Molpadia, an Aelfborn Huntress, was part of an Amazon Guild called Ama’Zeo.

– – – – – – – – – –

“Time to be consigned to the Flame, Halfbreed!” a large man in blood red armor yells as he brings down his fiery sword. Beneath his blade, a young Aelfborn girl cringes, burying her eyes beneath her arms as the sword sweeps down.

“By Phaedra, this child shall not be harmed!” The blade of a spear thrusts between the small space between the child’s head and the fiery sword, blocking the blow.

Slowly, the Templar’s eyes follow the blade to the owner of the spear, only to come face to face with a woman encased in armor.

“Ah, another Halfbreed,” the Templar scowls as he lifts his blade and moves his attention to a new target.

“Watch your tongue, firebrand, lest I be forced to pull it from your mouth.”

The Templar, momentarily taken aback by her words, raises his sword and attacks. Quickly moving aside, the warrior woman deftly swings her spear, bringing it to the back of the Templar’s knees and knocking him onto his back.

“You will die for this insolence, mongrel” he screams.

“I was thinking much the same,” the woman says as she places her spear to his throat. “Where is your God now, Templar? Has he abandoned you?”

“Blasphemy!” He screams, his face turning as red as his armor. “You shall die for…”

“No, it is you who shall die.” With a single thrust, the woman silences him.

Moments later, she walks back to the girl and outreaches her hand.

“Come with me, child.”

The girl slowly lifts her head, her eyes large and yet full of dread and remorse. “My parents… they killed…” but before she can say any more, her voice cracks and is replaced by sobs.

“Come with me, child,” the woman repeats. The child grasps her hand and slowly regains her footing. The woman leads her out of the dark alley and they walk to a nearby inn.

After getting a table and ordering some food and drink, she finally speaks again.

“What is your name, child?”

Crumbs falling from her mouth, she replies. “Ayrwen. What is yours?”

“Molpadia, although it is not my birth name.”

Confused, Ayrwen puts down her piece of bread. “What do you mean, not your birth name?”

“I am an Amazon, little one, but I was not always one. There was a time when I was like you… I had parents who loved me and felt sorry for cursing my existence with the madness of the Aelfborn.”

Ayrwen stops and stares, but Molpadia says no more. Please continue,” she asks after a few moments.

Molpadia grabs a cup of water and slowly drinks it. After placing it back upon the table, her eyes meet that of Ayrwen’s.

“My parents brought me to the Church that was on the outskirts of our small town when the Madness was upon me, hoping they could help where my ‘magical tattoos’ had not. Unfortunately, the Church in our homeland was more… militant. They used… unorthodox methods to try and heal me and when my parents learned of this, they tried to stop them. I escaped but they paid the price for my survival with their blood. Even worse, this was but 20 years prior to the Turning… when my parents died, they died for good.

“My escape did not go unnoticed. No sooner was I out the Church’s gates was I pursued. Phaedra must have smiled down upon me, though. I was trapped in an alley… much like you were… when a lone Huntress saved me, slaying three of the men who chased me, and driving off the rest.

“Her name was Tecmessa, Princess of the Prothoe. It was her who named me Molpadia; the Song of Death. She brought me back to her tribe and trained me in the ways of the Huntress.

“I remember my first day of training as if it was yesterday…” Molpadia’s eyes no longer stared into Ayrwen’s but rather saw times past.

” ‘The time has come to choose… to be the mistress of your Fate or a perpetual victim.’ Tecmessa told me. ‘The fates have marked you, get use to it. And, because other lives depend on yours, if you are found wanting, it is they who will pay the price. The others may be tolerant of your shortcomings. I am not. If you are to stand by my side in battle, then I will make certain you are worthy of that honor. Do we understand each other?’

“It was then that she taught me the First Rule of the Blade. It is one of the first things that helped me control the Madness that is our heritage.”

“What is the rule?” Ayrwen asked.

Molpadia stood up and grabbed her spear, slowly moving through a variety of battle stances and attacks. “The Weapon is the extension of the Flesh, the Flesh of the Mind, the Mind of the Soul. For the true Warrior to survive in Combat and emerge triumphant, those elements must function in harmony. That is the First Rule of the Blade.”

Molpadia met Ayrwen’s eyes again. “It is time for me to go, child.”

“Will you take me with you?” she begs more than asks as she jumps out of her chair. “Will you take me back to your tribe?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot.”

“Why? I have no one else to turn to… my parents are gone and I’m unsure when or where they will reappear in the world.” Tears slowly stream down her face.

“Because, little one, my tribe is gone. They were destroyed by a horde of Undead shortly before the Turning. I was their Princess… and now I am the last.”

“Then take me with you!” Ayrwen cries as she grabs ahold of Molpadia’s arm.

“You cannot stay with me child…”


“Because I would be your death. I was there the day my Tribe was decimated… I was their leader… and if I could not save them, how would I fare any better with you.”

Molpadia grasps Ayrwen’s hand. “But, I must travel near the Briar King’s lands. They shall take care of you there.”

And with that, the two of them left.