Lead Underground.net: Uncanny Erotica

Nephandic is a con­tribut­ing poster here at Lead­un­der­ground and Gank Me and here’s the first part of a mul­ti­part story series based on the set of com­mis­sion pics he got from me. Here’s part one, it’s super hot so enjoy!

A Brewfest Affair by Nephandic

      Dusk set­tled over the orange and red land known as Duro­tar. The harsh col­ors of the ground faded as the light of the sun rolled under the hori­zon, slowly being soft­ened by the warm glow of the twin moons. A rolling sound of arti­fi­cial thun­der bounced off the dark walls of a canyon, echo­ing into the nooks and crags like fan­fare call­ing atten­tion to roy­alty. A lone mechano-hog rounded a rocky cor­ner, piloted by a white haired blood elf, and shifted into a higher gear. The sound of the engine flared, as the machine made its way up a small incline near the main path, head­ing for higher ground over the canyon road below. Los­ing con­tact with the ground, the bike’s tires spun freely in the air for a moment before the full weight of the machine came down upon the shocks with a solid thump. The col­lapsi­ble side­car, jos­tled against its moor­ings with a loud rat­tle, and the dri­ver let out a deep slow breath. He was pleased.

      Nihil smiled as he pushed his foot down onto the clutch and shifted gears, eye­ing the flat and almost table like out­growth of rocks ahead of him along the sides of the canyon road. He glanced to his left, look­ing down into the canyon for any signs of activ­ity but did not see any. Few peo­ple liked to travel the canyons at night, pre­fer­ring to avoid the harpy patrols that some­times took flight in the area. Nihil shook his head a bit, and ran a hand through his goa­tee think­ing about the last time he’d had a run in with such a patrol and the mess he had made. Slow­ing the bike down, he pulled up to the edge of the rock he was on and took a look around.

      A lazy smoke cloud drifted into the sky in the dis­tance behind him, mark­ing the small set­tle­ment of Razor Hill. He had come from fur­ther beyond the out­post already, hail­ing from the small Dark­s­pear vil­lage of Sen’Jin. An old friend had decided to move back to that area, and Nihil had slipped out that way to pay the old troll mage a visit. After a day of sto­ries about the “good old days” and more than a cou­ple drinks, he had set his sights on mak­ing it back to Orgrim­mar to rest for the night before mov­ing along to parts unknown. Tug­ging the clutch with his foot, Nihil shut the mechano-hog off and leaned a lit­tle to the left where the kick­stand auto­mat­i­cally extended itself. The rum­ble of the engine faded off into the dusk.

      He stretched his right arm back and unfas­tened the but­tons on one of the bike’s stor­age bags. He pulled out a smaller satchel of fra­grant enchanted tobacco with papers. Push­ing in a small knob on the con­sole of the mechano-hog, he cleared his throat and laid out a paper and quickly sprin­kled out the dried leaf. Nim­ble fin­gers made quick work, and rolled a cig­a­rette that he licked closed and placed between his lips. The knob on the con­sole popped itself back out, and he raised the red glow­ing end to his face light­ing his fix. He inhaled deeply, felt the smoke travel down into his chest and the slight tin­gle of magic from the Infi­nite Dust that was used to cure this blend move into his bloodstream.

      Nihil’s long ears twitched, catch­ing an echo­ing sound com­ing from fur­ther up the canyon road. He exhaled a dark blue smoke, and set the cig­a­rette into the cor­ner of his mouth while both feet planted into the ground. He stood up from the bike and nar­rowed his eyes to catch a glimpse of the source. Some­one was bang­ing on some­thing with ham­mers by the sound of things, though he could not say where at this point. Reach­ing up, he grabbed the cig and flicked it lightly remov­ing the scant bit of ash at the end before draw­ing in another toke and restarted the bike. The mechano-hog’s engine turned over, and the kick­stand pulled itself back in as Nihil dropped the machine into gear to move fur­ther down the canyon top in search of that noise.

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Issue 4 page 34 in both Vir­gin and Texted editions

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Issue 4 page 33 in both Vir­gin and Texted editions

Are they ready to rest FINALLY? Doubt it. And btw, just like with guys who say “oh just the tip baby”, never trust the magic suck­ing bas­tard who says “oh just a sip”.

Or guys with pinkey rings. They’re hellspawn.

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Issue 4 page 32 in both Vir­gin and Texted editions

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Issue 4 page 29 in both Vir­gin and Texted edi­tions

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Issue 4 page 29 in both Vir­gin and Texted edi­tions

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“Alright that’s good for tonight. Every­body drop your swords off at the black­smith and report back here at dawn tomor­row. Any ques­tions?” A row of ner­vous and klutzy new recruits stared at their teacher as she spoke. A lithe elven female dressed in fierce red and sil­ver armor lec­tured them as she walked up and down the line of stu­dents, her heavy sword clank­ing against her slen­der thigh as she moved. Her glow­ing pur­ple eyes could be seen through the slit in her helm as she turned to face the group once again. “Ok, you are dis­missed Deltas!” She said smartly as the rab­ble limped off to tents and ham­mocks, tired from the day’s training.

“Hard to believe that was ever us huh eh Resari?” The knight turned to face the speaker, pulling her helm off in the process. “Clue­less new­bies with crap hand me down armor and no skills.”

“Wasn’t that long ago for you Alvar, I still remem­ber your first day here. You didn’t even have armor and seemed to think that tailor’s shears counted as your required weapon.” Resari smirked, shak­ing her soft golden hair out of her face as she walked toward the war­lock. Her plate mail clad feet crunched on the dusty ground as she kicked a few rocks out of her way disdainfully.

“Hey, I offed quite a few zom­bies with those before I got here thank you!” He grunted as he gave her a slight shove in the side. The heav­ily armored knight stood next to him to watch the new guild recruits head to their tents, most drag­ging their feet, too tired to move. Unlike the rest of the guild train­ers, Alvar was not at guild camp by choice. He hated every moment he had to train new recruits and made sure that every­body he worked with knew it. Most of the other train­ers avoided him for that rea­son besides his bad tem­per but Resi knew where he was com­ing from and seemed to have more patience for the rather bitchy warlock.

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