It comes as a whisper in the darkness, heralded by the rustling of a thousand clawed feet and outworldly tune. Oldfather Rat, as the Kin call it, is an unfathomable cloaked entity, covered in the writhing, chittering bodies of innumerable rats. Beneath this living shroud, glimpses of its true form are but fleeting, a towering figure of twisted, alien proportions. It moves with unnatural grace, below its skin of rats. The demon’s many arms seem to materialize and vanish, some holding a bone flute to unseen lips, others clutching small bells that ring with haunting melody. It is as terrible as it is enthralling.
The music it plays is both dreadful and irresistible, compelling every rat in earshot to swarm to its side, forming a writhing tide of fur and teeth. The Kin, too, fall to their knees in its presence, their minds bent to its will, their hearts swelling with fervent devotion. It is not a protector, nor a savior, it is a self-proclaimed god of the swarm, born of a realm that should not be.
The Rat God does not answer to the Kin, nor does it care for their well-being. It appears when it wills, whether to save its children from destruction or to lead them into ruin. Its motives are inscrutable, its desires alien, but its power over the rats, and by extension, the Kin, is absolute.
