Dimitryi/TearsOfTheDaughter
Tears of the Daughter
“Oh Denandsor, the Savannah Jewel! It truly is a sight, rising from the warm breezes and swaying strands of the Sea of Golden Grasses like a victorious king. And a proud king of a city it is, standing atop a wide plateau high above the plains, the Crown of the Sun, warmed and basking in His morning blessings. A legacy of Denandsor’s early days as a walled fortress are still evident, but in these days its gates are barred to none, and commerce and knowledge from all of Creation flow into the city. Oh Denandsor, truly the blessed jewel, may you live to see the wonders of millennia to come!”
--From the lost histories of Forty Silver Feathers
Imprisoned away from the light of the sun, the Daughter of Denandsor wept. She wept for her beautiful city, devoid of life and cursed with unending fear. Tears were her only voice, for without her people, the spirit of the city was mute. She had wept for over seven centuries, since the day when the Dragon-Blooded governor had cursed the city in his desperation to save it from the unceasing plague of the Contagion.
Manacles of soulsteel kept her bound to this room in the Undervault, their links forged from the catatonic souls of scavengers and treasure-hunters who had come to the abandoned city. She could see their wide-eyed and screaming faces in the foggy metal, forever tormented in fear. They were the only faces she’d seen in centuries, save one. And she wept more tears for the fact that she’d ever seen that one.
A cacophony of fearful voices buzzed in her ears and echoed through the vast underground chamber. A symphony of suffering, screaming and sobbing, disembodied all around her and carried upon a cold, scouring wind. The chill zephyr carried within it bits of mirrored glass, which scoured and cut at her spirit-flesh, re-opening scars carved over the centuries in her skin.
Over the din of suffering rose a more distinct voice, cold and harsh. “Do not cry, my love. I will soon be free of here, and I shall take you with me, away from your soulless city.” The wind coalesced, spinning in on itself until it became solid and humanoid. In the center of the chamber now stood a tall man, with a hairless body of chalky white skin. His eyes were large, empty pools of quicksilver, and his body was wrapped in a toga of mirrored glass. In the glassy reflection, one only saw their fearful loneliness, abandoned of allies and hope. The old texts knew him as the demon Xerysis, the Fear that Shatters Nations.
He reached down a thin finger and smeared away a line of blood from the Daughter’s scarred skin. “The one who imprisoned me has returned. I can sense it.” He circled the vast room, pale light reflecting off his toga and making his eyes glow faintly. “The Scion of the Sun who bound me to the Mirror of Many Ribbons over a millennia ago has returned. He can free me from this city-prison, and he will.” He ran his fingers through her golden hair, and in response, she continued to weep. But now she wept for more than her city. She wept for Creation.
