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Troglobilis Shaman
Screaming skull held high. Green and purple smoke tendrils coil from empty sockets. Woven braids held by slag iron nails within skull cups. Purple and black lazy fat swollen tongues. Thick with flies thousands die. Spirals, squares, runes and warnings painted upon the body.
Huge brows furrow and bend. Gnarled, twisted old hands lift the wooden staff high. Held together by tree sap, teeth, bones, pig guts and faith it glows an evil wicked green. All manner of twisted chaos explodes from the tip.
Acid black lightning bolts erupt in every direction, slate runs like liquid grey. Massive cracks of glass stretch into the sands. Rats explode out of orifices, meat cysts swell on skin. Fire erupts in sporadic spastic blasts from small embers to roaring blazes. Fellow Troglobilis swell in size, wounds are maggot stitched shit.
The Shaman is a living, breathing agent of primeval chaos.
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