Voranthar's composure completely shattered. He slammed his fists against the splintering wood of the war table and leaned forward, his face contorted in an ugly, desperate rage.
"You fools!" Voranthar screamed, his voice cracking as his aura flared wildly. "You blind, arrogant fools! Do you not understand what I have done for this continent? I have sacrificed everything! I bled my own kingdom dry! I slaughtered millions to forge a weapon capable of saving us all!"
He began to pace frantically behind the table, gesturing wildly with his hands. His golden crown sat slightly crooked on his graying hair.
"I am the proxy!" he shouted to the vaulted ceiling. "The Radiant Monarch chose me! The Silver Wing chose me! You think your southern garrisons matter? You think the Morval Dynasty matters? The Vanguard is a plague, and I am the only cure! If we don't fire the pulse, The Spiral will consume us all, and you will die screaming for the gods who abandoned you!"
