A Warlock's Heart

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IamLEAM1983
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Re: A Warlock's Heart

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"Something like that," confirmed the warthog. "I've tried digging on my own, but the, er, less reputable parts of your friend are keeping barriers raised. Asmodeus planned for self-hacking or for his friends in the resistance being around to help him. He also planned against angelic interference, but he never planned for someone like you."

He gestured inside, inviting her in. "Come on in, I'll be able to brief you a little better once we'll be inside. I've got one of your favorite drinks set up. I hope you'll like what we might do with the place. If Jazz isn't your thing, we have a few Celtic and Scandinavian numbers available. Blame Meris, but Tom's really starting to pick up Sigur Ros."

All told, they had plenty of space for two people, and none of it was wasted. The couple apparently had an eye for interior design, keeping things open and sightlines clear, while at the same time adding a bit of Orcadian plushness to the chrome accents and recycled wood inserts. If anyone else had owned that spot, the end result might've seen sparse or even cold, but nearly every corner where someone could sit looked like a place where you'd want to curl up with a book, a wool blanket and some variant on a steaming mug. A decidedly urban take on Hygge, then - but one that felt personal and not quite ripped off of some designer's drafting software, much less off of a Scandinavian furniture store.

"Things are more or less like you saw them last time," he said, "breathing and sweaty door in the basement included. It's also where I keep the more actively lecherous bits of Tom, but I've had four thousand years to learn how to tie them all down. We won't be bothered."
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Re: A Warlock's Heart

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She entered the domicile, feeling at home immediately. It felt cozy and warm, just as it should. If she and Tom were ever to live together, she decided she wanted the atmosphere to be just like this.

"I like my rock music, as well as the kinds that harken back to my Scottish and Scandinavian roots, I'm pretty open to all genres of music. The jazz works, and you could always put songs on shuffle."

Aislinn took a seat on the couch and looked over at the warthog. "So, how do we begin?"
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Re: A Warlock's Heart

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Tom handed Aislinn her drink and sat down in another section of the same couch. "I made this place to serve as a kind of bridge between the memory engrams you'll have to reach. You can proceed in any order you'd like, but I'd recommend a chronological approach."

His own drink in hand, he pointed at a section of one of the few windowless walls. On it rested a reproduction of the Egyptian Pharaoh Narmer's proclamations regarding his truce with the Hittites, another slab of stone next to it only sporting lines and columns of Cuneiform writing.

"Start with this one," he said. "Narmer's tablet is just a reproduction; it's not historically significant. The second tablet, however, is. It dates back to the early years of the Sumerian empire. The Sumerians founded the first historically chronicled city in the world, Eridu, in 5400 B.C. King Alulim was the first ruler, and one of his municipal advisors told him of a supernatural plague sweeping across the countryside outside of the city's walls. Since you're in Tom's mind, you should temporarily be able to read and understand Cuneiform - but I'll start you off the first time."

He stood up, cleared his throat, and lifted his eyes to the tablet. He'd barely inhaled that the weather around the penthouse grew foggy, the clouds that closed in having a curiously earthy tone. What sounded like raindrops soon followed, only to be revealed to be fine sand, blown over and across the edifice.

"In the second sar of his reign, King Alulim learned of the craven beast who stole his farmers' energies in the night, leaving them covered in the sweat and spoor of intimacy. Only the old crone, Nanna the Life-Giver, had been spared. The king wondered why..."

The gales of fine sand pushed through the windows, coating everything in the penthouse in fine, brownish dust, making distances difficult to gauge. Tom's voice, still casual, somehow managed to rise above the wind - even if the warthog himself soon became invisible in the sandstorm.

"The boy Akka spoke to the king, telling him of the wondrous things Nanna and the spirit discussed of in the night. The old midwife touched the beast and saved it from itself. Once a thief and scoundrel, a player of tricks and an inconstant grandson, Akka and the beast learned of nobility and surety of purpose together."

Tom's voice faded as the sandstorm cleared, leaving Aislinn in a new and darkened space. She'd find herself on her back, with bony backblades uncomfortably pushing against a mattress of woven straw placed directly against packed dirt. The walls were of pale sandstone, the moonlight of the eons before electricity or visual pollution streaming in. A stream could be heard laughing nearby, and the symphony of nocturnal insects filled her ears. The lack of any decent light would make it difficult for her to ascertain, but her body had somehow changed. She'd need more light to see her own hands adequately, and some sort of reflective surface to see herself.

In the distance, the moans of restless slumber could be heard, weak cries rising out of neighbouring huts. The few words she'd catch weren't spoken in English or in any variation of the selkie idiom, but were still clear to her. Sumerian sounded like a language she'd have picked up from the cradle.

"No, demon! Leave me, demon! I belong... to my husband! Oh, oh, may the gods... Oh, take me... I mustn't, but - oh, preserve me, this is..."

Male and female variations on this quietly filled the air, which slowly grew deathly still. The insects seemed to sense that something was amiss, and grew quiet. In the same time, a sense of presence took shape outside the hut Aislinn was in. She'd somehow realize there was a well near the centre of the farming village, and that this presence hovered there.
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Re: A Warlock's Heart

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The transition into this seemingly new dream body felt odd to the selkie, accustomed to the more supple curves of her back and waist. Her shoulder blades protruded more, like that of an elderly person. Her focus on the physical sensations were interrupted by the somewhat distant voices in Sumerian. When it would've otherwise been misunderstood, every one of them was clear to her. She felt unnerved by the eerie silence and the peculiar presence hovering outside her hut and near the well she knew to be outside.

She pushed herself up from the thin, straw mattress with frail arms and legs. Normally, she could see well enough in the dark, but her sight was limited by the dimness that hung in the hut like a shroud and what was likely old age. She padded carefully across the floor and felt along the walls with her hands, then finding the wooden slats of a door. Aislinn pulled the door open and somehow already knew who the presence was, despite unease being at the forefront of her mind.

"Who's there?" she called, still slightly surprised to hear Ancient Sumerian come from her lips.
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Re: A Warlock's Heart

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Under moonlight, all shadows looked deeper than they did back in the present. What would've been pools of nocturnal dimness became a series of dark blotches against the already dim dirt path. Aislinn's feet would feel more callused than they usually did, as if she'd spent decades walking barefoot everywhere. She'd feel rough stones in the gravel under her feet, but no accompanying pain or discomfort.

Darkness unnaturally clung to the well's stones, the sloshing sounds of the waters below somehow appearing menacing. Eventually, she'd pick up a long and tumescent sigh, trailing into a malevolent chuckle. Red pinpricks appeared near the base of the well, soon rising from the ground, shrouded in a humanoid patch of shadows.

"Return to your cot, old crone. I shall take you yet. Or... would you rather I ravaged you here? For six nights, now, I've attempted to claim you. For six nights, you've resisted."

The shadows pressed closer, leaving Aislinn feeling a familiar breath at the base of her neck. "I bring such ecstasy, pleasures the likes of which the worship of Gilgamesh and Inanna will never grant you. The Annunaki - the angels - will never love you as I can."

She'd feel hands on her arms and the sides of her face, gently stroking them. "Your youth is but hidden. I can restore it to you."
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Re: A Warlock's Heart

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Even while knowing her actual age, Aislinn could feel the weariness of this body, the creaking joints and callused feet. The breath and lusty voice was all too familiar and alluring, but the words sounded like some melodramatic lines from a cheesy supernatural romance story. The midwife's emotions weighed on her heart, the anger and the grief feeling as though they were her own. Any fear melted away, and she did only one thing.

She laughed acridly, her aged voice thready, worn, but still strong. Her narrowed, wrinkled eyes met the crimson pinpricks and batted the spectral hands from her face. She spat quietly at him, "Demon, you've murdered my neighbors and my friends with your spectral ecstasies, but for what purpose? Some tallies for your immortal ego? To lord your eldritch stamina over us? Your promises of restored youth are meaningless. I'm already old, and I will eventually die. Does your taking me offer joy or companionship? Will I bear a new life to replace those you have taken? No, it offers nothing."

The old woman eyed the other huts and gave out a hollow sigh, its heaving carrying her sadness. She looked back to Tom's older self. "Giving my friends a proper burial is of more worth than your pithy attempts to bed me, foolish beast..."
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Re: A Warlock's Heart

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The form chuckled. "She thinks I've laden the village with corpses... How naive she is."

A dark tendril reached outwards, ending in smoky, wispy fingers. "Go from house to house, crone. You'll find sleeping babes and writhing, sweat-stained torsos and limbs. Smiles on slumbering faces. Killing is a slow and exquisite process for my kind. Other spirits among the Fallen might take pleasure in ending lives abruptly; I much prefer giving your flame more fuel."

The black and oily body stuck close to Aislinn's borrowed elderly body, ghostly lips caressing the nape of her neck. "You've toiled all your life under the sun's burning rays, you've never felt love's tender embrace, never been thanked for all your work... I may deprive your king of his tithes of grain and produce, but I end your days of toil in sweet release. Only you have ever resisted my call, Nanna."

The demon parted with a breathy whisper. "I need your pleasure, woman - yours must be the sweetest in all of the village's inhabitants."
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Re: A Warlock's Heart

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The crone felt a shiver run down her spine, and she whipped around to face the shadowy apparition with a surprising amount of speed for someone her age. Her eyes remained narrowed, while she crossed her arms over her chest. "Why do you assume I should just simply fall into your embrace? You are nothing more than a youth's lust mingled with immortality, and you have no purpose. You might be able to express the physical passion couples feel, but you don't know anything else beyond that. Love demands actual work. What you had with my neighbors were flings, not love. I would be nothing more than a meal for your eternal, endless hunger. If I give into your whims, you will be off to the next village to seduce its residents. I am not your pleasure-filled platter; you have not earned it."
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Re: A Warlock's Heart

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The demon surged around and through her, reforming as a humanoid shape sitting on the well's brim.

"Love is whatever my victims desire," he said. "Closeness, carnal intimacy, or simply sensing as though someone were desired again, after long years of tedium. Those of my kind are prepared to do anything to claim that which we seek. Anything at all."

Something in the patch of shadows that served as the demon's head evoked an impish smile. "So, I'll wait, if that's what it takes. I've even whispered to Ea-Nasir, two doors down, told him where he might found a new spring and fertile ground. Your first beasts of burden died there, generations ago. They ate, drank and defecated there - leaving the soil as rich as can be."

The incubus chuckled. "See? Call me shallow as much as you'd like, old one; I still know your heart's desire."
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Re: A Warlock's Heart

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Aislinn didn't know whether Nanna would've snorted, but she still let out a derisive one. "So, you know my people's history, and you're desperate for the littlest amount of attention you get. Good for you, incubus. However, you wave that knowledge in my face so arrogantly that I wouldn't want to lay with you. I'm not attracted to a braggart," she said. "You may be able to sense many things that I might desire, but you don't really know me or any person you entice."
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