If you travel up north, you will be greeted by the Yarmae Valley. It’s a mountainous and deserted place. It was once civilised but has since turned into wilderness sparsely occupied by people. The old cities turned to ruins and dwellings for various beasts and monsters. The old farmlands have turned to swamps overgrown with pine forests. The water that used to flow from the Orsut Lake in the middle of the valley once irrigated these fields. It now only gives life to a lonely river outflowing from it.

  The Bluerimth River, with its cyan tint, contrasts with the dark greenery of the pine forest and the grey highlands surrounding it. Its banks are made up of bronze-red gravel and yellow sand, hinting at the richness of ores hiding beneath the surface. The river flows in between two hills, eroding its way into the dirt. As it flows further, the current slows, and the river becomes wider and slower.

  On one sandy shore, there is a recently lit campfire. Even though the place seems welcoming at first, there are few travellers around these parts, and finding a campground like this is rare. The camp in question has been recently used and mysteriously abandoned. The fire pit base still has glowing embers in it, never properly extinguished, and there is additional firewood prepared next to it but never used.

  Not far from the fire lies a half-opened backpack propped against a rock. It's crammed with all sorts of survival gear. The tools seem new and only slightly used—a kit of a traveller that is not seasoned. On the pack's side is another pack, this one made of leather, with several notebooks inside, an ink pen, and a half-full bottle of writing ink. The books look weathered but cared for, clearly precious to the owner.

  The only clues we have as to what happened to the traveller, who seems to have disappeared, are the sandy tracks leading towards the river.

  After following the path, one is greeted with a picturesque scene. The water here is dark and deep, contrasting beautifully with the yellow sand. There are reeds dotting the shallower parts of the river, housing various small critters of the forest. The grass rustles and the trees swoosh in the wind, carrying several birds aloft as they fly past. There is no wonder why the traveller chose this location for rest.

  Another item can be found here. A sword is lying there, carelessly abandoned on the beach.

  The weapon looks expensive and shows signs of masterful craftsmanship. The grip is nimble and wrapped with a narrow leather strap winding around the tang. The pommel is made out of metal elongated to form a drop shape. The guard is wide, thin, and extravagant. It’s decorated with naturalistic patterns akin to a root network or a spiderweb. The metal decorations on the sword and the scabbard have a strange lightness to them, resembling cloth but made out of metal. The scabbard the blade is in suggests a narrow, long sword, suited for fighting armoured opponents and cutting enemies from a distance. It’s the weapon of a duellist, and an expensive one.

  Then suddenly, further away from the sword, a thin shape rises from the dark depths of the river. It is humanoid in appearance but distinctly not human. This creature has a large, pear-shaped head and is covered with blue-tinted scales. The head of the monster resembles that of a fish. It has glassy eyes, no nose, an unnaturally wide mouth, and gills under an almost non-existent chin. Its mouth is slightly agape and exhibits multiple rows of small, triangle-shaped, piranha-like teeth. Its appendages end in claws and are webbed, confirming that the creature is also aquatic in nature.

  This is a murkling, a type of sentient monster. It’s named so for its tendency to lay ambushes in murky waters.

  What is a monster and what is a beast is a highly debated topic. Are wolves monsters or beasts? Scholars say that it's a question of origin, whether it was formed in the image of good gods or whether it was created by magic or a curse. In reality, it's hard to determine the origins, and the categories are mostly colloquial. The wolf is a beast to most and a monster to the unlucky few. When encountered in the daylight by a hunter in the forest, it's a beast; when it is hunting you at the dead of night, it's a monster.

  It would be hard to find anyone that would consider murklings mere beasts. There is something that every civilised person can intuit about them: there is nothing natural in what they are. Some scholars speculate that they originated from a tribe of men that was cursed by an evil deity. The others argue that they are a result of ancient magicians' experiments. Whatever the case of their origins, they emanate malice and evil to anyone that sees them.

  This one in particular is clearly evil, as it seems to be struggling to drag the corpse of our unfortunate traveller.

  The man being pulled along the ground doesn't seem to be a human either. One could confuse him for a stout and short man, but he definitely belongs to another species called dwarves.

  Dwarves are from humans. They are considered to be among the civilised people of the world, but rare ones to encounter. They seem to have something magical about them, though no thorough experiments have been conducted, at least not by humans. Well, not that we know of. There are some clear facts: they have an extended lifespan, and most of them are blessed by focus, which is often regarded as stubbornness by other civilised races. They dislike strangers, and their cities are mostly interconnected by tunnels and are self-sustainable, leaving little reason to wander outside.

  Keeping these facts in mind, one might be confused: What is a dwarf doing here in the abandoned lands of Yarmae Valley? Well, this valley is one of several such places located in the northern mountain range, where unbeknownst to others, a high population of dwarves live. Or I guess it would be more accurate to say where they live under.

  Our dwarf is dressed in a common traveller's garb: a leather jacket padded with some kind of insulation to keep warm and a cloth tunic underneath. Though his clothes aren't in poor condition, they are completely soaked with water. The left sleeve of his beige tunic is dripping crimson with blood. There are several large gashes on his left arm, but that doesn’t compare to the damage his head has suffered. The dwarf's face has been entirely gored, and there are only remnants of a black beard clinging to his muscular neck. Though it might seem obvious from the start, he seems to have been drowned and gored by the monster.

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  He is the owner of the sword lying there on the beach, and his physique is one that belongs to a fighter or at least to someone who dabbles in combat somewhat extensively. Dwarves are famous for their ability to single-mindedly dedicate themselves to a craft or activity, so he must have been a formidable foe. He seems to have been a duellist who fought in one-on-one combat and should have been at least somewhat capable of self-defence.

  Compared to him, the murkling looks scrawny and weak. Especially now as it struggles to drag him onto the shore. In head-to-head combat, surely the swordsman should win. Well, if you don't know the special characteristics that all murklings share. They are an ambush creature and avoid direct combat. They rely on paralysing their prey with poison-coated claws, after which they drown their victim and feast on the river floor. Usually, the body of the prey is never found, but usually there would be more than one murkling as well.

  Alone, it was struggling to keep the river from carrying away his precious game. Normally, when murklings work in packs, they secure their prey under the water and completely devour it there. This one had to leave the safety of the deep, dark water if he wanted to have any of it.

  Now on the beach, the murkling is nervously examining its surroundings and straining its hearing to make sure the place is safe to feast in. After a moment, he smiles, and the grim feast begins.

  The creature lacks table manners and almost immediately lunges towards the body, cutting it apart. It tears clothing and the skin with its sharp claws, tearing out muscles and shoving bits of meat into its mouth. It is almost as if it is racing to eat as much as it can. He goes for the precious, more nutritious organs first, such as the liver or the heart, as if digging a hole in a soft, wet, sandy beach searching for treasure. And so, the loud munching and iron smell of blood fill the previously picturesque beach.

  It doesn't last long. The dwarven corpse is something most of the current inhabitants of the Yarmae Valley would be interested in. There is no surprise when a pack of swamp dogs comes after smelling the spilt blood.

  Swamp dogs are, as the name suggests, dog-like creatures that inhabit the swamps surrounding Orsut Lake. They have green-tinted fur with a brown underbelly, generally short in length, bloated-looking with muscular legs, and glowing red eyes. They are not as fast as regular dogs or wolves, but they have strong jaws with incredible biting power. Their tactics are to jump onto their prey, grabbing them with their legs and biting down. They are heavy, and usually one jump is enough to knock someone prone, but they are a pack creature as well. They jump towards you as a group, ensuring you are on the ground, helpless and torn apart.

  The murkling is so absorbed with his prey that he struggles to notice a pack of swamp dogs approaching the scene. The five dogs are slowly circling around the murkling, cutting off possible venues of escape and covering its flanks. Even so, the murkling takes a long time to spot them. It seems the creature is too used to the safe comforts of the water and is neglecting to periodically check its surroundings. He does notice them before the pack attacks, when it becomes clear that the growling couldn't be coming from the already dead dwarf.

  The murkling stops chewing and swallows as he observes the dogs closing in. His eyes dart from one dog to another. The creature turns his head and sees how surrounded he is, slowly stepping backward towards the water.

  Combat is not advantageous to either side. The murkling is outnumbered, and the swamp dogs are after the corpse, not the monster. And so the conflict ends without incident. The water splashes as the murkling dives into the comforting depths of the river. Even though retreat is not shameful when you are at a disadvantage, the murkling still finds himself making an excuse: 'That meat was going stale anyway.'

  Although, from the outside, there seems to be little separation between the attitudes of murklings and swamp dogs, there is a difference. Their sapience. Murklings have a clear vision of themselves. They are not only motivated by their animalistic instincts but also by more complex notions of revenge, dominance, and courage. They would mock those they saw as inferior and would sacrifice a lot for retribution. There are even cases of complex social structures like ritual worship of gods and a caste system among more prosperous murkling communities.

  A simple animal would be able to let go of such defeat easier, thinking little about the abstract notions of pride and humiliation, but this murkling dwelled and brooded over it. ‘If only I had my pack with me...’ he again tried to excuse his loss. In fact, he had eaten many swamp dogs in the past. Life used to be good for this murkling. Until he was heinously betrayed.

  This murkling used to be the leader of his pack. He was the alpha. He was the strongest. All of the other murklings feared and respected him. He also was wise: he knew that he shouldn't be completely ruthless because he had seen the previous alpha's demise. He was the reason for it, and he learnt from it.

  The pack saw the previous leader as cruel and greedy. Thus he convinced a group of other murklings to gang up on him. Even though he was physically the strongest, he was weak in solitude and relied on his brute strength to ensure his reign. A group of several weaker murklings only needed to coordinate a little to take him down. This murkling did just that.

  When he succeeded as the new alpha, he ensured he had a group of loyal companions to ensure his reign. He gave them a bigger piece of the prey and assigned good females to satisfy their needs in exchange for their loyalty and support.

  It was working well until a few recent hunts ended in failure, and his loyal hunters started showing signs of ambition. But he noticed too late that one of his closest companions attacked him when the spoils of the latest hunt were divided. The remaining guard just stood there watching for the outcome, reneging on their deal and not coming to help.

  'I would have won if I had not been ambushed! They were there to prevent this exact thing! Why did they not intervene? Was I not good to them? They are only as well off because I made it so!' Various thoughts went through the creature's mind as it replayed the memory of the incident.

  Not only was he defeated in a one-on-one duel, but he was also banished from the pack. Left alone, he was injured and weak, barely able to feed himself with scraps of food he found.

  Murklings from other packs were chasing him out, and without the protection of his pack, he could do little to stop them. Whenever he tried to stray away from one pack's land, he found himself in another one. He couldn't properly hunt anymore or rest. His home, Orsut Lake, had become enemy territory. It would eventually mean death if he didn't move on.

  And so, as soon as his wounds healed sufficiently, he left the lake and followed the outflow river to gather his strength there.

  It's rare to see murklings in rivers. They usually stay in still bodies of water rather than flowing ones. Even though they are nimble in water, they are not as suited to the rapids. The stream could easily carry away the weaker ones, the murkling young in particular. As such, they would need to nest in shallower parts of the river, leaving them exposed.

  Rivers impede ambushing, which is their preferred method of hunting. The running water reveals their positions more frequently, making prey stay clear of their hunting spots. As such, most murkling packs find it hard to survive here past the first generation.

  However, this murkling was not looking to establish a new nest here. He seeks to recover his strength here, go back, and take over one of the weaker packs in the lake. Hopefully, at that point, he can use his new strength and his new pack to take revenge on his old companions.

  That is for the future. Currently, this murkling can even chase off some swamp dogs, and it will take a long time until he is ready. Now, he needs an easy prey to hunt and a good place to rest.

  here in his twitter (NSFW).