Driven insane by a mix of fairy enchantment and ceaseless suffering, the hexen is a domesticated ox afflicted with an acute direfly infestation. The beast's massive horns are riddled with honeycomb lattices, its gaze jaundice with sickness and fury, and hair matted by seeping ichors. The creature is immediately hostile to anything not of its herd, even goring doting farmers who raised it and ensured it had every creature comfort. Mad Cow. So thick is the madness in the hexen's veins that it lashes out without hesitation against those that even slightly rouse its ire. Some have sought to mitigate the danger the tormented ox presents by attacking it from range. Unfortunately, this merely whips the hexen's rage to a fever pitch and it charges the offender directly, often goring the attacker to death before turning on other foes. Hexen Bulls. So complete are some infestations for particular hexen, that they metamorphosis from rabid beasts of burden into full-fledged mon

Hewn in ages long-forgotten, this pillar of bone-white stone towers at fifteen feet tall. Centuries of caked-on dust fill the grooves of its numerous bas-reliefs depicting the exalted life of the sorcerer-king Enuk'lun. The ancient ruler's countenance of a furrowed brow and piercing eyes dominate the top third of the pillar, his lips set in a sneer. Down the backside of the pillar are etched the hatches of a long-dead language; the laws this milestone of Enuk'lun enforces. When hostile the marker floats on a cushion of crackling, blue magic. Passionless Arbiter: The milestones of Enuk'lun were erected across the all-but-mythical kingdom to enact the will and laws set forth by the sorcerer-king. The ancient tyrant knew that his gaze could not be upon all the lands under his dominion and without some hint of direct control rebellions would surely form. Craved with his likeness the milestones enforce the laws written upon them, though, no one remains who still speaks

Resting atop a nest of wooden legs, the mote weaver’s core is a rot-dessicated gourd riddled with seeping holes with the appearance of weeping eyes. Captured starlight glitters cold within the squash and carries with it motes of stolen fate which power both the construct and its magic. As one might expect, a crude grin has been carved in the gourd and filled with sharpened bone. Whatever meat the mote weaver consumes is incinerated by its inner-light. Its uncanny limbs resemble those of the harvestman who employ them, though it always has more than eight and an odd number at that. Insidious Whisperer. Empowered by stars of ill-portent the mote weaver enjoys manipulating those it encounters toward their doom. The construct lures the innocent from their homes so they can be snatched by pluckers or abused by other fey. It might convince a maid to fill her water at a bank where a clutch of snakes are hidden, or stoke the embers of rage in a drunk husband’s breast as he staggers home