Loatonial was not one to be trifled with, or at least, so she thought; as a Dark Elf she was supposed to have the ability to intimidate others and laugh at their misdirections, but alas, she found herself in want of those attributes. Her grandfather-who she had only met face-to-face mere months ago- was the only person who was cold enough to rule with an iron fist, yet be so completely likeable. But that is not the only reason why she wanted to become queen over this land. No, it was not the only reason why she wanted to burn a hole through the king, who just so happened to be her uncle.<br/>Her father, Bolchon, was murdered by her uncle-Locien-the now present king of this land; Bolchons' death was supposedly justified with the fact that he had threatened her uncles' lover-or slut, or wife, whatever you want to call her-and made treasonous attacks on the kingdom. No matter who told her, whether it was from her mother, or her friend....or Peter-she wouldn't believe them. She couldn't believe them.  Yes, it was true that her father was never really around for her during her childhood; and yes, her and her mother were forced to live in a stinky fish town miles away from their kingdom, all for the sake of 'safety', but she wouldn't believe it. The times her father had spent visiting them in their 'safe' town were memories that she would always hold onto. Her father had taught her how to fight-both with weapons and without, but the most exciting thing that he taught her was how to use her special skill. He showed her how to play with fire.<br/>At first it was difficult, and she more often than not burned her hands, but her hands finally grew callous enough to where handling the fire in her hands didn't hurt. When her father went away on trips, she practiced every single day for hours on end until she could shoot fireballs and spray sparks that turned into flames.<br/>And now, as she watched her uncle sit on the throne as he spoke with his advisors with his minuscule wife sitting beside him, she couldn't help but stare at him.<br/>She would best him.<br/>Her father would get his vengeance soon enough.<br/>But she couldn't do it alone. She needed help.<br/>So, with a swift turn on her heel, Loatonial took great strides back to her chambers and began to furiously write letters of urgency and addressed them to all of their enemies' kings in the hopes that one of them would come to her aid.<br/>After giving her letters to the guards, she watched the letters go into a pack and off with the messenger as he rode into the dying sunlight.