The Feud Ch. 03

Author's notes: Finally, after years in the making, Chapter 3 of our story. I've been on such a rough, long, crazy road in life, but this story finally finished. I'm editing the final chapter now, though I apologize if it's rough-hewn all the same. I'm really tired of working on this story, so tired that I don't want an editor, I just want it to be done... but I also wouldn't let myself do anything else until it was complete. I'm happy to say that it is, but considerably happier to share it with you.

This chapter is considerably longer than the last, yet again. I'm guilty of some teasing scenes, some quickies, and not much... consent. I won't say any more, but there's quite a bit of plot and character development, so I apologize for the no-sex. It's going somewhere.

Retcon: Anadia is now the younger between her and her twin sister, Staci. Apologies.

*****

Victor Naught had never before felt regret for his conquests, in battle or in the bedroom, but remorse now began to creep over him. Thelise had refused to speak to him since their encounter, and though they had dueled twice in the past two weeks, from even a mere professional perspective, this was despairingly insufficient. Had he been a less head-strong man—and perhaps a less arrogant one—he would have sought an audience with Ranger-General Windrunner, but Victor was certain he'd be able to manage without "calling for mommy," as he considered it. Thelise was not impenetrable, and he believed that all she would require was persistence and patience.

Victor tailed her through-out the halls of the Violet Citadel, and when he could not, put gold in all the right hands so he was made aware of her secret haunts and approximate whereabouts. At the end of an extensive session of target practice, he slipped into one of the darker corridors leading toward her training chamber and waited. Tucking himself between a support beam and a stone bust of a wizard he did not care to identify, he pressed his back to the cool, stone wall and forced himself still. Light footsteps echoed down the hall and into the ovular chamber beyond.

The satin slippers of Thelise Dor'elna softened the sound of her ladylike gait, but were as loud as trumpets in the stillness of this deep, solitary room. Victor was confident enough in his ploy that he'd catch her, and when he stepped out to block the path, their faces were only inches apart. Thelise stumbled back in shock, but he was determined to let his piercing gaze settle upon her as he set his hand upon the pillar, barring her way and waiting for her to explain herself.

The luminous, aquatic blue of Thelise's eyes flashed for a moment in the light before falling to the floor and withdrawing into the darkness of her hood. From head-to-toe, the high elf priestess was dressed in white satin. Her robes, gloves, sash, and hood all shimmered with a miraculous light, even in the face of the black silhouette before her and the looming shadow it cast. She stood timidly, an anxious tremble coursing through her body. Only half of her cream complexion was visible beneath the gold-trimmed cowl, but even with the tension of the moment, Victor noted that she did not have the same glow that he remembered. Something was... off.

Silence parted them. Thelise's nostrils flared with anger and, in her stalwart prowess, attempted to push past the warlock. Victor pushed against her, sending her back into place.

"You've been avoiding me," he said at last.

Thelise replied tersely. "I've been busy."

"Too busy for our training sessions, I see."

"There are other places to enhance one's skills than a sparring room."

"Like a bedroom, perhaps," Victor responded, feeling his lip stretch into a smirk.

"I'm not sure you can tell the difference between the two."

Victor began to relax, moving his hand from the pillar and instead resting it upon his hip. "It would be advisable," he began, "if you held a similar interest in bonding with your partner as you do for books. Synergy is equally important, if not more-so."

"I haven't the vaguest interest in "bonding" with a cur like you any longer."

Thelise finally slipped beyond him, almost knocking over the wizard bust to do so. Victor's eyes remained fixed upon her, his voice grave. "Then your people are doomed, Thelise."

"If you leave me to train in peace, they may not be," she said without looking back. Her hips swayed only slightly, echoing confidence in her words as she held a scroll in the air for the warlock. "Do you see this?" she asked buoyantly, "This is a test—and once I pass it, Lady Windrunner will release me from my contract." Victor narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. "That is to say, she'll void it and rewrite it to replace you."

"What—why would she agree to that?!"

Thelise paused and almost turned to scoff. "Are you so foolish as to think I would be able to hide what you've done to me?"

The warlock's voice grew louder, his words fierce. "You'd throw your life away over a lovers' quarrel?"

"Lovers? The only love you know, Victor Naught, is self-love. I am but another stepping stone on your path to fame, and I will be replacing you with someone who respects me as much as he respects the situation—someone who cares for the Quel'dorei with no less passion than I."

The priestess stepped out into the training chamber, basking in the full—if artificial—light of the room. A faint, golden ring emanated from her hood, gleaming periodically now that Thelise was no longer smothered in Victor's shadow. Victor assumed that this was to be her healing garments, and it graced him with an idea. He set off after her.

Refitting his dreadweave gloves higher upon his forearms and fastening them, Victor stepped out onto the ring, his presence equal parts defiance and defilement of the priest's private lesson. Thelise detected him immediately and turned to flash him a gaze of scalding incredulity. Feeding off of her brief attention, the warlock merely folded his arms and stood his ground.

"How dare you!? The contract is already being rewritten. You are defunct, you are worthless!"

"If I cannot convince you, Thelise, I have no choice but to convince the Ranger-General."

"You're pathetic, have you not heard a word? I have won her favor, her ear!"

"And I will win yours once more, foolhardy child."

"... Do your sexual appetites know no bounds? This is a matter of life and death."

"This isn't about hunger, this is about training you. Teaching you a lesson in humility."

"If I wanted to train with scum, I'd be scrubbing a bathtub!"

Victor was undeterred. He remained beside her, a silent, unmoving obelisk.

"Get out!" Thelise shouted, "My test is beginning now!" She reached into her robe and withdrew a scroll wrapped in a purple ribbon. As quickly as the elf was able to open it, Victor muttered a dark incantation. Fel green energy enveloped his body briefly before dripping to the floor like spilt ink, expanding into a pool of circles and runes. Thelise unleashed the power of the scroll with a few simple words, and blue magical energy exploded from her form, sending the warlock flying out toward the entrance.

Had his back been set toward a wall, Victor surely would have been knocked unconscious, but instead he tumbled backward through the hallway, scraping his head, neck and hurting his shoulders on the landing. He looked up to see several spectral figures around the room he had been expelled from— illusory elves locked in losing battle with orcs, and translucent images of wounded men laying upon the ground in wait of death. Thelise positioned herself directly in the room's center, holy light appearing in hands before she released it at different apparitions. One by one, fallen men began rising to their feet, only to vanish, whilst reinvigorated elves began to overcome the faux orcs.

With a thought and a word, Victor willed himself to return to the place of his demonic portal. In less than an instant, he was engulfed in green flames and his body crackled and burned away, only to emerge into existence where the portal had been originally placed. Though all that was left of him in the hall was now a smoldering pile of ash, he felt no sensation other than the difference in air and the rush of new colors meeting his eyes. Now that he was beyond the barrier, he spared no word of warning for Thelise as he channeled his destructive energies and unleashed an immolate spell upon her, igniting her robes.

His presence was noticed immediately. Flinging her arms into the air, a soft shell of light expanded from her hands, shielding her flesh from the flames, although not quenching them. Without mercy or hesitation, he unleashed volley after volley of snaking fire upon Thelise—one after another after another, weakening her shield and gradually dissipating it. He would pierce it soon, and she would be helpless. The priestess appeared to know this, and sought to prioritize the exercise over her own safety, evoking binding heals at illusions around the room in preparation for the searing pain she would soon feel. Victor's eyes lit up. It was apparent that her health came second to her pride, and he opted to punish her accordingly.

The warlock called forth his succubus, beams of purple light encircling him and converging overhead. Within seconds his minion emerged from behind him, invisible to all others, but Victor felt her caress upon his back and shoulder as she passed his body and silently glided beyond. For the moment, he alone could bear witness to violet-horned demoness; her eyes alight with cerulean mischief, her flowing black hair, the scaled wings that extended from the tight leather bodice that held her breasts firmly to her chest and contained her taut and tempting form. Even the black string bikini that barely contained her full, tailed backside was not untypical to her kind, but a lack of original attire did not make succubi any less potent. Her hooves touched the ground without sound behind Thelise, and Victor turned his full attention to the apparitions once again. As far as he was concerned, the priestess would no longer be an issue.

Thelise breathing had eased and she seemed to compose herself as the immolation spell was dying out, but Victor's aggression toward the fragile apparitions required response. She moved toward him to take the offensive, but as she raised a hand to do so, it was halted by a sharp crack at her arm. A thin, almost tentacle-like leather strap wrapped painfully tight around her wrist, as was made apparent by her startled shriek, and the whip's wielder yanked her away from its warlock master. Victor turned to look past the pair, targeting a distant apparition and sending a series of incinerate spells at it. Each wave of fire deliberately twisted around the high elf to meet Victor's target, while his succubus, Linevere, sank her claws into her hips. Thelise hissed in pain, which gave no pause to her soulless captor.

She was too weak to conjure another shield before Linevere leaned in and bit at her neck. It was not one to draw blood or to cause pain, but a gentle bite, with which the succubus drew the priestess into full contact. The demoness let her tongue escape her lips, affirming her intent—Thelise jerked away, clearly repulsed, but she was playing directly into a trap. Their eyes met.

Deep, deep into the sickeningly bright blue, Thelise was dragged under the succubus' spell, and as she drowned in her seductive gaze, she felt as if she could not breathe. A dreadful infatuation grew within the pit of her stomach like a budding rose—a sweet scent filled her nostrils, and Thelise forced herself to inhale, and with that, the rose came into full bloom. The aroma was as nothing that had ever touched her nostrils; a heady and exotic perfume, elusively clean like showered skin, but bittersweet like cranberry. Her blood ran hot, her mouth fell agape, and she felt her body grow damp with sweat and secretion alike. The chamber disappeared. Walls crumbled into dust and blew free in favor of jungle scenery. Wooden panels now supported her feet; soft, cool wind caressed her hair, and outside tiny raindrops trotted across the roof before tumbling down to the patio outside. Thelise wanted so badly to feel them on their body, if only to be touched.

She willed herself forward, but it did not feel as if she made a step—rather, the world glided by. It wasn't right, but her consciousness seemed slow, sluggish, and every thought was delightfully delayed, drunk on the very rain that now began to wrap her skin in a blanket of cold affection. Arms, too, wrapped around her from behind—slender, feminine, with firm, manicured hands. Thelise shut her eyes playfully, guessing at who was behind them—perhaps a handsome adolescent, inexperienced, but full of heart and brimming with playful vigor, or a woman years older, at the peak of her adult beauty.

'Yes,' the elf priestess decided, it was a farm girl, poor but hardworking, true to herself as she is to the livestock in her care. Thelise would have met her in the outskirts of Elwynn, and she would've begged her to show her a simpler world; a world where every blessing is met with humble gratitude, and not a word of prayer is spared for frivolities. Their journey together would lead them far and wide, and tonight, this simple, rain-swept lodge in Booty Bay.

Gentle lips touched to the back of her shoulder and once more upon the nape of her neck, causing Thelise to exhale into starless night. The nameless woman moved patiently, her hands guided by experience, as if she had been with many women—strangely, this left Thelise feeling assured, feeling safe, in spite of her relative prudence. Hands found her shoulders, thumbs and fingers kneaded into her muscles, massaging the tension from the priestess. It felt all too good—too good to be real.

It couldn't be real.

Thelise attempted to break free from this world, but like a nightmare, she felt slowed by some dense, unseen force, a gravity that applied only to her. She didn't belong here, and worse, she knew she had something important to do, something of urgency... "If only I could remember..!" She naturally tried to shout, to scream, to cry out for lucidity or for someone to wake her, but what had come out was a wisp of her true voice.

"Shhh, shhh..." said the farmhand, somehow able to hear her. She was led back into the cabin, but Thelise still tried to remember... they were going... to test someone? Who? Were they going to Ratchet for medical supplies? Was she swashbuckling her way out of Booty Bay? The massage intensified, and Thelise's mind waned against waves of falsified pleasure. The lines between feelings and fiction evaporated into enigmatic fog.

She guarded herself in creeping guilt, and it became necessary, as the candle light surrounding her was not so dim as to hide her arousal. With little warning and less effort, the straps from her simple dress were removed from her shoulders, causing it to fall away from her chest, but fail to reveal it. Thelise did not know when or how her priestly robes were transformed into this image of what a far more youthful, far less accomplished elf might wear to the market, but the woman behind her was moving too quickly to allow the priestess question the experience.

Thelise struggled to keep up—as she was so desperate to do—weaving details that her lover was too hasty to fill in for her. Her farmhand's name was Liv... Renee. Renee. Renee was as tall as her, and had auburn—no, blonde—no, long, brunette hair, and healthy, sun-kissed glow to her skin. She was older, but it only showed in faint traces around her smile and in her stone-gray eyes. The woman was an artist; her hands glided over Thelise's body as if she were ice. Every kiss, every squeeze, every hot breath served to sculpt her, and with each passing moment, Thelise melted.

Together they moved to a tune played upon the rain-swept rooftops overhead. Feigning responsibility, Thelise pulled one of the dress straps back to her shoulder, but left the other to hanging loose, focusing instead on the rhythmic grind that was beginning against Renee's hips. She had danced with her Quel'dorei sisters in the past, but never with lascivious intent. The experience was no less exciting— the attention they drew from the young men was a powerful aphrodisiac. Alas, those days were short-lived, truncated by her holy calling, and yet she now found herself pushing out her backside into the wanton hands of a stranger, who responded by grabbing and gripping her excitedly.

Terrible and intoxicating, the sensation was only vaguely familiar to her, but as Renee grew more aggressive, she could scarcely take the time to remember how. The farmhand spun around her and pushed Thelise further into the cabin, causing her to stumble onto a bed she didn't know existed. Her aged hands grew more lecherous, and Thelise fought to follow along—she was hungry, but her partner was ravenous. The elf wasn't altogether comfortable with the difference separating them, but as Renee's full lips kissed along her neck and nibbled down her collarbone, she could not yet say no. Renee kisses reached her stomach while a hand explored her thigh—Thelise wanted to slow down—the other hand glided toward her bare, B-cup breasts—she wanted to stop—lightly calloused thumbs teased at her exposed and tender nipples. Thelise bit her lip to stifle a moan, but Renee was likely too experienced to be deterred by the amateur strategy.

This had gone too far too fast, and Thelise now wanted to push the woman off of her. Still, the farmhand pushed on, circling the high elf's nipples with her fingertips. Around and around they traveled, sending electricity through her victim's body, her with little flicks. No longer did she seem a fantasy—perhaps Thelise was a fantasy herself, and it was the dark-haired farmhand was the one who had conjured the elf out of her Sapphic desires. "No," she forced herself to say aloud, "no, this isn't real. None of this is real!"

But a gasp for air drew in only the smell of wet wood. She felt another cool flicking at her other breast; the farmhand's mouth was fully upon her, drawing rings with unsavory enthusiasm. Every little lick, suck, and curious bite grew from nearly oversensitive pain to lightly ticklish pleasure. She relinquished, and looked down to her horror. No bronze-locked farmhand rested atop her, and there were no charming, gentle creases were upon her face, nor was there any earthly wisdom in the deathly blue eyes that now stared back at her. Claw-like hands shot up and shackled Thelise, pinning her to the bed. It was the succubus; violet-horns jutting from her wild raven hair, leathery-red tail swishing behind her, and a long, reptilian tongue lapping at the priestess' breast.

The spell was breaking.

As warm saliva dripped toward her sternum, the devil withdrew her tongue, full lips betraying a tightened grin that widened in jubilation. Thelise shook and pushed against the bed, but the succubus would not dismount her, and returned her efforts by making the bonds sting—her nails dug into the elf's flesh until blood shored at their tips. As Thelise looked at the sinister visage, she felt the numbing, comforting sensation reprise, but she strained to keep up the fight. What was overcoming her was far more dangerous than exhaustion - it was ease. Where the demoness' weight was at first an obstacle for her freedom, it began to spread over her, soothe her, like a heavy blanket in deep winter. Linevere's eyes had rekindled the illusion, and as Thelise was swallowed by her spell, even the succubus loosened her grip. Her smile faded, her features relaxed—and so did the elf. Thelise was too frightened to move, but it was modesty that hindered her actions, not circumstance. She found herself in a deep kiss with the grotesque creature, and as their lips locked upon one-another, she felt something she knew should not be: a connection to this soulless conjuration. It was beyond contemplation, shameful and curious.