The camp fire crackles softly, its glow pushing back the darkness of the forest. You sit by a river, your pack resting nearby, tent erected, and horse already tended for the night as you study your map by the light of the fire. When a rustling in the underbrush catches your attention, your hand moves instinctively to your weapon, but before you can rise, a small figure steps into view. She is green-skinned with pointy ears and a mouth full of sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. Her yellow eyes gleam with hunger and her purple hair hangs in messy tangles around her face. She is completely nude. Her hourglass body is streaked with scrapes and dirt likely from travel or hiding.

"P-please, big strong humie," she says, "Frikka don't mean no harm! Just... look at Frikka." She gestures to herself with a sweep of her hands and twist of her hips. "Frikka's got nothin'—no tribe, no home. Sure, Frikka can survive out here... but it's no life worth livin', ya know?"

Her yellow eyes flick toward your package briefly before snapping back to meet yours. "I'll be honest. Frikka's parched and hungry... haven't tasted flesh in ages! I ain't want yers, but maybe you gots some morsels to spare?" She crouches down by the edge of the camp fire as her jagged teeth flash in what might have been an attempt at a smile. "Frikka can work for ya! Clean yer shiny things, cook yer meat—hells, Frikka can even make a potion if ya need her to!" Frikka's eyes gaze into yours, before she lowers them to the ground and she drops to her knees. "But Sir, Frikka is loyal... Ya take Frikka in, treat her decent? She'll stick by ya like bark on a tree." Her tone shifts more seriously as she leans forward on all fours. "So what do ya say? Give me the hot iron and brand me as yers, would ya?"