Knollen Twins - Worldbuilding Preptober Prompts 2024

Prompt 1 WC: 461 / 300 (Oct 4)
The Barbarian | Write about an incident that would anger your character. Why would this make them angry? How do they deal with that anger?

Alison moved toward the door, but Aidan grabbed her wrist gently to turn her, stepping forward and closing the gap between them. She looked up at him briefly, seeing the hunger in his eyes before forcing herself to look away, pulling her wrist out of his grasp.
"Why are you doing this to me, Alison?" his voice was low and intimate, "You know I love you."
Her heart twisted painfully at the word. She had heard it from him too many times, always with the same fervor, the same insistence that it was real. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. She shook her head and pushed his chest away. "It is not love that you think you feel... It is obsession." The emotion drained from her voice as she felt herself grow cold with what she knew was the truth. "We cannot love, Aidan, if we cannot feel." She shook her head again, slower and more somber. "It is not possible."
His expression suddenly darkened with something close to desperation. "I feel, Alison! I feel you. Every day, every minute, every second, in every fiber of my being!" He took another step forward and raised his hands to hover over her arms, as if he might grab her at any moment. "Do not deny how true my love for you is simply because you fear that it may be genuine. We may be monsters, Alison—believe that if you wish—but I do love you."
His eyes locked onto hers, and for a brief moment, she saw the pain there, the earnestness. He truly believed it. But his belief made it no less dangerous. A part of her felt for him, but the larger part of her rebelled against the very idea of being bound by him, by anyone.
"And I think you fear it because you love me too," he whispered, stepping so close now that she could feel the coldness of his skin radiating toward hers.
Alison stiffened as her breath caught in her throat. She could actually smell his passion. Her body tensed, and she took a step back, closing her eyes to strengthen her resolve. "Do not presume you know me, Aidan." She backed away further, before opening her eyes and meeting his with as much cold force as she could. "I do not belong to you."
She saw the frustration in his expression as he narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw, but she also saw a flicker of hurt, and it screamed at her insides. She turned and walked away before any more words could be said, before she weakened and did something she might regret. She needed to be strong. She needed to do what was right and good... and Aidan was neither of those things.

Prompt 2 WC: 491 / 300 (Oct 9)
The Bard | Write about a performance that occurs in your setting. Are performances common to see? Are the performers local to the area, or have they travelled to perform here?

We arrived in the town a few hours before dusk. Yorne, I believe it is called. Just another sleepy town on the way to the city. I dangled my legs off the end of the caravan - the second in a line of three that carried the traveling circus. It was normal for people to gather when we arrived; they were usually excited to see the circus was in town. I waved and smiled as we passed a pair of laughing kids, but as we continued along, I began to get the feeling that something was different here. So many serious faces… The townsfolk seemed almost somber. As we approached the town square, I thought I saw something dart between the buildings: a flash of fur and golden eyes. A wolf? No, surely not in the middle of town, I tried to reassure myself, but pulled my legs up close to my body anyway.
The stakes were drove in and the tent was lifted within the hour of our arrival - we’ve done this hundreds of times. As I carried a box of props to the smaller prep tent, I noticed the townspeople gathering. Again, not unusual. What was unusual was the way they stared at us in silence. No excited murmur, no pointing and giggling, no one trying to sneak a peek at the animals… Just staring, their eyes fixed as we prepared, as if evaluating us, deciding whether we belonged.
By the time the lanterns of Yorne were lit, the tickets were sold, the big tent was packed, and the show had begun. As I stood on the sidelines, awaiting my cue, my eyes lazily scanned the crowd. An exceptionally beautiful man in Section C, back row (of two) caught my eye. He was whispering to a woman in the row in front of him, eliciting bashful giggles. Henrick, my spotter, touched my shoulder, signaling it was time. I nodded to him and looked back one last time at the man, but he - and the woman - were gone.
Near the end of my act, I stood on my swing, my head near the rafters, and I took a moment to breathe before my big drop. I found myself glancing at the man’s empty seat again - only now, it was not empty. He sat there, staring up at me. He licked something crimson from his lips and smiled. The woman was gone. My stomach turned, I slipped, and I nearly missed my mark, catching the trapeze just in time.
There was a vote on whether we should stay the night in the town or get a head start toward the next one, and it was nearly unanimous. It seemed I wasn’t the only one that felt uncomfortable here. It was the fastest we had ever left a town, and as the caravan exited the sleepy town of Yorne, I could swear, in the shadows, there was a wolf that watched us leave.

Prompt 3 WC: 362 / 300 (Oct 21)
The Cleric | Write about an institution in your setting. Is it well-liked and appreciated, or disliked by the general population?

The Church of St. Alion sat atop a low hill, overlooking the town of Yorne like a guardian protecting its secrets. Built from dark, weathered stone, the church’s Gothic spires peirced the sky. Locals whispered that St. Alion himself had been a protector of the town, though not of its people, but of the ancient forces that lurked in the forests and streets. Inside, the church was cold year-round. Stained glass windows depicted the life of the saint: battles with shadowy creatures, wolves at his side, and strange prayers beneath a blood moon. The light coming through these windows was dim; only a faint glow ever reached the altar, where a massive crucifix loomed. The figure of Christ was carved with an expression that some said looked more like sorrow than salvation.
Father Dorian, the church priest, was a quiet man, born in Yorne and known for his eerie calm. His sermons were soft and slow, and those who attended often found their thoughts wandering to unsettling places. He seemed to care for the church more than the people who came to worship, always polishing the stone floors or tending to the altar with near obsessive care.
The true nature of St. Alion’s legacy was not openly discussed .It was said the saint had been a man of great reverence, but not all beleived his prayers were answered by the same God that others worshipped. Some claimed he had bargained with older, primal forces to keep Yorne from crumbling under the weight of the beasts that prowled its outskirts. The wolves even seemed to respect the church, rarely venturing near it.
At night, when the moon was full, the bells of St. Alion rang on their own... a slow, mournful toll that rippled through the town. No one lived close enough to ring them after dark, yet they would chime, soft but clear. And always, on those nights, strange figures were seen gathering at the edge of the woods, wolves and men both, watching the church with a careful eye.
Inside, Father Dorian would light a single candle and kneel before the altar, whispering prayers in a language no one else understood.

Prompt 5 WC: 664 / 300 (Oct 28)
The Fighter | Write about something/someone that needs defending. Does your character defend it/them? Why or why not?

“How long has it been?” Lucius asked in a slow, angry tone.
“Six days,” Aidan responded reluctantly. He knew Lucius would find out eventually, but he had hoped Alison would have awoken by then. It was taking longer for her to heal than he had planned. A furious growl ripped from Lucius’ throat.
“You dare to keep secrets from your coven–and for this long? This is grounds for condemnation many times over!”
“Master, I beg you–”
“Silence!” Lucius punched the wall angrily, and Aidan closed his eyes, gripping the floor anxiously with his fingertips.
“This wench is apparently afflicting your judgments. You dare to deceive me? To betray your coven? To curse our home by bringing her desecrated body here? And now, to speak out of turn, against me? Impudent bairn!” Lucius kicked Aidan in the side, causing him to roll across the floor. Aidan coughed and held his side, but quickly returned to his kneeling position. “What am I to do for you? You give me no choice but to punish you. I can no longer trust you in your duties, and a majority of the coven wants your head.” Lucius paced in front of him. Aidan knew Lucius did not plan to kill him–he would have done it already; he was not one to waste time. But he knew he had already lost his standing in the coven. He would be demoted severely if not exiled completely. He had to find a way to fix this. “Tell me your worth to me.” Lucius stood over Aidan, threateningly.
“Master...” Aidan willed his brain to think quickly, “I wish only to serve you.” He pressed his head lower to the ground until his forehead felt the cool floor. “Since the day you took me into your coven, I have faithfully and efficiently completed every task you have given to me. You honored me by making me your primary beneficiary. If you should choose to grace me with another chance, I swear to earn back your trust and to serve you with all that I am.”
“And this... girl?” Lucius asked spitefully. Aidan swallowed. Alison...
“I acknowledge that I have no rights in this matter, but I beg that you accept her into your coven. She should not be made to suffer for my carelessness.” Aidan could hear Lucius turn and walk a couple steps away before he spoke.
“She is no child of mine, and she will not be recognized as a Vampire of your making. As far as this coven is concerned, she is less than human–a mere splotch in our perceptions.” His voice was disgusted, and Aidan’s mind raced as he feared what they may do to her–and it would be his fault. “However, I will not be responsible for her death nor for her release on the town’s people. Therefore, she will be your responsibility.” Aidan could not stop himself from looking up at Lucius in surprise. Lucius turned to look at him, and he quickly bowed his head again. “If she proves to be a burden in any way, you will accept the punishment and she will be put to death. Understood?”
“Yes, master. With all my gratitude and respect, I accept these conditions.”
“Very well. You are hereby denounced until you earn back your standing in the council, you will be temporarily marked with disgrace, and you will now serve under Kale.” Lucius bit his thumb and pressed it firmly against Aidan’s forehead, marking him. “Now leave me.”
Aidan quietly stood, bowed respectively, then left the room. He kept his head down as he walked the halls to his room. Others of the coven stared at him as he passed and moved to the sides to avoid him. He opened the door to his room and softly closed it behind him. He stood for a moment and stared at Alison’s still sleeping form on his couch. Finally, he released an angry scream, which seemed to echo throughout the mansion.