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Shattered	By : Koori Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 8001 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Twelve – Deathspeaker Vance Dixon
“My slut, I asked you a question,” Vance hissed, he could read the struggle on the kneeling elf’s face. The necromancer forced his face to remain cool, but excitement began to build inside him. Perhaps this woman, whoever she was, was the key to his slut’s soul and the banshee had lied.   He felt himself grow hard and Nathaniel’s eyes widen, Vance cursed his body as the resistance left the fair face. “Yes, Master,” Nathaniel said.
“And where, may I ask, have you met?” Vance asked as he reached out and took one of the manacles still secured to his bedframe and locked it around the naked woman’s wrist so he could focus on his prey.
“Last time I saw her, was Stormwind, my Master.”
Vance smirked, a truthful answer most likely but not a direct one. “And does my queen have a name?” he asked, he looked between the two of them. This time his slut did not answer. Walking over to the nearby dresser he picked up the crop. “A lover of yours?” he laughed, “of course not, you like cocks. A friend then? You were raised by humans, even butchered your ears to look like us, that didn’t work did it?”
His slut watched the crop in his hand, there was a fear there but also acceptance. The elf had the audacity to disobey him, and was ready to receive his punishment. Vance struck but it was the woman’s fair thigh it hit and she screamed in surprise. Nathaniel startled and started to rise. However, not all sanity was lost because he quickly dropped back down to his knees with a soft cry of his own. Bound to obey and helpless to interfere, the necromancer struck the woman again as his slut watched. This time she did not cry out, her eyes burned with a silent fury, daring him. It was a challenged he welcomed and he lashed out a dozen more times, he was careful with the force he used and the locations he struck so not to damage the vessel that held his child too much. It was more for the elf’s sake than hers and by the anger in the woman’s eyes she knew as much.
Vance moved over and knelt in front of Nathaniel, his face was damp with tears. “A name?” he growled again.
“I … can’t …” Nathaniel sobbed, “you will kill her.”
“Possibly, in time but for now, she is more valuable to me alive … a name slut!” Vance demanded.
Nathaniel sobbed and presented his ass to his Master, keeping his voice silent. If the elf would not break … Vance laid into the offered flesh harshly, each blow cut into the fair skin on the sixth lash the woman behind him shouted. “Leave my brother alone, you monster! It’s Sara … Sara Conway!”
The crying from his slut ceased at her voice and the room became deathly quiet. Vance let out a dark laugh as he looked over at the woman glowering at him. “Of course, I am a fool; you have your brother’s eyes. At least what they looked like before my Master claimed his soul. First the eldest brother, then the bastard elf, now you … just leaves two more if my memory is correct, is your twin nearby as well? Oh wait, my slut once babbled about the plague killing one; do accept my sympathy on your loss. You have grown into quite the woman,” he reached out for one of her bleeding nipples and she grabbed his wrist with her free hand.
“You have no more interest in my tits than my brother,” she growled. “I heard what you said, it may have been my body you were taking but that’s not who you wanted …”
“Mouthy wench,” Vance said as backhanded her hard, as she fell back on the bed he followed. Grabbing her full breasts he squeezed them hard. “I love your tits, if my son wouldn’t need them to suckle I’d bite them off and put them on my mantle. However that mouth of yours I do not need.    You will learn silence in the servitude of the Dark Master, as a member of the Cult of the Damned it will be your pleasure to serve me.”
“I will never join you!” Sara spat.
“Like you have a choice,” Vance replied darkly. He stood and adjusted his robe, walking over to the door he opened it and frowned at the empty hall. “Do I have to do everything myself?” Glancing back he saw Sara kneeling, the chain that held her stretched taut and she reached toward her brother.   Nathaniel pulled back from her as Vance snarled, “Don’t fucking touch him, he’s mine!”
Walking over to the bed he unhooked the manacle from it, and dragged the naked woman toward the door. Before reaching it he had a thought and picked up a cloak from a nearby chair. “Cover yourself,” he commanded, “first we bring you to confirm you are with my child and if not I’ll fuck you until you are. Afterwards I leave you to be prepared for the ceremony. Oh and we must visit your older brother …”
“Foster?” Sara said, Vance had to smile at the hope in her voice, “he’s here?”
“Oh yes,” Vance said leading her toward the door, “and he’s dying to meet you.”
“Please,” Nathaniel whispered, “… keep her safe.”
“She’s my queen, nothing will harm her … too much,” Vance replied, “you may rest where you sit, I may be awhile.”
“Thank you, Master,” Nathaniel said, his head bowed.
“Nathaniel,” Sara shouted, “you have no chains, save me … save us!”
Vance smirked. “He has thicker chains than you wear my queen. He can’t save you and he certainly can’t save himself, his fate has been cast.” He jerked the woman toward the door. “Come, there are arrangements that need to be made … but first the ceremony, you must be prepared …” The dark haired woman cast one final look toward her crestfallen brother as Vance shut the door. And the Deathspeaker laughed. Taking her hand into his, he walked down the hall. The fight seemed to have left her and she followed without struggling. However, to assure her compliance until the rite, he wanted to introduce her to the thing that used to be her brother. Remembering his command that he be put on house arrest, Vance’s path brought them to the barracks of Ebon Hold. He was surprised to find them empty, and furious to find Foster’s chamber just as vacant. An initiate walking by became a target for his fury as he demanded to know where Foster had gone.
“My pardons, Deathspeaker,” the thin robed man said, “Ebon Hold Knights had been called to attack Light Hope Chapel. Today the great Highlord Tirion Fordring will fall to the Dark Master!”
Vance cursed and dragged Sara back the way they had come. “Am I told nothing!” he growled to himself.
“Mama told me once that Tirion Fordring saved my brother Foster after he drowned in a lake …”
“How fitting then that your brother is in the assault that will kill his savior, delicious irony there.” Vance said with a smirk.
“Light will not fall …”
“My naïve little queen,” Vance said as he knocked on a large wooden door. “We are ten thousand strong, in Acherus. Our last scouting has the defenders of Light Hope Chapel as fewer than three hundred. You do the math ...”
The door opened and the woman that answered it bowed low.   “Deathspeaker, it is an honor to serve you.”
“Janell, I need you to prepare this one for the Rite of the Damned. Give her a matching mark to mine, over the left eye I think.” Vance said as he walked into the room, he secured the manacle around her wrist to a heavy oak chair. As he turned away, her foot smashed into his unprotected crotch. His fists slammed into her face in quick successions blacking both eyes and blooding her lip. “Bitch,” he growled.
“Deathspeaker!” Janell said alarmed, “are you okay? Who is this woman? She is not worthy!”
“I am fine,” Vance said, “she carries my child. You may use whatever spells you need on her mind to do your work, just make sure you leave her womb untouched.”
“As you say,” Janell said as she approached the bound woman. Sara finally had the sense to look frightened but Vance was beyond caring. Leaving her there and the cries he heard after he left he strolled back to his room.   The attack on Light Hope Chapel changed his plans slightly. It was time to tie up those final loose ends. As he walked into the room Nathaniel looked up, his eyes fearful.
“That’s an improvement,” Vance said approaching, “what are you afraid of?”
“Displeasing you,” Nathaniel replied.
“Wise slut,” Vance said as he took down the comb and started working it through the elf’s satin hair. “You may pleasure me while I work,” he said and heard the kneeling man’s breath catch. A moment later his robe fell opened.   “Your sister attempted to injure me, her aim was off. You should be happy she missed.”
“Yes, Master,” Nathaniel said, and with a sigh he took Vance’s cock into his mouth. The Deathspeaker trembled as the expert tongue started to massage his flesh.   It quickly hardened under the seductive touch. He had hoped the earlier time with the female would help him draw it out, but as he finished with the hair and was massaging in the lilac scented conditioner he felt his climax upon him. Grabbing a fistful of the pale locks he slammed his cock into the wanton mouth and spilled his seed deep into the throat of the elf. Trembling he left it there for a long moment as Nathaniel continued to suckle him.   After another wave of pleasure rippled through him, he pulled back. “I will miss that talented tongue of yours,” he said.
Walking over to the wardrobe he pulled out a small silk nightgown, he had saved for this special occasion. When he slipped it over the elf’s thin frame it barely fell below his ass. Taking a small key he unlocked the manacle around Nathaniel’s neck and replaced it with a white silk choker. Taking a step back he looked over the elf, the long blonde hair flowed over his shoulders. “Beautiful,” Vance said.
“Thank you, Master,” Nathaniel replied, his cheek flushing slightly. Vance led him over to the fire and stopped him from kneeling and gestured to his chair.
“Sit,” he said. The elf warily sat down on the edge of the chair, stiff with fear. Vance took a bottle of wine and poured a glass. He offered it to Nathaniel, who took it, his hand shaking. “Drink it all,” Vance commanded, after the elf drained the cup. He set it down on the table and the necromancer moved behind the chair. Leaning over the top he pulled Nathaniel back into the chair. “Relax,” he purred, he reached down and took the elf’s legs lifting them up draping them over each of the arms of the chair. The small hem of the nightgown rode up, exposing everything. Vance took Nathaniel’s left hand and placed it on his small cock. “Make yourself hard, my slut, while I watch, you want to please me … this would give me great pleasure.”
The elf’s fingers hesitantly started fondling himself. Vance took Nathaniel’s right hand and placed it on the tiny balls of the elf. “Play with them,” he said, “picture my warm breath blowing across, my lips so close I can almost taste you.” His words and the elf’s touch were having the desire effect.   The small cock came to life, growing hard. Leaving him there, Vance walked over to a small wooden box from the night stand. Out of it he took little gold hoop.   Kneeling down in front of the elf he took a moment to admire everything about his little shameless slut, through half closed eyes he was being watched, passion written clearly on Nathaniel’s face. “I mark all my lovers so,” Vance said stilling the hands on the pale cock. “Are you ready?”
“Please,” Nathaniel said, his body trembling, “mark me as yours.”
The small slit was weeping and Vance smiled as he slid one end of the piecing into it. Nathaniel moaned. “Just a little bit of pain now,” Vance said as he applied pressure breaking the skin beneath. The elf trembled but made no sound. The necromancer admired his work, tugging on the ring slightly
“Please, Master,” Nathaniel cried passionately.
“Stunning,” Vance said as he reached back into the box.
By the time he finished six more piecing had joined the first in the cock alone, leaving a glistening trail from the tip to the base, another hung between the miniature sacks. Both nipples had also been pierced; a thin chain went between them.   Blood had been washed away and now the elf lay sprawled out on his comforter trembling. Climbing onto the bed Vance positioned himself on the prone man’s chest, his ass resting on the newly pierced nipples. He could feel the chain against his balls as he sat there, facing the down the bed. Taking the beautifully pierced cock into his hand Vance started to stroke it. The elf under him moaned, Vance had denied him his first release and continued to do so. “You look lovely, my pet.”
“Thank you, Master,” Nathaniel said, “please … I need … something …”
“So do I my pet, so do I.” Vance caused a small magical spark to appear and he touched the ring at the tip of Nathaniel’s cock, he jumped between piercing shocking the man below him causing him to buck and scream in pain. “Oh didn’t like that did you?” Vance said as he slowly kept stroking the heated flesh, keeping it hard. He squeezed the tip and smiled at the dampness that escaped. A second spark and another scream fed his sadistic passions. More dampness escaped and he caught it on his fingertip, reaching down he massaged the tight opening of the elf with his barely wet finger. “So hungry, I can feel it, what do you want my pet?”
“You,” Nathaniel moaned, “please Master, only you,”
Vance smiled darkly. Just then there was a knock on the door and he scowled. He sent another spark down the pierced flesh as he stood, and grabbed his robe lying nearby. Pulling it on he stalked over to the door making no move to cover the naked elf on the bed. Pulling the door open with a snarl he was surprised to find Janell there, at her side stood Sara with a dazed look on her face. Her side of her face was covered with a matching star tattoo like his, except where his was a point at the bottom; hers had three violet tears down her cheek. “I like it,” Vance said, “one for each of my sons. How long will the spell last on her mind?”
“An hour more, Deathspeaker,” Janell said, if she saw the scene behind her, she did not react to it. “She was a sassy wench, but the dark arts are no match. With your leave, the necropolis is a whirl of activity, in preparation of our Dark Master’s latest victory.”
“So the Ebon Hold Knights have returned?” Vance asked.
“Not yet,” the woman replied with a bow. “But they are expected soon.”
Shutting the door, Vance brought the dazed woman over to the bed. Nathaniel looked between his sister and master, a look of confusion on his face. Vance sat her down on the corner of the bed as he slid out of his robe.   “You can watch me fuck your brother; afterwards I’ll fuck you to get the scent of queer off.” As expected the woman said nothing and Vance smirked. Moving to kneel on top of the elf again, this time facing the other way, he pressed the head of his cock against the elf’s lips. Without further instructions Nathaniel opened his mouth and started sucking the cock. Vance let him go on only a moment or two before pulling out and sliding down the bed. He lifted one leg up over his shoulder and then another, and positioned his throbbing cock against the tight opening of the elf.   “Here it ends, my slut,” he said. “Blood will be our lube, and please scream … you will make your Master happy if you scream …” He pressed forward and the elf opened up for him.
There was a loud crash behind him and he rolled off the bed, casting a shield around him. Standing at the door was a Knight of Ebon Hold. “The necropolis is under attack,” the cold voice of Foster Conway said. “We have been ordered to save all high ranking members. You are to regroup in Naxxramas.” Foster grabbed the heavy bureau and moved it effortlessly in front of the door.
Vance frowned, baffled. “Who dares to attack the hold of the Lich King? Did you not defeat Tirion?”
“We did not, Deathspeaker,” Foster walked over the balcony and let out a shrill whistle a moment later one of the undead griffons the Ebon Hold favored landed.
“Ten thousand and you couldn’t … idiots the whole lot of you …” Vance growled and looked over at his two captives. Nathaniel was sitting up looking bewildered, his sister fared little better still under the effects of the mind-numbing spell. “How many can that beast carry?” he asked as he walked over to the fireplace and took down the urn with his father’s ashes.
“We have no time,” Foster said, his voice had an urgent tone to it. By the sounds of the fighting in the hallway, Vance knew the Death Knight spoke the truth. “Fine,” he hissed, “but come back for the woman if you can, she carries my child.” Frowning as he looked at Nathaniel he said, “Slut, once he returns for my queen I want you to go and find Patchwerk and suck him off, I heard he was lonely. His fluid should be enough to melt your head, what a way to go … do you understand, slut? You lost your chance with me; your reason for existence is forfeit.”
“Yes, Master,” the elf said sadly.
Vance took another long look at the naked elf, sprawled on his bed. If only he had more time.
“Deathspeaker … we must go!” Foster had moved the heavy wardrobe over to the door as well now.
“Curse them all,” Vance growled as he walked over to the griffon. Foster swung onto the beast first and the necromancer grabbed on him from behind. His research notes slung over his shoulder in a pack and his father’s urn in his free arm. “Let us go,” he demanded. “We’ll regroup and come back … teach these infidels how foolish this attack truly is.”
As they flew over the scarred lands that were once called Darrowmere Forest, the Deathspeaker frowned. “How did those Argent Dawn paladins get into Acherus? I thought only those touched by the Master could enter.”
“I never said the attackers were Argent Dawn,” Foster said. Suddenly dark tentacles wrapped around Vance and ripped him from the back of the bone griffon. With a cry the urn that held his father’s ashes slipped from his hands.
“I’ll kill you!” Vance raged, “chosen or not!”
“I only wish I had time to make you suffer like he has,” Foster said, and the unholy energy that held the necromancer vanished.
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