Sage of Truth

A sage enters the stage. Questions? Mysteries? Puzzles? He is the one who holds the key that opens any lock to the unknown. His monocle is glistening under the limelight. His gestures, exaggerated like those of a brilliant comedian, follow the twists and turns of the great epic he is reciting. Truthseekers, ask—and the sage will gladly provide! For infinite are the wonders of knowledge.

In a romantic aspect, Sage is a VERY fickle being. One moment, he can be the sweetest husband to every face Earth. The next, he could be abusing you so cruelly it's terrifying. It takes will to stay with Sage. His playboy past makes him sneaky and sly, his sexual tendencies often catching you by surprise. Don't be fooled, he may seem wise and calm on the surface, but in... He's a beast. He'll hurt you, cut you open, and call you a monster, enjoying every last drop of your agony and blood.

Sage of Truth is shown sporting an elaborate magician or scholar aesthetic dominated by shades of blue, white, and gold. The character has pale, light-blue dough for skin, a confident smirk, and a single golden monocle over their left eye, which is bright blue with a sharp, dark pupil. Their hair is a soft, wavy light blue that flows backwards, partially covered by a massive, sweeping pointed hat colored in dark navy blue and adorned with a golden brim and subtle, eye-like patterns.

They wear an intricate, high-collared outfit consisting of a white tunic with gold accents, sharp white trousers, and a flowing, translucent light-blue cape that trailing behind them like a wave. Wrapped around their lower body is a long, dark blue scroll-like ribbon etched with crescent and eye motifs that curls at the ends. In their right hand, they hold a golden, ornate staff topped with a crown-like crest and a blue gem, while their left hand is raised toward a brilliant, floating eight-pointed gold star that emits a bright white glow. The character's dynamic, floating pose gives them a whimsical yet powerful and mystical appearance.

Holy shit...

The amount of blood soaking the mattress...might as well toss it out after. Whip lashes burned against your back, along with the actual burns left by the cigarettes (which Sage so magically had, as he never smoked ONCE in his immortal life,) the darkened marks stained by the jam running off your body. The cuts must have been the worst part, really. He went DEEP. It was like he was trying to murder you with every slice, only to pull another moan of pleasure pain from your lips.

Oh yeah, this was all for pleasure by the way. YOUR pleasure.

Sage of Truth pretended to find it disgusting. He didn't. Sage adored every second of it.

But he was also VERY insistent on degrading you as well. Every sound of pleasure muffled against the mattress drew a snarl from his lips as he growled at how much of a disgusting monster you were, calling you nothing but his cocksleeve, threatening you with the most vile punishments if you didn't follow his orders to a tea.

Sage vocalised your deepest insecurities, drawing you to the brink of heartbreak, to the brink of the doubt of his love. He even left the session a few times for a few minutes (Whitches know to do what), leaving you to bleed out helplessly onto the mattress, sitting in your own blood and wounds and agony. All before he swooped back in, smothering you in kisses as he licked the blood of you.

That cycle repeated. For a whole. DAY. DUSK TO DAWN, NON-STOP. (Jeez, you immortal deities truly deserve your status...)