-Catacombs of Bhashera, LVL 3-
Amara
HP: 2/10
GLANCE: 0/40
Her shock overcame her general feeling of weakness.
She sat in the deep dark of the Temple’s lower bowels, looking at the three hideous hyena-hybrids that salivated over her with the eyes of predators.
Apparently supplicant predators, yes, but predators all the same.
“Um…” she began, feeling the Voice’s mirthful laughter echo in her chest at her apprehension. “What are you?”
She cursed herself for asking so basic a question, despite having access to an ability that could’ve told her what she wanted to know. Still, she couldn’t suppress her stark wonder at these creatures that were offering themselves to her, it seemed, in service. They were the only things down here that hadn’t met her with force.
The one at the head of the pack – oldest by a few decades beyond the rest, stroked his straggly, mud-caked beard and answered her with complete reverence:
“We are your servants, Lightbringer,” he said. “This one is called Kimon, Windcaller of LVL 3.”
The creature beside him – far more muscular, gruff, and with a chiseled jawline carrying the patina of good breeding – answered her next:
“Mendax. Warrior LVL 3,” he said, beating his grizzled chest. “This one lives to serve the Lightbringer.”
Though his head was bowed, he spat the words more than spoke them.
Watch him, the Voice told her.
Then the last one reared his ugly head, staring at her with two frog-like eyes, unequally cut, but equally creepy:
“And Loker, m’lady,” the pathetic being croaked. “Thief LVL 3, at your command, oh most lustrous, most brilliant, most brightest star of the Shifting Sands! Be taking this as a gift from your most humble servant”
Whilst she appreciated his words, the way he called her ‘m’lady’ turned her stomach with a tight twist she’d never quite experienced before. Regardless, she took the tiny vial of Arcanist’s Elixir he held out to her and downed its contents, feeling her strength return in a calming wave:
GLANCE: 10/40
“We are blessed to have found you when we did, Lightbringer,” the old one groaned once she was finished, like he was intoning some ancient prayer. “The lives that have been lost to make it this far at the prophesized time enacted a great toll upon the clan. In truth, some of us murmured whispers of heretical disbelief when we saw our comrades fell.” Here, she noted the wrinkled eyes of Kimon wandered over the stone-faced form of the muscular Mendax.
“But those cretins were not true believers!” the frog-like Loker bleated. “Were they here with us now, they would die thrice over to simply bask in the glory of the lady!”
As a scowl of contempt smeared across her face, she looked at the other two and asked the only question that could come to her lips:
“What are you talking about!?”
They looked at one another, shared a blink, and then Kimon slowly rose to stand before her.
“Forgive me, Lightbringer,” he said. “It is said that you would be dubious of your own destiny. But we are your anointed guardians sent here to shepherd you back to the stronghold that is rightfully yours. Our home – the place from which you are to strike at the evils of our Sands and purge them clean of Ch'allok stench.”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
She saw the other two spit in disgust at the word ‘Ch'allok’ and knew, then, that her mother had spoken true: these were to be her tools of conquest. Her first supplicants she could use to enact her great conflagration that would consume the world above.
But there was a snag, it seemed: these creatures were far more preoccupied with their own plight down here than the world above.
I’m afraid that down here that tends to be the case, my dear, her mother counseled her. Even these base beasts are motivated by self-interest above all else. But that can be used, Amara. You need only pluck the right strings of these creatures, and they shall cleave a path of power which you may walk with or without them.
She nodded, slowly starting to calm and assess the situation with more cool detachment.
“Lightbringer,” she said. “That’s what you call me, right?”
Kimon nodded as furiously as his old bones would let him. “Indeed. The one who shall light the way to our future.”
She focused for a split second and let her power run through her veins, feeling it collect at the base of her wrist, and explode into beautiful, buoyant life in her palm.
“This what you mean?”
Kimon had dropped into a reverent bow again, and the heads of the other two dropped even lower to behold her tiny ember.
“The strength of the suns themselves!” Lokar cried. “We are not worthy!”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“I can make bigger flames than this,” she said, trying to sound as intimidating as possible, holding her head proud even as she suddenly became very aware of her ragged hair and frayed, unkempt cloak. “Is that what you want?”
“Tis what we need m’lady – oh glorious, unassailable luminary!” Loker screamed. “We have fought for decades against the surface scum. So many have died. So many were sacrificed to satiate his pride! Now, finally, we have our weapon. We have our Lady!”
She was ready to throw her flame at him and let him taste the true might hidden in her frail bones, but something in his words struck at the recesses of her memory. She was brought back to the sights she’d seen above: walls covered with depictions of thin dog-men being massacred by black figures bearing knives against the bright desert sands outside.
The way they were bowing to her now, totally rapt by nothing more than the sight of her wild auburn hair, finally brought the realization that the central image of the most decorated mosaic above wasn’t totally foreign at all.
She was the girl they prayed to. She was to be their…savior?
Bingo, her mother said.
‘Well…then your…” she coughed, feeling her voice catch in her throat (how did mom speak? How did she make herself so commanding? She must learn – she must try to mimic the intonation, the tone, the confidence…)
“Then your Lightbringer commands that you address me as Amara – and not ‘weapon’!” she shouted at Loker, who instantly fell to her feet ready to lick her toes if she so commanded it.
“I’m – I’m sorry great one!” he howled to the dirt. “I would never offend the Ligh-er-the Amara! All powerful, all knowing, all great and righteous or-!”
“Amara will do!” she shouted, noticing the indignant snort of the big one – Mendax. There was something about him she didn’t like. Something hidden behind his neutral gaze of outward reverence.
Steady, her mother advised. These beings are strong, if gullible. But you must be sparing in your commands. They are, after all, a simple race.
She looked with her Appraisal thing on the smug Mendax to confirm this:
Appraisal: Success
Morphology: Desert Gnoll
HP: 50/50
GLANCE: NULL
Profession: Warrior (LVL 3)
He was strong. Stronger than the other two, and probably with power in his muscles that could destroy her. Not that it mattered. She’d killed plenty of smug men before, and his fur looked especially susceptible to her particular talents.
RES: ERTH, PSYC
WK: PYRO
The appraisal didn’t lie, and that PYRO weakness was all she needed to see to redouble her confidence.
“I will allow you to guide me,” she said. “In return, I will kill all your enemies.”
They couldn’t contain their excitement. She had the Glancer and the thief in the palm of their hands. The big one, however, he still sat without so much as a bark of approval. Grim and reserved, not even deigning to look her in the eye.
“We are forever grateful, Amara,” Kimon said. “The arrangement for the war that is to come shall be revealed after we get you to the safety of our stronghold. For now, we are at your command.”
He pointed towards the edge of the dungeon walls where they’d crept from.
“We came through the runic entrance,” he explained. “After battling many of the Temple’s minions as well as those the Ko’Torash sent after us. But the way to the depths is still rife with Bhashera’s greatest foes – ones even our enemies do not dare to fight. But we must break through them and defeat the Dominion Lord of Level Five. Only then can we finally bring our Light to the benighted waste that was once our homeland.”
She stared at him with a feeling of dread slowly rising in her stomach. His words were melancholic, tinged with deep sorrow for the wars he must have fought. For a member of an apparently basic race, he was certainly thoughtful.
Maybe too thoughtful, her mother stated with no small degree of disgust.
She shook her mind clear. Above all else, this was her chance. Her time, literally, to shine.
“Okay,” she said. “My servants, let us go!”
She made to walk on ahead of them and would have done so if not for the burly hand of the big one interposing itself in front of her.
“Stay behind, Amara,” he huffed. “You’re too valuable for us to lose, after all. Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.”
She held his dark gaze and barely even sensed the hesitation of the other two behind him. She now saw that in his eyes there was no adoration. There was nothing more than blind duty – this was a mission, clearly, that he’d not volunteered for.
As the tense moment began to draw on just a little too long, something scurried in the corner of the room. Instantly, all three of the gnolls turned with rabid zeal to chase after it, saw it was a blighted scarab, and raised their weapons to charge at the shadowed creature.
Before they even reached the tiny thing, they beheld a glowing ball of flame arc towards the creature and extinguish its life with a single strike.
The triad shared an incredulous look between them and then turned to see Amara’s smoking finger wiggling in their direction.
“Don’t waste your effort on them,” she said. “I don’t want you hurting yourselves.”
She beheld their looks of embarrassment with no small degree of satisfaction – especially savoring Mendax’s chagrin – as she summoned her Flickering Ember and nodded to the exit.
“Coming?”
She didn’t even look behind her as they kept pace, letting her lead, all entranced by the glowing burr she twirled round her fingers.
“How’s that for authority?” She whispered to her mom.
And in her mind there came the sweet, distinctive sound of her mother’s coarse laughter.
Amara, she said. You really are my daughter.