RAAAPE. RAAAAPE. Yes. By the by, I know Elizabeth's a wimp. She's meant to be like that. She's a sensitive wimp, not the type of characters I make, but she's Butcher's type. Bah. TOMFOOLERY.
I bet you're wondering why the title is Sweet Sacrifice. The truth is... I don't know. I was listening to the song by Evanescence at the time. I'm not sure if the title will have any significance in the story or not, but it seems deep. I'm sorry for not providing you with a thoroughly complex answer. I couldn't think of a title.
Disclaimer. Woo.
Over time, the mid-day population of the tavern circulated into the evening crowd, the more respectable business men filling in the tables to drink a pint and take a load off after a hard day's work. Elizabeth enjoyed this time better. The air was a more pleasant smell than the stinky alcoholics and bums, but no matter the crowd, there were always the few guests who drank a few too many pints. Elizabeth did her best to be careful and stay away from between the close-knit tables, but even the outskirts could not protect her from all the perverted men of Bowerstone. She was innocently preparing to clear away empty pints from a full table on the far side of the tavern, far from Mr. Balding's view, but the occupants of the table had other ideas. Suddenly, she felt a thick arm curl around her waist tightly, lower than she would have liked. She gasped and her eyes widened, trying to pull back.
"E-Excuse m-me, s-sir…" She stuttered, trying to gently push off his hand.
"Oh, c'mon, love," The large dock worker smirked and laughed to his friends, rising to his feet. He towered over her, his breath reeking of whiskey. "Was'a young'in like you doin' workin' here? A girly like 'at mus' like the naughty businesses, hmm? How 'bout you le'mme give 'ya a go?" He hummed, giving her a yellow grin.
"M-My boss d-doesn't take kindly to th-this type of…t-tomfoolery," Elizabeth insisted, keeping her blushing face as far from him as possible. She stayed still, knowing that if she fought back, she would take the blame. He was a respectable man, while she was a little tavern girl. The law would take his side.
"Oh, d-doesn't h-h-h-he?" The man laughed, mocking her stutter. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, yanking him off roughly. "Ay, was'a big idea, bastard?" He shouted, the grin falling off his face as he saw the girl's defender.
"She's right," Mr. Balding grunted angrily, grabbing the man by his shirt, "I don't take kindly to tomfoolery with my barmaids. I suggest you find your ladies of the night elsewhere, y'hear?" The proud man dragged the drunk to the door, still lecturing him even after his voice carried beyond Elizabeth's ears. She sighed in relief and glanced up, seeing the dark Butcher on the edge of his seat, appearing as though he was about to rise. His stone jaw was clenched in anger, his brows knitted. Kane was on his feet and his hackles were raised, his teeth bore in an obvious threatening growl. She blinked and stared, forgetting her fear momentarily. His emerald eyes followed Mr. Balding as the hooligans were booted out, his tense stance slowly relaxing back into his seat.
Was he about to save her if Mr. Balding hadn't swung to her rescue?
Mr. Balding soon returned with his normal jolly expression, curling his plump hand around Elizabeth's elbow.
"You alright, my dear?" He asked with wide, concerned eyes.
Elizabeth nodded quickly, knowing her words would only stumble more than usual. Mr. Balding grinned and patted her cheek with a grandfatherly touch. "Go on, then, lass," He nodded, moving out of her way. "More ladies have arrived and winter is coming on quick. I don't want a girl like you out on the streets alone any later than this. Trouble seems to seek you out."
The brunette giggled a bit, understanding his point. "G-Good night, sir," She curtsied and scurried to the bar to gather her effects. She rushed to the door and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, pulling the long hood over her head. Elizabeth cast one last glance over her shoulder at the joyous scene, a light smile to her face. Before she left, she spotted Butcher in the corner of her eye, seeming to fumble in his coin purse for the correct pay for his drinks.
She stepped outside into the even more brittle night air, the chill gripping her lungs. She pulled the cloak tighter around her and she started on her way, her boots tapping lightly on the cobblestone streets. Her cloak was old and worn, but thick. It was obviously lower class, so it worked as a slight shield from any thieves who would be prowling about for a foolish rich girl. The streets of Bowerstone were not safe for ladies, but she had no choice. She had no escort and no carriage. She would walk home from work. Elizabeth never complained, as usual. Complaining was not in her system. More than anything, she hated being a burden on anyone, even her parents, who seemed to be burdened by the simple task of having to breathe.
The safe sound of conversation from the tavern faded away as she left the main, wide streets of the town square, weaving through the thin back streets. The ridiculously high price of housing lowered in these neighborhoods, so the amount of prowlers was high. Elizabeth kept her head down and her step quick, but her home was a long walk from the center of town. Most nights, she had no problems with walking alone. Every so often she would attract a dark man to follow her, but she reached home soon enough.
The night was silent in the dark streets, most of the houses having gone to sleep hours ago. People tended to retire for the night when the sun set, for the poorer houses had few candles to like their dark homes. She turned down a street and reached the river Bower. Elizabeth enjoyed walking the riverside most nights, as the light clap of waves hitting each other and the stone edges calmed her. The fresh scent of distant fishing docks and clean water filled her nose, making her at ease. Her large eyes slipped closed as she strolled, hands clutching her cloak against her stomach. Her steps slowed as she relaxed, feeling a cool breeze brush her warm cheeks, lifting stray strands of hair off her face.
Elizabeth's line of ancestors had all lived in Bowerstone, even when it was divided into North and South. The Kingsley's blood history was not very impressive, as it mostly consisted of scoundrels, bar maids, and maybe a blacksmith or two, but the trail of offspring was plentiful. Even on her mother's side, the families were large and obnoxious. Even though such population could drive anyone mad, Elizabeth learned how to love her many brothers and sisters, particularly her older brother and younger sister, mostly because of the age similarity. Will was seven years older, but always had time for quiet little Elizabeth, and Caroline, a single year younger. Caroline was everything Elizabeth was not. She had their father's sandy yellow hair with mother's pale skin, handsomely dusted with light freckles. Her waist was thin and her chest swollen, but her bones held a beautiful delicacy about them. Her smile was a white as a sheet, easily slaying any man who would come near. However, she had a sharp tongue about her and a quick temper, so she had little patience for most men and all the younger siblings. Because of this, she clung to Elizabeth and Will's mature company.
As children, the three would escape under the bridge to listen to Will tell the stories of ancient heroes. Elizabeth's doe eyes would grow wide at the tales, her young mind fascinated by the mystical tales of the Old Kingdom, but Caroline, on the other hand, huffed a pouty lip and crossed her arms, saying how it was not fair how the heroes treated normal people. If a hero came her way and expected special treatment, she would give her a piece of her very opinionated mind. She was like mother that way—when they were angry, all life kept its distance.
Elizabeth was more of the dreamer than her brother or sister. She would lie on the green hills of Bower Lake when they used to take picnics there and look about the landscape, trying to envision the fields as the Heroes Guild it once was. She was in wonder at how the nasty Wraithmarsh was once the quaint little village of Oakvale. How Twinblade's camp and Bargate Prison evolved into the dirty Bloodstone and Westcliff. The power of heroes amazed but frightened her. Her fears were pushed more when Butcher became known, the man terrifying her.
The brunette shivered as her thoughts drifted to the horrifying hero and her eyes opened slowly. They said he killed Lucien, the evil dictator who had cost many innocent men their lives in the construction of the Tattered Spire. They said he was a hero, but an awful one. He assisted slavers and assassins, stole carelessly from shops, raised all taxes and rents to a preposterous sum, killed innocents when he felt the need, slaughtered all of Oakfield, and was a loyal member of the Temple of Shadows. He found amusement in setting of a disastrous spell in the middle of town, setting fire to boxes of stock and terrifying anyone who came too close. He was a monster, her mother said, and anyone with sense would stay far from him. Elizabeth sighed, hanging her head. How could such a sweet boy grow to be a dark man?
A cold shiver rose up her spine as a heavy footstep broke her thoughts. Her chocolate eyes opened wide, her heart skipping a beat. She paused in her path and glanced over her shoulder, spotting a dark being in the shadows. Elizabeth set on her way again, her steps moving faster, panic sinking in. When she heard a familiarly menacing bark, her stomach flipped in blind fear and her legs broke out into a full run. A huge hand suddenly grabbed her elbow and held her back, causing her to cry out.
"P-Please, d-don't kill me, p-please!" She sputtered, frightened tears rolling down her face. Her thin frame struggled against the larger one, flailing and doing all she could to get away.
The stalker slowly opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by the cocking of a rifle. Elizabeth squinted through her tears to see Will with a blunderbuss pointed at her captor, his hands obviously shaking.
"Leave her be," He demanded, his fine face set in a deep scowl. Silent tension sunk through the air like a heavy quilt, the only sound being Elizabeth's sniffles and Kane's deep growls. The second the harsh grip relented from her elbow, Will yanked her out of Butcher's space, holding her away. "Now, get, you, get before I call the guards on you."
Elizabeth looked up at the dark man, his expression unreadable. It seemed emotionless, but his bright eyes glowed of something near melancholia. He slowly backed away, but his eyes bore into the girl so hard she was forced to look away. What did he want with her?