The Mission Accomplished

For the next few days and nights, Rana and Dana moved to a new sleeping spot after each sunset. Though their senses were sharp enough to detect a careless practitioner of the arcane, there was no surety that they were not still surveilled by the shal’dorei. Or one of her fellows. So, not wishing to exacerbate the budding crisis by leading the Horde forces to the human remnants, they stayed away from the scouting spot the man had told them of before his death. Days turned into a week, to two, where they lived off the land.

One night bled into another, became routine, and to a former immortal, to someone who could look forward to centuries of life, when otherwise not bothered, there was no great pressure to act one evening in favor of the next. They hunted and lived off spider, off crocolisk, off a solitary deer, and several ducks. They piled up rectangular, hollow stone constructions, filled their interior with branches and moss and other soft things, and built a shelter with beds. With a fireplace, which was rarely lit. Only to smoke and preserve meat, not for warmth.

It was the sound of shouts in the distance, of steel against steel, and the telltale screams that came from steel against flesh, that made Rana and Dana break their routine. It was the plume of smoke on the horizon, which burned for a day and a night, that pushed them to dismantle their little comfortable shelter, to scatter the stones and gather what provisions they had. The marsh had reached some sort of boiling point. Something had gone wrong, and it did not matter whether it was the Horde that had been attacked, or the rebel remnants. Little skirmishes overflowed into grander battles, and so, they took the path pointed out to them by the scout, at long last.

Along the way, they again saw smoke on the horizon. They came across the site of a battle – an ambush. Orc and troll and goblin and ogre corpses left to rot, and the markings of where others, humans, had fallen, though their bodies had been removed.

The source of at least one plume of smoke was revealed when Rana and Dana came upon the ruined tower, and its burned out, scattered-about huts. Some, no doubt, had been ruins for long seasons already, gradually absorbed by the land again. But two more were coal-black and ashen-gray. Too pristine. Warm, still, in some places, from the blaze but a night or two ago. There were burned bodies – humans. Spots where blood had been spilled, but nothing and no one remained.

Raiders on both sides were out in force. More than once, as Rana and Dana moved northwards from the ruined tower and the road, following a little stream, they heard, around them, the sounds of others. When they stilled, when they waited, the sounds would sometimes die off as those that made them disappeared, and sometimes grow louder still. Then, a patrol of a few humans might pass by, oblivious to the shadow-clad kaldorei but a few arms lengths from them, or a few orcs and trolls and goblins, and the occasional sin’dorei and tauren, might pass by. No matter who it was that moved past, they were always armed, and armored. Often miserable-looking, but then, marshes did that to many people.

With considerable delay, they made it to the meeting point. Another little hillock in the landscape, rock upthrust, upon which an enormous stone lay. Balanced, seemingly, on its tip, though that tip was the circumference of Rana’s torso. Not some dainty little thing, not easily moved. And, beneath it, in its shadow, four humans rested. Rana and Dana did not, then, approach and appear out of nowhere. With the density of hostile patrols now present in the marsh, such a trick might see them killed, rather than merely surprising their would-be hosts. So, instead, they let the clinging tendrils of shadow slip their bodies, leaning against the trunk of a withered, dead tree some seventy feet from the stone, and its keepers.

“We’re looking for Veraline,” Rana exclaimed. She imbued into her voice a smile, a little mirth, even. To the extent possible, when speaking the human tongue, and loudly.

The reaction was prompt. Each of the humans scrambled to their feet, scattering, drawing arrows from their quivers to point bows in the direction of the voice. Towards Rana, and Dana. One of them lowered their weapon just so, calling out in return.

“Who goes there?”

“Rana,” Rana replied.

“Dana!”

For a moment, the gathered scouts exchanged glances. Rana imagined they might be looking to each other to see if any of them had any idea who those two names belonged to. It turned out that none did.

“Means nothing to us,” the same one, a stocky, red-haired, bearded fellow, said.

“But you can see that we’re night elves, yes?” Rana half-shouted, hoping that no one else was terribly close. “Friends!”

“Alliance hasn’t been a friend to us for years,” he shouted back.

“Can we come closer?” Dana added.

The four, one by one, lowered their bows, clearly having grown tired of keeping the string half pulled back, ready to loose arrows at the two kaldorei. The man who had spoken nodded, then.

“Come on, then,” he said. “But we ain’t friends.”

Rana and Dana approached, consciously allowing their footsteps to be audible to the four. Stepping into thick mud, which gave a sharp, wet sound when it released its grip of their boots. Better to seem like less of a threat to the four, it seemed. All four had lowered their weapons entirely, but still sent wary looks at the twin, towering elves, who had appeared out of nowhere.

“First thing,” Dana said, before they had come to a stop some ten feet from the four scouts, who had once more bunched up. “We are not with the Alliance.”

“We’re kaldorei. We represent our kind, not Stormwind, or Ironforge, or anything like it. And this is our home,” Rana said. She gestured to the land around them.

“This is your home?”

“Not this marsh, specifically,” Dana said at the scout’s question. “The continent. Kalimdor.”

“And we care a great deal about what happens on it,” Rana said. “We care a great deal about the people on it, and their safety. As we have for millennia. We don’t just abandon our friends.”

One of the scouts, a brown-haired, mud-flecked woman of middle age, glanced to her comrades and then spoke up. “Since when are we friends? We’ve never seen one of you here – not since they destroyed Theramore.”

“We’re here to extend the hand of friendship,” Rana said, offering a slight, acknowledging smile at the woman’s counter. “That’s why we want to speak to Veraline. One of your comrades sent us here, told us where to find you.”

“Speaking of,” the first man said, then. “Where’s Soren?”

“A shal’dorei mage discovered him. Killed him,” Dana said, matter-of-factly. “There was nothing we could do to save him, cruel fate as it was. She used magic, some sort of collar made of energy, to stop him breathing.”

“Knife-eared—” he halted, then. Did not look away, but rather stared first at Dana, and then Rana. He tried again. “Wine-swilling bastards.”

“Some of the jewelry they adorn their ears with does look like knives,” Rana added, helpfully. The scouts, thankfully, smiled in return. Relaxed a little.

“Fine,” said the first man. “We’re waiting until it’s dark, picking up any stragglers that might still make it, and then we set out for the camp. You’ll either find Vera there, or someone who’ll know where she is. That good enough for you?”

Rana and Dana both nodded, and then settled in. They reiterated their introductions, this time without yelling, and each of the four humans did likewise. Little else was said, everyone aware of the need for silence – particularly after the unforgivable shouting. If anyone had picked up their location based on that, best not to give them any further clues as to where to go. The quiet was, at least, relatively comfortable. The buzzing song of frogs and insects almost lulling one to sleep, were it not for the little gnats that seemed to make their home around the large stone, harassing each human and elf. And, just as those little things seemed to have understood not to go near any of those gathered, a cicada started up its sawing, endless, grinding warble. Thankfully, as the time grew late, as darkness descended and enveloped them, it went to sleep.

A final, ragged scout joined the other four shortly before midnight. An unfortunate woman who seemed already exhausted, and yet was then pushed into spending most of the night walking along in the sopping wet undergrowth behind her fellows. Behind Rana and Dana, too, who, likely out of caution from the scouts, had been placed centrally. So that they did not lead and chart the path, but could still be watched and, if need be, attacked from behind. There was no attack from behind, however, nor any nearby fights or patrols. Far to the south, a little pillar of starry sky was blotted out by rising smoke of a rather grander magnitude than what a mere campfire could produce, but they moved away from it.

Nocturnal creatures, Rana and Dana had little trouble moving through the marsh with their human companions, but it seemed the five were making a real sacrifice by moving at night. They yawned, and stumbled more than once, clearly made less competent by exhaustion. Eventually, though, as the sky lightened into a rich, porcelain-frail blue, the darkness fleeing into a thousand different shadows, the group arrived at a wall of stakes, sharpened on one end, driven into the mushy ground to point outwards. They halted, there, and one of them went in. He returned a minute later, taking them all with him, weaving through the spikes, there apparently being no gate. But then, there was no path to the place, either. It was, for all intents and purposes, as if a little wooden hedgehog had sprouted in the deep marsh.

“Vera isn’t here, but you can wait in the captain’s tent,” said the man, the one Rana and Dana, both, had come to believe was the leader of the little band. He indicated the one structure in the camp, a circular, raised wooden platform, upon which was a tent which reminded Rana of something she had once seen on Pandaria. A yurt? The ones she recalled from the far south had been rather luxurious, and quite pretty. The one before her then was stained with mud, and if it had once been a color not grayish brown, it had forgotten what even the notion of that ancestral glory was. Still, it was grand enough that, except near the walls, a night elf might actually be able to stand at her full height within it. It looked dry.

“Thank you,” Dana said. “I am sorry for your friend.”

“We’ll drink to him tonight. Join us, if you please.”

Rana and Dana both nodded, and then headed for the yurt’s closed flaps. Rana admitted to herself that, after over two weeks in the marsh, she was eager to spend just a little time indoors, not in direct contact with the eternally wet ground, not bothered by hanging vines, or insects eager for blood. Dana seemed equally motivated to get into the yurt, in that moment, even if their target, Veraline, was not present.

They entered into a different climate. Early morning or no, inside the thick walls of the yurt, light and heat could more easily be contained without giving its position away. So, positioned along the circular wall, between sections dedicated to this or that part of sedentary life – large bed, cooking area, an area for tools and working wood – were candles. Some low quality tallow, melting almost before they were lit, others of higher quality. Wax, most likely. Not that what they were made of mattered, as such, but the pleasant, orange light, divorced from the constant coastal winds outside, made everything warm and welcoming and comfortable within. Furniture that might have seemed spartan in other places grew, in the yurt, into royal works of art, suitable for long admiration or luxuriating upon.

In the center of the yurt was a large table, easily as long as Rana was tall, if not a little longer. And half that the other way. Upon it were strewn scrabbled notes, maps principally of the marsh and its regions, but also a much simpler one of the known world, as well as one of all kalimdor. Upon which Dustwallow Marsh was on the eastern coast of the long, north-south stretch of the whole landmass. Leaned not over the table, but with her butt against its edge, was a young woman. Not much different than any of the scouts or others outside, save that she was clean. Not marked by weeks out in the marshy wetlands. Armored, rather than clad in padded cloth and leather, with faded lion embossed on her breastplate. She bore a knife, and a sword, both in scabbards, and a shield on her back. A guard, most likely. A fine-looking one, with slow-curling, chestnut-brown hair spilling past her shoulders.

Rana and Dana offered the guard a look as they took a few steps into the warmth of the yurt’s interior, stretching to stand at their full height once clear of the sloping ceiling fabric.

“Rana,” Rana said, in the guard’s direction.

“Dana.”

The guard did not respond, though she did acknowledge them with a nod.

Rana looked around, and found chairs scattered at the central table, on the opposite side of it from where the guard leaned. The human’s arms were loosely crossed over her chest, and she offered an unconcerned shrug when Rana looked from the chairs to her, and then to the chairs again. A non-verbal indication that she did not care in the slightest if the kaldorei sat down. So, after a moment and a light tap on Dana’s left forearm, the two elves went to make themselves comfortable in the armless wooden chairs, a cushion placed atop each for some minor comfort.

To the extent that they could, they made themselves comfortable. The chairs were too small, made for humans, but the lack of arms meant, at least, that anyone of larger dimensions did not have to squeeze into far too small a seat. The chairs creaked dangerously beneath both statuesque, chiseled elves, but continued their fight for survival for a while longer. They survived first Rana, and then Dana extending their legs, exhaling in slow sighs, and closing their eyes. It was early morning, and so, closing in one when they would normally sleep. But, instead, they sat in the command tent, waiting, alongside a guard who seemed not to care very much about their presence, or really anything.

Minutes passed in silence. Rana and Dana shared only a few words of Darnassian between themselves, no more than idly wondering if they should find a place to sleep, or continue waiting. Only when Dana pulled her legs in and seemed to get ready to stand did the guard, who seemed focused either on resting, or on steadily watching the closed tent flaps, react.

“What do you want?”

“We’re here to speak to Veraline,” Rana said. She breathed in, struggling for a moment to keep her eyes open. Coughed once, and then righted herself in the chair. “Haven’t you been told that already? Didn’t the scout come in here when we came to the camp?”

“He did,” said the guard. She continued not to really look at them, body and head faced away, though she did turn towards them just a little. “Lots of people want to speak to her. Many of them are just trying to get near her, so they can sink a blade into her gut.”

“We are here to do something like the opposite,” Dana said. She stretched lazily, unhurried. “We wish for her leadership to be a stable, lasting thing.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that,” said the guard, dismissively. “But she ain’t here.”

“When will she be here?” Dana asked.

“Could be a while. A few hours. A day and a night. Who knows.”

Rana exhaled another sigh, though her inattentiveness, her tiredness, had momentarily retreated. Hungry eyes traveled over the human guard’s body – she wore armor, but much of it was ceremonial, made to look impressive, made to be beautiful, and less functional and protective. She wore a breastplate, but only rough, relatively tight-fitting trousers. They emphasized the full curve of her butt, which she seemed insistent on resting on the table. Almost as if it was being presented. Rana tried to think back to when they had entered the tent – had the guard settled on the table that way as they entered? Had she, for the last many minutes, actually been unsubtly presenting herself to the twin kaldorei?

It was impossible to be modest or inconspicuous about both of their conditions. Among species who could not easily see at night, and with enough convenient shadow to assist, it might not be immediately obvious that both of them were as copiously, monstrously blessed as they were, but it would have been clear the moment they stepped into the warm, continuous light of the yurt’s insides. They had not – Rana had not, at least – in those moments kept track of the guard’s eyes, but they could easily, hungrily have flickered to the hefty, wide outlines in each kaldorei’s pants. Sights which could not really be contained, but also not ones they had deliberately emphasized, in those moments, keeping such overt manipulations for when they actually found the commander. Captain. Whatever she was. Veraline.

The leader of the rebels not being present, and not about to any time soon, though, Rana’s mind wandered in a certain direction. They had had no intimate company for weeks, and though she was perfectly capable of controlling herself, indulging with someone interested was hardly a sin, or a distraction, now that they knew they had time. She looked to the side, to Dana, who seemed to have been quietly, with half-lidded eyes, observing the guard for much longer than Rana had. They caught each other’s attention, breathing in, in tandem. Communicating without words.

So, to test whether she had merely imagined what the guard’s posture told her or not, Rana stood. The chair creaked a sigh of relief as she took the weight of muscle off of it, its ailing dirge filling the interior of the yurt for only a moment. It was soon forgotten, attention instead focused on her as she moved over to stand before the guard, a few steps away. Blocking the sight line to the opening, which the small human had been keeping watch on – ostensibly. Whether she had been keeping watch, or propping up her peachy, firm butt, remained an open question for only a moment longer, though, her soft, brown eyes raised calmly to meet Rana’s luminous gaze. Both were steady, allowing seconds to drift by without any indication that they might waver.

Only when Rana allowed her eyes to drift down the human’s form did that change. Shapely, but firm. Some of her hidden behind the breastplate, but even that curving piece of metal could not entirely hide the pleasing arch of a well-kept, full body beneath. The woman’s trousers clung to her skin just a little too tightly for it to be comfortable, and so, the conclusion remaining was that it was to show off, instead. And, indeed, when Rana allowed her slow, indulgent gaze to travel back up to the guard’s face, she saw eyes lingering on her muscled core, on chiseled physique, then, accompanied by a little snap of breath, by lips parted, on that inevitable, obscene bulge that ran down one of her thighs. Many might spot it and wrinkle their nose in disgust, but the guard did not. Her eyes devoured the colossus, imprisoned as it remained in Rana’s pants.

“What’s your name?” Rana posed the question to the guard, jerking her out of indulgent admiration.

“Irrelevant,” the woman said, not even a hint of coloring to her cheeks.

She was unashamed about having been caught in the act of admiring Rana’s physique, her voice calm, controlled, as if she were used to commanding a whole room’s attention. Not a mere guard. Rana lowered her brow just so, a small action, contemplating only a moment before following instinct, raising her right hand, fingers curled, to settle below the human’s chin. Curled up, index and middle finger urged the woman’s head up, though it was sufficiently raised to allow them to see eye to eye. The point was not a correction of an angle, but the physical touch. To experience it, to see if it was pleasant. To see if the woman would reject it.

The guard did not sink, suddenly and wholly, into that gesture. But, neither did she shrink from it, or brush it off. She steadily looked up at Rana, arms still crossed. Those brown eyes did not jitter and stray anywhere, did not steal extra looks at Rana’s physique, or the long, fat bulge in her trousers.

“Irrelevant,” Rana said. “A poor answer.”

Dana, while the other two had been occupied by staring into one-another’s eyes, while the guard had hungrily devoured Rana’s physique, had stood. Beneath her, the other chair sang a dirge similar to the one liberated from Rana’s presence, but the others did not turn to look. Did not react. So, she was free to walk up to the table, to settle against it, right next to the comparatively diminutive human woman. Really, she was not small for one of their kind, but it was difficult to think of her in other terms when one had to look so far down. Rana and Dana, both, were seven and a half feet, give or take. The guard was five and a half, most likely. She might be a little more, too, which would make her rather tall for her kind. But still not tall enough that she reached either of their shoulders.

Thus, when Dana leaned against the table next to the guard, and when Rana took a step closer, it was easy to see how she might disappear between the two, should they get any more intimate. It was easy to imagine how she could be held terribly fast by but one of them, arms enveloping the small human’s torso, keeping her in place. At the right angle.

“If it is irrelevant,” Dana said, scooching just a little closer, until her hip bumped against the guard’s, “perhaps we can spend our time together in greater comfort.”

“I’m not sure,” the woman said, her gaze still locked on Rana, though her chest raised and fell visibly, more rapidly. “I’m not sure… spending time with the two of you’ll ever quite be comfortable.”

Dana snaked her left arm around the guard, her hand, fingers splayed, settling against the small of her back for just a second. Long enough to feel her lean against it, rather than away from it. Fingers curled around the woman’s left flank and, a moment later, Dana’s right hand found a similar hold around the right. She lifted the guard both forward and up, slipping in behind her, such that, when she was settled down once more, it was to sit somewhat awkwardly, at an angle, against the massively thick bulge in Dana’s trousers.

Sitting atop a kaldorei, someone of either of the two sentinels’ stature turned out to be rather uncomfortable, and so, after a few moments of shifting, the two instead stood, Dana’s hands loosely draped around the human’s waist. Fingers spread, resting pleasantly against the hard, but body-temperature metal of the breastplate. As they stood, rather than sat, Rana took a step closer, her and Dana really very, very close. Squashed together more so than they would be in any other situation. So close that, between them, the guard was stuck. No longer able to maintain some measure of dignity, despite the fingers beneath her chin, or being sat atop monstrous cock. Rather, then, she was squeezed between muscled bodies. Between those colossal, languidly pulsing shafts.

Rana moved her right hand from the guard’s chin, between her and Dana’s slightly squashing chests, to slip into the human woman’s brown locks. A firm hold dug in at the back of her scalp allowed control without the thousand pinprick pain of a less experienced grasp, and so, Rana directed the guard’s face to mash against her abs. Grinding slowly, meticulously, without crushing strength, but without any pause, either. When she stilled, the deep gasps from below became apparent, and so, she shared a smile with Dana, who asked the question again.

“What is your name?”

“It’s… Vera,” the woman said, after a while. She had abandoned her firm posture, instead letting herself be supported by the continued pressure of the twin kaldorei, on behind, one in front. As undignified as it might be to have her face ground against hard muscle, she seemed to have relaxed into it, shoulders sunken an inch, breathing strained only as her nose was squashed against Rana.

“Veraline?”

“Yes,” she said, after a long moment.

“Could’ve just said that to start with,” Rana said. She leaned back slightly, offering an inch of free space to Veraline’s now considerably less pristine face.

“The scouts said you were involved with a death of one of theirs,” Veraline said. “And can hardly blame us for being careful, can you?”

Rana used the hold of Veraline’s hair to tilt the woman’s head backwards another inch, and then settled the thumb of her left hand against soft, pale red lips. For just a moment, that thumb remained in place, still, only to be bent and slipped in-between, pushing past already parted teeth that allowed it entry.

“I think,” Rana said, “that you’re worried about many things, normally. But you didn’t decide to sit here, ass on display, because you wanted to be sure we were friendly. You want us for something else, something not to do with all the people you command. The rivals you struggle with.”

Dana moved a little closer as her sister finished speaking. Not that there was any free space remaining, and so, Veraline was the one to suffer, crushed and compressed all the harder between the two immovable kaldorei. A strained breath escaped the rebel commander’s occupied mouth, her eyes straying up, and to the side, as Dana leaned down to speak in her ear. A quiet, confident tone.

“I think you want to be fucked. You want something you can’t have. Something no one around here can give you.”

Vera exhaled again, but did not try to speak around the thumb still between her lips.

“You are tired of being the one in charge, the dignified, who rises above,” Dana continued. “Nod, Commander.”

With a long moment’s hesitation, Vera nodded. Though the three of them were in a compromising position already, as long as no one actually entered the command tent, their quiet words would be extremely unlikely to be heard outside. Certainly without magical aid. That, Rana imagined, was what held her back. Maintaining position in the eyes of the other rebels. The potential for throwing away everything she had worked for, all the likely machinations carried out in order to ascend to command. A single, errant eye, spotting her caught between two insistent, massively endowed kaldorei, might be her undoing. But no one came. No one guarded the entrance, even.

Rana pressed her thumb deeper into Vera’s mouth, depressing the small human’s tongue with it, such that she could not answer with a single comprehensible word, even had she wanted to. “You’ve ensured we won’t be interrupted, haven’t you, Commander?”

At that, Vera nodded. She looked up at Rana, eyes unwavering, even if the steady, even-keeled calm was gone. It was not the Commander, always in control, always projecting strength in order to keep those around them under her thumb, who looked up. It was a woman who wished for something. Who strained only as appropriate in her position between the two sentinels, but no more. And no less. Played her role, that of the helpless prey, who nevertheless desired to be in precisely the trap she had been put into.

“There is some need to be quiet,” Dana said. Not to Vera, but to Rana, who nodded.

“I’m not sure we’ll accomplish quiet, exactly,” Rana said. “But we can make sure the Commander won’t be heard begging for more.”

Dana worked her hands around Vera once again, around clothes, and armor, and the trembling, occasional complete relaxation of surrender, straining now and then to rise back into some measure of control, yet failing. Strong hands descended, curling for a moment around firm thighs, then backwards. When Rana stepped back to allow a little more room, then, Dana’s grip curled around Vera’s thighs, and butt, lifting her feet off the floor, breaking the measure of control that both elves understood many never really thought about, but experienced keenly when it was taken away. Without contact with the ground, with legs kept in a firm grip, there was really very little she might do to squirm her way free, should she want to, the little human. She could rip and tear with nails, and punch, and bite, of course, but could not really leave.

That vulnerability seemed both terribly obvious, biting, and yet something sought out. Veraline breathed in, audibly, and yet, after a moment, leaned back against Dana. Allowed herself to be carried to the long edge of the central table, and then to be eased down upon it. With Dana’s aid, and with Rana – who had walked to the opposite side of the table – Vera turned upon the surface to lie on her back. Her head hanging over one edge, lips presented near the base of Rana’s behemoth shaft, while the Commander’s legs were lifted up, her butt resting just barely on the other edge. Where, her thighs parted, Dana could step in to press down the hilt of her massively thick dick.

Settled between the two kaldorei, Vera breathed heavily, back arched just so, hands raised to bend and push fingers delicately against Rana’s thighs, little depressions forming in trouser-clad muscle, as if the girl imagined she could control what was to come.

Dana looked to Rana, the two coming to a quiet accord. Remaining in place, they instead set to work on undoing clasps and buckles from Vera, removing the partly ceremonial armor bit by bit, until little save a loose shirt remained, and the loose, supportive binding of her chest beneath. Perhaps so as to emphasize her desire, while the two kaldorei worked to free the Commander of her armor, the woman’s trembling fingers had worked to free Rana of her belt, though not terribly successfully. The buckle was undone only by the time Vera’s breastplate had been removed, and when, at last, she laid in only tight-fitting pants and a pale, beige shirt with two of its four wooden buttons undone, she had just barely managed to pull the belt open. Had not yet forced any of the straining buttons of Rana’s trousers open.

As if to steady the Commander’s efforts, Rana leaned forward over her, shifting just an inch or two closer, her hands finding purchase around the woman’s waist. It was not, in that moment, clear why Vera needed steadying, but neither did she complain as she breathed incoherent curses, her fingers refusing to cooperate. What her mind evidently desired, her body still seemed anxious about, though she did work one button open, starting on the next by the time Dana had begun undoing the small human’s belt, and tugging her pants down. Not quite with the same frantic energy, but ultimately faster, more efficiently, as she worked at a steady pace to reveal thighs that rarely saw sunlight. The few, hard pulls seemed to be why Rana had decided to secure the Commander against the table, and soon, she was naked from the waist down. While Vera opened the final button of Rana’s trousers, Dana saw to the twins remaining, keeping that shirt in place. Undoing one, then the other.

There remained only a final act, as neither Rana nor Dana appeared about to remove anywhere near as much clothing and armor as they had helped Vera out of. Dana took a step back, practiced hands undoing her belt and opening her pants, pushing them halfway down her densely muscled thighs. With Vera’s inexpert, still trembling fingers as help, Rana wriggled hers down far enough that the huge, fat shaft came into view – its base, and a few of those thickest inches at its hilt, at first. Releasing the Commander’s waist, Rana dug in and lifted from her trousers that behemoth, heavy, churning balls spilling forth behind and beneath it. When she leaned forward again, Vera’s fingers having once more found a slightly shaky rest against her thighs, she exhaled as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. In truth, she had merely, carefully, settled her nuts against the girl’s facial features.

Without the slightly arching, slowly squirming woman’s face to settle against, Dana had been rather less languid than her sentinel sister. Pulling that rhythmically pumping, fattening monster from her trousers, holding it aloft with one hand as she stepped back up, closer to the table, her thighs pushing Vera’s legs apart, until Dana could let the vast weight go, that tree-trunk cock slipping, falling, hammering down against the Commander’s firm stomach with a smack. Smoothly-veined, colossally fat dick reddening the woman’s pale skin where it had impacted, its slow growth promising obscenity, if not the impossible being made possible, as it slowly pounded, pulsed to its full might. Much more, surely, than the girl could possibly take, as evidenced by the heavy promise made by its presence up her front.

Rana showed some restraint, rather more gentle than her sentinel sister, in easing her monster of a cock down to rest against Vera’s body. From chin, across woefully inadequate throat, down past collarbone. The two kaldorei, if they thrust at the same time, and if the girl compressed just a little between them, as she might, could just barely meet in the middle, should they so choose.

The diplomatic meeting’s opening remained silent for a while longer, Rana allowing the girl to pour a continuous stream of devotional kisses onto those fat, churning nuts, otherwise resting in place. Dana seemed rather more impatient, shifting, moving closer, that wide cumvein slowly lifting from Vera’s skin as she hardened into steel, and yet kept grinding forward, the base of that monster, as well as her balls, pushing against Vera’s cunt. So they remained, moving just slightly back and forth, Rana’s one hand loosely resting at the Commander’s throat, the other about one side of that massive cockshaft, while Dana’s hands secured a grip of the girl’s waist. Something inescapable, which would not allow her to begin slipping away when either of the sentinels began thrusting in earnest.

It was Dana who made the first move, at long last. Withdrawing, taking a step backwards, she loosened her grip of Vera’s waist with one hand to instead use that hand to push down her rhythmically throbbing, steely shaft. Without a word, the girl understood quickly what was to come, angling her hips back as best she could, in order to present her ass better to the towering sentinel. A single, strained, audible breath could be heard against Rana’s nuts as Dana pressed that massive cock-crown up against Vera’s ass. Positioned herself, without applying any real pressure, and nevertheless drove that sound from the girl, the absurd girth seeming to seek an impossible marriage between tight, petite human and comparatively massive kaldorei. Steady, faint forward motion began to make a place for that behemoth, cheeks shaping, molding, a widening, straining crater building as that enormous cockhead moved forward, just so. Grinding in only so that the first, fat bead of cum broke directly against Vera’s entrance, eliciting another strenuous sigh.

Dana allowed the girl several long moments to acclimatize, to the extent that such a thing was even possible, before she pushed forward once again. Increased the pressure slowly, but inexorably, forcing from Vera a longer, more conflicted string of breaths, each one just a little more desperate than the previous, each one thankfully still muffled by Rana’s diligent efforts, so that no one else in the camp might guess that their Commander was in the initial stages of being cored out, utterly filled with colossal kaldorei cock.

Perhaps half an inch of that monster had slipped forward, Vera’s ass clenching, and yet ever managing to widen a little more at the physical, undeniable command of Dana’s grinding insistence. The girl allowed out a long, ailing sound of strain, one that was not allowed to spill into a second, as she had apparently abandoned her worship of Rana’s weighty nuts.

“Continue,” Rana said, the fingers around Vera’s throat tightening just so.

And so, even as she squirmed, as she fought to relax, as her comparatively small form seemed to have to expand merely to encompass Dana, Vera’s tongue could once again be felt attending to Rana’s balls, halting kisses interrupted only briefly. And then for a longer, straining moment, as that colossal cockhead slipped, at last, an inch in. And then a second, and a third, the girl’s ass finally halting as it clamped down around and just behind the ridge of that mammoth crown, her stomach having grown a considerable bump. Merely the beginning.

Her sister having caved in the Commander’s ass, and then taking a momentary rest so as to allow the woman to adjust, to try to ease into a life in which her ass could swallow up so mammoth a cockshaft, Rana withdrew a step. Divorcing, at last, her weighty nuts from Vera’s face, and lips, and tongue, in favor of letting the back of that huge, fat dick slip and smack against the Commander’s face as it moved down, smoothly-veined, warm skin never resting in any one place. Not until the languidly pulsing head found its place, a steady pounding-forth of drops of seed allowing Vera’s lips to be painted with it, to soak in it.

There was no time for the little human to ease into anything, just then. Rana offered no such time, instead leaning forward. Pushing those soft lips apart at a steady pace, growing from a prim kiss into gaping wide, and then wider still for each heartbeat passing. A strained, high-pitched sound came from Vera, a breath from her nose spilling up underneath Rana’s behemoth, the back of the Commander’s head bumping against the edge of the table so slowly, prompted by that grinding forward pressure, not a thrust, that it did not make a sound. Braced against it, then. There was no longer any escape. Maw opened little by little, ailing, aching rhythmic bursts of breath escaping through Vera’s nose as Rana’s steady strength crammed that colossal cockhead into the girl’s mouth. A single, light thrust, she allowed herself, just enough to sate the first pangs of the thing within that ever demanded more. Harder. Deeper.

With a low grunt, Rana pushed a little further into Vera’s mouth, and then further still. Conquering her tongue, so that it could only remain at the bottom of her mouth, curling just so around the massively thick invader. Rising over and over, beaten down just the same, as Rana increasingly towered over Vera. Crushing strength applied, brutally fitting fat dick into the girl’s mouth until the head came to block her throat, and then to press into it, to the tune of a most undignified, but thankfully relatively quiet sound. Glrk. A spattering cough, which ultimately relaxed Vera’s throat enough that Rana could push an inch, and then two inches of behemoth cock into it, beginning to manifest the rising bulge which Dana had created on the Commander’s stomach.

Each sentinel having secured their place, and with some urgency, all those days and nights alone in the marsh pushing them to make the most of the tryst which might, after all, still end at any moment. Should someone outside the tent decide to have the brilliant idea of peering inside to figure out why all they could hear from their Commander and her two guests were occasional, smacking, straining sounds. Hard breaths.

“Good… girl,” Dana said.

Each word accompanied the beginning of renewed efforts at hammering that massively thick shaft into Vera’s tight, clenching ass, punctuating one thrust each. Two inches of that monster pounded in, and then a moment to rest, to complement the squirming woman, her silent, only occasionally tensing, flexing body revealing the effort it took to contain but a fraction of the night elven blessing she had decided to indulge in.

In those moments where Dana rested, where she spoke praise of Vera’s efforts, Rana did not allow her any rest. When Dana came to a stop, Rana thrust into the girl’s face, and throat, burying lazily pumping inches of that hefty beast, never quite granting the Commander a moment’s respite. Never allowing any recovery, any moment to find equilibrium – they always sought to overwhelm, regardless of who their lucky partner was, and this one was no different. The little human’s senses had to be pacified, smacked, fucked into a sated, nearly sedated state, during which she was all the more receptive to having the pleasure granted by the twin sentinels impressed more permanently on her mind. So, as Dana pounded that wide cockbulge up Vera’s belly, Rana hammered one quite similar into being as the girl’s throat swelled around the monstrous invader.

Rana and Dana settled, then, into a steady, demanding pace, an unceasing, merciless movement that ensured that not a single moment passed without the girl having another inch of mammoth cock settled into her petite body. Hands around her hips, hands around her chest, yet the strength of neither were enough to keep her still, so that she rolled back and forth across the surface of the table. Down towards Dana, another half an inch of massive, fat dick pushed into her ass, in response to Rana’s thrust. The same, in reverse, when Dana reached the extent of one grinding, ramming thrust – Dana laid a hammerblow into Vera, both conquering another few inches, that fat bulge slipping up further, and securing for her sentinel sister a firmer, deeper seat in the girl’s throat.

They carried on that way – one thrust, another, yet another thrust, unceasing – for over half a minute, those tree-trunk, fat inches finding an ever deeper home, until little remained. There was no ceremony, however, no change of pace, nothing but more merciless, steady thrusts that hammered one more inch into Vera’s throat, one more into her ass, again, and again, those final, most difficult movements given no more special treatment than a simple caress of her cheek. She was expected to take it without pause, and so she did, though her fingers pressed ever harder against Rana’s thighs. Spittle ran from her overstretched lips, up into her nose, across her eyes, which she closed. Up into her hair, where the rivulets might have made it a mess, too, had Rana not mercifully slam-fucked in another inch, her balls smacking against Vera’s delicate facial features, immediately breaking up the established flows of saliva to instead establish closer connections, cables of spit straining between those heavy nuts and the Commander’s face. Broken, then, when another thrust plowed into her, and then another, from below.

A final, hard, unified movement from both Rana and Dana saw them both bottom out, not with a hard, victorious smack, but with straining, growling effort, slipping, sliding that final, fattest inch of huge cock into the girl. Legs twitching, throat convulsing, bulging, straining form shaking, squirming here and there. Tensing, then, seeming to expect a withdrawing, and another thrust, but it did not come. Instead, breathing heavily, so much so that it was bound to be audible through the walls of the tent, both Rana and Dana maintained their utter, complete, crushing conquest, holding themselves in to the fat base of those monsters, as if to demonstrate to Vera just what she had accomplished.

For long moments, uncountable, both kaldorei held themselves in place. Chests rising and falling, never quite seeming to find peace, to find equilibrium, each sentinel’s heartbeat reflected in slow, cruel, rhythmic throbs of those monstrously fat shafts. Locked in place, almost, one might think, as neither gave an inch, time passing until half a minute had rolled by without a single moment of reprieve for Vera. It was Dana who moved first, dragging that crushingly thick cockshaft backwards but a few inches, only to ram it in again, to the very hilt. She held herself in, clothing and muscle pressed against the Commander’s straining ass, ensuring that the fat cockbulge upon the girl’s stomach stood out as proudly as possible. Dana repeated this once, twice, thrice, and then settled again.

Rana withdrew, then, a handful of inches, prompting Vera to reflexively sputter and cough around that behemoth, unable to draw in breath, her throat muscles nevertheless continually flexing, trying with bio-mechanical, endless hope to clear the invading obstacle. It succeeded only in renewing the clinging, thick mass of saliva that connected her to Rana, drawn out into slowly drooping, sluggish ropes when the sentinel pulled back, broken and smeared into a sticky coating when muscle smacked once more against Vera’s face. Near flattening her nose, settling the back of her head more firmly against the edge of the table.

A handful of times, Rana thrust back and forth alone, and then, Dana joined her. Together, they bottomed out at the same moment, each time, so as to cement the staggering, overwhelming experience in Vera’s mind, in the core of her psyche. Already, the girl twitched around those twin monsters, squirming what little she could, fingers spread, pressing against Rana’s thighs feebly, but with slowly increasing need.

For a while, then – tens, if not a hundred hard, rhythmic thrusts – Rana and Dana pounded into the very depths of the most dignified, respected Commander, bottoming out, with hard breaths exhaled, the attempts at muffling the crude union of the three evidently no longer important, as both sentinels seemed unconcerned with the sounds of skin smacking against skin. But even then, no one came to check on Vera, not as half a minute turned into a minute, and then into two, the twin kaldorei rocking back and forth with almost frightening regularity, having both made a home for themselves in the comparatively petite human’s flexing, shaking body. There was an inevitable end, however, and for all their ruthless, plowing thrusts, Rana and Dana did not ignore it when it came.

Vera’s fingers angled just so, nails finally leveled against Rana’s bare skin, beginning to dig in. More and more, seemingly prompted by each hard, plowing thrust, as if the dam had been broken, control lost, each moment the facefucking continued, the challenge of it built upon itself, rose faster and faster. And so, some quiet look shared, nonverbal communication between the two sentinels having passed, Dana hammered one brutal thrust into Vera’s ass, settling against the girl’s skin, and remained in place. Rana, instead, pulled back. Not to thrust in again, though there was a well-known weakness to her in these moments, one Dana had seen uncountable times – she did not just withdraw, but instead allowed some feral urge to draw matters out. She continued to thrust, but for every four, five inches she pulled back, she ground two back in. Not uncaring for Vera’s shaking arms, the continual spittle-splattering coughs of effort, merely unable to induce herself to free the girl’s throat in a single, great move.

Nevertheless, Rana did eventually withdraw far enough that Vera’s throat was cleared, and so, she sucked in a hurried, desperate gasp of air, and then exhaled part of one. The Commander proceeded, then, to cough and gasp wetly, and violently, and not at all discreetly – the earlier quiet abandoned not out of some conscious decision, but because her body demanded to be fed the air it needed, which she had indulged in denying it. Even so, as wretched as she was for long moments, she was always granted the blessing of Elune, Rana’s heavy, languidly pulsing monster, resting against one side of her face. A clear signal that nothing was over, could be over, until the two sentinels had found the pleasure they came seeking.

Vera did not stop to speak, to invite Rana in again, but neither did she turn the elves away. She struggled constantly, it seemed, simply with the obscene pressure of Dana solidly, steadily buried in her ass, and so, finding no words, eventually, the Commander simply leaned her head down again, so that the back of it rested against the table once more, and opened her mouth. No more invitation was possible, or needed.

Dana remained steadfast, and still, allowing Rana to re-secure her hold of Vera, and then to press that behemoth back into the girl’s mouth, forcing more bubbly beads of spittle from her lips, from around that massive girth, tongue once more rising to greet it as it passed, with staccato, pounding thrusts, into her maw. Into her throat.

With but six, crushing thrusts, Rana had secured her place again, the final inch of that monster cock slowly, inexorably settling into Vera’s throat as the sentinel leaned forward. Bottomed out again, however, neither she nor Dana seemed to feel the need to assert their physical dominance in the same way again, and so, they instead began that same, hard pace. Each sentinel pulling out, and slam-fucking back in at near exactly the same moment. With mechanical, pistoning precision, they fucked the petite human, only dimly aware of the effect they were having. Vera’s throat creating some desperate, constricted noise, her body, already overtaxed in containing those behemoths, locking down yet further. First in a long flex of muscle, and then in rhythmic, hard, needy bursts of effort, each one seeming as much to reward as to punish her with pleasure, egged on and yet suppressed, also, for each of those brutal thrusts plowing into her.

Unceasing, unending, Rana and Dana continued, without a moment’s mercy for the girl, clearly reeling, now, not only from the obscene girth of each sentinel, but from the after-effects of orgasm which never quite settled. Was never allowed to settle, each thrust rammed into her feeding, fanning the flames. No longer were the fingers resting gently against Rana’s densely-muscled thighs entirely a message about how much Vera needed to breathe, but just as much, through their trembling, a measure of how close she was to being pounded into another hard, conquering climax. Slowly, but surely.

Through conscious effort, Dana separated her rhythm from Rana’s, halting for two seconds as her sentinel sister laid a punishing, full thrust into Vera’s face, the hard smack of firm muscle and much-abused face meeting resounding in the tent. All subtlety abandoned without a thought. More so, then, when Dana slam-fucked every single, colossal inch of herself into the girl’s ass, trembling thighs, convulsing tightness grasping for her, settling around the very base of that behemoth. Greedily locking it in place. Just as Rana pulled back, as the memory of the previous, brutal collision between the two faded, the meeting of Dana’s sculpted form impacting Vera’s straining, aching body added to the soundscape, momentarily drowning out the growling, needy breaths from both sentinels. They fought to hilt in the petite Commander, but equally, it seemed, they fought to maintain steady breathing. To maintain that steady pace of thrusts. One hammering in to the base, pushing Vera up just so, in order to meet the other’s oncoming, plowing effort.

Around Rana, Vera had begun to sputter again, thick, bubbly spittle running so copiously that it could not all be trapped between the two, much of it infiltrating her hair, and, as time wore on and those locks became soaked, beginning to droop of the tips of those strands down to the worn carpet beneath the table. In spite of this, the Commander did not yet tap desperate fingers against the sentinel’s thighs, nor did she dig in nails. Her throat, bulging obscenely around that ever-pounding, fat beast of a cock, worked eternal to try to clear the obstruction, but found little success. Only ever more futile work.

Both sentinels, already ruthless in their thrusts, seemed to tip over into something more primal, slightly less regimented. A rhythm always on the cusp of breaking. Nearing some conclusion, the one sought by both, by all involved, and yet, when Vera’s body clamped down, flexing, tensing steadily, when her toes curled, when her throat produced aching, surrendering, choked sounds, Rana and Dana ceased. Pushed in, held themselves in, bottomed out, allowing the Commander to ride out another orgasm without the constant egging on of pistoning thrusts. Allowed her the experience of complete and utter fullness, her ass and throat and stomach swelling, bulging with tree-trunk kaldorei cock, upon which she squirmed, and came.

Mercifully, even as Vera still shuddered, as echoes came and went with varying strength, Rana still began that same progress of withdrawal. Four inches pulled back out, only to press two back in, savoring, it seemed, specifically those near-panicked moments where Vera’s fingers tapped frantically against her thighs. In the throes of primal lust, when all possible instinct spoke wordlessly in Dana’s head, in Rana’s head, the simple joy at something so seemingly cruel never registered as anything more than drawing pleasure from a union which each had knowingly indulged in – gone into.

At long last, then, Rana’s enormously thick cockhead slipped from Vera’s long-suffering throat, and so the girl launched into the same show as she had before. Her body struggling to do all that was silently commanded of it, breathing in, and out, both at the same time. Hacking, coughing, drawing in great breaths, and exhaling them, only to get the two confused and once more choking, gasping, spitting throatslop and saliva. With Dana still buried completely in her ass, and Rana looming but an inch from trembling lips, it was a question of time until the pitiful show was silenced once more. And, indeed, at the first mere indication of a nod from Vera, Rana pressed back in. Forcing, once more, thick, foamy spittle from the Commander’s lips that instead smoothed the long, hard ride of slipping those behemoth inches back into her throat.

Once again, Dana waited, though she breathed hard, visibly straining to begin thrusting once more, for Rana to find the deepest possible union, for Vera’s nose to squash against chiseled muscle. They both remained inside, bottomed out, for but three seconds. It was Dana, then, who pulled back first, and in the moment when she reversed, several handfuls of those immensely thick inches of cock prepared to ram back into the Commander, Rana pulled back. They rolled, then, into a brutal pace, a rhythm even more fraught than the previous, both now clearly straining, their cores hardening in those moments when they squeezed and ground huge, fat cock into the girl, coaxing themselves closer, and closer.

That Vera, straining, sputtering, helplessly fucked into a bubbling, straining mess between the two sentinels, came once again seemed almost an afterthought, the twin sentinels lost in the pursuit of their own more difficult climaxes. It seemed as if the hard, steady tightening of muscle, of throat, of core muscle, nevertheless contributed to each kaldorei finding that peak, Dana being the first to break the rhythm. Closing her eyes, lowering her brow as she broke off pulling back to prepare another thrust, instead cramming the final handful of monstrously thick inches of cock into Vera’s ass, rising against the girl, pressing inwards in spite of no more of the colossus remaining free. Straining seconds passed, Rana still hammering, bottoming out every two seconds, while Dana’s lips curled back from her teeth, exposing fang-like canines for just a moment.

That long, seemingly near painful moment ceased, at last, and Dana finally released a straining, hard gasp, her core musculature visibly flexing, tensing, locking down in that first, titanic effort. Her weighty, fat cockshaft seizing that peak of pleasure, plumping just a little more, just in time for the already wide cumvein to rise, to allow the pumping, pistoning passage of that first, molten load. Pounding into Vera’s ass, a bruising, thick rope, twin cupped handfuls in but that first, sweltering strand, followed by a second, equally as massive. A third, and a fourth, Dana’s breathing aligning with those long, aching loads plowing into the girl’s depths, her already cockbulging stomach beginning its slow but steady, inexorable rise.

Rana settled Vera’s fate with her own series of staccato, short thrusts, each one adding more crimson to the already well-used face of the girl, until heavy, churning balls came to rest against spit-soaked features, rising as the sentinel finally reached an orgasm seemingly as hard-fought, as near tortured, as Dana’s. Hands shifting, curling around Vera’s bulging throat to hold the girl steady – despite her lack of protesting squirming – Rana pounded, pumped another colossal load directly down into the girl’s stomach, which then rhythmically rose, each kaldorei adding another hammerblow, another fat rope of seed each alternate second. Rana, then Dana. Rana, then Dana. Steadily swelling Vera’s stomach first until its sides had risen enough to drown out that monstrous cockbulge, and then increasingly into a dome, a swelling, thick distension, seconds dragging on. Tens of those massively potent, thick loads from each sentinel meeting, making a home in the great, churning mass already present, the Commander having long since given up trying to hold Rana back with fingers on her thighs, instead having reached down to try to curl arms around the huge, rising hemisphere of her belly.

An apex of what was possible was reached, and so, slowly, those colossal loads began to squirm and work their way back out, such that thickly-flowing seed pearled free from Vera’s ass, around the base of Dana’s behemoth. And, likewise, from her lips, slipping even from her nostrils, around Rana’s hilt. And still, weeks of holding back allowed both sentinels to continue for another three, four, five loads. Dana’s fingers having found a crushing grip around Vera’s hips, Rana’s holding the girl still, holding herself in, with that grip of Vera’s throat. Silence, for a time, save the slowly relaxing breathing of each sentinel. Seconds slipping past.

Dana let out a languid breath, pulling, finally, backwards. An inch, and then two. No rolling back and forth, no savoring it, as Rana had made a habit of. She withdrew those colossal inches, but seemed wound up, still. Tall, towering, and yet hunched over, just so. Stalking prey that did not exist. That behemoth slipped from Vera’s ass, at last, the molded, shaped cheeks struggling to even begin the process of clenching back up around the crater created. Dana moved around the table, instead, roughly pushing up to stand next to Rana, shoulder to shoulder, as her sentinel sister withdrew the final handful of inches from Vera’s trembling, shuddering throat.

Both allowed the Commander to gasp, to struggle, to heave and cough for breath, but neither focused on her. Instead, each sentinel wrapped a strong right hand around the side of their huge, fat dick, and stroked. Pumped back and forth, neither having begun to relax from the endeavor – if anything, both seemed as hard, as eager as they had at the start, despite the flood of sweltering seed Vera still quietly groaned under the weight and volume of. Smooth with the product of their own efforts, with the Commander’s spittle, both Rana and Dana soon rolled onto their toes, or near enough, rising, breathing in short bursts that were then held back, saved up for the next strenuous moment where they once more flexed muscle, tensed, and sought to push a second climax to the fore. Too pleasantly weakened, the proud Commander, her face a glowing red mess of insistently hammered-home bruises and spittle and cum, merely laid there, slowly controlling her breathing, waiting. Allowing her mouth to open, her tongue to extend, just so.

With the strain of a second orgasm, with rhythmically pumping musculature and the relief of a more free, bubbling, joyful kind of pleasure, Rana and Dana came almost simultaneously. One thumb-thick rope of seed splattered against Vera’s left cheek, the other first into her open mouth, and then against her nose. With their slow start and slower end, though the two sentinels soon found their mark, pounding those pillars of pure white into the Commander’s mouth, thick stripes soon painted her face, across cheeks, into nostrils, covering swiftly-closed eyes. Even laying over her forehead, and rolling down into her hair. The flood grew only stronger as her mouth almost immediately overflowed from the copious volume, her efforts at swallowing feeble, but continuous. Not enough, either way, as load after pounding, fat load rammed into her mouth, near equaling that first, titanic, combined orgasm which now slept safely within the bloated dome of her stomach.

Breathing hard, Rana and Dana’s second orgasm nevertheless came to an ending, Rana then pressing the wide, slowly pulsing crown of her monster up to Vera’s overtaxed lips, so that the Commander might offer a long, indulgent kiss, which allowed her to lick the final, dwindling drops of seed up. She was allowed to do the same for Dana, then, who offered a final rope of seed directly into Vera’s mouth, instantly making her cheeks bulge, drops slipping her lips. When Dana did not move, however, the girl worked to swallow that final gift, little by little, until she could press her tongue flatly against the sentinel’s wide, warm cockhead, proving her final effort done.

Though both sentinels, then, appeared able to grow dormant, those monsters calming slowly, it seemed an effort for them not to take up the cause once again. They stalked away, rather than remaining to comfort and speak to Vera, who seemed so overwhelmed by the experience that all she could do was remain in place. Arms about the bulge of her stomach, breathing shallowly. Several minutes passed in near silence, then, both sisters having paced about the warm, lit yurt, sneering, growling at nothing, at paintings, at cloth walls, packing themselves away, calming their breathing. Only then did they return to Vera. Rana bearing a bowl of water, Dana several pieces of soft cloth.

The cloth dipped in the water, Dana set about a slow, meticulous cleaning of Vera’s face. There remained a clipped, aggressive edge to her movements, though they never, not once, resulted in anything unpleasant happening to the Commander’s face. Heavy breaths through her nose, intense staring, and yet, the sentinel managed to clean up the complete mess just so.

“We both think,” Rana said, her eyes focused on the middle distance, on a horizon not visible inside the tent, her voice carrying that edge, still. “That you should listen to your kaldorei friends. Save your strength, for a while.”

“Keep your people, the survivors, under control. Keep them from fighting,” Dana said. She dabbed the cloth against Vera’s cheek. Absent saliva, and seed, they were obviously bruised. An increasingly scorching red.

“Why?” Vera said, her voice weak. Quiet. Eyes gathering focus. Despite the ordeal, her mind seemed sharp again, having recovered.

“Because we offer you an alliance with the kaldorei if you do,” Dana said.

“Because no one’s going to show up to give you a repeat of tonight, as many as you want, if you don’t settle. Build your strength. Wait to coordinate, when one of ours comes by.”

“Someone like you?”

Rana nodded. “Someone like us.”

“If you two aren’t staying, I want someone else to show up. Soon,” Vera said. She took a deeper breath, clearly struggling with it for a long moment, the weight of all that had been pumped into her stomach obviously difficult to bear. And yet, she offered no verbal complaint. Caressed the curve of her stomach, even.

Rana and Dana exchanged a long, still look. Then, simultaneously, they nodded.

“There’s little help coming from the east. We all know it. We’re all feeling that quiet desperation,” Vera said. “If the price of hope is to wait a while longer for vengeance, then so be it.”

Rana offered a wry smile, not to Vera, but to Dana, speaking in Darnassian. “All we need to spread peace throughout the lands, sister, is a size queen hungry for kaldorei cock.”

“Perhaps we ought to stay here for a few nights. Ensure she’s satisfied,” Dana said. Still in Darnassian.

“If you’re going to plot, at least do it out of hearing range of me,” Vera said. She exhaled a slow sigh.

“We were merely remarking on your impressive abilities,” Dana said. “Rare are the people who can handle one of us, never mind two.”

“My sentinel sister,” Rana said, barely allowing Dana to finish. “Is too bashful to say that we want to stay for a few nights, and fuck you until you can’t walk. As a proper welcome into the fold of the most esteemed allies of the kaldorei.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Vera said, after a second. “But not this morning. Tomorrow, perhaps. After I’ve told everyone to ease off the attacks. And I’m tougher than you think. You won’t succeed.”

“And yet, we will try. With great vigor,” Dana said.