Ömys, the Threaded Prince
Threaded Prince, Plague of Madness
"The rose is a fragile flower. Man plucks it from its dormant bed, hoping to court a woman and lie down in hers. A pretty thing for a pretty thing. Don't mind the thorns; if a drop of blood is the sacrifice required for a evening of merriment then by all means - pluck away." -Ömys, the Threaded Prince
Sanity, Manipulation, Illusion (Previously Clarity, Foresight, Order)
Divine Symbols & Sigils
Description: Combination of all nine faces, constantly shifting, spinning, & contorting. Black & White semi-circles to form full circle; rose inlaid over the top. Shapeshifter
The other Divine Faces didn't care much for Ömys. He was so...rigid - uptight about his rules and regulations. Always thinking that he was above the rest, despite his apparent lack of any real power. Congratulations, Ömys, you can clearly remember the proper way to set a table for dinner service, and you never forget the correct order of ingredients to concoct a draught of viserum. Bravo. Now, step aside while we perform actual, meaningful tasks. As Ömys' supplicants seemed to dwindle by the day, the other Faces were reaping the rewards of their spheres. An abundance of offerings and lines of worshipers trailing down the steps, waiting to commune with their patron while his temples lay mostly barren aside from the spiders often found nesting there. Ömys had enough. He would make them notice him. They would have no other choice. Thus, the Plague of Madness began, infecting the minds of the world in droves. Suddenly, Ömys' name was on the tip of everyone's tongue while they waged war for reasons unknown and motives unapparent. This was his world now and he laughed at his puppets who didn't even know that they were attached to his strings. Dance.