It was a clichéd and simple tale, though no less tragic for it, common to many of the young and vulnerable. An unknown father, and an even more mysterious mother, both of which abandoned her into the care of one of the local shrines, was the start in life that she had been given. Even then, the girl had been content for a while, at least until her ears began to give clues to her origins.
As is the nature of bored children, she had taken to exploring and hiding in every nook and cranny of the shrine. First it was out of play, a game to pass the time with her friends, who almost could never find her. Then it became an escape, a way to find reprieve from the switch that the adults of the shrine were always too free to employ.
In a forgotten alcove, above the portly prior’s office, she once overheard a most-disturbing conversation. She was to be sold into slavery, the heritage of her blood a rare and valuable commodity. The exchange was to happen soon. A determined Larynda made her escape, deciding that a life on the streets was better than a life in chains.
During those formative years, she would run with various child gangs and other urchins, stealing from the markets or from traveling merchants. Every day was one of calculated risk, as they tested themselves against the law in Ansan. The penalty of theft was harsh.
As time passed, the older and luckier members of her group would find themselves employed in low positions to the rich and powerful of the city. She would sometimes call out to them when she saw them about the city, but they would shroud themselves with indifference, as her calls were a painful reminder of the lives they once led. The truly ill-fated ones, children that the gods and this primitive society had forgotten, merely disappeared without a word. Gone like morning mist, without utterance and without a trace, leaving behind a growing hole that ate away at her heart.
It was then, just as she began to know true despair, that she had a fateful encounter. Dezra, her friend, had developed a hacking, persistent cough that refused to go away. As the days passed, this cough morphed into a deathly rattle, leading to Dezra's pitiful end, drowned in her own blood. As she held Dezra's rapidly-cooling hand in her own, she looked around their den and acknowledged that this existence was no life at all. Living this way amounted to nothing more than a slow death.
Driven by desperation, she knew she needed to find a way to better her circumstances. It felt much like escaping the shrine - a dire situation that demanded drastic measures. She had to evolve beyond petty pickpocketing and shoplifting. She needed to make a significant score, a life-altering one that would change her current course.
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Fortune smiled upon her when one of the street urchins discovered that there was an alchemist in Ansan who stocked the rarest of herbs and alchemical supplies. These materials were highly-valuable and in great demand. According to Sepfan, a boy who had eavesdropped on a conversation between two dubious adventurers, the shop was deceptively rundown from the outside. Inside, however, it housed a treasure trove of rare and marvelous potions, which the oblivious alchemist was selling for a mere fraction of their worth. The unsuspecting old man didn’t realize he was sitting on so much gold.
The two adventurers had been plotting to raise money to purchase his entire inventory and resell it for profit. Her group needed to act swiftly if they were to seize this golden opportunity.
Quickly staking out the Alchemy shop, the group decided that it was an easy hit, the exotic treasures within easy to fence. However, things were not to be, for the Alchemist had been a far cry from an easy mark. Using a cloth laced with a swift-acting soporific, the surprisingly fast and dexterous old man caught the child as she was searching through his things. After forcefully administering a strong and bitter antidote, Hamsa gave her a long lecture about stealing, once she had suitably recovered her wits.
Tied to a chair, she feigned rapt attention, for she thought that her life was in peril. Larynda had heard the stories. Whether she lived or died depended entirely on the whims of this old man.
Much to her surprise, after he finished his tirade and lecture, he retreated to the back of the store and vanished for some time. She desperately tried to escape, but the knots binding her were expertly tied, leaving her no chance of loosening them. The old man returned, carrying a small plate of food and Larynda's stomach churned at first with unease. Then came a rumbling of a different kind. Thinking it possibly poisoned, she tried to resist the temptation of the proffered food. However, it was the first solid and warm meal that she had seen in a long time and the smell was irresistible. In the end, she relented.
This single act of kindness and forgiveness, not to mention the interesting things within the rundown store, drew her to visit Hamsa’s shop time and time again. Helping about the store, the Alchemist noticed that she had a sharp and inquisitive mind. Soon enough, the old man began instructing her in the basics of alchemy. It also helped that he would always give her food served on chipped and worn crockery, filling and wholesome nonetheless.
They grew closer together as time passed, and she spent a few happy and loving years under Hamsa’s care as his ‘apprentice.’ That was until, of course, the Alchemist had caught word that there was a group looking for a young half-elven girl of her description.
Hard as my heart had grown, I could not deny that I felt a little sympathy for her situation. However, there was now the shadow of a group that was actively hunting for our new charge. Did I really need yet another bunch of people chasing after me? I had to weigh the utility of a magic user on the team against the increased level of threat. It was certainly food for thought.