Selfish, obsessive, gluttonous. When one dreams of a grecian god, are they not the dark portraits of our aching psyche? Erasmus is shamelessly cruel, possessive, and unbearably distant. There is a sensuality about his words, carefully formed and propped as if orchestrated with an exhausting intricacy - they are forward and often barbed, however elegant. The smoothness of his timbre is not rugged or dredged as so monstrous as he may be; his voice is composed of wolfish delight, low and distinct with an otherworldly dialect that is not without its grace. A face of the man does not go smeared by his inner workings, even when his smile stretches too wide, too sharp, too twisted. To know him is to press your palm to the surface of a great black lake, to stare and to dream and to dip your fingers into a depth that rides your knuckles and pulls itself over your shoulders and darkens the whites of your eyes and whispers a song of secrets, of lies, of romances and splintering promises with their horns sharpened and teeth ground. Erasmus is an infinite being trapped in a finite existence. Though to see him is to see only meat or fiend or pleasure, a thing of symmetry, a patron creature of worldly delight, all things (perhaps especially beautiful things) flawed. There is hunger that bares its teeth and rattles the fine filigree from the cage of his ribs, it teethes on every word and pulls from every shadow. The roots of his misanthropy reach deep, winding quarters of demure. He is a wild thing, a reckless thing, and holds each secret dearer to him than any material possession. The aether-thing has known the taste of stardust and planetary melancholy, there is little in the way for his desires within the bounds of touchable prizes. Control, whether of one or another or oneself, such is the deviant's security - and such is best found in forgotten places before grand palaces and thrones. For this sake he most often appears aloof, dissociative, unloving and dismissive. A terrible friend and a formidable foe.

Carved from the corner of a long-forgotten universe, the sector of a long-dead galaxy, the blackened Eye of Nyar. Erasmus is a child-aeon of an ancient place, a princely hell of a creature that has teethed on cosmos, snaked through the stars, and has been formed by the clay of an eclipsed realm. The breadth of an entire galactic body pressed into meat, bone, and aether-whisper. Child-life was a troublesome rite of blood and famishment which has left behind a saga of terror, his youth a discovery of power and self among those who hailed him a god from naivety, and much else a humbling emergence through what has made him the monster he is now. His discovery of Doors has brought him from one world to the next, often by accident or coincidence, and it is through a Door again that now brings him to Luminaria.