>>5772566You consider the Old King’s words as, through stolen eyes no longer your own, you regard Irinnile the Succubus. This form—true or TRUER—gives lie to the notion of the demon as some powerful, demigodly being. She is scrawny, shriveled, barely-tangible., a shaking and sniveling pest. But then, could this not be a trick as well? If not, you know it’s at least a temporary state—no true weakling could have fought as she did, pushing you to the point of near-death and forcing you to rely upon the dread spectre which now possesses your body. Your heir, possessed of this power, could be a TRULY formidable Dragon Queen…
And maybe one day, powerful enough to free you from this soul-prison where you now find yourself?
‘Hm?’ the Red Dragon King ‘s voice rumbles. ‘Do not count upon this, Little One.’
You think you feel dread and regret at allowing such a thought to form, and be overheard… But then again, feelings are difficult to grasp just now. Hope, dread, shame, exhilaration… They are so removed from your bodiless state.
‘Do not despair, Dragonborn,’ the Red Dragon King assures you. ‘Your child is your child. If you would still dot his thing… I will do it. Consider it a gift, in exchange for this body and this life.’
It is with the practiced ease of a millennium-old sorcerer, unmatched in this modern world, that the Red Dragon King binds the beaten Greater Succubus to his will. With your hand does he beckon the occultist, who joins him eagerly and aids him n his ritual. Producing the scroll-case which you have long carried, unthinking, the Old King leads the young Dragonblooded female in etching runes of restriction and speaking ancient, draconic syllables of control. Under threat of ego-death, he makes the Succubus pledge herself to confinement, and even lower her shrinking, dissipating form into the narrow mouth of the case. She becomes a hazy half-liquid mist, and the capped scroll-case a prison in which to bottle her.
“Come,” speaks the thief of your body with misappropriated mouth, “we go home.”
