A Zingibber's root mass houses many independent, telesensitive minds, but lacks the intellect to decipher most of the information it receives. The monster's true seat of consciousness lies in its colorful, writhing cephaloflora, which act as loving protectors and guides to the blind, deaf, infantile root beings. When the conglomerate is threatened, the blooms can unleash an excrutiating cacophony of ultrasonic babble and confusing telepathic feedback.
Zingibber require large amounts of fresh blood to accelerate their growth, and craftier cephaloflora may find many devious ways to supply it through strategic use of their disorienting chatter.
Contents copyright Jonathan Wojcik