Yamachichi were once bats. When a bat lives long enough, it eventually evolves into a creature called a nobusuma which resembles a giant flying squirrel. But when a nobusuma reaches a very old age it will transform again, becoming a yamachichi.

Not much is known about yamachichi. They are rare and secluded. They dwell in isolation in the deep mountains, descending to human settlements only to steal breath then retreat again back into the mountains.

Yamachichi sneak into people's houses in the dead of night to steal their breath by sucking it out with their pointed lips. If they complete the process, the victim is sure to die the following day. If they are caught in the act, they flee and the victim lives much longer than they would have.

I sat outside last night and looked up at the bright sky. A mostly-full moon was low on the horizon, shining with an unusual intensity and painting the night sky with that fake looking blue colour - as if it was the set of a stage play. I could see bats wheeling in erratic circles above me, their shapes crisp and clear against that darkling stage. It reminded me of a strange story I once heard from a man who was in hiding in the mountains of Japan.
This man, let's call him Daizen (for I refuse to reveal his true name or his location), had suffered terrible persecution. Not knowing where else to turn, he fled into the mountains and painstakingly built a new life for himself. I bumped into him while on an expedition in search of a different yokai (<a href="https://yokai.com/ouni/">the hag Ouni</a>), and he was kind enough to provide shelter and a fine stew. His manners were impeccable, and his tiny hut orderly, yet there was no denying the strange tilt behind his eyes. As we shared stories, it became clear that the trials from his past had left their mark on him.
One night, as we started building our dinner fire, he suddenly dropped his kindling and snapped his eyes upwards. I followed his gaze and saw nothing but a small bat fluttering around. But the sight had enraged him and he snapped up his bow. With alarming speed and accuracy, he loosed an arrow and pinned the flying creature to a nearby tree. I watched with equal parts surprise and curiosity as he scuttled up the tree and plucked down his prize. My curiosity turned to disgust as he bit the head off the bat and spat it into the cold fire pit.
As we shared dinner that night he warned me of the yamachichi. According to Daizen, a bat that grows old enough transforms into something else – something sinister. The yamachici dwell in the deep mountain areas, visiting human settlements at night to steal people's breath. They look like large monkeys but with the long, pointed ears of a bat, and long, pointed lips designed for sucking breath from your mouth. When a yamachichi completes its ritual it taps its victim on the chest then scurries off into the mountains. The victim dies the following day. If the ritual is somehow interrupted, the victim lives longer than they normally would have.
Daizen claimed that controlling the bat population was essential to his long-term survival in the area. In the event that a yamachichi came to his hut, he feared that there would be no one around to see it and stop the monkey from sucking out all his breath. One of the many perils of choosing a life of isolation I suppose.
To this day, I'm still not sure if I believe Daizen's story. I've never encountered a yamachichi myself, and it seems likely that he had developed a fixation on bats as a result of his own derangements.
On the other hand I will say that a suspicion of bats is quite common, even amongst my fellow naturalist adventurers. I have also heard more than one report of a woman in northern Japan who is celebrating her 130th birthday. She tells any who will listen of the strange monkey that her brother chased off one bright night.

Yamachichi

The Hour of Meeting Evil Spirits

Wendigo prey on human's who have been weakened by starvation, cold, and isolation. Staying with a group is a good defense against them.

Wendigo can move swift and silent as the wind. They are incredible hunters in the remote wilderness where they dwell.

Humans can be transformed into Wendigo. They go insane during the process as the Wendigo brings them under their influence.

There was once a trapper in Alberta, a member of the Plains Cree who was named Swift Runner. During the winter of 1878, Swift Runner and his family were starving. One can scarcely imagine the suffering as the hunger grew and the family wasted away with the father watching on helplessly. At the turning point, his eldest son passed away. Swift Runner butchered and ate his wife and five remaining children. We would comfort ourselves by explaining this as the desperation of a starving man but we can not. There was, in fact, an emergency trading post with food stores only 25 miles away from where it happened. And starvation alone cannot account for the savagery that would lead him to devour all six other family members. There is another explanation though: Swift Runner had succumbed to the <a href="https://anthrosource.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1525/aa.1971.73.1.02a00010">Wendigo Psychosis</a>.
Wendigos haunt the frozen expanses of the world. A wendigo is a human that was transformed into a nightmare by their weakness and selfishness. That weakness is often brought on by starvation and cold weather. A wendigo is a perfect predator that targets isolated humans. They devour human flesh and sometimes transform their victim. In the most brutal, northern climates you must stay with the group and cooperate to survive. Isolation is death. Thinking only of yourself is death.
After the transformation, a wendigo resembles a cross between a human and a wolf, with massive antlers on its head and oversized, clawed hands. It walks upright or on all fours as its mood suits it, and when upright it towers over the tallest man. Despite its massive size, it can move with complete stealth. They can move with the speed of the wind (as told by one of their names "Windigo") and across deep snow or water without sinking. It is thin, as if starving, with ash colored skin so thin that the skull and skeleton appear to push through in places. The eyes are sunken and glowing like hot coals. You will often smell a wendigo before seeing it. Basil Johnston describes one in his account in <a href="https://www.harpercollins.com/9780060927356/the-manitous/">The Manitous</a>:
<blockquote>
 “The Wendigo was gaunt to the point of emaciation, its desiccated skin pulled tightly over its bones. With its bones pushing out against its skin, its complexion the ash-gray of death, and its eyes pushed back deep into their sockets, the Wendigo looked like a gaunt skeleton recently disinterred from the grave. What lips it had were tattered and bloody … Unclean and suffering from suppuration of the flesh, the Wendigo gave off a strange and eerie odor of decay and decomposition, of death and corruption.”
</blockquote>
But the most disturbing trait is how a wendigo can penetrate the mind, intruding on your thoughts and subjecting you to horrible visions. These visions often involve cannabilistic thoughts or impulses. It is a condition called the Wendigo Psychosis and it is still contested by doctors today. Modern Science would deny the validity of a phenomenon that has only been observed and recorded in oral tradition. But the stories are real and there are many. Whatever system of truth you subscribe to, do not doubt this: Wendigo haunts the cold, dark north. Always remember and care for your people - it is dangerous to go alone.

Starvation and loneliness haunts the frozen north.

Wendigo

The Windigo Psychosis: Psychodynamic, Cultural, and Social Factors in Aberrant Behavior

The Manitous

Pathfinder bestiary, 2nd edition

The Canadian Encyclopedia entry

Wikipedia entry

Multiattack

Wind Walker

Claw

Bite

Ambusher

Mimicry

Shadow Stealth

Wendigo Psychosis

Verhu whispered the terrible prophecy to the monk Anuk Schleger in the year 565. Each and every ill omen has come to pass exactly as he said it would. The prophecy is recorded in texts called the Nameless Scriptures.

Verhu is the arrogant and prophetic head on a two-headed basilisk. The other head is named Gorgh, and he is rank with envy. The male twin-heads were born from an ancient female. Her heads are Lusi and Arkh - Denial and Deception.

Always being right has made Verhu completely full of himself. He makes demands of any who cross his path, sending them on hopeless quests even as the world crumbles.

In the beginning, when the earth was not much more than dust, she came. She slithered out from the cracks at Bergen Chrypt. An ancient two-headed basilisk who saw the future. She saw every bleak path that the world would walk, and she saw the violent end that each path would inevitably lead to. Her heads, Lusi (Denial) and Arkh (Deception) looked upon the world with disgust. <a href="https://liberludorum.files.wordpress.com/2020/09/she.png">Lusi was adorned with gigantic antlers, whisps of silver hair falling from her crown. Arkh had her head split open. Inside where signs and symbols that were impossible to gaze upon, so disturbing was the movement.</a> They set out to do the most miserable possible thing they could think of: bring life.
All her children where murdered. Thrown from the cliffs of the chrypt on which they were born. All except for one. A male two-headed basilisk survived and made his home in the Valley of the Unfortunate Undead. It's names were Gorgh (Envy) and Versu (Knowing). He crawled into the cracks between mountains, screaming curses at his mother. When a monk of the Creton order found him, he decided to do the most miserable possible thing he could think of: tell him the truth.
Verhu whispered prophecies into the ears of Anuk Schleger. The words were recorded and then lost. In time they were rediscovered and called the Nameless Scriptures. Every misery they record has come to pass. This is the only religion now. The worship of Verhu. And he enjoys his position. The monstrous lizard grins wider and wider as the people build temples in his name and carry out his ridiculous requests.
I leave you with the scripture. The unavoidable doom of this world. The Calendar of Nechrubel as recorded by Anuk Schleger when he crossed paths with the twin-basilisk Verhu.
<h2 id="thecalendarofnechrubelthenamelessscriptures">The Calendar of Nechrubel - The Nameless Scriptures</h2>
<h3 id="psalmi">PSALM I</h3>
1:1 The City shall be made hollow. Of those who rest in hollowness, they shall not be seen. 
1:2 And the earth shall shake and be riven. And from the cracks shall rise a poisonous mist, and in ten days it will shroud the world. 
1:3 Of those who build mightily, stone by stone, so shall they fall, stone by stone. 
1:4 And the depths of the underworld shall bring forth flying spectres and crawling beasts. In their passing the worm grows fat, the vulture weary. 
1:5 Doubt is crowned. The loyal shall turn their blades on those who silver gave. 
1:6 And blood-cough shall spread like fire across the wastelands of the drought.
<h3 id="psalmii">PSALM II</h3>
2:1 As at the beginning, so at the end, all manner of fly and wasp shall fill the air. 
2:2 And the ground pale with maggots. 
2:3 And from the Spears: a frost. Born from Bergen Chrypt and covering all. 
2:4 And in ten days and one the writings of sorcereors will be made pale as air. 
2:5 And glass shall become quartz. 
2:6 And SHE shall see HIM grow stronger. And SHE reveals herself and all shall be slain.
<h3 id="psalmiii">PSALM III</h3>
3:1 At Graven-Tosk the soil shall grow warm and those who rest be made to walk. 
3:2 In the heart of Sarkash fog and dusk shall breathe beneath the waking trees. That which was hewed by man shall now hew in its turn. 
3:3 And hunger shall come among you. You shall dig roots and pull children from the breast. The gaunt shall prety upon the gaunt. 
3:4 The great shall be made poor and the poor poorer still. 
3:5 Then shall come rain unending and the day shall be made night by its coming. 
3:6 Brother shall slay Brother and Sister poison Sister.
<h3 id="psalmiv">PSALM IV</h3>
4:1 For five days and five nights mothers flesh shall be the cloak of demons. 
4:2 And for five days and five nights shall fathers weep. 
4:3 Look to the West. Forth comes fire, and a horde, and the Kingdoms burn. 
4:4 The liar, Arkh shall make knots of the hearts of men, sundering the strongest of bonds. 
4:5 Behold now the Endless Sea, where Leviathan causes waves to be as mountains. 
4:6 And Leviathan shall come among you. Children winter-born and fated to fall before snow, both shall it take.
<h3 id="psalmv">PSALM V</h3>
5:1 The lake and brook shall blacken and the water become tar. 
5:2 The trees shall wither, shrivel and die. 
5:3 And birds shall fall dead from the sky. 
5:4 In one night all those not yet of seven years and seven days shall pass. Born and unborn. And dawn shall give them life as eaters of men. 
5:5 The sky shall weep fire and a great stone shall plummet as a city fallen from heaven. Its gift is Death and madness is its herald. 
5:6 And the last King and the last Queen shall wither to dust. Their wretched courts are devoured by wolves.
<h3 id="psalmvi">PSALM VI</h3>
6:1 You shall know the last day is come. The sun shall set and never rise. 
6:2 And day shall be as night and night as day. You shall not sleep, neither shall you wake. 
6:3 Anthelia shall have her will and drink all colour from the world. 
6:4 Those who walk on two legs shall be nameless as the beasts of the field. 
6:5 The earth shall vein, bringing black serpents forth from within the earth. 
6:6 And the unnamed enter the earth, passing through the Veil as it is sundered by Daejmon, the left underling of Nechrubel.
<h3 id="psalmviithelast">PSALM VII THE LAST</h3>
7:7 All praise Yetsabu-Nech, the underworld's nightmare, the black disck which stands before the sun! All praise Verhu, beaming with delight! All praise the fire which burns all! And the darkness shall swallow the darkness.

Verhu

Mörk Borg

The holy task of the valkyrie is to determine which fallen soldiers are worthy of a glorious afterlife in Valhalla. Valkyrie not only see the future, but decide it.

Valkyrie ride the winds and look down upon the earth below. They sometimes ride supernatural steeds, but can fly on their own using their beautiful wings.

Valkyrie are like angels, yes, but they are like the awe-inspiring angels of old. Their presence is both terrible and beautiful. In your eyes and ears rings the cacophany of the gods and battle everlasting.

<img src="/images/creatures/valkyrie/rhinegold-and-the-valkyries.jpg" alt="Rhinegold and the Valkyries" /> - Rhinegold and the Valkyries by Arthur Rackham
The man and his son felt warm moisture in the air as they stumbled out of the icy tundra into the giant's corpse. They had travelled here before but something had called them back again - a challenge demanding their attention. The boy was small with piercing eyes and he wore leather armor and furs. The man towered above him, with ash-white skin exposed in places, as if the cold could not touch him. Across his skin there were whirls of red, tattoos of some kind. His strange skin colour and the markings were a curse: they carried the story of a past crime he could never escape. But the past did not matter now. The being hidden behind the door in front of them demanded their presence. They entered the chamber, and came face to face with their challenger. She froze them in their tracks.
This man, who had lived his entire life a warrior, sized up his opponent: A winged woman who was the ultimate judge of all warriors. She held the axe named Mordingi, "The Slayer", which was a gift from the dwarves. She hefted the shield, named Verja, made from the fingernail of the ancestor of all giants from whom the very world was fashioned. Her helmet, named Vaenghalm, gave her the power to leap into the air across mountains. Her bracelet, named Styrkband, granted her giant's strength. Her belts, the Dauthbandi, followed her will and could extend and entangle any opponent. The man faced Gunnr, the valkyrie of battle, and she was his equal. He raised his own mighty weapon, the axe named Leviathan, and she raised hers. They both leapt into the space between, their glorious battle echoing far across the frozen north…
<h2 id="angelsofjudgement">Angels of judgement</h2>
A valkyrie is female warrior who, with her sisters, decides the fate of those in battle. They appear as resolute angel-like beings with shining armor. They ride across the sky and are usually only seen by warriors who are fated to die. Gunnr often travels in a trio with her sisters Róta and Skuld. She is particularly good at selecting which warriors should be carried back to paradise - a place called Valhalla where they will feast forever until called to battle at the end of days.
In some exceptional circumstances, valkyrie have been known to appear to other mortals. Those are often the circumstances where gods and mortals intertwine and the world is changed because of it. There is a very famous story, encoded in music, about a cursed ring and a rebellious valkyrie named Brünnhilde. A hero named Siegfried is born when she defies her all-powerful father, and loses her immortality as punishment. She later becomes Siegfried's lover and, in a horrible twist of fate, has to watch him die after he retrieves the ring. She throws herself upon his funeral pyre and her sacrifice is instrumental in the death of the very gods who raised her.
<h2 id="beautyofthevalkyrieshorrorsofthebattlefield">Beauty of the valkyries. Horrors of the battlefield.</h2>
The valkyries are a beautiful and noble sight. They are loved by the gods and they invoke the sounds of trumpets in the orchestra of the mind. Yet they are terrible at the same time. As terrible as gods can be. As terrible as war can be. Their honor and grace will always be accompanied by the horrors of war. Consider this excerpt from the poem called "Darradarljod":
<blockquote>
 “The valkyries go weaving with drawn swords,
 Hild and Hjorthrimul, Sanngrid and Svipul.
 Spears will shatter shields will splinter,
 Swords will gnaw like wolves through armor.
 Let us now wind the web of war
 Which the young king once waged.
 Let us advance and wade through the ranks,
 Where friends of ours are exchanging blows.
 Let us now wind the web of war
 And then follow the king to battle
 Gunn and Gondul can see there
 The blood-spattered shields that guarded the king.
 Let us now wind the web of war
 Where the warriors banners are forging forward
 Let his life not be taken;
 Only the valkyries can choose the slain.”
</blockquote>

Valkyrie

Norse Bestiary Alphabet

The Book of Imaginary Beings

Der Ring des Nibelungen

An Encyclopedia of Tolkien

God of War

Radiant Greataxe

Lightning Spear

Frightful Presence

Valkyrie's Fury

<img src="/images/creatures/troll/troll.png" alt="Troll illustration" /> Illustration by <a href="https://twitter.com/danaxbraga">@danaxbraga</a>
"Hey! Who invited you?" said the little tailor, driving away the unbidden guests. However, the flies, who did not understand German, would not be turned away, and they came back in ever-increasing numbers. Finally, losing his temper, he reached for a piece of cloth and shouted, "Wait, now I'm going to give it to you!" then hit at them without mercy. When he backed off and counted, there were no fewer than seven of them lying dead before him, with their legs stretched out.
"Aren't you someone?" he said to himself, surprised at his own bravery. The whole town shall hear about this." He hastily cut out a banner for himself, then embroidered on it with large letters, Seven with one blow. "The town?" he said further. "The whole world shall hear about this!" And his heart jumped for joy like a lamb's tail.
The tailor tied the banner around his body and set forth into the world, for he thought that his workshop was too small for such bravery. Before leaving he looked about his house for something that he could take with him. Finding nothing but a piece of old cheese, he put that into his pocket. Outside the town gate he found a bird that was caught in a bush. It went into his pocket with the cheese.
He bravely took to the road, and being light and agile he did not grow weary. The road led him up a mountain, and when he reached the top a huge giant was sitting there, looking around contentedly.
The little tailor went up to him cheerfully and said, "Good day, comrade. Are you just sitting here looking at the wide world? I am on my way out there to prove myself. Do you want to come with me?"
The giant looked at the tailor with contempt, saying, "You wretch! You miserable fellow!"
"You don't say!" answered the little tailor. Unbuttoning his coat, he showed the banner to the giant. "You can read what kind of man I am."
The giant read Seven with one blow, and thinking that the tailor had killed seven men, he gained some respect for the little fellow. But he did want to put him to the test, so he picked up a stone and squeezed it with his hand until water dripped from it.
"Do what I just did," said the giant, "if you have the strength."
"Is that all?" said the little tailor. "That is child's play for someone like me." Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the soft cheese and squeezed it until liquid ran from it. "That was even better, wasn't it?" he said.
The giant did not know what to say, for he did not believe the little man. Then the giant picked up a stone and threw it so high that it could scarcely be seen. "Now, you little dwarf, do that."
"A good throw," said the tailor, "but the stone did fall back to earth. I'll throw one for you that will not come back." He reached into his pocket, pulled out the bird, and threw it into the air. Happy to be free, the bird flew up and away, and did not come back. "How did you like that, comrade?" asked the tailor.
"You can throw well enough," said the giant, but now let's see if you are able to carry anything proper." He led the little tailor to a mighty oak tree that had been cut down and was lying on the ground. He said, "If you are strong enough, then help me carry this tree out of the woods."
"Gladly," answered the little man. "You take the trunk on your shoulder, and I will carry the branches and twigs. After all, they are the heaviest."
The giant lifted the trunk onto his shoulder, but the tailor sat down on a branch, and the giant, who could not see behind himself, had to drag long the entire tree, with the little tailor sitting on top. Cheerful and in good spirits, he whistled the song "There Were Three Tailors Who Rode Out to the Gate," as though carrying a tree were child's play.
This translation of the <a href="https://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm020.html">"The Brave Little Tailor"</a> by the brothers Grimm describes a humorous competition between a clever tailor and a giant. This part of the story is actually about a tailor and a troll. If you read the entire story, you will see many elements that inspired the encounter between <a href="https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Tom,_Bert,_and_William">Bilbo Baggins and the three trolls (Bert, Tom, and William Huggins)</a>. In Tolkien's version, the trolls are outwitted by the wizard Gandalf who tricks them into arguing with each other until the sun comes up. Trolls live in mountains or dark forest caves because, if the sun touches them, they turn to stone. You can still witness the standing stones that were once trolls, littered across landscapes in many regions of the world. Journey to <a href="http://myths.e2bn.org/mythsandlegends/origins2866-how-the-troll-was-tricked.html">Trold-Tindterne</a> in Norway and you can see the remains of two trolls armies, their conflict frozen forever in stone.
So why did this Grimm translation choose the moniker 'giant'? The reason is that the trolls are direct descendents of the mighty giants of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B6tunheimr">Jotunheim</a> – those ancient beings who, on the day of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ragnar%C3%B6k">Twilight of the Gods</a>, scaled the rainbow bridge, and tore it down and, aided by a wolf and a serpent, destroyed the world. Their heritage is what grants them such tremendous strength and influence over the shape of the earth itself. In every land and region, trolls leave their mark upon the earth. Most adult trolls can uproot mature trees and smash large boulders. Distinguished trolls with pure bloodlines may even move mountains or change the course of rivers.
Despite their incredible strength, a troll is generally dull-witted, slow moving, and vicious to its core. In Bilbo's story, they are common robbers and demonstrate their selfishness and cruelty as they debate how to cook the dwarves. In Henrik Ibsen's dramatic poem <a href="https://archive.org/details/peergyntdramatic00ibseuoft">Peer Gynt</a>, they truly believe the horrible drink they brew is delicious and that their caves are "palaces". To prevent Peer Gynt from seeing how disgusting their dwelling places really are, they threaten to put out his eyes. An adventurer who encounters a troll should generally steer wide of them. If you are forced into contact, you must never underestimate their cruelty. Give them a modest puzzle or task to consider and, while they mull it over, get yourself quickly away.

Descendants of giants who shape the earth.

Troll

The Brave Little Tailor

Peer Gynt

The Three Mothers have had centuries to spread their foul influence. They rarely act directly, preferring to exercise their will through their vast networks of slaves, spies, and unwitting mortal actors. Many believe that they died long ago, such is their subtlety.

As powerful witches, they have created and collected many magical artifacts to enhance their power. The Red Cloak of Lachrymarum and the Skeleton Key of Suspiriorum are two examples.

Many who have encountered any of the sisters have mistaken them for Death itself. It is not clear whether they were once mortal or if they have always been goddesses of Death or aspects of Her.

<blockquote>
 "Let us call them, therefore, Our Ladies of Sorrow. I know them thoroughly, and have walked in all their kingdoms. Three
 sisters they are, of one mysterious household; and their paths are wide apart; but of their dominion there is no end.
 Them I saw often conversing with Levana, and sometimes about myself. Do they talk, then? O, no! Mighty
 phantoms like these disdain the infirmities of language. They may utter voices through the organs of man when
 they dwell in human hearts, but amongst themselves is no voice nor sound; eternal silence reigns in their
 kingdoms.
 […] They utter their pleasure not by sounds that
 perish, or by words that go astray, but by signs in heaven, by changes on earth, by pulses in secret rivers,
 heraldries painted on darkness, and hieroglyphics written on the tablets of the brain."
 – Thomas de Quincey, <a href="http://public-library.uk/ebooks/28/2.pdf">Suspiria de Profundis</a>
</blockquote>
Try to imagine, for a moment, the overwhelming power of witches and mothers. A witch, through her deep connection to nature, her knowledge of alchemy, astrology, and all the earth's secrets, her pact with demons and the Prince of Darkness himself; through these connections the witch gathers power about herself and may weave true magic to carry out her designs.
A mother has an even deeper connection to nature. A mother represents the force of all creation – a powerful agent through which nature expresses herself. A mother is always at the beginning of things. It is common for the witch and the mother to be one. See <a href="https://www.novusbestiary.com/baba-yaga">Baba Yaga</a> for example.
Though the knowledge is almost lost, and their purposes well served by its fading, I am here to tell you of the Mothers who were there at the beginning of all witches.
There were three: a triumvirate of ancient sisters who came by the coast of the Black Sea and founded the witches' craft that would bring so much suffering to our world.
Some say they are the personification of Death itself.
Since that unholy day, the Three Mothers have spread their influence across every corner of the earth. Working through proxies they have remained out of sight, building their wealth and bringing ruin to the places they visit. Their actions are so cleverly obfuscated that even those who know of them, believe that they are long dead.
They are not.
<h2 id="materlachrymarumthemotheroftears">Mater Lachrymarum, The Mother of Tears</h2>
<blockquote>
 "The eldest of the three is named Mater Lachrymarum, Our Lady of Tears. She it is that night and day raves and
 moans, calling for vanished faces. […] She it was that stood in Bethlehem on the night when Herod's sword
 swept its nurseries of Innocents, and the little feet were stiffened forever, which, heard at times as they tottered
 along floors overhead, woke pulses of love in household hearts that were not unmarked in heaven.
 Her eyes are sweet and subtle, wild and sleepy, by turns; oftentimes rising to the clouds, oftentimes challenging the heavens.
 She wears a diadem round her head."
 – Thomas de Quincey, <a href="http://public-library.uk/ebooks/28/2.pdf">Suspiria de Profundis</a>
</blockquote>
<img src="/images/creatures/three-mothers/mother-of-tears.png" alt="Mother of Tears illustration" /> Illustration generated by The Oracle. <a href="https://www.herebetaverns.com/oracle">Create your own for free.</a>
The Mother of Tears is the most powerful and beautiful of the three. She can travel by the wind, swiftly moving from place to place,
attending those who worship her or those who suffer a sadness of the soul. She sits beside a king showing him images of his stillborn daughter, just as she sits beside a beggar who dreams of the joyful daughter he lost. She carries with her a set of keys that open any lock. Indeed, the eldest sister has the widest influence.
Wherever there are grieving men, women, or children, sleepless from suffering, the Mother of Tears intrudes.
One story mentions that she possesses a powerful relic, a red cloak, that could be a key to defeating her. What powers the cloak possesses are unknown.
It seems unlikely that this is true. How could a cloak stop the most powerful witch to ever walk? A witch who feeds on grief itself?
<h2 id="matersuspiriorumthemotherofsighs">Mater Suspiriorum, The Mother of Sighs</h2>
<blockquote>
 "The second sister is called Mater Suspiriorum , Our Lady of Sighs. She never scales the clouds, nor walks abroad
 upon the winds. She wears no diadem. And her eyes, if they were ever seen, would be neither sweet nor subtle; no
 man could read their story; they would be found filled with perishing dreams, and with wrecks of forgotten
 delirium."
 – Thomas de Quincey, <a href="http://public-library.uk/ebooks/28/2.pdf">Suspiria de Profundis</a>
</blockquote>
<img src="/images/creatures/three-mothers/mother-of-sighs.png" alt="Mother of Sighs illustration" /> Illustration generated by The Oracle. <a href="https://www.herebetaverns.com/oracle">Create your own for free.</a>
The Mother of Sighs does not walk upon the winds challenging the heavens. Her head is forever heavy, drooped towards the ground as she walks.
She wears an old turban and sighs constantly. Her sighs are the sighs of the hopeless. Every slave, every meek prisoner, every disgraced bastard and victim - they will hear her sighs.
She carries one key, which she uses infrequently. It is a key that will unbar the way to the elite members of society. Those who appear to us as completely confident, as having every thing a man or woman could ever desire: those people also entertain the Mother of Sighs.
At one point in history, the Mother of Sighs went by the name Helena Markos. Under this name she led a coven inside of a German dance school.
A foolish dancer from America, named Suzy, uncovered the truth and confronted her head on. She found a disgusting hag, covered in sores and the protruding limbs of half-formed infants.
Markos attacked but was defeated when Suzy stabbed her through the neck.
Markos had been involved in combat with a white witch before her confrontation with Suzy. It was that virtuous foe who had weakened her in battle, leaving her in the hag-like
state that would make it possible for a common dancer to defeat her.
The defeat was only temporary of course. For a witch of such power, the corporeal representation of her will is only one aspect. Losing her body is a setback, not a true death.
Go for yourself and visit those who have lost the spark of hope. Go and listen closely, and you will still hear the sighs.
<h2 id="matertenebrarumthemotherofdarkness">Mater Tenebrarum, The Mother of Darkness</h2>
<blockquote>
 But the third sister, who is also the youngest! Hush! whisper whilst we talk of her! Her kingdom is not large, or
 else no flesh should live; but within that kingdom all power is hers. Her head, turreted like that of Cybèle, rises
 almost beyond the reach of sight. She droops not; and her eyes rising so high might be hidden by distance. But,
 being what they are, they cannot be hidden; through the treble veil of crape which she wears, the fierce light of a
 blazing misery, that rests not for matins or for vespers, for noon of day or noon of night, for ebbing or for flowing
 tide, may be read from the very ground. She is the defier of God. […] And her name is Mater Tenebrarum, Our Lady of Darkness."
 – Thomas de Quincey, <a href="http://public-library.uk/ebooks/28/2.pdf">Suspiria de Profundis</a>
</blockquote>
<img src="/images/creatures/three-mothers/mother-of-darkness.png" alt="Mother of Darkness illustration" /> Illustration generated by The Oracle. <a href="https://www.herebetaverns.com/oracle">Create your own for free.</a>
The Mother of Darkness is the youngest and most cruel of the three. Though it is conjectured that the Three Mothers are a personification of Death, never is it so clear as with Mater Tenebrarum. Her psychotic violence can utterly transform her so that she appears before you as the Grim Reaper. She moves forcefully and erratically, like a foreign predator attacking any
who suffer a deep schism in their mind or body. When you are stripped down and brought to your worst, when your mind breaks and your body fails you, that is when she comes.
She carries no key for her realm on earth is limited. Whenever a window of opportunity presents itself, she flies towards it – laughing.

The Three Mothers

Suspiria de Profundis

Suspiria (2018)

Suspiria (1977)

Pitying Gaze (Recharge 6)

Mother's Caress

Claws

Attack

Fade Into the Wind

Mother's Disapproval (Costs 2 Actions)

Cast (Costs 3 Actions)

Mater Lachrymarum, Mother of Tears

One With the Wind

Parental Whisper

Aura of Despair

Spellcasting

Skeleton Key

Hopeless Gaze (Recharge 6)

Wail of the Hopeless (Recharge 5-6)

Mater Suspiriorum, Mother of Sighs

Aura of Anguish

Night Descends (Recharge 6)

Mater Tenebrarum, Mother of Darkness

Aura of Darkness

Night Mother

<img src="/images/creatures/striga/striga.jpg" alt="Striga illustration" />
The Striga hunts across many different regions and in many different forms. The legends vary from place to place, and it is difficult to decipher facts from flights of fancy. In some regions it could be interpreted as an accusation of witchcraft, and so one might even shout "striga!" as a sort of curse word. Before examining the stories, let us examine the different roots and meanings of this monster's name. In doing so we might better understand the true essence of this creature and be better prepared to face one regardless of the physical form it appears in.
The strigoi in Romanian mythology are troubled spirits that have risen from the grave. The infamous vampire Dracula is an incarnation of the Romanian strigoi.
The stryge in French mythology is a bird-woman who sucks the blood of children.
In Greek, a strix is a shape-shifted bird of ill omen that fed on the blood of humans. Strix could also refer to witchcraft.
The shtriga in Albanian mythology is a vampiric witch that sucks the blood of infants and can transform into a flying insect.
The strzyga of Slavic mythology is a vampiric, female demon that can transform into an owl to hunt humans at night.
In Italian, the word strega means witch.
In considering these examples, we can extract certain properties of strigoi that are most likely the truth. A striga is an undead being. Almost every story mentions the beast rising from the grave and it is well known that undead creatures crave the warm blood of the living. Their diet of living humans marks them clearly as a kind of vampire. Despite the occasional reference to a male creature, it is likely that most striga are females. There is a clear connection to witchcraft which is historically associated with females. We can also see that strigoi have the ability to change shapes and will often take the form of a flying creature (traditionally a bat, owl, moth, fly, or bee) to hunt its prey.
The last thing to consider is that the presence of a curse is likely at work. A powerful curse would explain how a striga rises from the grave and why it is bound to hunt only at night. In some stories, the striga is said to only hunt during a full moon. This draws a connection to the more well-known <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Werewolf">lycanthropy curse</a>.
There was once a king whose kingdom was threatened by a striga. The king sought out a reknowned monster hunter to help lift the curse. The hunter took the contract but sensed something strange was going on. In his experience, no one ever sought to save a striga. A human who had once been a striga may not retain all of their mental faculties, and would forever be at risk of turning back into a savage beast. Far better to simply kill them…
In order to lift the curse, the hunter had to wait until the striga left its burial site to hunt and then prevent it from returning to its resting place by the third crowing of the rooster. The striga was a disgusting, well-muscled beast that ran on all fours. Its jaws extended from ear to ear, with two rows of teeth inside. Her hands ended in long fingers with claws that could tear through solid bone. The only remaining human feature was the red hair that trailed down her back. The beast was brimming with hatred for all things living, and she had super strength and speed. The hunter could barely stand up against it and only managed to prevail through the super-human power he was granted by a curse of his own. In the end, he restored the girl to her human form and learned the truth: She was the king's daughter born of an incestous relationship with his sister. The curse had been placed by another man at court who was also in love with the king's sister. He could not bear to see his lover taken from him, especially by her own brother, and so he cursed them. The king's sister died in childbirth, and the infant transformed into a striga and grew inside their sarcophagus for years before emerging to terrorize the kingdom. Evidence of the curse was found inside the culprit's journal:
<blockquote>
 “I curse you and hope you rot amidst worms in hell. I curse your incestuous deeds. Your sister deserved better. I implore destiny to render the child born of your lechery as monstrous as you. If the witch spoke truly, you will soon taste my vengeance. I need only prepare the ingredients and utter the words thrice. Some say that not even the words are necessary, that hatred alone suffices. Know that my hatred is fierce.”
</blockquote>

Cursed combination of vampire, witch, and werewolf.

Striga

Witcher wiki entry

What is a Striga?

The Witcher Netflix series, S1E3

Wikipedia entry for Albanian Shtriga

Wikipedia entry for Polish Strzyga

Wikipedia entry for Romanian Strigoi

Author's Note: This entry contains a spoiler for the movie 'The Lighthouse' by Robert Eggers.
<img src="/images/creatures/siren/Herbert-James-Draper-Ulysses-and-the-Sirens.jpg" alt="Herbert James Draper Ulysses and the Sirens" /> 'Ulysses and the Sirens' by Herbert James Draper
In the beginning, there were only voices. Sweetly they floated out from their island promising knowledge of all things. So compelling that any man who heard them would go to them willingly, forgetting his greater mission. Forgetting himself.
<blockquote>
 This way, oh turn your bows,\
 Achaea’s glory,\
 As all the world allows—\
 Moor and be merry.
 Sweet coupled airs we sing.\
 No lonely seafarer\
 Holds clear of entering\
 Our green mirror.
 Pleased by each purling note\
 Like honey twining\
 From her throat and my throat,\
 Who lies a-pining?
 Sea rovers here take joy\
 Voyaging onward,\
 As from our song of Troy\
 Graybeard and rower-boy\
 Goeth more learned.
 All feats on that great field\
 In the long warfare,\
 Dark days the bright gods willed,\
 Wounds you bore there,
 Argos’ old soldiery\
 On Troy beach teeming,\
 Charmed out of time we see.\
 No life on earth can be\
 Hid from our dreaming
 – <a href="https://mbci.mb.ca/site/assets/files/1626/homer_sodyssey.pdf">The Odyssey, Book 12</a>
</blockquote>
We have this record because the great hero Odysseus took council from the goddess Circe. Wishing to hear the voices of the sirens, he plugged the ears of his crew with wax and lashed himself to the mast of his ship. Bound tightly he was unable to approach when the song summoned him. He survived the encounter and returned with his story of the sirens.
Why must man fear knowledge? Where lies the poison in the sirens' sweet honey? Circe warns of the piles of mouldering bones surrounding the sirens' favored island. It would be easy to interpret the danger as mere illusion: The sirens lure the sailors with false promises and then feast upon them with fang and claw. I believe the truth is much more horrifying.
When a man confronts the sirens, they deliver exactly what was promised: knowledge of all things. In the face of absolute understanding, his mind and soul disintegrate in terrified screams. The mythologist Robert Eggers presents the horror in his movie <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7984734/">The Lighthouse.</a> After disturbing, sexual encounters with a mermaid, the doomed mariner Thomas finally confronts the great light at the top of the lighthouse. Faced with such knowing, such cosmic horror, he loses his mind and ends up a corpse on the rocks.
The voice is the truth of this creature. Many other aspects of the siren have evolved throughout history and remain contested to this day. Yet the power of the voice remains constant. <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0097757/">The little mermaid of Disney fame</a>, whose alluring voice drives the plot forward, is a direct descendent of the sirens in Homer. I believe that mermaid and siren are indistinguishable. These are simply two names for the same creature that represent different favoured interpretations.
Notice that Homer only describes the voice. We have no physical description from the adventure of Odysseus, other than the knowledge that they are female. In ancient Greece, they were described by Ovid as birds with golden plumage and the face of a virgin. Others described them as hybrids with the top half of a woman and the bottom half of a sea bird. In the Physiologus they were half woman, half goose. In the Middle Ages, it was common to depict them as half fish, half woman – a depiction that remains popular today. The half fish, half woman motif is very common in heraldry and other ornamentation from that period. Some illustrations even combine the features so that they appear as mermaids with wings.
Their nature is unclear. They have been called nymphs, monsters, and demons. Modern sirens, like Ariel, are benevolent and wish to involve themselves in human affairs, while others remain indifferent towards us. From Borges:
<blockquote>
 Sometime in the sixth century, a Siren was captured in the north of Wales and baptized, and even listed as a saint in certain ancient calendars, under the name Murgen. Another came through a break in a dike in 1403, and lived in Haarlem until her death. No one could understand her, but she taught people to spin and she worshipped the cross, as though instinctively. A sixteenth-century chronicle reasoned that she was not a fish, for she knew how to spin, nor yet was she a woman, for she could live in water.
</blockquote>
I advise caution. We have the ill-fated Thomas as a warning and the story of Odysseus as a strategy for avoiding them. There is one other story involving the supernaturally gifted singer Orpheus. He sang so sweetly that it rivalled the sirens, who immediately leapt into the sea and transformed into the rocks below. It is assumed that they must perish whenever a man does not succumb to their voice.

Females of land and sea with enchanting voices.

Siren

The Grand Medieval Bestiary

Sea serpents represent primordial chaos, as all dragons do. They may be descended from Tiamat, the original mother of chaos.

They dwell in deep waters devouring shoals of fish. But when a ship crosses their path, they will seize the opportunity and attempt to smash it and devour its crew.

The allure of capturing or slaying a sea serpent is strong. Many great men and women have sought to prove their existence or even capture them. To accomplish such a difficult feat would bring great honour.

The clouds were breaking above the Ormen Lange as she sailed out past the mouth of the fjord. The deep greys and blacks were outlined with the brilliant white light of the sun, as if Thor himself had cracked them apart with his great hammer. The brisk, salt air burned Yrsa's nostrils and she smiled a wild smile. The hunt had begun.
The builders had spared no expense on the trap. It was an enormous steel cage, with a jaw-like door attached to one end. The cage was so big that they had built wooden extensions for the ship just to carry it. The cage was filled with piglets. From the end opposite the jaw ran a great chain the likes of which Yrsa had never seen. Each link was heavy enough that she could only lift a run of six by herself. This expedition had been a long time in the making, and it was only possible because of the financial sponsorship of King Oskar. The King had always had a fascination with the sea, and this particular prize would ensure his place in the sagas.
They made their way to the place the creature had last been spotted, following the sun and the shape of the nearby mountains. At her command, the men pushed the baited trap off the side of the ship. They stumbled as the ship lurched several feet out of the water having lost so much weight at once. For a time, nothing happened. The weather had grown clearer and the blue skies were open above them, though Yrsa could still see clouds jutting above the western horizon. Suddenly the chain snapped tight. The floor boards of her ship made an awful croaking sound as the ship suddenly listed.
The crew burst into a frenzy of activity, readying weapons. Six men ran to the chain's winch at Yrsa's command to take hold of its giant handle. Yrsa's eyes widened and time seemed to slow to a crawl. The croaking of the wood crescendoed into a terrible shriek and she watched helplessly as the winch was ripped out of the ship and into the water, taking four of her men with it. The water was frothing, writhing, swirling beneath them. The water darkened, turning purple, then black as it filled with blood and something else, some shadow. Just as she cried for the men to take up spears, the surface of the water erupted into the sky and the great serpent rose above them. It was as tall as their highest mast, it's gaping mouth filled with teeth the size of the spears in her crew's hands. Witnesses had told of it's impressive size, but no one had prepared them for this.
She held back tears, finding courage in the fact that she would soon be feasting in Valhalla. Time seemed to stop completely at the apex of the serpent's rise. The sun shone behind it's head, surrounding it with a halo of electric light. In a moment it came crashing down upon the ship, smashing it in two. Everywhere men screamed as they died from the impact or fell into the water. Yrsa leapt upon the serpent's back, screaming profanities.
It only took the length of a folk song for the ship to sink completely. Shortly after that the water was quiet again. Quiet and black with blood. No survivors from the Ormen Lange were ever found and no other hunting expeditions were sent. The giant sea serpent was never seen again. Later people would claim that the ship was swallowed by Jörmungandr himself.
<h2 id="dragonsofthedeepsea">Dragons of the deep sea</h2>
There are countless creatures that lurk in the boundless depths of our oceans. But none are so feared as the sea serpents. Ever since humankind has taken to seafaring, there have been stories of these monsters – long, draconic serpents that lay in wait beneath the surface. They devour large shoals of fish in their massive jaws, rarely breaching the surface. Of course they will seize the opportunity for a feast when human flesh crosses their path. When the wooden steeds of man sail into their territory, they rise out of the dark waters to smash the ships and devour the helpless sailors after they tumble into the water.
Some of the older sea serpents are so large that they can block the entrance to the fjords. In those cases, they may simply lay in wait with their mouths open and swallow the ships whole, a tactic that reminds me of the <a href="https://novusbestiary.com/aspidochelone">Aspidochelone</a>. There is a story of one such giant, the sea serpent of Gullmarn Fjord, who lay with its enormous head on the shore. It used a hypnotic stare to lure livestock and even people into is gaping maw.
<h2 id="theoriginsofseaserpents">The origins of sea serpents</h2>
The famous Great Lake Serpent of Sweden (Storsjödjuret) was supposedly created when two trolls were mixing some foul concotion on the shore of Lake Storsjö. Their ugly faces turned uglier still when they leaned over the brew and saw the mixture turning blacker than it should. All of a sudden, a monster with a black snake-like body leapt out of the cauldron and ran off into the lake. There it grew larger, and larger over the years, benefitting from an ideal environment under the water. People would catch glimpses of it whenever it breached the surface, making quick prayers to protect themselves. The monster was never captured and may live their still.
I love that origin story. It warns of unexpected consequences when dealing with old magicks, and it suggests a great variety of origins for the sea serpents. But I propose a deeper theory. I believe that most sea serpents may trace their lineage back to the beginning of everything. They are far older than the times of trolls on the shores of Sweden.
In the beginning their was <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiamat">Tiamat</a>, the serpent of primordial creation. We may even consider her to be the first dragon. The great hero Marduk faced her in battle as a massive sea serpent, creating the heavens and the earth from her body when he killed her. Her essence, the essence of chaotic creation itself, infuses the world. I believe that the natural born sea serpents who inhabit today's lakes and oceans are all descendents of Tiamat.
Reflections of the first dragon glisten on the surface of the deep waters.

Sea Serpent

Wikipedia entry for Tiamat

Vaesen

Pirate Campaign Compendium (5e SRD)

Pathfinder SRD

Sandworms can be as small as a dog or as large as a mountain range. Their growth is only limited by the size of the desert environment they live in.

Sandworms move through rock as fish move through water. They detect miniscule vibrations on the ground to hunt.

The remains of their victims, and sometimes treasures, may be found inside the bellies of the larger worm.

The man stood at the top of a large sand dune on a desert planet. It had taken almost six days to get to the survey post, and he was barely able to stand up straight. Even with careful preparation, the heat was so relentless it would wear you down until you moved like an automaton. The only thing keeping him alive was the specialized suit he wore that could recycle the moisture seeping out of his pores. Out here, water was not even a dream. He was observing the antennae nestled between the dunes that he had been tasked with repairing, when suddenly the sand shifted underneath it. At first he thought he was hallucinating. A wide hole emerged from the sand under the antennae, glistening spokes within it. The hole was three times the size of the 20 metre tall machine. Within minutes, the entire setup disappeared into the hole, with sparks flying and the grating sound of crunching metal filling the air. The man abandoned his task without a second thought. There were likey more sandworms on the way, and that worm that had devoured the antennae: that was one of the small ones.
Giant sandworms appear in all sorts of deserts. They resemble segmented worms, the type you would find in a typical garden, but their segments are composed of nearly indestructible armor. They are typically a dull, mottled brown colour, but there have been some reports of more unusually coloured <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Purple_worm">purple worms</a>. Their mouths are comprised of three-segments which peel back to expose an impressive array of razor sharp teeth that extend back into the body across in many rows. The teeth are as sharp as diamond and have evolved to efficiently rasp rocks and sand. As such, these monstrous worms can burrow through the ground extremely fast. You might sometimes see a massive sandwave, like a moving mountain, following the path of the worm when its head crests the surface. The largest possible size and age of a sandworm is unknown. Their unique diet of sand and adaptation with the desert ecology removes almost all constraints on their growth. In a smaller desert, such as the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gobi_Desert">Gobi desert on Earth</a>, you might expect a mature sandworm to reach 40 - 50 metres in length. But in a massive, ancient desert, a desert that spans an entire planet, a sandworm could be thousands of years old and its body stretch for leagues.
A sandworm is incredibly dangerous. As dangerous as the desert itself. They can sense even the slightest vibrations on the ground. Walking through a desert with sandworms is certain death for travellers. Given their size, speed, and indestructibility, you might think the common sense adventurer would avoid their territory completely. And yet, the stories tell us that, like the dragons, sandworms are often the guardians of a valuable treasure. In one story, a sandworm swallowed an enchanted sword. Who knows what other artifacts could lurk within the bellies of these ancient devourers? In another story, the sandworms produced a powerful drug that granted those who ingested it the power to see the future and travel to the furthest reaches of the galaxy. In that story, the sandworms were seen as the eternal agents of God.

Sandworm

Dune

monsterlegacy.net

Wikipedia entry on Purple Worm

Tail Slam

Tunneler

Tremors

Two well known stories of the raven have him serving as a messenger to Apollo and Noah. In both stories the raven fails them and is punished, turning black as a permanent record of his crimes.

Ravens are highly intelligent and capable of complex relationships with humans. THey are a popular choice as a familiar.

Ravens can see far and wide. They have been employed as spies by many. Famous examples include Though and Memory, the ravens of Odin the All-Father, and the spies of Sauron.

The Raven has a strong association with death and the afterlife because of its preference for feasting on corpses. It begins by devouring the eyes and brain, as if trying to ingest the wisdom of men directly. Some say it can travel to the realm of the dead.

The raven conjures thoughts of death; grim images of graveyards, battlefields, and the shadow land. Its dark silhouette invokes fear and is often considered an ill-omen. But, in fact, the raven used to be white. He belonged to the inner circle of the sun-god Apollo and was his trusted messenger. One day, Apollo asked Raven to spy on his lover Coronis. The raven witnessed Coronis breaking faith and reported this back to Apollo. In a rage, Apollo shot Coronis with one of his arrows. As she died, she revealed she was with child. Apollo managed to save the child but not Coronis. He punished the raven for the tragedy, banishing him from his protected circle and turning his plumage black forevermore.
The fact of the Raven's disgrace is <a href="https://talesofnature.com/2017/03/12/how-the-white-rave-became-black-047/">repeated elsewhere</a>. After a powerful god punished the world with a flood, a saviour named Noah shepherded the world's animals by boat across the deep water. After months, the sky began to clear and hope blossomed. To confirm whether the land was reappearing, Noah sent a raven to scout. The raven did not return for many days and so another bird was sent and a small ceremony held to honour the raven's courage. The other bird returned with joyous news: plants and trees grew on the land once more! But afterwards, the raven returned as well. Surprised, Noah asked what had happened and the raven shamefully admitted it had been feasting on the corpses it found strewn across the newly exposed earth. As a carrion-eater, it could not help itself. To punish him, Noah turned the raven's feathers black.
<h2 id="characteristicsoftheraven">Characteristics of the raven</h2>
Reflecting on these two stories what do we learn? We can discover its physical characteristics. The raven is strong enough to fly great distances and it's plumage is a deep black, the sort that seems a curse.
The raven is intelligent, trainable, and may develop complex relationships with other species. It is a popular choice as a familiar. (As a side note, if you are thinking of trying this yourself you should know that they are <a href="http://www.longlongtimeago.com/once-upon-a-time/fables/from-aesop/the-fox-and-the-crow/">susceptible to flattery.</a>)
In addition, it must have a clear voice for communication and a keen eye for observation. In these stories it is employed as a messenger and scout. It is known that the ravens named Thought and Memory were the faithful spies and messengers of Odin the All-Father.
The raven is a carrion-eater – it consumes the dead. It always begins by devouring the eyes and brain as if it directly attacks the wisdom and prudence of men. This may be its main connection to death and the afterlife, though some have reported that the raven can actually travel to the realms of the dead and back freely.
<h2 id="justicefortheraven">Justice for the Raven</h2>
We should also consider that the raven may be misunderstood. Is its blackness a manifestation of its nature or is it a reflection of the gods and prophets casting judgement upon it? In the story of Apollo, the raven served faithfully albeit without tact. In the story of Noah, the raven acted according to its nature as all animals must.
There is a <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48860/the-raven">famous poem</a> that recounts a man's descent into madness as he casts his anxieties upon a raven. The raven is surely an ominous portent whose shadowy silhouette inspires fear. But does it really mock the man or does the man doom himself?
This image depicts the final scene in which the man succumbs to madness.
<img src="/images/creatures/raven/the-raven.jpg" alt="The Raven" />
"And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, 
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
Shall be lifted—nevermore!"

Raven

The Raven

How the white rave became black

The Fox and the Crow

Beak

Talons

Giant Three-Eyed Raven

Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

Foresight

A Glimpse in Time

Magic Resistance

Innate Spellcasting

Path to the Grave 3/day

It is known that the feather from a Phoenix’s tail can be mixed with a few other compounds by a skilled alchemist, to produce an elixir that will bring someone back from the brink of death. Long ago, people believed this potion (called 'Phoenix Down') could actually cheat death itself. We now know that people likely witnessed the miraculous effects of the potion on people who were not truly dead, but were simply in a deep state of unconsciousness, and their imaginations filled in the rest. Despite the lack of solid evidence, some alchemists still assert that, if you obtain a phoenix feather of ultimate beauty, you can brew a Phoenix Down that will return someone from the dead.
A phoenix is an immortal bird that resembles a large eagle but with feathers the colour of fire and burnished gold. Various other colours, like those of gemstones, add ornamentation. There is an old Latin poem 'De Ave Phoenice' (The Phoenix) which has been attributed to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lactantius">Lactantius</a> and was latter translated into old English by an anonymous author. <a href="https://anglosaxonpoetry.camden.rutgers.edu/the-phoenix/">The poem</a> describes the appearance of the phoenix:
<blockquote>
 That fowl is fair of hue from the front
 flecked with various colors about his breast before.
 His head is green behind, wondrously varied
 and blended with purple. Then is his tail fairly
 colored, some brown, some red, some with black spots,
 cunningly covered. Those wings are white at the back,
 and the neck green below and above, and the beak
 shines like glass or gemstone, his jaws sparkle
 within and without. The nature of his eye is piercing
 and much like the hue of a stone, a merry gem
 when it is set into a golden vessel by the skill of smiths.
 About its neck, just like a ring of sunlight,
 is set the brightest bracelet of feathers.
 Wonderful is the belly beneath, wondrously fair,
 bright and brilliant. His crest overhead
 is fitted with ornaments over the bird’s back.
 His legs are covered with scales, the fallow feet.
 The fowl is absolutely unique in its hue,
 much like the peacock, grown up in joys,
 as the book tells us. He is not slothful
 nor wanton, heavy nor sluggish like some birds,
 which slowly flap their wings through the breeze,
 but he is nimble and quick and so light,
 lovely and delightful, marked out with glory.
</blockquote>
To gaze at a phoenix is to gaze at the rarest rising sun. They are aloof and mysterious, but can form a deep bond of friendship with those they come to trust. They are gentle, confident, and graceful, and so you should never fear them, but treasure the sight of one.
The Phoenix is a master of death. At the end of its life, a phoenix bursts into flame and its ashes start to contract into a ball. This ball forms an egg which hatches within the still-burning embers of the fire. A phoenix is always born again. In his dialogues, Tacitus believed a phoenix lived for the amount of time it took the sun, moon, and five planets to return to their original positions (12994 years). We now know the phoenix has a shorter life cycle but it is still a living representation of the cyclical nature of the universe. The Stoics believed the universe began and ends in fire and therefore has no beginning or end – much like the phoenix. We may also recall the story of two star-crossed wizards who came into possession of wands that each contained a tail feather from the same phoenix. Both of those wizards died and were reborn. The Phoenix is a master of death.

Phoenix

The Phoenix (Old English poem)

Harry Potter series

Final Fantasy series

Ox-Head and his partner Horse-Face stand guard at the gates of Diyu. Diyu is the realm of the dead in Chinese mythology.

Every soldier of Diyu has a specific role to play. Ox-Head and Horse-Face are responsible for escorting the newly dead to their appropriate place in hell. In some cases they can be forced to leave hell to retrieve a lost soul.

King Yama is the supreme ruler over the Ten Courts of Hell. He transformed the soul of a hardworking Ox and Horse and placed them in their position as guardian. They are forever faithful to King Yama.

When a sorcerer named Thomas Rhymes trapped souls to gain power at the Ghost Moon Festival, it drew the attention of two demonic warriors. They appeared physically in our realm –&nbsp;a rare occurrence for this pair. The warriors stood tall, with broad chests and muscled limbs. They were garbed in traditional chinese armour and carried wicked weapons. One had the head of a horse – the other, the head of an ox.
During their quest to free the trapped souls, Ox-Head and Horse-Face became embroiled in combat with <a href="https://hellboy.fandom.com/wiki/Ox-Head_and_Horse-Face">Hellboy</a>, another demon. The fact that they stood their own against that legendary fighter is a testament to their strength. Ultimately the two sides realized they shared the same mission to stop Rhymes. Hellboy destroyed the artifact trapping the souls and Ox-Head and Horse-Face returned to their rightful place: standing guard at the gates of Diyu.
<h2 id="diyutherealmofthedead">Diyu – the realm of the dead</h2>
In Chinese mythology, Diyu is the realm of the dead. King Yama rules the realm and divides it into ten "courts". Each court has its own lesser king who presides over a different type of atonement and punishment. When the souls of an ox and horse came to him, Yama raised them as a reward for their hardwork in life. Thus he created guards to stand at the entrance of his domain. When a person dies, their soul will travel to Diyu and encounter Ox-Head and Horse-Face at the gates. It is their job to escort the soul to their appropriate place.
Some stories claim that these guardians of Diyu have travelled to our realm to escort souls who are lost. Their encounter with Hellboy supports that claim. We know for certain that these guardians take their task seriously. They are completely loyal to King Yama and can be depended on to serve. The Ox is steadfast and disciplined. The Horse is courageous and diligent.
<h2 id="encounterswithheroes">Encounters with heroes</h2>
Other stories indicate moments where Ox-Head and Horse-Face have failed in their duties. One of the most popular tales from Chinese Mythology, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Journey_to_the_West">Journey to the West</a> recounts their defeat at the hands of Sun Wukong, the Monkey King. In a more unusual case, <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/truezelda/comments/adhptt/oxhead_and_horseface/">Horse-Face fell to a hero in green at the Parapa Temple</a>. What brought him to that temple remains a mystery. In both stories they were bested only by a true Hero.

Ox-Head & Horse-Face

Journey to the West wikipedia entry

Reddit archive on True Zelda

Hellboy wiki

The Others consume and then perfectly mimic other creatures. They retain the memories and behaviours of their victims, so they can fool even close friends and family.

The Others seek out dark places where they can easily hunt. They are sensitive to direct sunlight and will avoid exposing themselves to it when they can.

When hunting, The Others prefer to leverage the trust of others to lure them away from groups. Once they isolate someone, they will attack quickly. In this way, a group is replaced one by one.

An Other is one part of a hivemind linked to its brethren. It also emits spores to attack and defend itself in combat.

The Others have a mysterious, alien origin. They defy expectations. They resist understanding.

<img src="/images/creatures/other/other.jpg" alt="Illustration of an Other" />
She had been having nightmares. She couldn't remember the details, but when she went about her daily chores she felt restless. Rumours swirled in her head, never settling. Townsfolk had been muttering about strange things lately. Lights on at weird times of the night; some sort of odd mist in the nearby woods; unusual noises – that sort of thing. What she didn't understand was why it bothered her. She usually didn't go in for that kind of thing, but she couldn't deny that her gut was telling her something. Something just felt wrong.
"Owen can you hand me that bucket?" She and her son had been working hard together every morning on the farm. Harvest season was waning and the days were getting shorter. Darkness always seemed to come too early. The air smelled cold, like winter. Owen approached and handed her the bucket wordlessly. He seemed stressed out too. He was usually so easy going but today he had barely said a word.
"Are you feeling okay honey?", she asked. Yesterday, when they were letting out the sheep in the afternoon, she had noticed he looked a bit waxy. Maybe he was coming down with something? "I'm fine mom", Owen replied. He graced her with a little smile. It reassured her. She and her son had no one else. His smile had gotten her through many tough times.
She walked over to the pig pen and started scooping feed into the bucket. The pigs all came forward snorting and snuffing, anticipating the meal. She was scraping the bottom of the bin, yet another problem to add to her list. How were they possibly going to afford to feed them through the winter? Automatically she started thinking about which pig she would have to slaughter first.
As she started to stand and turn towards the pen, she felt a sharp impact at the back of her head. Her entire vision flashed, red star bursts filling her eyes. As she regained her vision she became vaguely aware that she was on the ground near the pig pen. The pigs were screeching loudly making the ringing in her head even worse. She tried to move but couldn't. It felt like her skull might be cracked. Above her stood her son Owen.
"Ownnn" she tried to talk. "OOooownn". He crouched over her staring blankly. To her horror, his face started to change. The flesh around his teeth seemed to lift away revealing more of the bones and gums underneath. His eyes sockets seemed to deepen as shapes rippled underneath his skin. A strange sound was coming from somewhere deep in his throat. She thought she must be hallucinating. This couldn't be real. As the deep croaking sound grew in intensity, she saw black and purple flecks start to pour from the crevices appearing all over his face and head. It stank of mold. He raised his arms, and where his hands used to be were writhing, red tendrils. They lashed out, penetrating her eyes and mouth. She tried to scream but couldn't make a sound. All she could do was lay there helplessly as she felt the tendrils traveling deep inside her body, wrapping around her stomach, her ribs, her spine, her brain. She could feel every part of her changing. The pain was excruciating. All she wanted to do was scream but the scream remained silently trapped inside her head. The pigs behind her were still squealing, bumping into each other as they fought for the grains she had spilled across the ground.
A minute later she stood up. She looked at Owen and knew everything about him and what she had to do now. Together they walked back to the barn and got brooms to clean up the mess. While they worked that morning a small part of her, a part pushed way down to the bottom of her mind, continued to scream in silence.
<h2 id="theothers">The Others</h2>
Somewhere in a remote corner of <a href="https://www.ceaselessrealms.com/">The Ceaseless Realms</a>, an alien presence from an unknown place threatens to overtake the world. No one knows the creature's true name. Those that have discovered it and not been taken simply refer to it as "The Others".
The Others appear as people you know. This foreign creature has the ability to completely take over the body of its victims. When taken, the victim is completely consumed, inside and out, by spores ejected from the Other's tendrils. All that remains is the original brain and a portion of the spinal column. A newly created Other immediately gains awareness of its brethren and is compelled to carry out the same goal: hunt other beings, isolate them, and consume them.
An Other is composed of an alien fungal material. It can rapidly change itself to look exactly like the victim it has taken over. The substance can transform into any form of clothing or armor it has studied during the process of devouring its victim. In addition, the fungus learns the patterns of behaviour and memories of its victim, allowing it to perform an almost perfect imitation. There are a few limitations to its mimicry. When attacked or agitated, an Other will be compelled to reveal its true form. An Other cannot cast magical spells of any kind, for those spells are powered by the soul's connection to sources of our own realm.
The Others seem to prefer dark places and will start to seek them out. When viewed in broad daylight, an imitation appears to have waxy skin that seems slightly translucent. It is very hard to notice by an untrained eye. The creatures also seem to be weakened by sunlight.
The Others don't usually attack outright. Despite their strength, they prefer to infiltrate communities through careful stalking. Once they have assimilated someone, they will leverage that person's relationships and seek out potential victims who will trust the replaced individual. In this way, The Others carefully divide and devour. The speed of the transformation is terrifying. When you are hunted by an Other, you can't allow your friends out of your sight for even a few minutes. They could be replaced by then.
<h2 id="unknowabledirective">Unknowable directive</h2>
All that is known of the goals of this alien mind is that it desires to hunt and spread. It would be tempting to think of it as a sort of primitive fungal growth given its use of spores and hivemind directives. The truth is, its real motivations are unknown. Unimaginable, even. They will usually remain silent hunters and yet sometimes groups of Others will simultaneously reveal themselves with no apparent provocation. Their advance across civilization could be catastrophic, and yet they weirdly stop spreading at unpredicable times. There are even some rumours which claim that victims whisper a strange word at the moment they become assimilated. These behaviours are not consistent with typical fungi.
The only way to know for sure would be to become an Other, and then somehow communicate the mission back to an unchanged being. An impossible task. There is no known method, magic, or technology to restore someone. Once you are consumed by The Others, you are lost forever.

Other

Horror-Themed D&D Monster Building

Lashing Tendrils

Acidic Spores (Recharge 5-6)

Shapechanger

Defensive Spores

Sunlight Sensitivity

Consume

Onryō prefer not to kill people immediately. They target their victims with a powerful grudge curse that brings death and ruin to them and those around them. The grudge curse is powerful enough to affect a physical location and linger on after the spirit is banished.

In the case of Oiwa, a legendary Onryō, echoes of the grudge curse can be transferred by the telling of her story. It is conjectured that the curses can travel far in this way, though it is unlikely that most Onryō have that kind of power.

I must begin this story with a prayer:
Oiwa you suffered greatly. You did not deserve such brutal murder at the hands of your wicked husband. I pray for your soul.
I cannot bring myself to describe the Onryō without mention of you, the most legendary of your kind. Though the story is disturbing, I must ask your blessing to tell the tale. It is my professional obligation as the collector of great creatures.
I understand that the proper way to ask is at your gravesite in Tokyo. Right now I cannot make the trip, so hear my vow: I will travel to Japan in this life. When I arrive, I will seek out your grave and bestow upon it the greatest blessing that I can muster. This I swear I will do.
In Japan, ghosts are known as yūrei. They share much in common with the Western understanding of ghosts. They are the souls of people who died suddenly, or under acts of violence. The souls of people with an unfinished task on this earth. They appear as faint, translucent entities in the form in which they died. They will be wearing the clothes they were buried in, such as a white burial kimono. You will often see the wound that killed them. They are usually bound to a specific location.
Yūrei are usually harmless, though a very dedicated soul is capable of causing some mischief. But there is one exception. A type of ghost that is universally feared. These people died under horrible circumstances, with fiery passion coursing through their entire being. They do not pass on but dwell on earth seeking vengeance above all else. Their vengeance is wildly out of control. They curse not only those who wronged them, but any innocent who comes near.
They are called Onryō.
This deadly grudge spirit is horribly strong. They persist on their wrath alone. Though they have the strength to immediately kill any mortal, they prefer to curse them and make the destruction a prolonged ordeal. The grudge curse targets a person and everyone around them. It spreads like mold throughout a physical place, bringing death and ruin to all who enter. It is almost impossible to banish an Onryō. Even if you find a way to lay them to rest, their curse can live on in a location for years after they are gone.
There is an Onryō who is known above all others. Her name is Oiwa and her grudge curse still exists today. Oiwa was brutally tortured and murdered by her scheming husband. Her curse is so powerful, that injuries and death may befall those who even tell her story. Darkness has permeated the very fabric of the story. Even still, many have dared to retell the story of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yotsuya_Kaidan">Yotsuya Kaiden</a>.
I have vowed to visit the grave of Oiwa. When I do, I hope to learn more about her and about the Onryō. Any further insights, especially any defensive techniques, will be recorded on Novus Bestiary. This I swear I will do.

Onryō

The Night Parade of One Hundred Demons

Many fae from the isles have a more ambivalent attitude towards men. They are mysterious. They can be negotiated with or avoided. This is not the case with Nuckelavee. This demon wants to wreak the most havoc it possibly can on mankind.

Nuckelavee is born of the sea, and must never travel far from it. It is claimed to take on a different form when under the water's surface but no one has ever seen it and lived. It can be stopped in its tracks by freshwater.

The great Mither o’ the Sea keeps the demon contained in the summer months, but she cannot contain it for the rest of the year. The demon's strength is so great that, without this limitation, it would have annhiliated all the early human tribes.

The poisonous breath emitted from the Nuckelavee is so toxic that it can spread like a plague across the land, killing any crops it corrupts.

The fisherman had grown up on the island, and as the sun fell behind the horizon on his fiftieth year, he couldn’t help but feel content. His was a hard life, but a rewarding one. It had been full of back-breaking work, but also love, children, happiness. He was returning home, walking the miles back to the home he shared with his wife, back to the sea, when he heard the pounding of hooves approaching. He turned, raising a hand in greeting thinking it to be another islander. Instead, it was a demon, a monster, a horse from hell called Nuckelavee. Its eyes blazing red as it charged towards him. A silent prayer ran through the man’s head before survival instincts took over.
He turned and fled. He could hear the creature snorting, its hooves tearing into the soil as it gained ground behind him. Ahead lied salvation: a stream, freshwater, running down from the mountains to empty into the sea. Everyone knew the nuckelavee could not cross freshwater. It was a terror born of the sea. Lungs burning, the man willed himself forward, his knees creaking, hot sweat burning his eyes. He could hear teeth gnashing right behind him, and then he was safe, splashing down into the cool mountain water, not daring to stop until he was on the other bank. He turned and looked and there was the demon horse, red eyes directly upon his own.
<h2 id="onthesurface">On the Surface</h2>
The nuckelavee is said to be a creature that comes from the ocean with the intent of killing and feasting on men. On land, it takes the form of a demonic horse, though the details change depending on who tells the tale. The lucky survivor from the story above described the beast as a black horse with glowing red eyes. But others have had more to say about the appearance of this particular monster. While all agree that, out of the water, the nuckelavee takes on the form of a horse, another survivor claims that the horse had two heads. Yet another man born and raised on an island (the nuckelavee’s favoured stomping grounds, it seems) swears that there was a human torso growing out of the creature's back, resembling something of a twisted rider – a vision from your darkest nightmares. More than one person who has seen this beast swears that the legs have fin-like growths. A common claim is that this demon horse is skinless, it’s bloody, exposed muscle the first thing you see when the beast approaches. Even though the fisherman in the introductory story claims the horse was black, it may be that, in the fading light of day, a skinless beast slick with dark red blood may appear to wear a black coat.
<h2 id="underthewaves">Under the Waves</h2>
The nuckelavee comes from the ocean, and the creature is thought to be a shapeshifter, much like other beasts I’ve chronicled, but there is one strange aspect: no one has ever seen a nuckelavee in the sea. At least, no one has seen one and survived such an encounter. So while it is accepted that the creature does not always resemble a skinless horse, that is the only form we’ve been able to get first-hand accounts about.
<h2 id="badbreathevilheart">Bad Breath, Evil Heart</h2>
During my investigations into this monster, I came across a rather unique aspect that I don’t believe it shares with any other creature. It’s said that you can see the nuckelavee’s breath with your bare eye, forming around its mouth and nostrils as a thick yellow cloud of noxious gas. Furthermore, it is said that this breath can ruin and kill crops. When farmers in the Scottish Isles find their crops are not growing the way they would like them to be, they lay blame on the nuckelavee.
Many of the spirits and demons in this area have stories that suggest a more benign nature, but the nuckelavee has none. This creature is evil and seemingly proud of it, existing only to create as much havoc, destruction, and death as it can. Much like the crops, however, the nuckelavee may be blamed by the locals for more than its fair share. One man even claimed the lack of rainfall one year was directly attributable to the demon horse from the sea – a preposterous claim.
<h2 id="thequietseason">The Quiet Season</h2>
If there can be one good thing said about the nuckelavee, it is this: it is unheard of to come across the beast in the summer months. It is said by the locals that the ancient spirit they call ‘The Mither o’ the Sea” confines the demon to the depths of the ocean near the Scottish Isles for the whole of summer, though none of those that I interviewed could say why The Mither o’ the Sea would do such a thing.
<h2 id="donotengage">Do not engage</h2>
The nuckelavee is unique in many ways. It appears not to have a common and agreed-upon way to kill it. While fire is said to destroy a kelpie, no such tales come from those who have survived a run-in with the nuckelavee. Fighting the creature would mean certain death. Instead, it seems one must run, and with luck, come across a freshwater stream or source. While freshwater does not appear to kill the nuckelavee, it stops the demon in its tracks.

Nuckelavee

The Fairies in Tradition and Literature

The Nuckelavee - Devil o' the Sea

Descriptions of Orkney

Novus Bestiary

Hoof

Spear

Polluting Breath

Drag to Death

Toxic Bite

Grave Whinny (Costs 2 Actions)

Dragged to the Grave

Legendary Resistances (3/day)

Omen of Death

Freshwater Sensitivity

The Neck prefers a fiddle, flute, or harp and can perform songs that overwhelm the listener's mind.

The Neck is at home in the water and will not stray far from it. Old places on rivers attract it.

Under rare circumstances, the Neck may pass on its musical gifts to a human. You must follow a specific ritual to earn such a lesson.

<img src="/images/creatures/neck/neck.jpg" alt="Neck" /> - Nøkken by Theodor Kittelsen
She stood still beside the running water. Across the river, there was an old mill, its wheel turning slowly along with the current.
It was a sight she had seen many times before. Her grandmother had taken her to that spot many times as a child. That woman seemed to always know about places like this one — places that seemed as if they had been there before people were. Her eyes fixated on a splash of colour at the calm part of the river downstream. Some red water lilies were growing there. She had never seen lilies here before. They were beautiful.
She closed her eyes and took in the sound of the water rushing along, and the sounds of the gentle, constant creaking of the water wheel. And something new… It began softly at first, like a daydream, then rising. The sound of a fiddle. She should have been curious and opened her eyes to find the player, but she found the song so enchanting that she could barely lift her lids halfway. The music swelled slowly, in perfect counterpoint to the river. Arpeggios lifted oh so gradually, shifting gracefully from major to minor, as if making space for her thoughts to provide a melody between them. She started to notice she had been walking with her eyes half closed. Those red lilies seemed so much closer than before. And wasn't there something else? A shape of some kind just behind them. A man?
The music swelled. The chords inverted. She found she didn't care at all. It was like the fiddle was weaving a story that she was a part of. She had to hear the end of it. By the time the water was at her neck, the music was so overwhelming that she was crying. Rapid variations, with swirling chords and melody seeming to spring forth from the violin, never slowing, pulling her ever onward. And such sadness. A longing so deep it could never be satisfied. Her tears merged with the water of the running river as the music merged with her. She was never seen again.
What was that shape, that appeared behind the fresh lilies of the running river? That lingered near the old mill? That played the fiddle so expertly that it could ensorcell the woman and compell her to drown herself? It was the Neck.
The Neck is a dangerous water spirit who seeks to capture people with his musical abilities and hold them in his underwater realm. He is a shapeshifter, and may take on many guises, though he will often appear as a male humanoid. He may appear young or old, wearing any sort of outfit. He will often have some strange, animal-like feature. An extra eye, webbed fingers, hooves, or a tail for example. Whatever shape he takes, he is always recognizable by his long, dark, seaweed-like hair, and his dark eyes.
The Neck's music is his greatest strength. His level of skill far surpasses the greatest human performers. It is a performance so perfect, with such a yearning, emotional pull, that it completely ensnares the mind that hears it. Few have heard it and survived to tell the tale. In some cases, he will perform a song compelling people to dance without rest until morning. In those cases, the audience survives but they only vaguely remember the feeling of the music, and not the truth of it. One story tells of a particularly dangerous song called the Alvaspelet (Fairy Tune) that even the Neck avoids performing. That song can compell people to dance so relentlessly that their feet turn to bloody stumps. It is said the audience may even wear away their entire bodies and so become bloody heads bouncing on the ground. If you suspect the Neck may be lurking nearby, you can bind him by stabbing a knife into the shore before going for a swim. In those cases you won't have any contact with him and so you won't hear his songs. For that you should be grateful.
The Neck's preferred instrument is the fiddle, though he will sometimes choose the flute or the harp. For those of you who are aspiring musicians, I will share a fact with you that must be guarded. I beseech you: do not share this information with anyone else. I only share it knowing that regular readers of Novus Bestiary will be equipped with an overall understanding of fairy creatures, and therefore equipped with a respectful fear of them.
The Neck can teach some of his musical skill to humans.
Only a brave fool would ever try to learn. Only they would go to a swift river or crossroads for three Thursday nights in a row and play their instrument. This fool would bring with them a black cat as payment on the third Thursday. The Neck would accept this and even then they would have to remain constantly on their guard as the Neck would attempt to lure them into the water throughout the lesson.
It is said that a human who becomes a student of the Neck, and manages to survive to perform the songs, will be so skillful that they will make inanimate objects dance about when they perform. I have yet to encounter such a person.

Dangerous water spirit whose music enthralls.

Neck

Invisible Passage

Illusory Appearance

Amphibious

Commanding Performance

Drowning Grapple

Do you hear that? Even if we are leagues away, the howling of your foe, ever thirsty for blood in his subterranean lair, will send chills down your spine. This might not be the true Minotaur, this might only be a pale imitation spawned by some dark magic or fickle god, but it remains a terrible enemy. If you are to survive the coming battle, let alone defeat the monster, then you must first learn the story of its forebearer.
Any respectable adventurer knows that the Minotaur, the bull of Minos, is a merciless beast with the body of a man and the head of a bull. But to truly understand the creature, you must know that his true name is Asterion, that his mother was a queen, and that a king's arrogance is responsible for his monstrous nature. That presumptuous king is none other than Minos, ruler of Crete, an island dominating the Aegean well before Athens' rise. Minos, when he still needed to secure his claim, asked Poseidon to send him a sign confirming the god's blessing. Poseidon complied and sent Minos a wondrous white bull. But even though he had promised to sacrifice the beast to the sea god, Minos could not resolve himself to kill the glorious beast. Thinking he could fool an Olympian, he hid the white bull and sacrificed another one. To punish Minos' hubris, Poseidon drove the bull wild and made queen Pasiphaë fall in love with the animal. Taking place in a cow frame built by the famous inventor Daedalus, Pasiphaë mated with the white bull and bore Asterion.
<h2 id="exiledtothelabryinthofdaedelus">Exiled to the Labryinth of Daedelus</h2>
The queen took care of Asterion for some time, but the child rapidly became too ferocious to stay in the palace. Minos, wanting to hide this constant reminder of his wife's infidelity and of his own arrogance, asked Daedelus to build the labyrinth where the monster could be hidden. Make no mistake, this is no garden maze made to amuse the children of wealthy nobles. It is a vast underground complex of passageways shrouded in total darkness. Asterion could not find his way out, but he still needed to be fed. And so Minos forced Athenians to send boys and girls to be devoured by the monster.
Many died this way until brave Theseus volunteered to sail to Crete. Before going underground, Ariadne, daughter of Minos, helped Theseus in exchange for a wedding vow. Having received advice from Daedalus, Ariadne gave Theseus a ball of yarn and a luminous crown to find his way, as well as a ball of wax to throw in the monster's maw. And so the Minotaur fell to his sister's lover, with the help of Ariadne herself.
<h2 id="lessonsofthelabyrinth">Lessons of the Labyrinth</h2>
What can you learn from this? Historians will tell you that the story is but a symbol of the liberation of Athens from Cretan domination. I say that the most important lesson is that a minotaur will not be defeated purely by strength of arms. You will need adequate tools and cunning allies to overcome your own animal nature, to navigate the minotaur's dwelling and to overcome it. And know that slaying the man-bull might not end all your worries. As Asterion's birth resulted from a god's intervention, a minotaur's death cannot go unavenged. Just look at Theseus, how the gods forced him to abandon Ariadne and how his poor father killed himself because he thought his favorite son had not survived the duel with the Minotaur.
One last thing. If you ever want to test your mettle against the true Minotaur, then you must travel to another plane – to the realm of the dead ruled by Hades. But be ready for a formidable challenge, as all the reports confirm that Asterion and Theseus have settled their differences and have become allies in the afterlife. I do not know if it is even possible, but victory against these two former enemies would surely grant you fame, achievements, and blessings from the gods.

Minotaur

Bibliothèque nationale de France

Hades

National Geographic

Mimics hunt like spiders. They change into the shape of an object they know many adventurers will likely come into contact with, then patiently wait for someone to stumble into them.

Mimics secrete a sticky substance all over their bodies. This makes it easier for them to grapple their prey.

Mimics have a basic, predatory intellect. They have adapted to be great at catching adventurers, but not much else. However, there are stories of some few who have developed further and have the ability to communicate.

Any adventurer worth their salt, knows how to spot a mimic.
We've all heard the stories: The party slowly opens the wooden door at the second, or third level of the dungeon. The flickering light from their torches illuminates a splendid treasure chest situated at the center of the room. No one is guarding it. Jewels and metallic bands sparkle on its surface.
It's too good to be true, but the party can't resist the possibility of a magic item so early in their quest. Eventually someone, likely the rogue, advances and touches the lid. The lid opens… and then snaps down on her arm, pinning her. The rest of the party starts cursing and pulling at their weapons as the treasure chest shapeshifts into a slobbery, alien looking creature with giant teeth.
The treasure chest was, obviously, a mimic.
What you may not have heard about are the better mimics. The weird ones. The ones that get away with it. Throughout the course of my illustrious career, I have collected stories of several such mimics. Today, I present those to you.
<h2 id="mimicvangogh">Mimic Van Gogh</h2>
<a href="https://www.herebetaverns.com/encounter-generator">There is a collection of weird encounter stories</a> I recently came across. One of them describes an unusual painting in a an abandoned keep. As explorers traverse a certain hallway, they come across the painting in a gilded frame. The painting depicts a person who calls out for help. The person in the painting explains that they have been magically trapped inside. They ask that the party help them find a way to break the curse, offering great rewards.
If the party takes the painting with them, they receive a nasty surprise the next time they let their guard down. The painting is, in fact, an intelligent mimic. It waits until they are asleep, then attacks.
<h2 id="mimicsrus">Mimics R' Us</h2>
In the far away town of Bælak there is an unusual shop. A former adventurer by the name of Desmuth Durad'in sells mimics to a variety of clientele. It's extremely weird and dangerous.
For a long time, the buildings adjacent to his shop were not allowed to be rented out, though I've heard that they have recently relaxed that policy. Desmuth was able to convince local officials to allow this only because the business of moving mimics is so lucrative. His clientele include many rich nobles who are looking for house protection. Not to mention the margins he can add on account of the personal, bodily risk of running such a shop.
If you ever, for some strange reason, need to learn the art of wrangling or moving mimics without killing them, there is no better person to turn to than Desmuth Durad'in at Mimics R' Us.
Credit for this story goes to <a href="https://twitter.com/DMRawlings">@DMRawlings</a>
<h2 id="sleesleethepetmimic">Slee-Slee the pet mimic</h2>
There was once a party of adventurers who came across a small mimic in its true form. It was huddled in the corner of a dungeon, looking quite pathetic. It had not even bothered to disguise itself as anything. The party took pity on the creature and offered some of their rations. It gobbled them up enthusiastically, but still seemed unsure. When Grinda the barbarian offered it the freshly severed arm of a goblin, the mimic really warmed up to them.
The satiated mimic offered the party information about the dungeon. They were able to locate several secret doors and complete their treasure hunt with little trouble. The party was so happy about the situation that they let the mimic follow along when they left. They sat by the campfire later that night listening to the slurping sounds of the mimic as it gobbled up an entire deer leg. That's when they decided to name it Slee-Slee.
Slee-Slee grew up but never broke faith with its new family. The adventures brought it everywhere, and used its shapeshifting powers to pull off many future heists… and pranks. Slee-Slee's beastly hunger never went away, though it did learn to act mostly civilized whenever they were in city limits.
<h2 id="bridgeovermimicdwaters">Bridge Over Mimic'd Waters</h2>
A group of adventurers crosses through mountainous terrain. It's their only path. As they leave the foothills, the incline grows harder and harder. They start to rest more often, and talk becomes scarce. They pull their cloaks tightly around themselves as they come to a wind-whipped gorge. In front of them is a bridge made of wood planks and thick rope spanning a 100 foot drop to the river below.
The ranger goes first. As far as he can tell, the bridge looks secure, but the fall would bring instant death so he yanks on the rope just to be sure. Satisfied, he takes some cautious steps out onto the second, then the third, then the fourth plank. Finally he turns around and grins. The rest of the party follows him.
The bridge is narrow, so the party walks single file, taking their time. Their confidence grows as more of them make their way out on to the bridge, its planks remaining stable. Suddenly, at the halfway point, tentacles lash out and wrap around the ranger, wiping the grin right off his face.
The bridge is a mimic.
<h2 id="bagomimics">Bag O' Mimics</h2>
The duo catches their breath after a hard-fought battle. The skeletons had caught them by surprise, but the fighter was quick, and the cleric was true. They had already noticed the treasure chest hidden behind the sarcophagus, and now they have time to take a peak inside.
Gold! Piles of it! They hastily stuff their packs with as much as they can carry. The dungeon's denizens could yet return. The cleric makes a note so they might return to the site later to collect more.
Later that night, the cleric wakes up to the sound of frantic shouting. His friend is hopping around the campsite shaking his limbs. Tiny, coin-shaped mimics are crawling all over his body taking greedy bites. He yells at the cleric to burn their pack with holy light. The same pack that contains their only rations and precious gems from an earlier delve. He hesitates…
Finally, the coin mimics start to crawl up the cleric's robes. He feels the painful bites and casts the spell, obliterating their supplies. It takes another 6 minutes to get the mimics entirely off of them.
The two of them sit down and stare at the scorched earth where their supplies used to be. They feel miserable.

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