“ So far, so good,"Zahrine breathed to herself. She tightened her gauntlets around the reins of the beast beneath her. If she dropped her sentry duty for even a moment, something could ask her by surprise. That was a risk of exposure that she was not will to take. The eagle-eyed priestess brushed a lock of her blond cut from her fount and narrowed her gaze. She could hear every staggered stair of her riding horse beneath her as the stallion delivered her through Feralas. Each hoofbeat rang out into the motionless timberland around the pair, out into the low mist just off the road - what of a ‘ road'it was.

Crunch-crunch.

Zahrine's stallion tread lightly on the woodland way carved out in between the creaking old hardwoods. The mound of tree diagram canopies overhead filtered out the fading autumnal igniter as the sun sank towards an spiritual world celestial horizon beyond the leaf. Thin column of amber shone down onto the trail comprised of worn-smooth sett being reclaimed in old growth wanderer webbing up onto the surface from the network of tendrils infiltrating the grunge. overlook the obfuscated footpath lay a carpet of leaves in a scope of hues from the Lapp gold tincture as the sunbeam to a abstruse, ruddy John Brown. The slender shadow priestess'dusky backing maneuvered along the rapid decay of the overturning forest as his wrought-iron quoits crunched the leaves underfoot. Each hulking brawniness movement of his tree trunk consistence caused Zahrine's sinister steel sabaton to rattle gently against his side.

Crunch-crunch.

Her eyes darted back and Forth River in the surrounding coppice that comprised the floor of the antediluvian woodland of Feralas. She wasn't receive in this forest, and she felt as though her mien alone was being contended against by the spiraling old column of oak and fir that enclosed the rough-hewn trail stretching out in front of her. It was eerily tranquilize, and that variety of surround leant itself to tactical complications. Albeit content with the noesis that Zahrine could mobilise her energy and thin most aggressor down to compost for the plant life to thrive upon, the fact that a wayward subdivision snapping could be either a threat or a harmless timber gnawer was.. unsettling at upright. Opting to play it safe, the Alliance liaison had gone for a low visibility and summoned her fold steed, Department of Justice. Perhaps, then, her passage through the primordial grove go unnoticed. Had she instead gone for a great, winged, flying wildcat that she would typically pick out for such a journey, there would be no fault that she was a threat, and a competition in the constant power battle boiling under the surface in this land.

Crunch-crunch.

Her raiding party awaited her at escapist's Rest, which was several leagues ahead of her on the road. They were encamped there, awaiting her arriver to align an Assault on a nearby legion village. If she had been made somewhere in-transit, identifying her as a figure that could tip the delicate balance of top executive in this part would not have been a misplaced judgement. Thankfully, Zahrine has put the absolute majority of the distance behind her without progeny - but something was still off. Feralas was a withdraw rainforest tucked away in southern Kalimdor and surrounded by ringed spate kitchen range. For all intention and design, only the most intrepid of traveler would weigh venturing into these lands.

But that wasn't enough to convince Zahrine that the verbalize absence of passer-by on the trail she had been riding was normal.

Cr-crunch, Cr-crunch.

Zahrine yanked on the horse's reins, prompting the equine behemoth to hold his March forwards on the overgrow path. Something off, indeed. Only some of those sound were made by Justice Department, that a great deal she knew. The awkward still of the wood that had been encroaching upon her throughout the trip suddenly felt less like a device characteristic of the landscape and more comparable imminent risk. Zahrine tensed herself, and summoned power from a wellspring of void vigour - the wizard equivalent to pulling the cock back on a crossbow. She would be set to whip out with a volley of shadow magic at the first sign of reified threat. Now, with the wolf out of the equation, Zahrine turned her senses outwards, and listened.

Rustle-rustle.

Lumbering silhouettes materialized in the sea-level mists that hung throughout the underbrush. Zahrine was no unknown to siege, and she knew what she was looking at. These creatures were big-boned, small-minded, and sported a mean streak a mile spacious - especially when conducting an ambush like the one she was about to be firmly in the eye of.

"Orcs,"Zahrine confirmed under her breath.

Something was still off about the situation, even with the threat made itself known. The wolf were upon her quickly, springing out of the treeline and cresting nearby hills with upper and coordination that was unlike anything Zahrine had experienced. Orcs of this calibre - sporting juryrigged armor comprising of whipping of leather and great slabs of tree barque - normally would never orchestrate such a strike with the timing and grace that theses ace did. Not without some kind of leadership pulling the strings. Zahrine didn't have time to reflect on that possibility, however, because she was going to need to let fly the shadow energy trapped behind her fingertips.

"GET HER, crony !"roared a part from near Zahrine's location atop her horse.. Conjuring up her power, she loosed a wave of energy toward a pair of approaching Green tegument, which sent them flying back across the uneven terrain and towards a nearby tree. One glanced off, and was sent spinning deeper into the forest. The other crunched against the bark and left an indent of splintered wood, embedding his physical structure in the ancient forest growth.

By the time the capable priestess had dispatched two on one side of her climb, three had grown nearer on the other side. She could hear three more were bounding up from behind her.

"Damn,"the overtake and outnumbered shadowslinger swore under her breathing spell. This wasn't looking good. Even at her most readied, Zahrine couldn't do a thing to combat the numbers game that was beset upon her. Blasting away another assaulting orc would bear two Thomas More charging from the dense fog. She felt a pair of leathery, clawed hands squeeze onto one of her greave, and then she was unseated from her saddle horse. DoJ reared back onto his hind legs, kicked out with his front, and brayed shrilly. With a clatter of armor shell onto the ground, Zahrine was smashed into the grease at the feet of her foes.

"stop still, short sorceress,"belched the fanged oink that had forceably removed her from the saddle in a wooden-headed smattering of low common speech. At least the beast had the decency to order her around in a language Zahrine would understand.

"W– what do you want, monster ?"Zahrine snarled as a goodly metrical foot was set into the small of her back, pinning her.

"Do you know where are ?"her captor replied in his broken dialect.

Zahrine said nothing. All around her, she could try the rustling of armor, the idle grunting of former appendage from the ambush party, and the gentle growling from the overgrown Wolf that the orcish equivalent of a cavalry would rag into engagement astride.

"You trespass on our terra firma - on orc ground, you do, meat."A flash of choler roll across the tousled visage of the decorated lodge raidmaster.

"I was just passing through,"Zahrine replied with the exercise poise and confidence that brought her up through the ranks of her raiding order in the first place.

"No good - no good, eh, blood brother ?"spoke the orc, first to her, then querying the cavalcade of adversaries that had dispatched her in record time.

A hue and cry of approving grunts shot through the party around her. A mates of hollow rang out into the otherwise still, quiet forest.

"moldiness spend a penny her pay toll !"

"We take pay from homo meat female child !"

In divine service to the demands of the couple 12 orcs in the party encircling her, the foot on her back was removed and Zahrine was snatched off of the ground by the back of her cervix. She had an opportunity to fight back, here. With her hands free as she dangled from the muscled grasp of the orc, she called up a burst of void push and prepared to accelerate it outwards. If she could clear the playing area for a moment - or, at to the lowest degree, temporarily render them unable to establish chase, she might be able-bodied to get on Justice and tear off down the trail.

All the legerdemain in the world was of little use when the knotted wooden war club of an orc crashes into the side of one's only skull. Zahrine's vision faded out completely for a bit before blurring back into clarity a good second or two later. When it did, she was rubbing noses with the slack-jawed mug of an orc boasting depleted Fang that extended up over his backside lip and halfway up the bridge of his olfactory organ on either side of his spacious, squat expression. She could feel his hot, acrid breath beating down onto her as he growled. When the orc's guttural evocations bellowed, a spray of saliva escaped his pharynx and misted her face.

"No good, substance !"chortled the orc lifting her, punctuating her humiliating stun with a belly laugh. His mocking joke was bolstered with a crescendoing chorus from the other orcs around her. Zahrine knew, then, that this particular beast was the top dog among the lot of ambushers. Being the tactical mastermind that she was after having been swiftly overrun by these pea-brained toughie, she also knew that she was his prisoner now.

"You pay cost !"grunted the commanding orc before beginning to pull in away division of her decorated, ornate armor plating. Piece after musical composition was ripped from her, snapping away the leather straps that bound each half of the grapple designs. One by one, each layer of her protection was strewn about on the ground until nothing was left on her physical structure. Nubile and baring all, Zahrine dangled there helplessly as the eyes of several dozen orcs poured over her - admiring their prize apprehension of the good afternoon. What this ‘ toll'was, she could only make an informed guess at.

"Tiny humans only good for one affair, I say !"announced the chieftain in a comment that seemed Sir Thomas More aimed at his men rallied all around him than at Zahrine, the ‘ lilliputian human,'herself. The incapacitated mage felt herself being lowered toward the dry land by the vice wrapped around the back of her cervix and was face-to-face with an engorged orcish prick. In dividing line with the quietus of the chief's skin, his dick was a deep tad of sage - no doubt from the line of descent rushing to it in expectation of making use of what Zahrine was ‘ honorable for'in his degrading vista of human being. The headland at the tip of the swollen shaft was a dark spook of purple, and flared out in a ridge of thickening and bumps that resembled warts. A dribbling flow of milky precum oozed from the tip of the pipework aimed at her threateningly. She felt the knobbly cocktip press up against her lips exploratorily, and Zahrine protested with wrinkle sassing and clenched teeth. She had been beaten off her horse like it was easy, but she wasn't about to slurp on some orc dick because she was easy.

Having no solitaire for Zahrine's want of bequeath participation in being the spoiling of their victory, the foreman swung his rose hip to the side, and then thrust them back the opposite steering with thundering solvent. Zahrine felt as though this was the second time she had taken a Sir Henry Joseph Wood night club to the position of her face, except this time it was hot, throbbing, and green. The tribal chief's cock battered the side of her face like nothing little of a cudgel and prompted Zahrine to let loose a nebulizer of slobber from her knocked jaw. Her assailant took advantage of her bashed, slacked orifice by lurching the priestess over to the nous of his shaft and jamming her oral cavity full of it.

Zahrine didn't get to the top of her guild with claymore mine diplomatic negotiations, or by shattering the minds of any and all in her way - though mental manipulation through shadow deception hocus-pocus was never off the table - she did it through careful political dealings across all backwash. She had dined with high brownie in Sunwell. She shared in a pint with a dance band of gnomish warriors in New Tinkertown. She considered herself an experienced and vetted political actor. Being the veteran in diplomacy that she was, she also knew that orcs were known for their bluntness and impatience. When her throat was reamed out with orc dick as soon as the head could reasonably bone down into it, she wasn't wholly surprised. That did not, however, make it any well-off to cash in one's chips down.

Zahrine's eyes watered. Her throat bulged to accommodate the gumshoe in it. She reached up and pawed at the gaffer in a plea of mercy. The pitying chieftain laughed. Back and Forth, the debilitated and dishonored shadow priestess received her steady supply of orcish throatfucking. Each thrust forward was punctuated with a tame"gl'urch,"or a sputter"hr-rrk."Each sad protest to the foray on her maw quivered her vocal chords and hummed pleasingly around the chief's blunt tool.

"Human goodness for orc pleasure, men !"Grunted the honcho, plugging merrily away at Zahrine's hole as if it were any former. Another Greek chorus of laughter rang out from the yes-orcs abreast him. Meanwhile, below his knock, Zahrine was making a display of pushing at his bulging, greenish thighs. She scratched at him, punched at him - albeit with her energy drained, she couldn't pack much ‘ oomph'in her protests - and pulled at the radiocarpal joint wrapped around the back of her neck opening as if she were a pup. She hadn't had a breath since the chief started reaping the reinforcement of his conquest, and she could finger every thrust of the roughshod dicking coax another few moments out of her dwindling oxygen supply. Her face grew hot. Her eyelid snuck closer and closer together.

"Human bitch going limp !"warbled a far-away voice from somewhere down the mystifying, colored pit of warmly blackness Zahrine was fading, slipping down into. Next to her, she could experience her own hand be lifted, then drop lifelessly to her incline again. A lead of fatheaded throatslop leaked down over her penetrate lip, over her chin, and was waterfalling down between her breasts. She had felt this impression before when she had fallen in engagement. Realizing this convey Zahrine the knowledge that she was about to be throatfucked by some savage swine unaware that humans need to rest to endure. This time, she might not be brought back. She might not come back.

She could no longer find her gullet stretched around the orc schlong like a slippery, fleshy condom. The tightness of her throat's cock invasion was all she knew - other than the callused fingertip urging at her forehead to see if her lights were still on inside. She didn't have the lifeforce left to respond to it.

"I can't believe this is how I'm going to go out.. facefucked like some Goldshire tavern wench.."Zahrine thought process, and was surprised by the volume of her own internal voice. As she tumbled over the rain-slick precipice and into the neverending void of end, she felt a warm, gooey champion spurt down what must've been her throat. The tacky spread rushing down her well-used tube came in jet, and slid all the way down into her belly where she could find it pooling.

Zahrine never imagined that her net thinking would be of the comforting, almost pleasurable notion of a fresh mess of orc seed spilling down into her. All things considered, there were unsound net moments.

That was when everything came rushing back, all at once.

The first of all mavin that she recognized was the bitter taste sensation of cheap health potion. goblin make. The sort of curative that only broken adventurers subsisted off of. They didn't do much for the battle-hardened shadow priestess, but the acerb brew was at least bringing her back from the threshold of sealed end. Zahrine coughed on the liquid state flooding down into her belly. A dull, throbbing head ache pounded at the inside of her skull. Her vision was fuzzy and her throat was empty. She was thankful for the latter.

"We almost vote out human being bitch ! We get no pay if she die !"This voice beared the same coarse intonations as the control orc who used her previously, but was distinct enough to belong to to another orc. As Zahrine's sight finished returning to her, she began to distrust that it belonged to the proprietor of the cock in her face.".. but if she live, we still use !"Zahrine's heart sank. They weren't done with her. This humiliating defeat wasn't over. The head of this new cock was being shunted towards her mouth. This clock time, she opened it. She knew it was that, or take another shock to the head. A binge ran down from the corner of her eye.

This orc was just as much of a gauche throatpounder as the chief was. He slithered his cock past her lips, across her slimy cockpillow, barged past her tonsils, felt the dorsum of her throat, and straightened out that impediment with a graceless thrust of his hips. With his wart-riddled and mutter stopcock plunging finisher and closer down to her venter, Zahrine could feel her neck bulging out from the front. On the other side, a just-tight-enough-to-be-painful suitcase was latched around the binding of her neck. Zahrine hung there, hitch, but not lifeless, with her human foot brushing the mossy undercoat, while this new orc humped her facial expression for what felt ilk hour. Just like first time she sampled on what an orc dick felt like pistoning her gullet, she could sense the fluttering flavour of her pair of duplicate air army tank running on fume. In this diplomatic recon mission, Zahrine was learning about serious lack in agreement of man physiology among orc raiding company. Or, maybe this animal simply didn't precaution if Zahrine was about be asphyxiated to end once again on the second orc cock of the afternoon. Her center slipped backwards up underneath her upper eyelids and she could once again feel the encroaching darkness closing in on her from her fringe. She could experience her life slipping out of her clasp. Zahrine twitched and convulsed, spasming as her lungs ached for another intimation and her mentality cadre began to die off. A bubbly foam formed in what mo gap between the peter lodged in her windpipe and her lips that were pulled around it.

Then, another rejuvenating splash of bargain-bin goblin constitution philosopher's stone was poured into her subject mouth to wash down the deposit of orc cum emptied into her, and she was face-to-face with a new orc tool. She didn't know if this one was the third gear, or the tenth part. The subroutine was the like. Choke her until she was nearly dead, refund her to the land of the living with the lotion of a quick-and-dirty fix, and resume using their nearly-broken toy. Zahrine had stopped putting up a fight several dicks ago. She would spread out her mouthpiece when they would go up, and she would contract them without a whit of ohmic resistance - or lordliness. She even began to look forward to the warm, milky payoff that was spilt down her well-travelled fuckhole. Almost without fail, she would approach the threshold of being snuffed out of existence, and be brought back with a twin splashing of orc cum and knockoff hobgoblin biography potions.

"Human good for former thing, too,"grunted the unfamiliar cadence of what might as well have been the first member of a third gear dozen orc dicks she had been passed between. Zahrine had just been deposited unceremoniously onto the malicious gossip, speckled with orc nerve that didn't manage to seduce it's way into her throat, and was sitting there motionless.

"ejaculate over to me, meat,"barked a nearby orc resting his spine on a rock with his weaponry crossed. His peter was swinging down between his kneecaps and glistened with the ooey-gooey leftovers of the concoction of spit and dusty tinder that was collecting in Zahrine's tummy. She had visited him before - or, rather, he had gotten acquainted with her throat. Zahrine couldn't bring herself to her animal foot, but a constituent of her require to go to him. Maybe she would be rewarded with more cum if she went to him. The chance, alone, was reasonableness sufficiency for her to start a crawling along the dirty forest floor towards the orc waiting on her.

"You sit in front of me,"Zahrine was instructed upon arriving at the tremendous orc's understructure. With a half-dazed, whole-broken look on her face, the take down shadower priestess watched as the orc hefted his impressive pipe by the base and began showering her with a warm, but unfamiliar liquid. It was salty, but less viscous than the glue-like orcish kindling that had been filling up her belly. It was the strong, musty aroma that gave it away ; Zahrine realized that this orc was pissing on her. She, a warrior that had been honored by the king of Stormwind and a pillar of persuasiveness in her club, was being pissed on by an orc grunt on the face of the road in the centre of nowhere.

And she was going to sit there and take it without complaint.

Once the soldier had finished relieving himself on her, he relieved himself of her with a wave of his script. Zahrine turned away, and moved on her hands-and-knees towards a gaggle of orcs standing around a blast they had lit at some dot as the day grew to a close. She deposited herself future to them, relaxed back onto her genu with her juicy, thick hindquarters resting on her ankles.

"What you want, meat ?"grunted the first gear orc to even guide notice that the girl they spent the evening passing around like a dispensable pleasure object.

Zahrine didn't exactly have an answer to that question ready. Racked with ambivalence, she sat there in silence while considering the selection. A part of her wanted a exhibitor. She was glutinous with a compounding of somatic fluids, both her own and otherwise, and her stifle were caked with shit and mud. A part of her wanted to get on her horse - provided it hadn't left without her - and ride for escapist's repose, where her lodge was waiting for her. Another part of her cherished another helping of orc prick, or, rather, another steaming load of orc seed sloshed down into the growing accumulation of germ in her abdomen. That peculiar ‘ wish,'she could feel, was lust-driven and animalistic. She wanted the rush of gasping back into life with a new batch running down the vertebral column of her natural language. Even after fucking her way through every rooster in the ingroup, however, she retained enough of herself to know her mission.

".. my horse. I– I want my gymnastic horse,"Zahrine whispered.

"You want horse ?"chuckled the orc in response, a intimation of amusement dancing behind his words as he said them."Okay, pith, you get horse."

Zahrine sighed and nodded, content that she could put the incident behind her and move on. She watched as the orc pushed his way out of the radical and lumbered in his orcish, heavyset gait out of her line of sight. Moments later, the orc trudged back, leading Justice by the reins of his curb. Instead of stopping in front of her, however, the buck was led over her. Zahrine had to scramble out of the way of the horse's dim steel brake shoe as to not be trampled. With a complaintative nicker, the stallion was brought to a stay standing over Zahrine. She peered up at the bulk of the beast's equid girth, having not often seen this position of her faithful mount.

"I bring horse,"spoke the growling articulation of the orc standing beside Justice,"now you please him."

Zahrine knew, as she turned without a Good Book to the furry case of her familiar's horsey hammer, that these orcs had broken something inside of her. Something inside of her knew the infliction that would be inflicted upon her if she didn't comply. But the part of her that was stroking a rapidly-growing equine rooster was a new, and fresh. And that persona of her craved the notion of a peter stuffed into her. With Justice's shaft fully erect and about as midst as her strengthen bicep, she looked over at the orc who had informed her of the side by side gumshoe that would be impaling her.

"I want him.. in me,"she stuttered. She had taken stopcock after shaft in her gullet that afternoon. She might as well have one for her, right ?"P– please,"she added after a musical rhythm. That end Logos drew out a smug grin from one of her many orc superscript.

"That can be arranged,"retorted the orc in a surprisingly cohesive application of coarse tongue. second later, Zahrine was on her back, laying on a wooden crate, with her leg splayed out lewdly over either position. In her hands was the flare-tipped horsecock belonging to one of her onetime and most faithful friend in the unforgiving landscape of Azeroth.

And she was about to let her old pal sink his sawbuck putz right field into her pucker starfish of an asshole, all at the behest of a band of orcs watching the Equus caballus appearance like a back-alley Goldshire attractiveness. Zahrine reached up and stroked the side of the heaving wildcat, encouraging him to lay his pipe right into her. With one, mighty thrust forward of his rear, the stallion did just that. After the initial ‘ pop'of the Equus caballus's panoptic, directly cockhead into her tight tailpipe, he impaled Zahrine with a respectable six inches of horsey dick.

Halfway down the length of Justice's shaft pushing up into her, Zahrine felt the part of her that still had shame for what took place that evening - the part of her that was a willing devotee to the emptiness, and the persona of her that was a respected guild powerplayer - extinguish. All that mattered was this fat schlong humping haphazardly at her gaping SOB. Zahrine reached down and felt at her belly, and giggled when she felt the principal of Justice's turncock pushing up on her stomach from the interior to briefly form a bulge on her tummy.

"Meat is enjoying herself !"roared the familiar spokesperson of the orc headman that had set her down this path and was indirectly creditworthy for her taking a Equus caballus cock up in her guts right at that moment."Are you, meat ?"

"Y– yes,"was all that Zahrine was able to creak out while a horse dong hollowed out her asshole without a moment's hesitancy. To Justice, Zahrine was the same as any other mare : a warm hole to go down his fostering rod into and outpouring with his DNA. Zahrine wanted that sticky splooge for herself, too. When she felt the quivering shaft tense up interior of her cavernous anal entry, she wriggled her way off of it. The champion of the horse's schlong oozing it's way out of her well-fucked butt was almost enough to piss Zahrine cum right then and there - but she had to be quick.

The dick junkie priestess to the church service of hammer scrambled off of the makeshift riser and brought herself up in front of the horse dick fresh out of her anal cavity. Without so practically as a sentiment to hesitate, she ran her tongue down the side of the pulsating extremity and up the other side. She suckled gently on him until she felt the fruits of her undertaking splatter into her face.

In all of the eld she had spent astride her tried-and-true war sawbuck, she never know how downright luscious his spunk would taste. From the minute it caked her lingua and flooded her tastebud, she knew she wasn't going to subsist to forget it. Rope after viscous rope of horse ejaculate splashed onto her side, over her perky tit, and into her haircloth. Her bridge player pumped back and Forth River at the two-foot shaft of horse prick available, aiming to milk every last drop of flavorful nutbutter from the horse cavalry's grapefruit-sized balls. Her entreaty and confession to the ministry of horse cum, however, was cut short by a throat-clearing grunt from the orc chief who had watched the entire misdirect goings on.

"You pay toll, meat. You get to go,"snarled the orc foreman,"- but you go back with gift."

Zahrine watched with a timid stare - or, what stare she could negociate with her aspect layered in horse fishing rig spackle - as the overgrown mass of green muscular tissue approached her with a mephistophelian look on his two-fanged face.

***

A torch sparked into life in the shadow of the encampment. Then, another common mullein. Several more flickering firelights sprung up as the raiding party became aware of the approaching hooves. The dark stallion trotted up carefully to the men walking out to meet it.

"Brought something for us, DoJ ?"one of the gruff-voiced raiders spoke as he stroked the horse's muzzle."mortal, maybe ?"

The man held aloft his common mullein up to illume the nude variant of Zahrine, the raidmaster who was supposed to be leading them onto the fields of battle come sunrise. Her body was littered in graffiti written in the barely-intelligible scrawlings of the orcs who left it. The writing was tapped out onto her cutis in the traditional method acting of orcish tattooing. All in the vernacular lingua, phrase like"sum tart,"“ worthless,"“ good for pleasance,"and"orc putz slave"were inked on her flesh. A fistful of orcish names, presumably for descendants, were also tattooed on Zahrine's naked body slumped over in the saddle.

"Savages did their job as instructed. Can't say that I'm not at least a bit surprised,"remarked the man to another appendage of the withdrawal."poor cunt can't even stick conscious."

"Yeah, that ‘ ought to take that bitch down a couple pass, huh ?"returned the other man.

"We'll have to earn certain they get paid. You know how those orcs are about ‘ paying the cost,'especially when you're hiring them for a delicate job like this."

"That remains to be seen - we hired them to expose her down. If she's under the tabular array blowing me tomorrow morning time, I say we pay them."

The two men shared in a laugh, and one of them took the reins of the stallion who ferried their ‘ leader'back to them. The stallion nickered quietly in the dark