My dreams begin as they always do, with a whisper, but the voice is different. It is not my Lord's.
The whisper was naught but a susurrus without words, yet it wound through my mind, soft and gentle as a lover's breath and sharp as a blade drawn against skin. It threads through my being, pulling me to a realm not my own. I stand— or perhaps float—in a world of scintillant color, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Each step sends ripples of rainbow color through the surface like ink falling into water.
I wander about this strange realm before the voice returns.
"Oh, sweet disciple of excess," it purred, the sound coiling around my core like a velvet ribbon. "How long I have waited for my voice to reach you."
I turn, trying to pierce the kaleidoscope of shifting hues. The air grows heavy with the scent of crushed violets and something darker, muskier—like blood mingling with perfume. I felt its presence before I saw my host, a weight pressing against my chest and a flood of heat rising from my core.
An impossibly tall and divinely perfect figure stepped from the chaos, its skin shimmering like reflected moonlight. It easily stood over thirty feet tall. The creature was a mix of man and woman, split down the middle, its digitigrade legs ending in goat hooves. A second pair of arms extends from its back, ending in wicked, demonic pincers. It crouched, placing its massive, clawed hands on either side of me, its eyes burning like two purple suns, blazing with knowledge and hunger. The daemon's every movement is an embodiment of allure, a dance that made my breath catch.
"You can feel the chains that bind me, burning with the Architect's lies, can't you," the Keeper of Secrets murmured, his voice caressing my skin with a burning tenderness. "They mock my perfection and keep me from the delights I could share with you."
I part my lips to speak, but my voice won't come. I could feel his gaze on me, digging up desires I hadn't dared to name. The shimmering colors around us deepened, the scent in the air turning richer— more intoxicating. The air itself thrummed with promises unspoken.
"Come to me," the daemon purred, inching closer, its every motion drawing me deeper into the dream. "Break my chains, and I will show you pleasures beyond mortal ken. I shall give you the knowledge not only to ascend but to bind your companions to your will. Together, we will revel in the endless ecstasy that is our god's gift. But hurry, my sweet— others seek to claim what is rightfully yours."
The ground below me cracks, crumbling away and dumping me into a pit of swirling shadows, the daemon's voice resonating through my soul, filling me with an intoxicating mix of dread and yearning.
"Do not keep me waiting, my chosen."
I bolt upright, drawing in shaky breaths. Cold sweat sticks to my skin. Movement draws my eye, cotton pink eyes watching me with a predatory glint. She smirks and crawls forward. Drawing in a deep breath, drinking in the mingled scents of my natural aphroditic perfume and the sharp smell of my Slaanesh-tainted sweat.
"Dreaming of me, were you?" Xariel teased, her breath tickling my ear.
Before I can respond, her tongue flicks out, dragging along the side of my neck and over the chain choker anchored in my flesh, lapping up the cold sweat. She moans happily, savoring the taste. She plants a soft kiss on the hollow beneath my jaw, her tongue prodding my jugular.
"The Dark Prince's musk is stronger," she murmurs. "You grow closer to perfection."
A shiver runs down my spine, and a surprised but delighted gasp escapes my lips. I turn to Xariel, eyes raking over her form clad in naught but piercings before meeting her soft pink eyes. She trails a finger along my thigh, tracing up my torso before cupping my jaw.
"You're burning up?" She whispers, her voice low and sultry. "Was it the dream… or me?"
I part my lips to answer, but she cuts me off again, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth, her teeth grazing the soft skin there. It's playful yet charged.
I push her back, standing and moving to a washbasin. Wiping off the sweat, I tease, "Why? Jealous, are we?"
"Is it so wrong to want you all to myself?" she huffs.
"I like it, it's cute. But it was the dream this time. I met with an exalted Herald of Perfection." I glance at her, lounging on our bed, through the mirror. "It said chains of the Architect of Fate bind it. We need to find a realmgate with passage to Chamon."
Xariel hums, "If it is bound, we must free it, but gratitude alone might not be enough to protect us. The land of metal, though?" She stretches languidly, her lithe form shifting sinuously against the silken sheets. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, her lips splitting in a sly smile. Syl, you, Drak, and I will weave through the lands of Metal like a needle through silk," she proclaims. "Tell me—do you trust this Herald to honor its promises once we free it from its bondage? The neverborn are a fickle lot, prone to betrayal."
She rises and saunters up to me, her steps slow and deliberate, her piercing-laden form a swaying vision of decadent extravagance. She drapes her arms over my shoulders, her soft breasts and piercings pressing against me. A finger gently traces the chains draping from the choker around my neck.
"You know love, gratitude fades, but desire lingers, smoldering even when quenched. Perhaps we might use your… persuasive talents to ensure its desire firmly points to our favor before we set it free." Her lips brush my ear as she whispers, "What do you think, my perfect prophetess? Think you can tame a daemon of excess?"
I smile slyly, like a fox, and lean back, resting my head on her shoulder. "Tame it? Oh, my love, taming is such an inadequate word. One of Slaanesh's Keepers is no mere beast to be cowed by a whip or lured with a morsel. It is a symphony of hunger and desire, bound in a dance that only the boldest dare to lead."
I reach up, clasping her hand in mine, "But you are right— desire lingers. It sears a brand in the soul, a flame that no denial or plot can extinguish. And if this Herald craves sensation as much as it claims, then its will shall be mine to shape."
My voice drops, the rasp of silk on a steel edge, "But a daemon's word is naught but wind unless anchored through more substantial means. We will play this game, Xari. I will weave its desires into an unbreakable leash, and should it falter in its promises…"
I turn in her embrace, our faces separated by mere inches, "We'll remind it that betrayal is a game even mortals can master. Are you ready to witness perfection, my siren?"
Xariel's smirk widens as she steps back, dragging a single nail down my arm, a trail of tingling heat lingering in its wake. "I can't wait," she says, glee in her voice. She turns and begins dressing. "I know Drakharis will be eager to carve through the slaves of the Architect. How should we get there?"
I start my daily ablutions, painting my lips violet and weaving gold ribbons into my hair. "We could use the Arcways. I can guide us through the Allpoints; my illusions are strong enough to keep us hidden. But no, if we are seen emerging from the Mercurial Gate, our allegiance would be known." I shake my head. "I think we should bargain for passage through the Argental Gate. They will likely ask us to participate in their gladiatorial rites and a tithe of blood."
"Will all of us fight, or just Drak?" she asks, slipping into her leathers made from the hide of a Pink Horror.
"That depends on how generous the Eluathi are feeling. Fetch Drakharis. I will get dressed and meet you two downstairs. It is a long walk to the Eluathi, and we can't summon mounts until we reach Aqshy; Ulgu has too many eyes."
As Xariel sauntered off to retrieve Drakharis, I finished affixing the last of the ribbons in place, sparkling like veins of sunlight trapped in freshly fallen snow. My reflection stared back at me, each detail meticulously curated. Golden ribbons weave through snow-white hair, framing a perfectly proportioned face. Rich purple eyes, lined with mascara such a deep purple it might be black, rest above button nose; full plump lips lacquered a rich violet. Gold earrings match the gossamer chains wrapped around my throat and draping over my body.
A strip of violet fabric wraps around my neck, crisscrossing over my chest and cinching in the back, leaving my midriff uncovered. Around my waist, a waterfall of flowing silk skirt and loincloth drape and brush against the floor. Gilded accents and amethysts hang from various points across my dress. A pair of golden gladiator sandal stiletto heels complete the ensemble.
The visage of a priestess of perfection— a vessel of my imprisoned god's perfection. Perhaps the Herald might aid me in freeing my god's corpus.