“Must you take it so rough?” inquired the night elf, her usual prickly, pompous self.
“Perhaps ya’d like to drive, doll,” squawked back the squat dwarvess holding the reins of the four oxen driving the covered wagon. Squat, but cute, by dwarven standards if not any – long reddish-orange braids dangling halfway down her shapely form, a pair of strong but smooth pinkish legs and forearms peeking out from her cutoff reinforced leather trousers and jacket.
“I would. I could do it better than you. I have. For years. I got paid to do it better than you’re doing it.”
“Ah, the humans, they were just flatterin’ ya, doll. I know well those types, they say anything to get down the panties of a fine night elf like ya.”
“They didn’t get anything from me, except my excellent driving skills.” The night elf shifted in the less-comfortable passenger’s seat. She was more interested in butting heads with her companion. For all their contentiousness, the two women, Meowth and she who was at the reins, Weena, were the best of friends. Their petty arguments were a love-wrestle of sorts, as the two could not bring themselves to physically consummate their mutual attraction.
The night elf turned up her nose and flexed her long jade eyebrows, her long face a careful study in affected arrogance. Her dwarven companion practiced not noticing. The covered wagon – empty, as it happened – plodded along to the rendezvous at the tavern in one of the new “Wrynn Villages” – tacky, tasteless, mostly recovered plaguewood little settlements springing up in the reclaimed land of what everyone still called Eastern Plaguelands.
Why their buyer had insisted on such a tasteless, out-of-the-way rendezvous was a mystery. Weena sensed trouble. Actually, she hoped for it. Really wanted a chance to try out her new trillium boomstick, complete with self-cleaning feature and a samophlange attachment. The former, of course, was developed by someone who wasn’t a dwarf, for boomstick enthusiasts who weren’t dwarves.
“Blast!” cursed Weena.
Here the road narrowed to a one-way pass between high outcroppings, with high ridges on either side, and dense plague-petrified foliage all about. And in the middle of a pass, lay a fallen crate, its contents strewn all about. A first-edition of the “Compendium of Dragon Slaying”, piles of neatly folded clothes and armor, obviously not worn, jewelry boxes, piles of correspondence, bottles of strange fluids, all cluttering the narrow pass. A lone female draenei, dressed casually in a low-cut swashbuckler’s short doublet and shorts fiddled with the gear, patiently packing it back into the box. Despite the draenei’s dressed-down state, Weena noticed a golden signet ring of a paladin’s order on her left middle finger.
“Move ye arse!” screeched the dwarvess.
The draenei rose slowly from the crate, making a point of putting extra weight on her wide hips and generous, toned tush. “I am, friend ally. My cargo fell as I was taking this bend. It is important to me. I apologize for the inconvenience.” There was a simple, self-confident honesty to the draenei’s words that enraged the dwarvess. She really wished the paladin had been a blood elf. Mah boomstick wants using!
“Ya, well…move ye big arse faster! Ye big arse blue space-goat-person-paladin-thing!”
The draenei smiled slightly, unperturbed, and continued her work. About the same speed. Maybe slower. Or not. A moment. “Friend, there is a tavern not far from here. Perhaps you’d care to get drinks while I clean my things up? The tavern was newly built, I believe. I am curious if it’s any good. Could you let me know?” So saying, the paladin chucked a small leather purse at the dwarvess. She threw them overhand; owing to her alien stature and double-joined legs, draenei’s movements seemed strange to the usually acute dwarvess, but it wasn’t for that reason the dwarvess allowed the purse to land uncaught between herself and her companion, who looked on blankly, vaguely amused if jaded at the show.
“Ye move your gitiness, spacegoat! I gots a ways to go today, ya hear? And yer in the way!”
“It cannot be helped, friend. But you will have to take your rest anyway, no?”
The night elf decided to chime in. “Weena…perhaps you didn’t hear. This goat person is offering us free beer. FREE. BEER. Free beer. I mean it’s gonna suck but at least it can get us smashed, right?” Meowth had been away from Teldrassil a long time. Still maintained the outward calm common to her people, at least. Well, at least when she was sober.
“Eye don’t be carin’ about…free beer? FREE BEER?” The dwarvess was suddenly enthusiastic. “Well, ah, let’s be goin’! And ye there, ye goat thing, move yer arse while we gone!” The dwarvess cussed at the oxen – actually, her unique command for “back up”, and the covered wagon eased up ponderously back down the road, off a byway to the tavern, a little hovel hewn from whole logs of petrified plaguewood. The draenei placidly went back to fiddling with her box.
The inside of the tavern was every bit as much a grotesque sight as one would expect. It hadn’t taken long at all for the ichor and plague fungus stench from the plaguewood to drip down the walls and suffuse the dimly-lit tavern in its muggy odor. There were only a few guests – mostly plaguewood lumberjacks and oddball adventurers, those sorts who were drawn to marginal areas, like the Eastern Plaguelands settlements.
One of the adventurers – a jungle troll in black leather armor – turned lasciviously to Meowth. “Eye dere, lovely lady, know wat time of year dis’ be? It be what the Humans call de love-day! ‘Course for us trolls, evr’y day be da love-day, ya not have the fine looks of a troll lady, but aye take ya anyway, for a troll-ride!” The troll laughed and caterwauled, chaining backflips. “Ey, ya night elves, ya can backflip too, ya? Wanna contest? Winner gets the back!”
Meowth nursed her beer – a dubious, off-brown beverage, touched by the extinguished fungal growth like everything else in the twice-dead wood. She didn’t look up. “Here in this bar, pathetic troll says anything he thinks will get him some action for once in his life.”
“Ey’ lady, dat not be nice, ya gotta be nice on love-day! Or ya seein’ someboday?” Gesturing grotesquely at Weena. “That lady friend of yours, more than a friend, ya?”
Weena was engrossed in a game of arm-wrestling with a human. She wasn’t sure if he was alive or not. “Mister Troll, don’t flatter yerself that yer on Meowth’s level, or even mine. Even me, got more stones than you, done something yer not troll-man enough to ever do!”
“‘En wat might dat be, ‘shorts’?”
“I’ve seen that dainty night elf lady naked!”
Everyone except Meowth and the troll roared with laughter. Meowth blushed a bit. “But, troll, if I can’t be ravishin’ Meowth, ye can’t either.”
“Oh, I see how it is, ya roly-poly. Ya after mah mojo! But dis ‘Meowth’ here, she not be worth it, I bet she used to be a man!” The troll laughed riotously. He knew what buttons to press. For some reason, this remark got the night elf quite a bit more peeved than would be expected. Rose her hand to strike the troll-
“All done!” In entered the ebullient draenei woman, still clad in her low brief doublet and shorts. Clothes as well as exposed blue curves were covered in plague muck. She threw some coins at the innkeeper and went straight up to her room. Calling down the stairs as she went, “You friends, I’ll take delivery of the carriage in the morning. Have some fun. Oh…” The draenei backpedaled down the stairs again – the strangeness of the reverse-double-legged gait unnerved the dwarvess – “…the troll is not pulling ‘yer’ leg. It is, in fact, the human Love Day. I could tell you the history if you’re interested, but…” The draenei shrugged, smirked, and bounded back up the stairs.
“Ya see, ladies, ya OWES me! Yas was wrong!”
“Alright, we were wrong, about some silly human tradition that doesn’t even matter. Bite me.” The night elf sarcastically adopted the human idiom.
“I never bite such a nice lady as ya. Only the fat, or the ugly ones. Ya friend there, she’s one out of two.”
“But I’s got a better ideas. Ya best take a looks outside,” beamed the troll.
Weena and Meowth shared a quick glance and strafed uneasily to the barely translucent windows, their panes clearly appropriated from the ruins of a Scourge structure. Had to press right up against the glass (or something like glass, suspected it was actually human flesh, poached and petrified) to see outside. The covered wagon’s rear right quarter had sunken deep in the mud – the oxen, lulled into deep sleep by their day of exertion and gross satiety from gorging on the plagued sod, made no effort to pull it out. It was beyond the strength of the two women, but not with help…
“You want us to sleep with you, and in exchange, you will help us get our wagon out.”
“Yas right, lady doll! Or shall I say, lover doll.”
The night elf stood there mutely, her expression blank. Her simple braided leather druid’s robe had never fit so awkwardly on her azure form, the long divide down her ample bust felt so exposed in the thick air of the tavern. Still didn’t say anything.
“I say we’s go for it,” perked up Weena. “We not have a better option, and besides, I takin’ a liking to this fine chap here.” She gestured towards the husky, ambiguously living/unliving human, his features comely, if dull. Were his eyes just that brilliant or was it magic? “And as that blue spacegoat says, it be the human’s love day!”
Meowth continued to look on blankly at the troll. He gawked at her, grinning ear to ear like a hyena. She could smell his pungent, sweaty troll arousal. But…
The night elf closed her eyes tightly, or at least pretended to, tugged at her bosom, and let the entire robe fall to the ground. She stood there, all but nude, wearing only her simple linen panties and brassiere. She gave herself over to the heavy brew, grabbed the troll by his tusks and kissed him firmly on the lips. And again. And…she never realized trolls had such long, pointy tongues. He had never realized how dainty and salaciously muscular a night elf’s tongue was. How sweet their taste, or how salty the taste of a troll’s skin and lick.
“Hey, this isn’t a fine establishment, but you can’t be doing that down here! I’ll bill you for a room in the morning, just get out of here!” Under his breath, the peasant innkeeper muttered, “Besides, we had only one big room available…”
The dwarvess’s magnificently sizeable yet firm – indeed, nigh-lapidary – bust already swung free from its cutoffs, pulled down zealously by the human. The room – into the room, two big queen-size beds, (a bit odd, it occurred to the ladies) – ugly off-blue things, a pretense of cleaning them in the murky waters of the Plaguelands. The night elf bounded onto one, the dwarf and human rolled onto the other.
The troll backflipped and removed his tunic and pants in a single swift gesture, backflipped again and was his nude troll self, his vibrant sleek aquamarine amphibious troll form free in the air. Meowth’s eyes widened at his…hose. That was what it looked like to her, a hose, like from a gnomish machine, or…like one of the tree snakes she’d seen in her native Teldrassil.
For all the time they’d spent together and all the closeness of their relationship – close as troll to wife, as the saying went – Meowth and Weena had never been able to overcome their preference for men. Besides, they were so different, and…didn’t really have much to offer each other. Yet each glancing at the other being ravished by their men, it was as if their lovers’ hands were each other.
So satisfying for Meowth watching Weena’s hard bodied dwarf form, firm buttocks, firm breasts, round cheeks, gorgeous braids, pounded by the human (even watching his naked, ashen form, firm with muscles, brilliant eyes, she was still uncertain if he was alive or not). So delightful for Weena to watch Meowth’s high eyebrows, the still-sarcastic look on her azure face, arch up and down, her studied pomposity broken by the myriad surprises that were to be had with the tusked troll bandit and his hose-like manhood. Explored the odd bends that lay in the narrow bends of the damp, musky cavern between Meowth’s graceful legs, made taunt by balancing herself on moving vehicles and running up and down the steppes of Arathi.
It was a strange cacophony of night elf moans, dwarven groans, troll cackling and human grunting. Couldn’t wonder but think what the draenei next door must have thought.
Meowth’s tussle with the troll (actually, ever since he first hit on her, she had been contriving a way to give in, without seeming to give in, keeping up her sarcastic attitude all along), was more fight than love-making, frustrating the troll’s efforts to get at her backside, though he did manage to score from the front a few times, and she managed to pin him down and bounce up and down on his…hose. Amazing how it seemed so long and flexible, like a hose, yet was firm enough in the vertical, teasing all those spots inside her womanliness. Finally, she let him win. Lay prone, face-down on the bed. Even with all the trollish cackling, it wasn’t so bad, the flexibility of the troll’s member made his fun in her kiester not so uncomfortable-
“You jerk! Not in there!” The troll laughed. His fun troll times in fun places done, he loosed up just enough to allow the night elf to push him back and assault him with a pillow. Its cheap construction collapsed in her hands, feathers covered both. The night elf grabbed the next pillow in arms’ reach, and the troll similarly armed himself.
Glancing over at Weena’s breasts, firm mounts even when she was laying on her back, Meowth saw that the human was, in fact, very much alive. Very much so. Very, very much so. She didn’t know humans could do that more than once in a night, let alone consecutively. Weena had closed her eyes in preparation for the first volley, then opened them after, only to be caught right in both eyes with the second and third. The human grinned maliciously. Clearly wasn’t the first time it’d happened.
“Thank you for your business.” The draenei, with gracious formality, handed the pouch of coins over to the night elf. She was taller, after all. And a bit more of a jerk. Weena noticed her fingertips were dark with ink. Now she knew what she’d been doing all last night. Well, she could guess, at least.
No sooner had the draenei handed the pouch to the night elf, than the troll, now clad in a loose monk’s robe (could only be guessed by the duo how he’d come by it) passed the draenei a similar pouch.
“Wait…what? Ye swindled us! Of our maidenhood!” screeched Weena.
“No swindle. Our transaction has been completed as promised.” The draenei smiled. “It takes no small resourcefulness to fund my acquisition of so many steeds and other fine vehicles such as your covered wagon. You got the gold. And, I think you are quite happy, no?”
Weena smirked and slapped Meowth hard on the butt. The night elf almost doubled over.