Wren appeared in a corner set up off to the side of the reception desk where people could arrive safely from other realms. Cassarria and Varos were waiting for her. She stood wearing the grey cloak she'd used as the Guardian, the hood pulled up to hide her face.
Her trunks had been sent ahead of time, so she only transported herself. She looked around in silence, noting entry points and potential risks. It wasn't anything she thought about. She simply did it. And it just looked as if she were assessing her new surroundings. The hood of her cloak hid so very much.
She saw Philana and Toross talking in the doorway of the restaurant and felt herself pause as she ran through information from memory, finally identifying their origin and feeling something shift inside of her. A hint of guilt that she'd been unable to call them Home ages ago. But she knew that the Realm wouldn't have accepted them until after she'd Called the Golden-Eyed Elves home. She accepted that time had to pass as it did. None of them would be who they were without the past that had forged them.
Plus, there was where they'd made their home. The iron content of those mountains made it deadly to the rest of elvenkind and made forming portals problematic.
But it was also her other reason for coming here. She'd just never mentioned it to anyone at home. Falcron was going to have fits. Oh well, she actually enjoyed keeping him on his toes.
She paused her thoughts there. Home. The Elven Realm wasn't her home anymore. She did hope she could live here. Time would tell.
Cassarria noted the direction of Wren's hidden gaze and made a change of plans. She turned and caught Philana's gaze them invited them over with a casual gesture, smiling when they accepted and walked over. She turned back and started the introductions, "Varos, known as Wolfgang in the Club, Philana and her husband Toross of the Marsonian Confederacy, this Wren. She will be taking over as our head of security," she introduced simply then waited as Wren considered her next action.
She finally reached up, her hands hidden in gloves made of golden leather; the sleeves of her tunic were white with black vines and gold roses embroidered at the cuffs. She pushed back her hood to reveal black hair held back in a braid that was coiled tight to her head, revealing her pointed ears that marked her as an Elf and the pale skin that only a true brunette could have.
Cassarria smiled at the gasps from Philana and Toross when Wren raised her golden eyes to look them all over. For the Marsonians, the Golden-Eyed Elves were legends, almost myths. But one stood in front of them now.
She looked down and removed her gloves, paused, then unclasped her cloak to remove it and tucked her gloves under her belt. Her outfit looked like something out of a tapestry: white tunic-like coat with gold accents and more of the black and gold embroidery, white tights with gold strips going down into boots of gold leather, a wide belt also in gold, and two daggers on her belt. She also had a delicate but simple golden band going across her forehead to disappear into her hair.
The most disturbing part was probably the obvious signs of hard grief in her face. She was still breathtakingly beautiful, but there was a story of tragedy there as well. Her golden eyes were bloodshot and there was a hint of swelling to them that spoke of hard crying over days. She wore no makeup but that only made the reddened nose and blotchy cheeks even more obvious to any one that really looked at her.
But most would miss those signs and focus on her outfit, her stance, her obvious beauty. Even the amount of sheer power she had contained within her was almost palpable. In the Elven Realm she never needed to mask her power, just not reveal her full strength. What they were feeling from her now was only a small fraction of her power.
She looked them all over as she folded her cloak over her left arm and nodded to them all, "Hello. I should say that I carry no titles, just the one name," she said softly. While her voice held a hint of roughness from the amount of crying she'd done over the last week, it still showed the full musical beauty of her people. Perhaps more so, to be honest, because it was easy to hear the power she could call despite her humble greeting.
Despite her formal posture, it was also easy to see that she wasn't used to social interaction. That would be counter to what the Marsonians knew of Layrelle, who had been easy to approach and always had a ready smile, even when she'd gone to her death. Wren, however, was showing the subtle signs of being isolated for a very long time. As rare as she was here, it wasn't difficult to infer that she'd been isolated even amongst the other elves in the Elven Realm.
Still, her posture, despite the formality and awkwardness, showed a fighter's stance. Her hands had calluses and small scars from working with blades for her entire lifetime. She was being formal but not pretentious.
She offered her hand to Cassarria first, then to Varos. Then she hesitated a brief moment and offered a hand to the elves. It was obvious that she was searching for something diplomatic to say to them but was coming up a bit empty.
Behind the group, packmates of Varos were exiting the elevator to go to the restaurant but paused when they saw the group greeting Wren. Well, one of them paused while the other went on into the restaurant.
