Basileus Roanas

There is a very archaic title among the High Elves of Aravia, that of Basileus. This honorific dates back centuries, and it may have first been bestowed by the Lightbringers themselves. The lore surrounding it is sweeping and grandiose, of an epic scope befitting its origin in the legendary youth of the world. The Basileus is an avatar of the whole kingdom, Aravia made flesh, the health and wealth of the nation personified in the body and the deeds of a single individual. Their form was strong, beautiful, and perfect, free of any blemish. Their weapons were like an extension of their body, and thus an extension of Aravia itself. Their life was wholly in service of the state, ready to be laid down for the good of the realm at any time. No Basileus has lived up to this ideal better than Roanas. It was the Gray Age, the ancient period of maturation and rebirth that followed the expulsion of the gods and the Firstborn from Teleria. Though held at bay by great magics, Siroth still plotted to infiltrate and invade the world he had been denied, and finally did so many years after his banishment. The Arbiter foresaw this invasion, and she put forth a great call to the mortal races. Roanas, the soul of Aravia, was swift to answer this call, and marshaled a truly glorious host of gold and white, countless thousands of archers in gleaming, perfect ranks, foot soldiers with shining halberds arrayed, and cavalry upon exquisite Elven-reared steeds. The Arbiter’s forces mustered in a great valley near her immense Tower in the Cloudspire Mountains. Amid the haggard, forced-marched Humans of Yakai and proud Dragonkin, amid the Orcs and Ogryn in their mismatched and hastily-gathered gear, the majestic Elves in white and gold stood at the forefront, or so the Elven tales go. So striking was Roanas and his host that it, and he, became known as the Great White Eagle – a bird of prey whose wings of cavalry and claws and beak of steadfast warriors would fight fiercely and proudly. The Demonspawn arose from the depths and filled up the valley like a deluge. They were reckless and impatient for bloodshed, heedless of what they might encounter. As this nightmare swarm boiled up at them, the Great White Eagle held firm at the vanguard, and all the kindred folk of Teleria stood with him. He nocked his golden greatbow and fired a gleaming shot into the Demonspawn horde, and at this signal his archers followed suit. As the horde engulfed the host of Light, Roanas’ halberdiers and cavalry defended their archers, as the Humans and others fought on the flanks in looser skirmishes. For hour after hour, the Elves cut down enraged Demonspawn, who threw wave after endless wave of bodies into their nonstop, grinding assault. All who fought in the Arbiter’s coalition that day won glory for themselves, but none greater than Roanas. Like a man possessed he fought as if without pain or exhaustion, firing arrow after arrow and shouting oaths invoking the Arbiter’s judgment with each shot. Many were those who, wounded or wavering in faith, saw and heard the Basileus and were moved to fight once more. He himself was struck a dozen times or more, and even with blood leaking from his armor he fought on and on. When their arrows were depleted, he and the archers descended into melee with knives, boots, and their very fists. As the Demonspawn finally began to break, and withdraw sullenly, Roanas was still dealing death with his blade and warding off blows with his great golden bow. When the last Demonspawn had fled, he leaned upon it so that he might die without falling to the ground. The survivors of his Great White Eagle, and all those who defended the Arbiter and her dream of a peaceful and blessed Teleria, came forth. They picked their way across the devastated battlefield littered with the fallen, to be with him as he breathed his last, to mourn for the great hero of the battle. But before death could take him, the Arbiter herself descended among them and produced a Shard of purest golden hue, a fittingly glorious home for Roanas’ everlasting essence. The mortal form of Basileus Roanas died cradled in the Arbiter’s embrace, but his soul lived on within her Shard, preserved for all eternity to serve her in battles to come. This is the great Aravian national mythos, their legendary history of a long-distant past, embellished and mythologized over generations. It may be taken with a grain of salt. But High Elves still pray and wish for the return of Basileus Roanas to this day.