Amiir Yassavi had always been the Amarr Empire. He wasn’t just some noble, either. No, he was the Empire, pure faith walking, an unshakeable believer in its divine right. You could practically feel the conviction radiating off him. As a loyal servant of Lord Ardishapur, he held a quiet kind of power, commanding respect. Anything outside that Imperial Creed, especially those heretic Blood Raiders, just sickened him to his core. They were aberrations, simple as that, meant to be wiped clean. His moral compass never strayed; it pointed directly at the heart of Amarr doctrine.
Then came the assignment. A dark, soul-shredding plunge straight into the darkness he despised. Amiir volunteered, driven by an almost frantic sense of duty, to go undercover among the Blood Raiders at the beckon of Lord Ardishapur. He turned his life upside down. His name? A whisper. His piety? A dangerous secret. All replaced by the chilling mask of a killer. He had to grit his teeth, witness and partake in horrific rituals, and feign devotion to their red god, just to go unnoticed. Every single fake move was a knife twisting in his gut, gutting everything he held sacred. He watched them commit unspeakable things, lived with them, and the constant exposure dampened his spirit, leaving him hollowed out. He was just trying to make it out alive, praying he would get the information he came for and be able to head home.
When Amiir finally made his way back to Amarr space, ragged and scarred, he actually expected a hero’s welcome. He’d done his duty, stared down evils no one should ever see for the Empire. Instead, he walked into a wall of absolute silence. His peers, the same ones who’d praised him before, now just looked away as if strangers, their whispers sharper than daggers. The taint of his time with those Blood Raiders clung to him, like a dark cloud only they could see. They were blind to the sacrifice. They saw a man who’d lain down with blooders, too soiled to ever truly belong again. He was shunned, utterly alone in those gilded halls he used to call home. Their judgment just crushed him. The very faith he’d bled for, the people he’d protected, they had turned their back on him.
It was in that isolation that the old Lord Holder Amiir Yassavi decayed and died. His name stuck around, a hollow echo, but the man it belonged to? Gone. Broken down, then remade in the brutal fires of betrayal. He didn’t pick a new name for himself; he just… became something else entirely. The shattered pieces of who he used to be somehow were drawn into Sani Sabek—a title whispered by anyone who knew his story. A dark, enigmatic shell built around the experiences he now carried. He wasn’t the devout zealot anymore, not just a servant; he was something else, something utterly new, forged right there in the darkness he’d once sworn to wipe out. Amiir Yassavi was dead, and in his place, a Blood Raider was born.