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# Boons

Story
The jungle would not stop drumming.
At first it was far away, a dull thump rolling through the trees. I told myself it was thunder, or my own heart in my ears. But then another beat answered, closer, and another beyond that. Soon the whole night throbbed with it, hollow logs pounding like the pulse of Montosho itself.
I ran. Gods, I ran until my legs were fire. Vines clawed at me, thorns tore my clothes, roots snatched my feet from under me. Behind me the drums grew faster, louder, until I could not tell if it was the jungle or the sky that roared. Every shadow flickered with eyes, every howl was in my name.
I burst into a clearing, gasping, and for a heartbeat I thought I was free.
Then they came.
Dozens of them, leaping from the dark, teeth bared, eyes wild. Clubs, claws, stones. Their breath was hot, their howls deafening. I fought, I think, though my knife was gone in an instant. Something broke my arm. Something tore my throat. The world became blood and noise and drumming, always drumming.
The last thing I heard was their howls rising with the beat, until the jungle itself was laughing as it swallowed me whole.

Boon war drummers

Boons look like human–baboon hybrids, hulking and brutish, with long fangs, heavy jaws, and shaggy hair matted by jungle filth. Their eyes glimmer with a trace of intelligence, but only just. Whatever cunning they once had is now drowned beneath instinct and rage.

## Way of Life

Boons live in large packs, numbering dozens or even hundreds, and are fiercely territorial. Their camps are little more than circles of trampled earth around a firepit, strewn with bones and crude shelters of branches. They wield stone clubs, sharpened sticks, and the occasional scavenged weapon, though they lack the skill to craft or maintain metal.

They have no true language, only a chaos of grunts, barks, and screeches that carry through the jungle. Their society is simple, ruled by strength alone. The strongest male or female leads until overthrown, often violently. Other Boon packs are not seen as enemies. When their ranges overlap, they mingle, merge, or clash until dominance is established, but never with the mindless hatred reserved for outsiders.

## Totems and Rituals

Though their minds are dim, the Boons cling to a shred of ritual. Every camp has a crudely carved totem pole, decorated with bones, skulls, and strips of hide. When they move, the totem comes with them, dragged from place to place. Its meaning is unknown, but no Boon camp exists without one.

### Rituals

Totem Dance: Packs will gather around the totem pole, howling and shrieking as they stamp and spin in a frenzied dance, beating their chests and clawing at the air.

War Drums: When intruders are spotted, Boons drum on hollow logs until the entire pack is whipped into a killing frenzy. In this state, fear vanishes. They will attack without hesitation, swarming and clawing until nothing remains but blood and silence. Other packs that hear the sound will take up the rhythm, drumming in answer and joining the hunt. At its height, it feels as if the entire jungle itself is thundering, a heartbeat of madness echoing through Montosho.

Boon totem dance

## Fallen Empire

Long ago, the Boons were something else entirely. Their ancestors built an empire in the heart of Montosho, carving ziggurats and temples that still lie buried beneath vines. But Montosho itself turned against them, creeping into their cities, strangling their crops, poisoning their water, and warping their minds. Generation by generation, they devolved. Civilization gave way to ruin, culture to madness, speech to gibbering.

Now they are little more than beasts. Their ruins, such as the shattered capital Kra’thuun, are silent but for the cries of apes and the hiss of snakes. In time, the Boons themselves may vanish into the jungle entirely, remembered only in broken stone and whispered tales of the hunters who stalked too close.

## Boons in the Arena

The Great Empire prizes Boons as spectacle beasts in its arenas. Captured in chains and shipped from Montosho, they are star attractions, thrown into the sand against gladiators, criminals, or wild animals. Their raw strength, savage appearance, and mindless fury make them perfect for bloodsport. Some arenas even stage mock “war hunts,” where slave-drummers beat the rhythm to drive the beasts into the same madness they knew beneath Montosho’s canopy, as multiple Boons are released together. The crowds roar as the beasts swarm and tear apart anything before them.

Though most Boons die quickly, the strongest survive long enough to become infamous, their names remembered in jeers and cheers even though the creatures themselves understand nothing of the Empire’s words.

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