The pickpocket no longer went by "Scram" but had chosen a new name for themselves. Thanks to the kindness of a wizard and their kobold companion, they'd opened an eatery that was very cheap, but with wonderous food, thanks to the farm, and the nearby river teeming with fish, they used to supply it rather than buying supplies elsewhere. In honor of the two, those who were poor and desperate were given food for free, shelter, and a chance to learn farming, fishing, and cooking, so they didn't go hungry, either.
@internutter/challenge-03714-j061-change-a-life-change-the-world -- Anon Guest
[AN: Scram got a different story in One Life's Worth of Change but I can have room for more than one street kid thinking their name was Scram]
"Time is a flat circle," sighed the Elf after I introduced myself.
I had no choice but to stay. Trying to look inedible to a Kobold who was bigger than I was at the time. My hand was stuck in the Elf's pocket.
The Kobold was cackling. "More like city people are horrible," she said. "Name's Gikka, little one. We've done this before."
The Elf used one hand to remove mine from hir pocket, while the other plucked a warm pastie[1] out of thin air. "If you stay with me," offered the Elf, "I can see you into a better life than starving in the streets."
I'm a Halfbred. Part Orc, part Elf, part gods-only-knows-what. Unwelcome in lots of places. A mongrel. A reject. The fact that this Elf looked at me like I was merely lost? It made my mind up. It was the most respect I'd ever got in my life.
I wanted more of that. And to be honest, I thought that was what love felt like. I learned better in the passage of a few years.
They took me out of the city, and taught me more than a few things about life outside of streets and alleys. Like how to grow my own food. Not just how to read and write the words of intelligent beings, but also how to read the traces of nature.
I didn't know then, but Wraithvine was testing me for inborn magic. I might have had a knack for growing things or handling animals, but I was not a Druid. I was certainly no warlock nor sorcerer. I could use base magic, but I didn't have the aptitude to be a Wizard. I didn't know what would become of me until we found the farm.
It was struggling, and needed more hands than the pair belonging to Grandmother Horns. She called me "Chickie" and fussed over me, making sure I had enough, and a little treat besides.
Wraithvine and Gikka moved on. I stayed. I had clever hands and a knack for helping living things flourish. Grandmother Horns and I picked up a couple of other foundlings and we made a family.
It's little and broken, but it was ours, and we'd fight to the death for it. A Halfbred, a Bugbear, and another Hellkin. All alone together.
The occasional traveller would wash up on our doorstep, and we were sorely tempted to let them wash away. Then Grandmother Horns said the thing that shaped all our lives. "The only way to end the Unwelcome... is to make everyone welcome."
It let me dream of a world in which nobody belonged to the Unwelcome People. My sibs and I shared a Look, and... That was the start of what's here today.
That's why we call it the Welcome Inn. Everybody is welcome in. My sister the Bugbear brews the ales, my brother the Hellkin does the cooking. I grow all the food and cook a lot of it, with Grandmother Horns helping now and then.
And if you don't like our hospitality, you're welcome to move along and take your chances. I'm Chuck. Leave your speciesism at the door and your weapons in their scabbards and we'll get along fine.
[1] For those unfamiliar, a pastie is what happens when someone tries to make a taco when all they know is pies. Plain wheat pastry wrapped around a near-solid stew and then baked. Confusion may have arisen because of some minimalist clothing options of the same name.
[Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash]
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