For all intents and purposes it looked like a sleepy little village, not unlike the dozens Varn had already passed through to reach this far flung border of the empire... but he was finally close to his freedom. To a chance for a new life, far away from his former captors and their fanatical view of the world... But something about this village had him on edge. It wasn't anything obvious... It was a subtle thing. The so called 'lesser races' here were more numerous. They had a look of desperation about them, not the look of defiance that new slaves hold until their first beating, nor the look of defeat that everyone eventually takes on when they realize that there is no escape... No this was something else. Over the years he had seen it many times before in the arena... the look of a gladiator who had displeased his master... A gladiator about to be thrown to the beasts, the manticores, drakes, and all manner of vicious creature brought in special for just such an occasion so that the gladiator might make one last glorious spectacle to line his masters pockets. Such fear was not uncommon... but to see it on the faces of every person he walked past, even including the elves, dwarves and humans he saw walking the streets... That was strange... and not a good sign. In fact... as he watched the people of the village he noticed something decidedly odd. None of the lesser races were chained, or caged, or walking about naked as was so often the case in the central cities. They walked free, moving among the higher races without so much as a head nod in acquiescence to their supposed betters. He sniffed slightly and shook his head, moving for the local inn. There was something in the air here that he did not like, one night and no longer. He would stay just long enough to decide where it is he would go from here, buy some supplies and leave. A storm was coming... and he would be damned if he would let it catch him up in its raging path.