[Prompt] Sudden Death

Lore World's End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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Whether it was on the field of battle, in a forest jungle, or on the streets, you witnessed a horrific and sudden death. The mode was somewhat brutal, and you were close enough that it could have easily been you who died. Was the person a stranger or a friend? Your call. Do you freeze in fear, act on impulse, or grieve the fallen? How does your character react to this sudden and potentially traumatic event?

Oops, with surgery, life, and an out of wack weekend, I totally forgot to post this week’s prompt. My bad. Better late than never right?

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

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

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

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Oh this is such a bad prompt. I have so many avenues to explore with my characters. For example for Bowen here I could cover the destruction of Draenor and the death of his Gryphon during.

If I post for Nimue it would instead be about her mother’s final moments as she burned alive. Using her magic to protect a younger Nimue from the blaze.

If I wanted to post for Ryu perhaps… Well I could cover the terrible storm that left him stranded on Kalimdor, or the burning of Teldrassil. So recent in everyone’s mind.

Yeah these are events I’d rather only elude to rather than putting them down on paper.

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Xinaria was making her way through the Nazmir with her lightforged company. She was in rank and file marching mode, making her way, her eyes constantly scanned for dangers. It was rough, but they were trying to survey the Horde’s movements in the region, and they were trying to do so covertly.

A call came out from their captain to move fast into the brush. A troll patrol was heading their way; Xinaria and another hid in a hollowed out stump, barely large enough for the pair to crouch in; Xinaria could feel the heartbeat of the other woman against her back; faster and faster and faster still. They did not know where the others were, they did not make a sound.

The trolls were not even Zandalari or Dark Spear, from what Xinaria could tell. They were the wretched blood trolls. She could smell the hemolytic stench of their bodies as they walked though, the metallic tang permeated the air. She could hear their horrid, ragged breaths as they stopped in front of their stump.

The trolls spoke some foreign language with words that insulted Xinaria’s ears. In her mind, she played scenario after scenario of how she would maim and dismember the creatures, in a blaze of light and fire. The trolls stopped speaking suddenly, and Xinaria felt the woman behind her squirm… ever so slightly. In the silence, she could hear the sound of the woman’s armor on the tree.

In an instant, the woman behind her screamed. Xinaria felt herself feel a moment of terror, terror like before, like in Grim Batol. For all her glorious musing, she felt unable to act as she heard the slosh and snaps of viscera and flesh, the bubbled and gurgled screaming of the woman as she failed to react fast enough and then silence. Silence again. Xinaria squeezed her now trembling eyes shut as she weighed her options. She would have to act fast if they tried to take her.

But the moment never came as the trolls moved on through the jungle. Had they not noticed a second squished into the stump? Did they not care?

Xinaria’s allies slowly came around, unsure who was left. Xinaria shakily pulled herself out of the stump, her eyes still glazed and her face still set in shock. It could have easily been her. For all her glorious musings, her brilliant fantasy, she would have been frozen in fear and dead. She relaxed as she looked at the blood soaked pathway.

She wasn’t dead.

She was still alive.

And she steeled her resolve, her face contorted with passion. Such a weakness would never happen again.

4

The battle had been a long, bloody one. The Forsaken had launched an attack against the Alliance encampment after the last patrol had left, when the defenses were at their weakest. They had obviously been watching, waiting for the perfect moment.

But they hadn’t known about Slaanesh and her magical prowess, as she’d only been in the camp for a couple of days. Side-by-side with a Night Elf sentinel they had turned the tide of the battle in favor of the defenders, breaking the Forsaken lines and destroying the support unit in the rear. Without their plague wagon or commander the Forsaken forces fell into disarray and were quickly slaughtered.

The warlock was looking through the scorched corpses for survivors with the sentinel at her side, the pair talking light-heartedly now they the danger seemed to be passed. The elf spoke of her family that escaped from the burning tree fondly, noting in particular a daughter that she couldn’t wait to see again. ‘How much she must have grown since last we met!’ were the words she’d chosen to use.

But then an assassin lunged from the shadows, his poisoned blade burying itself deep in the sentinel’s chest as she gasped out in shock. The warlock turned her power against the Forsaken man, fel fire blazing in her hands as she rammed her shoulder against him. Once the assassin had been separated from his target, his blade left in her chest, Slaanesh unleashed a torrent of flames on the man, engulfing his legs and left arm in a sea of fire that scorched down to the very bone, rendering the limbs useless.

With the assassin practically incapacitated the warlock moved to support her comrade just before the elf collapsed, catching the sentinel by falling to her knees. The venom worked rapidly, breaking down the poor elf’s body from within as blood trickled out the side of her mouth and from her eye sockets. She drew short, ragged breaths as she looked at her comrade, weakly reaching out to take hold of Slaanesh’s gloved hand. “Don’t… don’t let them… win…” she gasped out, her lungs filling with her precious life fluids.

“I promise, I won’t,” the warlock said, her voice filled with steely determination.

The face of the sentinel changed, the color fading quickly as her expression turned from pained to a smile. Not a happy smile, but one to hide the regrets she carried into the afterlife. “Tell her… I… will al-ways… love…” The elf’s face trembled for a few moments as she tried to cling to the last few moments of her existence before falling limp against Slaanesh’s chest. The light of her eyes faded and her hand fell onto the ground.

The warlock found a small amulet in her hand, a beautifully engraved and crafted bit of jewelry with an engraving that roughly translated into ‘Let my love fill you always,’ and a name. Slaanesh choked back her tears as she heard a noise off to one side. Her firey gaze turned to the assassin who was trying to crawl away with his one good arm.

Gently placing the sentinel upon the ground the void elf purposefully strode over to the forsaken man and kicked him in the ribs to flip him onto his back. His hate-filled glare stared back up at her as he cackled, “Your friend is just one of many to come! The Banshee Queen will conquer this land, traitor! And when they bring me back I will dance upon your grave!”

Calmly the warlock placed her hand upon the assassin’s skull, staring into his eyes as her own burned with fel fire. “You will never be coming back,” she replied. He could feel his life essence being pulled away through his eye sockets as an orb of light began to form in the void elf’s other hand.

Once she was finished the lifeless husk of the assassin fell limply upon the forest floor, a small purple gem forming in the center of the pendent out of the life energy that was drained from the killer, forever trapped. Slaanesh moved from the corpse and paused by the sentinel’s body, using her fingers to close the elf’s eyes before speaking, “I will be sure that she gets this.”

And with that the warlock set forth on her newest mission.

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D: Good tale. My eyes aren’t misty! It is the dry air!