Basically the Avatar. Deal with it.



A monk from lands far to the north, Korra is trained in deadly martial arts and elemental attacks.


Born into a nomadic tribe wandering the northern wastes, Korra was quickly identified, by the pheonix-shaped birthmark running the length of her back, as a sybil of the Gods. Fulfilling its obligation to ancient religious rites, the tribe ventured into the mountains above the wastelands to deliver the infant Korra to monasteries hewn into the cliffs. There Korra was nurtured and raised by the few females monks. From the men she learned to meditation, martial arts, and an attunement to nature.

As a sybil, Korra’s exceptional prowess was expected. Growing into a frame of lithe, wiry muscle, she could best the most promising of her male peers. The older monks, almost all men, looked down upon Korra as an impetuous woman. But she was undeterred, and carried heavy sacks of flour on her back up and down the mountainside to prove herself equal to the young men. It was impossible to deny her abilities, and in time she earned a grudging respect from the other monks.

Yet Korra’s position in the monastery grew increasingly fraught with politics. In her thirteenth year, she took the monks’ oath of tranquility and pacifism. But her bullishness proved incompatible with the monks’ day-in and day-out meditation. The council of elders whispered disapprovingly of her temper, her aggression, her impatience with the ways of the spirits.

Korra’s status as sybil afforded her some protection from the monks’ dismissiveness, but her true source of strength was Larava, the head of the council of elders and the only woman to earn the title of master. Larava implored the council to be patient with Korra, promising that Korra would come to fully embrace the ways of the monastery. But Larava had reason to fear her own promises. Rumors from a town on the mountainside below the clouds rose up to the monastery on drafts of hot air. Peasants talked of a monk who stole down the mountain to face street toughs in the late-night brawls.

One night, Larava left the monastery in disguise and ventured down the mountain to confirm her suspicions. Coming into town, she followed the sounds of whooping and hollering to a dingy, lantern-lit bar, where man after burly man failed to land a hit on an opponent half his size. The challenger, hooded to obscure the face, simply dodged about, laughing impishly before each man, exhausted, submitted to a flurry of punches and acrobatic kicks that left him flat on the floor. As the mystery combatant left the bar, Larava stood outside tapping her foot. Korra was embarrassed, and begged for mercy. Larava remembered her own oaths to pacifism, but could not bring herself to punish her protege.

But word of Korra’s actions spread to the monastery, and the monks’ vitriol toward Korra grew. Before long, she was brought before the council to answer for breaking her oaths. Larava, too pressured by the council to protect Korra any longer, was forced to banish her from the monastery.

In the night before she was forced to leave, Korra meditated feverishly. The spirits’ messages were frantic now; they panicked. In her vision Korra felt an evil rush forward, borne on a northerly wind. The burning island appeared. Korra watched flames engulf the lighthouse again and again. When the dawn broke and the monks came to escort Korra through the monastery gates, they found her still in lotus position on the floor, picturing scorched bodies on black sand.


Tales of Draeth cweinshenker