A Draenei Defiled Pt. 02

Authors note: this story takes place after the defeat of the Lich King, and still takes place in the World of Warcraft universe, on the alliance side.

*****

Weeks went by quietly in Goldshire. Merchants traveled through with their wares. Our blacksmith clanged hot iron into tools and weapons. Farmers threshed their fields and sent their wheat and barley to the great cities. New members of the guard replaced the old, some frustratingly immune to bribes. Gathering my silks from Silvermoon proved harder, and I sent messages to Booty Bay inquiring about possible shipments of enchanted cloth and other trinkets too hard to find on this side of the world. My wounds healed without a scar, militia men whose injuries had become septic came to me, and I cured them as discreetly as I could.

But I was drained. I was tired, and languid. An orc Shaman, her name was Daedra, called the feeling 'the barren tree', for she said that expending so much mana through combat left you like a solitary fruit tree, begging to be watered, so it might bear fruit again. The shamans depended on their people to replenish themselves, and so I too had studied their rituals.

That nervous archer? I learned he was called Rhombur. His grandfather had been a knight of the second war who raised the son and grandson alike on tales of fighting. After the battle, Rhombur grew curious of me, wondering where I learned to fight. I offered him a deal: hit three bull's eyes out of twenty arrows and he could not only join me in a performance, but I would share with him exactly one story.

I did not think a young man with work on a farm would have much chance to dedicate to archery, but he persisted. He fulfilled his goal, and Lyria herself confirmed it.

So there, I danced before his fascinated, soft brown eyes, stripping myself of my silks while the men and women of Goldshire cheered on. Lyria had completely forgone her own breeches then and rubbed herself. Half the audience enjoyed watching her. Not letting her steal my performance, I dragged Rhombur up on stage. He hoisted me up in the air, my legs wrapped around his hips. He possessed near as much strength as the Orcs of Warsong hold. He turned me around outwards. I relished in my nakedness, baring my chest and arms for the masturbating crowd.

When Rhombur bent me over a barrel, my legs spread on instinct. He went down, running his tongue around my pussy. As he imbibed, so I became drunk with enjoyment. Rhombur removed his clothes. I found his tanned skin beautiful and stretched with muscle. He aimed his cock and collected his reward for his marksmanship. This young man had only recently seen real conflict. He fucked me with the passion as only one with something to prove does. Yes, I enjoyed allowing him to enter in my show, and yes, I knew I would fulfill my promise to him.

I took my young lover upstairs with me. There, I started a fire within my hearth and bid him to lie with me on the rugs before it. Curled next to me, with his hands rubbing my body, he asked for a story. I began like this: I supported regular soldiers in the Howling Fjord. It is a cold, empty tundra south of nearly impassable mountains. We had been assigned to assess the threat of these half-giants known as Vykrul. Rhombur hardly believed such beings existed. We escorted a cleric, whose purpose had been to establish diplomatic ties. Vykrul though are wrathful and brutish. They hurled stones upon us. Were it not for the cleric's quick shielding, he surely would've been crushed. I guided soldiers to safety, but we found ourselves pinned between an over snowed path to our east and half-giants to our west.

While our compatriots kept the Vykrul distracted with spawned elementals of fire, I guided four up a mountain side.

Then, my soldiers and I flanked the Vykrul. We slayed those who did not surrender and captured two. The alliance held them as prisoners for two weeks. Only then did the half-giants decide it was time to talk.

"Wouldn't it have been better to fight your way through?" said Rhombur.

"Ah no," I said. "Our mission was against the Lich King. The half-giants? They might have been allies in better times."

"So what did you agree to?"

"We kept their warriors hostage," I said. "Until the Vykrul agreed to allow us passage."

"That's a small victory," said Rhombur. His meaty arms squeezed my chest.

"It is," I said. "And that is my story."

"Can I ask another question?" he said.

"You may," I said.

"Why do you not enlist again with Stormwind?" he said. "Why do you stay here? Is it only for joy of dancing? You could save lives."

Rhombur had never left Elwynn forest, had barely shed blood and had a thirst for the world beyond his village. I turned my face away from him.

"Yasmeen, I'm sorry I didn't mean..."

"It is fine," I said. "Listen, for this is truth: when I returned to the alliance, they accused me of treachery and attempting to sabotage their rations. When I had made tremendous sacrifice to warn them of the true saboteur. I had a cure with me."

Remembering how I must have appeared to the Alliance when I returned from the Horde side, I shuddered. I arrived on a ship called the Hammerhead, known well to work for Horde and Alliance alike. My armor had been a collection of Exodar crystals patched with Orcish metal. Taurens had stitched my warm furs. I carried a precious, and malignant, journal from an undead alchemist. The crate of unmarked bottles no doubt invited suspicion.

"They would not listen and threw me into the brig. It wasn't until a commander's own son grew ill that they used the antidote I brought with me."

"Returned?"

By the prophets, I spoke too much. I nodded, with my lips tight.

"By the light, Yasmeen," he continued. "They treated you horribly. Did they bring you home in chains, like an animal?"

I shook my head.

"They released me. I could have taken a boat back to Stormwind. Instead though, I discovered a merchant vessel with a handsome captain. The seas are lonesome, and I cared not where I would go."

I looked back to Rhombur. His face displayed awe of me. He considered my action brave. I judged it one of despair.

"Rhombur, you wish to join the Stormwind guard? To fight for the Alliance?" I said. "Do you wish to see the Vykruls, or the beasts of the barrens, or even the great mushroom forests in Outland?"

"Yes."

"Then do not let my sad stories deter you," I said. "Be brave and seek your adventures."

I smiled. My young lover's tongue thrust onto mine. He pressed so hard, and so deep. Amazing, it is, that such a small muscle can do so much. Slipping into a distracted bliss, I had to push him away lest I forget what else must be done. I retrieved a set of candles, four of them, each marked with runes from the shamans.

"Rhombur, help me light them," I said. "Then please, do not be disturbed with what I speak next."

"What are we doing?" he said. His eager arousal pleased me. To tease hadn't been the idea, but it was fun.

"It is a simple ritual," I said. We lit the candles then I placed them on the ground. Whispering my accented orcish over them, I waved my hands. The magic ebbed in the air, and my recitation completed. In a glow, a small totem appeared in the center. It looked like a wooded stump, with its top carved into a bowl, filled with water as blue as the moon wells.

"By the light!" he said. Shamanic magic is nearly unknown in the Alliance lands, most certainly of all in villages like Goldshire.

"It is known as a mana tide totem," I said. I dipped my hand into its pool and sprinkled some on my skin, and then onto Rhombur. "I need to energize, but first we must energize it."

After leading Rhombur into my bed, I fell to my back, and he rolled on top of me. Oh yes, he kissed me deep again, and pressed my hands above my head. Pinned there, I kicked my legs into the air. His cock rubbed up and down the slit of my pussy. His breath became heavier and deeper. He pushed into me, and we moaned together.

"Fuck me," I said.

Rhombur slammed his hips into me in explosive successions. His passion had a primal nature to it, and soon the tide totem bubbled. Next, I begged him for a new position, and Rhombur turned me over to my belly, penetrating me once again. The tide's water flowed out to a single ethereal stream of mana, and it flowed into me. So invigorated, I could not hold back my orgasm. I came hard as Rhombur's muscular arms leaned over me. He pulled out, panting, and I lay there to recover.

Rhomubr gazed at the small streams of mana. It flowed like a river towards me.

"It's beautiful," he said.

"Isn't it?" I said. I rolled him to his back and took position above him. When my arms raised, the rivers flowed faster to me. He enjoyed the view, and I enjoyed the ride.

* * *

While I bid Rhombur not to share my tale, it was perhaps silly of me to expect silence in such a small village. The talk of "Vykruls" spread through Goldshire. Innkeeper Farley asked if such a thing was true. I sighed and shared it was.

"A good thing such beasts are so far north," said Farley. "my inn could not withstand such monsters."

"Goldshire is quiet," I agreed. It was why I was here. "Let us not take it for granted."

"Not in the least," agreed Farley.

He was right. We had no further trouble with Gnolls, yet Lyria's militia trained hard. Rhombur's dedication to his bow did not lapse either. Searching out new equipment, or inquiring about service to the Stormwind guard, some from our village traveled to Stormwind.

Then one day, someone came down after them. My long-lost friend captain Soyora trespassed into the Goldshire inn. No shame of my nudity do I have with her. Far too long had I known this independent sea captain and her crew. She held her dark brown hair back with a red ribbon. Her brown hands showed the callouses of years on the ocean. Winking, she took a sly sip of her ale. Damn her and those large eyes. What was she doing here?

"Soyora?" I said serving her meal.

"Oi there, Yasmeen," she said. "Been a few seasons, hasn't it?"

"Many," I said.

Maybe it hadn't been long enough. I bore Soyora no malice, well perhaps a little. Her ship, the Hammerhead, and its crew refused me passage back at the end of the Lich King's war. Yes, the ship had transported Alliance soldiers and Horde warriors for months, but it was one Draenei Paladin that ignited the superstitions of sailors. Still, my brash zealotry had earned me such a reputation.

I learned of Soyora's time since the war. Soyora and her crew had taken in a few veterans of both the Horde side and the Alliance side. Now, the Hammerhead had been retrofitted for combat as much as transport. They worked mercenary contracts in port towns, and escorted explorers in lands as harsh as the great Un'Goro crater.

"Never come this far inland usually," added Soyora. "Not unless I am looking for something or someone, quite specific."

I sighed.

"How did you find me, Soyora?"

"Sailors tell stories. We listen too," she said. "Heard this rumor of a gorgeous dancing Draenei in a tiny village. Then I heard reports of a skirmish in which a tavern maid healed half the wounded. Next, some other parochial comes up and insists that Vykruls are real."

Swigging down her drink, she patted my hand

"Only one person that could be, Yasmeen," she said. "Still, I had to see for myself."

"You got me, capitan," I said. "Now what did you come down here for?"

Soyora looked around for any prying ears.

"It's Buntaro, lass," she said.

My heart palpitated. I took in a sharp breath. Anxious, and with a sudden focus, I looked to Soyora for any reassurance.

"After you left, we sailed the Hammerhead back to the horde side of Northrend," she said. "Dumb thing. Dangerous thing. But Buntaro? We caught up with him in that village outside the hold. He wasn't exactly banished, you see, but there wasn't exactly any going back either."

The deeds of a warrior's Kolapi reflect on the warrior. Hanging my head, I recalled the chaos I caused.

"It was all quite political. Orcs didn't appreciate what the Forsaken did, but undead didn't like the murder," she said. "I mean, as far as it is possible to murder what's dead."

"What happened to him?" I blurted.

"Come on outside?" said Soyora. Following her, I arrived at the animal stables. There, she opened a wolf pen and out came Tsali, fur of thick gray and black. The sad wolf looked to me, sniffed, and then his tail wagged and he licked my hand. I knelt down, petting the beautiful strong worg. He sniffed my face with affection.

"Buntaro worked with us," she said. "The crew loves him. Some Alliance bounty hunter pinched him in Stranglethorn not more than six weeks ago."

I froze stiff.

"Who?"

"Who what?"

"Who was it that captured my Kolapi?" I demanded.

"A Gilnean ranger. He's called Jondreas, why?"

I shared with Soyora the long story of Jondreas's visit through Goldshire, about his prisoner cage, and how he carried himself during the battle several weeks back. We both realized, right down to the timing, that Buntaro had been the unknown captive within Jondreas's cart. My long lost Kolapi had been so close to me, only to see him carted off. Clenching my fist, I declared that I would have killed Jondreas myself, had I only known.

"Don't be hard on yourself," said Soyora. "You couldn't have known. And this Jondreas fellow? He's sharp with the poisons and such. Likely had Buntaro sedated half that trip."

"Where is he now?"

"In the Stockades. He's waiting a trial for something he maybe did for a client out in possibly Theremore."

"Your ship?" I asked.

"Stormwind doesn't know the Hammerhead," she said. "She's docked in the Harbor. We're not leaving until we get him back."

* * *

After the defeat of the Lich King, my days in Northrend were numbered. Warsong Hold, the home not of the human alliance, but the orcish horde, had been my home. Great stone walls kept the great hall of the Orc's safe. There, I reveled in my dented, stained, and dirty armor among Orcs, Trolls, and Hulking Tauren. The drums banged a mystical rhythm. The bony horns blared anthems. Bonfires within kept the large open hall warm. Skulls of our undead enemies and even a great dracolich hung as trophies to all we had accomplished. Orcs sang and beat their chest in a language I understood better. These people, so long had their people known conflict, diaspora, and violence that they held one great thing before and after legendary battles: A frenzied celebration of life.

One warrior took his partner, that Shaman Daedra, at her waist and held her high in the air. Chugging down a flagon, and discarding the dragon scale chest plate and the shirt beneath it, she was admired by all. Bare breasted, she showed herself to the hollers of the horde. Her mate took her down as if to wrestle against her. Wrestle they did, and this great warrior tore the remaining armor off his mate and then undid his own. He turned Daedra over to her knees, and penetrated her. Thrusting and bringing her to a guttural howling, he raised his great arms out wide.

Who would join next? My Buntaro cradled me. He was a orc, like many of them here. His skin a clear green against my Draenei pale blue. The metal of my breast plate, cold and heavy, offered me no protection from the lust I felt, and the lust I had shared so many times. I allowed my Buntaro to release the buckles and latches of that metal shell, and his rough hot hands caressed my torso. Lifting my face to him, I shared a vivacious and deep kiss. For months, I had been vulnerable among my horde hosts, and in those months Buntaro had been my guide, my comrade, and my lover.

We were alive. Others were not. So, we celebrated in hedonism as chaotic and strenuous as battle itself.

But even as our victory had been assured, another conflict had arisen. Many nights later, I stood over the ragged corpse of the treacherous, undead, apothecary Arthur Henslowe. My hammer still had the filth of his blackened blood upon it. Tears of wrath ran down my cheeks. Soyora, having seen it shook her head stunned at what I done.

"This will be the end of both of us here, Yasmeen," she had said.

"I do not care," I answered.

Moments later, the undead nurse Applewood came in followed by Buntaro and his wolf Tsali. The wolf sniffed the corpse and Buntaro, looked at me with sadness. We grieved together, not for what I had done, but that he could no longer protect me here. We knew I would be sent away. He held me close, weeping. We both knew that someday I would return to the Alliance. Nurse Applewood dug into Arthur Henslowe's desk. She brought out his book of notes, and then a crate of vials of blue liquid.

"Always. There is an antidote," she coughed through her dry lungs.

"Thank you," I said. Part of me had cringed at her, still, despite all that she had done for me. Still, she was kind. She was good, no matter what her masters had demanded of her or how undeath had cursed her. "I will not forget you."

"Nor I you," she said.

"We must go, my Kolapi," said Buntaro. Kolapi. It meant both 'primary lover' and 'peer in battle.' So many words that the Alliance could not understand. "I must see you safe one last time."

Soyora gathered her crew that evening. I had little left I cared for. We made for the Hammerhead under the cover of night. With the antidotes and book we boarded. Her tired crew hoisted the sails and drifted across the still icy sea, heading east, towards the Alliance on the other side of Northrend. I looked back. Buntaro watched me until our boat disappeared over the horizon.

* * *

Captain Soyora and I knew there would be only one way to get Buntaro back. We had to sneak him out of the stockades, which meant someone would have to sneak in first. We walked together into the city of Stormwind, stepping on its white granite stone streets and cross over its many canal bridges. Buildings crowded together here, sometimes reaching three or four narrow stories high. Gnomes and Dwarves were as comfortable here as they were in their own homes. The night elves, that distant race of tall elves from Kalimdor, also disembarked their ships in the city docks. These days? Even my kin, the Draenei had found places to call their home here. It is refreshing, I admit, to hear your own language among patrons of taverns and even the bustle of the merchant quarter.

As an obvious choice, I signed up for the Stormwind guard. My first day began with an assessment of my skills. Armored up with wooden practice equipment, I challenged other recruits and even several veterans. My reputation, damn that reputation, preceded me. Several recruits underestimated the dancing harlot of Goldshire, and they paid the price in bruises and embarrassment.

But I did not demonstrate for myself, or for even a rank in the Stormwind guard. My Kolapi languished in a cell inside the stockades, and I remembered that every time I stepped into the circle to spar.

Things got complicated when Giles entered the ring. With skills matched, our fight lasted longer than most. I yielded to him, if only to get his attention after our bout. The officers of the guard advised me they would give me the assignment soon. Giles invited me to the Pig and Whistle in one of Stormwind's older districts. There, Soyora joined us and we drank and ate.

"They stationed me in the stockades, at my request," said Giles. "Though now? They moved me out to night patrols."

"Stockades must've been crazy?" I said.

"Tame my first few weeks," he said. "The trick was keeping prisoners separate. Humans didn't trust Orcs. Orcs didn't trust each other. We had some of, oh what did they call themselves, 'true horde' in there."

"The Black Rock clan," I said.

"Yes them. They're the worst," he said.

Black Rocks. I'd never encountered them, but only knew what they were. Buntaro shared stories of dragon worshiping fanatics, holed up in some mountain, who hated his people and the feelings were mutual. What could such beasts be like once caged?