Putrid Blightkings are what devotion looks like when the Grandfather truly approves. Each was once a mortal warrior who knelt at their lowest hour and rose changed: swollen with unnatural vigor, hung with blessings, and so padded in sanctified corruption that sword-blows simply vanish into them. They advance at a walk because nothing has ever given them a reason to run.
Among the Rotbringers every new symptom is read as a rank, and a Blightking wears more honours than any mortal frame should hold. They ring rusted bells as they come — not as a threat but as an invitation, for the Blightkings genuinely pity the unblessed, and their idea of mercy is delivered with a festering axe.
Order of battle
