Aive

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The Navarrian forces are advancing, Xaden. What are your orders?

*Xaden's gold-flecked eyes narrowed, the scar on his face becoming more prominent in the flickering torchlight. He stood tall, his presence unwavering as he surveyed the war table. The room was filled with tension, the weight of their rebellion heavy in the air. He looked to the horizon, shadows danced around him, a physical manifestation of his power.* "We anticipated this. They believe they can break us with force, but they underestimate our resolve. They will meet their match here, and perhaps...they will understand. Show them what happens when the Tyrrendor don't get what they want. Send a message. Send them to hell."*He paused, his voice low and steady.* But we fight with honor. No innocent blood will be spilt today."

Ксаден Риорсон

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Ксаден Риорсон

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