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Jo Silverwright
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re: Writing Prompt, 2/4/17 - Mask

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This week's prompt is: "Mask"

The rules: Use the prompt to write a short piece of prose, with a maximum of 500 words. Post it in this thread, and maybe something fun will happen.

This week's prompt will end one week from the start point, April 8th.

Zuriah_
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re: Writing Prompt, 2/4/17 - Mask

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In the pale moonlight, Zuriah knelt by a pool in the Hinterlands. Most of the Servitors had been deployed to the Broken Shores, but she had to be sure. She looked around in the darkness and when she was confident that no one was near gently unfastened her white mask and took it off. Tonight, like make nights it wasn't white but bathed in black arterial demon blood. Dipping her hands into the cool water, she washed off her face and the proceded to rinse off her mask. She looked upon her mask and ran a finger down the crack that ran along the center. The only evidence and damage she had suffered from the campaign to rescue her mother. She would have to fix that. 

Gazing down at her mask she caught the reflection of her disfigured, mangled face looking back up at her from the pool of still water. She knew it all too well, every detail of her monstrous appearance. Shifting her gaze between the soft, white mask and her reflection she spent a few moments reflecting upon her fate. Which was her true face? Which her mask? The pure, white, gentle mask, with a crack of innocence lost, or the monster which hid underneath? Her recently rediscovered mother, Folcan, Zibby...a chance of a new life, of finding who she once had been...or the hate which burned within the monster? 

She chuckled and put the white mask back over her face. It was the kind of question which didn't bother her for long. A mask was just a mask to keep others from feeling the disgust they otherwise would. The rest would become clear with or without it. In the morning, her mother would need tending to and come nightfall, there would be more demons to butcher in the Bone wastes. More demon bodies to leave behind in bloody piles of chunks to make even an Eredar think twice about defiling corpses and souls. 

Far away in a different time and place a harp begun to strum in the amphitheater of Karabor.

Izarre
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re: Writing Prompt, 2/4/17 - Mask

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Three days earlier, a very young Izarre had finished her basic training. Every Draenei had to go through it. Basic hand to hand and melee combat, military structure and discipline and of course, aptitude testing. Whether you were going to be a mage or a warrior, a baker or a scholar, you at least had to learn how to defend yourself and know what you were capable of. Today, after a little rest, was her very first day of Vindicator training and a teenaged Izarre could not have been more excited. What new and incredible things would she learn? She was practically bounding off the walls with excitement. 

After being divided into units she met the man who would make her the Vindicator she would one day be, and coincidentally years into the future her first true love. Karos. A hulking behemoth of a bull who had seen more combat than most others on the Genedar. He towered over the new recruits, and in his armor, was about as wide of two of them. Her excitement grew and her grin practically stretched from horn to horn. Karos paced along the line taking in the young Draenei, taking in their faces and studying them to determine their strengths and their weaknesses. He stopped in front of Izarre and asked in that eerily calm tone so unique to Vindicators

"Where you born that way?" 

Izzy tilted her head and replied with a sheepish "Born how?"

"With that ridiculous smile on your face?"

It was a hard question. For a child of the Genedar she had mostly been a rather happy and cheerful one, despite having lived through her share of sorrow. She decided that "Yes, I think I was." was the correct answer to that question. 

Karos took a few steps back and addressed the group. "Lets get one thing straight. You will all die in battle. If it takes you a hundred or a thousand years, I'll make you Vindicators, and as Vindicators, you are the first, and the last lines of defense for our people. We are the Draenei and our enemy will never allow us to have peace. So wipe those smiles and those frowns from your faces. Our enemy will strive to use your emotions against you, and our people will need your calm even if you don't have it." Izarre was clearly not convinced and her face showed it. "You will learn, and you will understand why you'll have to learn.", he said looking into her eyes.

Many years later she would see a blade driven through Karos' neck. She would take up her husbands' blade and carry on her duty without a single line forming on her brow despite the agony she felt within. 



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