Her long journey brought her at last to the gates of Vergen. Her feet nearly ceded to their fatigue, but she forced herself on. Led by a Scoia'tael sentry into the stone-laid heart of the dwarven town, she couldn't help but mull on the irony. No one screamed or fled when those of green garb, pointed ears and mounted bows entered this town. Instead, a few citizens glanced her way, then returned to their daily dealings.
So the rumors she'd heard of Upper Aedirn were true: it was a melting pot, free of persecution and home to a diverse multitude of races and classes. As she was led through the city, she saw no signs of the human cruelty she'd grown to expect in civilized places. The Old Races, though weary, seemed content here, and not a single Wanted poster adorned the rocky walls to condemn the crimes committed by her kind.
This may be the only place in the realm for someone like her to call home. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to be at ease—know