The Progenitor awoke. The sun was shining, but it was not uncomfortably hot, even though the quarry's stone amplified the heat. That was a pity, because the hotter the air was, the faster the Flesh would spread. It rose to its feet, wobbling unsteadily. Since it had fallen asleep, its body had bloated up substantially, and all around the Progenitor lay the reason why. Surrounding it lay the bodies of roughly three dozen men, each of which had been in life either a slave or a master. The slaves were distinguishable by their ratty overalls, and the masters by their white cloaks that were more for show than guarding against the elements. Seeing the bodies intermingled, their status in life now meaningless, the Progenitor felt a twinge of anger. It gargled slightly, the giant maw on its torso rumbling. Abruptly, its gag reflex kicked in, and the Progenitor unceremoniously retched out a pile of sludge onto the ground twice as big as it was. Momentarily weakened by the effort, the monster collapsed into a sitting position, and lazily observed the vile mound of waste. Meat. Living matter, broken down and fused together, redesigned to play a part in the ultimate organism. Alone, a living thing would eventually die and be forgotten. When coalesced, however, when seized and embraced by the Flesh—that was forever. The Progenitor dully mused over this, sitting on the stone. What it knew of life indicated that it was imperfect, but it could be cured. That...was its mission. It rose laboriously and navigated to the nearest corpse. After several hours in the daylight, the body was visibly infected. Its skin had become entirely covered in scabs and sores, and it was ready to be molded. The Progenitor's maw yawned open, and from the cavity several bluish tentacles shot out. They snaked through the air and wound around two of the carcasses, seizing them and yanking them into the Progenitor's belly. A foul, magic-infused vapor escaped from between the teeth as the Progenitor processed its meal, speeding up the infection and forcibly altering its course. When the maw opened, it spat out a bulky creature about three feet long, two feet wide, and two feet tall. This thing oddly resembled a vaguely reptilian tube on legs, complete with a long head that sported a mass of facial tendrils useful for manipulating the Flesh. On its back were several tendrils, more served for grabbing and carrying than for delicate operation. The Progenitor felt no satisfaction on seeing its first Scab; they were weak, inferior fusions only good for construction. For now, though they were required. The Scab, quite devoid of thought, stared dully at the Progenitor with a bloodshot eye on the end of a specialized tendril that served as a stalk. Deciding that here was as good a place as any for Nirvana to appear, the Progenitor outstretched a hand and touched the Scab with his own hand, imparting to it his will via chemical signaling. Without hesitation the little abomination began to work, to create the Heart that the Flesh would call home. [hider=Status] -=-The Flesh That Hates-=- Territory: None Volume: The Progenitor, 1 Scab Infection Progress: Negligable Compendium Entry Scab - imp equivalent. Small, utterly unintelligent, repulsive beasts only good for overseeing the spread of the Flesh. Deaf, blind, and weak, totally not suited as either combatants or carriers. In a pinch, they are barely serviceable as cannon-fodder. Often, they'll be used after a battle or on the environment to gather biomass and transport it back to a central hub. [/hider]