Taroyn sighed and shook his head. "Us dark-elves are a hated race. Our gods demand sacrifice on a nearly daily basis and do not much care who ends up as a a sacrifice. Backstabbing and distrust is in our blood. There have been a handful of dark-elves in the entire history of our race who have not been... well, murderers or even worse. We are distrusted where ever we go and admittedly I do not blame other races for distrusting us." He paused for a moment and picked up his shirt. "Our society is a matriarchy and a rather brutal one at that. Males are more or less disposable - even the few who have any arcane or divine magics. I am not going to lie to you - after all you did heal me. Back home I used to be a warrior, executioner and even a murderer... Assassin, you might call it, but if it makes you feel any better I do not kill without a reason. This 'Tarquin' on the other hand is the hero. He's the thing no dark-elf should be. He can be kind and polite. He doesn't have to cover every patch of his ebony skin to remain hidden from whispers and threats. He doesn't have to hide who he is just to avoid death." Taroyn sounded quite bitter. "My brother was not that lucky..."