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[Solanaceae]

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The dream came that night.

Again and again her vision replayed itself in her mind, and each time her own ever-changing eyes stared back from the depths of the goddess Solanaceae woke with a cry of fear, her body drenched. The third time the dream shook her from slumber the Fae clutched her arms to her sides. The self-hug did little to calm her shivering. She couldn’t go one like this. Even with what was left of the link to her people’s magic, Solanaceae’s body would need rest eventually. She had to do something. She had to find peace. As much as Solanaceae dreaded the task, she knew she must tell him. Only he might understand her vision. Yes, often she’d been warmed by the Magus of the folly of speaking of her devotion to her goddess, but circumstances had changed. Now that her goddess had at last revealed her true identity Solanaceae could no longer hide the truth. Lilith would demand dedications, sacrifice, proof of her loyalty. No matter the punishment, Solanaceae could no longer hide behind the safety of her silence.

Safety. What a ridiculous notion. Solanaceae had not felt safe since long before she was outcast from the Fae lands. Now she seemed doomed to be cut off from feeling, from gentleness, from comfort, the price of her goddess’ favor. When she was not hidden behind glamour, she was looked upon with fear and disdain, even amongst those that made up her new community. In their eyes she saw the echo of their distaste for her, that was when they saw her at all. Solanaceae accepted this, accepted the truth that the people her could never really understand her. Acceptance didn’t not mean that the truth of this made her happy.

Reaching for a red and gold silk robe from her wardrobe, Solanaceae glanced sadly to the bed, toward the body of her unfortunate feline companion, and was surprised to find the spot empty. Curious. She walked around the bed and touched the indentation on the blanket when the cat had lain, it was cold. She sniffed the fabric. Yes, this was where Hemlock had been, but nothing was there now. How odd.

Solanaceae wrapped the robe tighter around her body and turned away from the bed. There was no time to wonder about the missing body now. Perhaps her snake Kali had claimed the cat. It was as it should be, for death claimed all. Even the most precious of creatures could not avoid Oblivion for long. If she was to truly serve the Order, she had to learn to stop holding onto her sentimental ties, learn to stop letting foolishness like love and compassion cloud her purpose. Only with the end of the corrupt humans’ world could her people ever have a chance at new life once Sosaria was reborn.

After cleaning her body with rosewater and lavender soaps, Solanaceae dressed in her elven silks and traced the familiar arcane gestures that would take her to the Herald’s domain. She would tell him what her goddess had shown her. Dealthagar would know what to do.

[Solanaceae]

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Solanaceae crouched in the cluster of brambles and watched as the fairies flittered in and out of the ring of mushrooms. These were not nobles like those who had cast her out, but merely servants of the Court, pixies. They danced from flower to flower, darted about in the boughs of the trees, skipping over the dark waters of the deep ponds. So full of life.

Her lip trembled and she turned away from her quarry. She’d been wracked with despair when she went to see the Herald late last evening. She told him of her vision, left out nothing, not a single detail. Instead of being angry as she feared he would, he listened intently, asking questions only when she had finished.

And when she spoke of her fears, her dread at what Lilith was asking of her, Dealthagar held her in his arms and spoke words of comfort. He said she was his most precious apprentice, that she special, a seer, gifted with the power of the Eyes of Oblivion. He assured her she was safe with him, that he would never hurt her. Dealthagar also warned her that the path both he and she now shared, the Path of Oblivion, was one of great suffering, suffering that she would have to face to gain power and knowledge.

Even in that place of safety, the first she’d felt in what felt like and eternity, the suffering was not far behind. The Herald told her that to truly give herself to Lilith, to embrace her calling, she had to sever ties to those she held dearest. Fear gripped Solanaceae at his words but she remained silent. She listened as he continued to explain what would be expected for her final task, the task that would allow her to leave behind the title of supplicant, and be truly his apprentice. An assurance of her dedication to her goddess, to the Order, proof that she had severed ties from her people and was loyal to them alone.

Twenty-five perfect sets of fairy wings.

Her attention returned to the swiftly flying pixies that played with no awareness of the danger that lurked so close to their midst. Could she do it? Could she take the lives of those she had sacrificed so much to protect? Solanaceae thought back to what the Herald said about she being like him, about how, through the Eyes of Oblivion, he could see all that others were blind to.

It took a few tries but as her eyes clouded with entropic magic her sight shifted, and the creatures before her came in focus in a new way. Some of the pixies glowed with light, their auras shimmering with swirls of silver and gold. Among them were kin whose light was dimmer, their auras faded to dirty grays and mucus-like yellows.

The sickness. Lilith’s gift was allowing her to see the taint of the human’s greed and hate. The weight in Solanaceae’s chest lessened as she considered her task, and what she was seeing. The sickness would take them slowly, painfully, infecting all they loved. It was merciful to kill them quickly, loving to send them to Lilith before their suffering tore apart their tiny spirits.

Merciful.

The words became a mantra in her mind, even as she slowly rose from her hiding place and reached in her belt pouch for a handful of herbs. She gripped her fingers around a clump of nightshade, cradling a black pearl, and with a few muttered arcane words, cast the bolt of energy. The nearby pixie’s cries faded and it spiraled from the air, landing in the damp grass. Her satisfaction was short lived when she turned the pixie over the find the wings singed from the spell’s effects. Fire worked no better. The pixies died well enough from the flames, but no matter how hard she tried to aim the spell away from the back area, the delicate wings still burnt with the heat. Calling on her entropic magics left the wings intact as a while, but curled and still less than perfect.

Solanaceae knelt in the grass, breathing slowly. Blood coated her skin and clothing, and the exhaustion hung heavy upon her. Servants or no the pixies were formidable opponents, and she knew she’d never complete her task if she didn’t find a way to defeat them without ruining their fragile wings. Dark green dripped from a deep cup in her upper arm and she watched as the blood trailed down her elbow and fell. Cowering in the foliage beneath, the quail never stood a chance as the deadly vitae came in contact with its skin and seeped inside.

A shudder, eyes dilating, then shortly followed by convulsion. In moments the quail was still, its live gone in what seemed not more than a heartbeat’s time. Solanaceae remembered the fate of her cat Hemlock, the toxic birth waters of her goddess, and realized that Lilith’s gifts were more than the Eyes. It would take time to learn more, but now…

Now she had her weapon. If she was right, she herself was the only weapon she possessed that could serve her needs.

She pulled her bone hand scythe from its belt sheath and drew it across several deep wounds on her thigh. The dark blood coated the silver blade, and glistened in the sunlight. She called out a challenge in the Fae tongue and stepped forward to meet the pixie that answered it. The paragon raged, tossing spells with deadly accuracy, but in the end she met the same fate as the quail.

Solanaceae watched as the pixie writhed in the dirt, moaning in what sounded like ecstasy before her body stiffened and the light left her eyes, the tiny wings entirely intact. Sorrow clutched at her heart, but Solanaceae pushed it aside. All this time she’d be fighting to save her people, to forge a place for them, and now her very blood was death to her kin. How ironic her life had become.

Her task moved quickly after that as one by one the fairies fell to the blood painted blade. Solanaceae packed the wings away in a velvet lined box and turned back toward the direction of the shrine she had come from. As she drew near she heard voices at the moongate.

She reached for the strands of glamour to hide her bloodied form and blanched as she found nothing. Solanaceae tried over and over to touch the fairy magics, but over and over she came back with emptiness. Horror cascaded over her and Solanaceae ran, unaware and uncaring where she was going.

It was gone. It was all gone.

When the exhaustion finally overcame her despair, and dragged her body to the ground, Solanaceae hugged her knees and sobbed, sobbed as if she could drown in her own tears and wash everything away. She sobbed until there was nothing left but numbness, and Solanaceae prayed…

Prayed for Oblivion.

[Dealthagar]

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The High Necromancer watched as the battered and beaten fae left his home. Her spirit has been broken. He set the box of her people's wings in a chest to be ground into reagents later.

Her state of mind was more important.

Broken down, pliable, ready for the next step in the path was desirable. Broken beyond usefulness was not. He would have to build her up...lift her higher.

Then drop her again.

Mend the cracks.

They will mar the surfae, detract from the simply beauty....but they would heal stronger than before. Push her harder, strain the frayed threads to near the point of breaking.

The pain would subside, and he would fill the wounds with his vision. The new way, the old way.

The dragon would eat it's tail, and the gear would turn anew.
_________________

The Three Truths of Singularity
Do something to the best of your abilty or don't do it at all
Feel to the fullest of your ability, cutting yourself off from your emotions leads to spiritual death
Control your being, your existance, your destiny.
www.adriandrake.com

[Solanaceae]

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The dirt floor gave way under heavy footsteps, cool against her bare skin. Solanaceae dropped her backpack in the wood chest between the last row of seedlings and stretched, letting a sigh of pleasure escape her lips as several vertebrae popped back into place. The last few days had been exhausting, physically and emotionally, and the fae was looking forward to a bit of well deserved relaxation.

Solanaceae made her way upstairs and froze at the sound of voices on the floor above her laboratory. Women by the sound of it. She drew her belt dagger across her palm, and gripped the hilt tightly in her uninjured hand. If her impromptu test during her task and the Herald’s hunch was correct, there were few poisons as deadly as that which now ran through her own veins. Since she was not the warrior the others would have her be, Solanaceae hoped her poison would give her the advantage she needed here.

Without a sound she made her way to the third floor and hid behind a large chest of drawers near the stairs. Solanaceae stared at surprise at the half dismantled wall on the east end of the room, and could hear the roar of falling water just beyond. Laughter rang out and Solanaceae stood, inching closer to discern the identity of the intruders.

Confusion slowly gave way to comprehension as she saw the ruddy brown face of Mari Red Bear smiling over a section of rubble. The bath terrace. Solanaceae has commissioned it weeks ago with the artisan and with everything that had happen, she’d completely forgotten. With a sigh of relief Solanaceae returned her dagger to its sheath.

“Heya, changling.” Mari said through her signature grin, waving. “We were just finishing the foundation around the waterfall. Want to come see?”

Solanaceae narrowed her eyes are the “we”, but crossed the room to look over a half-built wall at the soggy grass covered balcony. A huge waterfall claimed the north end of the east wall and the combat water spilled out over the greenery, coming to rest in a central pit that was to be Solanaceae’s bathing pool. The east and north wall was finished, but just as she requested, only reached half as high as the rest of the walls of the house.

“Beautiful.” Solanaceae muttered.

“We couldn’t get enough of the gargish mason bricks you requested, but a friend offered us some elvish worked stone Mari though you’d like even better.” A woman with Skin the shade of richly composted soil and hair like dancing fire stood from where she’d been kneeling and brushed off her green slacks. “We used the same stone for the support arches that was used on the rest of the house. It messed well to the new stone I think.”

Solanaceae nodded her head in agreement, watching the red-haired woman warily. She never knew what to make of Mari’s business partner. Gizam has a stern, no-nonsense manor to her, and smelled deeply of a primal magic the fae was not used to sensing from a human. She might be mortal, but not like any Solanaceae knew. Mari was an enigma to Solanaceae as well. Though her power was not like that of her companion, there was a gentleness to her spirit, a connection to the land so few human’s processed.

“We should be able to finish the back wall by tomorrow. That work for you?” Mari watched Solanaceae, concern in her brown eyes.

Solanaceae nodded. “That’s fine. I admit, I’d forgotten all about the water terrace. It looks nice. Just like I’d imagined.” She ran a hand over the top of the low wall, and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool stone against her fingers.

A weak “meow” drew Solanaceae out to the present again, and she glanced down to see a basket in the grass beyond the water. Black fur shifted, rising and falling with the breath of the creature. The beast meowed again and a familiar face appeared over the edge of the basket.

“Hemlock!” All pretense at decorum was lost and Solanaceae ran across the grass, dropping to her knees next to the basket. She drew her cat into her arms, the beloved pet she’d believed only days before was dead at her hand, and held it to her bosom. “Where did you find her?”

“So she’s yours then?” Gizam leaned against the wall and Solanaceae could see by her expression the magi was studying her. “Mari was working on her tavern when she saw the cat stumbling through the desert outside her window. I got sent out to retrieve the beast and Mari has been looking after it ever since.”

“Don’t act as if you’re so cold-hearted, you faker. You’ve been just as worried about that cat as I’ve been.”

Gizam shrugged non-committally. “In any case, looks like the animal has been through quite a bit. Its still pretty sick. Got into something she shouldn’t of?”

“Something like that,” Solanaceae said guiltily. She hadn’t meant to hurt her pet, but that didn’t change the fact that she had. She always though of the Herald as so wise and knowledgeable, but how could he be right about her emotion not being a weakness she must purge? Seeing her cat like this, knowing it was her fault, it made Solanaceae feel anything but strong and powerful. “How is she?”

“We’re not sure.” Gizam said, and Solanaceae was surprised to hear compassion creep into the magi’s tone. “I don’t know all that much about animal medicine, and Mari did all she could, but the cat still seems…well, the cat’s just not right. It’s difficult to explain.”

Solanaceae nodded. Dealthagar had said her suspected her tears possessed strong hallucigenic qualities. Perhaps when someone got too much they simply looked dead, as Hemlock had. It was certainly something in need of further experimentation. “Could you finish this later. I need to look after Hemlock. See if there’s anything I can do to make her better.”

Both women nodded. Without another word they packed up their tools and waves on their way down the stairs behind her. Solanaceae sat in the grass, and placed the cat in her lap. Hemlock purred weakly as her mistress ran her fingers through black fur, looking for any sign of injury. Solanaceae could feel the slickness of salve over small wounds, many she assumed were a result of the cats wanderings. Hemlock seemed physically uninjured, but one examination of the cat’s eyes told Solanaceae her pets wasn’t undamaged mentally. Had her eyes been that shade of green before?

“Hungry.”

The words caressed Solanaceae’s mind and she startled, looking deep into the slitted eyes that met her own. “You are hungry? Was that you who said that?”

“Hungry. Tired. Cold.”

The word had a fuzzy sound to them, like those of a child speaking through a fever. More had happened to Hemlock then simply an drug induced illness. The cat was changed…much like Solanaceae had been.

Soon Hemlock was contently eating from a bowl of softly ground liver Solanaceae had retrieved from the most recent offering she was preparing for her arachnid neighbors. Perhaps the cat would recover, or like Solanaceae, she would have to adjust to becoming something very unlike she had been. Time held the answers and did not give up its secrets easily.

While the cat fed, Solanaceae drew samples of her blood and saliva, making a metal note to invoke tears she could study at a later time. She’d promised the Herald results, and now was as good a moment for that for his sake and for Hemlocks.

Many caged birds and rabbits fell victim to Solanaceae’s experiments. There was no avoiding it. It took the living to give her the result she needed. She used small doses to be as gentle as possible, but her blood acted too quickly for her spell to save the small creatures. The other tests were a bit more forgiving, though with the birds even in small doses the hallucinations proved to be far too much shock for their systems. Perhaps next time she’d need to gather human test subjects instead. The result would be far more accurate and their suffering far more satisfying.

It was well into evening before Solanaceae felt confident enough with her results to be willing to take them to her master. She jotted down the last of her notes and packed her journal in the shoulder bag hanging on the wall behind her bed. There would be no rest this evening. The priestess has told her the Path of Oblivion was a path of suffering. The Herald has said the same. She might as well get used to it.

Hemlock was sleeping fitfully in her basket, so Solanaceae slid the basket, cat and all, into a second roomier pouch. Let the others think her weak for such a show of compassion. Her master would not reproach her. Besides, something told Solanaceae Hemlock’s own suffering had link her and the fae in ways few could understand.

One last task remained, and it would be time for tonight’s Mass. Solanaceae needed something to sacrifice, something of value but not irreplaceable. But what? Seeds? No, as much as she loved her plants, the others would find little value in that. Nothing living. This was not that type of sacrifice. She considered his instructions. An object of personal, symbolic, power or monetary value. Something she was willing to release to Oblivion, never to return.

She walked the Path of Oblivion now. She already belongs to it. What was left to give? Solanaceae glanced down at the raw wound healing on her palm. Her goddess’ gift had given her a value few would ever experience, a gift her own people would never understand. Tonight she would share that gift with Oblivion.

Tonight Solanaceae’s blood would be her sacrifice, her life force spilt in dedication to a new beginning. Blood to lubricate what was to reborn, the birth of the end of everything.