Very little is known about Vóreonecel’s younger years, which is entirely of his own making. It is well known that he is a mighty warrior, who has fought in many battles spanning across the centuries; a formidable foe against the Enemy. However, in terms of his parents, family and siblings there is barely a jot on record to draw upon. When asked to give some insight into his youth, he would become evasive and immediately try to change the subject to avoid answering. That which is known, is that he hails from the Elven region of Lindon. There he was under the tutelage of the scholars and masters of lore who offered a satisfactory education; deemed by most as a very promising pupil. Were he raised in a time of peace, he would have undoubtedly made a fine scholar himself. Nevertheless, peace was a fleeting thing during the many years of his life. War came and went as frequently as the rainfall.

Proving himself in several campaigns against the Enemy, he took to the battlefield with sword and shield and slew many foes in the name of his kin, country and the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth. He took great pride in this, for he was more than competent as a warrior, however far from overconfident and vicious. To Vóreonecel, conflict was inevitable, for the wheel of warfare continued to turn and history tended to repeat itself. He did not enjoy fighting, nor did he take much pleasure in taking life. However, when that ‘life’ threatens to corrupt, enslave and destroy all that he and his people hold dear, it is something he simply could not ignore. As such, when summoned to fight alongside his kin, he would ride into the fire without question.

Within the War of the Ring, Vóreonecel once more answered the call. The Witch King of Angmar had turned his gaze to Eriador and chaos rained down upon all fronts. The Elves of Lindon were spread thin, as were all races at this time. He helped where he could and fought valiantly, however the sorry state of the world began to weigh heavily on his heart. It is of course natural for one who has seen so much bloodshed to grow battle-weary. He began to almost envy mortal kind, for he believed a longer life was not by any means a better one. For loss, grief and devastation unfolded before his very eyes, something he has initially grown to ignore. The sorrow of his people who, in turn, had begun leaving Middle-Earth. Nevertheless, he resisted the call to the sea and remained at his post, standing firm and refusing to yield against the dark tide that swept across the land.

Weary of war and death, yet blessed with a cast-iron resolve, he continues to fight for it is all that he knows. He will not rest until evil and corruption is banished from Middle-Earth, which in his heart of hearts he knows is a fool’s hope. Is that enough for him to desert his post? Would he abandon the innocent to be harassed and tormented by those with ill intentions? Not in his lifetime and the lifetimes that follow.