Suuuuuuuuuure, yeah you totally could in theory. Charon would accept you, though keep in mind that there's be a lot of self-delusion on the cleric's part. They're going to have a bad time when they're hurled through the screaming gate in Pharasma's Court and into Abaddon. My bet is that they don't hit the ground before an astradaemon scoops them up.
A neutral, benign cleric of Charon is about as likely as a cleric of ME being explained as a TN cleric who wants to help you lose weight and improve your health via caloric restriction.
well... there's no concrete evidence of an Oinodaemon. It's never manifested. It's just hinted at being this penultimate evil at the heart of Abaddon, the mightiest Fifth Horseman. Something beyond the gods.
No evidence? Stand anywhere in Abaddon and just look up. That perpetual eclipse? It's a single lidded eye of a comatose horror and our greatest triumph and mistake. One location though, one location it's open and it is angry in its imprisoned transcendence and we Four are the only thing keeping it from awakening.
Or it's a lie we tell to ensure our survival in the face of universal antipathy to our unceasing soul-hunger.
It's a lie, unless it isn't.
James Jacobs wrote:
"We're working on it OK? It's a tough job and it's going to take us a while.
Geez, you're almost as bad as the Oinodaemon. He/She/It was all like 'why are you all slacking off? Why haven't you eaten more souls this month? The sum of all mortality in the multiverse isn't going to send itself to oblivion.'
So, faced with our maker telling us all of that?... We ate them.
Suffice to say that didn't go precisely according to plan. But we're still working on all those souls! Give us time!"
They were selling them at GenCon this year. Famine was my favorite, obviously.
I tried to buy the original art, but alas it wasn't for sale.
Lord Gadigan wrote:
It doesn't matter what Material world or part of a Material world that you live on, I'm still hungry. Same could be said for the major gods I suppose, regardless of what name or form they're worshipped under.
You die -> your soul transits through the Astral* -> you wait in line at the Boneyard to be judged by Pharasma - > you get shuffled off to whatever plane and/or deity most fits your actions and/or beliefs in life.
In metagame terms, you end up in transit or waiting in line for however long it takes for your PC to be raised from the dead. Long dead NPCs or whatever are metagame often presumed to be judged and moved on to become angels, demons, devils, etc or daemon-chow and not eligible for raising. The timeline for this is all entirely up to the DM to decide as fits the campaign.
*Here be astradaemons, and souls are yummy. Nom Nom Nom.
Mmmm... it's a start. Call me back when you snuff a world. Bonus points for how you do it.
Instantly stopping the biological activity of every ATP fed reaction in the world except your own - that's the sort of thing I think has style. A sort of sub-cellular Deplorable Word. Of course it also affects the microflora living inside of you, meaning that you survive the cessation of all meaningful biological life, but end up cold and alone, slowly starving to death. You don't even remember why you did it, just in the end, how very hungry you were...
You have to understand though -even if it makes no difference, nor that I care- that while ultimately we desire the death of each and every one of you, some of us make a sport of it. Some of us enjoy it. The Courts spin their own philosophies for what it is we are and what we do. But yes, some of us truly enjoy it.
Not the process itself and not your suffering, exquisite though it might be to a demon's eyes or a devil's detailed proscriptions, but the end result of it all: the subtlties of the screams and spasms as you slip down our yawning gullets, as your skulls pop like over-ripe melons between razored teeth, or the wailing in the split second before it ends with the snapping of jaws.
You have a taste you see. Imparted by the process of your end and the way that experience tempers and marinates the soul. And some of us, oh some of us are so very, very hungry.
We are the antithesis of mortality. We are the virus gnawing at the heartblood of creation. We are the universe grown sick of itself - tired, old, horrified of what it has created and its own failures. It suffers, it rejects itself, and it seeks to end the pain. We are creation's suicidal urge and the death of hope.
We care nothing for faith. Your suffering is without meaning. We desire only the cold silence of the soul's obliteration.
James Jacobs wrote:
I'm not a demon lord, but I approve of this. :D