So I passed my 100 marker for followers just a little while ago and have been trying to think of something to draw for you guys, but then I got to thinking, with all the lovely Follow Friday specials people have been making, why not, instead of celebrating my rise in followers, encourage the same increase on other blogs worthy of your time? Thus, I’m doodling not-Odins! I’ll try to keep this up for a new RP blog every Friday, but I make no promises.
Who is this? Amora the Enchantress, classic Thor universe villain extraordinaire. A sorceress who can compete with the likes of Loki and Karnilla, she will use not only her impressive magical abilities but her stunning good looks and sex appeal to get what she wants: the love of the Thunder God. And if she cannot have him, no one can.
Why should you follow this person? An-enchantress-my-love adds some much-desired depth to Amora, fleshing her out with psychoanalysis straight out of the DSM and a back-story where nearly none is provided by Marvel. Her actions throughout comics are analysed both from the perspective of character, and from the perspective of profitable industry, so multiple aspects are taken into consideration. The core character remains self-serving and treacherous, but her actions and moods are still clearly understandable and sympathetic. An-enchantress-my-love writes flowing prose that fits well with her character’s lascivious charm, and she is always down to wreak some havoc—and you all know we love a good villain.
And because I’m a nerd, a quotation that reminds me of this character:
Vpon a bed of Roses she was layd,
As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin,
And was arayd, or rather disarayd,
All in a vele of silke and siluer thin,
That hid no whit her alablaster skin,
But rather shewd more white, if more might bee:
More subtile web Arachne can not spin,
Nor the fine nets, which oft we wouen see
Of scorched deaw, do not in th’aire more lightly flee.
Her snowy brest was bare to readie spoyle
Of hungry eies, which n’ote therewith be fild,
And yet through languour of her late sweet toyle,
Few drops, more cleare then Nectar, forth distild,
That like pure Orient perles adowne it trild,
And her faire eyes sweet smyling in delight,
Moystened their fierie beames, with which she thrild
Fraile harts, yet quenched not; like starry light
Which sparckling on the silent waues, does seeme more bright.
The young man sleeping by her, seemd to bee
Some goodly swayne of honorable place,
That certes it great pittie was to see
Him his nobilitie so foule deface;
A sweet regard, and amiable grace,
Mixed with manly sternnesse did appeare
Yet sleeping, in his well proportiond face,
And on his tender lips the downy heare
Did now but freshly spring, and silken blossomes beare.
His warlike armes, the idle instruments
Of sleeping praise, were hong vpon a tree,
And his braue shield, full of old moniments,
Was fowly ra’st, that none the signes might see;
Ne for them, ne for honour cared hee,
Ne ought, that did to his aduauncement tend,
But in lewd loues, and wastfull luxuree,
His dayes, his goods, his bodie he did spend:
O horrible enchantment, that him so did blend.
—Edmund Spenser, The Fairie Queene II.xii stanzas 77-80