The warlock's toes are gnarled and his face is creased from sun and salt, although you will not see these things. His skin is rough and pocked, but turns as luxuriant as a lion's pelt when you nuzzle against him. Deep in the night, the warlock will suckle and knead you. He will transform you into butter (summerling) or velvet (winterling). Warlocks are short.
The chemist knows everything about you, but is oddly indifferent towards your mysteries--a fact he tries to cloak with carefully timed smiles or a brow knitted with false concern. Amid the bottles and vials and scales of his shop, he is a mighty king. Without his props, however, he is wholly unremarkable. Breathe deeply of his vapors whenever he offers them and leave a proper gratuity.
The Horseman smells of the earth and bears thick calluses on his hands. He conserves his words. If he invites you to ride, he will do so quietly and with a crooked grin. Nonetheless, you have achieved the highest honor. Accept his offer immediately. Bear the soreness of your loins upon his jolting saddle without complaint and ride for as long as he will have you. If your grasp pleases him, this glory will last until the gloaming falls.
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