A Database of Speculative Evolutionary Biology

Thank you! <3 It never ceases to excite me whenever I get a message on my work saying that someone liked it. Even something as minor as a person leaving a comment in the tags when they reblog my content makes my day.

Also, I know that it’s taken me a while to get back to your asks, and I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been juggling multiple projects at the moment, and I’ve been really bad about balancing time between them. As a result, the Encyclopedia got neglected for a couple of months. The next chapter’s still a work in progress, but to make up for not getting back to you sooner I wanted to share an excerpt from the next update.

Nargacuga: Etymology

Before I answer, I’m gonna preface this by saying that I’m way more familiar with saurischians than I am with ornithischians. That statement also comes with the massive qualifier that I have to use morphology-based taxonomy to classify everything, which, as any scientist worth their salt will tell you, is really bad. Thankfully, though, we can make it work.

Let’s start with the aptonoth. Instead of using a render or screenshot from the latest game, I want to show you something else.

Left to right: Concept art for the felyne, ioprey, aptonoth, anteka, mosswine, and popo from Monster Hunter Illustrations (モンスターハンターイラストレーションズ, カプコンオフィシャルブックス) | Source: Monster Hunter Wiki contributor user:BurnZ.

Cool, right? I’ve always been a sucker for behind-the-scenes content, and this concept art scratches that itch pretty nicely. But the reason why I dredged this from the bottom of the muck is because it gives us a pretty unobstructed look at the aptonoth’s design, and more specifically, what the developers intended for that design.

A common debate among paleontologists is whether or not species in the genera Parasaurolophus and Charonosaurus had skin frills. This hypothetical structure would have extended between the top of the crest to an anchorage point on either the neck or the top of the back. It’s speculated that the crest might have been used for intraspecific communication, as both a sexual selection tool and a way for members of a group to ID individuals. There are plenty of paleoartists that choose to either include or omit the skin frill when trying to envision what these creatures looked like.

(1) Top: Paleoartist’s interpretation of Parasaurolophus and Charonosaurus without frills. | Source: Gabriel Ugueto. (2) Middle: Paleoartist’s interpretation of Charonosaurus with a frill. | Source: Wikipedia contributor user:Debivort. (3) Bottom: Paleoartist’s interpretation of Parasaurolophus with a more prominent, exaggerated frill. | Source: Stock image by Encyclopaedia Britannica.

Look familiar?

You could argue that the aptonoth’s body structure looking similar to a hadrosaur’s is just a coincidence/artistic choice/whatever, but I think that Capcom’s choice to include that hypothetical crest feature early on is a very deliberate way of acknowledging the frill debate in the paleo community.

As for the apceros? Well, let’s take a quick look at its MHW render.

In-game render for the apceros from Monster Hunter: World. | Source: Monster Hunter Wiki contributor user:Kogath.

Right off the bat, we’re limited in what we can ascertain about the apceros because we can’t directly view its skeleton. This means we can’t see features such as the scale-like pattern on the skull surface (the caputegulae), or the amphicoelous centra on the caudal vertebrae. We can, however, extrapolate a few things based on what we can see.

Some of the ankylosaur traits that apceros does have are the sideways-facing nostrils, disproportionately long hindlimbs (compared to forelimbs), three toes on the hindlimbs, a singular cranial horn (unlike Ankylosaurus’ two cranial horns), a beaked jaw, and a club-shaped tail (we’ll get to the spikes in a second).

There are, however, a few traits that apceros is missing: a second cranial horn (that’s backwards-facing as opposed to downward-facing), phylliform (leaf-shaped) teeth, and osteoderms arranged in lines (as opposed to the shell-like configuration).

So if apceros is missing these traits, why would I classify it in the genus Ankylosaurus, instead of putting it in a new genus?

To be honest, the thought had occurred to me at the time. Back when I started this project in—holy shit, 2015, that was five years ago—I wasn’t as informed on the topic as I am now. Being a college student at the time, I think my approach was more along the lines of, “I have midterms, I don’t have the time to create an entirely new fictional genus just for a hobby that’ll never see the light of day. Fuck it, I’m just gonna throw it in the same genus as the type species.” I had something of a well if it ain’t broke mentality back then (along with other priorities).

To give past-me some credit, I think that motto actually paid off in this case. A lot of the contentious traits that call apceros’ placement into question can actually be explained if you consider those traits modifications or loss of the ancestral condition. Take cetaceans for example: despite being classified as mammals (which are characterized by hair), whales, dolphins, and porpoises have virtually none. And yet we still classify them as mammals because this trait was found earlier in their lineage. You could probably get away with applying that reasoning to the apceros:

The teeth: Loss of dentition isn’t unheard of. Modern birds no longer have them despite being present in their ancestors (along with all of their close relatives, the non-avian dinosaurs). You could argue that apceros lost its dentition for whatever reason, and instead developed ridged/serrated tomia on their beak for handling vegetation (not unlike those seen in geese).

The armor: If apceros’ armor was once more similar to Ankylosaurus’, then perhaps the osteoderms became highly fused. Armadillosuchus arrudai is a good example of an organism that developed a similar shell-like structure for defense against predators. In a case of convergent evolution, perhaps apceros rapidly gained a similar cervical shell.

The tail: Clubbing predators is all well and good, but as stegosaurians have repeatedly proved throughout the fossil record, thagomizers are the way to go. If you look at the apceros’ tail, you can see osteoderms more akin to traditional bony deposits unlike the fused ones on its back. I don’t think it would be too much of a stretch to postulate that these osteoderms gave rise to dermal spikes. I’m not sure what selection pressures would specifically lead to the acquisition of a thagomizer, but if the existence of thirteen stegosaurian genera that persisted over 44 million years is anything to go by, it must’ve been relevant.

By drawing a pentagram on my bedroom floor and sacrificing a goat to some eldritch monstrosity, in exchange for arcane knowledge.

Honestly, my approach to creating binomen varies from monster to monster. I always set out with the intention of keeping the names as grammatically correct as possible, in line with the declensions for Greek and Latin. I do my best to adhere to the International Code of Zoological Nomenclature, but at the end of the day, I’m just one nerd with no formal training. I’m very much an armchair linguist, and while there’s nothing wrong with being an autodidact, it does make me prone to second-guessing. Doesn’t really help that I don’t have a list of acquaintances to consult, who would actually be able to give me reliable feedback.

Sometimes, though, I think a little inexperience makes the naming process more authentic. Because scientists are people, and you can never underestimate the capacity of people to be Extra As Hell.

Let me give you a few examples:

In 2004, entomologists Kelly B. Miller and Quentin D. Wheeler reclassified a genus of leiodid fungus beetles as Gelae (/ˈdʒɛli/). Yes, it is pronounced exactly the way you think it is. The species in this newly-christened genus include G. baen (“jelly bean”), G. belae (“jelly belly”), G. donut (“jelly doughnut”), G. fish (“jelly fish”), and G. rol (“jelly roll”). The authors said that they were merely wordplays without any taxonomical jargon; a “whimsical arrangement of letters.”

And then there’s the lovely Heteropoda davidbowie, described by Peter Jäger. The name was selected for a few reasons: (1), the colors and patterns on the spider’s face resemble the painted face makeup David Bowie wore in his early career; (2), the name references the song “Glass Spider,” as well as his album The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars; (3), the species has an estimated 500 individuals left, so Jäger hoped that giving it a catchy name would draw headlines and help with conservation efforts.

Allow me to introduce you to a trilobite described by Samuel Turvey in 2005. Its name? Han solo. Turvey called it that because a couple of his friends dared him to name a species after a Star Wars character. And while you might roll your eyes at that, the name is actually really clever. The generic name Han is a reference to the Han people, the largest ethnic group in China (where the trilobite was found); the specific epithet solo refers to the fact it’s the sole species belonging to that genus; and like many trilobites, the fossils tend to be extremely well-preserved, similar to how Harrison Ford was preserved in carbonite.

I could literally go on for days. There’s even a website dedicated to compiling all of the ridiculous names out there called Curiosities of Biological Nomenclature. The person who does the heavy-lifting is a bloke named Mark Isaak, and they deserve mad respect.

There’s a point I’m trying to make, I swear.

You see, if professional scientists with degrees can get away with making nerdy references and butchering the grammar of Latin and Greek, THEN SO CAN I.

Sometimes I’ll give monsters really cool or epic-sounding names that try to capture a quality about them, whether that’s their appearance, geographic range, behavior, or some historical fact pertaining to their discovery.

Some of my favorites include:

The verdant qurupeco, Cantio sirenius. Its name means “siren’s song” in Latin, a reference to the high fidelity of its vocal mimicry.

The dire miralis, Pyrothalassion basileus. Its name translates to “Greek fire emperor.” Its generic name comes from an incendiary weapon used by the Byzantine navy. Remember the wildfire from Game of Thrones? It’s basically that. The name felt pretty appropriate for a sea-dwelling dragon that breathes fire.

The black nargacuga, Xyrafiptera cervarius. Its name means “razor-winged deer-hunter” in Latin, a combination of physical descriptors and behavior. It also sounds rad as hell.

And then…we have those names.

The disufiroa, Apparentia absurda. You can take a wild guess what that translates to. I mean, just look at this thing. It’s got weird, inverted, spike-things on its chest. No idea what the fuck those are for.

The harudomerugu, Retentio incredulitatis. Its name is the closest I could get to “suspension of disbelief” in Latin. By now you might have noticed that scientific names are basically my way of bullying the Frontier monsters, because seriously, what the hell, Capcom?

The baruragaru, Stercusanctum currite. Okay, so this one isn’t me taking the piss out of the Frontier design team, because I actually like this monster. Its name is based on my reaction when I first saw the G3 trailer: Jesus Christ, what is that thing? The baruragaru was given the dubious honor of being named “holy shit, run,” because if I saw that thing in real life I’d be trying to put as many doors, walls, and preferably continents between it and myself as possible.

The great jaggi, Magnaraptor ebrius. Also known as the “drunken great thief.” Full disclosure: I’m a big fan of NCHProductions and wanted to sneak in a fun reference to their videos. Whenever they animate the great jaggi it’s always drunk, so I named it in honor of its alcoholism.

The pariapuria, Haustranguis amphibious. Its name means “amphibious bucket dragon” in Latin, and there’s a reason for that. You see, The Encyclopedia wasn’t just intended as a fun creative exercise, but as a learning tool for people interested in zoological classification. In taxonomy there’s this thing called a wastebasket taxon—when a species is incertae sedis, or of uncertain placement, it might get dumped into a poly- or paraphyletic taxon. Academically, this is what’s known as “this thing is weird and I don’t know where it goes, so for now I’m putting it in time out.” When I first tried to classify the pariapuria I couldn’t really figure out what it was related to: The tigrexes? The nargas? Neither? And then it hit me: I didn’t have to have an answer. Instead, I decided to put it in a wastebasket taxon. It’s meant to be a nod to the harrows of IRL taxonomy, and just how much of a clusterfuck it can be sometimes. As for why it’s called “bucket dragon,” and not “basket dragon,” well. I couldn’t exactly find a translation for “basket” in Latin, so I asked myself, “Okay, what’s the next best thing?” And thus we have bucket dragon.

Y’know, that’s a good question. One that deserves a really good answer.

Unfortunately, I don’t have that answer. Yet.

Right now I’m trying to do some preliminary research on organisms that incorporate minerals and other inorganic compounds into their physiology, and looking for potential adaptations that could be repurposed for the glavenus. So far I’ve got:

The scaly-foot snail (Chrysomallon squamiferum). This weird little mollusc has a three-layered shell comprised of iron sulfides and aragonite, and a muscular foot armored with iron-mineralized sclerites. They live on the edges of deep-sea hydrothermal vents at depths of 2,415 m to 2,460 m.

The Venus’ flower basket (Euplectella aspergillum). Like all species in the class Hexactinellida, glass sponges have a lattice skeleton made of siliceous (silica) spicules.

The ichneumonid fig wasp (Apocryta westwoodi). In 2014, researchers Lakshminath Kundanati and Namrata Gundiah investigated how the female parasitoid wasp bores through the fig’s substrate to reach the larvae of the pollinator wasp, without fragmenting her ovipositor from mechanical stress. They discovered that the serrated tip of the ovipositor is metal-plated with zinc.

The pacific sand dollar (Dendraster excentricus). Juveniles of this filter-feeding species actually ingest iron ore particulates called magnetite, which weigh them down to the seabed and prevent them from being carried off by currents.

As they grow, young sand dollars consume particles of an iron ore called magnetite that they store in their bodies, making them heavier and reducing their buoyancy. (Josh Cassidy/KQED) | Source.

Hiya! The link for the Google doc is right here. I updated it earlier this week, so a ton of monsters and endemic life were newly added.

Now, on to your second question.

The short answer is: no to the deviljho, tentative yes for the anjanath.

Before we get to the long answer, I feel like I should give you a quick explanation for how my thought process works. Generally, I look at a monster and try to isolate its most distinctive features (morphology, diet, behavior, geographic range, etc), and from there see if any of these features line up with real-world animals. I usually end up in one of three scenarios:

Sometimes I get lucky because Capcom did their homework and designed a creature that’s like the archetypal-whatever, so it’s really easy to figure out its relationship to extant organisms.Example: The kelbi is an artiodactyl (an even-toed ungulate) in the infraorder Pecora, more specifically an antilocaprid or (less likely) a cervid.

Sometimes a monster looks like it might belong to a specific group, but upon closer observation, it has one or more characteristics that violate the criteria for that group.Example: At first glance the sealord’s crestfish looks like an oarfish. So, case closed, right? Well, no. Oarfish are covered in easily-abraded guanine rather than scales. The sealord’s crestfish, on the other hand, has these honkin’ overlapping leptoid scales, which rules out that possibility. It’s likely not a crestfish (Lophotidae) either, again because it has scales, but also because lophotids have cloacal ink sacs, which as far as we know the sealord’s crestfish lacks. Also, lophotids are tropical, and last time I checked, tropical ecosystems don’t have ice sheets. We can at least still assume that the sealord’s crestfish is related to them in some way, which means the next step is to backtrack to the last highest taxon (Lampriformes) and see if it meets any of the requirements there. Which thankfully, it does. Lampriformes can have either naked skin or scales. This is the point where it’s safe to classify the sealord’s crestfish as a relative of the oarfish and true crestfish, within its own unique family (Mareridae).

The final scenario is one where a monster’s characteristics are so bizarre that I can’t find a real-world analog to compare it to. This is the scenario I spend most of my time dreading, because the phylogenetics for these monsters tends to veer toward hypothetical/speculative biology.Example: The vast majority of the Elder Dragons fit into this category—specifically, the six-limbed ones. I actually have a solution for that problem, but I’m gonna save it for separate post because the details are kinda…nightmarish.

Which brings us back to “Are the anjanath and deviljho relatives of the T. rex?”

(Full disclosure, I’m not exactly great at paleontology. Take anything I say with a grain of salt.)

Let’s start with the deviljho.

Hypothetical deviljho skeletal reconstruction, based on coelurosaur anatomy. | Source: u/Deerexy on r/MonsterHunter.

Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton diagram. | Source: Smithsonian Institute.

While the two share several key features (forelimbs of reduced size, two functional digits, four toes with the dewclaw suspended off the ground, elongated tibiae), they differ in enough ways that I’m hesitant to call them close relatives. The skull of tyrannosauroids has a tall premaxillary bone that’s blunted at the front of the snout and gradually sloped upward, with a smaller mandible. The front of the deviljho’s cranium, by contrast, looks to be either highly fused or compressed, with the parietal, postorbital, and premaxilla bones all part of a short upturned snout. The massive dentary is disproportionately larger and elongated, with these weird teeth/tubercle-like protrusions on the outside of the jaw. Originally I thought they were functionally analogous the external teeth of the dragonfish (Bathophilus indicus), but they’re too big and not recurved enough to be useful for prey-capture. So maybe they’re a fossorial adaptation like the horns on Peltephilus and Ceratogaulus? Dunno. Anyway, it’s not really relevant.

You’ll notice this skull shape is pretty consistent amongst all the tyrannosauroids.

Size comparison between several tyrannosauroid species. | Source: Wikipedia contributor user:Conty.

Despite a few visual similarities, I think it’s safe to rule out any chance of the deviljho being directly related.

The anjanath, on the other hand, is (probably) a tyrannosauroid.  For the moment disregard the fact it breathes fire and focus on the overall morphology.

Anjanath concept art for Monster Hunter: World. | Source: u/Haru17 on r/MonsterHunter.

Seeing as we have no way to study its pelvis and look for the other tyrannosauroid features (concave notch on the ilium, a “boot” on the end of the pubis, etc.) we’ll have to rely on the skull, digits, and overall posture. Like the T. rex and its kin, anjanaths possess the same number of toes and fingers. Identical s-shaped neck, identical long tail, and the skull shape matches the silhouettes in the third image.

As for the paired dorsal sails and nasal crest? They can be easily explained away as derived traits. That inflatable sac in particular reminds me of the one seen in the Speke’s gazelle (Gazella spekei), which is used as a resonance chamber to amplify the honking alarm call it makes.

I’ve been working on new content and updates for The Hunter’s Encyclopedia of Animals, and after three months I’m finally ready to unveil them.

First order of business:

New releases — The chapter/dossier for the plesioth (Plesichthys coxa) and its two subspecies, the green plesioth (P. c. viridis) and the oil-backed plesioth (P. c. coxa), has been released.

Content changes — Updates have been made to the glossary, etymology page, species index, and classification page to reflect the most up-to-date information.

New classifications — The following animals have been classified:

Introduced in MH: World: bazelgeuse (Fragoreptilia fervens), gajua (Palustincola ferox), legiana (Vexillala striatifoliata), paolumu (Vesica aerostatum), pteryx (Zontanopteryx metaxydendra), radobaan (Molabrea osteophila), shepherd hare (Paramustela longauriata).

Introduced in MHF2/MHFU: burst arowana (Osteoglossum autothysia).

Introduced in MH: Frontier: anorupatisu (Pristocephale glaciesecans).

All of the new and updated content can be found on the AO3 and FF versions of the Encyclopedia as well.

Second order of business:

The Encyclopedia now has its own dedicated tumblr: @teratonomy! This will be useful for anyone that’s interested in reading what I write, but doesn’t want to follow me on my main and have their dashboards inundated with the rest of the multifandom junk I post/reblog. This blog features additional info such as an FAQ, an upcoming feature list, a dossier request page, lore- and science-based trivia, and a fictional species list. In addition to posting new excerpts from the Encyclopedia I’ll be reblogging art and posts that feature MH science. If that’s your cup of tea, you might want to head on over and check it out.

Final order of business: