Presented by Lady Emily
The skull of a kraeve, recovered from the woodlands
south of Liramelle. This is the same variety that lives in the New World.
Note the ravaging lay of the teeth, as well as
the long, sleek, head, ideal for burrowing.
A creature long known to fear the tread of human feet. A creature seen by only a handful of people. A secretive beast that got its name from its cowardly behavior. How is it that the people of the New World now fear the kraeven more than any other predators that haunt their woods?
It is a story best told by one who knows the creatures intimately. For this treatise, we introduce Talen Suraan, a well-known sage who made a name for himself in documenting the falling of the city of Antara. His keen attention has since turned to the kraeven, and the strange affliction that is changing the way we think of them. Here, then, is our guest.
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Few people have heard of a kraeve. Though quite notable for their size and appearance, the fact that the creatures are nocturnal and seldom emerge from their underground dens makes them one of the least known of all large land animals.
Let me first introduce the creature’s basic appearance and habits.
The average kraeve weighs between 120 to 180 stone, about the size of a wolf, but has a squatter, longer body, much like a badger. The kraeve was once described as a cross between a wolf, a badger, and a rat.
The fur is coarse and thick, grey with a mottled stripe running down the back in a broad band. The eyes are small, very attuned to the dark, and are fitted with a clear secondary eyelid which the kraeve utilizes when digging.
Being a burrowing animal, the kraeve is fitted with huge frontal claws, not overly sharp but quite thick and capable of tearing apart a rabbit’s den with remarkable speed and efficiency.
I use the example of a rabbit’s den because the rabbit is the kraeve’s primary prey, to which ends the animal hunts along the border between prairie and forest, sniffing out burrows in the dark.
Through more than two years’ worth of experiments and observations, I have ascertained that the kraeve is primarily a creature of scent – it has an extremely keen nose, and only moderate vision. In daylight, the vision is even worse, and indeed, the creature seems averse to light of any kind, whether of the sun, fire, or even lantern-light.
The kraeve is also known to be afraid of anything even half its size – I’ve seen, more than once, foxes chasing a kraeve from their territory.
However, if you would take a journey over to the New World right now, you’d see outlying villages hastily erecting stockades and towers. And they are protecting themselves against the same creature I have described above.
Here is the report of a survivor. His village lies two leagues outside of Rilhaven, and is a prosperous place that serves as the home to many a huntsman. He moved to Rilhaven after this attack.
We had been attacked twice before, so I wasn’t overly surprised when I heard Graydof make the warning call. "Kraeven!!" he called, riding into Riverside on his old, white mare.
We all shouted out, women screaming, children crying, as we scurried up the tower we had built. The palisade was half done, but we had built the tower just in the case of an attack before the outer wall was finished. We knew the things couldn’t climb, so this was our best defense. Or so we thought.
I took to the lower platform with ten other men – we had bows and were going to do our best to slay the things as they passed by. Luckily enough, everyone made it up before the first of the beasts appeared at the end of the road.
We all watched quietly, except for the sobbing of the little ones. The kraeven were packing, thirty of them at least, and letting out their horrific, coughing roars. It was very, very dark, but they were easy to see, light grey against the dark mud of the road. They came as one down the roadway, and then they broke apart, spreading out and tearing at doorways, breaking into pens. We could hear a dog fighting one, and the cries of goats and cows. We all watched in stunned silence.
A whole mess of chickens broke out onto the street just beneath us, and suddenly the kraeven were there, sweeping back and forth with their huge maws. Feathers flew everywhere.
We unleashed our arrows.
One was pinned to the ground by three solid hits from the longbows – it screamed out, and its brethren turned upon it, tearing with their teeth. It was too much for someone above, and a woman screamed.
After that, it turned into chaos. They saw us, scented us – maybe they were attracted by our fear. But they began their coughing bark, roaring and tearing at the sky with their teeth, and from all about the village the kraeven came. We unleashed our arrows, one after another, as they gathered below us, trying to jump up to the first platform. Some of the men around me were close to panicking.
Then the first one began to dig at the legs of the tower, tearing up great gouges of soil. We filled it with arrows, but others seemed to understand as well. As if driven by some hateful intelligence, they ripped into the ground, and within moments our arrows were gone. Many of the beasts were pierced with three or four, but they seemed little concerned with their wounds. It was the first time I believed the rumors that they couldn’t die.
Finally the tower began to sag. They hadn’t only taken away the ground, but their claws were reducing the wooden support legs into shreds of woody fiber. Above us, the screams were now deafening, and the crying of children pierced my ears. Around me, the men’s courage began to flag. This was too much even for the seasoned huntsmen who shared my perch.
I hadn’t much time to think about it, though. For only moments later the tower lurched, and then one of the supports snapped.
Never have I known such horror. The tower came down with a deafening crash, wood splintering, bodies and limbs flailing all about me. The kraeven were among us, tearing with their teeth, and the screams of terror became screeches of pain.
I myself was stunned, reeling from the impact. I lay on my side in the mud of the road. The man next to me had his hands before his face. I saw the huge teeth come down on his arm, felt something hot splatter over my face.
Then I was up, coughing from lack of air in my lungs, and I scampered up the skeleton of the tower. Others around me were doing the same, and all of us who could gathered atop the highest parts, clinging like rats to the floating remains of a sunken ship.
I will not even attempt to describe what happened below us.
We were probably saved by Arietta’s sheep – she had almost ten of them, and they came bursting out into the street, bleating terribly. They were more exciting than the weakly struggling people below, and the pack left after them, loping away in their strange, ungainly gait. We jumped down and hauled up everyone who seemed alive. It was an awful night. Three others died as we held them, their bodies too torn to mend. We didn’t come down until daylight was full upon us.
The rumors must be true, because in the morn we couldn’t find a single one of them dead. Truly these are creatures of Lorenai.
But from Lorenai they most certainly are not.
The huntsman's story is among the most terrible of reports, but smaller packs have invaded numerous villages throughout the New World. From Auralay to Casara and Faol, huntsmen are searching out the beasts in the day.
The image we glean from the report above is of a creature quite different than the kraeven huntsmen have long known. Until now, no one has been able to explain the inconsistency. I, however, think that I can.
In watching the creatures over the past two years, I have noted, over and again, a sickness particular to the kraeven. At first, I saw it only rarely. But this past summer I saw it swiftly spread throughout the individuals I observed at various sites throughout the New World. I sadly report that I now have not even a single uninfected individual left to watch. Each of my eight observation animals are now afflicted with the disease and have packed with other infected kraeven.
The course of the disease is as such – first, the animal becomes lethargic and does not emerge from its den for several days. When it finally does, it seems restless, and its breathing is marked by sharp, dry coughs. The eyes water, and the fur has lost its luster. Often I have observed rivulets of spittle dangling from the mouth.
It paces, shaking its head back and forth or rolling on the ground, and begins to call out in the darkness of the night – a coughing, barking roar that is definitely not the call of the healthy kraeve – indeed, the kraeve makes sounds only when it is in its season for mating.
The old prey of rabbit is forgotten. The kraeve roams, now seemingly fearless of anything, scouring the woods for carrion. It appears possessed of an irresistible urge to chase anything that runs, and is attracted to movement. I left a fire in one’s path, and it ran up to it, biting and tearing at the flames as if trying to kill or eat it. It went into a crazed frenzy, chasing embers and scattering flames.
I have also documented the regenerative capabilities of the infected animals. The disease, when settled into the body, first seems to craze the mind, and then infuses the body with uncanny healing abilities – I had a trapper rig a snare that grasped one of the beasts around the neck. We pierced it with spears until it was undeniably dead. Upon removing it from the noose and retiring to our tree-perch observatory, we watched as the beast, after little more than an hour, got up and shambled off into the darkness.
Despite my attempts to give the disease a formal name, the people are calling it ‘The Crave’ – a play on the animal’s name, and a description of the behavior engendered by the disease – an irresistible craving for chasing anything that flees, and a taste for scavenging food. Both of these behaviors are distinctly uncharacteristic of a kraeve in its healthy state.
It gets worse. People bitten by the creatures, and even some that simply come into contact with the kraeven, can be afflicted as well. Dogs, too, are susceptible.
In dogs and wolves, the disease poses a great threat, for dogs seem to follow much the same pattern of behavior that afflicts the kraeven – they will go through the same sufferings outlined above, and resolve into a vicious, frenzied state of violence. Thus far, the disease seems kept at bay in the dog population, mostly through killing any infected domestic animals. There are scattered reports, as well, that the disease eventually kills dogs and wolves, perhaps within a moon.
In humans, the disease manifests quickly, apparently through kraeve saliva that is either introduced into the bloodstream or taken into the lungs through the inhalation of a kraeve’s ‘cough’. Humans first develop a wheezing and cough, and within a day of infection are incapacitated by a high fever. Delirium usually follows, and over the next three days the disease takes root. The person grows more lucid, but seems afflicted with a sharp tongue and irritated temperament. Sleep does not come easily, and during this period the regenerative capabilities begin to manifest. At the end of four days, most victims can be cut, and the wound will heal before one’s eyes. It is assumed that they are ‘unkillable’ at this point, though the theory has not, of course, been tested.
A madness sets in, and unless physically contained, the victim will often run off into the wilderness or be seen acting ‘crazy’ in the village confines. They maintain the perennial cough, and anyone near to them is likely to become infected as well.
Thus far, victims have either been burned, healed, or have escaped into the wilds, so we do not yet know how the disease would progress if left to its course.
Only two factors are keeping the disease under control. The first is that the disease responds quite well, even in advanced stages, to magical healing. Necromantic magic seems most effective. This is good news, except that many rural villages have no access to magical healing, and must make a long trip into a large city to find it, often infecting others along the way. Still, numerous volunteer healers have devoted themselves to traveling from village to village, giving their services to those ill with The Crave. As long as the disease does not spread too quickly, hope remains that it could be kept from sweeping the lands.
The second factor is the hibernation of the kraeven, a behavior unaffected by the disease. The winter moons are spent in burrows, and thus the coming winter will afford villages the chance to bolster up their defenses. Hopefully this can be accomplished despite the potential problem of setting timbers into frozen ground. Groups of huntsmen are already forming as well, attempting to develop a strategy to drag torpid kraeven from their winter dens and burn them, for this seems the only way to truly kill them.
What we are fighting in the New World, then, is not the visible threat of the ravening kraeven, but the invisible threat of an insidious disease. There is no conceivable reason why the disease could not spread to other provinces, so I appeal to the leaders of every province of the Known Lands to send dedicated healers to the New World in an effort to contain this deadly threat.
In Sincerity,
Talen Suraan