The Followers of Worm

[Thovex]

Hail Worm

[Grünstein]

I hereby apply, my English is not sufficient enough to write a longer, more witty post. I have killed over ten thousand of those filthy Nords to this point.

[YuriTheRed]

I would apply;  but there are two things that make me unsuitable for ur clan:
I have sworn loyalty to Phalangite clan
And second thing i pray to Talos and Talos alone 8)

[Blondin]

What a bunch of cheaters, those guys have weapons that nobody has (and never will!) and they had armor that nobody could craft!! ;-)

Looking forward to see you on the battlefield, all hail the great Worm!!!

[Conqueror_Worm]

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.

[Fingus]

NO!

[spoiler=Conqueror_Worm IRL][/spoiler]

[Tarimoth]

*considers worshipping*

[Hypernoma]

The Followers would be happy to accept you into our fold

[clickeverywhere]

Spoiler

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.

Shouldn't you guys put this as your houses' creed? It is the holy book of Worm!

[Hypernoma]

[quote author=Conqueror_Worm link=topic=1347.msg11819#msg11819 date=1328813781]

Spoiler

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.

Shouldn't you guys put this as your houses' creed? It is the holy book of Worm!
[/quote]
Smart lad. You should join the followers