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Dark Days For Darnassus	By : SlutWriter Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 98611 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Blizzard characters, or the Warcraft fandom or intellectual property. I make no money off of this.

Chapter List
- 1-Dark Days For Darnassus
- 2-Slave Auction
- 1
- 2
Even before Tyrande trudged from the Temple of the Moon, she could tell something was amiss with her homeland. Dawnstar’s custody was more forgiving than that of her rapist orc jailors, but precautions had still been taken - a pair of manacles clasped tight at the wrists, plus an arcane ward cast by the blonde sin’dorei bellatrix herself, an abjuration that Tyrande could feel actively disrupting any magic she might have called upon. Yet, these hindrances were of far secondary lament to what Tyrande sensed as she approached the temple entrance.

There was something about the air. Her nose was as keen as ever, the huntress senses that had served her for millennia unscathed by the procession of smegma-loaded orc cocks she’d been made to service day after day, and as a result she was sure the atmosphere of Darnassus had changed. It reminded her, in the moments before her emergence from the Temple, of her infrequent visits to Ironforge or the industrial quarters of Stormwind. The air was oily and seemed to hint at the churning of bellows and the burning of coal braziers. It was laced with the sweet and forbidden tang of smoked meat, and pregnant with the musk of wolves and worse. It was not like Teldrassil at all.

Dawnstar moved forward implacably, a half-step behind and to the side of Tyrande, keeping them at a brisk pace. She was a head shorter than the disgraced night elf but no less a perfect form with her flawless thighs showing enticingly in her slit-side waistcloth and tabard. Armored legguards as ornate and flattering as any pair of boudoir thigh-highs completed her ensemble, and the sound of their footfalls told the story of the current power dynamic between the two women. For Dawnstar, the authoritative metallic clatter of sollerets. For Tyrande, the meek patter of bare feet. As they approached the temple’s arched exit, the blood elf spoke for the first time since retrieving Tyrande from her prison. “Do not whimper or cry out as you emerge,” she advised, her voice almost conspiratorial, one warrior to another. “It would only disgrace your people even further.”

But as they stepped out into Darnassus proper, Tyrande was unable to follow the advice. A despairing moan escaped her lips, and she fell to her knees in the tatters of her cum-yellowed mooncloth dress, her mouth open in shock, her breasts bouncing with the impact of her descent and her featureless eyes wide and glistening with welling tears.

It was an obscenity.

The surface of Teldrassil had been torn up, and ribbons of dirty smoke swirled in the same eddies that had once carried leaves. The lush greenery had taken on a brownish tint where it hadn’t receded completely. Shallow, oiled-dirt trenches criss-crossed the landscape like veins, holding everything from supplies, to fortifications, to offal and refuse that had been wastefully left by invaders who cared little for the history or aesthetics of their occupied territory. Dark iron brackets had been drilled into the earth for hitching posts, zeppelin tethers, and the foundations of temporary dwellings - ramshackle huts and barracks of an orcish and goblin sensibility. With the awareness of a practiced huntress, Tyrande took it all in - little hints about the fate of her people that others might have missed. The way the fetid orc peons were laying strips of venison over their cookfires - but the way the cuts fell on their spits made it clear the meat had come from no stag. It was dryad meat, the foulest of indulgences. Furthermore, the sun was wrong, as if glaring down on Teldrassil through a haze of pollution. Many kal’dorei ruins had been pulverized or defaced. Kneebound, Tyrande’s calves were already powdered white from crumbled marble shaken loose from the Temple entrance.

The severity and scope of the changes were startling. It had been no more than a week and a half since Tyrande’s imprisonment in the Temple, and yet Darnassus looked like it had been occupied for years. The waters in front of the Temple were a sickly brown, with oil patches coruscating their rainbow gleams where fish had once froliced. Venture Company siphons and derricks dotted the lake every hundred meters. Gazing across the lake, it seemed to Tyrande that the green-roofed buildings of the Craftsman’s Terrace had been razed and replaced with a vast open space - and the Tradesman’s Terrace, just to the east, was bustling with a sort of commerce that no kal’dorei would ever have permitted - trudging processions of night elf slaves. It was in this direction that Dawnstar began to lead Tyrande, and in spite of her disgust, Tyrande rose and followed. She feared what depravities might come, but for the sake of her people she could not, would not, look away.

The path east was laden with the debaucheries that might have been expected considering Tyrande’s experiences in the Temple of the Moon. Multiple priestesses of Elune, a number of them heavily pregnant, were surrounded by groups of Kil’kron grunts. The orcs saw no problem, it seemed, with fucking the women in public, and in full view of the shackled lines of kal’dorei adult males. Most of the night elf men hung their heads and did not glance in the direction of the affrontery, but the sounds of the assaults were carried in the air - wet, liquid sounds that could not be confused for anything else.

Some of the grunts crowed at the slaves as they passed, stroking their cocks over the prone females in taunting gestures of dominance. “Is this your lifemate? Your daughter?” one brute asked, rubbing his cum-bubbling pisshole on the flawless cheek of the panting woman and leaving a slimy weal of jizz. “You can be proud that she’s going to give birth to a warrior!” He laughed and then hauled his prey by the hair, pressing her face between the gulf of his powerful buttocks. “Get your tongue up my ass, bitch - show your males how much you love the taste of my shit!”

The pregnant priestess complied as the trudging slaves moved past, burying her face in the swarthy grunt’s asscrack and swabbing desperately at his coarse turd-cutter with her agile tongue, moaning like a slut the entire. “Mmmph… your ass tastes so good! I’d rather suck orc ass every day than ever kiss a kal’dorei again!” Her words were slightly muffled by the muscled cheeks framing her pretty head, but the message was clear. Her huge tits knocked against the grunt’s thighs and her pregnant belly hung lewdly as she spread her captor with two desperate hands and went to work, making vital sucking and licking sounds. It wasn’t long before a second orc was hauling the rutting priestess’ hips into position to receive his foot-long, wart-encrusted dick in her shithole - which from the sloppy look of things, had already been the site of drillings that would have made Venture Company prospectors envious.

Dawnstar did not let her eyes dwell on the display, though she narrated for Tyrande circumstances that hardly needed an explanation.

“Your kal’dorei men are being put to use as a labor force, in whatever capacity the Kil’kron peons are too stupid to serve. We have labor camps in Shadowglen and the Oracle Glade, where they are most cooperative in assisting our arcanists in drawing the latent ley power of this land.” She hesitated, then continued in a voice that hinted at shame. “Your women and children, well…”

There was a low-pitched growl as one of the grunts hilted his thick penis in a different priestess pussy, not ten feet from the passing Tyrande. His balls twitched as if spasming, firing untold ropes of his virile seed into her dripping fuckbox while she writhed in doggy-style position, her back arched and ass and pussy exposed, her belly swollen with child and pressed against the ground behind her large, milk-leaking breasts. A lolling tongue completed the disgraced night elf’s blank expression. She was obviously having an orgasm from her mistreatment, and cried out in the throes of fuck-lust: “Yes, fill me with your filthy seed! Penetrate my womb and cum all over my unborn daughter’s worthless face!” The hulking Kil’kron laughed and spat on her. One produced his heavy, flaccid dick and began to piss unceremoniously on the top of her head while the others slapped her thick ass, making the twin butt-globes bounce under their sheen of sweat and orc wad.

“...the women, girls, and boys yet too young to have the bodies for labor… they are being put to use,” Dawnstar finished. She paused with Tyrande in front of a line of stocks, where kal’dorei females of all hair colors, some with facial runes and some without, matrons and young girls alike, were locked tightly by the head and arms, bent at the waist. Dozens of stocks had been placed in a row along the path to the Terrace, and all were occupied by females, though many were had their faces obscured by pairs of sagging, pimply orc peon buttocks, in the midst of thrusting. The wet, glottal sounds of irrumatio, mixed with the trudge of the downcast slave trains, formed a rhythm of the obscene.

“Zug zug! Me go face!” proclaimed one bald and non-too-bright orc peon, unbuckling his britches and slamming his oblong, vein-encrusted cock into the mouth of a captive night elf young girl, pumping away. The light of intelligence was nearly gone from the eyes of the formerly vivacious female, and her hands hung limply in the stocks as her throat was used. Though the peon cocks were smaller than those of the grunts, they were still sturdy and usually filthy from the day’s woodcutting. Nonetheless, her thighs were slick with wetness from her hairless pussy, betraying the forbidden pleasure the lost youth was taking in her own defilement. Tyrande’s trained eyes saw every detail. The way the ground below the mouth of each captive female was wet with sperm. The way strands hung from their chins. The way their gorgeous features were plastered in masks of smelly, yellow cum and dotted with wiry orc pubic hairs. The way bubbles of lumpy jizz aspirated from some of their noses with each sordid breath.

Suddenly a slave tried to break from the line, tugging along a few of his fellows - a bearded, blue-haired kal’dorei with a muscled form and his hair braided in long twin ropes that fell about his wide shoulders. Immediately his Kil’kron slavemasters responded, pushing him back into line, but he would not be stayed, and yelled over their spiked shoulders.

“Lethana! Lethana, you must escape!” His voice was hoarse, but he seemed to have his senses.

One of the currently unused captives, a just-matured girl with the same azure hair flowing down in wild tresses not unlike Tyrande’s, suddenly seemed to awaken from her cum-stupor and match eyes with the renegade slave. “F-father?” her voice warbled, as if she was unsure, struggling to recognize. Beneath the glaze of cum and her own juices, she had an amazing body, generous breasts that were larger than Tyrande’s own, and an athletic, bouncy ass that jutted up and out from her bend-over position.

“Lethana!” He called again, and Tyrande wanted to tell him it was useless, he would be beaten and put back into line with nothing gained but the ire of his captors - but she couldn’t bring herself to act. Shortly, an orc knocked him down with the flat of an axe, taking the wind from his sails. Meanwhile, a tall, fat, slovenly orc unfastened his leather leggings in front of the girl, Lethana, and presented a cock that was at least 10 inches long and as thick as a dryad’s neck. Two inches of heavy foreskin hung like detritus off of the fist-sized knob, completely covering the head and more. Lethana’s shuddered and her tongue emerged from her mouth.

“Nnngh… it smells like a carcass that’s been left in the sun!” moaned the girl, her voice hazy and drugged, as the guards forced her father to watch. Wetness trickled down her taut thighs as she extended her tongue further to tickle the wrapped cocktip.

“I haven’t bathed in a month,” explained the fat orc, his heavy balls hanging nearly to his knees. His scrotum was leathery, one nut larger than the other, and pockmarked with boils and stray hairs. Flies buzzed around his thick, smelly cock and he pressed forward so that Lethana could slide her tongue into the musky, steaming depths of his foreskin, licking around the huge prick helmet and the lewd and stretchy hammock of excess tissue, her agile tongue eventually gathering a pile of smegma that she happily displayed on her tongue before pulling into her mouth.

“Mmm! I love the taste of your dick cheese, it’s so thick and rich - so lumpy I have to chew it.” Her young throat worked lewdly as she swallowed, then displayed her empty mouth. Her face was stamped with a vile sort of euphoria, and the emotion in her voice grew with an affectation that the sight of her father had not been able to produce… but that servicing orc cock apparently could. “Ahhhh! F-fuck, I get so wet from the stink of orc cocks!”

Though held to the ground, the male kal’dorei was able to cry out in dismay. “Lethanaaaaaaaa!” But again, she met his eyes while the fat orc lazily fisted his dick just inches from her cum-encrusted face.

“Leave me alone, father,” she rebuked him, her voice a licentious, whorish prowl. “I’m going to live the rest of my life consuming nothing but orc cum and piss... it makes me feel SO good! Our race is finished…the least I can do is be the best toilet I can.” Turning to her fat assailant with a sickly, loving expression, she extended her tongue.

“Please, can I suck the filth off of your balls, too?” she asked in a submissive voice. “They’re so big, and your dick makes my father look like such a faggot by comparison.” Her father, hearing this, was only able to get out a strained sob before he was axe-butted to the nape of the neck and a sack thrown over his head by the slavers, pulling him back into line. He mercifully did not get to see the fat orc slap Lethana, tell the ‘dumb bitch’ to ‘shut her cumdump mouth’ and, and drive his massive, filth-encrusted cock deep enough into her throat to tickle her nose with his pubes and distend her windpipe. She was barely conscious 30 seconds later when he pried her eye wide, pressed his leaking pisshole against her eyeball, and unloaded with what seemed like a pint of lumpy, worm-like yellow ball-broth.

Blinded as the nubile young kal’dorei then was, the “Nnngh… please… skull-fuck me to death…” was a plea that came after the fat bastard was already long gone and she was having a belated orgasm at being roughly used.

The other captives were in various other states of rut, and previous experience with Raene Windrunner had shown Tyrande that there was sorcery or alchemy at work - no amount of convincing could pry the women from the sexual nightmare into which they’d been drawn. No, it would take a larger and more complete measure, one that she would have to formulate if there were to be any hope for her people. To understand more, she needed to know more, and dared to ask a question.

“H-how can these some of these women - I recognize their faces - how can they be with child? With child, in no more than ten days? ”

Dawnstar, who seemed hesitant to watch the more depraved actions, raised an eyebrow and permitted herself a smile as they continued to walk toward the Tradesman’s Terrace. “Perceptive. I thought you would ask, Whisperwind. Had hoped you would ask, instead of wasting my time with weeping and worry-”

“And Teldrassil - too much excavation, too much defilement for a week. Machinery raised in the lake so quickly-”

“You are right. And the answer to your question is as simple as understanding the nature of the force that has conquered you. While we all move under the banner of Kil’gen of the Kil’kron, outcast from Garrosh’s horde, we all have different goals in taking Teldrassil.” Dawnstar’s mood had picked up - this was something she was interested in talking about. Any dishonor she felt at being part of the rape of the kal’dorei was not present in her feelings about the conquest itself.

“Are you not, too, a remnant of Garrosh’s horde?” asked Tyrande, and Dawnstar shook her head, pushing Tyrande forward, aggressively, past a line of peons who were tearing into one of Teldrassil’s ancient trees with their axes. It was no less an obscenity than the rape of the priestesses. Some of them, fresh from the stocks, had forgotten to tuck their dicks back into their pants.

“We were followers of Prince Kael’thas - but betrayed by our leadership, who threw down their arms to become the Scryers.” Dawnstar spat out the words. “By the time we were to rejoin our main force, the tide of war had turned against the prince - and so we escaped back through the portal with his defeat and became vagabonds, until such time as we could reclaim our honor.” She said the last word with no trace of irony.

Tyrande frowned. “You’ve come to take Teldrassil’s arcane energies,” she stated, not a question. If they had been followers of Kael’thas, their motivation was clear.

Dawnstar nodded. “The Venture Company are here for the physical resources. The Kil’kron for the glory. And we for the untold wells of magic in this place. But we have one more ally, Whisperwind, an ally that solves the problem of time - our ability to conduct this operation before Alliance forces can be mustered.”

A flicker of realization went off in Tyrande’s mind. If what she suspected were true, it would be a huge problem indeed. “No member of the Bronze Dragonflight would ever participate in such a-”

Dawnstar shoved Tyrande again. They were nearing the Tradesman’s Terrace now, the lines of slaves, broken before, were becoming constant. Night elf women, boys, and girls were caged by the side of the road in near or complete undress, with goblin touts advertising prices in coin. Tyrande saw recognition in their faces as she moved past, but there were no outbursts, no greetings for her. Either they were too broken to cry her name, or they knew that such activity would bring reprisals.

“The Bronze are dawdlers and meddlers, happy to ‘fix’ history but not to change it. No, Whisperwind, it is the Infinite Dragonflight that aids us. They bend the timestream as you draw back the string on a bow. Because of their influence, each month that passes on Teldrassil is but a dusk and dawn to the outside. The Alliance has barely started to mobilize in the ten-day since the assault - but we’ve been here almost a year!” Dawnstar threw back her head and laughed in her haughty sin’dorei way.

They had arrived at the Tradesman’s Terrace while Tyrande pondered this revelation. Where once had stood various shops and lodges, a bustling micro-economy, there was now a dirty, industrial conglomeration of orcs, goblins, and captive night elves. Dark iron platforms had replaced the simple architecture, along with cages, stocks, and what looked to be a gallows. The engines of Venture Company slave wagons spewed plumes of exhaust into the air. Kil’kron kiosks sold the pelts, antlers, and bones of Darnassian fauna in a grotesque trade. There were elixirs made from ground timberlings. Furbolg pelts from the overrun Gnarlpine hold. And most of all, slaves. Everywhere, slaves.

The males were being sold in lots, mostly to enterprising goblins, but the greatest crowds were reserved for the sale of the night elf females. One such transaction was being held on a dark iron platform as Tyrande arrived - a goblin auctioneer, cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth at a jackstraw angle, was standing next to two collared and shackled kal’dorei woman of similar jade hair color and build - obviously a mother and daughter. The mother was thicker and taller, her hair in a long single braid, the daughter more modest in bust and thigh. They were both naked and wore identical blank expressions.

“This lot, seperate or together’ - a mother and daughter, of the Everstride family of Aldrassil! So yous out ‘der who have had a bruddah in arms killed by an Everstride, here’s your chance for revenge. Now, they’ll take whatever name you want!” The goblin auctioneer’s lecherous and cutting voice was distinct in its way - the words came out mutha, dawta, bruddah, and whatevah. “Couple’a pretty fresh ones here, if ya feel like destroyin’ something new and spiffy. But don’t take it from me, let’s hear from Mommy Everstride. Make the case we shouldn’t just throw you in the garbage, sweetheart.”

The auctioneer nudged the mother forward, naked and chained, as the crowd of assembled orcs and goblins jeered. There were a few sin’dorei present as well, all of them male - but the goblin and orc females apparently saw little problem with participating in the utter subjugation of their gender, as long as it wasn’t their race in the line of fire. In fact, the orc females seemed to be doing a brisk business in adorable underage kal’dorei boys at an adjacent platform, extolling in their gruff voices the virtue of each downy-cheeked, bubble-butted, smooth, coltish, athletic, pert-lipped youth. Cute boys with skill at eating orc pussy and ass were especially valued… and if one of the female grunts wanted to strap it on and enjoy the ass-ravaged moans of the pubescent scamps in their care, who was going to complain? Certainly not the mothers of the boys, who would be ‘rewarded’ for siring good cunt-eaters and faggot cumdumps by being permitted to fuck the biggest and most prestigious orc males. This might in turn lead to a life as a concubine on a pillow of furs, rather than a communal cumdump in stocks and manacles.

In front of the hostile crowd with her hands bound behind her back and her bare tits and pussy exposed for the jeering, green-skinned masses, the Everstride matron seemed to be having trouble advocating for herself. She didn’t seem addled and cock-thirsty like the kal’dorei that Tyrande had passed on the path, and that made the situation terrifying in a different way - her very awareness of her humiliation, and that of her daughter, cut to the bone from a fresh angle.

“I…” she started, but her voice was immediately drowned out by gravelly catcalls from the assembled Kil’kron grunts, some of whom had fresh slaves eagerly lapping at the massive, olive-colored lengths of cock they’d allowed to hang free. “I am a… a skilled huntress,” finished Everstride, enunciating enough to be heard over the din. “I can pierce a boar’s eye at 100 yard-”

“How much dick can you suck?” bellowed an orcish voice, and there was laughter. “Your hands won’t be handling a bow again, you stupid twat!”

The night elf woman swallowed and continued in spite of the abuse, gesturing toward the nubile young girl standing next to her, her obvious kin, who had her eyes cast down to the ground. “M-my daughter is… is a skilled seamstress and scribe… a prodigy in m-music and the art of-”

“Who fucking gives a shit?!” A deep bass voice roared, and there was a babble of general agreement. “I’ll choke the dumb bitch with my cock until she doesn’t know the difference between a lute and a piano!” More voices joined the din.

“Who can take more dick, you or your slut daughter?”
“Their tits are perky, but I like a little more weight on ‘em.”
“Fuck it, throw these whores in the trash!”
“She hasn’t even been broken yet, I don’t have the time to waste on worthless slaves.”
“I wouldn’t pay a copper to jerk off on her dead body if I found it in the ditch that the peons shit in!”

The auctioneer held up his hands for relative silence as the night elves stood afraid and confused. “No bids?” he tried to confirm, looking at the assembled crowd. “Come on, think of it as a fixer-upper! Fresh ones, Professor Rattlecage ain’t even touched ‘em!” This further tout produced a murmur of conversation but no response, and so the auctioneer shrugged and tapped ash from his stogie, turning his attention to the kal’dorei mother and daughter and gave them the bad news.

“Sorry, sweetheart, looks like it’s stable duty for you and your kid!”

“S-stable duty?” The Everstride woman looked alarmed and uncomprehending. It seemed that she and her daughter, like Tyrande, had been kept in the dark, outside of the Infinite Dragonflight’s time field.

“Yep!” the auctioneer replied. “Chained to the ground servicing the wargs, boars and warhorses until your body breaks and we give you the ol’ heave-ho into the nearest latrine.”

The expressions of the two bound females exploded with fright. “W-wait!” cried the mother. “I…I’ll suck your cocks!” She dropped to her knees at the edge of the platform, addressing the crowd in a desperate babble. “I’ll sleep with your cock in my mouth! Just, my daughter, please - spare her.” The crowd exploded with enthusiasm.

“I’ll pay a couple gold just to watch this stupid piece of shit bargain for her daughter’s well-being,” commented one hulking orc merchant, holding out his marker. Others quickly topped his bid while the desperate matron collapsed onto all fours on stage and arched her back to show everyone present her bare pussy.

“You can breed me,” she moaned, wiggling her ass and causing her buttocks to clap while looking back over her shoulder and balancing on her manacled hands. “Or just fuck up my pussy! Rip apart my womb with your huge dick until I can never have another child and the only thing I’m good for is being your rape toilet! Just... please, allow my daughter some mercy.”

“200 gold for the two of them, from the gentleman with the big pauldrons, on the right,” called out the auctioneer, recognizing a bid. “And… we have 250. 300 for the two of them. Can I get 400?”

The daughter was aghast and wide-eyed at the proceedings, nibbling her lower lip in a cute gesture of nerves, her lithe and athletic body in full display only a few feet behind her mother, who was pulling apart her bubble butt to give every orc present a good view of her pussy and asshole. “M-mother! You… you don’t have to…”

“Pound my asshole until I shit nothing but your thick cum!” mewled the elder Everstride, ignoring her daughter. “You can beat me, split my lips, swell my eyes shut, bruise my body… I’ll still happily drink your piss!” Her eyes were wet with tears while the words flew from her throat, the desperate cries of a woman giving up all of herself to save the last thing she valued. This debauched state only spurred the crowd on even more, and the bidding continued to climb. It was a full minute before the blubbering, weeping woman was finally sold and pushed off the platform to her new master, a brutal-looking Kil’kron grunt who immediately punched her in the face and began to rape her in the dirt while her daughter was forced to watch, pouring a foot and a half of rigid cock into her pussy with no restraint or mercy.

“Z-sssank youhhh…” the woman warbled through her crooked, bleeding nose and eyes that were rapidly swelling shut. “Th-thank you…”

Tyrande, too, was forced to watch - and when the mother Everstride began to cum on the 18 inches of orc cock that was destroying her womb and fertility for all time, pulverizing her ovaries like acorns popping in a fire and making a cock-shaped bulge appear in her midsection as it displaced her guts, Tyrande could only observe with dull surprise. Turning her head away, she looked to Dawnstar, who seemed also to be having trouble observing impartially.

“A world of rape, disgrace and slavery… is this what Kael’thas would have wanted, blood knight?” asked Tyrande, her eyes downcast. “Does this satisfy your honor, and your heart, to show me this? Are you this callous and vengeful, to make us all suffer this way?”

At first Dawnstar said nothing, the flaxen gold of her hair obscuring her expression. Finally, and with the fleshy slapping sounds of coitus in the air, she responded. “It is by Kil’kron’s order that I show you this. I do this for my people, Whisperwind. Our thirst for magic.”

“You disgrace yourself, to sink this low.”

“This is not what was promised. But it is too far gone, now. The glammer of Teldrassil will feed the sin’dorei for a thousand generations.” It was a bold proclamation, but Dawnstar still refused to make eye contact. Tyrande could sense some sort of hesitation and regret in the outwardly cold woman, only a small spark, perhaps, but like any seed it could grow.

“Another happy transaction!” called out the auctioneer. “I’ll tell you what, this is a hell of a lot better than the black market! Now, I hope you saved your money, because we’ve got a special item for sale - a name of some repute! She took a lot of doing to break, ladies and gents, but she’s here now and she’d make a perfect fit for your harem, Pleasure Palace, or maybe a group gathering with you and your military unit, if that’s your thing! Now, accompanied by a special detachment of our Grimtotem allies, our next item!

In spite of the conversation between her and Dawnstar, Tyrande couldn’t help but bring her attention to the platform, considering the auctioneer’s overblown introduction. What had he meant by “a name of some repute”? As she watched, her height allowing her a good view over a crowd mostly composed of stockier, shorter races, a dark iron cage was brought to the stage by a contingent of massive Grimtotem warriors, all of them male, their huge tauren frames a deep black and indicative of their heritage. The bars of the cage obscured the night elf inside, but there was no doubt she was female, her hair long and flowing, a deep and somehow familiar blue...

Tyrande’s eyes went wide with horror and recognition as they opened the cage and pulled the captive out onto the stage using a chain leash and collar.

“S-Shandris!”

The name leaving her astounded mouth felt familiar, and for good reason. The night elf that Tyrande saw on the platform was indeed her old and dear friend - a companion she’d known since the girl was a child. Shandris had stood by her through the War of the Ancients and had grown to become a huntress of surpassing quality - perhaps the greatest that Azeroth had ever seen with an arrow nocked. She - Shandris - had been a confidant to Tyrande, though all the years of separation from Malfurion, and prior to that, had been a sort of understudy in the arts of healing.

Normally, being reunited with a friend she had thought dead would have overjoyed Tyrande, overtaxed emotionally as she was with the horrors of the Kil’Kron occupation. On this occasion, though, her face instead contorted into a look of astonishment and disbelief.

Shandris had been… changed.

The once-proud night elf huntress was lounging in a seductive doggystyle position, her face a mask of lust and cock-thirst showing no hint of her former personality. Steel plates had been sunk into the platform and manacles welded to them - these were quickly locked around her wristss, keeping Shandris’ palms flat. A third such plate provided an anchor for her collar, leashing Shandris like an animal to the realm’s most tawdry hitching post. Like most female night elves, her body was a study in long and lustrous predatory curves, the perfect balance between athletic and voluptuous, but shackled and collared, totally naked, the former huntress looked more like prey. Her countenance was not all that had changed - her breasts had been enlarged fourfold by some sort of alchemy, hanging pendulous and enormous from her chest all the way to the floor, while they lay like sacks of bulbous flesh, the thick nipples pierced by thick iron rings that also had chains attached. These were further anchored to the stage by Grimtotem bodyguards, one tug of the chain causing the puffy areolas to distend and stretch out. Shandris mewled like a bitch in heat at the slightest touch, and a milky fluid began to leak from her nipples.

Tyrande was barely aware that the auctioneer was speaking again.

“This famous specimen, Shandris Feathermoon, is now offered for sale by-”

“I don’t answer to that name anymore!” cried Shandris, and Tyrande saw with growing horror that the occupation forces had marked her face and body with lewd runes, depicting ejaculating orcish dicks along with the phrases “Night Elf Cumdump”, “Rape My Pussy”, “Free Toilet” and “Dumb Whore” in the common tongue.

“My name is ‘Stupid Cunt’ now,” she continued. Shandris’ face was a mixture of euphoria and emptiness that caused Tyrande’s heart to sink. The prone huntress bounced her thick, bubble-like ass at crowd, looking back over her shoulder for a moment. “Nnngh, I bet you all have such big cocks,” she mewled, her lips, and then her eyes met Tyrande’s for a brief moment - as much as any two night elves could meet eyes, anyhow, lacking irises. The lack of recognition in them shocking. “If you buy me, I’ll be the best breeding bitch you ever saw! Miss Rattlecage made me special!”

Shandris turned and moved to a position on her back, her legs spread lewdly and the chains pulling her breasts into taut conical shapes at either side of her chest, their size an obscenity when compared to her otherwise tight body. Her pussy had been pierced with three thick iron rings through her labia and a spike through her clit, and she spread herself to show the audience her hole. What might have been a formerly tight pussy had been turned into a well-fucked, soaking wet chasm that was obviously craving for more dick and leaking juices down over the elf-maiden’s asshole.

“Take a look at my womb, everyone,” Shandris moaned. “Thanks to Miss Rattlecage, it will be the first of many kal’dorei wombs to bear pureblood orcs!”

The audience, already raucous, exploded in energetic conversation that seemed to focus on one very important idea. Half-breeding between night elves and orcs would only produce offspring outcast by both races - but if night elf wombs could be made to breed warriors and not tiny-dicked, cock-sucking faggots… it would be the last piece of the puzzle to exterminating their race entirely. Tyrande’s wail of dismay was drowned out by the noise.

“Now, buy me,” Shandris mewled, her voice that of a rutting, cum-thirsty slut. “Buy me and use my womb as a toilet for your thick seed…”

“No…” whispered Tyrande. But nobody heard her. And nobody would gainsay the former Shandris from finishing the thought that might result in the end of the kal’dorei. As she did so, Tyrande fell to the ground, her knees weak, for the second time that morning.

“My name is Stupid Cunt,” said Shandris, her pussy dripping and her eyes avid with desire. “And I’m going to cum so hard when you help me snuff out my worthless race forever.”
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Dark Days For Darnassus