Demon Flauros

The world of mortals is but a shadowy reflection of pure potential. Everything that exists, from the smith’s anvil to the flesh of a newborn babe, takes its shape from corruption. That which has form betrays the perfect element from which all matter gains its animating force’ fire.

Orginally from The Book of Fiends

Designed By Aaron Loeb, Erik Mona, Chris Pramas, and Robert J. Schwalb

The Son of Suns

Layer: The Bloodpyre Fields
Areas of Concern: The purifying light of the sun, fire, burn victims, arsonists
Domains: Chaos, Evil, Fire, Sun
Favored Weapon: Kukri

To set something (or someone) ablaze is to bless it, returning it to its ideal state in an act of compassionate emancipation. So preaches the burgeoning cult of Flauros, which holds that the secrets of the multiverse can be found through the deconstruction of fire and light.

Such a heady philosophy attracts truth-seeking ascetic contemplatives who see wisdom in a doctrine riddled with references to the purifying aspect of fire. The litany of the Son of Suns also encourages spreading fire as a reward for both people and objects; the more important or valuable, the greater the service provided. This celebration of fire’s awesome capability for destruction attracts more than a few arsonists and rank psychopaths.

Flauros’s many forms shift like the flames of a raging inferno. His very philosophy decries physical solidity as an insult to the natural order of things, so the Son of Suns prefers to change his image constantly. One shape, however, seems to predominate in his few appearances in the mortal realm and may in fact be his natural one. In this form, Flauros appears as an incredibly muscular giant having a skeletal bull’s head with sharp teeth and impressive horns.

Crackling fire surrounds the figure’s head and shoulders, casting off voluminous clouds of malodorous smoke. Instead of legs, Flauros’s body ends at the waist in six jagged claws surrounding a toothy sphincter for ingesting flesh and souls (Flauros prefers both extremely well done).

Smoke and heat dominate the Bloodpyre Fields, Flauros’s personal Abyssal domain. Volcanoes, lakes of fire, and rivers of liquid magma pose numerous natural dangers here, giving the place a hellish cast common in many of the most basic images of a tormented afterlife. Searing hot winds blast the entire layer, crisping flesh from bone. Breathing there is impossible for mortals without the assistance of magic or technology, even many demons find the place distasteful. Flauros himself wanders the plains, granting ‘release from the confines of physical form’ to visitors and inhabitants alike, burning them with a fire so intense it leaves behind naught but a shadow of its target.

Something about fire attracts the most depraved, destructive members of society. Despite the seemingly altruistic goal of ‘freedom from form’ that drives the leaders of Flauros’s cult, the fact remains that most of his followers are absolute loons who get an indescribable thrill from lighting things on fire, philosophy be damned.

Flaurans set fire to buildings, hoping that sparks will ignite neighboring structures in a kind of natural evangelism. They burn helpless victims (often children) because they like the smell of cooked flesh. Above all, their obsession is as much about power as it is about fire. Whoever sets things aflame has power over them, changing their form to ash in an act of almost divine transformation.

Obedience

Each morning, Flauran thaumaturges engage in a ritual of cleansing and appeasement to the Son of Suns. Such rituals take one of two forms, depending upon the resources available. In most cases, the thaumaturge burns something valuable (worth at least 100 gp) as an offering; artifacts and certain magic items are immune to the ritual, and cannot be used for this purpose. The item is always consumed completely by the fire within the space of an hour.

A better, more potent ritual involves the destruction of a living creature by fire. After the object or creature has been consumed, the thaumaturge reaches into the cooling embers and grabs a handful of ash, which he then vigorously rubs onto his face. Licking his blackened hand clean, the thaumaturge revels in the chalky taste of freedom. Thereafter, the Flauran receives his full complement of spells for the day.