(( DWC November 2024 Day 7, Peculiar/Theory, CW: None; @daily-writing-challenge ))
"This is Tinker calling Sapper, come in Sapper!" the radio came to life as Drogar sat at his desk, reading the day's mail. With a smile, he lifted the receiver.
"This is Sapper, I read yeh Tinker! How are things in Dornagal?"
"Quiet for the moment, we're working on maintaining the peace and following up leads on the Harbinger. How's my boy?" she asked, her reason for the call now clear.
"Stroganoff is still recovering, spending his time in the lava flows. I am, in fact, starting to suspect he's pretending to still be sick so he can stay down there and eat all meh food!"
Lorellai's laughter echoed through the radio static. "I mean, it's not impossible, but I also know he'd want to be with meh if he was really healthy. He's smart enough to find portals if he feels a need."
"I'll take yeh at yer word for tha', lass. Speaking of, though, I'd feel better if I knew yeh 'ad a boon companion, should I send one of my robots through for yeh?"
"Dunnae worry about that, Sapper, I've managed to befriend a cinder bee, he's a little clumsy but he's responded well to training, the earthen here gave me really good advice!"
"A cinder-bee, eh? Send me some photos, that sounds like somethin' worth seeing!"
"Will do, Sapper, but I should probably get going. We're going to try and help the storm-riders recover their mounts, and the team will be leaving in just a half-hour."
"I won't keep yeh then, glad to hear from yeh Tinker, I love yeh!" he said, returning the reciever to its holder, and looking out the window at the Hornswog below in the magma flow, without a care in the world. He might not be on the front lines anymore, but he could at least take care of one incredibly hungry dragon frog, he supposed.
❝ i don't mean to be too forward, you just seem like you could use a friend right now. ❞
for muses that are getting to know each other
The alleyway behind the brothel was disgusting, dimly lit and stinking of ale and other unmentionable things, but it was at least private. That is, it usually was, but their sniffling had drawn attention this time. Atreion let out a strangled yelp, snapping upright as a deep voice drifted out of the gloom. Their pipe slipped between slackened fingers, spilling ashes and embers into the dirt, but Atreion was too busy dusting themself off, yanking their clothing back to something halfway presentable.
"Oh! I-it's you." Hurriedly wiping at their face, they plastered on a smile. The light back here was dreadful, turning the goliath into a looming shadow. If that meant it hid the blotchy mess their makeup had become, all the better. "Who me? Oh no, darling, I'm fine. Quite fine."
"D-didn't think we'd be seeing you again," Fuck, even to their own ears their voice sounded strained. Don't wobble, don't wobble. "Listen, why don't you head back inside? It's dreadful out here. I'll be along shortly."
(( DWC November 2023, Day 6, Expectation/Selfish, CW: none; @daily-writing-challenge ))
The dust of battle had cleared, and for the moment, the forces of Azeroth had taken the field, but the enemy was yet unbeaten. Fyrakk had broken his way into the temple with his own powers, and he and his followers had retreated within.
Lorellai could hear the aspects making plans to pursue, talking about taking a team of their most able champions to aid the pursuit, while the rest remained without to handle any further attempts by the remaining flame druids, primalists, or djaradin to interfere. She saw her parents, as well as her many aunts and uncles, Henii, Dolraan, and Hlin among them, engaging in the conversation as well. That made sense. She and the rest of the team had handled the primalists in the vault, and down in Aberrus, but those had been fairly localized trouble, and happened fast enough to preclude calling for backup. But now Fyrakk and the Firelands were threatening the world tree and the emerald dream, and that surely meant bringing in the big guns, and well, what bigger guns were there than the heroes who'd saved the world time and time again?
She'd already started preparing herself to be okay with that when Drogar broke off from the group, followed by Darlain and Dolraan, heading her way. They looked every bit the legendary dwarven heroes they were. Her father in his mechanized armor suit, her mother in her angelic war-priest vestments, and though uncle Dolraan would argue that he was a poor dwarf indeed, a fine figure nonetheless in his shining silver and gold armor and argent tabard. Before they could say a word, she smiled and greeted them. "I guess we should wish you all luck in there! I'm sure Fyrakk and his cronies won't know what hit them." Lorellai was pleased with herself, she'd managed to tamp down her own disappointment, and show them the love and support they'd always showed her. But the way they looked at each other and smiled seemed odd.
"Er, lass, that's what we were coming over t' say to yeh. Th' Aspects are calling on your team to join them inside, we'll be holdin' th' line out here." Drogar said, clapping his daughter on the shoulder.
Lorellai gawped as Dolraan followed up. "You've got far more experience with these particular villains than we do, having just arrived. And you've all proven yourselves to Alexstrasza and her fellow aspects time and time again. This is your mission."
"Make sure you teach them a lesson about messing with th' peace of Azeroth, my little sparkler!" Darlain said, pulling Lorellai into a hug. "Make sure they know why every other villain fears going up against th' Meddlers!"
Out the corner of her eye, Lorellai caught Shansii hugging her mom as well, and a few others receiving well wishes from the older heroes. Hlin in particular seemed to be giving some last minute punching advice to Edmund, who was listening thoughtfully. "Are… are you sure?"
Drogar beamed back at her. "Oh hell no, but I trust you, and I believe in you, and I know that Alexstrasza wouldn't be askin' for yeh if yeh didn't have what it takes. But I won't be sendin' yeh empty handed! I cannae help but notice that spear of yers 'as seen better days. Maybe a bit more of a distant approach will suit yeh better in there, and I've got just th' thing, designed and built based on those lovely elemental ore samples yeh sent home." Drogar whistled, and Balinore lumbered over, dragging a long crate. Unlocking it, Drogar pried it open, and removed a beautiful looking rifle from the hay within, handing it reverently to his daughter. "I call it th' Firefighter, on account of it usin' elemental fire to enhance th' shots with which you might fight then fight fire with fire!" Drogar declared, inordinately pleased with his wordplay.
Lorellai gingerly took the weapon from her father's hands, running her fingers along the barrel. "It's.. it's beautiful."
"Wield it with pride lass, and give that' fire dragon a shot to th' eye he'll ne'er forget."
Lorellai pulled her dad into a hug, but already she could hear Rokishan calling her name, as everyone got ready to head inside with the Kaldorei and the Aspects. Loading a magazine, she nodded at her father, and turned to face the temple. It was time to meddle.
Banagan ducked and covered his head as waves of heat washed over him. Before it passed, he could hear screams coming from nearby. Raising his head, he quickly scanned around and saw two men on the ground with smoke curling off pieces of their armor. He ran to their side and dropped to the ground. Putting his hands on both men, he closed his eyes and concentrated. Light flared around his hands and then passed into the two prone fighters. Almost immediately their cries subsided to quiet whimpers and they stopped writhing on the ground.
Banny opened his eyes and looked around again. He could see the field medics rushing to his position, so he stood up and unhooked his mace from his belt. Nearby, he saw his Drakthyr friend Skold shooting his own fire back at the druids, causing them to scatter and run.
“Chase them down!” someone called out. It only took a moment for Banny to trace the call to the mercenary that had been dressed down so publicly only a few hours earlier.
“Fel,” Banny muttered to himself as he started chasing after the four soldiers who were, in turn, chasing after the fleeing druids.
“What is it?” Skold asked as he glided to Banny’s side.
“If we don’t get there in time? A bloodbath.”
“Whose?”
“Does it matter?”
It was a running battle as the Druids of the Flame continued to send volleys at the humans who gave chase. In return, one of the soldiers cast bolts of lightning back at the retreating elves. Electricity sparked between the druids, catching one just as he was casting of his own spell. The druid’s body jerk involuntarily and his hand dropped towards the ground just as he had released the casting. A ball of flame shot down in the midst of the running druids and exploded, sending them flying into the air.
The humans cheered as they rushed forward. The first three bodies they encountered were charred and did not move. Banny watched as the one mercenary prodded the first body with his boot and got no response. One of the other soldiers called out “Hey, this one is still alive!”
The group looked to see there was one druid rolling on the ground. She had been furtherest ahead when the explosion went off and, as such, had only been partially hit and thrown forward. The humans walked up to the druid as a faint moan escaped her.
“What should we do?” the soldier who had first noticed her asked.
“Kill her,” the mercenary responded with a dark grin.
“No.” Banagan’s quiet demeanor and calm response washed over the other soldiers, visibly cooling the bloodlust that had them running just moments earlier. Everyone, except the mercenary.
“We kill them all.”
“We were told to bring them back alive if we could,” Banagan replied simply.
“They’ll never know,” the mercenary sneered.
“I’ll know.”
“I don’t care,” the mercenary said, raising his sword and taking a step forward.
Banagan moved quickly, stepping in between the mercenary and the injured druid. “I will.”
“So what?” the mercenary spat out, moving closer to the paladin.
“We are taking her in alive. Anyone who has a problem with that has to get by me.”
“And me,” Skold added as he stepped to Banagan’s side and flexed his wings.
“Fine,” the mercenary growled. “Take her if she means that much to you.” He then turned and stalked off. The rest, unsure what to do, turned and followed their friend back towards the rest of the troop. Once they were out of earshot, Skold looked down at his friend.
“Are you sure that was the wise thing to do?”
“Wise? Probably not. But like people say ‘If you can’t do the wise thing, at least do the right thing.’ “
“Who says that?”
“I don’t know. Probably my dad, or Drogar, or Shadowbreaker. It seems like the kind of thing that they would say.”
“You grew up with some very interesting people,” Skold said with a shrug. Then he turned to look the soldiers who were making their way back to the main host. “Do you think they will let this go?”
“Nope. Not even a little bit. I’ve seen plenty like them, too.”
“Then how will you handle this? You will have to work with them again, I suspect.”
“It all depends. I’ll try buying them a drink next time we’re back in Valdrakken and see if that clears up the angry feelings.”
“And if it doesn’t? If the matter stays unresolved, what then?”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing that I have a friend watching my back,” Banagan looked up at the Drakthyr and smiled. “Let’s get this elf back to the command tent. I don’t want to be out here in the open if any of her friends come looking.”
(( DWC August 2024 Day 2, Violence/Tenderness, CW: guns, death, murder, blood; @daily-writing-challenge ))
As he did every year around this time, Drogar sat in his study, examining his old, trusty revolver, surrounded by old ghosts.
"NO!" Moira screamed, as Drogar emptied his pistol into the Dark Iron Emperor, finally avenging his clan's suffering from Dagran's plotting. Far from breaking free of the control, Drogar watched, dumbfounded, as she fell to her knees, cradling the un-moving form of Dagran Thaurissan. "Thaurissan was a great and honorable dwarf," she sobbed, "You ruined my life and the life of my unborn child!"
With a sigh, he tenderly and methodically disassembled the pistol piece by piece, giving each component a proper cleaning and oiling. Lorellai had used it extensively in her adventures, and taken fine care of it, but it had been one of his first successes in gun-making, and had accompanied him throughout his adventuring career. He'd made other, more effective and ornate weapons, but this one bore the weight of history. It was important that he be the one to give it a proper deep clean.
"Drogar, reinforcements are coming in, and they've got more of those fire lizards at their back, we have to go!" the mage had yelled, beginning to cast his portal.
Moira had looked at him with hate in her eyes, Thaurissan's blood staining her dress as it pooled beneath him. "Return to Ironforge and tell my father that the heir to the Kingdom of Ironforge will be a Dark Iron dwarf. Whether he approves or not, it shall be."
Piece by piece, he restored the pistol to its functional state, clean and ready to be loaded and used again. It felt heavier in recent years, though he knew nothing had changed physically.
Some weights weren't physical.
The blue light of the teleportation spell surrounded Drogar and his allies as they made good their escape ahead of the howling cries of the dark iron soldiers and their fiery masters. Moira stared daggers at Drogar, helpless to do anything but cradle her beloved husband's corpse. Everyone else was looking elsewhere, but their gazes were fixed on each other as Drogar raised the pistol once more, pointing it at Moira.
Click.
And they were back in Ironforge, mission complete, if not successful. Thaurissan was dead, but Moira had not been rescued. "We're going to need to tell the King what happened, come on everyone," his friends had said, as Drogar lowered the pistol, staring at the empty space where moments ago and miles away he'd seen Moira Thaurissan.
Drogar set the pistol on the table, and sighed. In hindsight, it had been damn lucky the weapon had been empty. Despite his hatred for the dark irons, and the difficulties of the Cataclysm, Moira and her loyalists had not only saved Ironforge, but strengthened his home. The Council of Three Hammers had done well by his people, and their future was bright. He'd done what he was commanded to do. He'd assassinated the ruler of the enemy who warred against them. He'd avenged his uncles, aunts, cousins and more who had died to Dark Iron machinations. And only now, with success and family and everything he'd ever have wanted, was he able to appreciate the cost of what he'd done.
"Th' Butcher of Blackrock. Cannae believe I used t' take pride in it, eh boy?" he asked, gently scratching behind Balinore's ears. The great bear huffed at the disturbance, but leaned into the attention.
A noise from the stairs interrupted his reverie. He turned to see Lorellai coming down the stairs, holding her pack in one hand and looking worried. "Hey Da', do yeh have a minute t' talk?"
Hours later, the sun had risen over icy Dun Morogh, and Lorellai was saying her goodbyes. That minute had turned into hours as they'd learned that Lorellai wasn't the only meddler having the visions, and the decision had been made for those hearing the call to join Dolraan in Dalaran to lend their aid to Khadgar.
"Lass, one last thing," Drogar said, holding his daughter's hand as he drew forth the pistol. "Got it all cleaned up for yeh. May it continue t' keep yeh safe. I love yeh, lass."
Lorellai took the pistol and casually slid it into her her shoulder holster, under her coat. "Thanks Da', we'll both be back before you know it, I'm sure!" she declared, giving her dad a kiss on the nose before hoisting her pack and stepping towards the portal. Moments later, Drogar stood in a smaller crowd that began to break up and return to their work.
"Titans, if yer listenin', keep her safe. And let her give that tool a better destiny than I did."
(( DWC November 2023, Day 3, Inspiration/Unresolved, CW: combat, violent death; @daily-writing-challenge ))
Lorellai rolled away from a blast of flame launched at her by a flame-scarred druid, barely avoiding the worst of the heat even as the caster began another incantation. She drew up to one knee, and put her fingers in her mouth to let out a sharp whistle.
The druid sneered at Lorellai, the cruelty on her face plain to see. "No one will stop us from recovering our perfect immortality!" the druid shouted, the flames flaring bright in her hands. Lorellai coughed.
"Yeh won't be seein' it!" the girl shouted back, as a form loomed up behind the druid. The smack of a wet sticky tongue caused her to lose concentration on her spell, and the look of fear and confusion on her face was almost comical as Stroganoff pulled her into his mouth, biting down hard. Her legs kicked twice, and then stopped while the mighty hornswog burbled, bathing his victim in his molten juices. Stroganoff was not one to play nice when his dwarf was in danger.
"Good boy, good, good boy!" Lorellai said, pulling herself to her feet and leaning on Stroganoff to steady herself. Her arms felt like jelly, and she didn't need a mirror to know she was covered in soot and minor burns. She'd had to toss her bomb pouch for fear of it cooking off, and the rest of her gear was in rough shape from the hours of fighting for the Wellspring. She pulled her goggles down, wiping the lenses clean as she scanned the battlefield for her friends. Down the way, Ghorren, Edmund, Shansii and the rest were holding back a swarm of primalists and fire elementals with everything they had, while further down the line she could see the Kaldorei and the Dragons being hard pressed. She'd been tasked with helping knock out the ritual towers the primalists had created to block arcane spells, and she had done her part of the job, but it had taken everything she had. Lorellai was exhausted. They all were.
A pained roar interrupted her reverie. She gasped as she saw Alexstrasza fall, struck from the air by Fyrakk, both taking their visage forms down below, out of her range. She zoomed in, seeing them speak, seeing Fyrakk raise his axe... and then she saw the smile on the dragonqueen's face. Zooming out, she saw the portals opening, and the smile that grew on her face threatened to split it in two. Their friends from the dragon isles, the Kirin tor, and the heroes of the Alliance and Horde emerged, and forced Fyrakk to retreat. A horn blew, and she saw the banner of the Argent Crusade flying, and knew that her uncle Dolraan was down there as well.
A burst of arcane energy flared from the other side of Stroganoff, catching her attention. She had barely moved to look and see what it was when she was grabbed and pulled into a familiar hug. "Och, lass, there yeh are! Oh I'm so proud of yeh!" Drogar yelled, holding her close enough she worried she might not be able to breathe. Well, she'd held her breath for worse reasons, and she just gripped him tight, burying her face into his beard like she had when she was little.
"Oh da," she said when he loosened his grip, "it's been real hard out here, harder than any of your stories!" Drogar beamed at her as he continued to hold her, feeling her shudder as she tried not to cry.
"I know lass. Some things the stories can never get across. But you've done so bloody well, and I'm so bloody proud of yeh. But there's more t' do, so why don't we get on down and finish up this fight so we can catch up proper, aye?" he declared, stepping back and pulling a rifle and one of his combat mecha-squirrels from their place on his back. He tossed his daughter a potion that was caught and eagerly gulped down, restoring her stamina.
"Alright dad, let's do this." Lorellai declared, hefting her spear, and shouting a warcry as she charged down the hill, Stroganoff at her side and her father at her back. They had a battle to win.
DWC November 2022 Day 7: Infatuation/Endless @daily-writing-challenge
Lorellai Truthhammer stared up at the ceiling, and silently wished for a meteor to smash through the roof of the mountain. She didn't know how long she'd been trapped in this room, but she knew it was too long. Her father's voice, going on and on about how to handle various potential crises, had turned into a buzzing sound in her mind. And on her hip. Wait, no, that was her commstone.
Lorellai eyed her father, and when he turned his back to point at the screen he was projecting the visual aids on, she pulled it out, and brought up the message from Shansii.
"U done? Party 2nite @ my place, come celebr8"
"Dad has endless slides, gotta try and sneak away."
"Pop smoke lol. sys?"
"lol I wish. Bts."
"Lorellai!"
Lorellai snapped her gaze up at her dad, who had sneakily turned around.
"Well, if you can message yer friends yeh can tell me what you should do if a mated pair of devilsaurs starts rampaging through your camp, hm?" he asked, frustrated.
Lorellai sighed. "Throw flashbangs up near their eye level to startle 'em, hop on a vehicle, and lead them away from camp, once clear activate cloaking device and wait at least one hour before returning to camp. Same thing with pretty much any aggressive wildlife."
Drogar narrowed his eyes. "... Yer right. I suppose. I only want to go over this because I want yeh t' be safe and successful out there, lass."
"I know da, but you and I both know I learn better by -doing- than by -listening-. I get it from my old man," she said, smiling.
"I know you're trying to butter me up."
"And?"
"And it worked. Go on, spend time with yer friends, but be back for breakfast, yer mum's got somethin' planned."
"Will do da, love ya!" Lorellai declared, hopping up and grabbing her bag as she dashed out the door.
(Daily writing challenge August 2022, Day 5, Fluff/Shiver. CW: none)
@daily-writing-challenge
In the quiet halls of the Truthhammer residence, a light emerged from the kitchens, long after everyone should have been in bed. Spilling out into the hall, but only half as noticeable as the rumbling voice that echoed out.
"This is a fool's errand, son."
Drogar scoffed, looking at the mixing bowl in front of him, in which he'd precisely measured various ingredients. "Oh ye of little faith," he said as he precisely cracked the second egg, depositing the innards into the other wet ingredients, before taking up the whisk and beginning to blend.
"Faith has nothing to do with it, son." Drogan replied, his voice reverberating with the dark energies that animated him, his eyes aglow as ever. "I have the capacity to recognize patterns. A rare thing these days."
"Father, I love you, and I'm happy that even in your cursed state you have returned to spend time with th' family, but I am one of th' realm's greatest scientific minds, and I can make a bloody birthday cake by followin' a bloody recipe! I dunnae need t' be coddled!" Drogar insisted, beginning to blend the wet and dry ingredients, before speeding up to fold in air to give it the desired fluff.
Drogan arched an eyebrow. "You have a chef on staff. I understand he makes a fine cake."
"It is my wife's birthday and I want to do something special for her! Is that so wild and unreasonable?!" Drogar sputtered, flicking batter across the counter top.
"It is my daughter-in-law's birthday and I think she'd like her kitchen un-exploded." the old undead replied, face fittingly as impassive as a gravestone.
Drogar sighed, picking up the tray filled with batter and walking over to the oven. "It's going to be fine, I'm just following the recipe. This will work out pe-"
The next sensation Drogar felt was a chilling sensation at odds with the odd heat he felt across his body. Blinking his eyes, he rubbed at his goggles and looked up into the glowing eyes of his father, who was channeling ice across Drogar's body and the kitchen as a whole, putting out various flames.
"Wha... what happened?" Drogar asked his father.
Drogan could only sigh. "If I knew, I'd be taking your place as one of the realm's finest scientific minds. Clean yourself up and go to the bakery so you don't ruin the entire day for your wife."
Muttering, and humbled, Drogar obeyed his father's perfectly reasonable instructions.
