#NOVEMBERDAY22023

[osric-giroux-ffxiv]

DWC Day 2- November 2023 - Success/Sin

Clearly defined objectives. 

For a majority of his life the goals had been laid out before him, whether he wanted them to be or not. 

As a child - remain quiet and in the background. Do NOT ask questions or draw attention to yourself.

As a young adult and the new head of the house - maintain the House. Keep it running and make sure it will be able to run should something happen to you (expect that something will happen to you). Make sure that your sister will be able to step in and take over as she will ultimately be the one overseeing things in your absence.

As a dragoon - do not question your orders. Remove the heretics. Be prepared to sacrifice yourself for the greater good, as is expected of one in your position. Do not question your superiors. Do not question the church doctrine. 

Success had been so clearly defined and yet so difficult to achieve each time.

Osric pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed the file he’d been holding and set it aside pushing himself up off the couch and taking a moment to stretch before walking a short lap around the library of the Cress Estate. 

The ‘success of the House’ - that had been what his goal was when he had entered into this arrangement. That, and the abolition of his own house in the process. But now that the merger was complete, the definition of what ‘success’ felt like it was a moving target, and like he needed to change in order to be able to hit it. 

Undeserving - that’s what Carrera had called him. Said he was undeserving of Vahalia, and didn’t deserve to be related to Valeria via marriage either. 

He stopped walking in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped loosely behind his back for a moment. He couldn’t, nor did he have any interest in trying to convince Carrera that he was worthy of Vahalia - he didn’t think the woman would listen to anything he had to say anyway, half the time she barely remembered his name - but he had his pride, and he could damn well see through and make sure that House Cress succeeded - whatever that needed to mean.

And whatever that meant he needed to become and whatever sins he needed to commit…so be it.

@daily-writing-challenge

Mentions: @vahalia-cress-ffxiv, @spirit-speaking, @carrera-ffxiv

[kaisinasunblade]

DWC Day 2- November 2023 - Success

One could say that with Kai attending the afterparty was a huge success for her. Stepping into a world that always held her back. Conquering the very fears that had held her back since running away from Booty Bay.

Despite everything that had happened to her, she always kept that upbeat friendly personality that everyone liked about her. The fact that she owned a successful business, showed her just how far she had really come.

But when she had stepped into the Envy room, watching the intimacy displayed so openly between people caused Kai to crave any form of intimacy. Kai closed her eyes while taking in a deep breath, allowing the scent of salty sea fill her senses. She was a changed woman. Having grown in confidence. She could not help but smile as she thought of all the friends she had made over the past few months.

Those thoughts turns to both Dice and Ryland, and cheeks flushed upon what directions those thoughts took. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Annya's and Pyra's words helping her to push those sinful thoughts out of her mind, at lest for now. In time she knew that one day she would find that intimacy she craved, and not in just a sexual way. She still had those demons to over come.

With one last glance to her home in Ratchet, Kai takes one last look out over the sea and takes in a deep breath, before turning and heading down the path. It was time to return to The Dream. Those who worked for her would be fine running the tavern while she was gone. Times are changing for her. She was growing in so many ways. And she knew she still had growing to do.

@daily-writing-challenge

@dicenne @rylandfalkov @vixannya @pyraelia for mentions

[commanderbragh]

DWC 2023 Day 2: Beachhead (Success)

“Alright everyone, listen up!”

Banagan straightened up as the sergeant began calling out instructions. He quickly glanced at Skold standing beside him, the Drakthyr intently paying attention to the veteran soldier.

“Earlier groups have already established the beachhead. Our job is to go help secure their perimeter and root out any allies of that fel blasted dragon. Orders are to take them alive, if possible.”

“Why not just kill them?” 

Banagan turned to look at one of the mercenaries that had volunteered for the group. He was a middle-aged man in armor that showed a lot of wear. He looked at one of his friends with a grin and said something quietly enough that Banny couldn’t hear him.

“Because those are not our orders. Do you understand, or are you such a moron that I need to find that can translate common into stupid?” The sergeant stared at the mercenary. He started to say something in return but his friend punched him in the arm. A scowl started to play across his face, but disappeared as quickly once he realized that the sergeant’s look had only darkened. The mercenary looked away, but the sergeant continued to stare for a few moments longer, making everyone uncomfortable.

“We are there to secure the area. That is all. If you cannot handle that, if you have dreams of glory, if you suffer from delusions of grandeur, then I suggest you step out right now and find some other troop.” The sergeant scanned the group of people, daring someone to interrupt him again. Banagan watched without a word, though his own thoughts were racing at this point.

“Controlling the beachhead is the first step. That is our part of the job. We do that and we’re one step closer to success. One step closer to saving Azeroth.”

Again, Banny thought to himself with a slight grin.

@daily-writing-challenge

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge November 2023 Day 2

Success / Sin ( @daily-writing-challenge @kthalentia )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Theme: Steven Lynn - Main Theme

U'tova and Aurant had camped out on this cliff for half a dozen bells, waiting for the searing Thanalan sun to stop pounding on the badlands and disappear beneath the horizon to rest. As the sun dropped, so too did the temperature, with the sweltering heat giving way to the bitter cold. Why anyone would willingly live in such an extreme place is something the Ishgardian could never understand– but to Tova, this place was home.

Aurant had spent his nights in the warmth of seedy taverns that he never learned the golden rule of Thanalan, but he was learning it now. The night chill cut through his light clothes like a hot knife through butter, and it was particularly windy all the way up here from their vantage point. U’tova, on the other hand, simply draped her tail over her legs to block out the wind, with a collar stuffed with chocobo down to keep the cold from creeping down her neck. Her green gaze held a golden glow in the dark, allowing her to see much farther than the Elezen could– even if wasn’t missing an eye. With just a smidgen of moonlight her vision was sharper now than it was midday, and making her the perfect candidate for this trial.

“I see someone…” She whispered, catching his attention. He shuffled forward on the ground to lay beside her, but he couldn’t see anything himself. 

“Describe them.”

“Short black hair. Hyur. Kind of stocky.”

“Scar on his face?”

U’tova inhaled sharply as she focused. He was walking with a chocobo behind him but he turned at just the right angle all the same. “Starts near his lips and goes all the way past his ear.”

“That’s Tigrund Waterstep all right.” Aurant glanced over at the Miqo’te beside him, almost tempted to ask if he could use her tail to help fight off this brutal wind. “Be a dear and take the shot, won’t you? And avoid a headshot… or he won’t be recognizable.” U’tova clenched her jaw as she prepared to take his life. She pulled back the bolt and slid the round into the chamber, flicked the safety of her rifle off, pressed it against her shoulder and took aim.

“Wait…” She muttered, feeling her heart run cold. Behind Tigrund atop of the chocobo was another person– this one considerably smaller. “There’s a child with him… a boy…”

“Don’t shoot the boy. Old Tigrund is the only one that needs to taste some dust tonight.” Aurant replied, seemingly trying to half-bury himself in the warm dirt. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or if this was more of his dry Ishgardian wit, but if he was joking he would usually admit it shortly after. “Tova…? You have a clear shot, don’t you?”

“I do but…-” 

“Tigrund is a Black Adder. Wanted for armed robbery, murder, arson, and kidnapping.” He even consulted the bounty note he was using to help warm up his chest. “He helped kill a lot of good people and he’s part of the reason why I have to wear an eye-patch. The bounty on his head is fifty million.” He paused to let that sink in– if only for a moment. “You wanted to join us… this is what we do. We kill Black Adders and turn in their corpses for gil. If anything you’ll be doing the boy a favor by getting that monster of a father out of his life so get your smallclothes untwisted and take the bloody shot!”

U’tova could feel her heart racing– all she could think about was the devastation that boy would endure. Someone killed her mother in a similar fashion, cut down in front of her adoring husband and seven summer old daughter; setting both on a course from which they could not veer from. Yet her mother was not a criminal. She wasn’t wanted for murder, for kidnapping, for armed robbery– none of it. She was just a humble merchant madly in love with a cranky gunsmith.

Her mouth was dry when she took aim. Her ears flattened against her head to help block out the sound, and she closed an eye to better line up the shot without distractions. All it took was a gentle squeeze of the trigger and a handful of heartbeats.

BLAM! 

A cup of dust kicked up from the other side of the man, with the startled chocobo flailing from the sudden sound echoing down the valley. Tigrund took three shaky steps forward as he rubbed at his chest, but he didn’t even have time to look down at the blood soaking his fingers before he collapsed into the dirt.

“Papa…?” The boy asked after getting the bird under control. He jumped off the saddle and ran toward his father, still in shock over what just happened. “Papa…?! PAPA!”

“A clean hit.” Aurant sighed, before pushing himself up to his feet. “Stay here… I’ll get the body.”

And a clean hit it certainly was. The bullet vaporized his heart and took him out before he could even feel a thing… which is far and above a better death than most of the victims of his crime sprees got. U’tova lowered the rifle and watched the boy try to shake his father like he had fallen asleep, but she didn’t say a thing back to the Ishgardian. There was nothing for her to say, really.

[ellissay-morningstar]

DWC November 2023, Day 2,Success/Sin

Ellissay looked at the bottom of the once more empty glass. She wasn't drunk, but she could feel the effects of the alcohol as it made its way through her system. She rocked the glass back and forth in her hand as if more drink would magically appear if she stared at it long enough.

Finally, she sat the glass down and waved to the bartender, who raised an eyebrow at her, a woman drinking alone on a weeknight. But she didn't owe him or anyone else an explanation. It wasn't like she would pour out her soul to some random stranger who could probably care less.

Despite his seeming trepidation, the man made his way over and poured her more of the snowplum brandy. She swirled the liquid in the glass a few times, watching it spin, which ultimately made her a bit light-headed. Finally, she swallowed the brandy and sat the glass down before turning on her barstool to take in her surroundings.

Not much in the way of a crowd tonight. After all, it was a Monday evening, and most were probably home with their loved ones. She smirked to herself. She would be home, too, if she had a home. Instead, here she was at some dive working a case cause she had to somehow put food on the table and pay the rent for wherever her next job took her.

She heard the scrape of the door opening, and her eyes flickered to the guy who had walked into the room. She didn't have to be told that this was her target. Curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that wouldn't quit had been the description she had been given. They weren't lying. He swaggered in like he owned the place because, from her understanding, he did.

Also, from her understanding, he was using the joint as a front for something nefarious. If her intel was on point. He had become infamous in underground circles known as the heartbreaker. Though he seemed good at keeping his head down and hands clean. SI:7 hadn't found a stitch of evidence on him or his operation in the months they had been tracking him. The only reason she had put two and two together was that she knew a guy who knew a guy. But isn't that how it always goes? And hellfire, she could always be wrong.

She slips off the barstool, moves forward as if she doesn't see the man, and bumps straight into him. He seems for a moment that he will yell at her until his eyes graze over her features, and she sees them soften. "You alright?" he says instead of whatever harsh words had almost come out of his mouth.

Pretending to have slipped, she had grabbed his wrist, her nails biting into the skin, though he seemed not to notice. Ellissay pulled back, and for a moment, his eyes caught hers, and damn it, but she felt herself stare back. Immediately, she broke the stare, genuine heat coming to her cheeks. "My apologies. I should watch where I am going or perhaps have a little less to drink on an empty stomach." She lets herself chuckle slightly.

She straightens herself up, and her hands slip from his wrist, and his lips curl into a grin as if she were a canary and he was a cat. She might have enjoyed the attention any other time, but not tonight. Tonight, she had business to take care of. She composed herself and once more apologized, trying her best to play coy, which, truth be told, wasn't her strong suit. Thankfully, he seemed to be in a hurry and didn't seem to notice.

She realizes he is speaking to her. "You sure you are okay, miss? Can I call a taxi service for you?" Ellissay shakes her head and tells the man it won't be necessary, and he nods and bids her good evening. He is gone, disappearing down the stairs. Which is just as well. The poison from her nails would take hold in about five to ten minutes. The plan was to ensure he was in his office when it took effect and passed out.

She turns toward the bartender and feigns a bit of embarrassment. "Your restroom, please." He points downstairs and to the left. And just like that, she has a reason for going downstairs.

She makes her way down into the dimly lit hallway, but instead of turning left, she makes her way right, following a sliver of light shining from beneath a closed door. She takes a deep breath, calculates how much time has passed doing the mental math, and takes several deep breaths before she pushes the door open, hoping it is the right room.

And there he is, passed out in the big chair behind a rather large desk covered in papers. Ellissay rushes over to the desk and scans the documents. She wouldn't have much time. Either he would wake, or the bartender would get suspicious if she didn't return. She pulls a small camera from a bag at her side and starts taking picture after picture. She would have to review the documents later to see if any were useful.

He stirred, and she knew she was running out of time. For a moment, she feels guilty about drugging a man who may or may not be innocent of any wrongdoing. But she had at least succeeded in tonight's plan. Perhaps tonight would prove him innocent, or maybe it would condemn him of the sins he had committed. Either way, her job was done.

@daily-writing-challenge

[fio-renze]

November 27 - Day 2 Success/Sin

A knock came at the door. 

Not unusual in the life of a standard door, but certainly strange in the life of this door. Tinnaire had permission to enter on a whim, as did Xylaes because he’d lived in it for about a year and the enchantment remembered him; even Garren was an approved user — not that he knew, or had ever tested it — but a knock meant someone had to have entered her tent at the camp, tried the door and not been permitted entry. 

Fiorenze poked her head over the landing in the perfect penthouse demiplane and stared at the offending illusory barrier for a long moment before descending down the gilded stairs that lead down from her bedroom space down to the open concept living room and kitchen. 

The knock came again, slightly more impatient. 

Her hand hovered above the arcane knob, the bite of the magic tingling just at the edge of her reach. If she stayed on this side of the threshold, she was untouchable. Unless it was disenchanted, then that was its own problem. Her breath left her in a huff as she grasped the false metal and opened the door. 

A young elven courier with an unremarkable face and stature faced her, standing inside her mostly empty camp tent, scrolls and parcel in hand, “Miss Sunmote.” 

She stood a little straighter, her careful and well trained expression shifting from a stoic, unsurprised enigmatic nothing to a pleasant, winsome and disarming smile. The apartment shuddered behind her, quietly resonating in the presence of another great illusion. 

It was incredible work, truly. Outside the Dream, away from her penthouse, something she wouldn’t have been able to clock — but they were here, and he was there just beyond the door that he had touched. 

“Grand Magister. A pleasure,” her tone lilted to cover the lie, “do come in. I’d heard others of your ilk had come through to help in the fight, but I’ll admit I didn’t expect you.” 

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it as he stepped inside. They’d always played the same game well. To his credit he glanced around the demiplane, immediately trying to read the bones of the arcane web that had wove it. “And I will admit that this is an impressive feat of magic. Yours?” 

“Pyraelia. She was always the one you needed to court for intellect and ability, not me,” a truth freely given. Fiorenze pulled her long silk dressing gown tighter around her form, “She did teach me how to alter it to fit my own tastes, though.” 

His illusion melted away as he huffed a quiet, short laugh, “This place is your taste? Hard to believe.” 

“It was at one point! I lived here for a few years, just off the Royal Exchange,” she drifted further back toward one of the couches, a stately piece of fine Sin’dorei silk and gently curving wood supports. The original had cost more than a year’s wage, she’d taken out a loan under a false name to afford it. “There are memories here that are still very much to my tastes.” 

“When you were pretending to be Miss Sunbinder?” His fingers pressed into the stone wall, tracing a ley thred. 

She hoped the mystery of the magic’s frame was eating him alive. He’d unravel it if left here too long, that was its own dangerous game, “Yes, when I was pretending to be Miss Sunbinder. It seems a fitting illusion, all things considered.” 

Rommath exhaled behind his cowl and finally tore his eyes away from his reading, “Your sister wrote to me about your situation, and your debt.” 

A life of service for two lives stolen before their time. Her nails sank into the upholstery lightly at the referenced sin and the shadows grew longer in the false light, “Surprising. I made my choices, Rommath. Even if I had fought the claim my standing was going to be damaged in the Court and I didn’t think she would go for it all. Pyraelia knows this.” 

“And I suspect she realizes that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, nor did my refusal to release you from your sentence. I’ll admit to disappointment that you didn’t come to me first to settle it; I would have rather kept you in that vipers nest — you were successful for me there, and it has been difficult to find someone to replace you,” he folded his tattooed arms together in front of his chest as he regarded her, the match starting up again. 

That she could work with, her footing a little more certain. The lights brightened back up in response to the shift, “A shame my attempt to slip the noose didn’t work the way I wished, but your hand has always been a bit too stubborn to be forced. What did you come here for? They’re going to think I ate that poor courier boy alive if you stay here for too long.” 

He glanced up at the ceiling as it lifted a bit, ignoring her prying in order to do some of his own, “You’re able to shift this construction easily here.” 

She’d noticed that too, annoyingly. “Arcane magic has been responding to me more fluidly, yes. The Dream, as a plane, is an odd place. I’m sure others are noticing the effect it has on the magic, too.” 

“Not everyone, no. It’s the same here as it is in the waking world, for me,” a truth freely given. His gaze shifted back to her, “Curious.” That fleeting moment of consideration passed before he dove back in, “I’m here to offer you a choice, Fiorenze.” 

Of course he was.

@daily-writing-challenge / @kharrisdawndancer (Tinnaire), @xylaes and @garrennorassin mentioned.

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC - November 2023 - Day 2 - Success/Sin

A night in her own bed was usually a success, though not always. She would count this one. She stretched and gave a soft sigh, intending to rouse, but then pulled her blanket over her head again. Tinnaire had never been a morning person. Not that it was morning anymore. (Sloth)

The sun was well past noon by the time Tinnaire had bathed and eaten, but even so her feet dragged. Her coffee had been quaffed and no less than three delicious scones smeared with jam, butter, and clotted cream had been devoured (Gluttony). There was nothing keeping her from heading back out to where she’d been working in the Dream.

She smiled softly to herself as she locked up, tracing one of the old runes etched into her door jamb before stepping away. Her pack was resettled on her shoulder and her hair done in a practical braid down her back. However, her eyeliner was sharp and her lipstick glossy. (Pride)

Her route took her by a familiar haunt; he lived in the same district, after all! She knocked, but no answer came. Something else had Andaeros’s attention, or someone. And with a pursing of lips and a lifting of her chin, she moved on. (Envy)

Leaving Silvermoon was easy. She opened her spirit to the mana of the portal magistrix, Tinnaire more than pleased by the thrumming arcane. She licked her lips and shivered, drawing just a sliver extra from the transmutation of it. Her heart raced everytime. (Lust)

She supposed Greed and Wrath were both ribboned around her work with the other mercenaries. Greedy for belonging, friendship, and the hope of the world tree that was being born. Wrath for the ones who would extol their own sins as the only virtues left on Azeroth.

Tinnaire looked up at the canopy as if in prayer, knowing some of her sins. mentions: @andaerosdawnflare

@daily-writing-challenge

[asharinhun]

DWC Day 2 - Success/Sin

Legana stalked the trees of Hyjal like a nightsaber, as if she belonged there. Her steps silent and languid - though there was no more need for secrecy - and mood jubilant, she rushed from one trunk to the next.

Her manic grin would have appeared unhinged to any onlooker, and they would have likely blamed it on her nature. It's true that the ever-present whispers of the Void could have driven her insane, but after years of familiarity she knew the steps of their dance of madness intimately well.

And the assumption would be wrong anyway, not that Legana cared. Her euphory was the result of the fulfillment of a long-cherished wish, and she succeeded at last. Her hunt was over, and her dear prey would finally get her due.

A void portal snapped into existence in response to her thoughts, and Legana entered with glee, leaving no mark of her passage.

She didn't have a home, not since the fall of Silvermoon at the hands of the Scourge, but this hidden corner of the rift was the closest thing.

Here, she no longer had to hide her nature: the void runes etched into armor and skin alight with devouring darkness, the usually empty socket of her right eye a swirling pit of bottomless abyss.

It was with such gaze she finally turned toward her captive, another elf bound with void-infused chains, mouth gagged.

"Hello, sister. Welcome at last to my humble abode. I'm thrilled to have you here... and fret not, we will spend a lot of time together, you and I. More than enough to pay for your sin, kinslayer."

Legana's sweet, welcoming voice turned hoarse at the end, clutching Nevana's chin even as the eldest sister strained against her bonds.

"Oh, no. I know what you want to say, that my dear twin's death was not your fault. Not when it was the job of the damned unit you were assigned to to provide covering fire. Then you left, leaving us to fend for ourselves, condemning her to die." She growled, her gauntlet biting into the skin of Nevana's cheek.

"Then you had the gall to disown me, eluded your due punishment for years and even maimed my face." That particular exchange was closer to a tie - an eye for an eye, literally - but the self-righteous anger and the memory of the pain fanned Legana's hatred further. "But fret not, I have so many ideas I want to try on you. By the time we are done, you will wish you died out there instead of her..."

Nevana's expression changed to one of horror, and her intensified struggle against her chains was accompanied by Legana's manic laughter.

@daily-writing-challenge

[thecozykirin]

The Recipe to Success

( Daily Writing Challenge Day 2 ) Ethel Translations: Babblin Brook: Cook Grasshopper: Copper - - - - - - - - -

"The issue is that ya fin' too 'ard." Etheline's voice barely stirred Soo-ha from her despair. The Gilnean woman scrubbed hard at the burnt...whatever Soo-ha had been trying to make in hopes of salvaging the pot as the small Pandaren herself looked on in sadness at her charred failure.

There were few times in her life where Soo-ha had felt the sting of inadequacy, but this felt like the sharp twist of a knife. / After all, what Pandaren doesn't know how tah cook? / The words from the Countrypaw she had met during one of her city strolls whispered in her ear with far more venom than had been present when it was said. Soo-ha knew that she hadn't meant anything by it, but that did not make the truth sting any less. Soo-ha didn't know how to cook, nothing above heating up a simple bowl of broth.

"Ey." Soo-ha jumped a bit at the small woman's sharp tone and golden eyes lifted meekly to meet stern hazel.

"Ya kna, there's nah shame in not bein' able ter babblin' brook." Etheline tapped the scrubbing sponge several times against herself. "Sum people fin' Gilneans can't babblin' brook worf a grasshopper but we've seen that's not true, ah? so why assume every Pandaren can? I doubt you're th' hirst 'oo can't."

The edges of Soo-ha's lips twitched upwards briefly as she deciphered Etheline's accent; doing so was far easier than it had been the first time she met her. 'I'd feel better about it if we've met others who couldn't.' Soo-ha's ears fell back against the sides of her head as she signed in response. 'Even still, I can't help how it makes me feel...Even the others at the monastery could manage dumplings and I'm sure Yasashi ate better than gruel in the Shado-pan.' Soo-ha bit down on her bottom lip. 'What kind of homemaker can't even do that?'

Etheline pursed her lips out in thought, hip bouncing slightly against the side of the stove. "I'm sure there's summit ya can manage. loike I said, you're thinkin' abaht this too 'ard. ya should stop thinkin' of cookin' loike a pandaren and start tryin' ter do things loike yourself, your way." From behind the glint of her glasses, Soo-ha watched those hazel eyes soften. "Wifaht murderin' more of our pots and pans, mind ya."

There was wisdom in the other woman's words, Soo-ha knew that much. That evening, while Kimiko was frolicking about the camp and Yasashi was helping patrol, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. Soo-ha stopped trying to mimic the expertise she had admired from her kin and took on a slower pace. Quick chopping turned into steady and rhythmic thumps, and perfection was made sloppy but it was a special kind of sloppy; a her kind of sloppy.

By the end of the night, Kimiko was delighted by the scent that wafted from the wagon and the cub devoured two whole bowls of the stew Soo-ha had made. Yasashi, who had always stomached his wife's attempts at cooking, tried to hid his pleasant surprise but she could tell, his eye did not twitch when he ate this time.

As Kimiko drifted to sleep in the loft, her parents worked on washing the dishes. Looking over to his wife, Yasashi noted the smile on his wife's lips and inquired with a gentle bump of his hip against her. "The stew was very good tonight, Little bell. What do you call it?"

Soo-ha looked up at her husband and with a mischievous blep of her tongue, she lifted her paws and signed: 'Success.' wide a wide smile.