Then it started demanding more. At this point it had grown to a size where its tentacles already covered multiple of our buildings. During the monthly ceremony, it refused our offer of meat. At first we bought various different animals, cat meat, giant bird meat, even fish, but it refused to eat any of them. At last, it took one of the children and moved it into its mouth, but didn't release it, then moved its tentacle back to its original position, the child cowering in fear, but still alive and unharmed. Our chieftain went to the morgue, where we had been embalming the recently deceased and brought the freshest corpse to Karaccnar. He ate it, and he was sated for the rest of the month.

This wasn't a problematic demand, being a prosperous village, we had far more than 13 deaths a year, so we fed it to our deceased. It became a ritual of sorts. Those who died closest to feeding day were accepted as a sacrifice. Families considered it a great honour to be able to sacrifice their deceased member to Karaccnar, and it became a source of pride. But not everyone shared those beliefs. A group had formed and they had considered Karaccnar a problem that had to be dealt with. Fearing his growth, they conspired and infiltrated the embalming process of our dead by threatening the priests. Using the poison of frogs and several plants, they filled the stomach of the deceased. As Karaccnar dissolved the corpse, it struck out in anger, and it attacked several of the buildings in its reach, before killing one of the children. Everyone was horrified and in shock. We captured most of the conspirators and sentenced them to death, and fed their corpses to Karaccnar. The remainder had fled. After that we had no more resistance, and life seemed peaceful and content.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

One fateful summer we experienced massive droughts, and many of our crops failed. We were well prepared, and had large reserves, but not all of our neighbours could say the same. We shared some of our supplies with our neighbours, but made sure to have enough incase an unforeseen disaster would strike us.

There was one tribe, known to us as the tribe of fire although they called themselves the Zuzuri, who worshipped a large volcano, relying on its fertile ashes to grow their crops. Their reliance on farming proved to be detrimental, and they were particularly badly affected by the droughts. They had formed a raiding party and attacked our village at night, catching us completely off guard. We had grown so used to peace, the idea of guarding our village at night seemed ludicrous at the time. They asked about the whereabouts of our supplies. Our head-chieftain misled them through the darkness to the center of our village, where Karaccnar came to our aid and used its massive tentacles to kill some of the raiders. Horrified by the sight of its massive appendages and the loss of their friends, the rest of them fled in terror. We were overjoyed. We started to take pride in Karaccnar, and began to worship him. We called ourselves the Karaccnarians now, and we wore icons depicting the plant on our shields and clothes. We removed the statue to Quetzalian at the temple and instead crafted one of Karaccnar. We adorned the temple with beautiful potted flowers and other plants. Our farmers worked carefully to give him better soil, and our shamans and witches created potions to aid its growth. Karaccnar soon had its tentacles extend over the entire village, enveloping our buildings like the arms of a loved one covering one's back during a warm embrace.