Donations Of Maharaja Apharada
Posted: Wed Jun 29, 2016 12:00 am
A tiefling arrives to the Civic Festhall in the busiest hour, mingling with the crowd of people who wander from exhibit to exhibit, until she is within the deeper parts of the building. Stopped by the Sensate guards, the tiefling shows a badge and her body suddenly stretches and unfolds, until a seven feet tall Rakshasa is standing before them tapping her feet in annoyance and impatience.
Not too long afterwards, the Rakshasa is cradling an empty stone in her large golden claws, sitting on a pile of cushions and letting her honed mind wander back, focusing on a recent experience fit for the Sensorium.
Not too long afterwards, the Rakshasa is cradling an empty stone in her large golden claws, sitting on a pile of cushions and letting her honed mind wander back, focusing on a recent experience fit for the Sensorium.
The tiefling reunites with the berks she came with after some time, apologizing by telling them how she lost track of time listening to the performance of an erinyes in the bar. She highly recommends it, although she complains about the prices too.wrote:Standing on a dusty stage, holding a slave with magical shackles. Below the stage, an audience watching enthralled; some in outrage, others in clear delight. A signal of sorts, and the gaze focuses on the slave, while monstrous claws that bends backwards and are bathed in solid gold burrow themselves on the slave's shoulders and hold him firmly in place. Another moment, a calculated dramatic pause, before there's a sudden movement forward and the taste of blood spilling on a maw lined by jeweled fangs.
All at once, a rush of heat and a second that stretches beyond measure. The slave's blood is burning hot, and through it, his soul can be felt being consumed by the flames of malignancy. The taste of blood gives way to a strange synesthesia, the emotions that fill that soul become palatable as it is devoured; Jealously, greed, shame, misery and despair, all of which manifest as a wave of overwhelming euphoria and provoke a pulsing shiver that spreads through the entire skin, making it difficult to stay upright and contain oneself. The shivers reach those golden claws that are clenched on the slave's arms, and by now the sensation proves too strong. The arms holding him jolt with unrestrained force, hurling the man like a ragdoll to the far end of the stage. The sensation recedes once there is no contact with him, but there's something that stays. Some sustenance or energy that lingers and flows Internally, strengthening and augmenting.
Not a glance back to the slave, now a mindless husk. Instead, a smug sense of satisfaction and bow, finishing the demonstration of how to drive a soul to ultimate despair before devouring it.