His tanned wrists were bound, expertly, the flesh of the delicate skin pressed tightly together as his hands were drawn over his head, elbows flexed only slightly. His legs were splayed, leather cuffs fastened tightly around his ankles.

His body was lean and toned, lithe, the muscles compacted against him, defined but non-obtrusive under his even, tawny skin that projected the elven man’s health, youth and vitality. His honeyed hair remained in a pony tail, the long tuffs of hair haloed around his head atop the rich, crimson bed pillow. The bed itself was plush and expensive, large enough for a large and sprawling couple, the room containing it lavishly furnished as though gold were of no consequence.

And, of course, it wasn’t. Anjasa lay beside Maglin, her head rest on his shoulder and her hair tussled with busy activities and restless sleeps, her toned body pressed against his, smooth leg drawn over his. The blankets were long cast aside and she breathed with the regular breath of deep sleep, though the green eyes of her companion remained open and alert, staring at the bright aureate and intricately engraved ceiling in thought.

After all, he had just been informed that his sister was marrying a troll.


There was a large, cherry table across the large dining room, set for twelve. All of the family was invited to the dinner, though Idryl and Maglin would, of course, be sat at the child’s table in the kitchen – out of sight and away from the nasty topics of an adult dinner. The room was hot with steam, though it was a relief from the cold fall breeze that lapped at the tinted windows.

The scent of baking was thick in the air; fresh rolls that would be served with churned butter, the delicate yellow liquid melting into the soft, doughy crevices. Lightly puffed pastries with jam filling that leaked out, just slightly, at the tips. But, of course, the piece that dominated all was the turkey that their mother and father had worked together to cook, side by side, though bickering all the way. The bird shined slightly with a light glaze, the skin crisp and protecting the tender meat from the heat of the spit.

The droplets of juice dripped into the fire and sizzled, sparking slightly. Idryl sat behind Maglin as they both watched it slowly turn as their parents ran off to bicker in another room about the colour of the table cloth or who was better at… anything. The twins had, for the most part, learned to tune them out. However, they were at an impasse. The two children were, in their minds, no longer children and were quite mature enough to handle these ‘adult’ conversations.

And so, the two little Quel’dorei with their glowing blue eyes and deviously chubby cheeks concocted a plan. They would move their delectable dinner about on their place and take turns, listening to the adults. Then the spy would run back and, with face flushed full of excitement and mind tempted with terribly adult things, blurt everything to the twin.

Idryl was the more serious of the two, with short brown hair kept in careful ringlets and large, pronounced dimples on either of her cheeks. Her carefully made dresses fit her snugly as her mother’s denial at the continued presence of her baby fat was, over all, impressive. Always dolled in frills and lace, Idryl learned from a young age to take care of her skin and nails carefully, refusing to wash dishes or perform any manual labour in order to protect herself from scrapes.

Maglin was her little helper, in that regard. Always eager to protect and aid his older twin, he’d often cover for her lack of doing chores by doing them himself and letting her take all the credit selflessly. His hair was blond and kept short, though he longed for it to be longer. His skin was tanned from being out in the sun too much, and his legs were strong from running about endlessly. He was always getting into trouble and Idryl would always cover for him – he was reading with her, she’d fib.

So slowly the heated dinning room filled with bodies, older relatives, and family friends. Their parents stopped bickering, instead opting for an overly cheerful and almost sickeningly love struck manner, her mother’s long, sinewy fingers interlaced in her father’s thick, blunt ones. Idryl and Maglin stood patiently, their own stubby fingers intertwined together, sticky from some stolen and shared jam.

Once they were adequately dismissed with a rude wave of fingers, the twins returned to the kitchen and sat down at the small wooden table, their own food mashed together and cut smally, eliciting bitterness from both of them as the scuffed and reluctantly pressed some food through their waiting lips. After a few minutes Maglin stood, without a word, and with each quiet little foot he moved closer to the closed, heavy wooden door, his long and slender ear pressed against it. Idryl sat silently at the table, playing with the food that would normally delight her, but not nearly so enjoyable when there was information to gain.

Maglin tiptoed back and sat back down, stuffing some turkey into his mouth as his cerulean eyes stared off in a thoughtful manner. Idryl watched him with her tiny, puckered lips left agape as she kicked her foot at him under the table and hissed out in a whisper, “so!”

Maglin darted at this, looking at her and finishing swallowing the mouthful of food, his voice small, “they were talking about sending us to boarding school! Out in Dalaran!”

Idryl’s eyes went alight for the briefest of seconds before she pushed clumsily away from the table, running to the door and mimicking his actions. Her hands and ears pressed to the door she leaned in order to hear better before collapsing through the door at her mother’s mother’s feet. She let out a loud cry that turned quickly to a banshee squeal, both of them being sent quite quickly to their own, private rooms.


Idryl and Maglin had been outside their family home, deviously snuck in the dark alleyway listening to the fighting and cussing and wanton behaviours when the sounds of the scourge infiltration filtered into the streets. Ducking into a wine cellar, they sat in wait and when they heard the howling wails of torture and depravity, they sunk deeper still into the sewers, running through the stinking hole until they finally hit daybreak at the edge of the city.

Maglin had always had a way with words, especially around their parents, his ability to string words together to befuddle or amaze them particularly acute. He had been not only able to talk them out of boarding school, but to allow them more freedom and ability to ‘explore their creative side’ as he had put it. Idryl’s creative side was more in line with reading complicated books on magic where as Maglin had a firmer grasp of wordplay and trickery.

There was a large house towards the other end of town, a rich and gluttonous man living there. He was alone, but for his servants that were ever rotating and a new mistress who sought his wealth nearly monthly; never were they able to put up with his sour moods much longer than that.

He wore expensive and finely tailored clothing at all times and was coated head to foot in fine jewels. However, what made him a target for the dashing Maglin more than any of that was his lewd and crude comments to any pacing lady, including his sister. The boy took great delight in filching a pocket watch here or a golden goblet there, always running home to show off his new bounty held between his nimble fingers.

After the scourge had abandoned the city they had went to his house only to find it empty of both quel’dorei and valuables.

Only by virtue of Idryl’s cunning mind and Maglin’s agile fingers were they able to survive the utter genocide of their people, thieving and bartering and running and hiding until at last the scourge left their City and the Sin’dorei were born. Maglin and Idryl returned eagerly to the broken streets of their home, scrounging on what they could to survive.


Idryl’s zaftig body sat atop the plush couch, her mildly rounded cheeks and soft jaw turned from her lean and handsome brother in protest, nose in the air. Her lips were carefully made up to a cranberry pigment, standing out against the pale, white flesh with the lower lip pushed forward in a pout. Her ears were erect in annoyance, her hair carefully brushed and curled to frame her milky, smooth skin.

Her large eyes were closed to mere slits, the emerald glow of her eyes illuminating her long, soft lashes, the charcoal coloured lining making them appear thick and exotic. Her ruby robes, though obviously tailored and hemmed and patched, were bright and carefully maintained with no loose threads or uncared for holes. Her legs curved out of the bottom of the lace skirt, white and smooth, ending with carefully selected, though modest, shoes.

Maglin’s eyebrows were furrowed with sorrow, his mouth moving, though he couldn’t recollect the exact words he used to convince his sister to come out on the field with him and help to earn gold and luxury for themselves. For her. She was his princess, his loving and doting sister, and he craved more than anything to be able to provide for her. But, alas, he was young and didn’t have nearly the earning potential to keep her in the manner of finery which she expected and, he would argue, deserve.

He promised that if she went with him, kept him company on his journeys, she could rest once more and be treated as royalty. Soon. Slowly her face had turned to him, long and slender ears drooping in defeat with an exasperated sigh of annoyance. Idryl stood slowly and wrapped her arms around her twin, pressing her soft frame to his sturdy torso in a long and tearful hug.

Though she had agreed, it was through great reluctance and required daily coaxing and reminders. She refused to walk if she could help it, relying upon her fel knowledge to protect her both in the use of armour and in demons bound to her bidding. The day they were finally able to purchase a hawkstrider for her to ride upon was one of the happiest days in those young and difficult times.

It was a warm and balmy night in Un’goro, camping under the stars that the topic came up once more about Idryl’s desire to rest. There were other means in which to procure funds for their travel and one that would keep them in gold for long enough – not forever, but perhaps enough time for Maglin to be able to earn more. There were buyers, after all, for all manners of exotic or interesting objects and pieces. And perhaps, if there could be a buyer with enough gold and enough desire for all things youthful, they would be able to sell that delicate chastity that Idryl had held on to for all these long years.

They spooned into one another’s arms, Idryl’s body slowly taking on a more toned form from the physical exertion and the lack of rich foods which she lamented daily. Maglin’s body remained firm and hard, lean and strong, his boyish form curled around her adoringly. His nose rested atop her hair, breathing in her scent as she swallowed hard, feeling the pounding of his chest against her back.

It all spilled out in a fury of heat and passion and decades of longing and desire and repressed want. For years they had lived off one another, fed off one another, and it finally, in the glow of the Un’goro heat, they submitted.


Things sometimes have a way of biting you in the ass when you least expect it. Maglin had gone back to Silvermoon and ran into that wealthy nobleman he so loved to filch from, and then the rogue did what came natural to him. However, his fingers must have hesitated or perhaps his reflection was seen in the glass. Regardless of how it happened, it did.

Maglin’s hand, smooth and polished despite all the rough work he was putting in sank within those crimson robes, grabbing a hard and round object, lifting it with slow and careful precision. The fat man argued about the price of some crackers with the man in front of him, stating he should simply bring them from home if they’re going to charge him.

And then, in a flurry, Maglin’s hand was caught and though he struggled, he was captured. Silvermoon, the police state as it were and despite the rampant crime and mafias of its underbelly, still maintained a prison outside the city walls, and it was inside this prison that the dashing boy rogue was sent.

Idryl, at the loss of her brother, was irate. Brilliant though she was, it would take time to concoct a plan, though. She set to work right away, not daring to sleep as she poured over different ideas focussing on different forms of rescue. Drugging the guards, hurting them, causing them to cry in fear. Damaging the walls, working from the inside… She began thinking with portals, pouring over the different knowledge she could absorb before finally settling on a plan.

She went to the jail on a routine and scheduled visitation, having no need to lie about her family status. She explained to the portly guard who seemed quite enamoured with her own Ruebenesque frame that she just needed to speak with him about the family funds while he was serving his time. He allowed her in, his eyes trailing to her behind as she walked to the visitation room.

He had searched her, of course – rather thoroughly. Too thoroughly for her tastes, though she dared not complain. However, not all magic could be confined by the runes and with a quick flick of her wrists a tiny vial appeared in her hands, so small that it were smaller than the size of her pinkie nail.

When she sat across from her brother, they both looked tired, but their exhaustion was hidden by their exuberance at just seeing one another again. She slipped him the vial, knowing full well he needn’t have any instructions for it.

She left and, showing uncharacteristic speed, ran from through the prison doors in a flurry of false tears and anguish, putting on a show for the leering guard. Once she was free from prying eyes, she created a small portal, far smaller than the normal demon wardrobe. Reaching through the nether, she cried out for Maglin in Erodun, pulling his tiny form towards her with a triumphant shout. Her magical concoction had shrunk him to allow for safer passage through the nether and he was the size of no more than a cat. She reached him to her bosom, crying out in delight as he slowly returned to his normal, elfin size.


It was not long after the twins reuniting that Anjasa Vilelight entered the scene. They had joined the Tribe before his prison stint. It was mostly as another avenue to pedal the wares the two created – Idryl would come up with the pleasurable little concoctions and Maglin would mark it up and sell it off, ensuring many happy returns. When he heard that their Chieftess was hosting a training in swords and stealth, he lept at the chance. Idryl, not having the least amount of interest in her brothers ‘rough housing’, as she called it, stayed home with her runes and her books.

After the official training, Maglin approached the older woman, asking for more private help and, to his surprise, she agreed. She showed him the proper manner to use a sword, a dagger, teaching him how to be apt, to use your enemy against you, to plan for the unexpected. She informed him, in detail, about how to survive on your own and how to use your cunning to get out of the way of a greater foe.

And then, before either of them understood the significance of what was happening, she was teaching him tricks of the flesh trade; first hand. Of how to titillate older women, of how to act the part of the young boy, of how to indulge fantasies. She coaxed him to shave and then she began selling him to high scale clients that wanted a fresh faced young man to swoon for them.

No stranger was his elder rogue to the delights and deviances of sexual pleasure and prowess, and she was not one to deny the power it allowed you to have over all manners of people. To remain flexible, open minded.

The love affair of Anjasa Vilelight and Maglin Bitterose was hot and swift, passionate and salacious; no taboo was off limits. She built him a Mechanohog and, in exchange, he would service the best clients she knew, putting in the effort to make them feel desirable and sexual, making sure they enjoy.

The spent many evenings together, selling one another. Jumwa had given permission for her to return to her whoring ways, so desperately she needed the variety and so greedily she wanted the income. Even the great Jumwa’jin couldn’t be everything to her.

And so they scoured the streets of Silvermoon for clients, delighted at the shared dirtiness of their affections. Sometimes they would start the evening together, but always did they end it together. It was short lived, however.


Anjasa knew what was coming. She had planned it and cornered him and she knew it was coming and she couldn’t help but want it. Jumwa’jin had a temper. He once told her that he would flay her and consume her and feed bits of herself to her should she ever sleep with anyone that threatened his power. And knowing this, she still needled him into action.

Many days he had beaten her, and many days she had deserved it, practically begging for it in the slyest of manners. She would limp about, bruised and bloodied, but her soul would be calm and sedated.

However, her new found affection for the dashing your swordsman was not being sedated, nor calmed, nor cooled. They tussled and rumbled and spent the night sleeping in one another’s arms with no pretence of sex. Anjasa was reminded of the good and the warmth and the security of having someone love you and never wish to harm you.

There was only one thing she was concerned about, and it was not herself – it was Jumwa’jin’s son. He was squired away to an orphanage, then hidden in their cabin with a nurse and full day care. No one knew of him, and his mother was long since killed by a certain Shadow Cat. Inside a gem she carved laid his name and wareabouts and with the utmost care, she passed this jewel to Maglin, making him promise that should anything happen to her, he must shatter the ruby and seek out what lay inside.

And so, she goaded her husband to attack, and attack he did. Never was he in such a flurry and all the way she begged for it, begged for the pain, begged for the sweet release of unconsciousness. It did not come – instead, with a final toss, he threw her from the window. Maglin was on the alert below and stole her away at the first moment he could without rousing attention, his heart breaking as he watched his lover’s battered form get treated as nothing more than a doll.

The rogue had no manner in which to heal her grievous wounds and brought her to the only ones he knew in the area of Zul’waja. Andulin Sunscorn and Celebrin Spiritglow kept a small house connected to Andulin’s tailoring shop and, as luck would have it, they were home. Celebrin set to work healing Anjasa’s wounds and Andulin and Maglin fretted to and fro, none of them speaking much.

Healed enough to move, though it was uncomfortable, Maglin and Anjasa hid away in a secluded room, biding their hours or days or weeks before Anjasa’s inevitable return. Even through all of this, they both know that her heart could never leave her brutal master’s, so enraptured was she in the violence and anger and pain.

She made arrangements with Andulin, at the mage’s suggestion, to have a secret and hidden house atop their tailoring shop with all the niceties of a small apartment, allowing them privacy that they craved in their small little city. Anjasa returned to Jumwa with a clearer head, and a less burdened heart. Maglin returned to his sister… and asked her to leave.

It was the noblest of purposes in his mind. He feared that Jumwa would find out about the elicit affair he was having with his bride and seek to hurt him in the most painful of ways. He could not bare to lose Idryl, but he couldn’t abandon Anjasa to the whims of her troll lover.

Besides, her argued, she would be pleased there. It would give her ample room to study and research, and he would visit and write frequently. The best laid plans. Besides, it was temporary.


The tower was in the hills of Alterac and at first, Idryl did not mind the cool weather and the winters breeze and the howls of the wilderness outside. She kept a large fire going in her library and went to work on her biggest project to date. She had heard rumours of Incubi and decided that, rather than the Sapphic affections of her succubus, she could and should have more.

Maglin was always so jealous of her felguard, even though she made it certain he did not have anything on which to impale her – in the interest of safety. However, were she to have an incubus she could further the lives of lonely female warlocks for decades to come!

She had purchased many books that contained reference, though they were all brief and fleeting and did not tell her what she required. However, combined with the knowledge of the nethers and the succubi and the demon lords she set to work, turning her library into a work of intricate runes.

They glowed softly at all hours, the flames of fel engraved in them deeply. Even the fire was beginning to take a fel tint to it. To ease the loneliness, she kept her succubus out more and more, finding her a useful tool in both research and in the more practical needs of a woman who refused to lift a finger.

And so the two researched and studied and practiced and failed. It was in the best interest of the succubus to help, as it were, since Idryl had promised her a newfound stud of a friend, but that didn’t stop the succubus from twisting her tongue and spinning her tales.

The visits from Maglin became less and less frequent, first going a week or two between letters, and then more, weeks fading away to dust. By the time she received her first letter from the anonymous J.J. it had been several months since she last saw her darling brother.

She found out later that the demoness was confiscating his gushing love letters, lamenting at how she refused his calls and refused to write, and was turning him from the door and telling him hateful and hurtful things that his loving twin had said of him. Idryl’s letters were confiscated in kind – one of the reasons why you shouldn’t trust a demon to do all your house work.

After months of writing to her warm and caring and utterly brilliant J.J., she returned home to Silvermoon to meet with him, having not the faintest idea about his true identity. When it was the husky voice of a troll that introduced herself, her spine straightened and her chest caught before she recognized him as the Chieftain of her Tribe.

It had been months of loneliness and depression and frustrating, crushing defeats in the field of her study. The incubi was never born of her hands, afterall, and she had no gentleman callers in her hidden prison.

It was a good thing the lady was able to enjoy the pleasure and pain of their eager consummation, so consumed were they both after the teasing letters and their troubled love lives.


Anjasa invited him to their hotel room – the hotel room that they had escaped to before and after… the incident. It was completely sound proof, completely cut off from the rest of the world, and she ordered no room keeping – it was all there when he arrived. Platters of food piled high, the freshest, the ripest, the richest. The most expensive bottles of wine, the most rare herbs pressed into the pipes, tiny paper cigarettes stored carefully. The bed was carefully arranged with the leather bindings and Anjasa wore a black catsuit from her neck down, the material glossy and emphasising her curves.

As he arrived she tied him down and fed him food and ground atop his body, writhing. She aimed to heat his head enough, dull his senses enough that he would be pliable and more willing to accept what was happening at the moment. Idryl was marrying her husband.

It was an awkward situation, at the very least. Something that, of course, Anjasa had brought down upon herself. After he had beaten her the last time, Jumwa reminded her of her whoring, of her sleeping around, spreading herself thin. He also reminded her of his own hesitance to do the same – indeed, he was largely loyal but for when she coaxed him. And he further reminded her of troll customs and responses to power.

She wasn’t happy with his decision to begin looking for another bride, and yet her heart longed for Maglin and she convinced herself it was for the better. She had no idea that he would choose another elf, let alone Maglin’s twin. She was suspicious of his true intent in finding her lover’s sister to bed with, but who was she to say? If she said no, what would he do in retaliation? If she said no… selfishly she worried about losing her own elicit lover, the other man that had taken that part of her heart.

And so she agreed, reluctantly, and opted not to tell Maglin until the deed was done – after all, if Jumwa were willing to kill his wife, he wouldn’t think nothing of killing his wife’s lover should he come to protest.

Anjasa’s body squirmed against him as she told him, rubbing along him, breaking it to him gently. She caressed him and soothed him as his face fell into one of great despair. His emotions clouded his head, his eyes until no more did he see the sex goddess atop him but only the past of him and his sister, their love so eagerly pined for for so many years, and so quickly cast aside by circumstance.

And there was further pain, a final sting to all of this. Jumwa’jin had claimed both of the women he loved.

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