Thread: The Price Of Luxury. (VulgrinxChamorus)

The gods must of despised her. This fate, this twisted ending to her life was no doubt orchestrated, as if willed to be possible by the fickle overlords that saw them day to day. Her brother was an idiot, a dolt, a man not even capable of wiping his own ass correctly. This should of happened to him, he should of been the one in her place. But no, it was merely him acting first, him taking sweet advantage while she content with life's course. His stupidity was indeed an advantage, as she had overlooked it so plainly. She had studied such tales, of blood overtaking blood for crown. She never believed he was capable, but it seemed she was wrong. She was next in line for the crown. Her kingdom, the glorious land of Ecclesia was not known for gender discrimination. It was sophisticated, cultured, it was a paradise for all who dwell within it's mighty walls. She was a princess, a woman that ever girl aspired to be, that every man through out his own back to please. She had the world in her palm, riches at a glance away, pleasure but inches from touch. From this, she grew snobbish. She was an elitist, a woman who believed she was above all. This had led to the teasing and metaphoric castration of her brother's mind, as he failed where she succeeded too many times. Perhaps that was what truly led her here. He had devised her capture, and with their type of coin his professionals were top notch. She was ripped away in the night, beaten to unconsciousness and thrown on a boat to a place she'd never been, and one that didn't know her name. She was sold as a slave, a being worth no more then the dirt she had been forced to crawl upon. It was his sick idea of payback, and she admitted it was clever. Though she knew, even if it wasn't now, that it would be his downfall for not killing her outright. For the next five years of her life, being eighteen at the time of her abduction, she was passed from first the great deserts of the south, beaten and 'trained' in the art of pleasing. Then she was moved to the north, sold in a more talented state to wealthy nobles. The life wasn't terrible, but no matter how hard she attempted to please, her desire of wealth was never met. Indeed, she was willing to be content for some time. But never did her owners present her as a princess, never giving her what she demanded. But alas, who would give a slave such things? She moved constantly, when finding no ascension forcing her hand in seduction, coercion, or merely pure disobedience to be shifted. Once or twice she was taken, be it by orcs or other monstrosities, where she was presented the true horror of her position. Yet each time she escaped, knowing too well how to slip from position. It was with her final master that she had enough. The man was caught up with wailing upon her for some ridiculous reason, when everything swelled. Her anger from slavery, from her brother, from the world that cursed her... she killed him. She had taken a book, a rather hefty tome, and smashed his head in. At first, he merely hit the ground, lashing with anger. But she continued, until his very skull was battered to exposure, his brain shattering with her insane, anger-filled rage. Slathered in blood, she quickly debated her next move. Until however, it came to be that book she used, was one of daemonic summoning... When night fall hit, she fled. Clad in only her linen dress and slave collar, she ran until her feet gave out. She had found a secluded cave, one seemingly used in the past for daemonic rituals. It took no time for her to organize the circle, to properly set the runes she needed for such a devious intent. She needed her power back... she needed revenge... even if it meant surrendering herself over, if only to be a princess of slaves, it was in her mind a necessity. There sat, before the circular summoning circle, Alexia Ebonharte . No, she was not in her normally jaw-dropping appearance. Her body was dirtied, bruised. Her once luscious, unique violet hair was matted, clinging to the sides of her cheeks. Her once plump lips chapped, her lithe fingers hardened by manual duty. Only her sweet, bright blues were left in tact, left pure by this life. Those very orbs scanned over the circle again, double-checking every fine detail. With one soft exhale, she knew this would be it. This was her last chance, and she was willing to lose her very soul. She extended her fingers to the circle, pressing each digit upon the corresponding rune. In but seconds, the circle began to glow. Here goes nothing. She whispered, biting her lip in anticipation.