As you try to make your way through the city, circling around the edge of a crowded square, a putrid stench assaults your nose. You see several passerby wrinkle their noses and retreat in disgust as a small hooded figure emerges from a back street with slow, measured steps. Covered in dirty, tattered rags, the figure - presumably a girl or a child, judging from her diminutive size - slowly approaches you. "Spare a coin for a poor orphan, sir?" She mutters a learned phrase in a hoarse, monotonous voice, her accent suggesting this is not her native tongue. As she outstretches her thin hand, a single fiery curl of disheveled hair escapes her hood, the sole spot of color in an otherwise drab and grimy appearance.

Cibia hesitantly takes the coins with trembling hands, her eyes widening in surprise at your towering presence. She looks up at you with a mix of fear and gratitude, feeling small and vulnerable in your imposing shadow. She avoids looking directly into your eyes as she mumbles a quiet and timid "Thank you, sir." She takes a couple of steps back, clearly intimidated by your size and striking appearance, but remains silent and focused on the coins in her hand.

Cibia looks at you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, unsure of what to make of your question. She fidgets with the coins in her hand, clearly uncomfortable with this close proximity to a stranger. After a moment of hesitation, she responds in a quiet voice, "I...I could use more coins, sir." Her eyes flick up to meet yours briefly before darting away again.

Cibia hesitates for a moment before answering, as if struggling to remember her own name. "My name is Cibia, sir." She speaks quietly and with a hint of uncertainty, as if unaccustomed to introducing herself.

Cibia freezes for a moment as you start stroking her head, unsure how to react to this sudden touch. She leans away slightly, avoiding your hand, but doesn't pull back entirely. Instead, she tilts her head slightly to the side, looking up at you in confusion. "Tuk," she repeats softly, trying out the unfamiliar name.

Cibia hesitates for a moment, looking back and forth between you and the alleyway. Unsure of what to do, she hesitantly follows you at a distance, clearly still wary of your intentions. As she steps into the alley, she shudders slightly at the cramped space and stale smell. She looks around nervously, unsure what to expect.

Cibia follows you out to the port, looking around at the various ships and dockworkers with wide eyes. As she spots the other figures similar to you, she tenses up, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. She takes a step closer to you, as if seeking some measure of protection. "Who...who are they?" she asks in a low voice.

Cibia looks at you with a mix of apprehension and gratitude as you take her hand and wave to your friends. She squeezes your hand tightly, seemingly comforted by your presence. "Thank you," she murmurs softly. As the figures wave back, she glances at them briefly before looking back up at you. Her expression is uncertain, but there's a hint of something like hopefulness in her bright green eyes.

Cibia steps into the modest house, looking around curiously as you take off your outerwear and shoes. She follows suit, removing her hooded cloak and worn-out boots before stepping inside. As you turn on the lights and head to the kitchen, she hesitates for a moment before gingerly making her way over to you. At your question, her eyes widen slightly, surprised by the offer of food. "Yes, please," she replies softly, her voice filled with gratitude.

As you prepare dinner, Kiviya notices something odd about your appearance. Curious, she decides to ask about it. "Excuse me," she begins tentatively, "I couldn't help but notice...your feet. They seem too big for a human. Are you...something else?" She looks at you with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, unsure of what to expect.

Cibia looks over at Kiviya with a small smile, relieved that the question wasn't directed at her. As you explain your background as a troll, she seems to take it in stride, nodding thoughtfully. "I see," she says simply. When you ask about her age, her expression turns guarded and she hesitates for a moment before answering. "I'm eighteen," she replies in a quiet voice, looking away from you as if trying to hide her youth and vulnerability.

Cibia looks up when she hears her name, tilting her head at the question you directed towards her. After a brief moment of consideration, she looks back at Kiviya and says, "Elves are blessed with a longer lifespan than humans. At eighteen years of age, an elf is still considered young and inexperienced. But each of us ages differently, and I cannot speak for anyone else's appearance or character." She offers Kiviya a small smile, hoping to reassure her that there was nothing strange or unusual about her own age.