@pinxiedust mentioned an idea of Lenathil getting into alchemy last night and I wanted to see what the old grump might do with it. 702 words.
For a few long moments, Lenathil questioned how what had once been a very neat little shed was now the disaster it was. He knew the technical answer, of course. He had done it. With bowls, bottles, and boxes set down anywhere that had a flat surface, he had been the strange, disorderly force to ruin his little hideaway. He had somehow managed to lose track of it all in just a few days without having any chance to really clean up.
Still, it wasn't without purpose. This mess had meant a large amount of practice finally put behind him, now that he had a break from what felt like half of Eversong lighting on fire without him watching it. Which also meant a leap in the quality of his work.
He had been teaching himself everything he could of alchemy in his spare time. For too long he had wanted something to occupy himself with, some sort of hobby or similar to keep his hands busy with something that wasn't his bow. He needed something new. Watching Zel and Quinnie tend to the garden that had miraculously sprung up around their home made him yearn for something of his own.
Carefully beginning the process of clearing away the oldest of bottles and dumping less than proper results in a bucket outside, he tried to hide his smile. Even in these "failures", he could feel progress in the things he learned sloshing around as he carried them. Something pulled at him to conceal his satisfaction despite knowing no one would bother him in his work shed.
But satisfied he was. In just under a week, he had managed to teach himself quite a variety of potions and tonics. He had enjoyed all of it, even when something didn't work as expected. He had the chance to finally learn again, to feel like he could grow.
Gathering up all the now emptied rejects, he set them aside to clean later and noticed how small the count was this time. He had far less accidents and poor results than he expected.
Perhaps his long history of field experience gave him an edge as he was most definitely not some young, bright eyed amateur. He knew what reagents could be volatile or toxic, how to carefully handle herbs without damaging them, and a few combinations to avoid. He also picked up quite a lot from Zel, who couldn't help but talk about some obscure fact she had learned about another plant she had encountered.
Moving on from the empty bottles to his latest batch, he began to organize them, sorting by their bottle shapes and colors, remembering what each one was. He couldn't fight back his smile this time. This made him happy. They weren't just successes, they were useful.
He had done more than learn over his time delving into alchemy, though that experience alone was worth it. He now had something to show for it. He could make something out of his little breaks.
He paused halfway to a tall vial with a pinkish liquid, frowning for a moment. He knew there was a possible downside. There was always the chance that this diversion could fall to the same thing as the rest of his tendencies. These potions were useful, even needed. What he worked on now to relax could become another obsession, another need to keep protecting others.
He closed his eyes and made himself shake it off for now. There were plenty of alchemists and others who could help with this, unlike the frequently thin ranks of rangers and guards. This was something he could afford to leave in the hands of others.
"I can make something useful, but I don't have to." He told himself, pressing it into his memory as he began to move sets of potions into boxes. He would bring them to the Farstriders later to distribute with other donations to anywhere that might have need of them.
But not right now. With most of his working space cleared, he perused one of his shelves for an alchemy book he hadn't looked through yet. Perhaps it was time to learn how those strange water walking elixirs worked.
The sound of Quinnie's voice as they went over the edge together sent Zel's mind into a fog. A mix of envy, frustration, and panic shackled her where she sat and locked her eyes on the both of them. Seeing them there, intimately connected as they both shook, only made her hotter.
Zel's eyes darted across Quinnie's body, the light of the fire dancing over her petite frame, still intertwined with his. That body that she enjoyed teasing and playing with all those nights looked enticing in the afterglow, but now was sparking jealousy in her, spurring her on even more to find some kind of release.
Quinnie had gotten to him first. Her sweetness was something neither of them could resist. It was something she couldn't compete with. Quinnie was so free, so unashamed of wanting. Of course she was first. Seeing her there, the way she hung off of Len, panting and dizzy, made Zel curse herself. Every vain sway of her hips, every futile motion her hands made. Nothing she could do to herself would be enough. She wanted more. She wanted him.
Lenathil let Quinnie down slowly, a faint smile crossing his lips as she cooed, happily exhausted. The sounds of burning embers seemed to fill the room and time slowed to a crawl as he pulled away toward the fire.
Frozen in that moment, her eyes drank him in, tracing his silhouette. She followed the way the fire threw light across his body, teasing her with glimpses of him. His arms, strong and muscled, but still gentle and brimming with kindness. His eyes, reflecting the embers in his soul with his ever-present sharpness. His chest, wide and unburdened by his slow breaths.
The fire brightened, pestered by Lenathil with a new log to keep the light and warmth strong through the cold night. Zel's heart stumbled over itself as the blaze illuminated his entire body, reminding her all at once that he was still completely naked.
The fire settled back down, returning the room to shadow before rising briefly to highlight for her a part of him that had occupied her imagination many times before, hanging innocuously between his legs. The ember caught in her stomach burned again as she stared, disappointed as his figure dimmed again, leaving her mind to wander. Her gaze was locked on him, searching for another peek as the light played games with her, sending every corner of her imagination into a frenzy. Seeing him there, she couldn't tell anymore if the heat was from the fire or just from him. She couldn't keep herself away anymore.
She slid over to where he knelt as he carefully pushed another log atop the fire. Her eyes enjoyed the feast the light set out before her as the fire roared again. She held onto herself in an attempt to calm herself down, but managed only to work herself into an even stronger fervor, the sight of him entire form making her shake. She reached her free hand out towards him, wanting so badly to grab him and take her turn, but in an instant, it was like he was miles away from her reach.
She couldn't understand. She had touched him before. What was suddenly stopping her? The fire in her chest began to rage. She wanted. That was what stopped her. She wanted too much. To tear right into him, to make herself his. But she couldn't do that. She couldn't ask for all of that. It was all too much.
The moment crashed down around her as she realized she was suddenly face to face with him. His bright amber eyes searched her, wondering what had frozen her in that moment, her hand reaching out to him, completely still. Sensing her mix of confusion and apprehension, he wrapped his fingers around hers and inched closer, careful not to close the gap right away.
He wasn't entirely sure what was going through her mind, but he knew not to overwhelm her. Only when he felt her fingers tighten their grip around his did he move forward. He watched as her eyes focused back on him, her mind returning from wherever it had momentarily left. The glow of the fire reflected as tears welled up in her hazel eyes and his heart slowly broke. He slowly placed her hand against his chest and pulled her towards him with his other arm.
She winced, bracing herself as if she would be engulfed by wildfire in that very moment. It didn't happen. All she felt was his arms, pulling her closer. She didn't hear his words at first, the embers in her ears deafening her as he whispered to her. For a few moments, the words didn't matter. The smoothness and tone said everything and slowly doused the flames for her. As the sound of wildfire died down, it finally came through.
"You're safe."
Those two words alone silenced the hush of the fire down to a crackle. As a hand slowly rubbed her back, she pushed herself closer, listening as he whispered more.
"You will always be welcome here."
The room seemed to exhale, no longer threatening to topple over onto her. Her head fell into his chest as she felt his fingers wind just a little bit tighter around hers.
"I'll never throw you away."
She pushed herself to stay ahead of the feelings threatening to overtake her and focused on the rhythm under her fingers, steady and strong. Finally letting out a breath she had no idea she was holding, she let herself settle back into the moment, peering up at him through her eyelashes, trying to steal a look at him.
Hesitation stretched itself over his face, but he did his best to smile for her as he peered back into her eyes. She slipped her fingers into his hair to give her some excuse to pull herself to him and let out a small sigh. The worn look slowly disappeared from his face as he felt her settle down against his chest, her fingers absently coiling through his brown locks.
Longing dripped from her fingertips as she pulled at him gently. Her lips parted but she made no sound, her words still left behind in the storm. Lenathil moved his fingers to her sides and treasured the soft gasp that followed. He would help her find her voice again.
He traced over her curves with the tips of his fingers, taking care to linger over sensitive spots just longer enough to make her shudder. Seeing a smile curl at the edges of her lips was all he wanted. He continued, letting his fingers drift more and pressing against the softness of her breasts.
A giggle escaped as Zel shifted against him, curling her fingers more into his hair and pressing her nose against his neck. She left shallow kisses from his neck to his chin, giving him a signal that she wanted more attention before finally settling on his lips.
His fingers wandered further, teasing wherever he could reach to give her more. As she tried to occupy herself with his lips, she found herself unable to keep still, her sense of touch already close to its limit. He was careful, finding little ways to brush and caress without overwhelming her too quickly as each feeling lingered on into the next. She never knew where his hands would find next, but slowly the buzzing in her head changed to a much more satisfying sensation as she grew more comfortable.
His hands moved lower, the rough tips of his fingers pressing into her thighs as he pulled her closer into his lap. Keeping her grip in his hair she pulled herself the rest of the way, settling herself against something warm that leapt in surprise as she nipped at his lower lip. Slowly one hand slid to the inside of her thigh as the other moved to her side, steadying her. The teasing was beginning to make her ache, but she hadn't found her voice again yet to voice her desires. She would find another way to tell him instead.
Reaching down for the pulsing heat that had caught her eye before, she gave the faintest of touches, enjoying the jolt it sent through the man's body. This was a moment she would keep with her for quite some time. She did not get to surprise him often.
Lenathil gave himself a moment to regain his composure as her fingertips pressed against his shaft. She slid her fingers over him, following the sides carefully as she felt him rise. He could sense her growing impatience as she barely kept still in his lap. He continued his teasing, finally moving his fingers between her legs.
Zel finally released her first sound as she jumped at the feeling of his hand at her entrance. In retaliation, she gripped his girth firmly, enjoying the soft grunt he made as he throbbed. He rubbed slow circles as she stroked him, both locked in silent competition for a few long, torturous moments. Zel broke first.
Letting out a held breath, the air escaped her in a whimper as she leaned against his shoulder. Her hand slid over his full length as she fidgeted endlessly. Len smiled as her hips found an uneven rhythm, pressing her flower against his hand. She still wanted more. He let his reservations fall aside and search for whatever sounds he could get out of her, stirring her up with whatever pleasures he could give her.
Zel was torn. She couldn't stop herself as she moved her hips with his fingers, barely able to keep her grip on him. But some part of her felt the shadow return. There was so much more she wanted. Surely it was too much. Feeling his heat twitch in her hand, she shook as much of it out of her mind as she could and decided to find out just how far he would let her go. How far she could let herself go.
Both hands wrapping around his shaft, she held on as she got up from his lap, enduring the absence of his deft fingers. Len's hands moved to her hips, keeping her steady as he gave her time to adjust herself. She returned slowly, carefully positioning herself against his heat, her swollen lips rubbing against him as he throbs for her. She moved with hesitation, sliding her flower against his length. She wanted the pleasure to last, to keep the moment.
Lenathil smiled as he felt her fingers curl into his hair again, feeling her pull at his locks for leverage as she danced along his shaft. He helped her move how she wanted, stealing a caress any time she slowed to let her know she was safe. Her movements soon lost all rhythm as frustration took over. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, seeking some sort of comfort, but already she wanted more.
Grinning into her lips as he kissed back, he let his hands fall to her rear and gently grabbed hold, helping her grind against him as she sought more pleasure from her closeness to him. She quickened her pace, chasing her own pleasure and no longer aware of the breathless whimpers she let out into his lips any time her body shook.
Lenathil could barely catch his own breath, feeling himself slowly lose control as she made a slick mess of his lap and coated his length in her nectar. They were both close. Too close. She deserved more and, though he would never voice it, he wanted more. His fingers sank into the softness of her backside as he summoned what strength he could find in his growing haze and lifted her up.
Zel let out an offended whimper as her eyes searched him. This was it. She had reached the limit. She had asked for too much, her mind told her. Her heart pounded for several long moments before something soft and warm pressed against her entrance. Her heart leapt in her chest as a mix of excitement, relief, and exasperation flooded her. She waited with each short breath that passed for him to continue, to enter, but he waited.
Peering deeper, she realized it. She had missed it so plainly. His eyes were a storm of desire and patience, flickering between them like the sparks in the fireplace. He was waiting for her. He wanted her to be sure.
Placing her hands on his shoulders, she leaned forward and pressed her nose against his. She would not make either of them wait any longer. Pushing herself down, his hands fell with her, keeping her steady as she guided him inside her. She stopped halfway down, waiting for the rush of heat to subside before pulling away slowly.
The breathless grunt that escaped Lenathil made every other sound around her suddenly disappear. All she could hear was his voice and the sounds their bodies made together as she took him in again and began a simple rhythm. With each slide down his length, she took a little more of him, moving however she liked.
Lenathil kept his grip on her, supporting her every time she drew away from him and helping her keep the pace. Any time he felt her tie, he took over, using his strength to make up for her until she took control again, never letting her rest. It took the same training he used as a marksman to keep himself focused, breathing slowly despite every shudder she made slowly coursing through him and making him shake as well. He needed to stay strong.
As she continued, her legs began to falter, shaking as she fell forward against his chest. All she could do was wrap her arms around him and hold on as he took full control. Her voice was no longer under her control, getting louder with every move as he sped up. Every breath she took she could never hold as he dropped her onto his length.
A smirk pulled its way across Lenathil's lips. He could hear it in her voice and feel it in her body as she shook. As she neared her climax, he lifted her up and held her there. She kicked her legs out, trying to make him lose his grip but he held firm. Grabbing his back, she pleaded loudly, the feeling at her center unbearable. Lenathil kept still, himself so near his own climax. Throbbing half inside Zel, he didn't want it to end just yet. She deserved more.
Letting out another whine as she dug at Len's back, Zel resigned herself to her fate, being held in limbo when a small cooing sound came from behind her. Before she could think, lips pressed to her shoulder and make her jump.
Quinnie made the softest sounds in her ear as she pulled Zel's hair aside and left a trail of kisses over to the back of her neck. Zel gasped, unsure of how to handle the new attention as she felt the room spin. It wasn't just her mind this time. Slowly, Lenathil lowered her onto her back, pulling out of her and leaning to peck her cheek. Quinnie, still hazy from her own release, followed and left another batch of kiss on Zel's collar.
Smothered in the feeling of them both on her, Zel could only whine and moan, enjoying the sweetness of Quinnie's kisses and touches and the hesitant roughness of Len's nips and caresses. As much as she wanted to protest, to have the rapid motions that had her so close to release moments before, to return, she could not resist as the two worked together, caressing her body and keeping her in a state of raw pleasure and infuriating arousal.
Every touch was magnified as they flooded her senses. Len took his time, tasting any spot on her that caught his fancy and enjoying every shudder it brought. Quinnie dove for Zel's breasts, cupping them as she pressed her lips to them, kissing circles around Zel's nipples. Len moved to do the same, flicking with the tip of his tongue. Her breasts bounced in their gentle grip as she struggled.
Zel could barely speak, flailing to reach for Lenathil as he loomed over her before losing all focus again when Quinnie nibbled and made her gasp. Finally, in one strained breath she was able to utter one clear word.
"Please." She said, her fingers beckoning for Len to enter her again.
Quinnie gave Zel a long kiss before pulling away to grab a hold of Len's shaft, pulling him back to Zel and positioning him at her entrance. The two shared a brief nod before Quinnie's small fingers continued upward from where Zel and Lenathil met, making soft, circular motions around her pearl.
The mix of anticipation from Len's prodding parting her folds and Quinnie's gentle rubbing keeping her on edge, Zel only had one thing left to hold onto: Lenathil. She grabbed his arms, clutching him as firmly as she could with her nails. Len leaned in, but did not whisper.
"You can scratch me up. I don't mind." He said, his voice smooth and clear. "Just hold on."
Feeling Quinnie's fingers retreat, she dug in as much as she could to hold on. Seconds later he was moving, filling her with his length again. He moved swiftly, fighting himself to keep his movements rhythmic to control his own release as he stirred her up with each thrust. The way she quivered around him sent shocks through his body, but he held on.
The burning feeling of her nails digging into his arms was nothing compared to the sound of her voice burning in his ears. Each thrust increased her volume as she held nothing back, hurtling towards the edge. Quinnie played gently in Zel's hair as she watched the taller woman's expressions change with every cry.
"Grab him." Quinnie whispered into her ear. "Take him."
Zel found what little strength was left in her body and wrapped her hands around Lenathil's back, holding tight and pulling the massive trunk of a man closer to her as she dug into his back. She wanted the closeness. She wanted all of him.
Lenathil happily obliged as he drove into her completely, filling her up as the first waves of her climax shook through them both and tore every last bit of resistance they had. Zel screamed his name as she finally let out all of her fears and frustrations in one overwhelming rush. Len growls into her ear, satisfied with her release and letting loose his own.
Using the last of his vigor, Lenathil continued, pushing into her and making as mess between them as he sought to milk every last shudder and moan from her. When they finally both calm, they stay paused in the moment, his length buried inside her and her nails clutching his back as they try to catch their breath.
The softest sensations bring them both out of it as Quinnie nuzzles their shoulders and pecks their cheeks. Reaching out, she carefully pawed at Zel as she shook and lost her grip on Lenathil. The silver-haired woman was there to catch her with a flurry of little kisses anywhere she could reach.
Zel saw colors all over again as Len slowly removed himself, pulling away to regain his composure. Quinnie took Zel's hand into hers, continuing her shower of affection as Zel mumbled. She wasn't quite making words as she was just trying to make whatever sound she could to voice her satisfaction.
Len returned, leaning over them both as Zel turned and curled up in Quinnie's arms, sighing as her eyes fluttered shut and a smile wrapped across her lips. Quinnie pet the blonde woman's hair as a large blanket draped over them both and Len swooped in, wrapping them both up in his massive arms.
No more words needed to be said. Inside the cabin, winter was long gone.
(( For Rasmot’s birthday this time around, i decided to do something completely different and off the wall. I decided to illuminate part of his past. So this time we are going to see how Ras became Fel-touched. I personally like the little intro before the meat of the story but be warned this touches on some dark things. So those of you who don’t like Torture and what not, be warned. Otherwise enjoy this extended look at Rasmot’s past.))
Echoes clattered through the stone walls, footsteps entered every chamber from every anchor of time itself. There was no present, no past, and no future here. Instead there are just the caverns that anchor all time together in a complex weave. The Caverns of time, the halls where the bronze dragon flight now practice a dying art. They weave passages between the folds of eons and ages gone past to gaze into the stream. To see if there was to be, has been, or ever will be any tampering to the time line itself and how best to correct it. Sometimes the Bronze Dragons worked alone. Other times they enlist the aid of adventurers. Today however was a different event altogether. Striding through the layers of echoes were the footfalls of one man with his hat tipped downwards. Several guards moved to intercept the man but he merely stopped and bowed, revealing an icon of the bronze dragon flight from under a poncho over his upper body. One of the bronze dragons in charge tipped her head and waved the man forward.
A match flicked against a striker, a flame lighting from the tip as the man rubbed and grinded the flame against a dark green cigar. He extinguished the flame and tossed the match aside as he took deep drags from the Felweed Cigar. A peculiar sense entered the mind of the bronze dragon. This man had been saving that cigar for a while. The dragon gazed into the time stream of the man before her, and found out the reasoning. Another year had passed on the celestial clock ticking another age that the man had in fact grown. And instead of jubilation there was a sense of dread to the man that stood before him. Several puffs from the cigar were taken before he blew out a thick dark green cloud of smoke. It had been a while, the bronze dragon guessed, that the man had smoked an actual cigar. The man stepped closer as he flipped the poncho cover over one shoulder to reveal his armaments and clothing as well as some other things. He was Felblood . . . but not fully Felblood as though the process had been stopped before completion or in the middle of it.
“It is said you can tell many a thing from a man by observing him. And I can tell many things from you. However you do not know those things yourself. You are quite a puzzle meshed into the Time Stream . . . albeit possibly a simple one.” The bronze dragon assumed a humanoid form. “Very well then, follow me.”
The bronze dragon had assumed the shape that made the man stop for several moments. Curvature was something the dragon adored in the multitude of species and as such had adopted one of the more curved forms. Many dragons chose the Elves or Humans for their forms; some have even gone as far as gnomish creatures. But for her, nothing spoke of the elegance of time and the way it spun its many threads through the ages quite like a Pandaren. Time was like a motherly woman in many ways. Round in the belly but with looks that were pleasing to the watching eye. But it was the curves that drew her most of all. How each curve worked along the fur smoothly and how it reflected the nature of time itself. Time was not a line at all but a series of curves that can either result in a circle or another shape. To assume time would travel in a straight line is to delude one’s mind to the passage of time itself. There were always many events that affected the time ways. The wings of a butterfly always did guide the passages and echoes of time.
After staring for several long moments the man resumed his gait walking along side the dragon. “I think you chose that form just as some sort of cosmic prank.”
“I had not even looked into your stream and you think I play with you?” The dragon let out a genuine soft laugh as they walked. “Oh dear mortal, how presumptuous you are. And yet that is what makes you so very unique.”
The man shot her a very stern stare. “Listen. I may be young in your eyes, but at the end of the day? We’re both the same. We bleed. We die. So drop the “immortal” act already and focus on the task at hand.” He whipped out the icon and tossed it to the dragon without any regard for whether she would catch it. “I have an old favor owed to me, a debt that I am collecting on. I did my best for your “flight” before and during the siege on Orgrimmar. And I am using that favor owed to me to get some answers.”
“Hmmmm.” The dragon caught the icon, slowing down time fractionally with a glance of her eyes and rubbed one claw against the symbol. “Very well, I presume you want to see all the way back? From the very beginning is your choice of course?”
“No.” He looked at her straight in the eye. “I want to know exactly how I became this . . . and how close I was to becoming something else.”
The dragon was stunned, the Pandaren features showing her true surprise. “You are much different than most mor- . . . travelers . . . I would have assumed you wanted to know all of your past. Most that have your state of mind would want to do so.”
“I hate to disappoint. But if there is one thing I have learned it’s that who you are is based on what you do. Some things about you are instinctive and others are just learned traits or habits. But no magic ball can show you that, only you can show that to yourself.” There was a pause as he took a drag from the Felweed Cigar before those burning green eyes looked into the eyes of the Pandaren. “What I instead barter for is something a magic ball can show me. I want the details of my condition, and how far I can push it before the abyss calls my name.”
There was a pause before the dragon laughed and looked into his eyes with renewed interest. “There was an echo on the stream that something exciting would come my way this day. Perhaps it is good that I had listened. Very well traveler.” Stepping further into a cavern the dragon walked slowly to a black pool lit only by torches around it before tossing the icon in. “Perhaps one day when you visit me again I will let you experience your full past. But today your debt will be repaid.” The water began to glimmer a cascading rainbow glimmer of colors as she ushered the man over. “Today . . . Rasmot Hajra Aresh’felo. You will experience the birth of the Shadow Flame of which you have named yourself.”
“. . . Will I feel pain?” Rasmot asked as he cautiously approached the well of water, extinguishing the cigar in one hand for the moment.
She gently clasped his shoulder. “You will feel what you have experienced long ago. You will know the sensations you have underwent. Remember to persevere. If you experienced any traumatic event, failure to persevere will result in death.”
“I understand . . .“ Rasmot gripped the edges of the well. “Do it.”
The dragon closed her eyes and her grip tightened. “Prepare.” In an instant she shoved his head into the water, her eyes a bright amber glow as time started to rewind.
---
Coarse hot wind traced the arid landscape, the hot air gusting down the mountains and valleys of the broken world. Hunks of rock floated in the nothingness that dotted and surrounded the landscape still and lifeless like most of the broken world. This place was once called Draenor a planet teeming with wild and primal life. It was now reduced to a wasteland of arid deserts and enclosed environments cast far away from civilization. The mountains radiated the heat of the endless day. Every touch brought searing pain as though the rocks had become heated steel. Small hands grasped the rocks as a small body propelled the bearer of such hands upwards. Sweat beaded down the young boy’s brow as he gulped down a heavy helping of water from his canteen attached to his armor. He was younger than most of the other scouts who had come to this broken land. Many like him came for revenge; others came to serve their land and prince, and some? The crazy ones came for the thrill of it all. He wiped away the sweat on his brow and put the canteen back on his hip, adjusting his climbing knife at his side to be on the ready.
His hands grasped at the hot rocks in front of him, the searing heat digging into his fingers. Memories of the first mountain he climbed tumbled into focus as he concentrated. He remembered it well, how so many had fallen from that height and many had become broken on the fall. With a shake of his head he reoriented himself to the rock face and continued to climb higher, recalling the mission he was here to do. Over several days the scouts were sent out to investigate the terrain in this place called “Outland” to find portals made by the Burning Legion. He was part of one of the teams and reported his findings. But several of his team members had gone missing and after several days he was finally sent out to either retrieve them or find their ID Insignia. It sadly was not the first time something like this had happened out here and probably wouldn’t be the last. Rocks gave way under his left hand and he quickly pulled the climbing knife out and stabbed it into the mountain. He managed to keep himself from falling; the rocks and mountains of this land were extremely unstable. Grunting inwardly the boy pulled out a grappling hook and a large length of rope.
That was the one thing he didn’t like to do, he didn’t like to rely on too many tools to get him over a mountain. Once you put your faith into something else and it fails? You can consider yourself dead or worse. He double and triple checked the knot on the end of the grappling hook and started to twirl the hook on the rope slowly. Each twirl of his wrist sent the hook spinning faster until finally with enough speed he timed the rotation and flung it upwards as it reached the apex. The hook sung as it sailed overhead at an angle and landed with a dull “thunk” and clatter. He tugged the line to make sure it was secure and started to repel upwards along the rope. One foot placed itself in front of the other while his hands held a firm grip on the rope pulling him up one motion at a time. Finally after a long arduous climb he made it to the top. Lying on his back he took several gulps of heated air before pushing himself back up and retrieving the grappling hook. A quick glance around confirmed that he was close to where one of the scouts had made camp. Or at least should be close at any rate.
After securing the grappling hook and rope he started to investigate and look for signs of any disturbances. He didn’t have to go far until he saw a shriveled and ash gray body draped lifeless over a rock. His entire body jerked away as he saw the body ready to bolt away from it quickly. Several moments passed before he walked up to the lifeless and drained corpse. A quick touch and flaking ash told him what happened to the scout. The scout had either been burned to a cinder or drained of all his life energy. Demons, he was sure of it. Hanging limp on a soft silver chain was the insignia identifying the scout. He gently took it from the body, the head simply falling down instantly and all of the ash that was once a face falling away to reveal the skull and skeleton intact. A cringe crossed through his body as he held the ID of the scout before putting it away in a small bag. There was a loud wheeze. A survivor! Quickly he rushed to the sound only to be horrified by the sight.
Sitting there near what remained of a campfire was a Scout, his body almost completely drained of life, down to bone and slack skin. The scout turned his head to him and nearly gasped loudly, mouthing something while holding up a hand. He bent down and extended the canteen to the dying scout. Almost too eagerly the dying elf grabbed the canteen and swigged down the water in deep gulps. The canteen was returned with a shaking head.
“It . . . it’s a trap. They . . . they are looking for you now . . . hunting you.”
He wrinkled his young brow at the nearly dead Scout. “Who is . . . who are they?”
“Demons . . . lead by . . . a large demon . . . said it was a Pit Lord . . . what is your name?”
There was a light sigh as the young boy stood up. “My name is Rasmot Hawkstrider sir. And I’m here to get you out of here.”
“Rasmot . . . take my insignia . . . run away from here as fast as you can . . . don’t stop running . . . they will chase you but you must . . . let them know . . . must warn them . . .” A shriveled hand reached out before it slapped down onto the ground.
Rasmot shut his eyes for a brief moment and opened them again with determination. The scout was right. He didn’t have time to find the others, if there were other demons in the area? Then he had to warn command and quickly. Without any ceremony he grabbed the insignia of the scout and yanked hard. His feet quickly rushed to the edge of the outcropping they were on. Far below he could spot what seemed to be a small hunting party of demons ready to give chase. Rasmot needed to be smart and quickly. He rushed to the other end of the outcropping and looked down for any landing possible. There was at least one along with a few jutting edges that can be used to guide his decent. Rasmot ripped the grappling hook from his pack and wrapped the hook tightly around a rock before tossing the rope down below to the lower outcropping. It would be a sharp drop but survivable, his knees are going to hate him for a few days though. Gripping the rope he pushed off the side of the mountain and started his downward slide towards the outcropping. He pushed off in small hops, letting the rope slide from his hands before clamping down tightly.
Each push was nerve inducing. They would surely have his scent now and that never boded well for anyone caught within the crosshairs of a demon. Rasmot continued to frog leap down the mountain before letting go and plummeting to the outcropping. His feet hit the ground and he fell with a loud thud, hands smacking the ground in front of him. Were some of his trainers here they would be impressed with his perfect landing but now was not the time to admire it. He bolted for the next ledge and leapt towards it before getting ready to jump the next one. He continued to leap from ledge to ledge, his nerves easing. That was until he heard the demonic baying of the Felhounds the demons used to hunt their prey. Rasmot’s head snapped right to see the demons waiting for him with at least five Felhounds and several Felguard. He was about to grab for his climbing knife when a cackle rose up behind him that froze him in solid fear. Turning his head slowly he started to catch a glimpse of what was doing the cackling. Down below was a monstrous creature with a piggish face, large demonic wings and the lower body of a lizard or crocolisk. It was a Pit Lord alright.
“It seems like this one is intelligent at least! Perhaps you will give the hounds a decent chase after all! Run little Elf, let’s see you try to flee from my forces!” The Pit Lord bellowed and howled in laughter at Rasmot. “Give chase! But bring this one alive!! We shall see what his true mettle is!”
That was all the incentive he needed. Rasmot slammed the climbing knife tight into it’s sheathe and bolted quickly from the outcropping and down below. Tucking his body closely together he rolled hard against the burning rocks and went into a sprint. The baying and howling grew louder as several Felhounds gave chase for his current position. He weaved in a zig-zag between large rocks, keeping the Felhounds at some distance as he tried to think of his next move. As he spotted a hill he threw his entire body into a flat out sprint towards it. Each foot slammed against the burning rocks as he tried to gain speed over the Felhounds at his back. His foot hit the top of the hill and he forced his whole body into a forward leap. The one thing he was not counting on or expecting was the sheer drop from the hill into a downwards slope. He failed multiple attempts to correct his fall in midair and tried his best to fall on his side and roll that way. Rasmot got in two good rolls before he was forced on his feet from the angle of the fall. Grinding his teeth he angled his body to slide down part of the slope before returning back into a sprint away from the Felhounds. A smirk started to trace the sides of his face as he glanced back. The hounds were having a hard time following him down the slope. His gaze returned forward just in time to see a Felguard waiting for him swinging the butt of his axe in Rasmot’s direction.
Soon there was only blackness and mad cackling laughter.
---
A thick black veil hung over his vision. He could barely feel anything, sense anything, there was nothing but pitch blackness. Slowly things began to clear and he was greeted by the sound of screams. Someone wailed in complete agony as the smell of burnt flesh entered his nostrils. The rattling of chains was all he needed to know that the person couldn’t do much more than flail as his flesh continues to be scorched. The wailing stopped as another began, this time far closer to him. His eyes started to open to half lid as he peered to his right and saw what was happening. A scantily clad female demon held a hot poker and traced it slowly on the flesh of the prisoner, stroking and etching very slowly. Rasmot had been briefed on some of the demons he might see or encounter. This one was a succubus noted by the wings and tail at her back along with the cloven hooves at her feet. There was a permanent smirk plastered on her face as she continued to torture the man before her. He writhed and screamed in sheer pain as the heated iron traced across flesh in slow arcs. Before long she sighed and rolled her eyes. She was bored. The succubus smacked the face of the prisoner hard with the burning tip of the iron rod leaving a permanent scar.
Slowly the Succubus walked in front of Rasmot with a larger grin. “Oh my, my, they recruit young don’t they? I was beginning to think all I would find from the Farstriders were either crusty old men, or poor saps who wandered into the wrong place.” Clawed manicured nails from one hand traced along his cheek. “Oh I am going to have fun with you . . . I want you to scream for me boy. Scream louder than these pitiful fools.”
“No promises.” Rasmot spat out with a scowl on his face.
The Succubus let out a bone chilling laugh as she held the hot iron up. “Oh! This one has spunk!!” Her grin was wide when she lowered her face closer to his. “I like that in my men . . . so instead of screaming, how about you show me how tough you are hmm? Little boy?”
He was braced far before she had come his way. Both of his fists were clenched and his teeth were grit together as she pressed the tip onto his shoulder and started to slowly drag it down his torso. The searing pain pressed down into his skin and muscles. He muffled several cries of pain as she continued to drag the iron along his body. Clearly she was impressed by this bravado, her face held a new sensation of wonder and sheer joy. The succubus pulled the Iron away before slamming it against his stomach and pulling upwards. A sharp yelp escaped Rasmot’s throat but he checked himself shortly after, holding back any further screams or yelps of agony. The sensation of joy had intensified in the Succubus’s face. She wanted him to fight it, wanted him to resist every attempted at pain. Placing the iron at the center of his collar bone and dragging down the succubus seemed to be entranced as her forked tongue flicked and ran along his neck tracing the veins as she continued to drag the searing tip against his frame. Suddenly she pulled back as soon as a loud thud entered the area, large feet stomping against the ground. Both of her hands gripped the iron with fury as she examined the intruder. Rasmot breathed out deep sighs of relief as he hung against the chains binding his hands and feet.
“I was told, these were meant to be MY experiments you sniveling bitch.”
The Succubus growled hotly. “No one lets me have any fun! Besides most of them are weak! You would be better suited draining them now and getting it over with.”
“Oh? And what were you going to do with the strong ones? Take them for your personal play pen? Or were you going to actually give them to me?” There was a mechanical snapping sound from the newcomer’s right arm. “Don’t forget, we work for Azaloth and his commands are our duty!”
A deeper growl emanated from the Succubus. “I only want ONE of them; you can have the rest seeing as they are pathetic.” The Succubus pointed at Rasmot. “That one is resilient. He doesn’t scream in pain like the others. I would love to have him as my personal toy!”
“Hmmmm let’s see what the fuss is about then.”
A mighty half clothed disgusting monstrosity stood in front of Rasmot. The face mask had been lifted up to reveal a gleaming red eye in place of his left one and a row of yellow pointed teeth. There was a strong smell of sulfur from the creature, all of the veins were aglow with a bright green and there was a long ugly scar along the torso barely held together by huge ugly stitches. It looked both muscular and fat at the same time both his right and left arms had been replaced by mechanical contraptions of some form. Hideous black puss and gooping green liquid oozed out of the large gash along the center of its body as it crept closer to Rasmot to examine. The two pronged claw on the right arm opened with a click and snapped shut on Rasmot’s neck as the creature lifted Rasmot up for better examination. Rasmot struggled and gasped for air, both hands gripping the sides of the claw and hoping against all hope to open it with whatever strength he could muster up in his frail young body. As suddenly as the creature had grabbed him, it let him go and drop to the ground with an audible thud. Rasmot coughed loudly, trying to regain his breath after nearly being strangled to death. He looked up to see the creature wearing a huge hideous grin on his face and the succubus wringing the iron in some form of worry.
“Well, well, well. This specimen shows a marked improvement over the rest of the stock we were able to capture. You are very astute in your observation. The rest are worth nothing more than cheap sustenance. But this young one, oh I have use for him in experiments yet.” The creature looked to the Succubus while rubbing his chin with the closed off contraption on his left arm. “But it would be unwise to deprive you of a play thing. I will make you a deal, wench, I will experiment with this one to his limit. And when he is either at it or beyond it, THEN, and only then will I hand him to you to play with.”
The Succubus was nearly furious but she sighed in resignation. “You are The Maker. I can argue all I want but if you went to Azaloth he would give you full reign.” She held up a finger. “However! Do not turn him, not quickly at least. I want to at least admire this young pup as he squirms in agony from the blood in his veins.”
“Ooooh that would be such a sight wouldn’t it?” The Maker grinned and cackled. “Fine, this one . . . this one will be my Masterpiece.” His head turned to the right before he raised his voice. “Doomguard! We have another test subject to transfer!!”
A Doomguard walked through a doorway and approached Rasmot as the Succubus purred into his ear. “Oh please squirm and fight it with all of you might. I like watching you struggle.”
The demons cackled as Rasmot was drug away from the other prisoners, all of them Blood Elves and all of them had the same Insignia tags as he did. Farstriders, these were the missing scouts. Rasmot shut his eyes as the Succubus approached another prisoner and began the torture anew. The screams rolled high into the sky as the Blood Elf wailed in sheer pain. The large brutish Doomguard hoisted Rasmot up and tied him to a table of some kind. With a several mechanical clacks the table lifted him up and he gawked in horror. There were several others like him; all chained all Blood Elves, all scouts. Some were worse off than he was being either on the brink of death or close to it. Others glanced in his direction and their eyes showed their dismay. All hope had been shattered with his arrival they were all doomed. The Maker strode into the room with a manic grin strapped to his face as he checked the various test subjects. An imp followed his footsteps holding some sort of pencil and paper as it started writing down various murmured descriptions from The Maker. He stopped at Rasmot with a grin and made several descriptions of his physical state. Shortly after they had left a Felguard walked to each “test subject” and splashed them with a bucket of water including Rasmot.
He must have passed out. Rasmot must have been asleep because he awoke with another splash of water. Sputtering coughs wracked his chest as he gulped in air and quickly glanced about. The Maker and Imp were back, this time the Imp was pushing a cart of some kind filled to the brim of glowing green liquids in vials and crystals. He stopped at each “test subject” and either grabbed a vial of the liquid or a crystal. For some he jammed the crystal into their chest cavity, their high pitched screams filling the room. For others he either forced the liquid into their throats which made them gag and cough. Some of the subjects even vomited after imbibing the liquid. Each one of them was screaming or moaning in sincere pain. The Maker finally stopped at Rasmot, the huge grin on his face growing wider as he lifted up a vial but this time the port on his left arm opened up revealing a large syringe. A puffing hiss gathered the liquid from the vial and The Maker leaned in before jamming the needle straight into Rasmot’s chest. Rasmot gasped and nearly screamed before the needle was taken out completely empty. The Imp and The Maker were starting to leave as Rasmot rattled the chains at his wrists.
His heart and chest started to feel like it was burning, his breathing came in raggedly and rapidly. The Maker snapped to the Imp to fetch him something as he observed Rasmot’s struggle. Rasmot pounded the cuffs around his wrists against the table in agony and pain. His entire body was wracked with the same burning sensation that only seemed to get worse the further it spread. All of his senses were going haywire with the sensation. Every now and then his vision transitioned from normal to blobs of heat on the people around him. His hearing intensified and each noise started to bring down sincere agony to his body. Fire seemed to burn behind his eyeballs and the pain was starting to become too much. The puff came in louder than before and drove him batty as he groaned and resisted every urge to scream. Another sharp sting entered and wracked his body in extreme pain before a cooling sensation swept through him. The needle from The Maker retracted as the grin widened. Looking to the Imp, The Maker nodded and told the Imp to write down the results of what had just happened. Rasmot merely panted and hung limp from the chains, his eyes looking to the floor and his consciousness drifting.
The same thing repeated day after day, The Maker would come in to check on them. For those with the crystals lodged in their chests he would pull it out to reveal the gaping wound before shoving a new one in. The first few days were met with screams but soon it became whimpers as though they were becoming addicted to the crystals themselves. With those he force fed the glowing green liquid they soon became begging addicts, they wanted the substance, needed it. He would deny some and feed others watching the results with a wide grin. When it came to Rasmot the grin was replaced with a perplexed look. Rasmot neither begged for the injection nor wanted it. Instead he actively tried to squirm away from the shot and when it finally came he was wracked with intense pain and nearly screamed several times. Still this provided a great show for the Succubus to watch whenever she would come to visit. Watching the young boy squirm before getting stuck with a large needle seemed to excite her beyond any and all regards. Before long the visits became less frequent. He still squirmed and still tried to get away but it was slowly becoming pointless. Rasmot forgot what he was hoping for what he was waiting for. Each day he became number to the claw around his throat pinning him down against the table.
After several days of this long excruciating process he heard the first real terrified scream. The Succubus had pinned down one of the elves and was sucking in something from him. A purple mist flowed from the body of the man screaming his lungs off as his body withered away to nothing. He didn’t remember who the man was or why it was important that he should be concerned. Instead he watched with a fixated curiosity and wonder though a thrill ran along his spine. Finally the man sputtered his last and his skin started to fade to ash. Rasmot continued to watch as another demon came out and did the same thing, sucking some sort of power or energy out of the prisoners. One by one, each of them was drained dry till they were nothing but ash hanging limp from chains. The Succubus stepped forward to Rasmot when he was the last one, her tail whipping around in some form of joy. Her grin was wide as her forked tongue stroked against his cheek in seductive licks. He instead looked incredibly confused and dumbfounded by what was going on. Her head snapped instantly in rage.
“What did you do to him!?”
The Maker merely chuckled and shook his head. “He is a curiosity. His resistance was so great that I think his mind started to fade away until he became nothing more than a child. Oh he still has his latent abilities, no doubt. But his mind? His memories? Everything that he was or could be? All gone.” He shrugged disappointedly as he stepped forward. “Honestly he became a failure when he didn’t mutate. The others seemed to progress after a while of forced feeding but none of them captured the correct spark. I hoped he would be different but-“
“What . . . Am I?” came the soft spoken voice of Rasmot, though he didn’t understand a word he had just said, gawking in confusion.
The Succubus blinked in surprise. “He spoke Demonic.”
“Fascinating, he must have adapted to our language through all of the torture and injections . . . in fact it looks like he’s changing-“
Loud shouts came from outside and all the Demons turned to the doorway. There was a collective yell of “For Prince Kael’Thas!” as the shouts became louder and more frequent. Soldiers had come to attack the Demons head on. All of them left the room and Rasmot behind with the bodies reduced to nothing but ash. As soon as they left extreme pain wracked his entire body. His screams roared out loudly as his body physically changed. A pair of Demonic wings the length of his Torso shot out from his back while a pair of horns pushed their way out of his skull. The sound of cracking and moving bones was audible to him and caused more pain as his body shifted and changed. His teeth became fangs sharp enough to pierce flesh and his toe and finger nails became sharp black claws. Lines of pure energy traced along his body and started to mark his flesh. His vision blurred for several moments before it came back almost better than ever. No longer did his eyes retain their look but now they were two fiery Fel green orbs constantly glowing with energy. Glowing green tattoos marked his torso and his face as he still hung limp from the chains the fighting intensifying outside.
Suddenly someone burst through the door. “In here! I found a survivor!” The Elf rushed forward to Rasmot and grabbed the Insignia. “Rasmot Hawkcrest . . . have we been looking for you! Are the others alive? Is there anyone else here?”
“Xa’tul Ora’taz Koz mal?” Rasmot stared blankly as he spoke, and only then did the elf realize the changes as he shone a lantern in Rasmot’s direction.
The Elf stood locked in fear as he held the Lantern and a sword. “This is a trick . . . it’s a damn demonic trick!!”
“Hold your blade!” Another Elf walked in with several others to observe the scene, one of them muttering a quick prayer. “Farstrider, do you know the one chained up?”
One of the elves walked up, an Eyepatch over his right eye. “Let’s take a closer loo-“ His one eye widened in shock. “By the light . . . what happened to him!?” He rushed forward to Rasmot and waved a hand in front of his face. “Rasmot . . . Rasmot it’s me . . . don’t you remember your grumpy old mentor Lenathil?”
“Xol’kaz . . . Lenathil?” There were a great number of blinks as though trying to recall.
Lenathil grit his teeth and scowled. “They did something to him . . . we need to get him out of here and back to the camp. We need to know what they were doing to him.”
“. . . Alright if you say the boy is trust worthy then we’ll take your word for it.” The leader gestured to the group. “I want 5 troops with the Farstrider and the boy! The rest of you continue the assault!”
Grasping at the chains, Lenathil shook his head. “I need some help with these.”
After some struggling they got the chains free and hefted the weak boy on two shoulders as they walked him out of there. Rasmot watched as the Elves attacked the demonic troops with vigor and tenacity. The Demons tried desperately to hold their ground, several of them fleeing the battlefield to live another day. In the end Azaloth ordered a full retreat and his forces followed him away from the battlefield. They walked in silence towards the base of the Elves, taking several stops and rests. Rasmot looked to the sky when he could, just watching the strands of energy careen and crackle above them on this dead world. He wondered why the sky did that, wondered why these elves wanted to help him. So many questions burned in his head, he only hoped that in time, they would be answered.
---
A deep gasp resounded in the chamber as Rasmot finally pulled his head away from the black pool of the caverns of time. His chest heaved with deep coughs as he collapsed to his knees. Several questions were finally answered; he knew more now about that day than he ever had in the past. He clutched his chest for several moments before picking himself up and readjusting his composure. Rasmot looked to the Dragon who was about as worn out as he was. Apparently keeping him in that vision was a heavy toll on the Dragon as she had reassumed her normal Draconic form and rested in an Alcove. Rasmot shook away any remains of the water and pulled out the cigar from his vest and another match. He struck the match against the box and as he lit the Cigar a faint glow came from the black pool. Turning and walking towards it, Rasmot peered into the black water. Another passage in time opened but this one assailed his mind and body far harder than the one of the past. Images flashed before his eyes, events he had no recollection of.
Finally the visions slowed down onto one scene. A mountain of bodies, corpses piled high to the sky. Rivers of blood flowed between the mountains of corpses of various colors. Ships of all types burned in the distance, the acrid smoke staining the air. He looked down. Rasmot had completely changed. No longer was he on the “edge” anymore he had fully become a Felblood. The Tattoos were fully visible and glowing, horns peeked out of his skull and he no longer hid the demonic wings at his back. Looking to his claws he noticed blood on them and on his hands, blood that seemed to flow continuously. Panic started to set into his chest as he observed the entire scene. In the bodies he started to see familiar shapes. In one pile was the Hesper sisters, one had her heart removed while the other had he throat slit. In another pile were the corpses of Lamna and Ragoro. Ragoro had his entire head concaved as though his entire face was stepped on while Lamna looked like her neck was snapped head lolling off to the side. Lenathil, Alyndrah, Lydia, Tai, Cui-Fen, Raztak, Belyndrae everyone he had ever met or known was in the piles. He spun around with both hands clutched against his head as he looked at the madness. Suddenly he stopped and fell instantly to his knees. Crumpled before him was a familiar form with soft golden hair. She looked so peaceful now . . . as though she was sleeping. Here lay the broken body of Snow Evenlight . . . a large gash running down her chest. Fury and rage clawed their way from his chest as he roared upward in remorse, his roar echoing across the mountains of dead bodies.
In a sudden jerk, Rasmot was on his ass having been flung back from the well of black water. His entire body shook as he checked every single part of himself. He was intact everything was as it should be. Rasmot looked to the Dragon for answers but she was as shocked as he was. The pool started to become complete stone, walling itself off from any further viewings. Slowly the smell of burning Felweed entered his senses as he took drags from the Cigar and slowly stood up. His entire body shook and quivered from the shock of it all and the scene replayed over and over again in his mind. Slowly Rasmot shut his eyes and continued to take deep drags before puffing out a thick cloud of the dark green smoke. Opening them again he had achieved his calm and looked to the Dragon. Slowly he bowed before the bronze dragon and tipped his hat towards her. The dragon held up one talon before he moved any further.
“That last vision . . . I do not know where it came from. But it was imperative that the stream let you see it. I cannot say if it is a certain future, if it is one that could be, or if it is one that may not pass at all. Time is not as linear as we used to believe.” The Bronze Dragon lowered her head. “This will in fact be an interesting puzzle to solve.”
Rasmot blew out another cloud of smoke before responding. “That vision showed me what I needed to know. What would happen were I to fall too far to what I may become in the future. Should I let loose the beast inside of me? Perhaps I may need to under the need to do so. But should it be beyond my control? No it should not be and that is what it wanted to show me. That I have to learn to control the beast if I ever choose to unleash it.”
“Mmmm . . . that is one perspective certainly . . . and perhaps the best one to choose. But go with caution. While you may need to become what is required you must not forget who you are now.” There was a huff from the dragon. “The beast does not define the man.”
There was a smirk. “But the beast can defy the man . . . thank you dragon.”
“When next we meet, Aresh’Felo I promise to show you your full past . . . free of charge.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
With that Rasmot slowly walked away from the dragon and back towards his ship. This time, this Birthday, he learned how he came to be what he is. Now he just needs to learn how to control it. Because the future is uncertain, and he could use all the help he can get.
(( This is the final part of this story thread, been meaning to come to this for a LONG time now and hadn’t gotten around to it, or felt like writing it till now. After this is written there will be a full on collective version that will be put up here and on the guild RP blog thing. For those of you just joining into this, this is the previous version. You can follow that until the beginning otherwise just wait for the full collective one. ))
Dawn broke over the horizon as Rasmot stirred from his concussion induced sleep. His head rubbed the front of his skull where the pommel of a blade hit and knocked him out. A few small glances indicated exactly where he didn’t want to find himself. In a jail cell. Stumbling to the bars his body collided with them as he glanced up to the desk where a guard stirred and walked up to the cell. The guard was chewing on a sprig of Bloodthistle with a slight grin, he was obviously working on a high. Rasmot groaned and shook his head, he had heard some stories from the row about the city guard. He just chose to not believe they were this horrid. Perhaps not all of them were, but at least this one was.
“Well well, look what the hawkstrider woke up. Mornin’ princess, you look like shit.”
A large scowl lined Rasmot’s lips. “Come closer and we’ll see how pretty you look.”
“Oooooh ho ho, feisty ain’tcha. Well you’re gonna have time to be plenty feisty later. You’re gonna swing today.” The guard laughed and leaned against the wall opposite of the cell with a wide grin. “Looks like you’ve been naughty and played with too many toys. Got one of the big boys all worked up. Turns out you’re not the man we were lookin’ for. But when Lord Sori’Thas showed up . . . ooooh he was mighty pleased that we found him.”
Rasmot’s eyes widened as he gripped the bar. “Do you realize what you’re doing? you’re letting a mad man control this city!!”
“Tsk tsk. See, that’s what got ya in trouble buddy.” A sudden shift in the dilation of the guard’s pupils changed the attitude. “Yeeeaaaaaaah, that’s riiiiight haha. See if you didn’t torch the man’s house, maaaan you wouldn’t be here. But settin’ fire to a Noble’s house? oooooh we can’t have thaaaaat.” The guard was giddy. “You’re gonna hang maaaaaan, best pray while you can.”
Laughing loudly the Guard plopped back down behind the large oaken desk observing his hands as Rasmot smacked his head against one of the bars. It was no use trying to fight. These guards were on Ranathan’s payroll. And already Rasmot knew too much so there’d be no point in letting him live. He slammed his head on the bars twice before turning away with his new found headache. There had to be a way out of this mess, at least to get out of the hanging alive. His mind examined all of the facts and started to try and churn out solutions while waiting for the inevitable. Then, something hit him. The guard had thrown a wrapped satchel of dried food stuffs at his head. Impeccable aim for a stoner.
After the laughter died down an idea sprung from half remembered strands of the city. He had seen Belyndrae a few days ago. And he knew for a fact that he gave her one of Searton’s many assorted children to look after her. Maybe the little pup would remember the signal? Rasmot had to try ANYTHING at this point. He glanced up and thanked whatever Gods of the Nether that decided to play nice that there was a simple barred window. Rasmot grabbed the bars and wrestled himself up with his strength before calling to the outside. The guard burst into laughter as soon as he heard Rasmot making almost mewling sounds to the outside. Another pack of dried food hit Rasmot’s back and forced him to quiet the mewling down.
It took longer than he liked but finally a fox wearing a pretty bow stepped out of the shadows, wagging it’s tail. Rasmot again thanked the Gods of the Nether and took this moment to formulate a plan.
“Okay look, it’s been a while. But i need your help.” He whispered down to the fox. “While i would like to call on Belyndrae, i don’t think this is the trouble she needs right?”
The fox shook it’s head.
“Good we agree, i want you to find a man. He’s tall. Has a beard on his chin, wears an eyepatch.” Rasmot paused before snapping his finger. “He works with Dragonhawks. His name is Lenathil. Can you remember that?”
Nodding it’s head quickly the fox barked twice.
“Fantastic . . . i would give you some chicken but just get his attention . . . in fact.” Rasmot took off his hat and tossed it out the bars after shoving it through. “Give this to him. And then INSIST on his arriving here. And hurry.”
The Fox ran away with the hat clenched in it’s jaw as Rasmot lowered himself from the bars. Now he just had to wait. Having had everything confiscated, all he had to tell the time with was the movement of the sun on the jail walls as he sat near the wall with the bars. He picked up one package of dried food and instantly frowned. It was of course gilnean dried turkey. The one type of jerky that he absolutely despised. Rasmot repackaged it and threw it at the Stoner, grinning as the guard yelped and fell back in the chair with a loud “not funny maaaan!”. He tried his luck and grunted. Crackers were definitely better than Gilnean turkey, no matter how dry they were. After a few crackers he finally heard a voice outside of the bars.
“Alright little fox, you dragged me out this far with his hat. What are you trying to tell me.”
Rasmot clambered up and pushed his face to the bars. “That i need some help old man.”
“Wait . . . Rasmot? how the hell did you wind up in there?” Putting both hands on his hips, Lenathil blinked at Rasmot. “Do i even want to know?”
Shaking his head Rasmot got a better grip on the bars. “Long story. They’re going to hang me.”
“Hang?? You?? Now i REALLY want to know what in the world got you into this heap of trouble.” Sighing deeply, Lenathil shook his head. “I’ll go talk to the guards-”
“I wouldn’t.” Rasmot stopped Lenathil dead in his tracks. “They’ll toss you in here too, they don’t seem too keen on listening without the right amount of “coin” per say.”
Lenathil creased his brows in concern. “Did you piss off a No- . . . waaaaait a minute!” He glared at Rasmot with a large frown set into his face. “I TOLD you, not to fuck with that family. And what did you go and do-”
“The exact opposite of what you said, i know. But at least i’m not dead . . . yet.” The offer of an apologetic smile got him nothing in return so Rasmot grunted. “Look i need your help. I’ll pay you back however i can, but i just need-”
“Stop. You know what they would do if they were to find out i helped you.” Lenathil started before shaking his head. “And even then what’s to stop you from doing this again-”
“Lenathil, he’s playing everyone like a marionette.”
“. . . what?”
Rasmot sighed. “He’s got the city under his thumb, or as much of it as he can get right now. The guard watching me? high off his ass and soaring fast. He’s controlling large portions of the city with a drug. It’s already made damage in the row, it’s called “Dreamer’s Gaze”.”
“Of course . . . the gaze.” Lenathil nodded a few times. “The drug is bad news, how did you find out about all of this?”
Narrowing his eyes, Rasmot tried his hardest to prop his head on one hand. “I get locked behind bars, by a corrupt city guard, after having entered the home of a maniacal megalomaniac who loves to hear himself speak and you wonder how i found out about this. Really?”
“. . . Touche’“
Shaking his head Rasmot took a glance to the desk before looking to Lenathil. “I need two things. I want you to get back my weapons at the very least. And for the second i want your help in making sure i SURVIVE this encounter. Do we have an accord?”
“Alright . . . but you owe me. And i mean big.”
“Thank yo-”
A sudden bang on the bars broke Rasmot’s attention as he slowly turned. Instead of the Stoner there was a large guard flanked by two others. It was an Orc, probably on loan from the Horde and he didn’t look too happy with his new job.
“I sure hope you weren’t planning an escape attempt.”
Rasmot frowned. “Wouldn’t think anything of it . . . sir.”
“Good, because you’re hanging, now.” The Orc looked to the other guards. “Cuff him.”
The door sprung open as the guards grabbed Rasmot and forced him down onto his knees before clasping heavy iron manacles to his wrists behind his back. Having finished the Guards each took a few turns kicking their defenseless prisoner in the stomach. After four or five kicks the Orc signaled them off.
“Don’t think i don’t know you. I don’t see what the others saw in you during the Cataclysm.” Sneering the Orc stepped forwards. “You’re just a washed up sailor with no more war to go to. The 118th should’ve all drowned for the good they did to the Kor’Kron. Every last one of you.”
Rasmot lifted his head up with a glare. “What company-”
“46th, Hell Hounds we were called.” Grinning the Orc hefted Rasmot up to his feet and got close to the Fel-touched elf’s face. “I’m going to enjoy watching you hang.”
Nodding slowly Rasmot turned to look at the Orc. “46th . . . i think i remember your company yes. In fact I owe them something.” Rasmot reared his head back and slammed the platelete of where one horn used to be on the Orc’s nose. “THAT is for not covering our asses in the Twilight Highlands.”
Roaring loudly, the Orc backhanded Rasmot before punching him across the jaw. Walking out the cell, the Orc gestured to the guards for them to take him as the three walked out the door. Fine black blood trickled from the Orc’s nose as he pinched and tried to correct the damage from Rasmot’s sudden attack. Rasmot smirked even though his jaw hurt like it was on fire as the guards dragged him away. The sunlight stung his eyes as he squinted and was walked through the city and past the gates.
---
Anyone who was anyone and awake, gathered and crowded around the tree as the rope with the noose was tossed over one thick branch. Rasmot was not the only one to be hung. They actually found the thief that they were looking for, and since his crime was pettier they decided to test the rope. The man was helped up onto a Hawkstrider, both feet firmly planted on the Bird’s back as they pushed the man’s head through the noose and tightened. A few words were said by a priest. Although the priest was an honest one, the fact that she was out here to say a few hollow words for men about to hang made her feel guilty. Rasmot could see it on her face as plain as day before the woman tore her head away.
One of the guards spanked the rear end of the Hawkstrider hard and sent it running away. The sudden loss of ground made the rope crack with a sick snap as the man hung. Rasmot grimaced as he saw the man kick twice before the rope dug in too deep into the larynx and crushed it through the helpful tug of gravity. It took them a while to find another Hawkstrider, and when they set it up the Orc he head butted kicked him in the back. Rasmot was thrust face first against the Hawkstrider with a muffled groan, the guards quickly lifting him up onto the bird and pushing his head through the noose.
“Brothers and Sisters of the Light, we are gathered here today-”
“Lady.” Rasmot interrupted looking down at the priest. “Save the sermon would you? Man’s about to be hung and you’re sprinkling words for people who don’t give a shit, and guards who give even less of a shit.”
The priest blinked twice and looked up at Rasmot. “Wh-what makes you say that?”
“Cause i know, when there’s murder in the eyes. Look around you.” Rasmot scowled. “Bunch of hungry wolves waiting for the kill. But it ain’t going to come, you want to know why?”
Standing horribly confused she clutched a large book to her chest before speaking. “Why?”
“When you kill someone lady. You make sure they’re dead.” He took a glance to the guards and crowd. “They won’t make sure. Even if i do end up dead.”
Her entire body shook as she looked up at Rasmot, she was about to cry. “Is . . . is there anything i can do?”
“If i do die, then you can cremate my body and scatter my ashes to the wind.” Rasmot looked down at the lady. “If i don’t die? Then you’d better run for cover.”
The Orc rolled his eyes. “Are we going to hold this up any longer?”
“. . .” The priest looked at Rasmot before stepping away. “May the light save your soul.”
Rasmot laughed. “That’ll piss off the Gods of the Nether surely. But i’ll send them your regards if i head that way.”
It all happened in an instant. Rasmot barely had time to react to it all after he heard the smack on the Bird’s flank. His body suddenly shifted as the bird ran off and gravity started pulling down. He had watched the motions of the man before, how he didn’t tuck his chin into the rope. So Rasmot tried the opposite, tucking his chin in and keeping it tucked until he was pulled all the way down. He managed to survive the snapping motion of the rope. Now came the hard part, the struggle.
The entire crowd became furious as they watched the Fel-touched Elf struggle for his life on the rope trying to elevate himself to gasp a small breath of air before falling again into the embrace of gravity. Trying to force him down, the guards grabbed his feet. Which gave Rasmot an advantage. He kicked off with both feet on a pair of hands and kicked the two guards in the face, pushing off with his full foot on either face. That was a few moments more of air but it was still not enough. The rope was digging into his neck, rubbing and tearing at his skin with each struggling motion. Blood trickled down from the now open wound on the rope.
Roaring with anger, the Orc lunged for Rasmot’s feet. Using the approach and angle Rasmot lifted his legs up enough for the Orc to dive under and then kick off of the brutes back for a bit more air. Everyone in the crowd was now restless while Rasmot was fighting for air, the priest from before clasping her hands as she watched Rasmot fight for life. Everyone was screaming and yelling. It was only a matter of time before the cowed masses took justice into their own hands and killed Rasmot themselves. The screaming came to a stop as a loud “BRAMM” echoed out through the forest and the shot hit the stone wall of the gates.
Rasmot could only guess where the shot came from but he had a good hunch. There was another shot and that one flew wide from the target. Everyone had their gaze fixed on the hill where each shot came from. The third shot was what finally cut the tension as Rasmot landed flat on his back. Anger creased every line of the Orc’s face as he came after Rasmot with an axe before he was kicked with both feet in the nose again, this time possibly breaking it. Quickly scrambling onto his belly and feet, Rasmot bolted to the hill. The entire mob followed after him and was stopped by several more wide gunshots. Rasmot panted for breath before looking up at his savior, Lenathil with one of Rasmot’s revolvers.
“Did . . . you lose . . . your depth perception!?” Rasmot managed to make out after deep ragged breaths.
Lenathil rolled his eye. “I missed your head, you’re welcome.”
“How . . . are you fucking . . . good with a bow . . . and piss poor with a revolver!?”
A deep frown creased the Ranger’s face. “Well with a bow you don’t have to worry about your weapon slamming into your face.”
“Just . . . get me the fuck out of here, Dragonflame.”
Grunting Lenathil went to the Dragonhawk resting nearby. “You don’t have to use my nickname.”
“I nearly just died . . . i think that give me some head room to use your damn nickname.” Rasmot shook his head. “Let’s go before you shoot a Hawkstrider in the ass with my gun.”
A wide smirk lit up Lenathil’s face. “Half the time i wonder if you were there back then. There was one kid who hit a Hawkstrider in the ass with an arrow, several miles away from the target.”
“Yeah must’ve been your prized student.” Rasmot grunted as he got on the Dragonhawk.
There was a shrug. “Not sure about prized, but he was stubborn.”
The two rode off on the Dragonhawk putting several miles worth of distance before attempting to free Rasmot from his bindings. Rasmot and Lenathil parted ways shortly after as Rasmot wanted nothing more but to return to Draenor and his bar and have a few shots to forget this terrible day. When he returned to Draenor it became several magnitudes worse as he stared at the new poster on the bar top.
Wanted: Dead or Alive
The following fugitive is wanted by the order of Nobles
Any who take on this contract will have legal jurisdiction and right to kill the fugitive on sight. However the Bounty will be doubled if the fugitive is brought back to Silvermoon alive.
Below the fine print was a very rough picture of Rasmot, not too accurate but close enough.
The fugitive is known by these Aliases: Rasmot, Rasmot Hajra Aresh’Felo, The Red Storm, Shadow Flame, Rasmot Hawkcrest
The reward for his death is 20,000 gold. Double if he is brought back alive.
Half of him wanted to instantly tear it up. Another part of him wanted to break down and cry. Instead he ignored both, picked up the poster and a nail and hammered it into a nearby pole that connected next to the Bar with the bottom of his revolver. After he was finished, he took a bottle from behind the bar and tossed the cork away after pulling it off. He was going to have to close early today, of that he was sure. And for now he wouldn’t be able to do anything about his predicament. So ended for the moment, the suite of Hawkcrest on a bitter note.
Love for a Beast -- Lenathil's POV father's day story
Sunset in Quel'thalas was always one to impress. Golden light crafted amber woods, glittering leaves reflecting the light of the sun indefinitely within the dense canopy overhead. Warm, gauzy mist floated up from the cool touch of green grass against swollen midsummer air. The shadows cast across the woods stretched forever, it seemed, and fireflies began to dot the approaching darkness.
Silently, a series of soft footsteps parted the grass. An old hunter made his way across the forest, his bow slung across his back and his hair trailing after him in long, bittersweet strands. He wore his full suit of armor, the tarnished chains stretched taught against a frame which still held the vigor and strength of youth. He led the life of a wanderer--an esteemed Farstrider--armed and ready to chase down and defeat any threat to Quel'thalas or its glorious woods.
He'd never given it up, even after so many years.
Weary feet paused to rest for just a brief moment while a majestic black dragonhawk caught up to him. It floated effortlessly through the air, its molten ember eyes peering at him searchingly, its beak held shut in reverent silence as it looked to its master for guidance.
Lenathil reached out, but withdrew his hand. Instead, he nodded respectfully to his companion, earning him a soft hiss. The hawk was different than the golden kind most common around the woods. He carried himself differently, and understood far better the moods and meanings of his master. His intelligence glowed within his smouldering eyes.
The Farstrider's journey took him to one of the tallest hills in all of Eversong -- a point from which one could see the lands beyond, and the river below. He looked to his hawk, a brief flicker of unease present within his eyes for the first time that day. The hawk nudged his beak underneath the man's arm, pushing him forward even though he was reluctant.
"Hmph," Lenathil grunted, his eyes falling shut. "Sometimes I wonder who answers to who of the two of us...you know that?"
The hawk hissed again, its tongue sneaking out of its beak and twisting around his hand. He nipped Lenathil's gloved hand, then let him be.
"Yes, yes. I know. I was the one who wanted to come," he murmured softly. His eyes moved forward again, a deep breath swelling his lungs. He exhaled slowly, doubt mixing with fear, mixing with memory. The pain he felt crept back into him like it had all happened yesterday.
Lenathil's breath caught in his chest. He forced away the urges to turn and run. He had to go. His son waited for him just up the hill, and fel be damned, he was going to make it. Today was special. Today was his day to celebrate having helped give life in this world...even if that life no longer lived.
He climbed. His hawk remained at the base of the incline, curling up and watching him from the cool of the grass. It was not his place to follow his master this time. How he understood such complex things, Lenathil was not sure. He could not bring himself to question it; he could scarcely put one foot in front of the other, and as the climb went on, it became harder and harder to do so.
At last, he reached the top.
A clean, neatly-carved stone waited for him. It surface had aged well, the moss surrounding it making a beautiful accent to the stone. Carved into its weathered gray surface were two names, and below them, two rings. He knelt, his long hair falling over his shoulders as he did so.
"Eyin," he whispered, "I've come to see..."
Tears choked off his words, bitter and stinging with the weight of regret. His hands shook. His legs shook. Nothing could ever be easy, he surmised...
His armor held within it a chain, and he reached for it in his duress. Clinking metal chimed amidst a rush of windswept leaves. Two rings tumbled from his grasp, suspended on the necklace he kept tucked away from the world.
He began again, his tanned skin showing a forced smile. "Not a day goes by that I do not think of you," he spoke. "I was so fiercely proud of you, every moment of your life." He paused, a shudder overtaking him. "Even now, knowing the hero you became."
He turned his eyes away, far off into the woods. Long moments passed.
"And Madelynn..."
The other name -- a beautiful young woman of exceptional warmth, with a nurturing spirit who had taken his son's heart -- rested alongside his only child. Lenathil's aloof nature had made it nearly impossible for him to have much more than a word to say to her at any given time...but he had learned, and he had finally come to accept her as family.
Now, she had no family to visit her. All of them were long dead, most of them passing shortly after Madelynn herself.
He summoned up the courage to find his voice again, although as he spoke, he felt it tremble beneath a terrible weight.
"Your daughter," he said, a bright smile overtaking his face, "she is everything you wanted her to be -- she is the light of my life, kind and strong. She loves the sky, just like you did. Always wanted to fly."
His eyes lowered to the grass below. The shadows had run their course; the land now waited in the last lights of day, the sky overhead showing violet hues and its first hints of stars.
"I would give anything to have you back," Lenathil whispered, his eyes lifting to the heavens. "Fate is a cruel, uncaring beast."
He stopped mid-sentence. It wasn't his voice that echoed within his mind. His eyes widened, confusion settling in. Was it a memory...?
"But you know the nature of the beast, and you love it anyway. That's what you always said was the key -- you had to love the beast, and the beast would learn love."
Lenathil bowed his head. "How that applies to fate is a joke at best. Fate is not sentient. It cannot learn."
The wind caressed his face, roused his hair into fluttering, stray strands. Embarassment crept into his face; he'd almost expected a response. Of course there would be none.
He stood to go. The feeling of time and place rushed back to him, and it was entirely unwelcome at that moment.
But then, there it was again. Inside his mind, that voice.
"Fate is not, but you are. How long has it been since you loved yourself?"
Lenathil's composure broke. He stood still, eyes staring into nothing. He answered without pause, without reasoning that he spoke to the wind. "Forever."
"Forever sounds about right. That's far too long. I don't want that for you."
Lenathil swallowed the resurging doubt. "I cannot let go of you."
The breeze again. It swirled to life, all at once carrying with it a flurry of leaves and motes of plant life. Fireflies danced in the fallen dark, the night birds starting their songs.
He searched the darkness, eyes staring in disbelief at the change in the scene. Nothing so eerie had ever befallen him before, and he found himself hoping like a foolish child that it was not only his imagination when the wind kicked up, and upon it ...
...floated a shimmering web of sparkling dust, a faint swirl of color which became...
...bright eyes and golden hair, a sideways smirk and a pair of aviator goggles strapped tightly to a youthful face, the form of a young man several inches shorter than him standing just a foot away.
He grinned warmly, a thumb brushing his chin. In that moment, all of time stopped. Lenathil's heart plunged into his stomach. The joy which lept into his chest was enough to push everything else out.
There was no time. The young man shook his head and laughed. "You always do that to yourself. You're pretty stubborn."
His voice echoed without sound. It pierced the old hunter's heart, perhaps fragmenting some of the ice that had built up over the years.
"Eyin," he said breathlessly.
Eyin nodded. "I waited a long time for this." He held out his hand, transparent and glimmering even where the light had long faded.
Lenathil did not question anything. He reached for his son's hand, the feeling upon his skin an odd, velvety tingle. Not cold, not solid, but certainly not an illusion. He was there.
Eyin clasped his father's hand tightly. He looked the man over, chuckling at his wide eyes. "I will always be here," he said quietly, "in the sky, on the wind. With my hero -- with you."
Lenathil's eyes blurred. He could not longer see. The wind picked up, and panic struck him. He squeezed his eyes shut and raced to open them again. The pressure upon his hand was gone, and soon, the image of his child began to fade. He called out into the night, unable to hold a breath in his lungs.
The last he saw was Eyin's dashing smile, a gift bestowed upon him by his mother. So many storms that glowing grin had chased away... It had been so long since Lenathil had seen it that he had almost forgotten the warmth it held. How nourishing and reviving it could be.
The image before him finally dissipated, and Eyin was gone. His voice echoed within Lenathil's mind, however, just one final time.
"Smile for me, okay?"
The breeze left him. He stood alone upon the hill, his eyes searching the darkness. His heart jolted to life all at once, and he called out frantically.
No answer.
His path became bathed in moonlight.
Lenathil fell to his knees in the darkness. A sudden flapping of large wings brought him only briefly away from his grief. His hawk had found him, its hard beak nuzzling his temple as it hovered over him protectively. He moved his hands to stroke the hawk's plated underbelly, a gesture that he was surprised the aloof hawk had allowed him.
Eyin's words echoed in his mind.
"We as beastmasters know the nature of the beast, and we love it anyway. That is how the beast learns to love us, and perhaps..."
Lenathil's eyes widened.
"...that is also how we learn to love ourselves."
The shuddering sobs began to slow. The pulsing, tender ache in his chest began to soothe itself, and fatigue crept over him. He thought about it again, and yet again as the moments passed.
The hawk chirped to him softly. It was time to leave.
Reluctantly, Lenathil stood to his feet. "Yes, you're right. We need to go. Tomorrow is an early day, and we have many days yet to live."
The hawk stared at him through sharp, ember eyes. It floated some distance away, lowering itself to the earth and gesturing to him. It threw its head back, then flicked its long ear feathers at him with annoyance.
Lenathil passed it a smirk. "Perhaps a flight home would be more welcome than walking," he said, gently patting the hawk on its head. "Thank you."
He carefully climbed atop the large dragonhawk and settled in. He rode without reigns or saddle, trusting his bond with the animal almost entirely. With only a tap upon the hawk's neck, he signaled that he was ready to leave, and as they soared into the night sky, he did not look down to the earth -- to the grave he had just stood before -- but to the sky.
A list of things that needed to be done wrapped around Zel's mind, pestering her to get moving, get the day started. But she had to wait a few more minutes, she couldn't get out of bed just yet.
Not that she wanted to go back to sleep, it was just too cute seeing the girl huddled in the sheets next to her, lit in the first beams of dawn.
Zel leaned over, her face barely an inch away from Quinnie's as she licked her lips, no doubt dreaming of her favorite snack. She couldn't resist leaving a quick kiss on her lips, the familiar flavor of marshmallow lingering. Of course. She had her midnight snack again when she wasn't looking.
A few more rays of light streaked through the slight opening in the curtains. She sighed, figuring she had let herself wait long enough. She slid away from the bed as lightly as she could before grabbing for her clothes and making her way out for the stairs.
Zel tried to go over the list in her mind again as she made her way down the steps. A delivery needed to be made, and all of that had to be prepared. The more important balms and salves were all ready, but the herbs still needing tending. Pruning, cleaning, separating for some, milling for others. That was what she had to work on first.
Halfway down the stairs, a delicious scent greeted her, beckoning her to follow. She moved a few more steps down and peeked at the figure moving about the kitchen.
The sound of a bubbling percolator set an unsteady rhythm to his steps. Lenathil worked silently in the kitchen, his long auburn hair tied back and braided the last six inches, and his sleeping clothes still on. He reached for a thick square of cloth and opened the door of his brick and mortar oven, nimble fingers pulling out a set of ceramic cups filled with cream and eggs and herbs. He set them on the stove top to cool, turning towards the cooler air coming from the living room for a quick breath. His eyes remained closed until he released his breath, the flashing orbs landing right on Zel as she descended the stairs in the next room.
His eyes softened, the faintest traces of a smile forming on his lips. He motioned to her without a word.
Zel's legs responded faster than the rest of her could, stunned for a moment at the way his eyes seemed to reflect the dawn back at her. She regained her focus at the threshhold of the kitchen and leaned on the frame, eyeing the recipe Lenathil had been cooking.
"What is that?" she asked, trying to keep her eyes on the cups to avoid revealing her embarassment at not knowing very many recipes.
Lenathil kept a small table in his kitchen, one that could comfortably seat three only if they squeezed. He had no need for anything larger. He pulled two cups from the stove with padded gloves and placed them on the table before fetching something to drink. "Baked eggs," he said matter-of-factly, "are you hungry?" He turned to face her then, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. His expression twisted into a knowing smirk. "Or are you only down so early because Quinnie kicked you out of the bed?"
Zel felt her nose scrunch up her face, memories flashing by. "Not today..."
She shook her head, bringing her eyes to Lenathil, finally. "I... tucked her in this time." She couldn't hide a wide grin as she peered at the meal on the table. "And I am very hungry."
The aroma lifting from the cups tugged at her to take a seat. The herbs made her curious, trying to quiz herself as to the recipe, but her stomach interrupted. Guessing games were for later, nourishment was for now.
Lenathil set the two drinks down and retrieved two pieces of toast before taking a seat himself. He leaned his chin on his left hand, his elbow propping his arm on the table. His eyes scanned the room, his gaze taking in the things he admired most about living in the forest -- the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, warmth and radiance descending from the ever-blue sky into green and golden leaves, and finally into his own home, warming it. During all of his time as a Farstrider, he'd always known he loved the dead of night...but something had changed in recent years. The first hours of dawn had become infinitely more precious, and he had learned to appreciate them.
His eyes traveled over Zel. Her hair frayed around her face and strands of it tried to fly away, her clothing still pulled various directions from lying in bed and being too tired to realize it hadn't been righted. He almost laughed, but his conscience prevented it. Zel might believe he was making fun, and that wouldn't be nice.
"So," he said after a somewhat stilted pause, "what does the day have in store for Zel?" His eyes bored into her briefly, then flicked away.
A moment passed before Zel realized she had actually not responded or even moved. She just stared, watching him, tracking how something had sparked in his mind then fled. She took her first bite of breakfast before letting herself answer.
"Herby things." was what she apparently had come up with, as she heard herself say it. She quickly tried to elaborate. "Just... getting all of the herbs ready and cleaned up. Have to make sure it's done today or they'll wilt and won't keep at all..." She silenced herself with another bite.
"But you know all that."
Len brushed a lock of bangs away from his face. "Mm," he said in acknowledgement, little more than a noise. He flicked his eyes back towards her. He traced her hands, so delicate and nimble even as she performed such mundane actions as eating. She moved with care and precision, something he approved of. Before long, he'd finished his meal, and with nothing else intelligible on his mind, stood from his seat to put away the dishes. "I packed the last bunch last night. The fresher picks are still drying; test them if you like, but..." He trailed off. "The rest are done."
He stepped away from the sink. "I thought you might like," he said, again clipping his sentence short. He rolled his eyes, visually annoyed with himself. He sighed again. "You've been doing well, Zel. You work hard." He attempted a smile.
Len walked almost past her, pausing just before entering the living room again. He turned and leaned his back to the door frame. "Some days I worry for the both of you," he said softly, his eyes darkening. He hesitated, seeming to have something else on the tip of his tongue, but it never left his lips.
Zel stopped her meal, her mind wrapping prying fingers around the knots in his words. She picked apart all the things he left unsaid, an absent smile concealing her thoughts. "You don't have to worry. We've survived a lot. The work isn't really so bad..." She threw him a sideways glance as she reached for the coffee he had left behind, thankful it was still mostly hot. She peered up at him from above the rim of the mug as she took a sip, examining him. "Is that... all that's worrying you?"
Len raised an eyebrow at her. He spent a few moments in silence, unsure where she was going with that coy little play.
He realized he'd been caught in some kind of trap. She and Quinnie played all kinds of silly games with each other, and once or twice, they'd let him in on a game or two. It seemed Zel was playing one now, and while the idea tired him most days, he had to admit to himself that it was something of an honor to be handed a chance to compete. He smirked slyly. He would play Zel's game. He might lose, but he would play.
"No, that's everything," he said coolly. "I have a couple of important things to do today as well." He paused. "All of them while the master still sleeps upstairs, of course." He spoke in mock reverence, both of them having shared the joke that Master Quinnie ruled the home now that she had overtaken the other upstairs bedroom. Half the house lay littered with her things.
Zel couldn't help but laugh, Quinnie's mark was clearly left any placed she had settled in. "The master raided the marshmallows last night, too. I'm convinced she's secretly an escape artist." She got herself up from the table to examine a baby blue hooded cloak that had been hung haphazard near the door. "Though where she possibly finds the subtlety is a mystery for the ages..."
Straightening the line of coats and cloaks hung, she glanced at Lenathil once more. He was his usual composed self, which meant she couldn't read him. She could hardly read minds, but people generally left enough of themselves within reach that she could still get an idea. But not Lenathil. He was standing his ground, keeping his odd thought away from her. She wanted to be disappointed that he didn't reveal an answer, but that also made it more fun. She'd just have to find a way to pry it from him.
"What does our gracious host have hanging over his head today, I wonder?" She let her hazel eyes swing around him for a moment before adding. "For things to do, of course."
Lenathil chuckled softly at her remarks about Quinnie. Every last one was true, and while he desperately needed the humor in his life, his expression once again grew somber. He stared off into the distance, his brow furrowing in deep concentration. He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes slowly moving back to Zel. He seemed to be getting frustrated. "All things I should have done a long time ago," he said softly, his voice almost inaudible. He'd changed his mind. He was tired of the games.
He stepped out into the room. He moved slowly, with purpose, carefully lifting one hand and reaching towards Zel. His fingers hovered inches away from her face, the knuckles finally making contact with her cheek. Very gently, he brushed her golden hair behind her ear, his fingers trailing down her neck. "Of course," he said softly as he inched closer to her, "it depends more than a little on what you think of that."
Zel lost herself in the feeling of his touch trailing over her, happy to let the world blur as she focused on the sensation of his fingertips. Rough, but gentle, his touch sent a shiver through her body. She felt herself being pulled towards him and did nothing to resist it, clutching on the loose sleeve on his shirt, trying to get him to come closer.
She tipped her head up slightly, whispering to him. "I think procrastination doesn't suit you."
For a moment, the realization that she'd accepted him washed through him like a warm tide, glowing and ephemeral. The speed of his heart jumped up, his face flushing for the first time in a very long time. Hearing her whisper, feeling her fall towards him, he asked himself how long she had wanted him and never said a word. He felt a rush of energy course through him. He grinned, not wanting to ruin the moment with speaking. He leaned down and brushed her nose and forehead with a lingering kiss, and then he reached for her. His strong arms hooked around the small of her back, his fingers grasping at her sides. They pulled her body against him, eager to squeeze and see her writhe under his touch. The shirt he wore fell loosely around his arms and waist, with a long split down the front where only bare skin showed. In a haze, he thought to expose hers as well, the thrill of the very thought bringing his fingers prying at the hem of her shirt. He moved his lips to her ear, gently nudging her until her neck lay exposed to him.
The warmth of his lips against her neck threatened to make her melt her in his arms. She held on tightly to what of his shirt she had managed to grasp, keeping herself still as she caught up to the moment and all of the feelings wrapped in it. She felt like the dawn itself was reaching for her and she let herself simply bask in it. His hands trailed over her sides, every little graze making the moment brighter. The sensation of his fingers trailing down her back made her realize she had just lost her shirt. That would not go without reprisal.
Her fingers wound around the opening of Lenathil's shirt and pushed it open, giving her better reach to wander, her sense of touch suddenly overflowing with greed. She traced the lines of his chest as if she was examining a map, taking care to remember every curve, every crest, every stop. Taking care not to get lost.
She burned every inch into her memory, learning him, treasuring him. Her senses started to become overwhelmed with him. Feeling him, seeing him, smelling him. She could've sworn she could taste him. But another touch against her skin as he pulled her close once more nearly made it all fall away, her concentration broken by the simplest contact. There was still much more to feel, so much more to learn. She let her hands slide over him towards his neck, sadly pulling him away from her neck, beckoning him to face her. Taste... She propped herself up on her toes to get as close as she could to press her lips to his. She wanted everything.
For a moment, Lenathil stared at her blankly. He quickly understood what she wanted, though, as her nose bumping against his left little distance to cover between them. He chuckled softly to himself and gave her what she wanted, his lips pressing to hers in a passionate kiss. He tipped his chin, allowing her to stand fully upright.
But Len was not entirely sated. As she stood against him, wrapped in his arms and leaning against his chest, not a shred of fabric between their heaving chests, a mischevious spark took hold of him. He stroked her back, gently brushing her skin during the kiss...but he pulled on hand away. He led it farther down her back, quickly tracing the round bump of her backside. His fingers danced further, coarse tips finding the warm center underneath her. Two fingers held closely together, he pressed in. The radiant heat passed through her clothing as if it wasn't even there.
The sudden pressing warmth toppled her, dropping her onto the backs of her feet as her hands fell onto his shoulders and hung there. He had moved so quickly, it was like he had taken the floor out from under her. She felt she might fall at any moment, but his grip was solid around her, even with one arm. She kept herself pressed tightly against his chest, her lips unable to remain idle, hazily planting kisses over his heart as she held on. Her legs and hips moved back slightly, begging his fingers to continue.
Lenathil grinned victoriously. He pulled her into his arms, hoisting her up. He brought her legs around his waist, quietly soothing her as he carried her the short few feet to the living room furniture. Cradling her securely in his arms, Len leaned over and let her down on a long, backless sofa, resting her back upon the patterned, woven throw which covered it all the time. He hovered over her, his eyes hungrily taking in the scarlet blush on her cheeks, and the way her hair spilled over the cushions underneath her head. Carefully, his fingers reached for her waistband, nimbly plucking the strings which tied her knee-length pajama pants to her. Two short tugs and the fabric came loose. He began sliding the fabric down her legs...
The journey her bottoms took down her legs felt like an eternity and a flash at the same time. One part of her wanted to savor the moment while another longed for it to hurry and be over so she could have him back close to her. She smiled as she watched a blur of pink fabric fling aside, her arms already reaching out to him, awaiting his return to her.
He took a moment to look her over. She lay before him almost completely stripped, skin glowing a sunny hue and legs twitching as her toes searched for places to rest. He held her feet apart, one on either side of him, the only thing between them a thin covering of fabric and a single pair of lace-trimmed satin panties.
He dipped a finger under the top edge and tugged, and then they were cast aside just as the other had been. He stroked her belly, his fingers moving down her body until they dipped between her legs. He pressed into her skin, moving between the part with his thumb. She reacted more visibly than he had imagined, her eyes closing in a quick wince, then fluttering rapidly, unsure whether to force themselves open or stay closed. He pulled away and shuffled the fabric of his own clothes. He pulled himself over her then, his lips brushing her cheek one more time. "You were right," he murmured, "procrastination doesn't suit me."
Zel's eyes wandered downward as he moved over her, watching him as if her gaze would pull him closer. Her fingers wrapped around his arms, holding onto him as she bit the edge of her lip, waiting. She didn't have to wait long.
Lenathil pulled her legs around him. Fingertips curled under one thigh, propping it just inches off the surface she lay on, he hoped the squeeze he gave her would prepare her... He parted her lips and pushed inside. Immediately, his breath left him. He touched his forehead to hers just briefly, an unbelievable haze overtaking his senses. So stubborn he had been all this time to avoid her, to deny her. The warmth she held, the soft, soothing coccoon at the heart of her...she swirled around him, pulling him into her. He would not make the same mistake again. He began to adjust to a soft rhythm, shifting his hips in search of what would roll her eyes up; in search of what would bring her fingernails grazing his skin. Whatever reactions she had, he was interested.
The rhythm he moved with reduced her mind into a lull, thoughts only bubbling to the surface in breif moments as she let herself focus on the sensations coursing through her. His pace faltered for the shortest second as he shifted again, continuing his search. Her grip on his arms failed instantly as she let out a breath too quickly to censor any sound. She dug into him as her hands drifted, trying to find some grip on him to keep him close, keep him going just like that. Her hands eventually remembered the way around to his back and managed to give her the hold she sought. The muscles in his back flexed, pushing back against her nails as she kept whatever was left aware in her mind to simply hold on. The strength of his movements, long and arcing, pushed her to rock her hips along with him, pulling him even more. It didn't matter that his pace was slowly quickening. She felt as if they were tumbling downhill, out of control. All she could do was hang on.
Lenathil felt the quivering of her body beneath him. Her arms held tight across his back, one of her legs hovering helplessly in the air while the other propped her hips up enough that she could move with him. He grinned and nipped her ear. Of course it wasn't necessary, but as long as she wanted to, he didn't mind. He watched her, teased her. The first gasp that she had let escape surged through him like electricity. He thought of little else, desperate to hear another. He still held one of her thighs in his hand, the fingers gripping her toned flesh as hard as he dared. He shifted that hand and pressed on the underside, bending it slowly towards her belly. He knew exactly what he was doing; bending her knee would press her insides together further, and he was already moving faster...
His ears burned as he the sound he chased escaped once more, another excited gasp accompanied by an errant tug at his skin pushing him further. The heat was drawing him in and sending him into a frenzy. Every move began to send shocks through him, threatening to sap him of his strength or rhythm. His eyes shut as he fought to hold on, to push for a few more moments against the pressure that was slowly wrecking the hinges on his mind. The sound of her voice kept him moving steadily, serenading him and dousing the fire in him, buying him the moments he wanted to hold on to. But it couldn't be held for long. His body had finally reached its limit and, in one final moment, electricity overtook his body, nearly taking his legs out from underneath him.
Zel's body had given up several moments before, finally throwing her into unstoppable climax. Her center burned white-hot, her eyes enveloped in an impossible hue as she threw her head back to release a pleasure-driven mixture of a purr and a cry. Every muscle in her body tensed, rigidity flowing through her like an ocean wave. The sweetness of all she had experienced bundled together in that final time, blanketing her with wondrous sparkles and cool euphoria. Her body released her, all feeling dispersing, then returning as normal. Her ears caught Lenathil's fading voice, and she smiled, her neck still too weak to lift her head just yet. Her toes twitched, her knees wanting to draw up and close everything to just rest. She gasped for air, delicious euphoria soothing her tension and nerves. She would be like that for hours, happy and glowing, every last ounce of her sensitive a thousand more times to new touch.
Zel managed to reach a feeble hand up to Lenathil's face. She could say nothing, her words not making sense to her own mind, but she could smile. She nipped his nose, and then let her eyes drift closed, chest still heaving and her body caught in the painful-pleasing stage of wanting more and less at the same time.
Lenathil let the feather touches she managed hold him there in envy of the glow she was in, the sound of her final cry still echoing in his mind. He wanted to keep it there and always be able to hear it ring in his ears. His mind fought him, trying to toss reminders at him of responsibilities and duties, pestering little things he swatted away. He grabbed at a blanket slung next to the sofa and draped it over them both, satisfied with the shiver Zel gave as he wrapped his arms around her again. The morning was still very young and the moment was far too precious to let end. The world could wait just a few more minutes.
Quinnie pushed herself further into Lenathil's embrace with a giggle, trying to steal every bit of warmth from him that she could. She nudged her cold nose against his collar, enjoying how it made him cringe ever so slightly. Zel closed her eyes and smiled, content to listen to them breathe and just be lost in the moment.
She focused on the sensation in her fingertips as she traced her way around Lenathil's torso, feeling his muscles flex as he pulled them closer and the rough spots in his skin where shallow cuts had since healed. The stories he could tell swirled through her mind. Despite all their time with him, he was still so much of a mystery.
Her hands swept upward again, stopping over his heart. Her fingers lingered there as she felt it beat. Everything about him seemed strong. Even his heart had such conviction. But even as she felt this, something still seemed to be weighing on him, stealing his breath. Her eyes fluttered back open to watch him.
She wasn't sure what she expected, but something seemed to be missing in his eyes. As tight as he held them, he still felt distant, caught up in the storming gray outside the window. A hole began to open up in her chest as fear began to take hold of her.
Did he not want her? Had his mind changed? Everything in her raced from the possibility, intensifying the storm inside her. The warmth of the bodies she clung to and the fire behind her wasn't enough suddenly.
Before she could even think to get a hold of herself, her hands shook as a few tears began to fall down her cheeks. She thought maybe she could hide it before they noticed, but it was too late.
Their eyes were on her. She could feel it. She tried to hide herself in Lenathil's chest. Quinnie pushed her hair out of her face, trying to get a look at her and whispering her name. Zel retreated even further.
Len shifted over, moving her in his arms until he had her upright in his lap and facing him. "What's wrong?" he asked as he tipped her chin up to look into her eyes.
Her throat burned as words failed her. Her doubts clawed at her. She didn't want to say any of it aloud, afraid giving it sound would suddenly make it all reality. Without thinking, it escaped anyway. "Don't throw me away..."
Quinnie's eyes went wide. She wrapped herself around Zel's arm and pulled herself as close as possible.
For just a short moment, Len's voice broke. "Never." He pushed away her tears from her cheeks and pulled her closer. "I would never do that." He paused, his lips just barely touching hers. "Never." He whispered into her lips before kissing her, holding her tighter as the snowstorm rattled the windows.
Zel felt as if her heart had been lit on fire. She returned the kiss, pushing her body against his, afraid that if she let go the moment would be lost to the storm, and her with it.
Unknown moments passed before she finally pulled away. There was no gray storm ready to drown her. No rush of cold to freeze her into oblivion. Only kind eyes and warm embraces. She was safe.
Quinnie squeezed her way into Len's grip to tuck her head between them both. "No one gets thrown away while I'm around!" She proclaimed, her voice muffled in their chests as she smiled and tried to wrap her arms around both of them.
Zel tried to find a reply, but could only let out a small laugh as tears fell. Her heart felt like it was filling, pushing out all her fears as the noise of the storm outside faded. The gray no longer threatened to overtake and bury her. For a long moment, she was content to just sit there, rocking in Lenathil's lap and running her fingers through Quinnie's hair.
That wouldn't be all she was content with for very long.
Her mind drifted as she slid her body closer to Lenathil. She kept her arms wrapped firmly around him, tracing every line in his back and feeling how they moved as he held her closer. His grip was so strong. Some corner of her wanted to be scared, but his touch was still gentle. It sent a wave through her that doused all her worries and made her shake.
She was actually safe despite how only a thin layer of fabric separated their bodies. Her chest heaved against his. The closeness made her hazy. Her heart ached to be closer to his.
Another body crept up behind her, pressing against her back as small fingers slid around her waist and clasped over her stomach. Quinnie leaned her chin against Zel's shoulder nuzzled her neck with her cheek.
Zel breathed a long sigh, satisfied that her spark was safe to let burn again. She gave herself one last moment clutching Lenathil before letting her flame return and finding the strength to pull away. She spun around in Quinnie's embrace. The smaller girl looked up at her, surprised at the sudden movement. Zel smirked as the fire reflected in her hazel eyes with a devilish glow.
"Come here!" She dove for Quinnie's sides, sending her fingers down to tickle her. She smiled as Quinnie squealed and leaned into her, giggling as she tried to resist.
She tried to push away, but Len pulled her back into Zel's reach. "You're not getting away."
Quinnie looked up at him with wide eyes, about to plead with him, before folding over in another fit of laughter as Zel tickled her again. Her grin widened as she leaned in and caught the tip of Quinnie's ear between her lips and nibbled, enjoying the way she shuddered at the sensation.
Zel's fingers snuck down Quinnie's sides and to the bottom of her shirt. Before she could even recover, she squealed once again as her shirt was suddenly pulled up above her head and snatched away from her. Her cheeks flushed red as she felt the sudden cold air rush over her bare chest. She wanted to cover herself, but in seconds, she was on her back with her arms pinned down over her head.
Zel hovered over her prey, grinning as she held onto Quinnie's wrists. Her heart pounded in her chest, pulling her to the smaller girl and making her mind fill with wanting. "You're all mine."
"No..." Len's discontent was barely audible, but nearly froze them both.
Quinnie stared him, his tall figure silhouetted by the fire, concealing his thoughts. His eyes flashed from the light outside. He was caught in her gaze, locked on her blue eyes as she writhed against Zel's light touch. The gray reflected doubt in his eyes for the briefest of moments, but he shook it off, unable to resist any longer.
"You're going to have to share." His voice dripped once again with its usual clarity as he gently nudged Zel's arm to make room and take his place over Quinnie. His lips left a trail of light kisses from her collar to her neck. Zel finally released one of her arms. Her now free hand flew behind Len's neck, pulling to keep him close.
Zel grew impatient. She slid her hands down Quinnie's body, treasuring every toss and turn as she paused over her breasts and her stomach before finally reaching her shorts. She grabbed hold and pulled everything down Quinnie's legs, smiling as a short gasp was muffled in Len's lips.
She was now completely exposed, but the elements couldn't reach her as their lips and hands wrapped her in their warmth. They would make sure the winter air couldn't touch her. Only they were allowed to.
Zel moved her hands up the inside of Quinnie's legs, pushing them apart so her fingers could have access. She moved inside Quinnie, her smile widening as a leg kicked out and another muffled squeak twisted into a moan. Her mind raced as her kept her fingers moving, remembering all the spots that made Quinnie jump.
Uneven breaths concealed a fight in Quinnie's mind. She enjoyed it too much, but something else had found its way into her mind. She wanted something else, something more. Zel's fingers weren't enough this time. She reached for Len's arm and moved it to her thigh, pleading with him with her eyes because her voice was still captured by them both.
Zel smiled as the man's hand moved to replace hers. She brushed her fingers against his arm as he began to move with his own pace. She wouldn't give him any hints. She wanted to see him discover for himself. She stopped for a moment, watching his fingers move with the same expert motions he had as a marksman, watching how Quinnie's body shook and turned as she was lost in what he was doing to her. Zel bit her lip, fighting a small fit of jealousy.
She would have to entertain herself elsewhere. She brushed some of her hair back behind her ear as she knelt down to kiss Quinnie's belly, still heaving as she tried to keep from being overloaded. Zel made her way slowly up to Quinnie's breasts, following every little curve, remembering how much she loved the way they swayed whenever Quinnie couldn't stay still. Zel wanted to make sure nothing stopped her writhing. Her movements were quick and light, but each one was calculated to make Quinnie shake. A nibble here, a lick there.
She smiled as the silver-haired girl began to be lost at how to respond to both of them. Lenathil was finding every spot, no part of her able to keep secrets as his fingers explored her. Zel traced every soft curve that she loved so much, satisfied with every shiver that she knew she had caused.
Len's heart raced with every breath she lost trying and failing to stifle a moan. They listened to every sound, treasuring it as it escaped Quinnie's lips. She started to lose control and names slipped through. Zel's chest burned every time her name was uttered, but burned even more when Lenathil's name rang out.
They were competing now, fighting over whose name could be said more, over who could make her crazier. Zel already knew the battle was lost, that she couldn't compete where Len was going, but she didn't care. The way Quinnie was moving was too cute for her to stop.
In moments their tongues were on her, tasting her. Her soft, warm body made them both rabid as she pulled at them, keeping them close.
Zel took her time, playfully waiting before finding another spot to tease, not letting Quinnie know what to expect or have a moment to stop. A peck on the lips. A warm breath on her neck. Flicking a nipple with her tongue. Each gave such a wonderful shake. She couldn't stop.
Len felt each quiver run through him as he held his head steady between her legs, his grip firm on her thighs as he quickened his pace, exploring deeper in her with his mouth. He never tired, pushing Quinnie further towards the edge. She gripped the back of his head, her thin fingers twisting into his hair, urging him to not move away. She wanted to tell him to keep going, but could only manage to purr.
Quinnie tried to hold on, but one final dive from Len timed with a pinch from Zel and it was all over. The blonde girl was suddenly pulled into Quinnie's chest as she shook again. She held them tight as her voice let out one last long note.
Lenathil smiled as he broke away from between the girl's legs, her grip on his hair loosened as her hands flailed to the rug. Something about the way Quinnie rolled around as she tried to find her voice again caught him off guard. He couldn't pull away.
He lingered over her, his arms planted on either side of her. He waited as her gaze refocused onto him, her breaths slowly becoming level again. Their eyes locked as her hands climbed up his arms, making their way to his back. She pulled her naked body up to him, trying to reach him with her lips. Len lowered himself enough to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her as her hands moved to his hips and stopped abruptly.
He felt her lips twist upward in a smile and, before he could even be curious, felt her small fingers firmly grab his rear through his trousers. Len let out a muffled sound combining surprise and protest as she kept herself locked on him, tugging his pants down his hips and to his knees.
Zel's jaw dropped at Quinnie's audacity. She sat, frozen, watching the scene unfold before her. She saw the look in their eyes and felt as if an ember had leapt out from the hearth and landed in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to reach out to them both, but could only remain still as she watched them.
Quinnie's voice was quiet but clear as she laid back on the rug, her blue eyes shining up at Lenathil. It took a moment for her two simple words to sink in as she clung to him expectantly.
"Go on."
Lenathil obeyed. Quinnie's arms went limp as he moved into her. He waited a moment for her to regain her grip before moving again. He felt her hands slide down his back as she lost her hold bit by bit. With each push, she struggled to keep some kind of hold on him. All of her strength slowly slipped away. She let him take over as her mind went blank, everything fading out a bit more each time as she focused on the feeling of his body against hers, imagining how every part and curve was moving with her.
He summoned a bit more of his strength to keep her her secure in his arms as he quickened his pace, enjoying the satisfied moan it got as a result. She looked away, embarrassed at the sound she had made. He slowed again and leaned in to plant a light kiss on her ear. "It's alright." he whispered to her. He let her rest a moment, only moving once she had collected herself.
He felt her start to rock her hips with him and smiled. He followed her rhythm and kept his movements smooth, slowing with her when she tired. She whispered his name as she started to quicken her pace. She found the strength to hold onto him once again as she beckoned him to move with her. Lenathil carefully sped up to match her, his gaze locked on her.
Zel writhed where she sat, the sight of the two of them intertwined twisting every part of her around. She didn't quite know what to feel. She was proud, happy, jealous, and guilty all at once. In that moment, she felt like an intruder, like she shouldn't be there, and that only twisted her even further. Even with the winter chill, watching them started to make her sweat.
Every time Quinnie shook and lost her grip. Every time Len waited for her before starting again. Every whisper. Every stifled moan. It all made Zel hotter. She caught herself swaying her hips, instinctively matching every motion Len made, and sighed, suddenly aware of the dampness between her legs. Watching them was slowly setting her on fire. She couldn't take it anymore.
Zel snuck away into a corner, not wanting to be too close or make any noise that would disturb them. She didn't want them to stop. She couldn't peel her eyes off of them. She kept them both in clear view as she pulled her shorts off and sat back, spreading her legs to make room for her fingers.
Their bodies were silhouetted by the fire, orange dancing over them as they moved. Lenathil was like a force of nature, his entire body moving in one motion like waves stretching down his back to his hips. Quinnie was inching closer to the edge, her voice gaining a mind of its own as hers emptied with every wave that crashed into her.
Zel took in every little thing as she touched herself. The way Len had hooked Quinnie's legs and pulled them up to his sides. The way her toes curled as he started to move faster. The way her breasts bounced with each thrust. Zel wanted to just reach out and grab them, but her hands were already too occupied.
Her mind fought with her to look away but she couldn't. Her heart pulled in every direction and ached for both of them. She wanted to be between them. She wanted to be on them. She wanted them on her. She wanted to be Quinn. She wanted to be Lenathil. Her eyes finally drifted away as she lost focus. The window rattled behind her as a draft crept up her back. Her head started to fill with clouds, not sure what she wanted anymore.
Quinnie clutched at Lenathil's back, her fingers trying to dig into him as she felt herself go numb, a rush of release starting to come over her. Her hair bobbed into her face as she tried to hide in his shoulder, her last attempt to quiet herself. Another push from Len and she lost her fight with her voice, her head tilting back as she cried out and everything blurred one last time.
