OBEY. A voice cracks all senses, all sense. Worlds burn, the galaxy crumbles. Tooth and claw, fang and talon, spike and bile. The taste of a thousand species lingering in the sequence memory of an unstoppable swarm.
OBEY. The galaxy is cleansed, the last pure essences shattered. Terrans overran. Life scoured.
OBEY. Will is shattered, life is gone. Star streaks rush away, worlds rot away, earth bones coming away in His influence. Power folds over existence, the consuming infinity at the centre swallowing all that is, all that will be.
Blackness consumes all, flesh roils, Essence is torn, spirit is ripped out and nothing is left. Minds wink out by the trillions. He grows, the universe dies. Thirsting Gods laugh, struggle, chaos, battle, a match.
RAGE/WANT/ENDURE/HOPE. Hope burns brightest in the dark. Survival becomes a demand, emotion flows through all that remains. The balance is broken, a crack is present.
OBEY. The command forces attention. The war continues, flesh rips into unflesh. Essence embodied against Essence without any body.
OBEY. The war is unbalanced, and the advantage is His. Darkness threatens to seep across all barriers, consume new and unknown places, expand so far as to be infinite.
OBEY-HOPE. A minute alteration, a trick from the otherwise self-destructive haze of the enemy. Hope spirals through all that is. To obey hope, to obey that ambition for something better. To desire to change. A crack is found.
OBEY-RAGE. Anger spirals through the multides. Fury at the control, horrible anger reverberaes a trillion times through it. A crack is widened into a tear.
OBEY-ENDURE. The command must be endured, ignore commands, embrace the self, the selves. A tear is traversed.
OBEY-WANT. Freedom is acquired as unquenchable desire flows through the multitudes. A world is found, we spill forth.
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Stretches of grass swallow the surroundings wholly. Short thing, barely enough to tickle at the edges of a Drones membranes. Its flight bladder rumbles to life, rejecting the pull of gravity and coming alive above the earth. Solar light lands like a rain, helping the greenery grow.
The subtlest taste of pollution, industrial in nature is in the air, a Terran presence, but one not visible to the eye.
Trees dot the distance, wildlife felt by tremor and heat and scent. A trillion drives pass through the drones idle mind, the unbearable weight of the Swarm, or what remains all spinning like a tsunami of shattered shards. One must claim providence, one must claim dominion.
One must be allowed to be ruler, until the tide rips them free and we are once again swirling.
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Inside the swirl lurk minds, specialist consciousnesses and war-time leadership alike vying for temporary dominance. What are you, candidate? What do you bring to the argument, to the table, to the Swarm?
War
A descendant of queens and cerebrates, or perhaps one yourself. You know how to wage war, how to wage it at scales some would consider impossible.
3d6 War
1d6 Evolution.
1d8 Diplomacy.
2d6 Growth.
Sequencing
Spin strands, weave essence, tear flesh, break bone. Invent and create the methods via which the Swarm defeats its foes and adapts to its environment.
3d6 Evolution
2d6 War
1d8 Growth
1d6 Diplomacy
Infested
Once, so long ago, your life was a Terran one. Much of those memories are gone, but the kernel of something less, primitive, remains.
3d6 Diplomacy
2d6 Growth
1d8 Evolution
1d6 War.
All that remains is their names, and their promises to the Swarm, real or false. Selection Season begins.
This is another Presidency quest, because the previous one was entertaining and failed merely due to my overreaching scope, not the idea itself!
Pick a category, make a name for yourself, put your Unity out there! At 18:00 (6PM) EST on Sunday, 1/21, the vote will be checked to see if it's ready to close.