Shadows Within

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Journal entry #1545

It's about time I list what I have learned of these four, seeing that I've been watching them before the missions. But where to begin? I suppose with Fronai. He seems to be the de facto leader of the group.

-Fronai Thamau
Obviously a warrior, and a skilled engineer as well. Thamau possesses a strong will, and can easily inspire a small group of soldiers as a leader, but seems unwilling or unable to command units of over thirty to thirty-five men. As for his past, I can certainly speculate that he was a victim of social ridicule; he has no tolerance for anyone who attempts to belittle others. Interestingly enough, he regards Kalderin with healthy respect, though I'm not sure if it's from seeing him in combat or the orc's own instincts... it could be some of both.

Fronai seems more than willing to lay his life down for the others, further proving his ability to lead by inspiration. He'll back down if it's tactical, but can keep morale up in seemingly hopeless situations, leading the group into charges without a second thought, earning the respect of his peers without really trying. Perhaps there is more to this than I realize... or I may be analyzing it too hard.

-Rajas Taris'thae
Ah, trolls. Engines of hatred and suspicion the world over. I must admit that, even the Darkspears have me on edge. They may be more civil than their forest cousins, but I have yet to personally meet one that would wish me anything but ill. Rajas is certainly no exception, his mage training doing nothing for his short temper. His natural hostility is dulled on Fronai, perhaps in a bit of mutual respect, but the rage not spent on the warrior is turned to the human instead. From what little I can tell, a portion of his rage comes from his sister- indirectly, of course, but he's obviously worried about her on some level, which causes him to despise Kalderin even more.

As far as his past is concerned, I have no current theories, or much of any information in that range. I suppose it will stay a mystery until he tells one of the others... or me, though that is hardly likely.

-Shyla Taris'thae
Rajas' younger sister, whom he protects with furious vigor. Young Taris'thae is far more open-minded than her brother, or most of her race for that matter, maintaining easy relations with most individuals she meets with her open and helpful demeanor. She is certainly on amicable terms with Fronai, and, to an extent, the forsaken Dagor, but seems to have a...

Taril chuckled, trying to find the right word. After a moment, he re-inked his quill, a light smile still on his pale-skinned face.

... healthy interest in the human. So far, Shyla has earned a definite amount of trust with the rogue, as shown in his willingness to divulge portions of his past to her.

As for her own past, I can once again only speculate, as she has shown no signs of telling hers to anyone else, save Kalderin. But, I suppose that will come at a later date.

-Kalderin Rhode
I remember meeting Kalderin and his friend Andromai in the aftermath of the Second War, the both of them barely fourteen winters old. They were capable entertainers, with Kalderin telling stories and Anrdromai performing acrobatic feats, and easily earned a second home in my father's favor. His outlook was so different then; always cheerful and bright, joking with his young rogue friend, never really worrying about... well, anything. The Third War changed that.

I remember seeing him, alongside Andromai and their priest freind, Salah, and soldiers of Ironforge sneaking people out of the corrupted ruins of Lordaeron after the Scouge had moved southward. I remember Androami telling me that Kalderin had been injured when a unit of undead attacked Dun Morogh, and I believe that was the cause of his current corruption. As for what happened afterwards, or where he went, I cannot say. I was one of the few fortunate enough to be rescued and lead to Ironforge, but I still wonder how many could have been saved.

A subtle twinge sparked its way down Sunshade's spine. Closing his eyes, he set the quill down and rose from his seat, moving to an open window. Dawn was not to come for a few more hours, but the priest cared little for that detail. Silently, he gripped the rail and prayed to the Light to stifle his hunger for another day, and give him strength.

-------------

A soft, subtle knock awoke the human from his half-sleep. "Yeah?" he asked, before checking himself, and realizing he had spoken in Common again. He pulled the sheet over his chest before switching his mindset to Orcish. "Who's there?"
"Jus' me, mon. Choo decent?" the shaman's voice asked.
"Well enough. Let me get the door."
Kalderin stood and moved to the wooden partition in a few strides, quickly unlatching the bolt and swinging the door open. Shyla stepped in swiftly as well, closing the door on reflex and looking at the boy's wound. The dress from last night was gone, replaced with her usual earthen-looking leather outfit.
"Any bettah?" she queried.
The rogue replied with a single nod. "I was about to change the bandages. What's on your mind?"

It was a lot easier to see the black veins in the human's skin now, and there were a few light scars on his back, streaks of almost bone-white amongst the human's pale skin and inky lines. Shyla was pleased to see the grey chain dangling around his neck, a silent breath of relief leaving her lungs when she noticed.
He untied the bandages, rolling them into a wad of spoiled silk and placing them on the beside table with the others from last night, and picked up the roll from nearby. The wound was still shined, the barest of scabs attempting to form and mend the flesh, but the dark arcane tendrils had already woven their way into the reddened skin, slowing his natural healing.
Shyla reached forward, healing energies cupped in her hand, but the boy stopped her abruptly.
"You already tried, remember?" he said, shaking his head.
Her face scrunched in thought for a moment. "Lemme see da necklace," she requested.

Shrugging, the human pulled the clasp open and handed it to the shaman, who quickly wrapped it around her two-fingered hand. The emerald glow seemed to strengthen, turning a deeper shade, and she pressed her palm to the tainted wound.
The rogue hissed and winced, and an audible sizzle came from the place where their skin touched, a few wisps of black smoke rising from the flesh. Instead of flinching away, however, Kalderin laid his hand on hers, pressing it firmly to the burning wound.
As Shyla focused more energy through her hand, she felt the skin move beneath her palm, regenerating itself with her magics, although much slower that it should. After a minute or two of solid concentration, she finally stopped, pulling her hand back a few inches and looking at the affected area.

At least a third of the wound was fully closed, she noted with a smile, and another portion seemed to have returned to being nothing more than a normal wound. There were several inches in the center that still had black branches within them, but the shaman resigned to leave them be; she had done all that was possible for the moment.
The Human wasted no time, already wrapping a section of bandages around his chest. "Thanks," he told her softly, tying the cloth back.
"No pro'lam, mon," she replied, reflexively reaching around his neck and securing the chain back on. The Trolless both saw and felt the man's body tense up, and when one of her fingers brushed his neck on accident, she almost would have sworn that he had goosebumps.

The human looked around, the barest hint of crimson on his face, and quickly snatched his shirt up, drew it over his head in a single motion, and began to gather up his leathers.
"Uhm... could you... I mean, would you mind," he stammered, showing a burst of modesty, "letting me.. get ready? You know, tell the others I won't be long."
Shyla giggled a bit, an action not usually associated with the feral-seeming race. "Sure 'ting, mon," she said, rising from the foot of the bed. "Five minutes?" the Trolless asked.
"Not even," he told her, a smirk painted on his lips.

True to his word, the Rogue was down in no time flat, cinching up a few straps as he walked down the stairs.
"Ready, Kalderin?" the orc asked as the young man reached back to his cowl. He gave Fronai a nod, then deftly pulled the two pieces together, obscuring his face in darkness.
Without pause, the warrior stood, inclining his head in a "let's go" manner to Rajas. The troll nodded, glancing towards the exit where his sister stood, waiting.
"Walk or ride?" the Human asked quietly.
"Walk," Fronai replied. "Why?"
The faint sound of hair brushing leather rustled behind him as Kalderin shook his head. "Just curious," he said.

Not counting the pre-noon heat, the trip to Orgrimmar was entirely uneventful. Passing through the gates, the human hesitated at the sight of Mannoroth's gigantic armor, but quickened his pace to catch the group, muttering to himself in Common. Hearing him babble in a different language, Shyla frowned lightly, but said nothing.
Entering the Valley of Strength, they still had to contend with numerous glares and half-spoken threats for having the rogue around, but the trolless noted that there were a few of the younger faces in the crowd who glanced at the young man with a hint of wonder.
"News travels fast," he whispered suddenly, forcing her to stifle a squeak of surprise, even though she still jumped a inch or so.
"Yah, mon," she managed to say while her heart slowed back down to its regular pace. "Choo a bit of an oddity 'round 'eah, choo know?"

Walking back into the half-dead building was starting to strike Kalderin as a frequent occurance within his current company as Fronai and Rajas quickly walked to a pair of worn chairs. Shyla relegated herself to a battered stool nearby, offering another to the human as he pulled away his facial coverings.
He nodded, his eyes forming into a silent word of thanks, and sat the moment Elarian deigned to walk into the room. A pair of salutes and an exasperated sigh later, it was all down to buisiness.
"So," she started bluntly, "I heard you gents took a little detour to Silverwing."
Kalderin spoke up, taking full responsibility for the situation. "A cabal of warlocks got the brilliant idea to summon an eredar."
"Oh, joy. How many were present?" the guildmistress queried.
"Only six, but they had a horde of demons backing them up," came the human's quick response.
The forsaken nodded. "I see. And the eredar?"
Kalderin gave her a mirthless smirk. "Let's just say it's a non-issue."

"Well, then," the undead warrior began with her strong voice, "let's hope those uncanny senses of yours can pick out more than just big nasties. There's been some unsettling activity out in Stonetalon, or so I've heard." She smiled at the human. "It's be the perfect chance to start cementing yourself a place in the Horde."
Kalderin's face scrunched in confusion at the same time as Fronai's. That certainly struck the orc as odd.
"Wait, what's out there that's worse than the Venture Comany's usual shenanigans?"
Elarian glared at nothing in particular. "The Burning Blade," was all she needed to tell them.
The other warrior choked back a snarl at the name and gave a resolute nod to his companions. "Then we've little time to waste."

The flight was swift, and looking below him, the human was silently thankful that Fronai knew the flight path; walking here would have been time-consuming and dangerous. As the wyvern descended, he adjusted the hood, which had blown errantly back in the strong winds, and steadied himself.
The beast landed easily, and the rogue slid down, nodding at the two trolls as his feet met earth again. Another rustling of wings signaled the orc's landing, who looked to the human even before he dismounted.
"Can you find them from here?" he asked quickly.
Kalderin, not expecting to be called on this soon, blanched. "Erm... I'm... not sure," he said with a sheepish undertone. "I'll have to get away from these people for a moment," he told the orc, motioning his hand to the outpost around him.
Fronai nodded. "Then do it."

Kalderin, Rajas, and Shyla moved to the road, but a voice stopped them before they had traveled too far.
"What are you doing here?" it asked, impatient and irate.
Shyla turned to see a female blood elf eying them wearily, her eyebrows twitching when her gaze caught the rogue.
"Our business is none of your concern," the human said, his tone flat and rough.
"Hmm. If you're here on business," she said openly, "then perhaps I can give you something to make it worth while."
The boy's stance gave a subtle shifted. Even as she loomed behind him, Shyla was hit with a wave of worry from the gesture. He stood like a man who was only listening to entertain, but listening nevertheless.
"Start talking," he stated.

A powerful hoof collided with her flank, throwing her balance awry, and one of the others took the opening, throwing his considerable weight on her upper body, toppling her with ease. His fellows quickly joined, leaping onto her cervine lower body, pinning her to the ground as their leader ripped away the foliage that covered her round breasts.
"You should have stayed in your grove, girl," the satyr snarled.
Struggling vainly, she lashed one of her lower hooves out at the beasts, but a muscular, clawed hand pushed it away, holding the ankle in an iron grip. The dryad's eyes shot wide open as a hot breath caressed the folds of flesh between her legs, now fully realizing the situation she was in.

"No!" she shouted, "Please, no!"
The demon ignored her cries, parting the fur around her womanhood easily. He wasted no time, latching his mouth to her nub and sucking none too gently, and sliding a clawed finger into her, massaging the roof of her tunnel steadily. The claw scratched roughly at her insides, but did not draw blood. Nothing, however, could stop the tears.
She opened her mouth in a gasping sob, only to have one of the satyrs shove the thick length of his cock past her lips. Surprised, she tried to pull back, but a powerful grip on the back of her head stopped her. In desperation, she moved to slam her jaws shut, but before she could, another clawed mitt was placed at her jugular.

"Do it and die," the corrupted night elf whispered into her ear. "Cooperate with us, little one," he said, pausing to lick her cheek, smiling dementedly at the salty taste of her tears, "and we may let you live. However..."
His grin grew wider as he leaned to her ear directly. "Satisfy us," he crooned, running his tongue along the lengthy, flexible cartilage, "and you will walk away unharmed."
The faun-woman swallowed back a frightened sob as the satyr's member left her mouth. "H... how will I know if I have satisfied you?" she asked in a voice weak with fear.
The arcana burned on her skin when he released the hand on her throat and trailed it down to her breast, cupping it in his hand with surprising gentleness. "You are a creature of the wild, little one," he hissed, squeezing it lightly and now earnestly suckling her ear, running the tip of his pointed tongue into her canal, sending involuntary shudders up her spine.
"Do what comes to you," he told her, the breath on her wet flesh making her whole body shake.

Obediently, she nodded, leaning her head forward and opening her mouth.

"You cannot imagine the hatred I possess for this wretched land," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "The ilk of Cenarius and the kal'dorei druids at the peak employ their pathetic powers to stifle the flow of magic, even so far south of their pathetic holdings... their beloved forests." The woman scoffed, spat to the side, and paused for a moment.
Shyla didn't like where this was going. She felt her brother already growing impatient simply by his stance and breathing, but the rogue was causing her skin to ripple with goosebumps. She could feel a slow-burning anger wafting from him as the sin'dorei spoke, and it only grew with every word.

"Would that I could return home and exult in the flow of magic, but my master will not allow me to return until my work is done," she explained irately.
"Get to the damn point," Kalderin growled, involuntarily flaring with arcana. The blood elf raised an eyebrow, and Shyla knew she had felt it as well.
"I want those fools dead," the woman told them, a glint of desire in her emerald eyes. "Without them tending to the grove, magic will once again flow freely in this region."
The rogue, silent as ever, turned to the two Trolls, his eye-lights narrowed in anger. Shyla pursed her lips together reproachfully, while Rajas simply shook his head once.
Folding his arms across his chest, he shifted back to the Elf. "No," he stated.

"What?" she asked, quiet but furious, now giving Kalderin a pointed glare.
"I said no, woman. Unless you ears are just for show," he added.
"And why not?!" she growled. "I would think that someone like you would understand!"
The human's arms unfolded, and he rose to his full height. It looked a little silly, seeing he was the shortest person there, but the burning energy made him more imposing than his form alone would be. Shyla took a reflexive step back from the boy. Oh mon, she thought. Now he be angry. Ah really tink ah don' wanna see 'dis.
"You mistake me for a corpse, woman," he hissed, "but you know nothing of me. I have not suffered through flame and death itself to turn around and spread it!"

The trolless cocked her head. The more she thought about it, it started to make sense; most anyone would mistake the boy for one of the forsaken, with his glowing eyes, reclusive nature, and aptness to cover all of his flesh from view. So, it only stood to reason that this blood elf thought the same thing.
The human's words made her chuckle. "You think I don't know what your Queen does with her spare time?" she giggled in Thallasan, the words rolling together smoothly, leaving suspicious looks on the two troll's faces.
But the boy's glare deepened. "I have no Queen," he growled in Orcish, pulling back the cowl to reveal his very living flesh.

Spikes of pleasure ran through the dryad's entire body each time the foul creature's tongue ran along the bundle of nerves, making her moan into the throbbing cock that filled her mouth. She ran her tongue along as much of the flesh as she could, occasionally forcing her throat open to suck the entire length as once, while her hands actively stroked the other two satyr's members.
"Good, good," the leader told her, stroking her hair with surprising gentleness, easily ignoring the pants of his brethren to either side. One of them was fondling each of her breasts with both hands, rolling the pale violet flesh around with feral urgency, teasing her dark nipples on their whims.
The demon between her legs moved again, and she felt something hard press against her thigh. Removing herself from the lead satyr's member, she turned to look at the other, who was lying down atop her rear right leg, adjusting his weight so as not to bother him. The creature ran its impressive length along her tawny lips, making her shudder again. A single average satyr, being nearly 9 feet tall, was equipped to match, and the dryad's slowly growing lust knew that this wouldn't be disappointing.

In fact, she had never considered much about sex before, and this sudden outburst of desire was a little confusing for her. A large part of her was still trying to fight back, but her carnal urges were slowly growing more and more powerful, overwhelming her own inner protests.
And when the thick manhood entered her, they were choked off all at once, as the head of his cock slid into her moist tunnel forcefully, pushing in as far as he could. The satyr's member broke through her barrier with astounding ease, but the shriek she issued was a mixture of pain and pleasure when she threw her head back, her mouth hanging open, saliva trailing down her chin.
The leader guided her gaping lips back down to his tool, and she wrapped around it eagerly, sucking with more force than before. Little did the dryad know what was really happening to her; the leading demon was an expert at wordplay, but also knew a handful of arcane tricks. He knew just the right combination of words and magic to use to bend any woman's ear, and knew how to disguise the arcana he worked as the semi-innocent flares on her skin.

One of his brothers grinned wryly at him. The woman wouldn't resist now, not unless they actively tried to harm her, and they all knew it. The leader drew his member from her mouth slowly, letting her run her tongue along the underside, and strode to her rear, watching and listening as her upper body slumped to the ground.
Within an instant, the other two satyrs swooped down on her, one filling her mouth and stifling her moans, the other sliding his cock between her heaving breasts, letting her press them around the shaft. The leader smirked, stroking his own erection to keep it moist, and laid down behind her, lifting her tawny poof of a tail with one hand. Freeing his other clawed mitt, the beast spread her cheeks apart, gently prying open her darkest tunnel.
She moaned into the thick member in her mouth louder than ever, still grunting as the satyr's balls slapped against her fur-covered mound, the head pressing deep into her sex and spreading copious amounts of fluid around her groin. When their leader opened her ass, though, she cooed and smiled, shaking her rear at the awaiting entry, squeezing her nipples roughly, trying to please the four creatures as best she could.

The tip pressed against her tight hole, warm and wet, and pushed in slowly. Though her instincts told her otherwise, the lust-crazed dryad loosened her muscles as best she could to accommodate the impressive girth, even as the leader parted her ass as much as he would dare.
The head pressed through, entering her bottom slowly but firmly, the faint burn of arcana giving her chills in ways she never though she would experience. A quarter of his length slid into her rump, and he stopped, pulling back out and applying a coat of arcane-crafted water to make it easier. Once again, the heated rod entered her, this time making steady progress within her.
He pushed deeper, slowly forcing every inch of pulsing flesh into her, one at a time. Finally, when he managed to rest his hips against her soft cheeks, he stayed for a moment, rocking within her with small motions. He heard her moan again, still muffled by his brother's cock, and felt his own erection stiffen. He drew out, nearly to the tip, then slid back in with ease, repeating the motions with a slowly rising pace.

Never before had she felt so full, nor so warm. Surrounded by powerful, fuzzy bodies, the dryad felt an odd sense of comfort even as they worked themselves on her entire body. The two at her top were being more forceful, thrusting and grunting loudly, more concerned about their own pleasure; not that she wasn't feeling good from it, though. The taste of the creature's pre-cum as it seeped from his engorged head only spurred her drive further, steeling her determination to taste the wonderful aftermath.
The pair minding her lower half, however, were more coordinated and easy-going. They built a steady rhythm, alternating their strokes within her so that their members passed each other mid-way through her insides, making sure that one of her holes was always filled. The back-and-forth movements send great, heavy shudders through every fiber in her body, making her suck and rub the other two even harder, shaking her lower half at the pair when she could to urge them forward.

Suddenly, with a choked cry, the satyr in her mouth twitched and shoved himself fully down her throat, gagging her for a moment. The dryad managed to recover just in time, as thick, heated gouts of semen began to spray into her awaiting mouth. Sucking eagerly, she swallowed all of it, running her tongue and lips along the spasming shaft to coax as much of the creamy liquid from his cock as she could. The beast yanked his penis from her mouth with a smug grin, already stroking it again.
But before she could even formulate another thought, the one between her tits exploded as well, splattering his cum across her face and chest. The cervine woman rubbed her breasts along the shaft quickly, licking her lips with eager anticipation as more of the stuff landed on her violet skin, reaching down after the first few squirts and pumping the flesh with her hand, aiming it at her awaiting face.

The blood elf stood there, caught well off-guard. She had obviously expected a dead, rotting face under the encompassing darkness of the hood, seeing the shining eyes and faint arcane aura as what were supposed to be tell-tale signs.
"I may have no place among my peers," he said, both his crystalline blue eyes and slow speech brimming with anger, "but I have suffered far too much at the hands of ones like you to forget what I am now."
Suddenly, his eyes twitched, and he turned his entire body to the north, searching for something. The two trolls followed his gaze, possibly expecting the reaction..
"Fronai!" the boy called out. "I've got something!"
The warrior strode up to them, nodding. "Let's go," he told them.
The rogue gave her one last, furious glance, then pulled the cowl up and broke into a quick stride into the distance with his companions.

"How many are there?" Fronai asked, his words as brisk as his step.
"I'm not sure," the human admitted, "it's like there's just... a blob of them, or something. I'll need a moment to define the shapes."
"Then do it," the orc ordered.
"Swobu," Kalderin replied, stopping in his tracks. The twin blue lights vanished for a moment as he closed his eyes in concentration, standing slack on the side of the earthen path.
After a few seconds, he gave a small growl of frustration, and reached to his neck. A tiny metallic noise chimed out, and he wrapped the spirit-infused necklace around his right hand, focusing his senses through it. It took a lot longer than he was used to, but there were definite results.

"Near the lake, I can feel a presence... several of them," he said slowly.
"Which one?" Shyla asked. "Mirkfa'lon?"
"Yeah, I think so," he replied. "There's... three or four, it seems, but they're rather faint."
Rajas scratched his chin with calm deliberation. "Choo tink is' a trap, boy?" he asked, only slightly irate.
"No, I don't think so," he told them, opening his eyes and replacing the chain under his cloak. "Still, we would do well to be cautious."
"Agreed," Fronai said, moving. "Let's see if we can get a better look."

The dryad's eyes went a bit wide as the remaining two satyrs redoubled their efforts, now moving in quick unison as they drilled into her ass and pussy. She clawed and scrabbled at the grass beneath her, her mouth open and tongue hanging out in animal lust.
Rough, clawed hands grasped her sweat and cum-slicked breasts, and the satyr who had occupied her mouth now switched positions with his comrade. The dryad gasped with joy, looking at the dark purple spear of flesh in front of her face.
"Hm, back already?" she asked in a husky tone, stroking the length eagerly before taking it into her mouth and running her tongue along as much of it as she could. The cervine woman could still taste the remnants of this one's release on his heated skin, and she lapped at it with greedy urgency.
The two at her lower half sped up, shaking her whole body with their thrusts, the calculated rhythm falling away to primal urges as they fucked her wildly. The feeling of her walls being stretched was driving her wild, her forelegs giving weak, spastic kicks at the ground, her body being rocked like a helpless ship adrift in the open seas. She clenched her nether-muscles tight, squeezing at the two members within her, pulling the seed from their scrotums a little further with every thrust, writhe, flail and moan.

And when they both buried themselves into her as deep as they could, she knew what was coming. Simultaneously, they came within her depths, her insides filling with a thick, burning heat, making her sweat profusely for no reason. She vaguely recognized the feeling as arcane power, but was too far gone to care, clenching herself and wriggling on their rods, savoring the dual sensations spreading through her body.
The feeling of so much sticky, pungent fluid filling her womb would had fallen just short of her own peak, but when combined with the second member burrowed into her ass, spreading his seed into her darkest tunnel, and both of them still humping her, trying to force as much as they could inside, it was too much. Her entire lower body shuddered, all of her muscles seizing up as she came, her own fluids leaking past the satyr's cock that was now being firmly held against her nether-lips.
The sudden surge of arcane and divine energies hit the other two as well, but instead of staying, they both got up and moved, their hooves crunching to her lower body. The leader and his comrade pulled themselves out of her holes with difficulty, but the empty sensations did not last long. As soon as they were away from her body, the other two replaced them, sliding their cocks into her slickened holes easily.

Shyla's eyes shot wide open, her astonished and angry face crossed by a light blush of embarrassment, even as Fronai lowered his telescope slowly before tossing it to the other troll.
"What'choo tink we should do, mon?" the Shaman asked as her brother passed the bronze tube to the rogue.
Fronai pulled out a rifle, a grim determination etched into his features.
"Kill them," the Human growled, slamming the telescope compact and tossing back toward the orc.
Without waiting, he sprinted across the dirt, calling the unnatural shadows to him. Shyla followed Fronai, but she could have sworn she had heard the sound of chains clanking together in the boy's wake.

They pumped into her with animal ferocity, leaving her free to moan loudly as she pressed her body into theirs as best as she could. Her breasts swayed constantly, and she groped them freely, pulling her dark nipples and rubbing the remnants of the satyrs' cum into her skin. A pair of shadows loomed over her blurred vision, and she immediately leaned her head around, eagerly running her tongue along the base of the smaller creature's penis and sucking hard on the head. The leader was running a bubble of arcane water along his length again, cleaning it with care, before kneeling down as well, feeling the dryad wrap a hand around it and pump quickly.
Her natural magics were running wild, heightening the satyrs' pleasure, making them more resilient than normal, and thusly able to orgasm twice in a short amount of time. She found this out when the beastly cock in her womanhood exploded, once again filling her with burning hot cream, coating her walls with ropes of liquid. In the pleasure of it, her upper body went almost totally limp, leaving the two others to move themselves over her face and stroke their throbbing erections at her gaping mouth.

The leader shot off next, and she closed her eyes just in time to keep the first jet of cum from disturbing her vision. She sat there, mouth wide open and tongue waiting, as the familiar feel of hot fluid splattered on her face and lips, darting her tongue out to catch any errant drops or sprays.
The beast in her loins had not moved, sitting in her and keeping the pool of warm cum from leaving her, his length still very hard. Then, without warning, another gout of semen erupted into her ass, heating her insides as the creature rammed wildly into her, burying his seed inside her. Another moan from the last remaining satyr, and he came as well, pointing the head of his cock at her slightly smiling lips, watching her gulp the creamy stuff down greedily.
She opened her left eye, moving to wipe the cum from her right with a weak, shuddering hand-

A surprised scream ripped through the air as one of the satyrs fell prone, a line of blood striking the dryad's stained face, but he wasn't watching her. The gleaming blade of his off-hand dagger jammed down as well, both knives piercing through the thick muscles at the base of the demon's neck. In a single motion, he pulled them both around the shoulders and down its back, ripping a visceral wedge free from the demon's spine.
"It's him! Run for it!" one of them shouted as they all leapt to their hooves.
Under the inky black veil, Kalderin grinned, launching his full weight at the nearest of the pack, jamming the daggers into its sides and dragging it to the ground.
There was no hesitation, only a blur of dark leather, as the boy slammed his fists into the satyr's spine one after another, hitting as fast and hard as he could. The beast managed to force itself off the ground, pushing the human away, and began a limping, hobbled run.
But a rifle retort sounded from the distance, the slug digging into the beast's waist, spewing blood onto the ground as Fronai dropped the gun and moved closed the distance, preparing to charge. The two fleeing satyrs were summarily trapped by Rajas' Frost Nova, with Shyla running closely behind them, her axe brimming with spiritual might.

The lead beast slumped to the ground, and the boy immediately knelt behind him, grabbing the hilts of his daggers and ripping the blades away with savage might. He lifted him up with nothing more than his boot, rolling the satyr onto its back, and pinned its shoulders to the ground with his weapons.
"Who sent you?" he demanded, twisting the daggers a bit.
"Gaagh! I- I don'k now!" the satyr cried out, still struggling to rise. "He said he was with the Venture Company!"
"Name, beast! I want a name!" he said, glowering at the creature.
It slumped to the ground, heaving a panicked breath. "I don't know, he didn't tell us! I swear!"
Kalderin heard one of the other demons fall. "Where was he?"
"Wi- ahh! -Windshear Craig!"
Glaring, the rogue pulled one dagger out, and punched it neatly through the demon's eye socket.

The last one was putting up a fight, but was slowly being whittled down. As Shyla raised her axe, however, an arrow burst through the satyr's chest, brimming with mana, and the creature fell over as a large boar crashed into its legs.
The Shaman looked up and saw a night elf with wild green hair knocking another arrow into his bow. She allowed herself a smile before returning her attention to the demon, confidant in her safety.
Another arrow sailed through the air, tearing through the satyr's side, and the woman swung at the wound. The steel blade ripped through flesh and muscle with ease, cleaving several inches into the demon's chest with a broad spray of blood. The satyr staggered for a moment, coughed, then dropped dead on the spot.

Ralian saw the creature fall and turned to the prone dryad, wincing at the sight of a noble creature so completely defiled. The leather-clad stranger from before was here, too, kneeling beside her, a hand hovering near her cervine body.
"What did they do to her?" the hunter asked as he pulled his mask down, astonished and angry.
For a moment, "Kali" didn't answer. Slow footsteps came up behind him, and the kal'dorei turned his head to see the other three soldiers, watching both himself and the dryad. The shaman, he noted, held an empty glass vial in her hand.
The stranger said something in Orcish, inclining his head slightly to look behind him. The other troll, a mage, snorted and shot an angry question back. The orc, however, interceded, and after a strained silence, the feral arcanist began to draw mana into his hands, and produced several bottles of crystal clear water that the stranger quickly took in his own hands.

"She's lucky," he said, wetting a piece of silk cloth and rubbing her upper body with it, cleaning the fluid from her skin. "It doesn't feel like she absorbed too much before we interrupted."
"Too much of what?" Ralian asked, reaching down to pet Alut.
"satyrs aren't born like you or I, hunter," he said, wringing the cloth out before continuing, "they don't impregnate anything. Instead, their semen is a powerful agent of arcane corruption, used to spread their taint."
"So they raped her," he stated.
The hood shook with his head. "It's not quite that simple. Notice how she's not badly injured?" he asked, pointing to the two bruises on her lower body. "If it were rape, she would have been clawed and beaten into submission. They coerced her into it."

The elf looked at the stranger with a skeptical face. "How?" he asked.
"Some of them can use magic to influence a person's emotions," he explained. "It's not impossible."
He finished cleaning her, and tossed the rag aside. The dryad was still breathing, but Ralian felt a very subtle change in her magic.
"Shyla, I don't think you can do anything about this one," he said over his shoulder. "I'll have to draw it out myself."
"Draw what out?" the hunter asked, barely seeing the shaman's head cock to the side.
"The corruption," he replied simply, laying both hands on her lithe stomach. "It's not too bad, but she'll still need help from the Keepers." He said something in Orcish again, and the three others moved a few steps away. Ralian moved back as well, wondering what he planned on doing-

But before he could ask, there was a great burst of arcane energy form the rogue, powerful enough to make the hunter's gut give a sickening lurch. He held his stomach, but kept watching, and was promptly struck dumb by the sight.
Night-black tendrils of some unknown substance erupted from the dryad's body, swirling in the air for a moment, then sped down into the stranger's chest, making loud squelching noises when they connected. The lines pulsated like veins, and he could only think that this was the physical form of fel corruption, as it sped from the faun-woman's body to the man's.
Even though he was kneeling, the rogue faltered for a moment, tipping forward, but straightened back up with an effort, drawing the black substance out more forcefully than before. When the last viscous line of dark liquid disappeared, the boy heaved and fell to the side, groaning in pain and gripping his chest.

The trolless, Shyla, ran over at once, helping him up and leaning him on her shoulder. He muttered something, and they walked over to a bare batch of sand, the rogue doing little more than dragging his boots in the grass and heaving out uneven breaths. When they got close, and the stranger immediately fell to his hands and knees, reaching up to his face and tugging a mask out of the way.
With a guttural moan, the boy began to vomit the black substance onto the ground, with a lot of blood mixed into it. The stuff splattered to the sand with a thick, wet sound and began to steam. It reminded the hunter of someone like dropping wax in the snow, and as it fell, it oozed along the dirt like an old, bad pudding.
Around then, the dryad's eyes fluttered open, and her upper half straightened. "What happe- by Elune's mercy, what's wrong with him?"
"It's a long story, mon," the trolless said, her features heavy with worry.

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