I had created this character for another roleplay (Looking at you there [@Zendrelax]).
I thought he might fit in a group of ne'er-do-wells.
I hope his is as vile and despicable as ever.

[hider= Zhystkrexas]
[b][h3] Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria[/h3][/b]

[hider=Zhystkrexas' Theme]
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t06neJCQtCE[/youtube]
[/hider]

[hr]
[b]Titles[/b]

[hider=Various Other Titles]
[i]
The Corruptor
He Who Hungers
Desert Demon of Desire
The Dark Dream of the Devouring King of Lost Paradise
[/i]
[/hider]

[hr]
[b]Descriptions[/b]

[hider= The Short and Long of the Devouring]
[b]Three-Word-Description[/b]
Insatiable Hunger Incarnate.

[b]Long Description[/b]
What is it you desire most? Your deepest wishes, pulled from your wildest dream, harvested from your innermost secrets. The innocent fantasies you play with in the back of your mind, in the pit of your heart, the very nature of your soul. That which gnaws at you, your unsated want, a need restrained by reasoning, modesty, virtue. Like a caged beast, you drool hungrily at your temptations, but barely lick your lips when given but a taste of it when in a drought and famine. Now culminate all those years of unrequited starving. That is Zhystkrexas.
[/hider]

[hr]
[b]Appearance[/b]

[hider=The Appearance of a Devil to Unsuspecting Mortals]
[img]http://pre15.deviantart.net/299d/th/pre/i/2012/223/c/0/slave_king_by_lappisch-d5arpdb.jpg
[/img]

He appears to those who are unaware of the true nature of the beast as a living idol. A perfect human being as they believe it, often seeing him as a man befitting the role of a chief of the desert tribes. The aspects they value most exemplified within him, a paragon of their own hopes and dreams to what they desire to be. For it is not his power to change himself, no rather it is his power to change how others see him. Dressed in finery of gold with a body of a worthy of worship, regally moving with the power and awe, the splendor of a true god-king to be envied and admired.
[/hider]

[hider=The Appearance of a Demon to Those Who Wish to See Beyond]
[img]http://pre15.deviantart.net/f004/th/pre/i/2016/058/3/8/harbinger_by_vollelune-d9td0zt.jpg
[/img]

But to those who wish to see him for what desire truly is, for those who desire truth, they shall see him for what he is. A smiling devil with twisting horns which flow like hair around him. Sharp teeth and fangs, a gaunt face like a skull and hollow eyes with which he eats your very being. Though dressed in his robes and finery, he is nothing more but a skeletal terror as his ribs are visible against his open robe. That is the true nature of desire. The insatiable hunger that consumes you, and though you may eat, there is nothing to show for it. Life becomes meaningless, and you are nothing more than a walking corpse: Empty.
[/hider]

[hr]
[b]Personality[/b]

[hider=A Glimpse into the Mind of a Monster]
Zhystkrexas, the corrupting influence of it all, that which dwells with the deepest reaches of the mind. Patient, devious, and cunning, an immortal who uses immortality best of all to sow the seeds of his grand design for the harvest. How many seasons shall he wait until his bounty becomes full and rich? But starve yourself completely waiting for the harvest to come? Why not feast on the spoils of another? Oh yes reap what is yours, but also devour the yields of others. let them savour their small victories, their piecemeal battles, let them dine upon their riches and let their praises be pleasing to their ears. Let all their plans align and designs unfold to their whim, but in the end it matters not. For when the crops are ready to be harvested, the locusts shall come to eat it all. And so this is why perhaps of all the evils in the world, Zhystkrexas is most despised, for he leeches off the work of others, and dares to manipulate even his peers as he would mortals.

Such is he who hungers. A façade of benevolence over a pit of pure malice, a voice so tempting, so pleasing to hear from a true cosmopolite, and yet beneath the veil a ravenous fiend. It is his hand that feeds, and also he that bites the hands that feed, and those that he fattens to feast upon. Nothing can sate him for he is hunger, and he shall lead you to consume yourself before he consumes you, both physically and spiritually as he devours your flesh and captures your soul. And once he has led you down the path, he shall take deepest pleasure in devouring your envious eyes, your lustful heart, your prideful tongue, your wrathful limbs, your greedy mind, your gluttonous gut, and your weary head.

And why does Zhystkrexas do this? For it is his nature. He hungers. He is hunger. Though his kingdom is plenty, he is the starving lord who eyes upon the kingdoms of others. In time, he shall consume them, and then when there is nothing left to be consumed, he shall be forced to consume himself.
[/hider]

[hr]
[b]Powers and Possessions[/b]

[Hider=The Powers of Desire] 
The Devouring King exemplifies not a strong physical force nor magical one amongst his peers, but do not mistake this for weakness for his powers lie elsewhere. While he is merely slightly stronger than the average paragon mortal, and commands arcana within reach of the most learned of mortal magi, His unique power lies in his ability to bring out the worse in things. His presence is toxic, changing the very essence of beings and non-beings. It is his hand which cultivates the seed of desire, the primal shard preexisting, tending it to become an overgrowth that bursts through the nature of a thing. His work is to accelerate the inner hunger, the rest comes naturally as torment ends with feeding and overfeeding. Yet satiation never happens, and so indulgence becomes wickedness, carnal desires feasting upon morality, and moral desires feasting upon carnal needs. No one is safe from his abilities, to woo and tease out the hopes and dreams of a person, then taint them into a twisted reality. Where the pleasure may never end, but all meaning to it is lost.

While it is with this psychic force that the Dark Dream eats away at the will. Appearing as he would to mortals in a form they find desirable by dulling their beliefs in anything but to conceal the truth of his horror. But this illusionary self-delusion is merely a front for the true abilities he possess in the form of his magical contracts that taint reality with unyielding fantasy. It is his contracts which create kings out of men who lust for power, and scholars out of men who long for knowledge. Those who crave wealth find their coffers filled by the connections the Corruptor creates, and those who seek the pleasures of flesh shall find it so. By the magic of his magical contracts innocently offered to drag them deeper into their obsession, the shrewd negotiator can make those fantasies come true at a price. Already they have had their freedoms taken from them by his invisible chains, to sign a pact with him was undeniable.

And with these contracts, he may tap into the power of those poor souls, sealed away in their personal heavens but bound to be squeezed and abused at his pleasure. They who are trapped in an endless dream, but tormented in the same nightmare, used to lull another unsuspecting victim. He may channel the powers to seemingly warp reality to his desires, but ever moreso to twist the wishes of others. Take for example a man who wishes to be a king, but to do so would need to raise an army to raise a coupe. An army would be offered, perhaps summoned by the magic-users eternally bound by his contract or even comprising of fallen warriors who have sealed their future in the past. And the price for a regicidal army would be the future king's own soul. A bargain that the wise would be so wary, but the cunning would attempt to outwit. Nevertheless, when under the influence of desire, both wisdom and cunning become a hubris. And by the Corrupter's whim and will, that was so easily gained becomes so easily lost. So a collection of lost souls the Desert Demon gains, each trapped in their own prisons of eternal paradise. Such is his title, for he rules his subjects within their own kingdoms. 
[/hider]


[Hider=The Possessions of Want]

[hider= I'Zhystana, The City of Thousand and One Endless Pleasures]
[img]http://orig14.deviantart.net/5c22/f/2013/013/f/6/papua_oasis_by_lathander1987-d5qmtec.jpg[/img]

A legendary metropolis which sits brilliantly in the desert like a radiant gem to scatter the sunlight for miles. It is a city built by the Jaria Clan, a desert people who serve and view Zhystkrexas as their God-King. Zhystkrexas himself rarely manifests his presence in the public eye, and thus the city itself is ran by its elite citizens, governing itself with its false-utopia to mask the corruption which has taken the very city. Every sort of pleasure and vice can be found within the polished stone walls, but the city itself has loose regulations, and developed magical defenses which essentially maintain a semblance of order. The entire city is self-sustaining, and requires no outside support, yet invites visitors from afar to experience what it has to offer. Most travelers stay however and become permanent additions to the city. Either willingly or worse. I'Zhystana also holds two secrets: the two sources of Zhystkrexas' powers. 

[hider=Secrets of I'Zhystana]
[hider=The First Secret: The Oasis of Acrid]
Named after an ancient Jaria Chief, this sacred water source created the entire city through its powers, and is guarded by the Jaria Clan as their protected wellspring. The Oasis of Desire is a product of Zhystkrexas' power, as a vast amount of the entity's essence was invested into the creation of the black pool. It is said those who wish to harm Zhystkrexas must first drain or corrupt the pool, a task impossible as the temptations of the waters seem to affected the mind of all those who seek to destroy it. For unless one only has a desire to destroy the Oasis itself and only that one singular desire in all the world, then it shall rise up once more to fulfill the desires of those who thought the sought to destroy it.
[/hider]

[hider=The Second Secret: The Vault of Kings]
Deep Beneath his Grand Palace, Zhystkrexas hides his legendary collection of bits and baubles under the desert sands locked away behind an curious door. The Vault is warded against forms of magic and hardened against physical attempts to destroy it, as the only guaranteed way to enter is through the Smiling Door. Called so as it features an usual bust of Zhystkrexas' monstrous head which claims the contents of the vault as his possession. The jaws open ever so slightly as to admit a trembling hand to twist and pull the handle unlock the doorway. But beware, for just as the pool was guarded by one's desire, so too is the vault as the Smiling Door bites off any hand which fails to prove its worthiness to enter Zhystkrexas' true horde. And the smiling bust shall serve as a remind that only a Heart as twisted and wicked as Zhystkrexas may enter.

For within his well-guarded secret is the other source of his power: all his magical contracts. The only way to undo a deal and release the soul bound to it is to either negotiate with Zhystkrexas himself, or to steal the original document from his possession and then destroy the contract. The former is usually unwise, and the latter is generally impossible. Yet for the hundred upon thousands of souls empowering him, what would one soul be? 
[/hider]
[/hider]

[hider=On the Jaria Clan]
The blessed servitors of Zhystkrexas. They serve him out of birthright as his mortal agents. Some serve to protect their God-King or his assets, others serve to expand his influence as merchants or skilled mercenaries. Some are 'entrusted' with positions of false power, but turn paranoid and scheme to retain such a precarious position and to earn the pleasure of their Lord. They are decent fighters and craftsman, but most of all shrewd negotiators and bureaucrats. As such the Jaria are a part of the City and Zhystkrexas himself, they are his numerous armies, his devoted acolytes, his awaiting swarm.
[/hider]
[/hider]

[hider=Personal effects]
[b]Gregarial, The Scepter of Satiation[/b]

Once a magical vessel which served to bring forth prosperity to the land, the nature of Zhystkrexas' power has long since corrupted it into this form. Melted down into its formerly pure gold, and its four diamonds and single ruby jewels recut and refitted to resemble the teeth  and eyes of the dragon-like head that tops his personal weapon. The monstrous motif-bears a partial resemblance to Zhystkrexas' true form, especially in that its hinged jaw can be snapped open or shut with a twist of the its head. It is the cane which he uses to support his position, not physically as he feigns physical weakness, but symbolically. For it is his antithesis in a way, such that any non-sentient object that should be placed into its small jaws shall be duplicated, and that duplication itself shall continue to replicate endlessly until the original object is no longer within the rod's jaws. It is the weapon only befitting of one who causes an equally endless hunger, and perhaps the only thing that can weaken his grip on his world, as such he keeps a tight grip upon it.
[/hider]
[/hider]
[hr]
[b]The Myth[/b]
[hider= The Elder's Tale]

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTsG60BtFyQ[/youtube]

[indent][i]
I approached him upon his golden throne, and he was far more handsome than I had heard. I found my eyes fixating upon the seat of his throne, wondering what monster was beneath his attire. He sat so regally, a presence so commanding that I had no shame in kneeling before him. I took to one knee and bowed my head, catching a glimpse of his charming smile. There my mind could only imagine those lips of his moving to the sound of his alluring voice asking if I wanted him. Every word dripping out of his mouth like golden honey, drizzled upon his chest. yes, how my tongue quivered inside as it brushed against my teeth, how I wanted to lick that sweetness off his glorious body. I lusted for him, and oh my heart leapt for joy when he placed the collar around my neck with that glorious smile, and wrapped the chain around his hand. He had made me his consort, another to join his court, his entourage, his harem. Yes, I am your servant, your slave, your lover. I surrender myself to you, oh great lord of the Jaria!

I looked up at him from my lowly place, having begged him for a single coin. What did he see in me? A mere tramp with nothing, no home, no family, no money. How great was his wealth and generosity that he would invite me to share bread with him? As the guest of honor? But oh he raised me from the poor beggar I was and dressed me in finery, silken robes trimmed with silver and inlaid with gold. He bought me jewels and fitted them upon my wretched hands, and his servants washed by feet with fragrant oils. What luxury did he have? What wealth to be able to do so to a nobody like me? And then he asked me if I dreamt of riches, far more than I could carry with my arms. I told him yes, I dreamt of a sea of gold and silver, diamonds and rubies, emeralds and sapphires, all the treasures as far as the eye could see, and that all of it be mine. Then he showed me his vaults, which were all that I had imagined and more. For mountains of treasures like the grains of sand in the desert surrounded me as he smiled, throwing me forward into the vast piles of wealth with his hand and telling me to take all that I could carry. How my eyes widened in disbelief in awe as I praised him, oh great lord of the Jaria!

I serve him for he has granted me peace. He consoled me when I had lost her, with his gentle hand placed upon my head as I grieved into his shoulder. When I thought I was abandoned, he strengthened my resolve. He had given me the means to my vengeance. A spear which he offered before my feet. He asked if sought justice for her death, and gave me the means to do so. He smiled as I picked up the weapon, rising and steadying myself with the shaft as my mind dwelt upon the deaths of her killers. He applauded as I came back, drenched in blood with only my sweat to wash the stains away. Justice has been served, and for this I owe him my life. This blessed spear with which I had carried back the impaled trophies of my enemies heads, now will become his. I shall fight for him, I am his spear that shall pierce all those that would stand before him. May I die for your name, Oh great lord of the Jaria!

I was invited to his feast, a banquet thrown at one of his lavish parties. I thought I had tasted everything there was in life, but he proved me wrong. There was a smorgasbord of dishes upon his table, all smelling of exotically pleasing to the nose as I licked my lips in anticipation. The drinks he offered, the wines poured which filled the cups of all those gathered around him, and me sitting to his right as the dishes were being passed around. And as I ate my fill of rare delicacies from around the world, he smiled while asking if I had saved room for the main course. The main course? What was this to him then? Merely an appetizer? And what was it that he would bring to top off these scrumptious delights we had just experienced? Then there it was, a small boy dressed in a white tunic, perhaps a serving boy, approached us. My eyes could hardly believe the horrors which happened, but as the succulent smell wafted into my nose, I could not resist lifting my fork up to bring the tender flesh to my lips. I thank you for a most excellent dinner, oh great lord of the Jaria!

I sought to test his power, and to know his limits. There I wished to know more than anyone mortal had, I challenged him to tell me the secrets to immortality. For long did I spend hours over ancient text regarding his kin, and years I had devoted of my life to the study of the Children. I had studied sorceries beyond the scope of many men, and perfected my spellcraft to rival the lesser gods. Yet I was still mortal, as poweful as I was, death would end it all. So I had traveled to his kingdom to see if I could deceive him into telling me how to become a god. And so through my flattery, did he feign his impressions, praising my skills to entertain his court as he asked what I wished to be rewarded with. My request was what I had longed for, knowledge forbidden to a mortal man: transcendence. So he smiled, as he offered me a scroll. Now the torments never end as my flesh burns and bones melt, my mortality being purged by the eternal flames as my soul fuels your power. You have won, oh great lord of the Jaria!

I had trembled at his arrival, kneeling before me at my bedside. For three moons had I reigned over as chief. What have I done to displease him? Why so now was I stricken with this malady? This accursed illness which leaves me here too sick to enjoy the fruits of my conquests? Even now my own advisors and family plot against me and each other. To take up that which is rightfully mine. Why have you abandoned me? I asked him in disbelief, coughing blood and hacking phlegm. Did he not promise me the power to rule over them? But what cruel irony that it was that I should be confined to dying on this bed while another sits in my throne. Ignoring my questions, he rose to lift my head to meet his eyes. Then he smiled and asked me if I was ready. Please have mercy, oh great lord of the Jaria!

I scoffed at the depravity of his kingdom when he approached me. I had rebuked him for the vast hedonism that bleeds out from his den of sin. I being virtuous detested all that he offered me. I wanted nothing that he could ever bring. So I bade him to leave, and left his presence. I sought refuge in the wilderness, away from his corrupting shadow. There I suffered in the heat of the sun, the cold of the night, the hunger of an empty stomach and thirst of a parched throat. But he would never taint me, I would be pure, and untouched. I would become a paragon of resisting the corrupting demon, the vile one who seeks to twist us all. And foolishly I thought I had rid of his influence at last, but he waited. He was patient, as I squandered away my time, living in moderation, living simply on the verge of death for fear of his return. How I wasted it all away, in pursuit of my enlightenment, a chance at family and friends, a chance to pursue a hobby and skilled art, a chance at a full life to experience it all. By attempting to resist him, I had fallen to the desire to resist him. And so he came to me once more in my old age, though I could not see his smile, as he asked me once more if he could grant me anything I desired now. Grant me rest, oh great lord of the Jaria!
[/i][/indent]

These are some of the tales you will hear from the other voices of I'zhystana, but I see you seek more than a short recollection. You want the truth, and I can offer you more insight into our Lord. All that this old storyteller asks in return is one favour for the knowledge offered in my story. Promise me this oh Hero, and I shall tell your tale with the rest of my old life so that they will know the truth of your victory Efendi. And of course, if it is not so much to ask, perhaps you can buy the rounds of drink to keep our lips moist as I speak and you listen hmm? Ah, our tale begins not in the distant past, but only a few miles in that direction from this humble watering hole for vagrant thieves, vagabonds and scoundrels, for it is there in that path lies the city of I'zhystana.

I'zhystana. Behold the jewel of the desert, the most splendorous city anywhere. While some say the City-State-Kingdom of Melaron is greater, let me assure you Efendi, once you have spent a single night in I'zhystana, no place in the world in this life shall be as glorious. For how can it be that for hundreds of miles of sand and more sand, that such a thriving metropolis can exist? The answer is quite simple Efendi, it is called I'zhystana for a reason.

For beyond her walls of endless pleasures beyond the imagination lies her secret. The bewildered travelers and visitors may find their hearts torn between the exotic brothels, the grand arenas, or indulgent spas. The sages can find refuge in their towering libraries and while the nobility chatter in their high-rising parlors. Vast world-class bazars for those hearts set on riches or dining upon the flavour of this world all in one night, lush gardens holding viewing galas for those who amuse themselves in the arts. Some may call it paradise, but for whose who consider it a den of debauchery should consider the great holy temples to their God-King. The worship of one being, the Lord of the Jaria.

It was he who gave life to this place, where once only sand and sun existed, now thrives life. For long ago, upon a blessed moon, did he come to them. They who had once which once roamed nomadically through the deserts, enduring the harsh lands to scavenge for their sustenance, as all who lived in the desert once did in the old days. Dozens of clans roamed the endless desert, pushed to survive this way as the other kingdoms encroached upon their lands more and more. And since no Kingdom lay claim to the barren desert, it was natural that it became a sanctum for those who had nothing left to lose but clung to the hope of life however meager. It was here in the land of nothing, in the hour of desperation, in the face of death, that the last chief of the Jaria clan signed his tribe into the service of a handsome stranger who appeared in his tent.

What happened that night no one truly knows, there are stories that claim the chief consummated the agreement, some who say that the chief was forced into signing, and other yet say there was no such stranger and the chief himself cried out to the desert for a miracle. Whatever happened that forgotten night, it was said that very morning the sunlight revealed the waters had sprung from beneath the sand. They say he was a divine being, heretics claim he was a demon that crawled out from the desert sands, but are they not one in the same? Others say he is no god, but merely a powerful sorcerer with a penchant for business, but I say who else can create all this from nothing but a god?

There was the gift provided, and now the Jaria clan alone may lay claim to abundance through their ancient dealings with their new Lord. In return for a single oasis, such that they may survive the desert, they had committed their entire surviving lineage to the God-King. Was it a fair trade? I would say any man who would help you cheat death itself was a man of great benevolence. He came to them with an offer of life, but they would in turn serve him. Brokers of his dealings, the middle man to spread his influence across the land, the example of what he could grant: a life of luxury in the barrens of the sunlit wasteland.

It is this life that some say is wrong, but to a people who lived on the edge and had nothing, was it so wrong Efendi? Hedonistic epicureans, the members of the infamous Jaria clan have an indescribable amount of wealth, knowledge and power throughout the lands. So much accumulated over the years by using their oasis as their capital asset, offering quenching water to the other wandering bedouins of the desert. A small price to pay for water was cheaper than blood. It was indeed a fine water supply, with cool, clean, and crisp water, waters which made everything seem better, food eaten with it was far more delicious. Sand became fertile to bear crops and crops water with it produced in overabundance. Wounds washed with it healed faster, skin more supple, and bodies more fragrant as libidos raised. It was indeed the miraculous water, the Oasis of Jaria. And yet they who drank it would find the same water no longer capable of sating their thirst. Food without it became bland, and all others became putrid without it, wounds festered and skin aged, clothing chaffed and crops died. They became locked in a dream, a dream which turned to a nightmare when the water ran dry.

So the addiction began, and they who partook in the Oasis became enslaved to it, enslaved to the deals of the Jaria who smiled as their wealth bounded upwards with every transaction. It was not merely water which their patron had given them, but far more, for from the desires of others they had their own filled. Power, fame, wealth, everything came in overabundance to the Jaria clan by the sacred oasis. The pool which to this day remains protected by the clan as they have built their empire around the holy waters. No longer have they need to use its miraculous abilities, but blessing of stranger is to be forever revered.

And there he sits upon his gold throne within his marble palace. Clad in gold rules the God-king Zhystkrexas. Praise be to you, oh Great Lord of the Jaria!

There, I have told you all that I know of our story Efendi, now I hope you will not have forgotten our agreement, there is a always a price in the city of I'zhystana, you must find a way to release me from my deal with my Lord...
[/hider]

[hr]
[b]A Story[/b]
[hider= The Elder's Reprise]
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9JfpKg3aH5A[/youtube]

Allow me to take a moment's rest in recounting my tale. Forgive this old storyteller's lips for being parched, but a brief respite to catch my wind and drink. Ah that reminds me of another tale of which I could tell regarding drinking, but that is not the story you asked for now is it? You travel to I'Zhystana seeking audience with my Lord? Who is this Kil-threx of whom you serve? Ah nevermind, perhaps you would have asked for another tale if you had the time. Now, where was I? 

...And there Our warrior stood, bathed in the blood of the guards as he threw their lifeless bodies before the God-King's court. The crimson ebbs of battle mixed in with his panting breath and running sweat. The gallant Knight-Paladin had sought to slay the monster which had taken many of his order. Felling the eight Jaria guards within the throne room had taken a great deal of effort, let alone the dozens he had to vanquish to get this far. But it mattered, not for now the demon before him would die. It was over, he declared, through all this he, he was finally going to kill that thing that sat upon the golden throne. The moment he had been waiting for, to thrust his blade into the wretched heart of all sin and kill the beast at last.

But ah the God-King Zhystkrexas merely smiled, and beckoned the knight closer. And with the courage of a lionheart, the Knight charged his sword aimed at the Lord of the Jaria's chest. It was then that the good knight found his arm held, a force clutching at his wrist and a powerful hand gripping tight to prevent his blade from sinking into the boney flesh of the great beast. There in those precious moments he would wrestle for control over his own blade against the God-king, but found himself in a deadlock. And how he wanted to pierce its dark heart and more than anything at this moment, kill it.

But the God-King knew his desires, as it knows all desires and the evils which lay dormant in the hearts of men. So the Devouring One asked him the question, that if he would so easily trade his life away to kill it. And our knight in the heat of the battle of wills screamed yes as he felt the grip of the fiend loosen. Blade penetrated the God-king's chest and skewered its body to the very throne it had not arose from. Gazing at the lifeless body of the demon, our knight was victorious at last. Or was he?

For it was an hollow victory, just as he was a hollow man. His hand dropped his sword of its own vocation, moving to hold his face of its own accord. There in horror he realized what had happened, and his own hand betrayed him. A horrific scream and gruesome tearing, the terrified slayer began to rip off his own face. And there beneath his visage was seen... the Face of Zhystkrexas, Lord of the Jaria.

It is a tragic tale, but I have kept my promise to an old friend.
Many thanks to you for the drink Efendi.
[/hider]
[/hider]