#whoooooops

“Where are you going, little rabbit?” 

The raucous call bounced and echoed between the tight walls of the alienage back alley, ringing ominously over the sounds of clanking armor and Merrill’s own heaving breaths. Her heart roared in her ears, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the jeering and laughter from the templars close on her tail. They had been waiting for her outside her door; three armor-clad young men snickering to each other and placing bets on who’d manage to catch her first. She had tried to slip away before they saw her, but it had been too late.

Her stomach lurched. Mythal’enast, they were getting closer! She tore blindly down the dark alleyway as fast as her feet could carry her, throwing herself around a corner and scrambling to right herself when she nearly overbalanced. She shook her head and braced to run full tilt down this new passageway, but… no. Her heart dropped like a stone. Tears burned in her eyes and her vision darkened around the edges, ice in her veins. That turn had landed her at a dead end. Damn it all! Five years in this city, and she still managed to get herself hopelessly lost. This time, it might spell the end for her. Searing panic overwhelmed her, and she darted to the end of the alley, tucked herself behind a jutting section of a wall, and prayed to the gods that they wouldn’t look too closely. 

The pounding of her heart was loud enough that, once the templars had slowed to investigate, she struggled to pick up any sound quieter than their voices. Fear was fogging her senses, her awareness. She strained to pick up what they were saying as they lingered at the junction, but nothing coherent reached her through her shroud of terror. Gradually, everything grew quiet. Still. She realized she was holding her breath and did her best to let it out quietly, but so shaken was she that it hitched on a tiny squeak. Her whole body tightened like a bowstring and she went very still. Terror froze her in place. Were those footsteps? As she squeezed her eyes shut, a gauntleted hand shot out and yanked her from her hiding place with a shout of triumph. A squeal tore its way out of her, and she thrashed in the templar’s grip as he slammed her to the wall and clapped his other hand over her mouth.

“Well, look here, boys! I do believe we’ve found ourselves the Champion’s pet knife-ear! I see why he keeps her around; she’s a pretty little thing.” The templar’s greedy gaze trailed all the way down her body and all the way back up, sending a visceral shudder skittering down her spine. “What a shame he’s not here to protect you. And how lucky for us that you cornered yourself so far from anyone who might hear you scream.” The hand pinning her to the wall slipped lower on her chest. As bile rose in her throat and adrenaline burned through her veins, her hand inched closer to her knife. She had to get away. She had to. 

“Hey, you might wanna watch her hands!”

Despair flooded her as one of the other templars plucked the blade from its sheath. “Ah-ah-ah! No need for that; just be a good little rabbit and we won’t hurt you.” He leaned in close, close enough for her to smell his rancid breath, and murmured, “We’ll be gentle.” Tears pricked at her eyes and he chuckled, then turned to the others. “I, for one, should very much like to take the Champion’s pet and make her ours; show him what happens when you shelter apostates. Who has the magebane?”

Everything in Merrill screamed for her to run, but the templar’s grip was like a boulder on her chest, and one of them had his dispel smothering all of her frantic attempts to call upon her magic. She squirmed and writhed and clawed at his arm to no avail, and he just stood there smirking. The templar who had taken her knife grabbed her by the hair and yanked. When she opened her mouth to gasp at the sudden pain, he poured the magebane down her throat as she sputtered and gagged. Fingers clamped her nose shut, forcing her to swallow to get a breath in. 

“Please, d- don’t! I-” Her voice shook like the rickety walls around her, and all it did was trigger a coughing fit that brought her to her knees. It was setting in. She felt weak, drained. Empty. Dread churned in her stomach and horror sparked along every nerve; their hands were everywhere. She felt sick. Her head spun. A tiny, pitiful whimper trembled past her lips as they unclasped her armor, and soon the cool night air was trailing over her skin in tandem with calloused hands. They seemed to burn where they touched; a pair at her thighs, at her chest. Squeezing. Rough. Too much. They were laughing; saying the filthiest things and snickering as she pleaded. She yelped and shrunk away when they pinched a nipple between cruel fingers, but the hands were relentless. 

Something warm and wet nudged at her lips, and she turned her head away with a muffled sob only for another painful squeeze to make her cry out. The templar seized the opportunity and thrust his cock into her open mouth. She didn’t even have time to react beyond a violent gag before another was shoving past her entrance, and her vision whited out as agony ripped through her. Feeling herself tear from the girth of him, she choked out a strangled, muffled scream, panic setting every nerve alight. The pain had stolen the breath from her lungs, and the cock in her throat negated any chance there was of getting it back. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe! She scrabbled at the pair of armored legs bracketing her head, shoved and clawed and begged silently, desperately to whatever gods might hear to save her from this waking nightmare, but the hand on the back of her head held firm. The templar buried in her cunt kept pounding into her. The hands on her chest kept groping. All she heard were their jeers growing fainter and fainter as her vision went dark.