[center][h1] Sylia [/h1] [h3]Honored Dead[/h3][/center] [hr] She stood before a fresh grave atop a lonely hill. Wildflowers with their rich aromas ran wild, fluttering as if gently touched, through the blowing breeze. The wind swept up, ruffling her hair and then down over the hill, off to distant fields and the far away wall. Where the breeze went next was anyone's guess, not even she knew. It was silent otherwise, on that hill in the growing twilight. The sunlight,just beginning to enter its nightly slumber. A respectful atmosphere for honored dead. The gravestone, carved from the Atelier’s white marble, was a singular slab with a simple but elegant lily draped across the top. The craftsmen had taken every care. She could not help but know it would be a fleeting replica. In time, even with the utmost care and consideration, someone would forget one day to maintain it. That day would bring more forgotten days, until it was overgrown and at last crumbling into rubble. She clutched her fist at the certainty of it. Toil’s work forevermore marring what was created. Below the lily and engraved into the stone with silver, the grave held an epitaph; [i]‘Here lies Vaesna, a savior of Sylann. Beloved, may she find peace.’[/i] What would fade first? The words written or those of whom remembered her? Would the flowers remember, at least? She did not like the answer. She couldn’t take her eyes off the lily. Unable to understand why it had happened. She was no stranger to death, she had slain with impunity but this… One of her own creations? Sylia could not fathom what had transpired in Vaesna’s mind to push her to drown herself. It shouldn't have happened. The Syllianth were better than the other races, for she had used her own hands to shape them. None could say so save the Formed and compared to the Syllianth, they were but tools created for war. To be used. Not the Syllianth, they were supposed to be like her, creators, crafters, protectors, innovators… Not prone to self destruction like the other races. For that was what it boiled down to. She knew of Althea. How the girl had secluded herself from the outside world. She had shut everyone out. Had stopped working. Had left her spear at the Atelier. It seemed Vaesna handled her problems much differently and somehow not at all. Sylann knew of the tragedy, the Syllianth mourned and it made Sylia wonder if there were others who were unable to move past the battle. If they were incapable of separating their emotions from logic. The battle occurred. People died. Mortals died everyday. There was no sense in dwelling on that fact. Was there? She could bring Vaesna back, it was in her power to do so. She could ask her what had happened. Why she had done it? If she would do it again? But there was no point now. It was better to let the dead rest and learn from such terrible tragedy. Oh yes, she would take many lessons from this but first, she had some crafting to do. So Sylia walked away from Vaesna’s grave, down that hill colored in flowers, past her honored dead. [hr] The Divinium Rod, transformed into a blade, cut in twain the outer beast spawn. There was no sound as its body split apart, the cut too clean. More rushed her, their Warden, and she let the sword do its work. She let those lucky enough to reach her in their rage, to attack an insurmountable block. The plate of their once chieftain, now fashioned into armor. It enticed them so that they did not care who or what she was and how they would die. The sword cleaved through three more, guts and viscera adding to the growing pile around her. Black blood ran like a river through the dark sands, yet more came and more died. The dull gray plate of Egrioth was impenetrable by mortal means, perhaps even those of the divine. In her elated state of crafting, she had spent the most time upon it. Molded like a statue of old, of metal, stone and of Egrioth. She did not make it ornate or beautiful but of pure practical design. It was armor, it would protect its wearer. There were also the other godly parts she had been gifted. Not knowing where the process would take her, Sylia had descended into true compulsion. From the gift of Lareus she fletched into being a dream. It took the shape of a great horn of ivory and bound with sleeping eyes. It now hung at her side, ready to be used. She melted down most of the soul gift until it was a clear liquid. Next the Goddess has taken that liquid and shaped it into that of a large circle. When it cooled, she dared not look at it and changed her own shape so that she no longer had eyes. Using her other senses to act, Sylia silvered the glass and in doing so, knew with certainty she had created a mirror. For the frame she used her own divine metal, sylium and let her fingers wander as they etched and carved reliefs and images few would ever see more than once. From the last bit of the soul she was gifted, Sylia wove from its thread an ethereal cloth, large enough to cover the mirror. When that was done, she turned it over and reinforced the back with more sylium before fastening a sleek handle. When the shield was complete, Sylia changed her form so that she had eyes once more and marveled at her work. With the cloth only obscuring the full extent of the mirror’s gaze, she could look upon it without worry. She saw her own muffled reflection blazing with light underneath the cloth. She had looked away and did not wish to see what else it would reveal. She had the mirror now in that bloody field and revealed it to the spawns who swarmed her. Without removing the cloth, any who’s gaze pierced the mirror fell silent and still as stone. Then, their faces twisted in some unknowable horror, and the life from them was leeched as they died. Sylia laughed, removing the cloth for the mirror’s final test. Those spawn who looked at the Mirror of Souls, lost their own and Sylia bore witness to the godbanes might, as it pulled them into it with quiet screams, leaving empty bodies behind. It seemed that the spawn did indeed have souls after all. She no longer laughed and instead brought the horn to her lips and blew. A whimsical note exploded forth and those outer beasts in earshot all fell down. Asleep, as they would be forevermore, until they succumbed to exposure or their own nightmares. She had heard the note but sleep did not come to Sylia for she was the note giver. The Goddess observed the field of battle and then plucked from person the real aim of this excursion. She had gone to her prison for one reason- a slaughter. But the small bit of Divinium in her hand, her last pure reserve, still glowed white. She frowned. She had failed in producing Misrite. But this did not wholly bring her dissatisfaction. Perhaps… Just perhaps there was another way to get it and she knew one way or another, her two favorite prisoners would find this place and maybe, just maybe, they would make for her what she sought. Sylia erected a plinth of black stone and placed upon it the shard of Divinium. She whispered upon the prison winds, “Come and find it, boys.” [hider=Summary] Sylia ruminates upon Vaesna’s suicide and comes to the conclusion that emotion is a problem. She then slaughters some outer beast spawn, testing out her new godbanes artifacts in the attempt to create Misrite. She fails but knows there might be two in the prison who could succeed… [/hider] [hider=MP] Starting 4MP -4MP (Enhanced with Metal and Earth for x2) To create the Godsbane armor, Plate of Egrioth. This dull gray armor is unique in Sylia’s catalog of crafting as not being very remarkable. She went for a more practical and functioning design and thus it looks nothing more than a nice suit of armor, perhaps a little bulky and how the coloring doesn’t seem to shine. (-4 from metals, combined with the plates highly durable qualities, metals has enhanced the armor to be nigh impenetrable. Mortal attacks bounce of uselessly, while even another godsbane might find itself having trouble breaking or even causing it damage or the wearer underneath. -4 from earth, due to the curse like nature of the being Egrioth and combined with earth, the plate is unnaturally heavy. None but the strongest mortal (who would probably end up being crushed by the armor) and the gods could even attempt to wear it successfully. The plate calls to the earth despite once being able to fly and acts as more of a bulwark of protection now.) -Free, By the gift of the outergods, Sylia creates the Horn of Dreams, fashioned from parts of Lareus. Once blown and depending upon the note, the horn can put any who hear into different lengths of sleep. One could dream of beautiful things forevermore or one could find themselves dying at the hands of their nightmares. Those who hear the horn are tied to the horn and enter a different plane of dreaming than what one might otherwise. Perhaps those caught in its thrall could be woken similarly… -Free, By the gift of the outergods, Sylia creates the Mirror of Souls, fashioned from parts of Voi. A large circular mirror framed with Sylium and covered in an ethereal cloth that prevents the full might of the mirror from being shown. The mirror has two functions. One being that for those that look into the mirror while the cloth muffles its true potency, will see the quality of their soul. They will either succumb by the horror they witness or be able to look away. The other function is that when the cloth is removed and its truest power is unleashed, those who gaze within will lose something precious- their very soul. The Mirror will devour it and leave the husk of the person to its own devices. For a God to look into the Mirror… Sylia would advise against it. 0mp remaining [/hider]