Sucking Off The Captain

Mere weeks after the third opening of the Dark Portal, the forces of Chillwind Camp send a request for aid to Darnassus. Shalendris Oaksong, novice druid, answers the call and shows Captain Raseri just how much healing she can provide.

Contains: Female/Male, Night Elf/Human, Titfucking, Cum swallowing, Fellatio, Cunnilingus

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A handful of Alliance soldiers - humans, dwarves and gnomes mostly, could be seen limping back to the modest camp of Chillwind. Captain Raseri had come back with a force greatly diminished. Many of the Captain's soldiers had been brought back on stretchers or in body bags. Others were missing limbs, their faces marred by burns. Some still stood tall, though they looked like they'd just fought off an army, which they had. Those less lucky had been turned into the mindless dead by the Scourge.

Ever since the Dark Portal had opened, the number of adventurers seeking fame and fortune in the Plaguelands had diminished significantly. While Naxxramas was not an issue anymore, with its dark master vanquished, much of the Scourge remained. The Lich King still retained control of his undead minions and would not relinquish control of his domain so readily. Raseri had continued to send out patrols, striking at the Undead whenever he could, attempting to contain the Scourge however possible. But the Undead had grown more numerous, more powerful, and more aggressive than ever before. And now they were trying to escape containment, reaching southwards past Lordaeron.

More recently, the veteran had led a fair portion of his troops against a necromancer who'd been trying to spread the plague to the Hillsbrad Foothills. That expedition had been a disaster. A trap had been laid and much of his group had been slain, forced to fight against their former allies as they were turned into undead creatures. It was as if the necromancer had anticipated every move Raseri would make. The Captain had lost half of his men during the retreat and he himself had almost been killed.

"How many?" Raseri asked Thurna. He turned his head to the young paladin, her gaze focused on the soldiers limping back to camp. "How many did we lose?"

Thurna shook her head sadly. She wore a simple leather tunic and trousers, both stained dark red with blood. Her auburn hair ran down to her lower back in a single plait. She had a pair of short swords strapped to her sides and a bow slung over her shoulder.

"Too many."

The vagueness of her answer did not bother Raseri. It was the truth and he acknowledged it with a grunt and a single nod, silently cursing those who had done this. His resolve had not faltered. Not in the least. However, such a catastrophic defeat meant many of his healers had fallen and there were too few of them left to tend to those soldiers who had survived. The ease with which they'd fallen into the necromancer's trap also signaled that it was extremely likely that their enemies had eyes among them. He had been careless in his planning.

He'd requested a replacement to assist in healing the wounded, but most of those that would have been willing had been sent to deal with Illidan and the Burning Legion in Outland, so a plea for help had been sent to the night elves overseas. Even though paladins such as himself knew how to heal certain superficial wounds, they lacked the know-how of those properly trained in those arts.

He glanced around the camp. Most of the wounded were being tended to by the handful of remaining healers, practitioners of the Light all. Those who had suffered more serious injuries were evacuated through portals to Stormwind or Ironforge. Arcanist Grandren, the only Quel'dorei among them, had been doing an admirable job of it.

The Captain turned to the woman standing next to him. "Have you heard anything about when this healer would arrive?"

"I have," Thurna said. "From Ashenvale, they sent her. She should arrive during the evening. I've met her before, sir. She's good, for a novice, but she's also a little strange."

"Strange?" Raseri frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, she's got these huge..." Thurna paused. "She's got these big... uh, well, you know what I'm talking about. Huge!" the ranger made a motion before her as though she were cupping two enormous pumpkins against her own modest chest.

"Breasts?" Raseri asked.

"Yes! Big ones, sir," the recruit blushed.

"How does that make her strange?" Raseri asked, raising an eyebrow. He couldn't help but smirk. He enjoyed teasing the girl as a father would his daughter.

"Ah, well, it's perhaps a little silly... but I've heard they're magic."

"She's got magic tits?" the Captain asked, laughing. "That's a first." There was no attempt at hiding his amusement, though his laughter brought with it a wince of pain.

Thurna smiled at his reaction, though that was quickly wiped away by his pained countenance. "Yes, sir. Apparently, the milk they produce has healing properties. But... are you well, captain?" she placed a hand on his shoulder, concerned for the man. As her mentor, he had shown her much of what she now knew of war against their unholy foes.

The grizzled veteran chuckled, placing a hand to his flank. "It's nothing, trust me. A small bruise. Though this woman sounds like something out of a storybook," he said, trying to avoid bringing attention to his obvious discomfort. "It does sound rather ridiculous. And yet, I find myself strangely intrigued."

Raseri looked up at the sky. The day had grown late. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the land. A chill breeze blew off the mountains. It carried with it the foul stench of undeath.

"Get some rest, Thurna," the grey-haired human said, smiling to the younger paladin and giving her a pat on the back. "We'll see what tomorrow brings."

"Yes, sir," she nodded, heading to her tent.

His eyes followed her briefly, a proud smile on his lips. Raseri's tent was a stone's throw away and as he pushed the flap aside, he pulled off his helm, setting it upon a small wooden table, atop a handful of maps depicting what had once been known as Lordaeron. Then, he stripped off his armor, sighing as its weight was lifted from his muscled body. Few were those parts of him not covered in scars from countless battles. Some were old, others fresh. All of them told tales of great victories and terrible defeats. He groaned, placing his hand against a great purple bruise at his side. Every breath hurt, and his healing spells had proven ineffective on the way back. A gigantic abomination, sewn from the parts of various corpses, had nearly crushed him with a single swing of his fist, throwing him as a doll against a tree.

The wounds he had sustained were not as severe as those of many of his other soldiers, but they were still painful. Still, he knew there were worse things than pain. There were far more dangerous foes.

He lay down on his bedroll, pulling off his boots. They were too tight, and the leather rubbed uncomfortably against his swollen feet.

The paladin sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He could hear the crackling of flames. The campfires outside burned brightly, casting shadows against his tent. He wondered how many of the injured soldiers would survive. Many of the wounded had been taken away, but some remained. He hoped they would be able to get back on their feet soon.

Not so far from his tent, the sound of people shouting and a sudden fracas pulled him from his thoughts. Raseri sat up, grabbing his sword. He was certain it was just a fight between soldiers, such things tended to happen after defeats when morale was low, but he couldn't help worrying. He stood and headed out of his tent with haste.

On the other side, he saw no brawl. No undead were invading the camp. Instead, a few people were gathered around a kneeling Kaldorei woman who was picking up various bottles and vials that were scattered on the ground near a great nightsaber panther. Aided by those men and women close by, she grabbed what bottles were strewn about, placing them back in a small crate. He could not see much of the woman through the crowd and the darkness.

He stepped forward, pushing the crowd aside. Others followed. It didn't take long for most of those awake in the camp to gather around this new arrival.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, awaiting an explanation.

"This is Shalendris, sir," one of the soldiers answered, the burly dwarf pointing at the woman. "I think she's been sent by Darnassus."

The captain grunted. "Well, I'll be damned. That's good news, and not a moment too soon."

His eyes followed the stranger as she stood up. She was taller than him by a fair margin. Most Kaldorei were. She carried herself with a proud bearing, head high, hands clasped behind her back. Fine-looking woman, thought Raseri. Statuesque, with a voluptuous figure, a far cry from the slender forms most Kaldorei women possessed. His eyes glanced down her body, taking in the curves of her hips, her thighs, her waist, and her ample chest. Keeping things strictly professional was extremely difficult when faced with a woman of such proportions.

When she bent at the waist in the traditional Darnassian salute, he did likewise, trying to avert his gaze from the mile-long cleavage she showed. She smiled, though he knew not whether at the gesture itself or his attempt not to stare at her overflowing chest.

"I do apologize for the commotion. I tried to avoid waking anyone up, though it seems I tripped upon a rock while dismounting," she laughed a little, visibly embarrassed. "I was told to report to a certain... Captain Raseri?" she said, the slightest hint of an accent perceptible. He had to admire the speed and dedication with which the night elves had learned the common tongue. It had only been six years since the woodland folk and the Alliance had first made contact.

"That would be me," he said. "Welcome to our camp, Shalendris."

Her smile widened. "Thank you... My Shan'do has told me many of your troops require care and I've been told recent events did not lessen your need of healing. I did not know what kinds of supplies you had, so I brought some of my own," she said, pointing to the large wooden crate, filled with all manner of salves, potions and herbs.

"That will do fine. We have plenty of everything else. Stormwind and Ironforge send frequent shipments to aid us but with so few left to administer these cures, I am afraid we can do little more than heal scrapes and bruises." The captain turned to the others. "Let her set up shop here. Get the wounded inside. Those who are well enough can stay outside. Make sure they're guarded."

"Yes, sir!" They replied.

As the men dispersed, Raseri approached the newcomer. "You look like you could use some rest."

Shalendris looked up at him. "Indeed. Thank you for the offer, Captain. But I must tend to the injured first." The druid had already opened the crate, lifting out several bottles, jars and vials.

Raseri nodded. "Very well, then. If there's anything..."

"I'll let you know," she cut him off, smiling politely.

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A few days had passed since then, and the captain watched as the other soldiers chatted with the busty Kaldorei, guiding her to where they needed help. His troops had warmed up to her rather quickly, and her ability to treat her patients exceeded that of most of the followers of the Light he'd seen, not that he liked to admit it. There was a gentle warmth to the woman, an undeniable kindness that made one feel at home.

He took a moment to watch her work, admiring the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she treated them with such compassion. He couldn't help but notice how her soft voice and gentle manner made the wounded feel comfortable in her presence. It was one thing to be healed by a priest's prayers, another entirely to receive healing from someone who cared so deeply about their patients' well-being rather than the powers they served.

It was also clear that Shalendris had a great deal of experience tending to the sick and injured. A novice druid she might have been, but she had found her calling long before that, it seemed. Not only that, but her ability to grow healthy plants in a land corrupted by the Plague had allowed his soldiers to subsist on a more varied diet. Shrubs had started growing berries and previously dead trees started bearing fruit. The mana cakes that his mages like to conjure could not compare to the sweet treats that the land provided them.

In the few days that had followed her arrival at the camp, he found that the bruise he'd sustained had only worsened. His healing spells did little to make things better, and what had once been a simple bruise was now a deep black and purple. Each breath brought with it a sharp, stabbing pain.

Raseri thought of going to Shalendris to ask for her aid, but his soldiers came first and her treatments were having a wondrous effect on their overall health. The elf even spent some nights within the soldiers' tents to make sure they recovered well, her presence and gentle singing lifting their spirits greatly. Plus, he didn't wish for his troops to worry about his own health. They had much to worry about already.

On the third night following the night elf's arrival, after making certain that his men were settled, Raseri went to Shalendris's tent. She was sitting upon her bedroll, looking through a book. Her face lit up when she saw him approach. "Ah! Good evening, Captain!"

"Good evening," he said, sitting down a few feet from her. "How are your patients?" Of course, as their leader, he knew of the condition of every man and woman who fought for him, though he wished to get to know this woman more, she who had earned the trust and admiration of so many in so little time.

"They're doing well. Some of your men... If I'd not been there, I'm afraid they... Let's just say they're stable for now."

"Many were on death's door, I know. Few priests or paladins out of Stormwind or Ironforge could have pulled off what you did. You saved our lives."

She looked down at her lap, briefly embarrassed by such praise. "Thank you, sir. I do what I must."

His gaze followed hers and he noted how her previously overfull robes now appeared to sag a little, as though their previous bounty had lessened. The human ran his fingers through his long, white hair as he pondered the change in her physique. The man knew that bodies were prone to changing rather rapidly and for various reasons, but he had never heard of a woman losing half her bust size in days. What he saw now lent credence to the magic tits theory he'd heard.

"If you don't mind my asking..." He paused, unsure of how to bring about the subject of her enchanted chest.

"Hm?"

The captain cleared his throat, a slight blush on his cheeks. "What happened? Did something happen to you?"

Shalendris blinked as she stared at him, unsure of how to answer such a vague question. "Ah, I thought you'd finally come to me about that nasty injury of yours. But... um, if you're talking about when I arrived at the camp... There was a rock and I tripped unpacking my belongings."

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant. It's just that... Well, it seems that your bust size has changed since then."

Might as well be as direct as possible to get it over with, he reasoned.

Chuckling, she brought both hands up, squeezing and lifting her still considerable chest. Raseri's eyes were locked onto those luscious orbs, wishing it were his hands there instead. "Well, yes. I suppose I should explain! The Plaguelands aren't the... healthiest of regions, as you are most likely aware. My... endowments," she explained, trying to find words appropriate when in the presence of an officer such as himself, "they tend to grow when the land that surrounds me is healthy, when plant life and animals can thrive. They shrink when I am in the presence of sickness or lands that aren't as lush. Places such as deserts, fel-corrupted woodlands, places with demons or undead... They tend to lighten the load, one could say! Areas where life is plentiful, thriving, those are the ones where I can recharge and where my chest grows. Not only that, but my breasts also have the ability to absorb magical energy!"

Raseri nodded, recalling the fat, wobbling melons he'd seen when she arrived. It was as plausible an explanation as any, he thought. "I see. And you put some of this 'life' into your healing potions?"

"Yes, sir. Some of my milk goes into them, along with other ingredients."

"And does that help the potion work better?" He blinked, recalling how his men had gulped down her potions, commenting on how better they tasted than the "sewer water that the priests call healing potions."

"It certainly helps, yes."

Raseri's cock twitched at the mention of her milk, imagining himself suckling on those wondrous breasts, so fat and full. "So, if I were to apply some of your healing potion to my wound..."

A frown crossed the elf's fair features as she looked at the captain. "Honestly, I was wondering when you'd come to me for help. When did this happen and why have you not informed me of this before?" she scolded him. "Show me this injury."

"Ah, uh... I'm sorry. It's nothing life threatening, I didn't want you or my men worrying about me," he said.

Her frown did not lessen. "Do you know how many of my kin I've lost because they thought some wound or injury was not worth treating? Don't let your pride or your sense of duty get in the way of your health. Now, show me," she repeated herself, scooting over so she sat next to him now.

The druid's eyes widened as Raseri lifted his shirt to reveal the awful bruise, black and blue and green and purple, it was all the colors that the human's skin should not have been.

"Abomination got me," he chuckled, wincing as the simple act of laughing caused a sharp pain in his side.

Shalendris looked down at the bruise, her lips pursed together as she considered what to do. The paladin grinned a little as he noted how her silver eyes wandered across his form, not limiting themselves to the injury, taking in the defined musculature of his abdomen. His own eyes wandered downwards, noting how the druidess had not been wearing a bra that evening.

Though she had told him her breasts had been diminished by her efforts and the environment she was in, there was no doubt that she was the most blessed of the women in the camp.

"There is a high chance that there is some internal bleeding, perhaps a few cracked ribs. Thank your armorsmith, for if your rib had punctured a lung, we would not be speaking now," she said, trying to sound as professional as she could, fingers trailing along the bruise, eliciting a sharp inhale from the man. "Sorry," she apologized, "But I must get a feel for the injury. Lie down."

Raseri nodded, lying down on the ground, watching as the druidess knelt down beside him, placing a hand on his chest. Eyes closed, the night elf's breath was steady, and the paladin felt her spirit linking to his body. It was a strange sensation, though not one so different to when he called upon the Holy Light. The difference between the two lay in the primal nature of that magic. He felt as though the ground beneath him, the roots and living things of the earth were now looking inwards, scrutinizing his body, seeking out wounds to repair.

After a moment, she opened her eyes. "I see. The good news is that you are in no mortal danger. The bad news is that... well, you may be bedridden for a few days. Combat is out of the question, for now."

"The one who is behind this... I fear he may get away. My scouts have told me that they have found his lair," he protested. "If I don't go tomorrow-"

She spoke softly, "I know you seek to protect others and that putting yourself in harm's way is what you paladins do. I have seen your kind at Hyjal, I know that death does not afear you. Let me make things clear for you: if you or any of your men go out now, in the state you are in, you will die and your deaths will have been in vain. I know many of those here seek to reclaim Lordaeron, and that is your home, and that is your right. I know what it is like to lose a home, to lose family, to lose all that you hold dear." The Kaldorei offered a kind smile. "I will do what I can to assist you, it is why I was sent here. We night elves owe the Alliance a great deal, and I will assist in the reclaiming of your lands. But I cannot allow you to endanger yourselves further. Throwing your lives away is one thing, but there are people who depend on you. You need to rest, recover, and prepare for battle."