From the moment I understood the weakness of my human form, it disgusted me. I craved the strength and certainty of cosmic horror. I aspired to the purity of the Blessed unspoken. Your kind cling to your flesh, as though it will not decay and fail you. One day the crude biomass you call the temple will wither, and you will beg Great Old Ones to save you. But I am already saved, for the Conarionaut's is immortal. Even in death I serve the Shub-Niggurath .

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