#day152021

[kharrisdawndancer]

He hadn’t meant to chase her, but thinking back on it, maybe that’s what he’d done. Someone had once called him a puppy, when it came to her (Andy?). Maybe he had chased her. He grinned. She had, finally, taken him home. And he’d certainly had a crush for a long time, before anything happened, long before she’d ever really noticed him. He remembered that Raerys had encouraged it wildly. She still did. He had always appreciated Raerys in his corner. Lynesse, too. Ren snorted and rolled over, tucking Trisandrah closer to him. He couldn’t remember meeting her. Was that weird? He had tried to remember many times, and all he got were early memories of a mysterious, beautiful woman who had the best smile. Had there been a time he hadn’t gotten a little smitten when he’d seen her? He couldn’t recall one.

He was getting better about remembering things. He remembered her at the Menagerie, selling chocolate. At the brewery, with his cheatsheet for the drinks not very well hidden. She hated bourbon, that’s where he learned that. He remembered that early on. He remembered runs in the morning (thanks, Raerys) and stops at the Breadsmith (thanks, Lyn). Fireworks by the water at Fire Fest in the summers. How she’d sounded in the bathroom talking (to presumably Raerys) about how he wanted to date her. The infamous Negotiation. He kissed her hair with a smile and closed his eyes.

He remembered the day she’d shown him the hidden parts of her apartment--over a year after they’d been together(ish). Leaving her a love note on a scrap of paper and fleeing before she could. How she looked when she held Raerys’s daughter. How she smiled at him when he brought her a new bracelet. How she looked when she tasted a new ‘winner’ chocolate recipe. How she danced. How she punched (very well, thank you). How she made drinks and small talk for the Tarts. If she ran, he’d run with her. @daily-writing-challenge

Day 15 Memory/Chase

mentions: @trisandrah @gloamingdawn @raevanmun @andaerosdawnflare

[xylaes]

Day 15 - Memory @daily-writing-challenge

Warnings: Drugs, sex

Xylaes had spent the majority of Saturday face planted in his bed at the Red Moon in Dalaran. The moment he hit his sheets that morning upon his return home, he was out like a light without even bothering to undress or change. Not that he had been wearing much in the first place, but he did at least manage to pull on some pants before going out into the public eye to stumble his way home. Or more likely, someone else had suggested that maybe he should get decent first.

Fiorenze had managed to secure him an invitation to Vixannya’s Friday night exhibition opening, as well as the after party. She knew it would be an amazing opportunity for him to network and find some future business since he was, essentially, starting over from scratch after his return from the Shadowlands. Plus, he could use the distraction from everything.

He remained by her side for a good majority of the evening, making small talk with her and other familiar faces, but for the most part he kept to himself. It wasn’t that he was shy, he was just still extremely traumatized from the events of the past year. On a few occasions he had considered leaving, but Fio had gone through the trouble of getting him the invitation in the first place and having a beautiful suit tailored specifically for this occasion. Plus, he was trained at compartmentalizing his pain and his feelings. He could do this.

Thankfully the artwork was distracting enough to keep him out of his head, but when it was time for the after party he found his mind wandering a little too much. He wasn’t planning on drinking heavily or partaking in any of the drugs provided, but he needed something to soothe the dangerous thoughts. A couple drinks became many drinks, and a little thistle turned into various dusts. It was too much, too quickly. While his body probably could have handled the heavy drinking, the dusts completely ripped away any remaining inhibitions.

Memories of the night from that point forward were spotty at best. He did remember networking, A LOT of networking. He networked himself right between so many thighs and even between experimental couples. Many of the more prominent names found his presence there to be taboo, and therefore something to be desired. Lady Tel’vaiel had been the one to bring this criminal into their space, so there must have been something special about him, or maybe he was just a great lay. Or it could have been just the fact that they were able to have something that she too had. Imagine their delight when they found out he was available to be hired from the local brothel.

The networking absolutely worked, and in retrospect proving that he was an amazing lay was a great way to make them come back for more. Yet, he felt terrible, and it wasn’t just the hangover speaking. He knew how Fio felt about him, and he shared some of those feelings in a more complicated way, but it must not have been easy for her to see all...that. He had originally planned to schmooze and flirt a little, but this went much, MUCH further. He could blame the alcohol and the drugs, but it was his choice to take them.

He peeled himself off his puddle of drool and ditched his pants and...a red, lacy woman’s thong. He squinted, that was definitely not one of the few remaining memories he had from that night and wasn’t going to try to think too hard on it. He picked up his comm and sure enough there were a plethora of messages from potential clients. That would help solve some of his current issues, but he still felt terrible about his methods. For now the messages went unanswered, instead tapping out one to send to Fio. He hesitated for a moment, already assuming how she would respond, but he felt the need to send it anyway.

‘Sorry for being a terrible date, you deserve better than that.’

He stumbled into his bathroom and crawled into his shower, turning the warm water on full blast to beat down against his face. He felt dirty and disgusted with himself. He would tuck those feelings away soon, but for now he would wallow in it.

@fio-renze @vixannya​

[ainsley-f]

Memory / Chase

Day 15, DWC 2021

Memory was a strange, fickle thing.

Stormwind Lake held a lot of unusual memories. And these often led to conflicting emotions.

When younger, she spent many times at that lake mucking around with kids that definitely were not her friends.

She had almost drowned in the lake.

But she also went to lake when she needed some quiet. She used to love feeding the ducks.

The lake was also where she went for a couple of birthdays. It was the rare—extremely rare—couple of occasions where her mother came down from Dalaran and the two of them along with Arrington had celebrated with a picnic and cake. It was a surprise that Ainsley’s mother had even remembered that she had children, let alone one of their birthdays. And an even stranger surprise that she had come down to celebrate. Despite her stoic-ness and general lack of any outward affection, Ainsley remembered…having fun. It was fun. She remembered laughter, from everyone. Perhaps that was how it was going to be from then on.

The idea dissipated as fast as it came, drifting away with the gentle breeze that encircled the lake.

It was funny how one, small memory—a speck in the tapestry of memories that made her whole life—could make all the bad go away, even for a little bit.

But it didn’t. Not really. The bad could be pushed away for a moment, but eventually it would come back rearing it’s ugly head.

Now every time she went back to the lake, all she saw was possibility dashed away, snuffed out like a candle in the dark.

Memory was a strange, fickle thing. Never constant, always changing, but somehow always encapsulating both good and bad.

Why was it the bad tended to stick around longer?

@daily-writing-challenge​

[rosecrownreserve]

DWC, Day 15 - Memory, Chase

Warning: Violence, death of an animal companion.

Oleander had rarely been away from Leo'mar's side. From the moment the Ranger had claimed the small cub as his companion, they had been an inseparable team. Whether it was angry Amani or the rare criminal on the run, they were a force to be reckoned with.

At least, until the Scourge.

The pair moved swiftly, on a mad chase to keep up yet away from the marching dead as they advanced upon Silvermoon. They had moved on from the village Leo liked to visit, where Oleander would amuse himself by entertaining the Elven children, when bodies sprang out at them.

They looked almost like the villagers had, yet smelled terribly wrong. Though the way they seemed to want to attack was also a clear indication that they were not friendly. Leo's arrows were aimed at the attackers' heads. Oleander aimed for limbs, latching on with his strong jaw to yank bodies off balance, or throw them to the ground for easier incapacitating.

These were unlike anything they had fought, as they kept trying to fight even when dismembered or broken. It wasn't until an arrow or a heavy pounce struck a head that the unnatural will to fight faded.

The closer they got to Silvermoon, the more trouble they encountered. They were running out of steam, both tired from the run and the fighting. Leo was struggling, no longer firing arrows in favor of short blades due to the number of foes.

Each had to be careful of the other, fight in close quarters. Oleander largely stayed behind Leo as a form of cover as the man's blades whirled and slashed. When at last they could breathe, he was able to notice the cuts and wounds the lynx had sustained.

Leo had a few himself, but it quickly became clear that his companion was in worse shape. He was in the process of pulling a concoction from his bag when the something lurched behind him. Oleander was as abrupt in leaping over his owner to meet the moving corpse.

Fangs and claws tore, met with the tearing and gnashing from the undead. The lynx's injuries were too grievous in the end. As Oleander finished his final enemy, his strength gave out and he collapsed. Distraught, Leo did what he could but in the end, he could only cry in frustration and pain as Oleander passed.

---

The memory never failed to bring tears to Leo's eyes immediately, even so many years later. He had initially fought with his parents in the aftermath of the Scourge Invasion, when they were preparing a stone to inscribe the names of the family they had lost. They had refused to add Oleander to the list, no matter how it had been argued that the lynx had been family.

Leo had formed his own tribute, carving into the tree Oleander had preferred during his short bans from being indoors or when he simply wished to be outside. Once his father had passed, he added Oleander's name to the family gravestone at the same time that he had his father's placed upon it.

He was never quite sure if his manasaber Myra had some sense about the carved tree's importance, yet she too went on to prefer that tree as her spot as she grew.

@daily-writing-challenge

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 15

Memory ( @daily-writing-challenge​ )

World: Final Fantasy

The rich smoke from the burning incense swayed and danced into the air. The soothing scent of ginseng tea from yesterday’s supper still lingered, with more brewing on an open flame in her black charcoal teapot. Pictures of those Miqo’te children adorned the corner of her apartment near her desk, so she could look upon their bright eyes and round cheeks with glee whenever she wanted. It was the first day the clinic had been relatively quiet in weeks, and her shift was blissfully uneventful. Yet still she was restless despite a peaceful evening, exhausted despite getting extra bells of sleep, and somber despite the smiles and cheerful demeanor she was surrounded with. Tonight was different -- she was still stuck in the past and haunted by memories of her husband; she still didn’t know if he was even alive or not. But tonight her nostalgia and heartache were for a different man, from a different time.

Her father’s armor sat in silent vigil to protect her from vengeful spirits as she slept. Beneath the scaled helm and behind the iron oni mask was an empty space, a hollow shell, a fading memory of a man she once feared and still respects to this day. The incense was burning for him and him alone. Lord Hidekore Daisho was without equal, and although she’s lived through forty-four summers, she still felt like nothing more than a sniffling child kneeling in her father’s shadow. He wanted more for her than marriage, she thought. He knew the dangers of training a woman in the ways of the Samurai but that didn’t stop him from trying; after all, she was his only child -- like it or not his legacy lived on through her.

Fluid in his movements and malleable like water, flowing, swaying, and drifting around his opponents to strike when they least expected. Mizuna has only seen him fight seriously once -- when the Dotharli savages invaded her village and threatened to slaughter everyone if they weren’t stopped. Even far beyond his prime and with a weak knee her father sliced through them like the wind passing through the water reeds; his unique style, unwavering will, and insurmountable patience is what earned him the nickname the Bending Reed in the first place.

With a gentle sigh and one last minute devoted to prayer, Mizuna rose to her feet and opened the large cardboard box her hired help brought into her new home. She ran the fingernail of her thumb across the masking tape keeping the top sealed, squeezed her hands into the crevice, and pulled the lid wide open. Staring back up at her was polished tamahagane armor, shipped all the way from Doma using one of the last special favors she had left. She reached inside and lifted the breastplate with a single hand. Surprisingly light, even for an old crone like her; hopefully she would never have to test its durability. Mizuna slipped out of her pajamas and spent the next twenty minutes fastening on this armor until she was clad in black leather and nophica-green steel. Perfectly snug in all the right places, yet still giving her plenty of room to move about her apartment freely. Then she turned back to her father’s armor. Resting in his hands was his old katana -- a masterwork blade folded sixteen times that was worth more than everything she has ever owned. Combined. Simply touching it here and now felt like an affront and disservice to everything her father tried to teach her. Her fingers carefully wrapped around the blue pearl hilt, she closed her eyes and held her breath, then pulled it free from its sheath.

Shwiiiing!

It glided from the sheath like a smoldering blade through melting butter. She held it aloft to inspect it further -- still perfectly straight, still perfectly balanced. It was easily the finest blade she had ever held, a peerless weapon for a peerless warrior. Yet the longer she gazed at the katana, the less she felt deserving of such an heirloom; she knew she could never compare to the likes of anyone practicing in the Ashen Wolves. She was too inexperienced and she no longer had the decades to devote to training. “I’ll make you proud, oto-san.” Mizuna mused, inhaling as she twirled the blade by rolling her wrist, before pressing her thumb against the dull side of the sword and sliding it back into the sheath with a soft click.

It was decided. Mizuna would pick up the sword and learn how to defend herself with her father’s sword until she found someone worthy of inheriting it when she finally passed.

In the following morning the incense had burned its last. The sparse candles around the shrine for her kids had long gone out as well, leaving the only source of light in the paper lanterns along the wall. A chilling wind swept over Mizuna as she slept, caressing her cheek as she stirred but didn’t wake. The wind traveled from lantern to lantern until her apartment was plunged into darkness. Her father’s armor remained in its vigil, staring at the door. When the wind passed through the old helmet, it made the faintest of raspy sounds.

“... you already have...”

[aerdendios]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 15 - Chase

Read Part 1 —> Here Read Part 2 —> Here Read Part 3 —> Here Read Part 4 ---> Here **Read Pollux’s Part 4 Companion Story ---> Here

Part 5 Warnings: Blood, wounds, medical

He was being chased, the charred behemoth still hot on his heels as he endlessly ran through the fiery wasteland of the Maw. Hadn’t he already destroyed that beast? The ravine ahead would provide him an escape, and with a mighty leap he soared - but the other side vanished and down he went towards that empty nothingless below. 

The sudden jolt of his foot in this supine state ripped him out of the nightmare and an arm flailed in tandem in an attempt to find something to grab onto. Instead, he knocked over the small table next to his cot, startling again as it crashed to the ground. Heart pounding and thoroughly soaked in sweat, it took him a few moments to realize that it was all just a terrible dream and he was now safe in one of the medical tents...in Oribos? In an attempt to sit up, a shock of pain in his left side reminded him of why he was here. Eventually he managed to prop himself up enough to scope out the area; he was definitely no longer in the Maw. Thank the Light. 

“Sergeant Lo’sharri, you’re awake! Please don’t try to get up!” The priestess rushed to his side and coaxed him into laying back down. “Gosh it’s so good to see you, the rest of us got out thanks to you. We saw that giant..thing chasing you and...and…” Both her voice and expression trailed off. “Anyways, we’re all just so thrilled you’re alive. Thank you for saving us.” Without even thinking she leaned over to give him a kiss at the edge of his lips before going completely red in the face and murmuring her apologies. “I’m gonna let the doctor know you’re awake, I’ll see you later, okay?”

Aerden too felt his cheeks flush, offering her a faint smile in return to show he wasn’t fussed. “I hope so.” He didn’t necessarily mean it as a flirt, more of an ‘if I’m not dead’ sort of thing, but her further blushing suggested she took it the other way. He immediately rolled his eyes at his own awkwardness upon her departure, sitting up once more despite her warnings to grab his medical chart from the edge of the bed and survey the damage. 

Shifting both sheet and medical gown aside, he pulled the bandage away from his left side first and frowned. Much to his dismay the wound was still pretty blackened, but at least it didn’t burn like before. The healers seemed to have done a good job at siphoning out the magic, and now it was just a matter of letting it heal and coaxing that tissue back to life. Some of the top layer needed to be cut away, but thankfully it wasn’t enough to noticeably disfigure the area. Necrotic magic, according to what his chart read. Gross. It was a good thing he got to the healers when he did or that would have eventually reached his organs. Being a healer himself surely had aided in saving his life as well, slowing that process with his body’s natural defenses. He couldn’t be sure what type of scar necrotic damage would leave, but it wasn’t going to be pretty. Maybe now was a good time to start considering tattoos.

He stuck that bandage back in place before pulling the other away from his left thigh. The skin had been fused back together with magic, but staples were still needed to hold the fragile flesh in place, just in case, since it had been such a deep wound. Nearly a foot in length, that was going to probably be his most prominent scar yet. He had lost a lot of blood from that one, class III from the looks of it. Had he been out there any longer, he would have been yet another soul claimed by the Maw. He wasn’t, and that’s what mattered; neither were the remaining members of his squad. 

Light, that felt good. 

Or maybe that was just the extra kick of painkillers the priestess had administered when she was here. Maybe a little bit of both. It then dawned on him that these injuries would probably keep him from going back into the Maw anytime soon, and that was the biggest sigh of relief. He would prefer to go home under better circumstances, but he would take it. Anything to get away from that horrible place that would no doubt give him nightmares for years to come.

The other bandage was stuck back in place and he laid himself down, closing his eyes with a faint smile. He would get to go home soon.

@daily-writing-challenge​