#februarydwc2023

[daily-writing-challenge]

DAILY WRITING CHALLENGE 2023 IS BACK!

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

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

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

Write the number day/challenge somewhere on your story.

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

Tags that will be used: #februarydwc2023,  #februarydayX2023 (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 MAY!

CLICK HERE FOR OTHER IMPORTANT INFORMATION!

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

We look forward to reading some amazing writing!

((Written word list below the cut))

Day 1 - February 19:

Love is in the Air, Weakness

Day 2 - February 20:

Opportunity, Eternity

Day 3 - February 21:

Velvet, Consequence

Day 4 - February 22:

Influence, Distant

Day 5 - February 23:

Ambition, Relentless

Day 6 - February 24:

Devoted, Trauma

Day 7 - February 25:

Event, Recovery

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC Feb 2023 - Day 2 - Opportunity/Eternity

Khaeris

Khaeris knew she had to be careful in the Dragon Isles. She was too adventurous NOT to go, but also felt herself a little TOO vulnerable to fully engage and explore.

It was the bronzes, you see. She could tell who they were. They were the double-back, second-glancers. The ones who were about to say something, then shook their heads--in that reptilian way that gave away all dragons when they were startled--and narrowed their eyes.

So she threaded the needle of opportunity. Yes, to the Isles. No, to Valdrakken. Yes, to the Azure Span and the Dragonscale Expedition. No, to the Ruby Feast and the cheesemonger everyone kept talking about.

Wrong-Time still stuck to her--and she imagined it made her look, to a bronze dragon, like a mirage in the middle of the desert. Or someone from a dream who you couldn’t quite picture nor place.

One or two had seemed entertained by the puzzling specter she was. Most seemed distressed, anxiety slipping into their expressions.

She remembered how fussy some of them were, when she’d been Corrected back to her timeline. How fascinated by her timeline-skipping they had been, but also how matter-of-fact they had been that she be returned to when she belonged.

So it was with graceful slips into crowds and always a corner to turn to that she found herself exploring the Dragon Isles. Pollux would have been impressed at her ability to slip a tail (ha!) so frequently. But even so aware of the danger, Thaldraszus was still tempting. Like a shiny Titan orb forbidden to her; like a golden apple there before a starving elf in Eversong. She had stared up at the soaring city on the horizon--visible from so many vistas--and hungered.

The city would wait. Had already waited.

… Maybe she could--no. Best not to tempt fate.

But what if--?

@daily-writing-challenge​

brief mention: @polluxhale​

[garrennorassin]

February Daily Writing Challenge Day 6 - Trauma

TW: Fire, destruction, burns, wounds, scared animals

It was unnerving, all that fighting happening directly across the water from their home. Garren could tell his grandparents were on edge, as were most of the inhabitants of Darnassus. They had been assured, however, that Darnassus was not the Horde’s target and that the fighting would remain in Darkshore and other Kaldorei territories in the mainland. Most of the civilians there had already been evacuated, and the Sentinels, Priestesses of the Moon, and the Druids of the Claw all poured out of the city to go offer their aid wherever needed. Some of the civilians left behind decided to leave until the war was over, but the majority stayed and rallied around each other, trying to keep spirits lifted. This too would pass.

Garren was tending to the frightened animals at his grandfather’s stables, doing his best to calm them with their favorite treats and soothing words. Between most everyone feeling some level of panic and the occasional distant sounds of war echoing its way across the water, the stabled animals knew something bad was happening and seemed restless. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay girl.” Teenage Garren scratched behind the ear of one of his grandfather’s nightsabers. “Everything will be okay.”

It was at that moment a deafening *CRAAAAAAAAACK* of smashing wood, followed by ground shaking *WUMP* resounded throughout the entire area, causing the nightsaber to whip around and take off in panic, knocking Garren onto his back. It didn’t take him long to scramble up to his feet as some of the other animals broke free of their stables and made a break for it.

He ran outside to see what was happening, only to witness another few flaming boulders smash into nearby trees, splintering them into thousands of pieces before catching everything in their vicinity on fire. This was the Horde’s doing. He needed to get back home to his grandparents immediately, they would be so worried about him. 

But instead, he stood still, frozen in shock as he watched in horror as the barrage of molten balls continued to destroy his beloved home and forest. It wasn’t until one slammed into another nearby tree that he startled out of his horrified state and immediately began to unlatch all the stable doors, whipping them open and allowing all the animals to flee. It was all he could do.

Sprinting through the city, he followed the familiar path home. The sounds of screams were impossible to ignore as everyone ran in different directions; it was mass chaos with no one knowing what to do other than to find their loved ones. Some of the elves were bent over motionless loved ones, others wandered around in confusion sporting various, gruesome wounds they didn't even seem to notice. It made him feel sick to his stomach, but he had to keep going.

Why would they do this?

He skidded to a halt as he rounded the corner of Tradesman Terrace, staring at the caved-in, blazing building that was once his home. 

They were okay, they had to be okay.

He ran through the empty space where the door once stood without second thought, immediately holding arms up to protect his face from the roaring flames and heavy smoke. Broken beams blocked his way to the remainder of the house; surely they were there somewhere, tucked safely in the back room probably. He had to get to them. The fumes stung at his eyes and the heat was almost too unbearable, but the only thing he could think to do right now was to find his grandparents, at any cost. 

He bent over and scooped his arms underneath a downed, flaming beam that was blocking his way. With a blood-curdling scream, he tried to lift it, causing other parts of what was left of the house to groan and creak in warning. He didn’t even notice the flames licking at his arms and searing his shirt to his chest; none of that mattered right now. He was determined that his grandparents were trapped back there and that he had to save them.

“Son, you have to leave, NOW!” A loud voice called out from behind him, that he completely ignored until a moment later when he was suddenly yanked away from the burning building and dragged outside literally kicking and screaming. “They are evacuating at the Temple of the Moon, you have to go right now.” 

Garren looked up at the brown-haired Sin’dorei with hatred and tears in his trauma-filled eyes, immediately slamming both fists in anger against the man’s chest, “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

Xanelen Deh’lorei caught the boy’s wrists, eyeing the burn wounds and his face with absolute heartbreak, “I am truly sorry.” That was not the face of a man that would fire bomb a city full of civilians. “But you have to go. Please.” Xanelen’s hands glowed a brilliant gold briefly before giving Garren a shove towards the Temple. 

Whatever the healer had done gave him a little boost of energy after he thought he would pass out from the sudden scorching pain he felt in both his arms and his chest. He ran, stopping only to help others make their way to the Temple with him. His grandparents would be there, or on the other side of the portals. They made it out, he knew it in his heart.

@daily-writing-challenge @xanelen

[rhysgoodwin]

February DWC Day 3 - Consequence

He should have corrected Aurelia the first time she called him ‘da-da’, but they were alone with no one else to hear, and it felt…nice? It gave him purpose. He was, after all, her father; why shouldn’t he relish the moment just this once? He highly doubted that anyone believed that Mr. and Mrs. Padley conceived on their own, especially with the way the two were rarely found in the same room together. Everyone in his boss’s group of friends knew, their neighboring farm families knew, even their own grown children knew. What was the harm?

They all so badly wanted to keep up their appearances and ‘old-fashioned’ ways, yet everyone around them had their own quirks and secret dramas they never spoke of. Except to him, oddly enough. He was known to be non-judgemental, sympathetic, a great listener, and most especially tight-lipped. The farmer’s wives loved inviting him over to fix things around the house while they chattered on about anything. He learned about everyone’s extramarital affairs and what children may or may not have been a love child, among many other overshared details. 

He didn’t mind, their secrets were always safe with him, and there was literally no reason in bringing up drama that everyone already seemed to know anyways. It was a regular ‘Housewives of Elwynn Forest’ reality show out there, and now he was a part of it too. 

Today’s ‘fix-it’ adventure brought him to one of the neighboring farms, where Mrs. Farner’s kitchen sink had been on the fritz and her husband was currently away for a few days doing some trade in the neighboring lands. Everyone knew to call upon Rhys when something needed to be fixed, he had a knack for it - and they all enjoyed watching him. He gave a brief knock to the door, one arm carrying a basket of freshly cut sunflowers from his own little garden, and the other bouncing Aurelia as she giggled and patted at his cheek.

“Rhys, my dear! Come on in, you’re just in time. The blueberry pie just came out of the oven.” There were always pies. Always. Not that he would ever complain about a free pie.

“Thanks Mrs. Farner, I hope you don’t mind that I broug–”

“Da-da, I want!” The little blond-haired, blue-eyed girl stared up at him with a pleading look.

Hello consequences. 

He could feel his face flushing furiously as Mrs. Farner stared at him a bit wide-eyed in surprise. She probably already knew, she had to right? But it still wasn’t something to be spoken aloud. He didn’t know what to do at that moment. He didn’t want to correct Lia, he liked being da-da. But he also wasn’t sure how Mrs. Farner was going to react beyond this shocked stare.

“Ibroughtyousunflowersfrommygarden!” Rhys blurted out and shoved them towards the farmer’s wife, smiling brightly in the most innocent way he could muster.

She softened her expression, seemingly happy not to get into…all that, and took the flowers. “Come on in you two, I’ve got homemade lemonade as well.”

He set the squirming Lia down and let her toddle into the house just before Mrs. Farner caught him by the wrist, stepping in closer as she lowered her voice. “You know, my husband will be away for another couple nights, and I have a few things in the bedroom that need fixing. Maybe you can come back later..alone.”

Rhys gave a sheepish grin, ruffling a hand through his hair as he looked down at the ground. “..Maybe.” He was almost beginning to enjoy this starring role.

@daily-writing-challenge​

[rylandfalkov]

February Daily Writing Challenge Day 1 - Love is in the Air, Weakness

This takes place after Succulent Tart's Glitter is in the Air show where Ryland performed this number ---> HERE

‘You gonna be ok? You need company tonight?’

The late night comm message from Dicenne did elicit a small smile, he had always been good at reading moods, even if Ryland was very good at hiding them. Of course, Dicenne was also well educated in the topic on which Ryland had performed earlier that night: Grief. 

It was his annual Love is in the Air tradition for the third year running now, to honor and commemorate his late fiancée , Sela, who had been taken from him around this time of year many years ago. His very first performance with the Succulent Tart was for this show, where he sang one of her favorite songs. The following year he performed an aerial hoop number to a song meant to be used for their first dance together as husband and wife. 

They were both difficult numbers to get through for various reasons, but there was something about this year’s that struck him completely differently. ‘On the Nature of Grief’ was the title of his dance, set to a song named ‘On the Nature of Daylight’; both exceedingly appropriate in this case. It was a ballet, first and foremost, showcasing the extremes of grief. At least he hoped that it would come across that way. People would always try to simplify grief into five stages, but it was never like that, was it? It was an ongoing roller coaster with an ever-changing track that kept you guessing, and oftentimes the rider was blindfolded. 

At least that was how he felt much of the time. 

Some days he would completely forget about Sela, forget that she had ever existed and had been such a huge part of his life and his character. Other days she was the only thing on his mind and he would grieve the fact that he could so easily forget her, as if his mind were doing her some sort of horrible injustice. She didn’t deserve to be forgotten. …Yet, it’s what she would want for him, right? To move on, to be happy, to think of someone else as he had once thought of her, or still continues to think of her. The truth was, there would never be another Sela and he would have to accept that.

That’s really what his show was all about. Losing something or someone you will never find again and having to cope with that emptiness in your heart and soul. It was about the highest of highs and the lowest of lows; showing strength and fortitude one second, and then weakness and sorrow the next. It was about feeling broken and unintentionally ruining other things that cannot be fixed. In the end, it was about brushing yourself off and continuing onwards despite it all. 

However long the night, the sun will always rise.

After a few moments of blankly staring at the comm and silently debating, he sent his reply: ‘Sure. Let’s get some whiskey and go watch the sunrise.’

@dicenne @daily-writing-challenge

[taricdarkmorn]

February Daily Writing Challenge Day 3 - Consequence

Going along with this storyline: Prologue -> Here Fio Day 1 -> Here Xylaes Day 1 -> Here Pyraelia Day 1 -> Here

"Hey. Weird question. Do you have some time this week to come out to an Estate in Quel'thalas and get rid of a soul that's taken up shop in the body of the noblewoman that lives here? Hers is elsewhere at the moment, but I think this other one probably has to be out before the other one can go back in? No rush. I've got plenty of sedatives. Lmk."

The ridiculing snort-laugh that came out of Red’s mouth when he was shown the comm message from Lynesse made Taric smirk. Yes, he was well aware how this sounded. No, this was not his first time, nor Red’s first time,  in dealing with a wealthy person's body being inhabited by another soul - most likely brought on by said wealthy person’s desire to mess with cursed objects or locations. They weren’t exactly known for considering the consequences of their actions. He didn’t know the specifics yet, but a lot of assumptions could be made.

It wasn’t widespread knowledge, but those closer to Taric or Red would know that they have connections to the spirit world. A trait that runs in the male side of the Darkmorn family; being able to see and speak with spirits was the surface level trait, and the simplest explanation that would be given to anyone wanting details. But it went much deeper than that. They could traverse through the veil with ease, allow themselves to become possessed, trap souls, free souls…destroy souls, and more.

Taric had been ‘lucky’ enough to inherit the generation-skipping trait that gifted him sectoral heterochromia, causing his right eye to be half blue, half golden. ‘Half-in, half-out’ as he would describe it, being able to see whatever was beyond the veil and into the real world at the same time. Two planes of existence stacked atop each other. Not understanding what was happening as a child made for an extremely difficult time growing up, but now that he was older, this was simply his norm.

“So what do you think? I’m heading over today and you’re welcome to join. But uhh..this is more your wheelhouse.” The forcible removal of a foreign soul from a body, that is. Taric could do it, but Red was more experienced and much more apathetic about the souls and the people from which they would be removed.

“Is it anyone we know?” ‘Noblewoman’ meant money, but it also meant secrecy and having easy blackmail to hold over someone’s head should the need arise. 

“I don’t know yet. I won’t be given an address until I’m on my way.” Taric was just as in the dark, although he was well aware that Red might be familiar with whomever it may be, given the older man’s own time spent as a noble within Quel’thalas decades ago. Especially if they were of an elder bloodline, like the Darkmorns themselves.

“Well I can’t let you go by yourself on your birthday, now can I?”

Taric blinked a few times. Huh. How time flies and skews when you’re out in ‘the field’. He hadn’t even realized that his birthday was approaching, and now it was suddenly here. “Right. I guess it just slipped my mind. So that’s a yes?”

“That’s a yes.”

At least this birthday would be interesting!

@tristennedarkmorn @gloamingdawn @fio-renze @daily-writing-challenge

[xylaes]

February DWC Day 6 - Devoted, Trauma

Storyline Progression: Prologue -> Here Fio Day 1 -> Here Xylaes Day 1 -> Here Pyraelia Day 2 -> Here Taric Day 3 -> Here Lynesse Day 3 -> Here Sheizara Day 4 -> Here Red Day 5 -> Here Fiorenze Day 5 -> Here

There wasn’t much that he could do to help Fiorenze through her ‘predicament’. His new magic was still largely unpredictable, he had no healing abilities, and he definitely had no clue what to do when it came to dealing with moving souls from one thing or body to another. Thankfully, the rest of those involved seemed to have it covered, or at least knew experts that were able to help. 

So instead, he devoted himself to keeping her company during those quiet hours while she was still stuck within the mirror. He could tell she was frightened and didn’t want to be left alone. Who could blame her? There was nothing in there, just an empty void and her own intrusive thoughts.

He did his best to remain positive and keep calm; him not panicking and letting her know that they all had everything under control seemed to put her at ease. It wasn’t the entire truth, he had no idea if Red and Taric could get the invasive soul out of her body, nor did he know if Pyraelia could get her soul out of this mirror and back into her body. There were a lot of ‘what ifs’ involved, but everyone seemed to know what they were doing. He cared deeply for her, so it didn’t stop him from worrying.

He never pressed her too hard for information, there was no sense in making her more uncomfortable when there was a chance that she may be stuck in the mirror for a long time, or possibly forever. Plus, he was pretty certain that everything she was telling herself was much worse than anything he could have ever said to her regarding this entire situation. In some of the darker hours, she did mention that she was trying to help her house, and that the idea of dying after being in the Shadowlands scared her. Understandable to an extent, but not great reasoning. There was much more to it, a lot she was leaving out that he would probably hear at some point. Maybe. 

In the end everything went about as well as it could have gone while he poker-faced his way through the entire ordeal. Yet, his worry still remained, mostly because he realized what the trauma would likely do to her. She was a proud woman and this was a massive blow to the ego...but it also wasn’t his mess to clean up. She did this to herself, she should have known better. Plus, he could feel his own anger and disappointment finally reaching a stage where he realized he needed to go. 

When she was finally awake, he smiled and gave her a kiss on the forehead and told her that he was glad she was safe now. Then, he left. He didn’t tell her he was leaving; he did mention that he was returning to the Isles to Pyraelia in passing, but that was it. This next part she could deal with alone.

@fio-renze @pyraelia @tristennedarkmorn @taricdarkmorn @daily-writing-challenge​

[karaamberlight]

February Daily Writing Challenge Day 5 - Relentless

It wasn’t the first time she had the dream. In fact, it had become a regular occurrence over the past five years after she stopped taking the dreamless sleep potions every night. Originally the potions were given to end the relentless nightmares that developed after she had been kidnapped decades ago. She would awaken in the middle of the night, panicking and not wanting to go back to sleep. The potions had become a crutch; but with therapy and the various medications, Kara had become a changed woman. 

The dream always began with her standing alone in a dark forest. It didn’t feel like nighttime, there was just something about the sky above the canopy of trees that created this shadowy ambience. It wasn’t frightening nor was there any sense of dread, instead Kara found that the world tinted in purples and blues to be quite beautiful. After a few moments, a mirror image of herself appeared just a few feet ahead, extending a hand back in offering. At first, Kara did not accept. She would wake up feeling slightly restless and confused, but not anxious like she would with previous dreams. 

Over the years she progressed further, eventually taking her own hand and being led deeper and deeper into the forest until they came upon a clearing where a large, shimmering violet orb hovered eye-level in the center. The other Kara would then release her hand and stand next to the ball of light, waiting patiently with a soft, understanding smile.

She wanted her to touch it, she knew that, but for years she maintained her distance and simply observed. It was a strangely comforting presence; the same warmth she had always felt when near loved ones - especially her mother. It was welcoming and safe, and a part of her thought that maybe if she made contact that the dream would cease and she could no longer feel this soothing presence.

So for now, she bided her time, sitting on the outskirts of the clearing while staring into the beckoning sphere as the violet glimmered across her scarred, milky eye.

@daily-writing-challenge

[tazindrox]

February DWC Day 2 - Opportunity

Taz had stolen every opportunity he could find to take leave from the Dark Talons to go and explore the world unknown to him. And why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t any of them? Sure, they were created to be the ‘ideal soldiers’, and maybe that’s all he wanted to be prior to getting frozen in stasis for 20,000 years. But now? Things were vastly different. 

Sure he would continue to do his duties to his brethren and to his land; he enjoyed and was extremely good at fighting. He also realized this was likely instilled in all of them upon their creation, but old habits were hard to break and he wasn’t sure he wanted to break this particular habit. They all are, after all, the only family that he had ever known. But he also wanted more. There was so much he had yet to explore, to eat and drink, to do, and especially to learn. They had missed out on so much history, so much living, all because they were deemed to be a risk. So instead of trying to fix that, they were locked away in time.

It didn’t seem fair, but that was the past and there was nothing anyone could do about it now. He vowed to make the most of the present, especially since the future wasn’t promised to anyone, especially the Dracthyr. There was a fear rooted in the back of his mind that it could very well happen again, that they would be frozen away for another 10,000 years or more. Maybe even destroyed.  Although if that were the plan and any of them caught wind of it, it would make them an extremely dangerous group to go up against. Tazindrox was not above killing off anyone that tried to lock him away again or threaten his life, and he was not alone in that train of thought.

For now, he lived, he explored, and he tried every new thing he could get his hands on. He hoarded history books the same way he hoarded shiny nuts and bolts that he removed from park benches, chairs, tables, shelves, and various machinery. He was always desperate to learn and he carried with him a small notebook to keep track of his findings and his ‘likes’. Maybe it seemed silly to those outside of his race, but they couldn’t even begin to fathom what the Dracthyr had gone through to get to this point. He would never dare take anything or anyone for granted.

Above all else, he wished to become something other than what he was made for. To prove not only to himself, but to others as well, that he can be more than just a machine of destruction.

@daily-writing-challenge​

[pyraelia]

February 20 - Day 2 Opportunity/Eternity

Prologue -> Here Fio Day 1 -> Here Xylaes Day 1 -> Here

Pyraelia groused.

She wasn’t unused to all nighters. They had been a constant in her formal studies, general occurrences when she happened upon a particularly engrossing new book, and truthfully it wasn’t even her first one in the last five days. The tail end of her birthday week had landed her on a short camping trip in the Ohn’ahran plains with Aerden, and she had made sure to savor every moment. It was hard to know when their schedules would sync up again.

This all nighter sucked, though, and yesterday had been a tumultuous affair.

After Pyraelia had arrived at the Estate, Keranna had summoned the doctor out, and Xylaes arrived in short order. Her sister, who she had just seen a handful of days before, was presumably no longer her sister.

It wasn’t an unprecedented thing; magic, especially magic to the degree that her sister had been using it over the last few years, could have odd results. She’d always assumed that Fiorenze’s rise to Arch Magistrix had been a political move, but her grasp of the arcane had flourished in that time in ways it certainly hadn’t when they were in lessons together.

Xylaes wanted to talk to The Person Who Might Not Be Her Sister himself, and Keranna had swiftly shut down any protests Pyraelia might have otherwise made by just allowing it without asking first. Fiorenze was his person in some capacity, too, didn’t he have the right?

Maybe so.

But Keranna had a job for her, too. Equal parts a distraction and fact finding mission. Pyraelia was the best with magic in the family; maybe if she went down to the sanctum she could pick through the spellbooks and see if anything stood out? Especially while The Person Who Might Not Be Her Sister was preoccupied with Xylaes.

That small, windowless room was always so dark with the lights off. It had proper ventilation for alchemy work, but it had been built to be fairly secluded in case anything went wrong. Three years of spell books were out on the work table, one open in mid-use. It was always easier to work backwards with magic than it was to create fresh.

The quiet “Pyra?” from the corner of the room took her by surprise.

In retrospect she could’ve handled their entire conversation better. The Person Who Might Not Be Her Sister was absolutely not her sister. Her sister was stuck in a mirror and the person who had previously been in the mirror took her body.

The Person was a tens of thousands of years old archmage from Azshara’s court who had been in the cursed mirror for an eternity.

The Person was extremely dangerous within their own age and context — but they were not in their own age and context. They were in the Tel’vaiel estate with only the knowledge Fiorenze had provided, which hadn’t been much because Fio was careful. Not careful enough to not get her soul stuck in a mirror, but you know. Careful.

Fiorenze suspected that Theirastra, that was the person’s name, hadn’t been a reagent caster in life; but Fiorenze was herself, so the Person may be a little hamstrung in the home she’d made for herself. That was fine, and good to know.

She hadn’t really had time yet to ask the why of the thing. That could come later, couldn’t it? Fiorenze had practically begged her to not let anyone see her like this. To not let them know. They were both so bright, couldn’t they fix it together? All of her work was available in the spell tomes on the table, and they could reverse it.

Unfortunately it didn’t work like that. Not this time. That opportunity had long past; She had to tell Keranna, the doctor and Xylaes. They were all upstairs. In fact, she probably should’ve told them as soon as she realized, but instead she and Fiorenze got caught up in the sibling interrogation whirlwind that turned into an incredulous, one sided panic dump that really didn’t help anyone.

Fiorenze hated being embarrassed, and if there was anything worse than being embarrassed in her life it was failure. Pyraelia knew she was feeling both heavily, it was more than apparent in the fraught silence that took over.

She’d been quiet, curled up and looking away during the time Pyraelia took to dismantle all the books and spread the pages out across the floor and walls, the hours it took to scrawl out the original spell that had been cast and start to work it apart layer by layer. There was an intent in the work that bothered her, some things Fiorenze had probably missed — but the spell had done what it had been meant to do.

Put a soul in the mirror, and take one out. There was missing context. The Why of the Thing. It was easy enough to isolate the ‘take one out’ part; she was confident she could make that work again.

But it was early afternoon, now, and she needed a break before her grousing turned sharp again.

Fiorenze started when she stood up and looked at her with an unmasked desperation, “Please don’t leave.”

Pyraelia winced, “I have to. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” It was all she could promise, but an easy one to keep.

“Alright. Leave the lights on, please?”

The audible thread of terror in that request broke her heart.

@daily-writing-challenge / @xylaes, @fio-renze, @gloamingdawn

[trixcuomo]

DWC 2023 #2: Eternity

Trixany rolled her eyes while Lady Thelmara walked the long, dusty halls lined with old tomes and droned on for ages about the pretigious history of the military academy over thousands of years.

"...All the Windrunner girls, of course. This academy was well-established before they were born. Other notable alumna include Lady Liadrin, Queen Anthene'alas Sunstrider--"

Trixany gawped, "Who??"

"Prince Kael'thas' mother! King Anasterian's late wife, the queen. Unless you think Kael'thas hatched from an egg!!"

Trixany did not appreciate the shouting. "...He does seem that way sometimes."

"What was that about our sovereign??"

"Nothing."

"And here is the Hall of Heroes. Portraits of our benefactors. Several Petal-Tenleaves, of course... the name was shortened to Pilton in the last century, you know."

Trixany was deep in her handheld scrying orb by then, trying to catch up on her favorite Goblin soap opera show, Glitterbomb! "Oh, I just love that. Mmhrm! Wouldn't ya know! How interesting. Good for them!"

Lady Thelmara spun around. Trixany raised her arm as if to sweep hair from her face, letting the small glass ball slide down her sleeve, out of sight. Old Goblin public school trick.

Thelmara raised her eyebrow.

"I just love... uh... thalassian history. Especially celebrity gossip."

"Not really a part of our history young lady, but if it gets you interested in your coursework..."

"Wait! Does Haris Pilton go here??"

"The young Miss Pilton doesn't 'go' here. She attends several high-level seminars that a new ensign like yourself would never hear about. Besides, you're in a separate dorm on the opposite side of campus."

Trixany groaned loudly.

Lady Thelmara leaned in and patted beneath Trixany's chin, for her to close her mouth. "Now, let us complete the tour and I will introduce you to your roommates."

"Last question--is there any hope this is an all-girls, like a magical girls school? Like, it's a secret you couldn't tell my dad? And you're going to pull a fancy lever, then we go sliding down a secret passage! And everything is sparkling and new, and there are ducklings floating in rainbow bubbles? And there is no bubble tea because technically it is a secret potion that is only trusted in the hands of your most talented students!! And the real name of this school is Magica Windspire Bubble Duckling Rainbow High??!!!"

Lady Thelmara blinked. She took down her glasses. "Are you... alright, young lady?"

"So that's a no. Huh."

Lady Thelmara was the one to sigh heavily this time. She took out her click-pen and made a silent note on her pad.

Trixany then did something for the first time in her life that she would get very good at throughout her years of being an entertainer. She looked at the camera.

"My version of this school woulda been waaay better."

"NO TALKING TO THE CAMERA!"

"Aw!"

@daily-writing-challenge

[aerdendios]

February Daily Writing Challenge Day 2 - Opportunity

Aerden paced back and forth along the outskirts of the camp, lost deep in thought. Most everyone else, aside from the current watch, were already fast asleep and had been for hours now. It had been a whirlwind of a day, and no matter how exhausted he currently felt, sleep continued to elude him.

It was for a good reason.  A once in a lifetime opportunity, actually. 

Earlier that day, General Zer’vora had visited their camp in the Ohn’ahran Plains; the same General that pinned his Distinguished Service Medal almost two years ago. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for the Generals to make their rounds, but it was unusual that he had specifically requested Aerden’s presence within the commanding officer’s tent.

Aerden’s immediate thought was that he did something wrong; not that he actually had, but the anxiety remained. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case at all. General Zer’vora noted his achievements both on the field and off, and then personally invited him to begin training for the Elite Forces once this campaign was finished. 

The Elite Forces. The best of the best. The most badass group of soldiers that the Horde produced.

And they wanted him?!

Not that training would promise him a place within the group; very few actually made it all the way through the rigorous process. There would be over a year of initial training, and then another year of intensive specialized training should he make it through the first portion. It would be a ton of hard work only to consistently be put in very dangerous situations. 

That thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

The General didn’t demand a yes or no on the spot, and instead told Aerden to think about it. That’s all he had been thinking about since. A distraction he did not want at the moment, but at least he had the following day off - and months after to accept or decline. 

First thing in the morning, he decided, he would message his dad. Pollux was a member of the Elite Forces, if anyone would be able to give him advice, it would be him.

@polluxhale​ @daily-writing-challenge​

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC February 2023 - Day 5 - Ambition/Relentless

She wasn’t going anywhere in particular, and that bothered some sorts of people. But not her. Today was not a day for hard ambitions, though she was productive in her way. Khaeris had found herself floating through camp talking and laughing with a variety of people, after the solitude of the day before.

She had woven herself a flower crown and had danced with the children of the Dragonscale Expedition earlier. The blacksmith had made bells on tiny chains for her feet and she walked barefoot through the little town of tents. Card games and even a game of chess in the early afternoon had capped out the hottest part of the day,  though the breezes that came through the ravines were playful.

She’d helped brew healing potions and made poultices. She’d cooked dinner with the cooks and eaten over stories exchanged.

Her eyes roamed through the constellations, head sticking out of her tent and pillowed by her hands. She’d left her daily messages to Pollux (and a picture of her dancing taken on her comm by a drakonid child that afternoon) and then gone to empty her mind; but her thoughts wandered rather than settled.

Ambition had never been her driving force. Survival and Curiosity, those were the things that drove her. But Pyraelia was ambitious, always working and researching. Pollux was ambitious-adjacent? He seemed to like where he was in rank, but he’d climbed fairly high and sacrificed much to get there. Ahuatli was at the pinnacle of her cultural artistic community and Khaeris knew it had been a hard won and deserved prize. Helal was ambition embodied at times, at least when he wasn’t lounging like a sated cat.

Did it bother anyone that she was so rudderless? Did she care of it did? What was she missing? What would she even want so much that she’d be relentless?  Nothing seemed that compelling to her. Work was fun but she wasn’t obsessive. Dancing was natural and as necessary as breath--but she didn’t need prizes or accolades to find joy in it.

No, her ambition was to see as much as she could, experience as much as she could. She smiled to herself, watching the larger moon march across the sky. It was enough.

@daily-writing-challenge​

[garrennorassin]

February Daily Writing Challenge Day 7 - Recovery

TW: Burn wounds, throwing up, death

Continued from --> HERE

It was probably for the best that he passed out soon after rushing through the portal. Between the smoke inhalation and the pain from the burns littering his arms and chest, it was all too much for his body to handle. The last thing he saw before he collapsed was one of his neighbors lying very still nearby; but before he could ask about his grandparents, eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped.

While he was out, they brought him to one of the healer tents and carefully had to remove the shirt material that had been fused into his skin. As much pain as he was in when he finally woke up, he was happy not to have been awake for any of that. It was dark outside when he stirred, bloodshot eyes cracked open and he immediately groaned in pain. Next to his cot sat a small vial of red liquid and a large jug of water with a little sign that read ‘drink us’. Typically, a healer would have attended to him the moment he woke up, but given the overwhelming number of others that needed healing, this would have to do.

He did as the note suggested, downing the vialing before chugging a good half of the water. It was a bit of a process given both arms and hands had been wrapped in bandages. Almost immediately, everything was thrown up before he broke into a coughing fit for a good few minutes. Still, no one came. One of the nearby elves who also had his hands covered in bandages picked up one of his own vials and brought it to Garren, “Here son, you can have this one. Drink a little slower, yeah?”

Garren tried to thank him, but when he opened his mouth to speak no sound came out. His vocal chords and lungs felt horribly raw from all the smoke, so instead he just nodded in gratitude. This time, he drank much slower, washing the red liquid down with a few sips of water before setting the jug aside. It only took a few minutes for the drugs to kick in, numbing things just enough so it didn’t feel as if every nerve in his body was firing off at once.

Again he tried to speak to the older elf that had since returned to his bed to lay down, but nothing came out. He needed to find his grandparents, they would know what to do now. He wobbled briefly upon standing, but eventually began making his way through the large tent. He stopped by every cot just to be sure and when he decided that they weren’t in here, he stepped outside into the night air and halted in his tracks. There were dozens of tents lined up in rows with healers rushing around and looking completely exasperated. It was a chaotic mess. He couldn’t stop any of them to ask, he would have to find them himself. 

This was going to take a while.

After a couple of hours, he made it through only a few tents before an older priestess finally stopped him. She looked frazzled and exhausted, as if she hadn’t slept in days.  “Hun, what are you doing? You should be resting. Which one is your tent?”

He tried to speak again, but still no voice. It was then that he finally cracked and began sobbing, dropping down to his knees as those sobs turned into racking coughs.

The priestess bent down and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a careful hug before removing a small pad of paper and pencil from her pouch, handing it over to him. The pencil was pressed between both palms with a wince as he awkwardly wrote while she held the pad: ‘Grandparents?’

“You’re looking for your grandparents? Okay, I understand. Did you see them here in the camp at all?”

He shook his head.

She couldn’t hide her frown. “We have a registry of those we have here. Now keep in mind it’s not complete cause some folks haven’t woken up yet to tell us who they are. So if they aren’t in there, that doesn’t mean anything.” She helped him up to his feet, wrapping an arm gently about his shoulders before leading him towards one of the side tents. “You just write down their names, and your name if they don’t have it yet. That way you all can find each other.”

Unfortunately, they never found each other. With bodies unable to be recovered, most of those that didn’t present themselves within a couple weeks were assumed to be dead. His grandparents among them.

Those were the most difficult weeks of his entire life; the grief he felt far outweighed any of the physical pain. While the recovery process for his burns didn’t take too long, there was a part of him that felt he could never heal from this loss. He wasn’t alone in that feeling; the Kaldorei were a changed people now, there was no going back.

@daily-writing-challenge

[fio-renze]

February 19 - Day 1 Love is in the Air / Weakness

Prologue -> Here

---

Something was wrong. 

Fiorenze had always been a little arrogant, but never unkind or callous without reason. Keranna frowned as she turned her own simple comm between her hands like a worry stone, a physical manifestation of the last few hours turning over in her mind. 

Yesterday the Lady had been laid low with a terrible migraine — not uncommon, but they did tend to follow large acts of spellcraft on her part. The ferocity of this one stood out; it had been a while since a migraine had been so painful as to cause vomiting spells. Decades, perhaps. 

And yes, sometimes those migraines made the Lady hazy a day later. It could be harder to get her attention or she would be a little slower to answer. 

‘Servant!’

Even recalling the word made Keranna’s eyes narrow. ‘Servant’. The consonants were poisonous in their own way, lilting in Fiorenze’s pretty voice. Keranna had never been her ‘servant’. She could recall with clarity the day the wet nurse handed Fiorenze over to her so Cosima could have time to rest after her birth. As her governess and god mother she had presided over occasions and holidays, tutors and appointments and the joy and sorrow that came with raising a precocious little girl into a woman that could hold her own in Quel’thalas’ court of nobles. 

‘Servant’. 

Keranna’s lips pursed. 

The Lady had wanted to know what all the flowers and gifts were, artfully arranged around her bedroom. Fiorenze knew. No migraine would ever cloud the joy that gifts brought her. Keranna watched her study the cards that had come with them — the pinch in the Lady’s brow as her eyes glossed over the scrawling Thalassian script. The indifference with which she was handed them and told to reply with thanks to the suitors who had sent them in an attempt to vye for her attention. 

‘Set up an appointment with the one I like best, would you?’

If Xylaes had sent anything, it wouldn't have come here. The man avoided the Estate like it would give him some kind of plague — and they’d been together for months out in the Isles anyway. 

And then the Lady had moved to pet Rue, the blink cat that had become her familiar. The creature had lived with them for some years now, going between the Estate and the tower in Dalaran as Fiorenze pleased. Keranna had never seen the cat make a harsh move toward anyone; only curiosity and care. 

The hiss and swipe toward the Lady’s outstretched hand was enough to cement Keranna’s thoughts and banish whatever doubts she’d otherwise had. 

Something was wrong. 

She stopped her fidgeting and typed out a couple of messages, sending them with a mental apology for the utter oddness of the situation. 

<<Pyraelia, come home. I need to confer with you on a matter regarding your sister, it is urgent. I will not discuss it over the comm.>>

<<Mr. Qin’oril, this is Keranna Zerine, Fiorenze’s head of house. You have seen her the most out of anyone lately — has she been acting off or odd? Please think about it and get back to me. You can add my number if you wish.>> 

Theirastra huffed in displeasure at the woman in the mirror, holding up the spell tome with years of work scrawled margin to margin, “Explain.” 

Fiorenze shrugged impertinently, not particularly in a mood to do anything of the sort, “There’s nothing to explain, Architect. I wrote everything in Thalassian; it’s not my fault you arrogantly assumed that you’d be able to read the language after being trapped in a mirror for tens of thousands of years. You picked up on the spoken language quickly during our time together, congratulations.” 

Theirastra seethed, the fury evident on her stolen face, “How dare you.” 

“How dare I, what? Set you up for failure if you double crossed me? I would encourage you to put down that chair; after all, who will teach you how to read if you smash the glass? Instruct you on the names of the people who work here so you can maintain your cover? You are bound to me still, if you want this to work for you, you need me,” Firenze crooned from behind the glass, palms pressed flat against the surface. 

The terror was still there, but she had spent her whole life projecting confidence. Clarity of purpose. This had all gone so wrong, but she wasn’t wrong. She needed time to stall. To come up with a plan. 

Theirastra set the chair back down next to the work bench with a harsh clatter, “Your lady in waiting. What is her name? I offended her this morning because I didn’t know what to call her.” 

Oh?

Fiorenze smiled pleasantly, “Her name is Keranna. What did you call her?” 

“Servant. It is what she is, is it not?” 

Oh. 

“Yes, I suppose,” Fiorenze lied with ease, “but you would do well to call her Keranna or Ker from here on out. We have a familiarity.” 

That made the Architect scoff with displeasure, “Familiarity.” The tone of the word oozed with disgust. 

One of those Nobles, then. Fiorenze sat down in her small void, the yawning, infinite dark behind her and the window to her home in front. If she had a heart here, it would be racing.

Keranna would call Pyraelia as soon as she had suspicion, wouldn’t she? That was the logical progression of steps. Pyraelia would come when Keranna called. If she helped Theirastra, she might keep the lights on in the sanctum. If she kept her down here, Keranna and Pyraelia may come looking. If she helped a little, it would buy them time to figure something out. 

“In an effort to rebuild the shattered trust between us, Theirastra, I will offer this next bit of knowledge freely: My sister’s name is Pyraelia, she visits frequently,” another smooth lie buried in some truth, “I do not know what day it is, or what time it is, but expect her sometime this week.”

( @xylaes & @pyraelia mentioned)

[dicenne]

February DWC Day 4 - Influence

I will entice you with words and polish phrases like sterling platters - smooth and studied similes, virile verses in receptive thoughts, tarnishing the lustrous façade - to influence with breath and tone. I want to twine tales like beads -  chromatic and coruscating slivers that profoundly pierce, maiming the malleable mind to brandish only at intimate hours.

I love to pluck out letters, sonnets to seduce you,  captivating yet capricious - intertwining idioms into ornaments, to embellish your essence until rendered speechless beneath my silver tongue.

@daily-writing-challenge​