A Rising Tide
Baron of Lasiris, Son of Prince Celador
Voronael is stout, with soldier’s hair and sharp green eyes. Heavy set for a elf and twice as dour, The Baron of Lasiris lives only to serve the martial heritage of his homeland, the Carok Mountains, and sees dedicated service to his Lord Prince and Father Celador as the purest path to such glories.
Adorned with the regal blue of his house, and the silvered sword of their warriors, the princeling is as fierce a proponent of war with the hobgoblin menace as one can expect to find in the Princely City. Experienced in combat with orcs and goblinoids, The Baron has been known to, on frequent occasion, profess that “the only good hobgoblin is a dead one, and a true elf should hesitate even then to share a generous thought toward the beasts. They are the bane of all that is right and just in this world, and a stain upon the land”.
“For Illmor and The Lion”
“We plan and we act. Hope is for dreamers and poets. We have our will and our weapons and we shall dictate our own fate.”
Speaking of Oron Ritham: “There are scars on his mind as well as his body. Gaps in his memory, where his thoughts grow thin and faded, and when he became frustrated by them, only the death of his foes could sate him. I see little has changed for the better. If I may speak plainly, I know myself to be numbered amongst the best fighters in the service of Illmor, and he have never considered Ritham my equal. He is ill disciplined, capable of sporadic genius but equally prone to moments of emotional blindness – a propensity that leaves him vulnerable in a fight”
“Pain may be my flesh. Death may be my fate. But victory is my name.”
“Zealotry!” He spat. “Madness cannot destroy what it has already taken. Torture will not work on these, they are too fanatical and will not break.”
‘It’s a message.’
‘What does it mean?’ The mayor’s voice trembled.
‘Mark me,’ said Voronael, showing his teeth, ‘I will have the answer to that question, even if I must rip it from the throats of our enemies.’ He delivered the words with cold, feral intent. ‘If this is meant to unman us, the beasts have underestimated the will of the elves of Illmor’
‘We will seek them wherever they hide, in their fortresses where they think themselves safe from justice. We will tear down their walls, and we will put them to the sword. They will die as their victims did, begging for a mercy I shall not grant them.’
‘Where do you think strength comes from if not suffering? Hardship and loss is what grants you strength. Those who have never known true suffering cannot have the same strength as others who have. An elf must be weak to suffer, and by that suffering he will be made strong.’