The sight of the river was what drew her eye. A beautiful, luminous red, it was at once both disconcerting and immensely beautiful. She could see and feel magic around her, and it was here that she realized Murphy's binding had...somehow fallen away, or perhaps broken, during her passage through the fissure of realities or worlds or wherever she had ended up. She could sense so much more magic, all of it in abundance, glittering like diamonds to her senses. Living, breathing magic, and none of it tethered to a Veil like in Thedas. The world was thrumming with it.

Her eyes were wide at the draw of the stadiums, awed at the use of magic in such an overtly beautiful fashion.

And that was when she realized, distantly, she heard people talking...and in a language she recognized. Neria turned just slightly to listen. A prince, magicians... Not mages, not sorcerers. Strange. Hadn't she heard that term used before--?

(Hundreds. Maker's breath.)

Neria stayed where she was, trying to listen for more information. The name of the city, perhaps, or the names of people.