Author’s Note: Wrath of the Lich King
This Story takes place just after the events of “Wrath of the Lich King” and on the alliance side. Please support more work like this because there are more.
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Sex and Treachery in Nothrend
It took all my courage to begin sharing the tale with Giles, but I began to tell him more than I had told any traveler.
Before and during the Lich King’s war, I’d joined a crusading order known as the The Wyrmguard Centurions. Our proud number had been whittled down over the months throughout our time in Northrend. It was our last battle mission that destroyed us. We had a simple assignment in an empty snow covered wastelands called the Dragon Blight. It was there, in the cold roof of the world, that dragons went to die. On the north end of the waste, the undead scourge citadel of Naxxramas floated. A necromancer known as Kel’Thuzad ruled here, and raised the dead dragons into the army of the Lich King. We centurions were to find the bones of the great wryms, smash their skulls and their great wing bones, thus rendering them useless to the Lich King’s servants. This brought two enemies against us. First, the scourge hunted us. They hated all living, but especially those who frustrated their plans. Second, the great wyrms of the blue dragon flight. They saw us as unholy defilers of their graves. Our company could engage one adversary at any time.
One day our plans were frustrated. Claws crunching in the snow, the blue dragonkin bounded from an icy cave. There had been little more than a dozen, but a single dragonkin fights with the strength of five men. We defeated them, but knew going forth would invite more trouble. Thus, our company was forced to make a dangerous retreat. Hoping no scourge tracked our trail, we followed our own snow prints back.
Stitched together abominations, a horde of ghouls, and the necromancer commanding them answered our hopes and prayers. We had no choice but to engage them before they engaged us. Matched in number, we fought hard, and I exorcised the undead with my fellow paladins. Despite our efforts, we fought in the open snow, and neither side could gain an advantage.
Then both of us faced the wrath of the blue dragons. Flanked by drakes, a great wyrm flew above the field of battle, strafing us with their breath, and scattering both living and undead alike. Soon, it was clear that would be no victor but the dragon and his kin. But my company looked in terror as one of the dracoliches entered the sky.
The Wyrmheart Centurions fought with honor. I myself did not falter. Wounded and weak, I still pulverized the last necromancer in holy fury. I had slain him, but I knew that I was the last. Blood dripping into the snow, waiting to join the rest of the centurions in honorable death, I fell to the ground. My vision grew hazy. The battle field grew quiet. Ahead of me one of, the walking abominations stomped towards me. Praying, I awaited a clean demise.
A brilliant streak of violet light traversed the air. An arrow struck the abomination. It groaned and charged. The growl of a fierce wolf broke into the air and charged the monster. More arrows followed. Someone shouted in Orcish. I saw not what transpired. All I could see was a great blue blur. But for a moment, my eyes focus on one standing over me, an Orc. His face looked kind and rugged, and creased in sadness at my pain.
"You do yet live," he spoke in the language common to humans.
"I cannot move," I whispered back.
"Do not try. I am Buntaro and I can help you," he said, retrieving a potion from his belt. "Drink first."
I swallowed it down. The worst of my wounds sealed themselves, but oh it awoke so much agony from those that did not. Moaning, I drifted out of focus. Buntaro shouted for his allies, and he lifted me up from the snow. Surrendering, I slipped out of consciousness.
Next I remembered, my waking gaze was met with two decayed eye sockets. Yellow orbs of light glowed where eyes had long since melted away. The tight mummified skin of the face stretched tight to bone, and still this dead woman’s face tried her best to smile in kindness at me. I knew what she must be. She was one of the undead who had been freed of the Lich King’s influence. Her mind, it would still be human, which meant she could be good. All this I understood in my mind, but my heart knew the face like that which had murdered so many of my friends.
With a hoarse sound, she said something.
Another undead creature, this one looking like a man, peered over me. He prodded my face with his bony hands examining my eyes and throat. Resting his hand on my chest, he said something in an icy voice.
"He says, ‘breathe’," the woman said. She spoke the language of the alliance in a voice like a dusty attic.
I took a deep inhale, in part truly of fear, for I was too weak to fight. It hurt to breathe, there was no doubt bile in my lungs. Though I knew, these must be the forsaken of Arthas’s first invasion.
"The Draenei’s lungs are filled with puss," the man said to the nurse. His words came out slow, and with effort. He handed a vial to the woman. "Pour this into her mouth."
With that, he shuffled off. The woman looked to me again.
"I am Julie Applewood, a nurse here," she said. "When under my care, I swear you will come to no harm."
She inspected the glowing yellow vial and popped its cork.
"Please drink this," she said. "You have slept from your wounds for three days."
Not sure what else to do, and still half expecting to die, I swallowed the contents. The liquid swirled into my throat, then became like a hot vapor. It worked its way into my lungs, filling them, then I coughed, gagged. A cloud of white expelled from my mouth, dissipating in the air. Alive again, I took my first breath.
"Yasmeen. My name is Yasmeen," I said. "Where am I?"
"In Warsong hold on the Borean Tundra," she said. I had known this place. It was a great fortress of the Horde in Northrend, far from the human settlements.
"Am I a prisoner?"
"You are an injured an warrior, in my medical ward. The horde are your allies in this war. We would not treat you so," she said. "How much do you remember?"
I described the fateful battle, and my near death out on the Dragonblight. I begged Nurse Applewood to tell me if any others had survived. She said that Buntaro, my Orc rescuer, had found only me alive with his small band. Weere any others left alive, I surely knew they perished. Their souls needed one to recite the rite, and light the lantern, and guide them to the glory seat of the Naaru. Who would light them now but me? But where among the horde would I find Naaru’s faithful? I would have cried, if I had not been so weak.
"Arthur is the apothecary here," Nurse Applewood continued. "He knows little of Draenei physiology, but we worked our best."
"I thank you," I said.
"Rest now, stranger," said Nurse Applewood. "Buntaro will want to know that you live."
Buntaro came in some time later. He removed his helmet. Snow and ice and had scratched his face. His worg, Tsali, bounded behind him. The wolf sniffed me, and licked my face. My body ached, I could not move my legs without great pain. Still, I rolled over and rubbed Tsali’s head.
"Ahh, you look well," the orc said. "Strong enough to tear the ears off a kodo!"
With pain, I laughed.
"I feel more as if a kodo stomped on me," I replied. "I am called Yasmeen."
"Buntaro," he said, saluting with a strike to the chest.
"Why am I alive, Buntaro?" I asked.
"Because we are allied in this conflict?" he said. "Because the Lich King is enemy to all that lives? Because I shuddered at the thought of you raised as a Death Knight?"
That should be reason enough.
"I owe so much to you," I said.
"You owe me nothing. There need be no reason at all," Buntaro added. "None except that you fought well, and that you suffered. Now, you will heal in time."
My mind drifted back to my last scattered memories of the battle.
"The others who fought with me? Are there others?"
Saddened, he shook his head.
"Our warriors found no others alive," he said. "We lit a pyre for their bodies. We know this is not your custom, but war demands dirty things."
Humans often burn or bury their dead. Draenei light sacred lanterns for those who pass. The Lich King raises our dead to fight for him. They had burned my comrades in the field like a massive pile of garbage, destroying their usefulness to our enemy. I knew this, yet it still made me sick. Passing into valiant glory to the Naaru, the Centurions deserved far better.
"I must," I choked through my grief. "Please, I must at least find my way back to the Alliance."
Only there could I find the priests and report the fate of the Centurions. Only then could I see the funeral rites observed.
"Oh Yasmeen," Buntaro said. "You have a spirit of ten warriors within you. You will live. Though now, you can barely walk."
I fell back into the cot surrendering to my weakness.
"I promise, you will be tended to," he said. "I’ll advise you of all that transpires. Until then, heal."
I spent many more days helpless on that cot. Bored, I spoke to the wounded gathered there. These wounded warriors passed the tedium with old songs. Soon, I learned the rudiments of their language when I joined them. Nurse Applewood, though terrifying to behold, showed a kindness of soul. Checking on us twice daily, she cleaned my wounds. When I had healed, well enough walk, Buntaro came to me once more. He smiled widely with excitement and joy.
"Yasmeen," he said puffing his chest. "Tonight, you are well? Yes? You are healthy?"
"I am," I said.
"Then you must come with me to the great hall tonight," he said. "Our warriors have slain Baron Rivendare!"
"What?" I jumped up from my bedside. "I thought it would be impossible!"
"Ha ha!" laughed Buntaro. "We have hammered at Naxxramas for weeks, winnowing out its defenders! Last night, we struck a crippling blow!"
"Buntaro, you spin stories!" I chided.
"I would not lie," he said. He threw on a hefty cloak over me. "See his head for yourself!"
I arrived in the great hall. Orange bonfires burned upon the open ground, sending smoke through the vents above. Trolls and Orcs reveled around the fires. And there were women here among the men. For the Draenei do not always join genders in celebration, and never would anyone except a harlot dance as lewdly as these women of the Orcs and Trolls do.
Never had I seen such freedom.
A column of warriors and their shaman marched around the hall. Upon a tall halberd was stuck the unmistakable frozen head of Baron Rivendare. I had seen this man. I had seen his unforgiving, fierce, sneer as he led the armies of the dead to battle. Now, I saw him as dead trophy. His empty eyes darted in opposite directions, and his bloodied jaw hung loose. The indignity of him upon the spike excited me. The orcs had slain a monster.
Buntaro invited me to a long table. We were served thick red drinks and the tough meat of the great bovine creatures of Northrend. The orcs, they spiced their food in ways I had not had. It was a hearty meal for a well deserved victory.
The orc women joined their men as equals. One of them sat in between two men and I sensed from their laughter and speaking that they were friends. The larger of the two men toasted at the table. I joined them. After which, this orc looked to me. I did not understand their language fully yet. I only heard "chun’puq" said several times, and more than once this was said while looking at me.
"What did he say, Buntaro?"
"He said… umm… ‘very lovely woman’," he sighed.
"Lovely woman?" I squinted my eyes in skepticism.
"Well, in truth, it’s one of those sayings that don’t translate well…"
"What did he call me, Buntaro?"
He gulped and replied in candor.
"He said ‘innocent wardling.’ It’s what we call warriors who have seen no battles."
My skin went hot with anger. I stood on my hooves and shoved my way before the large orc.
"Chun’puq?" I said pointing to myself, while glaring with all my offense. "Me. Chun’puq?!"
The large orc looked to me with no passion. He turned his eyes away from me and sipped his drink like a dainty human princess.
"Dabo. Chun’puq," he taunted.
He was a fool to turn his back to me.
I grabbed him under his arms, and hurled him to the ground from his chair. The woman and his other comrade shot up from their seats. The large orc jumped up from his back, and his fist struck me in the cheek.
"Chun’puq!" he roared. I charged him in anger and his companions attempted to intercede, but Buntaro spread his arms in front of them. Half the eyes of the halls were upon me and the large orc as we fought each other. He bruised my cheek with his fist. I bashed his forehead with my horn. He stumbled back shouting curses in pain, small drips of blood dripped from my horn and his wound.
He made for me again, then Buntaro intercept him. The two orcs exchanged impassioned words. The orc woman said something in a cuttingly sarcastic tone. The brute grumbled and wandered way. The woman looked to me and said nothing, but she inlined her head in respect towards me. She grabbed her other male comrade and went towards the dancers around the fires.
"What was all that?" I said to Buntaro.
"That’s Taluv," explained Buntaro. "He doesn’t think… ummm… ‘a kin to demons who stinks of humanity’ deserves to celebrate in our hall."
"He said that?"
"I told him all the living deserve to celebrate," Buntaro added. "And then Daedra over them asked him if it was flaccid or if it fell off completely this time."
"Are orcs always so direct in their insults?"
"Only matters because Taluv has wanted to Koh’stagig with Daedra for the past five battles."
"Uh… I know the alliance chants prayers for the departed?" he said. "What do you Draenei do?"
"We recite the last rites and burn the spirit lantern so the dead may find their way to the Naaru’s bossum," I said. "What, did Taluv want to bury the dead with her or something?"
"Not really…" said Buntaro. "Orcs, you see, we were a nomadic people. We had little privacy. So, when warriors die, we have still celebrate their life…"
"Like the chant to the Naaru?"
"You know what? Easier to show you," said Buntaro.
Near one of the great fires, Daedra and her male danced together. Buntaro and I joined the semi circle of chanting, clapping, Horde surrounding them. I imitated the chant, not knowing what it was. I did not care, for Daedra and her male already undid their armor, their muscular scarred skin glistened with sweat against the light of the fire. Daedra danced as I had never seen a woman dance. Arms spread wide, her great hind grinding back and forth against her male. Her breasts shown free, welcoming the touch of the man behind her.
Daedra shouted something to the crowd. They cheered with it. Then she dropped her loin cloth completely, leaned forward, and her male penetrated her from behind. There was this incredible joy there, an excitement I’d not experienced in ages. Yet here, all of this orcs, had no doubt lost brothers, friends, and peers in the clashes with Lich King’s army. But what is they did? No chants or dreary songs. No, these Orcs found solace in the combat’s kinder sister, its counter part and near opposite. Instead of layers of armor, vulnerable flesh was displayed for all to see. Instead of angry strikes intended to kill, a tender touch was given to enliven. Instead of shouts of despair, came the cries of sexual bliss.
Oh I wanted this. Would they share this ritual with me?
I grabbed Buntaro by the arm and turned him towards me.
"Koh’stagig with me, Buntaro," I said.
"You heard me. I was clear!"
Buntaro glanced around at his comrades, nervous and uncertain.
"You said the celebration belongs to all those who live!" I said. "Is it a woman? Is there one who would forbid you from this?"
"Well no," he said.
"Koh’stagig with me," I repeated. "I am alive! My companions are dead! This is what must be done."
Buntaro looked in sympathy, but then turned away.
"It might be.." he began.
I whipped my hand around to strike him. He caught it in a firm fist. With breath hastening, his eyes focused on me like a wild feral beast. Mine did too.
"Don’t make me fight you too," I said.
"Alright," he growled.
Buntaro hefted me over his shoulder, he brushed away the plates and bowls in a clatter, and then he dropped my back to a table, and tore at the cloth at my chest. He undid his garments, crawling on top of me. His mighty pectorals, brushed over my bare breasts. Then, I took the first kiss from him. Oh, this mighty Orc, brave and honorable, had my heart and my hips melting. I wrapped my hooves around his body, pressing my sex towards him, and getting wetter. Soon, the same chant broke up around us. Buntaro removed more and more of my clothes, bending me over, and swatting the great round cheeks of my hind. By the prophets, I did not care for verses of the Naaru. I cared not for what the demands of the Draenei upon me.
I cared for nothing but Buntaro. When he opened his loins at last, and drove his warm shaft inside me, I became enraptured and filled with joy. Buntaro celebrated life with me, and my wounded soul found its healing that night.
Over the coming weeks, my wounds healed fully. The damage to my armor could not be repaired without materials from the Exodar. My sacred hammer stayed strong enough, and I spent afternoons sparing with the Horde and learning more of the language common to them. It was then that I became acquainted with Captain Soyora. Her ship transported troops, metals, and food for Horde and Alliance alike. "War is good for business, lass. Peace is good for business too," she said when I asked how she managed to traverse both sides. I thought perhaps Soyora could find the rare quartz and minerals from the Exodar to repair my broken shoulder pads and grieves, but I sighed knowing that even if she could, no smith in Warsong Hold could work with it.
"I’m contracted for the Horde for the next few months anyway, lass," she shrugged. "I can check for it in Ratchett. Goblins can get their hands on anything. Say… after that I could transport you back to the Stormwind side. Sure they’d love to see a survivor of the great Wyrmhearts."
The offer upset me. It surprised me how much so, but the other side of the continent was far from Buntaro, Tsali, and revelries in the great hall. Furthermore, I had learned that the Horde spear-headed further incursions into Naxxramas, that filthy citadel that no doubt commanded the legions which slaughtered my compatriots.
"Soyora, can you get me anything? Something the Horde smiths can used to augment my arms?"
She smiled at me, knowing no doubt, of Buntaro.
"Yeah I think I can," she said. "Might have just the thing for you. What should I tell the Alliance about the Wyrmheart Centurions?"
"Tell them nothing," I said. "They believe the Wyrmhearts are dead, and so they are."
The Horde Smith outfitted me with armor blessed by their Shamans. A contingent of Blood Elves had even enchanted my armor further. Soon Buntaro and their warriors judged I had learned enough of their language to join them in battle.
Oh what battles they were! We trudged through the snow, and ice, tracking the small bands of walking dead. We moved in small bands, and skirmished against hulking abominations, their necromancers, and their death knights. Not once did we show the death knights mercy. On the contrary, those traitors were our targets. I exorcised more than one myself, sending those perverse mockeries to their true deaths. One wandered alone and distant from support. The limp in her walk betrayed her wounds, but the glow of her sword showed she could be a threat. Our concealed team thought to capture the death knight, and Buntaro raised a special arrow designed to paralyze. I had nothing of it. Rather, I stepped out into the ice and challenged her to single combat.
Even Buntaro was aghast at my savagery. The wounded death knight fought well, and fought hard, but in the end, I bashed her armor in with my maul.
We found a missive on her body. It covered recent troop movements, and counted numbers of the dead at Naxxramas. Taking it to our superiors, they examined the information and debated over three days over what to do. On that fourth day, we had new orders. Naxxramas was in disarray, and had grown vulnerable. Therefore, we had a chance to destroy its usefulness to the Lich King.
It had been one of the largest operations I had ever been in. We fought through stinking halls, slaying mindless zombies and their semi-sentient masters. Battered, we even held our ground against a great Dracolich, the most menacing I’d ever seen. A third of our soldiers were slain or frozen at the end of the battle, but for all that cost we brought the skull of great necromancer Kel’Thuzad and his Dracolich to Warsong Hold.
Buntaro and I led the first celebration that night. Orcs, Trolls, and even the comparatively prudish Blood Elves chanted and clapped while a rubbed my bare skin to him. I unbuckled my lover’s scaled metal armor and dropped my own breastplate to the floor with a clunk. I rubbed his mighty chest, and let him kiss me deeply. Reaching down, my hand took hold of his hard cock, it throbbed with life.
I got to my knees before him, ripped apart the leather that held it from me. I licked his stiff member, from his sack up to the tip, teasing him. I pleased him slow, savoring the saltiness of his shaft. Saliva came off my lips, and mixed with the clear drops of fluid that dripped from his tip. The chants and the claps meshed with the sound of his moans.
Buntaro grabbed my horns, and held my face. He jabbed his cock into my mouth, and I gaped wide. I choked and gagged against my lovers cock, growing ever wetter myself. His thrusting had the thrill of combat to them, and the danger of his invasion of my throat heightened the pleasure. Once he yanked out, I panted for air and a stream of spittle stretched from my lips to his cock. Buntaro undid the rest of armor, as I did mine. He threw me to my back, and hefted my hips to the air.
Buntaro took my front hole first. Then once he sent my juices upon his man hood, he slipped himself into my back hole. That stretching! Never would I forget how good it felt, getting fucked by Buntaro there. My mind slipped into a dizzy haze there in the great hall. I cried out as if in battle, looking to the dead skull of the dracolich, with a bonfire roasting within it. Many lovers engaged each other around it. Even Soyora had found a handsome Blood Elf to make hers.
Our victories and our sex continued. Months later, a combined force of Alliance and Horde had pincered upon the Lich King’s lair of Ice Crown itself. Invading warriors had at last slain the Lich King and the armies prepared themselves for departures.
Alas, that is when I learned of the traitor.
One of Soyora’s sailors had grown sick from his food, and I grew suspicious. When Nurse Applewood tended to him, I sensed that she recognized his symptoms too well. I demanded she speak to me, and she refused to talk. Instead, she bid me to hide new of Henslow’s apothecary, and eavesdrop on their conversations. His words, though difficult to understand, were unmistakable. He had concocted a poison, which when released on rations, would cause a malaise upon the returning troops of the Alliance. Our poor sailor had been a test subject. All this, I would learn later, had been commanded in secret from the undead masters in Undercity.
Nurse Applewood left, and so did I. I returned less than hour later, with my warhammer in hand.
All this I shared with Giles. Soyora had confirmed much of the story. I trembled in doing so. For I knew not how he regarded me. I feared, in truth, that he perceive me as a derelict, a deserter, or worse a traitor as the Alliance of Northrend had so long ago. I had been naked with Giles, but never had I been so vulnerable.
"Oh, thousand hells," he moaned. "Yasmeen, I came to Stormwind for a few simple fights and an easy station. Do you know what you ask of me?"
"We ask you to risk much to help us," I said, "and to save a orc who you have no reason to care for."
"But you care for him deeply," said Giles. "Then, I must care for him too. Yasmeen, I cannot deny you, but you cannot stay with him here."
"They’ll be on the Hammerhead the night we rescue him," interjected Soyora.
Giles shook his head.
"The guard is doubled at the docks," he said. "They’re poised to lock down the whole harbor if even one prisoner gets out. But there could be another way…"
And so, began our plan to rescue Buntaro.