Snippet #2806725

Below the stiff greenery that was Genesis' immutable substance was a different space. Not tainted with aetherkind, not directly, but more the shore where flotsam within the ether came to rest. Thus so did such a thing as Myrkul as it erupted into another endless sky. As it cast its senses down percieved wooden things and a vile growing greyness not of emotion but devoid of purpose. Growths a predator of feral nature tangled deep with daemonkind. Those creatures a chaotic aquifer from which the tangled roots supped to destroy the destroyers. Neither corrupted nor pure it percieved this taint brought slowly to dust. It pondered for a moment whether the tainted places were soil beneath where these almost-plants threw roots or by dusty tethers of digested chaos from which to build order found itself buried instead.

Yet, it found the mutable place of interest as it felt at the threads that underlie space. Genesis was a painting from which it could draw light but set upon a thick anvil that detested change in some mindless pure order. This place's threads a garden full of weeds but something, should one possess a tool of change and a well of wrath, could pluck a place clean and tended. It would remember this place but would travel the planes yet.

The long segmented edifice hovered at some distance of air held in numbers imaginary. As a being not quite orthogonal to the immense space it seemed to occupy its height uncomfortably close to earth. The psycholocomotors at one end fired once more as Myrkul's Vein moved onward.