A World of Warcraft Erotica
DISCLAIMER: This story is for entertainment only. World of Warcraft and all related material are copyrights of Blizzard Entertainment.
The night shadows of the forest worked well with Rathnor as he crept along the trees away from the Horde camp. The place had been scouted out as he was ordered with a little extra something for his commander: the plans describing the orders for the Horde Lumbermills to be built and operational in the forests of Ashenvale. Rathnor made sure to travel downwind as he had been warned. Orcs had a stronger sense of smell than Humans.
Smiling to himself, the rogue stealthily snuck further from the camp and towards the path ahead. Clutching his daggers tightly in his hand, he caught movement beside a tree. Even in the pale moonlight, he saw the outline of an Orc. The tusked helm and spiked shoulder pieces were all Ranthor needed to identify one of the Horde.
It was a female Orc but the rogue knew that gender did not hinder the pure rage and ferocity of Orcs. If he could sneak up behind her, he could strike quickly before she even cried out in alarm. Raising his daggers above his head, he got close enough to hear the Orc snort. Suddenly, a strange whistle like the small shriek of a hawk caught his ears just in time to feel a sharp pain under his arm. The arrow not only knocked him off balance, but alerted the female Orc to his presence; she turned with a roar and swung a wicked looking axe at his head. Rathnor cursed as he ducked in time to see the blade bury deeply in the tree he was standing near. The great oak shook at the force and another arrow appeared in the bark a few inches from the axe and even closer to his prone form.
The female tugged at her axe as Rathnor winced from the pain and charged into her. His leather armor had stopped the deadly missile from penetrating his lungs but it still lodged deep enough to bleed freely and weaken his muscles. The force of his charge separated the Orc from her axe long enough for her to raise her fists above her head and send them crashing down on Rathnor's back. The impact blew the air from his lungs. She raised her fists again to repeat her attack but Rathnor was quicker and buried one of his daggers into her exposed gut.
An arrow struck him again. This time, his armor was able to stop it from reaching his flesh. The Orc moaned and clutched her stomach as she fell to one knee and then face first into the dirt. A dagger wouldn't have done enough damage to an Orc to kill it but the poison coating it was more than enough. Rathnor had no time to gloat as his body started to grow numb from pain and blood loss. Another arrow flew at him and he had to dive to the side of a large tree root to avoid getting hit. Weak, bleeding, and practically blind against the Orc archer, Rathnor sighed to think this is how it would end.
His thoughts of death were interrupted as a low rumbling roar tore through the night air. Rathnor looked up from his makeshift cover to see a large form crash into the previously unseen archer. A huge cat ravaged the Orc with razor claws and fangs. The Orc, armed only with his bow and arrows, swing the feeble weapon at the cat trying desperately to ward it off. Although the bow was deadly as a ranged weapon, it served as a poor defense against a huge cat. Flesh was rent before his eyes and the Orc's screams were cut off in seconds.
Rathnor was panting. Sweat flowed over his brow as freely as the blood soaking the cloth under his leathers. The pain was worse and he felt his strength waning. To his horror, the huge cat looked up from the mutilated remains of the Orc and looked straight at him. It padded slowly towards him. All Rathnor remembered seeing was its sleek shadowed form and the glow of its green eyes approaching him quickly. Then he blacked out.
Warmth flooded over him. His eyes fluttered open and his vision was blurred. His vision slowly returned to reveal a warm light under a night sky. Rathnor looked around him and saw a campfire close by. He was lying on his back and his leather armor had been removed. As he felt his face and sat up a bit, he was suddenly aware that the arrow and pain were both gone. Somehow he had been saved. The camp was simple: a fire, the makeshift blankets he was laying on, and the thick blanket covering him. All around he heard only the sounds of the forest and the breeze accented by the quiet popping sounds of the fire. He wondered how he got here or even where "here" was.
His thoughts were halted at once as a shadow moved into the firelight. The huge cat that tore apart the Orc archer padded quietly into view across the camp from where Ranthor lie prone. Fear crept up his spine and he could not move as the majestic animal growled low and moved with a terrible grace into full view. Its night black fur shined in the moonlight and its eyes gleamed with emerald brilliance. Rathnor couldn't move nor breathe for fear of the cat charging him.
The air shimmered with strange magic as the cat changed shape before Rathnor's eyes. Within moments, a tall beautiful elf crouched where once a mighty panther stood. Her skin was violet as the dusk sky. Her face had an innocent look framed by long green hair that draped over her shoulders and flowed down her sleek back as two long pointed ears stretched from the sides of her head pointing back. Unlike other elves Rathnor had met, this elf was muscled in an almost feral manner: strong yet curvaceous and feminine. Intense eyes glowed in the darkness of the night behind a tribal tattoo mask that decorated her face. Her armor was a series of leather straps adorned with beads, feathers, and leaves that not only functioned as protection, but allowed freedom of movement. A loincloth draped over her waist and leather straps holding daggers were around long slender legs that ended in bare feet.
She stood slowly and Rathnor swallowed a lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. She was much taller than he expected even if he was still lying down. In his few short years of service to the Alliance, Rathnor had only seen Night Elves for a few fleeting moments. Now, one stood before him and he found himself speechless at how unbelievably beautiful this Night Elf was.
"I did not mean to startle you," she said. Her voice was husky and smooth. Rathnor was so enraptured that he flushed when he realized she had addressed him.
"I ah..." he started to reply but found that words failed him. "Thank you," he said when he regained his voice.
The Night Elf walked to him with a grace and speed that reminded him of the cat she once took the shape of. Without a word, she sat on her heels beside him and cupped his face. Rathnor could only stare open-mouthed struck dumb at the stunning creature before him. Her hands were calloused but still retained their softness and her nails were long like claws. She gently ran her hand over his torso and placed it on his side. Her eyes followed her hand as she examined where an arrow had pierced him.
"There doesn't seem to be a scar," she commented.
Rathnor grunted in agreement as he raised his arm and shifted his gaze to where her hand was. The flesh was completely healed but still tender. His muscles were stiff as he raised his arm.
"I apologize," she said frowning a bit. Rathnor thought the expression was rather enduring. "My healing magic is not as skilled as my shape shifting abilities. Luckily I have also been trained in the arts of Alchemy."
Rathnor looked at her as she looked up. Their eyes locked and for a few moments, neither one moved. Her hand stayed at his side, touching him with her mysterious charm. She suddenly stood up and went to a bag near the fire. Rathnor blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream.
"I'm afraid I don't know where we are," he said. "I take it we are far from the Horde encampment."
The Night Elf looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Far away and high above," she replied.
"You should lie back down," she continued. "Your wound has healed, but your body has not yet fully recovered."
Rathnor did as she said but kept his eyes focused on her as she took out a couple of flasks and stared at their contents before choosing a red one and placing the other back on her knapsack.
"So, what is your name?" Rathnor asked not only to keep conversation going, but he was genuinely curious as to what her name might be.
"I am Syriel," she replied. "Syriel Nightmoon."
"Rathnor Willams," Rathnor said. They smiled as she nodded and brought the flask of red liquid to him.
"Drink this," she said. "It is not much but it will help."
She tenderly raised it to his lips and he drank it slowly. The liquid warmed him all the way down and he could feel his strength returning. When the flask was emptied, Syriel wiped the few drops from his chin like a doting mother. Once again their eyes locked as she touched him. Rathnor was simply surprised at how enraptured he was with this elven woman. Her face softened as they stared. It was obvious that she had little dealings with Humans as he had with Night Elves. The wind blew at that moment and a few wayward strands of her long green hair veiled her face. Rathnor shivered visibly. Even with the blankets and the fire, the wind seemed bitterly cold when it blew through. He then remembered what she said about being "far away and high above". She must have somehow taken him to a cliff deep in the forest. Since the Cataclysm, deep valleys and high cliffs being formed in the forests of Darkshore and Ashenvale were not unheard of.
"You are cold," she observed. "It seems that the winter winds on these newly formed cliffs does not agree with you."
Rathnor nodded as she turned away and added more wood to the campfire. The warmth was fleeting and he pulled the blanket around him. Syriel turned back to him and sat beside him once more.
"Sometimes, these healing potions have side effects," she explained. "I am guessing that with the exertion your body is going through to heal rapidly, you are feeling cold. This wind does not help."
She touched her hand to his forehead and sighed. "We must find a way to warm you," she said. "I did not bring more blankets. I wasn't expecting to have company at my camp."
"I understand," Rathnor said.
He was thinking of ways to keep warm by possibly moving closer to the fire or trying some other option when Syriel lifted up the blanket covering him. Without his leather, Rathnor was naked and her sudden move had him gasping in astonishment. Syriel quickly lay down close to him and entwined her legs and body with his. Just as swiftly, she covered them both with the blanket.
She looked into his eyes and, seeing the look of embarrassment and shock on his face, simply smiled.
"Body heat is a natural source and the best way to keep warm," she reasoned. "With the blanket over us both, it will hold in our heat."
Rathnor didn't know what to say. On the one hand, she was right. He had heard the same thing during boot camp. On the other hand, here he was naked and pressed up against a beautiful Night Elf with no one around but the forest and stars. Despite his efforts to keep under control, he felt his manhood growing stiff at the soft warmth of her body touching his.
Syriel looked at him with confusion. "What is the matter?" she asked innocently.
Rathnor swallowed before replying. He simply did not want to alarm or offend this wonderful elf that had saved his life. "I ah..." he began awkwardly. "I am a bit uncomfortable to tell you the truth."
"Well," he sighed. "Look, I'm grateful for what you have done and what you are doing, but uh ... how should I put this?"
He thought for a moment while looking into her gorgeous glowing eyes. "Syriel," he began again with resignation, "I don't mean to offend in any way but ... you are one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever laid eyes on."
Syriel seemed to turn a darker shade of purple and Rathnor realized that she was blushing.
"Why would that offend me?" she asked smiling. Her voice seemed huskier as if she had purred out the words instead of spoken them. "Do not think me blind as to not admire a Human. I too find you to be ... attractive."
Reacting on impulse, Rathnor brushed the strands of her hair behind one long ear. Her smile vanished into a look of wanting as she looked into his eyes. His touch alone had her react in the way he was hoping for. She moved closer to him and glanced at his lips. Taking the bait, he kissed her.
Their lips brushed together hesitantly testing and tasting before pressing together firmly. She sighed as they parted and pressed together once more. Rathnor slipped his tongue through into her mouth and she, in turn, entangled hers with his. The kiss deepened and she moaned softly.
"So this is how Humans kiss," she mused breathing heavily to his touch.
He cupped her cheek as they kissed running his fingers through her soft green hair. Syriel wrapped her arms around him until she could feel his body firmly pressed to hers. Although she was taller than he was, her long torso and legs proved to be no obstacle while lying down in each other's arms. She felt his manhood bump against her and Rathnor felt her grow even warmer.
Their kiss broke and she sat up allowing the blanket to fall away. The Night Elf almost towered like an angel from Heaven over the Human. She slowly unfastened the lacing on her leather armor and let it fall piece by piece from her smooth violet skin displaying firm rounded breasts tipped with dark purple nipples and a flat, muscled stomach. Rathnor sat up to meet her and found that he only reached up to her neck. That was fine with him as he kissed and nibbled the delicate skin there making his way down her body to cup her breasts and kiss her nipples. Syriel sighed and cradled him in her strong but womanly arms, further pressing his warm mouth onto her. Rathnor ran his tongue in slow circles around her hard nipples making her gasp and tremble in pleasure.
His hand moved around her bare thighs massaging the smooth flesh there before daring to reach under her loin cloth. Rathnor moaned with her as his fingers found her smooth nether lips already wet with desire. His lips enveloped her nipple as his fingers rubbed and finally entered her warm wet center.
"Elune's Light," she gasped. "Ooooh Rathnor! That feels so good! Please, do not stop!"
At her encouragement, Rathnor sucked harder on her nipples alternating between the two while his fingers slid deeper and deeper inside of her. She groaned and moved her hips in time with his skilled hands until he could feel her wetness dribbling over his invading fingers. She continued to move and softly moan his name and a few words in Darnassian until, at last, her body tensed. Syriel threw her head back with a gasp and exploded into a keening orgasm as she trembled and gushed over his embedded fingers.
As the waves of her climax subsided, Syriel leaned in and kissed Rathnor fiercely. As their mouths hungrily devoured each other, Rathnor worked the straps loose of her loincloth and pulled it away. Syriel moaned as the cold air blew across her heated sex making her that much more excited.
"You might still be weak from your injuries," she breathed to him as he kissed and nuzzled her long elven ear. "Perhaps you will allow me to be on top?"
Rathnor chuckled turning his kiss to her lips. "I would be honored," he said.
Lying back on the blankets, Rathnor looked up at the breathtaking sight of the naked Night Elf who loomed over him full of desire and lust. Syriel leaned in and kissed him deeply as Rathnor felt her soft hand wrap around his manhood. With a few teasing strokes, Syriel positioned the mushroom shaped head of him to her entrance. Already wet from her orgasm, he slid into her sheath with ease. Syriel moaned loudly as she slowly impaled herself on him taking him inch by beautifully agonizing inch until he was firmly rooted inside of her. Syriel squeezed her eyes closed and moaned as Ranthnor's balls rested against her firm buttocks. Rathnor felt powerful muscles squeeze and release his cock deep inside of her and he moaned with her as her pussy tested and adjusted to him. Then, planting her hands on his broad chest, Syriel began to move.
She slowly swiveled her hips on him at first, then, as their breathing and desire increased, she moved up and down sliding him in and out of her. Rathnor took hold of her wide, shapely hips as she bounced on him making wet sounds that mingled with their sighs and moans.
"Oh Rathnor!" Syriel groaned her face beautifully contorted in exquisite torment as they moved faster and harder. Soft moans became cries of pleasure as Syriel pounded Rathnor's hard manhood into her over and over again.
Rathnor grunted as he felt his cock swell inside her. He knew it would not be long now. Lifting his hips to meet hers, he moaned with her.
"Syriel!" he cried feeling his manhood swell and his balls tighten up. "I'm going to cum!"
Upon hearing this Syriel moved faster and harder pushing him past the entrance to her womb. Her nails dug into his chest as she gasped and moaned.
"By Elune, Rathnor, YES!" she cried. "Do it! Cum with me!"
Grabbing her hips firmly, Rathnor lifted his hips in a final deep thrust that sent Syriel over the edge. When he was as far as he could go inside of her and she was crying out a long wail of ecstasy, he exploded inside of her. Jets of his desire sprayed her womb and coated her inner walls as her own juices mixed and rushed like a river of lust. They trembled and shook uncontrollably as their orgasms hit them and sent them into torrents of pleasure.
Moments later, the waves subsided and Syriel slowly lay on top of Rathnor wrapping her arms around him. They lay perfectly still, holding each other close, sweating and gasping. Rathnor could feel Syriel's heart pound against his own racing pulse. He looked up at the stars as her breathing evened out. When at last he realized she had fallen asleep, he pulled the blanket over them and held her in his arms. The campfire slowly died out to glowing embers as the lovers slept under the shadow of night.