The Brotherhood of the Flooded Cathedral

These asylum escapees and laboratory cast-offs are the reason the decent, secret-police-fearing citizens of Mirewell can't stroll down the street without worrying for their lives! They dress up in old robes and kill virgins at low tide because their daddies didn't know how to put a firm hand up the sides of their heads.

The cultists worships the unknowable terror of the watery void where I can neither confirm nor deny that the Deep One slumbers in a prison of black crystal. Again: no information on that one way or the other.

If it DID exist, though, its name would NOT be Habboth-Ur, Lord of Madness, Mouth of the Abyss, Wrecker of Ships, and Mother of Krakens. It's a damned good thing its dreaming thoughts don't filter up into our world to poison our honest goddamn slumber and herald their coming with a pervasive sense of dread. It's also fortunate that its non-existent prison, encasing its fictional body, isn't degrading with the passing of the merciless years.

It's a good thing Mirewell firmly denies that any of that is happening.

History
The Brotherhood is the oldest damned cult in the Hagfish. They've been raising hell on a half-dozen islands since Mad Margaret Holloway first started preaching the Unspeakable Gospel in a work camp on Korovna in 1517. After the camp rose up, hanged its corps of commissars, and erected a thirty-foot shrine to nameless insanity built of bloody steer bones and human skulls, the cult spread like wildfire.

A concerted effort by the Martial Commissariat and the Church, under the command of my own great-great-great grandmother, [redacted], managed to bring the cult's first incarnation to heel. It took a lot of boots on the ground, though, and they were hunting down tentacled monstrosities for a goddamn decade after the fighting stopped. My grandmother was a tough old bird, Chaplain Commander of the Order of Saint [redacted] from [redacted] to [redacted], and she served her country with [redacted] until [redacted].

It's a damned honor to claim the same state-assigned tertiary assumed name as that woman.

Leslie Breed gave this older-than-dirt cult new legs as the Order of the Flooded Cathedral in 1807. Equal opportunity employer. Under him things got a lot more tentacle-y. A cadre of mindflayers joined the cult's priesthood and the focus shifted from mayhem and glorifying their unspeakable god to necromancy and concerted sorcerous action against the nation of Mirewell.

The cult functioned as the divine branch of the Breed forces during the Breed Terrors of 1807-1814. Under his command they lured abominations up from the depths, resurrected hordes of the living dead, and reenergized the flagging vampiric race with sacrifices of civilians and prisoners of war. After Breed's defeat in 1814 the whole house of cards crumbled like crap in the desert. Still, they're out there. Waiting.

It's enough to make a man [redacted].