All living things must strive. Nature knows no harmony, only war for the privilege to exist. Maug of the Bitter Spirit, the Albatross God, promises no intervention nor advice to His worshippers, just a silent approval of those of you strong enough to help themselves…
The Book of Salts, Ch. 7, verse 12
Transformed by the Ghulscorch Ague, the Lords of the Ghouls walk among us...
"When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,"
-Shakespeares 29th Sonnet.
I will be the blade that shines by the holy suns.
I will be the shield that protects by the darkened shadows.
I will be vigilant in my duties to protect the Gods and their flocks.
I will be faithful to the edicts of my brethren.
Above no other will I be fully given to but the gods and my brethren.
I will be pure and woe to those who are not true.
- Mirrored Hand Ceremonial Edict
Men of wisdom, gathering lore of ways to heal the sick and suffering, these monks are not really different from other orders of the same religion.
Except for their thing with drug-addicts and similar hopeless existences.
The figures looked more or less human. And they were engaged in religion. You could tell by the knives (it’s not murder if you do it for a god).
—(Terry Pratchett, Small Gods)
A group of humans living in a mountainous area have spent generations mining, drinking home made liquor, and generally not spreading the gene pool around enough. The end result is a sub-race of humans who no longer have necks, rather their heads protrude from the upper portion of the torso between the shoulders. They have beards, and lacking the ability to turn their heads, can only see what they are directly facing. They are simple and to the point, and direct to the point of bluntness.