Eventually, however, this silence is broken by the sound of a hundred-thousand angry bees, seemingly coming from all directions. The very ground itself heaves and twists, vomiting forth an army of misshapen creatures. The lives of these beasts are brief. Lumpy and hideous, they twist and writhe in pleasure at their birthing, and then turn to each other in search of further depravity. When one falls exhausted from its unlovely exertions, its fellows chuckle at its fate. The body is quickly torn apart by its kin, and the remains are reabsorbed into the ground, where the cycle repeats again. The trees of the Vale perform similar rites, producing an eternal flux of faces, limbs, and other twisted forms. A few of these creatures manage to escape their bonds and roam the open plains, sometimes t