Aramia,The Lonely Chick
Written by Jordan
The hot summer winds swept across the plains of Balor, rustling through the small villages located at the base of Mt. Miaara, the shape shifting mountain shrouded in mystery. Next to the serene majesty of Mt. Miaara lay a surprising sight; a smoking and charred wasteland of spent supernovas and failed boomerangs.
At the base of Mt. Miaara, one could make out the outline of a massive, dull blue facility pulsing with a teal fog of ethereal energies. The occasional thwack of the boomerang and fizzling of a fireball could be heard emanating from the grandiose marble entrance which faced the mountain. The surrounding villages were built with a wide berth from the facility, for good reason. The facility was known to occasionally release giant bouts of flaming gas and waves of razor sharp boomerangs. It is said, according to a Unaxion paladin who had once gotten close as it happened, that one could hear the raging screams of Aramia as she tossed out apprentices wielding unstable supernovas and sent them flying to the wastelands to released the pent up energy.
It was the Miaara Mage training academy. The head of the academy, the young Balorian beauty Aramia, founded the place by conjuring the academy piece by piece. Planning the academy was arduous and conjuring the place put incredible strain on Aramia’s ether flux output, but she preserved and eventually had to herself the grandest academy in Mt. Miaara.
Inside the academy, Aramia was briefing an army of mini Aramias in preparation for the domination of the heavily contended promised land. The land know to all as Qoowick Maach. There, champions would send their mini clones to fight for Rayting, the ego boosting resource vital to the survival of the very lands of Balor.
Aramia did not have the favor of the Balorian gods, being a newcomer, and hence her favorite soldiers, the Aetherborn wisps, were constantly demanding higher wages for less than proportional increase in fighting ability. She would not tolerate such discrimination.
She flung aside all Balorian reinforcements, instead focusing on training up an elite army of mini Aramias whose sole purpose was to eliminate the enemy commander in combat, hence causing the remnants of the opposing army which hadn’t been immolated or petrified, to flee. It was simple, and her innate abilities supported that purpose appropriately. Ethereal energies were generally harmless in nature, unless you moulded them in a certain way. A certain razor-sharp-boomerang way.
A sharp screech emanated from the Tome of Knowledge. Aramia consulted it immediately. The Tome was her only source of information of the event unfolding in the lands of Qoowick Maach.
There. On the plains on two-fifty Rayting, a Yari army marched unchallenged, led by the undefeated Boris skullcrusher. A small amount of Rayting resource had materialized in the area, and he was hoping to take it. She responded immediately by sending a mini Aramia through The Great Portal.
” Burn him to the ground, Aramia 6C.” Aramia yelled as mini-Aramia 6C passed through the portal.
Aramia 6C felt a surge of spacial energy pass through her very being, and when she opened her eyes she found herself where she expected to be; on the plains of Rayting two-fifty,land of Qoowick Maach.
The Yari army acknowledged her presence, trumpeting a challenging tune and raising their war banners.
The battle had begun.
Aramia began charging up her magical reservoirs as Boris gave the command for his trusted Bladedancer to advance.
As the Bladedancer inched closer, she began to tap into the ether, gathering a reasonably sized ball of ethereal flux. She mumurred the spell of rigidity, followed by the incantation of form. The result: a shiny platinum chainvest worthy of Amber’s personal blacksmith.
The Bladedancers lanced forward with his spear, catching her in the upper torso but failing to cut her down, leaving no visible damage on the chainmail but certainly knocking the breath out of the young mage who stood before him.
Aramia was done charging. She fired a fireball worthy of Loest at Boris and charred his armor. Certainly not fatal, but there would be many more to come. A strange red number four hovered over Boris’ head for a moment. Aramia never understood what it meant, but such was the quirkiness of Qoowick Maach.
Boris was obviously enraged by the fireball, working himself into a blood frenzy characteristic of Balorian’s oldest warriors. He began furiously writing letters requesting for more reinforcements, attaching them to messenger pigeons and sending them off. And he would have them. A column of smoke rose in the distance, signalling the intent for Boris’ backers to send more soldiers.
Aramia took opportunity to fling another fireball at Boris, which further charred his armor to reveal the exposed flesh underneath.
Boris’ reinforcements had arrived. He sent forward a Gaderi Babarian and a man dressed in rags from the cold north. The man was swift indeed; he had arrived before Aramia before she even realized he was coming. She raised her hands in anticipation, but the man simply glared at her. The giant finger hovering on the screen behind him did not seem to bother tapping him and giving the command to attack.
“Nice shiny armor you got there, eh?” The man said, before sulking off back to his leader.
This time, Aramia tapped into the forces of nature, summoning forth two bolts of lightning to strike Boris and the unfortunate Bladedancer who stood too close to him. Boris’ plate armor was struck off, but he remained standing, tall and proud. The remaining Babarian fell to his knees, consumed by the fearsome illusions Aramia cast upon him.
He sent forward two more blade dancers and a Braxnorian temptress, whom began a steady advance on her position.
A good percentage of Aramia 6C’s training had taught her to handle situations with overwhelming odds. It was not pleasant but she conjured and fired a massive supernova, reducing the Yari forces to ashes and burning both herself and Boris.
Boris reacted appropriately. He sent forth a Unaxion Paladin, resistant to the magics that Aramia had proven herself worthy of. A smirk formed on his face and he advanced forward fearlessly.
Aramia winced as she chanted the incantation of Medusil, transmorgrifying the paladin into a majestic statue. Her flux output was drying up fast. Her nerves seared with pain with every drop of magic that she willed. She would have to utilize the amulet of conjuring she had brought in order to sustain herself.
Boris was visibly upset. All his advances thus far had not had any success. He gave Raven all his useless crippling blows and sent her forth onto the battlefield.
Aramia activated the amulet. Cool magical flux coursed through her veins, invigorating her and restoring her ability to cast more spells. She conjured forth her iconic razor boomerang and flung it towards Boris, nicking him in the shoulder before returning to her, its energy spent. Boris doubled over, panting from the strain of the blood frenzy and the repeated magical assaults on him.
Raven charged forth, lashing at Aramia with her bladed whip. But it was too little and too late. Aramia had the gasping Boris in her grasp now.
There! Boris was leaning onto the paladin statue for support!
“Nothing like igniting the Unaxion symbol of Anti-immolation.” she mused to herself, as she chanted an incendiary curse.
The statue burst into flames, singeing the beard off Boris and causing him to recoil backwards in shock. Yes! It was just as Master Aramia had taught her! Flaming statues would win the battle!
In her final salvo, Aramia detonated the statue with the spell of dawn raid, reducing Boris to a smouldering pile of Lythian armor and charred flesh.
A green curtain began to descend from the sky. The words “waiting for opponent… ” appeared on the plains. Such was the quirkiness of Qoowick Maach.
Two bags of Rayting descended from the sky of Balor, a gift courtesy of the gods of Balor. Aramia 6C gathered them up quickly. Master Aramia would be pleased.