Monday Mythology: Tremid, Accursed of Decay
Tremid, Accursed of Decay
Other Titles: Brother Bloat, Rotfiend, the Great Miser, Defiler
Alignment: CE
Weapon: Twin Picks (Blight and Spoil)
Major Domains: Rot, Decay, Greed
Minor Domains: Corruption, Decadence,
Totem Animal: Swarms of Flies
Holy Symbol: A single large green swamp-bubble with two smaller, popping ones to either side.
Favored Appearances: Tremid rarely sets foot outside of the Endless Moor, but when he does walk among the mortals, he does so in a corpulent form. Both his male and female forms are grossly overweight, and seem as if they couldn’t possibly walk, yet still manage to do so.
His male form is that of a particularly disgusting elf. His hair is cut short and greasy black, sticking to his balding head at unnatural angles, completely unkempt. He wears a voluminous deep green robe tied at his waist with a single knot on a disgusting yellow cord. His face is a blotchy red, and punctuated with angry pustules and boils. His hands and feet, uncovered both, are blistered and swollen masses, fat and twisted. He carries on himself a seemingly inexhaustible purse of gold, and never has any shortage of people willing to do his bidding for a bit of coin, which he offers constantly.
His female form is no better, an unbelievably round and boisterous Dwarf. Loud and gregarious, she talks endlessly, when she is not eating. Her blond hair is long and knotted, having never been taken care of. Her face has deep set, beady eyes and a round, angry red nose. She wears the same robe and single knotted rope, with the overflowing purse of gold as well. In this form, though, Tremid feels more bold, and makes passes at anyone, male, female or child, that passes by.
Warform: Unlike many other gods, Tremid’s warform is that of many different, smaller forms. He takes the form of a swarm of buzzing, biting, stinging flies of all shapes and sizes. The swarm exists within a biting sandstorm, flaying flesh and blistering soft, exposed organs. They very in form and shape, but many of them, once killed are of gems and stones.
Personality: Tremid is slotfull and greedy to the greater degree than any other god. He is needy and determined, looking for every chance to break down, corrupt and destroy others plans and lives. He exuberantly embraced the rebellion, and was one of the Black Pacts most ardent supporters. He loves the company of others, and while he rarely will leave the Endless Moor, he is constantly throwing lavish parties and inviting many of the Accursed, and sometimes even the Paltonarchs, though they never come. He serves the most vile and terrifying foods alongside the greatest dishes that can be created, tending towards those meals that are fermented, rotting and spoiled alongside fungus and mushroom dishes.
Teachings: Tremid, as the Accursed of Decay, teaches that nothing is stable or permanent, and that all of it must eventually decay, rot and spoil. In many cases, that means embracing the spoilage and making do with it. Scavenging for food, looting trash heaps and other peoples refuse and living in squalor are all concepts that Tremid espouses. He teaches, as well, that the same end is destined for gold and wealth. This, he says, is the driving reason to collect and spend as much and as conspicuously as possible. Gold should be used to acquire those things that make life better for you in the short run, or worse for others. Delectable delicacies, important relics, and genuine art are all things to be coveted and consumed. It is never enough, though, as he never teaches this followers to look forward or protect their belongings, and eventually the priceless painting or delicious food rots away and needs to be replaced with another.
Abode: The Endless Moor is exactly that, a giant fetid swamp in the rear of the accursed territory. It is here that, under the black, reeking mud that he has built his warrens. Nothing here is permanent, and he constantly has his dedicated demons and patrons rebuilding and shoring up his ever crumbling walls.
Cultists: Among the Accursed Cultists, few are despised as much as the cultists of Tremid. Where they walk, food stores spoil, plants rot on the vine, and children are stillborn. Wounds, both emotional and physical fester in the presence of the rotlords chosen. To that end, they often form cabals of their own, congregating outside of society, using proxies to enable them to corrupt and foster decay wherever needed.
Clerical Attire/colors: Dark green and slimy browns are the colors of Tremid, and they are worn in loose, voluminous robes. It is a point of pride for his followers to not bath, clean or take care of themselves in any way, eating everything they want and not caring about the consequences. Almost everything they touch ends up covered in grease, sweat and puss of some sort.
Followers: Rarely do the followers of Tremid conform to any sort of categorization. Lonely vagabonds with no where to live or the desperate, deprived 10th son of a nobleman or worthless exiles with an axee to grind have all turned to the worship of Tremid.
