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Anderian
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Feb 2, 2015
- Location
- United States of America
Dariuel (Dar-EE-UL) had never been so ashamed in her life. The kingsmen discovered her true form whilst she bathed in a spring on the outskirts of the kingdom. As it turns out, they are rather revolted by a woman with both gender of genitalia. Charged with treason and deceit, she was given two options: Execution or banishment. Being rather fond of her life, Dariuel chose banishment. Stripped of her armor, her honor, her weapons, and her money, she was cast off from the kingdom, like a rotting hunk of meat.
It was amazing she gained knighthood in the first place, quite honestly. Dariuel was known to be a dragoness, hailing from the northern mountains. Somehow, she managed to attain the trust of the king through various deeds for the kingdom. Yet somehow, all those deeds seemed to be for naught, as she now walked the dirt path that spanned away from the kingdom, with only a small purse of coins and a few of her personal effects such as undergarments and clothing. As the heavy wooden gates slammed behind her, she mulled over thoughts in her mind. She could change into a dragon and fly west to another kingdom, but somehow, she felt that wouldn't be the best idea, seeming as dragons tend to 'scare' people. So, she remained in the high-elven form she had chosen to embody many years ago. She tugged at one of her horns and set off.
The life of a vagrant was not an easy one, as Dariuel quickly realized. Her coin purse had quickly grown dry as she was not used to rationing food in such a way that her new lifestyle required her to. Stopping in a small town she didn't bother learning the name of, she soon found that most people were not fond of hiring dragonkin as even a house maiden. 'Typical mortals' she thought, 'Why is it that I am so unkindly looked just because of what I could be not what I am?' She asked herself that rhetorically, already knowing the answer to her own damn question. But just because she was not affected by age or disease, she still had to eat. And without money how could she acquire food? She swore to herself she wouldn't sink to the level of a petty thief... but what other option was there? No. She wouldn't steal. People already thought negatively of her. No need to justify their opinions. Yet the question still stood... how would she make a living. That question was soon answered for her, as she picked up on the looks she would occasionally get from passing men and women alike, moreso from non-human races, than human. Dariuel decided she was not above prostitution somehow, not caring what happened to her humanoid body. With that thought in mind, she began to sell herself very cheaply as no right person would sleep with a woman with such qualities as hers for a high price tag. It was a meager living, and she often moved from town to town, as customers quickly got bored of her.
Dariuel became numb to sexual pleasure, her daily, even hourly use grew to be a patterned and rather boring event. Soon, people began to pay her less, as she was less expressive and sometimes she would even just lay on the bed, letting the customer use her in any way they saw fit. Her seemingly meaningless existence and mindless wandering landed her in the town of Shorn, a pretty enough town, with the kindest people she had ever met. She even managed to land a job working as a waitress at a local tavern, under one condition. Anyone could slip a few coins in her bodice and she would extend her services to them in a private room. Once again, it became a patterned, boring existence, with the occasional excitement of a bar fight, which would usually end with one or two of the waitresses getting publicly raped by outsiders. Dariuel learned how to avoid the 'getting raped' part fairly quickly, and soon she carved a nice piece of life out for herself in Shorn. She had her own room in the Tavern, she was promoted to head wait staff. The pay still wasn't great, but she sustained herself quite well. That is until she showed up.
One chilling winter's noon, the Tavern was desolate, save for a few loyal patrons and the town drunk, who laid sprawled out on the floor in a puddle of his own drool and drunken vomit. The woman was a pale one... captivating Dariuel's eyes like nobody had ever before. She paid little heed to the strange aura the rose-haired woman seemed to have about her. The woman found a table in a confined corner of the bar and sat down. Tying her jet black hair into a loose pony-tail, Dariuel strode over to the woman.
"Anything to drink, hun?" Dariuel asked.
The woman looked up at Dariuel, with a look that set her at unease.
It was amazing she gained knighthood in the first place, quite honestly. Dariuel was known to be a dragoness, hailing from the northern mountains. Somehow, she managed to attain the trust of the king through various deeds for the kingdom. Yet somehow, all those deeds seemed to be for naught, as she now walked the dirt path that spanned away from the kingdom, with only a small purse of coins and a few of her personal effects such as undergarments and clothing. As the heavy wooden gates slammed behind her, she mulled over thoughts in her mind. She could change into a dragon and fly west to another kingdom, but somehow, she felt that wouldn't be the best idea, seeming as dragons tend to 'scare' people. So, she remained in the high-elven form she had chosen to embody many years ago. She tugged at one of her horns and set off.
The life of a vagrant was not an easy one, as Dariuel quickly realized. Her coin purse had quickly grown dry as she was not used to rationing food in such a way that her new lifestyle required her to. Stopping in a small town she didn't bother learning the name of, she soon found that most people were not fond of hiring dragonkin as even a house maiden. 'Typical mortals' she thought, 'Why is it that I am so unkindly looked just because of what I could be not what I am?' She asked herself that rhetorically, already knowing the answer to her own damn question. But just because she was not affected by age or disease, she still had to eat. And without money how could she acquire food? She swore to herself she wouldn't sink to the level of a petty thief... but what other option was there? No. She wouldn't steal. People already thought negatively of her. No need to justify their opinions. Yet the question still stood... how would she make a living. That question was soon answered for her, as she picked up on the looks she would occasionally get from passing men and women alike, moreso from non-human races, than human. Dariuel decided she was not above prostitution somehow, not caring what happened to her humanoid body. With that thought in mind, she began to sell herself very cheaply as no right person would sleep with a woman with such qualities as hers for a high price tag. It was a meager living, and she often moved from town to town, as customers quickly got bored of her.
Dariuel became numb to sexual pleasure, her daily, even hourly use grew to be a patterned and rather boring event. Soon, people began to pay her less, as she was less expressive and sometimes she would even just lay on the bed, letting the customer use her in any way they saw fit. Her seemingly meaningless existence and mindless wandering landed her in the town of Shorn, a pretty enough town, with the kindest people she had ever met. She even managed to land a job working as a waitress at a local tavern, under one condition. Anyone could slip a few coins in her bodice and she would extend her services to them in a private room. Once again, it became a patterned, boring existence, with the occasional excitement of a bar fight, which would usually end with one or two of the waitresses getting publicly raped by outsiders. Dariuel learned how to avoid the 'getting raped' part fairly quickly, and soon she carved a nice piece of life out for herself in Shorn. She had her own room in the Tavern, she was promoted to head wait staff. The pay still wasn't great, but she sustained herself quite well. That is until she showed up.
One chilling winter's noon, the Tavern was desolate, save for a few loyal patrons and the town drunk, who laid sprawled out on the floor in a puddle of his own drool and drunken vomit. The woman was a pale one... captivating Dariuel's eyes like nobody had ever before. She paid little heed to the strange aura the rose-haired woman seemed to have about her. The woman found a table in a confined corner of the bar and sat down. Tying her jet black hair into a loose pony-tail, Dariuel strode over to the woman.
"Anything to drink, hun?" Dariuel asked.
The woman looked up at Dariuel, with a look that set her at unease.