Avyanna Maeve's page

About Avyanna Maeve

Avyanna Maeve was born Tarri to a couple belonging to a nomadic tribe that travelled up and down the Borderlands from town to town and received her birthname from Lake Tarik, where she was born.

It was obvious to everyone in the birthing hut that she wasn’t normal. A protruding forehead, purple skin, an unruly tail; these were things that could be dealt with. But the legs of a goat?

However Farrah, her mother, named for Farholde, and Eren, her father, named for Daveryn, had been trying for a child for so long that they feared that Tarri would be their only chance of being parents. So they hide her abnormalities best they could, or explained them away. The protruding forehead: birth defect. Purple skin: lack of oxygen or warmth, they told others she was overly sensitive to the cold climate of the Borderlands. The tail and the legs were hidden away, at first by blankets, then full piece clothing, then long pants, dresses and skirts accompanied by cleverly made boots. They thought that they may have needed to tie her tail down, but it kept itself out of sight, at least when others were looking.

But as she got older, not only did her features become more prominent, her protruding forehead maturing into a set of ram-horns, but Tarri herself began to become more daring, asking questions as to why she was different, why she needed to hide. She was told it was because she would be killed if anyone knew, if anyone saw her. Why? Because she looked like a monster. But her parents would keep reminding her that it was her choices that decided if she was a monster or not, not her appearance.

Years past and to her surprise, and often shame and guilt, she found she hated her tribe. She hated them for never having anything nice. For not having houses like in the bigger cities. For always wandering, never settling, never staying in nice places. She had seen the glamour, wealth and comfort of the cities, even the towns looked better to her.

For the nomads were always about need, not want, about survival, not comfort. They had no passion, no ambition, forever was their life of wandering back and forth across the Borderlands. She hated them for it.
She hated her parents for never letting her explore the cities, talk to the people. They kept her locked away. No matter how much the nomads believed their life was that of freedom, that they avoided the trappings of city life, everywhere Tarri went she was a prisoner.

One eventful winter’s night, a stranger came calling upon their camp. His clothes were colourful and stylish, and he spoke in a way that she hadn’t heard before, not this close anyway. He wanted to stay a few nights with them, until they parted on the crossroads to Daveryn, with Tarri’s group heading to the coast. In exchange, he told them fantastic stories of adventure, lust, love, and wealth beyond imagining. He made the lights dance and sway when he sang, and captured the whole tribe as he moved about the fire. He made himself appear older, younger, he even turned himself into a woman! This, thought Tarri, this was the key to the cage she was in. And so, when the lights went out and others went to bed, she went to him and begged him to teach her how to make others see what she wanted them to see, to become enthralled by her, to love her, praise her. She wanted to know how.

A few days turned out to be much longer, with harsh storms and various attacks lengthening their travel. So she learnt. By this age, she was dressed in a full body covering gown, much like a barqa. While she couldn’t show him her hands, the claws that had become her fingers prevented her from playing an instrument. Her voice was her talent, that and how should move her body. She loved dancing for him, how his face would slacken and his smile broaden whenever she had successfully mastered an illusion or charm. After all others had gone to sleep, she would practice her illusion and look at herself in the small mirror she had stolen from the last town they were in.

By the time they had to go their separate ways, she had learnt more from this human man than she had ever dreamed she could. She knew of tales full of excitement, romance, danger, trickery, betrayal, hope and of people and creatures who overcame their simple beginnings to become legends immortalised in tale and song. She knew how to create light, counter spells, make others unaware, have them be her friend, and to make herself look human. He had been the first person she had shown her human self to, everything, and this lead to the final lesson he had taught her. One of physical passion, satisfaction, and of how pain and pleasure could meld together into something otherworldly.

The looks on her parents faces, and on the faces of the tribesmen, and even some of the women, when she walked out of her tent the next day in traditional winter clothing. Clothes that hugged her body, allowing her to flaunt the woman that she had grown into without anyone noticing.

She revelled in the way they would shower her with compliments, argue over who got to sit next to her at meals. Everyone now had something to show her, to tell her, or had something they wanted to do with her. And she had things she wanted to show or do with them as well.
Now possessing the power of beauty and manipulation, she had to learn how to use it. She kept with her tribe a few more years, into her young adulthood, to have safe passage between the main cities along the Borderlands. She absorbed their tales, their music, culture, dances.

Now that she could hide her appearance she was free to wander the cities, hang around taverns, bars, brothels. But she knew that the life of a common entertainer, a whore, a nomadic woman, these were not the paths for her. Her aim was much higher than that. Much higher than anyone could’ve believed.

It was on the rare trip to Daveryn that Tarri decided to bid farewell to her ‘family’. They had served their purpose, providing her with shelter, food… practice. Some were sad to see her go, others conflicted, many women glad that they would no longer have to worry about where their sons and husbands wandered to. She had saved a decent amount of money, and knew many ways in which she could easily earn more. There was a feast, she wouldn’t have bothered if they hadn’t at least done that much for her. As far as she was concerned, she was the most INTERESTING thing that had happened to this sad, aimless group of people in a very long time, she deserved to be seen off with nothing but the best they could offer, which is something that she still scoffed at in her mind, but at least they knew that she was the most important thing they had ever given to the world.

Carrying the many gifts she had been given, (even one of the stallions!
She knew snuggling up to the sons of the more influential members had been a good move. Even those members themselves if it so called for it) she gracefully made her entrance into her new life. First item on the agenda: a new name. Tarri the nomadic girl wasn’t the enchanting, mystical, exotic name that this charming and alluring bardess needed. Tarri wasn’t going to be remembered further than the tents she was raised in. Tarri didn’t even have a last name!

She needed a name with meaning, one she could identify with. And she found it through a passing group of clerics and religious cloths. Maeve being something akin to a Goddess of Song, dating back before Talingarde was as prosperous and well-known. Goddess of Song? She could learn to live with that, but she needed another one. The name that would become her first was told to her by a cultist Sorcerer in a shady tavern she had charmed her way into. Very strict, and rightfully paranoid and cautious, after a few drinks they had somehow gotten onto the topic of his mother. He had been saying (quite a few times) that she was strong, beautiful and powerful, a dangerous beauty. She had smiled and nodded but when he said that she lived up to her name, her curiosity shone through. What did he mean? All names had meaning, apparently. This she hadn’t know, her whole tribe being named after places or trades. This sorcerer’s mother’s name had meant strong, beautiful, powerful woman. And her name had been Avyanna. She had her name. A name she would make known, praised, feared and worshiped throughout the whole country. A name that she could relate to, that was as mystical and enchanting and desirable as she was. Born of clerics and cultists: Avyanna Maeve.

From that day she began building her reputation. Never being seen in place she thought herself to be better than, though that didn’t mean that she never visited, Avyanna began learning all the tricks and workings of the higher classes. She loved all things beautiful, elegant, graceful, expensive, and spent countless amounts of other people’s money to appear as such. Because she was, and she wasn’t going to let her beginnings stop her from being what she was ever again.

As the years past, and much to Avyanna’s utter thrill, she realised that she didn’t age as humans did. She hit 25 and her body stayed the same. Not just in appearance, but in health and stamina. On top of every other piece of ‘proof’ she had acquired, this meant beyond possible doubt that she was truly something extraordinary and meant for greatness, wealth and power.

By this time, she had gained a fair amount of reputation among the higher circles, particularly in the capital. Time went by and she watched the gentlemen that she would court, and accompany to dances, balls, and all other manner of social gather, wither away. They died while she stayed young.

She had gained ‘followers’ as some might call them. Obsessive fools who were convinced that they were meant to be with her, who would shower her with lavish gifts, even start fights over her. She loved it, the attention. Being loved and wanted. But she had her eyes set. She knew where she was meant to be, and what she was supposed to do.

She was meant to rule, to govern. Watching the hunts of the worshippers of the Prince of Hell, Asmodeus, the burnings, the beheadings, the fear and hatred. This is how a kingdom should be ruled, and she knew she’d be perfect for the role. But Talingarde had a king. And the king had a daughter. Minor complication, but it didn’t come without a hint of worry. She didn’t know how long her youth would last. She would do as she always did, charm, seduce, and promise her way into the wedding bed of the king, or onto the throne of Talingarde.

That was the plan, until she was caught and charged with attempted murder. Now her name had been run through the mud! Decades of work, of careful planning, of staying on the good side of the law, wasted! She couldn’t take it back, her name had been tainted. HER. NAME.

She would never go back to being Tarri! She would never throw away the name she had built for herself, of those dreams of ordering about a whole kingdom! So all of Talingarde wanted her dead? Did they think that they were better than she was?!

No, she’d show them all. And this time, she wasn’t going to beat around the bush. She tried the proper way, the respectable way, and they had thrown it in her face. She have them all scrubbing floors and cleaning stables, they’d be begging to get into her good graces when she was through.

She was done living as a human, by human rules. She would follow the rules and laws of someone she could understand, saw eye-to-eye to. She had delved into minor worship of Ardad Lili, one of the whore queens.

She found that they had much in common, including the preference of daggers, seduction and charm. Perhaps it was time to seek the guidance of a more powerful diety.

She had lost everything, and she wanted to make sure that they lost a thousand times more than she did.

She would serve Asmodeus. And she would be Queen.