Far away, Omal the Devourer was desperate. Not for power, no. To protect his people. By any means necessary.
He noticed... an... oddity, in the crowd. They weren't... like the others. Not connected. And they carried such curious devices. They were dangerous, though. One did not get the sort of scars that they had from complacency.
Tools, they could be. A solution to his problems. But... they approached him first. Curious.
"Have you heard of the Machination?" One asked. They were rather blunt; it had nothing to do with laziness on the part of the Author.
The Devourer hesitated. "No. But for that to have been possible... you must be powerful people indeed. A type of power I could use."
"The Machination is always welcoming new... arrivals."
The Devourer frowned, but as he was thinking, the crowd surged, and they seemingly... disappeared. He felt as if he could see wisps of black in their place.