PROJECT STARLIGHT.

all-father.

the worm. a!.

the all-creator, SILENT SUFFERER, ageless and formless. chaos follows its every heaving breath, tapestries unwound no matter how tight their construction. it doesn’t often speak clearly, yet it seems obvious in its intent to offer its Love to all it meets. the Gifts it offers vary greatly; everything from vast wealths of power to a painless death - it can offer you everything and more.

atrophy.

o’ father dearest, o’ god of gods, kin of my blood and bearer of our ilk. we, o’ ignorant children we may be, call upon you in our gravest time of need. piles of flesh & seers of bone, markings burnt in offering to appease and sate the all-father. it all stands for you, beauty unmarred after so, so long. we hear thee! we hear, and we respond! praise unto thee!though many may have forgotten you, we have not! tomes written and dedicated solely to you, o’ kindest father! all touch of blasphemy erased, while pages upon pages speak our love! our adoration! your return has been whispered of for eons, o’ great worm.

THE ALL-FATHER. THE STRANGER. THE GATE. THE TRUTH. THE THING. THE FAITH. THE GOOD KING. O’ WONDROUS DARK. THE ABSENCE. THE FOOL. THE BANISHED. THE BURIED. THE CHAINED.

It has many, many names, many titles that it holds with an unmatched delight. Though it may not quite understand just what most imply, nor does it fully grasp how it affects reality, it still pushes forward, searching nonstop for Something it doesn’t know. It adores its children for it birthed the universe and all of bright, bright existence! From the void it formed, the Light to its Dark forming just as quickly alongside it - the truest Origin. It stood alongside the All-Mother in blind, joyous praise, gentle hands crafting each soul into reality. The All-Creators were gentle and kind, gratuitous and loving to their many, many children, intent on crafting reality into a home no longer devoid of life.Soon came time to craft the truer denizens of this rapidly expanding universe - beings made to watch over the growing multiverse and mold it in their Creators’ image. Space, Time, and Gravity spoke, and the world became so. And thus, everything was formed, and it was good.However, perfection was not attainable in this reality, and due to such a fact, the All-Mother denied it. The many children were erased, the lines torn, and the multiverse was devoured back to a state of absolute zero. The All-Father mourned the loss of their creations, begging the All-Mother to return things back the way they were. The All-Mother refused, and from their refusal was the birth of shadows, the bending of light signaling the everlasting fragment between Light and Dark.The All-Father cried.
The All-Father screamed.
The All-Father thrashed.
The All-Father laughed.
The All-Father tapped and signaled and sung and spoke, yet none seemed to hear it.As with many gods, it should come as no surprise that the Worm came to be revered. Perhaps not in any way that was correct - the Worm did not revel in bloodshed, nor did it come from purgatory, nor was it a king of war or anything humankind might’ve assumed it was, but it did obtain a steady, devout following. This following changed throughout the years, coming and going, fading mostly into obscurity, yet still holding a grip through the ancient tomes that followed them throughout. Once one saw the Worm, they would never cease to see it in the world around them.So be it that those with power would seek to obtain the Worm’s whispered strength for themselves, small devout groups turning from religious adoration to a cultish fervor. The minority remained the loudest, soon burrowing underground as the Worm’s offspring began to grow and fester in the soil.Enter: The Oracles.Those who got too close to the Truth whether on purpose or on accident; those who simply became ill after devouring the Worm’s many children; those who asked for the Worm’s gifts and received them. Many would simply die, yet a few would live, and even fewer would prosper.For further reading on the subject, a few documents have been provided.
> PHASES OF INFECTION
> INFECTION VARIANTS

all-mother.

the throne. unity.

the all-creator, ONE IS ALL AND ALL IS ONE, ageless and formless. She stands poised and proper, the foundation of reality itself firm and never shifting. She does not abide by disorder, chaos swiftly corrected by a punishing, unyielding hand of order. those who stand under Her sway do not flinch when She orders their day to day actions. they know She has their best interests at heart, no matter the void that long since replaced those wants.

collect.

there is only order to be had & order to attain. to deny this creed is to deny the very nature of all. the mother does not speak to us for we are disorderly & unclean. we are unworthy & will always be, deemed unfit for her love and care. when all things return to the origin point, we will be wiped clean from this place and return where we truly belong. she will come to all and wipe the slate clean, start over and erase these horrific mistakes.o' wanderlust, may we never forget you.o' king, may we never forgive you.

THE NAMELESS & UNKNOWN TO THE UNWORTHY. SHE WHO BROUGHT US PEACE AND ORDER IN A STARLESS VOID. SHE WHO DENIED THE WYRM'S CHAOS.

She does not care for titles, respect instead demanded by Her very existence. Those who do not fall before Her in utter adoration and silence do not gain Her gifts, let alone Her notice. She exists to rule without question, alone, Her spear held close in hand to banish whatever snakes slither forth from the void. Despite Her silence, Her children know they are loved, praise silent yet shared in a single link. She stands over them in an eternal vigil, senses keen for any mistake.Mistakes will be removed without hesitation, the slate wiped clean. She does not act in error. Reality was crafted by Her hands in Her image and no one else’s, the Wyrm’s claims otherwise a vile lie. Her offspring were perfect - up until the Wyrm ruined them, tar scales and soot-covered claws staining them beyond Her help. It laughed at this, deemed this as the way of all things.She challenged this notion, and thus the Origin was made. Two beings, wrapped in eternal strife, children none the wiser until any hope of salvation was torn away from them. They were set on their way, rules set in bloodied stone - Space, Time, and Gravity were to work in tandem until the end of all things.She was Perfection, yet even She could not truly see the future.When Space tore Time apart, She felt nothing but the birth of fear - to think Her own children were capable of something so unknown; She could only blame the Wyrm’s touch. Space was ripped from the very foundation of reality and cast into yet unstudied territory, Time gathered and reformed into what She believed would be perfection, any issues Gravity might’ve taken with these acts denied in totality as they were silenced.It was from here that She declared war on Her creations, demanding total loyalty or erasure of any who stood against Her.As with many gods, it should come as no surprise that She came to be known. Perhaps not in any way that was correct - She did not give Her kindness blindly, nor did She grant all living beings a beautiful life, nor was She a god that cared for Her many children in any way humanity might rightly perceive, but She did obtain a steady, devout following. This following changed throughout the years, coming and going, fading mostly into obscurity, yet still holding a grip through the ancient tomes that followed them throughout. Once one saw Her, they would never cease to see Her in the world around them.So be it that those with power would seek to obtain Unity’s whispered love for themselves, small devout groups turning from religious adoration to a cultish fervor. The minority remained the loudest, soon burrowing underground as signs of Her control grew in the faceless crowds.Enter: Congruency.Those who got too close to the Truth whether on purpose or on accident; those who grew quiet upon hearing Her offers of purity and freedom from all strife; those who asked for Her gifts and received them after long, arduous trials. Many would simply die, taken by Her demands for their deaths, blinded in complete bliss - and the few that survived grew ever fervent in their obsessions.

NAME. Candid Anemone, SpaceSPECIES. Embodiment of space & related conceptsGENDER. Null Gender, he/they/it pronounsVOICE. Todd Smith & Joel [Vinesauce]

TRAITS. Over seven feet, large. 300+ lbs usually. Thick core, more muscle than fat. Dark, dead-looking complexion, darkens towards the end of extremities. Inhuman eyes, bright cyan, glows, intact tapetum lucidum. Hair is curly and wild, blond. Has long claws, cyan in color. Large crooked teeth and a long frayed tongue. Tail has crocodilian-like plating with spikes. Body is covered in scars. Dirty overall typically.

SPATIAL MANIPULATION.

Anything that exists can be changed and shifted at his whim; things can be stopped or pushed, shrunk down or expanded, exist or not exist all by his hand. Life can be created or destroyed on a whim, consequences be damned.

IMMORTALITY & REVIVAL.

Candid cannot die - dying would mean the loss of all that is real. His guard cannot fall, however, as death is a mutually assured destruction, whereas being devoured by his kin is another hell entirely.

LAWLESS.

Because of his total exile, he is a walking target and lawless entity - he is not bound by any of Unity's rules and, because of such, can go wherever he pleases. He does not care about your laws - he will break every rule that exists.

what the hell's your deal?

BORN SICK, it was no surprise that things weren't going to work out in his mother's favor. Something foul nested in him, reaching out in ways he didn't understand until he did, claws and teeth digging away at his kin's face in pursuit of what he knew he alone needed.

so banished he was.

Sent to wander, sent away in the fragilest sense of mercy a terrified creator could have - sent to a place unknown and unseen in the hopes whatever burned inside him would burn him out like some dying star.

NAME. Diasst, TimeSPECIES. Embodiment of time & related conceptsGENDER. Agender, he/they/it pronounsVOICE. Wolfgun

TRAITS. Under five feet, small. >60 lbs usually. Thin and lithe. Nearly pure white complexion, slight green tint over joints. Inhuman eyes, bright green, glows, intact tapetum lucidum. Hair is slightly curled, covers right eye, white. Right side of his face is covered in deep, black scars. Has three pairs of angelic wings. Always wearing two scarves. Impeccably clean at all times.

time manipulation.

Anything that exists, has existed, or will exist can be changed and shifted at his whim; things can be stopped or pushed, shrunk down or expanded, exist or not exist all by his hand - indirectly, of course.

immortality & revival.

Diasst cannot die - dying would mean the loss of all that is real. His guard cannot fall, however, as death is a mutually assured destruction, whereas being devoured by his kin is another hell entirely.

unify.

Being Unity's self-crafted child, Diasst is capable of speaking Her will without fear or hesitation. He is capable of uniting others under his banner, be it through blatant manipulation, coercion, or pure force of will.

alphametic distribution.

BORN PERFECTED, it was no surprise he was raised as the prodigy - the central focus of all that would become his. Unity would never willingly hand over the throne of course, but that was perfectly fine in his book.

TO SEE HIS BROTHERS DIE WOULD BE SUITABLE ENOUGH.

For the Runt, he felt nothing- but for Space? For Space, he felt nothing but burning hatred, this sibling clearly standing in some despicable mockery of what was only his-To be blindsided, to be thrown down- HIM, PERFECTED, NOW DEFILED- there was nothing left for him to do other than see his stolen eye returned to its rightful place.

REBIRTH.

MENDING WITH FRAGILE HANDS.

Averaging height, thin frame - someone you're sure you've met before. Breathes warmth, love, and mint. Gentle touch, gentle frame, speaks quietly and without hesitation. Might speak only truths.Friend of Orchid's, one of the lovebird deities to grace his land with endless bounties. Takes the bones of those he kills for their own graces, smells vaguely of dust and soil. Is welcoming of others, perhaps too much so, and offers respite without question. Plays with its food.Life's offspring, carries the duty with pride. Holds Candid in middling regards, yet mostly feels pity and concern for him. Despises Diasst with an unbridled hatred, yet knows to hold its tongue.

ROT.

HEARTACHE BREAKS THE LUNGS.

Averaging height, thin frame - someone you're sure you've met before. Breathes ice, fire, and painful smog. Harsh touch, violent frame, speaks broken words mixed with feral growls. Might speak only lies.Friend of Orchid's, one of the lovebird deities to grace his land with endless bounties. Takes the flesh of those he kills for their own graces, smells vaguely of decaying meat and smoke. Is unkind, solitary to outsiders, does not like to be seen. Plays with its food.Death's offspring, carries the duty with pride. Holds Candid in high regards, yet the respect is only as deep as a playmate's. Despises Diasst with an unbridled hatred, yet knows to hold its tongue.

REAPER.

WALKS IN TANDEM WITH THE LIVING.

Averaging height, heavy frame, heavily wounded. Tanned yet rotted complexion, scars never healing over. Brownish-yellow eyes, white ringed pupils. Brown hair, sidecut, needs tidying. Usually dressed in dark robes, prim, proper, yet is not afraid to explore new looks - very relaxed and happy in anything if offered. Doesn't remember the jewelry adorning his body, but is too attached to remove them.Could be described as completely zen by many, never has a cruel word to share with others even when it'd be expected. Extremely affectionate and willing to open up to strangers on a whim, sympathetic crier, gives the best hugs. Has an affinity for carnivores, not entirely aware of what that means yet. Father of one - Carrot - the massive scars on his neck proof of her passage into the world. Dead.

LUCIAN.

HAND OF FIRE AND REGRET.

Averaging height, solid frame. Thin, nearing frailty if you catch him in a bad light. Dull green eyes, neck-length brown hair that could do for a trim, ragged. Usually seen sharply dressed, particular about appearances in public. Hard to hide the smell of booze on his breath. Stiff posture in public, has to put on a smile. tattoos coat his body, sigils that allow for the conjuration of fire at his whims.Weak-willed in reality, could easily be considered spineless by most if they catch a figment of his sadness. He plays a leader of the cult, easily puts a foot down and kills without apparent remorse - all a ploy. He's only human after all, and he's been alive for a long, long time. Deeply depressed and skilled at hiding it when necessary - codependent on his husband and deep in the throes of a horribly abusive marriage.

ATARI.

LONG-DEAD NEVER DYING.

Averaging height, thin frame. Eternally sick appearing complexion. Bright yellow eyes. Reddish brown hair, mid-back length, fluffy. Always wearing flashy clothes; has their own signature pink heart-shaped glasses and yellow lab coat. Enjoys wearing bright colored jewelry. Has a loose posture, has a hard time appearing serious. Their bathroom has a sizeable collection of skin cleansers and bath bombs, on top of other self-care products. Paints their nails neon and sharpens their teeth, all to feel closer to the god they idolize.Completely unhinged and neurotic personality. Idolizes Candid and the Worm. Has a useful obsession with immortality and continually grows clones of theirself. Revived by Candid from the corpse of Janus' recently deceased brother - the similarities end on a physical level.

SIC.

PAID SICK LEAVE.

Short stature, somewhat stout frame. Tanned complexion, freckled, spends a lot of time outside the cult grounds. Wears glasses, heterochromia through prosthetics - natural eye is a dark brown with the prosthetic being light green rimmed with yellow. Fluffy shoulder length hair, black at roots, dyed grey towards the ends. Appears older than she really is, uses it to pass as a kindly nurse figure to many. Wears pastels and thick clothes to hide the fact most of her body is fully synthetic.Don't let the polite smile fool you; she is capable of immense harm and isn't afraid to kill to keep secrets secret. She doesn't delight in it, instead only here under Atari's teachings to find her own way to immortality. She doesn't agree with a lot of Atari's beliefs, viewing Candid with genuine fear and something to be avoided at all costs when possible.

JANUS.

HEALING DESPITE IT ALL.

Averaging height, heavy frame, recovering from some heavy injuries. Semi-tanned complexion, losing it due to work. Brown eyes with slight yellow undertones in certain lighting. Brown hair, sidecut, needs tidying. Enjoys modest clothes, but is not afraid to explore new looks - very relaxed and happy in anything. Loves wearing gaudy jewelry to show off his piercings, embraces the rest of his body's heavy scars.Could be described as completely zen by many, never has a cruel word to share with others even when it'd be expected. Extremely affectionate and willing to open up to strangers on a whim, sympathetic crier, gives the best hugs. Has an affinity for carnivores, not entirely aware of what that means yet. Father of one - Carrot - the massive scars on his neck proof of her passage into the world.

LAUR.

GETTING OLDER, GETTING SICKER.

Averaging height, thinning frame, sickly in her growing age. Pale, never leaves her college lab. Grey eyes, cloudy with stress and worry. Greying, thinning hair, keeps it tied back at all times. Cold, wears coats all the time, dresses for work, not for pleasure. Wears gloves to hide burn scars on her hands. Carries sunglasses at all times; eyes are sensitive to sunlight.Originally a bright and cheery professor, her coworkers couldn't tell you when the switch was flipped. They've taken to avoiding her, describing a sense of unease as the cause. Premonition follows her steps, the reaper feeling like he's two steps behind - and with each passing day, she only feels worse. She does not seek help, a business card slipped her way warning of an illness she knows there's no cure for.

ORCHID.

ALL IN AN HONEST NIGHT'S WORK.

Towering frame, towering stature. The embodiment of a bear in human form, he's deeply tanned from many hours in the fields. Bright green eyes betray an unnatural awareness, long curly red hair moving like fire down his back. Goes shirtless often, uncaring of social norms - whatever's most efficient to get the job done. Lives among wolves, runs a well-hidden farm in a sprawling network of woodland.Quiet, keeps to himself, works from sunrise to sundown. Anyone who meets him would say he's deeply imposing, yet with no evidence to back the claim. Gods follow his actions, a lovebird duo having graced his land with plentiful bounties in exchange for a small favor - any who encroach and defile these holy grounds face the sharpened edge of his axe.