He woke with the sun, like he usually did, though he didn’t fight wakefulness like he usually did. He didn’t defiantly turn to the side, or regather the blanket over him. He opened his eyes fully, then he closed them for just a moment of meditative breath.

He listened to the birds chirping, he felt the ambient chill of the earth and the crispness of the air on his face. That moment in time dilated as he drew the morning chill into his lungs, and he exhaled slowly, deliberately, and gathered himself up to sit in his bedroll. He looked to either side of him, exhaling another breath in a tired huff as he scanned the empty tent.

His journal was next to him, beside his pillow, a pen resting in the spine of it, holding open where...

“You’re really stayin’ up there?” The gilgoblin asked as she pointed up into the coral-lined crags over Newhome, into the distance, a ruined Highborne tower barely visible hidden in the haze of seaspray.

Luminash nodded, “I am.”

His interlocutor only drummed her feet on the side of the Horde-marked crate she was sitting on, “Huh.“ After a long moment of silence between the two, she spoke up again, too loudly; the magister started at the sudden intrusion on his thoughts.

“You like livin’ up there? Seems like you’d lack for company.”

“What? I…” He shook his head, “I suppose I do, well enough. It is quiet, and allows me to think more clearly. It is also near enough Newhome to resupply, as you well...

Luminash’s eyes snapped open, and he winced. The first thing he noticed was the pain, the scrapes, the bruises, the feeling of warm blood only beginning to dry. The next he noticed was the ground beneath him. It was rocky, barely concealed by damp sand, jutting stones and coral all around. Shakily, he pushed himself to his feet, the sharp stone digging into his hands and knees as he pushed upwards.

                                                     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The hull of the Zandalari ship creaked around the magister as he climbed the ladder from the hold to the upper deck. Many of the other Thalassian personnel who were part of the Regent Lord’s retinue...

The dress sat on a rack in her dressing room, and Eleeria sat in a chair before it, gazing at the expanse of fabric with something like disbelief written in her features. The wedding gown was traditionally Sin’dorei — golden gems accented the white, red, and russet colors reminiscent of fall. She hadn’t worn a wedding dress the last time — just her ceremonial Blood Knight armor. But Weleria had insisted on dresses this time, and so here hers sat: lovingly tailored by her sister, designed by her mothers, the dress was perfect.

And Eleeria could not help but feel a rush of happiness at the sight.

Finally. Finally, finally, they were getting married in front of their friends and family. Eleeria had never had a planned, proper...

I can hear them coming. Their hooves striking the ground. It echoes, makes it seem like more than one of them are there. But its just the one. Dark skin and reeking of death. And eyes that just seem to burn into you. And as its walking by me, it stops and starts looking. Like it knows I’m there. But I know it can’t.

I’m covered in mud from that Light forsaken place. Camouflage. I hate it. It stinks of fel. It itches. All I want to do is scratch at it, to wipe it off. But I can’t because then the monster will know where I am. So I lay still, pressing against the hill. it can’t see me. Or can it?

The demon steps closer to me. Another step and it’d be right on top of me. I fight the urge to move my leg out of its way. The...

Venibeth straightened abruptly, her eyes going wide at the crash from the shop. She turned to the twins, “Stay here. Don’t you dare move.” she warned.

Aiden and Emma nodded gravely, “Okay mommy.” they replied in unison.

The mage gave them a dubious look then darted through the curtained door that separated the shop from the living quarters just as another crash resounded through the building.

The broom she’d enchanted and had left sweeping when she’d taken the children in for lunch lay on the floor, the end of the handle protruding through a broken pane of glass while a dress dummy leaned brokenly against the wall. A small table that had held a vase of flowers was turned on its side, the blossoms scattered amidst shards...

(( From a prompt on Tumblr ))

Khaeris slid onto the bench under her fold-down table. Her tea sat nearby, steam dancing and swaying as it tempted, trying to pull her focus from the envelope in her fingers. As much as she loved her tea, the envelope held her rapt.

This was the 135th envelope.

On her first day back in this timeline she had opened a flurry of them. She had been crying and her heart had swelled with emotions she could hardly name at the time. She opened one most mornings, savoring them now. Her heart continued to swell every time she opened one. Even now, months later. Even after reunions and hugs and more tears.

Khaeris let herself remember how displaced she’d felt that day, crossing the Bazaar toward her wagon....

Braghaman sat quietly in the room that the guards had put him in. They had shut the door and latched it, leaving the paladin all alone. Letting out a sigh, Bragh leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his knees. He shook his head as he thought through the situation. After a few moments, he leaned back in the chair and waited.

With no windows, it was hard for Bragh to measure the time as it passed. He could hear people moving around outside. There were several conversations going on out there, but none of them really attracted his attention. He knew that there was only one conversation that he’d be interested in hearing. He also knew that if it involved his wife, that he’d have no trouble knowing what was said.

Time...

I hadn’t been sober for weeks, and everyone wanted to keep me that way.

Blazzil wanted me in the ring, drunk from punches.

The bruisers and the crowd wanted me at the bar, drunk on whiskey.

Fight-bunnies wanted me in the bedroom, drunk on them.

Some people were easier to say “no” to than others, but with time, something about the river, something about the stone. Erosion and all that.

It’s our fate, as mortals, bound by time and mortality, to wear and to tarnish, isn’t it?

The molten-orange of the sun, the smell of roasting street-meat, and the smoke of Orgrimmar industry woke me in the morning, newly familiar, but not entirely unpleasant. A woman’s hand was on my chest, and her leg was draped over mine, the both of us...

Niviene paced the office, wringing her hands and casting the occasional look at the young man who sat passively in the chair opposite her desk.

“Why in the world would anyone think he could be guilty? How could they arrest him? Everyone knows Bragh, they know he’s a paladin in the employ of the Cathedral.”

Erik didn’t bother answering, he knew the priestess well enough to know that she wasn’t really speaking to him, she was thinking aloud. And working herself up into a temper. He didn’t know yet if she planned to go to Stormwind but he certainly wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the petite blonde’s anger. Not that he wouldn’t mind being there to enjoy the show.

“Did they get Shadowbreaker? What did he...

She appeared in his bedroom like a specter of death, so quickly that even as attuned to the shadows as he was, Vanaal only had time to roll from bed and grab his daggers before she moved. The apartment was warded, of course — but Ismene had made some dark bargain for that magic of hers, and wards generally did little good against her machinations. Years of devoted study even before the Fall had made her more adept than Vanaal, who used it purely as an art to further his current trade. Thankfully, the lanky woman seemed to have no interest in killing him. She stalked to the bed, laying down in the empty space on the side closest to the window. Ismene’s arms stretched over her head, fingers curling. But though she tried to hide the...

Braghaman sat quietly next to the desk as the guard gathered a pad of paper and sat down across from him. It took the guard a moment more to get settled and set his pencil to paper. Then, he looked up at the paladin.

“Name?”

“Bragh Larethian.”

“Where do you live?”

“Darkshire.”

“Over in Duskwood?” the guard asked, looking up from his paper.

“Yes,” Bragh answered, barely fighting back the smirk and sarcastic comment.

“What brought you to Stormwind today?”

“I had a meeting.”

“Where at?”

“The Cathedral.”

“Looking for some healing, Mr. Larethian?”

“No,” Bragh said, frowning slightly.

“Who were you meeting with?”

“Lord Shadowbreaker.”

“Shadowbreaker? A bit old to start...

“If he’s still in Shattrath, I cannot find him.”

Braghaman looked at Erik for a moment before nodding. Turning his gaze, he looked over to the memorial for King Varian. Even in a crowded, busy city like Stormwind, this area was calm and quiet. “Are you sure he’s still in Shattrath?”

“No, I’m not,” Erik answered with a shrug. He followed the paladin’s gaze and looked at the large monument. “If he is, he has found some place I cannot access. If he’s not, then he managed to slip past the portal keepers.”

“Or he found a different way back here.”

“That is also a possibility.” Erik paused for a moment, then looked back at the paladin. “Why would he hide from you?”

“I don’t know. If he is, I’m...

“This is stupid!”

The field turned quiet as the other four paladin trainees stopped what they were doing and looked at the outburst. Then, one by one, the four looked away from their comrade and looked to the elder paladin who was standing to the side of the field.

“We’re wasting out time here!”

“Knock it off, Henkins,” one of the trainees said, looking to the one yelling.

“You knock it off, Julia! We’re wasting our time here.”

“What have you got against practicing?” one of the other paladins asked.

“Maybe you need the practice, Bin, but I don’t.”

“We all need the practice. That’s why we’re here.”

“Not me. If we were still back in Stormwind, they’d have realized that and sent me off to...

It had been Niviene’s habit for years now to continue on across the bridge that connected Duskwood and Westfall, circling down one embankment and up there other, verifying the stability of the structure as well as searching for evidence of suspect activity. On more than one occasion such an inspection had helped the members of the Shrouded Dawn get a jump on the bad guys and thwart them before they could do a great deal of harm.

Tonight had been like any other night. Braghaman had arrived at the square in Darkshire first and by the time the priestess was able to get there a newcomer had arrived. Highlord Quint stood, his golden armor shining in the dying light of the evening, the two paladins deep in discussion of events across the...