Disclaimer: All copyright belongs to Blizzard
Author's note: Boredom (and jazz music) makes me write about weird things, kids. The story does -not- start out light in mood.
O
Astia Brightleaf would be described as a plain night elf. And she was, as her peers liked to point out, which led to continuous frustrations and eventually her leave from society. She wanted a simpler life, one where she could return to a simple way of living with only the most basic of emotions and no one to tell her what to do and what not to do. Without another one of her kind around, no one to talk to, feelings such as jealousy, hatred, guilt or shame were non-existent. It is not because she chose to live like this, that she turned into a complete savage. She did not wake up every morning just to survive through yet another day. No, as a hermit she had all the time in the world to become a skilled druidess, an adept at everything natural. She needed very little to surpass people who had plenty.
She built herself a small cottage near the border of Ashenvale and tended a small garden filled with roses. She had several different kinds, in the most vivid colours. Some grew low against the ground, others circled upwards along wooden constructions she built. Over the course of thirty years, she saw the flowers blooms and wither away, to return again the year after.
Now, dear reader, I wish to pull you out of this illusion I create, for Astia's life was far from perfect. It started out as such, filled with complete serenity and harmony, until they came...
She woke up to the muted thuds of boots in the mud. She lay on her bed, made of a soft, light-coloured type of wood. It had been a long time since she had last slept on a mattress. A small pillow made out of woven vines and filled with leaves was the only means of comfort she required during the night. She just sat up in her bed, when the door to her cottage slammed open and then fell into her house. She hadn't been able to make hinges and the intruder had broken the wooden bar that served to keep her door closed during the night.
The elf, barely clad in two strips of leather, bolted upwards, reaching for a wooden stave that leaned against the wall beside her bed. Two burly orcs entered the house, as a third person shouted a command from outside: "Loot the house. Kill anyone inside."
Astia did not understand a word, but it sounded positively aggressive. She looked around for a way to escape her house, but she doubted she'd fit through the small windows. Instead she held up the heavy piece of wood in front of her, hoping that the orcs knew just as little about combat as she did. One of them charged at her, so she swung the staff at him. The wood made contact with the orc's shoulder and she heard something breaking, but she had no idea whether it was wood or bone.
The next thing she knew, she was on the floor, a heavy orc on top of her, breathing in her face. He smelled of blood and death. The elf struggled underneath her assaulter, but the orc's superior strength kept her pinned down.
As the other creature plundered her belongings, which didn't take him all too long, she kept trying to get away from his partner. The orc on top of Astia grunted something and tore away the pieces of leather with one hand. Every now and then Astia managed to get in a punch or a slap, but overall it had little effect. Even if she got this one off her, she'd have to face a second one and then someone – or something – else outside.
In her frantic punching and squirming, she noticed that the other orc had left her house, most likely with all her food and other supplies, little as they may have been. All of a sudden, she felt a heavy piece of meat slap on her stomach. She made a panicked noise, as she had a pretty good idea what it was.
So that was it. This was how she was going to die. Get raped once, twice, maybe even three times before getting killed. She closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She felt the manhood drag downwards and then pain. She cried out. The orc did not manage to get in in one thrust, but eventually the shaft forced its way into her, making her feel as if she was being split open.
She had no idea whether this orc was well-endowed or not, but it felt as if he was. Every thrust hurt more and more, as her body fought the unwanted intrusion. The orc grunted, shaking the elf's body below him, roughly pounding into her, his hefty balls slapping against her as he eventually manages to bury all of him in her.
This went on for another minute or so before she felt the orc groan, his thrusting picking up frantically before he stabs his meat deep into her, his thick load filling her up. The green monster must have been on the road for a while, as the load spilled out of her, so much did he release.
The second time she was raped, it still hurt, but the worst was over. She just lay there, crying, occasionally letting out a wail of despair as the slightly smaller orc buried himself into her until he too reached completion. She was left there and the heavy boots thudded once against on the floor and then on the muddy soil outside.
A minute later, Astia heard cries in the distance. She did not pay much attention to them. She only hoped they wouldn't come back. She couldn't take any more. She was broken, a blubbering mess, left in a state of shock and anguish.
Did they do it for pleasure? Perhaps. It was probably more for the thrill, though. Utter physical and mental domination over someone. Astia felt sick. She vomited and blacked out on the floor.