The Bizarre Adventures of a Half-Elf

Get Out Alive

**Trigger Warning: This chapter will contain heavily implied adult situations such as assault, torture, kidnapping, murder, and burning alive. Please skip this chapter if you are easily triggered by these situations. I have posted a safe summary in the next chapter if you want to know what happened. I do not make anything too graphic, but I also do not wish to undermine or compromise the backstory of this character. Please be respectful and feel free to inbox me if there is an issue. As always, thank you for reading my work <3

(Also, normally I don't leave a link to a song, but I thought these lyrics were very appropriate.)


It was dark. A suffocating darkness, that threatened to crush and consume. Charlotte stood in this darkened alleyway alone, the meager traces of light blotted out by the cracked shingles of the rooftops above. She warily glanced around, body tensed, and reached for a sword-- only to remember that she had left them in her room. 

A single person stepped into view, and, after taking a couple of moments for her eyes to adjust, Charlotte saw that he was wearing light-plate armor that was stained black and bore the sigil of a golden crown on the breastplate-- the armor of an Imperial Legionnaire. The Half-Elf's breath caught in her throat, and she very slowly took a step backwards. But the man seemed to sense another presence, and turned toward her. He lit a torch, holding it up and illuminating the rest of his features: He was a Sun Elf, marked with his tall ears and pale yellow eyes. His tawny hair was closely cropped, and pink scar tissue traveled from his temple down to his jaw, nearly avoiding his left eye. 

As the torchlight fell onto Charlotte, her mouth gaped open. "Lansear?"

The Legionnaire paused, eyes quickly scanning over her. "Sister?"

She hesitated, unsure of whether to step forward or back. Instead, she chose to stay where she was. "What are you doing here? Why are you wearing that? I thought you were supposed to go to Valalfheim to be a Paladin of Volaria?"

Lansear's mouth set into a hard line. "My aspiration to protect the Scarred Lands border has come to an end. But we don't always get what we want, now do we?"

Now it was Charlotte's turn to frown. She straightened slightly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Well the gods certainly have a sense of humor, placing my least favorite half-brother here. What's happened to Gerred?"

He shook his head slightly, taking a step toward her. "We're not here to talk about our brother."

Something about the way Lansear's eyes bore into her made the Half-Elf's chest flutter with anxiety. Slowly, she uncrossed her arms, and asked, "And what are we here for?"

"You know why." He took another step toward her. 

Her fists balled at her sides. "And you know why I had to get out."

"Don't you mean desert?" Another step.

Charlotte began to feel cold dread clutch at her heart. "I can't desert if I never finish my training. I just never properly resigned." She begged her voice to remain calm, but Lansear knew her well enough to pick up on even the slight shifts in her tone. 

"And why was that?"

"Because of him," she growled.

Lansear tilted his head to the side as he stepped ever closer. "Him? You're going to have to refresh my memory, dear sister."

"Like hells I do! You're the one who introduced us, you prick!" 

"Say his name."

"No."

"Charlotte, say his name!"

"I said no!" Charlotte turned and bolted. But she didn't get far before she crashed into another person and bounced back, thankfully keeping on her feet. Looking up, she saw the same Legionnaire armor, and began to curse. But then she recognized the face, and her heart almost stopped beating. Her eyes widened and her body went cold as she stared at the styled blonde hair, the fierce flaxen eyes, and the sadistic smirk that haunted her dreams. "Braern." The whisper was wrenched from her throat.