critter ideas
September 26th, 2008 21:42![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mc776shambling acacia: These carnivorous shrubs take on an imposing presence, but often catch their prey. Their thick, stubby limbs break about six inches out into wiry, vine-like branches that stretch far above and beyond the main plant itself, forming a pleasant umbrella-like canopy over its surrounding area. This canopy is inviting to creatures who wish to get away from the heat or rain, whichever is more of a hassle where it lives, and when it does rain serves an additional purpose of funnelling water towards its centre. Gigantic orange thorns stick out of the main body and the thick parts of the branches, while the canopy is riddled with smaller, claw-like thorns. Both house hundreds upon hundreds of bullet ants that feed on the ambrosial, brilliant orange sugar-filled buds that grow like herpes sores all over the plant.
Shambling acacias hunt by sensing vibrations in the ground and air. Once something of a suitable size and juiciness passes within range, the canopy snaps shut, hooking onto the terrified animal and dragging it onto the larger spike-like thorns on the plant's body. The ants instinctively attack any animal that touches the acacia, be it threat or food; as such, their almost supernaturally poisonous stings and razor-sharp mandibles make short work of most prey. Once subdued (or at least not effectively defending itself and preventing such action), the ants tear away the victim's flesh and bring it back to their larders within the thorns. They feed much of it to their ever-hungry larvae while the plant absorbs the rest.
Living on thin, bad soil with much clay and muddy (or nonexistent) water is why these acacias resort to hunting. On occasion, whether because the soil is too unbearably poor or prey is scarce, and on rare occasions to actually pursue prey, the shrub can uproot itself, bunch its roots into two or more crude limbs, and slowly lurch along the ground. To prevent water loss due to evaporation, this usually only happens at night, its usually high-reaching tendrils wrapped up within itself to conserve heat.
Because of its limitations in speed and weapon penetration, the shambling acacia usually only threatens small animals such as mice, squirrels, and toddlers.
parasitoid ant: These ants don't look anything special, except that their males are very large - even bigger than an established queen - and have immense fat deposits. Some are so big that occasionally there hatches a special caste of winged workers to help carry him on his mating flight. The males are pampered and tended to in every way during their lives in the nest.
Once the mating flight is over, the male does not die, but rather he and the new queen are paired for life. They forage together and dig a nest together, their combined efforts letting them excel at creating accommodations that are all but luxurious for starting ant colony standards. One the building is finished, the male then takes a large stone or clod of dirt or whatever's handy and/or reasonably nice-smelling to seal the entrance, leaving only a little hole for air, to ensure himself and his mate some privacy time.
This is the signal for the new queen to begin her work. About half a minute after the male assumes the mating position and begins thrusting his abdomen, she flips over and stings him, sending a parlytic venom through his body leaving him alive but immobile. She then lays her first eggs inside the male's upper abdomen.
When the larvae hatch, they instinctively know to eat the fat deposits first before moving to the muscle and liver and finally, if still not sated, the vital organs. The queen herself nibbles a bit on occasion, but is generally careful not to injure her mate and often simply cannibalizes one of the fattened-up larvae instead.
Some estimates go as high as a hundred minim workers can emerge from a single dead male, but more sober estimates average around forty with the odd regular worker thrown into the mix. These immediately scramble to get rid of the nest plug to get some fresh air (and also because whatever the deceased found so nice-smelling has long since lost its charm), and haul out the obsolete remains of their once-corpulent father. That done, the workers set to work foraging and maintaining the new colony, as the queen goes back to her job of laying ever more eggs, alone in the crowd. And so the cycle begins again...
Shambling acacias hunt by sensing vibrations in the ground and air. Once something of a suitable size and juiciness passes within range, the canopy snaps shut, hooking onto the terrified animal and dragging it onto the larger spike-like thorns on the plant's body. The ants instinctively attack any animal that touches the acacia, be it threat or food; as such, their almost supernaturally poisonous stings and razor-sharp mandibles make short work of most prey. Once subdued (or at least not effectively defending itself and preventing such action), the ants tear away the victim's flesh and bring it back to their larders within the thorns. They feed much of it to their ever-hungry larvae while the plant absorbs the rest.
Living on thin, bad soil with much clay and muddy (or nonexistent) water is why these acacias resort to hunting. On occasion, whether because the soil is too unbearably poor or prey is scarce, and on rare occasions to actually pursue prey, the shrub can uproot itself, bunch its roots into two or more crude limbs, and slowly lurch along the ground. To prevent water loss due to evaporation, this usually only happens at night, its usually high-reaching tendrils wrapped up within itself to conserve heat.
Because of its limitations in speed and weapon penetration, the shambling acacia usually only threatens small animals such as mice, squirrels, and toddlers.
parasitoid ant: These ants don't look anything special, except that their males are very large - even bigger than an established queen - and have immense fat deposits. Some are so big that occasionally there hatches a special caste of winged workers to help carry him on his mating flight. The males are pampered and tended to in every way during their lives in the nest.
Once the mating flight is over, the male does not die, but rather he and the new queen are paired for life. They forage together and dig a nest together, their combined efforts letting them excel at creating accommodations that are all but luxurious for starting ant colony standards. One the building is finished, the male then takes a large stone or clod of dirt or whatever's handy and/or reasonably nice-smelling to seal the entrance, leaving only a little hole for air, to ensure himself and his mate some privacy time.
This is the signal for the new queen to begin her work. About half a minute after the male assumes the mating position and begins thrusting his abdomen, she flips over and stings him, sending a parlytic venom through his body leaving him alive but immobile. She then lays her first eggs inside the male's upper abdomen.
When the larvae hatch, they instinctively know to eat the fat deposits first before moving to the muscle and liver and finally, if still not sated, the vital organs. The queen herself nibbles a bit on occasion, but is generally careful not to injure her mate and often simply cannibalizes one of the fattened-up larvae instead.
Some estimates go as high as a hundred minim workers can emerge from a single dead male, but more sober estimates average around forty with the odd regular worker thrown into the mix. These immediately scramble to get rid of the nest plug to get some fresh air (and also because whatever the deceased found so nice-smelling has long since lost its charm), and haul out the obsolete remains of their once-corpulent father. That done, the workers set to work foraging and maintaining the new colony, as the queen goes back to her job of laying ever more eggs, alone in the crowd. And so the cycle begins again...