Hello folks. It's me. 
I'm rather new to all this, apologies if I make a mistake. I'm pretty easygoing, just send me a message about anything you'd like. Unfortunately I'm not on discord. After having a chat with Vec, I've made a mortal wizard. He's pretty evil. Currently thinking of how I should involve him. You're welcome to hit me up if you have an interest. :newlol


[hider=Acolyte of Yzechr, Wizard of Deceit]
[b]Name:[/b] Gutch, A.K.A. The Corruptor, A.K.A Blacktongue
[b]Race:[/b] Human?
[b]Appearance:[/b] A filthy decrepit 'man' of short stooped stature, his arms hands and fingers and nails are all unusually long. Beneath the grime his skin is alarmingly pale. His head and neck are covered by a rough black sphere made of heavy solidified shadow. It has three holes roughly carved out for his eyelid-less eyes and dry serpentine tongue. He does not wear shoes, his only clothing is a loincloth held up with a ragged rope belt. He keeps a rough black shard tucked into it. He wears a large dark cloak when he can.
[b]Personality:[/b] Gutch takes great pleasure in suffering and cruelty. He enjoys inflicting pain himself, but his greatest joy is deceiving people and corrupting them into ruining themselves and their loved ones. Despite his abysmal appearance he is surprisingly charming when he decides to speak. He has a deep understanding of what drives people and he uses this ability to expertly manipulate them and warp their ideals beyond recognition. While he began as a humble apostle studying the weather and omens, he has dedicated himself to deceit and corruption. It is very rare for him to speak a single word of truth. He enjoys the act of lying itself, and will lie even when he serves to gain nothing from it. He is sustained by suffering and is very difficult to kill by normal means. His most innocent enjoyments involve exploring ruins and looting.
[b]Goals:[/b] As a servant of Yzechr that has been around for far longer than a regular human should be, Gutch's motivation is to spread corruption and malice in the name of his lord. A side effect of this is continuing his life and sustaining the ever-present hunger.

[hider=Sample]
The women of the tribe were concerned, their new irrigation system hadn't had the effect the Chieftain claimed it would. The crop had failed. The Chieftain's illness seemed to be worsening. His eyes had a wild look in them that frightened the women and the more sensitive men. The shadows seemed to reach out to him through the smokey haze of the lodge. The granary was low, this was the main concern of the fighting men. They barely thought about the strange prisoner. They certainly hadn't noticed the Chieftain letting the beastman worm his way into his mind.  Gutch had told the Chieftain to gather the fighting men of the once peaceful village so he could reveal the location of a fully stocked granary.

Gutch was bundled tightly in the dark fetid hole, caged behind the Chieftain's throne in the High Yurt. Despite seeming a prisoner of this unusually primitive group, Gutch did not mind his imprisonment. A follower of the vile patron of corruption, Gutch had spent so long studying deception that he could bend people to his will without them having any idea; simply with the use of his wicked tongue. The chieftain has captured Gutch for his heinous crimes, but after a conversation with the creature he had become enthralled with his 'wisdom'. 

Seemingly catatonic, his withered form leaned against the muddy wall to support his weighted head. His head was covered with a black metal sphere. The bulbous orb was seamlessly bonded to the gorget that was fused unnaturally into the angry inflamed flesh around his collar bone. Three rough golfball-sized holes had been hewn for his orifices. Aside from deceiving the Chieftain into insanity, Gutch's main method of entertainment was poking his wounds with his filthy man-claws in order to cause himself a sweet excruciating pain. His dry beady eyes subtly tracked the shadows as his brown serpentine tongue lolled out of the rough hole in the mask, like an obscene piece of dried meat. He had not blinked in decades. You would not have wanted to see his face under that mask. You would not have wanted to smell him. Or touch him. Or, much like the tribespeople, even acknowledge him. For Gutch was a foul creature, dedicated towards corruption and deceit. 

For the first time in a long time Gutch recalled how he got there. On the wicked events of his long and illustrious life. Literally, his had started life as the son of a small priestly family. They had dedicated their son towards arcane pursuits and he started out worshipping Orranoth. But that innocent child was not Gutch. Gutch was the creature that began to gestate when the fear overtook the small boy as he heard his parents scream out in fear before being slain by the raiders. Gutch was the creature that made the boy forget his name when the mirror appeared before him, and offered him the shadowy knife. Gutch was the pleasure the boy took in brutal vengeance. Gutch was the moniker given to him by his first cohort of bandit accomplices. Given to him for the sounds made during some vile act of debauchery in his youth that made him infamous even among criminals. Gutch is the name that would stick, and follow that creature through his very very long life of inflicting suffering and corrupting every joy into some twisted cruel mirror of itself. 

Gutch had carried that savage shard of shadow with him until his relatively recent imprisonment. The tantalising black wisps of shadow had evaporated as the sun rose that morning. It had disappointed him, but it served as a reminder of the corrupted hunger gifted to him along with the knife by his wicked patron.

After his childhood escape from the burning temple complex, he had scrambled into the dark wood. The wilderness was not a good place for the child to be. After a few hours of desperately struggling through the underbrush, the soaking torn up boy stumbled into a shallow divot below a cliff. Exhausted, he collapsed in the meagre shelter. As he was grasped at by the clutches of sleep he held the black knife close to his chest. He whispered a prayer to his new patron. The only name he knew was Orranoth. He muttered a prayer in his name. He knew Orranoth wasn't the recipient of the prayer. The lie made him smile. 

His reminiscence was cut short by the raucous din of the men entering the High Yurt. The Chieftain told them to move the throne so they could assemble before the cell. A hush came across the room as a torch was cast over the shocking looking prisoner. Many had not seen the foul man yet. They hadn't realised how corrupted a being could be. Now the realisation of the depths of human depravity dawned on them. The realisation they could not even imagine the crimes he was guilty of. The Chieftain 'commanded' Gutch to tell them the location. Gutch acted hesitant. Gutch waited for them to shout and jeer. Gutch told them, hiding his glee. The party left without telling their wives. 

Days past. Gutch fingered his wounds. He waited. The women grew scared as the men's disappearance was noticed. Some took flight with the children. Some stayed. In short time the backwater settlement was burnt to the ground. Gutch sat curled in his damp pit, grinning a horrible grin beneath his heavy mask. He unfurled slowly from the ashes, coated in grime just like usual. He gave a leisurely stretch, his bones popping and crackling. He meandered over to the nearby cave he has been residing in before the villagers captured him in a net. He shifted through the ashes and bones, picking it up from the detritus. He grinned as he examined the black glint. What a wonderful time to be Gutch.
[/hider]
[/hider]