Marilane's hands slip up to the straps of her knapsack, curling into the leather straps as she tightens her hold. For a moment bronzed hands turn white at the fingers as she presses her fingers hard into them.

"I do not think I am welcome there any more than an elf would be welcome as a landed noble. Nor would I tolerate being treated as a second-class citizen." She had come so far in her time out in the wilds fending for herself and carving out a small but reputable name as a purveyor of rare plants.

"Besides, I doubt the Inquisition needs a gardener to attend The Game."