Private Collection.

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Private Collection.

Postby Vexademus on Sun Jun 07, 2020 6:41 pm

Again. Bolt up straight, the woman was shaking. Sweating. Her eyes were wide and she could still feel the whimpering chuff in her ears. A sick feeling twisted in her stomach. And still, the old sorrow came washing in as the realization settled again. She still missed him; her familiar.

"Theron...", she whispered quietly.

It was the howling growls and screams of the hunting shadow cats of the Dethsiris. They usually didn't venture this close - that she knew of - from the jungles. But, sometimes, when the winds were just right, the sounds carried on them like tufts of skyquake to smash against the Great Dome. The sound was similar to his. And made her heart sink heavily under the lashings of the old sorrow.

A lithe body beside her shifted. Mass of golden waves underneath the shift of sheets glistened and whispered softly in his sleep; nude but for leather collar.

Vexademus pushed herself to the body's edge and rubbed her face, mauve sleeping gown loosely moving with a strap slipping down slumped shoulder. She sniffed while throwing her head back to free herself from the long strands containing her, she rose from the bed and began to dress. Getting out into the air would be nice.

She stalked the halls of the stronghold, most quiet and dark. Profound contemplation escaped her. Thoughts of the cooler imperial forest filled her thoughts. But the nagging sorrow remained, unchanged away.

The magess made for the portal. Perhaps in her meandering, opportunity would expose itself.


Some time later, after a visit to the center of town, the mageling had found herself at a place called, "Over a Barrel". Sitting at a table, she had been conversing with a lovely half-breed creature whom she couldn't tell was male or female but didn't really care. She'd seen the being drawing different patrons, looking as though it was pleasurable practice. And that's when the opportunity presented itself; like a warm, wet, and ready wanton full of lusty promises and sheared ache.

A few sprinkles of words exchanged between them and a deal was struck. The talented being would find the one called Hokima. And capture his image again and again. No one could really miss the pronounced troublemaker; as many seemed familiar with him. Vexademus had been commanded personally not bring harm to the human. But nothing more. No harm to him. Not even to play in the man's cursed guts for her pleasure until the stars burned out. It rung in her ears for months. No harm.

The magess had found a better idea. She would begin a collection of sorts. And, this human, this man...would be the first to grace her private precious collection. In the way that she believed he should be. Bound. Just for her. Readied. Just for her. Waiting. For what he deserved.

A shake of hands and money paid, her night was done while the dealer had theirs to begin. And after shadowing the man for days, the artist returned, the tapestry made just to the magess's liking.

And there it hung on her wall. Where she could gaze upon it privately. And tenderly. In the nights when she was haunted by Theron's growl, after waking in sweat and rapid breaths, Vexademus would retire to sit in front of the painting, relishing what she saw. Just for her.
"In the whispers of the wind and water to the dance of the flames in the rock, behold the mystic weave of aether, for within every shimmering ember of energy lies the tale of destiny entwined and the magic that binds my soul to the arcanic tapestry eternal."
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