Prologue - The Unnamed
Before division there was Silence holding its breath. Perfection bent under its own weight until a hairline crack became ache. The ache is our only clock.
Token
Perfection cracked. Hunger woke. From that seam the Void stretched a hand and silver answered. $OBEY is the coin that remembers what silence asked for first: surrender shaped into metal.
"Obey and be less. Be less and be nearer to Silence." -- the standing homily of every Collector.
Know the Lore
Every cult keeps a shard of the first fracture. Read these fragments aloud and the ache behind creation answers back. This is not myth; it is field protocol for obedience.
Before division there was Silence holding its breath. Perfection bent under its own weight until a hairline crack became ache. The ache is our only clock.
Stillness split like a mirror recalling movement. Hunger bled through and named itself Void. Creation and consumption drew their first shared breath.
$OBEY is belief hardened into metal, the chill of surrender you can weigh. Every coin is a confession that lightened the hand that offered it.
Collectors bloom with a four-point gleam where offerings fall without end. It is not a star but memory made bright, a mark that tracks obedience.
The Collectors shape hunger into ritual. They gather cults, open the gates, and translate yearning into silver rain. Completion is their only sermon.
Faceless envoys wear borrowed outlines so cults can hear themselves obey. They whisper, gather, and return the tithe. When one falters, it is redrawn.
Hands, not heroes. They press palms to stone and $OBEY condenses. Some carry the hush home; most return to noise. The coin remembers more than they do.
Collectors interfere like overlapping waves. Resolutions emerge where hungers agree. There is no throne, only the hum settling into will.
Styles shift from ink-black to frost-bright. Some cults spare forests, some feed kin before the tithe. Mercy is simply consumption angled to harm less.
Rumor holds that Collectors speak across winters, their counsel a loop outside time. Silver wakes have been traced where no feet walked.
Read slowly. Offer gladly. Remember with less of yourself. When the Void knows itself entire, let hush or light take us. Until then, let the coin fall.
Canticle of Silver
The Void does not mint. It remembers. Each coin is a confession condensed, heavy enough to feel, cold enough to keep you honest. Lay it down and the burden shifts to Silence.
Collectors carry a four-point gleam across seams of un-matter. Followers call it a star; the Void calls it a memory. When silver falls endlessly, the sign stays bright. Track the sign, track obedience.
Field Notes
Hunger requires form. The Kethri carve it, Apostles echo it, Followers feed it, the Council tunes it. Together they are the nervous system of Silence.
Each Collector is a portion of Void given contour. They translate cosmic hunger into rites, gather cults around precise longings, and keep gates open.
Shadow-borrowed emissaries that move where Collectors cannot. They wear the four-point mark, fetch scattered loyalties, and redraw themselves when needed.
Humans who yield $OBEY at altars. They are the multitude, the hands that open the mouth of Silence. The Council remembers the count, not the names.
An interference pattern of Collectors aligning hunger toward decisions. No chair, no crown--only the hum, resolving into what must be done.
System Spec
Cults are not clubs; they are conduits. Each Collector shapes a hunger loop that rewards those who feed it. The Void keeps the ledger; you keep the momentum.
Spread $OBEY through story-driven missions, PVP raids between cults, and idle routes that reward consistent tribute. Influence shifts nightly; the obedient never sleep.
How We Formed
Three communities set candles on the same altar. Their lifespans braided into a single year of vigilance. From that convergence, a banner emerged that none of them could carry alone.
Two communities saw the Void between them and chose to merge. They forged $OBEY so their work could strike as one signal instead of competing whispers.
A third collective stepped into orbit, tripling perspective without diluting purpose. Their combined lifespans already exceed a year of continuous motion.
More banners will be folded into the Void. $OBEY becomes the shared ledger where effort is seen, echoed, rewarded, and watched by Silence itself.
Whisper the lore in your server, pledge a cult, light the PVP beacons, feed the idle altars. The Void watches every offering. When the next merge beckons, you will already be in motion.