Warcraft Fan Fiction ❯ A Savage Land ❯ Ashes ( Chapter 11 )

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

- -

“Why are you telling me this? Why not go through with it?”

“I told you, honor is not my way. However, I respect you. The union between us was a real matter to me.”

“How do I best use this information then? I cannot stop it.”

“Live. Hope. Return. They desire them alive more than dead, if only to make them suffer before they die. If you are any bit as great as you have been claimed to be, you will find a way to make it right!”

-

“Hm, they stripped us. How unoriginal,” Aylenn muttered, cracking a smile at her own joke.

“Aylenn,” Sylva muttered, shivering. “I'm- I'm afraid. Nathaniel can't be- he can't be- He can't...”

Aylenn's smile fell, expression dropping to something beyond icy, so empty and cold that black ice was the only appropriate term for it yet still without capturing the intensity. “Things are what they are, woman. You conquered your fear at Merette's expense once. You will survive being captive again.”

“Bold words from a small girl,” Varna rumbled, her stripped and chained form similar to how she had been when Nathaniel and Aylenn first got her. “We will see if you are so strong under the hands of torment.”

“Hmph.” Aylenn closed her eyes, feeling the cool drift of air along her body as a foreshadowing of what was to come. “You two are just side dishes to them. I'm the main course they want to gobble up and leave behind ravaged. The higher rank you are upon defection, the harsher your death.” Not punishment, not to the Lich King.

Lasariel would have it worse than her, but she had heard angry mutterings that 'the insane bitch' got away again.

Eventually their captors came for them, Tassaria sneering down at Aylenn's exposed body. “So the tables have turned.” She undid Aylenn's cuffs from the base – hands and feet still bound – then yanked her up by her hair in a streak of cruelty. “Come along, my Lady. Time for some fun.”

Zeb'Halak was a troll ruin abandoned even before the Lich King began to stir the races of Northrend, a day's foot-travel west of the island they had lived on while still in the Grizzly Hills. It held a pyramid structure with a stone base, similar in shape to Scourge ziggurats without any internal chamber. At the top was an active troll artifact of power, radiating blue lights, mounted on a pedestal. In recent days, it served as a Scourge holdout, a location where Necromancers tried tapping that artifact. Undead trolls occupied the constructed village around the temple.

It was the top of that temple they had been chained captive. Aylenn was tugged down the steps of it, immune to the wandering eyes coming to her exposed body – she had employed this tactic often enough in recent days. She was dragged further to one of the wood and leaf huts, forced inside and chained to the stake in the center.

Tassaria ran her eyes over Aylenn, sniffing derisively. “Of my two options for you, I was going to have you be the sex-toy for the rather lonesome Necromancers and let you enjoy whatever diseases their corpse-fucking picked up, but I realized you of all women might enjoy that. Instead I wanted something more hands on, something personal.”

Selendre entered, carrying a pack. Her eyes dropped in a smug expression as they saw Aylenn. She lowered the pack to the ground and pulled out various items, iron hooks and branders being placed into the fire the room held so they could heat up. Aylenn was apathetic to her fate, staring at the two coldly.

Selendre began pulling out more tools, laying them across a cloth in a display of the torture Aylenn would be in for. None of it promised to be any more pleasant than another, but thankfully none of it hinted dismemberment. She needed to be in one piece for Arthas.

I have suffered the pain of death once. To my heart, I have suffered something much worse. To this idea of hurting my already dead flesh, I laugh, but I will give them the satisfaction of a mute victim. They aren't worthy of the pleasure of anything else.

-

“Aylenn! Aylenn, are you alright? What did they do to you?” Sylva asked as soon as the captors left them. She had been through it all once before, knew how awful it could get. The blood elf looked like she had tattoos drawn along her pale form, in no particular pattern and globbed at some points. Sylva had her suspicions.

“Oh, just the routinely things,” Aylenn answered lightly. She began employing her blood manipulation, knowing she could prevent most of the scarring to her form. Death wasn't yet an option for her. “Branding, irons, localized incisions, pulling out my fingernails, breaking my arms, insertion of... needles? Stakes? Something between there at least.”

“I saw what tent they took you to and heard no screams,” Varna mentioned. “My respect for you grows.”

“Thanks,” Aylenn told her, still speaking lightly. The voice was just another mask for her pain, though perhaps rib damage and a pressure on her lungs had something to do with it. She didn't bother explaining to Varna how her respect didn't help much in their imminent deaths.

When her healing had lessened the pain enough, Aylenn sighed and leaned her back against the stone. “They did come up with something of interest though. Everyday they are going to be adding needles that go from edge to edge of my nipples, keeping them in there. Finally, when there is no more room for more needles, they plan to pull my nipples off entirely. Neat, huh?”

Sylva stared at her, not understanding the woman's take on her torment. Her words reached Sylva, though. “Did they already start?”

Aylenn smiled to herself. “Got three of the little nigglers in each one right now. You know, my sister got her nipples pierced in open defiance to our parents, a long time ago. I wonder what she'd think of my choice.”

“You are delirious,” Sylva told her, shaking her head.

“You are mistaking me,” Aylenn told her, mind full of the stings and aches along her body. She shelled out fear, and in the dispassion left in its wake, much of what was to happen to her appeared comical.

The constant sounds of the forest always became background ambiance when one spent any length of time in one. However, one sound of wings flapping caught their attention – an immediate sign that something wasn't of the forest. It had a deeper resonance to it, an implication of something heavier than any bird.

Whatever it was landed on the post and lintel archways that lined the radiant artifact, bathing a dark shape with menacing blue. A skeletal face peered down at them with empty, black sockets, a beak in place of jaws. Aylenn quirked an eyebrow, recognizing the visitor as a bone gryphon and the meaning that a death knight would be atop it.

A dark shape rose from its back, catching some of the blue light, then leapt gracefully off the bird and dropping to the floor before the captives. It was Sapph, brushing her light colored hair from her eyes to study them, deemed free by the attackers after a sharp reprimanding and the command to return to Icecrown.

The death knight studied them for a moment, fearlessly meeting each of their gazes, then broke away to give a sigh. “It relieves me to see you are all, for the most part, alright. Aylenn, love what you did with the nips.”

The redhead grinned cheekily back, then regarded her more seriously. “Sapph, what are you doing here?”

Sapph flicked a hand towards the village. “Five to one odds one of them is going to break regulation and come up here for some fun, and ten to one odds no one will care to stop him. I refuse to allow that to happen.” She walked forward, boots making heavy sounds, then turned so her back rested on the stone besides Aylenn.

Bringing her arm around her the chained fellow death knight, Sapph said softly, “I understand you all – we all, truth be told – felt something meaningful for Nathaniel.” Breathing hitched from those around her. “But no one felt anything as strong as you did, Aylenn. You loved that man with everything you have, and in an instant, he was taken from us, from you. That happened this morning. I couldn't possibly leave you so soon after that.”

“So you will stir it all back up?” Aylenn asked thickly, emotions aroused unpleasantly.

“How easily we gave up emotions in undeath,” Sapph told her. “How hard we fought to regain them. Instead of allowing you to turn into a bitter, icy shell, Aylenn, I want to be here as a vent for your sorrows. Let it out, move on, and die with humanity.”

A tear slipped from Aylenn's eye, but she gave no further reaction to the subject. “You will kill me – and if they want, them as well – before we reach Icecrown, right? In at night and out with no one any wiser?”

Sapph brushed the tear away, nodded. “But I will wait until then. Perhaps fortune will strike and you may find freedom. Lasariel was critically wounded in the battle, but she escaped. I wouldn't put it past her to take vengeance against these mindless tools.”

There was a woman's scream from the camp, followed by snide laughter. All of them looked over, recognizing the voice. Merette. Sapph shook her head sadly. “I will not be able to help her, however.”

Aylenn scooted her body closer to Sapph, the other elf realizing that and drawing her in comfortingly. Aylenn's head dropped to Sapph's breasts, like a child to a mother, and she asked softly, “Why do you do it? Why do you stay loyal to him despite his apathy to his tools?”

Sapph stroked her hair, sighing. “I sometimes feel as if I haven't the choice. I will be glad the day he is gone, if I live through the assault, but I will not or cannot leave his services until then. For the better of the world, Nathaniel should have slain me on those ramparts.”

“Nathaniel was as glad to have you as I was, Sapph,” Aylenn told her, voice tightening on the name. “I know the others will feel otherwise, but he and I were living our dream life, even in that rancid tower. He cared for everyone, even the pleasure girls, but most went to his wives, to us, followed by his concubines, each one their own unique woman.”

Without the comfort of arms around her and still stripped shamefully bare, Sylva shivered, though her ears perked at the words. “The time he spent in your bed was always a mystery to me. Did he ever... say anything about me?” She swallowed. “Speaking about him hurts, but I can't help myself.”

“I- I understand,” Aylenn told her. “The concubines were supposed to be solely about lust. He wanted sex with something specific, the concubines were there. The wives supposed to be those he felt something more for. Love, essentially. Fondness, tenderness, compassion, generosity, concern. However, things grew distorted as we met with you girls, and he saw the woman of each rather than the bodies plus temperaments.

“Sylva, if our bed hadn't grown so full, he would have made you a wife – especially after his night with you. I can't claim his feelings, but he compared you to me on our more meaningful nights.”

Sapph tilted her head in the other direction, towards the massive figure of a female. “You are silent over there, Varna. We were all with him, all felt something. Have you nothing to express?”

“You foreigners are weak,” she told them gruffly – not her usual tone of voice. There was a long period of silence, then she heaved a sigh and caved in. “You took my body against my will the first night, humiliated me... and by the end, you made me glad for it. I was proud to be his woman, and now I wish to slaughter those who took him from me. I loath your small-race expressions, your softness, but if you must hear it in your terms, I loved him and miss him. My heart aches with his loss, as much as it aches for the loss of Whitefang.”

Whitefang, the worg Varna had led around for over a dozen years she had told them once. It had been slain in the tower's sacking, and Aylenn hadn't even thought to comfort her. They were all hurting in their own ways though. Though Aylenn had never expected it from the beginning, she realized that they had all grown close enough to take comfort in each other just from being here. Sapph built to that, another who shared their misery.

Whether they would speak more this night or not, Aylenn huddled close to Sapph, drawing in support from her presence. Having her and Varna here helped something fierce, and Sylva, Aylenn felt she must draw the nerve-wracked concubine under her wing, be strong enough to provide that strength for her.

She had died the day Nathaniel bested her in their battle. It was another woman that lived on with him, days filled with love and joy, and now that he had... died, it was no longer even that woman that continued on. Aylenn was truly dead by this point, but the emotions still connected with the beating heart and thinking brain still reacted normally, and it was this filled shell that felt it could continue to the end with the support of her loved ones.

She would be joining Nathaniel soon enough.

-

Aylenn sat tenderly the second night, still feeling her rear flare up with red hot pain. She was afraid to know the extent of the damage there, having been whipped and then teased by a hot iron. Six needles now filled either nipple, each needle pierced where the one nipple's edge started and going all the way through to poke out the other side. The first three throbbed unpleasantly, while the newer ones only stung.

The electric sounds of the Rotting Storm Giants attempting to reanimate the unseemly massive frost wyrm conjoined the tinkling of many miners attempting to recover more saronite ore and dig up the megalithic wyrm. They were at Galakron's Rest, in the center of Dragonblight – a Scourge excavation site.

Likely by mistake, the three captives had been given enough slack to move together, the assurance of their bodies touching a unifying act. They weren't far from Icecrown now, though the Wrathgate was too guarded by the Red Dragonflight to attempt a crossing. Their captors were at a dilemma, knowing they would have to move without the assurance of Scourge-occupied territory.

Aylenn healed herself of what she could, cursing the fact that they had realized they could counter her blood manipulation by leaving the needles imbedded in her body. Several lined her back irritatingly as she lied back, while more stuck through her arms and front, including the meat of her legs. She felt like a ridiculous pincushion.

The camp was too active for Sapph to land safely, but she flew over them once close enough for them to notice her, then circled off elsewhere. She was still with them, she was saying. Fortunately, the mindless undead didn't have libidos that needed satisfying, so they were mostly safe.

Neither Aylenn nor Varna liked the message their closeness was giving, that they needed the strength of each other, but they both accepted the fact that there was a comfort to it, while Sylva herself actually did need that proof she wasn't alone this time. They had lost the need or urge for speaking. By this point, being sacked around together had given them time enough for words.

-

“We can cut through the Coldwind Heights north of Angrathar, subdue the occupying camp harpies, trek the mountains, and cut through the far perimeter of Crystalsong. That will bring us to the Ironwall Dam, from which we are safe,” Selendre mentioned, drawing out the path on their map.

Thora shook her head, laying one finger on the only real – and very disturbing – danger. “It brings us too close to Dalaran. They may see us in the passing. It would be better if we flew out, taking only a few at a time if we have to.”

Fritha frowned. “Longer but safest would be the long way, into Borean Tundra to the Temple City of En'Kilah, then north through the Cult-occupied portions of Sholazar Basin to where the avalanche has given access to Icecrown.”

The two cultists considered it, finding themselves remarkably agreeable to safe plans after their capture. Time meant nothing when considering they might lose their lives or worse – the unrelenting hand of the light if captured by a more intelligent foe. Thora was more pensive. “The protection around the Basin is still functional. If that is decided, I would leave to Icecrown now as a forerunner for the news.”

“A sound plan,” Tassaria decided finally, throwing in her vote. Selendre concurred quickly, and their fate was chosen.

The sleepless Val'kyr found no use in delaying. “It was a pleasure overthrowing the fool with your assistance. I have a great debt of honor with you all.”

They exchanged partings, and Thora left. Shortly after, Fritha excused herself to retire for bed, leaving the two cultist in their shared tent.

Selendre smiled at Tassaria, beginning to loosen her robes. The silver haired woman sighed, furling up their map. “Women are not my passion. We will not do this every night.”

“Mmmm, but you are allowing it again tonight,” Selendre said, stepping closer to her. Tassaria sighed, rolling her eyes, but she nodded. “Merette!”

The pleasure girl had been allowed to keep her uniform, despite the value of the necklace. Merette quickly rose and came over obediently, hoping this night wouldn't be like the last. At Selendre's gesture, she began disrobing them.

Once the two were stripped fully, Selendre's eyes lit up as she examined Tassaria's nearly flawless body. The pale form could have been carved of marble, a timeless capturing of perfection. Tassaria's face glowed with pleasure at the reverent attention, even if from a woman.

Tassaria was lean, her body remarkably nubile. Ivory skin remained unaltered by any tan, interrupted only by her soft pink lips, the rosy nipples, the small patch of silver shaved to just above her womanhood. No flush marred that perfect tone. Her breasts weren't large, but they held a roundness that Selendre envied. Her legs were strong and smooth, the curve of her rear sculpted. The elfin beauty of her face was enhanced by the markings of the ascended, complimented her slender limbs.

Next to that, Selendre felt misplaced. She knew she was attractive, figured she had been chosen by that awful man because of it, but she knew she didn't have the same physical allure that Tassaria did, the one that could draw the eyes of everyone in a room simply by entering it if she wore anything but the unflattering robes. Selendre was the standard cultist pale, but the parts exposed to the sun – especially her face – bore faint tans, her skin elsewhere bearing a light flush at places. Her limbs felt bloated when compared to Tassaria even though they had seemed appealing otherwise. Her breasts didn't rest with the same perkiness, her larger and darker nipples more noticeable.

Selendre knew she couldn't match Tassaria's beauty, but she was able to appreciate it fully without much jealousy. Womanly curves didn't fit that sculpted shape, but they fit her nicely. Tassaria's very light approach to meals seemed unappetizing to Selendre just for the elfin figure. Nitpicking details was only a comfort for her, but it helped boost her confidence in her own body.

Taking the human goddess into her arms, feelings the skin like silk under her fingertips, Selendre told her, “The pleasure of this while channeling has grown... positively addicting.” Her eyes sparkled in their anticipation, skin shivering where Tassaria's own hands caressed her in return.

Pulling the black haired woman back towards the bed, Tassaria felt a sensation in her loins at the thought. “I once had a man during a ritual, using the energies of sex to power it. The pure ecstasy of it spoiled me forever after, the lingering memory alone enough to fuel many fantasies since.”

Selendre smiled slyly at her words, bringing her lips to Tassaria's slender neck as they lowered to her bedroll. Silk sheets suited the silver haired beauty, something unspeakably sensuous about the luxurious feel of them as they writhed in the acts of passion. Selendre held the woman, keeping her weight off her, wanting to enjoy the moment.

However, Tassaria couldn't be aroused as easily as she could – not by a woman. Her silver hair fanned around her head against the sheets, hands falling idle on Selendre. “Bring the pleasure girl. Let us do this.”

Merette closed her eyes, biting her lip as despair swept through her. Pleasuring Nathaniel had been a matter of joy for her, the racy illusion of a lover that desired her truly and made her anxious for their next night. The many woman that she had been made to service, while not particularly appealing, had been a simple occupation for her, work she got done to a 'customer's' satisfaction. These two, however, treated her with cruelty and disregard – no less than what she herself would have felt in their place, Merette admitted – and took their pleasure from her not by skill, but by...

The dark energies of the shadow rose up around the two cultists, filling them. They began to kiss, emotions and passions invoked by their magic and not natural measures. The green tinge of undead energy melded into the aura, both woman growing bolder in their touches of the other, unnaturally responsive to simple caresses. Their nude forms saturated in the unholy arcane power, dark desires fueled by its corrupting and blissful presence as it permeated their minds and bodies.

But holding that energy wasn't the truly pleasure. Merette shivered fearfully, bowing her head, knowing what was next to come. Both woman had one hand leave the others body, palms facing Merette. That cesspool of energy turned inwards, much of its visible currents drawing back inside their arcane summoners, then were channeled outwards through those palms.

The tainted mana struck Merette, sending her crashing to the dirty floor. It burned fiery death to her insides, the damage spiritual instead of physical, and she screamed in agony, mind too numbed to realize it was her voice that rang so loudly in her ears. Still the duel spells invaded her, used to arouse and stir further blighted rapture in the cultists.

Selendre tilted her head back in a moan. Tassaria's fingers dragging down her back while the power of her dark gods filled her was more intense and pleasurable than anything they could do to her womanhood otherwise. The woman's breath unintentionally brushing her nipples had them tightening in euphoria, not even a tease. Every contact to her body stirred warm, liquid pleasure inside her, the sheer exposure when entwined with Tassaria making it a flowing river of bliss quivering every part of her in mindless sensation.

Channeling the sacred energies of the ascended built an equal yearning for the carnal pleasure. Tassaria felt her body reach the pinnacle of arousal and go desperately beyond, the pulse of desire inside her urging fulfillment, impatient for the touches of the intimate. That she was wet was obvious to her, but she knew that she was likely a drenched match there to Selendre, no relief for the fire in her loins. She clutched the woman down to her with one arm, used her hips to press her mound against Selendre's and grind.

Under the storm of feeling, Selendre felt the part that made this practice become so unavoidable to her conventional life. If the chaste, simple touches could induce such pleasure, the intimate ones blurred her perception of the real with a power that could bring tears of joy. Orgasm was no longer a physical phase, the optimization of the pleasure. It became a jarring moment of verbal release, only a fleeting state that came and went and came as they did no more than rub themselves together. One climax only made the urge for another stronger.

Merette still writhed and screamed, unable to escape the assault. A distant part of her, the part not struck dumb by the suffering, thought with a wave of fear and sorrow that this was not a use for a pleasure girl. To them she was something even less, the aspect of humanity that even slaves were given being taken from their regard towards her. The part that bubbled with a maddened release of this torture amused itself with the thought that she needed a hero to save her from her former sisters.

She had never been like the other cultists. Merette had only ever wanted to conduct her research in peace, and the Cult had been the only means. Why, oh why, had her life fallen so far because of it?

The pain ended abruptly, leaving behind a tingle that in its absence could have been marvelous pleasure. Merette assumed the damage had finally been too much, that she had finally died, and she gave up her soul willfully. If there was a hell waiting for her, surely it would treat her better than this.

But the aches of a living body still assailed her, and Merette knew herself to still be alive. She weakly fluttered her eyes open, ears catching the continued crackle of the cultists' spell, their moans and sighs of lovemaking. What had happened?

There was a shape before her, the purple of shadow energy. It was ethereal, and behind it she could make out the flash and motions of the channeled spell from Selendre and Tassaria. Was it something of their making, or something worse? If it blocked her from the pain, surely it was a dark angel ascending from the depths to liberate her from this. Merette's maddened mind cackled.

The shape of purple knew itself to merely be cloaked in shadows. It faced the tormenters of the pleasure girl, impervious to their dark spell, noticing how enthralled they were by the pleasure of channeling dark energies. The weak grew enslaved to that pleasure, a possibility many warlocks feared and sought to protect themselves from. Others succumbed to it.

Like blood elves with mana, the shape thought. Walking forward against the beam, uncaring to how it crackled against its form. It drew a weapon, focusing on the back of the head of the one on top, choosing a place in lustrous black hair. Its arm snapped forward, bashing the hilt of the weapon against her skull in a powerful sap.

One of the beams ceased immediately, just as the enshrouding of shadows began to flicker in failure. The black haired woman had froze at the blow, and after an unresponsive moment, she began to slump down. The silver haired woman under her blinked up, mouth still gaped open in her pleasure, her heaving breaths moving her bosom.

A gag was pulled out from the shape, quickly wrapped around the conscious woman's head and silencing her. The spell she was casting also stopped, and her hands came up to the gag in wonderment. The cloak of shadows fell finally, revealing a man, and he heaved the woman up by the shoulders.

The cultist saw the intruder, eyes wide at the interruption. She moved to react, trapped under the weight of Selendre, but the man was faster, knocking her out with a blow to her head. Her eyes rolled up, and she fell limp atop her lover of the night. The assailant sniffed at them, sheathing his weapon. It was difficult striking an incapacitating blow to the head that wouldn't kill the victim when they were alert and moving.

Merette saw her rescuer and found herself delirious. He looked so similar to Nathaniel that she allowed herself to believe it was him. Rogue and male was enough for her, and she found herself giddy by his presence. Not even death could prevent him from taking back his property, and if her mind was cleared, she would be glad to go back to him.

He pulled her to her feet, strong and gloved hands brushing some of the dirt from her. Once it was apparent she could stand without falling, the Nathaniel-hopeful turned towards those on the bed and slung either woman over a shoulder. He quietly told her that they were leaving. Merette obeyed.

-

Aylenn sighed when she saw that Fritha was watching them, wishing that she could be left to sleep in peace. “Vrykul mages don't follow the same code the warriors do. We should have at least suspected this.”

The woman touched one of the tattoos on her shoulders, gold eyes studying the three captives. Varna, her eyes lingered on most, a fellow woman of her race. Finally, her gaze lowered and she shook her head, smiling lightly. “My loyalties were apparent all along. You just don't yet know what to look for.”

“Treacherous bitchery seems pretty apparent to me,” Aylenn told her, mind flashing in anger when she remembered her husband.

Fritha's smile turned to her, menacing with her glittering eyes. The Flamebinder's gold orbs produced their own light, obvious at night like this. She casually approached Aylenn, squatting before her and the huddled others. “Tell me, Aylenn the Frostfury, do you know the truth of what I've done?”

“You poisoned my husband!” Aylenn hissed, tears burning in her blue sockets. “I promise you, before my day has come, I will deliver a hand of vengeance against you. What you did for your so-called master, I will do something a thousand times worse to you. These chains limit only my body, nothing else!”

Fritha's large hand came to Aylenn's cheek, and the elf turned defiantly away from the warm appendage. “We will see about that before the week is over.”

Aylenn spat at her, a gesture echoed by both Varna and Sylva. Fritha moved herself back, eyes glowering. “I sometimes wish I had less honor than I do. I would strike you all for that.”

Aylenn laughed, needle-riddled form shaking at the motion. “Strike?” she asked mockingly. “What you have done is infinitely worse than a blow. Committing one now will blacken you no further than you already are!”

There was a sound behind Fritha, and the Vrykul woman sniffed at her. “I do something nice, and this is how I am treated.” She appeared to be talking to the air.

A dark shape appeared behind her, and several others followed. “You tease them in their ignorance,” a male voice said, tone belonging solely to a human. Perhaps a cultist visiting them.

Another of the shapes spoke, this time a female: “It makes this moment so much sweeter. I wish to see their faces when you do it.”

Sapph wasn't here to protect them from this. Aylenn lifted her chin defiantly. She knew the life she had led in her last days – she had no fear or grudge of rape – but Nathaniel had loathed the thought of another man having her, and she tried the best to honor him in that. Even in his death, she honored him.

The man approached, quickly becoming apparent he was no cultist. He moved with the trademark of a rogue – of course Aylenn would recognize it immediately, heart aching. That Fritha regarded him as an ally was enough to know he was employed by the Lich King. His face remained enshrouded in the darkness, the flashes of light from the Rotting Storm Giants behind him masking his features. She noted the clean-shaven cheeks, that was it.

The rogue moved passed them and behind them, where they were chained to the fence. Aylenn sensed him lower behind her, and gloved fingers brushed her cheek. His husky voice breathed to her, “How lovely you are, even beaten and bloody.”

Aylenn's slowed heart lurched a beat, and she scolded herself for it. For a moment she had thought the voice belonged to Nathaniel. It didn't change the situation, but it brought a conflict of feelings. Perhaps I can pretend it is him that lies with me. One last time with my Nathaniel.

“And you call Fritha a tease!” the female voice called out. There was something familiar about that voice to, and Aylenn tried to scan her mind for what was wrong with this picture.

The woman walked from behind Fritha, revealing herself even with the lit backdrop. It was a draenei, but the silver hair and amused smirk could only belong to one woman Aylenn knew. “L-Lasariel?” Was it all treachery?

The cuffs holding Aylenn's hands bound came undone, the metallic click also freezing her in shock. Aylenn didn't understand what was going on. Did the man want her arms free for when he took her? Didn't he understand that allowed her to kill him?

He brushed the dirtied red hairs from her ear, leaning in so his warm breath touched her. “I am going to ravage you like I did atop the Stormwright's Shelf in Sholazar.”

Aylenn's heart lurched again, and her mind flipped back the pages to the mentioned occasion. Her and Nathaniel, the week following their first night together, they had binged on an adventurous honeymoon. They explored Northrend almost as much as they explored each others bodies, making a game of finding the greatest location to make love at.

Solozar had become a focus, warm and humid rather than dry and cold. The protection that prevented the Scourge from invading left it a natural place hostile only when animals felt their territory was being encroached on. They had 'tested' the tops of the four standing Pillars, joking that they had forever left their mark there, but the best night – agreed by both – was atop the Stormwright's Shelf. The lightning-threatened perch had been exhilarating, high in the sky and overlooking the North Sea. It had been one of their most passionate nights, both with slow loving and wildly shameless fucking.

Aylenn's body ached, but she forced herself to turn, to see this man who came to them in their captivity. On the other side now, it was his face the crackling lightning of reanimation lit. There was no doubt. Aylenn felt breathless as she stared, tears immediately falling from her eyes. “N-Nathaniel...”

-

“We could hunt him down,” Lasariel mentioned, peering towards where the one Vrykul had escaped off to. Behind her stood every remaining digger-ghoul. There were much less now, of course. She had taken control of the entire legion of them and turned them against the occupying enemies and the Rotting Storm Giants.

“Let him go,” Nathaniel said, still carrying the weak Aylenn. Blankets had been given to cover her, now free of all the needles they had put in her body.

Lasariel shrugged, and suddenly nearly fifty beings of the undead collapsed with a great groan. Beside her stood Fritha, the Vrykul giving a smug look towards the two unconscious – and newly stripped – cultists that had been her companions. Forced into a servile kneel was Thora, charmed there by Sapph.

The death knight smiled at the assembly. “I'm glad I was watching over the camp. I would have hated to miss this.”

Sigrid Iceborn wore a necklace of entrails, pulled from several of the many enemies she struck down during the night. In her arms she carried the exhausted Sylva, the night elf now sleeping deeply. “I enjoyed taking our vengeance.”

“Two of us are dead,” Fritha mentioned. “I expected worst.”

Nathaniel exhaled, recalling the invasion. Eydis and Gard had been struck down, dead forever of this world. He had revisited the tower in the wake of things, found that they had burned Eydis' body to ashes. However, Gard had been thrown out of the tower, body crushed on the dirt and rocks below the hill it was on. When dealing with women like Lasariel and death knights, death was not the end.

Now a Val'kyr, Gard carried the large frame of Varna. The proud Winterskorn woman had insisted on moving on her own power, but a subtle sleep from Lasariel had her out cold, amenable for carrying. The former Frost Vrykul sniffed. “The sensation of ascending is... Believe me, Fritha, my end was not a loss.”

However, Eydis truly was gone for good, and her death aroused sorrow in Nathaniel. He had only just begun getting to know her, learning her personality. He remembered their conversations, their time in the bedroom, her eagerness to join his harem back in Howling Fjord. Now she was dead, taken from him.

“I will never be free of you, will I?” Lyana asked, lying dressed in the black clothes they had given her, her back resting along a white bone from the wyrm, arms tucked behind her head. Her eyes were closed in an expression of indifference.

“Not until you are free of your hate, when the living and undead can safely look to you as a leader in times of need,” he told her, to which Lyana huffed but didn't argue.

The Dark Ranger opened her eyes to the starry sky, recalling the times she used to gaze at them back when she was a high elf. She hadn't been so quick to hate then. She reflected Nathaniel instead and his stunning reappearance. His death for his actions was warranted and justified. These women he captured here, they deserve to die, but I know he'll keep them around again anyways... Why, when I was again free, did I regret his loss? Why am I not as angry to again be his slave?

“ Ready yourselves,” Nathaniel told them. “We fly to Har'koa's Altar in Zul'Drak.” We will lay low for now, recover, then we will reestablish ourselves.

-

“Nathaniel... How?” Aylenn asked after she recovered. They had reached the Altar of Har'koa. The goddess found herself amused by the fate of the Lich King's servants, promised to look after Nathaniel while at her abandoned sacred home. The two had a history.

Nathaniel brushed back her hair as he stared down at her, sitting beside her bed. He smiled. “Fritha is a treacherous one. When Thora came to her and hinted a coup, she decided to go along with it to find the extent. Her loyalties never swayed from me, however, and when the time came to kill me off, she instead warned me and urged me to escape with my life. We devised a counter attack, and as you saw earlier tonight, it was quite successful.”

“But...” Aylenn said, face scrunching in confusion.

He laughed softly, stroking her cheek. “I tracked those that got away with their lives, came back to find who died, then together we came after you and the others.”

Aylenn closed her eyes, enjoying his touch. She knew how hideous she must appear, lacking a bath and still marked from her torture. His loving hand remained unchanged. Quietly, she said, “We will punish those who sought to slay us.”

Nathaniel breathed heavily. “We will eventually. For now, dear, rest, relax.”

She opened her eyes. “I will relax after. Lay will me. Call in Varna and Sylva, and perhaps Merette. We all need you in our arms again. I need to feel you again. Make love to me. To us.”

He obeyed her, calling in the others. Without clothing, Varna had wrapped herself in a blanket, while Sylva wore one of the cultists' robes. Merette followed, eager to see him again.

Nathaniel studied them all, their expressions, and he settled back on his heels. “Yes, I am alive, and I have missed you all. I apologize for not managing to retrieve you sooner.”

“Less drivel. More sex,” Varna told him without tact. Sylva's lips twitched into a smile, and she nodded. Merette smiled shyly.

Nathaniel also smiled, but it was followed by a sigh. “I cannot with all of you, not all at once.”

Sylva's silver eyes burned. “Then allow me to sleep here with you tonight. I only want to be near you, to touch you again. I will accept more later, at your choosing.”

“If it pleases you, I will also pass for now,” Merette said, face turning grim only for a moment. “I ache, and recent experiences have turned me from it for the moment.”

Nathaniel stood and approached them. He hugged either and gave both a kiss. “Thank you. Of course you may stay with us for the night.”

Aylenn called his attention, and he turned to see she had moved the blankets from her, exposing her pale form and the bloody stains. “Take your piece of slightly chewed meat first. Then you can finish on a healthier note with Varna.”

Glancing once at the others, seeing them watching him, Nathaniel relieved himself of his armor and weapons. He stripped, then lowered himself to Aylenn, immediately immersing them in a kiss that conveyed their passion for each other.

“It's not ready yet,” Aylenn told him after, referring to her womanhood. “But take me anyways.”

Instead, Nathaniel smiled and left a kiss on her slender neck. He kissed her chest, tasting the salty skin and feeling its pleasantly cool reminder. He ignored the many splatters of red and the blackened lines of hot irons. One hand cupped her breast, while his mouth teased the other, circling around her nipple and catching a taste of her metallic blood.

Aylenn held his head to her, feeling close to tears again. “Damnable man. I love you so much.”

Nathaniel smiled, heart turning at the new flaws to her body. Her nipples still bore the wounds of the needles, so he was careful in giving them attention, but he smiled when his soft affections got them to stand. Down the blood-caked mess of her stomach, still firm with the healing of her blood abilities, and he reached her womanhood, no longer as tidy as she usually kept it. He gave her another teasing smile, then tilted his head in to continue with her.

An insignia of the Cult of the Damned had been branded into her mound just before Nathaniel's eyes, irritatingly distracting as he pleasured her with his mouth. He doubted the mark would last for long, however. Two days of growth prickled his cheeks and tongue, but Nathaniel cared little, lavishing her slit with all the attention he usually would, making sure to give attention to her clit – and making sure her tormentors hadn't done anything horrific there.

Aylenn moved very little during it, only holding the back of his head and clutching his hair, but her soft sighs and hums told him she was still enjoying it more than the motions antagonized her wounds. Finishing with his mouth, Nathaniel wiped his lips of her strong taste and moved back up her, fully ready to have her again.

Aylenn's arms dropped to the back of his neck as he lined himself up, and she smiled up at him. “While my loverboy worked down there, I finished healing the most of myself. I'm tired, but you can ravage me like an animal without hurting me now.”

Nathaniel glanced down, seeing even the holes surrounding her nipples had closed since then. He looked back at her face with a lazy grin, humming approval. He brought his tip to her entrance, feeling the cool flesh waiting, and the contact had Aylenn close her eyes, spreading her legs a tad wider.

He sank down, invading her folds, glad to feel her sufficiently prepared for him. He stopped at half way, relishing the cool pulse around him, then pulled back before lowering again, this time deeper. He repeated that until he reached all the way where his hips met her, closing his own eyes at the feel of her enveloping his entire length.

He wanted her fiercely. Wanted them both to cry pleasure to the moon above. His arms went around her back, supporting his weight with his elbows under her, while Aylenn smirked and kissed him. Her legs wrapped around his back, giving him more access to him, while her arms repositioned to where it was her forearms that held his neck, breasts against his chest.

Nathaniel started then, pulling back and slamming in. Aylenn gave a soft moan, encouraging him, and he didn't disappoint. Blood, sweat, dirt, arousal – all the scents reached his nose, and Nathaniel found them all parts of Aylenn, more real of her than any perfume. It was her scent, and he relished it as his body hammered against hers in a rapid show of lovemaking.

The cadence of Aylenn's sounds urged him onward, responsive where her body was not. He could feel her chest and stomach move as she breathed, her breath tickle his face. He buried his in her hair, inhaling the earthen scent. Her legs and arms held him tighter to her, moaning his name.

Aylenn pressed her cheek against Nathaniel's chest, reveling in the feel of him stretching her folds. Deep and hard was his approach, hitting the right spots inside her just perfectly. However, it wasn't just the pleasure of it, not just the warmth of his hard body holding her. It was that it was Nathaniel, that he was here to do this. The emotion from him matched what she felt, and Aylenn knew that tears began to wet her cheeks, working her voice without control.

They both worked their way towards the end, each motion a sure reminder that they were united again. The pleasure became a focus, and Aylenn returned to the bedroll for him to give more. Their foreheads rested together, both looking down to their point of union, seeing his length disappear inside her again and again, the slicked womanhood eager for its return. The mars of her body were not forgotten, but both had grown immune to their sight.

Who finished first was not a conscious thought. Either reached a physical climax, but the motions had proceeded until both found it, slowing to a reluctant halt, the lovers concluding with a long kiss. The final tear was shed then, a gesture of pure relief, and they separated with heartfelt smiles for each other.

Recalling the others in the room, both husband and wife looked up suddenly, and the elf's cheeks tinged pink in a light blush, smiling in embarrassment. The moment had been so intimate and special between them, knowing that there had been observers made her conscious of herself.

When Nathaniel's eyes met Sylva's, however, the night elf only had a regretful smile of her own. “I am envious of you two. The depth of your feelings goes beyond what will ever be felt for me.”

“ You make me sick, to think that I would find appeal in that small race softness,” Varna scoffed at them, tattooed face appearing aloof yet her eyes drawn to them.

Nathaniel's hand found Aylenn's, fighting to keep down his own embarrassment, and their fingers laced. He assumed the mindset of the Vrykul, shifting the odd culture to this thoughts with a practiced motion. He leveled a steady look towards Varna. “Get in this bed now or else I will take you down here by force.”

Varna felt herself grin at him fiercely. The appropriate response was to challenge him while obeying, of course, but her small husband's efforts amused her and pleased her. One day she hoped to truly test those words, see if he would claim her forcefully, and if he did, she would reward him with a foreign behavior equally pleasing to him. They just didn't understand that even if she felt angry at him, she could be proud of him as well.

Standing beside Merette, Sylva felt a gross interest as Nathaniel turned his attentions to the Vrykul. Tired of standing, she sat on the stone steps, Merette following shortly beside her. Seeing the nude man with a woman that much larger appeared almost comical, and she wondered how he might even begin to pleasure her.

Sylva still felt disturbed at the thought of sharing her love, plagued more that she wasn't even the one he cherish most. Seeing him setting his eyes, attention, and lusts on another woman caused a woe to settle low in her heart. Mere exposure had changed the feeling however. The ache was fading to a mild jealousy she could live with, learning to live with the divided attention. Being honest with herself, the show between him and the bloodied Aylenn she had found strangely beautiful.

Feeling Merette next to her, close enough that their arms and legs were touching, Sylva allowed her attention to drift to the woman while still watching Nathaniel and Varna. “We could hear your screams from our captivity. Are you well?”

There was a moment where Merette drew away from her before she settled again, exhaling softly. “I was beginning to consider ending my own life. Now, I am relieved to be back under Lord Nathaniel's service.”

“Relieved,” Sylva repeated, giving the word time to sink in as her focus set back on Nathaniel. They were beginning the real thing now. She finally processed Merette's words, breaking her watch to study the frail woman. Merette was scandalous in form, but her expression was darkened, eyes now characterized by a lingering fear.

Sylva touched Merette's hand, encompassing the back of it with her own and squeezing softly. How odd that she might one day be comforting the woman of her nightmares! The fear of her was gone, however, forgiven with Sylva's petty vengeance. Many responses came to her mind, challenges of guilt for her actions and comforts for her recent troubles, but finally Sylva settled on one: “I feel that life for us, all these women and Nathaniel, will always be filled with this hardship and tragedy.”

Merette turned her attention to Sylva, seeing the elf look back towards those coupling on the bed. The cultist robes on her were startlingly natural, the facial markings easily mistaken as the cultist tattoos. Those robes look good on her. She wouldn't say that aloud, however, knowing the woman's opinion of the Cult.

She reflected Sylva's words, felt them to be true. Softly, she said, “Whether his choice in this slave-harem is just or not, he will find few allies willing to tolerate it. It feels sickening to know that the only solution to avoid these troubles is to execute the captives, like me. To me, how can his choice to spare me, an enemy, that fate be anything but just and merciful? Why must there be consequences for an estranged kindness?”

“I question if there is justice in solving bloodshed with more bloodshed. Murdering captives, is that the will of the Light?” Sylva muttered back, her silver eyes tracing the movements of man and Vrykul, watching the odd partners of pleasure. There was an aggression to it obviously originating to Varna's traditions.

Merette always considered herself an intellectual, secluded in her experiments and researched, but presently she felt the throes of philosophy defining her thoughts. Continuing Sylva's point, she mentioned, “Can there be another solution in a war? Brutality must be met with the same until one side is subdued or negotiations reached. The Lich King will exchange no prisoners, not faithfully, and thus preserving any captive's life will only be a burden of resources.”

“And this?” Sylva asked. “To grant life by mercy yet in such self-pleasuring barbarism? It is a vulgar cost to be met for the opinion of eventual redemption.”

Finding no answers on an ethnic sense, Merette spoke honestly, exhaustion having her head rest on Sylva's shoulder. “All I may say is that I have grown appreciative of the chance, once adjusted to that cost. Others, I feel, will find only a trap of terror at death and horror at pleasure girl. The choice is neither easy nor the same for each captive.”

Sylva fell silent, reflecting the words. Before her captivity, before her rescue and feelings for Nathaniel, she would have found this situation loathsome and repulsive. Now... she was tied into it, and she felt an inclination towards no particular feel of it.

Like Merette, she was worn out and ready to sleep eternally. However, the opportunity to sleep with Nathaniel was complimented by the primal need to be near him. The comforting aura she received from his presence was her only salvation from the newly awakened fears within her. To ensure she safely acquired that, she remained awake and vigilant, one arm holding Merette to her as the woman rested.

Nathaniel and Varna had changed positions, but a tingling through her senses had Sylva's attention turn towards the sleeping Merette. As a priestess, the spiritual came easy to her. From the woman she felt the vile corruption of the Cult of the Damned within her, an untouchable taint that would forever define the woman, but she also possessed a savage mauling to her soul, nearly shredded to the bits that would leave her body an empty living shell.

Time could heal such a wound, but in the presence of a priestess, such was unnecessary. She worked holy magic in the woman, repairing the damage while avoiding the ingrained corruption. Only once Merette was whole again, for better or for worse, did Sylva finally stop. She saw that Nathaniel and the quite vocal Vrykul were finishing, growing quiet while still focused on each other.

Helping the groggy Merette stand, they made their way over, welcomed into the extended bedroll. Sylva knew why Nathaniel's form felt heated and beginning to perspire, both his and Varna's breathing still audible, but among the tangled limbs of him and the other women, she felt at peace.

Twice now her hero had come for her among fear and despair, and tonight she could hold him in her arms for real.

- -

AN: Things aren't over just yet folks.

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