Lore
From deep in the sump, where the stench of chemical waste wallows and the hum of flies rings through the air, the Word of the Sump emerge. Led by their herald, Mr. Black, they seek death wherever it may rise. For all of their number are already doomed. Arched backs, terrible coughs, skin infected. Physiology pushed beyond even the low standards of Cawdor. Reprobates and exiles. The only reason they are not purged by their betters of the great house is because they are all pledged to be cremated personally by Mr. Black. When each finally succumbs to their fatal malady or (better yet) dies in glorious martyrdom. But with faith, not before they can take the heretics and unpious with them.