Character prompt: Spare some change?

Wyrmrest Accord
Your character is walking down a lesser-traveled street in the city of your choice, when they are set upon by a beggar. This man appears to have not been properly groomed in years and has the overpowering smell of old coins. He explains, in a feeble, downtrodden voice, that he has not eaten in days and that his residence was destroyed by Deathwing some time back. All he asks of your character is a few coins for water and bread.

How does your character respond?
Aethun turns toward the beggar and frowns.

What do I look like, a charity worker? Pick yourself up and work for your money, bum. I ought to kill y-- wait. Have you ever killed a man? Spill some blood for me and I'll give you some coins. You in?

A sick, twisted smirk appears on Aethun's face.
Grazzug glances down at the beggar and snorts derisively.

"You're a disgrace to your race, beggar. You are going to enlist into the Horde's military and regain some semblance of your honor. The warchief has said all must contribute!"

Grazzug tosses the beggar several copper coins and drags him to a recruitment station.
Liotuse grunts and jerks a thumb over a shoulder.

"There's the notice boards up in the city now. Lot of things to do."
Penel pauses and turns to face the beggar. Her face remains neutral as she looks him over, then tosses him a few coins.

"Get on your feet, soldier. Wallowing in your own filth isn't going to help you."
*Gives the man a silver. Walks away.*
Borgg stops and stares at the beggar for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then turns, walking away in silence.

After some time he returns and thrusts a common quality sword into the ground between them. He speaks in an even tone, meeting the other's eyes with a squinted gaze.

"Forge your own destiny."

The orc walks away without looking back to see what choice was made.
Enekie pauses a moment before reaching into her pack, dropping a loaf of bread at his feet and quietly lifting the coins from his cup.
Ansirem stares at the downtrodden blood elf and scoffs.

"Not so pretty now, are we?"

He reaches into his robe and passes the beggar a spool of silver thread.
Slywin pauses, gaze flickering to the other Kaldorei.

Pity crosses her scarred features.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Brother," she suggests softly, offering a gloved hand.
Sister Tammy Mae Weaselcog smiles sweetly at the beggar. She offers him some food and coin from her bag. She asks him if he has a few minutes to spare and then launches into a heartfelt spiel about the importance of helping others.

Her eyes well with tears as she tells him of the industrial accident that left her in near death and coma for weeks. And how just before she awoke a vision revealed the true path to happiness. Had it not been for the explosive properties of that particular isotope she was using in her glow-in-the-dark mascara formula, she would still be walking the dark path of wealth and success!

Sobbing, she forces a pamphlet into his hand and tells him that there is a place for him at “The Friends of Fushill”. He can have a warm bed to sleep in and three meals a day – all in exchange for some community service outreach work amongst the poor and huddled masses – some minor chores for “FoF”.

She smiles at him as she uses the hem of her robe to wipe running mascara from her cheeks. She wishes him well before scampering down the street in search of someone else who needs her help. He watches in stunned silence as she disappears around the corner, unsure about what just happened to him.
Ziichi nearly passes by at first, too busy with trying to manage chatter on the family's comline and snapping, 'Haleth, Jan, behave," into it. The sound outside her little world startles her out of her nagging, and she backtracks a few steps, peering down curiously at the beggar. A glance is given boh ways, before she crouches, arms draped over her bony knees, and gives a gentle prod to the man's shoulder.

"...c'mon," she finally grumbles, standing again and ruffling her fingers absently through her frizzy mass of hair. "Let's git y'all cleaned up an' fed, an' go checkin' yerself for injuries, huh?"

With a frown of concentration, she barks into the com, "Larrk, puddin', git some clothes outta storage."

Elsewhere, on the other end of the line, the Kaldorei groans in exasperation. She was doing it again, wasn't she? Here came another week of trying to shove some beggar onto various farms, or having them sort his wares (he'd have to redo it, as she never seemed to teach them properly), and the awkward hours of her attempting to cut hair, mend clothes, and usher some mostly-naked person about as she groomed them.

"Yes, yes, of course," the Druid sighs in response, whilst his wife busies herself in trying to drag the man to his feet.
*Malodin Swiftaxe walks down one of Ironforge's many corridors. He glances at a lowly begger sitting on the side of the wall..*

Malodin says: "Ye' don't look crippled.. How's 'bout I sign ye' up fer' the military? ye'll make an honest livin', ye'll get shelter an' food. What do ye' say?"
The priest who peers at the man does not, at first glance, appear to have very many coins to spare himself. He is clad in a simple brown linen robe with leather sandals strapped onto his feet. The cane he leans heavily upon, however, is made of fine, darkly stained wood, with a silver knob at the top. Despite his humble clothing, the elf is clean and neatly groomed, his silver-blond hair tied in a loose ponytail over one shoulder.

Haestus purses his lips and considers a moment, then extends his free hand to the other elf. "Hunger dulls the mind and can suffocate the willpower to pull one up out of their circumstances," he murmurs. "If you are truly interested in improving your lot in life, rather than depending on the charity of others, I will help you. Come, there is an inn not far from here."

Haestus would then pay for room and board for the man for two weeks, whilst either finding someone to teach the man a trade, if he had none, or finding employment for him in his current trade.
Aviric stalks past in the form of a large wolf-like creature before stopping, looking over at the beggar as he stared up at her. Surging with Druidic energy for a moment, she then stands above him in her natural Worgen state, a small smile on her face.

She kneels down in front of him, quietly asking him to tell her his story. The Druid listens thoughtfully throughout the entirety of the tale, understanding how losing one's home can effect someone. As he finishes his tale, she began her own of how she once hunted the creature she had become, how her home was robbed from her by this curse, then destroyed by the Forsaken.

Several hours passed, with Aviric sharing what food and drink she had in her pack with the man. She ignored the looks from some of the citizens that walked past, wondering just how strange it looked to see a Human and a Worgen sitting in the dirt talking.

Finally, with their tales told, the Worgen stands, offering a hand to the man. As he took it, and she pulled him up, she also pressed five gold coins into the man's hand, thanking him for the story. Directing him to Celestine, an acquaintance of her's, she took the form of the wolf again, padding off into the night.
I'd give him some bread and not the money. We all know he'd just blow it on booze and Bloodthistle if I did.
Rachel wrinkles her nose at the stench emanating from the poor man before her. "Who hasn't suffered a loss due to the Black Wyrm?"she quips. "Tori,"the lady calls to her maid."Feed him and get him some decent clothes."Without pause to see that she is obeyed, she walks on her way.
12/09/2012 04:30 PMPosted by Kolaran
I'd give him some bread and not the money. We all know he'd just blow it on booze and Bloodthistle if I did.

You're the reason good men like me can't have a nice night out. >:|
Madican silently handed the beggar a conjured mana biscuit. "Eat quickly," he said, his voice disguised by the magic of his mask. " Find a reason to live."

He walked away, turned the corner, and vanished from the sight of the beggar. With a start he marveled at the miraculous appearance of a biscuit in his hands. The memory of the Sword had been obliterated from existence. However, the beggar began to think thoughtfully about his life as he ate.
racar looks upon the beggar he slowly shake his head
"you truly have no place to go do you?" racar states as he gives the beggar a single gold coin
"follow me and you'll no longer have to worry about life on the streets" racar begins to walk in the direction of undercity wondering how much the Royal Apothecary Society would offer for a new test subject

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