Cactus Fiend

"I thought it was just a cactus, y'know? All squat and ugly with those nasty little needles. It wasn't until it started moving, dragging itself really, over the sand with those blasted root-tendrils, that I realized the desert isn't just trying to kill you. It's hunting you. You try to run but the thing's faster than it has any right to be. And when it fired those spines... Gods, I still see them in my nightmares."

— Marlen Thress, survivor of the Parched Marsh

 

Blasted Protector

  Cactus Fiends are malicious desert creatures, animated by spiteful magic that seeks to protect the arid wastelands from what it deems as trespassers. At first glance, they appear to be ordinary cacti; tall, spiny sentinels baking in the unrelenting sun. But their stillness is a lie. Beneath their cracked green exteriors lies a cunning awareness, their thick limbs bristling with spines capable of launching at their prey with unnerving precision.   They rarely move unless disturbed, their mobility slow but deliberate, their roots pulling free of the sand with an almost reluctant groan. When provoked, they lurch forward in sudden bursts, revealing needle-lined maws hidden within their segmented forms. Each fiend is a colony, not a single creature, its body composed of smaller, symbiotic cactus-like entities that work in eerie unison. Cutting down one limb merely drives the rest into a frenzy, as the fiend retaliates with a volley of venomous quills that cause fevered hallucinations and searing pain.  

Hateful Shrub

  Cactus Fiends are believe to be the remnants of an ancient sorcerer's wrath, their creation a curse upon the mortals who dared extract water from oases they deemed forbidden. Legends say the fiends awaken fully during a red moon, their sluggish daytime movements replaced by swift, predatory cunning. Travelers whisper of fiends ambushing entire caravans, leaving nothing behind but shredded tents and bodies wrapped in thorny cocoons.   Despite their horror and menace, there is a small beauty to their appearance. Their spines glimmer under moonlight, and when slain they exude a scent like rain-soaked earth; a cruel reminder of the water they hoard within.   Of the stories told, none know which is based in truth and which has been so long distorted that any truth that was held within has long since been lost to lies and entertainment.