Blacktendrils

"It's not drowning if it pulls you under on purpose."

The sea does not care. It does not love, it does not hate, it only takes. It cradles the world, connects every shore, yet never truly gives, only lends. It whispers comfort in lulling waves before smashing ships to splinters. It calls in soft tides before swallowing whole cities. It lies. And in its depths, something listens. Something watches. Something waits. Blacktendrils are not merely creatures-they are inevitabilities, ancient certainties lurking in the deep. They do not chase, for they do not need to. The desperate, the lost, the foolish-they come to the water on their own. Blacktendrils do not hunt. They wait. They linger beneath still waters, unseen, unfelt, until it is too late. No one escapes the sea forever. You can only delay its grasp for so long. The sea does not need to chase you. The river does not need to roar to warn you. The lake does not need to stir to hide its hunger. The water is still. The water is safe. The water welcomes you home.
And then, the water takes.

Basic Information

Anatomy

Blacktendrils do not have bodies in the way other creatures do. They are shifting masses of inky tendrils that coil and twist just below the surface, merging seamlessly with the water until they move. Their limbs stretch like liquid shadow, pulling and pressing without resistance. Their touch is cold, not the kind that merely numbs, but the kind that drains warmth entirely, stealing heat from the body as if to remind victims that they are sinking into something vast, something indifferent, something that does not acknowledge life, only its absence. And yet, they deceive. They do not always appear as writhing darkness. Sometimes, they take forms meant to lure. A child floating face-down, their hair drifting with the current. A sailor’s hand, barely breaking the surface, fingers twitching for help. A pale figure standing waist-deep in a bog, unmoving, watching. The foolish dive in, reaching for the lost, and in that moment, the blackness coils around them. Blacktendrils do not drag victims under with violence, only certainty.

Genetics and Reproduction

Blacktendrils do not breed. They do not multiply. Some believe they are singular entities, undying forces that exist in every body of water, connected in a way mortals cannot comprehend. Others believe there are many, that each dark lake, each forgotten stretch of ocean, each sunken ruin has its own lurking hunger. If there are more than one, then their numbers are endless, for every drowned soul is merely another part of them.

Growth Rate & Stages

They do not grow as beasts do, but they spread. They linger in places where death is frequent, where the waves have claimed too many without release. Some say that in lakes where a Blackmaw is strongest, its reach stretches from shore to shore, waiting with outstretched limbs no matter where one enters.

Ecology and Habitats

Still waters are their home. They lurk in the slow currents of rivers, in the vast expanse of lakes, in the dead spaces of the ocean where no wind stirs and no birds cry. Sailors fear them most in those places where the sea becomes silent, where no waves lap against the hull, where even the gulls refuse to follow.

Dietary Needs and Habits

They do not eat. They do not need to. The sea does not devour, it simply takes and it never gives back. The bodies they drown are never found, no bones washing to shore, no remnants caught in fishermen’s nets. Those they claim are gone. Not buried. Not swallowed. Just… gone. Some believe this to indicate the blacktendril is not an animal at-all, instead some sort of illusory manifestation of the sea itself; Folk taken by it and 'disappearing' simply falling into the briny deep of the ocean rather than the belly of a beast.

Biological Cycle

The tide rises and falls. Storms pass. The Blacktendrils remain.

Behaviour

Blacktendrils are patient. They do not act with malice, only certainty. They do not need to chase prey because they know that in time, all things come to the water. They wait. They wait for the reckless child who strays too close to the edge. They wait for the weary traveler forced to ford a river. They wait for the sailor thrown overboard in a storm, for the warrior knocked from his horse into the shallows, for the fool who reaches into the dark for a hand that was never really there. And when they finally take, they do not thrash or struggle. There is no great violence in their act. Only the slow, inescapable weight of the deep pulling victims further and further down. Some say they whisper. Not as words, not as commands, but in echoes-repeating the last cries of those who came before. A sailor’s desperate prayer. A mother’s sobbed apology. A soldier’s gasped plea to see the sun one last time. None of them reach the surface. None of them ever will. Sailors and fishermen leave offerings of salt at the docks before every journey, a meager attempt to appease the things in the water. Some whisper prayers before crossing lakes, refusing to speak or sing until they have reached the other side. There are those who believe that Blacktendrils can be tricked, that a man can fool the sea by floating still, by becoming like the dead it has already taken. But the water knows. It always knows.

Additional Information

Perception and Sensory Capabilities

Blacktendrils have no eyes, no ears, no tongues to taste the air, only touch. They sense the weight of the world pressing upon them, the ripples in their domain, the slightest disturbance in the water’s embrace. A single misplaced step, a panicked splash, the breath of a swimmer too long beneath the surface, all of these are enough to call them. And they do not chase. Struggle marks you. Flailing limbs, desperate gasps, fingers clawing at the waves, these are signals, invitations. The more one fights, the tighter they grip. The more one panics, the more the water welcomes them home.

Scientific Name

Tenebrina abyssus

Origin/Ancestry

Some say Blacktendrils weren't born but became, a curse left behind by a coven who sought eternal buoyancy but found only the depths. Others claim they are the hunger of the sea itself, given form by the weight of every forgotten sailor, every lost child.

Conservation Status

Impossible to exterminate, as they never truly leave the water. Fires and blades mean nothing to them. Even if one were driven from a lake or river, another would take its place elsewhere.