Hawkhurst: Alys

Friend set up an rpg. It’ll be done entirely through email and it’s politically fueled. I’m excited about it. While I flipped through a lot of character concepts, this is the final one I went with.

“Tell me more about yourself,” Madam Halum said. She sat there, across the coffee table, in a beautiful silk dress with a slit up her leg. She was nearing fifty, but still her legs made Alys envious, the skin still firm and tight. She had breasts which were pulled high by a bodice, plump but showing some wear. Her shimmering golden hair had a beautiful gold brooch with emeralds. Alys was fairly sure it was a scarab, or some other rare insect never seen in the mountain.

Alys was still young, only eighteen. Her auburn hair was not as lively, having knots still. She pulled it back into a bun which gave her some dignity. She had bright emerald eyes, which darted around the establishment regularly. Her face was narrow and long, her neck slender, and her body lithe. Her breasts were not nearly as large as Halum’s, which made her worry. However, she had a good waistline and hips that flared just right. However, it seemed like every girl in Feather Her Goose had those same qualities.

Finally Alys said, “I was an urchin. Parents didn’t make much. We starved mostly. Did favors for the boys and shop keeps. Coin here and there, kept my belly full. Not enough for the rest of my brothers and sisters. None for my parents.

“Boys got older. Wanted be men. For a coin let ‘em touch me. For a couple, touched ‘em. Got sixteen, men wanted to touch me. Paid more. Did more. Told I was good. Thought I’d have a few tossers here. Make more coin.”

“Where is your family now,” Madam Halum asked.

“Don’t know. Don’t much care. Dead? Starving? Eating my brothers and sisters? Could be. Lower city don’t matter now I’m up here.”

“We have a client waiting for someone. Show him what you can do. If you’re as talented as you state, perhaps it would be worth teaching you manners. If not, you can whore yourself down in the slums where the men don’t care how you speak.”

“What’s wrong with how I speak at you?”

“Just go see to Mr. Karn. I’ll ask him his opinion.”

Alys did as she was told. Within two years, at the age of twenty, Alys had regulars, money, jewelry, and a far more refined manner. However, it’s said in the upper city whores aren’t just paid and passed. They sit in beds of gold, able to spend as they wish. Alys had no plans to remain in Feather Her Goose with such tempting prizes awaiting.

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