[Prompt] That Moment

[Kersia-wyrmrest-accord (Kersia)]

Many people experience something life changing. Whether it is the decision to become a druid instead of a priestess, to fall in love with someone across faction lines, to ally oneself with dark forces, or simply the loss of loved ones or home. Many events make us who we are, many decisions great or small.

What is the largest life changing event that has happened to you? That helped lay the foundation for who you are or helped in molding you on that foundation.

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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.

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Archive: Kersia's Prompt Archive and Discussion

[Coolbrëëze-cenarion-circle]

Nanaai had been wandering the dreary forests of Drustvar for several hours before finally coming across the right little stream Vesthi had described to her. The old Druid let out an exasperated sigh. She had to remind herself from time to time that Demon Hunters, especially true of Vesthi, didn’t always see the world in the same manner as everyone else. As consequence, they would occasionally give terrible directions. Nanaai oriented herself according to Vesthi’s instructions and set to following the river upstream. At a natural bend in the river, past the swirling eddies, sat a quite tranquil little pool. Perched on a rather large rock outcropping sat the strangest vision.

Vesthi, the Demon Hunter, sat with her knees tucked close to her chest. Her feet almost beneath her, the Demon Hunter leaned forward from the rock. Both arms outstretched with a long wooden fishing rod clasped in both hands as though it were the haft of some great ax, and she were lining up a killing blow. From the tip of that pole ran a long thin fishing line. Vesthi peered intently down that line at the small red and white bauble at the other end that rested serenely atop the water. She embodied the very essence of Focus, which typically wasn’t unusual for her; though in this current moment it seemed so completely… strange, to Nanaai.

The old Druid made her way around the small pool and quietly approached the Demon Hunter’s flank. “You look like you’re ready to beat the fish to death with that pole, Ves.” Vesthi sharply shushed Nanaai. “Quiet. You’ll scare them off.”

Nanaai rolled her eyes, but silently took up her vigil alongside the Demon Hunter. “You know.” She whispered carefully. “I could just conjure up a couple fish if you wanted one so badly.” Vesthi remained still and silent. Nanaai continued. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re bothering. Certainly you can see the fish with your own Spectral Vision, and you’re certainly nimble enough to…” Vesthi cut Nanaai’s comment off. “It wouldn’t be sporting.”

The old Druid looked at the Demon Hunter as if she’d suddenly sprouted a third eye on her forehead. “Sporting?” Vesthi tilted her head toward Nanaai at an unusual angle and spoke at her. “I either catch it with this or I go hungry for the night.” Vesthi said definitively. She then followed with a soft murmur of a comment, “Every creature deserves a chance at life.”

Nanaai peered over at Vesthi dumbfounded. “Now I know I must be hallucinating. Since when have you, Vesthi, the great slayer of Demon-kind (and who knows what else) care a wit about a creature’s chance at life?”

Vesthi’s arms relaxed. Her chin buried into her knees and her firm grip upon the fishing rod loosened. Nanaai understood now how harsh her words must have been, though she didn’t intend them to be such. This was a strange but welcomed new development for Vesthi. It had been a very long while since the last time she’d seen her express this level of vulnerability and sadness. Nanaai scooted closer and bumped her shoulder. “Hey,” She whispered. “I didn’t mean…”

“It was something that the old Gnome had told me once.” Vesthi interrupted. Nanaai could sense that Vesthi was collecting her thoughts and so she remained silent. Vesthi eventually continued. “We were making our way through Azuna, on our way to Bradensbrook in Val’Sharah. I honestly don’t remember what it was about, only that I had a real sense of urgency. Something that the old Doctor didn’t share.” Vesthi managed a soft grin as she recounted the tale. “He was so awe struck at the wilderness, he had to pause along every stream and babbling brook we came across so he could made a quick note about it in a silly little notepad he always carried with him.”

Vesthi released her pole with one hand and wrapped that arm around her knees. She continued recounting her tale while she idly wobbled the pole back and forth. “It was late when we finally reached the river dividing Azuna and Val’Sharah. Doc insisted we break for camp, and before I could protest that there was a perfectly good elven village not far off from us, the old Gnome had already dropped his pack and was standing beside the river, casting his line into the water.”

Nanaai grinned. “What did you do?”

Vesthi leaned her face more toward Nanaai as she spoke. “Oh, I was livid, but by that point in our journey I’d learned that sometimes there was no arguing with Cailean. Once the old Gnome set his mind to something, that was it. I knew I had two choices. I could either continue on without him or join him, so pushed some rocks aside and plopped down beside him.” Vesthi tilted her head and rested her cheek against her knee. “That was the first time I’d ever fished. He reached into his pack and pulled out a small bundle. Turned out to be a tightly packed collapsible rod and reel. Something of his own design, of which he was very proud. He showed me how to use it. When I finally got my line in the water we just sat silently for a while.” Vesthi chuckled at the memory. “It felt like an eternity, but at the same time… it was nice.”

Vesthi let the rod slip down to her feet a let it rest against the stone. “That’s about when I made a similar comment. ‘You know’…” Vesthi began mocking her own serious tone. “…‘I could just conjure up a few fish if that’s what you’re really after.’ That’s when Cail shushed me. He’d never done that before, at least never with such force. He said then, ‘Don’t you dare, Vesthi. We catch our meal with these poles or we go hungry tonight. Every creature deserves a chance at life. Doing otherwise would be unsporting.’”

The pair sat quietly for a long moment. The sound of the flowing stream their only companion until Vesthi once more broke the silence. “It was often in moments such as these that the old Gnome opened up the most. There was something about the ritual of fishing that eventually spoke to me too, and soon I found myself telling this old Gnome things I hadn’t even remembered (let alone spoken about) in ages.” Vesthi gently waved her pole out over the water. “It must seem silly to you. Me, of all folk, fishing. Trust me, I can understand. It seemed ridiculous to me too, but now…” Vesthi’s voice trailed off.

Nanaai wrapped her arm around Vesthi’s free arm. “Now it’s something you wanted to share with me.” She completed Vesthi’s thought. Vesthi smiled softly and gave Nanaai a nod. Nanaai laid her head against Vesthi’s shoulder and asked softly. “Tell me more about the old Gnome. I would like to know him better.”

Vesthi remained silent for a long moment. Nanaai could sense she was collecting her thoughts, and possibly even sorting through some of the more harder memories she must have had of their time together. She finally spoke, staring out over the still pond. “He’d told me once, while we fished, that he and I were bound together by tragedy. That the circumstances of our meeting were no accident. There were cosmic forces within and without this world, well beyond our understanding, that were struggling to reset a delicate balance that the Legion was threatening to up end.”

Nanaai asked quietly, “What tragedy?”

Vesthi replied, “It’s a long story. I’ll tell it to you another time, but that’s not what he meant. Not directly at least. Cail clarified by telling me that the same evil that had laid the foundation for who I was, and who I’d become, had also laid his foundation. That there was a shared moment in time when our fates diverged from the path we should have been on. That the lives we should have been leading were stolen from us and that we were brought together to help each other steal back our fates. He said that the same evils that had shaped us into what we had become, at that time, were still working to shape us. That it was up to us to take charge of these evils and see that their reshaping of us was on our terms, according to our desires. Only then, once we had mastered our evils, would we have the power to reclaim our fates. Only then could we live again.”

Nanaai muttered. “I’m not sure I entirely agree with all of that.”

Vesthi replied with a soft chuckle. “I’m not entirely sure I even understand it.”

Nanaai spoke softly. “He seemed to have been a very profound person.” Vesthi nodded, and replied in kind. “Yes, he had his moments.” Vesthi gently rested her head against Nanaai’s. “You would have liked him.”

The pair remained perched together upon the rocky outcropping, haphazardly dangling a fishing line into the tranquil pond. Never catching a single thing. Not even a nibble.

[Hâeven-moon-guard (Hâeven)]

In the wizened towers of the Kiri ‘tor and in the grand libraries of the Alliance, many worn tomes burst with leaflets filled with the tales of great cities and towns razed by Arthas and the Scourge. What those times rarely touch on is that Arthas’ shambling hordes didn’t teleport from one point to another. They marched across lands, and in doing so, through homesteads not prominent enough to be regaled by the bards or notes by scholars. My families estate was one of these locations destroyed by the dead on their march to end all life.

Having taken my father, among others, life I was left with a choice: step up and secure my families future, or let my family fall into a bleak future. Not much of a choice there.

[Graume-moon-guard (Graume)]

The young lich, Naze, peered off into the distance from his necropolis in the Shadowlands. Revenants- spirits, rather than elementals- wandered the halls as guards, eerie turquoise mist flowing from their ethereal bodies. John Graume’s unique approach to necromancy had been transformed by Lichdom- before, he was practically puppeteering them by strings of invisible mana, rendering them vulnerable to dispels, and dependent on his direct commands.

The turquoise mist flowing from between a skeletal maw, however, almost seemed to imbue each skeleton with a piece of his soul. That wasn’t quite how it worked, but they were far from traditional necromancy, and could act on some limited form of personal initiative. They were extensions of his will, but did not require his explicit prompting to act on that will. More than once he’d seen them march to a hero’s aid before he even thought to give the order.

“Master.” A voice stirred him from his ponderings. The rust orange-clad lich turned to face a necromancer, one who, like him, rejected the Cult of the Damned. “The Shadowlands have proven to be a very… strange locale. At first, I thought we would be pressed to find a suitable location to establish our necropolis-bastion… but, Maldraxxus seems to be almost generous- corpses seem to spontaneously generate from the soil whenever we wish to raise more warriors.” The necromancer remarked with a slight hint of awe. “Which brings me to a… inquiry, master. I mean no offense when I ask this, but… why have we come to the Shadowlands, master?”

Naze paused to give due thought to the necromancer’s question. “I’ve no love for death at all, my follower. Would that I could grant everyone eternal life without sacrificing their joy or consciousness, I would do so faster than a heart’s beat, but alas, such is beyond my power by a vast distance. But, knowing what I now know of death…” Naze turned to face the shadow of the Maw in the distance. “The least I can do for the living, is rid them of that den of misery and despair, that they may know no fear of the afterlife, and that they may have a second shot at life again. You have chosen to follow me, and it is that simple. You may stay, or walk away, at your own discretion.”

The necromancer paused, gazing long into the Lich’s eyes. “Why?”

Naze was silent for a long moment. “Because regardless of whether they enter the cycle of reincarnation or not, loss is loss… and I know that pain too well. Fear of death drove me to learn the rites of Lichdom. But it is the curse that Sylvanas wove on the world that drove me to etch Taam into my flesh, and embrace true undeath. I will not allow another innocent soul to end up in that prison. Not now, not ever.”

When Naze spoke with a conviction thought lost to the undead, thought relegated to those with beating hearts, the necromancer found his tongue struck numb, words lost upon his lips. He bowed, reminded of why he chose to follow, of all the greater undead, this particular Lich.

“We will not fail, master. Windrunner will pay for her ambitions. We will do as should have been long ago, and shatter her soul, that it may never be whole again.” The necromancer vowed.

Naze simply turned, and lifted a hand in dismissal. It was fortunate, Naze mused, that many thought the undead bereft of emotion.

He didn’t want to explain the crystalline pearls descending from his skeletal eye sockets.