In recent months the orcish Horde had fortified its positions in Kalimdor, strengthening in particular the border along the northern Barrens and deploying more outrunners to intercept elven infiltrators. The majority of those captured were in fact humans, however for one reason or another they were not considered as threatening as the elves whose extensive life experience and inherently crafty nature demanded more attention lest security of the Horde suffer as a result of their espionage. To better facilitate this process of capture, detention and transfer, a number of outposts were constructed under the order of Warlord Grimaxe. Fort Ironcage deep in the mountains of the north had been the first and remains the most active, boasting an inescapable prison. While not precisely true, those who do manage to escape are inevitably tracked down and either recaptured or killed, leaving little room for argument beyond semantics.
Nearly a hundred miles away in the suffering heat of the northwest, Fort Throm'kosh, led by a tauren centurion who by all accounts had never so much as raised his voice, kept near complete control over that section of border.
Lastly finished and by far the least active was Fort Bloodshot. While the other outposts boasted tall battlements, lavish funding and the presence of large military forces, Fort Bloodshot had been deemed the least important, and so occupied the least important area. Often said to have been constructed as more of an afterthought, it served as an intermediate encampment deep within the middle of the Barrens, receiving, but rarely themselves capturing, Alliance interlopers. Here Ardalan Goldspring, a paladin from Silvermoon, had been transferred, uprooted from his comfortable living in Quel'thalas which had been replete with fair maiden and fair weather alike. He spent his time now bemoaning the heat and suffering the needling hostilities of the orcs and trolls he served with despite his importance as one of the few paladins active within the Barrens.
Months into Ardalan's service at Fort Bloodshot two night elf prisoners arrived, having been escorted for many miles by a pair of orcish outrunners. The elves, who were both female and skilled rogues, had been captured south of the Crossroads some days after setting fire to a ship containing armaments and killing the local guards that had pursued them; a tip from a farmer ensured their capture some days later. As a paladin, Ardalan had been summoned from his quarters to look them over, determining that they were in perfect health and had suffered not by their captors any form of physical transgression after their capture. This was important as Warlord Breka Grimaxe imposed strict punishment upon any who violated her orders regarding the treatment of prisoners, particularly female prisoners. Ardalan himself had not witnessed any improper behavior, but his low opinion on the uncouth and frequently unwashed savages he served with made it easy enough to understand why such orders would be necessary.
This line of thinking inadvertently led him into a spiral of erotic thoughts. As he lay within his quarters--which smelled only slightly better than the orcs themselves and was well-furnished only by the loose standards of orcs--he recalled the most recent additions to Fort Bloodshot. While certainly of no comparison to the beautiful maidens back home in Quel'Thalas, the captured night elf women were nevertheless a welcome sight after months of viewing nothing but orc and troll women. Sipping Eversong wine, he recalled them clearly in his mind. Both prisoners had fine purple skin and long silver hair that seemed to shimmer like moonlight over their shoulders. Their eyes, large and angled, glowed a distant blue while their faces, similar to blood elves but exotically different with thin noses and distinct cheekbones, reflected their ancient lineage. While looking them over during his inspection he had been struck by their similarities and wondered if perhaps they were related. These similarities extended not only to their faces and hair, but to the rest of their bodies as well, where womanly figures and bra busting curves belied their stealthy profession of subterfuge and espionage. For fear of reprisal by Warlord Grimaxe, and of course held back by his own immaculate principles, Ardalan had not inspected them so thoroughly as to get an intimate look at these curves, but now the idea sprung to the forefront of his thinking and refused to be dislodged.
During the next few days he used his business as healer to visit them in their cell, reaffirming his admittedly shallow infatuation with them. At first they ignored him, but gradually they took to conversation through which he learned their names: Ayla and Isara, and that was all. He could pry no further information from them, for surely, they thought, he would use it against them.
In truth it mattered little; each visit saw him further enthralled by their beauty, and whatever information they held concerned him not at all. For all of his long elven life Ardalan had been loyal only to Quel'thalas, and that had not changed since his transfer to the Barrens, nor had his comrades endeavored to include him as one of their own. So, on his third visit to their cell, he determined with little heed for potential consequences that one way or another he would have them. First though he would need a plan. Accordingly, he ruminated for hours in his room afterwards until he concocted a scheme that would best suit this purpose. This plan he executed on the fourth day, entering the small, stone building that constituted Fort Bloodshot's sole prison facility. Inside, a lone cresset offered meager warmth and red light, while a single window shaped like a sword let in a trifle of moonlight to wash over the holding cell where the night elves sat together.
"Good evening, ladies. I hope your incarceration has not been taking too large a toll on you."
"No more so than the stench of our captors, who smell of kodo dung and spoiled meat," Isara said. "We would be eternally grateful if you freed us, for I fear what they will do to us while not under your gallant protection."
Ardalan pretended to consider it. "I'm afraid I cannot. Capable as the two of you are, I would be swiftly overpowered should you turn against me, and besides that, I favor my head. The savages here would execute me in a trice if they ever discovered I aided you."
"We would not betray your kindness, good paladin," Ayla insisted. "If you doubt us, we will so swear our good intentions on our goddess, Elune. To break an oath to her is unthinkable, as you must well know."
"Of course," he said, then added, "But I have nothing to gain and much to lose. Put yourself in my shoes, it would be foolish to help you. Although..."
"Although?" Isara pressed.
"There is nothing we would not do for you, good paladin, should you save us," Ayla said.
Ardalan shuffled his feet and affected what he hoped was reticence. "Well, I am after all but a man and cannot ignore your beauty. Though you have nothing else to offer, that would surely suffice."
"You mean that you wish to enjoy our bodies in exchange for our freedom?"
"Exactly so."
