The war took the Iron Hog northward in the direction of Hevillin, the seat of elven nobility and their capital. The hulking iron beast of a man and his newest companion, Cithreal Walwynn, set off towards the northern line. The dwarves had apparently been pushed back by the elven military who had used the terrain to their advantage. The massive trees that were so densely grown that the foliage formed a canopy also became the perfect cover for elven archers to rain down arrows upon the invaders. Any forward aggression, made slow because it was uphill, would be met with the singing death from above that was an elven arrow. The elves, however, fared no better. Only two parties of archers remained after having lost most of their infantrymen in previous skirmishes. The dwarves were pushed back to a southern encampment and the Iron Hog was requested to journey there to break the stalemate.
Cithreal proved to be a valuable travelling companion. It was her habit to hum and sing as the pair travelled. The songs often bolstered the Iron Hog who felt invigorated at their vibrations. She was handy with a blade and an excellent cook of any game the forest provided. Additionally, every morning the Iron Hog would awake to the blonde high elf bathing his balls in her affections and moaning melodiously as she throated his absurd girth. The evenings would consist of Cithreal riding herself into orgasm after orgasm, stretching her tight pink pussy to the utmost, for hours before consistently passing out once the Iron Hog erupted inside her. This was all to the Hog's great pleasure. Nothing offered him joy more than the sight of a beautiful elf in ecstasy. To Cithreal's surprise, the opposite was also true. Blades and arrows could never hurt the man like the slightest hint of sadness on the face his elven companion. He would often hurriedly apply himself, snorting and huffing, to remedy any distress that found her. On one occasion he even offered her a flower when she lamented how in the northern the soil was so thick with tree roots and thick leaved clover patches it offered no space for the small beauties. Cithreal found this act hugely endearing and always repaid it in kind by releasing her large breasts from their tight leather confines and throat fucking herself on his massive cock.
When the pair arrived at the battle front they were anticipated. The previous night Cithreal had loudly but inadvertently made their presence known, moaning and wailing in the throes of ecstasy. The Iron Hog wadded into the small encampment preceded by his stench. Dwarven infantry men gave him wide berth. Most covered their noses in horror of the odor. The few that ogled his companion received a swift gauntlet to the face by the savage warrior. After the commanding officer explained the battlefield situation to him, the Iron Hog nodded and made his way to the north edge of the encampment. Sharpened timber formed a rough barrier at the base of the hill upon which he rested his weight. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils. The crisp forest air of early morning. The dew of grass and trees. A few war beasts. Then he caught wind of it. The smell of an elven woman in heat. It was hot, mixed with sweat, war paint, inseparable from that of some kind of beast like a wolf. He had smelled something similar the night before. Caught up in the aroma the Iron Hog drifted forward. A whistling death hit the earth in front of him snapping him out of the trance. An elven arrow. One would not be an issue but there would doubtless be dozens more.
Cithreal drew the Iron Hog back. "I think I might have found a way to get us up the hill." She nearly sang.
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That night the Iron Hog crawled up the hill with this boar mask close to the dirt. Covering him was a carpet of wide-leaved clovers and earth Cithreal had woven together with the cloth of one the dwarven war tents. She had offered to accompany him but he refused. He would not risk any harm coming to her. The elven mother leaped and planted a kiss on the warrior's iron boar helm. Her lust-laden golden eyes said she would be waiting for him to return. The Iron Hog was filled with determination.
Once at the top of the hill, he was stopped by the landing of two nimble sandaled feet. The source of the smell he detected earlier was right before him. Suddenly, his cover was pulled off of him and standing above him was a wood elf. He short red hair was still fiery even in the dark forest's moonlight. Two pointed ears emerged from its sides. Her light brown skin was decorated in dark green war paint striping and weaving along her bare legs, arms, and face. Dark brown leather shorts and a cuirass were the only clothes the tall figure wore. Only slightly more than the large red wolf beside her that had a leather riding harness. The wood elf notched an arrow, planted a foot on his helm, and bore down on the Iron Hog with piercing green eyes. "Disgusting. Did you think Meesha or I would not smell you with that stench? You disgrace the noble boar. Now you will die."
"Your...name..." The Iron Boar grunted.
"Why should I tell you, human? Such foulness doesn't deserve to know the name of the elven kingdom's greatest hunter. But if that is your dying wish I will honor it, beast. I am Ayla Daedrith."
