Chapter 11: Kolra's Temple

Warning: This chapter is from the viewpoint of a new character ... she doesn’t curse outloud, but she uses excessive profanity in her internal thoughts.

If she was a regular viewpoint character, I’d mark the story as having excessive profanity.

Silently, I knelt between the pews, at the feet of the old human that just purchased me, held in place by magic emanating from the heavy slave collar around my throat. Fuck me. Better yet, fuck you. Fucking burn in hell, you fucking damn slaver asshole! I mentally screamed the words, but my lips didn’t move. They were sealed by his command to kneel silently at his feet.

Before this nightmare started, I was an innkeeper’s daughter. Slavers had raided my home. Enchanted slave collars are expensive, so they only had enough for twenty of us. They choose who they expected to bring the most profit, Including several children. They enslaved children, what heartless fucking bastards, every single one. I learned what real fucking evil was that day. Then they slaughtered everyone else, including my parents. Even after all this time, I still had to fight back the tears. Why the hell did they kill everyone else? Fucking evil bastards.

The slave raiders sold us to a caravan. Then we were stripped down to our small clothes and given two orders. Don’t harm anyone, including ourselves, and stay in our cages. Treated as the merchandise we had become, they kept us in large communal cages. Except for me. Yelling, swearing, threatening, none of it made a difference. They didn’t respond, fucking bastards just ignored me. Dammit to hell and back, I was only their fucking prized livestock.

My father had been a panther beastkin, and my mother had been human. I was a rare half-breed. The slavers called me a catgirl. One of their contacts had a standing order for a dark-furred and light-skinned catgirl with blue eyes. He had offered double for a young virgin like me. They took no chances. The only damn thing worse than fucking evil slave raiders is those who keep them in business by fucking buying slaves. My fucking owner-to-be was the worse of all. He had arranged a purchase matching his specifications. I was nothing more than a decoration for him, picked out for my coloring. Is that why they attacked my home? Were my parents dead because I matched the fucking colors he fucking picked out? Fuck him. Fuck all of them.

In an enclosed wagon, alone and bored, daylight little more than a memory, I simply existed. The door only opened twice daily. Before the sun came up, and after it had set. Just because my fucking bastard of a future owner wanted me to be pale-skinned, they kept me a hell of endless darkness so that my tan would fade. Days, weeks, months, all spent in that little wagon. Fucking bastards.

Every time the door opened, they emptied the chamber pot, filled the basin with water, and left a small clean hand cloth. The water was both for drinking, and for cleaning myself.

In the evenings, hard bread and tasteless stew waited, but only if I passed inspection. Hair, skin, fingernails, everything had to be flawless. Even the slightest imperfection would bring the only other order they ever gave me, “Brush your hair until we open the door again.” Tens of thousands of strokes later, arms long past aching and burning, I would finally be released from the command.

Initially, I was defiant and wanted to hurt the slavers in the only way I could, by ensuring I sold for as little as possible. If they were going to treat me like an animal, I’d act like one. I didn’t try to clean myself. That lasted until the first time they punished me.

‘Brushing your hair,’ had sounded so fucking easy, and at first, it was. Before the day was half over, my fucking hands cramped, and my arms hurt like hell. Every damn time the brush touched my scalp, I hissed in fucking pain. It was irritated by the relentless brush strokes. Fuck irritated. Every fucking bump felt like being jabbed with a fucking needle. I was fucking raw and bleeding in several places. They hadn’t even noticed my defiance, and I had already given up on my tentative plan. I just wished the damn door would fucking open so the torture would end.

When it finally opened, they barely glanced at me before calling a priest over to mend my wounds. I thought they were showing a small sign of humanity. After being healed, I no longer ached. Blood was in my hair, and I hadn’t cleaned myself sufficiently. So I failed inspection again. Instead of food and the chance to rest, he just said, “Brush your hair until we open the door again,” and closed the door. He hadn’t been upset.

This time I spent all night paying careful attention to exactly how I brushed. I couldn’t allow my scalp to become raw again, and the only way I could think of to avoid it was by rubbing it as little as possible. Every stroke had to be deliberate. While I brushed my hair with one hand, I cleaned myself with the other. In the morning, I passed his inspection, although I failed several more times over the next few weeks.

Then lessons began.

I learned how to speak in high society. And endured hours of punishment, just because an accidental ‘fuck’ slipped out. That made me especially bitter, because I had been a good girl, and had never cursed before they came.

I was also taught how to act. Where I should stand, which fork to use, how to curtsy, and all the other details I needed to know so I wouldn’t embarrass my master when someone visited. Worse of all, they taught me about being a pleasure slave. My virginity was reserve for the man that would purchase me, but they still made me learn everything about pleasing a man. I didn’t have any hands-on experience, because that fucking bastard wanted a trained virgin. Should I have been grateful for that much? Fuck no.

We arrived in Gravestead, and their contact, an older human man, purchased me for a thousand gold coins. That had come as quite a fucking shock. No wonder they were so careful with me. No wonder they spent so much time teaching me how to speak and act. Most slaves were sold for less than 25 gold. I was a fucking expensive slave. Not that it makes a difference. If anything that makes things worse. For that much gold, I can be almost fucking positive that my family, no ... the entire village was targeted because I matched the coloring the fucking asshole of a bastard wanted.

Smiling demurely, and walking slightly behind him, I followed him to the temple of his patron deity. He wanted to show off his new slave.

Smiling graciously through gritted teeth, I stood meekly next to him. I was never introduced, after all, I was only a slave, but their greedy eyes followed me. Talk of slaves, slavers, and raiding dominated the discussion. These were influential people, and they considered debating the finer points of slave raiding casual conversation. This goddamn temple is infested with fucking slavers.

The priest droned on, and I still hoped the service would never end. I tried not to think about what would happen when we arrived at my new owner’s home. He hadn’t paid double for a young virgin because he planned on sleeping alone. Hell, compared to every-fucking-thing else, my impending rape seems so much less crushing than it once did. I just had to smile and endure. Smiles are easily faked, and I would withstand the physical act. I just need to focus on one fucking day at a time. That’s how I’ll fucking survive.

An unfamiliar scent came from the entrance. Someone was there; I couldn’t place the smell of their species. The ushers troubled voice quietly protested, but whoever she spoke to ignored her. From my position on the floor, I couldn’t see them.

Something changed, and I shivered, scenting an apex predator. I felt like a rabbit after hearing the cry of a hunting hawk. Silent and trapped by the collar, my skin crawled. I listened as the clicking of their talons against the marble tiles drew closer. Fucking run! I pulled on my owner’s leg, trying to get his attention. Fuck, he’s too distracted to notice. Am I about to die because this fucking bastard isn’t smart enough to run from danger?

The congregation muttered, but it soon changed into shouting and the rustling of people moving. Looking up from my knees, I couldn’t see anything relevant. Everyone was staring back at something I couldn’t see. Suddenly moving, as though driven by a cresting wave, people ran from the aisle. My owner retreated with the rest of them. Fucking finally! But, he shoved past me without saying a word and left me behind.

Alone and terrified, trapped by the enchantment controlling my body, I held still as the aura of absolute domination pushed against me. Talons clicked, as they stalked forward one step at a time. The pressure grew stronger, thrumming painfully through my bones. Only the slave collar stopped me from running. Please don’t see me. Please don’t look at me. Just fucking please!

An ethereally elegant lizardkin came into view. Bare talons ticked upon the stone floor with every step. In full plate armor with an oversized maul slung across their back, every movement the lizardkin made screamed of danger. The lizardkin’s presence was so overwhelming that I almost missed the tiny black and gray foxkin smiling up at her. Neither one so much as glanced in my direction.

“Come here, slave!” My owners shouted command freed me from the floor. About fucking time you fucking idiot. I ran away as fast as I could.

I was just a fucking ignorant commoner, and I fucking knew running was our only fucking hope. Why was everyone just fucking standing around and fucking watching? How could they be so fucking stupid? I tried to beg my owner to run, but his order to be quiet was still in effect, and I couldn’t say a thing. I’m the only beastkin here. Are the other races too ... domesticated to know a real fucking deadly predator when they fucking sensed one? My instincts fucking screamed for me to escape. And I’m stuck beside my fucking asshole of an ignorant owner.

With no alternative, I turned back and watched as the lizardkin came to a stop before the podium. Beautiful beyond words. Both the lizardkin and the foxkin looked like a fucking artist designed them.

The priest that had been lecturing shouted at her, “Prostrate yourself before the God of Domination, and perhaps he’ll be merciful!”

The lizardkin snorted with pure contempt.

Enraged, the priest screamed, “Kill her in the name of the God of Domination!”

Over the commotion coming from the attacking clergy, the lizardkin roared, “Kolra, my goddess, may I kill them all?”

Abruptly, the presence of a goddess pulsed through the chamber. Her voice echoed with power, and she said, “My champion, destroy everyone who isn’t a prisoner or slave,” then her presence waned. Don’t destroy slaves? That’s fucking fantastic news. I wonder if killing them all includes this goddamn bastard?

Suddenly hesitant and nervous, the clergy slowed. You should have already run the fuck away. I could have told you that before she was halfway down the fucking aisle. Apex fucking predator. And that was before she called on her goddess, and got a damn AUDIBLE fucking answer.

The lizardkin told the foxkin, “I’ll eliminate these, you slaughter the congregation. Practice with your blades; Learn what you can.”

The lizardkin pulled the massive maul from her back, hefting it in one hand as though it was light as a feather. Moving so quickly that it was hard to follow, her maul slammed into the nearest paladin, caving in his chest, then she snapped her weapon into a nearby priest. Both crumpled bonelessly to the floor.

Like a soldier playing with children, she effortlessly shattered their already confused squad. Cloth, chain mail, plate steel, or a shield, none of it made a difference. Everyone she hit fell, and none of them stood back up. Yeah. She was a goddamn fucking apex fucking predator, and we needed to fucking run.

My owner called for me to follow and ran for the entrance. When we arrived, and I saw the door, I started silently giggling. It wasn’t merely locked. Twisted and bent around its supports, the steel barring rod would never move again, at least without a blacksmith.

My owner slapped me, demanding to know why I was laughing. Released from the compulsion to remain mute, I grinned maniacally, “I’m laughing because slavers are about to die.”

Someone screamed, and I spun around just in time to see the diminutive foxkin bury her blades in someone’s throat with a feral grin that made me shiver. Blood sprayed, and he slowly toppled to the floor, hands clawing at his throat. So much damn blood!

Suddenly half the room drew blades. The terrifying lizardkin wasn’t here, just a short foxkin that barely reached my waist.

Weapons drawn, they encircled her. The little foxkin looked like a child surrounded by brigands. No, no, no, we need the lizardkin. Why would the foxkin come by herself?

“She wishes for me to practice with my blades. Learn where to strike, how to hurt, how to kill.” the foxkin’s grin suddenly turned into a sugary-sweet smile. “Perhaps, if I do a good job, she’ll use these blades...”

She shivered, eyes hooded, and moaned with what sounded like pleasure, then started laughing, voice filled with childlike delight, as though the world was full of wonders.

“She’s crazy!” yelled a young adventurer in a chain mail shirt. I couldn’t disagree. The world is fucking crazy. Where was sanity when my family died because I had fucking black fur and blue eyes?

He charged, swinging his sword. The foxkin wasn’t there. One moment, his sword had been about to impale the foxkin, and the next instant, he was squealing. On his shoulder, one dagger buried straight down next to his neck, the foxkin sat. Sword falling from his hand, he collapsed to one knee.

My owner gawked at her in wide-eyed horror.