hiiampal

"All 'dese orenians shall pay da' price afta' what they did a' Providence." The Grunt of Stone Towered declared such, staring at the captives within their foul smelling, rancid cells.

The Grunt of Stone Tower sat within an old decrepit bar alone, pouring two glasses of Myrinian Whiskey. One now in his hand while the other across of his being, for his fallen comrade. The bar awfully quiet, no patrons willing to make small talk with the grieving ferryman. Soon after downing both glasses, making his way outside before pouring the rest of the bottle into the earth underneath. Hands trembling as he pours the remaining bottle of whiskey, a deep guttural growl coming from his already scratchy throat. "Rest easy, friend. We knew wot' we signed up fa' wen we picked up da' cowl n' became ferrymen. I swear unto thee ta' be killin as maneh wigs before I meet ya on da' flip side.." "No mercy to da' wigs..." The Grunt of Stone Tower could be heard uttering such; soft as a whisper during this dreary night as he lumbers home drunkenly in an entranced haze.

The Grunt of Stone Tower reads the missive within his hideout while in the company of his fellow comrades before hollering at them. "I be lookin forward ta' a nice break. Whose readeh ta' get smashed?"

Reluctantly, The Grunt of Stone Tower nods his head slowly. "Aye, Capt. It woulda' do good to know who we be' keelin and dyin ta all da time."

Ulric Ireheart grins, full set of teeth showing. Almost drunk on his growing bloodlust as his eyes flicker rapidly, scanning across the missive "Meh axe thirsts fa' orenian blood. Ehm gon quench et wit' da wig splitting dats about ta happen, may we live'un turbulent times. "

Thank you for putting in the work. Can't wait to test it out soon.

adeptus mechanicus when? glory to the blessed machine

I was thinking of something that could allow people to fight a common enemy, and maybe more potential content for druids to actively combat. I am not too sure about the complaints towards druids but I heard staff cucked them off combating the void corruption so maybe another enemy would help. (All in good faith ofcourse) I also dislike cannonism IRP so there's that. Anybody willing to give me advice or help out DM my discord caojibaii#6101.

Could u elaborate? Critiques are appreciated

Sagoth The fear of stagnation is a primal one; instilled within all beings regardless of their hierarchy on the totem pole of life. A necessary fear inherent within everybody, which drives mortals towards progress. For the moment complacency occurs, stagnation soon follows. Sagoth is as old as time immemorial, for he precedes the concept of death. Gaining sentience before many of his other fellow brothers and sisters. Most of his cultists see him as their father and creator, for it was he whom offered them an olive branch. Allowing them to transcend death and escape pain and suffering from disease and old age through constant growths and mutations. Contrary to commonly held belief, Sagoth despises the concept of stagnation. While his many detractors seek to differ, he embodies the concept of Rebirth, Redemption, Hope, & Growth in his own twisted way. A benevolent daemon which seeks to spread his ideals through his followers. He is the most doting of all his siblings, freely sharing his knowledge to whomever is willing to listen; he does not have a true favorite follower for he cherishes them all, even those that would call themselves his enemies. Towards his foes, he does not view them with hate; but with pity. They are but lost lambs, whom he seeks to guide into his oasis amongst the desert that is a pit of despair, hopelessness and inequality. Sagoth believes them still deserving of his unconditional gifts and the release from their mortal coil. His realm and followers known for jovial laughter and singing.. despite their.. disturbing decorum and countenance. (Here is a sketch drawn of one of his most loyal followers, offering readers a glimpse within his garden and various creations.) Cult of Sagoth (The cult's sigil, often worn as a pendant or placed on a banner at their altar of worship. A silhouette of Sagoth's sigil branded onto anybody touched by His gifts; unworthy or not.) The cult of Sagoth are the congregation of his staunchest and most loyal of followers, worlds apart from the rank and file of infected that secretly wander the deep wild or the dark expanse of Almaris. The cult's modus operandi is to fight a slow war of attrition with it's enemies as it bides its time awaiting for their cult's full revival. The prophecy of the Carrion Lord, may he walk on the soil of Almaris once more... their sole patron and the first worshipper of Sagoth. "The blood of our brothers, has been swallowed on the grounds of unbelievable insatiable thirst... The tide swells and rushes forth, swallowed by the storm's surge... But we will turn from this, emerge from this... Ignore the creeping dread that slithers up our spine from this... Hear me! We the stalwart stand prepared to hold before this brink of the precipice... While eye to eye with disaster... We persevere with unrelenting force as we slowly raise the body count... A war of attrition... to hinder their progress as our carcass rots in mud... We step forward and feel no hesitation... For we are tools for his plans; To kill as is needed and to die as he demands... For the Crowfather!" Hierarchy of the Cult The cult operates on a simplistic and loose top down hierarchy which values seniority and loyalty towards the teachings of Sagoth, requiring strict adherence towards His Will and directives. Only the most zealous of cultists will flourish, rising up the ranks. As they slowly become further entrenched within Sagoth's bountiful garden. The cult does not have a strict adherence to seniority however, dependent on the nature and circumstances of a person's corruption and their potential to maintain coherence as they are crafted towards Sagoth's vision of their ideal form. After all, no matter how fair Sagoth wants to be; it is a fact of life.. that some people are created more equal then others. Abominations "Blessed is the mind that is too broken to doubt." Mindless beings that traverse the deep wilds where no mortals would normally set foot upon, they can be found in a multitude of places; from the Diseased Grotto of Savoy to the Stygian Hollow of Urguan. These diseased few could be easily discerned by their limping gait and unfeeling cold milky eyes. Shambling aimlessly as they await instructions from the various Blight Priests within the cult. All but a husk of their former self, now mutilated and distorted beyond recognition. While on stand by, they poison the surrounding ecology as the ecosystem mutates due to their various secretions. Whether it be through their decayed pores, saliva, tears or multitudes of openings from their already festering wounds. An abomination is created once a victim that is infected has lost all forms of sentience after being infected by Sagoth's touch. Depending on how powerful an individual was in his past life, a portion of their strength would be retained as abominations outside of their now.. enhanced vitality. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall." - Vesh Redwood, Blight Priestess To convert and walk the path of enlightenment is the highest honor one can receive, however the dangers are great, akin to walking a tightrope of insanity; a gift only Sagoth can bestow upon the worthiest of his followers. Prerequisites Ranks within the cult: Neophytes (T0/1/2) Plague Bearers (T3/4) Blight Priests (T5) [TA Applicable] Chapter Master/Plague Master (T5) (Tier Progression) Tier 1) "Be grateful for the path father has laid before you." Neophytes are newly initiated members of the cult. They will be taught the basis of Plague Magic and be put through rigorous training, slowly getting themselves attuned to their newly found gifts in preperation for their first ascension. They now tread a path of damnnation transcendence. Similar to dedicants of the druid order, they require a mentor to help guide them. There would be a high likelihood of them falling from Sagoth's grace without instructions, such as not practicing the faith correctly, citing incorrect rites and litanies or blaspheming or injuring themselves practicing their budding innate abilities. Most Neophytes would undergo slight physical alterations, losing a significant amount of weight and skin tone turning a shade paler. Ability Progression: Tier 2) "Success is commemorated, failure is merely remembered." At this stage, surviving Neophytes have gone through their first ascension, garnering more favor and attention from the Plague father, for they have sipped from the poisoned chalice and triumphed. Due to their ascension, Sagoth's gift has started to mature. This is the starting point of no return, unable to escape the Plague father's grasp. The infection spreading inwards, little to no malformation has occurred yet... the blight eating at the newly initiated cult member's innards, his body is in the transformative state of becoming the host of Sagoth's many diseases. This phase causes Neophytes untold amounts of pain, it is also the most dangerous period for a budding Plague Bearer as the transition would wreck havoc on a cultist's body. A weaker Neophyte at this stage would lose concentration and succumb to the blight, unable to control the growing infection within their body. Body secreting various strains of pestilence involuntarily, (eg: whether exhaling smog, breaking wind, sweating etc.) Neophytes who fail this metamorphosis period would degenerate mentally and physically, turning into one of many abominations that plague the region. While Sagoth's disappointment would be immeasurable; he does not allow his children to waste away, instead beginning their lifelong servitude in a different fashion. For their decaying carcasses are His currency, and He spends it well. Ability Progression: Tier 3) "There, feel the glory of necrosis, and rejoice! Father loves you!" At this point, the transitional period is over and the initiate fully graduates from their apprenticeship, becoming a sanctified Plague Bearer of the cult. Gaining the respect and acknowledgement a person of his stature deserves, the reward of his hard work and perseverance pays off and father's generous gifts bountiful. Plague Bearers of this tier are the foot soldiers of the cult, fully fledged members that can proudly bear the Sigil of the Enlightened in the name of the Plague Father. Their feelings of pain and discomfort numbs; the amount of damage their body now able to hold increases by a large margin. What used to send them keeling on the floor now feels like a love tap. Their eyes slowly starts to sink in on themselves, skin coarse like sandpaper. Now attaining the iconic murky olive green green eyes, a stark similarity to murky swamp water. Their body now fully able to host and withstand most of Sagoth's plagues and diseases through a new organ; the disease sac. It flows through a new set of veins that pumps pestilence all across their body. From this point on, it is up to the cultist to take the initiative to spread their own creations and to nurture their new virulent body to be the ideal cradle of Father's vision. They do not involuntarily secrete poison anymore. Ability Progression: Redline: Tier 4) "All life is a lie. I am a boil on the face of reality. And I fester!" The Plague Bearer has become well adjusted to their new bodies and fully acclimated to the gifts earned through metamorphosis. Their disease sacs now formed within the body now matured and grown to its adult size. Due to the extensive use of Sagoth's gift, they have fully lost the sensation of touch and taste. Neither feeling discomfort nor pain. The plague bearer is now unfeeling and cold to the touch. Heartbeat weak; blood barely pumps throughout his body. Vermin such as botflies, maggots and leeches now seek refuge within his cradle, gaining a natural affinity with them. They burrow deep within their body and squirm about within their robes. At this stage however, the plague bearer is only able to hold common strains of plague bringing animals with little to no direct offensive capabilities. Ability Progression: Redline: Tier 5) "I am no longer afraid, for with his pestinential favor, I have become that which I once feared most." Pain only an illusion of the senses; fear the illusion of the mind. Cultists of this tier have proven worthy of Father's undivided love and attention. Beyond this, only the Fly Lord sitting upon his sacred Garden waits as silent judge of them all. They are the herald of his vision upon all of Almaris. Their final transformation set in stone, crafted to perfection in Father's vision. Cultists of this tier immediately thrust into leadership positions inside the cult, making up the core members of the Inner Circle. The white of their eyes now piss yellow, their veins turn black from rot, a stark contrast to their pasty white thickened husk of a skin. The multitude of plague vermin within their bodies ripe for the picking, an entire ecosystem of pestilence and decay has been nurtured within them. They are able to protrude out of any orifice of their bodies, even forcefully digging out of the Herald's skin if needed to at a moments notice. These vermin, soaked from head to toe in pus and goo, slightly larger and way nastier than of the common variants. Making for a gut wrenching scene for any wary adventurers who stumbles across their path. Ability Progression: Redline: Ascension Rituals & Trials

"A kiss of contagion; on your pretty unmarred cheek. O~oooh. Generous gifts to you, so as to enhance your physique; Buboes, phlegm, blood and guts! Boils.. rots and pus Blisters, fevers.. weeping cankerous sores From your wound it festers Blessed be upon your bleeding pores For you are graced with the opportunity to cleanse Almaris from despair and stagnation through the acceptance of his gifts." - Pope of Pestilence, Sagoth. "Sooner or later, GOD won't stand the succulent itching within his decaying body anymore." ------ He, who stands upon his Garden of Affliction. He, who creates life from the rotting frames of his faithful. He, whose benevolence know no bounds, spreading his gifts without discrimination. For you are all his children. Fret not, He who now knocks on the window of the mortal realm of Almaris, his all-seeing gaze peeking through the Voidal Tears. ------- Note: First post, wanted to test the waters. It's pretty obvious where my inspiration comes from, nurgle of Warhammer franchise, credit goes out to games workshop. Thanks for reading.

>tfw you arent a human male giga chad built with rock hard muscles over 6 feet tall. >feelsbad.jpg