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Gifts of Affection
By : Vaithen
Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft
Views: 15164 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't make money off or own WoW.
Chapter List
- 1-Gifts of Affection
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 1
- 2
**To old readers, this is a rewrite since I was unsatisfied with the quality. Warning: Contains some very graphic scenes.**

He could still remember that day when he stood in rank, nestled shoulder-to-shoulder within the column of soldiers. His hand visibly shook; trembling underneath the mailed gauntlet, the leather hilt of his sword was one startling noise away from clumsily slipping from his grasp. His eyes darted from left to right, peeking through the narrow slits cut into the polished steel helmet, plumed in majestic blue feathers. Though he had endured months of grueling training, the heavy burden of impending death hung on his shoulders. The steel platemail adorned with the Stormwind crest weighed painfully on his frame; at that moment, he felt more a mouse than a lion.

He fought the overwhelming urge to turn and run, to throw his sword and shield to the wind, to flee anywhere but here. He flinched as a thunderous crash roared through the isle, shockwaves traversing through earth and ether, rippling through every leaf and blade of grass. He turned to look to his commanding officer, a tall, stout man. There was a lean, mean look to him. A veteran of the Third War. Mounted high on his warhorse, he stood affront the column of Stormwind reservists, fresh fodder arrived only days before. If only he had the courage to face the coming doom with a stoic face like his commander did. His nervous eyes flittered around, gulping as he tasted the thick, overwhelming tension clinging to the air. The silence was a crushing burden as not a word was uttered, no sound except the nervous shuffling of mailed boots in the soft mud. Every man knew what was coming.

His platoon of reservists was stationed atop a grassy hill, overlooking the scarred earth. Where lush, verdant grass and majestic trees once grew had been charred by the stain of demonfire and joined battle. The idyllic landscape had been trampled beneath heavy boot and demon hoof. He gazed into the distance as twenty or thirty figures charged into the mouth of the fray. Their gray and gold standard raised heroically, they were composed of all sorts of men and women, orc and tauren, forsaken and troll. The din of battle reverberated through the air, accented by the sickening whistle of the gigantic pitlord’s glaive tore through metal and flesh. From his vantage point, he could barely make out the soldiers of the Shattered Sun Offensive, but the collosal monstrosity of a pitlord dominated the battleground. Its smoldering, demonic eyes burned with sheer malevolence, its scaly hide pricked with broken arrows and shattered blades, as if its hide were a walking armory. The pitlord’s slow, momentous steps quaked through the isle, its swaying tail knocking over columns of soldiers as its blood-hued glaive sliced into brave men.

But what was most frightening of all, what made his palms sweaty, made him shiver and cower… was the laugh. The pitlord cackled in a deep bass, as if it were… amused.

“Haa… Ha… Haa…”

The haunting laughter echoed through Magister’s Terrace, so loud that he could feel the demonic voice echoing inside of his steel helmet. He had been told he’d be fighting demons. He had been told what to expect. Felhounds, doomguards, infernals. But no amount of preparation or courage could steel a mortal in their first encounter with a demon. Its terrible voice… amused. A blade forged from the burning depths of worlds unknown, drinking in the wanton slaughter. Each arrow puncturing deep into its musculature only enraged it more, drawing the ire of the blood-possessed demon.

He watched helplessly as the men and women of the Shattered Sun engaged the demon at the entrance of Magister’s Terrace, their losses terrible as the ground itself split asunder from spellcraft and sword. Each time they destroyed the legions of doomguards and infernals, the pitlord raised its gore-drenched glaive high into the air, seemingly slicing open the fabric of the world, creating an eerie violet portal as even more demons poured out from the Nether. He could not even begin to imagine the beauty of Magister’s Terrace during more peaceful times. The towering minarets and spires had been torn and charred by fire and ice, or outright blasted reduced to rubble. The small ruins and craters in the once-alabaster walls revealed occasional flashes and glows as a savage battle raged inside. While the fodder gorged the pitlord with a feast of blood, small bands of heroes and adventurers slipped unnoticed into the Terrace. Heroes adorned with ornate armor and weapons, their gait confidence shining on their determined faces as they marched into certain death. Inside, the demon Kil’jaeden awaited them.

What happened next was foggy in his memory. It was dark, much later into the day. He remembered his commander raising his gleaming blade high, his inspiring words drowned out by the dying cries of the pitlord. The air was heavy with the smell of charred demon flesh, the haze and smoke of battle making it difficult to see even his blade. He remembered swinging his sword wildly, a miracle he didn’t cut himself or his fellow reservists. He remembered a massive, winged doomguard, parrying his sword thrust with such force his weapon flew out of his hand and high into the air, clattering to the ground harmlessly. And then, the doomguard raised its hand toward him, a swirl of mesmerizing shadow amassing in its palm, before a bolt of shadow blasted into him, knocking him off his feet. He remembered tumbling, rolling down the hill as a crater in the center of his breastplate melted, his vision going more black than red. He prepared himself to meet the embrace of death…

He was told he had been out cold for ten days. He was also told his name was Vaen of Elwynn, and he was part of the 7^th Stormwind Reservist Regiment. His commander led a charge into the flank of the demonic horde, personally delivering the coup de grace before the pitlord could limp back into Magister’s Terrace. The commander and most of the other reservists had failed to return after the battle. Lost.

A small part of him was crushed to hear that his friends were gone. Boys he had grown up in Elwynn with. But another part of him was even grateful he was safely in a bed, ensconced inside a first aid tent. He could barely move, being so heavily bound in bandages. His blue eyes peeked beneath the blood-soaked bandages on his face, messy dark hair arrayed over the hard pillow. He could barely move his arms or legs. He was safe. Rumors had spread among the nurses that a group of heroes had forced their way into the heart of the Terrace itself, slaying the treacherous Kael’thas. And now, they made their way towards the Great Demon. He smiled; the guilt and shame his heart felt for being the sole survivor when so many braver men died was nothing compared to the joy that he was too injured to be sent into the front line as fodder.

The days following Kil’jaeden’s defeat were deeply burned into his mind. A massive roar and cheer erupted from the camp. He had grown strong enough to walk, and he was outside at the latrines when a lone messenger burst into camp, a look of elation on his ragged, worn face as he dashed for the base commander with the joyous news. The commander immediately ordered the kegs opened, and informed the men that there would be a joint celebration that night. Up until now, the factions had kept to themselves as they separately contributed to the war effort, but tonight would be the first time they would be allowed to mingle.

It was that night, beneath the shimmering fireworks and raucous sounds of laughter and cheer that he met his first non-human. He never had the opportunity to visit the dwarves and gnomes that frequented the districts of Stormwind. He quickly averted his eyes from the Draenei, their odd hooves and tentacles a shock to a human boy that had grown up in Elwynn his entire life. He even met one of the enigmatic Night Elves, her shimmering silver eyes peering into his for a brief second before looking away. They seemed haughty and disinclined to mingle. He did not push the issue. He even saw his first green-skinned orc, his hand wavering near his hilt, a remnant from what little training he remembered. But what he remembered most was his first Sin’dorei. An awestruck boy, he weaved his way through the crowds congregating in the marketplace, his eye awash with wonder as he drunk in the sights, sounds, and ale. She was a golden-haired girl, seemingly no older than he was. She held a small wicker basket in her hand as she wandered through the crowd, his eyes following her intently. The girl caught his eyes staring at hers, beaming him a bright smile in return. She seemed as unaccustomed to his sapphire human eyes as he seemed to her brilliant emerald pupils. After an awkward second, the blood elf girl reached into her basket, poking a bottle of melon juice at him, while her other hand stretched out, in a gesture for payment. She spoke some soft, lyrical words he didn’t understand, presumably Thalassian as she smiled at him.

He was entranced. Without even thinking, his hand reached his gold pouch, dropping a few silver into her hand and taking the melon juice. His blue eyes stared into the deep pools of her emerald green eyes, as if he could get lost in them forever. He wanted to. Snapping out of his fixation, he flicked his eyes downward, noticing that she wore a bracelet around her neck. He had seen novices, priestesses in training back home wear them around their wrists. But this Sin’dorei was smaller. The bracelet easily fit around her collar as a necklace. He returned her smile with a clumsy grin, watching her utter some word, presumably thanks, and turn and walk away, lost into the crowd…

In the years following the defeat of the Legion at the Sunwell, Vaen was stationed with the remnants of the Shattered Sun on the isle, tasked with patrolling the Terrace for any signs of the Legion’s return. He had become a professional soldier, and with it, adopted the habits of the professional soldier. He heard stories and tales from older soldiers. It was widely spread amongst the human contingent that the excruciatingly rare opportunity to bed a Kal’dorei woman was the most incredible experience any man could ever hope to aspire to. To lay with a Night Elf was to make love to an angel; to blessed to lay with the most perfect physical specimen Azeroth had to offer. The mysterious silver eyes, the smooth, creamy lavender skin, the soft, feminine curves in all the right places… It was the goal of every soldier to seduce one of the mysterious Night Elves that occasionally visited the isle.

Vaen idly watched as one of the enigmatic Night Elves strode past his patrol, never once looking towards them. Her face had strange markings, but her body was cloaked in an an unassuming brown cloak. He enjoyed looking at the Kal’dorei, what soldier in his right mind wouldn’t? He even shared in the leers and whistles as the human soldiers oogled the lascivious curves apparent even underneath the elf’s cloak.But his thoughts were always drawn to that night so many years before.

Every day, before the start of his patrol, he wandered past the limits of the human-controlled zones, into the neutral territory. He strode into the marketplace just to see that one blood elf that sold her wares there. The pretty elf girl, the one that always smiled at him as he handed her his silver coins, handing him a small bottle of melon juice in return. Her shimmering emerald eyes haunted him day and night ever since so many years ago; he looked forward every day to her bright smile; the way her lips parted to utter “Thank you” in that smooth, lyrical Thalassian tongue. The small novice necklace still clung around her neck line. He had watched and carefully noted as she had sprouted into the prime years of her womanhood. Just as the years of intense training had put layers of hardened sinew and muscle on his frame, so had the years found it fit to accentuate her womanly curves, hinting at what lay underneath. She was small for her kind, but still tall and lithe; slender, yet full in the right places. Her face was that of pure innocence, unbroken by a single worry or care. His favorite bodypart was her lips… the way it parted when she spoke or giggled… His mind raced at night; the way the other men lusted after the Night Elves, he imagined the same with the pretty blood elf girl. If making love to a Kal’dorei was the most blissful, heavenly experience there was, would it be the same with a Sin’dorei?

“Vaen!”

He blinked, slowly opening his groggy eyes.

“Vaen!”

In his dreams it had been the pretty blonde elf, moaning his name in that exotic language as his fingertips slid along her skin, caressing her curves… but now. It was his commanding officer.

“Get up you good for nothing,” the stout man standing over his bunk had a scorned look on his face as he tossed a sealed envelope on top of Vaen. “You’ve special marching orders this week, corporal.”

Vaen tossed from side to side, a none too pleasant look on his face as he sat himself up, breaking the wax seal on the papers.

“We’ve got reports of a doomguard sighting. Probably just a spooked farmer seen a critter, but standard protocol as always, boy.” The commander’s voice was bored, his impatience obvious. “You see something, you don’t engage. You’ll report back to me any demon sightings or any other suspicious activity. Dismissed.” The officer was already on his way out of the barrack by the time Vaen finished reading the orders.

With a heavy sigh, Vaen roused himself from the bunk, slipping down from the top, careful not to disturb his bunkmate underneath. He always rose earlier than the others for his daily visit to the marketplace, and that little fact had caught the attention of his superior. Always one for efficiency, Vaen soon found himself assigned any and all morning assignments, from dawn patrols to fetching coffee.

He peered out the window, the majestic sky illuminated with gold and orange as the rising sun chased away the vestiges of night. Dew glittered atop the verdant trees and grass, slowly recovering from the onslaught so many years before. Vaen slapped on his breastplate, the Lion of Stormwind proudly lacquered on the front. He slipped on his gauntlets and leggings, before donning his blue-plumed helmet.

“No time for a visit this morning, dearest…” He muttered to himself. “I hope you don’t mind.” He occupied himself with memories of his last visit to his girl, how she had recently replaced her dusty blue dress with a neatly pressed white novice robe. “She must be moving up in the ranks,” he thought to himself. He made his way along the cobbled path towards the western side of the island, an area humans seldom ventured save for demon sightings. The grassy knolls slowly gave way to small glades ensconced by rings of trees, their massive, smooth trunks forming protective barriers. He had seen strange fruit growing inside the glades, though he had no idea if they were wild or not. Regardless, they were of a variety he had never seen before in his native Elwynn.

He kept his mailed hand close to his hilt, resting on the iron pommel as his eyes darted from side to side on the path. Quel’danas had grown peaceful over the past several years; it had been months since the last confirmed doomguard or infernal sighting. But small packs of felhounds, lost and wild without their demonic Masters, still roamed the isle, drawn to scent of mana.

Vaen patrolled deeper into the wooded glades, the cheerful songbirds of the grassy knolls replaced by an eerie silence, disturbed only by the occasional sound of some movement in the grasses, a critter darting among the leaves. It was unusual to see felhounds this deep in the forest, but he knew the demonic beasts were attracted to him. According to a Draenei mystic that had passed by his regiment, Vaen held a potential in the arcane, though its practical usage eluded his grasp. As a boy he had only known the hoe and plow, and when he was conscripted, the sword and shield. All He clasped his gauntleted fingers tightly around his hilt, drawing the blade from the sheath slowly and silently.

Vaen peered around in the darkness, standing still on the dirt path. He could see the sun beginning to rise through the canopy, sunbeams shining through the leaves. It was quiet, too quiet. Something disturbed the creatures, an ill omen in this part of the isle. He searched with his ears as he heard a faint crunching side in one of the glades, happening every few seconds. Perhaps a felhound’s paw stepping among sticks and leaves.

He readied his sword as he stepped off the dirt trail, and into the soft, mossy grass. He cautiously entered the glade where had heard the sound, following toward the source of the disturbance. The crunching sound grew louder as he weaved through the trees, until it stopped suddenly. He froze. His sword poised, shield ready, he steeled himself for the fel hunters to leap from cover, trying to overwhelm him and tear through his plate.

Vaen’s eyes caught sight of a light. The morning shadows still lingered in the woods, but a small unnatural light flickered in the distance. Slowly creeping his way towards it, he peered from behind the trunk of a tree.

His heart stopped. Or rather, he felt his throat closing as his heart thundered in his chest. His eyes were transfixed on a white-robed figure, sporting soft, feminine curves. Long, straight golden strands of hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall; her back turned to him, but he could recognize her frail, slender body from anywhere. His heart felt like it would explode as he watched her legs spread out along the grasses, a small lantern of Sin’dorei origin beside her, flickering with some arcane white light.

Mesmerized, he strode forward like a moth drawn to a flame. His boot crunched beneath a twig as he drew close to her, the sound echoing through the small glade. The girl jerked backwards, whipping around to look at him, the fright in her face evident as she stumbled backwards, supporting herself from falling backwards with her two hands. The blood elf crawled backwards a few inches as Vaen approached, a look of worry in her brilliant green eyes as she peered straight towards him. It felt as if she could see straight through him, past the plumed helmet, past visor, gazing into his eyes.

He kneeled a few inches away from her, before raising his arms to slowly remove his helmet. Her frightened features immediately softened as she recognized him, her lips curling into the familiar beaming smile that set his soul afire. Without thinking, he returned her smile with a grin. He looked into her eyes, following its gaze as he looked down at his arm. He dropped his sword into the grass as the girl breathed a sigh of relief, no longer leaning backwards from him.

The girl gave Vaen a small wave of the hand, smiling sheepishly at him. Her eyes darted to the ground, where a small tool was pierced into the skin of the strange fruit growing along vines at the base of the tree. Vaen returned the wave, feeling awkward in his movements as he watched her produce a wick basket from behind her, full of empty bottles.

“Hi.” He spoke, a weight in his throat as he tried to muster words. “So this is where you tap the melon juice.” He could see her fidgeting nervously, as if his eyes bored into her.

“H-Hi…” She squeaked nervously. Her voice was music to his ears, sweet and saccharine, so befitting her sheepish, nervous smile. He could see her cheeks blush deep red as she fidgeted, adjusting her white novice robes.

“You speak Common?” Vaen exclaimed in awe. He leaned in closer to her, squatting down beside her. “Why didn’t you ever say something sooner?”

The blood elf nodded, smiling nervously. “I-I don’t speak to many outsiders… you’re my only customer that’s not Sin’dorei…” She handed him a half-filled bottle of the syrupy melon juice, a peckish grin on her lips. “You are a very unusual human to enjoy the fruit of the [i]Telaari[/i].”

He smiled. So she did know who he was. The fact that he registered in her mind was worth all the gold in the world to him. “Thank you…” He took the bottle, taking a sip of the sweet nectar inside. “It is sweet and pleasant…” He peered directly into the girl’s gleaming emerald eyes. “…much like you.”

Her cheeks turned beet red as she blushed, her eyes glancing down from his. “Thank you, but… I am training to be a priestess…” She played with an empty bottle in her fingers as she explained. “My vows prevent me… and my people…”

She squeaked in surprise as she felt his moist lips pressed against hers, her eyes widening in shock as she saw him on his knees, leaning into her, interrupting her mid-sentence with a kiss. His hand was on her shoulder, the metal glove cold to the touch even on top of her robe.

She tore away from his embrace in a burst of fright, a look of horror replacing her beaming smile only minutes ago. “S-Stop!” Her bright green eyes quivered in terror as she clutched the wicker basket close against her breast like a stuffed animal, as if it would keep distance between her and the human. She scooted away from him, but he pressed onwards, slowly crawling towards her on his knees.

Raw emotions flooded through his head. This wasn’t how he had imagined it would happen. He had run through this scenario thousands of times in his head, in his dreams. She was supposed to leap into his arms, falling madly in love with him. Her sparkling emerald eyes so happy he had finally made his move on her. They would make love wildly for days on end, their bodies glistening with sweat, licking it off each others skin with their tongues.

No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. The way she flinched backwards, as if he were some savage animal. As if he were a demon. It felt like a dagger had pierced his heart as he fought the urge to cry. This was worse than watching his friends cleaved to pieces by an enraged pitlord. It was worse than taking a direct shadowbolt to the chest from a doomguard.

He exploded in a surge of anger as he lunged at her, his arms shooting for her chest. His fingers gripped around the fabric of her novice shift, yanking the robe, forcing her to lean in towards him. Vaen’s imposing features bore into her eyes, his dark hair, his piercing blue eyes, the dark countenance on his face. She flinched as she felt his hand on the collar of her robe, turning her cheek to the side as she began uncontrollably sobbing. “P-Please… d-d-don’t hurt m-me…”

His hand reached up and grabbed her chin, twisting her cheek, his fingertips pushing up, beckoning her to peer into his blue eyes. It hurt him to look into her pleading green eyes, quivering with tears, her body trembling as she was forced to meet his eye contact. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about you… dreamed about you… desired you…” His voice had a smoldering undertone. “You don’t know how much you mean to me… “He could feel the emotion in his stomach bubbling over, releasing countless years of fantasy. “…and now you do this to me?” He gazed sharply into her eyes, one hand clutching the collar of her robe, the other hand sliding around her small throat.

“P-Please…” Her high, sweet voice quaked with stark terror. “P-p-please… I j-just…” She gulped, clenching her eyes shut, no longer able to withstand his eyes. “I just b-bottle melon j-juice…”

She shrieked in surprise as her eyes clenched tighter; she felt his hand on her shoulder, lifting her small body upwards, suspended in the air for a brief second before her frail figure was slammed up against the trunk of the tree. She squirmed pitifully as Vaen pinned her by the neck up against the tree, her soft body twisting from side to side, her arms and legs flailing to and fro in between sniffles. “Hic!” She could feel the hiccups building in her throat, bubbling over in between her sobs.

“Look at me.” He ordered in a calm, commanding voice. Without warning, he slapped her across the face. “Look at me!”

“No!” She clenched her eyes shut, as if she could will it away like a bad nightmare. “No! No no no! NO! NO NO NONONONO! Hic!”

The pinned girl wailed like a banshee as she squirmed and struggled, her hands trying to pry his fingers off her neck, trying to scream in between breaths.

He could feel his blood lust rising as she refused him, refused any modicum of cooperation. The thought that his love hated him… “I said open!”

He viciously slapped her across the cheek, jerking her head to the side as he struck her. Either from the force of the impact or from her terror, her eyes opened wide in horror, her mouth open aghast as she looked at him, rivulets of tears streaming down her cheeks as the stinging imprint of his hand glowed red on her cheek.

“Listen…” He tried to calm himself down, slowly releasing pressure on her neck. “I don’t want to hurt you, but…”

“L-Let me go, please, just let me go…” She pleaded in between sobs. “I won’t say anything, please, just let me go… don’t hurt me… hic!”

He could feel her small body trembling, and that was when he realized he had his body pressed up against hers. Her soft, feminine curves were crushed up against the platemail on his body. She whimpered as she felt his cold steel pushing into her body.

“M-My big sister… please, don’t do this… hic! My big sister will hunt you down, please, let me go… I won’t say anything…”

His eyes narrowed in anger. The fact that she dared threaten him, while she was in this position? It infuriated him.

“Your big sister…” He spat on her cheek, watching in amusement as she flinched. “Is never going to find you. No one will hear you.” He snaked out his tongue, licking his spit off her smooth, creamy, pristine cheeks. His saliva mixed in with her bitter tears.

“No one will find you…”
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Gifts of Affection	By : Vaithen Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 15164 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't make money off or own WoW.

Gifts of Affection