Post by Drakira on Nov 30, 2019 15:13:11 GMT
As a pair of blindfolded servants clipped his armour over his silk tunic, Aasgeir regarded the marble white bodies, frozen where they died, locked in rapture. Their arrangement was deliberate, artful, a tribute to his holy patron. It was... beautiful. Amid his chambers, the whimpers of the dying mingled with pleas for more - more ecstasy, and cries of lament for failing to be honoured a place among the sculpture of flesh. Experience, denial, it was all part of the act that had been carried out by those that had enjoyed the sight of his perfect face, and his endless thirst for depravity. His body had been massaged and oiled to counter the fire that burned through his muscles from his night’s excesses; a vigil of darkest lusts on the eve of battle.
The wine girl sobbed, as his helm was fixed, desperate for his attentions as she was idly discarded. Her adorations, her worship, had been misplaced in her spirit by love, and that he could not tolerate.
“My sweet child,” the Chosen spoke, his voice deep and sensuous, “For you, the greatest honour awaits.”
She looked to him, as a gauntleted hand stroked her chin tenderly, eyes wide and dewy, not noticing the unsheathing of his sword. “M-master... I live to serve...”
“And so you shall.” Aasgeir replied, thrusting his great weapon through her chest.
Her cry of pain was touched by pleasure as her fingers grasped the sharp edges of its shaft, cutting her soft skin, even now feeling an emptiness spread through her body as her heart was stopped by the perfectly precise incision. “Thank you...” she whispered with her last breath as the sword was yanked free of her body.
Aasgeir fell to one knee, bringing the tip of his bloodied blade to the marble floor, as he lowered his head to the guard before his tribute to Slaanesh. “Dark Prince, I offer these souls as I offer myself to You. May You grant victory, in Your holy name. May You teach me the pleasures of conquest, to judge me worthy. I pledge all taken by this sword, to be Yours, that You may feast upon their suffering and the experiences that their spirits bear.”
The flames of the candles within his chamber all flickered at once, as the wine girl fell to the floor at his feet. Aasgeir threw his head back in rapture and howled.
The wine girl sobbed, as his helm was fixed, desperate for his attentions as she was idly discarded. Her adorations, her worship, had been misplaced in her spirit by love, and that he could not tolerate.
“My sweet child,” the Chosen spoke, his voice deep and sensuous, “For you, the greatest honour awaits.”
She looked to him, as a gauntleted hand stroked her chin tenderly, eyes wide and dewy, not noticing the unsheathing of his sword. “M-master... I live to serve...”
“And so you shall.” Aasgeir replied, thrusting his great weapon through her chest.
Her cry of pain was touched by pleasure as her fingers grasped the sharp edges of its shaft, cutting her soft skin, even now feeling an emptiness spread through her body as her heart was stopped by the perfectly precise incision. “Thank you...” she whispered with her last breath as the sword was yanked free of her body.
Aasgeir fell to one knee, bringing the tip of his bloodied blade to the marble floor, as he lowered his head to the guard before his tribute to Slaanesh. “Dark Prince, I offer these souls as I offer myself to You. May You grant victory, in Your holy name. May You teach me the pleasures of conquest, to judge me worthy. I pledge all taken by this sword, to be Yours, that You may feast upon their suffering and the experiences that their spirits bear.”
The flames of the candles within his chamber all flickered at once, as the wine girl fell to the floor at his feet. Aasgeir threw his head back in rapture and howled.