Warcraft 1. Holding On

**WARNING: This story contains incredibly graphic sexual situations, a large majority of which are NON CONSENSUAL. THAT MEANS RAPE. And dammit, it's VIOLENT rape. If you are under age or strongly disagree with the content of this story, then PLEASE, I'm begging you, hit "back" now, before it's too late. If you continue to read past this point, then I am going to assume you have read and understood my warning, and will not be offended, spam, or try to report me or my writing to the Admins.**

**This warning will be repeated at the beginning of every chapter, for both your safety and mine.**

Heylo and welcome to "Holding On", part of what I affectionately consider my 'Troll Family Tree'. This story was, in actuality, started long before I began on "Tryst", and to date is one of the most difficult projects I've undertaken. The reasons for that are varied, some obvious, others not so much. Where "Tryst" is lighthearted and fun, "Holding On" is much darker, serious, and a little sad. There's romance, make no mistake, but unlike my other stories, it isn't the driving factor behind it. "Holding On" is about telling a story to it's fullest, no matter how painful the content may be, learning from the past, and learning to forgive.

Part of what makes this story so dear to me is the main character, Zin, whom you may remember was briefly spoken about in "Tryst" - he is, in fact, a younger cousin to Atal, who is spoken of offhandedly here as well (though in later chapters). You'll see mention, later on down the road, of other Trolls in their family; I'm not entirely sure yet if I'll be writing about them in their own exclusive stories, though I would like to actually draw a family tree for the entireity of their family.

Anyway, I suppose I should stop rambling and let you get to reading. As I've said, this story is very, very different from my others, and I just hope that you enjoy it, despite the macabre track I've taken (heck, it'd be nice if you liked it BECAUSE of that, even!). This story is a huge learning experience for me, both in an academic way, and as a test of my imagination and ability. No matter where it goes, it will always remain a favorite of mine. I hope you find it worth the time.

* * *

_**CHAPTER ONE**_

_**Holding On**_

The air was thick that day, both with the smoke of burning thatch and a sense of blood lust and fury. The flavor was palpable, a delicacy on Zin's tongue which he rolled around his mouth, swallowing the heady burn down his throat to fill his stomach with a giddiness he rarely had the opportunity to indulge. It seemed, for some time now, that the thrill of the battle, the sounds, the screams of the fallen, did not compliment his stomach as it once had. Oh, he still had his pride, surely, and would fight until the day some lucky Alliance bastard felled him on the battlefield, but he could not help but acknowledge the strange, empty space left behind inside him once the day was one.

Zin did not make it a habit to express his feelings on this matter, nor any other matter as fact. He knew and understood his lineage; he was Dark Spear, he was a warrior, from a long line of bloodthirsty nobility. To even think that he was becoming jaded, even _bored _with the battle was to delve into the realm of treason and heresy. He should be shamed of his feelings, despondent, though he found that through it all, Zin could only muster a strange sort of neutrality to his condition. He felt not one way, nor the other. He still completed his duties as per required – burn a village, kill an Alliance convoy, etc etc until the sun rose the next morning and he was entitled a few hours rest. But to even hint at this bizarre circumstance was not to be considered, even when he friend Go'run had noticed something off.

Go'run was typical, for an Orc. Shorter than the Trolls, much thicker than most of the other races of the world. He was infused with the pride Thrall brought to his people, a warrior among the warriors. Surely, he would not understand Zin's problem. How could a born and raised fighter possibly sympathize with the notion of just... stopping.

But even though Zin was certain his friend could not sympathize, it was obvious the green skinned warrior could see it for what it was. Inwardly, Zin thanked his God that Go'run was as tactful as he was strong.

"I is fine, mon."

The Orc stared at Zin from across their tent, his jaws working slowly on a piece of hardened jerky, muddy brown eyes sizing the slender Troll up. Zin coughed awkwardly, sipping on his wineskin, keeping his own eyes diverted.

"If you say so, Zin. You're full of shit, but if you say so." the Orc's tone was light, if not slightly mocking, and it made Zin snort.

"I promise you, mon. Nothin' is botherin' me."

"You're a bad liar, Zin Ol'bij. But I can take a hint. Just remember, it's completely understandable if you tire of repetition."

With that, Go'run swallowed his slight meal, and rolled onto his side, back to Zin, signaling the conversation was at an end. At least, it was for the Orc. Zin, on the other hand, stared incredulously at the Orc's back, his red eyes wide and frightened. Had he been so transparent? Did everyone at the camp know of his... problem? Surely not... if they had, someone would have reported him to the commanding officer, had expressed their worry about a discontented soldier. One who took little interest in their operations and duties was a huge liability, particularly during a time of war. There were many there who did not fully trust Zin's brethren, and they would have jumped at the chance of routing out a betrayer.

No... his secret was safe, still. Go'run simply knew him better than most. Or he was wise beyond his years. Or perhaps that was just a typical feature in a Shaman. Zin himself never had much use for the magics himself, but with those few Shamans he knew by acquaintance alone, he knew there was some strange sight within them that they could nearly read a person like an open book. No, it was no surprise that Go'run knew what was troubling him. Zin was just surprised that the noble Orc did not take measures to correct it, both for Zin's sake, and the sake of all those they fought along side. It was a foolish route to take, and Zin had never been more thankful.

The Troll sighed heavily as he thought back to that moment, not even a week prior, his chest still heavy with the implications. Go'run may have kept his secret, but it warned him to be more careful in his outward expression. If he continued to be sullen and drifting as he was, then surely the others would catch on, then he really _would _be in trouble.

Slowly, Zin blinked, clearing his mind of the memory. He had a duty to perform, and standing around, reminiscing was the furthest thing from it. Gradually, his surroundings came back into focus. He stood at the threshold of a small, wooden home. The building itself was old, the wood gray and cracked in places. This building had been spared the torch for the moment, as it was a primary suspect for housing Alliance weapons. The inhabitants had all fled, taken by surprise by the Horde raiding party, so if there were weapons here, they would not have had the time to retrieve them.

Inwardly, Zin wondered at the odd dwelling. He never understood the need for so many corners, and just the general waste of resources the Humans seemed to thrive on. There were decorations of wood, glass placed in the windows – why would they deny themselves the chance to feel a breeze within the home? - carpets woven with intricate care that seemed to serve no purpose at all; there was no picture of battling ancestors or noble deeds, it was just a random explosion of color. All things his tribe created had meaning. All things they used in life did not go to waste.

Zin curled his lips, pushing his irritation back down, and returned to the task at hand.

Experience taught him that despite their wasteful ways, Humans were indeed clever at their deceptions. The home was a single story high, with no root cellar visible from the outside. The cache of supplies, according to reports, would have been much too large to hide within the meager cupboards or trunks, so that meant there was a secret hatch somewhere. With a sigh, the Troll hunkered down, and began running his fingers along the floor boards, searching to anomalies that would hint at a secret door.

He spent nearly two hours there, moving along the floor, splinters biting at his finger tips, with absolutely nothing to show for it. He grumbled to himself, nibbling on his first finger to extract a particularly thick splinter, when something caught his eye. He turned, looking toward a corner of the room that was in particular disarray. Curious, now, he stood and strode forward.

There were two beds in this home, one double wide, one small and narrow; obviously the bed of a child. The bedding was mussed, the sheets hanging down over the floor. One of the squat shelves had been tipped over, leaning against the end of the small bed, its many books spilled across the floor.

What had caught his attention he realized, after squatting down and pushing a few of the other old, dusty volumes away, had been a leather bound tome, only it was nothing like he had ever seen.

Trolls did not bother with binding their tales. Their stories were either passed down from word of mouth, or secreted away in scrolls of animal skins, and kept far away from unworthy hands. He had seen many Human volumes, their bindings in leather, or sometimes carved stone depending on the age, but none of them were ever this... pretty.

The book itself was small, it's length not even exceeding the distance from Zin's palm to his fingertips. He could literally hold the little thing in a single hand. The leather used for binding it was strong and of good quality, and dyed the most curious color of deep, aqua blue. Even covered in dust, the color shone through in a vibrant display. The most curious thing about it, however, was the fact that pictures, beautiful images of butterflies and flowers and stars were embroidered into the leather. They were not perfect, not the work of a skilled tradesman, so Zin knew that the a commoner had to have done it themselves. But the detailing, though the occasional flaw was visible, showed that the owner of this book cared for it a great deal.

His curiosity still running high, Zin opened the cover, and stared at the spidery scrawled letters on the first page.

There was only, what he assumed, four words total, written in the center of the first page. But below it, carefully penned with an obvious skill, was the picture of a human woman, and Zin felt his lungs seize.

She was, for lack of a better term, fascinating in her appearance. The image was only a bust of her, but he could see the long hair, the slightly upturned eyes, the gentle curve of her cheeks, and the full, pouting lips. She did not appear happy, but rather contented in this image. And her eyes, though inanimate, seemed to be staring deeply into Zin's, as if welcoming him home.

He coughed, suddenly aware that he had been holding his breath, blinking through watering eyes at the picture below him. It was so strange... he had seem Human women before. He had seem them laughing and enjoying life when he had gone on scouting missions. He had seem them screaming and crying and begging for mercy in that strange dialect when their outpost had gone on raids. None of them were particularly striking, nor did they make him suck in a breath as if waiting for something grand. They were the enemy, they were filthy, honorless dogs who deserved every death the Horde rained down on them.

But still...

Zin turned the page of the book, hoping to see more images of this oddly pretty woman, only to find the next sheet covered from top to bottom in another language. He continued to turn the page, finding more of the same, with the occasional doodle in the margins, but nothing more.

Disappointment settled over him, that familiar feeling of apathy dropping on his head like a felled Kodo. He sighed and snapped the book shut, standing to his full height to stretch the muscles

of his back. There were no weapons here. He had spent too much time, been gone too long, and someone would be wondering.

He lifted his hand, twisting it to toss the blue book aside, when the sunlight caught a silvery thread of the embroidery on the cover, and Zin felt his motions freeze. No... he should get rid of it. Forget he even saw it. Pretend it doesn't exist.

He turned and walked out the door, carefully securing the little book in his pack, before anyone in the party saw him.

Zin tried in vain to school his features, to hide his revulsion as he stood at the sliding stone door, waiting for the lift to return so he could make his way through The Undercity. If the circumstances had been different, the Troll would have probably enjoyed this journey into the belly of the ruined Lordaeron, and he knew somewhere that the trip would be enjoyable still, if only...

For the tenth time since he arrived, Zin allowed his eyes to travel to one of the Abominations, it's thick, fatty flesh undulating with every rasping breath it took. The disgusting guards the Forsaken created and employed truly were the reason Zin hated to visit the city. While ingenious in their design and application, the Guardians were revolting to behold, and their smell alone was noticeable even above ground. The only way he managed to survive his forays into the circular bowls of the city was the hold his breath, or breathe through the mouth, though often thoughts of now you're tasting them! often filtered through his mind.

He exhaled, nearly cheering his delight when the heavy stone door ground it's way up, revealing the glowing green platform that would take him into the Undercity. He dashed inside, not wanting the door to close on him, as it had many times before, and waiting patiently for the lift to take him down. At the bottom, he knew the smell would be much more tolerable; the worst scents down there, especially in the trade quarter, would simply be a thick, musty stink, polish, and swamp rot. The last he was intimately familiar with, and found it reminded him of home in some strange way.

Finally the lift halted, and Zin made his way out onto the platform of the outer circle. From there he could see the bat handler, city hall, and the large bank stood right in the center of the pillar. There were races scurrying about all around him, Undead, Blood Elf, Tauren and Orc alike. All over he could hear their voices, haggling prices, making plans, coin exchanging hands. Though everyone in the Horde knew the Forsaken were allied with them out of simple convenience, it certainly didn't stop the desire for trade and to make a quick fortune. He wondered, briefly, if they offered to open trade with an Alliance race, would it help the war the end quicker?

Zin chuckled, and shook that thought away. It was stupid, really.

Carefully, he made his way down the sloping paths, checking the sign posts for directions as he did so. He enjoyed being here, true, but rarely had the time to visit, as there was hardly reason for him to, short of going en-route to Silvermoon. So it was that he knew where to find the Inn, the Bat Handler, and the Rouge's section of the city. He had wanted, when he found the time, to fully explore the depths of this place, and thought perhaps this time around he would be able.

Finally, as he turned a corner, Zin found the swinging sign that signaled his destination. He stood for a moment, digging through his pack, and pressed the little blue leather book to his chest, feeling a strangle flutter in his stomach. Over the weeks, though he was loathe to admit it, the small book had become a treasure. He did not understand the words written there, but it hadn't seemed to matter. Just to look on it and wonder – to whom did it belong? Was it just simply a human story? Was it a tale of their history? And who was the woman on the first page, so carefully drawn? What hand had studiously sewn the silvery threads into the back and cover, imperfect but enchanting at the same time?

No, he had not cared what the words had said, really. Just to look at it, his own private secret, his own mystery, had been enough for him. That was, until, Go'run had caught him flipping through the pages late one evening. Normally, Zin could deter the Orc's questions, but not that time. Not when it came to a Human belonging. Regretfully, Zin had handed the book over, his fingers itching to snatch it back almost immediately as the Shaman flipped open the cover, mauling the pretty thing, Zin was sure. But instead of the lecture the Troll was expecting, Go'run only chuckled, and looked up at him.

"This is a human book, Zin."

Zin rolled his eyes, "I know dat. Do I look stupid to ya, mon?"

Go'run lifted a brow at his friend, "Oh? Then why do you have it? You can't read Common, can you?"

Zin lowered his face, feeling a shamed flush infuse itself to his cheeks, "Naw, mon. I jus' like ta look at da picture."

"I see. Where'd you find it?"

And so, Zin told him the story, short and simple though it was. What was even more curious to the Orc, however, was the fact that Zin had kept it secret for so long. Surely, he thought, there could be nothing to hold the Troll's interest for so long. It was a simple book, really, a nice color, but if he could not read the words, what was the point?

When he asked, Zin could only shrug, holding out his hands to indicate that he was at as much of a loss at Go'run was. His friend took pity on the Troll, handing the book back with a care Zin seemed to require of his personal treasure, watching as he tucked it safely back into his bag, lacing the strings, and holding the whole thing to his chest. It really was interesting to behold. There were few things in life the Trolls treasured, but the signs of such were obvious in Zin. Something about that book had captured the Troll's attention, held his interest to the point of a fierce possessiveness.

Go'run sighed, smiling at his old friend, and told him a secret that very few knew.

And now, Zin was there in the Undercity, staring at the sign that advertised the existence of the Apothecarium. He strode confidently forward, his thick fingers wrapped around the blue book like a precious jewel. Inside the structure, a hallowed out corner of the city, was truly a sight to behold. Rickety tables, worn from age and chemical burns, housed bottle upon bottle of bubbling liquid, acrid to the senses, threatening all who came too near. Cages lined the walls and shelves, beakers and vials, specimens both live and dead seemed to peer at Zin through their walls of glass and metal, as though asking him, _why are you here?_

Zin swallowed hard, trying to suppress the feeling of unease crawling up his throat. He understood the sciences of the Forsaken, why they did what they did. It didn't help to cure the bile rising up to his mouth, though. To distract himself, he set about his task of locating the woman Go'run had told him about those long weeks before; the secret that few knew of.

She was there, far back in a corner, hunched over a low standing table, her back to him. He knew her only by Go'run's description; her hair was cut fashionably short, a musty purple in color. Her skin retained much of it's former shade, just this side of death in hue. Unlike many of her Alchemist brethren, she tended toward breeches and tight knit shirts, finding her work much easier to accomplish without cumbersome sleeves and ties. Zin knew, just from looking at her, that this Forsaken woman was practical and efficient, and he was forced to swallow down a lump of nerves. Despite Go'run's insistence that she would indeed help him, she looked extremely busy at the moment, and Zin wondered if perhaps he should return at a more convenient time.

His thoughts where shattered, however, as one of the Apprentice Apothecaries approached him, his sunken eyes glaring with their misty, ghostly light up into his face.

"Can I _help _you, Troll?"

Zin grimaced, his nostril's flaring against the sudden waft of stinking breath, reminding him of the scent of grave dirt. The man before him was hunched, his hair having fallen out in large clumps to reveal exposed skull and the occasional peek of brain matter.

He swallowed again, hoping his voice came out confident and arrogant, as was the staple of his kind, "Yes, mon. I seek words with da Lady Yessha."

The Apprentice raised a brow, obviously surprised that a lowly Dark Spear knew the name of one of the more prestigious Apothecary Masters in the Undercity. His suspicion was obvious, though Zin could easily recognize the few points of respect he had won from the slighter male. He nodded once, and turned to call out to the woman in the corner, only to be cut off before he could speak.

"I heard him, Apprentice. Have I not told you to keep your tones low while we are working?" she did not bother to turn from the formula she was scribing, further adding insult to the male Forsaken. He swallowed hard, and muttered his apologies beneath his breath before slinking off and leaving Zin to struggle through proper formalities.

Was that an invitation to approach her? Was he to wait for her to come to him? Should he chance interrupting her work? So many questions tumbled through his brain, his shame at interrupting something obviously important for such a simple, frivolous request made him feel sick.

But before he could react to the instinct to turn on his heel and leave, the Forsaken woman rolled up the parchment she had been writing on, sealing it with a gray, tattered ribbon, and handed it off to one of the many other Apprentices milling around. Finally, she turned to him, resting her hands on her knees, eyes settling curiously on Zin.

The Troll chewed his lower lip, returning her gaze, as Go'run had instructed him. Yessha was a powerful Magic User, as well as an accomplished Apothecary, and had

little use for those who wasted her time, or showed her anything less than respect and backbone. In another life, Go'run has mused, she had to have been a mighty warrior, infused with honor and strength, for no woman in the world had such gumption as Lady Yessha.

He had seemingly passed her test, for she nodded to him, and beckoned him over with one hand, the bones of her fingertips shining in the lantern light. Zin exhaled heavily, and quickly made his way across the room.

"To what do I owe the honor, Troll?" She asked, standing as he approached, extending her left hand to him in greeting. Zin took the offered hand, bowing his head over it, pressing her knuckles to his forehead in a standard camaraderie gesture reserved to the females of the races who were not on the battlefield.

"Lady Yessha, mah name be Zin Ol'bij. Go'run Bloodwash sent me to ya. Said ya could help me wit' a translation."

Zin watched happily as his words brought forth a strange shine to Yessha's eyes, the glow in them brightening. Her eyes snapped down, to the blue book he still held to his chest. Her fingers twitched, and he appreciated the fact that she restrained herself from simply reaching out and taking the book from him in her curiosity and pleasure.

"What language is it?" She looked to be practically salivating.

Zin cleared his throat again, moving her attention back to his face, to be sure she was listening, "It be Common. Go'run said yer' one of da few who can still read it."

Yessha nodded, her eyes flickering back to the book as she considered. Her anticipation had simmered a bit, realizing that the book was written in such a simple language to her, the thought of a challenge slowly leaving her mind. Zin knew that he was losing her interest, and tried desperately to gain it back.

"I was wonderin' if you could translate it to Zandali."

Yessha's gaze moved back to him, surprise on her features, "Zandali? Is this to be used in the war effort?"

Zin felt a shamed blushed cross his cheeks again, and he glanced away, "Nah, mon. I... found it in a raid last month. I's just curious."

Yessha seemed to consider for a moment, then held out her hand, "Let me see, if you would please."

Reluctantly, Zin handed the book over, watching carefully that she take great pains to be gentle with his book. It wasn't so old that it required it, he knew, but regardless.

Yessha seemed to understand Zin's need, and turning back to her table, slowly opened the cover. Immediately, she let out a soft chuckle, looking over her shoulder at the tall Troll, mirth shining in those ghostly eyes.

"Why, this is a Diary!"

Zin blinked, not quite comprehending at first, "Ya mean... A log?"

Yessha nodded, turning back to the book, "Something of the sort, yes, but much more personal. Particularly so for this, as it belonged to a young woman."

Zin said nothing, still perplexed, but Yessha took pity on him, "Humans, women in particular, guard their secrets more so than the most skilled Leaders and Spies. To have the world know their deepest thoughts would be the greatest humiliation ever conceived."

Ah. That, Zin could understand. "How do ya know it was a woman's?"

Yessha pulled out a second stool, patting the wooden seat to indicate that Zin should sit with her as she explained, "Well, by the name, obviously, as well as the picture. Though from looking at the handwriting in the entries, compared to the front page, I'd say this Diary was gifted to her. It is a common practice for those giving a book as a gift to write the name of the owner and the date given themselves, as a way to pass down important moments. This book in particular was given to a woman named Lilla Fairsky," Yessha's bony fingertip slid across the page, up to the far right corner, indicating another line of scrawled language, "And she received this book two years ago, on the day of her twentieth year."

Zin leaned in closer, looking at the spidery writing in the margin, completely fascinated, his heart thudding in his chest harder than he could ever remember is beating. He had a name, now, to go with the pretty curves and tails of the unfamiliar language that he had stared at for so long. Lilla.. it seemed fitting to the style of hand she had spread throughout the pages.

Yessha watched the Troll from the corner of her eye, wondering about him. It was rare to see a Troll take such avid interest in anything, let alone something Human. They usually reserved all their rage and hatred for the race. If she had not already been intrigued by the prospect of translating Common into Zandali (a rather difficult task as both languages had certain words and phrases that would never interchange), she would have agreed souley on the idea that this particular Dark Spear was a mystery himself. Who had ever heard of a Troll coveting something of Humanity? It was laughable, and just the sort of thing Yessha yearned to explore.

Slowly she shut the cover, and turned to face him.

"I will be frank with you, Sir. The book has caught my interest, and I will attempt a readable translation for you. It will take me time, and it will certainly not be cheap."

Zin nodded once, understanding completely. At that point, he would give the armor off his back to pay, if he had to.

"Secondly, you will have to leave the book in my care, as I am very busy here, and will not be able to devote all my time to it." she could see the reluctance in his eyes, and she could not blame him, but continued on nonetheless, "Finally, I will need a forwarding address to send the translations to you. If you are stationed with Go'run, then I realize that your visit here was far out of the way, and I somehow doubt that you will make it back any time soon to retrieve my translations. Payment shall be immediate, refunded of course if I am unable to translate certain passages. Shall we say... fifty silver per page?"

Inwardly, Zin winced. The book alone held at least 200 sheets. But he nodded again, a sick feeling crawling up his skin as he fished his money bag from his pack. Yessha eyed the gold in her hand greedily, counting with him as he dropped the pieces into her palm. That left him, he realized, ten gold total, and he still had to see the Trainer here in the city before he made his way back to his platoon.

"Yes, this will do nicely. Your address then, Sir?"

Zin scribbled down the name of the nearest Horde town by his post, his mouth going dry as he tried to prepare himself to leave his most treasured possession behind. He reached out, his thick fingers sliding over the cover, as if to say goodbye. Yessha smiled gently at him, the first softness she had displayed since their initial meeting, and patted his forearm.

"You need not worry, young Zin. I will take great care of her for you."

The terminology she used was strange to Zin, but he let it pass. He thanked her, lamenting the loss of his hard earned money, trying to convince himself he was doing the correct thing. For surely, over time, he would have sought a translator out, once he had tired of fingering the embroidery, staring at the strange, beautiful woman drawn inside the cover. It was just... better sooner than later, he supposed.

Still, despite it all, Zin could not help but feel a strange sense of loss overcome him as he made his way down the corridors, seeking out the Rouge's Quarter. Behind him, Yessha watched him go, a slight smile tilting the corner of still full featured mouth. With a wistful sigh, she turned back into the Apothecarium, to return to her work.

* * *

Zin lay on his back, staring up at the thick blackness of the night sky. Behind him, nearly a mile away, lay his outpost camp. The others there were loud and merry, singing songs around the fire and emptying wineskins in the near dark. The raid they had gone on today was successful to the utmost, filling both their bellies and Orgrimmar's coffers for at least another month. Zin, though happy things had gone well, was far less than jubilant. Since leaving his book behind in the Undercity, that familiar sullen feeling has come over him again almost immediately, and now he had nothing to distract his mind from wandering to all things he had once tried to squash from his thoughts.

He sighed, pulling the long length of his pipe from between his lips, licking his lips to retrieve the sweet aftertaste of the tobacco from his skin. It had been nearly two months since he had left the book with Yessha, and he had finally found a word to accompany his feeling: Loneliness.

He didn't understand what it was about possessing the book that had stolen that feeling away, but he knew it for what it was now. Before, he had had no one he could truly feel close to, Go'run excluded, though their time together past bunkmates was limited due to class and missions. And even his Orcish friend had not been able to completely unearth all of Zin's defenses.

Of course, a book couldn't do that either, surely, but there was just _something _to it that had taken hold of Zin's senses, and gave him a feeling of acceptance that he hadn't found anywhere else.

And so the days had passed in quiet delirium, waiting for the promised translation that, as time went on, Zin began to question that it would ever come. So then he lay at night, staring up at the stars, smoking the last of his sweetgrass tobacco, and resigned himself to the realization that he had been cheated out of his money, his time, and his book.

"I thought I'd find you out here. You're too predictable, Zin."

The Troll tilted his head back, viewing Go'run from an upside down view, snorting his indignation, but not replying out of spite. Go'run only smiled, and took a seat next to his friend.

"Things in town are in a craze, right now, what with the gold shipment we recovered today."

Zin hummed in an agreeable manner, puffing again on his pipe.

"I stopped by the mailbox, like you asked."

Again, Zin made no reply but a soft noise in his throat. His days of eagerness were long past, now, and he knew not to get his hopes up.

Go'run snorted, and stood again, "Well, if you're going to be like that, I guess you really don't want your letter."

"What?" Zin asked, his voice sharp and high in pitch and he sat up, staring at his friend, as though expecting some sort of treachery. Go'run grinned, pulling from his shirt a thick envelope, obviously over stuffed with parchment.

"It got to town yesterday. The postmaster was griping about the weight and the space it was taking up."

Zin lunged forward, snatching the envelope from the Orc's hands, his own shaking with anticipation. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the stained paper, turning it over in his hands. He recognized the Thalassian script, and Yessha's name carefully written in the corner.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?"

Zin eyed his friend silently, and the Orc just rolled his eyes, "Yes, I gotcha... I'll leave you to it then. Don't be too late getting back."

Zin nodded, and waited until Go'run disappeared into the dark.

Frantically, he pushed together a few spare twigs and dried grass, lighting with with his flint to make a small, crackling fire to read by. Then, his hands still trembling, he peeled away the wax seal, and removed the sheets of parchment. One was folded separate from the rest, this he opened first, scanning the quickly scribbled note from the Forsaken woman.

_Dear Mister Ol'bij,_

_I do expect that this package has made it to you completely intact. I have managed to translate the first ten pages of your book, though I daresay that it is armature at best. The differences in the two languages is often times hard to overcome, though I am confident that the meaning has been scribed to the best of my ability. Expect the next section within the month. You will also be interested to know that this book, though indeed a Diary, has only a single entry in it, spanning through all the pages._

_Sincerely,  
Y. J._

_PS: You owe me an extra twenty silver for postage._

Zin laughed out loud, shaking his head at the frank nature of the Forsaken. Tucking her note away into the envelope, he took a deep breath, carefully unfolding the translated sheets. They were clearly written, in a neat version of Zandali, as he had requested. Taking up his pipe and gripping it between his teeth, Zin hunkered down and began to read.

* * *

_October 12th_

_There are few things in life that I feel regret over, this Journal being one of them. My Mother had given it to me on my 20th birthday, explaining that a woman of my age now was obliged to chronicle her life for the sake of her children and grandchildren. Women, she told me, held secrets and stories that could never be compared in all the years of Man, and I owed it to my future family the chance to let them know who I was, and who I will become._

_Of course, I found this thought to be ridiculous, as I really had no aspirations of greatness for my life. I grew up on a farm in Westfall, tilling the ground with my father and brothers, learning to sew and cook and clean from my Mother and Grandmother. What greatness was I to tell? What inspiration should my own grandchildren find in these pages? So, I thanked my Mother, and tucked the book away without giving it another thought._

_That was, of course, until tonight._

_My family had never prospered to the point of luxury. Certainly we fared well, the food always plentiful, the coin my Father earned from selling his vegetables and hops enough to keep us comfortable. As the only girl born to this family, it was, of course, expected that I should marry one of the neighboring farmer's sons, to increase the holding and better provide for the families of the future. I had not given it much thought, to be honest, as it simply was a fact I could neither control or contest. It was just the way things were._

_So surely one could understand my surprise when I returned from a trip to Sentinel Hill, to find the most curious of Wagons sitting beside the barn. It was not large by any means, but lavishly decorated. Swatches of cloth, silk and linen and a shining white kind I could not recognize hung from the sides and lay across the seats. Even the horses were adorned with the rich, decorative colors, as though painted up to look all the prettier. Still wondering, I made my way into the house, now not all that surprised when I saw the man sitting at the table with my Father._

_He was surely the owner of the wagon, for he too was covered from head to toe in fine, shimmering garments, expertly tailored to his form. He was not tall, I could see even from his sitting position, but was strongly built, his shoulders wide and imposing. A tail of shining black hair hung in a low sitting tail, accompanied by a thick, curling beard, long enough to reach the middle of his chest._

_Both men, the traveler and my Father, turned to look at me as I entered our home. The stranger smiled brightly, exposing crooked, yellowed teeth. I felt my stomach lurch as his eyes traveled up and down my body, my skin crawling as though I were being touched. My Father looked far less friendly, thank the Gods, though the worry etched across his features made the feeling in my belly tenfold._

_Still, I had not been raised without manners, and I curtsied to the stranger, as my father spoke to me._

_"Lilla, this is Rolf Redings, a trader and expert Clothier. He stopped in for accommodations on his way back to Stormwind."_

_"It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir." I said softly, my eyes glued to the floor. I did not want him to see my face, for it would surely show my distaste for him. I did not know him, he had not spoken a word, but I knew somewhere in my gut that he was not to be trusted._

_"The pleasure," he drew that word out, like a soft hiss at the back of his mouth, "is all mine, My Lady." he took hold of my hand, pressing thick lips to my knuckles, lingering a moment too long for propriety. It made me feel ill._

_My Mother, Saints Bless Her, came to my rescue by announcing that I had chores to attend to, as well as a dinner to help prepare, and I was able to take my leave of the wretched man. I had no idea what he could possibly have to speak with my Father about, but for the rest of the afternoon they sat in discussion at our little table, hardly noticing the world around them._

_Dinner was an uncomfortable affair for me as I served my Mother and the men of my family, pouring their drinks and refilling their plates. Thankfully, the man Rolf did not touch me again, though I could feel his desire to. His eyes were doing plenty touching on their own, however, and I was hard pressed to resist the temptation to press a hand over the cut of my bodice, to shield the slight swell of my chest from his greedy eyes. Surely this was not appropriate behavior for any man of his class; to eye a peasant so openly, and with no consideration of her family in the process._

_Eventually, my Mother shooed me outside, thrusting the wooden milk buckets into my hand to perform the last of my evening chores. Normally, I enjoyed the evening milking, but my thoughts were obviously troubled. The terrible, crawling sensation had remained through the afternoon and evening, and as I made my way to the barn toward our goats, it only seemed to increase. I tried to calm myself, for to go into the process upset would only curdle the milk before it hit the buckets, but it was only half successful. Mira, our oldest goat, brayed and complained to me of my inattentive nature, causing her undue discomfort in the process of milking her. I patted her sighed, shushing her and apologizing as best I could._

_Finally, her utter had emptied, the buckets filled, and I turned to make my way back to the house. Only I came face to chest, and stumbled back. I would had fallen, if Rolf had not thrown an arm about my waste and kept me balanced, though I dropped one of the buckets, Mira's sweet milk splashing across the straw on the floor._

_I gasped for air, struggling between my surprise and my revulsion. I tried to pull away, sufficiently balanced now, but I soon realized the man had no intentions of letting me go, just yet. The thought angered me._

_"You may release me now, Sir." I said, tartly, struggling to control the volume and tone of my voice. My attempts seemed to amuse him, however, and he smiled that toothy, crooked smile._

_"I may, may I? Who are you to give _me _permission?"_

_I swallowed hard, the dread that had been growing in my belly all day finally coming to a bursting head._

_"Let me go, please." I said, my voice coming out in a cracked whisper. I was terrified now, my body trembling as he tightened his hold around my waste. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, as though scenting the fear that rolled off of me. Perhaps that was what he wanted – to taste my panic._

_"Nay, Lass, I don't think so."_

_He said nothing more to me; instead, his other arm came around, fingers easily slipping beneath the line of my bodice and yanking it down, exposing one of my breasts. Immediately, his mouth came forward, latching onto the nipple like a leech, biting down hard._

_I began to scream, panic and disgust warring with each other, but the sound was muffled almost instantly, as though he were anticipating my reaction, by shoving two of his fingers in my mouth and pressing down on my tongue. The affect was extraordinary; I could hardly breath, choking on the length of his digits, his thumb pressing below my chin so I could not seem to clamp my teeth down around his fingers. I felt tears well up in my eyes, both from fear and from the stinging pain against my breast. Again, he seemed to sense this from me, and increased the pressure of his teeth. I thought fleetingly that surely he would bite the little nub off if he continued._

_Eventually he pulled_

_his mouth away, staring up at me with bloodshot eyes, that wicked grin plastered to his face. I whimpered, trying so hard to breath through my nose and not gag on his fingers._

_"You will come with me now, girl. Come, up to the loft with you, now."_

_He led me along by the jaw, practically dragging me toward the ladder. I had no choice but to climb up. His hand had to leave my mouth, naturally, but I was too full of fear at that moment to call for help. As I made my way up, I could feel his calloused hands sliding up my thighs beneath my skirts, over the swell of my behind, dipping between my cheeks to pass over my anus. The sensation made me shudder, and for the first time since this had begun, I began to understand what it was he wanted of me._

_I was not completely ignorant. I was of age, and as such my mother had explained to me in dry tones what it was to know a man. She said nothing of the emotions one must feel while experiencing it, though I vowed then if it brought about such fear, I would never partake again._

_I reached the loft all too soon, crawling on my hands and knees across the hay, turning to watch as Rolf followed behind me. He knelt before me, watching me like a hungry dog as he unlaced his shirt and breeches, peeling the cloth away and tossing it aside. His build was impressive clothed, but now naked, I felt my heart rise as a lump in my throat._

_He was indeed broad shouldered, thick with muscle and body hair. He looked more akin to a beast than a man at that moment, and I felt myself scooting away against my own will. His appearance alone frightened me. And then, I looked down the trail of coarse hair, down past his belly to the place between his thighs, and I had to choke back another scream._

_The man was proportionately huge, his member thick and heavy with his excitement. It twitched, as though acknowledging my stare and fear. I heard Rolf chuckle above me, unable to break my gaze away._

_"Impressed, Lass? Don't you worry, it will fit. I'll _make _it fit."_

_I am glad, in retrospect, that I did not totally absorb what he had said at that moment. If I had, surely he would have beaten me into a faint, for I would have screamed until my throat had bled._

_Instead, I remained silent, still staring at his erected manhood, hardly noticing at first that he was pulling my other breast free of my bodice. He took great care in disrobing me, though I was sure he could tear the clothes from my body if he wished. All too soon I felt the damp air touching my bared skin, and I begin my struggle anew._

_"Please, Sir. Please. Don't. Please." I was crying, I knew, weeping like a child, and not knowing that it only served to excite him more. His breath was heavy and thick, blowing in my face and smelling of rotten, dead things. And he laughed at me through it all._

_"Spread your legs. Wide. I want to look at you."_

_I whimpered, holding my hands against my chest and turning my face away in shame as I did what he bid, too scared now to resist him. The hot air around me brushed against my femininity, and I felt his hands sliding up and down my thighs. I gasped then, as one of his thick, dry cracked fingers worked its way into my womanly passage, poking and prodding in a most clinical manner. Finally, I felt the stubby digit bump up against something, and he nodded an approval._

_"Good, good. You are intact. All the better, then." I was about to ask why, when suddenly his head fell forward, and that thickly lipped mouth descended upon my mound. I squealed, covering my mouth quickly so as to not anger him, choking on a sob when I felt the fleshy thickness of his tongue probe against my opening._

_It was frightening, his lips and teeth and tongue nipping and sliding and pulling at my most secret area, having no regard for the tears that slid down my cheeks. All the while I whispered behind my hand, "Please stop, Oh Gods please have mercy, stop stop stopstopstopstop."_

_Finally he pulled away, his beard shining with saliva as he hummed in satisfaction. The dampness he had left behind chilled my core like ice, and I rolled to my side, weeping into my hands in my shame. He did not approve of this, however, and roughing pushed me onto my belly, yanking my hips up and my thighs apart. Without a single warning, a word, or a gentle reassurance, that thickly endowed member pushed past my opening and tore through my virginity._

_I screamed. I could not help it. And again, his hand covered my mouth, his other hand yanking back my head by the hair until I was painful bent and unable to make a sound for the pain. He hissed in my ear, his tongue darting out to lick the shell as he murmured to me, "You will be silent but for your begging me to stop, and those even shall be quiet. You do not wish for your family to come upon us, to see what a whore you are, do you?"_

_"I am," I choked, there, unable to breath for a moment, "I am not a whore!"_

_He laughed again, his fingers twisting a little tighter in my hair, "Oh, now you are. Look how easily your cunt let me through. You wanted me to fuck you from the minute you saw me. You shoved your tits in my face at every moment, shook this pretty little ass like a common street walker," slowly, he drug his member back, the friction making me wail at the back of my throat, and again as he pushed back inside of me, "Yes, I do believe this is exactly what you wanted. But please, beg me to stop. I like resistance in my women, just as I expect you like to be taken as rough as possible."_

_He was silent then, his hand still holding my head back, my body bowed, and began to drive into me in earnest. I whimpered and cried, choked little sounds barely making it past my lips due to my position. All I could feel, all I knew was a searing agony inside my belly as the thickness of him shredded me. Soon his speed and strength increased, his naked hips slapping into my buttocks with no regard. I struggled to stay upright, my fingertips barely touching the floor as he pulled back on me, making my back arch all the more. The new angle sent a new streak of pain through me, and soon babbled words of protest and pleas for mercy came spilling from my mouth. It only served to make him increase the pace, increase the strength of his ragged thrusting._

_Suddenly, he released my hair, shoving me forward to my hands and knees, pulling his member out of me. I breathed heavily, whimpering and gasping my cries, daring to hope that he had spilled himself finally, and I was freed. But, as such things were with Rolf, I would learn, only _he _would dictate when he was ready to stop._

_The sudden press of his still engorged cock at the entrance to my anus made me freeze for a fraction of a second, then suddenly I was all wildness, panicked terror, trying desperately to crawl away. He laughed, loudly, seizing my hips and holding me still, the head of his member still pressing firmly against my ass. With another, forceful thrust, I felt the muscles in me stretch and protest, and he was seated within my body, thicker, and tighter than I had possibly imagined. He let out a grunt of pleasure, not bothering to pause for my comfort as his heavy length pistoned through my passage. This time he let me squeal, the agony stealing my breath so the sounds would not carry._

_I felt as though my body was being rend in two. No person could possibly endure such agony and survive, and I found myself praying to the Light that soon his lust would kill me, so I would be free of this torment._

_I do not know long he pushed his way into my anus before tiring of such games. I was in a daze, my screams now silent as I drifted in and out of awareness. I soon found myself on my back, his bearded face above me as he tossed my leg over his shoulder, his cock pushing into my raw womanhood once again. He thrust back and forth, the passing hardly eased by the blood and saliva, his free hand pawing at my breasts, twisting them, pinching the nipples until I had to clench my eyes shut from the pain. Unable to allow me a moment's respite, he thrust two fingers into my mouth, searching around my cheeks until they were sufficiently damp, then wormed them back inside my anus, wiggling them about until I was certain they would break through the passage from the pressure. I could feel his member and fingers rubbing up against one another, and the thought made me feel even more ill._

_Finally, finally his pace quickened, and somewhere within me, I knew this torment was coming to an end. With a simple grunt, he pulled himself from me, his hand going to his cock and giving it a few quick jerks. He then held it tight, the skin purple from overuse, as he crawled up my body, his knees resting just below my arm pits._

_"Open your mouth, wench."_

_I did as he bid, and blinked in surprise as he released his cock, ribbons of hot, sticky fluid painting my face and lips. He sighed happily, his cock jerking around irregularly, coating the floor around us as much as my face in his orgasm. Then, when he was nearly spent, he slid his thickness past my lips and down my throat, forcing the remainder into my stomach. I choked and gagged, but still he thrust into my mouth, demanding I pay homage to him through my shame._

_When I opened my eyes next, Rolf was pulling on his boots, and I realized that I must have fainted for a moment. Carefully I pushed myself into a seated position, hissing silently from the ache in my lower body. Rolf had no concerns for my being, nor did he take pity as I tried to reach for my dress with minimal aggravation to my internal wounds._

_It was slow going, putting on my dress and lacing up my bodice. But finally I had finished, only to realize that Rolf had not left me, but had instead sat and watched my struggles. He was still eying me, and I worried that perhaps he was considering a second round of his lusts, but apparently the thought did not seem prudent, and he merely smiled_

_that evil, toothy smile._

_"You will not tell your family what has happened. Instead, you will return here at midnight, when they have all gone to sleep. If you do not do this, you will wake to find their throats cut, still in their beds. Do we have an understanding?"_

_My throat closed, so all I could do was stare at him, my eyes wide with fear, and nod my consent. He seemed satisfied with my answer, and turned to go down the ladder. He stopped, just short of disappearing from my site, to stare at me once again._

_"I will remind you, Lilla, that a woman of poor virtue will be ill received by any man she should encounter."_

_With that he stepped down, and I heard him whistling a cheery tune as he made his way back into the farmyard. I stayed where I was for a time, allowing my body to adjust to the painful changes made within it, turning his words over in my mind, the meaning slowly seeping in._

_I was no longer pure in body. He had taken from me, tainted my maidenhood irrevocably. I was no longer fit to be married, and to try to pass me on to another man would only be an insult to his family._

_I lay back down in the straw, and once again, I cried._

* * *

Zin turned the page over, hoping that perhaps the translation continued, only to be disappointed by the blank side of parchment. He was consoled by reminding himself that his next shipment would arrive within the month, though he couldn't help lamenting the length of time he would have to wait.

When Yessha had told him that the book was a Diary, he had lost some hope of finding anything interesting in the translation, and at first, he had thought it to be a simple grouping of fanciful ramblings of a simple peasant woman. But to read the tale of such cruelty befallen her, the manipulation and abuse she faced made him wonder.

There were few women among the Horde that could have handled that sort of treatment and told the tale so thoroughly, in such a way that suggested she had survived and overcome. Zin knew deep down that the woman had somehow moved past the abuse of her youth, made something of herself, and hinted at something a little more in her future. Her despair then had to have been a platform, a stepping stone to something much greater in her life. For this alone, he knew he already respected her.

And the man she spoke of, Rolf Redings, her rapist and tormentor, brought out a seething hatred he had not felt for quite some time. Certainly, he had partaken in the spoils of war, claiming Alliance women when the opportunity had risen, but those circumstances were different entirely. They were warriors, those that he had bedded, Women of strength and cunning, who had fought admirably on the field, and were his by right. They were not simple, weak creatures that had no means of defending themselves. Rolf had not won her honorably. He had stolen from her, and laughed at the pain he had caused her; then, he had promised her more.

Inwardly, Zin felt revulsion, and was surprised to find a sense of worry for this woman, Lilla, and her future. This future had already passed, true, but his anticipation, his need to know how she fared threatened to overwhelm him, and he was forced to take steadying breaths to calm down.

He re-lit the remaining tobacco in his pipe, scanning over the pages once again to the dieing fire beside him.

As he lay down, watching the embers burn away, he made a silent wish that Lilla, wherever she was in the world, was enjoying some measure of peace that night. For surly, through her words, though trouble and in pain from the first few pages of her story, had offered him companionship he had known nowhere else in his life, and that alone, gave him peace as well.


	2. On the Tail of Misery

**WARNING: This story contains incredibly graphic sexual situations, a large majority of which are NON CONSENSUAL. THAT MEANS RAPE. And dammit, it's VIOLENT rape. If you are under age or strongly disagree with the content of this story, then PLEASE, I'm begging you, hit "back" now, before it's too late. If you continue to read past this point, then I am going to assume you have read and understood my warning, and will not be offended, spam, or try to report me or my writing to the Admins. I have placed privacy filters on this story and it's various chapters for just such a situation, so I feel all the appropriate precautions have been made.**

**This warning will be repeated at the beginning of every chapter, for both your safety and mine.**

-a - a-a -a -a -a -a -a -a -

CHAPTER TWO

On the Tail of Misery

Zin rocked on his heels, his patience wearing thin as he waited in the long line to the mailbox. Things in the Horde economy had been booming as of late, partially due to the success of the raiding parties he, and others of his platoon had engaged. Alliance settlements were falling left and right, some with valuable shipments of gold and weaponry, but most for the food of the fields and cloth for the war effort. As a result, goods and wears, auctioned or simply produced were in a high swing, the gold flowing more freely than it had in years.

This was good, of course, but Zin found it irritating to deal with when it came to checking his mail.

He had come to town three times a week, now, waiting for the next translation from Yessha. He had received nothing as of yet, and the postmaster was beginning to become grumpy with him for his repeated visits. Every time he would scowl, and inform Zin in a particularly unfriendly tone that, no, he had not received any letters today, from the Undercity or otherwise.

Despite the postmaster's rudeness, and despite the length of time it had been since had received the first shipment of the translated diary, Zin had not allowed himself to slip back into apathy. Instead, he had submerged himself in the first ten pages of the human Lilla's story, his anger toward the man Rolf increasing each time he had read it, and his respect for the woman growing exponentially. He felt, even through those short pages, he had begun to know her personally, and he longed to hear news of her, to know the rest of her story.

Finally, the line moved forward, and Zin found himself standing face to face with his nemesis of mail once more. He did not even bother asking his now repetitive question; he simply stood, staring into the old, bloodshot eyes of the hunched, aging Orc.

"Yeah, yeah, you giant bugger. You're here for your damned letter."

Zin held his breath, nodding slowly. The Orc rolled his eyes, and fished beneath the wooden counter. He finally produced the familiar, dirty envelope, a red wax seal keeping it closed from prying eyes. It was marginally thicker than the first one Zin had received, and he felt his stomach leap in anticipation.

"Here's the damned thing. Hope it burns with you and your damned annoying persistence."

Zin grinned, his lips curling over his tusks as he took his coveted mail, and quickly ran down the road and out of town. He made his way across the grass and into the trees, heading in the general direction of his post, but carefully avoiding the eyes of any who would have seen him from the camp. He wanted to be alone when he read this, for it seemed a rather private matter.

Finally he reached the bank of the river, and sat down in the afternoon sunshine, peeling away the wax seal. As before, he flipped open Yessha's note first, smiling to himself as he caught the sarcastic, even playful tones of her writing.

_Dear Mister Ol'bij,_

I am glad to hear that my translations have been acceptable to you, and I thank you for the extra coin for postage. As you can see, these pages tend to weigh down the envelopes, and restrict how much I can send at one time, in the interest of discretion.

I must say I am fascinated by this Human's ramblings, and hope you are enjoying her story as much as I am. It's always interesting to see another perspective, is it not?

Expect the next passage to arrive soon, as I will expect your postage as well. I believe you will find this and the coming parts most interesting.

Sincerely,  
Y.J.

PS: Do you suppose this Mr. Reding has suffered some horrible, painful death? I like to hope so.

Zin chuckled, setting her letter aside, and shifted to make himself more comfortable on the grass. The scent of honeysuckle wafted along the breeze, fluttering the corners of the stack of parchment with its sweetened scent. It was almost as though something wondrous was looking over Zin's shoulder as he folded open the paper, and began to read.

_If I had thought my Mother, or even my Father and brothers would have suspected something, I was very mistaken. They went about their evening lives as they did every night; my Mother washing the dishes, my father drinking an ale before the fire. Rolf had sat beside him, and they spoke in low tones about this season's bounty, and various other things men rumbled on about. They did not even question the fact that I had only one bucket of milk to show for my lengthy time spent in the barn._

I retreated to my bed almost immediately, feigning a headache or some such thing in the effort to escape, though the warmth of my bedsheets did nothing to comfort me. Instead, I went to the basin and washed my hands and face, then, lifting my skirts, began the painful process of removing the evidence of my encounter with Mister Reding. I was horrified to find that my washcloth came back red, covered in the drying blood of my virginity. I began to shudder, silent tears sliding down my flushing cheeks. _The trembling increased as I thought about Rolf's demands of me for later tonight, and the threat he had made on my family._

What choice did he leave me, after all? I was a ruined woman, whose actions tonight dictated the lives of my parents and brothers. I did not suspect that his threats were idle, and the fear he instilled in me was too much to resist.

So the hours passed, I sitting on the edge of my bed, watching the moon in her ascent across the night sky. Eventually I heard the sounds of my family bedding down for the night, my Mother passing over her usual habit of kissing me goodnight for I had told her I did not feel well at all, and wished to not be disturbed. I counted my breaths as I waiting, knowing that the hour was soon to come.

The moon had reached its highest peak of the night, and as quietly as I could, I slipped out the door and toward the barn. The building was frightening in the darkened night, looming over my like a death sentence, and again, I shuddered.

As I entered the barn, I realized that Rolf was up in the loft, waiting for me. There was a soft candle glow, barely illuminating the ladder before me. I made my way up the rungs, peering over the edge of the loft, my breath catching.

He lay there, naked as the day he was born, already fully erect. He was stroking himself slowly, sipping on a goblet of mead as he did so. His manhood was purple and angry looking, twitching between his fingers like a thing alive. I watched him for a moment, wondering how a man could have such a vitality, the reasons behind it leaving a sick feeling in my throat.

Finally he realized I was there, that wicked grin splitting his face across as he set his goblet down.

"Come here, little Lass, and disrobe for me."

I swallowed hard and did as he asked, my shaking fingers fumbling with the laces of my dress. Eventually the garment fell around my ankles. My hands automatically want to my chest, hiding my breasts from view, but he only smiled at my shyness and held out a hand.

"Now come. Lay with me."

Again I did as he bid, laying on my back, and he tucked himself in close to me, his face looming over mine as his fingertips trailed up and down my belly, making the muscles shiver beneath his touch. He said nothing for a long while, seemingly content to stroke my skin in silence. If not for the apprehension about what was to come, I may have begun to relax a little.

"I am going to show you something different from our pleasures before, Lass. Something that will be very enjoyable."

I nearly choked at his insistence that the earlier encounter had been enjoyable for me, but I wisely held my tongue, and watched as he reached behind him, producing a slender tube, one end sloped to a rounded point. I swallowed hard, for I knew immediately what it was meant for. Since I did not say anything, he felt the need to explain.

"This, Lass, is called a Phallus. I will slide this in whichever orifice I wish, and watch you writhe _beneath me while I take my pleasure from you." his eyes hardened, then, his tone losing whatever kindness it held, "roll onto your hands and knees."_

I could feel the tears welling up behind my eyelids, and I did as he demanded, leaning down on my forearms so my behind was high in the air. He nudged my knees apart, so I was fully exposed to him in the dim candle light. Immediately I felt his fingers sliding along my netherlips, pushing them apart, probing at my still tender entrance. I closed my eyes then, unwilling to face the world where the Gods allowed this to happen to me. His tongue and teeth followed suit, nipping and lathing, his spittle dripping down my inner thighs. He moved upward, then, his tongue squirming against the tightness of my anus, forcing the tip inside to wriggle and coax the muscles into relaxation. Mentally I forced myself to remain calm, to do as he wished, so that perhaps he would have mercy on me this time around.

Slick fingers, covered in his spit, replaced his tongue and slid inside my bottom, pressing at every angle, renewing the agony from before, burning through my gut. Then, I could not help the whimper that was torn from my lungs, and I praised the Heavens that he held his hand still.

"Yes, I think perhaps I enjoyed this hole too thoroughly before. You would not be able to handle my cock in here again so soon."

I shuddered as he withdrew his fingers, relaxing a fraction as he moved away momentarily I knew that my torture was not over, of course, but it was a small relief that he would not be forcing his member into that part of me that night. I opened my eye a crack, finding the thing he called a Phallus was near to my face, standing on it's flat base, and was again thankful that it was much smaller than Rolf's manhood. Perhaps I could handle its entrance into my body.

Soon he took the Phallus into his hand, sliding the tip over the lips of my mound, attempting to tease some sort of reaction

_out of me. He soon grew bored, as I felt nothing but revulsion for his actions, and moved on with his plan. The subtle smell of lilies invaded my senses, and a slick, oily probing of my anus began. He had coated his fingers with some strange, fragrant ointment, which eased the passage of his digits into my body. I nearly sighed in relief, even when he pressed the tip of the Phallus against the puckered hole. It too had been coated in the oil, and though it's penetration still stung terribly, it was much easier than taking his cock had been._

He pushed slowly, letting me savor every agonizing inch, until the base of the device rested against my bottom cheeks. There he held it, twisting his body around to dig for something else. When he returned, I heard the sound of metal on metal, then the feel of leather being strapped around my upper thighs, securely fastened. When he had finished, he pulled his hand away from the Phallus, and my body's natural reaction to push the thing out was met with solid resistance. I realized, then, that he had strapped the thing to my body, so I could no extract it from myself, even through instinct.

"It's a good fit, little Lass. Your ass is as hungry as your cunt, I see. I think you shall learn to love this device, as well as others."

The thought made a gagging sensation course through me, but I was not long allowed to indulge in my disgust, for he positioned himself at my other entrance, and pushed in with a slick ease, and I realized he had too coated his length with the fragrant oil, for which I was perversely thankful.

He pumped leisurely, hands on my hips, his pelvis smacking into me, forcing the Phallus to jerk forward little by little, pushing out to the limits of the straps, then back in with each forward thrust. I clenched my eyes shut, trying to shut out all that was happening to me, but to my great dismay, a strange burning began to grow inside both my entrances. I was mollified, confused, when the muscles around the Phallus and his cock began to clench against my own will, drawing them further in.

Rolf sighed happily, picking up his pace, "Yes, Lass, you feel it now, don't you? The pleasure I can wrench from your body?" He accented his last word with a sharp thrust of his hips, and a unwanted moan made it's way out of my body, which only served to encourage him. He pulled out and away, shoving me onto my back, and gripped the backs of my knees, forcing them to press against my chest, exposing me fully. His cock slid back into me, the new angle heightening the awakening pleasure inside of me. I could not help but cry out, my hand seeking vainly for something to hold on to as he took me again and again, the strength of his thrusts pushing us across the floor of the loft.

Suddenly he ripped himself away, dropping my legs down to the floor. I panted heavily, my eyes blurry from the lack of oxygen, sweat dripping down my forehead. I wanted him back to me, if only to extinguish this agony he had created within me. My netherlips burned with something I could not understand. I hated this man, detested him for everything he had done, but I knew somehow that only he could cure me now. I whimpered pathetically, my knees pressing together to hopefully relieve some of the pressure.

Instead, he turned away again, and I felt my stomach drop away and he present a second Phallus, this one near to his size, with strange ridges and bumps all along it. At the base was a strange metal box, with a white wheel attached to it. Rolf grinned, watching my reaction to the hideous thing.

"As I'm sure you will learn I often do, Lass, I have changed my mind. I want your ass now, come Hell or High Water. You will give it to me. But first, I want to feel your cunt weeping for me as well."

I lay unmoving as he inserted the new Phallus into my vagina, shudder then as the ridges along the length scraped at my sensitive insides. To my horror I felt my womanhood give a great clench, a strong wetness squeezing out between the thickness now inside of me. Rolf let me lay there, adjusting to the new sensation inside my body, and I nearly began to drift again, when he twisted that odd little wheel, and the world suddenly went white.

I had no idea what was happening to me. All I knew was that everything in my body clenched tight, I could not breath, and I felt as though I were falling out of a tree or off of a roof. Suddenly the muscles convulsed, and my back arched up off of the floor, a gasping cry echoing in my ears. It was agony, and easily the most enjoyable moment of my life up to that point.

It ended all too soon for my pleasure hazed brain, and I vaguely caught a strange buzzing noise. Eventually I realized that the sound was coming from inside of my body, that the Phallus was shaking at the rate of the hummingbird's wings.

"A Gnomish invention. Quite genius, really. Now on your knees, Lass. You will take my cock again, and I expect a proper welcome there, this time."

I was dizzy with sensations, barely noticing when Rolf removed the first Phallus and his hot cock buried itself within my anus once again. My chest heaved, the combination of the oil, the vibrations and the friction Rolf's manhood caused bringing me quickly to another peak. It was different this time, the sensations all coming together, confusing one for the other, until I felt I would be torn apart from it all. There was a voice, soft and far away, calling out "Yes, yes, yes!" _in rhythm with Rolf's pounding thrusts, and eventually I realized that the words belonged to me. I felt my stomach lurch with the understanding of it, but could not help it. I hated him, wished him death, yet I could not get enough of the pleasures he was giving me. Indeed, in that moment, I was ruined._

And so the night went, for hours through the moon phases, Rolf took me over and over. He took my anus, my vagina, and my mouth, interchanging his cock for the Phalluses and back again. I lost track of what was where at some point in the night, knowing only a strange, dazed continuation of a pleasure I could not understand. At certain moments he would stop, offering me a sip of wine to satiate my thirst, then replace the sweet alcohol with the taste of his seed, forcing it down my throat at first, then laughing as I eagerly lapped it up, caught up in the storm of carnal ecstasy I knew was possible. I think, perhaps, for those few hours before sunrise, I had gone completely mad with it. I was, as he wished, insatiable, and gave everything he requested.

Eventually, the light of the dawning sun peeked in through the cracks of the wall, and I blinked it back, trying to concentrate on the slide of Rolf's cock inside my anus once again, now loose and eager and swallowing him like a greedy mouth. I had long since lost the ability to speak, only breathy gasps escaping me, but he knew that our time was coming to an end. He picked up his pace, turning the vibrations of the Phallus inside my womanhood to its fullest, and once more time, I felt an orgasm rip through me, dropping me to my belly. Rolf pulled away from me, pumping his cock and shooting his seed over my bottom and lower back. I heard him drop to his own behind, panting heavily.

"You, little Lass," he said through shaking breath, "Are a rare treasure indeed."

He rolled away then, pulling on his clothes, and again, leaving me to do the same. My body ached all over, and it was once again a struggle to make it into my dress without sobbing, for not only was I in pain, the lingering affects of the oil he had used still sent tiny shivers of pleasure across my blood. My nipples ached as they rose to fullness for what seemed the hundredth time since midnight, stinging sweetly as I pulled my bodice tight, trapping them inside. It was delicious and horrifying all at once.

This time, Rolf patted my behind as he walked past me, urging me down the ladder first. When we reached the bottom, he took my shoulders in his hands, forcing me to look up at him.

"You will milk your goats, Lass, then go back inside. You will come to the front window, nodding once to let me know if all is safe for me to leave the barn and take breakfast with your family. Remember, you do not want them to suspect anything. And if you tell tales to them of me, you will find them dead before noon. Now go." he turned me around, patting at my behind once again, shooing me toward Mira. I saw, sitting next to her, were the milk buckets. He must have taken them earlier in the night. He had indeed planned this well.

I did my task as was required, going into the house as though I had risen early to finish my chores, finding my mother cooking breakfast at our large stove. My father was sitting down at the head of the table, my brothers sitting next to him, calling to me to fill their glasses with the fresh milk. I did as they bid, then made my way to the front of the house, looking out the window toward the barn. I could barely see Rolf's shadow, but I knew he was there, and gave him the signal. Immediately he stepped out into the sunlight, coming toward the front door.

Breakfast was a general affair, Rolf putting on a good show for my Father and Mother. I sat silently, trying to pretend I was not eavesdropping, though I found that tedious, as they did not speak of anything interesting anyway.

"So I suppose, Sir Reding, you will be on your way this morning?" My Father asked, sipping at his milk politely. Rolf smiled, and to my dread, turned his eyes to me long enough to take my parent's notice.

"I shall, Sir. But first, there is something I must speak to you about. Nay, not only you, but your family as a whole, as I am sure I will require their blessings as well."

My heart dropped into my feet. Surely, he could not be about to expose what he had done to me?

My father cleared his throat, drawing Rolf's attention back to him, "And what, pray tell, would

_that be, Sir Reding?" My father, if he suspected anything, was careful to school his features to that of the simple minded man, giving away no thoughts of his own._

Rolf set his glass down, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin atop them. He was quiet for a moment, guiding his audience into waiting with held breath, as though what he said was the most fascinating thing in the world. And for me, at that moment, it was.

"I will be honest with you, Sir Fairsky. In my short time here, I have fallen deeply in love with your daughter, Lilla, and I wish to be wed to her at your earliest convenience."

I nearly choked on my eggs as the load of tripe left his lips. He loved me? Surely not! He lusted after me like a beast to stud. There was no love in this, not even a trickle. My parent's seemed to be under the same general assumption as myself, and eyed him skeptically. Rolf smiled at their questioning faces, letting his hands rest on the table.

"I quite assure you, Sir, Lady, that what I say is true. Your daughter has enchanted me beyond reason, for surely you understand that a man like myself does not make such decisions rashly, nor without full contemplation."

My Father nodded, urging him forward, though I silently willed him to throw this man out, to end my torment. Rolf, however, obliged my Father most eagerly.

"The fact of the matter is that I have hopelessly fallen for her, and I'm sure you realize that her marrying to a wealthy merchant such as myself would indeed be a wise match, the coin merely a pleasant perk to the fact that it would be for love at the heart of the matter."

I could see my Father's eyes begin to light, contemplating with Rolf was saying. For surely, to him, this was a dream he had dared not dream, an opportunity that he had never allowed himself to hope for. My Mother, however, was a different story, bless her Soul.

"Sir Reding, I apologize for being frank, but I somehow doubt that you could have fallen in love with my daughter in a matter of hours." she said icily, her hand resting comfortingly on my shoulder. I turned my eyes to him, the defiance back in my gaze, to which he simply smiled in return. Again, I felt my stomach drop out, and my strength waver.

"My Lady, has she not told you yet? She loves me as well. Ask her yourself. Tell her, Lilla, of the way you threw yourself at me, how you begged me to make you a woman after all these long years. Tell her of how you promised to love no one but me, that if your parents did not consent, you would run away with me."

I felt my Mother's hand leave my shoulder then, and sensed her stepping back and away. My father's face twisted in shock and shame. All eyes were on me.

"Lilla.. it's... it's not true _is it?" My Mother demanded, her voice barely above a whisper._

"I assure you, lady Fairsky, it is the truth. She begged me to bed her, would not take no for an answer. And how could I, a red blooded man, resist a woman as beautiful as she?" Rolf leaned forward, as though this part were particularly scandalous; as though the rest of his words were not, "You can even check her if you want."

I closed my eyes, the tears dripping off my lashes, and before my Mother could suggest such a thing, I forced myself to speak, "It is the truth. We... we made... love _to each other yesterday, and last night. I... I..." I choked back a sob, demanding my voice not to fail me, "I love him, Mother, Father, and wish to be married."_

The world around me faded into nothing, though I could see everything moving. My Mother cried. My father sent my youngest brother, Joseph, to Sentinel Hill to retrieve the Minister. There would be no guests, no feast, no drinking. My Marriage was a shame to my family, as I had given away my virtue to a man I had not yet been wed to. Instead, the entire affair was to be a secret, a fabulous story of young love to be told to any relations or neighbors who would one day inquire where I had gone.

I stood in my house dress, stained and old, as the Minister spoke in dismal tones, irritated by being dragged out here to our farm to perform an impromptu ceremony. I mumbled my vows as though through a dream, trying not to gag as Rolf pressed his fat lips to mine, sealing the marriage. Before I realized what had happened, I was sitting atop the seat of his Wagon, my heart aching as I watched my family go back inside the house, not even bothering to wave goodbye to me.

The whole affair was over by two hours past the Noon.

Rolf joined me in the wagon, clucking his tongue and giving the reigns a flick to urge his pretty mares forward, "Do not fear, little Lass. I will be a dutiful husband. I expect we can make it to Stormwind by nightfall, if I can resist the temptation to make the occasional stop."

I felt a chill enter my veins as he spoke to me, as the understanding of those implications fell on me. I was now this man's wife. I was bound to him, unable to deny him what he wanted of me. If he wanted to strip me naked and take me in the middle of a highly traveled commerce road, he could, and no one would question him. For all I knew, exhibition was one of the many things he had planned for me in the near future.

Sure enough, after merely at hour of travel toward Elwynn, Rolf reigned in the horses, pulling the wagon over to the side of the dirt path. He turned to me, lifting my chin with his fingers, his eyes boring into mine.

"Now, Lass, I trust I do not need to force cooperation and reaction from you?" his words held a harsh edge to them, a warning veiled there, and I nodded quickly, not wanting to anger him right off. He smiled, shucking me beneath the chin, and quickly made his way into the wagon, urging me to follow behind him.

The inside of the wagon was nearly stuffed with various kinds of cloth, though they were neatly organized. There was just enough room for a small, hay pallet to be lain on the floor, that which Rolf was laying on now. He unlaced the front of his breeches, freeing his quickly hardening cock from its leather confines. He stroked it slowly, eying me as I crouched inside the wagon, watching him pleasure himself.

Silently, he waved his hand at me, again urging me forward. I did as he bid, standing over his legs, staring helplessly at his cock, feeling an unwanted tingle begin between my legs.

"Lift your skirts, Lass. I shall let you choose the hole, this time."

I felt a sudden contraction of my innermost muscles, as though they were warring over who was to be treated first. I felt my chin mottle and tremble, shamed, disgraced tears coming forward of their own accord. Rolf simply laughed, and tugged me to my knees. I lifted my skirt up over my hips, hovering over his member as he held it still for me, waiting patiently for me to make my choice.

Surely to take him in my anus would be a bad idea, as he had not prepared himself nor my entrance. It would be painful for days after, as it was still aching from our earlier excursions. It puckered and loosened of its own accord, as though it were contesting my thought process entirely, but I stubbornly pushed those cravings away in favor of the more prudent choice.

As I slid my vagina down and over the heat of his cock, it seemed to rejoice in the attention I was allowing it, in the attentions Rolf gave to it. Immediately he thrust upward, stabbing into me like a sword, and I was forced to brace my hands against his chest to keep my balance. His own hands gripped my hips, pushing me up and down in a guiding way, encouraging my instinctual bouncing. One strayed up to free my breasts from my bodice, laughing like a child at the way they jiggled over his face. He pinched a nipple, hard, and I let out a long, low moan.

"Yes, Lass, just like that. Ride me like the whore I immediately knew you were. Brazen, beautiful, and dripping for me, always."

I cried fully now, tears making the world look as though it were underwater, yet I continued to ride his cock as though it would kill me not to. Soon enough Rolf broke his word to me, two of his fingers sneaking beneath my lifted skirts and worming their way into my eager anus. The ring opened greedily, taking him and clenching down so as to not let him escape. I impaled myself on his cock, rode his fingers, just as the whore he claimed I was. I cried for more, moaned his name as he wished, and strived as hard as I could to gain something from this rather than a shamed pleasure.

Suddenly he halted, gripping my legs to keep me still. I panted, a buzzing in my ears, until I realized that the sound of hoof beats were coming up the road. I stared at him, helpless, silently asking what I should do, to which he answered by simply pushing me off and away from him. He hastily tucked his member back inside his pants, and stuck is his head out the back opening of the wagon.

"Hail!" came a deep, male voice from the distance. Rolf raised his hand in greeting, ushering the man over.

"What do you on your way to Elwynn, Merchant?" a second voice asked, another man, his voice decidedly lighter than the first. He sounded younger, but not as young as I.

"I am on my way to Stormwind to sell my cloths, gentlemen, and to celebrate my recent marriage."

The horses nickered, shifting contentedly as their riders dismounted politely, "Ah, congratulations to you then, Sir. Where would your bride be, then, so we may congratulate her as well?"

Rolf opened the little wooden door at the back of the wagon, and gripped my hand, dragging me out beside him. I cried out, frantically trying to pull my hand away, as I had realized that I had no yet re-laced my bodice, and my breasts were now exposed to these men.

They were soldiers of Stormwind, making their daily patrols, I supposed, and I felt that odd sense of cold dread creep up my spine as they stared blatantly at my chest. Rolf did nothing to remedy this, and I began to cry in earnest, still struggling

_in his grip in the effort for modesty._

I shrieked then, as the older of the two, a dark skinned man with a bald head and trimmed goatee, reached out, his mail gloved hand squeezing my breast hard. Rolf gripped my upper arm, slinking behind me to grip the other and hold me in place.

My mind reeled. Surely he did not mean to let this man take _me, to rape me? I was his _wife _for the love of the Light. What husband would allow such a thing?_

But he did nothing, allowing the soldiers hands to paw across my chest, pinching and twisting as I whimpered and cried and begged them to stop. I turned my eyes to the younger soldier, begging him _to make them cease, and only succeeded in getting him to come closer, to join in with hands lifting my skirts to finger at my womanhood, still damp from my coupling with Rolf earlier._

"That's a good Lass. I don't mind sharing my bounty with the King's Men, you know. I like to see my possessions used to the fullest, and I'm sure you could use a fresh perspective."

I knew, then, that there was no way out of this situation. I leaned back against Rolf's chest, and allowed the men to take their fill of me. If there was no hope, why struggle, after all?

The soldiers took my relaxation as their opportunity, and began to undress me in earnest. They tugged at my laces, pulled down my skirts. The younger of the two spread my legs so wide I could hardly keep myself standing, and immediately applied his tongue to my womanhood, flicking and stroking his tongue up and down the slit. The older, darker man, kissed at my breasts, twisting the nipples in the absence of his mouth, making me hiss with the pain, and moan with the frightening pleasure his counterpart was applying to my nether regions. Absently, I felt Rolf behind him, grinding his renewed erection into my behind, and I could not help but roll back into him.

Gradually, the three men led me behind the wagon, laying me in the grass. I watched as they divested themselves of clothing and armor, talking among themselves about who would take me were. I was perversely grateful to Rolf then, for he insisted that the rights to my womanhood was his and his alone. The soldiers eventually agreed to his terms, and began to position themselves thusly.

I was forced to my hands and knees, the older man standing before me, his thick, swinging cock moving back and forth like a pendulum. He did not need to force my jaws apart, for I took him quickly between my lips, applying the suction I knew Rolf had enjoyed, hoping that this man was hardly different. He seemed to have no protests, breathy moans escaping him occasionally. Rolf wriggled beneath me, carefully drawing my hips down, sliding his cock back into my vagina. The passing was slick from our coupling earlier, and I sighed softly at the slight pleasure it afforded me, reveling in it, for I felt it would be all I would be allowed to experience.

The youngest man, having disappeared from my vision for a moment, took up his place behind me on his knees. I smelled lilies on the air again, and felt my insides shudder as I realized Rolf had lent him a bottle of oil he had used on me the night before. I was to have pleasure this day, though even more against my will than before.

I felt his cock, marginally smaller than my husband's, pushing against my anus, and he laughed out loud as he slid easily inside, "Damn, your woman is wanton, isn't she?" he gave a few heavy thrusts, our skin sliding against one another, "Just sucks a man inside with ease, eh?"

Rolf chuckled, patting my behind in what could be called affection, "I have trained her well, lads. If she does not perform to your expectations, feel free to punish her in any way you wish."

The man at my anus shoved his cock in and out of me at a steady pace now, his hand joining Rolf's in patting my bottom, "Aye, thank you, Sir. I almost look forward to her failure."

"As do I." Rolf answered, his fingers reaching up to pinch and twist at my breasts, silently promising me the punishment he had mentioned if I failed him. I closed my eyes, and applied stronger suction to the dark man before me, and hoped it would not last too long.

Then, Rolf began to move in counterpoint to the man controlling my backside, and everything went hazy.

The oil he had used brought out the familiar, burning pleasure. Rolf's cock sliding against the other man's through my body made me burn from another angle. The flavor of the long, dark member in my mouth made it water in anticipation. Before I knew myself, I began to shudder and convulse, filled too fully that I could hardly stand the clenching of my own orgasm. I dropped the cock from my mouth to moan my pleasures, the noise escalating as the dark man pumped, and spilled himself over my face and into my open mouth. I swallowed his offering eagerly, that controlling pleasure taking hold of my mind and body until I was left sobbing in my shame.

Rolf pulled away from me. I did not hear his words, nor did I hear those of the other men. I found myself suddenly standing, leaning forward against Rolf's chest, he, in turn, leaning back against the wagon. He lifted one of my legs, resting it in the crook of his elbow. Suddenly the youngest man was back to me, pushing back up inside my anus. They began their maddening rhythm again, only to stop soon after, some unseen adjustments made. I smelled the scent of the lilies again, wondering what in the world they were up to. Suddenly, the younger man slammed into my back, his cock delving deeply into me, the motion forcing Rolf further inside as well. The Soldier at my back moaned, gripping my hips tight enough to bruise. That was when I heard the other Soldier moan in turn, and I began to realize that he had entered the younger man as well. The implications reeled in my mind, and soon I was caught between their pleasures, unable to move, forced to ride through their passions as they worked to find their peaks again.

The younger man bit into my shoulder, hissing in my ear through each panted breath, "He feels so good in my ass, Lady, almost as good as I feel to yours. You.. nng!... enjoy our fucking you, yes?"

I sobbed a reply. I don't know if it was a positive or a negative. I doubt any answer I made would have made a difference, anyway. Rolf fondled at my breasts, reaching down between our bodies then to press his fingers against the little nub just above where his cock met my body. Electric shocks of pleasure shot through me, and I clenched around him and the young Soldier again, their grunts echoing in my ears.

Soon, all too soon and not soon enough, I felt their seed spilling inside of me, and they pulled away, allowing me to drop to the ground. The men laughed, going inside the wagon then, and I faintly heard the cork of a bottle being pulled free. They were drinking, toasting to their conquest, while I lay broken, shuddering, and cold on the ground outside. I opened my eyes, the lids feeling heavy and dry, to see that the sky had almost darkened to twilight. They had had me for nearly three hours, and I had not yet slept since the night before Rolf came to my home.

Had it only been two days? Heaven help me, it felt like a lifetime.

Eventually I must have drifted off, for I was awoken by the heavy weight of a wool blanket being wrapped around me. I murmured, half asleep, and heard Rolf shushing me as though I were a child.

"Here, now, Lass. You just hold still, and I'll bring you inside to sleep. I believe you've earned it."

I nodded, letting my eyes close again as he lifted me up into his arms. It took some careful maneuvering, but eventually I was laid down on the straw pallet, Rolf nestling in beside me. We were alone inside, and I realized that the Soldiers must have taken their leave of me. Rolf smoothed back my hair, watching my sleepy face with a blank expression.

I had almost fallen back into sleep, when I felt his fingers probing at my womanhood again, and I moaned in protest, though at that point, I think the underlaying meaning behind my sounds were completely lost, for it only served to encourage Rolf, he sliding two fingers up inside of me.

"You have performed wonderfully, my little Lass. I would almost believe you wanted those two men willingly. You sucked them both in so gratefully. I don't suppose you enjoyed them more than I, did you?"

I felt my blood freeze at the implications of that question, and I shook my head quickly, denying what simply was not true. I did not enjoy their attentions, their rape of my body and careless disposal after they have finished. How could anyone enjoy such a thing?

Rolf's brows drew together, his pumping of me with his fingers increasing speed and pressure, a frown marring his features, "Is that so? You did not enjoy them at all?" I shook my head again, and he responded by pinching my little bud, as hard as he could. I screamed and screamed, begging him to stop, to release me, to end the pain, but he only kept the pressure consistent, his scowl turning darker, "Nay, I think you are lieing to me, Lass. I think you wanted them to fuck you. You wanted them to fuck you until you were raw and mindless."

I sobbed, shaking my head in denial, the strength to struggle away having been lost long ago. He pinched again, and I shrieked, still begging he stop.

"Still you lie to me? You ungrateful bitch, after all I have done for you, given to you, offered you. You lie straight to my face, then beg for no punishment?" he spat then, right into my face, and withdrew. I continued to cry, hiccuping as I could not catch my breath, and waited for the worst.

The worst answered, in the form of another Phallus, one I had not seen yet. It was much larger than Rolf by at least half, both in length and thickness, it too covered in strange ridges. Just to see it made me shrink back in fear. Rolf responded by gripping my hair and giving it a hard

_yank, forcing my face as close to his as it could get without bumping our noses together._

"This, my little Lass, is for you. I want you to take up that bottle of oil," he nodded to the side, and my eyes darted over, viewing the tall glass object, "and apply the entire thing to us. The affect will last for nearly three days."

I nodded, swallowing the bile at the back of my throat.

"Secondly, you will take the Phallus, and insert it into your cunt. I will then apply the straps to it, keeping it firmly in place. The charge inside of it will last at least a week long, even if left on. You will keep it at full speed until I tell you otherwise. Meanwhile, I will take your anus for as long as the oil holds my excitement. You will not attempt to stop me. You will not fall asleep. Every time you do, I will take my razor belt to your little ass until I see red. Do we have an understanding?"

I nodded again, still sobbing. He thrust the bottle of oil into my hands, and I carefully administered it to him, as well as myself. The familiar burn began to seep into me almost at once, forcing panting breaths out of my chest. I then lay back, taking the giant Phallus from his hands, and forcing it past my womanhood, until it was fully seated.

Rolf did as he had threatened, using the straps to secure it to my legs so it would not leave my body. He then switched it on, the hummingbird vibration making my teeth feel as though they would shake loose. I tried to curl up, the escalating pleasure almost reaching it's pitch already, but my husband rolled me over, his cock slipping into my anus without a care.

The wagon rocked with the force of his thrusts. I soon became numb to all feeling, and fell quiet, the only sensations was a dead vibration in my belly. Rolf spilled himself into my ass, then pulled away, shoving me onto my belly.

"Whore, I expect a little participation from you, as well!"

I cried again, listening as he rummaged through his things, knowing what was on the way. The first bite of leather against my flesh renewed the feeling in my body tenfold to what it should have been, and though I knew that it would only cost me more skin in the long run, I tried to struggle away. Rolf roared, gripping my hair and yanking it back, swinging his razor strap in earnest. It bit into me relentlessly, and soon I could feel my blood dripping down the sides of my thighs.

I went into a state of hypnotics. The world around me ceased to exist. The only things real were the bite of the leather, the burning in my skin. When Rolf's arm finally tired, I was limp and nearly lifeless as he juggled my hips and forced his way inside again. I sobbed dryly now, all my tears used up long ago as he had his way with my body.

_I had known before that I was ruined physically by him. That night, the night of my wedding, he had killed my spirit, as well._

Zin had to force his fingers to relax, lest he crumple the last sheet of parchment. His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached in protest as he made the muscles loosen. The words that lay before him seemed a blasphemy to all things in the world. The letter Yessha had written to him before, her little afterthought rang more true to him than it had before. He did indeed hope that Rolf had met a painful end to his life, and if not, he felt compelled to perform the act himself. The man deserved no less than a death befitting the honorless dog he was.

To trick her into an unwanted marriage, to force his mate, to allow another man to touch her was so perverse, so wrong, it left a sick feeling in his stomach. Never in his life would he _ever _allow such a thing! Hells, if she had been _his _mate -

Zin choked on his breath, stilling his thought process immediately. What in the world was he thinking? Had he truly considered such a hypothetical situation? He was Dark Spear! His race took many Mates, offered them to others as honorable gifts or signs of respect. That was all this man had done. She was his property, nothing more.

Zin looked about himself at the dieing light of the afternoon, and cleared his throat, as though he had said something aloud that was particularly embarrassing. It was foolish, really. He had simply become caught up in the story. And a story was all it was – old, probably penned by a woman well into her aged years. Her's was a tale that was sad, indeed, but he had no place in life to feel for her in such a way.

Carefully, he tucked the parchment back into the envelope, and began to make his way back to camp, resisting the echo of Lilla's silent words in his mind: _He had killed my spirit, as well. _That, Zin did not doubt. For how could any human have survived a life like that intact? It was an impossibility, and he reassured himself that she had broken just like all the rest would, that she was somewhere tucked away in a corner of the world where she was resigned to her ruin.

Somehow, that thought made him feel worse than his near vow to avenge her honor.


	3. Secrets at the Bottom

**WARNING: This story contains incredibly graphic sexual situations, a large majority of which are NON CONSENsUAL. THAT MEANS RAPE. And dammit, it's VIOLENT rape. If you are under age or strongly disagree with the content of this story, then PLEASE, I'm begging you, hit "back" now, before it's too late. If you continue to read past this point, then I am going to assume you have read and understood my warning, and will not be offended, spam, or try to report me or my writing to the Admins. **

**This warning will be repeated at the beginning of every chapter, for both your safety and mine.**

**CHAPTER THREE**

**Secrets at the Bottom**

The next letter from Yessha did not come to the Crossroads for several months, though Zin found he hardly had the time to be concerned about it. His platoon had been worked to the point of exhaustion, a feat very difficult between the Orcs and Trolls, and often he found his group to be camped far into the wilderness, beyond the reach of any sort of civilization. Once the raids were completed, the spoils spread among the soldiers and the necessary cut toward Orgrimmar packed and sent on its way, Zin and his fellows were often times too worn out to do anything past force down a few mouthfuls of food, and limp off to their tents for a few scant hours of rest.

Through all the struggles of the war, through the blood shed and the singing in his veins as his daggers plunged between ribs and pierced vital organs, Zin discovered that Lilla Fairsky was not far from his thoughts. Strange, half formed questions would form in his mind, curiosities fluttering between his senses when he would normally become drone, focusing so intently on the battles that nothing existed beyond the howl of his comrades, their War Cry echoing on the wind. Out of the blue, the image of her young, Human face would cloud his vision, haunting him at the edges of his awareness like a ghost. The more it occurred, the angrier he would become, forcing the image away with sheer will, only to be beaten back as her large, tilted eyes called out to him, stripping him bare and leaving him raw with emotion.

He wished that he understood, knew what drive was pulling him toward her so. Her sadness, so easily read from the passages of her diary was staggering, but Zin could easily say that this was not the reason for his fixation. Of course, knowing what it _wasn't _didn't exactly help him discover what it was, and he spent many hours, alone in the night, asking the emptiness around him why.

By the time that his group had made it back to their base of operations, Zin was thoroughly spent, looking forward to spending long, luxurious hours of leave, soaking up the fresh river water, baking in the hot sun by the river bank. His particular group, Go'run included, were scheduled for nearly a month of down time, to give them a chance to rest up and prepare for the next wave of raids and pillaging. They would be replaced by a group of fresh warriors and casters, rogues and healers, due to arrive the following morning. But for the time being, he had a report to deliver to his commanding officer, then he was off for the central fire for some much needed nourishment. His bath would have to wait.

"Zin! Zin Ol'bij? Where can I find Zin Ol'bij!"

Zin blinked, standing up to his full height so as to see over the heads of the Orcs around him, seeking out the high pitched voice, carrying over the camp. The accent was thick, hardly recognizable and muddling the Orcish dialogue to an almost disgusting degree. Whoever was calling out to him obviously did not hold study in high regard.

There. There it was. The voice was picking up in pitch, nearly squeaking, the words repeated over and over through the loud, darkly amused laughter of a group of Orcs. Apparently, whoever it was, was being taunted and prodded like a dog in a cage. Zin started forward, wondering what in the world was going on.

"What be 'appenin' 'ere?" he asked, his hands resting on the shoulder of a second onlooker, an Orc that chose to stay back from the growing mob. Zin had a slight shock of recognition, as though he should know this soldier, though the name tickled just at the edges of his awareness.

The Orc snorted, turning his attention back to the spectacle, "Some little neutral Carrier wandered into the camp. He'd be lucky to leave with his tail intact."

That was painfully true. Zin had seen some of his companions remove extremities, fingers, tips of ears from the Neutral Postmen; the action was never enough to kill, just enough to send a message to the Alliance that their possibly spying dogs were not welcome. From the tone of this particular Carrier's voice, he had had truly no idea what he had been walking into.

"Zin Ol'bij! Where can I find Zin Ol'bij!" he squeaked again.

Zin sighed. He really had no desire to separate the pack from it's prey, but he could not, in good conscience, allow a maiming when he was so earnestly sought. He hoped the Carrier appreciated his actions, and would run like Hell once his message was delivered. Though, he could not help being confused – the only reason a Postman would come to such an out of the way place was if the package they carried was far too large to hold at the Office, or if it was a message of great import. Since Zin was a far cry from an Officer in the War, that only left the former conclusion, and that left his stomach in knots as he approached the Orcs surrounding the frightened man.

"'ere, now. I be Zin Ol'bij. Back up, mon, back up!"

The Orcs parted for him, recognizing the commanding tone of one of their own, smiling devilishly as the tall Troll made his way to the center of the group. Zin had to fight not to roll his eyes. The Draenei was a pathetic sight to behold: His clothes were dusty from the Barren's travel, his long hair struggling free of his high pony tail. His milky eyes were wide and frightened, a heavy sweat broken out all over his skin. He was crouched down on those animal like legs, looking about ready to wet himself. Instead, he looked up into Zin's face, hope and fear prominent in his features.

"Z-... Zin Ol'bij?"

Zin sighed, and nodded, "Ya, mon. I be Zin."

"Oh thank the Naaru!" the smaller man cried out, standing up so quickly he nearly lost his balance. Thankfully, he managed to right himself before he fell over into the crowd, and hastily, he attempted to put himself to rights, straightening his shirt, patting down his hair, "You have no idea what I've been through!"

Zin could make a fairly educated guess, but he really didn't give a damn about the Draenei's problems at that point. Instead, his focus was on leather satchel that was slung over the Carrier's shoulder. The other man seemed to notice the draw in Zin's attention, and began bowing, apologizing profusely for the lapse in his duties. Zin wanted to tell him the shut the Hell up, but kept his tongue.

"I apologize for the delay, but getting here through normal trade routes have become quite a bother. Lots of pirates and raids, you know. Anyway, everything should be here," He knelt down, opening the satchel, handing Zin two, brown paper wrapped packages, and a single envelope, "better late than never, yes?" he finished brightly, obviously becoming more comfortable in his surroundings now that he had done his duty. Zin sniffed at him, his lip curling over his tusks.

"If you say so, mon." and abruptly, he turned away, missing the look of shock on the Draenei's face as the Orcs descended on him once again. His calls for help fell on deaf ears all around, and Zin made his way to his tent.

Thankfully, Go'run was still delivering his report to the CO, so he would be afforded some measure of privacy. He went to the envelope first, knowing somewhere in his gut what rest within the two, small packages. Her wax seal was familiar now, and he carefully peeled it away from the paper. The sheet of parchment inside bore her smell – chemicals and grave dirt. His nostrils flared, fighting back the burning behind his eyes as the smells wafted up to him. There was a damn good reason he normally chose to read these things out in the open, where the wind could carry the stink away.

_Dear Mister Ol'bij,_

I gather that from a single glance, you know what it is I have sent you. Rest assured, I have been fair in the amount of gold I am returning, and have even gone out of my way to exclude postage for the packages (which was not paltry sum, I assure you). I do hope they managed to reach you safely, and I would like to apologize for my lateness in returning them. I have been called forth to War, my Alchemy skills needed for the coming waves, and I fear I will no longer have the time to devote to our bargain.

But do not despair. While I was on my way to the front lines, I came across a very clever, talented linguist who would most assuredly help you. She is very accomplished and quick as a whip, so you need not fear her failure. I have already explained the circumstances to her, and she seemed very eager to meet with you.

I have enclosed her address below.

Sincerely  
Y.J.

PS: I advise you bring plenty of gold with. My fees were a pittance in comparison.

So. That was that. Zin re-read Yessha's letter nearly 10 times over, though he could not understand why. She had done what she had promised: translated to the best of her abilities, and refunded his gold if there came a point where she could go no further. She had returned the gold and the book, and had even gone out of her way to secure him another translator, one who she suggested was far better than she herself. That admittance was nothing to take lightly, he knew, for Yessha was not the kind of woman to admit or allow anyone to exceed her in talent. So why did he feel so bothered?

Finally, he read the address that Yessha had left for him, and almost immediately, a headache started to build behind his eyes.

Shattrath City.

_Shit._

**A – a – a – a – a - a**

Zin always had had a soft spot for travel; he was a nomad at heart, really, despite the close knit ties his tribe held for each other. There was nothing quite like the feel of new grounds beneath his feet, the smell of new places, the taste of cuisines he had never tried before. But though he was fond for seeing the world and experiencing new things, Zin found himself in the absolutely _last_ place he ever wanted to be.

That wasn't to say he wouldn't end up there one day, anyway, but he never imagined he would walk through the gates of Shattrath unless assigned a post here. No one, absolutely _no_

_one_ came to Shattrath for personal enjoyment. The city simply was not built for it. Of course, it was a beautiful thing to behold, full of extravagant designs and lush greenery tucked away in all the right places. But that was simply a cover, a filmy mask meant to hide the true purpose of this place.

Shattrath, despite its elegant beauty, was a city of war. As such, Zin did not have a hard time understanding why a linguist had taken up residence there. With the amount of Alliance and Horde milling around, either doing work for their separate factions or leaning more toward a neutral pace, there obviously had to be someone there to translate. What he couldn't fathom, however, was where they had found someone to do such stressful work.

He had no illusions about his faction – despite Thrall's good intentions, his Orcs and Trolls were hotheaded and quick to anger, to say nothing about the Blood Elves and Forsaken. Tauren were generally even tempered, but they didn't care much for the intricacies of war. They only wanted Mulgor to be peaceful and untouched, really. He supposed that it could be one of the Bovine creatures who were serving as the linguist – he had heard rumor of Common speaking Druids residing in Moonglade. It was believable.

Zin took a deep breath, careful to do so through the mouth, the stink of the Lower City infecting his nostrils regardless. It smelled... well, "heavy" was really the only word he could think of. There were too many bodies there, too much sickness and not nearly enough of water. From all around him, hands of the destitute pawed at him, begging for coin or food or drink. Zin sneered, shaking the hands away as best he could, making sure to not make eye contact with anyone, and damned this linguist for making him go to such a horrible place. He or she had to be a fool, or completely mad.

Still, he pushed his way through the crowds, ignoring the calls of the various vendors along the way. Though he had never been the Shattrath before, he recognized the tones of their voices, the prices they chirped as they hawked their wares. Most, if not all, were useless baubles, sure to break within an hour of purchase.

Eventually he made his way to the center of the city, and up the elevator that would take him to the Scryer's Tier. The giant, magically living giants loomed before him, giving him hardly a glance as he made his way forward, toward the Inn. Yessha had not given an exact address for his new translator, per say, simply stating that he could find them among the Scryers. Zin deduced that his best bet would be to find him or her at the pub itself. If not there already, he could easily ask around. How hard could it be?

Very hard, apparently, when he stepped through the door, and was damn near hit in the head with a flying pint mug.

There was a huge brawl inside the pub, various races tumbling among themselves, though from the feel of the air around him, it was just a simple bar fight; nothing too serious. And from the expressions and actions of the bar tender and the single barmaid, such things were not uncommon in this establishment. Since they did not seemed concerned, Zin felt no need to be either, and made his way over to the bar.

Ordering a single mug of ale, he turned on his stool to examine the patrons around him. There was a healthy mix of Horde and Alliance alike, either laughing at the fight before them, or voraciously enjoying their drinks and food. None of them, he noticed, seemed very interested in him. So that meant his linguist was not there. Zin swallowed his disappointment, and reached out to grab the elbow of the barmaid. She stopped, staring at him, her FelGreen eyes blinking in curiosity.

"Yes, love? What can I get for you?"

Zin returned the stare of the pretty Blood Elf, wondering how he could possibly word this. If Yessha had not given him an exact address, then certainly there was some sort of secrecy to this meeting, but for what purpose, he could not fathom. Added to that uncertainty, there was the very fact that he did not even know this person's _name_, let alone their race, age, or gender. He was about to make a damn fool of himself.

"Umm..." he paused, trying to buy himself some time. The blond, willowy woman stood before him, cocking her hip to the side to rest her hand against it, her irritation starting to become clear. She had stopped, as was required, but apparently two seconds was the time limit he had before all hospitality fled and she reserved the right to turn into a snooty bitch.

"Look, buddy, unless you actually _need_ me for something, I've got shit to do. Spit it out, or move along."

Zin glared at her coldly, his stare having little to no affect. She only rolled her eyes and stepped away into the crowd of patrons. Zin was left alone, empty handed, and still no closer to his goal. He sighed audibly, and turned back to the bar top, taking a deep drink of his ale.

Well... apparently, all he could do was wait. And he had a feeling it would be a long, _long _wait at that.

**A – a – a – a – a - a**

By the time Zin lost all patience, most of the pub was empty. Only a few people remained – the bartender, the barmaid, and three small tables, tucked away into corners. These patrons had been there not too long, seemingly preferring the late night emptiness of the place. Regardless of their late arrival, they were thoroughly drunk, laughing quietly, toasting to some such thing at random intervals. Zin himself was nursing his fifth drink of the evening, the alcohol making his skin warm and his nose delightfully numb. He wasn't nearly as intoxicated as everyone else, but he was getting there.

Pleasant, bubbly feeling aside, Zin tried hard not to dwell on the irritation that had been growing since earlier that afternoon. He had watched patrons come and go, and not a single one of them had caught his attention, made eye contact in a knowing way. They came, drank, and left, not even sparing him a second glance.

By the time the hour struck 1am, he was thoroughly disgusted. The entire trip had, apparently, been a huge waste of time and coin. What was he doing, anyway, chasing after phantoms for the sake of a damn _human_ story? Not for the first time, he berated himself for his unusual actions, his foolhardy, headstrong attitude to the whole situation. It got him nothing but lighter pockets, and time that was better used at the bank of the river. He could have been there right at that moment, his skin burning in the sun, a line full of freshly caught fish swimming against their snare in the water. He could be smoking on his pipe, sitting beneath the shade of a tree, listening to the gurgle of the water and drifting in and out of peaceful sleep.

Zin sneered, dropping a few coins on the bar top to pay for his tab, reaching down to his right to retrieve his pack, shouldering it with muttered curses and growls.

When he turned toward the door, he was not at all surprised to see someone standing in his path. Such was his luck, it seemed. In his anger, he at first did not take in the details, but when the person apparently refused to move out the way, Zin took a closer look.

She was human, he noted with surprise. Human, pale, and fair in the lamplight, though at that moment, her cheeks boasted a healthy, alcohol flush. Her hair was cropped short, mostly hidden beneath a silky hood, stray, orange wisps peeking out from the shadows, curling against the apples of her cheeks. She wore the robes of a Mage, of the Frostfire Regalia, the swirls of blue, purple, and steel gray appearing both elegant and deadly at the same time. She had forgone the headpiece and shoulders, making her look just slightly less intimidating. Zin saw, surprised that that particular detail out of them all caught his attention so strongly, that her eyes were nearly FelGreen, though lacking the shining light of those touched. She blinked at him then, slowly, sucking on her own tongue so her full, red lips pursed together, as though the flavor of the air around him left a strange lingering scum on her pallet. Her hip cocked to the side, one long fingered hand resting against the rounded swell of it, the other lifting an etched, pewter wineglass to her mouth. She took a slow slip, eying him over the rim of the cup, her expression haughty and gaging.

Zin had never been more shocked, more annoyed in his life. This Human was practically radiating a superiority complex, looking down at him as it were, as though he were no more than a bug on the bottom of her boot.

"Move your ass." he snarled, a ticking irritation at the back of his mind, reminding him that she couldn't understand him anyway, and she was probably too drunk to realize the threat in his tone.

So he was surprised, yet again, when she tilted her face up to look him in the eyes, a slow smile spreading across her lips, and she spoke in clear, perfectly accented Orcish, "You need to speak with a bit more sugar before _this_ ass does your bidding, darlin'."

Zin had no time to soak in her words, for at that moment, her eyes rolled up behind her lids, and in a move more befitting to the theatrical stage, she turned in a half circle, and fell straight into his chest. He reacted instinctively, his hands coming out to grip her, to keep her steady, though from the sudden dampness against his feet, the remainders of the wine from her cup, he realized she was passed out. He looked up helplessly, at the bartender, the barmaid, the others in the bar. Surely she belonged to one of them? They would take care of her? But to his dismay, the only patron left was a currently passed out Tauren, and the employees were too busy wiping down tables to give a damn about his predicament.

Zin groaned, his eyes tilting up to the ceiling. He shuffled the Mage's weight in his arms, eventually getting her into a more manageable position, slinging her over his shoulder

like a sack of vegetables, and made his way over to the Inn Counter.

The Inn Keeper could hardly keep the laughter out of his voice, the smile off of his face, "Can I help you, sir?"

Zin glared at him, too, disappointed to see that it had about as much affect on him than it did on the snooty barmaid. He sighed, instead, "Ya, mon. I needs 'ta know if dis Mage be known."

The Inn Keeper made a little twirl with his fingertip, and Zin turned around so the man could look at her face. The Blood Elf laughed, patting the Mage's head.

"Oh, yes! That's Cassara Gossum. She challenge you to a drinking contest, did she?"

Zin sighed, thankful beyond all comprehension that the Human was recognizable, "Nah, mon. She jus' passed out on me."

Again, the Inn Keeper laughed, leaning against his counter, "Yes, that's normal for her too. I thank you for taking her, though. She can be a bit of a handful at times, and is bad for business when she wakes up on the bar, hangover in full swing. I'll tell you what, I'll write down her address for you, and I'm sure she will have space in the den for you to sleep. You look like you've had a long night."

Zin nodded, not quite sure he was comfortable in taking up space in this stranger's home, though somewhere in his brain he concluded that it was just cause. She had passed out on him, she had allowed herself to become the burden of a Troll, an enemy of her faction, one that was not, currently, trying to rip her limbs off. The least she could do in repayment was let him occupy her floor for a few hours before he caught the next flight out. He watched the Blood Elf man scribble down the directions to the Mage's home, and with another sigh and a slight shift of her form, he made his way out and down the pathway.

Finding her home was surprisingly easy. The Scryer's Tier was not overly large, a small section of dome shaped houses branching off to the side of the Library, supposedly saved and maintained for the Mages belonging to the group. Hers was tucked away in the far corner, pristine as all the others with freshly painted roof and walls, and a well tended flower garden, circling the building as a whole.

It's quaintness was a stark contrast to the disaster Zin found inside.

At first, he thought that someone had ransacked the place. All around him were piles of discarded parchment, tipped inkwells staining the threadbare carpet. There were dishes stacked high in the modest sink, water dripping rhythmically from the faucet. There were clothes, shoes, books, various baubles strewn all across the floor and tabletop. Through it all there was a narrow path, leading directly from the door to the hammock, strung up in the corner. He shook his head, glancing sideways at the Mage's immobile backside with disbelief.

This Human was a mess, in more ways than one, it seemed.

He sighed and made his way through the disaster, staring at the hammock and the single blanket that lay across it, rumpled. How was he to go about this, now?

Carefully he eased her down to her feet, keeping the majority of her weight pressed against his chest. With fumbling fingers, he managed the leather ties that kept the robe secured, easing the fabric from her shoulders and arms. Inwardly, he thanks whatever God looking down on him that she wore a linen shirt beneath her gear. There were many he had encountered in his life that did not bother with such modesty. Fully disrobed, he eased the Human down into her hammock, turning her onto her side, just in case she woke from her sleep with a need to empty her stomach. Why he took this precaution, he did not no, nor was he in any mood to dwell on it. He pulled the blanket over her, up to her chin, and stared at her.

She seemed almost pretty then, asleep and peaceful, the moonlight spilling in from the window onto her face. She breathed deeply in her slumber, her brow smooth and free of all concerns. He envied her, a bit.

He sighed again, and made his way back through he mess. There was a large lump in the middle of the floor, and just as he suspected, beneath the piles of junk was a small sofa. As quietly as he could, he moved the books and papers and old quills from the cushions, pleasantly surprised to see a single, over stuffed pillow, and a second, old blanket, as if waiting for him to use them. Divesting himself of his own armor, Zin curled up on the sofa and closed his eyes. He only prayed that he would not wake to a Pyroblast between the eyes.

When he did wake, it was to the pleasant smell of fried bacon, the sweet, salty tang of eggs. He cracked a single eye open, watching the back of the Human woman as she busied herself in the kitchen. There was a large, cast iron skillet on the stove top; the source of the pleasing smells. She was scrubbing vigorously at a plate, a stack of already cleaned dishes waiting to be dried and put in proper order. Zin opened his other eye, slowly sitting up. She was distracted by her chores, humming softly to herself as she worked. He noticed that she had shed the single shirt he had put her to bed in, in favor of a floor length, linen robe. Her hair, much longer than he had first suspected, sat pinned messily atop her head. The color was more vibrant in the day light, reminding him of exotic fruits, wild strawberries in the summer.

Mentally, he shook himself. What the Hell was wrong with his brain, lately?

To dispel his traitorous mind, Zin pushed the blanket away from himself, setting his feet on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched her work. She hadn't noticed his stirring.

"Yer burnin' da eggs, mon."

Oh, that got her attention. She squeaked, her hand slipping, the plate she had been struggling with falling back into the basin with a splash. She spun on her heel, her bright green eyes wide and frightened, though they immediately calmed, and Zin was surprised to see that she did not, in fact, fear him at all. Instead, she looked at him curiously, almost with a manic expression, as though afraid he would disappear if she took a moment to blink.

So they stared, he sitting, her standing, their eyes locked, neither one willing to break the contact and look away first. Finally, Zin grew tired of the contest, and sighed again, "Da eggs, Mage. 'less ya like da taste a charcoal."

Immediately she spun back around, pulling the skillet from the stove. She shoveled the eggs onto a clean plate, depositing the pan into the sink with the rest of her dishes. When she turned again, she was looking a bit more timid, almost shy, as she made her way across to the room to him.

"I, um.." she said, stumbling over the foreign, Orcish words, "I didn't know how you liked them."

Zin forced himself past the surprise, the shock of her near perfect dialogue, to glance at the meal she presented him. The eggs were fried, darkened by the bacon grease and slightly overcooked, though there were no visible scorch marks. He took the plate from her, looking up to her worried face.

"Na, mon. Dis is fine."

Still, despite his assurances, the Human continued to stare at him. Defeated, Zin took a small bite, the flavor of yolk and spices melting in his mouth; she had definitely been generous with her spice cabinet. It was overwhelming, and he struggled not to choke from the strong bite of salt burning his tongue. Instead, he swallowed the small mouthful down, satisfied when the Human smiled shyly, and went back to her dishes.

Quietly, he ate, struggling through the small meal. The human seemed unconcerned by his presence, so he took the time he had to examine the small cottage in the daylight.

She had managed, somehow, to attempt a slight tidying of the place. Most of the books and papers were centralized, though their stacks could hardly be called neat. She had consolidated them to the North wall, stuffing them in shelves and on the table top. Her empty ink wells and broken quills were piled near the sink, waiting to be dropped out for waste. Otherwise, things looked much like they had the night prior. He studied the paint on the walls – old, and starting to peel at the corners, but a rather pleasant shade of blue. Like bird eggs, or cornflowers. Light and airy. The affect was marred, however, by the tall scorch marks behind the stove, and Zin actually felt himself smirking when he spied them.

The Human was, apparently, as much of a mess as her small home. Or maybe the state of her dwelling reflected what she was inside – a natural disaster. He found his amusement to this thought even more surprising than the growing smile on his face.

He was further entranced by the silliness of the situation, when he made his way next to her, depositing his empty plate in the wash basin. She had apparently been so lost to her own thoughts that his ambling gait had gone unnoticed, and she did not realize his presence until his bicep pressed against her shoulder, and the wash water splashed. She twitched, moving a fraction to the side instinctively, and looked up to his face. Zin could not help smiling at her, a strange emotion blossoming in his chest when she returned the gesture, tentatively at first, but soon spreading to her eyes. The moment was a silent one, but comfortable in a way Zin had not felt in years.

The sheer absurdity of it shook him, and he let the expression drop from his face. He did not know this person, this Human, and as such had no cause to let himself relax, to feel an easy emotion around her. She too adopted his posture, and began drying her hands on the front of her linen robe.

"Well, I suppose we should get down to business, then?" she stepped past him, to the small kitchen table, shuffling sheets of parchment around as she spoke, "The matter of payment is paramount, as I'm sure you'll agree. Nothing is for free, after all."

Zin could hardly believe his ears, believe what her rolling, smooth expression of the

Orcish language was saying to him. She actually expected him to pay her for letting him stay? She was absolutely insane!

When he made no sound to acknowledge her, she turned to repeat herself, only to find her nose nearly pressed to his solar plexus. She gasped, attempting to retreat a step, her backside bumping into the edge of the table. She overbalanced, and ended up with her hands braced behind her, one knee slightly raised, staring right up to his face. He was glaring at her now, his red eyes flaring beneath his heavy brow.

"Ya be crazy, girly, if ya 'tink I'm payin' for da use of ya couch." he hissed, baring his upper teeth beneath a curled lip. His anger sizzled down, however, when she stared up at him, completely confused.

"My couch? Why would I charge for you sleeping on my couch? You're welcome to it!"

Zin would not let her disarm him so easily. She was up to something, and he would have none of it. He leaned in closer, satisfied to see her retreat further back, nearly resting against the piles of papers on her table top. He braced his hands on either side of hers, his own torso nearly pressing against her own. Her breathing was heaving, nearly panting in her fear, the motion making her breasts brush against him. Determinedly, he made that sensation inconsequential. He would not allow her to distract him.

"You da one dat became da burden. I coulda' left ya der, at da mercy of da Horde. But I brought ya home, made ya safe. Now ya ask for compensation? Stupid, girly."

At the mention of her behavior the previous night, Zin was satisfied to see the embarrassed flush covering her cheeks. At least she had some modesty left.

He had to hold his breath, however, when he felt one of her small, trembling hands press to his chest. Not enough to push him away – she would need the strength of at least three men to do that – but just enough to let him know that she was there, that she was uncomfortable with his closeness. Strangely, it made him want to press forward even more, to trap her hand between them. That desire intensified when she cast her eyes down, staring at the way her pale skin drew a sharp contrast against his own blue flesh, her answer mumbled and difficult to hear.

"I... I apologize for my foolishness. I must have been such a bother..." she took a deep breath, pausing only to overlook the fact that Zin had snorted at her, "But I was not speaking of rent due. I was... I was just suggesting we discuss how much you will owe me once I am finished with your book."

Had someone snuck up behind him and dumped a whole bucket of icy water over his head? It sure as Hells felt like it.

"Yer da translator?" Oh Gods... how had he not seen it? Not realized it? She had been speaking fluent Orcish this entire time, her lips forming around the words effortlessly, and the possibility had not even crossed his damn brain. What had he been thinking about? _Strawberry hair. Soft skin. Eyes green enough for shamrocks..._ Zin shut his eyes tightly, wishing he could force himself to move, if only to smack himself upside the head. He was such an idiot.

The Human must have thought so too, for her posture was straightening again, and he could practically feel the indignation rolling off of her in waves, "Well, of course I am! What did you think this was about?"

Zin refused to answer that, if only for his own sanity. He didn't really know where his thoughts were taking him, and he had a feeling she would not appreciate a confession of his innermost curiosities. Particularly, whether or not she was wearing a shirt beneath her house robe, as she had with her Frostfire Regalia. Instead, he scoffed, and moved away from her, pacing back toward the sofa. Why he flopped down, his arms crossing defiantly across his chest, instead of storming out of the house, he couldn't explain. He stared at her, watching as she righted herself, crossing her own arms. Adopting his own pose only seemed to hold him in thrall. Did she always imitate those around her in that way?

"So why'd ya not tell me last night, mon? I be at da bar fer hours."

At that, she blushed again, turning her face a way a little in her shame. Well, that was certainly interesting.

"If you did not notice, Troll, I was a little... incapacitated."

Zin snorted, "Ya were practically boneless, mon." He felt an odd satisfaction when she smirked, a little of her earlier humor sparking in the green of her eyes.

"Yeah, okay, so I was drunk. The point is, I was hardly in a state to discuss business dealings with you."

Zin shrugged, "True, dat. So why ya not say nuttin' earlier, over da eggs?"

Again, the woman blushed a little, toeing at a particularly thin section of carpet, "I was curious about you. Yessha had said you were a little... different, compared to most Trolls. She said your interest in Lilla's story went beyond simple curiosity."

It wasn't as though what she said were a lie. In fact, Zin had slowly begun to accept that particular fact about himself. But to hear it? So blatantly spelled out, loud and in the open? It made his insides chill, and he wanted to deny it vehemently.

"Why are you so interested?" she asked, her voice oddly soft, and Zin turned to find that she was practically leaning over him. How had he missed her moving toward him? How could he have let himself drop his guard so easily? He refused to be intimidated by this slip of a creature, however, and did not move away, even as she moved in closer. She had a stern look on her face, as though demanding an answer immediately. And, oddly, Zin could not seem to spit out the lies he had tumbling through his mind.

No, for this woman, for some reason, there could only be truth.

"She is... inspirational, mon. I dun know da whole story, but I feel like... like she got somethin' important ta say ta me."

The Human seemed satisfied with his answer, gifting him with a slight nod of her head. She eased back, retreating from his personal space, leaving a cold feel behind for him to soak in. It was odd, he mused, that she had the ability to affect him so, and for the first time, he wondered if perhaps she was using a subtle form of magic on him, shifting the elements around her to further manipulate him. Though for what purpose her manipulations would stem, he couldn't fathom. As such, he let the theory slide.

"What you doin?" he asked her, staring at her back as she shoved parchment and books aside. She was hunched over the table again – he could not tell if she were searching for something, or if she were simply clearing off space.

"I'm trying to find my conversion tables. Though the money system is, in essence, an exact mirror, the words the Alliance use are far different from the Horde. I want to make sure that our dealings are honest and accurate."

He stood, then, and helped her search. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, and was forced to shove papers under her nose when he thought he may have hit something, slowing their progress down more than helping it along. She did not seem to mind, though; more so, she seemed to enjoy his aid, despite the fact that he was digging through her things like a common scavenger. Even when he came across some rather accurate, nude sketches of various Azeroth Races, she did not falter, did not hide or look shamed. She only laughed, plucked the parchment from his fingertips, and slid the drawings between the covers of an old, leather bound book.

"Should I even ask, mon?"

She laughed again, waving him away to the other side of the North Wall, "It was for Science, I promise. I like to know how things work. To this day I'm still disappointed that I did not go into Engineering."

Mentally, Zin screamed at himself. He chided, he berated, he demanded to know why he was being so familiar with her, so comfortable. And why, in the name of all things Holy, was he opening his mouth, giving up a piece of himself, a clue into who he was, for the sake of a Human he hardly knew?

"Ya know, mah' cousin, Atal, he be interested in da machines. He could prolly show ya 'ting or two."

He had said it offhandedly, as though it were just a passing suggestion. But when his words were met with silence, he was not at all prepared to look up, to see the expression on her face. It was very nearly blank, her brows creasing just slightly above the button that was her nose. The only thing in her that was animated was her eyes. She was stunned, and completely confused by his offer. Zin found himself embarrassed, mortified. What had he done?

"Um.. thank you." she whispered, the companionable moment broken. Dammit, he had made things worse. Mostly for himself.

Like a child, a youngling, he blushed hard, and turned back to the task at hand, muttering a "welcome" to her as quietly as he could. They searched in silence from that point forward, and after another hour, the woman produced the desired sheet of parchment.

Then, surprising Zin yet again – how much could he handle in a single morning? - she swept her arm out, dumping all the papers and books and bottles off of the table and onto the floor. Reaching into her pocket, she produced a sharp quill, and a small jar of unopened ink. Deftly, she began scribbling calculations into the margins. Zin sat across from her at the table, watching her.

It was strange, really, the little nuances she had. He stared at her mouth, at the way her small, pink lips would move as she did the math, mouthing out the numbers and words privately to herself. He watched her hand, the way she would run the soft, feathery tip of the quill against the tip of her nose as she thought hard. He sat back a little, at first curious, then again amused, when the table began shaking; he quickly realized that she was bouncing her knee, the whole motion making her body shake in counterpoint, the table trembling in response. She was an uncontrollable fidgeter.

Finally, she

seemed satisfied with her scribblings. She slid the paper across the table to him, and Zin examined her calculations. As Yessha had promised, the Human's rates were far higher than her own had been, and Zin felt his stomach cringe. The translations would nearly tap him out. Was a small, stupid diary really worth it?

That and more.

"Done." He said, pleasantly, sliding the sheet of paper back over to her. The human grinned at him, the smile reaching her eyes, making them shut partially and small age lines appear at the corners. They weren't overly pronounced – she still had several decades left to her lifespan – and they did not make her appear old. Instead, it only brought her laughter out the more, though she did not make a sound. It was almost hypnotic to him, to watch her laugh with her eyes.

"Alright, then! All we need now is to write up the contract, and have the Notary check things over, and we're in business!"

Zin nodded, and stood. He was on his way back to the sofa, to where his armor was laying, when a tiny, warm hand grabbed his wrist. He halted, looking down at the captured appendage, fascinated by the way that her fingers were not even long enough to wrap all the way around. It was startling, and strangely pleasurable to his brain.

"What's da problem?" he asked.

Cassara had the good sense to look flustered, another pretty flush staining her cheeks, "Well... the Notary isn't available."

Zin lifted a hairless brow, "How do ya know 'less ya look?"

The flush on the Human's cheeks intensified, and she glanced sideways to avoid his steady, questioning gaze, "Because.. um... It's a Friday. He always closes shop on Fridays. He won't be available again until Monday."

Zin was silent, only because he felt as though he had just taken a punch straight to the stomach. He was stuck in Shattrath for the next 3 days. He was about to go broke on a crazy, pointless endeavor to read a damn book. His leave was wasting away, he didn't know anyone in the town except for a small, alcoholic disaster area. And her hand was still holding onto his wrist.

"Oh." he said, getting an odd notion that by the end of this trip, he would have permanent brain damage. 


	4. Hide and Seek

**WARNING: This story contains incredibly graphic sexual situations, a large majority of which are NON CONSENsUAL. THAT MEANS RAPE. And dammit, it's VIOLENT rape. If you are under age or strongly disagree with the content of this story, then PLEASE, I'm begging you, hit "back" now, before it's too late. If you continue to read past this point, then I am going to assume you have read and understood my warning, and will not be offended, spam, or try to report me or my writing to the Admins. **

**This warning will be repeated at the beginning of every chapter, for both your safety and mine.**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**Hide and Seek**

"This isn't necessary, you know. I don't mind sharing my space."

Zin tilted a look over one of his broad shoulders, staring down at the small human standing beside him. She was the picture of meek, her hands folded in her robes, her hood pulled over her forehead, shadowing her eyes from the early morning sun. A brief breeze ruffled the fabric, pressing it against her cheek. Ahead of them, the hypogryphs and wyverns hissed and chirped, shifting about their bedding as their handler prepared them for travel.

"You have my information, mon. No need for me ta stay."

Cassara drew her lower lip between her teeth, chewing it thoughtfully, though she said nothing in response. Zin knew why she did not argue with him – there was no stance she could take that would have changed his mind. Back in her cottage was a single sheet of parchment, penned in both Orcish and Common, stating the rules of their bargain. He had already signed it. In three days, she would take it to the Notary and have it finalized. There really was no purpose to him staying in the city a moment longer, and he had no intention of delaying the inevitable.

They lingered in the line for the flight, neither speaking to one another. Why she chose to see him off, Zin had no idea, though he had to admit he did not mind the company, such as it was. Finally, they reached the head of the line, and he passed his pack off to the flight master, watching as the Draenei strapped his gear to the side of the wyvern. The great beast made a rumbling purr, nudging his master in the hip with his wide head. Zin stepped forward to mount, only to stop, frozen, at the feel of a small, warm hand on his elbow.

He glanced back to her, surprised to see a strange trepidation in the Human's eyes.

"If you, um... If you have any questions. Or need anything... you... you know how to contact me?"

He turned fully to her, still surprised by the novelty of the differences in their height. He remained hunched over, as was comfortable, and still the top of her head only reached the middle of his chest. She tilted her head back to look to his face, and though his stomach curled and crawled with the notion, he found himself lifting his own hand, placing it on her shoulder. The small joint seemed to be swallowed whole by his massive palm.

"Ya, mon. The same for you, yeah?"

Cassara, finally, smiled at him, and Zin was further worried by the strange jolt to the gut it gave him. Her teeth were straight and startling white, the motion giving her small lines at the corners of her eyes.

"Yes, of course."

As the wyvern climbed into the sky, Zin could not help the urge to look back as the city receded into the distance. He was not at all surprised by the fact that he could no longer make out the people milling around, and felt an odd sadness that Cassara was no longer in sight.

The entire way back, he could not seem to shake the feeling that he had forgotten something.

**A – a – a – a – a – a - a**

Some would say that Zin Ol'bij was courting trouble. He himself would only shrug, and readjust his dagger belts, offering a sly, slippery grin that made his red eyes glitter with expectations and the dare to go ahead and give him a go round. He may not have been the strongest fighter in the Barrens, but he was certainly no light weight. He was, in his own humble opinion, a considerable force to be reckoned with; especially if anyone bothered him before noon.

On his return from Shattrath, Zin had wasted no time in making his way back to the Crossroads. Though the place was full and bustling with army personnel, he found that it had not changed one wit in his absence. A military town by nature, it was still teeming with various entrepreneurs and market vendors. The heart of every town, warlike or not, was its means of commerce and economy, and the Crossroads were no different.

With the meager gold that remained in his pockets, Zin purchased a new fishing pole and tackle, and began the long, tiring trek toward the oasis in the west part of the country. This is where others would think him foolhardy, for the oasis were brimming with centaur, though Zin was hardly concerned. Aside from the danger and the probability of daily exercise, they were a constant source of income. If not for the few silver pieces the creatures carried, he was more than able to sell their possessions back in town if he needed to replenish his bait.

He chose a secluded corner, far enough from the centaur encampments that he could sleep comfortably at night, but close enough that he could easily sneak up on a patrol when he needed to. The pool he chose was deep and clear, cool even in the desert heat, and practically teaming with various kinds of fish. He set up his modest camp, and before the sun set, he had cast his line more than twenty times.

The days were long and hot, and utterly, completely relaxing.

Once a week, Zin would make the trek back into town, carrying his pilfered items to sell to the vendors. After all business was concluded, he made his way to the mailbox. He was not overly eager to receive news from the Human; the danger of correspondence between factions still lingered around his awareness and kept him hesitant. But that aside, he still felt a disturbing trill in his stomach whenever the little Mage entered his thoughts.

Her presence was not terribly distracting, as Lilla's was, true, but she still had found some dark niche in his brain, and latched on like a sea barnacle. It was irritating at best, and Zin found he was learning excellent self control when it came to pushing her out of his mind. Though, like Lilla, she seemed to have enough tenacity to disappear only temporarily.

Despite the distractions, he found his leave time to roll by without major incident. He was a little richer for the trouble, his skin was healthy and dark, burned at least six times over from the sun, and he felt a pleasant, lazy ache in his bones that he had not known since he was a child. If not for his duty to Thrall and the Horde, Zin would have happily retired to a life of fishing and quiet nights.

With these peaceful thoughts in his mind, Zin made his way to the mailbox once again, surprised to mental silence when he found the thick envelope waiting for him.

He held the package close to his chest, tucked into his tunic as he made his way back to the oasis. Every few minutes he would press his fingers against it, to reassure himself that it remained in it's place, as though terrified to lose it. Once he reached his camp, he did not even bother to unpack his supplies, or even get all that comfortable. He dropped his pack, fell to the grassy earth, and tore the flimsy paper open.

As was custom, now, a single, second envelope fell from inside, bearing a wax seal and a few, elegant letters of script. Zin felt a strange chill climb up his spine when he saw it, and rather than disturb it, he turned to the translated pages first. They were, after all, the whole point behind this fiasco; to learn what became of Lilla Fairsky.

Swallowing hard, and tucking the unopened note next to his knee, Zin unfolded the pages, and began to read.

_To this day, I don't know how long it was before we reached Stormwind. Even looking back, I can't seem to calculate the hours or days. By the time we reached our destination, and the weeks that followed, there were more important things on my mind rather than the calendar. That, as well, was part of who I was becoming, what Rolf was grooming me to be. Like a prized horse for show, I was being broken and built into what the man desired of me._

The time that followed our encounter with the patrol guards was hazy at best, filled with wisping nightmares and terrible fear. Most of it was hallucination, a strong fever having gripped me sometime in the many hours of play Rolf had demanded of me. Whether or not my husband realized I had become ill did not seem paramount; I suspect that he would not have cared either way. The fever of my body must have been a great joy to him, and added heat that the oil, and the whipping did not provide. It must have given him another sense of power over me, to beat me to bleed, to take my body in any manner he chose, and I powerless to stop him.

As I have said, I fell into a fever. I do not remember much of it, as I slipped to and from dreams and nightmares as easily as I breathe. I have fleeting memories of cool water, sweat drenched blankets, a gentle breeze that smelled of the tang of the ocean. There were voices, most imagined, some possibly real. I could hear Rolf's rumbling voice all the while, and despite the man's position in my existence, I _felt a frightening urge to climb toward that sound, to use it as an anchor to pull myself from this shadowed realm inside my mind._

Then, one day, everything stopped. I opened my eyes, the lids dry and gummy from too much sleep, and found everything around me to be in sharp focus. My mouth tasted like black earth and soured milk, and I found it nearly impossible to moisten my lips. Everything about my skin felt dried and sticky, the heavy woolen blankets that lay over me acting as a suffocating. With great effort, for my limbs were still weak, I managed to push the heavy bundles from me. The nudity they concealed were the last of my worries, and I stood on shaky legs to examine the small cell in which I stood.

It was not a prison cell, not the kind of thing that you are probably imagining. It reminded me of the small, modest rooms of the sisters or brothers of the church were afforded when serving the light. There was a single bed, pushed into a corner. A chest of three drawers, a bedside table with a single wax candle, and a chair at the foot of the bed were the only furniture. The room was bright, lit by a single, high sitting window at the head of the bed. The entire thing was made of cool stone, the surfaces of the walls rough, the floor smooth from use. My original classification for where I was seemed to be much more accurate than first imagined, for who else but members of the Church would live in such humility? Like all things religious, there was a sense of peacefulness to the room, a quiet beauty and elegance that could only belong to a follower of the Light.

I sat back on the bed, wrapping one of the blankets around my lap and shoulders, and waited for company. It would not do for me to wander the halls of this place in only a blanket, and from the looks of the thick layer of dust on the handles of the drawers, I seriously doubted my clothing was anywhere within reach.

I did not have to wait for long.

The door creaked open, as though the intruder feared waking me. To my surprise, it was not a sister nor a brother of the Church, but a squat, cheerily round woman of about my mother's age that came into the cell. Her clothes were old, but well kept, her graying hair pinned tightly beneath a crisp white bonnet. Her face was as round as the rest of her body, the cheeks plump and red with heat and life. At first she looked surprised to see me, then delight shown in her eyes and I felt a knot inside myself begin to uncoil.

"Well, there you are, young Mistress! So good to see you up and about!"

I opened my mouth to speak, but found only a grating croak could emerge. I coughed softly, trying to clear my voice, but found even that difficult with the lack of moisture in my body. The woman seemed to understand, offering me a gentle smile. She ducked back into the hallway for a fraction of a second, returning almost immediately with a stone pitcher and a white cloth.

"Here, now, Lady, you take a few sips of this and wash your face after. I'll see about getting you a dress."

She laid the pitcher on the table and turned to leave again. I found my hand around the cuff of her sleeve before I knew what had come over me, and the action seemed to startle the woman as much as it had me. But I was determined to get this over with; a niggling sensation of impending dread had sat pooled in my belly since I had awoken, and I would not walk blindly into folly once more.

_The woman stood still, looking bright and eager, as though hanging on every moment before I could speak. I took up the pitcher, forcing down a few swallows of the cool water, and tried to speak again. The sound was soft, hoarse, but I managed._

"Where am I?"

The woman looked surprised again, the expression slipping away into motherly care of childish whimsy as she patted my hair then my cheeks. I had to actually force away a foolish flush from my face, her maternal actions so familiar I felt myself slipping into the role of the toddler.

"You're in the Master's house, Lady. Your husband's house in Stormwind. He apologizes for leaving you in the servant's quarters, but he did not want your sickness to spread to the living rooms. But here, now, wash your face and tie your hair back. I had better find you something suitable to wear, or Master Redings will be upset with both of us."

I stared at her face, my mouth dropping open at the strange change that had come over her. The kindness she had shown me before had fled completely, and I saw it for the mask it was. The softness in her eyes had turned into a darker imitation of the walls of the cell, hard and cold, and in absolutely no mood for argument or resistance. This woman, whoever she was, was in complete service to my Husband, and there was nothing and no one who could convince her otherwise.

And myself? She viewed me as nothing but trouble, worthless and an extra few hours of work in the day. Possibly, because I had not fallen over with gratitude for her and Rolf's kindness, I was slipping even further into her distastes. In this woman, there was no hope for me.

I released her sleeve, and did as she bid me. The door to the cell closed with a soft snick, and the water in the pitcher was blessedly cool. It chased away the hot tears that had begun to gather in my eyes.

The woman made good on her promise to return in short order. In her hands was a simple, yet elegant house dress. It looked to be a touch too wide for my frame, particularly since my illness had shaved off several pounds from around my hips and belly. But despite the extra space, the fabric felt heavenly against my skin. The dress was cynched with a covering bodice, the woman tyeing the lines extra tight to hide the excess fabric of the house dress itself. I could feel my ribs creaking with every sharp tug, but I chose not to protest. Inside I entertained imaginings of her breaking my bones and puncturing my organs. Of the tightness suffocating me to death. Of her being punished severely for killing her Master's wife.

As she tugged on the skirt, adjusting the pleats and smoothing wrinkles, I chastised myself for my wicked thoughts. I wished I could say a prayer out loud without rousing her suspicions and exposing my evil pondering.

Dressed and my face clean, the woman took hold of my elbow, and began the tedious chore of guiding me out of the room and down the hall. I say tedious because regardless of my awareness, I was still weak in the limbs from my sickness. I worked my legs valiantly, but still managed to stumble on more than one occasion. She who attended me seemed to have patience, however, and only told me to hurry up four or five times. Her irritation was not the most pressing issue for me, however; instead, I took every moment I could to take in my surroundings.

Rolf's home was much larger than the cell had originally suggested. As we slipped through the hall and _into the main part of the house, I was practically enchanted by twenty foot ceilings, stained glass windows reaching nearly to the arched top. The floors and walls were all made of hand carved stone, but they were artfully covered by tapestries and lovely paintings. The main hall itself was a tribute to all thing elegant about the city – at least, that's how I felt. The man, my husband, may have been as ugly as Demon Spawn inside his soul, but his home I fell in love with almost immediately._

Through the receiving hall we walked, into a door on the far end, down another hall and through the small library. I marveled at the shelves of books, only to be denied a quick perusal as I was dragged further forward. There, we stopped, halted by a closed door at the end of the library. The woman who had taken me through knocked softly on the thick wood, the sound hardly traveling further than my own ears. But on the other side of the door it must have echoed and screeched, for we were answered by a commanding "enter" within moments.

The servant woman opened the door and gave me a push through. I stumbled, managing to catch myself on a chair before I had shamed myself with skinned knees and a torn skirt. As I righted myself, I was shocked into a startled jump when the door slammed shut.

"It is good to see you up and moving again, my love. I trust your rest was peaceful?"

Slowly I turned my attention to Rolf, and found myself holding in a gasp. He had shaved the beard from his face, leaving only a tightly cut mustache and goatee. The affect was startling – he looked no more than a year or two older than myself. His hair was out of its usual confines, spilling dark and black over his relaxed shoulders. Shoulders, that I noted, were completely bared. He was naked to the waist, leaning comfortably into an overstuffed chair. His black linen breeches clung to his legs, tucked into a pair of black leather boots. His feet were propped atop and ottoman. Flickering tongues of light spread over from the lighted hearth.

"Come here." He said, softly, crooking his fingers to bid me foreword. I did as I was told, dropping to my knees beside his chair, where he began stroking the top of my head as though I were a large animal. Demurely, I kept my eyes downcast, staring at the woven pattern of the chair's upholstery.

"Do you know how long you were fevered, Lass?"

I shook my head in the negative, swallowing as quietly as I could. My mouth had begun to water, my lips trembling. That sense of foreboding had begun leeching its way up my spine, again.

"You were sick for over a month. For days you would babble and cry and lash out at all who approached. It was as though you were seeing demons in your eyes. The Priests all thought you had become possessed, and had even tried to convince me to allow an exorcism. But the doctor insisted that it was only illness. He treated you as best he could, kept fluids going through you, but you lost him eventually."

At the wistful tone, from the last words, I chanced to look up into Rolf's face. My eyes must have held confusion, my face twisting into question, for he smoothed the skin between my brows with his fingertip, as though to ease a worry.

"You need not fear, my love. The baby you carried was not mine. It belonged to one of the guards that I allowed to fuck you on our way here."

_Whatever moisture I had managed to gather in my mouth had turned to sand as his words penetrated my brain. Baby? I had carried a child?_

"I..." I coughed softly, choking on the dryness in my throat, "I was pregnant? With the young guard or the dark skinned guard?" I do not know why I asked, or why it was important. I think now, looking back, that it was the beginning of panic.

Regardless of the reason, the answer was not at all what I expected.

"Oh, no. Neither of them were the father. There were at least seven or eight others along the way whom I allowed a taste of you. You probably do not remember them, for you were very exhausted after I took the belt to you. You had probably gone into your fever by then as well. But, regardless, it was one of them who managed to get you with child. I do not know who – there were too many to bother paying much attention. I did try to tell them to leave your cunt to me, but there was much wine and good food shared, and..." he shrugged, completely unconcerned, "Well, anyway, the baby was lost in your sickness, and I was assured that you were still able to bear me children, so I would not worry over it."

It seemed that the moment of tears had long passed. I had been a mother, even for a short time, and had had that taken from me without my knowledge. Absently, my fingertips grazed my belly, as though trying to catch a sensation of the tiny soul who had nestled within my body.

"If... if I had been pregnant, how are you so sure the child was not yours? You... you as well take my womanhood as often as you can."

At that, Rolf held himself very still. Through his whole explanation, he had petted my hair, grazed my cheeks or ears with his fingers, but now his stillness was warning, threatening, and absolutely frightening.

"No child of mine would have been so weak." his voice was soft, but held a cutting edge to it. I flinched away immediately, bowing my head, apologizing in babbled speech, my hands touching his knee. I begged forgiveness from him.

My fear must have softened him, for he lay a hand atop my head once more, "You need not apologize, Lilla. It was a worthy inquiry. Though keep my feelings in mind next time you need to ask a question."

I nodded quickly, shifting to a more comfortable position on my knees. We sat there, silently, for the longest of times. I began to feel a laziness drift around me, the feel of his fingers in my hair, the warmth from the fire seeping into my bones and making my muscles feel like liquid. The peacefulness did not last, though, and soon I felt a familiar pressure at the base of my neck.

"Lilla..." he whispered, drawing his fingertips along my jaw, tilting my face up. I did as he wished, looking up at him through my eye lashes, watching through my peripheral as he unlaced his breeches, freeing himself. He was fully erect, the skin turning a dark, dusky red.

"You are not yet well enough to receive me anywhere else."

Other words were unnecessary. I moved between his legs, pushing the ottoman away, and took to my task quickly. Rolf sighed and groaned above me, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling on the length with vigor. Soon he held my skull in both hands, and began pistoning himself in and out of my mouth, _choking me with his length. His panting grew harsher, and thankfully he spilled himself soon after, filling my mouth with his seed. I coughed, covering my mouth with my hand before I lost any, for I was sure he would be insulted were I to refuse his maleness._

I swallowed it down, and chanced a glance up to him. He was flushed, sweating slightly, and still panting. He petted my hair down, and patted my cheek.

"That's my good girl. You may go to our chambers now and rest. I will have your Lady bring you up some dinner, and I'll join you shortly."

I nodded again and stood, making my way out of the small room and back into the library. To my surprise, the serving woman had been waiting for me, just outside the door. She took my elbow in a tight grip, as though I were going to flee from her, and dragged me along.

"Dinner is served promptly at six; keep that in mind, as I will not be serving on you hand and foot forever. If you miss dinner, you go hungry, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." I whispered, my voice hoarser now from Rolf's salty seed.

She nodded her appreciation of my understanding, and continued, "I don't want you getting comfortable either. None of your things were brought to the house, so no need to unpack. Whatever you wear will be provided by the Master, but don't get attached to the dresses; they aren't yours and never will be."

"But, if not mine, then who-" my sentence was cut of sharply, a stinging slap to my cheek shocking me to silence.

I stood, holding my injured face, staring at her. She took hold of my arm again, tighter than before, and gave me a rough shake, "Do not_ ask questions, child! You will do as you are _told._ Do you understand me? When the Master is not giving you his honored attentions, you will do as I tell you do."_

My shocked silence must have been answer enough for her, for she continued forward, dragging me behind in her wake. Before I knew it, she had thrown open another heavy oak door – we had ascended the stairs and I had not even realized it – and pushed me inside. The chamber was medium sized, with a huge four poster bed in the middle of the floor. Rich fabrics and tapestries covered the walls and furniture, and there was another fire crackling in the hearth. I stood, dumb and fogged, staring at it all.

"You will remove that dress, child, and do it quickly. The Master will want you ready."

"But, he said I am too weak to-" she advanced on me, her hand flying across the air and branding my other cheek. I fell to the floor from the force, and she did not relent. Her fists came down on me, the toes of her shoes slamming into my belly and back and ribs. I cried out, trying to crawl away from her, but she was too quick for me in my weakened state. She took a fistful of my hair and pulled me back to my feet, twisting it in her fist to hold my head still. She slapped me over and over again until I saw stars and was sure we stood on the ceiling instead of the floor.

Finally she tossed me away, onto the mattress of the giant bed. Pushing me onto my belly she began to unlace the bodice of the dress, allowing me to sob dryly into the bedding as she did so. Eventually she got me undressed, completely nude. She gave me a fierce, mean spirited shove to the shoulder.  
_  
"Stay put. I'm sure the Master will enjoy the view when he comes."_

I heard her begin to move away, and my voice rose, unbidden by me, "When he sees what you have done, you_ will be punished! He will not tolerate your treatment of me!"_

She stopped at the door, my dress folded carefully over her arm. Her brow rose, though nothing else of her expression changed, "We shall see."

The door closed behind her, and I remained where I was, despite my anger at the woman. I did not have to wait too long.

The door opened merely 30 minutes later, and I looked over my shoulder to see Rolf. He was dressed as before, in only his pants and boots, his long hair spilling over his shoulders. In one hand he held a worn riding crop, tapping the end across his other palm. His face held curiosity. He licked his lips at the sight of me.

"I hear you have been causing trouble for my servants, my love. We must remedy this."  


Zin blinked, staring at the last lines of the translation, hardly believing what he had just read. More so, he could not believe that Cassara would be so cruel as to end her translation there.

Putting the parchment aside, he dug quickly for the letter he had neglected to open, tearing open the seal as quickly as he could.

_Zin,_

First, let me apologize for the lateness of this getting to you. Unlike Miss Yessha, my understanding of the Zandali dialect is far inferior, and I had some trouble in translation. Despite the difficulties, I believe these pages will be easy enough to read and understand, and I do hope you will find them to be to your satisfaction. I am sorry that I have left you at such a precarious part in her story, but it could not be avoided.

I must confess that I took the liberty of reading through the diary, up to the point that I sent the translations out to you – not as a scholar or Linguist, but, like you, an avid reader. I must say, this woman, Lilla, is absolutely fascinating, and I cannot help but feel my heart break for her with every word she has penned. To live such a life, with such a man? I must admit my anger toward her so-called husband has grown by the minute, and I entertain thoughts of getting revenge on her behalf. Silly, isn't it?

I do hope that you are safe, Zin. I have no doubt that you can take care of yourself, but I worry nonetheless, particularly since what we are doing together is considered highly illegal; a form of treason, for my faction. Yet I can't seem to convince myself to do anything else. I feel a strange urge toward you, Zin. Something akin to desperation, a simple need to do this for you. Perhaps the Light has it's hand in this, or one of your Gods is pulling the strings, but regardless, there is something important to be learned from this experience. I can feel it in my bones.  
_  
To be honest with you, however, I do not know how much longer we can continue this correspondence. I had some difficulty getting the pages out to you, and had to do some heavy bribing. I do wish you had decided to remain in Shattrath, but the choice was yours. I cannot expect you to stay here with me, after all. You left in such a hurry, I feared I may have offended you somehow._

I will hopefully be successful in sending out the next pages soon. I fear that it will be my last, though. I am sure my superiors are growing suspicious of my actions of late. You would think they would be used to me being late for training by now.

All the luck and all my affections,

C.

Zin stared at the carefully penned letter, his surprise higher than it had been before. The way Cassara had written to him, as though he were a friend... He supposed, some way, he could consider her an acquaintance, a means to an end, but more than that? He was not completely sure.

But, still...

He glanced around his small camp, the comfortable niche he had ground out for himself in the past few weeks. When compared to the little couch in the mess of Cassara's home, it really did not seem that grand.

Zin sighed heavily, scanning through her letter once more. He then tucked it away, and began to pack up his camp.

He only hoped that she had not sent off the translation by the time he returned to Shattrath.


	5. Undisclosed Desires

**WARNING: This story contains incredibly graphic sexual situations, a large majority of which are NON CONSENsUAL. THAT MEANS RAPE. And dammit, it's VIOLENT rape. If you are under age or strongly disagree with the content of this story, then PLEASE, I'm begging you, hit "back" now, before it's too late. If you continue to read past this point, then I am going to assume you have read and understood my warning, and will not be offended, spam, or try to report me or my writing to the Admins. I have placed privacy filters on this story and it's various chapters for just such a situation, so I feel all the appropriate procautions have been made.**

**This warning will be repeated at the beginning of every chapter, for both your safety and mine.**

Hey, hey! I just wanted to share a bit of lovely fanart that was given to me earlier today, by my wonderful friend Kat =) Inspired by a scene in this chapter! Go give a look!

http: / dragonchan. deviantart. com / # / d2tamxv (obviously, take out the spaces?)

**a - a - a - a- a - a - a - a**

**CHAPTER FIVE**  
**Undisclosed Desires**

As Zin lumbered up the cobblestone pathway to the Mage's quarters on the Scryer's Tier, he had to pause and take in the scene scant feet before him. Cassara was there, kneeling in a simple brown robe, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her tiny hands blackened by fresh earth. She was currently tamping the soil down around a freshly blooming bush of Arthas' Tears, tucking it in amongst its brothers, a group of five in a row, by the side of the front door. The blooms were a healthy, glowing purple, and they accented the paint of the outer walls in an almost regal manner. The flowers themselves were beautiful, and the way she was artfully arranging her flower beds showed her appreciation of them.

He reminded himself that she probably practiced Alchemy, and that those pretty flowers were most likely going into some strange potion by their full germination.

Cassara sat back on her heels, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of a forearm, and examined her work. She seemed to consider carefully, her dirty fingers bunching in the lap of her robe. From where she sat, Zin could very well imagine her chewing on her lower lip, a look of concentration he had noticed on his first visit to her, and the thought almost made him smile. She looked so natural, at peace in her surroundings; it was disarming, and comfortable, and gave him a strange sense of balance. He sighed, and though he hated to break up the quaintness of such a scene, he felt his mouth opening.

"Ya be lookin' at dem flowers pretty hard, Mage."

Just as he had hoped, his voice startled her, and she jumped sideways, falling on her rump in her carefully tended lawn. She spun, a hand going to her chest, the other curling in a defensive position, readying a spell to be cast. But the moment her eyes focused on his large form, he watched her shoulders droop in relaxation, and a wide grin split her flushed face. Without a word of warning she leapt to her feet, jogging down the path to him. He was prepared for it, of course, but he still felt a strange shock to his system when her long, slender arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, pulling him even further down into a tight, warm embrace. His discomfort with such a display, his confusion as well, went unnoticed by her as she squeezed him for all she was worth. Zin sighed against her shoulder, and with his one free hand, returned the embrace, his hand curling around the curve of her waist. Seemingly satisfied with his eventual participation, Cassara finally pulled away, though she did not relinquish her wish of physical contact. Her hands drew across his shoulders, down to his biceps where they remained, her face turned up, smiling at him.

"I'm so glad you came. I was worried my missive did not reach you in time, if at all."

Though she was smiling, grinning like a fool, really, Zin could detect the hint of weariness and concern in her voice, see the fear glinting behind her shamrock green eyes. It made him wonder... and it made him, against all knowledge and common sense, wish to comfort her.

"Nah, no need ta be worryin' 'bout me, leetle girl. Da secret ain't out jus' yet."

Her smile softened at his tone, and her hands slid a little further down, over his forearms, "That is good to know. Well, I suppose you'd like to get comfortable? I should have some tea somewhere, if you'd like, or maybe something to eat?" as she spoke, she turned, her little fingers curling around his arm to lead him toward her home. He gave no resistance, and did not try to pull away, which only confused him. But, he supposed, there was no point in trying to deter Cassara's need for physical contact. She was only Human, after all, and Human's were notoriously grabby. Besides, it was an interesting contrast to observe, the color of her skin against his, the difference in temperature and texture. The scholarly part of his brain was reveling in the knowledge and discovery, while he steadfastly ignored that darker part of his mind that was coiling and slithering, and whispering things that he outright refused to acknowledge.

As she made sure he was comfortable, that his place on the couch was tidy and uncluttered, she chattered away absently. He was still impressed by her ability to speak the Orcish language so fluidly, the words seeming almost... exotic, when coming from her lips. He did not pay so much attention to the words themselves, but rather the sounds she made in that soft, almost music tone that seemed to be hers alone. He thought, perhaps, that if she were to convert to Common, Elvish, or even Gnomish, it would still sound just as beautiful.

As he sat, watching her ready the kettle for tea, for the first time, he did not try to push away such a thought. The feeling of peace he encountered was as much a surprise as it was a pleasure.

They sat together on the couch, Zin wondering how he could possibly hold his mug comfortably when the little handle was too narrow to accommodate his fingers, listening to Cassara talk. She was leaning against the arm rest, her long legs curled up beneath her. Her bare toes were visible, peeking out beneath the hem of her linen robe. Her hair was still slightly disheveled from the breeze outside, stray strands curling across her forehead and cheeks. He wanted very much, and very suddenly, to push those strands away, to touch the softness of her hair. That thought, however, he did indeed push away.

"You will be happy to know that I have started on the next section of the Diary for you, though it is rough at best."

"Dat's good. Ya left me in a bad place wit' it before. Was considerin' comin' out here just ta' beat ya for yer cruelty."

She laughed at that, giving him a sly look, "Oh? Perhaps that was just part of my evil, wicked plan. Now I know how to get a Troll to do my bidding: drive him crazy with curiosity."

He lifted one of his shoulders in a shrug, sipped at his tea, "Der be many ways ta get a Troll ta do ya biddin', girly. Ways dat not be so mean."

"And what, pray tell, would these fascinating methods be, Zin?"

Her tone had noticeably changed. The sweet, sing-song of her voice had dropped an octave, becoming something deeper, something... spiced with secrets. The sound of it gave him a thrill at the base of his spine, and he looked at her sidelong, gauging her reaction. She had shifted again, relaxing fully against the arm of her sofa. Her teacup was held loosely in her hand, resting atop her thigh. Her other hand had gone to her hair, curling her finger around a loose lock that had freed itself from the wrapped style she wore it in. Her eyes had gone hooded, the color darkening into something akin to emeralds. Zin felt himself swallow hard, and he looked away.

He recalled his cousin, and what he might have said if such a blatant invitation had been passed at him. He would have laughed, leered, smiled, and poured on the charm. In the blink of an eye, the woman in question would have been in his bed and practically singing the Rogue's praises. Zin had no misconceptions about himself, no delusions of grandeur as it were. Not that he was prudish, for certain, but Cassara was... well, he supposed the main problem was her race. She was Human, a member of the Alliance. And while charming in her own fumbling, clumsy way, and certainly attractive for her kind, he found he could not bring himself to look past the baser problems. Or maybe he was imagining it. He knew so little of Human customs; perhaps this was just a sign of her relaxing more, showing him a part of herself that she normally reserved for closer friendships. Hells... maybe he was simply making excuses, and making a fool of himself besides.

Still, he thought, things were always better safe than sorry. He cleared his throat, and abruptly changed the subject.

"So, how long do ya figure 'till da next section be ready?"

Thankfully, she did not lack the social graces to see that her turn of conversation was being avoided, and she sobered, smiling at him like normal. She stood, setting her cup on the floor, and went to her work table. It was just as cluttered and disorganized as it had been on his first visit, a familiarity that he knew he would always associate with her.

"As you can see, I haven't gotten very far in them. Just a few sentences. The differences in our language can be quite vast, and I'm attempting to be as accurate as possible. I think..." she paused, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, the motion catching Zin's gaze and holding it, "I think that she deserves to have her story told to its fullest."

As she made herself comfortable on the couch again, the single sheet of parchment clutched between her fingers, Zin found himself unable to answer, his eyes riveted to her mouth. The gesture of her lips, moving around the words was so slight, so inconsequential, and so very, very distracting. His thoughts returned to Atal, the way the elder Troll would have reacted to the situation, to the odd sensation of arousal stirring in his gut. The knowledge and the consequences that would surely follow did nothing to deter the persistent feeling, and Zin drained the tea that was left in his cup, suddenly wishing that it was something with a bit more kick to it.

**A – a – a – a – a - a**

After a week, Zin felt himself at a bit of a loss. The days began at mid morning, his kindly host insisting on letting him sleep in as she prepared breakfast and morning tea, making about as much noise as a Cathedral Mouse so as to not disturb him. He would wake to the smell of freshly fried bacon, eggs; sometimes she would prove adventurous, and would surprise him with dishes that she claimed she had learned to cook at her mother's skirts. There were fried vegetables and battered pieces of bread, woody tasting syrups and sweet fruits. She seemed to delight in his experiences with the new cuisines, always more than happy to refill his plate when he offered her a pleading stare, unsure as to how to express his gratitude short of asking for a second helping. She had even gone so far in her effort to make him comfortable by cleaning up her single table, filing away her paper work in a somewhat reasonable order so they could sit together and enjoy their meals properly. And the tea... she had gone out of her way in that, consulting with the various occupants of the Tier as to traditional Trollish drink. She had paid an undisclosed amount for a small tin of tea, straight from Durotar, just for him.

In the afternoons, after her duties in the Tier, they would sit outside on her front lawn. He would watch her in her garden, they would speak off and on about various things, their range reaching from the most mundane to the deeply philosophical. He suspected that Cassara found his aptitude toward intelligent discussion to be a joy, something rare and surprising. He informed her, his voice light and teasing, that even the most basic of tradesmen could outwit a King, that despite his class and rank, all in the Horde were afforded the chance at education. Their ways may be very different, but Thrall understood the need to work the mind as well as the body. Both were useful tools, and nothing was more dangerous than an enemy with understanding. But mostly, he would just sit and be, watching the way her clever hands turned the soil and pruned the flowers, the way her hair, fiery and wild, would inevitably sneak free of the coil at the crown of her head and drape down across her neck and cheeks. He would smile to himself when she would push the strands away, smearing blackened earth across her skin without her even realizing it. She would give him a half-hearted glare, asking what he found so amusing, to which he would not give her a straight answer.

It was a comfortable moment, one of simplicity and center. And that made it all the more beautiful.

But with this realization, this feeling, Zin only found himself more confused. Cassara had kept to her word, and in the evenings, sometimes late into the night, she would work over Lilla's diary, reshaping the story into words that Zin could read and understand. She had refused to let him take a peek, to get a taste of what was coming, promising that he would appreciate it all the better if he simply had patience with it, and let it be a surprise. He thought that those words were a bit harsh, considering the nature of Lilla's story, but he kept that impression to himself. He could not seem to bring himself to chastise the little Mage, to steal any sort of joy from her life. Which only brought him back around to confusion.

As he sat on her front steps, watching her work the earth of her garden, he allowed his mind to wander, and his eyes to linger.

She was small, even by Human standards; slim, willowy. She was too pale for the amount of time she spent in the sun, though freckles were beginning to show more with each day, splattering across the bridge of her nose, beneath her eyes. Her lips were full, naturally pouty, and could sweep into a smile with heartfelt ease. Her eyes would glitter, practically shine when she did. And her hands... Zin felt a small shiver race through him as he watched her hands. They were so quick, so clever, so elegant as they wrote or cast spells. And her touch...

She had refrained from being easy with her touches, as when he first arrived. She had not hugged him again, and he watched her visibly restrain herself at times. He knew it was Human nature to touch; for reassurance, for the simple need of contact. But try as she might, there were times where she could not restrain herself, or had simply forgotten to halt when instinct took her over. The touches were always simple; a pat on his arm, a poke to his ribs when they teased, her fingertips floating across the back of his hand. And he found that the more she slipped up, the more he seemed to grow comfortable with her contact. The more he found himself anticipating, even looking forward to it.

He wondered, perhaps, if it was _Troll_ nature to crave touch, particularly from an attractive woman. Atal certainly had no qualms with personal contact, from any race at all. Even Rigi, as sardonic and closed as he was didn't seem to think twice about bedding a woman. Maybe it was instinctual. Maybe his cousins were simply depraved. Gods knew they teased him enough in the past about loosening up and getting while the getting was good to support _that_ theory. And even though he balked at their lewd talk, Zin could not help but find himself wondering, sometimes.

And the more time he spent with Cassara, the more the wondering grew. She had certainly not invited such curiosities since that first night. Her voice had not lowered, had not help promise, teasing glimpses into something he had never known. But despite that, Zin could not help nor stop his mind from wandering down paths he was sure he was not welcome. And thus the root of his problem.

"Ya do dis for profession or for pleasure?" he asked, forcing himself back into the present situation, and focusing his eyes on the small bush of Dreamfoil she had tucked between the Arthas' Tears. Again, Atal slipped into his mind, cackling gleefully at the possibility of a double entendre, and he mentally winced.

Thankfully, Cassara left that awkward phrase alone, and sat back on her heels, smiling, "The Tier believes I grow the plants for Alchemy, and yes, I _do_ use some for that. But mostly..." she reached out, taking a single, delicate leaf between her thumb and forefinger, stroking it almost reverently, "Mostly I do this because I enjoy it. Flowers, even the most deadly in use, can be so incredibly beautiful. Besides, I see no point in doing something unless you enjoy it. There is so much we do in life that brings misery to others and ourselves. Our time on this planet is far too short to waste it on that which brings suffering."

He knew that he should have argued on that point. What was she doing, aiding her faction, if not bringing suffering to those of his country? What did she think those at the Tier were using her potions for? Her hands were unclean as his own in that respect. But he did not voice his thoughts, his rebellious feelings. Instead, he found himself smiling and laying back on the grass, pillowing his head on his hands, lacing the fingers together as he closed his eyes against the sun. They did not speak further, and soon, they made their way inside for lunch and tea.

**A – a – a – a – a – a – a**

"Ya ever go fishin', mon?"

Cassara looked up at him over the rim of her tea cup, her brow quirking of its own accord. "Fishing?"

"Ya. Rod, line, bauble. Fishing." He articulated his words by bringing his arms up, imitating the motion of casting his line out, then reeling it back in. Cassara laughed, setting her cup down on its saucer, shaking her head in merriment.

"Yes, Zin. I have gone fishing before. We used to do it frequently when I was still at home. My brothers used to chase me around with the leeches we would use for bait quite often, as I recall."

Zin grinned at her, imagining a tiny little girl with fire red hair, running away from the squirming, slimy creatures, "Did ya enjoy it?"

"The leeches, no. But the relaxation that comes with the fishing, yes, yes I did enjoy it. In fact, I remember that we would make a grand game of the outing. My brothers, Light bless them, would boast that no _girl_ could ever best them at such a manly sport. We would make a deal that whoever caught the largest fish would be granted a copper from each of the losers, as well as be free of their chores for the evening."

Zin grinned again, leaning forward across the table, his elbows braced on the top as he gave her a knowing leer, "Lemme guess. Ya spent most a yo summer bein' lazy and rich."

She laughed at that, and soon returned his look, "By the time I left home, I had no need of odd jobs to earn my way to the Tier. No one could best me."

Zin felt the challenge in her eyes, saw it in the way her mouth turned into a smile. The look thrilled him, both his urge for competition, and the thoughts that were sneaking to the forefront more often than not. He knew he should back down, let the subject rest, but the look of her, the excitement he saw building within her stayed his fear.

"Ya talk big fo such a leetle Mage. Don' 'tink fo a minute ya could best me."

There... there it was. Her eyes flashed, the color lightening until it was almost the color of Fel Fire. Her cheeks grew warm, rosy almost in hue, and her jovial smile turned a bit darker, a bit deeper with challenge.

"Name your terms."

"Same as when ya beat yo bruddas. I win, ya gimme a copper piece... but since ya do all da chores 'round here anyway, I 'tink I get ta ask fo' somethin' else. If ya win, I do all da cookin' an' cleanin' der need ta be done."

She snorted, "What, I get no money for having to put up with your wounded male pride? That hardly seems fair."

Zin laughed, pleased that she was getting into the spirit of competition so quickly, "Fine. Ya gets yo copper piece, too. Do we have a deal?"

He held his hand out for hers, intending to shake on the agreement, but Cassara paused. He wondered if she were reconsidering the bargain, though really, he saw no reason for her to. It was a fair deal, once of fancy and silliness that he had thought perhaps would appeal to her. Instead, she stared at his offered hand, looking at it as though it were a foreign object, some strange, alien thing. It was not a look of disgust, however, much to his relief. She had touched him before, so he knew she felt no qualms about it then. It took a moment, but finally she reached out to him in turn, her tiny hand nearly swallowed whole inside his palm, his fingers curling around hers.

The instant contact was made, Zin had an idea of why she hesitated.

Her skin was warm, as always, but there was something different about it then. He felt a slight tingle go up his arm, into his shoulder, and nestled somewhere in his stomach. It was soft, comfortable. And somehow, it felt familiar. Without knowing how or why he was doing it, he reached his other hand out, and instead of shaking hers to seal a bargain, he found himself holding her hand in each of his own. Cupping it, cradling it, surrounding it with his six fingers and two large palms. He trapped it there, wanting to savor the feeling of her. She didn't move, merely watching as he enclosed her limb. Again, without thought, one of his thumbs caressed the back of her hand, and the same tingle shot up his arm.

Abruptly, and with no small measure of embarrassment, Zin released her and stood, "Ya got any good venders around here? I left mah tackle back in Durotar."

Cassara cleared her throat, and stood as well, "Certainly. Let me change my clothes, and we can be on our way."

**a – a – a – a – a – a - a**

_This,_ Zin thought, _is __**not **__fair._

Together they had made their way out of Shattrath, after purchasing the needed rods and tackle from the vender in the lower part of the city – a short, thickly built man who wore a floppy hat over his eyes. He had hung back from them, none too eager to announce to the whole of the city that he were on an outing with a human. He was finding that the idea was not too shameful, as there was such a mingling of races around him that it was hard to believe that outside the great walls, these people would sooner tear each other's throats out rather than walk shoulder to shoulder, share a meal, or laugh at some lewd joke together. Here, within the city, all were equal. Regardless, though, he rocked on his heels, his hands tucked into his pockets as he waited for Cassara to acquire their purchases.

Soon, they walked through the gates of the city and down the path, new rods and a small jar of night crawlers between them. Cassara touched his elbow, leading him off the road and into the trees. Soon they were upon a small meadow, with a pleasantly sized pond near the trees. The light of Terokkar Forest was meager, but the air was warm, and Zin found that the grass beneath his feet was soft. They were quickly settled on the bank of the pond, their lines cast.

An hour had passed and their contest remained in a draw. The fish, it seemed, did not care for their wager, and had remained of equal size to each other. Their separate strings dangled in the shallow water near the shore, five fish each, swimming and flopping in an attempt to free themselves. It was a little after their sixth catch that Cassara went and did the most unfair thing in all of history.

In favor of her house robes, she had managed to find a pair of linen breeches. They sat low on her curving hips and flared from the knee down. With it she had put on a loose, white linen shirt, wearing it with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It was a simple, efficient outfit, one that promised to remain cool and comfortable in the afternoon warmth. What she did to make Zin's life miserable, however, was to put her pretty fingers to work; she unlaced the front strings, leaving them loose and open. The problem with this was that the size of the shirt (obviously it had been tailored for a man) was much too large for her, so the opening she had created dipped well down past her bust, the bottom resting somewhere above her navel.

Zin could see, much to his dismay, the delicate, inner curve of her breasts. As she shifted in the grass, making herself more comfortable, the shoulder nearest to him became bare, the neckline slipping over the gentle curve to rest just at the top of her upper arm. She had left her hair loose for their outing, and now she swept the entire long, red mass over her other shoulder, accenting the profile of her fair, pretty face. As she lifted a hand, adjusting the slack of her line, Zin could not help it when his eyes snapped immediately to her chest, watching the way her movements brought her ample bust into sharp focus. Inwardly he groaned, and forced his attention back to his bobber.

Of course, the woman couldn't leave well enough alone. In the next twenty minutes she seemed absolutely restless. She would shift, making the shirt slip just a bit more. She would stretch, arching her back so far that the strings of the shirt would stretch against her belly and breast bone. At one point, Zin feared she would force herself through the linen itself and expose herself completely. All the while he kept catching himself looking at her sidelong, attempting a discreet inspection of her curves, the paleness of her skin. Atal's mocking laughter filtered into his mind, urging him to take advantage of the somewhat clothed female, to take and taste and touch. The thought of it made him shiver, made him force his eyes shut to block it out. But that only afforded him an uninterrupted wash of fantasy, and he wondered if perhaps he had completely lost his mind.

"Are you alright?"

He chanced a look at her, her skin beginning to flush from the afternoon heat, a slight sheen of perspiration across her cheeks, making them glow. Inwardly, he groaned.

"Ya mon. I be fine." _ Definitely not fair._

It was then that he noticed the slight tilt to her mouth, a subtle twitch, and he realized she was _smirking_ at him. Immediately he sobered, hardly believing what he was seeing. She was baiting him, distracting him, using dirty tactics for.. well, there was a reason for it, he was sure. And for the first time in his life, he allowed his cousin's influence to determine his action.

After all, if Atal knew _anything_, it was how to play the game.

Shrugging to himself mentally, he looked at Cassara again, carefully schooling his features to one of boredom, gazing at her with half lidded eyes, "You, mon? Ya be a bit flushed."

She smiled fully at that, waving her hand toward her face to fan herself, "I am a little. I spend so much time at the Tier I forget how muggy the forest can... get..." her words trailed off, and Zin was deeply pleased when her voice grew quiet, nearly a whisper, as he peeled his leather vest up and off, over his head. He tossed it aside, and took up his fishing pole once again, grinning at the wide eyed expression on her face.

"I know whatchoo mean, mon. Dis should be more comfortable."

She continued to stare at him, her own fishing pole slipping down from between her knees to rest in the grass. He turned his own attention back to the water, watching her in his peripheral. She kept looking at him, her eyes not at all shy as she took in his form. He was not what one would call a vain creature, but he had no illusions about his physique, either. Zin knew he was well shaped, lithe and toned, with not an ounce of flesh to spare. He took great pride in his body as it was just as much a tool as his daggers, one he utilized often. There were few in the world who could outmaneuver him in hand to hand combat, and he still swelled with ego when he remembered the day that he took down both Atal and Rigi when it was two against one. Neither of his cousins had challenged him since then.

He was happily simmering in his silent gloating, and was just as quickly knocked off that pedestal when he felt Cassara's warm fingertips brush against his chest.

He started, leaning back and looking down at her hand. She was touching him, the pads of her fingers dragging along the tribal scarring over his heart. The marks were small, not nearly as extravagant as others in his family had. She was careful in her touch, and from the expression in her eyes, he could see it was not a sterile sort of examination. She looked at him, caressed his scars as though reverent. When she lifted her eyes to his, there was a heat in them that even Zin could recognize.

"Did it hurt?" she asked, her voice soft, whispering. He swallowed, wondering if his nervousness was showing through.

"Ya mon. A leetle."

"What are they for?"

He could not answer for a moment. She had moved in a little closer to him, leaned forward, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin.

"Dey be... a symbol. Ta prove we be men, ready ta go out inta da world."

"And what... do you do... after this?"

There were no more words he could say, nothing he could push to the forefront to stop what was happening between them then. With a soft exhale of breath, Zin moved toward her, his eyelids drooping.

It was then that Cassara's fishing rod gave a sharp hiss, the line running free and the bobber sinking fast beneath the water. They jumped apart, she gripping the rod quickly and giving it a sharp tug to set the hook. Almost immediately it was ripped from her little hands, scooting across the ground toward a watery grave.

She gave a yelp and lept, landing on top of it, holding on for dear life. Whatever was at the other end of the line was huge, and Zin watched for only a split second before going into action. He knelt behind her, her rump on the grass, her heels digging into the ground as he wrapped his arms around her and held onto the rod. Together they held tight, pulling, guiding the fish toward the surface and to exhaustion. For long minutes they struggled with the catch, their muscles working together in tandem. The heat of the day brought new sweat to their skin, their breath heavy.

With a final tug, their bodies in unison, they managed to bring the bobber to the surface. Then the line snapped, and the next thing they knew, Zin was sprawled on the grass on his back, Cassara landing neatly on top of him. Her hair covered most of his face, their limbs were tangled, their hands and arms tingling from the shock. Almost immediately they began to laugh.

Eventually, Cassara managed to right herself, to roll off of Zin. He helped her to stand, and through silent agreement, they gathered the fish they had caught and called the challenge a draw. He slung the two lines of still flopping fish over his shoulder, the Mage dumping the remainder of their jar of nightcrawlers into the shallows. She took up the rods, still smiling at him. Zin stared at her, taking in her mussed form; the tangle of her hair, the loose fitting shirt, the grass stain on her clothes from their struggle against the mysterious fish in the pond, and he found that just as before, he could not help himself.

He stepped into her, feeling the heat radiating from her body, watching as her smile faltered.

"I be sorry, mon." he said, and just as her lips parted to question him, he claimed them under his own.

The kiss was soft, tentative on his part, and he half expected her to recoil, to scream, to freeze him where he stood. He expected anything but the sharp intake of breath, and the sudden _melting_ he felt against him.

Her mouth opened to him, eager and inviting. Her tongue was sweet and energetic, sweeping into his own mouth, dueling with his in quick, greedy tastes. He was perversely thankful for the cold, flopping tails of their fish as they squirmed against his bare back. He thought that perhaps that was the only thing that kept him grounded enough in reality to know when to pull away, to end what was happening much, much too quickly. He felt that if there was nothing there to stop him, he would have pulled her beneath him and lost himself completely.

As he drew from her, he found that he had, at some point, buried his fingers in her hair, forcing her to tilt her head to accommodate his desires. As he looked into her face, he felt a tightening in his belly; her cheeks were a pretty rose color, flushing and hot. Her lips were bruised and full from the force of his kiss, and her eyes were nearly glowing behind her lashes. She smiled slowly at him.

"Why would you ever feel the need to apologize for that?"

Zin felt himself smiling shyly back, feeling a little foolish and giddy at the same time. Those feelings accompanied him all the way back to Shattrath, and he was glad that she seemed to read his wants without him having to speak them. They were companionable on the way back, but she maintained her distance for his comfort. As they reached the gates of the city, he felt her knuckles brush against the back of his hand. When he glanced down at her, he saw her smiling at him once again, and soon he had taken hold of her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before releasing it completely.

The City was too near, and his newest discovery and allowance of himself was far too fresh for anything else.


	6. Further Falling

**WARNING: This story contains incredibly graphic sexual situations, a large majority of which are NON CONSENsUAL. THAT MEANS RAPE. And dammit, it's VIOLENT rape. If you are under age or strongly disagree with the content of this story, then PLEASE, I'm begging you, hit "back" now, before it's too late. If you continue to read past this point, then I am going to assume you have read and understood my warning, and will not be offended, spam, or try to report me or my writing to the Admins. **

**This warning will be repeated at the beginning of every chapter, for both your safety and mine.**

So! Yeah... finally got all the current chapters up. Go me. Thank you, everyone, who has commented and put this story on their favorite list. Warms my little heart. Chapter 7 is currently being written (though I'm admittedly being _incredibly _lazy about it.. heh.) so there should be another update sometime soon... hopefully. Cross your fingers. I'm terrible about keeping deadlines!

In case anyone is interested, I _have_ made some minimal illustrations of my Trolls; if you'd like to see them, let me know, and I'll send you a link or something. For now, I'm going to get myself a drink and listen to some music, and hopefully pound out a few paragraphs. Love you all.

By the way... this is really making me wish I could afford to play WoW again. Damn you, minimum wage job!

**a - a - a - a - a - a - a**

**CHAPTER SIX**

**Further Falling**

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

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

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

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

"Zin? Are you alright?"

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

"Ya mon. Just didn' expect any mail."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not much for handwriting, is he?"

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

_Zin,_

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

_Best of luck to you, cousin. _

_Atal_

_ps. Get any good tail lately? My last was fucking **fantastic.**_

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

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

"Well, mon, I had best be goin'."

She blinked, obviously surprised by his statement, "Going? Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are you going to go?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ya damn right, says me. Where I be goin' is too dangerous. What's comin' afta me be _worse_."

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

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

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

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

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

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

**A – a – a – a – a – a - a**

"This is completely unfair."

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

"C'mon, mon. Time ta get up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold, Mage!"

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

"My apologies, Lady Hunter. You startled me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Call off ya creature."

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

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

"She was going to _ambush_ me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Zin! Wait up a moment!"

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

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

**A – a – a – a – a – a - a**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Da translation? Ya finished?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**A – a – a – a – a – a - a**

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

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

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

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

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

"_Do you know why you must be punished, Lilla?"_

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

"_Because I... I was causing problems."_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"_Mmm... that's a good girl, Lilla. You seem to read my mind, tonight."_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_**Bella Donna.**_

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

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

"_Hurry up with that soup, girl. I have duties to attend to, unlike _some._"_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"_...can see, my stock is extensive this month."_

"_Mmm.. Indeed, Redings. I haven't seen quality like this in ages."_

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

"_And they're all primed? Ready for use?"_

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

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

"_A good choice!"_

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

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

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

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

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

_Her voice was soft, curious, "Are you a new buyer?"_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"_No, little one, she is not a Master. She is, in fact..." he sauntered into the large cell with us, and I watched, horrified and fascinated, as all eyes turned to him, faces of longing and love evident, "Just like the rest of you."_

_I whimpered, crawling backwards on my hands as he approached, "No! I am nothing like them! I... I am your_ wife_, Rolf!"_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_His smile was telling, but gentle, "I do hope your evening was an enlightening one, dear Lilla. I know mine was."_

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

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

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

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

_As he turned to leave, I felt my chest lurch, and I could not stop my words, "T...travels?"_

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

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

"_I told you it wouldn't be long before you were out. Pity about the dress."_

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

**A – a – a – a – a - a**

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

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

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

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

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


	7. Walking Through the Shadow

_Hey, guys... I just wanted to apologize for my nearly **two year ****absence **from this story! When I saw the date, I about died... How could I forget this for **two freaking years!** I'm a bad, bad writer D:_

_And to top it off, I meant to write this note in yesterday before updating, so you would all know how contrite I am, but then I went and **forgot to do that too.** Seriously, my lameness knows no bounds. The past two years have been extremely busy, though I know that's no excuse to ignore a story. I just hope everyone enjoys my humble chapter offering, and stick with me through this all. I've missed writing, so hopefully that will be plenty of incentive to get off my butt and not put you through another 2 year wait. I love you all, and I will see you soon!_

* * *

"Ouch! Dammit!"

Cassara halted, hopping about on one foot as she pulled her boot from the other. She glared at the offending article, sighing heavily when she spied the hole worn through the sole. Giving it a rough shake, a small, sharp pebble dropped to the road before her, bouncing a few inches before stopping, mocking her with it's inconspicuous innocence. She sighed again as she wiggled her foot back into the soft leather, and limping, made her way forward at a slower pace.

It wasn't as though Zin were waiting up for her any longer; she saw no point in rushing on his account.

Since they had woken that morning, once again at the horrendous time of sunrise, he had been cool at best, keeping his distance from her with an apparently casual indifference. They had spoken no words to each other, the intensity of her emotions rattling around in her skull like dice in a cup. She was nervous, then more than ever, that he was going to tell her to go home, or leave her behind without a second thought. She had tried several times to talk to him, but in the true fashion of a proper grudge, he had simply picked up his pace, and left her eating dust.

Several times in the past few hours she had had to resort to using her Blink spell to keep up with him. He would glance her way each time she did, then continue to walk as though nothing had changed, that she hadn't miraculously appeared right next to him, only to fall behind when his long legs hurried their stride in an effort to keep distance between them. After a while, her mana growing strained, Cassara had simply given up, satisfied when she would occasionally spy him through the overhanging branches of local flora that she hadn't been completely abandoned. He was neither trying to lose her or encourage her to remain with him, so she chose the latter, and decided that she would just continue to follow the path to Booty Bay. It wasn't as though he could completely give up on her – she still had Lilla's diary, tucked away in her pack. There was no way he'd give that up.

Even so, he didn't have to be so damned unpleasant. She could understand the desire to not speak to her, but to so callously ignore her well being? Not that a pebble in her shoe was particularly life threatening, but that wasn't the point. She was so far behind him now that one of the jungle cats, or those giant, frightening gorillas could come clambering upon her, and rip her limb from limb before he even bothered to turn around to see what was keeping her.

Thinking about it all sent her into a mix of depression and fury. Sure, she had been underhanded, but she had had good reason for it. All she had wanted was to not be left behind. When Zin had told her he intended to leave, back in Shattrath, she had panicked, and not knowing why, had chained herself to him the only way she knew how. It was his own fault for providing the leverage; could he really fault her for using that to her advantage? Was the silent treatment really that necessary?

"Ouch!" she stumbled to a stop once again, angrily yanking the boot from her foot, shaking out another pebble. The sight of it was the breaking point, and her rage spiked to a white hot degree, "That is _it!_"

Calling up the remainders of her magic, she Blinked forward several yards, and by some miracle, caught sight of him, still a way ahead of her, but visible. Not bothering to replace her boot, she limped along the dusty path, moving as fast as her sore foot would allow. In the back of her mind, she noted that he was no longer walking, standing still and alert at the edge of the path, but this curiosity was by no means as important as the tongue lashing (and possible magical flaying) he was about to receive.

Finally she reached him, her fists clenched and her temples throbbing, "Okay, now listen here, you dim-witted, stubborn piece of-"

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers, a bloody rage clouding her vision when Zin's arm snapped out, almost too quickly for her to gauge, his hand clapping over her still open mouth. She could taste the sweat from the trek there, the underlying flavor of his skin, feel the callouses scraping against her lips. And still he did not look at her, did not speak, did not acknowledge her. She growled, and viciously clawed the hand away, to step around him, to force him to look her in the eyes.

"I said, you will listen, do you-"

Her voice was cut off again, this time the world moving in a sense of slow motion. Zin's eyes had grown wide, and in the back of her senses she could hear a strange click and whirring noise, somewhere behind her. Then he lunged at her, his arms circling her waist in a grip so tight she feared he would break her ribs. Then they were sailing through the air, and just as they hit the rough, gravel path behind them, the world around them lit up like Hellfire.

Cassara was sure she screamed as the explosion rocked around them. She could feel the heat from lit gunpowder, the tremble of the ground beneath her, smell the nauseating tang of sulfur. Then bits and pieces of shredded plant matter, and deep, rich Earth began to rain down on them, dropping from their hang time to litter their bodies in the aftermath. All around, the animals of the jungle yowled and screamed, moving away as quickly as their legs could carry them.

Cassara gasped for air, her face buried against Zin's shoulder, her body nearly crushed by the entirety of his weight on her. He was holding her so close, so tightly, one arm around her back, the other gripping the back of her head to press her face into his body. Even his legs were wrapped around hers, a primitive attempt at protecting her from the explosion. The reality of her situation, how close she must have come to death struck her then, and she clung all the more to him, terrified sobs escaping as she struggled to breathe.

"Shh, leetle Mage; it be ova' now." he crooned, oddly calm and soothing as she shook from head to toe. His hand moved from gripping her head to petting her hair, rocking her ever so slightly in an effort to ease her fear.

Eventually her crying calmed, and she was able to breathe normally again. Zin eased away from her, sitting them both up as he examined her quickly for any injuries. The ends of her hair were singed, and she managed to have some cuts and scrapes from the harsh landing, but she was none the worse for wear. He, on the other hand, was much more badly damaged.

After she insisted, he turned his back to her so she could assess his injuries. The entirety of his vest was blackened, still smoking, tiny holes glowing red from discharged bits of burning gunpowder. She carefully tamped them out, frowning and whimpering at the pain he must have been in. All the exposed skin was dark and angry looking, blistering from the heat of the explosion. His braid, once carefully kept and knotted was haggard and crisp. He would probably have to cut it to remove the scorching.

"You are hurt so badly!" she cried, her hand covering her mouth to stifle the frightened sounds coming from it. He turned to face her again, a frown covering his face, though she could see the pain in his eyes from the movement.

"I be healin' soon. Ya don' hafta worry none."

"But it's my fault! If I hadn't come at you, if I hadn't forced my way around-"

His eyes narrowed, a snarl lifting his upper lift over one tusk. The growl rumbled in his chest, and halted her words, "Ya damn right dis is your fault. I be in dis state cuz a you. Dis whole 'ting, dis whole mess be your doin'. If ya weren't so damn hot headed, so damn _stupid_-"

And just like that, her temper flared again, her mana spiked, and a wave of heat could be seen rolling off of her, "If you ever call me stupid again, I swear to all the Gods, that I will melt your bones while still within your body."

Zin glared at her, his brow pinching together, all of his fine, sharp teeth bared, "You jus' be tryin' it, girly. See how far ya gets when mah daggers be in yer guts."

As he watched her, he could very well see the anger rising, the force and push of her magic simmering just beneath her skin. It made her entire body animate, the ends of her hair curling, the green of her eyes so bright they were turning a lighter color, like wind churned sea foam. He had never seen a Mage lose their temper before – sure, he had seen plenty go into a battle rage, but that was different. On the field, one would lose themselves in the glory of bloodshed, the ecstatic high of taking the life of another. But now, with her sitting so close, and her temper close to the breaking point, for the first time in his life, Zin felt a trickle of fear toward a Human. She was small, so small he could crush her skull with a single hand, but at that moment, he was sure if given that extra nudge, she would explode him into tiny bits, as assuredly as the trap would have done minutes earlier.

The first lesson he had learned, scrapping with the other whelps, cousins and friends and eventually his Trainers, was to never let his fear show. You could be terrified down to your very soul, but the moment your enemy knew it, was the moment of your end. Something deep within him cried out against the thought that this woman, this slip of a girl was his enemy – memories of heated kisses, and how soft her skin was beneath those robes moved unbidden into his mind, made that same voice ache. Still, despite all she had done, all the wrongs she would most assuredly do him, he still felt a desire for her so fierce it made his lungs seize.

He growled loudly, and hurriedly stood.

"If ya 'tink ya can keep from blowin' us both up, den git' on yer feet an' follow me."

She was still angry, perhaps a tad more so after that slight dig, but she stood regardless, brushing the dust and debris from her robes. She did not speak, nor did she react past a stiffening in her shoulders when he took hold of her hand, and led her toward the semi-large crater next to the road.

Her posture softened after a few minutes, their pace slow and measured as they picked their way through the dense brush and foliage. Her anger had cooled enough that she began paying attention to their surroundings, to the careful strides that Zin was taking. Occasionally, he would pause, as though indecisive, before pulling her in this direction or that, their course erratic and chaotic. Eventually, she grew tired of the silence, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Why is it that we are moving about like sand crabs?"

He paused and crouched low, dragging her down to her knees with him. He stretched his free hand forward, brushing aside a wide, fuzzy looking leaf.

"Ya see dat, der? Dat be anotha' one."

She squinted, and just barely caught a glimpse of a fine wire line. It was pulled taut, tied around the base of the plant, it's other end buried beneath a cleverly layered pile of brush and twigs about four feet to the right. She felt a shiver race down her spine and across her limbs; she never would have noticed it if Zin had not pointed it out to her.

Her next question popped into her mind and out her mouth before she even realized it had formed, "How many of these have we bypassed already?"

The sideways glance he shot her was answer enough: _You really don't want to know. _Without preamble, he drew her to her feet once again, carefully sidestepping the deadly trap, and further into the woods. She wanted to halt then, fear and irrationality clouding her mind. Why would he be bringing them through this deadly gauntlet, instead of back to the road, where their biggest worry was a prowling jungle cat, or a Pirate a little too lost for their own good?

She was going to voice these questions, until her eyes locked onto the telltale signs of his injuries once more. The burns were lessening, visibly lightening. Tracks of blood and grime trailed down his arms and exposed back, the leather vest obviously beyond repair. The injuries did not seem to pain him much anymore, his steps and gait more fluid and less strained. She visibly winced for him, though, as the bits of torn and scorched leather caught on raised flesh, stuck to drying blood. She wished there was something she could do for him, something he would _allow_ her to do. The fact that she had not known about the trap, that it was, in essence, not _really_ her fault didn't matter to her anymore. She could be no more angry at him for his reaction than she could be angry at a hawk, snatching a sparrow from the sky to feed it's offspring. It had happened, she was careless, and he had a right to be furious.

And there he was, leading her through a maze of death, being certain her feet followed his path, guiding her around her destruction.

She sighed, softly, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, which he answered with his own in return. She trusted him to keep them both alive, but her questions remained tumbling inside her head all the same. Her nerves kept her talking, though she knew it would distract him, could potentially draw his attention away from the important signs he needed to see in order to keep them safe.

"So, um... if you can see these things, why aren't you just disarming them?"

He slowed a little, side stepping another near-invisible wire, "Cuz dey be here for a reason."

Huh. Logical, she supposed. "And what reason is that?"

"Ta keep folks like us outta da way."

Again, logical. Though, she had to ask "_Who_ is keeping us out?"

Her answer was long in coming, and for that she could excuse him and herself, for as Zin parted a thick wall of bushes, she found herself in the center of that hellish storm.

Standing in the middle of a pretty glade was the largest tree she had ever seen in her life; even those in the Hinterlands couldn't compare. It's girth had to be at least 30 feet around, it's trunk reaching far into the canopy above them. The branches she could see had to be at least five times as wide as she was. Dripping down from them to the forest floor like lazy serpents were thick, swaying vines. Halfway up the trunk was covered with this moss and mushrooms, insects lazily dancing on the air around it. Beautiful wild flowers sprouted throughout it's raised roots, butterflies and bees pollinating in a delighted daze. She could literally smell the flowers' fragrance from where she stood. Small shafts of light peeked through the thick leaves above, casting the entire glade in a glittering green twilight.

"It's incredible." she said, her voice soft and awed.

Zin snorted, and she thought she saw him rolling his eyes, "If ya say so, mon." he abruptly dropped her hand then, and strode into the glade. Cassara gasped, meaning to go after him, but fear kept her rooted to her spot.

"Wait! The traps-"

"Dey not _here, _girly. He wouldn't wanna hurt his tree."

That made sense, though she still walked slowly toward the giant, gnarled roots ahead.

"So, um.. what are we doing here?"

"_We_ be doin' nothin'. _You_ be stayin' put. I gots business ta see to." he then tilted his head up toward the tree tops, wedged his thumb and forefinger between his lips and let loose a shrieking whistle. Cassara gasped again, taking a step back and covering her ears, though it hardly muted the sound. When the sound faded, and Cassara removed her hands, she could hear the startled, echoing cries of the birds above them, the frantic rustling of wings as they escaped the horrible sound.

She was about to reprimand him for startling her, for not giving her fair warning, but her voice was once more silenced when a rope ladder, constructed of braided vine and what looked like drift wood suddenly dropped down from the thick branches and leaves above, clacking against the tree trunk and dangling down.

She blinked, her curiosity peaking, almost enough that she didn't at first notice Zin climbing the ladder.

"Wait! Where are you going? You can't _leave_ me here!"

He halted, six steps up, to look down over his shoulder, "I be back in da next two hours, Magey. Jus' sit still and don' draw no attention to yaself. Ya be fine."

She spluttered, but Zin was ignoring her now, climbing like a monkey up the ladder, and soon disappeared into the lowest branches.

* * *

Zin hadn't expected a warm welcome, and wasn't surprised to find his cousin didn't disappoint him in this. The climb up the ladder was grueling as usual, several hundred feet straight up, struggling to maintain his balance on a rickety thing that had been put together out of necessity. Zin often wondered if Rigi had constructed the ladder as one more means to keep people out of his tree-top home; as though the traps surrounding the glade weren't deterrent enough.

He knew that he wouldn't be able to keep his cousin's out though, no matter how hard he tried. They all knew that if he or Atal were determined enough, they would simply scale the tree. All three were stubborn fools, he knew, and Zin supposed that Rigi had simply given up trying.

To say he was a welcome visitor, however, would be a complete lie. The first level was devoid of Rigi's presence, save for a few broken clay jars, and some discarded linens. They were torn, a few splatters of browned, dry blood on the corners, and Zin was once again reminded why he kept his visits to his wayward cousin to a minimum. He got into heaps of trouble up here in this tree, messing with magics that he wanted no part of – especially if they involved blood. He turned a blind eye to it, and made his way across the platform to a second ladder, this one blessedly solid and only about ten feet high.

The second level was much larger, wrapping around the trunk of the tree like a sun deck. There were no rails, giving the foliage free reign to drip across the worn wood like draperies. The leaves rustled in the balmy breeze, carrying the scents of jungle life and ocean water. Here, sitting about center of the deck was a single chair fashioned from wood and vines, thick banana leaves stretched tight across the seat and back. Next to it was a table of similar fashion, an old, worn pipe and tobacco pouch sitting on the surface, waiting for use. A few feet away was a pile of stones, carefully arranged around a short metal drum where coals glowed and remnants of firewood smoldered. It's smoke lazily climbed through the chimney, curling before being carried away by the breeze. Next to it was a second contained fire pit, a heavy cast iron cauldron hanging above it, water gurgling at a boil.

Zin cast his eyes around, taking in the small details, cataloging the things that remained the same, and those that had changed. For the latter there was not much – new clay jars to hold food and water, new trinkets dangling from the vines and branches above him. Rigi had told him they were wards, to keep prying eyes _out_, and he once again made certain he did not come too close to them, or touch them in any way. Who knew what could happen if he did? _Strange magic_...

Across the deck was another ladder, one that Zin knew led to Rigi's work space, and from there, another that would lead to the small deck where he slept. Zin had been in both places only once before, and neither held memories that were too dear. He frowned, easing toward the center of the platform and tilted his head up to look at the bottom of the third deck.

"Rigi! I know ya up der!"

There was a grunting noise, a sound of affirmation, and the sound of clay and glass knocking into each other.

"Ya can't just ignore me! I need ya help!"

He stepped back to avoid the linen wrapped bundle that was suddenly tossed over the edge of the third deck, landing neatly near his feet. He crouched down and unwrapped it, finding a half eaten hunk of bread and some drying cheese. He sighed, and took the bundle up, moving to the inner edge of the platform, sitting to rest his back against the trunk of the tree. It was easy to see what Rigi was telling him – sit tight, shut up, I'll get to you when I feel like it.

He chewed on the bread, thoughtful as he stared out across the vast canopy ahead of him. The food was sitting well in his belly, and he couldn't deny the exhaustion that was threatening to take hold of him. Between his worry of getting caught by either faction, remaining constantly alert for dangers both self aware and not, and the whole mess with Cassara, he conceded that he hadn't had any proper rest for weeks. Finally being a place where he did not have to worry about any of it brought it all to the surface, and his eye lids dropped closed before he could even give it a second thought.

He was halfway to sleep, somewhere in that gray area of awareness when not-so-subtle movements around him pulled him back to consciousness. He cracked his eyes open to find his vision absorbed by a heavily muscled, blue-skinned shoulder and arm. Beads rattled as Rigi shifted position, his other arm jerking quickly, the sheen of a well kept dagger catching the filtered light around them. Zin remained still, watching as his cousin remained crouched over him, examining the tuft of hair he had cut from his already mangled braid.

"Dare I ask what ya be needin' dat for, mon?"

Rigi grunted, leaning back on his heels, holding the hank of hair up to the light, sliding his dagger back into the sheath strapped to his exposed thigh. He regarded the strands with a critical eye, before turning that sharp gaze on the other Troll.

"Ya not takin' care a yo'self." his voice was soft, raspy, a sound that he refused to explain despite the annoying insistence of Atal over the past two years. The Troll's voice had obviously taken some form of abuse, never correctly healing, making it sound like a wicked whisper in the dark. The sound had given Zin a crawling feeling across his skin many times, though he tried his best to hide it.

He crossed his arms over his chest, doing his best to appear indignant, "Like ya care, mon. If ya need reagents, ya get ya ass outta dis tree and join da real world fo' once."

Rigi snorted, rolling his eyes, and stood in a fluid motion, stalking toward his chair, "Not like ya need it anyways, _Zin'tupu,_" he sat down, the leaves and bindings of the seat creaking beneath his weight, "Ya gonna be cuttin' dat mess before long. Bitchin' won't do ya no good."

Zin glared at his cousin's back, watching as the older Troll took up a bit of string, tying the ends of his stolen hair together so none of the strands would escape in the breeze. He then filled his pipe, drawing on the gnawed end, releasing tendrils of sweet smelling smoke. Like all things Rigi did, even those most simple affected Zin in a frightening way. He tried to ignore the odd, sometimes frightening shapes that seemed to appear in the exhaled tobacco, instead focusing on the task and situation at hand. That wispy eyes seemed to follow him through the cloud was of no immediate concern.

He made his way over to the chair, sitting down on the hard floor of the deck to stare out across the canopy, waiting for the silence to turn to something less strained. He knew he should have kept quiet, allowed his cousin to break the tension, but he could not help himself.

"I wish ya wouldn't call me dat."

He felt the elder's eyes shift to him, could hear the wood of the mouth piece being chewed between sharp teeth, could feel the surprise and morbid amusement rolling off of him, "Dat be yo name. Dat be what ya are. What else would I call ya?"

He snorted, leaning back on his hands, stretching his legs out, "Ya haven't followed da Old Ways since ya took up ya place here. Seems wrong ta use dat against me, dontcha tink, _Rigi'tumeacha_?"

Rigi drew on his pipe again, making a thoughtful sort of noise. He allowed the smoke to escape from the corner of his mouth, the tobacco crackling once before answering, "Still makes it true, Zin. I be da _Tumeacha_, as Atal be da _Kutaka_. Just as you be da _Tupu_. Ya can't escape what ya be, even if ya don' believe innit."

Zin glared at him, his lip curling in a snarl, "Dat be da biggest load a shit I evah heard outta you. I ain't da _Tupu_. I gots plenty in mah life ta keep me happy."

Rigi closed his eyes, leaning against the back of his chair, his face tilted up to the branches. The sunlight dappled across his skin, making his lids flutter against the light, "Ya be happy mon, but it don' last forevah. Ya still young, we all be young, but even ya gotta know dis one truth. It ain' about being happy: it about bein' fulfilled, and ya don't got dat yet. Until ya do, ya be da _Tupu_, ya be _Empty_."

Zin wanted to deny it, to call his cousin crazy, screwed in the mind, but he knew it would prove futile. They had had this discussion several times before, and it always ended up the same way – he would lose his temper, fists might just fly, and he would ultimately end up leaving. It was probable that that was exactly what Rigi was trying to accomplish, holding onto his isolation with an iron fist, but Zin knew this was too important to hand over to ridiculous pride. His namesake was something distant; Lilla and Cassara and... he himself were immediate.

Instead of giving in to temper, he chuckled, relaxing back on his hands again, "Well, mon, can't deny dat ole' Atal definitely be _wanting_."

Rigi laughed softly in return, and the moment eased away into comfortable silence. Zin allowed himself to enjoy the quiet, interrupted only by the soft crackling of sweet tobacco as it burned in the pipe's bowl. And just as he had planned before, he waited for Rigi to take the next step.

He tapped out his pipe, setting it aside, "So whatchoo want, mon? Daylight be fadin', an' I gots work ta do."

"Well, it be a long story..."

The first hour of Zin's visit passed in what felt like a blur, he reliving the entire ordeal as though seperate from his own body. Everything he had done, everything he had said and seen seemed to be coming from someone else entirely, and he didn't even bother to hide the occurrence of his unusual attraction to Cassara, something he was sure he'd be deeply embarrassed about later. But for the time being he didn't care, only wanted this entire ordeal over with, so he could move on with his life and forget the strain of it all.

Once he had finished, he was certain that Rigi would do no more than shove him off the deck, leaving him to the mercy of branches and the forest floor, hundreds of feet below. Instead, the older Troll only stared at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Dat explains how ya got here; still don't tell me nothin' about whatchoo want."

For the first time, Zin realized he actually _didn't_ know what he wanted, what he had hoped to gain from this visit. He thought that, perhaps, in his strange, circular wisdom, Rigi might have an answer for him, a solution to the problem he couldn't even put a name on.

"I dun... I dunno what to do..." his own voice sounded foreign in his ears, the the weight of the past month crashed down around him. He felt helpless and needy for things he had no name for, grasping at intangible forms, slipping right through his fingers. He held his hands out, palms up, his fingers spread wide, "Rigi, tell me what ta do, mon. Tell me how ta fix dis."

"I can't, mon, not until ya know what it is you be lookin' for."

But wasn't that the problem? He was looking for _something_ without knowing what it was, having no names, no leads, no ideas. All he had was a book, a pretty human, and a ghost to chase.

"I.." his voice faltered, and he swallowed, hard, "I jus' wanna know what ta _do_."

His cousin stared down at him, those dark red eyes piercing, calculating. Zin could see the gears turning in his head, watched a muscle in his cheek tic as he thought. Slowly he stood, holding out a hand to help his cousin stand, his muscles tense, like he was ready to pounce, "I need ya ta agree wit sometin', mon. Ya gotta do whatevah it is I tell ya fo' dis ta work, or else I lose ya somewhere I can't get ya back."

Zin was confused, wanted to ask what his cousin meant, but he sensed the danger there, and the possibility that if he asked too many questions, Rigi would change his mind about helping him. He wasn't sure what that help would turn out to _be_, but at that point, he was desperate. He did not even struggle as Rigi led him toward the ladder that would lead up to the third platform.

The first thing that assailed him was the smells – sulfur, rotting meat, spent candle wax, death... They assaulted him like a Legion, making his eyes water and his stomach clench. He coughed into his fist, not bothering to disguise his disgust, though it didn't seem to matter. Rigi moved through his space like a phantom, his feet making no noise across the rickety floor boards, his narrow hips and legs expertly sidestepping the various tables, jars, _animal corpses_ that littered around them. Flies buzzed like angry clouds around the mangled, torn bodies. The wood and table tops were permanently stained, scorched black, deep ruts on the tops from previous knifing. More of those hideous wards dangled above them, small bones and fragments of body pieces strung together, clacking against one another like perverted wind chimes. The very air around Zin felt oppressive, and he could swear there seemed to be spectral hands on him, pushing him back, pushing him out of Rigi's sacred space.

The older Troll glanced over his shoulder, muttering soft, scratchy words beneath his breath, and the feeling lifted from Zin's body. Immediately he felt as light as air, though a sense of foreboding still ate at him; as though whatever sentries Rigi had employed were allowing him this concession, but they were watching very, very carefully.

"Lay on da table, mon."

Zin's skin began to crawl at the very thought, his eyes taking in the details of previous sacrifices made there. Layers of blood sat dried, tufts of fur stuck between the wooden planks. Still, he did what he was told, still too afraid to lose this chance to argue, despite his discomfort. He lay flat on his back, his legs dangling over the edge of the table as he stared at the platform above him, at those frightening wards.

Rigi turned to him, a worn mortar and pestle in his hand. He was grinding components, the sound unusually grating to Zin's ears. The elder's eyes swept over him, a frown tipping down the corners of his mouth, "Ya be hurt, Zin?"

"Ya didn't notice before?"

"Didn't much care before, mon. Ya in any state for dis?"

"I dunno. What we be doin'?"

Rigi ran the mortar in a clockwise motion, muttering in that odd voice under his breath again before answering, "We be openin' ya up, openin' yer eyes so ya can see."

Zin swallowed audibly, watching as the Troll added strands of hair from the previously cut hank to the mixture in his bowl. He caught the site of something red, staining the edges, "So I can see what?"

Rigi's eyes met his own once again, this time harder than he had ever seen them before, "Everytin'."

Words were not necessary, and Zin found he had none regardless. He did not know the purpose behind this strange ritual, or what Rigi hoped he would gain from it. All he knew was the bitter taste of dark magic, and an odd lightheaded feeling overcoming him. Those dark whispers, Rigi's voice scratching in his ears seemed to wash over him like a tsunami, beautiful and terrible in it's violence. The potion inside the pestle was spread across his exposed chest and belly, smeared across his skin with Rigi's fingertips. The marks burned, a searing straight down to his spine, though he could not seem to scent the burning flesh. His back arched from the table, his feet kicking wildly as his body contorted, and in the back of his mind, he swore it wasn't his voice that was screaming so shrilly.

A darkness claimed him, tangible, fluid. He felt as though he were wading through muddy water, thick and suffocating. He gasped, near to the edge of panic, swinging his arms about wildly in an attempt to break the surface for blessedly fresh air. But there was a weight all around him, keeping him down, forcing him to take deep, painful gulps of that dark water, filling his lungs with murk and decay. Sounds came to him through the darkness, shrieking voices, howling in agony, building to a crescendo that made his ears screech in response. Warmth flooded from them, and he distantly realized that blood was steadily running from the inner shells. His hands lifted, smearing it all across his cheeks and neck as he desperately tried to wipe it away; as his fingers drew across his upper lip, he realized blood was also seeping from his nose, dripping down his cheeks from his eyes. He began to realize, slowly, trying so desperately to deny it, that he was trapped there, and that he was going to die. When the realization came to him, tears joined the rivers of blood falling down his face.

Zin sobbed, the sound silenced and swallowed by the darkness around him, and he curled into a ball of vain protection, wishing so desperately that he had more time, another chance to do it right. He closed his eyes, and let his death claim him.

The end did not come, and he was aware of the sensation of _wrongness_, of denial. Another warmth surrounded him, touching his skin like spring sunshine, though he dared not open his eyes. The warmth enveloped him, and he shuddered out a heavy sob, desperate relief draining him down to the very soul when he recognized the darkness around him lifting, slowly, slowly lifting.

When he chanced to peek behind cracked eyelids, he found he was no longer floating in a river of death. All around him was golden grass, tall enough to distort his vision from his laying position. He slowly eased himself up on his arms, peering over the grass, blinking in amazement at the world around him.

The field he lay in seemed to go on for eternity, a sea of golden wheat and pearly blue columbine. Above him, the sky was a wash of colors, ranging from the darkest purple to the lightest of greens, twinkling stars of silver winking down, giving the world around him pure, ethereal light. Fireflies danced around him, landing on the upturned flower faces, their colors a beautiful strobe of rainbow shades. He watched them tumble through the still, warm air, floating close to him only to trip away and move on to more interesting fare. In the distance he spied a flash, and though there were no clouds that he could see, a storm was brewing to the south; he could see the lightning strike the earth, feel the tremble in the ground, see the sheets of rain as they poured down in torrents. No call of thunder followed, at least none that he could hear.

The strangeness of the place disturbed him far less than it should, the call of the peace around him a siren's song of joy and temptation. One of those beautiful fireflies tumbled across his vision, and lightly landed on his first toe; the sight gave him a slow, eased smile.

Lightning struck again in the distance, brighter than the others before, drawing his attention away. There was an urge inside him, a small, tinny voice that asked him to stand, to move forward. He battled against that voice, arguing that here, amidst the flowers and warmth and unnatural starlight was preferable to anything else this strange world had to offer. Here he was comfortable, here he felt no draw to do anything but lay back and enjoy. There were no worries, there was no pain; even the pull of slowly closing flesh, slowly healing burns did not bother him.

As if in answer, one of the deeper lacerations across his shoulder jumped in response, and he felt his mind clear a little. He blinked, shaking his head against the foggy, clouding affects. The firefly jumped into the air, landing gracefully against his foot once again. It drew his eyes, brought his attention around to it until all else seemed to fade from his peripheral, the only thing he could see the gentle strobe of colors the little insect emitted.

It's translucent wings flickered, bringing it up and into the still air once again, this time flying slow, lazy circles around his head. Zin watched it dance around him, floating higher and higher, and he found himself standing to see closer, to move closer. He hardly realized he was walking forward, the brush of flowers and tall grass against his hands and legs a secondary sensation. All he knew was that beautiful array of light, the low frequency hum it caused in his belly.

The rain began to fall around him, or he stepped across and through the wall of it, he couldn't be sure anymore. One moment he was warm and content, the next he was simply wet, soaked to the bones, but no less comfortable. The water felt like a cleansing, a purification, and he breathed the scent deeply in. The firefly was gone now, replaced by sheets of heavy, pleasant scented rain, and he moved through it like a phantom, towards that odd pull that seemed to come creeping back into his mind without his permission. It was undeniable now, but no more urgent then it had been before. He ambled along, following the twitch of his ears, the soft mud of the earth around his feet. In his wake, the foot prints he left were filled with cool, liquid gold, glowing softly and leaving marks of his presence behind.

He didn't know how long it was he moved through the rain; there was only a sense of entering, then the sudden stop as he reached the edge of a small crater in the earth. He didn't care to take note of it's size, it's diameter. His eyes were only for the figures in the center, two shadowy figures, feminine in shape, standing back to back. There were no discernible features to either of them, but he had a sense of full breasts on both, gentle curves, long hair, though he could see none of it. Their arms were crossed over their chests, delicate hands gripping their own shoulders as thought to create a protective shield, or tie themselves in. The rain water was filling the small basin of earth, creating a pool that reached to their hips, and was steadily rising.

He shouldn't have moved, he knew, but he did, his toes curling feebly along the slick muddy wall as he made his way down into the crater, leaving gold filled divots behind him. The water splashed and displaced soundlessly around him as his feet hit bottom, the ripples and waves moving eerily slow while he stepped forward. He circled the women, staring at them, entranced by the inky shadow of them. He could see, he could _feel_ the differences between the two, though there was nothing he could put a name or words to to confirm his senses.

The lightning flashed above him, and suddenly he could see it, a glint of metal far below the water. Curious, he crouched down, his hand fishing about beneath the surface. His fingers met with a pleasantly warm object, his sense of touching confirming what his muddy vision had first encountered. There was a chain there, heavy but delicate in it's links, wrapped securely around their ankles.

It was a curious thought, this strange monolith, in this ever strange place. His fingers curled around the links of chain, giving it an experimental tug, confirming that the hold was strong. He turned his face up to look at the woman he knelt before, and he found his heart suddenly in his throat.

Her face had turned down, still invisible and dark, but he _knew _she was looking at him. One of those hands, delicate, elegant and small, began to reach for him, and he jerked away, suddenly afraid, terrified to be so close, wary of being touched by her. He fell to his bottom, the water sloshing lazily, swallowing him up to his shoulders. The level had risen without his notice, and now the prospect of drowning here froze him somewhere inside his chest.

That spectral hand moved further out, stretched to the limit of her reach, and his belly shuddered as he could feel the frown pinching her face, the distress in her countenance. Her mouth opened, a small spot of deeper darkness in her face, and the most terrible sound echoed through the otherwise still air.

It was like all the screams one could hear in a lifetime: children being slaughtered, women being beaten and forced, men cut short on the battlefield, beasts of the wild screaming their agony as they were torn asunder. It wailed and screeched, cutting into his mind as sure as any dagger or slice of elemental magic. He howled in answer, hands going up to his sensitive ears as the water lapped at his cheekbones.

The water shifted, range of motion pushed past capacity, the shadowed figure of the woman somehow inching forward, her hand reaching toward him without mercy. He could feel the desperation in her movements; it painted the air as surely as an artist's brush, thick and foul, the smog of a thousand cities descending on them all. He could see through the rain, the churning water, the moment her foot moved forward.

The ground around them erupted skyward, a silent explosion of rock and rubble, mountains forming around and between them, great fissures bursting from the muck to suck all the air and life down inside of them. Zin opened his mouth to scream, gallons of water racing down his throat and into his stomach, his lungs. The blinding flash of lightning was the last thing he saw, sending the advancing shadow figures into tangible relief. She was crying, her face twisted in desperate anguish, and as the glow of light faded in the corners of his eyes, all sounds muting as his ears filled with water, one single, simple word filled his consciousness.

_Please._

* * *

His eyes blinked open, the world around him a mass of fuzzy color and poor depth. There was movement near his head, by his left arm, but he could not make out what was causing it. Sounds were returning, and he recognized them as words, spoken harshly, growled and hissed.

"... are a fool!"

"Ya watch yer tongue, girly! I be doin' what I need ta be doin!"

"You could have killed him, you simple minded idiot! You are meddling in things that can be irreversible!"

Zin blinked again, the world around him beginning to come into focus. Above him, he saw his cousin's hand, gripping the wrist of another much too tightly to be comfortable. He winced inwardly at the thought of the bruising that would surely follow such a hold.

"...Rigi? What be happenin', mon?" he asked, his voice hardly recognizable to even his own ears.

And suddenly, there were eyes staring down into his own, slanted and bright, glowing and beautiful. Her face was angelic looking, her cheekbones high, her skin smooth and a lovely shade of greyish blue. A single lock of snow white hair fell over the pointed tip of one ear, brushing against her cheek and chin. The concern etched into her features had to be, he thought, the most beautiful thing of all.

"How do you feel now, _kallike_? Are you hurt?"

Zin blinked again, hardly believing what he was seeing. He suddenly had an idea of what his cousin meant when he said that he had been... busy.

The Draenei tutted and fretted over him, her smooth hands brushing over his brow, checking his temperature, testing the range of motion in his neck and shoulders. He slanted his eyes toward his cousin, shocked to find the other Troll standing in the corner, his arms crossed, and looking the picture of a chastised child. He took careful note of the fire in his cousin's eyes, burning just a bit brighter with every touch the Draenei gave to him.

"Ya see, girly? I know what I be doin'."

The Draenei woman, her eyes once kind, gentle, and filled with concern turned sharply to his cousin, an angry fire burning hotter than Zin had ever seen. He knew, immediately, that she was not to be trifled with. Rigi, however, had not seemed to understand that yet.

He always had been the unconventional one.

"You, _koletis_, were nearly his death. And there is no guarantee that he found his answers within the void you released!"

Zin had a faint recollection of darkness, a suction of the deepest parts of nothingness. He rubbed at his eyes, flashes of memory colliding within his skull. Blood, tears, water and lightning. The Draenei continued to scold his cousin, Rigi snapping back like a wild animal with disease, their noise becoming a strange static in his ears.

The memory hit him like a bullet between the eyes, and Zin shot upright, the force nearing flinging him off the table.

"What is it, _kallike_? What is the matter?"

She was back at his side, an elegant hand gripping his, the other resting lightly across his thigh. At her touch, all Hell broke loose.

Rigi roared, much like the animal Zin had mentally compared him to only moments before. He watched, feeling as though he should be horrified by the display, but unable to muster up the emotion as his cousin gripped the back of the Draenei's neck, his fingers digging into the skin so deeply his nails broke the skin. His other arm encircled her waist and he lifted, swinging her to the side and letting her go. She did not go far, as there was not enough space on the platform for her to go more than the five feet from where she stood, to where her shoulder and side slammed into the uneven shelves. The old wood fell, bottles and jars and _specimens_ dropping around her, the glass and clay shattering against the floor. Her legs curled up, guarding her tender belly from the shards, her hands covering the crown of her head to protect it from the falling planks.

Zin had no real time to register it all, as Rigi was reaching for him next. His handling was no less violent, his ruined braid easily wrapped around his cousin's fist. He was drug from the table, and with no preamble, Rigi tossed him over the edge, down to the main platform. Zin's back hit solid wood; he coughed, the air knocked completely out of him. It took a few moments before the ringing in his head subsided enough that he could hear, his battle instincts firing, demanding he pay attention, to preserve himself should Rigi come down to burn the rest of his temper in his flesh.

But Rigi did not come to him. Instead, Zin's ears picked up the sound of feminine shrieks, curses screamed in that strange, Draenei language and Rigi's answering roars. He could hear more glass and clay breaking, wood splintering, feet and hooves slamming and stomping against the platform above him so hard that dust began to filter down above him.

Zin coughed again, rolling to his side as he forced his limbs to move, despite the pain, despite the residual ache in his head from whatever ritual Rigi had performed. He could sense those sentries, those spectral bodies reaching for him, answering the call of their Master to remove, to expel the trespasser from his home. The feel of their icy hands, gripping claws chased at his heels all the way across the platform, and down the two ladders to freedom.

By the time he broke through the canopy, Zin could hardly hold onto the wrungs of the old ladder. His limbs were shaking with exertion and adrenaline; his fingers ached, broken nails split and bleeding. He took a deep breath, his eyes closing against the dappled light surrounding him.

* * *

Cassara screeched, falling from the great, gnarled root she had perched upon as Zin's body landed with a heavy thump mere feet to her left. She crawled around the tree's base, unsure of what had gotten the drop on her, and not at all surprised to find the prone body of the Troll. Her first, immediate fear was that he was dead, but that was quickly dismissed as he coughed deeply, spending plumes of bark dust and leaves into the air above his face. The sound expelled her worry, replacing it with agitation.

"So, your visit went well, I presume?"

Zin groaned, and flung a handful of leaves at her.

He should have known that leaving her alone for an extended period of time would give her enough cause to begin with the snippy remarks once more. He really did not have the strength at the moment.

Instead of rising to the bait, he rolled himself to his side, struggling into a sitting position. The fall had been a long one, and the grass was not nearly as soft as it had looked. He twisted his head, sighing happily when he felt the tell tale pop in his neck, loosening the tension in the muscles there enough that he could think clearly. He leaned against the trunk of Rigi's tree, digging blindly through the pack Cassara had left there a mere few hours before. From it he pulled the last of their dried meat, and he bit into it without preamble. After what he had just gone through, it tasted like the Heavens had descended.

"Well? Are you going to tell me what happened, or aren't you?"

Zin cracked one eye open to see the Human kneeling next to him, her little hands balled into fists, fitting snugly against the curves of her hips. Far too exhausted for an argument, he reached out, yanking her down across his lap.

As he thought, she squealed angrily, struggling against his grip and hands as he worked to right her, to sit her comfortably. Eventually he maneuvered her in such a way that allowed one hand to press against the small of her back, the other to the crown of her skull. There, he pressed her cheek against his own, satisfaction coursing through him when he felt her shiver.

"Ya don' wanna know what jus' happened ta me, Magey. I don' wantcha ta deal wit' da nightmares."

Her body grew still, and Zin knew that this explanation was enough for her. She sagged against him, her arms going around his shoulders, her face finding a spot more comfortable to rest against his shoulder. He held her there, taking comfort in her proximity as he finished the last of their food, listening to the animals creep out of their hidey holes, scenting the air for a hint of twilight.

He must have dozed for a time, because the next thing he knew, the jungle around them had gone black, the air strangely warmer, thick and damp.

The Mage was still nestled against him, her breathing slow and even. Her little hands were curled into the remainders of his vest, gripping loosely. His heart eased the tightness it had grown so accustom to when being near to her, and he allowed his fingers to weave through her loosened hair. The strands looked nearly black in the shallow moonlight, slipping over his calloused skin like water. She mumbled in her sleep, burying her nose deeper against his collar, warm puffs of breath tickling him.

Something primal and protective stirred inside of him; this creature, so small compared to him, compared to the entirety of the world was turned into him, digging herself deeper beneath his skin than he was strictly comfortable with on the best of days. He still had not gotten past her deceit, not completely, and he found his inside stung with something vile when he thought of it. This, he knew, was the true proof of how close he allowed her, how far he had let her in. Memories of what happened inside the void of what he could only assume was his own soul, the rain, the silent thunder, the rushing waves as he drowned, escalated inside his head, making him grip Cassara a little tighter to him, desperate for an anchor to reality.

He wasn't kidding when he feared knowledge of what happened to him up in the trees would give her nightmares. He feared his waking memories enough, the feeling of dread accompanying them enough to steer her away from it all. He knew he would need to examine all he had seen, but now was not the time.. he was not ready yet.

He pressed his mouth to Cassara's hair, inhaling the sweet scent of rain with it. The smell soothed him, and he again reflected on the amazing circumstances he found himself in.

The Mage stirred against him, lifting her face to look up at him in half asleep confusion. He could see in her eyes that she was not fully aware of where she was; she was completely open then, completely vulnerable, and he could not help the ache of longing that pushed him toward her.

He kissed her with all the gentleness he could muster, could imagine. Her beautiful lashes brushed against her cheeks as her lids closed, and her hands fisted just a little tighter in his vest. When her breath hitched, a needing whimper escaping from her mouth to his, that longing surged, and he found himself hovering above her before he registered they had moved at all.

She was panting now, her eyes no longer halfway vacant. Her hands had moved to his face, stroking along his cheeks, pushing his now scraggly hair away from it so she could see him. Each breath pushed her breasts tighter against her top, arching her back into his chest. They watched each other for so long, he could feel the moment ticking away like a Goblin detonator.

So many reasons to stop, so many reasons to deny this ever happening came trickling in. This was wrong, she was Human, she was Alliance, she was his enemy, and Gods above, being with her should _not feel so good_...

His eyes widened, shock and lust warring within him as her own eyes closed once more, a moan rippling through her as her back arched wantonly. He had moved unconsciously, his hips rolling between her legs. The pressure on his cock was near unbearable, and he joined her in her sound of abandon, claws digging into the ground beneath them, surrounding them in the scent of fresh earth and wooden decay.

Her hands were scrambling then, pushing apart the tattered edges of his vest, exposing his healed chest and belly to her. Blunt nails scratched across his skin, plucked at his nipples, pulled fine hairs. Her urgency was infectious, and while he sealed his mouth over hers, he pushed the skirts of her robes up, dragging the material across her feverish skin, fingers groping the softly curved flesh of her backside as one leg hooked across his arm. He ground the stiffness of his erection against her barely covered sex again, his body trembling as she cried out for him, her head arching back, exposing the the sweet curve of her throat. He was helpless against the urge, one hand tangling into her hair, his mouth gnawing and tongue lapping against it. Her skin tasted of salt and sugary things, and before he could stop himself, his teeth sank deep into the muscle of her shoulder.

Had he expected it, Zin would have thought to pull back, to enjoy the expressions crossing her flushed face. But he could not claim to know that Cassara's body would bow, seized tight by muscle and shock as her pelvis twitched and jerk, rubbing her sex over and over his concealed cock, forcing her orgasm to linger as she rode his body. The tang of her blood mingled with the sweetest cries from her, flooding his mouth and ears in ecstasy, and his eyes rolled as the lids closed, and he pressed himself all the tighter against her.

When he finally drew away, released the hold of his bite, Cassara trembled still. Her hips had no ceased their movement across him, but her thrusts were slowly, her breathing heavy, her muscles beginning to grow limp. He frowned, not yet ready to give this moment away. He snarled, sitting up against his heels, one hand swiftly delving beneath the scrappy swatch that served as her undergarments, a heavy shudder coursing through him as he encountered her wetness. She cried out, her hips giving a few, startled jerks as his thick digits played with her sensitive flesh, and he sensed her drawing away, timid in the face of the hyper-awareness of her sex. Zin was having none of it.

One finger slipped inside, pushed hard to the knuckle, and as she cried out, trying to pull away, he held her in place. He thrust the digit without kindness or gentleness, demanding pleasure from her that Cassara was not fully convinced she could handle. Everything tingled and burned, her nipples stiff and aching beneath the coarseness of her robes, the center of pleasure between her legs a searing point of almost pain. Her eye lids fluttered, deliriousness threatening as Zin took his due.

Growling low, watching the tremors of her body, hand never stilling, he watched the acceptance of her fate wash over her. Soon her little hips began their insistent rocking once more, beginning to demand release. He hastily freed himself from the tightness of his leather, sighing as the pressure lessened, and his cock pressed against the inside of her thigh. She shuddered and gasped, mewling as she felt the prodding of his hardness, her lower body squirming closer, edging toward what she wanted.

He stroked himself, staring down at the movement of his hand beneath her underclothes. The wetness was greater, sliding between his fingers, seeping into her panties. He pulled his hand away, enough to spread it around her swollen lips, grinning ferally as she cried out in disappointment. His smile never left as he raised his finger to his mouth, waiting until she managed to open her eyes before he sucked the digit between his lips, tasting her wetness for himself. Her eyes rolled like a mad animal, and she rocked left and right on her back, her own hands sliding down to cup and touch herself. The surge of desire left him feeling dizzy, and his hand pumped over his shaft that much faster as the other reached back out, snatching the corner of her panties and ripping them thoughtlessly away.

He exhaled heavily as her sex was finally exposed. It was red and wanton, visible even in the moonlight. Her slender fingers were pumping between those swollen lips, and as he watched, she went from using just her middle finger to two, then to three; the other hand circling and pressing against the swollen nub above it all. He had never seen a woman so lost to her own passion, and though his cock burned to take his pleasure from her, the realization gave him pause.

Things were still far too confusing, this he knew. He wanted her, Gods above he _ached_ for it, but... There were things one just didn't do. Not only for the sake of Loyalty and Honor, but just because it was common fucking sense.

She wanted him, just as desperately. He could see, taste, smell it. Her little body craved him as sure as the moon hung pregnant in the sky. All this beauty on display was because of him, _for_ him, but he knew if he were to take it, it would be a mistake. Women were needy, demanding creatures, and Cassara had both those traits in plenty. But she was also kind, giving, lacking prejudice and hate simply for what he was. She would want to keep him, he knew, could feel it in ever movement of that tight little body of hers, and he...

What he wanted did not matter. He could not give himself to her, as she wanted, as she would deserve. He would not sink himself into that moist heat and offer what he could never deliver. She would accept him no other way, and he would not insult her by offering anything less.

But he was not a wholly unselfish creature, and his cock had a compromise of its own.

He loomed over her again, catching her attention with his eyes as well as his hands, pulling hers from the deep thrusts inside, drawing them up to rest next to her pretty face. Her eyes glittered with unspent passion as she watched him, and Zin would not leave her waiting long. He positioned himself against her swollen lips, rubbing the broad head against her opening. She whimpered, tilting her hips in an effort to guide him in.

It was difficult for him to restrain, to keep from thrusting into her as she wanted. Her sex was so hot, so wet it coated him easily, promising slick, electric pleasure. Her moans grew more insistent, the thrust of her hips moving quicker. He pressed his cock against her in turn, sliding the head up and down over her slit, stopping to circle around her clit before dipping back down. The frantic rhythm was maddening, and sweat began dripping down his temples as he fought with his desire and his good sense.

"Zin! Ah, Gods... _please_!" her words finally came out, demanding and begging, petulant and remorseful all at once, nails scratching and digging against his shoulders in an attempt to draw him down to her. He resisted, but not by much. He could see the pain in her face, how much her desire _hurt her_, and knew it was echoed in his own features. He could not claim her, he knew, but he could give her the next best thing.

He sat back again, spreading her lips with his thumbs. She mewled again, squirming and desperate against his lap. Carefully, he positioned his cock against her entrance, feeling the way the muscles just beyond his reach clenched for it, trying to pull it inside of her. He exhaled, begging for control, and barely began the pressure of penetration.

He watched, rapt at attention, watching the way his sheer size affected her, millimeters at a time. She arched and writhed, cried out as her body was stretched to accommodate him. Her trembling increased, her breath short and gasping, and Zin could not help himself.

She shattered around him, coming around the head of his cock, her muscles clenching and begging for more. Zin squeezed his eyes tightly shut, the ache in his balls intensifying as he felt his own climax climbing. It was too much, _she_ was too much, and he barely managed to pull himself away in time as the cum surged from his dick. Ropes hit her still clenching sex, bathing her in him. The feel of the heat and wet stirred something in her, and one final cry shattered the night sounds around them as she rubbed herself against him, spreading his release across her skin.

He collapsed atop her, panting and unable to resist the urge to allow his muscles to become liquid. She quaked beneath him, shaking hands reaching up to pet back his hair, across his shoulders and tickle down his spine. Their sweat mingled with the scent of their passion, and it was such an easy thing to draw her against him as he rolled to his side, to adjust her robes to cover her lower body, and pant gratefully against her hair. He knew he should worry about what had happened, about what _would_ happen come sunrise, but the little thrusts of her hips against him, after shocks of pleasure kept him from broaching the subject now.

There would be time to fight and squabble and bruise each others feelings later. For now, his body was relaxed, and for the first time in hours he felt free of his worries. The little Mage, trembling against him as her body came down for it's ecstatic high did nothing but secure the feeling that what he had just done, and what he had stopped himself from doing, was the right choice.

And if tomorrow proved otherwise? Well, he would deal with that when he came to it.


End file.

Warcraft, Drama, Romance