(Author's Note: This story is based on a popular Massive Multi-player Online Role Playing Game, several things have been changed due to copy-writes, but fans of the game will still be able to recognize the characters. I have taken liberty with some things about this particular race. I hope you enjoy it! I have used my character's name and have hidden my server name in here also if you would like to tell me what you think of the story! ~MidnightSun)
This is not how things were supposed to happen. Drachan and I were supposed to spend the week after our wedding in the resort city of Nome, not in the wilderness of an uncharted island, miles off the coast of Azubazu, but, here we are. It was supposed to be a week with no battles, no black magic, no swords, no axes, but, the Fates have placed us here, on this Island, with no way to get home. All we have with us is the armor we wore to our wedding and the weapons we took our oaths of marriage on.
I begin to wonder what will happen. If we do not report back to work in a week, perhaps they will send a detachment of Royal Knights after us. After all, we have both worked our way up to Captians in the Knights. Drachan, my strong husband, earned his rank by showing his prowess with a great axe, a must for any great warrior, I by proving I could balance the use of ancient curative magic with that of a sword as all paladins do in defending their homeland.
He walks over to me, a husky, lustful look in his bright blue eyes, his six inch pointed ears, an inch longer then mine, piqued, always listening for an attack. He leans in and we kiss, a long, lingering kiss. Our tongues mingle, engaging in a lover's tango. I reach around him to remove his axe from his back, the four feet long wodden handle and double bladed head feeling comfortable heavy in my hands as I lay it on the ground beside us, laying my sharp sword and thick sheild on top of it, the metal of both weapons sinking into the warm sande from the weight of the steel and iron that comprise their blades.
As our tongues meet again to continue their dance, Drachan reaches over to remove my silver chainmail. Just as he gets the chain link shirt over my head, exposing my white undershirt, my ears hot and twitching (an outward sign of arousal for members of our race), we both heard it, the approach of one of the monsters who inhabit this island. A quick scan showed it was alone and would be easy to beat. I quickly replace my armor as he hands me my sword and sheild. He looks at me with a gleam in his eyes I have only seen when standing next to him in battle, "Shall we?" he asks as he prepairs to recieve the protective magic I begin casting. One lesson we have both learned is no mkatter how easy an enemy may seem, you can never be too careful. With the familiar clang of steel and "whoosh" of his great axe cutting the air, I watch as my husband, my life partner, my mate, takes down this foe in one shot.
After disposing of the body, Drachan returns to me. With the husky look back in his eyes, my husband again lays our weapons back in the sand and again removes my chainmail shirt and adds it to the pile of steel and iron in the sand. He then undoes the buckles of his plate armor, removing that also, adding it to the pile, allowing me to see for the first time the outling of his solid, muscular chest and washboard stomache through his skin tight undershirt. If it wasn't happening before the earllier interruption, my ears are now twitching uncontrolably with desire. He comes to me and kisses me again. I begin to wonder if my choice of a fighting careere with the proud and brave Royal Knights has left my body too strong and hard for him to find sexually appealikng, for I am not as soft and curvatious as the Mystics are, the race that can best be described as half woman half feline that many unmarried Knights have frequent their beds. I do not feel the stiffining in his trousers yet that many of my friends had told me about, the hardening that tends to occasionally cloud the thinking of males of any race. I decide to put my feelings into words for my new husband. "I am sorry if you do not find my body appealing, my darling, many years of battle with heavy weapons have left me hard with more then a few ragged scars on the middle. I, unfortunately, am not as attractive as the Mystics seem to be."
"Why, My Lady, do you fear such a thing? I did not marry a Mystic, I married you. It's your strength, power and fearlessness that I find most appealing. Does my bride think so little of my honor as to believe I do not find you appealing?"
"Well, no, Darling, it is just the lack of hardness in your trousers my friends have warned me about that has gotten me concerned, 'tis all. And, Dear Fates, I have probably just made it worse by mentioning it."
"Not at all, Dear One, I am suprised your friends did not also tell you that men of our race do not show physical arousal the first time they make love with a woman until their trousers are removed, which I was hoping M'Lady would do for me later." As a look of realization spreads on my face, he lets out a low, husky chuckcle. "If there is nothing else, I would like to assure you that I find you to be the most beautiful , strong, loyal, and couragous woman on Sylph, and, in the months leading up to our marriage, I thanked the Good Fates that you accepted me as your groom. I love you, M'Lady, and would find great pleasure in showing you just how much." On that thought, he slips his right hand, his main weapon hand, around my waist to pull me closer for a kiss.
If he was showing no outward signs of attraction through his pants, that could only mean that not only had he not made love yet, but he had also never pleased himself. As he eases up to nibble on the ultra sensitive points of my now very twitchy ears, I, for perhaps the first time, realized what a special man my Drachan really is. I come out of my personal thoughts and reach my hands, which were now tangled in his long white pony tail, reach up to undo his hair band, a leather strap made out of two halves, each cut from one of his parents' leather armor, the armor they wore when they retired from the Royal Knights. I have always loved his hair, which, by tradition, was longer then mine.
For centuries, female Elvaan who were fighting members of the Royal Knights kept their hair short, never letting it grow past their shoulders. Other females, whether human, Mystics, Toor-Toor, or other Elvaan, look up to these brave fighters. The few women healers, who deal specifically with only white magic, or wizards, who deal only with black magic, who are not Toor-Toors, grew their hair long. The men Elvaan who were members of the Royal Knights grew their hair long to signify their rank. Another time honored tradition still in use today. Drachand and I are Captians in the Knights and, as such, my very light blonde hair is kept quite short, barely below the bottom of my ears, and Drachan's is down to the middle of his back. The only times Warrior Women, as we are generally referred to as, even though many of us are not strictly warriors by trade, will grow their hair longer is when they are either with child or retired.
I guess my hands in his now loose hair cause an emotional reaction, because Drachan suddenly whispered, in a voice so soft members of other races would not be able to hear (with our ultrasensitive ears, Elvaan can hear things other races can not, which is part of what makes us such feirce fighters), "I can not wait until your hair grows with your belly as you carry our child some time in the future, my beautiful Warrior Woman."
"Why thank you, My Love. Why do we not just stay here for a few days and enjoy one another before attempting to contact home? If you don't mind the occasional interruption from a feind, most of which either of us could one-shot, this is absolute paradise."
His answer comes as another very low whisper while kissing my neck, "I could think of worse things then being trapped here with a beauty such as yourself, my lovelky wife. I think we could forget about trying to get home for a few days." While he is talking, his hands roam down my back to my waste and begin to lift my undershirt. Call me neive, call me a fool, but I had forgotten that, as my husband, lover, and mate, he would be seeing me in a way that, from infancy until now, only women healers had seen me, shirtless. Although he has been beside me, fighting next to me, in most of the battles that caused my scars, I felt I had to warn him.
I put my hands around his wrists, causing them to still and release my shirt. "Drachan, wait, I need to warn you. I have been cut in many battles. Quite a few of those have left horrid scars. I do not know if I am ready to show them yet."
"Love, I was right beside you when you recieved many of those scars, and I have many fromt he same battles. The day I asked you to become my bride, we were both hurt badly, as I remember we were both struck byb the same swing of a sword in the abdomen. I would li8ke to kiss every one of your scars, but that one in particular. I can only do that if you will show them to me. Please?" I nod my assent as he goes back to removing my shirt. As he drops it onto the pile with our armor, he looks into my eyes, his crystal clear blue meeting my dark saphire blue ones, and he whispers, "I have been waiting a very long time to do this. I dare say, my entire life."
With that, he dips his head to my chest, and it is that moment that I know why they make female armor with more protection in the chest. As his mouth closes around my dark pink ever hardening nipple, I can feel my ears twitching uncontrolably and the apex of my legs growing even more moist. He moves to my other breast, his mouth never more then a whisper from my skin, and I wonder if men are born with the knowledge of what to do or if he learned it from his friends when talking of our wedding weekend. After he pays both breasts attention, he comes up and kisses me again, this time helping me to lay back in the warm, soft, white sand. While he is assisting me and making sure I am comfortable, I reach up to remove his shirt. The first thing I notice is the chisled granit look of his entire torso, from the well sculpted definition of his arms to the rock hard washboard look of his stomache, all broken occasionally by long, jagged white scars that look llike someone dripped one of the tapered candles from the Catherdral back home onto his skin. The beauty of his naked torse takes my breath away and sets the tips of my ears twitching, again, this time causing them to feel as if they are on fire.
He begins to do as he said he would and kisses every scar on my torso, paying extra care and attention to the one right above my navel that, as if connected, continues to the one right below his, as they were both caused fromj the same swing of a foe's sword before he was defested by a wizard's fire spell.
When he is finished and our tongues are again doing the tagno of lovers, I roll on top of him to take a taste of him. I know what I want ot do, I have heard dstories from my friends about what they did to their husbands on the weekends of their weddings. With the gentle, warm breeze blowing my hair and the sounds of the distant waves crashing on the shore mixing with the songs of insects as the only music, I begin my onslaught.
My only goal is simple, to make this part of our time unforgetable. I begin by kissing his scars, all earned in brave battle. As I shift my weight so I am kneeling on the ground beside him, I feel the roughness of the thick callouses on his hands, caused by long-term use of heavy weaponry, which were prevented on my hands from the use of moisturizer cream, as he reaches over to kneed my breasts and then place his hands on my lower back.
I kiss lower, getting closer to his waste band. When I reach his navel, I stop for a moment to look into his eyes. If I am not careful, I can get lost int eh crystal clear bloue depths. I know it is taking alot of control for him to keep his ears from twitching. One of us has to remain alert for enemies.
