by Ian Rodgers
It also did not escape her attention that there was a crowd of townsfolk nearby, yet they had done nothing and just watched. Some of the noble brat’s companions hurried over and helped him to his feet.
“You little…!” The noble growled, staggering to his feet. His angry expression changed to one of surprise and disgust when he saw Dora and her green skin.
“What the… what in the Six Hellish Planes of Pluton is an orc doing in Partaevia?” He asked incredulously. One of his minions leaned over.
“That’s the one, sir. The rumored half-orc.” The nobles face contorted into an ugly expression. Both a sneer and leer.
“Grab her.”
Two of his grunts obeyed, rushing over and grabbing the young woman.
“What the?!” Dora shouted, and she began to struggle.
“Let go of my daughter!” Irene cried, pushing and shoving at the men who were now trying to drag Dora towards the stables. They shoved her right back, sending the frailer Healer tumbling into the dirt.
One of the noble’s henchmen came by with the reins of the group’s steeds in hand. The travelers made their way over to them, and made to leave.
“Come on, let’s go,” the noble said and he mounted his large horse.
The men holding onto to Dora roughly tied her up with rope. She tried to bite them, and earned a few strikes for that. The half-orc was then thrown over the backside of one of the men’s mounts, handled like a sack of turnips.
“Release my daughter you bastards!” Irene shouted, raising her hands towards the men, an orange glow around them.
What happened next was a blur. Yet it burned itself into Dora’s mind forever. One horse became extremely skittish when magic suddenly flared to life in front of it. Its hooves lashed out in fear, even as the rider tried to control it.
Irene was too close to the horse, and when it reared up its heavy hooves slammed into her: one struck the center of her chest, the other sharply bashed her head.
The Healer collapsed, a puddle of blood quickly forming where she lay in the dust, chest and skull deformed.
Someone screamed. Dora thought it might have been her.
The noble swore loudly. Even drunk he knew killing a priestess of Cynthia, even accidentally, was enough to try him for murder and blasphemy, or as an accessory to either.
“We need to move!” he commanded, and the riders shot off down the road out of Far Reach.
Dora continued to struggle where she lay until a sharp blow to the back of her head silenced her and brought about terrible blackness.
.
“This is bad! W-we never should have come here.”
“Shut you! It’s not our fault! It was an accident, everyone will say so!”
“But what if they don’t? What if…?”
This was the conversation Dora woke to. She groaned groggily, her head throbbing. Her vision was blurry, but she could tell it was late at night. The moon was fat and low in the sky.
Her body was sore, and coarse rope dug into her arms, rubbing them raw. As she struggled to sit up more talking continued.
“Look, it will be fine. The place was a settlement in the boonies. No one will care, and word will never reach anyone of importance. Let’s just sell this monster and be done with it.”
“Are you sure they’ll come?”
As her vision returned she made out the group of men who had kidnapped her, all sitting around a campfire. The horses milled about and grazed on the tall wild prairie grass as their riders ate some kind of stew. Her stomach rumbled.
“Of course! I have it on good authority that a slave trading caravan makes its way around these parts every year around this time for supplies. We drop off this bit of merchandise, earn some coin, and we return to Ria Royle a few weeks later, no one the wiser.”
There was some grumbling in the group, but they all seemed content to follow the noble’s lead for now.
Dora was weak and tired and ached all over. She tried to crawl away, but the movement caught the men’s attention. One of them walked over and gave her a kick in the side for her trouble.
“Settle down. You’ll be gone and out of here soon enough. In chains, perhaps, but no longer our problem.”
“You killed my mother,” Dora spat, anger overcoming her fatigue.
“You don’t know that! People can recover from injuries like that!” The man protested. His voice was weak though, afraid of the truth.
“Maybe if she got to a proper doctor or Healer in time she’d survive, but she was the Healer! No one else could treat those wounds!” Dora cried. Sorrow overcame anger and tears fell, turning the ground around her head muddy.
She ended up crying herself to sleep that night.
.
When she woke up next, dawn was rising and she was still in the dirt where they’d left her. However, there was something else going on. A commotion.
Dizzy from hunger and dehydration, she was confused by what she saw happening in front of her.
A great green blur strode through the camp, scattering the men who’d kidnapped her. It was bellowing loudly and an iron-grey line danced about, sending sprays of red everywhere it landed.
The horses neighed and panicked, trampling the ground as they tried to flee. The men screamed and fell in spurts of crimson and cracks of a whip.
Her heart began to pound violently, and spikes of terror ran through her. Dora began to thrash in her bindings.
“Stay back! Don’t you know who I am?!” Someone was coming towards her, walking backwards as they tried to fend off the green blob.
It roared something incoherent, and swung the lash. The clang of metal on metal hurt Dora’s ears and she moaned and began to try and crawl away from whatever was attacking them.
Another clang, followed by a wet squelch, and Dora froze when the noble’s head landed next to her. His body fell down a few feet away moments later.
She looked up at the green monster that now loomed over her.
“Do whatever you want,” she grumbled, and laid her head down, letting exhaustion and a sudden lack of adrenaline return her to darkness for the third time.
.
“Are you awake yet?”
“Owww,” was Dora’s appropriate response. She stirred and two things came to her addled mind.
One, she was no longer wrapped in ropes. Two, she was lying on a blanket.
She rose, and found a bowl shoved in front of her face.
“Drink this. It’s soup. You need food.”
She took it and drained the entire thing. She did it slowly, though. Her training at the clinic had taught her not to let patients who hadn’t eaten recently consume too much too quickly.
Meal finished Dora finally had a chance to look at her rescuer. Her breath caught in her throat.
An orc. The first one she’d ever seen, aside from herself in the mirror. And that didn’t really count.
This specimen was clearly male, and a large wall of muscle. Even crouching as he was he still made an impressive figure. His hair was black and cropped close to his head. He wore a leather cuirass over a drab tunic accompanied by a pair of simple fabric trousers. Scars crisscrossed his bared arms, showing a lifetime of violence and struggle.
Two tusks protruded down from his lips like fangs, giving him a feral, snarling appearance. His eyes watched her with a guarded expression.
What really drew Dora’s eyes though was the ivory peg leg he sported in place of his left limb.
“Are you alright?” the orc asked, though the forcefulness of the tone made the question sound more like a command.
“For now,” Dora said, running a quick check of her body with a burst of magic. Nothing seemed too damaged, and the rope burns on her arms had been crudely treated with some ointment.
Check-up complete, she then looked around the place she found herself. It was the former noble party’s campsite, now surrounded by tents and wagons and cages. Men bustled to and fro, tending to beasts of burden.
A
gnome was stirring a large cauldron while a thin, lanky young human male was doing repairs on one of the wheels. A middle-aged overseer with a goatee was shouting orders, and a large, dark skinned fellow was carrying two crates on his shoulders as he obeyed the shouting man.
Dora turned her attention back to the orc.
“Did you save me?” she asked at last.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I dislike having humans selling my kin into slavery. They were also quite rude and aggressive,” her savior responded.
“You’re a slaver, aren’t you?” she asked. Dora already knew the answer, though.
“I am.”
The half-orc’s gaze drifted to the pair of whips coiled at the orc’s side. One was simple leather, the other studded with razor sharp blades. She swallowed nervously.
“What now?”
“Your choice. You’re not a slave, so you can make up your own mind.” The orc rose and stomped over to the large worker with the crates. He said something and the human complied, setting one of the containers down. The orc plopped himself down, looking for all the world like a king surveying his court.
Dora spent a few minutes lying on the blanket pondering her choices and her future before staggering to her feet, a determined fire in her eyes.
“I need a horse,” the Healer-in-training declared. The men in the camp shared a look before the tall thin one went off and came back.
“This is the only one we have available,” the young man said apologetically. “It’s one of the horses that belonged to the aristo-brats. Only one we could catch when the others ran off.”
Dora swallowed and stared at the horse in front of her. It was a sleek chestnut colored mare with a prominent white splotch on her forehead in the shape of a star. It was also the beast that had struck her mother.
She looked down at its hooves. She couldn’t see any evidence of the action from before.
The half-orc was startled out of her brooding by the horse gently bumping her with its nose, nuzzling her in an almost sorrowful manner.
She choked back tears that threatened to spill from her and quickly mounted the saddle. It was uncomfortable and she’d never ridden a horse before. The ride back to Far Reach hurt more than she cared to admit. And far more than just physically.
.
It was the afternoon when the wood and stone buildings of the town came into view. Whispers and stares greeted a stony-faced Dora as she returned to Far Reach astride one of the horses she’d been stolen away with. The green skinned maiden paid the attention no heed and stoically made her way in.
Her first stop in the frontier settlement was her home. It was empty and had an abandoned feel to it that made Dora clench her fists and teeth in despair and anger. Her heart ached for her mother.
After getting inside she spared no time in ransacking the dwelling, taking everything of value, both sentimental and monetary, and stuffing it into a growing pack, along with food, clothes, and other supplies.
It did not take long for her to strip the house bare. As she left, she clutched her prayer book to her chest while her crossbow dangled at her side.
She then strode into town for her next destination, her newly acquired horse trotting faithfully behind her. She was heading towards the Healer’s store for one final stop.
The clinic was just as she’d left it, except for one major difference. A body lay on the examining table, covered by a white sheet that was faintly stained red. Dora felt her knees go weak at the sight and she staggered over to the impromptu mortuary table.
She began to cry, great wracking sobs of grief tearing from her and burning her lungs.
It took a while but she finally regained control of herself. She lay the prayer book of the Divine Family on top of her mother’s shroud before reaching up and tearing her necklace from her throat. The silver charms dedicated to the three goddesses of the Divine Family glinted in the light before she placed them atop the tome.
What came next was another efficient dismantling and raiding of the building’s stores. Medicine and materials were stripped away and added to Dora’s pack. Bottles, vials, and pouches full of ingredients disappeared into it.
By the time she was done, there was nothing left. Nothing of value or medicinal use remained, and Dora felt a dark joy at the thought. She immediately left after one last check and refused to look behind.
A crowd had gathered now, the people of Far Reach milling around aimlessly. They watched as Dora emerged from the building, and more than a few eyes went to the bulging pack she carried on her back.
Dora swept her eyes over the crowd, blankly observing notable faces before snorting in disgust. A cough grabbed her attention and she saw the blacksmith with a sad smile holding the reins to her horse.
“Thank you,” she said softly. He just nodded and released the steed which trotted over to her new owner.
“Pah! Good riddance to rubbish,” a voice called out from the crowd. Dora’s eyes narrowed and she gave Doctor Argus a withering glare.
“Farewell to worthless wastes of space,” Dora shot back. Some in the crowd grumbled at that.
“At least with your mother gone we can get a real Healer, and not just some stupid woman who spreads her legs for abominations.”
With a burst of speed and rage Dora shot over to the vile man and smashed her fist into the side of his face, smiling in vindictive glee as she heard something crack loudly from the impact.
A stunned silence hung over the town, then the blacksmith gave a slow clap of approval before he bent down and picked up the fallen luggage.
“How dare you! You’re just a filthy monster!” Doctor Argus spat, wiping a trickle of blood from his lips. “Your mother was a stupid woman for letting something like you live.”
“My mother was a saint compared to you!” Dora growled, throwing another punch that sent the drunkard into the ground once more. She then glared at the other townsfolk around her, daring them to speak about against Healer Irene.
Though some of the locals looked like they wanted to argue the point, or at least say something derogatory against the half-orc, they held their tongues. They’d pushed this girl, now woman, too far, and if she went any further some feared what would happen when she broke.
When the inhabitants of Far Reach said nothing, Dora snorted and turned away. She stomped over to the blacksmith and snatched the pack he’d been holding out of his hand.
She sent a grateful look his way, and the older man patted her shoulder in understanding and helped her secure it to the saddle of the horse.
The doctor was not going to let any of this go however, staggering to his feet with hate in his eyes.
“You worthless little bitch!” Argus sneered. “Do you really think you can just leave? You’ll be hunted down by the authorities for what you did! You think we don’t know why you’re riding someone else’s horse?!”
“I did nothing,” Dora shot back. “If anything, those so-called nobles should have been the ones arrested! They killed my mother and tried to kidnap me! They got what they deserved.”
“Maybe if they’d just done what I’d said then this all could have ended without your idiot mother dying,” Argus snarled. “But I guess it serves her right for interfering.”
Dora froze before she slowly turned to face the doctor.
“What did you say?”
“I was the one who told them about your presence here. And no one would have batted an eye at something like you getting dragged off. If Irene hadn’t stepped in to protect you she could have gotten on with her life and made a new, better child to replace you!”
Dora growled. “So, you’re saying it’s all your fault?”
When Argus nodded smugly Dora shook with anger. In the blink of an eye the Healer unfastened the crossbow from her side and loaded a bolt into it in one smooth motion.
She aimed and fired. The twang of the crossbow’s string was joined by a muffled thud almost immediately afterwards. T
he entire town fell deathly silent. Fitting, seeing as there was one less living person within it.
Argus toppled backwards, a bolt pierced clean through his forehead. His eyes were comically wide, as if he couldn’t believe he was now dead.
“Not a bad shot,” the blacksmith said darkly, giving the corpse a disdainful look.
Dora glared and said nothing. As she looked at the man she had just killed, she felt no remorse or guilt. Only a sense of annoyance that he had perished quickly and painlessly.
The half-orc then swept her gaze across the townsfolk, some of whom were now staring at her fearfully. Others were angry though and made to attack her. They halted when they saw her load another bolt into her weapon.
“If any of you think I won’t shoot at you, you must be true fools,” Dora growled. “Go ahead, make this day even better for me! I’ve wanted for years to get back at you for all the hate and pain you’ve given me over the years. Well, guess what? Try anything and I will gladly put you down like the vermin you are! There’s no one left to hold me back.”
“And don’t even think about giving chase,” the blacksmith spoke up, his voice booming over the crowd. “I can easily misplace a nail or two the next time you bring your horses in for their shoes.”
“She killed Argus!” One of the men shouted. “You would take her side?!”
“That useless doctor killed her mother, I think it’s a fair trade!” the burly smith roared back. “When did that drunk do anything? He never treated patients or contributed to the town’s wellbeing, it was all Irene, whom you let die!”
The large man snorted in disgust. “Hope you all enjoy having a settlement without any trained medical personnel or a competent blacksmith. This whole debacle shames me to be associated with such a place.”
The citizens of Far Reach reeled in shock and began to clamor, shouting and demanding. The blacksmith ignored it all.
He turned to Dora once his rant was over. “Go now. Find your own future away from here.”
The half-orc nodded thankfully, holding back tears. She holstered her weapon and got onto her steed. She then rushed off into the tall prairie grass, leaving Far Reach behind.
