Warcraft Fan Fiction ❯ A Savage Land ❯ Rest ( Chapter 9 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

- -

“Finally, a challenge,” the Val'kyr said, arcing her weapon back before sweeping a powerful cleaving blow forward that nearly expired the three attacking Vrykul at once.

A man, recognizably a rogue with his body wrapped in leather, appeared behind one and felled him with a powerful blow. A female death knight released a blast of greenish energy, ending another, while the Val'kyr easily dispatched the third with another blow.

“We should wait on entering,” the rogue mentioned, pressing himself against the wall to remain hidden while watching for more defenders. “We are only here to inspect the area, not purge the fortress.”

“Though, we may have the power to do so even without Sylva and Lasari- ahhhhh!” The death knight screamed suddenly, dropping to one knee. One gloved hand came to her forehead, body under the assault of something unseen.

“And so you finally know your place, Aylenn the Frostfury,” a deep, baritone voice growled with undisguised menace.

The two still standing froze, looking towards the voice for the one they both knew would be there. Arthas, the Lich King, had formed an image of himself before them. Images, they all knew well, still carried a measure of his true power. Frostmourne was held tightly in a gauntlet-encased fist, the blade always eager for more souls.

Arthas turned his burning eyes towards the other male, mouth forming a sneer. “So you are the one who has been causing such ruckus in my army. You will learn what it means to try and take what belongs to the Lich King.” His raised his blade, drawing upon his endless reserves of power.

-

Nathaniel watched the brawl taking place on the roof. Varna squared herself against both Eydis and Gard, the huntress somehow pulling off the skill to hold off both warriors that had been superior to her not a few weeks ago. Sigrid was a raging fury, polearm blurring in her powerful strikes against Sapph, both utilizing frost spells to outdo the other.

Lyana, Tassaria, Selendre, and Merette were there, off to the side and also watching the events. They didn't have the option to be anywhere else, and if anything, fighting always could inspire attention. The only one missing was the Val'kyr Thora, off 'stretching her wings.'

Nathaniel stood on the stairs, low enough to where he could rest his arms on the roof's ground level. On the step higher than him was Aylenn, her smaller height allowing the same position he was in, while Sylva, Lasariel, and Fritha were off below them somewhere.

“Does it still hurt?” Aylenn asked him quietly, not turning her attention from Sapph's fight.

Nathaniel didn't say anything for a moment, gave no change in expression, then told her in the same voice, “Always.”

Aylenn sighed, turning to him and sliding a hand under his tunic. She kissed his cheek just as her hand found it, rested her head against his shoulder as she felt along the mark - a burning warmth and corrupted touch to it. It hooked from the right side of his chest down to the middle and slashed to the upper parts of his stomach. It had healed well from the bandages, potions, and good meals, but some things never healed.

Arthas had done it to him. The fight with his image was scattered and shady for her, but she remembered fighting through the agony her former master was putting her through to block his strike against her husband. The Lich King had been much too powerful for her, and not even with all her strength could she simply parry his one strike. She had, however, diverted its course from a killing – and likely and enslaving – blow to simply a horrendous cut down his chest, and whatever vile energies he had put into it remained.

“Very, very few, dear husband, can say they've come into contact with the Lich King and have lived to tell the tale,” Aylenn said, still enthralled by the mark.

“I've encountered his image many times. Never has he taken direct action against me like that.”

“Before, it was always his anger at the tools' ineptitude in killing you and those you were with. This time it was personal. Be proud,” she told him. However, they both knew that the only reason that he hadn't been slain immediately was her desperate act and the only reason they had all escaped with their lives was Sigrid.

Aylenn saw flashes in her mind, the battle-maiden Val'kyr screaming as she engaged the Lich King's image with a savage ferocity. The specifics of the fight were lost, but Sigrid had managed to run off the mere minimal echo of Arthas' true power. Aylenn had provided some help, but still disoriented by her former master, she couldn't claim any credit. Nathaniel's bleeding and groaning form was the last fragment of memory.

Sigrid's present fight ended with Sapph flat on her back, then impaling her weapon inches from the death knight's head. The warrior woman was panting, her face expressing no pleasure in her victory. She ripped her weapon free and turned away from her opponent, likely thinking that she still must grow stronger. Sapph was no pushover, however, yet still the Val'kyr set her expectations higher.

“What will we do now?” Aylenn asked quietly. Sigrid and all of them could pound their weapons against each other for years and be no closer to defeating Arthas. That had to be the united forces in Icecrown. “Where else can we go? The non-Alliance factions that are spread through this land, certainly there are favors you can call in from them.”

“Of them, only the Kalu'ak, Sons of Hodir, and perhaps Wyrmrest would accept both of our presences. The goddess Har'koa favors me, but like the others, I don't see how she can help us.”

“Hm, let's think in Vrykul terms, darling. Challenge a village, establish ourselves as champions to it and turn them from the Lich King, enjoy the attention of females throwing themselves at us yet remaining above them...” Aylenn sighed at the thought.

Nathaniel smiled, shaking his head slightly. “I think we must first be Vrykul for them to even consider accepting us as champions.”

-

Lyana had her bed set up distant from the others. She had been civil enough the previous day, but Nathaniel came alone this time for the usual conversation. The deadly Dark Ranger watched him, back resting against the stone wall, red eyes not hiding her disdain. However, instead of the usual standing over her, Nathaniel came dangerously close to her, bringing his own back against the wall next to her and sliding down.

She looked at him, curious, seeing him close his eyes as if perfectly at ease near her, unafraid that she might break his neck in a moment of weakness. She did nothing, however, knowing that she couldn't live through the ramifications of such a brash action. If it were night, everyone asleep, however...

“How are you, Lyana?” he began, still with his eyes closed.

“Bored,” she drawled, not certain yet how to take advantage of this attitude. He was alone, but could she provoke him into losing control?

“An unfortunately side-effect we are working to overcome,” he said. “We are finding it difficult to establish somewhere to settle down.”

Lyana bit back a scathing response, moderated her tone. “Of course it is. What you are doing is wrong, and no one will tolerate such blatant injustice. Your captives here, we deserve to die – we are enemies at war – not be forced into love-slaves.”

He smiled slightly, opening an eye to study her. “And the experiments the Forsaken perform on their captives are any better?”

Lyana scoffed, turning away from him. “Those are necessities. A barbarous harem for your pleasure is not a necessity.”

“Does that make it any less wrong?” he asked, not a challenge as much as a reflection. “You still must hide your actions from the rest of the Horde.”

How does he even know about that? Lyana asked herself. She knew he wouldn't give any answers, however. “We are justified. We make no illusions of being just.”

“Interesting,” he commented, thinking about her words. The Forsaken were damnable and reveled in the fact. “Tell me, Lyana, why do you hate the living so passionately?”

The Dark Ranger made fists, but otherwise remained in her dangerous aloof state. “Our name, Forsaken, is not for show. The world has Forsaken us, loath us for simply being regardless of our freedom from the Scourge, our loved ones deny us. Tell me, you clever human, what do you think when you look at us?”

The anger in her voice told Nathaniel more than her words did. He hinted an amused smile regardless. “I married a death knight, remember? What I think of when I look at the Forsaken, however, is that you are all filled with such rage. Your hate festers, grows, breeding malice and cruelty. You are beyond self-interested, instead self-consumed. In the Argent Crusade, I only rarely found an undead still with the Forsaken that had a measure of good.”

“ Exactly,” she muttered as if his words proved her point. The Argent Crusade, I had forgotten. That is why he appears so neutral to both the Horde and Alliance. His words reached something inside her, brought up a memory of something Lady Sylvanas once said, “What are we if not slaves to this torment?” They were angry, all of them. They hated the Scourge for what they had done to them, the living for how they regarded them. They were the Forsaken.

“Because I see your anger, you hate me?” Nathaniel questioned, drawing out the point she tried to make. “We would be on better terms if I was blind and ignorant?”

Lyana's eyes widened, picking up on her implied statement. Only now did she realize that there hadn't been the usual contempt or revulsion when he stated his observation – not even pity. She opened her mouth to curse at him, remembered the ramifications immediately. Thinking, she understand that she only would have been avoiding the topic, losing control of her part in their conversation, followed quickly by being turned over his knee for humiliation.

She flared her nostrils and leaned her head back against the wall, drawing in her self-control and closing her eyes like how he had been earlier. “Is this about me, trying to change my view on you, or is this about you and the immorality of your actions?”

He was smiling, amused at the show her emotions had played out. “This, Lyana, is simply talking. You did well today. Keep your bedding. You may have a bath in an hour or so.”

He stood and left, her eyes opening again to watch him go.

-

Aylenn was still with Sapph, doing whatever those two girls did together. That enabled Nathaniel to continue. What he was looking for, he didn't know, but something within compelled him, urged him to just find the companionship of company. It was those that he normally remained withdrawn from, especially the captives, that he wanted to hear the thoughts of.

Was it justification for his and Aylenn actions that he was trying to find? He didn't believe so – barbarous lands bred barbarous acts – but there was some curiosity as to how they felt about it.

Merette's pleasant form came drifting down the stairs, scandalous and revealing – yet not revealing enough. That which marked her as a cultist remained starkly obvious, somehow even more appealing, an exotic touch to her already desirable figure. Aylenn hadn't been wrong in her choice of having Cult of the Damned pleasure girls, nor had they been wrong in their choice of who to take.

She no longer appeared awkward in the uniform, an improvement besides her increased skill.

Suggestion was on her face, smoldering eyes and inviting smile, but Nathaniel shook his head and patted the spot next to him. “Come here. Sit down.” Merette blinked at him, the seduction disappearing in a way that told him it was a mask, and she shuffled over to him, folding herself down in a stack of naked limbs.

“You wouldn't like me to pleasure you?” she asked, confused.

What he would like and what he wanted presently were different things. Hard for her to talk with her mouth occupied, though it made a nice thought. “How are you, Merette? Honestly now, not what you assume I wish to hear.”

She considered the question for a moment, in an instant reverting from a tool of lust to a person again. Leaning back with her arms behind her, Merette shifted her jaw in a noncommittal gesture, nearly equating a shrug. “I'm adjusting to this better. Lasariel has been teaching me how to improve my performance.” She blushed then, one hand coming up to fiddle with the cloth before her in a gesture of frivolous occupation. “I find nothing attractive about women, but she can make my body sing otherwise.”

Lasariel. There was a girl Nathaniel wouldn't mind knowing better. She was the most elusive and distant of his wives, the most affectionate besides Aylenn, nearly as seductive, and certainly skilled at sexual arts.

“My sisters from the cult,” she continued, “are quite stubborn and refuse to practice what I show them. Humiliation won't break them, but I believe a more advance form of conditioning as you are doing with Lyana could condition them appropriately.” Finally, she shook out her wrist, exaggerating relief for a pain, giving him a wry look. “Fritha.”

Nathaniel barked out a laugh, seeing her smile as he responded to her joke. “Say no more.” So the nympho of a Vrykul had immediately gone for the pleasure girl, and it appeared her habits for it hadn't lessened any. “And Sylva?”

Merette shrugged. “She's a spiteful bitch, but I guess I understand why.” Her thoughts turned back to the times the night elf would visit her and the pleasure-girls-in-training, expressing her distaste for them. Merette had expected more humiliation, but after calling them onto their knees, she had only shaken her head and left.

“You don't say that you deserve it,” Nathaniel noted.

Merette's eyes regarded him coolly. “I do not believe false regret for my actions will get me out any sooner. I followed my passion, took the means to fulfill it, and I allowed myself the consequences of joining the Cult.”

“Honesty I appreciate for this conversation,” he told her, watching the challenging look drop. “Though in the future, I advise you don't practice defiance, especially when back to your position.” Merette nodded, meekness quickly being added to her person.

Nathaniel's mind turned up the thoughts that had provoked the desire for this conversation in the first place, running her response through it. It was amazing what one would do just to stay alive, but was he justified in making her do this? Would 'justice' be found only if he murdered her instead?

“Tell me, Merette, do you... want anything?” He left the question open for interpretation, leaving her to decide if he meant material, situational, responsive, or otherwise.

Merette didn't look at him. “Do you remember the night you captured me, the first time we-” She cut short, shaking her head. “Never mind. Honestly, I want back to my research. I was so close!” She paused, eyes turning to him with interest. “I could work for you. I could finish my elixir, let you give it to the stubborn girls. They would be eager to pl-”

Nathaniel shook his head once in a curt gesture. “The erasure of what remaining freewill you girls have is a cruelty I will not lower myself to. You should have the option to hate me for what we do, at the least.”

However, her initial words surprised him. It was obvious what she had been about to ask, the blush on her cheeks following verification. There were many excuses for why that was first, but nothing could change the fact her first response was to ask if he'd make love to her again, the way he did for her first time in the act.

Her expression fell at his rejection, but he studied her, his perception switching rhythmically between the cultist's face and the woman's face. “Merette, what do you feel for me?”

She balked at his blunt confrontation, then quickly realized he wasn't inquiring knowingly about anything, just asking. “I, um...” She quieted suddenly, embarrassment tinging her cheeks again. “I like pleasuring you.”

Nathaniel watched her, seeing her fidget under his gaze, softened his expression so it wouldn't seem so intense. That was all she was willing to say, and he wouldn't press. “Alright, thank you. We are done here. I will want attentions from you in the near future, so be ready.”

So soon after her small declaration, Merette gave a flustered returning smile, stood up quickly. “Yes, my Lord.” She gave a bow, not realizing how it made the gold band hang forward and expose her breasts to his eyes, then turned on her heel and retreated, barely graceful enough to not be called scurrying away. Her cheeks felt on fire as she went, cursing to herself.

Nathaniel leaned back, processing what he learned. He doubted Merette felt anything meaningful for him, like Sylva or even Varna. However, he was a man who had shown her tenderness, taught her physical pleasure between a man and a woman, and he was the figure that had authority over her life. Even intense anger at him for what he turned her into could be mistaken, only feeling intense emotion for him.

Also, he remembered how distant she had been from the other cultists at the camp, his wife's assertion that Merrete had likely taken her own maidenhead. He recalled the researchers in Stormwind, always secluded and so busy with their work they didn't have time for relationships. He was likely the first man in her life that had grown in any way close to her.

Shaking his head, he also stood. Tonight he wanted to give special attention to his wives, the others in addition to Aylenn, and Eydis was the day's binding to him, sealing her into his harem. He was to spend that time with her now so he could give more to his wives later.

-

“Surely you are loyal to our Lord,” Thora said, white wings flapping and keeping her aloft. “You are a Dragonflayer – proud ally of the Lich King, burning with hate for the one who eradicated your home and butchered your people.”

Fritha was leaned back against the stone wall, clicking her fingernails behind her against the surface. Her gold eyes glinted and glared challengingly at Thora. “Of course I am loyal. I intend to slaughter this puny man, but the time must be right.”

Selendre sneered in the direction of the doorway. “It disgusts me to see those women bowing and scraping to that man. They have no pride as agents of our Lord. They will fall with him.”

“Merette was always weak,” Tassaria mentioned, eyes drooping into an expression of disdain. “It is no surprise she'll spread her legs for him if it means less discomfort.”

Thora remained on topic for their conspiracy. “The key that holds them all from anarchy is the man, Nathaniel, called the Nameblighted by his former allies. Fighting him is foolish. Instead, we have something much easier planned.”

Thora pulled a vial from a hidden pocket on her garb, a black liquid Fritha was sure was a lethal poison. The fellow conspirators, the small cultist captives, eyed the vial with glee. “With this, someone he trusts can slip it into his food or drink. Within a matter of minutes of consuming even a spoonful, he will be lying dead on the floor.”

Fritha accepted the vial, testing the stopper with a finger. She exhaled through her nose. “It is the others I worry of. Sigrid Iceborn, Lasariel, Frostfury combined with the Rider of Frost.”

Tassaria gave a dark laugh, sounding forced for effect. “We have good sources that the Rider of Frost refuses to raise her hand against agents of our Lord. She is still loyal, but she submits to this man only for now due to sparing her life.”

“As for Larasiel,” Selendre followed, generous mouth stretching with her smile, “our Lord has something planned for her. The insane, renegade bitch will learn her place before she goes screaming into the abyss.”

“ This will not be a lone attack,” Thora concluded. “Between the Cult of the Damned's powers and my own, we have reached word for reinforcements. We will strike against the Nameblighted just before they reach us, then slaughter those here for the glory of the Scourge!”

Fritha smiled back at them, malevolent and pleased. Her eyes glistened with her true feelings regarding Nathaniel and his harem. “Our Lord will be pleased when we place his head on a pike before the slopes of Icecrown. Sniveling pig!”

-

Nathaniel panted, head against a pillow and eyes seeing without perceiving the ceiling above. Eydis lay atop him, heavy and warm, smelling of the sweat from their love-making. Her breathing was heavy as well, but that might have been from her larger size. Eager Vrykul, something terrible as it was pleasant.

His arms were around her, holding her after they finished. He stroked along her side, feeling the dips of scars along her form – more than even Varna had. Shield Maidens were the real thing, heavy-set and battle-scarred warriors of Vrykul. Nathaniel had overheard several male Vrykul banter that Shield Maidens were loud and whiny, but there had only been quiet intensity from her.

Eydis had been the one most enthusiastic to join his harem, hearing his exploits boasted by Aylenn. She clearly desired binding herself to a great warrior, forgiving race differences and even allegiances. After challenging him to be sure and receiving a sound beating, Eydis proudly declared herself his. Several other Winterskorn Shield Maidens were also there and interested, but Eydis had challenged them for the place to be Nathaniel's concubine and slew each opponent – gruesome and undesired but thus was the Vrykul way.

Now in the union ceremony of intercourse, Eydis' passion and voraciousness sprang forth, eagerly finalizing it and her place. Nathaniel felt more disturbed at the fact that his body was growing resilient to the crushing power of Vrykul women, less sore now than the second time he and Varna had mated.

“I will proudly bear your children if life forms inside me,” she muttered finally, lifting herself on her forearms to peer down at him. Nathaniel noticed, even afterwards, the impressiveness of Vrkyul cleavage in that position. “Even half-breed children will have great strength.”

Children. Nathaniel hadn't even thought of that. His wife had lost the ability with her undeath, and Vrykul, he had always assumed them incompatible. He didn't know if he ever wanted children though, yet refused to tell her.

Eydis's physical looks could appear similar to Varna's if one wasn't exposed to Vrykul. She had the same brown hair, the same stern and strong-featured face, the large, dark lips, a body hard with thick muscle, lined with scars, round breasts and brown nipples, the outstanding height and size, womanhood covered in trimmed, brown hairs.

Her hips were wider, however, with legs spaced a tad more apart. Her skin was bronzed from the sun, muscles more defined than the huntress. Her face was softer in expression, the natural set closer to a frown than sternness. Her eyebrows arched, the Vrykul-furrow that made them appear always angry less prominent. Her ears stuck out of her hair, building an edge of cuteness. Her breasts even, they were smaller than Varna's, the muscles of her chest giving them shape yet taking roundness. Her ribs above her taut stomach were pronounced, while the scars were a different scattering.

Vrykul women were harder to roll while on a bed not because of their size but because their size made them extremely cautious of falling. Attempting to turn one over, he had found, had them tense and react quickly against the motion. An urging of his arms around Eydis' sides was enough, and she leaned herself over to his side, freeing him from under her.

Nathaniel paused, noticing the mark on his chest. It was a jagged hook, wide and long, and it's color was an angry red rather the usual pink of his scars. Vrykul approved of such things, however, and he forced it to not bother him beyond the lingering burn.

He moved atop Eydis from the side, kissing up her sun-darkened skin. His hand slid up to a large breast, firm in his grasp, nipple no longer as stiff. His mouth found the other, suckling the nub teasingly.

Eydis hummed, hands coming to his bare back. “I never knew there was more pleasure than just the mating before laying with you. None of the other women of Skorn mentioned it before.” Nathaniel kept going, his tongue tasting her flesh again. Eydis smiled. “Too much more and I will demand another round with you.”

Nathaniel slowed his ministrations, reluctantly releasing her nipple. He couldn't afford another. He slid off her back to her side, feeling her turn her body to face him, presenting the enlarged sight of a nude woman, this time bathed in the light of the sun from outside. He said, “If you ever feel impatient for more, remember we have pleasure girls if I am unable to come to you. There are too many of you now for me to keep you all satisfied.”

Eydis shook her head. “That doesn't sound like a harem to a male lord. You take who you want when you want. This could be our only time and I will be satisfied, proud of the honor of mating with a Champion of Valhalas.”

“This is how it will be with me,” Nathaniel told her, steady. He and Aylenn had discussed this point. Ancient harems he remembered could reach up to hundreds of women, even breaching a thousand in some cases, where the lord would take one only once because she caught his eye from the street and never even attempt to meet her again unless she bore him an heir. Aylenn had encouraged him to be pleasure-centric, but also cautioned him of the secret issues of harems: jealousy, plotting, the unsatisfied lusts of a woman, adultery – ha!

Eydis smirked, running her hand along the muscles of his chest and abs. “Then I will not complain, my liege. I await our next time together, and I will use our pleasure girls if I... grow impatient.”

Her tone dropped suggestively for the end, and Nathaniel's mind quickly supplied visuals. So soon after he finished, he found his passions stirring. He felt like his lusts had grown since the whole thing began, or his hormones were reverting back to his teenage days. Banishing the thoughts and ignoring the urge, Nathaniel only hummed agreement and leaned his head to capture her lips.

Eydis blinked, still uncertain of the action of pressing lips together. Nathaniel pulled back, smirking slightly in amusement at her. “It's a gesture shared among the smaller races. Affectionate, but it can be passionate when both get into it.”

Eydis frowned in puzzlement. “Pressing lips arouse passion? Foreigners. Next you will say pressing hands together means commitment.”

Nathaniel fought back a laugh. “Well, it is common to hold hands with the one you...” Eydis gaped at him, and he found himself laughing.

-

Sylva watched Merette pass by, no longer filled with the fear and disgust she once had not too long ago. Avenging herself didn't cure her hate of the Cult of the Damned, however. Seeing Merette as a pleasure girl was a different experience in that regard. Sylva didn't see her former captor as part of the Cult anymore. She saw a familiar face in an entirely new life.

Not only that, but Merette actually made an appealing pleasure girl. She was cute, despite her cultist markings, with a body men would certainly appreciate – and the garb she moved around in! It befuddled her, the different response to seeing Merette. She couldn't help recalling that night with Nathaniel: Merette's body in pleasure, doing things to her, forcing her to do things, revealing in her abasement.

Sighing, Sylva felt certain she couldn't focus enough to mediate. She remained kneeled, allowing her thoughts to wander. That night had reminded her of her passions, a rekindling of her lusts so long denied. Priestesses rarely took lovers, and feeling the touch of one again, her flesh craved more.

Pleasure girls. Archaic, barbaric, outlawed. Turning a person into a tool for pleasure, like an alternate form of pleasuring oneself. A fitting end for cultists, a part of Sylva thought snidely, while another considered the possibilities. She could be patient – less disciplined than before her capture, but she still remembered the art of patience – but she didn't feel like waiting until Nathaniel got around back to her. It could be days of seeing him, talking to him, but not experiencing him.

Such boldness! Sylva shook her head, but the feeling remained, a quivering in her flesh that desired fulfillment. As she feared, her time as a prisoner, being beat and tortured to the very edge of death, broken of her faith, and subsequent rescue/revenge, had affected her in more ways than one. Her morals felt looser, the urge to fill desires stronger.

She remembered the distant past, in the forests of night elf lands. When her lusts had reached this point, she would find a pleasant body of water, crystalline rivers or a pool fed by a waterfall, strip and enter it. She would pleasure herself, enjoying the peaceful currents of the water around her, reach her end, and bath herself in a cleansing of body and lust before exiting and dressing again.

Sylva knew she could go down to the waters surrounding the tower and do the same, despite the icy coolness and salty residue the ocean would leave. However, she surprised herself by considering using a pleasure girl. Another person was always better than her own hand, and the skill of pleasure girls was known in the histories – she was sure Merette had been trained as such. That it would be a woman didn't bother her, mind illogically regarding the pleasure girl as a genderless tool for pleasure.

Frowning, Sylva analyzed her own surprising thought more critically. She visualized Merette – her captor – pleasuring her, not even a matter of humiliating the woman. Her thoughts would be on Nathaniel, her want for his return, fantasizing that the touches to her body was his. It was disturbing how easily it came, none of it bothering her.

The petty side of her cooed in contentment, liking the idea of it being a cultist and especially Merette. It proposed kinks she thought herself beyond: spanking, restraints, domineering. Sylva slapped the thoughts down, but paused to consider the spanking. In her younger days, she had even liked being the one spanked.

Her thoughts had strayed too long on the subject of pleasure and lust. Sylva felt that her body had responded, and now their was a warm pulse in her womanhood that demanded satisfaction. Her shock was voiced in a thought: By the goddess, I'm actually going to do it! She stood, seeking after where Merette had gone towards.

-

Pleasing all four wives in a single night, especially after having Eydis, was an impossible task. Nathaniel decided to space it between that night and the following morning, first Aylenn and Lasariel then Varna and Sapph. For her “turn,” if one were to so shrewdly call it that, Aylenn had again encouraged Sapph to join them, but the other death knight remained adamant on only involving herself with Nathaniel, willing to wait for the morning.

Nathaniel finished atop Lasariel, barely managing to pull out in time to prevent pregnancy – there had been cases of human-draenei children before. The woman took things with the approach of an artful pleasure girl, but this time he had slowed her, lowered her to her back, and laid with her in a passionate and loving manner.

Lasariel lowered her legs from him, laying under him after casual exertion. “Not my preferred way of going about this, but I suppose I'll allow it occasionally.”

“It is how I enjoy sleeping with my wives.” Keeping his weight off her, Nathaniel brought a hand up and brushed her silver bangs to the side, staring at her face with quiet intensity, absorbing her features and the feel of her return gaze. “I still remember your words that you will kill me the day you lose interest in me.”

Lasariel's risque smile dropped, expression turning unreadable. Still trapped under him, she didn't bother trying to turn away. “Yet you make no effort to ensure that interest, my darling Lord.”

The back of his finger traced the line of her cheek, down the soft skin to follow along her jaw. “I am who I am. I will die being no less.”

“A very boring ideology,” she sighed, not with a threatening reminder. “You remain unique to myself, however, so still yet I remain whatever you desire me as.”

Her eyes closed as his fingers brushed by, thumb and finger lowering to gently massage the back of the lids. “You left the Lich King to continue your study of the dark arts elsewhere. How long before you feel the urge to pursue them yet again?”

With her eyes closed now, Lasariel's voice had dropped to something soft: “Why do you inquire this now? Are you not content with the present and how things are?”

“I am quite content,” he muttered. Her eyes remained closed even as his hand moved on, drawing lines up and down her neck. “So content, I have grown jealous of the thought of you no longer in my clutches.”

Her lips quirked into an amused smile. “I will please you to your dying breath. Have no fear, the day we part you will not have the ability to be jealous.”

He didn't want to part with her one day. “I fear that day may be sooner than you would expect,” he whispered so quietly he wasn't expecting her to have heard him.

However, her silver on blue eyes flickered open, studying him. Her hands came to his back, holding onto him, their nudity and intimacy forgotten in the moment. “Why do you say that? Your enemies are many, but we are strong. That cursed mark on your chest is testimony that not even the King of Lich can fell you easily.” She knew he wasn't thinking of her. She still had interest invested on where they would counter the sacking of their home, either in fiery revenge or a new refuge.

He didn't respond to her question, lowering his body to his side next to her. “Lasariel, I understand that you are only pretending to be the loving, pleasing wife, biding your time before you move on, but...” He trailed off and leaned in for a kiss. She responded to it immediately, eyebrows furrowing at his words, and they pulled apart. “It is an addicting illusion. I feel I might cross many boundaries just to maintain it.”

“ Most men, when they hear their lives hang in a balance of uncertainty and an ever-thinning thread, they have a variety of responses that equate to the same fear. Again and again you prove a difference from them, making you frustratingly hard to understand.” She smiled to take the edge off her words, bringing a smallish hand to his collar and squeezing once. And interesting enough that I may remain with him to see where he ends up after the frozen king's eventual fall.

Nathaniel got the sheet over them, the others taking that as a signal that the night was over. Before they grew close enough to hear, he concluded softly, “I fear I may have grown to love you and that illusion. When I die, please leave the others alone.”

Lasariel tensed at the finality of his words, opening her mouth to press him on the point, but Aylenn was there, dragging Sapph down to Nathaniel's other side and bringing her fellow blood elf into a close snuggle with the man. Varna's long strides came to Lasariel's side, nude form slipping under the blankets and immediately providing that wonderful heat. The large woman curled herself close to Lasariel, this night one where the Vrykul was further from their combined husband, though likely still close by her perspective.

Nathaniel's eyes had remained on her the entire time the others joined them, Lasariel staring back unreadably. Finally, he left her one last kiss, turning to hold Aylenn and Sapph.

Lasariel still stared at his muscled back, running his words through her mind again. Feeling like he might be taken from her by the thief of nights, she grabbed his shoulder, positioning herself closer to him, idly using her tail to draw Varna closer to herself as well. The sleeping arrangement this night felt like a huddle against some unseen foe, and she knew it was only her – and perhaps him – that recognized there was this unknown danger.

-

A horde of ghouls and skeletons clambered up the grass and dirt mound, nightmarish sounds and utterances silenced by their summoner. They approached the lone tower, mindlessly hungry for the bloodletting that was to come, shepherded by a lone, shrouded figure. The figure saw the cloth door that only protected the inhabitants from the weather, mocked the lack of defenses in its mind.

Opening that flap, the figure commanded the army to slay those lying vulnerable and asleep on the bed, a pile of women and a single man. It wanted them dead, slain, rent to pieces, but most importantly it wanted the single man silenced eternally by the grips of death. It might even raise him again for undeath out of mere spite.

The undead minions, armed with claws or blades, shambled closer, still curiously silent by the skill of their master. The first came close enough to strike, raised its weapon for a killing blow, while the next reached and began to prepare for the same. Those on the bed still had yet to stir, blissfully unaware of their imminent demise.

A large Vrykul fist smacked the first skeleton away, causing the first movement along the bed sheet. Another lashed out, demolishing a ghoul. The shape of the man vanished in an instant, blanket falling flat where he had been resting, and one by one the slavering attackers began dropping to his surprise attacks. It ended when a hand motion from another on the bed sent a blast of icy energy that shattered the last standing minion.

Nathaniel was the only one standing after, nose assaulted by rotting flesh and pungent death. His bared foot kicked a ghoul-limb away from his footing, checking for any straggling attackers. He found that it was over, sheathed his weapons again. He was naked, yet from somewhere he had recovered his weapons for the fight, now sheathed them away and laid them back on his pillow.

The bed's occupants looked at him, to the dark figure sitting on the stairs that led to the next floor, confusion evident. Nathaniel shook his head, gesturing them down. “I'll talk with her.”

He picked up his pants and began to put them on, finishing as he reached the bottom of the stairs. The person responsible for the night assault wasn't looking at him, instead focused on her feet and the steps under them. He sighed, beginning to mount the steps to reach the figure.

“If you wanted to kill me, you wouldn't need such weak minions to do it for you,” he said. “If I remember correctly, you could end me in a thought, Lasariel.”

Lasariel didn't budge from her place, not even when he reached her and sat down at her side. Her face was blank, eyes glazed – obviously focusing on something internal. She had dressed since the night, wearing a light dress that outlined her figure and sandals laced up her calves.

“Lasariel, talk to me,” he pressed, watching her.

The draenei's lips drew together, eyes focusing again but not moving. “You did something to me this night. Your words provoke thought, but tonight you manipulated me towards change. I don't appreciate that, Nathaniel. I have destroyed many for attempting the same.”

For the first time, she called him solely by name – no formality or affection with it. Nathaniel recognized the implications, but not the accusation of his words. Last night – this night – he had been trying to... warn? prepare? inform her of something, a dark feeling that had grown along with the misery of his wound. She was the only one he had expressed his fears to.

“A dilemma then, because you didn't choose to destroy me. You chose only to provide an option that might destroy me,” he acknowledged. “What do we do now that you've proven untrustworthy of our bedroom?”

“Tell me, what would you do if I broke your illusion yet chose to let you live?” she asked instead.

Nathaniel shivered in the cold night air, shirtless. “I wouldn't accept that, Lasariel.”

Her head lolled, resting against his shoulder with her hair like a touch of silk. His arm went around her, holding her to him. “Why?” she asked. “Why can you hold the threat of death above so many here yet not feel threatened by it yourself?”

An odd question, a subject he had never considered before. He chose not to answer it, sensing a rhetorical feel to it. He kissed the top of her head between her horns, rested his chin there. He asked her, “What is going on in that head of yours?”

There was something amusing about the question to her, a short laugh shaking her frame once, lips peeled back in a toothy smile as short as the laugh. “Love, you damnable man. Do you seek truth from me again? Would you step so far over the boundaries I once tried to draw?”

Aylenn's words from when they first brought Lasariel home returned to him: “You know already that many of the Lich King's subjects are insane. However, there is a logic to them, anywhere from over-ambition to unthinkable passions capable of driving them. Lasariel has an illogical insanity, something whimsical and self-centric. You cannot trust her to act according to any standard of reason, even an atypical reasoning.”

“Can things return to the way they were before?” he asked, trying to navigate what Aylenn claimed could not be.

“Instead, why do you feel your doom is impending?” she challenged.

“I do not know,” he answered truthfully. “Can things return to the way they were before?”

Lasariel's body wracked from something he couldn't read, and she shook her head woefully. “They cannot. You changed me, you pretentious fool, you changed me.”

“How did I change you?” He reconsidered his words: “In what way were you changed?”

Lasariel started to respond, then shook her head. He realized suddenly that she wasn't losing further grips on reality, his focus on Aylenn's claimed madness distracting him. Instead, she was only struggling with something she couldn't or wouldn't explain – similar to his own fear he had confessed to her. She said finally, “Will you forgive me of this night, my Lord? Will you demand punishment for me?”

He considered his answer only for a moment, found he had only one choice he would accept. “Of course you are forgiven. You do not need to be punished.”

Her head left his shoulder to look up at him, inhuman eyes confused. “Why are you so different? You accept my charade as your wife, honor it the same, and you do so even knowing the truth. I enjoy your illusion as much as you do, an innocence to this promiscuity that goes by the rules, but... Is it not an illusion, an untrustworthy construct that one must acknowledge on both fronts?”

Nathaniel smiled at her gently, kissing her forehead once for good measure. “Lasariel, dear, I've enjoyed our banter since the cave I found you in. However, for once, let's not over-complicate the point.”

She blinked at him, processed his words, then burst into a quiet laughter, holding her side against it. Her draenic accent became more prominent with her laughter, mere sounds spilling from her mouth. She finished by leaning into him, comforted by the arm around her, head returning to rest against him. “So what now, my darling lord? I am willing to do any number of naughty things for you to make up for this; your fantasy is my command.”

“For now, we will pick up the mess we made in this room. To make up for it, I could send you to Fritha and make sure you pleasure her until she's satisfied, but I don't feel this warrants such cruelty.”

Having heard of the Vrykul's insatiable appetite from him before, Lasariel shook with laughter again.

- -
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