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The author found a century-old manuscript in the Trimounts Institute of Technology archive: a letter by Breogan, Ægir chief naval architect of Iberia's Golden Age, famed for the flagship 'Stultifera', the 'Eye of Iberia' lighthouse, and Real-Iberia's conversion into an amphibious nomadic city. The letter, addressed to an Ægir life-sciences scholar, survived the Profound Silence because that scholar fled Iberia. The author uses Breogan's observations as the foundation for a chapter on Terra's wildlife, noting that Terrans lack a systematic taxonomy, using vague, interchangeable names.
In Ursus, Breogan encountered land-dweller currency chaos and observed Originium slugs after a Catastrophe created an active Originium zone. Slugs' inert shell Originium activated; they lost shells and antennae, became translucent, bred frenetically, fired glowing eggs, and died of Oripathy, largely crystallized. Larvae matured and bred within forty-eight hours and later floated, dispensing eggs without flight organs. Breogan judged the slug–Originium relationship a "compromise," not parasite–host or symbiosis, and warned that Originium could not be safely used against the Seaborn because its interactions are unpredictable.
The author confirms Breogan's accuracy: Originium-induced aberrations, random mutations, and attacks by giant mutant Sargonian sandbeasts frustrate taxonomy and public understanding—a bounty nearly wiped out sandbeasts, causing herbivore plagues.
"Originium slug" covers animals with stable Originium symbiosis; their flexible, conductive shells became industrial material (Columbia's "slugger" police batons, later phased out). Slugs accumulate environmental Originium, feature in food, gambling, and pet industries, and resist Oripathy only under normal conditions; heat, pressure, and active Originium can still trigger it.
In Gaul, Breogan studied Liberi Beast Stewards, whose feathers structurally match Liberi feathers, unlike fowlbeast membrane-feathers—possibly suggesting genetic connection, a question he abandoned. The author holds Beast Stewards are ordinary creatures and their naming a cultural-linguistic phenomenon; attitudes vary, from affection to Siracusa's expulsion of Lupo Beast Stewards, rumored Bolívar military "Hounds," and Sarkaz grilling them.
In Sargon's desert, Breogan found a "coral reef" where water would not evaporate and heat would not conduct, with alien creatures and an unseen ecosystem; he suspected something like the Seaborn Firstborn. The author connects this to Feranmuts, which science cannot yet explain.
The chapter closes with profiles of burdenbeasts (first domesticated to flee Catastrophes), cystybeasts, sandbeasts, manglerbeasts, gloompincers, cloudbeasts, beckbeasts, and invasive musbeasts.
The author found an unusual, century-old manuscript in the reference room at the Trimounts Institute of Technology, untouched except for a single perusal by someone from Rhine Lab's Ecological Section. It was a handwritten letter by the Ægir Breogan, chief naval architect of Iberia's Golden Age, written during his observational travels across Terra and addressed to his friend Claudius, an Ægir scholar of the life sciences. That scholar's escape from Iberia as the Profound Silence descended saved the materials from the Inquisition. Breogan is celebrated for the flagship 'Stultifera', the 'Eye of Iberia' lighthouse, and the port of Real-Iberia's conversion into an amphibious nomadic city, but he was also accomplished in the life sciences, and his ecological conjectures remain advanced by modern standards. The average Terran's taxonomy is vague, with common and scientific names used interchangeably, and the author fears a rational, unified classification may be beyond this age. This chapter uses Breogan's observations as its foundation, then briefly introduces the most common present-day animals.
In his first letter, Breogan describes troubles in Ursus: land-dweller economies are shattered, and exchanging Iberian Doblones grows harder the deeper he goes northwest, so he seeks reputable local helpers. He was surprised at land-dwellers' lack of knowledge about living creatures—they have no scientific classification and use subjective names (any grazing domesticated livestock is a "stockbeast"). Eventually he realized the land's wildlife has its own diversity. He argues that since Originium causes an incurable disease that crystallizes its victims, its significance to the life sciences should have been recognized.
A Catastrophe brushed past him in northwest Ursus. Catastrophes create large-scale, high-concentration active Originium zones reproducible only in laboratories. After the conflagration, his party inspected the site despite their Ursine guide's disapproval (resolved by tripling his pay and opening a fine wine). They found a never-before-seen form of Originium slug. "Originium slug" is another vague land-dweller epithet; normally these soft-bodied creatures carry inert Originium fused with secretions in a stout shell. But active Originium catalyzes other Originium, so after a Catastrophe the slugs could be "infected with Oripathy" like humans. By the time they arrived, surface Originium had deactivated, snow had turned to hail, and the surviving trees were festooned with glowing slugs whose shells and antennae had disappeared, their atrophied organs visible through translucent bodies—barely crawling blisters of active Originium. The slugs fired scintillating eggs into the air, then fell, at least eighty percent crystallized, dead of Oripathy with breeding instinct holding to the last.
Observing by binoculars over days, they found the glowing eggs encased in active Originium particulates whose heat kept hatchlings alive in the cold, dooming them to disease. The larvae hatched, fed, grew, and propagated within forty-eight hours. On the fourth dawn, the slugs floated in midair without flight organs, dispensing eggs; the guide called it "Arts," though Leithanians insist Arts are humanity's sole domain. Lacking time to meet Professor Petrov, they left, but Breogan suspects the slugs would soon be destroyed with the forest: the Originium in their bodies stays active from birth to death, and their frenetic breeding spreads it to new organic matter, infecting and assimilating surviving trees. Yet he cannot call this parasitism or infection: active Originium serves as heat source and "Arts material," letting a doomed community briefly persist. The apt term is "compromise," not adaptation or symbiosis. In two weeks these slugs nearly became a new species—evolution of remarkable speed, if far from the Seaborn's. He sent Claudius a sample, noting Messengers refused not from fear of Originium but the long distance. He also urges rethinking their old hypothesis of exploiting Originium against the Seaborn: they cannot predict how it would interact with the Seaborn or what such a union might produce.
The author judges this assessment astoundingly accurate: Originium is now the chief roadblock to systematic classification. High active-Originium concentrations induce unpredictable aberrant mutations—Sargonian records describe giant sandbeasts two meters long with tumor-like Originium growths and invasive behavior, versus the normal timid thirty-to-eighty-centimeter animal. Mutations are random even within a species, and infected-creature damages at mines and processing platforms of Rostov Industries, Sloma Food Company, and others are increasingly common. The phenomenon also muddles laypeople: after mutant attacks, a lord ameer declared all sandbeasts vermin, and the resulting slaughter nearly wiped them out, letting smaller herbivores explode in numbers and ravage crops.
Yet Originium's influence is not limited to infection. "Originium slug" covers many small-to-medium animals with a relatively stable symbiosis with Originium, whose secretions combine with it to form carapaces, spines, and organs. Slug shells are both flexible and conductive—a rare combination before D32 steel—and are widely used in shock-resistant Originium equipment. Columbia once made portable police Arts Units from them, giving rise to the term "sluggers," but unsteady power output caused accidental discharge and they were phased out. Nearly all Terran organisms contain trace accumulated Originium; slugs accumulate unusually much, gathering near any Originium environment and even rolling in waste heaps. Their organs contain essentially no Originium, and they are used for dyes, textiles, candles, food (cheese-baked slug; new slug beer), racing, and pets. But "slugs can't catch Oripathy" is not entirely accurate: high temperature, pressure, and concentrated active Originium will activate even their exoskeleton, causing Oripathy and perhaps mutation.
Breogan's second letter, from Gaul, notes land-dweller "Natural History" seems deliberately unhelpful—his audience was bored by antifreeze mucus research but riveted once told it tasted good. He describes the daily feeding of feathered "Beast Stewards"—more precisely Liberi Beast Stewards—in a plaza of the Palais de Lingones, adored by locals while "fowlbeasts," a vague term covering hundreds of organisms from two-meter barrenland giants to thumb-sized golden serinifowl, go to dinner table, tailor, or cage. He has heard of Feline and Caprinae Beast Stewards elsewhere, each seemingly tied to a land-dweller race. He wonders whether Beast Stewards represent a distinct biological category. Comparing feathers, he found Liberi and Liberi Beast Steward feathers extremely similar—barbs flanking the rachis, with interlocking barbules—while fowlbeast feathers have thin, overlapping, sharp membranes instead, resembling Originium slug shell in texture and suggesting Originium content. Similar functions with different structures suggest different phylogenetic branches; similar structure with different function between Liberi and their Stewards raises the question of genetic connection. He sent feather specimens, hoping one day for gene sequencing. But he must move on: what is needed is intelligence on the Seaborn.
The author calls Breogan's views biased: Beast Stewards are simply ordinary creatures, and their relationship with humanity is cultural. Their unified naming stems from history—Gaul's empire brutally reduced a Sargonian word of ten-plus morphemes to "biches sœurs des Caprinés." The Gaulish term emphasizes intimacy with humankind; the Victorian equivalent links Stewards to legendary "Beast Aristocrats"; the Sarkaz term seems negative, and Sarkaz relegate Stewards to the grill. Siracusans struggled against Lupo Beast Stewards, and an unconfirmed rumor speaks of Perro Beast Stewards in Bolívar used militarily as "Hound."
The third letter, from Sargon, describes a "coral reef" in the desert: landforms of biomass with minute tentacles exhibiting animal, plant, and fungus traits. Sediment baked eight hours in the sun showed no change in moisture or temperature; reef organisms similarly kept water content and temperature despite fading life signs—water that does not evaporate, heat that does not conduct, seemingly defying thermodynamics, which might explain the Seaborn's rapid evolution and energy absorption. The environment subtly differed in air composition and magnetic field; geological faults suggested the reef was embedded in the desert, isolated like a Seaborn lair but unable to expand. Their tame beckbeast lost its way, refused food, and died. A probe sent deep captured images of over a thousand unprecedented creatures—ocean-like yet dragging themselves on limbs—marching inward, and a final image of tangled biomass, belching pores, and arcing electricity, with temperature and particulate density so high the air was nearly a solution, before failing. Detained by tribespeople who saw them as intruders on their "god," Breogan came to think their belief not entirely baseless: they treat the reef as a single lifeform, one that reshapes its environment and sustains an ecosystem—like the Firstborn of the ocean deep. He wonders if he is seeing patterns in coincidence, and hopes the tribe's "prophet" can answer his questions. The letters end there; the author does not know what the prophet told him.
The author notes Terra hosts many "prophets" and "gods." Primitive religions, often Originium worship, were led by those versed in Originium or Arts; Kjerag's mountain-goddess faith combines worship of geographic landforms and natural phenomena. He cannot assert the prophet was mere superstition, since modern science struggles with the phenomena. Arts alone could not reduce heat conductivity to zero, and it is more plausible the bottle's contents had unique properties. Specimens at the Royal Academy of Sciences—containing no Originium yet defying science—support this; a taxidermist documented carcass OFAS-021, which sat unreactive in corrosive fluid for a month, then corroded overnight "as though time did not have a uniform effect on it." The only fitting term for such a power is the Sargonian, controversial "Feranmut"; scholars' theories remain speculative, and none can prove whether Kjeragandr or Samivilinn are Feranmuts.
The section then surveys common animals. Burdenbeasts may have been the first domesticated animals, tamed originally not for transport but to ride out of Catastrophes' path, following migrating wildlife; only later were they controlled and selectively bred for carrying property. Today's domesticated burdenbeasts are docile, and their emotionally expressive eyes have become a symbol of animal rights campaigns. They are omnivorous plant-eaters with a nose horn for digging roots, mouths thick enough to eat cacti, and manure used as fertilizer. They live nearly everywhere except the harshest places like the Infy Icefield or Foehn Hotlands, with regional morphologies—thick fur in cold climes, bare skin in rainforests, insulating scales in deserts, coarse folded skin on the savanna—and correspondingly different human experiences of them. "Burdenbeast" is a folk term for any working domesticated creature; the most widespread species is tenacious and load-bearing rather than fast, and others include the racing "steed burdenbeast" and cavalry "predator burdenbeast," while whether Rim Billiton's tamed longleg fowlbeasts qualify is endlessly debated.
Cystybeasts provide milk and meat via a chest "cystyudder" and back "cystyhump" of fat and glands; milk secretion depends on age, not sex, so both sexes suckle young, with quantity and quality declining with age. Cystymilk ("cystylac") is a key food ingredient—"Without cystymilk, there is no cuisine," says a Lateran proverb—and sour elder milk is a pricey novelty. Their gelatinous club tail and horn deter tuskbeasts, which attack flanks when desperate; herders use trained tuskbeasts to herd cystybeasts. Their golden or silver manes become ornaments and cherished brushes.
Sandbeasts bury themselves in deserts, exposing a thin, capillary-rich "backfin" for heat dissipation and respiration, allowing seven to eight hours buried; regional backfins mimic gravel, dune ripple marks, or dirt mounds with grass. Their hooves dig maze burrows protecting their young. Their meat is prized—Yan's "spicy sandbeast"—but farming fails: they burrow out of sandy enclosures and their meat deteriorates in brick ones. Omnivorous and timid, they breach the burrows of prey like musbeasts with sharp fangs; hunters sometimes train them, with low success, releasing any that refuses food for seven days.
Manglerbeasts, fierce pack carnivores with barbed claws, fangs, and slicing "mangler's fur" on neck and belly, attack anything entering their territory, even giant wingbeasts. Trained manglerbeasts serve the Ursine army, tearing captives apart before battle to break morale. The northern giant mangler, several times larger and once mounted with turrets, fought Samifjod rockhorns but has been replaced by armored troops; smaller, agile breeds now fill special-ops roles. Packs of several dozen are led by a Packmother chosen by strength. All are born female, becoming male around age ten—the strongest survivors—ensuring stable population and passing on the strongest genes; males are rare and die quickly after mating.
Gloompincers, freshwater crustaceans with bone-shattering claws of limited reach, leap onto large prey with powerful hind limbs and pierce with dactyli that can also penetrate rock; cave-dwellers ambush from walls. They mostly prefer small scalecis, impaled like harpoons. In Kazimierz arenas they attack knights slated for elimination, and Kazimierzian hospitals maintain well-staffed orthopedics departments. Their soft, nutritious abdomen is a delicacy now canned widely; they defend it with a hard carapace, half-burying in silt, and swamp gloompincers coat themselves in mud crusts that may sprout camouflaging plants.
Cloudbeasts, small urban animals, eat nearly anything; pet breeds have flawed digestion, dooming abandoned pets. Their long ears give remarkable hearing and serve for mood expression, since their short tail cannot wag; the Yanese assign elegant coat titles—Wuyun, Xueyun, Wu Yun Gai Xue, Mo Yu Chui Zhu—collated in The Classic of Cloudbeasts, and reciting them is a classic theater skill. Clans hold fixed territories, clash with their horns, and have spawned brawling "fans."
Beckbeasts, small domesticated partners of military, police, Messengers, firefighters, and detectives, rely on sensitive noses and whiskers, their cave-dwelling ancestors leaving them poor eyesight and ever-growing claws needing scratch mats. Police beckbeasts sniff out Originium-containing hallucinogens at city gates, aided by platforms raising them to backpack height. For their safety, they rotate three months on duty with three months of rest.
Musbeasts, small Sargon burrowers, spread worldwide as stowaways with caravans and became invasive urban pests, stealing potatoes—seasoning deters them not—and gnawing any tube, bitter paint notwithstanding. Introducing their predator, the untamable urban-ill-suited sandbeast, failed. Musbeasts' crown adornments function like whiskers detecting vibrations; forelimb structures let them glide, and slide-like burrow entrances aid escape.
A margin note by erikson argues the Ægir, also foreigners to this land and influenced by Originium, view Beast Stewards much as other races do, though aquatic Beast Aristocrats' hibernation or chaos makes Stewards rarer at sea; Breogan's rigorous mindset let him pose the groundbreaking question of whether they are a special form of life, though it saved neither his homeland nor left lasting impact. Unattributed margin notes state that the Sui Regulator keeps Feranmut information confidential, that its archives hold detailed records on multiple Feranmuts without touching their fundamental nature, and that the scarcity of understanding reflects the Feranmuts' decline from beings that once shaped the planet's fate to figures unknown to most.
I once read an unusual manuscript in the reference room at the Trimounts Institute of Technology. A layer of dust had settled upon the archive folder, attesting to its long period of neglect. The record within revealed that, aside from a single perusal by an individual from Rhine Lab's Ecological Section a few years prior, this document had remained untouched. The manuscript, dating back a century, appeared to be a handwritten letter by the chief naval architect of the Golden Age of Iberia, the Ægir Breogan. It was penned during his observational travels across Terra and addressed to his friend, an Ægir scholar specialized in the life sciences. It was by good fortune that this scholar had the wit to escape Iberia as the Profound Silence descended, saving these precious materials from the hands of the Inquisition. Breogan is chiefly celebrated in contemporary discourse for his wondrous creations during Iberia's Golden Age: the flagship 'Stultifera', the great 'Eye of Iberia' lighthouse, and the conversion of the port of Real-Iberia into an amphibious nomadic city. In addition to his engineering design, Breagon was also accomplished in the life sciences. His conjectures, stemming from his ecological observations a century ago, are still considered rather advanced, even when faced with modern theory. The average Terran's knowledge of taxonomy is rather vague and hazy. Common and scientific names are often used interchangeably without care, and a wide range of unrelated animals can be known under a single label. Whether approached from a geographic, economic, or cultural perspective, Terra is a shattered mosaic. I fear that a rational, unified method of systematically classifying living organisms might be beyond the peoples of this age. Humans are not the sole inhabitants of Terra. Thus, it is my hope to dedicate a portion of this book on Terra's wildlife, despite my limited knowledge on the subject matter. In this chapter, I shall present my reflections on Terran's perspective regarding wildlife, with Breogan's observations and hypotheses as the foundational fabric. Subsequently, I will provide a brief introduction to the most commonly seen animals of the present day.
129, Avenida Rio Fuerte Real-Iberia
Dear Claudius:
Forgive me for taking so long to send this letter. Shortly after arriving in Ursus, I have already encountered some unexpected troubles. The economic systems of the land-dwellers are more shattered and shambolic than I could ever imagine. I now fully understand why the travelling merchant caravans go to such lengths to bring along entire carriages of pure gold and Originium ingots. The currency exchange at Laterano was a pleasure to use, but in Ursus I curse the fact that I didn't exchange more money at the border town. The deeper I go into the northwest interior, the more difficult it is for me to find somewhere to exchange Iberian Doblones for the local currency. My study would be costly, this I knew, but I would rather not have to drag along heavy goods for barter everywhere I go. I have decided to approach some reputable locals along the way, and see if I can persuade them to render some aid. If my luck proves true, perhaps I could gain some useful information from them.
But I digress. Back to the topic on hand.
At first, I was surprised at the lack of knowledge the land-dwellers had about living creatures. Even without the Seaborn as a consistent thorn in their sides, the land-dwellers have failed to establish any sort of scientific classification system for creatures, and the vast majority of them use completely subjective and vague names for them (For example, I have heard 'stockbeast' used to refer to any kind of grazing domesticated livestock! So, if I reared a military manglerbeast in a pasture, would it be considered a 'stockbeast'?). It was not until several days ago that I began to understand that, while the land may not have Seaborn, the wildlife present does have its own diversity of form.
For the past several years, our research has been focused solely on Originium's wondrous prospects as an energy source. But from the moment we first knew that it could infect us with an incurable disease, we should have realized its significance in the domain of the life sciences. After all, no conventional pulmonary affliction caused by inhaling mineral dust would transform its victim into a giant crystal.
A month ago, a Catastrophe most fortunately brushed right by me as I explored the woodlands of northwest Ursus. Although I have heard the often-exaggerated and enigmatic accounts of the land-dwellers, I shall endeavor to provide you with a description grounded in the most factual terms possible. These natural disasters create large-scale, high-concentration active Originium zones, the likes of which we are only able to replicate under laboratory conditions. Once the conflagration died down, we were immediately able to perform on-site inspections of the aforementioned Originium zone (Much to the dismay and disapproval of our Ursine guide despite our protective measures—a situation we eventually resolved by tripling his pay and opening a bottle of rather fine wine intended for Professor Petrov). At the site, we discovered a never before seen form of Originium slug.
"Originium slug" being yet another longstanding land-dweller epithet, as vague as the rest of them. Before the Catastrophe, the local slugs could be classified as soft-bodied creatures with a shell and a ventral fleshy foot. The Originium in its body is concentrated within its stout shell, where it has fused with the creature's secretions. This Originium is maintained in an inert state from the moment of its hatching. However, according to our present understanding of Originium science, active Originium will catalyze the activation of other Originium, and I fear that those in the slug's shell is no exception. By this theory, in the aftermath of a Catastrophe, even if the Originium slugs did not turn into living, crawling balls of flame, they could still be "infected with Oripathy" just like humans, and their bodily tissues would crystallize.
By the time we reached the site, the Originium on the surface had already deactivated, while the Originium in the air had reacted to the smoke from the blaze to form a thick layer of particulate matter.
The environmental temperature fell rapidly, and the sublimating snow turned into falling hail. We also saw the trees that escaped the fire festooned with glowing Originium slugs. The slugs had marked differences compared to before. Their iconic outer shells and antennae had disappeared, and their highly atrophied internal organs could be seen through their now translucent bodies. The slugs had become barely more than a grotesque, crawling blister filled with active Originium. The slugs in the trees squirmed and writhed, before firing their scintillating eggs into the air. After this final act, their bodies fell from their perches, at least eighty percent of their bodies crystalized. They had died of Oripathy, their strong instinct to breed taking hold in their final moments. (After hearing us apply the term "Oripathy" to the slugs, our guide refused to go any closer. It seems he has a deep-seated fear of the disease.)
Over the next few days, we decided to observe from our camp via binoculars. Although the eggs of several varieties of Originium slugs from previous observations contained no Originium, the glowing ones we saw here were encased in active Originium particulates. In the frigid environs left by the Catastrophe, the heat generated by the active Originium keeps the hatchlings in the eggs alive, only to in turn doom them to a diseased fate. These eggs developed at an almost inconceivable rate. The larvae hatched, fed, grew, sought out trees, and then propagated eggs of their own within forty-eight hours. On the dawn of the fourth day, we observed something even more astonishing. Despite the lack of any visible flight organs, the slugs began to float in midair, dispensing their eggs without the need of a tree for support. (Our guide fearfully exclaimed "Arts" upon seeing such phenomena, although the Leithanians would insist that "Arts are the sole domain of humanity.")
Sadly, we were running out of time to make our meeting with Professor Petrov, so we didn't get to witness the final developments of these Originium slugs. It is reasonable to suspect, however, that they will soon be destroyed alongside this patch of forest. Despite the environmental Originium deposited by the Catastrophe having already deactivated, the Originium within the slugs' bodies remains in an active state from birth to death. The slugs' frenetic breeding only serves to ensure that that Originium will come into contact with new organic matter. A considerable number of trees initially survived the flames and the rigid cold, but soon they would be consumed by the slugs, infected by the active Originium, and assimilated. Despite all this, I cannot simply use the terms "parasite" and "host" or "pathogen" and "infected" to describe the relationship between Originium and the Originium slug. Active Originium serves as both a heat source and 'Arts material' for the slugs, allowing a community that ought to have been destroyed by Catastrophe to live on for a short while—albeit in a self-destructive fashion. Rather than "adaptation" or "symbiosis", the term "compromise" feels most apt to the situation.
In the short span of two weeks, the Originium slugs that dwelled in these woods could almost be considered a new species. Although far from comparable to that of the Seaborn, evolution of this scale and speed is still worthy of note. At the very least, we should seek to understand what part Originium had played in this process. I have attached a sample from a mutant Originium slug. Please begin your research with all haste, if you are able. (Finding a Messenger willing to transport this was rather difficult. Oddly, though most land-dwellers fear Oripathy on a near-instinctual level, the Messengers who refused me did so not because of the active Originium in the sample, but because of the long distance between Ursus and Iberia.)
Do you recall the hypothesis we developed when we first came ashore? That we might exploit Originium to exterminate the Seaborn. Given my new discoveries, we must rethink this hypothesis. The issue is not whether we can control Originium, it is that we are fundamentally incapable of predicting how it might interact with the Seaborn, and just what such a union might produce. I fear that the consequences could be dire.
Lost as ever, Breogan
From a modern perspective, Breogan's assessment a century ago has proven astoundingly accurate. Just as we are finally becoming cognizant of the need for a systematic classification of Terra's creatures, Originium stands as the most difficult roadblock. Breogan's experience in Ursus could serve as a microcosm of Terran ecology. High concentrations of active Originium induce aberrant mutations, and the novel characteristics of these infected mutants are impossible to predict and difficult to describe. For example, the length of a typical sandbeast ranges from thirty to eighty centimeters. These creatures are inherently timid, with minimal reported instances of aggression towards humans. However, Sargonian records document the existence of giant sandbeasts, with descriptions indicating that these specimens can reach lengths of up to two meters and exhibit tumor-like Originium growths on their backs, no doubt a sign of Originium-induced mutations. They also display an unusual predilection for invasive behavior, causing serious damage to local settlements.
The existence of the Originium aberration phenomenon is indeed the most significant issue keeping us from developing a proper taxonomy. On the one hand, Originium-induced mutations are random. Creatures of the same species exposed to the same Originium-heavy environment can develop different symptoms of infection. On the other hand, it is increasingly common for people to encounter infected creatures in their daily lives as the Originium industry develops. These cannot be written off as isolated incidents. In recent years, mines or processing platforms operated by Rostov Industries, Sloma Food Company, and many other companies have suffered infected creature-related damages. In addition to frustrating academic biologists, the Originium aberration phenomenon also muddles the layperson's understanding of the wildlife around them. After suffering attacks by mutant sandbeasts, a local lord ameer declared all sandbeasts in the realm to be vermin, and offered a bounty for their heads. The wanton slaughter that ensued nearly wiped out the local sandbeast population. Without their natural predator, smaller herbivores in the arid clime exploded in numbers, wreaking havoc on the locals and their crops.
It should not be assumed, however, that Originium's influence on wildlife is limited to infection or inducing mutation. Some organisms have formed a fragile yet symbiotic relationship with Originium, the Originium slug being the most iconic.
In fact, the term “Originium slug” serves as an overarching term for small-to-medium animals that have developed a relatively stable symbiotic relationship with Originium. There are many varieties of Originium slug, and the amount and distribution of Originium in their bodies are just as varied. Under most circumstances, Originium combines with the slug's secretions to form a carapace, spines, appendages, and other organs. Originium slug shells are both flexible and conductive, a rare combination of traits before the development of high-performance composite materials such as D32 steel. Normal Originium crystals have better conductivity, but prove too brittle for many applications. As a major industrial material, Originium slug shell finds itself in widespread use in the construction of Originium equipment that must weather shock and impact. In Columbia, portable police Arts Units were once crafted from slug shells. This practice gave rise to the colloquial and somewhat derogatory term “sluggers” used by locals to refer to police officers. However, as slug shells lack smooth surfaces and precise conductivity, portable Arts Units crafted from them also suffer from unsteady power output. After multiple cases of accidental discharge killing suspects mid-pursuit, Originium slug batons were gradually phased out.
The vast majority of organisms inhabiting Terra contain trace amounts of
Originium within their bodies. As per Breogan's account, this internal Originium is accumulated from environmental exposure. Newly-hatched Originium slug larvae could not look any more different from an adult. Their glossy bodies are unadorned with the carapace, spines, or any other Originium-containing structure. Over the course of its lifespan, it will continue to accumulate Originium from its surroundings and form those organs and structures. Generally speaking, the higher the organism is in the food chain, the more Originium it accumulates in its body. However, relative to its place in the ecological food web, the Originium slug's Originium content is unusually high. Without an external source of Originium, I fear that the average slug would require several decades to accumulate enough to fashion a shell of suitable thickness. Thus, whether a surface crystal formation, an underground mine, a refinery, or a power plant, so long as an environment contains Originium, one will surely find Originium slugs present to absorb that Originium. They have even been found to roll around in waste heaps, capturing large amounts of Originium dust with their sticky mucus.
Many Originium slug lovers claim that "slugs can't catch Oripathy" because their external Originium does not activate unless triggered. While its Originium exoskeleton does grow slowly, the Originium contained does not spread internally. Thus, a slug's internal organs contain essentially no Originium, and they have been used to create dyes, textiles, and even candles. The Originium slug also often appears in the food, gambling, and pet industries: Originium slug beer is a popular new development, while cheese-baked slug has been a traditional dish since time immemorial. Slugs bred for competitive racing or companionship have also appeared in rapid succession, forming a major part of modern recreational activities.
However, "slugs can't catch Oripathy" is not entirely accurate. High temperature, high pressure, and a high concentration of environmental active Originium are all important prerequisites for triggering Originium activation. When these conditions are all present, even the Originium exoskeleton of a slug will activate with no exception, thereby causing the slug to "catch Oripathy" and perhaps even causing aberrant mutations.
The three stages of an Originium Slug's life cycle.
129, Avenida Rio Fuerte Real-Iberia
Dear Claudius:
Seeking assistance from the land-dwellers is not always a smooth endeavor. Unlike in Iberia, where I could trade Ægir knowledge and technology for aid, attempting the same elsewhere has proven to be fraught with discomfort and complexity. Such exchanges here would only place me in an untenable and precarious position. Not to mention the goals of my trip are of little interest to them. After all, they still have no real conception of a systematic approach to the life sciences. Scholars and dignitaries have what they call the study of "Natural History", which to my eyes seems more like the study of "deliberately choosing to describe the facts from the angle least conducive to understanding". Allow me to illustrate this absurdity. When I presented the thesis on "how Originium slugs utilize mucus with an unusual composition to prevent freezing during deep and prolonged winters", my audience seemed thoroughly disinterested. However, the moment I mentioned that this mucus, once processed, possesses a fabulous taste, they were suddenly fully engaged and attentive.
But I digress. I had not planned to stay in Gaul for too long, but news of a certain special phenomenon has piqued my interest. Each day, a group of feathered creatures flaps their way past the steeples and arches of the Palais de Lingones, pausing in the plaza that locals regard as a symbol of triumphant return. This marks the commencement of a distinctive daily event in the city. Guards stand single-file atop a flagged podium, using regimented, firm motions to sprinkle food about. A flurry of feathers erupts into the air, filling the plaza with a symphony of rustling and chirping as they squabble over the food. Passersby stop to admire the little creatures, not minding in the least as they peck at their bright dresses and fripperies.
These feathered creatures are known as "Beast Stewards" or more precisely, "Liberi Beast Stewards", as Liberi make up the majority of Gaul's ethnic composition. The similarities between Liberi Beast Stewards and the Liberi themselves are obvious—prominent plumage. On land, however, these two are not the only living organisms with characteristic feathers. From oven to dinner plate, from clothing to jewelry, from beast cage to their many ponds, the fowlbeast is a recurring motif in the life of a Gaulishman (their volaille au vin has a most distinctive taste). "Fowlbeast" is a vague term covering several hundred types of organism. The robust giants two meters tall ridden by the peoples of the barrenlands could not be more different from the golden serinifowl so beloved by nobility, barely bigger than a thumb. It seems as though it is only thanks to their feathers that these two disparate forms are both dubbed "fowlbeast". Since they are both distinguished by such prominent plumage, why are the Liberi Beast Stewards and fowlbeasts considered separate? Why are the Beast Stewards afforded the love, perhaps even adoration, of the people, while fowlbeasts are destined for the dinner table, the tailor's atelier, or the cage?
It is apparent to me that Beast Stewards are not limited to the Liberi. I have heard of creatures known as "Feline Beast Stewards" and "Caprinae Beast Stewards" living elsewhere. Each type of Beast Steward seems to be conceptually tied to a single land-dweller race, and they enjoy the affections of their corresponding race (the land-dwellers' concept of race still puzzles me to this day). The ties between Beast Stewards and the races of man could well be a mere cultural phenomenon, but I fear that I lack the time to research this sociocultural question, so far beyond my expertise as it is. And yet, for these past few days I find my thoughts consumed by the smallest of possibilities. Could the Beast Stewards represent a distinct category from a biological perspective? Could they be considered a special form of life?
I have no doubt that the land-dwellers would deny this sort of conjecture. They treat Beast Stewards with extra deference, but generally still believe them to be no more than ordinary creatures. The strange thing is that, to my surprise, I find my intuition inclined towards this contradictory statement. However,
the scholarly process will not allow me to jump to such rash conclusions. I have noted differences in the feathers of fowlbeasts, Liberi Beast Stewards, and Liberi (I often chatted with the bartender at the local tavern, who seems to have a rather good impression of me. Before I left, she unexpectedly gave me one of her own feathers. I am not sure if this is a custom of all Liberi, or just a Gaulish one, but at the very least, I have no need to beg for Liberi feathers at the barber's). The feathers of Liberi Beast Stewards and Liberi are extremely similar, with parallel slanting branches, or barbs, on either side of the main shaft, or rachis. These barbs contain further branches, or barbules, with small hooks that interlock with nearby barbules, stabilizing the feather. Fowlbeast feathers, on the other hand, have a completely different structure. Their rachis is not flanked by barbule-laden barbs, but rather large, thin membranes. These membranes are parallel and slanting, just like barbs, but they overlap with one another instead. (They are rather sharp, so do take care! I have heard of fowlbeasts that fling their feathers to attack both predator and prey. The structure of their feathers corroborates this statement.) If one were to look only at texture, the flexible yet strong feather membranes are very similar to the shells of Originium slugs, which suggests a high probability of Originium presence in their composition. The difference between fowlbeasts and Liberi Beast Stewards is straightforward: ectodermal organs with similar functions but drastically different structures suggest that they likely descended from different branches of the phylogenetic tree. Conversely, the similarity in structure yet difference in function (with Liberi feathers lacking any practical purpose) observed in Liberi and Liberi Beast Stewards makes their resemblance all the more puzzling. This raises an intriguing question: could they be connected on a genetic level? I have attached some feather specimens with this letter. Please do keep them safe. If we ever have the opportunity to use a gene sequencer (we must put establishing contact with Ægir on the agenda), I hope we might analyze these samples further. But as it stands, I am unable to spend any more time on the question of Beast Stewards. It may shed light on humanity, but what we truly need is intelligence on the Seaborn. ...I do not intend to vent. However, I have been feeling the weight of my incessant work these past few years. I hope that one day, I will have a chance to return to these fascinating topics. Setting out yet again, Breogan
Breogan's opinions on natural history are somewhat biased, and his description of the Beast Stewards has also confused me. Beast Stewards are, without a doubt, simply ordinary creatures, and their relationship with humanity is clearly a cultural phenomenon. If Breogan had had a deeper linguistic understanding of Terra's peoples, he would have found that their views on Beast Stewards would not entirely match his assumptions on the matter. Nowadays, the naming of all the Beast Stewards is relatively unified, but this unification stems from history rather than genetics. At the height of their empire, the Gaulish adopted what could be considered a rather brutal approach to translation. A word in Sargonian consisting of ten or more morphemes would be reduced to a simple “biches sœurs des Caprinés”, or “Caprinae Beast Steward” for readers who do not understand Gaulish. Across languages, the words used to refer to Beast Stewards often have subtly different meaning and connotation. The Gaulish term “biches sœurs” emphasizes the intimate ties between Beast Stewards and humankind. But in Victorian, the corresponding word instead emphasizes the close link between Beast Stewards and unknown entities mentioned only in ancient legend—the “Beast Aristocrats”. The Sarkaz language also has an equivalent term, and based on what limited information we have, this term seems to have a rather negative connotation. I myself have a strong affection for Beast Stewards, and I am quite happy to give any Feline
Beast Steward I find by the road a gentle stroke. Not all Terrans treat them as amicably as I do, though. Take Siracusans, for example. The original inhabitants of Siracusa were locked in a fierce struggle for survival against the local Lupo Beast Stewards. Even now, Siracusan shepherds still recall the tales of driving them out for the sake of protecting their flocks. I have also heard a dreadful rumor as yet unconfirmed, one that talks of Perro Beast Stewards in Bolívar being put to military use under the codename “Hound”. The Sarkaz have an even lower opinion of Beast Stewards, relegating them to the grill.
129, Avenida Rio Fuerte Real-Iberia
Dear Claudius:
At last, I feel I am closer to the answers that I seek.
I fear that it would take too many letters to convey all that I wish to express. However, to put it simply, after much effort with hand gestures, I have finally managed to clear up our misunderstandings with the local tribespeople. The indigenous peoples of this patch of wilderness do not recognize themselves as “Sargonian”, and in their eyes, the document that the local lord ameer had given us was no more than waste paper. It did not grant us the right to see their “god” without their permission. Once we had resolved the misunderstanding, these people—who had long isolated themselves from modern civilization—proved surprisingly agreeable to conversation. They permitted me to meet with their “prophet of god”, assuring me that he would be able to explain the extraordinary sight I had witnessed.
But I digress.
When we encountered the “coral reef” in the desert, we all felt rather uneasy and had to pause to check our portable water distillers. It is somewhat embarrassing to recount, but at the time we genuinely feared death by dehydration, as we believed we must have been hallucinating (after all, it's hard to rationalize the appearance of a seabed in the desert as merely a mirage). But what we had seen was no hallucination.
In stark contrast to the arid heat surrounding us, the stretch of land ahead had much higher humidity and a more comfortable temperature. The landforms were composed almost entirely of biomass. Between the ashen layers of fossil, brightly colored but minute tentacles danced in the wind. The taxonomy of these organisms was rather unclear. These tentacles capture airborne organisms and decompose organic matter in their surroundings, exhibiting characteristics of animal, plant, and fungus. They stack atop one another in uneven heaps, resembling a coral reef magnified a hundredfold.
We had encountered many oases in Sargon's deserts where underground water is present. But this was no ordinary oasis. We gathered a bottle of moist, white sandy sediment and allowed it to bake in the desert sun for eight hours. To our surprise, neither its moisture level nor temperature changed at all. When we performed the same experiment with the organisms living here, we obtained similar results. After exposure to the desert, their life signs quickly faded, yet there were no significant changes in their internal water content or temperature. Water that does not evaporate, heat that does not conduct, this is a phenomenon that I cannot comprehend. A material that seems to follow a completely different law of physics... Truth be told, I do not know if I should feel pleasantly surprised or fearful. Do you recall that Sea Patrol report on those particular Seaborn?
Complete adaptation to damage from energy weapons, even capable of absorbing energy from our transports... We have never truly understood how they were capable of such rapid evolution, but if there were materials in this world that could defy the laws of thermodynamics, that would be an explanation.
Unaccustomed to this strange environment, we soon fell ill. Unable to sleep, we huddled in our tents, listening to the sound of our heavy breathing. Before setting off into the desert, we had purchased a tame beckbeast from a Sargonian merchant to guide us, but upon arriving here, it seemed to have completely lost its sense of direction. Each day it refused food and drink, instead mindlessly circling our camp. From air composition to magnetic field distribution, everything in the environment showed subtle differences with its surroundings. There were clear geological faults at the boundary between the "reef" and the desert, as though the land itself had been carved up and the "reef" was embedded in the desert. Two worlds brought together in the oddest of places—the "reef" organisms were unable to adapt to the desert, and in turn foreign organisms were unable to live within. It bore a striking resemblance to a Seaborn lair: incongruent with its surroundings and inhospitable to external forms of life. However, while Seaborns can ceaselessly expand from their lairs, the organisms from this "reef" are confined to its boundaries.
We dared not go any deeper without further planning, deciding to use our probe's last reserves of electricity to scout ahead. The deeper the probe penetrated into the "reef", the worse the quality of the images it sent back. From those blurry images, we identified the form of an animal, one that is completely unprecedented... Its body plan was somewhat similar to oceanic creatures, yet it walked along on its dragging limbs, like a terrestrial animal. More than a thousand of these creatures lumbered towards the depths of the "coral reef", focused entirely on moving forward, giving no notice to the probe following behind them. The strange ecology here did not actively reject foreign entities, yet its increasingly bizarre environment impeded their progress regardless. The probe frequently encountered signal interference and sudden power drains, among other issues. Just before its functions ceased, it transmitted its final image—a most peculiar and grotesque sight: layer upon layer of biomass formed a tangled jungle, with cloudy streams of air belching from pores and fine arcs of electricity leaping between flora and fauna. The probe's environmental sensors continued to function for a short while, and the environmental temperature and particulate density that it reported were astoundingly high, to the point that the air could very well be described as a solution.
The probe was unable to return, and it quickly ceased to function entirely. We finally decided to leave this strange land. The night that we departed, our beckbeast breathed its last.
I feel as though we had seen only the tip of the iceberg, and that the entire truth of this "coral reef" still lies hidden beneath the surface. An unusual environment, unusual creatures, even phenomena that defy the laws of physics—I struggle to assemble a rational hypothesis that can unify this smattering of disparate data. All I can say for certain is that this was not originally part of the desert, devoid as it is of desert organisms. As for whence it came, or why or how it moved, or how it stayed isolated from its surrounding environments for its lengthy existence, I know not.
We had scarcely departed from the peculiar site when we were intercepted and detained by the local tribespeople, who regarded us as intruders on their "god". Even after several years on dry land, I still struggle to understand the cultural phenomenon known as religion. But at that time, I was surprised to find myself thinking that the tribe's primitive belief is not entirely baseless. They treat the "coral reef" as a whole. Rather than seeing it as a specific area or environment, they treat it as a lifeform. You may have noticed I have been using more anatomical language to describe what I have seen. This was the most rational way I could devise to conceptualize it, as I fear that otherwise, all these unimaginable phenomena would tear any unified theory at the seams.
A lifeform that can single-handedly reshape its environment and produce a complete,
self-sustaining ecosystem is not entirely unprecedented, as we are aware of one such individual. The Firstborn of the ocean deep. Could it be possible that the bizarre sights I have seen are linked to the Seaborn? Could I have witnessed a lifeform similar to the Firstborn? My immediate assessment is that I may simply be seeing patterns in coincidence. I need more information. Whether or not the "prophet" is truly representative of its will, I sincerely hope that He will help answer my many questions. I will write to you as soon as possible. Trust in me, Breogan
Breogan's letter ends here. As to the identity of this "prophet" of the tribespeople, or what information he imparted to Breogan, I do not know. Terra plays host to no small number of "prophets", "gods", "priests", and others described as some sort of "special entity". Before the dawn of civilization, humanity roamed the barrens, struggling against the hostile environment, frequent calamities, and vicious beasts. Simple religions based on the natural environment were common, with Originium worship among the most common. Religious authority in primitive society was often wielded by those with an understanding of Originium, or a proficiency in Arts. Much of the upper echelons of civilized nations likewise pursue both Originium products and Arts with great fervor. Even to this day, the embers of Originium worship still burn, with zealots devoting themselves to Originium and even Catastrophe. Originium aside, plants, animals, natural phenomena, and geographic landforms have all been objects of worship. Kjerag's faith in their mountain goddess can be considered a combination of the latter two forms of worship. Many of these simple faiths have faded away into forgotten memory, but it is difficult for me to assert with any certainty that the "prophet" mentioned in Breogan's letter was a product of superstition. After all, modern science struggles to explain the assorted phenomena that he describes. Reproducing these phenomena is not particularly difficult. Many skilled casters can induce objects to maintain a specific temperature for a short while. However, the very act of casting Originium Arts involves the conversion and flow of energy, and if one were to temporarily stop heat conductivity in a spot, one would require energy flow over an even greater area. Relying solely on Arts, I am afraid that it would be impossible to actually reduce heat conductivity to zero. Moreover, I find it far more plausible that the contents of Breogan's bottle possess unique properties, rather than the idea that someone would cast Arts on the bottle continuously for eight hours in the desert. A collection of animal specimens at the Royal Academy of Sciences suggests that the existence of such a peculiar material is rather possible. The forms of these specimens are varied, but they are without exception remarkably different from all other animals known to science. These specimens contain no Originium, but they exhibit phenomena that are difficult to explain with modern science. Consider the documentation of one of the taxidermists: "Carcass OFAS-021, discovered in the periphery of Kazdel, no reaction to immersion in corrosive fluid for one month... During my routine observations on the morning of the thirty-second day, I noted only
TERRA A JOURNEY
a few bone fragments left in the vessel, as though the entire carcass had corroded overnight, as though... time did not have a uniform effect on it."
Breogan believed what he had observed ignored the known laws of nature, constituting a great power, one that could reform its environment and nurture life within. If such a power truly existed, I fear that only one term, Sargonian in origin and rife with controversy, is fitting: Feranmut. Numerous scholars dedicate themselves to the study of Feranmuts, but given the extreme lack of data, their theories remain highly speculative at best. Some might joke that Feranmutologists are just another gaggle of “prophets”. In recent years, researchers have suggested that Feranmuts are the true objects of veneration for several religions, but none have managed to put forth a compelling thesis on the topic. We are incapable of proving whether Kjeragandr or Samivilinn are Feranmuts, for after all, we lack even a basic understanding of what a Feranmut is.
Size: 210–240cm (Average snout to tail length of typical adult specimens)
200 300 320
Before the rise of nomadic cities, burdenbeasts were the symbol of civilization. They might have been the very first animals domesticated.
Nowadays, they are mostly used as working animals, or as mounts. But millennia ago, when primitive humanity first raised up the burdenbeast, it was not for the sake of transport. The earliest tribes had neither the practice of stockpiling food, nor the technology to preserve it. They also rarely had enough possessions to require the aid of animals to move. Their greatest need in pursuit of survival was a method of avoiding Catastrophe.
Most of Terra’s creatures share this need, and many have evolved the ability to avoid Originium. They detect subtle environmental changes that indicate shifts in Originium concentration, thus “predicting” Catastrophes. Observing the movements of wild animals was an important forecasting method, and unusual large-scale migrations typically indicate environmental change and the coming of Catastrophe. Even in the modern day, Catastrophe Messengers in less-developed regions who lack specialized equipment remain familiar with the behavior patterns of local wildlife.
When the wildlife would embark on these large-scale migrations, the local tribes of early man would follow them closely. Most of the time, however, humans found themselves at a disadvantage
compared to their fellow migrants. To compensate, they devised a way to “hitch a free ride”, which was to ride the animals. Upon mastering this skill that helped them evade Catastrophes, they named their mounts “burdenbeast”. Burdenbeasts are covered in either dense fur or thick skin, enough to deter the majority of small-to-medium predators, but this heavy armor renders them unable to shake off anyone or anything that manages to climb on. The very first burdenbeast riders had no need to control where their mounts took them. After all, the beasts had a much clearer sense of direction than humans when it came to avoiding Catastrophe. It was only when humans began to establish settlements, accumulate property, and require burdenbeasts to transport their belongings that they took direct control of these pack animals and initiated selective breeding programs.
A settled lifestyle and the accumulation of property led to the gradual development of writing. The term “burdenbeast” was at first only used for the domesticated variety, but was eventually applied equally to wild populations. In truth, the vast majority of burdenbeasts that we know and love today are domesticated, with rather docile temperaments. One thing worth mentioning is how similar a tamed burdenbeast’s eyes are to our own. Many believe that a burdenbeast is capable of expressing a rich tapestry of emotion and mood with its eyes. In recent years, campaigns for
the ethical treatment and scientific study of burdenbeasts have frequently invoked “a burdenbeast’s eyes”, which has become a symbol for animal rights organizations across the land. Burdenbeasts are omnivorous, but mainly subsist on plants. A flat, forked horn is positioned on the beast’s nose, which it mainly uses to dig for roots and tubers. The interior of a burdenbeast’s mouth is incredibly thick, rendering the self-defense mechanisms of many plants ineffective. As a result, even thorny cacti are part of the burdenbeast’s diet. Burdenbeast manure can take many different forms depending on their diet. In the wild, it is used by different herds to mark their territories, while in human society, burdenbeast manure makes a fine fertilizer. Burdenbeasts have an extremely wide distribution and
are found in nearly every corner of the land except for the harshest environments, such as the Infy Icefield or the Foehn Hotlands. Burdenbeasts in different environments express diverse morphologies: those in northern cold climes often grow long, thick fur to keep warm, while burdenbeasts in tropical rainforests have sleek, bare skin, which they use to evaporate sweat and dissipate heat. Those living in deserts are covered in a layer of insulating scales, while those that make the savanna their home feature folded, coarse skin to which mud and moisture cling. These disparate forms also mean that people in different regions have markedly different experiences with them: rainforest dwellers must endure the burdenbeast’s pungent body odors, while the herdsmen of the prairies had to invent hydrophobic pants that makes cleaning off the mud easier.
Supplementary Material
“Burdenbeast” is a folk taxonomic term, as it were, used to refer to any domesticated creature that humanity applies to work. The species introduced in this article is the most widespread, and the one first domesticated. It is also the most ancient recipient of the name “burdenbeast”. This species is widely known for its tenacity, ability to endure harsh environments, and propensity for long-distance travel, but certainly not for its speed. Its squat, stocky form is better suited to carrying heavy loads than running. Men across time and space have domesticated many other species of “burdenbeast” as well, such as the “steed burdenbeast” with its four slender yet powerful limbs, often used for racing or sport; or the “predator burdenbeast” with vicious claws on its forelimbs, often serving as a mount for cavalrymen. The range of species that carry the moniker of “burdenbeast” still sees debate to this day. Whether the longleg fowlbeasts tamed by the Rim Billitonians can be considered a burdenbeast is a topic that never fails to draw argument.
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■ Size: 190-200cm (Average snout to tail length of typical adult specimens)
Cystybeasts are another type of creature that plays a major part in man's daily life by providing milk and meat.
Their defining characteristics are the two tumor-like organs they sport on their bodies, one large, one small. The one on the chest is generally known as the "cystyudder", while the one atop its back is called the "cystyhump". These organs are mainly composed of fatty tissues and glands, their main function to store nutrients and produce milk. Wild cystybeasts are able to survive several months without food, relying solely on the nutrients stored in the cystyudder and cystyhump. During the lactation phase, the nutrients stockpiled in these organs are converted into milk to feed their young. The ability to secrete milk is not determined by the cystybeast's sex, but rather by its age. Both male and female beasts need to store nutrients, resulting in both sexes sporting cystyudders and cystyhumps, and naturally allowing both to suckle their young. However, as a cystybeast ages, its digestive capabilities decline, resulting in an increased reliance on the nutrients stored in its reservoirs, and a corresponding decrease in milk quantity and quality year after year.
The milk produced by cystybeasts is known as "cystymilk" or "cystylac", and it is one of the food industry's most important raw ingredients. There is even a Lateran proverb: "Without cystymilk, there is no cuisine." As a faithful enjoyer of cystymilk bread, I am in complete agreement. Milk produced by elder cystybeasts has a distinctively sour taste, which has made it an unexpected hit in the dairy markets these past few years. This so-called "sour cystymilk" is quite expensive but has little nutritional value, and is mostly used to satisfy those hunting for novel sensations.
The cystybeast's uniquely-shaped tail is formed of thick, stiff, gelatinous tissues. Not only does it swat away mosquitoes, it also deals smaller predators a heavy blow. Smaller predators such as wild tuskbeasts have learned to not hunt cystybeasts unless absolutely necessary. Their sharp fangs can indeed pierce a cystybeast's thick skin, but the cystybeast has ample defenses whether attacked from the front or the rear. Its pointed horn and club tail both inflict heavy damage on any enterprising tuskbeast. This is why, when left with no alternative but to hunt cystybeasts, tuskbeast packs instead clamber up their sides, opting to attack the cystybeast's relatively tender back and belly. Interestingly, in the pastures of some regions, we may enjoy the marvelous sight of a lone tuskbeast directing an entire herd of cystybeasts. Domesticated cystybeasts are bred to reduce aggression, and herdsmen often use trained tuskbeasts to help them guide their livestock.
Cystybeasts boast a bright golden or silver mane on their napes, which is often crafted into accessories and ornaments due to its vibrant color. Cystybeast mane brushes are also cherished by artists across every nation.
Size: 60–70cm (Average snout to tail length of typical adult specimens)
If you were to stop in the middle of a desert and observe your surroundings, you might notice a few odd “dunes” slowly bobbing up and down under the light of the sun. These dunes are in fact a fascinating creature of the desert—sandbeasts.
Their most prominent feature is the hump on their backs, a structure known as the “backfin”. The backfin is, for the most part, an important part of how the sandbeast dissipates heat. Sandbeasts are mostly distributed in desolate regions such as rock or sand deserts. To escape the fierce sunlight and scorching temperatures, they bury themselves into the ground, exposing only their backfins. It is at this point that the organ shows another major function—respiration. A sandbeast’s backfin is covered in a dense network of folds and ridges. The backfin’s skin is thin and almost transparent, packed with many capillaries to facilitate efficient gas exchange. This is what permits a sandbeast to bury itself within the sands for seven to eight hours without suffocating.
This burrowing behavior has yet another important purpose: evading predators. Sandbeasts living in different regions have distinct backfin morphologies: In rocky deserts, they have backfins with craggy corners and protrusions, resembling a mundane pile of gravel. In sandy deserts, their curved backfins feature folds that mimic ripple marks, allowing them to blend in with the dunes. In areas with more vegetation, not only do their backfins resemble mounds of dirt, but some even harbor blades of grass to further enhance their camouflage.
The sandbeast’s broad hooves are the perfect tools for digging. Their burrows extend in all directions, like a subterranean maze. Very few predators are able to find the sandbeasts’ young hidden away in their deepest caverns. Only in regions
relatively short of food would one choose to put in the great time and effort needed to hunt a sandbeast. Simply finding all the entrances and exits to its burrows would take the better part of two days. Nevertheless, sandbeast meat is said to be exquisite. There is a famous “spicy sandbeast” dish enjoyed across the northern regions of Yan. In recent years, more and more individuals have toyed the idea of breeding sandbeasts, but most of these business ventures end in financial ruin. All for one very simple reason: if kept in a sandy enclosure, the sandbeasts will simply escape by burrowing away. If confined to a brick enclosure where they cannot dig, their meat becomes of poor quality.
Sandbeasts are omnivorous. Though naturally timid, they still make excellent predators. As burrowing animals, they naturally excel at swiftly navigating any tunnel system and breaching burrows. Many smaller herbivores, such as musbeasts, are also burrowing creatures and make up a part of the average sandbeast’s diet. Sandbeasts have sharp fangs growing out of their mandibles, giving their prey no leeway to escape once bitten. Some barrenland hunters train sandbeasts as partners, but as they are wild creatures, the success rate is not particularly high. If a sandbeast refuses to eat in captivity after seven days, the hunter is left with no choice but to release it back into the wild. The hunter would say that successfully training a sandbeast relies not only on willpower, but also on luck.
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Size: 160–180cm (Average snout to tail length of typical adult specimens)
For many, the manglerbeast is an embodiment of fear itself. The manglerbeast is a fierce carnivore, widely distributed across Terra. Its most prominent features are its array of razor-sharp claws, fangs, and specialized hairs called “mangler’s fur”. The manglerbeast’s claws and fangs are long and sharp, with small barbs on the inner edges. They can inflict horrific wounds on their prey, causing unstoppable bleeding. The hair on their necks and bellies conceals a more specialized rigid set of hairs, the aforementioned mangler’s fur. The edges of mangler’s fur are extremely sharp and can easily slice through the insides of most animals’ mouths. Even if one was to lie prone on the ground and expose its soft neck and belly, the mangler’s fur would be a deterrent to any foe. Should anything trespass on their territory, manglerbeast packs do not hesitate to attack the interloper, even if it happens to be a great beast weighing several tons. There are even reports of a pack engaging in battle with a giant wingbeast.
Trained manglerbeasts are an important component of the Ursine army. These creatures have a strong desire for flesh and exhibit insensitivity to pain in battle, efficiently eliminating their enemies in a frenzied state. Before the clashing of armies, Ursine officers would command manglerbeasts to tear captives apart in front of their enemies, effectively breaking their morale before the battle even began.
One subspecies worth mentioning is one that resides in the extreme north: the giant mangler. They share a similar body structure with common manglerbeasts, but are several times larger. Once the symbol of Ursine military might, giant manglers mounted with turrets were core to the Ursine front line. Before adopting a comprehensive reform to its tactics system,
the Ursine army deployed them against the war beasts of the Samifjod—the rockhorns. Nowadays, the role of giant manglers has been fully replaced by armored troops. Manglerbeasts have transitioned from a heavy combat unit to special ops, with the Ursine army opting for breeds that are smaller, more agile, and easier to tame.
The manglerbeast is a classic pack animal. A complete pack consists of a few dozen manglerbeasts and a female leader. The leader of a pack is called a Packmother. Brute strength is the only criterion for becoming a packmother, and confrontations for dominance are common, even more so during food shortages.
Manglerbeasts display sequential hermaphroditism. That is to say, they are able to change their gender. All manglerbeasts are born female, and it is only once one survives life’s many struggles that it becomes male at the age of ten or so, upon which it wins valuable mating opportunities. This unusual reproductive strategy ensures the pack a stable population size, and also ensures that the genes of its strongest fighter are passed on to the next generation. Wild manglerbeasts do not live long, so male manglerbeasts are rare, often dying quickly after mating. It is due to this rarity that many assume manglerbeasts are a single-sex species.
Size: 50-60cm (Average snout to tail length of typical adult specimens)
Gloompincers are crustaceans that live in rivers, lakes, swamps, and other freshwater environments.
Its most defining characteristic is its enormous claws. Even the smaller gloompincers have claws the length of a human forearm. The gloompincer is named for the incredible strength of its claws, and an adult can easily shatter the bones of a burdenbeast or any other medium-to-large animal. However, this strength comes at a cost. Gloompincer claws have a very limited reach, only able to grasp objects in a small area directly beneath its body. Unlike a metal crab, it cannot raise its claws high. When hunting large prey, the gloompincer leaps with its powerful hind limbs and secures itself onto the prey's body with its sharp dactyli, allowing it to put its great claws to use. In truth, the gloompincer's pointed dactyli can pierce more than animal hide, but also brittle rock. Cave-dwelling gloompincers suspend themselves from cave walls, waiting to pounce on any passing animal. However, despite its fearsome appearance, the gloompincer is no lover of battle like the manglerbeast, and for the most part it prefers to hunt small scalecis. The gloompincer's claws and legs are natural harpoons, capable of easily impaling a swimming scalecis.
In Kazimierz, farmed gloompincers are often deployed in the arena. Under the command of the organizer's casters, they attack knights slated for elimination in a wild frenzy, while acting dull and listless before knights due for promotion. They are sacrificial victims on the altar of this farce of a sport. Thanks to the competitive use of gloompincers, it has been the general consensus among most large Kazimierzian hospitals to keep well-staffed orthopedics departments.
The gloompincer's abdomen is the softest part of its body and also one of its most nutritious. Gloompincer claw meat is famed for its chewy texture, while gloompincer abdomen is a key ingredient in many well-known dishes thanks to its fresh aroma. Since the development of gloompincer farming, canned gloompincer abdomen is now stocked in all major supermarkets. The gloompincer has developed a hard carapace to protect its soft abdomen. When accosted by a predator, the gloompincer will bury half of its body in silt, exposing only its claws and the carapace on its back. Swamp gloompincers have thinner, softer carapaces than lake- and river-dwelling cousins, but by regularly coating their bodies in mud slurry to form crusts of soil, they may mount a reliable defense. If this slurry happens to contain seeds, swamp plants will happily take root on the gloompincer's back, affording it an additional means of camouflage.
Size: 40–50cm (Average snout to tail length of typical adult specimens)
The cloudbeast is a common animal, small in stature and often seen living in cities. As an urban animal that lives alongside humanity, a cloudbeast's diet is varied. Whether animal, plant, or food waste, nothing is off limits to a cloudbeast's palate. Certain cloudbeast breeds that are specifically bred as pets have somewhat flawed digestive systems. Careless feeding can result in symptoms such as diarrhea. This makes it difficult for abandoned pet cloudbeasts to survive. The cloudbeast's long, soft ears bestow upon it remarkable hearing. Passing alleyways, people often hear the clattering of hooves off into the distance—a sign that a cloudbeast has long detected their footsteps and decided to make its escape. Unlike many animals that use their tails to communicate, cloudbeasts have a short tail that is unable to wag to any appreciable degree. Instead, they mostly convey their mood via fanning their long ears. Many affectionate owners of cloudbeasts say that stroking a cloudbeast's ears is one of the greatest joys on Terra. Cloudbeasts come in many colors, and the Yanese are fond of assigning elegant titles for each variety of coat. They have even written a tome collating them, titled Xiang Yun Jing, or The Classic of Cloudbeasts. Though not a poet, I shall endeavor to translate some of these lovely cloudbeast titles as closely to their Yanese meanings as possible. Wuyun beast, or thundercloud beast, is pure black. Xueyun beast, or snowcloud beast, is entirely white. Wu Yun Gai Xue, or thundercloud over snow, refers to a black back with a white belly. Mo Yu Chui Zhu, or ink jade on thread, describes a black body with a white tail. At traditional Yanese theaters, rapidly reciting all these elaborate and mouthful titles in one go is a classic performance and a basic skill for the performers. Cloudbeasts are social animals, and each clan forms packs that roam together. In cities, every clan has its own fixed territory, and only the most powerful ones may occupy areas such as the business district where food is plentiful. It is quite common to see different clans "duking it out" on the streets, clashing their horns together to determine the victor. In recent years, some cities have seen the appearance of cloudbeast clan fans. When two clans clash over territory, their supportive fans engage in brawls of their own.
Size: 35–45cm (Average snout to tail length of typical adult specimens)
The beckbeast is a small, domesticated animal, long famed for their important role in the military and police of all nations. They are also trusted partners to Messengers, firefighters, and private detectives. Their sensitive nose and whiskers are the main reasons they can be so helpful. With a strong sense of smell, they perform remarkably well during search and rescue, bomb disposal, and pursuit missions, among many others. The beckbeasts' ancestors were cave-dwelling creatures, and so their domesticated descendants inherited their small eyes and poor sense of sight. As such, the beckbeast is reliant upon its whiskers during operations, allowing them to perceive their surroundings, avoiding obstruction and danger. Domesticated beckbeasts have retained another cave-dwelling trait: long claws suited to excavating dirt. Beckbeasts living among humans have no further need to dig, but their claws still grow continuously, making scratch mats a critical item to a beckbeast owner. Ancient worshippers of Originium would ingest powdered Originium ore to perform a séance. Hallucinogenic drugs containing Originium have persisted into the modern period. When not undertaking more urgent missions, the main duty of police beckbeasts is to help guard the city gates by detecting criminals attempting to smuggle such hallucinogens. Beckbeasts are small in stature, and even standing on their hind limbs would not allow them to reach a tourist's backpack. To facilitate their vital sniffing task, some cities have installed beckbeast platforms at their gates, putting them at backpack height. A beckbeast's nose and whiskers are its strength, but also its weakness. For the safety of beckbeasts, most police forces rotate them in shifts. After three months on duty, a beckbeast is allowed three months of rest and relaxation, ensuring they return to their posts in peak condition.
Size: 10–20cm (Average snout to tail length of typical adult specimens)
Musbeasts are small burrowing creatures endemic to Sargon. With the development of international trade, musbeasts began stowing away with merchant caravans, which subsequently distributed them to every nation across Terra. Usually concealed in the interlayers of trucks, they are difficult to find without thorough inspection. The musbeast has quickly adapted to urban life, becoming an invasive species and a persistent thorn in many a side.
Musbeasts feed on a wide variety of nuts and tubers. Those living in cities especially love potatoes. They often sneak into fast food restaurants in groups, snatching every fried potato to be found in the kitchen. One restaurant attempted to deter any further thefts by seasoning their chips with Shangshu peppercorns and mustard, but to no avail. The mischief of musbeast molars is not limited to food theft. Whether small as a charging cable or large as a transport pipe, there is no tube that a musbeast will leave ungnawed. Unfortunately, coating the pipes in bitter paint does nothing to deter the bite of a musbeast.
In Sargon, the sandbeast is the natural predator of the musbeast. Also a burrower, a sandbeast effortlessly tears apart a musbeast's tunnels and accurately locates its hiding spot. However, due to the difficulty in taming sandbeasts, and their inability to adapt to urban life, plans to introduce sandbeasts to control musbeast populations quickly fell apart.
It is worth mentioning that the adornments on the musbeast's crown and forelimbs are structurally similar to feathers. The feather-like structures atop its head function similarly to whiskers, enabling the musbeast to detect minute vibrations in the air. The structures on its forelimbs spread apart, giving the musbeast a somewhat aerodynamic form that allows it to glide short distances while leaping about. The musbeast digs out slide-like structures at the entrances of its burrows. When rushing out, it uses these slides to glide a considerable distance, allowing it to escape from pursuing predators.