The Legion - Lyelleth & Orannis
folder
+S through Z › World of Warcraft
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
6,454
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+S through Z › World of Warcraft
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
6,454
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own World of Warcraft, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Realising Hurts
Author’s notes: More reviews! I’m such a happy writer *g* Crysomandiaz and Mocaris, thank you for your lovely comments. And I now will set out to tease Anti. With. Every. Chapter. Mwhahaha!
As promised, two smutty previews at the end of this instalment.
--
Vol’Jin stalked angrily through the corridors of the living quarters of Thrall’s most valued advisors and champions, heading to his sister’s rooms, ire still slicing through him. The Night Elf bitch *should* have been his prize. His sister *should* have restrained herself. Thrall had no *reason* to be angry with him… The recriminations cut like a knife to his soul, as he rounded the corner to Shasta’s suite.
She was stood outside, leaning against the wall, her whole posture suggesting defeat as she looked up at the Tauren in front of her, who was speaking in low, hushed tones. The Shadow Priest turned away from his gaze as she finished, and he closed his eyes, bowing his head. The male Troll snarled, face twisting as he spat at the Tauren, “Leave.” He looked as if he would argue, but Shasta shook her head almost imperceptibly, and he stepped away, striding down the hall without a second glance at Vol’Jin.
“Inside, now; we are going to have a talk, you and I.”
--
Splithoof walked into Orannis’ suite without thinking, already mid-sentence when two things occurred to him: One, his leader was not in the receiving room; Two, there was a Night Elf stood in the centre of the room like a statue. A very *naked* Night Elf, her hair falling in a silver waterfall across her front, covering her breasts from view, and a well placed chair blocked any view from the waist down.
The Tauren blinked, repeatedly, before asking, “Where is Orannis?”
Silence.
“Did you hear me girl? Where is your Master? I know you understand!” Anger coloured the Shaman’s words, and he advanced. It was only then he noticed how vacant her gaze was, as well as…
“Splithoof!” Orannis’ yell broke the spell Lyelleth’s body had woven on the Tauren, and he turned. “Why are you here?” The Champion left his sleeping room and walked toward his Lieutenant. “What is so wrong to bring you charging in here?”
“My brother,” Splithoof sighed, forgetting the Rogue’s presence. “I… Need your help, my friend.”
Orannis’ expression softened. “Sit. Tell me.” He glanced at Lyelleth. They had unfinished business, but it would have to wait. “To my chamber, Night Elf, and we will… speak… later.”
The lilac-skinned woman didn’t even nod in acknowledgement, simply turned and headed into the room as instructed, and closed the door behind her. Orannis sat with a sigh, and looked at his Lieutenant. “Clenhoof has always been wise, and strong. The Legion gave me a home for many years before Thrall called me to his side. What could possibly be causing this much of a problem?”
“He is in love.” Splithoof spat out, as if the words themselves offended him, and hung his head in his hands, “With someone… unattainable.”
“Alliance?”
“No, *that* would be easily dealt with. My brother has taken his life in his hands Orannis, he is trying to court Shasta.”
“Vol’Jin’s *sister*?” Orannis roared, almost jumping out of his chair, “She is insane! The shadows laid claim to her a *long* time ago, my friend. Power has corrupted her and she is completely unstable.” He paused, “Not to mention Thrall is prepared to banish her after this morning’s… incident.”
“But Clen believes he can save her,” Split sighed, shaking his head as he looked up at his friend and Lord. “And part of me believes him. I’ve seen them together Orannis, he pulls her from the shadow’s embrace and for a moment, she is the young thing we remember.” Wistfulness had coloured the Tauren’s tone. “They were not born that far apart, and with Father being here for much of the time…” He sighed, deeply, and shook his head again. “I do not know what to do or say to him, and I fear it is only a matter of time before Vol’Jin realises. And you know his prejudices.”
“Aye,” The Orc agreed, sinking back into his seat, “He can play around with as many as he likes, but should a Troll love outside their race, well, they may as well throw themselves into the Nether.” A pause, “If he truly wishes to see if this can be done, he needs to get Shasta *out* of Orgrimmar and away from her brother. I may… suggest… to Thrall that after her attack, her loss of perspective so to speak, she needs to be conscripted for some time, to spend time on the lines, to learn again what it is we are trying to do in this world. The Legion would be a good place for her to learn, and I doubt Vol’Jin can hate me more than he already does, should word reach him that this was my idea.”
“Should I speak to Clen about this?”
“No, not yet,” Orannis looked at Splithoof thoughtfully, “In fact, speak nothing of it, let Thrall tell him. The more he thinks this is the Warcheif’s idea, the less anyone can speak ill of it. Shasta damaged that which is mine, the right of reprisal is there, but I think if the Chamber is led to believe I deferred to my Lord on her punishment, we may all avoid any nastiness.” [Except from Vol’Jin,] his thoughts added warily.
The Tauren rose to leave, “Thank you, my friend,” He said quietly. “I shall rest easier to know you are with me on this.”
“You are welcome. And Splithoof, next time, a little warning may be in order?” The Orc managed a grin as he stood. “Whilst you are returning, hunt down the Apothecary Williams, I wish to speak to him.”
“That walking corpse, are you sure?”
“Yes. I have a… favour I need to call in.”
--
Lyelleth was stood at the foot of the bed when he entered, still naked and unmoving. Orannis stayed in the doorway for a moment, almost unsure how to proceed. After ordering her to remove her clothing those many hours ago, the answering sight had made him so angry he had forced himself to leave her side, lest his temper be taken out on her. And it wasn’t the Night Elf that had angered him, it was the *damage*.
The Rogue’s body was a network of scars that, at first glance, appeared battle-won. It was only as the Shaman had gotten closer he had noticed the repeated patterns, saved to areas that would always be covered by armour. Her back, in particular, was horrific, two sets of deep, ill-healed raking claw marks from shoulder to hips, as if she had been pounced and held down. The inside of her left thigh was slashed and scarred in a criss-cross of the same strike, as if she had been held down and batted like a toy. There was a deep bite on her right shoulder, and he had wondered how she had ever held a sword again. But by far the worst was the single, fine blade line bisecting her stomach – if that mark had been earned in a fight, the Night Elf would have been killed. What made it far worse was the puckering and stretching of the flesh around it – the scar had been caused long before Lyelleth had stopped growing.
His suspicions had been that *someone* had abused her, the scars agreed with this, but he did not know enough of her history to guess at *who*. But the bite, and the rake marks he knew all too well, he carried similar imprints on his own body. They were caused by a Feral Druid, more specifically, a feline formed one. True, the Tauren Druids could also change their shape into cats, but the breeds were different, and claw marks did not match. She had been broken by one of her own *people*. It sickened him, how had no-one known? Why had no-one *stopped* it?
“The Dream will drive anyone insane.” Lyelleth said softly, her gaze now focussed on Orannis’ face. “Decending from it only made it worse.”
--
Preview Time!
==========================
The Legion: Silverwind and Lahle
==========================
The heat of Booty Bay could not be escaped, even in the shaded rooms of the Inn, and so clothes were usually shed as soon as a weary traveller stepped inside their lodgings for the night. Cold water sloshed into a tin bath provided a small amount of respite, but even after that, the fire Mage still burned. It wasn’t the sun that was bothering her. It was a distinct lack of energy to feed on. She’d come so close when she and Lahle…
Groaning, Silverwind flung a hand over glowing green eyes, refusing to even entertain the memory of the Priest, let alone their little “interlude” after escaping Tethis relatively unscathed. But her mind refused to obey, dancing images of amber eyes and heated, searing kisses behind her eyes until she cried out in frustration.
[I shouldn't have stopped, and yet I had to,] She told herself, lying back in the tub and draping her legs over the sides so she could dunk her head underwater, trying to clear it. Breaking back up to the surface, eyes closed, her hands wandered over her skin. [But, that power...] The Holy energy that thrummed through the Priest had been like a flare in her mind, and the soft press of her lips had only given her a taste of it, calling to the Mage like a siren.
[She's a Troll and your superior!] Her conscience shrieked, but her subconscious ignored the protest, hands slipping across silken skin to tease a nipple made pert by the cool water, the other sliding between pale thighs. imagination weaving the image of the other woman into her mind...
--
==================================
The Legion: Thundaar and Clesidran
==================================
Blond hair was swept out of the way as Thundaar's tongue slowly journeyed up his younger lover's spine, drawing a deep and impassioned groan in response, music to his long, pointed ears. Swallowing a chuckle, the dark-haired Paladin thrust gently, slowly, allowing his innocent partner to get used to the sensation of being stretched and filled so... completely. Lips pressed kisses across muscled shoulders as he murmured soothing words, urging his lover to relax into the sensations. His control was tested as the young Paladin beneath him bucked slightly, as if trying to urge him a little deeper, then tightened experimentally around him. This time he groaned, deep and appreciative as his grip on the blond's hips tightened.
"Cles..." He said softly, thrusting again, a little harder this time, "Easy now, or I'll hurt you..."
"Want you to..." Clesidran replied harshly, bucking his hips again, "No more softly-softly. *Fuck* me Thundaar," He demanded, arching his back and tugging one of Thundaar's hands from his hips and onto his cock, "Fuck me *now*."
As promised, two smutty previews at the end of this instalment.
--
Vol’Jin stalked angrily through the corridors of the living quarters of Thrall’s most valued advisors and champions, heading to his sister’s rooms, ire still slicing through him. The Night Elf bitch *should* have been his prize. His sister *should* have restrained herself. Thrall had no *reason* to be angry with him… The recriminations cut like a knife to his soul, as he rounded the corner to Shasta’s suite.
She was stood outside, leaning against the wall, her whole posture suggesting defeat as she looked up at the Tauren in front of her, who was speaking in low, hushed tones. The Shadow Priest turned away from his gaze as she finished, and he closed his eyes, bowing his head. The male Troll snarled, face twisting as he spat at the Tauren, “Leave.” He looked as if he would argue, but Shasta shook her head almost imperceptibly, and he stepped away, striding down the hall without a second glance at Vol’Jin.
“Inside, now; we are going to have a talk, you and I.”
--
Splithoof walked into Orannis’ suite without thinking, already mid-sentence when two things occurred to him: One, his leader was not in the receiving room; Two, there was a Night Elf stood in the centre of the room like a statue. A very *naked* Night Elf, her hair falling in a silver waterfall across her front, covering her breasts from view, and a well placed chair blocked any view from the waist down.
The Tauren blinked, repeatedly, before asking, “Where is Orannis?”
Silence.
“Did you hear me girl? Where is your Master? I know you understand!” Anger coloured the Shaman’s words, and he advanced. It was only then he noticed how vacant her gaze was, as well as…
“Splithoof!” Orannis’ yell broke the spell Lyelleth’s body had woven on the Tauren, and he turned. “Why are you here?” The Champion left his sleeping room and walked toward his Lieutenant. “What is so wrong to bring you charging in here?”
“My brother,” Splithoof sighed, forgetting the Rogue’s presence. “I… Need your help, my friend.”
Orannis’ expression softened. “Sit. Tell me.” He glanced at Lyelleth. They had unfinished business, but it would have to wait. “To my chamber, Night Elf, and we will… speak… later.”
The lilac-skinned woman didn’t even nod in acknowledgement, simply turned and headed into the room as instructed, and closed the door behind her. Orannis sat with a sigh, and looked at his Lieutenant. “Clenhoof has always been wise, and strong. The Legion gave me a home for many years before Thrall called me to his side. What could possibly be causing this much of a problem?”
“He is in love.” Splithoof spat out, as if the words themselves offended him, and hung his head in his hands, “With someone… unattainable.”
“Alliance?”
“No, *that* would be easily dealt with. My brother has taken his life in his hands Orannis, he is trying to court Shasta.”
“Vol’Jin’s *sister*?” Orannis roared, almost jumping out of his chair, “She is insane! The shadows laid claim to her a *long* time ago, my friend. Power has corrupted her and she is completely unstable.” He paused, “Not to mention Thrall is prepared to banish her after this morning’s… incident.”
“But Clen believes he can save her,” Split sighed, shaking his head as he looked up at his friend and Lord. “And part of me believes him. I’ve seen them together Orannis, he pulls her from the shadow’s embrace and for a moment, she is the young thing we remember.” Wistfulness had coloured the Tauren’s tone. “They were not born that far apart, and with Father being here for much of the time…” He sighed, deeply, and shook his head again. “I do not know what to do or say to him, and I fear it is only a matter of time before Vol’Jin realises. And you know his prejudices.”
“Aye,” The Orc agreed, sinking back into his seat, “He can play around with as many as he likes, but should a Troll love outside their race, well, they may as well throw themselves into the Nether.” A pause, “If he truly wishes to see if this can be done, he needs to get Shasta *out* of Orgrimmar and away from her brother. I may… suggest… to Thrall that after her attack, her loss of perspective so to speak, she needs to be conscripted for some time, to spend time on the lines, to learn again what it is we are trying to do in this world. The Legion would be a good place for her to learn, and I doubt Vol’Jin can hate me more than he already does, should word reach him that this was my idea.”
“Should I speak to Clen about this?”
“No, not yet,” Orannis looked at Splithoof thoughtfully, “In fact, speak nothing of it, let Thrall tell him. The more he thinks this is the Warcheif’s idea, the less anyone can speak ill of it. Shasta damaged that which is mine, the right of reprisal is there, but I think if the Chamber is led to believe I deferred to my Lord on her punishment, we may all avoid any nastiness.” [Except from Vol’Jin,] his thoughts added warily.
The Tauren rose to leave, “Thank you, my friend,” He said quietly. “I shall rest easier to know you are with me on this.”
“You are welcome. And Splithoof, next time, a little warning may be in order?” The Orc managed a grin as he stood. “Whilst you are returning, hunt down the Apothecary Williams, I wish to speak to him.”
“That walking corpse, are you sure?”
“Yes. I have a… favour I need to call in.”
--
Lyelleth was stood at the foot of the bed when he entered, still naked and unmoving. Orannis stayed in the doorway for a moment, almost unsure how to proceed. After ordering her to remove her clothing those many hours ago, the answering sight had made him so angry he had forced himself to leave her side, lest his temper be taken out on her. And it wasn’t the Night Elf that had angered him, it was the *damage*.
The Rogue’s body was a network of scars that, at first glance, appeared battle-won. It was only as the Shaman had gotten closer he had noticed the repeated patterns, saved to areas that would always be covered by armour. Her back, in particular, was horrific, two sets of deep, ill-healed raking claw marks from shoulder to hips, as if she had been pounced and held down. The inside of her left thigh was slashed and scarred in a criss-cross of the same strike, as if she had been held down and batted like a toy. There was a deep bite on her right shoulder, and he had wondered how she had ever held a sword again. But by far the worst was the single, fine blade line bisecting her stomach – if that mark had been earned in a fight, the Night Elf would have been killed. What made it far worse was the puckering and stretching of the flesh around it – the scar had been caused long before Lyelleth had stopped growing.
His suspicions had been that *someone* had abused her, the scars agreed with this, but he did not know enough of her history to guess at *who*. But the bite, and the rake marks he knew all too well, he carried similar imprints on his own body. They were caused by a Feral Druid, more specifically, a feline formed one. True, the Tauren Druids could also change their shape into cats, but the breeds were different, and claw marks did not match. She had been broken by one of her own *people*. It sickened him, how had no-one known? Why had no-one *stopped* it?
“The Dream will drive anyone insane.” Lyelleth said softly, her gaze now focussed on Orannis’ face. “Decending from it only made it worse.”
--
Preview Time!
==========================
The Legion: Silverwind and Lahle
==========================
The heat of Booty Bay could not be escaped, even in the shaded rooms of the Inn, and so clothes were usually shed as soon as a weary traveller stepped inside their lodgings for the night. Cold water sloshed into a tin bath provided a small amount of respite, but even after that, the fire Mage still burned. It wasn’t the sun that was bothering her. It was a distinct lack of energy to feed on. She’d come so close when she and Lahle…
Groaning, Silverwind flung a hand over glowing green eyes, refusing to even entertain the memory of the Priest, let alone their little “interlude” after escaping Tethis relatively unscathed. But her mind refused to obey, dancing images of amber eyes and heated, searing kisses behind her eyes until she cried out in frustration.
[I shouldn't have stopped, and yet I had to,] She told herself, lying back in the tub and draping her legs over the sides so she could dunk her head underwater, trying to clear it. Breaking back up to the surface, eyes closed, her hands wandered over her skin. [But, that power...] The Holy energy that thrummed through the Priest had been like a flare in her mind, and the soft press of her lips had only given her a taste of it, calling to the Mage like a siren.
[She's a Troll and your superior!] Her conscience shrieked, but her subconscious ignored the protest, hands slipping across silken skin to tease a nipple made pert by the cool water, the other sliding between pale thighs. imagination weaving the image of the other woman into her mind...
--
==================================
The Legion: Thundaar and Clesidran
==================================
Blond hair was swept out of the way as Thundaar's tongue slowly journeyed up his younger lover's spine, drawing a deep and impassioned groan in response, music to his long, pointed ears. Swallowing a chuckle, the dark-haired Paladin thrust gently, slowly, allowing his innocent partner to get used to the sensation of being stretched and filled so... completely. Lips pressed kisses across muscled shoulders as he murmured soothing words, urging his lover to relax into the sensations. His control was tested as the young Paladin beneath him bucked slightly, as if trying to urge him a little deeper, then tightened experimentally around him. This time he groaned, deep and appreciative as his grip on the blond's hips tightened.
"Cles..." He said softly, thrusting again, a little harder this time, "Easy now, or I'll hurt you..."
"Want you to..." Clesidran replied harshly, bucking his hips again, "No more softly-softly. *Fuck* me Thundaar," He demanded, arching his back and tugging one of Thundaar's hands from his hips and onto his cock, "Fuck me *now*."