Story
Amaxia stood alone on the quarterdeck long before dawn, her spear planted upright beside her like a silent companion. The rest of the crew still slept. She preferred it that way. The early light could not hurt her, and the shadows could not surprise her, and the quiet felt like something she could trust.
She lifted her spear and moved through a slow pattern, each motion deliberate. Not for strength. She had that. This was for control. For the knowledge that every part of her body obeyed her alone. The Empire had tried to break that certainty, and she refused to let them keep even a splinter of it.
Footsteps creaked behind her. She froze. A man’s steps. Heavy, careless.
It was one of the sailors starting the first watch. He paused, watching her with open curiosity.
“You train early,” he said.
Amaxia did not answer. She turned her body so the rising sun was behind her and he had to squint to see her face. Her spear tip hovered just above the deck.
The sailor raised his palms. “Easy. I only meant to say you move like a warrior.”
“I am one,” she said. Her voice was flat. “And I do not need your approval.”
He blinked and stepped back. “Did not mean anything by it.”
“Good,” she said. “Then say nothing.”
He retreated quickly, muttering to himself. When he was gone Amaxia lowered her spear and let out a slow breath she had not realized she was holding.
She resumed her practice, but her movements had gained an edge. A little sharper. A little faster. A reminder to herself that strength was more than muscle. It was vigilance. It was control. It was never again giving any man the space to decide what she was.
Only when the sun rose fully did she allow her stance to soften. She touched the spearhead and whispered a quiet promise to the empty deck.
“I stay strong,” she said. “They do not get to break me twice.”
Then she lifted the spear again and trained until the rest of the crew woke.

Background

Amaxia was born in the deep forests of her homeland among the Amazons, a people who lived by the bow, the spear, the sword, and the unyielding belief that no empire had the right to command them. She grew up running through pine shaded paths, training in spear drills before she was tall enough to hold one properly. Her life was strict, but it was hers. Her strength was celebrated. Her spirit was sharpened. Her pride was a fire that everyone expected would carry her into leadership one day.

When the Empire raided her village it was not for conquest. It was for punishment. The Amazons had defied imperial demands one time too many. Amaxia fought until she was beaten senseless, then dragged from her burning home and chained. She woke in a cage far from the forests that had shaped her, surrounded by iron and the smell of fear.

She swore she would never bow, even though her world had already been taken from her.

Enslavement

The Empire did not treat Amazon prisoners as simple slaves. They treated them as trophies. Amaxia was sold into a brothel that specialized in exotic cruelty. The men who came there did not simply want her body. They wanted to break the idea of her, the enemy of the Empire, the female warrior who was a violation of the natural order. They wanted to break, humiliate and degrade her into something small and obedient.

The punishments escalated each time she resisted. She gave them no satisfaction. She held her head high. That infuriated them. The beatings grew worse. She lost count of how many times she woke unable to stand.

Junia was assigned to treat her wounds. At first Amaxia saw only another imperial tool. But Junia’s hands were gentle. Her voice was steady. She looked at Amaxia with compassion rather than disgust or amusement. Amaxia hated needing her, but she could not ignore the difference.

After the third treatment in a single week Amaxia could tell that Junia was reaching a breaking point of her own.

The Escape

The night Junia appeared at her cell with a stolen key Amaxia thought she was dreaming. The chains clicked open. Junia whispered to run. Amaxia grabbed her by the wrist and together they slipped through the brothel halls, avoiding guards by inches.

Amaxia had no plan except to fight until she died free. Junia had no plan except to find some path that did not end in recapture. What they shared was desperation and a fierce refusal to return to the lives they had escaped.

When they collided with Skarnulf in a dark alley both sides lashed out, each thinking the other an enemy. Only when Skarnulf’s pursuers reached them did they understand the truth. All three were running. All three were hunted. All three had more enemies than strength.

The brief fight that followed was a whirlwind. Skarnulf fought like a stalking predator. Amaxia like a storm. Junia like someone who had never lifted a blade before but would sooner die than stop. They survived because they worked together without meaning to.

By the time they reached the docks they were bound by the strange trust born of shared terror.

Life Aboard the Blue Marlin

When they reached the waterfront the soldiers were close behind. There was no time to choose wisely. The next ship leaving was a narrow vessel with outriggers and strange lines that Amaxia had never seen. The Blue Marlin. They scrambled up the gangplank. Scarnax listened to their frantic pleas, judged their desperation, and ordered the sails raised.

For Amaxia the ship became something she had not felt since childhood. A place where she did not have to bow. A place where she could sleep without expecting the door to open for more abuse. A place where her strength was valued instead of punished.

She works as part of the marines, though she still calls them fighters, not soldiers. She takes pride in her body, in her muscles, in the power that was nearly taken from her. She trains on deck at dawn with spear and shield, moving with the fluidity of someone taught from birth.

At first she chafed under Scarnax’s command. Obedience felt too much like submission. It took months to understand that Scarnax commanded out of need, not ownership. After that she followed orders more easily, though she still challenges any command she deems foolish. Scarnax lets her, because she is often right.

Personality and Temperament

Amaxia speaks in clipped phrases. She wastes no breath on softness. Her gaze is sharp and her temper fierce, yet she is not cruel. She simply refuses to pretend. She sees the world in clear lines. Strength. Weakness. Cowardice. Courage.

She distrusts men instinctively. She does not hide it. But she is learning that some deserve trust. Scarnax earned it slowly. Pelonias earns it with silence rather than words. Skarnulf earns it with loyalty. Nasheem earns it by never letting charm mask his respect. The others she watches carefully.

Though she carries a facade of amazonian machismo, sometimes the facade breaks, and the hurt young woman shows through the cracks. She tries to hide it, even from herself, but it is still there, underneath the surface. Amaxia has a quiet side too, though only Junia ever sees it. She sits beside Junia during late night watches, staring at the stars without speaking, letting the calm roll over her like a tide.

Relationship With Junia and Skarnulf

Amaxia protects Junia without hesitation. Junia saved her life in the only way that mattered. Not with healing, but with freedom. Amaxia calls her Little Light when no one is listening. She knows the healer is stronger than she appears, but she keeps her close all the same.

With Skarnulf she shares a warrior bond. They understand each other without needing many words. They spar often, both too stubborn to stop until Caelin intervenes. Their partnership in battle is seamless. Amaxia breaks lines. Skarnulf exploits openings. Together they are frightening.

They are three fugitives, tied not by obligation, but by survival and choice.

Roleplaying Notes

Amaxia speaks in short sentences. She prefers action over discussion. She stands close to those she trusts and far from those she does not. She dislikes crowded markets and closed rooms. She never sits with her back to a door.

She reacts badly to reminders of captivity, even small ones. She snaps at gentle teasing, but softens if Junia or Skarnulf intervene. She is protective, proud, stubborn, and fearless, a living reminder that strength is not the absence of pain, but the refusal to bow to it.

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