Monday, May 21, 2012

Site Write Entry #11: Time Warp

Prompt: May 17, 2012 - This is the last adventure for your character through this 'trip'. You are sitting in a group and asked to drink a certain potion. Instantly after drinking it, you are transported to the memory of where your character grew up. What is it like? What does your character see? Do they catch a glimpse of themselves running by as children? After your experience, you open your eyes and realize you are back in the same place as you grew up in. What changed? How does your character feel?
. . . . . "Don't you dare," Valdiis said warningly as Eredis approached with a mug in each hand, steam curling off the surfaces. "You know I think zat stuff tastes like dirty roots."
. . . . . "It's not coffee."
. . . . . "Oh. Vell zen." Her expression was wary.
. . . . . "It's a mix of melted chocolate, milk, and cinnamon." Eredis handed the mug over to Valdiis and sat down on the dock, his oilcloth coveralls squeaking in the still, foggy morning air. "A little something extra I asked Doc Laurenhall for because you said you weren't sleeping."
. . . . . "Are you tryink to drug me, Orill?"
. . . . . "Just a dream potion."  
 . . . . "Eh. Fine." Valdiis took a sip of the warm liquid and closed her eyes, hoping for sleep to finally claim her.


. . . . . A frigid wind blew snow onto the loading ramp as three gawky, barely-grown draenei raced across the frozen snowpack. Behind them, a felhound snapped and snarled, running as fast as its stubby legs would carry it. Sixty yards. Thirty. Fifteen. The ramp wasn't pulling up yet, but it was clear the artificer manning it really wanted to. Ten yards.
. . . . . The felhound lunged and caught Kehael's tail, causing him to fall. A second later, the demonic creature swarmed up the fallen draenei boy and tore at his throat. His scream was short-lived. Instead of running up the ramp, the other two draenei turned and - with strength fueled by the panic and vigor of youth - beat the felhound off with their bared fists. The smaller of the two, a female with short, curly, light brown hair, growled at the felhound and bodily blocked it from her fallen friend while the other gawky draenei gripped under each arm and hauled Kehael the last ten yards to the vessel's loading ramp.
. . . . . "Hurry, Valdiis!"
 . . . . . The female backed hastily away from the felhound, never turning her back on it as she boarded the vessel. The artificer palmed a crystal off his belt and pointed it at the demon, shooting a wide beam of holy energy from the point of the artifact and chasing it back so he could close the ramp. A bone-deep rumble indicated that they'd left the ground - the first real ground Valdiis had ever seen - and were transitioning back into the Twisting Nether again. None of that mattered, though. She was on her knees at Kehael's side, her hands pressed against the ragged tear in his neck.
. . . . . Kehael wasn't moving. He wasn't making a sound. He was just leaking and she couldn't stop it! Some sound, hoarse and harsh, tore from her lips as hands on her shoulders pulled her back. It was her mother, Omii, an uncharacteristically sympathetic frown on her face as she made a maternal shushing sound and folded her youngest daughter in her arms. "That is enough," she murmured.
. . . . . "No. No! You have to heal him! You can fix it! Just call on the Light and the blessings of K'ure and D'ore!" Valdiis didn't understand why Omii wasn't doing her job as an anchorite and fixing the fallen.
. . . . . "I cannot, dear-heart. I cannot."
. . . . . "You can! Fix him! Rulaam," she wailed at her companion as he panted for breath, kneeling at Kehael's hooves, "tell her!"
 . . . . . "He is dead, Valdiis. I cannot fix dead."
. . . . . She didn't understand. Sure, she'd heard the term before, been intellectually informed of it, but death - death happened to other races. Not the exiled ones. He couldn't be dead.


. . . . . Valdiis opened her eyes and stared into her mug of chocolate. "Still no sleep. Just old memories..." She brought her gaze up to Eredis's face, the aged lines of it creased with concern. "Zey keep sayink ve're dead. Ve can't be dead. I don't feel dead."

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