The Bizarre Adventures of a Half-Elf

13. Self-Rescue

**Warning: There's some intense violence in this chapter, and another mention of slavery.

When she awoke this time, it was not to the white chapel walls and the soft, clean cot, but rather, the twisted trees and hard, grassy ground of the Ghost Wood. The Half-Elf blinked the blurriness away, grimacing at the pulsing pain in the back of her skull.

She tried to reach up with a hand, only to realize that her wrists were tied in front of her with a length of rope. Her whole body stiffened in fear at the sudden realization of her predicament, and she made herself lay still as she surveyed the area by moving only her eyes.

It was evening, with the sun halfway past the horizon already. She was laying on her side, and around her was a shoddy, makeshift camp with torn tents and small, wooden carts of supplies placed haphazardly around a large fire. A  man-made perimeter of rotting logs surrounded the trampled ground, warding off any curious critters.

The bandits were drinking around the fire, laughing and shoving each other. Charlotte tried to count them, but couldn't get a good enough view without giving away that she was awake. 

Something shifted behind her.

"Lydia?" She whispered.

"Yes?" The archer whispered back.

Charlotte stifled a sigh of relief. "Is anyone else here?"

"No, just you."

"Have they hurt you?"

"No. They asked me if my family would pay anything for me, but otherwise they've left me alone. You guys aren't great at rescues, are you?"

"Not at all. Lola got her throat slit last time we tried to rescue her. So we have that to look forward to."

"Lovely."

Their conversation ceased as a bandit turned and began to saunter over. Charlotte recognized him as the one with the polearm axe who had gutted her.

She quickly shut her eyes and pretended to be unconscious.

This was rewarded with a rough kick to the abdomen. "Get up!" The bandit growled. 

Charlotte's eyes were forced wide open as the breath got knocked out of her. She curled up into herself, wheezing for air. "Fuck... you..."

He kicked her again, rolling her over onto her back, before stooping to grab her by the collar and haul her to her feet. Thankfully her ankles were not also tied. Her thigh seemed to have been poorly bandaged from where they wounded her.

The bandit brought her face close to his, close enough for her to smell his rotten onion breath. The rogue wrinkled her nose in disgust as he barked, "Any weapons?"

"No," she retorted, struggling for breath and trying not to breathe simultaneously, "Even if I did, I wouldn't actually tell you."

He released her collar and then began patting her down. Charlotte growled venomously as his hand brushed near her bust.

The man actually looked startled for a moment, and made the wise decision to keep his weapon search professional. When he failed to find anything, he shoved her back down onto the ground, where she landed hard on her butt.

Another bandit approached, fidgeting and glancing around him. His hair was long and unkempt, compared to the shaved head of the one with the axe, and he wore a large trench coat that was much too big for him. He shuffled over and waved meekly at the Half-Elf.

"Hello. Would you happen to be of noble descent?" He almost seemed shy when asking. 

Charlotte blew hair out of her face. "Half-Elf." Was her only response.

"Ah." He turned toward a man who was sitting near a tent with his feet propped up on a tree stump. "She's not worth anythin', boss!"

The boss hardly looked up from under his wide-brimmed hat as he waved dismissively. With that, both bandits walked back towards the fire, leaving the two women alone once more.