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Brothers	By : Koori Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 1830 -:- 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.

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Chapter Thirty-Seven– Foster Conway, Age 22
Was it possible to be disgusted with one's own skin? Foster's only comfort was the lack of a mirror so he couldn't see how bad he actually was. The naga that called himself Zalashji did not seem too concerned to keep his 'slaaf' clean. As long as their keepers brought him meals the naga was content with his care. The slight sound of uncoiling scales warned him a moment before they wrapped around, pulling him back into the nest.
"Are you brooding, slaaf?" the naga asked.
"I haven't been idle this long in years," Foster said. "The months of servitude and pit fighting feel like a vacation compared to the past days of sitting in my own filth. My sanity is being tested."
The naga laughed, it came out as deep grunt. Its talon-like fingers combed through Foster's matted hair. "All right my little slaaf," he hissed. "I was just waiting to make sure you had mended completely. We can start your training now."
"My training …" Foster asked.
"You are the humans' fearsome warrior, now it is time for you to be trained as a myrmidon." Zalashji replied as he uncoiled and slithered off the nest.
"For what end?" he asked.
The giant lizard creature shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps for my own entertainment and studies," he said, "I want to test the endurance of humans. Now stand and ready yourself."
Knowing after days of idleness he was in no way ready for any kind of training, it still seemed better than another moment of being a human hot water bottle for the coldblooded naga. He stood and stretched, then fell into a defensive stance and waited. They both knew he was no match for the naga in his prime let alone now. The serpent lashed out with his tail and Foster waited for it to wrap around him like it had in the past. This time though it slammed into his hip, sending him flying. He relaxed with the attack and rolled. Quickly he scrambled to his feet and faced off again. A second attack sent him to knees and still he did not defend or counterattack. The months of servitude taught him that his master could do what he wanted; to fight back only led to harsher punishments. Gilbert had made it very clear these past days that he wanted nothing to with Foster and that the naga was his master.
"Why do you cower, slaaf?" Zalashji demanded. "Let me see this formidable human warrior!"
"You want me to attack?" Foster asked.
"Yes …" Zalashji hissed. He didn't finish as Foster lunged forward, dropping so his hands landed on the ground, as he brought both feet up kicking the naga in the chest. The attack did little; the serpent used its tail to keep upright. A strong hand grabbed his ankle before he had finished his kick, jerking him upright so he dangled in front of the naga upside down. 'That wasn't very effective," it hissed, tossing Foster away, "try again."
The next few hours were spent sparring with the naga. Eventually it started teaching him, showing him moves that he hadn't been taught by the warriors of Stratholme. Using the weight and strength of the naga against him he managed to almost unbalance Zalashji. The tail was perplexing him; it seemed able to adjust to any attack to keep the naga upright. Their wrangling ended when a meal appeared; Foster had no idea if it was midday or evening dinner. His was a cooled noodle soup with chunks of what he hoped was chicken floating in the broth, along with a half loaf of bread and weak ale. The naga had what looked like half of boar from the slaughter house that it greedily ate, throwing the bones out of the cage as he finished. Afterwards Foster was dragged back to the nest where the serpent curled around him, still sweaty from their bouts the naga let out what sounded like purr.
"So warm," it hissed. After a meal like that Foster knew the naga would sleep for a while and trapped within the coils he had little choice but to do the same or spend the hours lost in his own hopelessness. He opted for a nap and adjusting himself he settled down on the scales and closed his eyes.
They were both woken what felt like hours later by the noisy coming and goings of orcs. It took Foster a bit to realize that they had brought down what looked like a trough, that was resting in front of the cage and were busy running back and forth with buckets of water. Zalashji patted his head, rhythmically as they watched the busy orcs. "Seems I'm being called upon tonight," the naga finally said. Since his arrival neither of them had been permitted to leave the cage.
Gilbert appeared with three armed men who raised their weapons as the door to the cage was opened. The older man dropped a pair of heavy manacles on the ground. "Boy, put those on the lizard," he said as he shut the door and stepped back.
Foster looked over his shoulder at the naga who nodded. Walking over to the irons he picked them up. They were heavy and thick. Zalashji held out one arm and Foster clicked the manacle in place. "Behind his back!" Gilbert ordered.
Zalashji allowed Foster to secure his hands behind him. Only then did the door open again. Weapons were still raised and Gilbert motioned toward the bath they had drawn. "Hydrate and clean yourself, lizard," he said, "We found a mark for you tonight."
Zalashji glided toward the door, the men outside backed up bringing their guns to their shoulders. Ignoring them the naga easily climbed into the large trough. Once in the water a couple of orc maidens appeared and using brushes and soap began to scrub him. Foster could only look on jealously from within the cell as the buckets of water were poured over the naga rinsing him, until his scales glistened. While this was going on, Gilbert had left the prison leaving his armed guards behind.
After they had finished Zalashji climbed out of the bath, the orcs used towels to dry him as they did the naga studied him. "What brooding looks, slaaf," it hissed. "Who knew humans were such clean creatures? Wouldn't know by the filth you throw into the water. Would you like to bathe?"
With little hope of his wish being granted, Foster nodded. The naga gestured toward the water he just left. "You may use it if you desire, be quick."
Foster quickly stripped off his leggings, the only piece of clothing he still possessed. Bringing them with him, he climbed into the cooling water. The tub had been brought in for a naga so it was almost deep enough for him to swim in. First he grabbed the soap resting nearby and scrubbed his pants. Then he started cleaning himself, as he worked on his hair one of the orc maidens reached out to help. As her fingers brushed his scalp the cavern interrupted in a terrible roar. Zalashji charged out of the cell he had returned to, knocking the guards down with one mighty swipe of his tail. "He's mine!" the naga shouted.
Without thinking Foster jumped out of the tub and threw himself on top of the orc maiden bringing them both to the ground. He would be little protection to her but he didn't know what else to do. Strong claws grabbed him around the waist and lifted him; the forked tongue slithered down his neck. There was a moment pause and Foster shouted in orcish for the woman to run, she and her companion didn't hesitate and raced out of the room.
The men had recovered their guns and brought them into their sights. Gilbert rushed into the room, "what the hell?" he shouted. Foster wondered what the sight must have looked like, with him naked in the naga's grip.
"The orc touched him," Zalashji hissed, "he's mine … there must only be my scent on him. No one else …"
"I'll whip the wench," Gilbert said, "now get back in your cage and take your whore with you." Foster was dragged back into the cell and thrown down on the nest, the naga loomed over him. He noticed then the chain between the heavy manacles had been snapped in two.
"Mine," it hissed, at the same time spraying Foster with the foul smelling mist. One of the guards tossed Foster's wet leggings into the cell as the door was shut and locked.
"Fuck it," Foster moaned wiping his face. "I get it, I'm yours …" he angrily pushed the naga aside and went to collect his pants. He hung them over the bars and hoped they would dry eventually in the cavern.
The tail coiled around him and dragged him back. Foster fought it; he had his fill of naga today. The grip came like iron and he was jerked harshly off his feet, whipped around in the air until his head spun, and then thrown down on the nest. Before he could find his senses he found himself pinned under the massive body of the naga. His arms held over his head and the gaping jowl of the other inches from his face. Hundreds of razor sharp teeth opened as the serpent tongue slid out and licked Foster's cheek.
"Submit to me human," Zalashji hissed.
"I already have," Foster shouted back, "you already made me your slave or slaaf or whatever you call it. There is nothing else for me to submit to you, lizard!"
"Oh there isn't," the naga's tail wrapped around his leg and Foster felt it creep closer to his crotch, it felt different almost a sensual tease. A cold fear gripped him and he tried to struggle but the naga had him completely at his mercy.
"You said I wasn't your type," Foster cried, panic replacing anger.
"Any port in a storm," the naga said, "isn't that what you humans say? Submit to me human."
"Bend, Brother!" Nignath's words came back to him. Swallowing what little pride he had left Foster went limp in the lizard's grip. "As you wish," he whispered closing his eyes.
Zalashji let out his harsh barking laugh and Foster found himself freed. "That will do, slaaf. Stay in the nest and out of my way," the naga said. "The humans were foolish to feed me before a fight. It makes me slothful; I'll need to work myself into a blood frenzy if I am to give the keeper the show he wants. It will be wise if you do not draw my attention to yourself."
Foster grabbed the blanket Zalashji had requested for him earlier in his servitude. It was wool and scratchy but it was warm and he was still naked. Then he curled up with his head his arm and watched the naga as he glided the length of the room chanting in a language he didn't understand. Suddenly Zalashji bit himself in the arm, and crimson red spots splattered on the ground. He slithered over to the cage wall and shouted for a healer. A few minutes later an older orc came hesitantly into the room. The naga placed his arm through the bar. "Heal me," he demanded.
The orc cautiously approached and after the naga didn't harm him, took out some bandages and ointment. After he dressed the wound he turned to leave and Zalashji reached between the bars with his other hand and grabbed the orc.
"No!" Foster shouted sitting up, but it was too late the cell was splashed with the orc's blood as the naga's razor sharp claws slit his throat.
Zalashji's blood-covered snout turned toward him and the warning of not drawing any attention came back. Cowering he lowered himself in the nest. The naga went back to shredding what he could of the orc between the bars until there was a puddle of blood on the floor. Unable to watch Foster covered himself with the blanket. Nathaniel used to do the same when shadows scared him. How he wished it was just shadows that terrified him.
It seemed like hours that he laid there afraid to breathe when he heard the sound of many feet approaching. "Oh … what the hell?" Gilbert shouted, "That was my only green-skin healer! What the hell did you do?" There was sound of retching as others that came with him surveyed the damaged. Foster stayed where he was, he didn't need to see.
The blanket was jerked aside and he startled. Zalashji stared down at him for a moment and then tossed his still damp leggings at him. "Put on your covering," it hissed.
"Looks like the boy got him some lizard lovin," someone said with a laugh. "Old man Burton said he had a taste for orcs too … freak."
Foster slid on his pants and knelt down, waiting. "All right, lizard," Gilbert said. "I saw what you did with the last set of irons, had to make a rush job for some titansteel bracelets for you. Cost me a pretty penny but better than having you loose. Boy, same as before …" the chains were tossed into the cage.
Foster looked up at Zalashji and waited. The naga stood there silently for a long moment only the tip of his tail twitching, finally he gave a slight nod and Foster retrieved the shackles. He slipped them on as before binding the naga's hands behind his back. "All right," Gilbert said, opening the door of the cage. "Your fans await, let's make enough for me to buy another healer. Get some orcs in here to clean this mess up, the place already smelled like an outhouse." As the naga slid past Foster, its tail wrapped around his waist, pulling him along toward the door.
"Leave your toys behind, lizard," Gilbert ordered. "This is a one-on-one fight."
"I do not trust you humans," Zalashji said with a hiss. "My slaaf comes with me, he won't fight but he will be in the cage with me so I can keep an eye on him."
"They ain't going like that Mr. Gilbert," one of the men said.
"Maybe we'll get lucky and he won't make it back out alive," Gilbert said with a shrug.
The armed squad led Zalashji out of the cavern and into a cool evening. Foster was wrapped in the coils of his tail while the naga glided across the grass. They were greeted by an enthusiastic crowd of men. Zalashji let out a roar that sent them scampering back, and then let out one of his barking laughs as he allowed them to him put in the cage in the middle of the barn.
"What the hell?" Foster heard a familiar voice shout. "You're still alive?"
Turning he saw Arthur and Jasper Burton in the crowd, their faces instantly made his rage build. Zalashji must have sensed a change, he jerked Foster toward him. Wrapping his massive arms around Foster he held him close. This caused the crowd outside to laugh. "First an orc's bitch and now a lizard's," Jasper said. "You'll sleep with anything that has a cock won't you? Does that thing even have one?"
Zalashji started combing Foster's hair with his talons as they waited. He came to realize the naga did that as he would pet a cat or dog. Finally the shouts grew louder and a large form appeared in the barn's doorway. "Ogre," Foster and Zalashji said at the same time. This one was different from the last one Foster had fought it only had one head.
"All muscle, no brains," Zalashji said as he placed Foster down on the ground behind him. "Remember the blood lust," he warned. Sitting Foster made sure he was against the corner of the bars. "This won't take long," the naga hissed as he slithered forward to meet the ogre being put into the cage.
A hand on his shoulder startled him. Jasper was kneeling down close to him. "You get to the door while they're fighting and I'll get you out of that cage. Your orc whore misses you."
Foster nodded slightly. Then the match began, he couldn't help but think Zalashji was thrown off by the speed of the ogre. With the two of them in the cage it was pretty cramped. As the two titans clashed Foster slowly started making his way around the cage. Being back under Percy and the Burtons' cruel hands was more desirable than to spend another night as a serpent's play toy, plus he'd be back with Nignath. He had almost made it to the door where Jasper waited when the ogre sailed over his head. Flattening himself against the floor he avoided getting hit. The ogre was quickly on his feet and charging Zalashji again. As ogre and naga collided, Foster ran for the door. Jasper was just starting to unlock it when a roar reached Foster's ears. He'd heard that sound before and increased his speed. The door cracked open and he lunged for it. A tail grabbed him around the ankle and tossed him back. The men outside rushed to close the door pressing their bodies against it as latches were slid in place.
"MINE!" Zalashji shouted.
Foster looked over at the decapitated head of the ogre. Zalashji charged him and pinned him to the ground. "Mine!" he said again. The tongue flickering in and out, picking up their mingled scents. The beast let out a terrible roar inches from Foster's face, he was sure more than one man soiled their pants at the cry. "I warned you, human!" Foster found himself turn over in the naga's grip so was lying face down in the dirt. A talon traced the branded Bs on his back. "You said these, mark you as another's?" the beast hissed.
"Yeah, you stupid snake," Jasper shouted back, "he belongs to us … give him back!"
There was a flash of movement from Zalashji and Foster barely followed something flying out of the cage and burying itself in Jasper's forehead. Arthur let out a horrible cry as his son crumpled. But Foster had more pressing concerns. The naga dragged one of his talons down the middle of Foster's back, leaving behind a bloody trail. It then added a few more curved marks up near the top by his shoulders. Afterwards Zalashji breathed a fine mist on the cuts; it was different from the foul smelling one. It made the fresh cuts burn like fire and Foster yelled out. "Now you're marked as mine," Zalashji said as he picked the still screaming man in his coils and showed off the trident he had burnt into his flesh.
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Brothers