Aeternam stepped forward, the spokesman of the three. “To remind you of your destiny.”
“My destiny is here. To provide a shelter for the wounded, the sick, the deathly, to sustain life and grow strong again.” Her rough hands now both clasped the staff.
“A staging ground for empire, to spread the sickness, to fester the wounds, to hold off death by corrupting life and serve your own ends,” He retorted boldly, drawing gasps and snarls from the assembled denizens. “You are not so different from us in that regard.”
The woman loomed forward, revealing both hostility and interest. She did not seem to mind being challenged. “And who are you?”
“The nullifier of civilization, the herald of despair, the kindling of vengeance. We number only three now, but seven of us exist. Four brothers and three sisters. You may not remember; you may have chosen to forgot. A holy being may have kept you from knowing who you are, but he has not destroyed who you are. Look within yourself, around you. You are no philanthropist. You are no Dungeon Keeper. You are, have always been, and will forever be, Pestilence itself. Will you join your kin, or will you be content to remain in a mudhole in the middle of nowhere and perform witchery for the sake of your swamp rats?”

The afflicted people, rising steadily in anger throughout Aeternam's speech, finally found it could stomach his words no longer, whether for the sake of the pride of Malady or the aura of Eris. Like animals that scurried out from the shadows and shelters to attack. In seconds the trio was surrounded. Over the furious din, however, came the call of the witch. “Prove the truth of your words.”

In response, Aeternam drew his cane saber with remarkable speed and, in one blow, decapitated the nearest blighted man. His next stroke, too quick for the victim to react, slit the throat of a second. The black metal absorbed the blood of the contorted people upon contact; the humid air was filled with a deep, metallic sigh from the weapon itself. Crimson energies swirled around Aeternam, and for an instant there was the visage of a warlord, easily ten feet tall, with armor gleaming in the shantytown's sulfurous light.

The next instant, the image was gone. With the blade sheathed once more, Aeternam stood still, old and wrinkled as ever, amid the raging, howling swamp people. Three of them rushed at him at once, one with a nicked, rusty cleaver and the others with crude clubs. Eris and Moros instinctively moved in to protect their leader. One blighted human fell, stunned, by the woman's blow to his temple; the other stood transfixed in the grip of Moros, life force fading fast. The third leaped over his disabled comrades, club descending upon Aeternam's head. A blade sprouting from his chest, however, caused his weapon to drop from his nerveless hand. Out of nowhere, the woman called Malady was behind him, only a few feet away from the trio, gripping the spear lodged in the blighted man's torso.

Awed and terrified, the other swamp denizens did nothing but stare. Malady removed the blade from the wretched corpse proceeded to use it to pry the huge cow skull from her head. It fell with a thick splash into the stagnant water, exposing a face equal parts beauty and horror. Ritualistic lines were carved into the tattooed skin, and pitch-black eyes gave her a haunting look. As the trio watched, an oily black fluid leaked from them, and the blighted people in the area were all afflicted. Their own eyes turned black and wept oily blood, and one by one they fell, choking, to the murky ground. Eris, Moros, and Aeternam, however, were unharmed. It seemed the witch had made her choice. “Give me a few minutes to prepare. I must reabsorb the essence from my makeshift Heart into myself to be able to move freely once again.”

[hider=NPC Compendium Entry] Blighted Men - inhabitants of a swamp in the eastern plains and followers of the witch doctor Malady. Twisted and contorted by constant sickness, they more resemble goblins than humans and act more like animals than people. Their matriarch took them in as outcasts, lepers, orphans, and wounded soldiers, and while she kept them alive she forever corrupted them. Recently, their numbers have been reduced by a third due to the sudden defection of their leader to a band of intruders claiming to be her kin. Without their leader, however malicious and manipulative, they've come to rely upon a much more aggressive leader styling himself the Pandemic Chieftain. Exposure to the saliva or blood of a Blighted Man will almost always spread the affliction to the victim, affecting mind as well as body. [/hider]