C'Tethx

C'tethx, called The Weaver of Fate, is an enigmatic Old God believed to preside over the threads of destiny, probability, and unseen patterns. Of all the Great Elder Ones, she is perhaps the most spoken of, and yet the least truly known. Her name is not invoked as a curse or prayer, but as an expression—“as the Thread wills,” or “it lies in the silk.” Most who speak it do so unknowingly, reinforcing the idea that C’tethx does not need temples or heralds to influence reality. She is already woven through everything.   In the scattered myths attributed to her, C’tethx does not rule by force, corruption, or revelation. Instead, she governs connection—the subtle alignments that govern fortune, timing, coincidence, and consequence. Her domain is not only the future, but the bridges between events. She is the rhythm of falling leaves, the unseen choice that collapses a kingdom, the timing of a dying breath that saves a stranger’s life. Her presence is not felt in miracles, but in the moments that should not make sense, and yet do.   C’tethx is often imagined as a limitless, cosmic spider, her body composed of gossamer thought, her limbs interwoven across planes and timelines. In some art, she is a fractal tangle of silken strands stretched across an infinite Void, her legs not legs at all, but events. In others, she is barely represented, her form reduced to patterns within patterns: spirals of twine, endless sigils folded into lace, or webs that span not space but intent.   Unlike other Old Gods, C’tethx is not feared so much as respected—or perhaps inevitably acknowledged. She does not communicate with cults, demand obedience, or visit dreamers with prophecies of the end. Instead, her influence is retroactive. Events occur, and only later do those who survive recognize the thread.   It is said that during the Primeval Time, while others warred or witnessed, C’tethx merely wove. She observed the clashes of gods and elementals not as outcomes, but as inputs—moments to fold and shape into the greater design. Her threads laced through reality itself, and many believe that time did not begin until she bound the first cause to the first effect.   During the Primeval War, there is no record of her fall, only of her absence. The great battles mention her not at all. Some believe this is because she never truly left, and never needed to be banished—her threads are too fine, too foundational, too intrinsic to reality to be unwoven. Others claim that her prison is not behind a veil but beneath awareness—that to look directly upon her is to see one's fate laid bare and go mad from the certainty.

Depiction

C’tethx is most often envisioned as an enormous, unknowable spider, suspended in a vast, dimensionless void, eternally weaving her silk across the fabric of fate. Her limbs are far too numerous to count, jointed in irregular angles and extending into planes unseen. Each one trembles with subtle motion, plucking invisible strands that hum with possibility. Her body defies natural proportion—bloated yet graceful, composed of chitinous plates and fractal spirals that seem to shift when unobserved.   Murals and reliefs of C’tethx rarely show her whole form. Instead, worshipers carve glimpses: a single limb curling around a dying star; a web stretched taut across the bones of kings; or a glistening thread that pierces both a babe’s cradle and a battlefield. Her temples weave these fragments into a larger implication—never a portrait, always a presence.   More disturbing is the recurring image in dream carvings of her eye: a circular glyph with eight interlocking pupil shapes, all watching in different directions. This eye does not weep, blink, or bleed—it flickers, suggesting that even observation is an illusion she permits.

Tenets of Faith

C’tethx does not speak. She does not guide. Her doctrine is not a scripture but a pattern—a set of beliefs interpreted from recurring signs, patterns in dreams, and long strings of converging events. Different cults adopt wildly varied approaches, yet three central tenets are commonly agreed upon:   All Things Are Connected. Nothing happens in isolation. Every action ripples outward, even in unseen ways. Followers study butterfly effects obsessively—chronicling minor events in hopes of understanding the larger loom. Some practice mirror rituals, replicating small actions in sacred places to “entangle” their outcomes with greater events.   The Thread Cannot Be Cut, Only Rewoven. Fate is not fixed, but mutable. However, it does not break. C’tethx’s faithful believe in weaving new outcomes—not by defying destiny, but by shaping its context. This belief fuels a culture of deal-making, omens, and ritual manipulation. Some covens craft elaborate fate matrices, using silk threads and blood to guide events through desired patterns.   Clarity Is Not Meant for Mortals. To fully understand the pattern is to become part of it without will. Insight comes at a cost. The greatest prophets of C’tethx veil their faces, blind their eyes, or seal their mouths with wax, fearing that to see or speak the whole truth is to lose oneself to the design.

Followers of the Weaver

Worshippers of C’tethx are subtle, ambiguous, and often morally fluid. Many are diviners, prophets, mediums, or oracles, often dwelling in isolation or obscure temples built into fault lines, hanging bridges, or woven stone towers. Others serve as fate-weavers, performing rites to adjust local events—a baby born on the right moon, a war delayed by rain, a death timed to spare another.   Of particular importance are the Brood-Mothers—seven ancient Arachis spider-queens who reside in the deepest hollows of the world. Each claims to speak on C’tethx’s behalf, though they frequently contradict one another. Their followers act as web-priests, weaving literal and metaphorical connections between communities, events, and even souls. Their cities are immense silken caverns of bioluminescent thread, where time flows differently and visitors often forget what they came seeking.   It is said that mortals who hear the name C’tethx too many times may begin to dream of threads. Those who follow the threads awaken changed—calmer, colder, and never surprised again.

Heralds and Harbingers of C'tethx

C’tethx does not send visions, nor does she speak. When the tapestry of fate requires intervention, she sends Heralds—living agents of recursion and inevitability. These beings are not chosen through prophecy or prayer, but woven into place—mortals, monsters, or phenomena that repeat across timelines, each iteration drawing closer to its destined shape. Some Heralds are born with silk in their veins, able to trace invisible lines between choices. Others are cursed with foresight, knowing exactly what must happen and lacking the will to resist it.   Among these Heralds, a select few rise beyond servitude and are remade as Harbingers. These are not simply touched by C’tethx—they are entangled. Harbingers are fated anomalies, points of convergence through which major threads must pass. To meet a Harbinger is to stand at a crossroads of countless futures, each vibrating with tension. They do not demand obedience, nor offer guidance. They are the event. Entire wars have been paused by a Harbinger’s gaze, their presence alone enough to force outcomes into alignment.   It is said that Harbingers do not choose C’tethx—she chooses them retroactively. Their lives are rewritten to serve the Loom, their pasts subtly adjusted to ensure their moment arrives. And when that moment passes, they vanish, unraveled back into the silk until needed again. Some believe the Arachis covens can recognize potential Harbingers and compete to groom them, weaving their influence into the candidate’s life from birth. Others claim Harbingers are not mortal at all, but dreams of the Weaver made flesh—walking knots in the fabric of reality.

Temples to C'tethx

True temples of C’tethx are not built—they are woven. Found most often in the deepest crevices of the world, these structures resemble impossible cocoons of stone and silk. Walls slope at irrational angles, and staircases loop in mirrored symmetry. Lanterns are never needed—bioluminescent threads pulse faintly with inner rhythm, said to match the heartbeat of fate itself.   More common are loom-shrines—small, portable altars formed from woven sigils and thread-wrapped bones. Pilgrims consult these shrines by stretching threads across symbolic diagrams, reading the tension and placement like a language. Some believe that true questions unravel the silk. False questions bind it.   There are rumors of one sacred temple deep within the realm of tectonic silence, where the first thread was laid. It has no doors, no walls, only a great spinning wheel in an open void of dream-light. No one has ever reached it. Those who claim to have seen it are never able to say what they asked—or what answer they received.

Icons of Fate

The Icons of Fate are rare, crystalline relics woven by the Brood-Mothers of the Arachis and believed to carry living threads of C’tethx’s own silk. Each prism-like object pulses faintly with internal webs of light—an alien geometry of fate bound in glass and thread. When activated, an Icon allows its bearer to glimpse alternate paths—moments of near-future potential, fragments of unrealized decisions—and choose. For a time, the wielder can bend the weft of their own destiny, guiding attack rolls, choices, or outcomes with supernatural precision.   But such gifts are never given freely. Each use subtly binds the bearer to the Great Loom, intertwining their soul with the will of C’tethx. Over time, choices once made freely begin to feel preordained. Words repeat. Dreams recur. Events unfold as if scripted. Some see this as clarity—a life in perfect harmony with fate. Others call it a slow erosion of will. The Icons do not enslave, but they narrow; the longer one leans on them, the fewer paths remain.   Icons are not earned through piety, but utility. They are most often bestowed by Arachis covens as rewards for altering a destined outcome—saving a doomed bloodline, severing a cursed fate, preserving a fragile moment. Yet those who accept an Icon do more than borrow power: they enter into a covenant. For even in the hands of mortals, the Icon is still a tool of the Weaver—and every use is another stitch in a design too vast to see.

Arachis, Children of the Weaver

The Arachis are the godspawn of C’tethx—eldritch spiderkin who spin threads across planes, time, and possibility. While each Arachis is a being of considerable intelligence and alien will, they do not act alone. They form broods, societies, covens—matriarchal orders of fatespinners who manipulate the futures of mortals with terrifying precision.   Each Arachis is born with a specific pattern stitched into its silk, unique and unchanging. This thread can be read to determine its purpose, its chosen prey, and its eventual fate. They are not universally hostile—but when they hunt, they do so with the calm certainty of a future already decided.   Some Arachis live among mortals in disguise. Others rule from webs suspended over planar chasms. Their cities defy physics, their tunnels move when unobserved, and their oracles speak in echoing triads. To them, mortals are not pawns—they are threads, waiting to be woven or snipped, depending on the pattern.