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[Bailos]

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There is beauty in Destruction. In its more pure forms it can even be an art and like all true Arts, it has its place in a beautiful balance...the greater picture if you will. Stepping on an anthill is not art, nor is breaking a pane of glass. Many would argue that reducing a venerable landmark to little more than rubble also fails to qualify but there is a satisfaction and beauty in carefully and systematically deconstructing what was once itself so carefully and systemically erected.

Bailos stands, solitary, at the foot of The Sepulcher. The forests surrounding Umbra hang with a strange air of tension ; a breeze rustles above the treetops while animals dart around the forest floor fearing to peek their heads out more than would be practical. He clenches his fists, cracking his knuckles in the process, and takes a step forward. Bailos's bare feet effortlessly glide over the grass as he makes his final approach to the stairs. He sets his hand on the railing and begins to ascend the stairs. His eyes dart back and forth quickly but deliberately, sizing up the building. It feels colder than just stone. The Sepulcher is dead. A hollow shell. That is not to say the stone breathed but that it took on a life of its own and now thanks to the"penance" that Ceinwyn must demonstrate, that energy has been snuffed. Bailos continues to ascend the stairs, walking purposefully but in no rush. Every inch of this building deserves to be seen and appreciated as only the hand of an artist can. It is then only a fitting tribute that an artist be the one to end it.

Bailos reaches the apex of the building ; a central nexus of blackrock and runes surrounding a focal point that was the center of many rituals and celebrations. Extending his arms outward from his side he slowly began to levitate his ghostly shell up into the stale air above the Sepulcher. There was a well of powerful energies directly beneath him...remnants from days past not yet dissipated. Calling upon his channeling, he begins to drain the last true drops of power from below. Right on queue the winds, which were so prevalent here several stories above ground, begin to die down as if the forests and the city of Umbra herself were paying its last homage to its host.

When the last drops of power were extracted, Bailos draws his arms inward and inhales deeply, focusing his own energies for the task at hand. He begins his declaration aloud;

"These bricks belong to the earth."

With his first words, the foundation beneath the Sepulcher begins to crack and heave. A soft rumbling can be heard, deep beneath the structure and the nearby wildlife scurries away for cover. Crackling energy begins to flow down from the Wraith Lord in arcs.

"This mortar and wood belongs to the earth."

His next verse causes the rumbling to grow louder as the foundation is split several ways, the walls of the Sepulcher now begin to quake and buckle while Bailos ascends further into the air.

"This earth belongs to me."

The large crevice cracks and splits up the walls of the building as the windows and doors shatter and break. The power within Bailos now begins to undenyiably exert itself on the ground below. A pillar of dark energy bursts forth, skyward.

"And I...belong to Oblivion!"

With his final words the building gives way and it swallowed by the ground below it! Bailos comes hurdling earthbound as the structure implodes with entropic energies leaping off, enveloping the scene. The dust is kicked outward and little else can be heard or seen save for the deafening display. The air finally settles, the wind still silent. Standing atop the upturned earth is Bailos. Hands at his sides, the Wraith Lord walks back to the clearing, bare feet and all, still pulsing with the raw power he just brought to bear.

"From these ashes and ruins I will build. My Will made manifest, I shall raise the Sundered Hill from the depths of Hell itself. They will look upon my works and despair. They will look upon my works and abandon their hopes to the indomitable will of Oblivion! Tremble mortals!"

Artisan of Ruin indeed

[Ceinwyn ab'Arawn]

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It had taken her long hours to remove every enchantment from every brick she had placed by hand in the building. Whispered murmurs spoken soothingly, gently, almost as a mother to a child. The Sepulcher was her creation, she'd given it glorious life, and now she traced each brick reverently as she stole back that life. Silently, but for her softened tones, she stole along each inch of stone taking back the power into herself from the sentient building. With each removed runic enchantment, she felt herself growing stronger, more whole, and felt the building expiring little by little. Such torment exacted no small amount emotion from her, and as treacherous fluid dared to emerge from her eyes it froze immediately, lending her cheeks a crystalline appearance.

A final whisper and then complete silence. No soft breathing creaked forth from the walls. No rocking of the foundation in welcome. The doors would not open and close of their own to allow her passage. The dead walls would no longer give her egress into the Umbra, nor feed from sacrifices offered. It was done, this most gruelling part of her "penance". She'd left the empty husk of the once Sepulcher in Bailos' trusted hands. It mattered not what happened next, the Sepulcher was dead, and with it had gone but another fragment of her.

A cold gaze cast upon broken soil and rubble. The remains of the once Sepulcher. It signified many things, the end of an era, the beginning of a new age of darkness. Had she herself not prophesized it?

Now, she was offered the honor of placing the first brick of the rebuilt Charnel Hill. She took the cold slab from Bailos and held it close in contemplation. She cast a vengeful glance about the plot of ruined dirt. Her first instinct was to place a curse upon this most wretched and despised stone, but in the end, she simply chose a corner of the land and deposited the brick with a blessing. Who knew who would inherit the land in the distant future? She would not have her own curse returning to bite allies in the rear.

With the placing of the stone, came apathy. There would be another Sepulcher someplace else in time. Let Charnel Hill be raised once more, what mattered anything now?