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KINDNESS

Shadowmoon Valley was not the brightest or liveliest of areas amongst the shattered remnants of Draenor; the black soil, the dim, clouded skies and bubbling pools of green fel lava were enough to turn most adventurers away from this ominously quiet place. Even the plants that grew here, such as nightmare vine, thrived on death, as many unfortunate inexperienced botanists quickly discovered. Between the hordes of demons, the ghosts of the bird-like arakkoa, and the violent felboars and diemetradons of the valley, it was no surprise that few would call this desolate wasteland home.

For the tauren warrior named Leron, Shadowmoon was as much home as any other place he had seen throughout his life. Leron was something of a loner, and rarely felt comfortable staying in one place for too long. He would venture from city to city, always finding that someone had a job that needed to be done. The gray-furred tauren did not mind performing these tasks, so long as he got to fight something. He loved the thrill of battle and the honor that victory brought him; it seemed that fighting was the only thing that brought him pleasure in life.

Leron trudged through the hard-packed soil of the valley with his large axe on his shoulder, his hooves leaving shallow impressions in the dirt. Over the past few years he had grown accustomed to the sound of his plate mail grating together, and he rarely, if ever, paid attention to it any more. Just a few minutes earlier, the tauren had left his temporary residence - a small town built by the Scryers that was referred to as Sanctum of the Stars. During his stay, Leron had spoken to one of the blood elves who had been tasked with recruiting able-bodied warriors for a combined assault on the massive former city that had become known as the Black Temple. While Leron had little interest in taking sides in a war, his fighting spirit easily got the better of him, and he agreed without much consideration.

As he walked, the tauren passed into a vale that hosted many clusters of tall, translucent crystals. Nesting at the base of these crystal formations were creatures known as flayers. These beasts were generally humanoid in shape; they stood hunched over on their two legs, but rather than having claws or talons at the end of their arms, they possessed a pair of long scythe-like bones that could cut through flesh with ease. Two shorter arms grew beneath the first pair, and also sported a set of bladed bones. Leron had encountered a few of these pack beasts in the past, and was taken aback by their ferocity, cunning and speed. Though he did not fear the creatures, he decided that it was a good idea to keep his distance, if only conserve his strength for the fight to come.

Continuing on his way to the rally point at the foot of the temple, Leron spotted a lone blood elf in the distance. Seemingly unaware of the tauren's presence, this elf, clad in dark blue armor, held a bow in his hand as he retrieved an arrow from the quiver on his back. Leron watched as he drew the string back and carefully lined up a shot before letting the arrow soar. The bolt hit its mark, lodging itself in the head of one of the smaller flayers that had wandered too far from its nest. With an ear-piercing screech, the beast fell in a heap in the dirt. The tauren let out an impressed 'hmph' at the skill and marksmanship of this strange elf. "Hail." Leron said at a distance, approaching the elf carefully.

"They can't keep this up! Their wings will eventually give . . . " The elf exclaimed as the two males neared one another. Leron gave the bowman a strange look, not knowing what he was talking about. "Something has them spooked, tauren." The elf turned his gaze upwards and pointed toward the dark skies. Leron realized almost immediately what the other male was talking about: high up in the air flew at least two dozen nether dragons, circling the vale slowly. So distant were the creatures that the sounds of their large wings flapping could not be heard. "They won't even come down to feed. I have seen several fall to the earth, dead from exhaustion before their bodies even hit the ground. My name is Mordenai. We must save them!"

The tauren gave Mordenai an even more puzzled look than before. "What can we do?" He asked wonderingly. If nothing else, Leron was interested; after all, whatever the elf had in mind, it probably involved killing something.

"The flayers that are found near the crystals are their natural prey. Kill the flayers and place their carcasses in the field and stand extremely still. As long as you do not make any aggressive movements, they will not attack you."

Leron immediately did not like Mordenai's plan; it was filled with many 'ifs' and 'maybes'. Yet in spite of himself, he could not help but feel sorry for the spooked dragons. Perhaps it was his tauren heritage getting the better of him, but he felt it was his job to help them. No creature deserves to die like that. Leron thought firmly. Except for gnomes . . . they can rot for all I care. "All right, Mordenai, lets help these dragons."

Mordenai smiled at the tauren. "Good. It would seem best if we were to split up and hunt for ourselves." He said, walking over to the corpse he had made and began dragging it into the clearing. "By the looks of it, you will not need my help."

The tauren smirked slightly at the compliment and turned to go off on his own. "All right then. Good luck to you, Mordenai."

"And you, friend."

==========

It didn't take long for Leron to find a flayer - or rather, a flayer to find him. The tauren was in the midst of stalking one of the larger beasts when he was attacked from behind by one that he hadn't seen. Before he had finished dealing with his attacker, the other one had joined the battle. In the end, Leron was no worse for the wear, though the same could not be said for his armor, which now bore many more nicks and cuts than before. The most damage that had been done was to one of the straps that kept his pauldrons in place; even after fixing it as best he could, it would take no more than a single well-placed strike for the armor to become useless.

After taking a few moments to catch his breath, the warrior grabbed one of the corpses and dragged it into a clearing. Leron hoped that what Mordenai had told him was true; taking on a fully-grown nether drake would be a challenge for him on his best day, let alone so soon after a difficult fight. He dropped the flayer's body and backed away a few steps. Within moments a large, purple and blue dragon landed nearby and strode over to the corpse, giving it a few sniffs.

The drake tilted its nose up to the sky and sniffed a few more times. What's it doing? Leron asked himself, trying his best to stand still. This didn't make sense; surely the dragon was starving, yet it wasn't going for the food. Leron was beginning to get a bad feeling about this situation. The drake was much bigger than he was and was likely much stronger. Suddenly, the creature turned its head and gazed at the tauren standing only a few dragon-sized steps away. Ah hell.

Leron drew his axe the moment the drake stepped toward him, but the powerful creature closed the gap between them far too quickly for him to swing it. With a swipe of its massive claw, the tauren found himself careening towards a crystal. His body met with the formation, the impact tearing his pauldrons from his shoulders and his axe from his hands. He grunted as he collided with the translucent spire, and again as he struggled to hold onto the crystal. As Leron dangled from the crystalline pillar, he began looking for his axe. He found his weapon resting on the ground a few feet away, but before he could drop down and retrieve it, the dragon stalked over and placed itself between Leron and his axe.

The drake slammed into the crystal, knocking Leron off the relative safety of the spire and onto the ground below. The tauren landed on his feet and centered himself quickly. Seeing his chance, the warrior made a dive for his axe, but was stopped short by the dragon's tail slamming into his side. He skidded along the dirt, finally coming to a stop much farther away from his weapon than before. Things were not looking good for the tauren and he knew it. His body was slow to respond as he tried to force himself up onto his feet, only to be knocked back down again by the dragon's large paw.

Leron lied flat on his face in the dirt trying desperately to think of a way out of this situation. Suddenly, one of the dragon's claws raked along the back of his chestplate. With little effort on the drake's behalf, the straps that held the armor in place were torn away and off came his bulwark. The creature repeated the action with the tauren's legplates, belt, and helm, using its teeth to cast the pieces off to the side.

Before he could begin to fathom what the dragon was doing, Leron felt a warm, wet sensation on both of his bare hooves. The tauren's eyes opened wide as he realized almost instantly what had caused the sensation: the dragon's tongue. Before he could struggle, both his hooves had gone inside the creature's mouth. Leron tried kicking at the drake's head, but there was so little space to work with that all he succeeded in doing was worming his ankles into the hungering maw. How is this happening? Why is this happening? Wasn't the dragon supposed to eat the flayer? I was only trying to help it! All of these thoughts ran through the tauren's mind as he struggled to get free.

The drake, however, did not seem to care what he was supposed to eat and greedily went to work devouring the bovine warrior. Leron tried to backhand the creature with his gauntlet, but in his weakened state it did little more than irritate the starving dragon, who had brought his prey in up to his waist. Lumps that were Leron's wriggling hooves formed in the dragon's throat and slowly descended towards its abdomen. Saliva coated the tauren's hairy legs and soaked the loincloth that he wore beneath his armor. Somehow, the drake had managed to avoid using its teeth, and Leron was almost thankful that he had yet to feel the sharp incisors nick his body.

Having gone without food for so long, the dragon was in a state of bliss as the taste of his bovine meal danced along his tongue. He made sure to lap at the struggling beast as he brought the tauren deeper and deeper inside. Leron felt the tongue caress his lower regions, and fought against the sensations that assaulted his consciousness. Under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed such treatment, but now, with his life on the line, all he could think about was how he was going to get free. "No! Please, stop!" Leron cried desperately, but the creature was so hungry that nothing his meal could have said or done would have changed his mind.

Even though somewhere in the back of his head he knew that this was the end, Leron continued to fight for his survival. His three-fingered hands reached and dug into the black soil in an attempt to pull himself out of the dragon's maw, but the dirt gave way as the creature swallowed and its powerful muscles dragged him in up to his chest. The warmth of the mouth washed over his chest and back as the tongue began to explore its new territory. The fleshy muscle traced along the defined lines of Leron's back, coating his fur with a thick layer of saliva. The bull's body was rippled with strength, but all the power in his muscles were no match for the might of the dragon's throat.

Leron's view became narrower and darker as his devourer gave another gulp. The bull's head entered the dragon's muzzle while his large, bulky arms were forced in front of him. A fearful shiver ran up Leron's spine as he saw the world begin to vanish around him. The tauren began to claw at the ground more and more frantically, but the dirt continued to give way. Soft whimpers escaped him as he came to realize the gravity and the hopelessness of the situation. Leron felt his whole body being massaged by the soft fleshy throat, with the exception of his hooves, which had already entered the creature's hollow stomach.

The drake turned its head up toward the sky and gave gulp after gulp, drawing Leron's flailing arms inside his hungry maw. As the tauren gave the outside world one last look, he saw salvation in the form of the blue-clad elf. "MORDENAIIIIII--!" The dragon's jaws closed around his meal, sealing him inside. Mordenai stood at a distance as he watched the bull vanish between the drooling jaws of the nether drake. Rather than rushing to the aid of the young warrior, the elf simply nodded at the dragon and began to walk away.

Leron's world became pitch black as the jaws sealed around him. A moment later, he felt the dragon's wide tongue press up against his face and push him towards the back of its throat. Leron reached frantically for something - anything - that would stop his descent, but all that he could find was the dragon's soft, wet tongue and rows of closed teeth. He cried for help as he slid backwards into the creature's gullet, but somehow he knew that no one was coming to his rescue.

Outside, one could see the bull struggling as he slowly neared his destination; the dragon's neck grew to an enormous size as the bulky bovine traveled down its length. Slowly, the drake's neck returned to its normal size as Leron entered its abdomen. As his head entered the cavernous torso, the sound of the creature's heart beating began to accompany the wet, squishing noises that the fleshy passage made as it worked him down to the stomach.

Eventually Leron's whole body was pushed into a soft, warm sac, where he was forced to curl up into a ball in the uncomfortably tight confines. The air was hot and thick and difficult to breathe as Leron felt frantically along the moist walls of the stomach in search of a way out. Finally giving in to his frustration, he punched the fleshy walls, only to have his fist bounce back harmlessly. "Somebody! Mordenai! Help me!" Leron cried desperately, but there was no one around to hear his calls but the dragon that had devoured him.

The creature let out a contented sigh as the last of his meal entered his middle. His gut had become so enlarged by the size and weight of the bull that it brushed along the soft dirt beneath him. It felt wonderful to have something in his belly again after going so long without food. Knowing that he could not sit and rest here with all the flayers around, the dragon shakily took to the sky, suddenly put off-balance by the added weight in his abdomen. He perched himself on top of a ridge, where he lay down and began to rest his tired body, caressing his struggling meal from the outside. While he was not accustomed to devouring his prey alive, the dragon began to contemplate doing so in the future; the wriggling meal within him brought him so much pleasure that it was well worth all the extra effort.

Slowly, the struggles died down inside him as the air in his gut was used up. The drake sighed again, contented and full, and began to curl up and fall asleep as his meal did the same. The next day, the bulge would be largely gone, and the dragon would have the energy to sustain him until his elder brother Mordenai, had convinced another foolish traveler to help feed the starving dragons.

END