Discover Top Posts Tagged with #day162021

Day 16 - Sorrow @daily-writing-challenge

Read Part 1

Part 2 Companion piece to Taric’s story ---> HERE Warnings: Violence, Blood

Both men stood and jumped down the rocky ledge, phasing back into The Maw proper just as they entered Gorgoa, River of Souls.

Almost immediately, he clapped his hands over his ears to try and stop the overwhelming dissonance of the screams of outrage and sorrow. It didn’t help, almost as if the noise was coming from within; rattling around inside his brain and permeating throughout his entire core. He could feel his ears pop from some sort of pressure change, or perhaps that was all the trapped souls passing through him. Each time it happened a shiver crept up his spine, sending waves of goose flesh down his arms. The physical discomfort he could handle, but it was the sudden assault on his mind that he was having a difficult time trying to shake.

Taric was just ahead of him, showing no outward signs of distress, but that man had a way of centering and calming himself. Red followed as closely as he could while attempting to void the creeping thoughts: Sudden feelings of violence and rage, he could feel the hatred boiling within his chest as his jaw tightened and muscles flexed. He knew this was a possibility from what he had witnessed earlier, but he had no way of knowing just how severely this would affect him. He hadn’t even realized that at this point he had stopped walking and lost sight of Taric. Nothing else mattered now, just that boiling, bitter fury that had invaded his entire being.

He gripped the hilts of both swords until his knuckles turned white, drawing them out of their sheathes as he stood at the ready. Ready for what though? All he knew at this moment was that he wanted to fight, to maim, to kill. Shoulders hunched and teeth bared, he looked like some cornered, feral beast ready to do anything to escape. The tumult of shrieking souls began to sound more and more coherent; familiar voices from then and from now. Some from those he didn’t think had passed, others from ones that had died long ago. His father, his mother, his brother, his grandparents, old friends, new friends, those he killed that didn’t deserve it, and those that did. A cacophony of crushing and paralyzing outcries directed towards him. It was unbearable. His swords crashed to the ground as he clamped both palms over his ears once more in an attempt to block out the noise; not that it would do any good. It was too late; Gorgoa had him.

He dropped to both knees and let out the most blood-curdling, maniacal scream of rage that his body could muster. It didn’t take long for his vocal cords to hemorrhage, causing his voice to suddenly go hoarse.

“Tristenne, snap out of it! We need to get out of here now!” He immediately knew who this feminine voice belonged to: Bianca. His first relationship and his first love, once upon a time he would have done and he did do anything and everything for this woman. This loathsome, vile, deceptive snake in the grass that deserved her horrendous demise all those decades ago. Of course she belonged here in the Maw, she didn’t deserve anywhere else.

Why was she here now? The last he saw of her, she had broken free of his spirit trap and was still running around within Azeroth’s veil. Red had kept her there himself, not allowing her to pass over to the Shadowlands for his own personal reasons. Had someone else finally set her free? Not that there was anything ‘free’ about the Maw.

There were always mixed feelings when it came to Bianca. At least normally there were, but not today. Not here in the Maw. Especially not in Gorgoa. Dilated, bloodshot eyes glared up at the woman as his lips pulled back into a snarl. She didn’t look like any of the other souls here in the river, she looked palpable. Able to be touched. Able to be killed. Swiftly grabbing both swords off the ground, he lunged at her. It was a sloppy strike and she was quick to block his attempt with her own sword.

“TRISTENNE! What are you doing??”

All he could see was red at this point. She needed to die again, and again and again if he had any say in it. He managed to land a slash across her right shoulder, pleased when he saw that she could still bleed, and immediately wanted more. She needed to suffer slowly, excruciatingly, until she begged him for mercy and he would give her none.

“WHAT THE FUCK. RED, NO-”

He had tackled her to the ground, his hands around her neck as spite pumped through his veins. Her voice cracked beneath the pressure of his grip, her eyes bulged with horror as she tried to get air, but it was no use. She thrashed around, she was a lot stronger than he remembered, and she managed to free one of her hands. An electric touch to his forehead sent him flying backwards, landing on his side with a grunt. His vision was blurred and his thoughts were scrambled from the shock, and he just laid there in stunned silence.

“Red?” Taric ran over to him, rolling the man onto his back as he gripped at the slash wound on his own right shoulder. “Red, are you okay? We need to get out of here, c’mon.”

The confusion was evident in Red’s expression, and before he could even realize what was happening, Taric had collected his swords and swooped the older man up into a fireman’s carry. He staggered through the other half of the river and dropped Red onto a small ledge, scouting the area to make sure they would be safe here for a while, and then sat down next to the other man as he tended to his shoulder wound. It would take Red a little while to recover from that sudden jolt of lightning to the face. It wasn’t enough to damage him permanently, Taric just needed to shake him from whatever had just happened down there.

@taricdarkmorn

#story #dwc2021 #day162021 #red #taric #oops #sorry taric

Khaeris pushed the package into the mail. It was a bit of trouble getting it to fit the slot, and she hoped that the protective paper made it intact. The cover on this one was leather with a detailed foil emboss of Blue Child and a rabbit looking up at her. Yet another blank sketchbook-journal. She couldn’t help it, she’d seen it and thought of him. He’d know who it was from even though she’d not included a note or a return address. Somehow, he always knew. She bounced up to the balls of her feet and shook out her hair, staring down at the mailbox. She lingered, just staring, until a guard walked by and eyed her over. Shaken from her thoughts, Khaeris flashed him a dimpled grin and turned away. She wasn’t looking suspicious! No sir! She waved a bangled hand at him and the music of the jewelry seemed to ease both of them. A brisk nod and he kept moving. She quick stepped the other way. Drawing and calligraphy had always brought Andaeros relaxation. She hoped the new journal kept that up. She glanced down the empty streets toward his apartment, an image of his porch easily conjured up. She smiled and felt her heart squeeze to remember all the good times, wistful that they would never be for her again. She had ruined it all. It still ached.

She hurried through the streets, trying to outdistance the sorrow that chased her. Drowning it out with the light notes of her bangles chiming.

Sliding into Pollux’s apartment she abruptly stopped, door open, and looked through the darkened room.

How long before she ruined this, too? Emotions were welling up like a tide inside her, but if she paused to examine them she would drown. She turned to leave; to go to her wagon, to be alone, to do as little damage as possible. She’d message him later.

But there he was, paused halfway up the steps with her at the top now, just arching a brow and looking at her with those too-blue eyes. @daily-writing-challenge

day 16 Sincerity/Sorrow

mentions: @andaerosdawnflare @polluxhale

#Khaeris #Andaeros #Pollux #She is a hot mess #always #Veri's writing #dwc2021 #day162021

DWC, Day 16 - Sincerity, Sorrow

Revendreth left Leo'mar uncomfortable. A place for souls in need of redemption, it nearly unsettled him more than Maldraxxus.

He helped how he could, all the while wishing to somehow help the souls he witnessed. Even having been told that they needed to be cleansed of their sins, it was hard for Leo to ignore such sorrow. Until he read his first Sinstone.

#dwc2021 #day162021 #rosecrownreserve

Sincerity / Sorrow

Day 16, DWC 2021

2 months and 12 days.

That was how long it had taken Ainsley to get Sammy’s birthday present., and just before his birthday arrived, too. She considered it one of her more impressive feats.

Those 2 months and 12 days of contacting various vendors and traders, pleading endlessly to her begrudged Forsaken contact for some favors (turns out sincerity in her requests and notions of friendship were sentiments the Forsaken did NOT share with her, but that’s besides the point), and one rather unfortunately planned weekend trip to Stranglethorn Vale, all led to Ainsley, in her humble opinion, to being the bestest of all best friends.

#dwc2021 #day162021 #ainsley-f #writing #she'll save your life #but she'll get your bday wrong every time

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 16

Sincerity/Sorrow ( @daily-writing-challenge, @syrahnbloodfeather )

World: Warcraft

Content Warning: Gore and Death.

Syrahn's tent was smaller than she liked, with far too many novice healers to babysit, but at least it was warm. The dirt beneath her boots was covered in a thick layer of permafrost, forcing them to wear ice-climbing boots during their shifts. Bloody bandages overflowed in the corner bin, empty mana potions were scattered around the encampment, and the only source of light came from a handful of torches fighting against the unforgiving cold of Zul'Drak. Day in, day out, it was nothing short of chaos. She was scrubbing her arms clean when she heard the bell ring again. Four helpers pushed through the flimsy tarp doing its best to keep the cold out; and they brought in her next patient.

"What’s the call?" Syrahn asked, air-drying her hands. Right away she noticed the injured man wasn't Argent Crusade; every now and then the Horde or Alliance would be brought in, but this time felt different. His Gilded armor glistened in the flickering torchlight despite the mud and bloodstains, his long crimson cape was tangled around a flailing arm, and he was clawing at his face with a scream loud enough to wake the dead.

"Acid by the looks of it!" She could barely hear her helper over the screams.

"LIGHT SAVE ME! IT BURNS! IT HURTS SO MUCH! OH MERCIFUL LIGHT! PLEASE! PLEASE SAVE ME!"

"Hold him down!" Syrahn commanded, as they went to work. She doubled up on two pairs of leather gloves before she worked on his straps, but he wasn't making it easy. He couldn't stop thrashing, as blood mixed with a sickly green discharge ran down from the eye sockets of his helmet. Just as she feared… the face guard had melted shut! "Damn it… I need the breacher!"

"Here!" Her assistants gathered to fasten the device to his helmet, even as he continued his bellowing. Syrahn turned the winch until it couldn’t be shaken off, then after a few clicks, the lever would no longer budge. “I said hold him still!” They struggled to keep his arms down, and one kick with those big boots of his would send one of them through the tent. “Ready? Three… two… one!” The Priestess gripped the handles and gave it the hardest tug of her life; within a heartbeat and a half the helmet warped at the neck and she pulled his head free.

Half of his face was gone! A bloodied mess of slime and bone screamed up at the sky! The stench struck them all at once -- most of her helpers heaved and retched, but Syrahn’s been exposed to such horrors more than once! “Keep him steady!” She barked, tossing the ruined helmet aside. Holy light filtered through her rubber gloves to caress the struggling soldier’s face, but to no avail; the unholy slime was negating her magic! He continued to scream incomprehensible nonsense, occasionally begging for mercy or miracles, but mostly for death. He was bleeding out through his face, and at this rate his skull would be ruptured to seal his doom. “Snow! Get me some snow!”

“Ma’am?!”

“I said get me some snow damnit!”

The two helpers who haven’t been much help at all for this patient went scampering out of the tent, but they didn’t have to go very far. Almost immediately they returned with their arms filled with the white powder. Using dirty snow wasn’t exactly ideal, but Syrahn was out of options and out of time. Against her better judgment she held his head steady with all of her strength, feeling the acid dripping onto her gloves to eat through it like flame eats parchment. Meanwhile her helpers buried his face in the snow, muffling his screams, albeit barely. Another burst of holy magic lit up the tent, even as the snow melted quickly against this unholy flesh-eating bile. But when Syrahn wiped away the gunk with what remained of her glove, most of it was removed. The Priestess yelped when she felt the bite on her fingers, and thrashed off the glove before the acid made a victim of her too -- one last volley of holy magic engulfed the soldier’s head, and then at last it was done. He had

“Check his pulse!” She clutched at her trembling hand before dunking it in her washing bowl. A few of the helpers ran outside to empty their stomachs, but thankfully one assistant had the resolve to press his finger against the poor human’s neck.

“He’s gone, ma’am.”

The woman should have been used to it by now. Patients dying was an inevitable occurrence… especially here in Northrend. Most patients these days died on the way to her care, but it hurt every time; their faces were burned into her memory, and these scars she would carry for the rest of her life.

“Ma’am…? Orders?”

Syrahn opened her eyes and looked down at the soldier’s half-eaten face. His skull over where his right eyebrow used to be had been eaten through by that insidious acid, just as she predicted. “Bring…” She paused, plucking a towel from the pile to drape over the man’s head.

“Bring in the next one.”

#dwc2021 #day162021 #ijirothehero

DWC - Day 16 - Sincerity/Sorrow

It was during the early morning hours that they arrived...his superiors.

His wounds had only recently been stitched, struggling to breathe - sleep was something he couldn’t fathom, the pain wracking through every inch of his form...and it hadn’t mattered. They had questions, he had answers, and they would not be denied.

#dwc2021 #day162021 #of lances and lament #his past