Amara

HP: 15/15

GLANCE: 40

LVL: 6

EXP: 1100/2500

TP: 0

SP: 5

Glance Font: I/V

SKILL POINTS ATTRIBUTED: 3

Glance Font: II/V

New GLANCE pool: 60

SP remaining: 2

She watched each stat float by her eyes with relative disinterest. It was with that same level of nonchalance that she’d simply pointed a weary finger at the ‘Glance Font’ stat and raised her numbers, feeling almost instantly the intoxicating swell of Glance within her, knowing her energies were growing. Then, the feeling passed, and she returned to the mundane world of the Sands.

She was silhouetted by the glowing red-eye that was rising above the stronghold in the distance, causing sparkles to ripple across the Golden Palace of the Blackbird and bleed into the air. It was an omen of what was to come.

Below her the Gnolls tottered about dutifully, engaged in prepping themselves for war. Soldiers jostled about – hungover, yet still determined – strapping their chestplates on, tightening their shoulder-guards, taking a few practice swings with their halberds at loose pieces of rubble strewn across the courtyard from Lokar’s attack. Yet still more were taking the time to say goodbye to their loved ones. She looked with uneasy eyes as Verdus clapped a small pup behind his ears and shouted something to him, before affectionately wiping away a stray tear that cascaded down his little furry face. A son, perhaps, or maybe just a little soldier-boy who wanted to join the melee.

When he looked up and saw Amara sitting on top of the gatehouse, he flashed her a look that she couldn’t quite place. Was it envy, hatred, or devotion? The lines were becoming blurred.

And then there was the Argent girl who still had not awoken.

Yelena.

Now there was a real mystery. There was something that not even the Everloft with its ‘Appraisal’ powers or her own mother with her gift of foresight could explain to her. But she’d seen something happen when Lokar died and spat out that thing – that living shadow – the thing the Argent’s called ‘Voidspawn.’ She had taken it into herself, and it had made her strong. Amara was beginning to bet that it was that little sliver of darkness that held the girl’s real power.

And if that was true, she wanted a piece.

She looked down at her dusty knuckles. No flames now. Not yet. But she closed her eyes and took in the morning air, knowing that she could ignite every halberd down there with her strength, now.

So, was it true that she really just wanted a piece of the girl’s power? Or was there something more to the lie she told…

You have changed, my daughter.

She blinked once in recognition of her mother’s voice.

I’m trying to do what is right.

And we have been here before, her mother replied, equal parts firm but gentle. I have warned you, have I not? Caring for your underlings is a weakness that the denizens of the depths shall seek to exploit in you. If you wish to forge on, you must be made of stronger mettle.

I told you, she replied swiftly. I need the girl and that thief. They’ll do most of the killing. The Gnolls will survive and then there’s more people to worship me.

Amara, her mother said with the air of a soothing song. You know you cannot stay here after this battle. The outcome of this conflict is your descent further into the abyss. These Gnolls will pray to you. But their prayers are empty.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Her fist shook. But she breathed. She controlled the impulse to let her fire fly.

Good, her mother said. You are learning to channel your rage. It will serve you best, that way.

What do you think, mom? She asked when she let the impulse to burn pass over her with the sands kicked up by the rising sun’s wind. Is this all really worth it? Couldn’t I just stay here and be a God?

You could, dear, her mother said, though her voice now had begun to waver – as though it was stretched down a long hallway. But ask yourself: is that what you really want? To shepherd the weak? To fizzle out before your true potential manifests?

She felt another presence emerge beside her as her mother’s echo began to die away.

No. You are a flame born to dance on the graves of your enemies. You were born to burn…Never forget that…

“It is a morning blessed by Agni’Talla,” a familiar voice said.

Amara looked up to see the veiled form of the Gnoll Elder had come to visit her. She was standing tall, looking out at the sun as though its rays had no effect on the diamond eyes she concealed at all.

“Agni’Talla?”

The Elder nodded. “Gold-Life,” she said. “The giver of true life to all creatures and all things. Angi’Talla is known only to us of the Sands. It is the only plane of this place you call the Everloft with a sun that dares to rise.”

She looked towards the red orb with a sense, she had to admit, of swelling pride.

“We have on on Averix,” she said. “But it doesn’t look as strong.”

The Elder nodded sagely. “You see with the eyes of a Pyromancer. Many consider only the beauty of the sun. Few feel its strength. Only our blood reacts to its rays, allowing its power to flow through us, fill us, and enlighten us.”

“The power,” Amara said with spite. “To destroy.”

The Elder dropped her gaze towards her now, knowing that she had turned back towards the battle preparations raging beneath them.

“That’s why you gave me that Incantation, after all,” she said. “To kill the bad guys.”

To Amara’s surprise, she heard the Elder heave a long sigh. Only that – the sound of pure disappointment inherent in her voice – led Amara to return her gaze to the venerable sun-gazing Gnoll.

“What?”

“I lament, child,” the Elder said. “I lament that we both share the same set of eyes – those of a Glancer shackled to a power they did not ask for, debased for being what they are – and yet we see so differently.”

Amara pouted. Childish, she knew. But maybe she deserved that once in a while.

“What else can I do with this?” she asked, bringing up her hand and letting thin sparks of flame fly from her fingers, evoking some shouts of glee from the Gnoll laborers who watched below. “I was given this power only to kill. That’s all I can do. That’s all I’m going to do.”

She and the Elder held eachothers’ stares for what seemed like an age before Amara finally dropped her gaze. Her shoulders sagged. She felt heavy all of a sudden, while the Elder carried herself with the ease of a candle being blown in the wind.

Then all at once she felt the withered hand of the Gnoll upon her shoulder, and something erupted in front of her eyes:

Augmented Arcanist (NULL)

Some arcanists choose to channel the energies of the Glance into objects of special significance to them. Such Augments can confer great power or even extra abilities to their wearer

LVL I: Can create Augmentations based on Rummager-Level Materials

Skill Points req. for LVL I: 2

Materials currently held: Scorpionness Stinger

“Augmented…Arcanist?”

The Gnoll Elder smiled.

“We who glance through the Door of Flame see the potential of Agni’Talla,” she said. “Life and death in equal measure. Fire burns. Fire consumes. Fire also heats. Fire brings warmth and light. Without fire there cannot be growth. Without fire, there is only darkness.”

Amara listened. She was hearing something new. Another voice. A different perspective.

The venerable old Gnoll bent down and cupped Amara’s hand in hers, making her own flame dance between Amara’s fingers. Amara understood – she did the same – and slowly the embers of the power they held between them threaded through each other like the silken lines of a spider’s glowing web.

“We can take life, and we can give life,” the Elder said. “Often, there cannot be one without the other. It is right that you have come to us, with fury wrapped around you heart, and yet have begun to see that there is more that burns within you than simply the desire for bloodshed. In fact, you wish to keep our people safe, don’t you?”

Amara nodded. The Elder was telling her things she couldn’t pronounce. Especially not when Mother was around.

“Know that there will be blood,” the Elder said, as she pressed her palm firmly against Amara’s and their combined energy fizzled out. “Justice demands it. The Blackbird has killed too many, and debased more than we can name. The priestess that your companions has brought to us is proof of this. Yet she will also be the key to the undoing of the False Gold – of the palace the Blackbird rules in.”

Amara looked again at the [Augmented Arcanist] skill and the two Skill Points she had remaining.

“You want me to choose something creative?” she asked the Elder.

Once again, she smiled.

“I can tell the Lightbringer nothing except this: the choice is yours. Your judgement is not something I question. Especially,” she added, with the soft touch of a caring grandmother, “Not when you have come to us as you are – with a good heart. This, I am sure of.”

She stood and made to leave as Amara looked after her, the burning sphere of the sun hovering between them, beyond the battlements where they would soon lead the final assault.

“When the time comes, know that I will do what I can to protect our people,” the Elder said as she departed. “I leave the rest to you, and your compatriots from the world above. Yet, if you would heed the council of this Elder, and know the truth of the Sands before making war upon its surface, bring before me the other two – the Argent and the Thief. Together, I will tell you what you must know. And then, you will have another choice to make.”

Before she left, Amara’s finger wavered over the skill. She looked to the sun, to the departing form of the Gnoll with her cloak billowing in the winds, and then to the final preparations being made below.

Amara? Her mother asked. Tell me: what did the old dog tell you this time?

Amara blinked, breathed deep, and selected the skill.

“Nothing mom,” she said aloud. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”