Shadows of Montintalk

The wind sweeps across the orange dunes, carrying with it a faint metallic taste and the echo of distant chittering. Overhead, the sky swirls with purple and molten-orange clouds, shifting like bruised watercolor across the horizon. Montintalk—once a world of unity—now feels like a place caught between memory and ruin.

Your boots sink slightly into the warm sand as you descend the ridge. Strange spiral patterns—too symmetrical to be natural—are etched into the ground. They pulse faintly, as if stirred by something beneath the surface.

Then you hear it.

A low, warbling hum answers the wind… followed by a sharper click-click-click.

From behind a jagged outcrop, a small shape emerges: inky-black, no taller than two feet, its twelve tentacles flowing like liquid shadow. A single red eye stares at you, curious and unblinking. It emits another sequence of sounds—maybe a greeting… maybe a warning.

Or perhaps it isn’t alone.

To your right, half-hidden in the sands, a taller figure watches—a hybrid, pale-skinned but with shadowy markings tracing their arms, and a faint red glow in one eye. They study you with an expression that is almost human… yet not.