A god gives as easily as it takes. With one hand extended, it awaits your offering, and until it's made heavy with faith, the divine doesn't budge. But a god isn't as just in its vengeance. One wrong word, one wrong move, and its wrath rains even over the righteous. Alas, Ouron was one such god. A god of pitiful standing and an ego taller than the highest mountains on Atlaris.
Thus, in his anger and in the face of mockery by June, he looked her in the eyes and unleashed his final creation. A plague most profane spewed from the minds of his followers and the zombified elites. Coating every inch of the ships with a dark algae-like layer, and the air was flooded with poison, every breath of which would curse all who inhaled it.
