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WE ARE MADE OF WORMS - Game Master Madison - Aug 23 2020
The first heartbeat was an interdimensional echo. That gurgle muffled by humors, a bubbling millions of miles deep into the galactic ocean. The face was divided and transformed against celestial, caustic curves, light refracted off nebulae and refocused into the beams that belched from pulsars; a face pressed beneath the cosmos, a fetal cough out of a volcanic vent, a shiver of cell division embossed in solar wind. In all ways across existence, Lord Dhracia had observed her science fair experiment grow. She was aware the exact moment her little smudge of bacteria outgrew its petri dish. She felt it. It didn't call so much as it blossomed--technicolor destruction in the shapes of mold spores hitting air for the first time.
In the split second of the oily chrysalis' first fracture, Lord Dhracia entered the atmosphere, descended through the valleys, slithered between tectonic faults and materialized once more into the wretched staleness of the condemned nest.
Cold was this hollow between stone; colder than the last time, which she took to mean some other slumber had been severed. It was only a matter of time. They'd inherited this tomb. There were mummy's treasures to be reaped by those with the vigor to wrench them out of the hands of the dead. The distraction, she thought, would serve her well--or maybe the cold was just a coincidental precursor of the trials her little newt would endure. Would it feel the chill? Would it hate it as much as she did? It was supposed to.
Cold was this inertia of a perfect stillness--
Awaiting to undergo digestion in entropic vomit.
How fitting then, that it should emerge into the state that it was designed to disrupt--without so much as a scheme on her part. Nurtured in the heart of the enemy, wolf born among sheep. Nitroglycerin in a diamond lattice. How fitting, how funny. Lord Dhracia was ever the epicure of irony. This would tickle His fancy; and the Hive's fancy, which Lord Dhracia also found ironic, perhaps even droll. The Hive did shine over coincidences.
Then she realized how it could be a message.
The Hive favored his secret ciphers swaddled in circumstance, too. Lord Dhracia imagined it something like a light-hearted jest. Designed to escape simple heads; evoke a laugh over this well-timed chill, thin out the thought into nothingness, condense intention into the concentrated malice it was really composed of. Now, the raindrops of threat tapped the back of her neck. This coincidence might be a treat mockingly placed on the tip of her dog nose. It definitely was. Remember, Order always spoke in tediously constructed kismets.
Lord Dhracia laughed, by herself, in the cavernous void of the tunnel. Sure, she could lick his hand! Or she might snap her jaws on his fingers. It wasn't like anybody would ever know what she was meaning until she did it. She could take respite in that. Keep placing treats. She'd eat them. But she could not neglect how it meant that now more than ever, she had to mind her clawed feet. Lord Dhracia was being supervised this time.
She thought of the infestation her nest had quelled. She wondered if she'd accidentally tracked it in on her heel. She licked her teeth and laughed again, feeling jubilant. Feeling petulant as she carved through the tunnel, knowing she was being watched, dispelling this cold and perfect stillness with the churning of her wicked presence. Her blood made of energetic decay, her flesh eternal-writhing worms. Here, they were all made of worms, poisoned brains or not. Don't forget this is still my territory.
Strange and spiteful heat portended her arrival. That cold breathed in from the Polaris blizzard immediately warped into a foreboding swelter, as though borrowed from the neighboring Hydra, only it came from more than just a hot wind--it came from everywhere. Her claws tittered on the stone. Her shadows scrawled the wall. The guards in the Sentinels' lair would feel her, then they would hear her, then finally they would see her emerging from the darkness like a lick of flame. Lord Dhracia, with her gleaming blue feathers adorning the stole on her shoulders, with her morbid malevolence of impudence warned, stopping to observe the passage where her world-ender was incubated.
Worms received worms unlike diamonds received diamonds. She brought her gnashing and devoured the cold to rebuke with playful insult. In frightening good spirits, Lord Dhracia raised her chin and summoned under all eyes, “Master Vargas. It's time.”
This thread takes place before [Winter in Polaris] FROM YOUR COLD GRASP
RE: WE ARE MADE OF WORMS - Vargas - Aug 23 2020
Why, in this instant, did he hear Nemean's crowing echoing through his memory? Why did this feel like a heart-racing catastrophe of thrill, and death, and danger, slamming face-first at high speed into entertainment?
Why did this feel exactly like something Nemean would love to watch?
He had waited here, for a cycle. Unfaltering, dutiful--obsessive, some might have said. Never was the tunnel unguarded, and once, he had even closed it off entirely. Orthoclase-Alpha or himself, and his little sentinels, were always present--keeping the Gembound at bay, keeping watch in case even another Master chose to try and sabotage Vargas' work. Not that they'd have dared--not with who had ordered it; but chances couldn't be taken.
Khavur--his initial creation--had hatched; a great, winged monster whose camouflage had yet to function. (Vargas still held out a perhaps foolish hope that it would get the hang of it, sooner or later.) Its venom also didn't work, but-... For a first try, it could've been worse.
But "could have been worse" was not "perfection," and so he'd paced and watched the newest chrysalis with something like concern.
Endless days, then, of busying himself picking out the strongest among the Gembound for future tampering, of organizing his guards, of training his scouts and assassins personally. And now it was nearly time, it was-
...Time.
The change in temperature, the shift of magic--he needed none of those things for the magnetic power of his Lord to turn him wholly toward the tunnel mouth. He could feel her coming even before she arrived, and his faint distaste at her was--to his own equally faint disgust--near overwhelmed by that automatic worship.
At least he'd had the guts to go through with his plan--but the same mantra of rebels and conspirators everywhere raced through his mind, again and again, until he struggled to quell it:
If she did, would it matter..?
A crack. The oily stone was snapping. Opening. Whatever was within--had it come out as he'd planned..? Would it spare them, save them; would it damn them? Was it all a joke?
Would pale ethereal flesh slip out in elegant deadliness, or would it be misshapen, as Chaos-Two--malformed, broken? Would the stone be small, perched at the back of the neck, or something ruptured and horrific? Would it be graceful, with its deadly heart laced with mercy, or something... other?
...Would it, indeed, hate broccoli, as he'd planned-?
Vargas dipped his head to Lord Dhracia as she at last strode into view--and no blood slicking her arms, this time, but she wore Tenzin's feathers and if that was not an outright promise, Vargas didn't know what was. 'Fuck up, and I will kill you and wear you. Fashionably,' that message said, and Vargas took note of this before glancing to those behind him.
Those guarding, watching.
He looked to her once more.
Then he turned, bowing slightly and pacing back, making way beside the stone so that Dhracia could approach, and see it for herself.
RE: WE ARE MADE OF WORMS - Orthoclase-Alpha - Aug 23 2020
Regressing into such a state made it easy to maintain the ideal business relationship Vargas always dreamed of. Somewhere along the line, that little spark of rage and rebellion puttered out, forgotten. Alpha went straight to the point whenever it was addressed, and turned that onto the creatures it was charged with training in every moment's respite. They were growing — some far faster than the others — and shaping up to maybe be something useful. The orthoclase didn't (and might not ever) have the critical, decisive eye of an Overseer, but they were all strong in one way or another.
It didn't hope so desperately for them to be viable as Vargas did — but that was merely from a lack of grasping. While he paced and paced, it simply sat as a silent guard, quills prickling from reactive anticipation.
The moment she started to make her approach, its entire body went rigid. It was a familiar sensation, like something creeping through its hide and muscles and freezing it in place. It was an announcement just as much as the Lord's striding down the tunnel, Tenzin's feathers glittering in the suddenly-sweltering air. The orthoclase's head snapped to regard her, haunches firing like hydraulic pistons.
It got to its feet and struggled to recall what it was, exactly, had been bellowed after it was
So, Alpha dipped its head low, chin completely perpendicular to the floor. Its mane laid completely flat and submissive and it rocked backwards into a full-body bow. How many seconds to wait... ? Three... ? There wasn't a dismissal alarm. The kaiju crouched then, backing away from the chrysalis, shuffling towards the Warren. It wasn't out of eyesight or earshot, in case... it was ordered to come closer.
Last it'd counted, the spawn were all sequestered in the somewhat dark confines of the Warren. As soon as it sat by the entrance, Selenite clambered down from where it was perched on a ledge and watching its littermates wrestle or do whatever else. The little beastie squatted down and sat doglike, eyes wide and attentive. Usually, their Overseer-parent came along for training; but... something in the air was patently unnerving. Perhaps... the way the Overseer didn't immediately say anything or call for attention... ?
Alpha waited for the group to quiet down, before growling lowly, softly — hoarsely, like its voice had been taken from it —
RE: WE ARE MADE OF WORMS - Doctor - Aug 23 2020
The skulls, upturned, served as bowls for water and for potted herbs, and grasses. Doctor was beside this, up on his ledge--Kethri somewhere close, and several large Red Rats (paralyzed, as usual) lying nearby.
Orthoclase-Alpha had delivered him this creature, Scout; he'd barely had time to introduce himself (with an "Ahh, Subject Four, then-? I am Doctor-") when the atmosphere of the tunnel changed. Heat. Dark. A swathe of power like electrified velvet across his feathers.
Doctor turned, single eye opening wide--no one had warned him that she would be coming... but he felt it.
She strode into view, and he knew not who she was or what her purpose here might be; only that Vargas, in the distance, appeared subordinate to her. And Doctor, a fairly smart bird, recognized at once that since Vargas was far over him in the hierarchy, then so must this one be.
"Shhh--shhh," he quietly, but urgently, hushed his Subjects preemptively. "I think we need to stay very quiet. And out of the way," he added, very quietly.
Were they far enough away? Did remaining in Dhracia's sight count as 'too close?' Doctor hesitated, unsure; he hoped he was... doing this right. Fascination and a faint sense of dread intertwined as he watched them, rapt... waiting.
RE: WE ARE MADE OF WORMS - Kethri - Aug 23 2020
Kethri's wing had been healing on schedule, of course. Maybe even ahead of it, with Doctor's careful tending and her own rapt attention to it, keeping it held close at all times, even when resting. The chill in the air made her immediately look to Doctor to question it, but her beak snapped shut as he spoke instead.
Herding the subjects she could away, she immediately hid, wisely tucking herself as far away as she could. She huddled herself on her ledge (which was a feat that was steadily getting harder, with all the sitting around not doing anything good for her physique), eyes down and feathers flat, trying to make herself look as small as possible.
Now was not the time for sticking her nose where it didn't belong.
RE: WE ARE MADE OF WORMS - Blackwing - Aug 23 2020
Leave us. Unless she tells you otherwise.
Ever since the presence had appeared, Bloodstone's scales had each risen up, shifting up from it's tail and towards it's neck. They flattened seconds later, but the feeling didn't go away. Three pairs of yellow eyes stared at her from the floor, where they had been stationed. At Vargas' command they backed away, Koi's eyes searching for somewhere to hide.
They backed up until they felt resistance, their rump meeting the wall. They pushed themselves into an indent, folding themselves up as small as they could go. They'd never admit that they were shaking, hoping they didn't stink of fear as Koi pushed the other heads back and drew a grey wing over them, the scaly surface doing a lot to help them blend into the rock walls.
RE: WE ARE MADE OF WORMS - Maximus - Aug 23 2020
Chaos-Two perked up at the appearance of Alpha, their ears cramping from being pinned. They stood themselves up (with help from Khavur), and toddled forward, catching themselves a few times before approaching Alpha. They didn't know the Overseer like they knew the Master, but they were confident enough that it wouldn't hurt them that they slowly peered around it's hulking body, blinking.
Though they couldn't... see anything. Anything past it's nose was a haze, so it could only pick out shapes past a certain distance. Discouraged, it fell back, leaning on Alpha for support instead.
Sliding to their rump, they snuggled up against the warmth of the Overseer, picking at a rock on the ground, ear flicked up to listen to what they could, unaware of what had happened to Alpha.
RE: WE ARE MADE OF WORMS - Nidhogg - Aug 23 2020
He opened his mouth to hiss in protest at Orthoclase-Alpha backing up in front of him. He did not, however, actually bite the Overseer; as a rebellious little shit and generally a half-feral little chaos monster, Nidhogg had quickly learned that Orthoclase-Alpha could react in a similar manner. And a growl from Alpha was infinitely more intimidating, a roiling rumble from a monster's bass chest, than a hissing spit from the small black lizard child. He would be large, some day: monstrous, even; but that day was not yet here. And nips from Orthoclase, given in response to his own savage, tiny needle-toothed biting, were much more... everything, really, than his. He'd learned to avoid the Orthoclase, unless it seemed to be in a good mood; then the Overseer tended to just put him up on the highest shelves in Tunnel P. And that was fun; the serpentine child had rapidly learned that scurrying up and down the walls was both thrilling and satisfying in some strange, primal way.
But the magic in the tunnel had changed. He felt it first through the tunnel itself: dark, pulsing, eerily hot. And then he saw it in the faces and the bodies of his siblings: his own trepidation, his own unease, mirrored all around him. Raising scales that reflected, in a sense, his own on-end spines. Smoke had started roiling off him, drifting black and foul through the little niche, as if in some instinctive pufferfish reaction to the sensation of Dhracia's arrival.
But Nidhogg--V-Chaos-One--was curious about it too, and now Orthoclase was BLOCKING HIS VIEW, and he risked a few hisses and one single, half-hearted nip at the Overseer's backside. Then he scurried back, eyeing Orthoclase warily--just in case it decided to retaliate.
RE: WE ARE MADE OF WORMS - Khavur - Aug 23 2020
Khavur decided to go out, once it had helped V-Chaos-Two. It would follow all of Orthoclase-Alpha's instructions; it bowed its heads graciously (trying not to take up too much space), mostly because it realized that felt like a fun thing to do, not because it understood anything that was going on here. Both its lips were sealed by a familiar vow of silence, and they would not open unless directly addressed. It curled its prickly, cherry-doused tail around itself, and folded its wings in, for the purpose, again, of looking as unobtrusive as possible.
And then, once it felt... well, not comfortable, more like pinpricked countless times by the tension in the room, Khavur would watch. And listen.
RE: WE ARE MADE OF WORMS - V-Labradorite-One - Aug 23 2020
Labradorite felt two things: a foreboding sort of fear, and curiosity. Fear from the way their
But.. what was happening? That was a question it couldn’t ignore, despite increasing strong desire to hide within the Warren until it all went away. From where it was peering around Alpha it could see Vargas, but it could also see a strange, new figure. It wanted to find out more and Khavur going out gave Labradorite enough courage to go out itself.
Not that it wasn’t terrified. It’s ‘bow’ was more like the huddling of a scared animal as it pressed close to a wall. It reached out for it’s magic in an attempt to be even more unnoticeable- to muffle the glow of it’s eyes, and to dull the shine of it’s goop. Luckily, it worked, shadows working to obscure the more noticeable parts of the beast. Still, it stood tense, watching and listening from the supposed safety of the shadows.