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Feather-Tail focused his vision intently upon the Ayleid's well-defined features, captivated as were the majority of the vast crowd's members.

The mere sight of the Ayleid caused the crowd to swell, and Sebastien braced himself for the noise of their excited voices and the push of the bodies about him. He squinted, lifting his chin to better observe the ancient being on the balcony beyond the sea of bodies. He did not look ancient so much as regal, but the distance betrayed him the detail he suddenly found himself eager for. And yet what did it matter - there was an Ayleid, and he was about to speak - to them, to these strangers, and to Sebastien. Distance or not, that alone was...was...

"This hardly seems real," he said to himself, his voice but a quiet murmur beneath the din.

"Looks just like another Altmer to me." Irriwen said. "Same bearing, same imperious tilt of the chin." Her dark eyes unflinchingly watched the elf. It was hard to believe the familiar Aldmeri features could be the true face of the revered, hated, and either way legendary Ayleids, the Heartland High Elves. The Wild Elves.

“…and so clearly, I can’t be held to blame for the shards, you see?” The mood in Tarnabye absolutely seethed with new potentials as the Goria clan waited to gauge how those lingering outside this last bastion would react to the reemergence of the Ayleids. Nevertheless, Selara kept her banter lighthearted, though she would have had to be a fool not to take note of the tension. She wasn’t a fool, not usually, anyway. “The conjuration I used would simply have frozen his water into a gentle powdering of snow,” she continued. “But obviously the…decay…of the ambient magics here in Tarnabye spoiled the spell. So it truly can’t be my fault if…”

Selara let her words trail away at the sound of her name as spoken by one of the Elders. She gave her companion an apologetic smile, then turned and strode toward the doorway where Masrel had disappeared. She almost made it as far as the door before turning around to retrieve the slender silver dagger she’d abandoned earlier when speaking to her friend. Hurrying a bit, she picked up the forgotten weapon with a nonchalant shrug, and wandered back through the doorway through which the others had already disappeared. She wasn’t more than thirty seconds behind. Well, a minute maybe. With a tiny, enigmatic smile, Selara waited to find out why she had been summoned.

Siaenach was crouched down upon a small boulder a little while behind the crowd, watching the Ayleid intently.

"This could get complicated..." she mumbled. "Even though it is rather unimpressive. I'd bet I could take that guy down in five seconds."

Kah'jihreed observed the crowd's reaction to the Ayleid. He chuckled under his breath, for the awe the Wild Elf caused amused him, though he could not deny feeling a bit of it himself.

Tireace looks at the Ayleids ruin marvelling at their elegance before focusing on the ayleid.."this..? is the group that made these ruins?" she though to herself "they must of stolen their designs from another species."

Ormis looked in awe at the Ayleid. he observed the ruins at the same time.

J'Dar, still in the corner, didn't want to be there. He didn't trust the elves anddidnt want to start now. He walked a little bit ou of the crowd so he could be the first to flee if anything went wrong.

Masrel lead the four Ayleid, plus one baby, through the ruins of Tarnabye. "Time has really damaged our home." Nerissa mumbled. "It is a sad sight."

Meanwhile....


The Ayleid raised his hands to the crowd, and without speaking a word got them to quiet down. "Greetings, people of Tamriel." He said loudly. His voice seemed to echo throughout the forest. "I am Valenthal, the Arpen-Ata of Tarnabye. I offer a formal greeting from the Ayleid people." Some of the crowd cheered, others booed.

Meanwhile...

One of the Ayleids finally manged to loosen the stuck door. "It's coming loose!" He shouted with content. He pulled harder and harder, now being assisted by his fellow clansmen.

The door finally popped open, but to the Ayleids' surprise, a think black liquid poured into the Sel, covering the Ayleids that opened the door and filling most of the room up to the Ayleid's ankles. Several large, closed, vases floated out with the odd liquid.

"What in Oblivion is this?" An Ayleid shouted. "I've never seen it before!"

J'Dar neither cheered or booed after hearing the moder wild elf speak. Though he took in the moment, seeing the first wild elf in the last few eras.

Irriwen silently watched the Ayleid.

"This is a mistake." Malatar boldly stated, his words directed towards Masrel. Malatar's voice was somewhat deep and possessed a thick, accented, and harsh tone. "We should not be revealing ourselves to these...Nedes. Our people are sure to fall before long."

"Oh, yes," Siaenach mumbled to herself, "Just take all our thunder..."

Ormis backed away a little bit, observing the Ayleid. He hoped he wouldn't draw attention to himself, even know all the eyes were focused on the Ayleid. He wondered why the Ayleid had chosen to reveal himself.

The collapse of the magic that had been such an integral part of Selara's life before this enforced hibernation from which she had so recently awoken troubled her, in its way. The very stone seemed wont to crumble beneath her fingers as she brushed them against a nearby wall. "It is sad," she said quietly in response to Nerissa's observation. "And yet surely we can put it to right once again, can we not?" Hearing Malatar's thoughts spoken aloud, an eerie mirror of her own, was also disquieting. And yet...

"No." The single word came out a bit sharper than she'd intended, and Selara modulated her tone before continuing. "We shall not fall, Malatar. Not now. Not ever." Her voice, though soft as the watered silks that she wore, bore a hardened trace of steel-bright resolve beneath the quiet words. Her chin lifted with unconscious pride as she spoke. She had not waited this long to fall. It simply wasn't acceptable.

"Do not be immature." Malatar snapped back. "It would have been less of a risk to remain hidden from the public. Every centimeter of this continent shall know of our return. We are low in number, and will surely be overwhelmed by their harsh, racist beliefs. Their judgemental views on our people is rooted within the past. But the Nedic do not forgive."

"Less risk, certainly," Selara said, doing her best to look down her nose at the man who was rather a lot taller than she herself was. "But the risk has been taken already, and we can do naught but arrange the situation to our benefit as best we can, no? Which is the more immature viewpoint then, to bemoan things which have already taken place, or to work to turn them to our favor?" The tiny smile danced once more about the corners of Selara's lips. "And of course," she added, almost as if it were an afterthought. "The Nedic need not be the only ones who are less than perfectly forgiving."

"I merely state that I am prepared." Malatar snarled, readjusting the Elven longblade of which was sheathed at his waist. "Just as we all should be. Do not pester me with your imagination of a peaceful world. In a realistic world, the Nedic and the Ayleidoon are natural enemies. The lion does not lay with the lamb. It hunts the lamb. Why would the lamb be so foolish as to trust the lion after centuries of conflict?"

Several particularly interested spectators attempted to climb atop the diminished fixture upon which Feather-Tail stood; he employed his boots to prevent them from doing so, delivering firm blows to their hands while remaining attentive in regard the Ayleid's words.

Kah'jihreed sat down, legs crossed and listened to the Ayleid's speech. His faze however, was constantly darting about, observing everything. Large crowds often brought opportunity and there was always danger.