#day112020

[dicenne]

Day 11 - Passion @daily-writing-challenge​

The missing hour of dark magic that follows the rugged brink of twilight, when the White Lady entices those whose boughs sway and shudder like digits pierced on barbs, and svelte, seductive fiends burnish fruits and fan their wings, alighting on specks of gold to ensnare the desires of swains.

Passion clenches in a swathe of satin, fluttering over the disheveled sheets; seizing your secrets and sighs, seams torn like jagged lesions dripping silky prayers of greed; and the savory torment of flesh hugging flesh evolves into song that leaves you weakened.

You relish darkness on your tongue and the vivid fog of nostalgia, as shade encircles like a plait of ebon to smudge the night sky and flame - imprisoning you as an eager hostage buried within the hush of night.

[taricdarkmorn]

Daily Writing Challenge Day 11 - Curse

The Darkmorn ‘gift’ they had called it. Fuck that. It was a damn curse at times, especially during the first decade of his life.  Taric had spent much of his childhood terrified of this so-called gift; the ability to see, speak with, sometimes touch, and walk among the dead. A spirit-walker. They didn’t exactly make self-help or parenting books on the topic, and with no guidance from anyone that knew what was happening to him, Taric struggled every day.

His mother, Melidoria, tried her best to help, but not really understanding what was happening to her son, she wasn’t able to provide much beyond comfort every now and then. It was something he had to navigate on his own, an impossible task to do well at his young age. Mostly it was ill-timed ‘visits’, and not all of the spirits he came into contact with were benevolent.  Some of them were overly persistent, and once they had discovered his abilities, they often wouldn’t leave him alone until their message was delivered. Looking back on it now, Taric wished that he could have shoved all of them right into the Maw for treating and using a young child in that manner.

The worst were the possessions.  Being that young, he tended to be more open to encounters, and that had been taken advantage of many a time.  He rarely remembered what he had done and his mother never told him unless he asked. He could always see how difficult it was for her, and it was one of the reasons he seldom asked. Then, the incident happened; the reason they left Quel’thalas to start a new life in Booty Bay.  Melidoria never spoke of what took place, but the haunting look in her eyes afterwards never left. The things parents do for their children. Taric never knew the whole story, but curiosity had gotten the better of him when he was older. He could never be for certain, but the archives reflected a string of violent crimes during that time frame that mimicked those of a recently executed convict. He was nine years old at the time.

It was there in Booty Bay that great-grandpa Darkmorn finally found him. He had already been dead for centuries, but the man acted as a guide for their family.  The two never actually spoke of family, but it was obvious in their looks, especially in those peculiar eyes. Taric finally gained control and learned how to keep himself protected and life became much easier for him and his mother after that.

Now?  It was simply a part of who he was, and who he would always be.  Needless to say, the recent events happening in the Shadowlands were more than worrisome.  He couldn’t fix it, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it aside from sit there on the sidelines and watch everything get fucked.  It was an all too familiar feeling. At some point, this would all culminate into one giant shitstorm and he knew he would be right in the middle of it.

@daily-writing-challenge​

[thalsianiii]

Day 11, Curse of Pleasure

After a series of failures with his primary project, Percival decided it best to take a little break and refocus on some of his side projects. One of which, his curses.

Of all the dark practices, Curses were one of Percival’s weaker aspects. Aside from the Almighty Doom, which had more roots in Demonology than other curses anyway.

The best way to test new curses, he found, was publicly. Often all it took was a whispered word of power from around a corner and a pointed finger. Minor things. an itch they can’t reach, an illusion of their self perception, the sudden uncontrollable need to pee. Nothing terrible enough to cause a witch hunt, just enough to ruin someone’s day.

Thus, the warlock did what he did best and hid in plain sight. A large hat and some mundane robes as he found a quiet seat in a very busy Goldshire tavern, one known for it’s recklessly passionate patrons. His target? Any horny fool who frequented the tavern for no reason other than to fuck.

He sat back with a beer and watched. First was a Kaldorei man hitting on some young draenei woman. Percival whispered the word of power and let dark magic grip the elf by the loins. The woman he was speaking too seemed interested enough... until the magic took hold.

“So, what do you say you and I go uuuUUUUPSTAIRSsss ooooh fuck~” the Kaldorei moaned out as suddenly his pants grew wet with his own orgasm. The woman looked at him with absolute disgusted, threw her drink in his face, and stormed off.

“Not bad,” Percival chuckled to himself, “I might have fun with this after all.”

The rest of his night was spent in similar fashion. Sometimes he’d make a man act a fool with an embarrassing premature orgasm. Other times he’d attempt the same curse on women but found them much more difficult to cause a scene with. A note to be made for the future of this proto-type curse.

@daily-writing-challenge​

[kharrisdawndancer]

That First Curse

That first curse Salted with power And kissed with rage Eagerly chanted verse

That first soul Slipped through stars Dark and unwilling Glowing like coal

That first servant Voice so defiant Eyes sharp in need Hunger forcing her pliant.

@daily-writing-challenge

Day 11

[talthorn-sylvoran]

Apprentice

Day 11 - Passion

Part Two:

Suspended.

After much investigation, it was determined that he was not responsible for the very outrageous situation there. However, even though he had helped resolve it he was still in possession of a forbidden runework material crafted on his person. He was sentenced to a harsh penalty and could not return until it was removed professionally.

Talthorn lies staring at the ceiling with all of his thoughts still running rampant in his head.  What he had seen sparked new fire inside of him! Witnessing the way that aspiring telemancer had opened her portal to what he could only fathom as a gateway across the world! It could have been an entirely different one, and he would not have known. It was wild and uncontrolled, but it was beautiful to him. Sitting up quickly, he gets up and swirls a cowl and cloak over his body making his way to the academy! 

He doubted that many would be away from his suspension quite yet, so he had to act now if he wanted any access to what he needed! Talthorn would go mad if he was completely cut off of his knowledge resources so close to breakthrough discoveries. He had to see what he could do with this arcane circle in his possession before it was erased away!

Delving back to the conjuring portal room, he glances around to see no one here. After a slow, long breath, Talthorn slips off his glove and with his memorized spell would begin to weave a portal with ease. His motions were fluid and flawless, and how his eyes danced at how all he saw in his mind was materializing before him! A grand flair to solidify the magical entry he had made to the first place he was able to think of. Suramar. 

The magi laughs at this and looks over the glistening image in front of him. Stepping through without fear, Talthorn finds himself in the city from distances away! The disorienting effect only lingered for a short time, and he closed the door he had opened. In absolute wonder of what he had done, he felt he had accomplished so much! If that was simple for him? What was to stop him from safely travelling farther? Or being able to do this for groups of people? 

"Well, what do we have here."

Talthorn turns his head to see a rather official looking member of society stand before him. A taller woman, in the most detailed robes he had ever seen! Long silken sashes with embroidered runes glistened in the night. Her long sky blue hair wrapped in complicated braid, she seemed to have a glint of violet in her eyes with that wand she used as a torch. A couple of hovering orbs swirl in pattern as it perpetually chasing each other. Her eyes seem fixed on the hand young man had done his runework.

"No one important ma'am. Pardon me!"

"Wait just a moment." her voice demanded him to remain in place. 

The young man swallows roughly, thinking that this was a very bad time to be caught by any sort of authority figure. Decided to make a break for it, he is only rewarded with a swift grounding of ice from the more experienced magic user. Walking up to him, she grabs at the paralyzed magi's hand and flips over to see his palm. Her eyes widen at the arcane circle still wavering in white light. 

"Did you do this?" she asks bluntly.

"What? This? No..." he tries to lie.

The woman hms and decides to speak more on it. "Oh. That is good. You'll have to tell me then. They are inconsistent with the moon phasing part of this rune."

Talthorn's words flow with pride. "Maybe for those that lack vision. The detailing in those is an improvement from the original design so it is more adaptable in ampl-..." he closes his mouth in a rather animated way with his lips pressing out. Oops.

She smirks a little. "Oh I see. And you are an expert in making....improvements on already advanced circles."

The young man smiles weakly. "Not....professionally. This one got me....in trouble recently."

"Ah, a student then. A -suspended- student. " she examines him a little more. "From the look of your robes, from Nar'thalas?"

Talthorn looks down with guilt.

"How long?" she asks letting go of his hand.

"....six moons."

"Sounds like a time for you to gather some work experience."

Talthorn looks up to the woman with surprise, but also interest. 

"How would you like to apprentice under me for that time, delinquent." she smirks slowly dismissing her ground effects.

He continues to stare at her in study. 

"You would call me Archmage Starsinger. And I could teach you more in this runework you have a gift for. Telemancy and time applications. Hands on experience. I am in need of a young back to do my heavy lifting per say. You seem like a plucky sort. Able to absorb concepts well, and I need a willing temporary assistant"

Talthorn's eyes widened. All he heard was practical application! Also, this would get him away from the heat of his very angry parents.

"Of course, you'll have to just leave your home behind for that time. All of your family and friends to pursue study abr-"

"YES!" he says and reaches over to take her hand this time. "Talthorn Syl'voran, at your service!"

"Excellent." she smiles with glinting intent in her eyes. "This way, apprentice. Let's see what we can make of you in your short time here."

Nothing would keep Talthorn away from his true love in knowledge. Passion for an understanding of the world knew no bounds.

@daily-writing-challenge​

(( Talthorn was never the best student at the Academy. He found himself a timely instructor that taught him many lessons in magic and life! Including and not limited to being a bit more selective in the future in whom he learns from.  Tomorrow shall be the conclusion of this small series with the word: Escape. ;) ))

[aidandawningblade]

“Curse.”

Daily Writing Challenge Prompt: Curse Day 11 2020 Present Day Aidan Dawningblade stood atop a Northrend mountain side, lichfire gaze burning down into the wastes below him. His lips were coiled in a bitter grimace beneath his helm, and words he’d heard spoken too many times by those he’d been damned with rang through his mind.

“What joy is there in this curse?” "I've damned everyone and everything I've ever loved in his name, and I still feel no remorse. No shame. No pity." “This kingdom, shall fall. And from the ashes shall arise a new order, that will shake the very foundations of the world.” “Tell them only that the Lich King is dead, and that Bolvar Fordragon died with him.” 

Finally, Aidan’s head lifted, staring off into the billowing winds. “May the winds of Northrend guide my descent to damnation as the darkness settles in.” Came his words after a few long moments, plated feet turning around as he carried himself further into the frozen wastes.  @daily-writing-challenge​

[maiouwu]

✨11. Disgusting✨

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