Formora
What can be said about this gremlin that she hasn't already shouted from the mountaintops herself? She was an angry wreck of a woman that never missed an opportunity for a fight. She wore her long, unnaturally red hair up and back at all times, mostly so her targets couldn't miss the glare of her vibrant blue eyes. She could have been beautiful if she ever stopped sneering and snarling at everyone she met. She was tiny, barely a hundred pounds soaking wet, which enabled her to practically float around a field like a demon. She had one of the most static journeys of all the thirteen; I don't think any power in nature is strong enough to change her.
She was born in a town on the southwestern tip of Alagaesia and left on the doorstep of an old fisherman. He died in her very early memories, so she lived briefly on the streets. When she was about eight years old, she ran into the man that would become her father and mentor; First Mate Squall and his long-suffering cat companion, Capt'n. The two of them led The Foul Strumpet with a crew of men who were more conscious of profit than discretion… pirates. Squall took her in as a cabin boy and his (unofficial) adopted daughter.
She became the woman I knew in those years at sea. She knew how to protect herself well enough to earn some respect, especially after the incident that earned her nickname. While in port, a man-made an unwanted advance. When he wouldn't take no for an answer, she bit off the top joint of his pointer finger. Her crew immediately hailed her as "Sea Hag" in reference to the legend of a cannibal ocean ghost. Soon enough she forsook the cook's apron strings to man the crow's nest as she was gifted (and cursed) with extreme farsightedness, at the trade-off that she never really bothered to read. She became a terror with a bow, often able to sight targets without them even noticing her. Her crew was her family, and she was their beloved little hellspawn.
Until the storm.
Driven north by a pursuit out of Teirm, Strumpet ran headlong into one of the infamously devilish storms that gather between Vroengard and the mainland. Their craft was simply ripped apart, sending nearly twenty men (and one cat) straight to a watery grave. Formora was the sole survivor when she washed up on The Island's rocky beach. She would still have died of her wounds had not the riders found her. As is, she slept through a fortnight and many of them believed she would never wake. Her mind must have latched on to *******'s in her egg because, by the time she woke, she had a dragon hatchling slumbering peacefully on her chest.
She was a haunted, rage-filled mess. She lashed out at everyone and everything. ******* did her best to keep her calm, but she was fighting a losing battle. Her training was a miserable experience. Her vision had made her a terror on the seas, but in a classroom, she was utterly useless. She also devastated her fellow students in sparring matches so badly that they didn't want to make eye contact, let alone partner with her. She maintained this cheery disposition straight up through her graduation.
After that point, I know almost nothing of what befell her; the only one she told was Morzan, and he refused to disclose the information. All I know for certain is that someone in a position of power brought her to a secluded place with the intent of her never leaving it. Morzan and I found her there, bleeding out in the Hadarac, a very injured ******* curled around her. By this point, we had exactly one eldunari that was actually subjugated, which proved to just barely be enough to save them both. She then turned all that listless anger into a beam focused on exactly one thing: vengeance.
Her time in the thirteen was marked mostly by unrest, both in our war and the decades of governing after. She never missed an opportunity to cause trouble for everyone (self-included). To call her a strong personality would be a disservice, she was indomitable. Morzan was very fond of the rabid woman, to the point where the two fostered an almost playfully violent…. Friendship? No one could take a beating like Morzan, but then few could give one like Formora! The two would often start raucous rounds of drinking songs and sea shanties that invariably ended in most of the others joining in (such a massive voice coming from such a tiny body!).
In her personal affairs, she was always private. I know she always longed to head back out to sea, but with *******'s failing mental state she could never bring herself to do it. She was also a deeply superstitious soul. As the wreck's sole survivor, she never really relinquished the idea that she was a font of ill-fortune for those around her. In fact, any symbol of bad luck, no matter how obscure, could send her into one of her rages. Her only soft spot was for the seemingly endless parade of stray cats that made their way into her estate. Her favorite of the bunch was a grizzled alley cat, a grey blob of fur with a missing eye and profound overbite, that she affectionately named, you guessed it, Squall. His descendants lived with her right to the very end of her life.
And what an end! The thirteen died from a massive array of causes, almost as if they were trying to outdo each other. Formora, the stubborn shrew, was one of the last surviving members. I know that her dragon died in an incident a week before the woman herself. I spoke to her only once before the end, and in it I understood it to be our last meeting. I understand better than almost any other the pain that ringed her piercing eyes, and the seething, impotent outrage. She decided to remain in her estate with a small cache of eldunari despite its isolated nature for one reason alone: slaughter. I flew out myself to see the carnage she left behind. The Varden's assault may have killed her, but it certainly cost them dearly. For every wound she suffered she struck back, killing droves with every tool at her vicious disposal. It was exactly the sort of curtain call she wanted.
It would be easy to write Formora off as a tragic case of anger consuming a person too far. In reality, anger was only a facet of the woman. She was brutal, but she was proud and brilliant too. She was skilled, world-wise, tenacious, and fearless. She fought like a cornered badger to protect her family, as disjointed and odd as we were. She never failed to tend to her dragon, even when she was lost in her own mind. In many ways, she was a big part of the fire that fueled the thirteen. I cannot picture our efforts without her.
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Hiiii! Am I cranking these out too fast? Probably! Am I going to slow down? No, I am not. Probably. I want to finish the project before I lose steam. So yeah! R+R if you've got the time.
