♡ for your muse to drunkenly confess feelings to mine
Shira leaned across the small table, listing to one side. Somehow, she’d gotten the Arch-Commander to agree to a drinking contest. Maybe it was some unwritten requirement to reach Champion rank. Maybe it was just an off night for him. Whatever the case may be, Shira certainly thought she was winning.
She wasn’t.
The warrior opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by a loud belch. Which only served to set her into giggles. Alorinis watched with quirked brow as the Marshal, well, made a fool of herself.
“Y’know,” she managed once she’d regained a modicum of control over herself. She waved one finger in the air, pushing herself upright in her chair--and nearly falling out of it. “I always ah-mired you,” she slurred. “Th’way y’mah-- man-- manage pee-ple. An’delegate!” Her volume seemed to be fluctuating almost with every other word. Her hand dropped to the table, nearly spilling what was left in her tankard. She grew exaggeratedly serious, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. “An’ I’d b’lyin’ f’I said I hadn’ thought ‘bout it.”
Tmiday : The worst wound(s) your character has suffered. How did they heal, why were they hit, anything else you would like to say?
The worst wound actually happened last night in a Campaign Battle! Kal was in the Vanguard, like usual, and a Shivarra came up from the back and slashed into the Commander -Adrya-. Kal doesn’t particularly care for when the enemy gets to the back lines, so he left the front lines to tend to the bitch. Taunted her off Adrya and mocked her when she missed him.. She then proceeded to slash and stab the living hell out of him! And then stab him right under his shoulderblade and puncture a lung. Dragging him around like her play thing until she was finally dealt with.. And it’s still healing XD he’s unconcious still.
"No! No regrets, Operation Winterspring is the best idea we’ve ever had!" Sey said with a sadistic little grin as she covered the frozen hand which stuck out of the snowbank with another shovel full of the white fluffy stuff. "Come on, Soph. Lighten up a little, this is fresh meat for the Sabers, they’ll eat the evidence by morning. The Duskhavens died on an IA mission, I’ll forge the assignment papers and everything. No one’s going to catch us, Sophy."
"Sey this is the last time you’re picking our ‘Commander Bonding time’." Sophy mumbled sarcastically as she did her best to cover the blood trail the three bodies had left, shaking her head.
The Blood Knights fanned out to begin cleansing the area, now that the Dawnfury had dealt with all the real threats. Feeling like her official job was done for now, Shira glanced at Commander Dawnweaver before walking off into the ruined town. It had been almost two decades since she’d been back home. The warrior found that she was glad to be alone for the moment. She didn't want her comrades seeing the strain in her eyes, the tears she had to blink away. She’d left even Garog behind with the rest of the regiment, needing the time alone.
A figure appeared on the walkway in front of her, walking away. It looked almost solid, unlike the majority of the ghosts lingering in the ruins of Goldenmist. The long red hair shined as if brilliant sunlight were falling on it, as though the area weren't trapped in an eternal twilight. Shira’s heart raced as she hurried to catch up with the apparition, but it disappeared as quickly as it had taken shape.
Shira trotted down familiar roads, making the turns almost automatically. It was just as well, since she couldn’t see very well through the tears welling up in her eyes. Maybe it was the hormones, or just the simple act of returning home, but she was once again grateful to have this moment to herself. It was a miracle that none of the lingering spirits decided to attack the living elf trespassing on their lands. Though maybe, on some level, the spirits recognized her. Somehow, they knew she belonged here, had some claim to this piece of land.
Finally, there it was. The roof was caved in on one side, the windows all broken, the walls covered in vines, and the heavy polished silveroak front door was missing entirely, but there was no mistaking her childhood home. Shira’d spent almost the entirety of her first century of life in those walls, after all.
Something moved inside.
Throwing caution to the wind, Shira rushed up the steps and into the house. There was a light in the back room, what had once been the family gathering place. She’d spent many a day lounging on that sofa, now a pile of rotten wood and fabric, reading one of the now mildewed and moldering books on the collapsed shelves. She’d played on the frayed and dirty carpeting with her brother, had even wrestled with him when she’d first started her warrior’s training.
And there they were. Her father was reading in his worn but comfortable armchair, illuminated by some ghostly fire from the collapsed hearth. Her mother was sitting at the desk, her back turned to Shira, that long fiery hair streaming down her back. Shira stood in the doorway, tears streaming down her cheeks.
There they were, just as she remembered them, happy and whole. And there she was, scarred and armored, starting a family of her own. Shira fell to her knees right there, her gauntlet pulling splinters from the rotting wood of the door frame.
“There you are,” her mother said sternly, rising from the desk as if nothing were amiss. She walked across that molding carpet. “Where have you been, young lady? Were you off with that Autumnfire boy again? You’re all dirty!”
They were here. All she could do was cry. She couldn’t even respond. Her father looked up from his book and held out his arms. That was all it took. Sobbing anew, Shira crossed the room to the dilapidated chair. She sank to the floor again in front of it, pulling her knees up to her chest, and placed her hand on the armrest, where her father’s hand had been. It was a miracle the chair didn’t collapse, though the upholstery was slashed and stained.
And she wept.
Garog found her hours later, curled on the floor in a half-conscious state. The ghosts of her parents were long gone. He didn’t ask any questions. He just gathered her up in his arms and carried her out of the ruined house. He carried her all the way to the forward camp the Blood Knights had set up. She was so weak with weeping that she fell asleep as soon as he placed her in a bedroll. The orc sat up for the remainder of the night, simply keeping watch over his mate.
This thing's been kicking my butt for the last couple days. It's nowhere near done, but since I'm going out of town tomorrow and just finished the flats, I wanted to share it.
Near-future cuddles. nsfw-ish? Tagging it just in case.
I'm just now realizing that they don't have a ship name. Shirog? Gara? Allog?
Transcript of that spooky story (minus after-commentary) after the cut, in case anyone was having trouble viewing the image.
Allishira Danwbreeze stood and moved into the light of the bonfire, shaking herself from that... colorful image. "I've got a story," she started.
"Way back when, I was stationed in Lordaeron, what's now the Western Plaguelands. My squad had just made camp for the night on the shore of a lake. Being the only elf, and a woman at that, my comrades decided I should watch the camp while they gathered firewood. So the three of them went off to find dry wood, and I stayed behind.
"It could have been ten minutes later, or it could have been an hour, but suddenly the black waters of the lake started boiling. Something was coming out of that water. The humans weren't back yet. I grabbed my sword and moved closer to the shoreline. Just as suddenly as it started, the waters stilled.
"I heard one of my comrades coming back and tried to explain what'd happened. He wasn't buying it. The rest of the evening passed simply enough. We made a fire, cooked and ate our dinner, settled down for the night.
"The lake was silver with moonlight when I woke up. I thought I could make out an island on the lake, but it was hard to tell. Couldn't tell what'd woken me up, but I was wide awake. But then--
"The lake started boiling again. I heard a voice."
She mimicked the voice, whispering. " 'Dawnbreeze,' it moaned.
"It sounded almost waterlogged, like it was coming from the lake. The waters bubbled more violently. My squadmates slept on."
She mimicked the voice again, louder this time. "Dawnbreeze."
"I got out of my bedroll and went to the lake's edge. It called to me again, louder still. My boot touched the water and it stopped boiling. Out of the lake came flying a figure, hooded and caped.
"Now, I'm not afraid to say it. I screamed. Still, my comrades didn't wake up. The figure hovered before me, two lights for eyes glowing coldly from the hood. "Dawnbreeze," it said menacingly. "Help me!"
"I asked what it wanted, since I had no Light-damned clue. It said it'd been a human, sacrificed to some Old God in the basement of a school on the island. Wanted me to avenge it. I was scared out of my wits, so I agreed. That must have done it, because with a moaning howl, it flew off again. I sat awake the rest of the night, staring off at the island.
"When dawn broke, I went to kick the others awake. We always tried to get on the road before the sun was full up. When the first didn't respond, I knelt down to shake him awake. He, and the two other humans, were dead."
