#mayday22023

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC May 2023 - Day 2 - Divine/Tragedy - Khaeris

There were plants everywhere and Khaeris appreciated it. She spent time loitering by the decorative planters dotted through the city, taking in the wide variety of lush botanicals. Zuldazar still showed some scars from the Fourth War, but the city wore them well and knew how to compensate.

Little shrines to a variety of loa had flowers laid in offering, coins gathered in bowls, and incense rose through the air. If there was a city more steeped in ‘divine’, Khaeris had never been there. Stormwind might have her Cathedral, and Shattrath her Naaru, but it was Zuldazar where every corner had its god and worship in all forms threaded through everyday life.

She was staying with Ahuatli for the time being, enjoying guesting at her friend’s estate and immersing herself in her friend’s life. Khaeris knew she could lose days and days with the gardens and markets. She picked up trinkets, and even a little ‘trash’--depositing them at the shrines of loa that called for it.

She’d come for a festival, unsure if she was going to be as heartily welcomed as Ahuatli always did--but she trusted her friend to know her business, and Khaeris had been folded into the celebrations as easily as any.

For a city so alive, so verdant, it felt strange to know Bwonsamdi was the Queen’s Loa now.

Khaeris looked over the plaza from her perch high up on a wall. Her feet dangled and idly kicked over the edge. Ahualti was at rehearsal and Khaeris had been left to her own devices. She could see far across the city; perhaps her mind should have been on Pa’ku, many of her children taking flight around the city, or on Jani as she watched urchins pick-pocketing shoppers below her. In truth, her mind was on Bwonsamdi. On death and possible tragedy, across the world in the Dragon Isles.

She had thrown herself toward Ahualti’s hospitality to keep herself out of trouble. Pollux had asked her to stay away from the Dragon Isles and the dangers there, he didn’t want to have to worry about her while he was away. She had done as he’d asked, though it chaffed and did nothing to stop her own worry for him. Or Pyraelia. Or anyone else she knew who had gone.

So, quietly, and perhaps unwisely, Khaeris said a fervent prayer to Bwonsamdi for her twice death-touched lover.

@daily-writing-challenge

mentions: @darkspear-dancers @polluxhale

[captzexx]

Daily Writing Challenge 2023 - Divine/Tragedy

Embers shot up into the air, filling the navy blue sky with bits of red and orange fire as they floated higher into what some might call the divine heavens.  Albert didn't know if there was a heaven or even a hell for that matter, but of a part of him didn't care either.  He was stuck in limbo here.

It'd been two week since he'd come to the island and things were going well enough with his supplies as well his own sanity.  The house had been built perfectly to his specifications for his solitude, and thankfully the solar panels were doing just as the salesman had promised.  Living in a kind of vacation home was not how imagined he'd spend the rest of his life, but it wasn't bad either.

Just lonely.

Time was the enemy now as he found himself puttering about home, desperate not to fall into ambivalence.  He'd been reading a lot. And fishing.  Fishing a lot, which thankfully was helping with the supplies as he poked at the burning fish bones of his campfire.  Worry wasn't in him though as he closed his eyes listening to the waves all around him, letting the calm of the ocean settle his mind.

But not his heart.

Never his heart, which only ached with the emptiness.  It's a tragedy to be trapped in paradise but still unable to find happiness.

Maybe this was hell.  

@daily-writing-challenge​

[fio-renze]

May 22 - Day 2 Divine/Tragedy

Causinomancy. That’s what she was doing. It sounded better, more academic, than just burning shreds of newspaper. How better to divine an omen? Especially with topical press.

Maybe not wine drunk at nine in the morning, curled up at the edge of the great hearth in her bedroom, wrapped up in the fine duvet, in abject fucking misery over the circumstances — but that was what she had to work with.

‘The fate of the Tel’vaiel Estate’ stood out starkly in dark ink before the paper rapidly blackened and went up in flame. A good omen, to those that followed the sport.

‘failure to produce an heir’, caught and burned brightly before fluttering to ash.

‘ends a dynasty’ ‘failure’ ‘failure’ ‘failure’. She’d moved on from the short, little column, but the negatives still stood out the most, scattered among other puff pieces and updates. They all burned so quickly because that was the nature of dry paper.

Good omens.

‘Maybe it’s all a blessing in disguise,’ ‘Maybe you’ll be happier,’ those tidings had been sent on her little comm, over a month ago, before it was all terribly real, done and in print.

Before she had to listen to the staff in the tower fumble over what to call her, and realizing that it was going to be like that in public for some time to come, reminding her of the great humiliation of it all in the wake of her grand, personal tragedy.

She threw the whole puzzles section in, followed by the whole third, fourth and fifth full copies of the Silvermoon Sun, sending cinders, ash and smoke up in a great plume.

A bad omen, if one believed in capnomancy.

Eventually, at some point, she was going to have to reckon with the notion that her strength in divination magics weren’t in either of those particular paths — that they were just a cover for being destructive. Probably at the same time of the impending, colossal hangover.

But that was later. For now, it was fine to watch the thick reams of paper burn.

@daily-writing-challenge

[commanderbragh]

Running Into The Fire

DWC May 2023

Day 2: Divine / Tragedy

Banagan stood quietly and stared over the side of the platform. The city of Valdrakken rose behind him, the sounds of the general public moving quickly, but the young paladin paid little attention to it. His focus was on the horizon. He had almost convinced himself that he saw smoke rising in the distance, and not mists or clouds from the river far below.

“What are you thinking of, young one?”

Banny looked to his side at the Dracthyr that had been quietly keeping him company.

“All the destruction, it seems so senseless.”

“It sometimes is.”

“And the Niffen?”

“There was damage done to their settlement. But luckily, through quick actions, tragedy was averted. The Niffen suffered, but survive.”

Banagan frowned slightly and then turned to look back towards the horizon.

“Is that not good news, young one?”

“No, it’s good news. Definitely good news.”

“Then why do you still look concerned?”

“It’s just.. I feel like I should be down there. Doing something.”

“What would you be doing?”

“I don’t know. I just know my father would have gone there right away.”

“What could your father have done to prevent this?”

“Probably nothing to prevent it. But he’d have figured out some way to get there. Some way to help.”

“Why would he do that?”

“It’s just what he does.”

“Your father, he has done this before?”

“Yeah,” Banagan answered with a shrug. “Bunch of times. Rode into the fire and helped to put it out from inside.”

“And he has done this without serious harm?”

“For the most part, as far as I know.”

“Is he divine? Do the titans or the old gods protect him somehow?” the Drakthyr asked skeptically.

“No, he’s just a man. He just goes and does what he thinks is right. He’s the kind who rushes in to help.”

“And you wish that you could be such a man?” Banagan stood motionless for a moment, and then nodded slightly. “Then why do you not go there, as your father would.”

“What could I do?” Banny asked, turning to look at his companion again.

“I have no idea. What could your father do down there?”

“I don’t know. He’d just go there and figure it out.”

“And why cannot you do this?”

“Because…” Banny started to reply, but then stopped. He looked away, dropping his gaze to the ground as he thought, then after a few moments looking back to the Dracthyr. “I could go. But what would I do when I get there?”

“Is that really your question, young one?”

Banagan considered the question for a moment before responding, “No.”

“Then what is your question?”

“How quickly can I get there?”

“That is a good question. Let us go and find out.”

@daily-writing-challenge

[luminashdawnwing]

DWC May 2023 Day 2: Divine / Tragedy

Luminash raked his fingers back through his hair and settled his head into his hands, elbows resting on his desk, parchment strewn over its surface. The translations from Uldaman and Tyr’s laboratory in Thaldraszus had been...enlightening. He had not spoken a word yet to Jaskian, but he was certain she would feel the worry gnawing at his mind.

The Titans’ servitors, the craftsmen who had, in their accounts and in the reckoning of their creations, forged the world from the Black Empire’s chaos, had undoubtedly lied - even if by omission - and manipulated their descendants. They had been, in so many ways, wrong. Was their work, built on a heap of half-truths yet worth preserving?

An interesting thought. He closed his eyes and, with practiced breathing, calmed the echoes of time that clamored for every shred of his attention. What would there be without that great work?

The Black Empire would have run rampant, Azeroth’s own soul darkened by the Void. Every mountain, forest, and clear pool would be only yawning, hungering mouths. Ny’alotha had been a nightmare, and without the Titans, the nightmare would have been never ending.

But what if they had left well enough alone after that? Elemental chaos. A world at eternal war with itself, floods grinding mountains to dust, the wind driving the waters from their course, flame erupting from placid ground. Less horrific perhaps than the Void, but a nightmare all the same. Even Azeroth’s own native children would not have thrived in such a world.

To overthrow the Titans’ ordering of the world would not create anew, it could only destroy. It was up to those defending the Titans’ creations to turn them towards a better path. Luminash pursed his lips in thought. The Primalists were right, in that the Titans were no gods worthy of unthinking veneration. But in the complexities of history, who was? There was a lesson to be learned here, he was certain. He couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh: even when they failed, he still could find solace in the near-gods failures.

Luminash’s unease lessened at the thought. What had been considered nearly divine could not be allowed to suffer such a tragic end. Were these findings catalogued and published without proper perspective, the damage done to the study of Azeroth’s past and the Arcane would be immense. And what of the Primalist cause? How much would their ranks swell?

Sitting up straight and stretching his back, the magister picked up his pen, dipped it into the well, and scratched on the top of a blank page:

The Truth of the Titans: Reflections on Order

The work ahead could be the most important Luminash had ever committed to paper, the creation of a new perspective in his field. The dread was gone, only the thrill of something new remained.

@daily-writing-challenge (and @kharrisdawndancer for Jaskian mention)