Amarie
(#12908693)
Level 25 Skydancer
Shineweave
Veiled Vision
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Arcane.
Female Skydancer
This dragon cannot breed until May 19, 2024 (5 days).
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.95 m
Wingspan
4.21 m
Weight
748.7 kg
Genetics
Gold
Iridescent
Iridescent
Gold
Shimmer
Shimmer
Gold
Smoke
Smoke
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Skydancer
Max Level
STR
120
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
66
INT
5
VIT
22
MND
5
Lineage
Parents
Offspring
- Bird
- Rufushka
- Fantomika
- Asclepiada
- Ellyn
- Sigismund
- Caporea
- Nerien
- Auratus
- Geraint
- Arcana
- Melusine
- Joanna
- Constance
- Galadriel
- Nirilor
- Jarbenen
- Magtranna
- Vorrutyer
- Mervyna
- Sheryr
- Tudwal
- Axies
- Malorne
- Chrysophyas
- Fuquan
- Neveah
- Demir
- Lamia
- Idurre
- Elethora
- Atherr
- Alana
- Tylina
- Nibulem
- Constanza
- Unnamed
- Unnamed
Biography
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╭
 A M A R I E Warrior and hunter 
╰ ╭ Haughty. Frigid. Beautiful. Dangerous. Those are the words one would use to describe Amarie, whose tongue can give scorchings second only to the Great Furnace’s flames. Though she is a decorated warrior, proudly laying claims to great feats of arms on the battlefield, she remains aloof from most of the clan’s politics and relations. Indeed, though she has never lacked for admirers and pretenders, she has rejected all of them, and other dragons whisper that one would likely catch frostbite ere they’d find pleasure when lying with her. Yet Amarie is also not one to turn upon others unfairly, and she can be a formidable supporter when taking someone’s side. All in all, she is a valued member of the clan, especially on the battlefield. Amarie was born in the Starfall Isles, the eldest daughter and child of a powerful lady controlling land in Starwood Strand. While her brother died soon after birth, twisted and unable to survive the Eldritch energies of the Arcanist’s domains, Amarie grew up very close to her sister, Lazulite. Both were always seen together, learning how to rule and how to hunt and how to sing and how to fight, the best of friends. And where Lazulite knew how to charm dignitaries and entertain them while discussing what would be the best trade accord for their principalities, all the while Amarie would sit in the corner, her thin hands clasped around the hilt of her sword, ready to fight or to lead at her sister's command. That was how she envisioned her life, her sister as the lady, beautiful and golden, and she as the warrior, silent and gruff and threatening. |
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The Lady Celeste had, all her life, led her troops from the front. As she told her daughters, no one would respect someone who did not share their hardships. Despite that, her health had been frail all her life, and many feared that at some point one battle would prove her last. Then that border raid happened. Raids and small skirmishes were frequent amongst small clans all over Sornieth, and the Starwood Strand was no exception. The clan's lady had worn full armour, burnished under the Strand's lights, but that blow managed to smash her helmet anyways. Though Amarie had ran that Guardian through as her mother fell, there was little else she could do, for her mother would not stir from her repose, no matter what her daughters tried to wake her up.
She would not talk, or open her eyes, that is, and never give any indication of listening to whatever happened outside her own head. The grief-stricken sisters had to take over the clan's leadership, which they did with considerable talent, each with the role they had been groomed for. Yet they could not help but notice how Amarie ever grew more taciturn and her rebuffs more scathing, to the point where only her sister could approach her without receiving a caustic tongue-lashing, and how Lazulite's smile, despite all her friendliness and charm, never quite reached her eyes. And to take care of Celeste, they kept looking for treatments, ever more expensive and ever unsuccessful, from the mages of the Observatory to the primal magic of Dragonhome, caring very little to their dwindling treasury. But as the treasury dwindled, so did the clan, for there was nothing to both pay and care for the retainers. Within months, the once-proud if small clan had been reduced to a band of close followers, who agreed to separate, as the Lady Celeste was entrusted to a hospice in the Starwood Strand where, short of curing her, they would at least care for her.
For a time the two sisters served as mercenaries all over Sornieth. Mercenaries, or sellclaws, were often disregarded by other dragons as naught more than amoral hired killers, ready to fight anyone, be they Beastclan or dragon or even other, more ancient enemies as long as they received their pay at the end of the day. There was no doubt that this was a harsh life. Yet Amarie, if she did not find happiness, at the very least knew contentment. This was what she'd been raised for, and where some found that the battlefields of Sornieth were places to be avoided at all cost, all too-reminiscent of the ages they'd left behind - and who could fault them? - Amarie's blood, when she fought, sang along with her sword just as loud as the winds of the Twisting Crescendo.
Lazulite, however, held no love for battles or war. Though she acquitted herself well enough with sword and claw, enough not to shame herself, when she emerged blood-soaked from the battle, she felt no urge but that to retch. It was not something Amarie could understand, and there was very little support she could give her sister in this. Yet the one thing she could understand was how Lazulite's eyes, which had stopped smiling after their mother's injury, seemed colder and more distant after each battle. Her sister was fading away, and there was little she could do for it. When she told her sister that these eyes and that face had been made for smiles, not tears, the only answer she got was there were few things left to smile for.
It all came to a halt during a steaming night in the Ashfall Waste. Lazulite had been trashing in her sleep, shouting names Amarie could not recognize. Only much later would she learn that those were names associated with the lives her sister had taken. When the reluctant warrior finally burst awake, all she could feel was her sister's slim arms and wings around her, and she started to weep. Not for the first time, Amarie noticed how old her sister seemed, her once-golden skin having paled to a somewhat yellowish tint, her horn crackled and her pearl chipped and discoloured. When she nodded towards Amarie's sword, the other dragoness understood. Her sister had left behind that most important of life's gifts: hope. She did not try to dispute the choice, knowing that it would be futile, and instead clasped both hands on the blade's handle. Lazulite just bared her chest, lay on her back and held her pearl tightly, and Amarie, through her veil of tears, could see that her eyes were not glazed over, for the first time in years. "Farewell. Live for me, sister... Enjoy what I could not." With these final parting words, the blade sunk into her chest and, despite the blood, Lazulite died with a smile on her lips.
That was enough for Amarie, who had no desire to remain where she'd taken her sister's life, and, after a brief prayer to both Flamecaller and Arcanist, she fled, cradling her sister's pearl. She knew that soon, there would be trackers sent after her, and that regardless of the story she told, there would be few dragons to believe her. To the outside viewer, it just seemed murder, theft and desertion all in one, a combination that would guarantee her a long, painful death if she was caught. But she took pride in her skills with sword and claw, and when she met the first hunter, a lean Mirror whose face was barred by a scar, it was she that had found her tracker and not the opposite. Before the mirror could shout for assistance or even draw her weapon, Amarie's blade had flown through her throat, silencing her for all eternity. Her head, she set on a spike, hoping to discourage further pursuits.
Life as a loner was just as hard as she'd expected, but there was naught that she could not overcome. From the Ashall Waste, she made her way West and North, through the Windswept Plateau, hoping to reach the Starfall Isles again. It was in the Scarred Wasteland that they found her. She'd been travelling all day long, and exhaustion had tired her reflexes. She awoke stripped of her armour, chained and gagged. "Not so proud are we, now?" She had not thought that they would follow her that far, especially since she'd found none since she'd put Ashfall behind her. The only thing she could do was glare at her captors, tethered as she was. "That was my sister you took down!" A Mirror snarled. Amarie suppressed an ironic laugh. She too had loved her sister. She knew the mercenary captain would want her alive, as she could not let someone who'd defied her authority so openly be returned only as a lifeless head.
Over the days, she looked for weak points in her bonds. Her chains were made of iron, harsh but brittle enough, and she spent her time gnawing at them, hoping to get free at some point. On the frontiers of the Windswept Plateau and one of the three trackers was away scouting, she exploded into action. Though her legs were still shackled, she was still fast enough, in one swift move, to break the chains around her arms and neck and to lunge for the closest weapon. It was rusty and too short to her taste, but she would take it. The first one she cut on the left leg, aiming for his artery, but the thrust was imprecise and it missed. She was just fast enough to parry the next blow, and her counterattack took the second tracker right under the gorget and in the throat. The first one came at her again, but this time she braced herself, ducked under the blow and opened her from throat to groin. It was just at that moment that the scout came back in, immediately pulling out his cleaver. She could only wait for him to come at her, chained as she was, and when she tried to block his downwards slash, her blade broke in her hand and the cut went straight into her shoulder. It was only when he leaned over hear to give her the final blow - she was obviously too dangerous to keep alive until Ashfall - that, marshaling the last of her strength, she raked his eyes with her claws, darkening his world forever, and slitting his throat with the last of her strength.
She did not know how long she laid there, shivering, her life bleeding away in the bare earth. Live for me, sister was the only thing enabling her to stay alive, to avoid giving up. It was then that they found her, grievously injured, and as her eyes closed, she felt warmth. When she awoke, her wound didn't hurt as much, and she saw with relief that somehow it hadn't festered. The Imperial looking at her was smiling, she saw, and for the first time in - had it been so long? - she felt safe. Yet she could not stay, could not belong, and each time someone asked it she felt better, her answers were clipped and concise. She did not want to get attached to these dragons, could not, and despite being thankful, always retained her cold, haughty manner.
Yet she always kept delaying her departure, taking an ever more active part in the clan's life, and she did not realize it when, for the first time, she came to call Skemmdeljott home. When Ryukyu and Andrasta extended a formal invitation to her, they realized that it was the very first time they'd seen her smile.
╰- - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -╯
╭- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I N F O R M A T I O N - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -╮
ETYMOLOGY - Amarië of the Vanyar is a character in J. R. R. Tolkien's legendarium. She was betrothed to Finrod, an Elven prince, but did not follow him in his exile in Middle Earth. Her name has never been formerly given an etymology, but the words mára, "good" and mar, "home" have both been proposed as an origin.
RELATIONSHIPS - None as of now
LIKES - Fighting, hunting, vitriolic remarks and comments, court etiquette and manners, expensive apparel.
DISLIKES - Unpleasant smells, dirt, snow, pollen, brutal honesty and bluntess.
╰- - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -╯
She would not talk, or open her eyes, that is, and never give any indication of listening to whatever happened outside her own head. The grief-stricken sisters had to take over the clan's leadership, which they did with considerable talent, each with the role they had been groomed for. Yet they could not help but notice how Amarie ever grew more taciturn and her rebuffs more scathing, to the point where only her sister could approach her without receiving a caustic tongue-lashing, and how Lazulite's smile, despite all her friendliness and charm, never quite reached her eyes. And to take care of Celeste, they kept looking for treatments, ever more expensive and ever unsuccessful, from the mages of the Observatory to the primal magic of Dragonhome, caring very little to their dwindling treasury. But as the treasury dwindled, so did the clan, for there was nothing to both pay and care for the retainers. Within months, the once-proud if small clan had been reduced to a band of close followers, who agreed to separate, as the Lady Celeste was entrusted to a hospice in the Starwood Strand where, short of curing her, they would at least care for her.
For a time the two sisters served as mercenaries all over Sornieth. Mercenaries, or sellclaws, were often disregarded by other dragons as naught more than amoral hired killers, ready to fight anyone, be they Beastclan or dragon or even other, more ancient enemies as long as they received their pay at the end of the day. There was no doubt that this was a harsh life. Yet Amarie, if she did not find happiness, at the very least knew contentment. This was what she'd been raised for, and where some found that the battlefields of Sornieth were places to be avoided at all cost, all too-reminiscent of the ages they'd left behind - and who could fault them? - Amarie's blood, when she fought, sang along with her sword just as loud as the winds of the Twisting Crescendo.
Lazulite, however, held no love for battles or war. Though she acquitted herself well enough with sword and claw, enough not to shame herself, when she emerged blood-soaked from the battle, she felt no urge but that to retch. It was not something Amarie could understand, and there was very little support she could give her sister in this. Yet the one thing she could understand was how Lazulite's eyes, which had stopped smiling after their mother's injury, seemed colder and more distant after each battle. Her sister was fading away, and there was little she could do for it. When she told her sister that these eyes and that face had been made for smiles, not tears, the only answer she got was there were few things left to smile for.
It all came to a halt during a steaming night in the Ashfall Waste. Lazulite had been trashing in her sleep, shouting names Amarie could not recognize. Only much later would she learn that those were names associated with the lives her sister had taken. When the reluctant warrior finally burst awake, all she could feel was her sister's slim arms and wings around her, and she started to weep. Not for the first time, Amarie noticed how old her sister seemed, her once-golden skin having paled to a somewhat yellowish tint, her horn crackled and her pearl chipped and discoloured. When she nodded towards Amarie's sword, the other dragoness understood. Her sister had left behind that most important of life's gifts: hope. She did not try to dispute the choice, knowing that it would be futile, and instead clasped both hands on the blade's handle. Lazulite just bared her chest, lay on her back and held her pearl tightly, and Amarie, through her veil of tears, could see that her eyes were not glazed over, for the first time in years. "Farewell. Live for me, sister... Enjoy what I could not." With these final parting words, the blade sunk into her chest and, despite the blood, Lazulite died with a smile on her lips.
That was enough for Amarie, who had no desire to remain where she'd taken her sister's life, and, after a brief prayer to both Flamecaller and Arcanist, she fled, cradling her sister's pearl. She knew that soon, there would be trackers sent after her, and that regardless of the story she told, there would be few dragons to believe her. To the outside viewer, it just seemed murder, theft and desertion all in one, a combination that would guarantee her a long, painful death if she was caught. But she took pride in her skills with sword and claw, and when she met the first hunter, a lean Mirror whose face was barred by a scar, it was she that had found her tracker and not the opposite. Before the mirror could shout for assistance or even draw her weapon, Amarie's blade had flown through her throat, silencing her for all eternity. Her head, she set on a spike, hoping to discourage further pursuits.
Life as a loner was just as hard as she'd expected, but there was naught that she could not overcome. From the Ashall Waste, she made her way West and North, through the Windswept Plateau, hoping to reach the Starfall Isles again. It was in the Scarred Wasteland that they found her. She'd been travelling all day long, and exhaustion had tired her reflexes. She awoke stripped of her armour, chained and gagged. "Not so proud are we, now?" She had not thought that they would follow her that far, especially since she'd found none since she'd put Ashfall behind her. The only thing she could do was glare at her captors, tethered as she was. "That was my sister you took down!" A Mirror snarled. Amarie suppressed an ironic laugh. She too had loved her sister. She knew the mercenary captain would want her alive, as she could not let someone who'd defied her authority so openly be returned only as a lifeless head.
Over the days, she looked for weak points in her bonds. Her chains were made of iron, harsh but brittle enough, and she spent her time gnawing at them, hoping to get free at some point. On the frontiers of the Windswept Plateau and one of the three trackers was away scouting, she exploded into action. Though her legs were still shackled, she was still fast enough, in one swift move, to break the chains around her arms and neck and to lunge for the closest weapon. It was rusty and too short to her taste, but she would take it. The first one she cut on the left leg, aiming for his artery, but the thrust was imprecise and it missed. She was just fast enough to parry the next blow, and her counterattack took the second tracker right under the gorget and in the throat. The first one came at her again, but this time she braced herself, ducked under the blow and opened her from throat to groin. It was just at that moment that the scout came back in, immediately pulling out his cleaver. She could only wait for him to come at her, chained as she was, and when she tried to block his downwards slash, her blade broke in her hand and the cut went straight into her shoulder. It was only when he leaned over hear to give her the final blow - she was obviously too dangerous to keep alive until Ashfall - that, marshaling the last of her strength, she raked his eyes with her claws, darkening his world forever, and slitting his throat with the last of her strength.
She did not know how long she laid there, shivering, her life bleeding away in the bare earth. Live for me, sister was the only thing enabling her to stay alive, to avoid giving up. It was then that they found her, grievously injured, and as her eyes closed, she felt warmth. When she awoke, her wound didn't hurt as much, and she saw with relief that somehow it hadn't festered. The Imperial looking at her was smiling, she saw, and for the first time in - had it been so long? - she felt safe. Yet she could not stay, could not belong, and each time someone asked it she felt better, her answers were clipped and concise. She did not want to get attached to these dragons, could not, and despite being thankful, always retained her cold, haughty manner.
Yet she always kept delaying her departure, taking an ever more active part in the clan's life, and she did not realize it when, for the first time, she came to call Skemmdeljott home. When Ryukyu and Andrasta extended a formal invitation to her, they realized that it was the very first time they'd seen her smile.
╰
╭
ETYMOLOGY - Amarië of the Vanyar is a character in J. R. R. Tolkien's legendarium. She was betrothed to Finrod, an Elven prince, but did not follow him in his exile in Middle Earth. Her name has never been formerly given an etymology, but the words mára, "good" and mar, "home" have both been proposed as an origin.
RELATIONSHIPS - None as of now
LIKES - Fighting, hunting, vitriolic remarks and comments, court etiquette and manners, expensive apparel.
DISLIKES - Unpleasant smells, dirt, snow, pollen, brutal honesty and bluntess.
╰
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