From
the
pen
of
Eylee
Zephyrswell
–
You
can
never
know
what
destiny
will
demand
of
you.
If
you
had
told
me
only
a
year
ago
that
I
would
be
called
upon
to
travel
with
a
dark
elf,
fighting
along
side
one
rather
than
against
one,
I
would
never
have
believed
you,
but
fate
has
no
room
for
niceties.
Of
the
party,
only
Kruzz
was
more
friendless
than
Asharae,
and
though
she
might
have
been
charming
enough,
I
think
in
the
end
if
you
were
to
put
a
dagger
in
the
hands
of
anyone
in
the
party
and
go
to
sleep
before
them,
most
would
choose
Kruzz
over
Asharae.
But
it
is
this
bard's
duty
to
tell
a
story
as
true
as
I
can
tell
it
no
matter
what
I
may
think
of
the
subject,
and
so
I
will
bring
to
you
as
best
I
can
the
story
of
Asharae.
~
Eylee
Zephyrswell
Asharae
Once
in
the
city
of
Neriak
there
lived
a
noble
dark
elf,
Baron
V'Nol,
and
his
wife,
the
Madam
V'Nol,
and
their
four
daughters.
Within
this
house
lived
a
fifth
daughter,
though
she
was
not
a
true
born
child
and
had
no
knowledge
of
her
parentage.
You
see,
her
mother
had
been
a
dancer
and
a
woman
of
low
birth,
and
though
she
left
the
child
at
her
lordly
paramour's
front
step,
wanting
nothing
more
to
do
with
her,
the
Baron
and
his
Madam
raised
the
child
as
a
slave
and
told
her
none
of
the
truths
of
her
origins.
Asharae
was
her
name,
and
not
only
did
she
sweat
upon
their
floors
for
eighty
years,
but
her
tasks
were
ever
the
lowliest
of
the
low.
The
Madam,
you
see,
looked
upon
her
and
saw
the
Baron's
infidelity
and
her
own
imperfect
beauty,
and
nothing
she
could
say
or
do
to
the
child
from
then
on
out
could
come
forth
without
the
most
vicious
of
venom.
Where
another
girl
might
receive
a
swift
rebuff
for
leaving
a
grease
smudge
on
the
reflective
black
obsidian
walls
of
the
manor,
Asharae
was
beaten
until
her
back
was
reduced
to
a
sea
of
welts.
For
his
part,
the
Baron
never
acknowledged
her.
He
had
no
reason,
after
all,
to
acknowledge
any
of
the
slaves,
save
those
comely
enough
for
him
to
catch
around
a
dark
corner
when
the
Madam
wasn't
looking.
Asharae
was
a
pretty
enough
girl,
having
inherited
her
mother's
looks.
Those
who
looked
at
her
thought
it
difficult
to
shake
her
image,
as
she
possessed
a
single
lock
of
white
hair
that
started
at
the
peak
of
her
widow's
crown
and
bled
back
into
her
otherwise
raven
mane.
However,
she
was
not
so
stunning
that
one
would
find
it
curious
the
Master
ignored
her.
Though
day
in
and
day
out
the
young
elf
went
about
her
duties
without
a
sign
of
emotion,
enduring
the
beatings
and
the
slander
and
the
Madam
dunking
her
face
daily
in
her
washbucket,
holding
her
there
until
just
before
drowning,
at
night
the
young
woman
would
weep
as
she
slept.
No
one
heard
her
tears,
or
if
they
did,
they
didn't
care.
And
Asharae
grew
up
alone
within
a
house
that
hated
her,
though
she
did
not
know
why.
When
Asharae
was
an
adolescent,
she
found
within
her
Madam's
wastebasket
a
book
of
wizardry.
The
Baron
and
Baroness
were
both
accomplished
mages,
and
their
wealth
afforded
them
the
luxury
of
throwing
away
tomes
they
had
happened
to
run
a
little
thin.
Though
the
book
was
frayed
and
battered,
when
she
touched
the
cool
black
leather
of
its
cover,
she
felt
as
if
something
electric
were
passing
through
her,
and
she
clutched
it
to
her
breast,
stealing
a
look
about
to
see
if
she
had
been
spotted.
There
was
no
sound
to
be
heard
in
the
high
obsidian
walls
of
the
V'Nol
manner.
The
whole
of
the
household
had
left
to
attend,
or
attend
to,
the
wedding
of
the
oldest
of
the
V'Nol
daughters.
Only
Asharae
had
been
left
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