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Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 18 - Precognition

Precognition manifested itself in a variety of ways within the Fin’endal family; no two ever had the same experiences. While many outside of their family that possessed the gift found it to be a burden, they had always found a way to manipulate it to their advantage

Death had been his daughter Vixannya’s forte; she could often see how someone would die by simply looking at them. At first it had been a terrible hardship, but over the years she learned to embrace and love her darkness. After a bit of experimenting, she quickly learned that blood was the best conduit to solidify those images and took to practicing hematomancy. A taboo form of divination, but she used it to her benefit to build herself a career and make her fortune.

Cazmilan had been blessed with the ability to see seconds into the future at any given time. On the outside it didn’t seem like much of a gift, seconds weren’t much to work with - except when it came to battle. He was a near unstoppable force when it came to fighting because he would know exactly what was coming next if he concentrated hard enough. Stellan had passed down the title of The Chameleon to him, the name of an assassin that had been around and passed down for centuries, and Caz excelled greatly at this position thanks to his abilities.

Then there was Stellan, formerly Cazmilan Fin’endal Senior and The Chameleon, he had taken to his newest life and decided that he would die as Inistellan Volanthus. At least according to Vixannya that would be the case. She saw him dying strictly of old age, nothing fancy like what hung in her gallery, but that was likely due in part to his own talents: His premonitions usually showed him the day ahead. It was easy to avoid death when you saw it happening to yourself, but not quite as easy to avoid being old.

Much like his son, he was able to use his gift in battle, but only to an extent. He could change a specific outcome he didn’t like, but wouldn’t know how the change would affect everything else around him. It was a dangerous gamble. He could warn people of the terrible things that would befall them the following day, but what if telling them only made it worse? It had in the past, and harsh lessons were learned. Only so much could be changed. It was a gift he rarely used when it came to violence and war, but it certainly aided in many other aspects of his life. It had allowed all the comforts he desired and the ability to do as he pleased. In fact, it had allowed their entire family tree to live a comfortable life.

Thanks to Vixannya, he knew that he still had a very long, and very fulfilling life ahead of himself.

@daily-writing-challenge @vixannya @cazmilan @cazthechameleon

#dwc2021 #day182021 #story #stellan #vixannya #cazmilan #lil bit of back story

Day 18 - Collapse @daily-writing-challenge

Optional Challenge #1: Write a poem

She loved you like a week of rough seas, the type of love that seeps to the bone and drapes you in layers of soaked cloth where the thick air chokes, buried in your lungs with salt and vitrified sand and collapses with no light.

She unveiled you as her salvation, the type of man who burns bridges in sacred spaces while angels sing their praise, or creates masterpieces with stitched eyes and reads her body like a blind man at confession.

She dragged you beneath her ebb, the type of place where one can walk on water only if no one is observing, while she kisses your wounds and peppers your fragile flesh with leeches, asking you for mercy.

#story #poem #poetry #dwc2021 #day182021 #dicenne

Precognition / Collapse

Day 18, DWC 2021

Noodle was an unusual cat. She had a surprisingly gentle demeanor, but was not particularly affectionate. In fact, she kept to herself most of the time, occupying herself with her toys or the cat tree, or laying still, perched by the window and watching calmly.

But there were certain days that she would come and lie beside Ainsley, gently prying her for attention. Noodle was a great source of comfort in that way, but it was always in random occurrences. The next morning, she would cling to the priestess, looking at her with her large, bright eyes. Almost pleadingly. And with a hint of sympathy.

Those days were always the difficult ones. Long, arduous shifts at the hospital, the death of a patient, field missions that went wrong…

It’s as if Noodle knew.

Ainsley never paid mind to it until it came to the nightmares. Though the small, black feline usually slept in the living room, she would sometimes saunter her way to Ainsley’s room and settle herself in her small cat bed by the bedside table. The priestess would awaken those nights, covered in sweat and breathing heavily, and she would look over to the side to see her little creature blinking back, almost as if asking, “Are you okay?”

She often wondered where Noodle got those strange, precognitive senses, or if she was just reading too much into it.

For the time being, it was an appreciated forewarning. Ainsley knew what to expect when it came to her cat’s behavior. And maybe later, just maybe, she might have the sense to be worried about having a psychic cat.

@daily-writing-challenge

#dwc2021 #day182021 #ainsley-f #writing

The Seer's Son

Kharris’s mother had been the alchemist--potions and poultices, elixirs and perfumes, ointments and tinctures--not the seer. No familial sense of precognition ran through her. No sense of the future or fate guided her. She believed, but she was not one of the Gifted. Not like that. Following in her mother’s footsteps, Kharris was an alchemist. She mixed up healing draughts and poisons with equal ease. Her imagination and creativity were renowned, as was that Goldthorn tea that hit the palate just right. But, like her mother, she could not read the leaves. Kharris approached the tall walls with trepidation, briefly wishing she knew how it would all go. Wishing for some hint about her future in a dream or thrown in bones. She saw no visions but the guards at the gate and heard no prophecy but how long she’d wait. Taken to a sitting room, formal but familiar, Kharris paced. Her mind mirrored the circles of her feet: it could be violence, it could be tragedy, it could be ...fine (which would be a different sort of sorrow). She was fairly certain she knew where Aelberyn would fall--ally--but she never knew for certain, when what was presented would (might?) send Iloam spinning. Aelberyn’s loyalties were not to Kharris, they both knew that. Would what Kharris proposed fall flat? Collapsing before it ever began? She wasn’t sure she had the fortitude to go through it all again. The future felt tender and delicate, and so did her spirit. Asarel was with her, and that had pushed her through. She thought she knew what Aelberyn would think. But when it came to Iloam, Kharris felt herself conflicted when she thought about her volatile, passionate, and Seer-born husband. She had never been able to predict how he would react to her. Violent? Perhaps. She felt it once more likely than now, but still very very possible when this much emotion was flayed open. Not violence to her directly, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t affect her, whatever way violence went.

Disappointed? Maybe. She thought he would likely be hurt, or blame himself for the past again. A spiral of red self-loathing cut fresh again seemed likely.

Or perhaps he would be, worst of all?, indifferent. Perhaps he no longer cared.

She thought about leaving. Canceling the private meeting with Aelberyn and just going home. Finding Asarel and fleeing back to the Shadowlands. Once, she would have done exactly that. Not answered the questions. Fled and survived.

But saturating herself in the lands of death while hunting for a son and connection long passed, she’d felt the first tremblings of new fire to live. She wanted to live her life, not merely survive. Kharris wanted to dance.

Kharris took a deep breath and settled herself in the chair, waiting for Aelberyn to arrive. She didn’t know how Iloam would react. But one thing she did know was that it would not be wise to surprise him. Not about this.

@daily-writing-challenge

day 18 Precognition/Collapse

mentions: @murmuring-shadows @ourcollectivefantasy (Aelberyn, Iloam)

#dwc2021 #day182021 #Kharris x Asarel #Kharris x Iloam #Aelberyn #Veri's writing

DWC, Day 18 - Precognition, Collapse

Leo'mar had been working hard on alchemy since stumbling upon the family recipes. He hadn't made anything especially complicated yet, focusing instead on the helpful basics. Each batch would get carefully tested before being bottled up and donated to any medical outfit that would accept them.

#dwc2021 #day182021 #rosecrownreserve

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 18

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World: Original Story

Content Warning: Blood

An unidentified alien presence had swept through the Gregori Space Station with murderous intent, devastating the defending terra with overwhelming numbers. To make matters worse, foreign cruisers slipped past the hole in their defense grid and were heading straight for Earth; if they couldn’t repair the quad phraaz cannons and plug the hole, their homeworld wouldn’t last the day. Captain Sabre pressed his back against a support beam, with the remnants of his platoon hiding nearby. Tall and gangly creatures clad in strange armor trotted by, speaking a wet language they could not understand; but as soon as there was a lull in their numbers, it was time to strike. “Light’em up!”

RAAATUTUTUTUTUTU!

These alien bastards only had enough time to turn around before 20mm caliber rounds ripped them to shreds! Thick blue sludge splattered across the clean white floors like blueberry jam, revealing these aliens to be some sort of slug-like creatures -- disgusting! Captain Sabre stepped around the pillar and dropped to one knee to make himself harder to hit. Their ambush was successful but now they alerted every slug in the courtyard! “Fire at will!”

They poured out of the hallway with the same tactic they used to conquer the rest of the station -- overwhelming force. Their position was struck with barrage after barrage of laser blasts, melting the metal hull around them to sprinkle the platoon with molten rain, but their aim was terrible! Every terra dropped in this chokepoint, forty slugs were sent to meet their filthy maker; but they just kept coming! By the time the heavy repeater’s barrel was white hot from use, the slugmen had to clamber up a hill of their brethren’s corpses to get into the main control center. “Sir! There’s just too many!”

“Fall back to the rally point beta!” Sabre barked, dropping an empty cluster to slide a fresh one into its place. Twelve terra broke from their cover and ran as their captain provided covering fire, running and gunning backwards deeper into the station. A demolitionist flipped the safety cap off as soon as they were all inside, and detonated the charges in the hallway.

BOOOUUUUSSSHHH! The explosion may have eviscerated the slugs running blindly forward, but the sweet and merciful vacuum of space sent the rest spiraling into Earth’s gravitational pull. Alarms deafened the terra before the forcefield kicked in to secure the breach, and right on queue the slugs continued their charge.

Captain Sabre pressed his finger against the comm relay on his helmet and barked, “What’s the situation with those cannons, private?!”

“Thirty more seconds, sir! Almost have them back online, sir!” The voice replied beneath the hail of molten rain. They didn’t have thirty more seconds. Hell, they didn’t have ten! They were running dangerously low on ammo and their weapons were so overheated that their barrels were starting to warp!

“One last push!” Sabre dropped his overheated rifle and began lobbing the rest of his grenades. “Everything we have!” Another minute and they’d be chucking rubble next! These aliens knew no other tactic than charging, with zero regard for their own safety! When he chucked his last grenade, Sabre was forced to draw his magnum! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! It took several shots to drop a single slug, but their numbers made it a waste of ammo at best. It was hopeless -- even if he could get close enough with his combat knife he doubted he could pierce their armor with-!

“WARNING! PHRAAZ CANNONS ONLINE! STAY CLEAR OF LOADING BAYS!”

Giant towers of reinforced grick steel slowly turned toward a nearby alien cruiser, knocking it off balance and disabling its shielding with a twelve-hundred gigaton payload! The next shot tore it in half! The other three cannons obliterated the passing fleet! It was even enough for the slugs aboard the station to turn tail and flee back to their boarding craft!

Captain Sabre was down to his last round when the sweet rush of victory knocked the wind out of his lungs and the strength from his legs. He dropped to his hands and knees while he was deafened by his platoon shouting in their comms, forcing him to pull off his helmet despite the foreign contaminants sprayed all before him. Without the air filtration blocking the stench of the dead, the terra was exposed to an oily pungency that smelled like rotting cheese mixed with urine; but he was too relieved to care.

Thanks to him and his team, fifteen billion terra were saved. If the other stations remained steadfast, this would be the turning point in the war. Soon reinforcements would replenish their ranks, and he could go home. Soon… soon he could kick his feet up and take a brea-

“Captain! Look!” Sabre glanced over his shoulder to look at his platoon, noticing the faint orange glow on their visors. When he turned to look out the window, his heart dropped to the floor. Africa was burning, with a wind carrying the flames far faster than any natural means. The Pacific ocean began to boil into mist, and even from here they could see the land turning into blackened glass. Fleet Command was unresponsive. They were cut off from support, in a station filled to the brim with slug corpses, and their homeworld was burning. Hundreds of millions of people dead.

The magnum slipped from his fingers while he witnessed the decimation of his people.

#dwc2021 #day182021 #ijirothehero

DWC - Day 18 - Collapse

Singularly focused - the ability to stay singularly focused on one activity was something that came fairly easily to R’zevi.

If he needed to meditate, he found a spot and meditated for as long as necessary. Something in the apartment needed to be fixed or cleaned - he could take care of that without getting distracted.

He needed to keep his mind off of the racing thoughts he had all day? What better way than to focus solely on training...and so he did.

It’d been the early morning hours when he’d started, still dark outside when he’d thrown the first punch, and he hadn’t stopped - even though he was exhausted, even though his limbs felt like they were made of lead, it didn’t matter...he had to keep going. Another jab, cross, hook, uppercut...and again...and again…

The repetition allowed his mind to disconnect - the racing thoughts to slow - and when he finally finished and collapsed on the floor of the gym - it was only then that he found the sense of calm he was looking for.

Perhaps he needed to see what jobs were available - he needed something to focus on.

@daily-writing-challenge

#dwc2021 #day182021 #r'zevi #he still needs a tag