Sir Farthof, commander of undeath

Last night was a butchery.

Sir Farthof is one of the youngest nobles under the service of Duke Almoric of Tylemia, together with three other vassals they were to cleanse the Southern Hills and build a fort there. Farthof had a little hope he would be entrusted with command of the new keep, but somehow he doubted he would have been rewarded when he was junior to such valued vassals as Sir Serge or Sir Gastmor.

The knight coughs blood. His wounds were bad. Perhaps he would soon be captured by the elves, and have his wounds threated. Somehow, he doubted it. Elves were uninterested in ransoming prisoners, there was no reason to believe this time it would have been different.

Farthof's mind wandered to the battle the night before. He felt a tingle of magic, but when he stepped outside everything seemed normal. Everything, that is, but the sky. It was as if a volley of arrows was frozen there, forming a deadly celling that would soon, undoubtedly, be unleashed on them. He barely had time to raise the alarm.

The first barricade of arrows was followed by a swift charge of a cavalry coming from nowhere. They weren't many, but the 2 dozen elf riders in their dazzling silver mounts couldnt be stop by any, and their golden spears would eventually be lodged in the chest of many of the finest knights in the human's army.

And then, the sword dancers. Farthof was just starting to muster his men when the elven elite guard took the field. He probably did the finest fighting of his life there, but even if some of his men could match the deadly swords, none were able to resist the magic in their songs. Flashing mithral cut through steel. He himself knocked down one of the elves before he was himself taken down.

The flapping wings of a Pegasus awakens you from your memories. One of the cursed elves... not a warrior, by the looks of her dress. "Fwanor?" She called "Fwanor, where are you, my love?"

Her hair was so fair it almost looked white, and as she came closer her lithe form became more evident in her flimsy dress. The knight looks towards the elf he killed, and smirked at the likelihood this was the "love" of this elven princess. His suspicions were confirmed when the maiden gave a **** whelp of surprise and embraced the gutted elf.

She cried softly and didnt notice as the human started to stir. So many of his men, dead, and they couldnt claim much more than a handful on their side. It was all a travesty. She didnt notice the knight until his towering form crumbled over her, pressing her between the forms of her lover and her lover's killer. One of them still moved.

She was screaming in panic, and that helped Farthof focus. The girl had delicate lips, a thin nose, and sharp, green eyes. Her skin was a pale white, and her bossom looked even larger, pressed against his breastplate. The knight smears blood as he caress her cheek, and she begins to cry when he forcebly shoved his tongue inside her mouth.

Farthof had never experienced such strong desire before. When they broke the kiss he started panting next to her ear,his beard scratching her face.

"I want you to know how beautiful you are..." He starts in a faint voice, there was no way of knowing if she actually understood him "... and I was the one who killed your husband" She did! she started to struggle with vehemence, wailing and trying to scratch his face.

It was futile, the small girl could never hope to overcome him. She was trying to kick him away from her, but the only thing she managed was to allow him an easier time spreading her legs. He only needed one hand to pin her down, the other to free his cock.

The little tramp wasnt tiring. She was begging and cursing in her native tongue, and it all sounded like gibberish to him. What did make sense was his cock at the entrance of her pussy, in his mind he translated it all as begging for him to fuck her mercilessly.

And the bitch was tight. Not only tight, she was squeezing his cock so hard she almost got his cum far ahead in their game. She had stopped cursing, she seemed to be reserving all her strenght to their fight below. Farthof tried to kiss her, but this time it was impossible to make her open her mouth.

The bitch was trying to be quiet, but he was making noise for both of them. He held her legs spread wide, and was humping her with abandon. He could hear her shiver, feel her pain, taste her sorrow...

He had once felt something like that. There was a tramp in his past, a devilworshiper. Sir Farthof met her many years ago, a fair headed girl called Myriam. She involved him in an orgy, and that was the most mystically empowering experience he ever had. Until now... what he experienced before was a mere pitance compared to this. The magic in this elven maiden was...