#sneeple create

[sneeple-confirmed]

November Writing: Day Fourteen (Donna ft. Damakos)

Hello all, Mod Mom Friend here! I seem to also be unable to write without stealing Mod Snooth Snalking Snatan’s boys, so here we go! Prompt is “You are actually the worst person I’ve ever met,” based on this post by @hopefulqueer. I hope you all enjoy!

Generally, within towns, Donna wasn’t terribly worried about being hurt. Usually, in towns, she was only noticed by those who needed her services. Robbers didn’t usually go for the holy women (and even if they did Donna never kept a lot of gold on her person) and her position as a cleric generally tended to deter any...other sorts of men. Overall, clerics easily blended into the background, so she rarely was met with any trouble.

As such, when trouble did come her way, she was by no means prepared to face it.

It started out as a fairly normal day.  She’d gone to the town infirmary to volunteer her services, and got the usual assortment of the ill and the injured. Nothing was particularly challenging. But midway through helping to splint a bone, a human walked into the room. He looked thinner, and he was short for a human, but he still towered two or so heads above Donna. As everyone did. She usually had to use a stool to get to the right height if her patients were on cots.

“Hello, did you need anything?” she asked kindly, seeing as she was the most equipped there to speak to another guest. He smiled at her, and something within Donna told her to stay as far away from this person as possible. Keeping that in mind, she decided to stay slightly away from him.

“I was just hoping to come in and observe. I’m training as an herbalist and my guildmaster told me to watch a few in action. Am I disturbing anything?”

“No, not at all, I’ll ask you to keep a distance from the patients themselves. Some of them might have diseases, wouldn’t want you to catch anything.” And I want you to stay away from me. Far, far away from me.

“Makes sense. Thank you so much for your courtesy, beautiful lady.” With that, Donna vowed to keep half an eye on him as she continued her work. She tied off the splint she was working on and continued to check over her patient. Overall he looked okay, his vital signs were fine, but he was still asleep from the potion she’d given him. Splinting was always easier when the subject didn’t resist, and it was much more comfortable for the subject to sleep through it.

Once she finished, she started to move on, but the man who came in blocked Donna’s way. “I noticed you were quite good at healing; is there any way you could perhaps teach me how you do it?”

“I, um, I actually have to go,” Donna said, trying to inch past him. As most did, he underestimated her height, so she was easily able to duck under him and run out the door. She’d come back when she could find Damakos, he should be able to help her out, he should be able to get the guy away from her.

“Wait!” he exclaimed, running after her and stopping in front of her yet again. “Maybe we could have a one-on-one lesson.” The man put his hands on her shoulders, keeping her from moving anywhere else.

“I’m not going to be in town long, and if you don’t let go of me you won’t appreciate it,” Donna told him coldly, but the slight shake in her voice made it much less convincing.

“I’d really like to get some experience from you, so let’s go back to my place.” Donna prepared to fight back as this man started to force her, but luckily, someone came to her rescue.

“Hello, hello, quite the casanova we have here,” a familiar, deep voice said from behind Donna. Damakos. Thank the gods.

“What’s it to you, hellspawn?” the human said, glaring up at Damakos.

“Just seems like you’re trying to prove something here. Trying to show us that you’re a man? You’re harassing a girl half your size--is your dick half the normal size? Hah, sounds like you’d be lucky to even have that,” Damakos scoffed. A couple of passers-by snickered, staring at the man, who turned absolutely bright red. He looked like he was considering fighting Damakos, but at the gazes of all the people, he simply wilted and turned bright red.

“At least I have some humanity.”

“At least I have decency,” Damakos retorted. “Lucky for you, you didn’t cross her any more than you did. I’ve seen Donna lift actual men, she’d have no problem with you.” A few more people snickered. “Now go off, find a date with your right hand, it’s all you’ll have with the way you’re acting.” Clearly knowing when to pick his battles, the man left, glaring sullenly over his shoulder. “Too vulgar for our holy woman?” Damakos asked Donna with a wink.

“You are actually the worst person I’ve ever met,” Donna grumbled good-naturedly as Damakos patted her on the head.

“Is that the thanks I get for rescuing you?” Damakos asked, acting indignant but knowing full well that Donna didn’t really mean it.

“Really, thank you,” Donna said in earnest, hugging Damakos’s legs. “I...I don’t know if I…” The thought of what might have happened made Donna shake, because what if her strength failed her?

“Hey, it’s all good. Now no more feely shit. Let’s get back to what you were doing.” And with that, Damakos went back to the infirmary with Donna, who felt much more secure now that she had one of her best friends at her side.

[sneeple-confirmed]

November Writing Day Twelve: (Wixia and Ekemon)

Hi everyone! Sorry this is a little bit later in the day than usual! I seem to be incapable of writing anything but angst for poor Wix, but I have added a little floof at the end so hopefully things will be better for her eventually! The prompt was: “’God.’ They tried for a smile. ‘Things must be really bad if you’re crying.’ ‘I’m not crying! It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.’”” Credit to @the-modern-typewriter​ who made this post! Hope you all enjoy!

“Ekemon!” Wixia screamed, running over to him as quickly as she could, as if he was her last link to the world. He’d fallen in battle and Wix had assumed it would be bad, but not this bad. He’d practically been cut in half, the blood was rapidly soaking his shirt, and he was clearly in pain that was nothing short of agonizing. “Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods,” she murmured, feeling the panic rise up as she realized the true extent of his wounds.

“Wix?” he groaned as she ran up and knelt next to him. He was dizzy, out of it, clearly half loopy from blood loss. “Gods, things must be really bad if you’re crying.” Ekemon looked down at his wounds for what seemed like the first time, and something clicked in his eyes. It was if at that moment, at that exact point, he realized that he could die, that this could all be over, that there was so much he hadn’t done and he’d never get to do. His breathing got ragged, shaky, and Wix saw raw, unadulterated panic in his expression.

“I’m not crying!” Wixia insisted--she honestly hadn’t even realized she was until Ekemon said something, but now all she could feel was the hot tears running down her cheeks. “It’s fine. It’s going to be fine--you’re going to be fine.”

That’s a lie and you know it, a voice whispered in her ear.

“It’s going to be fine,” Wixia insisted, almost as if by saying it could be made true. But the venom in her voice looked like it scared Ekemon just a bit. She took a few deep breaths, a few vehement deep breaths to reassure herself that her demon was wrong, that it was going to be okay, that he was just trying to hurt her and that he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“I have a brother, I’ve been looking for him for forever,” Ekemon began.

He’ll never find him, you’re going to fail, her demon whispered as Wix tore a spare shirt into bandages. She might have to cauterize it, but how did she even ensure that it didn’t make it worse?

“His name was Damakos and gods, he was the best big brother I could ever imagine, I love him so much but he disappeared…”

He’s your only friend, you know. What happens if he dies? Wixia did her best to ignore her demon as she tried to figure this out. Yes, it would have to be cauterized. She took out her dagger, it was too small, it would have to do, and honestly she couldn’t make the wound much worse than it already was.

“I’m never gonna find him, I love him so much, I can’t believe I’m never gonna find him…”

You’re going to kill him, just like you kill everyone else.

“SHUT UP!” Wixia screamed, the voice becoming too much for her. She took a few shaky breaths, the tears still flowing freely, and quickly realized that she had scared Ekemon. “I...not you, I…” At a loss for words, she rolled up one of the cloths tightly. “This is going to hurt real bad but it’s the only way you’re gonna live through this. Bite down on this,” she said, shoving it into his mouth a little too insistently. Wixia heated up the dagger with some magic, until it was white hot. “OK, if you can, take a deep breath in,” she said, trying not to let it show that she was crying, trying to hide that she was absolutely fucking terrified. And before anything could tell her to stop, she pressed it to the wound.

Ekemon groaned--Wixia figured he would probably have screamed if he actually could have through the cloth--and tensed up. When Wix took the dagger off that part of the wound...it had sealed, blessedly, it had sealed. She repeated it on the rest of the wound, still shaking but a little calmer knowing that he wouldn’t die right away. Somewhere in the middle of the process Ekemon passed out, but Wix kept going until she was absolutely sure that everything was alright. Well, she wasn’t absolutely sure, but she was sure that it should last until Lawrence got back from wherever he was and could use some of his power to help him.

Are you sure that you haven’t killed him? You’re not good at anything besides killing. You probably killed him. She heard a gentle chuckle.

“You’re wrong,” Wix whispered, her voice shaking as she looked at Ekemon, who was thoroughly unconscious.

Look at him. Does he look like you’ve helped him at all?

“He’s not bleeding out anymore, you absolute ass. Shut up. Leave me alone.”

When you were in that basement, you weren’t begging for me to leave. You wanted my power. You’re greedy, you want to destroy.

“That was different.”

How? You didn’t have to kill those men. You could have let them live. They let you live.

“At what cost?! Why am I even listening to you?” she spat, pulling anxiously at her pink hair.

You’re nothing without me.

“Shut up,” she spat, checking over Ekemon again. “He’s going to be fine.”

But doubt nagged at her, and a seed of fear blossomed in her heart.

-----------

After Lawrence had come back, he’d pumped some healing magic into Ekemon, but Ekemon hadn’t woken up yet. His breathing was shaky and a little too shallow for Wix’s comfort, and she absolutely refused to leave his side. She clung onto his hand like a lifeline, shaky, terrified, still worrying every second about whether he would live or die. Her demon continued to whisper to her, voicing her doubts and mocking her every step of the way. With that, she honestly didn’t expect Ekemon to wake up, but she was holding onto the tiniest vestiges of hope. And eventually, it paid off.

“Ugh…” Ekemon groaned, his eyes cracking open.

“Ekemon!” Wixia gasped, looking over at him. “Okay, okay, stay down, you’re not gonna move. Don’t hurt yourself any more. Stay down.”

“Wix, you’re shaking,” he murmured, and Wix realized that the wave of relief and her stress giving out was making her feel faint, shivery. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice weak but it was there.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she whispered, breathing deeply to help calm her nerves.

“Thanks for saving me,” he said as a reply.

“That’s what f...friends... do,” she told him, her voice quivering. Ekemon really was the first friend, the first genuine friend, she’d ever had, and goddamn it, he meant the world to her. And the moment that she said it, Ekemon’s face lit up, and he smiled at her with the purest smile Wixia had ever seen.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Wixia smiled back.

[sneeple-confirmed]

November Writing: Day Eleven (Lialda)

Whoo, we’re over a third of the way there! Hi all, mod mom friend here with a shorter installment! Since I’m contractually obligated to write angst for all my characters, here is some Lialda angst for all of you! It’s shorter than normal (since Lialda is by far my least fucked up character) but I hope you enjoy it! Inspired by this post by @horrificmemes!

Lialda loosed her limbs from the woman she was in bed with, gently extracting a leg from between the woman’s and trying her best to free her hand from the woman’s grasp without waking her up. Another day, another one night stand. Usually, Lialda could have an inn room for free, but she had certain needs, which meant that she very rarely ended up using her room. As she pulled her tunic and pants on, she winced internally as the woman moved in her bed. Generally, she didn’t do terribly well with emotional attachment. She knew she’d be able to tell if someone was viable for an emotional relationship. And this woman wasn’t. Something rubbed Lialda the wrong way about her. And though she couldn’t put a finger on it, Lialda knew that she should get out.

“You’re not staying?” the woman called. Shit. Something in Lialda screamed for her to just run, but no, Lialda stayed because of course she had.

“I’m sorry, but I have to leave, I’ve got to get to the next town over.” The woman nodded, and at first Lialda assumed that everything was okay. She got up, started to leave, opened the door.

“I wanted so badly to think you were different,” the woman said. Lialda shut the door, turned around.

“What do you mean?” she asked, a sinking feeling in her gut telling her that she didn’t want to know the answer.

“I’ve dealt with half-elf bards for her. Quick with their tongues, seducing you into just about anything so you can’t resist.”

“I asked you if you wanted to! You said yes! You were sober, you pursued me first! I didn’t even initiate our first conversation!” Lialda objected, her voice beginning to raise. And it was true--this woman had approached her after her act and pressed Lialda up against the wall with a kiss. The woman had lead Lialda to her room. Lialda hadn’t even had to try and seduce her, and she wouldn’t have seduced anyone into something they didn’t very clearly want.

The woman, however, glared at Lialda. “You’re all the same. Denying what you do to us. You use your beauty, throw it around, make us feel special when we aren’t. And your beauty is all you have. You can strum a lute and shake your hips but the moment you get into anything that might be real, you’re gone. Good luck ever finding real love. Good luck ever finding someone who wants to be around you for more than a night. Now get out of my sight. I can’t believe I deigned to spend a night someone with you, you slut.”

Lialda, true to form, left, slamming the door behind her. She popped up to the room that she’d been given, grabbed her pack, left as quickly as she could. Lialda Anela didn’t need love. She was a strong woman. She didn’t need a man, or a woman, or anyone in her life. She could be happy on her own, save for the occasional one night stands. And as she stepped onto the road, she took a deep breath, smiling at the sunrise and the trail before her. Yes, this was more than enough for her. She didn’t need love. She didn’t need someone to love her.

But as much as she tried to convince herself of this, that woman’s words rang in her head. “Your beauty is all you have. You can strum a lute and shake your hips but the moment you get into anything that might be real, you’re gone. Good luck finding real love.”

Good luck finding real love.

Good luck finding real love.

Lialda Anela, the half elf bard who had almost caused the fall of a kingdom with her words alone, didn’t need real love.

But if that was the case...why did she feel so empty?

[sneeple-confirmed]

November Writing: Day Ten (Salcis/Shahala)

Hi hello this is the purest thing I’ve ever written it’s under the cut bc it has spoilers for my players I shall leave it here goodbye

-Mod Mom Friend

Salcis laid down in bed, staring at the ceiling with the vestiges of a smile on his face despite his weakness. The world had gotten so much better since he met the adventuring party, and now that the trains were working again and Elthrana had been dethroned, he’d been able to live a long, peaceful life. The necrotic disease was still around, but it was dying out now that he knew how to combat it and more people were able to. Life was good, and it had been for the last twenty some years. The world was coming back together, and it made Salcis’s heart full--he loved seeing new settlements spring up, knowing that they’d stay alive. He’d made an impact on the world, and every day he went to sleep with a full heart.

However, every day, he was getting weaker. The Mutaphraen had weakened him more than he’d ever have liked to admit, and he was old, over eighty years old now. That was old for a tiefling, and older than he’d ever expected to live. Even at fifty, he’d had the self-preservation of a teenager, constantly running into danger without any regard for consequences. He’d pushed his body hard, but it had been alright. And now, as he laid back and felt the tiredness begin to consume him, he knew that now, it had caught up with him. He would be able to die of old age, a privilege that very few had. That Elekas hadn’t had.

Every single day, he made the trek to Elekas’s grave. He lived in the closest settlement to his old one, so it wasn’t such a bad trek, but with every passing day it got harder. Today he could barely make it, but he did. And even though person after person who knew his history told him to move on, to fall in love with someone else, he’d never done it. Every day, he felt the same love for Elekas that he’d felt when they first met. Granted, it wasn’t quite the same; it was a sadder, more resigned love, a love mixed in with guilt, regret, and self-loathing. But it was still love, a love that would never go away, despite the years.

As Salcis lay there, knowing that he likely wouldn’t wake up tomorrow, he hoped that he’d be able to see Elekas. He hoped that, wherever he went, that he’d be blessed with the ability to see his love. And he wanted to know if Elekas forgave him. Each day, his heart broke a little when he considered that Elekas might still hate him, even after Salcis had done everything he could to repent for what happened. Pragmatically he knew that it was the Mutaphraen, and he wouldn’t blame anyone else if they’d done it. The necrotic magic was powerful. But...with himself, it was different. The destruction was so widespread, and it had taken away the best thing in his life. No, not it--he. He had taken away the best thing in his life.

Hopefully, Elekas was proud of him. Hopefully Elekas saw that Salcis had devoted his life to making sure what happened to him never happened to anyone else, ever again. But death wasn’t exactly a forgivable offense. Regardless, it wasn’t like Salcis could put it off anymore. Even as he lay in bed, he could feel his life retreating. Each day had been harder and harder to get through, and he seriously doubted that he’d even wake up tomorrow, much less be able to get out of bed. One way or another...he’d hopefully get to see Elekas.

So as Salcis’s eyes drifted shut, he took a deep breath and did his best to smile at the ceiling, hoping Elekas would see. “Thirty years...it’s been too long, faeli. Hopefully, we can see each other again. Hopefully our love has stood the test of time, as much as I’ve tried to ruin it. Hopefully...you can forgive me after all I’ve done.”

And with that, he breathed his last, feeling his soul ascend into heaven.

When Salcis next regained consciousness, he stood in what looked like the house that he once shared with Elekas. However, there was a glow to it, it looked ethereal, and Salcis was young again, looking like he did when he first proposed. And, most importantly, in the chair that he always occupied, sat Elekas, smiling up at Salcis. For once in his life, Salcis was speechless, simply staring at the love of his life, because it had been so long, it had been so damn long, and the sight of this person, the sight of his whole damn world, was bringing him to tears as the words that he’d wanted to say for a solid thirty years caught in his throat.

“Salcis, my love, it’s been thirty years too long,” Elekas said, and his voice was like music, and he wasn’t angry or hateful---love was what showed, pure love, and it was just too much. Salcis broke down, cried like a baby as he ran up to the love of his life and hugged him, held him close, because he’d gone without this for thirty long years. He was so real, he had the gentle scent of all his herbs like he always had, his skin was as soft as usual, his voice sounded perfect, and Salcis had him back. Salcis had him back.

“Faeli, oh Faeli...I am so sorry, I can’t tell you how much I’ve wished I could have gone back and died in your place, you could have done so much with your life, Elekas, faeli…” But Elekas interrupted him with a kiss.

“Salcis, love, you’ve done so much. You’ve saved our world, you’ve helped so many. And all for me...how could I not forgive you? You did everything. You did all you could to repent and you did so much more than anyone else would have. My love, I’ve said I’ll love you for all of time and it’s true. It doesn’t matter what I could have done in life. We’re together now.”

“But thirty years...thirty years...I am so sorry, faeli,” Salcis sobbed into Elekas’s shoulder, shaking. He’d dreamed of this moment, dreamed of it for years. At least once a week Elekas appeared in his dreams, if not more often, and every time it made him wake up yearning for everything Elekas could bring. And now he had it again.

“I agree, thirty years was too long, but now we have an eternity together. I’ve been watching over you. I wanted to know if you were alright. You were so brave, love. You were so brave. I can’t imagine all the horrors you’ve been through, but it’s over now. Salcis, you’ve made it. And we never, ever have to be apart again.” At that, Salcis kissed Elekas again, slow, tender, with the knowledge that they had an eternity together and there was no need to rush. Each motion was gentle and deliberate, taking the time to explore each other for the first time in thirty years, and when they broke apart Salcis glowed, tears of joy running down his face.

“Elekas, you are the light of my life. You are everything. And I’m so glad...so, so immeasurably glad that I’ve made you proud.”

“I can’t express how wonderful the things you’ve done have been. Everything I watched you do made my heart soar, knowing that this was the person, the beautiful, strong person, that I would spend eternity with. I chose you so many years ago, chose to be with you when you asked me, knowing that we’d be able to make it, and every single day for thirty years I have been more and more proud of my decision.” Salcis kissed Elekas yet again, brushing kisses across his face, neck, just barely being able to believe he had this perfect man back.

“You’re so much more eloquent than I am, love,” he murmured between kisses. “I just...I’ve been thinking of what to say for thirty years when I see you again and somehow none of it measures up to what I’m feeling right now. I can’t express how relieved I am that you forgive me, how happy I am that you’re proud of what  I’ve done...I just…”

“You have an eternity to find the words, love,” Elekas said with a smile. “Now, dearest. Tell me all about your adventures. And,” he added, his eyes sparkling, “you can take your time.”

Salcis beamed, and the story began.  

[sneeple-confirmed]

November Writing: Day Eight (Lialda)

Hi all, Mod Mom Friend here! Today’s fic was inspired by “Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time” by Panic! At The Disco. So here’s my attempt at writing the aftermath of a party despite having no experience in the area! Hope you enjoy!

The first thing Lialda was aware of was an absolutely pounding headache. A groan escaped her throat, and she was barely realizing that she had, in fact made that noise. Okay, okay, objective one. Where was she? Experimentally, she cracked open an eyelid. Bright. Gods, that was bright. Lialda instinctively brought up a hand to cover her eye and missed completely, smacking her lip. She could feel the residue of lipstick smearing on her face. As one eye adjusted to the light and her headache only got marginally worse, she gradually opened the other. After the initial pain, she realized she was on the floor of an inn room. Not an unfamiliar sight, but this inn she completely didn’t recognize. She shivered, folding her arms until she realized that she was, in fact, wearing nothing besides her smallclothes.

Still not unusual, but less than desirable.

Clumsily, Lialda stood, looking around. Where the hell were her clothes? Come to think of it, where was anything she’d brought? What had she even worn? What happened last night? Eventually, she found a flashy dress, one that looked like she might have worn it to perform. Who else would have worn it? Doing her best to at least put it on enough to be able to be seen in public, she looked around. There were two people, a male half-orc and a female halfling, in the bed. Awkward. It’d probably be best not to wake them. Damn, her head hurt. Lialda put her hand to her head and felt something cold pressing against her temple. Upon examination, she was wearing an engagement ring. Shit. Hoping she wouldn’t see what she thought she saw, she headed over to look at the two people in the bed. The halfling, at least, was wearing an identical ring.

Double shit.

Lialda took the ring off like the metal would burn her, and set it on the nightstand. She didn’t want to have anything to do with it, and, with any luck, the people in the bed remembered just as little as she did. Time to make an escape. Almost tripping over a bottle, one that looked like it had at one point held some of the most expensive liquor money could buy, she headed out of the room, shutting the door a little too hard behind her. Great. Now to find her actual inn room. Well, the quickest way was just to ask the innkeeper. He’d clearly been through this before, and if there was one thing that Lialda Anela didn’t have (besides any recollection of the previous night) it was shame.

When she finally managed to make her way down to the front desk, the innkeeper looked at her and chuckled. And as Lialda caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, she could tell why. Not only was her makeup smeared and her hair mussed, her face was pockmarked with lipstick stains, none of them hers and very few from the same person. On top of that, she’d somehow managed to put her costume on backwards and inside out without realizing it. The man smirked and gave her a copy of the key. “You’re in room 201,” he chuckled. “Seems like you had fun.”

“The fun doesn’t have to be over,” she replied, winking as she left. She didn’t even really know what had just happened, but flirting was a basal instinct, and, again, Lialda felt no shame for it. Usually she had higher standards, but she could barely see straight, so she’d give herself a pass on that one.

Finally, Lialda managed to get to her room, finding everything within it somehow relatively intact. Everything was in its proper place, she could find some clothes (and check the room’s looking glass to make sure they were put on correctly), and she could actually drink some water to hopefully help with this damned headache. As she moved about her day, she managed to get flashes of what happened last night. There was a lot of alcohol, plenty of flirting...she’d performed, and a few people had admired her. She vaguely recalled wearing the armor of a man in the bar and then stripping it off. Perhaps in a more showy way than most might. And there was the threesome that she barely remembered. Lialda had a vague feeling that the sex had been...less than vanilla...and that they might have said some things that everyone would regret in the morning. Like a proposal maybe.

Eh, she’d done worse.

Lialda washed the makeup off her face, grinning at herself in the mirror as she packed up everything. Time to move to the next town over and find a good inn to play in. And maybe, just maybe, do all of this again.

[sneeple-confirmed]

November Writing: Day Seven (Wixia ft. Ekemon)

Mod Mom Friend, back with some more writing! We’re about a quarter of the way through! Today, the prompt was, “I can hear you crying, you know. At night. When you think no one is listening.” Source is this post by @serving-inspiration! And of course I borrowed Mod Snooth Snalking Snatan’s boy because we need more than one person for this prompt! Feel free to request anything, and I absolutely love feedback! Hope you enjoy!

“Hey Wix? Can I ask you a question?”

The gnome heard Ekemon’s voice, and some part of her immediately wanted to turn over and have a conversation. This lack of human contact, meaningful human contact, was grating on her; she’d been so incredibly used to living with others and telling them everything. And now that she’d shut herself off to protect them from her demon? Sure, she was traveling with three other people, but God, she’d never felt so alone. A huge part of her wanted to just sit next to him, just like she used to with her little brother, and spill her guts.

But she shoved that part of her down hard.

“Nope,” she responded coolly, her voice void of emotion.

“How can I get you to talk to me?” he asked.

“Can’t,” Wix replied, biting her lip to stop more words. There was a pause, and Wix was about to look and see if Ekemon had left, turned away, decided to do something else…but instead, he replied.

“You’re not a robot. You need someone. You’re not meant to be alone.” Wix took a deep, shaky breath, begging herself not to break at what she knew was the truth.

“And why do you say that?” she asked, not really wanting to know the answer but feeling like she had so say something. Her voice was still cool, detached, but her heart hurt, and she swore she could hear her demon laughing at her.

“I can hear you crying, you know. At night. When you think no one is listening.” Wix’s head snapped up. She always made sure everyone was asleep. Always. And she always wandered away. But maybe Ekemon was just bluffing, maybe he just was trying to get a rise out of her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Thankfully, she’d started this conversation turned away from Ekemon, so he wouldn’t see the hot tears rolling down her cheeks. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to rip off her shirt and show him the scars that the men left her, tell him that this was why the demon was there. She wanted to tell him she never slept because she was afraid of what she might do when she wasn’t on her guard. And she wanted to tell him that she wanted, with all of herself, to just have a friend. The other things…they’d be bearable if she had someone around to help her through. But she hid the shuddering breaths, hid the tears.

“Wix, I want to help you,” he said, his voice soft. Gods, this absolute child was too pure, too naive. Helping people got you almost nowhere, Wix knew. Too often, other urchins didn’t show any gratitude for being helped out. You didn’t do selfless shit. It was stupid. Setting yourself on fire to keep other people warm was the dumbest thing anyone could do. And here’s this tiefling bard, just sitting here and wanting to help the broken little gnome next to him.

Despite herself, the tears came faster. So few people actually wanted to help, and sure it was naive, but it was just…it was a nice gesture. But he couldn’t know that. And she wasn’t allowed to feel that. When she let someone into her heart, she let the demon have stock in them too, and that absolutely couldn’t happen. “That’s stupid,” she spat back. “Won’t do you any good.”

“It’s not about doing me good. And it’d make you happy. I don’t think I’ve seen you smile since we met. Not once. Everyone smiles.”

“Not me.” God, it had been nice to have a reason to smile. Wix missed Erlin like crazy, her dumb baby brother who she loved more than anything else. She knew he was okay–she’d feel something if he wasn’t, and he was smart–but he’d been a big source of light in her life. He always knew how to make her smile, even when she was at her worst. But that was gone now. She’d been dumb and gotten herself caught…and then she’d been even dumber and called on this demon. Stupid things happened, and the days of smiling were over. “You don’t have to smile to survive.”

“Sure, you’re surviving. But you aren’t living,” Ekemon told her. “Just let me be your friend, okay? We’re more alike than you think.” The thought of someone being like her, of someone going through what she’d gone through, struck fear into Wix’s heart. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want it for anyone. No one should go through the shit she went through. And Ekemon didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. He just didn’t know.

“You aren’t like me. And if you have any sense of self preservation, you’ll never be.” Wix got up, glared at him. And then she walked away, so she’d have some space to cry. Tentatively, she climbed a tree, knowing that it’d be harder to see her, and curled up in on herself. She tucked her knees into her too-large shirt, and she wept silently into the fabric, taking extra care that Ekemon wouldn’t be able to hear this time.

You realize that if you embraced me, you wouldn’t feel like this, Wix heard in her demon’s trademark, gravelly voice. Rage shot through her, and Wix slammed her head against the tree, wincing and feeling dizzy.

“Get out of my head, you bastard!” she hissed.

Just kill them all, and I’ll make sure you don’t feel any pain. It’ll be easier that way.

“Shut up. Shut up.” Her voice shook as she chanted it like a mantra, curled up in the boughs of the tree. And that was where she slept, hoping that anything that she might do in the night would be mitigated by her actually having to get out of the tree. She’d never actually done anything in her sleep, but there was a first time for everything and she absolutely would not kill any of these people.

Because despite her best efforts, they’d managed to worm their way into her heart. And she wouldn’t let any harm come to them. She’d rather fall to her death trying to get out of a tree in the middle of the night than take that risk. She loved these people more than she loved herself.

But then again, that wasn’t a terribly high bar.

[sneeple-confirmed]

November Writing: Day Four (Jherri)

Hi all! I felt like my new girl deserved a lil love, and since she’s a gladiator and I needed to practice fighting scenes, here we go! --Mod Mom Friend

4.  Victory

Jherri walked into the arena, her tail swishing back and forth on the packed sand, occasionally sending a pebble skittering. Her white scales gleamed in the sun, her sapphire eyes shining as she looked around. The audience was excited, as always--dragonborns were always interesting to the common people. This was a fairly sheltered city, and no one had seen anything like her before. Part of her felt uneasy, but there was a degree of calm that would never leave. As always, she could feel the familiar imprint of her holy symbol on her breast, and it comforted her. Torm was looking down upon her. And she had to make him proud.

Twirling her trident experimentally, knowing she had to excite the masses, she gently smiled at her opponent, a large, burly commoner. He glared back, spitting at her feet. Jherri had ceased being surprised at this--those who made their living by injuring others were rarely good people. A few were chivalrous, and those she had a rapport with. Those, she did her best to simply knock out, rather than kill. However, too often, she’d see her opponent before the match, throwing insults at others, bragging about the kills they’d made, or harassing any female that happened to be nearby. It made Jherri’s blood boil to see. She certainly felt remorse on the few occasions that death had to happen, and her first stop after any of these matches was to pray to Torm for forgiveness.

Yet, she couldn’t deny the looks of relief she saw from many members in the audience when she won against these types of people. So she had to remember that, unless there was no other option, it was not her place to decide who deserves to live.

The gates to the arena shut with a clang, and the crowd roared. Her opponent spun his greataxe above his head confidently, showing off his muscles. He remained unarmored--the surest sign of an overconfident man. The opponents who chose to show off their bodies in lieu of protecting their bodies were the ones that she worried for--if they survived their bout with her, they likely wouldn’t survive them with someone else. Jherri did her obligatory pre-show flourish--she tossed her trident up in the air, catching it as it came down and slashing in a circle. An impractical attack, but one that made the audience cheer regardless. These matches weren’t about skill. They were a performance art, so even when she heard the signal to begin, she continued to twirl her trident as she advanced.

Her opponent grinned, spinning theatrically as he came at her. However, the attack was highly telegraphed, and Jherri easily ducked out of the way, the axe not even coming close. She stopped the spinning of her trident to thrust it forward, scraping the man’s side. Not a fatal wound, she preferred not to kill if she didn’t have to. But by the way the man recovered immediately and leapt right back at her, Jherri assumed that this wouldn’t be a battle where someone yielded.

Again, the man roared, and swung at her. This time she deflected the blow with her trident and leapt to the side. She could have done him in right then and there. He’d opened himself up to a well-aimed throw. However, she held off. They had to prolong the battle, give the spectators what they paid for. So when the man recovered and swung again, she simply deflected, biding her time, backing away. She’d grown complacent, expecting the wild, telegraphed swings, so it threw her off guard when he shoved her back with his axe. As such, she fell back, and when the man prepared another strike, she knew she couldn’t roll out of the way. So she instead rolled on her side and used her tail to sweep the man’s feet out from under him, affording her just enough time to stand. Ugh. She’d have to practice her speed.

Jherri backed up, readying a throw of her trident. Her aim was true, she’d be able to end this dramatically. She reached her arm back, wanting to apply as much force as she could...and she threw. The trident spun through the air...and missed, clattering off the walls of the arena and falling to the ground, leaving Jherri defenseless. Advancing on her, the man smirked. “This is what you get, you lizard bitch. People like you don’t deserve to live.” And he raised the axe above his head.

Before he could swing it down, Jherri took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling chill permeate the air around her and fill her mouth. She’d exhaled a small blizzard, the blasting snow leaving red welts on the man’s exposed skin, and she used that advantage to sprint past him and grab the trident. Okay, the throw could work again this time. The man wasn’t moving, she had a clear shot. And this time, the trident went home, piercing the man’s body. It didn’t fully skewer him, but it certainly stuck, and he screamed in pain. Jherri ran forward and ripped it out, making the man scream again, and with that she slammed the butt of the trident over his head, making him fall to the ground, motionless but alive.

The crowd roared--though the show was shorter than normal, it was majestic--few ever got to see a dragonborn fight, much less see the use of the breath weapon. Jherri, however, ignored it for the time being and knelt next to the man, setting her hands on his shoulders and channeling a little bit of divine power into him, hoping to help mitigate the damage she’d done. It was not for her to decide whether he lived or died, but the fact that Torm allowed the healing to happen meant it must be just. She stood and smiled up at the audience. “By Torm’s grace, this battle has been won,” she shouted.

And, as always, the audience cheered.

[sneeple-confirmed]

November Writing: Day Three (Elethin)

Hi all, Mod Mom Friend reporting in! on this fine day I present to you the destruction of my purest character, Elethin Nunael! The prompt for today was “Nah, don’t worry, I saw it coming. I prepared myself well.” with a side order of “I know you love me, but I’m sick of lying when I say it back.” Prompts are from @gxxnas​ here and @prompt-bank​ here! So let’s relish the destruction of my pure darling half elf boy.

Tears streamed down the human’s face as she looked up at Elethin. She bit her lip and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry I have to do this. I know you love me, but I'm sick of lying when I say it back." Elethin smiled at her, a smile that just barely didn’t reach his eyes. But it didn’t seem like there was any malice. Just pure resignation.

“Nah, d-d-d...don’t worry, I saw it c-coming. I p-p-p-p...p-p...prepared myself well.” Elethin took a few deep breaths to calm his stutter. There were no tears. His smile didn’t waver.

“I’m…”

“Sssh. I just want you to be happy.” In their whole relationship, this was the first sentence that Elethin had managed without a stutter. She grabbed his hand. Their eyes met, hers overflowing with tears and his dry.

“I’m so glad you understand.” Elethin nodded. Didn’t speak. “I...I suppose I’ll go then.” Again, silence. She let out one small gasping sob. Turned away. And walked off.

Elethin didn’t let the tears come until he was sure she was gone.

He turned on his heel, biting his lip so hard he begun to taste blood as he headed back to his apartment, the shitty apartment that he was forced into because he couldn’t hold a job because he was so goddamn worthless. So. Goddamn. Worthless. So. Goddamn. Worthless. The words repeated in his head like a mantra, punctuated by every step he took. Elethin vaguely noticed that he was attracting stares, and the anxiety started bubbling up until it was crushed by a tidal wave of sheer anger, anger at himself and everything that he was. Gods! Couldn’t he even walk home without feeling terror?! Could he even leave the house without anxiety? Probably not, Elethin reflected, because he was broken, broken beyond repair, and who would ever want that?!

Who would want a broken half-elf bard who can’t even stutter his way through a sentence, much less a song?

Elethin reached out to open his door, and fell short. He’d lost his right hand fairly recently, in a bar accident. Anyone else would have quit. But then again, just about anyone else had an option. Reaching his left hand out this time, he yanked open his apartment’s door much more harshly than necessary, making it almost fall off its hinges. It only served to solidify that his meager job in a bar wouldn’t be enough, it would never be enough. He’d never be enough. He’d never be enough for anyone.

As Elethin moved over to the lone table, sitting in a corner of the barren room, he saw the love poems he’d written her, the early drafts. With shaking hands, he lit a fire in the hearth, and one by one, let the letters flutter in. Watching their corners curl as the flames licked at the words, the words that couldn’t compensate, was oddly therapeutic. The flames, reflected in his eyes, rose up angrily, but once they ran out of paper to burn, they started to die. And as the flames died, so did his self-loathing. Now Elethin was accompanied by a steady stream of tears, slow yet hot as they trailed down his cheeks, as he did exactly what he always did: sat down to write.

Writing was all Elethin knew, all he could do. And he knew he wasn’t good--once he managed to save enough money to study at the bard’s college, he’d be able to improve, but for now his ballads and poems helped pay the bills when his wages at the bar weren’t enough. But more importantly, he wrote to survive. Too often, his voice failed him, the words couldn’t make their way past his lips. They died on his tongue. But somehow, the path from pen to paper was smoother, easier, and the words that felt clunky and heavy in Elethin’s throat flowed like a beautiful river onto the paper. The moment they were written, they gained beauty, and even without the use of his dominant hand, writing was infinitely quicker than trying to cope with his goddamned stutter.

And sure enough, his pen didn’t stutter as he wrote, his penmanship suffering as he wrote more and more quickly, the words begging to be written, his feelings begging to be released. The tears came faster now, messy, dripping onto the paper and making the ink run, but Elethin didn’t notice, he kept writing, because everything he’d held in was being released and nothing could stop him now. His shoulders shook with sobs, sobs that he’d stifled out of pure instinct, and the writing soon took up the page. Left hand shaking, curling in and out of a fist, he read over the poem. Not his best work. But no one needed to see it. He titled it “My Love” in Sylvan, the language closest to his heart, and set it aside.

And then Elethin hunched over on the table, sobbing into his folded arms, finally allowing himself to break.