Godsnot Sorceress
Grundle Mudbreath was chosen to deliver sacrifices to the dark god Uul. This was considered a great honor by the Chaos Empire. Grundle considered it an opportunity.
She'd been practicing her assassination skills. Well, "practicing" was generous. She'd killed three separate targets, all of them the wrong person. But she was determined to improve. The Ascendency wanted Portia Nyr dead. If Grundle could kill Portia, she'd finally prove she was more than just stupid muscle.
First, she needed more power. So when they handed her twenty halfling prisoners and told her to push them into Uul's maw, she had a plan.
The march up Mount Praetorous took days. At the summit, she lined up the prisoners at the edge of the volcanic maw. Smoke and heat billowed from below. Grundle felt a moment of something, maybe pity, maybe indigestion, then shoved them in one by one.
"For Uul!" she bellowed after each sacrifice. "May your dark glory empower your servant!"
Nineteen halflings fell into the darkness. Nineteen times, nothing happened.
On the twentieth, Uul sneezed.
Divine snot erupted from the volcano's maw, a geyser of greenish-yellow mucus that blasted Grundle full in the face. She tumbled backward, completely covered in the stuff. It got in her mouth, her nose, her eyes. The snot was warm and sticky and smelled like sulfur and rotting meat.
Then she felt the power.
When Grundle scooped up a handful and hurled it at a boulder, the rock exploded like it had been struck by a meteor.
"I'm a sorceress!" Grundle declared, staring at her snot-covered hands. "A mighty sorceress with unstoppable magic!"
She wasn't a sorceress. She was an ogre throwing snot. But Grundle had never been good with nuance.
She descended Mount Praetorous, scooping the divine mucus into every container she could find. Buckets, pouches, even her helmet. No matter how much she scooped, more seemed to ooze from her skin. She didn't question it. More magic was better.
She stumbled upon a Conclave outpost through dumb luck. She wound up and hurled a massive glob at the gate guard. The impact obliterated him, leaving nothing but a smoking crater.
"Behold my sorcery!" Grundle roared.
The other guards attacked. She hurled more snot, devastating blasts that carved through their ranks. Arrows bounced off her and blades skittered aside. The divine mucus coating her body formed a protective layer, disgusting but effective.
"Armored sorcery!" she declared. "I am genius sorceress!"
Now Grundle wanders Praetoria, searching for Portia Nyr. The mucus never runs out. It just keeps coming, seeping from her pores, dripping from her hair, pooling in her boots. Her skin has taken on a faint greenish tint. Sometimes the snot moves on its own, crawling across her arms like it's alive.
Grundle doesn't notice.
"I am Grundle the Sorceress!" she announces to anyone who will listen. "Very powerful! Much magic! Tell me where Portia is so I can... sorcery her."
No one tells her where Portia is. Most just run.
And if her reflection looks a little strange, if her eyes seem a bit more yellow than before, if the snot whispers things she doesn't quite understand?
Well, that's just part of being a sorceress.