Ahria T'Dani

Ahria was born into the proud Askari tribe, a nomadic warrior clan native to the far upper desert regions of Meshana. This insulated, fiercely independent clan was renowned for two unique qualities — their female-dominated leadership and their Rite of Passage when passing into adulthood, known as the Vakasha Journey.

After a sickness had claimed most of their male warriors many generations earlier, the clan had adapted to strengthen under the new circumstances. Primarily, Askari began to value its female fighters more as clan leaders and elders, training them to be quick-witted and dependable as versatile providers for the tribe. Firm traditions were set in place in order to guarantee every member of the clan had leadership capabilities and was confident to step up in the event of another loss. Each member was also expected to excel in physical combat and survival skills, including hand-to-hand and weaponry skills, to ensure their safety when faced by a more territorial clan. Those that showed combative promise were allowed to settle for a short period to cultivate a blessed magic seed, which would bestow great magical prowess on the caretaker, and become an even more valuable warrior for the clan.

The secondary method was the more peaceful Vakasha Journey, which involved sending a fledgling Askarian girl out into the greater world to seek knowledge of value before returning to the clan. The journey sought to improve the tribe's knowledge of the outside modern world, whilst still preserving tradition and the nomadic way of life. Medicinal knowledge and blessed seeds were highly prized amongst things to be brought back, due to their immense rarity and almost mystical properties, as well as precious items like bright crystals, believed by the clan to hold the spirit and knowledge of the ancestors.

Ahria thrived in this rigid upbringing, always eager to partake in training with the elders. She had a hunger for knowledge and new skills, throwing herself whole-heartedly into the most difficult of tasks, if only to prove she was capable of achieving things far beyond her age and youthful size. Only one other newt her age could keep pace with the voracious Ahria; Khiana. She was a small, runt of a lizard, and often sickly, but it only made her more determined to catch up to Ahria’s training and milestones. They were near inseparable, the most faithful of friends and dedicated of sparring partners. Where one went, the other followed, never more than a tail-length away.

They were both gifted a blessed seed when they turned 100, a great honour for the two newts. Many nights were spent lying under the stars together, cupping the small seeds to their racing hearts and fantasising about what bloom might stem from their plant. Would it be a flower they had never seen before? What kind of magic lived inside that tiny seed? They would find out weeks later, when one blossomed into a white gravel ghost wildflower, adorned with frost, the other a brilliant tangerine ranunculus with leaves like crisp paper.

It seemed a shame to eat such beautiful blossoms, but it was a necessary sacrifice to access the magic stored inside each petal. The bitter, unpleasant taste was something they had both expected. A grimace and a suppressed smile saw them through that part. The sand swirled at her fingertips where she kneeled, a rush of something exhilarating coursing through her veins. She turned to her friend with a wild, giddy grin, seeing it mirrored there, veins of frost glittering on Khi's tan face like a cracked geode. Ahri pulled the smaller beastie close, breathless and excited.

"We're florets, Khi. We finally made it."

The adjustment period of training as magic-users, known as Florets, and testing their new limits went smoothly for the most part. Khi's more excitable nature something made her spells unstable, but it was nothing they couldn't manage in training. Everything was under control. It would have stayed that way, if they hadn't crossed into a territorial dispute between two other settled clans a few weeks later. They were scouting, a long way from the rest of Askari, when a group of snake beastkin mistook them for beasties from another clan.

Fighting a battle they hadn't expected with the new, mostly foreign element of magic, made Khi a dangerous concoction of too much overthinking and hestitance. She let out a shrill screech when one of the beasts sank their fangs into her side, glossy lilac venom staining her skin. They were no stranger to injuries, but ones with poison were rarer — and often more fatal.

Ahria panicked; this wasn’t supposed to happen. The elders had prepared them for anything— this was just supposed to be a simple scouting venture.

She scrambled over, desperately stripping the cloths from her belt, trying to wrap her friend in them and stop the bleeding somehow. All at once, she was terrified of magic and scared for their lives, wondering what they'd done wrong. For all their training and dedication, early dawns and cold twilights, something had gone so terribly wrong. She cradled and soothed her as her frozen tears dropped into the sand like small crystals, shaking into Ahri's chest. She carried her across the dunes, all they way back to their troupe, murmuring the whole way.

“I promise I won’t leave you, Khi. You'll be okay. I’m not leaving until you’re okay."

Her reassurances fell on deaf ears. Khiana did not wake, nor respond when Ahria spoke, nor when she lifted her gently, or shook her shoulders. The only thing that calmed her was the slow, shallow breath that came and went, barely there. She was asleep, apparently peacefully.

At least, that’s what Ahria told herself in the following days when she remained comatose. The moments she didn’t spend training and honing her new magic, she spent caring for her friend, always willing to be the one to carry her when the clan moved again. Dissent began to grow around the burdensome body the nomads had found themselves with. Ahria fiercely defended her friend, but each passing day seeded doubt in her young mind.

Eight achingly long days passed before Khiana would open her eyes again. Ahria wept for the friend she thought she had lost, embracing her. She was weak and terrified of magic, but awake, and that was all that mattered to Ahria. Khi never quite recovered— she remained weak and sickly, often curling over the poorly healed wound on her side. She was in no state to leave the clan, much less travel into the unknown. All the dreams they had shared since they were hatchlings of travelling and exploring the world together had frozen on that night. For the first time in their 125 years together, they would be separated, and admitting that crushed her heart.

Ahri would have to brave the Vakasha journey alone. Once she reached 125, she left the clan with a heavy heart and a parting gift from Khi. A spool of metal thread, for crafting the clan’s message kites. It had been beautifully polished and pulled, the wooden spool itself decorated with hand-painted designs and their names.

“Make sure you bring it back. I don’t want this to be the last time I ever see you.”

“I promise.”

On that very night, she knew what she sought to return with. There was nothing more important in the world to her than finding something for Khi’s condition. She spent time travelling before she found Azaria, a hub for magic training, knowledge and expertise. If there were ever a place where she could learn more about magic and healing, it would be that guild. She set off to join them as an official floret, to give her time away from Askari structure and purpose, as well as bring her closer to her goal and ability to return home.