Amanda af Hartenfelt

[Kronan]

Eyes: Blue
Hair: White blonde. Very long.
Age: Early 20's
Height: 1,69m
Build: Athletic
Languages: Common. Chondathan.
Race: Human

Demeanor:
Amanda always tries to be polite, to strangers as well as friends and even close relatives. She speaks with an obvious chondathan accent. Very much seeks to enjoy herself in various delights such as feasts and spa’s. Amanda seems open to most things. Respects the laws and views of the places she visits and people she meets, even if she disagrees with them.

Appearance:
Thick and long, white blonde, hair collected into a cormyran* braid that reaches all the way to her tailbone. If her hair would be loose, it would probably reach the back of her thighs. Her eyes are clear blue. As a user of various scented oils, she is most often surrounded by a pleasant scent, most recently she seems to favor vanilla and lavender. As a devout student of a weapon, she has a very athletic body and good stamina. While she may not be able to lift as much weight as others, her vigor takes the form of speed and endurance. Even without her vigorous training, it is clear that Amanda cares for her appearance in every way possible.

Common clothing:
Amanda is most often seen in training clothes. Light beige lambskin boots. White, tight-fitting riding breeches. A white chest wrapping. A blue and beige leather vest. She is armed by at least one of her blades as well as her knife.

Common armoring:
She wears a dark grey plate armor consisting of plates, chainmail and leather. The armor is designed for riding, sacrificing the full covering of plates for mobility and lower weight. Over her armor she wears a white and purple scapula. On the chest it is embroidered with the crest of her house, a rose layed on a heart on a field of grey. Along with her swords belt, Amanda wears a utility belt with pockets for various equipment. Her cormyran adventuring license is fully visible, fastened on her left breast. Amanda wears a dark grey bascinet helmet in a common cormyran style. The crest of her house is etched on the left side cheek.

Common equipment:
Two rapier-like blades in black sheaths on the left side of her hip, worn in a style that is reminiscent of eastern warriors. Amanda have an array of vials and bottles in her utility belt as well as adventuring equipment in the saddlebag of her horse. In only a few situations is she seen without her knife.

Weapons and combat:
She is well known to wield a rapier-like blade, sometimes together with a tower shield. At times she wields two of these blades, often when mounted and almost always when she fights by the side of a more defensive partner. As many cormyran nobles, high or low, Amanda prefers to battle while mounted. She rides well but insists that she is no more than a novice student of both riding and mounted combat. Amandas fighting style ranges from defensive to very offensive. She often utilizes her speed and nimbleness for quick and precise thrusts and slashes. Deflecting incoming attacks or evading them she searches for openings to cut veins, tendons or spines.

Common knowledge:
Born into a lesser cormyran noble family somewhere outside Suzail. Came to Narfell in search of adventure. Studies fencing and is a frequent visitor to Stargazers training hall. Is surprised of the lack of sparring games in such an uncivilized land. Is an even more frequent visitor to spa’s. Delights in bodycare such as manicure, pedicure, hairstyling, massaging and more. Known to sleep well into the dinnerhour. Has a room at the Regal Maid. Enjoys fine dining. Complains about the chaotic nature of, well, -nature- and remarks that it would be much easier to travel through if not for the lack of way signs and spa’s.

((*cormyran braid=dutch braid or french braid))
((Mock theme song: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WyBSoV6Rb0A)

[Kronan]

[Kronan]

The first bodies appeared near noon.
Half-eaten. Broken. Dragged.
Amanda dismounted immediately.
Ice-blue eyes scanned disturbed earth and snapped branches.
“Three trolls,” she said calmly. “Possibly four.”
Reemul crouched beside broken wagon remains.
“Heavy movement west.”
Amanda pointed toward the forest.
“They dragged prisoners.”
Not ‘someone.’
Prisoners.
Professional detachment. Necessary.
Together they tracked the creatures through marshland and old ruins swallowed by forest roots.
Eventually Amanda raised a hand.
Movement ahead.
A troll scout emerged from the trees carrying a crude spear.
Reemul started forward immediately.
Amanda caught his arm.
“Wait.”
Then she vanished into the shadows.
The troll sniffed the air.
Too late.
Amanda exploded from darkness with terrifying speed.
One rapier pierced beneath the jaw. The second severed tendons behind the knee.
The creature collapsed screaming.
Reemul finished it with a brutal downward strike from his scimitar.
Efficient.
Clean.
4
Then the forest answered the scream.
More trolls emerged.
Large. Hungry. Fast.
The battle erupted violently.
One troll charged directly toward Reemul.
Perfect.
He absorbed the impact behind his shield with crushing force, boots digging into mud as steel and
monster collided.
Amanda exploited the opening instantly.
Her rapier drove through exposed ribs.
Another troll swung toward her flank.
Reemul intercepted the strike with his shield before it could reach her.
Their combat rhythm became instinctive.
Amanda created openings. Reemul controlled space.
Amanda struck arteries, tendons, weak points. Reemul endured pressure and held formation.
The battlefield reflected their personalities perfectly.
She was movement. He was stability.
She was precision. He was endurance.
Then blood appeared.
A troll claw ripped across Amanda’s side.
Not fatal.
But deep.
5
Reemul saw the wound immediately.
Too immediately.
His aggression surged dangerously.
Amanda recognized it at once.
“Focus!” she snapped.
The single word grounded him.
Together they killed the remaining trolls beneath rain-soaked pine trees.

They found the prisoners alive within old ruins beneath the hills.
But Amanda’s wound required treatment before they could safely travel.
That evening they made camp beside a still forest lake.
Reemul cleaned blood from her side carefully while Amanda sat near the fire.
She never complained.
Not once.
But he could see tension in her shoulders each time cloth touched torn flesh.
“You should have let me take that hit,” he muttered.
Amanda looked at him flatly.
“That is not how shields work.”
A reluctant smile appeared on his face.
“You are impossible.”
“You are overprotective.”
“Correct.”
6
That finally earned a quiet laugh from her.
Later, after the rescued prisoners slept, Amanda walked toward the lakeshore alone.
Moonlight reflected across dark water.
Reemul followed eventually.
“You nearly lost control today,” Amanda said quietly.
“At myself.”
“You nearly lost yourself because I was wounded.”
Reemul looked away briefly.
“I nearly lost you.”
There it was.
Always the same truth beneath everything else.
Amanda stepped closer and rested a hand against his chest.
For her, such gestures carried enormous meaning.
“You hold the line,” she said softly.
“And you remind me why the line matters,” he answered.
That night they rested together beneath heavy cloaks beside fading firelight.
Not fragile. Not dramatic.
Simply close.
Two exhausted warriors allowing themselves a rare moment of peace.

Morning brought the true horror.
The trolls had a leader.
7
A massive armored troll marked with burned symbols and crude metal plating fused into flesh.
Someone intelligent had organized them.
The battle inside the ruins became catastrophic.
Reemul held the creature’s attention while Amanda searched desperately for weaknesses.
The monster regenerated faster than ordinary wounds could stop it.
Then Amanda saw it.
A ruined eye. Old scar tissue. A weakness.
“LEFT SIDE!” she shouted.
Reemul understood immediately.
He slammed forward behind his shield, forcing the creature to expose itself.
Amanda moved.
Fast enough to appear unreal.
She vaulted from broken stone directly onto the troll’s back.
One rapier pierced the ruined eye.
The second drove through the base of the skull.
The troll collapsed with enough force to shake the ruins themselves.
Silence followed.
Mud. Rain. Heavy breathing.
Amanda nearly fell afterward from exhaustion.
Reemul caught her before she struck the ground.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Amanda pointed weakly toward a fleeing smaller troll.
“You missed one.”
Reemul stared at her.
Even wounded, she smirked slightly.

He sighed deeply.
“Of course you noticed."

They returned to Peltarch three days later.
The council celebrated quietly. Merchants praised them loudly. Rumors spread immediately.
Amanda ignored most of it.
Reemul tolerated it.
But later that evening they stood together atop the city walls overlooking torchlit streets and distant
rain.
No politics. No trolls. No war.
Amanda rested quietly beside him.
And for once, neither needed to be blade or shield.
Only human.

[Kronan]

“You are already calculating which nobles deserve to be thrown from the balcony, aren’t you?” he
murmured.
Amanda’s lips twitched faintly.
“Only two so far.”
That earned a quiet laugh from him.
But before the moment could settle, Councilor Edric Vael approached.
The older politician wore layered robes of deep crimson and gold, but the exhaustion in his eyes
betrayed real concern.
“Lord De’Costa. Lady Amanda.”
Neither corrected the titles.
Vael lowered his voice.
“There has been an incident north of the Black Mire.”
Amanda immediately focused.
Good.
Reality had entered the room.
A merchant convoy had vanished. Survivors spoke of organized troll attacks. Worse still, a political
hostage had been taken alive.
Officially, the council would deny involvement.
Unofficially, they needed professionals.
Reemul’s expression hardened immediately.
“Trolls don’t take prisoners unless someone is directing them.”
Vael nodded grimly.
“Exactly.”
Amanda folded her arms.
“How many dead?”
“Seven.
That was enough

They departed Peltarch before dawn.
Amanda changed from silk into dark riding armor layered over chain and leather. Her twin rapiers
rested at her hips, elegant and razor-thin, designed for speed and precision rather than brute force.
Reemul prepared differently.
Heavy shield. Curved scimitar. Layered armor built to absorb punishment and hold the line.
Watching them prepare together revealed the essence of their relationship.
Amanda sharpened blades. Reemul reviewed maps.
Amanda tested movement and mobility. Reemul counted supplies and planned routes.
Different minds.
One system.
They rode north through dense pine forests and ruined trade roads, Amanda’s white horse flowing
almost silently through the terrain while Reemul’s darker warhorse advanced with heavier, deliberate
power.
Neither needed constant conversation.
That silence between them never felt empty.
It felt trusted.

[Kronan]

The Ball of Peltarch

Rain glimmered across the stone streets of Peltarch as torchlight reflected from polished carriage
wheels and wet marble steps. The city hall rose above the square like a cathedral of politics and old
power, its banners hanging heavy in the evening mist.
Amanda af Hartenfeldt stepped from the carriage first.
Her gown shimmered in pale silver-blue silk embroidered with delicate metallic patterns that mirrored
the color of her ice-blue eyes. Sapphire earrings swayed softly against her neck while silver jewelry
rested elegantly against pale skin. Her long platinum-blonde braid fell down the center of her back
almost to her waist.
Then Reemul De’Costa emerged beside her.
Dark velvet and polished ceremonial armor framed his broad shoulders, while the curved scimitar at his
hip hinted that the man beneath the noble appearance was still a warrior. His expression carried the
same controlled intensity Amanda had come to trust.
He offered her his arm.
Not possessively.
Respectfully.
Amanda accepted.
Together they entered the Hall of Peltarch.
Inside, the ballroom breathed politics.
Merchant princes traded smiles sharper than daggers. Armored nobles observed each other across
wine-filled tables while musicians played elegant court melodies beneath vaulted ceilings.
Amanda disliked rooms like this.
Not because she feared them.
Because too many people here spoke without meaning what they said.
Reemul noticed the slight tension in her jaw immediately

[Kronan]

[Kronan]

A letter

Dear Marcus

I do so hope that this letter reaches you.

I want to tell you that, against all odds, I am alive and well. I have garnered an adventuring liscence and I have reached the title of master giant slayer. I have met a man and I think he is good. I respect him and he takes good care of me. I think that you would like him, Marcus.

How is ma and da? If you could, please give them my best, We parted on wrong terms and I truly wish them the best indeed, yes.

If you could, please bring my best regards to Robert the brave, Thomas the bold and Peter the fox.

I do love you all, indeed, yes

Dearly
Your sister
Amanda