The infernal sat upon the simple throne,  her hands folded upon one another, she rested her chin against the top of them gazing a bit at the small crowd that had gathered.  She was wearing a simple grey robe, it was light, and in a show of indulgence made from finely spun silk.  The loose fitting cloth concealed much of her body except a dusky skinned face, with full pouting lips,  large amber eyes,  and a short cropped black hair.  A crown of small horns encircles her skull.<br/><br/>Six featureless figures stood on either side of her,  all of them wearing the same matching silk robes,  except these hinted at weapons and armor worn beneath them.  Their faces were covered by smooth masks,  that allowed only their eyes to shown beneath them.  Supposedly the items were made from glass,  crafted from cecylne herself.  These were the Goddess' chosen,  her servants, confidents and champions.  She smiled, very softly...  revealing a hint of her elongated cannine teeth.<br/><br/>She sat,  allowing the silence to resound through the halls for a moment as one of the other infernals felt the urge to break into dance.  Her finely sculpted eyebrow raised ever so slightly into an arch,  she almost had the urge to laugh...  but,  doing so would  push back the sounds of blowing sands and the hum of locusts, not far away.  Those sounds brought her comfort,  but, it also revealed what the goddess could bring fourth in an instant,  and more importantly,  the very thing the infernal could take away if the fickle urge came to her.<br/><br/>"My children...."  she said,  after the crowd grew uncomfortable with her silence.  "My beautiful desert forged children..."  Her voice was strong,  and seemed to flow without effort one word into the next.  "Since I have come to you,  you have learned to not hate the desert as you once had.  Yes,  Grandmother wasteland can be a cruel patron.  She does not give without taking,  but, she does not take without giving.  You're lives may be harder because you live within her remorseless embrace,  but,  you draw strength from her.  She takes the weak, to leave the strong... so we as a people can flourish.  If the weak survived in this land,  the blood of your sons and daughters would grow thing,  the strength of conviction would be stripped from  their souls...  their endurance would diminish!"  She spoke these words.  "But Grandmother wasteland prevents such from tainting your lines,  by stealing those who are unworthy away into her loving embrace..."