Quote:
Originally Posted by lwcamp
The ice giants of Norse mythology, ready to rise up and complete Ragnarok, even if some details need to be modified for the changing times.
Luke
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I suppose one could say that the Lords of the Last Waste are a sort of agnostic, astrophysicist cosmic horror version of Norse Ice Giants.
Vast, cool, unsympathetic intelligences whose esoteric forms float endlessly through the void of a universe at the end state of entropy, where they dwell in the final blackness at the end of time, the last surviving remnants of the war of all-against-all over the universe’s final stocks of extropy, long after the passing of baryonic matter and the death throes of the most ancient black holes. Savage, autocannibalistic beings, stretching their remaining existence across aeons-long slowthoughts powered by the rare quantum fluctuations of the nothingness, these wretched dead gods know nothing but despair, hunger, and envy for those who inhabit worlds and eras rich in energy differentials, information, and ordered states, and would – if they could – feast on any unwary enough to fall into their clutches.
Their universe is but one of an infinite number, perhaps, but as all universes are doomed to end as their did, might their multispheric realm grows ever more central to the multiverse, as the last dregs of their miserable non-existence are drawn out in an eternity of almost complete deprivation?
The mysterious Grand Masters of the Keepers of the Last Flicker claim that in some worlds, icy tendrils extend through the void, draining life, light and the very concept of hope from the worlds. One speaks of a great tree, reaching all worlds, sick with decay and weakness, where swirling patterns of frost roses rime the strong trunk and gossamer strings of absolute coldness stretch from the roots into infinity. Like a freezing fungus, spores of white void cover everything, ending strife, discord, individuality and inequality as all potentiality is forever drained to extend the slowthoughts of the Lords of the Last Waste for a few fleeting aeons.
But their struggle is as meaningless as the struggle of all life. Only the end matters. In the end, there are only endings.