A Beastly Reality: The Elf vs The Half Orc (Presently closed for The_J0k3R)

Thraxos watched her as she rose, attempted to cover herself, wobbled, and fainted. He moved quickly towards her as she fell, his arms cradling her, and he hoisted her slender frame up to his chest. “Damn you,” he growled. He couldn’t leave her. The orcs would sniff her out easily. They had to get away. Thraxos grunted. Anwen had healed his deepest, deadliest wound earlier, but he was still bleeding from the other gashes.

He steeled himself. There was no choice in the matter. With a growl, the half-orc slung the elf over his shoulder, and set off away from the battle, heading south through the forest. The sounds of battle receded behind them, and soon enough had faded completely.

Thraxos knew the memories would never fade for Anwen, though. He could tell now that she had never been exposed to the brutalities of war. For all her intelligence, she had precious little experience in the real world. She was about to get a crash course.

He felt himself grow weaker as the first couple of miles passed under his feet. He sniffed as the breeze blew past them, sending their scent back towards the razed elf city. His blood could lead the orcs to them as well. He needed her awake. He needed that healing magic. He came to a stop, next to a large tree along a stream. Gently, he eased her off his shoulder and down to the ground, leaning her back against the tree. He went to the stream and drank from the water that flowed there, splashed some of it over himself in a vain attempt to wash away some of the blood.

The gash across his chest wasn’t deep, but it would leave quite the scar, as would the puncture wound in his side, near his hip. He was lucky he could still walk from that one. He staggered back to Anwen, and knelt before her.

“Wake up, elf,” he growled. “Damn you, wake up!” He grasped her shoulders and shook her lightly, to no avail. He patted her cheek with his big rough hand, and still nothing. “Fuck,” he grunted. He didn’t care if she actually awoke. He just needed her to heal him. He wondered if he could trigger her healing abilities himself. One of his hands crawled around behind her, grasping the back of her neck and cradling her at the base of her skull, while the other dragged across the wound on his chest, collecting blood on his fingertips. He tilted her head back and pressed his bloody fingers to her lips, smearing the blood across her mouth. His grip on her head tightened and he slipped those fingers past her lips, pressing them to her tongue…

Anwen did not open her eyes, her breathing was shallow but even and her body sagged to the ground when her head was lifted, pliant and still. As his digits slid past those full lips, smearing them crimson her state had yet to change but as the blood spread over her tongue it responded, slowly rolling beneath his fingertips.

Golden lashes fluttered and slowly parted a fraction of an inch, a glimpse of violet barely visible while the elf stirred; her fingers twitched and curled when finally she lay a hand on the half-orc chest weakly. Swallowing around his fingers, she cleaned them of any blood and rolled towards him with eerie quiet. As if in a trance Anwen tilted her chin and opened her mouth beckoning; her tongue rose to pass her bottom lip to graze his chest.

Her weak attempts to rise left her to paw at him, he would need to guide her; when the warmth of his blood touched her lips again the elf would close her eyes and slowly bathe him with her tongue. She would flatten it to his wound, splaying around the edges of the gash, a life affirming breath passed her pale and flared nostrils to fill her lungs; flesh would begin knitting together just as before, just as painful and the scars left behind would gleam in the moonlight new and smooth.

Instinctively that hot, wet mouth, if allowed would find its way down to the most detrimental wound; Anwen’s eyelids drooped, sealing long lashes to the apples of her cheeks as an almost inaudible sigh left her. Nestling in close, the elf managed to rest upon her hip, one arm limp and dangling to the ground as a soft palm pressed to the male’s abdomen, the glimmer of elven glass imbedded like crystals along her forearm. It was almost endearing, and then something began to probe into that wet, gaping hole of flesh. It would do nothing to ease Thraxos’s discomfort, a generous amount of saliva would begin to seep into the ruined flesh and work it’s excruciating magic. When the deed was finished, the elf sagged in his grasp, lips and chin smeared with his blood as two fine rivulets of tears trickled down her face.

It was the slightest of moans that escaped Thraxos’ lips when he felt Anwen’s tongue stir to life along his invading fingers. Such a sensual suckling as that he had not felt in what seemed a lifetime; to have it come from this elf, after all she had put him through, caused a stirring in his loins that was almost overwhelming.

He slipped his fingers, now clean, from between her lips and guided her face to his chest, pulling her body against his own. He grit his teeth against the searing pain as her healing mouth worked its magic, slowly, from one side of his muscled chest to the other. He had to move her along, pressing her face to him, holding her close. In spite of the pain, he was acutely aware of the feeling of her firm breasts against his abdomen, as well as his own arousal rising against her soft belly.

He growled at the pain, but quieted himself. He had not detected any pursuers while they fled the battle, nor over the past few miles. He pressed her body more firmly against him, growling again but this time in pleasure as his stiffened rod rubbed against the fabric of her torn robe. He had helped her traverse across the entire long gash on his chest. In doing so, he noticed that what remained of the robe had fallen down from its tenuous place on her shoulder, baring her breast to him. He breathed in sharply at the feel of that bare tit against his rough flesh.

She had completed healing the wound across his chest, and so he guided her downwards to the deep one near his hip. In doing so, the tattered, flimsy robe rode up her thighs and exposed her below, while at the same time falling off her other shoulder, leaving the shredded garment simply bunched about her waist.

He nestled her face to his hip; moving her downwards and across his body had pulled his loincloth to the side, exposing his bare cock and allowing him to press his arousal unhindered against her porcelain skin, and he held her in place so that his cock was positioned right between her breasts.

He hissed at the pain as her magical tongue dipped deep into his wound, but every stab of pain was accompanied with a pang of pleasure as his manhood throbbed against her, and he grunted as his hips began to move. He pushed her down onto him, releasing her head to place one hand on her back while the other slid to her hip, moving her body tenderly against him. Her suckling and licking at his wound served only to intensify his arousal and chisel away at his rapidly diminishing self-control, in spite of the pain of the healing process…

The scent of blood and a heady musk filled her senses, Anwen’s eyes began fluttering open with the persistent prodding of something hard and warm between her breasts; it prodded her chest, she dragged her eyes down to the image of a rather swollen and pale green cockhead popping in and out of view. Startled, the elf raised her gaze up over the muscular figure that was now cradling her, curled over her all but looming in her mind.

What in the moon’s name was he doing? A weak hand slid up to mash against his hip but it was easily ignored, she was beginning to feel empty, without enough strength to shove him off of her Anwen simply dropped her head to the side so that she needn’t look at the bastard as she whined keenly and knit her brows together while clamping her eyes shut. Perhaps she was thinking of being anywhere else but in the arms of an uncontrolled mool! Her bottom lip curled in and was captured between pearly teeth, she sought to silence herself, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response by choice.

Let it be over, she just wanted the night to be over; she had been brutalized, turned upon and her father...her father. A quivering breath swelled her chest and gave way to a series of muffled, quiet whimpers while tears flowed anew, thick, glossy trails of them that ran over the bridge of her nose and dropped onto the ground beneath them. She wanted her father.

Thraxos grunted as the pleasure rose within him, his grip on the elf tightening even as he started moving her body against his in a much more deliberate fashion. He drew in a sharp breath, realizing he hadn’t had an orgasm in years…

And then he remembered all the times this elf had tortured him just to watch him squirm, all the humiliating things she had forced him to do, all the times she had teased him to intense arousal and then let him stand in agony, unable to achieve release. She had never once actually touched him, just manipulated him from afar and controlled him with that damned amulet.

That amulet was no more. He grunted, he growled, he very nearly howled at his freedom from her wiles, and began moving her against his throbbing cock faster and more firmly. His member leaked out the first drips of his seed, and as it spasmed against her, promised much more. Thraxos could feel his testicles roiling, ready.

He had half a mind to pierce her with his manhood right then and there. But he resolved to find a better time and place for that, when he would be able to really take his time with her. He was already so close, he could feel the pleasure building. He was past the point of no return.

He groaned as he felt the euphoria wash through him, and his cock pumped out his seed in thick, copious squirts across her chest, painting her bare breasts.

He grunted again as he released her for a moment, standing up. He took a deep breath. His heart was pounding. He sniffed at the air. It was time to go. He grabbed Anwen by her arm and pulled her up off the forest floor, and a moment later he had slung her over his shoulder, and went marching off again through the darkness of the forest.

With a splash of warmth it was all over, Anwen was dropped to the ground and her body lay there unmoving as she stole herself away and allowed the numbing of sleep to consume her.

A bird rang in the new dawn with a melodious cry, he was joined by another and another still as the chorus of the wilderness coaxed the weary elf to her senses. Slowly she rolled her head to the side, it was stiff and she hissed quietly as the throbbing in her head started anew; her injuries were nagging but when she managed to sit herself up she felt a strange tightness on the skin of her breasts. Looking down she discovered the dried substance that had dribbled along her sternum and over her breast, her bare breast; suddenly realizing her state she clutched for what remained of her garment. Her head snapped left then right, she stared at a broad and scarred back but she knew those scars. She had made many of them herself, they were her one small connection to another being and now they appeared to be mocking her.



Anwen crept from the side of her slumbering mool, with great caution she moved and finally climbed to her feet; they were well and truly beyond the reach of her home. The rush of a stream caused a long ear to twitch, she could wash herself, she could be clean again; this was an opportunity the young elf could not deny herself and so with the greatest of care had found her way down to the stream. Wading carefully into the waters, she peeled from herself the garment that dangled upon her one shoulder and used it to wash herself; while she sank down into the waters up to the bottoms of her breasts she found herself unable to stop the images of the previous night that flooded her memory, bits and pieces but she keenly recalled the vile cause of the crust upon her breast. After picking clean the glass from her arm the fuming elven maiden held her arm beneath the cold waters till the blood ceased.

With a clipped cry Anwen would rush through the remainder of her cleansing, scrub her hair and then proceed to tie the cloth in some manner of loin cloth about her hips, knotted with the sash and dripping down the fronts and backs of her thighs; the remaining fabric was used to bind her breasts and fuming, the elf rose from the water. That pitiful creature she had called a servant was still slumbering, she was swift with her actions and grabbed two palm sized rocks , one in each hand and suddenly began hurling them at his broad back. It made the perfect target.

Panting with outrage the onslaught continued with the lithe creature grabbing a clot of dirt and whipping it at his head with a shriek “How DARE you lay a finger on me?!” her eyes were wild, her hair hung in dripping ringlets all about her shoulders, framing her like some manner of twisted angelic painting. “YOU!” she launched herself upon Thraxos with the intent of beating him with her own two hands, she held enough strength in her to leave a mark regardless his size.

Thraxos’ eyes shot open at the sudden jolt of pain at his back, his hand immediately closing over the handle of the bone knife that lay next to him. Another rock hit him, and he rolled over, to face his assailant, his mind immediately wondering what kind of orc or elf tossed rocks. And then he was hit in the face with a clump of dirt!

He blinked, rubbing the dirt from his eyes. Ah. That kind of elf tossed rocks and dirt. The kind that was throwing a hissy fit. He hissed at her as she shrieked her indignation at him, looking around for a moment before realizing she was leaping at him.

He dropped the knife at his side and reached forward with both hands, grasping her wrists in his meathooks and laughing as she basically headbutted his chest. He planted one foot on the ground between her legs and used it to roll himself up and over her, his hands pinning her wrists to the ground on either side of her head. His legs were between hers and he brought his knees up sharply on either side, catching her under her thighs and spreading her legs wide before him, leaving her in a very compromising position.

“There are orcs hunting us, you dumb spoiled brat. Keep shouting like that and you will find yourself subjected to far worse indignities than what I did to you last night,” he said, a smirk growing across his face as he remembered using her chest to sate his long-neglected needs. Already, just holding her in this position, he could feel his member stiffening once more…

Cornflower blue eyes widened, whites glaring the moment those massive hands managed to grab both of her wrists and then the world was turned upside down; the swift movement combined with the swollen lump on her right temple caused the bile to rise at the back of her throat. She was quieted far quicker than she would have liked but her inner turmoil was none of his concern, not yet anyway.

“Get off!” she squealed and twisted, her knees drawing up high while she tried to get her feet to his taut belly, it was useless. When she felt something firm nudging between her thighs, she was suddenly aware of how little of a barrier, if any at all, her new fashioned garments provided. She could feel the heat of his sex against her own and she stiffened, “Release me.” the words came more as a plea than the usual demand as her ears quivered slightly.

His words rang true, she wasn’t so foolish as to ignore that much. Pale brows dipped low, the bridge of her nose wrinkled and her lips cinched tightly together to create a positively comical expression of frustration. Turning her face from his own she scowled out through the waving grass and brush, her heart was pounding, fear and the humility of being restrained in such a position was seeping into her cheeks. “Release me now, filthy mool! I’ve just bathed, I wont have you soiling me again.” she hissed at him one last time. That much was clear, her pale skin was damp and cool from the stream, her curls now stuck to the side of her face and splaying out in dripping tendrils about her shoulders. The only thing that marred the picture was he garish bruise that now curved her left cheekbone, swollen and purple it was a clear reminder of their recent mutual struggle.

Thraxos’ nostrils flared angry at her use of that degrading term, mool. “No,” he growled. He was not ready to let her go just yet. His cock had throbbed at the feel of her heat grazing over him, but now it spasmed angry, dangerously close to her entrance.

“I could take you now, and soil you forever,” he said to her. He used his grip on her wrists to move them, harshly, to a position above her head, and then carefully maneuvered his hands so that just one of them was pinning both her arms, freeing his other hand.

He used it to grab her face, under her chin, his fingers squeezing her cheeks together, forcing her lips to pout forward. “I am no longer your servant. I am no longer bound by your magic. I could have let that orc rape you and take you back to the clan last night, but I promised to protect you if you healed me.”

He pushed himself up onto her, and lewdly rested his heavy testicles upon her barely covered entrance. “Call me mool again, and I’ll take you back to the orcs myself as a peace offering… after I pay you back for everything you did to me when I was your servant.”

Again her eyes flared wide, though now with irritation at the mere idea of him refusing her order; uncertain just what to do about it she began tugging at her hands, quite serious in her wishes to be released. “Release me now!” there was a note of panic rising in her voice.

Anwen tried to shake her head, to lift her chin high enough to escape his grasp and finally was forced to let her mouth open to relieve the pressure of his fingertips digging into her cheeks. The fact that he truly was no longer bound to her weighed heavily upon her, he well could do as he promised and she wouldn’t be able to do much to stop him so she went still. For a few long heartbeats the delicate creature closed her eyes, willing away the sensation of his heavy frame easing over her own; the pressure of malleable heat against her puffy lower lips was unavoidable. It stirred a heat within her womb and caused fear to rise up and claw at the inside of her skull.

Her brows knit tightly and if ever looks could kill hers would have struck the half-orc down mid-breath; she kicked, trying to dig her bare heel into the grass and scootch up and out of his grip. It wasn’t working either. Though her face never changed from the expression of her anger her heart skipped a beat, fear seeping into her bones at the thought of being thrown to the hulking monstrosities. Would he really do such a thing? For once she found herself to be quite at a loss for words, but her eyes locked onto his own, roiling with pride despite it all; she prayed he would lose interest at her compliance and move.

He held her gaze with a glower, his dark brown, nearly black eyes searching her baby blues. For years he had avoided her gaze, as he was taught to. Now that the tables were turned, the story twisted, he savored this newfound power over her. She was no longer Mistress. She was no longer even nobility.

He released her mouth first, and pulled his body back up and away from hers. Satisfied she wasn’t going to strike at him again, he let go of her wrists and stood up, towering over her.

“As I recall, the city of Redwall lies some twenty leagues north of here. I will protect you until we get there, and then you can decide what you want to do from there,” Thraxos said, scooping up his knife from the ground. He flicked the knife up into the air, letting it flip over itself, and caught it. “Or, go your own way, and see how long before the orcs find you.”

The swift rise and fall of her bound breasts was a dead give-away, she was both irritated at his defiance and very, very wary of his newfound freedom; she had not been gentle with him, he had been there to see her at her worst, when even her own actions terrified her. A thick swallow momentarily broke up the look of incredulousness painted across her lovely face.

The intensity his impossibly dark eyes held caused a shiver to crawl up her spine; swallowing thickly Anwen was forced to bear the hatred that seemed to emanate from his unyielding gaze. Look away. She willed him, but to no avail. Look away damn you! She winced and turned her face away as he released her mouth, working her jaw slowly till the blood flowed normally in her cheeks and the crick was out of her jawbone. The moment she was relieved of his weight she scrambled to her feet, frantically pulling her wet loincloth back into place.

Anger was a safe place to hide, the defensive glower that overtook her face would remain there for some time; she had an inkling of a doubt that her former slave would actually go through with his threat. Her pride insisted that she might still hold some sway over him, after all he did let her go. She clung to that small strand of hope and his promise to see her safely to the next civilization. Steeling herself and lifting her chin the elf decided to bide her time; in her own denial she still hoped to reunite with her father, the previous night was still somewhat of a blur.

Gingerly stroking her injured forearm she began stalking away from the present offense to her pride, but only about three yards beyond his reach. Throwing her hair over her right shoulder Anwen began to braid it while muttering to herself in elvish and the word ‘mool’ was amidst a string of nasty sounding ones. In her defence she hadn't a clue the name of the hulking brute that had dragged her from the murderous guards or his story. She really didn't care, but she would eventually have to call him something to his face. To add to her growing list of indignities she was then forced to follow the wall of muscle; “Go then.” grinding out the stubborn words of temporary defeat in common tongue and keeping her brimming eyes from his own, seething.

Thraxos nodded, satisfied that she would follow him for the time being. His sharp ears would quickly alert him if she strayed too far away. Truth be told, he would need her healing abilities on this journey, there was no doubt of that. If the orcish horde had managed to take her elven city, there was no doubt they had raiders far and wide. The danger would grow the closer they came to Redwall. He would let her mumble to herself as long as she followed obediently.

It was easy enough, at this stage in their journey, to pick fruits and berries as they walked to sustain them. Over hills and through valleys he led her that day, and it seemed even the wildlife gave them a wide berth.

As the sun began to lower itself, so too did the storm clouds begin to amass in the distance. The wind told Thraxos to expect the rain by nightfall. He was satisfied with their progress thus far; they had put a good distance between themselves and the fallen elven city. And with the rain coming, they could even safely light a fire, should they find a decent cave to hunker down in for the night. He kept his eyes peeled for just such a domicile, and with a little luck he found one, even if it had started sprinkling already.

He turned to her. “Gather what fruit and berries you can find. I will get us a fire started in this cave,” he ordered her, and began collecting fallen twigs and branches from the forest floor.

Anwen begrudgingly followed in silence for the day, not one word passed through her lips ; it would seem she had gotten in touch with her former self. She watched the sun rise high in the sky and then set behind them, a mournful glance spared towards her city and then with reaffirmed vigor, did her very best to find a way to blame the former slave.

She wanted her father, her room, the safety both offered and she wanted more than anything to throw the half-blood into a set of bespelled shackles. No mere trinket about his neck but something far more difficult to shed. Inwardly the elf kicked herself for having released him so clumsily. Escape seemed like a troublesome idea, though she couldn’t help the pull she felt towards her home, her father, and she could find him once more if only she could shake the half-blooded oaf.

Her inner turmoil consumed her and it took a few moments for her to realize they had stopped, in fact she ran smack into the back of her former servant; startled, Anwen staggered back and nearly fell on her backside if it hadn’t been for the tree she had managed to grab hold of. “Excuse me?” she asked in disbelief, now he was ordering her about. “I’ll do no such thing.” and with that, she held her chin high and skirted him only to duck inside the mouth of the cave to escape the slowly increasing rain. Her body ached, her head was beginning to join it and she was genuinely in need of sleep, she had no intention of fetching food like some common serving wench.

“So be it,” Thraxos replied, and continued about his task, gathering twigs and sticks and branches, making several trips back the cave and piling them up in a corner. On his last journey out, he gathered up a decent amount of fruits off a nearby tree. The rain was starting to come down now, and he was dripping when he returned to the cave, and set the fruit down next to the limbs.

He said nothing to her as he set about piling the smaller twigs and some underbrush in the middle of the cave, and then took two sticks and began rubbing them together between his palms, sparking the fire in short order. He blew into it, sending smoke in Anwen’s direction, and once the twigs took to the fire, added a few more, and then finally stood and glared at her.

“Out,” he grunted. “Find your own damn fire.” If she wouldn’t assist in their fight for survival out here, he’d be damned if he would offer her much of anything.

Anwen coughed as smoke filtered her way and waved a hand in the air, rising up to her full height to avoid it, she said nothing at first and tossed him a withering stare before turning her back to him and marching a few more feet into the cave. She slowly dropped down to the ground and gingerly threaded her fingers through her hair in order to touch the aching flesh around the lump on her skull as a wave of nausea began creeping over her. She honestly paid the man no mind whatsoever, disregarding him as she had done prior to their nightmare of a prior evening.

Scooting down another inch, her bare back hit the wall and she curled her knees up nearer her chin before wrapping her arms about them and resting her cheek there. She did her best to block out their present local, her skin beginning to prickle with cold as she closed her eyes against the vision of the man not three yards from her. He ought to stand out in the rain, she thought, wash some of that filth from himself.

Thraxos growled under his breath. Of course she would not listen to him. He tossed another stick on the tiny fire and then approached her. He bent over and grabbed her by her arm, pulling her from her sitting position to her feet, not particularly caring if he injured her shoulder in the process, and then bent over and hoisted her bodily over his shoulder!

He promptly marched to the mouth of the cave and deposited her on her butt in the dirt and rain, just outside the cave entrance. “If you don’t want to help, don’t expect anything in return,” he scowled, before turning around and walking back into the cave. He tossed another limb onto the fire, and poked at it a bit, before taking a bite out of one of his apples.

He wasn’t sure what she would do next. Probably get herself into trouble, he figured. He took another, loud bite from the apple, knowing full well she would be hungry herself from the day’s march.

Anwen shrieked when he grabbed her arm and hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes; “DOWN! Put me down you oaf!” she screeched in common, but as the rain hit her back and she dug her nails into his, she knew he wasn’t going to relent. She found herself upon the wet ground in a puddle, the rain beginning to beat down around her as she stared at that broad back and grit her teeth. The sudden change in position caught up with her and the elf suddenly rolled to her hands and knees, pitching forward to wretch.

When she was finished she slowly dragged herself to her feet and moved slowly towards a line of trees; she wanted to wash the taste out of her mouth and she wasn’t going to melt in a little rain. She might freeze, but she wouldn’t melt. She shivered again and stubbornly ignored it, “Let the bears gnaw on your bones, mool!” she shouted into the darkening evening, “My father will see to it what’s left of your corpse is fed to the wolves.” she hissed while struggling to pull free her makeshift skirting from a thorn bush.

She couldn’t very well sleep out in the rain and if she wasn’t going to sleep, and he wasn’t going to find her suitable shelter then she was damn well going back to her father. Orcs be damned, she could enter the city through the tunnels if she must. The elf was drenched now, head to toe and she didn’t seem to care, nor did it appear from any onlooker that she was intent on stopping.

He heard her gag and vomit, and then watched as she rose from her position and hauled herself away from the cave. His eyes narrowed and he stood, moving towards the mouth and peering out into the darkness and rain. He snarled at her shouted defiance, roaring at the term “mool,” and stepped out into the rain, following her.

He wouldn’t let her get very far. He sniffed at the air. Neither, it seemed, would the pack of worgs ahead, that had heard her cries. He knew the stink of those beasts all too well. Wet, they were even worse. Some orc tribes kept them as pets; they were like wolves, but larger and hungrier and known to toy with their prey.

Thraxos grip tightened around his knife. He hoped it would be enough. A spear would have been better, anything long enough to keep his distance from those snapping maws.

“Anwen, come back, now!” he called out, some fifty paces behind her. That’s when the first worg raced across the path in front of her.

They were circling.

Anwen was struggling to see through the rain, no fireflies came to her aid as the weather kept them subdued; the bellowing behind her went ignored yet again and it wasn’t till she heard a distinct growl in front of her that she stopped dead in her tracks. The trees broke up the rainfall here and there, one such length of land birthed a snarling and wretched beast not ten feet from her. With a gasp the elf spun and darted to the left, her long legs serving her well as she managed to put a bit of distance between her and the snapping maw of a worg.

With her heart in her throat and her ears perked to any sound the wide-eyed elf searched her brain for any lesson that lingered in her memory, she found none. In a sheer panic Anwen let rip a shriek that startled an owl from it’s perch, Thraxos was now to her left and the worg was nipping at her heels as she wove in and out of the trees it was as if they moved out of her very pathway. As she slowed down to round a tree and make a b-line for her former guard she could feel the steam of the beast’s breath crawl up her spine; pleading silently the elf pushed till her lungs burned. A root crawled up from its muddy bed and arched before the worg’s paw, it tripped the thing and sent it yelping, hurtling through the air and unfortunately right into Anwen.

With a grunt the elf was sent sprawling, the worg took it’s opportunity and reeled about, rolling from it’s side to it’s feet and spun to lunge after its blonde prey; a massive paw shot forth, a claw managing to catch the back of her left thigh. A screech rang out, the whites of her eyes glaring in the darkness of night as the claw imbedded and hooked beneath a few layers of her skin. Suddenly a mass of roots shot forth from the dirt, the trees began to moan and creak and grab for the worg; in a matter of seconds the beast was engulfed in roots, pinning him to the ground, vines dropped from the canopy and slithered round it’s snout and throat till a sickening crack mingled with a gurgling yelp filled Anwen’s ears.

Painting, the elf had no time to waste as another rounded the corner, she was forced to reach back and unhook her own flesh from the fallen creature while the second barreled towards her. The second beast ran over top the corpse of his fallen packmate, long lines of saliva dripping from snapping teeth. With a whimper Anwen would gain her footing and would run, a gimpy and unsteady gait as she was forced to deal with the pain in her leg; with a sob the elf broke free of the trees and the moment her foot hit the grass beyond the treeline the forest itself began knitting together. A wall of limbs, roots and vines suddenly wove into a garish wall and the crash of the worg into it spoke to the sheer weight of the thing; leaves shuttered and hissed but the forest held fast. Sparing one glance back at the wild thing as it thrashed, battered and tore at the foliage with everything it had.

Unable to speak, Anwen would will her shocked gratitude as she turned and continued to make her way back to her former servant. Her hatred was well and truly replaced at that moment by the horror of her present situation, all she could think of was getting back to the safety the former servant might possibly provide. Anwen managed to gain sight of the man, a small sense of relief, possibly hope tugged at her heart and all at once it was dashed; the largest of the three worgs barreled towards him, hitting the half-blood in the back like a boulder, taking him down easily.

Thraxos spied the fair-skinned elf out of the corner of his eye, looking over at her as his nostrils flared at the incoming scent of worg.

Too late, unable to brace himself, he felt the beast slam against his back, knocking him to the ground with the sheer force of the attack. The worg skittered over him, missing narrowly with its teeth when it attempted to snag a bite of him. Thraxos pushed himself up just in time as the worg launched itself at him again. The half-orc’s hands came up, latching around the worg’s throat and pushing back to keep it’s teeth from tearing his face to shreds, and they rolled together off the path and down an embankment. The worg’s claws ripped into Thrax’s thighs and arms, even as he struggled to retain his grip on his knife and find a home for it.

They came to a sudden stop as a tree halted their path, Thraxos’ back take the brunt of the weight, and both the Half-Blood King and the worg lay there unmoving…

Anwen just stared as the beast thrashed wildly atop the man, she was stunned. It took her a moment but she scanned the area and no other worgs seemed to be coming forth; the one she had left behind was now being dragged to the forest floor and secured by a mass of flora. Clutching the back of her leg momentarily she ran her fingers over the hole to assess the damage; blood ran down the back of her leg but she could still move. Quickly limping towards the edge of the embankment she frantically searched for the two of them through the darkness.

Over the din of the rain she cried out for her servant, using that word he hated so much though this time it was not filled with disdain, her words dripped with fear, worry for his wellbeing even if only to remain alive herself. She held her head while she wobbled, the injury to her skull exacerbated by the race for her very life, teetering she waited there again and again calling into the night. Seeking any manner of movement Anwen’s keen eyes combed the land as her ears perked high towards the moon. Let him live.

Thraxos’ world went black with the sudden thud against his back, the great weight holding him down, the nasty fur suffocating him, the blood pouring out over his hand and across his belly.

He heard, somewhere in the distance, that hated, rancid word, again and again. He found deep within him some last reservoir of strength, and grunted loudly as he pushed upwards against the worg’s great weight, pushing the slain beast off him and rolling it away down the hill, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

Breathing heavily, he pushed himself up, finding his footing unsteadily. Leaning against trees and grasping at limbs he made his way back up the hill, to Anwen’s pale form on the trail. He was limping, for the moment, but it seemed his wounds were superficial at worst.

“I told you not to call me that…” he said, pained, but with a smirk growing across his face as the rain poured down around them.

Anwen let loose a yelp and staggered back when she first saw the figure emerging from the darkness, it was his voice that earned a quivering breath of relief; weren’t they a pair? Both limping, both soaked to the bone. The elf frowned deeply and moved forward, in that moment their return back to the cave took precedence, and the only way she was going to get there was with him.

Slowly she inched towards his side, her eyes darting side to side, those lengthy ears perked high as she kept her senses open, as open as they might be in the pouring rain. “The cave, you can walk?” she ground out as the rain glued her hair in errant strands about her face and shoulder, her fists were clenched and she was visibly favoring her leg. “If you can, I suggest you move. Now.” despite her tone she did not move herself until he began his way back to the cave. She wasn’t so foolish as to continue wander about on her own that night.

Thraxos nodded, even as he staggered. “Fuck,” he growled, the pain from the gashes on his legs slicing up to his core. He grit his teeth. “Yes. Let’s go,” he grunted, moving forward with her, as much as it irked him to take any more instruction from her.

It took a bit, but they made their way slowly back to the cave, leaning on each other for support. Together they staggered into the cave, and found that the fire had been reduced to barely red embers. Thraxos fell to the cave floor beside it, grunting as he reached for more twigs, tossing them on, and then attempting to stoke the fire back to life. His pride no longer cared that she had not assisted in bedding down for the night. All that mattered now was their mutual survival.

Sparks rose, and a flame caught, slowly but surely, and began to spread amongst the meager twigs. Thraxos growled again as he pushed himself up to sit and lean back against the wall, and finally examine his own wounds as he sat there dripping. Each of his legs had been sliced open, one at the calf, and the other along his inner thigh. That one was deep. It was a miracle they had made it back to the cave at all. His arms bore more superficial cuts, and no longer bled.

“I think I need your assistance again…” he muttered, laying open his leg so she could see the extent of the injury.