Authors Note:
This story takes place in the World of Warcraft universe shortly after the events of Wrath of the Lich King. This is action/adventure erotic story with scenes of violence in addition to scenes of sex.
Enjoy!
I never went back to the Exodar. It beckoned me still too close to the crown of the world. The chill of Azuremyst isle offered me no comfort. By the Naaru, duty did not compel me either. I had given my duty and the light of the Naaru did not shine upon me when I shivered alone with only freezing blood to seal my wounds. No, I had explored the world I fought to save. The undead armies of the frozen northern continent were subdued. Their great ruler, the Lich King, threatened the other lands nor more. I had bleed, grieved, and seen that even with a common enemy, allies may still wound each other. I never returned with them, instead I found a ship and cared not where it would go. I had gone south, across the sea, and across the sea again.
Now far inland, my hooves clopped along the cobblestone roads of the small, forested village Goldshire. I carried precious silken luxuries and a single leather pouch. Smugglers had taken them from the distant -and adversarial- High Elven city of Silvermoon to great human city of Stormwind where I retrieved them. These silks are for pleasure, and for love. Neither of which shall I be ashamed of. Yet, near my destination, I crossed the village training corral. Soldiers from the human city had been thin. Far too many had been sent to the north, and far too few had returned. Here then, Lyria Du Lac, dressed in her unblemished armor drew her wooden practice sword and incited the new recruits.
In a village this small, so little entertains me. Who, after all, entertains the entertainers? I wandered to the benches around the wooden fence. The first farmhand recruit charged like an unruly bull. He was large and believed his girth compensated for lack of skill. But straight charges are predictable. Lyria dodged and redirected his weight with her shield. He stumbled on her greaves and fell face first into the mud. Lyria turned and pulled him up. Her eyes caught mine. Would that I had my veil, but all villagers know the only Draenei here. Veils do not conceal horns.
The next challenger stood up. Tall. His hair a tussled black mess. Oh, and his eyes, bright blue, outlined with the dark circles that marked him as a veteran. This man placed down a ceramic urn as if it was his child on a bench behind him. Then he grabbed a wooden shield and practice sword and prowled around Lyria. Lyria lunged first. He blocked her then let out a bestial shout. They engaged each other. Grunts and sweat exuded from this challenger. He endured the firm whaps of wood on his exposed arms. Oh, I enjoyed seeing him fight.
This is my perversion. By the Naaru, this is what brings me shame.
The stranger dropped from a final blow. One he took intentionally, I could tell. For he fell too hard for Lyria's indirect strike. So Lyria won the duel. She held up the stranger's arm high, declaring praises of his ability to the peasant recruits. She dismissed her class, then made her way to me.
"Yasmeen," she spoke my name with warmth. She brushed a sweaty lock of auburn hair aside, "Is the barmaid interested in joining my patrols?"
"Oh no. Never could I handle such training," I stammered.
"You wouldn't need it though would you?" she said.
"What?" I gasped.
Lyria's face spread into a knowing smile. Her eyes saw right through me. Oh prophets, why did I not wear my veil?
"You've never been a good bluffer, and you come here and you don't just watch. You judge. You inspect," said Lyria. She dropped her gauntlet and her bare hand squeezed my shoulder. "And from what I've seen? You don't have the body of a dainty tailor. You don't develop an ass like yours on the farms either."
I pushed her hand away.
"Draenei woman are not so forward," I feigned offense. Lyria laughed subtly at the attempt.
"Well whatever it is, Yasmeen," she said. "You're no wandering bard. Let me know when you're ready to spar."
A thousand fel curses on my perversions. I excused myself into the relative sanctuary of the Goldshire Inn. There is a room there that is mine. All mine. I fluttered out the fresh Elven silks. The glossy shimmers of purple replaced the drab cotton. A curtain frame, also smuggled from Silvermoon, hung above my bed bare of any cloth. I added the translucent sheets. A heavy woolen top blanket completed my new bed chambers, perfect for my next man.
Tonight though, I would not forget my veil. My clothing trunks held an eclectic collection of outfits from the scarlet dress given to me by a pirate lord, to a leather bodice crafted for me in Darnassus, and the sari I found at a Gadgetzan tailor. Tonight though, I would try on my new Elven silks. It was a skirt that met with my knees and fit tightly around the roundness of 'my ass' as Lyria called it. It's top, though modest, invited all to imagine the shape of my breasts. Perhaps though it had revealed too much of my shoulders? Alas, I cared not for what Lyria had said.
That night, I stepped down to the early evening crowd. Farley, my innkeeper and employer, beckoned me to him.
"You look stunning, Yasmeen," he said. "We expect a show?"
"Yes," I said. I tilted my head flirtatiously and curtsied in my skirt. Farley is a good man. Were it not always so complicated with employers, I would share his bed as I had that captain who took me to Ratchet.
"All right," he said. He gestured to the bar where drinks lay. "Tables await."
I took drinks to tables, watching for men who may be trouble, and for men who may have deep pockets. Women too, enjoy me. Lyria shared a round with two guardsmen. That same soldier, with his ceramic urn, sat quietly by the fire eating mutton with solemnity. There was no mistaking his boots. Naaru as my witness, they were made from felhide.
"Yasmeen?" came a woman's voice. I turned and saw Isabelle, dressed in blue mageweave. Her blond hair had grown a stark white though her eyes still shown a bright azure- a side effect of her years as a frost mage. "Was our arrangement fulfilled by the third party?"
"Indeed," I said. I offered her the leather pouch. Isabelle opened it and inspected the magical glittering dust within. "Our northern friends are satisfactory?"
"More than that," exclaimed Isabelle. "More dust, and we can rout the gnoll raiders back to whichever holes they come from."
Most mages do not tarry long in the villages of their birth, but Isabelle held a grudge. Hogger's gnoll raiders had slain a rancher she knew from childhood, and she vowed not to leave Goldshire again until the worst of them were driven from Elwynn forest.
"Don't get caught," I said.
"By who?" said Isabelle. Her face scrunched into dismay at what she said next. "Hardly a Stormwind footman who won't turn his eye for a silver left!"
Her spirit was too familiar. People do what they need to live. I shook my head. When I turned I saw the soldier's blue eyes upon me. I met his, and he did not look away. I wished to know him, and that required something special. In the kitchen, I ordered a tea prepared. I sprinkled in herbs of Sorrowmoss, Silversage, and the last of my Manathistle. I brought to him a piping hot kettle and two cups.
He looked over at the tray before him.
"I ordered no tea," he said.
"Ah but it's a special Draenei tea," I said. "The Outland dust enters the lungs and absorbs into the blood."
I poured him his first cup. Faint lights sparkled in its stream.
"We sip this upon returning from far expeditions," I said. "It cleans the blood, and the soul."
The soldier eyed the glass. Looking at the empty cup next to it.
"Drink it with me?" he said. His voice had lost its suspicion. Instead, it was a mere plea. I poured myself a cup and lifted my veil. We sipped the spicy brew together.
