Broodweaver

If it's an army I want, it's an army I get. Little friends on demand, allies on speed dial. No accomplice is more loyal than the one I pluck from the sprawling weave of the universe.

Am I my creations? I fill their minds, though I remain undivided. I feel their movements and their pain, yet I stand still, unharmed.

The sensations of manifestation are odd. I understand where my body begins and where it ends, but the lines are now stretched, as if I am wound into the very air around me. The strings of my will extend in every direction, and when pulled taut, the puppet master begins their show.