Solo Of Herbs and Spiders

[Velindor Calendula]

42nd of Summer, 417AV

While one could argue that the city of Alvadas, and its merry residents, never truly slept, Velindor couldn’t help but note the strange calm that draped the streets as he stepped out of his modest home into the early morning air. Sure, blocks away...or perhaps just the next street over, one was never sure here, the symenestra could hear a raucous party that had no doubt begun the previous evening and would no doubt continue for at least another bell or two - well past sunrise. And just to his left, Velindor could make out a hunched form making its intoxicated way down the street. But overall, in the still pre-dawn twilight, there was a sense of peace. I suppose even enchanted cities need to rest sometimes, the herbalist thought as he turned right from his doorway and began meandering through the street. His goal was the Gaping Maw, though as Velindor hadn’t been there in the last day or so, he couldn’t say with certainty that he knew the way. After all, even the street signs lied in the city of Alvadas, how much more so one’s own memory and sense of direction in the ever-shifting city?

As Velindor walked, taking left and right turns not quite at random, he gave thought to his purpose that day. Can’t very well call myself an herbalist if I’ve no herbs now, can I? came the question in his mind’s voice. Thankfully, he wasn’t exactly swamped with orders for the time being, leaving him free to take trips like this one to replenish his stock. Not that the heat is making things easy on me. That thought twisted his usual sardonic grin into a scowl. He was hardly the only one concerned about the summer’s effect on local vegetation, but he could certainly not allow the summer’s heat to prevent him from paying his rent! And indeed, the summer’s unnatural heat was all the more reason for Velindor to make his gathering forays in the early morning hours, before the temperature grew unbearable, and he could enjoy the hottest part of the day indoors tending to the herbs he’d collected. Eyes on the prize, Vel, he thought to himself, his scowl turning into a grin as he rounded a corner and found himself at the Gaping Maw just as the sixth bell sounded.

Standing at the threshold of the city gates, Velindor took a moment to double check that he had his needed supplies. Shears and spade: check. Empty cloth sack: check. A pair of apples to snack on as he worked: double-check. Satisfied, Velindor took his steps down the long stone corridor that was the Maw’s interior, exiting into the foothills of Kalea. The hilly landscape before him appeared bathed in silver as the moon fell and the sun slowly began peeking up over the horizon. Taking a deep breath to savor the tranquility of nature before dawn, the Symenestra trod off the beaten path almost immediately. With the summer heat scorching the landscape, he was more than happy to take whatever he could find on today’s forage. However, he still had certain herbs in mind. In particular, he needed something that would aid in treating and closing wounds, as well as a plant that could assist as a sleep aid. With the ever-shifting nature of Alvadas, such remedies were always in high demand.

[Velindor Calendula]

As rays of red-gold light pierced the horizon, bathing the towering mountains in a majestic radiance that stole the breath in a way few other experiences could, Velindor took a deep inward breath of crisp morning air. Making his way further into the wooded foothills surrounding the city of Alvadas, the young symenestra allowed, just for a moment, his senses to wander and take in everything around him. Birds chirped their mating calls and territorial claims from the treetops above, and despite the trees themselves blocking out most of the sunrise proper, Velindor could see clear as day. One more advantage over the lesser races, he thought with a coy smile writhing across his face. While he generally tried not to dwell on such thoughts, they could become especially distracting when dealing with the general public of Alvadas, Velindor had to admit there was a certain...liberating sensation at being honest with himself. “Would that I could voice my thoughts more frequently,” the herbalist spoke aloud, in Common out of habit, his accented voice lilting through the still morning air.

“Ah, but it does nobody any good to dwell on these matters,” Velindor spoke aloud as he shrugged his shoulders, making a point of tensing and relaxing his back and shoulder muscles. “Time to get to work.”

Now he took his steps with a more careful purpose, his golden gaze sweeping the ground ahead slowly from one side to the other, then back again. His eyes were focused on nothing in particular, relying instead on his peripheral vision to take in the whole picture. Even here, pale yellow leaves and browned spots in the ground cover gave evidence to the summer’s scorching heat. Velindor continued his trek through the woods, eyes on the ground while he kept his ears open - just in case. Surely not every plant had succumbed to the sun’s mighty glare. “Probaby just the useful ones,” Velindor muttered with a bemused smirk, cut short as he caught sight of a sprig of bright red just a couple yards off. His ashen lips parted into a true smile as the symenestra made his way closer to the plant.

Velindor dropped to one knee to investigate what he’d found. Bright red flower combs sitting atop slim, upright stems and surrounded by thick green sawtoothed leaves, covered in fine hairs. The herbalist hooked one wicked black claw around a stem to pull a flower close to his nose. He nodded in satisfaction, “Tolm, just what I need!” Pulling the spade and shears from his small pack, Velindor knelt into the dirt and began to work. I need to preserve the roots, he thought, calling on his short lessons years ago to memory. The earth proved stubborn, baked dry as it had been by the sun’s rays. It took several chimes before Velindor was able to get a good break through the surface, allowing him to scrape and scoop aside the dry soil underneath.

Once the initial digging had been done, Velindor was able to set to the task of retrieving the plant from the ground. Utilizing his sturdy black claws as fine instruments, the symenestra carefully dug around the root system, gently tugging the roots free as he cleared the soil around them. While he would have liked a more robust harvest, all in all Velindor estimated he’d gathered up enough tolm to last him at least another few weeks. Taking the time to carefully brush as much dirt from the roots as possible, the budding herbalist placed his bounty into his pack and stood. The day was still young, and he had work to do.

[Velindor Calendula]

The sun had crept up from the horizon, the red-gold radiance of the dawn fading into a brilliant white gleam. As the sun rose, so did the temperature. Though not quite the middle of the day, Velindor could already feel sweat trickling down his back, and his muscles burned in protest as he ascended yet another foothill in the Alvadas outskirts. The forested canopy offered only a little respite from the harshness of the sun’s glare as it rose towards its zenith. A seasoned outdoorsman he was not, but Velindor estimated he still had a few bells before the hottest part of the day began. Best to be back in my own home by then, he thought to himself. As he reached the peak of the hill, Velindor’s frown only deepened. Nothing. Again. His initial find of Tolm had proved extremely fortuitous, as for the last bell...or maybe two...the symenestra had come across little but one dead, dried bush after another. Almost as if his earlier prediction had been prescient, the few green plants remaining were of no apparent use to him.

An exasperated sigh broke through the herbalist’s placid composure, and the growls of hunger boiling up from his gut only served to further sour his mood. “When did I eat last?” he wondered aloud, to no one in particular. In response, his stomach offered only another gurgling groan, this time accompanied by the distinct twinge of venom secreting from his fangs. Smirking, Velindor moved to sit beneath a large oak tree. “A day, at least then.” As his knees bent, the symenestra’s golden eyes flickered with a disapproving sneer. Digging in the dirt was one thing, but why sit on the ground like a simple animal? I’ve been living around humans too long, maybe. Chortling at the thought, Velindor hoisted his pack over his shoulder, and pressed his bare hands against the rough bark of the tree. The tiny hooks in his skin took hold easily enough to the rugged oak, and when he was sure of his hold, Velindor gingerly picked up each foot and secured it the same way.

Once his grip was certain, Velindor had little problem scaling the tree, climbing out onto the first large branch, not too far above the ground, but wide enough for him to hold his pack between his legs as he fished around for the apples he’d brought just for this purpose. He had brought them, hadn’t he? Velindor’s searching became more frantic, tiny droplets of venom flying as hunger mixed with frustration. As he finally realized that his apples, were in fact absent, Velindor gave a single furious shriek and tossed his bag to the ground. Sitting back against the rough oak bark, his black latticework of blood vessels appearing clearly beneath his cheeks and lips like an angry spiderweb, frustration began to ebb as Velindor realized how childish that display had just been. I’m certain they were there before I left the-... before he even finished the thought, Velindor knew he had been once again tricked by the illusions of Alvadas. Making a mental note to always check his pack after leaving the gate, Velindor closed his eyes and began taking deep, measured breaths to calm himself.

After about a chime of breathing, the anger had subsided. His hunger, however, had not. Opening his eyes, Velindor turned his gaze downward, toward his previously discarded pack. Several batches of tolm had spilled out, but that was not what caught the young symenestra’s interest. Standing near the spilled plants stood a small, furry quadruped. Velindor peered closer; he thought he’d seen similar animals in back alleys of Alvadas, but then just as often in some humans’ homes. Cautiously, Velindor clambered down the oak tree. Small, pointed ears...long flexible tail… He wasn’t sure there was a word for this animal in his native tongue, but he had heard Common speakers refer to them as “cat.” This one had mottled brown fur that appeared to be as smooth as the silk Velindor wore himself. As Velindor descended, a piece of bark broke from the tree in his passing, tumbling to the ground and causing the small, furry creature to jump, literally, its back arching and tail flaring straight up. As the animal looked up and locked eyes with Velindor, he couldn’t help but smirk in noting that the creature shared similar golden irises to his own.

As Velindor took his next move down from the tree trunk, the small cat tucked its ears back and bared its fangs, letting out a short hiss. Velindor stopped himself from chuckling, but only just barely. Just then, an idea struck him, and his ashen grey lips parted to reveal his own, much longer, fangs in a twisted grin. He’d never tried suggesting an animal, but how difficult could a simple beast, albeit a domesticated one, be to influence compared to a sentient being? The herbalist clicked his tongue lightly to gain the cat’s attention once more, then maintained his eye contact with the animal. His brow furrowing in concentration, Velindor felt his djed manifesting just behind his eyes. His peripheral vision blurred, outlines becoming fuzzy, indistinct smears of color. Don’t blink. Velindor focused, sweat beading on his forehead as he spoke a single word in Symenos: “Calm.” His voice came out slightly distorted, as if through a long steel pipe, and the word was tinged with his djed. Velindor hardly expected a common animal to understand Symenos, but it was the intent that mattered.

[Velindor Calendula]

Or so he’d been told. At his word, the animal did seem to become docile, but only long enough for Velindor to reach the ground. Without his active concentration, it would seem, the effect of his suggestion wore off quicker than he’d expected. As soon as his slippered feet touched the earth, the cat darted back several paces, taking cover beneath a small shrub at the base of a neighboring tree. Frowning in disappointment, Velindor stood, and almost immediately noticed a warm trickle flowing down from the corner of his lip. A quick swipe of his finger confirmed what he’d suspected: blood from the mouth. With a roll of his eyes, Velindor wiped the rest of the blood away; he hadn’t expended much of his djed, so there was barely more than a small trickle. At least it didn’t come from the eyes this time, Velindor thought as he gathered his herbs and belongings back into his pack. Blood from the mouth he could usually explain as leftovers from a recent meal; more than a few non-symenestra were ignorant or biased enough to believe that line without second thought. Blood from the eyes? That was nearly a dead giveaway that something was not quite right.

“Just another reason to practice more,” he muttered under his breath, hoisting his pack into place on his back. As he turned to go, a flash of crimson caught his eye from a nearby tree. Hunched as he’d been gathering his belongings, he’d not noticed it before. Out of curiosity, Velindor assessed the rest of the plant: the deep crimson came from flower clusters perched atop tall stems, covered their entire height with jagged-edged leaves growing from gnarled vines. Growing excited as his mind raced through his knowledge of common remedial herbs, Velindor dropped to his knees to assess the roots, which grew in a similar gnarled maze. Belltor! And ripe for harvesting, by the looks of it! Velindor couldn’t believe his luck, and the approaching midday heat was quickly forgotten as he set about retrieving his spade. But luck, as it turned out, had a sense of humor today. As the herbalist approached the small bushel of belltor, he was greeted first by a low, throaty growl, followed by a vaguely familiar hiss.

Looking up, Velindor once again locked eyes with the brown feline from the oak tree. The animal stood sideways, its back arched and tail erect so as to appear larger than it really was. Regarding the small mammal with a casual sneer, Velindor sat down at the edge of the root cluster. Now the animal’s growling became audibly more frantic and high pitched, but it showed no inclination of moving from the protection of the vines and leaves of the belltor bush. Scowling, the symenestra took a moment to ponder his situation. Belltor was valuable as an herbal medicine, and he gave no thought to leaving this find here in the wilderness on account of some mangy feral feline. No, something would have to be done about this furry impediment to making his trip outside the safety of Alvadas’ walls worthwhile. In a flash of memory, Velindor recalled the words of his older cousin: Whatever you do, take the time to do it right. A tad generic, perhaps, but still applicable to his predicament. Velindor set his tools aside and took a cross-legged sitting position on the ground, facing the offending feline.

His magical art relied on the manipulation of thought and emotion, Velindor had managed to figure that much out on his own. The harder lesson, and one that he still struggled with, was that one couldn’t very well expect to manipulate the emotions of other beings, sentient or not, without proper control of one’s own emotions. Maintaining a soft focus on the golden irises and tuning out the continued yowling and growling, Velindor began with deep, measured breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. After a few such breaths, Velindor could feel his djed welling up inside him, rising and falling with the ebb and flow of his breathing. Doing his best to ignore the rumbling of his own stomach as well as the droplets of sweat beading upon his brow, the symenestra sharpened his focus, maintaining keen eye contact with the growling feline as he projected his djed.

Velindor had never learned the technical terms for what exactly it was that he did, nor did he much care at the moment. All he knew is that he pushed with his mind, willing the creature to experience a sensation of calm. Colors swirled at the edges of his vision, and a dull, throbbing pain began pulsing just behind his eyes. But Velindor’s will was focused, his eyes remained opened wide, pupils dilated as his lips stretched into an almost manic grin. The growling stopped, and the feline lowered its back. Though it still maintained its distance, the creature took one, then two, hesitant steps forward. Velindor could see the spark of curiosity in its dark amber eyes. Easier than expected, he thought as his grin widened, his teeth and fangs sparkling white in the bright light of Syna, tiny rivulets of venom trickling from their tips.

While he had never known his art to require specific gestures, as he’d often heard of in the fairy tales growing up, there were times when non-verbal communication was useful beyond measure. Such as when the subject doesn’t understand language to begin with, Velindor thought as he once more gathered his djed. He could feel his heart beginning to thump in his chest like a drum, and the throbbing pain behind his eyes grew sharper, more directed as he once more cast his djed towards the small animal. Gritting his teeth, Velindor forced himself to work through the pain as the swirling colors at the edge of his vision threatened to encroach further. He needed to get this over with. Reaching out his hand, the symenestra crooked his index finger upward in the near-universal gesture for a summons. Simultaneously, he pushed once more with his mind, attempting to instill a general sense of trust, but this time Velindor also pulled, stoking the curiosity already present in the animal’s simple mind.

The moment Velindor released his djed, he felt as if the weight of Kalinor had just been dumped on his shoulders. Licking his lips, he caught the distinct coppery taste of blood. And more of it this time, he noted, though that was to be expected. He had put more effort into the spell this time, and judging by the furry four-legged animal sniffing at his outstretched hand, he had been successful. A sudden burst of color swirled across his vision, forcing Velindor to blink it away, which in turn resulted in a single bloody tear falling from the outer corner of his left eye. Why did I want this creature here? he briefly wondered. His own curiosity rising, Velindor slowly raised his hand from the cat’s nose to gently stroke the soft fur on its head. Either he had used much more of his djed than he’d intended, or animals like this one were particularly easy to influence emotionally. The furry animal began a soft rumble deep in its chest as Velindor used his long ebony claws to scratch just behind its ears.

A sudden rumble of hunger from his stomach brought back a flash of memory. Ah, yes. The belltor. This cat was in my way. And I was hungry. How could he have forgotten that? Walking his fingers down the cat’s spine, the rumble of his stomach seemed to match the rumble of the feline’s purring. Velindor didn’t know much about their anatomy, but he recognized soft tissue around the abdomen when he felt it. Not wanting to overestimate the effect of his power, Velindor knew he had to act fast if he wanted his meal before his trek back to the city. Sliding his slender hands into the spaces beneath the feline’s supple legs, Velindor quickly raised the small animal off the ground, wrapping his long fingers around its body, gripping tight as he sunk his fangs into the soft tissue, pumping his corrosive venom into the feline’s system.

As one might expect, the cat itself did not take kindly to this treatment, and began thrashing wildly in Velindor’s grip. The yowling and hissing returned, this time louder and far more frantic as any vestigal hold the symenestra may have had on the animal’s mind completely faded away. In the struggle, the cat actually managed to scratch him a number of times on his wrists and even once on his face, along his right cheek. At this, he abruptly dropped the animal, but his work had already been done. As the cat tried to flee, Velindor watched with a mild glee as its steps began to wobble. Symenestra venom worked first by relaxing the muscles even as it began the process of liquefying the innards of the creature bitten. Still, it never hurt to take precautions. Turning back to his pack, Velindor retrieved a length of rope, improvising with his shears to cut off an approximately six-foot section. When he had walked the five or so paces to the fallen, but still very much alive, cat, Velindor took a brief moment to savor the wide-eyed look of fear in its eyes. It wasn’t the same look that sentients had, but he was pleased to see that it was fairly close.

Taking his time, Velindor wrapped three simple slip-knots into the middle of his rope, slipping one around each set of legs and the neck, pulling the loops tight to ensure the creature couldn’t run away when the second phase of the venom kicked in. Now that’s the fun part, Velindor thought with an impish grin painted across his face. He grabbed the two loose ends of rope together and dragged the cat back towards his pack. With his would-be nuisance-nemesis dealt with, Velindor could finally get to work.

[Velindor Calendula]

The twelfth-bell sun blazed in the sky like a wrathful tyrant, baking the earth below with a scorching heat that was no less oppressive. Even the yellowing canopy of trees in the wooded foothills gave precious little relief. All around, the woods stood in serene stillness. No birdsong warbled through the branches, and even the branches themselves sat silent, only the smallest twigs and leaves stirring in the faint breeze that meandered through the hills. Even the very landscape and animals seemed to seek refuge from the baleful gaze of the tyrant in his bright heavenly bastion. It was in this eerie calm that Velindor worked, sweat no longer beading on his brow but flowing in tiny rivulets. His silver hair was disheveled, no longer flowing in smooth motion but clinging to his sweat-drenched nape and cheeks like a soggy blanket. Occasionally, the symenestra would take a moment to brush a particularly irritating strand away from his eyes, but beyond that he continued scraping and digging dirt away from his precious discovery of belltor.

He’d been going at it for at least a bell now, by his estimate, and his work was nearly finished. Shouldn’t take much now, he thought as he wrapped his slender fingers around the bushel of stems and began with a gentle pull. When the roots gave at his initial pull, a short sigh of exhausted relief escaped his lips even as they parted into a delighted grin. Setting the spade aside, Velindor shifted his grip closer to the base of the stems, using his other hand to gently guide the roots out of the ground as he pulled. Once the plant was out, the herbalist took a moment to brush the dirt from the roots, then placed them whole into his bag along with his batch of tolm. As Velindor stood, he could swear he heard his bones creak. His lower back felt as if it had been set aflame, his shoulders and knees ached, and to top it off, he felt an uncomfortable tightness in his face that was a sure sign of unpleasantness to come. Next time I’ll have to bring a hat, he thought, taking a moment to stretch and massage his sore areas.

Casting his gaze longingly to the large oak tree he’d perched in earlier, particularly the shade offered by its canopy, Velindor set about gathering his tools back into his pack, leaving the dry, upturned soil as the only evidence anything had been there. Once his gear was once more secure, a more malicious smile spread across Velindor’s delicate features as he grabbed the two ends of rope laying nearby. The second phase of venom would be kicking in soon, and Velindor would much prefer to get his meal off the ground and away from prying eyes, as he did not intend to return to the city until he’d eaten. As Velindor walked towards the large oak tree that crowned this small hill, the cat was roughly dragged behind. The animal, sedated as it was, barely made a sound.

When Velindor had returned to the foot of the great oak, he wasted little time in scaling the large tree to the branch he’d perched upon earlier. The going was slower this time, but soon enough his pack was nestled in a small hollow on top of the wide branch, while Velindor laid the cat, still bound, just in front of his gear. The second phase of symenestra venom was...less than pleasant, to be sure. While Velindor wasn’t worried much about being injured by his prey when it began thrashing, he was very much concerned that it would thrash its way right out of the tree. While that wouldn’t make his meal any less edible or nourishing, it would spoil his midday entertainment. “And we wouldn’t want that now,” his voice came in sibilant hisses and clicks as he spoke his native tongue, “would we, little kitty?” Still, this offered him a puzzle.

As Velindor thought, he scratched his chin and let his eyes meander the tree about him. This oak alone presented a gnarled, twisted maze of branches above that, collectively, wove together to provide effective shade. One of those branches, Velindor noticed with a flash of inspiration, was almost directly overhead, and perhaps only twice his height from his current branch. Well, this should do nicely, he thought as he once more retrieved his rope from his gear. Using his natural affinity for climbing, Velindor quickly secured one large loop of rope around his current branch. He then looped the rest of his rope slowly around his branch, moving in a spiral towards his soon-to-be lunch. The feline was already beginning to yowl in discomfort, and the convulsions around his bite showed that the anesthetic effect of his venom was beginning to wear off. Not long now, he thought with glee. Using his slender fingers to secure his long length of rope to that restraining the cat, Velindor’s hope was that if the animal did manage to fall from the branch, it wouldn’t fall all the way to the ground, but would instead swing beneath like a little furry pendulum. Assuming this method didn’t break its neck, which Velindor personally doubted, this would allow him to continue his observations.

Nearly as though on cue, the animal spasmed, its four legs extending straight and out from its body as its back arched as far as the restraints would allow. A low, throaty moan issued from the creature’s gullet, quickly escalating to frenzied howls and shrieks, its body flopping and thrashing wildly in a vain attempt to escape its bindings. As the scene played out in front of him, Velindor sat transfixed, a manic grin involuntarily splayed across his face. There was a primal feeling of ecstasy as he watched the feline fight for dear life, heightened by the knowledge that, however hard the cat fought, its fate had been sealed bells ago. While the second phase of the symenestra venom was excruciating, the liquefying process actually began from the outset of his bite. Gradually, the thrashing subsided, as the young feline seemed to accept its fate. I wonder if it’s truly given up, Velindor wondered, or if its muscles have finally liquefied. He cackled a little at the fact that he had no way of knowing, and in either case, the end result was the same.

By this point, the area around his bite had grown soft and supple. Velindor poked and prodded with his claws, gently, so as not to rupture the skin and lose his meal. Satisfied that his venom had done its work, and spurred by an insistent rumble of hunger from within his gut, Velindor grabbed the cat by its bound legs and sunk his teeth once more into the soft sack of slushy organs and tissues. The animal spasmed once more, and Velindor could hear slow, ragged breaths struggling past its lips, but it hardly mattered now. He drank deep, slowly satiating his ravenous hunger as the bright summer sun continued its trek across the sky, indifferent to the life-and-death struggles below.

[Madeira Dusk]

Grades Awarded!

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Velindor

Skills

• Observation: 5XP
• Foraging: 3XP
• Digging: 1XP
• Wilderness Survival- Mountains: 2XP
• Hypnotism: 2XP
• Meditation: 1XP
• Hunting: 1XP

Lores

• Alvadas: changing locations
• Tolem: general charactersitics
• Foraging: how to keep roots intact
• Throwing a tantrum, spider-style
• Hypnotism: sugestion technique
• Belltor: general characteristics
• Hypnotism: using nonverbal sugestion
• Using Hypnotism for hunting

Awards & Retribution
+1 Bushel of Tolem
+1 Bushel of Belltor

Overgiving: Velindor will be suseptable to migraine headaches for the next 60 days. These can be avoided with proper remidies and by avoiding bright lights.

Cat Attack: Shallow scratches across face and hands. Will take 20 days to heal with proper treatment.

Notes
Congrats on your first grade! It's interesting to see Velindor doing all the background work nessasary for his craft. And the details about that liquifiying cat were awesomely horrific.

If you have questions/concerns about your grade let me know!

Ps- While this certainly isn't necessary, I recomend you cut your next solo thread into more, shorter posts. We grade with a by-post basis, so with twice as many posts you have the potential for more sweet loots.