The two of them peered down at Erath menacingly through the trees. He rested his palm on the jeweled hilt of his sword, ready to cut one of them down the moment they touched the ground. With any luck, he could swing quickly enough not to find a dagger in his spleen. What he wasn't expecting was the sharp, discordant noise behind him. Whipping around, it was a third creature, gripping a violin in its spindly, sinister hands. Sweat still beading down his forehead, Erath looked down to the poorly scrawled sign at its feet, reading: 'Will pley 4 gold.'

A response to Dragonlordmax's Freetext Friday. Specifically, Exotic Mounts.

Thanks to axlerowes for help fleshing out the details and helping me tie it in further with the rest of the setting.

The dual, muted voice called out it's siren wail across the dunes, '...Of course, no one as brilliant as yourself would ever enter the deeper desert without one of my extra light canteens. Why, I haven't seen anyone come out alive without them! If you act now I can give you the reduced price...'

Her lips pressed against the soaking flesh of the toad, and Viova's words entered her mind...

Swarming, never-ending, sea of teeth, muscle, and scales. They are all pervasive, all consuming, and they will destroy you. Devouring body and soul. They are hatred and fear incarnate, a punishment from the foul and incomprehensible gods.

Simultaneously feared and desired by mages, Cool blue reasons are the collections of negative energy and the absence of emotion. A Reason appears as a tapering worm of translucent blue-black color, nearing one foot in length at the time of creation, though through their feeding on emotion can grow to be miles long.

They come in the night, and they take things. Nothing neccesary. Maybe they’ll take some candle wax, mabe a few sticks, a curtain, anything. But guard all your possesions boy, because if you don’t, they’ll come down on you like a hellbeast in one of their damned machines.

An influential fungus among us!

In Gaeaioa's wings, inspiration is physical.

The majestic, draconian riding beasts of Tarran.

They were born before we were, and they will last, long after we die.