Chapter 1 - Carousing and Coupling at the Cantrips and Crows

”By the light, this place is stuffy.” Arvek sipped his drink.

His friend Curio, the gnomish scoundrel, nodded up at the human. While the most prominent bar in Dalaran, the Legerdemain Lounge was a favourite among diplomats and dignitaries. Arvek imagined that two pencil pushers might have a heated argument over faction politics and it would pass for a bar brawl.

“C’mon, let’s bust out of this joint. I know a place that’s a little more down to earth,” said Curio, hopping off his stool.

Arvek hadn’t been in Dalaran long – he was just three days into his first leave from his Valgarde garrison duty. He took a last swig of his kungaloosh and followed Curio out into the night.

They walked along the cobble road, enchanted street lamps shining pools of light on their way.

“Ever been to the Cantrips and Crows?” the gnome asked.

“No. That the Sunreaver tavern?”

“Not quite, my friend. Not quite.”

* * *
“C’mon baby, show me some action,” Burbrek hissed, groping her from behind her seat. She tensed up. In a single motion, she swung herself around, punching him in the gut. He doubled over and she smashed her bottle into the side of his head, decking him.

The tavern buzz grew quiet. All eyes were on her. She straddled the orc as he squirmed, dazed and bleeding, and drew her rune sword with exaggerated sluggishness. She bared her teeth and pointed the blade’s tip towards Burbrek’s neck. His eyes widened with fear and he clawed at her, desperate.

“No. Fuck off.”

She flicked the blade around and smashed the pommel into his mouth, shattering teeth. As one, the tavern patrons collectively flinched, but soon resumed where they’d left off. The show was over.

Ilska stood over Burbrek’s battered form and dusted herself off. She sheathed her sword. Two of his drinking buddies grabbed hold of his arms, dragging him off, smiling apologetically at her. She seated herself again, firmly planting her elbows to the bar.

Bedding Burbrek in the first place had been a mistake. She had gotten roaring drunk the other night, as she was wont to do, and picked the first orc she’d laid eyes on. Turned out he was a piece of shit, like the rest. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

She motioned to the barkeep. He looked at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes and shoved two gold pieces across the counter.

“For your trouble,” she murmured. He nodded and topped off her frog venom brew.

She hoisted the mug at him. “Bottoms up.”

* * *
Arvek was amazed. The Underbelly was a city under the city, lively with depravity. They passed vendors hawking illicit goods and whores flashing their own wares. Shades lurked in dark corners, their gazes following both coin purse and throat.

He shook his head. Who could have known the extent of vice festering just beneath the skin of a spotless Dalaran?

He could see the faded plank exterior of the Cantrips and Crows now, on the far side of a sewer canal. He could hear a susurrus in the air - the sound of a hundred whispered plots. Curio led the way, pushing the door open. And Arvek followed him into the libertine’s den.

The place was packed. He noticed the flavours of clientele right away – in the shadowed corners, rogues of all stripes were gambling and conspiring. Beside them, covens of warlocks muttered in hushed tones. And dotted throughout, the occasional death knight nursed their drink in silence.

Curio tugged his shirtsleeve. “Great place, huh?”

“A bit more… subdued than I expected.”

Curio shrugged. “Hey, you go ahead and grab a seat. I got a deal with Hexil I gotta close, all right?”

Arvek nodded and found a seat by the bar. He ordered a dwarven stout and couldn’t help but eye the beauty three stools down from him. She was a blood elf – and a death knight, by the looks of it. She was staring intently at her wine glass, expression haughty, as if thinking of how far above this dive she was. Her complexion was pale as death, but her curves were pleasing to the eye. He admired her  copper-red locks, tied into neat boar tails.

Arvek took a swig of his ale. He wondered what his chances were. She looked like she’d turn him down, but then again, with the chilly impression she gave, he doubted anyone else would approach her. Maybe she’d give him a shot out of desperation, he thought. He took another drink, working up his courage. He gave her another casual glance. She did look profoundly disinterested, but—

 “I’d like to see you try and lick her frigid cunt.”

Arvek flinched to the right, his train of thought broken. An imposing female orc was now seated next to him.

“Excuse me?” he asked, bewildered.

“I swear, if you tried, your tongue would freeze to her clit!” Her husky voice broke into a chortle. The elf shot them both a steely glare and abruptly rose. He winced as she strode straight out the front door.

Shot down before he even started.

He opened his mouth to berate her, but caught the look in her eyes. He shut up and frowned instead.
She wore a disconcerting self-sure grin, two tusks jutting out behind her lower lip. He noticed the fine musculature of her bare biceps, and her long, ragged tufts of bone-white hair which settled on her shoulders and shapely breasts. Her skin, though, was a pallid grey-green. Right. Another death knight.

“Trust me,” she said. “Zenithia’s a champion of frost. So that’s two counts of frigid – one for the frost, and one for being an elf.” She leaned on her elbow and sipped her drink. “Just sparing you her bitchiness, warrior.

“And her literally frozen snatch.” She snorted.

He frowned again. “I see. My thanks, then,” he said flatly, staring straight ahead. There was an awkward silence. He sighed, and turned to her. “Well, what’s your name, orc?”

“Call me Ilska. And you, human?”

“Arvek of Stormwind.” He raised his mug in mock salute.

“Of Stormwind. Hah!” She jovially elbowed him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him and spilling his drink. “You humans and your titles,” she said, patting him on the back. “Listen, down here in the Underbelly, you’re just Arvek. All right?”

He coughed. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Haven’t seen you around here before. You usually hang out at the Legerdemain with the milk drinkers, or what?”

He flagged the barkeep for another drink. “No, I just got here. To Dalaran, I mean.”

Ilska arched her eyebrows.

“Been stationed at Valgarde for the last month, and Honor Hold before that. This is my first visit to the city.” He wasn’t sure why he was relaying all this to the orc. Nominally, she was still his enemy. The drink was loosening his tongue, he decided.

“Fresh meat, huh? You’re lucky. Just wait until you reach the Icecrown frontlines.” She flashed a deadly grin. “If you’re not too careful, you might end up like me!” She drained her drink. “Worse than death, this is.” She slammed the mug to the counter. “Worse. Than. Death.” She gave a satisfied sigh.

Arvek coughed, not knowing how to reply to that.

Ilska suddenly rose. “Well. You’ll do.”

He looked up at her. “Sorry?”

She tilted her head and folded her arms. “You’ll do. You going to fuck me?”

Arvek was taken aback. This had taken an unexpected turn. He couldn’t say he wasn’t attracted to her – he admired her athletic figure and found a liking to her acid, course tongue – but a member of the Horde? An undead monstrosity? And an orc, no less.

He gave her another curious look, running his eyes from her shapely hips, to her curved waist, to her chiselled abdomen, to her ample breasts. To her angular chin and her cock-sure grin, and to her steely-blue eyes and expectantly raised eyebrows.

“Ah, fuck it.”

She took his hand and led him towards the guest rooms. On the way, Arvek spotted Curio with a petite goblin warlock in tow, her profile shamelessly revealed in her form-fitting felweave dress. The gnome met his gaze and grinned.

“Hey Arvek, I’ll catch you later, you know what I’m saying?” The goblin giggled and slid her hand down his pants. “Heyo! Make that tomorrow, yeah!”

* * *
Ilska leaned against the wall, eyeing Arvek as he entered her room. She noticed how his braided black hair swung as he moved. Broad shoulders, prominent chest – not a bad find, all things considered. Sure, he was a human, known for being mewling weaklings, though this one looked well enough. No doubt her battle-sisters would mock her later, but that had stopped mattering a long time ago. Having your soul ripped out and forcibly re-inserted into your deceased body would do that to you.

He stood by the door, looking unsure of himself. Ilska reclined herself across the bed, motioning Arvek over. He seated himself on the edge of the bed and caressed her. Running his fingers through her hair, cupping her breasts, feeling her inner thighs… Ilska’s usual mates tended to be a bit more straightforward, but she didn’t mind the change in pace.

Wordlessly, she grasped his neck and fell upon him, bringing their lips together. She lashed out with her tongue, fiercely almost, while he was more timid – careful in manoeuvring around her sharp tusks.

She broke off, and showed him the back of her tight leather tunic. He pulled at the laces clumsily, but managed to loosen them. Ilska slid the garment off, feeling as if she were sloughing dead skin. She hadn’t changed clothes in days. Or bathed.

“By my axe, that feels good,” she said, flexing her shoulders.

Arvek wrinkled his nose at her sour-sweat smell. “Just gotten back from the field then, have we?”

She faced him again and gave an expression of mock offense. She started tugging off his shirt. “An elf would have packed soap and a change of clothes,” she said, prodding his bare chest. “I packed a spare battle axe.”

She reclined back against the bed again. She closed her eyes and felt Arvek run his tongue along the crevices of her toned stomach. Then along her areolas and nipples. She sighed with pleasure.

She wriggled out of her leather breeches as he did likewise. She gripped his member, slowly running the tips of her fingers along it as he ran his finger against her most intimate of lips. He slid his forefinger into her, and she moaned.

She beckoned him, and he lowered himself, tongue outstretched, and lapped at her slit. Ilska pulled his braids with both hands and pressed him closer still, all but smothering him in her mound, and he intensified pleasingly, exploring her every crevice. Finally, she let go of him and rubbed her stiff nipples.

She tugged at him and he moved up the bed, lying flat as she straddled his legs, facing him. She spat into her palms and fondled his stiff dick for a moment, then arched her back and guided the tip of his member home.

Unceremoniously, she let herself fall onto him, plunging his cock into her cunt. She felt every inch of it as it filled her. She felt his heat.

“Ah.”

“Uh.”

They began gyrating as one, moaning and grunting. Arvek sped up his rhythm, methodically thrusting himself into her. She felt sticky sweat run off her body, pattering onto his. She felt him tightly grip her ass and she bared her teeth, sinking her nails into his flanks.

She lunged down at him, pinning his arms to the bed sheets and they kissed fiercely, passionately. She bit at his lower lip and tasted blood; she didn’t care. He only grunted in acknowledgement, scowling at her. They slowed to a grind.

Suddenly, he overpowered her, flipping her over. She felt a rush of air before her back was slammed to the bed. She felt her heart race with exhilaration. His member had slipped out at some point; as Ilska spread her legs he rammed it firmly back, and gripped her hips. She flashed him a bloody grin, her teeth still dyed pink. His frown deepened. His lips were puckered as he sucked at his lesions.

For a moment, Ilska simply lay back, listening to Arvek’s panting. Admiring his heaving chest.

She sat herself up, grabbing his neck and twisting her legs around his waist. He grabbed at her ass and they pressed against each other, grinding, caught in a hectic locomotion. She felt his hot breath against her face.

He laid her flat on the bed again, and gripped her by the shoulders, suspending himself on top of her. His thrusts grew slow but forceful, and Ilska began to tense up with full-body ecstasy. She cried out with pleasure. She ran her sharp nails across his chest, drawing blood, and he half grunted, half roared.

She felt his scorching seed fill her insides and he began to slow his pace. He lowered himself onto her, and they embraced each other and tumbled, locked into a searing kiss.

* * *
“Morning, Arvek.” Curio hoisted himself onto the chair opposite him, looking terrible. Arvek had a bad hangover himself, for that matter.

“Morning.” Arvek shovelled a forkful of omelette into his mouth. Say one thing for the Legerdemain? They make a damn good breakfast.

“So, how’d it go with that goblin last night?” Arvek asked, voice muffled by his mouthful of egg.

“Well, it was going real well, see,” Curio began. “So we get to my place, right—“

“Uh huh.”

“—I get some drinks out, put on the romantic lighting, all that—“

“Yeah.”

“—and we start making out on the couch, right, doin’ some heavy petting—“

“Right.”

“—and she starts tugging my pants off, so I’m thinking, all right—“

“Mm.”

“—next thing I know, she’s bolting outta my apartment!”

“What?”

“With my pants!”

“What?”

“And my wallet, I should add.”

Arvek froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

“Let me get this straight.” He waved with his fork. “The rogue got robbed.”

Curio blushed and looked away.

“Huh. Who would’ve seen that one coming?”

 “I, uh, didn’t chase after her, neither. Warlock, right? Who knows what kinda demons and crazy hoodoo she woulda thrown at me, and me running around with my snowberries swinging in the wind…” he trailed off and shook his head. “Goblins, am I right?”

Arvek nodded sagely and finished his meal.

“So, ah, how’d it go with you? I saw you with that orc broad, yeah? She rob you too?” He pointed at Arvek’s mouth – his cuts were still visible. “She rough you up or something?”

Arvek smiled. “Not as such, no.”

Curio arched his eyebrows. “So how’d it go? You get some?”

Arvek clamped up as he spotted a figure in his peripheral.

Ilska strode over to their table, fully clad in plate battle gear, save the helmet. “Well. If you aren’t a milk drinker after all.”

“Only for breakfast, Ilska,” Arvek replied, grinning.

“Well, speak of Sargeras! Arvek was about to tell me all about you, too,” said Curio, winking at her knowingly.

“I’m sure,” she murmured, with some amusement. “Listen, Arvek, I’m going out on patrol. I’ll be back in, say, three nights. You should swing by again.”

Arvek smiled. “I’d love to.”

The gnome looked up at her pleadingly. She rolled her eyes.

 “All right, your friend can come too. Maybe I’ll introduce him to Zenithia.”

Curio punched his fist in the air. Arvek burst into laughter. The gnome eyed him suspiciously. “What?”

Ilska made to leave. “Lok’tar, then.”

“Victory to you too,” Arvek replied.

A few steps from the doorway she stopped herself, and returned to the table.

“Oh, and one more thing,” she began. “Dalaran may be a sanctuary, but you’re Alliance. Anywhere else – and you’re fair game.”

Arvek grunted.

“So out of professional courtesy, here’s my advice. Stay out of Icecrown. I catch you out there and I’ll carve you from scrotum to larynx.” She flashed her deadly grin. “No offence.”

Arvek bit his lip. “None taken.”

Ilska chuckled knowingly. “Catch you later… human.”

Ilska strode out without waiting for a reply.

Curio sighed wistfully.

“So… who’s this Zenithia?” he asked, pronouncing every exotic syllable of her name with exaggerated care.

Arvek waved his arm in the air, exasperated. “She’s… a real cool broad.” He snorted. “Frigid, even.”