Holding On

“Well, that's interesting. I didn't even consider the idea that you could look so ashen.”

Zin blinked, his vision wavering for a moment as he turned his focus to Cassara from the small, slightly crumpled envelope he held between his fingers. It was a difficult task, as the letter seemed to pull at his thoughts, his attentions and will like a powerful tool, meant to suck the very life from him. Yes, he supposed, the arrival of the missive would certainly be draining the color from his skin. He had yet to open the envelope to see what lay inside, but he knew, could simply feel that the news was not good. It was difficult to forget the spidery writing of his cousin, and he knew that Atal wouldn't have bothered with sending him news unless the message was indeed dire.

Upon their return to the Tier, he and Cassara had spoken lightly, jokingly, perhaps even turning toward flighty over what they would do with the remainder of their afternoon. The sunlight was beginning to wane, so they decided that they would cook their fish and enjoy the meal on her front lawn, to watch the light set and the stars glitter into life. They were already working to find spare stones to form a small fire ring when the courier had approached them, handing off the letter and thanking Zin profusely for the twenty silver he had pressed into the Draenei's palm. At the time he had felt curious rather than worried. There was only one other person in the whole world who had known where he had gone, and he couldn't imagine what reason Go'run could have had to attempt contact with him. But after he examined the postal coding, the writing that indicated the letter was for him, he felt his stomach drop out and all the blood rush from his limbs to congeal somewhere between his heart and stomach.

Atal knew where he was. That meant that someone else must know, as well. And if others knew, then surely they knew who he was with.

“Zin? Are you alright?”

Cassara's voice had originally been light and teasing, but now it echoed a sharp worry, a sound that shattered his inner debate and fears. It pulled him back to reality, and he felt life start to flood back into his limbs. He was being foolish, fretting over a simple letter. No one aside from Yessha knew about Cassara, knew his purpose for being in Shattrath. The fact that Atal, or other parties, knew that he was there was not important. So what if people knew where he was? It wasn't against the law to venture into the city. He offered Cassara a slight smile.

“Ya mon. Just didn' expect any mail.”

At that she perked a little, sidling closer to peek over his shoulder at the letter, “Who is it from?”

He had to laugh at that, at her forced facade of calm curiosity. He knew her well enough by then to know that what she craved was mystery, could not contain her wonder at it. It was like staring at a wrapped gift on your birthday – all jangling nerves and pleased anticipation. He wasn't sure what was inside the envelope, or whether or not he should expose her to it. But he found he could not resist the delight in her eyes, and taking a gentle hold of her elbow, he guided her down to sit on the front step of her home with him.

“From mah cousin, Atal. He be down in da Hinterlands. Can't imagine why he'd write me, though.”

As he sat, Cassara sidled up close to him, wrapping her arms around her bent knees, and leaned into him, their shoulders pressing together, “Do you not often keep in contact with your family?”

“Sure, when it's important. Otherwise, we jus' bump inta each other. We be... not exactly close, mon, but our paths always cross.”

She hummed in response, watching as he turned the envelope over in his hands. The weight was barely registering, and though her closeness was a constant buzz at the back of his brain, even her body couldn't completely distract him from the paper in front of him. She remained quiet, patient, hardly squirming at all as he drew out the inevitable. He had to admit, watching her shift in her eagerness made it seem almost fun.

Finally, he had to face the music, and her tore open the top flap of the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper, dirty and smudged with wide swirls of fingertips. He could still smell the faint odor of alcohol.

“Not much for handwriting, is he?”

The observation made Zin snicker, and he settled in with her, and read through the letter.

Zin,

I know this letter is out of the blue, but I figured you deserved fair warning. I ran into Jazlok and Noth today, and the grumpy bitch let it slip that you were in Shattrath. How she found out, I don't know, and I really don't want to know, but Jaz got it into her head that you needed some company. I don't know how long it will take for this letter to get to you, but I figure with the travel routes being mucked up lately, you'll get at least a day's head start on her.

Best of luck to you, cousin.

Atal

ps. Get any good tail lately? My last was fucking fantastic.


Zin coughed and quickly folded the letter closed, hoping against hope that Cassara hadn't read that last little tidbit. He glanced at her, and felt the blood rushing to his face when he saw the delighted smirk on her face. Apparently, despite Atal's wishes, he had no luck at all.

But his embarrassment was neither here nor there. He had a serious problem on his hands; according to the date the letter was postmarked, Atal had sent it over a week ago. He knew that the trade routes were sketchy at best recently, and to a normal person the travel from the Hinterlands would take quite a while. But Jazlok was no normal person. He shivered internally, and tucked the letter back into its envelope. With a sigh, he looked down at Cassara fully, and offered her a sad smile.

“Well, mon, I had best be goin'.”

She blinked, obviously surprised by his statement, “Going? Why?”

For a moment, Zin had to wonder why Cassara was not already in a panic. But, then, he remembered, that Cassara was not of his clan, not of his faction, not of his world. The reminder burned at him, reminded him of the wide gap standing between them, and set his decision a little deeper in. Of course she was confused – she had gone through the years of her life, blessed to never have been witness to Jazlok and all of her... eccentricities. Well, he certainly didn't want to educate her, especially first hand.

“I jus... it's best dis way, mon.” he stood, tucking the envelope into his vest, turning to go into the house to retrieve his belongings.

Cassara stood and followed behind him, “Is this Jazlok dangerous? Are you being hunted? Zin, please -” she caught hold of his wrist, figuratively freezing him in place, “Please... I don't understand.”

“Ya, mon. Ya don' understand. An' I hope ya neva do.”

He withdrew with great effort – not because her grip was restrictive, but because he didn't seem to have the will. But as was becoming habit for her, she sensed his discomfort and released him, watching as he wandered through her home, retrieving his possessions. They were few, but his comfort there had allowed him to spread them all over. She watched, helpless, as the bits and pieces of Zin disappeared from their resting place, and she realized how very much it seemed he had belonged there. It was with this knowledge that she found the courage to stand and step forward.

“Where are you going to go?”

Zin paused, his hand hovering over the open mouth of his traveling pack, glancing up at her from his kneeling position on the floor, “Dunno mon. Somewhere she least expectin' me.”

With a haughty roll of her eyes and a breathy huff, she braced her hands on her hips, “Well, that just wont do. How am I to contact you? To send you the next part of the translation of Lilla's diary? I am almost finished with it. That was the whole reason for you to come here in the first place, isn't it? Would you abandon it now?”

Zin tilted a look toward the small table, where beneath the piles of papers he could see the spine of the blue book. It seemed to shine like a beacon, taunting him with the practicality of her words. He sneered, growled at himself, and shoved the pair of linen trousers he had been holding into his pack, “I let ya know as soon as I be somewhere safe. I know how ta get a hold a you.”

Cassara nearly panicked then, knowing that Zin was determined and probably had an answer to any argument she could come up with. Thinking fast, she snorted dramatically, and stepped around his kneeling form toward her dressing table where she retrieved two sets of traveling clothes. Still huffing and silent, she made her way to the closet and took down her cloak, tossing it over the back of the sofa. She then knelt to reach beneath her hammock, and pulled her worn, beaten pack from the dusty corner.

As she moved, Zin watched her progress. He was tempted to ask what she was doing, but it was rather obvious, and the prospect left him dumbstruck.

Struck, but not numb, “You can stop whatchoo doin, Mage. Ya not comin' wit' me.”

Still full of steam, Cassara shoved a few potions into the bottom of her pack, “Says you.”

“Ya damn right, says me. Where I be goin' is too dangerous. What's comin' afta me be worse.”

“Does it look like I care? You're leaving and I'm coming with. End of story.”

Snarling, Zin stood and took hold of her arm. She made a soft sort of squeak, shrinking away from the violence in his eyes. Her expression caused his grip to loosen, but not enough to let go as he leaned down, nearly nose to nose with her, “Yer bein' stupid, girly. Stupid and stubborn. Listen ta' me when I tell ya dat dis be way ova ya head.”

She took a deep breath and straitened her spine, meeting him glare for glare, “You seem to be confusing me with a child still wet behind the ears. I have no doubt in my ability to remain alive, and you should have faith in me to survive. I may be no warrior, but I can certainly hold my own. Now you will let go of me and allow me to finish packing. We are wasting time.”

He wasn't quite sure what it was about her that made him bow. She was certainly no match for him physically, and she made a near adorable picture as she stood straight as a rod, her spine stiff and her eyes sharp. It was like looking at a rabbit attempting to intimidate a tiger. Regardless, he found himself letting go, stepping away, and turning toward his own half-full pack. The moment was gone, and they moved swift and silent. Before long, Zin was standing outside on her lawn, watching as she locked her door and left a quickly scrawled note tacked to the wood. When he asked, she explained that it was for whoever decided to drop by to see why she had disappeared so abruptly, telling them not to worry, and that she would be in touch.

They made their way through the Tier, going down the giant elevator and out the front gates of Shattrath. They both agreed that their pursuer would most likely make her way to the city through the Flight Paths, and though it was slow going, they would have to escape on foot. Together, once free of the lights of the city, they broke into a paced run, ducking off the path and through the trees. Through the foliage they could see each other, ducking branches and leaping over upturned stones. Like beasts of the wild they moved, fluid and constant, as though they had run this path hundreds of years before.

As the sun was setting over Terokkar, they disappeared into the wilderness.

- - - - - - - - - -


“This is completely unfair.”

Zin chuckled, watching as Cassara grumbled and moaned, flipping her blanket over her head and rolling onto her side, her back to him. There were bits of grass and fallen leaves stuck to her bedroll, and she curled up into a tiny ball to fight off the early morning chill. Again, he poked her legs with his foot.

“C'mon, mon. Time ta get up.”

She whined, a low, sharply pitched sound, and curled up a little tighter, “Sunrise is an ungodly hour of the day, and should really go fuck itself.”

He laughed again, and crouched down beside her, giving her shoulder a little shake, “Ya, mon, it should, but der ain't nuthin we can do about dat. Now get up. Yer breakfast be getting cold.”

She whined some more, but managed to roll onto her back and push the blankets away from her face. Her hair was tangled, a mussed net in front of her eyes, and still grumbling, she pushed the knotted strands away, “I don't recall you getting up this early back in Shattrath. In fact, I seem to recall you protesting rather loudly when I had the audacity to wake you before ten.”

Zin was still grinning as he crouched before the meager fire, shoveling warmed frybread and blackened vegetables together in a small wooden bowel, “Yeah, well, I was on vacation den, mon. Now it's back ta business.”

“Business is bullshit. I have half a mind to demand you be arrested for unfair treatment and slave labor.” she muttered, taking her breakfast with a heavy slump of her shoulders. Despite her protests and complaining, she was very grateful for the hot food. They had been traveling almost nonstop since they exited the Portal, heading southeast outside of The Blasted Lands. It was not necessary for Zin to explain that they were going toward Booty Bay – There was only one road that she knew of that led there, and that required travel through Duskwood. She had not yet broached the subject of their ultimate destination, and truth be told, she was somewhat wary of reaching the Goblin Port... The town was neutral, true enough, but it was far from peaceful. There were constant skirmishes between the factions, often times more than the Bruisers could control. There was a terrible fear inside of her that because of their need of secrecy, that Zin would insist on them splitting up once they reached the port. And once that happened, she feared he would lose her completely, and leave her behind.

She swallowed the first few bites of her meal with a dry mouth and her throat tight. That idea scared her horribly. But silently within herself she held tight to her secret, her ace in the hole, and hoped that Zin would not be foolish enough to try and disappear into a crowd. Her eyes slid sidelong to her pack where, buried deep at the bottom, Lilla's diary lay, wrapped in a treated leather skin to keep it safe from the elements. She truly hated to resort to trickery and manipulation, but in this instance, she may have no choice in the matter.

And much to her dismay, their traveling had been, at the least, perfectly professional. Certainly, there were moments where they were relaxed with one another, as they were over breakfast at that time, but aside from friendly banter, Zin's demeanor had seemed to change toward her. She wasn't sure if she had done something to upset him, but her worries and paranoid mind lead her down saddened paths. Perhaps he had regretted their brief embrace in Terokkar? Perhaps he thought her as something less than savory for... she nearly shuddered at the implications of her person, but if she were being completely honest with herself, she knew she had practically thrown herself at the Troll. Upon retrospect, she had behaved no better than a wanton prostitute, exposing herself to him, touching where she was uninvited. Certainly, her actions had led to a sweet, if not shy kiss from him, and though she still questioned her desire for such, she found herself unable to regret the outcome. The means were not at all anything she had ever attempted before and caused her some degree of shame and embarrassment, but the result was more than satisfactory.

Still, upon thinking and considering, she decided to try and sidle closer to him on occasion. She would touch him briefly, tried to show signs that she would indeed be comfortable with a little unrestrained affection, only to watch him slide back and away, avoid her contact at all costs. If she chose to be completely honest with herself, she could admit that his action and obvious disinterest was hurtful.

Sigh sighed, and took another bite of her vegetables. It would not do to dwell on what was quickly delving into foolish fantasy. Maybe it was a once in a million experience they had shared, and she knew that if that were the case, she would have to content herself with her memory alone.

Soon, Zin had their camp packed, meager though it was, and together they headed back toward the road. They had both agreed that it was unsafe to camp near the road in Duskwood, as Alliance patrols were frequent. Though they both knew sleeping in the woods was no safer, it seemed a logical thing to do. At least there were no worries of arrests and executions for treason if they were forced to face some of the horrors within the trees.

Cassara yawned against her hand, her pace slowing marginally as they made their way down the path. They were nearing the branch off that would lead them toward Stranglethorn, and would be deep within the jungle by midday, but regardless, she thought it unjust to force march so early in the day. Though it was impossible for her to tell the time while stuck beneath the darkness of the trees, she knew for certain it couldn't have been past sunrise by that point.

She supposed her exhaustion and the fact that she had not seen the sun for at least two days was reason enough for her slow reaction. Before she knew what was happening, Zin had hissed a warning at her, and had ducked back into the woods. She stood dumbly in the road, and turned around to face a bend in the path that they had just walked down, only to see a flurry of white and black fur, black claws, and a wide, grinning mouth full of long, pointed teeth.

She yelped, jumping back and dropping her pack, her hands reaching up in a defensive position to prepare a Frost Nova spell, when familiar, soft words reached her ears.

“Hold, Mage!”

Cassara blinked, watching as the rider of the large Saber pulled back on the reigns, effectively halting the great cat in his tracks. Sitting astride the saddle was a Night Elf, her skin flushed from the hard ride, her long, green hair disheveled and loose around her shoulders. Instinctively, Cassara took in as much of the woman as she could, assessing the threat level before choosing to speak an answer or lower her hands. The woman was tall as most Elves were, lithe and nicely shaped for combat. She wore molded leathers, and chose to carry an impressive looking rifle strapped across her back rather than use the carrying holster sewn into her mount's saddle straps; for quicker defense and attack, Cassara mused. Regardless of the intimidation factor in her weaponry, the Elf seemed to show no signs of concern for her, aside from the fact that the two women had startled each other enough to silence and stillness. Coughing slightly, showing her embarrassment at her reaction, Cassara lowered her hands and straightened her posture, clasping her hands together to offer a slight bow.

“My apologies, Lady Hunter. You startled me.”

The Night Elf visibly relaxed, her spine curling in a slight slouch, and her hand reached out to stroke and pat the neck of her Saber, easing the beast's tension with her own, “No harm done. I suppose I could say the same for you; It's not often you see a lone traveler on these paths anymore. Did you perhaps get separated from your companions?”

Wearily, Cassara cast her glance toward the trees where Zin had disappeared. There was no movement, no sound, but she could feel his eyes on her, and it had her back straightening a little further.

“Oh... Um, something like that, I suppose. Isn't that always the way? Leave the Mage behind, and...”

Her words stopped abruptly when everything around her suddenly went into motion. Before she could take a breath she watched as the Night Elf's mount growled and twisted, shaking his rider and the suddenly visible stowaway nearly off of his back. The Elf yelped, her hand automatically reaching for the sword on her hip, but Zin's thick fingers gripped her wrist before she could draw it, and with his other had the curved blade of his dagger pressing against her throat. Cassara sputtered, at a complete loss and sunken in her shock.

Zin growled low, his legs gripping the haunches of the Elf's mount to keep from falling, his fingers digging into her arm hard enough to bruise. He could feel her trembling in his hold, and with a hissed whisper, he breathed against her ear.

“Call off ya creature.”

The Elf swallowed hard, casting a begging glance toward Cassara for aid. The Mage herself still stood in the road, not understanding what was happening. Her own eyes darted toward Zin, questioning him silently for his reaction. He sniffed in disdain, and jerked his chin out down the road. Cassara turned to look over her shoulder, finding a giant Turtle crouched a mere three feet behind her. It was scrunched down on it's legs, as though coiling for a jump, it's sagging, red rimmed eyes trained on her with deadly precision.

Aghast, she could hardly speak, but when she turned back, it wasn't toward the Elf, all pretenses dropped and forgotten.

“She was going to ambush me?”

Zin growled again, the edge of his blade pressing further into the Elf's throat, “Looks dat way. And ta tink, we be doin' nuttin' but walkin' down da road,” his eyes locked onto hers, hard and full of determination, “Now ya see what I be talkin' about, Mage? Ya shoulda stayed at da Tier.”

Fury, white and hot burst inside of Cassara's chest, and she barely restrained herself from casting a blast of fire right at the both of them, “This instance hardly counts toward your argument! She is a member of the Alliance, we are on the same side, and-”

“Ya, mon. Ya be on da same team. Now kill yo temper and tink about what dat means,” he renewed his grip on the Elf's arm, reminding the woman of her position, “Tell her ta call off da beast.”

Cassara sighed, and keeping a close watch on the still snarling Turtle, paced to the side of the road where she could take the entire scene in. Her arms crossed, and she huffed, “He wants you to calm your Turtle.”

The Elf's brows drew together in confusion, her eyes darting from Cassara to the hand that held tight to her arm, “You can speak to him? You speak Zandali?”

Cassara nodded, her posture remaining straight, belaying her agitation.

The Elf, however, seemed to grow excited, the look on her face turning slightly manic, “Then... then do you know many Trolls? Did you help him learn Common? You know Atal?”

Cassara watched, her anger forgotten in fascination when Zin sputtered, his own eyes widening to full roundness at the familiar name pass through the Elf's lips. He opened his own mouth to question, but the Mage beat him to the punch, “I know him vicariously, yes. The Rogue at your back knows him well.”

The Elf started to squirm, and Zin was too shocked to keep her immobile. She twisted her spine, turning to look at him, and Cassara nearly laughed at the expression of pure delight on her face, “Yes, I can see it! There is a resemblance there...” she twisted back around, her focus back on Cassara, “They are family? Did you see him recently?” the happy look on her face dropped away suddenly, and she gripped the pommel of the saddle, “Did he send you?”

Cassara uncrossed her arms, chancing a look at Zin before continuing, “I apologize, Lady Hunter, but I have no answers for you. As I've said, Zin knows this Atal, but I myself have never met him. Not once in my life have I taught the Common language to members of the Horde.”

The Elf drooped, and she sighed. Zin grumbled behind her back, catching both women's attention, “Ya be done chattin' up the Hunter, Mage? Ya mind tellin' me what's goin' on?”

She laughed a bit, and quickly explained to him the situation and circumstances. Once she was finished, he snorted and rolled his eyes, hopping off of the Saber's back, sheathing his dagger as he made his way back toward the treeline where he had abandoned his pack. He shouldered it, his bad mood seeming to roll off of him in waves before turning toward the two curious women. He spoke, his words hardly more than a snarl.

The Mage glared at him, her arms crossing over her chest once again, but she stalked toward her own pack, her feet stomping the path as though she were a child in a fit.

Silently, Zin started back down the road, and Cassara hurried to catch up with him when the Elf's words halted her once again, “May I ask?... Where are you heading, and why with a Troll?”

Cassara turned to her, glancing over her shoulder, one brow raised, “Why were you attempting to ambush me?”

The Elf did not offer an embarrassed concession, as Cassara had immediately thought she would. Instead, the lithe woman slid from the back of her mount, taking up the bridles and walking the great beast down the pathway. Her turtle joined them, flanking her other side, and nuzzling it's giant head against his mistresses' hip. When they stopped, it was a few feet before the Mage, and Cassara had turned back fully to face them.

She noticed, surprised, that there was an expression of sadness to the Elf's features, one she had not expected to find.

“There are all manner of deceptions in this life. In mine there are some extraordinarily grand; others insignificantly small. Across the span of years I have made so many enemies, Madam; one cannot fault me for simply being cautious. And from the reaction of your companion, I'd say my actions were not entirely paranoid,” she took a breath, her eyes casting down for a moment before continuing, “There was... an issue. One that has festered for some time now, and one that I can no longer ignore. There are so many secrets, Mage... so many things that I must face now, and all of them threaten to destroy that which I have sought for so, so long.” Her eyes moved up again, locking onto Cassara's face with a sad determination, “Advice, though pretty and well meaning is often given without provocation or desire to receive it, but I find myself unable to resist or ignore the inclination to do so now. Will you listen?”

For a moment, Cassara was completely silent, struck so by the pain she heard laced within the Elf's words. She wanted to ask what it was that had caused such agony for her, a creature of such beauty and strength and obvious will. Surely none like her would have to suffer a day in their lives? But she stayed her tongue, kept her questions silent in favor of this woman's request. She nodded her head, letting her know her words and advice were currently welcome.

The Elf nodded in return, and took another step closer, as though what she were to say was some strange secret, “Whatever it is you are telling him, whatever guise you are putting on, it is best to stop it now. If you do not, he will not understand later, and then you will be trapped in the same position I currently am.”

Cassara leaned away, studying the Elf's face for answers, but found only that sad, half-smile. The women watched each other in the quiet for a time, no words necessary, and soon, the Mage felt frustrated, defeated tears start to well up inside of her.

Instead of giving them free reign and allowing them to fall, she took hold of the Elf's wrist, and turned abruptly on her heel, stalking down the road. Forcing her stubborn will to the forefront of her mind, she cupped her hand to her mouth and called out down the road.

“Zin! Wait up a moment!”

He had not gone far, she could see. In fact, she caught site of him lingering in the road, rocking on his heels and pacing and back and forth. He had stopped; he had waited for her, and the image warmed her heart a fraction. When he turned to see her dragging the Elf down the road, however, his sour expression turned much darker.

The explanations were long, and there was an argument, but ultimately, Zin found himself watching the road with the two women as they moved down the path together.

- - - - - - - - - -


That night, Cassara watched her companions through hooded eyes, feigning sleep as the meager campfire crackled between them. The Elf, Eruanna as she had informed them, was curled up into a comfortable ball against the side of her mount. The tiger was snoring softly, and subtle purr coming from it's chest as he curled up close to his his Mistress. The Turtle had been left to go hunting for itself, and they had not seen hide nor hair of it since they had stopped to make camp. Zin had taken to, of all things, pouting – he was the furthest away from the group, though still visible in the small ring of firelight, his back propped against a tree, his head bowed over a small piece of wood that he had taken to swiping the blade of his dagger over. He wasn't exactly carving anything it out of it; more so he was simply destroying it, strip by strip. Cassara could see, even through the crack in her eye lids, the agitation and tension in his shoulders, the sharp anger boiling behind his eyes. He had not wanted her to come along with him, and now she had pushed another into their midst against his wishes.

Yes, he certainly had the right to be angry with her.

She sighed, and pushed herself up to sit. Immediately, Zin ceased his whittling to cast her a curious, if no less agitated glance, and she felt her shame push up into her face, keeping her eyes trained to her lap. The soft snores from the Elf and her mount gave her a bit of courage, a certainty that the coming confrontation would be a private one. With a deep breath, she stood, snagging her pack and making her way toward the Troll at the other side of the camp. There she knelt in front of him, clutching the leather bag tightly to her chest.

“Zin...” she whispered, her fingers flexing in an effort to remain in control of her thoughts, “I must.. apologize, I think. I have done you a great disservice, and for that, I am sorry.”

Zin watched her, his head tilting slightly to the side, “Whatchoo goin' on about?”

She took another deep breath, and forced herself forward, “You had asked me not to come with you, a simple request that should have been just as easy to answer. I have.. brought you trouble, something I had never wished to do. Added to it, I have pulled another into your company, one you obviously have a distaste for, though I cannot claim to know why. Maybe it's because of her own actions, or maybe it's due to something much deeper, something I have no knowledge of. Either way, you did not want her here, and again, I pressed my insistence on you. You have bent for me, so many times, and I have done nothing to repay your concessions and kindness. I would apologize for that.”

His confusion was obvious, displayed through a curious silence, his heavy brow turning up, wrinkling between his eyes. Despite his unspoken questions, his need for answers, Cassara could not allow herself to stop, to curl up in the calm wake of her truths revealed; if she ceased now, she knew she would never have the courage to divulge the rest. “Further, there is the matter of my... behavior, before we left Shattrath. I just wanted you to know that I enjoyed our time together, Zin, and I never meant to sully such an interaction with my wanton displays. I thought perhaps it would be funny, if I were to try and distract you with my body... It was shameful of me, and I cannot begin to apologize. You may say that it lead to a pleasurable end for both of us, but your... reactions to me since we left the city tell me now that my advances were unwanted; so, I apologize for my frankness. I will restrain myself properly from here on out, and-”

Her words were cut off, rather rudely, as Zin pressed the palm of his hand over her mouth. His hand was large enough to cover her from nose to chin, and she sputtered against it, nearly falling back from the suddenness of the gesture. When she went to move her head around it, Zin only moved with her, and she noticed the tired, but pleased laughter in his eyes.

“Ya be assumin' much here, girly. How ya know what I be tinkin' without even askin' me?” he dropped his hand away, letting it rest against the curve of her throat and shoulder, feeling the skin warm beneath his palm. Cassara watched as his brows drew together then, as though he were fighting an internal battle with himself, “Ya don't know what I be feelin' right now; ya don't even botha ta wonder out loud. I don't got da experience of others, so I don't know how ta act around ya, or how ta fix da tings inside mah head. Ya be Human, and dat's reason enough ta stop what ya be tryin' ta do ta me.”

Inside, Cassara could feel little pieces of herself breaking off and away, small and insignificant, but seemingly endless in their numbers. Until that moment, she had not known how much she had grown to care for this Troll, did not know how very attached to him she had become. She found herself drawing away, pulling from his touch with a wounded heart. But he refused to release her, the pads of his fingers pressing into the muscles of her shoulder and neck, gentle, but firm. He shook his head, chuckling dryly.

“Ya be doin' it again, Cassara. Ya don't know, but ya tink ya do. How about ya make dat pretty leetle brain shut up fa once?”

She did not know what to say, what words to use as a retort, but she soon found it was unnecessary. Before she knew what was happening, Zin had pulled her forward, pressing their mouths together in a heated, aggressive union. Instantly she felt herself melting, and with a soft moan, she surrendered beneath him.

For long, so, so long, he thought, he had wanted to do this again, to feel her softness, the way he knew she would yield. For a woman so strong, so determined and stubborn and solid, she was unbelievably malleable under his hands. The thought that he was the cause of it thrilled him.

In the days that they had been traveling, he had given himself time to think and consider. Her companionship should have been an irritant, a weight chained around his ankles, but Cassara had proven her worth as both a fighting partner and a friend time and again. She did not slow him in their journey, and her intelligence and knowledge of the Territories was vast. It kept them hidden from Alliance patrols, had aided them when cutting a path through the trees and wilder lands. Her spells had kept them well fed and warm, and her soft voice in the night a comfort he could no longer ignore. He may have had the luxury of ignoring and outright denying an attraction to a Human while still within the neutral city, but out there in the wilderness, facing her every day with nothing to distract him had forced his hand, in a way. She was there, willingly, almost gladly, and he could no longer lie to himself, or create justifications.

He knew he did not love her. He, like his other family members, knew and understood what love was. They had been lucky enough in their youth to be born to families who understood the necessity of a hard hand but gentle arms. His own parents were so wrapped in each other it still amazed him at their continued devotion to one another. Yes, he knew what it was to love, and though he knew he felt no such emotion toward the Mage, he thought that, perhaps, he certainly could. If she had been another Troll, or even a member of his own faction, he knew there would have been no other reservations to restrain him to that point. But now, as she began to crawl into his lap, her arms winding around his shoulders, he decided that perhaps it did not have to matter.

She was soft, and kind, with enough backbone to stand up anything, foolhardy though the action could be. For that alone, for her bravery and simple way of life, he knew he could give her what she wanted. But there, pressed against the gnarled roots and trunk of a Duskwood tree, a slumbering Night Elf not more than a ten-foot space away from them, was certainly not the time for such things. So he contented himself, banking his inexplicable lusts for her body, and drew her kisses away from his own. There they sat, she straddled across his thighs, his hand pushing her freed hair behind one delicate, curved ear.

“Ya understand me now, girly? I don't hate ya, I ain't angry wit' ya. An' I don't regret what we did at Terokkar. I jus....” he huffed, heavily, tweaking her ear playfully, “Ya confuse da Hell outta me. I shouldn't like ya, let alone want ya.”

Cassara rubbed her ear lobe indignantly, giving him a petulant look, “Well, if it helps, I certainly don't like you.”

He laughed, and pulled her a little closer, their bellies pressing together, his face buried in her hair, “Ya only sayin' dat cuz I trumped ya. All dat steam built up in yo' head, only ta find it didn't mean a ting.”

He was still chuckling, until he realized that Cassara was pulling away from him, stiffening beneath his hands and touch. It confused him, making him wonder if he had perhaps pegged things wrong, that there was something more she had been assuming of him. Worried, now, he drew her away, far enough he could look into her face, but not out of the circle of his arms, “What's tha matter, girly?”

“Zin, there is... something else I had wanted to discuss with you. Something that could.. challenge this...” she splayed her hands, palms facing up, her fingers spread wide, “Whatever this is, going on right now...”

He was confused, and he knew he was showing it. The Mage sighed again, and reached over to where she had dropped her pack. Silently, she opened the draw strings and dug through its contents. It wasn't until Zin spied the blue leather, did he realize what she had been talking about.

“Da translation? Ya finished?”

She swallowed, her eyes downcast, focusing on the book and the thick parchment that lay folded inside, “Some, yes. Enough to keep you satisfied for a little while, I'm sure. I was... afraid to tell you about it. I thought perhaps you would try to leave me behind in Booty Bay, and I would have to...”

He growled, low and menacing, and the sound made her shiver, “Ya thought ta blackmail me?”

Immediately, she drew away from him, rolling from his lap, drawing far enough away that he could not touch her, “I did not mean to blackmail you, no... I was only thinking about a course of action that would guarantee my passage with you. If you tried to leave me behind, I could... I would have...” she stopped, unable to continue with the anger and shame choking her lungs. Instead, she dropped the book on the ground, and stood to move back to her place by the fire. There she fell onto her blankets, turning her back to him, leaving him to his thoughts.

Though thoughts were not entirely present in Zin's mind at that moment. For long, stretching minutes he stared blankly, his concentration switching between Lilla's diary, and Cassara's immobile form. The space between all three of them seemed vast and never ending, and with a heavy sigh, Zin gently picked up his book.

It had been so long, he mused, since he had held it in his hands. It had moved from person to person, from one mind to another, the story inside shared and lived through their own eyes and thoughts. But being with the Mage, living under her roof and experiencing life with her, strange and novel though it was, had almost made him forget. He did not know if reading the translation would pull him back to reality, remind him of who and what he was, but for the first time since beginning this foolish adventure, Zin found himself torn. To read the book now, for some reason, felt like a betrayal of everything he had learned of Humans to that point. He knew his feelings were unjustified and fueled by anger and emotion, but there was still a strange, tickling thought at the back of his mind.

Cassara had somehow, offhandedly, given him a choice that night. She had given him the memory of his original purpose, before all the messy emotions and attractions had come into play. She had thrust the proverbial “other woman” straight into his arms, reminding him of her presence, and had given him the options.

She lay, not ten feet away from him, tired and hurt. And Lilla lay in his very hands, tormented and broken.

He knew he should choose neither; sleeping that night to clear his head of the tangle of thoughts. He knew it would have given him a clearer path, a better choice, a different option. Instead, he found his hands opening the cover of the diary, unfolding the parchment which contained Cassara's curling, flowing handwriting. With a deep breath he hunkered down, and made his choice.


- - - - -

I suppose, looking back on it all, I should be thankful for my earlier sickness, the weakness that still plagued me even then. Rolf was a cruel man, an even harsher Master, but he did not wish death upon me. I believe, in memory, that he recognized my frailty, and that stayed his hand somewhat. If I had been healthier then, more able, he surely would have stripped my skin to ribbons. But though he did not flay me alive, he certainly taught me a lesson I would not soon forget.

I watched him over my shoulder as he stalked into the room, the heavy oaken door swinging shut behind him. The latch clicked shut, and I was perversely thankful that we were to be given a measure of privacy. I had my suspicions that his servant would have loved to watch my punishment, to gloat silently as blood and tears were wrung from me. In my heart, I cursed the woman for her cruelty, but gave my full attention to the situation at hand. I knew from his tone, from the movement of his arms and body, that no matter what I could say would not sway his opinion. He trusted the woman more so than me, and I would be punished far worse if I were to say anything against her.

Silently, I pressed my face into the bedding, trying to steady my breathing. His touch, the warmth of his hand over my flank was an odd comfort, a gentleness I had not entirely expected from him.

“I am glad to see you have no lasting marks from our last lesson, Lilla. A clean canvas is always preferable, don't you agree?”

I nodded into the bedclothes, gripping handfuls tightly, as though to anchor me to reality. His hand traveled from my buttock to the small of my back, up and over the knobs of my spine, reaching to my hair, his fingers brushing through it. He continued to stroke me there, as though he were calming a spooked horse, and despite my better judgment, my muscles began to loosen, and I began to relax.

“Do you know why you must be punished, Lilla?”

When I did not answer, he gently, firmly pushed at my shoulder, rolling me over onto my back so he could look at me. His expression was mostly blank, save for open curiosity. I swallowed hard, licked my lips.

“Because I... I was causing problems.”

He hummed in response, nodding his head, “You must not do such things, my dear. It causes undo... stresses. If I am to smooth out wrinkles in obedience of my staff and wife, how am I to run my business efficiently, and devote time to... other matters.” The last of his words were punctuated by his fingertips grazing down my throat, over the swell of my breast. The callouses of his fingers scratched at my nipple, making it rise and stiffen. I gasped, thoroughly shocked and dismayed when the sensation caused a trembling in my core, a warmth that had become all too familiar spreading down between my thighs. He watched my reaction, a sly smile spreading across his mouth, “Yes, I see my lessons have taken root. You are a fast learner, Lilla. Now, back on your belly, knees on the floor, if you please. I am eager to continue our play.”

I shifted as he had commanded me, wary of the punishment I would receive if his orders were not heeded. The stone floor was chilly beneath my bare knees, hard and unforgiving. I bent over the edge of the bed, crossing my arms and resting my chest upon them. I think, perhaps, it was a subconscious effort to appear immobilized, as I knew, deep down, that Rolf would appreciate the visual aid. He liked to see me helpless to him.

“Very good.” he purred, and I sensed him stepping behind me, the heels of his boots clicking along the floor. I shivered then, feeling the flap of leather on the riding crop slide down my back, over the curve in my spine, and tickle over the crack of my bottom. He patted each cheek, almost playfully with it, before he reared his arm back.

I did not expect gentleness or a reprieve of his strength, and indeed I found none. The crop whistled through the air, swung in a quick, snapping arc. It stung into my skin with a loud crack, and I jumped at the impact. The pain was small and centralized, a stinging burn across my right bottom cheek. I ground my teeth, a whimper escaping me as I did. The next blows came in quick succession, though he paid careful attention to not strike the same place twice. I could feel the blood pooling beneath my beaten skin, and knew that if he were to strike there again, it would split and I would bleed for him.

I gasped and panted, groaning in a deep, thick voice as each blow struck. I jerked forward with every strike, my legs opening of their own accord; to better brace myself as my muscles were growing weak, and to accommodate the strange, burning dampness that was building in my core. How or why I was becoming aroused by his violence I could not understand, and I struggled to contain it, to ignore it, to focus on the lesson he was teaching me. Soon, he ran out of space on my backside, and moved his attention to the backs of my thighs. It hurt worse there, the skin sensitive and tender, and my moans became sharp cries, cracking and hurting my throat.

I pulled in great gulps of air, tasting the salt of my tears on my mouth. I could feel him slowing then, perhaps from fatigue. My punishment had continued on for at least an hour, and even Rolf had his limits. This was affirmed when, instead of another strike, I felt the pommel of the crop brushing up the inside of my leg. The warm leather made me tremble, and my cunt contracted in anticipation.

He must have seen the reaction, for I heard him laugh softly behind me, and he moved the crop further up. It probed at my wanton body, easily sliding between my lips. It was hard and uneven in its wrapping, and it brushed and scratched at various angles inside of me, making my inside coil and shiver. Soon, he was sliding the thing in and out of me at a fast pace, and I was arching my back, tilting my face up as I panted along with the pleasure of it.

“It is such a shame you are not ready to take me, dear Lilla. Your cunt is so, so inviting tonight.” As he spoke I felt him move, shivering in perverse delight when his fingertip probed at my anus, worming its way inside. He met hardly any resistance, the orifice opening like a greedy mouth, pulling the digit in. I huffed and panted and moaned, my hips rocking in time with the thrusting of his finger and the crop. Unbidden, my own hand slid down to finger and paw at myself, at the hardened nub above my center, to fiddle and push and pinch, making electric jolts surge through my limbs.

“Mmm... that's a good girl, Lilla. You seem to read my mind, tonight.”

Rolf knelt down behind me, the heat of his body scorching my already simmering skin. His finger withdrew, replaced by his mouth and tongue, licking along my puckered hole, slither around and pushing inside. My shame grew to greater heights, not for the act itself, but for the way I invited it, reveled in it, sunken in my Sin like the depraved woman I was becoming. I could not help myself – the pleasure was too great, too addictive to listen to reason. Before I knew it, my orgasm was upon me, leaving my body a withering, shaking mass, pressed against the bed. I cried a little harder, whimpering when Rolf gave my rump a soft smack.

“There now. I think that is enough for the night. I do not wish to wear you out completely, my love.” His hands, warm and gentle, carefully helped me onto the bed, beneath the covers. He tucked me in as though I were a child, and brushed the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs, with soft kisses, “Sleep now. I will see you tomorrow.”

I watched through a sleepy daze as he turned from me, mentally noting the obvious desire confined in his pants. My brain wondered that if he were to not take his pleasure in me, where exactly would he find it? That question accompanied me into a deep, dreamless sleep, and was with me again when I woke the next day.

Over the next few weeks, I allowed myself to grow accustomed to my new home. Despite the withering looks the elderly servant sent my way, I was determined to learn all there was to know about Rolf's estates. I may have been born of peasant stock, but I felt no need to limit myself due to it. Through the days I studied the time tables of each of Rolf's servants, watched when and how they performed their duties. The meals were promptly served, dishes swept away in a prompt and non-invasive fashion. The halls of the house were well maintained, cleaned thoroughly every other day. I also discovered that Rolf did not conduct business in his home; he, in fact, had a modest shop overlooking the canals. I had yet to see it myself, but from the riches in his home, I imaged it to be quite prosperous.

The fact that no business was held within the walls of his house did not seem to deter company, however. I would watch from the top of the stairs as callers were admitted into the hall, beautiful women and elegant men, travelers and city dwellers alike, only to be greeted by my husband and led off down one of the many corridors. Curious about them, there were several times that I had tried to follow, to listen, to see, but my jailor would snatch hold of my ear and drag me off to the bedchambers, where, hours later, my husband would look in on me, and please himself in various ways. At those times, I would take note of how thorough he would be, how he would work himself to the point of breaking, leaving me exhausted and delirious, and it occurred to me that perhaps he was trying to distract me.

While I lay alone in the vast bed, I forced myself to think, to question, to ignore the fatigue and pleasant rest my luxuriously aching body demanded of me. If there was something Rolf was working so hard to keep from me, then certainly, I wished to know what it was.

My suspicions of secrecy were further confirmed over the days, when I also noticed that I was to be kept busy and tucked away, minutes or even hours before callers would come into the house. The Maid, Deloros her name was, would drag me off to the kitchen to scrub pots, or herd me up to the solar to spin and practice my needlework. And always, I could hear through the echos in the hall the voices of others, the laughter, the friendly banter. Not once was I introduced the Rolf's company, and while that gave me a strangle tingle of trepidation, it also aroused my curiosity. What was it about these people that must be kept from me? What was it about me that must be kept from them?

And so, soon after, my mind began to formulate a plan.

It is not difficult, you understand, to poison a person. Various plants and concoctions, mixed with tea or dripped into a bowl of porridge are enough to incapacitate or kill your target. Some even are incredibly affective when applied directly to the skin through a simple touch. It surprised me to learn that not everyone in the household knew of these basic strategies, or even had much of a mind to tell the difference between what leaf was deadly and which was not. I do not claim to be a master of all that deals with poisons and potions, but I certainly felt a little pride when I discovered that the most anyone in that house knew about plants was that Rolf did not like tomatoes in his sandwiches. I myself gained my knowledge through experience and learning at my mother's skirts. There were often times, during the dryer seasons on the farm, that we had to rely on foraging to eat that evening.

It was no surprise,then, to find that the kitchens kept a very innocent stock in herbs. For a moment, I feared I would find no help there, until I spied a small, rusted tin, pushed to the very back of the pantry shelf. I retrieved it, wiping the dust away, and nearly cried aloud when I read the hastily scrawled label.

Bella Donna.

Desperately, I pried open the top of the tin, fearing that the contents would be withered to dust from age, but I was pleased to discover that the tiny leaves inside were well in order for my use. Pocketing it, I made my way back to the sweltering ovens, hurriedly continuing my work, hoping no one had noticed my momentary lapse.

On cue, Deloros sauntered into the kitchen, her chin jutting out fiercely when she saw me stirring the soup pot. Her reactions to me were always an irritant, though I had learned to tamp those feelings down. I would much rather a strike to my pride than a strike to the face. She sat haughtily at the narrow wooden table, draping her hands regally in her lap, her face a sneering twist.

“Hurry up with that soup, girl. I have duties to attend to, unlike some.”

I mumbled a reply, keeping my head cast down, my focus on my task. She continued to prattle on with her abuse of me, cutting into my person with sharp words and stinging barbs. I was grateful then for her terrible attitude – her abusive nature was enough of a distraction that she did not see me drop a sliver of one of the leaves into her soup.

I placed the bowl before her, and went back to work. And I waited.

One of the wonderful things about Bella Donna is that it is a fast acting drug. When used in copious amounts, certainly it is deadly, and the death is not a pleasant one. But through the years of watching the practice and implementing of such a plant, using very little of it can produce a drugging, sleeping affect. Before long, and I counted the minutes, Delores was drooping, her head coming to a gentle rest against the table top. I tiptoed close to her, my hand reaching out to below her nose, checking her breath. Her lungs were filling and releasing steadily, and I saw no signs of perspiration or bodily agitation. She was out cold, alive and safe, and I had free reign.

As I ducked out of the kitchens, I heard the echoing alert of hands knocking on the door. Quickly I made my way up the steps, keeping to the corners and the shadows, and waiting patiently behind the wall for my chance. Rolf himself answered the callers, their laughter and greetings carrying across the large receiving hall. I held my breath, I admit, fearful of being discovered, but I needn't have worried. Soon, Rolf escorted the man toward the large doors that lead toward the library, the heavy door slamming behind them, shutting out all other sound. Without waiting another moment I scurried after them, pressing my cheek to the heavy wood, listening. Their voices were there, though indistinct, and fading quickly. I cracked the door open, catching sight of a cape flourishing around a corner, and heard another door shut.

For what felt like hours I followed after them at a safe distance, ducking back into the shadows when necessary, creeping up on them like a robber in the night. They made their way to the library itself, and I found I wasn't at all surprised by the destination. Certainly, if I were to entertain a guest, I would lead them to the most comfortable room at my disposal, and from my memory, Rolf's personal study was branched off from the big room, and had copious amounts of treats any man could desire.

True to my instincts, I heard the adjoining door to his study creak open and quickly shut, and I myself ducked into the library, hurrying to the door to once against press my cheek against it. I stood there, confused, worrying my lip when I in fact, heard nothing from the other side.

I was conflicted then, wondering what in the world was happening in that room, why all had grown silent. Certainly, through their traversal through the house, the men had not been at all silent. They had laughed, chatted, told lewd jokes and gave each other quick highlights in their lives. So why, when finally reaching their destination, had they submitted to stillness?

Overconfident, foolhardy, I carefully pressed at the door, cringing as the hinges squeaked, and peered through the crack. From my place I could see the hearth shining with fire, an open book laying on the table with a still corked bottle of wine sat next to it. But there was no movement, no twisting shadows to reveal its occupants. Further fueled with a sense of idiocy, I pushed the door open enough to admit me, and peeked my head around the corner.

To say I was surprised would have been an understatement. I knew I had heard the men enter the room, but now, it lay completely devoid. I wandered inside, looking around as though I must have been hallucinating, but could find no immediate answers to the curious dilemma.

That was when I felt it – the slightest breeze, tickling the back of my hair. I shivered uncontrollably, and turned toward the North wall.

Hanging there was a tapestry, from floor to ceiling, a picture of a beautiful Dryad, pulling her bow tight to shoot, reared up on her hind legs to face an unknown foe. I stared at it for a moment, taking in the glory of her image, when I noticed that the tassels at the bottom were moving, ever so slightly.

Carefully, I pulled back the corner of the tapestry, and felt my stomach drop out in surprise. Behind it was a narrow breach in the wall, wide enough to allow a well trimmed body to pass through. In the shadows of it, I saw a passage, a set of stairs leading down, dimly lit by a torch, placed somewhere around the corner of the stair pillar. Swallowing hard, and chancing one last glance behind me, I slipped between the tapestry and pushed past the breech, descending to the room below.

As I made my way down, the voices of Rolf and his companion began to carry on the air, and I slowed my step to listen.

“...can see, my stock is extensive this month.”

“Mmm.. Indeed, Redings. I haven't seen quality like this in ages.”

Soon, I found my feet on level stone, facing a narrow corridor with a single door toward the end. I slipped along the wall, taking note of the barrels stacked high next to the door, slipping easily behind them and pressing my back to the cool stones, my ears perking as I listened.

“And they're all primed? Ready for use?”

Rolf laughed, and I heard a sound as though he had clapped his hand on the other man's shoulder, “Indeed, my friend. You may take your pick of the group, prompt delivery at the designated place, quite at your leisure.”

There was silence for a moment, a clink of metal on metal, and the other man laughed with my husband, “Alright then, agreed. I'll take... That one. With the bright gold.”

“A good choice!”

I gasped silently, ducking down to my haunches, as I heard their boots scraping and clicking along the floor. Soon, two shadows passed over me, and I could very nearly smell the strong port both had partaken of at some point. They continued to speak, laughing and joking, as they made their way up the steps. Soon, the echoing presence of their footfalls grew silent, and I released the air in my lungs. I had began to sweat, the heat in this basement having grown stifling in my fear and curiosity. Carefully, I eased my way out of my hiding space, and timidly, peeked my head around the jamb of the doorway.

I could not keep my gasp silent then, as I took the scenery in.

The single room was not large, perhaps ten feet long and six feet wide, made completely of dark, rough stone. There was hay, rushes of it pushed against the corners and the edges of the walls. And to those walls, short lengths of heavy chain were secured; at their ends were people, collared around the neck by heavy looking steel traps. I stared in wonder at them, sickened and shocked by the display.

There were twelve that I could see, males and females alike, kneeling demurely on the stone and straw, their hands in their laps. All were nude, their eyes cast down. I quickly counted, taking notes of their faces, their colors, their races. There were seven women, two Night Elves, three Humans, an Orc and a Troll. Five men, one Elf, four Humans. All bore visible scars on their shoulders, bellies and thighs, as though beaten thoroughly. From the blank expressions they all wore, I did not doubt their silence and obedience had been a hard lesson learned.

Against my better will, I felt my throat close, strangling on the tears beginning to sting at my eyes. I gulped loudly, drawing the attention of one of the Night Elf women, who turned her face up to me, and I felt my heart lurch when I noted the color: Her eyes were gold, once bright, now dimmed from abuse and lost hope.

Her voice was soft, curious, “Are you a new buyer?”

I sobbed then, going to her and falling to my knees, my hands grasping hers desperately, “You poor thing! I... I must free you! You must run!”

She cocked her head at me, and I saw through my peripheral that the others had grown curious as well, turning their faces and eyes to us, listening in silence, “Free me? Why would you wish to free me? I am already free – my new Master will take care of me.”

My heart broke further for her, and I squeezed her long fingers in mine, “No, no no no! You are a slave! Rolf is... he's...”

“He has been good to us.” one of the Human men said, leaning forward a bit so he could see us past the Troll female between he and us, “Better than others. We are grateful.”

There was a resounding nod from the others, and I felt icy fear begin to creep up my spine, “No, you do not understand! You are.. you were free once! He has stolen you, destroyed you! This is not right!”

Fingers began to pluck at my skirts, and I squeaked, scooting back and away from the thick, blue fingers of the Troll female as she reached out to me, her eyes curious, “Ya... not Mastah?”

My tears, now falling in earnest were halted then, suddenly and by a freezing panic when Rolf's voice, clear, calm, and deadly echoed around the room.

“No, little one, she is not a Master. She is, in fact...” he sauntered into the large cell with us, and I watched, horrified and fascinated, as all eyes turned to him, faces of longing and love evident, “Just like the rest of you.”

I whimpered, crawling backwards on my hands as he approached, “No! I am nothing like them! I... I am your wife, Rolf!”

His smile was wicked, dark, filled with delighted malice, “Oh, I don't know about that. Perhaps they could show you otherwise?”

I squealed then, as abruptly, I felt a pair of strong, strong arms wrap around my midsection, pinning my hands to my sides. Immediately I fought, kicked, squirmed, but the male Night Elf only held me tight, and I felt my stomach lurch when I realized he was rocking against my back, thick evidence of arousal pressing into my spine.

“No! No, Rolf, please!” I begged, my fingernails scratching at the strong man behind him, trying desperately to get away. My Husband only laughed then, and turned on his heel, heading back out.

Over his shoulder, he glanced back, watching with manic glee as one of the Human females stretched an arm out, pulling at my skirts, ripping the fabric easily, “It was going to happen sooner or later, Lilla. But do not worry for me... I shall find something new to amuse me soon enough.”

The door slammed shut, shrouding us all in immediate darkness. The hands on me, the male, the female gripping my ankle to tug me closer to her, all seemed to vanish in their singularity and became one horrific being. I cried loudly, begging them to stop, but all I received in response was heavy breathing, soft moans, and the wet sounds of pleasure being taken at their own hands from the others. The heady scent of sex and longing filled my nostrils, and I gagged on the thickness of the air.

I was pushed to my knees, my face held tightly by the Human woman, her tongue invading my mouth while the Night Elf pressed his engorged erection into my cunt. I cried out, scrambling away from the intrusion, only to have my voice cut off as the woman bit into my lower lip, drawing enough blood and pain from me to pull back from her, into the waiting arms of the Elf.

He fucked me relentlessly, as though desperate for his completion, reveling in the allowance his master had given to him. Within minutes I felt him spill his seed inside of me, and just as quickly he shoved me across the room, into the waiting arms of another. A heavy cock pushed past my open, gasping mouth, thrusting violently and choking me to breathlessness. He too spent himself quickly, only to pass me along to the next waiting body.

For hours I endured their play and ecstasy, my mouth, vagina and ass tortured, plundered, licked and suckled until I was raw from head to toe. And still they continued, their endurance impressive from months of training. I began to go into a daze, my struggles nonexistent as I went mindless, laying back and spreading my legs as the Orc woman buried her face between my thighs, her jutting lower canines poking and pinching at my sensitive flesh. She growled into me, her long, strong fingers worming their way into my ass, now stretched and receptive to invasion. I cried out from the pressure, my hips rolling against my will, as she lapped up the juices that had been left to her by others, and those from my own body.

It must have been near dawn by the time Rolf returned. I lay in the center of the room, hands stroking my arms and thighs reverently, mouths kissing the soles of my feet, petting at my hair. I felt stiff and sore and completely used up, empty inside. I did not even feel the appropriate reaction of fear as Rolf leaned over me, to look into my face.

His smile was telling, but gentle, “I do hope your evening was an enlightening one, dear Lilla. I know mine was.”

I swallowed to a dry mouth and throat, desperate for water, for something other than the flavor of semen, and did not answer.

He chuckled then, snapping his fingers quickly, causing his slaves to scurry back and away from us. None too gently, he gripped me by the wrists, and began to drag me along the floor. I remained limp as a doll, my eyes blinking in exhaustion. Before I realized what was happening, the cold, unforgiving mental of a steel collar was wrapped around my throat, and locked into place.

I sat there, leaning against the stone wall, the heavy chain of my binding draped over my bared breasts, cool and comforting in its temperature. Rolf looked at me again, his smile still in place.

“Deloros will be down shortly, though I don't expect she will be too happy with you. Whatever drug you gave her has left her quite hungover this morning. But worry not, my love. She will make sure you are cleaned up and presentable for your travels.”

As he turned to leave, I felt my chest lurch, and I could not stop my words, “T...travels?”

He stopped to look at me again, his eyes appearing kind and pleasant, “Certainly, dear Lilla. Your buyer has insisted upon an immediate delivery, and I am not the kind to keep a valued customer waiting. Forgive the chains, but I mustn't show favoritism to my pets. It causes bruised feelings, after all.”

Before I could speak again, before the horror of those words fully reached my brain, he had exited the room and was gone from my sight. I stared, feeling my stomach coil and turn over at the implications. All too soon another set of footsteps sounded, and I did not bother to look up into the hated woman's face.

“I told you it wouldn't be long before you were out. Pity about the dress.”

As the ice cold bucket of wash water was dumped over my head, I thanked whatever God that had not abandoned me for it, because there was nothing else available to hide my hopeless tears.


- - - - -


Zin slowly, carefully, unclenched his jaw, growling softly as the muscles and bone protested. His hands shook steadily as he tucked the parchment back into the pages of Lilla's diary, and slowly closed the cover. Just as gently, he tucked the book back into Cassara's pack, and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths through his nostrils.

Sleep was slow to come to him, the story tumbling through his mind, tainted with his anger toward Cassara for keeping her secrets. She had hidden this from him, things that she knew he simply needed.

Yes. His path was clear now. With a heavy sigh, he slipped down to a laying position, curling his arm beneath his cheek to pillow against, and forced his mind to clear. He could feel in his bones that dawn was approaching, and he desperately needed the rest for the trek ahead of them tomorrow. By the time they reached Stranglethorn, the jungle would be thick with humidity, and he needed as much strength as he could muster if they were to push through and reach Booty Bay before the day was through.

Soon, his awareness slipped away, and he did not stir as heavy, padded feline feet walked around and past him, Eruanna looking down at him sadly as she snuck away from the camp. She cast one last glance at the Troll and Human, her heart heavy, mourning what was once so fresh and new and beautiful, now seemingly lost.

Steeling her nerve, she slipped into the dark trees, and went on her way, Soup rambling up beside her as they made their escape.