The Feud Ch. 01

"As I stated earlier, we can ascertain certain details. This matter is of the highest priority, and with that, I cannot allow certain variables to remain unaccounted for. It has already been set forth in the agreement with the Sunreavers that the battle will take place in Dalaran sewers. Some of the goblin-engineered gimmicks will be axed. Some. Should you get 'jitters' before the fight and fail to crawl out of your hole, you will still be ejected... violently."

"Understood."

"I didn't ask. There are no holds and no rules. The world will be watching, but no one will stop you. If you have an ace up your sleeve, play it. If you have a dagger at your side, use it. We are the Alliance. We are nobility, but our crest is the beast. We fight for honor, but we fight with savagery." She paused, holding Victor's gaze with solemnity. Vereesa did not ask him to affirm her statement, let alone repeat it back to her; she assessed him herself, and solely through the eyes.

"We're still gathering information on who the Sunreavers have selected. For the time being, I insist that you enjoy your dinner but do not overindulge. Your downstairs neighbor is someone you must become very familiar with, and over the coming week the two of you will dissolve any animosity you might harbor toward one-another. That is an order."

Victor nodded blankly, the Ranger General having earned his unerring respect with a strike worthy of a warrior wearing gauntlets. Vereesa appeared to smile at this sign of obedience.

"The sooner the better, warlock."

The high elf turned to depart, but as she pressed her hand to the door, Victor hesitantly called to her. She gave him only a slight turn of the head.

"Thelise was unclear... what will happen if we fail?"

Vereesa turned and opened the door. She stepped into the hall before responding, "Don't. Fail."

It wasn't solely upon Vereesa's insistence that Victor ate lightly that evening. The encounter with the Ranger General had left his nerves so on edge that he retreated from the banquet after consuming only a pair of croissants and bite of delicious chocolate cake (which, though delicious, did little to change his mood). The dinner wasn't entirely fruitless, he thought, as he wandered up to his room with a bottle of pinot noir in his hand. Granted, Thelise was alone most of the evening and Victor hadn't worked up the nerve to approach her even casually, but she was probably encumbered by her own thoughts and concerns—perhaps she even got the same "briefing" that Windrunner gave him.

But the less wine left in his bottle, the more at ease he felt. He did not want to disappoint his commander, predominantly out of fear, and seeing Thelise again revived that the familiar feeling of intrigue that had drawn him to her the day before. After mistakenly climbing the wrong spire (of which there were several), he found his way to her floor and still had a half-bottle of wine left in hand. Victor rapped on the door steadily, and from behind the thick layer of wood, he was a certain a murmur that signaled him to come in.

The handle gave no resistance as he pushed his way inside. Her room was not unlike his, but his eyes feasted only upon Thelise. The elf sat upon the tile with her legs outstretched and her gown high above her thighs—his interest piqued and his body began to stir, but as he peered on, he found nothing that tantalized him, only thin red cuts along her bare thighs. His presence was quickly noticed.

"Victor—what, why are you here!?" she questioned him, concealing herself and her instrument.

He shut the door and approached her, "There are many off-key medical treatments, many ancient rituals for which one must shed their own blood, but none of them are to be done in a place such as this, or by someone like you."

"My reasons are my own, warlock. Leave!" Thelise's cries faltered as Victor, under the influence of wine, or a glimmer of his own morality, continued toward her. "This is my room...! Begone!" The high elf stood on her feet, he shimmering white mooncloth gown falling gracefully down to her ankles. The fabric seemed to emit a soft, pure light that made the young woman appear all the more radiant, though the blur in Victor's eyes somewhat exaggerated the effect.

"Just tell me why, Thelise. Is it death you wish for—"

"No, I—this is a custom! An ancient custom."

"Don't toy with me, elf." Victor lunged at her and Thelise rose the dagger high, poising to strike, but he grasped her wrists and squeezed them tightly. "I may have had some wine... but I am no fool!" At last Thelise relinquished, dropping the weapon from her hand. It hit the ground with a clamor, and still she resisted him, tears welling in her eyes.

"Why can't you just leave?! Leave me to my suffering!" She struggled fiercely and Victor finally unhanded for fear she might still attempt to do him harm.

"If you're suffering, seek solstice at the bottom of a bottle or in the company of friends—not at the end of the blade!" He chided her, reaching down to pick up her dagger. It was a simple spellblade; silver with translucent blue streak along the fuller, unwieldly for physical combat, but sharp enough to cut. He set the wine bottle safely against the foot of the bed as he examined it closely.

"You know nothing of my burden, Victor, so who are you to tell me what to do?"

"Then tell me!" He tossed the blade aside and grabbed her by the arms, shaking her in the process, "Tell me! Explain it!"

Thelise pushed him away and slapped him in the face. He withdrew, regaining a modicum of sense. "Blind fool!" she spat at him, a brief stream of tears cutting across her cheek, "the fate of your people does not rest upon your shoulders. All that you have to risk in the match is your life. You know nothing of what burdens me, nothing!"

He rubbed his cheek until the stinging sensation subsided, but only paid mind to her words. "There are few things more immense than death, Thelise. You were chosen to spare your kind such a fate; to risk your life in a pit rather than throw away thousands on the field of battle. Even if you fail, you should be relieved that the bloodshed will end there. In fact, you should be thanked."

"Thank me? Are you—you are simply—urgh, the naïvety of men is baffling!" She said, shuddering with anger. "You, among all others, should know that there are fates far worse than death, warlock! I think nothing of what misfortune might befall me, only of... only of what will become of my people. Victor, they wish to... assimilate us."

The lack of expression on his face did not seem to satisfy her, and so she explained herself further. "It would incredibly demeaning to join forces with the Horde: the same creatures we've battled so fiercely against in times past—and I'd much rather taste death than take up arms against good friends, but... to do what they're asking... to feed on demonic magic, to willingly taint oneself—it's a hideous thought, an abhorrent notion, abominable, unspeakable...!"

"Vereesa Windrunner will still be Vereesa Windrunner, as all of you will still be yourselves, should such a thing come to pass."

"That I cannot say," she answered woefully, "To drink of demon's blood, to even sate yourself with their dark essence has an effect upon your mind and body unlike any other. After feeding even once, I doubt we will ever be the same... to ourselves, or to anyone else."

"You would be as different to me as the sunrise is to the sunset—no matter the hue of your eyes or the path you take, you would still be Thelise." Victor said, drawing closer to her. "No less beautiful... and shining as brightly as ever."

Thelise met his gaze in full, and for a long moment, lingered there with him. Her tears had dried, but the sapphire pools from which they had spilt bore faint traces of red. Together they melded into the deep violet of dawn, and just before Victor thought he might see light rise within, the lady broke away.

"But look at us," she laughed and sat herself upon the bed, "talking as if we've already lost!"

Victor chuckled hollowly. It was not a lack of hope that weighed on his mind, but another sensation distracting him. "We won't." He picked up the bottle and twisted the cork free from the top. He didn't have glasses on hand, but he offered it to the high elf none-the-less. She paused, perhaps thinking better of it, but accepted the drink regardless.

"To... the coming victory," Thelise remarked before taking a hearty swig of the wine. She grimaced and nearly spat it up, but Victor was pleased to see her avail. She was obviously unaccustomed to the taste of alcohol. He retrieved the bottle and sat beside her to make a toast of his own.

"To unlikely allies," he said, smiling at her. He drank what he could sustain (which was not much, at his level of sobriety) and sat staring blankly at the bottle.

"Is something the matter?"

"Something you said," he replied. "You're wrong." Thelise tilted her head in silent interest, and he continued. "The fate of your people doesn't rest on your shoulders alone. It is on mine, as well."

There was the briefest glimpse of surprise, perhaps revelation, but it was washed away with a smile. She reached down to take the wine, but Victor took her hand instead. He grasped her gently and before confusion could take hold, he looked into her eyes again. "Thelise, let me share the burden."

Boldly he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers. Every breath of his was laden with the scent of alcohol, but she gave no resistance to his advance. Her small, soft mouth opened and accepted him as if she were waiting for this moment from the moment he walked in.

Thelise sighed as the kiss ended; the sound of her breathing ignited a fire within him—one that he was desperate to quench. One of her hands had found their way to his thigh, and though Victor may have thought differently of it with a clearer mind, his intoxication only fueled the flame inside him. He rose up and kissed her again, and she was eager to receive him. The elf retreated to her spot but he pressed further, leaning over her as he risked touching his tongue to the inside of her lip. It was a dangerous move against a woman so proper, but what little restraint he had was passing with every second. She did not stop him... rather she bit gently at his lower lip.

The pain sent Victor into a fury that he had not experienced in years. He pushed her down against the bed, letting her feel the weight of his chest as he assailed her neck. Once again, the elf had been dressed conservatively, but even as he savored her creamy skin and nipped along her collarbone, he imagined he would enjoy tearing the gown apart. His conscience vainly advised him to slow down, but its voice was growing more and more distant. Nothing could keep him from her, and he wanted her to know it, as well.

She was remarkably passive, but Victor refused to yield to concern. He took in her scent—sweet and seductive, like forbidden fruit—and drew his kisses to the front of her neck. Her breathing quickened but she gave no sign of protest, and so he traveled down to her bosom. Though Thelise was not as ample as other women he had encountered, his excitement did not ebb. He brought his lips to her clothed chest, but did not press down. The fabric was thin and allowed him to search by touch, and search he did. It took only seconds for him to find his target, perked and now prominently showing through the gown. He observed her as he kissed gently, and she watched him in awe and horrified delight. Victor had nearly forgotten how much fun 'good girls' could be.

She blushed with embarrassment, bringing color to her otherwise milky complexion. He toyed with her nipple, wrapping it tightly between his lips, kissing, pulling, and teasing until Thelise gasped with ecstasy. He grabbed at her chest without shame, and squeezed... slowly, firmly. The first grasp was always the most satisfying, and the elf cooed in approval, her body rising into his touch, her hands sliding down his back, one of them inside his shirt. Victor need only touch his lip to her other breast for her to press his head down unto it. He opened his mouth and took her nipple inside, licking and sucking against the cloth. She moaned, unabashed, as he assailed her chest, but there were other places he desired to trespass, other sights he longed to see, and he would curse himself if she would come to her senses now, when all he had discovered was the taste of mooncloth.

With both hands at her chest, he rose to a sitting position and groped her with impunity, softly pinching her nipples between his fingers before finally releasing her breasts. Thelise panted and he sincerely believed that this may all be new territory for her. Again, his conscience called for him to slow his actions, and he had decided he would defer to it... for now. He pulled her legs up over his knees and bent low to kiss them. He worked his way up her gown but made certain that his progress was glacial... his kisses deliberate, but gentle. She writhed, not out of pleasure, but from nervousness. Undeterred, Victor raised the fringe of her gown higher, and kissed higher still, and continued until the first scar had been unveiled upon her thigh. Thelise looked at him, blushing still, but without a word to part her lips.

With his eyes locked upon hers, he kissed it... and upon discovering another, he kissed that one too. Her shame was great but he did not care about what harm she wrought upon her body. Her comfort was conductive to his ends and he would stop at nothing to achieve them. The scars varied in size—some long, some small, but he caught one, after another, after another, until at last her gown could go no higher. He was well aware of what remained and he eyed her hungrily.

"Victor..." she said in weak warning.

His finite knowledge of women was nearing its end. She would either want what was next or she wouldn't, and her call to him was little indication of what was truly stirring inside of her. Fortunately, his own desires were easier to decipher and far more fun to obey. Victor lifted the closest thigh and spread her legs around him. Thelise hurried to push back her gown, but it was all too late. He had seen her. He did not show it on his face, but his mind reeled with the thought of her hairless, flushed mound and its glistening, pink lips. For a moment he thought to tantalize her more by kissing along her other thigh; feigning ignorance might ease her into revealing more, but the tightness in his pants was becoming painful. He shamelessly adjusted himself, but his bulge pressed hard toward his waistline, and somehow became even more difficult to conceal.

Victor caught her watching him and knew his primal urges could not be danced around any longer. He pulled up her dress and climbed up against her body, forcing his crotch upon her. Thelise raised her head to watch in shock, but as his confined prick was held fast to her bare and waiting womanhood, she collapsed back to the bed and cried out in aching. Her hair broke out of its ties. She shook her platinum blonde locks out and allowed them to unfurl over the covers. Victor pulled away only to thrust his self against her once more, as if to instruct her where it belonged and what was expected of her.

Thelise exhaled in shallow ecstasy as he rocked against her comparatively frail body. He supported himself with one hand and took the other to the back of her waist, pulling her into him with every push of his own. His pants soaked up any moisture that might have escaped her body, but her fragrance filled the air—faintly, but enough to fuel his deviance. Victor looked up to her face, taking in the blush of her cheeks, the parting of her lips, and the distant fear in her eyes. His pace slowed to show his respect for their agreement, but he refused to stop and console her. Having never experienced the pleasure of a high elven woman, he would never forgive himself for letting a glimmer of doubt ruin this moment.

He kissed her again, fiercely and selfishly, tugging gently at her lip as his hands shifted over to her breasts. The movement was subtle, and he did not take hold just yet—they kissed and kissed, their tongues met and melted together in a dance within her mouth—then his. He took her advance as a cue that she was ready for more, and squeezed softly at her chest. Her bust was notably smaller than the last woman he had touched, but also firmer, perkier, and in a sense, sexier. There was innocence about them, and Victor was desperate to defile it.

His hands explored her as thoroughly as her gown would permit, but even the mooncloth could not keep him from discovering her erect nipples. They acted as a fuse to an explosive within him, and Thelise's words would ignite it.

"Take them... Please!"

His mind became little more than a blank slate amidst the wilderness, and instinct mingled and danced with his dark intention. Actions were all that mattered now; there was no room for feeling, no room for remorse or thought, only sexual gratification, only release. He reached up to the delicate embroideries and ripped the gown clean from her chest, revealing the woman's bare flesh. The sight of her petite boobs bouncing free from his forceful gesture was nothing short of invigorating to the man— her rosy pink areolas stood at attention. She gasped in terrible awe, but would soon forget the loss of her garments; Victor's mouth latched to her nipple like it had always belonged there.

Squirming with delight, Thelise attempted to resist but his hands had found themselves at her forearms. He sucked softly at her breast, drawing little circles with his tongue and again with his lip. She struggled as if it was all too fast for her, but she voiced no objection to his wiles. She would have to keep up, because Victor would not be stopped. He switched to the next, noting her quick arousal and a moan of pleasure—they seemed much more sensitive than others from before, and it aroused him, too. He looked up at her and she let a smile slip as his tongue refused to leave her flesh. She was catching up to his pace, but the question of how long yet remained.

Victor's tongue tired and he bore his teeth, tugging gently at her nipple as his hands, previously concealed beneath him, tore away more of her gown. The slate of his mind was beginning to return to purpose, and strayed from natural impulse to become etched with his dark desire. All of it had to come off. He wanted her naked, vulnerable, ripe for the taking. A few final threads resisted him, but he relieved her breasts to attack them with his teeth. Success. Thelise lay before him in purity and nakedness, his saliva glistening upon her chest as precursor to his wine-addled plans.

He hurried to unfasten his pants, but Thelise rose to stop him, shamefully concealing her nudity.

Though words hadn't escaped him for some time now, she hushed him for his frantic breathing. It seemed he could not act fast enough for his fantasies to come to fruition.

"Shh... Shh... slow down... slow down."

It was a desperate plea on Thelise's part, but her voice was as steady as the forest and as calming as the wind through its leaves. She touched a hand into his chest and allowed her body to become half-exposed from beneath her tattered nightgown, and from the vague look of understanding in Victor's eyes, it seemed she had regained a semblance of control over his actions—and none too soon. The beast inside him had come to a halt, as if mesmerized by a dazzling display in the sky, and yet the darkness within continued to creep. She had only seconds to get to the point, or he would get to his. Thelise reached down into his pants, which, if it had been any more possible, excited him and satisfied his dark hunger all the more. Alas, she merely grasped his shirt and pulled it out from within, helping it up over his stomach and chest, revealing the small patch of hair at its center and yet another trail leading down into his nether region. The elf shook away the remains of her clothing, looking very different in the buff and with her hair down. The devil in Victor's head wanted nothing more than to grab onto her white locks as he bent her over. There was no return from where they had trespassed, and as her nimble fingers worked at the buttons to his pants, he knew that she, too, saw the futility in denial. Thelise could only pray to assuage his lust and wrath—she WILL pray, he decided.