This is a piece of creative fiction set within the fantasy world I am constructing for my novel. I hope you enjoy!
The Kiel people are warned young in their years and often that they are never to venture into the fog alone. In every region of the Sul Empire there is an inborn wariness of the the forest, evil as it always is. Built from hardened spires, the trees pierce the earth and spread far above as they plot to obscure the sacred earth below. Only the Kiel have been willing to brave the heights, constructing cities in the branches, surrounded on all sides by sky.
The fog, constant partner that it is to the trees, falls in a never ending rain, pooling in lakes and ponds made entirely of gray mist. Rivers made of a heaving roiling mist travel ever westwards, intensifying as they rush towards and then suddenly over the Alabaster Falls to the bay below. High above those rivers of mist live the Simians, the second bane of civilization.
These monkeys and apes, for they can be called nothing else, have Eidolons of their owns. The world has deemed their heroes to be worthy of immortalization, and of course imitation. Thus, simians have societies all their own, intelligence in their own twisted way. But for as much as they parody the grander races, there is something deeply, inexplicably wrong with the Simians.
One of the smallest of the breeds, the Salinkai slink through forest canopies, as silent as the mist as it strikes and joins the fog covered forest floor. The Salinkai subsist on insects, crunching through chitinous shells to slurp and savor the prize within. But insects are not the true prey of the Salinkai, for insects have no teeth. The Salinkai treasure the experience of slipping a hand within a slumbering mouth, tenderly gripping a single molar within before plucking it free like an apple ripe on the branch.
The Tralkai are, of course, the most feared of the Simians. The Tralkai traverse the tumultuous rivers of fog in an endless hunt for the beasts that roam within. The four arms always moving in a storm of swirling limbs beating back the eternal fog while seeking their prey in its desperate attempt to escape. Tralkai never lose their trail, following lines of scent, heat, and sound as they sing their eternal song. A melody composed of memorized screams and cries of its past victims, the Tralkai collect the sounds of suffering to warp into a song all their own.
Those distant from the mists have questioned the practice of calling the simians monsters. They have argued, litigated, and debated the definition of sentience and of sapience. They have written treatise and tried to enforce treaties in a quest for moral consistency. The Kiel have always known the truth, the Simians must be avoided, hidden from, and placated. No enemy of the empire save the Tul-Tul-Tar, may they never return, are more dangerous.
