc within. We are the bait. Sent straight to the meat grinder.”

Lord-Commander Estevot pulled on his reins and turned to face his brigade. “Brothers of the Alliance!” He shouted, sending white clouds of his freezing breath into the merciless wind. “Sons of the Horde! Champions of the Frozen Wastes! From your first step onto this icy husk of a continent, you knew this day would come! You have fought long and hard on your journeys to my command, but hear me and hear me well! I care not whence you came! What gods you worship! What loyalties and allegiances you harbor! What matters now is you are here! Ready to fight the greatest threat to our ways of life! To life itself!" He began trotting up and down the vanguard with his squire following close behind. "But I ask not for you to fight for me! Nor the Argent Crusade! Nor the Horde! Nor the Alliance! Not even for yourselves! Fight for your kinsmen! For those that suffered and died at the hands of the Scourge and their demon overlords! They cower behind the shells of our families! Our children! This atrocity cannot stand! It will not!" He felt the rising heat of his anger settling in the back of his throat, threatening to light his heart aflame. The Lord-Commander turned his horse about-face and began trotting in the opposite direction. Even behind their helmets he could see their faces -- frostbitten and fearful. They knew this was a suicide charge at best. “I can’t let despair cripple them…” He thought behind his scowl. “I must turn their fear into fury.”

“Remember Eastweald! Whose farms and farmers were preyed upon by the Cult of the Damned! Remember Stratholme! And the hundreds of innocent men, women, and children caged and butchered like animals!” Estevot noticed a group of Blood Elves on his way down. “Remember Quel’Thalas! Remember the decimation of your people and the corruption of your Sunwell! Remember the screams of your kin crying out for mercy!” Next he saw orcs huddling on their war wolves. “Remember the Wrathgate! Your blood brothers choking on festering betrayal! Is that how you want to be remembered? Vomiting out your innards and shitting your smallclothes?! Or do you want to go out kicking and screaming, bringing as many of those bastards down with you?!” The orcs raised their axes and bellowed, but Estevot didn’t have the luxury of waiting for them to stop. “And what about you, trolls? Did you enjoy seeing what the Scourge did to Zul’Drak? To your kinsmen?!” The tusked warriors howled like hyenas on their fidgety raptors. The Argent Caller filled his lungs with the frozen air, pressed his lips to the gilded dragonborn horn, and let out a shattering bellow.

HAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUU!!!

Lord-Commander Estevot reached out to his squire, who leaned forward to strain himself holding his master’s scabbard. The old Paladin’s gauntlet wrapped around the embroidered hilt of his greatsword and pulled it free to hold it aloft with a single hand. “NO MORE! NO MORE MASSACRES! NO MORE ATROCITIES! NEVER AGAIN! THIS IS THE LAST DYING GASP OF THE SCOURGE! FIGHT FOR THE VICTORIOUS DEAD! FIGHT FOR HONOR! FOR COURAGE! FOR VENGEANCE! RISE! RISE AND FIGHT!”

HAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUU!!!

“CHAAAARGE!” He buried his spurs into Daybreak and the horse began to walk down the hill, with three thousand men joining him. The walk became a trot. The trot became a gallop. He could barely hear the shouts of his men beneath the howling frozen wind, but he didn’t need to; he could feel the cavalry charge in his bones like the bellowing growl of rolling thunder! He kept his sword pointed at the sun hidden above the thick grey clouds before jutting it toward Icecrown Citadel itself! Bursts of hot breath rushed from his horse! Closer! Faster! He bounced in his saddle with every stride!

Black arrows shot forth from the undead fortifications! One whizzed past his head, another struck him in the shoulder- and another in the thigh! “FOR EASTWEALD!” The Lord-Commander screamed, deafened by the wind swirling through his helmet and the thunderous drum of hooves against the frozen ground! “FOR KING TERENAS!” He could see the Scourge spilling over their barricades, eager to feast on the flesh of the living! For all he knew he was alone, charging headlong to his own death! But Estevot Bradshaw was ready to hug his family again!

Through frozen tears and bared teeth he shouted one last time, “FOR MARIIIEEEE!”

[beaureve-lunathas]

DWC 2021

Day 4 - Macabre

Mature content: Violence, blood, implied rape and murder

Waking up slowly from the aftermath of what could only be described as mental battle to the death, Beaureve could hear murmured of voice floating somewhere in the background as if he had just been discovered in this mess. His head throbbed and his body was on fire. The inflicted wounds over his naked body before all this happened burned horribly. His blurry vision could barely make out anything other than distorted shape and his limbs felt useless still strapped to the operating bed. "....what happened here...!" repeats in echo within the young man's ears. "...the Doctor...! He's dead!"  "What do you mean he's dead! He can't be! No one else has been in here." The people argue in what seemed like so far away. Beaureve struggled to keep himself awake, slowly becoming more aware of where he was. What had happened transpired here. His fists slowly form as he tries again to twist his wrists in the restraints. Emotionally void and detached from this situation, with what was done to him usually in this room he just felt that small sense of what might have been relief that he didn't have to deal with the 'Doctor' ever again. That was over. The attempt to suppress his mental abilities had failed and backlashed over the man that was responsible in carving out parts of his mind for years. Of man others as well. All in the name of keeping those bound and possessed in his part of House Lumos compliant servants. Molding their bodies and minds to be vessels to pleasure the men and women of power here. Many had just turned into puppets to be used as playthings in the most vile ways you could imagine. The young man had managed to survive through viscous group edgeplay and was brought here afterward to be cleansed and healed. Beaureve was numb to it at this point, but the loss of blood would hinder his usefulness in service if he didn't repair quickly. Except this time, there was an obstacle for the Doctor when he tried to help himself to the broken mess that the young man was left in before beginning to repair him. He pushed back in his mind against the invader this time and would not relent. It never occurred to the mind surgeon, that Beaureve could rival him in his abilities. It was that short coming that called forth the flurry of desperate attacks to rip through his brain while unintentionally absorbing knowledge and memories leaving him a slumped bloodied and mutilated mess on the floor.

Biting down on the side of his lip hard to taste the blood and try to feel anything, Beaureve realized he was still just numb to most all feeling after this kill. There was no fear here no matter he wanted to feel that adrenaline maybe help him get out of here sooner. His dimly lit eyes try to focus on the people here. He could not see them, but he could reach out and hear their minds. They were afraid. But not of him. Not yet. They didn't suspect that he had done this. No one had. As the two argue, he felt blood flow out of the side of his mouth. He just wanted to be freed. Attempting to make a sound, it gurgled in his throat pathetically.

As they approach he tries again. "...help..." he turns his wrist again in the binds. He could feel their panic and it annoyed him. Were they just going to stare at him and blather if they should do something? Looking right to the frame of one of them, he takes over them and compels him to release him. But this only instilled more fear in the other as he sees the other look entranced and Beau was being threatened to stop. Weaponry pulled out and pointed out at the battered young man on the table. Accusations and fear was making this guard become stupid.

The flat, unblinking stare that Beaureve gives only freaks out the other even more, to the point that the young man makes his comrade reach for his own weaponry and in attempts to get him to stand down. Making the man speak when he could not, that he just wanted help it gains his friend's attention and now the weapon was aimed at him. Lost to the consuming horror he made this out to be, the slip of a gun shot sounded at his partner. Not even hours into his new found abilities and he invoked such havoc and now the screaming. Another shot goes off before Beau can think to switch over to ensnare the other, and he can feel the pain blossom in his gut before lashes about again with his mental attack rendering the other unconscious instead.

He smacks the back of his head against the table a couple of times in a methodical frustration. He had to think of a different approach. And fast.

(( Probably one of Beau’s most tame experiences when it came to the Doctor as it was the unleashing of his mental abilities and his death. Unsure if I will post public stories about the tortures this character has been put through earlier in his life as they are rather graphic but we’ll see. This was right before he was appointed to be a new Doctor and forced to ‘fix’ people. More on that later in the challenge. Thanks for readin! )) @daily-writing-challenge

[ainsley-f]

Macabre / Accomplish

Day 4, DWC 2021

There was something about Drustvar that fascinated her.

Though Ainsley had spent much of her time during and after the Fourth War in Tiragarde Sound, there were a few missions that took her unit to the cursed area and she had found an odd sense of morbid peace there. The priestess was no stranger to afflicted lands, and perhaps that was why she felt so unfortunately intimate with death and all its…affiliates. Perhaps running head-first into the macabre was just ingrained into her after spending so much time in the Plaguelands and beyond.

She definitely needed a vacation.

But as she sat in her room, staring at the ‘Call for Aid’ pamphlet she had hastily picked up from the War Headquarters, she wondered what it was that really piqued her interested.

A medic was always needed and local clinics could always use a helping hand. And it wouldn’t hurt to brush up on her monster hunting skills. You know, the bare necessities.

Hm. Drustvar.  

As her thoughts raced, the more easily she came to convince herself that this was the next step. After all, who could resist the allure of witchcraft and famous Drustvari sausages?

…

She definitely needed a vacation.

@daily-writing-challenge​

[ramiaell]

DWC Day 4 - As Good as Revenge Gets

Accomplish / Macabre

Trigger warning: Blood, Implied Rape, Gore

Dropping to one knee and pushing the door back till it was flat against the wall, he knew noone must have been hiding behind it. The room seemed empty except for the narrow bed with Ramiaell on it. Rami was curled into the tightest ball his body could manage. His hands were tied behind his back, tied ankles tucked up tight to his bare butt. His clothes were still bunched around his knees, and the expanse of pale flesh looked incredibly vulnerable. She’d meant to humiliate him by leaving him like this. The blindfold was still in place, his mouth was stained with drying blood, his lower lip already swollen, bruises beginning to spread across his face like ugly lipstick from an overzealous kiss. Villiam tried to hurry, hearing Ramiaell make a pained sound through the gag in his mouth. He could tell he was trying so hard not to scream from fear, but he couldn’t hide the stain of tears in his eyes. Villiam drew one of his blades and fitted it carefully between his wrists, jerking upward. The cord sliced clean under the sharp, sharp blade. He tried to lift the blindfold off him but it was too tight. “I have to cut the blindfold off Ram, Don’t. Move.” Ramiaell’s breathing slowed, he held still while his father slid the blade between the cloth and the side of his head. It was harder to cut than the rope because it was tighter to his skin and just a bad angle. But the blade finally sliced through it and the cloth fell away. He could see the impression of red marks in his skin where the blindfold had marked him. Ramiaell then flung himself on Villiam, hugging him. His father frowned, but grabbed his shoulder firmly and pushed him back, knife in one hand. “She won’t hurt you anymore, Ram. I promise that, but we’ve got to get out of here.” He stared down into his young son’s wide and shocky eyes before he blinked and gave a small nod. “I’m okay,” Rami said, which was the best lie his father had heard all night. But he accepted it and said, “Good.” Reaching for the ropes at his ankles he cut them as well. “Get dressed.” By the time Ramiaell was dressed again, the raw terror had eased some in his eyes as he took his father’s hand to stand up. He almost fell because his ankles had been tied tight for too long and he was just getting feeling back. Villiam steadied him before they went for the door where Jaques was waiting, watching down the dark hallways as the lights were still flickering on and off. “Arm him.” Villiam ordered. “What? Ya gotta be kiddin’ look at him he’ll shoot us.” Jaques argued. “Do it.” Villiam ordered with a cold hard edge to his voice as he glared at the long greasy haired shal’dorei who looked nothing like either of them. “He’s skilled with the blade sling.” “Ch’.” Jaques grumbled as he unwrapped his multi round magically propelled blade sling from his wrist and handed it to the young Stoneblade who had no idea what was going on. Only that his life depended on this. “Put it on Ramiaell. If we go down, I want you armed, and take this.” It shocked Ramiaell but he knew not to question his father’s orders. Taking his father’s offered dagger in one hand and Jaques’s blade sling mounted on the other, he secured it as best he could on his smaller wrist as Jaques rolled his eyes and grabbed his long blade. The hallway spilled out into a large open space, they moved slowly forward hugging the left-hand wall. It was the perfect place for an ambush but they seemed to be moving for the opening ahead with a stairwell leading up. The stairway was narrow and wound upward with a sharp angle at the top and a blind corner. Ramiaell kept watching behind them expecting someone to come at them from behind at any moment. When all three were stopped against the blind corner, he smelled it first. Thin rivulets of blood sliding down the steps towards them. Villiam kept Ramiaell there with him before nodding to Jaques to scout ahead. The lights flickering and glistening on blood and bodies down the whole hallway. Jaques backed up after a few steps and muttered. “I see the exit.” “What are the bodies?” Villiam

demanded. “Filandau’s men.” “What killed them?” “I think it’s our murderous construct. But there is no other way out. The other entrance was blocked by an explosion.” Jaques explained kneeling by one of the bodies. There was more than just the people who took him for ransom they were dealing with, Ramiaell could at least piece that much together. As Villiam and Ramiaell stepped out into the hall after him, Villiam gave the signal to move. It was slippery, the pools of blood and darker fluids were everywhere making them have to move slower and carefully. Eyes of the bodies were still blinking upward, alive but their lower chests, stomachs and abdomens were open, intestines trailing out along the floor. The third body made Ramiaell stop. Jaques and Villiam were already at the door with weapons drawn when they heard the first blade being fired. Villiam whirled, blade arm up and found Ramiaell standing over the woman’s body. They all knew what she’d done to him, they were forced to watch it before they came to rescue him. Ramiaell emptied his blade sling till the final blade flung into the decapitated body, but he was still squeezing the trigger over and over and over. The magical propellant kept making puffs of air as Villiam called out to him. “Ramiaell. Ramiaell, she’s dead. You killed her. Ease down.” He ordered. Ramiaell didn’t seem to hear him. His father touched his shoulder, grabbing and lifting the arm that was still trying to fire. Ramiaell jerked away, violently, eyes wild. He kept dry-firing into the woman’s body. Villain shoved him back against the rock wall, hard, one arm across his throat, the other pinning his hands. Ramiaell’s eyes were wide with fear and anger from what she’d done to him. “Ramiaell, she’s dead. You can’t kill her anymore dead than she already is.” His voice shook when he said, “It’s not enough.” “No,” Villiam said, “it isn’t enough, but you killed her. That’s as good as revenge gets. Once you kill them, there isn’t any more.” He took the blade sling off his wrist then and he let him. There wasn’t any comfort offered to his son. The only comfort he got came from the weapon and his blades. There is some comfort in killing that which has hurt you, but it is cold comfort. It’ll destroy things inside of you that the original pain wouldn’t have harmed. Sometimes it’s not a question of whether a piece of your soul is going to go missing, only which piece it’s going to be.

@daily-writing-challenge

[acrowamongsparrows]

Day 4 Accomplished/Macabre

His hand ran through the tall grass as he walked through the wood, a slight smile on his face as he felt the dew drops of early morning sticking to his fingers to slide among the scars of his trade.  He was hunter and trapper, but not in the sense that many thought.  When someone called for a hunter they expected a tall, meaty man covered in furs who spoke little and always had something monstrous to show of his prowess.  David was different.  

A beard was clear on his face but that only was due to the weather and how much Sara had been enjoying to play with it when the babe was in his lap.  Margaret would roll her eyes and smile at her husbands as she busied with their quaint home full of a mixture of hand-me-downs and furniture from Lan Exeter.  He was particularly proud of a looking glass he'd bought from a merchant ship from the south, there was something incredible of looking into heavens on a clear night.  His family was poor in the eyes of the city but in the eyes of Markhor he was quite the upper class, to almost the extent of Buckenhall if he really wanted to be.

But there was the differences again, David was content.  Not in a way that spoke of a man accepting his life, but true contentment and happiness in his small cabin with his girls.  He was happy with his steady trade of hunting game and bringing it to the small market or Alina.  He was happy to spend an evening in the Leaf, hear a wild tale, and go home to Margaret's arms or walk home hand in hand with Margaret when her mother could watch Sara.

Adjusting his half cape about his shoulders, David began to slow his pace as he peered between the weeds for his catch today.  They said he had sixth sense for where the game was hiding, but truthfully he knew he was just patient and could be quiet.  His gait grew even slower as he listened, no breeze which was good for him as it meant his scent stayed put.  A shake of the grass to the right would bring him to a stop, slowly easing himself down to one knee and breathing in softly through his nose.  With well practiced silence, David would slowly pull his crossbow from around his back to hand a bolt already held in place by a clip he'd imagined up himself.  He was lucky Candell could forge such a small item and for little cost.  

A finger gently moved the metal knob to the right and unlocked it before setting a bolt to the fire lane.  David let his breathing grow softer and tell her near held it, craning his ears to the sounds nearby that he knew was his quarry.  Speed and efficiency was the key if he hoped to bag his deer today, but knew that any false start or move could be just as disastrous.

Patience.

Patience was his power and he knew how to control it as he waited for one more move to pinpoint the exact spot of the deer's bed.

One breath.  Two breath.  Three breath.  A shift in the grass as autumn decided it needed to let forth a sigh as much as him.  A flash of yellow, a blink of black, and now he was pushing up to his feet.

One breath.  Two breath.  Three breath.  The deer was rising, two short antlers rising as fast as him as the black glassy eyes of the deer locked with his own.

One breath.  Two breath.  Pull.  The bolt flew straight and true, the skilled bowman's shot driving deep into the broadside behind the front let.  Three breath.

The deer in panic and pain flew, it's heavy legs pulling it straight up and bounding into the tall grass as it caught the flecks of crimson from it's wound as it stumbled back toward the wood.  David smiled as he followed the trail of blood, reaching back to reload his crossbow as he walked along behind it.  Today was a good day.

Blood flecked the crushed weeds as they grew thinner and broke into the forest edge into the woods.  Tuft of grass and scrape of dirt from a drug horn was only a few yards further, the beast was putting up quite a fight as he followed the trail of his prey.  The blood was falling faster as he walked, thicker, and more frequent as he sped up his step further into the wood in fear of losing the thing to some other predator.  Further he traveled that began to seem more likely what happened as he noticed the darker it grew the deeper he went after.  

"You gotta slow down by now," murmured David as he stepped over a large rock and pressed on, noting a torn bit of fur to match the splatter of blood nearby.  Still warm.  "Where the hell are you going?"

The trees broke again as he marched onward leaving a soft clearing before a copse of trees loomed ahead.  David came to slow halt as he looked up at those trees, they sat tall and still.  Much like the air around him as he licked his lips and tried to hear something out there in the open air.  Nothing.  A feeling of dread sat in the pit of his stomach as he stood there staring at the trees.  He should cut his losses and go home.  They had plenty.  Plenty of skins, meat, and money this wasn't worth it.  But human nature was an animal unto itself as curiosity burned brightly through logic, springing forward with his loaded crossbow to investigate further.

The yards to the trees took seconds to reach, but the smell in the air hit him far before.  Rank and earthy, like rotten meat as he coughed and lifted his sleeve to his mouth in hopes of saving him from the stench.  It was like a tide of putrid ilk that was awful and familiar as he wandered these woods for years to know the smell.  

Death.

It felt far to poetic to put it in terms like that in his head, but the thick air of stench made him want to vomit as he entered the gathering trees.  His eyes falling over the trunks of the trees as he noted a strange tangle of dark veins rising from the earth to dig deep into their bark.  They pulsed with an eerie almost breathing motion as he thought better of touching one, knowing his curiosity could only push him so far into this adventure.  But he needed to find out what was going on, the village needed to know.

He should have turned back but the blood trail lead into the enclosure.

The circle of trees wasn't large but it felt thicker by the strange rooted trees surrounding the perimeter as David let his eyes move swiftly about for signs of the deer or the thief who had drug it so far.  Maybe a wolf or a bear, it was the logical idea of what was out here.  His booted feets gently slid through dead leaves, going silent and quiet as he could be in the face of this unknown foe.  The crossbow resting in the crook of his shoulder as he looked about in the silent shadows, sweeping the area as he followed the trail.  Crimson were dashed by brown and yellow leaves as the blood shined in the dark but were also framed by strange purple fauna.  

Crouching down, David let his finger brush the face of one of the violet flowers but never picked it.  It felt like any other flower but for some reason he recoiled from it's touch, as if there was something ready to bite him in the face of plain beauty.  They felt wrong.  Blooming, season, and abundance as he stood back up again to follow his bloody trail again.  It felt like hours since he'd begun and by the deep shadows around him the sky was doing little to aid him in reminding it was only maybe early afternoon.  Night ruled here.

The trail ended at the base of a tree, violet flowers spread about in a blanket of bright ground stars as they stared at him much as the eyes ahead of him did.  So many eyes.

Crows rested in the many empty branches above, their white staring eyes regarding him in silent judgement at his presence within their hold.  Where once leaves of green or even red and gold had sat now were the many feathers of the birds.  Black and beyond counting, David could already feel his mouth growing drier and chest tighter as he felt a great warning coming from them as he stared up at them.  

Run away.  Run away if you can.  Run away.

Swallowing hard, David pressed on the last few feet in the face of the carrion nightmare that guarded from above and let his eyes settle upon what they surrounded.

His kill lay on the ground before that great tree, but it had not even made it halfway here on it's own thanks to his original bolt.  No the thieves were to be thanked for that.

Twisted, crouched, and eyes much like the crows above stared at him from now from below where they surrounded what he hoped was their meal.  But that would need mouths.  Teeth.  Tongues.  Taste.  Only the blank broken animal skulls with black empty sockets leered at him with their flickering empty witch light.  Hands like warped branches wrapped in thorns and vine to hold them split into what appeared as claws had obviously only been random bones split.  The bones were clearly just as good to do their work as they carved and ravaged the carcass of his kill, splitting the fur and skin like a ripe tomato to spill the precious dying life of the deer into the soil beneath it.  Greed was clear in that earth's hunger as the blood seemed to disappear as quickly as it spilled into the loose dirt.  His deer was not the first to litter these monsters table as the jutting hunks of bone and sinew lay strewn about with purple flowers growing in the bed of corpses.

David found he was gasping now, the thick putrid air filling his lungs as his legs grew weak to the sight of the graveyard of the macabre.  He wanted to look away from the eaters of the dead but only found his eyes widening as he looked beyond them to the base of the tree.

The picked apart face of men and women sat pierced and hung by the roots of the tree, their bodies splayed for all to see who could see.  There was no blood left among those dried husks of humans as their bodies were twisted and pierced by the foliage all around only to leave the slow succor of their bones.  Mouths wide in silent screams to match the holes of sharp beaks.  An offering to those above still.  There were to many faces in that tree.

One breath.  Run.  Two breath.  Run.  Three breath.  David was running.

The black leaves above moved as one and the collective caw of their hunger rang like thunder to match an ominous high pitched hollow roar from the lungs of some long dead being.

The flowers continued to bloom.