Welcome to Gaia! ::

Dyakida's tools had been quality items. Though had not been able to see them, she knew that they had been things of beauty, wrought with care and with an appreciation for the sacred – or near sacred – work that they would be used for. They sat well in her hand, and brought her will upon crystal, bone, horn, and wood. As a weapon is an extension of a warrior, so these were an extension of herself. She had been so fond of her tools...

When Dyakida was captured by the Obans, her tools were confiscated and lost in the mayhem, casualties of war. While a prisoner in the Oban camp, 'volunteering' to craft their weapons, she had tried to make do with what she was given. But their tools were inferior – or so she felt – to the ones that were hers.

When she had tried to shape a dagger, she had felt it's flaws. That was when she had realized that she missed her tools dearly. Though she tried to choke back her pride – these were her enemies, after all, and they did not deserve the best that she could do – she knew that such a weapon was nothing to be proud of;

It's crystal would shatter and break. It's hilt would bruise the hand that held it. It was not a weapon that Dyakida felt comfortable making and presenting, but she made it anyway because if she did not, her supervisor would take notice and, possibly, harm her. Or put her back among the others. Dyakida would have done anything to leave that prison behind. Anything to find a way out.

When she finally escaped the camp, she had no tools. Any she had smuggled to the prisoners were used as makeshift weapons in their escape. She felt as though she had left her soul back there, but there was nothing she could do.

Not until she reached a safe haven.