Even their oath-cogs become rusted beyond all function, decayed and layered with grime. As the cultists engage in blasphemous rituals to call on the pestilent powers of Chaos, their own living flesh decays or succumbs to unnatural diseases, leaving them alive yet horribly afflicted. The longer one remains in the cult, however, and the greater his dedication, the more his body reflects the decay in his soul. Many cultists twist their oath-bonds to the cult's ends, from a labourer slowing production to a noble funnelling his family's wealth to finance his loathsome Strain. These humans have forsaken the Emperor's Light in the worship of the Pestilent Lord, and exist only to see Hive Desoleum brought low with decay and death. To date, five districts have been placed under quarantine. The total death count from this pollution of the hive's lifeblood is unknown, but still rising. Sanctionaries and Arbites are often caught unprepared, as when nearly a decade ago the Leech Children slowly introduced a deadly affliction into a major water distillery. A Strain that focusses on diseases of the respiratory system, for instance, might plot to damage the hive's air-cyclers, or use them to dispense an airborne pathogen.Īs if in imitation of disease itself, most Strains are content to bide their time before making a move, festering unseen as they lay careful plans, taking pains not to reveal themselves until it is too late for the hive to halt its infection. When a Strain takes action against the hive, it does so in a way that corresponds to its speciality, viewing the hive as a living creature supported by numerous organ systems. Each cell, known as a Strain within the cult, centres its activities and rites on a different aspect of decay or disease. Only the higher-ranked members even realise there are levels beyond the bounds of their sect.
The Callers of Sorrows are organised in a cell structure, each functioning as a complete cult in its own right, each subservient to a charismatic and powerful Preceptor. As they are inducted deeper into the cult's beliefs, they learn that the decay is not symbolic, but literal, as the higher echelons seek to harness the power of the Warp to bring about their goals. When first inducted, members are educated on these elements, and they often view it as an act of rebellion against their cruel masters. With morose glee, they seek to accelerate the hive's fall. They look to the Underhive's decrepitude as Desoleum's ultimate fate, and see any attempts to forestall this as futile and foolish. To the Callers of Sorrow, the hive is all but dead, and their purpose is to hasten its inevitable collapse. Hive Desoleum is sometimes likened to a living thing, a great creature of metal. The cult's flesh savants can tend to the pain of the sick and dying with supernatural efficacy, and can even extend life - for the right price, paid in much more than mere hive-scrip or oath-extensions. They also comfort those crushed with despair, carefully hiding the cult's true nature from all those seeking help. They have numerous aid houses under a variety of covers, where they offer assistance to the sick and injured lacking access to medicae support. Like a cancer worming its way throughout an unsuspecting body, the Callers of Sorrow spread their corruption unseen amongst the hive populace. Nurgle exists everywhere, for all living things erode and fail, and with each fall his power grows. His apostles often become little more than rotting corpses, pestilent shambles of purifying flesh and dripping sores, but with unnaturally resilient flesh that vigorously resists death. Each new disease, each new mortal brought low, is carefully recorded in a never-ending tally.
They delight in sharing these infectious blessings to mortals, offering escape from the horrors of death but at the price of utter corruption to their flesh.
Despite embodying entropy and the most loathsome of appearances, he and his Daemons are filled with vitality, enthusiastically offering their gifts of noxious diseases. From his pestilent garden within the Warp, where virulent fungi writhe and black flies fill the thick, polluted air, he brings forth endless afflictions and rejoices with each successful plague. Nurgle is the Chaos God of blight and decay, the final end that awaits all mortals.
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