Oracles and seers, mystics and sages. All prophesize that now is a time of heroes, of villains and of legends. Will your story be remembered?

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Rays of Hope
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=СРБ=Ori`verda
=СРБ=Ori`verda Oct 5 2014, 2:19pm says:

Life used to have meaning to her, once long ago. But the memories of such a time have long since faded into nothing and the harsh reality resettles itself soon after the sparingly few attempts she made to remember. The fleeting past left her to wonder whether there had even existed a time before she had lost all freedom. Perhaps this was all she would ever have, undeath, as a vessel without will..

She is a slave. Beaten into submission, made to be abused, to service her masters and to be devoured by their lusts. While she writhes in filth their homes are spotless, while her hunger torments her the masters gorge in feasts she prepared, they demand of her to bow down and grovel in the dirt before them and for her body, so cold and pale, they hold dark desires. She was a wretch, with no dignity remaining, no freedom and nothing to live for. This was not life; rather, she was as a living corpse, subject to the cruelty of man, trudging along the twisting road of an ill fate. So she continued on with the facade as a ghost, broken spirited, shackled, tortured.

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=СРБ=Ori`verda
=СРБ=Ori`verda Oct 5 2014, 2:20pm says:

The day began as it always would, with her being the first to awake. From the pit she unwillingly made her home, she gazed in wonder at the decadent manor that demanded her toil. The polished, pristine walls only served to hide the demons that haunted her dungeon. It was unthinkable to believe one could endure such torment. As she made her way to the manor, she caught a glimmer of the rising sun. Never had she failed to be amazed by its majesty and inspired by the warmth which emanated from it. The distant freedom it promised was a false one, for she remembered that such liberty would never be hers. This world was cruel. She then stepped back into reality and made her way towards the entrance of the grand palace. The housebound slaves reluctantly allowed her in; even the downtrodden regarded her as beneath them. Once inside she was forced through a gauntlet of brutality as they spat and kicked and cast angered glares in her direction.

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=СРБ=Ori`verda
=СРБ=Ori`verda Oct 5 2014, 2:20pm says:

Culinary aromas and fragrances disseminated from the kitchen she labored in. She prepared the delicate emerald slices, flanked it with exotic berries from the northern lands, and then poured the skywine into gilded cups before laying it all out on the grand table. She needed not remind herself of the consequences should she attempt to claim one of these delicacies for herself, as she would be beaten over the absence of even the most diminutive slice of roast venison. The rest of the household awoke as the scent of the meal reached them. She could only watch from a distance as these nobles reveled in their gluttony. Praying for scraps was bound to amount to disappointment. There were no gods. The pig, head of the clan, gazed upon her with glee and beckoned her to step forward, demanding she entertain them with dance. With grace she spun round and round instilling a sense of enchantment in those who watched her every movement. The herd of noble swine laughed and jeered at her as she darted wayward to and from them. Delighted, the mob applauded for more. An inviting smile flashed across her face, whilst deep down she loathed the vile intentions of the swine she served.

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=СРБ=Ori`verda
=СРБ=Ori`verda Oct 5 2014, 2:21pm says:

As the aristocrats dispersed and settled in different areas of the manor, she once again turned to her household duties, tired and humiliated. She cleared the table of its contents, leading trays of disgusting plates and worn cups to the kitchen for cleaning. Any half-eaten food was to be left untouched; it was meant for the hounds who were worth more than she ever would be. The enslaved eyed her, she cast away her gaze and focused on her task. But then, she was forced down, tripped by another slave whom vanished quickly after. Dishes flung and shattered against the hard ground causing alarm with the guards, they reached and took her by her long strands of silver-white hair. She was dragged to the cellar and promptly reminded of what happens when the servants disrupt the peace; she was beaten physically. But the guardsmen took note not to make her bleed, realizing that they would take her place as victims if it came to that. Once it was over she was left to wallow in pain for the briefest of moments. Unbridled hatred coursed through her, these animals knew not of pity or remorse. Her rumination was interrupted by the splash of a cold bucket of water on her face, signalling that it was time for her to resume her household duties. With reluctance she pushed off from the stone floor and headed above.

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=СРБ=Ori`verda
=СРБ=Ori`verda Oct 5 2014, 2:21pm says:

She was called upon by the heir to be at his disposal in the study. Being a slave of rather attractive physique and many artistic talents, it was her place to stand by the eldest descendant of the pig. While he glossed over the written scriptures of ages long past, she was expected to provide him with a soothing melody delivered by harp. Eventually however, scrolls prove dull when in the presence of irresistible charm. He had to sample it. Every time, without fail, she would be used and abused at her master’s whims, as little more than an object for his lusts. Like the spoiled heir to an empire which he was, he would command her to undress, so that he could covet and relish her body until his hunger abated. And always, she would be discarded in disgust and contempt.

By the twilight hours it was her task to cleanse the palace of its filth. Filth, a word synonymous to her very being. Both noble and fellow slave called her out as filth; even a vagrant was more pure than she. Upon the setting of the sun the household was once more spotless and pristine, masking its reality as her personal dungeon. This allowed her a moment of respite, she hid herself away from the disdain of the other enslaved and the harsh demands of her masters. The masters seldom visited the glass keep balcony. It was hers and it gave her a sense relief; relief from the incessant voices of judgement screaming at her, relief from the dirtied hands of those who would defile her, relief from the kicks and blows of those who despised her. In this dark yet comfortable place, she felt like she had a place to call home, a place where she could exist. As she touched the cold shield of glass, and gazed at the reflection of her forlorn face, a wave of tears escaped from her despondent eyes. The silver-colored moon was visible from her glass balcony, and she decided to watch its ascent while the tears flowed.

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=СРБ=Ori`verda
=СРБ=Ori`verda Oct 5 2014, 2:21pm says:

Finally, as the moon reached its peak and the day came to its close, a few final tasks remained to be carried out. Preparing the bedroom chambers of each noble would typically have been a rather simple task. However, the pig, head of the clan, summoned her personally. The fair slave was to deliver him a final meal and then keep him company for the evening. Down in the darkened surroundings of the kitchen she stumbled and gathered the necessary ingredients. Etas bread and a cup of sweet tea, laced with honey. Something caught her eye in the shadows, the glow of a slim yet fiendishly sharp knife. Cradling the knife in her hands, she flashed back to the time spent upon the glass balcony, a single tear escaping her eye. The steps to her master’s room seemed to weigh her down with each step taken, several eternities passed along as she approached the chambers where the pig made its next. She entered, for her torment was not over, the pig called on her once more to lay herself before him, dismissing the tray of food as a customary trick to deceive his beloved spouse. The pig lay there with open maw and waited for her to step forward. Hunger and desire lurked behind his cold, glassy eyes. He was a disgusting little man, plump to the point of seeming inhuman, and mired with numerous layers of foul stenches, sweat and rancid perfumes. He laid back as she placed the tray beside the bed and placed herself over him. The master offered her a disgusting smile, baring his teeth and indicating his vile intentions, to which she responded in kind with a smile of victory. Confusion set over him, then fear, then unbearable pain and finally peace. He was dead. Crimson streams of blood spurted from his mouth as a fountain to the sound of his gurgling. Surprised at herself, she watched with curiosity at the events unfolding before her. Her hands gripped the murder weapon tightly, now covered in a thick layer of blood and contrasting with her pale skin.

Am I free?

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CrazyOldTeenager
CrazyOldTeenager Oct 5 2014, 2:25pm says:

Nope. She isn't free. :P

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Life used to have meaning to her, once long ago. But the memories of such a time have long since faded into nothing and the harsh reality resettles itself soon after the sparingly few attempts she made to remember. The fleeting past left her to wonder whether there had even existed a time before she had lost all freedom. Perhaps this was all she would ever have, undeath, as a vessel without will..

She is a slave. Beaten into submission, made to be abused, to service her masters and to be devoured by their lusts. While she writhes in filth their homes are spotless, while her hunger torments her the masters gorge in feasts she prepared, they demand of her to bow down and grovel in the dirt before them and for her body, so cold and pale, they hold dark desires. She was a wretch, with no dignity remaining, no freedom and nothing to live for. This was not life; rather, she was as a living corpse, subject to the cruelty of man, trudging along the twisting road of an ill fate. So she continued on with the facade as a ghost, broken spirited, shackled, tortured.

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