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Venombrim · The Monster Catcher's Journal

0:30
Hello, Tra - Travelers and Monster Catchers abound.
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I'm Stella Theris and this is the Monster Catchers
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Journal Podcast. Welcome back to another episode.
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Today's episode is about a glyph called Venombrim.
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If you ever hear the desert go quiet, run, or
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be very ready, the bleak fang wastes aren't just
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dry, they're cursed. Luna said the sand there
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doesn't move with the wind. It listens to it.
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Xenozglyph Ignizura wouldn't even step past the
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obsidian markers, so I went alone. Or maybe,
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like, felt him watching. I was crouched near
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a dried -up river, studying some claw marks when
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I heard a scritch -gritch behind me. I turned.
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Nothing. Then beside me, still nothing. I spun
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in a full circle. but all I saw was sand until
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it moved, a ripple in the earth like something
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slithering beneath it, and then he struck, half
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serpent, half scorpion, all furry. A massive
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body covered in obsidian -like scales, the upper
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half like a cobra, with a wide -finged hood flaring
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as he hissed, the lower half scuttled with armored
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legs, and from his spine rose a long, curved
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scorpion tail, dripping with glowing green venom.
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His eyes were twin pits, or lime fire, and his
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forked tongue split the wind in eerie silence.
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Finn and Brim wasn't forged by some grand judgment
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or cursed fate. He simply is, born from the agent
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bond between scorpion and serpent, two of the
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desert's most deadly hunters. Deep beneath the
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sands of the bleak fang waste, where the sun
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bleeds fire and shadows shift like whispers,
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their essences merged not by choice, not by design,
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but as natural force of the desert itself. Half
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serpent, half scorpion, he moved with the cold
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inevitability of nature's silent killers. His
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obsidian scales shimmered like cracked glass
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in the sun, his armored legs carrying him swiftly
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across the shifting dunes, and his venom drips
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with the primal power of survival. I barely dodged
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his first strike. He vanished underground instantly,
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like ink soaking into parchment, but his presence,
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I could feel it. He was stalking, studying, hunting.
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Venombrim was not shaped by fate or bound by
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judgment. He simply exists a living force born
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from the ancient intertwining of two of the desert's
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deadliest predators, the scorpion and the serpent.
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Beneath the endless dunes of the bleak thing,
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waste, where the sun's heat blurs the horizon
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and shadows twist like whispers of forgotten
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secrets. Their essence is fused, not by will,
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but by the raw, untamed power of nature itself.
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and Naberans, who kind of breeded him for that
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fact, and we'll tell you about that at the end.
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His form was a haunting blend of lethal grace
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and armored menace. The upper half, sleek and
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serpentine, moved with cold precision, each scale
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catching the harsh light from fractured obsidian.
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His lower half was an unforgiving sc - Scorpion,
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legs clicking sharply over the sand, a curved
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tail arching high and dripping with venom that
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glowed, an eerie green, nature's silent promise
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of death. The first strike came like a flash,
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sudden and unseen, I barely slipped aside, heart
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pounding as the earth beneath me rippled, swallowing
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him whole like a spilled ink and parchment. But
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even when out of sight his presence lingered,
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a weight in the air, a watchful hunger, he was
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more than a beast, he was a hunter, a shadow
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stalking through the silence, watching, waiting.
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The desert held its breath. Around me the sand
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lay still, untouched by even the faintest breeze.
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It was as if the world itself dared not disturb
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the space where venom brim moved. Every grain
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seemed charged with quiet menace, vibrating with
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the pulse of something ancient and relentless.
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I could feel his gaze, cold and unblinking. Sliding
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beneath the surface the way he melded it with
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the earth was a natural and extension of the
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desert's will, or perhaps its wrath made flesh.
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But there was something else beneath the venom,
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in the threat, a raw, untamed survival, not cruel,
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but necessity. I stayed low, every muscle taunt.
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Whispering to myself not to panic, the sand rippled
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again, a soft, sinister motion, and then he emerged
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towering and deadly. His hood flared wide, revealing
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those twin rows of sharp fangs, venom dripping
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like liquid poison into the thirsty sand. His
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tail arched over his back, glowing faintly, a
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reminder of the silent danger that lurked just
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a breath away. Venom brims circled slow and deliberate,
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eyes never leaving me. I sensed no hate, no anger,
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only unshakable certainty. of a creature who
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had existed long before I ever set foot here.
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He was part of this place, born of its heat,
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its silence, its shadows. For a long moment we
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simply regarded each other, then as if deciding
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I was no threat, his tail lowered. Not in defeat,
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but in weary acceptance. The desert excelled.
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Venombrim vanished beneath the sand once more,
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but this time I knew he would watch. Always watch.
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I didn't reach for weapons, spells, or even a
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glyphid. Instead, I breathed slowly, steadying
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my heart, and grounding myself in the moment.
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Patience was my only ally. Venombrin's eyes never
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left me, but I held my ground. No sudden moves,
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no challenge, just quiet presence like a desert.
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Sorry, like the desert itself, endless, unmoving
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and unyielding. Minutes stretched, feeling like
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hours as the sand around us held its breath.
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Sorry, I keep messing up on this story, and I'm
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really sorry. May the moons of Nibiru, all three
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of them, shine their beautiful light down on
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you, along with the twin suns. Anyways. Then,
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ever so slowly, the ripple beneath my feet began
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to settle. The venomous tail that had hovered
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like a thunder cloud over my head dripped, brushing
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the earth softly. I whispered barely audible.
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You don't have to be alone. The venom glow dimmed.
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The tension in the air eased. Venom brim rose.
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slowly and fully, scales catching the light of
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the twin suns and the three moons of Nibiru.
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But his stance was less threat and more curiosity.
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Then with a slow, deliberate motion, he coiled
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around the circle I traced in the sand, a containment
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woven from whisper runes and calm resolve. The
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glyphs pulsed once, Black and green flames licking
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the edges, sealing the boundary. Venom Brim didn't
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resist, not because he was caught, but because
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he chose to stay. In that moment I understood
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patience wasn't just a tactic, it was a language,
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a promise. And Venom Brim's silent, deadly, eternal
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had accepted it. After that long encounter, I
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needed to clear my head and somewhere to rest
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where the desert's oppressive silence didn't
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weigh so heavy. I found refuge at an old desert
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restaurant. A weathered shack perched on the
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edge of the bleak fang waste. The sign above
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the door was faded, but inside, the warm glow
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of lanterns and the hum of quiet conversation
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felt like a world away. I slid onto a rough hewn
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stool and scanned the menu, intrigued by the
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strange, unfamiliar dishes. Well, not very unfamiliar,
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because carnivora plant is very well known. There's
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a whole ritual. We talked about it in an earlier
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episode. But there's a whole ritual for it. But
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anyways, grilled carnivora plant, I muttered
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to myself, imagining the fierce desert flora
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that thrived here. and a Nabeeran salad, said
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to be a refreshing mix of bitter desert herbs,
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spiced with wild fruit from the Oasis. I ordered
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both. When the plate arrived, the Garnivora plant
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was charred just right. It's tough, leafy tendrils
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cracked with smoky bitterness, but beneath that,
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a surprising sweetness that hinted at the harsh
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environment it grew in, the salad was crispy,
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tangy, and oddly calming, a perfect contrast
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to the desert's relentless heat. As I ate my
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thoughts drifted back to Vinnumbrim, the silent
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sentinel now bound to the sanctuary, the desert
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was full of secrets, some old as time itself,
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but sometimes in the quiet between the dunes,
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you could find unexpected moments of peace. I
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let the warmth of the restaurant settle over
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me, a small island of comfort in the endless
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sands. As I sat there savoring the strange flavors,
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the creak of the door drew my attention. A boy
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stepped inside, tall and lean, with short shaggy
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black hair that fell just enough to shadow his
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forehead. His eyes were the color of the deepest
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ocean, dark, endless, and sharp, with a hint
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of mischief. Without hesitation, he slid onto
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the stool beside me. He leaned in close, a confident
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smirk tugging at his lips, and placed his hands
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gently beneath my chin. He tilted my face towards
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this, forcing me to meet those piercing eyes.
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"'You're a jabili of a girl,' he said, voice
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low and cocky. I didn't bother explaining. I'm
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from Nibiru. I know exactly what that means."
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His grin faltered just a little, surprised I
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wasn't impressed. Well then, he said, eyes narrowing
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playfully. Guess you're used to sweet talk. I
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met his gaze evenly. I'm not really interested
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in learning about you at all. My heart is spoken
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for. He laughed, clearly amused, and maybe a
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little intrigued. Who may I ask is a special
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guy who holds your heart, the boy asked, a slight
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grin tugging at his lips. Professor Lang, from
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the Academy, I replied without hesitation. He
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laughed, amused. That blowhard? I don't think
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he's got a chance at stealing the attention of
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a beauty like you. Before I could react, he reached
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out and tried to drag me from the restaurant.
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Hey! I protested, struggling against his grip,
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but just then Lang appeared in the doorway, sharp
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-eyed and authoritative. What do you think you're
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doing, Malice Bogar? Lang demanded, stepping
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forward. The boy smirked unfazed, taking my new
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girlfriend with me. I'm not your girlfriend!
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I shouted, yanking free. The tension thickened
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in the cramped space. The desert night pressed
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in around us like a held breath. Lang and Bogar
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stood mere feet apart, their eyes locked in a
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fierce battle of wills. The air between them
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crackled with unspoken history and raw determination.
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You won't steal what's rightfully mine this time,
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Lang. Bogar spat, voice low and venomous. Lang's
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gaze didn't waver, burning with quiet fury. She's
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not an object to be claimed or owned. And besides,
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he added firmly, she doesn't love you. Bogar's
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smirk twisted, but there was a flicker of uncertainty
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beneath his bravado. I watched the two men heart
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-pounding, not just from fear, but from the weight
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of the clash. This wasn't just about me. It was
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about something far older and darker between
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them. Huh! Bogar scoffs, stepping closer. Doesn't
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love me. You've always had a way of convincing
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people you're the better man, Lang. But deep
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down, you know I'm the one who can give her more
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than lectures and dusty books. Lang's expression
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hardened. What you call giving is nothing but
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taking. You've never cared about anyone but yourself,
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Bogar. She deserves freedom, not chains disguised
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as charms. Bogar's grin faded to a cold sneer.
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Freedom? You think running around hunting glyphs
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and playing hero is freedom? That life will chew
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her up and spit her out. and you think locking
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her away at your side would be better." Lang's
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voice was low, but every word landed like a blow.
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Bogar tilted his head, eyes flickering toward
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me. She could have comfort, safety, a man who
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knows her worth. I do know her worth, Lang said
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sharply, which is why I'd never trap her into
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thinking she owes me her heart. Bogar let out
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a bitter laugh. Always the noble one, but nobility
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doesn't keep people by your side, Lang. It just
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makes them easier to still. Lang's jaw tightened,
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you can't still what doesn't belong to you in
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the first place. Bogar's eyes darkened, the smug
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amusement bleeding into something sharper. Maybe
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not, he said, voice dropping to near growl, but
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I can take what I want. Before I could move,
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his hand shot out, fingers curling around my
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wrist. With bruising force, he ganks me toward
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him, his grip unyielding. The scrape of my stole
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against the floor cut through the low murmur
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of the restaurant. "'Let her go, Bogar,' Ling
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said, his voice calm but edged with steel. Bogar
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smirked, holding me just a little tighter, as
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if testing how far he could push before Ling
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broke. "'Or what, Professor? You'll lecture me
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into submission?' In a single step, Lang closed
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the distance between them as Gaze locked on Bogard's
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like two predators circling the same kill. You've
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got three seconds to release her. Bogard didn't
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move, his grip only tightened. One, Lang's tone
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was like the crack of stone under pressure. Two,
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my heart pounded in my ears before three could
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leave Lang's lips. Bogar made the mistake of
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pulling me closer. That's when Lang struck. Before
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Bogar could even process a third count, Lang's
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hand shot forward, lightning quick, but unnervingly
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precise. His fingers locked around Bogar's wrist
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with surgical accuracy. twisting just enough
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to send a jolt of pain shooting up his arm. At
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the same time, Lang stepped in, using his own
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body weight to break Bogard's balance without
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throwing a single wild motion. The shift was
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sudden, explosive in speed, yet every movement
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was deliberate, controlled as if Lang had calculated
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it before the thought even formed in Bogard's
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mind. Bogard gasped and released me instantly,
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and instinctively, stumbling back a half a step,
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but catching himself before he fell. His other
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hand twitched forward towards his side, whether
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for a weapon or pride, I couldn't tell, but Lang's
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stance made it clear one wrong move and Bogar
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wouldn't get a second chance. Touch her again,
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Lang said evenly, and you'll learn exactly how
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fast I can end this. For the first time, Bogar
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smirk faltered. Bogar's hesitation didn't last
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long. His pride wouldn't let him walk away without
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proving something. With a snarl, he lunged, swinging
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his sharp right hook at Lang's jaw. Lang moved
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like water. He sidestepped the blow, his forearm
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snapping up to deflect, then drove his elbow
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hard into Bogar's ribs. The air left Bogar in
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a sharp grunt, but he came back fast, aiming
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a kick at Ling's leg. The clash became a blur,
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Ling's strikes crisp and exact, Bogar's wild
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but fueled by sheer force. Chairs scraped and
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toppled, a plate shattered against the floor,
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and startled whispers filled the restaurant.
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Bogar Kotling's shoulder once hard enough to
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stagger him a step, but Lang flowed right back
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in it, his hand locking on Bogar's collar. Before
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slamming him against the wall, the impact rattled
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the old wood, dust sifting from the rafters.
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Pinned and breathless, Bogar's smirk returned,
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thin but sharp. Enjoy your victory, Lang, he
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rasped. But the next time you're not around,
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she's mine. Lang's grip tightened just enough
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to drive the point home before releasing him.
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Bogar straightened his coat, shot me one last
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lingering glance, and pushed past the crowd,
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disappearing into the desert night. The restaurant
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seemed to excel all at once. Lang turned to me,
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his voice calm. You alright? Lang's gaze softened
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as the last of the onlookers settled back into
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their meals. Uh, yeah," I said, brushing a bit
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of sand from my sleeve. Sorry you had to go through
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that. Not at all, Lang replied, his tone carrying
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an edge of steel beneath the calm. I'm only sorry
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he tried to harm you. I met his gaze, seeing
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no trace of hesitation, only a quiet, unshakable
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certainty that, if Bogar tried again, Lang would
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be there. The air between us held the remnants
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of the fight. The faint echo of Bogar's prom
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is still ringing in the back of my mind. leaning
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back slightly. Black and green, like wildfire
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in the sand, there's only one creature in the
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black fang waste that carries that kind of venom.
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His tone was matter of fact, but there was a
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glint in his eyes that told me he understood
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exactly what bringing venom brine into the sanctuary
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meant. Ready to admit you're in love with me
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now, Fang asked, his voice just light enough
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to make it unclear whether He was teasing or
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testing me. Heat surged into my face so fast,
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it was almost dizzying. I could feel the flush
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spreading, and if anyone had walked in right
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then, they might have thought I'd been boiled
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alive, lobster red, just perfect. I tried to
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look away, but Lang was watching me with that
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calm, steady gaze that made lying pointless.
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Hey, don't tease me, I complained. I crossed
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my arms in what I hoped was a stern jester, though
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my burning cheeks probably ruined the effect.
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Lang's mouth curbed into a faint smile, not mocking
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but warm. Not teasing, he said, just wondering
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when you'll admit what we both already know.
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I scoffed, trying to focus on my drink instead,
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of the way his voice seemed to settle into my
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chest. You're impossible. And yet, Lang said
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softly, you haven't told me to leave. I smiled
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despite myself, shaking my head, and that's how
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we spent the rest of the night, just the two
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of us, tucked away in that little desert restaurant,
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the hum of quiet conversation around us, the
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warm scent of grilled carnivora plant in the
22:22
air, the steady presence of laying across the
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table, for a while the bleak fang waste, bogar's
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threat, and even venom brim's watchful coils.
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fade it into the background. There was only the
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clink of glasses, the low murmur of our voices,
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and the kind of silence that felt safe. And that,
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my friends, is the episode for this week. This
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has been the Monster Catchers Journal podcast,
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and I hope to see you next time. May Nibiru shine
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its beautiful light down on you. Goodbye now.