[h3][color=darkorchid]Yigzavath[/color][/h3]
Yigzavath turned his attention towards Thu-mmmok’s… [i]appendage[/i]. The God of the Sands had even the littlest ways of invading someone’s space - although this was much more benign compared to his [i]usual[/i] fronts and suggestions. An endless desert… Yigzavath was no fan of the notion. A desert is no suitable environment for his most virulent of scourges. So barren, so far-strung between civilizations… his diseases would die and wither in corpses buried in the sands. Insects could roam about, yes, but that just simply isn’t enough for the Filthmonger.

“We will have [i]nothing[/i] to collaborate on.” Yigzavath said to the thin, granulated apparition of Thu-mmmok, “I have [i]five-hundred years[/i] of work to implement. I don’t need anymore ideas, I need [i]action[/i]. I need OUT of this… [i]gathering[/i]...”

He turned his head again. Thu-mmmok’s appendage was unresponsive, and had become somewhat lopsided, indicating that either he was currently becoming a willing victim to a glass of ambrosia, or he simply wasn’t paying attention to the Filthmonger anymore. Yigzavath angrily groaned and swatted the sand away with his hand, going back to his folded position at the table, [i]again[/i] waiting patiently for this deal to be done. Thoughts raced through his mind - what he’d have to do once he returned to the Infested Workshop. Check his inventory, see what was still alive and what had perished. Wipe the dust off the equipment, replace the assuredly [i]spoiled[/i] mixing pool…

And the Acolytes.

What became of his Acolytes?

He would most likely have to rebuild them from the ground up. It had been so long since he had to carry out such a thing. It aggravated him, the thought of his goals stagnating without a proper workforce. Unlike the majority of the Pantheon, he [i]relied[/i] on mortals to see his will done.

He continued to ponder, in twitching, irritated silence.

[@NachoBachoPacho]