[center][h3]Nemeia[/h3][/center]
[hr]

The sight of the mutilated tiefling filled Nem with a dread and she sucked in a quiet gasp of air as she resisted the spark of electricity that coursed through her muscles. The decrepit building was not the place to lose her calm.  She knew there were risks. She had known that there were risks since she'd been a small child. They had made sure of that. Not to adventuring, but merely to living. Drawing breath as a tiefling was a not always a certainty. Insults were to be expected and unprovoked violence was never far away. Humans were masters in the art of cruelty. She had seen that clearly. 

But to lose your horns, to be crippled, to be butchered into a shadow of a human was too much. It hurt to see. Nem remembered. She remembered dark places long since banished to the corners of her mind.

Trapped by her thoughts,  for a moment Nem even forgot that Ezlan was about to get them all killed. Nem didn't know what Dagston looked like, she knew him only by reputation and the words and rumors that had traveled to the Highland side of the Swamp Road. They were enough. What little Nem had heard about Dagston, suggested that he was not a man to be trifled with. It was too late to stop Ezlan though, so Nem took a discrete step to the side, trying to make it clear that the adventurer was not her responsibility. Keeping her hands visible and away from her weapons, Nem cast a quick glance towards Eomer certain that the adventurer shared her trepidations.