The People of Arborea
Introduction
Now that we have surveyed the structure of Arborea itself, it is time to turn our attention to those who dwell among its towering boughs. It was with these remarkable Peoples that I spent the greater portion of my sojourn, learning their ways and observing the harmonies and dissonances of life lived between the Webs below and the Clouds above.
In the pages to come, I shall devote individual essays to each of the seven species that together constitute the People of Arborea, as well as to the shared culture that binds them. But before those more particular studies, I shall attempt to convey something of the character of their civilization as a whole: the texture of daily existence, the elegance of their arts, the ingenuity of their architecture and technologies, the forms of their governance, and the rhythms of their communal life. It is my hope, dear reader, that this introductory survey will grant you a sense - however imperfect - of what it is to dwell among them, and to call their mighty Trees one's home.
Who Are the People?
The People of Arborea are the seven sapient species who make their homes between the shadowed Webs below and the bright Clouds above. Owing to the universal telepathy that binds all life in this realm, it is surprisingly difficult to articulate a precise boundary between the sapient and the non-sapient. The greatly expanded faculty for communication afforded by this gift permits an intimacy between the People and their animals that far exceeds anything I have witnessed in my own world; one may converse with a favored pet or a valued beast of burden with a clarity that would astonish any natural philosopher of my homeland. Indeed, some creatures classified as mere animals in Arborea seemed to me nearly as clever as their sapient counterparts.
During my stay, I made numerous attempts to discern the criteria by which the People distinguish their kind from the rest of Arborea's fauna. Yet every rational formulation of their distinction failed me. It is, I believe, impossible to express in conventional terms, and yet effortless to apprehend in practice. When one communes telepathically with a member of the People, one perceives at once the presence of true intellect - thoughts that reflect, compare, reason, and choose. When one communes with an animal, even a clever one, the limits of its mind are immediately perceptible: its thoughts are narrower in scope, lacking certain subtle qualities of abstraction and self-awareness.
In this matter, dear reader, I must ask you to accept my testimony, or else resolve to undertake the perilous journey to Arborea yourself - for only through direct communion could the distinction be made plain.
The Seven Species
While I shall devote ample space later in this volume to each of the seven sapient species in turn, this, I think, is the proper moment to acquaint you, dear reader, with them in brief. As ever, I remind you that the names I employ are my own inventions, devised for the convenience of the scholarly traveler, and bear little resemblance to the appellations the People use for themselves.
The Avara
The Avara are feathered vertebrates possessing six limbs: two wings, springing from the upper back, and four arms, each ending in a long-fingered, dexterous hand. Their heads are broad, with large, forward-facing eyes and a prominent beak; their ears rise high from the crown of the skull, giving them an alert and lively aspect. They are among the most gregarious of the People, possessed of a ceaseless energy. Even when standing still - which is seldom - they are in motion: wings flicking, hands fluttering, tails coiling and uncoiling, or voices chittering in bright, rapid phrases. Though fully telepathic, they habitually adorn their mental speech with an incessant accompaniment of sounds and gestures, as though silence itself were intolerable to them.Their long, prehensile tail is central to their signature martial art - a breathtakingly acrobatic discipline of spinning staves performed both in the air and upon the branches. An accomplished Avara may wield one, two, or even three sticks at once, passing them in a blur between their four hands and tail, striking with a speed and precision that left me, on several occasions, speechless with admiration.
The Avara are by temperament the most curious and adventurous of the People. Their extended family-groups, which may number scores of individuals and function as villages in their own right, are often nomadic, migrating from settlement to settlement every year or two as whim, opportunity, or rumor of some marvel calls them onward.
The Ceph
The Ceph are ten-limbed, boneless creatures, possessed of two long tentacles and eight shorter arms which radiate from a large, rounded head. They move with an elegance I found nothing short of mesmerizing, employing four of their arms for walking, while the two elongated tentacles - each tipped with a broad, sucker-lined pad - serve to anchor them to branches or to swing with astonishing agility from one perch to the next. When they flatten their bodies into a disc, they may glide remarkable distances through the air, occasionally extending a tentacle to seize a rope or branch mid-flight, thus altering both their direction and altitude with enviable ease.Their eyes are large, with horizontal pupils, and their skin is of a soft, rubbery texture. This possesses a remarkable color-shifting quality, permitting them to change their coloration at will. In this way the Ceph broadcast their emotions upon their very flesh, so that one may often read their mood as plainly as one might read the sky for weather. They also employ this gift for concealment when required, blending seamlessly into bark or shadow. Their boneless forms are extraordinarily compressible; a Ceph may pass through an aperture scarcely wider than a clenched fist, provided it can accommodate the sole rigid structure they possess - a beak set at the base of the head, hidden among their limbs.
From this beak the Ceph produce an astonishing repertoire of whistles, chirps, and melodic trills - sounds of great beauty, which carry through the Trees more effectively than telepathic communication itself. They are renowned among the People for their sorcery, and equally for their singular life-cycle. Each Ceph lives scarcely a decade, yet attains a form of continuity through the extraordinary process of Bequeathal: near the end of life, two Ceph mate - each being hermaphroditic - and afterwards separate to lay their own clutches of eggs. As the young near hatching, the parent impresses upon them a great portion of their memories, experience, and very sense of self. The newborn must, of course, learn to wield this inheritance, yet they emerge into the world bearing recollections that stretch back generations, and may speak of historical events not as hearsay, but as something close to personal witness.
The Kouatl
The Kouatl possess long, sinuous bodies clad in fine scales, with six limbs joined by a delicate gliding membrane. Each limb ends in a five-fingered hand, and at the tip of every finger lies an adhesive pad capable of clinging to any surface it touches. This extraordinary adaptation grants the Kouatl an unrivalled mastery of arboreal locomotion: they ascend and descend the trunks with effortless grace, and may even travel inverted along the underside of branches with no more difficulty than you or I might stroll along a well-paved lane. Their bodies terminate in a slender, tapering tail, used chiefly for balance during their acrobatic maneuvers.Their heads are long and narrow, bearing two laterally placed eyes which protrude slightly from the skull. Each eye is capable of independent movement, and is sheathed in fused eyelids that leave only a minute aperture for sight. How such an arrangement yields vision of surpassing sharpness I cannot explain, but the fact remains that a Kouatl may focus upon an object hundreds of spans distant and discern it with startling clarity - even when directing but a single eye to the task. Among the People it is held as axiomatic that one cannot approach a Kouatl unobserved; their ceaseless vigilance and extraordinary field of view ensure that every motion in their vicinity is noted.
Many Kouatl bear a modest crest of feathers upon the crown, and their narrow jaws contain numerous small, leaf-shaped teeth. They are equipped with an exceptionally long and agile tongue, capable of darting forth to seize small prey. Though primarily herbivorous by inclination, they delight in the sport of snatching the myriad tiny airborne creatures that flit through the Trees. Like the Ceph, they possess the remarkable ability to alter the color of their skin, blending seamlessly with bark, branch, or shadow. On rare occasions, they may also betray their emotions through such chromatic shifts, though this is considered a lapse in composure; a typical Kouatl prides themself on revealing nothing they do not expressly choose to share.
The Kouatl are, by temperament, solitary or inclined to keep to small, tight-knit companies. Many make their livelihood as merchants, messengers, and - most notably - purveyors of information. They are collectors of secrets and tidings, and they invariably know far more than they choose to reveal.
The Roark
The Roark are six-limbed vertebrates whose small, compact bodies belie the extraordinary reach of their long wings and elongated limbs - each extending many times the length of their trunks. They are, without question, the most sensitive telepaths among the People. Even the faintest emanations of thought, save those most cunningly concealed, are perceptible to them. Indeed, they are the species most inclined to study their psychic faculties with deliberate discipline, and many develop the capacity to communicate across great distances with individuals whose minds they know well. In this manner, the Roark serve as the living threads that bind the scattered communities of Arborea into a coherent whole.Their bodies are clothed in a dark, rubbery skin, and their heads are squat and broad, bearing large, luminous eyes and a wide, toothless mouth. Their hind limbs terminate in small but effective claws, with which they anchor themselves to the branches - most often hanging inverted in vast, murmurous flocks. It is in this posture that the Roark sing.
The song of the Roark is one of the most arresting experiences of Arborea. Vast choirs of them raise their voices in a shifting tapestry of chirps, bellows, croaks, whistles, and tones altogether beyond the reach of the human ear. Many of their harmonics lie above or below the range I could perceive unaided; I was obliged to rely upon my instruments to appreciate the full breadth of their performance. At first I found this chorus bewildering, even cacophonous - but in time, as my ear grew accustomed to its strange cadences, I learned not only to appreciate it, but to miss its haunting presence after my departure from that realm.
Yet the song serves a purpose far deeper than mere aesthetic expression. Through it, the Roark coordinate their thoughts and enter a state of profound communion in which individuality dissolves into a unified consciousness. In such moments, an entire flock becomes, for a time, a single gestalt mind - sharing information with breathtaking speed, arriving at collective decisions, and contemplating problems far too vast for any single intellect.
It is little wonder, then, that the Roark are regarded as the wisest of the People. In moments of crisis, when clarity is required and swift understanding essential, the other species often turn to them, entrusting the matter to their great communal mind.
The Bohra
The Bohra are among the largest of the People, surpassed in stature only by the Karapax. They possess six limbs: two powerful arms terminating in remarkable hands, each equipped with two opposable thumbs set against three elongated digits - an arrangement which grants them an exceptional grasp, well suited to both climbing and combat. From their backs spring two wings, insufficient for true flight yet admirably adapted for controlled gliding between the branches. Their legs are long and prodigiously strong, enabling the Bohra to leap astounding distances. These limbs end in great, curved claws capable of being driven deep into the bark for climbing, or wielded with lethal effect. I have witnessed a single well-placed kick from a Bohra disembowel a predator many times its own mass.Their heads are large and rounded, dominated by immense, unblinking eyes which remain fixed in their sockets; instead of moving these organs, the Bohra rotate their entire heads with astonishing flexibility - indeed, they appear capable of nearly a full revolution. Their bodies are clad in a covering of soft, dense feathers which lend them a voluminous silhouette, often concealing the true length of their limbs and neck. It can be quite startling, upon seeing a Bohra extend itself fully, to discover how much of its form lies hidden beneath this plumage. They also possess a long tail, which serves as a counterbalance when running at great speed along the branches.
The Bohra are nocturnal by nature and count among the finest navigators of Arborea's stygian night. They are widely regarded as taciturn and stoic, and often assume the roles of hunters and guardians - those who keep watch against the lurking predators while the other species of the People take their rest. Despite their reserved manner, they are accomplished singers, both in solitude and in chorus. Their voices produce a low, resonant drone, rhythmic and pulsing with a hypnotic undertone that vibrates through the very wood of the Trees.
The Karapax
The Karapax are immense, domed beings encased within a monumental exoskeleton of chitin. Their bodies commonly measure three to four spans in length, and the apex of their rounded carapace often rises more than two spans above the bark upon which they stand. When they desire it, this great dome may hinge open to reveal a pair of broad, membranous wings. With these the Karapax may achieve brief, lumbering flights - never graceful, but effective enough for traversing short distances between branches. Yet they far more often elect to walk, for their six powerful legs, each armed with one or two stout claws, permit them to ascend even the sheerest trunks with surprising assurance.Once a Karapax has braced itself, it becomes all but immovable. Though lacking the agility of the Avara or the Bohra, they are unquestionably the strongest of the People; I have seen a single Karapax hold steady a sagging branch that would have crushed half a dozen of their compatriots.
In addition to their locomotive limbs, the Karapax possess four remarkable manipulatory appendages situated at the fore of the body. Two of these end in vast, crushing pincers capable of grasping and steadying even the heaviest materials, while the remaining pair, set just behind and rotated in opposition, terminate in finer tools suited to delicate work. A Karapax engaged in earnest discourse will often gesture emphatically with their great pincers - a habit which should inspire any prudent listener to maintain a respectful distance.
Their heads, mounted upon flexible necks, may be withdrawn entirely into the shelter of the carapace. Upon these heads rest two compound eyes borne on short stalks, which allow the Karapax to survey their surroundings with minimal movement of their massive bulk.
The Karapax have a deep and abiding love of mathematics, logic, and precision. They are the principal engineers of the People, responsible for the construction of many of their more ambitious works, the formulation of their units of measurement, and much of their technological innovation. They are also one of the species traditionally practiced in the magical arts, specifically their distinctive discipline of Arcane Geometry. This tradition relies on patterns of extraordinary accuracy, inscribed upon surfaces to channel thaumaturgic energies into repeatable preternatural effects.
The Karapax perceive the world in stark certainties - black and white, correct and incorrect - and are markedly discomforted by ambiguity. Unanswered questions agitate them profoundly. On occasion, this compulsion to resolve uncertainty leads a Karapax to accept an explanation simply to fill the void where none is yet known. Fortunately, they are usually willing - after some argument - to revise their conclusions when presented with firm evidence to the contrary.
The Mycora
The Mycora are, perhaps, the strangest of all the People of Arborea - indeed, of all the sapient beings I have encountered across the worlds. They are floating fungal spheres, colonial in nature, and possessed of a conception of self so alien that no proper analogue exists within the languages of my home. They regard themselves as neither singular nor plural, but as a continuous collective organism composed of many interdependent elements. To speak of "a" Mycora is already to misrepresent the truth, yet I must beg the reader's indulgence; our tongue affords no better option.These beings remain suspended in the air through the same marvelous lifting gas that bears the balloon-ships of the People aloft. They maneuver by expelling minute jets of this gas, allowing them to drift or dart in any direction. Their globular bodies - mottled in the pallid hues of fungi, from white and grey to muted greens - produce a number of soft pseudopods, which they employ both for anchoring themselves to branches and for manipulating the objects of their environment.
Each Mycora possesses an orifice leading to an internal chamber. Into this cavity they place whatever they wish to consume - typically, though by no means exclusively, plant matter. The colony absorbs whatever is digestible, and later expels the remnants through the same aperture. Their surfaces are capable of gentle bioluminescence, and at night they often emit a faint glow - sufficient, I am told, for the sensitive eyes of Arborean natives, though I confess it afforded me little assistance in navigating the gloaming. They may also display elaborate shifting patterns upon their bodies, and engage in competitions of aesthetic finesse. How they perceive these patterns remains one of the many mysteries surrounding them, for they possess no visible organs of sight, nor do they claim the phenomenon is apprehended via psychical means.
Like all the creatures of Arborea, the Mycora are telepathic; unlike the other People, they rely upon this faculty exclusively. They have no capacity for vocalization, nor any equivalent method of audible communication.
When startled or distressed, a Mycora will discharge a burst of spores - both to propel itself rapidly away from danger and to obscure its retreat. These spores irritate the eyes and lungs of most Arborean fauna; my own observations confirm the unpleasantness of encountering such a cloud unawares.
Culturally, the Mycora are often cast by the other People as lighthearted tricksters - beings who concern themselves little with practical affairs, delight in mischief, and offer a species of innocent, if sometimes confounding, insight into the happenings of daily life. Many treat them as perpetual children, a habit the Mycora themselves do not uniformly appreciate. Indeed, I suspect that certain of their more malicious pranks find their origin in resentment at this condescension. And their tricks are not always harmless. There exist numerous somber tales of Mycora whose mischief - prompted by impishness or by subtle vengeance - has resulted in an unsuspecting victim tumbling from a branch and plummeting into the Webs far below.
An Arboreal Civilization
And now, dear reader, I hope you have a deeper appreciation for the wondrous diversity of the People, and how they fit together into a cohesive whole. In our next section I will begin to explore the manner in which the People structure their lives - the many innovative technologies they have created, the beauty of their art and architecture, and the rhythm of their daily life. Turn the page, dear reader to continue our journey together through the Trees of Arborea.
So many strange and wonderous peoples. You have done a fantastic job bringing them to life however, even conceptually, given how difficult it can be to visualize things we are so unfamiliar with in so many ways (there is a reason why humanoids are as popular as they are its easy) Despite how...is alien the right word here? these various peoples all sound to me, I believe whole heartedly in their sapience and intelligence in the way you introduce and initially describe each of them. Excellent work, wonderfully written!
Thank you! I think Alien is an appropriate word; this world was inspired by the Elves vs Aliens challenge, and I wanted to explore how an unearthly fantasy world would evolve. Eventually I hope to commission art for each of these species; I’ve found that when attempting to create novel creatures, it quickly outstrips the ability of AI image creators - they lack the ability of humans to conceive of new images, and I will gladly pay a living artist to do what the machine cannot (once I have the available funds).
I can appreciate that, the same sort of feeling (though not quite due to how unearthly) was why I've stopped using Midjourney myself. And that's true that was the inspiration I remember yeah!