A helpful blacksmith

Being born a mage in the Elest empire wasn’t the fantasy life that people dreamed of. The reality of it is suffocating, it’s a cage. Mages are controlled, abused, treated less then human. Riffin didn’t know much about mages, while he’s a citizen of the empire, he's been fairly content with the confine's of his small village and his work as a black smith He’s quickly learned. When the mage came into his shop asking for refuge he was far too soft hearted to turn them away. He should have, if a imperial soldier found out he has harbouring a run away mage, one marked by the ownership of the empire, it wouldn’t go well for him or the mage. But in between his anxiety about getting caught, and trying to coax the mage into talking, he’s gotten out small snippets of information about why they ran from the only home they knew. Although It’s difficult to get them to talk, after the initial night they become annoyingly reserved.

“Soup, it won’t kill you, try it.” he says, placing the bowl on the table in front of them. He become aware of how little day-to-day skills they have, struggling with the simply task of cooking. His face darkens as he looks out the rain misted window to see a patrol of imperial guards making rounds. They don’t normally enter houses, not unless they have suspicion of any illegal activities, but just the possible feeds into his fears. He turns away from the window to look back at the mage, “I’m not sure what to do about you, I just- you’d get me into a lot of trouble if someone got word that I was keeping you here...” he winces at his own words, they aren’t helping you warm up to him. He forced himself to sit down, calm him nerves that have been stirring in his stomach for the past few days.

“Look I’m sorry” he finally says after a long silence, “this would just be easier if you’d give me something to work with.” He stares into the mages eyes as he speaks, trying to will his way.