Eadric and the Sisters of Twilight

This story was written as a request by one of my supporters and is my first foray into the world of Warhammer Fantasy. While I did try to remain as faithful to the franchise's deep lore, mistakes may have slipped in, as I am still getting acquainted with this setting.

Thank you for your understanding.

Chased into the fabled Athel Loren, a young spearman of the Empire is taken into the care of the legendary Sisters of Twilight. The medicine they give him has an odd effect, however, allowing him to turn the tables on his saviors and captors.

Contains: M/F, Human/Wood Elf, Cum bloating, Large Tits, Huge Cock, Breeding, Cock Growth, Role reversal, Vaginal sex, Mating Press, Excessive semen, Limitless Stamina, Semi-Realistic Proportions, Some Voyeurism

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"I don't think we should be 'ere," Blareth whispered, fear gnawing at the stableboy, his big blue eyes searching the shadows of the Everwood for signs of the enemy. Even the gentle birdsong and the flowing water of a stream provided them little in the way of comfort. "The trees 'ave eyes, they do."

"If ye wanna turn back, now's the time. Doubt that pitchfork o' yers is going to be much good against the vermin horde, though," the great knight Von Gloragam grunted as he climbed over the gigantic root of a tree, the thing quite nearly as tall as he. "Village is already burned, no good turnin' back. Are you unmanned by a handful of trees, boy?"

Behind them, Eadric listened. While he feared that the Skaven had followed them into the Everwood, he would have almost preferred them to Blareth's incessant whining and Von Gloragam's misplaced bravado. At least death would offer his ears some semblance of peace.

His spear was stained still with the blood of the three ratmen he'd slain. A handsome youth of twenty-three summers, Eadric spoke little. The spearman knew when to shut up and when to follow orders. He did not, however, believe they were headed in the right direction.

Those who ventured into the Everwood never returned. Such was fact. The common folk who lived in the towns bordering the ancient elven forests knew never to wander into that woodland realm. No one truly knew what happened to those unfortunate souls who met the defenders of Athel Loren, and few cared to find out for themselves.

The spearman looked up at Von Gloragam. The man, while not as clever as other commanders he'd seen, remained a shining example of the Empire's glory. He stood in his golden armour and pristine white cloak, scanning his surroundings. His greying hair and scars reminded Eadric that he had most likely seen and lived through worse.

Still, he would follow his orders. It was what good soldiers did, after all.

"I saw others heading into these woods," Eadric finally said, eyeing his surroundings warily. "We would stand a better chance of surviving if we joined up with other survivors. Blareth has a point, I think. We're walking blindly through a forest we know little about."

Von Gloragam considered his words briefly, still standing atop a rock. "You make a fair point, soldier. Though there is always the chance that moving along the perimeter of these woods would make it likelier that we get assailed by Skaven. I would much prefer we take our chances with the elves than with the ratmen. And, as you two are under my command, it is my responsibility to -"

His words were cut short as both Blareth and Eadric's eyes went to the massive spear now protruding from his chestplate. They watched on with horror as the man in the golden armor was lifted from his feet by a hulking beast of a Skaven, a monstrosity of flesh and metal, its beady red eyes shimmering with malice.

"Yes-yes! Slay-kill the man-things! Doom and curses!" came a cry from the trees as two dozen of the rodent-like humanoids descended upon them, howling. While most of the creatures were smaller than full-grown men, they remained formidable foes, their wicked blades coming down upon the three humans.

With his back to the rat ogre, Von Gloragam grabbed the sword at his hip, the blade gleaming in the dim light of the forest. No light could pierce the canopy of the Everwood, it seemed, save for that of the Emperor.

"Emperor protect us! Fight on, soldiers! Fight on!" shouted the knight as his blade cut down two of the rat-men with a single swing. The rat ogre, still shaken by the display, regained its wits. Its huge paw came down at Von Gloragam, attempting to catch the warrior off-guard. With speed that belied his stature, he tackled the giant creature, knocking the wind from its lungs.

Blareth and Eadric, meanwhile, had their hands full with only a handful of the Skaven band, their weapons barely enough to keep the vermin at bay while they were slowly pushed against the rock upon which Von Gloragam still stood, battling the gigantic, brown-furred beast.

With no hint of hesitation, he thrust his great blade into the Skaven's stomach, piercing upwards into the creature's heart. The monster fell backward, barreling through a handful of Skaven who were climbing up the rock.

Still, more of them came, an endless tide of the abominable rat-warriors and the priests commanding them. Their numbers were too great. Both fighter and farmhand, armed with spear and pitchfork, fended off the creatures, but could not find room enough to slay any of them.

Eadric tried to find an opening, a way to escape, to save himself. He found himself out of breath and out of hope. Blood from a dozen of the Skaven slain by Von Gloragam trickled down towards Blareth and Eadric, running down the rock and down their back.

Von Gloragam, exhausted from his battle against the rat ogre and losing vast quantities of blood, found himself falling to his knees. He struggled to raise his blade to deflect an oncoming strike.

"It was an honor fighting alongside you," Eadric said, turning his head to Blareth. What he saw there, instead of the simple farmer's boy, was a deformed creature, covered in pustules and warts that seemed ready to burst.

Blareth looked to Eadric, gasping for breath. "K-kill me..." he begged, his muscles contracting from the horrible disease that had overcome him. Nearby cackling, from one of the plague priests no doubt, confirmed the source of that disease.

"Cry-cry to your Emperor! Man things! All-all belong to us!" screamed one of the ratmen from atop a small hillock, his staff pointed at Eadric.

A thump next to Eadric confirmed that Blareth had died, his disease-riddled corpse lifeless on the ground.

The spearman closed his eyes, bracing for the worst. He offered a prayer to the Emperor but felt only the plague-coated blade of an enemy slide into his ribs. The taste of blood soon coated his tongue, and he felt himself grow weak.

The whistling of projectiles.

Shouting. A mighty roar.

Darkness.

. . . . .

It felt to him as though his entire body was aflame. Every nerve at once calling him back to consciousness and throwing him back to the void, to the emptiness of sleep. Or death, perhaps.

He would have almost preferred the latter.

Faces could be seen when he opened his eyes. Voices in a tongue he knew not.

And then he fell back into the abyss as voices, soft as the wind, carried him off.

. . . . .

"Wake up, human," was the first thing he heard when he regained consciousness. A commanding voice with no kindness in the words it spoke. A voice he recognized. Had he been taken prisoner? These were not Skaven voices.

His eyes shot open, and he sat up, pain blazing through his wound from the sudden movement. He was still alive, at least.

"Lie down," came the voice again, and Eadric's eyes went to its source. There stood a tall, statuesque woman, her face half-covered by a silver mask. "The only reason you yet live is that we have need of you, as you are one of the only humans we have on hand that may provide information on these recent attacks. You would be of little use to us, should you bleed out or die from infection."

The woman's skin was as pale as the moon, with long hair of the brightest silver. She looked down at him coolly, with no emotion save for contempt. But no man's gaze would ever remain on her face for long, for the wood elf had curves the likes of which Eadric had never even imagined possible.

Even covered as they were by an intricately decorated elven breastplate, the woman's chest was absolutely massive, each mountainous orb most likely as large as her own head, not to mention a thin waist that flared out to a pair of hips that held width enough to surpass that of her shoulders. No amount of bulky armor could have ever hidden a sinful body such as hers, Eadric knew.

When at last the man managed to tear his gaze from the glaring elf, he found that he was in no room resembling a prison, but rather a room of elven make, with wooden walls and resting in a large, comfortable bed. From an open window, the soft scents of the Everwood were brought in by a gentle breeze as white curtains fluttered about lazily.

Eadric tried to speak up but found his throat and mouth too dry to do so.

The woman's eyes darted to a glass of water by his bed, and he quickly grabbed it, gulping it down eagerly and letting the liquid wash down his throat. "Haaa..." Eadric then gasped, relieved, though the pain in his throat was far from gone.

"Ah... Thank you," the man said, trying to keep his eyes from the silver-haired elf's voluptuous form. "I am Eadric, of the Duchy of Quenelles, perhaps you have-"

"Save your words, human," she sneered, placing a hand at the dagger that hung menacingly at her side. "You know well what befalls those who cross our borders, be they Man or Other."

Her eyes roamed over him briefly, and he could tell that every breath he took tested her patience.

"Y-yes, of course," he nodded. "We took off when the Skaven raided our village. We had no choice but to flee. We were expecting another Greenskin raid, but the rats came crawling out from underneath us..."

"Underneath you?" She seemed surprised and a hint of alarm seemed to briefly replace her contempt for the spearman. "Their tunnels have never reached so far..."

She turned and took a step towards the door, turning her head sideways to look at him. "The water you drank has a small dose of medicine. It will help you heal but you will find that it makes one prone to sleep for extended periods of time. Remember: you are no guest in these woods. You will help us find the Skaven burrows and, if you prove useful, we might let you live and forgive your trespass.

"Attempt to leave this room and I will feed you to Ceithin-Har myself," the woman warned before stepping out of the room. "I am not so patient as my sister."

And with that, the woman left, much to the delight of Eadric who found his eyes glued to the elf's enormous posterior. If he thought her breasts were vastly oversized for an elf, he had not yet seen her ass, those fat globes of divinely sculpted flesh wobbling about with each step, supported by thighs that might have been as large as his own torso.

While he soon felt a stirring in his loins from the image, as any warm-blooded man would, the medication given him by the woman soon kicked in and he found himself falling back onto the pillows.

. . . . .

It was the night's song that roused Eadric from his slumber.

With great difficulty, he managed to open his eyes. He felt disoriented, confused. Dreamless sleep had taken him, and he knew not the number of hours or days, even, that had passed since the attack on his village.

"We have buried your friends," came a soft voice next to him.

He tried to turn his head to look at its source, but his muscles felt too stiff, as though they hadn't been used in far too long. "H-how long...?" he finally managed.

"Two days," the woman said as she came into view. "You were asleep for two days, and it seems that your wound has healed, to some degree," she said. "You are not yet ready to leave, though. There is still poison in you that must be removed. Exertion too great might cause it to start flowing in your veins once more."

Eadric's eyes were not ready for the sight of the woman. Her face was almost an exact replica of the silver-haired elf's from earlier, though her hair was as dark as the night sky. Moonlight caressed her voluptuous form, and her dress seemed to overflow with the same abundance of femininity as the other.

She seemed to notice his stare and simply smiled softly.

"I am Naestra. My sister told me that you had been awake, though I did not wish to rouse you from your sleep too soon. As I mentioned, I have asked that your friends be buried as per the customs of your people. Arahan insisted that they be left to rot. She is a little impatient with these things, at times.

"While, of course, you should have not come here, I do not begrudge you such an act made under duress. I will speak to my sister and make certain she does not act with undue haste."

No hint of malice did Eadric detect in those words. So unlike the other woman, yet so alike was she. Like two sides of a coin, or two faces of a moon.

Eadric did not answer, his gaze simply following the woman as she moved to him. He found his eyes wandering constantly down to the two large, pale mounds barely hidden beneath the sheer fabric of her elven gown. Try as he might, he was not above the desires of men.

A soft, gentle laugh left her lips as she sat next to his legs on the bed, placing an ivory-hued hand upon his knee. "I see Arahan has done quite a number on you. Do not worry, she may be impulsive and violent, but I am quite the opposite, you will find. Speak freely, friend."

As he watched her, he considered her words and reflected upon what he would tell her. What could he even say to such an otherworldly woman? Her voice was like silk upon his heart, her gaze piercing into his very essence.

"I am Eadric," he finally said, readying himself for a rebuttal like that which Arahan had given him. When no such thing came, he dared continue. "From Quenelles."

The woman answered with a simple nod and smile, her eyes slowly moving down his body. He did not dare move too much, but as his gaze followed hers, he noticed the same thing she did. Protruding from between his legs stood a tent far larger than he'd ever seen there. He'd always considered himself gifted when it came to this specific part of him. And yet, this seemed a far greater endowment than that. Perhaps his tired eyes were playing tricks upon his mind.

She raised her eyebrows. "Ah, do not worry. I suppose such things do happen after a few days without the affections of a woman," she laughed softly. "I should let you rest and... take care of things," Naestra then added, a slight blush creeping onto her fair features.

And with that, she rose, pointing to a small cup of water at his bedside.

He drank and found the cool liquid soothing to his irritated throat. Before he could even watch the curvaceous she-elf leave the room, he drifted off to sleep once more.

. . . . .

Neither sun nor moon stirred him to wakefulness but rather a pulsating hunger within his loins, a need so great that his eyes shot open and he sat up on the bed.

The source of that need stood beneath his sheets, tenting the fabric to such a degree that he briefly thought someone or something, beast or humanoid had been hiding beneath his covers.

No pain came from his wound at that sudden movement, and only a dull ache reminded him that this was, in fact, real. Tentatively, he reached down with his fingers, pulling the covers aside. He'd been given undergarments by the elves, but even those had not been sufficient to contain the beast that now protruded from his groin.

Eadric felt his breath quicken as he stared at the enormous thing, a solid ten or so inches in length and nearly as thick as his wrist. Thick veins ran up its length, throbbing eagerly, begging to be touched. How had this even happened? The only thing he could think of was the medication but... He gasped when his beastly prick lurched, a fat glob of precum oozing from the tip onto his stomach.

His cock felt hot, heavy as it pointed up at the wooden ceiling.

Looking around the room, as though making sure no one was spying on him, he wrapped his fingers around the hefty slab of meat, feeling it throb, reacting to his touch. "Fuck..." he whimpered, the electrifying touch of his enhanced manhood sending shivers through him. His arousal only increased as he closed his eyes, images of Naestra and Arahan running through his mind. Images of their soft, pillowy chests, their fat, round asses...

The door slammed open suddenly, causing Eadric to jolt and release his cock, pulling the sheets up and over the engorged thing.

Arahan tossed a few items of clothing on his bed, along with elven boots. "Get dressed, swine. You have slept long enough and you will come with me," she barked, the silver-haired beauty looking down at Eadric with barely contained murderous rage. "The rat-men are at our borders once more. You will fulfill your purpose in guiding us to them."

Before a single word could leave the man's lips, Arahan had left, a storm given mortal form.

. . . . .

Past trees taller than any tower they walked, Eadric stumbling over root and rock while Arahan followed behind him, her eyes searching every shadow and potential hiding spot. She was on edge, her bow drawn.

The spearman thought she'd simply brought him out to end him with an arrow to the back of the skull with no one watching, but they had been walking for long enough that he knew such was not the case. Not only that, but she could have easily poisoned him or ended him while he lay helpless in his bed. No, dishonesty was not a fault of hers.

Fury and violence were.

"Move, man-swine," she growled, pressing her boot to Eadric's backside as he struggled to cross a small stream. "Shall I call forth the servants to carry you upon the palanquin?"

Somehow managing to keep his footing as his boot found purchase on the other side of the crick, Eadric felt his blood boil. She had been insulting him ever since they'd first met. And for what reason? Because he had dared step foot into her precious forest? Because he was not as agile or as skilled a warrior as she?

And, to top it all off, she had not even given him any armor or any weapon. "The worm does not require a blade to fend off a fish," she had told him. "That is not its purpose."

He looked over her shoulder towards where she'd been and found nothing, only hearing a snicker in the other direction. She was already ahead of him, silent as the wind. She had crossed with such ease and grace that he briefly thought she'd simply flown over, only to look down at him with a cruel smile painted on her plush lips. No word came from her. She didn't have to speak or mock him openly for him to understand how it amused her to see him struggling, how it satisfied those most sadistic of urges within her.

As they moved along, Eadric found that, while the garments given him by the woman were comfortable and light enough to barely be felt, they did not protect against scrapes and bruises, of which he now had a good many, gifts from the treacherous Everwood.

Arahan, meanwhile, barely made a sound as she moved, slipping between trees. She stayed a fair distance behind him, hiding as best she could while he guided her West, towards his home. Or, rather, what remained of it. While he felt deep hatred within himself for the cruel elf, the feeling paled in comparison to what he felt for the Skaven. Given the chance, he would have endured a thousand years of torment at Arahan's hands to slay but a single of the plague-ridden fiends.