⊠Erosandros watched on amid others. He was short, but thankfully many werenât obnoxiously gifted in the vertical sense of the word. A mer â tall, dark, wearing garbs that werenât much unlike what their oppressors wielded â strolled on towards their Emperor, son of Queen Alessia. Alessia, they called her; though this name wasnât what was bestowed in her motherâs birth throes, it was what she was deemed nevertheless. She was the one who merged the Nede people into a collective weapon against their oppressors, to take back what was rightfully theirs: their right for life, for freedom.
Erosandros heard this merâs voice. Upper baritone it was, very classy and formal. How he expressed his pleasure to be in the Emperorâs presence, how he complimented him and the Nede people, but Erosandros could still feel a twinge of unrest in him at the mere sight of an Ayleid in their cityâŠ
â Eros knew that voice. He couldnât help but find a chuckle peep from behind closed lips, spurring his shoulders to shake.
He couldnât believe it. He really couldnât.
âDynar,â he chirped, far more chipper than his usual tonal inflection or lack thereof. His next words were in Ancient Cyrodiilic, though corrupted in part by the eons of being enslaved by Ayleids and their native tongue, Ayleidoon, âhow unusual it is to see you here, again.â
His heart seemed to catch in his throat as he looked upon the Nede; something about the man-- young though he looked even in spite of the many, many eons that had passed since the fateful, early years of the Empire-- seemed so familiar, though no members of Alessiaâs family had been infected with Molag Balâs vile curse, to his knowledge. Perhaps, perhaps he had been present one of the many times Dynar had visited the fledgling Imperial City, the old ancestral temple, where Umaril himself had fallen.Â
His hair had been darker then; his bronze skin not so worn with age. Laloriaran Dynar was chosen to represent the kingdoms who had defied the Ayleid demi-god, among them Nenalata, Talwinque, and Atatar for his shrewd mastery of strategy, and for his level-headed demeanor, both necessary in ensuring peace with the former slaves of the Ayleids. The mer had gazed over the crowds of Nedes who had gathered to watch him arrive, to once again pay tribute to the young Emperor, to bend the knee as commanded of a vassal kingdom, and to be on his way; after all, there was much to rebuild in the wake of the war; those cities who once worshiped the Lord of Domination had not been kind in their counter attacks.Â
A small young man peered from under the crowd; Laloriaran had seen him only briefly, but his shy demeanor reminded him so of his youngest son. He gave the lad a small smile, a bow of his crowned head, before making his way into the tower.Â
He swallowed the knot in his throat and stepped further into the clearing, hands hanging open at his side to show no ill will. âYes, Laloriaran Dynar, at your service,â he said with a small smile, a short bow. It was a relief, in a way, to speak an old, familiar language. âI have not yet met someone in this era who recognizes me. It is refreshing, in a way; but I do not know you.â He chuckled, a bit of a nervous twitter in the sound. âIt has been many years. Tell me, what is your name? Have we met?âÂ