The Soul Stealer's Goodbye

More on this RP storyline can be found in:

Note: As with most OOC events that affect my participation on TFC, I have to come up with some sort of story that makes sense for me and for my character. After being rejected from the High Order, Samiyah was to return after a two week waiting period. That turned out not to be the case. I came up with the following story to explain why. It is somewhat based on the actual conversations involved, though I have taken artistic liberty with them. This is not co-written, and it does not represent Seraph's views or thoughts. These events follow those in Shattered, and occurred in the time frame of January 31 - February 16, 2014.

Samiyah came to with a wrenching sense of wrongness. All around her was mist, flowing thick and heavy through a gray nothingness. She giggled, an odd thought popping into her head: Nicholai would feel at home in this place. Then she frowned as she realized: just as likely, he might become lost in it, the way Corri spoke of becoming lost in The Mystic Woods, and she didn't like that idea at all. Rising to her feet, she took a step. Ephemeral nothingness swirled around her legs, which did not seem as solid as they should be. Extending her hands before her, she examined them: Ghostly.

Well, that only made sense, she mused, since Seraph had made a ghost of her. He had drawn her spirit out of her flesh and sent it to the Realm of Souls. Reminded herself of her task, she concentrated on the shard of Similus that Seraph had bid her take within her aura. It pulsed, angry and brilliant red.

"Perhaps it is like one of his light-compasses," she thought, reminded of the tool her father had created to help her find a lost journal some months back. She focused on the shard in the same way, holding an image of the weapon Similus in her mind. Instantly, she felt dizzy, pulled in a dozen directions, and tasted bile in her mouth.

Having no landmarks, she picked one of the vague nudges and started trudging in that direction. It was hard to tell if she was making any headway, or have any means of tracking the hours. She began singing to pass the time as she walked, her husky contralto not carrying far in the oddness of this place. Silly songs from her childhood about tending goats followed more sorrowful works about her missing friend Tross. Some songs, she did not dare give voice in this place, such as the one she had written upon first meeting Seraph, or another about the vineyards surrounding the Castle of Baron Marel. An idea for a new composition began forming; comparing the three Kindred in her life to the phases of the moon and the Aspects of the Triat. She had been studying the particulars of that faith, knowing that her Wind gave it heed, and it seemed to fit rather nicely. The exquisitely lovely crescent moon, a sign of opportunities and growth and change was Wind, of course. The mesmerizing, tormenting fullness of the Wyld’s moon – well, that was Venom, to be certain, for inspiring madness and rage were his hallmarks. The mystery and beauty of the waning moon was the ancient Eldest, Nicholai – when powerful spells were to be cast and the darkness was at its deepest, and the Weaver persevered. But how to weave it all together? And how to give each their proper due?

Her focus was scarcely on her surroundings as she walked. She followed the tugging within her and the song that teased her with its possibilities. It was only when something unseen within the mist caught her heel and she stumbled that she realized that her environs had changed. It was featureless no more. Dull gray trees had gathered in around her, lining a pathway. Here and there, darting shapes flapped about but made no contact. It seemed familiar and as she emerged into the broken square, recognition struck. Her turn to the east was instinctive, seeking out the great Tree. Beneath its branches, a figure awaited.

Samiyah approached hesitantly, respectfully, bowing her head. ‘Ybarra?’ She knelt at the woman's feet amidst the profusion of flowers at the base of the tree, their sweet, glorious scent the first she had experienced within this grey nothingness.

The woman, more solid and present than the bard was, nodded with a gentle smile. Her presence was overwhelming; much like that of an Immortal, and Samiyah felt the potency of her aura like a warmth upon her skin. Peace flowed over her in a wave, washing away every sense of hurt or weariness. Tears trickled down her cheeks at the beauty and balm of the Mother’s presence, but at the same time, her mind swirled with a dozen questions.

Ybarra’s chuckle and tone of voice was like the music of midnight: low and velvety. “I know, child.” A hand reached out, resting lightly upon Samiyah’s bowed head in gentle benediction.

“It is often that people come to me with questions... but rare that they are in a place where they can hear my answer. So many times I have wished to take Star into my arms and comfort and advise her.” The Mother’s voice tinged with regret. “She is hurt so deeply, it wounds me not to heal her.”

Sami dared a glance upward. Ybarra was smiling down at her indulgently and Samiyah could not help but beam a smile in return. All the questions in her heart swirled to the fore, but she choked them back and simply asked, unconsciously quoting Wind, “Is everything going to be okay?”

Ybarra’s dark eyes and tone were gentle when she answered: “You will face the greatest pain you have ever known, when you leave this place, dear one. You will carry its weight for a long, long time. But others will be with you, to help you through it, as they have always been.”

Samiyah slumped, head bowed. Her voice was a whisper: “Is Seraph...” She could not finish the sentence, could not give voice to the worry that had been in her heart for some time.

A silent nod was the shade’s only reply.

Samiyah instinctively fled, her heart breaking, scrambling up the tree’s thick trunk. The hand and food holds were as familiar to her as the steps leading to the Hall. The mist in the branches was particularly thick, and within it, she saw a faint, familiar outline.

“Nicholai!” she exclaimed, climbing a few more branches up to the unmoving figure. He did not react in any way or seem to hear her. Perhaps she was as ghostly to him, as he was to her. Still, even a vague sense of his presence was a comfort. She settled down on a thick tree limb, facing away - though she knew he would not judge - and silently wept, letting the tears come as they may. She had known that a time would come when her path diverged from her Father’s but the thought still tore at her tender heart.

It was impossible to know how long it took to cry herself out – there had been so much, of late, that deserved tears. When she glanced up, wiping the wetness from her face, Nicholai still rested on a nearby branch. He seemed to be listening or waiting for something. He held one of the many flowers she had gifted him in one hand -a hydrangea, purchased from the flower seller in the Midgaard Graveyard - twirling the stem idly. Though it might have been her own emotions influencing her perception, he seemed sad and lonely. This didn't sit well with her, so she set aside her own woes for a moment and dashed down the tree trunk, picked one of the daisies at its base, and scurried back up. She approached the misty figure and laid the flower beside it. As she released the bloom, it seemed to fade into that same shadowy grayness, mirroring the Eldest. He startled, as if taken aback, and slid gracefully off his perch on the branch, tucking the bright orange blossom he had been holding into a black silk baldric. Crouching beside the daisy, Nicholai attempted to pick it up. His brow furrowed as his fingers passed through the ephemeral bloom. He murmured a spell to make himself translucent and tried again to no avail. The resultant frown was clear, even in his mist-like state.

“Well, I didn't mean to give him a pickle, as Rhyvn would say, but he does like puzzles… perhaps he’ll figure out a way to catch a ghost,” Samiyah thought to herself. Her spirits raised a touch, she shimmied back down the tree and approached Ybarra again.

Again, she knelt, the respectful posture instinctive before the Mother of All Vampires. “Sayyida… May I bother you with what is probably a very silly question?”

A smile played over Ybarra’s lips. “Questions about love and passion are never silly, dear one. You may ask.”

Stumbling a bit with embarrassment, Samiyah asked, “With the bond… It… hurts.. when Wind will not drink from me… I don’t want to press him, and Seraph would have been angry if I had.. but what I can I do to ease the pain?”

The woman chuckles, the sound an earthy one. “You are already doing things to ease it. Spend more time with your Wind. Befriend other Kindred. Visit here. Continue doing all those things. But that wasn't your real question, was it?”

She blushed and stumbled over her words. “What if another Kindred bit me, if Wind won’t? Would that help? Sometimes.. it hurts, very much.. I don't think he knows how badly.”

Ybarra laughed. “Dear One, you still aren't asking the question you really want to know the answer to.” She paused, and seemed to take mercy on the tribal girl’s inability to speak of such things. “Yes, the bite of another vampire would ease the ache. Yes, the bite of a vampire is deeply pleasurable – and no, there is nothing wrong with you for thinking it so. Yes, you would likely enjoy it if another vampire bit you - but there *are* other means of obtaining that same pleasure – the intimacies between a man and a woman, for example. And yes, you will experience them someday.”

The bard could not help but hide her face in her hands, feeling her skin warm with the intensity of her blush. She felt Ybarra’s hand cup her head once more, and the Mother murmured, "That’s enough answers for now, dear one. Be about your task; you've tarried long enough."

Chastised, Samiyah rose quickly to her feet, and looked within for the tug that would show her the way. It pulled her straight towards the great Keep. Murmuring precious warding spells, she headed inside and began her search. It was not until her reluctant steps took her into the presence of the Dark Enforcer, Lestat himself, that her search was successful. There it glowed – but so did the auras around the Enforcer. While she had hoped that he might be as ephemeral as Nicholai, to her regret, he seemed to exist on this plane as dangerously as he did on the mortal one. Still, she took lessons from a prior trip with Corri, and after a long and drawn out fight that left her covered in puncture marks – not pleasant ones, either! – the Enforcer was dead. She moved towards the shard on wobbly legs, a touch nervous. Biting her lip, she picked it up, unsure of what to do next. She need not have worried, for at her touch, it was absorbed into her, the intensity of its magic like picking up a handful of lava. She screamed at the pain, choking off the sound as quickly as she could, taking several ragged, shuddering breaths to control her response. She felt Wind's concern like a distant warmth on her skin and the faintest hint of the scent of leaves. Even the unimaginable distance between them could not break their bond. She took deep comfort in that and tried to send an answering wave of caring in return.

One down… eleven to go.

She closed her eyes in focus and got the direction of another shard – somewhere off in the distance. Making her way back up through the tunnels of the keep, she was amused to see a shadowy shape in the distance, nudging along a giant pudding in the direction of the Tree. Ybarra waved to her from beneath its covering branches, and Samiyah felt a wave of love and acceptance from the Mother that heartened her to the difficult task ahead.

Samiyah was weak with exhaustion as she knelt, trembling, beside the final shard. It had been a difficult task, finding and absorbing each of the lost bits of Similus. With every piece found, an overwhelming sense of wrongness had built. Her aura, so briefly pristine blue, was angrily streaked with scarlet – much more so than when she had borne the marks of Seraph’s own soul within hers. She could scarcely see, her sight was so clouded from visions of Similus’s bloody past. The last shard had been within the heart of a mountain in the clutches of a giant flaming bird. It had only been the mantra, uttered what seemed so long ago, in the Hall that had helped her endure and win through.

Now, with the last splinter at hand, she whispered a prayer to her Father as she picked it up. As if its presence within her soul had been a clarion bell of summoning, Seraph appeared. He crouched beside her, his sable wings and arms enclosing her in a protective embrace. She slumped against him, utterly spent.

“I did it, Father. I got them all,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to the warm strength of his chest.

“I know, my daughter. I felt each of your successes. You have done well.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head, the familiar gesture one deeply comforting to her.

Samiyah smiled faintly, sitting up and holding out her hands. “Will you take them, now? They feel so heavy.”

Seraph studied her a moment, then spoke. “I can… But I think that they can be a gift to you, if you let them.”

She blinked up at him stupidly, her mind a haze of pain and weariness. “How?”

Seraph cupped her chin in his hand, his gaze gentle. “You struggle, my tender-hearted daughter, with the mission of the Order. Similus can help give you the steel that you need to join my Angels. He can lend you the strength you need to fight our enemies.”

Frowning, she drew back, pulling her face from his grasp. “..I don’t… I don’t understand..”

Patiently, he explained, his deep voice persuasive. “You have always known that I wanted you to take your place, leading the tribe against its enemies and protecting your brothers and sisters in the Order. Keep Similus within you, and he can guide you with his memories of when I wielded him.”

Tears welled up in Sami’s brown eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. “No… NO! I have never, ever wanted that.”

Seraph’s expression was still calm. “I know. But that is what I need of you, daughter. I need you to be strong for me. Let Similus teach you how to stand in battle, to bring our enemies low. Listen to him. He can show you the way.”

Mutely she shook her head back and forth in refusal. Her father’s face grew stony and his words more forceful.

“I will not take the shards from you. Only death will. You will obey me, child. It is time you set aside your vampire friends and embraced what the Order is truly about. You must stand down from your constant defense and protection of them. They must die, and it is your duty to obey and to assist in that mission. If that means lying and drawing them into a trap, then you must. If that means granting your spells to my angels, you must.”

His tone softened a touch, almost pleading. “I need you by my side, Samiyah. I need my daughters to stand with me. Your little sister, Jamilla, knows how to fight… Can you do any less than she does?”

Ybarra’s words rushed back into her heart and mind, and Samiyah wept as she repeated her refusal.

Seraph’s aura flashed crimson, mirroring the glowing sparks in his empty eye sockets. “For the last time, Samiyah: I need you to do this. If you will not... I cannot have you within my Order. I would have to fight you, as we fight them - keep you silenced and asleep in the Hall, when we go to war. Is that what you want?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “But I cannot … I will not... hurt and lie to those who give me their trust.”

“They are EVIL, Samiyah! They are NOT your family!” Seraph thundered, his wings snapping outward angrily. “When you gave me your oath, you gave me your life. My word should be your law. My goals, your goals! Yet always, always, you fight me! You look for loopholes and disobey to every extent that you can. It’s time to choose, daughter. Me? Or them.”

Again she shook her head. “NO. It isn't you or them. It’s.. it’s about who *I* am. I am not a liar or a killer or an avenging angel. I am.. I am a singer and a teacher and a friend to anyone who will be mine. I am not a judge or a jury or an executioner! And I won’t let you make me become one! I am a GOOD person, Father… but we define that differently… I will not oppose you.. but I cannot be what you want me to be. You always say that I am you and you are me... that we are the other half of each other... but I cannot be YOU. I cannot be a Suriel, like you. I will always sing your song, Father.. but I cannot do this.. ”

Seraph rose abruptly, the movement sending Samiyah tumbling. His voice was cold. "Then, my selfish Daughter, our roads part here. Sing my name no longer. I will fade and the Order with me... but know that we will go down fighting." With his next gesture, the world spun, and Samiyah knew no more.

When she regained consciousness, it was sprawled in a cold stone chamber, the scent of rot and blood heavy in the air. She could hear the distant sounds of battle and the ringing of hammers on stone. Her whole body ached as if life barely remained within her. Her blue aura was gone, stripped away; only the ugly crimson stain of Similus remained. She stared, aghast, at the taint of it. Without heed for her injuries, she summoned transportational magics, to try and get to somewhere safe. When she stepped through the portal, she found she had mis-cast. She was not back in Riverhold, but rather in the midst of a band of angry orogs, who instantly hacked her down.

Again, all went dark.

In the past, whenever her soul had split from her mortal remains, Seraph had held it safe in her hands, keeping her from the Final Death. But this time... there was no comforting desert wind and warmth to hold back the chill of the nothingness between breaths. Instead, a cool night breeze, laden with the scent of Loth-Lorien's treetops, gave her comfort in that moment. Her bond with Wind drew her back to life once more. She awoke in the Chapel of her home town, Riverhold, with a deep sense of loss and emptiness. Always, Seraph's emotions had been an accompaniment to her every waking moment, his aura around her like an azure cloak. All of that was missing, and she felt oddly hollow and bereft... but the stain of Similus was also gone, swept away by her death at the hands of the guards of the Vile Rune.

A tall, slender figure was suddenly silhouetted in the archway, moving with the impossible speed and grace of a Kindred. Wind paused ever so briefly, his exquisite hazel eyes tender and compassionate, before moving to her side. Samiyah reached up to take his offered hand and leaned in to the safety of his arms, feeling a rush of love and concern through the bond. It would take time to heal the emptiness inside her, but as Ybarra had said: there was comfort to be found in friends, no matter what her road.

The Soul Stealer's Goodbye

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