Ten hours ago...
There is that touch on Sedra's consciousness, familiar, intimate, possessive...a master's caress. Her thoughts, recent memories, emotions are perused, combed through, considered and put aside almost idly.
"A task for you, Desire, as you save your pet." The voice within her mind is darkly rich and husky, that of a predator aware of his own power. A night hunter in deep shadow. "There is something I would have you procure." Tza'kiel's mental presence weaves about her mind like the hands and arms of a lover. "Your Sraath has appropriated something of mine that I would like back. A well-honed blade. Return Daethior to me and you will be well rewarded."
The demon's tone carries promises, seductive and needful. An image of a felsworn, once demon hunter and void-tainted, emerges, vivid, in her thoughts. "And, if you can, Desire, a sample of your past master's vitae. A minor thing, though. Daethior is foremost. Do not disappoint me." Just as quickly, the demon lord withdraws leaving behind a brief, aching, emptiness.