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Dark Days For Darnassus	By : SlutWriter Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 98163 -:- 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
The boughs of Teldrassil had long been the home of the Night Elves, one of the most ancient races of Azeroth, and in all that time, they had defended it against all enemies, Horde or otherwise. The closest that most incursions had ever gotten had been the forests of Ashenvale, where skirmishes over territory and lumber had raged between the Warsong Outriders and Darnassus’ most trusted front-line defenders, the Silverwing Sentinels, for years.

That lasting peace had been shattered in a matter of weeks. An oily, stinking pit was dug into the Temple of the Moon, the shackle-posts hammered and riveted into the ancient floors like unwelcome tumors of iron. The periphery was tastelessly draped in a barbarian’s idea of luxury - the antlers of rare animals piled against the walls, canopies of beastskin covering the intricate engravings on the walls. This was the orcish sensibility that had wrapped Darnassus in a stinking shroud, a further indignity brought by the brutal invading force.
Darnassus had been conquered.
Tyrande’s eyes flickered in the dim light of the morning. She was shackled crudely but effectively, her arms pulled to each side and extended, the weight of the chains leaving her little choice but to kneel in her shallow gaol - a dirty hole that had been haphazardly blasted into the temple floor by Venture Company sappers. Crumbs of shattered masonry dusted her bare and shapely feet, the soles upturned behind her as she lingered in her forced submission. Her knees were stained with the oiled dirt of the makeshift prison pit. The swell of her buttocks and hips bulged in the torn remnants of her outfit, and her breasts hung firm and pert despite their considerable size and lack of support. Stripped of all of her trappings but her ruined dress, earrings and tiara, her peerless form nonetheless carried a beauty untouched by the defilement around her.

Beauty, yes. Dignity was another matter. The temple, foremost of Darnassus’ holy places and sanctum of the Sisters of Elune, had long been a place of contemplation and peace for Tyrande and her confidants. Now, though, even with eyes shut against the unwelcome images that had come to surround these past weeks, she could not ignore of her new circumstances. In addition to being brutal conquerors and murderers, her Kil’kron jailers lusted constantly after kal’dorei females, of which Tyrande was the foremost specimen, both in status and stature. She would not give them the satisfaction of breaking her - but she was not the only female in her dank and brutal enclave. Another had been chained up nearby, along with her two children - Raene Wolfrunner, former commander of all Sentinel forces in Ashenvale. Like Tyrande, the purple-skinned bellatrix had been stripped and shackled at wrist and ankle. She knelt in the corner, her son straddling one smooth thigh and her daughter straddling the other, but of them naked and chained to her, while the two nubile youths took huge pulls of breast milk from her enormous tits.

The daughter seemed to have the body of a fourteen-year-old human girl, though Tyrande could not be sure of her true maturity. Her form was long and lean, but more petite than the panther-like huntresses who were almost amazonian in stature and musculature. Her midsection was smooth, her silver hair falling to her neck and contrasting with her mother’s purple tresses. The way the child was grinding her hairless pussy on her mother’s thigh, she seemed to be taking pleasure both from the stimulation of her young slit, but from the great mouthfuls of milk she was drinking, her hollowed-out cheeks pulling Raene’s breasts into conical shapes. Her skin was flawless, but her nakedness could not hide the sheen of orc-sweat and cum that still glistened on her haunches. Even now, two hulking Kil’kron guards were watching the rutting family and stroking their fat, flopping penises. Rivulets of yellow-white pre-cum hung ran their pissholes like sap from a spigot.

Raene’s son was perhaps even more gorgeous than her daughter - he looked equivalent in age to a 12-year-old human boy, his light blue skin and silver hair betraying his true race as readily as his ears. He had the supple and lithe body of a hunter but had not yet approached the age where his shoulders would widen and the first wisps of his beard begin to show. His form had been tempered not by battle but by sprightly trips to and from Darnassus to Astranaar as a messenger. Only a hint of graceful muscle was showing, and his facial features were angular and refined. While he wrapped his full lips around his mother’s nipple and sucked, she reached between his smooth thighs and jerked off his tiny, hairless 3” penis. The orcs laughed cruelly at this, brandishing their own grotesquely sized endowments and dripping their issue all over the taut bubble butts of both thigh-straddling night elf youths.

Raene’s free hand was rutting in the wet and puffy confines of her pussy. “Yes! Suck the milk out of me, children!” she moaned, turning her head to the side to kiss desperately at her boy’s scalp, spraying her hot and desperate breath onto her progeny, giving the orcs an incestuous tit-sucking show for the ages. “Drain my fucking tits! By Elune, it feels so good!”

Tyrande, silent and despairing, could not resist objecting. “Do not invoke the Goddess’ name so, Raene!” she begged, her cheek pressed against the floor miserably. “Use it for strength! Do not give in!”

Her plea fell on deaf ears, for the purple-haired Sentinel only turned to her. “That is not my name...nnngh,” came the reply, in between gasps of pleasure from her children’s oral ministrations. “M-my new name is Fuckslut…and… you...nnngh… must address me as such. Ugh… yes son, draw the filthy milk from my huge tits! Nourish your body with it so you can take more orcish dicks up your ass!”

The night elf boy moaned and gripped his mother’s huge breast with two hands, angling the nipple into his mouth and drinking, while his mother jerked him off. His round and shapely boy-butt jiggled on her thigh as orcish spew splattered all over it from the masturbating overseers... his nubile young body becoming slick with perspiration.

“My new name is Dumb Twat!” chirped the young daughter, taking her mouth from the spurting nipple, the milk splattering all over her firm breasts. “And my brother is Worthless Fag! The Common tongue has so many wonderful names for us! I never knew!” Her voice was enthusiastic, dazed, sex-crazed. Her mother had thrown a family name that had persisted for 10,000 years into the trash at the behest of her orc captors… and the girl couldn’t have cared less. Tyrande had to turn her head away and try to shut out the sounds.

“Fuck my daughter’s cunt and my son’s asshole,” Fuckslut begged the assembled orcs, pushing her spew-soaked children away slightly, droplets of milk still clinging to their pouty and enticing mouths. Their silver hair plastered to their necks with milk and sweat, their child-like bodies back-arched, butt-outthrust and looking back over their shoulders, the two youths were more enticing to the brutal Kil’kron than any more traditional concubines could have hoped to be. The shackled duo stood, chains clattering, and the proud, fuck-crazed mother watched as two brutes stood behind them and grabbed their hips with hands that seemed like bear paws. Two huge, dangling, wart-covered, olive skinned dicks flopped between two pairs of pubescent butt cheeks. Cockheads with ridged glans slid roughly in the furrows of the two. The heavy penises were huge in comparison to the fey children.

An outsider would have been sickened by the depravity of the mother offering up her first and second-born, but Tyrande had seen what the Kil’kron had inflicted for things to get to this point. Starvation. Beatings. Threats of violence against captives at other sites… and foul injections from the infamous Venture Company scientist, Jizzie Rattlecage - syrums that seemed to cloud the mind and fire the libido. Raene had first given up her own virtue to spare her children. Then the daughter to spare the son, and then son for what little food they were allowed. After a matter of weeks, the once proud Sentinel had changed her name… and her children had become bargaining chips in her ever-accelerating quest to sate the wet desires of her needy cunt. Tyrande had seen it all, even as she herself resisted and refused.

A heavy-set grunt poised his spurting, boil-covered penis against the entrance to the young night elf girl’s pussy, sliding it in ferociously and causing a bulge to appear in her midsection as the fist-sized prick helmet pounded deep into her tender insides. The child’s eyes immediately grew half-lidded and their light seemed to dim as her tongue slid from between her lips to lol at a lunatic angle. “Mother, it’s so big!” she cooed, and Raene’s ministrations to her own sopping slit only grew more feverish when she saw the size of the fat orcish dick that was pounding away at her daughter’s tight pussy, and the way it distended her supple abdomen. The girl shuddered and sprayed a stream of piss all over the floor as the orc began to violate her, splattering her mother’s thigh. “Orc dicks are so big!”

The son was lifted up like a doll in front of his mother, a foot-and-a-half-long orc cock with the thickness of Tyrande’s arm poised at his tight, tender anus. His tiny night elf dick dribbled a few drops of feeble issue as the green endowment was speared into his tight pubescent ass. Moaning and fingering, Raene leaned forward to suck her son’s pathetic dick while the orcs laughed and insulted the kal’dorei race for their worthlessness.

“Yes!” she moaned, sucking his cock and balls into her mouth in between words, able to swallow the whole thing. “You’ll never impregnate one of our females, so dump your orc-bitch seed into mommy’s mouth! I’ll clean it up so it doesn’t offend the orcs, my dear...nnngh...mmph… fuck, I can hear that huge dick ripping apart your faggy ass… being an orc’s personal bitch is what you were born for!”

“Look at this kal’dorei cunt sucking her own son’s worm dick!” bellowed one of the Kil’kron grunts, and there was deep-throated laughter. “The night elves are a sickening race. We have done Azeroth a favor by subjugating them!”

Raene, or Fuckslut as she would henceforth be known, only nodded while slurping at her son’s penis. “Yes, we’re worthless… use my two children as toilets! Fuck them like cunts… whenever you want…nnnnngh… by the goddess… oh, Elune!” She shuddered to orgasm, spraying wet breath all over her pretty young son’s hairless crotch. The huge dicks scissoring in and out of her fuck-addled children were making lewd splurting and schlorping noises as they turned the once-tight holes into stretched, sodden morasses of lumpy sperm. At the same time, her daughter went into a rictus of pleasure, bent at the waist, clearing having an orgasm from the shaft that was plunging deep into her pussy.

Tyrande tried to stay strong in the face of this utter disgrace - her former comrade had been so utterly subjugated by the Kil’kron that it was almost enough to the night elf leader’s own indomitable spirit. She closed her eyes, tried to ignore the grunts, the moans, the queefing and cum-farting sounds of the two youths being violated and their mother wantonly sucking the huge, smelly, filth-covered balls of the barbarians responsible. It would be her responsibility to raise her people up from this nightmare. Malfurion had been captured and sealed away. An abjuration against Cenarius prevented his interference - and the lightning quick nature of the invasion meant that reinforcements from the Alliance slow to respond… if they were coming at all. She...

Tyrande bit her bottom lip as she heard the bestial grunt from behind her - a muscled orc leaning his axe against the pit wall and reaching forward to grab her hips, lifting her up to a standing position and bending her forward at the waist, her wrists still shackled and pulled to either side of her body. Her senses, honed to a razor’s edge after years of hunting and warfare, could detect his brutish maleness in a dozen different ways. The tang of rank orc-sweat in her nostrils, the thump of his booted feet, the creaking weight of his warrior’s frame. The prickle of the hairs on his forearms as they brushed against her thighs. Her stomach churned.

The Kil’kron warrior casually threw her tattered skirt up over her hips, exposing her bare pussy and ass with the sound of flapping of cloth. Tyrande’s most intimate places were nestled tightly between the swell of her gorgeous buttocks, deepening gradually to a darker aubergine color around her asshole and plump pussy lips - though any majesty they might have inspired was tempered by the smear of dried orc cum on her skin. Tyrande had become intimately familiar with such issue in the preceding weeks, orc penises being a stark a contrast to what male kal’dorei were packing. Long-lived in the extreme, night elf bodies had long been adapted for survival and longevity rather than crude outward displays of sexual prowess. The fecund orcs, on the other hand, who had reputations for breeding and dying quickly… were more than equipped to the task of making a display of virility for female sexual partners. Only the most dominant orcish males had been allowed to guard her prison, so the smallest orc penis Tyrande had seen had been at least twelve thick, vein-covered, wart-crowned inches. Many were far larger, and as gnarled as the veteran battlemasters who bore them.

Today’s assailant had one of the largest and thickest cocks among any of the orc invaders - larger even than the beast that was currently defiling the Raene’s son - the unfortunately named Worthless Orcfag. As it fall free of his loose underthings, Tyrande felt the massive, snake-like shaft and heavy ballsack brushing against her thighs. The length hung past her knees, swaying slightly in front of two nuts the size of overripe gourds. Not for the first time, Tyrande had to resist the urge to cringe in disgust. The leathery organ’s pisshole, seeming to be nearly the size of her mouth, was leaking a steady discharge of dirty, yellow cum onto the oily ground of her makeshift prison. Hew nose, able to follow any animal even upwind, was filled with the heady aroma of orc semen. She looked back over her shoulder with defiance and hatred, expecting the question she’d been asked every day since the invasion had started.

“Will you take your new name today?” asked the jailor. His fanged, lantern jaw growled out the words in a rumbling bass.

“Never!” hissed Tyrande, and then she felt hands with the sturdiness of oaks grip her wide hips. With a guttural grunt as her only warning, six inches of smelly bicep-thick orc dick plowed into her bowels. Tyrande put her head back and let fly a desperate, purring moan that was almost feral. A lamentation for the loss of her dignity and innocence. Indeed, her inner walls were changing shape, stretching, to accommodate the massive endowments of the Kil’kron grunts. She could feel herself becoming used to the the depraved sex acts that were being performed on her, and ashamed of the way her big ass seemed to be able to absorb untold lengths of orc dick. This quality of sexual malleability seemed to validate every dirty tavern joke and outhouse door carving ever made concerning her noble race, stories of cock-addicted and cum-thirst that were whispered in the Goldshire Inn. For Tyrande, pain had quickly become numbness, and then a titillating feeling of “fullness” that she would never admit provided any pleasure. But it vexed her.
It made her wonder about herself, and her race, in the same way that the breaking of Raene had made her wonder. Yet still believed that the noble kal’dorei were meant for something far greater than what these brutes intended.

In the midst of her rape she was every inch the beautiful, savage creature that the night elves had always been - her mane of green hair flying back and forth around her head, her long eyebrows, whisking slightly as she was bumped forward with every thrust of orc cock, seeming to scissor through the air alongside her prominent ears. Here eyes were wide and defiant as she bit her bottom lip. The bouncing, tidal motion of her breasts and buttocks was punctuated by the orc’s low-timbre grunts. Her skirt had been thrown up and her top ripped down, leaving her with a wreath of tattered mooncloth around her trim waist (a waist from which her hips exploded like a burst of Moonfire), and if one looked closely, the slight definition of her abdominal muscles could be seen. Like most night elves, Tyrande was statuesque, with legs that seemed to go on forever, and an inherent athleticism that made her form exquisite to witness during any sex act.

In spite of her qualities both of physical prowess and arcane art, Tyrande could do nothing but stand like a flightless bird, bent at the waist and her wrists shackled and pulled to either side, as she was violated by the wet, rutting thrusts of her captor. The sound of his heavy length plowing her asshole was lewd and suggestive, the juicy splurting and slipping noise of his warty, venous cock sliding against her insides could not be ignored. She grimaced and moaned, making small, despairing exhalations in time with the thrusts, trying to be silent, not wanting to add to the disgusting sexual cacophony in the room.

The bouncing of nubile young kal’dorei butts against cum-soaked orc pelvises. The sucking and slurping of a defiled matron worshiping the rapists of her own children, and the wet fleshiness of Tyrande’s asshole being fucked. The low and sadistic laughs of the assembled Kil’kron guards. Sperm and ball-stink vacuumed into her nostrils in a miasma with every inhalation. Further inches were shoved into her tight, milking asspipe, the bumpy cockhead burrowing into her bowels, sliding with the viscosity of earlier violations and her own unwilling anal secretions. The brutal warrior gripped her tighter and leaned over her, forcing her to her hands and knees. Chains slid on the walls and rattled in their anchors as Tyrande’s tender cheek was mashed against the oily floor, her hair falling about her in an emerald flood, her eyes turned toward the incestuous scene happening only a few feet away. She was face down, ass up, her back arched. Her attacker found a new angle and dug his member further into her disgraced, cum-soaked shitpipe, pounding more than a foot of meat into her, stretching her ass with its massive, veiny thickness. Fat balls slapped her clit, sticking momentarily with each thrust before drawing back and leaving gooey bridges of lube and cum.

“Nnn...nnnngh!” came a sound, and Tyrande was astounded and dismayed to discover that it was her own voice. The orc’s cock was so fat, so long, so brutally pounding into her bountiful bubble butt, the regal night elf was feeling things she couldn’t deny…sordid sensations she couldn’t bear to describe or dwell on. She could feel the boils and tumors on the smelly dick scraping her out, the heat of the porridge-like ball chowder that was spurting into her guts. She shuddered to a sickening climax as the Kil’kron guard threw back his head and howled, voiding his ballsack into her innards with a series of dick-farting noises that were audible even from within her ravaged shitpipe. Tyrande could only bite her bottom lip and shake as what felt like a waterskin full of molten sludge was dumped into her. And when her partner withdrew and wiped his leaking dick between her thick asscheeks, she could scarcely move in the aftershocks of her soul-crushing anal orgasm.

“Long-eared cunt,” spat the Kil’kron, pulling up his breeches. “You will take your new name.”

“No,” said Tyrande, her voice still the cultured melody of a diplomat. But she did not make eye fierce eye contact, not this time. She only lay on her face, sides aspirating, plump buttocks bursting from above her thighs in overinflated curves.

“This slut has the best ass in Kalimdor! No wonder she’s their queen! Queen of the sluts!” There was derisive laughter, and another orc stepped behind her. There were three or four of them, and those that had chosen to not to partake in fucking Raene’s children would do what they wanted with her. Another huge dick slid into Tyrande’s ass as she moaned, closing her eyes against the image of a former Sentinel commander sucking on the tongues of her rape-addled son and daughter, but unable to shut out the sounds of her own cock-blasted hole burbling around a new length of orc cock, nor the grotesque invitation from Raene that her coltish, smooth, hairless son bend over so she could suck the orc cum from his young ass, spreading his slender little bubble-butt wide for the privilege of sealing her lips tight over his pucker.

They all had her, in the end - a line of five wide-shouldered and artless grunts, burying their heavy cocks into Tyrande for nearly ten minutes each, not stopping until they forced her to shake, to moan through pursed and bitten lips, to lend her cultured voice to animalistic cries of passion. Each one of them drove their endowments as far into her as they could before releasing their ropey, stinking seed, leaving her formerly-taut belly swollen, leaving her laying and shivering in a puddle of sweat and sperm while “Fuckslut”, the former Raene Wolfrunner, ate on hands and knees with her two children, the three of them surrounding an iron bowl that was filled to the brim with rancid orc semen and lapping like dogs.

“Nnngh… it smells like shit!” moaned Raene, before kissing her daughter and snowballing a lumpy yellow mouthful to her like a mother bird feeding a chick.

It was all they would eat, all they would be given. They had, after all, taken their new names.

“I… will not…” Tyrande whispered, and staggered to her knees. Her ass was burning… it felt like it would never be the same again. Every day her violations seemed deeper, wider, more intense. Her limbs were like rubber. And yet, she tried to summon some last shred of dignity. For her race, the kal’dorei - keepers of Azeroth’s fate since time immemorial. A race ancient long before the Alliance of Lordaeron, when Humans but the infants of the Titan’s design.

“We are… more… than this…” she stammered, getting to her knees, trying to rise to her feet, despite her shackles. “We have… a quality, a purpose, beyond the flesh.” Her voice had regained some of its austere and regal quality as she gathered herself, an aura of sorts undiminished by her shackles or the defilement of her body. Tyrande’s eyes seemed to pulse with renewed energy as she gained her balance.

“Silence, elfcunt,” growled one of the larger males. He had been the last to fuck her, and the most well-endowed. “You know the price for your escape. Only your submission will bring you back to your people. Your words are hollow!” His massive fists clenched and unclenched on the ends of wrists that seemed as thick as logs.

Tyrande took a step away from the wall.

“W-we have withstood the Legion, the very sundering of the world. Through every dark time in Azeroth’s history, the kal’dorei have been indomitable. We gave our immortality, we gave our blood.” She spared a glance to the side, where the three other night elves, broken and lithe-bodied, were lapping at a cistern of steaming orc cum like worthless hogs, sucking down every last rotten drop with tongues that were submissive and thirsty. The smooth and enticing young daughter, who would now only give her name as ‘Dumb Twat’, was moaning and fingering herself while gulping the chowdery filth. Orc pubes and lumps of smegma garnished every mouthful with further indignity. Tyrande curled her lip at the disgrace.

“We are not what you believe,” she managed, defiantly, taking one more step forward. “We are a dignified people, filled with the Light of Elune. Our minds can never be…”

She hesitated. Her belly gurgled audibly, and the statuesque night elf staggered a little, her emerald hair swishing about her shoulders… but kept her balance.

“Our minds can never be twisted into slavery… we are m-more than just… than just…”

Tyrande gulped as her innards roiled and churned. No, not now! She was showing her defiance, making the orcs believe in the indomitable will of her people!

“What’s wrong, elfcunt?” taunted one orc, crossing his arms. “You were saying something about dignity?”

Tyrande staggered again, her belly and bowels gurgling loudly. She used every ounce of her strength to try to stay the physical reactions happening inside her… but she was so used, so numb…her words began to come in strained bursts.

“We… are not just… sex… nnngh… slaves… nnnngh… but a… proud... race… deserving of… resp… UGH!”

PBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBTTHTHT!

It was a sound to which perhaps no onomatopoeia could do justice. In the midst of her last grasp to declare to her captors that the night elves more than fodder for rape fantasies and orc harems, to prove their females were as scholarly and brave as they were nubile and attractive… Tyrande’s cum-packed bowels let go, her much-fucked anus unable to contain the huge amount of orc semen that had been pumped into her intestines. A loud, splattery cum fart erupted from between her legs, painting her thighs and the floor with a flood of orcish issue. Tyrande then fell to her knees, her manacles rattling down with her, and then to all fours. Her eyes were wide with shock and shame.

“N-no!”

But her body would not listen. The orcs rumbled with laughter as a second, lengthier explosion of second-hand jizz exploded from the night elf huntress’ asshole, sounding like Azeroth’s wettest and most humiliating case of diarrhea for what must have been thirty seconds. The filthy sperm did not drip but erupted from Tyrande’s butt in a solid, gooey fountain, piling on the floor behind her in irregular, coagulated lumps.

“Ha! The leader of the kal’dorei is nothing more than a cum-farting slut!” laughed one orc, his braided beard swaying in time with the barks of mirth issuing from his jaw. “I knew her talk of anything else was nothing but lies!”
“Look at the size of her fat ass!” growled another, and the laughter resumed. “I bet she shits like a gronn!”
For her part, Tyrande managed to finish the word “respect” before an orgasm ripped through her loins, causing every muscle to tense and the orcish cum in her big bubble butt to spray out with even more force. She collapsed onto her front, back arched and thighs up, tongue lolling out of her mouth, giving the orcs a great view of the curve of her buttocks. Sordid sperm-farts continued to erupt from her shithole as she voided every drop of spew inside her… the puffy ring of her anus pushing outward and dilating to squeeze out the last few lumpy, yellow semen deposits. When her undercarriage and thick buttocks began to be kneaded by the hands of the other kal’dorei prisoners, she was hardly aware of it - only able to offer feeble moans of protest at first, which then turned to unwilling moans of pleasure as the talented, submissive tongues of two gorgeous night elf children slid into her puffy butthole to tangle together inside. “Fuckslut” soon joined her ass-licking progeny, and the three mind-broken kal’dorei slaves buried their tongues in Tyrande’s cum-sputtering pucker with mewling, hungry slurping noises.

“N-no… d-don’t…” was all Tyrande could say. But her voice was lost in a chorus of crass orcish hollars and hoots, and the disgraced matron was left to ponder the sad question of whether this was all her race was destined to be - the cruel sexual joke of their conquerors… a race of nubile and athletic slaves for sadistic masters. She never could have believed it, never could have considered it. Had dismissed the bawdy jokes and rumors about kal’dorei sexual practices as the crude result of less enlightened minds. And yet… there she was, having her thick ass eaten expertly by a willing family of her Darnassian kin.

“Will my butt ever be this big, mother?” asked the daughter of the trio, licking around the buttock-bordered rim of Tyrande’s amazing shithole. “I hope so! I want to get fucked up the ass by lots of big orc cocks!”

More low-pitched laughter flooded the room, but it stopped suddenly when a higher voice rang out, authoritative and sharp, but unmistakably female.

“Anar'alah belore! She was not to be harmed, by the order of Kil’gen!” All activity ceased at the new arrival, even the desperate licking of Tyrande’s anus, and so she craned her neck to the side and was able to catch a glimpse. It was a sin’dorei, looking severe and disapproving in her full battle regalia, complete with a Sun Crest tabard and waistcloth slit high on the sides to reveal bountiful, compact legs and thigh-high leg braces with ornate sollerets. Sun-burnished blonde hair spilled down the shoulders of this warrior woman, who had the countenance of a general despite her petite frame. Her eyes seemed to thrum with power as she walked forward - a blood knight who seemed to brook no disrespect from any of the orcs. To Tyrande, it was clear this blood elf woman was of higher station than her jailors.

“We did not harm her, Dawnstar. We only did what we were asked,” protested one of the orcs, sounding a bit offended to have to explain himself to a much smaller warrior, and female at that.

“I’ll be the judge of that, oaf. Stand aside!” And so the blood elf stepped down the rough-hewn steps and into the pit, sending the kal’dorei children scattering before her aura. They cowered at their mother’s heavy bosom and looked on with eyes filled with dazed awe. Dawnstar squatted next to the prone Tyrande, looking down on her with a mixture of pity and distaste. “I hoped to face you one day, Whisperwind,” she said, her voice like smooth razor glass. “But not like this. A warrior like you deserves a different fate, on the battlefield.” In squatting, split-legged, Dawnstar revealed quite a view of her shapely thighs and the delta between her legs that continued to be hidden by the waistcloth that obscured front and back but displayed every detail in a side-view. The orcs were getting an eyeful, but there were no catcalls this time. The intimation was clear - this woman was not to be trifled with.

“Get up,” Dawnstar said at last, rising herself and shaking her blonde hair about her shoulders, her green eyes blazing like felfire. “Today, Tyrande Whisperwind, you shall see your people again.”

Tyrande croaked out a response from her exhausted throat. “My… people. T-truly? How many... dead? How many… captured? The Priestesses, are they-”

Dawnstar held up a hand, and her face was unmoving. “There have been many changes in Darnassus these last weeks. The lord Kil’gen requests that I provide you a... ‘tour’... of the new state of Teldrassil.” She crossed her arms. “You will know the truth of it, Whisperwind. The new truth of your people. For better or for worse, all of your questions will be answered.”

Shaking and bracing arms that felt tenuous as autumn leaves, Tyrande began to rise.
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Dark Days For Darnassus