In a time before the rot took him, Lord Vyrmous was a noble true to his people. He was devoted to his wife, Lady Isdrea, but when the wasting sickness took her, he summoned every apothecary, and alchemist within a hundred leagues to save her life.
But no mortal draught could stop the corruption that bloomed within her flesh. Her wounds oozed with black spores and yellow puss that emulsified into something unholy. Vyrmous, maddened by grief, commanded his alchemists to search for rare herbs from forbidden regions only those educated in the gathering arts would dare to go.
When they finally returned, Lady Isdrea hesitantly swallowed the tinctures, only to find that the elixirs quickened the rot instead, and the child growing in Isedra’s womb tore at her insides, ripping her flesh to expose a hideous mess of broken bone and gore, whose first cry was a chorus of flies.
Vyrmous never recovered. The plague which took those closest to him manifested deep in his essence, causing mutations so severe that his mind collapsed, leaving only the memory of his dismembered son.
Now he marches as Vyrmous the Pale, bearing the worm-eaten banner of his stillborn son. Those under his rule who remained have warped and twisted into hideous forms that still feign allegiance to their Lord.
They now march in search of new powers that could harness the power to one day bring back the heir to the Festerwomb Host..