Mufasa walked circles in his room, his raiment of black silk fluttered behind him. His slippers muffled his steps. He let out a deep sigh as he looked up towards the ceiling. He flicked with his right hand, a silver dagger twisted as a snake appeared in his hands. Mufasa raised the dagger, touched his ear with the blade, and threw it at the door. The blade bit itself with a loud thud in the wooden boards, next to the two scorn other daggers. Mufasa stopped walking and looked at his door, which started to look more like a porcupine. He sighed, snapped his fingers, and the daggers vanished with a puff of smoke and a whiff of sulfur. ”Why should I be dreadfully bored in this place?” asked Mufasa out loud to himself, "I could look for fun." A thought occurred to him, something he had heard in the halls of Errings Rising, or perhaps it was back when he was still in Minstrel. "Hosenka," said Mufasa outloud. A town known for its spas.
He walked towards cheval mirror, wrought from elegantly decorated silver. The warlock pushed his robe from his shoulders, slid from his body unto the ground. Mufasa looked at his reflection. The Mufasa in the mirror looked slightly different from the one standing in front of the mirror. His image had two cat-like eyes, shining golden, and his muscular body was covered in strange black marks. In reality, Mufasa's pale skin was pristine, and his face only held two eyes with irises like amber. The warlock snapped his fingers. A cloud of smoke arose from below his physique, with the smell of brimstone. From out of the smoke appeared Mufasa, dressed in white trousers, a black shirt, and a white jacket. Golden necklaces adorned his neck, a couple of rings garnished his fingers. Mufasa took a flask of cologne and dabbed some of the contents around his throat and cheeks to mask some of the lingering odor of sulfur. He ran his hand through his golden-red hair and smirked at himself, "This will do just fine." He turned around and walked towards the battered door, his black leather shoes clacking on the stone tiles as he walked. The fabric of space ruptured with the snap of his fingers, and the warlock walked through it the spatial anomaly.
The warlock appeared in the streets of Hosenka, spun around on his spot to get a panorama view of the town. There was a light breeze, the temperature was not too hot and far removed from cold. The difference with Erring Risings was stark, that was a desolate, gloomy, cold place with the constant howling of the bitter winds. Now he was in the light, surrounded by people; it made him feel as if he was in the spotlight, even though the people around him walked past him without any consideration towards him other than for his perplexing teleportation. Regardless of that, Mufasa strutted down the street like a peacock.
The warlock suddenly stopped. His eyes were fixed upon a young woman with blonde hair. His pupils dilated, nostrils flared. Were his senses deceiving him? Could that be her? His father's words echoed in his mind, "An oath sworn in perpetuity. She will serve, or you will die, I charge you to bring her to me." What was her name again, wondered Mufasa while his eyes were still fixated upon the woman, who gazed through the window of a shop. "Alyia," uttered the half-demon softly, "killed her own father." And her father had been one of the oldest and most loyal confidants of Sinhraaj, second to none but Sinhraaj himself; even above Mufasa, of the same blood of Sinhraaj.
Alyia walked into the store. Mufasa slowly walked towards the door and paused before there. After a moment, he passed through the door. Looking around to see where the girl had gone too. He wandered through the store when he heard behind a call for help. He turned around and shook his head briefly in disbelieve. It was Alyia.
"Of course dear, what can I do for you?" said Mufasa full of confidence as if he actually worked in the establishment. "You seem a bit too old to be lost from your mother or father," said Mufasa as gave a wink, "what are you looking for? Something for a special occasion? A job interview perhaps? Or are you here visiting for the spas? Or both? We have garments for both." Mufasa kept on rattling, "Ah, excuse. I find it always so impersonal if I don't know the name of the people I am helping. Might be weird, but it helps me selecting clothing of your dreams. It's true." He patted on the left side of his chest, "my name is Mufasa Fabien, and it seems I forgot my name tag. How foolish of me."
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