Feathermoon's Prompt Challenge
(( A couple of weeks ago, Feathermoon held a prompt challenge where participants would write a ficlet of no more than 250 words based around a given prompt (and obviously their RP characters). There were a total of 25 prompts with an extra 5 bonus prompts, and though I didn't catch the contest until the deadline had passed I thought I might as well use the exercise anyway to help write off my characters so they'll leave me alone. I'll probably only get about 10 finished, or maybe 15 at most, but we'll see. ))
1. Anathema - a person or thing detested or loathed.
She clutched the silver, green-flecked necklace in the palm of her hand; the obvious signs of elven craft dwarfed by her large, fumbling hands as she attempted to admire the chain. Feeling the smooth texture glide over her fingers, she watched as the centered half-moon stone gleamed with an emerald glow - a glow that used to match the deep shade of its previous owner’s hair.
With the flash of the green glow came a burning red - and suddenly a dragon’s molten black face burned in her memory, juxtaposed with a small night elf druid attempting to evacuate the park in the proud human kingdom of Stormwind. The dragon’s deep, rumbling laugh rippled through her ears as his flames incinerated the body of the elf, igniting an irrational hatred Runethalia’s heart had come to know very intimately, extinguishing what felt like a vital part of her soul.
The tauren’s anger flared, and she let the rage pulse through her body unchecked, feeling every vein scream for the desire of revenge. A characteristic she was unaccustomed to as a druid of the Cenarion Circle, but one she was finding more and more appealing as time wore on. Calmly, she released the necklace from her tightened grip, then clasped it around her mane, letting it bite down into her thick brown fur painfully. The crescent-shaped jewel dug into her throat; a reminder that it was there, and could not be ignored.
1. Anathema - a person or thing detested or loathed.
She clutched the silver, green-flecked necklace in the palm of her hand; the obvious signs of elven craft dwarfed by her large, fumbling hands as she attempted to admire the chain. Feeling the smooth texture glide over her fingers, she watched as the centered half-moon stone gleamed with an emerald glow - a glow that used to match the deep shade of its previous owner’s hair.
With the flash of the green glow came a burning red - and suddenly a dragon’s molten black face burned in her memory, juxtaposed with a small night elf druid attempting to evacuate the park in the proud human kingdom of Stormwind. The dragon’s deep, rumbling laugh rippled through her ears as his flames incinerated the body of the elf, igniting an irrational hatred Runethalia’s heart had come to know very intimately, extinguishing what felt like a vital part of her soul.
The tauren’s anger flared, and she let the rage pulse through her body unchecked, feeling every vein scream for the desire of revenge. A characteristic she was unaccustomed to as a druid of the Cenarion Circle, but one she was finding more and more appealing as time wore on. Calmly, she released the necklace from her tightened grip, then clasped it around her mane, letting it bite down into her thick brown fur painfully. The crescent-shaped jewel dug into her throat; a reminder that it was there, and could not be ignored.