The sound of it all

There once was a commander renowned for his ability to coordinate battle units. Some credit was due to the fact the commander boasted one of the loudest, most guttural voices ever heard in the kingdom. But one day during a fierce battle, a piece of shrapnel pierced the commander's throat, severing his vocal cords. After his forced retirement, he suffered night terrors during which armies overtook his battalion, his commands falling on soldiers who possessed no ears. At the scene of his suicide they found the following note: Without a voice you cannot be ignored. -L.F. 

Letters from the Postman

My dearest Thomas,

I miss you and worry for your safety. There's a rumor your camp was overrun by wolf men. Hearsay, I know, and I try not to worry too much but you know how I can get.  Tommy Jr. imitates you now, pretending to deliver letters throughout the village streets. Please, next time the courier calls on your camp, might you see to it that he gets a letter penned by your hand? Tommy and I are most anxious to hear from you. Be safe my love.

- your Lucy

There are diamonds inside the cracks in the sand

 

He hardly allowed time for those things anymore. Parties. Dancing. Drinking wines, and smoking. Which was why it was all the more peculiar to find him passed out cold as stone, sprawled out on a cobbled walkway inside the city, sleep being the only guardian from a throbbing headache and the persistent urge to vomit. After waking, he found a shadow in an alleyway to throw up in, splashing remnants of last night on a perfectly good pair of shoes, an incident he used to remind himself why he didn't belong socializing with folks who have too much fun.

You can dance...if you want to

The earth against her face was soft and warm. Vibrations from stomping feet echoed loudly around her. Beyond that sound, a deeper, subdued hum. How slowly the sun sets, disappearing into the horizon like a torch slung over the shoulder of a weary adventurer. Darkness would sneak into the land within the hour. With the sun vanquished, the day was beholden to no one. Night was anyone's to claim. Let them dance was her final thought before her spirit retreated into a formless void. There, she felt and knew nothing except for the vivid sensation of swimming. Endless swimming.

Bones

It isn't clear how the bones ended up there. Odd bones, they are. A tauren? Perhaps. Maybe a pandaren. The skeleton itself looks like it has been cleaned. Polished even. The kind of specimen you'd expect to be held by a preservation society. One does not simply call on a neighbor and ask whether or not they know something about the mysterious appearance of a pile of bones. No. The bones would be burned to ashes. They would have to disappear. Liked he'd hoped they would, after he first laid eyes upon them under the moonlight the night before.