The elven capital of Hevillin was marked by tall towers of grown crystal that glimmered in what forest light pierced through the canopy. Smaller wooden domiciles sprouted from the earth with the obvious aid of magic. The usual sounds of song and dialogue were now replaced with war drills that, in their own way, did not lack in the usual elven elegance. All of this was met with the endless roar of the crashing waterfall that formed the capital's natural northern border. Wrapping from the cliffside, a wall of tall jagged pink crystals, each easily the size of ten men, emerged from the ground and were bound together by vines made vicious with brambles. The only entrance was a large white crystal, rectangular in shape, that would turn intangible for elves at a command and solidify moments after.
It was a mile south of the magically fortified city that the dwarven army had converged. War-tents and barricades sprang up with the uniquely dwarven efficiency of a people that made crafting their lifeblood. Among this small village of soldiers, far away from the center, several meters from the perimeter even, was a black tent belonging to the mercenary from the Gaping Skull. The reasons for this were three-fold. The unique odor of the tent's inhabitant posed a significant issue for surrounding men and beasts. The violence with which the owner had treated any who approached his elven companions had earned him no love among the dwarven military. And finally, once the sun set, the volume of moaning, groaning, and grunting, the slapping of flesh upon flesh, emerging from the tent would be ceaseless until the sun rose again. The distance did not bother the tent's owner, the Iron Hog, who found the solitude with his harem most agreeable. It would only be for meals that he would barrel into the mess hall to help himself to an amount of rations befitting multiple dwarves.
A cold afternoon under the forest canopy the dwarven commander sought out the Iron Hog, a man that at this point had proved his skill at least as well as his foulness. The siege of Hevillin would begin again tonight, bolstered by the southern troops mobilized by the Hog's actions against Ayla's archers. The Iron Hog was given a special task. The city walls were made of magic crystal, fortified by living vines. It would not be as simple as merely smashing the front door in again like he had done at Tremllin. With his elven companions he was asked to be brought into the city, under the guise of a prisoner of war, and once inside he would kill the wizards and druids that maintained the wall. The Iron Hog thought about this and stroked the chin of the boar helm he never removed. "There's another thing." A younger dwarf interrupted, "We found this missive on a courier's belt. It pertains to you Sir Hog." The pudgy iron-clad fingers unraveled the note. It was a contract promising freedom for one Esmeray Ysrit with the seal of elven royalty addressed to the foreign kingdom of the dark elves. A sketched picture of this Esmeray fell to the floor. It was a wanted poster. "She will likely be in the city waiting for you. If this added danger-"
"I will do it!" The Iron Hog interrupted. His mouth breathing now audible to the whole of those in attendance. If this assassin looked as depicted the Iron Hog would stop at nothing to find her.
Bound in manacles, led by Ayla the Huntress and flanked by Cithreal the Songstress, our kinsmen found himself walking towards the massive white crystal that formed the front gate to the capital of the elves. The Hog had often dreamed of the place. Ever since he found his first love in an elf he thought about the crystalline city full of their kind. The creative depravity caused him to salivate once again as his codpiece struggled under his rising girth. They were halted by elves that greeted Ayla in their native tongue. They had thought she was dead to which she scoffed and demanded entrance with the prisoner. When asked how they got through the dwarven war tents to the south Cithreal leaned in close to the guard. A blush ran across the modest guards face as she whispered sweet nothings into his pointed ear. It was only when a sharp creaking sound like iron chains being bent emanated from the bound hulking warrior did the guard snap from his fantasy and swiftly allowed them through.
Ayla lead the party through the city where they found an abandoned wooden domicile, likely the product of elves moving out to flee from the losing tide of war. With a swift push the Iron Hog forced open the door. Once inside he forcefully freed himself from his chains, grabbed Cithreal by the waist and hoisted her onto a nearby table. He tore off his codpiece and lifted her skirt. Brutally, Cithreal was impaled on the Hog's elf-breaking cock, looking up at him with twitching quivering pleasure. "OoOooh my love. Was it that *AHH* display at the gate? *AHH* He meant nothing to me. *MMPH* You know I live for this big beastly dick!" The Iron Hog fucked her hard enough to ensure it. He lifted the blonde's long legs and hammed her without any remorse. The sound of his heavy balls slapping her pale ass cheeks resounded through the house, accentuated by her lyrical moans.
The wood elf huntress rolled her eyes in feigned annoyance but felt nothing but envy. She had spent many nights in the tent punished for mouthing off by having to watch Cithreal's round motherly breasts bounce as she got to ride her master's stinking manhood first. Pink nipples spraying milk all over both herself and the beast in a picture of sexual depravity. Ayla knew better than to complain. Instead she resealed the door to the small wooden house and unholstered the Hog's massive iron club from her wolf's saddle. When she rose she was twisted with disappointment that the man had not noticed her bending over low and allowing her leather shorts to ride up her toned ass cheeks. She waited as patiently as she could. The pounding continued for ten, then twenty, then thirty minutes. Ayla had dropped to the floor and begin fucking herself at the sight of the relentless rutting. Cithreal's tits had burst forth from her breastplate and her tongue had lolled out as she whimpered lovingly to her master. "Gods how are you so big, my love? That beast of a cock always knocks my top off when you pound me. Ooo or maybe I should just stop wearing it all together? My naked elven body always ready for you to cover me in a thick hot load? Would you like that?" The Iron Hog in his excitement drove himself all the way into the high elf causing her to moan as she hit climax. Her eyes rolled back as she squeezed her breasts in abject depravity. When the Hog pulled out she remained quivering, recoiling from the aftershock of her lover's brutal assault.
Next to her Ayla looked over her shoulder. She waved her bare ass left and right next to her companion, bent over the same table. Her leather shorts and had been pulled down to reveal her dripping pussy. "Oh? Is it my turn now?" She tried to say as nonchalantly as she could and only barely being successful. The Iron Hog mounter her from behind and grabbed her hips. The brutal pounding she received was everything she longed for. The wood Elf grit her teeth in a pained but relieved grin. "Finally!" was the one word racing through her mind over and over. The beast's girth forced her legs to spread in accommodation. Red marks had begun to form on her upper thighs from the daily ball-slapping poundings she received bent over for her master. She loved it. The Iron Hog grabbed a fistful of her red hair and picked up the pace. Ayla groaned and yelled, "Fucker, this shouldn't be so easy for you!" She came no less violently than that first time in the forest. She answered the age old question of whether love can bloom on the battlefield. Here she was again, eyes glazed over, toned legs shivering. "Gods yes." She moaned. The two elves lay collapsed on the table smiling and quivering. They were incapacitated by the force of the fucking and violence of their orgasm. The Iron Hog was about to return to his blonde companion again when he smelled something.
It was an elf. One that carried a lust but also more. Much more. Spices? Gunpowder? Insects? It all reeked of the smell of water that had been stagnating under the earth. Ayla's wolf Meesha sat up and growled. The Iron Hog turned around. Standing in the adjoining room was a dark figure. She threw several small glass spheres in his direction. The Hog reactively threw up an arm. The spheres shattered on both sides of him and with a crash, pop, and the sound of fabric being stretched. In a mere moment the entire room, including he and his companions, were coated in thick spider thread. The Hog and his harem members struggled to unbind themselves. They found the threads were coated in a powerful adhesive. A cackling emerged from the dark figure. She stepped into the main room before the Iron Hog. The dark elf. She wore a black coat that clattered as it moved, foreshadowing many other strange concoctions within. Beneath which she wore a black leather breastplate that presented her ample purple chest like a corset, black boots, and only a small piece of black lace underwear. Her straight black hair was bound into a ponytail. Malicious red eyes looked at the suspended warrior.
