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| "...?" *She looms overhead, peering curiously towards the one before her* "...!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Bastion; A simple but mighty symbol, one that has measured the power of Kings and Queens alike over the years. Through both harmony and tribulation, there is nothing quite as iconic as the view overlooking a castle of the local lord. Nothing compares, nor does anything confuse. With banners waving high above, one can always be sure of their presence opposed to such a massive place of magnificence. Yet, they are much more than symbolic. Leading another side of their longstanding lives is that of War. A tool of which they come to house and centralize the armies of their lords. This also gives way to their inherent necessity as an instrument of salvation, as well, protecting those housed within their halls with stone and fortifications. The same could be said of the great Fortress, Ballista. Though her's is a greater story than can be composed simply of wood and bricks and mortar. Long before she ever were the mighty haven that she is, now, Ballista was a woman; Or rather, a more average one. She was a priestess' acolyte at the local chantry, following in the footsteps of her elders and devout mothers and fathers. In times of peace, should take on her training to become a priestess herself, serving her elders in the name of the Great Mother. In times of war, she would assist her elders and sisters in the care of the wounded and the hospitality of soldiers and knights who had come back from recent skirmishes. In fact, in was in one such instance of the latter that the metamorphosis began. In was later in the former Isharan War, between the crest of the Black Lion and the Duchy of Isharan Highlands. The toll of death was staggeringly high, and due to the overwhelming numbers of enemy combatants, Ishara faced it's demise. The baron was distraught as his people pleaded with him, hoping he had some plan to protect them from the hordes that would soon besiege and overwhelm them. His army dwindled, and the inner provinces of his small empire were already starting to crumble. How could he protect anyone, at this rate, even himself, or his children? Understandably, the Isharan were a proud people, and fervent unto the Great Mother, and likely, if he asked them to, they would all take up arms in the last defense of their way of life... but how could he ask such a thing? The answer would not be given the chance to come, and as he tried to persuade his people that he would do everything in his power to protect them, one of his closest advisers stepped forward: the Greater Elder of the Chantry. She offered a simple, but powerful solution to the good lord, finding favor in his pure intentions, the will of the Great Mother, and the sake of their people in the balance, and so she unveiled it to him: A grand, divine arcana that could alter the shifting tides of the war, so long as one willing soul of purity could be given to the cause. It was not before long that, upon council of the chantry's followers, that many acolytes and priestess' stepped forward. All of them wished to serve their goddess and brethren in a more powerful way, in this hour of darkness. Some priestess' argued that the Acolytes were too young, and that their sisters need not sacrifice as well as they, while the Acolytes argued that the experience and wisdom of the Priestess' were necessary to the survival of the Chantry, and they alone, as they future, should have to bear the tides of destiny on their shoulders. In order to solve the dispute, the Chantry gave waive to initiate the Rite of Anointment, one of the most holiest of rituals in which they petition the direct intervention of the goddess herself. Each Acolyte and Priestess would step up to the platform, awaiting the blessing of the Great Mother, herself. Each one took their turn, with no real result, and as the day went on, hope began to fade; Did the Great Mother truly stand with them? But then, just as hope began to wane, a young Elizabeth stepped forward, an acolyte nearing the final phases of her training to be a priestess. As she stood, praying solemnly upon the point of the chantry, the holy light enveloped her, shining brightly all around. "This one. My own." The soft whisper of femininity, but yet of overpowering love, the combination only a mother could provide, echoed throughout those watching. The crowd stood watching, blushing and aghast; They had witnessed a miracle, and perhaps the last hope of their great culture blossom. It had been decided, and with it, the ritual was complete. Elizabeth was renamed that day, and she was then called "Ballista": The Rampart of the Great Mother. She was hurried away with the elders, as they prepared the arcana in haste but with care to every detail. Time was a luxury they did not have, and nor was something they could not help but take. Ballista was stripped, and laid in the middle of a great circle of arcane and divine chanting, symbolism, and power, only able to gaze around for a short time before a great fatigue overcame her, following with it's sister, sleep. Days past, and as the Elders of the Chantry progressed in their arcana's ritual, so did the Allied Forces of the Black Lion as they encroached the citadel of Ishara, home to the baron and the last remaining citizens of his lands. The Baron himself rode atop his horse, wielding his sword, before his troops, prepared to die in defense of his people. And as the army of their enemies drew close, within distance to charge, it finally happened. Ballista rose from the earth, literally. First a hand, then the upper body wrest from the bosom of the earth, before the next would reach out and grasp the citadel, grasping it gently as she pulled herself from the ground. Though with a little collateral damage, she would hold the citadel for a moment, the now smaller building so fragile in her grasp, the very symbol of her people, and realized her purpose: She would hold them all dear to her, and protect them with these same enfolding arms, just as the Great Mother did for the earth, in the beginning of time. As she rose before both her own kind and the opposing hordes, her form was made clear. Armored, but not as one could have possibly imagined. It was armored with what looked like... walls, and ramparts... as if she was a fortress herself... and so she was. The ritual that gave her this new, gigantic form made her a living bastion for her people... for all righteous beings. The halls of her fortifications were not simply additions to her form, as if they were clothes that could be discarded, but actually roamed within her very flesh. Her body would be their shelter, and so she would be the greatest embodiment of her goddess' will. It was not long before the battlefield was torn asunder... and unsurprisingly, Ishara survived under the watch of it's protector. Ballista saw her share of battle and war, as was her burden. She actively participated when their forces were low, and otherwise served with her body. Her Breasts and Womb became both prisons for her enemies, and Quarters and Hospitals for her allies and wounded civilians. Her belly served as the main gathering hall and dining room, and she, altogether, served as her inhabitant's protector. Abiding by her goddess' decree, however, no part of her gift was used for harm, outside of necessity in war. As Ishara was restored to it's former glory in the final days of the war, and an truce was made, Ballista retired her inhabitants back to their original homes and cities. Her place was among those who needed a shield to defend them from those who would cleanse the land of the good. Her former lord and elders understood this as well, and while she vowed to aid them again if they find themselves in siege again... they gave her their blessings, and wished her well in her journeys. Ballista, now, roams the land. Her halls are now empty, save for the occasional wanderer who ends up within her, or the poor soul she happens to encounter, nursing them back to health. She spreads the word of the Great Mother with her silent shield, evermore. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------  |