The pink haired woman sits alone. Even among the small crowd of slaves shackled in chains she stands out. After all why wouldn't a tall, muscular, pink hair, pink eyed woman stand out?
One by one the slaves are being auctioned off and the 'best' is being saved for last. The nineteen year old Fanalis pulls her knees to her chest and slouches foreword. Most slaves have a dull look in their eyes. As if there is nothing worth fighting for, they seem like they have given up on life, and have no reason to carry on. But this slave, this Fanalis is different. She has something to live for and you can see it in her strong eyes.
She is pulled to her feet and marched onto the stage. A horribly stained white dress drapes around her. It has been badly ripped and tattered. Heavy shackles Ankara her arms and legs. These confinements have been sealed with magic leaving no escape for any normal Fanalis. The woman keeps her head down facing the ground. Her head is shaved on one side leaving a small buzz the other has hair that tumbles around her shoulder.
Normally, on the dark continent, she would be wearing a head piece made of shells on the short side. However, her people traditions and customs are long lost and no one respects them here.
She keeps her eyes on the ground repeating a sentence in her head: I am Mira shaman of the finalis. I will find her, my sister, Morgiana.