Amara
02-18-10, 12:27 AM
Badassitude isn't always about killing other human beings and using your enemies' severed limbs as bats in a good old fashioned game of pickup baseball (Dan Lagh'ratham rules). Sometimes, it's about going on crazy adventures and using your intellect and your bravery to go the extra mile and prove to everyone in the world just how massive your balls are. Amara falls into the second category - she isn't the sort of girl who can smash human skulls into giant piles of bone meal with her bare hands, but in her short lifetime she's led a prison break, worked as an oceanic raider, drank every man in her clan under the table, and volunteered for a mission deemed 'suicidal' to save a civilization from utter annihilation (temporarily). Plus, she was named after the Durklan god of wisdom and battle, and it's a little-known fact that it's against the law for a person to be named after a deity and not be totally goddamn amazing.
After her recent adventures in Raiaera, Amara realized just how little she could accomplish on her own. After finding out that not only had she inexplicably become displaced in time and space, but that her entire race had been purged by the Raiaerans many millenia ago, Amara got so fired up that she attempted a daring coup d'etat in Anebrilith, Raiaera's former capital, storming the ancient palace and single-handedly attempting to overthrow the government with nothing more than a woodaxe and a raging thirst for elvish blood. Needless to say, this went over about as well as a lead balloon carrying an ogre over a bottomless pit. Amara was captured by the town guard, beat up, and exiled from the city. It takes more than a good beating to keep a crazy person down, though, and Amara fled across the continent to Corone after having her ass kicked out of the elvish lands. Purpose blazed in her eyes, driving her ever-onward and keeping her spirits high: she would raise an army to take down the men and women who murdered her countrymen. It might take years to field a force large enough to take down the entire nation of Raiaera; even after being mercilessly hammered by the forces of Xem'zund for an entire year, they were more than strong enough to repel an attack by anything short of a hyperelite, hyperloyal, death-dealing army.
Without a shitload of gold, loads of life experience and, most importantly, a badass reputation, Amara was about as threatening to war-torn Raiaera as a pebble tossed at a raging elephant. It was for the sole purpose of building a name for herself that the crimson-haired raider found herself on the steps of Radasanth's biggest draw, the Citadel. Many of the nearby tourists and combatants marveled at it's gleaming marble facade, gaped at it's impossibly-tall parapets, and stared in awe at it's long list of former champions. Amara was not among them.
The one place dedicated to the art of war in Althanas is shaped like a giant phallus. Typical.
The lively redhead had signed up for a battle earlier in the week, and when she'd jotted down her name in one of the few available timeslots the Ai'Bron monk behind the registrar's desk just grinned and said that the Citadel had a "special event" planned just for her and her opponent. When questioned further, the ink-stained secretary refused to elaborate. "You must be lucky," he claimed with a devious, enigmatic smirk as he parted ways with the Durklan warrior.
As Amara slipped through the landmark's entryway for the second time, she was about to find out just how "lucky" she was.
After her recent adventures in Raiaera, Amara realized just how little she could accomplish on her own. After finding out that not only had she inexplicably become displaced in time and space, but that her entire race had been purged by the Raiaerans many millenia ago, Amara got so fired up that she attempted a daring coup d'etat in Anebrilith, Raiaera's former capital, storming the ancient palace and single-handedly attempting to overthrow the government with nothing more than a woodaxe and a raging thirst for elvish blood. Needless to say, this went over about as well as a lead balloon carrying an ogre over a bottomless pit. Amara was captured by the town guard, beat up, and exiled from the city. It takes more than a good beating to keep a crazy person down, though, and Amara fled across the continent to Corone after having her ass kicked out of the elvish lands. Purpose blazed in her eyes, driving her ever-onward and keeping her spirits high: she would raise an army to take down the men and women who murdered her countrymen. It might take years to field a force large enough to take down the entire nation of Raiaera; even after being mercilessly hammered by the forces of Xem'zund for an entire year, they were more than strong enough to repel an attack by anything short of a hyperelite, hyperloyal, death-dealing army.
Without a shitload of gold, loads of life experience and, most importantly, a badass reputation, Amara was about as threatening to war-torn Raiaera as a pebble tossed at a raging elephant. It was for the sole purpose of building a name for herself that the crimson-haired raider found herself on the steps of Radasanth's biggest draw, the Citadel. Many of the nearby tourists and combatants marveled at it's gleaming marble facade, gaped at it's impossibly-tall parapets, and stared in awe at it's long list of former champions. Amara was not among them.
The one place dedicated to the art of war in Althanas is shaped like a giant phallus. Typical.
The lively redhead had signed up for a battle earlier in the week, and when she'd jotted down her name in one of the few available timeslots the Ai'Bron monk behind the registrar's desk just grinned and said that the Citadel had a "special event" planned just for her and her opponent. When questioned further, the ink-stained secretary refused to elaborate. "You must be lucky," he claimed with a devious, enigmatic smirk as he parted ways with the Durklan warrior.
As Amara slipped through the landmark's entryway for the second time, she was about to find out just how "lucky" she was.