And indeed there is someone--a familiar enough face, if only from the wedding. Even if not, there's a wide smile across it flashing white against the nut-brown of her skin, a welcoming sparkle in the emerald of her eyes, and she's an elf. One with vallaslin.

"Aneth ara, lethallin!" she calls, voice light with good humor, "Welcome to Kirkwall, armpit of the Free Marches."