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Description
He was a simple man, one who never had need for the flare and extravagance others desired. To many, he was just a lowly farmer, who seemed to blend into the backdrop of life like a piece of scenery. He never stood out, and he never wanted to. While others would find such a basic life bland and meaningless, he enjoyed the simplicity of it. He wasn't one to go out there and chase destiny, nor was he one yearning to become some hero of legend. He just wanted to wake with the morning sun, tend his fields, and retire with the rising moon. Sure, it wasn't the most exciting place, but it was his lot in life and he accepted it. So strange, then, that such a insignificant fellow would hear a beckoning from beyond. That a voice speaking of higher purpose and destiny would come to a peasant such as himself. The words that rang in his head that day were quite alien to him, but he felt their meaning to his very core. Something offered greatness and purpose, a chance to spread his values and reshape the world. To many, such a deal was impossible to resist, but he wasn't like the rest. He politely turned down this bizarre voice, and chose to keep is calm, simple life. After all, a farmer had no place on the big stage of life. He belonged in the fields, and that is where he would stay. As days passed, though, his mind still clung to the voice and the bargain it had offered. The more he thought about it, the more ludicrous it all felt. To be visited by such a being of power and purity was insane, as he was just a pathetic mortal with no right to even behold such a thing. A lowly cretin like him didn't deserve to be graced by such a presence, and the fact that he hadn't bowed and begged like the miserable rat he was was disgusting. He began to loathe himself, despise his very existence. As the sun rose and set, he grew more and more disgusted with himself, tearing into his own flesh as the sickness began to take hold. Though he had turned down such an offer, he had already been infected the moment the voice came into his life. Every curse he spat at himself sunk him deeper, and every lash and cut he took gave strength to the disease. In time, he found his rightful place under the cruel lashes of the Whips of Humilty.

His simple life long gone, what remains of the poor man now pathetically shuffles across the land. He dares not walk upright or even on all fours, as he has no right to such an honor. Crawling on bleeding knees and face, he must forever bow and scrape to all before him, as that is the place of a lowly wretch like him. What sits above his broken form insures he never steps out of line, and that he always understand his place. Time and time again it will strike, flaying his own skin and flesh to remind him of his pitiful existence. Every mistake, every misstep and every wrong thought is met with a spiny lash, as that is what happens to flawed mortals. He is not the only whipping boy that this abomination despises, as all who cross its path shall meet its judgment. For everyone must be beaten back into place, all must be reminded of their disgusting roles. Those who dare get too close shall be flogged with utmost savagery, tearing skin and flesh with every strike. Despite the violence and cruelty, he shall not kill his victims, only leaving them bleeding and broken. However, these poor souls are not free from its hatred. Those who are struck by its barbs will begin to feel disgust and self-loathing. As minutes and hours pass, they will grow to despise themselves more and more. They will believe that they deserved such a punishment, that it was all their fault. This self-hatred acts like poison in their veins, its effects growing stronger the more they are struck by these horrid whips. Those who escape with a lashing or two shall feel this self-loathing for a few days, but they can recover with time and help. Those who receive a real beating from the beast will not be so lucky. The sheer amount of venom in their bodies will make them despise their very existence, believing that they are truly worthless. It will take a huge effort from friends, families and associates to pull them from this hateful stupor, but it still requires the victim to fight against this vile feeling. Those who do not escape from this sickness will eventually perish, often by their own hand.

What purpose or goal is in the broken mind of this creature is unknown, as it believes it doesn't even have the right to think. It just shambles about, whipping all the filthy sinners it encounters, including itself. It seems that this tortured creature despises itself more than its victims....

-------------------------------------

Last year for October, I posted up my Artifacts of Sin, which were essentially my version of the Seven Deadly Sins. However, there is more to be done in that realm, because the sins are only one side of the coin. Not as well known are the Seven Heavenly Virtues, which are the opposite of sins. Essentially they are supposed to be the "good" side of these traits, but everyone knows that good things can easily go bad. If the sins are the extremes of one end of the spectrum, then these fellows are the extremes of the other side. These are the Plagues of Virtue.

This fellow was the first monstrosity I drew up from the Virtues, which essentially doomed me to draw the other six. Humility was a pretty easy one to come up with, as it is clear what happens when humility and humbleness is corrupted and taken to toxic levels. Also this got surprisingly dark during the write up, I am sorry about that. Just remember that you guys are awesome and I love ya! Have a great day!

Description
He was a simple man, one who never had need for the flare and extravagance others desired. To many, he was just a lowly farmer, who seemed to blend into the backdrop of life like a piece of scenery. He never stood out, and he never wanted to. While others would find such a basic life bland and meaningless, he enjoyed the simplicity of it. He wasn't one to go out there and chase destiny, nor was he one yearning to become some hero of legend. He just wanted to wake with the morning sun, tend his fields, and retire with the rising moon. Sure, it wasn't the most exciting place, but it was his lot in life and he accepted it. So strange, then, that such a insignificant fellow would hear a beckoning from beyond. That a voice speaking of higher purpose and destiny would come to a peasant such as himself. The words that rang in his head that day were quite alien to him, but he felt their meaning to his very core. Something offered greatness and purpose, a chance to spread his values and reshape the world. To many, such a deal was impossible to resist, but he wasn't like the rest. He politely turned down this bizarre voice, and chose to keep is calm, simple life. After all, a farmer had no place on the big stage of life. He belonged in the fields, and that is where he would stay. As days passed, though, his mind still clung to the voice and the bargain it had offered. The more he thought about it, the more ludicrous it all felt. To be visited by such a being of power and purity was insane, as he was just a pathetic mortal with no right to even behold such a thing. A lowly cretin like him didn't deserve to be graced by such a presence, and the fact that he hadn't bowed and begged like the miserable rat he was was disgusting. He began to loathe himself, despise his very existence. As the sun rose and set, he grew more and more disgusted with himself, tearing into his own flesh as the sickness began to take hold. Though he had turned down such an offer, he had already been infected the moment the voice came into his life. Every curse he spat at himself sunk him deeper, and every lash and cut he took gave strength to the disease. In time, he found his rightful place under the cruel lashes of the Whips of Humilty.

His simple life long gone, what remains of the poor man now pathetically shuffles across the land. He dares not walk upright or even on all fours, as he has no right to such an honor. Crawling on bleeding knees and face, he must forever bow and scrape to all before him, as that is the place of a lowly wretch like him. What sits above his broken form insures he never steps out of line, and that he always understand his place. Time and time again it will strike, flaying his own skin and flesh to remind him of his pitiful existence. Every mistake, every misstep and every wrong thought is met with a spiny lash, as that is what happens to flawed mortals. He is not the only whipping boy that this abomination despises, as all who cross its path shall meet its judgment. For everyone must be beaten back into place, all must be reminded of their disgusting roles. Those who dare get too close shall be flogged with utmost savagery, tearing skin and flesh with every strike. Despite the violence and cruelty, he shall not kill his victims, only leaving them bleeding and broken. However, these poor souls are not free from its hatred. Those who are struck by its barbs will begin to feel disgust and self-loathing. As minutes and hours pass, they will grow to despise themselves more and more. They will believe that they deserved such a punishment, that it was all their fault. This self-hatred acts like poison in their veins, its effects growing stronger the more they are struck by these horrid whips. Those who escape with a lashing or two shall feel this self-loathing for a few days, but they can recover with time and help. Those who receive a real beating from the beast will not be so lucky. The sheer amount of venom in their bodies will make them despise their very existence, believing that they are truly worthless. It will take a huge effort from friends, families and associates to pull them from this hateful stupor, but it still requires the victim to fight against this vile feeling. Those who do not escape from this sickness will eventually perish, often by their own hand.

What purpose or goal is in the broken mind of this creature is unknown, as it believes it doesn't even have the right to think. It just shambles about, whipping all the filthy sinners it encounters, including itself. It seems that this tortured creature despises itself more than its victims....

-------------------------------------

Last year for October, I posted up my Artifacts of Sin, which were essentially my version of the Seven Deadly Sins. However, there is more to be done in that realm, because the sins are only one side of the coin. Not as well known are the Seven Heavenly Virtues, which are the opposite of sins. Essentially they are supposed to be the "good" side of these traits, but everyone knows that good things can easily go bad. If the sins are the extremes of one end of the spectrum, then these fellows are the extremes of the other side. These are the Plagues of Virtue.

This fellow was the first monstrosity I drew up from the Virtues, which essentially doomed me to draw the other six. Humility was a pretty easy one to come up with, as it is clear what happens when humility and humbleness is corrupted and taken to toxic levels. Also this got surprisingly dark during the write up, I am sorry about that. Just remember that you guys are awesome and I love ya! Have a great day!