Blood Elves for the Blood God

A request featuring a Zandalari and a blood elf from WoW.

Zar'gul kicked at a corpse and spat upon the ground. "These Amani are pathetic."

From behind him, his master chuckled the unnerving laughter of a hyena. "Their gods be weak--or maybe I just trained ya too well, eh?"

Sheathing his sword, Zar'gul turned to regard the old troll. Grey-skinned, long-nosed and slightly slouched from old age, he nevertheless cut an imposing figure. Ga'muh was the closest thing he had to a father. The man was certainly old enough, and he'd raised him since he was a boy. Never with love, though. Always with purpose. Always with the goal of turning him into a faithful disciple of the great blood god, Hakkar the Soulflayer. He'd gone above and beyond Ga'muh's expectations however, becoming not only a mere disciple, but the leader of the entire Cult of Blood within Zandalar. With that role came duty, respect, and a lot of bloodshed.

"Ya right about both," he replied, stepping away and making his way out of the temple. Humid air, sunshine, and a crowd of onlookers greeted him outside--many frightened, all curious. The air smelled of fresh blood and the rich, smoky incense that had been used in whatever rituals this weak assembly of sycophants had been involved in. No more than failed offerings for a failed god. Above, the midday sun tingled upon his obsidian skin, black as a moonless night albeit for a number of scars and two golden tattoos: one dedicated to Hakkar across the left side of his chest, and the other to Zandalar, etched upon his right hand.

He surveyed the cautious crowd of Amani. "I think they're convinced."

Ga'muh came up beside him, an almost joyful twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips that revealed rows of chipped yellow teeth. "Might makes right no matta where ya go. Like I always tell ya, charisma and power are all ya need to be swaying people's hearts."

He grunted. "You taught me well for being such an ugly old hobbit."

"I wasn't always old, boy, and I'm only decrepit when I need ya to tend to the horses. Besides, when ya be ugly like me ya got to learn how to impress people." Ga'muh gestured towards a group of women huddled together. "But ya be lucky. Ya got looks and charisma. These Amani whores will do whateva ya ask of 'em."

He looked the women over briefly and then spat upon the ground in disgust. Stepping forward, he raised his sword overhead, stirring the crowd to hushed excitement. Slicing at the air with his blade, a diagonal streak of blood splattered against the green grass.

"This blood, the blood of your priests and champions, is proof of the superiority of Hakkar. If you wish to walk the earth with purpose in your step and power in both your body and soul as I do, then follow me. If not--" He pointed to the corpse of a guard that had stood watch outside the temple. "--stay here and clean the filth from your temple."

The Amani looked at the blood, the sword, at him and each other. In a world where men acted as conduits of gods, receiving their blessings in unequal abundance, no one dared to disagree with him.

"What will ya do now?" a man asked.

Hoisting his sword so that it rested atop his shoulder, he looked back only briefly to address the man. Blood dripped from the wicked blade, soaking into the soil below. He grinned. "Preach."

They followed him then, and as the day progressed the crowd behind him grew of fresh converts. Where he went, blood flowed through the temples of Zul'aman.

Two days. Three days. Four days. However many days they stayed in Zul'aman it was too much for Zar'gul. The opponents were pathetic, the food wretched, the alcohol poor, the lodging little more than sticks and leather tied together, and the women...

Fine. Merely fine.

Two mismatched priestesses--one formerly belonging to the dragonhawk denomination and the other to the lynx--sat pressed up against him, stroking him, caressing him, feeding him, doing what they felt was an adequate job of servicing him. He did not agree.

Pushing them aside, he stood up and crossed over into the next room where Ga'muh sat against a pillow and sipped a bubbling alcoholic beverage that looked like slime and likely tasted no better. Swaying in front of him in the middle of the room and performing some sort of ritual that could potentially--if drunk enough--be mistaken for a dance, was another priestess. This one had belonged to the Temple of the Bear, and had likely been either the high priestess or the most fanatical acolyte in the entire congregation given her close resemblance to the temple's namesake. Lest he fly into a rage and murder the woman, he avoided looking at her.

"I am tired of this place."

Ga'muh kept his eyes on the priestess as he spoke: "So leave den."

"Ya would pester me if I did."

The Amani woman shook and swiveled out of sight to him, but he could still hear the tinkling tintinnabulation of her bangles and bracelets. His eye twitched. The old troll continued to watch the woman, a burgeoning smile twisting his lips.

"Dat depends on where we be going next," Ga'muh said.

"Somewhere with better food and women than this backwoods abomination of a city."

"Sounds like ya be wantin' a vacation rather than a mission."

"It can be both. So long as there are people, I can spread the will of Hakkar."

Finally, his mentor looked away from the priestess. Scratching at his chin, he said, "I know of a place. Real nice... provided ya can keep ya sword sheathed."

"So long as it's the one on my back. The other I cannot guarantee."

Ga'muh shook his head. "I don't know where ya get dat hedonistic streak of yours, boy. Pack up, if we be leavin' now we'll get there in a day or two."

"Where?"

The old troll grinned. "I'll tell ya when we saddle up."

"I don't believe ya."

He'd heard promising stories about Silvermoon City and the Sin'dorei. Of their eternal youth, unmatched beauty, and deceptively pious exterior. But with Ga'muh singing their praise his suspicions grew. The old man would bed anything from an attractive Zandalari maiden, to an orc battlemaiden, to a bear with blue skin and rotten dancing skills. Because of this, he put little merit in Ga'muh's perspective on women, and he wasn't entirely convinced that the blood elves would welcome trolls into their lands either.

"Ya will when ya see them. Little elf sluts will suck the seed right outta ya balls." He threw his head back and wheezed a laugh. "Besides, they even got 'blood' in their name; it be our duty to bed them. For Hakkar."

The two of them were exiting the city of Maisara now, curious eyes staring at them from every direction as they rode upon the backs of their horses. Zar'gul ducked under a leafy branch and scowled. "You mock the sincerity of our mission with your jest."

"Not at all, not at all. The young ones be rebellious against a society they think strict and overbearing. The old ones ain't as open, but many crave power and should be easily led to our side, or at least onto their knees. And with ya charisma--"

"Fine. Anywhere is better than here. Converts or not, I will slay every Amani I see if I stay in this horrible place any longer."

Ga'muh hastened his horse. "To Silvermoon, then."

They rode by horseback for nearly two days, arriving at Silvermoon City within the time frame that Ga'muh had predicted. Having since deposited their belongings at an inn after arriving, his master was now leading them on foot to what he had referred to as an acquaintance by the name of Ardalan. How the old troll knew anyone in a place like this was beyond his knowledge, and seemed to him the equivalent of a frog mingling with panthers. Although he didn't voice it, he couldn't help but be impressed by the ugly old wartface.

He was even more impressed with Silvermoon. The city of the Sin'dorei was one of magic, with great, tall pillars of ivory marble that rose into the sky, shining with crystals of red and green and metal of gold and silver. The people, the buildings, the streets, the air--all clean. Everything prim and proper and of profound beauty. Nothing without purpose. Even the sun appeared to bless the city with a finer quality of light than anywhere else, and it seemed as if not a single blade of grass was out of place. Part of him couldn't help but feel as if his presence alone defiled the sanctity--if not the very nature--of the city itself. This thought both angered and delighted him.

The city could burn for all he cared, if only so that Dazar'alor had less competition.

As for his master's claims, he hated to admit it, but Ga'muh was right: to the rural women they'd seen in the distance on the ride in, to the city merchants, the female guards, random passersby going about their business and even the innkeeper, every single woman he'd seen had been attractive. Startlingly so. Most avoided his gaze, but the ones who met his eyes typically held a semblance of both curiosity and fear. Even a hint of revulsion at times. Maybe his master had been correct about their beauty, but Zandalari or not, Zar'gul began to have doubts about their likelihood of laying with trolls.

"I do not believe this will be much of a vacation," he said, watching an auburn-haired woman practice nature magic on a row of potted plants. With a wave of her hands the plants bloomed with flowers of a fine geranium blue before suddenly shifting into an angry red that matched the innumerable Silvermoon banners fluttering about town. She was pleased with the results. He was pleased with how her happily-wiggling ass looked in the tight gardening pants she was wearing.

Short as they were compared to most Zandalari, what the blood elves lacked in height they made up for with a disproportionate and downright unfair amount of curves. To say otherwise would be the equivalent to saying that orcs suffered a lack of green skin and boiling hot rage. Both were undeniable: orcs were angry, and blood elves had the kind of hips and breasts to make a man drool.

"Ya too much of a pessimist," Ga'muh said. "Thinking like that be self-defeating. Just ignore their frightened looks and act like ya normally do." He hesitated for a second and then grinned. "Well, maybe dial it back just a tad, hm? Elves aren't being as rugged as trolls and orcs. At least, not until ya get them in bed."

Zar'gul merely grunted. He hadn't a clue as to where they were or where exactly they were going, but he reflected on his master's words while they walked, coming to the conclusion that he was merely wound up tight from their trip to Zul'aman.

This simple realization acted as a sort of pressure release valve inside of him, causing all of the pent up tension that had gathered to evaporate. In its place, youthful excitement and hunger. His spirits rose, buoyed by the fact that he had served his god well by his work with the Amani, as well as by the unignorable fact that beauty surrounded him in all directions now. Beauty in shades of blonde and red, black and brown, even the occasional blue. The blood elves typically wore their hair lengthy and loose, but a long-legged beauty with cropped hair and a bust that jiggled as she walked proved that they looked just as good with short hair. In fact, they probably looked good with no hair at all.

Every woman he saw he couldn't help but imagine ravaging, fucking and breeding; and though his spirits lifted, so too did his impatience rise with a maddening eagerness.

As if sensing this, Ga'muh said, "Almost there now," and suddenly turned left down a narrow street.

He followed, and soon they arrived at a quiet section of the city that was somehow more opulent than what he'd already seen. A single road of cobblestone, lined by small trees blossoming with flowers, led into an out of the way roundabout in which centered three fountains, one large and depicting an elven hero, two smaller and depicting phoenixes. Homes big enough to be important government buildings wrapped around the cul-de-sac, sporting green grass and decadence in design. Lamp posts topped by green, red, and purple crystals were arranged at even spaced intervals to provide light at night. At least two homes had hawkstriders and dragon hawks fenced in, although no one was currently tending to them.

All of this set a very high standard for his expectations in regards to who they were going to meet. Whoever they were, they clearly lived a life of luxury. With any luck it would be a woman with an affinity for trolls.

"Here it be."

The two of them stopped in front of a home that looked like an ivory castle with too many windows and unconnected, floating sections of the house hovering in slow circles about a multitude of turrets. The pathway they walked on was solid white stone mixed with swirls of crimson. Two stone-skinned dragonhawks guarded an enormous front door. When they knocked, it took nearly three minutes for an elven man with a sharp nose and the powerful smell of spices to open up. Not a woman. Zar'gul didn't hide his disappointment.

If the man was surprised to see Ga'muh and a second troll on his doorstep he didn't show it. Instead, he exchanged quick pleasantries and ushered them inside so quickly it was as if he didn't want to be seen with them.

Needless to say, the inside of the mansion was fantastically large and extravagantly furnished. Between the white-and-red checkered floor and the high vaulted ceiling of the foyer in which they stepped into, a number of strange and rather priceless looking artifacts had been procured by the man and displayed atop numerous tables and bureaus. Some were orcish, some tauren, some even elven--of both the sun and moon variety--while others looked outlandish and indecipherable to his eyes.

"Why the sudden visit, Ga'muh?" the man who he presumed to be Ardalan asked, gesturing for them to sit down at a pair of chairs situated beside an oak table. When he did so, he couldn't help but feel like the chair might burst out from underneath him. Obviously Ardalan's furniture had not been designed for Zandalari usage. Perhaps not even blood elf usage.

"Don't tell me ya not want ta see me?"

Ardalan brushed the comment aside with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense. I enjoy your company almost as much as your wares." His eyes lit up suddenly. "Is that why you're here?"

"Wares?" Zar'gul said.

"The ambassador pays well for troll artifacts," Ga'muh explained.

The fact that the elf was an ambassador was not quite as surprising as the knowledge that Ga'muh apparently dealt in artifacts as far out as Silvermoon rather than solely within the domestic confines of Zandalar. As those they killed, such as the Amani, no longer had a need for such worldly possessions, they would often pilfer their belongings and sell them to support the Cult of Hakkar. Zar'gul was a warrior however, not a merchant, and had little involvement in a trade better suited towards his old mentor.

Annoyed by his master's perceived deceitfulness, his voice boomed within the quiet halls of Aldaran's home: "I came here for women and wine, not to give troll artifacts to the elves."

"Ya be thinkin' that little of de old troll who raised ya?" Clicking his tongue and turning back to his friend, Ga'muh said, "It be as the boy said; we come for women and wine--and the food, too."

"There are plenty of whorehouses on Murder Row, or are those not good enough for you?"

"We were thinkin' something more classy."

"Classy. Of course, silly me." Ardalan crossed his legs and thought for a moment. His eyes shifted to Zar'gul, looking him over in a way that made him want to run the elf through with his sword. "All right, I don't think Alarel will like it, but how's this: there's a great big jamboree happening this evening. You two can come with me." He smirked suddenly. "And if anyone questions it I can say you're my bodyguards."

"I am no bodyguard," Zargul said, and then smirked. "Except for maybe that Alarel."

Ga'muh ignored him and said, "Dat be perfect. I can always trust ya to be hospitable, Ardalan."

"Just doing my job. As an ambassador it's my duty to ensure the happiness of our allies. If that means introducing you to some of Alarel's floozies then so be it." He leaned forward suddenly, his eyes gleaming. "That being said, I do hope you've brought me something in return for this favor?"

Zar'gul thought this man had an odd definition of "favor" but said nothing.

"Of course. Ga'muh will bring ya something real nice. May have some blood on it though. We just came from Zul'aman, ya see."

Ardalan nodded understandingly. "That just makes it more authentic." With an air of finality, he clapped his hands together and stood up. "Tonight then. You can go in whatever rags you're wearing right now--they'll love that--but I'm afraid you do have to bathe."

Zar'gul scowled. He did not particularly like the idea of another man telling him to bathe.

But before then..." Reaching into a cabinet, Ardalan pulled out a bottle of wine, three glasses, and a smile. "I don't have any women on hand right now, but if it's wine you want..."

Zar'gul could do without the bath and the smile, but the wine he gladly accepted.

The party was perfect.

Not because he enjoyed banal conversation and repeating himself every time a curious elf asked him about Zandalar, or because it took place within a mansion that made the ambassador's home look like an orcish outhouse and had exotic food he could help himself to without shame, but because the entire room was filled with women, the majority of which left modesty at the door and dressed to impress.

And he was very impressed.

"Now ain't ya glad ya listened to me?" Ga'muh asked.

"Yes," he replied, watching as a woman with hair like arctic ice and wearing a translucent dress glided past him. She met his gaze as she walked, heels clicking, her abundant curves sufficiently flaunted.

Foregoing traditional Sin'dorei dress policy, he'd worn basic trousers and an open leather vest, sufficiently flaunting his own curves--the toned, rolling muscles that flexed hard beneath glossy onyx skin. Her eyes flickered down to look at his exposed chest. When she was behind him, he turned and caught her looking back at him, a smirk on her pretty pink lips. "But I will be more glad when I have one of these she-elves beneath me. Excuse me."

He moved to follow her, but the old troll blocked him with a hand on his arm.

"Hold ya britches, boy. We be havin' company."

Two women were approaching them, and even ignoring their expressions, their aggressive gait made it obvious that they weren't happy.

The first one that caught his eye was an elf with a complexion far darker than he'd yet seen upon one of her kind. Cinnamon skin and red-painted lips complimented a yellow dress that hugged her body like it didn't want to let go. He couldn't blame it; she had a pair of tits that threatened to hypnotize you every time she took a step and caused them to nearly pop out of her dress. Her eyes were purple that glowed vividly, reflecting both uptight annoyance and a life of luxury. Long hair stroked by midnight and gleaming like silk flowed past her intelligently designed shoulders. Pinned to her hair at the side of her head was a flower pin designed to look like a large white gardenia.

If this dark-skinned vixen hadn't been walking next to the most gorgeous woman he'd ever laid eyes upon, she very well may have accomplished her goals of hypnosis. Instead, her banana dress and cherry lips were immediately forgotten when he took notice of her companion.

This second elf was in a class entirely of her own: a long-eared, bra-busting beauty with lustrous silver hair that outshined the sun and smooth, creamy skin that bordered on alabaster if not for the slightest hint of tan that she possessed. She walked like the Queen of Stormwind upset over a servant's mishap, her ponytail, high atop her head, swishing with each step. Burning green eyes singled him out, and a pair of tits so enormous they would have looked large on a tauren swayed to the rhythm of her ponytail every time her legs moved. Left and right, one step after another, jiggling and wobbling and covered by nothing but ineffective strips of cloth hanging down over each breast, barely enough to cover her nipples.