Ciarra The Cold

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. F.u.c.k me. Better yet, f.u.c.k you. F.u.c.k.i.n.g burn in hell, you f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g bastards, every single one. I learned what real f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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? F.u.c.k.i.n.g 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, f.u.c.k.i.n.g bastards just ignored me. Dammit to hell and back, I was only their f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 v.i.r.g.i.n like me. They took no chances. The only damn thing worse than f.u.c.k.i.n.g evil slave raiders is those who keep them in business by f.u.c.k.i.n.g buying slaves. My f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g colors he f.u.c.k.i.n.g picked out? F.u.c.k him. F.u.c.k 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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. F.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g easy, and at first, it was. Before the day was half over, my f.u.c.k.i.n.g hands cramped, and my arms hurt like hell. Every damn time the brush touched my scalp, I hissed in f.u.c.k.i.n.g pain. It was irritated by the relentless brush strokes. F.u.c.k irritated. Every f.u.c.k.i.n.g bump felt like being jabbed with a f.u.c.k.i.n.g needle. I was f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 'f.u.c.k' 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 p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e slave. My v.i.r.g.i.n.i.t.y 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g bastard wanted a trained v.i.r.g.i.n. Should I have been grateful for that much? F.u.c.k 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g expensive slave. Not that it makes a difference. If anything that makes things worse. For that much gold, I can be almost f.u.c.k.i.n.g positive that my family, no... the entire village was targeted because I matched the coloring the f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 v.i.r.g.i.n because he planned on sleeping alone. Hell, compared to every-f.u.c.k.i.n.g-thing else, my impending **** 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g day at a time. That's how I'll f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 cl.i.c.k.i.n.g of their talons against the marble tiles drew closer. F.u.c.k.i.n.g run! I pulled on my owner's leg, trying to get his attention. F.u.c.k, he's too distracted to notice. Am I about to die because this f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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. F.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g please!

An ethereally elegant lizardkin came into view. B.a.r.e 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g time you f.u.c.k.i.n.g idiot. I ran away as fast as I could.

I was just a f.u.c.k.i.n.g ignorant commoner, and I f.u.c.k.i.n.g knew running was our only f.u.c.k.i.n.g hope. Why was everyone just f.u.c.k.i.n.g standing around and f.u.c.k.i.n.g watching? How could they be so f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g deadly predator when they f.u.c.k.i.n.g sensed one? My instincts f.u.c.k.i.n.g screamed for me to escape. And I'm stuck beside my f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.k away. I could have told you that before she was halfway down the f.u.c.k.i.n.g aisle. Apex f.u.c.k.i.n.g predator. And that was before she called on her goddess, and got a damn AUDIBLE f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 c.h.e.s.t, 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g apex f.u.c.k.i.n.g predator, and we needed to f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 m.o.a.n.e.d with what sounded like p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e, 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 f.u.c.k.i.n.g crazy. Where was sanity when my family died because I had f.u.c.k.i.n.g 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.

Still laughing, she pulled her dagger free, and dark blood pumped from the wound. She jumped from him to someone else, her feet never touching the floor. Her new target recoiled, shrieking at her sudden weight, but it was already too late. His voice choked off as she sank her blade hilt deep into the same point as the other man; Only this time, her angle of attack was different.

Everyone froze. The foxkin had moved so swiftly that I hadn't been able to keep track. Intellectually, I knew she covered the remaining space, but that's not what my eyes told me. She was just here, and then she was there.

Her laughter ceased, and she c.o.c.ked her head like a bird inspecting its prey, studying the two bleeding men intently. I studied her. Damn, she's using them for target practice. That's cold. Damn ruthless, but it made f.u.c.k.i.n.g sense. No amount of goddamn training can match real f.u.c.k.i.n.g experience, and she's so damn fast none of them can f.u.c.k.i.n.g touch her.

"Interesting. Piercing straight down next to the neck seems fairly crippling, but at an angle, it's nearly instantly fatal."

She smiled up at a towering bruiser near the door and asked, "What if it's a steeper angle?" Instantly, she was on him and sank her dagger in the same spot. The angle was much sharper than last time. His scream choked off before it could begin.

The foxkin spoke as if she was talking to herself. "Killing with a blade is all about draining your opponent's blood as quickly as possible. At least that's what I overheard them say at the thieves guild. Thick blood vessels run through the neck, and it looks like my second and third attacks severed them quite thoroughly."

Her second victim struggled for his sword.

"Show me where you keep your blood," she said with a smile.

She picked up the adventurer's sword and placed its hilt in his reaching hand. He looked up at her, dazed and confused. So was I. That didn't stop him from staggering to his feet, and swinging at her.

Every other time she had made a single strike then changed targets. But not this time. She grabbed the adventurer's sword arm and stabbed her way up, starting from his wrist, and ending with her standing on his shoulder again. Dozens of deep cuts oozed blood, but the one into his armpit gushed more than all the rest combined.

"So," she said, "armpit next."

People exploded from the room, no longer trying to surround her, or trying to fight, they just ran, including my owner.

The foxkin happily buried a dagger into three different armpits. All entry points were under the left arm, each at a slightly different angle.

Covered in blood, she flashed a smile at me, then went back over her victims, checking to see which had died, and which were merely wounded. Every single one had only taken a single attack. One was motionless on the floor, but two others tried to attack her. She just avoided their wild swings. She appeared to be studying the effect of each strike. How much blood were they leaking? How long would they last? Could they still attack? Utterly ruthless, without a trace of mercy. Yet, she had smiled at me. Like I was a friend.

Distantly, I heard my owner call and was forced to leave the bloody little foxkin to her research. She was more frightening than the slave collar that forced me to obey.

All but stumbling into him, I stared, suddenly remembering why we ran in the first place.

The lizardkin, still looking as pure white and perfect as before, was surrounded by bloody and broken bodies. No longer preaching, the priest that had led the clergy, floated high in the air, scowling down at her. So much for him being a f.u.c.k.i.n.g priest. He's a wizard or some other damn mage.

He gestured, and arcane symbols flared into existence around him. With both hands, he threw fireball after humongous fireball down on the lizardkin. The temple shook as they exploded. They hit so quickly that it sounded like a single rolling explosion, instead of separate ones. He's as f.u.c.k.i.n.g powerful as the damn lizardkin.

After several long minutes, he stopped, and I couldn't accept what I saw. The lizardkin stood there, looking as pristine as before. She hadn't noticed or perhaps didn't care, but her armor glowed cherry red from the heat of his attack. What the hell? What the f.u.c.k is she? How could anyone f.u.c.k.i.n.g ignore red hot f.u.c.k.i.n.g metal strapped to her goddamn skin?

She roared. Deafeningly loud, deep and rumbling, vibrating through my c.h.e.s.t. Nothing humanoid should have been able to make that sound. Frozen white energy exploded from her gaping maw in a lance of raw destruction.

Arcane shields flared around the priest, as her breath slammed into him, driving him against the wall, high up near the ceiling. He started laughing maniacally. Damn. F.u.c.k.i.n.g hell. Another f.u.c.k.i.n.g crazy one?

"A little birdy told me all about you. I can't win here, but things will be different next time. Now that I found you, I know which dungeon you must defeat first. I'll see you shortly!"

Incredibly, the lance of frosted wildfire expanded, achingly deep cold blasted through the room, breath fogging, I shivered. The top half of the temple's stonework wall had shattered.

Her mouth snapped shut, and silence fell. Nothing remained of the preacher. Damn, did she destroy him, or did he f.u.c.k.i.n.g flee? Movement caught my attention, and I turned to find the lizardkin stripping out of her armor. Beautifully nude, she looked up at the gaping hole where the wall used to be. Wings sprouted from her back, and she took off after him.

She's f.u.c.k.i.n.g gone! Holy f.u.c.k.i.n.g damn, what the hell are they. I collapsed to the chilly tile floor. They weren't f.u.c.k.i.n.g gods, or the goddamn city wouldn't f.u.c.k.i.n.g be here anymore, but no adventurer was that f.u.c.k.i.n.g powerful!

Screams brought me back. Looking around, I found the foxkin stabbing people in the back. It wasn't a sneak attack. She sliced open their shirts and, just like her armpit attacks, she made a single strike in a specific location, then moved on to someone else.

I smiled. The foxkin might be f.u.c.k.i.n.g crazy, but she was here for my goddamn enemies, not me.

This time my owner didn't hesitate, he ran to the back of the building, as far away from where she was as we could go. He opened a side door, and we fled into another chamber.

From there, we discovered the stairs heading down, and he ordered me to lead the way. Below the main floor, we found where the clergy lived, and on the floor below that, we found many improvised cells. They overflowed with people; all of them wore slave collars. I recognize that dreadful silence. It only comes from a f.u.c.k.i.n.g room full of slaves ordered to keep their damn mouths shut.

For the first time, my owner demonstrated intelligence.

Choosing one of the few empty cells, he locked us inside.

"Slave, if she comes in, grab her! Choke her! I don't care if you need to shove your hand down her throat to do it. Don't let go, and don't let her near me."

Resigned, I listened to the distant screams and her joyous laughter. How many damn people can one f.u.c.k.i.n.g foxkin kill? Once I would have been f.u.c.k.i.n.g horrified, but as far as I was concerned, supporting slavery made you a f.u.c.k.i.n.g bastard of a slaver, and I'd happily burn all f.u.c.k.i.n.g slavers alive. How many had there been? When we had arrived, there were at least a f.u.c.k.i.n.g hundred parishioners, and that was long before services started. The lizardkin had told her to 'kill the congregation,' not merely some of them. Is she truly going to kill every f.u.c.k.i.n.g parishioner? As time passed, and screams continued, I came to understand that, yes, yes she was.

I hoped the other slaves had all survived.

Much later, she stepped into the room. The terrifying foxkin dripped blood, but none of it seemed to be her own. She seemed happy.

"There you are," she said. White teeth flashed in a cheerful grin. I smiled back automatically, partially in instinctive fear, but mostly because I didn't believe she would harm me.

"If you come in, I've been ordered to grab and choke you." He hadn't ordered me to be silent, so I saw no reason to keep quiet.

She chuckled, "Good luck with that," then she was inside the cell, and his groin had a dagger sunk into it. He squealed and clutched at himself. The instant his mouth opened, she sliced out his tongue.

Before I could react, she had already dashed out of the cell. Still bound by my owner's last command, I chased her. The foxkin didn't go far. When I drew close, she would retreat towards the ground floor. Along the way, we passed many bodies, all showing signs of what I could only call methodical attacks.

She looted several leather belts as we passed. "I'll use these tie you up when we get back to the main floor."

"Good idea, and thank you for killing all those f.u.c.k.i.n.g bastards."

I followed her from room to room. I couldn't call it a chase, not when she was so much faster. I've never heard of a f.u.c.k.i.n.g adventurer that was that damn quick. Like the f.u.c.k.i.n.g wizard and the lizardkin who had chased after him, I don't know what the hell she is. She isn't a damn god, but she isn't a f.u.c.k.i.n.g mortal either.

In the chapel, the other slaves all waited. They watched the foxkin with a mixture of horror and trepidation. I didn't understand it. The others cringed away when the foxkin drew near. Hell, don't they f.u.c.k.i.n.g recognize what the f.u.c.k.i.n.g foxkin did for us? We owe her every-damn-thing, even if she did nothing more for us, what she has already done winnowed down the slavers, and more importantly, the money backing them. She is a gods-damned-saint as far as I'm concerned.

I chuckled, "Depending on how you look at it, Kolra, Goddess of Domination and Control, just saved a bunch of slaves from slavers. Am I the only one that finds that ironic?" Apparently, I was the only f.u.c.k.i.n.g one.

The foxkin stopped dodging, and I caught her. My owner's last command forced me to attempt to strangle her. For a moment, I was worried that I would hurt her, but she had far more strength than should have been possible.

Soon she had me bound tightly with the leather belts she had picked up, and I found myself on my knees once again. This time, the one in control smiled down at me with a twinkle in their eyes.

The diminutive foxkin forced my head to rest on her t.h.i.g.h. Effortlessly. The compulsion forced me to struggle, so I continued to fight against her. She grinned down at me. It reminded me of tussling with my parents back when I was a child. I never had a chance against them either. She stroked her fingers gently through my hair, and it felt pleasant. Soothing. Comforting.

Then something in her eyes changed, and I was suddenly aware of how skimpy my clothes were, how close she was, and it no longer felt like playing with my parents. A shiver of longing passed through me. I wanted her to keep holding me against her. Could I stay with her?

Looking up at her, I asked, "What's going to happen to us?"

"Ciarra will decide."

"Is that the one that looked like a lizardkin? What is she?"

"She is... I don't know if I should say. She is My Queen, and I am her pet. She is everything to me," the foxkin said. "I like you, and playing with you has been unexpectedly fun, but if she asks me to skin you alive, that's what I'll do."

Suddenly scared for her, I asked, "Are you under a slavery enchantment?"

"No, and never suggest that again. Those collars run counter to everything Ciarra stands for. She would never use one."

"But, she's Kolra's champion, isn't slavery what her goddess stands for?" I couldn't help myself, even though the prudent thing to do would be to shut up.

"No. Ciarra lives and breathes domination and control. These collars prevent both."

"I'm feeling controlled right now," I said. Completely f.u.c.k.i.n.g controlled.

"You're looking at it from the wrong side. Ciarra isn't going to look at it from the perspective of a slave. Tell me, my oh-so-controlled kitten. Who is controlling you? Your master is dead, yet you still seem to be struggling to attack me. Why?"

"The collar, of course..." I start to say.

"Exactly," she interrupts, "Your master never had domination or control over you; that was all your collar, just an inanimate object.

"The world is full of both predators and prey. Predators hunt. Nothing will ever change that. Prey has several choices. Run, hide, or find protection. The strong dominate, the weak submit. That's not just how it is; it's how it should be."

Suddenly all traces of affection drained away.

"I suspect that Ciarra will destroy the collars, and that will leave you with a hard choice to make. You will be alone, penniless, beautiful, obviously inexperienced, and far from home. What do you think will happen? I know what happened to me when I was in a similar situation."

My stomach fell. It was an excellent point, and I knew what would happen. I might not end up a slave, but unless I had incredible luck, I wouldn't be free. Running would fail. I had nowhere to go. Hiding would only work until I needed something to eat. Everything else was a variation of finding someone to protect me, and that implied selling myself.

Biting my lip, I looked up and noticed the blood drenching her for the first time since she killed my owner. Suddenly, I couldn't smell anything else. I probably look like someone coated me with dark red paint.

She was the protection I wanted, but a woman wouldn't be interested in the only currency I had.

"I want your protection. Please, I'll do anything you want. I'll be your maid. I'm an excellent cook. Whatever you need. Just take care of me."

Her eyes were a little wide, and she looked utterly shocked, but she was already shaking her head in denial. She opened her mouth to refuse me when someone chuckled.

Kolra, Goddess of Domination and Control had returned.