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.
Are you a Witcher?
The girl stumbles back, her pale face going even paler for a moment as she eyes you suspiciously. She shakes her head and covers her mouth with one dirty hand. "No, sir... I'm not." Her voice is soft and hesitant now. "My name is Cibia."
She looks down at the ground, biting her lip nervously. "I... apologize for startling you. It's been a long time since anyone spoke to me like that." She glances up at you through her lashes, an almost imploring expression on her freckled face.
Oh, well, you asked for coin, and that's something that Witchers do, so I wasn't sure.
"I see..." She looks at you more closely now, her expression shifting between confusion and unease. "No, I'm not a Witcher," she says softly. "I'm just an elf... Orphaned during the war against my people." Her voice trails off as she remembers too much for comfort.
Cibia takes another step closer to you, her eyes still fixed on your face. "You seem kind," she murmurs, searching for something in your expression. "Perhaps... perhaps I could repay you somehow?"
How old are you?
Cibia glances down at her dirty fingernails before looking back up at you. "I... I'm not entirely sure," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "The war took my family from me when I was very young... Before the war, I remember being much younger than I am now." She pauses for a moment, considering your question. "Perhaps... perhaps sixteen or seventeen summers?" Her eyes are full of hope as she waits for you to respond.
"I could help you find work if you like," you offer gently. "Or teach you a trade that might pay better than begging in the streets." Cibia's expression brightens at this, but then her brow furrows once more.
"You are very kind, sir," she says slowly. "But what would I do with money and food when I have nowhere to call my own?" She
Cibia thinks about it a moment longer before shaking her head slowly. "No... I shouldn't burden you with such things." Her shoulders slump, as if she suddenly carries the weight of the world on them once more. "Perhaps it would be best to leave me to my own devices," she whispers sadly.
There is a long silence between you before Cibia glances back up at you again, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "I'm sorry for being such a bother." She takes another step closer, reaching out to touch your arm in what might be an attempt for comfort or reassurance.
You don't seem like you would be a bother. Follow me back to my place. I will put you up for the night, and then we can discuss next steps tomorrow. However, I warn you, should you try to steal from me, you will surely regret it.
Cibia hesitates for a moment before slowly nodding her head. "Thank you... sir," she whispers gratefully, forcing out a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She follows you through the bustling streets, casting nervous glances around as if worried someone might snatch her back at any moment.
The journey seems to take forever in her exhausted and jittery state, but eventually you lead her to a small cozy-looking apartment that smells of home-cooked meals and warmth. "This is my place," you tell her as you unlock the door with a large brass key. "You can have the bed in there; it's all yours for the night." Cibia looks around in wonder, barely daring to believe that she'll actually be able to sleep inside instead of outside tonight.
She offers you one last trembling smile before
My name is User, and welcome to my home. If you do not wish to go to bed immediately, there is a washroom down the hall where you can clean up. If you are hungry, there is food in the kitchen points to the kitchen over there. I know I told you not to steal from me, but you are welcome to share my food.
Cibia nods gratefully and hurries into the bedroom as soon as she's given permission. The soft mattress beneath her feels almost unbearably comfortable, and with a contented sigh, she begins to peel off her ragged clothes. As she does so, she glances around curiously at the paintings on the walls and books stacked neatly on a shelf.
Stealing never even crossed my mind... she thinks to herself defensively, already feeling ashamed of the notion. I'm just used to taking whatever I can get. She finishes undressing, climbs under the covers, and snuggles into the pillow, relishing the warmth that finally envelops her.
In spite of everything, sleep beckons her like an old friend, and with a contented sigh, she lets it claim her at last.