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Weakness	By : Demmu Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 5660 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1-Weakness
- 2-Exploitation
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- 2
The guttural scream of one of the orcs sounded from somewhere to his left, but Turon was far too occupied with ducking and weaving the blows of the opponent in front of him to care. The scream had come from the female hunter, he surmised; he’d seen the body of Shok’tar’s worg companion in the grass moments before. The morning had quickly taken a turn for the worse. Aside from the night elf warrior who was not showing nearly the signs of fatique he himself felt, he knew there was at least one other Kal’dorei about with a skill level far greater than his own.
The young Sin’dorei rogue evaded one more crash of the warrior’s shield by the skin of his teeth and whirled about, praying to the powers that be that he would not die here in Ashenvale. His lungs burned for air and he took off in a sprint for all he was worth, not even bothering to think about direction or how close on his heels the Kal’dorei could be. The ground suddenly seemed to explode before him, knocking the pale elf off balance, and what seemed to be tentacles – tree roots, he realized after a moment – wound tightly around his ankles and froze in place.
Laughter rang out somewhere behind him and he saw the source in his peripheral vision, a white-haired night elf who was joined by the first, his hands still glowing with an aura of channeled magic. Turon coughed out a mouthful of dirt and tried not to appear as panicked as he felt as he pulled furiously at his legs. The warrior said something to the druid in Darnassian, a tongue Turon had little familiarity with, and the druid just chuckled. With all his strength Turon jerked his feet free of his calf-high leather boots and leaped to his feet again. A flash of silvery eyes met his for just an instant before everything went black.
Turon gradually became aware of his own vision – how long had he been unconscious? – and the dull pounding throb in his own head. One eye was swollen half-shut and dried blood encrusted that entire side of his face and neck. He tried to touch it and found his arms were bound behind him, his hands long since numb by lack of bloodflow. As he lifted his head to look around a wave of terrible pain washed over him from where a blunt object had previously struck the back of it, bringing involuntary tears to his eyes, and he vaguely recollected setting out from Durotar that morning with a small band of orcs he had met at the inn. A few rounds of wine had spawned the cocky idea of venturing into Ashenvale and searching for unskilled Alliance recruits to pick off. Being of well-bred family in Silvermoon, Turon had no lacking in good schooling and in the inn’s raunchy atmosphere had readily agreed on the adventure. Alliance they had found alright, but something was wrong… His memory served him no more.
The rumbling growl of a wild animal far too close startled the elf out of his mental fog. He strained to look around and realized the sound had come from just outside the small building he was in. The few pieces of furniture appeared to be run-down and it didn’t seem anyone had lived here in quite some time. The only light was fading sunlight from outside, which flickered with the movement of leaves overhead.
Heavy footsteps made his pulse quicken as a tall figure cast a silhouette in the doorway. A burly Kal’dorei, the corners of whose mouth turned upwards in an amused grin when he saw the blood elf conscious. Turon did his best to appear calm and pulled himself with some effort into a sitting position, though the pain in his head screamed. A Sin’dorei must always keep his bearing. He forced himself to meet his captor’s gaze fiercely with his one good eye.
Eroan was mildly surprised but delighted to see his little cousin was still alive. He had half expected the pale elf to have succumbed to his wounds even though he and his brothers hadn’t really been all that rough with him. Sin’dorei were frail bastards after all. A good knock on the head with Jandril’s offhand mace and he had been out like a light, leaving them to muse about what to do with the kid after the orc rabble had been dispatched of.
Jandril joined his brother at the doorway and chuckled. “Wow, it lives.” He strode past the warrior and knelt beside Turon, seizing the blood elf’s auburn hair with a leather-clad fist and yanking it back painfully, examining with interest the emerald brilliance of his eyes. “You’re a long way from home, Sin’dorei. Bet you’re missing your velvet cushions and perfumed pajamas now.”
That got a laugh out of the warrior who leaned casually against the doorframe. “He should consider himself a lucky little bitch. We gave him a good sporting chance, after all.”
Turon surpressed a groan when his head was yanked back and closed his eyes to hide the fear that was creeping over him. His companions had been killed, but he had been spared – his unevolved cousins were not benevolent to his kind and the rogue knew his death was only meant to be more painful than that of the orcs. Who knew what they had planned? He only hoped they would tire of their game before long.
The cool, smooth sound of a dagger being unsheathed caused his eyes to open again. The Kal’dorei rogue had drawn a wickedly curved dagger and was playfully running its edge along the fair skin of Turon’s neck while still chatting with the warrior in Darnassian. He tried not to flinch as the dagger suddenly pierced a seam of his leather tunic, then another, and the rest was easily ripped off, baring his leanly muscled torso. Childhood stories of the alliance lingered in the back of his mind then and he prayed his heart wasn’t going to be torn out while it was still beating and sacrificed to whatever moon god the kal’dorei were so enamored with. Then the dagger slid further down his stomach and came dangerously close to his groin. Turon lost control then and cried out, earning a snicker from the rogue and a laugh from the warrior. His heart raced and he shut his eyes tightly again. The kal’dorei made quick work of cutting away his leather trousers and the sin’dorei crouched there in rags, his ears burning in humiliation.
Eroan whistled at the sight of their fair-haired little cousin before loosening the straps on his plate cuirass, letting the armor fall to the floor. “Our brother won’t like us starting without him, you know.”
“First come first serve, right? Anyway, nothing wrong with prepping the meat a little. He should thank us, really.”
“Should he now?” asked a third voice from the doorway, cool as a cat’s purr. The white-haired druid from the ambush. Turon knew now his chances of escape were negligible at best. “Well well, our new pet’s awake.”
“Then,” Eroan finished removing his armor and stretched, the rippling muscles of the warrior’s arms gleaming with a sheen of sweat from the heavy plate, “Let’s give him a little exercise.”
Turon groaned as he was half-yanked to his feet, stumbling to find footing on the dusty wooden floor. The other rogue promptly bent him facefirst against a wall and someone’s hand grabbed a fistful of his ass roughly before slapping it hard. He blinked back tears and failed to hold back a whimper, hating the weakness in his voice and almost wishing his captors would go ahead and kill him already. What use was there in humiliating him now? How long could this game go on?
Eladriel grinned and leaned against the wall as he began to stroke himself, content with watching his younger brothers bend over the little blood elf. Among the night elves he was known for his gentleness and empathy, but the feral soul inside him delighted in toying with the unusual prey they had caught. His cock twitched to life in his hand as he continued to work it.
“Check this out. The little bitch has almost nothing!” Jandril had crouched down and his hand had found the blood elf’s now exposed groin, squeezing it callously. The blood elf’s eyes went wide with alarm and he cried out in pain, stammering out something in an unfamiliar tongue. Jandril grinned sadistically and gave the little elf’s nether parts another squeeze before letting them go and standing up. “Hey Eroan, how bout you start at the front. I wanna teach this little bitch a thing or two about the importance of getting behind one’s opponent.”
The deep-voiced warrior chuckled. “Sounds good to me.” He kicked the back of the sin’dorei’s knees and the smaller elf fell hard to the ground. The little bitch was beginning to cry. Pitiful. Eroan pulled his hair roughly and the sin’dorei scrambled to stay on his knees as he was forced to face the warrior. This could not be happening, could it? His mind raced with fragmented thoughts. Composure… composure…
Turon swallowed with his dry throat and tried to speak clearly as though by some miracle these barbarians would understand Thalassian. “I don’t know what you fuckers could possibly want other than my blood. But be aware I won’t give you the satisfac—“
His head exploded into stars as the back of the warrior’s hand connected with the side of his face, then followed through with a punch to the other side. The words died on his tongue and hot tears of pain sprang from his eyes. The cold reality began to set in as all three of his captors laughed raucously and through blurred vision he could barely register the warrior undoing the front of his leggings just inches from his face.
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Weakness