Author's Note: Sorry for the wait (if anyone's even reading this series), but here's the next part. Introducing the new night elf prisoner, and the return of the lust wyrm! Might not be my best work, but it's mostly a filler chapter. :)
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Ditharia Moonsinger groaned softly in discomfort, blinking open glowing silver eyes and looking blearily around, wondering what had happened and why her head ached. Her memory was fuzzy, and she groaned again, this time in frustration as she lolled her head from side to side, trying to figure out where she was and why she felt so cold...
There was stone all around her, she saw, and the room apparently darkened, at least to human eyes - night elves such as her, with their enhanced night vision, had no problems seeing in a dark room. She was laying on a hard surface, stone if she wasn't mistaken, and the tips of her long ears brushed the warm stone she was laying on. With a jolt, she realized that she could feel the smooth texture of the stone all along the back of her body, and she bolted up into a sitting position - or at least she tried to, but found herself stopped cold by the restraints around her wrists and ankles, holding her hands beside her head and her legs spread.
She managed to raise her head, her temples pounding harshly in time to her pulse, and she looked down to confirm that yes, she was indeed completely unclothed. She was honestly more concerned with the fact that she was restrained than she was with the fact that she was naked. With her light violet skin, long silver hair, generous breasts, slim waist, and full hips she was a fine example of night elf womanhood, standing at a striking 6"3 feet tall and sporting darker purple markings around her eyes. She wasn't ashamed of her body in the slightest, and her nudity was one of the last things on her mind as her heart began to speed up, horror welling up inside her as the thought of what might have been done to her while she'd been sleeping reared its' head.
However, she was a proud member of the Silverwing Sentinels, and she took long, deep breaths, her breasts trembling as she forcefully calmed herself down, taking stock of her body and trying to see if anything felt off. She wriggled her fingers and toes, flexing the muscles in her arms and legs as best she could, and breathing a sigh of relief when there was no pain in her pelvic region. Now came the most important part, finding a way to free herself of the manacles retraining her so that she could find out where she was and then escape. As she struggled, turning her wrists and ankles this way and that, the pain in her head cleared enough that she could think clearly, and as she attempted to slip out of the tight grip of the shackles, her memory gradually began returning to her.
She had been on patrol in northern Ashenvale, she remembered, shuddering as she recalled the brief battle with some Warsong Outriders that had ended with the orcs dead and her quiver half-empty. Her silver armor had been stained with orcish blood, and her bow had been left in pieces after she'd used it as a shield against one of the green-skinned brutes' axe-swings. The foul creatures, ever since Garrosh had become Warchief, had grown bolder and had sought to encroach further into Ashenvale, which neither she nor her sister Sentinels would allow without a hard-fought battle.
The woman had been about to return to Silverwing Outpost, leaving behind the corpses of the orcs she had slain for the animals to take care of, turning her back on the battleground when...nothing, her memory of what had happened stopped there. Everything went black after that moment, and her breath hitched as the thought occurred to her that perhaps one of the orcs had simply been playing dead, waiting until she had let her guard down before attacking. That would mean, she thought with no small of horror, that she had been captured by the foul beasts, and the fact that she had woken up stripped of her clothing boded nothing well for what the creatures planned to do with her.
Her mind raced to find another possible answer, as she had been sure that all the orcs she had fought had ended up dead, but she supposed that it was possible that an orc rogue or scout had been hiding, waiting for the right moment to strike. She furrowed her brow, concentrating intensely and, for the moment, abandoning her attempts to find a way to escape her restraints as she focused on coaxing more of the memory of her last patrol to the surface. For an unknown amount of time, all her efforts resulted in was a slight headache, but then she was rewarded when she recalled, hazily, that she had felt a surge of magic behind her and felt something tightly constricting her limbs before everything went blank.
Obviously a spell had been used to knock her out and restrain her, she deduced, frowning in anger as she doubled her efforts in finding a way to free her hands. It had been a cheap trick to use, but it showed that the one who had captured her had been smart enough to fear confronting her in an actual battle. She wasn't a Sentinel for nothing, after all, and even without her favored bow she was still a force to be reckoned with when wielding the shortsword she had carried at her side for close-quarters combat.
Soft grunts and hisses of frustration filled the cell as she worked to loosen or slip the restraints around her wrists, twisting and arching her body in instinctive reaction to her failure to escape. Her attempts, as had her previous ones before her memory returned, met with abject failure, and she uttered a vexed, "
