Ritter Eloran stabs at his food angrily, biting down hard and scanning everything with his smoldering black eyes.  He wasn't sure he believed in peace.  He knew he believed in hatred, in ancient grudges and in mankind's utmost willingness to shed it's neighbor's blood.<br/><br/>What was peace, but a lull between wars?  Someone would break the truce eventually, and the land would turn into a hell all over again.<br/><br/>He snarls to himself.  He knew a thousand ways to kill a man, had taken out cults and fought summoned demons, and infiltrated some of the toughest forts in Loidi.  He had never felt a true sense of belonging without a sword in his hand, though.  He had never been in love.<br/><br/>He didn't understand peace.  Could it really happen?