Dira

[Gossamer]

Dira The Goddess of Death, Dira is endlessly patient and considers balance to be important. She knows everyone will pass eventually, and is in no rush to claim as many souls as she can. Death is simply necessary, and the beginning of the next adventure. Dira is responsible for making sure that the souls of the dead go where they are supposed to go - to Lhex, or to any other gods who may have laid claim to them. She is always accompanied on her travels by her two jackals - Before, who is solid black, and After, who is white. Worshiped throughout Mizahar, Dira rules over the sphere of death as the counterpart of Kihala. She also rules over Black Rock, a delightfully morbid citadel off of the coast of Falyndar. How often she is there, however, is open to question. Some would call her a leader in name only, but the island is under her protection. Dira does not decide what happens to a soul once its living body dies - instead, she is in charge of ensuring that the soul is guided to its proper realm. Myri's Myrians, for example, go directly to Myri. Considering how many deities exist in the Mizaharian pantheon, it's not hard for a soul to get lost, or trapped in a god's realm. Dira will guide each soul to its proper place. While she knows that all come to her eventually, there are those that try to cheat the system, and in that case, that's when Dira is entitled to have a little bit of fun. Part of her job is to hunt down the stragglers who constantly extend their mortality, and return them to the cycle. Dira is usually neutral and brutally honest. They say that she is no respecter of persons--no one is exempt from death. She gets along quite well with her counterpart, Kihala, Goddess of Life. Too much life leads to suffering. Death is a natural occurrence. While Rak'keli pursues her feud with Dira, it is one-sided. Dira is in no rush to usher the living to the ranks of the dead - she knows that all will come to her eventually. Death is about balance - if too many of the living dwell, then more die and suffer. Death is merciful, death is a deliverance. It is something to be celebrated, not dreaded or feared. Dira's Omens are the silent honor guard that look after Black Rock and Dira. Wearing heavy, hooded black cloaks and jackal masks, they show no signs of any prior identity between that which they now claim - servitors of Death. They give Dira their life, and she gives them a new one in return. The Omens do not communicate through sounds, but through gestures. Some say that the Omens can speak directly into one's mind - making their words seem like the person's own thoughts. Seeing an Omen is generally regarded as a very bad sign - that death of someone is imminent.

[Corneliun]

2nd Winter 512; Ahnatep
Dira's Chapel and Catacombs-Evening- 20th Bell

It was within the outskirts of Ahnatep that Corneliun brought himself, to the temple of Dira, the goddess of death. He brought himself silently between the stone Jackals, his golden eyes staring ahead, whilst the Jackals themselves stared at him as he entered. Before him the walls of stone and bone met him, casting strange shadows across the floor. Corneliun tried his best to not let it bother him too much, but the hollow eyes of the skulls often met with his, setting a chill down his spine before turning away.
Lovely décor as always.
He had to focus on the reason he was here, and so bringing himself to the edge of the temple, his features cast in shadow before the mixed blood brought himself to pray. Corneliun crouched himself down on the floor, his back to the wall, his father’s bastard sword placed before him in its scabbard. Ever since his death it was the only memento that he could hold onto, but the mixed blood had yet to draw it, he needed to finish the process. Once he had finished, he would draw the blade to either train or if he had no other choice. He brought his hands together, his fingers laced, as he cleared his mind of thoughts of the outside world.

"We both know I'm not that great at this praying stuff, so I'll try to be quick about it," Corneliun drew in a deep breath "Dira, Goddess of Death, I have come to you this night to thank you. As you no doubt know, my father as left this realm recently, through sudden and unexpected events. But despite these factors and the grief it causes, I am grateful that you have delivered my father from his suffering and guiding his soul to his proper place. Where ever that may be."

The mixed blood kept his head bent as he spoke, a simple sign of respect and understanding to the Goddess. Now that his father had passed onto the next life, Corneliun felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Whereas before he was simply a boy who could do as he wished, he was now a man who had to find purpose in his life. For with death came a new story and a new adventure, for not only the departed but those who were left behind. It was these last few days however that Corneliun truly except the death of those who dear to him, even if he could not vocalise it completely. He gave a small nod to himself "Thank you, for allowing the ending of one life in peace, and for a new one to step up and take his place in the great cycle. And I hope many more travel with you in the same manner with the mercy and deliverance that death brings."

The corner of his lip curled, the final stages of his acceptance falling into place. It even in a sense surprised him, but now there was no point in denying it, what is done is done; there is no changing the past. For right now even Corneliun knew that if there was life, there would surely be death. A slow gradual fate that none could ever hide from, let alone escape. For all in the end would stand at her side.

[Grim Ravenwood]

50th of Spring 516AV
Outskirts of Syliras

It was night. A pleasantly warm one at that, save for the few gusts of wind that came up from the mountains, passing trough the labyrinth of dense foliage up to a small clearing where a pair of fresh graves lay. From a pile of tilled earth, two boards stood erect, a few words scratched into their surface. Bodrick, a good friend, and Anna, a good daughter. Nothing else was written, yet there was so much to say, things that happened, and the things that should have - all the adventures and experiences they should have lived trough, things both good and bad.

The hooded figure that stood in front of the graves raised it's scythe overhead, before bringing it down, stabbing it's butt in the soft ground, allowing it to stand up on it's own. A black bird came down from the sky behind him, only to take it's place on the weapon, unusually silent.

"My Lady..." Grim began, both his pale hands clasped and pressed against his abdomen, his head lowered down. "A few days ago, i have witnessed to what lengths people..." There he paused what was the beginning of a prayer, searching for a more appropriate word. "No, those things... are willing to go in order to prolong their existence on this plane."

"They both seem to have died a quick and painless death, and for that, i am thankful." The Eiyon said, memories of their cold bodies flashing into his mind. "Makes you think how many the monster has taken before. So many lives that will never be fulfilled." The raven haired man would add, before reaching into the pocket of his long robe, only to pull out a dozen or so different flowers. "So many flowers that will never get their chance to bloom."

He felt both guilt and anger in equal measures, both hanging heavy around his neck. Why did he not realize it sooner? Maybe things would have ended differently? Then again, at what cost? Could they, even with combined efforts, really take that monster down? It was almost as if the mark showed him the enemy, but did not give him the means to fight them.

That just meant that he would have to acquire those means himself. Relaxing his clenched fist, Grim allowed his eyes to trail over the mark at his palm. It was still there. A self deprecating smile climbed on the corner of his lips.

"This is not over." He said half loud, only to grab the handle of his weapon and turn to leave. "I will make things right."