TEXT: Creative Commons 
  Bestiary Entries
  
  2
  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  Creative Commons LiCense
  Welcome to the Trilemma Adventures Creative Commons 
  Bestiary! This document is made for anyone who wants to 
  write and publish bestiary stats for the creatures in the 
  Trilemma Adventures Compendium Vol I.
  Unlike the main book, the text of this document is 
  licensed to you under a Creative Commons license: 
  CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0. This means you are free to take these 
  descriptions, use them as-is or adapt them, and then 
  publish the result in whatever medium you like (e.g. as a 
  PDF, your blog, a wiki, etc.). There are a few restrictions:
  • You must give appropriate credit, so readers can 
  easily tell where the material originally came from.
  • Your publication must be non-commercial (you can’t 
  sell it, or use it as a promotional offering for other 
  products or services).
  • Share-alike: your publication must be released 
  under CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0, so that others can freely 
  share and build on your work in turn.
  Please see the full text of the license for more information. 
  If you would like to use this text in some other way than 
  what CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0 allows, please contact me via 
  http://www.trilemma.com.
  Bestiary
  aether serpent
  When the astral wind blows strangely, the sands of that 
  realm form into writhing serpents which grind along 
  the dunes in pursuit of material travelers. The sands of 
  the astral realm are soaked in the dreams and fears of 
  the ages, so the bite of an aether serpent inflicts potent, 
  incapacitating visions of lives long past. Do not tarry in 
  the astral realm!
  aCoLyte of raaL
  Occasionally, a vision or seer catches a glimpse of the 
  dread ritual of Thiru that made the primordial orcs. Some 
  try to mimic the ritual,  consuming the spirits of the dead, 
  in the hopes of obtaining the power of those legendary 
  creatures.
  Unfortunately, the ritual is subtle, and imperfect 
  performance has many side effects. Each acolyte of 
  Raal has different orcish gifts: glowing, night-seeing 
  eyes; a tough leathery hide; claws and bestial strength; 
  regeneration; to take sand and soil as sustenance; or even 
  ageless vitality.
  They may also have numbed limbs, weakness, leprosy, 
  or rotting flesh—before overuse of the ritual causes them 
  to succumb to unthinking ghouldom or death.
  ant, BLight
  Blight ants bring total destruction when they come, like 
  a slow-moving wildfire. Dog-sized scout ants find and 
  mark suitable food. A few hours later, squads of forager 
  ants arrive and carry away anything living. Horse-sized 
  blight soldier ants watch over the operations and 
  protect the smaller ants from reprisals.
  Trees, bushes, injured or slow-moving animals—
  everything they can cut down and haul is pulled 
  underground to rot in their subterranean fermentation 
  pits.
  Their ravages are cyclical: they enter an area, strip it 
  down to the bare ground, and move on. After a few years 
  (if the soil hasn’t dried up and blown away) the area 
  begins to recover. Saplings grow and the animals return, 
  but not long afterwards, so do the ants.
  Blight ants prefer hot, dry climates, as their colonies 
  are vulnerable to flooding in more temperate lands. In 
  cold weather, they grow sluggish and vulnerable to hot-
  blooded scavengers. This small mercy is all that keeps 
  them from sweeping over everything.
  apoCaLypse Larva
  Fat white grubs (2 paces) cling to cavern walls, sloshing 
  with precious oils. They are passive, but if disturbed they 
  can burst explosively, splashing anyone nearby with 
  flaming oil.
  automaton, servant
  These Seree-made automatons have bodies of wood, 
  leather, and brass. They are built for hard labor, and are 
  a full head taller than most humans.
  Their heads are human skulls, each one containing a 
  small, coral-like crystal of topaz, agate, or garnet, which 
  holds the automaton’s habits of endless servitude.
  These ‘wizard flowers’ were grown in the brains of 
  acolytes not suited for powerful magic. Automatons 
  occasionally do oddly life-like things (scratching an itch, 
  leaning against a wall) before resuming their duties.
  A skull collar (an enchanted brass sleeve with a 
  central post) affixes the skull and animates the body 
  with the impulses from the flower. This makes the skulls 
  interchangeable, giving their minders the ability to 
  replace the skulls with others, trained for different tasks
  In novel situations (e.g., if attacked, told what to do), 
  servant automatons react appropriately on a 1-2 on a d6; 
  otherwise, they ignore what’s happening.
  automaton, vauLt JaCkaL
  The Seree also maintained a store of crystal-infused 
  skulls for defensive purposes, made from starved jackals.
  
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  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  Automatons with jackal skulls hunt in packs of up to 8, 
  sneak carefully, attack from ambush, and stop only when 
  their victims are torn apart.
  avatar of suvuvena
  An avatar of Suvuvena is the penultimate chimeric 
  creation, a person made of arthropods, fused together by 
  hydra’s blood and prayers to Suvuvena, shaper of life.
  Its lungs are locusts; its skin is a carpet of beetles. Its 
  eyes are holes filled with flies. A huge centipede makes 
  up its guts; its hands are clusters of mantids. It can 
  disassemble or reassemble at will.
  As a master chimeromancer, the avatar’s gaze 
  instantly bonds flesh to flesh, as if one piece from birth. It 
  can use this to deform its enemies, or affix two or more of 
  them to one another. It can sew mouths, noses, and eyes 
  shut with a glance, causing blindness and suffocation.
  As intelligent, composite beings, avatars have rather 
  alien ideas about identity and individuality.
  While most chimeromancers strive to create new and 
  better forms for the glory of Suvuvena, an avatar dreams 
  of welding all life into a single, ecstatic organism.
  Bandit Wasp
  These giant wasps live in colonies of 2-20 adults, each the 
  size of a calf. They fly noisily, easily heard in the distance. 
  Their glossy chitin protects like metal armor, though 
  their legs and eyes are delicate.
  They arrive in groups of d6, seize people, sheep, or 
  goats with their hooked legs, inject venom, and fly home 
  to feed their captured prey to their larvae.
  Bandit wasp venom has a powerful effect: anyone 
  injected becomes completely unaware of bandit wasps, as 
  if they (and their larvae) did not exist. Many victims have 
  been carried off without protest, calmly enjoying the view 
  from the air. 
  Bandit wasp nests are cottage-sized, spherical globs of 
  wax nestled high on cliff walls, the upper stories of ruins, 
  or large, ancient trees. The nests crawl with forearm-
  sized larvae, which secrete the demon-repellent wax. 
  They nose about blindly, but if bothered, they reply with 
  a jet of hot wax (painful and  blinding).
  BLue LiChen
  A flaky, blue-gray lichen that rapidly turns exposed skin 
  into more lichen. It grows quickly at body temperature, 
  but is dormant in the numbing cold of its native climate, 
  where it is found as blue-gray streaks on ice. Because it 
  grows painlessly, blue lichen infections can go unnoticed 
  for hours.
  Bog strangLer
  Bog stranglers haunt the swamps, bogs, and moorland 
  pools between villages. They live out an illusion of their 
  lives from long ago, poor gatherers, charcoal burners, and 
  fishers. The great working of the Martoi let them live as 
  they did thousands of years ago, but only as reflections in 
  still water.
  Do not accept their hospitality! Bog stranglers can be 
  recognized by their ignorance of recent news, since they 
  remember nothing since the working. Travelers have 
  awakened to find themselves underwater and drowning: 
  the humble cottage of their host revealed to be a slimy, 
  leaf-filled water hole. Long fingers close about their necks 
  and choke out their last breath.
  Bone deviL
  Bone devils are the heralds of the great demons vying to 
  rise to the surface from far below. They hunt the spirits of 
  surface people who are foolish or unfortunate enough to 
  be found outside the safety of ancestral hosts.
  Bone devils are semi-corporeal. To lure the dead, they 
  decorate themselves with bones (which are familiar to 
  the departed). Where the devils settle, they create false 
  shrines filled with stolen sacred objects, or parodies of 
  them.
  Bone devils carry silver-tipped hooks to catch spirits, 
  though these are equally brutal when turned upon the 
  living.
  They know several sorcerous rituals: 
  Devastating glory causes sacred objects to sing, which 
  they use to lure any nearby spirits who cherish them.
  Bone devils light flaming lamps of blue fire, terrifying 
  to the dead, to encircle and trap them. At the sound of 
  their maddening horns, mounts throw their riders and 
  flee.
  They know a grating, clacking rhythm they perform 
  when the living are near. It weakens bones, making 
  breaks very likely with even glancing blows or tumbles.
  Brass soLdier
  Brass soldiers are magical statues of solid metal. They 
  move at one-eighth normal speed, making them easily 
  avoided in the open. In tight quarters (or when pushed, 
  rushed past, or attacked with short weapons), the soldiers 
  attempt to grab limbs or clothing.
  They are immensely strong, and their grip cannot be 
  dislodged. Seized victims have only moments to cut off 
  whatever the soldier holds before being strangled by 
  metal fingers.
  Being solid metal, they are nearly impervious to harm 
  (including electricity), and only “die” if their silver hearts 
  are bored into or melted.
  Brass soldiers are siege weapons from ancient Thiru, 
  and are directed by a ring of control. If the ring is 
  worn by a living person, they will march to reach them 
  (underwater if necessary, even digging through earth and 
  stone). Once in the wearer’s presence, they will follow 
  simple instructions as best they can. Otherwise, they 
  simply stand where they are.
  If a control ring is discovered as treasure, it controls 
  d20 brass soldiers.
  
  4
  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  Carreg 
  The Carreg are the “people of stone,” who live far 
  underground, in and around the Ur-Menig. Their bodies 
  are genderless, with skin like dimpled, supple clay. When 
  healthy, they are cool and moist. They appear quite alien 
  to surface peoples, having  small mouths, slitted nostrils, 
  and no eyes or hair.
  They “see” by means of air currents and ground 
  vibrations, and are unaware of light. They tolerate the air 
  of Ur-Menig, which sends others into a deathless sleep.
  Carreg fear iron, which to them is strong-smelling and 
  toxic. Their warriors use weapons of bone or oil-hardened 
  leather, while the best-equipped warriors wear head-caps 
  and vests of lacquered tiles cut from isopod shell or bone.
  They are calm, resolute, and speak in low, mumbly 
  voices. The Carreg establish trust by speaking loudly 
  about what everyone can plainly see for themselves. To 
  them, the surface is mythical—to speak of it means you 
  intend to break promises and flout their laws. 
  Carreg rust desperant
  With the song of their deity no longer protecting them, 
  some Carreg have formed martial cults. By embracing 
  iron poisoning, they toughen themselves against their 
  enemies.
  Their skin is broken and weeping, but covered in hard, 
  metallic scabs. Their limbs grow abnormally long and 
  muscular.
  The desperants are not particularly skilled in war, but 
  they commit to battle with berserker ferocity. Among 
  them are many former saints, left despondent when the 
  peace-bringing Song of Gamandes fell silent.
  Cave squid
  A cloud of black tentacles, hanging in the air like an 
  ink drop in water. They “swim” through the air, fronds 
  wafting on unseen currents.
  Normally constricted to a mass 2-3 paces across, their 
  tentacles stretch up to 6 paces if need be. Given time, they 
  can squeeze through gaps only a few fingers wide. They 
  are highly resistant to crushing or piercing attacks.
  Their venomous touch causes paralysis, searing 
  pain, or control of whichever of the victim’s limbs has 
  been seized, depending on the squid’s vile purpose.
  They hunt alone and act intelligently.
  Cave stitCher
  The spider-like spawn of the demon Guguluin practice a 
  gruesome form of sorcery, “stitching” victims’ bodies into 
  new shapes by severing and reattaching limbs. The final 
  form determines the spell they cast.
  Some victims die while being prepared, while others 
  survive to live on as puppets of the stitcher, ever 
  available to produce the desired magical effect with a jerk 
  of their silken tether.
  Cave stitchers venturing into contested lands will 
  be dragging d4 puppets, each with different magical 
  effects—spurting fire, a sound-deadening black fog, or a 
  cantrip that makes their quarry’s blood sing like a boiling 
  kettle (all the easier to find them).
  They are strong climbers, able to drag their dangling 
  puppets with them along walls or ceilings.
  ChaLk hound
  The ancients of Saaru made chalk golems in the form 
  of hounds. They were lovingly etched with prayers, and 
  as the hounds performed their intricate steps as they 
  patrolled the temples, they graced the flagstones with 
  prayer sigils.
  ChangeLing
  Countless cultures have fallen into the depths of the 
  underworld when their time on the surface came to an 
  end. The changelings are the survivors: rather than be 
  claimed by the depths and pass into myth, they adopt the 
  forms of living peoples and blend in.
  Changelings move among the crowds anonymously 
  when they must, but a stable life requires a home, 
  loved ones, and a station. These they obtain by murder, 
  targeting a specific person, killing them, and slipping into 
  their life.
  Changelings are students of human nature, politely 
  curious and excellent conversationalists. They are always 
  observing, planning who they must become next. Some 
  maintain several identities, leading two or even three 
  lives at the same time.
  Changelings feign openness to learn as much as they 
  can in return for what they disclose, but this is a double-
  edged sword: many a changeling has given itself away 
  with a careless idiom or a habitual phrase from a dead 
  language.
  Chitin drake
  Chitin drakes are bred as weapons of war by Dradkin 
  chimeromancers. They look like flying centipedes, buzzing 
  through the darkness in search of prey. They attack by 
  biting, injecting a potent paralytic venom. If attacking 
  a group, they will make rapid passes to sow confusion. 
  When attacking lone targets, they bite continuously while 
  coiling around their prey and latching on with a hundred 
  stabbing legs.
  They have carapaces like burnished lead, as tough as 
  drake scale. Killing them requires holding them still long 
  enough to batter through their scales.
  The wings are not nearly as tough, and a solid blow will 
  break many of them, although they can fly clumsily with 
  as few as a third of a full complement.
  They do not attack suicidally, and will retreat if they 
  are hurt. When threatened, they hide on cavern ceilings 
  or scurry into crevices.
  Newly hatched chitin drakes are two paces in length 
  and as thick as a wrist. When they can feed on fresh meat, 
  they grow by half a pace every day. Once they reach five 
  
  5
  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  paces in length, their drake nature emerges more fully, 
  and they develop a prescient cunning.
  The wings flake off, but they continue to fly by magical 
  impulse. Twice daily, they can squirt a jet of sticky, 
  flaming liquid sizable enough to engulf a human.
  Chitin drakes will never approach a flame that burns 
  with powdered drake-egg shell. This is the only means 
  of control the Dradkin have ever been able to exert over 
  these fell creatures.
  Craesten
  Hulking terrestrial lobsters, craesten are native to 
  alien Tlarba. They are enormously strong and heavy, 
  and despite the loud clacking of their legs, they move 
  gracefully.
  They are ignorant of human body language and tone 
  of voice, which can make them seem stupid or naive at 
  times, but they are intelligent and perceptive. Their 
  natural armor lends them an unshakable confidence 
  and humor: in the worst case, they can simply eat you.
  When truly upset or angry, they produce a strong 
  citrus smell, highly alarming to selks.
  Spilled craesten blood produces a potent magical 
  entropy that makes nearby spell casting difficult.
  Crypt servant
  A crypt servant is a mummified husk, bound by magic 
  to serve a monastic order in death. Their dry bodies are 
  fragile and their minds addled by long years of inactivity, 
  but their fearlessness and large numbers makes them 
  dangerous in the claustrophobic crypts they protect.
  demon WoLf
  The horse-sized demon wolves were loosed upon the 
  earth in the war between the Powers and the Seree. They 
  burble as they run, which sounds like a child blowing into 
  a bottle half-full of spit. Flaming drops fall from their 
  mouths and burn the grass or hiss in the cold snow.
  They leap surprisingly far, easily forty paces. If cut, 
  their blood catches fire and burns with green flames as it 
  becomes exposed to the air. If grievously wounded, sticky, 
  rope-like tentacles burst from the wound and attack 
  anything that draws near.
  They earnestly believe the Seree (and those who would 
  imitate them) are a curse upon the earth. Some are bound 
  to destroy specific places (or prevent them being rebuilt), 
  while others have completed their tasks and now roam 
  freely.
  They are polite, but confidently superior that the mortals 
  have no idea what’s good for them or the consequences of 
  their actions.
  dire fLea
  Dire fleas are parasitic vermin as big as a thumb. Their 
  bite is numbing and injects d3 larvae, which burrow deep 
  into the body.
  The larvae emerge explosively as full-grown fleas 2d6 
  days later, leap to a new target, and begin the cycle again. 
  Anyone caught bringing them into a settlement will most 
  likely be carted off and burnt.
  dogfoLk
  The dogfolk are bipedal canines, the descendants of 
  handwolves whose transformation completed after many 
  generations.
  Dogfolk reproduce slowly (more slowly than wolves), 
  and their packs are few in number. They do their best 
  to avoid people, living in highland forests where they 
  have learned to hunt with clever snares. They are expert 
  trap-setters, and many a deep-woods trapper has found 
  themselves strung up.
  They abandon all caution with sorcerers, whom they 
  will hunt with murderous determination. They run at 
  great speed, on all fours when they have to. They use 
  harassing attacks and feigned retreats to encourage 
  targets through narrow places with hidden snares, with 
  the aim of separating and exhausting their enemies, over 
  several days if necessary.
  The dogfolk believe the moon has given them protection 
  from sorcery—when they howl as a pack, magical effects 
  are pulled harmlessly upwards into the sky. The effect 
  even works on arrows and sling stones, rituals so old that 
  people have forgotten they are magic.
  dradkin
  The Dradkin are a people from deep within the earth. To 
  surface dwellers, they look fine-boned and delicate, their 
  movements jerky and unsettling. The majority are albino, 
  some yellowish with ruddy features.
  Their eyes are small, and bright light hurts them. They 
  are at home in darkness, but use tiny lamps or naked wicks 
  when they can afford oil. They have excellent hearing, 
  bordering on echolocation, which they supplement by 
  placing their long fingers against the cavern walls.
  They have no cloth, but wear “kinleather” skins of their 
  dead (a final gift), tailored with thread spun from hair, 
  and they make tools and buttons of the bones. Each of 
  their garments is named after the giver, and precious to 
  them.
  Eons ago, the Dradkin were surface dwellers, but 
  they and their gods were ploughed into the earth by the 
  workings of time. Now they are spread between distant 
  habitable communities. Those which are not too deep 
  sometimes make nighttime raids on the surface, but 
  Dradkin are both agoraphobic and unable to tolerate the 
  brightness of the sun.
  Dradkin value directness. Evasiveness or partial 
  answers appear to them as incompetence or badly 
  concealed weakness. If they do not wish to discuss or 
  disclose something, it is more polite to lie outrageously or 
  introduce bizarre non-sequiturs.
  
  6
  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  dradkin fLeshpriest
  The most talented of the wealthy, pious-caste Dradkin are 
  selected as fleshpriests. They begin learning the miracles 
  of Suvuvena, shaper of flesh.
  Acolytes know a cantrip to ruin echolocation, precipitate 
  salt out of the body (causing weakness, spasms, and 
  fainting), or to control d2 of a target victim’s limbs.
  Older fleshpriests become masters of chimeromancy, 
  breeding Heilian gorgons or chitin drakes for use in wars 
  with the Carreg.
  drake
  Primitive throwbacks to an earlier age of the earth, drakes 
  are leather-winged, reptilian predators—aggressive and 
  small-brained. They have sleek, glossy scales and long, 
  sharp talons.
  Drakes handle the cold winters of the Tristhmus poorly, 
  but even in the warmer regions they are rare, being loners 
  with large territories that they defend aggressively.
  They are flightless for their first year, and bask in 
  their mountain nests until they reach pony size, at which 
  point they spread their ten-pace wings and find their own 
  territory to patrol.
  Drakes are endurance hunters, who use their soaring 
  abilities to harass prey (commonly goats or plains deer, 
  though they will eat anything) until it is too tired to 
  fight back. At this point, they pounce with their talons, 
  inflicting deep puncture wounds.
  The Seree tried many times to use them as guardians,  
  but their small brains and aggressive natures made them 
  unsuitable. Most turned on their oaths within a decade or 
  two, devouring their spell engines and becoming dragons.
  drake, Cave
  These limbless beasts are not true drakes, but flying, 
  winged worms with a taloned grasper at the end of their 
  strong tails. They glide on rubbery wings in the upper 
  reaches of Ur-Menig, seeking prey with heat-sensitive 
  pits all along their oily bodies.
  They use wounded prey as territory markers. Attacking 
  cave drakes will swoop down and leave prey crippled with 
  beak and talon attacks, then leave it to crawl around 
  unless they are hungry (1-2 on a d6), or something (e.g., 
  rescuers, another predator) interferes with it.
  dream eater
  The first sign of a dream eater’s presence in a community 
  is mass insomnia. People can’t benefit from rest or sleep 
  and, after a few days, begin experiencing acute exhaustion 
  and hallucinations. Sleep-inducing magic lasts half as 
  long as normal and provides no rest either.
  The dream eater hides itself to avoid discovery (often in 
  some fearful place), and acts at a distance to sow confusion 
  and heighten fear, paranoia, and madness.
  In addition to the insomnia, it has three Powers. It 
  can mimic the appearance of anyone who has entered 
  its hiding place. It can amplify its victims’ emotional 
  states to such a degree that those nearby feel them also. 
  Finally, it can make insomnia-induced hallucinations 
  into illusions experienced by everyone.
  Dream eaters are demons of the underworld, which 
  exploit spiritual weakness to insert themselves within 
  groups of people. (Communities without ancestral 
  hosts, or who have forsaken traditional protections, are 
  especially vulnerable.)
  If confronted, dream eaters appear as dense clouds of 
  black smoke, filled with teeth and sharp, metal points. 
  Their smoky bodies resist harm, but they are not 
  invulnerable.
  When a dream eater dies, it leaves behind a crown of 
  sharp, metal teeth. When worn, it grants a limited form 
  of the dream eater’s mimicry, emotional amplification, 
  and illusionism. Without the dreams of the community 
  as fuel,  however, anyone using these powers will quickly 
  become exhausted themselves.
  emperor tortoise
  The emperor tortoises have walked the earth since before 
  there were people. Supposedly, they follow the paths of 
  the gods—the ley lines and the other, subtler scars of 
  creation.
  Walking for so long has given them immense wisdom. 
  Pilgrims, whether scholars, penitents, or mad hedge 
  wizards, follow them for as long as they can.
  The humblest hope to earn wisdom as the tortoise has, 
  slowly, by walking. The impatient or ambitious hope to 
  hear the tortoise actually speak.
  Venerable Ganth-Nndu is rumored to have spoken at 
  the foot of the Ivory Library of Pelark, which promptly 
  collapsed in shame at its ignorance. Great Mmth-Endu 
  is said to have uttered the word that destroyed all of 
  Darpera.
  Most who follow the tortoises, however, learn only their 
  own inner lessons: while the tortoises can speak, they 
  almost never do.
  It is said that sleeping in the shadow of a tortoise would 
  impart the secrets of the gods—but that would require 
  them to stop walking, which they never do either.
  Mere hot-blooded sorcery cannot sway them. The 
  tortoises remember the cooling of the earth! Magic crashes 
  on a tortoise’s mighty hide like waves upon a mountain. 
  The noise may be loud, but the mountain is unchanged.
  fever fLy
  The hallucinogenic venom in the bites of these fat, 
  blue-eyed flies impair judgment for d12 hours.
  Possible effects: victims conclude they’re traveling the 
  wrong direction; the boat/sack/helmet would be a great 
  way to carry water; a lost loved one is just below the 
  topsoil (“Can’t you hear them?”); I have way too much 
  hair; someone should probably go and make sure the king 
  is okay.
  
  7
  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  fire BeetLe
  Fire beetles are the brief adult stage of the apocalypse 
  larvae. They are harmless, one pace in length, and fly 
  noisily on crystalline wings. They occasionally spurt small 
  flames, which can sometimes be spotted as tiny flickers in 
  the darkness, clear across the Ur-Menig.
  fire sprite
  These strange beings appear as normal fire, but attentive 
  listeners can make out the dry whispers of their voices. 
  They are small spirits, easily caught in the wild by 
  beginning summoners.
  If you have ever asked, “How do the torches in this 
  tomb stay lit?” the answer: fire sprites. Once captured, 
  their former, natural lives are closed off to them—all they 
  can hope for is sufficient fuel to not extinguish.
  fire titan
  The titans of orc legend were 8 paces tall, with brass skin 
  and smoldering coal for eyes. Orc sooths tell how they 
  were the first to walk the uncooled earth, even before the 
  wailing horns of Thiru filled the air.
  The titans were said to have built the City of Fire (now 
  deep underground), whose cursed columns and temples 
  are made from an architecture so stark and powerful, so 
  absolute, that none whose eyes fall upon it can ever find 
  solace in a lesser structure.
  The writings of Seree sages dismiss orc mythology out 
  of hand, and have many fanciful theories of their own: 
  the titans were created by the gods to halt the expansion 
  of Sorg (hence their ability to disintegrate matter); the 
  titans were demonic creations meant to do battle with 
  the war bodies of the demigods (hence their ability to 
  unravel magics).
  Others believed that they were neither, merely an early 
  people adapted to the hellish landscape of old; or perhaps 
  they never existed at all.
  giragita
  The chameleons of the drylands grow to great size; the 
  giragita largest of all. In the wild, they blend into cliff 
  rocks using their natural camouflage, catching rats or 
  desert arthropods with their long, sticky tongues.
  Giragita can climb surfaces of any angle with ease, 
  and can support several times their own weight with a 
  single limb. They are very hard to see when they are still, 
  but  their ungainly walk can be spotted easily when they 
  move.
  Their minds are psychically porous—they use this to 
  their advantage to anticipate the movements of prey, or to 
  resolve inter-giragita territorial disputes without coming 
  into contact.
  If domesticated (they don’t care where the bugs come 
  from), they quickly pick up human languages, and they 
  were sometimes used by the Seree as translators.
  This ability, however, makes them susceptible to the 
  whisperings of angry spirits, Powers of the earth, or 
  mental domination by sorcerers or by ambitious Menaka.
  They are not natural fighters, but deliver vicious, 
  infection-prone bites if threatened or cornered.
  guardian
  The Seree placed their spell engines in the care of 
  magical, living guardians. Grown from mundane animals, 
  they were fed a regimen of powdered gemstone and 
  protective rituals. Reptiles were popular because of their 
  uncanny stillness, but nearly every animal has been tried 
  somewhere.
  Long exposure to the intense magics caused them to 
  grow in size and potency, while centuries of conversation 
  and meditation granted them shrewdness and wisdom.
  Mature guardians have innate command of the rituals 
  in the spell engine they protect, as well as d6 additional 
  magical abilities plucked from long years of dreaming.
  After centuries of neglect, guardians are rarely genial, 
  but they crave news and educated conversation. Some 
  have solved their desperate loneliness by listening to the 
  whispers of the Powers of the earth. Others  devoured 
  the spell engine they were sworn to protect, becoming 
  “dragons,” able to fly and spit magical fire. 
  ghost Bat
  These giant bats (6-pace wingspan) are swift and 
  nearly silent, but delicate. They are common in larger 
  underworld spaces. Their fur is greyish-white and of 
  unrivaled softness.
  They attack climbers and larger prey near steep drops 
  with buffeting strikes, hoping to dislodge them so they 
  can devour the crippled victim leisurely. 
  They are clever and easily trained; the Dradkin use 
  them in the manner of surface falconers.
  god unmoving
  Before it was claimed by the sea, the ancient spirits of 
  Gaal invested themselves in titanic octopi and used them 
  as their mighty instruments. Now that Gaal is lost, the 
  spirits are silent, but the ‘gods unmoving’ swim on.
  The gods unmoving have flawless camouflage. They 
  cannot be seen to move, even when directly observed. 
  (Perhaps they don’t actually move at all.) It is merely 
  there, now here, now all around us. Only the very alert 
  will notice it. “Hey, where did all these tentacles come 
  fro—”
  Whole crews have been taken in broad daylight, without 
  realizing anything was amiss.
  The gods’ only wish is to impress upon the living the 
  true majesty of Gaal. They pull their victims below the 
  waves, then inject their lungs with hideous mucus. This 
  is lethal, but the body continues on in breathless undeath 
  for d8 years before putrefying completely.
  
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  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  Victims are then taken down to the drowned realm to 
  behold it. There, they are abandoned, and the god swims 
  away, still unmoving.
  gray monoLith, asCended
  An ascended gray monolith is the result of apocalyptic 
  necromancy, compressing thousands of spirits into a 
  single being.
  The monolith itself is made from thousands of bricks 
  of compressed funerary ash, standing 10 paces tall. The 
  outer surface is plastered with ash, then painstakingly 
  embossed with rectangular runes: these spell out the 
  repetitive but powerful ritual that bound the spirits 
  together.
  Ascended monoliths have one goal—teleport to an 
  auspicious location and displace the local spiritual power. 
  If they are attacking an ancestral host (of a settlement), 
  the monolith will appear deep in the ground beneath the 
  settlement. If they are attacking a Power of the earth 
  (e.g., a potent nature spirit, a soil mother), it appears high 
  in the air to prevent counter-attack.
  The monolith’s battle plays out in the unseen world, 
  but the symptoms are acute for anyone connected to the 
  local power—omens, nightmares, headaches, bleeding 
  eyes. Each month the monolith is present, the local power 
  loses d10% of its strength. When it reaches zero, it is 
  either dislodged or destroyed.
  Unfortunately, while monoliths are (by design) excellent 
  at numinous contests of strength, they are unprepared 
  for long years of dominion. Once they have displaced the 
  local power, they are almost guaranteed to be usurped, in 
  turn, by a demonic power of the underworld.
  handWoLf
  Long ago, a sorcerer promised the comfortable lives of 
  humans to a pack of wolves, in exchange for a generation 
  of servitude.
  Instead, the magic only caused the wolves’ next 
  generation to be born with random human parts: two 
  hands instead of paws, an oddly human mouth, a foot. 
  These wretched “handwolves” took vengeance on the 
  sorcerer.
  Handwolves envy the apparent comforts of village life—
  stores of food and captive animals to eat. In hard winters, 
  packs of handwolves have been known to converge and 
  invade outlying hamlets, doing their best to live as they 
  have seen people do (while lording over the terrified 
  survivors). Inevitably, they run out of food or people, or 
  fall to intra-pack squabbling and are forced to return to 
  the wilds once more.
  Handwolves know nothing about sorcery. All sorcerers 
  look the same to handwolves, who will go to great 
  lengths to capture them to force them to complete the 
  transformation.
  heeLan
  The Heelan are stooped, bipedal reptiles—as large as 
  humans, but shorter because of their posture. Their scaly 
  bodies are sandy beige, with bright blue stripes. When 
  traveling, Heelan carry bronze knives and staves, and 
  favor filigreed gold cuffs and piercings as jewelry.
  Heelan prefer intense, dry heat, and can tolerate 
  desert extremes lethal to humans without drinking for 
  days. They live in the Far Blightlands in small, nomadic 
  groups, though they supposedly lived in great numbers 
  north of Firevault.
  heeLan phiB
  According to the drylands Heelan, the phibs are 
  degenerates who have succumbed to water-lust. Too 
  water-dependent to leave, they live out short, dull lives 
  confined to the few hollows and caverns in the drylands 
  with enough briny water to support fish. Common wisdom 
  is that they soon starve.
  Lycaeum sages, on the other hand, suspected that 
  Heelan were aquatic as recently as the time of the Martoi, 
  and that Heelan tolerance for the dry, desert heat is in 
  fact a learnable skill.
  heeLan proudskuLL
  The Heelan hunters who earn acclaim in battle win the 
  title “proudskull,” and show their kills with silver bullets 
  drilled into their bony crests, faces, or wrists.
  Hunting is more of a sport than a necessity for Heelan 
  (who survive just fine on succulents, cacti, and beetles), 
  but water-shade-mounted proudskull hunting groups are 
  occasionally pressed into service to defend their territory 
  from sand monarchs and their thralls.
  heeLan WarLoCk
  The Heelan masters, high in Firevault, sent out warlocks 
  to drive the undines from the soil and parch the lands.
  Warlocks can throw bolts of fire from their fingertips, 
  and know a ritual to construct an Iron Bell, whose toll 
  spreads the dreadful environmental change.
  heiLian gorgon
  These great cats are like lions with a mane of asps, whose 
  yellow eyes transfix with a stare. They are said to be the 
  offspring of a hydra and the great lion of Heilia. This is 
  only true metaphorically—any encountered now were 
  made by Dradkin chimeromancers, from hunting cats and 
  a serum of splice hydra blood.
  heLL knight
  The armored executioners, poets, and warlords of 
  Mulciber’s hell are known as hell knights. Though each 
  is different, all wear ornate, anachronistic armor from 
  any of a dozen forgotten eons.
  By tradition, hell knights do not attack one another, 
  the only perk of their high station. 
  
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  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  Each carries a sulfur stone, a sphere of yellow, fuming 
  nastiness caked around a flake of the hate star. The 
  noxious gases make every breath painful, but the hell 
  knights can breathe nothing else.
  Their notched swords leave flesh undamaged, but 
  shatter bone into needle splinters.
  All one needs to do to become a hell knight is to kill one, 
  wear its armor, and take up its notched sword. After all, 
  what more is there to who we are than how people see us?
  huLk Larva
  Insect larvae exposed to drake ichor grow to unnatural 
  size. They chew smooth, slippery tunnels through the 
  bedrock with their garnet-encrusted mandibles.
  Legless, they can nevertheless wriggle quite quickly. 
  The drake ichor gives them a random magical ability, 
  which they use thoughtlessly and frequently, regardless 
  of its effect.
  Example abilities that have been recorded: a glare 
  that makes metal permanently flammable; a stench that 
  makes books explode like popcorn; spray of boiling mud; 
  babbling curse that causes all speakers in the vicinity to 
  say the same word over and over; produce a glistening 
  wall of dirty water, two paces thick; the frostmantle 
  curse, which makes a target’s largest item of clothing 
  permanently icy cold (great in summer, a death sentence 
  underground).
  huLk mother
  Hulk mothers are a rare natural occurrence, an amalgam 
  of dozens of giant insect larva, mutated and burned by the 
  drake ichor concentrations sometimes found in coprolith 
  deposits.
  The Dradkin consider them a miracle of Suvuvena and 
  will pay dearly for information about their location.
  Drake ichor infuses them with wild, unpredictable 
  magic, making confrontation in their meandering, 
  branching tunnel warrens extremely dangerous. Hulk 
  mothers have been known to magically create shields of 
  copper, cause false memories (e.g., of having defeated 
  the hulk mother already), produce large quantities of 
  frictionless slime, emit orange beams that turn 
  attackers to ash, or cause the spontaneous formation of 
  biting mouths on nearby stone surfaces.
  hungry spirit
  The anxious, frantic spirits not part of an ancestral host 
  are too faint to manifest as wraiths individually, but 
  collectively they’re very dangerous. They linger in cursed 
  places, as the result of human sacrifices, battlefields, or 
  the sites of villages lost en masse to the strange weapons 
  of the Martoi.
  Hungry spirits bring bad luck, misplacing vital items, 
  loosening knots, or frightening animals. Sleepers and the 
  badly injured risk possession when they are near. Dead 
  bodies have been known to reanimate.
  Once the hungry spirits control a body, they seek to (d6) 
  1-2: return to a nearby village to say goodbye properly, or 
  3-6: murder the nearest person in a futile act of revenge.
  isopod
  These armored, segmented arthropods are common 
  underground, ranging from the size of a fingernail to 
  as long as a leg. Like crabs, they are opportunistic 
  scavengers—if you are small (or helpless), they will begin 
  eating. Most scurry away from lights, and if attacked, roll 
  up into hard, chitinous balls.
  isopod, Leviathan
  The Ricalu clans from the deepest places learned the trick 
  of harnessing the largest of the isopods: the leviathans.
  Leviathan isopods migrate long distances through 
  subterranean deposits of gravel and the deathly ravines 
  of the Ur-Menig. 
  The Ricalu hitch a ride by boring fistula-berths into 
  the outer carapace. For those brave enough to endure a 
  deafening, claustrophobic ride, spending days praying the 
  lacquered door won’t fail, it is a quick way to cross vast 
  distances: the secret of the Ricalu migrations.
  Jorn
  The Jorn are an underground people, descended from 
  giants (or so they say). They are tall and immensely wide, 
  with broad features and peg-like teeth and nails.
  Their tiny, milky eyes are almost entirely blind, and 
  they maneuver in the dark using the long, stiff bristles 
  on their faces and backs. (They hate open flame, which 
  singes their bristles.)
  Near the surface, Jorn are nearly feral. Often called 
  “trolls” by surface people, they dig tunnels with their 
  immense hands, like moles.
  Jorn of the deep are said to have mastered the art of 
  travel using void worms, steering them with lune-moth 
  “lamps.” By this means, they can reach many secret 
  spaces. The queen of the Jorn was said to ride an enormous 
  “chariot of worms,” and extract tribute from huge swaths 
  of the surface realm with her iron-clad soldiers.
  Jorn are violently allergic to garnet, which provokes an 
  explosive, regenerative effect—eyes, fingers, limbs, and 
  mouths sprouting from the contact site.
  Lady of memory
  Rather than go down into the earth with the dead when 
  their time had come, the Martoi people chose to haunt the 
  world, to live on in illusion. This works as long as they 
  are not outnumbered by living people, which forces back 
  the veil and make them see themselves as the incorporeal 
  wraiths they truly are.
  To prevent this, Martoi sorceresses drop Tears of 
  Memory into the waters of the land around them, a 
  poison that causes the living to abandon their homes and 
  families, crawling away to live as the animals do.
  
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  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  As a noble of Martoi society, a Lady of Memory will 
  often be accompanied by an entourage of knights and 
  attendants. Together, they ride forth to demand fealty 
  from terrified villages.
  Ladies of Memory wield the strongest of Martoi magics: 
  they can rob strength from the body with a glare, urge 
  their great horses (and those with them) to the speed of 
  the wind, take bird form, or strike bargains with the 
  Powers of the earth to call up other great curses or effects.
  If revealed as wraiths (e.g., by being outnumbered, or 
  by an attack that reveals their incorporeal nature), they 
  grow enraged.
  Lantern Worm
  The worm is a strange and deadly horror of the underworld, 
  fifteen paces long and as thick as a thigh. Its head is bare 
  bone, the white jaws delivering venomous bites from a 
  pike’s reach  with blinding speed. Most strikes are fatal.
  At the tip of its tail bobs a lantern of bone, whose dread 
  light casts a prophetic snare: if the worm is slain while 
  the lantern still shines, time seemingly rewinds d20 
  minutes, undoing anything that happened. Everyone 
  affected remembers the rewound events.
  In fact, the snare is a prophetic, mass hallucination, 
  and the “rewinding” merely an awakening. If the lantern 
  is smashed (in reality or in a hallucination),  the worm 
  loses this power.
  maLak
  Malak are giant, spiral-shelled mollusks with a cluster of 
  strong tentacles around their mouths.
  They frequent rocky coastal areas, often lying in wait 
  in shallow tidal pools. They eat fish when the tide comes 
  in, but will happily snare larger prey that blunders into 
  reach.
  meeB
  When undisturbed, these glassy slimes spread out large 
  and thin, looking like wet stone or puddles. If awakened 
  by light or sound, they draw up into keg-sized blobs over 
  a few minutes. Once a minute they can leap surprisingly 
  far, grappling their victims to dissolve them in acidic 
  juice.
  In places where they congregate, there can be a dozen 
  or more in the vicinity. They are most vulnerable to 
  cutting weapons.
  menaka
  The Menaka are great, scaly beings three paces in height. 
  A dozen chameleon eyes pivot and peer in every direction 
  and a soft, tubular “mouth” dangles from the underside. A 
  bladder of buoyant gas lets them float about freely.
  Their hides are thick and their bites vicious, but they 
  only fight as a last resort—Menaka are fiendish parasites, 
  specialized in the exploitation of communities.
  They insert themselves into groups by making 
  themselves useful. They are highly intelligent, and well 
  versed on many civil and agricultural matters, having 
  parasitized many cities over the course of their long, 
  weird project.
  Once situated, they set about performing subtly 
  destructive social experiments, to see how the community 
  writhes and changes. What is the worst plausible policy 
  that could be enacted? A preferred tactic is layers of 
  supporters, each so compromised that none could survive 
  the Menaka’s ouster from the community.
  Menaka are magically adept and immediately learn 
  any ritual performed in their presence. On a 1-3 on d6, 
  they can interfere with it as it is performed, redirecting it.
  The Menaka are explorers from a later age of the earth, 
  when the current world has been ploughed over, buried 
  far below the surface. To them, they are exploring a 
  mythic underworld, a giant cavern full of memories that 
  refuses to see itself as it is.
  As a last resort, Menaka can escape to their own time, 
  a sweltering jungle criss-crossed by  sluggish streams. 
  Anyone near them is dragged along with them, although 
  anyone straying more than 50 paces from the Menaka 
  returns to their present time. 
  moon BaBy
  If a moon-scryer ever uses their powers selfishly to look 
  into their own future, they are instantly replaced by a 
  moon baby. Whether it’s an alien presence or a magical 
  inversion of the seer, a dangerous force has entered the 
  world.
  A moon baby looks like the seer it has replaced, but 
  hollow and inside out, like the inner side of a plaster cast. 
  It makes heavy, ceramic clicks as it walks.
  It pretends to be who it once was as long as possible. 
  What it wants, however, is to give clairvoyant visions. 
  Anyone who accepts a vision from a moon baby sees a 
  plausible but false vision, a creation of the Moon Baby.
  Moon babies can see out of the eyes of everyone ever 
  given a vision, and their alien minds let them integrate 
  this all simultaneously. In the case of magic users, they 
  insist on a kiss. If this happens, the victim is immediately 
  teleported to the moon, and replaced with a moon baby 
  themselves.
  Normal weapons cannot harm the moon baby; any 
  object striking it turns to water and splashes to the floor.
  It attacks with a silvered knife; it can inflict cuts at 
  any range and always on the opposite side of the target.
  Moon babies transform or reflect all magical 
  effects which target them. Roll a d4. On a 1, the opposite 
  effect occurs (healing instead of harm, etc.). On a 2 or 3, 
  the effect is reflected back toward the caster. On a 4, both.
  mote
  Motes are hybrid beings, animals reshaped to resemble 
  human form and given one of the many sparks of 
  intelligence formed when a spell engine is disassembled.
  They retain the smallish stature and fur or scales of 
  their original lemur, otter, or reptile heritage.
  
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  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  They are long-lived, but sterile. They are fascinated 
  by babies of any sort, human or animal. They are less 
  sympathetic toward parental bonds, with which they 
  have no direct experience.
  With no ancestral spirits, previous generations of 
  cultural traditions to guide them, motes are extremely 
  vulnerable to exploitation. Those who have survived are 
  deeply wary of outsiders.
  murk star (aka murker)
  These cave-swelling starfish have five spindly arms that 
  glow a faint, luminous orange. They exude a paralytic 
  mucus that they use to catch fish and other prey.
  Though they hunt alone, murk stars are gregarious 
  and occasionally come together in swarms of dozens or 
  hundreds of stars.
  Murk stars have a limited telekinesis that lets them 
  fashion protective outer casings from mud in order 
  to come ashore without drying out. Encased, they walk 
  about like five-legged crabs.
  Siltbody murkers are slow-moving ambush hunters 
  that hide themselves in mud, leaving one glowing limb 
  tip as a lure.
  Mature murk stars can fashion casings of stone for use 
  in war. These are immensely tough.
  A rare few master both the wit and subtlety needed 
  to shape flexible casings of clay (sometimes two-legged 
  with arms, sometimes four-legged). Their fifth arm 
  resides in a clay “head,” curled up like a long, glowing 
  tongue. These claybodied murkers live alongside other 
  peoples and participate fully in society. They are mute, 
  but communicate using a set of hand-signs easily learned 
  by anyone who bothers.
  nuss eruption
  In a remote region of the luminous void is a patch of 
  chaotic, vital energy. There is no matter there, and its 
  inhabitants clamor for material forms.
  They are jealous of the selfish mortals that express only 
  one stable form during their long lives, resisting every 
  change. Worst of all is the mortal habit of producing near-
  identical offspring—an act of supreme selfishness.
  If they had the chance, they would use the material 
  realms more wisely. They want bodies, to share if they 
  must, so they can show the selfish the joy of eruption!
  Each eruption uses the body given to it to express its 
  unique form, but there are themes:
  • Warty spheres
  • Tough, rope-like umbilicals
  • Tentacled mats
  • Branching worms, with many legs or none
  • Toothy, stud-like protrusions
  • Dozens of tiny, bead-like eyes
  They are erratic and short-lived, erupting into new 
  configurations every few days. Eruptions are alarming, 
  but not particularly dangerous. They need to eat, of course, 
  but are usually having too much fun feeling hunger to do 
  anything about it.
  nuss exiLe
  The Nuss that dwell secretly among people have 
  abandoned their true, chaotic forms (a heresy to most 
  Nuss) to adopt human shape. This tires them; when 
  exhausted or angered, the guise slips a little and their 
  skin ripples with bumps.
  As they cannot return home, they will do nearly 
  anything to protect the secret of their presence. In 
  desperate situations, they will abandon humanoid form to 
  sprout whatever they need: new limbs, mouths, tentacles, 
  claws, blade-like horns, spikes, protective fur, or scales.
  They dissolve into iron-smelling goo if slain.
  nuss harBinger
  Harbingers resemble tall, walking bats with trilateral 
  symmetry (three wings, three legs, three arms), topped 
  with an eye-encrusted mass.
  Ungainly on the ground, they fly as invisible lightning, 
  tearing the sky with a deafening noise.
  Their hollow-tipped spears inject the essence of a 
  Nussan form; anyone stabbed begins turning into a Nuss 
  eruption. Starting at the wound, the change spreads 
  rapidly, completing in d6+5 days. Harbingers carry d3 
  doses of Nussan essence, but refilling their spears takes 
  time.
  Harbingers are not interested in martial glory, only 
  bringing forth new eruptions. They will retreat from stiff 
  resistance and wait for a chance for an ambush, but they 
  are determined: unworthy Harbingers are recycled, their 
  matter used to express new forms.
  ogre
  Ogres are the solitary giants that lead hidden lives on 
  the edges of populated areas. They skulk below bridges 
  or haunt roadways and forest paths to waylay and eat 
  travelers.
  They are usually remnants of forays from Firevault 
  centuries ago, adventurers in their own right seeking 
  fortune in the lands of the small and weak. Others are 
  criminals, oathbreakers, or debtors forced out as exiles.
  Their oafishness is feigned; no ogre could survive long 
  among humans without cunning.  They can throw heavy 
  objects (rocks, stumps, unfortunate people) with great 
  speed and accuracy. They use dense or rough terrain to 
  hamper riders and archers; they cross deep water, haul 
  themselves up trees, or scamper up small cliffs to avoid 
  or separate pursuers. Their paths of retreat may have 
  concealed, sharpened stakes, leaf-filled pits, or both. Ogre 
  haunts will have many hiding spots—hollows surrounded 
  by bushes, dense copses, and sturdy trees to climb.
  Rarely, ogres have managed to hold on to a few 
  advantages from their homeland: a companion or two, 
  mighty war bows, or fine armor made from metal or 
  lacquered plates.
  
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  Copyright © 2019 Michael Prescott — CC-BY-NC 4.0 — cbna  — http://www.trilemma.com
  Ogres have a love of gold and precious things, which they 
  hoard in the hopes of buying their way back into their 
  communities in the north.
  onddo
  The quick-brained servants of a soil mother are grown to 
  suit various purposes. All have a tough, woody exterior 
  mottled like the leaf litter of the forest floor. When 
  stationary, they are extremely difficult to spot, often 
  mistaken for logs or stumps.
  They are speechless, but constantly release and 
  exchange spores with the forest, and so know the will of 
  their soil mother instinctively.
  Hunting Onddo are humanoid and wield wooden 
  spears. Tusked Onddo are huge, headless quadrupeds, 
  used to dig stream beds or to haul boulders.
  Seed Onddo are roughly dog-like, with a sharp beak 
  to inject spore-filled venom. This causes an irresistible 
  wanderlust. When victims (eventually) die and return to 
  the earth, a new soil mother is born there.
  Though tough, onddo are not made to last long. In the 
  first year of their lives, onddo can regenerate rapidly 
  unless burned or completely hacked apart. Once a winter 
  passes, onddo can no longer heal, and few last longer than 
  a year or two.
  Yet, a small number survive to become venerable 
  onddo—they can speak, and (when it suits their soil 
  mother) act as ambassadors to other surface-dwelling 
  people.
  orC, BLight
  The wasteland raider clans are called “orcs” for their 
  practice of eating the ash of the dead. Despite the barren 
  environment, their blasphemy makes them strong—they 
  can run a day and a night without resting, and their 
  ember-like eyes reveal the secrets of the night and of the 
  unseen world around them.
  They are nomadic, and erect tall “orcnests” for 
  protection: bowl-like structures, balanced on a tripod of 
  huge tree trunks. A reeking cesspool at the base keeps 
  away scavenging blight ants.
  With no ancestral host to protect them, orc lands are 
  plagued with demons. By necessity, their sooths are 
  skilled in bargaining with the unseen.
  These dealings occasionally produce sorcerers or (more 
  rarely) half-demon offspring.
  Orc clans number 20-30 individuals. At any given time, 
  half the nest will be out hunting, patrolling their borders 
  for raids from other clans, or scouting for the next orcnest 
  site.
  The appearance of an orcnest heralds an invasion of 
  blight ants within a month or two. The best hunting is 
  found in the patchy new forests—the areas which have 
  had a few years to recover from the last passing blight 
  ant swarm. The ants, however, follow soon for the same 
  reason. Panicked urgency is a fact of orc life.
  From time to time, a strong leader unites several clans, 
  but these alliances are short lived. The scarcity of food 
  causes tensions wherever they congregate, and demonic 
  whispering keeps them paranoid, mistrustful, and prone 
  to sudden outbursts of violence.
  Their raids into the borderlands  are swift and brutal: 
  killing as many as they can and driving away the 
  survivors, just long enough to consume the ash before 
  fleeing into the blight.
  orC, primordiaL
  In the time of ancient Thiru, some made themselves 
  strong by hunting the spirits of the dead. Eaters of the 
  black gruel dabble in mimicking them, but the primordial 
  orcs devoured thousands.
  By depleting the ancestral hosts, they left the land 
  vulnerable to demons from the deep, rising up to fill the 
  emptiness. The strongest of the orcs laughed and hunted 
  them also.
  peLiCan, dire
  These huge birds stand five paces high, with a nine-
  pace wingspan. They prefer fish, but will eat anything 
  they can swallow, including people. Dire pelicans attack 
  larger prey by snapping, battering, and when they can, 
  swallowing.
  Once a victim is held in the tough, rubbery throat sac, 
  the pelican flees to subdue them in peace. This involves 
  alternately beating the sac against the pelican’s body to 
  crush the victim, violent shaking, and slurping water into 
  the sac to cause drowning.
  It can take half an hour for human-sized prey to weaken 
  enough to be swallowed, but unless victims have a sharp 
  knife and enough unbroken limbs to use it, the prospects 
  of escape are slim.
  pit Lord
  The infernal lands are ruled by the pit lords—massive, 
  squat beings, charred and distended like leering bullfrogs. 
  Flames spurt from their coal-hot skin, which no blade can 
  pierce.
  Their gaze causes uncontrollable babbling—secrets, 
  intentions, held incantations, and the true names of loved 
  ones all tumble out. Once per day, they may pronounce 
  the irrevocable death of anyone present—the target dies 
  within 13 hours.
  The blessing of a pit lord sets the skin aflame with a 
  fire that scalds and blisters eternally but doesn’t consume.
  Their sulfurous bowels swarm with infernal, toothed 
  slugs, which emerge if the pit lord is mortally wounded.
  If they were once human, they’ve forgotten, and fancy 
  themselves alone in their clear-eyed grasp of hideous 
  reality.
  riCaLu
  The Ricalu are the night people, sometimes called 
  “goblins,” “elves,” or “kobolds.” There is a great variety to 
  
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  their bodies; they can be long-limbed, furry, sticky, or tiny, 
  but all see well in the dark. (Daylight is painful to their 
  round, black eyes.) They have many excellent masons and 
  know rituals to find or hide passages underground.
  Ricalu stories say they were called up from their 
  homeland in the deep by Deel to fight the Seree, but they 
  were betrayed. After their service, they were abandoned, 
  unable to find their way home again.
  Isolated from their life-giving homeland, Ricalu have 
  had to resort to magical tricks to replace their numbers.
  In a few places they live well, but without the numbers 
  to force the surface people to reckon with them fairly, most 
  Ricalu live in marginal, itinerant groups. They scour the 
  lands for a way “back home,” meeting up in caves, sewers, 
  and back alleyways to exchange news and faint hope.
  rust soLdier
  These iron golems are said to be gifts to the Carreg from 
  the deceased god, Gamandes. Though the Carreg fear iron, 
  the rust soldiers’ service to the Carreg saints is symbolic 
  of the freedom from fear that faith in Gamandes offers.
  They help placidly, demonstrating the calm that is so 
  valued in Carreg society. They have dog-like intelligence 
  and can speak clearly (albeit simply).
  They are mechanical contraptions, powered by a spring 
  of white metal under unbelievable pressure. If they are 
  allowed to rust too much (which they eventually do if not 
  kept completely dry), they fail in explosive and alarming 
  ways, sending rusty components in every direction at 
  high speed.
  sand monarCh
  The squid-like demons forced to the surface of the 
  drylands live cruel, tormented lives. The sand flays their 
  skin and their tentacles wither off. Those that survive 
  use their dark gifts to enthrall desert dwellers—giant 
  geckos, camel spiders, or unfortunate Heelan. These they 
  press into service as transportation, food gatherers, or 
  bandits to extort Heelan bands, bringing goods back to 
  their subterranean burrows where they hide from the 
  blistering sun.
  sand sprite
  The whorls of dust that play across desert dunes were 
  once undines exiled to the surface by whatever force has 
  dried the land.
  They are playful, and dancing with them relieves 
  thirst for an entire day. In exchange, they demand a 
  small service or token of gratitude. If this is not done, 
  they attack.
  Angry sand sprites fight by multiplying water in the 
  body. This causes splitting headaches, blindness as the 
  eyes run with tears, and wracking coughs as moisture 
  floods the lungs. Victims who are outnumbered will 
  drown.
  seLk, grush
  Across the astral lands is the lost city of Tlarba. Its people 
  are the selks: tall, skin-and-bones humanoids with large 
  eyes, mottled skin, and copious, upward-pointing bristles 
  (“grush”).
  Their body language is alien and stiff-seeming, but 
  they are full of feeling and passion.
  seLk, ghost
  Some adult selks begin to manifest their astral nature, 
  becoming translucent and insubstantial. 
  In Tlarba, ghost selks live and train as a warrior caste. 
  They use Saaru-traditional weapons from the wars with 
  the craesten: short, chitin-breaking seax and double-
  ended quilled javelins, one end a cluster of sharp quills 
  (to more easily find armored eyes), the other end cut from 
  a paralytic resin.
  Physical attacks affect them, but much less than 
  normal. Their own attacks are unimpeded.
  shadoW Bohka
  The Carreg say that Bohka is the wretched offspring 
  of demon and sorcerer. He carries a lamp that casts 
  darkness; surface dwellers produce brightly glowing 
  “shadows” which dance as he moves.
  He can snatch the bones from your arm with his 
  thieving touch. These he takes and sews into his great 
  coat.
  Bohka is invisible in his shroud of darkness, but his 
  bone-lined coat rattles as he moves. He can be seen once 
  injured, for his blood glows like molten iron.
  He carries one of the Books of Undibol and reads it 
  regularly.
  shrine BaBy
  These alarming beings are made from clay-wrapped 
  stillborn, turned by the spirits of Raal into tiny, clever 
  homunculi. Some believe an ancestral spirit animates 
  them, others believe the child’s spirit was returned to a 
  body made sturdier by the ritual.
  siren
  The sirens are women transformed by the blessing of the 
  goddess of the ocean. They have skin as gray and slippery 
  as eels, rows of sharp, shark-like teeth, and milky eyes 
  that see in darkness above or beneath the waves.
  Their low, mesmerizing songs confuse men, giving 
  sirens time to indulge their hunger for man-flesh. Men are 
  devoured immediately; women are given a chance to serve 
  the goddess of the ocean and become sirens themselves.
  The crystal knife of a siren is precious to her and the 
  secret of her immortality—touching it for even a moment 
  transfers a year of life from its victim to its siren owner.
  When it serves them, sirens appear as their human 
  selves, sitting naked by a tidal pool or bobbing in the 
  shallows.
  
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  sLeWt
  The Slewts of Tlarba are glistening, orange amphibians. 
  They are a small people, but lean and muscular. They 
  are joyful beings, and spend their leisure hours frothing 
  up their pools and warbling together in high-pitched 
  harmonies.
  Slewt slime bonds metal to metal instantly, which 
  makes a mess of armor (especially mail). They grapple 
  armored foes with this in mind, hoping to pin a weapon or 
  arm in place before moving on to softer targets.
  Slewts are not cowed by defeat or capture, and will 
  readily surrender if battle goes against them, only to start 
  fighting again moments later.
  soiL mother
  The primordial forests of the Tristhmus are suffused with 
  the fungal threads of vast, intelligent beings: soil mothers.
  Their thoughts are slow and deep, spread among 
  thousands of coconut-like ganglia buried in the soil. By 
  touch and taste, they know everything that happens 
  within their domain.
  Though imperceptibly slow, they are immensely 
  powerful, able to reshape the landscape. Streams flow 
  and plants grow only where the soil mother chooses.
  In a soil mother’s territory, the flesh of large game 
  animals becomes bitter and mildly toxic. By inducing 
  mycotoxins into the plants and berries, the soil mother 
  dissuades predators and scavengers from eating the 
  brains she needs to grow onddo: quickened fungal 
  servitors. When the need for many onddo arises, soil 
  mothers produce rich, fruiting groves to attract animals 
  in large numbers.
  Soil mothers communicate with their onddo with 
  hallucinogenic 
  spores, 
  but 
  forest 
  cults 
  have 
  occasionally learned to sense the “will of the forest.” They 
  are so expansive and alien in their thoughts that they are 
  effectively an organic Power of the earth, with strange 
  gifts to give.
  Soil mother ganglia are sweet and nutritious, but 
  eating them earns the eternal hatred of all soil mothers.
  An enraged soil mother is fearsome and can poison 
  ground water with hallucinogenic toxins (designed to 
  target the offending species), or send hunting onddo as 
  assassins. 
  spLiCe hydra
  A splice hydra is a chimeromantic abomination, made by 
  fusing seven great serpents into a single creature. They 
  are aquatic by preference, but the human lungs used in 
  their construction make them amphibious.
  When they wish, splice hydras sing like an 
  overpowering, discordant choir. Joyous, ecstatic, and 
  terrified voices all intertwine into one.
  The sound is irresistibly primal. Only those of great will 
  can resist joining its dreadful song, singing wordlessly at 
  the top of their voices. The especially weak willed can do 
  nothing else while they sing.
  Splice hydra blood and eggs are alchemically auspicious, 
  nearly as potent and useful as dragon ingredients.
  storm seaL
  These magical creatures dwell within thunderclouds and 
  the airy canyons between mountains. They swim through 
  the air gracefully, winding sinuously before spiraling in 
  to attack.
  Their newborn minnows are aquatic, but the mouse-
  sized pups take to the air in wingless, flying swarms, 
  keeping down the midges, flies, and fleas in coastal 
  wetlands.
  Adolescents are the size of large dogs, and are large 
  enough to hunt. They are cruel, playful, and opportunistic. 
  Adults are dolphin sized, large enough to lift a struggling 
  horse up into the air, to be cast down to its death.
  syLph spider
  Sylph spiders are giant, bristly hunting spiders which 
  hunt from the air. They spin silken membranes between 
  their legs and soar on the thermal currents. They are 
  ambush hunters, large enough to snare and envenom 
  people, goats, or boars. They can’t take off from level 
  ground, but by jumping into the breeze off trees.
  Sylphs avoid close-knit herds and groups, as they are 
  vulnerable once on the ground. They will, however, follow 
  groups for hours at a time, waiting for a straggler to 
  separate or fall behind, and then silently pounce.
  They prefer to hunt in broken, rocky terrain or sparse 
  forests—places where they can get high enough to lift off 
  once more.
  They will drag lone victims up into trees to drain them 
  quietly. If this is not possible, they will sometimes leave 
  a dying victim to soften up and dissolve internally. The 
  sweating caused by  their venom is pungent and repels 
  scavengers.
  tCheth
  The Tcheth are long-limbed, lightly furred people, with 
  long, narrow skulls reminiscent of ferrets. They are 
  excellent climbers, and their flexible bones let them 
  squeeze through remarkably narrow gaps.
  They are originally from deep underground, but they 
  see poorly in the dark. Tcheth legends say they were 
  forced to give up their night eyes in a bargain with the 
  demon Guguluin, to win their freedom from the Jorn.
  They are gregarious and form large fishing communities 
  on the surface, preferring river gorges with good climbing. 
  They built Yugra in the Cleft, and some see signs of their 
  handiwork in the original structures of Novy Dom.
  Tcheth love grass, thinking its texture and appearance 
  hilarious. They are masterful weavers, and a traveling 
  band of Tcheth takes no greater pleasure than in weaving 
  a new, grass hut for themselves at every campsite.
  Their ritual magic is based on weaving, and it’s said 
  that the witch-grain baskets (which insects compulsively 
  fill with nuts, seeds and grubs) were a Tcheth creation.
  
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  undine
  The undine are spirits which bring water to the surface. 
  Where they dwell, natural springs are plentiful and rains 
  come often.
  Undines are said to have three forms. When seen in pools 
  or streams, they appear as ghostly children. Their words 
  cannot be heard by  ears, but are remembered several 
  days later. This makes dealing with them dangerous, 
  since a back-and-forth conversation is impossible, and 
  they have many rigid laws and customs that they expect 
  visitors to uphold.
  When angered, they take on the forms of watery 
  serpents with venomous bites, almost invisible when 
  submerged.
  Many pastoral shrines are built to them, and village 
  sooths say that mist and fog are a third form of the 
  undines, moving about the land as the eyes and ears 
  of the Powers. If their demands are not appeased (with 
  suitable shrine donations), sooths say the undines punish 
  the land by bringing droughts.
  vampire
  Vampires are wraiths who have acquired a taste for 
  the blood of the living. By drinking it, they regain a 
  solid, mortal body. Freed from the ashen realm, they do 
  anything they must to never return to it. 
  Since they are dead that prey on the living, they are the 
  counterpart of orcs (living who prey on the dead).
  To keep their mortal bodies, they must feed weekly. 
  Because of this, many vampires cultivate positions of 
  power and influence that give them opportunities to 
  exploit living victims. Others haunt alleyways in the 
  towns and cities, devouring those who won’t be missed.
  Only the most desperate vampires hunt in the 
  wilderness, for like all dead without the protection of an 
  ancestral host, they are vulnerable to demons.
  Vampires fight as wraiths do, with silvered or enchanted 
  weapons, or whatever magic they learned in life.
  If a vampire’s mortal body is slain, it reverts to its 
  wraith form. Vampires are careful to keep a silvered 
  weapon hidden, so they can use it to hunt if they are 
  driven from their bodies.
  vampire Bush
  These large bushes appear to be covered in pink, circular 
  flowers year-round. Their tough, raspy tendrils reflexively 
  grasp anything that brushes them. The whole bush then 
  curls around to encircle the prey, which is drained of its 
  blood through the sucker-like “flowers.”
  They evolved to catch small birds and rodents, so they 
  are not a serious threat to alert adventurers with a knife 
  handy. Tired travelers who stumble directly in, however, 
  quickly come to a bad end. So do armored or encumbered 
  adventurers who can’t as easily wriggle out of the bush’s 
  grip.
  Vampire bushes are sensitive to spiritual energies, 
  and when favored by spirits or Powers, they can grow 
  into substantial trees. These are extremely dangerous, 
  especially to anyone who wanders beneath the canopy.
  vinteraLf
  Beyond the high glaciers is a land so cold that humans 
  simply cannot enter. There, the stars sing their songs to 
  the seers of the Vinteralf.
  Vinteralf are tall, thick-skinned, and blubbery. Their 
  faces are seal-like, with stubby snouts and tiny eyes. 
  When they must, they can hibernate for several decades. 
  Only the hardiest Vinteralf come to the glacier lands to 
  defend their borders, hunt the white hydra, or to eject an 
  exile.
  They will be well armed, with carefully made, form-
  fitting metal or laminate armor. Most will be carrying a 
  supply of cyldwort, a warmlands herb that cools the body 
  enough for them to function.
  Some Vinteralf parties will have a confessor-acolyte, 
  a junior star seer able to see three heartbeats into the 
  future, making them uncannily good in melee.
  void guLL
  Deprived of their home plane long ago, these alien gulls 
  have adapted to the void that howls between realms. 
  When in mortal lands, they are found in small patrols or 
  scouting groups.
  More suited to the void, the pony-sized gulls are 
  passable gliders but weak fliers. On flat ground, they 
  move by “glide-hopping,” bouncing up on their one leg and 
  flapping for a few feet before hopping once more. They are 
  swift, but tire easily.
  Alone, they are nervous and inclined to keep their 
  distance. When two or more are present, they revert to 
  their military training, seizing victims with their hands 
  and delivering axe-like blows with their bony, tripartite 
  “beaks.”
  Gull “nests” are ruled over by a void-bringer, a gull 
  with considerable magical ability.
  They are keenly interested in sorcerers and summoners 
  of all types and will abduct them opportunistically, 
  hoping to extract magical secrets from them. As they are 
  fascinated by planar destruction, the presence of a nest is 
  a dire sign.
  void Worm
  A mature void worm is twenty paces long, with a body 
  made of nothingness. Where it lies, no rock exists. It 
  inches forward slowly, occasionally intersecting a tunnel 
  or cave. Once it has passed, there is undisturbed solid 
  rock once more.
  The appearance of a void worm often goes unnoticed. 
  They’re silent, and whatever they eat, they are 
  uninterested in surface dwellers. They’re heralded by 
  nothing more than a circular opening appearing in a wall, 
  enlarging to the full diameter of the worm, revealing an 
  ever-shortening tunnel.
  
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  An hour or more later, when the worm crosses whatever 
  room or corridor it blundered into, a similar breach opens 
  on the far side.
  At the tip of each tunnel is a seam of gold, which to 
  the untrained eye appears to be a natural part of the 
  rock. A thick, rich vein of pure gold! But alas, mining this 
  kills the worm. The worm’s nothing-body begins to rot 
  immediately.
  Crumbling, porous rock encroaches on all sides, replacing 
  the smooth tunnel with crunching, delicate spurs of natural 
  rock. In a few weeks, the void has closed completely.
  The brave or foolhardy might run along its body, using 
  it as a momentary glimpse into the surrounding rock, to 
  other caverns or true seams of value, but the risk of being 
  trapped is ever-present. Wise miners let the worms pass.
  WarBody
  When the demigods retaliated against the Seree, they 
  made special bodies for themselves. An account of the 
  attack on the pit of ensnarement  described Deel as having 
  a body of dark glass, carrying a lance of white metal. They 
  flew as if blown by a hurricane, and their lances struck 
  like lightning, smashing the masonry of the pit fortress 
  apart. They hummed and crackled like spell engines, 
  which may have given Pit-Master Zecoxy some clue he 
  used to stun Deel before he was torn apart by Egesa.
  Water shade
  These pony-like creatures are magical scavengers, 
  patrolling the drylands for prey. If one crosses a traveler’s 
  tracks, it pursues, stealing it’s victim’s life from their 
  footprints—fresh is best, but hour-old footprints will do.
  Anyone so pursued must consume twice the normal 
  amount of food and water or collapse from exhaustion. 
  Each shade can affect d2 people once it begins following.
  If spotted and chased, shades will keep their distance. 
  They can outrun people, but tire quickly if forced to gallop 
  for an extended period.
  The Heelan sometimes use them as mounts, using the 
  water shades’ tracking abilities for their own sport.
  WereWoLf, Leádstæf
  The Leádstæf are deranged celestial beings, torn from 
  the heavens by the pit of ensnarement. They roam the 
  earth, looking to manifest their anguish and dread upon 
  the people of the surface.
  The Leádstæf are incorporeal spirits who attack by 
  possession. They can control anyone “marked” by the 
  Powers, such as by curses inflicted by the Powers, with 
  any injury having a divine origin (including white metal 
  weapons, divine warbodies, and the bite of Leádstæf 
  themselves).
  Anyone 
  possessed 
  by 
  a 
  Leádstæf 
  immediately 
  transforms into its animal form. Most of the time this is a 
  huge, white-furred wolf, but other forms include a flayed 
  arctic fox, a horse-sized arctic bat, or a three-headed polar 
  bear. All are ferocious in battle.
  Killing the animal form ejects the Leádstæf from the host 
  (though it can possess someone again the next night), 
  who awakens with serious injuries. If the mortal blow is 
  inflicted with fire or a silver weapon, the Leádstæf dies 
  permanently, but so does the host.
  Whip sCorpion
  Nightmares of black chitin three paces long, they patrol 
  underground places incessantly, seeking sound or 
  movement. They seize prey with their pincers, they then 
  spray strong acid from their stiff, whip-like tails.
  They are perfect climbers, moving easily along walls 
  and ceilings. A faint vinegar smell is sometimes the only 
  warning that one is near.
  Wraith
  When the fortunate die, they join with an ancestral host 
  to solemnly watch over the living. Some are unwilling or 
  unable to join, or are rejected by the ancestors—the very 
  selfish or hateful, whose spirits are bent by self-interest. 
  Others have minds filled with alien rituals or corrupted 
  by wizard flowers, and cannot meld their whispering 
  voices with the ancestors.
  Most of these dissipate in grief or wander off to be 
  caught by demons. The strongest willed, however, go on 
  as wraiths.
  Wraiths may use whatever rituals they knew in life 
  and can wield silver or enchanted weapons or objects 
  (including wizard flowers), as these exist on both sides of 
  the veil.
  the Wyrm Jokun
  Jokun was once a Seree guardian, grown from an 
  immature drake. She devoured her spell engine within 
  decades of abandonment by the departure of the Seree, 
  becoming a dragon.
  The indigestible spell engine inside her pulls warmth 
  from her environment to power itself—she radiates cold, 
  but she is uncomfortably warm everywhere outside the 
  glacial lands. Once per day she can vent the engine’s 
  power as a blast of heat so intense that everything but 
  white metal or dark glass liquifies or turns to ash.
  She is long and slender, and when her wings are folded, 
  she can easily navigate spaces meant for people—a fact 
  that has led her to feast in more than one fortress thought 
  to offer security.
  Her scales are as clear as glass, but as strong as steel, 
  and she is invisible when she sleeps.
  She cannot properly understand language, but barks 
  half-remembered nursery rhymes from her infancy in a 
  sarcastic tone.
  Wyvern
  Wyverns are the offspring of guardian reptiles and a 
  debased mystical order (which they later ate). They 
  are giraffe-sized winged terrors with the playful and 
  murderous demeanor of house cats. Wyverns patrol all 
  
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  day, drifting high on the updrafts. They swoop down to 
  snatch prey from the ground, carry them high, drop them, 
  and then do it again.
  They have oddly human laughs, and if need be, beg 
  for their lives in human voices. They have four eyes, 
  each of which is a precious gemstone.
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Trilemma Adventures/Trilemma Adventures Vol I/Trilemma Adventures Compendium Vol I Creative Commons Bestiary Entries.pdf