Child Neglecter

My name is Mordhaund and this is my favourite post on Lord of the Craft.

We've definitely had our clashings in the past, Mord, but that's bickerings on a Minecraft Server made solely for our own entertainment. Wishing you all the best on your future endeavours man, hope things work out alright for you. You've been on here a long time and now's as good a time as any for you to take a long break, temporary or permanent (hope I'll be able to consider one for myself in the future). Roleplay or not, in the end what really matters is what goes on behind the screen, not in amongst all the pixels we can become so enamoured and consumed in. Take care. You're gonna carry that weight.

What do you think are some moments or fuckups that happened with the Lectorate that are memorable to you that you might regret, and, if you had the chance to turn back time, would change? How do you feel about Elliott Smith? What was your favourite social media application from back in the day on LOTC? Teamspeak, Skype, Discord? (maybe some more I'm forgetting about). If you had the chance to somehow force everyone to use one application to communicate on LOTC, what would you choose out of those options, and why? What's your opinion on the Canonist Church over the last couple of years and how it's changed over time? If you had the choice to bring back 5 people that've since left LOTC to play with one final time (your map, setting and event of choice), who would you bring back, what would you do, and why? Considering your opinions on the old Varg Lore and the community itself, what is your opinion on the new lore versus the old (if you've read it)?

a good manga from one of the best manga authors out there [read flowers of evil and blood on the tracks] (it's about genderbending)

underrated comment

away with the commonality of making your alchemy submission a rare potion just so you can gatekeep it [not that you will, but making it one allows the possibility of such by other people] as Zhulik said this potion's status doesn't warrant it being a rare recipe, and wouldn't you like your lore submission to be experienced by more than just a few people anyway?

Cardinal Armand Lotharia hopes for a better future.

Cardinal Armand Lotharia, Auditor of the Tribunal, smiles the sun's smile upon this day.

One Auditor of the Tribunal, Cardinal Armand Lotharia, shivers when he realises that the wedding has not been properly organised by the respective means and will be delayed as a result!

necromancers when the necromancer is necromancing and the necro is mancing

Both the Leap in itself and sprinting are reduced to only being able to be used a certain number of times in an encounter. I know exactly what you mean, but the sprint and the leap have two different intentions behind them. The Leap is not meant to necessarily be used as an ability that allows you to cover ground more quickly than other people, but moreso as a surprise attack - you have to prepare, where you stay still, and then leap, an emote which in itself is just covering ground, and then finally emote landing and attacking or defending in that third emote. The amount of ground actually covered in the 12 block leap is identical to the amount of ground you would be able to cover at 4 blocks an emote, since the emote count is 3 emotes, which applies to Vargs in their regular movement, unless they are sprinting. Using the Leap in it's current state requires a bit of thought going into it, and I've intentionally chosen to make it that way since it can only be used twice without any issues pertaining to movement following the action. Meanwhile, the sprint, which is now limited to only being able to be used for 3 emotes per RP encounter, is purely meant for covering ground and Vargs cannot attack or defend in the meantime. It's only meant for catching up to people running away from you, for example if you were chasing a mounted cavalryman, you'd be matching him in speed. Other than this, it'd be used for closing big distances on a larger battlefield, and it's purpose is purely for closing distances, unlike the potential attacking power of The Leap. I hope this clears up any questions about the intentions behind those two abilities, but if you'd like to talk more about this, DM me your discord and we can chat there.

Due to the content of the original lore, I wanted to keep as much of our old feeling and keep to the roots of the original lore whilst making sure that issues that were raised by ST were dealt with appropriately. There's unfortunately no way to "cut down" on the length of the lore, and I feel that the lore's depth would be lost by doing that. I've tried my best to make it more digestible to the average player by putting everything into spoilers so it isn't one big scrollfest, meaning people can choose to read it from top to bottom if they'd like, but if they just want to see one specific section, whether that's because they're interacting with the Varg regarding that specific mechanic and want to find out more information, or purely because they might only be interested in reading that one specific section for whatever reason, they can. I'm telling you man, if the forums had the coding in them to allow for people to make a table of contents for their lore, the problem of lore being difficult to read could be made so much easier. Either way, in my opinion, the writing style I've chosen to use for this lore is still very much detailed and rich in it's own kind of complexity, due to the macabre, ebon nature of the subjects detailed, but still on the simpler, easier to understand side so that the lore isn't one big puzzle to decrypt.

The Sprint was brought in as a "prototype" to see how people would feel about it, and the complaints regarding the Leap itself being rather lacklustre and thus us requiring a sprinting mechanic have come from other players inside the community. After speaking to a few people and speaking to the community members that wanted this mechanic in the first place, I'm going to remove the 12 block sprint, or at least shift it so that it can only be used a certain amount of times per roleplay encounter (3 emotes)

In the far oaken canopies, the slobbering drawl of the Vargyr hunts over a blanket of stars. Birthed from blood and vile sacrifices, the son of the Wretch of Laria wandered - a beast-man known only in folklore, or spoken as campfire tales. Written in cursive by illuminators and scribes: besmirched by fur, dragging sharp canines, and feasting on the viscera of torn descendants. As children are damned with nightmares of the werbeast, it lurks not only in thickets of their mind, but also upon their soil; a fiend amongst men, wolfing on gorged mortal flesh. The full Origin lore can be found here: [Origin Lore] Birth of the Wretch. It is recommended to first read the Origin before reading this lore, for the full experience. The Wretch of Laria, in his quest to resurrect his son, uncovered an antediluvian form of Blood Magic that formed the foundation of his rituals. But in his desperate attempt to cheat death, he committed the ultimate sin of all Blood Mages - attempting to bring the dead back to life. The monstrous abomination he unleashed was deeply profane and twisted, corrupting the very lifeforce of all descendants, known as Genus, into Mallach. The result was a mutated, cancerous form of Genus that gave birth to the eldritch and wild nature of the Vargyr, as well as the plagues and diseases that plagued those who came into contact with Mallach, whether through blood or other bodily fluids. This malignant form of Genus, known as Mallach, completely replaced the original Genus in all Vargs, condemning them to an accursed existence. Their flesh became perverted, warping into their true form - that of a beast. Those bearing the Wretch's Sigil exist in a constant state of torment, forever imbued with Mallach and existing in a profane state of half-Genus, half-Mallach. And while their soul has yet to merge metaphysically with Mallach, the effects upon the soul are catastrophic; verily, the corrupting nature of Mallach causes tortuous effects upon the Sigilled listed within “The Wretch’s Sigil” section. The Physiology of the Vargyr mirrors the inherent dichotomy that defines them, a tool that serves their purpose to deceive and infiltrate the masses of men, appearing as a harmless lamb in wolf's clothing. In their human guise, they lack any distinguishing marks that would betray their true nature, hiding their innate doom beneath a veneer of humanity. The hunger of Vargyr, that scourge of the north, is a hunger that cannot be sated, a rapacious appetite that drives them beyond all mortal limits. They consume flesh in quantities that would make even the most feral beasts recoil, yet still they crave more, eternally. This hunger is intertwined with the twisted tasks that have become enmeshed with their very identity, woven deep into the fabric of their false faiths and broken cultures. They cling to these rituals, seeking to ward off the damnation that they know awaits them, even as their curse takes hold and the abyss looms ever closer. The Vargyr are cursed, bound to their insatiable hunger for flesh, with a primal urge to transform in the presence of death. They are drawn to the freshly slain, the blood and gore acting as a siren's call, a cacophony of whispers that rouse the curse within them. Even the eldest and most seasoned of Vargyr find it challenging to resist the pull of the battlefield, with its mounds of lifeless bodies and rivers of blood. Yet, while they are compelled to transform in the midst of death, they are equally repulsed by the old dead, a reminder of the futility of their cursed existence. The unyielding grip of Mallach imbues the Vargyr's physical form with an immortality that is forever bound to the mortal coil, and denies them any respite in the afterlife. The malignancy of Mallach has fused with their very essence, infusing their soul throughout their body, granting life to every inch, even if torn asunder. This leaves the Vargyr irrevocably tied to the earth, trapped in a state of half-life and half-death, unable to escape the grasp of their malevolent master. Within time immemorial, the town of Istria, shrouded in the shadow of the Wretch of Laria, found its roots entwined within a chestnut forest, wherein a solitary tree stood witness to the birth of the ill-fated Prodigal, Karzełek. Beneath the bouts of this tree laid the lifeforms of mother and child, entwined with death as they were in life. In the aftermath of the Wretch’s godless transgressions, the tree, now known as Fythran, stood as an emblem of the cursed land, its growth unrestrained, its trunk adorned in accursed white bark, its leaves a defiant crimson. The souls of those sacrificed in the abominable ritual were now forever imprisoned within the vile topiary, a testament to the weight of the greatest crime, a haunting reminder that their suffering and torment knew no end. The Werbeast is stark in contrast from the brethren he once believed himself to associate with, but now stands amongst them, an imposter, a fraud. In truth, the Vargyr is governed above all by one singular notion; his devotion and zealousness in his belief in an Other; a divine being. In the condemnation he bears, borne of the greatest of blunders, it is his own unwillingness to truly recognise his inner self, and his wretched nature, his duality, that the Vargyr seeks out religion and faith. With time, all beasts cave into the delusions that the altered mind, devoid of the logic that humanity is gifted, produces. The act of baring one's true form, of unleashing the monstrosity that lies beneath the veneer of the self, is a transformation that exacts a toll, both physical and psychological. The metamorphosis is fraught with agony and anguish, as it entails shedding not only one's skin but also one's sanity. Amidst the hellish transformation granted by their accursed boon, Vargyr are imbued with unnaturally heightened abilities that surpass the capacity of any mere mortal or beast. The baleful Mallach bequeaths Vargyr with the power of perpetual regeneration, hindered solely by temporal constraints, the severity of their injuries, and the prerequisite of satiating their insatiable hunger beforehand. In the great search for power that consumed the Wretch of Laria, he happened upon many eldritch rites and rituals, their secrets shrouded in the mists of time. Even now, few remain known to the Vargyr themselves, kept hidden by their own kind as powerful and forbidden knowledge. These dark practices, born of fallacy, can only be entrusted to the eldest and most experienced among their kind, for the cost of their power is nothing less than damnation itself. A path known to only those most blessed by the teachings of the late Wretch is that of indoctrination into the upper echelon of enlightenment, wherein one achieves a total unity with the teachings of the Wretch and his profane wisdom. The Wretch, in his unwavering pursuit of his depraved ambitions, sought to subjugate the inhabitants of Istria. But fear is never all-consuming. From the sins of the father comes the knowledge of the son, and so the Wretch's Sigil was born - a despicable form of divination, a loathsome mark that ensnared slaves in a delusion of obedience brought on by the curse. “The abyss yawns wide, and the GOD consumes all. Behold; let thine eyes be scorched, thine tongue be silent.” - Jaghari yr Kastafir’ei It was in the age of fable and folklore, the times of the first men, that the covenant between man and the natural forces that lay rest within every facet of nature and the world itself, was broken; not by a wise, nor powerful man, but by a villein, a peasant. It was the weakest of men who gave rise to the most unforgivable of crimes; the greatest of blunders, the birth of the antithesis, the prodigal son, Karzełek, the first of bastards and heretics. In the wake of his rebirth, the order and sanctity of the power innermost to Man’s nature, Genus, did so give rise to Mallach, the foremost symbol of entropy - eldritch, foul. It is through this same crime that he sought to give rise to brethren, kinsmen that would aid in giving rise to the wretched promise his father held in his pact with false gods as fictitious as the fables that long foretold of the Werbeast, the devil borne of the Creation Ritual. It is known to few but the descendants of those who escaped the clutches of the Wretch of Laria in his tyrannical reign upon those who became his slaves within the village of Laria the truth of his final act; that being the act, in spite of the heavens and the earth itself, of the revival of his son. The greatest of blunders; for the dead are dead, bound to the divine grasps of the Creator and his judgement, and even the youngest of babes knows that it is impossible to return from insurmountable death. It is in the Revival Ritual that those of the Wretch’s flock, the Vargyr, defy death again and again; not only in their very existence, that which surpasses and will never achieve death, but in the act of revival itself. The Mallach, that malignancy that courses through the veins of Vargyr, is a harbinger of pestilence and corruption, a wellspring of disease waiting to be unleashed upon the world. Yet, its vile potential remains latent, requiring a ritual of sacrifice to be brought to fruition. The Vargyr ritualist invokes a symphony of curses, both mundane and supernatural, to desecrate a sanctified item, transmuting it into a nexus for disease, a vector of contagion, and a vessel of corruption. Through the mixture of bodily fluids and the incantation of forbidden words, the Vargyr unleashes a veritable plague upon the world. The afflictions of Mallach are woven into the very fabric of both Sigilled and Vargyr, concealed yet ubiquitous, manifesting in forms that are largely unnoticed. Nonetheless, the primary trio of ailments that Mallach is capable of siring without ritual - known as the Three Made Manifest - remain asymptomatic to these cursed creatures, and their disciples, and yet can still be spread to others. A grim exercise in introspection, the Doetistic Liturgy is a tool available to the afflicted folk of the Wretch, a means by which they may find fleeting solace from their endless torment. A meditation foul in its nature, it is an act of self-reflection that delves into the darkest depths of their souls, a ritual of suffering designed to peel back the layers of their being and reveal the twisted abomination within. 15 block radius of tracking utilising purely olfactory senses. If a Varg is blinded, they can still track people down IF the victim has already been wounded within that roleplay encounter. To prevent a Varg from tracking, one must either deliver a blow to their snout directly, block their olfactory senses via alchemical means or mundane [either with a reagent or potion that is particularly smelly, throwing the beast off the scent, or via a sizeable fire, as smoke will throw a Varg off the scent of blood] As well as this, magically, Wind Magic can be utilised to shift the winds in such a way that the Vargyr is incapable of tracking the scent of blood, and any magic can be utilised to physically block the nose of the Varg, as well as any form of smoke-producing magical fire being able to be used to ward off the senses of the anathema. Say for example someone utilises Flash Powder against a Varg, blinding them temporarily, they’d still be able to sense the presence of someone based off of their blood and follow them if they've already been attacked by the Varg and bloodshed in that encounter. When using this ability, the werbeast in question should contact their target(s) so as to make arrangements for a suitable agreement, avoiding OOC conflict and heightening the sense of enjoyment for both parties. OOC CONSENT IS REQUIRED. Vargyr are capable of utilising an ability that allows them to truly utilise their abominable physiology to its highest degree, this being The Leap. Vargr are only able to mimic the voices of those who they have devoured the vocal cords of. After 2 OOC weeks, Vargyr lose the ability to mimic the voice of the specific individual they had devoured the vocal cords of. They are able to, within the same combat encounter, eat someone and mimic them. Whilst mimicking, they are restricted to short phrases, or cries of help; they are unable to converse as the individual as though they were them themselves. Within combat encounters, their ability to mimic is restricted to 1 attempt. Other than mimicry, Vargyr are not able to speak within their werbeast form; they are restricted to grunts and growls, howl and screeches, just as they typically are. The vargyr must emote specifically devouring the vocal cords of the victim. Mimicry may be utilised for two [2] OOC weeks after the vocal cords have been devoured, whereafter they lose the ability to mimic the specified voice. Mimicry may only be short phrases or cries of help, and are never to be utilised to carry entire conversations. A vargyr may only use mimicry once per combat encounter, yet may freely utilise the ability outside of combat. A vargyr is unable to speak beyond mimicry while in beast form. One vargyr may never hold two voices at one time; if a new vocal cord is devoured, it is replaced by the old whether the two [2] OOC weeks have ended or not. Within the bestial form, Vargr are able to reliably withstand cold temperatures. This is entirely mundane, meaning that their cold resistance does not affect the magical or alchemical, and can only be used within their bestial form, leaving them as susceptible to cold temperatures in their human form as much as any descendant. This does not provide them any defence when using Rokodra or when battling a Fjarriauga, given these are unnatural mediums of cold. Unless sufficiently protected against it by not exposing the skin, Vargr in any of their forms are still susceptible to frostbite. Upon being slain and devoured by a Vargyr, if the individual does not PK, they permanently gain the Boon of the Elder. The Boon of the Elder exists as a minute amount of Mallach that remains dormant in miniscule quantities in their blood. Physically, it manifests as an odour that other people can smell for the duration of 2 OOC weeks after the victim’s return from death. The victim will smell distinctly musty, and will have an “old person smell” for the duration of these 2 OOC weeks. If a Vargyr, in their beast form, were to encounter an individual marked by the Boon of the Elder, the Varg would smell a foul stench akin to that of a rotting body emanating from the individual, and this can only be identified by Vargyr, due to their distinct Mallach-bearing physiology. As a result of smelling this foul stench, the Vargyr would feel no inclination to attack or hunt the individual, treating them as though they were a being of undeath, as if eating their flesh would provide no satisfaction to the gluttonous hunger of the abomination. The Boon of the Elder is permanent, and cannot be rid of in any shape or form whatsoever, even upon death. Any individual bearing altered physiology capable of passively purging the Boon of the Elder (Siliti, Azdrazi) will be unaffected by the Boon of the Elder, and upon encountering a Varg once more would be attacked all the same. Any individual bearing magick of deific nature (Paladins, Templars, Seers, Heralds, Shamans, Sycophants and Druids, Djinn) would reject the minute quantities of Mallach present, making them unable to be affected by both by Boon of the Elder and the Rapturous Omen. An explanation and justification for the "old person smell" following the formation of the Boon of the Elder is purely that it is for aesthetic purposes and namely to create some suspense around the individual that can create some interesting roleplay, though, of course, this cannot lead to any other people discovering that they were killed by a Vargyr, nor can any conclusions be made (linking the previous death of the victim to a Vargyr) by both the victim themselves or the people around them. This means that if the person were to come in contact with a Vargyr again, the nature of why the Vargyr avoids attacking them remains forever elusive to them, which may lead to other peoples' perception of the victim being changed either positively or negatively depending on the context of the situation itself. Due to the nature of not being able to remember the events leading up to one’s previous deaths, it is impossible for someone to discover that they are marked by the Boon of the Elder, and thus impossible for someone to discover that they were previously killed by a Varg. If someone bearing the Boon of the Elder were to attempt to attack a Vargyr, the Vargyr would not hold back from attacking and killing them in self-defence. However, the Boon of the Elder would still prevent the Vargyr from devouring the individual, purely out of instinct. The Boon of the Elder is represented as a playersigned item provided to the victim by the Varg, indicating the date which the death occurred. This does not necessarily need to be soulbound to the victim's inventory at all times, and can instead be stored in their enderchest and a screenshot of the item itself can be prepared in order to show that they do possess the Boon of the Elder. Upon losing a “significant” limb (an arm or a leg) to a Vargyr attack, remnant minute amounts of Mallach would remain in the victim of the abomination’s attack. However, these minute quantities of Mallach are not sufficient in number to form the Boon of the Elder, instead existing in an incomplete form exhibiting entirely different properties. In the case of this occurring, the individual bearing this incomplete Boon of the Elder would bear an odour that, for 1 OOC month, would be distinct to both Vargs in their beast form and other, normal people as a distinctly sweet smell, similar to honey. For the duration of this 1 OOC month, if the same individual were to come into contact with a Vargyr in their beast form, the Vargyr would feel a greater desire to hunt the individual compared to attacking and hunting other people, feeling attracted to the sweet smell produced by the incomplete Boon of the Elder. After this 1 OOC month has come to a close, the individual will no longer bear the incomplete Boon of the Elder, and will no longer exhibit the smell as a result, nor bear the attracting odour that invites the attacks of Vargyr. The Rapturous Omen is represented as a playersigned item provided to the victim by the Varg, indicating the date which the dismembering occurred on as well as the duration of the Rapturous Omen. The Vargyr, to me, have always served a breath of fresh air when it comes to the atmosphere of LOTC, as a whole. In truth, it’s always been very much a niche that many don’t find appealing, as players of Vargs are not protagonists in any sense of the word, but rather the opposite - we sacrifice our own characters to ensure that we can create the best story for everyone else that we possibly can. In that sense, I believe that Vargs are the most realistic of the antagonists on this server - forgotten, misguided men that have been turned into beasts corrupt and foul beyond compare, who in an attempt to hide from who and what they truly are, turn to faith and religious zeal in order to grant themselves a delusional belief of the world that will grant them some kind of respite, worshipping a false god that, in truth, does not exist; the futility of their existence is for that reason beautiful, in that it is futile and mistaken beyond compare, and yet they bear the power to spread the falsehoods of their own futility. To incarnate one is to delve truly into the deepest pits of despair and the darkest sides of one’s own mentality and inner psyche, and discover and roam through minds full of thoughts that would make anyone shiver - their psychology, and how they interact with the world around them, is what makes them shine. The purpose of the Vargs is to achieve the failed, wretched desires of the Wretch - not a powerful man in any sense of the world, not born evil, but a simple man, a peasant, who in his fervour to return his wife and child back to life delved into the greatest darkness, and thus departed from his own humanity and became a monster, not physically, but in his devout zeal for falsehoods and delusions that he had conjured. Jentos and Callisto depicted this perfectly - both the mystery at the heart of the Wretch’s nature, and the innate mystery that lies in the Vargyr themselves. And though their lore rests, I have no desire other than to continue to carry the torch, and show to the server the beauty of the terrifying, esoteric nature of the beast - the beast that is not evil by any means, but truly believes himself to be doing what is correct, in the name of his god, however false all of that may be. From the inner psyche that those bearing the curse of the Werbeast must delve into, and how the relationship between their own delusion and the truth itself is extremely unique in every Vargyr, to the interactions of these characters with the world, both in the horrific rites that come to be by their hands and in their interpersonal connections, these abominations, borne of the greatest mistake, have and will give rise to a truly gripping story. I’d like to thank the entire Vargyr community, especially MCVDK, Acostrob, Jentos and Nozoa for lending me their hand in reviewing, giving feedback, aiding in the writing of and giving me their support in this rewrite. I’ve certainly spent way too many hours avoiding procrastinating for my finals by talking to people about this rewrite to not thank the many people that gave me feedback on the rewrite: Christman, Victoria (Songwitch), Unwillingly, Tentoa, Zarsies, GlassySkies, Kujo, Werewolf, Rey, high_fire, creamynoteblock, Diogen, RaiderBlue and many more. Citations: The original Vargyr Lore https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/186509-%E2%9C%93-event-creatures-bastards-of-the-wretch-variants-of-the-werbeast/ https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/202370-%E2%9C%93-magic-lore-blood-magic/ https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/192364-%E2%9C%93-world-lore-lunarite-steel-of-the-stars/ NOTE: Should this rewrite be accepted, all Vargs will remain as Vargs and their CA will remain active, unless they choose to be reverted. All previously Sigilled individuals will have to undergo the Sigilling ritual once more and put up an FA on the forums. Myself (child_neglecter), MCVDK and AzureSlug/sluggobuggo will be grandfathered as the three TA holders. Changelog:

Evil, as they say, is not a creature of blood nor birth. No, it is a beast that's brewed, one that's shaped and moulded by the hand of fate. The Wretch of Laria, he was naught but a man like any other. Married with a family, living a simple life as a peasant and a man of the cloth. But oh, how the winds of sorrow howled and the tempest of despair raged within him when tragedy struck. His wife and child, his very heart and soul, snuffed out like candles in the wind. And so, the darkness crept in, the darkness that shrouded his mind and twisted his soul until nothing was left but a husk of his former self. The Wretch of Laria, a shadow of a man, a harbinger of darkness and despair. In the hearts of even the most devout, sin lies waiting, fueled by the fires of suffering. And what greater agony for a man than to bear witness to the demise of his beloved wife and child, the very reason for his existence? With their passing, his world crumbles, and the man he once was is lost forever. What happened in the mind of the Wretch of Laria during his darkest hour remains a mystery, but from the depths of his anguish, sprang forth a deluge of wickedness and temptation, tearing apart his sanity until only a shred of his former self remained. From a pious villein, was born a fabled lunatic, driven mad by the torment of his past. None could tell the full scope of his misdeeds, but the wretched man had become a blight upon the land and all its inhabitants. Fueled by a sin born of wrath, he fled his home, leaving the people of Istria free of his wickedness for six long years. But when he returned, their tongues fell silent, for they knew what horrors he was capable of. During his exile, he journeyed far and wide, seeking out the darkest and most forbidden knowledge from mad heretics and deranged outcasts. And so he compiled it all into a single tome, the infamous Wretch's Grimoire, containing secrets of antediluvian Blood Magic and twisted rituals born of his own genus. He knew no bounds in his insatiable hunger for knowledge, delving deep into the secrets of the human flesh and mind, preying upon his own kinsmen, neighbours, and lords alike. His once idyllic home, now a cesspool of depravity and corruption, bore witness to the atrocities he committed. So twisted were his experiments that even the very earth upon which he tread turned against him, the forests withered, and the fields succumbed to a rot that seemed to infect everything he touched with its sickly taint. Many of those who laid witness to the Wretch of Laria and survived may have called him the “Headless Baron”, and the reasons can be speculated upon. Some whispered that he had long lost his head, and that the body that remained was nothing more than an empty shell, animated by some dark force. Others spoke of how he took pleasure in laying his victims to rest in their own beds, the decapitated heads placed on display like grotesque ornaments. But it was his perverse fascination with the human form that set him apart from any other monster. His experiments knew no bounds, for he would take any soul who had the misfortune of crossing his path, be it kin, neighbour, or lord, and subject them to the most heinous of tortures imaginable, all in the pursuit of understanding all he needed to know to achieve his final solution. The lands surrounding his abode had withered under his touch, for even the very soil itself had been tainted by his foul practices, as if the sun dared not shine unto such a place. He seemed to possess a bloody cough, the yellowing of the eyes, and a thinness that indicated a man who did not eat. With the land marred as the result of his work, the Wretch had no choice but to sup upon the blood and marrow of those who he slew. When the firewood ran out, he could no longer cook their flesh, and so he ate it raw. But with his further inclination toward cannibalism, so grew a fondness to it only rivalled by the carnivorous beasts that were far from his lands. The Wretch, in his pursuit of forbidden knowledge, uncovered a method to prolong his miserable existence, which, whilst rudimentary, became the basis upon which the rite of the Wretch's Sigil was borne, in order to extend one's life at great cost. Through bloodletting and sacrificial rites, he managed to stave off death, driven by the singular goal of reuniting with his deceased wife and child. Such was his obsession with conquering death that it consumed his every waking moment, leaving little else but a burning desire to achieve the impossible, in order to break the cycle that tore the lives of his wife and child away from, and, as such, his own life, from his clutches. In time, his tireless efforts bore fruit, and he uncovered a long-lost secret of ancient Blood Magic that promised to resurrect his loved ones from the void of death. This discovery would become his greatest work, his Magnum Opus, and yet, his final curse - the beginnings of the Creation Ritual. On the night of a full moon, the Wretch emerged with his wife and child's decaying remains and a group of three men and three women, all shackled together, to the fields of Istria. Witnesses peered from their windows and saw even the livestock grow restless, sensing something unspeakable. A towering pyre blazed to life amidst the wilted crops, the corpses of the Wretch's loved ones laid out with their arms crossed in prayer. The chained prisoners were compelled to chant incoherent verses along with the Wretch, who recited passages from his infamous tome. Then, as if compelled by some otherworldly force, a man and a woman stepped forth into the flames, their flesh hissing and crackling as they burned, without even a whimper. "NEVERBORN!" did the Wretch of Laria call, his shriek piercing the veil between the highest heavens and the lowest hells. As if compelled by a command unspoken, the remaining four raised their blades and opened their veins, spilling their life's blood into an ancient, pitted cauldron. The gore coiled and churned within, a veritable vortex of raw vitality that soon spiralled out, carried on eddies of air and into the hollowed cavities of the Wretch's dearly departed. "NEVERBORN!" The Wretch of Laria screamed once more, his bloodshot eyes fixed upon the crumbling remains of his family. Blood oozed from his nostrils, staining the barren earth with a thin, red trail that led to his deceased kin. As two more figures walked into the roaring fire, a man and a woman, the flames leapt and crackled with savage hunger, as though eager to consume all that the Wretch had to offer. The corpses stirred. The Wretch fell to his knees, his face a canvas of blood and a smile of decayed teeth. He clutched the tome, his bony fingers flipping through the pages feverishly while the final pair of captives lifted their arms in an incantation. The madman barked at the duo in some unknown tongue, and they took a measured step toward the conflagration. "NEVERBORN!" They chanted, advancing with each repetition until they, too, were swallowed by the hungry flames. Crimson spurted forth from the Wretch's nostrils as the last of his victims perished, his eyes reddening as blood-tears poured down his face. He howled in anguish, only to be silenced by the sound of a newborn's cry. The child had been brought back to life, and the Wretch was delirious with joy. The infant's cry soon turned to laughter, and as the father wiped the blood from his eyes, he saw a cruel mockery of life. The child had bony, unnaturally long and sharp fingers, a snout instead of a nose, and hind legs like some twisted beast. The Wretch breathed his last, his body drained of vitality by the ritual that turned his child's corpse into a creature that stood upright, feasting on his remains, the Tome destroyed with him. The horrified people of Istria watched from their windows, paralyzed with terror. As the nights wore on, maniacal laughter echoed from the forest, the sound of children's voices filled with an unnatural glee. Days turned into weeks, and the once-vibrant town now lay lifeless and desolate, its inhabitants fled or perished. Starving farm animals were picked apart by crows, and the bones of the Wretch were all that remained as a testament to his madness. And yet, one remained - the Prodigal Son, reborne, Karzełek, who had rapidly aged into a young adult. Karzełek was grateful for his father's sacrifice, but the absence of kin gnawed at his holy yet reviled nature. He was a one-of-a-kind, a being that was both exalted and abhorrent in its own eyes. And so he returned to Istria, the birthplace and grave of his former self, determined to unearth the secrets of his rebirth. Karzełek scoured the decaying hut and cellar where his father had conducted his infernal rituals, where the stench of failure clung to the air like a miasma. His search was long, but fruitful, for he uncovered the Wretch's notes, incomplete and all but legible. With these, Karzełek hoped to perfect the ritual that would give rise to a new kind of man: the Vargr - kinsmen to him. The Varg, firstborn of his kind, devoted himself to the task at hand in the decaying hut of his father. Night after night he toiled over the notes, deciphering and improving upon what remained of the incomplete rituals. When he emerged from the cellar, it was to hunt down the weak and helpless that remained in Istria, or to eliminate the foolish looters who dared to scavenge the abandoned town. The Varg's superior speed and strength, bestowed upon him by his father's sacrifice, made his prey easy pickings. No part of them went to waste; their bodies served to fuel his progress and fill his hunger. And at last, after weeks of tireless work, the Varg achieved his goal. He discovered that the primitive sorcery his father had employed was flawed due to the use of unspoiled mortal blood. The true font of power lay in the blood of his own kind, the Anti-Genus, Mallach. Karzełek had captured three unfortunate men, a looter, an elderly fool, and a crippled preacher, and nailed them to chestnut trees to ensure their compliance. After countless attempts and numerous corrections, he had finally achieved his goal. With his own blood and the Mallach it bore, the firstborn began his chant and the ritual commenced. The men writhed in agony, their screams echoing across the land. Their flesh burst open, their bones cracking as a snout grew where their noses once were. Their fingers elongated, their legs growing an extra joint not unlike that of a wolf. The first two easily shattered their wooden prisons, a frenzy setting them loose upon what remained of the village's inhabitants. The third, a preacher missing both legs, appeared too weak to escape. However, Karzełek was merciful, just as his father had been. He watched over his new brother, bringing him scraps of food from what the others had hunted to keep him sustained. It was never enough to satisfy him, but enough to keep him strong and incentivize him to hunt on his own. Like the roots of a twisted tree, new legs sprouted from the Preacher’s stumps, and Karzelek sang and danced in mad glee, for the ritual was a triumph beyond his wildest dreams. Soon, even the weak and maimed brother was made whole, his shattered limbs growing into sharp and powerful legs. They were unleashed upon the world, and the tales of their monstrous existence spread like wildfire, whispers of wolf-men and dog-people that stalked the night. Despite their savage nature, the Vargr were driven by a deep-seated yearning for kinship, and they would stop at nothing to expand their bloodline. They hunted and kidnapped, feeding their victims to Karzełek so that he could create more of their kind. And thus it came to pass that from the greatest of blunders, a monstrous abomination was born. The question still lingers, for though evil is not a thing of blood or birth, it was impossibly crafted in the rebirth of the Prodigal Son, spawning a wretched breed that sought to impose their Creator's twisted beliefs upon the world. Indeed, the Vargyr stands alone as a creature born truly evil.

Cardinal Armand Allobrogum inclined his head in solemn silence. "Another brother of the Faith, lost. He will join the Almighty in the Skies."