Legends of Belariath

Ikuri

The desert elf known as Ikuri was born of a pair of Desert Hawks; members of a small group of raiders centered in the sands far from Nanthalion. Here, she grew up fast and hard, raised communally by her tribe to hunt and fight. She was unique in her community; her amber eyes were a rarity, marking her as one of the few in her small group that had a predisposition for being able to harness the forces of magic.

She soon grew into a striking young woman, with long, powerful legs from days of running, silky black hair, a toned, lithe frame, smooth desert-tanned skin, a sharp tongue, and feral intensity in her amber eyes, when it suited her.

Like all of the members of the Desert Hawks, she was educated in the art of the blade, in horseback riding, survival, and in the use of the bow and arrow. With the community having no mages of their own to speak of, once she had come of age, Ikuri was forced to work out her budding magical talent on her own.

The amber-eyed elf worked hard, and eventually cobbled together a few simple spells which served the raiders well – lightning drawn to her fingers, the ability to sneak past enemies by magically willing them into unconsciousness, and long-ranged bolts of air, which would send sentries into dazes. While more than effective against the raider’s usual targets; caravans and sleepy, smaller towns, the magic was rudimentary at best, and that would prove to be the raiders’ eventual downfall. Ikuri soon rose to a position of prominence within the group, thanks to her talents with the blade and magic, and eventually challenged and defeated the leader of the small band of raiders in single combat, for leadership of the Desert Hawks.

Under Ikuri’s command, the Desert Hawks swept through their region like an angry sandstorm, laying waste to all in their path, thanks in part to Ikuri’s magic and leadership. The martial prowess of the group was an amazing thing to behold, and their black arrows darkened the skies, raining over their foes frequently and without remorse. The raiders grew brash and reckless, flush with pride after their own victories, and struck out at better-defended targets, adding blood and coin to their holdings, reputation becoming infamous throughout the desert trade routes.

One of the Desert Hawks’ informants had received word of a slaver’s guild caravan passing through their stretch of desert, reportedly lightly defended, and ripe with gold and opportunity. The raiders struck at the slaver’s camp at nightfall… but they were nowhere near ready for the power that awaited them.

The informant had been paid off to draw the raiders in, and once the fierce band of desert warriors was deep enough within the camp, the hidden ambushers struck, hard and fast. Powerful fire magic ripped through the starlit sky, striking down half of the band before they could rally back and counterattack. When the dust cleared, all but Ikuri lay dead, corpses charred beyond recognition by the powerful magic. The mercenaries the slavers had hired had suffered many losses as well, black arrows littering corpses by the dozens, blades buried in chests and skulls. The Desert Hawks had not fallen without a fight.

Ikuri had been spared, in a manner of speaking, marred with damage, stripped bare and bound in tight ropes and manacles, suspended at waist level from a series of poles with legs lewdly spread, after a long duel with the leader of the slavers, a mage himself, a much more learned one than the self-taught elf. She was no match, in the long run, her rudimentary magic and swordplay eventually overwhelmed by the slave master’s much more potent arsenal of spells. She ended the duel suspended for all to see, hate burning in her amber eyes, centering on the man who had ordered the deaths of her family, her allies, her beloved Desert Hawks. Lips let loose a seemingly unending torrent of vile curses and threats, but in the end it was to no avail. She was defeated and captured, and would never forgive herself for it.

The backstabbing informant had tipped off the head of the band of slavers to Ikuri’s unique eyes and talents with the blade and magic and, predictably enough, she was to be taken as a slave. The proud leader of the Desert Hawks was chained, beaten, and raped repeatedly by the band of slavers, though the girl never broke, not once, never submitted, despite all manner of humiliations and torture visited on her lean form.

Years passed. She was kept as the guild master’s personal slut, raped day and night by the leader of the guild and whoever else he deemed worthy to touch her, kept caged in his room, let out only to be used by him, or to exercise and run under heavy guard, to keep her frame lean and toned, the way he liked. Here she learned the arts of pleasure, as despite her pride, she realized that in order to survive and find a way out of this personal hell, she needed to appear broken to his will, and fully intent on his pleasure, or that of his many mistresses and associates. As his favored slave, she was very well kept, fed well, groomed, kept unblemished by any lasting damage, but every night she’d find herself, at the end, back in her cage, collar around her throat. One day, she promised herself, he would find himself with her blade buried in him, chest-deep, the last thing he sees before parting this mortal coil being her glimmering amber eyes.

Ikuri was taken along with the rest of the guild’s spoils towards a new town, Nanthalion, far from her desert home, where the slavers were set to sell the remainder of their cargo off to the locals. Two weeks before the group reached the town, with the guild master away from camp discussing business with a group of potential buyers, Ikuri managed to escape after seducing one of her guards, and snapping the man’s neck with her strong legs. She swept through the sleepy camp like a vengeful wraith, stolen black dagger slitting throats, charred flesh from her still-potent lightning magic left smoking in her wake. In the end, the encampment lay silent, drenched in blood, the slaves freed by Ikuri and slaughtered by panicking guards as the ragged band of would-be property rioted. After dispatching the remaining stragglers, Ikuri vanished into the surrounding countryside, only wishing she could see her tormentor’s face as he returned to find his source of profits crushed, his cohorts dead, and a note, written in smeared blood, pinned through one of his mistress’s gasping chests, speared into the wall over his bed, suspended there with a crimson-stained fire poker, bearing six words:

“Desert Hawks bow to no man.”

Living off the land for a while, having acquired a meager amount of coin, the dagger, and some rudimentary clothing from the wreckage of the encampment, Ikuri eventually did make it to Nanthalion, determined to shake off her past and find a new life, so far from home as she was. Hardened by her experiences, no stranger to the harsh reality of life on this world, the amber-eyed elf would find Nanthalion much to her liking, settling easily into the rough, brutal world she found herself thrust into.

She’d carve out a niche for herself here, she was certain, but someday… someday she would track down her former antagonist, and make him pay for every single injustice thrust upon her, thrice over. She is patient and intelligent and stays quiet about her past while in Nanthalion, relearning skills long disused, new talents mastered, her magical repertoire expanded, resources marshaled, and eventually… eventually she would follow through with her revenge, and give her fallen comrades peace. Despite it all, she was still, at heart, a Desert Hawk.

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