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[Dealthagar]

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Faith was a tenuous thing.

Few could understand the purity and clarity of looking into the void. Staring into the well of souls had long since become unfufilling. Suspending ones self from the edge of Umbra drew too much attention. The void that ate at Ter Mur was corruptive and devouring.

So the trackless and endless depts of Oblivion could only be found in one place: inward.

Solonaceae had done well as his seer, and given him several visions of the direction he needed to lead the Faithful of Oblivion. Even after a hundred reviews, and doing varied and more and more esoteric divinations the visions she had were no clearer. He could not find peace. The Truth was out there waiting for him to find it.

Drayek had sought solace in torturing her body to the limits of what it could take. What of the mind? The soul?

The mixture of the drugs from the "cure", infused saerelai extract, nightmare marrow and spinal fluid, nightshade essence, mescaline and Utopia would have been fatal to any mortal in small dosages, and most lesser quasi-mortals in large dosages.

With the massive dosage Dealthagar had inflicted upon himself after sealing his eyes closed with a layer of bone, it sent his mind into a surreal hyperstate, his vision allowed to go no further than the orbs of pure Entropy that rested in his empty sockets. The silver plated iron barbs dug deep into bone, holding fast in the meat and sinew. Speared through his hands, feet, shouders and hips, he thrashed as he hung from the chained counterweights, dancing to the voices of the void like a macabre marionette.

The souls of those he had consumed sang to him, urging him to join them in Oblivion, jealous of his flesh. His claws and fangs snapped and raked at the open air, trying to feed on the essence of nothingness that floated through his tapestry.

Truth was a lie.
Existance was a mask we held up for others to see through.
Flesh is transitory.
Pain is universal.

In his existance on Soararia, he had lived a hundred lives, all slices of truth, pieces of a mosaic, none really capable of giving the whole picture. He was a creature of chaos, of the moment. every word was the truth at the moment he said it, even if laid in layers of lies and misconceptions.

He was unworthy.

He howled like a beast, straining at the chains, his flesh tearing from the force of his struggles.

He was a lie. He was the truth. He walked between worlds, dancing on strands finer than the dying breath of a stillborn child. He thrust himself into the air and pirouetted, his jet black blood spraying about the room in random patterns of pain and madness. His dance was his truth, his salvation.

He was Damned. His sight, his gift, his blessed and beloved darkness, all part of a maddening spiral that lead him inexorably to the Convergance. But why? it was not just his fate. It *was* fate. All things die. All things ome to an end. Grains of sand in an hourglass. Sould slipping into the Well. There was no difference. Oblivion consumed all. It played no favorites. It didn't care. It fed. Death, consumption, destruction, feeding, entropy, the breaking down of the world, the end of reality, the soft darkness, the final sleep.

Oblivion was the end. And he longed for it. He wanted it. It tugged at him, pulled at him tore at him...

He screamed as the bones in his face exploded, the Eyes of Oblvion yearned to be free, and even their master's flesh would not contain them. His mouth, nose and eyes were gone, replaced by a single gaping maw of nothingness. The pure font of Entropy poured from him, unbound, uncontrolled. The manor shook and rattled, the very foundation cracking under the might of the loosed power. Flesh stitched, bones knit and with an inhuman scream of pain Dealthagar collapsed, sealing the vortex he hid behind his eyes.

Solonaceae had been correct, and now the focus was there.

The child born of death, the egg of between. The soulless. It waited at the edge of the Abyss for him to find it.
_________________

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 orange and red beetles, no bigger than date pits, gathered at the edge of the waterfall. They immersed their thoraxes into the water and soon steam rose into the air. Solanaceae let the crimson kimono slip from her shoulders and lowered herself into the hot water. With a sigh of contentment she lounged on one of the large, smooth stones on the floor of the pool, until the water rested mid-bosom. The wedding had been uneventful, and she’d been able to give her gift as she’d planned. Whether or not the couple read or heeded her warning, that was not for her to be concerned about. There were far more important matters on the Fae’s mind.

The state she’d found the Herald and his home in when she’d returned after the wedding was of some concern to her. The stone was damaged and in need of repair. She’d already sent word to her friend Mari regarding contacting the Herald to quote him on the repair. The physical damage of the Herald’s body, as bothersome as that was to see, Solanaceae know he would heal quickly enough. He’d seen what he needed to see and now, it was up to her to gather what would be needed for the next step in the task. Raw meat, herbs, stones, bone, such things were simple enough to get, but it was finding the perfect kind of each for their purpose that must be carefully considered.

Solanaceae found her thoughts returning to something the Herald had said not long ago. A ritual. He hadn’t said exactly what kind, just that he wished her to create it, to lead it, to show the Order what she was capable of. Tonight’s events, what had happened at the Sanctum, her task, it all felt connected in a way, but what reason, what meaning, she still didn’t quite see. Soon she would need to again seek her answers in the Abyss, but each time Solanaceae allowed her mind to return there, she felt more of herself slip away, less control remain hers to call upon.

How long before she was lost to the madness completely? That was a question for which even the Seer had no answer.