Saeroth
The Chosen
Objective: Dark VisionsLocation: The Mountains of Beganar
Tags: Ba'khran | Amon
His chest heaved as he awoke.
At first, it was as though he were choking on the gasps of air, but soon enough his breathing normalized. Sweat lined Særoth's brow, causing his snow-white hair to cling to his skin. His eyes were wide open at first, but soon closed tightly - as if themselves clinging to the last vestiges of sleep that weighed his eyelids down. He slumbered deeply, yet at the same time - felt as though he were at the edge of another consciousness. His dream was... vivid, and altogether almost tangible.
He could see the great city of old - towering about the countryside as it stretched high into the heavens. He saw an icon lost to time; an unholy sigil of the oppression of man when they sought to bring the whole world under its Dominion.
He saw death, and sorrow; the misery and suffering of his people as they toiled under the lash and abased themselves for lesser beings.
And yet he also saw deliverance, shrouded in a cloud of darkness, and offering an outstretched hand. He felt its touch, cold and otherworldly, grip his chin as if from a parent clasping the chin of a child to look into their eyes. He stared long and hard into eyes that were black and deep, filled with a starry expanse that altogether made him feel insignificant; as though he were a mere spec of dust in the primordial chasm of creation itself.
Then at last he awoke.
His head rested between both of his hands for a moment as he collected himself. After a moment, he arose from his bed and paced to a copper-lined basin set within a stone recess, as if carved from the stone walls of his cavernous chamber. His hands dipped within the cool water, and together lifted as his head dipped down into his palms - washing the final remnants of sleep from his face. He dipped his hands down and back up into his face again, allowing the water to stream down to the stone floor as his face canted backward.
Warm hands caressed his naked form behind him, followed by a sing-song feminine voice. "Are you well, my love?" The Dre Fæmoran woman was also naked, her pale skin shaped with an athletic, though womanly form behind Særoth. She drew her body against his, and offered a kiss on his cheek. His head inclined toward her as her lips found purchase, a low grunt escaping his lips in response. She produced a scrap of cloth, of which he accepted to wipe the residual moisture from his face.
"...Yes, I'm well. Moreso than I have been for a while, in fact." His voice was a low rumble, as though he were not yet convinced he were still awake. His eyes lingered on the beautiful woman before him, who set about the basin he was just at herself - washing away the remaining vestiges of night in favor of the coming day.
She glanced in his direction, a faint smile at her lips. "You have not awoken with such a start in a long while. It made me wonder what malady had befallen you."
Finally, Særoth smiled at his lover, who herself broadened the grin as she finished washing the sleep from her eyes and put on her clothes. Særoth, for his part, did the same - adorning himself with a sable black hide tunic, studded trousers, and well made boots from some form of cayman. He emerged from his chambers and was greeted by another Dre Fæmoran male with black hair pulled back into a pony tail. He bowed to Særoth, but otherwise remained silent. It was Særoth who broke the silence between them. "Summon Ba'khran, and the warchief Amon for an audience. We have important matters to discuss."
