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Entry 3 by Aaja! A bit late, as I just got home from family stuff.
The scavenging crows were crying the morning, picking garbage out of the city's waste areas. Only a few of Stormwind's inhabitants were up at this time. There was still a veil of twilight and dew gathered on the grass. As Bashti walked through the silent streets, she saw white curls of smoke from a nearby chimney--the baker, getting his morning wares ready to sell.
Her hoof-falls were muffled a bit by dampness of the cobbles and she had to take care not to slip. But gradually she made her way to the harbor. A few weary men were gathering there, waiting to take their boats out to trawl for a catch. Blankly they looked at her as she passed by, out onto one of the long piers. Her hooves sounded sharply now, and at the end of the long plank structure, a man in a weathered coat turned his head over his shoulder at that sound.
Bashti smiled, calling his name. "My greetings, Mathew." But as always, she pronounced his name with a buzzing sound, as Mazzew.
Dumbfounded, the one called Mathew stood up on tired legs and turned to face Bashti. Bashti, as tall and vibrant and beautiful as ever. Bashti, whose eyes now laid on him with a slow confusion, rather than greeting. Where not long ago small crinkles were at the corners of his eyes... now there was a sunken-ness. She noticed white strands in his coppery hair.
"Mathew, are you sick?" She put a kind hand on his shoulder.
"By the Light.... Bashti?" Mathew had to sit down again, among his tackle and bait. "Bashti. It's been ten years. Ten years! What do you mean, am I sick?" his tone changed from surprise to irritation.
Bashti looked at him skeptically. Ten years? Surely, two years at the most.
"I'm not sick, Bashti," his tone softened a bit as he witnessed her confusion. "I'm older. But I guess it's different for you."
The two talked of past times and Bashti went away feeling a deep sense of worry that the next time she returned, she would visit a grave and not a man. Oh, how quickly did they wither. A year, a decade... an eon... they blurred one into the next. This was not something she could help.
Well I posted this really long battle scene, but the big band forum monster ate it -.-
So here's just the fear part.
"FEEL THE WRATH OF THE LIGHT!" a booming voice echoed from the mausoleum. A brilliant Light burst forth, healing the Church's forces and decimating the Ashbourne Crusade. The spirit of Uther himself burst force, war hammer in hand. With every movement, awe inspiring Light glimmered forth, causing many clerics to lay down their weapons and pray.
Danyle himself was unprepared for the help of the Lightbringer. Such joy, grace, and love flowed through him. The simple sight of Uther strikes a awe-inspired fear in him. Never had he felt such a presence. He fell to his knees and began to cry from happiness.
Meanwhile, Uther blasted dozens of elves to ash. The call for retreat was sounded, and the elves who originally tried to decimate the Tomb ran back to their masters, making sure to never cross with the Light again.
Fear, my third entry. Not sure why I'm not listed.
The paladin blinked. Long ago the nightmare that had plagued him had been dissipated, but Saigio had learned quickly that the spirit of the dream could still haunt him. He still had dreams where he stood over the dead and broken bodies of his closest friends, his loved ones, his family. He still had dreams where darkness took his body and soul, where he was a prisoner and could do nothing as evil worked through him, bringing terror to everyone and everything the paladin knew. These dreams left Saigio in a small pool of his own sweat, waking up with a shout.
The dreams wouldn't relent.
The terror had lessened over the year. But it would likely never leave fully.
Entry 4: Fear
There was a loud bang as the prison door opened and hit the wall, then someone was thrown to the dirty floor before the door was slammed shut again and metal boots rang against the floor as the people left. The person remained motionless, unconscious. It was a blood elf male, his pale skin bare and torn with what looked like whip marks. Blood ran down his body, mixing in with the sweat and dirt on his body. His hair was ruffled and messy. The clothes he wore on the rest of his body were stained and dirty as well.
A few minutes later, the blood elf let out a low groan and slowly woke up. He tried to get to his feet, but when he tried he cried out in pain loudly then fell back down. His legs were in so much pain, it felt like he might have a couple broken bones there, and both felt like they had multiple, painful bruises. So, he decided to use his hands and the rest of his body to pull himself to the wall and eventually sit up, his bare back leaning against it. It was cold to the touch, but it felt better than on the ground.
He looked around to see where he was. He was in a medium sized, dark cell. There wasn’t anything inside except two beds on either side of the cell. There were thick walls on all sides, only an iron door on the opposite side the room.
He tried to think of how he got here. He remembered being a mission with a small team of some horde forces in Northrend. He was being escorted to a nearby camp where he would report some valuable information on the whereabouts of some other, important people, camps, the progress of some plans, some new ones, and some other important things. As a scout in Northrend, he had been given jobs where he would have to pass on important information, objects, and such; he also got some more regular jobs like scouting or killing.
It had been months since he had first arrived in Northrend, he couldn’t remember very well how long, probably a month or so since he found the dead blood elf Farstrider with Senji in Dragonblight. Senji had actually taught him a few things about being a rogue, so even though they didn’t really like each other because of their races, they respected each other because they were rogues. He had gotten used to the thought of, smell, sight, sound, and everything about death, he wouldn’t flinch if it happened. He had gotten used to the smell of blood, seeing body parts, fighting in battle, sneaking around, other rogue things, and etc. The two had parted ways after he was deemed ready for going alone and doing real missions. Senji’s parting words to him was that he learned better than he smelled.
As he was being escorted to the camp, which was only a few miles away, they had been ambushed. All of his guards had been killed and he had been quickly knocked out after being surrounded alone, he didn’t have the chance to react or do anything.
He sighed, he never imagined that he would be in this situation. The longer he seemed to sit there, the more negative he seemed to get. He started to think about how he might never get out. He started to dread having to go back to that room and get tortured again, he didn’t want to feel pain, he didn’t want to die, no one probably cared enough about him to come look for him, one scout. But he also started to feel the effects of withdrawal from his magic. He hadn’t been able to siphon magic longer than he expected he would, he didn’t mind to long because of being a Farstrider, but it had been longer than he ever had gone.
Entry 4: Fear - continued
His mind reeled as he thought of all this, getting more and more nervous and afraid. He had never been in this situation. But then he remembered something his dad told him one night. His dad had said that as a rogue, he must never give up his secrets to the enemy, it was a disgrace. His dad was a hard, harsh teacher, but he did want his son to be good. Thoughts of his parents, friends, and past experiences came back to him. In his fright he had forgotten everything, he was so stupid. He folded his arms then gripped them on the other hard; he would not let himself be stupid, he would not forget, he would get himself out of there.
He started to go through what he had on him; he didn’t have anything other than his fists and a small, thin, piece of metal that he used for pick locking. The guards must have either not seen it, or not known of its value. He grinned to himself, this was all that he needed. They had even been stupid enough to not bind him very tightly with the ropes around his hands. After some maneuvering, he slipped his hands from the ropes. Then he tested if he could move either of his legs as necessary. His left leg was fine, but his right one was a bit of a problem, it had some broken bones down by his shin so he couldn’t walk without feeling a great amount of pain.
He started to think escape would be impossible, starting to get frightened again when he stopped himself. He wouldn’t allow himself to think like that, he wouldn’t die like this, he had to live for his parents. He could use the rest of his body to make up, he would crawl if he had to, he was a rogue, he could be sneaky whether or not he had his right leg. Pushing himself up slowly on his left leg while using his hands as support on the wall instead of his right, he slowly made his way over to the door. Looking through a small opening in the door, he saw that the hallway was empty. Grinning, he quickly and easily pick locked the door open and slowly, but silently, made his way out.
He did see a few guards in his path as he made his way out, but he silently knocked them out without letting them know he was there. After knocking out one more guard, he heard noises and pounding coming towards him. He got ready for a fight, only to see it was Senji, Vaelithian, Felinael, and some other horde forces. He stared at them, stunned. “How…? Why are all of you here?”
“Right place in the right time, we were all relatively in the same area when we heard that a scout by the name of Knalivas had been captured, and that he had to get taken back because he had some important information. So, we all signed up for the job along with some other escort guards.” “We wouldn’t just let you die, Stinky, if we had any say in the matter.” “If you had died, I would have just brought you back as one of my ghouls and used you as a slave, and hurt you at any chance I got. Dying is the easy road out, living is the real way through things.”
He grinned, he made up his mind then. He had to always stay alive no matter what he had to do, and he had to keep a clear head and think things through. “Thanks, but I got a couple problems. One, I’ve got a broken leg and I’m getting tired. Two, I really need to siphon off some magic soon or I think I’ll go crazy.” “Stinky…” Senji muttered, annoyed yet mocking at the same time. “Well, I can fix that.” Vaelithian said, grinning. Knalivas started to get a bad feeling. “What…?” Vaelithian then started to walk up to him, grabbed him, and then threw him over his shoulder. “Easily fixed.” “Ow…” Knalivas muttered, annoyed. “Hm, nothing we can do about your bare skin. Just grin and bare it until we get back to camp, then we’ll fix you up good.” Knalivas sighed helplessly. He had to deal with the pain, he wouldn’t let himself complain about it, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be a terrible, and cold, experience. “Wonderful.”
Very cool stuff so far! Really enjoyable stories. :D
If I didn't have an essay and a seminar to write I'd enter the contest. >.> I'll just post a story or two for fun when I find the time. Always good to flex those literary muscles.
It was so long ago...
Sierris knew fear, and all too well. She left Dalaran to find her way, wandered the land. She could not find herself. She went to Menethil Harbor and took a ship to sea. Perhaps some travel outside the Kingdoms would help. The salt air would certainly help her out.
The attack was sudden.
She looked out a porthole to see a large ship sidle up beside the vessel. She felt it more than heard it; someone was about to enter the room she was rudely awakened in. She pulled a dagger from her pillow and readied it. Grandma Sierris taught her many things, dagger play among them.
"And what do we have h---?!"
Her hand movement was so swift. The dagger barely knicked the pirate, yet it felt like his skin was set on fire with absolute pain. Unfortunately, she was not able to control this odd tendency of hers at the time, and it only granted her a brief reprieve. A savage backfist knocked her back hard, and then a hammer blow was narrowly avoided.
She had to end this fast. This was no time to merely wound; she had to kill him.
She reared back up and savagely thrust the dagger right into his ribcage from below. The eyes. It was the eyes that haunted her. As he coughed up blood, they had a strange dark laughter in them. She could hear his final thoughts...
Heh, as black a heart as I do...Say good riddance to your delusions, wench.
She dropped the body and saw a new foe in front of her. It was the captain.
"You killed my First Mate, wench, one of my best close quarters fighters. Impressive work, but it will cost you."
The cutlass to her chin told her as much.
"Either join us, or die."
She had no intention of dying, but she had no intention of being indentured to this madman either. However, she had little choice. One or the other...
The sound a dagger being dropped to the floor was the last sound of true freedom she would ever hear. She would make him pay...One way or another.
Personally, I don't think you should let such feelings stop you from posting, but I am not going to sway you one way or the other. <3
You can enter the contest whenever, just FYI. So if in two weeks you have time to dedicate yourself to this, you can start your 30 days then.
85 Draenei Hunter
Entry 4: Fear
Advance warning had been given, and most of the city's inhabitants had fled. The forges stood cold and the elevating platforms had been powered down. A humid breeze stirred the heavy clappers of the low-toned bells and they tolled dully, echoing over the dead streets. But yet, Shattrath was not completely deserted.
"Stand firm, my brothers, my sisters..." the old Vindicator exuded a battle-ready calm. His face didn't betray any doubts.
Aaja tried to relax her body and stop it from shaking. The man next to her, armed with a bannerpole and a blacksmith's hammer, gave her a dubious look. He leaned over and whispered insistently to her. "Get going while you can, girl. This is not a place for you!"
The young woman set her jaw and shook her head resolutely. She willed herself to stand stock-still.
I am this stone, she thought, feeling the solid stone beneath her hooves, I am this stone, and I've touched the heart of this city, and this IS my place.
She adjusted her Shattrath Civil Artificers pin and gripped the triangular metal ruler that she'd sharpened into a makeshift dagger. Someone else had given her a sword, though it was an unwieldy weapon for her.
In the distance, the defenders heard the long call of an orcish warhorn...
Aaja began to shake again, but she didn't move.
Edited by Aaja on 3/25/2012 9:24 PM PDT
The junior William Westminster huffed as he forced himself to keep running, lagging deliberately behind the bulk of the pack to see to the safety of his sisters and mother. Only a dozen meters or so behind him, the last of the soldiers that had been escorting them stood, swords drawn and shields at the ready, as the undead closed in.
He could hear the clamour of battle behind him, and glancing back he could see that the ghouls were upon the footmen. Stripped of their burdensome armour, the soldiers were at a serious disadvantage.
Ahead of him, the refugees were beginning to panic; pushing and shoving to be past each other, none wanting to be the straggler. Westminster put it to the back of his mind and focused on his own survival and that of his family’s, til Lissa fell.
He glanced back to where the soldiers formed a protective line and then sprinted to his sister, dropping to his knees at her side. At only a glance, he could tell she was unconscious, and his stomach churned with worry. “Ma!” he shouted, his voice barely carrying over the screams of the refugees. But it was enough to grab his family’s attention, and his mother and older sister turned to catch him up.
He was already struggling to scoop her up when they closed the distance between them, bending down to help him pick her up. They only made it a few feet before somewhere far behind them, someone yelled. The words were indistinguishable, but the meaning was clear; Westminster turned to catch sight of a ghoul that had made it past the soldiers and was running straight at his family.
His chest tightened as he unshouldered his rifle, flicked back the hammer, and thumbed the safety off. His father had taught him to never keep a gun loaded until you planned to use it, but given the circumstances he hoped that he’d forgive him, wherever he was. He sighted down the barrel at the ghoul, waited but a moment, and pulled the trigger. Despite his shaking hands, he hit it dead-centre.
As it fell, he was already fumbling for another cartridge. “Go,” he said as he took a first step down the slope. His mother grabbed him by the arm, but he shrugged it off, turning and levelling a serious gaze at his family. “Just go. I’ll find you later.”
They couldn’t argue, so holding Lissa between the two of them, the women started after the other refugees.
Hesitant, Westminster watched them go, and for a moment almost followed them. Then he turned to count the ghouls, and began to reload.
Edited by Wilano on 3/26/2012 5:59 AM PDT
32 Blood Elf Priest
(Typing this on my phone so sorry for any grammar, spelling or punctuation mistakes. I forgot I hadn't entered anything!)
Curled up under the warm covers Corinna should have been content, but she wasn't. It was now close to midnight but still, sleep evaded her. It had been weeks since she'd had a good nights rest.
She wasn't sure when it began, but she knew she'd been afraid of sleep for a very long time. The dark, frightening nightmares and the lack of control scared Corinna. It never seemed to get better, in fact it progressively got worse.
Watching the dancing flames of the fireplace soothed her a bit, but certainly not enough to sleep. She instead turned to the shadowy form of her sister, it was funny how someone could be so close yet so far away. She silently pondered the state of Arina's mind and what she was dreaming, was it a nightmare?
She shivered in the bed from the thought of another dream filled with horrendous things. Tangling the edge of the blanket in her hands she closed her eyes, willing a peaceful slumber to come.
Why is this happening to me?
The shackles around the woman's wrists were too tight, but her aggressor did not care. Her hands started to turn dark shades of red and the blood was mostly restricted from flowing. The beating of her heart pulsed in her palms and all she could do is whimper.
By this point, she had lost track of time. Was it day? Maybe it was night? She couldn't really tell. Forbidden to step into the outside world, she had become someone's play thing. The object of someone's cruelty and their ultimate experiment.
Who could do such a thing to a growing young woman? One which had never seen or heard the cruel tones of this world? And yet here she was, trapped in the cellar of a mentor she had once adored.
"Worthless," he said as he spat on her face and walked away.
Yanking on her bindings again, the woman's voice began to plead with her superior, "Please, I will do anything. I-I wo-won't even speak of this! N-Never never have to see me again!"
The man was unmoved as he paced about and reached for a book. Flipping to a page in it, he hummed an eerie tune which scared the woman even more. Shaking from the unknown of what is to come next, she tried once more to implore for her release and yet as soon as she opened her mouth, the book was smacked across her face.
"Shut it, girl." The hateful man sternly warned and resumed his quiet reading. Laying on the floor, the woman began to silently weep trying her best to hide the sniffles and the whimpers as pain rushed through her body. Why had the Light forsaken her like this? What was haunting her mentor so heavily that she needed to be used in this fashion? All this thinking had the woman put into a vicious circle of confusion, doubt and torment.
As she started to lose herself in the constant thoughts, her mentor had been quietly working on something. The power flowing through his palms were no longer holy and just, but dark and angry. The flicker of purple flames arose from his palms and he cackled madly.
"Let's play a game, shall we?" He remarked as he turned around slowly and began to chant in a cursed tongue. The cracks in the floor began to seep a familiar flame and swirled with intensity as it headed straight for the helpless lady.
Shrieking, the woman tried to rise to her feet, but once more she was struck down by her mentor. Barking harshly to her, "Don't try to act like you have the will to beat this. Worthless you are! I shall make you perfect! Embrace that of which comes for you!"
Breaking out into hard tears, the woman squealed her protests, but her voice wasn't enough to stop what was coming for her. The moment she dared to look forward toward the flame was the very moment her life changed. The shadows of darkness from the ground below raced to her body and opened its 'maw' to engulf her completely.
Her blue eyes were stained with fear as for the first time in her life, she was touched with the pain of a thousand knives and felt the hatred of something vile that she couldn't even begin to describe it later in her adult years.
With nothing left to do, Venita took a deep breath of air like it was her last and closed her eyes to wish away the cold world she was introduced to.
Entry: How Westminster Envisions the Future
In his mind, he could see it. A free Lordaeron, the darkness stripped from the revitalised land. A wife, pretty but level-headed, and three children—two daughters and a son. He could envision his mother and sisters alive and with him again, reunited finally after nearly twenty years apart, and he could imagine his father’s body finally returned to the grave it belonged in; it would be a simple lot marked with a headstone that would tell of the man’s bravery for generations to come.
Westminster lay on his back and watched the stars. Bandit lay sprawled on his chest, and nearby Bryndi was preparing a poultice for his inflamed eye. He did not live in that world, not yet. But, for this moment at least, he didn’t have to dwell on the uncertainty of his own time.
Not when a brighter future lay just beyond his mind’s eye.
Edited by Wilano on 3/26/2012 5:59 AM PDT
Entry for March 26th - Envisions of the Future
There is disquiet in the way that she looks at him now. Not the kind that heralds an explosion of shouts and vicious hands, but something much more silent, and much more consuming. She smiles in her usual way: lopsided and sarcastic. But there are times when it does not quite reach her eyes; not like it used to. When she shuts them, they are standing with feet bare on the beach, and the sound of gently rolling waves is pleasant and soft against her ears, and their hands are loosely clasped in one another's. Her stomach is swollen, filled with hopes and dreams that overflow throughout her body, radiating a joy so profound that her eyes are always squinting.
When she opens them again, his eyes are still blue, but they are not the eyes that she remembers from days, years, past. While the hue of her own have shifted into the staple of her people, his have grown pale and hallowed, and the ghostly glow that now fills them up is cold when their gazes meet.
She still loves him.
What she hopes for -- wishes for every night, longs for so deeply and so often that it damn near kills her -- and what she knows are entirely separate things. Eventually, there will come a day when she will not see him again, and this time it will not be by a blade's edge.
Edited by Shirexia on 3/26/2012 6:38 AM PDT
#4 - Because I didn't have time to post something last night. I'll post #5 later tonight.
Throstan woke up, only to be found sitting by the campfire, alone, his back to a tree, his claymore in his hands. The nightmare played through his head over, and over, and over.
It was the one thing he feared the most. The one thing he could not bring himself to overcome.
Edited by Hranu on 3/26/2012 11:54 AM PDT
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