#novemberday12023

[edalene-slater-ffxiv]

DWC Day 1 Party/Chill- November 2023

There’d been no celebration for the ‘official’ date marking the union of her brother to Vahalia Cress. 

The way it had been described to her - in passing by Wyland the day of, as she had been gathering her things in preparation to leave the Slater estate per her brother’s request - it had been a rather straightforward affair. Simply signing of papers and a confirmation of the agreement that both parties had settled on. 

There was no grand fanfare, no pomp and circumstance, it was nothing short of a business transaction. 

How very fitting. 

It had been, after all, her brother’s choice to pursue the union. He’d been given every opportunity to exit the arrangement and he had continued to follow the course. 

Edalene adjusted the eyepatch over her left eye socket self-consciously before quickly crossing her arms loosely over her chest, pressing her back to the nearest wall. She’d been hypervigilant prior to losing the eye - but since losing the eye the tendency to be aware of her surroundings had only been heightened - a habit that was both a blessing and curse, particularly when she had to visit the house that was the same place where she had lost the eye. 

The Cress Estate. 

And knowing this, knowing that she had walked into what was supposed to be a conversation, simply a meeting with two fully functioning eyes and had walked out with only one and an injury that went beyond the physical,  her brother had still made the choice to continue with his decided course. 

Because what could possibly be more important? 

He had signed the papers. 

Abolished their house. Signed over all their assets.

Married Vahalia Cress. 

She hadn’t spoken to him since prior to the ‘wedding’, if one could call it that - though she’d spoken to his new wife, hence why she stood in the front hall of the Cress Estate - waiting on the final set of shipping manifests before she could depart from Ishgard for Blackwater and the Sirensong. 

Edalene’s eye shifted at the sound of approaching footsteps as one of the attendants - Marion, moved towards her with a folder, which Edalene took with a small smile and a nod, eager to be out of the estate. She’d rather deal with the chill than remain in the building any longer than necessary. 

With shipping manifests in hand she had a transport to catch - it was time to be away from Ishgard for a while and leave her brother to his choices. She’d had enough of the cold for a while.

@daily-writing-challenge

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC - Nov 2023 - Day 1

Tinnaire lost herself in the paintings. Every time she’d come to Vixannya’s gallery showings it had entranced her. The works were beautiful from a technical standpoint, of course, but the subject matter was always the true thrill.

She turned to walk a few steps to the next piece. Her eyes drifted over this sin and she dove into silent evaluation again. The rest of the room melted away from her.

Tinnaire had chosen to come alone, or rather she’d been delighted to receive the gift of an entrance from Fiorenze and Tinnaire had not asked anyone to accompany her. It already felt a bit like an imposition on the host, and Tinnaire genuinely enjoyed doing things on her own. She felt no pressure to charm anyone, no need to listen to anyone else pontificate about their opinions on the art, nor any forced social gossiping. She saw only a few others who had come alone, and while not as bad as noble gatherings, who you came with was still an important piece of the evening's gossip, Tinnaire assumed. She was past caring there, her life had run its course in whispers long ago. It was bliss to simply enjoy the paintings as she saw fit and for how long she saw fit. She lingered long minutes on her favorites, appreciating brush strokes and composition and the stylistic turns of subjects not usually so openly displayed. Deadly sins, indeed.

So she found her sins reflected back to her in every painting. Tinnaire Ush’iel let herself sit with the sins and warnings both. The witch studied how each felt and formulated her battle forward through them. This was what art was for, she thought. Tinnaire shivered and smiled through the chill.

@daily-writing-challenge mentions: @vixannya

[asharinhun]

DWC Day 1 - Party/Chills

The mountains of Tiragarde Sound were covered in snow all year round. Any kul tiran worth their salt knew to dress properly should they have an errand to run and were forced to cross the icy paths. The terrain and the frigid winds weren't the only danger to travelers, let alone if they dared the slopes in the cover of night.

Perfect training spot for the lone figure standing in the moonlight.

"Gramps and Granny will throw a fit if they find out I came here like this." Arlyn huffed with a small smile.

At best, they'd call her a fool, but it would be no wonder if they called her mad instead. The thought made her laugh, even if it meant suppressing a wince from her aching side.

"Ugh, Horman got me good. Can't say I really blame him." She muttered with a shake of her head.

His expression would've been quite comical if not for the concern and worry at the sight of her showing up covered in bandages after disappearing for months. It wasn't the entrance she had hoped to make, it was plain bad luck that he had the shift to guard the portal room when she stepped out of one.

Arlyn did her best to convince him - and everyone else - that she was fine, really, just a bunch of new tattoos and that's it. She couldn't placate them entirely, so she had no heart to make a fuss about the welcome back party they put together a few days later.

Of course, no such party could be complete without an honest to Tidemother tavern brawl. The singer was still a bit sore from her new tattoos, but that didn't stop her from joining in. The bruises had plenty of time to bloom since the previous night, and she wore them openly, wink and all.

It felt nice, singing and drinking and dishing out a few knuckle sandwiches, icing a swollen shut eye and a busted lip the next morning. It felt normal, as if nothing had changed.

"If only they knew..."

The tattoos covering her arms lit up with arcane light, visible even through the long, fingerless gloves she chose to wear since the inking.

Spikes of ice erupted from the ground at a swipe of her hand, following the motion until she was almost surrounded by them. They shattered just as easily with a flick of her wrist.

The chill from it all - her spells, the night, the cold mountain air - should have bothered her, but it didn't. Not since the nature of her mana changed, not since the set of enchanted tattoos returned her control over her volatile magic.

Arlyn had no idea if this resistance to the cold was true for every frost mage or not, but such was her reality and she decided to take full advantage of it. She wouldn't have been able to practice up here in peace otherwise. Her spells were a bit crude, her finesse far from perfect, but she was improving night by night.

She would have to go back soon, back to the Dragon Isles. She had unfinished business there. At least it also meant she would hopefully get a chance to ask some questions about frost magic from trusted friends.

Soon.

She had a few nights still, and she didn't want to waste them. Arlyn furrowed her brows, eye narrowed in concentration, and focused again on her training.

@daily-writing-challenge

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge November 2023 Day 1

Party / Chills ( @daily-writing-challenge @corohveldha )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Theme: Clannad - Her and the Sea

Coroh was running ragged.

She had been up since the late afternoon of yesterday making miracle after miracle in the Heartwood Kitchen. The occasional taste-tester would come downstairs every now and then, enthralled by the aromas wafting through the rest of the estate, but she refused any and all help. The free company had been through the wringer these past few moons, both the people living and fighting under this roof and the building itself; cooking for them was the least she could do.

A plump dodo was drained and de-feathered, powdered with spices and drenched in sauces, and now it sat glistening in one of the many ovens at her disposal– the savory flesh would remain crispy but the meat underneath would be so tender it would slide right off the bone. The freshly hunted boar was too large for any one oven, forcing Coroh to roast the heavy beast over a bonfire outside and bring it down into the kitchen to marinate in her coveted honey glaze, piece by succulent piece. Juicy blood sausages hissed and sizzled on their racks, made fresh by hand from Shroud boar, butterbeef, and aldgoat. Ala Mhigan gumbo sat bubbling in a heavy iron pot on the stove, with soft carrots, savory beef, and hearty red popotoes swirling in the mesmerizing brown broth. She even made a crisp salad from island cabbages she bought fresh from the Gridanian markets– with thick Black Shroud mushrooms roasted over an open flame and covered in tinfoil to keep their savory texture and warmth. Well over a dozen pies of ogre pumpkin, sweet popoto, rolanberry, and honey lemon sat cooling on the bar countertops, far and away out of reach of any mischievous children and curious Lalafell alike.

Coroh was finishing up the drinks for the party, mixing fruits of all flavors with crushed ice and salted glasses. They didn’t have much for wine after the rebuilding of the estate, but they had plenty of vodka– with a bottle of cactuar tequila they would surely use for a drinking contest later. She only had a bell or two before they started shuffling in– and her time spent toiling in this place would be displayed for all to see. Make no mistake, she intended to assert her culinary dominance. She was already the greatest culinarian in Heartwood but it was never enough; she needed to be the greatest culinarian. Period.

She blinked as she stared at the pot of gumbo, suddenly missing her babies. Her firstborn Nolas was difficult to spend quality time with since she was nocturnal and he wasn’t, but her daughter Avanta was active for almost as long as she was. She wanted to hold them, to hug them, to kiss them. She wanted to make them feel happy and safe, especially with the chaos they’ve all been through just a few weeks ago. 

Hopefully the Starlight Celebration will be far more peaceful and relaxing.

[pyraelia]

November 26 - Day 1  Party / Chills

One of her favorite elements of attending Vixannya’s gallery openings was the people watching. The scenes around each painting became their own little vignettes that often enhanced the artwork and elevated it beyond decoration, and how each group of people — usually from across diverse enough parts of society — interacted with the subject matters was fascinating. 

Fiorenze wasn’t going to make it this time, and that was fine. Pyraelia understood the desire to devote focus to something, even if she didn’t quite understand why The Dream or the Tree; Her sister had always had a love of green spaces, but they were magi from a family of arcanists that spanned back millennia and that realm was certainly not for them. 

Her favorite painting, if one could call a painting of a dead person a 'favorite', this time around was a fairly simple portrait of an unfamiliar woman laying dead in a dark room surrounded by mirrors, each reflection capturing a different angle of her body. There was so much pride in the still, beautiful figure, but there was a subtle covetousness in the reflection of the mirrors that flirted with envy, too — years ago she would have missed it, but their family had been through so much in five years alone, not to mention the decade. Had the woman had a moment to be jealous that her reflection had seconds more life left? So much time could be suspended in a fraction of a moment, caught at the end of a brush stroke. 

Even now, month to month, day to day, their family dynamics were still shifting. Considering how February had gone, and Fiorenze's plans to try and lock her own soul away into an enchanted glass, it could've just as easily been her painted there.

Was she, Pyraelia herself, envious that her sister had new opportunities since Fiorenze's plans had all fallen brutally through? Keranna had said something that had stuck in the back of her mind like a thorn while she had been pinning her lavender hair up into a delicate, wispy chignon for the soiree, mostly meant to silence her petty complaining that her sister had stayed away.

“Do you think your parents would have let Fiorenze walk any other path than the one they put her on as the first daughter?” 

Unlikely. 

Pyraelia had never faced the same burden of expectation — her parents' pride in her had been organic and true, she had inherited her mother’s excellence in the arcane arts in a way that Fiorenze hadn’t, but she was still just the second daughter. 

She frowned as she looked back up at the painting, a new sense of judgment from the painted stranger’s flat, outward gaze that sent a slight chill down her spine. Perhaps there was more to her sister’s strange new wayward roots, and perhaps it was time to be a bit kinder. 

As she shuffled on in her own introspection, she hoped that her momentary interlude had done for someone else what so many of the other gallery attendees had done for her: shift the perspective, if for only a moment.

@daily-writing-challenge / @vixannya

[commanderbragh]

Visiting Duskwood (DWC: Chill)

Banagan sat back in his chair, his feet stretched out towards the fire that roared in the hearth. His hands were folded together, resting on his chest as he watched the flames dancing around the logs. It was a few moments before he realized that someone was standing silently next to his seat.

“I’m sorry, Madame Eva. I didn’t realize you were there.”

“It is okay, Mr. Larethian. I brought you some warm tea to help chase off the chills of the evening.”

“Thank you,” Banny replied with a smile as he accepted the steaming mug. “Between this and the fire, I expect I’ll be nice and comfortable.”

“But not to comfortable,” Madame Eva responded, giving the young paladin a raised eyebrow.

“Ma’am?”

“You are not dressed as one who is seeking to relax, to find comfort.” Madame Eva gestured towards the paladin. Banagan looked down, taking a moment to figure out what she was referring to. Then he realized, nodding his head and looking back at his host.

“My armor,” Banny said quietly, earning a nod in return from Madame Eva.

“I imagine it is a challenge to relax in such a state.”

“It gets easier over time,” Banny said with a grin. “Half the time I don’t even notice I’m wearing it.”

“Then why do you?”

“Part of it is habit, I guess. My father always had his own when he went out. It seemed sensible enough.”

“But your father was always prepared to run off at a moments notice, should he be needed. Are you prepared for the same?” Madame Eva asked, staring intently at the young paladin.

“I’d like to think so,” Banagan answered, his voice sounding slightly hesitant.

“Any what else?”

“Pardon?”

“You said part of the reason was habit learned from your father. Why else do you wear your armaments into a quiet tavern?”

Banagan sat and watched as the matron of the tavern stood patiently, waiting for his answer.

“Because I’ve learned that there are things that like to hide in the shadows around the hearth. Things that you don’t expect to see.” Banny paused for a moment, setting his mug on the arm of his chair and looking back flames as they consumed the logs. “I didn’t realize that until I traveled myself. Dad never mentioned that to me when I was growing up.”

“Some things need to be learned on their own,” Madame Eva said sagely. “They cannot be as easily explained.”

“And I don’t think I would have understood them before, even if they had been explained to me.”

“Then it was a good lesson to learn. And a good practice to keep.”

“Wearing my armor or looking for the things in the shadows?” Banny asked with a grin as he looked back at his host.

“Both of them, my dear. Because it is when you least expect it that you will be your most vulnerable.” Madame Eva smiled and walked back to the great room of her tavern.

Banagan slowly turned back in his seat and face the fireplace. There was a pop from the wood and sparks flew up into the air. For a moment, the young paladin thought he could see a pair of eyes looking back at him. He watched as the sparks descended back into the flames and disappeared.

“Will be?” Banagan repeated to himself. A new chill flowed down his spine as he turned to look for his host, but she was lost in the crowds. 

@daily-writing-challenge

[ellissay-morningstar]

DWC November 2023, Day 1, Party/Chills

Perhaps there was truth in the saying you can't go home. She didn't think it was really saying you couldn't, as in you can't physically show up at the place you once lived. But perhaps that sometimes a home just isn't a home anymore.

Ellissay wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing them as the cool air penetrated her skin. It was cool outside, but strangely, it felt even more cold inside the burrows that used to be her home.

The lamp in her hand cast an eerie glow over the now almost empty room. She moved slowly throughout the living area. The few furnishings were covered in cloth, and dust had settled on the fabric. She yanked one of them off, coughing and gasping as she inhaled the particles that rained down around her. She waved her free hand to clear the air before her eyes settled on what had been under the cloth.

Her father's chair.

Immediately, tears welled up in her eyes. How often had her father sat in that chair and read to her, sang to her, or held her until she fell asleep? She runs her finger over the fabric and swallows hard.

Elly takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets the tears fall. She shouldn't have come back. Nothing was left except memories of a life that no longer existed.

She tossed the cloth into the chair and turned to walk further into the burrow. Every room was dark, empty of items that once made it a home. She wasn't sure when her mother had cleaned out most of their things. Perhaps after they had all went their separate ways. She hadn't seen her now in around how many years? 5? 6? More?

Too long, she imagined.

It wasn't like she hadn't tried to help her mother in those first few months after her father had perished in the fires of Teldrassil. But Eclesia Morningstar had been a husk of her former self. She hadn't just lost her mate she had lost a part of herself. The burns on her hands and wrists have taken away her ability to shoot a bow. Her mother might as well have lost a limb and her heart.

Elly had tried to get her to heal the physical wounds, but it was as if the woman had wanted to punish herself. She pulled away from her children and sat for hours, staring into space with a haunted look. Weeks passed, then months, but nothing brought her back, no matter what they did.

Finally, her brothers decided they didn't know what their mother needed, but it wasn't them. They had heard tales of far-off lands and dragons, and the adventurer's side in them had taken hold.

Elly takes a deep breath and shudders with the chill of the room. She picks up her pace, needing suddenly to leave her once home. It wasn't a home anymore. It was now just a shell of its former self. A reminder of what she had lost. Nothing but a tomb of old memories.

Taking a deep breath with a final look, she leaves, blowing out the lamp and casting the place again in the darkness where she had no doubt it would stay, perhaps forever.

@daily-writing-challenge

[themidnightleo]

A Dance to Remember

The night had descended, ushering in October 15th with an event known as Sexy Séance Night. It was the perfect occasion for him to showcase his best self. Seeking not only to captivate his boyfriend, Trist, but stoking a subtle desire to draw the attention of everyone, though he would never openly confess it. For him, looking impeccable and exuding charm had become second nature, a survival skill.

Standing before the mirror, he dedicated a considerable moment to ensure perfection before seeking out Trist, who would be his companion for the event.

On the stage, performers dazzled one after another, earning Leo's enthusiastic applause. Surprise manifested in a public proposal, an unexpected twist in the night's tale.

Anticipation peaked with the final performance—Fangbreaker, a band he had grown to cherish. Leo, an avid attendee, never missed a show. Tonight was exceptional, introducing a new member, a smaller elf with a powerhouse voice. Fangbreaker once again stole the stage, leaving Leo enraptured. The night concluded with a standing ovation, leading into an afterparty where Trist and his new fiancé departed.

Leo, left to wander, observed the dance floor where bodies moved in rhythmic harmony. Content to be an invisible spectator, he reveled in the joyous scene.

In the distance, members of Fangbreaker, including the newest addition, Faolan, spotted Leo. Their eyes met, causing a subtle nervousness in the blue-haired elf, though he concealed it beneath a façade of confidence. Faolan extended a simple gesture, a beckoning finger.

He wanted to dance.

Approaching Faolan, Leo engaged in a dance that seemed to transcend the crowd. Their bodies found each other amidst the pulsating energy, sending shivers down Leo's spine. When the time to part arrived, an unexpected hesitancy held Leo in place.

Certainly, he thought, he would see Faolan again.

@daily-writing-challenge

[thecozykirin]

Mid Autumn Chills

( Daily Writing Challenge Day 1 ) Soo-ha had always loved the Mid Autumn festival growing up. The monastery had not done much in terms of decoration or celebration, but her papa had always taken the time to take her on a trip down to the closest village where she'd stuff her cheeks full of moon cakes until her little cheeks popped out.

She remembered sitting cross-legged, listening to her papa retell the story of Zao Sunseeker and his wife, Cheng'e with the rest of the village cubs, the stars in her eyes growing brighter and brighter each year as the thought of a love that could transcend the distance between Azeroth's little moon and Pandaria grew more and more appealing to her young heart. It was these times she preferred to focus on, before the joy of the holiday was tainted and in one night, those stars in her eyes were snuffed out like an opposing thumb over a dying candle.

"Little bell?" Her husband's words caused her to snap from her rumination, and her head turned just in time to catch the behemoth of a Pandaren slip within the warm confines of their caravan. "Are you alright?" Soo-ha quickly wiped her eyes, nodding her head and bringing her paws up to sign. 'Oh, yes! I'm just...a bit tired this evening.' Yasashi's eye swept over his wife, gaze narrowed only slightly in thought. He would not pry, he already knew. "Is Kimiko asleep?" Yasashi shot an up nod towards the loft in the wagon. The edges of Soo-ha's lips twitched upwards briefly, and she nodded. 'Yes...she went down easy tonight.' A soft, ursine chuff left her husband and his gaze dropped down to her. A single gray eye who held the coldness of wintry steel always softened like fresh fowl down when it rested on her. "How tired are you?" Soo-ha pursed her bottom lip out at the question. 'Just a bit, why do you ask?'

Yasashi let out a soft chuff, extending a large paw that so easily dwarfed her own. "I'd like to show you something." Soo-ha quirked her brow, instinctively placing her paw in his, her gaze conveyed her interest, quietly ushering him to continue.

With a grin, he pulled the smaller Pandaren gently onto her feet and brought her outside. "Careful." he warned her gently. "The snow is still soft and the bottom step is slippery." Helping her where she needed it, Yasashi ushered her behind the caravan, but not before he slipped a paw over her eyes until he led her to the right spot. "Alright, ready?" Soo-ha let out a soft snort in response. Had she the voice, she would've tried to reply with a witty response before he removed his paw...and her breath left her in a quiet squeak and a puff of hot air.

The moon was nice and round and the surrounding snow drank in her light, producing an ethereal glow. In the center, was a round thick blanket placed within a spot where a circle had been scorched into the snow and upon this blanket was a tray with two glasses, a bottle of some sort and a plate of golden brown moon cakes.

"I...." Yasashi's voice drew off and while Soo-ha was transfixed on the sight, she heard him sigh. "I know that this time of year is hard for you, but I also know how much you used to enjoy it...I was hoping that I could help make this time different, start making some new good memories from here on out."

Soo-ha didn't respond.

"But...if you don't like it, I understand." Soo-ha looked up at Yasashi, and the sight of the tears in her eyes sent him into a panic. Lowering himself onto his knees, he cradled her face between his paws. "I-I'm sorry, Little bell. I hadn't meant to upset you! I just...I know how much you used to enjoy the festival and I --" Soo-ha halted the large male's rambling by gently pressing both of her paws against his muzzle, a smile on her own. Removing her paws from her lips to sign, she flicked her head towards the direction of the blanket. 'Will you sit with me?'

Yasashi's panic washed free from him with a sag of his shoulders. Craning his neck down, he pressed a kiss to the center of her forehead. "Of course." The chill in the air was biting but it could hardly nip through the thick pelt both of them were blessed with. Even as it made her nose run, Soo-ha relished in it because it dimmed the chill she felt in her soul year after year. Side by side with her mate, she stuffed her cheeks full of moon cakes and for the first time in a while, those stars returned to her eyes...full and whole.

[vixannya]

November DWC Day 1 - Party

This is based on Vixannya's gallery opening/party held last Friday! You can find more info about the event ---> HERE

The theme was fitting the moment all of the portraits started coming together: An overdose, a failed robbery, an unfaithful husband, vengeance. The ‘seven deadly sins’ was such a classic topic, yet one Annya had never fully touched on before in a gallery theme. Perhaps it was because not many of these would be considered an honorable death, which made her wonder if any of her subjects would attempt to change their path and veer away from their current fate. Having an embarrassing death was almost worse than actually knowing you were going to die.

This evening wasn’t just about the art, but also how the attendees interpreted the theme into their fashion choices. Photographers and interviewers littered the red carpet, wanting to know who was wearing whom, with all the prominent designers always being put on full display. 

How appropriate it would be for her, the artist of death, to portray herself as Death itself. Her long, black gown was both regal yet menacing, but it was her crown and makeup that truly made the look. It was a statement that many of her more colorful critics had already claimed - that she openly embraced tonight; that she was ultimately the one who caused these deaths. If only that were the truth, but Vixannya knew that would be a power she would heavily abuse for her own gain. She only painted what she saw in her visions, it wasn’t her fault if they did not heed the very obvious warning now hanging on her gallery walls.

There was a level of discomfort, as there always was, throughout the gallery itself. These paintings were meant to be overly graphic and something of a warning to everyone. Indulgence in pride, gluttony, sloth, greed, wrath, envy, and lust should be kept in moderation, and never overdone. The sins themselves could and should be enjoyed, but self-restraint was key. Yet every painting was easily sold by the night’s end, the taboo nature of these were too good to pass up for those who could afford them.

The afterparty itself was an absolute spectacle, and the largest she had ever hosted in her career. Instead of her typical four sections, there were a grand total of seven; one to represent each sin. A little something for just about every taste, which would hopefully be kept in moderation lest someone end up like one of the muses in her portraits. She spent much of the evening moving equally about all seven, but in the end after she had finished her rounds and greeted and made small talk with all her guests, she found herself in the VIP booth of Envy, quietly celebrating with some of her closer friends until the sun came up.

She opted to wear something more revealing and easier to move about in, the party was less about fashion and more about gratification. While photographs from the red carpet of the gallery would plaster the covers and pages of newspaper and magazines, not a single photo would come out of the party. Any type of device that could take videos or photographs would have to be left at the door. There were always a few that managed to sneak something in, but the security team did their job well and were quite unforgiving about it. This was meant to be a safe space for anyone and everyone, including the rich and the famous, to do exactly as they pleased without judgement nor worry. 

After all, what happens at the afterparty stays at the afterparty, or you may end up suddenly missing.

@daily-writing-challenge