Born in a village in Fenn, north of the city of Tahu’lareh, Toran was brought up in the warrior traditions of his people. He proved well suited for it, for while he was not the most deadly with a blade, he had a knack for command. This he showed when he and a band of hunters from his village were set upon by bandits. Things might have gone ill, for the leader of their party was slain in the first assault, but Toran rallied the survivors, reforming their line and counterattacking ere the bandits could regain their cohesion.
He was injured in the fighting, however, being grievously wounded in his left eye. He counted the halving of his sight small loss however, for the scars lent an aged look that belied his still tender years, and the small battle had awoken a desire in him for something that was rarely attained by those elves not yet grown into the wisdom of long years: a post at the head of an army. This desire was only strengthened by further skirmishes in which he took part, and he began seeking out such a position of leadership.
But so far, he has met with little success in this venture, for Toran, though skilled enough in the leading of warriors, has had little in the way of an education, a must for any would-be leader of great hosts. In addition, he knows little of politics, be they within the Princedom itself or in the outside world at large. Now he seeks to amend this lack of knowledge anyway he can, to better further his attempts at a career soldier.
“The latter,” Toran said, looking down at the man. “But who might you be, pray tell?” He looked about the marketplace, the bustle of life everywhere, and the great houses and streets beyond, a far cry from his humble home in the north. Perhaps here his life would truly begin, for all he had spoken to had said that it was in the cities that an education might be found. And after that, there were always wars to be fought. Once he knew more of the world, his chance of command would increase greatly.
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