Varsuvius lay naked, burning as though with a fever, totally spent. The flesh of the wizards arms was sticky, streaked with blood and sweat and fluids. The mages hair was tangled and matted with wine and less savoury liquids, and V's nerves sang with spent desires.
The woman…Morathi… was curled around the wizards aching body, her white flesh gleaming and shaking with exhaustion.
“Are you satisfied?” She purred.
“No.” Vaarsuvius replied honestly “I still hunger.”
A shiver went through the woman.
"But first I want answers. Who are you, and where am I?"
“You’re not in your world anymore. She who thirsts heard your cries across the yawning gulfs of space, and was drawn to them. You have tasted the gifts, your soul is forfeit.”
V’s eyes snapped open, and a look of mixed shock and outrage flickered across the elf’s face, but the women only laughed, a high, tinkling sound that somehow endeavored to sound regal and cruel.
“Are you going to tell Slaanesh different? If so, I suggest you find the deepest darkest corner of the multiverse and cower in there as long as you can. The Lords of chaos never relinquish what they take as their own.”
Vaarsuvius sat upright, arms trembling with the effort after the strain of the hedonistic indulgences the cult had enjoyed. “If you think for one moment I will-“
“Oh shut up.” Morathi said, sitting up alongside the mage. “Who said slavery was unpleasant? I think you’ll find it’s quite the opposite.”
For perhaps the first time in the wizards long life, Vaarsuvius was totally speechless. At last, the wizard choked out a response. “What… but…why?”
She smiled a chilling smile that was both soul-blastingly terrible and deeply erotic. “Power.” She said, rolling the word across her full lips. “Slaanesh is generous with the gifts he bestows his fateful. He asks nothing but we be free and wild, beyond all classifications of good and evil, and know no master but our own desire. Throw laws and morals aside and shout and revel, and let him speak to you and teach you knew ways to ecstasy and pleasure. She will give you anything you want. Power. Immortality. Knowledge. Wine, women or men, song, whatever you ask.”
“And all he wants is…”
Morathi traced a soft finger down the side of the elf’s cheek. “Return to you’re world. Live, revel and flourish, and let your cries of ecstasy draw She who firsts to your world.”
“Are you coming?”
A wrenching pain began in the wizard’s chest. This wasn’t love. V knew that much. Love gave, this was a dark, unhealthy obsession, an attempt to escape the pain of longing for companionship and one to many failures on one side, and a bid for power on the other.
Just the same, it hurt.
“Think of me, and perhaps one day we will meet again.” Morathi said, before standing up and departing.