She walked through the mountains, nearly naked, except for the demon armor she had through sorcery most foul, forced to do her bidding. It was now proof against wind, weather or weapons. In the fashion of its kind, it demanded in trade for its powers, the lust men knew for her, their depravity fed it, nourished it, empowered it. As men saw her nearly naked form, it feasted upon their lust; insidiously, invisibly stealing their life-force. Most times this was enough to maintain the demonic wards of protection.
If she neglected the demon, once a month, she must give herself to a man’s lust to slack its demonic thirst. As long as men lusted for her, her pact with the demon made her nigh-invulnerable in battle. She hated it, but needed the power. These things had nearly conquered her world. She would do anything to drive them away, endure any indignity. Rather than shy away from her pact of evil, she embraced it.
She was known for her lusts across the land and was feared just as well. Her beauty, though passed through the hourglass of time, still commanded the hunger of almost all men, the more pious, the more refined they were, the more they seemed to secretly covet her. She reveled in their destruction most of all. Her body, strong and hardened by both combat and sorcery promised nights of ecstasy to those brave enough to partake. Woe be unto the man who failed her tests of pleasure, though, they were never seen again.
Her armor affected feathered wings of iron which flapped about her during battle and where they swiped, flesh fell asunder, stunned screams as bowels flowed free from their confines and armored limbs pirouetted through the air momentarily escaping the force of gravity before returning to earth with a dull clank of meat and metal. In battle, she was a whirlwind of death and this was even before she drew her sword, a Lord of Chaos bound.
She wore the heavy boots of the foot-soldiers of Nus. Finely crafted, extremely durable, supple, close-fitting, black as night. Her jeweled gloves, designed for battle hailed from the other side of the world, where the famed Necromancers of Weir taught her how to fill them with the raging spirits of the many men she has slain. Her powers of necromancy could free those tortured souls to do her bidding, stripping the flesh from her enemies, before retreating to the nether hells for which they were bound before she enslaved them. They welcomed release, prayed for it.
Her armored wings and helmet fluttering slightly, seeking to strike out, but sensing nothing, flapped momentarily and returned to quiescence. They had not adjusted to the coldness of the mountains. But for her, this was home. The crisp mountain air filled her lungs with memories and hidden in that breeze was the alien stink of her world’s usurpers. She assures her Chaos blade, drinking in the alien presence and eager for the battle to come, for its help, it would feast upon the souls of the invaders.
It was made for this purpose.
It released a screech of its chaos-flux in anticipation; space and time were undone nearby, stones unmade, and a fiery chasm opened before her. As she strode unmarred through the final mountain pass, she crunched on a gear beneath her boot, a remnant from one of the clockworks this area was once famed for. None had been made here in over three decades since the Astronomers of Kimber fell. The gear was still beautiful even as the patina of age wore on it. She slid it in her pack, a reminder of why she was here. She was a child when she fled from here so long ago…
Chaos Bound © Thaddeus Howze 2012, All Rights Reserved