Afrothunder Arnoux

Born to the alloyed cities of Gallente Prime, I grew restless beneath glass towers and rhetoric. Freedom, I was told, was an end in itself. But I saw its underside — a populace so enamored with liberty they forgot compassion, their joy built on the indifference to distant suffering.

In the Caldari State, I sought structure. And for a time, found it: clean lines, order, purpose. But it was a cold clarity — a law without soul, a machine without mercy. The people obeyed, but their hearts were quiet, their eyes turned inward. It was not obedience, but resignation.

I found the Scriptures by chance. At first, a discarded thing — a gift passed to a foreigner in a foreign dock. The cover creaked. Pages clung to one another, unread. Now, each leaf opens to me like a sun-bathed wing. They no longer whisper — they speak.

I come to Amarr not as a thrall, nor as a blind convert, but as one who has walked the lengths of lesser empires. I believe now: freedom means little without a higher purpose, and order means nothing without the freedom to choose it.

I seek a place among those who would balance both — not to rule, but to serve. If the path leads through flame, let it burn away the lesser, that I may be reforged in the light of something greater.