An army of flesh and bone eternally hunts for more and more sustenance, gorging itself upon the remains of dead planets and lost societies. Thousands of cities are overcome and crushed under a tide of moss and fungus, the very stones used to create them render down and used to produce ever more monsters and beasts, to repeat the cycle ad nauseam. For the tide is never content, and indeed grows more hungry the more it devours. This is The Moss, a rogue mass of organic material that eternally starves for new flesh to be devoured and yet, in its blind hunger, denies itself long term sustenance by gorging itself upon the bounties of every world it comes across until all that it has left behind is dust and rock. For such a hunger as it possesses does not permit the establishment of infrastructure or agriculture, instead demanding more food. Now. Immediately. At once. Patience is a foreign word to such an intelligence, devoured alongside ideas like 'technology', 'diplomacy' and 'ranged weaponry' by an all-consuming need and craving for more more more now now now.
