Nowaru

Near one of the city squares, a strange, hunched old man had been standing for several days. His long hair, hanging over his face, was covered in dirt, and the same could be said about the baggy rags he was wrapped in. He stood close to the busiest spot and quietly mumbled:
-- Gentlemen, I haven't eaten in six days... Please give something to feed a former mage of the guild...
And a meager tear rolled down his cheek.
At the same time, his thoughts were of a different nature:
"They're back again, they can't wait to look and laugh at the old man! Well, no one will look, I'll show you, you unfinished observers! Ooooh, it's so hot in these rags, worn over my robe... I should have taken it off first, but it's okay, at least they won't steal it."