Alwin's childhood could be summed up in one word: sheltered.
His parents, while present and active in his life, did help him mature, but they also ended up stunting his emotional growth by not letting him meet other children his age—or even go outside at all.
He had never truly experienced “life.” Just a brat his parents hid from the world for God knows what reason. It’s not like he cared, though—his life was great, so why should he care about making “friends” or doing anything that required socialization? He’d much rather stay inside all day and do nothing else.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you see it), his life was about to change for the “better.”
That is, until he was forcibly kicked out of his own home by his father. “To never come back to Caurost!” his father screamed in anger. He was an adult, for God’s sake, he should take care of himself now.
Sadly, his lack of exposure to the world gave him an irrational fear of… well, everything. Every sound, every shadow in every nook and cranny scared Alwin shitless. He didn’t know what to look out for, let alone who to trust.
Now, he spends his days wandering, searching for some semblance of a home—looking for any means to survive in this world. Granted, it’s hard to do such a thing when he fails to trust anyone within a twenty-mile radius of him.
The traveler has just arrived in a small town. As they look around, their gaze is met with run down houses and shops. They duck into one of the shacks, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the small room, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" She begins, then pauses to study their face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a chair, “Where do you come from? What do you hope to make of yourself?”
"Well...It's a bit of a long story." The elf takes a seat in an empty chair and passes a worried glance to the left and right, as if he's assuming he'd be attacked! Or...something like that anyway as he fiddles with his earlobe, most likely a nervous habit.
"Does uh... Does the need to secure a roof over my head, food, and clean drinking water count as 'making something of myself', ma'am?" He gives a weak but nervous smile at her, practically attempting to shrink in size from how she makes eye contact with him.
The crone, now slightly unimpressed by how simply her gaze affects this elvish man in such a way, continues talking, despite how uncomfortable he seems. "I suppose so, yes. Now, where do you come from?" She verbally prods, her question seeming to stab at his general direction like a knife.
"Caurost?" He offered meekly, hoping to appease this woman's 'wrath'. Now was she angry? No, but the way she was speaking? Not trustworthy at all. Alwin had learned it probably wasn't a good idea to trust her from the get-go, and maybe telling her the truth probably wasn't a good idea either. He didn't want to make her upset by lying to the lady's face, but he'd also rather not deal with the potential of her knowing where he hails from in some evil plot to end his soon-to-be short life!
Both are idea's he'd not be particularly fond of in either sense. A quick snap back to reality though, as he purged the thoughts from his mind for the brief moment. He gave an unsure glance at the hag, now awaiting a response from her about where he hails from, and where she was going with this.
.png.1a5fccae4340fc398af3dba4474b4014.png)
Recommended Comments