Erse Parr: Syimlin of Death

The Living Death, the Contradiction. She straddles Talis and the Evenacht, she who slew the Beastly Death and swallowed the mantle while retaining the deep red blood of life. She is both, she is our link.
~Makella, Teller of Tales

Erse Parr by Shanda Nelson

Hair

Dark black

Eyes

Deep umber brown

Age

6130 years

Ascended

Aged 21

Primary Temple

Forest Temple, which straddles Talis and the Evenacht

Primary Symbol

the vox, found both on Talis and in the Evenacht

Personality

Worshippers consider her:
the Hand of Judgement
fair
the link between the living and the dead
incorruptible (unlike the Beast)

Syimlin consider her:
still hesitant to fully embrace her mantle
the fury of a hurricane when provoked
compassionate
reserved

Death's Ascendancy, as told by the Keel

Erse Parr, as all Syimlin, was once mortal.
She was the eldest of two loving parents, but her happy home life in a small village did not last beyond her eleventh year. At this time, the Beast, during a Talis rampage, destroyed her village, her home, her family.
The day after the destruction, nearby habitations sent hesitant residents to see if anyone survived. They discovered one; a girl standing before the burnt wreckage of her home, staring at the burnt bodies of her family, as white as a ghost, a sword in hand. Red-skinned, white-tusked minions of the Beast lay scattered around her, long-since having bled out from her slices.
Despite care, it took weeks for her to regain her voice. Despite care, it took years for her to gain enough courage to step into the night and view the sprinkles of stars and the moon. Even at her most confident, fear drove her; the Beast would return for her.
Ten years came and went, as the Beast raided the living for dead souls. Ten years came and went, as Erse grew, matured, and practiced with her father's sword until it became one with her arm. She swore would be ready, when Death next invaded Talis--and the Beast's minions did not disappoint.
She meekly accompanied them, her fist clutching the sword hilt so tightly her body shook. The minions laughed at her fear, prodded and poked her, and ridiculed her lack of courage. Her slaughter, they believed, would quickly pass and the Beast would return to his rampages instead of brooding in his throne room, obsessing over She Who Escaped.
They presented her to a creature who shared their features but was ten times larger. The Beast had grown corpulent, complacent, his anger held no bite. Standing before his bone throne, watching him fling his hands about as he sentenced her to death before her time, she firmed her resolve, coated her fear in the vows she made of vengeance, and raised her father's sword.
The Beast, overconfident and gloating, snagged his axe, whose blade was longer than she was tall. She avoided his strikes with agility, jumped about and confused the two heads meant to Judge rather than prematurely Convict, and tore at his rotting flesh with her weapon. With righteous revenge, a hero's heart, and persistence, she darted in, cut, retreated. The Beast turned about, roared, chipped the white tiles that represented the white flesh of death instead of the warm body he aimed for. He finally fell and she cut through his neck, putrid flesh emitting a nauseous rot. His head rolled away, spraying black blood across the room that no longer symbolized death, but violence.
From the still form rose a black mist. The head shrieked as it slammed into her, filling her, molding to her, inside and out. The Beast turned to ash as the mist finished its possession, and a new Death stood before the old, father's sword in hand, white as a ghost, but still alive.
So Erse Parr became the Living Death, the Contradiction. She defeated Death, in both senses. And the syimlin rejoiced, and Talis rejoiced, for no longer did the malicious greed of a violent Death rule over the living.

Death's ascendancy, as told by Erse Parr

Erse Parr, as all Syimlin, was once mortal.
Her happy home life with her parents and her younger siblings, in a small farming village in central Talis, did not last beyond her eleventh year. The Beast destroyed it, destroyed everything she held dear. He came in the night, slaughtered all, and lusted for more.
She survived. She did not remember how. She knew nearby villagers found her, she knew a kindly family of woodcutters took her in, but her memories of the night had vanished, as all she loved had vanished. She knew tears would not return her previous life, and tried to stifle them.
Despite care, it took weeks for her to regain her voice. Despite care, it took years for her to gain enough courage to step into the night and view the sprinkles of stars and the moon. Even at her most confident, fear drove her; the Beast would return for her. Her adoptive family reassured her; Death invaded Talis, but he would not attack the same place twice.
She knew better.
Ten years had come and gone, as the Beast raided the living for dead souls to serve him. Ten years had come and gone, as she grew, matured, and practiced with her father's sword until it became one with her arm. Ten years, of kissing the pommel and vowing revenge in Sun's name. The Beast's minions did not disappoint; they kidnapped her, on a night devoid of the moon, when clouds coated the sky and hid celestial light.
She meekly accompanied them, her fist clutching the sword hilt so tightly her body shook. The red-skinned, white-tusked minions laughed at her fear, prodded and poked her with spears, and ridiculed her lack of courage.
They misunderstood her intent.
They presented her to a creature who shared their features but was ten times larger. The Beast towered over her as he raged about her impending death, barely-contained fury mixed with desperation infusing the room. He had grown corpulent, complacent, and his anger held no bite. His was a façade, nothing more. Standing before his bone throne as he sentenced her to a death she had not earned, she firmed her resolve, coated her fear in the vows she made of vengeance, and raised her father's sword.
The Beast snagged his axe, whose blade was longer than she was tall. She avoided his strikes with agility, jumped and tumbled about to confuse the two heads meant to Judge rather than prematurely Convict, and tore at his rotting leg flesh with her weapon. She darted in, cut, retreated, slow, measured, always searching for an opening.
The Beast stumbled, roared, squished his cowering minions under his huge feet, dropped his axe and chipped the white tiles that represented the white flesh of death. After what seemed like days, his legs broke under him and his body lurched forward; Erse streaked to him, cutting through his neck, the putrid flesh emitting a nauseous rot. His head rolled away, spraying black blood across the room that, under his watch, did not symbolize the cradle of death, but violence.
From nowhere and everywhere, Darkness formed before her. He raised a hand; she readied her blade.
From the corpse rose a black mist. The Beast's head shrieked in denial as it slammed into her, filling her, swallowing her, inside and out. His final scream of shock withered, and his humongous body rotted away as the magic granting him the Gift of Life invaded her. A new Death stood before the remains of the old, father's sword in hand, white as a ghost, but still alive.
She, Erse Parr, became the Living Death, the Contradiction. She became the savior and the destroyer, the illuminating light and the ashen dark. Yet the Beast clouded her triumph, shadowed her mantle, and only she could cleanse the office, remake it anew.

This is my response to "why save your work". I created Erse in high school, along with the other syimlin in my Evenacht serial. The original tale I told was the one mentioned in my Badeçasyon article. Unlucky interstellar treasure hunters wanting to loot tombs arrive on Sensour just in time for the Flayn empire's invasion.
Evenacht has taken a bit of a darker turn since then (as with all my work). But I can see my development., and it's not just in art. It's in my writing as well. And yes, I've saved my writing from my childhood, and still have most of it. And yes, it does provide inspiration. Your younger self looks at things differently.