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.
Welcome back! Y’all ready for our last tale? The next stop is right around the corner, and I’ll be setting off to the wilds to see what else I can learn about the beasts of this wide land, but don’t think I forgot we’ve got two more domains to get through. Let’s get to it!
Now, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you about the Stormbloom, as I imagine your parents and elders have mentioned that land of plenty at least once. Just as the Torrent and Reach gird the edges of the desert, the Stormbloom rests on an edge, but this is one that most covet, and many have settled.
Thought that does not make it safe. For the Stormbloom is wracked with near constant storms, having created vast canyons that separate the plains and cactus forests that sit in a perpetual flux of bloom and fruit-bearing, where rivers thunder, though nowhere near the strength of the Torrent. Food is plentiful, with a variety of edible plants found nowhere else and a greater concentration of herd animals that have been tamed and hunted since the first days of the Caravan. Flash floods are not uncommon, and those that settle quickly learned that the canyons were funnels of misfortune, yet in the brief period where the rains leave the Stormbloom, pushed north by the spirits, the grasses dry, and the rivers fall low and competition for resources draws darker entities as rage and desperation grows.
And then the thunder comes again, and the first crack of lighting sets the plains aflame. This fire burns for weeks, consuming the old and the slow as a vast stampede races the flames, with the peoples that inhabit the Stormbloom riding with them or burrowing deep into the earth.
What follows is a period of brief and explosive growth as the first rains kiss the wounded land, the cycle beginning once more.
Sweetspinners, take full advantage of this cycle and, to tell you the truth, probably do a fair bit to push it along. In fact, for a very long time, they were believed to be spirits, helping the blooms open and their pollen spread, weaving amidst the fat raindrops to make the greenery all the more lush.
Sweetspinners are, of course, not actually spirits, but tiny spiders that some believe might be the closest relative of the Kith, for they do seem to live in rather similar patterns and structures. However, as the Kith are the most difficult culture to speak with, the truth of the matter is, at best, murky. Of course, Sweetspinners ain’t anywhere near the size of their supposed cousins, with the largest queen only being about a quarter-span wide and the second largest after that only being about as wide as your hand.
Most are far smaller than that and go about carving and repairing portions of their living homes. Indeed, all Sweetspinners' “nests” can be found on the outskirts of the Stormbloom, where the least rain falls, in towering cacti. They are careful planners, managing to keep the cacti alive despite all their burrowing, avoiding core facets of the vast plant. The Carver caste does most of the heavy work, while several other niche forms take care of the rest of the nest's daily lives.
The Weavers, Biters, and Flyers work together to bring food to the nest, and indeed, the latter would be unable to function without the former. The Weavers are actually the source of the spiders’ name, though I’ll get into that a bit later. They connect their nests with the neighbors, constructing wide yet sturdy webs that billow and shift in the wind, catching dozens of other insects and even larger prey. That is where the Biters come in, the second biggest morph I mentioned, and they rush out onto the webs when prey is ensnared, injecting them with a paralyzing toxin and wrapping them up into tidy packages before carrying them back to the nest to store for later meals. Indeed, Biters are the only Sweetspinners that are a risk to folks our size, though their venom rarely does more than numb a limb a handful of hours, though… that can be a problem when it comes to other beasts that stalk the Stormbloom.
Now, the ones you’re likely to see young ’ uns are the Flyers, yep, that’s right flying spiders, but don’t go imagining beetle or butterfly wings, nope, they fly more akin to birds or bats. How? Well, like I said, they wouldn’t be able to do their thing without the Weavers, and that’s because they are the ones that make their wings and a protective “suit of armor” as well! They wrap them in waterproof silk, tying their legs together not enough to limit movement, but enough that they can easily catch the winds and off they soar, gathering nectar with their fangs, pollen getting stuck all over their silky second skins.
Of course, most of this food goes to the Queen and her brood of spiderlings, but the rest, especially the nectar, is given over to the weavers. This enables them to turn their silk into a sticky, sweet, alluring trap, and here is where I tell you something I don’t reckon any of you know: that candy floss you love so much from Mama Mel? That’s right, Sweetspinner silk, fresh from the nest she keeps inside her wagon! Ain’t that something?
Now, as I said, the Stormbloom is a cycle, and while the Sweetspinners help with the growth, others help with the winnowing.
The Jedi-Jedi are another beast whose tiny size does little to reveal how big of an impact they have across the Stormbloom. Indeed, at first glance, I doubt you’d think much of them at all, but believe me when I tell ya, they are quite good at making themselves known.
Their braying shrieks are the first sign of them beginning to become active, rising from the canyons to race across the grasslands, right before the fires are about to begin, chewing through any bit of greenery that still remains. They move in vast herds that number in the hundreds, and for the longest time, folks thought they were some kind of rabbit or rodent, but a look at their feet tells you the truth.
They’re horses and barely more than a quarter-span long, with white and black striped fur, four dark eyes, long ears, and six nimble legs ending in a single hoof that allows them to dart across the Stormbloom at speeds that outstrip most predators. But there are those that can readily keep up, namely young Dune Drakes, who run along on their back legs, using the powerful foreclaws the adults use for digging as their main weapon, scooping up dozens of shrieking Jedi-Jedi and then racing off to eat their meals in peace.
They need to race off because while a dozen or fewer Jedi-Jedi are manageable for the great lizards, the rest of the herd rounding on the predator and turning the tables on them, a tide of biting and kicking that shifts in near perfect unison to swarm around the attacker. They tend to go for the ankles, their surprisingly sharp hooves carving through flesh and their repeated strikes of blunt teeth breaking bone, leaving the feet managed and bringing the former predator to the ground.
And that’s when you learn the Jedi-Jedi aren’t strict plant eaters. They are not effective meat eaters, by the way; there is no way to tear flesh with their teeth, and their hooves are only able to cut so deep. This means the predators are often left maimed and near death, the softest parts carved away, which other predators will quickly take advantage of. Not a pretty sight, I agree.
Fast breeders, Jedi-Jedi males face off in the weeks before the fires begin, and if it isn’t obvious already, they are vicious and stark affairs I honestly think you young’uns don’t need to hear much more about. The biggest is usually the winner, and many males' first breeding season is also their last. Following this brief period, they race the growing flames to return to their canyons, where they subsist on river plants and raise their foals in cliffside burrows until both the fires and the bloom to follow vanish once again. There is good reason for it, too, as there is one predator they cannot face.
The reason?
They eagerly run with the wildfires, staying just ahead or just behind, leaping and diving through the fire with carefree abandon, before sinking their lancing jaws into the backs of their prey, crippling them and then seeking the next, leaving the fire to finish the job. These beasts are called Bound Hounds by the locals, and while some have managed to tame them, most remain wild and free and as eager to hunt one of you as any prey they find across the Stormbloom.
Despite the name, they are not dogs, though they do bark in different pitches and patterns used to communicate with their packs as they chase prey. They are in fact, rabbits, a span in length, their four, keen ears set high on their heads, attuned for picking out prey, their incisors snicker and sharped, functioning akin to an axe or chisel, able to easily part bone, and their four back limbs corded in powerful muscle that not only lets them sprint blazingly fast, but also leap near four span in a single jump when actively hunting.
Their biggest advantage, however, is their thick, stripped fur, which not only wicks water but is blessed against the touch of fire as well. Not exactly sure how, a blessing of the spirits perhaps, but the locales use the fur of their domesticated hounds to line their clothing and armor.
Bound Hounds spend much of the year languid and calm. Indeed, they rarely hunt during much of the year, namely picking over carrion. It was a wonder how they survived. The stories didn't do the truth justice, but my own eyes most definitely did.
See, young’uns, when the storms go north and the grasses go brown, a change begins within them. They begin hunting during the day, observing the various herds from afar, looking for weaknesses, testing guardians, and attacking where they can to cause wounds and weakness, but never making a kill.
Then the lightning comes, and the Bloom is set ablaze, and the hunt begins in earnest. The Bound Hounds move en mass, forcing the herds they have been stalking to run towards, not away from, the flames. What follows is them picking off any they have targeted, but not stopping to eat until they have succeeded in bringing down a great deal of prey, and they continue this trend day after day. Heck, if I can believe my own eyes, I’ll tell you that I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Hounds help the fire spread, holding bundles of burning tinder in their jaws.
What follows is the pack scaring off any scavengers that dare try to claim their cooked kills and dragging the bodies to a central warren where they store the meat, creating a larder that will last them and the pups that are born at the beginning of the Bloom most of the next year. Of course, they aren’t always as successful as they desire to be, but they do not hunt in the open any other time of the year except the “Fire Spring”.
For not they, nor the Dune Drakes nor any other Predator of the Stormbloom bring it upon themselves to face the demon that has become the apex predator of the domain.
Now, I know I have said repeatedly that even the most monstrous creatures have reasons for their behaviors, born of intellect or instinct, and that regardless of those facts, there are facets of them that are endearing or beautiful. Of Nandi Bears, I make no such claims.
Near four span tall when standing on their hind legs, the bears' four wide arms could turn bones to powder with but a single swing. Their stripped fur is patterned with inky blacks and mud browns, but the colors do not look right to the eye, rippling and shifting strangely as if the wind is not shifting the fur but the color itself.
Then there are their heads, broad with teeth long as daggers, and eyes that burn with a red unlike any I have seen in any of my ventures across the Desert. It is as if it looks at Taá's face and sees only its opposite. Of course, what most folks notice are the beast’s jaws, the bottom of which splits into twin mobile sections with far more movement and stretchiness than is natural.
The natives' name, “Nandi,” translates to “Demon,” and having seen one in action, I am willing to agree with them—and I do not mean in motive or action alone. I believe deep down that the Nandi are not natural beasts of this land.
That is not to say I know from where they come, and, heck, you have no reason to believe me, but if you take any of my warnings to heart, do not, and I mean do not, go seeking a Nandi Bear.
They rule the Stormbloom for most of the year, only vanishing when the flames come to where not even the natives can say. What they do say is that no matter how many of the beasts they slay before the Bloom ends, by the next year, their numbers are restored. I don’t mean cubs, no, they speak of lairs removed of Nandi, that once again are haunted by full grown beasts, and whisper of a churning beneath the earth and a metallic stink about the new bears that disappates the longer they stalk the Bloom.
Nandi, do not need to sleep, either, able to move at all hours of the day, and are tireless pursuers, but they never run, they simply follow, a slow but determined march ever keeping you in sight, waiting until their prey tires.
Then, they gently latch their mouths around the heads of their prey, lips, and bones, cracking and molding them to make a perfect seal. There is a horrid sound, one I can’t come close to imitating, and since you’re parents have gotten peeved at me about some of my descriptions here recently, I ain’t gonna try.
They take the brain, and leave the rest. Indeed, that is all they eat, and for a beast that big, with a diet that specific, it makes no sense for them to be as sturdy and common as they are. But the natives have a theory. They seek not to eat the flesh, but the mind itself, thought, emotion, memory, and as such their favored prey are folk like us.
I lost a whole breakaway that way… the horrid slow stalking, the singular horribly gentle kills, the look in the thing's gleaming eyes as it sized the rest of us up only to depart just out of eyeshot. Still, we could hear it waiting, chuffing and breathing and… babbling. Not a weapon we had to us did a thing to slow it down or chase it off.
I only managed to escape thanks to a blessed bit of lightning and reach the border of the Bloom. That former actually seemed to hurt it, and… for some reason, it refused to follow me past the Sweetspinner hives; it just… watched me, eyes gleaming like a guttering fire. So… like I said, I don’t think there is anything natural about the Nandi.
See, I knew that one wouldn’t be a good one to tell, but… y’all need to know. The Stormbloom has a lot of allure to folks that have never seen it, but it ain’t near as pretty as it seems past all that green.
Shoot, don’t worry. I will keep the fire stoked, even as the stores run low and the stories flow to less frightening things. I think I will speak of home, not of the caravan but of the land of my people.
Nandi on the Hunt
