General Lathia Keir
Some warriors look fierce, but are mild. Some seem timid, but are vicious. Look beyond appearances; position yourself for the advantage.
Description: Modest in feature, and character as still and calm as an alabaster mask. Tough, powerful, and well-formed as the bleak glacier atop a mountain; with skin of killing frost, and tresses of snow-white hair falling over her marble brow. Plain to her finger tips, save for blue eyes that burn like steel.
Personality: Lathia embodies the cold efficiency inherited by the harsh terrain of Larandor and Aarandor. She will brook no interruption that shall drive her to distraction from performing her duties faithfully. She is terse with her speech -- anyone who addresses her is likely to get bare, muscular sentences in response. She's not uncouth, just prefers to show, not tell, others what to do. In battle, she is a fearful sight. Practiced, focused and relentless.
Background: A soldier's life is a hard life. And soldiers in the ranks of House Keir, well, no doubt they got it harder. Some might worry that certain elves had grown too delicate at the core, and that such weakness had begun to fester. Not Lathia. Uncle Gariss, a lord then and still, would see to that.
Steel for steel was no game. It was the very first lesson that Uncle Gariss had taught her. Her life would be lived for this lesson.
Lathia was scarcely of an age, raw and doe-eyed, when she had first tested the weight of live steel. At the time she'd felt it was all too much; she could barely keep the weapon well in hand. She wondered how she could ever block a blow, let alone strike off a head. That was the only time in all her years that she had been so unsure of herself.
Or so she'd thought until the Host came.
Putting a foe to the sword, she understood. That which the Host put upon her fellows was without meaning. Flames without ending. The Host was a wicked monster, burning as it went. Death was the only peace the Host had for elvenkind.
When her people finally decided to retreat and escape to Aarandor, Lathia was relieved, yet no less anxious. This discomfort the Host levied against her was not of flesh; it was a remembered pain, disquieting, haunting her. She had left the battles untouched. But it did not make the bitter memory any easier to bear.
Though she was trained to fight without the fear cutting deep into her, thinking back on what war had cost the Faenor left Lathia uneasy. A war leader that did not crave war. Perhaps this was what Uncle Gariss wanted all along. It was because of his support that she now lead an army, after all. In the end it mattered little to Lathia why she was chosen, only that she was. Lathia was oathbound to protect and defend the city she thought her new home.