Daily Writing Challenge May 2023
Day 1: Forgiveness / Shadowflame
“First, clear your mind,” the dragon intoned, his deep voice rumbling calmly, “You will never have control of your senses again until you can look at the possibilities before you with clear eyes.”
Luminash sat, legs crossed, overlooking the sands of the Temporal Conflux. In the distance, beyond the haze, rose the cliffside of Eon’s Fringe, where it had all begun. Where he had, through his own overconfidence, bound the threads of time all too tightly around himself. In his gaze, especially here, flickered images - foresight and afterimages both, things yet to be, those that could not be, and those that had been long ago.
In was always easier, Luminash found as he closed his eyes, blocking all from his view but the red of the sun through his eyelids, to ask for forgiveness than permission. The Timeless Isle, the expedition in Gorgrond, the depths of the Nighthold, all of them follies, all of them driven by errant curiosity. And now, Eon’s Fringe.
“Do you see them, the echoes from the timeways?” Andantenormu asked, his rasping voice burrowing deep into the magister’s chest, a rustling of scales as his shifted his wings.
Luminash nodded, “Even with my eyes closed, I know they are there. And winding between them, the Arcane, in threads. It is so...active here.”
“Mmm.” A noncommittal murmur from the dragon, “You have taken much into yourself in your short life, magister. You grip it all so firmly, so afraid are you to lose control.”
The elf drew his lips into a thin line at the chiding, “I suppose you have never felt your power slip, then, or worried what could happen if you drew upon too much?” He could not suppress the hint of irritation in his voice. How the smug superiority of the Bronze could grate...
“Calm, young one.” Level, cool, collected, and no hint of that supposed superority. Luminash felt like a scolded child whose temper was brought back in check by a kindly father. And yet, that did grate less, he thought. “We all have thought we could handle more than we could. It is why I am here to guide you in this. Not because you cannot command the power you have stumbled upon, but precisely because I know you can. Forgive yourself your errors, and step forward with a clear mind.”
Luminash took a breath. He counted. One. The dance of sand-strewn images continued unabated. Two. Behind closed eyes, had they gained new clarity? Three. Some were near, some far, yet he knew they were all still where they had begun. Four.
“Good, magister. Now, focus on those in the past, far off, and in the future, just so far. Let them go. They need not gnaw at the mind. If there comes a day to seek them out, then they will come. Know this, and...let go.”
With some effort, and in silence - how long it took, Luminash could scarcely say - he strained to push the echoes away. Then came Andantenormu again, let go. Not push, but simply...let fall away.
Exhale. One. And so they did, hazy images of dragons in flight and visages speaking in hushed whispers dissolving into motes of swirling sand, their grains catching the light and dispersing in a wind unfelt by mere creatures of flesh and blood. Two. There were only hazy images now of events that must be present, or potential presents. Three. He saw himself. Four. His heart began to pound, and his stomach knotted.
“Andantenormu, I see...” Luminash shuddered, “Something is wrong. I see...”
“What you see does no harm, child. Breathe, and all will be well. This is your next lesson. What you see need not come to pass, nor-”
Luminash’s eyes snapped open, and he stared into his own face, swirling in the sands of time. There was no hope left in those eyes, only rage, an abyss of violet flame. His hands were blackened. Something he could not identify, a charred husk, lay at his feet.
Far from the Conflux, deep beneath the earth, Luminash saw himself cloaked in shadowflame. It was him, and yet it was not. He was here, and yet he was there. He began to grow cold as the image faded away, replaced by the concerned gaze of his mentor.
Andantenormu completed his thought, the dragon’s voice an anchor, a welcome reassurance, “Nor need it.”
It was the end of another long day, and Sharyssa let out a relieved sigh as she unceremoniously flopped down on her bed. At least this one was far more comfortable than her bedroll back in the main camp of the Dragonscale Expedition.
"What a week..." Shar mused out loud, stretching her arms. Doing that still felt odd sometimes, watching her prosthetic mirror the movement while physically feeling nothing.
The arcanist yawned. A good sleep was what she needed, unbothered by her state of dress. Her boots were off, the bed would stay mud-free, and that was enough.
A flash of violet light from her coat pocket pulled her back from the edge of sleep. She sat up with a groan.
"Damn it, 'Rea... did you really have to send a letter right now? Your sleep schedule is messed up as always..." Sharyssa grumbled, rubbing her eye as she pulled out the envelope. It was bound to its pair by enchantment - the other piece owned by her little sister, obviously - and any letter put into one would end up in the other.
She stifled another yawn as she unfolded the paper, eyes going wide at the easily recognizable scrawl... of her mother.
"The audacity...!" the arcanist snarled, the ruby in place of her right eye flaring up along with the gems of her prosthetic arm from the sudden influx of arcane energy.
She tossed the letter to the ground to avoid incinerating it accidentally in her anger.
Shar swore she would never forgive the woman. Well, she did plan to reestablish something casual eventually so they wouldn't be strangers - mainly for Alyth'Rea's sake -, but that was to happen at her own pace, not the other way round.
"How odd... How in the fel did she convince 'Rea to let her use the envelope? She shouldn't even be aware its existence."
The train of thought led her in a direction she didn't want to contemplate, brows furrowed as she nudged the letter with a toe.
"So... 'Rea likely offered to send the letter herself. Damn it Kim'dal*, you know well the extent of my grudge with that insufferable woman. What is so important that you would offer to help her out like this...?"
The arcanist sighed and picked up the letter again. She will read it, for 'Rea.
Albert should have probably been worried or angry that was boat slipping into the ocean so fast but then again being here on this lonely island was exactly what he had planned. Around him sat the brief supplies he had brought with him, mostly camping gear and a ton of canned food but it would be enough to establish himself here. Enough to keep him away from everyone else.
Enough to try and forgive himself.
Not enough for him to not hate that stupid name that his brother had given to the boat.
And definitely not enough for him to forget what had happened the weeks prior to his self imposed exile.
"I'm sorry, Mitch."
Albert would turn and start to gather his gear as he headed toward the center of the isle, his boat shoes slipping a bit in the hot sand as he stalked to the new home he had had constructed. Shoulders straining as he lifted the bags and Albert Smith trudged forward to his new supposed 'simple life'.
Nothing was ever going to be easy again.
From the ocean behind him, there was a silent agreement from the pair of sea-foam colored eyes.
Daily Writing Challenge May 2023 - Day 1 - Forgiveness/Shadowflame
Bright. Beautiful. Powerful. What lovely words. Words that were sometimes used to describe her.
Tempting. Corrupting. Destructive. Those, too, were words to sometimes describe her.
These were words being bandied about now in regards to the Shadowflame all around them.
Tinnaire was taking a moment of needed rest after the work in Loamm. Shadowflame and Fyrakk had devastated the town. She hadn’t spent a lot of time in the Zaralek Cavern, but the few days had been eventful. The Primal Incarnate and his forces had swept through and now Tinnaire knew that a secret laboratory had been opened. There were dracthyr here in numbers she hadn’t seen yet--and they were on both sides of the fighting. Or at least they weren’t only fighting for the Aspects. She wasn’t clear if they were fighting with the Incarnate and his djaradin.
Her eyes drifted back over to the orange and purple flames. The heat was oppressive, this close.
They said some could hear the whispers of the void in those flames. Tinnaire felt the pull of curiosity. Would she hear them? What would happen if she did? She’d had encounters with the void before, and wasn’t this just an interesting blend of fire and shadow? She’d mastered the fire with fel previously.
Perhaps…
Tinnaire turned away and ran her hands over her face. She felt the grit of the ash. She smelled soot. She heard the sounds of clean up and recovery.
She’d made her mistakes. Already gotten what forgiveness she could. She knew better than to wreck everything for the thrill of it. Not again. Not now. No one owed her their forgiveness. But she did want to work on being a woman who was worth the forgiveness she’d been gifted.
Braghaman slid off the back of his winged lion and stood quietly for a moment. He reached out to pat Valiant, but stopped as a spasm hit and his left hand started to twitch. The paladin frowned slightly and closed his left hand into a fist and then relaxed, shaking the hand open again. The spasm passing, Bragh let out a sigh and once again reached out to pat the lion who was now staring at him.
“Don’t worry, buddy,” Bragh replied to the look. “I’m fine.” Giving the giant feline a scratch behind the ears did not immediately stop Valiant’s look, but eventually the lion relented and settled himself on the ground. “I’ll be back in a moment,” Bragh added quietly.
The forests of Elwynn surrounded the field. To the far side, he could see the familiar farmhouse and the crops that had been planted for the season. It was early still and only a few plants had started poking their way up through the dirt. The paladin’s gaze, however, soon scanned away from the farm to the closer corner of the land. There stood a small plot, a section that had been fenced off from the rest. No growing or grazing happened here. Within the fence sat two headstones.
Braghaman passed through the opening of the fence that was set at angles to prevent larger animals from wandering inside. The grass was low; likely someone had been here recently to clear the area. Bragh nodded as he moved to a spot in between the two graves and knelt down. After a moment, he looked up and glanced from one headstone to the other, looking over the family name carved into both. Larethian.
“Hi mom. Dad. Sorry it’s been so long.” The paladin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Hope you can forgive me. It’s been a bit hectic the last couple of months.
“Things are going well. Niviene and I are busy as always, what with running the academy and training new paladins. Students are always keeping us on our toes. It’s a shame you never got to meet her. I think you’d really like her. She knows how to keep me in line. I mean, not as good as you could, mom, but she does a good job of it. And the kids are growing too fast. Already out in the world, learning their own way.”
Braghaman paused and looked away from the headstones, though his eyes never focused on anything. Then he looked back to the stone at his left.
“I’d like to think I’m doing a good job, dad. I figure if I’m half the father you were, then the kids will be lucky. Banny reminds me a lot of myself at that age. Comfortable, but not cocky. Ready to go out into the world and help where he can. I wonder where he got those ideas from,” he added quietly with a smirk.
“Part of me feels guilty. I don’t know that I should have let him go off adventuring on his own. Part of me feels like I should still be out there. Not just to keep an eye on him, but to help with everything else. You know I’ve tried to retire a couple of times before, but it never really stuck. Always felt like I had more to contribute, more I needed to do.”
The paladin looked down at his left hand and clenched it tight enough to hear the leather glove creak a little.
“I feel a little guilty not being out there for everyone. But I know that I’m needed more here. Niviene needs me. The trainees definitely need me. I’d like to believe that Duskwood wants me around to help. And the logical part of my brain says that I can’t keep pressing my luck. Even if no one else says anything, I know I’ve lost a step. I’m not as fast or strong as I was when I was younger. I’d be in the way, sooner or later.”
Bragh stood up and leaned over to touch the headstone to his right.
“I used to feel guilty about you two, you know. Felt like if only I’d studied harder, learned quicker, done… something… different, then I would’ve been back home sooner. And I could have helped you two. It took me a long time to realize the wishful thinking there. To forgive myself for not being able to do more. It took a while, but I eventually got there. I figure this is the same thing. As much as I want to be everywhere and help everyone, I know I can’t. So hopefully I can get to the self forgiving a little quicker this time around.”
Braghaman took a step back and looked at both the headstones once more.
“I’ll come again soon.” Braghaman paused, the last thoughts for his parents being spoken from his heart instead of his lips. Then, nodding, he turned and made his way back to Valiant.
Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together.
Pyraelia’s mantra repeated steadily in her thoughts as her skates carried her across the ice lake in the Upper Frostlands. Any other time this would have been idyllic, but she had been given a task.
Choking ash covered her goggles and hair, blotting out her vision as she sped along — not that it mattered too much, she trusted the aerial mages that drifted behind her on discs, covering her from Zaqali and Tarasek interference. She heard, and felt, the crack before it became visible to anyone else. The echo of the schism creaked and pealed loudly, announcing its presence.
Keep it together.
The resonant vibration of the fracture was stronger in her left skate, so she skidded, kicking up a superficial puff of frost and turned to run a couple of steps before sliding back into the effortless, speedier glide that the magic blades on her boots gave her.
Keep it together.
As much as she had always excelled at arcane magic, the finer delicacies of cryomancy, frost magic, had always been her first love. She dragged her glove across the glass of her goggles to clear them of the fine ash so she could see the jagged thrust fault that had formed in the weakening surface of the great lake. It was small, for now, but only because Team Floe had it under control.
It was their job to keep it together.
She gathered her magic around her, tapping into the threads of the rich ley pockets that had formed in the Span, and channeled through her staff to bind the surface layer of ice back together and further fuse the meters below that she couldn’t see.
There were dozens of them weaving their way through the errant combatants, maintaining the surface of the sudden battlefield that was constantly being stressed and pocked by a constant barrage of shadowflame. Sure, it made occasional sense to let it thin out enough for one of the flame giants to fall through, but Khadghar had stressed that too much damage risked the full integrity of the river and if it all gave way, everything to the west and south — Camp Antonidas, Camp Nowhere, and the Iskaaran hunting settlements that had been there for a long time — risked a terrible flood.
A scream of terror from behind her being cut off by a sickening crunch made her whirl around just in time to see one of her aerial support members, Hannele, a human woman she’d only met earlier in the day, being snapped up by the jaws of one of the primal nightflames that were a constant threat in the skies.
Even as her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach at the brutality of the other woman’s death, she didn’t have time to stop. With no rider, the flying disk’s magic sputtered out in midair and the forward momentum now meant it was careening quickly toward the ground in her direction.
Keep it together.
Pyraelia reached out with her prosthetic arm and flung a slow-fall spell out to catch it. Pollux had made the internal structure and surface plates of the custom piece with a metal that was strong enough to withstand most damage, light enough to not be a bother, but also with innate qualities that enhanced arcane spells.
It was a relief that the flying disk wouldn’t harm anyone, but this was a battle, and she had a task. She almost heard the shouted “Look out!” from above her too late, and on instinct she raised her prosthetic hand up to catch the Zaqali club swinging down at her.
She felt the immediate crush of contact all the way up into the integrated joint housing that had been built into her shoulder to allow the prosthetic to attach on and down into her knees and ankles as the magic skate blades buckled into the ice below her. The arm, though heavily damaged, had held and protected her from what would’ve otherwise been a devastating injury.
Pyraelia howled, angry for her dead colleague and at the audacity of the giant who had attacked her and called the ice and frost to her. Jagged, razor sharp spikes burst forth from the lake’s surface and pushed her back, ass over teakettle into a nearby snow drift.
Adrenaline sung in her pounding heart as she shoved herself back up. Another audible, eerie ring of thick ice rang out nearby.
Keep it together.
Her prosthetic fingers stuttered as she tried to flex them, and the elbow joint refused to respond.
Keep it together.
She took a calming breath and re-cast her magic skates. Pollux would forgive her for the damage eventually — even if she was going to be without the arm for a very long time. Her eyes found the giant’s, glassy and dead, impaled on glittering, glacial blue spires before she took off in a run again, blades digging into the frozen ground.
Xylaes had never explicitly asked Garren for his forgiveness, they both knew it wasn’t that simple, nor was it something to be forced. Theirs had always been a complicated and rocky relationship, and would likely remain that way for years, or even decades to come. Yet Garren couldn’t help but feel a deep yearning for that familial bond.
He absolutely loved being out on his own, especially after largely being ignored by his guardians for the past handful of years. Feeling like a burden for that long had taken a toll on his self worth, and seeking to gain that back through menial jobs and random flings was not fixing that which had been broken. Not that he had expected it would; slapping a bandaid over a gaping wound would never be enough and the lackadaisical lifestyle would have to end at some point if he ever wanted to move forward.
But he was still young, and had plenty of time to figure out his path. He should be out partying, enjoying his freedoms, and not having a care in the world. Right? Then why did he still feel so empty most of the time?
The idea had been stirring in the back of his mind for a while now, and it felt like the only path forward at this point. He had even voiced the topic a couple times to see if it was an option, and was told that it wasn’t impossible. That had firmly planted the seed, and now he couldn’t escape the thought. He had to go to Maldraxxus. He had to see his mother. Had to talk to her, to hug her, to tell her how much he misses her even though he had never really known her. Maybe then he could forgive his father. Maybe then he could finally let go of all this pent-up anger and hatred and start over with Xylaes.
He so desperately wanted to bond with the older man, to be a part of a family again. They had both been through so much and while Xylaes had seemed to have found his peace with the situation, Garren couldn’t get there just yet and wasn’t certain that time was the answer.
He had convinced himself that he needed this.
Xylaes would hate the idea of Garren going into Maldraxxus, and at first he had thought not to tell him his plans at all. But surely he would help if it meant their relationship could finally heal, and Xylaes seemed to have powerful connections. He owed him this. Even though his mother didn’t want him to visit, Xylaes wouldn’t tell him no after he pleads his case. Callia would understand too once she saw him, and then they could be a family for the first time ever.
They all needed this.
It would fix everything.
He picked up his comm and looked at the stack of messages Xylaes had sent with no response from Garren himself. After some brief back and forth in his mind, he typed and sent a message: ‘I wanna come back to the merc camp, can you meet me in Valdrakken?’
Pollux stood at attention, unnaturally blue eyes following the General as the older man paced back and forth in front of him. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen the man this torn; there was a mix of annoyance, pride, and confusion all rolled into one facial expression. If he didn’t know any better, he probably would have laughed.
“At ease, Hale.”
Pollux’s posture loosened just a little bit as he scratched at the burnt sleeves of his uniform, causing another chunk of the blackened material to flake off and float to the ground. He looked, for lack of a better phrase, a hot mess. Literally. Skin and hair coated with soot and ash, and uniform completely tattered and crisped up by what appeared to be fire. It was a wonder how this man had escaped any sort of bodily harm with…whatever had happened to him.
“You were ordered to evacuate from Loamm after we got the call that Fyrakk was on his way.”
“Yes, I was.”
“But you were seen repeatedly running back in. Is that true?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
The General stared at him, clearly awaiting some sort of explanation.
“Sir, I knew I could help more of the inhabitants of the city make it to safety, so I made the choice to do so.” Better to ask for forgiveness than to get permission.
“-While- Fyrakk was blasting the entire place with shadowflame. Do you have a death wish, Hale?”
Pollux hesitated a moment. Did he? He was often the one that did all the ‘brave’ heroics, landing him with a half-prosthetic body in the process and a multitude of stories where he should have died - and some where he did die. “Sir, I had a hunch that I would be immune to the shadowflame.”
“A hunch. So you ran into the flaming building on a hunch.”
“Yes, Sir.” He balled up his non-prosthetic hand, feeling a familiar burn from the sigil branded onto his palm about a decade ago after an unexpected trip to Helheim.
“Are you going to elaborate on that?”
“Magic, Sir.” It was easier than saying that he had been blessed by the Vrykul after surviving Helheim and unknowingly made into one of their Berserkers. At least that was his running theory.
Magic was always the simplest explanation; a lot could be done with magic, including shielding oneself from fire for a short period of time. Although this hadn’t been a short period of time, and the shadowflame had most definitely touched his bare skin. Yet here he was, with not even one hair atop his head harmed. How strange it was to now be immune to the one thing that had taken so much from him in the past. And maybe that’s why he had become so willing to jump head first into these dangers; he had a vendetta to settle.
The General’s expression softened, the two always had a good rapport so Pollux knew he wouldn’t be in trouble for too long. Especially since his actions had ended up saving many innocent lives. “Alright Hale. Go get cleaned up and for fuck sake put on a new uniform, you look like shit. You’re going into Aberrus with us.”
