Kleptomaniac
TMF Poster
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- Feb 4, 2004
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Author's Note: Unfortunately, this chapter and the next one are a little narrative-heavy (no tickling until about half-way through)... for good reason; this gets the ball rolling. As our heroes continue their journey, dangers will arise and laughter will increase. Are they prepared? We'll find out.... Dun dun DUN!! Btw, did you know “Electroencephalographic” is a word? I didn't either until I ran spellcheck on this story.
The Abyssals – Part 2
“Have you no sense of decency?!” shouted Coruon as he met Winterstrike and the priestess at the front gate to the tree-city Darnassus. The Sentinels must have sent word back about their arrival. “We can't have a follower of Elune walking naked through the city!”
Winterstrike stepped forward, already clenching a fist in the air, preparing to throw an onslaught of insults when the priestess's soft voice beat her to it.
“Coruon, please. This Nightwatcher saved me before more harm could fall, and my attire is unimportant at the moment.” She held the tome up to be seen before continuing. “The council must see this immediately.”
Even a druid could not deny the wishes of one of Tyrande's chosen. Winterstrike suppressed a smile at the sight of Coruon swallowing his pride and allowing them by, though he fell in step behind them as they proceeded towards the council's chamber.
The chamber had been built by hollowing one of the large stumps in the city. A tree growing a top a tree, pondered Winterstrike. It never ceased to amuse her.
Everything in the room was carved out from the tree; the large, circular table in the center, the seats, even the drawers and statues lining the walls. Seated opposed from Winterstrike and the priestess were a representative of most powerful organizations of the Night Elves: Roa'lia, from the Druids of the Bear, Fa'llien, from the Druids of the Talon, Coruon, from the Sentinels, and Tyrande, from the Priestesses of Elune.
And in the center of the table laid the tome.
“Anath'eia, I am relieved to see you have returned alive and well,” Tyrande greeted the priestess across from her. Anath'eia, despite protests, had been given a silver cloak to cover herself up with.
“Perhaps you could fill us in as to what was so urgent,” queried Roa'lia, whom was rather large for a Night Elf. Then again, the seasons were changing and winter was approaching, and he had begun to eat excessively for the upcoming hibernation. Not that he would, but druids had a tendency to have some judgments skewed by the path they followed, and his bear-side wished to ensure it had eaten enough.
Anath'eia nodded and motioned towards the tome before her. “It is writings from the Highborne, the ones who came before-”
“Yes yes,” Coruon cut her off. “We know who the Highborne are. Get to the point.”
The priestess frowned before continuing. “Do you remember the Infernals that the Fel legion commanded? Tall, immolating golems that set fire to everything they touched?”
Tyrande visibly stirred at their mention. While the others had not been at the front lines during the battles that the Alliance had dubbed as the Third War, she had. The sight of pure malice taken form as stone and flame shook even the most hardened warriors, and the demons had the power to back it up. “A most powerful foe. It took a combined effort to take down just one.”
“There is a more powerful one here on Azeroth.”
Rather than acting in shock, the council glanced at each other in confusion for a few seconds. It was Fa'llien, the old, yet lithe Druid of the Talon, who broke the silence. “We... have no heard reports of such a beast walking the lands. How can you be so sure?”
Anath'eia's purple cheeks grew a shade darker. “Pardon me, I mean he is not here yet, but his artifact is.”
Once more the council appeared confused. Winterstrike slumped back in her chair, letting out a sigh, but even she didn't wish to admit that she was confused as well. Many shied away from information about the dark arts in fear that they would become corrupted by the knowledge.
The priestess slowly shook her head, realizing that she would have to explain for them. “Both the Alliance and Horde have dark magic users, Warlocks as they're known, who can summon demons from the other realm for their personal use. The lesser ones are easy and require a bit of practice and concentration to summon, such as the Imps you may have seen used as familiars.”
“Vile creatures,” Coruon sneered. It wasn't clear if he was referring to the Imps, or the Warlocks.
Anath'eia continued. “However, the more powerful greater demons require an artifact as a focusing point to not only locate the demon, but to also guide it successfully to the Warlock calling it. The Infernals fall under this category...” She paused. “...As well as the Abyssals.”
“Abyssals?” Tyrande asked, raising a brow.
“According to the Highborne, they are much more powerful than any Infernal we have seen. Four times its height, according to their descriptions, and so powerful that they are chained down in the other realm until they are needed.”
Realization spread across everyone's faces as the pieces fell into place. “So if a Warlock were to find this artifact, they would be able to summon an Abyssal to our world?” asked Roa'lia.
The young priestess nodded. “If he were powerful enough and knew what it was, then yes. If I translated the passages correctly, then the artifact is somewhere between the Human capital of Stormwind, and the Dark Portal to their south.”
“If its location is in this tome, then there's nothing to worry about so long as we possess it!” scoffed Coruon. The council members looked relieved at this realization, but Anath'eia's expression remained hardened. She pulled the tome closer to her and held it up.
“There is just one problem with your plan, Coruon,” she said, turning the tome to face them as she flipped it open to about halfway. One page was forcefully ripped from the binding.
“Someone found this before I did.”
“I'm bored,” whined Aelneth, the succubus. She had been walking on foot with Khazdumarr for hours through the gloomy forest of Silverpine.
“I head you the first time. And the time after that. And after that,” muttered Khazdummar, walking several paces ahead of her servant. The two had departed the moment she felt her new demon pet had regained her breath, as well as some her pride.
“Well, I am!” she shot back, crossing her arms under her voluptuous breasts. “Can't you at least tell me where we're going?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
“No.”
“Bitch,” the succubus muttered. Why did this have to happen, she thought to herself. One moment I was happily pulling the toenails off a Mag'har, the next I'm being tickled in front of a whole crowd! ...Wait a minute.
She quickly looked up at the Warlock in front of her. Why didn't she just give the Warlock a taste of her medicine? With a grin that would have given a snowman chills, she quickly closed the distance and pressed her fingers into the woman's sides, wriggling them through her robe. Khazdumarr froze in place and clamped her arms down over her sides, but it was too late, and Aelneth was rewarded with a stream of warbled laughter.
“You're mine now!” Aelneth shouted with glee. This was too easy!
“Haahaahaahaahaahaa- stop.”
Aelneth's eyes grew wide and she immediately stopped. The Warlock sighed and slowly turned around, shaking her head at her own fake laughter. “Did you really think that a walking corpse would be ticklish?”
“I-I-I thought... that... maybe...” stuttered the demoness, realizing that instead of taking advantage of her mistress, she merely enraged her. The Warlock raised her left hand, and tendrils of darkness began to wisp along the surface of her skin. She reached out and placed her palm against Aelneth's bare stomach for but a moment, and when she withdrew, the shadows remained on the succubus in the shape of her hand.
Aelneth looked down, confused, and tried to brush the image of the hand off, but her own passed right through it as though it were a cloud. “Wh-What is this?”
Khazdumarr grinned and held her left hand up so that it could be clearly seen. “Your punishment,” she ominously responded before wiggling her fingers in the air. The shadowed hand copied her movements, and though Aelneth had not been able to touch it, it certainly was able to touch her. The moment the fingers stroked above her navel, she squealed and dropped to the ground, curling up.
“Nonononoohohohoohooooo!” was all she could get out as she writhed about, hugging her stomach to quell the sensations, but to no avail. It tickled even with her own hands pressed up against her stomach.
“I am in control here!” Khazdumarr yelled, glaring down at her. She drew her hand in a circle, and the shadowed hand followed in suit, causing wiggling fingers to travel along the edges of Aelneth's stomach before ending up teasing along her waistline. “The sooner you accept that, the easier things will be!”
The succubus's sensuous laughter echoed off the trees around them. She twisted and rolled about, sometimes slapping at the shadowy hand, sometimes on the dirt. The ghostly finger scratched delicately against the edges of her navel, threatening to dip inside. “Ahahahaaiee undeheheerstahaahaand!”
“Understand, what?” threatened the Warlock.
“Mehehehestreeehehehesssss!” Aelneth screamed. The tickling stopped instantly, but the hand didn't fade. Khazdumarr's look of rage slowly melted into a warm smile. She began to lower her hand, and the shadowed hand traveled further south.
“Disobedience breeds punishment.” The hand passed over the front of the demoness's thong before seeping through it. “Obedience breeds... reward.” She wiggled her index finger, and Aelneth suddenly bucked up, letting out a pleasured gasp.
“Understand?” Khazdumarr asked rhetorically before she ceased channeling the spell. Without waiting for her servant to regain her footing, she continued down the empty road.
Aelneth watched her, letting everything that happened sink in before quietly responding, “Yes... my mistress.”
The council had spent forty minutes discussing what to do, and both sides from many arguments were brought up.
The artifact was on the other side of the world, but the danger could reach them quickly. It was somewhere in Human territory, but the Night Elves owed it to them for their support during the Third War. A large contingent of forces might be necessary to secure the artifact, but most of the druids were attempting to cleanse a portion of Ashenvale known as Felwood from demon taint.
Winterstrike learned something quickly: she hated Politics.
“What about the Sentinels?” suggested Roa'lia.
“Out of the question!” snapped Coruon. “We're spread thin as it already just trying to watch the borders, and even then the Orcs still slip by! Any more cracks and they could reach Astranaar, or even Auberdine!”
“Enough!” bellowed Winterstrike while she slapped the table with both hands and stood up. Everyone fell silent and stared at her. “This bickering is getting us nowhere. If we don't have enough to send a large force, then we'll just go with a small one. I'll go with her.”
It was Coruon's turn to stand up next. “As your commander, I forbid you! You are a Nightwatcher and I need you to watch the borders. If we are not on guard when the Horde make their move, we will fall!”
“If they make their move., Coruon. If.” retorted Winterstrike. “And if this Abyssal is summoned, it won't matter how much watching we do if it kills all our allies.”
“You will not go!”
“Oh yes I will!”
“Coruon, Winterstrike, please,” came the gentle voice of Fa'llien. He held his hand up, subtly hinting for them to calm down and take their seats. Reluctantly, they both obeyed, and he continued. “If this artifact is indeed near Stormwind, then we should stop their first and request help. That will give us the force we need for our safety.”
“We?” asked Tyrande, though it looked like she already understood what the druid meant.
He smiled over to her. “Yes. I will go with Anath'eia to Stormwind. She will need someone who has experience speaking with the Humans.”
Winterstrike half-expected Coruon to jump up with another complaint, but the man seemed content now that his Sentinels wouldn't be sent off across the world. Still, she silently wished that she could go, too. Her silver eyes drifted over to Anath'eia. She thought the young priestess was just a rash, inexperienced fool, but she saw the fire burning in her eyes, the determination and focus she had for the task in mind. Someone who cared more about the people than her own appearances got good marks in her book.
“Very well then. Are we all in agreement?” queried Tyrande, scanning over the rest of the Council. Roa'lia nodded. Coruon remained silent, but in his case a lack of complaints meant he agreed with the choice. Tyrande focused her attention back on Anath'eia. “Please, gather whatever supplies you need and head for our eastern port. Take a boat to Stormwind. It's the fastest route.”
“Thank you,” responded Anath'eia. She bowed her head down respectfully.
“This meeting is adjourned,” added Tyrande, and the council stood up, quickly filing out to attend to their own business. Anath'eia followed them out as well to retrieve the supplies for the journey.
Winterstrike remained in her seat long after everyone left, eyes downcast in her lap where her clenched fists laid. Coruon can't see the big picture, she mused. But I can't disobey my superior. He'll have me imprisoned.
She looked over her shoulder out of the chamber.
And yet, maybe it's worth it.
(To be continued...)
The Abyssals – Part 2
“Have you no sense of decency?!” shouted Coruon as he met Winterstrike and the priestess at the front gate to the tree-city Darnassus. The Sentinels must have sent word back about their arrival. “We can't have a follower of Elune walking naked through the city!”
Winterstrike stepped forward, already clenching a fist in the air, preparing to throw an onslaught of insults when the priestess's soft voice beat her to it.
“Coruon, please. This Nightwatcher saved me before more harm could fall, and my attire is unimportant at the moment.” She held the tome up to be seen before continuing. “The council must see this immediately.”
Even a druid could not deny the wishes of one of Tyrande's chosen. Winterstrike suppressed a smile at the sight of Coruon swallowing his pride and allowing them by, though he fell in step behind them as they proceeded towards the council's chamber.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The chamber had been built by hollowing one of the large stumps in the city. A tree growing a top a tree, pondered Winterstrike. It never ceased to amuse her.
Everything in the room was carved out from the tree; the large, circular table in the center, the seats, even the drawers and statues lining the walls. Seated opposed from Winterstrike and the priestess were a representative of most powerful organizations of the Night Elves: Roa'lia, from the Druids of the Bear, Fa'llien, from the Druids of the Talon, Coruon, from the Sentinels, and Tyrande, from the Priestesses of Elune.
And in the center of the table laid the tome.
“Anath'eia, I am relieved to see you have returned alive and well,” Tyrande greeted the priestess across from her. Anath'eia, despite protests, had been given a silver cloak to cover herself up with.
“Perhaps you could fill us in as to what was so urgent,” queried Roa'lia, whom was rather large for a Night Elf. Then again, the seasons were changing and winter was approaching, and he had begun to eat excessively for the upcoming hibernation. Not that he would, but druids had a tendency to have some judgments skewed by the path they followed, and his bear-side wished to ensure it had eaten enough.
Anath'eia nodded and motioned towards the tome before her. “It is writings from the Highborne, the ones who came before-”
“Yes yes,” Coruon cut her off. “We know who the Highborne are. Get to the point.”
The priestess frowned before continuing. “Do you remember the Infernals that the Fel legion commanded? Tall, immolating golems that set fire to everything they touched?”
Tyrande visibly stirred at their mention. While the others had not been at the front lines during the battles that the Alliance had dubbed as the Third War, she had. The sight of pure malice taken form as stone and flame shook even the most hardened warriors, and the demons had the power to back it up. “A most powerful foe. It took a combined effort to take down just one.”
“There is a more powerful one here on Azeroth.”
Rather than acting in shock, the council glanced at each other in confusion for a few seconds. It was Fa'llien, the old, yet lithe Druid of the Talon, who broke the silence. “We... have no heard reports of such a beast walking the lands. How can you be so sure?”
Anath'eia's purple cheeks grew a shade darker. “Pardon me, I mean he is not here yet, but his artifact is.”
Once more the council appeared confused. Winterstrike slumped back in her chair, letting out a sigh, but even she didn't wish to admit that she was confused as well. Many shied away from information about the dark arts in fear that they would become corrupted by the knowledge.
The priestess slowly shook her head, realizing that she would have to explain for them. “Both the Alliance and Horde have dark magic users, Warlocks as they're known, who can summon demons from the other realm for their personal use. The lesser ones are easy and require a bit of practice and concentration to summon, such as the Imps you may have seen used as familiars.”
“Vile creatures,” Coruon sneered. It wasn't clear if he was referring to the Imps, or the Warlocks.
Anath'eia continued. “However, the more powerful greater demons require an artifact as a focusing point to not only locate the demon, but to also guide it successfully to the Warlock calling it. The Infernals fall under this category...” She paused. “...As well as the Abyssals.”
“Abyssals?” Tyrande asked, raising a brow.
“According to the Highborne, they are much more powerful than any Infernal we have seen. Four times its height, according to their descriptions, and so powerful that they are chained down in the other realm until they are needed.”
Realization spread across everyone's faces as the pieces fell into place. “So if a Warlock were to find this artifact, they would be able to summon an Abyssal to our world?” asked Roa'lia.
The young priestess nodded. “If he were powerful enough and knew what it was, then yes. If I translated the passages correctly, then the artifact is somewhere between the Human capital of Stormwind, and the Dark Portal to their south.”
“If its location is in this tome, then there's nothing to worry about so long as we possess it!” scoffed Coruon. The council members looked relieved at this realization, but Anath'eia's expression remained hardened. She pulled the tome closer to her and held it up.
“There is just one problem with your plan, Coruon,” she said, turning the tome to face them as she flipped it open to about halfway. One page was forcefully ripped from the binding.
“Someone found this before I did.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“I'm bored,” whined Aelneth, the succubus. She had been walking on foot with Khazdumarr for hours through the gloomy forest of Silverpine.
“I head you the first time. And the time after that. And after that,” muttered Khazdummar, walking several paces ahead of her servant. The two had departed the moment she felt her new demon pet had regained her breath, as well as some her pride.
“Well, I am!” she shot back, crossing her arms under her voluptuous breasts. “Can't you at least tell me where we're going?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
“No.”
“Bitch,” the succubus muttered. Why did this have to happen, she thought to herself. One moment I was happily pulling the toenails off a Mag'har, the next I'm being tickled in front of a whole crowd! ...Wait a minute.
She quickly looked up at the Warlock in front of her. Why didn't she just give the Warlock a taste of her medicine? With a grin that would have given a snowman chills, she quickly closed the distance and pressed her fingers into the woman's sides, wriggling them through her robe. Khazdumarr froze in place and clamped her arms down over her sides, but it was too late, and Aelneth was rewarded with a stream of warbled laughter.
“You're mine now!” Aelneth shouted with glee. This was too easy!
“Haahaahaahaahaahaa- stop.”
Aelneth's eyes grew wide and she immediately stopped. The Warlock sighed and slowly turned around, shaking her head at her own fake laughter. “Did you really think that a walking corpse would be ticklish?”
“I-I-I thought... that... maybe...” stuttered the demoness, realizing that instead of taking advantage of her mistress, she merely enraged her. The Warlock raised her left hand, and tendrils of darkness began to wisp along the surface of her skin. She reached out and placed her palm against Aelneth's bare stomach for but a moment, and when she withdrew, the shadows remained on the succubus in the shape of her hand.
Aelneth looked down, confused, and tried to brush the image of the hand off, but her own passed right through it as though it were a cloud. “Wh-What is this?”
Khazdumarr grinned and held her left hand up so that it could be clearly seen. “Your punishment,” she ominously responded before wiggling her fingers in the air. The shadowed hand copied her movements, and though Aelneth had not been able to touch it, it certainly was able to touch her. The moment the fingers stroked above her navel, she squealed and dropped to the ground, curling up.
“Nonononoohohohoohooooo!” was all she could get out as she writhed about, hugging her stomach to quell the sensations, but to no avail. It tickled even with her own hands pressed up against her stomach.
“I am in control here!” Khazdumarr yelled, glaring down at her. She drew her hand in a circle, and the shadowed hand followed in suit, causing wiggling fingers to travel along the edges of Aelneth's stomach before ending up teasing along her waistline. “The sooner you accept that, the easier things will be!”
The succubus's sensuous laughter echoed off the trees around them. She twisted and rolled about, sometimes slapping at the shadowy hand, sometimes on the dirt. The ghostly finger scratched delicately against the edges of her navel, threatening to dip inside. “Ahahahaaiee undeheheerstahaahaand!”
“Understand, what?” threatened the Warlock.
“Mehehehestreeehehehesssss!” Aelneth screamed. The tickling stopped instantly, but the hand didn't fade. Khazdumarr's look of rage slowly melted into a warm smile. She began to lower her hand, and the shadowed hand traveled further south.
“Disobedience breeds punishment.” The hand passed over the front of the demoness's thong before seeping through it. “Obedience breeds... reward.” She wiggled her index finger, and Aelneth suddenly bucked up, letting out a pleasured gasp.
“Understand?” Khazdumarr asked rhetorically before she ceased channeling the spell. Without waiting for her servant to regain her footing, she continued down the empty road.
Aelneth watched her, letting everything that happened sink in before quietly responding, “Yes... my mistress.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The council had spent forty minutes discussing what to do, and both sides from many arguments were brought up.
The artifact was on the other side of the world, but the danger could reach them quickly. It was somewhere in Human territory, but the Night Elves owed it to them for their support during the Third War. A large contingent of forces might be necessary to secure the artifact, but most of the druids were attempting to cleanse a portion of Ashenvale known as Felwood from demon taint.
Winterstrike learned something quickly: she hated Politics.
“What about the Sentinels?” suggested Roa'lia.
“Out of the question!” snapped Coruon. “We're spread thin as it already just trying to watch the borders, and even then the Orcs still slip by! Any more cracks and they could reach Astranaar, or even Auberdine!”
“Enough!” bellowed Winterstrike while she slapped the table with both hands and stood up. Everyone fell silent and stared at her. “This bickering is getting us nowhere. If we don't have enough to send a large force, then we'll just go with a small one. I'll go with her.”
It was Coruon's turn to stand up next. “As your commander, I forbid you! You are a Nightwatcher and I need you to watch the borders. If we are not on guard when the Horde make their move, we will fall!”
“If they make their move., Coruon. If.” retorted Winterstrike. “And if this Abyssal is summoned, it won't matter how much watching we do if it kills all our allies.”
“You will not go!”
“Oh yes I will!”
“Coruon, Winterstrike, please,” came the gentle voice of Fa'llien. He held his hand up, subtly hinting for them to calm down and take their seats. Reluctantly, they both obeyed, and he continued. “If this artifact is indeed near Stormwind, then we should stop their first and request help. That will give us the force we need for our safety.”
“We?” asked Tyrande, though it looked like she already understood what the druid meant.
He smiled over to her. “Yes. I will go with Anath'eia to Stormwind. She will need someone who has experience speaking with the Humans.”
Winterstrike half-expected Coruon to jump up with another complaint, but the man seemed content now that his Sentinels wouldn't be sent off across the world. Still, she silently wished that she could go, too. Her silver eyes drifted over to Anath'eia. She thought the young priestess was just a rash, inexperienced fool, but she saw the fire burning in her eyes, the determination and focus she had for the task in mind. Someone who cared more about the people than her own appearances got good marks in her book.
“Very well then. Are we all in agreement?” queried Tyrande, scanning over the rest of the Council. Roa'lia nodded. Coruon remained silent, but in his case a lack of complaints meant he agreed with the choice. Tyrande focused her attention back on Anath'eia. “Please, gather whatever supplies you need and head for our eastern port. Take a boat to Stormwind. It's the fastest route.”
“Thank you,” responded Anath'eia. She bowed her head down respectfully.
“This meeting is adjourned,” added Tyrande, and the council stood up, quickly filing out to attend to their own business. Anath'eia followed them out as well to retrieve the supplies for the journey.
Winterstrike remained in her seat long after everyone left, eyes downcast in her lap where her clenched fists laid. Coruon can't see the big picture, she mused. But I can't disobey my superior. He'll have me imprisoned.
She looked over her shoulder out of the chamber.
And yet, maybe it's worth it.
(To be continued...)
