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Ok I lied...kept seeing things to fix after posting it. I tinkered more! Version 2! Lol 🤣 #forsakenshores #forsakenchallenge #seaofthieves #digitalart #procreate #procreateapp #ipadproart #fanart #art https://www.instagram.com/p/BoffXJkHVOE/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1s2exh7kpr8sd
178! Been tinkering away on the #ForsakenChallenge for sea of thieves. Learned some new things! But I think I’m at the point where I need to stop tinkering lol 😅 #ForsakenChallenge #seaofthieves #digitalart #procreate #procreateapp #ipadproart #fanart #art https://www.instagram.com/p/BofFn5FH-NL/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=11vjr216gqc58
Fan art Sea Of Thieves #ForsakenChallenge!
Your Story: A triennial view into Amara’s past.
VI (Six.)
“Run neon tiger, there’s a price on your head. They’ll hunt you down and gut you, I’ll never let them touch you” – The Killers, Neon Tiger
Too big of boots strapped to her feet, a six-year old Amara attempted to make a break for the door. The other village kids were playing, oblivious to the funeral that was due to start in a matter of hours.
A monster had made it into the village and several warriors had lost their lives keeping it from reaching Amara’s hut. It wasn’t the first time a beast had come into the small village, and Anika didn’t expect it to be the last. Every dangerous creature to enter the village had a singular goal in mind: reach their hut.
The other villagers were beginning to grow suspicious, but the woman was quick to dispel their notions, blaming it on all of the food she kept around the hut for her growing daughter whose appetite never seemed to be satiated. Anika wanted to keep her daughter in the dark for as long as possible, she didn’t need to hear her mother’s theories about how the rare strings of illness befalling her were the product of an angry god father who wanted her to be out with the other children.
No, Anika would protect Amara from any demons thrown in her path; she’d never let them touch her. And so, she gently chided the young girl for her escape attempt, avoiding her pleading gaze.
Amara didn’t bother arguing and, instead, huffed before walking over to the sole window in the house. The children continued to play, ignoring the droplets of water that had begun to splatter in the dirt beneath their feet. She’d always liked the rain, from the way it smelled to the way it felt gently covering her skin. Unfortunately, she was rarely allowed to be out in it, her weak immune system attacking her within days of her exposure to it. The girl didn’t let that bog her down, though, and she dreamed that one day she’d be okay and allowed to stand outside with her friends.
So, she rested her head on her arms and watched the rain fall from the cloudy skies as her mother looked on.
“The god’s weep today.“
IX (Nine.)
“I’m a workaholic and I swear, I swear. One day I will beat you fair and square.” – Walk The Moon, Work This Body
A stick snapped beneath a nine-year old Amara’s boots as she raced through the woods. The trees flew past her and, though her lungs burned, she pushed forward. Rikon had finally said that it was time for her to start training alongside the other kids. After years of being cooped up in the house or sitting in the grass watching the older kids train, she was finally one of them. It was all she had ever wanted.
She felt stronger than the other kids, like she was made to run alongside them, in front of them. And that feeling became a reality for a few surreal seconds. Then, the coughing began and her weak lungs were gasping for breath. Amara was forced to stop, hands resting on her knees as she made futile attempts to catch her breath.
She looked up just in time to see the group catch up, her gaze locking on the boy in the lead. Joaquin. He always made it his job to tease her, knowing full well that she wanted nothing more than to beat him at something. Joaquin’s goading grin as he passed made the competitive girl’s blood boil, though there was nothing she could do as cough wracked her small, frail form.
One day.
XII (Twelve.)
“Rise from your cold hospital bed. I’ll tell you, you’re not dying. Everyone knows you’re going to live, so you might as well start trying.” – Regina Spektor, Firewood
The newly cleaned boots of a twelve-year old Amara sat propped against the door, where they had been awaiting use for a countless number of days.
“Calm down, child. You’ll get it soon.”
I’d prefer if soon was now, she mentally grumbled to herself, frustratedly blowing a fallen strand of hair from her eyes.
Bedridden for yet another week without even a prediction from the healer’s as to when she could be mobile again, Amara was frustrated. Her lungs weren’t that bad and her fever wasn’t too serious. Nothing she couldn’t handle from the training ring, prepping to finally take Joaquin on. But, her mother hadn’t left the house and there was no way that she could escape even if the woman had left. Standing was out of the question as her head spun whenever she tried, and walking would surely kill her since her legs ached at the thought of it.
So, she was bedridden and Rikon was forcing her to practice the one thing she hated more than Joaquin: calligraphy. Despite all of his arguments that she was steadily improving, Amara was certain that her handwriting was still awful and it was too late for her to correct it.
Rikon had a soft spot for the stubborn girl, and it showed in his willingness to spend extra time on her schooling and training. She was going to be something one day and the village would be better for it, of that he was certain. Otherwise there would be no reason for the hardships facing her.
Amara was of the same mindset and couldn’t wait until she was sixteen and finally old enough to choose her path. There was no way that she would do any of the jobs requiring her to hang around a room all day. No, she would be one of the warriors, one of the elite few her people looked up to. She was determined not to just be the sick one who was always under her mother’s protective watch.
A cough ripped from her already burning throat, reminding her of her predicament. She flexed her jaw to suppress another one; the brunette refused to allow the cough and its accompanying sickness to rule her. She knew of her godly father and his constant attacks on her life, though she didn’t share her knowledge with her mother, and she allowed his challenges to make her stronger.
One day she would beat Joaquin, prove that she was the better warrior. stronger than him, faster than him, better for the village than him. After all, who better to protect a village than someone who had spent her whole life protecting them and owed them the same in return?
Until then, she’d practice her hideous m’s and disgraceful q’s.
XV (Fifteen.)
“And the walls kept tumbling down, in the city that we love. Great clouds roll over the hills, bringing darkness from above.” – Bastille, Pompeii
The gentle spring sun warmed the faded leather of a fifteen-year old Amara’s boots.
She stood in the sun, allowing its bright rays to bathe her body in warmth. It was the first time in weeks that the cloud coverage had broken enough to allow the sun to shine through and the brunette was quick to take advantage of it. With her mother out and afternoon lessons still hours away, she was free to simply enjoy the weather.
So, she walked through the village to see if the redhead she’d taken to sparring with was interested in getting an early start. Emile had been assigned to train Amara back when she had first shown interest in becoming a warrior. Rikon didn’t take the safety of the village lightly, he knew of the benefits of starting early and, knowing of Amara’s great desire to get into the ring despite her history, had paired the brunette with the patient but fierce hunter.
Emile was the best warrior and hunter in the village, and everyone knew it. Her arrows never missed their target, her sword never failed to make contact, and her versatility was unrivaled; she could do or be anything. Amara had always admired her, so being marked as the warrior’s apprentice, as it were, was a dream come true. And she never stopped thanking Rikon for it.
When she neared the older girl’s small house, she found the redhead restringing her bow. During Amara’s walk, the sky had slowly grown clouds and the sun’s rays were now blocked but she didn’t think much of it. The sound of her boots must have announced her arrival, because she could see the smirk forming on Emile’s face.
"Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked, not moving her gaze from the smooth wood in her hands.
“Not when there are better things to do.”
A cocky smile on her lips, Amara was pleased when she didn’t even need to state why she was there.
“Go and get your sword, we’re working on your technique today.”
She didn’t need to be told twice and immediately raced back to her room to retrieve the weapon. The front door was just closing behind her, celestial bronze sword in hand, when she spotted her mother across the way after a morning trip to the river. Amara smiled at her, a smile that the woman returned.
Then, the thundering sound of massive paws echoed throughout the village.
XVIII (Eighteen.)
“Time can heal your wounds if you’re strong and standing tall. I’ve been doing all of that, it didn’t help at all. They say ‘You’ll grow older, and it’ll get better still’. Yes, I will, but no it won’t.” – Lukas Graham, You’re Not There
Faded leather boots firmly planted in the soil surrounding the climbing wall, an eighteen-year old Amara stared down at a yellowed piece of paper.
It had been folded way too many times and the edges were torn and worn smooth with age, but she stared at it with all of the fondness in the world. The co-captain of the guard ran her fingers over the dark graphite marks. The paper had been the only thing aside from her sword that she’d brought with her to Haven, though she rarely removed it from its place in her jacket.
Gasping for air through the streams of tears rushing down her face following the hellhound attack, her fifteen-year old self had reached into her pocket and found it. It was a note from her mother, a simple one stating that she’d gone to the river and hoped to be back before Amara woke. Amara had always been an early riser, so waking up before the girl was something of a game between the two. If Anika was able to pull it off, they would celebrate in some way later in the day.
The woman had been crossing the camp when the hounds had rolled into the village, had stared death in the eyes as the monsters charged towards her on a path to destroy her daughter. She had remained, unflinching, in front of her daughter until her last breath.
Amara knew that the sight of her mother being brutally ripped away from her would never leave her memory, no matter how many years separated her from the event. It would always hurt, which was something that the brunette had resigned herself to accepting. And maybe that was a good thing. The pain and resulting rage that had filled her was formative, she had felt herself change. Now she knew that she didn’t want to ever feel that amount of rage course through her veins again, no matter how powerful she had felt. Power wasn’t everything, being able to protect those in need was. Her mother had died doing just that and Amara was prepared to do the same.
The sight of the guards lining up in her peripheral vision roused her from her trance and she was quick to pocket the paper, leaving only the dull ache of loss in her chest.
Facing them, Amara locked her jaw and erased any trace of the emotions flooding her head just seconds earlier. Her hands were clasped behind her back and she gazed upon them expectantly.
“Alright, who’s first?“
Finch Moodboard -> Internal
“I know - I never thought I'd be able to kill someone. The first time it felt wrong. Which is good, right? But now... it feels like winning.”
Do you know the definition of insanity?
Finch could hardly care who his father is, the man had nothing to do with his upbringing so what’s the point. The curse of insanity is a blessing in his opinion, he loves every minute of the madness.
Challenge 1: Playlist
Finch isn't crazy, he's just a little mad sometimes. He has two sides to himself, the kindhearted young man who is empathetic to others and the vicious bloodthirsty monster his clan loved him for. It was thanks to him his mother was able to continue her life along with his two younger sisters. On some basic level he cared for them but he's partly relieved to have them gone.
Capt. Willow Kane --> Internal Moodboard
“I never wanted to be a leader, I just wanted to sail, but I know what I’ve been called to do-- and I’m not happy about it.”
