[Prompt] Perfect Happiness

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

As you fall asleep tonight, your dream is a land in which you have achieved fulfillment and perfect happiness. The perfect life you strive for, where every day is a joy. Though this reality may never be in your grasp, what does it look like? What does your perfect future, perfect happy life look like?

Info

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

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

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

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

Archive: Kersia's Prompt Archive and Discussion

1 Like
2

Taramis sees that he had become the new “Mayor” of Freehold. Unlike Sweete before him Taramis doesn’t deal with any power in a political venture. Instead he and the pirates under him sell their skills as mercenaries making the whole city a giant guild of pirates. The town of scum and villainy has acquired a guild name and as for the elf himself? Well he has all the money he could ever want, all the women, and power.

1 Like
3

If Minere were pressed, she would declare she was not truly happy, that short-lived mortals like herself would never find truly perfect happiness. They’d always find something to want, something they don’t have enough of.

But as she brushed her daughter’s hair, as she greeted her tauren neighbors, saluted orc and human guards alike… she was content. This, she would agree, was enough. A world that had finally reached peace. A world where everyone stood side-by-side, rather than across invisible battle lines.

It was with a pang of sorrow that she woke, once more into a world split in twain by hate and war and fear. She wondered, some days, how much could be changed if everyone just sat at a council table and actually communicated.

4

Please forgive me if I get a little philosophical here, but a perfect world is a world I can build in my image and destroy whenever I see fit. So if I can build a better one or maybe a worst one. To ask that what would my ideal perfect world would be, would be like asking me what would I do if I were a god or I was God. (Capital G).

And I would say a world where I would never get bored. I could have peace or war, conquest or contemptibility, be loved and admired or feared and hated. I can’t really conjure the idea of even being immortal, I was born and I will die.

That’s a fact we all have to face, but a perfect world would be were I was immortal so I would have all the time to make that world. If or when I did make that world I may get so bored that I might destroy it just to see how high the flames go or how loud the screams get. I may justify it by saying that sometimes to build a better world you have to break down the old one and that may or may not be true.

I may just become a spoiled brat that likes stomping on ant hills or getting a kick out of destroying priceless works of art so I can see the looks on peoples faces.

I suppose I could be kind and merciful for a time. I may kill a thousand warlords that tried to take what I’ve built and disturbed my fortress of serenity, but perfection is a matter of perspective from the what we are possibly told on what we should desire. Someones perspective of perfection could be completely different, ugly, or even disturbing, to another. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and so is perfection. So if you believe your perfect then you are. If you believe you live in a perfect world, then you do.

(Thanks for putting this up Keria is was very therapeutic to write for a bit)

1 Like
5

Vesthi stepped out into the golden rays of morning. A salty breeze blew in from off the western shore. The calm seas stretched on seemingly forever while the new sun birthed itself from its waters. It’s morning light glimmered off it’s surface offering a favorable portents to the day. She couldn’t remember a more delightful peaceful morning when the sun had felt so warm against her pale purple hued skin. The salty breeze fluttered her long white dress, tussling strands of her silver hair. Vesthi lifted her arms to gather her hair just as another pair of arms wrapped around her middle from behind. She peered back at the figure behind her. Silver light glimmered from her smiling eyes.

A soft beastly growl came from her captor, who whispered gently into Vesthi’s ear. “Off so soon?” The voice teased. “The morning is still young, Leycaller Whisperwind.”

Just off their stoop the path to their humble home followed the roll of the hill down toward the Dream Grove. Vesthi wrapped a loose ribbon around her hair and let go of a long stretch she’d held onto since she awoke. She turned sharply in the arms of her captor and hooped her hands behind another head of long silvery hair. Vesthi peered into the silvery light of the other’s eyes. Gentle smiles were shared between them before fully embracing each other in a tender kiss. Taking in a deep breath of fresh air Vesthi answered. “I need to hurry. Repairs and renovations are almost complete down at Black Rook Hold. We’re conducting a preliminary opening to a select group of young promising students, and I’m needed there to help things run smoothly.” Vesthi lightly ran her fingers through the other Night Elf’s hair. She smiled warmly. “And besides that, you have matters to oversee yourself, High Priestess Starlight.”

The other Night Elf looked dejected. “It’s only an honorary title. Most of the other Preistess’s of Elune received one after the Legion’s defeat. There’s no real power or responsibility that comes with it.”

Vesthi scoffed as she pushed herself away. “You were among the key few that helped defend the Temple of Elune during the Legion’s onslaught. That’s not nothing Nanaai.” Vesthi steadied herself against the other Night Elf and bent to slip on a shoe. “It’s because of your actions that the order even survives.”

Nanaai took a turn to scoff back at Vesthi. “Please, I was hardly alone. I remember there being a good number of other Priests and Priestesses giving everything.” She planted a light kiss on Vesthi’s hand. “And I distinctly remember a certain someone standing there beside me.”

Vesthi glanced up at Nanaai as she slipped on the other shoe. “Please. We agreed not to mention it.”

“I didn’t.” Nanaai smirked. “Not specifically, but since you bring it up,” She said coyly, “It was only through your own sacrifices that you were cleansed of the fel, and restored.”

Vesthi glowered at Nanaai for a moment. Her stern features melted to a soft grin. “In part, but it was only because you called upon Elune on my behalf. I like to think you had a little to do with it.”

Nanaai feigned an indignant glared at Vesthi. “Only a little?” Vesthi grinned back at her. “I have to run. I’ll catch up with you around noon for lunch.” Vesthi stepped back and swirled her hand in the air to activate her usual teleportation spell. Before it could activate Vesthi caught the glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of her vision. A dark silhouette stood in the darkened background just inside the home she shared with Nanaai. An arrow of dread pierced her heart at it’s sight… but she had already called upon her teleportation. In a blink, it was gone.

It was all gone…

Vesthi’s mind awoke to horrendous screaming. She tried her arms, her legs, tried lifting her chest but failed. She’d been restrained. She could feel the straps cutting into her flesh. No… that’s not it. They weren’t straps. Hands. Goblin hands. No, Impish. Demonic hands large and small held her back. Restraining her efforts to move, to raise, to run. A playful voice laced with malice, twisted by pain and desire, spoke to her. “Stop fighting it Vesthi. You’re only going to make this hurt more than is necessary.” The voice chuckled. “But please, don’t stop on my account.” The slender figure of a Sayaad climbed atop Vesthi. “I prefer things to get rough.” The demon’s thin black lips parted in an evil grin as she produced a shimmering shard in her hand. The end of the shard tapered down to a needle point. “Hold still while I jam this into your mind again. Pesky memories. You’ll have no need of these fantasies once I’m done with you.”

“No!” Vesthi screamed. “Stop playing with my mind! None of this is real! None of this is happening! It’s all lies! All Lies!” The Sayaad’s hand descended down onto Vesthi’s forehead with a sharp crack.

Vesthi awoke screaming. Her world spun with a confusing kaleidoscope, blinding her spectral vision. She bounded to her feet and stretched out her hands, finding the wall, then continued in one direction pushing and shoving furniture until she found a corner of her room. She planted her back into the corner and held her arms out defensively, demonic claws fully extended. After many deep breaths her vision began to clear. The room, her room, came back into focus. Vesthi snapped her vision back and forth to view multiple types of energy signatures as she scanned her room and areas beyond.

She was alone.

Vesthi slowly lowered her arms. Glancing around the room she noted the mess she’d created. Furniture over turned, some of it broken. Her mattress and sheets smoldered with burns from fel fire. Slowly she lowered herself down the wall and tucked her knees to her chest. This was precisely why she seldom slept. The mind has a way of jumbling memories and inventing fantasies as a way to make sense of the world. Dreams for a Demon Hunter, as least this Demon Hunter, were seldom benign.

2 Likes
6

All Aanka could see were orange blossoms and a clear blue sky with tints of arcane purple. A larger wave of blossoms, their leaves tinged with red, flew past her and piqued her curiosity.
Aanka sat up, finding herself in a white silk dress. Through its almost-translucent fabric, she could see the outline of her thin purple legs. The Night Elf sat up and looked at the yellowish grass surrounding her, filling the floor of the blooming glade.
Then, in the distance, a flash of purple light caught Aanka’s eyes. It came from the outskirts of sprawling city in the distance, a city full of colourful buildings and Night Elves. Suramar!
Aanka bounded towards the city, finding her steps ethereal and light. She could walk smoothly into the air, the only trace of her existence on the ground an imprint in the grass that was already fading. The Night Elf ran faster, twirling with the wind like a dancer in a ballroom.
She was above the city now, watching its people bustle around. Wings of air seemed to sprout out of her back as she soared closer to the marketplace, soared closer to where she belonged. She was so close.
The scene began to shift and then completely disappear. The city of Suramar became a mass of black. Her vision became blurry and then everything went dark. And then it wasn’t.

1 Like
7

Myorga sighed as the candle on her desk grew dim and set her book down. She pulled the reading glasses off her face and set them on the pages of the book to save her place and rose from the chair. She looked up to see the roaring fire crackling in the fireplace, casting its light across the vast room and providing warmth during the cold winter months. A clock chimed on the mantle to indicate it was only 8 o’clock. She would have to ask the servants to see about getting brighter candles.

As she made her way across the room to the door, her silk night gown draped and danced around her feet and ankles. Her fur slippers completely masked the sound of her feet. She opened the heavy door and stepped into the hallway, closing it behind her with a solid thud. She could hear the sound of children playing as she walked down the hallway–her children–a boy and a girl ages eleven and ten. The hallways were decorated in luxurious carpet and paintings hung on every wall. The solid wood railings complemented the masonry quite well and appeared to be very expensive.

She continued down the hallway until she came to another wooden door and opened it to reveal her husband’s study. Both of her perfectly green eyes up when she saw her husband sitting in his chair reading his own book by the firelight. “Hello, Mrs. Clemons”, he called out to her and set his book down. She walked over to him and sat in the chair beside him and began an evening of conversation. This evening, like every other evening since they married fifteen years ago, would end with the two of them arguing over who was the most tired, laughing at the hilarity of it all and ultimately retreating to their chambers where they would end up falling asleep in each other’s arms.

1 Like