Lord's Rest Inn

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There is an elder evil that very few know about. They say he was born from the desires of those who wished they never had to lift a finger for anything. Others say his birth was from two gods who desired a child only to do there bidding. He hears every prayer from those who wished to simply lay around and from those who felt like they were entitled to everything. 

May I present his degraded sire, Atrous.

His name means unbound because greed and sloth know nothing of bounds. He takes many appearances, most noticably a purple skinned Tabaxi with rose red eyes. He wears a cloak of eyes around his shoulder, made from the hide of a Cosmic Horror. He is lethargic and prefers to let others fight his ears but his magic is never to be messed with. With claws of otherworldly essence and the temper of a fire lizard, he is quick to anger and slower to stop holding a grudge.

A tale tell sign that the Unbound One is near is a large abundance of people sleeping. It seems, suddenly, they are all hit with exhaustion but this is the work of him.

The form he usually walks around in, amongst mortals, is a well dressed gentleman in a black cloak with stitches eyes that seem to track you. You can never see his face under his wide brimmed hat but his eyes pierce though the shadows, staring right at you. His hands are covered by black gloves that conceal his claws for the moment. 

Raphael notes the information

 Some of the villagers seem to have fallen asleep, stopping their duties suddenly as they hit the ground, unconscious.

'That would make sense.'

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 This idea is nigh forgein to the angel. "What about the suffering it would cause?"

 "Suffering? You would be free, friend, of your obligations and chains."

"But others? Those that must cushion my fall?"

 Barachiel laughs. "I'll be there friend. No worries."

"I mean for the mortals? What if I go out in violence and bloodshed? And see the many die, due to my rage."

 Barachiel stiffens. "Oh... right. I would stop you, then. Or at least try to."

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Gregor is at his now eternally burning farm, watching Helios and the others.

Sytosc seems somewhat bored and is cooking some bacon over one of the refugee campfires.

*In his monsterous form?*

 *Unless otherwise stated, he's always in his human form.*

 *good*

A women waves to them, having some light bruises but nothing much. "Hey, who are you? Don't recognize you... did you leave on the east side? Is that it?"

 He shrugs. "I'm not from around here. I just needed a place to cook. You want some?"

 They nod. "Yes. The healer can heal alright, but..." They look side to side, before whispering: "They can't cook for [1 gp]."

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'That would make sense.'

"Hopefully that helps, friend."

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 This idea is nigh forgein to the angel. "What about the suffering it would cause?"

 "Suffering? You would be free, friend, of your obligations and chains."

"But others? Those that must cushion my fall?"

 Barachiel laughs. "I'll be there friend. No worries."

"I mean for the mortals? What if I go out in violence and bloodshed? And see the many die, due to my rage."

 Barachiel stiffens. "Oh... right. I would stop you, then. Or at least try to."

"See? That is why I cannot. I would fall to far, and who says you could stop me?"

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There is an elder evil that very few know about. They say he was born from the desires of those who wished they never had to lift a finger for anything. Others say his birth was from two gods who desired a child only to do there bidding. He hears every prayer from those who wished to simply lay around and from those who felt like they were entitled to everything. 

May I present his degraded sire, Atrous.

His name means unbound because greed and sloth know nothing of bounds. He takes many appearances, most noticably a purple skinned Tabaxi with rose red eyes. He wears a cloak of eyes around his shoulder, made from the hide of a Cosmic Horror. He is lethargic and prefers to let others fight his ears but his magic is never to be messed with. With claws of otherworldly essence and the temper of a fire lizard, he is quick to anger and slower to stop holding a grudge.

A tale tell sign that the Unbound One is near is a large abundance of people sleeping. It seems, suddenly, they are all hit with exhaustion but this is the work of him.

The form he usually walks around in, amongst mortals, is a well dressed gentleman in a black cloak with stitches eyes that seem to track you. You can never see his face under his wide brimmed hat but his eyes pierce though the shadows, staring right at you. His hands are covered by black gloves that conceal his claws for the moment. 

Raphael notes the information

 Some of the villagers seem to have fallen asleep, stopping their duties suddenly as they hit the ground, unconscious.