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It was a cold morning, and Feralas was scarcely ever welcoming.

The ground was muddy, and the wolf's paws were sinking into the ground. The orc riding on top of the great grey wolf was in no better mood than the jungle he was travelling trough. He looked up to the horizon and towards the hills. There in a rocky pass was a great arch of carved stone, a remnant of an ancient elven ruin. The stone structure was tilted so sharply, it was a wonder it hadn't collapsed throughout the years. Though, as he looked around and saw only the marble gate guarding the pass, maybe the ancient ruins ahead of him were at the brink of sinking into the ground, only to remain as a dot on a map, and in the memories of the Kaldorei.

Passing between the great pillars, the road turned slightly left towards few stone steps almost buried under roots, moss and fallen leaves. Sniffing the air Sorag knew he was close, the sulfuric scent carried by the wind was a clear sign that this was the right place, a landmark on his journey, and not another of the decrepit elven ruins that dotted the landscape.

The stairs led to a cobblestone road that turned right, towards a group of stone buildings. Even from afar, and despite the millennia of decay and rot, the Darkmist Ruins still retained some beauty. Along the cobblestone road Sorag noticed couple of unlit torches, surely left by some likewise traveller. By the right side of the road he passed a great hall of which only the top-most floor was still above the level of water as the structure was sunken into the steaming pools, it's lower floors flooded and all of it soon to be buried under wet soil. The great carved pillars of the long hall were wrapped in clouds of sulfuric steam rising from the water's surface.

Reaching the middle of the road the orc saw a stone house to his right and to his left a rotund base of a building so corroded, that its purpose he couldn't guess. Ahead of him the road continued towards another marble arch, much the same as he passed under on his way here, this was his exit, after passing these ruins he would climb down the hill and continue towards Isildien.

Yet as the wolf carried him on, towards the gateway arch and out of these ruins, a terrible weariness fell on his shoulders, his strong muscles suddenly felt so weak, as if his frame was sculpted out of wet paper.

Maybe a rest and a good sleep wouldn't be such a bad idea, Sorag thought. He was on the road since before dawn. Even his wolf would surely enjoy some rest. He heard that the ruins of Isildien were infested with ogres and fighting them now that he was so tired would do no good.

So, he turned the wolf around and motioned his companion towards the stone house. The structure seemed stable and with a roof to boot, it might be a good place to set up his camp for the day. As he yawned, he glimpsed a flash of blue light shining subtly from the mist.

He dismounted his wolf and from the saddlebag he pulled out a torch, flint and a fire striker. With the lit torch he made his way into the stone building. The doorway under a shattered balcony revealed a near empty room. In the middle of the room was a small basin on a pedestal, at its foot was cadaver of a night elf. The corpse, while clearly not from the ancient times has been here for a long time or so Sorag judged, and not being one to disturb the dead he opted to leave the corpse be. He looked around for any sign of danger or any other door, entrance or exit. It wasn't out of question something dangerous was lurking in the shadows, be it man or monster. Only other exit seemed to be the balcony above him, seemingly connected to the broken balcony he saw outside. Yet there was no obvious there to get up there, not even a hint of broken stairs. Having no better idea, he fetched his rope and out of some tools made a makeshift hook.

The inner balcony was small, but it was high up and safe, so he deemed it to be a good place to set a camp.

Later, as he was sitting on the balcony, by the small campfire he made, and chewing on the meat he cooked, he slowly realised that somehow the carcass down below, didn't bother him as much as he felt it should.

To calm down the rising and quite rational distress he decided to climb down, make a round and light those torches, so that he can see the surrounding area from his camp atop of balcony.

As he lit one torch after another, he glimpsed more of the blue lights lurking about the ruins. Spirits of the ancient elves he assumed they must be. Yet they didn't seem hostile, or they would have attacked him already, he dealt with similar spectres before, back in the Eastern Kingdoms...

Most like they killed the elf by the basin. Would make sense, he knew from his past how those learned in the higher arts often burned themselves with the fire they sought to hold in bare hands. He knew not to provoke the unknown and to respect the dead, and so he was alive, unmolested by the shadows of this place, and the elf was not.

As he was returning to his wolf companion and the warmth of fire, the stench of sulphur in the air drew his attention towards the sunken hall and once again he felt so tired, and in need of rest.

He knew there was a goblin resort centred around hot springs south of here. This water was probably from the same source. Thinking of hot springs reminded him of his time in Pandaria, and of it's welcoming inhabitants. He most fondly remembered fooling around with two siblings in the grass of Jade Forest.

Well, at least until their father chased him off in the morning.

With a chuckle the orc made his way trough reeds and across a small land bridge to the stone floor of the now ruined colonnade and gazing into the warm pools he felt how terribly heavy his set of plate armour was. No wonder he was tired, stomping his way down Kalimdor for days, dragging around this heavy battle gear, always wearing it.

A soak in the warm pools would be a blessing.

Part of him felt slightly ashamed. he was young and in his prime. Armour should be as a second skin to him, and not a burden to be complained about. He was strong, young and virile! And not some old hunched over human mage ridden with gout.

Yet nonetheless he undressed and from head to boots each piece of the steel armour of the Honorbound fell to the marble floor, slowly exposing his green skin. And with each piece that fell, a great burden lifted. Still sometimes he glanced a few spirits, but they paid him no mind. Finally, he stood there in only his leather trousers. Quickly he undid the rope holding them at the waist and let them slither down past his knees. One kick sent the trousers flying onto the pile of armour stacked next to a fallen pillar.

The cool breeze of the forest mingling with the warm steamy mist, caressed his now exposed body. Each turn of wind felt like a ghostly kiss upon his cock.

Sorag looked to the sunset and stepped towards it, onto the western side of the ruined colonnade and gazed at his reflection in the calm water. For a moment he indulged his pride. By all means, he was good looking amongst his kind, even some females of the other races found him attractive enough to bed him. With his eyes he studied the reflection of his muscles and remembered all the training. With his fingertips he traced the scars that adorned his emerald body and contemplated his victories and defeats. One scar reminded him of his father, and his books. No matter his upbringing, he was an orcish warrior now.

Nothing could change that.

With a chuckle he dismissed his moment of hubris, unbefitting of a soldier and stepped into the water's embrace.

He made the right call when he decided to rest here. The warmth relaxed his entire body as he bathed in the sunken ruins. After thoroughly washing away the dirt and sweat from his flesh, he sat down and leaned back on the stairs of a circular floor island near the colonnade, stretching his arms along the edges like if he was in a luxurious bath and not a hot spring turned swamp. His eyes felt heavy and Sorag was at a verge of sleep, barely paying attention to a hooded blue spirit that slowly floated towards him and the somehow intoxicating smell of sulphur that filled his nostrils.

He barely paid attention when the spirit stretched out it's long bony hands and felt at his chest and arms, tracing cold, yet warm fingers across the orc's abdomen down to his loins.

Sorag started to slowly regain his senses, his instincts urged him to jump out of the water, grab his axe and strike down the poltergeist, but before he could fully process what was happening, before his eyes, the blue robe draped around the spectre dissipated, revealing the spirit of an eternally young and beautiful night elven woman. The vision alone disarmed the orc of any resistance left. Silver hair with few locks tied to a pony tail fell down to her shoulders, she had a light purple, almost moon-white skin, and her shapely figure was hugged by a tight dress of golden leaves and yellow cloth that left most of her hips and abdomen exposed. Before Sorag could react or even comprehend what was happening the spirit held him down and locked their lips into a kiss. A sweet taste filled his mouth and sweeter whispers filled his ears. He didn't understand the words, but he knew what they said. She praised his valour, admired his strength, and urged him to show his virility as well.

The orc could only moan as the elf started to caress his manhood.

When the female broke the kiss and sank down between his knees to attend his rising cock, Sorag's exhaustion disappeared and he felt rejuvenated as he gave up all fight and gave in.

He looked upon the beautiful elf and it almost seemed that every passing moment she was less a spirit and more flesh and blood. Like an animal he leapt at her, pinning her to the floor as his hands tore away at the golden leaves and chains, tearing away the cloth from her voluptuous body. He paid no mind to the tatters that turned to smoke in his hands and only concentrated at the elven seductress. Expression of otherworldly lust spread on her face.

Her lips hardly moved, yet a strange tongue encouraged him to take her.

Sorag felt as if the elven woman was burning from within as he entered her. Never had he fornicated with any woman who felt like this, in fact, the pleasure was so great he felt as if he had never known a woman this way before, in his entire life.

He thrusted as hard as he could yet puzzlingly the night elf seemed unfazed by his skill, yet still entertained. Making him feel as if he was an unexperienced boy, giving his virginity to a skilled harlot who knew no limit. Infuriated at the elf's insolence he pushed himself to mate her faster and harder.

Pleasure washed over him as he came and thick ropes of his seed shot deep inside this mysterious female.

As if all energy left him, he fell on top of her and his mind went blank.

Like if he fell asleep for a moment and woke up, he found himself in a new position, he lay on his back and this time she was the one in motion, riding him like a wild stallion. He tried to speak but found not the strength, he let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

Then he woke again, this time they laid on their sides, the elven mistress pressed her butt into his groins as he was fucking her from behind.

Then again, he laid on his back and his mouth filled with the taste of her juices and his cum that leaked out of her, as the elf sat on his face, enjoying the tongue that pleasured her while her fingers playfully combed trough his short mohawk of black hair.

Again, and again,

He came to consciousness for a short while and then lost himself to the pleasure again. Had this not been a moment of erotic pleasure it would seem to him like a fever dream.

In the moments of reason, he noted it was past sunset, and then night. Only sources of light were the torches nearby that he lit before, and blinks of blue light in the mist. One time he was fucking the elven woman the way wolves mate, the other, he was on his back and she suckled at his cock while exploring his rear with her fingers. He smelled sulphur and semen and sweat that covered his body. Yet she was perfect, clean and unbothered by the physical strain.

Then she was on her back, holding his face in her hands. He held her legs over his shoulders and pounded away. He held her legs so tightly that in moments it seemed that her perfect skin was covered in scales.

He gave out final cry of ecstasy as he came, like he did time and time again this night, filling her impossibly warm depths with his seed.

With that, everything turned dark.

He woke the next morning.

Laying on the circular stone island, naked, and had he not smelled like a filthy cumrag, he'd think it was all a dream. He quickly washed away the dried cum, dirt and sweat, not wanting to stay in the water any longer than need be.

He dressed as fast as he could and rushed back to his canine companion and the now burned-out campfire.

Perplexed by what happened last night and suddenly very much aware how the corpse laying on the floor hinted that this place might not be as safe as he first thought, the orc had no idea why that ghost wanted to copulate with him. Or why she or it didn't kill him afterwards. Or whether it was a ghost in the first place, maybe she was alive, a mage using her tricks, or something worse.

And maybe it was better he didn't know.

Whatever was the case, he knew that this encounter, as pleasurable it might have been, was not a good thing.

He was not that young and naïve.

Not long after Sorag was urging his wolf to run faster and faster, away from the Darkmist ruins, and west towards Isildien.

There was what he came here for.