Getting Around Chapter 2: Live Entertainment, a warcraft fanfic

A/N: Fearleia gives you a quest to help her kill major citizens of Pyrewood Village below SFK. The look human in the day time, but at night the citizens become worgen, thanks to the Archmage Arugal's magical experimentations.

WoW is property of Blizzard Entertainment.

Please review constructively. Enjoy!

"It's no use," Deathstalker Faerleia shouted to her across the mob that separated them. "I can't break through! I'll go get help!"

Without another glance the Deathstalker turned and ran for it, leaving Leviath behind to face the mob of Pyrewood citizens that a moment ago were human, but now with the sun down, were lumbering Worgen. They surrounded her, staring at her with unblinking eyes. She couldn't keep them all in her sights, she was outnumbered.

One of the worgen crouched down on all fours, a sign that he was about to charge. He launched at Leviath. She squatted low and caught him in the abdomen with her shield and used it to toss the creature over her back. She heard a growl to her right and swung her sword out before she looked. The worgen's jaws caught her on her bracer. His poisonous teeth couldn't penetrate the metal, but he hung on tenaciously, though she tried to shake him off.

She felt a blow to the back of her legs, and she was on her back, the wolf-man on her arm, riding her to the ground. The worgen that had charged her legs rounded at the edge of the circle and it was like a signal. They all fell to all fours and closed in.

The wolf-man on top of her worried at her arm, trying to rend and tear, but only scrapped its teeth harshly along the metal. She felt something grab hold of her ankle and blindly she kicked out, connecting and hearing a canine yelp. A claw scrapped for purchase on her thigh and she slammed the edge of her shield down on the wrist.

She struggled, fighting for all she was worth to keep teeth and claws away from her. She knew it was a futile struggle, but she wouldn't be torn to bloody bits without a fight. Then a loud howl pierced the air. The wolf-men all froze in mid motion, lifting their heads, canting towards the sound.

The howl comes to a stop and the attention turns back to Leviath. The wolf-man atop her brought up a clawed hand and held her wrist, releasing his jaws. He twisted her wrist and squeezed, making her hand open, letting go of her sword. It made a loud clatter on the cobble stones.

He stood straight, rotating her arm to a painful angle, moving behind her so she couldn't reach him with her shield arm. She felt him stoop down, bending her arm at the elbow. His other hand grabbed a fist full of her long red hair and pulled up. She scrambled to gain her knees, then her feet as he pulled up painfully.

Another worgen came close, taking hold of her shield and she jerked her arm instinctively. The wolf-man holding her pushed on her arm, making her shoulder scream in pain. She shook off the shield herself, letting it clatter to the ground, the pain in her arm eased up. She felt him push on her head and she moved forward.

She was marched up a hill to an open bridge, leading to Shadowfang Keep. She was guided through the open archway and brought to a halt. Before her was a little dais. It would have led to an open courtyard, but was blocked off by a large portcullis. A man, darkly robed and masked, stood at the top of the dais, flanked by more worgen, those closest to him larger and more imposing than the rest. She was brought to the foot of the steps and the Archmage Arugal stepped down.

"What have we here?" He eyed her slowly from foot to head and waved his hand. She was abruptly released, only to have Arugal take her chin firmly in hand, tilting her face up. "You're a bit far from home, pretty elf. What are you doing trespassing here?"

"I was in the neighbor hood, thought I'd say hello."

"Hmph," he sounds amused. "Well then we certainly can't let you leave without showing a little hospitality, now can we? Relithgore, relieve our guest of her burdens." He steps back and a dark furred worgen moves forward. The wolf-man circles Leviath, eyeing her carefully, before standing in front of her. His clawed hands went to her tunic clasp and with surprising dexterity, unfastened it. He stripped her tunic from her shoulders roughly, and she stood passive, as he did the same to her gauntlets and bracers. Her boots came next and then her leggings, which she helpfully stepped out of. Her behavior seemed to amuse Arugal, drawing a laugh from him.

"What no struggle? No display of righteous indignity?"

She shrugged, making no comment. He looked her over slowly again, taking stock of her like some piece of meat. She was tall for her kind, reaching to about 5'9". And she was no slender waif either, instead her body was muscled, but not overly bulky, retaining its femininity by giving her ample curves. She bore the inspection with passive eyes.

"My children," Arugal addressed the worgen around him, though his eyes remained on Leviath. "We have a treat tonight it seems. Our banquet hall is purged, temporarily, of its haunting, and a bounty has come to our doorstep. Let us have a feast!"

There was an uproarious howl from the wolf-men, and Arugal turned to a side door. Most of the procession followed closely behind. The dark worgen that had stripped her of her mail, came up behind her, roughly binding her hands behind her back. He used lean, scratchy rope, and pulled it tight. Then he shoved her forward to follow the rest.

It was a winding, convoluted path they took. Eventually they ended up in the courtyard again, taking a doorway to the northeast, they moved through a large kitchen. She screwed up her nose at the smell. Whatever was bubbling away in the large cauldrons had to have been something incredibly foul.

Another brown furred worgen saw her face and moved up beside her. He opened his maw and spoke. His speech guttural and sloppy, unable to truly grasp humanoid languages, without lips. "Don't...like...my cooking?" He licked at his chops, his tongue smearing away the drool.

"Oh no," she responded off-handedly. "I'm sure it'll put hair on your chest." The worgen blinked at her, apparently not getting, or perhaps simply not appreciating the pun.

She stepped down a short stair into the banquet hall. It was dark and damp, small candelabras and wall torches vainly attempting to light the large room. A long table took up the center, it was covered in broken dishes, over turned bottles, and a few decaying hunks of meat. There was another little dais at the far end of the room, flanked by duel stairways. One of the only surviving chairs was drug up on the front of the dais and Arugal grandly took his seat.

The end of the long table was swiped clear and Leviath was guided up on top of it. The wolf-man put pressure on her shoulders and she went down to her knees. She saw Arugal make a gesture, and one of the lesser wolf-men came up. He set a large, raised serving platter in front of her. It was silver and well polished, and large enough to hold an entire boar.

She felt the table shift, and looked to her left. The dark furred wolf-man who was apparently the keep's "chef" stood just a little behind her. In his large fist, he held a wooden baker's paddle. It was small enough to look ridiculous in his hand. She turned her head towards Arugal, raising a brow.

"You entertain often?"

"Only for special guests," he made another commanding wave of his hand. Her shoulders were pushed down until her breasts pressed against the cool metal, her body at an almost perfect ninety degree angle. "Relithgore, hold her head up. I want to see her face."

A clawed hand tangled in her hair again, pulling her head up, the other stayed pressed on her shoulders. Out of the corner of her vision she could see the lesser worgen crowding in, staying back away from the table, but cramping up on each other as close as possible, vying for the best seat.

Whack!

The first crack of the paddle was hard enough jerk her body forward. Her hips bumped roughly into the edge of the silver display platter. She gritted her teeth, trying not to tense for the next blow, it would only make it worse.

Whack!

She grunted softly. Apparently the cook had had some practice at this. The blows were hard enough to rock her body, but not so much as to dull the sting.

Whack!

Her skin felt hot, smarting with each blow. She wanted to shift away from the strokes, but the hand on her shoulder was firm. Obviously, Relithgore had practice at this too.

Whack!

She was panting now. She wanted a break, just to catch her breath. But the paddle was incessant. She felt the hand in her hair pull up, but the one on her shoulder stayed firmly controlling, so her body was slowly drawn up to an angle. The only part of her touching the silver platter was her hip bones, which ground painfully into its rim.

Whack!

Her breasts felt painfully heavy as each blow made them bounce. The abrupt rise and fall making them ache.

Whack!

The last stroke was fiercer than all the rest. It arched her back and drew her first yelp of pain. The pull on her hair eased and she was, almost gently, pressed back down upon the cool silver surface. She turned her face to the coolness, attempting to ease her breathing.

"Ahh!" Her head jerked up as a talon scratched lightly over her abused flesh. Her skin was so hot and inflamed that the light touch had been magnified ten fold. Arugal crossed his legs, nodding in approval.

"Good. Time for the next course."

She felt the table shift again, the cook jumping down. Another large worgen took his place, this one though had white fur instead of brown. Her head was lifted, and the pressure on her shoulders returned as she felt the white wolf-man settle in behind her. She tried to prepare herself as she felt clawed hands grip her thighs, spreading them farther apart.

She felt the expected press of the deceptively soft tip of otherwise hard flesh to her exposed opening. He wedged himself there and adjusted his hold to her hips. She heard a slow intake of breath, then he rammed himself fully inside her. She winced as his coarse fur abraded her tender backside, but had no time to recover. He was already moving in and out of her, his strokes quick and shallow, scrapping his rough hair across her with every movement.

The pressure on her shoulders, and the position of her body kept her from moving. So she had to lay there and just take it. In and out, over and over. It didn't take him overly long to come to his completion. He pulled out of her and she felt a hot splash across her lower back.

The table shifted again, and she felt the cold swipe of a wet cloth. It ran over her back and between her legs, wiping away some of the wetness her body had built up. Then another worgen took his place behind her and it began again.

By the fourth round she was sweating. She ground her teeth in frustration. So much friction, yet not enough stimulation. She needed to be able to move. When the last one climbed off, she met Arugal's eyes.

"I take it, it's been a while for your boys." Her voices was raspy, and her throat dry, but she managed to convey a tone of indifference. "They're in and out so quickly, I can hardly feel a thing. Or is it just lack of skill?"

Arugal arched a brow. "Are we boring you, my dear?"

"Aren't you bored? The same repetitive motions over and over again, I'd hardly call that entertaining."

He considered her a moment, then his gaze shifted to the worgen beside her. "Relithgore," his tone made it a command.

She felt a sudden tension in the arms that held her down. Apparently, Relithgore was surprised to hear whatever signal he'd just received. The moment stretched out, and then she felt the pressure of his arms on her shoulders ease.

She held her position while he moved, kneeling beside her. His clawed hands were surprisingly gentle as he eased her up. Smoothly, he pulled her around to face him, adjusting her position so the small of her back touched the cool edge of the silver platter, cutting off retreat.

She watched as he ran his claws lightly through her hair, spreading it out around her shoulders. His eyes scanned over her, taking her in, then lifted to her face. She met his gaze with no fear, only an expectancy. He cocked his head to the side inquisitively. Leaning down, he snuffled lightly along her shoulder.

"You...aren't...afraid?" His breath gushed warmly over her skin, his speech amazingly slobber free. "Most...cringe...and cry."

"I'm not like most," she replied softly. She arched her neck, boldly offering up her vulnerable throat. "I don't cringe."

His tongue flicked out, licking the salty sweat from her throat. "But...will...you...cry?" His jaw flashed open and he sank his teeth into her shoulder.

She gasped, feeling her skin tear and blood being to flow. For a hideous moment, she thought he meant to eat her, but then he drew back. She sagged backwards against the silver tray, her shoulder throbbing. A warm trickle of blood slid down her skin, and she watched his eye follow them down over her flesh. He dipped his head, and she tensed, thinking he meant to bite her again. But instead, his muzzle nuzzled between her breasts. His tongue slid out again, slowly dragging over a red drop that was creeping around the curve of one mound.

His tongue still languidly lapping at her blood, she felt the warm flats of his palms encircle her waist. Slowly, they slid down her sides, over her hips, and rested on her thighs. He gripped her firmly and lifted. With nothing to support her, she lay back against the cold silver surface, her tied hands trapped beneath her.

Unlike his kin, he entered her slowly. His movements long and patient. Savoring. Her head swam, her skin flushed. With worgen physiology being what it was, seduction was limited, but Relithgore was obviously practiced. His movements drew the focus solely to achingly slow slide, in and out.

Leviath had never know such a torture. First, it had been all friction and no stimulation, and now just the reverse. She could not stop the soft noises that escaped her lips as the sensations bombarded her. But none was enough to tip her over the edge. Enough was enough.

When he drew out of her again, she made her move. Her legs wrapped around his waist and with a grunt wrenched his body forward. Taken off guard, he had to reach out and grasp the edges of the platter to keep from collapsing atop her. She glared up into his surprised eyes, her own voice a low growl.

"Enough games."

Perhaps it was the surprise, or her tone, but something seemed to click in his eyes. He reared back, pulling her legs from around him in a rough movement. Holding her thighs, he flung her leg over his shoulder, dragging her body up, only her head and shoulders touching the sliver surface. And then he plunged inside her.

He thrust into her as though he were trying to bruise her, fast and painful, but oh so what she'd wanted. It took her only a moment to climax, the pent up urge finally spilling out over her being. And she cried out.

Still he did not stop. Her body thrumming, it quickly built up again, and again. She lost all sense of anything else, until finally, exhaustion won out. And when she finally lay limp and heavy in his hold, she vaguely realized when he finally spent himself.

She felt him collapse, her legs let fall. She was aware of her shoulder aching and her hands had gone numb. There was a murmur around the room, but she could barely lift her eyelids. She heard a voice, though unclearly and someone lifted her up. She was somewhat aware of being carried, and then she was laid down on what felt like straw.

When she roused, she saw she was in a cold cell, and her hands untied. She could see a stairway directly out her barred door, and naught much else. She rose and found that her chest piece , leggings, and boots had been left for her, though nothing of her other gear. She gathered up her clothes and began to dress.

"You recover quickly," came a voice. She moved to the bars and looked out, there was no one standing gaurd.

"I was always resilient," she countered, dragging on her boots.

"You must be. Usually the women Arugal takes for his...entertainment, end up a ghosts in the courtyard." The voice paused. "I am Deathstalker Adamant."

"Nice to meet you, Adamant. I'm Leviath, and certainly no ghost."

"Not yet."

"Such an optimistic view," a third, more familiar voice came. She turned her head and smiled at the elf she saw standing on the stairs.

"Eigenaar, just in time."

"You're lucky that Faerleia ran into me,' The mage decended the stair and went to the lever by her cell. "Is it a habit of yours, getting in over your head?"

"It's more of a hobby really," she grinned at him as the cell door rose. "Owe you one."

"Actually," he held out a bundle, which she found to be the rest of her gear. "This would be two."

"Don't worry, I'm good for it."

"Okay, you two," Adamant's voice rang out. "How about letting me out next?"