Cicero Veda
The House of Veda in an unbroken chain claimed to its honor six successive kings chosen by the Laurel Crown.
And then, in all the years that passed, in the centuries that passed, nothing. To the present day, no man bearing the name of Veda has again risen to the throne of Garacross. Some of House Veda have given into despair, thinking themselves as having fallen from the glory days of old and doomed to wither away in feeble irrelevance; some are given to hope, thinking that with proper piety shown to the Mother and Father—Metisa and Nykios of Celestialism, respectively—that once again a son of Veda shall be adorned in purple.
Cicero, on the other hand, believes that the time is now. He himself made the decision to don a Royal Wreath—the signifier that he is a Prince, a contender to be chosen by the Laurel Crown, and has taken the oath of Purity—and he believes that nothing less than action, demonstrable bravery and nobility, shall prove his worthiness to be so chosen by the Crown. And there is no shortage of opportunity for such, as the Kingdom of Garacross finds itself constantly under the threat of raids, and even outright war, from the Blight Orcs and Giants of Molthal, to the east across the Gulf of Ryt. The Veda name, in Cicero's view, can only again see regal prestige if it discards the decadence that has come to define it, and once more finds glory in outstanding deeds upon the field of battle.
Those who know Cicero would say that he is without question possessed of an icy confidence. His stare can be unrelenting, his patience a weapon, a cold smile and a frigid phrase enough to rebuke any challenger who might think to cross him. Like a glacial bastion does he stand firm and resolute upon that which he believes and that which he has decided, and much does it take to phase him. Calm and reserved, he prefers to think before he speaks, and as such, does not lightly suffer fools who bumble about with their tongues.
In his hands does the destiny of House Veda lie.