There are no more intrinsic deities than Maia and Akar. Every sentient being—from the chaos giants to the smallest fae—pass from the fullness of life into the grey twilight of death. The inhabitants of Adylheim, however, could not treat these two gods more differently. Akar is revered and praised with feasts and sacrifices. His temples overflow with offerings from farmers, midwives, and the odd formerly-barren noble. In sharp contrast, invoking Maia’s name is considered an ill omen or curse. Her mortuary temples are quiet, solemn places where only the lamentations of the grieving disturb the still air. The few that worship her are considered morbid at best and insane at worst, tolerated only because persecuting the followers of the goddess of death is considered a far worse idea than turning a blind eye to their presence.
These difference matter little to Maia as she sits, waiting, on her ice-hewn throne. All things begin with Akar, and all things end with her.
She Who Waits, Little Lady, The Last Arms, Bringer of the Final Sleep
At the end of a life—no matter the deceased’s race, station, or status—everyone is welcomed into the afterlife by Maia herself. She chooses a form fitting for the dying soul, but whatever shape she takes is always pale (whether in skin pigmentation, hair, or fur) with cold, blue eyes. In the case of humans, the goddess of death takes the form of a tall, blond woman of indeterminate cultural origins.
Maia’s symbol is a mirror framed in a simple black ivory frame. However, she normally eschews religious iconography.
The Plane of Death is a dark, still reflection of life. Everything one might find living and breathing in Adylheim can also be found in Maia’s realm—but motionless like insects trapped in amber. Only the faintest glimmer of light illuminates the forests; only the slightest breeze stirs the grass of the plains and meadows. Streams and rivers are filled with stagnant water. Only at the center of the realm, where Maia makes her home, do the silent tableaux take on even the appearance of life. Here a few awakened souls dwell as ghostly apparitions blown to and fro by even the lightest breeze as they slowly slip into the final sleep.
Interlocked as they are in constant strife, on occasion Planes of Life and Death will bleed into others. Creatures in Akar's domain will fall dead; locations in Maia's domain will spring suddenly to life. These incursions are almost always temporary as the majority of the conflict goes on outside the realm of mortal perception.
At the center of the plane stands the castle where Maia makes her home. The entire edifice has been carved from an opaque white crystal with no mortal equivalent. Vast battlements covered with deep green ivy surround a truly awe-inspiring collection of towers and buildings. The smallest spur would put the largest human fortress to shame. The tallest spires reach high enough to intertwine with the holdfast of her husband, Akar. Each room of her great fortress is decorated with luxuries from across the breath of history. Tapestries spun with gold and silver thread tell the stories of history from the rise of the gods to the latest wars to afflict Adylheim. Gold and jewels accumulate almost of their own volition; working themselves into ever more spectacular forms. The only living things able to endure in her realm are gifts from her husband—the odd plant, a beautiful cat, and the like. Maia makes a point of tempting artists that have captured her fancy; promising them an eternity of youth and splendor if they stay and work their craft in her realm. The luckiest, it is said, she takes as lovers—before granting them her ultimate blessing: oblivion.
Long before the creation of Adylheim, the gods fought the Chaos Giants in an titanic struggle for control over the multiverse. Maia fought alongside her brethren in the thick of battle, her wreaking havoc that would never again be matched. But the giants were strong and not easily destroyed. For every one of them that fell, a score of gods met their end. With a will and drive that frightened even her comrades, Maia delved deep into the arts of magic to perform a deed forevermore condemned. When Primus, the father of the Chaos Giants, took the field against his upstart foes, Maia raised an army of undead gods to fight alongside their living brethren. It was an unthinkable sin, yes, but resulted in a bloody stalemate between giants and gods. It was then that the dragons cast away their shackles and joined with the gods against their former masters. Together they crafted the multiverse as a prison for Primus; trapping their ultimate foe inside the very fabric of the worlds.
Each had drunk the power of the Chaos Giants and taken a portion of their power for themselves; becoming the masters of a domain in their current form. Most chose their vocation willingly, seeking out the facets that best fit their personality. Maia was not so lucky. The other gods feared that she would one day seek to seize power, bolstered by a shadowy army of their former comrades-at-arms. She was forced to accept the domain of death as her own; forever sentenced to rule over the dark, dreary realms. Akar, god of life, was forced to leave Lapis for an arranged marriage with Maia. Their realms—life and death—would forever be locked in an unending struggle. The union weakened them both, but more importantly prevented her from ever working her necromantic powers on her fellow gods.
Unknown to even the most learned mortal, Maia had a secret reason to bind her own power. Her sister—Dolores, who would later take on the aspects of suffering and change—had fallen early in their war against the Chaos Giants. Her spirit was the first Maia resurrected, and the sisters had fought as equals for the rest of the war. In return for sealing away her powers, the other gods agreed to accept Dolores as one of their own.
Her marriage, as most borne of political necessity, began as an unhappy paring. Maia personally had few feelings for Akar, either positive or negative. He was merely a pawn; a convenient chain the other gods used to bind her hands. But time sooths all wounds, even for immortals. In the eons since the fall of the dragons, the two gods has developed an understanding of sorts. Their squabbling is the stuff of stories and legends, and neither is particularly faithful. Still, when the shifting alliances of the gods interrupt her quiet life, Maia has always chosen to stand by her husband.
Maia takes no joy in her responsibilities. Death, to her, is merely an event. Sometimes painful, sometimes peaceful, and one even the bravest souls face with fear and uncertainty. Nonetheless everyone—from king to pauper—must die. She is always there at the end; waiting to take the souls of the departed into her loving arms.
The matters of mortals hardly interest her. In the end, all things come to her. A knight slain in battle and a knight who dies of old age, after all, both come to her realm. The certainty of death, sometimes hidden and sometimes painfully apparent, is enough to sustain her. Pain and misery is in the domain of her sister, Dolores. Justice, as she sees it, is merely the marriage of vendetta and power. All are made equal in death.
Maia makes a point of remaining aloof and separated from her fellow deities. She has long ago forgiven them for forcing her into her responsibilities—and her marriage with Akar. Forgiven, yes, but not forgotten. When they come to buy or barter for the souls of their most devoted followers, the goddess makes sure to extract her pound of flesh. The sole exception is Akar who, by nature of their linked planes, she cannot avoid. Maia rarely expresses love for her husband. She makes a point of often ignoring his approaches and spurning his gifts, playing the ice-cold queen to his more amorous advances.
Maia herself cares little for appointed places of worship. Death will always find you, no matter where you are or where you hide.
Mortals, however, have always associated her with graveyards, tombs, and charnel houses. Her actual places of worship vary differently based on the prevailing cultural trends. At times nobles have chosen to build great tombs hoping, in vain, that the treasures buried within will buy Maia’s favor in the afterlife. In others, empires have erected huge necropolises to house their dead. The most famous example is the Necropolis in Longmoor.
While there are oracles of Maia across Adylheim, the most famous resides in the Necropolis of Longmoor. The oracle is not a person but rather a pool of water in a beautifully decorated crypt deep beneath the city proper. Petitioners traditionally bring treasures (though artwork and literary works are both accepted) to toss into the depths while chanting the name of the person they wish to summon. Each soul must answer three questions before being allowed to return to their eternal rest, and cannot be summoned again for another three years.
Funerary rituals vary widely across Adylheim, but most include a small offering to Maia in one form or another. In the days of the Empire, nobles would bury their dead with an unstamped silver coin clasped in the left hand. The clans of Nerin adorn their dead with jewelry crafted from seashells.
Maia oversees the passing from life into death personally, and as such needs no lesser creatures to assist her in the task. Her citadel is empty of servants and worshipers with the dead largely forbidden from intruding. Anything that needs cleaning or rearranging rather mysteriously sort themselves out.
In the extraordinarily rare case where she feels the need to intercede in mortal affairs, Maia will empower one of her favored souls and craft an undead body for their return to the lands of Adylheim.