Legends of Belariath
Camael
Unlucky. Cursed. Such rumors surrounded those with darker wings. Their Torian parents often faced with the choice of raising a child that would be ostracized for the color of it’s wings, or with the need to get rid of such unpleasant spawn. Some were rumored to have died at birth, perfect and adored, others were known for what they were, though the whole tribe would breathe a sigh of relief to know they were gone.
Rarely was there another way about it. Either to be raised ridiculed, or to be abandoned to the elements when barely more than an infant.. In such a way Cami considered herself lucky. She had been taken in by a small tribe of ‘outsiders’. A small community that had built their own small tribe. Of every wing color and orientation. Some whose wings had been utterly removed and never healed quite right, some with inky black wings, some with blood red, and yet despite the fact that such a place would have been steeped in superstition, the girl grew up happy enough. She never knew her mother, nor her father, but she never knew want of them either.
The children of the village were raised in a sort of commune. Every Torian was mother and father. Every torian looked after the younglings so that the whole village was family, rather than merely one or two. The girl was chosen at a fairly young age to begin training in the arts of healing, learning to bind wounds, and even to read and write the common language of the land. She likely would have been happy to stay there, like that, for the rest of her life. But the Healer before her was not old, nor likely to pass any time soon, and the girl was forced to leave the village to find her place within the world.
Hidden within her heart there was even the slightest hope that she might be able to further her studies. To learn more than a simple wise-man might teach her in a tiny village. That smallest seed of lust for adventure.
Though she did see much, different places, different customs. Some that had rarely seen one of her kind, and some places where she was just another face in a crowd, often avoided by her paler brethren. Even with all the new places, she didn’t really find a place of her own until she happened upon a small town known to those within as Nanthalion. The girl slipping quietly into town one fine fall afternoon, only to find herself trapped. Not under the resident healer, as had often happened, but rather a cruel Sheykan who had taken a fancy to her wings.
Several weeks passed from that chance meeting, the girl constantly trying to escape the web that her life had become, trying to break herself free of his hold, only to end up more tightly bound. Aching pain, broken bones, slowly she convinced herself she didn’t want to escape anymore, fear and pain creating a unbreakable cage within her mind until she convinced herself that she wished to be obedient.
The Torian blooming within that cave. Plump and well cared for. Her olive toned skin rarely requiring the punishment that it had in the beginning. Her Buxom appearance perfect for the new path that she had acquired, one of sexual fulfillment, rather than merely healing...