Dama Stormheart cursed her midnight black, solid bone hooves as she stopped to catch her breath, leaning against a stoney wall within the cavern. She never thought she would curse such a vital, familiar part of her form, yet they did not serve her well in this particular situation. Despite her attempts to move with stealth (as much stealth as any being seven feet tall and well past 300 pounds, likely closer to 500 encased within the enchanted chain mail armor that shrouded her), her hooves could only be so silent against the hard rock of the cavern floor.
She was lucky though. A late season rain had filled the canyon outside, soaking and softening the ground near the entrance of the cavern, making her late night approach go unnoticed. However, the front of the cavern was half blocked by a massive stone which created an unnatural hill, blocking the flow of water from the canyon. She drew her great tauren body tighter up against the wall as she scooted, slid, nearly slithered inward. Her hands darted to the buckles and clasps with held her armor to her, tightening them to make them quieter as she moved.
Her caution was most certainly called for. For on this night, deep in the ominous wild of the Blade's Edge Mountains, she was traversing into the lair of a cyclopian gronn known as Gruul the Dragonkiller. Most would never consider making such a journey alone, much less in a large group. Yet Dama knew she had to walk alone ... her reasons were deeply her own, never to be understood or believed by others, even by her dearest friends.
The air cooled as she fully entered the cavern, icy wisps of air managing to penetrate the links in her armor, jabbing through the fur that kept her from shivering in this atmosphere. Her hard blue eyes squinted against the torchlight as she approached a bend in the cave. She was not truly unfamiliar with this place ... a mere month before, she and the guild that she swore herself to had staged a frenzied raid on this primordial citadel. As she squinted, images of the present briefly meshed with images of the past. They had slain the powerful ogre tribes which guarded the Dragonkiller, going so far as to annihililate the grotesquely mutated ogre king known as Maulgar, through which which Gruul handed down his merciless dogma over the lesser ogre tribes who lived in the brutal mountains.
She was stunned as the past melted back to the present. There were a few scattered patrols of single ogres, pulled from the canyon outside to guard Gruul. They were easily avoided in the murky-dark shadows of the caverns. Never once did she let her guard down, never once did she waste any motion. She kept her breathing slow, soft, never lost control of herself.
She rounded another curve in the cavern, just past the ramshackle throneroom where Maulgar had sat, and was forced to quickly swallow back a gasp. In the craggy hallway that led the Gruul's very inner sanctum, the stood a pair of fairly massive ogre warriors, and further down, just within the archway that led into Gruul's main hall, a group of 3 seemingly larger ogres.
She slipped behind a nearby massive boulder before any could take note of her in the shadows. Curses swirled in her mind and pushed hard against her clenched teeth. How could she ever expected to have snuck into such a deadly place. There was no way she could ever make it past such massive, deadly ogres. The shadows were not dense enough to hide her along the sides, she would most undoubtedly be seen.
A sudden detail which had escaped her first looks availed itself to her. The middle ogre amid the trio farther down, had a small ball, which appeared to be made of pure water, swirling around his horridly obese midsection. Dama immediately recognized it as a water shield, a very typical shamanistic spell. Indeed, there were rare ogres who could channel elemental magics in such ways.
Her thoughts spun and an idea quickly came into focus. The pair of warriors nearer to her had their backs to the trio further down. Dama nearly crawled through the dark shadow, trying to stay away from the glow of the torches along the wall. There was a rocky outcropping which she was able to wedge herself behind, positioning herself neatly behind the first pair, out of line of sight of the trio.
She softly breathed words to the spirits, and a blue sparkle at her fingertips grew to a pair of small maelstroms swirling around her hands. The ball of lightning left her hands as she ducked down, hoping that these ogres were every bit as dumb as all the other ogres she had ever met.
A powerful electric explosion gave way to a loud, grotesque sizzle and the smell of melting flesh. The ogre warrior pitched forward, falling to one knee. With a roar he stood and spun, and to Dama's delight, the first thing he saw was the ogre shaman. A snarling jibberish sounded from him as he charged the shaman, and the two began brawling in the hall. The rest of the ogres, likely bored, quickly circled around to watch the fracus. The distraction was thorough, perfect. Dama dashed through the low light swiftly, trying her damnednest not to make much noise. In seconds, she was fully within Gruul's personal sanctuary, ducking behind a massive stone near the back of the room.
There he sat, legs crossed, one hand stroking his bony, pointed chin. He seemed to be in deep consternation over something, completely oblivious to the battle outside his lair. As Dama watched him in this infinitely calm state, her mind immediately dragged her back to a month before.
The guild had not been prepared for the fury of this beast. He tore into them, and nearly ripped them all to shreds. Thankfully, they suffered no casualties, but many were severely injured. Some had to abandon favored armaments in order to get out alive, or to carry a comrade too injured to stand. Dama's ear's still ached from tinnitus caused by one of the Dragonkiller's explosive roars.
She lifted her magical helm from her head, reaching back to undo her dark hair, letting it spill onto her brawny shoulders. This thing had hurt and nearly killed her and her friends. Yet beneath it's rage ... the voice ... it did not scream with hate. Had he enchanted her? She couldn't understand this attraction, this want for this monster.
And yet she felt there was a common, needy man beneath the bestial wrath. Just as there was plain, needy woman beneath the heroism and armor which Dama was so well known for.
"I must know," she whispered to herself. Her hands reached up, unhooking the heavy spaulders from her shoulders. A few inches below were the clasps and buckles of her mail chestpiece, undone as well, exposing the creamy white fur, spotted dense black here and there, freeing her full, heavy breasts. Another quick motion of her hands, and to the floor fell the kilt, exposing thickly muscled legs and the wide delicious curve of her hips, the same white fur sheathing them down to her mighty hooves.
She stood out of the shadows, bare but for the tabard of her beloved guild. The air was drafty and cold here, biting the flesh beneath her white and black coat. She may as well be naked, for in this state, nothing protected her but her dense tauren hide. A distant voice of self preservation pleaded her to turn back as she moved toward Gruul. It shrunk to a whisper as she beheld him fully.
His skin was a furious red color, slightly darker in some areas, apparent scars from the untold infinity of battles he had fought in his long existance. Every inch of his body was densely muscled, he looked as if he were made of jagged stone rather than flesh. Indeed, his massive, nearly deformed shoulders and upper back were covered in sharp bony spikes, surrounded by a tangled tuft of hair that seemed to travel to the middle of his back. Her eyes slid down him body, stopping for a moment at the tattered loincloth strapped to his waist. To either side of the loincloth, rather large, crimson spheres sat heavily upon the floor. She nearly gasped when she realized she was looking upon the cyclop's great testicles, not quite covered by the cloth.
