Sobek the Vanquisher, exalted-sorcerer of the Thousand Sons Legion, was restless.
His wary gaze settled upon a silvery, warp-twisted construct – a horrible relic of sorts that closely resembled a mirror – which served as the centerpiece of his tome-strewn sanctum; Sobek felt an unfamiliar trepidation.
Now standing at the oval-shaped speculum, the blueish blur of his image reflected from the greaves and vambraces of his turquoise battleplate, its form slightly distorted by the pool of vorpal energies that twisted and swirled along the glassy surface.
Great gilded horns, so splendid in their detail that they humbled even master artisans in their composition, rose from the crown of his helm, while other antler-like growths curved downwards to frame the front plate of the exalted one’s visor.
He took another long look at the serpentine iconography that marked his right pauldron, noting each faded crack and scar. For a million nights he'd donned the same regalia; since the fall of Prospero, in fact. In a way the suit had become his second flesh. Through every battle, every torrent of warp-altered energy, every deflected bolter round...what should have been pride was twisted into creeping inadequacy.
The immaterium undulated at his fingertips, reality shuddered with every footstep, yet imperfection marred Sobek's confidence. Such negative ideations were a bane of Tzeentch's, the arch-sorcerer presumed, as with the otherworldly boons he'd amassed also came the dark yearning for 'more'.
Cue the speculum, a peculiar daemon relic that Sobek had long possessed and avoided consorting with even longer; he addressed it pointedly.
"For many centuries you have whispered to me, honeyed nothings of unfulfilled power and prestige."
Though the monologue seemed just that, the argent construct was most certainly listening; quite intently.
"Now is your chance to present your proposition – but with a singular warning: deception would be imprudent. I will gladly reinstate your imprisonment and with great exuberance will watch you agonize without hope of liberation for time immemorial."
An excited wave of warp-energy radiated from the twisted mirror, a soothing lull that conveyed submission.
"Splendid."
The arch-magister’s hands began to twist and sway in the air before him, manifesting esoteric gestures of eldritch sorcery as he sought to undo the ancient wards with what appeared to be no more than a snap of his fingers.
Esoteric runes unfolded against Sobek's ministrations, humming midair before shattering into wisp of ephemeral energy.
The mirror shook violently, barely able to contain the influx of the arch-sorcery, and ultimately its cloudy surface shattered. Shards of the warp-touched glass floated outward and uncovered the inky portal that lie beneath their surface. From such a portal extended a small, black-clawed hand; its taloned digits secured themselves along the outer edge of the destroyed speculum.
Sobek had long speculated who or what exactly was trapped inside, but even with his boon-blessed foresight could he not predict the daemon's identify; well, daemoness's.
At the heart of the study perched an uncharacteristically feminine warp-spawn, her supple flesh not quite what Sobek was expecting. She was of Tzeentchian ilk, of course, given the vulture-like talons that tipped both her fingers and toes, and the ever-familiar hues of violet and lilac that colored her skin.
"~Oooohhh! It has been 'too' long!" Her lips fashioned into a shaky smile as azure wings unfurled to their maximum wingspan; they were impressive specimens that greatly resembled a Lord of Change's.
"You are–"
"Ignitrix. Not what you were expecting, I presume?" Sobek's new guest cooed, "I suppose not. Many of my ilk are a bit less than 'eye-pleasing', yes?"
Her appearance was downright Slaaneshian in its appeal to some baser senses; the sight almost startled Sobek but intrigued him more than the former.
"I see. Despite your appearances, there is a wealth of power within you, but even I can sense that you currently exist in a – shall we say – 'dampened' state. You require something of me, otherwise you'd immediately fled upon your release; or at least attempted to. "
His words were true, and the befeathered maiden seemed to agree, "Perceptive. Well, I will not infantilize you, Lord Sobek, you understand that deals with denizens of the Warp are not a one-sided arrangement."
That he did, and Sobek was never one to waste time, "Yes, and your end of the arrangement would be?"
Now things would get a little interesting.
The female creature gave a delicate shrug, her eyes glimmering with some newfound amusement. "My pleasure, of course." she said cryptically.
Such vagueness was typical for daemon of Tzeentch, yet Sobek continued his questioning, "Speak plainly, Ignitrix."
This elicited a laugh, her head tilting to the side as if in disbelief of his misunderstanding. "Are you really that daft? I suppose your ilk know little in the ways of pleasure; an Emperor's Child you are not."
Sobek had no answer to this. Was she mocking him? What was this unscrupulous implications?
"Have you ever truly noticed the female form? Or for all your witch-sight and sorcery have you remained blind?" Taloned toes clacked against the silvery floor as she approached and Ignitrix gently rapped her claws along Sobek's scarab inlaid breastplate; none had ever entered the exalted one's space in such a way before.