The Moon Guard Absorption

My name is Rose, I’m a seven foot tall night elf. I’ve got a voluptuous body with rock hard abs, enormous powerful thighs, and then there’s my defining characteristic: my 3 foot long dark purple horse cock.

I woke up one morning in Goldshire Inn like this, laying between a duo of soft, svelte void elves I’d ERPed with the night before. Assuming I had found myself in the fleeting moments of a lucid dream, I pulled down the sheets to see if it was there. Sure enough, resting comfortably upon two coconut-sized balls, was my flaccid, equine member. And for what I found a blessing at the time, so would begin my curse.

For months afterward I found myself in more depraved situations. Almost daily, I would descend further into the debauchery found in that terrible place. The red lamplight flickered against our flesh, writhing and covered in all kinds of hedonistic fluids, piss, spit, cum. Dick down a human. Pick up a gnome and lock her in a full nelson. Compete to see who could spray the most cum out of our monolithic bulging pricks. I hardly noticed how as time went on, fewer and fewer people remained at the inn.

In one of my more lustless moments, I headed up to Stormwind, only to find it mostly deserted outside of the NPCs standing in their normal places, or pathing their predetermined routes. Only spotting the lone player on occasion, I again returned to Goldshire, where I found only a gnome stablemistress and her pack of horses. So, I made due with them. And then I woke up again and they were gone.

And then I was completely alone.

I wondered where everyone had gone, traversing the land looking for someone, anyone. Yet I found nobody. Upon returning to Stormwind, a dread began to set in. Had it all been a dream? I flew up into the sky, and let my self fall. When I splattered onto the cobblestone street, nothing happened. I didn’t even go into the Twisting Nether like I was supposed to. I swam to the bottom of the canals, and found that I didn’t need to breathe. I was impervious to everything I tried after that – lava, bosses, fatigue.

I once went to Boralus to find lady Jaina Proudmoore. My idea was to cum all over her, humiliate her, yet when I went up to her and looked at her face, that’s when I felt it. I looked at her beautiful face, stoically gazing past me to some far off point with a grandeur outside of my knowing. Her noble pulchritude. That was when I realized I was in a world of heroes, whose accomplishments spanned lifetimes of adventure, of glory, and sacrifice. And then there was me. I had done nothing to earn my physique or my power. I was a specter of a fraud in a land of noble and glorious heroes. The world’s loneliest scum.

It has been years since my abandonment in this digital world. I’ve searched every pixel of this place, looking for something different, a key, a door, a relic. Anything that could let me out of here. Now disgusted with my perverse body, I walk around in heavy robes and a hood. Nobody is here to see me, nobody except for myself in this private corridor of humiliation.

I spend most of my time in the Cathedral District. Sometimes I sit in the Grand Cathedral itself, contemplating my fate. I would pray to someone for mercy, but I don’t know where I am. Am I actually in the world of Azeroth? Do I pray to the Light? I have no idea who or what I’m supposed to pray to. So I just pray.

They put a new portal in the Mage Tower. It doesn’t say where it goes. I sit there staring at it. Instead of giving vision of where I’m going, the projected image is merely a bright, white light. Yet I wonder if this is some further cruel trap, or if it’s a test of faith and penance. I’m sorry for what I became, but I don’t know if I’ve atoned, and there’s nobody around to tell me if I have, or what exactly it would have to be.

But I don’t have to do anything now. Nothing right now. That is my only grace. My only suffering is in my mind, and it is my mind by which I exist in the virtual prison. Perhaps I’ll go through the portal some day, but only a day when I’m ready. Nobody goes to Hell by accident, and nobody who doesn’t want to go, actually goes. Not for the reason we’d imagine, at least.

So I’ll wait, I’ll continue to pray, knowing my old life is gone, I may only imagine what lies ahead. I know that it will be okay, but the okay has but yet to arrive.

Despite a rose’s temporary allure, it’s ultimate destiny is to rot.

We Called Them Helicopters

There was an oracle only we could see
Who told us stories of ages past:
One of which the mountains rumbled and
The sky went gray, and ash littered the land.
Left no choice they retreated to caves
Where mistyeyed neon salamanders clung
To dripping stalactites
Gleaming above the fire.
Blind wiry spiders threaded
The cracks in the walls.
They never seemed to catch anything,
But they never seemed to die.
When the dark days ended they reemerged,
Finding life upon death,
A lone seed falling from the trees.

When the wind comes through
And the trees whisper lucid
As they prepare to go to sleep,
She stands in a field of clovers
Where bees dip from stalk to stalk.
In the golden light we laugh
And catch them as they fall…
Falling through the Godrays,
The last seeds of the year,
We put them in our pockets.
They may end up washed
Or thrown in the trash,
Cast into the corner, eaten by the cat.
Or perhaps a few will be,
Mindfully or not, discarded in the yard.
And then what could happen?
Rain doesn’t need to be told to fall.

Blue Hour

It’s 2005,
Friday night,
Light snowfall.
Mom brought
Home McDonald’s.

A Eulogy for the Dollar Menu

You fed
The young,
The old,
The sick,
The poor,
And those in
Need of
Comfort.
Rest in peace
My beloved friend.
We don’t
Deserve you
Anymore.