Amalia the Loveless

(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! 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? 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. 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! 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.'

(Should you read this, understand this is from the skewed opinion of a one-bitten twice-shy character. The opinions of character in this story are not proper reflection of the actual characters.) A hundred thousand gil. In Amalia's hand was a hundred thousand gil. As she sat in Peal Lane with that bag she couldn't help but feel filthy as the true side of Ul'dah. Here, surrounded by those who would sell their heritage, their pride and even their bodies for a meal and a warm blanket, she felt horribly in place. 'It was for Ala Mhigo. Her sons, and daughter. It was for them. For them...' She clutched the pouch tightly, thinking back to the events earlier. She had entered into the Runestone, a magical tournament. Held by none other than Reiner Dorn. She loathed him as deeply as she did the Garleans who took her ancestral home from her and her kinsmen in their ceaseless march of conquest. Who burned from this world good, honest men and women whose only crime was not to accept subjugation. Gods, she hated that man. Hated him as much as she hated the Syndicate that took advantage of her helpless kinsmen. Who exploited them for their own profit, to add to their never-emptying coffers! Men and women who feigned charity to only practice cruelty. How many of her countrymen had lost life or limb in the mines? Defending the wealth of their puppet masters? All while earning scarcely enough to be called a wage. Pittance, and nothing more. 'This money can help though, help those in need.' She began to squeeze the pouch as tightly as she grit her teeth. Yes, a hundred thousand gil could change the lives of so many. Put good food in the bellies of children who supped on nothing but broth of bean one day, only to have to go without the next. Clothes on their back, shoes on their feet and a safety net while they searched for good work, or enough to pay for apprenticeship under a tradesman. She told herself of this over and over, but it did nothing to sooth her. "He has so much, and others have so little!" she said quietly, yet forcefully to herself. "He primps and preens, buying expensive clothing and eating only the best. He's not Ala Mhigan. Not in the slightest! She leaned her head back against the wall, refusing to let tears fall. She hated him so -much-. He was the same as the Syndicate, feigning goodwill and generosity for only their own benefit. He dressed in silks and satins while his kinsmen had only threadbare linen! How was it fair?! He strut about with his noble pedigree, believing if someone wasn't like him they were nothing! The lowest of the low. Yet he claimed to be -only- interested in the downtrodden and the restoration of Ala Mhigo. But Amalia knew better. He only wanted the glory. To be put atop that high pedestal and showered with lavish praise and accolades. She though he even had his sights set on becoming the next King when Ala Mhigo was restored. Restored with the blood and bone of those he would sneer at, and glare at down his nose. People like her. His words rang in her ears as she waited in line. Mocking her. Demeaning her, telling her loud and clear she was beneath 'His Lordships' cares because she hadn't bent to his will, or behaved in a manner he most likely saw befitting of his 'future subjects'. He had pointed her out to one of his lackeys and begun the conversation, loud enough for her to hear, knowing she would bite the hook as sure as a fish lured by bait. Gods, why had she taken the bait? To be ridiculed like that, in front of a crowd where he had all the power. He had everything to gain, and she everything to lose. Her defending arguments found no footholds, and if she had demanded a duel for her honor she would have been either barred from competing, or at worst, killed by him and his infernal band of mage slayers. She could have done nothing but shame herself through action or inaction. It was then she had decided to give it her all in the Runestone, to unleash the Thaumaturgy and Black Magics she had learned from her deceased mother. She had brought the full force of her spells to bare against those who had stood in her way of the grand prize, a quarter of a million gil and to be crowned Champion! The title held nothing for her, she didn't need things such as that to take pride in herself, but that amount of gil would have been a god send to Stonesthrow and Little Ala Mhigo. The tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall as she glanced up at the night sky. She drew strength from the memories of her victories. Each of the groups of fights had been overseen by Reiner's toadies, and she had felt in that moment if she could leave them speechless with her prowess she had come out on top. Spell after spell of the collective Thaumaturgic elemental categories had left her opponents in the dust. Summoners, Cryomancers, Pyromancers, all had fallen to her will and spells. Some had been spectacular victories, others near-misses, but she had fought hard and advanced to the final round! She had defeated those judging looks and silence Reiners like-minded 'friends'. Friends. Gods damn it all. Her final opponent had been a simpering child who had only made it to the end by the skin of her teeth and false confidence granted to her by her cheering friends. There was no one to cheer for you on the battlefield, false confidence was a lead chain around your neck. She had been tired by the extended use her long-shelved magicks. The girl had seemed like nothing, so she brought all she had to bare down upon her. Searing Fire, Dancing Lightnings , Frigid Ice and even pure unaltered magic essence! But she had drawn too heavily, and left herself wide open. She had lost to a simple Ruin spell. She would take the prize and waste it! Spend it frivolously on tinkets, bobbles and dresses. And the girls friends have come to cheer her! Where were her friends? Dead in the killing fields. Shot, stabbed, crushed and torn asunder under the might of Garlemald! Rhalgr mocked her with such a disgraceful loss! 'Mock you...or teach you?" The Lalafells words filled her mind now as tears threatened to overflow from her eyes. Tmesis Oan? The name didn't sound right expect for Oan. The man shared her hatred of Garlemald-he was Doman and knew the pain of a lost homeland. He had recognized her spells for Black Magic, and wanted to only learn more. He offered her a quarter million gil for her cooperation, and the pouch she now held was a payment of that. She had agreed, if not quickly and comfortably. These were her mothers magics, valuable gifts and lessons of her ancestors! She wiped at her eyes, praying the Rhalgr they would stop, but she had broken the seal and they flowed quickly and unending. They were her peoples magicks! Not his! But the gil, Gods almighty and merciless the gil. Reiner would only give to what -he- deemed worthy, and as long as it didn't put too much strain on -his- coffers! He had tried to buy her allegiance for a million gil, and she had made him spend it on Little Ala Mhigo. A million gil for a single person in their pocket? Gods, she hated him! SHE HATED HIM! And Oan. HE had actually -succeeded-! HE had bought her like she was some strumpet showing her arse on a street corner! She hated him too! She hated both of them so -MUCH-! But not as much as she hated herself. With a shrill scream she threw the coin pouch at the far wall, sobbing hysterically. The other Ala Mhigans didn't look at her, or even in her direction. No one would dare try and steal the pouch. She was too volatile, and none of the men or women there wanted to lose their lives. But no one tried to calm her either. Her tears were the tears of the broke, the beaten, and the damned. Yes, she felt perfectly in place here, and she hated that too.

Thank you! I hope to see you around sometime!

Hello all! My name's Amalia the Loveless.I've been roleplaying on Balmung for a while now, and have decided to finally join the website after have a very good go at the Runestone tonight! Spells were slung, enemies and acquaintances made, and even some shady deals! To make a long story short, I look forward to meeting most of, if not all of you, and making many memorable stories together.