You fall asleep thinking you are about to get a good night’s rest. Little did you know, you were about to experience a crazy nightmare. What would you have as a nightmare? How fast would you wake up? When you awoke, would you be able to calm down and get back to sleep? Or would you seek comfort in a friend or lover?
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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 it’s own thread.
Prompts are fun little things meant to inspire. You don’t have to perfect 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.
Geshik did not often sleep well these nights. His dreams were plagued. Most nights, he woke with no memory of these haunted visions.
Tonight, he saw his village aflame, drowned in Forsaken plague, and his adoptive father, Reshal, standing over him, a dark, twisted mockery of who he once was. "The elements are weak, the ancestors are a lie! Death is the only power in this, or any other world!" He heard the screams of innocents, the death rattles of warriors dying in vain to defend them... and the vile magics of the witch that would deny them a clean death. Sylvanas, the Banshee Queen. Warchief of the Horde.
He woke with a start, just before the black arrow pierced his heart.
One of his grunts was giving him a look of concern from the opening of his tent. "Chieftain. You..." the grunt paused, then evidently reconsidered his line of thought. "We are nearing the old fortress the goblin mentioned." Twinaxe Hold, secreted away in Winterspring, hidden in a valley. And if they carved their way through the hills, they could establish a shipyard.
"Good. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can begin our raids." Geshik replied, still sweat-slicked, but easily pretending he had not just woken from a nightmare. He couldn't afford to burden his people with visions in sleep. He found it easier to feign control.
Regardless, he hoped that his nightmare would never become reality.
Tonight, he saw his village aflame, drowned in Forsaken plague, and his adoptive father, Reshal, standing over him, a dark, twisted mockery of who he once was. "The elements are weak, the ancestors are a lie! Death is the only power in this, or any other world!" He heard the screams of innocents, the death rattles of warriors dying in vain to defend them... and the vile magics of the witch that would deny them a clean death. Sylvanas, the Banshee Queen. Warchief of the Horde.
He woke with a start, just before the black arrow pierced his heart.
One of his grunts was giving him a look of concern from the opening of his tent. "Chieftain. You..." the grunt paused, then evidently reconsidered his line of thought. "We are nearing the old fortress the goblin mentioned." Twinaxe Hold, secreted away in Winterspring, hidden in a valley. And if they carved their way through the hills, they could establish a shipyard.
"Good. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can begin our raids." Geshik replied, still sweat-slicked, but easily pretending he had not just woken from a nightmare. He couldn't afford to burden his people with visions in sleep. He found it easier to feign control.
Regardless, he hoped that his nightmare would never become reality.
Deep within her dream, Asana darted among the lush green trees of the verdant Jade Forest. The laughter of pandaren children floated around her as they played a game of chase around the outskirts of Dawn's Blossom. They were surprisingly nimble for ones so small and they knew the terrain better, making it quite difficult for her.
Then inexplicably their voices began growing more distant. The switch was so sudden she stopped and had to reorient herself. "Hey, don't go out too far!" she called, but no response came back.
Before Asana knew it, they stopped entirely. She looked around and saw nothing stirring the leafy bamboo undergrowth of the woods. The children were gone and even the warm breeze had died, leaving nothing but the sound of her own beating heart and faint breathing.
"Hello?" she called again, unsure of what just happened. Something felt off now, this didn't seem normal and it bothered her.
She closed her eyes and listened again for any hint of noise. Silence. But when she opened them to her surprise the light was now inexplicably gone. What was once a bright sunny afternoon was now a dark moonless night. As if someone had hit a switch and shut the day off. The welcoming greenery of the trees was gone, they now loomed at her with quiet menace wreathed in shadows.
This wasn't right. Her nerves on edge, she fell into her usual battle stance, ready for a fight. It offered at least some sort of comfort and familiarity. "Ok, Asana. This is fine...perfectly fine. We're just going for a night walk, that's all..." she said quietly to herself, but unconvincingly.
A chill descended into the air that caused goosebumps to erupt on her skin. Then a child's laughter echoed throughout the area. Light and amused, the voice of a young girl. Unwillingly she flinched hard, the now broken silence catching her off guard.
"Who's there?" she asked into the shadows. "Mei, is that you? Or Nalia?"
The disembodied voice sang a poetic tune in return. "It's coming soon, it wants to play. When nighttime falls and kills the day." The girl giggled again. That didn't sound good and she couldn't identify where the voice was coming from, and now had doubts that it was really a child. It seemed to be all around her at once.
Asana started backing away slowly. The temperature seemed to still be dropping at a steady rate. Her breath was growing visible now and it felt like daggers of ice were starting to pierce her skin. What was the plan here? She couldn't fight what she couldn't see. And she didn't like to admit it, but her courage was fading fast.
The voice came again, closer this time as if taunting her now. "Is she lost? She won't be found. The trees are dead, they'll hear no sound."
Not wanting to wait any longer, Asana chose a random direction and broke into a sprint. She was struggling to keep the edge of panic down and only knew that waiting there was suicidal. She felt like prey being stalked by unseen and hungry predators.
She wove her way through the forest as fast as her legs would take her. The voice still continued behind her uninterrupted. "Run, run, run! It's all the same. It comes for you now to end the game." It laughed again, but this time it was not alone. A chorus of voices broke out in all directions around her. No longer amused this time, but dark and malevolent. A notable sadistic edge in their tone.
"Come out and fight or leave me alone!" she shouted vainly as she attempted to run from them, but her words seemed to die in the air. All bravado was gone now, only a desperate need to get as far away as possible remained.
(1/2)
Then inexplicably their voices began growing more distant. The switch was so sudden she stopped and had to reorient herself. "Hey, don't go out too far!" she called, but no response came back.
Before Asana knew it, they stopped entirely. She looked around and saw nothing stirring the leafy bamboo undergrowth of the woods. The children were gone and even the warm breeze had died, leaving nothing but the sound of her own beating heart and faint breathing.
"Hello?" she called again, unsure of what just happened. Something felt off now, this didn't seem normal and it bothered her.
She closed her eyes and listened again for any hint of noise. Silence. But when she opened them to her surprise the light was now inexplicably gone. What was once a bright sunny afternoon was now a dark moonless night. As if someone had hit a switch and shut the day off. The welcoming greenery of the trees was gone, they now loomed at her with quiet menace wreathed in shadows.
This wasn't right. Her nerves on edge, she fell into her usual battle stance, ready for a fight. It offered at least some sort of comfort and familiarity. "Ok, Asana. This is fine...perfectly fine. We're just going for a night walk, that's all..." she said quietly to herself, but unconvincingly.
A chill descended into the air that caused goosebumps to erupt on her skin. Then a child's laughter echoed throughout the area. Light and amused, the voice of a young girl. Unwillingly she flinched hard, the now broken silence catching her off guard.
"Who's there?" she asked into the shadows. "Mei, is that you? Or Nalia?"
The disembodied voice sang a poetic tune in return. "It's coming soon, it wants to play. When nighttime falls and kills the day." The girl giggled again. That didn't sound good and she couldn't identify where the voice was coming from, and now had doubts that it was really a child. It seemed to be all around her at once.
Asana started backing away slowly. The temperature seemed to still be dropping at a steady rate. Her breath was growing visible now and it felt like daggers of ice were starting to pierce her skin. What was the plan here? She couldn't fight what she couldn't see. And she didn't like to admit it, but her courage was fading fast.
The voice came again, closer this time as if taunting her now. "Is she lost? She won't be found. The trees are dead, they'll hear no sound."
Not wanting to wait any longer, Asana chose a random direction and broke into a sprint. She was struggling to keep the edge of panic down and only knew that waiting there was suicidal. She felt like prey being stalked by unseen and hungry predators.
She wove her way through the forest as fast as her legs would take her. The voice still continued behind her uninterrupted. "Run, run, run! It's all the same. It comes for you now to end the game." It laughed again, but this time it was not alone. A chorus of voices broke out in all directions around her. No longer amused this time, but dark and malevolent. A notable sadistic edge in their tone.
"Come out and fight or leave me alone!" she shouted vainly as she attempted to run from them, but her words seemed to die in the air. All bravado was gone now, only a desperate need to get as far away as possible remained.
(1/2)
Suddenly the ground beneath her feet vanished. Without warning she found herself falling and plunging into the water of an icy river. The cold bit into her deeply and she only managed to hold a small breath. She reflexively tried to swim to the surface, but it just grew more distant as some mysterious force pulled her downwards.
She scanned around and saw no sign of a shore at all, nor any land below her either. The only thing surrounding her was a watery black abyss growing deeper and darker by the moment. There was some kind of presence here, prowling nearby. Omnipresent and watching. No...she didn't want this! But no one heard her cries for help as she sank farther into the depths.
"No!" Asana screamed aloud as her eyes opened and she jolted up from her bed. Gasping in ragged breaths, her body soaked in a sheen of sweat. It took her a moment to realize where she was, in her own house.
She looked around the room, a sparsely furnished pandaren-style home. A beam of moonlight shown through the parted curtains. The shelves and desk were neatly organized, but her bed sheets were disheveled and her pillow was on the floor. Likely clawed away in her fit of terror.
A dream...no, a nightmare. Right, that's all it was. Now awake and alert, she was settling down more and more by the second. She took a few deep breaths and attempted to steady her heart rate. Something shifted next to her in the bed sheets, it startled her so badly she jumped back and smacked her head on the headboard.
"Ow..." She rubbed the spot and winced in pain. Well so much for calming down any time soon.
"What's happening...?" Ellva mumbled sleepily. Her ruffled red hair poked out from the sheets as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her small gnomish figure barely visible under the tangle of blankets.
"Nothing...I just had a nightmare is all." She tried to make it sound casual, but the images of the dream still burned brightly in her memory. The sounds of laughter as she sank into that abyss weren't fading as quickly as she hoped.
Ellva looked immediately concerned and narrowed her eyes. "Been awhile since you had one of those. Was it about...?"
Asana held up her hands and waved the question off. "No, no...I haven't had those dreams in a long time. This one was...different. Just random, I think. I don't know if there's a meaning behind it."
Ellva yawned and crawled over her to get out of bed. "Well I suppose I'm not going back to sleep for awhile. I'll get some drinks, then you can tell me about it."
That did sound pleasant. Hopefully it would help calm her down. She hated nightmares, it had been a long time since they finally stopped. In reality she was almost fearless, give her a challenge or opponent and the fight was on! But dreams had a way of getting under the skin...a truly unpleasant feeling. Part of her still wondered what brought this one on, and silently hoped it wouldn't happen again.
(2/2)
She scanned around and saw no sign of a shore at all, nor any land below her either. The only thing surrounding her was a watery black abyss growing deeper and darker by the moment. There was some kind of presence here, prowling nearby. Omnipresent and watching. No...she didn't want this! But no one heard her cries for help as she sank farther into the depths.
"No!" Asana screamed aloud as her eyes opened and she jolted up from her bed. Gasping in ragged breaths, her body soaked in a sheen of sweat. It took her a moment to realize where she was, in her own house.
She looked around the room, a sparsely furnished pandaren-style home. A beam of moonlight shown through the parted curtains. The shelves and desk were neatly organized, but her bed sheets were disheveled and her pillow was on the floor. Likely clawed away in her fit of terror.
A dream...no, a nightmare. Right, that's all it was. Now awake and alert, she was settling down more and more by the second. She took a few deep breaths and attempted to steady her heart rate. Something shifted next to her in the bed sheets, it startled her so badly she jumped back and smacked her head on the headboard.
"Ow..." She rubbed the spot and winced in pain. Well so much for calming down any time soon.
"What's happening...?" Ellva mumbled sleepily. Her ruffled red hair poked out from the sheets as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her small gnomish figure barely visible under the tangle of blankets.
"Nothing...I just had a nightmare is all." She tried to make it sound casual, but the images of the dream still burned brightly in her memory. The sounds of laughter as she sank into that abyss weren't fading as quickly as she hoped.
Ellva looked immediately concerned and narrowed her eyes. "Been awhile since you had one of those. Was it about...?"
Asana held up her hands and waved the question off. "No, no...I haven't had those dreams in a long time. This one was...different. Just random, I think. I don't know if there's a meaning behind it."
Ellva yawned and crawled over her to get out of bed. "Well I suppose I'm not going back to sleep for awhile. I'll get some drinks, then you can tell me about it."
That did sound pleasant. Hopefully it would help calm her down. She hated nightmares, it had been a long time since they finally stopped. In reality she was almost fearless, give her a challenge or opponent and the fight was on! But dreams had a way of getting under the skin...a truly unpleasant feeling. Part of her still wondered what brought this one on, and silently hoped it wouldn't happen again.
(2/2)
((Nice responses so far. I’ve enjoyed reading them :D I like exploring dream and nightmare concepts for characters, especially with our magical world capable of bringing dream to reality. ))
Xinaria tossed in her cot in the barracks. She was so tired. So exhausted from her training. She thought she would fall right into a restful and deep sleep. Yet her body tensed and tossed in the bed. Within her mind, she was trapped. Freshly lightforged, painful memories were brought to the front of her mind. Things she repressed. Things she wanted to forget. But she needed to face them. And now she faced them in her mind’s eye.
A small, plump red whelpling fluttered around a patch coated with eggshells. She was joined by many of her siblings. A large red dragon sat in the center of the hatching grounds. The air was cool and crisp, the sun was centered in the sky.
“Xinaria.” The large dragon cooed as she nuzzled whelp Xinaria.
“Momma.” The plump whelp returned the nuzzle.
The ground shook and the sky suddenly shifted from sunny to dark. Cracks formed in the earth as great green orcs climbed up from them. The orcs roared. They were taller than her and her mother. Her siblings vanished, the orcs beheaded her mother and captured her in a cage.
Xinaria bolted awake. She looked around the room frantically as her breathing slowly calmed. “A nightmare.” She mumbled. Xinaria laid back. “Light calm my heart.” She spoke a small prayer, as she tried to take comfort in the light.
Slowly, Xinaria’s eyes closed again.
“Fly!” yelled a great green face in Xinaria’s face. “Fly!” He shouted again as he climbed on her back.
“No!” roared Xinaria. “I am no one’s mount!”
“Then you don’t care about these!” shouted another orc. He slammed his axe through one of Xinaria’s eggs.
“Stop! No! Please!” Xinaria cried out.
“Then… fly.” The orc rider spoke through clenched teeth.
Xinaria flapped her wings, but did not lift off. She flapped harder, but just couldn’t get airborn. Hard, and harder, but no flight gifted her.
“Useless!” The axe wielding orc spat. He broke another egg.
“No!” Xinaria whimpered. “I… I can’t fly…”
“Your kin are useless!” The orc swung and destroyed all the eggs.
“Xinaria?” A whelp stood from one of the broken eggs. “Xinaria? Momma? I… died… Your… You killed me.”
The orcs were gone, but many whelps that never were stood up from under the broken eggs. “You condemned us all. You cursed us! We were slaves, or we died. We died. We died.” The whelps surrounded the young dragon.
“No, no…” Xinaria laid her head down. “No!” Reality formed as Xinaria bolted up in bed. Her heart, her breath, both were racing. It was still dark in Stormwind, but now Xinaria couldn’t get calmed. She sighed and tried to gain control herself. The light was her… her…
Xinaria burried her head into her cupped hands. If… If she had faith in the light then, would it have happened? Could she have broken free? The light would protect her now, but it didn’t save Teldrassil. Xinaria stood, unable to relax. The horde would pay, but… Xinaria remembered her trials. She needed to remember to face her hatred. Not all the horde were loyal to Sylvanas. Not all the orcs were part of Grim Batol… Not all orcs were evil… But…
All Forsaken were abominations against the order of life! Xinaria growled as she felt her hatred bubble. She stepped outside to try and clear her head. Undead… Undeath… Another type of life. Xinaria rubbed her arms. Another type of life. She sighed and took in the darkened surroundings. Kersia was probably up at this hour. Xinaria decided it was time to pay the blue a visit. It was always heartening to talk to the inquisitive woman.
Slowly, Xinaria felt her nerves release.
Xinaria tossed in her cot in the barracks. She was so tired. So exhausted from her training. She thought she would fall right into a restful and deep sleep. Yet her body tensed and tossed in the bed. Within her mind, she was trapped. Freshly lightforged, painful memories were brought to the front of her mind. Things she repressed. Things she wanted to forget. But she needed to face them. And now she faced them in her mind’s eye.
A small, plump red whelpling fluttered around a patch coated with eggshells. She was joined by many of her siblings. A large red dragon sat in the center of the hatching grounds. The air was cool and crisp, the sun was centered in the sky.
“Xinaria.” The large dragon cooed as she nuzzled whelp Xinaria.
“Momma.” The plump whelp returned the nuzzle.
The ground shook and the sky suddenly shifted from sunny to dark. Cracks formed in the earth as great green orcs climbed up from them. The orcs roared. They were taller than her and her mother. Her siblings vanished, the orcs beheaded her mother and captured her in a cage.
Xinaria bolted awake. She looked around the room frantically as her breathing slowly calmed. “A nightmare.” She mumbled. Xinaria laid back. “Light calm my heart.” She spoke a small prayer, as she tried to take comfort in the light.
Slowly, Xinaria’s eyes closed again.
“Fly!” yelled a great green face in Xinaria’s face. “Fly!” He shouted again as he climbed on her back.
“No!” roared Xinaria. “I am no one’s mount!”
“Then you don’t care about these!” shouted another orc. He slammed his axe through one of Xinaria’s eggs.
“Stop! No! Please!” Xinaria cried out.
“Then… fly.” The orc rider spoke through clenched teeth.
Xinaria flapped her wings, but did not lift off. She flapped harder, but just couldn’t get airborn. Hard, and harder, but no flight gifted her.
“Useless!” The axe wielding orc spat. He broke another egg.
“No!” Xinaria whimpered. “I… I can’t fly…”
“Your kin are useless!” The orc swung and destroyed all the eggs.
“Xinaria?” A whelp stood from one of the broken eggs. “Xinaria? Momma? I… died… Your… You killed me.”
The orcs were gone, but many whelps that never were stood up from under the broken eggs. “You condemned us all. You cursed us! We were slaves, or we died. We died. We died.” The whelps surrounded the young dragon.
“No, no…” Xinaria laid her head down. “No!” Reality formed as Xinaria bolted up in bed. Her heart, her breath, both were racing. It was still dark in Stormwind, but now Xinaria couldn’t get calmed. She sighed and tried to gain control herself. The light was her… her…
Xinaria burried her head into her cupped hands. If… If she had faith in the light then, would it have happened? Could she have broken free? The light would protect her now, but it didn’t save Teldrassil. Xinaria stood, unable to relax. The horde would pay, but… Xinaria remembered her trials. She needed to remember to face her hatred. Not all the horde were loyal to Sylvanas. Not all the orcs were part of Grim Batol… Not all orcs were evil… But…
All Forsaken were abominations against the order of life! Xinaria growled as she felt her hatred bubble. She stepped outside to try and clear her head. Undead… Undeath… Another type of life. Xinaria rubbed her arms. Another type of life. She sighed and took in the darkened surroundings. Kersia was probably up at this hour. Xinaria decided it was time to pay the blue a visit. It was always heartening to talk to the inquisitive woman.
Slowly, Xinaria felt her nerves release.
Having dozed off behind some crates in the storage room Adrae found himself creeping through a pitch-black, stone hallway, the only light being that of a torch he carried in his left hand. His right hand being occupied with his gun, the soft orange light from the torch reflecting off the metallic body of the gun's ornate body.
Slowly the walls of the hall grew further from the light of the torch before disappearing in the darkness all together, leaving him wandering in the dark void, his only anchor being the worn stone floor under him.
"Must be a hell of a large room..."
He weakly reasoned to himself as he moved through the seemingly endless darkness on a path unknown. He began hearing things, things moving in the darkness, the sounds getting closer as he moved forward.
"Just the rats, just the rats and my imagination..."
He reassured himself. He stopped and held the torch up higher, trying to illuminate something, anything aside from himself and the floor under him. No luck. He heard something moving behind him, closer, louder, faster as if closing in. Couldn't be rats, it sounded bipedal in origin.
Spinning around on his heel he fired his gun off in what he assumed had been behind him, the muzzle flash of the gun illuminated the area just further than his torch, and in the brief moment, he could have sworn he saw a figure dashing out of the way of the bullet which never made any sound to indicate it had stricken something. At this point Adrae had broken into a sprint away from what he think he saw. As he ran a soft and playful yet sinister voice whispered into his ear,
"You missed."
This caused him to jump forward while turning around mid jump to fire another shot into the darkness behind him. He saw the same figure in the flash again, this time it looked to be darting toward him. Having failed the gambit that was his jump he crashed into the stone floor on his back, the force knocking the wind out of him and the fire out from his torch.
(1/2)
Slowly the walls of the hall grew further from the light of the torch before disappearing in the darkness all together, leaving him wandering in the dark void, his only anchor being the worn stone floor under him.
"Must be a hell of a large room..."
He weakly reasoned to himself as he moved through the seemingly endless darkness on a path unknown. He began hearing things, things moving in the darkness, the sounds getting closer as he moved forward.
"Just the rats, just the rats and my imagination..."
He reassured himself. He stopped and held the torch up higher, trying to illuminate something, anything aside from himself and the floor under him. No luck. He heard something moving behind him, closer, louder, faster as if closing in. Couldn't be rats, it sounded bipedal in origin.
Spinning around on his heel he fired his gun off in what he assumed had been behind him, the muzzle flash of the gun illuminated the area just further than his torch, and in the brief moment, he could have sworn he saw a figure dashing out of the way of the bullet which never made any sound to indicate it had stricken something. At this point Adrae had broken into a sprint away from what he think he saw. As he ran a soft and playful yet sinister voice whispered into his ear,
"You missed."
This caused him to jump forward while turning around mid jump to fire another shot into the darkness behind him. He saw the same figure in the flash again, this time it looked to be darting toward him. Having failed the gambit that was his jump he crashed into the stone floor on his back, the force knocking the wind out of him and the fire out from his torch.
(1/2)
(2/2)
Now nearly blinded in the dark Adrae scrambled to his feet, stumbling as he did so and took off running away once more. As he ran he noticed the sound of his boots against the stone died out and eventually went quiet, the only sound being his heavy breathing. That same damned voice taunted out from seemingly multiple sources around him now,
"...forever you will lie, for your curiosity led you to die..."
Something struck him across the back, leaving a searing sting. Whirling around he fired another shot at nothing, no, not nothing, nothing can't inflict pain! He was stuck across the back again, he retaliated just the same, this continuing till his gun clicked. Empty. While there was no sound save for his own breathing he could feel the silent laughter of the thing or things stalking him.
The same searing sting ran up his right arm as something wrapped around it, both disarming him and dragging him to the ground. Freeing his right arm he rolled onto his back to try to stand back up but something or some things pinned him before he could. The silent laughter now a chorus of maniacal cackling, still ever silent. Trying to at least get a look at his attacker or attackers something forced his head back and exposed his neck.
He was held like that for what seemed an eternity before a sharp sting began running down his neck and into his chest, through the vest as though it was nothing. Tearing up slightly and gritting his teeth in pain, it felt as though whatever was inflicting this was writing, nay, carving something into his flesh. The movement of the assumed tool carving into his flesh only slowed, the pain intensifying as it did so, causing him to cry out in pain as it dragged on through his skin, carving whatever this or these things intended.
He couldn't see it but he knew he was bleeding, badly. After a torturous length of time the pain of the carving halted as well as the sound of the butchery that it was, but it was replaced with an odd, demonic, chanting by those malicious voices. Without warning something stabbed into his chest, shattering bone and rupturing anything in its path. The voices laughing, cackling, or giggling sadistically.
Jolting upright Adrae saw that he could see once again, the stack of boxes in front of him being there, unmoving and innocent. He was awake and alive. He'd found that he'd gone for his gun in his sleep, thankfully it hadn't been loaded however. Sitting up he reassured himself.
"Just a nightmare, Adrae. Nothing more, nothing less."
Still he had to make sure. Pulling off his vestment he looked over his chest, while still covered in the long thin scars along with the three much larger ones, no new scars had appeared. He hadn't been carved into in his sleep like the very real feeling nightmare had led him to believe.
Digging out his journal and a quill he'd start documenting the nightmare as best as he could remember, while definitely unpleasant, possibly downright horrifying. It did peak his curiosity in an odd manor.
Now nearly blinded in the dark Adrae scrambled to his feet, stumbling as he did so and took off running away once more. As he ran he noticed the sound of his boots against the stone died out and eventually went quiet, the only sound being his heavy breathing. That same damned voice taunted out from seemingly multiple sources around him now,
"...forever you will lie, for your curiosity led you to die..."
Something struck him across the back, leaving a searing sting. Whirling around he fired another shot at nothing, no, not nothing, nothing can't inflict pain! He was stuck across the back again, he retaliated just the same, this continuing till his gun clicked. Empty. While there was no sound save for his own breathing he could feel the silent laughter of the thing or things stalking him.
The same searing sting ran up his right arm as something wrapped around it, both disarming him and dragging him to the ground. Freeing his right arm he rolled onto his back to try to stand back up but something or some things pinned him before he could. The silent laughter now a chorus of maniacal cackling, still ever silent. Trying to at least get a look at his attacker or attackers something forced his head back and exposed his neck.
He was held like that for what seemed an eternity before a sharp sting began running down his neck and into his chest, through the vest as though it was nothing. Tearing up slightly and gritting his teeth in pain, it felt as though whatever was inflicting this was writing, nay, carving something into his flesh. The movement of the assumed tool carving into his flesh only slowed, the pain intensifying as it did so, causing him to cry out in pain as it dragged on through his skin, carving whatever this or these things intended.
He couldn't see it but he knew he was bleeding, badly. After a torturous length of time the pain of the carving halted as well as the sound of the butchery that it was, but it was replaced with an odd, demonic, chanting by those malicious voices. Without warning something stabbed into his chest, shattering bone and rupturing anything in its path. The voices laughing, cackling, or giggling sadistically.
Jolting upright Adrae saw that he could see once again, the stack of boxes in front of him being there, unmoving and innocent. He was awake and alive. He'd found that he'd gone for his gun in his sleep, thankfully it hadn't been loaded however. Sitting up he reassured himself.
"Just a nightmare, Adrae. Nothing more, nothing less."
Still he had to make sure. Pulling off his vestment he looked over his chest, while still covered in the long thin scars along with the three much larger ones, no new scars had appeared. He hadn't been carved into in his sleep like the very real feeling nightmare had led him to believe.
Digging out his journal and a quill he'd start documenting the nightmare as best as he could remember, while definitely unpleasant, possibly downright horrifying. It did peak his curiosity in an odd manor.
[[I don't believe in 'trigger warnings', but I will say that this post is going to touch on some pretty.. Uh.. Well, not great subjects. And is pretty long. Hopefully it does so semi tastefully, but yeah. Consider yourself warned.]]
[[As ever, writing 2500 words in an hour, after midnight, means I love typos.]]
[[Oh boy, here I go getting banned again. :^) ]]
He felt her draw him into the oceans of his own dreaming. Her ethereal hands pressed to his chest, arms dressed all in the deep blacks of sleepless nights and coruscating reflections of moonlight. Their back drop the snowy-hell of Alterac’s mountains, the soldiers gradually being dredged from the crushing depths of his regret. She was silent; she was always silent.
“You should let go now, Shendris. I’m past games.”
It was familiar. They were all familiar; he knew all of the snatches of memory she played before him. She had shown him Stratholme, bloody to the elbow and unsure of if the tears upon his cheeks had been for from the stench of the turned or the families who’d fled from them, seeking safety, only for he and his men to kill them. Roasted with the agony of the Orcish mother - not so much the flames, but the knowledge she couldn’t save her child from them - as he and Harford watched the hovel burn. Shendris walked him hand and hand through the village where his mother had taken them after fleeing Stormwind with her children but not her husband, sacked weeks after he’d left to join the Lordaeron army. His imagination had been the brush used to paint what the Orcs had done to her and his younger sister of twelve.
Hallinton never fought her, though he felt that he could. When she touched his dreams he knew that a part of her wanted him to, needed it even. He could have said that he felt guilt or found it amusing that she fancied herself his conscious. The horrors of his life were little price to pay to be so close. He burned to have her.
“You hold a sword with no hilt; all blade, double edged and ever-sharp. Wield it too many times and it it will cut back.” The hand of his dreaming reached out, found her, gripped down hard. A delicate elven hand in a scarred grip formed of fingers misaligned from so many breaks, pulling her down into the depths of his dreaming.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[[As ever, writing 2500 words in an hour, after midnight, means I love typos.]]
[[Oh boy, here I go getting banned again. :^) ]]
He felt her draw him into the oceans of his own dreaming. Her ethereal hands pressed to his chest, arms dressed all in the deep blacks of sleepless nights and coruscating reflections of moonlight. Their back drop the snowy-hell of Alterac’s mountains, the soldiers gradually being dredged from the crushing depths of his regret. She was silent; she was always silent.
“You should let go now, Shendris. I’m past games.”
It was familiar. They were all familiar; he knew all of the snatches of memory she played before him. She had shown him Stratholme, bloody to the elbow and unsure of if the tears upon his cheeks had been for from the stench of the turned or the families who’d fled from them, seeking safety, only for he and his men to kill them. Roasted with the agony of the Orcish mother - not so much the flames, but the knowledge she couldn’t save her child from them - as he and Harford watched the hovel burn. Shendris walked him hand and hand through the village where his mother had taken them after fleeing Stormwind with her children but not her husband, sacked weeks after he’d left to join the Lordaeron army. His imagination had been the brush used to paint what the Orcs had done to her and his younger sister of twelve.
Hallinton never fought her, though he felt that he could. When she touched his dreams he knew that a part of her wanted him to, needed it even. He could have said that he felt guilt or found it amusing that she fancied herself his conscious. The horrors of his life were little price to pay to be so close. He burned to have her.
“You hold a sword with no hilt; all blade, double edged and ever-sharp. Wield it too many times and it it will cut back.” The hand of his dreaming reached out, found her, gripped down hard. A delicate elven hand in a scarred grip formed of fingers misaligned from so many breaks, pulling her down into the depths of his dreaming.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Following a day of marching with full baggage with a night of walking in the cold, torch in hand and looking for enemies, was miserable enough. All the more so if Horde were out there, picking off patrols was the only fun they had since the war had turned. But when it came to night patrols even sergeants, at least the good ones, respected the sacred covenant of drawing straws.
Hallinton’s swung his blade in a wild arc of strength rather than skill. The orc deflected it easily, but it earned a few more feet of space between himself and the beast. He followed through, using the momentum to throw himself forwards and raise his left arm, the shield upon it blocking his view.
Humans were weak and piddly creatures next to orcs, smaller in every way. Even still, two hundred pounds of man, another fifty of plate and chain, all focused into a heater shield is enough force to steal balance if not break bones.
The shield spike helped.
The orc fell back against the rock wall of the narrow canyon, the arm which held its axe impaled to its chest by the spike on Hallinton’s shield. He dropped his own blade and jabbed up, just past the lower lip of his shield. Once, twice, five times. When he drew back the fifth time he pulled his entire body away away, right arm bloody to the elbow.
Taking other’s measure was a hard-earned which cost many men their lives, the kindest face could hide the darkest intent. Whatever force had fashioned Trolls had been kind enough to give them an honesty humans never had. Their forms were pure in their violent purpose, a perfect expression of the savage and murderous souls they hid.
The first axe cleaved the top half of Hallinton’s heater shield in half, slightly off center, and even with the mail armor it hurt enough that he would’ve sworn it took his arm off at the wrist. The second throwing axe lodged itself in in the lower portion of his shield with such force that it nearly pulled him forwards. On the ledge above the troll grinned - a pitiless andmarginally amused expression Hallinton would use many times in his coming life - and unslung another axe and the tip of an elven arrow erupted from its right eye. It seemed Celwyn had followed their patrol.
Grinning in death it fell into the ravine. Hallinton didn’t notice, he was already moving.
Behind the veil of the dream Shendris’ hand tensed in his. She’d shown herself - and him - her past blood to bone, and knew that no spat of violence was particularly interesting. He felt her pick at the corners of memory so bloody that she hadn’t explored them, and he felt her nerves when he made her watch instead.
“Hartford! You’d better not be dead! I for one am not dying on patrol in fecking Deadwind!”
He held his longsword in a two handed grip, the useless remnants of his shield discarded to the the stone path as he rounded the corner, ducking the next orc’s axe before fully registering the danger. His sword came up as as he did, over his head as his right foot came off the ground, a powerful sweep down with all of his remaining strength as his plated foot struck back onto the stone. It wasn’t enough to cut through the monster’s thick bones, but it cut the sinew and made its hands useless. A quick slash across the face opened a wound which would never close.
The next one came on more slowly, getting its footing and circling to the left, and clawing at an arrow which appeared jutting from its throat. Another into its open mouth brought it to its knees and Hallinton opened its neck as he strode past.
Swinging three pounds of steel quickly sapped the strength of even the strongest man, and that was before factoring in the weight of armor. Fatigue could’ve been why he didn’t notice, or perhaps the sound of his own heart filled his ears.
The orc came down from above and it was all Hallinton could do to throw himself out of its way and avoid being crushed. Greenskins were hulking brutes of muscle to whom speed should’ve been a foreign concept, but they went to work light on armor. It made them faster than they had any right to be, and this one was upon him before he could roll onto his back. The grip which took hold of him would’ve crushed his skull if not for his helmet, and even that it dented. The stone pathway dented the front as well, buckling in and rattling him. His nose broke on the second impact.
Above him the orc howled and rolled off of his back, leaving Hallinton to swirl in his own painful semi consciousness as its rage filled shouting turned to pathetic gurgle. Probably another arrow.
Darkness flecked at the edge of his vision, his last thought how much he loved that elf.
--------------------
Hallinton’s swung his blade in a wild arc of strength rather than skill. The orc deflected it easily, but it earned a few more feet of space between himself and the beast. He followed through, using the momentum to throw himself forwards and raise his left arm, the shield upon it blocking his view.
Humans were weak and piddly creatures next to orcs, smaller in every way. Even still, two hundred pounds of man, another fifty of plate and chain, all focused into a heater shield is enough force to steal balance if not break bones.
The shield spike helped.
The orc fell back against the rock wall of the narrow canyon, the arm which held its axe impaled to its chest by the spike on Hallinton’s shield. He dropped his own blade and jabbed up, just past the lower lip of his shield. Once, twice, five times. When he drew back the fifth time he pulled his entire body away away, right arm bloody to the elbow.
Taking other’s measure was a hard-earned which cost many men their lives, the kindest face could hide the darkest intent. Whatever force had fashioned Trolls had been kind enough to give them an honesty humans never had. Their forms were pure in their violent purpose, a perfect expression of the savage and murderous souls they hid.
The first axe cleaved the top half of Hallinton’s heater shield in half, slightly off center, and even with the mail armor it hurt enough that he would’ve sworn it took his arm off at the wrist. The second throwing axe lodged itself in in the lower portion of his shield with such force that it nearly pulled him forwards. On the ledge above the troll grinned - a pitiless andmarginally amused expression Hallinton would use many times in his coming life - and unslung another axe and the tip of an elven arrow erupted from its right eye. It seemed Celwyn had followed their patrol.
Grinning in death it fell into the ravine. Hallinton didn’t notice, he was already moving.
Behind the veil of the dream Shendris’ hand tensed in his. She’d shown herself - and him - her past blood to bone, and knew that no spat of violence was particularly interesting. He felt her pick at the corners of memory so bloody that she hadn’t explored them, and he felt her nerves when he made her watch instead.
“Hartford! You’d better not be dead! I for one am not dying on patrol in fecking Deadwind!”
He held his longsword in a two handed grip, the useless remnants of his shield discarded to the the stone path as he rounded the corner, ducking the next orc’s axe before fully registering the danger. His sword came up as as he did, over his head as his right foot came off the ground, a powerful sweep down with all of his remaining strength as his plated foot struck back onto the stone. It wasn’t enough to cut through the monster’s thick bones, but it cut the sinew and made its hands useless. A quick slash across the face opened a wound which would never close.
The next one came on more slowly, getting its footing and circling to the left, and clawing at an arrow which appeared jutting from its throat. Another into its open mouth brought it to its knees and Hallinton opened its neck as he strode past.
Swinging three pounds of steel quickly sapped the strength of even the strongest man, and that was before factoring in the weight of armor. Fatigue could’ve been why he didn’t notice, or perhaps the sound of his own heart filled his ears.
The orc came down from above and it was all Hallinton could do to throw himself out of its way and avoid being crushed. Greenskins were hulking brutes of muscle to whom speed should’ve been a foreign concept, but they went to work light on armor. It made them faster than they had any right to be, and this one was upon him before he could roll onto his back. The grip which took hold of him would’ve crushed his skull if not for his helmet, and even that it dented. The stone pathway dented the front as well, buckling in and rattling him. His nose broke on the second impact.
Above him the orc howled and rolled off of his back, leaving Hallinton to swirl in his own painful semi consciousness as its rage filled shouting turned to pathetic gurgle. Probably another arrow.
Darkness flecked at the edge of his vision, his last thought how much he loved that elf.
--------------------
He wasn’t sure when Hartford found him. It felt like several hours, but the older human told it as a few minutes. There were a handful of things which made time’s passage mercurial and funny. Having your head between an orcish fist and the unyielding stone of Deadwind Pass, with only a half inch of leather-padded metal to keep your brains from leaking out your ears, was one of those things.
Celwyn’s nails added more marks upon his back each night he spent in her tent, the shallow paths they ploughed adding to the permanent criss-crossing etched onto his flesh. Whips were tools of cruelty, not weapons of war, and Hallinton knew more about cruelty than most men in the Alliance. He’d known men who knew it better, but they hadn’t lived to be rescued.
He didn’t know what that time had left laying broken within him, but he’d felt it winding tighter as the war dragged on.
Being between Celwyn’s slender thighs helped. Her breath in his ear and her teeth in his shoulder, feeling the softness of the ranger’s unmarred flesh pressed to his scars, and times passing became more of a mercurial suggestion rather than inscrutable law. In losing himself in her he found something. Back then he thought it was hope for the future, but making Shendris look back at it through the lense of his experience, they both knew better. There was something down there, dark and potent. He could feel it bleeding into his wants and whims. Something sinister. He’d let her call it desire.
Afterwards, when they lay facing each other, he couldn’t have said where the shivers came from. What remained of the Black Morass was not warm and the thin military-issue blanket did little to keep it at bay, but her hands exploring his scars made him ravenous.
“Seventeen. Seventeen, and so many scars..” There wasn’t any edge to her voice, just like there wasn’t any edge to her name. It flowed smoothly. She was prone to musing; once she'd told him that all great loves end in violence.
“I have more than my father did when he stayed behind in Stormwind and I’m not even half his age. But he was a carpenter, not a soldier. I would’ve been one to if.. If not for the orcs. But then I never would’ve met you.”Hallinton rolled onto his back but his head didn’t move, gaze still boring into the glowing blue of her eyes.
“Tomorrow,” He paused, searching for the words. He hadn’t had the idle years to become eloquent yet back then, he’d been too busy learning to kill, “if we’re not dead, I want you to leave camp with me. Not on patrol, but on a walk. It’d be.. Romantic.” His hand moved to her thigh and she caught it, deft little fingers entrapping his wrist and guiding it upwards. Elsewhere. Deeper. She grinned and pressed to him, lithe and taut beneath the blanket. All slender elven curves and the supple muscle of a predator.
“I’m two-hundred and thirty, you know."
The mist of Hallinton’s dream thickened, but through it amusement crossed Celwyn’s eyes, amusement and fascination, and nothing else.
There was never any doubt that she would be his, forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Celwyn’s nails added more marks upon his back each night he spent in her tent, the shallow paths they ploughed adding to the permanent criss-crossing etched onto his flesh. Whips were tools of cruelty, not weapons of war, and Hallinton knew more about cruelty than most men in the Alliance. He’d known men who knew it better, but they hadn’t lived to be rescued.
He didn’t know what that time had left laying broken within him, but he’d felt it winding tighter as the war dragged on.
Being between Celwyn’s slender thighs helped. Her breath in his ear and her teeth in his shoulder, feeling the softness of the ranger’s unmarred flesh pressed to his scars, and times passing became more of a mercurial suggestion rather than inscrutable law. In losing himself in her he found something. Back then he thought it was hope for the future, but making Shendris look back at it through the lense of his experience, they both knew better. There was something down there, dark and potent. He could feel it bleeding into his wants and whims. Something sinister. He’d let her call it desire.
Afterwards, when they lay facing each other, he couldn’t have said where the shivers came from. What remained of the Black Morass was not warm and the thin military-issue blanket did little to keep it at bay, but her hands exploring his scars made him ravenous.
“Seventeen. Seventeen, and so many scars..” There wasn’t any edge to her voice, just like there wasn’t any edge to her name. It flowed smoothly. She was prone to musing; once she'd told him that all great loves end in violence.
“I have more than my father did when he stayed behind in Stormwind and I’m not even half his age. But he was a carpenter, not a soldier. I would’ve been one to if.. If not for the orcs. But then I never would’ve met you.”Hallinton rolled onto his back but his head didn’t move, gaze still boring into the glowing blue of her eyes.
“Tomorrow,” He paused, searching for the words. He hadn’t had the idle years to become eloquent yet back then, he’d been too busy learning to kill, “if we’re not dead, I want you to leave camp with me. Not on patrol, but on a walk. It’d be.. Romantic.” His hand moved to her thigh and she caught it, deft little fingers entrapping his wrist and guiding it upwards. Elsewhere. Deeper. She grinned and pressed to him, lithe and taut beneath the blanket. All slender elven curves and the supple muscle of a predator.
“I’m two-hundred and thirty, you know."
The mist of Hallinton’s dream thickened, but through it amusement crossed Celwyn’s eyes, amusement and fascination, and nothing else.
There was never any doubt that she would be his, forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shendris’ nerves rubbed off on him as he walked with Celwyn. That was the cause of the butterflies in his stomach as he replayed this tale from the deep corners, the magical connection she’d tethered between them and nothing more. Apprehension had settled between them, the infallible dread of the prisoner when they know their punishment is drawing closer. She tried to flee and he fought her, tightening his hold on her hand and twisting. Hands were fragile things even in dreams, so many delicate bones aligned perfectly and difficult to hold in place. She could’ve slipped his grip if she been willing to sacrifice like he had.
Their struggles had eclipsed the walk, Celwyn and him having reached a little clearing of hard packed earth a mile or two from camp. Still within the protective web of the night’s patrols but out of sight and earshot.
Hallinton kissed her then, his right hand behind her head and left hand on her hip bone. Her hip bone was distinguishable through her padded leather, fingers roaming and taking in what he’d felt without clothing only hours before. He craved more than just her body, but he wanted that to.
Their lips came apart, the smile she flashed breaking the strands of saliva which connected their lips. His hand left her hip, instead moving to the pocket of his non-armor clothes.
A military provides for its fighters, but anyone who spends a stretch of time in one will quickly find themselves wanting. Those who spend a moderate amount of time soldiering - usually by not dying - will discover that soldiers have their own means of acquisitions. The quartermaster doesn’t just deal in the supplies on his list, but in those snuck in with his shipments. Some things, like alcohol, is far easier to get than others.
Hallinton almost dropped the ring as he pulled it from his pocket. What paths would fate have taken if he’d lost it to the ground, never to be found?
He held it between them and held his breath. It had taken months of pay, and deals, and favors to get. A small price to pay. Celwyn and he had spent most of their nights - the ones they weren’t fighting - with the other for almost a year.
Celwyn arched one eyebrow, delicate, expressive, and delicious. Shendris tensed. A pair of elves on opposite sides of his life, both of their thoughts hidden from him.
The second’s ticked by. One, two, five. Ten. Her lips twitched.
Celwyn snorted.
She’d pulled away from him before he could react, slipping his grip with a grace that could only be described as elven. Especially as she broke into laughter. He’d rarely seen her laugh; a polite chuckle, a small breath of amusement. This overwhelmed her body in a way he’d only seen himself do. Celwyn bent double, a hand on her knee, as she spewed her laughter upon the ground in a donkey-like bray.
“.. Stop.”
The butterflies were gone, wings plucked. Despair rose in him, bubbled to the service, as he felt it. He saw it in her eyes from last night, and the night before. Seventeen and amusing, nothing more. It sat within her eyes now, a taunt, a disdain, an embarrassment.
Shendris’ nerves rubbed off on him as he walked with Celwyn. That was the cause of the butterflies in his stomach as he replayed this tale from the deep corners, the magical connection she’d tethered between them and nothing more. Apprehension had settled between them, the infallible dread of the prisoner when they know their punishment is drawing closer. She tried to flee and he fought her, tightening his hold on her hand and twisting. Hands were fragile things even in dreams, so many delicate bones aligned perfectly and difficult to hold in place. She could’ve slipped his grip if she been willing to sacrifice like he had.
Their struggles had eclipsed the walk, Celwyn and him having reached a little clearing of hard packed earth a mile or two from camp. Still within the protective web of the night’s patrols but out of sight and earshot.
Hallinton kissed her then, his right hand behind her head and left hand on her hip bone. Her hip bone was distinguishable through her padded leather, fingers roaming and taking in what he’d felt without clothing only hours before. He craved more than just her body, but he wanted that to.
Their lips came apart, the smile she flashed breaking the strands of saliva which connected their lips. His hand left her hip, instead moving to the pocket of his non-armor clothes.
A military provides for its fighters, but anyone who spends a stretch of time in one will quickly find themselves wanting. Those who spend a moderate amount of time soldiering - usually by not dying - will discover that soldiers have their own means of acquisitions. The quartermaster doesn’t just deal in the supplies on his list, but in those snuck in with his shipments. Some things, like alcohol, is far easier to get than others.
Hallinton almost dropped the ring as he pulled it from his pocket. What paths would fate have taken if he’d lost it to the ground, never to be found?
He held it between them and held his breath. It had taken months of pay, and deals, and favors to get. A small price to pay. Celwyn and he had spent most of their nights - the ones they weren’t fighting - with the other for almost a year.
Celwyn arched one eyebrow, delicate, expressive, and delicious. Shendris tensed. A pair of elves on opposite sides of his life, both of their thoughts hidden from him.
The second’s ticked by. One, two, five. Ten. Her lips twitched.
Celwyn snorted.
She’d pulled away from him before he could react, slipping his grip with a grace that could only be described as elven. Especially as she broke into laughter. He’d rarely seen her laugh; a polite chuckle, a small breath of amusement. This overwhelmed her body in a way he’d only seen himself do. Celwyn bent double, a hand on her knee, as she spewed her laughter upon the ground in a donkey-like bray.
“.. Stop.”
The butterflies were gone, wings plucked. Despair rose in him, bubbled to the service, as he felt it. He saw it in her eyes from last night, and the night before. Seventeen and amusing, nothing more. It sat within her eyes now, a taunt, a disdain, an embarrassment.
Still she laughed.
“Stop.”
"..Please..stop.."
It increased. The ring was forgotten; maybe on the ground, maybe in his pocket, maybe on his own finger. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. She had to stop, her laughter hurt more than any wound he had suffered, and the scar would run deeper.
She didn’t.
Stories always spoke of anger seething and burning, of passion eclipsing all. It came as the opposite, the fury of his rejection icy and precise.
He stepped forwards and swung, his gloved fist catching the right side of her head and sending her to the ground. Celwyn caught herself and looked up, a drop of blood running down one beautiful cheek. Light, she was beautiful even now. Uncertainty took him. When she rose she came with her knife, some unheard curse upon her succulent lips. Hallinton stepped back, an apology on his. Her rage drowned it out, red hot and demanding. She went for his belly.
Anger made it clumsy and the blow made her slow. He caught her hand and squeezed. Hands were fragile things and hers was no exception. His grip bit down watching her face shift as he squeezed her fingers, tighter and tighter, around the metal of her knife’s handle.
There was no loss of control, no blindness. All he felt was cold certainly, the broken thing within him snapping in half at the same time Celwyn’s fingers broke.
Shendris had spent her evenings doing more than just showing him his many bloody wrongs. He had observed, been led, and learned how her magic work. Hallinton made her watch and feel as a young man found his breaking point and the clarity which came from crossing it. She felt the softness of Celwyn’s lips as his fist split them, the pain when the next strike broke her cheek. The other hand on her neck tight enough to keep her from screaming but not enough to make her pass out. When the knife fell discarded from her broken fingers, forgotten by the innate instinct to shield herself from the blows, he left it on the ground. She thrashed and screamed as he held her there - Shendris behind his eyes and fist, Celwyn beneath the press of his weight - as he ruined her beauty. Replacing what he stole with bloody destruction intermingled with both of their tears.
She'd told him that all great loves ended in violence.
Two elves divided by the bridge of thirty years, trapped and watching as he learned what unchecked want could do and what violence could not.All great loves ended in violence. She saw Celwyn’s face, ruined by his fists and the depths of his obsession, one last time as he rolled her corpse into the bog waters.
Shendris fled as soon as he released her. From then on, his dreams would be his own.
“Stop.”
"..Please..stop.."
It increased. The ring was forgotten; maybe on the ground, maybe in his pocket, maybe on his own finger. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. She had to stop, her laughter hurt more than any wound he had suffered, and the scar would run deeper.
She didn’t.
Stories always spoke of anger seething and burning, of passion eclipsing all. It came as the opposite, the fury of his rejection icy and precise.
He stepped forwards and swung, his gloved fist catching the right side of her head and sending her to the ground. Celwyn caught herself and looked up, a drop of blood running down one beautiful cheek. Light, she was beautiful even now. Uncertainty took him. When she rose she came with her knife, some unheard curse upon her succulent lips. Hallinton stepped back, an apology on his. Her rage drowned it out, red hot and demanding. She went for his belly.
Anger made it clumsy and the blow made her slow. He caught her hand and squeezed. Hands were fragile things and hers was no exception. His grip bit down watching her face shift as he squeezed her fingers, tighter and tighter, around the metal of her knife’s handle.
There was no loss of control, no blindness. All he felt was cold certainly, the broken thing within him snapping in half at the same time Celwyn’s fingers broke.
Shendris had spent her evenings doing more than just showing him his many bloody wrongs. He had observed, been led, and learned how her magic work. Hallinton made her watch and feel as a young man found his breaking point and the clarity which came from crossing it. She felt the softness of Celwyn’s lips as his fist split them, the pain when the next strike broke her cheek. The other hand on her neck tight enough to keep her from screaming but not enough to make her pass out. When the knife fell discarded from her broken fingers, forgotten by the innate instinct to shield herself from the blows, he left it on the ground. She thrashed and screamed as he held her there - Shendris behind his eyes and fist, Celwyn beneath the press of his weight - as he ruined her beauty. Replacing what he stole with bloody destruction intermingled with both of their tears.
She'd told him that all great loves ended in violence.
Two elves divided by the bridge of thirty years, trapped and watching as he learned what unchecked want could do and what violence could not.All great loves ended in violence. She saw Celwyn’s face, ruined by his fists and the depths of his obsession, one last time as he rolled her corpse into the bog waters.
Shendris fled as soon as he released her. From then on, his dreams would be his own.
((Apologies if this is sub-par. I just...I dunno, the prompt inspired me, I guess?))
Lavenza's sleep was...Restless. The events of the War of Thorns had weighed heavily on the Pandaren, and she had withdrawn to the Wandering Isle to collect her thoughts. Easy enough during the day, but in dreams...? That was a whole different tale.
She was back at Lordaeron...The soldiers of the Alliance were taking a moment to enjoy the victory over that...Monstrous machine that the Horde had fielded...In truth, she was delighted to see the thing fall...But she saw something out of the corner of her eye...Some sort of...Green fog? Her eyes widened, she opened her mouth to shout a warning (As did many others, she imagined,) but the Blight washed over the army all too quickly...It was burning her eyes, her throat, her lungs! She couldn't breathe, she couldn't see...She turned, trying to get to safety, grabbing a fallen soldier, trying to pull him with her...But he twisted in her arms, slashing at her with a blade, knocking her to the ground...She should have been faster, she should have known what would happen...
She stood, slowly, unsteady for a moment, getting her bearings. She was in Teldrassil now as it burned...Night elves and worgen alike were burning, to say nothing of those caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, or who had managed to get here in time to help...She coughed, but pushed on, trying to help get the fires out, at least enough to help the civilians get to safety...But the fire and smoke was all around her now...If only she could do more...Too many would still be lost at this rate! She heard an ominous groaning and cracking, and looked up...
The pillar! The statue of Yu'lon was falling! She should have known better than to trust that the Alliance and Horde would keep their war to themselves...She had tried to warn them, as so many no doubt had, that Pandaria was not a place to be despoiled with pointless conflict, but-...The ground rumbled, and an oppressive aura she'd never felt before surged forth, manifesting...A monstrous, vaguely insect-like monster, titanic in stature, made of...Was that smoke? Scales? She couldn't tell...It slaughtered the soldiers effortlessly...The temple was next at this rate, and she realized there was nothing she could do about it...She was too slow to stop this madness, too weak to fight it...An explosion, possibly from a rocket, dazed, her, and she stumbled...
She stumbled as Shen-zin Su reeled, dropping to a knee for a moment before running to see what had happened...What she saw horrified her...There was a gaping wound in the turtle's side, blood everywhere, lakes, if not seas worth of it spilling from the injury...Strange people that she would recognize as priests, shamans, and druid of both factions scrambling to treat it...What had Aysa and Ji DONE!? She had to do something, she knew it...She wasn't meant to be here, but if nobody acted, the Wandering Isle was done for...In the distance, she could see a figure, tall, thin, in a dark cloak, just...Watching? What were they waiting for!? The figure kneeled, placed a hand on the ground...And it was like time stopped, but at the same time everything rushed forward...The plants withered, died, people seemed to fall ill...And the turtle...The turtle's bleeding stopped...Not because the wound healed, but because now there was no blood left...The figure, she now recognized Sylvanas's smirking face, stood, shouted something that Lavenza couldn't make out...Shen-zin started to submerge! But if it did that, everyone was done for! She ran, desperate to stop this, but the ground gave out beneath her, and she was falling...!
Lavenza jerked awake, gasping for breath as she looked around, sitting up slowly. Had...Had that been a dream? Borne of memories perhaps, but a dream? She shook her head, trying to fight through the haze of fear and doubt that filled her...The Sha might have been pushed back, defeated, but she didn't want to risk their return...She focused, trying to center herself...Was it a warning? Perhaps she should return to the mainlands, after all? As much as she loathed getting involved in another war...She had little doubt that the last part of that dream had been a call to action on her part...She might not be a champion like the others, but she could do her part one way or another...
Lavenza's sleep was...Restless. The events of the War of Thorns had weighed heavily on the Pandaren, and she had withdrawn to the Wandering Isle to collect her thoughts. Easy enough during the day, but in dreams...? That was a whole different tale.
She was back at Lordaeron...The soldiers of the Alliance were taking a moment to enjoy the victory over that...Monstrous machine that the Horde had fielded...In truth, she was delighted to see the thing fall...But she saw something out of the corner of her eye...Some sort of...Green fog? Her eyes widened, she opened her mouth to shout a warning (As did many others, she imagined,) but the Blight washed over the army all too quickly...It was burning her eyes, her throat, her lungs! She couldn't breathe, she couldn't see...She turned, trying to get to safety, grabbing a fallen soldier, trying to pull him with her...But he twisted in her arms, slashing at her with a blade, knocking her to the ground...She should have been faster, she should have known what would happen...
She stood, slowly, unsteady for a moment, getting her bearings. She was in Teldrassil now as it burned...Night elves and worgen alike were burning, to say nothing of those caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, or who had managed to get here in time to help...She coughed, but pushed on, trying to help get the fires out, at least enough to help the civilians get to safety...But the fire and smoke was all around her now...If only she could do more...Too many would still be lost at this rate! She heard an ominous groaning and cracking, and looked up...
The pillar! The statue of Yu'lon was falling! She should have known better than to trust that the Alliance and Horde would keep their war to themselves...She had tried to warn them, as so many no doubt had, that Pandaria was not a place to be despoiled with pointless conflict, but-...The ground rumbled, and an oppressive aura she'd never felt before surged forth, manifesting...A monstrous, vaguely insect-like monster, titanic in stature, made of...Was that smoke? Scales? She couldn't tell...It slaughtered the soldiers effortlessly...The temple was next at this rate, and she realized there was nothing she could do about it...She was too slow to stop this madness, too weak to fight it...An explosion, possibly from a rocket, dazed, her, and she stumbled...
She stumbled as Shen-zin Su reeled, dropping to a knee for a moment before running to see what had happened...What she saw horrified her...There was a gaping wound in the turtle's side, blood everywhere, lakes, if not seas worth of it spilling from the injury...Strange people that she would recognize as priests, shamans, and druid of both factions scrambling to treat it...What had Aysa and Ji DONE!? She had to do something, she knew it...She wasn't meant to be here, but if nobody acted, the Wandering Isle was done for...In the distance, she could see a figure, tall, thin, in a dark cloak, just...Watching? What were they waiting for!? The figure kneeled, placed a hand on the ground...And it was like time stopped, but at the same time everything rushed forward...The plants withered, died, people seemed to fall ill...And the turtle...The turtle's bleeding stopped...Not because the wound healed, but because now there was no blood left...The figure, she now recognized Sylvanas's smirking face, stood, shouted something that Lavenza couldn't make out...Shen-zin started to submerge! But if it did that, everyone was done for! She ran, desperate to stop this, but the ground gave out beneath her, and she was falling...!
Lavenza jerked awake, gasping for breath as she looked around, sitting up slowly. Had...Had that been a dream? Borne of memories perhaps, but a dream? She shook her head, trying to fight through the haze of fear and doubt that filled her...The Sha might have been pushed back, defeated, but she didn't want to risk their return...She focused, trying to center herself...Was it a warning? Perhaps she should return to the mainlands, after all? As much as she loathed getting involved in another war...She had little doubt that the last part of that dream had been a call to action on her part...She might not be a champion like the others, but she could do her part one way or another...
Apologies if this is sub-par. I just...I dunno, the prompt inspired me, I guess?
As prompts are wont to do. :P I like it, nightmares and dreams are always interesting to me, explorations into nonsense born of the sub-conscience.
-
@Hall I found it well writ, though hard to follow, but dreams can be hard to follow. Other than the more adult section, dunno why you would get banned. Yet that section was not graphic nor detailed. No worse than what you can find in a high school age book. But I am not blizzard and they can be ban happy when they want to be, or not when you want them to be lol
11/04/2018 03:08 PMPosted by Kersiathough hard to follow, but dreams can be hard to follow.
I'm assuming you mean the jumping around? The ~~~ is supposed to designate a stark transition, though it doesn't translate as well in multiple posts when compared to the document I put it together in.
11/04/2018 03:08 PMPosted by KersiaNo worse than what you can find in a high school age book.
It's been a solid decade since I read a YA series, but I don't remember many references to women being beaten to death by their lovers.
It's been a solid decade since I read a YA series, but I don't remember many references to women being beaten to death by their lovers.
Young adult/highschool yeah they have it. Just not in super gory detail. Childrens through middle school might have death but it'll be worded softly. Violence abound in Highschool - Young Adult to Adult. Even Sexual assault, predation, sexual bullying, (oh snap censorship. Don't remember what it was). I've read High School level books with pressured sex (House of Night has that and sexual bullying). They don't go into gory detail, but it is there. Some sections in the books might be more adult than the targeted reader base.
Violence? Violence is tame compared to some of those darker tales.
She thought she would've awoken back in bed, barely dressed within the gentle heat of her abode, yet instead found her eyes awakening beside a blooming flame. Standing, the familiar sight of Teldrassil ignited once again met her eyes. She had been having this same nightmare for some time now, watching the eyes of those whom had been forced to march to their death gaze upon her, as if blaming her for tossing herself from the tree instead of staying to die with them. However, they were normally black, blank, utterly withered as they approached. She noticed now that in this scene, they glowed a dark crimson, burned hues stepping forward with glowing eyes of a blood color that did not fit Night Elves.
Lyrica naturally backed away as before, but the blood in her veins turned to ice as she felt the world tumbling around her. Her body fell and fell from Teldrassil's boughs yet again, but this time into nothing but inky blackness. She thought she saw a hand reach out for her and immediately grasped for it, hand gripping over the flesh tightly. A scream was heard, a flash... she found herself looking upon her own reflection, garbed in her garments of dark purple and black, standing over a corpse of familiar crimson garments. Eyes trailed over the body for a moment more and only when she'd fully identified the other did her chest start to ache, her eyes stinging as her fingers dug into her palm.
She tried to speak the other's name, but she could not. It was not of loss of memory. She knew well the identity of her lover, after all. But it was as if her throat had been closed up by grief and nausea. She fell to her knees, holding the ground in front of her with clawed hands. Clawed... when had she started shifting into her worgen form? Her hands looked at if they were drenched in blood when she gazed upon them. Her lover's body was badly mutilated, trails of blood all around and flesh thrown in random places. Had she done this? Why would she?
She'd heard the warnings of the other priests, that her delvances into the Void would cost her dearly, just like it had the Ren'dorei. But she knew that they were just scared. She could control it. She was in control!
You are never in control.
The dual voice spoke in both her own tone and that of a deeper, mocking voice. Her eyes widened, turning into a bright burning gold as she looked upon her reflection. It looked at her with the same inky black eyes she had been used to seeing, yet upon herself it was repulsive, unthinkable. Indeed it spoke, two voices from one muzzle, stepping closer to her.
Your world is spiraling ever downwards. It's hilarious how desperate you are to control it... how in denial you are about how meaningless your ambition is.
She ripped the words from her closed neck. "I will not be your slave!"
What we desire is not slaves. In fact, we've no true desires from you mortals. Your service is amusing. It helps hasten our true desires. But whether it takes one year, ten years, a hundred... it matters not. Your world will be consumed. Your friends, family, loved ones, enemies, all... they will fade. Whether it is us that takes them or the hands of death, you cannot win.
"Death... death is the Void's enemy. I've heard your cries against it. Why? If you bring death to us, why would you oppose it so?! What is it that you truly want?!?!?!"
The figure grinned. The ink black eyes began to grow, consuming the reflection's entire body. Multiple crimson eyes opened within it as the voice echoed within her mind.
If you truly wish to know...
The thing her mirror changed into was something she could not find words to describe. Gazing upon it made her feel like her eyes had burst. She tried to keep her stoic strength, but miserably failed. Wracked screams escaped her as her flesh and psyche burned. Her claws gripped over herself, digging into her flesh, drawing copuous amounts of blood, until the world returned to equilibrium. Her eyes widened, gazing around her abode, and she noticed that her claws had gotten dangerously close to her irises. Pulling them back quickly, she startled at the sound of her door being thrown open, but calmed at the sight of her beloved, alive, well, clearly concerned.
"Lyrica! What happened?!"
Her gaze fell onto the other woman. Her muzzle turned downwards as she tried her best to look as serious as possible.
"I... ... ... I've just learned a greater deal about the Void."
Lyrica naturally backed away as before, but the blood in her veins turned to ice as she felt the world tumbling around her. Her body fell and fell from Teldrassil's boughs yet again, but this time into nothing but inky blackness. She thought she saw a hand reach out for her and immediately grasped for it, hand gripping over the flesh tightly. A scream was heard, a flash... she found herself looking upon her own reflection, garbed in her garments of dark purple and black, standing over a corpse of familiar crimson garments. Eyes trailed over the body for a moment more and only when she'd fully identified the other did her chest start to ache, her eyes stinging as her fingers dug into her palm.
She tried to speak the other's name, but she could not. It was not of loss of memory. She knew well the identity of her lover, after all. But it was as if her throat had been closed up by grief and nausea. She fell to her knees, holding the ground in front of her with clawed hands. Clawed... when had she started shifting into her worgen form? Her hands looked at if they were drenched in blood when she gazed upon them. Her lover's body was badly mutilated, trails of blood all around and flesh thrown in random places. Had she done this? Why would she?
She'd heard the warnings of the other priests, that her delvances into the Void would cost her dearly, just like it had the Ren'dorei. But she knew that they were just scared. She could control it. She was in control!
You are never in control.
The dual voice spoke in both her own tone and that of a deeper, mocking voice. Her eyes widened, turning into a bright burning gold as she looked upon her reflection. It looked at her with the same inky black eyes she had been used to seeing, yet upon herself it was repulsive, unthinkable. Indeed it spoke, two voices from one muzzle, stepping closer to her.
Your world is spiraling ever downwards. It's hilarious how desperate you are to control it... how in denial you are about how meaningless your ambition is.
She ripped the words from her closed neck. "I will not be your slave!"
What we desire is not slaves. In fact, we've no true desires from you mortals. Your service is amusing. It helps hasten our true desires. But whether it takes one year, ten years, a hundred... it matters not. Your world will be consumed. Your friends, family, loved ones, enemies, all... they will fade. Whether it is us that takes them or the hands of death, you cannot win.
"Death... death is the Void's enemy. I've heard your cries against it. Why? If you bring death to us, why would you oppose it so?! What is it that you truly want?!?!?!"
The figure grinned. The ink black eyes began to grow, consuming the reflection's entire body. Multiple crimson eyes opened within it as the voice echoed within her mind.
If you truly wish to know...
The thing her mirror changed into was something she could not find words to describe. Gazing upon it made her feel like her eyes had burst. She tried to keep her stoic strength, but miserably failed. Wracked screams escaped her as her flesh and psyche burned. Her claws gripped over herself, digging into her flesh, drawing copuous amounts of blood, until the world returned to equilibrium. Her eyes widened, gazing around her abode, and she noticed that her claws had gotten dangerously close to her irises. Pulling them back quickly, she startled at the sound of her door being thrown open, but calmed at the sight of her beloved, alive, well, clearly concerned.
"Lyrica! What happened?!"
Her gaze fell onto the other woman. Her muzzle turned downwards as she tried her best to look as serious as possible.
"I... ... ... I've just learned a greater deal about the Void."
A loud gun shot went off, Smuggs stared forward as Troggs rushed down the metallic hallways... Smuggs aimed his rifle and pulled the trigger hitting a trogg in the shoulder, it didn’t even seem to phase the rocky creature! Another gnome fired his rifle missing the trogg and hitting some pipes behind them, gas began to leak into the hallway!
“Gas leak! Pull back!” A gnomish commander screamed! The gnomes turned and retreated as quickly as possible, a scream went out as a trogg managed to get to close! Smuggs watched in horror as the trogg grabbed the gnomish female and bashed her body into the metallic floor spraying blood across the room with a sickening squelch! You could hear the gnome females bone break, as the trogg began to chew on her broken body... The scene made Smuggs sick, he tried as hard he could to hold back the bile in the back of his throat! Smuggs rushed forward, hearing the Troggs behind him as they found their gnomish prey... Another gnome was ripped apart his limbs ripped off by the Troggs...
Smuggs continued forward as green gas started flooding from vents, he neared his home, rushing in to grab his wife... The hideous screams outside signaled that the Troggs were coming! Smuggs grabbed his wife, a cheerful smart little gnome women with curly black hair! “Gelbin’s plan failed! The gas is rising, it’s not killing the Troggs! We must run!” Smuggs called, pulling her forward.
Smuggs aimed around the corner quick to see several Troggs rush through the radioactive fog unaffected, in fact they only seemed more angry! Smuggs fired twice forced the Troggs to duck before pulling his wife quickly towards the entrance of Gnomeregan! Smuggs rushed forwards he could see the elevator to freedom they were gonna live! A explosion knocked the gnomes down to the ground, Smuggs pushed himself up quickly they had to flee!
Turning to look at his wife, a massive trogg stepped out of the ever encroaching fog, she had been pushed closer to the expanding fog from the blast. Smuggs called out in desperation as the trogg raised his club and brought it down upon his love, his wife! Her scream of agony as she was tenderized by the horrific monster, her body pulled apart to be eaten!
Smuggs rushed forward to rescue her into the radioactive fog, He felt the deadly fog enter his lungs! He nearly made it to his wife as the trogg looked up at him, her hair in its teeth! Smuggs roared raising his gun to fire before being knocked back by the dining trogg and outta the fog! Smuggs pushed himself up to run back in, he had to save her! He could still save her! When a group of three gnomes grabbed his arms and legs and pulled him free of the mechanical hell that Gnomeregan had turned into! He reached out in vain to get his wife and fight the gnomes dragging him to freedom!
“Noo!!!” Smuggs sat up abruptly, his body covered in sweat... He looked around the room of the inn shaking, the same nightmare... The day he lost his city, his home and his wife... Smuggs pushed the blankets off him, revealing green leperous skin on his legs, he would not be sleeping anymore tonight...
————————
I thought you might all enjoy the true horrific nightmare that I envisioned the fall of Gnomeregan to look like. Gnomes have seen some dark stuff...
“Gas leak! Pull back!” A gnomish commander screamed! The gnomes turned and retreated as quickly as possible, a scream went out as a trogg managed to get to close! Smuggs watched in horror as the trogg grabbed the gnomish female and bashed her body into the metallic floor spraying blood across the room with a sickening squelch! You could hear the gnome females bone break, as the trogg began to chew on her broken body... The scene made Smuggs sick, he tried as hard he could to hold back the bile in the back of his throat! Smuggs rushed forward, hearing the Troggs behind him as they found their gnomish prey... Another gnome was ripped apart his limbs ripped off by the Troggs...
Smuggs continued forward as green gas started flooding from vents, he neared his home, rushing in to grab his wife... The hideous screams outside signaled that the Troggs were coming! Smuggs grabbed his wife, a cheerful smart little gnome women with curly black hair! “Gelbin’s plan failed! The gas is rising, it’s not killing the Troggs! We must run!” Smuggs called, pulling her forward.
Smuggs aimed around the corner quick to see several Troggs rush through the radioactive fog unaffected, in fact they only seemed more angry! Smuggs fired twice forced the Troggs to duck before pulling his wife quickly towards the entrance of Gnomeregan! Smuggs rushed forwards he could see the elevator to freedom they were gonna live! A explosion knocked the gnomes down to the ground, Smuggs pushed himself up quickly they had to flee!
Turning to look at his wife, a massive trogg stepped out of the ever encroaching fog, she had been pushed closer to the expanding fog from the blast. Smuggs called out in desperation as the trogg raised his club and brought it down upon his love, his wife! Her scream of agony as she was tenderized by the horrific monster, her body pulled apart to be eaten!
Smuggs rushed forward to rescue her into the radioactive fog, He felt the deadly fog enter his lungs! He nearly made it to his wife as the trogg looked up at him, her hair in its teeth! Smuggs roared raising his gun to fire before being knocked back by the dining trogg and outta the fog! Smuggs pushed himself up to run back in, he had to save her! He could still save her! When a group of three gnomes grabbed his arms and legs and pulled him free of the mechanical hell that Gnomeregan had turned into! He reached out in vain to get his wife and fight the gnomes dragging him to freedom!
“Noo!!!” Smuggs sat up abruptly, his body covered in sweat... He looked around the room of the inn shaking, the same nightmare... The day he lost his city, his home and his wife... Smuggs pushed the blankets off him, revealing green leperous skin on his legs, he would not be sleeping anymore tonight...
————————
I thought you might all enjoy the true horrific nightmare that I envisioned the fall of Gnomeregan to look like. Gnomes have seen some dark stuff...
((Just thought I’d try something a bit silly on this alt. :) Had a bit of trouble with the troll accent, any feedback would be welcome!))
The streets of Dalaran were lovely at this hour. A dappled twilight settled over the delicate spires and towers, the sun casting its final rays of the day before the blanket of stars would illuminate the sky.
So different from the ancient edifices of Zul’drak, yet still impressive. As she did at every sunset, the priestess whispered a prayer of thanks to Har’koa that she had come through the battles unscathed, to both greet and farewell this day.
A grumbled hail from Thok’gar disturbed her meditation, and the frost troll climbed to her feet.
“I finally found us a decent inn in this blasted place... this one at least has rooms fit for an orc. No frilly spindly little elf beds, no ‘goblin rooms only sir’, no ‘reserved for the Kirin Tor’ nonsense.”
Zerossa smiled. “See? It like I be tellin’ you, the loa will provide.”
“The loa could provide some extra coin. That gouging innkeeper wanted fifty silver for the rooms!”
Zerossa waved the old orc’s grumbling aside. After so many nights sleeping in the wild, the inn was worth the coin. The “gouging innkeepers” turned out to be a rather pleasant and welcoming elf and a darkspear. The ale was mellow but flavoursome, the food was hot, fresh, and delicious, and the rooms were clean and spacious. She bid the elderly orc goodnight and retired. After the luxury of a bath - true to Thok’gar’s words, the tub was big enough to fit even a fully grown frost troll! - she settled into the sheets with a contented sigh.
* * *
“What in the name of Therazane’s great stone -“
“Is everything all right in here?”
Zerossa awoke with a start. The stone floor was cold and hard. Where did that bed be goin’...
The door was open. Thok’gar and one of the innkeepers were looking down at her with great concern.
“Nothing to worry about here,” she said, striving for a winning smile, the effect somewhat ruined by the bedsheets tightly twirled around her, pinning her arms to her side. “Just a bad dream,” she added as she extricated herself.
The sin’dorei quirked a golden, well-manicured eyebrow. “All right then, I’ll leave you to your rest. Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to call.”
Zerossa clambered to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster and many apologies to the innkeeper as the elf departed the room.
Thok’gar scowled. “The first decent rest I’ve had in ages, and your thrashing and howling wakes half the inn. What it is?”
The troll returned his scowl. “Don’t be tellin’ me orcs don’t have nightmares, old man.”
His scowl softened a little. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
(1/2)
The streets of Dalaran were lovely at this hour. A dappled twilight settled over the delicate spires and towers, the sun casting its final rays of the day before the blanket of stars would illuminate the sky.
So different from the ancient edifices of Zul’drak, yet still impressive. As she did at every sunset, the priestess whispered a prayer of thanks to Har’koa that she had come through the battles unscathed, to both greet and farewell this day.
A grumbled hail from Thok’gar disturbed her meditation, and the frost troll climbed to her feet.
“I finally found us a decent inn in this blasted place... this one at least has rooms fit for an orc. No frilly spindly little elf beds, no ‘goblin rooms only sir’, no ‘reserved for the Kirin Tor’ nonsense.”
Zerossa smiled. “See? It like I be tellin’ you, the loa will provide.”
“The loa could provide some extra coin. That gouging innkeeper wanted fifty silver for the rooms!”
Zerossa waved the old orc’s grumbling aside. After so many nights sleeping in the wild, the inn was worth the coin. The “gouging innkeepers” turned out to be a rather pleasant and welcoming elf and a darkspear. The ale was mellow but flavoursome, the food was hot, fresh, and delicious, and the rooms were clean and spacious. She bid the elderly orc goodnight and retired. After the luxury of a bath - true to Thok’gar’s words, the tub was big enough to fit even a fully grown frost troll! - she settled into the sheets with a contented sigh.
* * *
“What in the name of Therazane’s great stone -“
“Is everything all right in here?”
Zerossa awoke with a start. The stone floor was cold and hard. Where did that bed be goin’...
The door was open. Thok’gar and one of the innkeepers were looking down at her with great concern.
“Nothing to worry about here,” she said, striving for a winning smile, the effect somewhat ruined by the bedsheets tightly twirled around her, pinning her arms to her side. “Just a bad dream,” she added as she extricated herself.
The sin’dorei quirked a golden, well-manicured eyebrow. “All right then, I’ll leave you to your rest. Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to call.”
Zerossa clambered to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster and many apologies to the innkeeper as the elf departed the room.
Thok’gar scowled. “The first decent rest I’ve had in ages, and your thrashing and howling wakes half the inn. What it is?”
The troll returned his scowl. “Don’t be tellin’ me orcs don’t have nightmares, old man.”
His scowl softened a little. “Do you wish to talk about it?”
(1/2)
At the enquiry, something unusual happened. Zerossa blushed, her blue skin mottling dark purple. “Well...” she trailed off.
Thok’gar crossed his arms. “If you don’t want to discuss it, I’ll return to my bed and get as much rest as I can salvage.”
“No, talkin’ about it might stop me from waking again. You see...” she paused, and shook her head slightly. “I hate monkeys.”
The orc gave her a slightly contemptuous look. “Pah! Monkeys? Annoying little beasts, but easily taken care of. What’s there to hate?”
“When I was a little girl, me family went on a... sortie, I guess you could say, to Sholazar. Me big brother thought it’d be funny to leave me to fend for meself in the jungle. There was another family there... a family of gorillas. I saw a big one and screamed. He screamed right back. I started to run, and they clambered up high into de trees. They were shrieking and screamin’, and then they started flinging things at me. Foul mud, rotting fruit, and some other things. They pelted me almost til I was back to the camp! And then me rotten brother, he waited til I was finally asleep, and put on a monkey mask, screamed - right in me ear! - and flung some nasty old muck at me.”
“You dreamt you were a child again?”
“No... I’m explaining why I dreamt what I dreamt. In my dream I walked right into that store we saw earlier, the magical menagerie. De whole place was filled with gorillas. And I bought ninety-nine of the screamin’ little beasts. I took ‘em all back to the room here. They started wrecking up the place, breakin’ de furniture and messin’ everywhere. I lost me temper and punched one of ‘em clean in the face. He roared and punched me back.
I screamed and tried to run away, but the little monster started chasin’ me! I started throwing bananas at him, and he ate one. But all of a sudden I realised it was a blight banana, and he was roarin’ and growling, and the rest of the monkeys were chasin’ me down. I grabbed a sack of the blight bananas and bolted to the edge of the city, and hurled the sack as hard as I could. One by one the screechin’ monsters leapt off the edge til they’d all jumped.
I was so relieved. I sat down, when there was a mighty woosh of air. They’d sprouted wings! Now it was ninety-nine flying undead monkeys, zoomin’ through the air, shriekin’ at the top of their lungs. I jumped up and started running to the menagerie, yellin’ that I was going to get a refund. The woman in the shop said all sales were final, so I grabbed some rope to try and lasso those evil little things down. But then all I did was lasso meself, and...” she blushed once more. “I woke up on the floor.”
Thok’gar looked at her, for once lost for words. After a moment of astonished silence, the orc chuckled. The chuckle became a full belly laugh, as he doubled over. Zerossa watched him haughtily, before a smile crept across her face.
“That’s the most ridiculous, absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Nightmares don’t always be makin’ sense.”
His chuckling subsided, he asked, “Well, now that you’ve got that off your chest, I’m going to retire. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
Indeed. After getting a couple of spare parts from the local mechanic, it would be time to hit the road on the Broken Isles.
“Thanks for listening, old man.”
Thok’gar, true to grumpy form, waved her off and departed to his room. Zerossa closed her eyes and settled back into her sleep, and no nightmares - of the banana-loving simian kind or otherwise - visited her again that night.
(2/2)
Thok’gar crossed his arms. “If you don’t want to discuss it, I’ll return to my bed and get as much rest as I can salvage.”
“No, talkin’ about it might stop me from waking again. You see...” she paused, and shook her head slightly. “I hate monkeys.”
The orc gave her a slightly contemptuous look. “Pah! Monkeys? Annoying little beasts, but easily taken care of. What’s there to hate?”
“When I was a little girl, me family went on a... sortie, I guess you could say, to Sholazar. Me big brother thought it’d be funny to leave me to fend for meself in the jungle. There was another family there... a family of gorillas. I saw a big one and screamed. He screamed right back. I started to run, and they clambered up high into de trees. They were shrieking and screamin’, and then they started flinging things at me. Foul mud, rotting fruit, and some other things. They pelted me almost til I was back to the camp! And then me rotten brother, he waited til I was finally asleep, and put on a monkey mask, screamed - right in me ear! - and flung some nasty old muck at me.”
“You dreamt you were a child again?”
“No... I’m explaining why I dreamt what I dreamt. In my dream I walked right into that store we saw earlier, the magical menagerie. De whole place was filled with gorillas. And I bought ninety-nine of the screamin’ little beasts. I took ‘em all back to the room here. They started wrecking up the place, breakin’ de furniture and messin’ everywhere. I lost me temper and punched one of ‘em clean in the face. He roared and punched me back.
I screamed and tried to run away, but the little monster started chasin’ me! I started throwing bananas at him, and he ate one. But all of a sudden I realised it was a blight banana, and he was roarin’ and growling, and the rest of the monkeys were chasin’ me down. I grabbed a sack of the blight bananas and bolted to the edge of the city, and hurled the sack as hard as I could. One by one the screechin’ monsters leapt off the edge til they’d all jumped.
I was so relieved. I sat down, when there was a mighty woosh of air. They’d sprouted wings! Now it was ninety-nine flying undead monkeys, zoomin’ through the air, shriekin’ at the top of their lungs. I jumped up and started running to the menagerie, yellin’ that I was going to get a refund. The woman in the shop said all sales were final, so I grabbed some rope to try and lasso those evil little things down. But then all I did was lasso meself, and...” she blushed once more. “I woke up on the floor.”
Thok’gar looked at her, for once lost for words. After a moment of astonished silence, the orc chuckled. The chuckle became a full belly laugh, as he doubled over. Zerossa watched him haughtily, before a smile crept across her face.
“That’s the most ridiculous, absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Nightmares don’t always be makin’ sense.”
His chuckling subsided, he asked, “Well, now that you’ve got that off your chest, I’m going to retire. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
Indeed. After getting a couple of spare parts from the local mechanic, it would be time to hit the road on the Broken Isles.
“Thanks for listening, old man.”
Thok’gar, true to grumpy form, waved her off and departed to his room. Zerossa closed her eyes and settled back into her sleep, and no nightmares - of the banana-loving simian kind or otherwise - visited her again that night.
(2/2)