A small, dark shape lies on the sand, tentacles limp and motionless. Whether it is approached or not, it will inevitably grow. A formless mass the size of a human body, tentacles thick as limbs. A dark gray thing shot through with glowing green, three times the size of a human. It begins to twitch, tentacles growing fragile, translucent bone. Bending under their own weight.
It keeps growing, until much of its bulk is hidden in the waves. Two pairs of clawed, three-fingered hands dig furrows in the sand. Four long, scything limbs flex new joints. Myriad smaller legs writhe as the creature struggles to right itself. Green sacs of fluid boil up beneath a crest of exoskeleton. A mind within it reaches out, groping blindly for other psionic projection. Any capable of response.
Four lidless green eyes stare as it rises up to consider this new world. A gaping vertical mouth splays open to taste the air. Flesh vibrates oddly as it breathes out a deep, rumbling sound.
Nothing else like it has washed up on the beach. It is alone.
2. Arrival - Observation (CW injury, body horror, eating calamari)
Abathur turns his expressionless face toward the sea, clicking thoughtfully. Terrans infest the beach. They are uninteresting. The local fauna have his attention. Similar body plans, but individuals vary greatly. They function poorly in the surf and worse on the sand, but they are attempting to swim ashore.
He is vaguely aware that he was one of these things, not long ago. A dramatic metamorphosis. The energy requirements, unfeasible. Yet it occurred.
He must learn more. Begin with observations.
New arrivals may awaken to find Abathur looming over them. Those already walking the beach will find him impossible to miss.
Left to his own devices, he will begin to experiment. Leaving small, precise wounds on sleeper squids and observing the effects. Lifting up a partially formed squid and placing it back in the surf.
Finally, inevitably, he will attempt to eat one of the squid. Then more. He needs at least three for a useful sample. Hopefully more.
3. Arrival - Off-target analysis (CW prostheses)
Enough data has been collected for now. Abathur arches down and dives into the sand, as easily as other organisms might dive through water. Specialized muscles vibrate at just the right frequency, efficiently liquefacting the sand around him. He will burrow, seeking a suitable lair.
Something solid buzzes against his exoskeleton. Then another. Then more. He can sense their shape in the dark. Small, hard, jointed things, that do not try to flee him. He catches one in his mouth, met with the immediate taste of artificial polymers. He surfaces just down the beach, perplexed.
With a wave of drool, he spits out a prosthetic leg.
4. Friend or Foe (CW body horror, insects, more bad dietary decisions)
The city is full of strange scents. Strands that match nothing Abathur recognizes. Tantalizing.
He crawls through the streets, laboriously dragging his full bulk over the stones. If he is to remain mobile, he will need to alter himself. And he is likely to require mobility--he has not become feral yet, but the absence of a strong mind guiding the Swarm may soon lead to more instinctive behavior. Once a shelter is established, he can put the biomass to use.
For now, he will collect more samples to analyze during the burrow construction. The sound of screaming draws him in, scuttling closer to watch a swarm attack a target. Efficient. Excellent eusocial cohesion and aggression. He must sample.
Abathur | StarCraft 2 | Paleblood
A small, dark shape lies on the sand, tentacles limp and motionless. Whether it is approached or not, it will inevitably grow. A formless mass the size of a human body, tentacles thick as limbs. A dark gray thing shot through with glowing green, three times the size of a human. It begins to twitch, tentacles growing fragile, translucent bone. Bending under their own weight.
It keeps growing, until much of its bulk is hidden in the waves. Two pairs of clawed, three-fingered hands dig furrows in the sand. Four long, scything limbs flex new joints. Myriad smaller legs writhe as the creature struggles to right itself. Green sacs of fluid boil up beneath a crest of exoskeleton. A mind within it reaches out, groping blindly for other psionic projection. Any capable of response.
Four lidless green eyes stare as it rises up to consider this new world. A gaping vertical mouth splays open to taste the air. Flesh vibrates oddly as it breathes out a deep, rumbling sound.
Nothing else like it has washed up on the beach. It is alone.
2. Arrival - Observation (CW injury, body horror, eating calamari)
Abathur turns his expressionless face toward the sea, clicking thoughtfully. Terrans infest the beach. They are uninteresting. The local fauna have his attention. Similar body plans, but individuals vary greatly. They function poorly in the surf and worse on the sand, but they are attempting to swim ashore.
He is vaguely aware that he was one of these things, not long ago. A dramatic metamorphosis. The energy requirements, unfeasible. Yet it occurred.
He must learn more. Begin with observations.
New arrivals may awaken to find Abathur looming over them. Those already walking the beach will find him impossible to miss.
Left to his own devices, he will begin to experiment. Leaving small, precise wounds on sleeper squids and observing the effects. Lifting up a partially formed squid and placing it back in the surf.
Finally, inevitably, he will attempt to eat one of the squid. Then more. He needs at least three for a useful sample. Hopefully more.
3. Arrival - Off-target analysis (CW prostheses)
Enough data has been collected for now. Abathur arches down and dives into the sand, as easily as other organisms might dive through water. Specialized muscles vibrate at just the right frequency, efficiently liquefacting the sand around him. He will burrow, seeking a suitable lair.
Something solid buzzes against his exoskeleton. Then another. Then more. He can sense their shape in the dark. Small, hard, jointed things, that do not try to flee him. He catches one in his mouth, met with the immediate taste of artificial polymers. He surfaces just down the beach, perplexed.
With a wave of drool, he spits out a prosthetic leg.
4. Friend or Foe (CW body horror, insects, more bad dietary decisions)
The city is full of strange scents. Strands that match nothing Abathur recognizes. Tantalizing.
He crawls through the streets, laboriously dragging his full bulk over the stones. If he is to remain mobile, he will need to alter himself. And he is likely to require mobility--he has not become feral yet, but the absence of a strong mind guiding the Swarm may soon lead to more instinctive behavior. Once a shelter is established, he can put the biomass to use.
For now, he will collect more samples to analyze during the burrow construction. The sound of screaming draws him in, scuttling closer to watch a swarm attack a target. Efficient. Excellent eusocial cohesion and aggression. He must sample.