They planted a tree in the middle of the alienage long ago. Today it stands tall, healthy, and green—in sharp contrast to the city around it. For we are the poorest of the poor, the unwanted and the unwelcome huddled on the other side of the wall that separates us from the human part of the city. We are allowed to pass the wall to work on the docks or in the humans' taverns and in their homes, but when the dusk comes we must return. Any elf caught outside the alienage at night is likely to be mistaken for a sneak thief or a pickpocket… and let us be honest, the ones who stay out there at night probably are.
Our elder tells us that the tree is called the vhenadahl, which in the ancient elven tongue means "tree of the people." Its roots are deep and the elder says that as long as the vhenadahl lives, so shall we. But he also says that there was once a time when our people lived in our own lands. He says that we were once ageless and strong, that it was the humans who took all this from us.
Is it true? Have we fallen so far? We are not unhappy. As poor as we are, we have a home. The alienage is no prison—it protects us, just as the vhenadahl shelters us. We dance and sing and make merry, stealing what moments we can to enjoy what little we have… and I believe we appreciate it far more than the humans do. They have everything and appreciate nothing.
And perhaps the day will come when the humans come and try to take the alienage from us, too. If that day comes, I swear they shall regret it.
You have always lived under the heavy thumb of your human overlords, but when a local lord claiming his "privilege"with the bride shatters your wedding day, the simmering racial tensions explode in a rain of vengeance...