Tidal Whale

When the thing finally stopped screeching, when its great bladed flukes stopped twitching and it lay still, the red blood that had sprayed from its blowhole coating its black skin marred with white lines, it wasn't the rows of serrated teeth I focused on. It wasn't the coiling, serpentlike body that caught my eye, nor did the fins, far too many to count, interest me. As the whalers hoisted the thing up and began the bloody work of cutting in, their spades chopping into the hulking thing's still-warm flesh, I looked up, at the thing's head. What I saw chilled me to my bone, because what I saw staring back at me were not the eyes of the ferocious monstrosity that had almost sank our boat, just now. They were the eyes of a human being, and no one can tell me otherwise.

— Excerpt from the journal of the cook aboard the whaling ship Montgomery

There are many things one must fear, when sailing the Tides. Colossal waves, which follow ships with killing intent. Abnormally fast-spreading barnacles, which threaten to sink ships with their weight. Bloodthirsty pirates with abnormal diets. One's own crew. There is one danger, however, which dwarfs all others. One fear which plagues all sailors on the Pariah's Tides, for they know that none of them are safe from it. What is it that can strike fear into the hearts of those revered as the toughest, bravest people to walk below the red skies? What is it that induces families to pray for their children whenever they must cross the seas? It is, as this article's title may have already suggested, a whale.

Indefatigable Monstrosities

Now, the whales of the Pariah's Tides are not quite whales. To claim them to be such is an insult to all whalekind. In fact, those who use the name to refer to the aquatic monstrosities are quite lucky that true whales are such excellent navigators, since this means that they very rarely end up in the Tides and thus cannot take revenge on the spreaders of this misnomer. It is true that Tidal whales certainly resemble true whales, if one looks at them from the right angle. However, to mistake one for another is a rather fatal mistake. Ordinary whales may be giant, fearsomely strong creatures, capable of staving in a boat's hull with their mass alone, but they are ordinarily rather peaceful creatures. In most situations, as long as people leave them alone, they will leave people alone. Tidal whales, however, are not nearly so amiable. They are aggressive, hungry creatures, and will not hesitate to sink a boat in order to get at its delicious human contents.
To make matters worse, killing a Tidal whale is no easy task either. It isn't because their skin is impervious to blows, though on some whales it is certainly difficult to pierce. It isn't because they're too agile or speedy to be easily harpooned, either. The biggest problem with killing a whale is that it simply refuses to die. No matter how much flesh is torn by hand lance or cannonfire, the damned things just keep thrashing, all teeth and spines and howling. Even prussic acid harpoons have no effect, seeming only to encourage the things. There is only one way to kill a Tidal whale, and that is to strike it in the "life". There is a single spot on each whale's body that, if properly struck, will stop some important function in the whale's inconceivable biology. However, as this spot is not immediately apparent when the whale is thrashing about, killing one is not as simple as aiming and shooting.
Typically, the method for killing a whale is to jam enough harpoons into its body from different boats to slow it down enough for one brave fool to properly identify the life-spot and jam their killing iron into it. It takes a keen eye to identify where exactly the life-spot is, but experts will tell you that the key is in following the patterns of white, scarlike lines that run along every whale's body. Almost always, this method is costly, both in lost lives and lost equipment, but it is often a necessary sacrifice. However, an alternative method does exist, just one that may be even more dangerous for the ship's crew. Sometimes, the captain will chooses to hire a specific whaler, an individual afflicted with the Whaleman's Creed, to defend the ship. These individuals' ability to kill is rivaled by none, and they have been known to kill things ordinarily thought unkillable, such as the very waves and winds of the Tides. While a whaler is capable of vastly cutting down losses when hunting whales, they are their own form of risk. Those afflicted by the Creed are incredibly unpredictable, and have an unfortunate tendency to commit mutinies and sail into the East, never to be seen again.

Prey is Predator

Those unaware of the true origins of Tidal whales would be quite surprised to find out that the hunter and the hunted are actually one and the same. Indeed, whales are not a natural product of the Tides, but are instead the product of the Whaleman's Creed. Well, one of them, anyways. When a Creed-wracked ends up in Gamburg, they spend the rest of their days totally devoted to attempting to kill Wrong John. In many cases, this results in them eventually descending into the great whale's Blowhole, never to be seen again. In some cases, they end up resisting the urge to descend, instead binding themselves to their own ships' bows, devolving into mindless prophets of Wrong John. Some, however, choose an alternative route. They are not a popular group in Gamburg society, considered disgusting by many. They are the Eaters, those who choose to devour Wrong John's flesh in order to obtain his strength, so that they may properly slay him.
The act of consuming Wrong John's flesh sends one down a terrible spiral, that only has a single end. Once the meat has passed the lips, it is all one craves. First, the hunger is relatively mild. Just a few small chunks of god-flesh are enough to sate the appetite. But then, it grows. And grows. And grows, and grows, and grows, never satisfied, even as the Creed-wracked devours more and more. As the Creed-wracked eats, so does it change. Wrong John is a being of pure hatred, and thus its flesh fills the one who consumes it with that hatred, that primordial rage. It is more than an ordinary body, even that of a Creed-wracked, can endure. And thus, it changes to compensate, bloating and swelling in awful ways. The mouth widens, so that more foul meat may be crammed into it. Soon, the body becomes too heavy for the legs to properly support it.
Eventually, inevitably, there is no way that an Eater can get enough meat to sate them. And so, they decide to dig in, in the most literaly way, burrowing directly into Wrong John's flesh to feast below the skin, their body twisting and swelling. At first, the presence of an Eater is not noticeable. But soon, a bump forms on Wrong John's flesh. This bump grows, and swells, until eventually it bursts in a spray of godly gore, and the transformed Eater is released into the Tides. No longer a person in any way, save for perhaps its eyes, which are still concerningly human, it is now a Tidal whale. A twisted, bloated aberration of a being. Each one is unique in its grotesque appearance, sporting its own rows of jagged teeth, of whipping tendrils and serrated spines. And just as they hunted in their previous life, so must they hunt in their new one, forever seeking to devour yet more.

Valuable Bodies

But why do people hunt these whales, if they are so dangerous? What could possible be worth losing half a dozen sailors for each whale slain? The answer lies within the creatures' bodies. Just like true whales, Tidal whales have a thick layer of blubber that protects them, both against the cold and against injury. When stripped from a whale's corpse, this blubber can be processed into valuable oil through a process of cutting it up, mincing it, and boiling it in try pots. While it shares many properties with ordinary whale oil, Tidal whale oil is still very different from its mundane counterpart. For starters, it does not have a bright amber hue, and is instead much paler, almost white in color. Its flame is much more potent as well, burning with a fierce white flame, producing almost no smoke or odor whatsoever. Like ordinary whale oil, it can also be used to grease machinery.
The potency of Tidal whale oil can be traced back to the great amount of hatred that a Tidal whale holds within its body, which is released explosively when lit. Tidal whale oil is also coveted by weapons manufacturers for this reason, as bullets and other weaponry soaked in it absorb that hatred, becoming so much more efficient at their jobs. Whale bone is also valuable, though it has little use to most. However, Abstractors who use it as an artistic medium find that their ability to transfer and manipulate abstractions is bolstered greatly.
Whale oil is, like most things in the Tides, not without its dangers. The hatred stored within it, as well as within other whale products, has a nasty habit of leaking out, especially while the oil is being burned. This can cause an overexposure to hatred, which may inflame negative emotions and promote conflict. However, that is not the greatest threat of this ambient hatred. The primary cause of the Whaleman's Creed is an overexposure to hatred, and with whale oil burning all over, it is much easier to be pushed over the edge. Thus, those in urban areas are most at risk of contracting the Whaleman's Creed, which just ends up meaning more whales, and more oil, and more hatred, a cycle spiraling towards an unknown, likely very bleak endpoint.