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[color=205738]Domain:[/color] 
Pain.

Pain, emotional and physical are all indicative of what it truly means to be alive in the world whether or not one is cognitive of feeling such emotional rife. It is pain that drives others to push forwards, morphing boys into men and morphing men into true champions for becoming powerful brings with it more pain. Such is the grim duty of Ketmera, acting as a reminder of danger and grief so that all can become stronger than what they once were. Around her, mortals can be filled with the pain of loss or overcome with far more physical pain and it is such things that she controls, even if it affects her as well.

[color=205738]Myth: [/color]
A young man stood over a funeral pyre, looking down upon the body of a great warrior who had died to old age not too long ago. The young man, the son, had an impassive look as he gazed upon the old form that was in front of him. He had not known his father much, not until he was old enough to take up arms and join his father on the fields of battle, but such times were long ago. There was still no sadness, just a feeling of knowing that they had lost a great warrior who would have know doubt fought valiantly longer had he had the opportunity to. The young man’s features did not change as he raised an arm that carried a torch, yet even as he knew that he had light the pure he could not bring himself to.

An arm came upon the back of his shoulder, causing him to spin around in surprise as nothing had made a sound. His eyes set upon that of an old lady, looking upon the body of the old warrior. He relaxed, knowing she posed no threat as he turned back to face his father in silence.

“An old friend?” The young man asked.

“In a way,” the old woman stated, solemnly as her eyes turned to the young man, “But he is not why I have come.”

“If you wish to speak to me then you can wait until after his body has been burned,” the young man responded, his voice cutting back with a bit of harshness he did not mean to.

“And yet you have not, young one,” the old woman said in a disinterested voice, “You have not moved on from your father’s death and that is why you have yet to free his soul from the mortal coils properly.”

Silence came onto the young man for a moment before nodding, “I suppose one could say that.”

“And how do you feel about your father’s death?” She asked.

“He was a fine warrior, it was a shame for his loss,” the young man answered.

“You say such things, but I can sense deep down you hold a great grief. Your father was a good man and, while he was not always around for you, you know that he cared deeply for you. You are pained by his loss,” the old woman explained, turning to the young man fully.

“You do not know how I feel,” the younger sneered, causing the old woman to cock an eyebrow.

“Why do you refuse to come to terms with the death of your father? Are you afraid to move on? Did you hold a longing for further time? Perhaps you-“ the old woman stopped, interrupted as the younger lashed out.

“He can’t leave us yet! Not when I have yet to have him meet his grandchildren, not when he has yet to say goodbye!” The young warrior barked, staring down at the woman with a face showing a great anger, yet, his eyes showed sadness. Then, a flash came through the great feeling of his breath coming to shake as he fell to his knees with tears from his eyes. He let out a wail of pain, unable to control himself anymore as grief overtook him.

The old woman, meanwhile, stepped forwards and gingerly wrapped her arms around the young man, running a hand upon the back of his head as she cooed, “Yes, we all long to finish things that have yet been finished or start upon tasks that we ought have. Yet, you know, that your father would have loved your child and that, even though you cannot hear him say goodbye, this is your chance to make peace.”

The young man’s shaken breath slowed as he wept, knowing that the old woman spoke true to what he needed to do. “But- what if my grief refuses to leave me?” He asked.

“It never will, but all you can do is grow from it. Know that so long as that grief is within you, you care for your father and know that it means you are alive,” the old woman stated in a soothing tone, “Now, do what you need to do.”

The young man rose from his knees, not looking upon the old woman but instead to the fallen. He rose up his hand with the torch and gazed into the closed eyes of his face before he uttered a few words, “Father, I will forever miss you. Let this be goodbye.” With a single swift motion, he threw the torch upon the base of the pyre and watched as the body began to burn away until there was nothing left. The grief had not gone but it had lightened, he turned to thank the old woman for being with him and instead saw that she had vanished despite knowing that she was with him the entire time. A look of confusion came upon his face before he looked to the distant hills and upon the crest of one, he saw the form of an old woman gazing with glowing eyes a white. While he could not see her features, the young man knew she was smiling.

[color=205738]Base Form:[/color] 
Typically, the base form of an old woman dressed in ragged and black robes, her face is indistinguishable from underneath the hood and yet long strands of silvered hair flow from both sides of the hood. Every facet of her old and hunched over body is covered, but occasionally some may see a pair of glowing silvered eyes emerge from within.

[color=205738]True Form:[/color]
See image at top of sheet.

[color=205738]Musical Theme:[/color]
[youtube]https://youtu.be/W2TE0DjdNqI[/youtube]
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