Densling

The Squallborn Sludge

“You cannot reason with a Densling.
But you can feel when it remembers you.”
— Scribbled in the margins of an unshelved tome in the Forbidden Library

Before tone, before form, before even the Shellsong dreamed of becoming, there were Denslings.

Spawned from the worst pressures of the Dense—that paradox-ridden pocket of reality that crushes time, sound, and thought into meaningless goo—Denslings are not truly alive. Nor are they truly dead. They are pressure echoes, formed of semi-organic resonance mud, occasionally coalescing into shape by accident more than intent.

Form and Function (Sort of)

A Densling resembles a molten concept that forgot it was never a creature. Their shape is inconsistent, vaguely bipedal when observed, but immediately collapses into sloshing nonsense when not watched. Their bodies seem to defy physics—not because they manipulate it, but because they simply do not understand it yet.

Covered in glistening black-pitch skin flecked with dust-glow granules, a Densling is partially transparent, and sometimes visibly thinking through its own skin. Organs drift lazily through internal gel. Faces flicker. Limbs reabsorb. At times, they hum unintentionally—vibrations that can trigger emotional nausea or minor nosebleeds in sensitive spellcasters.

They make no noise, no language. But they emit rhythms, especially when startled or curious—like a heartbeat trying to find tempo in a world without metronomes.

Instinctive Echoes

Denslings are drawn to:

• Heat gradients.
• Magical residue.
• Forgotten songs.
• Failed spell experiments.
• Guttural emotion.

It’s theorized they were never meant to be. That they’re accidental memory foam created by the Dense in response to the trauma of ancient resonant collapse.

However, on rare occasions—after absorbing sufficient resonance from a magical ecosystem—a Densling begins to… form ideas. These nascent thoughts, painful and alien, mark the beginning of a possible metamorphosis.

This is how a Ythrylari is born.

Ecology of Thought

Denslings don't eat. They soak. They absorb stray emotions, broken dreams, arcane static, and vibrations from things long buried in the Dense. This absorption makes them worse. As they grow, their shape becomes more distinct… and more tragic.

Many Denslings lose themselves in failed transformations. Only a few manage to stabilize. These become the first chords of identity—a condition the Denslings neither understand nor resist. It simply happens, like erosion or awkward poetry.

Encounters

If encountered in or near the Dense, a Densling will react to:

• Spellcasting: By rippling and mimicking residual magic as glowing veils.
• Speech: By leaking tone from its pores.
• Violence: By splitting in two or vibrating violently, often causing Paradoxal Recoil events.
• Music: By stilling, trembling, or attempting to harmonize.

Killing a Densling is as easy as disrupting a memory—yet just as cruel.

Many Dreamweavers have come to revere Denslings not as creatures, but as emotions trying to become people.

Densling Traits (For the Brave)

• Type: Ooze (Denseborne)
• Size: Small or Medium (shifting)
• Speed: 20 ft, climb 20 ft
• Amorphic Resilience: Resistance to psychic and thunder damage
• Spell-Hungry: Can absorb one spell effect per long rest. If damaged by a spell, regain HP equal to the spell’s level × 2 (usable once)
• Instinctual Mimicry: Can mimic a cantrip it witnesses once per short rest. Lasts 1 minute.
• Proto-Chord: Once per day, can emit a random harmonic effect (roll 1d6):
  1. All metal objects hum dissonantly.
  2. Nearby caster forgets last sentence.
  3. Plants recoil or twist toward Densling.
  4. A tone plays that reveals invisible creatures.
  5. Air around the Densling thickens, movement -10 ft.
  6. A random creature is overcome with déjà vu and gains disadvantage on Insight.

“A Densling doesn’t want to be your friend. It doesn’t want anything.
That’s what makes it almost holy.”
— Poppy Handyleaf, to a terrified apprentice after it started humming her lullaby.