Iniquities

Iniquities


Shorl's weakness was avarice and in the end it had swallowed him whole and tied his fate off with purse strings. Dolht's wrath had laid him wide open and left him to rot in the alley only a few blocks from here. A smile painted obscenely beneath his chin with the edge of a blade as definition of irony.

Jelus was one of those men who had a taste for something else. The grace and beauty of a serve was lost to him with his want for someone bawdy and brash. In your face sexuality was brushed aside in want of vulnerability and demureness. He would spend much of his time in the alcoves, disgruntled that he was never pleased and demanding his coin back or in the paga dens with the same end result. Always something. Always something else.

This lust that he carried perhaps unknown even to himself would always leave him dis-satisfied with every thing in life. My hair was not blonde and it enraged him. My eyes were not brown which sent him to a fury. Each small nuance of difference than his ideal set the brakes on his enjoyments and rendered him impotent to thriving in any manner. I was the current scapegoat for his troubles. The more his world collapsed in around him, the more he would lash out. At last I'd asked if he would sell me if I was the bain of his existence. His answer was that I was not worth even a portion of a copper. I was useless. Still his grasp on my arm when we walked the crowded streets held me like a manacle of iron next to him.

My query became a pleading to let me go, allow me to work for enough coin then to buy my freedom from him, something, anything but release me. There was a flicker of weakness that streaked his features, his voice ... a terror in his eyes when he spoke quietly. He couldn't allow that, he wanted me.