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β Whatβs the matter? Saberon caught your tongue? β
β I donβt πΝπΝπ«Νπ; worship your Warchief. After all, that's what youβre good for since youβre not good for fighting, whore. β γ €γ €
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His thumb slowly circling the head of it.
β It is buried in the many laws within. Only few know the consequences of doing suchβ¦ and you will be joining those few. β
His hand gave the shamanβs cock a singular stroke.
β Gorum, why donβt you lay down for your Warchief. β
Garrosh was many things, but stupid? Well⦠he was that but not to that degree! The warsong visibly huffed out of his nostrils, approaching the shaman.
β I've seen quite enough. β His hand reached for the shamanβs manhood, firmly gripping it.
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βSeducing? Showing off? Whyβ¦ Warchief!β
The shaman keeps his loincloth held aloft, swaying his hips side to side, allowing his hairy junk to sway along. A few dribbles of sweat rolling down his balls and dripping to the dirt below.
He shook his head gently and smiled.+
His eyes remained between the shamanβs legs. Silent. What a feat!
β showing offβ¦ β he spoke finally, his eyes drifting to Gorumβs face.
β you do know seducing your warchief is a punishable offense, right? And I am in charge of such. β
β Who do you think you are!? Demanding such things! β Garrosh tried to jump forwards toward Gorum but he barely made an inch.
β Punishment is in order once youβno, once -I- break free from this! β His grip on Gorehowl slightly loosen but it wasnβt a noticeable difference.
βCome now, warchief. You think me a fool?β
He nods down to where Garrosh still had Gorehowl clutched in his grip.
βYou drop that, and then I drop the spell. Quick, quick. Iβve no qualms with βproving myselfβ further, if youβre still unconvinced.β
He stammered out. Garroshβs pride was too strong for him to admit that he was just careless and that he was underestimating the older shaman.
He huffed through his nose. Bringing his gaze back to the shaman. β You can release me now. I promise you are not in any trouble. β
The Warchief simply growled at him, glaring furiously. Heβd attempt to free him once again, thrashing, turning, but nevertheless it was pointless.
β Thisβ¦ this was a MERE fluke. I wouldβve put up a better fight ifβth-this is no proper way to treat -your- Warchief! β
The shaman turned his hand so that his palm faced upwards, then closed his fist. The roots tightened around Garrosh. Not enough to harm him, but enough to ensure he was completely restrained.
Amusement played across Gorumβs face, stepping toward Garrosh.
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After his second attempt his arms were bind by them. Not making a single dent in them, it made sense his strength was half. Garrosh struggled against these new bindings, keeping a good hold on his weapon.
β Thisβ¦ this! HhnghβWhat is the meaning of this?! β Garrosh demanded.
This move was unprecedented. He was expecting something more straight forward. His legs were wrapped by the roots, falling down to his knees.
Panic grew inside of him. As he fell he tried to swing his weapon at the roots subduing him.
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It was as soon as Garrosh lowered his weapon that Gorum struck.
A slight inhale, a forceful exhale. His hands stretching outward, fingers curled at odd angles in the other orcβs direction.
A single utterance in a language long forgotten.
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Garrosh shows off a wide grin. Perfect, he thought. His opinion of the other has changed. He lowers his weapon down to his side.
β Excellentβ¦ β
He growled out.
β Must you not hold back. After all, I have high expectations for you, shaman. β γ €γ €
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