Blood-Bound Ch.1
#1 of Blood-Bound
Hi, everyone. I have been an avid reader for awhile, and am now posting my first story. As far as I know, it will have lots of chapters, and hopefully go for awhile.
This has been bouncing around in my head for a week or so now, and finally it was ready to write!
Disclaimer: If you don't like it, don't read it. All the characters and settings are mine, along with the ideas, any coincidental similarities are just that, COINCIDENCE! None of this has really happened.
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Ch.1
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The entrance is grand. A tall set of oaken doors that would tower above even some of the larger, feral, dragon-kind. Not that one saw many of the ferals in the cities.
The opulent walls shone with silver inlays, ebony carvings, and thin gold leaf arranged in ancient, unreadable glyphs, enchanted to repel fire and disease. Idle chatter made the room seem comfortable, restaurant patrons relaxing at their secluded tables. A warm breeze poured through the open entrance, sending chills along the line of working slaves hidden behind a drape next to the far door.
I stood, taking it all in for what seemed to be the thousandth time, but was most likely closer to the millionth. Next to me stood a restaurant worker, holding the whip and long, forked, dagger of a slave leader. My long crimson loincloth brushed past my knees in the breeze, the chill hitting my bare skin.
Crimson was the color of the blood-bound slaves, the main economy and backbone of the country. Although the material looked thick and luxurious, the color creating a wonderful contrast to the surroundings, it was actually thin and worn. I had worn this particular cloth for the six years at my current station.
I worked in The Je'weel, a prestigious restaurant where the only non-slaves were the owner, his three hired guards, and, of course, the customers. I let my gaze drift over the tables, enjoying my days out of the kitchen.
The last week had been laborious, three kitchen slaves down with the Retin Flu. Many liked the kitchen because they could eat extra food, gorging themselves on the left overs and refused dishes from the customers. I hated it.
The kitchens held heat and steam that pressed against the skin of those inside, and making the thin loincloths uncomfortable and sticky. Washing and preparing food always held the danger of cutting one's self in the rush of a restaurant. Kitchen hours were long and never ending, taking any energy one had and then squeezing out some more. In fact, the only reason that I had been pulled into it was that I was replacing the chef in charge of vegetarian dishes, my own culinary skill being very near his own in that category of food. But I held no like for the majority of the food.
The Je'weel catered mainly to the meat eaters of society, many customers being dragons, lions, and other large predators. Of course, most anything outsized a short statured human.
My short brown hair blew to the side as a particularly strong gust of wind gushed into the building, My lightly tanned skin getting goosebumps from the sea's salty air. I gazed at a far window, one that overlooked the small port of the city. A large galleon had docked yesterday, its large wooden form taking up much of the small cove-like area. I wondered what it would be like to be a slave on a ship, maybe working in the immeasurably less busy kitchen. Able to prepare meatless meals that prevented the crew from getting scurvy, and rot-eye in a mer-fur's case.
I jumped imperceptibly, two sharp points pressing into my back, urging me forward. I took my immediate surroundings in again, and realized that there was a new customer. He was a foot and a half taller than me (most likely 6'6"), and was gazing around the room in wonderment.
But that wasn't why I now drew in a silent gasp. He looked humanoid overall, but he was covered in feathers.
The feathers were a light golden brown, speckled with black in the chest and head. His tail feathers ended in a nice chocolate brown that reminded me of the color of my eyes. My eyes darted to his limbs. Each had feathers reaching past the joint, then turning into what looked to be hard, deep yellow, clawed talons. Each digit ended in a sharp black claw.
His face seemed to be smiling at the surroundings. Though the beak mad it hard to tell, it was expressed through the deep golden eyes.
The forked knife in my back twisted, cutting two arcs into me. The blood dripped down my back as I removed the grimace of pain from my face and walked forward to greet the new guest.
"Welcome, Freeman, to The Je'weel, I will be your server today." I said in the politest tone I have.
He glanced to me and gave one of his smiles, conveying warmth through the gesture. Glancing over at Jame, the guard/employee, then back to me, he held out his hand.
I took the hand and held it in a polite grip. Whilst he firmly shook it, the claw at the end of one of his fingers sank into my palm to start another drip of blood. Keeping my straight face, I bowed to him after he had released me.
"Follow me Freeman, we have an open table by one of the windows." I turned my back and walked slowly, making sure he was following me through the lush interior. I approached a table in a back corner, lifting the drapes around it and bowing the bird-man through. As he passed I was surprised to see carefully folded wings resting against his back, yet invisible from his front. They were the same color as his tail feathers, and blended nicely with the sand colored vest he wore, as his tail feathers did with the light cream colored shorts.
"Are you waiting for more members of your party, or are you dining alone today?" I asked as he stared out the window. He looked back towards me, an unreadable look on his face, as he settled himself on the plush cushions near the table, settling his wings and feathers comfortably.
"I am dining by my self today." he stated. His voice was rich and musical, the tone lilting back and forth on the simple words, dazing me so much that I let out a smile and nodded. I could listen to that voice all day I thought to myself before snapping back and returning my face to its polite expression.
"Very good, Freeman." Handing him a menu I had brought with from the front of the restaurant, I felt a claw running over my skin, but this time not cutting. I held my arms behind my back loosely, keeping them out of the blood dripping down, and gently wiping the small trickle from my hand onto the scarlet fabric of my loincloth. I then traced over where his claw had been, enjoying the near electris tingle.
As I wiped away the blood on my hand again, the hawk, for that is what he resembled, looked up to me and said, "Please don't call me free-man." and after a pause, "Is there anything without meat on this menu?"
I had almost lost myself in his voice again, but made myself hold on his question.
"Yes, Fr-Sir," I stuttered, catching myself before I could finish my mistake. "All vegetarian meals are on the back cover."
The menu was the only sound the came from the table we were at. Outside the wind blew, whilst loud voices resounded from the other tables. I glanced back at the hawk and saw a slightly confused expression on his face. I immediately knew that it was the vegetarian section of the menu.
There were no pictures of what the food looked like, and the names were all obscure, most not hinting at what the dish was. Most customers never ordered again from that section, sticking with the more thought out meat section. I had only ever heard of a few repeat vegetarian customers, and had never served any of them.
I cleared my throat. "If you would, Sir?" I questioned, catching his attention almost immediately. "The Feta Wheels are an excellent appetizer, whilst I recommend South Bake as a main course. Although I would recommend getting it without the corn, as the supply is a little old, and we aren't getting more for another week."
I instantly paled at my own words, wishing I could clamp a hand over my mouth. I kept my face stoic and polite, listening closely to see if anyone had overheard my outburst. It wasn't proper for a slave to initiate in unneeded conversation with one who was free, and if I was heard, I might be punished... severely...
I brought my eyes back into focus and saw that the hawk-man in front of me was grinning, though there seemed to be something else in the expression as well, something I couldn't place.
"That sounds delightful!" he stated happily, either ignoring the fact that I had initiated the conversation as a slave, or completely oblivious of the proper etiquette concerning the blood-bound. "And what do you recommend for a dessert?"
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Tiran, the hawk-man, finished his meal and leaned back, puffing out his chest feathers. I relaxed myself, the food having been relaxing, if not up to the standards I held for myself. The cobbler had been spiced to near perfection, allowing my taste buds to sigh at the never tasted before dish. I had never eaten so well.
Then I froze, the thought repeating itself over and over in my head. I had never eaten so well, because I was blood-bound, not fit for this food. Only fit for the rejects and mis-makes of the kitchen. Only fit for the ingredients that were so close to expiration that they would ruin a dish if used. My face paled even more as I realized I wouldn't be able to hide it from the others.
My breath smelled of the sweat delicacies, and my stomach bulged slightly from so much food. Another blood-bound would spot me in an instant, and whether from jealousy or obedience, would immediately take the information to the owner. I had seen the punishment Drak Grash handed to those who broke the rules. I would be past all of those, beaten worse than all of them put together.
All of my happiness from the meal and spending time with the hawk-man washed away. I stood slowly and quietly, as not to alarm Tiran. Grash would find out within the hour, and as such, this was the last bit of my time that I would be able to stand, not weak and chained, for the foreseeable future.
"If you wouldn't mind, I would like to speak to the owner." came Tiran's now quiet voice.
I started terribly, wondering if all this had been a set-up, and now he was going to report to Grash. It had happened to others before, but I had never experienced it myself.
"Yes, Freeman." I stated politely as I exited the curtained area, not even noticing the slip of words. I was now walking to my doom, and Tiran had sent me to it. All of the happy conversation he had shared with me trickled out like a streamer of smoke from a dying flame. He had seemed to care, but now that I truly thought about it I couldn't remember what had passed between us. None of the words connected to each other the way they should. Something prevented me from recalling what even the subject of discussion was.
I kept my polite pace and disposition with me as I walked to the Drak's built in apartment. I passed the kitchen doors and blanched at the strong smell of meat and blood. Continuing on I came into the section of tables reserved for families. Most were comprised of the upper-class dragons, though it looked like some had lower classes with them as guests.
Each table had one human blood-bound next to it, ready for any orders that came from the group. A few looked in my direction, their eyes narrowing, but keeping polite smiles and stances.
Finally I could put it off no longer and approached the large curtain that disguised a hallway. I stepped past the thick cloth and approached the door.
I hesitantly raised my hand then knocked.
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