It always fascinates me how peoples and cultures can evolve in isolation from each other, and yet share such similar legends. Take the Turali, for instance. When they appeared here in Alexandria thirty years ago, our cultures could not be any more different, any more separated, and yet even they told tales that sounded oddly familiar to an Alexandrian ear. For instance, we both have a legend where crystalline creatures appear on the fields of war after battle, to feed on all the energies released in the fighting. And the bigger the battle the more energy expended and life force liberated the more terrible the titan that appears to feed. Perhaps the tales were intended as warnings against war: that nature will always punish those who wage it, no matter how powerful they might be. Or perhaps they are simple statements of fact: that here, as in Tural, massive disturbances in the aether are wont to awaken something inside the earth. If crystalline beasts start to appear during a particularly strenuous hunt, don't be surprised if their master isn't far behind!

  Kirlirger's a knight of the Yok Huy, though he knows no chivalry. The blood of many a Pelupelu merchant or mountain explorer has wet his blade. It would be bad enough if he'd just turned outlaw, attacking folk to relieve them of their valuables. But no, the only things he takes from his victims is pleasure: in their screams and in their tears. Even his fellow giants have a bounty on his head. The Yok Huy value honor above all else, you see. It's their custom to boldly announce what grudge they bear their enemy before ever drawing their blades. Not Kirlirger's, though. He'll use every dirty trick in the book to avoid a fair fight?especially with someone who might fight back. Someone like Bol Ogaw. He was on Kirlirger's trail once when the bastard caught wind of him, and sprung an ambush. Old Bol Ogaw fought back as best he could, but he took a bloodying. How a giant like him managed to get close enough to ambush Bol Ogaw without him noticing, I don't know. All I know is, if you're going after him, you'll need to keep the eyes in the back of your head open.

  The tarantula hawk is one of the most dangerous pests in Tural. Each colony is ruled by a queen, whose subjects serve her blindly. Until, that is, their numbers grow too large, at which point a new queen is born, who leads half the citizenry on a crusade to find a new home. These crusades can go on for malms and malms until they finally plant their flag in foreign lands, claiming them for their own. I hear it said that some swarms have even made it across the salt. So if you see one of these queens, you'd be doing the entire realm a favor by putting an end to her colonial ideas. Just know that wherever Her Majesty goes, her loyal subjects are never far behind.

  Ugh, "that" thing. Everything about it creeps me out, even the name. It means "wise wood" in the Pelupelu tongue, apparently – on account of it being smart enough to speak. Quite an achievement for a tree. Not that you'll get any sense out of it. No, the only thing you're likely to come away with from an encounter with Nechuciho is a couple dozen broken bones. That's if you come away from it at all. You don't want to know how many herders and merchants have ended up as plant food over the years. And to make matters worse, he's immortal. You cut one of him down, another one springs up to replace him. Don't know whether he's some kind of evil spirit, possessing one tree after another, or if he's more like a fungus, sprouting up over and over again from the same, shared root stock. To be honest, I don't care. All I know is, we're only safe in those short, blessed periods when the "wise wood" is � wood".

  Have you come across a bloodsucker on your travels? I hear it told they're visitors from another world: tourists with a taste for vital fluids. The Chupacabra is something similar, though the name far predates the sightings of the beast that currently bears it. It was originally given to a creature from a tall tale passed down among seafaring folk: a terror from the lands across the salt that fed on the blood of beasts. When the sailors caught wind of a devil plying the same, savage trade across Tural, they dredged up the old legend, and the name with it. Main difference is, this new incarnation feeds only on folk. Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction – and a hell of a lot scarier, too.

  You know of the megamagueys, right? The overgrown agave plants you see strolling around on their roots, slashing their sawtooth leaves into anyone who strays into their territory? They'll enjoy that life of violence for twenty or thirty years before deciding it's time to settle down and bursting into flower. Their duty to the species complete, they wither and die. Or at least, most of them do. Those with the lustiest of life forces aren't satisfied with perpetuating the species – they want to perpetuate the violence, too. They'll carry on living long after they've flowered, growing ever more dangerous in their dotage. Far as I see it, ending their madness is a mercy.