Croon of the Kraul

Title: Croon of the Kraul

Author: A. Pseudonym, aka 'Dark Morgan'

Summary: After their meeting in the castle Kraltuk finds himself obsessed with a human, much to the disapproval of his elders...

Rating: NC17, YAOI (MxM stuff. Don't like it, don't read. If you do like, enjoy ;)

Quests: [34] A Vengeful Fate[34] The Crone of the Kraul,

Dikclaimer: WoW is obviously not owned by me. If it were there'd be a lot more yaoi in the flavour text & dialogue and rogues would have more quests. These characters, however, are mine :)

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“Cave and root. Tide and bone. These things all the Earthmother has given us. From her waters life pours. From her breath blood stirs. Listen. She speaks to us. She teaches her ways. Listen.”

*****

He saw. He heard. The musty-fresh earth. The brambles scar the sky overhead. Visions moved in the Dream-smoke. Great twisting roots wove out of a vale bridging chasm and ledge. Thick canopies of thorns darkened the sunlight. It hid in small pools. He smelt. Bat-fresh guano peppered the air near canyon caves. The sound of drums beating, beating vibrated in the ground, in the walls, in him as he moved deeper into the blackness.

“The Kraul,” the wizened, old prophetess said as the vision dimmed in Kral’tuk’s eyes. “This land was once holy to us. Cairne is a noble leader for uniting our people here on Thunder Bluff, but I cannot forgive those who drove us from our ancestral lands as easily as some.”

The old cow ground up more herbs from the necklace in her hand and threw them into the fire like before. A horrendously warty, piggish face leapt out at Kral’tuk from the smoke before vaporating just as smoothly, turning back into the ashen air that trailed out the open tent. “A vengeful fate awaits the crone, Charlga Razorflank, who musters a foul army where once we worshipped.” She pulled the patterned blanket back around shoulders as she looked into the orc’s eyes, a mixture of age, sorrow and contemplation lining the wrinkled fur about her face. “Bring me her heart and I can die in peace.” Kral’tuk bowed and stepped outside to where some of his newest companions waited patiently.

“So,” Laughingwind called to Kral’tuk without looking up from the woolen garment she seemed intent on making, “will ya help us with this?”

“S’long as you don’t start preaching that ‘Wisdom o’ th’ Eaarth-mother’ to me,” Kral’tuk winked at the cream-white tauren female.

“Ye be careful there mate,” Laughingwind teased back, “or ye just might find one of me totems up yer arse.” She tied and bit off the thread she was working on. “And ah promise you, it won’t be something ye like.” Kral’tuk’s face turned a darker shade of green. A dun-colored tauren with white spots sitting next to her guffawed over the scroll he was studying.

“What in Durotar are you laughing at?” he asked abashed.

“Hey, I’m just here for the ladies,” Artak said coolly in a deep, resonant voice.

“Why then are ye comin’ mate?” Laughingwind cut in. “Ain’t no pretty heifers where we’re goin’. Least, not along the lines you like.”

“Where’s Tyrrh?” Kral’tuk asked.

“Oh, my sweety’s gettin’ approval o’ the Elders so as ‘afore we’re settin’ out,” Laughingwind answered. She lowered her voice. “Course, ain’t none o’ them’s knows where we’re headin’ out for, so ye might be best as ta keep it quiet till once we’re outta the heights.”

“Why?” Kral’tuk asked.

“Well…” Kral’tuk leaned in closer. “Not everyone here approves of outright assassinous vengeance” Laughingwind said with a nod of her head towards a nearby Tauren smelting some minerals who seemed to be hiding a scowl whenever he looked towards the prophetess’s tent.

“Ah.”

“Right. Well I’d best be preparin’ fer the trip don’cha think? Here, whaddya think o’ this?” Laughingwind said holding her knitting up.

“I – uh, um… err… what is it?” Kral’tuk abashedly said.

“It’s a scarf!” Laughingwind stated, clearly offended. She entwined the item, which looked more like a rope, around her neck, grabbed her basket of materials and stormed off. Kral’tuk noticed Artak stifle a throaty chuckle.

“Did that look like a scarf to you?” Kral’tuk asked. Artak merely shrugged and continued on unperturbed with his studies. The orc turned and started picking his way through the village of widely-spaced hide tents and wooden lodges that made up the city of Thunder Bluff. He barely got out of the Craftsmen’s Terrace when hands clamped around his mouth and waist and jerked him bodily into a darkened tent.

“Guess what you’ve got coming, you sick orc who doesn’t watch his back?” a slick voice whispered in his ear. Already the hand at his stomach had worked its way past the chain-mail shirt Kral’tuk wore and was fidgeting with the belt of his trousers.

“Noff eer,” Kral’tuk mumbled beneath the other orc’s muzzling grip.

“Oh why not a little honey before our trip?” the voice cooed huskier, licking his ear and nibbling the lobe sharply. Kral’tuk grabbed the arms around him, tensing.

“Nnnnnhh…” he groaned, wincing. The arms encircling him tightened and he gasped as the hand pawing his loins found its way under his codpiece.

“Ahhhh… he likes it,” the other orc teased lasciviously, working the muscles he found there with talented fingers. Kral’tuk shuddered and tightened his own grip, gaining a gasp of pain from the other and forcing his hands off him. Spinning around he twisted one of the orc’s arms sharply, grabbing his shoulder and threatening to dislocate it’s joint.

“Hehehheh,” the orc winced, licking his teeth. “I thought that you might like it,” he grinned. Kral’tuk twisted harder and released the orc.

“Not here,” he said unencumbered. “Out there is one thing,” Kral’tuk glanced out the partially-open tent flap as he rearranged his clothing, “but I don’t want this getting back to Durotar.”

“Awww,” the darker-skinned orc said massaging his arm, “the big, bad warrior’s worried his Grammiga’ll find out he likes the barracks more than yer average Thrall. Or that ‘e likes his companions to do more than just watch his arse.”

“Gukkar…” Kral’tuk growled.

Gukkar winked and with a Fssh! of flash powder was gone.