I was born during our time of glory, in the War of Tears, 131 years before the coming of Shadowbane. During my young years, I was raised to be a commander, to lead the mighty Bladeweavers into battle. As I matured, it became less interested in commanding troops and more interesting in doing the actual fighting, like all young boys lusting for adventure. To convince my parents to change there stubborn ways, I argued 'what good commander doesn't know how to fight along side his troops?' And that is how I gained my training as a Bladeweaver. At the age of 108, I was allowed for the first time to lead my troops. We were all green, but the death that ensued in our wake was magnificent.

                    My life continued normally until 'it' came. By it, I refer to the sword once lost by our kindred, Shadowbane. No elven host could stand up to it's might, not mine, and not my sires. The host my Father commanded was the first to fall, smashed by that cursed blade. The survivor's clamed that King Cambruin pierced my sires heart with the fell blade himself. I was given no time to grieve, thrust into the position of Taren, at a very young age, I was charged with keeping the house together. I collected the might of house Temaile together at our capital city of Cyador, where we would make our last stand.

          Although it was many years after the War of Tears, I began to lust for revenge, finding no hope of reuniting house Temaile. I continued with my wandering, except this time I was looking for a home. Most of the houses I stayed with just wanted to survive. This I come across a rumor, a rumor of a house the wishes to rebuild the Twilight Empire. This is my chance, I will have revenge of the humans for destroying my house. I will have revenge.