Seraphim

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Seraphim Sera, Serif Demi-God of the Creation Phoenix Familiar A fiery bird of indeterminate age. 400 Daydreamer's Spines Organics Incredibly sharp, these spines can be affixed to armor to deter opponents. 34

"Scattered across the lands of Sorneith are the creations of the Seraphim; a mysterious master blacksmith whose work finds itself in many legends. Made of the finest materials the world has to offer and enchanted with magics far beyond the capabilities of any modern mage, his items are coveted by those who discover them. Each of his pieces are emblazoned with his symbol of a feathered snake twisting around a sword and adorned with a white, pearlescent metal whose origins and creation methods are unknown. His last piece emerged sometime in the Third Age within the possession of the Beastclans. A terrifying axe capable of beheading a dragon in a single swing, it felled many lives before it's wielder was finally slain. The axe itself, disappearing into the shroud of the past. No work of his has been discovered since. Legends say the Seraphim was punished for the creation of such a terrible weapon, sealed away with his forge where him and his works will never see the light of day again." --- The Journals of Dawnskimmer Refuge

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In truth, the Seraphim is not some unknowable creature of immense power but an artist driven by the whims of his talent. His age long absence was never a punishment by the gods, although he may claim so in his dramatic fits. His desire to create is directly tied to his need for a muse; a subject to be his canvas on which he may paint his creations.

For the past several centuries he has strewn himself across the anvil of his forge, lamenting an artist's block that has lasted him for a thousand years. Those who have come to him in hopes of obtaining one of his works return disappointed, rejected by him with only a sparing glance and a wave of the hand. He is haughty, obsessive and carries himself with an air of indifference for anyone not his muse. And it is a startling contrast to way he treats those who are.

One could say that his hoard is muses. So possessive, territorial and protective of them in a way a dragon protects its gems and gold and little trinkets. He treats them as if they were his god, placed upon a pedestal far from the company of others as to keep them safe and pure and his. And keep them he will, if he is able, until he looks upon them and is inspired no more.