People joining the Cult for immortality and power,
but they will never reach the level that I tower.
I'm training people who would rather conjure Daedra.
Learning my craft just to get the lord's favor.
Do you not feel flooded when mort flesh is present?
Do you not want to run away with every last revenant?
I'm only here because I embody the cult.
You're hardly here, man. You're an insult.
I was born in Chorrol, 2E 3.
I was adopted as a baby by the local priest.
My bedroom was across the hall of the undercroft.
That settling terrified me--Let me tell you why not to scoff.
I wasn't born a necro, but I am to date.
The reason for that might as well have been fate.
I told my dad about a ghost with a miserable face,
about a gowned woman, but he said it was a holy place.
I trusted him, and went to sleep,
but in the near future, that woman would reap.
Her hair turned black and her skin was green.
Don't tell me that you wouldn't scream.
I could never escape her. Not even in my dreams.
Not even when I knew things weren't what they seemed.
For the longest time, I couldn't even move,
and this *** would last until I moved.
I'm terrified of ghosts. Have been since.
It was out of that, that I grew this,
an insatiable need for green flesh and screams.
I'm an obsessive reanimatory soul harvesting machine,
loyal to Mannimarco, the Worm King.
Be wary why you're here, because it matters what I think.