#sitewriting

[valeriamuteri]

Valeria Muteri, Il Balcone. A site-writing performance, 2018.

[ethalarian]

Sunguard Sitewrite Entry 1

Write a journal entry for your character dated ten years in the future. It was a good day today.

When I woke up this morning, I was free of pain. My knee wasn’t nearly as swollen as it usually is. It was a good thing, too, as Alna’cenia had awoken long before me and was practically breaking down the door in her eagerness to begin the day’s training. She practically stuffed my leg into the brace the Doctor Novastorm, his brother Thordemar, and Adrianal designed for my leg, shoved a shirt over my head, and jammed my crutches under my arms so I could hurry up and hobble downstairs for breakfast- one that she had prepared. Her mother and sister are busy off in the woods doing...whatever it is druids do in their free time (talking to trees or birds or I’m honestly not sure what), so it’s just been the two of us.

Words aren’t enough to express just how proud I am of Alna. She’s grown into a fine young woman, a beacon of what it is to be one of our kind. Strong, proud, bullheaded and a stubborn streak ten miles wide. That girl has a fire in her heart that burns as hot as any forge and she’s determined to master the techniques her mother has allowed me to teach. The lessons are conducted the only way I know how: harshly. I know Nuellen cringes whenever we take to the training yard and our daughter comes home covered in bruises, but I think she understands the necessity of the punishment Alna endures. Maybe endures isn’t the right word- she almost welcomes it, in a way.

One more challenge. That’s all she sees.

As I sit here at my desk, I can only wish I was healthy enough to really train with her. The brace helps a good deal, but it’s not the same and it never will be again. Doctor Novastorm insists I be cautious with it, that it can only augment what little structural integrity is left in my leg, and I can but heed his advice. It’s frustrating. I hate this. The damage is so extensive that it’s not even possible to remove my leg entirely and replace it with an augmented prosthetic like Thordemar wears. Doctor Novastorm explained it to me once. Something about...mana channels and nerve endings and a lot of excessively long words that I couldn’t even spell to look up in a dictionary if I wanted to.

I hate this. So much.

But I can’t dwell on that. I won’t.

What I will focus on is helping my daughter become the best knight she can be, regardless of which path she chooses. I’m proud of who she is and who she’s becoming.

That, regardless of everything else, made it a good day.

( @brothersemberfell, @ocarina-of-what, @thedragonisaprincess for mentions )

[ileosa-sunstorm]

Site Write Finale: Do What You’re Told.

Final Prompt: “Everything we have done or will do we will do over and over and over again— forever.” Consider your character’s leitmotifs. Write a story that expresses the cyclical nature of the leitmotif, and the rise and fall of these themes in your character’s narrative. If it helps you to place the story to music, you may do so, but it is not required.

"You need to do as you're told, dear." Ileosa's mother was smiling but her stance was a stern one, looking down at her daughter. She stood over the child in a messy room, toys strewn about. A small wooden sword at the little girls feet.

"No! I dun' wanna!" the little red head wasn't more than 5 years old. Her cheeks puffed out, arms folded, she would stomp a single foot on the floor to affirm her position on the matter. Clearly there was no budging.

"But.. Didn't you promise to do your chores when it was noon?" The firm demeanor wavered a little, and she looked up at her mother. She was a tall woman, fit and healthy and perhaps someday Ile would be as tall as her even! "Uhm.. A bit. Maybe. But. I dun' like chores." "I know you don't like chores but you promised! And it's always important to keep your promises, and to do what the adults tell you! We're only looking out for you." The little girl pouted, her lip quivered in an attempt to sway her terrible oppressor. Wide blue eyes with an attempt at almost tears. Though even then her feet shuffled in her uncertainty. "But! It was only a little promise. And I could do them laaater?" "Ile no. You agreed to do them now." the pout increased and the fair lady sunstorm sighed, crouching down. "You know promise breakers don't get any dessert after dinner." A look of horror encroached on the small childs face. "THEY DON'T!?" Her mother gave a sagely nod. "I'm afraid not. Dessert is for people who keep promises and do their chores like they're meant to.." There was no hesitation as the little Ileosa waddled over to begin picking up stray toys and tidying up the room. Her mother watched from the doorway, a smile on her face as her husband approached. "Trouble with our lovely daughter?" he kissed her on the cheek and grinned at the flurry of activity within the room. "Mm. Some. But she seems sorted out at least for now. Though I do wish threats weren't necessary. Even mild ones of no dessert" "We have to be tough sometimes. Besides, I'm sure one day she won't need incentives to do what she's asked."

"I'm sure you're right" she sighed a little and leaned into him. "Though I swear she may be the death of me someday."

...

"Remember to always follow orders when given to you by a superior Officer." the Captain walked briskly along the line of trainees. He was a man of broad stature, and quite an intimidating fellow as his gaze fell across the barely minted soldiers they would stand to attention. Heavy plated boots made a audible thud with each step he made. He paused at one particular recruit. Ileosa Sunstorm, daughter to a Lieutenant from a cavalier unit and a Captain in the Farstriders. He knew her father quite well, a good soldier and a reliable friend as well.

She regarded him with no small amount of respect as she realized quite quickly she'd become the subject of scrutiny.

"You there, Sunstorm." he watched her carefully. "Yes sir?" she shifted a little though remained at attention.

"In that last exercise, you were ordered to retreat but stood your ground against the opponents. Why?"

"Sir, it seemed like the bout was winnable and we could have-" "You were to retrieve the 'wounded' and  withdraw to our own lines. One of your fellow soldiers had been tagged and was by your feet." Her ears wilted, though her stance remained strong she nevertheless began to look embarrassed.

"By ignoring your orders you put one of your comrades at risk, had he been truly wounded he could have bled out in response to your engaging the enemy over tactical retreat."

"I.. Yes sir." her confidence was deflated as she recieved this dressing down. "In future if you are given a direct order like that, think of how it will affect those who fight by your side. Officers do not give orders without a good reason. Now. You'll be doing ten laps around the training grounds in full armor so that you remember this lesson. That is an order." "...Yes sir." the warrior slumped slightly before giving him a salute and breaking from the line to begin her laps, her cheeks red with embaressment. The Captain watched her move off before returning to the rest of the recruits. It was a hard lesson but one they all needed to understand. Discipline led to victory. She would no doubt thank him for it in the future.

...

"Obey the commands of our Prince"

The thought was at the forefront of Ileosa's mind. She'd been assigned for the moment to Sunfury Hold with her fellow soldiers. The Aldor and the Scryers had sent many to attempt to penetrate their defenses – so more troops were required in the meantime. At times it felt strange, as they cut down human and sin'dorei alike. These were our brothers and sisters what had led them so astray? Ever since the betrayal of Voren'thal and his followers the world felt somehow... wrong.

Why would anyone leave the Prince's service? He was the leader of their Kingdom. Of all who were above her he was at the very top. He couldn't possibly lead them astray. Without him she and many others would not have learned to wield the Light of Mu'ru as their own – Masters of that power instead of mere servants to it's supposed whims. And they would have all surely starved had he not figured out how to drain the magic from other sources.

Those who stayed loyal to him were even granted access to ever more potent mana gems. Ileosa could not deny just how good it felt to fill those cravings with the intoxicating energies. Without them it was just too hard to think through the haze of need. She was taken care of. They all were. Without all this they'd surely perish in the wastes of Outland and even beyond.

Knowing all this quelled any concerns she had for the present. These people were traitors. They deserved no quarter nor mercy from her or anyone else. Even her mother and father had fallen to the lies and falsehoods that brought them to the Aldor. They had turned from their Prince. But Ileosa knew the path to their salvation was to obey, and trust in her superiors. This was the only truth.

...

To be an obedient servant granted rewards. And I had been nothing if not obedient. Our Prince turned us to a path of power. A path that would see our cravings seen to. More turned away to the waiting arms of the Quel'thalas when they learned the truth. We were to be part of something great, something immeasurably vast in scope and power. The Burning Legion were our Masters. And do those of us that obeyed. Who served diligently and never wavered in our loyalty? We are being granted the gift of ascendancy.

And so it was I came to be in this place. Surrounded by succubi in a chamber of hedonism and delights, my brothers and sisters lay here too. We were here to reap the benefits of conquering the Sunwell. But more than that I was here for my greatest reward. One of the demons here had been drained of her blood, the green ichor now filled a large bowl that rested within my hands.

This is what I deserved. This is the prize for loyalty and obedience and now it is mine. I will be an even greater servant than I was before and The Deceiver will enter the world through the apex of what once gave us all life. More rewards will come. I bring the bowl to my lips and I tip it back - this power will be mine. And I will serve my Master for eternity.

Glory to Kil'jaeden!

[korammstonehoof]

Site Write Finale: Hopes and Reality

Finale: “Everything we have done or will do we will do over and over and over again - forever.” Consider your character’s leitmotifs. Write a story that expresses the cyclical nature of the leitmotif, and the rise and fall of those themes in your character’s narrative. If it helps you to place the story to music, you may do so, but it is not required.

Themes: Innocence, Naivety, Idealism, and protection from the horrors of war

—

Horde forces make headway against Worgen blockades

Koramm scowled at the headline, setting the newspaper down on the table in front of him. Taking a bit of the meat pie set on the plate before him, the tauren looked out on the crowd walking through the streets of the Dawnspire. For these citizens, there was not a care in the world beyond their everyday duties. And that was the goal, was it not? They fought so that no harm would come to the civilians of Azeroth. They protected the world against the dangers brought forth by the Burning Legion, by the Lich King, and by countless other malevolent forces. Why, then, was it that the Horde and Alliance could not see peace with each other?

There had been growing sentiments of possible peace after the combined might of the Horde and Alliance had dethroned the Lich King. The Cataclysm had ruined that, and Thrall’s departure from the office of Warchief had guaranteed it. Garrosh and his war mongering ruined any chance of that. If Vol’Jin had survived, perhaps, since he was willing to work with the Alliance to retake Orgrimmar, but with Windrunner in charge of the Horde, it would never come to pass.

Koramm picked up the newspaper once more and returned to reading, sipping occasionally from a nearby cup of tea and picking at the the slowly cooling meat pie. While the newspaper was mostly focused around the lives of those living near the Dawnspire, as would be expected, it did occasionally provide glimpses into the happenings of Azeroth at large, which made it a worthy thing to read.

“Emberward Stonehoof, you are needed immediately at the infirmary.”

Koramm set the paper down, looking at the elf now standing before him. He was young, his hair askew and his voice ragged, clearly out of breath. “What’s going on?”

The elf did not pause for even a moment, despite the deep breaths between words. “The mission to assist the Nightborne has returned. There are many wounded.”

Koramm stood instantly, kicking the chair back and the table out from above his legs. Giving a brief nod towards the elf, the tauren took off towards the infirmary. If he was getting called in now, the infirmary must have been swamped, the healers on duty overwhelmed by sheer numbers. It would take him a little bit to cross the keep and make it to the infirmary, but it was his duty to assist in whatever way he could.

When the tauren finally opened the doors to the infirmary, his eyes went wide at the sight. The beds were filled with various levels of injuries, from simple broken bones to those currently unconscious and being worked on by doctors. His mind raced back to Northrend, the last time he had seen an infirmary so full. Where there, especially towards the end, many of the patients had been long term, driven mad by the whispers of the Old Gods, here the patients were all new, freshly injured and in need of immediate treatment.

Koramm swiftly moved towards the back of the room, heading for the offices. He needed to get into his robes, he’d grab a pair pair from the stock room as there was no time to make his way home. He needed to start healing. He was supposed to have gone with the party, but he had fallen ill and had to stay behind lest he drag the team down. Now they had returned, and in a far worse state.

“Did you hear? Seems like a number of the higher ranked soldiers were captured by demons.”

Koramm turned and looked at a pair of new recruits chatting with each other in the corner, his ears picking up their words as he walked by. He paused and glared at them. “What the bloody hell are you two doing? If you have time to gossip, you have time to go get more bandages and bring them out to the people doing their fucking jobs. Get to work!”

The elves stared up at him before bolting. Koramm’s mind reeled as he found his way to the stock room and began pulling on the uniform required of the Dawnmenders working in the infirmary. Could it truly have been true, what the recruits had said, that a number of the Sunguard had been captured in the mission that he had missed? It would certainly explain the sheer number of injured currently residing within the infirmary.

Still, in the months that Koramm had been amongst the Sunguard, no such loss had ever taken place. People had surely been injured, some even severely, but there had been no casualties, no members lost from their battles. It had been foolish to think that such a streak of luck could last forever, but Koramm had, and the loss sent him reeling.

“This is exactly why we need to put aside our differences with the Alliance and work together to destroy the Legion.” The thought rushed into Koramm’s head and was just as quickly dismissed. Now was not the time to be lamenting the idiocy of faction leadership. No, the only thing to focus on now was healing those that were in front of him, and once that was done to look ahead to see how he could assist in recovering those that they had lost. Once that was done, he could fantasize about a possible future once again.

Koramm straightened himself and turned, looking back towards the infirmary’s rooms. “Time to get to work.” @sparklepriest

[monster-pirate]

A Mother’s Gifts

Day 2: What is/was your character’s relationship with their parents? How do they express their feelings towards one another – or, if their parents are deceased, do they carry on their legacy in some fashion?

“Mamaaaaaa.”

The small cry came from the boy’s room. Trysten’s strong voice, weak and plaintive as he called out for her over and over. The first time that he had, her ears perked and she set down the dishes in favor of finding her eldest son. On her way from the kitchen she made a mental checklist of where she’d last seen all of her children. Zephenaye was off with her tutor. Today she was supposed to be learning the virtues of preparing all the materials one would need for spellcasting before hand. Bael was in the living room, drawing his endless designs with just his charcoal. Nonsensical, but intricate. Trysten was….Trysten was...Trysten slept in this morning. She hadn’t thought anything of it when it had been earlier in the morning, but now? It was past noon and this wasn’t like him at all. With an extra jump in her step, she hurried to his room and found the sallow faced boy still in bed. A slight sheen of sweat had covered his face and his hair was messy and damp.

With her arms open wide, she scooped him up from the bed and put herself in his spot, cuddling him in her lap.

“My baby boy…” She cooed as she felt his forehead, brows furrowed when she felt the slight warmth of his skin. Only a slight fever, but this being one of the boy’s only sicknesses in his life...well he didn’t know how to take it. Vivvienne gently rocked him and spoke in a soothing tone that channeled her mother’s own voice.

“I’ll go get you some water, a syrup, I’ll even make you a soup, would you like that?”

The freckled boy nodded and murmured a small ‘uh-huh’ in return.

She continued to rock him, humming a song that until she’d had children of her own, she’d nearly forgotten. It wasn’t famous or even well known, but a song from the small hamlet that she’d left for Dalaran.

She thought back to her mother and father and how they would dote upon her. If she was sick it was automatically a day home from the children’s program and a day away from the loom for her mother. They would spend the day together, singing, telling stories and on occasion Caeryndyn would teach her daughter special tricks that she’d picked up over her years at the loom. She’d missed that, the special bond that she had with her mother and father. It was times like these that her heart ached with the old pain of their passing.

As these thoughts brought tears to her eyes, she cuddled Trysten even closer and shifted him back to his bed. This is how she would keep them alive. The love that she bestowed on her own children. Love and her memory was all that she had to remember them by and at least with love she could spread the memory of her parents to her own children.

So, with one last wipe of his brow before she left the room to begin the soup she vowed that she would always love each and every one of her children to the fullest and support them, help them grow just as her parents had sacrificed for her. Pass down their traditions as best she could and hope that through the three of them, her parents would be proud.

[sarahwardrope]

Site Writing. Lecture from Professor Jane Rendell, The Bartlett School of Architecture. #MArch #postgrad #janerendell #architecture #architecturestudent #lecture #leedsbeckett #sitewriting (at The Rose Bowl - Leeds Beckett University)

[interiornotations-blog]

Before and afters, all mixed up. Working with immediacy, with body action + film + photograph give chance to come back at different points in time and “read” the situation in different manners, drawing out different information.