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Just in time.

Name: Feather-Tail
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Class: Scout
Hair: N/A
Facial Features: Gray eyes, angular features, and sharp, pronounced teeth. Bits of orange upon forehead and around eyes.
Clothes/Armor: A combination of leather and fur pieces, worn with soft-soled boots.
Physical Appearance: Scales of a deep green colouration. Build is lithe, yet well-toned.
Personality: Generally optimistic, although not overly lively. Thick-skinned and self-sufficient; a quick learner who prefers to be presented with a clear-cut goal.
Background: Sent, as an agent of Argonia's expanding government, to investigate the Ayleids' return at Tarnabye. Further information will be revealed over the course of the roleplay.
Other: N/A
Weapons/Major Spells/Staves: A single-edged, cutlass-style blade of Argonian make.

Hundreds of people crowded around the front of the crumbling white ruins of Tarnabye, home of the last remaining Ayleids alive today. Tarnabye was in the middle of one of the famed Valenwood forests, with trees looking to be the size of the White Gold Tower. The Ayleids still haven't showed themselves, though.

The Crowd was restless, they wanted to hear from the long-lost race.

Meanwhile...

Sixty Ayleids sat in Tarnabye's Grand Sel, or main hall. They sat on crumbling white gold benches around a long rectangular table. Many of the clan were disappointed when they awoke - their home had crumbled with age, the magic had faded from the multiple enchanted objects, everything was dust and broken stone.

Meanwhile...

A man cloaked in ancient-looking light armor, blackish green in color, galloped on horseback through the forests of Valenwood. He was wearing a cowl that matched his armor. The man smiled, even though you wouldn't be able to see it because he had a silver mask that covered his face.

Today is the day we return to glory. He thought.

Irriwen sat on a crumbling stone pillar at the periphery of the crowd, curiously watching the crowd, and looking at the massive ruin. She absentmindedly tapped a finger on the handle of her axe.

In his irritation and sheer paranoia, Malatar stood from his bench and paced from one zone of the Sel to the next. He was not wearing his camouflaged hood or cape. Nor was he wearing his unique suit of armor. Only his dark, soft, beautiful high-class clothing. It was traditional wear for the ancient Ayleid aristocracy members. Golden symbols of the Ayleid Empire, soft fur collars, darkened boots. He was one to be admired amongst his comrades.

"An outrage..." he mumbled to himself. "This is not safe!"

Kah'jihreed sniffed the air. It was laden with the smell of so many sweaty people that he regretted it. He walked a bit further away from the mob. He spotted Irriwen and felt slightly intrigued by her distant nature. He approached her quitely and asked:
"So...what does this one make of all this...Wild Elf business?"

Irri looked at the Khajiit. "The Ayleids were a race apart." She said after a few moments. "I don't know what is going to happen."

Elyntine had taken a seat at the base of one of the giant trees surrounding Tarnabye, at the edge of the ruins. She strummed loosely on her lyre as she took notice of the dynamic array of peoples that had gathered to see the Ayleids. I wonder, the Dunmer woman thought, What will this really mean? What will become of Tamriel now that the Ayleids have returned?

"Khajiit believes there will be trouble" Kah'jihreed continued. He sounded quite certain of his thought. "And when the trouble comes, Khajiit wishes to be...on the dry side of the river."
He paused and looked at the Wood Elf. "What is this ones name? I see it is a Bosmer...I have heard tales that our races were once relatives and this one looks...able," he purred.

"Irri." Irriwen said shortly. "We are all brothers and sisters, if you look back far enough." She said disjointedly. "All children of the Ehlnofey. Well. Except for the Argonians. But, every one of us is a child of Kynareth, all the same."

The crowd was thick, just thick enough to rob Sebastien of the personal space he preferred. The Breton let his grey eyes sweep over the crowd once more, reluctant to give up his decent position near the front of the crowd for the freedom of the fringes, in the open shade of the tall, ominous trees. He did not seem as bothered as he felt, his arms crossed casually across his chest, but his jaw was clenched, and he strummed his fingers casually but fiercely against his arm, resisting the urge to run. He knew enough about the Ayleids - well, from books, and wasn't that enough? - to know that it would be worth the temporary discomfort.

But Eight and One and all the Princes, were those elves impatiently slow to get to their business, and he had a strange feeling their business would mean trouble, as elven business generally did. He shifted on his feet and steadied his gaze ahead, letting the murmur of the crowd drown his inner thoughts.

Feather-Tail had previously maneuvered himself into an admirable position near to the front of the crowd, standing upon the remains of an ancient Ayleid decoration as to properly view the mysterious Elves as they emerged. The greatly chipped, dirt-stained piece retained its beauty despite the wear it had so faithfully endured, appearing as a sort of pedestal beneath the Argonian's unworthy figure. He shifted his weight idly from one leg to the other, and then back again, becoming a bit restless given that he had adopted his current stance nearly two hours earlier- the constant, grating murmur generated by the hundreds of spectators only served to increase the discomfort of all persons present.

J'Dar silently sat on the floor. Looking into everyones pockets, doing his best to classify how all of these people are. He notices rich, poor, and middle class and realizes that he shouldn't be thinking of robbing people at a time like this. He then stood up and leaned against a pillar looking at all of the people chatting, waiting for something to be a part of.

A single Ayleid stepped out onto a balcony on Tarnabye. He had long black hair and a flowing white robe that contrasted his dark golden skin and hardened face.

The crowd went into an uproar at the mere sight of him.

Meanwhile...

Inside Tarnabye, there was a commotion. Several dozen Ayleid were trying to pry open a door in their Sel that would not open.

"What happened to it?" Asked an Ayleid.

"I don't know. Maybe something is blocking it?" Answered another.

An old Ayleid - one of the Clan Elders named Masrel - looked around the hall. "I'll go around the fortress and look in back. Let's see, Malatar, Selara, and Vendise, please come with me." He said and went through a doorway.

"I'll come too." Said a plump Ayeid woman with a newborn baby in her arms. It was Nerissa the midwife.

Meanwhile...

The man in green armor watched Tarnabye from afar on a tall hill.

"Thaddeus, please stop watching the ruins. You don't even need to be here." Said a woman in similar armor, who was next to him.

"Sir Joana, please, I prefer to watch."

"I told you, call me Jo when we're alone." She insisted. The woman looked kindly but stern. She had slight wrinkles and gray hair tied in a ponytail. Her eyes were solid brown and strong looking.

"Shhh. It's about to start. The moment we've been waiting decades for." The man interrupted.

"Thaddeus Antiva, when will you pay attention to your own wife instead of the Marukhati?" She nagged.

"When we've dealt with the Elves, we'll talk." Thaddeus said without a trace of humor.

Elyntine got up and moved closer to the crowd to get a better look at the emergent Ayleid.

Malatar obediently threw his hood and cape over his shoulders and gathered his weapons - an extremely advanced, scoped bow and a set of poisoned arrows, a gorgeous Ayleid longsword personally crafted for him during ancient times, and a sharpened Elven dagger. He carefully placed each specific piece of armor onto his body as he followed his superiors.