The great gates of Orgrimmar loomed before Valeera. She was weary following the long journey from Stormwind and was looking forward to a hammock at The Broken Tusk inn. Although the red hood offered some shelter from the scorching sun above, she longed for a cold ale.
"You owe me one, Anduin," she whispered under her breath. The High King of the Alliance had asked her personally to be his envoy in order to get to the bottom of this 'New Horde' rumors and investigate the disappearance of Jaina Proudmoore, who was last seen on her way to a diplomatic meeting with the Horde council. Her many identities aligned well with the mission; although she was a blood elf, she was a close friend of the king, and yet she retained some sense of neutrality. She would get entry to the Horde council without issue and could actually promise impartiality in their negotiations.
A pair of orcs stood guard at the great, open gate watching the stream of travelers and denizens alike passing by in both directions. Orgrimmar had always been a busy city and today was no exception. As she weaved through the masses on her way through the gate, one of the guards studied her openly. She was used to the attention. Warriors tended to gawk at the massive, red pauldrons of her armor or the powerful daggers at her waist, while males tended to notice her deep cleavage, long blond hair, and bare thighs – which one was the most effective weapon depended wholly on the situation. There was, however, something different with the way this orc regarded her. When he had first laid eyes on her, she had seen something akin to recognition on his face, followed by a glare that tracked her as she passed him. Well within the corridor that led to The Valley of Strength, she looked back to find him staring after her. Certain orcs never truly accepted the blood elves, she reminded herself, but her reputation ought to have dampened any such tensions.
The Valley of Strength looked much the same as it had last time Valeera was there. Although she did observe that a handful of new huts crested the eastern cliffs, where many stood in long lines to get into one. Once someone left a tiny hut, another person would enter. The significance of this strange new tradition, she did not understand, but she made a mental note of it just in case it had something to do with this new Horde nonsense. Are those grunts I'm hearing from the huts, she wondered. It was probably a trick of the mind; she was too far away to really hearing anything over the din of the city.
Luckily, The Broken Tusk remained unchanged. The small inn sat in the shadow of a great cliff, its red-tiled roof glinting in the sunlight. It would be her first stop.
"Gryshka!" Valeera exclaimed as she approached the innkeeper of The Broken Tusk.
The orc woman looked up from cleaning one of the tables. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the lady Sanguinar herself," Gryshka said with a mocking bow. Then, she broken into a wide smile and gave Valeera a big, warm hug. "You haven't aged a day."
"Elf," she answered simply. "Have you got a hammock to spare?"
"Indeed, I do."
"Tell me," Valeera lowered her voice, "what's this talk about the new Horde? I will ask for an audience with the council tomorrow. What can I expect?"
"Straight to business, huh?" The orc chuckled. "Well, let me tell ya. It is just a slogan from the… ehh… council, to have members of the Horde start fresh. It's the same Horde, just with a different focus, let's say. I'm sure you'll find that your Alliance friends have got nothing to worry about. You'll be reassured in the morning once you've had an audience with him."
"Him?" She raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Oh, did I say 'him'?" The orc chuckled again. "I meant 'them', as in the council. It's been a long day."
Valeera nodded and smirked. "You're not too tired to share a drink with me, are you?"
The innkeeper returned her smirk in kind.
They spent the evening drinking and catching up. Laughter filled the inn, but she couldn't quite shake that uneasy feeling which had stuck with her since encountering that initial guard. She knew she was likely imagining things, although she sometimes felt as if the patrons of the inn were watching her a bit too closely. Orcs would be orcs, she supposed, but the taurens, goblins, undead, vulpera and even her fellow blood elves displayed the same air of veiled animosity.
"You're being paranoid," Gryshka told her when she aired her suspicion. "Too much time spent with the humans."
Valeera gave the orc woman another nod. Annoyed with herself for letting a simple guard unsettle her, she returned to an evening of drink and mirthful company. She must have been more exhausted from her journey than she had originally thought, however, because the drinks seemed to be kicking in fast. It was barely dusk when she had to put her goblet down. The room was swimming. Had she had that many? Laughing nervously at her own stupidity, she let Gryshka escort her to an unoccupied hammock. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
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She woke up with an unusual headache. Her body ached too, as if she'd slept in a strange position. She pried her eyes open to look about the inn. A troll was snoring deeply in a neighboring hammock. It's a miracle he didn't wake me up with that horrid sound, she thought, annoyed. It was only when she searched for her daggers that her heart started raising. Where had she put them? Rummaging through her belongings, a trickle of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades.
Descending the ladder from the sleeping quarters, she bolted to Gryshka, who was preparing meat over the inn's fireplace. All Valeera had on was her shirt, boots, and a pair of pants she always carried in her satchel.
"My blades and armor," she said a bit too loudly. "They're gone."
"Oh, some of the warc… eh, I mean, council's men came to collect them, child. To upgrade them or something."
"They did WHAT?" she exclaimed. A vulpera at a nearby table jumped at her outburst, his goblet clattering to the ground. Before Gryshka had time to utter another word, the Sin'dorei was already out the door.
Valeera swept past the guards in front of the council's hall in the Valley of Wisdom, preparing some well-chosen words to whomever had decided that 'collecting' her weapons was a good idea. Yet, as she stormed into the grand hall, huffing and puffing, she froze. The platform opposite the great, open space of the chamber was not occupied by a council, but by a single throne of bone and leathers, flanked by roaring braziers. Upon the throne sat a brown-skinned orc. He was huge of stature, completely bald, and his upward protruding tusks were bound in iron.
"Welcome, lady Valeera Sanguinar, to the seat of the new Horde," he growled with one of the deepest voices she had ever heard. "My name is Ogmash. I am warchief and sovereign ruler of Kalimdor and beyond. Your reputation precedes you, blood elf, but tell me: Why have you come to my city?"
She straightened herself and narrowed her eyes at him, well aware of the two dozen warriors and shamans who stood at the fringes of the circular room. He was a brute. No armor, just a loincloth, and bulging muscles. A fool who had fought his way to the top by some miracle or old traditions.
"Where are my blades?" She sounded calm and in control, but inside she was seething with rage. "And where is the true council?"
"Your blades are kept safe," the so-called warchief responded. "As for the council…" He looked up and his eyes moved around the walls. Valeera followed his eyes and gasped. She hadn't noticed at first, all hot and bothered as she was, but high upon the wall hung the heads of lord Theron and shadowhunter Rokhan, members of the council, as macabre decoration. "And you're standing on Ji Firepaw," Ogmash continued. "The others, I must admit, got away… for now."
She looked down at the patchwork of leathers that made up the floor of the room. The patch upon which she stood was in a black and white fur.
"What is this grotesquery?" She made no effort to disguise her anger and disgust now.
The big orc simply smiled. "A necessary step toward a stronger Horde. And you – have you come to negotiate as the Alliance king's little pet?"
"I come to get answers. My loyalties are my own," she answered.
"Betrayer," Ogmash bellowed. Tensing leathers and singing blades echoed through the room as the onlookers drew their weapons.
"I wouldn't cross me if I were you," warned Valeera. "I will be your death if you try me."
"Try you? Maybe I should. Like this." He took hold of a chain hooked to his throne and shook it. From beyond the throne came crawling a night elf woman. Her blue hair was disheveled, and she crawled on all fours like an animal. She came to lay down at the warchief's feet. To Valeera's shock, the woman was naked and her belly round with offspring. "You were a demon's whore once, perhaps you can carry my seed within you instead. Since you so eagerly served that king as a guard, you can serve me as breeding stock." The night elf looked down as if embarrassed, mouth tight and with a sorrow in her eyes so deep it tugged at Valeera's heart strings.
"Take her," Ogmash yelled. The onlookers descended upon her.
Valeera might have been weaponless and without her armor, but helpless she was not. Her fist found the beak nose of a goblin, punting him right across the floor. She spun around, leg up high, and planted her heel straight in a troll's toothy face. Finding her balance, an orc caught her fist in his belly so hard he toppled over. She dodged a white-and-brown tauren's meaty shoulder, skipped over a vulpera, and dashed for the door.
It was as if a log hit her. She only registered a blur of black hair before a giant arm smacked into her chest, sending her to the floor and knocking the air from her lunges. Gaping like a beached shark in an effort to draw breath, her vision filled with dark, swimming dots. Slowly coming into focus was the biggest tauren Valeera had ever seen. Dressed in a shaman's garb, his face and hide alike were as black as starless midnight. Great horns, yellowed by age, curved backwards.
The beast had taken hold of her shirt, lifted her with the sound of ripping fabric, and slammed her back down. What little air she had struggled to inhale was immediately spewed back out. It felt as if her chest was going to crack. Struggling to regain control of her breathing, she was powerless to fight the tauren as he carried her to the center of the room. Before she knew it, her attackers had chained her hands and feet, stretching her out long to lay prone upon the patchwork of leathers. Her arms were pulled toward the throne in one direction and her feet toward the door in another. The chains were pulled to the point where it almost hurt, leaving her little room to move her limbs. Instead, she thrashed violently from side to side while her attackers took a step back to regard her from a distance. She caught the eye of the goblin who had had an uncomfortable meeting with her fist. He held a piece of cloth to his nose, a satisfied and mischievous look on his face.
"Let me go, fool," she screamed at the warchief, who had just been sitting back during this whole ordeal. "You won't get away with this. My blades will slice and dice you like tender meat."
"The age of your weak Alliance is over, the dawn of the new Horde is nigh," Ogmash said proudly. "I was going to make you mine, traitor, but Belgore Blacktotem has earned his prize. Claim her, old friend; breed away the Alliance scum."
"You honor me, warchief," the black tauren, who had just manhandled her, grumbled in a deep bass.
"Don't you dear touch me, bull," she raged. Belgore did not seem to care. He produced a dagger from his belt and knelt down by the fuming Valeera. With nimble hands, he cut her clothes off as if skinning a rabbit. Her big tits were squished into the leather below from the taut chains pulling her prone, but her muscular thighs and plump bottom were exposed. "This is no way to treat a warrior, let alone a messenger."
"You are no longer a warrior, Sin'dorei, but a slave," the warchief said. He was clearly admiring her naked form. She was not embarrassed of how she looked, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her blush. The night elf crept behind the throne once more.
The tauren found a nearby jug. It contained a cool oil, which he poured on her. It cascaded down her butt cheeks and pooled in the valley created between her ass and clamped together thighs. She could feel the oily wetness seep into every nook and cranny.
"Stop this now," she commanded, trying to keep her voice hard despite being nude and oiled up in front of two dozen of the Horde. "Release me now and I will stay my hand."
It was when Belgore remove his shaman's garb and she got a good look at the big, black bull cock dangling to his knees that she changed her tune.
"Negotiate! Let's negotiate. I know the Eastern Kingdoms well, I can tell you all about it and its inhabitants," she said, voice firm but words coming rapidly.
No one said anything. Everyone just watched in silent anticipation.
Belgore sat down on her gathered thighs as if they were a pillow. His twenty-inch flesh totem thudded heavily on top of her butt and lower back.
"I know the High King," she tried, voice breaking slightly at the final word, gaze fixed on the warchief.
The black tauren dipped and slathered his girthy ram in the pool of oil between her booty and thighs.
"By all that is good, answer me. What can I do? I can lure the Alliance; tell them you are no threat. Get you good trade agreements perhaps." There was an unmistakable quiver in her voice this time.
"By your blessing, warchief," Belgore said simply. Valeera met the warchief's eyes, having to raise her head painfully from her outstretched position. She whispered a final, "please." He smiled at her, then gave a nod.
The world exploded in pain as the oversized cuntcrusher dove through the pool of oil and slammed into her hole. Already tight, her current outstretched predicament made her even tighter, but the oil made her tiny cunt smooth and defenseless. Not only did the rock-hard bone expand her walls beyond the point of madness, but it plunged deep and punched her womb.
"YIIIEEEAAAHHHGGHHH – G-Get OUT! G-GET OUooo FUCK!" Her mind was chaos. Instinctively, she tried to get away from the brutal log lingering so deep inside her that she feared it would protrude from her mouth at any moment. There was nowhere to go, however. Her pussy contracted, spasmed, and pushed to get the totem out, but it was unmovable.
The crowd erupted in cheers. The bloodied goblin laughing so hard that blood spattered from his broken nose. Even the warchief gave a rumbling chuckle.
"D-don't. E-e-enough. Enough. M-mercy," she begged with coughing sobs.
"Mercy?" The warchief mused. "He has barely begun."
It was true. The veiny, black sausage rippled out of her. Although the removed pressure should have been a blessing, the sudden emptiness from its hugeness left a phantom pain in which it felt as if her cavern was going to collapse in on itself. The sensation was temporary, however, as Belgore smashed his grotesque penetrator into her love tunnel again. Her scream was more of a grunt this time around; the type of grunt one would hear from someone falling from a tree and getting the wind knocked out of them.
"Mercy, h-have mercy!"
There was no mercy. Blacktotem used his black totem to plough her fertile field. He upped his tempo, resting a hefty hand on her neck as he found a cruel rhythm. The snorting breaths through his bovine nose assaulted the left side of her face with hot air. He impaled her in the evilest way, making sure he exited her cunt to let it contract, before invading all the way into the very depths of her womanhood. Desperate sobs were interrupted by shrieking wails and animalistic grunts, depending on whether she was empty, invaded, or full.
As Belgore had found his rape pattern, the warchief appeared before her. Right beside her outstretched arms, he put down a tiny crystal. "I know your kin loves these crystals," he said. "The essence of mana within them is a drug to you. Go on. Drink from it. Alleviate some of that horrible pain."
"N-no," she grunted. "I- aaagh! I- I won't!" Her kin had an affinity to magic, but more than that, they had an addiction to it. She had drunk from it before and nearly lost herself to its seductive juice.
"Perhaps it will give you the strength to break those chains you've been clawing at," the warchief mocked. He returned to his seat, but left the crystal before her, with its tantalizing glow.
"Perhaps she needs motivation," Blacktotem suggested. His thumb invaded her hitherto untouched butt hole. She cried out, vision growing blurry with tears and hate. The ravaging agony of the massive cock in her cunt was not rivalled by the shooting pain of a fat thumb entering her brown cave, it harmonized with it. Her mind scrambled, she reached out with her innate blood elf power and sucked the mana from that crystal. Immediately, the deceptively sweet feeling of the essence filled her and the pain, although not totally gone, faded behind a veil of mist. It was almost as if it was a different person who was getting their love box broken by a gargantuan pole.
But the relief was short-lived. The crystal had next to no juice in it. In fact, it was just a sip, a perverse taste. Enough to make her crave more, but not enough to satiate her. The sensation of torturous fuckery soon penetrated the veil of mist.
Valeera Sanguinar cried out in frustration. Her howl echoed through the grand hall until it was promptly severed. Two black tauren hands had come from behind and closed around her throat and neck. Face crimson, she shook wildly as she was being strangled, the tauren somehow managing to invade her harder. Chains rattled as she slowly suffocated and grew panicked. So, this is the end, she thought as her vision blurred. Fucked and asphyxiated to death.
Then, she heard Belgore below: "Moo, mo, mo, mooOOOOOOOOOO!" She could feel thick sludge being pumped into her innermost chamber in violent bursts. It seemed as if it would never stop. Pumping, pumping, pumping. His bovine calls of pleasure were accompanied by volatile spasms. Then he released his grip.
She breathed in greedily as the hands disappeared from her throat. There she lay shaking, as bull juice oozed from her abused hole.
"Well done, old friend," the warchief exclaimed.
For hours she simply lay there. No one paid her any mind. The warchief had his audiences, gave his orders. She just sobbed, then grew quiet. What was there to say?
As day turned to dusk, she found herself alone in the grand hall, still outstretched and chained. Her lady-parts ached and throbbed from the massive Belgore. From time to time, hours after the ruthless pounding, rivulets of bull juice would bubble out of her and add to the pool between the thighs. While the physical pain would only slightly dull, the mortification grew worse and worse. In a perverse gesture, the warchief had placed a large mana crystal just a couple of feet from her face before he left. It glinted seductively in the dying light. If she drained it all at once, she might be able to – no! She couldn't give in to that. She had been down that road before and it only ended in devastation.
A rustle made her twist in her restraints to look around. A troll male had entered the hall with a broom. With his short crimson mohawk and smooth, innocent face, he was barely an adult. His tusks looked ridiculously big on his young face. He met her gaze for only a moment, went crimson, and hurriedly began sweeping the floors.
"Boy, if you get me out of here, I promise I will get you to safety," Valeera whispered. "There will be unnamable treasures for anyone who delivers information about this tragedy."
The troll did not respond. Instead, he redoubled his sweeping efforts, eyes locked on the floor.
"For the sake of the Light," she begged. "You look kind, boy. Do it for your own heart's sake."
He offered her a quick glance this time.
"I understand that talk of glory and valor is seductive to young ears – I would know – but is this truly the Horde you want? Is this the future you dream of? The new warchief – I know his type. He will never share power. You will keep sweeping floors for him," she tried. If not bribed, perhaps the young male could be reasoned with. She would not believe that the entire Horde wanted to be ruled with an iron fist.
The boy had stopped sweeping and was regarding her. Nervous and clearly uncertain of himself, he glanced about the room. Then, to Valeera's relief, he propped the broom against the wall and approached her.
"Thank you," she breathed. "If you can get the chains…"
The troll examined the chains cuffing her hands, pulling at them. He took on a quizzical look while examining them and went to the ones around her ankles instead. She felt him shake at them.
"Maybe if you use the broom or a dagger to – "
Two three-fingered hands ran up her calves, traveled up her thighs, and landed on her bottom with a rough squeeze.
"What the fuck are you –" She was cut off as he put his slim body on top of hers, softly but firmly pressing a hand over her mouth. Her muted protests seemed to have little effect as he awkwardly positioned himself. Between her thighs, she felt him clumsily struggle to find her hole with his cock, poking too far down, into a cheek, or rubbing the space between her tights. What he lacked in experience, however, he made up for in size. Although nowhere near the breaker totem of Belgore, he was long and thick.
A rummaging hand gracelessly investigated her squished together cheeks, first finding her butt hole, which made her yelp, then her lady-hole. She twisted and shook, dampened complaints intensifying, as one finger remained at her opening as a guiding post to his eager member. The finger – an omen of what's to come – was replaced by his cock's head. There came a squishy sound of displaced tauren gunk as the young male crept into her box. The totem goo acted as a natural lubricant, which allowed the inexperienced troll to probe greedily into her rape cave. His jerky, uneven movements affixed a layer of humiliation new to her. His blue pole re-traumatized her abused tunnel, inflicting a new round of agony. She felt his wet and quick breaths in her ear.
The mana crystal sparkled before her. Nothing left to lose, she had had enough. She reached out to it and drained its essence. Her spasming hole tensed as she drank the magic. This was power. This crystal was not like the last one; it was filled to the brim with mana. With her newfound power, she took hold of the chains. Fingers laced around the iron. Muscles tensed, ready to rip her prison apart and destroy these fools. With immense force, she yanked the chains hard. Nothing happened. She yanked again. Nothing. Desperately, she ripped at them, pulled at them, but to no avail. What are they made of? She wondered incredulously. Why couldn't she get loose?
The troll's breaths became labored. It could only have been a minute since he put himself inside of her. He grunted, thrusting spastically into her, and making her grunt in turn. In spite of his ineptitude, she was so helpless that this young fool managed to squirt his useless seed into her vulnerable womb, where troll and tauren sludge mixed together into an unholy rape batter. The sweet essence of mana flourished inside her, dampening the pain, but still she was useless to act.
When the deed was done, the troll let go of his grip around her mouth. She didn't scream. What was the point. He whispered a low "sorry" in her ear, got up, and left. She lay awake for most of the night, leaking goo, the throbbing agony returning as the mana essence began to dissipate. Jaw clenched shut, she wept silent tears until sleep finally came.
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"Enjoyed my treat, did ya?" The growling sound of Ogmash roused her. He was studying the empty crystal where he stood before her. The essence had given her lucid dreams, but now the blood elf was ripped back to reality. She looked up at the warchief through a tangle of blond hair.
"P-please," she begged. "I- I need more mana." Nothing else mattered at that point. Something to drown the agony and shame and make her feel powerful again.
"Belgore," the warchief said. "She's yours now."
Moments later, Valeera found herself in the middle of the street in the Valley of Strength. She was sitting on her knees with her hands tied behind her back. From her collared neck ran a leash attached to Belgore's belt. Blacktotem leaned on his great axe, regarding the crowd. In addition to the usually buzz of the city, a full raid party stood before them. They had recently returned from a raid in Molten Core and were sweaty and dirty.
"I have given several of these warriors a mana crystal," Blacktotem grumbled without looking at her. Somewhere deep inside, she was ashamed of herself for perking up by the mention of mana crystals being so near, but the howling hunger for their essence overpowered it. The black bull continued, "they will only reveal whether or not they have a crystal if you swallow their seed. If they are happy with your performance, they will give you your candy. Their seed will strengthen my spawn growing in your womb."
There was no ignoring the shame and humiliation this time, but she suppressed it with an effort. Unshed tears lingered at the corners of her eyes, but her need had to be satiated. She craved it. Perhaps if I can get enough mana essence, I will have the strength to fight back at an opportune moment, she told herself, but barely believing it.
A young orc approached her first. He dropped his pants, revealing an eager member that pointed straight at her nose. His expression was one of insecurity and embarrassment; yet, as she opened her mouth to let him in, he took hold of her head and shoved himself down her gullet. Panic surged with the memories of asphyxiation from the day before, and she pointlessly pulled at her restraints. Before she had time to do anything else, however, he withdrew from her throat. She coughed, strings of saliva still connecting the head of his cock and her lips. She had time for a few breaths before he came back in, making her suck his rod down her windpipe as she drew breath. Sounds best described as a pig eating slop resounded through the crowded valley. The salty taste of the moist and sweat-soaked cock blended horribly with the scent of unwashed ball sack. It wasn't long before the young orc panted audibly and, taking hold of her head again, inserted himself until her nose hit his stomach and his balls hit her chin, while spewing his orc filth directly into her belly. When he was done, he retracted from her tract. White goo ran from her mouth to drip on her tits and finally land on the ground before her. The young orc patted his pockets to demonstrate that they were empty and raised his hands to make an 'oh well' gesture. No crystal.
A brown tauren druid stepped up next. Blessedly, he would not fit in her mouth. Instead, he rubbed his giant snake between her mountainous tits, while she licked the tip of it. He deposited his jam with a loud 'moo', squirting incredible amounts all over her face. It covered one of her eyes, which stung fiercely. Then, he gave her a hard slap as he moved away. She was drenched already. The droplets on the ground from the orc had now become a bit of a puddle. No crystal still. She was growing desperate.
For many hours she serviced the sweaty cocks of the raiding party. Goblins, with their third legs, and trolls, with their elongated limps, orcs and taurens with their massive clubs, all wanted to empty their balls in her mouth and down her throat. Old gunk and sweat flowed together with rivers of new slush, leaving a sickening taste. When the first five yielded no crystals, she felt the agony and shame surge. What had she become? A shadow came across her, prompting her to look up. There stood a massive orc. Hair silver and full of scars, he was no doubt their leader.
"You missed a spot," the orc said.
"W-what do you mean?" She said meekly, looking up at the orc with one eye open, the other fused shut by bull goo.
"There," said the orc, simply nodding at the sizable puddle of cum before her. Shaking from poorly contained sobs, she bent down to lick the spilt goo. A boot, roughly placed upon the back of her head, pushed her face sideways into it.
"No, I won't. I won't do it. The Burning Legion take you!" She spat, blowing bubbles in the raiders' dregs. The flame of defiance re-ignited within her soul. She would not be treated this way. No warrior ever should. Then, something caught her eye. Between two fingers, the orc wiggled a mana crystal. "Are you certain, Alliance bitch?"
Valeera allowed a few sobs to escape, as she licked, slurped, and drank the smelly puddle. Whether the salty taste was from her tears, the ooze, or both, she neither knew nor cared about. Once she had slurped up the discharge, the orc took the pressure of his boot from her head and tossed the crystal on the ground. "Good," he said, petting her head and moving away.
She threw herself at the crystal like a wanderer in the desert who finally found water. The full-belly laughs of the onlookers made the humiliation immediate and concrete, and still she drank every drop of that crystal's essence. She kept her eyes fixed on the twinkling stone, scared of the consequences she might face for showing them her scornful expression.
As day turned to dusk, Belgore brought her to the stables. She was absolutely drenched in the humiliating residue of the raiding party. He tied her leash to his kodo beast's saddle, setting his sights on Thunder Bluff. Valeera Sanguinar, master assassin, friend of the High King of Stormwind, who had defeated demons, ran helplessly after her new owner. If she stumbled, she was dragged, so she learned swiftly to keep her pace up. Her belly held a concoction of sticky seeds, while in her womb swam an abomination. But maybe, just maybe, if she could get a hold of more mana crystals, she might be able to break free someday. Valeera hungered.