Vanyusha, the Soul Collector

[Vanyusha]

Player Name: Navarre

Name: Vanyusha ("The White Prophet", "The Wraith", "The Soul Collector")
Age: 400 (approximate)
Race: Abomination (formerly human)
Height: 6’5
Weight: 160 lbs.

Physical Description:

Vanyusha is the embodiment of the concept that the less one sees of a monster, the more frightening it becomes. His face is always concealed by a mask resembling a steer’s skull; although old and slightly cracked, the skull is almost unnaturally pristine; its horns are long and white and arch forward from his face. The most unnerving feature of the mask is easily its eye sockets; or more specifically, the fact that there is only pure darkness behind them. When confronted about his apparent lack of eyes, he usually replies that his vision was taken by some sort of evil creature, such as a witch or a demon, while he was heroically defending a bunch of orphans with terminal diseases.

His wardrobe, like his mask, is simple and unchanging. He wears a white robe lined with golden silk; the sleeves of the robe droop down past his hands, and the bottom trails against the ground. He wears shoulder-length black gloves, and his neck and the back of his head are covered by black cloth. Every part of his body is completely covered by clothing, leaving those who meet him to wonder exactly what lies behind the mask.

If one were to judge from his build, Vanyusha seems like a tall male, possibly human or elf, with a lithe build. But appearances can be deceptive, and to say this about Vanyusha would be a large understatement. Although he carries himself like a human well enough, he is something far more sinister. In reality, his body can best be described as a mass of magical black material similar to a thick goo. This ooze is largely unstable, but Vanyusha has learned to manipulate it into a humanoid shape. Despite what his mask would suggest, he does have eyes: glowing golden orbs that he can retract into his body at will. Because his unnatural eyes would hint at his true nature, he usually keeps them hidden away.

Interestingly, Vanyusha claims that he still has a face. If he really does have one is questionable, and since he never takes off his mask, what it looks like now is anyone’s guess.

Possessions:

Mask of the Soul Collector: Vanyusha has owned his mask for centuries. While it does not give Vanyusha any special magical abilities, it is highly resistant to damage and is enchanted to always remain clean. He has multiple stories about how he obtained this mask, but it was actually prepared for him by a sorcerer from his cult.

Disturbingly, his mask is actually fused onto his face, which makes it highly difficult to remove unless Vanyusha disentangles it first.

Robes of the Frozen Demon: Vanyusha's robe is remarkably similar to his mask, and it came from the same source. Unlike his mask, it is not made from extremely resilient material; however, it is able to "merge" with his natural body without tearing, such as when he stretches his arms out into long tentacles.

Torture Implements: Vanyusha carries a variety of torture implements in the “maw” of his torso; mostly knives, needles, etc. These cannot be used for combat, and he must rely on his “soul creatures” or hired help to torture for him.

Walking Stick: Vanyusha carries a gnarled, white walking stick to help with his mobility problems.

Powers or Strengths:

Abomination: Vanyusha’s human body died long ago, and now he remains in this world as an abomination. He does not need to eat or drink to sustain himself, nor is he able to. The weather does not affect his body, but he is still able to be harmed by elemental spells. As he is technically dead, he can no longer die of old age.

Unholy Presence: As Vanyusha is sustained by the powers of a dark artifact, he is largely unaffected by dark magic. It can disrupt the state of his body and revert him from his “human state”, or knock him to the ground and leave him vulnerable to attack, but it will not actually harm him.

Intelligence: Vanyusha is quite an intelligent being. Although his understanding of emotions and feelings is flawed, he is a competent planner and skilled at altering his schemes when necessary. His fascination with his inhumane experiments shows he possesses a natural, if somewhat morbid curiosity. Despite his intelligence, he is not very well-read because he cannot afford to purchase books, and frequently visiting libraries would draw too much attention.

Body Manipulation: While he is not a shifter, Vanyusha has the ability to manipulate his body’s composition. This manipulation generally takes three forms: firstly, he takes on a “human state” while in society; secondly, his arms and legs can be transformed into long tentacles; and finally, he may separate his “torso”, creating a maw that can be used to contain his victims. He cannot use this ability to warp his body around oncoming attacks, nor can he use his tentacles to fight.

Master of Souls: This is Vanyusha’s specialty and his means of combat. He has the ability to incorporate the souls of his victims into his “body” if they have been sufficiently tortured and weakened. As these people are now part of him, he has access to their memories and can speak in their voices. The souls that are contained in his body remain in a state of hellish torment, and he draws upon their anguish to nourish himself. These souls are essentially the conscious minds of his victims, containing their emotions and memories, but many of these souls lose their connections to their human life the longer they spend within Vanyusha's body. Some are able to resist his torments and cling to their humanity, however.

Vanyusha fights by separating up to three souls from his body at a time and providing them with small “bodies” made from part of his own. These beings take the form of knee-high, distorted humanoids with golden eyes. While they aren’t particularly powerful, they are fast and are mainly used for collecting children and animals for Vanyusha to experiment upon or incorporate into himself. If these creatures are killed, their souls are freed from their torment and fade away, but Vanyusha reabsorbs their bodies into his own. He carries about ten souls in his body at a time.

The “soul absorb” ability may not be used on player characters.

Weaknesses:

Inability to Attack: Vanyusha is unable to directly harm another being. If he attacks someone else, the damage is immediately returned to him tenfold, and the person is completely unharmed. Exactly why he cannot attack others is unclear, as he gives multiple, often contradictory explanations. For example, he’ll sometimes say that he was cursed by a divine prophet, but at other times he’ll say that he’s merely dedicated himself to a life of pacifism. Vanyusha found a loophole in this limitation through his “soul creatures”, but they are weak and are only really useful for collecting specimens for his experiments.

Scourge of God: Vanyusha, being an unholy abomination, possesses a natural resistance to dark magic; however, he is exceptionally weak against all things that are considered holy and pure. As he is fueled by negative feelings and black magic, he cannot set foot into any place belonging to a god whose religion focuses on purity and love, as most do. He will be harmed by any attack that is light based, but spells and attacks that are influenced by the power of such a god (such as a sword blessed by a priest, or a spell drawn from the power of a loving and merciful god) would do extra damage to him. If the god of said religion is one of vengeance and destruction, however, Vanyusha would be able to enter his shrines without problem, and attacks influenced by said god would not do more damage to him.

Slow Speed / Vulnerability: As Vanyusha’s body is naturally in a blob-like state, it is impossible for him to run. He normally moves at a moderate speed by slithering across the ground, but while in his human form he walks more slowly; this is because it takes much concentration for him to keep his body in this form. He is also completely vulnerable to attacks while in his human state, as it is nearly impossible for him to move quickly enough to dodge.

Emotions: Although he was once a human, so much time has passed since his transformation that Vanyusha no longer truly understands the most complex and emotional workings of the mortal mind. He has fleeting memories of what it was like to have emotions, but his perception of them is flawed. For example, he cannot understand that a mother could love her children so much that she’d put her life on the line to save them from him.

Pathological Liar: Although Vanyusha is a fairly creative liar, he sometimes has a difficult time keeping his story straight. If he lies to someone he considers unimportant, he will likely tell them a completely different story if asked the same question later on. If he is balancing too many lies at once, he’ll sometimes end up mixing them together by mistake.

History

CHAPTER ONE: VANYUSHA, FACE OF A YOUTH

“I am whoever you want me to be, my good man.”

Vanyusha prefers to think of himself as a being without a true beginning. He claims that he has always existed in some form or another, usually as an “eternal phantom” or the “darkness in the heart of man”, but he knows all too well that, despite his demonic guise, he was born into this world a human being.

Centuries ago, long before the whispers of a white wraith came from the lips of children, a baby was born into an aristocratic family in a bustling merchant town. It was a bittersweet day for the family: they had gained a healthy, smiling baby boy, but at the cost of the mother’s life. The father was heartbroken, as one would expect, but found comfort in the soft face of the newborn. The coming years would be difficult for him, as he was young and had loved his wife with all his heart, but with his child by his side, he knew he would be able to make it through.

A warming thought; but, as the newborn would one day understand, a bottle of alcohol can be far more comforting than a crying baby.

The child grew up in the care of his nurse, an old woman of short stature with kind eyes. While his lord father wasted away in his study, mourning the loss of his sweetheart with his drink, he spent his first few years with the old woman. The nurse, who had cared for many children, was surprised at how easily frightened the child was. Almost anything would make him start wailing, but, as she found out the hard way, nothing turned on the waterworks like a game of peek-a-boo. As soon as she had placed her hands over her face, the baby let out a wail that woke up half the household. Although she never did it again, she never forgot how inconsolable the boy had been after her little game.

As the years passed, the infant developed into a fairly normal child. His nurse observed that he was quite curious and precocious for his age; almost every day he would come to her covered in dirt, having found a new “secret place” somewhere in his father’s estate. Tired of constantly washing her young lord’s clothes, she eventually ordered him to stop exploring the house. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised when he took this as an invitation to round up some of his little friends and move his adventures to the village. Boys will be boys, she told herself, and she went about her business.

And thus the Gang of Explorers was officially born; or, as the townsfolk preferred to calm them, “Those Damn Kids”.

The boy was no longer the neglected son of a drunken lord, but instead the tough, ass-kickin’, doll-snatchin’ leader of the cool kids! He tossed aside his fine silks and dressed in the shabbiest garb he could find (a welcome relief to his nurse, who was tired of him ruining his good clothes). He and his pals spent their afternoons going on all sorts of adventures: swimming in the creek; hiding some girl’s toys in a cave; daring one another to swim in the sewer. It was all a boy of nine could ever ask for.

So, naturally, the adults had to come and ruin his fun.

Shortly before his tenth birthday, his father overcame his addiction to alcohol with the help of his nurse, who had long been disgusted by his neglectful attitude. One night, he overheard his nurse yelling at his tearful father, telling him that she’d raised him because his parents were out “working their asses off to make something of their son”, and that she was sick of sitting by while he ignored his son because of his own self-pity. While he appreciated his nurse’s efforts, he really didn’t see the point. His “father” was nothing more than a broken man who found comfort in the darkness, and he would never be anything more than that.

His father came to him the next morning, even more tearful than he had been the night before, and promised that he would finally start treating him like he should. At first, he thought his father would just be a minor annoyance and try to “mend their relationship” through awkward quality time.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Gone were the ratty clothes; back were the fine silks and ties. It was time, his father said, for him to become a proper gentleman. They would be off to some distant city with a strange name, where he would be educated and trained in the way of business, and he was to leave his “riff-raff” friends behind. His nurse would be fine, he assured him; she would look after their home with a distant relative. There were great things on the horizon, he said, and his mother would be proud of him.

It was at that moment that he learned the meaning of resentment.

CHAPTER TWO: VANYUSHA, FACE OF A MAN

“Despite my supernatural nature, I’ve never much cared for the concept of destiny. Men must shape their own stories.”

Their departure was a quiet affair. The boy barely said two words to his old nurse before he left, and he hadn’t even bothered to tell his friends he would be leaving them. He didn’t want to think about it, and saying his farewells to all his loved ones would have made his departure seem far too real. Part of him knew they deserved to know – and part of him wanted them to know, too; to be there for him, maybe have one last adventure before he left – but he couldn’t bring himself to face them. And so, after eating a silent breakfast, he climbed into his father’s carriage and never looked back.

His father brought him to a strange city far from home. He hated it from the moment he arrived: It was too large, too loud, and all the adults had the same snooty expression on their face. But most of all, he hated the other kids. They were nothing like his friends. They couldn’t compare to his friends, the friends he had to leave behind for this word of fine clothing and snooty looks. His father liked to arrange play dates for him, but whenever he tried to talk with the other boys, they would always mock him for not being “old money”. One day, he became so frustrated that he mentioned this to his father, who looked at him strangely and left the room. Fortunately, there were no more play dates after that.

The years seemed to drag on, and yet moved quickly at the same time. His life became a predictable routine: He’d wake up, learn his lessons from his tutor, have a silent dinner with his father, do his homework, then go to bed. Rinse, wash, repeat. Days seemed to go on for an eternity, but since nothing ever seemed to happen the years began to mesh together, almost as though they had never happened at all. His only solace from his boring, repetitive life was the window in the study. His tutor was old, but unlike his nurse he wasn’t very attentive, so he could get away with staring out the window during his lectures. As much as he hated the other children, he enjoyed watching them play beneath the sunny sky. But he loved it when it snowed most of all; there was something mystical about watching snowflakes descend from the heavens, slowly turning his front yard into a sea of white. White soon became his favorite color.

The boy spent so much time lost in the snow that, when he finally found his way back to the real world, he was no longer a boy, but a young man. His bitterness had melted away, and he soon found himself leaving his father’s mansion to spend some time in the city. One day, as he was strolling about the marketplace, a pretty young lady caught his eye; she was a frail girl with skin as pale as snow. The young man began spending most of his time with his beloved. Even after his father found him a job as a treasurer for a wealth lord, he always made time for her, even if it meant working late into the night. For the first time since he arrived in the city, his life was starting to become meaningful.

Naturally, his father had to ruin it for him.

She’s lovely and sweet, his father told him, but he needed a wife from an elite family. Young love faded quickly, and he’d come to love the woman he’d chosen for him. This garbage, coming from the same man who spent nearly a decade mourning his first and only lover! Damned hypocrite. Ever since his father took interest in him again, he’d always tell him that he was destined for greatness. The fool wouldn’t know greatness if it punched him in the face. Oh, he would be great, but he would become great on his own terms. Shortly before he was to meet with his arranged wife, the young man and his pale lover stole off into the night. In the thrill of the moment, he made love to her beneath the stars that night, whispering to her that their love would last forever.

He hated his father, but he hated it even more when he was right.

CHAPTER THREE: VANYUSHA, FACE OF A MURDERER

“A little pearl of wisdom for you: Always remember to tip your waiter, or else they might spit in your food the next time you show up. Or, you know, cut your throat in your sleep.”

Before long, the couple’s loving whispers turned to frustrated bickering. They settled down in a faraway village and struggled to make ends meet; the man took a job as a butcher’s apprentice, and the woman sold fruit in the village market. It was a meager existence, far removed from the comfortable lifestyle the wealthy youths once enjoyed. Although they tried to make it work, there was no denying the fact that their love had been lost. One night, the woman finally had enough: After a particularly heated argument with her husband, she stormed out one night, leaving him completely alone…

…with three small children.

The man saw himself as many things, but never did he picture himself as a father. Until now, he had seen his children as nothing more than the unintended consequence of his love. He would have preferred that they weren’t along, but he tolerated them as long as their mother kept them out of his way. Why she didn’t take them with her was anyone’s guess; perhaps she had grown to resent them, or maybe she didn’t think she would be able to support them on their own. And the townsfolk, his customers, would think badly of him if he carted them off to an orphanage right after their mother left, so that wasn’t an option. They were his responsibility now.

Besides, it was nice having children to look up to him, rely on him, idolize him. It was empowering. He hadn’t felt this way since he was calling the shots with his old friends back home.

Times were rough after his lover left, but his life fell back into routine soon enough. He woke up, went to work, had dinner, and then he went to bed. Same old, same old. As nice as it was that his children looked up to him, their young, impressionable minds hanging on his every word, he knew he was meant for more than the life of a common butcher. One day, the world would look at him through his children’s eyes and see his greatness. And if he had to cut another damn piece of beef for the worthless people of this worthless town, he was going to choke the next person who so much as looked at him funny.

His frustration was growing by the day; but, being the patient man that he was, he wore the mask of the smiling butcher and continued with his monotonous life. But sooner or later he was bound to snap, and it wasn’t until his children reached their teens that the day finally came.

It was all because of that fat, self-entitled cattle trader. Every week without fail he would walk into his shop and demand the finest cuts of meat he had to offer. The bastard treated him like a peasant and went out of his way to make him feel worthless. He’d lean over his counter, give him a big mustached smile, and tell him that he was glad to see that the “little people” still had a strong work ethic. He could tolerate dealing with all the cheerful, overly friendly townspeople, but something had to be done about this overweight walrus.

Killing the bastard would be simple enough. The town, being as trusting and tightly-knit as it was, had only a few guards, and most of them were young and inexperienced. The walrus had two, but all they did was stand at his front door like two metal garden gnomes. But just in case the fool managed to get lucky and escape, he needed to protect his identity. A black cloak would be useful for moving around in the night, but it could easily fall off if the trader fought back; and the two saw one another every week for several years, so merely covering the bottom of his face with some cloth wouldn’t be enough.

He needed a mask, and he knew just how to get one. As he went through the bones of his latest shipment, he hoped that it would scare the shit out of him as the light left his eyes.

One night, a figure dressed in black appeared in the darkness of the mustached man’s bedroom. The lord, awakening from his slumber, opened his eyes to find the skull of a steer facing him in the darkness. Just as he let out a terrified scream, the skull-faced figure lunged forward and slit his throat with a cleaver. Before the murderer could rejoice, the slain lord’s guards burst into the room and saw him as he hurried out the open window.

The next day, the town was in a frenzy and wanted posters appeared on every wall, each bearing the face of a steer’s skull. The butcher was frightened at first, but he would soon discover that this was a blessing in disguise.

CHAPTER FOUR: VANYUSHA, FACE OF A VILLAIN

“If you causes someone enough misery, they’ll be more than happy to throw their savings at the person who makes you go away.”

The man had never pictured himself as a father, and he’d certainly never seen himself as an actor. But if he’d learned anything over the years, it was that life was full of surprises.

Word spread throughout the town of a hefty bounty being offered for the masked murderer by the victim’s family. A wicked smile spread across the man’s face. Murdering the bastard had been enjoyable, but nothing would beat “avenging him” by bringing the criminal to justice. He could picture him spinning in his grave. He had the evidence to give the family, but he needed a way to present it without drawing suspicion. The town was trusting, but even they would have a hard time believing that he’d just happened to kill the murderer and take his clothing.

And thus, he decided to put on a little play.

His eldest son would play the hero. A handsome boy of seventeen, he had grown especially close to his father after his mother left; naturally intelligent, but loyal enough to do whatever his wise father asked of him. When he explained the situation to his son, he wasn’t surprised when the boy cheered him on for bringing such a villainous pig to justice. His son was charming and decent with a blade, so it would be easy to see him taking down a common murderer.

He, of course, would play the villain. Shortly after the murder, he told the bastard’s wife that he would have his son deliver her weekly meat to her house, and that she didn’t have to worry about paying him back. A few weeks later he was in her bedroom to greet her, mask and all, just in time for his son to arrive with his weekly delivery. Hearing the woman scream, the butcher’s heroic son rushed up the stairs and, dagger in hand, chased the murderer out the same window and into the nearby wheat field. By the time the guards were outside and ready to pursue, the boy was back with a bloody dagger and a broken mask.

Slicing up his arm for the blood wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was well worth a bounty equal to his annual income. By the time the town’s guards realized that there was no body in that expansive wheat field, the butcher and his children were long gone.

The masked man decided that he was too good an actor to continue life as a butcher. He and his children became a traveling troupe of performers, putting on their play in villages all over the land. Their play took a variety of forms, and each of his three boys had an opportunity to play the hero. A masked man would show up at the village, cause some sort of trouble, and would be taken down by a good-doer who just happened to be passing through. It didn’t always work – sometimes the guards were too competent, and there were times when the terrain wouldn’t allow for a successful escape – but it was a reliable way of life for the family.

It was, of course, only a matter of time before he became overconfident.

One night, as he was running into a field after having killed a farmer’s cattle, he was suddenly pulled back by the collar of his shirt. A voice whispered in his ear, telling him that he should be more careful covering his tracks, and then everything went dark.

CHAPTER FIVE: VANYUSHA, FACE OF A PROPHET

“Some people believe religion is a scam. That may be true, but it’s certainly a profitable one.”

When the masked man finally came to, he found himself in a dark room, lying on an old cot covered with tattered blankets. Sitting across from him was a shadowy figure robed in white, illuminated by a single candle on the nightstand. The murderer, torn between anger and curiosity, glared at the man in silence, contemplating his next move. Simply attacking his captor and fleeing would be unwise; he had no idea where he was being held, and it was possible that the man had backup hidden in the room. Deciding to hear the man out, he sat up and waited for him to speak.

His robed captor introduced himself as a powerful sorcerer in the service of a higher power, a dark god whose power would strike terror into the hearts of the weak and unfaithful. The masked man gave him a blank stare. He had been kidnapped by a religious zealout? Fantastic. No doubt the lunatic was going to attempt to brainwash him into serving in some doomsday cult.

To his surprise, that was not the case: The sorcerer laughed and put his worries to rest, telling him that he was too intelligent to be part of his flock of followers. He apologized for knocking him out, explaining that in case he refused, he didn’t want him to know the location of his base. Smiling, the sorcerer explained that he wasn’t interested in him for religious reasons. He wanted to form a business partnership.

Interested, yet slightly suspicious, the masked assassin listened attentively as his captor explained his plans. Years ago, he discovered a magical artifact with immense dark powers. By calling upon the power of this artifact, he would be able to perform impressive magic for a short time, which he quickly learned to use to his advantage. Posing as the servant of a powerful and vengeful god, this “sorcerer” roped the desperate and ignorant into serving him through displays of power, promising them vengeance and power in exchange for their loyalty. If they followed his orders, which usually consisted of robbery and kidnapping, they would be rewarded in the next life by their divine master.

The masked man wasn’t exactly impressed. This man was nothing more than a greedy opportunist who used this artifact of his to manipulate others into increasing his wealth. Many would find such behavior morally repulsive, but he found it… disappointing. Surely a magical artifact like the one he spoke of could be used for something much greater than increasing one’s wealth. And more importantly, there was the question of where he fit into this man’s plan.

When he asked the sorcerer about his role in his scheme, the sorcerer leaned forward and reached for the candle, bringing it closer to his face. The masked man was surprised to see that he was a short, elderly man with a hollow and wrinkled face. The sorcerer explained that although his mind was as quick as ever, he was hardly in a position to inspire terror and obedience into the hearts of his followers. The sorcerer explained that when he heard stories of a tall, frightening masked man terrorizing villages across the countryside, he knew that man would be perfect for the job. It was an interesting proposition: If he served as the face of this sorcerer’s little cult, he would enjoy half of the profits it reaped, along with the respect and admiration of nearly one hundred mindless followers.

Donning a cloak similar to the sorcerer’s, the masked man took his place in the cult as the White Prophet, the champion of the sorcerer’s so-called “god”. As a present he was provided with a new, slightly more frightening mask enchanted to remain a constant ghostly white. Their alliance would be strong and mutually beneficial… for the time being, at any rate.

Thus a new era for the cult began under the “enlightened” leadership of the White Prophet and the White Sorcerer, the two representatives of their almighty god of magic. While the Prophet became the face of the organization and kept its members in line, the Sorcerer directed its movements and activities. The Prophet, shortly after assuming his position, met with his children in secrecy and instructed them to remain at home and live off the earnings from their previous exploits. The Sorcerer, it seemed, did not know of their existence, so they could be potentially useful allies down the line.

The Prophet and the Sorcerer reigned over the cult for the next ten years. Although their flock believed their masters to be the strongest of allies, the truth was in fact the exact opposite. The two started out somewhat amicably, but as time went on it became clear that neither desired to share equal power with the other; The Sorcerer wanted the Prophet to be his second-in-command, his brutish enforcer, while the Prophet planned on usurping complete control. The Sorcerer, who feared that his new ally was planning a coup, limited his access to the artifact to prevent him from drawning too much power from it. As he was far too old to fight The Prophet, even with the powers of his artifact, he decided the best course of action was to keep it hidden away.

Unfortunately for the Sorcerer, his servant had never been the type to rely on magic to get what he wants.

CHAPTER SIX: VANYUSHA, FACE OF A GOD

“’The bigger you are, the harder you fall.’ A simple saying, but so very true.”

The Prophet began setting his plan into action shortly after he assumed his role, a plan that would take nearly a decade to reach its fruition.

The first phase of his plan required the extensive amount of time. The cult of his new associate consisted of approximately one hundred members, and after speaking with many of them, he learned that most had been in the cult for over two decades, and intended on bringing their children in once they were old enough. Since they had been around for so long, it came as no surprise that they had been brainwashed into seeing the Sorcerer as their infallible master. Convincing them to turn against him would be next-to-impossible, and brainwashing their children into following him would take far too long to pull off.

His plan required that he become at least almost as trusted as the Sorcerer. By praising the Sorcerer and their god in front of the cultists, he not only endeared himself to his new men, but also alleviated some of the Sorcerer’s concerns about a potential coup. He fell into his expected role as the stern taskmaster of the cult, carrying out the day-to-day activities and dealing out rewards and punishments. In order to further endear himself to his followers, he personally accompanied them on many of their raids, where he used his skills as a former assassin and con artist to help them steal all sorts of valuables. As the years went on, the Prophet became just as influential in the cult as the Sorcerer, just as he had intended.

The second phase of his plan went into effect once he was certain of his positive relationship with the cult. Contacting his children, whom he had remained in contact with over the years, he had them enter the cult under assumed identities. Fortunately, he had never taken off his mask around either the Sorcerer or the cultists, so it would be difficult for someone to pinpoint him as their father. He rarely interacted with them, and when he did he didn’t treat them any different from the others. The Prophet made sure that they attended all events and indoctrination ceremonies, but since he told them it was a scam it had no effect on them.

The third and final phase began nearly a year after his children joined. The Prophet instructed his children to murder the Sorcerer’s personal guards, and then kill him while he slept. The Prophet would be leading a ceremony outside of the headquarters to ensure that the fight didn’t attract any unwanted attention. The plan succeeded, and the Prophet’s children stole away into the night to resume their former lives.

A grand service was held for the Sorcerer, overseen by the orchestrator of his murder. The Prophet blamed the incident on the assumed identities of his children, noting that they were the only ones absent from the ceremony, and assured his flock that they would be brought to justice. The following week, he arranged for a group of mercenaries to kidnap his children; he chose not to send cultists because his children might reveal the plan. Once they were brought to the headquarters, he had their tongues cut off and ordered them to be tortured brutally in a public ceremony. After nearly twelve hours of torture, his children were torn apart by his vengeful followers, and he was praised for destroying the wicked murderers of the Sorcerer.

Having sacrificed both his predecessor and his children, the Prophet was now in a position to refashion the cult in his own image. To honor his ascension, the eldest members of the cult gave him the name Vanyusha, the “gift from god”. The Prophet Vanyusha believed that he had taken his first steps to becoming a god, but little did he know that he would soon warp himself into a monster.

CHAPTER SEVEN: VANYUSHA, FACE OF THE DEVIL

“Under new management.”

Vanyusha wasted no time in transforming his predecessor’s cult. While the Sorcerer had focused the cult around an imaginary god of his own design, Vanyusha proclaimed himself the human incarnation of said god and turned the organization into a cult of personality centered around himself. His word was law, and under his “enlightened rule” the cult would go in a completely different direction.

To his credit, Vanyusha managed to expand the membership of the cult over the next few years; at the height of his power, it was composed of nearly three hundred people. He took a far more militaristic approach than his predecessor, separating nearly a third of the membership into several squadrons designed for specific missions, such as assassination, torture, and kidnapping. Now that the Sorcerer was out of the equation, Vanyusha became slightly more relaxed in his dealings with his subordinates. While insubordination and betrayal was treated very harshly, he became less punitive and more corrective when dealing with failure.

Despite the success he introduced to his organization, Vanyusha soon took it down a much darker path. He began drawing more and more energy from the Sorcerer’s artifact; whereas the Sorcerer used it to impress his followers with his magical powers, Vanyusha drew upon it hungrily, seeking to transcend his humanity. As the years went on, it began to strip away his humanity, but not in the way that he intended. His magic he absorbed from the artifact began to twist his mind. He slowly forgot what it meant to be human: Whatever empathy he had faded away, and his emotions became warped and empty. As he became more and more separated from humanity, his fuzzy remembrance of his previous life began to dominate his psyche, and a desire to understand what he had lost filled him like an insatiable hunger…

…a hunger that he would try to satisfy in the most perverse ways imaginable.

Vanyusha’s cult became entirely focused on kidnapping as many people as possible. Vanyusha would personally torture most of these “specimens” in increasingly horrific ways. Fascinated by the human spirit, he desired to see just how far it could be pushed, and how badly it could be warped after crossing the breaking point. He made a science of it; for example, he abducted two families and made the parents from each chose one of their children to torture in exchange for the life of the other; he made one of the families torture the child in private, and the other while the sibling watched; then he compared the results from both families to satisfy his own sick curiosity. Many of his cultists, still believing the Sorcerer’s doctrine about their god being one of vengeance, offered their own enemies to Vanyusha for his experiments.

As the second generation of the cult began to take hold, Vanyusha merged completely with the energy of the artifact and became what can only be described as an abomination: a black blob of dark energy molded into human shape, melded with the flesh and bone of an aging man. Vanyusha discovered that he could absorb the souls of his victims into his body, and he took this as an opportunity to continue his experiments with the human mind; he invaded the very essence of the souls that he incorporated into his body, twisting it and perverting it, and turned them into his minions. He took an especially sick pleasure in absorbing men and forcing them to kill their defenseless wives and children, unable to control their own actions.

The years passed. Eventually, Vanyusha’s human body died and began to rot within his new one. He never noticed.

Vanyusha became reckless with his actions, resulting in the eventual destruction of his cult. His newest generation of cultists was far less skilled than the last, and the massive increase in kidnappings caught the attention of the nation’s government. Tbe base of his cult was eventually located and most of his men were slaughtered on the spot after their atrocities were discovered. Fortunately for Vanyusha, his followers were too loyal to give up and turn him over; a group of survivors managed to help him escape in the chaos before they were apprehended.

His empire fallen, the inhuman Vanyusha went out into the world to find a new way to satisfy his curiosity.

CHAPTER EIGHT: VANYUSHA, FACE OF A WRAITH

“Gather ‘round the campfire, it’s time for a ghost story!”

Vanyusha, with his family and followers gone, wandered the lands without a purpose. As he wandered for what seemed to be decades, he spent most of his time feeding on animals and unsuspecting travelers. Occasionally, stories of a masked demon would surface in some towns, but nothing major ever came of them. It was a meager existence compared to his life as a cult leader, but human concepts of prestige and power no longer mattered to him.

Eventually, he made his new home in a cave system outside a small farming village. Intent on continuing with his experiments, Vanyusha observed the town from a distance and frequently visited it at night, stalking the streets and acquainting himself with the general layout. Sometimes he would stare through windows at night and watch families sleep, trying to find the best potential specimens for his next experiment. After a few months of intense observation, he settled on a newborn baby girl and her mother. Late one evening, while the father was out, he stole into the house and abducted them, taking them back to his cave.

After decades of wandering, his inhumane tests finally resumed. Vanyusha opened his robe and revealed his grotesque maw to the woman and her crying child. He told the mother that if she sacrificed her child, she would be allowed to leave; if she did not, he would devour both of them, and that running would be futile. The mother, in a surprising move, offered her child up to save her own life. Vanyusha, frustrated with the outcome, devoured them both to keep the mother from revealing his location. Some humans would sacrifice themselves to save their children, while others would do just the opposite. It intrigued him.

The cause of the disappearance was never determined. As the years passed, however, Vanyusha would continue to prey upon the town and other surrounding villages. Rumors of a masked spirit began to surface again, but unlike before they were taken much more seriously this time around. People were disappearing, and families and communities were breaking apart as a result.

Vanyusha’s lack of understanding ultimately proved to be his undoing. After abducting a young boy, he failed to anticipate that the villagers, moved out of concern for the families in their community, would conduct an extensive search of the area. A team discovered him in his cave, along with the corpse of the child. Vanyusha attacked and killed them, but now that an entire search party had vanished, he knew that it was time to move on. He fled into the night and moved on to continue his experiments elsewhere.

Vanyusha continued this trend for the next several decades: appearing near various villages, abducting and torturing peasants, then fleeing after he made a fatal mistake. On occasion he would replace the souls contained within his body once they became too erratic and unreliable. Ironically, he’d once again found himself in a repetitive and dull life, not unlike his existence as a buncher centuries ago.

Once again, the time had come for a change.

CHAPTER NINE: VANYUSHA, THE SOUL COLLECTOR

"The Devil went down to Georgia, lookin' for a soul to steal..."

Recognizing that he had once again fallen into monotony, Vanyusha sought to reclaim the glory that he once had. He attempted to form another organization that could gather souls and specimens for him, but being an inhuman abomination, it goes without saying that he wasn't as charismatic as he once was. Vanyusha did succeed in joining up with a small group of psychopaths, and he eventually became their leader. Because he only commanded a grand total of four people, he failed to bring in as many sacrifices as he originally hoped. Still, he made good use of these violent goons, who were more than happy to help him torture and kidnap innocent people.

This seemed like a decent deal at the time, but it ended up being his most costly mistake.

Vanyusha, his hunger as insatiable as ever, made a major city his target. He successfully attracted more criminals and mercenaries to his little gang, and he terrorized for about a month, gathering as many human test subjects as he could. Exactly what happened is uncertain, but this backfired so spectacularly that it somehow resulted in nearly all of Vanyusha's powers being sealed away. Vanyusha offers multiple stories for what happened, saying that it was either a botched experiment or an enemy who did it, but after this he could no longer conduct his experiments on his own. His new gang collapsed not too long after, leaving Vanyusha alone once again, in a far worse position than before.

Vanyusha refused to accept this defeat. Since then, he has wandered the world in search of more souls to absorb, in search of more sick experiments to satisfy his demented desires. He often resorts to hiring mercenaries and thugs to help him with his ceremonies. Most recently, he has taken up residence in Virdara Woods, and often visits both Marn and Shim in search of new opportunities. While in town, he often poses as an eccentric fortune teller or a street performer in order to avoid any intense suspicion. His hope is to fall in with a group that could help satisfy his desires, and if he's especially lucky, perhaps find a way to break the curse that severely limits his power.

[Niabi]

Sorry for the long wait, Approved.