Nosophilae
Concerning the Nosophilae
Read now of the dread tidings of Reshpu's priesthood, the Nosophilae, who slither through the fair lands of Tel like asps with fangs laden with venom! These minions of malice, oft decieitfully clothed in physician's robes, seek not to heal, but to hasten death in service of their master, the Lord of Plagues. In their wake, they drag the carrion of the diseased and dying, a plague-ridden host borne upon their accursed vessels. Nay, their purpose is more foul than mere contagion! They conspire to rob the afflicted of their rightful passage to the afterlife, denying them peaceful death and sowing chaos in their stead. With each damned soul, they hope to fuel a fever of anarchy, envisioning a twisted utopia built upon the ashes of suffering. Their goal, they proclaim, is equality - yet theirs is an equality carved from despair, a nightmare painted in blood and bile. Be ye wary! Guard your hearths and your health, for these agents of anguish seek to snuff the very flame of your lives. Let faith be your shield and vigilance your sword, against the pestilent horde of Reshpu's unholy disciples!
Tenets of Faith
From yon shadows doth creep the unsettling gospel of these Nosophilae, who find solace in the cruel embrace of the demon of pestilence. Whilst our faith doth venerate benevolent deities, these heretics do paint them as architects of suffering. They ask 'Is it not mortality, that inescapable curse, that bindeth us to a life of frailty, sickness, and the ever-looming specter of death? And did not the gods, in their cosmic law, ordain the hierarchy, where fathers do lord over sons, husbands do rule their wives, and the nobility do trample upon the populace? Is it not divine hands that doth capriciously scatter blessings, leaving some to wallow in poverty whilst others do bask in riches, some blessed with strength whilst others are cursed with frailty, some with minds keen as the knife's edge whilst others do stumble through life in dull ignorance?'
But Reshpu, they do proclaim, offereth a grim solace. Though his touch bringeth forth feverish plague followed by the icy grip of death, it falleth upon all with total impartiality. No man nor woman, be they king or pauper, escapeth the gnawing tendrils of disease or the inevitable slumber in the cold embrace of the grave. In this final reckoning, they do believe, the shackles of hierarchy are shattered. No longer shall the noble hold dominion over the peasant, nor the king reign supreme over his subjects. All, they do claim, shall be reduced to the same wretched state, yoked together by the all-encompassing misery of suffering. This, oh curious reader, is the macabre state the Nosophilae do crave, a twisted paradise forged in the fires of Reshpu's malevolent design.
Tread ye cautiously down this path of darkness, for the solace it offereth is a mirage, a cruel illusion shimmering in the desolate wasteland of despair! True equality, borne not from suffering but from Lady Maya's compassion and understanding, lieth far beyond the grasp of Reshpu and his foul devotees. Beware the sophistry of the Nosophilae, for it leadeth not to a paradise, but to a descent into the abyss, where hope withereth and only the chilling wind of nihilism remaineth. Choose wisely, for the path ye treadest will determine your fate, both in this life and the next.
