It was as close to a warm homecoming as one could expect heading into Jerova. After passing the city gates, and largely avoiding the guards’ ire due to a lack of visible weapons, Randall took note of the city that had been his home for quite a few years. The merchants were still hawking their wares in hastily assembled kiosks and booths, the class divide was still painfully apparent when not five minutes after seeing a nobleman ride by in a rich velvet doublet and a few overly large rings on his fingers with a retainer of body guards, Randall witnessed two boys, who couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7, thoroughly pounding on one another with fists over half a loaf of bread. Some good Samaritan probably thought they were being kind to a filthy street urchin, not counting on the desperation hunger could bring about. Randall did not move to interfere; the memories were still fresh enough that he remembered being one of those children, brawling for scraps. The only reason he’d survived to adulthood was because he was bigger and older than the other kids and could physically take food from them. Besides, one didn’t stay invisible and unremarkable in cities like Jerova for long if you did anything the locals didn’t do.

And one thing the locals never did was help the beggars. 

It wasn’t to say Randall was heartless and blind to their plight; he had often shared some of his excess takings with those who could use it, and left food for those who needed it more than him. It was always very subtle, and he didn’t want his charity work going noticed. If someone who was on the receiving end of charity could adequately describe the man who helped them, word would spread, and life would soon become miserable for anyone remotely matching the description. Like pigeons, beggars would often swarm those they figured were good for a handout. The worst part was, any bit of charity, while well intentioned, didn’t really go far or do anything to solve the problem. Randall simply didn’t want to see people starve or freeze to death in the cold streets that molded him.

A caw sounded from overhead, as if it heard the musings about pigeons earlier. Gruff was perched up on a rooftop, surveying the streets for anyone careless enough with their food to drop it. The crow, something Randall saw as a friend, was  easy to pick out as it was missing two large feathers off of his right wing, the result of a squabble with another pair of crows over a rabbit carcass some time ago. He didn’t ever go far, and even if he left Randall’s sight for a few hours, he always seemed to know where to find him. Randall smiled, in spite of himself. At least he had one friend left in this city.

Suddenly, cries about a thief filled the streets and Randall caught a glimpse of a boy who was fleeing from somebody. He grunted, knowing all too well what some of the punishments for thieves were in this city. Age didn’t seem to be a factor orcs considered, either. Randall subtly checked his gem pouch, filled with odds and ends of gemstones and jewellery he’d nicked on thieving jobs that he used almost exclusively for bribes. It was hard to feel shortchanged about the value of a gemstone in exchange for a meal or information when it was amongst the easiest acquisitions one could obtain, should they find themselves in a strange house. He had a very real fear he wasn’t going to be eating as well today as he had anticipated.

Turning the streets and following the reactions of the crowd, Randall eventually found what was going on. A young boy, accused of stealing medicine, a green-robed man who was almost certainly one of the sorcerers, a hulking orc guard, and two people, a man and a woman, who seemed to be negotiating for the boy’s release. Randall watched with arms crossed, wondering how the woman, a slightly woman of small stature and gentle features, seemed to be pushing hard to free the boy, concern genuinely evident on her face. Compared to the other onlookers, she looked positively radiant and pristine, like some painting of a goddess or an artist’s lover. It was hard not to have eyes lingering on her for more than fleeting glimpses, especially considering the present circumstances. 

Her companion was another story altogether, a heavily muscled beast of a man who towered over nearly everyone in the crowd, save perhaps the orc, and the man was more conspicuous by his odd attire. Nearly naked and standing like a bronze statue, Randall quickly decided he was not a man who he would want to cross. He could tell from the fleeting glances from the guard and the sorcerer that both had their misgivings about being in his present.

"Yes, I don't wish to press charges. That is-- if the young lady can pay me the platinum piece that medicine was worth?" the sorcerer said, inwardly making Randall cringe as he looked at the terrified boy. He may have to cough up the ransom after all.