[Empress of Neon]

"I'm tired of relying on others to see horizon met. If I must bleed the mountains dry of their veins; if I must slit my very palms to stir life with blood; if I must learn an entirely new art on my lonesome, I will see my creations given shape. As perfect and beautiful as my second, but beyond death and reproach. For they will be of iron. Heralds of a new age for Hadrian. Perhaps, someday, even the empire itself.

Long have I spent hours on my bed. Penning and etching in thought of your shape, my children. So many possibilities. So much potential. Stronger than clay; stronger than stone. Your strength beyond compare. Your visage eclipsing of any warrior that walks Toril. But you will be so much more when the time of war has passed. Big, small, a task to every tireless hand. Your purpose and your meaning for existence as clear as the stars in darkest night. Never to be plagued by the same questions we are so cruelly tormented by in our very being.


I will keep note. To remind myself why I still try so hard. Perhaps some day one of you will even learn to read; knowing mother's heart as few others can claim. Life is not about what you take. It is what you leave behind. Be it ten years or centuries from now, I know I will go in warmth knowing I left you in my wake. Life; by the joining of my hands with the Lady's Gift; the Weave. That will be your parentage.

My first was a mound of mud, when I was but child. It was hideous and imperfect, but it was, as I, happy. Father destroyed it and forbade me presence outside in the light of day.

My second was of clay. It to was imperfect. But it despised what it was; it thought it hideous and grotesque. It attacked me and left me to a night of weeping. It was months before I tried again. This time, putting all heart and skill to its fullest in shape just as much as spark of soul.

My third was glorious. It made me proud in its stride; standing tall in testament to what wonders can be when will and vision are met as one. A testament to the promise of the empire's majesty. He fell in the arena. His dying words also testament that you are more than just objects. You are my children, and as mother it is duty and purpose both for me to see you safe.

That is why you will be of iron. For iron is strong. It is weapon, tool, and protection all for good reason. You will be free from disease. Poison. Hungerless. Beyond thirst.

You will be beautiful, beyond corruption.

You will be given life.

I have made mistakes. I do not doubt I will continue to err. But I will never give up on you. I will do better for you, my children. That is mother's promise.

To begin..."

[Empress of Neon]

"It is not as easy as clay. Iron takes far more time to see treated. Water. Fire. Shaping after it melts and cools. All of this is so new to me; not at all like baking. I will have to write down the list of times most optimal. Processing ore to ingots is the easy part. Shaping it  before it's hardened is not. I have spent hours upon hours, if not days, in practice. Each limb requires as much love and care as the last. The shell must be beautiful; what child would want to live life hideous and grotesque? My second did not.

I've visited the guild recently to examine their own golem. It's amazing what one can learn from simple observation. I've been looking at this all wrong. Long have I seen iron golems as mere suits. There is something beneath to see limbs and joints connected. Not quite as profuse as a clay golem, perhaps a skeleton?

I can make such a thing. Absent the weak joints and spaces in between the bones. Perhaps that is the catalyst to spirit? I will make effort when the time is right and see it done."