Quorl
A winged insect-like beast used by the Moranth for transport. Quickly adopted by the Malazan military structure into their tactics when the Moranth-Malazan Empire alliance was struck.
"Quorl Milk" is a very powerful beverage, believed to help women to get pregnant. It also tastes terrible.
Quorls, you see, they fly. They got wings. Four in fact. And you can see right through every one of them, and if you’re of a mind you can poke your finger through one of those wings.' - (GotM, UK Trade, p.74)
'...the ridged second saddles on the Quorl where they rose up at the back of the thorax like cowls' - (GotM, UK Trade, p.116)
'The sparkling, skin-thin wings of the Quorl, four to each creature...The sharp whirring sound of the wings' - (GotM, UK Trade, p.114)
'The winged creatures balanced on four thin legs emerging from beneath the saddles. They waited on the rooftop with wings splayed out and quivering fast enough to create a haze of water droplets suspended around them. Their long, oddly segmented tails jutted straight out behind them, multi-hued and twenty feet in length...acrid scent... The nearest Quorl’s enormous, wedge-shaped head was dominated by faceted eyes and articulating mandibles. Two additional limbs – arms, he supposed – were tucked underneath.' - (GotM, UK Trade, p.115)
About Quorl Milk:
"The bottle she showed up with was of exquisite multihued glass, shaped like some giant insect.
(...)
Then Picker, licking dry lips, asked : 'Male or female'?
'Female', Antsy said, in a thin, grating voice, as if being squeezed from below. 'Should smell... sweet'.
(...) He reached for the bottle of Quorl Milk. Paused to study the sigil on the stopper, 'Green Moranth. The cheap brand. Figures'.
The normal dosage was a thimbleful. Sold exclusively to women who wanted to get pregnant. Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't. Maybe all it did was shock the body into pregnancy - anything to avoid another taste of that stuff.
(...)
Antsy drank down a mouthful then set the bottle down. And promptly passed out. Crumpling like a man without bones, except for his head which crunched audibly on the cobbles.
(...)
Sighing, she reached for the bottle. To Blend she said, 'Good thing your foot's been neutered, love'.
'Don't you mean sterile?'
'I ain't that delusional,' Picker replied. 'Be sure they promise to hire us all a carriage, before you drink, Blend.'
'I will. See you tomorrow, sweetie.'
'Aye'. "
(TtH)
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