Starting Over

Meetings and Greetings

The pub was smoky, dark and crowded. Just a typical Friday night in Ironforge, the silver-haired dwarf sitting alone in the corner mused to herself. Ironforge was the ancient home of the dwarves – a huge city hewn into the snowy mountains of Dun Morag, heated by the giant forge built over a swirling lava lake. She was nursing a large wooden flagon of weak ale, half listening to the crowd and half listening to her rambling thoughts. A very young scantily clad human girl was dancing provocatively on top of the table across the room, being boisterously cheered on by a couple of leering gnomes, a desperate looking human and the usual swarm of bushy bearded dwarven men. This was Ironforge, in all its late night glory.

She turned her attention away from the young girl and the girl’s rowdy admirers and swept her eyes around the room. A loud booming chime coming from the central bank’s clock informed the woman she had only a half an hour until her first guild meeting. She smiled softly with pleasure – landing a spot in a guild as prestigious as Eagles of the Alliance was quite the coup. ‘Ah Sophie – look where the past 10 years have taken you, lass’ she reminisced, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her new tabard.

Ten years – ten years ago she experienced the agonizing pain when her husband of 72 years, Stoney, died in an Orc raid on their home in Kharanos. He was a good man – a smithy/armor crafter well respected in town. He wasn’t adventuresome and lacked the wanderlust that drove so many men of their kind, and Sophie was content to be his wife. They raised two strapping young men together, sons who ran off for vengeance the moment their father was murdered and went off to war. She hadn’t heard from either in years, but knew in her heart they, too, were gone from her world and had joined her husband in his.

A deep draw on her mug temporarily washed away the sad memories. She still missed them, though the pain had dulled and even left at times. Unlike most women of her race, Sophie chose to pursue a career once her heart had healed. Her friend’s reactions swung from amused to outraged – not many dwarven women chose to venture out, instead choosing to support their men with domestic skills. And Sophie, widowed at 105 years old, was still a young woman by dwarven standards. But the thought of getting involved with another man didn’t appeal to Sophie. She did have a spirit of curiosity, and more and more found her feet and heart restless to see what was ‘over there’. So it was six years ago she signed up with the local trainer Whitebeard, to become a hunter.

Sophie was relatively green to her new life. Only a level 23, many adventurers and soldiers assumed by her age and silver hair she was far higher ranked. It was an advantage when one needed respect at least. Anyway, living in the wilderness, away from other humanoids for weeks at a time, meant she didn’t have to worry about how others perceived her very often. She had a reputation for being fair, accurate, brave, creative, loyal to the Alliance, and easy to get along with. Let the young humans look for glory and sex. Let the gnomes obsess with their tinkerings and taller women. Let the dwarves dig for treasure and history. Let the elves hug their trees. Sophie was content to explore with her bear Rambler, eek out a living with leathers cured from her quests, and enjoy the new life she had carved for herself.

The mug was drained, so she took one last look around the room before heading up to the meeting room. A young brown haired human had a lithe girl, 20 years old tops, in a corner, passionately kissing and groping with wild abandon. Sophie swallowed, trying to beat down the flash of lust she suddenly fell prey to. It had been so long – too long – since she had felt a man’s embrace. With a self-depreciating snort she stood and started to make her way through the crowd to the stairs. Who would want a dried up, gray headed, fat dwarf when there were so many exotic elven lasses, nubile humans, and pink-haired, adorable gnome women to be had? Currently the city was having an influx of the alien Draenei – humanesque figures but whispered rumors indicated that when they went down on a man, their tentacles could drive him just as wild as their mouths. When it came to finding companionship, plain little Sophie might as well look to the cow-like Tauren.

The room for The Eagles was slowly filling as a buxom young dwarf sashayed around the room taking orders for drinks. Sophie requested another ale and found a chair against a wall where she could quietly observe. She was amused to see other hunters and a couple warlocks had done the same. Hunters and warlocks were not the most social of creatures – the boisterous warriors and flashy mages enjoyed being in the middle of things – she was content to watch and ponder from a less social distance.

It was at that moment her blue eyes rested on a figure that grabbed her attention for reasons she couldn’t put her finger on. A paladin sat at a table across from her perch. Regal, straight-backed and radiating confidence and kindness, she studied him with interest. By the crest on his chest, he was obviously ranked in the 60s, though exactly what level she couldn’t tell from across the room. His hair was shoulder length, but not wild like the dwarves or green like the gnomes, but a silky looking dark honey in hue. He had crinkles of friendly lines around his eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard that was, in Sophie’s opinion, ever so attractive. With shock she felt her body start to hormonally respond to the mere sight of a man she felt was handsome. “Whoa, lass. Settle down” she thought with amusement.

The meeting started and was like any other in the history of civilization. Boring. The officers took roll, introduced her as the new member much to her embarrassment, and discussed plans for an upcoming raid on a troll village. Sophie found her thoughts drifting quickly, and entertained herself with watching the handsome paladin as covertly as possible. He seemed quite at home with the group – obviously respected and liked by all.

When the guild business was finished, several dwarven men crowded around her to find out if she was indeed the widow of Stoney Flintmaker. She affirmed that she was, accepted their sympathies, and as politely as she could disappeared out the door. Most men of her race could not understand her choice to leave her home, and many had a hard time realizing it had been 10 years since Stoney’s demise. She wasn’t dishonoring his memory, but she was moving on.

To the right of the pub’s door was the hitching post for the collection of beasts the Alliance rode. Darenei Eeleeks,(an elephant-like creature which caused her to wrinkle her nose at the odor), the human’s horses, dwarven shaggy rams, growling tigers of the elves and gnomish smoke-belching mechanostriders sat, lay and stood patiently in a row for their masters. She eyed one glittering white ram with a mixture of humor and destiny. There stood the inevitable, no matter how much she secretly coveted the proud horses of the humans. The horse breeders of Stormwind did not part with their mares and stallions easily when it came to the other races. And not many races wanted to be seen on a shaggy sheep – Sophie included.

As she gazed at the horses with an appreciative eye, she noticed his stallion on the end. It had to be, as the handsome honey-haired man with blue eyes was the only paladin in the bar. The horse was perfection – tall, wide shouldered, with strong legs and proud arched neck, wearing the knightly armor and skirting that paladin mounts bore. Sophie whistled low in admiration – this was a magnificent animal able to withstand the trials of lugging around tall humans in plate mail and with the heart to withstand the terrors of battle. She walked up calmly and reached out a slow, steady hand to the velvet muzzle.

The horse whickered in acceptance. “Ah, ye be as friendly and handsome as yer master!” she warbled at the animal, dewy eyed with delight at its ready acceptance of her petting. She scratched between his ears and reached into her belt pouch. “Now I just happened to have an apple here I was saving for me Rambler, but you and me – we won’t whisper a word, will we?” She brought forth the shiny red fruit and giggled with delight as the horse nickered and nuzzled her cheek with sweet natured begging.

“Now you’ve done it” a man’s voice sounded in back of her. Sophie jumped, despite her calm nature and spun around, guilt written all over her face. The stallion, smart enough to take advantage of the distraction, deftly removed the apple from her hand as she turned to face her accuser. Naturally it was the paladin.

“Oh, I hope I haven’t offended ye!” Sophie blurted out with a blush. “He’s just such a bonny lad, I couldn’t help meself. I should of asked ye first.” But as she raised her eyes to his, she was relieved to see humor and friendliness in his face, not annoyance over her fawning.

A rich chuckle escaped freely from his lips. “Offended, lady? Nay – I’m delighted he has taken to you so readily. Diamond here knows a kindred spirit when he sees one.”

The height difference between hunter and paladin close up was intimidating – she found herself staring right into the man’s mid section. Her chest was level with his crotch, and Sophie found her eyes riveted to the area, wondering what was under the layers of tabard and armor. Her eyes flew up to his face, far above hers, and she blushed even deeper. ‘Oh please don’t let him notice I was trying to see his willy…” she prayed desperately.

“Where are my manners?” he chuckled, and Sophie enjoyed the richness and lethal masculinity of his voice. “You are Sophie Flintmaker, well known from the February Frostmane Troll incident,” and he grasped her hand and kissed the back of it. “I am Reginald Longstrider. Welcome to the guild.”

“Pleased to meet you” she grinned and gave a formal dwarven bow. “I’m not sure how I got such a reputation for such a silly little job – it was a lot ‘o luck and trickery if truth be told.”

Reg laughed and Sophie enjoyed the way his face lit up, his eyes crinkling with the lines of wisdom and humor. “You are too modest, my lady. The trolls of Dun Morag are known for their stubborn tenacity, and have to be dealt with frequently. But last September was the first time anyone ever rounded up a dozen bears and drove them through their camp.” The paladin chuckled again. “Oakstaff is a good friend of mine – he loves to tell everyone he can all about it. We never knew bears were pack animals.”

“Ack – no they are not” Sophie agreed with a laugh. “Me Rambler was key in the execution. Without her I could not have pulled it off.”

“You are too modest, my lady” he grinned. “So how about a ride home, since you have already buttered up this lug?”

“Ah, that’s not all I’d like to butter up, tall pockets!” she smiled ruefully, but did not say out loud. “I only live across the city in the Explorer’s side. There is no need to go out of your way Reg.”

“Nonsense – it will be my pleasure” he smiled as he untied the reins and swung an impossibly long and shapely leg over Diamond’s back. “Hop up on the windowsill and mount in back of me.” Trembling with joy, and more, Sophie immediately complied.

Oh what a ride it was. Her hands gripped Reg’ sides, though she deeply wished her arms were long enough to wrap around his steel clad waist. The horse was a moving mountain of strength and muscle that rippled and rocked under her thighs in a most arousing way. Sophie had ridden rams several times, but their wool was so thick you never were as in tune with the animal beneath you. With a quick smile over his shoulder at her he clucked the reins and took off, leaping over the chasm that divided the wide city roads, and racing all too quickly to the Explorer’s Hall.

Sadly, the ride was over in mere minutes and she pointed to the doorway of her home swiftly looming ahead. He expertly steered the horse over to a half wall where Sophie could easily step off. With a wink and another courtly kiss to her hand, Reg waved and dashed off into the city, leaving her alone and wanting.

She watched him ride off with a smile on her lips, heart pounding. “Ack lass, get a hold of yerself. He’s probably running off to meet some gorgeous young wife or girlfriend.” She opened the heavy oaken door to her boarding house and room and noted with pleasure it had been well kept up in her absence. Rambler would be comfy in her stable for another day – she needed some time alone.

The flat was small, but suited her needs. There was a sitting area, her bed, and a bathroom. The fireplace was cold, and the walls seemed to echo, but she swiftly lit the fire and drew the curtains for privacy. With a shiver of arousal she recalled the shapely legs of the paladin, the ready smile and the silky feel of his mustache and beard brushing the back of her hand. Swiftly she pulled off her new tabard and draped it over the door of the wooden wardrobe. The dwarf examined herself critically in the mirror on the wall. For a dwarf she had a handsome enough figure –plump with large proud breasts, rounded ass and small waist. Wrapping anything in leather was a bonus in her opinion, but most men probably preferred their women in silks. Sophie drew her hands down her front, pausing at her chest to gently tweak her hardening nipples through the smooth skin of her armor, and closed her eyes briefly with delight.

Leather vests, cape, leggings and the like were peeled off and left on the floor. There was no need for a slow strip when it was only her, and her need for release was great. Quickly shedding her shirt and now soaked panties, she lay on her bed and sighed. Perhaps there was no handsome knight in her bed tonight, but he could certainly join her in her fantasies. Leaning back against her pillows, Sophie once again went for her now very-hard nipples, dusky pink and jutting out. She stroked and rolled them between her fingers, feeling the sparks of pleasure radiating straight to between her legs. Ah – forget foreplay, unless drooling over a paladin from across a smoky, crowded bar can be considered foreplay. She was more than ready.

Without further distraction Sophie shoved her greedy hand between her legs, surprised at the wetness she found. Drenched from merely speaking to a man and riding on the back of his horse, she was sopping with arousal. Her finger swiftly found the nub of her generously proportioned clit and she started rubbing in well-practiced circles and strokes.

“Slow down, Sophie, or it will be over with before you even get going” she thought with a smile. Oh, who was she kidding? Her strokes sped up and she inserted a couple fingers into her cleft from her other hand, fingers that had been busy tweaking her nipples in rhythm. Her last coherent thoughts were that of smiling blue eyes and the fantasized tickling sensation of a honey-gold beard working its way up her thigh. The contracting, pulsing of her impending orgasm was building rapidly, and there! It was over with a deep gasp and moan.

She sighed a semi-satisfied smile, breathing in the scent of her now satiated passion. She frankly would have liked to drift off to sleep, but a nice hot soak in her tub was desperately needed first. Perhaps her hands could do some more wandering, as her mind was guaranteed to.