"The Abyssals" - Part 4 (ff/m, m/f)

Author's Note: Minor violence, but you see more gruesome stuff in a children's cartoon. Enjoy! Oh yes, I will also be uploading a few images of the characters since they updated WoW Model Viewer. If you had no idea what these people looked like, or was curious to see how I imagined them, then voila. (They will be attached to this post.)



The Abyssals – Part 4



Khazdumarr couldn't sleep long.

It wasn't because she needed to keep control of the undead that were crewing the vessel, or even out of worry about what may have laid ahead.

No, it was because of the constant, frenzied laughter coming from the cargo hold below.

Throwing on her obsidian and crimson robes once more, she stormed out of the grand cabin, pausing just long enough in the night to look to the west. The flickering of lighting above the rift in the center of the Great Sea served to keep their bearings straight.

A guffaw below her focused her attention once more. Even if she were blind, it would've been easy to track the laughter to its source. She headed on down the steps, through the passenger's area, and down into the deepest hold of the ship.

The guard they had taken along as a prisoner had been stripped down to his white breeches, but that wasn't enough for Aelneth. She found rope and had not only bound the man's wrists behind his back, but had also tied his ankles to one of the support beams running along the top of the cargo hold, forcing him to hang upside down just a few inches from the floor.

The Warlock's frustration quickly melted away to intrigue, deciding to lean against the doorway and watch her servant at work. Aelneth was raking her nails, now shortened from before, along the full length of the man's upturned soles.

“Aww, what's wrong?” cooed Aelneth, her syrupy voice a mismatch to her cruel actions. “Is the big, strong, sexy man a widdle ticklish? All that armor and you're begging from a few nails!”

He couldn't respond even if he wanted to. Every breath he managed to gasp in came right back out as hysterical laughter. His body was flushed red from the torture. There were even little pink lines along his soles from the paths her nails had taken.

“You're going to kill him at this rate,” Khazdumarr stated over the laughter, finally moving closer.

Aelneth paused and looked over, grinning broadly. The guard slumped down at the fortune break. Tears of laughter flowed to his sweat-soaked hair. “I'm surprised it hasn't killed him already, mistress.”

As Khazdumarr stepped around in front of the man, she eyed his body over. “You have enthusiasm in your work, which makes up for your lack of finesse. However, if you are seeking the route of pure agony...” she trailed off, knowing full well that such words would grab the succubus's attention. Once sure was she she had it, she reached up and grabbed onto the man's toes. Weakened already, he couldn't fight back as she bent them enough to force his soles taut.

She continued, “...Wiggling gives your victim a chance for some reprieve, as well as a glimmer of hope of escape. Immobilize everything.” Khazdumarr leaned in closer, her single eye studying the trapped soles in front of her. “The ball of his foot. Prove to me that you're worthy of all my knowledge.”

There was no hesitation on Aelneth's part. She resumed on the now-immobilized soles, scribbling a single nail on each foot, right on the balls of his feet under his big toes. He managed to get out one shriek before succumbing to a fit of silent laughter, his whole body quivering from the sensations shot through him.

Khazdumarr nodded with approval, her own grin matching Aelneth's, and once more the succubus's taunts filled the air along with the man's helpless screams and giggles. “Tickle tickle tickle, sexy man... you're all mine and you're never getting away! Now laugh, my little ticklish man, laugh! Good boy...!”


It was well over an hour before Khazdumarr opted to leave and head to the upper deck once more, and another hour before the shrieks of laughter became screams of fear. Then silence.

Aelneth's hooves tapped against the wooden planks as she came up to join her mistress's side again, lips stained with blood. She found her leaning against the side railing of the boat, but what caught her attention was a torn page gripped in one hand. “What's that,” she asked.

The Warlock glanced over and responded, “The location of a powerful artifact. It's what we're after.” She held up the page to give the other a better look. Odd, cursive words filled the page.

Aelneth shook her head slowly. “I can't read it. You can?” Khazdumarr shook her head as well, which only confused the succubus more. “Then... how do you know what it says?”

Reaching into the folds of her robes, Khazdumarr withdrew her clenched hand and slowly unfurled it. An eyeball stared up at the both of them. Its pupil and iris were fused into one solid glowing, blue circle. “The eye of a Highborne,” she explained, but knew she'd have to show how it worked. Tilting her head back slightly, she brought it up to the empty right eye socket and pushed it in with a sickening squishy noise.

After a few seconds, she looked back down at the page with her alternately-colored eyes, and translated several key lines. “...The source of light... the source of darkness... a land where time forgets but the spirits do not...” Her attention returned to Aelneth. “It speaks of a small valley known as Deadwind Pass, nestled between the Human capital of Stormwind and the inactive Dark Portal.”

“And where in that valley is it,” pestered Aelneth.

Khazdumarr shrugged before she plucked the eye out of its socket and returned it into one of the many pouches hidden inside her robes. “I'll know it when I see it. If we're lucky, we should land ashore before tomorrow night. From there, it'll be a few days walk-” She clenched her fist in the air, unable to suppress a growing smile. “-And then I will become the most powerful Warlock these lands have ever known.”


With a gentle pat on their feathery sides, the three Gryphons took off and returned back towards Stormwind, leaving the three riders by the western edge of Duskwood's gloomy forests. It was of no surprise that the Druid of the Talon watched the flying beasts until they were out of sight. “Magnificent creatures,” he exclaimed before looking over to Mathias. “But why can't we take them all the way to the artifact?”

“One, it's dense forests all the way to the swamps, save for a valley that's too windy for them to navigate. Two,” He folded his arms over the front of his breastplate. “It sounded to me like you two don't even know what this artifact looks like or where precisely to go.”

“I'd prefer to walk, anyway,” muttered Anath'eia. She was sitting on the ground beside their supplies, one of her sandals removed so that she could rub her foot.

Fa'llien raised a brow at her. “You don't like flying? You were giggling the whole way.”

“That's only because their feathers kept tickling my feet!” she retorted.

Mathias scanned the horizon behind them. The grass became considerably more brown the further away it was from the forest's edge. He let out a deep sigh. “Westfall is not the lush farmland it once was. Bandits have also become a problem. We should get moving in case they noticed our approach.”

“It's far too late for that.”

The three of them spun around to face the gloomy forest as a scruffy man stepped out from behind a tree, mismatched leather armor covering his body. The glint of a dagger in his hand caught Mathias's attention and he quickly stepped forward. He unsheathed the longsword at his hip.

“Oi,” the bandit continued. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Just then, several other figures stepped out from their hiding spots behind the other trees, all of their attires just as ragged as the first man, and armed with daggers and crossbows.

Mathias hesitated, but ultimately lowered his blade. “Take what you want and leave us be, or I'll have the entire Stormwind garrison after you,” he said.

“That's the plan,” replied the bandit, flashing a grin that was missing a few teeth. “Now drop your weapons and move aside! No funny business!”

Mathias dropped his blade on the ground and slowly stepped back with Fa'llien. Two of the bandits hurried over to stand before them, their daggers brandished to quell any ideas of escape. The head bandit that had been speaking walked over to their supplies and wasted no time in emptying the contents on the dry grass. However, a forth was moving towards Anath'eia, the lust in his eyes unmistakable.

“Well 'er lookie here! T'is my lucky day,” he exclaimed as he drew in closer, reaching a dirty hand for her. Anath'eia pulled back for a second, then suddenly snapped her bare foot out and kicked the man between the legs.

He dropped like a sack of potatoes, clutching himself, howling in pain. The head bandit quickly dropped the sack he was holding and made a bee-line towards the night elf, glaring. Anath'eia kicked at him in return, but the man turned and grabbed her ankle.

“Let me go, you disgusting man,” she shrieked, straining to pull her leg back from him. The bandit looked down at the bare foot he held firmly in his grasp. The small, narrow foot was quite shapely, with a high arch. The skin tone was a purplish hue a shade lighter than the rest of her skin. Smirking, he tucked his dagger into his belt and brought a lone finger up to stroke along her instep.

Anath'eia's eyes grew wide and her body visibly stiffened. She bit down on her lower lip, tugging her leg harder, but the man's grip was too strong. Her reaction was easily caught by the bandit, and he continued. His finger traveled up to her delicate toes and ran along the base of them before scratching down to her arch. Just as he reached the center of her sole, the night elf squealed and twisted over onto her stomach, both hands clawing at the dirt to try and pull away.

“Stop it,” shouted Fa'llien, whom was met with an elbow to the stomach from the nearest bandit, sending him down onto his knees in pain. Mathias glared through the visor of his helm but remained silent.

“Why should I?” the bandit shot back. He suddenly released his hold on Anath'eia, only to turn and sit down on her ankle before she could get away. With that pretty bare foot now pinned, he wasted no time in dancing all ten fingers along the full length of her sole.

The night elf reacted accordingly and let out a hysterical scream before collapsing into helpless laughter. She pounded her fists on the ground. “Aahahaaaieeeheeehahaahaa!! N-Noohohoooo! Pleeeheheheeease staaaahahaaap!”

The bandit changed tactics, opting to lightly brush his fingertips along her wiggling toes while scratching a single, dirty nail around her heel at the same time. The priestess's face was turning darker from laughing so hard all at once, her free foot kicking uselessly against the man's back. Her musical laughter filled the air, slowly drawing the bandits' attention away from the supplies to her writhing form.

“You know,” casually remarked the head bandit, his eyes lifting to Mathias, though his fingers never ceased stroking and scratching the helpless foot. “You said we could have whatever we wanted. Well, I want her now. We'll let you two go when I'm satisfied.” As he finished, he pressed down on Anath'eia's toes and feverishly raked his nails up and down her smooth, immobilized arch, sending her into paroxysms of screams and laughter.

Fa'llien's head snapped at up at the man's words. Gone was the weary look of an old man, replaced instead by one full of rage. However, rather than charging forward, he sat back and closed both eyes, palms pressed down against the ground.

It was faint at first, and hard to hear over Anath'eia's hysteria. Mathias heard it before anyone else seemingly did, a warbling cacophony coming from the forest, and it was growing louder. One by one, the bandits turned their heads to the odd sound as well. The head bandit was too lost in his torturous actions to have noticed the black swarm that suddenly loomed over the tree line.

Ravens. Hundreds of them.

“Get down,” uttered Fa'llien, and Mathias obeyed without complaint, his arms coming up to shield himself a mere second before the cloud of sharp talons and beaks descended upon all of those still standing.

Pain-filled screams replaced the laughter that had once filled the air as the bandits were attacked by the avian creatures. Some swung their daggers aimlessly to try and fend them off while the rest dropped to the ground, shielding themselves from further attack.

“Grab Anath'eia and go,” Fa'llien shouted over the roar of the flapping wings surrounding them. Protected by steel, Mathias scrambled to his feet and bolted over to where Anath'eia laid, her leg still pinned down by the bandit on her who was busy trying to shoo the creatures away. He swung his fist into the bandit's face, sending the man sprawling to the ground, before snatching the night elf up and throwing her over his shoulder.

“I've got her,” Mathias shouted back back, and without waiting he ran for the forest.

Fa'llien opened his eyes and jumped to his feet before running after his companions. No longer exerting his influence over the ravens, they were beginning to come to their senses and scatter rather than fight the humans.

“We have to hurry,” shouted Fa'llien as he drew near to the forest's edge. “They won't be distracted fo- hurk!” The druid lurched and suddenly came to a stop.

Mathias paused and looked back at the druid. Fa'llien winced, mouthing out “Go” before collapsing to the ground. A crossbow bolt stuck out from his back.

Anath'eia stared, so shocked that no noise could even emit at first. Time slowed for her as she watched the night elf go motionless. Finally, she found her voice, and it came out in a pained scream.

“Fa'llien!!!”

Mathias, fighting his urge to go back for him, turned and ran deeper into the forest, clutching the fighting night elf tightly against himself.


Hysterical laughter had echoed through the halls beneath the Darnassus garrison all through the night, and even through most of the morning.

Two night elves shared smiles, but while Coruon's was out of pleasure, Winterstrike's was forced.

She thought the torture would be the worst only at the beginning, but Coruon had worked methodically, tracing feathers over every inch of her body to find where she was most sensitive, and exploit it.

At the moment, Coruon was taking much delight in tracing the tips of two stiff feathers along her back. Little spirals and squiggles down her spine had her laughing like a mad woman within a minute. Her body glistened with sweat.

And every half-hour, Coruon would suddenly stop and lean in to whisper over her heavy panting.

“Will you obey my orders?”

Each time, Winterstrike refused, but her responses grew more hesitant as the hours went on.

The thought of giving up, which had first abhorred, was now as tempting as a mountain of jewels.

The vessel could've been called a ghost ship from first impression. No visible crew, no damage, just assorted human bones strewn across the deck. It was tilted slightly, having been beached along the shoreline of Westfall.

Two farmers looked about the upper deck, the full moon above serving as the only source of light.

“Do ya think it drifted 'ere?” asked one of the farmers.

“Nu-uh. It's too far up the shoreline. Someone guided it here,” replied the second farmer.

“Then where are they?” said the first.

The answer came quickly. A shapely figure suddenly loomed behind them, her blue eyes glowing as brilliantly as the lanterns.

Their screams went unheard in the night.

(To be continued...)



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Images from Left to Right:

Winterstrike, Anath'eia, Coruon, Aelneth, and Khazdumarr

very nice.