[Prompt] Cleared Head

Lore World's End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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Enough! You’ve had enough! You have had demands made of you, large or small, that have pushed you to your limit. Where do you go, what do you do to clear your head and take a moment to yourself? Do you simply do a period of meditation, or perhaps relax in a pool of hot water? Do you go for a walk to clear your thoughts and organize your mind? Vent to yourself or an ally?

Info

This is meant to be a fun exercise, so there aren’t many rules.

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 the archive thread. Some prompts will be more thought provoking, some more whimsical. Respect your fellow writers.

Disclaimer: I cannot take full credit for every prompt. Some of these I create on my own, some are prompts I’ve seen that I’ve taken a WoW spin to, and some I’ve seen and used in the past, some are ideas spoken in passing between me and coworkers, or guildmates, or some are offered directly from folks on the forums. If I’ve been directly given a prompt from another person, I will credit them unless they do not want to. Otherwise, know some of these are gained through many means.

Archive: Kersia's Prompt Archive and Discussion

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Punch stuff. Death has not quelled this orc demonic blood and the brawlers guild is perfect stress relief.
on the rookie night its a pleasant comedic experience

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Giddis loathed Legion designs, he realized, as he turned his spanner, carefully adjusting a bolt on the flying machine. Legion engineering was an exercise in arrogance. Take, for instance, their standard warship. A massive flying fortress that was insanely difficult to bring out of the air, with a design built to accommodate all possible orientations in space.

Its full armament was exactly one cannon. Granted, a very powerful, magic cannon, but ultimately only one of them. One cannon, in Giddis’ mind, does not a standard warship make. Indeed, the Legion’s warships resembled nothing more than an oversized flying staff. The tinker in Giddis screamed at the ludicrousness of it all. To simply scale up a preexisting design, and not even take advantage of its new dimensions? It was about as close to heresy as you could get, in a gnome’s eyes.

Which was why Giddis wasn’t working on a Legion design. No, for once, Giddis was working on good old Azerothian blueprints. Or rather, absence of. Every bolt Giddis tightened on the flying machine did the opposite for some of his own, more metaphorical screws. He laid back on a small metal board with wheels for support, a toolbox close at hand, and a metal mask on his face to protect it from sparks.

He reached out a hand, and a mo’arg runt dutifully deposited another piece of the unassembled device. Without even realizing it, Giddis had begun whistling a little tune as he worked, replacing his spanner with a solder.

When he was finally done, he hopped in the pilot’s seat to start the ignition and test the engine. “You know, it’s felt like ages since the last time a prototype’s failed on me…” He muses. And like clockwork, a worrisome groan emits from the engine.

“… Ohhhhh, that can’t be good…” He says, just before an explosion launches him bodily forward, sturdy hide protecting him from the worst of the blast and the subsequent impact against the wall. He groans in pain, slowly working his way back to his feet. With a crack of his neck, he sighs. “Welp. Time to go blow up five more to figure out what I did wrong.”

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Fifty gold pieces for a simple teleport was rather expensive, but Tanthelara had learned to expect such from goblins. It was worth the cost just to get back to Eversong and away from chaos raging around her. A quick stop by her sister’s home for a change of clothes and she’d be ready for her journey.

Of course, “journey” was perhaps a bit generous. It was at most an hour’s walk to the cemetery where her beloved Fahr was interred. He was her grounding rod, her tether to reality when the world around became too much to bear, and for the past decade this had been their ritual. She would appear with a drink - sometimes tea, which she preferred; and sometimes ale or mead, which he always preferred - and would sit and talk with his visage etched upon the tombstone until the container was empty. Today she had brought an exotic liquor from the Zandalari.

She pulled up her familiar stone seat and sat at the edge of Fahr’s grave, fidgeting with the broken blade of his polearm in her jittery hands. After pouring herself a drink, she poured one for her betrothed and sat it next to the headstone, and then let her emotions flow. She talked at length about Sylvanas’s betrayal, about the fight between the Horde & the Alliance, about the return of the Old Gods, and everything in-between. She regaled him with stories about the opulence of Dazar’alor and the beauty of Zandalar; and confessed her sorrows from the ‘War of Thorns’ as they called it. She laughed and cried in their “conversation”, now one-sided ever since the paladin fell during the assault on Icecrown.

Minutes turned to hours and the sun set low as the carafe finally ran dry. Tanthelara knelt, her head dull from the alcohol, and hugged the tombstone in her bid goodbye with a familiar tear forming in her eye. She carefully placed the broken blade on top of the marker, gathered her things and left her fallen knight to rest in peace once more.

“You always were a good listener…” she thought, as the grave disappeared into the setting sun on the horizon. “Thank you… hopefully we’ll be together again, someday.”

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