Murd

The Murds are a bestial race of half-men who must contend daily with the thin, inhospitable clouds and fiery, capricious climes of Jhaeloe’s outermost layer. The altitude of Jhaeloe at which they dwell has very low gravity and extremely dense air pressure. Thus, the Murds’ mode of flight relies on the use of their monstrous leathern bat wings, which displace immense gouts of air with each flap. However, ‘flap’ would not be an appropriate term to refer to their movements, for it evokes implications of gentleness. The flapping of hummingbirds, pigeons and bats, fickle and fluttery things – evidenced through comparison with that of the albatross, which seldom flaps its majestic wings. The flight of Murds is best described as a ‘bound’, for with every bound it rises one and a half metres upwards and two metres forwards, at which it plummets for a split second before the next bound.   From afar, you may assume by the comical ungainliness of Murd ambulation that the act of flight is a sisyphean ordeal for them. You would be wrong, for as bumbling as it may appear, their physical stamina is second to none. The source of their supernal stamina originates from their gargantuan chest muscles, fuelled by untold profusions of oxygen pumped from three pairs of immense lungs. As you would imagine, their ribcages are rather capacious.

Their lungs are adapted to life in high altitudes where there are thick air and thus they do well in the upper layers of Jhaeloe's atmosphere, accompanied with strong winds and inhospitable solar heat. Their splayed-out webbed feet are adapted to the thin, collapsible cloud-wool upon which they live.

Gigantocracy. The bigger and stronger you are the more influence you have over your flock because they will always obey the commands of he who asserts his dominance with the greatest force.

Their facial features are grotesque and exaggerated, perhaps even amorphous, always contorted into some hideous opera-mask gape. Every time their mutable facial expressions change, they look like a completely different individual.

They are the most intelligent people of the highest layer of Jhaeloe's skies, but that ain't saying much. Murds, with their very existence and behaviors, stretch the boundaries of what constitutes a person.

Dumber than a pitbull.

An impeccable sense of smell and their frightening shrieks give them flawless echolocative abilities. However their vision is not so good and their carnivorous nature has stunted their sense of taste.

Because their faces never remain the same, Murds have no names. They have no problem with this, because to the Murds it is hubristic to possess an ego. Having an identity and a noise to designate it is noisomely narcissistic.