Death is ever patient.

Kavya was surprised. He knelt before the dark altar, but was unsure of whether he wished to speak to his Lady or not. The scales of justice had not been what he was expecting, and the wailing workman had been something of a shock. All very well to balance the deeds of man when they were dead, but fo...

Origins of the Acropolis The spring sun set early over the Acropolis, summer’s long days not yet having come. Winter’s chill had lingered this year, and still rode the evening air. Many were the souls that had passed through the hallowed gates of Lady Death, many were the sacrifices offered up to h...

Death turns no soul away, Surya.

The dark of the moon absorbing her shape, Praheya winged through the night, a dark shadow beneath a darker sky. Neither wholly of this world, nor of the next, no mortal that saw could hope to guess what passed behind those preternaturally keen eyes. But no mortal saw. The scent of her goal filling h...

The Great Song needs no accompaniment.

The notes of your followers plays the same part as the sound of pine boughs breaking under the snow.

The sparrow under the claws of the cat. The green shoot growing.

The sound is unimportant.

All contribute to the funeral dirge of life's struggle.

Turn sent.

More life to continue the eternal cycle.

Profit? Not one life has ever come before me in possession of anything more than its soul. There is no profit.

A life for a life Chime. Thus has it always been, and will always be. What life matters little, for all lives end.

Every beginning Aeon, must imply an end. And as you say, one day all will end. On that day, when the light of the last star fades, there will I be.

My thanks Autarch. Thanks also to Dorian who, when I pointed out Avatar's comment about his skills, told me about the program he uses to create maps.

Forgive my inattention.

I need neither create nor destroy Aeon. I need only be patient. All things come to me at the last.

Light or Dark Aeon, it makes no difference in the end.

Yet you see no contradiction in making clear your own identity?

Mercifully, very few deaths occur in crypts.

None in my realm require sustenance. They are beyond hunger, beyond pain, beyond fear.

Birds sang in the colonnaded courtyard, perched on the vines that twined between the columns and pierced wooden screens that divided it into many small squares, open to the sky. Clouds scudded across the azure depths above, casting brief shadows before the wind whipped them away, mingling with the b...

Excuse me.

If I make this post, I can change my title.