Drasy Denimore - Employee at The Ship Inn

Avatar Name: Drasy Denimore
KoS Name: known only as Drasyndra or Drasy for short.

Age: 26

Affiliation: Formerly prey/slave. Now an employee at The Ship Inn.

Character traits: Quick witted, sometimes too quick, speaking without thinking. Reckless or fearless, it's hard to say which. A repressed masochist, she loathes what she loves, and hides it well.

Back Story:

Hailing from the European lands of chivalry and bullshit, she was the only daughter of a bastard merchant who wished he'd had a son. Clever and profitable merchant that he was, he groomed the unwanted girl into the next best thing. A well trained trading chip to be married off.

Her childhood was a nightmare of abuse and strict discipline. Schooled in everything from etiquette, tailoring, and serving team, to managing a household, balancing business ledgers, and directing an army of servants. Her teenage years were worse still, the emotional and mental abuse, coupled with mild physical abuse, sketched into the sexual when her father insisted the slut of a daughter be able to keep her husband to be happy.

On her sixteenth birthday she was married off to a nobleman's son whom she had never met before, though her father had been in negotiations with the family for some time. When she was given away to the noble household, she thought her nightmare was over, that finally she would be rewarded for her years of suffering, and gladly did she walk to that alter -- her eyes wide shut.
Her wedding night left her with more than a broken Hymen, which her father had graciously left intact. Her honeymoon was cut short thirty six hours later when a physician was called to attend her broken and bleeding body. The weeks and months that followed were worse than anything she'd thought possible, and her new husband, made her father look like a saint in comparison.

Nine years she suffered under the sporadic tyranny of her husband, who alternately ignored her and broke her apart over those years. Twice she'd been with child, and twice she had lost that gift under the cruel hands of her 'gracious lord'. Somehow in that living nightmare, she kept her sanity locked away. Sacrificing every shred of outer self, somewhere in her childhood she'd learned to keep a part of herself tucked away from reach.
It was that small solid core of sense of self that drove her to act when the old Lord Arthad was on his death bed. Her husband, heir apparent, was moving to assume his new titular position, though he had been enjoying it's benefits for some time. Drasyndra knew her husband would reach new depths of depravity with his rise in status among peers... and indeed it was so. When she found him in their marital bed, sating himself on a serving girl, while a dead female courtier lay maimed beside them, she knew what must be done.
Though she cannot recall it, along with most of those nightmarish years, she removed his crown jewels with almost surgical precision with his own discarded belt knife. Leaving him bleeding out and screaming on the serving girl, she fled. Fled the room, the estate and the country.
She ran until she passed out, until her shoes wore off her feet, until she was a slip of nothing from lack of food. Good fortune and good sense kept her finding salvation along the road. Kind strangers who offered food, shelter, or new clothes. East, south, north, east again, she simply travelled where fate took her, so long as it was further away from 'home'. If her husband was dead, she would not be long for the noose for killing him... if he was alive, well, then she wouldn't be long for the noose if he caught her.

She had never wanted life so much as she did then, and her trip lasted months upon months before she ended up in the hot southern deserts on the rim of a salt sea. Along with her past, most of her journey was a fragmented blur she would rather not remember, her own mind betraying her, or perhaps protecting her from the worst she had suffered.