The Scorplear

There are no trees on Serina any longer, the tallest woody plants left now scarcely more than tangled, wind-twisted shrubs. The climate is simply too harsh - even along the equator where there are no seasonal changes the nights are bitter cold and the wind away from the ground strong enough to freeze any plant that dares stretch itself more than a few feet from the soil. Such severe ecological changes, rendering all of the world’s forests to flat steppes, boggy tundra or dense cactaiga, have spelled the end for the antlears. Browsing circuagodonts with remarkable mobile ears that let them compensate to reach high despite very short necks, this group appeared late in the game in the early Ultimocene. Their success as a lineage was short-lived not for any fault of their own, but simply for lack of time to adjust to rapid changes. Antlears were all but entirely specialists, selective feeders of green twigs and foliage - food sources that are now exceedingly hard to find. Compounding their situation, antlears were a major prey species for circuagodogs, fast-running pack-hunters which excel in the cold winter months when their prey is already weakened. Hemmed in by predators and without enough to eat, the antlear clade - once one of the the crowning achievements of tribbetheres - is now nearly extinct in the late ocean age.

But there is one left. Continuing alone ahead as all others lost the race, the last antlear has pulled through by abandoning virtually everything it initially was adapted to do and to be. From a tall, flighty, and fast-running browser has come a short, stocky, aggressive, and burrow-dwelling omnivore. The bizarre scorplear has abandoned everything that once defined its lineage… but by doing so, has outlived all others.

Scorplears are descendants of the burrowing antlear of 5 million years ago. Now only the size of a small dog, this animal which previously learned to use its antlers to scrape out sheltered dens for itself in the cactaiga now spends much of its life below ground in complex warrens, rendering it independent of plant cover. Here it finds shelter from the cold and safety from its predators by night, so that it can live on totally exposed steppe plains where there is otherwise nowhere to hide or to escape the night's chill. Its very short legs allow it to reach its neck down to graze easily, for its antlers are so sturdy, and specialized to move earth that they are no longer of any use to pick up food. A considerably smaller brain, which has reduced in size over the years in contrast to the general trend among Serinan animals, reduces its caloric needs so that it can get by on the often poor-quality grass, sticks, and stems it can acquire. It emerges from its burrow by day to forage, but keeps as close to shelter as it can, for it is no longer able to run quickly. Instead, if threatened by a predator whilst out feeding, the scorplear defaults not to flight but to fight.

Though its face may resemble a bunny, this antlear has the heart of a honey badger. The hostility of its world has worn off onto its temperament, and it takes no guff from anything. Though it is primarily an herbivore, it is well-equipped with weapons - its hind claws are especially long and kept raised off the ground when at rest so that if necessary they can be utilized as wicked sharp blades. An alarmed scorplear raises its hind leg out to the side and up over its head, like the tail of a scorpion, and props its weight down on its antlers in a pseudo-quadrupedal stance. So positioned it chatters its teeth and hisses, striking out with the sharp talons if anything comes closer and quickly turning to keep its front to the predator. For the enemy that still tries its luck and lunges to bite the scorplear it is very likely to find the talons clutched tight into its eyes. Once so engaged the claws are very difficult to open, holding on to the unfortunate foe as the scorplear savages the creature that threatens it life with raking side-to-side sweeps of its sharp antlers. Very few animals will continue their attack beyond this point, but as a last resort the scorplear can bite with sufficient force to sever fingers, toes, or a nose with ease, repurposing powerful wood-clipping jaws to cut through bone. Most carnivores that attack a scorplear don’t try it a second time and leave the fight with scars to remind them that there are much easier things to eat; it is not rare to see carnivores with a missing or severely damaged eye where a cornered scorplear has sunken a claw into their socket and half-blinded them. As fighting is a last resort to an herbivore which would much prefer to be left unmolested, this most formidable little circuagodont advertises its potential for harm with warning coloration of black, white and orange. Bright white circles surround dark patches over its eyes, while a stripe pattern is present on the back and exposed when the scorplear raises its tail in its threat display. Such markings, rather than hide the small antlear, announce its presence from a far distance - and tell anything stupid enough to mess with it to stay away.

Despite their aggressive nature, scorplears are not particularly antisocial among their own kind. They often share warrens, relying on each other for body warmth even though there is no cooperation to find and share food. Their brain to body ratio is rather low due to the low nutrition diet they must utilize, but to fill in the gaps in it scorplears are some of the only antlears which engage in omnivory. Though they still retain the specialized fermenting stomach of an obligate herbivore, they have adapted to digest meat in sufficient quantities to supplement their diets without becoming sick. Though they do not hunt, they do scavenge and can frequently intimidate even much larger carnivores away from their kills long enough to take a scrap and scurry away. With their powerful jaws and sharp teeth they gnaw steadily, scraping every trace of flesh from the bone and then consuming the bone itself as an excellent source of calcium. This combination of lower-intelligence but extreme dietary flexibility and aggressive temperament closely mirrors the thorngrazers that coexist with the scorplear, reflecting an alternative way to survive a world that is ever less forgiving. After hundreds of millions of years selection in animals toward smarter and more cooperative ecosystems, the severity of the mid-Ultimocene ice age turns some old trends on their heads. When the going gets tough enough, some animals now find success by simplifying their needs, and doing whatever it takes to still get them fulfilled. While the smart and delicate woodcrafter died out as the archetypical example of the alternative trend, the simplistic, savage scorplear clings on to see through what comes its way.