Dodge Tanner’s Highly Unrecommended Travelogue - #94 Water Lions: A Masterclass in Tactical Regret

The day had started well enough. By which I mean, I had not yet been hunted by an aquatic apex predator. But, as fate (or my terrible decision-making skills) would have it, that peace was not to last.

The plan had been simple: cross the lake, sabotage the bandit camp and steal their food supplies, get out before anything noticed. Foolproof. Except for the part where the lagoon was home to a Pride of Water Lions, which, as I discovered much too late, do not appreciate uninvited guests. Having completed my mission to continue to make Bandit lives miserable in my area in my ongoing attempts to rid my peaceful town of Bandits without all that messy fighting stuff, I had just reached the center of the lake when a deep, ominous growl rolled through the depths beneath me—less of a warning, more of a promise. My canoe, which had moments ago been a perfectly functional vehicle, suddenly felt like the thinnest, least reliable life choice I had ever made.

Then the water moved.

It wasn’t a wave. It wasn’t a current. It was something worse. A mane, Aqua-golden and shifting with the winds, surfaced with the kind of effortless grace that should not belong to something so violently designed. The Water Lion locked eyes with me, and I swear the moment lasted an eternity, like it was politely giving me the chance to consider all my failures before enacting my imminent demise. Not enough time to actually DO anything about these errors in judgement... Just long enough to realize the folly of my ways.

I did the only logical thing: attempted the fastest retreat in recorded history. The paddle became an extension of my soul, a blur of desperation and flailing. Unfortunately, Water Lions did not respect my newfound dedication to rowing. It cut through the waves with chilling precision, not rushing, just enjoying the inevitability of my failure.

The chase was not a chase. It was a lesson. A lesson in dominance, humility, and how quickly one rethinks their life choices when pursued by a monstrous feline torpedo. The Water Lions controlled the tide itself, forcing the currents to shove me back every time I tried to flee. It toyed with me, circling, adjusting its approach with the kind of strategic patience that no creature should possess.

Then the very lake around me lunged, as the Pride, as one, decided playtime was over and it was time to chew on their favorite new toy. I, being the absolute picture of warrior bravery, did the only thing left in my extremely limited aquatic arsenal: Bellowing forth a Battle-Mewl as my once sturdy canoe was shredded into celebratory confetti around me. I dived. Into the water. The Water Lion’s domain. A horrific tactical error, but in my defense, panic, and an overwhelming desire not to be an hors d'oeuvre, is not known for producing sound strategies.

But then, divine intervention. Or rather—poorly secured food supplies.

As I thrashed wildly, attempting the world’s fastest frantic doggypaddle toward shore, the canoe, now mostly loose sticks and leather strips and completely abandoned, tipped violently as a very determined Water Lion shredding through its former halfling holding center. The barrels of dried meat, fruit, and one highly questionable wheel of cheese he had taken from the Bandits burst free, scattering into the waters in a buffet explosion of aquatic proportions.

The pride lost its collective mind.

Water Lions, it turns out, have zero impulse control when presented with an unguarded feast. Predatory grace gave way to absolute chaos as they surged toward the slowly sinking supplies, tearing into the mess with all the dignity of drunken seagulls at a beach bonfire. My pending demise was instantly downgraded to low priority, as I, unnoticed and unappetizing in comparison, (A fact I would later struggle to not be offended by), continued my heroic escape—by which I mean flailing blindly toward shore while doing my best to take in more air than water as my body ignored my brain in its quest to reach dry land.

I crawled onto the sand, collapsed, and turned to watch the frenzy unfold. The canoe was gone, replaced by a spreading field of bite sized debris, the Water Lions were having the time of their lives, and I was alive—so, all in all, a technical victory. Just like I'd planned, of course!

In conclusion: Do not trespass into Water Lion territory. Do not underestimate their ability to educate you on the absolute depths of your own regret. And, if you must travel through Water Lion territory, Always make sure to surround yourself with tastier things than you, be it extra supplies, or extra companions!

***

Water Lions

(You know the old saying about lions claiming the savannah? Well. Turns out, the water is not your safe zone either.)

Water Lions: As if regular lions weren’t already terrifying enough, these aquatic apex nightmares glide through the waters like Aqua-golded torpedoes of doom. Their manes ripple in the current, blending so perfectly with the water that you won’t even realize one’s there until it’s too late. Masters of stealth, they strike from the depths with a homicidal explosion of force. Silent one moment, a lethal surge the next, effortlessly controlling currents to drag or shove prey exactly where they want them. Their murderous bulk moves with surprising grace beneath the waves, their presence marked by swirling eddies and deep, rumbling growls that are felt in your bones more than heard. Do yourself a favor—stay dry. 

Advice: If you encounter a Water Lion, dismiss any illusions of escaping by swimming... It rules the tides far better than you ever will. Do not challenge its gaze, keep to solid land, and retreat cautiously. Should it bare its fangs, reevaluate every decision that led you to this moment and immediately learn spontaneous teleportation. There's only one guaranteed way to escape a Water Lion.... Stay warm and dry behind the armor of a good book and a bottle of wine!