Yeah, this is going to be a bit of a melodrama at first... Get over it!
| Javan'la lay on the cold, damp, lonely ground, rain pounding mercilessly on her bare back. Tears of hate and fear seamlessly merged into the cold water that streamed down her brown face.
She was a frall'e, a bitch, ostrasized and rejected by her family, deemed a woman of the devil by the preist. They threw her out at age 15 with no clothes or money.
"Kill me now Jvar. Let me go on to the next life," Javan'la murmured, praying to the god of death and renewal. She could feel herself shivering violently, and finally decided to try going to a tavern for help.
As she hobbled down the moonlit street, the pain of her branding seemed to hurt even worse. According to the divine law of Trakk (the Creator), any woman or man proclaimed a devil's child is given 15 years to change. If the Priest still deems them tarnished, they are branded and cast out. Javan'la had still been unclean, and was branded on her sternum, right above her chest.
Javan'la was a very pretty girl by general standards, with long black hair and opalescent black eyes. She had only two distinct oddities, one, a tail that was strangely furry, and a sixth finger. Both were reasons she was a "devil's child".
She could tell that the raucous rambings of the drunk men had not receeded, and garbled song could be heard from even a block away. She took a deep breath, and opened the doors to the alehouse.
All talk ceased, and there were several crude whistles from men already long-gone. There was muttering, and Javan'la corageously walked to the Matre Dam of the pub.
"Girl, come ere!" she said, half her voice emoting concern, the other half, caution.
"I beg you ma'am! A clean bed and a blanket is all I need!" Javan'la said, while being pulled into the kitchen.
"Whas your name girl? Yeh, I see the tattoo. I mite a-have a place for ya here, if you prove yeself. Fihst ye need some clothins. No buts," the Matre Dam said roughly.
"Now jest git yerself prettied up. I'll handle the asses out there."