@RtronOh yeah, Jvan covered that didn't she?
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But why would anyone need that anyway? Ilunabar will make waifus real.
And I will follow her to the ends of the Earth.
Don't let your dreams be dreams~
@Double CapybaraIt's true, a goddess of beauty is likely to take on that role.
But I don't know, I think beauty of the flesh is more their deal.
That's right.
Jvan is the goddess of hookers.
But I don't know, I think beauty of the flesh is more their deal.
That's right.
Jvan is the goddess of hookers.
@Legion02They're just dead. Their souls are yours.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExQQxv1D1ns&ab_channel=HashtagBerserker
The sun blazed, and the air was dry. Cherry-Eater had no cherries to eat. He had not eaten them in so long.
He lay on the ground. Dust and grit, stained red, hard against his chest. He stared at the dirt with dull eyes. He’d been crawling for a day, his leg aching with every twitch. The other leg was lost, left behind miles away. He was angry. This wasn’t how it should have ended. This was not his fate.
He grasped the ground and pulled. The dust fell through his fingers. He cursed and pulled harder. Desert thorns cut into his skin as he dragged himself along, but he didn’t care any more. He wouldn’t die. He couldn’t die. He didn’t want to die.
A howl of wounded triumph ripped through the air. Like an adze through mashed slouch-brain. Cherry-Eater shuddered. The beast had returned.
He felt its pounding footsteps creep along his back. He smelled the roaring stench of its closed jaws growing stronger and stronger until he couldn’t breath. It was near, so near the end now. Pound-pound thud! -- pound-pound thud! The mangler’s steps stalled and stuttered; still limping from the wounds he’d given it. It reminded him of old Briar-Brow as he danced around the hallfire, or the ham-fisted music his brothers wove last hatching-day. He laughed. His whole life was about to be snuffed out, and all he could think about was stupid dancing.
He felt the mangler’s warm breath upon his neck. He closed his eyes.
And opened them.
Cherry-Eater gasped. The floor was warm against his belly, the sandy dirt blackened like ash. He coughed, sweet smoke filling his lungs. A hand reached down to his beak, and lifted it gently. He glimpsed a smile in the darkness.
“Greetings, my friend.”
Cherry-Eater opened his mouth to speak. His rib-plates crackled and gave in. He screamed.
“I would not advise speaking. My name is T̵̙̬̲̺̝͇͂̎̍̄̇̿̈h̵̨͕̲͍̲̳̝̫͇̊͆̋͋͆̒͗ė̵̩̙̝̮͉̣̖́̎ͨͣ͛͛͡ ͉̰̤̦̞̞̙̬̰̔ͯͧ̓̔͘͢Ã̵̏͏̖̳͢d̫̰̣͖̩̖̖̦̒͋̾̄v̢̡̜̝̞̻̜̟̣͍̉̏̍́ė͚̲̩̤̙̟̭ͩ̿ͬ͞r̶̟̜̦̫̦̐͗ͭ̆̉͒͘͝ͅşͪͨͫ͒̊ͬ̔͏̬̠͙͍̟͙a̷͖̹͐̓r͋͑҉̷̜̦͎̟͍͕̼y̡̧͚̮̻̘͉̖̪̭̙ͮ̊́͛͌̐̋͢. Ah. You cannot understand me. Call me -- Mammon.” There was a pause. “You have met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” Cherry-Eater was vaguely aware of a soft ringing. “You are going to die.”
Cherry-Eater shook his head, weakly. He coughed and cursed again. So stubborn. So stupid. Why couldn’t he just die? He knew how Pa had gone. Calmly, in his sleep.
“Ha.” The titan smiled wider. “Tell me,” Mammon knelt down and brought his grinning lips to Cherry-Eater’s ears. “What would you give to stay alive?”
A shock of cold ran down his spine. Like a flint shaving. He dared himself to hope. A glint returned to his eyes. “I can save you. I can make you powerful. I can teach you not to fear any beast again.” Cherry-Eater did not smile. Something in the Other’s voice warned him. He leaned in, close, his unearthly breath warming Cherry-Eater’s throat. “Again. What would you give to stay alive?” The colossus’ eyes narrowed. “Your family? Your clan?”
His blood froze. So that was the game. He spat, saliva mixing with blood and tears. “Answer me honestly. No one but I will hear.”
“Wh- what...about the snake around your ankle?” Mammon paused.
“There is no snake. Give me an answer.”
Cherry-Eater relaxed. He was half delirious by now. He saw his life shimmer. His third hatching-day, when his shell sloughed off and he was given the berry-mark of a true Hain. The time he first went swimming, splashing in the clear mountain waters. His adventure with Pa, when they went down to the Savannah to trade with the nomad tribes. The time he stuffed a handful of Briar-Brow’s special cherries into his face and swallowed them whole…
He didn’t want to die.
The mangler was standing behind him. It was still, waiting. Waiting for his answer. A wave of fear gripped his skull, his plates, the meat inside them.
“Yes!” He hissed. “Anything! Anything! Just make it go away. Just let me live another day!”
Mammon laughed. Like glass splintering.
“Lead your clan to the well by the red rose tree. I will eat them. It is done.”
Cherry-Eater opened his eyes.
The sun blazed. The air was dry. The land was familiar. A few miles from camp. He leant against the wall and stood up, and felt the soft rustle of bandages against his skin. Confused, he looked down and saw his wounds were healed. But he hadn’t been in any fights, had he?
Then he remembered. Like an antler to the face. What had he done. By all the gods, what had he done. He curled into a ball and tried to cry, but no more tears could come out.
Vinegar burned in his stomach. It could not be put off. Cherry-Eater tenderly got up, and began to limp back home. His jaw clenched when he saw his family, knapping stone and butchering meat and making pots and -- living. Bile rose at the back of his throat.
And then he saw his Ma. She sat in a dark corner, staring at nothing. Her eyes lit up like lightning when she heard his steps. She rushed to him, and hugged him tightly.
“My son!” she yelled. “My firstborn hatchling!” She danced with him in her arms, tears streaming down her face. “We thought you were -- we missed you. We worried so much.” She noticed his stillness. “What’s wrong? Come here. Let all your brothers and sisters see you.” A tiny flinch flittered across her body when he began to limp over to the hallfire. “Oh...Ch’eater. Lean on me. I’ll take you there.” His eyes glowed dully.
His sisters all chattered around him, asking where he’d been, what he’d seen. His brothers gawped in awe at his missing leg and bandaged wounds. Friends laughed, and sang, and even old Briar-Brow looked up from his captured fire to give him a keen, knowing look. Cherry-Eater wanted to die. But it was far too late for that.
He did not sleep that night.
He got up early. It was barely morning. The pale blue sky shone lightly on his white skin. The sun hadn’t shown its face. Cherry-Eater couldn’t bare to see his own. Time to do it.
“I was visited by a god.” They stared at him. He swallowed. “He saved my life. But he -- he said that he would make us all powerful. He said he would keep us safe.” He glanced around wildly. Fists clenched and unclenched, plates clinking. His Ma looked at him strangely. But Briar-Brow chewed a red herb and blew out a burst of rusty smoke. He nodded, and spoke.
“I hear you, Cherry-Eater. Your words gladden me. It has been a hard life for us, since the First Hain were cast out of heaven for our sins.” He smiled. “I saw your destiny among the stars and in the fire. Your Pa knew you would bring about a great change to this tribe.” The clan was reassured by Briar-Brow’s quiet confidence. But Cherry-Eater had not finished his wretched task.
“We have to visit him. He wants us to live with him. -- He lives below the ground, in a wondrous garden filled with roses and fruit and stones and meat and a thousand beautiful animals and the sky is shining and -- listen. I promise you, we won’t worry about hunger or wild beasts ever again”. Every hopeful face was like an arrow through his heart.
He lead them slowly, limping the whole way. His brothers wondered why he would not let them carry him. He did not want them to see his face.
A flash of red among the grey. Crimson roses stood proud against the bleak blue sky. A beckoning pit, carved by giant worms or so the legends said. Black stairs around the rim, calling. Crooning. His deed was nearly done. He could turn back. He could walk away.
He didn’t. His footsteps hit the ground like hammers. The ringing was in his ears, drowning out the guilt. If only -- if only --
And they were walking down the stairs. He stretched an arm against the wall and tried not to be sick. It was pitted, and rough. A fine grey dust clouded everything. The back of his throat was coarse and he could not speak. The walls were really very interesting. He didn’t know how many steps he had left. It was getting darker. He didn’t want to think about -- the walls were very strange. It was almost like --
Clink. Foot against ground. Rock-bottom. He threw up.
“Ch’eater! Are you all r--
The shadows struck with the force of a lightning storm. Snakes and worms and twisted centipedes tore out of the walls. He saw Briar-Brow’s eyes widen with horrible realisation. Ma’s mute face staring --
Cherry-Eater sat with his back against the ashy wall. Blood lapped at his knee. A smell of salt and ozone. The Adversary stood before him.
“The sun is warm, the air is fresh. It’s a new day. Rejoice that you are able to experience it. Believe me,” he leant forwards and whispered, “it is a magic far greater than any I can give you.” He trailed a hand against the floor and brought it up bloody. “This is my mark. My brand.” He grasped Cherry-Eater’s beak and placed the bloodied hand upon his snout. “The blood of your family. Do not forget it, champion of mine. You shall be my Sinon. Now rise up. Rise up and pledge your will to me. Rise up!”
He stood up and all was lost. Off sloughed his skin, his meat, his soul. Tested in fire they were, burned and branded. Sent to the depths of the earth they were, pressed upon and crushed and beaten and shredded. Alone and cold, in the dark of the void, they floated. In the blazing light of the sun all was laid bare and sterilised.
When he opened his eyes there was no more blood. The ash was gone. He took a step forward, and felt his leg hit the stone. He looked down in horrid wonder. Oil and blood replaced his bitten leg. His head was heavier; his searching hands felt horns. Ash clung to his plates; it was his plates. He lurched, and wretched. Blood splattered across the marble. Churning waves washed through his body, and he let his tongue loll limply. He was filled with blood. What wonderful changes had been wrought.
In his heart, he felt a twist of glory. The world was beautiful. Beautiful! Great Mammon! The universe pounded with the energy of gods. The deeds he had done today -- they had their share of magnificence. A flicker of pride stirred deep within him. And unending disgust. He shook with anger and hatred and sadness. But it was a new day, now. Now he understood the meaning of his master’s name. The Adversary. He looked up to the heavens. It would be a long walk up. He set his foot upon the first stair and began to climb.
The submaterial cables shone upon the King in Red’s smoky crown. He was resting, writing and drawing in His creamy books. Designs. New demons.
A slopping sound. He looked up. At the end of the hall was a curious creature. Wildly built, the work of bizarre genius.
The message it bore was just a work of bizarre. Mammon thought for a while.
“My thanks, thoughtful sister. Averse am I not to your ardent asking, although I am not at this time able to appropriately act upon your offer. Long have I laboured this past period, and I lie now languid in my lessening. But the future is bright; an unopened book; my pen in hand ready for the energy to move it.” The Adversary hoped he had understood his sister rightly.
The Adversary
Level 4: 0 Might 3 Free Points
The sun blazed, and the air was dry. Cherry-Eater had no cherries to eat. He had not eaten them in so long.
He lay on the ground. Dust and grit, stained red, hard against his chest. He stared at the dirt with dull eyes. He’d been crawling for a day, his leg aching with every twitch. The other leg was lost, left behind miles away. He was angry. This wasn’t how it should have ended. This was not his fate.
He grasped the ground and pulled. The dust fell through his fingers. He cursed and pulled harder. Desert thorns cut into his skin as he dragged himself along, but he didn’t care any more. He wouldn’t die. He couldn’t die. He didn’t want to die.
A howl of wounded triumph ripped through the air. Like an adze through mashed slouch-brain. Cherry-Eater shuddered. The beast had returned.
He felt its pounding footsteps creep along his back. He smelled the roaring stench of its closed jaws growing stronger and stronger until he couldn’t breath. It was near, so near the end now. Pound-pound thud! -- pound-pound thud! The mangler’s steps stalled and stuttered; still limping from the wounds he’d given it. It reminded him of old Briar-Brow as he danced around the hallfire, or the ham-fisted music his brothers wove last hatching-day. He laughed. His whole life was about to be snuffed out, and all he could think about was stupid dancing.
He felt the mangler’s warm breath upon his neck. He closed his eyes.
And opened them.
Cherry-Eater gasped. The floor was warm against his belly, the sandy dirt blackened like ash. He coughed, sweet smoke filling his lungs. A hand reached down to his beak, and lifted it gently. He glimpsed a smile in the darkness.
“Greetings, my friend.”
Cherry-Eater opened his mouth to speak. His rib-plates crackled and gave in. He screamed.
“I would not advise speaking. My name is T̵̙̬̲̺̝͇͂̎̍̄̇̿̈h̵̨͕̲͍̲̳̝̫͇̊͆̋͋͆̒͗ė̵̩̙̝̮͉̣̖́̎ͨͣ͛͛͡ ͉̰̤̦̞̞̙̬̰̔ͯͧ̓̔͘͢Ã̵̏͏̖̳͢d̫̰̣͖̩̖̖̦̒͋̾̄v̢̡̜̝̞̻̜̟̣͍̉̏̍́ė͚̲̩̤̙̟̭ͩ̿ͬ͞r̶̟̜̦̫̦̐͗ͭ̆̉͒͘͝ͅşͪͨͫ͒̊ͬ̔͏̬̠͙͍̟͙a̷͖̹͐̓r͋͑҉̷̜̦͎̟͍͕̼y̡̧͚̮̻̘͉̖̪̭̙ͮ̊́͛͌̐̋͢. Ah. You cannot understand me. Call me -- Mammon.” There was a pause. “You have met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” Cherry-Eater was vaguely aware of a soft ringing. “You are going to die.”
Cherry-Eater shook his head, weakly. He coughed and cursed again. So stubborn. So stupid. Why couldn’t he just die? He knew how Pa had gone. Calmly, in his sleep.
“Ha.” The titan smiled wider. “Tell me,” Mammon knelt down and brought his grinning lips to Cherry-Eater’s ears. “What would you give to stay alive?”
A shock of cold ran down his spine. Like a flint shaving. He dared himself to hope. A glint returned to his eyes. “I can save you. I can make you powerful. I can teach you not to fear any beast again.” Cherry-Eater did not smile. Something in the Other’s voice warned him. He leaned in, close, his unearthly breath warming Cherry-Eater’s throat. “Again. What would you give to stay alive?” The colossus’ eyes narrowed. “Your family? Your clan?”
His blood froze. So that was the game. He spat, saliva mixing with blood and tears. “Answer me honestly. No one but I will hear.”
“Wh- what...about the snake around your ankle?” Mammon paused.
“There is no snake. Give me an answer.”
Cherry-Eater relaxed. He was half delirious by now. He saw his life shimmer. His third hatching-day, when his shell sloughed off and he was given the berry-mark of a true Hain. The time he first went swimming, splashing in the clear mountain waters. His adventure with Pa, when they went down to the Savannah to trade with the nomad tribes. The time he stuffed a handful of Briar-Brow’s special cherries into his face and swallowed them whole…
He didn’t want to die.
The mangler was standing behind him. It was still, waiting. Waiting for his answer. A wave of fear gripped his skull, his plates, the meat inside them.
“Yes!” He hissed. “Anything! Anything! Just make it go away. Just let me live another day!”
Mammon laughed. Like glass splintering.
“Lead your clan to the well by the red rose tree. I will eat them. It is done.”
Cherry-Eater opened his eyes.
The sun blazed. The air was dry. The land was familiar. A few miles from camp. He leant against the wall and stood up, and felt the soft rustle of bandages against his skin. Confused, he looked down and saw his wounds were healed. But he hadn’t been in any fights, had he?
Then he remembered. Like an antler to the face. What had he done. By all the gods, what had he done. He curled into a ball and tried to cry, but no more tears could come out.
Vinegar burned in his stomach. It could not be put off. Cherry-Eater tenderly got up, and began to limp back home. His jaw clenched when he saw his family, knapping stone and butchering meat and making pots and -- living. Bile rose at the back of his throat.
And then he saw his Ma. She sat in a dark corner, staring at nothing. Her eyes lit up like lightning when she heard his steps. She rushed to him, and hugged him tightly.
“My son!” she yelled. “My firstborn hatchling!” She danced with him in her arms, tears streaming down her face. “We thought you were -- we missed you. We worried so much.” She noticed his stillness. “What’s wrong? Come here. Let all your brothers and sisters see you.” A tiny flinch flittered across her body when he began to limp over to the hallfire. “Oh...Ch’eater. Lean on me. I’ll take you there.” His eyes glowed dully.
His sisters all chattered around him, asking where he’d been, what he’d seen. His brothers gawped in awe at his missing leg and bandaged wounds. Friends laughed, and sang, and even old Briar-Brow looked up from his captured fire to give him a keen, knowing look. Cherry-Eater wanted to die. But it was far too late for that.
He did not sleep that night.
He got up early. It was barely morning. The pale blue sky shone lightly on his white skin. The sun hadn’t shown its face. Cherry-Eater couldn’t bare to see his own. Time to do it.
“I was visited by a god.” They stared at him. He swallowed. “He saved my life. But he -- he said that he would make us all powerful. He said he would keep us safe.” He glanced around wildly. Fists clenched and unclenched, plates clinking. His Ma looked at him strangely. But Briar-Brow chewed a red herb and blew out a burst of rusty smoke. He nodded, and spoke.
“I hear you, Cherry-Eater. Your words gladden me. It has been a hard life for us, since the First Hain were cast out of heaven for our sins.” He smiled. “I saw your destiny among the stars and in the fire. Your Pa knew you would bring about a great change to this tribe.” The clan was reassured by Briar-Brow’s quiet confidence. But Cherry-Eater had not finished his wretched task.
“We have to visit him. He wants us to live with him. -- He lives below the ground, in a wondrous garden filled with roses and fruit and stones and meat and a thousand beautiful animals and the sky is shining and -- listen. I promise you, we won’t worry about hunger or wild beasts ever again”. Every hopeful face was like an arrow through his heart.
He lead them slowly, limping the whole way. His brothers wondered why he would not let them carry him. He did not want them to see his face.
A flash of red among the grey. Crimson roses stood proud against the bleak blue sky. A beckoning pit, carved by giant worms or so the legends said. Black stairs around the rim, calling. Crooning. His deed was nearly done. He could turn back. He could walk away.
He didn’t. His footsteps hit the ground like hammers. The ringing was in his ears, drowning out the guilt. If only -- if only --
And they were walking down the stairs. He stretched an arm against the wall and tried not to be sick. It was pitted, and rough. A fine grey dust clouded everything. The back of his throat was coarse and he could not speak. The walls were really very interesting. He didn’t know how many steps he had left. It was getting darker. He didn’t want to think about -- the walls were very strange. It was almost like --
Clink. Foot against ground. Rock-bottom. He threw up.
“Ch’eater! Are you all r--
The shadows struck with the force of a lightning storm. Snakes and worms and twisted centipedes tore out of the walls. He saw Briar-Brow’s eyes widen with horrible realisation. Ma’s mute face staring --
Cherry-Eater sat with his back against the ashy wall. Blood lapped at his knee. A smell of salt and ozone. The Adversary stood before him.
“The sun is warm, the air is fresh. It’s a new day. Rejoice that you are able to experience it. Believe me,” he leant forwards and whispered, “it is a magic far greater than any I can give you.” He trailed a hand against the floor and brought it up bloody. “This is my mark. My brand.” He grasped Cherry-Eater’s beak and placed the bloodied hand upon his snout. “The blood of your family. Do not forget it, champion of mine. You shall be my Sinon. Now rise up. Rise up and pledge your will to me. Rise up!”
He stood up and all was lost. Off sloughed his skin, his meat, his soul. Tested in fire they were, burned and branded. Sent to the depths of the earth they were, pressed upon and crushed and beaten and shredded. Alone and cold, in the dark of the void, they floated. In the blazing light of the sun all was laid bare and sterilised.
When he opened his eyes there was no more blood. The ash was gone. He took a step forward, and felt his leg hit the stone. He looked down in horrid wonder. Oil and blood replaced his bitten leg. His head was heavier; his searching hands felt horns. Ash clung to his plates; it was his plates. He lurched, and wretched. Blood splattered across the marble. Churning waves washed through his body, and he let his tongue loll limply. He was filled with blood. What wonderful changes had been wrought.
In his heart, he felt a twist of glory. The world was beautiful. Beautiful! Great Mammon! The universe pounded with the energy of gods. The deeds he had done today -- they had their share of magnificence. A flicker of pride stirred deep within him. And unending disgust. He shook with anger and hatred and sadness. But it was a new day, now. Now he understood the meaning of his master’s name. The Adversary. He looked up to the heavens. It would be a long walk up. He set his foot upon the first stair and began to climb.
=========
The submaterial cables shone upon the King in Red’s smoky crown. He was resting, writing and drawing in His creamy books. Designs. New demons.
A slopping sound. He looked up. At the end of the hall was a curious creature. Wildly built, the work of bizarre genius.
The message it bore was just a work of bizarre. Mammon thought for a while.
“My thanks, thoughtful sister. Averse am I not to your ardent asking, although I am not at this time able to appropriately act upon your offer. Long have I laboured this past period, and I lie now languid in my lessening. But the future is bright; an unopened book; my pen in hand ready for the energy to move it.” The Adversary hoped he had understood his sister rightly.
Reathos will feel the first sentient creatures dying, and level up because of it. But it will still cost him 4 Might to level up. Don't worry, I'm not planning to break any rules. But I just thought that it would be fitting moment to level.
That is a pretty good way to level up. Better than my "oh crap I haven't posted in ages -- better make up an excuse" levelling, that's for sure.
I guess, concidering the nature of the Occult magic, that it would be okay to use them. Just don't do any ridiculous things with it please. (The leaves for example cannot bring people back from the dead. Just like all things Reathos, they are meant for dead and killing and do that and only that very good)
I was thinking of mass poisons, or cursing someone's bloodline to all die early -- that kind of thing.
@Legion02Do you mean you'd level up as a result of the Hain dying, or do you mean you'd spend might to level up because the Hain will now be dying?
Also I love your poison idea. Do you mind if the leaves are tied with occult magic? I could see them being specialised herbs for death-magic.
Also I love your poison idea. Do you mind if the leaves are tied with occult magic? I could see them being specialised herbs for death-magic.
To take your example, what if Ashmedai gratefully takes the power and continues to offer sacrifice?
He wouldn't. That would be the trade-off. He no longer wants to sacrifice, or use power at all.
@CycloneHe tests people on a case-by-case basis.
Imagine a great sorcerer named Ashmedai. He has an unending thirst for power, to unravel the secrets of the universe, to rule over all in all his majesty. He makes a great deal with Mammon. He will sacrifice anything -- everything! -- for immense, near-endless power.
So Mammon takes his desire for power. He takes his need to unravel the secrets of the universe, and gives him a sense of wonder for the material world. And he grants this Ashmedai the power he wanted. And a reformed Ashmedai is left wandering the world as a peaceful traveller, able to wreak great works but seeing no need for such things.
This is just an example, with a few domains stretched to get my point across. This also only works like that if Ashmedai truly would give anything for power. In this case, it is his resolve for power that is being tested; does he wish for power itself -- or control (the power to use power)?
It's ideals that are tested. An upstanding magical researcher, ardent worshipper of Belru and Vulamera, a pillar of the scholastic community -- convinced that he would be able to work out so much more if he just burned a few books, broke a few deals, and gained the power of a knowledgeable demon. On the other hand, a career warlock would be someone who merely exploited the other material means of acquiring magic -- the Adversary is not the occult, the occult is merely his domain. You could smash a dragon's skull and burn a special herb and cast a herniating curse on your mother-in-law without contacting Mammon at all! But you wouldn't summon demons.
That, or someone who managed to be tempted further and further astray with every summoning. This would be a great king, or powerful priest; someone who would make "worse" and "worse" decisions. This could be for the better -- a Reathite warden convinced that maybe this young child shouldn't be killed this early, or a Logosite's resolve in imperial order shaken.
Imagine a great sorcerer named Ashmedai. He has an unending thirst for power, to unravel the secrets of the universe, to rule over all in all his majesty. He makes a great deal with Mammon. He will sacrifice anything -- everything! -- for immense, near-endless power.
So Mammon takes his desire for power. He takes his need to unravel the secrets of the universe, and gives him a sense of wonder for the material world. And he grants this Ashmedai the power he wanted. And a reformed Ashmedai is left wandering the world as a peaceful traveller, able to wreak great works but seeing no need for such things.
This is just an example, with a few domains stretched to get my point across. This also only works like that if Ashmedai truly would give anything for power. In this case, it is his resolve for power that is being tested; does he wish for power itself -- or control (the power to use power)?
It's ideals that are tested. An upstanding magical researcher, ardent worshipper of Belru and Vulamera, a pillar of the scholastic community -- convinced that he would be able to work out so much more if he just burned a few books, broke a few deals, and gained the power of a knowledgeable demon. On the other hand, a career warlock would be someone who merely exploited the other material means of acquiring magic -- the Adversary is not the occult, the occult is merely his domain. You could smash a dragon's skull and burn a special herb and cast a herniating curse on your mother-in-law without contacting Mammon at all! But you wouldn't summon demons.
That, or someone who managed to be tempted further and further astray with every summoning. This would be a great king, or powerful priest; someone who would make "worse" and "worse" decisions. This could be for the better -- a Reathite warden convinced that maybe this young child shouldn't be killed this early, or a Logosite's resolve in imperial order shaken.
Uh, as a warning before I dump my ridiculously long post oh God I could have written my essays please save me, the Adversary is not meant to be evil. He operates on another level -- "good" and "evil" don't apply to him, because he's meant to test them.
I say this because he does a lot of evil things.
I say this because he does a lot of evil things.
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