[ Cʏꜱᴛᴏɴᴇꜱ ]

During their paradoxical existence - beings formed of entropic, unreal nonexistence, glitches forced to ‘exist’ within a reality formed of laws and logic defiant of its nature - horrors may produce a porous solid known as a Cʏꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ. Manifested purposefully or otherwise, these odd items are physical formations of densely concentrated Voidal arcana unique to the horror it originates from.

 

The means by which these artifacts may be acquired are numerous. Sometimes, one may be produced and dropped in combat; other times, one may be bargained for by someone willing to risk life, mind, and limb for some form of arcane potency or power. Alternatively, random chance and happenstance may result in such a thing coming into one’s possession. Most horrors are capable of forming a sole cystone at a time, being ‘expended’ and rendered unable to create another for a vast span of time - save for Behemoths. Owing to the gargantuan and titanic scales of their physiology, powers, and most notably cognizance, they are known to splinter off fragments of cystones en masse to bind Lunartics as mortal agents, each of such being as potent as a lesser being’s own cystone.  These occult, vestigial ‘organs’ are bound to the horror which has birthed them, and often reflect the obsession their parent holds in some way. For example, a horror obsessed with color may form a cystone which seems to bleed light and color. Another horror which concerns itself with time may produce a cystone which appears to lag behind or jump ahead when moved, sometimes even returning to the same spot it was seconds ago or warping forwards to the location its owner intended to place it in the near future. A third, obsessed with memories, may yield a stone which appears akin to a crystal ball that, when peered into, replays the recollections the horror has consumed from other beings. These objects behave against the conventional laws of the material world- they may be weightless yet far beyond dense, so fragile that merely wafting it through the air could cause it to decay, or similar levels of uncanny presence- this fusion of immaterium within the material is scarcely a stable solid, ‘alien’ more often than not.

 

Aside from novelty, these supranatural stones are capable of serving a bevy of purposes. To the horror which created it, it can serve as the means by which it anchors itself into the mortal realm and thus avoids being forcibly returned to the Void - along with increasing the number of mortals which the horror holds sway over. For both the horror and any cultists which serve as its acolytes or worshippers, it can facilitate communication between both parties, or even allow for mortals to enter into the ‘mindplane’ of the horror. On the opposite spectrum of those who are fascinated or beguiled by these cosmic beings, of interest to those who would see them undone and purged from Creation, it has been said that these stones can be used to make greater armaments, suited beyond nearly all others for slaying such creatures. These are all but examples; should anyone with sufficient arcane affinity come into possession of a cystone, the only thing which limits what it may be used for may well be one’s imagination. 

 

They are of might and of mayhem; they are voidgems bound directly of the horror’s arcana, and thus both of great potency when wielded by their beloved flock and of fearful threat to a horror when wielded by their spiteful foes. They are few and far between; being condensed fragments of a horror’s very being, they are of perpetual threat to their own being- but also tremendously versatile assets. They can be ingresses, forms of being - yet in that too, can they be something greater - Vestiges, relics of great annihilation against beings of the Void.

 

[ Vᴇꜱᴛɪɢᴇꜱ - Aʀᴍꜱ ᴏꜰ Bᴀɴɪꜱʜᴍᴇɴᴛ ]

In blasphemous unison of horrorsblood and a cystone, through foul consecration of a horror’s componential aspects through the unison of a mass rite of voidal mages, they can harken forth into being; form twisting and bubbling of its own accord, far out of the control of their makers, to become something of its own accords and intents - an antithetical armament capable of annihilating the voidal effigies; a metaphorical silver-bullet to their being. These are Vᴇꜱᴛɪɢᴇꜱ - known to some, as Aʀᴍꜱ ᴏꜰ Bᴀɴɪꜱʜᴍᴇɴᴛ - the most potent thing capable within mortal construement against the ill-arcane.

 

These armaments are comprised neither purely of the progeny of Creation nor of the Void, yet rather some mimicking blend that finds an ill-natured middle ground between the two. Be they of metallic sheen, fleshy growths, immaterial strings, or blasphemous lights, no two Vestiges appear the same - and likewise, no two Vestiges bear the same traits and natures. They scarcely appear like mundane armaments, often donning incongruous shapes twisted and hewn of their own accords, for they are hewn in befoul’d nature to tamper primarily with the being it was hewn of - perfected to induce utter devastation upon the horror it stems from.

 

Upon contact with a horror’s tangible form, a Vestige begets annihilation; eroding the material about the point of contact, it induces a tremendous sense of ‘pain’ within the horror, quite literally decimating their stocks of arcana and rendering it null and devoid- causing their forms to degrade at a haphazard pace at the locations surrounding such portives that have been struck dry. These armaments are specifically potent against horrors- outside of conflict with these extranatural beings, they are mundane.

[ Mᴏᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ ]

There are a number of outcomes for those who happen upon a voidal horror. Of course, the end result depends highly on the Horror encountered and the intent (or lack thereof) of the individual who has beheld them. Many are left unsettled to have witnessed something whose nature defies all which they could ever know within Creation, and simply push themselves away from whatever path they had followed which brought them into contact with such a being, content to never pursue an avenue evidently littered with that which breaks the laws of reality. Some unlucky mortals find their minds torn asunder, fractured entirely and left in eternal disarray - a price paid for having contemplated that which they could never fathom.

 

A few souls - brave or foolish, zealous or mad - are undeterred by the nature of these beings, and do not shy away from interacting with them. Reasons for such dangerous resolve tend to vary. Some see them as quasi-divine beings worthy of worship in hopes of currying spiritual favor. Others understand (to some degree) the arcane potency and power that the Horrors hold, and thus seek to have such power imparted on to them - and it is true that to be a loyal agent of a Horror often does result in a bit of power being passed on to the mortal, however miniscule. Whatever the reason, these mortals hold some level of interest in them - and the feeling is mutual.

 

In their quest for growth and dominance, Horrors may come to a realization: there is a great potential asset in the influence of and dominion over mortal minds. This usefulness is multi-faceted. Under the guiding direction of the Horror and its schemes, a mortal can go about discreetly enacting the Horror’s will in the world, bringing whatever goals it may have closer to fruition. As this can be done not through the Horror itself but a proxy, it helps the Horror keep its meddling unknown and thus itself in a safer state. Additionally - and most important to the Horror - the minds which it takes root in serve to feed into its ever-growing power, whether those mortals know it or not, and act as something of a network which expands its own.

 

To truly ingrain itself within the psyche of a mortal, the Horror must somehow imbue a portion of its own blood into a mortal. This can be achieved through any means, be it an offer to a willing party, a pact made in exchange for power, a trace poison in a source of water, or anything of the sort. Whatever the means used, the end result is the same: the mortal is made Mᴏᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ. Horrorsblood is immune to decay; it remains genus-rich and with such mind-melding energies eternally, lest the wielder be purged of it through holy or deific magics that cleanse and sever blights and afflictions.

 

The blood of a horror - pinkish, bismuth, and semi-sentient - is an extension of itself. By imbibing such, a link is formed between the horror and a mortal, as a portion of the horror now dwells within them. Across this psionic bridge, a Horror is able to interact with their cultivated flock to any number of ends. Harvesting the energies of mortal thoughts, communicating its will, even temporarily projecting some small portion of its power - all this and more are capabilities of a Horror via their Moonstruck groupings. The manner in which such is done will differ from Horror to Horror, naturally, given the range of proclivities which they may hold. While one Horror may be loud and abrasive, shouting its will directly into the minds of those it has infested, others may be more subtle - insidious whispers masked as thoughts, bending mortal agents towards further the Horror’s goals. Again, the outcome is the same, even if the flavors and heavy-handedness may vary. Once a person is rendered Moonstruck, they are linked to a Horror, and knowingly or not swayed towards serving as a lesser agent of their cosmic ‘benefactor’ and its machinations within Creation indefinitely, until purged of this tether by any kind of purifying magic.

 

Within the many plights of the mind that come within one’s state of being Moonstruck, there comes an alteration of the mind more ‘direct’ - the capacity to comprehend and inscribe Moonspeech. The ‘tongue’ of the aberrations beyond the veil, Moonspeech is scarcely a true language as it is an approximation of information in garbled, dissonant noises, deep-fried prose that has been chopped into infinitesimal hums, chitters, drawls, tolls, and garbles - ear-wrenching to most beings, yet oddly soothing to a Moonstruck individual, almost akin to a mother’s calming hymn; whilst listening it is soothing, attempting to mimic it via tongues is harsh and often debilitating to utilize, given the attempts to mimic the tongue of the unnatural results in severe pain even upon a Moonstruck knave. When carved, Moonspeech’s glyphs - known as Moonrunes - don an appearance dissimilar to most scripts, rather being a thrice-overlayed prose, one of brash, haphazard lines, another of arcing pseudo-circles, and a final of runic, sharp visages, with the three layered atop one another to poise a foul script - one of the most discordant stars. Moonrunes function as a ‘script’ similar to Caecic, wherein they may script out any form of text upon any medium in which solely those capable of reading through magical means or a Moonstruck can understand what is scrawled down.

 

[ Lᴜɴᴀʀᴛɪᴄꜱ ]

When a Horror has deemed one truly worthy, be it through devotion, deeds, usefulness, or anything else it may consider, it may invite them to go beyond the existence of simple psychic cattle that Moonstruck masses are apt to be. They may be brought closer to the Horror itself - and closer to delirium, power. and all other effects the Horror may have on them. To be such a thing is to be a Lᴜɴᴀʀᴛɪᴄ - a warped mind which serves as a direct extension of not just the Horror’s will, but of the Horror itself.

 

The creation of a Lunartic is not a common decision for a Horror to make as the cultivation of Moonstuck masses is. It is typically reserved for individuals who have especially caught the Horror’s attention; examples may include a charismatic cult leader, a masterful mage, a genius scholar, or someone who heavily embodies or is prone to involvement with the obsession the Horror holds. Oftentimes, Lunartics hold even greater amounts of abnormal powers bestowed by their patron Horror - abilities which may make them a dangerous, unpredictable opponent in combat. Embalmed in sacrosanct arcana, they are infused with Bʟᴀꜱᴘʜᴇᴍɪᴇꜱ - alterations upon their very mind, soul, and immaterial being all at once. These extend beyond whatever gifts, if any, that a Horror has implanted within their Moonstruck, often amplified in might and potency to a large degree. They are the trusted actors on behalf of the Horror, its troops atop Mundus, and are thus equipped to execute and achieve the will of their master.

 

Similarly, their minds have been further warped by the influence of the Horror. They are no longer who they once were, now fully devoted to their Horror and its causes and interests. Aenguls and Daemons wish they could inspire as much dedication and drive in their followers as a Horror fosters in their Lunartics. Their mind is not the only canvas upon which a Horror paints; amongst Lunartics, it is not uncommon that their body has warped in some capacity as well, often in some way reflecting the Horror who has altered them so.  Lunartics are of extreme difficulty to be untethered from this night-devotionbound tie to their progenitive horrors, permanently moonstruck lest purged by an assortment of the pinnacle of purifying magics. Dissimilar to ex-Moonstruck beings, if purged a Lunartic renders trace memories of Moonspeech and its runes- as well as an intense craving to return under the subjection of a Horror oncemore.

The most diminutive and unabsurd of horrorkind, Celestials are akin to oceanic krill in the Void as they are numerous and bottom-feeders. Celestials are prey to all, including each other, and as such these meek critters most commonly seek salvation away from their monstrous, voracious birthplace outside Creation. They are defined by this fear at the lowest rung.

 

These horrors have three main strategies, though - given their common intelligence - a more apt name may be ‘behaviors’, as follows:

 

» First is a lack of any reason whilst swirling in erratic storms of consumption, crushed by Voidal winds and swallowed en masse by greater things, and washing about in chaotic spawning from the ether. They are the fleeting bubbles of the Void’s boiling ocean.

 

» Second is to hide or escape. Because of this search for refuge, Celestials ride the psychic waves radiated by higher horrors in search of mortal minds, and are sometimes able to call to and be caught by Voidal mages as familiars or spill into their ritual-craft, intentionally or by mishap. Given their simple minds and general frailty, they then commonly take the form of animal hybrids, usually inoffensive or charming in the hopes of beguiling mortals to tend to them akin to pets or alien friends, but there is always variation and inconsistency in their shape and behavior; sympathy may be bait, though companionship makes for quite the better aide. When these creatures symbiosize with mortal magi, they begin to slowly absorb and sap off the stray thoughts and spare stocks of mana of their partner- beginning to slowly improve their own mind, eventually gaining a middling-consciousness akin to that of an average mortal after a few years’ time.

 

» Third, Celestials have found solace in community. Like coral, they stitch together to constitute greater collective forms whose wills meld into a layered intelligence. Dubbed ‘Constellations’ by scholars on account of their tethers and alignments, these multi-Celestial hives discovered millennia ago accumulate like sea salt at the edges of Creation and seep into the Veil for innumerable waves jump at the smallest pockets and cracks. Amalgamating in unison, they find strength in numbers - coming together to fend themselves off from the fouler beings of the devoid expanses.

 

⊱𐫰⊰

 

Cᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ are those which go beyond. Collectives of thousands upon thousands of Celestials, their subconscious minds slowly bloom and spark into being within these vast amalgamates; akin to countless miniscule braincells slowly clumping together to house a supercognizant awareness, these entities find both strength and intelligence within numbers. These may range dramatically in scale- the ‘smallest’ of these range anywhere between the low-dozens in count, though the largest and most vast are tremendous- heaping in pure mass, amounting to eclipse even nations in scale.

 

“Sɪʟʟᴍᴇ̈-ᴄᴇʟɪᴀ, Eʟᴇɴɪʟʟᴏʀ”, ᴀʀᴄᴀɴɪᴄ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ Aɴᴀʜᴀʟᴄʏᴏɴ, ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴ ᴀɴᴛᴇᴅɪʟᴜᴠɪᴀɴ ᴇʀᴀ.

 

It is rare that a Constellation manages to achieve that pinnacle, however, as due to their relative weakness compared to Weirds and other ilks of their being, these entities are still tremendously feeble in the broader scale of things near the beginning of their ‘lifespans’, and it would need to be either an utter stroke of luck that a Constellation manages to survive for the millennia of slow amalgamation required to achieve such a thing, or conversely it would need to a monitored project hewn by a greater entity, yet even that would be painstakingly slow.

 

⊱𐫰⊰

 

There are countless different kinds of Celestials within the world, and a vast myriad of Constellations- the list below is not outright limiting to what can exist, but rather just examples to what is within their purview; below are three excerpts of descriptions as examples of Celestial physicality, alongside an example of a Constellation:

 

⇴ Eʟꜰɪɴ [ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ] - “The most commonplace ilk of Celestials, Elfin are what most arcane mages think of when the term ‘Celestial’ is mentioned. These entities vary tremendously from one another, yet always when materializing within the mortal plane in mimicry of animals- plural. Elfin scarcely take on the appearance of solely one animal, yet rather drag traits from many a subject; for example, one Elfin might be a feathered, dog-like creature with the head of an eagle, whilst another might be a two-headed rabbit with deep pits of cosmic energy where their eyes should be.

 

Unlike the other ilks of Celestials - which there are dozens upon dozens of, and not all delegated to the small handful explained in this segment - Elfin are special in a certain way. These are the sole ilk of Celestials that may bind and tether to a mortals’ aura in a symbiotic fashion, a craft to the eras past known as Celestialism; this capacity for symbiosis with mortal magi is seen nowhere else within any ilk of horrordom - most others capable of afflicting mortals do so via rendering them Moonstruck or converting them into Lunartics, both of which are more akin to a vile mental parasiticism than the benign symbiosis Elfin partake within.”

 

⇴ Gʟᴇᴀᴍꜱ [ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ] - “Enigmatic and shy, Gleams are small plaster-like beings with an ephemeral appearance, only half a foot high at maximum; whilst not as commonly witnessed as Elfin, these critters are for all purposes still ‘Celestial’. Their bodies- puffs of arcana at their core- are held together by pieces of faux-metals of obscure origin sporting carved designs, warbling and rippling as they float across the floorlines. Gleams are well-tempered and will seemingly never instigate aggression against others, often running away or gently tugging on the aggressor harmlessly in a sign to stop. Even in their groves of strange and alien flora of impossible biology that they care for, they will ignore or even welcome visitors who approach.

 

Gleam intelligence, much like other celestials, is minimal and only seems to focus on their basal instincts- primarily, on the care of their grove. They do not comprehend or speak advanced language, rather using small chimes and ringing harmonies to primally communicate with one another in the simplest of terms; on their own, it is extraordinarily rare for Gleams to fuse into Constellations due to their snails-pace growth and tendencies to prioritize the care of their groves even over their own lives, rendering them to sparsely care about the benefits of survival that come within Constellations.”

 

⇴ Sɪɴɢᴜʟᴀʀɪᴛɪᴇꜱ [ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ] - “One of the less animalistic ilks of Celestials, these take the form of pseudo-tangible glows of a myriad colors that seem to originate from no true ‘form’. Singularities are comparable to basal wisps, floating around aimlessly with no awareness of surroundings. Motes of glowing arcana, very rarely embedded with a subtle eye or a muted, curt grin, they warble around through the air in a teetering fashion. They ignore anything physical, passing through most solid objects with ease. Thus, they are practically intangible outside of magical means- yet immensely frail when struck by those same means. Even if touched, Singularities will never struggle or act in self-defence.

 

When two or more individual Singularities reach a certain distance from one another, they will float towards each other magnetically and merge- crackling about a small burst of hue, growing the subtlest bit larger. Although a few instances of itself will cause no difference other than a slightly brighter glow, Singularities with multiple tens of hundreds of instances of itself will form the outline of a primal ‘cognizance’ which only grows along with their glow as more are merged- slowly approaching the fringes of becoming something larger- yet still duly frail. The collective Singularity along with this newfound cognizance will be able to cast minor levels of magic of varying arcane schools- yet despite this, it is incredibly rare for singularities to reach beyond this due to the lack of population in an area afterwards and their permanent frailty; whilst possible to eventually amalgamate into a Constellation, an extremely infinitesimal minority of these even approximate anything truly close to one.”

 

⇴ Oʜᴋᴛʜʟ’ᴢʟᴛʜ, ᴛʜᴇ Aᴛᴢɪʟᴜᴛʜ Aᴍᴀʟɢᴀᴍᴀᴛᴇ [ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ] - “Raw, unfettered, and the institution of limitless thought. Ohkthl’zlth is the most unstable of the amalgamate-constallations, created from the dregs of countless now-deceased Constellations. It bears a primeval desire: Observe, and be observed. Spindled, cloistered threads of arcana drape between its evershifting form, stringing together the uncountable masses of celestials into bundled, gloaming cruxes that float through the air in facsimile of stars. It is an inconsistent thing, covered in budded brethren of its own ilk like coral stemming ‘pon the cadavers of their predecessors- the celestials that comprise its surface vary drastically. Unlike its brethren Constellations, the Amalgamate is composed of the cadavers of its fallen ilk - the stray celestials which drafted away in the casualties of their wholes, fused and melded within itself. Millennia of the individual consciousnesses that warble throughout it are beginning to fray; the Amalgamate- once primarily driven by animalistic instincts - is slowly beginning to bubble into a teeming consciousness; a hivemind that slowly begins to have its basal desire bloom and befoul into an obsession, one not dissimilar to an Behemoth’s own.

 

Its surface thrums with a thousand-and-one beating eyes, feather’d avians and cloistered felines blend between their seamless edges - a collective of globular clusters that stretch between one another - chittering and squeaking warbles endlessly thrumming off the thing as it drafts through the depths of the planar crossroads. Like many effigies of the void, Ohkthl’zlth scarcely materializes - it stretches its metaphysical tendons of arcana to tap through the veil, seeking mortal magi to tap into its channel and harness it- to observe it, to gaze upon it. A gentle beast, yet for how long its twitching form remains benevolent is but a matter of sapience and time. The resplendent wealth in the stars’ veins; the pulse of the observers.”

Savage and animalistic on account of their primitive, ever-hungering minds, Terrors are beastly horrors whose malformed, illogical manifestations are inspired by natural life and recreated in mockery of Creation. Terrors operate solely on fear and appetite, fleeing from anything they cannot immediately shred and devour to briefly satiate their infinite gluttony, and therefore cannot be reasoned with, cannot communicate, and are generally mindless monstrosities capable of minimal function outside overindulgent consumption.

 

Terrors vary in size from cats to elephants with equally varying physical strength, traits, and behavioral approach to hunting. They may have an abundance of useless, limp legs and hooves, chittering maws, oozing and infected eyes, chafing bark, foliage, underdeveloped external organs, spines, fins, horns, talons, and so on and so forth with horrific, maddening bodies of wrenched flesh, crusty fur, flaking scales, exoskeletal plates, and otherwise monstrous forms.

 

Of note, a common trait found among Terrors is their malleable and matte exterior. While still, a Terror appears flat and if its form allows, mundane, such as squeezing its limbs to shape into tree branches and hiding among dead trees or pressing itself against a cave wall and appearing as a disturbed mural. Terrors revel in ambush predation.

 

⇴ Sᴄᴜᴛᴛʜᴏʀ, ᴛʜᴇ Nᴇᴠᴇʀɢʀᴇᴇɴꜱ - “Vile, incohesive - these beings feign themselves under the veil of being but heaping trees, yet are anything but. Scuttling about on three propped legs draped in stagnant vines and shifting ochres, these entities sculk through the forests at night, engulfing living beings they come before within veiled maws - whilst not unknown to practice evocations of many an ilk, these beings often prefer raw strength and stealth in the stead of arcanic conjurations, yet still may belch forth gouts of sand and sludge, evoked from their vile innards.”

 

⇴ Mᴀᴜʀᴠᴇɴ, ᴛʜᴇ Fᴀᴜx Pʀᴇᴅᴀᴛᴏʀꜱ - “In macabre facsimile of the predators of the bestial world, these vile creatures attempt to feign similarity to your everyday predatory beasts from a distance - what appears to be but a mundane tiger, a hippopotamus, or even an elephant - only to crudely hide a gaping, vile maw encroaching beneath their jawline, scrunching open to engulf things whole capable of but the barest feats of voidal magics, these beings prefer the utilization of life evocations above all else - kvetching forth smaller beings in similar facsimile to mortality upon their quarries.”

 

⇴ Aʜᴇᴋᴢɪʀ, ᴛʜᴇ Aᴍʙᴇʀ Hɪᴠᴇ - “A cacophony of sharp chitinous clicks and buzzing wings herald an overcast of glittering orange-gold clouds. The clouds sweep downwards forwards upon the fields, a horde of innumerable wolfish beetles with crystalline amber chitin. The swarm tears apart the land, taking any organic matter regardless of origin, leaving barren earth behind in a long and twisting trail with no logical direction. Groups of these mindless drones may ravage entire baronies or even nations before they return to their hive, a colossal amorphous structure floating by unknown means composed of steelen amber. Let it be known that the more the hive eats, the larger the hive gets.”

Of all horrors, Abominations can be the most familiar. A babbling, whispering brook. A dancing fire-form. A living tornado. Oft mistaken for nonexistent elementals of primordial origin, Abominations are the mimicries of the raw aspects of Creation made flesh. Their compositions may be singular or combinations of fire, water, air, earth, lightning, and metal. Despite the ephemeral nature of some of these elements, Abominations are always tangible and real, not insubstantial in the way fire, air, or lightning can be; some part of them is solid. As opposed to the beastial nature of Terrors, Abominations are more intellectually inclined and lean into plots. Their goals are much the same: feast, enslave, dominate, grow. As for methods, Abominations are known to converse with mortals, even barter with them, but such feats imply the Abomination could not merely overwhelm their quarry.  Regardless of their material inclinations, these things cannot ever be truly ‘ethereal’ - whilst storms of smog, cloud, sand, or similar gaseous or debris-hewn materials may whorl about their forms, these beings always remain as physical things at their core- material and tangible.

 

The chosen element(s) of an Abomination indicate what evocations they are masters of - and masters they are; a Voidal archmage can replicate the horror’s quantity and shape of evocation, yet likely not their speed nor mix between elements as seamlessly as they do. Scorching gravel, electrified freezing mist, and so on - all traits possible within an Abomination’s span, yet still far beyond mortal control. A hallmark of Abominations beyond their elements is their proclivity for anchoring, the act of binding their bodies with planar fabric to become one with the world and further ensure their place. Where a Terror roams or ambushes, an Abomination waits. Commonly, this is done within Voidal Heaths - zones where arcana is rich and the Abomination may feed on the ambient leylines of power, strengthening their evocations and swelling their size. Conversely, multiple Abominations may bind near one another and, if they cannot consume one another, work in tandem to establish such a Heath.

 

Abominations promise wealth, power, and knowledge to mages in an effort to gain gifts and boons, such as access to their minds, material benefits like meat offerings, or spells cast directly into their gaping bellies to be digested into raw arcana. Since they are often stationary and one with a location they use their connections to mortal mages to achieve higher ends. Abominations may possess any degree of intelligence and complexity in that they can be emotionally one-dimensional monsters or three-dimensional characters. The higher ends they scheme towards range in depth but lean towards feeding them, primarily the following: meat, information, magic.

 

⇴ Pʜɢᴛʜʏʀ, ᴛʜᴇ Hᴀᴅᴇᴀɴ Sǫᴜᴀʟʟ- “In the endless expanse of the ocean, beneath a sea of eternal storm and turbulence, there is a Heath. To this Heath is anchored Phg’thyr, the Hadean Squall. A union of storm and sea, Phg’thyr is a living tempest that is equal parts abyss and maelstrom. Lightning courses through its woven, zephyrous form as branches of its will, and its stormheart beats with tempestuous power. Residue sublimates from its form as an obscuring miasma, forever perpetuating the weather in which it resides. Few dare enter into its domain. Whatever they may be, though - seamen who seek to prove their mettle and mastery of sailing, fools chasing legends of sunken treasure beneath the squall, or madmen who have an inclination of what lies within - the result is often the same. Few who sail in ever sail out. The few that do, though, are they who have encountered Phg’thyr and lived to speak of it. And they often seem changed in some way…”

 

⇴ Aɴᴛᴀʀ, ᴛʜᴇ Iɴꜰᴜᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ- “Within a volcano on a small island, surrounded by voidally-altered flora and other life, there is a pool of magma which seems to never cool and harden. This pool of magma is the anchor for the Voidal Abomination Antar, the Infumation, and the island is the Heath which it lords over. A being of earth and flame, Antar’s form is one of bubbling, molten magma, mixed with gravel and other earthy debris. As such, it is only natural that it manipulates fire and earth with mastery. The eruptions of the volcano in which it resides are not products of geologic activity, but rather Antar raining hellfire down for whatever reason it may have. Though currently uninhabited, there is evidence of life having existed on the island. Cave paintings seem to tell a story of a tribal people, who worshipped some fiery being as a deity, going as far to offer sacrifices to it.  It seems that Antar has cultivated flocks before, and is likely lying in wait to do so once again...”

 

⇴ Eᴅɪᴀᴄᴀʀɪᴄ, ᴛʜᴇ Cᴀʟᴄɪᴠᴏʀᴏᴜꜱ Aᴍᴍᴏꜰᴏʀᴍ- “Somewhere in the world is a desert. For thousands of kilometers in any direction, an explorer would find nothing save for sand, heat, and death. Here, reprieve is few and far between. Within this desert, though, lies an oasis. Lush and verdant, it is the only place which can sustain life within a large area around it. This oasis, though, is not one of normal make. The life which exists here is odd - warped, slightly alien in nature. Arcane energy permeates not only the flora and fauna which call the oasis home, but the very land itself. This oasis is a Voidal Heath, and at its center is a raging sandstorm. It is to this sandstorm that the Voidal Abomination Ediacaric, the Calcivorous Ammoform, is anchored. Ediacaric is a creature composed of billions of grains of sand, with precise control over each and every one. Thus, it can be both a flexible being of granularity or, by hardening portions of its being into one mass, as immovable and solid as stone. It commands both earth and wind at will, with a magical prowess few could hope to match. The oasis it calls home is a creation of its own; it cultivates this land to draw in errant wanderers of the dunes, who would otherwise be doomed in the barren sands. In return for the life-giving foods and waters, it seeks to implant itself into their psyches, whether they know it or not. What comes of such individuals is unknown, though it seems the more who disappear into the oasis, the larger it grows - and the more intense the sandstorm at its center seems to become.”

Weirds are chaos incarnate, wrought and consolidated into a faux-material form, and as such they come in all shapes and sizes; while they share the common theme of cartilage-based tendrils, it so happens that each and every horror is different from their kin - some insectoid, some marine, some elemental. They may crawl, slide, or float, may grapple, soar, or slash, may mantle, warp, or twist. No ilk of Weird is identifiably the same as another in the way dogs or mortals might be; heavily saturated with arcana, these horrors lean towards traits beyond the physical, and many lack the dexterity mortal hands are capable of and the brutish strengths behemothic muscles may lend - their potency and survival is entirely determined by their innate magical prowess and devilish intelligence.

 

These horrors lack functional organs, yet possess inert and strange meats regardless - they do not live as they cannot die, for they merely are. As soulless entities they are similarly immune to the invocations of the aberral and infernal, bereft of their fuels - for these things are rather akin to ‘living dreams’ of some kind. Similarly, magics of the mind do not affect them - rather, their immaterial guise renders afflictions of the mind cast or slewn upon it melded within the Weird, amalgamating with their innards before being expelled tenfold against those who invoke it.

 

As a consequence of their manifestation as entities of potent arcana, these horrors contain a pink bismuth blood that seeps throughout their incomprehensible flesh, one incredibly rich in genus and prized by dark circles for its power - especially for the reason that it does not decay or rot ever, and remains permanently filled with potency lest it be used. The blood of a Weird is by definition an extension of its whole self, thus making it a pseudo-sentient fluid, and therein an insidious poison; should this pink blood find its way inside a sapient being, be it through ingestion or by seeping into a wound akin to venom, it creates a sticky resonance between both parties - a psychic bridge which the horror feeds on and may nourish to mature, marring their mind and making them Moonstruck. Whilst all Greater Horrors feed upon and grow through intelligence - and thus all Greater Horrors bear will and purpose in rendering their most devout Moonstruck - due to their tendencies to interact more directly within the material plane than their more superior brethren, Weirds may more directly utilize their blood, be it as a hidden poison in a drink, a venom coating a cultist’s dagger, or as a gift offered to loyal servants.

 

⇴ Sʜʙᴄʜʟ, ᴛʜᴇ Eʀᴜᴅɪᴛᴇ Gᴏʀɢᴇʀ - “Shbchl’s alien anatomy renders it fit for the environment it was born into; to compensate for dwelling in the Yawning Deep its form enabled its survival. Its entire body spare a number of fleshy, baroque tentacle-like limbs is covered in a lustrous, iridescent black exoskeleton. Light refracts off the creature’s shell and breaks into nebulous, ephemeral patches of emerald hues and shifting colors of violet and mauve. Portions of its shell and specifically its flesh tendrils all reflect a vibrant and vivid coalescence of nigh neon cyan and saturated violet when submerged within the dark. Thick nail-like hairs nearly half a meter long each sprout from parts of the abomination’s joints, allowing it to sense the area around it like whiskers.

 

Its head consists of an elongated and plated cap of tall, salient ridges run like spines along its skull, ending in a fine point and its face a carapace-shelled, cyclopean maw of inward-facing prongs and layers of mandibles with small, spidery legs which it may hold and touch with around its mouth; pseudo-lips. Along the sides of its head and partially above the mouth are lines of a total thirty eight eyes, each varying in size but symmetrical. The eyes of Shbchl along the ridges of its sides are situated alongside two pairs of scorpion-like, husked, shimmering-black arms that meld from section to section before ending in a fine, hard tipped point like its chelicerae. Beyond Shbchl’s protracted head runs a lengthy, grubby body below akin to a black maggot. Its soft, supple, thickly veined and squirming self is protected by a stretch of centripetal plates of an exoskeleton and numerous thick, rigid legs along its sides. A large thorax is situated below the head after two sternums is a hub of coxa which bud from its body like unwanted growths. From these coxa sprout a total of fourteen tendrils of soft, iridescent flesh complete with toothed suckers for gripping and raised rims of transverse, fleshy supports like rows of thumbs that run along the tentacle and complete the ends used to strengthen the durability of its arms and grip onto objects- a frail ribbon of energies washing over like rippling eel that strafes through its mediums. This expanse of its lower body is usually tucked together in a zigzag pattern beneath its thorax and head, pulled up into a central “body” and is often used to protect its inner juicy bits.”

 

⇴ Qᴛʜɢᴏᴛɴ-Qᴛʜɢᴛʏɴ, ᴛʜᴇ Lɪᴍɴɪɴɢ Hᴇʀᴅᴇʀ - “Qthgotn-Qthgtyn’s flesh is black as pitch, undulating slowly as whatever fluids it is home to pass feverishly within; the flesh itself is slightly chill to the touch, the freezing cold of the Void still clinging to its form. Without a true face, the head is so smooth as to gleam in the light of wherever it might be whilst a single tendril falls down from behind its head. In times of panic, that single tendril is known to rise above its head and split apart, forming two distinct curls that mimic the horns of a goat. The torso is tall and spindly, adorned with many hundreds of intricately curling patterns of what might be called veins that conjoin together where the navel of a descendant might be found. Each arm is of the same black, growing greyer towards where we might expect the hands to be found. The wrist abruptly explodes into myriad tendrils, branching like the arms of broccoli. When necessary, the horror may cause both arms to split apart into several comprising tendrils, aiding them in whatever manipulation they may be attempting. Below the ludicrously thin waist, what we might expect to be legs split apart into again, several fairly large tendrils. Whilst these can be extended to propel the horror to their full height, they normally curl themselves around to propel their holder forwards through rotation. By turning around and around, each of these slowly hauls the horror onward.

 

With its fingered maw, the Limning Herder may use its chelicerae and mouth-digits to grip onto an object about the side of a melon and unhinge its four jaws, opening a cavernous craw leading into its inwardly spiked, haired, blood-thinning saliva drenched gullet.”

 

⇴ C’ᴛɢʜʙʀʏᴛʜ, ᴛʜᴇ Cʜʀᴏᴍᴀᴡᴇᴀᴠᴇ - “C'tghbryth, referred to as the “Chromaweave” by occultists and worldly scholars across its various incarnations, embodies a mockery of creation given form through the flagrant use of the arcane. Immensely saturated in arcana, C’tghbryth’s physicality reflects the circumstances of its latest manifestation upon Aevos: its exterior is fully and uncannily matte as if two-dimensional yet paradoxically appears to be a stitched-together mishmash of geological, man-made and organic matter. An eerie, drab spine defines the centre-mass of its thoracic and insect-like anatomy, where all prismatic vibrancies coalesce into an odd, crepuscular dampness. Extending from this structure are an array of useless appendages of which the three most prominent are utilised: a tentacle of twisted and necrotic matter riddled with crystalline outcrops, an earthen, rocky and molten tendril wreathed with flames ablaze with apathy, and an anomalous appendage of glitching, warped matter that weeps with potential. The appendages act independently from the Terror, which itself intermittently emits belligerent and seismic rumblings which dulls the senses and resolve of its beholders. 

 

As a Terror molded from conflict, upon its inception C’tghbryth harbored a fully bestial and ravenous nature, and entirely war-like in its predilections, intended to perpetuate the consuming chaos of whence it came. A nascent consciousness emerged with its incursion into Aevos through its demesne, the “Coloured Conclave” and consumption of the psionic and the material eventually sparked intelligence in its twilight moments. The Chromaweave faced demanifestation at the hands of a coalition of Druids, the Helwyr, Followers of Azdromoth, the Mages’ Guild, and assorted others, destroyed by an Arms of Banishing wielded by a scion of the craft. In spite of its end, a dyad of this now-Weird’s fragments remain amidst Descendantkind to this day in a final act of short-lived cunning, as inheritors of its edacious will for Creation’s hues.”

Where the Veil draws thin, punctures arise - yet not all punctures swelter large enough for the vastest of beings to seep within Creation, and so they are limited; it is but their tendrils and influence which dredge out to lace the mortal realm. Behemoths are titans of the void - colossal effigies of raw arcana and aberral tissues that pulse with bismuth-blood and inconceivably dense wellsprings of mana. These entities push the limits of mortal comprehension, colossuses of the void whose living-dream forms passively exude a tremendous influence on the minds of all sapient beings about them; most entities who behold such raw, unobfuscated arcana often have their mentality so overcome with it that they ‘snap’- a pseudo-arcanic tether slashing about their mind and rendering the victim Moonstruck through just the mere sight of such an entity.

 

Behemoths are fixated about a single concept, reveling within that as if their own, more obscure ‘mantle’. If one would consider an Aengul’s mantle to be their duty and a Daemon’s mantle to be their ambitions, one could consider an Behemoth’s ‘mantle’ to be an obsession. This is something they fixate upon over all else, being their primary drive for existence, for being, and for every diminutive action that leads up to their grander agendas.

 

These entities scarcely enter the material world - to do so would be to evoke risk to themselves, unnecessary attention that could render their end from greater beings - and such, most Behemoths act via proxy. Unlike their inferior siblings - the Weirds - an Behemoth’s arcana so densely floods their cystone that it reaches a point of unnatural stability - a façade of permanence within such impermanent entities. As a result of this unique trait, Behemoths - further owing to the gargantuan and titanic scale of their physiology, power, and most notably minds - are known to splinter off fragments of their cystone at will, creating miniscule shrapnels to which they may utilize for their grander agendas. Proffering these to Lunartics, they fully bind them as mortal agents - granting them a tether to not only their Mindscape, but directly to the mentalistic powers the egregorian mind may drawl.

 

These beings supersede the mortal understanding of ‘voidal magic’ - and as such, they are capable of doing something few mortals can: the fabrication of novel magicks pertaining to the Void. Whilst scarcely known to, perhaps due to such a potent trait only existing within the upper echelon of even the Behemoths, the creation of foreign and new magics is not something out of their powerscale - though these are often frail and feeble, pittering out after only a single generation of participants, if not even less, and the mortal vessel is oft ill-suited to bear such arcana furthermore, for flesh was never meant to mimic the undivine.

 

⇴ Kᴢʜʟ’Kʜʀᴍᴋʀ, ᴛʜᴇ Bʟɪɴᴅ Tʀᴀᴠᴇʟᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴀ Tʜᴏᴜꜱᴀɴᴅ Fᴏʟᴅꜱ - “Throughout the ebbs and wanes of history of the mortal plane, there have been a few extraordinary people who can phase out of one realm into another. These individuals and their travels across the starry beyond are shrouded in a fog of secrecy, despite the existence of this gift being more or less common knowledge. Yet to take the gift of grasping the stars as one only descendants and the divine can harness is folly. There have been vague and sparse stories among these few of a being that “sees all, yet knows nothing”, a momentary glimpse of something, fading into nothing the next.

 

Kzhl’Khrmkr is described as a stationary traveler, obsessed with the infinitesimal realms and layers of creation; they seek to see all things, even if they do not understand it. The Behemoth’s love is so deep and fathomless for such they gouged out their vision, the primal cosmic blood spilling to form into multiple billions of “eyes” so that they may see all of it. These eyes are ephemeral and cannot be interacted with, forming as spheres which phase into a plane, look around briefly, then phase into another ad nauseum. The body of the horror itself is a translucent colossal sphere of crimson fluid of thick arcana and veins connecting inwards to a small scarlet mass in the center with an equally amorphous form; lapses of stray arcana draft between the shattered irises, letting slew brief rifts and fissures between the realms - a primeval tone of the arcanic ways of displacement sundered apart from the Outvoker’s primeval craft.”

 

⇴ Vꜱʜʙʀʟʟ-Aᴋᴠʀʀɴ, ᴛʜᴇ Mᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴄᴀʟ Aɴᴏᴍᴀʟʏ - “All things return to one, and all ones return to none. The idea of being remembered - legacy, as some may call it - is generally held to be a uniquely mortal one. Beings of lower sentience such as animals seem incapable of fathoming such a concept, and higher beings - immortal ones - are not apt to concern themselves with such a thing, as there is no need to worry over being remembered when one will always be. It is an odd thing, then, for a Voidal Horror to hold the idea of being remembered and recorded as its obsession. But, such is the obsession of Vshbll-Akvrrn, the Memorical Anomaly; endlessly concerned with securing a place for itself within the collective memory of all thought, it incessantly tries to worm its way into the historical records. This is rather benign and subtle, at first. An errant name in some years old tax documents, a one-off mention in some niche historical account, or a dedication at the end of an autobiography - an unnoticed alteration it wills into reality. When people take notice of such curiosities, though, it has planted a seed in their psyche. Inevitably, it will find its way into the mind of some historian, painter, or other chronicler of that which has been. What was once subtle now becomes apparent; historians insert Vshbll-Akvrrn as a central figure when retelling events of importance. The unknowable form of Vshbll-Akvrrn is drawn in the midst of paintings and illustrations of figures and events of the past. At this point, with so many eyes being plainly exposed to it, a chain of events is set off which threatens to be civilization-ending. More and more people behold Vshbll-Akvrrn, letting it into their minds as they are made to remember Vshbll-Akvrrn’s involvement and presence in more and more of history. Eventually, Vshbll-Akvrrn embeds itself not just in grand history, but personal history as well - at first supplementing other figures, before replacing them entirely. An afflicted individual may think back to their childhood, and recall important figures such as their mother, their father, their siblings, and Vshbll-Akvrrn. Eventually, they think back and remember Vshbll-Akvrrn, Vshbll-Akvrrn, Vshbll-Akvrrn, and Vshbll-Akvrrn. Words, language, culture, knowledge - all comes to be forgotten, as it is only Vshbll-Akvrrn which can be remembered.”

These are far and few between, as they are understood as universal threats and thus deities commonly extinguish these budding powers before they explode. As such, they are rare, and tend to hide or play down their power. They are formidable. At least two supreme horrors are known to exist within the universe: Achan-Chatla, the Lilting Wisdom, and ████████, the Gloaming Nihility. At one point of the world, there were many; dozens upon dozens of these beings of absolution that drafted about the worlds’ seams - yet through the genocide of the divine, solely two remain. Many of the dead have been eradicated from the annals of history- save for the deceased Shub-Umbilius, whose memory lingers on in the mortal minds.

 

These two remnant beings vary greatly from one another, even though both don the equivalent title of ‘Sovereign’. They are as follows:

 

⇴ Aᴄʜᴀɴ-Cʜᴀᴛʟᴀ, ᴛʜᴇ Lɪʟᴛɪɴɢ Wɪꜱᴅᴏᴍ  [ᴇxᴛᴀɴᴛ] - “Shrouded in a husk of its own unmaking, Achan-Chatla is the cozener-amongst-the-stars. Arising as a Weird from an arcanic ritual in lost Aegis, it charmed many a mortal into adhering to its very existence as a commonfact of the world, creating a following that fed it thoughts and arcana in twain. Its teachings and implications rippling through history, it was taught many crafts of arts, philosophies, and magics by masters of the world - yet those paled when it acquired the sanguine arts of hemomancy. With the aide of sanguine sorceries, it razed not only many a town, but furthermore conceived the craft to formulate global rituals - a fabled advancement of bloodmagic on-par with Setherien itself; using this knowledge to ensnare all Weirds upon the mortal plane to eradicate Shub-Umbilius’ spawn in competition. In time, this knowledge would be bargained with others - the knowledge drifting towards Malghourn within due time.

 

A poet of the ages deserves a mask to conceal, for its words are as much as an open window, agape for all to behold. From that window, impressions gather. From impressions, dreams accrue. No star is permitted upon mundus, yet still there are dreams of stars, and those dreams may congeal into pale, husked imitations - static, reverent, wrong. Such hymn-given forms linger around Achan-Chatla like annotations made by a trembling hand, never quite part of the text, never wholly separate. No star is permitted upon mundus, but the Lilting Wisdom may cozen itself to dream of us, and the dream of a star may take a kind of form, ivory-husked and stagnant. This essence is what Achan-Chatla covets itself to be, hymn-given-form.”

 

⇴ ████████, ᴛʜᴇ Gʟᴏᴀᴍɪɴɢ Nɪʜɪʟɪᴛʏ [ᴇxᴛᴀɴᴛ] - “Break a thing, and you have fragments. Break those fragments, and you have dust. Break the dust, and then break what remains. Here is the devoid- Oblivion. It is this - this concept of utter nothingness - that ████████ obsesses over and revels in. In the fallout of the collapse of the Voidal Tear in Ando Alur, and the formation of the Hollow in its wake, a Horror found itself crossing over their Veil and into Mundus. Haunting about the region, it harnessed energy from the both abundant arcana left in the wake of the event and the melodrama of the mortals towards the destruction of their once-home. It was here, in coming to digest the mortal concepts of oblivion, ruin, and nothingness - the general thoughts of many regarding the lost Principality - that ████████’s fascination began. Taking it to even further heights, though, it conceptualized nothingness beyond destruction and ruin; a true nothingness, devoid of all that is, was, or ever will be. It was during this time that it erased its own name - as a name is a symbol of being, and ████████ seeks to have nothing be.

 

It remained in the devoid remnants of a forsaken hollow, hiding away and garnering greater ability, until the Mori’Quessir invasion of Almaris. The Mori, a population of excess brutality and extremes, and tailored towards the abyss of the Underdark, were an ideal group for ████████’s machinations. Appearing under the guise of a whispering crown of black, it came to foster a cult in those who settled around the hollow’s remnants, granting them odd powers over gravity and an ability to temporarily undo its existence. Over time, this cult came to gain the ire of their Mori brethren. Following some months of brutal fighting - and frightening glimpses at the being of unbeing who puppeted their kin - the other tribes of the Mori realized that such a group must be removed in its entirety. It is unclear whether the flight of ████████ and its cult was a product of a Mori blood magic ritual of sealing, or an action taken by itself and its followers; all that is known is that they escaped away into another plane, further biding time. Eternally fixated on deconstruction, the end of all things, and the nothing that remains afterwards, ████████ resides somewhere in the cosmos, in a lightless realm bereft of the Sun’s rays. A living, reigning, all-consuming black-hole, dreaming of unmaking all else, before finally unmaking itself.”

 

⇴ Sʜᴜʙ-Uᴍʙɪʟɪᴜꜱ, ᴛʜᴇ Tʀɪʟʟɪɴɢ Cᴀᴠɪᴛʏ  [ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ] - “Engorging all that encroaches upon its turf, Shub-Umbilius was the gourmand-amongst-the-stars. Decadence in physical form - guttony, raw and true, a voracious appetite for all. Primeval compared to its brethren, it first arose as an archaic Behemoth pulled from the greyspace of the Veil, mother to the squirming and languishing from a sanguine rite in Axios. With charming hums, it bent the scholars and arcanic mages of its surroundings to adhere to its will - sweltering in growth and decadence; engorging savored drugs and luxuries; consuming bales of green and estates of liquor en masse. Looming invisible over snowy mountains and flooding the depths of desecrated crevasses, it sequestered itself around an arcane sanctum - its whispers enshrouding the snow and sky alike. Via the calls of imbrued magics, her vessel churned forth Weirds like a spawning pit - leading to a spree of incursions, swarming over Axios - yet likewise, she engorged upon her own brethren, shredding them and their mindplanes back into her. Yet nothing is permanent, not even gluttony. Obliterated and smited by forces of higher potency, the once-Sovereign remains permanently deceased, its mindplane unravelled into scraps that have since been cannibalized into other horrors of all ilks and tiers.”

“I knew no end; I named Numa.

It unmade all things I was not.

What remained could not see nor think.

Not end, yet endings; Numa unmaketh. 

 

I dreamt of rest; I beheld Numa.

It unmade sleep and waking both.

All things rest, yet none sufficiently.

The guide led astray; Numa unmaketh.” 

– Unknown.