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It was not often that the wind from the sea did not bring any scent with it. Be it a distant waft of some curious bloom upon the waves, the light sting of salt or the stench of a rotting carcass borne ashore, it always carried a touch of the unquiet waters. Even when it had no distinct smell, a waft of fresh air was all that was needed for one to know where the whistling breeze came from.

Yet, on that day, the wind brought nothing.

The breeze blew as it had ever since there had been air to move, but it was hollow. It had no smell, no voice. It did not breathe life into the world that eagerly turned to meet it, but choked and stifled. Grass and leaf did not rustle as it slid among them, creeping with a sickly gait, and drooped down where it had passed. Though the sun shone bright overhead, its touch was cold, as though something had gnawed away at its heat and left it mutilated and ravenous.

With it came silence. And dust. Though the air itself was clear and empty, all in its wake was left covered by a thin grey veil, not a flake of which stirred or fell.The dim shroud clung to its prey with unnatural eagerness and tenacity. It crawled to envelop even those places where the wind could not have carried it. It wound around every blade of grass, slithered under every leaf, filled every nook under a loose pebble, every crack in the earth. Life was entombed and left to wither beneath it. For plants, beasts, gnats, even the minute, impalpable motes that drifted everywhere unseen, nothing was left but dark stillness, so that they might neither see nor hear what walked behind the breeze.

Heavy steps fell soundlessly upon the devoured soil, shattering the husks they trod upon and sending their remains to drift forward in a blind cycle of consumption. The faint whistling of a breath without lungs was lost amid the gnarled folds of space heaped upon one another by void-knives twisting in the wounds they had carved, and only the clouds of razorlike flesh it exhaled spread and lashed at the world around them. Sharp fingers moved slowly yet purposefully, directing the forces that radiated from the Hollow One as they wrought their grim work. An eyeless gaze pulsed outwards from a mask that concealed nothing. It saw the ruin of the earth, and it was good.

[color=515354]Almost.[/color]

Once, Osveril would have chastised itself for weakness. Instead of bringing restoration, here it was - [color=515354]inevitable[/color] - doing nothing but making the world more agreeable for itself. But now, all it was concerned with was not reducing anything worth being assimilated along with all the clutter and pestilence. Advancing further into reality was a constant painful effort, but the new perspectives it offered, as numerous as the facets on it body, justified it. Every span of time gave it a new piece of insight into the workings of this alien construct, and each was a victory over the forces of havoc and excess. For one, the true meaning of space had told it something: this surface alone was so vast that trying to simply force oneself to endure all of it was futile. All of it would have to be swept before reaching what Osveril imagined was the relative safety of the partial void between bodies of matter that Mother had spoken of, and it was quite simply too much. Thus, finding a compromise between duty and comfort was now part of the plan of action.

Like every other part of that plan, this had given Osveril much to think about. This crude simplification of material forms was obviously only a temporary solution - it did little but hide the worst of the impurity under a thin cover. The most offensive shapes and bulges were shorn away, but the abominable mass from which they were born, and many more like it, remained, and would eventually spawn more if left unchecked. If this universe was to be refashioned into something more acceptable for a start, it had to be struck everywhere at once with a strength Osveril suspected not even all the gods could have. Its cacophonic evolutions could only be matched by a quietude with no equals, that which dwelt in those dear depths of the Gap. It would have to bring it forth, bridge the non-space between worlds.

[color=C0C0C0][i]Fill the Gap between the none and all.[/i][/color] How obvious had everything been then. Thoughts and words made its motions slow and clumsy, but it could still call back glimpses of that lost clarity. No, Purity had not displaced what was once the intention behind blind contractions. All was part of its vast design, breathing tiles of a grey mosaic that spanned the void.

The Other would feast on reality and mingle with it, and a pure cosmos would rise on the bones and broken shells of both.

[color=515354]This I swear, by the Void That I Am.[/color]

Osveril stopped and struck its staff into the dust. The harpoon-tail pierced the ashen layer, but did not touch the ground beneath it. Immediately, a burst of formless maws bit into the air to all sides, sending a circular grey wave crashing outwards along with the receding cold rush. The Hollow Absolute looked around once more and, satisfied, turned to Transgenesis. What it would strive for was clear, but not everything could come at once. The superficial acclimatisation of this globe was the first step, and it could not be completed without tools. Tools it could now at last fashion.

Since it had left the coast, it had not left the staff idle. All that harboured life had been sought out, tracked down, examined and struck, its essence harvested by the seemingly insatiable stinger. Some of Osveril’s theories had been confirmed in the process. Extension, for example, was proportionate to power: smaller beings had not endured the sampling, and the vital glow was crushed out of them. Others, however, were so limited that the spike had been unable to touch them, even though they were ubiquitous. This was unfortunate, as assimilating even some of them would have allowed it to assemble a weapon finer even than its dust, and one that could reach everywhere. A way would eventually have to be found to control them as well, but for the moment larger creatures would have had to suffice. No great loss, for, among all their multitude, Osveril had found two whose potential was tremendous.

The first were among the lesser of size, but held an array of prodigious qualities. Wherever it had encountered them, there had been many - hundreds, sometimes thousands, living all together underground. Even when they moved to hunt and feed, it was in groups. There was no dissension among them, no deviations, no disobedience to the imperative that bound them all. They spoke in a language of scents and motions, but did not seem to have heavy minds to burden their bodies, nor did they need any. They were cohesive, driven, strong in their numbers and unity. They did not avoid prey larger than themselves, and some had even moved against it as it passed by their nests. Their hunger was great, and they fed on all that lived. Their mandibles were sharp, and, for their size, their bodies were robust. To neglect to give a purpose to such beings as these was something that could only be expected of flawed gods.

The second were more wondrous still. They were much larger, and, while they lived and fed alone, their voracity was unmatched by anything else it had seen. The only aim and law of these beings’ existence was to devour. They ate as they moved, and as they stood still; even when other bearers of life sought to repel them by whatever means they could, they continued to eat, unfazed and indifferent. Had Osveril not known better, it could have thought that inside them there was a craving nothing. They had no other thoughts, if thoughts they had at all; they did not speak, and only stopped to rest their imperfectly designed flesh. More so even than the first entities, their lives were dominated by one command alone, and it was one the Void That Was understood fully. To fail to give such hunger a clear aim was a sign of even deeper corruption.

For Hunger could have a purpose. Not, as lesser minds could have thought, to force that which contained it to seek sustenance for itself. This base use it was put to did nothing but squander its hidden power. Hunger was more than a mere instinct conveyed by living bricks of matter. More than a longing, more than a wish. It was the Void in motion. Emptiness that fought to be filled, but whose immensity made this impossible. The ever-doomed, yet undying struggle of a Hollow to find something that could change it and make it hollow no more. It would never cease as long as there was absence, and therefore it was eternal, though it might consume all things. Not even infinity could sate it.

[color=515354]Hunger is the quest for Purity.[/color]

And the nascent amalgamations that rested within Transgenesis would be its heralds. 

All they needed were vessels to bear them, and Osveril had found some at last. They were the largest animate beings it had felt yet, vibrant bodies of heat and substance almost larger than its own, and they were numerous. Despite this, they had fled before its cold breath as it approached, and continued to move away even as it drew near. It could have held them in place by giving them nowhere to run, or overtaken them by consuming the distance they shielded themselves with. But it did not. In its slow, leisurely pursuit, it saw how strength could be sapped and eroded, and this pleased it. Nights, in particular, were painful for the creatures, and they were already faltering after the first one; it drew force from the darkness.

They walked still, not far ahead. Those in better shape were at the head, still dragging their thin legs forward at a stable pace. By contrast, those that trailed behind were barely standing, and not even the wind and dust that scourged them incited them as it first had done. At last, they began to drop - one, then another, then a third. The others did not so much as turn, but blindly forged ahead.

[color=515354]Enough. I must have them in one cluster.[/color]

Osveril traced a line in the air with the tip of a finger, and the ground and sky before the herd quivered and collapsed into formless absence. The foremost of the beasts almost leapt up in fright, but could only stagger and drop to one side. The rest stood, disoriented or too weak even to start, and it was thus that the Hollow found them as it descended among them. Its inner revolutions flared up as it sought what it had come for, and, when they called out in low relief, Transgenesis darted down, striking exactly where it had to. Not a single motion was wasted, and the grunts and huffs of pain that followed went unheeded. Horns and hooves scraped feebly at the grey shell, but the triangle did not even turn to face them. All who had remained upright fell under the blows, the cold and the dust.

Yet this was not enough for Osveril. The foundation had been laid, and now it remained to ensure that they would stand firm until the time was ripe. It motioned with its hand, and grey tendrils poured forth from every rift and gap in its carapace. They split, bifurcated, dispersed into swarms and clouds as they swept over the creatures, and their silence deadened the last sounds the beasts would make. Fur and flesh were sliced away by innumerable minuscule blades, leaving behind hard plates of skin and bone; muscle was cut, rearranged and welded into shapes never seen by mortal eyes; skeletons were pushed outwards, and brain and marrow blossomed within them. And, all the while, voids drank heat and colour.

Another gesture, and the arms withdrew, sealing the last traces of their grisly labour as they went. What they left behind resembled what they had first touched only in the broadest of terms. The beings had each a body, a head and four limbs to stand on; beyond this, they were the reflection of that which had altered them. There was not a part of their forms that was not broken into sharp facets. From their thick, pillar-like legs to their trapezoidal heads, adorned by parallel slits that might have been eyes and vicious bone blades, all was faded, smooth and symmetrical. [i]Functional.[/i]

The Hollow Absolute rested its staff on an armoured flank, and spoke:

[color=515354]”Go, and serve your purpose.”[/color]

Then it turned from its works and strode away without a sound. Nothing that was natural would grow in its steps.

[center]***[/center]

 Finding the incubators again at the end of their time was not difficult. The mark of purity had sunken deep into their flesh, and called to Osveril even from afar. Another useful lesson. While there had once been nothing but a sheer, impenetrable wall beyond the reach of its surrogate senses, a grey stain had now appeared on the barrier. It could not perceive as this patch did, nor even say where exactly it was, but its silence stood out starkly amid the avalanche of noise and colour that crushed and stifled from all sides. Following it was like seeking respite, and, in a way, it was an apt comparison. That quiet blind spot concealed the germs of a new age of solace, for itself and all the world.

[color=515354]Hasten.[/color]

Distance shrivelled and crumpled before the urgency of the void, only resentfully stretching back into shape once it had walked past. Dust billowed about in a ragged nimbus, extinguishing life and light in intricate if haphazard patterns. For perhaps the first time, Osveril was heedless of its surroundings. One immediate goal hung before it, and it hurried on as befitted one whose entire life had been nothing but starvation.

When it arrived, the birth was already complete. The herd had not moved very far from the site of the bestowing; the creatures’ improved bodies harvested all they could find from every inch of soil before moving on, and had not needed to wander as widely as they had before to remain fed. It was little wonder, then, that the ground under them should be barren and dry, save for puddles of the thick, murky sap that had replaced the beasts’ blood.

Those who had been unfit to bear the first tools were the only ones left breathing when Osveril approached. They stood in a wide circle around what remained of the rest, dimly staring into the distance. Their purpose was to protect, and it was not yet fully complete. Behind their backs, a mass of toppled bodies, disjoined plates and torn membranes lay strewn in disorder. Though no flies or worms had come to scavenge, perhaps out of distaste for the unnatural carcasses, the chaos of dripping limbs was crawling with new, voracious life.

The harbingers had come.

Large, heavy shapes clambered over the ravaged corpses, and dug through . The plates of their faded brown carapaces heaved and slid over one another as thick, short limbs ending in spikes dragged their bloated, quivering masses at a deceptively fast pace. Though most of them were still wet and the sun was yet high, they did not glimmer in its rays. If anything, dampness made them darker, as though they were made of unpolished, spongy wood. Tentacles tipped with barbed stingers darted around, smelling, skewering loose morsels and dragging them into nested circles of mandibles that could barely be described as a mouth, and powerful bladed pincers tore and crushed larger prizes. The newborn did not lash or snap at each other over their prey; they had been made to devour, and devouring was all they knew.

The Hollow One passed its perception over each of them, prodding into every fold and crack, sliding over every edge. All was as it had intended. Not a single superfluous part. Nothing out of place. The creatures’ design appeared to be as perfect as flesh could bear, just as it had wrought it to be. To one who made such distinctions, it could even have appeared beautiful.

But if there was something Osveril had learned well, it was that perfection and beauty were not enough. What the flesh could bear was no threshold. Not all that was necessary had to be left in place.

[color=515354]”Purity is the only Absolute.

So come, and become flesh of my flesh, void of my void.”[/color]

It breathed out dust. Grey night fell over the lurkers’ feast, and still they pulled themselves placidly from meal to meal. The living cloud descended in columns and jagged spirals, burrowing and clipping, reshaping and reinforcing.

[color=515354]”The Void is the wellspring whence we all came. Though you know only blessed oblivion, you shall carry its memory in the flesh. It shall mark you as not of the world of matter, for that which is Hollow must overcome its constraints. Purity is your destiny and your birthright. This is its seal. Wield it for the destruction of the false order of substance.

Welcome the Blessing of the Void.

Hunger is the voice and the will of the Void. It gives us direction when we are lost and strength when we are crippled. It is greater than all the words that drive tainted minds, for no shade of desire or feeling can match that which pervades what is and what is not alike. It lives and grows forever. As long as it dwells within you, you shall never forget, and you shall never relent.

Welcome the Blessing of Hunger.

Our lot is one of pain and struggle. We may never rest from scourging the corruption that is the All. We may not avert our senses from how foul and repugnant it is. Always it encroaches and debases all it can touch. Yet we are the only ones that can stand against the impurity and unmake it. Our calling speaks from what we are and what we are not, and its silent words will never cease to flow until our duty is done. There is no other gift or curse. Endure it alongside me, and alongside me know the bliss of unbeing.

Welcome the absence.”[/color]

The dust lifted, and the crawlers were born anew.

Like the wombs that had carried them, they had been remade in the image of the Hollow Absolute. Their brown hue was gone, replaced by the eternal grey. No longer were their shells smooth and curved: sharp ridges had risen to split them into even, symmetrical polygons. Even their tentacles, though they remained as flexible as before, seemed to have grown angular in shape and motions.

But the greatest changes had yet to become visible. The creatures remained still for some instants, then resumed their eating; and in this they were wholly transfigured. With regular, almost mechanical steps they converged on a corpse and their stingers whipped to and fro like maddened snakes even as their mandibles dug into the discoloured meat. With every bite and every breath, plumes of dust shot out from under their plates, so large that nothing they swallowed could have been retained inside. When they were done with one body, and Osveril itself marvelled at how fast they were, they moved on to the next, and then the others, until none was left.

This did not satisfy them. Without flesh to consume, the horrors turned on the soil, digging it up and thrusting it into their maws. When their dust covered all they could reach, Osveril raised a claw and pointed into the distance, away from the sea. Immediately, its spawn ponderously swung their bulk about and scrambled away, grasping, tearing, gorging themselves on all they could reach. A trail of dust followed them. They were as thorough as the breath of their grey master, and much hungrier.

And they would multiply.

As if suddenly reminded of something, Osveril extended its hand, and the space between it and the last of the crawlers fell into itself. Holding up the creature, which continued to blindly wriggle in its grasp, it carefully sliced away a number of small bulges from its hindmost legs with a finger. Another collapse, and the devourer was back with its fellows. The Hollow One slid its prize into a gap between arm and shoulder and began to walk towards the sun.

The transformed sentries followed. They had no wishes of their own. They would protect.

[hider=Who needs biodiversity, anyway?]

After leaving the coast of the Fractal Sea, Osveril is now somewhere to its northwest, between the Changing Steppes and the Pictaralka. Having concluded that he can’t work properly in such a chaotic environment, he has decided to make the world more comfortable for himself before rebuilding it in a pure form. He plans to eventually release the Other into reality and mix the two together, but for the moment he’s content with withering everything in his path and turning it to dust. He is, however, aware that doing this to all of Galbar is above his abilities, and that he will need better instruments.

Fortunately for him, he has discovered some new living beings, among whom are ants and violet slugs (the latter even gave him some ideas about the concept of hunger and how it figures into his schemes). With Transgenesis, he combines their genes with those of other creatures (some crustaceans, mollusks and plants), tracks down a herd of antelopes and injects the females with the amalgam embryos. To ensure that everything goes as planned, he mutates the antelopes, making them better suited for the purpose of bearing and protecting their charges.

Some months later, Osveril traces the herd again, and finds that the embryos have matured into a sort of half-mollusk, half-arthropod critters that are busy eating their hosts. He transforms and “blesses” them, turning them into the first Dust Crawlers. A sheet is forthcoming, but for now there are a few main things worth noting:

Due to the Blessing of the Void, the Crawlers’ digestive apparatus has been replaced with an unstable void rift, which disperses anything they ingest into the dust that gives them their name. This means that, while a Crawler can swallow anything, it won’t gain any subsistence from it. [b](1 Might spent on the first blessing.)[/b]
The Blessing of Hunger remedies this by allowing Crawlers to gain strength from the act of eating itself, as long as they don’t digest what they consume. They’re effectively fueled by a hunger they can never sate. They can’t stop eating, either. [b](1 Might spent on the second blessing, invested into Purity (Hunger).)[/b]
Dust Crawlers move in large, rapidly growing swarms. Both their mixed blessings are hereditary.

Osveril takes some Crawler eggs and places them in stasis inside his body, then lets his creations loose. He heads in another direction himself, taking the surviving male antelopes with him.

[/hider]

[hider=Might Usage]

[b]Level 2

4 MP (6 starting, 2 spent)[/b]

[/hider]