Post by Insano-Man on Sept 24, 2018 7:42:14 GMT -5
This topic is a child of the Big Toe article directory.
CRIMSON EXPULSION
All across Talto, the Cult of Meat has its hooks in the land and its people. Meatscapes spring up from subsurface tendrils, slip in under the care of self-sacrificing cultists, and rain down in meat tornados and gallstone hails. Chapels spring up like wildfire in the viscous corners of Looney influence. Towns share uneasy dualities, owing their prosperity to the Cult and their security to its sworn enemies. The Touched run rampant everywhere, an army-in-waiting ready to answer their calling at any moment. No matter the Loonies' hold on the Big Toe, the Cult is the law of the land.
Cultists across the Big Toe are some of the premier fighters of their sects. They have struggled with monsters, endured attacks by their own meat monsters, and laid siege to countless Loonies. They fight as a disciplined force, led by their most talented officers and passionate pastors. They are among the few who do not spurn technology; technicals, improvised field guns, and even stolen Looney weapons are all common sights. The incessant war across the region has changed them just as it has the Loonies. They have been worn down to their most pragmatic and cunning in a crucible like no other.
The Cult's influence is at its strongest at the base of the Toe, closest to the Crimson Expanse. As the mountain ascends, the carmine touch of the Cult fades, but never falters. Only the Digit Peaks have held against the men of the meat, and only because of their immense preponderance of Loonies. Convents hold sermons in secret, sects infiltrate the complacent, and the meat spreads as townsfolk willingly give themselves to seeding rites. Countless raiders and provocateurs have sought refuge in the towns of the mountain. Few have been left wanting.
The keepers of the claret faith have laid claim to countless towns, but they do not brandish their faith openly. The Cult's activities lie low in the shadows, swaying townsfolk towards apathy. They observe Looney movements in silence as a vast mass of informants and spies, leveraging the flow of food and water to maintain their shroud. They quarrel endlessly with Looney-aligned spies, fighting a quiet, ever-present shadow war. It is said that no successful town on Talto has ever risen without the blessing of the crimson oath. Even those high up the mountain fear the word of the Cult.
Whispers in the Cult's inner circles abound on the legendary Crimson Cloud and its machinations on Talto. Rumors persist that it stalks the foot of the Toe, seeking the worthy, the undaunted, and the bloodied. Clandestine pilgrimages have long sought evidence of its influence on Talto. They creep in the shadows of battlefields, stalk the corpses and ruins left in the wake of the Touched, searching endlessly for the Cult's greatest of glories. The Loonies have spoken not of it - and their wall of silence is itself a statement.
CRIMSON EXPULSION
All across Talto, the Cult of Meat has its hooks in the land and its people. Meatscapes spring up from subsurface tendrils, slip in under the care of self-sacrificing cultists, and rain down in meat tornados and gallstone hails. Chapels spring up like wildfire in the viscous corners of Looney influence. Towns share uneasy dualities, owing their prosperity to the Cult and their security to its sworn enemies. The Touched run rampant everywhere, an army-in-waiting ready to answer their calling at any moment. No matter the Loonies' hold on the Big Toe, the Cult is the law of the land.
Cultists across the Big Toe are some of the premier fighters of their sects. They have struggled with monsters, endured attacks by their own meat monsters, and laid siege to countless Loonies. They fight as a disciplined force, led by their most talented officers and passionate pastors. They are among the few who do not spurn technology; technicals, improvised field guns, and even stolen Looney weapons are all common sights. The incessant war across the region has changed them just as it has the Loonies. They have been worn down to their most pragmatic and cunning in a crucible like no other.
The Cult's influence is at its strongest at the base of the Toe, closest to the Crimson Expanse. As the mountain ascends, the carmine touch of the Cult fades, but never falters. Only the Digit Peaks have held against the men of the meat, and only because of their immense preponderance of Loonies. Convents hold sermons in secret, sects infiltrate the complacent, and the meat spreads as townsfolk willingly give themselves to seeding rites. Countless raiders and provocateurs have sought refuge in the towns of the mountain. Few have been left wanting.
The keepers of the claret faith have laid claim to countless towns, but they do not brandish their faith openly. The Cult's activities lie low in the shadows, swaying townsfolk towards apathy. They observe Looney movements in silence as a vast mass of informants and spies, leveraging the flow of food and water to maintain their shroud. They quarrel endlessly with Looney-aligned spies, fighting a quiet, ever-present shadow war. It is said that no successful town on Talto has ever risen without the blessing of the crimson oath. Even those high up the mountain fear the word of the Cult.
Whispers in the Cult's inner circles abound on the legendary Crimson Cloud and its machinations on Talto. Rumors persist that it stalks the foot of the Toe, seeking the worthy, the undaunted, and the bloodied. Clandestine pilgrimages have long sought evidence of its influence on Talto. They creep in the shadows of battlefields, stalk the corpses and ruins left in the wake of the Touched, searching endlessly for the Cult's greatest of glories. The Loonies have spoken not of it - and their wall of silence is itself a statement.
