Warcraft Fan Fiction ❯ A Savage Land ❯ End ( Chapter 13 )

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

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“Run, Nathaniel! They are here for you!” Har'koa shouted upon finding him early next morning, tangled in the embraces of his wives. “The Alliance has come for you and your women!”

Too soon! Nathaniel jolted to his feet, still nude. He urgently roused the others, sent them scurrying off in whatever they had slept in. He sprinted from the prophet's temple towards the main altar, where the concubines and pleasure girls still slept.

“Hurry!” Har'koa urged. “I lack the power to divert them all for very long.”

He woke and alerted the women, all turning fearful at the mention. Lyana, the captive and sometimes source of pleasure, even turned leery, standing with the others immediately. The cultists found the approaching raid much less desirable to the last, knowing only death awaited them if caught.

Nathaniel left the alter to see a fully geared Aylenn approaching him, and she tossed the bundle of his armor and weapons. He set to readying himself, dressing. “I want them leaving, Aylenn. All of them out and safe while I hold them off.”

“You heard him, Sigrid. Get all of them and you out while my husband and I hold them off. To the harpy lands!” Aylenn commanded sharply, fall into place next to Nathaniel. He gave her a pained look but didn't argue, sighing to himself.

“No innocent life will we end this day,” Nathaniel told her, drawing his daggers. Aylenn nodded, knowing it already. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he concluded: “Fight well, dear.”

-

Ain't no rest for the wicked.

The line was an old joke among taverns, had trickled elsewhere too. How relevant it felt at the moment to Nathaniel, arms and legs bound to a stake in the Alliance encampment. His life of late had felt like nothing but being hounded, and they had remained the unaware fox all the way to their capture.

Nathaniel found himself frustrated by his fate. It had been long in coming, however, as Lyana had summarized kindly. The world was not a fair or just place, but good had a tenancy to win in the end. People like him didn't have happy endings.

Aylenn and Lyana lay similarly bound to his either side. It had been a surprise when she was dragged over to where Nathaniel and Aylenn had been restrained after quickly being overwhelmed. In the confusion of the invasion, her flight out hadn't been properly arranged, everyone assuming another would be covering something, and a desperate moment when only Sapph and her gryphon were left – passengers full with Merette and Sylva – then they barely escaped to avoid the soldiers. Lyana had been left to the Alliance's limited mercy.

“It really won't be so bad,” Aylenn was telling him as they waited for their execution. “There will be a short moment of pain, then peace. Any memory of an afterlife has been banished from my mind in my subsequent resurrection, but there will only be a short moment before we are reunited, either in the Light or in the grave.”

Aylenn knew he didn't fear death, but still Nathaniel was curious about one point: “The transition of the soul finally leaving the body... What does it feel like?”

“Slipping away,” Aylenn said uncertainly, not sure how to phrase what she remembered of her own death.

Lyana sniffed at them, eyes closed. “And the feel of the soul being thrust back into this world is the agony of a thousand hells.”

An appropriate sensation to have one scream like a banshee. Nathaniel nodded, considering that one option. Arthas could be spiteful enough to bring him back, but fortunately the Alliance had taken measures to ensure those of strength that fell couldn't be returned by the Lich King. He didn't fear that possibility much.

Nathaniel sighed, thoughts turning back to the battle between him and the attackers – how they had found him still a mystery. Things appeared to have started well, but shortly into it, the wound on his chest began to cripple him, clenching with an agony that at one point drew him to his knees. That had been his fall in the fight, leaving him open for disarming and subduing.

Lord Irulon Trueblade, fanatical leader of those that had captured them, had brought them south after the raid. They were now safely in Alliance territory, Westfall Brigade Encampment, where escape meant fighting out of the heart of their base. Nathaniel had given up on thoughts of escape.

“Oh no,” Aylenn muttered suddenly. “Those foolish women...!”

Nathaniel looked at her face, then followed her eyes to the sky of the west. He saw three shapes and tried to make them out. His stomach dropped when he realized what – or rather who – it was, and he cursed to himself.

Sigrid Iceborn, Sapph the Rider of Frost, and Lasariel bore down on the soldiers' encampment. They hit its flank hard and flung things into immediate chaos, unprepared troops stumbling over themselves in attempts to counter it. The power of those three women were immense, however, and against the rising wave of muscle and steel, they moved swiftly and seemingly effortlessly towards Nathaniel's position, weapons and arcane magicks turning the tide aside.

Nathaniel broke free of his cuffs, finding the opportunity in the confusion. He reflected upon the human selfishness, the 'every man for himself' ideal that could give any human the strength or ability enough to break free of nearly any bond or snare in his urge to live. However, this time it wasn't about escaping with his life. This time it was others that encouraged him to that mentality, wrists bleeding with the mangled shackles still hanging on them.

Aylenn noticed her husband's freedom and smiled slightly to herself. There wasn't yet a hope for their escape, the powerful trio beginning to stagger and focus on their assailants with greater intensity. She understand Nathaniel's intent, however, and she knew it wasn't just for her. No, it was for all of them they had spun into their web.

She intended to die with him here in exchange for the others' freedom, including Lyana's.

A blast of freezing ice struck those immediately near them, and Aylenn smiled at their frozen forms as Nathaniel quickly worked apart her cuffs. Once they came off her, Aylenn summoned an army of the dead from the soil beneath them, sending them after the scattered soldiers in further distraction. Nathaniel managed to remove Lyana's cuffs in the meantime.

“What in the Light's name is going on here?” a powerful voice shouted, characteristic to Lord Irulon. The soldiers took heart, beginning to wear down the intruders. The man took the lead of the counter assault, quickly subduing the three despite their strength. None were above the advantage of numbers, as Illidan could attest to.

Fallen now to her knees and restrained at blade-point by several soldiers, Lasariel felt her mana stores recovering. They weren't down yet, not while she still had the ability to fight. What was she doing here, she asked herself not for the first time. She felt tied to Nathaniel somehow. She wasn't the subdued she pretended to be, that loving wife so obsessed with pleasing her man and now fighting to free him from death. However, when the plan had been drawn, she had agreed immediately.

Her breath back, Lasariel noticed that Nathaniel and the others had escaped, causing a great ruckus that divided the camp's attention. Grinning, she summoned energy to her and blasted off their captors. Sigrid's wings unfolded into a beautiful span, polearm again a weapon-shattering tool of destruction. Sapph and her axe moved with a woodsman quality, bored while hacking apart men. They moved towards Nathaniel.

Hope blossomed in Aylenn when Nathaniel did a specific call she was familiar with. It was for his gryphon, and she actually saw the bird descend from the sky. They stood a chance at flying out, between Sigrid's wings and the gryphon. Orders were called out for archers and riflemen, but the gryphon was armored in its vulnerable spots, battle-ready and prepared for such tactics against it.

In the confusion of everything, Nathaniel still felt unsure how all of this calamity had come about. It certainly hadn't been his plan, and not five minutes ago he was ready for an orderly execution. Now he was actually thinking about preserving lives, those of the women, and he refused to fall until they were safe. His own chance of escape was fairly high as well, given the opportunity to call down his faithful mount.

Once the bird was on the ground, he looked up to see Sigrid's group – the Val'kyr's size easily spotted. He noticed they were still making their way towards him, and he shouted to them, “FLEE! WE WILL MEET WHEN SAFE!”

“NEVER!” Lord Irulon howled, mad with rage at the very thought that his captives might slip through his fingers again. The paladin knew he should be more level-headed about this, but the blatant disregard to justice and righteousness touched him in a way not even the Vrykul savage war tactics could. Nathaniel the Nameblighted would finally own up to his crimes.

Lasariel noticed Sigrid ignore Nathaniel's words, still heaving blows that managed to cleave soldiers in half even with their armor. Such physical strength... Lasariel shook her head and focused her thoughts, remembering Nathaniel's words. He would get out on his own now thanks to the distraction. They needed to make their escape, and Sigrid was the means.

“I'm so sorry, dear,” Lasariel told Sigrid, manipulation of unholy energies coming into a spell of compulsion for the undead and bending the victim to her. The spell would unravel before long of course, but presently Sigrid was enslaved to her will.

Abruptly the Val'kyr stopped fighting the defenders to step closer to Lasariel's and Sapph's positions. She picked up the death knight in one hand, Sapph concluding with one powerful knock-back of icy wind, then turned for Lasariel and lifted her off the ground. Lasariel followed Sapph's example, blasting apart the Alliance soldiers with a spell of wide radius, intending to scatter them rather than kill.

Sigrid immediately began struggling for altitude, her wings beating furiously. Sapph and Lasariel were small compared to Sigrid and light even as women, but together the added weight was a great burden for their provider. Sigrid pressed on through necessity, urged by Lasariel, and they escaped the camp to where no long under threat of fire. It was up to the others to escape now.

The nimble Lyana was up on the gryphon first, eagerly cracking the neck of a soldier who attempted to bar her way to the gryphon. Aylenn followed her up, a single leap from the ground getting her on the bird, and her red hair swung as she turned back for Nathaniel and reached out a hand for him to grasp.

Three was the very max for his gryphon, Nathaniel knew, and it couldn't be a long flight. They could escape, all of them, and once again life would return to normal and they could continue where they left off before the lethal interruption. Nathaniel brought his own hand up to Aylenn's, knowing she could haul him up in an instant, and their fingers touched before gripping tightly.

At the same time as the contact, an arrow found its mark in Nathaniel's shoulder. He gasped, losing strength in his hold with Aylenn, and his wife grew horrified. Aylenn screamed, pulling on his hand, but without his return grip, she couldn't pull him up. Her other hand sent a blast of ice at the soldiers drawing closer, blasting apart their approach and giving them more time.

From behind the footmen, a dagger was thrown and implanted skillfully in Nathaniel's back. His breath was expelled from him, and he felt more strength slipping away from him. He would have collapsed to a knee if he hadn't been held up by Aylenn's hold. Lyana was watching him, red eyes wide in shock.

Reaching a conclusion, Nathaniel released Aylenn's hand entirely, finding himself unable to smile comfortingly. He instead grasped the reigns of his gryphon, the redhead screaming and shouting and pleading, and he flicked them in a short command. The bird would handle the rest, having been trained well.

His armored gryphon rose swiftly with its two passengers, immediately turning west to fly away from Westfall Brigade Encampment. Nathaniel watched them go, limbs trembling as he remained standing. Both girl's pale faces could be seen staring at him as the bird left with singular determination.

Thundering blows rippled down on the fleshy area between shoulders and neck, and Nathaniel crumpled immediately, beaten now and bleeding precious life blood. Cuffs found his wrists, yet still soldiers leaned on him in a pin while waiting for their commander to show.

Knowing his final moments of life were upon him, Nathaniel's mind turned back to his conversation with Lord Irulon:

“I pursued you not in hate but in the justice of the Light. Your reckless marauding around these frozen wastes was a gross mockery of justice, turning captive enemies into pleasure girls and bound lovers rather than following the traditional methods. You cannot respond to an evil deed with an evil deed! That is the eye-for-an-eye, vengeance-approving society the orcs follow. The Alliance believes in mercy and redemption, not humiliation and self-pleasure!”

Nathaniel faced him calmly, a gesturing having his wife stand down. “How is our style of allowing them to live longer in exchange for obedience so much worse than retaliatory murder?”

“Have you fallen so far as to not realize?!” Lord Irulon asked, disbelief filling his tone. “In this war, their crimes warrant death. They may desire to live longer, but it was a right they gave up in the vile acts they took upon our side. Taking advantage of their lost cause to satisfy your loins in lust is not acceptable justice, instead a barbarous form of petty animalism. You degenerate the civility we built in establishing human civilization!”

Nathaniel found himself at loss of words, frowning pensively. Lyana was looking at him as if her point was finally proven. “So you believe that death is the only punishment acceptable for these crimes, even simple existence under the wrong banner for most Vrykul?”

Irulon sniffed at him, unruffled. “What you decided for them instead is by no stretch proper punishment, both fundamentally and on an ethnic level. We humans struggle on what should be that punishment. Everyone dies someday, and our current system is only pushing that day forward so that a higher power may pass judgment and proper punishment – and reward for where we are wrong. We do not torture or treat cruelly, we do not debase captive women by turning them into amusement for our men. You disgust me, fallen brother of the Crusade.”

Lyana interrupted with a snide laugh. “You say the Alliance treats its prisoners fairly? That you will not call interrogators when an enemy has potential information? Not even the orcs are foolish enough to believe that!”

“I am a Paladin of the Argent Crusade,” Irulon told her steadily. “We all have grown sick of the animosity and war between the Horde and Alliance, both having fallen to equal states of cruelty and hatred for the other races. The war has reduced to the point that you fight only because “they” hate you, an idea believed by both sides and impossible to overcome peacefully. And you Forsaken have no say in treatment of prisoners.”

Nathaniel's mind focused back on the present, Irulon's words tumbling around his skull with frustrating insistence. They were hard to argue against. At its present state, the conflict of morality was based on the thought that he found mercy in offering a doomed soul longer life with a price, a devil's bargain that allowed a chance of redemption, while Irulon believed that the crimes warranted death and post-dissolution punishment, the mercy to be found only after passing into the next life. If his plan did not involve women as instruments of pleasure, perhaps Irulon would have been more inclined to accept Nathaniel's idea.

Funny how it was only when he was moments from demise that his focus on the justice of his actions reached a spiritual level. His judgment was no longer a reflection but instead a looming sentence. In death, through Lord Irulon's and civilization's justice, would he be given mercy or damnation for his actions regarding those women? Was his heart of kindness, granting mercy for the damned, or was it monstrous, an excuse to indulge his own lusts?

He reflected on those that he had involved in his net. Varna, Sigrid, Merette, Sylva, Lyana, the deceased Eydis, Fritha, Gard, Thora, Lasariel, Sapph, Selendre and finally Tassaria. He cared for each of them in a rather selfish way, another complication to understanding the heart of his intentions. He had slept with each, made a harem of them, united them away from Arthas with the intent of assisting the others in bringing him down.

Good. Bad. Just. Vigilante. Nathaniel felt himself reach an answer within, deciding that he had been more focused on his own interests than those he had subdued. He found his actions unethical, an evil upon this world that would be righted only by his blood spilled upon the ground. He didn't fear death, but he hated that his time had come so soon. He may be evil, but he found the life worth it, and he knew he would do it all again given the chance.

And Aylenn, oh Aylenn! When the world had become its bleakest and the meaning of right had been lost to him, she had appeared to reshape him in her image. He loved her truly in a way he admitted he couldn't yet feel for the others, knew that all his actions had been a result of her and wishing to fulfill her wishes. Following the idea of one with no moral code should have been his first clue to its ethics.

A final comfort was that all he had affected in their wicked plot still lived, barring the unfortunate Eydis. He took sole responsibility and punishment for the harem. Aylenn, even, would live, though for how long he didn't yet know, recalling the emotional states she could reach when faced with such loss. Would she return to the Scourge? Die in a stand to take as many with her possible?

Lord Irulon Trueblade's silver boots appeared in Nathaniel's blurring vision, and he looked up to see the tall man looking down on him. “Nathaniel the Nameblighted, for your treachery at Mord'rethar, your presumptuous actions regarding females loyal to the Lich King, and finally the deaths of over two dozen Alliance soldiers at a time of great need for every man, you are sentenced to execution by sword. May the Light judge you fairly.”

Wearied of life and turning dizzy from his loss of blood, Nathaniel's thoughts began to play out a story. In it, visuals giving life in a reality away from the reality his broken body remained at, he gave a lazy smile of amusement. It was him and Aylenn, lying together one last time, a bizarre fantasy for his final moment, and he relished it.

Aylenn gasped as he clutched her thin body to his. She sat on his lap and imbedded by his length, upright with him. Their intimacy was slow, passionate, giving time for their release to come with greater power and intensity. Her hips swayed over his, small movements for the pleasure at their union, while their hands ran along each other as if knowing it was their final time.

Irulon nodded to a soldier and stepped back to join the ring that encircled Nathaniel, each man around ten feet away from him now. The soldier saluted the paladin and approached Nathaniel, drawing his sword as he did. It was obvious this man was to be his executioner.

Nathaniel had tilted Aylenn back, lavishing attention to her small breasts and her firm nipples. His hips moved backwards and forwards in the same slow pace, now having him pull back to nearly the tip before driving back in all the way to his base. She moved with him, hips meeting his patiently while her hands ran through his hair, humming.

The executioner knelt before where Nathaniel lay, planting his sword's tip in the dirt and muttering a prayer to the light. His eyes were closed, lips moving faintly, while Nathaniel felt his mind slipping further away from this reality and towards the one within.

He was flat on his back, her hands on his chest, and Aylenn now rocked her body in forward motions when lowering herself back down on him to continue their act of passion. Her red hair had fallen forward, framing her face for him, seeing the gentle smile below her loving blue eyes.

The blade rested against Nathaniel's stomach, angled to drive upwards and into his heart. It pressed into his cursed mark, but oddly he no longer felt the crippling burn of it.

Kissing now, still making love. Her on the bottom, legs wrapped around him to draw him closer. Her arms held him, one at the back of his head. Her lips were the cool, soft ones he always knew, responding in the pleasant way they always did. Her scent filled him, that which was Aylenn mixed with perfumes on her body and hair. How he loved this woman!

The Alliance soldier leaned towards Nathaniel so their faces were nearly touching, and he barely made out the oddly bright blue of the man's eyes. Nathaniel's own eyes were blue, but not like that. It seemed almost familiar...

The executioner whispered gleefully, “You will serve my Lord well.”

It struck Nathaniel then that his killer was to be a cultist, the implications of what would follow reaching him and banishing the illusion in his mind. He opened his mouth to argue, but the man rammed the sharp sword into him, piercing abs and stomach and cutting up directly into his heart.

There wasn't much pain, already so near death. Nathaniel felt his body failing, his mind failing even as he tried warning of the infiltrated cultist – hoping his body would be disposed of properly and not taken to Icecrown. He died with his mouth still open, facial features slackening in that expression.

The cultist smiled, withdrawing the blade and closing the troublesome pest's open eyes with his hand.

- -

AN: And.... the end. A tale of tragedy can't end in any other way, right? But while this is the end of A Savage Land, it's not the end of the story. There is an epilogue, made for my own sake, but it dispels the feel of the tragedy. I will upload it, eventually, but for now, enjoy this ending of the story.
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