Sensory Stone Donation: Fantasy

[*Kenon]

Your consciousness flows into a body. You feel a turmoil within of desires that feel like a hammer
in your loins and your head. The smell of strawberries and lavender with a hint of sulfur fills your sensible nostrils. The sulfur calms you down. The glowing fields of Elysium greet you. Your vision stares at eyes of the colour of gently burning coals with speckles of ash within. Your loins calm down. The being's hair is parted behind her ears, a small broken horn is seen on the right of her head while her left horn has a pandemonic silver ring slipped into it. Your head starts to feel clearer. Her face starts to fade in, her skin has a leathery softness. You feel a bump within you as she smiles and her fangs are revealed. A subtle heat can be felt as she smiles. A tail can be seen briefly taking the shape of a heart. As she closes her eyes, a flow of water can be heard in the background. You feel your hand go towards her face. Your hand is large and a bit furry. The hand gently and desperately contains its strength as it reaches towards her. She takes a hold of it with both her hands that feel like a sunny day on a world that has not known warmth for times untold. As the hand touches her face, it starts to feel like putty. Every bristle of your hand feels like the first caress of the cold wind felt by a prisoner that freed himself from the pits of Carceri. As your hand gently moves about the side of her face, her wings give a flourish. She rests her head into your hand. The pandemonic ring on her horn starts glowing the colour of the light of the first dawn. You look one last time into her face. Her lips starts to motion: I L-.

Before her words are understood, your hand now holds a giant axe, its frosty hilt hurting your large welted hand. You are mowing down hordes of fiends. You feel a great thumping force through your hand as you strike mercilessly. Your nostrils and face are caked with blood and the smell of despair. The boiling iron sizzles in the background as winds carry promises of pain and isolation. A stray tear comes to hold onto your cheek as it reflects the face of a succubus of the abyss. Her lips start to motion as your axe hits her chest: I L-.

You return to your body, shaken and not sure of what transpired.

[*LiquidDreamer]

The Basher is thanked for their service, adding to the collection of the Society of Sensation.