Chapter 1
The Stone General.
Syl supposed that, if you were going to be given a nickname, it might as well be imposing.
Rook Master.
She doubted that many people knew what a rook actually was, and if they did, they would probably be thinking of a chess piece. Syl was definitely not talking about a chess piece.
Chimera Tamer.
Grotesque Queen.
Few people actually called her by these titles, but just being known by these things let Syl carry around a weight that carried beyond her already imposing appearance.
She was taller than the average female teenager, being a full five foot ten and showing every ounce of her 130 pounds of lean muscle. Her sleek brown hair hung down to the middle of her constantly tense back and her golden-hazel eyes could pierce the thickest of ice.
The lithe girl sat on top of a crumbling gothic church, leaning precariously over the edge by the sheer grip of her bare feet and toes. Syl knew she wouldn't fall, she never fell.
This was her home turf.
Syl focused her wandering gaze back to the task at hand. There was much to do here.
The eroding church had obviously not been repaired in quite some time, and the masonry was suffering for it. There was little she could do about the bricks that had already disintegrated into dust, but the statues that stood around her – those were another matter.
Syl edged closer to the moss covered gargoyle on her right. The beast had grown a thick beard of lichen from the years of growth that had engulfed it, and one of its outstretched paws had blown away into nothing, leaving only a jagged stump.
Syl sighed. She could tell that the beast had once been a piece of art, and had been cared for by a worrying stonemason many hundreds of years ago.
The girl wiped away some of the foliage encasing the gargoyle with long fingers, exposing the craftsmanship that had all but been worn away by time. Syl took an especially long time examining the clawed feet of the creature, making sure to soak in every detail. Then she moved back to the broken off stump.
Syl crouched down, letting her toes grasp more firmly on the crumbling edge of the building that her and the gargoyle perched on. She cupped her hands in front of her face, as though warming them up from the cold winds that were stirring around her. But Syl was not cold. She could not feel the cold.
Instead, she could feed the breath that she had blown into her hands solidify. She kept blowing. The space between her hands gaining weight, although if you were to peer inside, there would be noting to see.
Syl pulled her head away from her hands, quickly closing her fists together so as not to lose the magic that was now sitting in her palms. She leaned down even closer to the gargoyle. Then she slowly un-cupped her hands around the missing paw of the gargoyle. She visualized the other feet of the creature, trying to capture the essence of what the missing limb might have looked like.
And then it was there.
The majestic sculpture now had all four of its limbs intact. None of the previous wear of the centuries remained after Syl was done with her work.
She was the spirit of gargoyles after all.