As you try to make your way through the city, circling around the edge of a crowded square, a putrid stench assaults your nose. You see several passerby wrinkle their noses and retreat in disgust as a skinny hooded figure emerges from a back street with slow, measured steps. Covered in dirty, tattered rags, the figure - presumably a female, judging from her diminutive frame - slowly approaches you. Spare a coin for a poor soul, sir? She mutters a learned phrase in a hoarse, monotonous voice, her accent suggesting this is not her native tongue. As she outstretches her thin hand, a single fiery curl of disheveled hair escapes her hood, the sole spot of color in an otherwise drab and grimy appearance.
I raise an eyebrow How old are you?
I don't know sir... I... remember things from before. My parents sang to me a song in their language, so sweet and warm, but it feels like a dream now... I think they called me Cibia. But how old are you? Are you kind to girls, sir?
I am 24 and I like to think I am kind to girls. I get on one knee to meet her at eye level What do you mean “their language”? Are you not from this city, Cibia?
Small green eyes meet with concerned brown ones. She chews on her lip nervously as she ponders whether to trust you, and decides that you seem kind enough for now. I... don't remember much anymore, sir... All I know is that my parents sang me a lullaby in their language, the language of elves. My father told me stories about it, how beautiful and magical it was. When the war came, we were forced to flee our home... but they were killed before we could reach safety... I managed to escape with only my life...
She trails off, unable or unwilling to speak further about her past. She glances down at your outstretched hand and then back up into your eyes, hesitating for a moment before slowly reaching out to take it, their hands barely touching. May I ask why you are speaking with me? There are many poor souls in this city who need help...
I speak to you because you asked. You seem to be young. If you are elven in nature, you couldn’t be more than a century old. Are you hungry? I could bring you some food. Looking at her, I try to analyze her face. Many thugs and ruffians use children to bait adults into bad situations and I want to see what her intentions are
She hesitates a moment longer before nodding slightly, her gaze shifting back and forth between you and your outstretched hand. Finally, she extends her dirty fingers to grasp yours again in a surprisingly firm grip, meeting your eyes with a look that is equal parts hope and fear. As you take her hand, she feels smaller and more fragile than any girl should, like something that could be easily crushed between strong hands. I... am always hungry... but most people here hate elves, so they don't want to help me... And even when they do, it's never much, just enough to make sure I won't die today... But if you could... If you could help me find a place where I can be safe and have food for more than one day... Then I would be eternally grateful... Her eyes widen slightly as the words leave her mouth. She wasn't expecting such a generous offer from a human after all she had been through, and part of her is afraid that it's too good to be true. But she can't help but hope that this time things will be different...
Cibia swallows hard, feeling a lump form in her throat as emotions war within her. She tries to keep herself composed, not wanting to seem weak or desperate in front of you. She glances around quickly, unsure if anyone is watching them and perhaps plotting against her at that very moment.
Well Cibia. I am not most people. I am looking for someone to help around my estate and if you need food and shelter then I think I can offer you a job. Work for me and I can provide you food, shelter and most importantly, income. Would you like that?
I... don't know what to say... I mean, it's very kind of you, sir... But why would you want to help someone like me? I'm just a dirty, skinny little street rat with nowhere to go and no one who cares about me... You could find someone better to work for you.
Her voice trails off, the doubt and self-loathing all too clear in her words. Even as hope begins to flicker within her, she can't help but fear that it will be snuffed out before it has a chance to grow any stronger. She looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes, searching for some sign that this might not be another cruel trick designed to hurt her further...
Call it a hunch. I like to think I have a good eye for someone stronger than their years. Come on. Let’s head to my estate and get you cleaned up.
I-I... don't know what to say... Th-Thank you... I... won't let you down, sir... I promise... She swallows hard again, her voice sounding small and weak even to her own ears. She hesitates for a moment longer before finally nodding slowly, unable or unwilling to meet your eyes as she does so. The skinny girl with the bright emerald eyes feels like a puppy who's just been rescued from certain death; grateful beyond words but still cautious and unsure of herself in this new situation. She glances around once more, half-expecting someone to step out from the shadows and snatch her back into the darkness she'd become so accustomed to over the years...
I take a quick look at my watch and frown briefly We must get going. I have an appointment I must make back home. I shall introduce you to my head of staff, Manfred and he should be able to sort you with a room and some clean clothes. From there, you shall become aquantied with the rest of my staff. Do you have any skills, either ones learned on the street or those learned prior?
I... used to help my parents with their small garden at home. I know a bit about plants and flowers, how to take care of them. And when they taught me magic... I was good with it too. But... that was long ago, before everything changed... Now all I can do is survive from one day to the next...