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Okay, so in my newest guild, Knights of Valor, I have a character named Mori Dae who started off as someone completely different than she is in that guild (don't ask about the evolution, I don't understand either. You would be appalled by how many times my characters evolve after their initial creation). However, I thought it might be fun to write her story down, and see what you all think of it.

Mori's Story (Hey, that rhymes!)

The wagon rattled harshly over the bumps in the dirt road. Both pairs of the large barge horses' feathers were caked in mud, their coats drenched from the rain and their sweat. A cape and floppy hat were waterproofed by magic for the drivers of the two wagons, both of them scowling as they tried to see through the downpour. Inside one wagon, under the tarps, women and young girls huddled together to keep warm. All bared the marks of slaves around their neck, though from there the marks changed from person to person, depending on blood and training. Soft whispers filled the space as they told stories to each other. All, except one.

Hidden in the corner, she wasn't like the others, who were either elves or humans. Her ears were pointed, like an elf's, though hers were slightly elongated. A round face held almond-shaped, violet eyes edged with black, thick lashes under delicately arched dark eyebrows. A long, thin nose looked over a full, pouty mouth, the lower lip currently quivering from cold. Hair as black as a raven's wing, with the same blue hue, fell in gentle waves down her shoulders to the middle of her back, parted gently to the side and cut so that there were shorter strands to frame her face. Her body was long and lean, with only the beginnings of curves, though all her motions were filled with an unhuman-like grace. She had been dressed in a long white skirt, with a black corset that doubled as a shirt. Black leather slippers that were almost falling apart graced her delicate feet.

However, that is where the normal features ended. Her skin was a light gray that seemed to reflect silvery light there in the dark; where the skin was normally pinky, hers was just a darker shade of gray. Even her fingernails were black rather than pink and white, filed into rounded points. Set in the center of her forehead was a blood red gem edged in beaded black metal, with matching gems on other parts of her body, a larger one set just beneath her collar bone and two smaller ones where her arms met her shoulders. Black tattoos of her slavery were also present. The basic collar around her neck held the traditional design, as well as a charm-like variation that came around to encircle the central gem. A similar mark graced her forehead, creating the image almost of a circlet. Bare arms held marks as well, appearing on the back of her wrists up to her elbows. It was unclear if there were other marks on her.

Unexpectedly, the wagon the slaves were carried in came to a halt. All of the females formed a huddle, though the strange, gray-skinned girl did not try and join them. Outside, they heard the crunch of boots on gravel making all of them grimace. Lo and behold, the back plank was lowered and the canvas curtain drawn back. Looking in was the man all of them hated. He bragged at being the world's best slave trader in a world were slavery wasn't typically legal. A dark man in the physical sense, he had skin like ebony, lined and creased from stress more than age. Dark, hard eyes like onyx stared at his prizes, a long, light brown scar going vertical down his face coming dangerously close to the right one. Only one person knew how that scar came to be, and he always treated that person carefully. Dressed in a sleeveless black tunic, leggings, and knee-high boots, he wore no cape or hat, leaving his shoulders to get wet as his bald head gleamed from the moisture. Without a word, he grabbed the only female not huddled up, the gray-skinned girl, and forced her out into the rain. She put up no resistance in silence.

They were outside of a large local inn. In this downpour, everyone was inside, the windows lit up by the fires inside. The large fountain in the center of the gobbeled courtyard was almost overflowing from the extra water, even as puddles gathered in the dips and hollows of the slightly uneven ground. A stable and carriage house could be seen further down the drive, though all the horses were already inside where it was dry. Any further sights couldn't be taken in, as the slave trader hurried his current good into the kitchen entrance of the inn. Through the white washed stone kitchen and through a wood-floored and plastered wall hallway, he dragged her, and she only silently took in what she could.

He practically threw her into the room, though she kept her balance perfectly. Her skirt swirled around her legs, only accenting her elegance. Once she was still, she silently took in the buyers, only to be surprised. One was a heavy-set woman, dressed in a simple brown dress with a white apron over the skirt and bodice, the sleeves tied up to her elbows so they were out of her way. Blonde hair beginning to be streaked by white was tied up in a bun, the front cut into a fringe bang, with wide blue eyes underneath them. Her nose was slightly tilted up, and her mouth was a little thin for her heart-shaped face. The sun had touched her skin gently, leaving her tan despite her flaxen looks. Another woman was the only one present. She had dark hair like the slave girl, though hers was not as true of hue and was twined up in an elegant twist, and had an olive skin tone. The oval face was lovely, though the slightly hooked nose was too large for perfect looks. Ruby lips were underneath it, even as warm hazel eyes looked out at the room. Clothed in blood red velvet and ivory lace, she was the very image of a wealthy lady.

"Well, Dione. She is as you described," the servant woman noted, her voice holding the local accent, standing to circle the silent slave. "What is her breeding, exactly?"

"Half human, half demon," the slaver answered with a smirk, his voice gravelly and smug. "Was sold to us when she was a toddler. Our mage put the gems in, 'cept for the forehead one, to control the more unstable parts of her blood. That one in her forehead, she had when we got her. Not sure what purpose it serves."

"You've never asked her?" the servant girl checked in amazement, even as she traced the marks on the girl's left arm. She neither flinched away nor aided the servant girl's examination.

Dione shook his head. "Girl hasn't said a word since she was sold. The priest of her village had to tell us her name. Mori Dae. Means Dark Shadow, in their tongue, though I don't know how the grammar structure works, so I can't tell ya which word means what."

As the servant girl continued to examine the slave, more questions were asked. Finally, her marks were brought up. "So, the collar insures she can't run away from either where her master lives or her master's side, and these on her arms are for...? And what of her forehead?"

"Well, those marks on her arm are for basic cleaning tasks, such as mopping floors, dusting, tidying up. Her forehead is a mark indicates she is a lady's maid as well. She can sew, embroider, style hair, knit lace, all the basics. On her ankles and lower leg are marks that indicate she has dance training. Her back, however, is the real piece of work. Raise your hair, girl," Dione comanded. The girl did as ordered in quiet obedience. The thick strands of hair had been hiding the top of a large mark that crossed her shoulder blades and expanded down her back.

"A mage mark!" the servant gasped, and the lady finally raised herself to her feet.

"Yep." The slave trader's smugness raised itself a level. "She has abilities of some sort, I've never asked what. She never uses 'em, so it doesn't bother me."

The lady approached the slave girl, who had kept her amythest eyes to the floor. She looked over the half-demon, seemingly seeing into her core as well as her outer self. Finally, she said, "Fetch the gold, Alice. She will do."

The servant girl curtsied and went through a side door. Dione smiled wickedly and said, "Oh, you want regret this, Mrs. Cartier. She'll do you well." The woman nodded in response. Then, her servant returned and handed a leather pouch to the slave trader. He counted the handful of gold coins inside, then tossed the pouch and caught it again. "See you ladies next time you need a slave!" Turning around, he opened the door, whistling, only to be caught in surprise. "Hey, what the hell is this?"