The coleoids had gained their intellect from the vast and ever-changing tide pools in which they hunted their prey. Always a moment from dessication or entrapment, often at the mercy of largest and more brutal predators until they attained their full adult size, the coleoids were intellects borne of a crucible that few creatures could endure.

But it was not until the first human arrived upon their distant shores that the coleoids were able to progress.

Hunting prey in the brackish waters of their coastal homes, the coleoids had gained the ability to reach out into the aether. They could sense prey, sense its thoughts, and—with age and experience—even compel their meals to action. So when the first human arrived upon that distant shore and began to fish and farm, the coleoids found that they were easy prey.

Not to eat, though enough of the great beasts tried this that they were hunted down and exterminated from the largest estuary. Humans, wary now of the great beasts and their ‘siren songs,’ instead became unwitting pawns of the coleoids.

By reaching out and suggesting courses of action, the creatures were able to rapidly amass knowledge about the world. And by dominating the most weak-willed humans into near-puppets, they gained key allies on land and mastery of fire and iron.

The only question that preoccupied the elder coleoids as they exchanged thoughts in their deep abodes was whether to make war upon the land, or forge an alliance with it. And with every coleoid that was swept up in a trawler’s net or speared from a distance, those pressing for war grew bolder.

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