Raga's Ficlets Thread

[Raga]

((So, there's this ficlet contest thingy going on. Details can be found here: us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/1567934433. I decided it might be fun. I also know from long experience that creativity begets creativity. If other people are posting RP stories, I feel inspired to do so; if I post RP stories, sometimes other people will be inspired to do so. So rather than hoarding my stories, I thought I'd post them here as I write them, in the hopes of prodding others to creative works, in the hopes that it will help me remember I wanted to do this so I should stick with it, and because I hate to let writing sit around unread, however small or silly it may be.

The contest deadline is Jan. 7. That's 14 writing days remaining. The contest offers 25 prompts, plus 5 bonus prompts. Being me, I'm aiming to see if I can do all 30. So that's 2-3 ficlets per day. 750 words max. Hell, I can do that. So can you! Feel free to start your own thread here and post as you write! Share the love!))

[Raga]

4. Pink

Raga sat on the hard-packed dirt floor of the Crossroads inn, her tail swishing anxiously. A gnome, tiny even by gnome standards, sat opposite the Tauren shaman. Her growth stunted by poor diet until her captor goblins had sold her, House Gnome had been a Winter's Veil gift from Bullhoof several years ago.

The mismatched pair of Tauren and gnome stared at each other over the object on the ground between them. House Gnome blinked her too-big eyes and smiled uncertainly. Unless you counted things like food and shelter and protection, this was the first gift she'd ever received from Raga. House Gnome appeared unsure what to make of this particular item, however. Crafted of brown fur, the tiny outfit included a cap with two dainty horns and a tail made from frayed twine.

"It's to make you less, err… pink," Raga said. Hellscream's damned orcs had taken to leveling hostile glares at House Gnome whenever she and Raga traveled through the outposts in Southern Barrens. Raga glared right back, of course. House Gnome had lived in the Barrens longer than most of those upstarts. But Raga also worried.

House Gnome did not look as delighted as Raga had expected. Her tiny smile drooped.

"You can't change her into a Tauren," a deep but kind voice rumbled. Raga looked up as Bullhoof crouched beside them.

"What am I supposed to do, then?" Raga's frustration leaked into her voice, but Bull only smiled his wise smile.

"Change the world."

[Raga]

17. Challenge

The first time Syd left Kaldorei lands following the Cataclysm was to respond to a call for defense at Refuge Pointe. Familiar faces surrounded her. Familiar voices shouted commands. She fell into the old battle order with ease. It felt good to do something more substantial than bandaging civilians or blessing the dead.

When the attackers had pulled out, the suggestion came: "We should attack their towns!" Syd leaned wearily against her mistsaber's neck and waited for the inevitable official response.

"Guildwatch is for defense only."

But the man responding hesitated, and Syd lifted her head to look at him. She knew him no better than she knew the rest, keeping to herself as she did. But she'd followed and fought alongside him often enough to know she trusted him.

"…but if any of you want to launch an assault, I would lead it. Who's with me?"

He wasn't speaking directly to Syd, but his words were a challenge that struck her heart dead center.

Thoughts half-formed for months coalesced, and Syd understood that the shadows growing heavier daily would not go away until she DID something. Action might free her where meditation and prayer had not.

The moment to choose action was now.

The others' responses were immediate. Some turned away; others rattled swords and smiled grimly. Syd sat quietly, afraid to speak her decision aloud but knowing it was made.

When he led them out of Refuge Pointe and into the Hillsbrad Foothills, Syd followed.

[Raga]

3. Preparation

John Rastarin sat at a table in the far back of a Darnassus inn. Away from the sun. In the shadows and darkness. He spread his hands--human hands--flat on the table and regarded the last of the pinot noir he'd found in the bottom of his packs after leaving Gilneas.

Leaving. Fleeing. Running like a cowed dog, with its tail between its legs.

"Will you come with us to Lor'danel?" the couple he'd met shortly after arriving in Darnassus had asked.

"Need some time to prepare," he'd replied. He supposed they'd assumed he meant getting armor repaired or weapons sharpened or stocking up on fresh supplies.

He hadn't meant any of those things. He wasn't sure what he'd meant. He only knew that despite the kindness and understanding of the Kaldorei, his instincts rebelled against the idea of falling into line and following orders.

Orders had kept him chasing his tail for far too long already--attack, pull back, strike, retreat. Retreat. Retreat again. Maybe running away had become a habit for him. Sitting in the dark and drinking required little effort. It didn't ask him to sprout fur and teeth and claws and draw on his vicious nature in the name of Gilneas or the Alliance. But it was a form of running, just the same.

The hands on the table closed into fists. He forced them open again, took up the first of the last four bottles, and poured. He wasn't ready--not just yet.

[Raga]

21. Blue

The fountain caught Syd's attention as she left the auction house. Beyond the cart-turned-shop of the gnome engineers and against the backdrop of the dwarven district's smoky sky, crystal blue water burbled from the mouths of stone lions and cascaded into a marble pool. The sight was depressingly cheerful.

Voices murmured amicably rather than shouting orders or crying for aid. Syd walked to the mailbox, unaccosted by a circus of pummels and stuns. No one tried to kill her. No one tried to kill her fighting companions--what some might call friends.

Friends--Syd had precious few of those. She wondered sometimes if she'd forgotten how to make them. Perhaps time and shadows had stolen that from her.

On a whim, she took her sewing to the fountain and sat on a patch of sun-warmed stone ledge. Soon enough she forgot her task and simply stared into the water, watching ripples wend themselves into flashes of memory.

The nearby swish of a horse's tail and a light snort caught her wandering attention. The oh-so-young man in the saddle regarded Syd uncertainly. Her polite smile was reflexive. Guarded. Never let them see what you're really thinking.

Hardly a welcoming gesture, she abruptly realized. Would it kill her to let her guard down, just for a short time? She adjusted her smile and greeted Uchel more warmly.

An hour later, Lemuelle had joined them, and the three sat chatting in the sunlight. Crystal blue water cascaded from the fountain beside them.

[Raga]

19. Bargain

"It's a splendid color for you!" Wynne Larson's smile gleamed as brightly as the coins she surely hoped to part from Malanie. Malanie smiled back before squinting at Syd, holding the dress up a little higher and arching her eyebrows in a questioning expression.

Syd, seated on a crate, leaned against the wall of the shop and pursed her lips. Here, with the faintly musty smell of wood plank flooring mingled with the sharp scent of new cloth, it was easy to believe that the most important question was what dress Malanie should wear to a wedding.

"Red does look good on you," Syd agreed. "But didn't you say the bridesmaids were wearing red? I do like the purple one, too. "

"You could get them both!" Wynne gasped as though the thought had only just occurred to her. "I'll give you a little discount. It's a real bargain!"

Syd and Malanie exchanged knowing looks.

"I suppose I could," Malanie said.

Syd responded with a shrug. It was fun to watch Malanie shop, but it wasn't as if she had any reason to buy pretty clothes for herself lately. She wasn't the one who'd be spending the gold.

Malanie picked up the purple again and held it up in front of her, her brow furrowed in thought.

"You'd save so much, buying them both," Wynne Larson insisted.

"Wynne." Syd chuckled, drawing a vexed look from the clothier. "At this rate you'll have her saving money until she has none left."

[Raga]

25. Smoke

Smoke, sweet and warm, laced the air atop Fargaze Mesa. Raga breathed it in, let it fill her. Let it carry her. With an eagle's shriek echoing in her mind, her Tauren body fell away. On wings of spirit, she flew.

Smoke over Camp Taurajo, bitter and black as treachery and murder, hiding the furtive movements of greedy looters. Smoke greasy and ingratiating over Desolation Hold, where orc usurpers strutted and barked orders and treated the Tauren--the Tauren--as if they were visitors in Hellscream's lands, instead of he in theirs. Smoke nearly nonexistent in Hunter Hill, where the fires were few and carefully banked to avoid easy detection by the Alliance roaming between their new outposts in Horde territory.

In the Crossroads, smoke from Boorand Plainswind's cooking fire, rich with the aroma of boar and spices. Smoke billowing from the great bonfire at the Grol'dom farm, where friends gathered weekly to catch up on stories and see familiar faces in the midst of upheaval. Smoke drifting on the dry Barrens' winds back toward Mulgore, like a tide recalled to the shore of home.

Smoke, sweet and warm, from the fire atop Fargaze Mesa. Raga breathed it in, let it fill her, as she returned to herself. Still no sign of her daughter, Ayusta, since before the Cataclysm. But maybe Ayu, as evanescent as smoke, would eventually find her way back to where she began.

[Raga]

1. Dynamo

"Oh aye, I can fix yer staff. Knock the kink right out o' it, just take a minute."

The red-headed dwarven woman grinned as she deftly examined the weapon. Syd smiled back. Recently returned from time with the Wildhammers, she found the dwarven dynamo's straightforward warmth reassuring. Dwarves didn't lie--if they liked you, you knew it. If they didn't, you knew that, too. Stormwind's Dwarven District was no different.

"From Darnassus, aye? Long way from home." The dwarf plucked a hammer from her workbench and hefted it. After squinting at the staff a moment, she hauled back and whacked it with enthusiasm.

"I--oh!" Syd covered a gasp of alarm. The smith didn't notice. "I'm staying in Stormwind now."

Darnassus wasn't home anymore. But Stormwind wasn't home, either--she was staying here. She felt an abrupt longing to know how it felt to have a home, not just a room where she slept.

The dwarf held up Syd's staff for inspection. Despite her alarm at the less-than-subtle handling of the hammer, Syd saw that the staff was like new. She smiled and paid the woman before turning away with a sigh.

Despite the smoke and constant ring of hammers on anvils, Syd always half hated to leave the district. Her gaze fell on the sign swinging on the building by the fountain: The Golden Keg. And the thought came--if she hated to leave, then why not stay?

The innkeeper's name was Thaegra Tillstone. She was a dynamo, too.

[Raga]

18. Fish

Raga shivered in the cavern's chill; her fur had been wet for days. The Tauren grumbled as the human before her scrounged through crates.

House Gnome poked Raga in the knee and scrunched her tiny face into an expression Raga knew she meant, "Don't be so grumpy, we didn't drown!" Raga sighed and patted the top of House Gnome's head.

"I know. I know! But still."

"Here we go!" The human male lofted bottles into the air. Raga's spirits lifted--payment for her work with actual value! She slapped the fellow heartily on the shoulder and snatched the booze.

Minutes later, the bottles lay in a heap in the sand, an opened one in Raga's hand. Her shoulders slumped. Her tail drooped.

"It smells like FISH!"

House Gnome nodded.

"It probably tastes like fish."

House Gnome nodded.

Raga muttered unhappily before sitting up straighter. "Good thing we have our backup booze."

House Gnome started to nod, then winced and gave her head a slow little shake. Raga eyed her with growing horror.

"No? What no?"

House Gnome delved into Raga's packs--her responsibility was keeping them organized and well-stocked--and lugged out a flask.

The seal around its neck was corroded by salt water. Raga gasped, grabbed the flask, and opened it. One quick slug of bourbon, and she coughed it back out again.

"It's contaminated!" Raga spluttered while House Gnome patted her furry ankle in an attempt to calm her.

Maybe the fish booze wouldn't taste SO terrible.

[Bullhoof]

Got your message, awesome stories.

[Raga]

16. Dance

Syd paced the floor in her room at the Golden Keg, trembling with a fury she knew was an overreaction. She'd lost her temper. Silveria had intervened. And still Syd hadn't held her tongue. She wasn't just angry, she realized, but ashamed.

How much easier to stay calm when she hadn't really known anyone.

A light touch bumped Syd's shoulder. She tensed at the touch and turned.

A bubble danced in the still air. Colors winked and whirled on its surface. Syd sighed in relief.

Kayasi's other gift rested atop the chest at the foot of Syd's bed, a small, harmless-looking bag. Syd sat beside it and pulled the bag open, far enough for the surface of the first balloon to peep through. After a moment's hesitation, she touched it with one finger.

Giddy lightness tickled up Syd's arm and down her spine, an uncomplicated joy. A loss of control.

Syd shivered and closed the bag again. She hoped Kayasi knew she truly appreciated the gesture. But letting go enough to use the balloons was not something Syd could bring herself to do. The last time she'd felt such joy, it had turned out to be complete fiction. She'd been able to forgive him, to appreciate the happy times even if they hadn't been all that they'd seemed--a beautiful lie, for all that it was a lie. But she would not let her emotions run away so easily with her this time.

She would be in control.

[Raga]

2. Weary

Syd heard rumors about the Southern Barrens, but she didn't want to believe. She rode through Dustwallow, along a new road littered with dead enemies, past the chuff and clamor of battle, and encountered one General Hawthorne at Forward Command.

He struggled with implications. They "removed Taurajo from the equation." He allowed civilians to escape. Syd's stomach turned, but she tried to listen. Right and wrong presented themselves in shades of gray.

Camp Taurajo wasn't hard to find. Smoke wisped from charred tents and lodges. Syd pulled forward her hood and walked into the camp.

Human looters moved from building to building. She heard one complain that not much was left. Bile rose into her mouth. Syd gripped her staff tightly to avoid hitting him with it.

The bodies remained where they'd fallen. Syd was sure they'd been armed, once--with looters around, no weapons remained. They had fought, guards with axes, others with the skinning knives of their trade. Some had held no weapon at all. These hadn't been military threats, only a simple people defending their home. They had no cache of weapons, no vats of plague fermenting into murder.

Eventually, she'd be faced with this choice. One thing to join assaults on obvious threats in Forsaken lands or against the bloodthirsty orcs in Ashenvale. When she was asked to come to the aid of men like Hawthorne, what would she answer?

She left Camp Taurajo under the weary weight of impossible choices.

[Raga]

13. Ruthless

Raga stood on the cliff overlooking the human structures below, her tail swishing briskly and her fists clenched. The soldiers moved from tower to tower and back again on their patrols, the Barrens sun shining on their bright armor. The brightness clashed with the images burning in Raga's mind--black smoke, flies on the dead hides of old friends, fire guttering in the ruins of a place that should always have been there.

Honor Stand no longer housed anyone of honor.

The rope was worn but sturdy enough to carry her to into the pass below. Her totems thumped solidly into ground the Alliance had no business occupying. Their turn, then, to shout in alarm. To feel the lash of nature unleashed. To burn.

Raga knew her one-woman attack would change nothing in the long run. For the moment it was enough to watch the bright armor darken and bloody.

[Raga]

11. Lavish

"The b-b-big f-f-fancy p-p-p-place in the mi-mi-middle," Uchel had explained to Syd. Iron spikes and rusted chains and massive chunks of gray stone didn't quite fit Syd's definition of "fancy," but she didn't linger to think about it. Already the shouts and clamor of joined battle echoed over the island.

She rode out.

Sword and axe, dagger and mace. Fire and ice and flash of light. The thump and ring of weapon on shield. Grunts of effort and cries of pain and rallying shouts. Dirt and blood and sweat. Syd paid little heed to the identity of the wounded, only to the state of injury and need for aid. She caught glimpses of faces, those she respected and those she did not.

She healed them all. Battle was not a time for holding grudges.

Later, muddied and weary, as their united force drifted slowly away into individuals going separate ways, Syd and Uchel stood under the arch of Baradin Hold and took a moment to catch their breath.

The place seemed downright lavish.

[Raga]

14. Sand

Syd walked along the beach. Every step compressed wet sand, drawing salt water up into the footprints she left behind. Peace was here, in this empty moment between battles. Only her movements affected the landscape, only her actions left a mark in the sand.

All over Azeroth, in the thousands of years before Syd's birth and the hundreds since, kingdoms rose and kingdoms fell and kingdoms rose again. All the many races placed stone upon stone, building cities and forts that all too soon crumbled or fell into the sea. The fact was easy to forget, in the daily rush of attempting to secure territory before it fell into the hands of the enemy. Stormwind's pristine new walls gleamed in the light of new day, Ironforge held steady in its mountain, Darnassus sat proudly aloof in Teldrassil's embrace. Orgrimmar and its new outlying forts bristled with spikes and bloodthirst, Forsaken villages swelled into plague havens. Sturdy places, all, declaring their importance with rebellious marks on the landscape.

Syd turned and looked back the way she'd come. The tide, implacable as time, had erased all but the most recent of the imprints she'd left behind. Those too would soon be swept away, she knew, leaving the beach a blank canvas for whomever came after.