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+--- Thread: Silks and Satin, Steel and Resolve (story) (/showthread.php?tid=14514)
Silks and Satin, Steel and Resolve (story) - Amalia the Loveless - 12-07-2015
(Same as before, this story is written from the skewed perspective and a once-bitten twice-shy character. Character portrayed in this story may not be accurate depiction of the actual characters.)
BANG!Â
Amalia slammed the empty mug on the front counter of the Quicksand, startling the poor lalafellin proprietress Momodi. "Another!" She said sharply, looking into the empty mug. Once more she thought about the Runestone. Why was it whenever she set foot near that place she came away in a foul mood?Â
Well, truth be told she was always in a foul mood. It was an unfortunate side effect of the plight the Ala Mhigan lower class faced. Some found ways around it, and condemned those who felt anger, bitterness and loathing without understanding no two people were alike. As sure as no two people suffered the same way, two people most likely didn't work through it in the same way. Some gave in, moped about and resigned themselves to a slow, sad death. But no Amalia, oh no. She fought back against the world that would see her crushed underfoot and beaten into submission.
"I'm a gods-damned Mhigan! Amalia the Loveless doesn't heed anyone's beck and call..." A light clunk on the counter drew her attention from the empty mug, Momodi there smiling with another fresh from the barrel.
"Amalia, is it? Pretty, but that doesn't sound like an Ala Mhigan name." The owner of the quicksand lingered, most likely hoping to strike a conversation with the woman.
Amalia blinked, ignoring the ale for a moment before pulling it up and over to her, blowing the foam off on the patron next to her, some poor midlander boy who was just becoming accustomed to having his whiskers on. He jumped up from the seat, agast at the soiling of his nice new clothes, his miqo'te lady friend attempting to wipe off the wet spots with a handkerchief, the pair of them glaring daggers at her. With thunderheads in her eyes she glared the pair death, causing the due to back off and head toward the tables.
"And what was that for! Ugh, you miserable woman!"
Momodi ran around to the pair, apologizing to the pair as Amalia sipped her drink, thinking. IT was true,Amalia was not an Ala Mhigan name. Nor was it even Highlander, it was Midlander in roots. But despite that, it was her name now. She had cast off her old one, as surely as the upper class had tossed away the girl who had borne it. Merciful and saintly Eir had died on the battlefield, pinned to the ground by a Garlean Reaver and Amalia the Loveless has risen like a phoenix from her ashes. A daft girl with more boobs than brains, afraid to use her gifts had become the woman sitting at the bar. She put a hand under each breast through her robe and bounced them up and down. Still plenty of boobs, but much more brain now.
"Ye learn to respect yer homeland before ye earn my respect"
Gods, that voice rang in her earn as she though of who she was now for her homeland, and it put her right out of her nostalgia and into a furor. She DID respect her homeland! All she had ever done to this point was for Ala Mhigo! IF it would free Ala Mhigo that instant she would sell herself to even the Emperor of Garlemald and spend the rest of her days in the pitiful excuse of a mans bed. Anything for Ala Mhigo. EVERYTHING for Ala Mhigo. But no, Reiners pawns, men like Rawkin, didn't see it that way. Nope, their way, and no way but.
All she had done was go to the Runestone and cheer on one of the competitors, that was all! Well, she had heckled her opponent as well. Â The same kind of behavior one would witness in Ul'dahs fighting arena, or a barfight. IT WAS tourney, so revelry such as that was to be expected. But what had it gotten her? A gods-damned ball thrown at her damned face!Â
Dorn-despite being an insufferable, gods-damned, thrice-cursed, slackjawed, walleyed piss-ant that he was-agreed with her that his toadies behavior was inexcusable. Most likely because it reflected poorly on the would-be King that his flunkies would accost an innocent woman in front of a large crowd, he had given her a chance at the man, one Amalia had jumped on entirely too eagerly. And in exchange for her eagerness, she had suffered a humiliating loss.
She took a deep gulp of the ale. "Gods, who uses a -cigar- of all things to fight?" She bemoaned, putting her head in her and, staring at the rim of the mug. IT had been unusual, but nothing was wrong with the tactic. The blend of aether had been ingenious, if not innovative! She had respected the mans swift victory, even though it shamed her. Despite the mans fellow brothers-in-arms heckling the woman, and throwing insults in her face, she had tried to accept the loss with dignity, and had attempted to shake the mans hand in a gesture of goodwill, ending in the rough bastards rebuttal. And the crushing of a linkpearl, for some unknown reason.
Atfer Dorn left, his pack of loyal lapdogs following close on his heels, she had ment Oan again. And Gods be damned if HE didn't drive her straight up a wall as well. She had NOT been a petulant child! She had challenged the man for his wrongdoings, and even though she had lost she could hold her head high knowing she hadn't shrunk from the injustice! But Rhalgr great and mighty, he had shamed her as well in front of the remaining circle of people, even while he spoke down to Dorn.
It seemed everyone in Thanalan had some complaint with her, and few and far between took a liking to her. It was for the best though. What would she do with a bunch of childish oafs fresh off their mothers teat? Friend were a luxury, in both real life, and on the battlefield. Lightly moving the mug in a circle, ale sloshing around inside as the bottom scrapped against the counter, she thought of luxuries. Friends...she had no need of them. Comrades, brother snd sisters ina rms! Those were what she needed! Good, honest loyal Ala Mhigans who met courage with courage, and steel with steel! Not paid cronies, going wherever the coin shined brightest like Rawkin. Good men and woman clad in their ambitions, ideals on their sleeves for the whole world to behold, not garbed in luxurious imported clothes and the finest cut gems like Dorn. She lifted the mug to her lips and finished it in three great gulps, slamming it down alongside the other. She didn't need kind words, 'encouraging' nothings, but patriotism and like-minded beliefs! Their words hurt, their views of her cut at her, deeply as they intended their cruel words to, but just as much as Amalia wanted them to, needed them to. She couldn't be weak, she wouldn't allow it in herself again after her display in Pearl Lane. She needed the world to hurt her, so she could hurt it back.
'Let them say what they will. Burn away my weakness, tear away my softness.' She though, beginning to feel the effects of the heady Ul'dahn ale. Placing the coins needed to pay the tab she turned around in her stool and stood, heading not for the front exit, but the left side, her heart set on the Immortal Flames headquarters. She had been away from the Ala Mhigan frontline for far too long. 'Let Reiner clad himself in silks and satins, clad me in steel and resolve for the true battles.'