A World of Warcraft Erotica
DISCLAIMER: This story is for entertainment only. World of Warcraft and all related material are copyrights of Blizzard Entertainment.
The night shadows of the forest worked well with Rathnor as he crept along the trees away from the Horde camp. The place had been scouted out as he was ordered with a little extra something for his commander: the plans describing the orders for the Horde Lumbermills to be built and operational in the forests of Ashenvale. Rathnor made sure to travel downwind as he had been warned. Orcs had a stronger sense of smell than Humans.
Smiling to himself, the rogue stealthily snuck further from the camp and towards the path ahead. Clutching his daggers tightly in his hand, he caught movement beside a tree. Even in the pale moonlight, he saw the outline of an Orc. The tusked helm and spiked shoulder pieces were all Ranthor needed to identify one of the Horde.
It was a female Orc but the rogue knew that gender did not hinder the pure rage and ferocity of Orcs. If he could sneak up behind her, he could strike quickly before she even cried out in alarm. Raising his daggers above his head, he got close enough to hear the Orc snort. Suddenly, a strange whistle like the small shriek of a hawk caught his ears just in time to feel a sharp pain under his arm. The arrow not only knocked him off balance, but alerted the female Orc to his presence; she turned with a roar and swung a wicked looking axe at his head. Rathnor cursed as he ducked in time to see the blade bury deeply in the tree he was standing near. The great oak shook at the force and another arrow appeared in the bark a few inches from the axe and even closer to his prone form.
The female tugged at her axe as Rathnor winced from the pain and charged into her. His leather armor had stopped the deadly missile from penetrating his lungs but it still lodged deep enough to bleed freely and weaken his muscles. The force of his charge separated the Orc from her axe long enough for her to raise her fists above her head and send them crashing down on Rathnor's back. The impact blew the air from his lungs. She raised her fists again to repeat her attack but Rathnor was quicker and buried one of his daggers into her exposed gut.
An arrow struck him again. This time, his armor was able to stop it from reaching his flesh. The Orc moaned and clutched her stomach as she fell to one knee and then face first into the dirt. A dagger wouldn't have done enough damage to an Orc to kill it but the poison coating it was more than enough. Rathnor had no time to gloat as his body started to grow numb from pain and blood loss. Another arrow flew at him and he had to dive to the side of a large tree root to avoid getting hit. Weak, bleeding, and practically blind against the Orc archer, Rathnor sighed to think this is how it would end.
His thoughts of death were interrupted as a low rumbling roar tore through the night air. Rathnor looked up from his makeshift cover to see a large form crash into the previously unseen archer. A huge cat ravaged the Orc with razor claws and fangs. The Orc, armed only with his bow and arrows, swing the feeble weapon at the cat trying desperately to ward it off. Although the bow was deadly as a ranged weapon, it served as a poor defense against a huge cat. Flesh was rent before his eyes and the Orc's screams were cut off in seconds.
Rathnor was panting. Sweat flowed over his brow as freely as the blood soaking the cloth under his leathers. The pain was worse and he felt his strength waning. To his horror, the huge cat looked up from the mutilated remains of the Orc and looked straight at him. It padded slowly towards him. All Rathnor remembered seeing was its sleek shadowed form and the glow of its green eyes approaching him quickly. Then he blacked out.
Warmth flooded over him. His eyes fluttered open and his vision was blurred. His vision slowly returned to reveal a warm light under a night sky. Rathnor looked around him and saw a campfire close by. He was lying on his back and his leather armor had been removed. As he felt his face and sat up a bit, he was suddenly aware that the arrow and pain were both gone. Somehow he had been saved. The camp was simple: a fire, the makeshift blankets he was laying on, and the thick blanket covering him. All around he heard only the sounds of the forest and the breeze accented by the quiet popping sounds of the fire. He wondered how he got here or even where "here" was.
His thoughts were halted at once as a shadow moved into the firelight. The huge cat that tore apart the Orc archer padded quietly into view across the camp from where Ranthor lie prone. Fear crept up his spine and he could not move as the majestic animal growled low and moved with a terrible grace into full view. Its night black fur shined in the moonlight and its eyes gleamed with emerald brilliance. Rathnor couldn't move nor breathe for fear of the cat charging him.
The air shimmered with strange magic as the cat changed shape before Rathnor's eyes. Within moments, a tall beautiful elf crouched where once a mighty panther stood. Her skin was violet as the dusk sky. Her face had an innocent look framed by long green hair that draped over her shoulders and flowed down her sleek back as two long pointed ears stretched from the sides of her head pointing back. Unlike other elves Rathnor had met, this elf was muscled in an almost feral manner: strong yet curvaceous and feminine. Intense eyes glowed in the darkness of the night behind a tribal tattoo mask that decorated her face. Her armor was a series of leather straps adorned with beads, feathers, and leaves that not only functioned as protection, but allowed freedom of movement. A loincloth draped over her waist and leather straps holding daggers were around long slender legs that ended in bare feet.
She stood slowly and Rathnor swallowed a lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. She was much taller than he expected even if he was still lying down. In his few short years of service to the Alliance, Rathnor had only seen Night Elves for a few fleeting moments. Now, one stood before him and he found himself speechless at how unbelievably beautiful this Night Elf was.
"I did not mean to startle you," she said. Her voice was husky and smooth. Rathnor was so enraptured that he flushed when he realized she had addressed him.
"I ah..." he started to reply but found that words failed him. "Thank you," he said when he regained his voice.
The Night Elf walked to him with a grace and speed that reminded him of the cat she once took the shape of. Without a word, she sat on her heels beside him and cupped his face. Rathnor could only stare open-mouthed struck dumb at the stunning creature before him. Her hands were calloused but still retained their softness and her nails were long like claws. She gently ran her hand over his torso and placed it on his side. Her eyes followed her hand as she examined where an arrow had pierced him.
"There doesn't seem to be a scar," she commented.
Rathnor grunted in agreement as he raised his arm and shifted his gaze to where her hand was. The flesh was completely healed but still tender. His muscles were stiff as he raised his arm.
"I apologize," she said frowning a bit. Rathnor thought the expression was rather enduring. "My healing magic is not as skilled as my shape shifting abilities. Luckily I have also been trained in the arts of Alchemy."
Rathnor looked at her as she looked up. Their eyes locked and for a few moments, neither one moved. Her hand stayed at his side, touching him with her mysterious charm. She suddenly stood up and went to a bag near the fire. Rathnor blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream.
"I'm afraid I don't know where we are," he said. "I take it we are far from the Horde encampment."