Yess-yes, listen-squeak now, and tremble-twitch as you hear the tale of Veermok the Hollow, Harbinger of Night-dark!
Deep, deep in the muck-filth of the under-realm, where no sunlight burns-bright, where only rot-rot grows, the Devourers of Sun gnaw-gnaw. Creatures of darkness-void, they are—they should not have been, no-no! Surface-things do not see-see, but we know, yes! Their only purpose? To kill-crush all light-bright. And Veermok, once soft-flesh mortal-thing, now hollowed by his love-love for the void-dark, carries that purpose like a plague!
But once upon a squeak, Veermok was no such thing, no-no. He was priest-thing of the Great Horned One! Squeaking forgotten words-words to the god of all rat-things. Then... abandonment, yes! Left behind—first by the Horned Rat, cursed-cursed he was, then by his own clan! Hah, poor-poor thing. A hollow shell he became, hating all-all for not wanting him. Then, it came to him—yes-yes, the void! Creeping into his skull-brain, whispering promises, not of mercy, no-no, but of revenge. Revenge! Not life, but oblivion-dark!
Out of that communion he crawled-scuttled, changed, oh yes. His flesh rotted away, his eyes sank-sunk deep into hollow pits, and a hunger, endless and gnawing, took the place of his weak-weak faith. He hungers, yes-squeak!
Followers came to him, deep in the dark tunnels, from the forgotten pits where rat-things hide-hide, scraping by, unseen! Not the strong-proud, oh no, but the broken, the cast-out, like him, yes. They had seen the truth, they had—the Horned One left them! And Veermok showed-showed them the path. Not up-up to glory, but down-down to the void, to consume all who had scorned them! Yes, eat-eat!
Veermok wants no kingship-throne, no-no! His hunger is greater—he craves to be the shadow that devours the sun itself! The void-whispers speak to him, yes-yes, of a world where the sun dies, where night-dark reigns forevermore. And in that world, Veermok will find peace, not of life-breath, but of dark-dark, endless oblivion!
Skreee-heh-heh!
