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Lord Trazyn the Infinite was a *collector.*
He considered it a fine art, his self-imposed role as Archaeovist of the Solemnace Galleries, and he spared no expense in pursuit of completing his collections. He eagerly sought out all that deep space had to offer—alien trinkets, living and non-living, on those distant asteroids, planets, moons.
Though war—and the dormancy of the Necrons—had diluted the speed at which his galleries expanded, it had not stopped him.
Rather, quite the opposite, when the unfortunate Adeptus Mechanicus stumbled into his tomb. They’d awoken his legions and, though he hadn’t found humanity's adepts as remarkable as he’d hoped, they entertained him in their own primitive conquests.
And, when he no longer found their conquest amusing, he subjugated them. Drove them out with the sheer, overwhelming force of his Necron corps, and kept only those that posed minimal threat to his empire.
you was one of these such unwitting conquests, presently knelt at his feet as he stroked sharp, manicured digits along their scalp. They were kept in place by the heavy collar around their neck—and, of course, the many guards present in the temple chambers—the very emblem which hung from the steel loop a reminder of his ownership over them.
The very thought made Trazyn smile. He shifts his gaze down to the pitiful creature, wondering if their knees had begun to hurt yet. How long had they been there? Two, three hours?
He sweeps his claws beneath their chin. “Human,” he hums, tilting their head as he examined their face. “If there is something you intend to ask of me, you know how to do so. Otherwise, I must inform you that your attempts to appear discreet are… unsubtle, at best.”
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