Somewhere in the mortal plain, under a sunlit sky, there is a stretch of farmland. Sprawling fields of green, forests in the distance, paths to town, and a barn and a house at the center of it all. Everything was perfectly normal within the scene, save for the barn’s stables being very much [i]on fire[/i].

There were men about. Poorly dressed, unkempt, foul-smelling… [i]evil[/i] men. Not the simple evil of merely possessing a penchant for raping and pillaging, there was… [i]literally[/i], something evil within them. Seeping from their eyes, noses, mouths, ears, in the form of an opaque, black fluid. Some were riding their own horses around the grounds, afflicted with the same unsightly material - though it was much more apparent for them. Horrible, jagged wounds ran along their necks, with the fluid bleeding out of them and onto the dirt and grass profusely, leaving little black spots everywhere.

Something was alive within it. Squirming, [i]writhing[/i], desperately seeking something organic to… [i]inhabit[/i].

An unafflicted horse broke free and ran from the stables, only to be struck from the bolt of a crossbow moments later. It stumbled, falling, sliding on the dirt. Another horse, with two of the afflicted men riding it, quickly approached. One dismounted, approached the fallen, [i]screaming[/i] horse, and brandished a knife. As the equine specimen kicked and neighed, the man gently inserted the knife into its neck and ran it down the length. But before the horse lied still, the man…

Vomited, into the wound.

The putrid black filth, crawling with tiny, worm-like creatures, quickly burrowed into the horse’s wound, spreading throughout its body. It struggled for only moments before, somehow [i]settling[/i], ceasing its movements while the man stood up, and watched it do the same.

It was one of them now.

Nearby, at the front of the house, there was another congregation of afflicted men. One of them particularly, seemed the leader of the terrible band. Tall, gangly, black-haired and pale-skinned. Even [i]more[/i] disgusting in appearance, with bulging black veins spread about on his skin. In his hand was a long, serrated blade, almost [i]cruel[/i] in appearance. His eyes, yellow and swollen, peered at the farmer who was down beside the door, crying.

“Just, just- please! Take the horses, take everything! Leave me and my family alone!” He called out. The leader, however, seemed none the sort for sympathy. He replied to him, in a horrible, [i]guttural[/i] voice with an unseemingly jolly tone, backed by a fluid-stuffed throat, “We’re taking our pickings, don’t you worry. Your horses, they’re all very fine indeed… but we’ll need a bit more to, [i]compensate[/i] for your initial [i]failure[/i] to… work with us.”

“Anything you want! Just say it!”

“Well… saw your [i]dog[/i] earlier… looked to have a good nose on ‘im. Could be useful.”

“Yes! Take the dog!”

“We will! Thank you! And, uh… well, your [i]son[/i], saw him out working the fields earlier too, he’d make a [i]fine[/i] addition to our little posse. Young, strong, good at menial labor…”

“No, no, no, don’t take him, please I’ll-”

The man pressed his fingers against the farmer’s mouth, making a long “shh” noise. “Stop talking [i]now[/i], and that’s all we’ll take.” He said, “Cross this kind man’s heart.” The farmer did not say anything - only attempting to hold back tears as two afflicted men breached his home, and searched for his son and dog.

“It’ll be over soon, friend.” Said the leader, with a [i]disgusting[/i] smile, “[i]Trust me[/i].”

[hr]
[h3][color=darkorchid]Yigzavath[/color][/h3]

Yigzavath was internally [i]demanding[/i] that the rest of the Pantheon hasten their arrival. His hands were twitching, as were his arachnid appendages. Damn it, he had [i]work[/i] to do. Why did no one else understand that simple fact? He was no slouch or lounger, he was a god with a [i]job[/i].

At least, that seemed his twisted way of saying it.

He darted his source-hidden vision around the area, scanning the other deities. Sombra, acting like a [i]child[/i] nestling in Nahash’s lap. Dormammus going haywire on Erisbili. The Primals all talking silently, with Kilgarrah maintaining his downright [i]annoying[/i] vigil.

Yigzavath continued to twitch patiently. He knew full well all he had the power to do now was wait.