Tharizdun

The Chained God was constantly in motion within its prison, battering and straining against every square inch of the walls that restrained it, and howling in fury like a hurricane. A thousand times a thousand tentacles of its being constantly probed, seeking even the smallest fissure through which it could touch the outside world.

Occasionally a tendril would find a small crack in the wall---not nearly large enough for any significant amount of Tharizdun to squeeze through---but enough for a small feeler to slip into to whichever plane of existence the crack bordered on. With that small tentacle, Tharizdun would feel blindly about, sometimes brushing against a mind attuned to it, or one of the 333 gems it had scattered across the multiverse. Tharizdun would then try to use these minds and gems to manipulate reality in an attempt to widen the fissure until it opened like a door---a door it could step through.

So far, Tharizdun had failed to open the door, in spite of the countless attempts it had made. The fact that Tharizdun had not slackened in its attempts despite all the setbacks it had experienced might tempt one to think that Tharizdun was a being of infinite patience. But the Chained God was not patient---quite the opposite---it seethed with anger each time it was thwarted. But it knew that it need only succeed once. When it did, it knew that it would remake all of reality in its image.