More on the Brood Still sensuous despite her advanced age, Evigra'tha radiates a beauty bordering on beatific. The thousand, and last, child of primordial Iktokris rumor has it that her father was one of the myriad of gods once responsible for the Dark Mother’s imprisonment who sought Iktokris to make amends. If Evigra'tha is a demi-god of sorts, that would aptly explain her longevity and power. Like the rest of the brood, she is clothed in a soft, black downy from crown to hoof. Said hooves are shod with well-beaten iron with stripes of glossy, ebon chitin showing between the metal. Evigra'tha’s curled horns are of the same shelled material, though she also has a second set arching backwards from her temple amid a mane of black hair. The bridge of her nose and forehead is flat, rather like a goat, and her dark eyes contain no iris. Swathed in loose silk clothing that does little to hide a body ripened to perfection by childbirths, Evigra'tha leaves most of her ba

There is nothing typical about the typical bryne. These coastal terrors are lumbering humanoids with a skin tone close to that of a drowned corpse. Crystal-like deposits of bone and salt erupt from their elbows, knees and shoulders while the rest of their flesh is puckered here and there from barnacle scars and fell branding. Their most disturbing aspect, however, is their fleshless skulls. Some say a bryne’s head resembles a dead horse, others a dead wolf’s and there is an argument to be made for both. While the skull’s shape is general equine the fangs within are wicked and sharp like a dire wolf’s Deep set eyes as black and cold as a shark's ooze off-white ichors and within the fleshy inside of a bryne’s mouth resides a forked tongue capable of speech. The first among bryne wears his age like a cloak of tattered rags. Folds of pock marked skin hang from his limbs, revealing greyed meat in places. At the same time, the crystal formations on his bones are chaotic, jagged, and

Curls of spectral flame bind the ashen panoply together in the rough shape of a wide-shouldered man. Hints of his heroic jaw are hinted at beneath the helm’s beak, remnants of chiseled arms between the seams of stylized half-plate. The apparition’s cloak, composed of blackened feathers spread like phoenix’s wings. In one hand, the mad knight wields a flaming longsword with a hilt of bright feathers, in the other a warpick depicting a phoenix’s beak. Bent on purging wickedness from the world, nothing but madness swirls in the specter’s eyes. Madness and the ceaseless torment of an honor long lost Burn It All Down! Sir Castille, the Everburning cannot be reasoned with. He cannot be bargained with. He absolutely will not stop until every ounce of corruption is burned from the world. This is not a noble goal, nor a sane one. The ravening phantasm will put an overly-rowdy tavern to the torch as quickly as he would a foul demon-cult. In either case, the collateral damage doesn’t matt

While enrobed in a black velvet cape and suit of midnight blue finery, this mask-wearing villain is no man, nor beast, nor even undead. Even the clothes it wears down to the exquisite larva-style mask of porcelain are nothing more than an illusion. It’s difficult to understand how the complex harmonies of this elemental actually produces this dashing image, many composers have gone mad attempting to replicate it. It doesn’t help that Phantasmagoria encourages such exploration. With a fluctuation of sound, this foe can materialize a faux-saber out of nothing, but it still cuts just as deep. In its true form, Phantasmagoria retains most of its humanoid traits, though they are jumbled and distended in a discordant mess. Phantasmagoria came to be due to an absurd tragedy. During a sold-out performance of a grand opera, including a full chorus and orchestra, the opera house was struck by an arcane explosion set off by revolutionaries looking to kill the upper class inside. They succe

Within a gilden, elven ribcage spins a core of razor-sharp gears, cogs with organic teeth, and a tangle of oil-dripping cables. It is suspended in the ghastly space by a hextet of rusted chains smeared with pilfered grease. This is what the construct truly is, as the limbs and head it wears are little more than accessories shed as easily as a mortal changes clothes. These extremities come from creatures foolish enough to entreat the Pedagogue by solving the Knot, pulled from the cooling corpses and fastened in place by wrapped chains, rusted nails, and crooked screws. The longer a stolen body part remains attached to the horror, the more gilded and bejeweled bone appears beneath rotting meat. Once an appendage becomes too damaged, or if Spurheart grows bored of it, it is carelessly discarded and a replacement attached. Legend claims that Spurheart began as one of the first elven artificers in ages long forgotten. This elf prized knowledge above all other things. Even morality. It

“The Gutters Slasher.” “Full Moon Killer.” “The Buzzing Horror of Lankkirk.” “Dr. Bones.” What do these four infamous killers have in common? They are all the same creature, or rather collection of creatures. Each beetle of this unique hive is crested with what appears to be a tiny, human skull of off-white with scarlet wings under a darker red carapace. Though, this sentient swarm isn’t spotted in its natural state often, and those that see it usually don’t live to tell the tale. Most of the time, the swarm nests within a humanoid corpse, which it animates. The insects take great care to keep their walking hive clothed while breeding and feeding in the rotten flesh. It’s not long, however, before skin sloughs away, revealing bloody honeycombs strapped in place with cloth or leather. The corpse’s eyes are always eaten first, with two fat, skull-headed grubs taking their place. Sometimes Deaths’ Head claims it came to be by feeding on the body of a lich, mummy, or vampire of som

The moneylender loves the finer things in life almost as much as he adores showing them off. His coats are always lined with exotic furs and tailor-made to fit wide, orcish shoulders. He casually buys the latest male fashion, save for boots in which he looks for the most sturdy and best for kicking debtors when they are down. The greenskin is never without a studded cane of pale dragon bone, tapped with a polished catseye stone. He also has a pouch or three of coins squirreled away on his person. The moneylender’s coif is always perfect, but never absurd. He always has a monocle on hand when something needs a closer inspection. The moneylender was once an adventurer seeking his fortune. He found it in an evil dragon’s horde, though was utterly drenched in the wyrm’s blood when killing it. Then he covered himself in his comrade’s blood as he butchered them to claim the bounty for himself. Some manner of fell magic transferred from the dragon to the orc that day. His avarice and cru

Blue-skinned and robbed in solid shadows which give a vague impression of a sheik’s robes, this fiend is always quick to smile or sneer depending on the current level of contempt for its ‘master’. However, malice always twinkles in its compound eyes, especially whenever it twists the wishes asked of it. Asymmetrical horns curl from the Thirst Slacker’s forehead. Its legs end with a fly’s feet. Lastly, it sheaths a charred scimitar on a belt made from a chain of coins stolen from the eye sockets of the dead. The weapon is rarely drawn and never used. Instead, holes in the feind's hands contain red-shelled centipedes eager to strike. Avarice Peddler. While the Thirst Slacker presents itself as some sort of djinn, its origins lay in the deep bowels of hell. It often appears with a cup of cool water or fine wine in hand, ready to offer it out to the current holder of the ‘ancient’ skull which summoned it. From there, it explains that it is here to quench its master’s thirsts.

When roused, the elemental appears to be the corpse of a drowned woman with long, pale hair tangled with branches and rotting leaves. She wears an ever-flowing dress covered with yellow stains and deep, billowing sleeves that obscure her hands. The hem also hides her feet. In truth, she doesn’t have any. Instead, whenever anything besides her head and neck are exposed, one discovers only murky water and sodden human bones instead. After a few blows, the elemental’s true state is revealed. From crown to soul, the phantasm consists of only filthy water. For decades, a mountainside village harbored a dark secret. Although famous for its springs, there was one such body of water they’d never show. Whenever a member of the village became a burden to the rest, save it be one too many children or stricken with illness or injury, they were taken into a deep cave filled with unclean watered, drowned, and left to rot with the rest. No one knows how many times this heinous act was repeated s

In its true form, Broken Bough is a mockery of a humanoid comprised of branch, brier, earth, fungus, and thorns. Trapped within the gorse are hunks of meat and bones harvested from its victims. It is from these rotting nodules that the plant horror generates an animal disguise so it might continue its hunt. At the heart of the terror resides a sliver of stone chiseled with the druidic symbol for hate. All Flesh Must Die. Broken Bough was once a dryad sapling in a druid grove. It was showered with attention by the nature priests who worshiped there. It hummed along to their ritual songs. It swayed along to their dancing forms. It listened to their words and gained a crackle of sentience. Then men and dogs came to claim the grove for their own. Broken Bough was watered with its beloved druids’ blood, stunned by their final screams and sobs, shuddered as ancient stones were toppled and shattered. Before the usurpers left, they set the grove aflame, so they might build souless bui

More on the Brood Black chitin horns curl away from the humanoid’s temples and under its pointed ears in the same manner as a ram’s. Likewise, the brood’s facial structure vaguely resembles a goat with a wide-flat nose and pointed chin. The creature is covered in fine, black downy from head to chitin hoof with a head of wild hair. One might mistake the brood for a satyr if not for its straight, human-like legs and blood-red furrow running from nap to sacrum filled with twitching cilia. Despite its aberrant nature, most would describe the brood as becoming. Other humanoids find something sensual and primal about the feral creature that is all too compelling. The typical brood dresses in flowing, risque clothing. They enjoy the freedom of movement it grants, the attention it garners, and the ease of removal provided. Most brood are proud of their bodies, no matter what ‘flaws’ it might have as every last cell is a gift of the Dark Mother. They are each an example of Her divine pe

More on the Brood Caught somewhere between goat, insect, and tree, this hulking aberration moves swiftly atop a sextet of hooved-legs. The bulk of its body is comprised of segmented shells separated by folds of soft fur and punctuated by branching, leafy growths. The beast’s head has a distinctly wedged shape flanked by curled horns; the chitin of both are inscribed with mystical runes capable of punching brief holes in the veils between realities. The rhodae sports two trios of small eyes deep-set into the two places of its head, each of which resembles that of a goat. On the back end, the anathema has an earwig-like pincer that can grip onto hauling carts or foes alike Rhodae Huge aberration, unaligned Armor Class 9 Hit Points 126 (12d12 + 48) Speed 60ft Climb 30ft Str 21 Dex 9 Con 18 Int 3 Wis 14 Cha 6 Damage Resistances cold, fire, poison; bludgeoning, pierci

More on the Brood Black chitin horns curl away from the humanoid’s temples and under its pointed ears in the same manner as a ram’s. Likewise, the brood’s facial structure vaguely resembles a goat with a wide-flat nose and pointed chin. The creature is covered in fine, black downy from head to chitin hoof with a head of wild hair. One might mistake the brood for a satyr if not for its straight, human-like legs and blood-red furrow running from nap to sacrum filled with twitching cilia. Despite its aberrant nature, most would describe the brood as becoming. Other humanoids find something sensual and primal about the feral creature that is all too compelling. The typical brood dresses in flowing, risque clothing. They enjoy the freedom of movement it grants, the attention it garners, and the ease of removal provided. Most brood are proud of their bodies, no matter what ‘flaws’ it might have as every last cell is a gift of the Dark Mother. They are each an example of Her divine pe

More on the Brood Black chitin horns curl away from the humanoid’s temples and under its pointed ears in the same manner as a ram’s. Likewise, the brood’s facial structure vaguely resembles a goat with a wide-flat nose and pointed chin. The creature is covered in fine, black downy from head to chitin hoof with a head of wild hair. One might mistake the brood for a satyr if not for its straight, human-like legs and blood-red furrow running from nap to sacrum filled with twitching cilia. Despite its aberrant nature, most would describe the brood as becoming. Other humanoids find something sensual and primal about the feral creature that is all too compelling. The typical brood dresses in flowing, risque clothing. They enjoy the freedom of movement it grants, the attention it garners, and the ease of removal provided. Most brood are proud of their bodies, no matter what ‘flaws’ it might have as every last cell is a gift of the Dark Mother. They are each an example of Her divine pe

More on the Brood Black chitin horns curl away from the humanoid’s temples and under its pointed ears in the same manner as a ram’s. Likewise, the brood’s facial structure vaguely resembles a goat with a wide-flat nose and pointed chin. The creature is covered in fine, black downy from head to chitin hoof with a head of wild hair. One might mistake the brood for a satyr if not for its straight, human-like legs and blood-red furrow running from nap to sacrum filled with twitching cilia. Despite its aberrant nature, most would describe the brood as becoming. Other humanoids find something sensual and primal about the feral creature that is all too compelling. The typical brood dresses in flowing, risque clothing. They enjoy the freedom of movement it grants, the attention it garners, and the ease of removal provided. Most brood are proud of their bodies, no matter what ‘flaws’ it might have as every last cell is a gift of the Dark Mother. They are each an example of Her divine pe

More on the Brood Black chitin horns curl away from the humanoid’s temples and under its pointed ears in the same manner as a ram’s. Likewise, the brood’s facial structure vaguely resembles a goat with a wide-flat nose and pointed chin. The creature is covered in fine, black downy from head to chitin hoof with a head of wild hair. One might mistake the brood for a satyr if not for its straight, human-like legs and blood-red furrow running from nap to sacrum filled with twitching cilia. Despite its aberrant nature, most would describe the brood as becoming. Other humanoids find something sensual and primal about the feral creature that is all too compelling. The typical brood dresses in flowing, risque clothing. They enjoy the freedom of movement it grants, the attention it garners, and the ease of removal provided. Most brood are proud of their bodies, no matter what ‘flaws’ it might have as every last cell is a gift of the Dark Mother. They are each an example of Her divine pe