The Feud Ch. 02

Author's notes: This chapter is considerably longer than the last story, and features more than one scene. Don't be afraid to take a break and come back, even mid-scene, because the last one gets a little... wild. You also needn't be shy about giving me your honest commentary! I'm not certain this is my best work, and it can get a tad confusing, but I wouldn't submit it if I didn't think you'd all enjoy it. :)

Thoughts should be in quotations and italicized, but if you see strings of italicized words and it sounds like the narrator is talking, that's the main character's mind; I just forgot to quotation-mark it.

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Anadia Springfire had at last found a place of perfect harmony. At the breast of Eversong Woods, she had planted herself upon a small hump of grass-laden earth that sat immobile atop the forked river. The water was almost shallow enough for her to have walked through, but she didn't mind the swim, nor did she mind the cool breeze against her skin as the sun rose steadily over the treetops. The blood elf's eyes remained closed as she took in all the sounds of nature; the singing birds and the stirring frogs, the creaking boughs overhead, and the fanning leaves, the trickling waters and the blades of grass rippling against the wind. Every sound reached her long ears at once and was absorbed into her mind without penetrating its solitude. She felt as if she had become one with everything and nothing.

Meditation was a necessity if she wanted to overcome her magical addiction—even temporarily. The past few years had been nothing short of tumultuous for her people; from the evisceration of their capital, Silvermoon, to the destruction of the Sunwell, their all-too-relied-upon source of magic. In their desperation and longing, they turned to demonic sources to satisfy their thirst, and as sweet and succulent as the fel energy was, the blood elves succumbed to the corruption that naturally followed. Their eyes were tinted to a bright, emerald green, and while that would be an attractive transformation in any other circumstance, among the Horde it marred them as weak and impure. The Sin'dorei were treated with disgust for this at their introduction, but worked their way up to grudging approval among some of their allies. Fortunately for Anadia, Errog Balevein was one among them.

The fragile tranquility in her mind cracked under each heavy footstep, and gave way to the clinking and clanking of the orc's plate armor. Sighing in frustration, she lifted her chin and let her dark red hair fall back from her shoulders unto her back. With a slow tilt of her head, she peered over at the sallow-faced Errog; his skin dark and gritty with what many would assume to be soot if it weren't for his eyes, which glowed a deathly-pale blue. Anadia knew the pigment in his skin was merely an after-effect of his resurrection under the Lich King's control several years ago, and despite his liberation, he found it as difficult to return to his own kin as it was for them to accept him. She knew it troubled the orc, and pitied him privately.

Still, she found it increasingly difficult to mask her agitation. Meditation proved more difficult by the day, and though Anadia sought to deprive herself of even a taste of magic, she secretly longed for the moment of her relapse, no matter how calamitous it might be. Her lips pursed and her teeth clenched as she fought her urges; to feed her addiction and to lash out at her friend—in one order or another. The addiction of the blood elves was known to all, and while she knew well that she could not overcome it, she sought insight into the mind of her opponent—and alongside that, potential weakness. The only way the Sin'dorei, and the Horde, would take control of Dalaran was to extricate the Silver Covenant, and the best way to do that was to convert them. Unfortunately this monumental and delicate plan rested upon the shoulders of a young hunter and her orcish accomplice.

Though the blood elf was well into her 70s, she appeared as young as any other, and was, in fact, significantly younger than most of her kind. In spite of this, she had been awarded numerous commendations and stood among some of the more accomplished of her kind. While the Horde rarely yielded control to elves (let alone women), Anadia easily took on a commanding presence in the heat of battle. Her sharp, untiring eyes detected both the movements of her enemies as well as those of her comrades, and she had saved many lives on the field. Her quick thinking and quicker reactions earned her some respect among her peers, but Errog knew her stories only through second-hand accounts.

"I prefer the arena," he once told her, "On a battlefield, the satisfaction of taking a life is quickly lost with the next, and the next, and the next. In a pit, there is but you, your partner, and a pair of victims. The kill can be savored. It can be relished."

While Anadia had a fondness of battle, Errog held a passion for murder, and while the two ideas were seldom separate, she could not help but find herself perturbed at the delight he took in killing. She frequently forced the thought from her head, attempting to concern herself only with her continued survival; which the death knight's presence had always assured her. Errog bore no animosity toward her that she could detect; only ambivalence and stern words of wisdom, like an older brother she never had. Even with their precarious friendship, Anadia could not trust another man alive—or dead—with the task that she had been set upon.

Errog finally reached the water; clad in thick black plates that gave off an icy blue gleam in the light, he hauled a pair of massive chains on his shoulders that rustled across the grass. Anadia wondered how she had not detected them from further away—"could it be an effect of my withdrawal? ... No." She had come too far now, and success was just close enough to taste. With the match closing in upon her, discarding more than a week of meditation and fasting was not an option.

"I wasn't paying attention," she thought, "I was meditating. That's all."

Anadia allowed her eyes to fall to the waters, gazing into her reflection. She was rather fond of her appearance, and though vanity among elves was not unique to her, Anadia was more than comfortable with her full, vibrant red mane, her long, thin nose, which pointed down to her diamond-shaped lips, which seemed naturally flushed with color. I am perfect, she often thought to herself, but not today. Those same features seemed as nothing but a landscape surrounding twin calderas of boiling corruption; the fel green glow that emanated from her eyes told her and others of the desperation and weakness of her people... On brighter days, she held it as a sign of strength.

The blood elves sought to survive, and did what was necessary to—without moral qualm or superstitious hokum, they drew from demonic essence, and did not succumb to the unquenchable rage and madness that the orcs once did, or the mutations of the draenei, but rather maintained their beauty and stability. Unfortunately, it was that same act of necessity that had resulted in the quandary she faced now. The Quel'dorei snootily held that sacrifice over their heads, setting a resonant example of "purity" in contrast to their path of corruption. Their very existence was a mockery, but without the Silver Covenant, the high elves would become a figment of history, leaving no contrast to behold—only one people, under one banner, measured by an equal standard. The future of Anadia's kind rested upon her shoulders, and the odds were not yet in her favor.

Errog approached closer, even going so far as to set his foot upon the edge of the water to send small ripples across the surface; as if he intended to break her trance. The effect did not make it far beyond its natural flow, but the splash made his intention clear. He was not to be ignored.

Anadia jerked her head at Errog in silent gesture, and he yanked at the chain in turn. A rustling came from over the knoll, and the slack in the iron links increased slowly. Two high elf men stepped into view, their features almost indistinguishable from their Sin'dorei cousins aside from their clear blue eyes. Great metallic clasps hung from their necks, and their shirts had been stripped away to reveal bruised and scraped torsos. Their wrists were bound behind their back, and while they were allowed to keep their pants, they were slashed and ripped in different areas, speaking of the fight they put up prior to capture. Based on the integrity of the orc's armor, it wasn't much of one. She looked at them askance, sighed, and rose to take a closer look.

Ascending to the balls of her feet, Anadia lifted her hands to sweep her hair off her shoulders and away from her full, bare breasts. Although entirely nude, her body betrayed no hint of embarrassment or arousal—the hunger and hate inside all-but-consumed her, and burned bright from her weary eyes. Though she used to get excited, even joyous at the sight of Errog's catches, they had proven so fruitless that she could hardly eke out a smile now. Anadia turned to them and dipped her toes into the river, descending into it one step at a time without thought or hesitation. Her facial expression divulged no evidence of the cold as her eyes began to bore into the men like a predator upon crippled prey. The waters reached their height at her petite hips, and as Anadia elevated from the river, one of them winced and looked away, as if certain death was imminent.

She suppressed a small laugh, knowing it to be true.

At last she set her feet upon the opposite shore, dirt clinging between her painted toes. Errog turned and stood beside her, his folded arms mirroring her nonchalance. Anadia knew that her body had no effect on the death knight; whether necrosis had reached his loins or the Lich King had ordered him castrated, she did not know, but between life and death, any interest in sex, women, and romance had somehow been lost in the translation. She approached the first high elf, who seemed to be much more afraid than the other, and kept his head to the side and his eyes shut. Anadia placed a hand on his chest and trailed her fingers down against his skin. Despite his cowardly display, she stopped to admire his form; though there wasn't very much to enjoy.

He—like his comrade—was built like a teenage boy, and at first glance, he looked to be one. Though his blonde hair was full and well-kept, there wasn't a lock of hair upon his chest, and while that was typical of their kind, his shoulders lacked the broadness of a warrior, and his limbs lacked the tone of even a rogue. If he were anything more, it was likely he would have devised a magical means of escaping—"Or are you so frightened, little one?" She attempted to peer beyond his scraped face and into his eyes, his features softening as a uneasy calm set in. Her hand had crossed his flat stomach and crossed over his hip, toying along his belt line. His trembling ceased.

"I have little time for games," she said in a near-whisper. Anadia spoke to them in their common Thalassian tongue, and wanted the other to hear her as well, but couldn't risk passing eavesdroppers becoming hidden onlookers. Errog did not seem to mind or care about the language barrier. "You high elves possess a certain gift—or knowledge, if you will."

She paced over to the other high elf, a dark-haired lad who had his eyes glued to her body, but appeared even younger and more foolhardy than his friend. His injuries were worse, but clearly not everything was broken. Anadia eyed his crotch, which seemed to stir before her very eyes. "I needn't tease or touch this one, but if the other fails to crack..."

"What do you want from us?" the frightened elf hissed. "How rude," she thought as her assessment of her other prisoner was interrupted.

"The Quel'dorei people—your people—bear a secret; a secret that my people, admittedly, never cared to learn, but are now denied." Anadia's hand drifted away from the belt loops of his tattered pants, glided up over his abdomen, and settled upon the shackle around his neck. She attempted to lock eyes with the dark-haired elf, though it took several moments before he could meet her gaze with his own. She extended her hand and beckoned him over, and he was all too eager to oblige—though he did so with a limp.

"We know no secrets, harlot. We're only scouts—and—and they'll be looking for us! We'll be missed, and the forces stationed at Quel'lithien will—"

Errog burst out laughing. "Those dandies!?" He snorted and spat, "Who do you think lead me to you?" The high elf looked confused and angry as the orc babbled brashly. "I severed my share of heads—not easy taking prisoners when they keep tickling you with knives and dull arrows." Errog coughed out a ragged laugh. "I must accredit your people, you flee like fawns—fight like 'em too!"

Even the more aroused elf was beginning to lose his interest in Anadia, and Errog's heckling made her irate. She needed something from these men, and it didn't suit her to pander to mice. She cleared her throat loudly. Errog's jeering laughter was squelched.

"Got one to tell me about you two before she bled out," he concluded quietly.

Anadia's relationship with the death knight was one of equal respect and stature, but a recent wager about the speed of their mounts had placed the orc in her debt. Errog was a poor gambler, but one who took dues seriously—all dues—and Anadia knew never to join those foolish and unfortunate enough to be indebted to him. The young woman had allowed to him to settle the score by capturing high elves, and provided some bloodshed was allowed, Errog enthusiastically complied.

"You do know secrets, child," she said, though neither of them was of discernible age. She placed a hand on the other elf, cooling his cheek with her caress, "And you will share them with me."

Anadia's hands dropped and cupped each man at the groin. She could feel the arousal in one but the other would not have it... or was hung like a squirrel. Instinctively, she coaxed them in a slow, circular motion feeling her own body grow warmer, if only slightly. The sun cut through the treetops and gleamed in her eyes, but she kept her gaze upon her prisoners. "You have so much to gain..."

Positioning their members between her thumbs and forefingers, her massage became a firm, intentional stroke. One man merely clenched his teeth and faced away, but the other had begun breathing more shallowly, allowing his eyes to wander onto her body and the back and forth motion of her wrists.

"What do you want from us?" he exhaled, already at his physical peak.

"To the point... I like that..." Anadia grasped the top of their pants and pulled them open, reaching inside to grab a full hold of their pricks. The difference was night and day; one as hard as rock but with flesh like flower petals, helmed with a dew-laden tip... and the other limp, somewhat sweaty, but seemingly devoid of life. She maintained her efforts. "I want the two of you... to teach me the secrets of the Quel'dorei." One groaned, and the other grunted as she groped them. "Teach me your meditations... Show me."

"They're not ours to teach!"

"Nonsense!" she squeezed the smaller elf in her hands, testicles and all. If he would not respond to pleasure, he would respond to pain—he groaned as well, now, but in agony. Anadia was not entirely sure his friend noticed or cared. "The urge to feed is impossible to resist without proper meditation. The Sunwell may be restored, but you would not have survived the long years without it unless you had special knowledge." She turned to face her willing participant, bringing her lips close to his and licking them, "I need it," she said.

He opened his mouth, piquing her hope that he would say something worth listening to, but he only emitted soft yelps at the increased velocity of her hands. Slinging thousands upon thousands of arrows over the years had not only granted Anadia stamina, but agility as well. She began to focus on the man, keeping her fingers wrapped tightly on the balls of the other, but leaning up to kiss at his friend's neck and lick the lobe of his pointed ear.

"Tell me, please..." she said in a pathetic begging tone that was anything but serious, but still highly suggestive.

"Don't Zerik!" the other shouted over his sighs of satisfaction. Anadia squeezed his balls again, and twisted. He cried out low and in pain, dropping to his knees. Errog stepped forward, kneeing the fallen elf beneath the jaw, knocking him back onto the ground. With another step, the death knight pulled the man to his feet at the neck-shackle and drew his sword, holding it to his throat. The edge was close and sharp enough to shave the peachfuzz from his chin. His friend, Zerik, noticed this time, but Anadia would not have him too distracted.

"Tell me... Help me, and no more blood need be shed. Your friend will be released," she said, nodding slowly at Errog. Though she spoke in a language he could not understand, her soft tone and pointed facial expression told him all he needed to know. She watched as he relaxed his blade some and Zerik began to relax as well.

His friend spat blood and tooth onto the ground; "Zerik, dunt!"

"Unnh—ah..." Anadia heard and felt on her ear. Her hand grew warm and sticky-wet.

"So soon?"

She dropped the softening Zerik like a soiled rag, but withdrew her hand from his body with some intrigue. His sappy sperm dripped down into her palm, drawing lines between each finger. He continued to breathe in exasperation, but Anadia took a long, careful look into his deep, aquatic blue eyes before pushing her cum-drenched fingers into her mouth, two fingers and one digit at a time. She let her tongue slide up and down and in-between them, as if she needed to further seduce the high elf, and ended by wiping the rapidly chilling remains upon her breast.

"Pure..." she said, "Not a trace of magic in his veins." Anadia removed her eyes from him and turned to Errog. He grinned, his long, jagged orc teeth pressing tightly against his upper lip.

"I forged the shackles myself from a saronite compound. Its highly resistant to magic—you might even call it... insulation."

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head, failing to understand, but then returned to question Zerik. "When was the last time you've fed, child?"

He sighed, but in spite of the compromising situation, he answered Anadia's question as if she were a friend. "Not for days, not since this... orc captured us."

"Interesting..."

She turned toward Errog and gave a slight nod at the blonde captive, but the orc was not altogether content with her merciful gesture. "Release him?" he snorted. "Why?" he questioned in his native tongue, "So he can warn the others, so he can call for reinforcements? And what will become of me the next time you require elfish secrets?" he said, hocking something thick and green into the river.

Anadia kept her temper in check, albeit barely. His defiance in the face of her enemies was intolerable. She stepped toward him fiercely and stabbed his chest with her forefinger.

"If there will be anyone to blame for preparedness or reinforcements from the Alliance, it will be you. You left survivors, you allowed stragglers to run free and regroup!" Though she spoke in another language, her dominance had to be made clear in the situation, or else no amount of sexual gratification would cause Zerik to divulge the guarded secrets of her people. Anadia was to be loved and feared. "But let us forego the bickering, Errog. I have plans for both of these vermin.