The Followers of Worm are opening their doors and accepting fresh meat into their fold. The Followers pray to the mighty Worm, regularly making blood sacrifices at the shrines found throughout Swadia. The Followers rise with the blood red sunrise to begin their sole purpose of draining life from the Nordic invaders.
If you believe yourself to be a mighty warrior capable of slaying the tens of thousands of Nords each day require to sate the thirst of the almighty Worm you may be allowed to attempt the initiation rites.
Please be warned that the Followers will not accept all applicants. You must demonstrate your prowess upon the field and become a name known to the Followers. If you believe yourself to be of the acceptable calibre, you must post your name and the number of Nords you have sent to their miserable afterlife.
Current Followers of the almighty Worm;
Hypernoma
Paxeluring
Fingus
Nemeth
Furax
Nyarla
Lord_Hande
Thovex
MrGuarnere
Birdtalon
Sepsis
_Sphinx_
Lo! ’t is a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.
-The Conqueror Worm
Edgar Allan Poe
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.
-The Conqueror Worm
Edgar Allan Poe
If you believe yourself to be a mighty warrior capable of slaying the tens of thousands of Nords each day require to sate the thirst of the almighty Worm you may be allowed to attempt the initiation rites.
Please be warned that the Followers will not accept all applicants. You must demonstrate your prowess upon the field and become a name known to the Followers. If you believe yourself to be of the acceptable calibre, you must post your name and the number of Nords you have sent to their miserable afterlife.
Current Followers of the almighty Worm;
Hypernoma
Paxeluring
Fingus
Nemeth
Furax
Nyarla
Lord_Hande
Thovex
MrGuarnere
Birdtalon
Sepsis
_Sphinx_
Give a man a fish, and you have fed him for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will continue fishing even if you give him a fish.
- Fingus
- Fingus
