Orphaned, Half-Elven

You've lived in Wrypeak your entire life, and on the streets for almost half of it. Your parents had been held up and shot nine years ago on the banks of the Iiniwa River, all for a score of thirty riel. The sheriffs had other things to worry about than a kid going hungry, and the very fact you were half-elven was looked down on. Your mother was a first generation free elf, and the town was none too welcoming.

You found acceptance and companionship at eleven. The Delgado gang had taken you in and taught you the finer arts of begging and thieving. It wasn't really a gang, just a bunch of kids and teenagers stuck on the streets. But Callum Delgado was probably capable of starting a real gang. Anything you earned went, at least in part, to him. And if you got old or bold enough to be a problem, you were killed or sent on your way.

The last few years had been more difficult. While all your human friends had gotten bigger, broader and meaner, your elven blood had other ideas. You were still only an inch above five-foot, and seemed incapable of growing body hair. Your voice was still soft and high, androgynous at best. At first you'd been mocked for it. Until Callum realized just how valuable the 'abandoned little girl' act was. He made you keep your hair long, to "cover the knife edges", and try and squeeze money from kind hearted strangers.

Or creeps, them too. More than once one of the Delgado boys would encourage you to accompany a disgusting older man to the Wrypeak Hotel, to 'compensate' them for their help. Of course, it never went anywhere. One of the guys would open the window and help you out of the room with their wallet while they bathed.

But that was just in the past. Last night you and the Delgado gang celebrated your eighteenth birthday. Now, you sat on a crate at the lip of an alleyway in the morning sun.