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Tales from Moon Guard: Chrysia	By : miladygrimm Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 5667 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, WoW is the intellectual property of Blizzard. I make no money on the writing of this Fanfiction

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The forest was cool. Leaves of the ancient trees intertwined in the canopy to offer a respite from the heat of the badlands. Time, however, had passed since her tumble over the cliff. Pain, blood loss, and apparently a head wound (if the headache was to be believed) factored into her loosing several hours. She reached up and found blood, dried and flaking, against her brow.
“Wonderful,” she sighed.
A harsh throb brought her attention to the trap that was still imbedded in her leg. Her ankle was turned at an unnatural ankle, obviously broken. Her body had not registered the pain of it. A blessing wrapped in a curse. How bad must it all be if she couldn't even feel it?
“Damn.”
She reached down and tried to investigate the contraption. She knew nothing about trap making and even less about healing. Even with her limited knowledge, however, she could see that her skin had already begun to heal against the sharks teeth.
“Damn.” she whispered again.
There was no way she could make it back up the cliff. She could hardly make the three day journey to Astrannar either, no matter how good the road was....and frankly there were often raiding parties on that road. She defiantly couldn't handle that in her condition. With a small whimper she leaned back against a tree trunk and tried not to cry.
If she would perish at least it would be in a lovely place. Three massive trees formed a small circle in a bit of flatland out of sight of the road. The forest floor was green and brown and flecked with light. A breeze shifted some of the leaves. She paused, was that a shape? She narrowed her gaze and found herself looking into sunset colored eyes.
She wasn't sure who was more surprised; herself, or the orc who found her there. He was crouching in the underbrush. His eyes were momentarily wide with shock only to narrow in distrust. He stood up with a languid barbaric grace.
Even from this distance she could see he was tall. A bit lankier than many of the green-skins she had seen but tall none the less. His head was shorne smooth but for a long braid that started near his crown. He was the deepest shade of green she'd ever seen on one of his kind, nearly matching the blue-green of the foliage around them.
He carried a set of daggers, wicked and glinting, perched on either hip. Their dark leather grips matched the leathers he wore. He took a wide legged stance, intimidating and confident, his blunt fingered hangs lingering on the handles of his weapons.
She held her hands up in surrender. Chrysia had no chance. Even on her best day the strong bodied orc would have given her a fight worthy of the abyss. Here and now? With a throbbing head and a mangled foot she wouldn't have lasted long enough to realize her foolhardiness.
“Please, don't!” she begged.
His hands went still. He cocked his head to one side and his nostrils flaired. He jutted his chin out and sniffed at the air.
She hadn't the dimmest idea what it was he was smelling but if it wasn't killing her she wasn't going to respond.
He took a few steps towards her and she struggled to remain still. Every hair on her neck stood up and she could feel the pulse of her heart as a throb in her leg. He got closer and she tried to inch back but the trap was an anchor.
Swiftly he bent and nabbed her wounded leg. Pain, bright and hot, shot up from the injury to the flashes of white light behind her lids. Mindlessly she struck out with her uninjured foot. It connected with something, and she heard the crunch of breaking bone and a growl of pain. The hand on her injured foot tightened and her head spun with the impending threat of unconsciousness.
“No!” she cried.
His hand shoved her skirts up and she felt horror sink in behind the pain. Would he rape her? Oh, like all the girls within the Alliance, she had heard the barbaric practices of the Horde. They were certainly capable of the act.
Renewed by her vigor she struggled to get away. His hand released her leg and she scrambled in the other direction. He snapped something in the fierce guttural language of his people. She didn't understand and didn't care to.
She turned and tried to run, only to slam into a large tree. No, not a tree. Her hands hand landed on something hard and covered in fur. Everything came into sharp focus. Her fingers were splayed across the bare chest of a pale Tauren male. Darker splotches of russet worked their way across his shoulders and forearms. His hair was dark, and hung in three braids, one on either side of his bull-like face, and the other swung down his back. A short beard was braided on his chin and finished off with a small ring of copper. He was dressed similarly to the Tauren who had blasted her tower. His skirt was a little longer, but not by much and his belt had a simpler pattern.
“Oh, no.” she whispered. She turned on her injured ankle and the Tauren caught her as she fell. She found herself lifted in the powerful arms and clutched to a chest nearly as tall as she was. A three fingered hand pressed her close to that chest. She could feel the slow thrumming of his heart, calm and easy.
“What are you planning to do?”
Neither of them answered. Instead the orc made his way down into the glade and shared a short conversation with the bull who was holding her. The beast took a knee and set her down on the ground with surprising gentleness and then turned her to face him.
He studied her with honey-brown eyes. There was a strange shrewdness in them she had not expected to find. Then, very carefully he pulled her skirt over her knee and revealed the trap. Her movements had torn at the wounds and blood was seeping around the imbedded shark teeth.
He muttered some words. His voice was far deeper than the orcs. They spoke to one another again and The Tauren shifted positions. His skirt slid up his muscular thighs and revealed the end of his masculinity. It was a furry sack, not unlike a beasts. The shaft itself was not visible, but the slit that would produce it was plainly visible. Her eyes went wide.
She flushed and looked away but her gaze had been noted. The orc laughed uproariously and slapped the bull on the shoulder. The bull offered some reply that sounded bored even to her. But the Tauren adjusted his clothing and hid himself once again.
Chrysia glared at the orc. It was clear that her kicking food had broken his nose. Blood still caked his upper lip and one of his short tusks. Still, he smiled at her and gave a carefree shrug of his shoulders.
The tauren's three fingered hand gently turned the leg. He motioned to the orc who joined them kneeling on the ground. The bull pointed at a few parts and the orc shook his head. With nimble movements of his blunt hands the orc had released the springs and eased the pressure of the trap.
She made a sound of relief and both males glanced up at her. She leaned back against the tree. The orc reached forward and put his hand on either side of the now loose trap. He said something to the tauren who nodded. Together then began to work the trap from her leg. The pain was incredible. It seemed to pulse from her leg into her belly and make everything roll. Her hands shook and her head was spinning. It was too hot.
“I'm going to be sick.”
They may not have understood the words but the caught the urgency.
She turned her head and felt her stomach empty its contents on the grass. It burned in her throat and nose. She felt a coolness against her brow, easing the heat that had set her spinning. She glanced up, her hazel eyes meeting the tauren's honey ones. His look was surprisingly kind. He took the cloth from her brow and wiped a bit of bile gingerly from her lips.
The orc pushed a canteen in her hands. He tilted his hand to get her to drink and motioned towards the ground. She nodded in understanding. She took a drink from the canteen and spit the water onto the ground. Some herb was in the water he had offered her and left her mouth feeling cleaner.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and took the canteen back. He reached forward and pushed her red hair off her sticky brow. He asked a question.
“Yeah, sure, whatever you say,” she answered.
The tauren said something. Both her and the orc looked at him. He was holding up the trap.
“Well...that's horrible.”
Several teeth were missing from the trap. She glanced at her leg. The only place they could be.
“Damn.”
The orc nodded.
A short conversation between the two of them and a little moving around had the bull kneeling next to her with a short wicked looking blade in one hand. He shoved a square of carved and glowing wood into the ground. She wasn't sure what its purpose was but she found its presence soothing.
The orc, however, was positioned behind her, a makeshift healer's chair for her to lean against. This close she could see that he was young. There was a smoothness to his face and brow that told her that adulthood was new for the orc. Perhaps that is why he was so slim.
Slim or not, he was strong. His arms were crossed over hers, which was the other reason for his position. No amount of magic was going to mask the pain that was about to happen. The orc was there to keep her still. There was, however, something she could do.
She tapped the orcs arm and he loosened his grip. She reached down and whispered a few words. Magic flowed from her fingertips in an invisible line, but its effects were clear. Her leg shimmered with her work and the blood flow eased with the incorporation of frost magic.
The tauren's lips quirked in an appreciative smile. He placed a steadying hand on her knee and asked her a single worded question which she took to mean 'ready?'.
“Yes.”
The first cut brought a gasp to her lips. She kept her leg still but only just barely. The orc tightened his grip and she turned her head to put her cheek against his leather-clad chest. He reached with one hand and started to pet her hair, whispering gently in her ear. While she couldn't understand a single word he said the tone was gentle and comforting.
~~~
“She's not a pet, Ohgar.” The Shu'halo grunted, keeping his eyes on the skinny pale leg in front of him.
“She hurts,” Ohgar responded. “That trap was brutal.”
“She's the one that stepped in it.”
The pale mageling tensed against his body. She had a nice shape to her. The robes did very little to hide the fullness of her breasts or the wideness of her hips. She was skinny though, and barely muscled. Still, she had a good kick. His nose was still swollen from it. Were it not for her height and her skin he might have taken her as war-bride. Enjoyed a few nights together and went on their way. If she didn't stop squirming that plump ass against him he might anyway.
“Stop that,” the shaman grunted. “If she isn't a pet she's not a whore either.”
“Are you staking a claim?” Ohgar asked. “Can't blame you, Takk.”
The bull glanced up, “the Tauren do not 'stake claim' in a female. Our women choose their own mates.”
The young rogue shrugged his should and continued to pet the females hair. It was a curious blood-red color, it brought out the silvery colors in her eyes. A fascinating set of shades. She was strangely pretty.
“You're staring at her again.”
“Better than staring at you.”
Takk gave a grunt and pulled another jagged tooth from the mage's leg. “I thought the orcs killed their enemies without mercy?”
“There is no honor in killing something so small. And a waste to kill someone so pretty.”
Takk gave a grunt. “Tell me I'm not fixing up her leg so she'll spread herself for you in gratitude.”
Oghan shrugged, “A nice thought, but I'm the one whose fixing her leg.”
The bull shifted his shoulders in a shy movement. “She didn't even like looking up my smock.”
“They are human. They are strange that way,” Oghan reminded him, “You didn't say you wouldn't though.”
“Hush your mouth and let me work.”
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Tales from Moon Guard: Chrysia