24 years after the opening of the Dark Portal
Arathi Highlands
Go'shek Farm
The farm showed signs that a battle had taken place on the farm. The Orc peons carried corpses on their backs rather than crops. The fallen Orc warriors were put on one cart which was going to be pulled to the Horde stronghold of Hamerfall, named after the death of the previous Warchief Orgrim Doomhammer before he was succeeded by the current Warchief, Thrall. Several Forsaken soldiers assisted with the cleaning up as they picked up the bodies from the attacking side. Humans in red armour were placed in another cart no doubt bound for the Undercity, the Forsaken's home and the Horde's stronghold in the Eastern Kingdoms.
Clea stepped off her skeletal horse. In life she was one of the elves, lithe and nimble. Her ears pointed like in life but her eyes were now a scarlet red. She wore dark leather armour and a hood which covered most of her face, a quiver with a wicked bow hung on her back. She strode towards the site of battle, her eyes picking apart the events that occurred mentally. The humans bore the sigil of a white raven on a red field on their tabards, a symbol of the kingdom of Stromgarde, one of the last hold outs of the Alliance on the Lordearon continent. The hoof tracks indicated they were a cavalry unit, perhaps a raid on the what they thought was an undefended farm. She guessed about twenty men strong.
She turned to the human corpses and counted eight dead. One orc peon, a sorry looking one at that, was guiding barded war horses to the stables. Curiously not to the one closest to him but on the other side of the field.
One of the Forsaken soldiers approached her. He saluted her." Dark Lady, watch over you, sister."
"And she over you." Clea replied and saluted in return." Your name?"
"Captain Wallace, sister."
"Ranger Clea, report."
The soldier motioned for the dark ranger to follow, what she did." One hour ago, a group of Stormgarde horsemen attacked the farm with intends to raze it to the ground. Twenty strong. They must've been given phony intel because they were vastly outnumbered by both our men and our orcish allies."
She nodded, still hearing the sobbing of the peon." Did they find anything about our plans?"
"None, Apothecary Jorell is secure. He was saved actually by one of the orcs." the Forsaken paused." It was impressive, actually."
"How so, brother?" Clea asked.
"Three riders were barreling down on the Apothecary. Before any of us could intervene, there was a sudden smoke cloud that they passed through. When they came out, one rider was no longer on her horse while another was sitting dead on his before he fell. The last rider was slain by a thrown axe in his back, dead before he realized his friends were gone. All in a span of six seconds."
"An orc did this?" Clea asked but she already knew her man was here.
"Yes, one of the grey skinned ones. He weaved in and out of the shadows and struck like a ogre when he appeared. It was like seeing a panther pounce on its prey and then a bear tore it apart."
"Where did he go?" Clea asked. She was not surprised when the Forsaken pointed to the stable the sad peon did not take the horses in to.
"When Jorell asked what he wanted for a reward, he pointed to one of the female orcs. Jorell of course agreed. The orc then threw the peon over his shoulder and went in there."
Clea nodded." Thank you, Captain Wallace. I will commend your actions to the Dark Lady upon my return. You may inform the Apothecary I will speak to him later."
"I pledge myself in her service..." he bowed.
Clea dismissed him and went to the stables. The orcs avoided walking close to her while her undead kin bowed their heads. A not uncommon sight to her. As she neared the stable, she could already hear the grunting and the noise of carnal activities. Two axes lay embedded in the doorframe which led inside the stables, a clear indication the assassin did not wish to be disturbed. She ignored them and stepped through the threshold.
She entered the room and had to step over pieces of ripped off linen clothing and discarded black hide armour.
It was then no surprise when she entered the stables and turned around the corner, she saw her man claiming his just reward.
The grey skinned orc was a muscular specimen, wide forearms the size of tree trunks held the green orcish female pinned by her hips as he thrusted within her from behind. He looked like the shadow made him into a fist, more of a thug rather than an assassin of the Horde. He dwarfed his conquest beneath him even if she stood up, the look of a cold killer in his red eyes yet with a neatly trimmed black beard. The female peon was smaller than the average orc female, with two black pigtails which moved with her head.
The female's small green breasts juddered with every impact as her hands braced the wooden wall for dear life. Each thrust was met with a gasp or whine from the female.
"Please, Ah, master..." she tried to speak, her speech juddered with each thrust." I need ah to get ah to work!"
The grey orc growled; a dangerous low rumble emitted from him. "Who told you to speak?"
He grabbed the woman by both her pig tails with his left hand and pulled, a painful cry erupted from her lips as his relentless onslaught increased.
"M-master!" she cried.
"What's your name?" he asked as he moved from rapid thrusts to slow, powerful, penetrating impacts.
"Ah, Ulda! AH!"
"Ulda, you shut up and let me finish. When I'm done, you can go."
"D-dabu!" she cried.
He nodded and let go off her hair and went back to holding her hips as he bucked into her.
Clea moved to the side of the stables and clung to the shadows, unseen both participants. She didn't announce herself for two reasons. One, she knew from experience that men tended to be grumpy when interrupted. Two, she wanted to know how long it would take before Orgrimmar's best assassin would notice he's being watched. The scene did nothing to titillate Clea, Forsaken as a whole tended to forego such needs such as lust along with hunger and the need to breathe. She remembered she too was taken like this in her youth by her first human lover, a barbarian fellow from the Arathi clans. It was ironic how akin humans were to orcs, despite their so-called sense of civilization. It was only a heartbeat for her people between the savagery she saw before her and the castle dwellers of Stromgarde.
A loud cry from the female orc drew Clea back from her musings. The grey orc grunted as he thrusted sporadically as he emptied himself in her. He had let go off her pig tails by this point, leaning on her back as he squeezed one of her breasts, being so small compared to his massive calloused hand.
"T-thank you, master..." Ulda the peon sighed.
The grey orc stood up; his well lubricated cock pulled out of her sopping green cunt. Some of his cum dripped out of her, landing on the floor beneath them.
"Liked the show?" the grey orc asked. He moved to a barrel nearby where there was a small pitcher of water.
"I did..." Ulda replied as she slowly got back on her two feet, her knees shaking.
"I wasn't talking to you." he turned to where Clea stood. Unashamed of his nakedness, his red eyes looking deep into the ranger's as he drank deeply from the pitcher.
"It was adequate." Clea replied and stepped out from the shadows. The peon shrieked and tried to cover herself, the grey orc did not such thing." Thorgal, yes?"
He finished his gulp before he offered the pitcher to the female. "Zug zug."
The female, still shaking from the experience, took the pitcher and used it to hide her dark haired nethers while her arm tried to cover her modest breasts.
"I have a job for you, from above high." Clea retrieved envelope from her belt and held it out to the orc assassin. Thorgal took the envelope, his eye fell on the wax symbol of a white mask with a set of arrows behind it." From the Banshee Queen herself..." he mused.
He broke the seal and opened it, his eyes darting over the contents.
Ulda had placed the pitcher down as she tried to pick up her clothes.
