Tir Tairngire

Anyone in, or near, the American West Coast knows “The Tír.” Tír Tairngire is the magical elfyland that sprouted up in the territory that used to be the state of Oregon. Rumors abound as to why, of course, but most folks agree it was either a shadowy cabal of influential elves who were way into ultimate Frisbee and hemp-based products, or it was a land grab for Mount Shasta (and the magical power associated with that nexus of ley lines), and the rest of the Tír was basically a really nice yard they built around it. Most folks lean toward the latter. The safe haven and welcoming homeland to op- pressed metahumans didn’t really live up to the hype. It was a radically, openly, elf-supremacist fascist state for decades, until about half of ’em got beat up by about the other half of ’em, a bunch of Princes got scattered to the winds, and we ended up with Tír 2.0—a Horizon-made-over magical wonderland where everyone is welcome to feel safe (and comfortable, and to spend tourist money). For the most part, the promise of the “Land of Promise” is closer to being kept now than it ever was before. The push toward a genuine electoral system over the last few decades has helped, as has government transparency and less radically xenophobic border patrolling. The pointy-eared bastards really seem to have turned over a new leaf, and running the shadows there is easier than ever before. Still, it pays to know Sperethiel if you’re gonna take a trip. Some old habits die hard, and feigning ignorance of anything but the nation’s official elfy-talk is still one of the locals’ favorite ways of ignoring the barbarians in their midst. Tourist nuyen goes a long way, but smug- ness is still their number-one export.