Starting Over

The Start of the Quest Chain



Two pair of blues eyes scanned the cold, ugly valley below. The Eagles of the Alliance had been hired by Stormwind to eradicate the Crushridge clan of ogres that had flattened Alterac, and recover any salvageable books from the wreckage. Alterac had been known for its scholars, and the loss of the rare history tomes was deeply felt by the Stormwind Keep’s librarian. Sophie thought wryly that the librarian had discovered a way for the city government to pay for his ever growing personal collection, too.



Sophie stood next to Reg, frowning softly at the moving mountainous humanoids prowling the ruins below. Rambler was growling softly under her breath, agitated by the stench of the ogres, and Sophie agreed with her bear. Dwarves had a phenomenal sense of smell compared to the other races, and the mutated creatures offended her sinuses deeply.



A whinny and a bleating in back of them made her smile. The guild’s elders had sped up her training and got her to her 40 level in record time. The shaggy brown ram tied to the tree next to Diamond was testimony to her rank. Though she still felt self-conscious and, well, sheepish when riding Mutton, she also felt well-deserved pride. Now if she could only feel some other things – things that were never very far from her mind.



The guild had sent the two of them out alone, feeling Sophie and Reginald were enough for the task. Sophie was grateful for time with the paladin. Though still attracted to him, with the months of work and training she was at least able to look him in the eyes now, without wandering over his form. She was able to hold a conversation with the man without blushing and giggling like a school girl. Sophie was finally able to be herself in his presence. Oh, she was still highly frustrated and looking for a willing partner, but forced herself to be content with her right hand for a lover. For now. Perhaps someday she would approach Reg and make a pass at him, but he was so popular in the guild, and the other ladies were far more attractive and forward than she. And after ten years of celibacy she really didn’t want to face rejection once she worked up her nerve.



“What are you picking up, Soph?” the paladin asked softly. “How many are down there? Can you sense their rank?” He enjoyed working with the dwarf. Between her uncanny dwarven senses, highly desired hunter abilities, and her easy going and robust sense of humor, she was a popular choice for missions.



More frowning, looking back and forth, and several nostril-flaring intakes of breath and she turned to the human with a grin. “We’ve got 12 in all of the warriors below us. In that remaining building,” and she gestured to a still standing keep, “there are quite a few more powerful beings – warmongers if I’m not mistaken.” Sophie’s grin grew even wider. “I suppose there are near 20 of those, and someone bigger.”



His eyebrows arched with amusement. “Bigger?” he asked dryly.



“Uh huh” the dwarf nodded vigorously. “Ogre too, but I’m sensing much more power, and smelling something, I don’t know, tangy.”



“Tangy?” Reg asked with a chuckle. “Aftershave, perhaps?”



“Hard to explain to folk who are deaf in the nose, laddie,” Sophie laughed. “It’s powerful – I guess its Ogre testosterone. He’s a bad one.”



“What a disturbing concept,” he shuddered.



Sophie had to agree with him. She watched him without interrupting as he surveyed the surrounding hills, taking in all cover, escape routes, and potential dangers. Dangers other than the dozen violent 14-foot high monsters. Reg always thought things out and ran his assignments with beautiful and firm organization, and she highly respected his talents.



“OK – you ready m’lady?” he whispered, quickly checking over the condition of her armor and axes, and trying not to pause at the more interesting bits. At her affirmative nod he gestured to the creature below that was closest. “Send one shot in to pull him closer – let’s see how well trained they are.”



She silently and seriously raised her shotgun to her eye and sighted, whispering a spell that would imbue the bullet with a fast acting poison and deaden the sound. With a telepathic command to her eager bear to hold off, she pulled the trigger and was satisfied to see it strike her target dead center of its large tattooed chest. It didn’t do a lot of damage, considering the ogre’s size, but it certainly got his attention. With a garbled roar the ogre looked up the hill and charged, but couldn’t see anything due to its very weak eye sight, and even weaker brain power. Sophie and Reg gave matching grins and watched the lumbering brute come toward them as Rambler shot out and started working on the giant’s hamstrings.



Quite a few slices with axes and poundings with a mace later and the ogre was a bloody heap on the ground. They swiftly looted the corpse for any valuables – paid hirelings like the ogres tended to carry their possessions on them – and watched the remaining eleven for signs of awareness. There were none. Ogres were really, really stupid.



They swiftly cleared out the area around the keep with no problems. Reg would choose their targets and convey his orders with hand gestures. Sophie would send in either gunshot or bear to pull out the enemy one to three at a time. Looting was accomplished when it was safe, and they were both pleased to feel their packs fill with silver, stolen cloth, and the much-coveted books.



It was in the confines of the keep that things started to get hairy. The warmongers were stronger and more organized. To add to everything else, they were substantially smarter and more loyal – they were obviously guarding something or someone. Sophie felt the warming tickle of Reg’ healing abilities several times as she fought by his side – something that she could not have helped in the mission without. Her armor and talents were in attacking from a distance, but the confines of indoors made that near impossible. So she had to assist the heavily armored paladin with her axe skills and weaker leather armor. It was very, very good to be friends with a paladin.



Several hours later they had cleared out the keep except for the final upstairs room. Sophie’s nose and senses told them there were two warmongers and their boss. They took a breather to eat and drink, feed the bear and check over their equipment. A person in charge, whether ogre or innkeeper, tended to be the biggest and baddest. Good preparation meant fewer surprises.



Unfortunately, the smoothness of the start of the mission was no reflection on how it would end. The boss ogre was immensely powerful – Reg directed Sophie to take down the two smaller, while he started on the strongest. Between guiding Rambler, reloading, hacking with axes, she completely lost sight of her partner for a long gore-filled 15 minutes. As she sliced the head off the remaining of her two opponents, she heard a very frightening ‘grunt’ in back of her, and spun around to see the leering head ogre removing a glowing, dripping dagger from Reg’ side, and the paladin sinking to the ground with an unhealthy pale look.



With a blood-curdling Celtic war cry Sophie swung her axe and attack with renewed fury – Rambler launching on the ogre without being told. The ogre, perhaps cocky from too many years of successful battle, and badly wounded by the paladin, was caught by surprise by the ferocity of the small dwarf’s attack, and was dead in a matter of moments. Ignoring the bodies, Sophie trusted Rambler to stand guard and she dropped to the floor next to her comrade.



She kept her face carefully neutral as she noted the amount of blood coming from the joint in the armor on his side. It had certainly been an unlucky shot. Reg’ head lolled to the side, barely conscious, as she poured a healing potion down his throat. “Come on, laddie. This will make ye right as rain,” she crooned. He blinked a couple times and looked up at her.



“Get the book” he commanded. “The main mission is the leather tome.”



“Reg, I’m much more worried about you!” she sputtered indignantly, trying to figure out how to remove the plate mail covering his injury.



“Get the book – that’s an order!” he snapped, visibly growing weaker. She glared at him in frustration, but obeyed. Muttering the invocation for treasure hunting, her eyes flew to a glow on a shattered book case – racial dwarven abilities came through again. Gently laying him on the floor, Sophie dashed to the case, grabbed the book and shoved it in her pack.



Reg smiled at her and whispered “Sophie tutela eximo,” and passed out cold. Sophie gasped – a healing potion of that strength should have left the paladin tap dancing down the stairs by now. She stared hard at the dagger the orge had used on her friend, then grabbed it gingerly and wrapped it in a fold of cloth. Grabbing her hearthstone from under her tunic, she grasped Reg tightly to her bosom and invoked the relic. Rambler, Diamond and Mutton would find themselves transported to Ironforge’s stable, while the two of them would be in her room in a matter of moments.



Her skin tingled, hair ruffled in a magical breeze, and the pair was surrounded in a luminescent green glow. With a gentle pushing sensation Sophie and Reg were deposited on the floor of her simple flat. The dwarven maid whistled between her fingers loudly, calling Rambler back into her presence. The bear appeared with a snarl, whipping his head back and forth looking for battle, and calmed down when it recognized where it was.



“Rambler – I need the medic. Get the medic now!” she telepathically pleaded, sending her bear the face and scent of the healer Nissa Firestone, and throwing open the door. She spun back to Reg, pale and silent on the floor. ‘Please be ok, laddie,’ she prayed silently as she fumbled around his armor, trying to puzzle out how to remove it. “Magical – of course! Sophie, ye be weak in the head – that’s what he was doing before he fainted!” she muttered. “That’s what he was saying – he was giving me armor access. Sophie tutela eximo!” the dwarf practically shouted, and was relieved to see the plate mail fall off in sections, leaving her friend wearing a simple linen shirt and pants.



The shirt was badly ripped and sticky with the paladin’s blood. Sophie frantically tore the remains of the garment away, but was startled to see the wound had indeed been mostly healed – a short, angry, red, new scar was all that remained. Grabbing her pillow off the bed and stuffing it under his head, she snatched up a pitcher of water and some towels off the table, and swiftly yet gently washed the man’s lean torso and side. Reg appeared to be growing weaker by the moment – now sweating and trembling, and even paler than before.



Sophie grabbed a clean towel, dampened it and laid it on Reg’s fevered brow. She stood and gingerly took up the rag-wrapped knife that had wounded her friend and placed it exposed on the table so the healer could examine it. Any wound that left even the faintest of scars after a healing potion of that magnitude had to the poisoned. The sound of footsteps and Ramber’s musky scent came from outside, and she looked up with relief – help had arrived.



“Now what have ye done, Sophie?” the Nissa joked until she noticed the paladin lying on the floor, sweaty and ill. “Oh – Reg! What have ye done, lad?” she gasped and dropped to her knees, checking his pulse. Sophie silently gestured to the blade on the table, and the young dwarven maid stood and examined it, not touching, with a frown. “Run and get the priest Braenna in the mage’s quarter, lass,” she shuddered. “And do be quick about it.”



“No!” Sophie gasped in fear, tears welling in her eyes. A priest could only mean one thing as far as she knew, and she refused to believe her friend was dying permanently.



“Not yet, lass,” the healer shook her head. “Tell Braenna Flintcrag it’s a Troll Soulbinder – she’ll know what to do. That be a cursed blade and lucky ye brought it back with ye.”



Sophie was out the door in a flash, summoning Mutton and mounting without slowing toward her destination. A thunder of cloven hooves and short ride later, she was at the temple. With haste she found Braenna, and practically carried her down the stairs. Once she mentioned the word ‘soulbinder’, the priest’s haste matched her own.



The next couple of hours went by in a blur. Priest and healer worked together, steaming herbs, chanting spells, applying poultices to the paladin’s side. Sophie watched from across the room, arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees, praying for her friends’ recovery. It was close to midnight when there came an eerie scream from the cursed dagger, a loud ‘foomf’ and the knife disappeared. The two dwarves leaned back, exhausted and pleased.



“All right, Sophie – you got ye a patient for a day or two,” the healer winked at her while levitating Reg up and on to her bed. “We got to him in time, thanks to ye and your presence of mind. Good thing you brought that knife back, or he’d be gone fer good.”



“For good?” the silver-haired hunter gasped. When a humanoid joined the cause of the light (or the dark, in the case of the Horde), it gave them the ability to convince the Spirit of Death to give them another go when killed. Oh, the spirit could be impatient and even vengeful – weakening armor and weapons or inflicting a bout of resurrection sickness to teach a lesson, but she typically brought a warrior back without a fight. Permanent death for a fighter was practically unheard of. She, herself, had ‘died’ several times now.



“Aye,” Braenna agreed solemnly. “That’s what the Soulbinder does. It’s a very rare, very dark magic that prevents the soul from speaking to the Spirit of Death. If you hadn’t brought the knife or waited to call us, the Eagles would have lost their prized paladin.”



Sophie bit her knuckles with fear, but forced herself to calm down. Besides her obvious affection for Reg, and her unrequited lust, she knew just how vital he was to the Alliance. His loss would have been devastating.



The healer and priest finished the packing of their herbs, candles, and paraphernalia. Sophie lightly stepped over to Reg’s side to see for herself. Still stripped down to his loose-fitting pants, his side was swaddled with linen bandages, but his breathing was easy and even, and the color had come back to his face. She breathed a sigh of relief – he had all the appearance of simply being asleep. Asleep and in her bed.



“Reg should wake up sometime tomorrow, lass, but no sooner” the Nissa gently smiled. With a yawn the healer waved a wand over the paladin’s pants, cleaning them, the bed and floor, of his dried blood with a spell. “Feed him lightly for the day – he can be up and around the day after. If somehow he doesn’t waken by noon, come and fetch me.” With gladly exchanged hugs, the two professionals took their leave.



Sophie gently shut the door after dismissing Rambler for the night. Weakly she walked back to her bed, trembling with exhaustion and fear. She sat down on the edge and examined her new room mate, thankful for the solitude and privacy. Reg’s face and body were totally relaxed and peaceful, and he seemed to be pain-free. She reached out her hand and gently combed his hair away from his face with her fingers, watching as he softly smiled in his sleep.



It was then the hunter decided to enjoy herself for a bit of self indulgence. Reg was not going to wake on his own any time soon, and he would never be the wiser. She quietly rose from the bed and indulged in a quick hot bath, scrubbing the last of that morning’s battle and the paladin’s blood from her skin. Swiftly toweling herself dry, and brushing her long hair that was unbraided and shampooed, she slipped on a simple linen nightshirt before leaving the bath.



Quietly, trembling with anticipation, she lay down in the bed next to him. If it was one thing the inns and boarding houses of Ironforge had, it was large beds – a renter never knew if their client would be gnome, dwarven, or even Tauren diplomats. There was plenty of room for a human and a dwarf, with space to stretch out. Her nightgown was long and simple, but cut low at the neck to show the bulge of her firm large breasts when she lay down. Perhaps he would find them agreeable if things ever got that far. Dwarven women were known for their spectacular bosoms – gravity was kinder to the short races.



Facing the sleeping man, Sophie indulged in drinking him in with hungry eyes. She had not seen many nearly naked humans in her life, and she was surprised to find him quite attractive in form. Reaching out again, she carded his hair with her fingers since he seemed to relax under the sensation. Shoulder length, the human’s hair was fine and soft as silk, as apposed to wiry and thick like the dwarves. His eyebrows were not wild and tangled like the men of her race, but finely shaped and expressive. Sophie gently stroked his beard and mustache with her thumb – even the texture of his facial hair was soft compared to her deceased husband’s. Soft, but still so masculine.



With the back of her fingers she stroked his temples and enjoyed examining the smile lines that graced his face. Arousal stirred her loins – she was so hungry for the touch of a man’s fingers and more. Sophie was careful to keep her hands well away from his neck – most fighters did not react kindly to any touch to that area. She continued her silent exploration of human flesh, frequently glancing up at his face to reassure herself he was indeed asleep.



His broad chest was next. Reg was extremely hairy as human went if what her friends told her was true. Golden curly hair covered his chest and stomach, though it was no where near as thick or bristly as the dwarf. His nipples were round and brown, and Sophie licked her dry lips, wishing she had the courage to simply lean over and suck and nibble on them, to see if he would react in his sleep. She dared not glance down at his trousers, for fear of losing control, but she could easily smell the musk of an aroused human. It was very pleasant on the nose, Sophie thought.



She did indulge in the lightest of touches on his hard and pointed nipples, and was rewarded with a soft masculine moan and even stronger scent in the air. She hoped he would sweat in his sleep a bit and leave his smell on her pillow and sheets – it would make masturbation after tomorrow even better.



The dwarven maid next examined the waist and stomach of her unconscious companion. Running her palm over his tummy, carefully avoiding the wide bandage covering his wound, she marveled at how small and almost feminine the human male’s torso was. Dwarves were thick and heavily muscled, built for working underground in cramped quarters. A dwarf could lift and carry several times their weight, and they could walk and run stooped over for hours. She had heard that human’s backs were quite fragile, and she could easily believe it, seeing how impossibly slender Reg’s waist was compared to a dwarf. It was so exotic to her eyes.



With a sharp intake of breath Sophie gazed with greedy eyes at the well defined lines of muscle surrounding either side of his lower abdomen. His linen drawers were slung low on his narrow hips, and the lines of definition seemed to point in an arrow straight to between his legs. As she stared unabashed and softly stroked his stomach, she could not help but look for the evidence of his arousal. And it wasn’t hard to miss – his manhood was straining and twitching against the confines of his trousers.



“Ah!” she gasped, feeling the familiar wetness soaking her upper thighs. Squeezing her legs together tightly she could tease her clitoris some, though not enough to give herself release. Sophie glanced up to Reg’s face and listened hard to his breathing – the man was definitely still fast asleep – so she resumed her slow and light-pressured teasing of the helpless human.



She greedily stared at his cock with desperation, wishing for the ability to see though clothing. Hard and standing proud, the hunter estimated Reg had to be packing enough to make man or dwarf proud. There was the wonderful heady aroma of pre-cum in the air, and the smallest of wet spots appearing on the front of his pants. Sophie wrestled with her conscious for the briefest of spells – this was practically rape she was indulging in, but her self-control was crumbling, as she knew it would.



Reg had not moved from his position on his back the whole time. He let out an occasional sigh, and a finger or foot would slightly twitch, but there was no indication that he would wake anytime soon. Breathing heavily with excitement and fear, Sophie slowly untied the drawstring of the paladin’s pants and eased them open, allowing his manhood to spring out unhindered. It was a glorious sight and smell to the woman who had been celibate over 10 years, and she gently blew hot breath over the purple and weeping head, watching it drip clear drops of arousal with heady delight. Trembling she grasped the shaft with her left hand, stuck her right hand between her dripping feminine folds, and diddled herself as she slowly stroked the object of her desires.



He gave a quiet moan as Sophie eagerly swirled the head of his dick with her hot, wet tongue, but Reg remained asleep. Encouraged by his inability to wake up, she rubbed her own clit fast and hard while in direct contrast, she slowly engulfed his manhood deep into her willing mouth and throat. Slurping noisily, with excited abandon, she ran her tongue around the rim of his penis, licked the full length of his shafts, and lapped up all the clear drips and drops of pre-cum. All too soon she felt his penis stiffen and jerk, and knew the end was about to happen.



There! One more soft moan came deep out of Reg, and he sprayed his seed hard and deep down her willing throat. Drinking like a starving woman, she sucked and slurped and kneaded his manhood gently until she had drank him dry, and followed with an earth-shaking orgasm of her own. Sophie savored the salty, slightly bitter taste, almost sobbing with relief.



She collapsed next to him on the bed, wiping her soaked fingers on her legs as she fondled his tadger until it had shrunk back to its unaroused size. With a small sigh of disappointment Sophie tied his trousers shut again, and slunk back to her bathroom to clean herself up and brace for the flood of guilt she expected to start feeling.