#dwc2024

[theconstructsworld]

November DWC 2024 Day 4 - Surrender / Tranquil ((Edgar Allan Poe's 'The Raven' has always been a favorite, this is a little spin on it for The Construct!))

Long have I been serving, heeding; while this foreign soul lies pleading, seeking something sacred that it has not ever known before. Thus I worship in his splendor, yearning for a sweet surrender, of merciful affections well permitted in times of yore. Let this wanderer’s fate be freed or take him only to adore. This I desire, and nothing more. 

Now I’m drifting ever farther, losing sight of my departure, not surviving, only thriving in these ceaseless times of war. My path my own to be carefree, treading lightly out to sea, choppy waters were something I had never learned to abhor. I sink to the depths, never glancing upon the tranquil shore. Waiting, hoping, nevermore.

@daily-writing-challenge

[talonoa]

November DWC Day 2 - Eternal

Patience wears thin, but I shall remain diligent. Waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel, yet it seems to grow  more distant and dimmer with every passing day.

Further and further pushed back into the eternal darkness. The familiar, enveloping black where the foulest of creatures flourish, unseen and unknown and feared by most.

A place of comfort, A place of advantage. I am not afraid of the dark, it is where I thrive.

@daily-writing-challenge

[musee-de-muse]

Anar'alah Belore

DWC November 2024

Day 4: Surrender/Tranquil

OC: Lilliana Whitedawn, Sin'dorei "Felblood"

@daily-writing-challenge

Art Source, Artist

The long, lean blonde rode the path to the Whitedawn estate at a slow trot... closing her eyes, giving Tiberius the reins - old as he was, the faithful charger knew his way home well enough. She could feel the heat of the afternoon sun prickling at her skin, as her leathers grew warm... and for a moment, she let herself simply bask in the sun, drinking in the scent of a garden in bloom – pausing only a moment to enjoy a spot of shade beneath orange and yellow leaves.

That's when she saw it – the crimson strider heading towards her at practically break-neck speed - which could only mean one thing. She swung a leg up and over the massive equine, hopping down to brace herself as the bird came careening towards her.

It still knocked the wind out of her, as the girl practically flung herself from the bird as it came to a halt – throwing her arms around her mother as she slammed into her, the older of the two rocking on her heels. She'd forgotten just how much bigger Caiti was now... no longer a little girl she could pick up in her arms and swing around; no longer climbing all over the couch with her mother, pretending to make Lily walk the plank – she would be a teenager soon. That thought alone made her chest tighten - and as she settled back onto her feet, she squeezed the girl tighter.

“Minn'da!”

The bird was upon her in no time – as was her daughter - the feathered creature having grown just as much as Caitiri had since she'd first received the bird as a gift... and a lesson in responsibility.

Caitiri squirmed, “Alright, alriiiiight -” wriggling her way out of her mother's arms, scrunching her nose up at the woman, “It hasn't been that long...” As if she hadn't been the one to race out to meet her mother, “Can I go back with you to Dornogal?”

And there it was. Lily supposed that, after all, this was not only her fault for bringing Caitiri along to the Dragon Isles, but... this was her daughter, after all... and they were cut from the same cloth. The heavy exhale through her nose was enough to see the preteen's features immediately crinkle in anticipation of the “No” that sound often preceded.

“Caitiri... this isn't like it was in the Dragon Isles. For one... I mean, you know that Eryth is busy – the Dragon Isles might be safe, for now, but we're not his only family – there's much the dragons still need to tend to. And he's really the only person I would trust to watch over you in a place like Dornogal – the only being powerful and trustworthy enough to keep an eye on my most precious treasure, hm?” She flicked the girl's nose, earning a faux-grimace, and a huff as the girl rubs at the spot. “Besides, it's more dangerous, as well. Even if Erythraestrasz were free to spend time with you and I every moment of every day... I still don't know if I would allow it. The things happening out there... not even the main city can truly be considered safe – and it's not peopled and guarded by dragons, either, like last time.”

The girl's crestfallen expression ate at her, as she brushed a strand of brunette hair back behind her daughter's long, slender ear, “I know... the taste of a 'no' on my tongue wounds me, as much as you.” How she hated those words – her own youth was not so far gone as to dull the memory of the ache of hearing such things, herself; no child likes the feeling of being left behind - of not being "enough," yet.

The young Sin'dorei rolls her eyes, however, and turns on a heel - to re-mount her bird – her mother quickly moving to do the same with her own steed, “It's so boring here with Aunt Ci. She's so stuffy, and never lets me do anything fun.”

"You know, what she's teaching you is important... though I admittedly didn't enjoy having to sit around learning most of it, either. Some battles are won by blade, arrow, and spell... and others are won with wit, words, and poise." And a little bit of cheating, if a certain red-haired rogue had instilled anything into the towering blonde during their time together - but that was a lesson that could wait until Caitiri was a little bit older, herself.

By the Light, but it was like her own memory come to life... the brown hair, the sullen expression, and the open complaints about her aunt – it was all too familiar. But at least, with all the years that had passed, Lilliana had made peace with the Aunt who had raised her. She had been a child that Cecily hadn't expected – the woman and the child having lost a brother, and a father, respectively... and neither were prepared for the hardships to come. Cecily had been harsh... even cruel in her expectations and punishments – but she, too, had been lost in grief, with the responsibility of a child thrust upon her that she hadn't asked for – and they had both suffered for their inability, and eventual unwillingness, to work things out.

But they were all the family each other had – and with time, and a concerted effort – they had reconnected, worked through the pains of Lilliana's own childhood... and she could confidently say that she felt safe with entrusting her own daughter to her Aunt "Ci," these days. The woman might be stern, and demanding – but she was no longer a broken woman, tormented with loss, struggling to raise a young child she'd never asked to bear responsibility for.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Typical of a preteen, the frustrated mutter – but she let her daughter have this moment of frustration. To be a child on the cusp of her teen years, denied what seems like the adventure of a lifetime? She could mutter under her breath a bit, as a rebellious little treat.

Lilliana urged her steed forward, to ride alongside her daughter perched upon her bird, and the girl shot her a frustrated look – brows pinched, lips pressed flat - before simply prompting, “Well... tell me about it, at least! It's a brand new place! No one's EVER been there, right? Do the Dwarves really eat rocks? Do they all live in caves? I bet that's why there's so many spiders.”

The sun kissed her leather-clad shoulders anew, as they rode out from under the overhanging branches, closing in on their home, while Lily simply listened – allowing her daughter to chatter, the woman answering the occasional question peppered in along the way - allowing herself to enjoy the tranquility of the moment. This moment that never should have been, with a child she'd never planned for. Caitiri had been an “accident” – the child herself not the mistake, so much as the time spent with the man who had fathered her - but for as much as she had long regretted letting him woo her... the one good thing that that bastard Dayne had ever done, was to leave her this child that made her heart sing – that gave her hope not just for herself, but for a brighter Azeroth, in time.

But first... they had to save Azeroth – and that... that she would not tell her only child - the weight of the world would be her mother's to bear.

[dicenne]

November DWC 2024 Day 7 - Peculiar This is a bit of a combination story for @dicenne and @talonoa

Dicenne smiled brightly at the older man, “So what do you think?”

Talonoa crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair as he considered the request. It wasn’t a terrible idea, celebrating Pilgrim’s Bounty here at their camp and inviting family and friends to Dornogal to celebrate with them for a day. Not everyone would have been able to go home anyways, and the city itself was somewhat safe at the moment. No worse than a lot of other major cities, at least. Their mages could portal people directly into the camp as well to avoid having to walk through the entire city to get here. 

Naturally, the safety logistics were at the forefront of his mind, always wanting to ensure his crew was safe and secure. With extra people he would feel extra on edge, but at the same time nothing had happened to them in Dornogal. The city’s perimeter was well guarded and he had become well acquainted with the surrounding mercenary camps. 

Seeing friends and family was always a morale booster, and a lot of the crew would likely appreciate being able to show their loved ones what their work was like. It also meant he would probably have to meet all these people and make pleasant small talk for hours. Not his strong suit, but he respected his crew, and by extension their families, and wanted to show it.

“Fine, but the rest of you get to plan the festivities and you need to keep me updated with every step. I will take care of the extra security needed, but if something comes up between then and now, we’ll need to cancel it.” Talon offered his own smile in return. It may have looked a little peculiar coming from him given he typically presented a blank or slightly vexed expression, but he also tried his best to be friendly and fair with everyone. 

“Thank you, you’ll have a great time, I know it.” Dice departed Talon’s tent with a skip in his step, off to relay the news to the others. 

He would need to get a head count of how many people would be coming, coordinate with their mages to get some portals out at specific meeting points, and suck up to their head chef so he could at least be in charge of the turkeys and other meats (he was very specific about that, after all). They would need extra food and drink, tables, chairs, a large tent, some music, decorations, and much more. It was a lot, but it would be worth it. Luckily, the long-time member of the Succulent Tart had ‘just a little’ experience in planning such events. He wouldn’t have been able to host his usual open house in Ratchet for the holiday for all the strays having nowhere else to go, and this was an excellent alternative. Kara had been wanting to come to Dornogal for a visit and this was the perfect opportunity for her to do so.

@themercenaries @karaamberlight @daily-writing-challenge

[thedescatoires]

November DWC 2024 Day 6 - Crack tw: death, blood

~Years ago~

Ellarielle stared down at the dead body of her husband as a variety of emotions welled up within, but the one that prevailed was horror. There was no doubt in her mind that he was dead, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. She swallowed and looked up to her twin sister, Vienyos, both bloodied, battered, and in shock. 

Arlior Esh’ul was one of those men that was perfectly charming at first: Intelligent, well spoken, confident, and quite wealthy given his noble standing. The Descatoire twins had come from the noble class themselves, although not quite as prominent nor as established as the Esh’uls.  Both Ella and Vie studied vinification and worked at the Twilight Vineyards, although Vie’s real passion was in singing and could often be found doing so in various clubs all over Suramar. It had earned her the nickname ‘The Suramar Siren’ and she had become a sought after addition to any grand soiree. Ellarielle was content with a simpler life. She and Arlior had been a good match, set to carry on the lineage for both families and were, for a very long time, seemingly happy.  Vienyos knew better, and as time passed the signs became more and more apparent, especially after Arlior proclaimed himself a loyalist to Grand Magistrix Elisande when she allied with the Burning Legion. It wasn’t a surprise, the majority of the nobility had done so given they were already awarded and cared little for Suramar’s lower classes. But that was not how the Descatoires were raised, and they had found that their purpose in life was to aid those less fortunate than themselves. They happened to be just in the right place at the right time to do so.

“Wh…why did….what…” What do you even say after watching your sister murder your husband of thousands of years?

“Ella, he was going to -kill- you.” So maybe cracking a meat tenderizer against the back of the skull multiple times was overkill and made things messier than they could have been, but it was the most readily available weapon in reach of Vie. Plus, he was abusing her sister, and likely had been for a while, and she was no longer going to stand for it. Ellarielle was too much of a pacifist to take it into her own hands. “He was hurting you, I couldn’t just–”

“No, no…” Ella rushed over to her side and cupped Vie’s cheeks before pulling her into a tight hug, “You did the right thing. You …you saved me…thank you. There was no other choice.” She wasn’t going to make her sister feel any worse for doing what had to be done despite the currently mixed emotions. This was the man she loved, or had loved, for so long. They had built a comfortable life together, even if she had been sneaking around behind his back as a part of the rebellion. It wasn’t right to let anyone wither when she had access to the very source that would allow that not to happen. Unfortunately, he was too smart and had too many spies to not find out, but she was not prepared for this. She released Vie and wiped the mix of tears and blood from her cheeks, straightening her gown as she looked back down at the dead body, “What do we do?”

They weren’t exactly schooled in how to dispose of a dead body, but surely someone within the rebellion would know and be able to help out. Both women looked at each other and spoke in unison, “Margaux.”

@daily-writing-challenge

[inistellan]

November DWC 2024 Day 5 - Skill

Rumors say if you mark your door with a red stripe, you will beckon The Chameleon to appear the next night. The name of the target is all that he needs, the desires you speak shall always succeed.

Beware thoughts of betrayal, he shall see through your sin, The Chameleon adapts and always blends in. You won’t know his name, you won’t see his face, unless you seek death, stay in his good grace.

The price may be steep, but you will not regret, despite what you see, you are of no threat. The job will be done with much time to spare, The Chameleon’s craft is beyond compare.

Inistellan Volanthus is a man of many skills, the greatest of which is lying. He had been lying to everyone he had ever met ever since he could remember when his father, Lord Fin’endal, told him that he was to become the next Chameleon. The Chameleon was a figure whispered about only in shadows, one of the greatest assassins that seemed to transcend time itself. The Chameleon had been around for millenia, and in some circles anytime anyone of importance died in a suspicious manner, it was assumed to have been the work of the famed assassin. No one knew that there had been multiple versions of The Chameleon, except for the Fin’endal’s since it was, essentially, the family business.

Not that Stellan uses that name anymore. After passing on the title and parting ways with the moniker, it was typical for the retired Chameleon to take on a completely new life. That is exactly what he had done, multiple times in fact. Inistellan Volanthus was the fourth name and face that Cazmilan Fin’endal Senior had chosen, and quite possibly his last.

It had at first been a burden to him, having been taught and molded from a young age that this was to be his life. He ended up resenting his father in the end only to take the older man’s life while still accepting the family title. The world needed and still needs people like The Chameleon, at least in his opinion. Eventually, he grew to enjoy it. He still participated in everything he otherwise would have and held a completely ‘normal’ life outside of his secret life: Marriage, children, friendships, lovers, hobbies, routine. It had always felt as if he were two different people forced inside of one body, but perhaps that was just a part of the ‘family trait’.

Every Chameleon was meant to have a public face of great renown. His father before him had been a notable Magister, and his son who now carries the title is a principal dancer in the Royal Ballet of Silvermoon. Stellan himself was the piano player for the Silvermoon Orchestra during his first life until he ‘died’. That was one skill he still enjoys quite a bit to this day, practicing often on his own grand piano in his humble apartment.

His second life had him see work as a boatswain on an at-the-time well-known pirate ship. Othikess Starfall had always been good with his hands, excellent at carpentry and had a knack for melee combat. The open seas were so peaceful and calming after a lifetime of constant practicing and having to be perfect.

Vethan Sunsong was his third life, a vagabond who had oftentimes volunteered as a farmhand in return for a meal and a bed to sleep in for a night before moving on. Traveling everywhere, he learned about various cultures and struggles all over Azeroth and picked up new languages along the way. A favorite, if not for his desire for the finer things in life.

Every version of himself had taught him a lifetime's worth of skills, bringing him to the man he is today. Inistellan Volanthus was a Farstrider for some time before eventually retiring into mercenary and security work. It isn’t as fast-paced as some of his other lives, but he is getting older now and slowing down is natural. He still surprises many, especially in the sparring ring. It’s difficult to trick a man who had spent his life tricking others, not to mention a man that had been trained at his level. But they will never know.

For now, he is content and comfortable. His children thrive in ways he never did: Cazmilan Junior with his ballet and expertise as the Chameleon, and Vixannya Ana'diel with her macabre art. He has friends, beautiful lovers, a home, wealth, and security. Perhaps Inistellan Volanthus is truly the classy gentleman he was meant to be all along.

@cazthechameleon @cazmilan @vixannya @themercenaries

@daily-writing-challenge

[xylaes]

November DWC 2024 Day 5 - Captive / Skill

Taking leave away from the mercenary camp had been a necessity for everyone, not that Xylaes had a home to go to these days. The fall of Dalaran had destroyed both his place of work and his home, and he hadn’t had a chance to make alternative arrangements yet. Too busy being held captive in Azj-Kahet and then on his personal vendetta and rescue missions. Not that he had the funds to be able to afford a new home, a fact that didn’t seem to bother him. He had been homeless before, this wasn’t anything new and he had friends that would offer him a place to crash if need be.

Xylaes’s son Garren had decided to return to his home in Bel’ameth for a week or two for his own leave, and it felt like a good time for the older man to finally take his own as well. He hadn’t been invited over to Garren’s house, and honestly he didn’t expect it. Everyone needed their time alone and away.

It was difficult to know where to go now. Had he become a void elf? Would he even be welcome in Silvermoon City anymore? He didn’t look like the others with his tanned skin and dirty blond hair. Nor had his eyes turned blue like the majority of the void elves possessed; his now looked as if he were about to commit some major war crimes while laughing maniacally. His voice hadn’t developed the dark echo, nor had his blood turned purple either - except, oddly enough, in that one arm. That foreign, replanted arm taken from someone who had pissed off the House of Constructs in Maldraxxus all those years ago. 

There had been no luck in identifying the previous owner of this arm, there were no fingerprints and even a little bit of blood scrying gave no information, only more questions The runes on the arm weren’t anything he nor any historians of any races had recognized. It wasn’t until Pollux had mentioned that the Shadowlands were likely the afterlife for all planets in all universes that Xylaes had thought, that just maybe, this was from someone not of this world. It made sense, it was the only thing that made sense at this point.

Xylaes was just a wild blend of contradictions now. Void magic, but not a traditional void elf. Now also brimming with magic, but still mostly immune to it. Unpracticed with his new skills, but somehow knowing exactly how to use some of them.

He had some wild times in his life, but this was taking the cake and eating it too. Xylaes didn’t mind it. He was overdue for a shift in his trajectory and maybe this was exactly what he needed. He had been hiding himself away for the comfort of others ever since the change happened; he saw the uneasy looks and hesitation in some of their approaches. Maybe it was time to fully embrace whatever this new path would bring.

Taking out his comm, he typed out a message and sent it away to the one person that had already been helping him down a new path: Ouro An'dar.

‘Hey, I got some leave to take. Need help with anything?’

Mentions: @garrennorassin @polluxhale @ouroandar @daily-writing-challenge

[jacelandon]

November DWC 2024 Day 4 - Tranquil

He had assumed her to be a spirit at first. She wasn’t the first nor would she be the last unfamiliar soul that Jace encountered in these parts; it was common knowledge among the carnies that should you perish on Darkmoon Island, it was difficult, if not impossible, to leave. It wasn’t a frightening sight, nor unusual for the ghosts to gain enough energy and show themselves every now and then, especially during the witching hours. 

She didn’t notice him watching her, nor did she seem to have any qualms about stepping into that dark forest, hand extended in front of herself as if she were being led. Curiosity got the better of Jace and he quietly followed; he was one of the few that had nothing to fear here, and if she were just a spirit, neither should she. He wrapped his arms around his core to aid in keeping the warmth in, the forests could get chilly during the night and despite the thick canopy of trees and foliage, it had always felt colder here than anywhere else on the island. 

Her movements were graceful, almost like those of a trained ballerina, and her opalescent, sheer gown did nothing to shield her against the frigid temperature; not that she seemed to care. When she reached the clearing at the center of the forest, she paused, unblinking. There she stood and stared for what felt like hours at something unseen; light, wavy hair billowing in the breezeless space. It was completely devoid of sound here, almost as if one were inside of an anechoic chamber. The fauna knew to avoid this cursed place, making it all the more unsettling. Jace could hear the sound of his own heart beating and blood circulating through his veins, even with shallow breaths, he could hear his lungs and diaphragm expanding and contracting with each gentle rise and fall.

It was always uncomfortable, but he was mesmerized. 

Eventually she stepped closer to the center of the clearing, arm extending and reaching for something he couldn’t see. With a slight shift of his weight, a branch creaked beneath his boot and the spectral woman startled and stumbled backwards, an expression of horror replacing the previously tranquil one. But she wasn’t looking at him, she was still staring at something unseen to him and suddenly vanished.

Jace stood up straighter and briskly made his way towards the space she had previously occupied, looking around for something, anything. He wasn’t even sure what. 

She was gone.

He made his way back towards his camp with a melody in his head that demanded to be written down: Her theme. Everyone had their own theme, and sometimes it took a while for him to determine what would fit a specific person. However, once he had his empty staff paper in hand, the entire song flowed freely.

~ 1 ½ Years Later ~

Jace sat on the ledge at Fancy Cakes, sipping quietly on his coffee as he watched the other patrons. Indulging in some sweet treats was an excellent way to begin a night of busking, and he tried to make it a habit to come here at least once a month. 

The evening was relatively quieter than usual, but he never minded just chilling and being with others. Deep blue eyes watched as the blonde-haired woman wandered up the steps to give her order to Braedyn, and when she turned around he nearly choked on his coffee. He didn’t give himself away, his poker face had grown too strong throughout the years of working for Silas Darkmoon. It had been well over a year now, but he knew. The theme came back into his mind the moment he saw her face.

This was her. The ‘spirit’ he had seen in the Darkmoon Forest. Alive and in the flesh. How could this be possible?

This references a story you can read ---> HERE

@daily-writing-challenge @karaamberlight

[taricdarkmorn]

November DWC, Day 2 - Eternal

Taric shielded his eyes from the blinding Booty Bay sun. He had missed this, but he also had forgotten how bright and humid this place could get in the afternoon. After spending months mostly underground, it was an understandable shock that he would get used to likely right before having to leave again. Maybe. He was considering staying for longer than intended; surely the crew wouldn’t miss him being there that much.

It felt good to be home, he was excited to share what he had learned with his other fellow alchemists and begin the process of growing all these new plants within his greenhouses. He was also very excited to see Pickles and was certain the cockatiel would have a few unkind words to say to him for being absent for so long. Stepping into his shop, he was about to speak when:

‘ETERNAL DAMNATION UPON YOUR MORTAL SOUL!’  

Taric dropped his pack and blinked, looking towards the angry, ruffled bird that now had his back turned. Wide eyes slowly shifted towards Tizzy, a goblin alchemist and his second in command at the shop. She immediately held up both hands defensively, “I did NOT teach ‘im that, I swear! But s’good to see ya boss man!” 

“You too, Tizzy. I’ve got a lot to share with you all if you wanna call the others in.” He went over to Pickles and did his best to hide his extremely amused expression.That was a new insult, and honestly quite impressive. “I’m sorry for being away for so long, Pickles. Will you forgive me?”

The bird turned his head and squinted, waiting. Taric pulled out a small bag of treats for the cockatiel and dumped some out in his hand. With as dramatic of a sigh as Pickles could muster, he hopped into the open palm, and then up Taric’s arm to his shoulder, giving his neck a nuzzle. 

“Aww, I’ve missed you too, buddy.”

@daily-writing-challenge

[rylandfalkov]

November DWC 2024 Day 1 - Sexy Cowritten with @dicenne

Ryland leaned against the doorway, watching as the other man woke up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. The glamours he placed had all disappeared at this point: No more short blond hair, the tattoos had returned, but the muscles were still all his. As sexy as spending the night with Captain Azeroth had been, Ryland always preferred Dicenne.

“Morning, Cap.”

Dicenne startled a bit and looked over, raising both brows, “You’re still here.” 

Ryland was almost never one to stick around the morning after, but he hadn’t seen his friend much lately thanks to both of them being away on mercenary business in Khaz Algar. “Figured we could get breakfast before I had to get back. My treat?”

The incredulous look was evident even in Dice’s profile. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Ryland might have been a mooch, but at least he was a very handsome mooch.

Dicenne looked back towards the empty bed, pulling back the rest of his covers and furrowing his brow, “Did–”

“Yeah, gone. Left early. Took a page out of my book.” Ryland flopped back onto the bed and rolled onto his back to look up at the ceiling. “Fun though, huh? Unexpected.”

Dice shook his head with a grin, “I’m not as young as I used to be. …But yes, fun indeed. It’s been a long few months, and being stuck underground for a lot of it was not as thrilling. Interesting places, interesting people, but I’ve missed the sun, and unexpected fun.”

Ryland watched him from the corner of his gaze, pursing his lips together briefly. “How are you? Are you okay? You’re always asking others, but does anyone ask *you* how you’re handling everything?”

Dice glanced over, quietly considering. “Not many. I’m…” He looked towards the window and furrowed his brows. His, and most everyone else’s go-to was to say ‘fine’ despite the circumstances. Ryland always knew when he was lying, and was anybody really fine right now anyways? “Tired. I feel like I’m doing well with the shop, and with the Tarts, and the mercenary crew, but it just feels all too…cyclical sometimes. Never enough times of peace before we just jump right back into it, it’s exhausting. Then with what happened to Dalaran, who is to say that won’t happen somewhere else? Maybe not the same..” He waves a hand, Ryland knew what he meant. “Already living through bad shit happening to your home more than once, then watching it happen to the homes of others, there’s just never a feeling of safety anymore, is there?”

“You’re right, there’s really not. With all that, it’s hard to even want to settle down, start a family…” Ryland gives his friend a soft smile, he knew him well enough at this point to see the signs.

Again, Dice smiled and shook his head. Not because Ryland was incorrect, but because he wasn’t the first one to call him out on that. “There’s never going to be a good time for that, is there? I guess that’s the thing, you just need to keep on living and moving forward in spite it all.”

“Wise words from a man that should take his own advice.” Ryland flashed one of those oh-so-charming smiles. The one you either want to kiss or to slap.

“Easier said than done.” Dice looked down, “What about you, are *you* okay? How are *you* handling everything?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Time for breakfast now?”

@daily-writing-challenge

[vixannya]

November DWC 2024 Day 6 - Crack

Vixannya crossed her legs atop the stool and lazily leaned an elbow on her knee, chin in her palm, as she stared at the blank canvas in front of her. Inspiration was lacking lately, and she wasn’t quite ready to get back into painting death portraits just yet. After her last centerpiece painting depicting the destruction of Dalaran well before it happened came true, she wasn’t quite ready for what she may see next.

She had already run the gauntlet of questioning by almost every government faction before AND after it happened, and didn’t want to deal with that again in case she saw something even more horrible. Although it was nice of them to think that she was actually capable of such things, a real confidence booster! However, if she had powers like that, she certainly would not use them to siphon more power from a city before destroying it.

She had helped though, in a way. A good handful of people had left the city and stayed out of danger who may have otherwise been trapped there. She could help again with any future visions as well. Although the thought of seeing anything happen to Silvermoon, again, and prompting her to move, again, would probably make her crack. Maybe that’s why she held off, knowing damn well what could be done with the nearby Sunwell and no doubt that was a thought on all the minds of the Sin’dorei who lived there. The probability felt almost too real, and she wasn’t sure if that was just logic or her gut speaking.

With a huff, she stood up and tossed her artist’s smock aside before heading outside. Surely, a trip to the spa would help with this.

@daily-writing-challenge

[daily-writing-challenge]

DAILY WRITING CHALLENGE 2024 IS BACK!

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

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

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

Write the number day/challenge somewhere on your story.

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Tags that will be used: #maydwc2024,  #maydayX2024 (X=whatever number day you’re writing for), #yourtumblrurl

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

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

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

We look forward to reading some amazing writing!

((Written word list below the cut))

Day 1 - May 19 Mysterious, Appearance

Day 2 - May 20 Agony, Embrace Day 3 - May 21 Shame, Favorite

Day 4 - May 22 Drama, Celebration Day 5 - May 23 Complication, Spicy Day 6 - May 24 Empty, Confidence Day 7 - May 25 Void, Captivate

[karaamberlight]

November DWC 2024 Day 7 - Theory

Kara scritched behind Shabby’s ears as she hummed a little song she had made up for him earlier that day. Silvermoon City had grown a bit dull with a good amount of the inhabitants away in Khaz Algar, and she had grown a bit restless. Once a homebody, now she craved getting outside and spending time with friends and her big brother, Dicenne. He was gone, a lot of her friends were gone, and she didn’t want to keep bothering Vixannya with art things all the time when the woman seemed to be in a bit of a rut herself. 

So when her comm chimed and she read the message from Dicenne inviting her out to a family and friends Pilgrim’s Bounty feast at their camp in Dornogal, her mood almost immediately shifted. She committed a cardinal sin by shoving her cat off her lap before Shabby was ready to go, causing the beast to exhale a grouchy mew. She bent down and gave him a pat, “Sorry Shabs, I’ll make it up to you!”

Now was the time to start preparing, cause OF COURSE she was going to go early and stay at an inn to explore the city more and OF COURSE she was going to offer to help decorate early on the day of. She was excited to see the city and meet his fellow mercenaries, but mostly she was excited to just be doing -something- exciting.

Already in her room and laying out various outfits, she glanced down towards the chonky tabby and frowned for a moment. She couldn’t leave Shabby behind, he was family too! In theory she could just smuggle him into the city by hiding him in her backpack if needed…one of her larger backpacks maybe. Surely they wouldn’t mind, and surely they had other animals already there whether it was the local wildlife or hunter companions. Did the Earthen keep any pets? Maybe Shabby could make some friends. She would make it work.

“Don’t worry Shabs, you’re coming too.”

@daily-writing-challenge @dicenne

[musee-de-muse]

Never Again

DWC November 2024

Day 5: Captive/Skill

OC: Rashka Bloodrinker, Orc, Warsong Clan

@daily-writing-challenge

Artist/Source; and some mood music, if you're into that!

The recent 'scuffle' in the Highlands had put her hackles up – because if this seasoned soldier knew anything, it was that humans would always find another reason to fight... and there were more than enough old Orcs with the fires of enmity burning hot in their hearts, as well.

And she was one of them.

But she was no fool, either – she respected the Warchief... and the Council that had sprung up, in the place of one. Peace meant a future where no one that looked like her ever had to pick up an axe, and die before they ever got to live... but she was a realist – and an old one, in a world where not many Orcs ever got the chance to get old.

It was a simple fact - war never changes. Rashka still carried with her the fact that her entire childhood had been stolen by humans - a whole generation of Orcs had lost that time. Her parents had managed to keep her safe from the warlocks, and get through the portal... only to face war on one side, and soldiers on their own furious that children had been brought through the portal -refusing to allow them to stay.

Out of the fire, and into the frying pan.

She'd been forced to watch as a young girl, as her grandmother faded away under the cruel boot of human oppression; she'd had to watch, as her parents couldn't bring themselves to mourn, even, when the elderly woman had simply stopped moving one day. The life had gone out of all of the Orcs, as they drifted listlessly about their enclosures. Even now, at her advanced age, it made the war scout's blood boil – no child should have to see those things... the desecration of her culture, of her elders - of their fierce, and proud spirits. She had been young, in the beginning - understanding... without understanding.

But she had become a woman under the watchful eye of Lordaeron – a woman denied a life, a proper family, knowledge of her culture... no Om'gora – the list of what they had stolen from the Orcs went on. The humans hadn't just won, they had spent years grinding their former enemies into pale, pathetic imitations of “Orcs.”

So it was, when Thrall came, that she had been ready – even if it might have taken a bit longer for those more senior than her to be stirred... she was a young woman in her prime, then. A young woman hungry to take back from those soft, pink hands of her captors what they had stolen from her: life.

In the here and now, Rashka set aside the arrow shaft she'd been working on, satisfied that she could move on to fletching, next, and sighed to herself – she'd been stalking the wilds of Azeroth since she was a child, and the old Orc had learned that more than half the hunt was simply... lying in wait. So she would do what she had always done: prepare. There was plenty of work to be done in Dornogal and its hidden depths, as it stood – and those Arathi rats they'd found scrabbling underground? The ones that made her fingers twitch, and creep for her bow, or her axe... they would be a problem, one day, as well – their “sincerity” lost on her, though she could see how the fanatics had begun to endear themselves to many others.

Thankfully, it had been far too long since Arathi blood had painted her face – so when they looked up from their holy crystal one day, and turned their blades on their former allies? She would be ready – there, again, to defend the Horde from the kingdoms of man until battle finally saw fit to claim her.

[dicenne]

Dicenne, or should I say, Captain Azeroth's performance from Succulent Tart's After Dark on 11/16/2024

Also doubling as my Day #1 for November DWC! Word & Warning: Sexy

Sure enough, Captain Azeroth struts onto the stage in all his superhero glory, like he just stepped straight off the page of a comic book! Impeccably coiffed blond hair, baby blue eyes, a slightly stubbled cheek to emphasize that sharp jaw but also maintain a more rugged look, and the blue, red, and white uniform fitted snugly against his chiseled body. It’s obviously Dicenne, but he sure does look picture-perfect! The round shield strapped to his back tops of the entire ensemble as a bright spotlight backlights him, creating a statuesque silhouette.

He strikes a confident pose: Hands on his hips, shoulders back, chin up, and gaze fixated off into the distance as the spotlight slowly fades and he gives a salute. He strikes a few of Captain Azeroth’s most iconic, battle-ready poses. Removing his shield and holding it at the ready, he turns his back to the audience and offers a hardened look over his shoulder - and an excellent view of that beautifully sculpted rear end, hugged tight and accentuated by those blue pants: That is most definitely Azeroth’s ass.

As the next song begins to build, he holds his pose and a playful little grin tugs at one corner of those plush lips. Once the driving beat finally kicks in, hips begin to rock in a suggestive sway. With a brief prep, he vaults off of his free hand into a backwards handspring, keeping his shield tucked in against his body. When both boots hit the stage he immediately pivots and jumps into a soaring whirlwind kick: Spinning 540 degrees while taking off, kicking, and then landing all on the same leg.

He touches down gracefully and returns the shield to its holster against his back. He falls forwards, catching himself with his hands before his body smacks into the stage and promptly begins some reps of push-ups. Regular push-ups quickly turn into clap push-ups, where at the peak of the move both hands push off the ground and clap together, and eventually ends with doing one-handed push-ups, swapping from right to left with each repetition.

Both hands return to the stage and he kicks up into a balanced handstand, dropping legs forward and back into a stag split. In this new position, he resumes his push-ups, showcasing the extreme strength and discipline he possesses in not just both arms, but in his entire body as well. This man is not even breaking a sweat, this is just a warm-up!

He completes the walkover and falls to his knees at the front of the stage. Gloved hands grope down the sides of his neck, over his chest, and over the tops of those thick thighs before slipping between and spreading his knees wide open. Sitting back against his heels, he unclasps his gloves and pulls them free from his hands, chucking them towards the wings of the stage. 

Cap's now bare hands claw up along his inner thighs, over top the generous swell of his crotch, back over his chest and up the front of his neck. All the while his torso and hips resume a gyrating and grinding motion, dragging a hand across his lips and catching the tip of his finger between his teeth as he gives a devilish wink to the crowd. A pleasing mix of strength and sensuality, Captain Azeroth clearly knows how to work a crowd!

That enticing, baby blue gaze surveys the audience before hopping up and running to the edge of the stage where he jumps, rotating mid-air twice around with his body in a spinning flip, positioned nearly parallel to the ground until the last moment. He lands in the quintessential superhero pose: One knee on the ground, opposite fist on the ground, back arm slightly raised; he plays the part well!

Now on his feet, he points to Fiorenze and then Sana, beckoning them to join him at the front and positioning them on either side of him, all facing the audience. Kneeling behind them, he coaxes them to sit on his shoulders and hold on!

He curls his arms up around their thighs, keeping his biceps parallel to the ground so they have an easier time staying in place. He then stands up, lifting them off the ground and keeping them firmly held atop his shoulders and arms, turning his back to the audience. Easily holding the pose for a while longer, he executes a series of deep squats to flaunt those powerful legs and, more importantly, those perfectly forged glutes. Those cheeks are just asking for gold coins to be bounced off of them! With one final squat, he sets them both down and allows them to return to their seats, but not before offering a kiss to their knuckles for being such lovely volunteers.

He returns to the stage, removing his shield to rest face down on the ground nearby. Hands reach behind his back, fiddling with something along his spine as he smirks at the audience, hips still popping to that lively beat. His collar and the sides of that leather top immediately go slack and he’s able to pull the garment down his arms, freeing it entirely from his person. Chiseled muscles glisten beneath the spotlight, the contours of his abs more prominent today than usual. The tight leather pants ride low on his body, emphasizing the cut V-line of his hips that disappears beneath the garment. The red runic tattoo that typically covers his right side is even glamoured away to more align his look with the character he’s portraying.

Captain Azeroth stomps on the curved edge of his shield so it flips up, then catches and affixes it to his right arm, giving the straps an extra hard yank to keep it in place. Sauntering down the stairs to seek his next subject, he stops in front of Talthorn and offers his free hand out to bring them up on stage with him. Kneeling down, the shield is raised and braced atop his shoulder, creating a nice parallel platform of which he then urges his volunteer to sit upon.

After they get comfortable, he rises up from his knees to stand at his full height all while keeping his shield and participant balanced. But he doesn’t stop there! Freeing his arm from the straps, he grips opposite edges of the shield and begins to lift it, and its passenger, steadily over top of his head! His rippling obliques tense and tighten, pronouncing themselves even further with the effort. With a bit of adjusting and balancing until hands are at the center of the shield, he gradually retracts his right hand, balancing shield and Talthorn over his head with only his left arm!

He flashes the audience a triumphant grin, then swaps left arm to right arm without even looking or bobbling his aloft companion! He could do this all day! Gradually he lowers his shield in the same manner it was lifted, kneeling and bracing it atop his shoulder so they could have an easier dismount. With a respectful salute, he sends them back to their seat and sets his shield aside.

He wastes no time in running to the front of the stage, jumping and appearing as if he’s just about to dive into the crowd. At the last moment, he tucks his legs into a stall front flip, landing on both feet just in front of %t before dropping onto his knees to straddle their thighs. That brawny torso rolls in excruciatingly slow waves in order to accentuate those impressive abs, welcoming his current subject to touch if they so desire. Dexterous fingers are quick to unfasten his utility belt, yanking it off and draping it around %t’s neck, bestowing one final grind of his bared flesh flush against them.

He returns to the stage and with his back to the audience, he slowly lowers into a crouch; knees spread with hands resting upon his knees and an alluring glance given over his shoulder. With a bounce, he *SLAPS* his hands down against his inner thighs and as he stands, there’s a POP-POP-POPPING sound of buttons unsnapping. You guessed it, pants are abruptly ripped away from his person, revealing his marvelously muscular and shapely rear *almost* in its full glory! The small strip and triangle of blue fabric of his thong does not leave anything to the imagination, at least on his backside. Azeroth’s ass indeed!

Cap turns to face the audience, the blue thong with white mesh stars leaves very little to the imagination. Yes, Captain Azeroth is absolutely gifted with abundance and the material does very little to contain the overflow. He picks up his shield and paces around the front of the stage, scanning the audience with a flirtatious expression, welcoming and encouraging the lascivious gazes and wicked thoughts. Those powerful muscles flex with every movement; a flawless body passionately sculpted by duty and by tenacity over the years.

He conceals his ample groin with his shield, free hand beckoning the audience to shout out what they want before fingertips begin to fiddle with what one can assume is the side of his thong. Captain Azeroth isn’t so innocent after all!

Cap tugs at the edge of the material, and with a soft *snap*, he pulls the thong free from behind the shield, giving it a twirl and releases it towards, probably, Leon. As is custom. 

Is he? Isn’t he? Everyone has already seen a good amount of bare flesh this evening. The chivalry is strong, but so is the eroticism.

He gives a bow, keeping himself covered with the shield, probably much to the dismay of some. …BUT! He then does turn to one side and then to the other for his final bows, purposefully allowing tantalizing, shadowed glimpses of that legendary length now fully freed behind his shield. Captain Azeroth sure has a tremendous ~and~ tempting…talent! He wasn’t going to walk away without at least a teasing peek! Turning to walk off stage, he offers one final glimpse of his delectable, unclad backside before disappearing behind the curtain.

@succulent-tart @fio-renze @twosidedsana @talthorn-sylvoran @daily-writing-challenge

[dajjalen]

November 2024 DWC Day 3 - Strength TW: spiders, some gore Read Part 1 Read Part 2 Read Part 3

Dajjalen shot up like a rocket, gasping for air as he clawed at his chest and throat, only to be wrangled back down by Feyrindora. There was another presence nearby as well, he knew this aura well. Aerden’s eyes were like two small beacons of crackling lightning for just a brief moment before they closed and the young elf collapsed onto his side.

“Fucking fel, I just bloody saved him.” Dajjalen immediately checked for breathing; it was shallow, but it was there.

“He just bloody saved -you-, asshole. From death. He saved me too.” Fey brought him into a tight hug, “I thought I lost you, I couldn’t… I didn’t want to lose anyone else. You’re not gonna die on me on my watch.”

It was then that Dajjalen realized they were not yet safe, nor were any of them in good condition. Aerden was unconscious, and both he and Fey had noticeably gaping wounds all over from where the toxin of the webs had managed to eat away flesh. It would have been much worse if their skin wasn’t toughened by years of housing their internal companions.

“We need to get out of here. …We need -him-.” She gave him a pointed look, he knew what she meant.

These days Dajjalen tried to avoid changing, the hunger became insatiable, gnawing at his insides and he wasn’t sure that these undercrawlers were going to sate that need. He felt less in control, but that was the purpose, wasn’t it? They needed strength, absolute destruction, and felfire if they were to get out of here in one piece. She was right. “Please guard him well, he’s important to me. I need you to just run and not look back.” He pointed up towards a larger crack on the other side of the cavern. “I’ll get their attention, you just go. I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t so sure about that last bit.

Fey kissed the gruff man on his cheek and scooped Aerden up with ease, cradling him close to her chest as she waited.

He was severely injured and running on pure adrenaline at this point, not to mention he had just been brought back from the brink of death. But this is what demon hunters were made for. They were killing machines meant to annihilate anything in their paths with little care for themselves.

Dajjalen hobbled out from the alcove they were hidden within and wasted no time in dashing towards a group of the spider-like creatures blocking their path. He lept into the air and crashed down right in the middle of the group as an eruption of felfire spreading from him in every direction. Now nearly doubled in size, Dajjalen took on the appearance of that internal companion: A Doomguard - Elongated horns, cloven hooves, tough leathery wings, and razor sharp teeth and claws. He was already a formidable opponent before his metamorphosis, but this allowed the extra burst of adrenaline and the overwhelming urge to destroy everything. Claws and teeth were sharper, skin was tougher, and everything he touched would alight with fel.

Now that everything in this cavern had its attention turned towards her fellow hunter, Fey darted through the shadows towards their target opening with Aerden shielded and kept close. They would make it without issue, crawling up the spongy ramp towards the light above only to find themselves in a MUCH larger, foreign cavern. There was no time to look, instead she dashed towards some nearby rocks, crouching behind them as she set the young elf down and waited at the ready in case she needed to join in the fight.

Green flashes of felfire flickered through the porous material of the nest below and just as Fey was about to re-enter, Dajjalen came dashing out in a crackling blaze. “WE HAVE TO RUN!” Behind him, the entire colony seemed to be in literal hot pursuit; some of the undercrawlers on fire and running madly in an attempt to douse themselves.

“We could take the–” Fey’s words were cut short when the entire nest seemed to rumble and shake beneath them. A MASSIVE, jagged claw ripped up through the permeable membrane, slamming its spiked toe down just shy of Dajjalen. “Yep, running!” she scooped up Aerden once more and sprinted as fast as she could towards anything else.

Another jagged claw slammed down just behind her, and a brief glance over her shoulder offered a glimpse of Dajjalen now taking to the skies and swooping towards her, and a monstrous undercrawler: The Broodmother.

Fey reached her arm upwards, hand open and waiting as she continued to run. As soon as Dajjalen’s claws curled around her forearm, she gripped him tight and tucked her legs in as the three soared up into the cavern and away from Pillar-nest Xesh. None of them had any idea where they were, or where they were going, but anywhere was better than there.

@aerdendios @daily-writing-challenge