This isn't your problem

As much as it burns in your gut to let these slavers waltz past, you know you can't fight them. Not this many. You turn your head away from the trio of sobbing elves. Three such pretty things will likely end up sold to a brothel or private collector as toys or sex slaves. They may be split apart, never to see their siblings again. You bite your lip, wishing things could be different.

When the last of the band of slavers have traipsed past and disappeared a good distance up the path, you slip down from your perch and land lightly on the forest floor. You're not exactly pleased with yourself, but at least you're alive. Sighing softly, you turn and stride away down the path, the opposite direction the slavers went. You'll head back to your lonely cabin and wait there until you're sure it's safe to move freely again.

Just like that, you catch a flicker of movement out the corner of your eyes. It's the only warning you have before a looped rope is flung out of the trees, wrapping tight around your neck before you can blink. You let out a strangled gasp as it's pulled tight, **** the air from your lungs. Your massive hand grabs at the rope, desperately trying to fight apart the knot before you suffocate. There's a vicious pull that yanks you over just when you're unbalanced, sending you tumbling into the dirt.

"I knew there was something big and ugly watching us." A cold voice sneers. Then the elvish archer from the slaver caravan stalks out the trees, her blue eyes like shards of ice as she looks at your struggling body. Two more men emerge after her, holding the rope now fastened round your neck. You bare your fangs in a vicious snarl. They're still **** you out, but if you can just get back on your feet you know you can rip these scrawny pinkskins apart.