pity coin


     Most who entered the market came for a purpose but the details remained unknown to all else. While many people passed through the sector, few were as puzzling to watch as a half-elf. Although not difficult to distinguish, Thranduil did not particularly dislike those with less pure of blood. Thieves, however, garnered disapproval with ease. Despite having a curious eye for merchandise, the individual never spared a coin.

A pity to know someone with elven blood was likely to be on level with beggars. Youth was the only chance the halfling had to improve his habits, yet it was doubtful one could change an already skilled burglar. Even as he reflected on this, he watched the young one drift along with an ever-growing collection of hidden change. Were he a simple human, Thranduil would have easily missed the advanced sleight of hand.

Exhaling with disappointment, he too entered the buzzing market floor.  As if he were a fearful deity, others moved from his path with no complaint. Such was a perk of having a respectable composure, the kind which kept his expression neutral throughout his stride.

If he were unable to reroute the stranger’s misused talent, the least he could do would be to teach of the line between self-preservation and GREED.

Is profit justly earned when attained through deceit?  He murmured while standing parallel to the other, his chin lowered to the crate of produce between them.