VIRELIA, VALKORON.
The skies above Valkoron rolled with distant thunder, a constant rhythm that had sometimes, long since become part of the great Storm Lord's domain.
The citadel Valkoron stood like a monolith beneath the swirling heavens, carved into the jagged cliffs where sea met sky. Storm clouds were forever gathered above it, trailing long fingers of lightning down the mountain sides as if the skies themselves bowed to the Stormborne bloodline.
At the peak of the central tower, the Storm Lord stood alone in his solar.
Valerian Stormborne, Warden of the Eastern Tempest, was a man carved from the fury of the world itself.
His back was straight as a sword's spine, his long, sun-blonde hair braided and bound with silver clasps.
Steel-gray eyes scanned the parchment in his hand, his face unreadable save for the faint tightening of his jaw.
He was tall, a towering 6'4, with broad shoulders and arms marked by the scars of old wars no bard dared sing of.
