[Prompt] Birthdays

Lore World's End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
1

Once a year, everyone becomes a year older. Some are pushing thousands of years, some only tens. Years come and go without a care for what has happened or what is happening. If you are the sort to care about such things, how do you celebrate this day marking your aging? Or if you no longer keep track, is there anything special you do for yourself as you age? Was there a coming of age day you remember fondly? Have you participated in a coming of age ceremony or trial?

This is meant to be a fun exercise, so there aren’t many rules. I ask that posts be limited to two or three, as much longer is more like a short tale probably befitting its own thread.

Prompts are fun little things meant to inspire. You don’t have to perfectly match the prompt. Just let it inspire a thought.

I’m going to try and post these weekly, sometime between Saturday and Monday probably. Feedback and prompt ideas are welcome, so feel free to post them in here as well. Some prompts will be more thought provoking, some more whimsical. Respect your fellow writers.

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You can find me heading to the Steam Pools of Feralas with some dark beer and any dwarf I can find with a thirsty belly and a few good stories.

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I’m sorry Lass, I think this prompt is a dud. That being said I suppose I can jot down a quick summery for what amounts to the majority of my Dwarves due to them mostly being Wildhammer and holding the typical traditions there in.

Wildhammer Dwarves do not celebrate individual births throughout the year but instead celebrate every birth that has happened on a single day out of the year. So while Dwarves may have been born on separate dates throughout the year they all share a celebration on this one day.

Not sure if this is true of the other dwarven clans but seems to be for the majority of Wildhammers. Individual births are not celebrated so much as all life during this time. Do my characters do anything special??? They drink, and drink some more until they can’t drink no more.

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Raya sat at the piano, her bandaged hands dancing across the keys filling the parlor with music that echoed through the hallways and walls of the mostly empty manor. It was a simplistic chord progression, yet peaceful, its melody broken occasionally by an out of pace pause or wrong key, as her fingers slipped or couldn’t keep pace due to weakness.

Though she had never been a skilled musician, something had sparked the urge to play. The tune had been stuck in her head all morning and she couldn’t place why. She glanced at the sheet music periodically, grimacing each time her hands faltered. She let out a deep sigh as the song finished and clenched her hands into fists before her repeatedly, trying to flex dexterity back into them while glaring at the sheet as if daring it to comment.

Soft clapping came from the doorway“Aelona tells me you lit the kitchen on fire” Raya said without turning, still glaring at the sheet but seizing upon the distraction. He paused briefly in the doorway, wondering how she knew when Aelona had been downstairs helping him clean up the whole time but pushed the thought aside.

“You are not playing to your strengths” he said, trying to change the subject before stepping fully into the parlor. “We both know you are at your best when improvising, not working within a rigid framework.” She rolled her eyes and after some thought, set her hands on the keys, and began to play again. Once more the same simple yet ancient tune filled the manor.

Pauses blended into the song easier, but wrong notes were more frequent. She gave up halfway through, running her hands across her face trying to wipe away the irritation. “Or maybe you just need more practice?” he chimed in meekly. “We both know “why” it is difficult” she said angrily closing the cover on the keys.

She was surprised when his hand rested reassuringly on her shoulder. Theirs was not a relationship of romance, companionship or love, but of convince, yet every now and then they surprised each-other. She relaxed and turned to find him holding a cake, or at least what had to be a cake due to process of elimination. Clearly he had cooked this himself rather than use magic and it showed.

“What prompted this?” she asked him suspiciously. “Why your birthday of-course! What else would be today?” There was silence as she stared at him speechless, the last birthday she celebrated had been her five hundredth and she was a scant decade and change away from a thousand. “Why this one? Why now? Just… WHY?” she stammered “You mean to tell me birthdays are not something that you celebrate for yourself?” he asked. “Not for a long time!” she said though privately she thought to herself that it explained why that song was stuck in her head.

“Is this why you set the kitchen on fire?” “Not important” he said quickly as he cut her a slice of “cake”
It looked like a pie made of mud, and tasted of salt and char yet was somehow still moist. “And there are more surprises to come!” he said standing and bowing before rushing downstairs. Raya stared at the “cake” not sure how much more birthday she could tolerate.

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Too lazy to write a short story, but I will say Silvani often forgets her own birthday. She’s a workaholic, what can I say? Only way she ever remembers anybody’s birthday, let alone, her own children’s birthdays, is through her personal magical tome book. It’s one of those magically infused sentient books. It will often remind her of important appointments or events or such.

Though there have been cases where her poor tome isn’t able to notify her of anything due to occasional carelessness. For example, she might accidentally leave it inside her bag where it’s struggling to get itself unburied, or might accidentally forget her tome at home and it will start banging on the front door to look for her.
Poor thing, tis the life of a tome with a forgetful master.
Either way, Silvani feels awful when she forgets about her kids’ birthdays. But when she doesn’t forget, she goes out of her way to make sure it’s a very special and magical day for her kids. :tada::birthday::gift:

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Short story not required. :smiley: The purpose is to provide odd prompts, questions, and ideas to make us think of our characters in different ways, with various perspectives. Some are just day to day prompts, others detailed story starts. None require a long exposition.

Something so normal for us, birthdays. It is fun to think how our fantasy characters view and prioritize it. Thanks for sharing :3 A tome like that sounds almost like my poor phone calender and all its reminders lol.

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7

Raede stared out the window of his apartment. Here he was, another year older, based on the day. Exactly how much older than 1,000 he was, he didn’t know. He’d stopped counting then, because before that year was out he simply no longer cared to live. But he had so much change in his life since he turned 1,000 as well.

His 1,000 year birthday had been spent with his wife. She’d surprised him that birthday with the news that they were going to have a baby. That was very pleasant news to him; he was excited to become a father.

Before his next birthday, Quel’Thalas had fallen, his wife and unborn child slain. And for a few years, he barely continued existing.

Things slowly got better- he met another woman, but then again that relationship was bittersweet too. At least she was still alive- for now.

But she was human. And every year he got older, she got older. And, he knew that her time was short compared to his. How many years would she have left with him? 55, if he was very lucky, if she died of extreme old age and not death in battle.

He, a member of the Horde, could not support Sylvanas. But he didn’t have the option of fighting against her either- not right now. But his wife, a member of the Alliance, was out there fighting. And sometimes, she managed to come home.

But would she make it tonight?

He watched as a form wearing steel plate started coming up the stairs. Then, a knock on the door.

Revenwyn had come. This birthday would be worth it, because he would find peace in the arms of his wife.

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I couldn’t find the right words to story-up this idea.

Bal’thrul was an orphan infant in the internment camps, and has no knowledge of his birth. His ‘big brother’ Bal’thrul didn’t fare much better, he was taken as a youngling and aged with fel-magic, any memories were lost to the mindless rage.
Once a year, around the time they were liberated from the camps, they take a trip to Arathi, where Doomhammer fell, to pay homage before making their way to the coast for fishing. Something simple to celebrate the freedom they have, on the day that their lives truly began.

This idea also made me wonder if there’s a canon Orcish tradition for birthdays?

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