[Prompt] Failure

Lore World's End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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((Back from visiting my folks!))

Expectations are high upon your shoulders. Normally, you would not fail at this time. Yet, it has happened. You failed your task. How do you feel?

Should it be possible, you find yourself able to repeat your task. Surely you wouldn’t fail again. Before this, you had never failed at this task. Yet again, however, you have failed. Now how do you feel?

What do you do now?

Or do you reject your failure? Do you lie, run away? Do you lash out? After all, you never fail at this!

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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( Did you get stuffed on homecooked meals? )

Pure rage. As a deathknight we where trained to complete the task given without remorse. To fail that task would be demoralizing but completely aggravating.

at second failure i would re evaluate my training. Something caused my failure and i need to root it out completely. I would prostrate myself before the deathknight teachers and ask to be completely reprimanded as if i were a trainee.

Then again, it really depends on what i failed. If i failed a alchemical project id just throw it against the wall and try again.

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Yes! I’ve awaited your return!
I hope your trip was everything you’d hope and more.

Aidoneus turned his gaze from his workbench. He had performed this runic engraving multiple times, but today was different. Today the whispers had return. He had been tormented by the ghasts from the Shadowlands ever since he had been raised from the grave. When Bolvar had taken the Helm of Domination their whispers had quieted, though never dissapeared, and here they where again.

“Failure” they whispered “Coward, Betrayer, always a Failure.” They floated around him. Tormenting him with whispers and memories.

“Quiet” he said “You are whispers nothing more. A mistake can be rectified.” Aidoneus began working on the rune once more. Carefully inscribing it into the metal breastplate.

“You will fail” he heard the whisper, and his hand wavered. Once more he stared at the ruined work before him, and they began once more. “Irredeemable” they floated around him “Coward, Failure” he gripped the blade at his side “Murderer!”

He yelled and swung his blade at the whispers. He was shocked when it connected. There before him was a cowering elf; bloody and bruised.

“Here we are again” the elf said to him “Unable to cope with our own failure.” The words stung, and Aidoneus dropped the blade. The elf, a grotesque corpse, bent down and retrieved the blade. “You know” he said “we can only ignore this for so long.”

“Quiet” Aidoneus said to him “You are a memory, a long forgotten memory, and I have buried you.” Though he stood tall; his voice quivered, and it was clear he was unsteady.

“No my friend you have not” the elf began “because every time you fail it seems like I end up before you.”

“I have come to terms with my, with our, failure. I have accepted the part I played why must you torment me!” Aidoneus yelled at the spectre before him “I understand we failed them, but why won’t you stay dead? Why won’t you be put to rest? I’ve tried to redeem myself!”

The elf looked at Aidoneus and smiled “You speak of redemption, but you won’t let yourself be redeemed. You prowl Eversong hunting the scourge, but limit yourself to the scar. You attempt to reconnect with our people, but they shun what we’ve become. You grasp tightly to the past, but the future is calling.” The elf handed the hilt to Aidoneus “We are not Quel’dorei, we are not Sin’dorei, we are something else. You seek to redeem us? Then accept your failure! Stop running from it! Stop fearing it! End your failure!”

Aidoneus gripped the blade, and he hesitated. Failure had been his reason for existence. Failure had been his driving force. Could he leave it all behind? He looked at the elf standing before him. A face he hadn’t truly seen in such a long time; truly looked at. When the face smiled softly at him; he found his resolve.

“Very well” he said “let us put an end to our failure!” With a swift strike Aidoneus cleaved through the elf. He knew their spirit would not rest, but rather had a new sense of purpose. He had long been trying to redeem his failure, but now he would push forward to future success.

Aidoneus began inscribing the rune once more into the breastplate. A sense of resilience and determination filled him. He no longered fear failure, but he looked forward to the opportunity to overcome.

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(yeah, though this prompt is heavily inspired by my failures turkey hunting this year lmao It did really make me wonder how some of my characters would react)

Kersia rubbed her temples, the smoldering remains of the frog splayed out on her table. “Odd.” She sighed. Her calculations were perfect. They always were perfect. Something must of tampered with the flow of mana.

“Well, this is why we beta test on frogs before friends I suppose.” The pandaren turned her arcane eyes on the crate in the corner of her lab.

“Ribbit.”

Kersia made her way to the crate and pulled out a new squirming, slimy specimen. She held it up to her faintly glowing eyes as she assessed its mana. “Normal. Normal in every way.” Kersia carried the frog back to where the experiment had failed. “Now, Xinaria might have demanded I return you unharmed, but she is currently indisposed.”

Kersia set the frog on the table and wove her hand over it. Arcane shackles wrapped around each of its limbs to keep it in place. “Vyn made me promise to return you to your original form, so behave will you. I would rather you not die like the other one.”

“R-r-ribbit.”

“Don’t take that tone with me! My calculations are absolute. It is your friend’s own imperfection that caused his demise, not mine!” Kersia glared at the frog on her table. “Not that I lament the world being down one more mortal.” She chuckled darkly as she reached for the same alchemical mixture she had poured on the prior frog.

The frog’s eyes grew wide and it began to struggle against its shackles. The crazy woman was coming closer. To fix him, she claimed. Why did he ever accept that job? Easy money, Tatiro claimed. Well now Tatiro was a pile of dead frog flesh. He would join him soon.

The pandaren neared and help the vial above. The frog closed his eyes and braced for death as the viscous liquid reached his skin. Pain, agony, all arched through his body as he thrashed about. Every bone, every cell screamed out. And then it stopped. He gingerly opened his eyes, expecting to be met with Bwonsomdi. Yet the pandaren was still there, looking at him with a curious expression. He took note of his body.

He was a cat.

“Interesting.” Kersia looked him over. “The mixture failed again.” Kersia snickered. She held the vial up and rolled it between her fingers. “I’ll have to reanalyze this mixture. It isn’t wrong, but perhaps zandalari don’t react as expected due to the nature of their loa.”

Kersia cackled wildly and left the cat chained in her lab for now. “I’ll be back in a bit, all this failure has made me quite hungry.” Hungry or angry? Kersia should of never failed. That potion was made with all variables considered. Well, it had been some weeks since her last hunt. Perhaps sating her palette with blood would right her thoughts and help her solve the problem.

In an instant, Kersia vanished. She reappeared deep within the forest, not as a pandaren but as a lithe blue dragon. Her senses dove into the flow of mana around her as she sought prey. Something she could toy with while she worked through her sense of failure. The formula was perfect after all. What went wrong? It couldn’t have been her, it had to be the subjects. Perhaps she should just be rid of them.

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I have been trying to get this story out, and I just always end up unsatisfied with it. I think I finally got it how I want it. Ironic isn’t it.
I hope it is worth the time to read.

The Human sat rigid and alert, his gaze focused on the book before him, and he scratched his chin in frustration at the numbers before him. The book, titled “Gnome Gnumbers and their Applications”, was a gift from a companion he had met on the Broken Shore. After the mercenary group the Human had joined with had been granted audience with Odyn; the Human had taken to wanting to honor the titan.

The Titan was a warfighter, but also a seeker of wisdom, so the Human had began to seek wisdom. Unfortunately, his frustration made it hard to concentrate, and so the Human placed the book down. The Human had made camp, and as the sun began to set the Human made preparations for dinner.

A simple recipe of fish stew, it seemed fish is all Boralus ever sold, the Human thoroughly enjoyed cooking, but the fish had been a tricky opponent and hadn’t been filleted easily. The stew would be small tonight.

As the Human pondered on the day it was apparent that the Human grew more and more frustrated. The Orc had been craftier than expected, and had eluded the Human. When the trap the Orc set had been sprung; the Human had no choice but to slay him. The Humans brow furrowed in frustration. It was then that he noticed that the stew hadn’t been stirred properly, and it had been ruined.

Roaring in frustration the Human dumped the stew on the ground. Staring at his paws now the Worgen growled. Very well, tonight would be eggs the Worgen thought. Cracking eggs with claws and paws proved to be more difficult than expected, and once more the Worgen found himself with a ruined meal. Enough was enough. The Worgen began to rage.

The Orc had eluded the Worgen and had been slain. The lesson of the day proved impossible to comprehend. The Worgen failed simple tasks like filleting, cooking, and even cracking an egg. As the Worgen threw the pans, smashed the pot, and clawed the ground the roars would be heard throughout the land.

Finally the Worgen sat in frustration. Steadying his breath; the Worgen dug through his pack and retrieved an old weathered journal. Opening it; the Worgen began with the first page. A small prayer to Elune.

Though the Worgen new Elune was real he was not a follower, but rather he said the words to remember. It took the Worgen back to those days in Darnassus. He sat at the river bank with that young Night Elf that had saved the Worgen’s life all those moons ago. She smiled as he stumbled through the pronunciation. When the Worgen was done; life was calmer.

Next came the prayer to Goldrinn. Though the wolf had been the cause of his curse; the Worgen still gave thanks for the strength. Rather than thank the wild god for the power to defeat enemies the Worgen thanks him for the instincts to protect the pact.

Finally came the prayer to Odyn and Eyir. Though he wouldn’t be considered pious by any sense; the Worgen felt a sense of acknowledgment when he spoke to them. The Worgen could swear that when he battled a Valkyrie would watch over him. Perhaps it was true, and perhaps it wasn’t. Either way it gave the Worgen comfort.

When the Human finished his prayers he looked around. Now that the Human was calmer the desctruction was apparent. Cookware destroyed, the camp torn down, and his supplies scattered.

The Human sighed and began to recover what he could. He ate cold jerky, and he began to contemplate the situation. While it was not ideal; at least it was another lesson learned.

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The temperate sea-breeze of Suramar was a welcome break from the tropical climate of Zandalar. As much as she admired the landscape’s natural beauty and felt herself intrigued by the mighty troll imperial capital, Tanthelara found herself weary of heat causing her best robes to become sweat-stained, of humidity absolutely ruining whatever hairstyle she attempted for the day, and -most importantly- she was absolutely done with the aroma of giant lizard guano permeating the air.

She inhaled deeply, allowing the sea-kissed air and floral notes clinging on the air to fill her lungs. While it certainly wasn’t Silvermoon or Eversong, it did have a certain familiarity and nostalgia to it, not unlike visiting the old home of a close friend. Gripping the reins of her manasaber tightly, she prodded the animal with her heels and began her journey into the forests. Officially, the manasaber was gift from the shal’dorei consulate in Orgrimmar as recognition for her aid against the Burning Legion and in the rebellion against Elisandre. In truth, it was the spoils of war - a trophy taken from a righteous kill.

Righteous kill - that was the Light within her heart talking. The essence beyond the wholly benevolent force the humans and dwarves worshipped; it was the unyielding, wrathful entity that she and the original Blood Knights were intimately familiar with from their subjugation of M’uru all those years ago. She shook her head, blocking the thoughts from her mind, and allowed it instead to drift towards others such as home, of life before the Horde, and of her beloved Fahr. A small grin crept across her face as her mind’s eye pictured epic scenes of battle on the horizon where her late fiancee would’ve stood victorious against the devils of the Burning Legion, his ebony and crimson armor glimmering as perspiration dripped off his brow and his blood-tempered ranseur held high, refracting the sunlight within its scarlet crystals.

In the distance and tucked away in the shadows of a fallen tree, Tanthelara could see the faint cerulean glow of what she was after - a starlight rose! She fell in love with the mystical beauty of these little flowers during the fight against the Legion, however had little time to learn how to appreciate them until recently. A handful of petals from several of these plants, when properly processed, produced a powerful magical ink with properties that the flora found elsewhere in Azeroth simply didn’t have.

Starlight rose could also be useful back home. With her savings depleted from the war effort, the thought of using the blossoms to train the wretches of Silvermoon’s western ruins to bring her the ill-gotten spoils from unfortunate souls certainly crossed her mind. The tiny spark of mana the flowers provided would be just enough to blunt the edge of the hunger pangs and cause them to associate her with the reprieve being granted. From there she would simply keep holding out on their “reward” until they did whatever it was she wanted…

“What is wrong with me?” she gasped, immediately after the scenario played out in her mind. It was unlike her to be so devious. Was it the void taking root in her heart? Blood rushed to her face, turning it red in shame for thinking such manipulative thoughts. Disappointed in herself, she dismounted the manasaber and knelt besides the ethereal blossom.

Gently cradling the rose with one hand, being careful to support it while not stressing it any further, she withdrew a knife from her satchel and hooked its curved blade on the stem a couple of finger-widths below the flower. Then, slowly pulling towards her while holding the rose still just as she had done dozens of times before, she separated the bloom from the rest of the plant. It was truly a beautiful specimen, and Tanthelara felt her spirits lifted for her discovery as she held it in admiration. However, no sooner than she began to stow it away, the blossom turned dull and withered, its petals turning to dust at the faintest of touches. She scowled. The key to their usefulness was keeping them whole until the time of use, otherwise whatever magical energies they had would just quickly evaporate into the air as this one did. But what did she did wrong? She did like she had always done - cradle the bloom with one hand, put the knife two finger-widths below the base, and pull in one fluid motion. Maybe the cut wasn’t clean enough? She wiped the rose dust off her hands and examined her knife. Nothing really seemed out of order there, after all it was simply a piece of curved iron about the size of her hand with a sharpened inner edge. The blade’s edge appeared to be honed still for the most part, barring a few dings here and there. Frustrated, she mounted up and began searching for another one. While not exactly plentiful, starlight rose wasn’t exactly rare in this part of Suramar, either. It wouldn’t take her long to find another one and try again. Or so she hoped.

The sun hung low in the horizon by the time she found another, peeking out from the ruins of her ancestors with one of the shal’dorei standing over it. She approached the elf cautiously, trying to make it clear that she was a friend and was there for the flower that twinkled in the man’s shadow. Her voice fell upon deaf ears, it seemed. She grew closer and noticed that something seemed off about this nightborne. He seemed in a trance almost, mesmerized by the delicate rose in front of him, swaying gently with the occasional twitch and brushing of the self associated with insect bites.

"Withered," she thought as she started to back away slowly. Sickness from withdrawal after longtime usage of magical energy was universal among the elves; her own people were nearly driven into the Legion’s arms by it in the years following the Sunwell’s destruction, and still bearing the telltale mark of fel usage herself, she was intimately familiar with how damning the hunger could be. The withered turned its empty eyes towards her, sniffing the air as an animal would search out prey.

"Does he see me?" she wondered. Dealing with a mana-starved shal’dorei was loosely similar to dealing with those suffering from the hunger in Quel’thalas, but far more dangerous. They were relatively fragile, yes, however their addled minds still held on to their memories in some deep, instinctive fashion. Whereas the ones who had once been her people might have been a handful of centuries old before succumbing to the hunger, this nightborne could have had millennia worth of life, of magical study, before entering the pitiful state he was now in. Fortunately for her, he hadn’t truly noticed her presence yet. Unfortunately, this meant that she could not ready a spell without the guarantee of drawing his attention.

She quietly weighed her options. It had taken far longer than she had liked to find another rose, but dealing with a nightborne wretch was something she’d rather not do. Still, she was confident in her abilities as a priestess who wielded both light and shadow, but the claw-like nails speckled with some dark unknown substance on him gave her pause. The nightborne sniffed the air again, this time turning to face her. Fate would make the decision for her, it seemed, as he slowly walked towards her, his pace quickening with every step.

The first lunge caught her off guard, giving Tanthelara scarcely enough time to manifest a portion of a shield in front of her torso where the muck-encrusted claws would have struck. Pivoting around him, she reached out to the Light and called down a bolt of fire from the heavens, scorching the creature and filling the air with the scent of singed flesh. The wretch shrieked in agony, momentarily stunned by sheer pain, and leapt at the priestess. He landed on her with a heavy thud, knocking her to the ground and pinning her while she hastily manifested a shield to protect her as he clawed and bit at her throat. Adrenaline pumping, she reached for her knife and desperately slashed at the wretch, its blade catching on the creature’s hand and nearly cleaving it in two. The blinding pain granted her enough of a reprieve from the assault to focus her mind on the void, and with a handful of words in the language of the Black Empire, she blasted her foe with a burst of shadow magic. The creature fell to the ground, its body immolated from the Light’s holy fire; its mind crushed by the countless whispers of the Void.

She took a few moments to recollect herself, sitting there on the ground with her defeated foe next to her. Slowly, she stood and made her way towards the rose that beckoned to her from beside a pile of rubble. Again, gently she cradled the blossom and followed through with a fluid pull of her knife - only for the rose to crumble into dust upon its severance from the rest of the plant.

Her spirits broken, Tanthelara mounted up for her return to Shal’Aran, the nearest friendly settlement to her location. Though a little more rustic than what she was used to, the underground ruins still provided a welcome respite and were far more luxurious than the primitive camps other races of the Horde endeared themselves to, now that the Arcan’dor had been returned to its former glory. Besides, night had begun to descend upon Suramar, and she could feel the weariness from the day beginning to overtake her. Failure, at even the simplest of tasks, exhausted her.

Dismounting her manasaber outside of the cavern entrance, she took a moment to admire the evening view, for in the distance above the treetops the glow of Suramar City illuminated the night and cast the forest in a dim violet hue. She smiled softly as she looked on, thinking about how similar the shal’dorei were to her own kin, how they faced the same dilemma and found similar salvation. She wondered if the nightborne under Thalyssra’s charge would forever bear the mark of their hunger, just as she and many other sin’dorei did. Her mind meandered among these and other things while she retrieved her possessions from her mount before releasing it for the evening to do hunt and prowl on its own accord. A light tap on her shoulder snapped her from her reverie and she spun around, searching for whoever was trying to gain her attention.

Nobody. She called out, but only the silent sounds of the forest responded. Below her, however something caught her eye. A slight twinkle, like moonlight on a river, accompanied by a cerulean glow…

She couldn’t believe her eyes. A starlight rose -whole and intact, save a few petals that had fallen off- lay before her. There was no way it was real. It had to be her eyes playing a trick on her. Maybe the void had finally consumed her and this was just another of its illusions. She gently prodded it with her foot. No, it was real. She nudged it again, rolling it over and causing it to shed another petal. It was real and beginning to wither. Not believing her luck, she scooped it up and stowed it away in her satchel. She might have an hour or so to get it processed - either into ink for immediate use, or preserved for use later. A huge grin crept widely across her face and she turned her gaze skyward in disbelief at the luck that had just befallen her. It was like fate itself was apologizing for earlier!

As she looked up, the purple hue turned blue towards the cavern entrance. An entire bush of starlight roses was there, clinging tightly to the stone surface, bearing several blossoms in full bloom. A breeze picked up, causing one of the flowers to shed several petals before detaching from the rest of the plant and falling onto the ground next to her. She picked it up as well, two more petals shedding from the flower from the movement, and stowed it away with the other one. The frustration and weariness from the day began to lift off her heart as she nodded towards the plant, quietly thanking it for its gift.

((this one went much longer than anticipated. The gist of it is that Tanthelara, while stubborn once her mind is set, gets disheartened fairly easily - hence the giving up after 3 attempts, even if all day was spent during those 3 attempts. Hope you all enjoyed!))

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