Jacob's POV
"So that's how you're going to treat your daughter? Your own flesh and blood," I asked the woman.
"We have customs here in Dwarvenhall," a new deep voice reached my ears. An old man walked gently to us, holding a walking stick to help him progress. His skin was wrinkled, showing that age had ravaged him, wiping the notion of the Elder council comprising the eldest from my mind. Unlike the others, this man was calm and held his composure, "Magic is forbidden in Dwarvenhall for it is the same thing that forced our hand years before our freedom was given to us."
"Magic might have made you slaves to its users, but it is also what will help you progress. There isn't a creature in Armensia that can be born without magic for it is what governs life in this world. Your age should say much about your wisdom…"
