Spectator

The creature known as the Spectator presents a curious paradox. It floats, a heavy orb some three to four feet wide and weighing nearly two hundred and fifty pounds, its body a mass of thick, lumpy rubber crisscrossed by startlingly visible blue veins. Four ocular stalks protrude from its upper curve—a meager complement compared to its monstrous kin—all focused upon the world through its great, central eye. Its function is singular: to guard. They are, to their word, incorruptibly trustworthy, capable of defending a charge even when the fabric of reality itself seems to unravel. They shift between two remarkable states: at times, they are Free-Thinkers, gliding cautiously across the planes, open to discourse and philosophy with cautious travelers. At other times, they retreat into a Contemplative mode, withdrawing from the world to ponder cosmic queries for a century or more. They remain cordial when found in this state, engaging in brief, deep discussion before courteously requesting