The Old and Noble Art of Necromancy

They are all around us; hiding in the shadows of once-busy streets, clinging to objects from the past, and unsettling us in the small hours of the night. They hover, seen and unseen, around us, and send chills when their matter collides with ours. Many disbelieve, but that doesn't change the reality of the situation.

The living need Necromancers just as surely as the dead do.

Necromancers of benevolent alignment dispel spirits and help them cross over, make peace with their deaths, and forgive those who wronged them, and so keep them in this plain. They wish to ease the sufferance of those past, and reconcile the dead with those who continue in their stead.

Necromancers of malignant alignment bind and hold spirits here, using them as guards for place or objects, using them for personal vengeance, and as sources of energy for other magickal works. It is highly irregular for malignantly aligned necromancers to hold power for long, as Spirits do not suffer the living to mistreat them without repercussion.

Rarely, we find a Necromancer of truly neutral alignment, one who plays by both sets of rules, yet is owned by neither. These folk tend to be rarer solely because they do not advertise their skill. Often, these types are seen as selfish- binding and releasing spirits as it suits their purposes, calling back those who have gone on for information unobtainable through more conventional means, and crossing over spirits who cause more trouble than they are worth.


The Old and Noble Art of Necromancy is often seen with fear, misunderstood in it's greater aspects by those who wish to believe the dead loath the living and envy them their mortality. Those who live in fear of the Art of Necromancy fail to see the practicality, and indeed, the beauty of bridging the plains between physical and metaphysical.

Rare a gift in the olden days, Necromancy has been watered down through the ages to be commonly known as mediumship. While not as potent, it is none the less useful a tool for those following a benevolent path. Few are gifted with true control over the spirits, however, and it is perhaps for the best.

None the less, those wishing to follow the path of the Spirits need simply atune themselves to the hidden rhythms of the night, when spirits more comfortably roam our cities and poke at our dreams.

Within the Mist

 

Found on Google, no artist listed. If you know who it is, please let me know so I can credit them.

What things hide within the Mist
Hidden, cold and shadowed,
Rolling over the hills and sea
The place where Faeries can exist
Without fear of bearing harrow.


What things hide within the Mist,
The shroud that blankets the Night
Hiding stars and moon above,
Mountains hugged and rivers Kissed
To comfort Dawn's feeble light.


What things hide within the Mist,
Laughter like bells rings clear
Music, haunting, surrounds
Drawing all to a fanciful tryst,
Begging for fresh volunteers.


What things hide within the Mist
That sweeps the forest's trail
And caress bare skin so softly,
Powerful...Dangerous... None can resist
Sweep us now, across the Veil.

The Succubus and the Queen

Hello. This week, I've decided to give a glimpse into one of my WIPs (work in progress).  This is rough, unpolished, and unedited. I hope you enjoy it regardless :)

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Burgundy liquid filled a cut quartz glass with a thick gush, like fresh blood being let loose. The fire crackling in the hearth a few feet away lent life to the distilled liquid, and Nicnevin paused to admire the effect. Fire gave life to many things, it would seem, things that ordinarily would be lifeless and cold.

A pile of books, maps and loose papers floated around her on the woven willow lounge chair as she looked through them, trying to find a clue to where her mother was hiding. She'd won the west and southern parts of Summerland from the Eilis Grove, but the Sidhe were loyal to a fault. She took a sip of wine and smiled. Elderberry, the liquid of Magic.

Nicnevin ran a hand through her hair and sighed. She hated uncooperativeness. Thinking up creative deaths and torture methods may have been a favorite pastime of Sari's, but she'd rather not kill the people she wanted to rule over.

A pair of slender hands slipped over her shoulders and began to rub the muscles there with practiced motions. Nicnevin's head rolled to the side subconsciously and a silent sigh escaped her lips.

"No luck with your search?" Sari asked in her velveteen voice.

"No, though we should move north before going further east. The Grove's seat is in the east, it will be hardest to penetrate."

"That depends entirely on how you plan to go about it. Direct assaults, like you've been using so far, would be useless. It's a massive fortification and was built as a fortress to protect its people and its secrets. More subtle ways can be effective in these scenarios... ways my people specialize in."

"You would have me use the Succubi to penetrate the Silvermount?" Nicnevin turned her head a fraction and Sari's hands descended further down her shoulders, pushing fabric out of her way. Nicnevin felt her heart beat faster with every inch the purple silk slid down.

"I would have you use your resources to their fullest, my Queen. It's something you should consider now more than ever."

"Are you speaking in terms of my army or referring to yourself?"

"I don't see why both cannot be true. I am, after all, your General. You should be using me, and my many talents, to their fullest." Sari's lips descended on Nicnevin's neck, and her skin tingled.

"Perhaps we should discuss this... later."

"There's no better time than the present, my Queen." Sari said a moment before brushing her teeth along the curve of Nicnevin's collar bone and biting down on a soft spot. An involuntary moan escaped her lips, and she took a sip of wine, hoping to distract herself from Sari's advances.

"There's no point in distracting from this. I've always wanted you." Sari said, reading Nicnevin's movements without pause.

"I've always known." Nicnevin breathed as Sari slid around front and kissed her lips. Searing heat erupted between them, then Nicnevin pulled Sari into her and engulfed the succubus in magic.

Sister of my Soul

We all have moments in our lives when we question what we believe in and how we have come to see the world. For me, this moment occurred while simply looking for a way to communicate more purposefully with the Faerie people that had become part of my life. Instead, I experienced something I will never forget.

During meditation, I went to my usual place: a stone staircase near a waterfall in Kilkenny, Ireland. I took in the beauty of the area, and was preparing to climb down the mossy rocks to the edge of the falls, when something stopped me.

Copyright 2013 to Bobbi St. Jean.

I turned around and saw a very tall, very dark Faerie walking down a set of steps towards me. Oddly, I was not fearful even though I knew she was not the kind to be hospitable with humans. There was something familiar about her, something my soul seemed to recognize even though she was physically hard to see clearly.

"You are here." She stated simply when she arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Then, she reached her hand out to me. This Faerie woman was roughly a head taller than me, and I could feel magic emanating from her. I knew better than to refuse her, though I did not touch her either. I simply took a step forward, and found my scenery changed immediately. 

Instead of the calm serenity of a forest with a lazy waterfall, I found myself standing in front of a wall. This wall, unlike those we see in our world, was made up of vines and plants that were thickly knit together. The outermost layers had brambles and roses growing, with poison Ivy and poison Oak interlaced throughout. Every few feet, I saw towering trees with platforms and doorways, presumably guard towers, and little glowing crystals dotted the wall at regular intervals.

As I looked at the wall, I noticed that it was moving, growing, knitting tighter together with every second. I looked to my Faerie companion, but she didn’t seem to notice the wall at all. She led me to the left until we reached an Oak tree tower. This tower had outgrown roots, the trunk’s base was lifted roughly 15ft off the ground to show off its elegantly twisted mess of roots. We walked under the roots, and a set of doors materialized (or I hadn’t noticed it until then. Both are equally possible). They were silver filigree, the pattern depicting the moon phases, the seasons, and many flowers and herbs. Several gemstones, pearls and other precious metals were laid into the doors to accent the metal work. To this day, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

My escort pulled a large, matching silver key from a cord around her neck and, instead of putting it into the keyhole, she ran the key along the seam where the doors met. They opened, and we went through, she in her detached air, and myself in awe and amazement.

Photo Copyright 2013 to Bobbi St. Jean

"Your doors are beautiful." I said to her after a moment or two.

"They are not ours. They are yours." I waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing more. She led me to a garden a few feet inside the doors and we sat on a carved stone bench beneath an apple tree.

I looked to her for a moment and realized she had taken her shroud off. I could see her clearly now. Her hair was curled and dark, black like the deepest winter’s night sky. Her skin was creamy, pale, but reflected a slight golden hue that spoke of time spent in the sun. She had rounded features, not the sharp ones I had always envisioned Fae would have. Her lips were a soft pink, her eyes a vibrant violet. She wore no make-up, yet she was more beautiful than any model found in our world. She was tall, graceful, but not as lithe and thin as I had always believed Faeries would be. She had curves to her, though the long dress and satin cloak she wore did a good job of concealing them. She bore a circlet of silver on her head, and wore pearls, moonstones and sapphires in a beautiful floral array at her neck and ears.

"You are new here, new to us. You wish to see more of us, but it is we who need to see more of you first. You have opened yourself to us, but we are not so trusting. You should not be either. Sidhe and humans have long had rivalries, be wary of this as you progress in your journey."

I nodded, then asked, “If I should be wary of the Sidhe, why should I trust your words, why should I trust you?”

A smile broke on her lips, the first real sign of expression I had seen from her so far. She looked at me then, meeting my gaze for the first time. I felt my heart lift, fill with joy and peace. My stomach fluttered, my skin began to tingle and I could feel the crackle of static in the air, the feeling of Magic.

"Because you and I are twins. Trust me because I share your soul."

Flight of the Faeries.

There's nothing quite so magical as watching a group of Faeries take to the air. It's not something the average human sees every day- in fact, I'd guess that most humans never see a single Faerie in their entire lives.

http://www.howarddavidjohnson.com/fairies.htm

Once, they were over-abundant in the world and caused all kinds of mischief, trickery and Magic. They lived alongside humans in an uneasy relationship of mistrust and respect. These days, seeing a Fae in any urbanized area is extremely rare, and I can't blame them for staying hidden behind the Veil. We'd probably catch them and send them off to be studied for scientific documentation, or we would lock them in an iron cage and watch the effects it took to try and understand their Magic. Fae may live on private property, especially if the humans dwelling within are magical in nature, open to the Earth's mysterious nature, or if the house has been abandoned for many years.

So, to be able to witness a small group of golden Faeries, maybe six or seven, taking flight one afternoon from a reddening Japanese maple tree  in my front yard was something of a miracle. The Veil isn't particularly thin there, nor have I ever seen Fae in this tree before (they prefer Oak to any other for living in). Even with Halloween approaching, is an odd occurrence.

What does this say, then, of me, that I should be so lucky to see Fae where I've never expected to see them? Perhaps it means they're not as fearful as they have been. Perhaps it means I was delusional and actually saw nothing. Whatever it was, the scent of cinnamon and apples they left behind now leads me to remember the Faeries in Flight.