Thoughts of Rayna Bradyn.
We are born from dirt. Not even the wealthiest among us escapes the embrace of stone, grit, and dust. Our bodies decay into the very ground that feeds and clothes us. From the ice that coats the Nords to the leaf-clad bodies of the Wood Elves, we are all just creatures of squalor. Anyone who argues against this is delusional.
Just as with the dirt, we are all blighted. Sickness strikes down the young, the old, the healthy, and the weak. It makes all equal in the face of fevers, coughs, and body aches.
Why run to the false promises of Azura? There is no hope in the dawn. No warmth or comfort that outlasts the cold embrace of muck as it breaks your body down to the finest granules of dust. No god will end the suffering of the mortal world. No healer will absolve you from death.
Embrace the natural order. The true order. The order of squalor and disease. The only rule is that time is limited and suffering endless. Our place is with the Blighted Lord. He is the sole Prince to fully grasp the state of mortality. He tells no lies and promises nothing beyond what is fated. The gift of our devotion is the pestilence that haunts all other members of our kind. Believe in Peryite, my fellow malodorous! Worship the only god who accepts us as the filth we truly are!
