Since time immemorial, the Caravan has circled the desert, and with it have marched innumerable beasts, with many more sighted and spoken into legends by our ever-moving people. Come, rest by the fire, and let me share much that I have gleaned in my many years crossing the Expanse. I have followed many a daring breakaway seeking to expand the reach of our grand journey and saw the fate that befalls those that are not wary or keen enough to respect that outside the Caravan… there be monsters and majesty both.
Right, right, come sit down, but don’t crowd now; there is plenty of room for all! Hmm… now, what were we to talk about around tonight’s fire? Does anyone recall? Herbal remedies? Yaka yarnspinning? Trade agreements? No… no, none of that sounds right, now does it?
Ha, you young'uns are too easy to fool with, but you know everything I just talked about has a place in where our stories turn next. The Torrent, the Ever Change, the Wary Waters, the Untrustworthy, it’s got a dozen names in a dozen languages from folks up and down this Caravan, and they all come down to the same thing: those who let themselves get complacent are never ready when their foundation caves in beneath’em. In this case, that has, more often than not, been quite literal.
The Torrent is a massive river, and while there are plenty of copies that come and go across the expanse, drying up as the days go on, the Torrent never ceases flowing, and flow it does! It’ll be a good amount of time, but I am warning you now: no matter what is offered to you by fool or spirit, DO NOT enter the water 'cause you will surely never leave. The Water moves so swiftly, so harshly, it’d carry your bones to Shrouded Edge before you could even blink! Now, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but… the core message still stands. That river ain’t for swimming, and it sure ain’t for settling either, and that’s before we get to any of the critters that delve its muddy depths.
Now, the Torrent changes directions and bends of its own desire, sometimes so suddenly you’ll be standing on the bank one minute, and it will be hundreds of spans away the next, and while some folks have tried to get used to it, nothing they build ever manages to last. But life, life thrives in this place. The ground never truly dries, leaving it a sucking mass of mud and marsh, and it’s in these wetlands I’ll begin tonight’s tales.
Now spirits know that the Yaka are some of the best tricksters the Desert has ever seen. Heck I even heard tale that the reason we’ve got the green-storms is because a storm spirit never got over a Yaka tricking it for its rain, but I know a beast that is trickier by half.
The Vodo-Vadi, which if you didn’t know is Yaka for “Many Tricks”. Within the mire that surrounds the Torrent, you will find more Marrowood trees than anywhere else in this vast expanse, I assure you, and there lurk these little tricksters.
However, to call them little is a bit inaccurate, as they are able to spread themselves out almost two span across, though they tend to be more compact. Hmm, what do I mean? Oh well, you see, the Vodo-Vadi has no bones, akin to slugs or snails, but no shell to be had either. Instead, they have a bulbous head, gleaming eyes, and seven arms, which they can stretch and mold to reach wherever they so wish. You would not believe me, but I have seen the clever beasts squeeze themselves through a crack no wider than a finger across, often to snack upon marrowood and dried fish within our wagons.
Avid climbers, agile swimmers, and profound sneakers can be found all across the Torrent’s breadth and, more often than not, stowed away within our caravan, though they quickly come to regret it. The dry heat of the desert is far less kind to them than us, though… she isn’t very nice on principle, now, is she?
But those who hunt us out often seek more than food. They seem driven by a curiosity unlike any I have known. They unlatch cages just because they can, steal hats and scarves to adorn themselves, chuck game pieces and marbles just to get a reaction, and then quickly hide.
Now, I am sure you are wondering how a creature so odd-looking hides, and once again, it all comes down to their near-liquid bodies. They can reshape themselves, changing even the texture of their skin to resemble bark or stone or even grass! Most often, folk will rush to a commotion along the Torrent path and overlook what is surely a log of firewood resting amongst the mess and blame rambunctious youngsters or fickle Bakan, allowing the true trickster to slip away unseen. If uncovered, I must warn you they have one last defense: their beak, akin to a bird's, but razor sharp and built for sheering, which would as easily take your finger off as any blade under Taá!
Now, when it comes to their lives in the mire, their clever minds are what keeps them alive, hiding and outpacing the numerous carnivores that stalk and swamp its murky breadth. They raise their young amongst the roots of trees, working in tandem as guards to hunt down food and then ferry them up into the lower branches after they hatch, hanging upside-down as living hammocks using their largest tentacle, keeping their young safe with the moisture of their own bodies. They need to regularly lather themselves in water and mud, however, to keep the heat from taking them, and that is when they are left the most vulnerable.
Their prime predator, indeed the prime predator of the Torrent, is similarly boneless, though it is far stranger than that.
The Tkal’Sik, or Torrent Guardians in Tzici, were for the longest time believed to be spirits of the Torrent, for their strange forms and abilities convinced most they could not be anything else. Repelled by salt, as with most dread specters of the deep Desert, the Guardians had all manner of legends growing up around them.
Avatars of the Torrent’s wrath out to consume any that would dare restrain its banks even for a short time.
Creations of the Old Places, born of bad alchemy or flesh magic or from the souls of the damned consumed by the great river.
The remnants of something terrible drawn down from Shimreth by the Sky-Fishers. All momentous and provoking and meant to keep young’uns like yourselves close at hand and wide-eyed at night while we dared the marshes on our march!
But the truth is it ain’t anywhere near fantastical; it is a strange thing, believe me. But no, it ain’t a spirit nor a dread homunculi nor especially some alien god.
At the end of the day, the Tkal’Sik is a slug. Though, to be accurate it would be better to say it’s a whole heap of slugs! See, Tkal’Sik live in colonies, not so dissimilar from the Tzic, but they move as one body, augmenting their meager forms into something so grand and dangerous as to be mistaken for mythic.
A lone Tkal’Sik, while predatory, is nothing to be afraid of, less than a quarter span long, flat and flabby, cold and sticky to the touch, and likes to be the prey of every bird and beast from the Torrent to the Coast. Assembled into a mass of hundreds, though… they become a brown-and-grey leviathan near seven span long. I do not mean they simply become a writhing swarm; no, no, they fuse into a true union; though I ain’t ever seen it done, I’d say it is very much like how caterpillars go to butterflies.
They swallow up any that dare challenge their superiority and are indeed one of the few beasts that can stand the full brunt of the Torrent and spend near all their lives plumbing its racing depths. However, they can come on land, swelling themselves into horrid spheres, immune to most attempts to bite or stick’em thanks to the vicious and tar-like slime that pours from them, which they often fling to keep prey in place, for while they are persistent predators, they are FAR from fast.
Let me tell you, you do not want to see one of these things eat. It… it ain’t pretty, and they are attracted to large groups of animals, or people as would have it. I’m told it’s 'cause they can sense vibrations. Luckily, as I noted, they are downright terrified of salt.
And that is because it causes their slimy unions to dissolve, breaking them back into their squirming constituent parts, which are, of course, far easier to handle, and quite a few Tzic have taken to Guardian hunting, carrying spears tipped with jagged salt barbs, and they ain’t the only ones, but I’ll save that for a bit later.
Course, I suppose you’d be right cross with me if I neglected to mention that there is one legend that remains about the Tkal’Sik that I do believe holds merit. That the Tkal’Sik are just the second step to something far larger, a true Guardian formed of a union of thousands. Some even say these “Grand Guardians” are what cause the flow of the Torrent to shift and roil so often, their great bodies forging new channels as they writhe. Now, I’m not plum certain all that is true, but I do know I’ve seen something massive parting the wave on my first visit to the Torrent.
Though… now that I think about it, there is one thing I could have seen instead.
That being the big ol’ Hogoraak, titanic herbivores that are so dang hefty they can fjord the Torrent without any issue. Hells, they’re one of the few beasts that can, meaning they know what lies on its other bank, though what that is, I don’t think they’re up for sharing. Six legs thick around as tree trunk keep them moored to the ground as they march their way back and forth across the Torrent, their thick heads ending atop steep necks akin to the Adaraak, though they ain’t sloths, instead being something this ol’ Yaka scholar I once knew called a “Toxodon”.
Not really sure what that means exactly, but they told me it meant they weren’t quite a horse, cow, or rhino but related to them in some way. Whatever they are, I find them to be perfectly respectable animals, and if I had my way, this time we visited the Torrent, I would be mighty pressed not to try taking one for a ride! Not that you should try that, mind you. They’d step on y’all without even a second glance.
That’s not to say they’re mean. Far from it, I don’t think I have seen a more docile animal in my entire life! They’re just too big to be scared. After all, they are able to face down one of this world’s mightiest natural phenomena without a scratch, what fear should they have of us or any predator, at their near fourteen span height!
Indeed, I have only ever seen one predator try their luck with the Hogaraak, but again, I’ll wait on that one. Even a young one has skin thick enough for a shot, be it a gun or bow, to bounce right off, and many a bandit or hunter has found their blades blunted on their ankles before the beasts unknowingly add their bloody bits to the muck underfoot.
Curiously, though, their skin seems oddly permeable to things that take root, be it fungus, grass, or even trees, and near every one I have ever seen has had a tiny forest upon their back, and they are most often occupied by all kinds of birds and small reptiles and other beasties; in fact I think there are some that can only be found living up there. Like miniature sky islands if you think about it. 'Course, all of that is why several breakaways have tried to ride them across the Torrent to the lands beyond… shame is none have ever come back. Think I could pull it off? Ya… ya me too. Now… what to talk about next…
Ah! The Cities.
See, as I stated at the beginning of our tale, plenty of folk have tried to claim the Torrent, build trade hubs or whole darned empires, and it’s never lasted, yet, the ruins of these cities remain, and despite what most like to think, they are far from empty.
No, I’ve never seen this next beast with my own eyes, but that’s because I’m smart. The Cities aren’t somewhere you go if you’ve got a head full of wisdom. They’re where you go if you’ve got more curiosity than sense. Traps, strange artifacts, numerous starving beasts, caged spirits, and more are all said to lurk within their shattered confines, yet the Medri-Vok is the most cunning.
Named for the Yakan words for “Deceit” and “Killer”, the Medri-Vok at first glance look to put it simply, like one of you. Namely, our Yakan members. That’s right, the silver fur, the position of the limbs, the lengthy ears, even, it is said, their voices.
But the beast standing before you in that haunted place is no Yaka. Indeed, it isn’t even a fox or any kinda dog; no, it’s a rat. Imagine the shock, if you will, as you hear a voice calling for help and turn a corner to find a Yaka stranger lying on the ground beneath a bit of rubble. You get closer, and things begin to become odd. The claws are too long, the eyes bulge in odd ways, and the teeth are sharp in the wrong places, but still, it pleads. Do you take a step forward or a step back?
At that moment, it strikes, or… the pack mate you missed stalking up behind does instead, revealing whipping naked tails and seeking to rip your throat out with a singular horrid bite.
Even if you get away, their mouths are rancid, not toxic, but filled with such disease that your wounds will turn green within a day, and all the while, they will call out for you, mocking “Helps” bouncing about the crumbled stone and decayed wood.
They eat pretty much anything they can get their teeth on, and in fact, it is said once they start chewing on something, they are hard-pressed to stop, gnawing and gnawing until nothing but scant shards and a stain remains, and despite working in packs to hunt they are viciously defensive of their prey, eagerly tearing into each other over even a scrap of shoe leather.
Now, normally, I’d say something to curb the horror of these beasts, but I am not so sure they are beasts. They've been witnessed when they think none are watching, and they do things that make little sense for a creature without true-thought. They steal away with books, scratch markers with rocks, and adorn themselves with inedible bits and bobs, but whatever society they could have does not go beyond the hunting packs and brief mating pairs.
What this truly means, I do not know, nor why they mimic Yaka so easily or know their language so well. The main theory is that they were once a great people in their own right, ruling those eldest of Torrent Cities, until a war with the Yaka, or disease, or the disapproval of the great river itself cast them down into what they have become today, but none know the truth. Some think that in time, they could learn whatever peace they lost again and even come to join us in our grand journey like so many people of this world have, but I’ll admit I am not sure.
But regardless, whatever you do, young ’uns, leave the Cities far from your minds, especially when we near the Torrent, and there is nothing worth the risk.
Ah, the fire is growing low once more, and by your expressions, I take your wish for a change of scenery… and maybe an apology, as I reckon my last two tales have ended with the beast that will dare to haunt your nightmares. He, he, sorry about that.
Two Vodo-Vadi, one Climbing for a Better Vantage.
