Before the crusades which effectively put an end to the worship of so-called “dark” gods, Makoehash was the patron of whores, drug addicts and les bon vivants. His flock was seen as a necessary and inevitable facet of civilization, even if distasteful to some. Though the excesses they could get up to are still legendary in proportion and extremity, the rulers of that era believed that it was a practical impossibility to eradicate such vices from the public, and so it was better to regulate and tax such activities rather than drive it underground where depravity’s full cup would spill blood. An image still lingers in the public’s mind of Makoehashis as dreamy whores lounging helplessly in drug-fueled orgies — a nuisance and a source of corrupting temptation for innocent youths, but no real danger by themselves. The truth is a little more colorful, however, because the cults dedicated to Makoehash believe that all sensation is an act of worship.
From the most demure peck of affection to the wildest bloodsport and beyond, Makoehash is felt in every act of existence which a living soul cannot help but to engage in. For without sensation, without perception, without input, there is no being. Therefore, “Exult!” they cry, “For thou art alive, and give thanks for life by indulging in it!” Somewhere along the way, the faithful reasoned that the more sensation there was, the more alive one was. And that was one excess too much for high collared society to endure.
When the paladins of Daedongue smashed down Makoehashi temple doors to find writhing, oiled bodies moaning in ecstasy, they saw only sloth, languor and conceit. Hammers squelched the indulgent even as they mewled grateful prayers.