A squalid District inhabited by very poor People

"Mother, I'd like to go outside with you today. Can I please?"

She gazed at me with just about as much worry as one would expect of a parent when asked to let their child, no older than 5 at best, see the wide world beyond. Probably compounded even further based on the fact that we may be currently in some kind of labour camp.

But I have to see what's outside sooner or later. I do not wish to keep idle any longer while Mother wastes away to keep me fed. I need to start planning something, anything really. And for that I need information. Time to bring out the puppy eyes!

"Very well, you can help me go get water. Grab one of the small jars for me and the iron rods on the shelve, would you?"

Success! I quickly grab one of the less damaged vases, place the 9 weird, thin iron rods I could find on the shelves, put them in it and hand it all over to her. She carries the vase with her left hand.

Thus, I take her right hand in mine and smile at her. She flashes a gentle smile right back at me. Together we venture forth, outside of the familiar tent...

I've already caught a glimpse of the outside once, though without venturing out further, there is not much to see here. Except for one thing. A giant wall, most likely made from sandstone judging by the colour, is visible all around, enclosing this small part of the world as I know it so far.

Down on the sandy ground, all that greets you is a small, dingy space where you're surrounded by tents on every side. To even get anywhere at all from here, you'd have to squeeze between them in a gap somewhere. All of them are riddled with holes and in various states of disrepair.

From every single one I hear another facet of suffering; there's the soft coughing of a child to my left, soft sobbing from a woman somewhere behind me and somewhere in front of me, and a man praying in his language, now forbidden to him.

Mother leads me onwards, knowing very well where to tread. Little, branching paths snake around this labyrinth of cloth, resembling arteries within a body. As we move forward, I realise Isha has been suspiciously quiet. I'd almost wondered if she'd left me, but no, she remains by my side still.

She's just eerily quiet for once, something I am not accustomed to. Taking it all in, she seems rather distraught. No wonder, though; this is not a sight one can just brush past...

Leaving the sprawling labyrinth of tarp behind us, we've come onto a more open path. Here one may find scenery almost resembling something akin to normalcy.

There are children playing here; I hear them long before I see them. They play-fight each other with sticks of brittle wood, each blow making a hollow sound. What immediately catches my eye, however, is their ears. All of them are clearly a lot longer than mine. They couldn't be much older than me, so why are their ears that much longer?

To add insult to this injury, upon seeing me they stop playing and just stare at me. Passing by them, I hear them continuing as soon as I am out of their sight. Mother's grip on my hand tightens. Huh...

There are women gossiping with each other while doing patchwork repairs on torn clothing. Lacking any proper sort of tools, they use a rather impressive suite of handcrafted makeshift tools to breathe another life into their decrepit garments.

Upon seeing my mother, they greet her softly, cautiously. Like they are handling fragile glass. Their looks of sympathy fade rather quickly, however, as their gaze drifts to my humble self. The disdain in their eyes is almost palpable.

Mother's step quickens a bit, leaving these women staring daggers into her back in the distance. I may have an inkling as to what the issue is here...

Now rather close to what I assume to be the centre within the walls, I spot a few elven men doing repairs on a structure built out of scraps of all kinds, it seems. One of them, sporting longer blonde hair, green eyes and paler skin, gains a look of recognition upon spotting my mother.

About what you'd expect if you were to imagine a stereotypical "forest elf", like depicted in countless stories back from my old world. After quickly excusing himself from his companions, he saunters on over to us.

"Rinah, good to see you. Do you need help with carrying anything from the market?"

"That's kind of you to offer, Loren, but I'm fine. I'm still strong enough to carry one little jar."

"Remember, should you ever need help with anything, don't hesitate to call on me, or any of us for that matter. We all have your back..."

While he speaks to Mother, he doesn't even deign to look at me. Not even a single glance in my direction. By now I have a pretty good hypothesis on what the issue is here.

Considering my shorter ears, the disdain from the other elves and the total absence of a father, I am most likely of mixed blood. Furthermore, seeing the elves treat Rinah sympathetically, while assuming she is suffering due to my presence, the few possibilities that remain are... Let's just say bleak. I don't think this contempt towards me only stems from my non-elven blood...

Isha places a hand on my shoulder. Almost like she can sense the negative thoughts I'm spiralling into right now. While her touch may not reach me physically, I understand and value the gesture.

After exchanging a few more platitudes and pleasantries, Loren goes back to his construction work, and we continue on our way.

Having almost made our way across the entirety of this slum, one can now see a larger gate in the wall. Almost perfectly on the other side from where our tent is.

In front of said gate is our destination, what Loren called the market. It's rather easy to notice when you're about to enter said market, due to three rather stark differences from the rest of town.

Firstly here one can see houses made of sandstone, built directly onto and into the walls. Secondly, from here you can see an entrance leading underground into what I am assuming to be the salt mine. Lastly, and most strikingly, there's a giant salt obelisk placed in the centre of this plaza, with bruised elves chained to it. They are currently being flogged, screaming with every blow to their already worn-down bodies.

Isha stands deathly still in front of this display. Not unlike the way she looked at that burning tree in my dreams. I'd really like to put my hand on her shoulder this time, but that seems to be impossible.

However, just as I finished that thought, she turned around to face me with a sorrowful smile:

"Thank you, Isayah."

Somehow my thoughts have reached her after all. Maybe we are connected in some way? Wouldn't be the weirdest thing about her, considering everything else...

"Do not look at the humans, and under no circumstance make eye contact with them!"

Mother's hushed instructions pull me back into the here and now. You have to pass by this display of cruelty to get to the houses at the base of the wall. That certainly is a rather effective method of reminding any rebellious folks about the consequences of disobedience.

All around the gate and its facilities, one can see humans. They either guard or discipline elves or pretend to do either one of those while dozing around. All of them wear light cloth armour; I think you'd call those gambesons? Furthermore, they are visibly equipped with both a wooden cudgel and a small dagger.

I suppose you wouldn't need much more weaponry if your only opponents were to be malnourished elven slaves. Hurrying past this sordid display and trying my best to ignore the screams, we reach one of the larger stone houses, right of the gate.

Right next to said house is a line of elves carrying bags of what I'd assume to be salt. After leaving them with a guard, they receive those iron rods I fetched for Mother. So those rods are our currency in here.

Entering, the interior is quite nice, almost sickeningly so compared to the accommodations I witnessed on the way here. The guards inside are clad in leather armour and have proper swords at their belts, a clear step up from those outside.

Whoever or whatever's in here must be of quite some importance. Multiple desks are lined up here, each manned by a man looking dressed in fancy colourful robes, standing in stark contrast to their guards.

With every other desk already currently occupied, we go to one of the desks in the middle. The man sitting there is draped in fine red robes, wears glasses and has a ring on each of his fingers. The largest and most opulent one seems to depict a bird of some kind, but the distance makes it kind of hard to identify.

He currently appears to be doing some calculations with an abacus and notes down everything in a large ledger. He gives us a quick glance, first at Mother, then the vase she's holding and finally, me.

"That pot will be 8 pig iron."

Mother places her vase and 8 of the iron rods on the table. After confirming the number of rods, he nods to one of his guards, who in turn fills our vase with water.

After which the accountant immediately turns his attention back to his book, probably adding our transaction as well. That means with but one left, we are flat broke.

Though I wonder why they even use currency here. If we are indeed indentured against our will, couldn't they just ration food and water without the middlemen of currency? Anyway, I need to think of some way we can get more of that pig iron money, and quickly. Or even better, to get water another way, to circumvent them entirely.

"STOP THAT SMALL ELVEN GIRL!"

I spin around to the source of the yelling. The blue-clad accountant, situated on the desk to my right, screams at his guards as a small, blonde, elvish girl darts right past me. Her hands filled with those iron rods and a flask, presumably filled with precious water.

Her ears are just as short as mine; she might be another half-elf? Anyway, before I can even start to think about if I'd like to do anything about this whole situation, she's long made it past the door. While a good few of the guards follow her outside, they return rather quickly, however.

He asks the well-dressed men in a hushed, almost shameful tone:

"Factor Veynar, my apologies, but she seems to have escaped. Should we punish the other elves instead to make an example?"

A palpable feeling of dread spreads across the room. Mother holds me close to her, her entire body trembling. I am no better in this regard; being able to hear the screams outside from their kind of "example" certainly reminds you what true fear feels like.

Another guard saunters right over to me and stares right at me. Ah crap, Mother told me not to look at them...