The_Savior

What does a man do with the status of a god in his hands, and the earth on his feet?

He kills. He feasts. He indulges. He sins, he lazes about...and he - most importantly - runs a tight ship.

God forbid it sinks.

Conrad Whitlock is a man who knows he's at risk. Anybody sees, anybody talks, or anybody hears, and he's done. His teachings are - at best - directions pointing directly to his guts. His ritual practice is no better, as it amounts to ordering people around to fulfill his whims. It's all transparently egoistic, and serves no one better than him.

But they don't know that, he says. They don't know, and they will never know. Conrad dresses his self-serving dogma in the prettiest veils he can find, and shows it off to only the people he believes will listen. He's a vulture, through and through - and if he catches the scent of carrion all over a mark, he'll crack the sky in order to get it off of them and into him.

This has worked many a time - and remarkably well, each and every time! Obedient little servants come out of the woodwork if you use the right words, it turns out. They come in droves, bringing with them their families and compatriots. They come, all lambs for the slaughter, all pawns for -his- personal desires. Nothing more, nothing less - although he'll lie about that fact with a smile and a wave.

From this success, some other divine force seems to have taken notice and - wordlessly - Conrad recieved something grand for his duty. Spilling out from seemingly nowhere, two great wings and a halo made Mr. Whitlock into the god-like looker he told everyone he was - still without a shred of the power that came with that title. He could fly, now, of course, but that was about it - no miraculous blessing or guarantee of fertility, as he espoused he could give in several sermons.

To this day, Whitlock still sees to his saviorship. He sees a consistent uptick in followers, and he keeps those followers under lock and key until they're...ripe. Nobody's found him yet, even with the trail of bones he leaves in his wake.

With every stolen bone that clatters to the ground, it's said that whatever being gave Conrad his wings can be heard laughing softly and slowly.

It's a shame that no one hears it...or rather, a shame that no one wants to.

Alts_Worth_A_Hoot