Part 10

The Forsaken rider at the front of the three riders stopped within hailing distance of the group, "Ferruk?"

Ferruk rode forward slightly, "Yup, whatcha want?"

"We've further orders from High Executor Anselm, Sir," the man said, and dismounted to walk forward.

Ferruk left the group and met the man halfway. He accepted the orders, and the salute, and each returned to their group. The three Forsaken turned and galloped back the way they came.

"He wants us to clear the Keep completely. He says that they've received intel that there's a Vrykul named Ingvar the Plunderer behind Keleseth's activities. He has requested that we dispatch him, as well as Keleseth," Ferruk told the others.

The group turned and headed for the Keep, able to see the tip of it in the distance now. "I hesitate to bring it up," Malovici said, "but how do we know that this isn't another attempt to ambush us?"

"The seal is official," Ferruk said with a frown. "But I think you're right, hold on a minute."

Ferruk activated the attunement crystals, trying not to grab his head in pain, High Executor, we've received a missive from three Forsaken riders. They claim that it's from you, and that I am to investigate deeper into the Keep and find one called Ingvar the Plunderer. I would like to confirm that this message is from you, Sir.

The reply came back, distant and without inflection, You've been a Horde soldier long enough to know how to recognize an official missive, Ferruk, and thus not to bother me with this sort of thing.

Ferruk shrugged and looked it over again. "He says it's official," he told the others, and they continued on their way through the afternoon.

"I estimate it will take us another two days to reach the Keep," Whitecrow said. Nantu nodded.

Malovici stood up, "I'd like to see how Nerissa does in combat against me, if you don't mind," he told her. She nodded and pulled the insufferable helm out of her pack again.

They stood facing each other, and to Nerissa, Malovici reminded her of a geist, with the way he kept his body long and low to the ground. She'd battled many geists, and knew one of the best ways to deal with them. The problem with them was twofold: first off, they moved extremely swiftly; and secondly, they tended to slash at legs and lower body areas.

Although the second didn't apply to Malovici, the first did. He was very, very fast, but his movements were generally based more upon getting in many fast, or a few very well-placed stabs or jabs. So really, all she had to do was find his pattern… and thus she took the stabs for a few minutes until she established his rhythm. Then she started anticipatory dodging of them. Slowly, not only did she begin to dodge his strikes, but she managed to use his own rhythm against him.

He would stab forwards, and meet the point of her sword. He would dance sideways and meet the edge of it. He would duck down and catch a foot to his face.

Thus, they danced and weaved, Nerissa bobbing out of his way whenever she could, and focusing mainly on keeping his deadly strikes from finding vulnerable spots. The longer the battle continued, the more frustrated Malovici appeared to get. She was landing more and more blows as he tried to change his pattern, only managing to make himself clumsy in the process.

Nerissa Healed herself several times, finally running out of reserve Power. It was at this point that Malovici gained a definitive advantage, although she had done severe damage to him by this point. In the end, it was Nerissa who yielded, though Malovici stood even lower than usual, stooping almost to the ground.

The other three stood up, clapping and high-fiving each other. "Holy… that's the closest I've ever seen Mal come to losing!" Whitecrow exclaimed.

"Be damnd-ed if ya didn't nearly take 'im out," Nantu laughed, clapping, before she Healed them both.

"Losin' your touch, Mal?" Ferruk said to the Deathstalker.

"Dunno how she did it," Malovici said, his unblinking golden orbs staring at her, his countenance indecipherable. He was pleased with this outcome, though no one else could tell by the look on his dead face. The girl showed great promise. "Maybe she needs to teach you guys a thing or two. Not one of you have ever come anywhere near taking me down as she just did."

He helped her to her feet, extending one cold, dry hand to her to help her to her feet from having knelt in order to yield. She pulled her helm off again, and her hair tumbled free, waving vivacious and lively in the howling wind of the Fjord. She smiled at Malovici, pleased by his praise.

"You've got natural talent, girl, I suggest you focus on improving it," he said, clapping her on the shoulder. As she stepped away, he seemed to regress again into his undead state; the battle and discussion that had animated him falling away like a snake shedding its skin. He reached down and picked up a chunk of his thigh from the ground and squatted to sew it back on.

Repulsed, Nerissa turned away. Her eyes met Ferruk's, and she could see the pride in his face, but something else burned there, too. Fascinated, she forgot about the others and stepped towards him as one might approach a banquet table full of delights she's not sure it's time to enjoy just yet.

The others sighed and mounted up to wait for them, Malovici ignoring them all to finish sewing. At least this time, he thought to himself, I don't have to wonder if it's mine or not. Then he stood up to watch Ferruk and Nerissa. A logical pairing to his way of thinking. He had long since given up silly obsessions with appearances, and learned to embrace the deeper realities of necessity and expedience.

In this particular case, there was Ferruk, who (until the last couple days) was very calm and unnaturally placid for an orc, and the unusually forthright and ebullient blood elf. He was too reserved for his people, and she far too enthusiastic and energetic for hers. Malovici wondered that no elves had tried to kill her before now.

Finally standing up, he said to Ferruk, "I know you two are in heat, but maybe we should get going. Time enough for rutting like rabbits when we camp for the night. It's your own sleep to throw away as you see fit." Whitecrow and Nantu laughed at his comment. If he had thought to drag in some breath (if he could remember how to), he would have sighed.

He wasn't really joking. In point of fact, like all the living did, when they started acting all rutty like that, they radiated greater heat, easily visible to his magical senses. Those two had been hot for each other from the start, her even more than him, though now they seemed to have traded places.

The drawback to being dead, he supposed. He didn't even remember what sexual attraction felt like. But he certainly knew what it looked like, and those two were flaring up like firecrackers every time they caught sight of one another.

Ah, another battle would be fantastic, with its vibrant colors and kaleidoscopic scents… soon. Very soon.

The pair separated and mounted, and the group set off. "No more makeout breaks until we camp," Malovici grumped.

When long shadows began to stretch across the land, and the sun turned a deep orange as it pulled a blanket of twilight over itself, they made camp for the evening.

Ferruk and Nerissa found that while there was a newfound honesty between them about their attraction for one another, there were barriers to actually consummating it. Namely armor. Not to mention the proximity of other people, inescapable given the ever-present likelihood of an ambush.

Beyond that, though, both were insecure for their individual reasons. Ferruk couldn't get his mind around why she found him attractive. Nerissa couldn't really reconcile the treatment he'd given her the last few days. Was he making a mistake? Was she getting herself in too deep?

These were the questions boiling through their minds as they walked away from the camp into the woods nearby. They stayed just outside of the glow of firelight; close enough that the others could easily hear them if they called out in distress, but not so close that they could easily make out what the pair was doing.

Pressing Nerissa against a tree, Ferruk kissed her. That same wild, untamed feeling rose up in him, and he struggled to be gentle. The golden beauty of her skin in the pale gleam of the fire made him crazy with a heavy, crushing sort of lust. He pressed his lips against hers, pulling her away from the tree again, as it made the kiss awkward by preventing her from throwing her head back so he could fully access her.

Growling, he started yanking at the straps on her plate breastplate, fumbling in the dark despite his sharp night vision. He finally managed to free it and drop it, sliding one hand up her undertunic to press her supportive bodice aside. Once one of her breasts was in his hand, heavy and full and yet so very soft, he felt an uncontrolled growl rise up from his chest.

He relinquished her mouth to lift her up against the tree, using the weight of his body to hold her there, resting her butt on his other arm as he licked and then sucked at her breast, kneading it a bit roughly with the other hand. Her breathing was fast and deep, and she curled her fingers in his hair, pulling him more tightly to her breast.

She gasped and moaned as his hands changed position without his mouth ever leaving off tugging and licking at her breast. He smelled blood and pulled back, adjusting his position. His tusk had drawn blood, though it was only a very small cut. He made a passing mental note to file it at the earliest opportunity, and then her other breast was free and he was distracted again.

He switched to that one, growling again as his penis twitched urgently against the inside of his leather underclothing. Straightening up, he looked into her glowing eyes, eyes that betrayed her in the dark but also made her able to see in the same darkness. Eyes that pierced his soul and excited him, confused him, and delighted him all at once.

He felt her fumbling now at his waist, and grabbed her hands with a low growl. He wanted to take his time. He wanted to explore her, feel her, and experience her. She groaned with impatience, and he grinned at her. Easing her down to stand on the ground again, he stepped back, and stood away from her, his hands on her ribs, stroking down the sides of them while his thumbs played across her nipples.

"Patience, Nerissa, patience," he said, knowing it would irritate her, and half enjoying it simply for that fact.

He looked at her breasts, the nipples standing up in the cold air. Then he pulled his chain tunic and his leather undertunic off and tossed them on top of her breastplate. He pulled her close and wrapped his cloak around her to keep her warm as she trembled from the cold. Soon, his heat seeped into her, and she relaxed as he kissed her and kneaded one breast with a free hand. With the other hand, he held her close against him.

As he pulled away, their breath mingled in the cold air, and a shiver ran down his spine at the symbolism of it. She was looking up at him with sleepy, lust-laden eyes, and he struggled to control the primal need that drove through him. He felt her against his chest, her nipples teasing him with their tight hardness and her breasts tantalizing him with their supple softness.

He tugged at her legplate buckles now, trying to free them enough to slip his hand inside. Finally, they clattered to the ground, and he was able to unlace the breeches that foolishly dared to keep him from his objective. Sliding his hand inside, he found her to be so wet from her lust for him that his hand slid across her skin, but tangled in her wet panties.

"Damn it," he snarled, and she giggled.

"Patience, Ferruk, patience," she replied to his exclamation, parroting his voice all too accurately for someone several octaves higher in pitch than him. He growled and pushed her back against the tree again, pulling her breeches down with his other hand, trying not to let in too much cold air while he maneuvered her clothing.

At last, the blasted breeches were out of his way, and he could peel the soaked panties off of his hand with the other hand. He felt her hands traveling up his belly and chest, bumping into his periodically as she struggled to touch him while he touched her. As his finger slid into her slippery, wet folds, she gasped and leaned her head forward against him.

He began to search there, seeking inside her softness for the firmer button of her clitoris. Well before he found it, though, she was panting and pressing against his finger, her hips bucking as she moaned and began to cling to him. Her lips touched his skin, and the heat of her mouth felt like fire against the coldness of the air.

He explored her wetness in the warm darkness of the cloak. She explored his chest in the cold brilliance of the moonlight. Fire and ice danced in perfect union. Their breath mingled again as they kissed, the blessing of the wind. The tree held her pressed against his hand as his finger continued its delighted search, earth lending its strength.

Then he found her clitoris, and she arched and strangled a cry as his finger danced on it, her voice wild and full of lust as she groaned his name. She, the wild one, carrying the essence of that element, giving herself to him freely.

He lifted his head as he felt the vague, distant touch of each of the elements, their blessing, and their delight in this unexpected union. Then he returned to her, shaking his head, clearing his over-active imagination and letting his fanciful though drift away. He slipped his finger up and down, feeling her hips rock against his hand with delicious, sensual abandon.

She reached down again and started to unlace his mail leggings, and he stopped to assist her. Then he stepped out of them, discarding those as well. He returned eagerly to her body, feeling coolness through his leather underbreeches. Her hand slipped inside, freeing his desperately straining penis from its cramped quarters.

He groaned into her hair as her hand slid the length of him, softly seeking and memorizing every veiny bump in his skin, the shape of him, and the softness of his hide. Silk and stone—she caressed him with a breathless longing. He felt his breath quicken at the soft reverence of her touch, the tender delight she took in running her hand up and down him, then encircling his scrotum and fondling it.

With sudden, intense urgency, he wanted to feel her around him, to explore her wet depths, and to dive between her legs and forget himself there. The beautiful night was forgotten. The soft sounds of wildlife and the howl of the wind, forgotten. The whisper of the moon on her face, barely noticed beyond that it was her face, her beautiful face, surrounded in blazing fire.

How he wanted her, how amazed he was at the differences between them! She was so tiny, so lovely, and her golden skin against his green hide was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

He found, to his dismay, that getting inside her wasn't as simple a proposition as he'd thought. He couldn't wrap her legs around him, because her breeches held them together. He could turn her around, but then she would be exposed to the cold, and she was too small and delicate to handle it well or for very long.

Frustrated, he finally settled for pulling one of her boots off, while she giggled and hopped on the other one, then pulling that side of her breeches off. Then, with her breeches dangling from one leg, he lifted her against the tree again. This time, he positioned himself at the entrance to her hot, slippery vaginal entrance. He could barely stand it, he wanted to be inside her so badly now that he was clenching his teeth.

Carelessly, he snagged a lacing from the cloak with his tusk, wiping the blood off of it. He tried to help disentangle it, swatting her hand away to keep her from cutting herself on it. Fully agitated at this point, it didn't help when her breeches got snared in the back of his mail tunic. Finally, to make it easier on himself, he simply pushed her back against the tree and thrust into her.

She cried out loudly, and he stopped, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rough, I'm really sorry," he grunted out, letting go of her and using his leg to support her as he disentangled from the cloak and her breeches.

"No, it's okay," she breathed, "it's fine."

He stood up straight so he could look into her eyes as he started to shift in and out of her. She gasped and thrust against him, her legs straining around the bulk of him. To his surprise, and delight, she pulled his head down to hers for a kiss. He kissed her urgently, thrusting his strong, mobile tongue into her mouth as he claimed her entirely.

Moving faster then, he shoved rapidly in and out of her, bouncing her breasts against his chest. Ever faster he moved, struggling again to control the overwhelming feelings that permeated him as he rode her against the tree. His powerful thighs and haunches flexed and relaxed and flexed again as he drove his penis into her with a possessive fervor.

He pulled away and began to pant as he pulled her up and down on him, struggling to slow down and calm down as she cried out once in pain from being driven too hard against the tree behind her. Then he had a whole new struggle as she began to pant and whimper, and he realized she would orgasm soon.

He wanted to wait for her, to orgasm with her, to feel her vaginal canal milk him of all that he had to give. He slowed his strokes, using his massive forearms to lift her, completely unhindered by their clothing or the lopsided weight of her breeches.

At last, after a moment that felt like an exquisite eternity, he felt her begin to orgasm, and let himself follow. He felt her muscles tensing, squeezing, and almost sucking at him in the tight confines of her vaginal canal. He grunted, then growled as he found his release, his penis throbbing in wanton pleasure inside her. His scrotum finally quit twitching, and his penis fell to only twitching intermittently inside of her.

She smiled at him. It was a surprisingly sweet, soft smile. He smiled back, wishing that just once he could smile without it looking more like a pained grimace. But when he smiled, hers grew and she brushed her hand along his jaw line.

"Ferruk," she said softly.

"Yes?"

"I… I didn't know it… I didn't know how sweet it would be," she said.

He lifted her up and let her legs down. "I didn't, either," he told her, "though I'm not surprised."

They stood for a while longer, hugging each other there in the darkness, basking in the feelings they were experiencing in the aftermath of their coupling. After a while, he felt her shiver again, and carefully helped her dress, and then she helped him. They stood together for another few minutes before returning quietly to the camp.

As Nerissa laid down on her bedroll, he told her would be back soon, and went to see Malovici on guard duty. As he walked up behind him, the Forsaken man turned to him and greeted him in a low, quiet voice, "Feelin' better now, man?"

Ferruk grunted, "For the moment, I suppose," was his answer.

"Not going to sleep with her tonight after all that ruckus?" Malovici wanted to know.

"I will," Ferruk said. "I just wanted to breathe a bit first."

"Well," Malovici said, "I don't know how you can, with all that blood on you."

Ferruk winced at the reminder, "I cut her with a tusk," he said, embarrassed.

"Tusks're clean, man," Malovici told him.

"What're you saying?" Ferruk asked.

Malovici's dead golden orbs turned and bored unrelentingly into him without expression. "I'm saying you smell like blood, and your tusks are clean. Did I stutter?"

"So she's on her menses, who cares?" Ferruk said.

"Ain't woman's time blood. You can smell that yourself. Just plain old blood, man," Malovici answered.

"She can't be a virgin, Mal, she's almost 60 years old. Nobody goes without sex for 60 years."

"That's no orc you're messing with there, Ferruk. Elf has to be virgin to marry a man that can elevate her social status. You're seriously telling me you didn't know that?" Malovici was back to stitching some flesh back onto his calf.

"Well, how should I know that?" Ferruk said. "I haven't exactly taken Bizzaro Elf Traditions 101, have I?" He was quiet for a second, "Didn't know you had, either."

"Common knowledge, the whole virgin thing, man," Malovici told him.

"Well, it's not that common, now is it. If it was, I'd know," was the snappish response.

"Don't sweat it, man, pretty likely she's sucked a cock or two. I mean, she is almost 60, you know. So she's probably pretty good at it by now." Malovici lost the needle. Again. "Son of a bitch!"

"What?"

"Lost mah needle. After the first five or six times you sew your fingers back on, starts gettin' easy to drop the needle. Gets hard to thread the damned thing, though." Malovici would have sighed this time, too. The living liked to do that a lot. Instead, he started digging for another needle.

"That's really gross, you do know that, right?" Ferruk said.

"What's a guy sitting there wearing virgin blood got to say to anybody else about gross, man?"

"There's just no way someone gets to be 60 and is still a virgin," Ferruk argued.

"Course dere is," Nantu said, coming up behind them. "She a elfie, boy, she gots ta stay a virgin. On'y way ta move up in da world fer a elfie woman."

"Does everybody know this but me?" Ferruk asked.

"Apparently," Malovici said, trying to thread the needle. "Son of a bitch!" He was pretty sure that one fell into his crotch.

"Is a good match," Nantu said. "She gets ta move up in da Horde society, ya gets da pretty wife and much monies. She's da rich, ya knows."

"What?" Ferruk asked, distracted by Malovici pawing at his crotch. He was starting to wonder if he really did sew… well… you know… that… back on, too…

"She gain da social standing with da horde ta be with a Clan Shaman, higher den her rank now cause of her bein' elfie," Nantu said. "An fer you, dere's da fact that da husband gets ta help with spending da monies. Her fam'ly very wealthy."

"Who says I'm gonna marry her?" He almost shrieked it.

"Well, o' course yer gonna marry 'er, ya tooked her virginity. Ya gonna make her live 'er whole life without never gettin' married cause ya wanted a quick toss, mon?" Nantu said, sounding for all the world like she thought she was saying the most reasonable thing in the world. "Don' 'ave ta be a real marriage, jes marry her political like. Dat's how it's done."

"Does she know about this? Do you think she knows I'm a Clan Shaman?" Ferruk asked her, a sudden cold sense of horror gripping him.

"Course she knows, I telled her at da Inn," Nantu said.

Ferruk echoed Malovici, "Son of a bitch."

"Wat?" Nantu asked.

"That little social climbing bitch," he snarled, and clomped swiftly back towards the camp.

"Wait… no… don't… stop…" Malovici said sarcastically, knowing he would totally ignore any attempts to stop him, "her attraction is genuine, and you're about to go fuck it up and be an asshole for the rest of the trip… aren't ya, big guy. Yeah, there ya go, go you."

He actually remembered to sigh that time. He could hear angry voices already from the camp.

Nantu echoed his sigh, "Yep, yer right, Mal, 'e's gonna go fuck it right up."

Quardis waited patiently for the other man to enter the room. He had his times when he was impatient, but such occasions as this were not among them. This mercenary was particularly formidable, and his services difficult to procure.

"Mr. Ebbtide," Quardis said, "how kind of you to come."

"Speak fast, Del'Narik, I have little time or inclination for idle chatter," the Forsaken man in front of him said, his groaning voice lacking inflection, a flat tonality to it that made the comment menacing.

"I've a job for you. I've sent one of my best mercenaries already to do it, and he seems to have failed. In that he's dead, and I do not have what I paid him for in my possession, that is. He has conveniently located the target, however." Quardis pulled the map towards him and beckoned the assassin over towards him.

"So far as last reports show, they were here," he stabbed the lift of Vengeance Landing with the tip of his ornamental dagger, "and they're heading to Crystalsong Forest."

"What is it that you want specifically?" the Forsaken asked, his voice still expressionless, making it even difficult to recognize the question as such for a moment.

"I want her alive, and I don't care what happens to the rest. I don't even know how many there are," Quardis said.

"Living quarry is more difficult than dead," Valorin Ebbtide said.

"Yes," Quardis said. "She's also far, far more lucrative alive than dead. I've told you my offer. Is it acceptable?"

"It is acceptable," Valorin said. He accepted the bag of gold Quardis gave him as a down payment. "You will not hear from me again until delivery. Do not contact me."

Quardis nodded. "I understand completely."

Most elf men were difficult to sway with sex. It was an abundant commodity, easy for them to get. Rare was the elf woman who possessed such qualities that made her rise above the plethora of women with whom she had to contend. Unfortunately for her, Chalisse was not one of those rare women. Thus, using sex to purchase favors worked in only limited circumstances.

Someone such as Darius, for example, who fancied himself in love with her, and who was useful for odd jobs and use as a carrier pigeon. But in general, her beauty was extraordinary if one was human, but it was average if one were an elf. Her long blond hair and soft features, the busty curve of her décolletage, were all quite average for Sin'Dorei women.

Chalisse pulled her gnomish army knife out of her purse, and slid the sharp cutting edge into position. Reaching down to her skirt, she raised the side split on it up about four inches. Then she made a delicate cut right down between her breasts, allowing the already skimpy dress to border on obscene.

Surveying the result to the best of her ability, she decided that it was excellent. The rabble of hoi polloi on the other side of the door she was about to sweep open were not elves. Therefore, her beauty would easily sway them.

Pushing dramatically on the door, she paused for a moment, displaying her curly blond hair as it cascaded down to caress at her cleavage, where her nipples attempted to set themselves free from their confinement by hardening noticeably. She slowly strutted down the steps on the fancy sandals she had purchased specifically for the purpose—she'd heard humans liked that sort of thing.

Whistles and catcalls greeted her, another strange human custom. But of course, these were rough humans, mingled with uncaring orcs, bored trolls, and even a few goblins. The Alliance had rejected these humans, now they were the dregs of society, serving whomever would pay them so they could eat.

Perfect for her needs.

She was going to take a different tack than Quardis was taking. He was hiring elite mercenaries. Chalisse was simply going to overwhelm Ferruk and Nerissa with riffraff. Eventually, if she could throw enough cheap, useless, and (dare she say) stinking bodies at them, they would be overrun.

So she stepped up to the stage, making sure that at least a few of them got a good look up her skirt, and waved for quiet. The rough crowd finally calmed, and she beamed at them.

"I have a proposition for you all," she told them. Catcalls and excited yelling greeted her comment, and she was forced to wait again while they subsided.

"A monetary proposition in which I pay you to locate and… dispatch… someone. As it seems that you find my person to be… of interest to you," she continued, "I would like to point out that you will be pursuing a female, upon whom you would be allowed to sate any… needs… which you might have."

More whistles and yelling. "She is, actually, even lovelier than myself, and is also a virgin. As I understand it, this might have a positive impact upon your decision to accept this assignment." There was laughter among the humans.

One of the goblins shouted, "How much gold are ye givin' us, lady?"

"Yeah!" the chorus of agreement rose from orcs and trolls and the other goblins.

"Ah," she said, "I am prepared to be quite generous, actually. I will pay 15 gold per person who returns," she replied. "Although, proof of her death is required, and nothing will be paid to anyone without it."

When it was all said and done, everyone in the room chose to head out on the mission. The rough group finally decided on a leader, a goblin named Jebbik, and he gave them each a direction to go in order to arrive at the right place at the right time to avoid alerting local authorities. When they had all left, he turned to Chalisse, "Don't double-cross us. If you do, the goblins will hunt you down and destroy you and everything you care about."

She batted her eyes at him, "Why, I would never dream of such a thing!" she replied.

"Sure you wouldn't, lady. I'm no stupid human, blinded by a pair of tits. I want gold, and I fucking mean it," he snapped at her, and then left.

All in all, Chalisse thought it had gone quite well. Who's afraid of a stupid goblin, anyway?