Kah
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Deuce
🕑 Added 2022-05-27 23:41:12 +0000 UTCToday's art preview courtesy of Coillte!
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Though adventurers must of course prepare themselves for the possibility of a bad end whenever they embark on a new task, for the hunters who plunge headlong into the Chancel this risk is instead a near-certainty. It is for this reason that most Hunters are advised to make peace with their gods before setting foot in the fallen city, but even that is not enough to guarantee their safe passage into their afterlife of choice - as there exist existential threats within the chancel that can keep even the very souls of these hunters from passing on after their demise.
One such roadblock is the foul cretin known as Deuce - a creation of the House of Gluttony who sought to repurpose the seemingly-limitless emissions of a Thrall captured from the southern Tribelands into an endless source of foodstuffs for the Chancel. The alchemically-cloned recreations of the creature proved even more unruly than the source, and the first amongst their number eventually broke free of containment and began absorbing his brothers, each of them forming a fully functional and fragrant new asshole tucked between his massive asscheeks, and the Ladies in charge of the project absorbed as a pair of fat tits to adorn his chest for good measure.
Now loose on the Chancel streets following its fall, the beast hunts for the original gnoll that he was cloned from, absolutely positive that absorbing him will make him complete at last. The most peculiar facet of this strange amalgam is the effect that gazing upon his haunted haunches has on the hunters of the city. Both the departed spirits trapped in the Chancel and the hunters still clinging to life within it are often struck by an intense compulsion when beholding Deuce's derriere. They fixate upon the shape of one particular hole that adorns his ass, realizing that its contours perfectly match their body, and the irresistible urge to crawl inside befalls them. "This is my hole, it was made for me!" becomes the pervasive thought clouding their mind, until they inevitably plunge inside and meet their end.
Hunters and spirits alike swallowed by these gaping holes are later birthed as misshapen cumspawn - minuscule creatures capable of little rational thought and retaining only one or two words of vocabulary. Dubbed the 'Utero Bimblets' by the Academy, these forsaken souls congeal in small clusters around the city, working together to combine their limited lexicon into warning messages for the few Hunters who've yet to fall to the Chancel's corruption.
