Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-28920015-20170725070131/@comment-26120744-20170725213416

Imagine something completely formless.

No, not a ten-dimensional being. I mean something with no dimensions at all. Something without and form or shape whatsoever, but still exists.

See, you literally can't imagine.

However, that's what the Final Ones were.

Scions of Oblivion, the Eldest Gods, offspring of the [DONOTSPEAKITSNAME] emerged from the growing vortex, and with their final, long-awaited brith into actuality, Paradox Space itself convulsed in agony.

To anyone who looked at them, the Final Ones had a different but equally deranged form. A thousand images, a thousand ideas, a thousand narratives detailing all that was not. Scorpions made of the Maw's leeches and covered in yellow, dementedly joyful eyes. Sentient vortexes of energy that dragged themselves along on jointed legs. Spiders that weaved webs of quantum string and insane whimsy rather than true physical thread.

And though they pierced the veil in only one location in Paradox Space, the Furthest Ring suffered more. Dream bubbles were barraged by maddening tides. Dead players came back as senseless, demented things, GrimDark powers flowing, driven only to kill and conquer.

A tidal wave of madness spilled from the vortex and spread slowly out across the villain world, leaving nothing but mutation and paradox in it's wake.

Those guards and mortal beings who were trapped in the tide became Taken, and then they became worse, their bodies twisting into seething masses of flesh and bone.