So because this is a much more questionable chapter, it has been edited and thus this version of it is far poopier than the one you can see here: www. adultfanfiction. net/ aff/ story. php?no544208949 (subtract the spaces). If that doesn't work, you can access my author profile on that site through my profile here under "homepage." You're missing a lot if you're prude, so go read it.

The Traitor

Chapter Nine

Morla looked over another one of the papers she had been given that day. They were lists of demand: the shop wanted three of this kind of potion, a dozen of another, all before next week.

She earned her keep in the Valley of Wisdom, no one would deny that. She worked by day under lock and key in the Cleft of Shadow, where a strict orc shaman kept watch over her. She lived in a large room at the end of a long, dark hall in Thrall's Castle, as she called it. Clef lived there with her, drawing away from her more day by day. It had been six months since arriving and Morla had lost track of the days.

What kept the human from losing her mind, wrapped up and hidden away, was the progress she made. She was sinking deeper into Thrall's politics and he didn't know it. She went on extended trips now, building a reputation for herself among the Alliance with a persona she had concretely established. She listened in corners and sought audiences with the right people, finding out the most fragile secrets she could.

There had been a backlash by the Horde for the attack on Grom'gol. It was believed that a raid had attacked the camp, obliterating it; war escalated in the region of Stranglethorn, Westfall and Duskwood, and there had been numerous and well-publicized casualties.

But Morla had bigger fish. She had an assistant, an undead man who was mostly skeleton with very little flesh attached. While Thrall employed her for his own interests, and often left her alone for weeks at a time when there were no specific errands that he could think of for her to run, Morla was conducting her own experiments. Her powers were no longer nurtured and so her mind began to stretch instead. With her irritable assistant in hand, she reached into the past of the scourge and began to look there for a way out of her prison.

There were two days that highlighted her stay in Orgrimmar.

Zamah came, late one afternoon. She sat down with the girl and ushered out Sharp, her helper. He sniffed haughtily and took the things he had begun work on into the next room, and closed the door behind him.

"I researched this Achsbor, for lack of anything better to do," the undead woman told her old pupil. "There is much light to be shed, and I feel that it is a light I could share with you—and only you. Do not repeat to anyone what I tell you here." Zamah looked at Morla intently, and the girl nodded.

"Achsbor defected from her village and the orcish forces when she was only a teenager. She went inexplicably to the glades, where she worked closely with undead authorities. She forged a rare alliance with them and the only real records I have of her are comments on her deeds and her revered status among the scourge. I can posture a number of things from this:

"Using a spider with poison of Dreadfall was intentional on both her part and those she worked for. Whether or not the poison was engineered to affect only humans or anyone living is unclear, and this is something I would like to know more about, as a member of the outreach to other races of the Horde." She cleared her throat, and Morla knew immediately what she would ask. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking at Zamah expectantly. The undead woman cleared her throat. "I'm going to buy some harvested herb and I want you to test it. I don't care or want to know how you do it; just get the most accurate results you can and deliver them to me. This is important information, and I want all of the proceedings to be kept a secret until we can find out what they mean."

Morla nodded her head, nearly bored with the apothecary, and waved her hand. "It will be done," she signed, and Zamah left.

The other day was a week later, after the potion had been delivered and hidden away, and Morla was left to consider how she would go about carrying out the request. Her boring existence changed around pleasantly.

Morla liked to sit outside for an hour every day. She left her assistant in the workshop, and if anyone asked for her—unlikely, unless by Gothor, the shaman that looked over her—he made up an excuse.

During this hour she put her hood on and tucked away her hands. She sat on a little bench off the main road and watched the people streaming by, some on mounts, others walking, all in a hurry. They were armored and carried things with them; some were adventurers, other traders, the rest craftsmen. There was always an event in Orgrimmar, and one could tell what it was by the crowd that it drew.

That day it was less busy than Morla expected, and she took pleasure in being able to examine everyone that went by. Druids intrigued her with their cat forms, and the pets the hunters took around with them distracted her. They were incredibly varied; some had wolves, others bears, most had cats, and raptors, boars, and a bat or two were sprinkled in-between.

When she saw him, she wasn't sure what to do. She could stand up and go over to him, and see how he would react, or she could spare herself the humiliation and remain hidden, and wait for him to leave his resting spot by the mailbox before returning to the shop. He clearly hadn't wanted to see her again, and if possible, Morla would oblige him. But a part of her tugged and tugged and finally she stood up, trying her best to be inconspicuous, and went over to stand beside him.

An orc bumped her, but she ignored it and pretended to be checking for mail. She inched closer to the half-troll, who was repairing a belt buckle. Once she summoned the courage she lightly grasped his arm in her hand and pressed into it her unique sign for, "Hello." Immediately he froze, and Morla was both pleased that it had worked, and frightened that he would do something to expose her.

Instead, he leaned down and whispered, "What are you doing here?" His voice was more worried than it was angry.

"I live here," she signed as discreetly as she could, not wanting to show her human hands. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, Lo'jar grabbed her by the shoulder and they went for a short walk, up into the tunnel that led to the Cleft of Shadow, and he pulled her into a dark corner where no one could see them from the main thoroughfare.

Morla was prepared for a verbal assault: do you know what you did? How much trouble you should be in? How could you do such a thing? Are you crazy? Didn't I say I didn't want to see you?

Instead, he pulled down her hood and pushed some of her hair back with a gentle finger. His eyes, reddish mostly but with a bit of a glow to them, looked sad and a little hungry. "Why are you in this place?"

"I work for Thrall," she signed. He had trouble making them out in the dark, but when he took her hand in his, he could feel the signs against his palm and then could understand them. He only nodded his head.

"You look different," he said. "Older," he said, voice dropping to just above a whisper, "but forlorn." And then she couldn't stand it. She grasped Lo'jar's vest in her hands and then was flush against him, hugging him like a great big teddy bear. She didn't cry, he knew, but she shook a little and when he hugged her back, she almost lost her balance and he used his chest to hold her up.

"Let's go somewhere to sit down. Where do you live?"

"Up there... I have to say I'm going, to my assistant," she signed and then, attempting to regain her dignity, she stood back and put her hood over her head. She walked out into the street and crossed it, the half-troll following closely. They went down the short spiral and into the dark court. Her shop was through a bigger retail front; inside, Lo'jar's eyes had to adjust to the dim light.

"I'm leaving for the day. Tell Gothor he can just suck it up. I haven't missed a day since being here," she signed. Sharp just rolled his eyes.

"Aye," he replied sarcastically, and then saw the troll lurking at the doorway. His eyes bulged then, and he looked with panic between them until he realized that Lo'jar stared at absolutely nothing but the human girl getting her things together. He wondered if he should report this to Gothor, but then realized he didn't quite care what she did or who saw her. His job was being done and that was all he had to do. Let the girl have her fun, he thought, and waved Morla off with his hand. "I'll deal with that stuff later. Just get out of here, you're distracting me," he told her gruffly, and she listened. Sharp often told her what to do, rather than the other way around. It worked for them.

After ten minutes they were in Morla and Clef's room, which was enormous and mostly empty. It had been surprisingly easy to get in without being questioned by anyone, for the guards knew Morla and figured she had just picked up a guest for the afternoon. It was the truth, besides the fact they thought she was an undead priestess being protected by the chief for one political reason or another.

In the room Morla threw off the heavy cloak and took a deep breath, looking at her old friend. Those words seemed strange to her and when Lo'jar finally glanced up at her, standing awkwardly at the door after closing it, she knew that he wouldn't ever be an old friend; he was the friend.

"I didn't expect to see you now," the troll began finally, voice very low and with a surprising degree of seriousness. The tone would have been threatening if she didn't know him better. "I would have had something prepared, you know, to tell you. But I'll have to wing it."

"You don't have to say anything," Morla signed to him. She went across the wide room and past the two beds to a small kitchen-like area. There she poured water from a metal jug that had been in a bucket full of ice, and poured two small clay cups full. She came back and gave one to the half-troll, and quickly drank the other.

Lo'jar held the cup and looked around, hoping to stall as long as possible so he could come up with something to tell her; something to make up for what he often thought of as spitting right in her face. She had risked life and limb to save him, and to thank her, he quite effectively severed all ties between them—at least, that was what it seemed to him. He was agonizing over whether to look up at her or not when he noticed the enormous red tapestry hanging from the wall behind the beds.

"It was a present," she signed. "Clef wanted something to make the room look ours." When Lo'jar looked closer, he saw there were totem patterns along both sides of the tapestry. Inside were shapes mimicking the skeleton of a tauren. She was a little tauren girl, he knew. With no amount of coaxing would she ever give that up. He saw the pelt on the bed and she smiled. "Also a present. Pretty, isn't it? Look at the head." The half-troll obeyed and saw the jewels in the eyes, and petted the fur. It was quite the item—someone would pay good money for it. The hide was well-kept and the fur was flawless, as if it had been removed from the animal that same day. Morla smiled proudly and he couldn't help but smile back.

There was nothing awkward about this girl, he thought strangely. She was comfortable in any situation, and if she wasn't, she didn't show it. He admired her for that. Her confidence rubbed off on those around her—it was a rare talent. The butterflies living rather painfully in his belly melted away when she looked at him, her face warm and her full lips smiling. She gestured to a chair at the small wood table nearby, and they sat down there.

Someone who knew them and was watching the interaction may have found the irony humorous: both were nervous and afraid of the other, yet displayed such a good outward appearance of confidence that they each thought they were alone. There was a silence as they sat, staring at the wall; it wasn't awkward, but it wasn't comfortable, either. Then, at the same moment, they turned to each other and began to talk.

"I didn't want to upset you," Morla signed. In truth, she just hadn't considered that he might not approve of her actions.

"I didn't mean what I said," Lo'jar replied. "I want to be around you. I don't know what came over me."

They were both quiet then, and carefully the girl looked up at her friend. When he smiled, she couldn't help but do the same, and though they knew there were still issues there, it was water under the bridge.

--

Clef returned late that evening. He was helping at a blacksmithing shop, gathering materials and on the side learning to make his own armor. His project that week was a pair of very nice chain pants. Usually he visited the warrior trainer and practiced with other pupils, but today he had been too absorbed in the process of designing each little metal ring that he hadn't found the time to go.

He went into the house-like room he and Morla shared, and stopped dead in the doorway. Lo'jar and Morla were sitting on the bed, playing gambling games with the little wooden pieces they kept in the drawer. They were betting mere pieces of copper, and when the door opened, they both looked up.

"Ah, Clef, how are you?" the half-troll called, getting up to his feet and walking over. They shook hands, and Clef recovered from his surprise.

"Wha-what are you d-doing here?" he asked.

"This girl found me, by chance," Lo'jar said. "How are you? How is life in the big city?"

Clef shrugged his shoulders and went over to his side of the room, where he deposited his enormous bag of things and sat down on the bed. "G-good," the tauren replied. "Hard for h-her, but still all right." He glanced up and saw that both Lo'jar and Morla were watching him as he took food from his bag and walked over to the kitchen area to put it away. He cleared his throat.

"I think I'll go out t-tonight," he said then. "I... I'll be gone for a day. I am going on a m-m-mining trip."

The tauren felt as if he was intruding on something here, and he didn't imagine the half-troll would be gone anytime soon. He figured he had a valid excuse, and so he would leave. It was a spur of the moment thought, but he wasn't up for being the third wheel. He would give them time to themselves and then, when they were sick of each other, the troll would leave and things would be normal.

He almost laughed at how well he knew his girl.

He quickly set to packing and neither Lo'jar or Morla said anything, until the girl got his attention by tossing one of the pieces and hitting him in the nose. "What?"

She signed to him, "Could you tell Gothor I'm sick?"

Clef hadn't quite expected it, but it didn't surprise him. He nodded his head and asked, "When will you be back?"

"The day after tomorrow," she replied. He finished assembling the things he would need to travel and slung his bag back over his shoulder, hefting its weight easily. Without waiting another moment he took his pick off the table and strapped it to his belt. Satisfied, he nodded his head at the two.

"G-good seeing you a-a-again," he managed, and Lo'jar grinned.

"You too."

Once Clef left, they went back to their game like nothing had happened.

"Hey!" Lo'jar exclaimed, looking over his pieces. "You took one while I wasn't looking!" Morla made the face one would while whistling, and she rubbed her ear.

"You can't prove it," she signed back, sticking out her tongue.

"Aren't you slimy," Lo'jar said, snatching one of her pieces and returning it to his arsenal.

Morla gasped and attempted to take it back, but he blocked her by pushing her arm back with his much bigger hand. He guffawed loudly, until she wiggled past him and reached for the piece once more. In his attempt to prevent her, his weight shifted forward and, only resting on the cushiony bed, he lost his balance. The pieces went flying as the half-troll tipped precariously forward, and their wide eyes locked just before he fell on top of her.

They were very silent, each trying not to breathe. Carefully Lo'jar raised himself up on his hands, moving to get up, when he felt soft hands on his face.

Morla lightly touched his skin, marveling at the smoothness of it on his cheeks. She moved down and ran her fingers along his white tusks, which angled forward and away from his lips, and curved upward into fine points. She traced a tusk with one hand and then reached forward with her other, touching the tops of his cheeks and rubbing lightly. The makeup flaked off in little wisps of powdery blue, falling to the bed. She repeated the motion all around his eyes, putting effort into avoiding direct eye contact, until the silvery, flowing marks she found so beautiful were fully exposed.

"Is this why they imprisoned you?" she signed, and he very slowly and gently nodded his head. Her brown eyes took on a softer, sadder look, and she took his other tusk with her free hand, finally looking directly at him.

Lo'jar then touched her hair, running his fingers through it and then cupping her chin in his palm. Neither moved, and neither dared to look away. Then, raising both arms up from under him, the half-troll took her small face in his hands and murmured, "I'm sorry about what I said that day."

Morla only shook her head and, pulling lightly on his tusks, drew his head closer to hers. When their lips touched it was like a spark; ignited, Lo'jar wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up with him, so she sat on his lap, and the light touch became a rough kiss.

Morla had never accessed this side of herself, or even looked at it. It was a distant thing that she knew a little of, but never looked for in her own mind. Now it sprung forward, taking control of the little eighteen-year-old girl and planting in her the seeds of ability. Her hands released his tusks and grasped his shoulders instead, and her feet unwound from a kneeling position to pressing on either side of Lo'jar's hips.

In turn, he felt every soft curve of the little warlock as he pressed her body against his, and his consciousness became a writhing barrel of emotions and feelings. Tasting her was like a fine wine that quenched a thirst he hadn't known existed; he knew he wanted more, and more. His blood heated in his veins and he felt it warm his skin and bones.

Lo'jar parted their lips then and with one hand he tilted her head to the side, taking her neck with soft kisses. She breathed hard, never emitting a sound, but shaking and gasping beneath him as he moved lower. He hated admitting to himself that he was just as much of a novice as she, and so he slowed down and, realizing his weakness, leaned away for a moment to regain his breath. Just when he considered stepping back and leaving it as it was, he was pushed quite easily onto his back.

The girl cleared her hair out of her eyes and over her shoulder as she straddled him. Morla felt the same heat in her that she felt while fighting, and the feeling of moving towards victory took her over. The instinct that lingered beneath her consciousness rose up like a dragon, smoking and flaming until she was overcome with it. She couldn't figure mentally how he drew her in like he did, but she abandoned thinking about it; simple as she was, she accepted the part of her that wanted him and let it rule. Beneath the surface there had always been a general feeling towards the half-troll; but, like a machine, once a new context was created for her, the emotion became detailed and specific. Beyond friendship she wanted something, and it was now presented to her like a gleaming jewel. She would reach out and take it, without hesitation, and without regret. It was the only way she could live, she knew.

Lo'jar wasn't as simple. He feared what he imagined his parents must have feared, venturing into terrain that was so completely taboo. But he knew: his very existence was taboo. Why not live the way he pleased? Fueled by this, he grasped her hips and readily accepted her when she leaned down to kiss him once more. Though a little voice feared taking her places she wouldn't go did she know what she was getting into, the rest of him squashed it. When they parted again and Lo'jar flipped them, so he pinned her beneath his far superior weight, he saw immediately that she cared little for what might happen to her; like himself, she was ready to go blind into whatever he offered her. He took her in another rough kiss and it all began.

--

Morla awoke by a strange pain beginning in her thighs and rippling up through her until it disappeared at her collar. Curious, she opened her eyes, and smiled when she saw Lo'jar spread-eagle on the bed, one arm tightly wrapped around her, the other thrown across the pillow; his tongue hung out a little, and his white teeth glistened in the morning sun. Carefully removing herself from his grip, she crawled out of bed and set about removing the sheets on her own bed and taking a quick shower.

Lo'jar stuttered awake like an old engine. The bed was cold and he immediately missed the soft warmness that had been beside him all night. There were the sounds of someone bustling about, and when he got up, he saw Morla cutting bread and fruit beside the meat cooking in a pan. She was all naked beside the white apron she wore, and the half-troll was immediately turned on in a way he never imagined.

He got out of bed and quietly put on his clothes so that she wouldn't notice him. He went over to the kitchen and leaned against the wall until she noticed him, when she smiled and signed, "Almost ready." Then she pointed to one of the chairs at the table and he obeyed her command, taking a seat at the table just as she put the food on plates and brought them over.

"I like the outfit," he told her over a cup of melon juice, and she laughed silently.

"I thought you might," she replied. Lo'jar noticed she walked with a bit of a limp, but he tried to ignore it. As they ate, he leaned over and took a big sniff. She gave him a quizzical look. "You smell great." She could only nod and shrug her shoulders. He laughed and went back to his food.

By noon, she was dressed normally to go out and they took to the city. Clef would be back later that day, so Lo'jar wanted to make the best of the time they had. He had a lingering emotion of guilt and raised a dollar amount in his head of what it would take to make it up to her.

"Do you like these pants?" he asked her, showing the extremely fancy, black cloth pants, complete with gold buttons down each side. A thick, black belt came with them, and the buckle was faintly glowing. Morla took them and felt the soft fabric, smiling. "Go try them on."

She went into one of the rather unusually high-class dressing rooms—it was the best shop in Orgrimmar. Most didn't even label the items, leaving them open to bargaining; this shop, however, sold only items worth over two gold pieces. She put on the pants and the fabric was blissful. There came a knock on the door and she heard Lo'jar ask, "Can I see them?" She tapped the door once and he opened it, making sure no one could see her from outside, and slipped inside.

He cooed at the way the drawers cupped her rather round rear end, and gave a nod of approval. "I'll buy them for you," he said affirmatively, and when she lifted her hands to object, he shook his head. "I'm rich now. Don't worry about it." Though he lied through his teeth, he had managed to scrape together what the price tag asked. The wide smile on Morla's face was enough, and he lightly tapped her lips with one finger before going out to pay.

Morla wore the pants home, though she was forced to hide them beneath her overlarge cloak. They stopped to eat at a seedy shop and she paid for the rather amazing roast beast they shared between them. It was an easy task; she was given an allowance by the shop, and because she had little to spend it on now that she used a single disguise, she had plenty saved up to splurge. And splurge, she would. At the table, she looked up at Lo'jar chewing mightily on a drumstick and she knew that she wanted to keep him with her as long as she could. He had always been special to her, but they had connected—she felt it deep in her bones. When he looked up at her, for she had been staring, she signed, "Stay here, won't you?"

He blinked, then nervously looked down at his lap. "I don't... I don't know how long I can," he said then. "I mean, there's nothing really to do here."

Morla nodded her head and smiled. "It was a suggestion." With that, she seemed to completely forget the matter, while Lo'jar could think of nothing else the rest of the meal, and thus remained silent.

They had cared for the bedding on both beds reasonably, and Lo'jar surmised it would be better if he stayed at the inn that night. Morla had no opinion on the matter and when Clef returned later, looking suspiciously at both of them, they swayed his attention and Lo'jar left in the late evening.

Lying in her bed, blankets pulled up around her head and holding her lion pelt in her arms like a stuffed toy, she couldn't think of anything. There was a fuzz of nothing, swirling like a little grey cloud. Below the surface of her she hoped that nothing bad would happen to her. This was always the general emotion of sentient beings, but she did not dream of happiness—she never would, living in this miserable city, always alone, always hidden. Instead, she wished that she wouldn't die in the night or be killed on her next mission. These were fears she had never before had, and she knew that from that moment, the moment of their birth, she would never be rid of them. Her existence suddenly became important to her, and from then on, though she didn't know it, she would be a changed creature.