*~ Chapter 1 ~*
Shadowy figures surrounded Arialla as she struggled to rise. Held down by some unseen force, she felt pure bolts of agony shoot through her body. She screamed. Again and again she screamed, until only painful whimpers emerged from her raw throat.
"Please, please… make it stop…" she begged the amorphous forms, tears pouring from her bloodshot eyes. "Please."
"Shush," a silky voice whispered from amongst the shadows, "I promise my sweet, my love, my Vaishtel…it will stop soon…"
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The thudding of heavy boots jolted Arialla out of twisted, half-remembered dreams. A sense of foreboding filled the girl as those same hard boots began to prod her rather soft young body. Her fear proved to be well founded, as the owner of the boots, a great big bear of a man, began to methodically deliver sharp kicks to various areas of her prone form.
"If ye don ger out o'bed, yer gonna get more o'da same." Growled the bear- man, brown eyes glinting in his pudgy face. "Ye eat my bread, ye'll work my tavern. All ye got ta do is ta keep da common room clean. Worthless slut that ye are, can't even do that right. Dirtier than yer backside it be right now. I want it clean, ye hear me gurl? Custom ta come in candlemarks, and ye still be snorin like a babe. CLEAN, or I'll tan yer hide good!"
"Yes Jaemath." The girl replied meekly as the man continued to rant. Not daring to raise her eyes, for fear of another assault, Arialla struggled to get out of the small pallet and blanket that were her only possessions. This seemed to satisfy the man, who grunted and walked out of the room. Well, at least he would have walked out of the room, had Arialla been sleeping in a room. As it was, he walked out of a kitchen. It was quite a filthy kitchen at that, complete with rotting food littering the floor and various vermin skittering across the tabletops. Even the small stove Arialla slept near seemed to radiate filth, covered all over with layer upon layer of grease and soot.
Huh, at least I don't have to clean up the kitchen, thought Arialla. The common room is bad enough. Only the common room indeed, the place is bigger than entire Pelagris. Ugh. Just as treacherous too, with all those stupid drunkards collapsing and getting sick everywhere.
She really did not see the point in cleaning the common room so thoroughly every morning. After all, most of the customers would be too drunk to notice what the room looked like. Furthermore, between helping the cook, serving drinks, and cleaning, she never seemed to have enough hours in the day. But, there was no help for it. After attempting to dust some of the soot off herself, Arialla headed into the common room. Grabbing a broom from behind the bar, she began to steadily sweep the refuse out into the street. Finishing this task, she filled buckets with soapy water from the kitchen and knelt down to scrub at the more stubborn grime covering the wooden floor.
The rich get to idle their time away. Street scum like me, we work. I just wish that there were more to my life than this inn. Maybe if I hadn't run away, Jansilay would have found a way to... What am I THINKING?? A sudden wave of revulsion interrupted her reverie, as she realized where her thoughts were headed. I will never, ever allow myself to be in a position like that. NEVER. Jansilay was a fool, a complete and utter fool.
Arialla shuddered at the thought of her mother. Once wealthy, her mother had squandered her money on meaningless fribbles and entertainments. Then, she had discovered dust. Addicted to the brain-warping drug, her mother poured what remained of her fortunes into its pursuit. When nothing remained, Jansilay began to lure wealthy men to her bed with a simple plan in mind: their money in exchange for her body. And she had succeeded for a time. Her mother's ample charms, silky blonde locks, and exotic violet eyes enticed some of the most influential men of Haven.
One night of passion, however, resulted in more than Jansilay had bargained for. It had been a Herald, Arialla later learned, intoxicated with alcohol: a handsome fellow that Jansilay had been fawning over for some time. Heralds were notoriously honor-bound, and Jansilay had meant to take full advantage of that fact. She had meant to trap the guilt-ridden Herald into some sort of arrangement, maybe even a marriage. But fate had been against her. The Herald rode off days later, before she could even tell him the extent to which his drunken passion had taken him. Then, of all things, he managed to get himself killed. Three months later, Jansilay found her belly getting larger and with no proof of paternity except a small, leather-bound book of ballads he had read to her from. Stricken at her future prospects and hoping to rid herself of the child, Jansilay dove even deeper into world of drugs, but to no avail. Whether by some miracle of the gods or another twist of elusive fate, Jansilay found herself with a healthy baby girl. A healthy baby but little money and no friends: her beauty permanently marred by all the drugs and alcohol she had imbibed.
Eventually her wealth ran out all together, and Jansilay was forced to gather all her possessions, sell what she could, and move down to the very depths of Haven. Living among the beggars and thieves, she continued to do her dust, eating whatever Arialla (then a child of six) could steal. Then, at the age of eight, Arialla began to exhibit signs of future beauty.
Then the "lessons" began. How could anyone do that to any child? I had no idea what was going on, at first. Arialla's eyes grew cold as she thought about what had happened in the next few years of her young life. Her mother began to teach her courtly manners, reading, and writing. That had been fine, for a time. Until those lessons turned to seduction, insinuation, and sex. The last straw had been when her mother apprenticed her to a former court prostitute. That had made Arialla realize what her mother was trying to do, and in a panic she ran away from the only home she had ever known. She wanted me to become what she was. She, who called herself my mother, wanted me to sell myself so she could get her precious dust. Never. I will never sleep my way into wealth and fortune. Not for me, and definitely not for HER.
Alone and afraid, Arialla had run as fast and as far as she could with only a tattered old blanket, the infamous book of ballads, and the clothes on her back. Some how, she had made it all the way to a small town named, strangely enough, Hope. There, a kindly cook arranged for Arialla to be hired on by her employer Jaemath, the owner of Windrider's Rest.
And here I've been ever since. Not that it's really a bad place to be. Especially when Ashna was here, but since last fall, its been getting worse and worse. The cook, Ashna Bakerschild, had been a loving and wonderful woman. The former cook for a Great House, Ashna had married a young farmer and moved to Hope in search of a better life. Her husband had died a few years back, and Ashna (not wanting to leave her new home) took a job at the local inn. A phenomenal chef, Ashna had taught Arialla everything she knew about the culinary arts. Unfortunately, her sister had died last winter of a terrible plague, and Ashna decided to move so she could help her brother- in-law raise his four daughters. Since then, business had been slow, and Jaemath had gotten subsequently grumpier.
If only Jaemath would hire someone else to clean and serve. Then I could concentrate on cooking. Ashna taught me everything and I could be just as good. This place could be the same bustling inn again, not just the local tap room. Why people used to come in from Haven itself for our food! With that thought, Arialla gave a last scrub to the floor. If the rooms had been floored with marble instead of planks of wood, they would have glittering in the sunlight. The thought of the dingy little inn, shining in any way almost caused her to choke with laughter. With a sigh of satisfaction mingled with frustration, she picked up her buckets and headed back towards the kitchen. Another day was about to begin...
Shadowy figures surrounded Arialla as she struggled to rise. Held down by some unseen force, she felt pure bolts of agony shoot through her body. She screamed. Again and again she screamed, until only painful whimpers emerged from her raw throat.
"Please, please… make it stop…" she begged the amorphous forms, tears pouring from her bloodshot eyes. "Please."
"Shush," a silky voice whispered from amongst the shadows, "I promise my sweet, my love, my Vaishtel…it will stop soon…"
----------------------------------------------------------------
The thudding of heavy boots jolted Arialla out of twisted, half-remembered dreams. A sense of foreboding filled the girl as those same hard boots began to prod her rather soft young body. Her fear proved to be well founded, as the owner of the boots, a great big bear of a man, began to methodically deliver sharp kicks to various areas of her prone form.
"If ye don ger out o'bed, yer gonna get more o'da same." Growled the bear- man, brown eyes glinting in his pudgy face. "Ye eat my bread, ye'll work my tavern. All ye got ta do is ta keep da common room clean. Worthless slut that ye are, can't even do that right. Dirtier than yer backside it be right now. I want it clean, ye hear me gurl? Custom ta come in candlemarks, and ye still be snorin like a babe. CLEAN, or I'll tan yer hide good!"
"Yes Jaemath." The girl replied meekly as the man continued to rant. Not daring to raise her eyes, for fear of another assault, Arialla struggled to get out of the small pallet and blanket that were her only possessions. This seemed to satisfy the man, who grunted and walked out of the room. Well, at least he would have walked out of the room, had Arialla been sleeping in a room. As it was, he walked out of a kitchen. It was quite a filthy kitchen at that, complete with rotting food littering the floor and various vermin skittering across the tabletops. Even the small stove Arialla slept near seemed to radiate filth, covered all over with layer upon layer of grease and soot.
Huh, at least I don't have to clean up the kitchen, thought Arialla. The common room is bad enough. Only the common room indeed, the place is bigger than entire Pelagris. Ugh. Just as treacherous too, with all those stupid drunkards collapsing and getting sick everywhere.
She really did not see the point in cleaning the common room so thoroughly every morning. After all, most of the customers would be too drunk to notice what the room looked like. Furthermore, between helping the cook, serving drinks, and cleaning, she never seemed to have enough hours in the day. But, there was no help for it. After attempting to dust some of the soot off herself, Arialla headed into the common room. Grabbing a broom from behind the bar, she began to steadily sweep the refuse out into the street. Finishing this task, she filled buckets with soapy water from the kitchen and knelt down to scrub at the more stubborn grime covering the wooden floor.
The rich get to idle their time away. Street scum like me, we work. I just wish that there were more to my life than this inn. Maybe if I hadn't run away, Jansilay would have found a way to... What am I THINKING?? A sudden wave of revulsion interrupted her reverie, as she realized where her thoughts were headed. I will never, ever allow myself to be in a position like that. NEVER. Jansilay was a fool, a complete and utter fool.
Arialla shuddered at the thought of her mother. Once wealthy, her mother had squandered her money on meaningless fribbles and entertainments. Then, she had discovered dust. Addicted to the brain-warping drug, her mother poured what remained of her fortunes into its pursuit. When nothing remained, Jansilay began to lure wealthy men to her bed with a simple plan in mind: their money in exchange for her body. And she had succeeded for a time. Her mother's ample charms, silky blonde locks, and exotic violet eyes enticed some of the most influential men of Haven.
One night of passion, however, resulted in more than Jansilay had bargained for. It had been a Herald, Arialla later learned, intoxicated with alcohol: a handsome fellow that Jansilay had been fawning over for some time. Heralds were notoriously honor-bound, and Jansilay had meant to take full advantage of that fact. She had meant to trap the guilt-ridden Herald into some sort of arrangement, maybe even a marriage. But fate had been against her. The Herald rode off days later, before she could even tell him the extent to which his drunken passion had taken him. Then, of all things, he managed to get himself killed. Three months later, Jansilay found her belly getting larger and with no proof of paternity except a small, leather-bound book of ballads he had read to her from. Stricken at her future prospects and hoping to rid herself of the child, Jansilay dove even deeper into world of drugs, but to no avail. Whether by some miracle of the gods or another twist of elusive fate, Jansilay found herself with a healthy baby girl. A healthy baby but little money and no friends: her beauty permanently marred by all the drugs and alcohol she had imbibed.
Eventually her wealth ran out all together, and Jansilay was forced to gather all her possessions, sell what she could, and move down to the very depths of Haven. Living among the beggars and thieves, she continued to do her dust, eating whatever Arialla (then a child of six) could steal. Then, at the age of eight, Arialla began to exhibit signs of future beauty.
Then the "lessons" began. How could anyone do that to any child? I had no idea what was going on, at first. Arialla's eyes grew cold as she thought about what had happened in the next few years of her young life. Her mother began to teach her courtly manners, reading, and writing. That had been fine, for a time. Until those lessons turned to seduction, insinuation, and sex. The last straw had been when her mother apprenticed her to a former court prostitute. That had made Arialla realize what her mother was trying to do, and in a panic she ran away from the only home she had ever known. She wanted me to become what she was. She, who called herself my mother, wanted me to sell myself so she could get her precious dust. Never. I will never sleep my way into wealth and fortune. Not for me, and definitely not for HER.
Alone and afraid, Arialla had run as fast and as far as she could with only a tattered old blanket, the infamous book of ballads, and the clothes on her back. Some how, she had made it all the way to a small town named, strangely enough, Hope. There, a kindly cook arranged for Arialla to be hired on by her employer Jaemath, the owner of Windrider's Rest.
And here I've been ever since. Not that it's really a bad place to be. Especially when Ashna was here, but since last fall, its been getting worse and worse. The cook, Ashna Bakerschild, had been a loving and wonderful woman. The former cook for a Great House, Ashna had married a young farmer and moved to Hope in search of a better life. Her husband had died a few years back, and Ashna (not wanting to leave her new home) took a job at the local inn. A phenomenal chef, Ashna had taught Arialla everything she knew about the culinary arts. Unfortunately, her sister had died last winter of a terrible plague, and Ashna decided to move so she could help her brother- in-law raise his four daughters. Since then, business had been slow, and Jaemath had gotten subsequently grumpier.
If only Jaemath would hire someone else to clean and serve. Then I could concentrate on cooking. Ashna taught me everything and I could be just as good. This place could be the same bustling inn again, not just the local tap room. Why people used to come in from Haven itself for our food! With that thought, Arialla gave a last scrub to the floor. If the rooms had been floored with marble instead of planks of wood, they would have glittering in the sunlight. The thought of the dingy little inn, shining in any way almost caused her to choke with laughter. With a sigh of satisfaction mingled with frustration, she picked up her buckets and headed back towards the kitchen. Another day was about to begin...