The first cauldron mimic didn’t choose the form it took, but rather was bewitched by a swamp hag into serving as her cooking pot. Once the spell wore off, the monstrosity didn’t bother switching to any other form as it was already getting a steady stream of humanoid parts to nibble on. Over time, its descendants absorbed slivers of the dark power from that hag and others until they become invaluable companions and tools for the vicious crones. Cauldron Mimic Large monstrosity (shapechanger), neutral Armor Class 12 (natural armor) Hit Points 102 (12d10 + 36) Speed 15ft Str 17 Dex 12 Con 16 Int 5 Wis 14 Cha 12 Skills Stealth +5 Damage Resistances bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical attacks that aren't adamantine Damage Immunities acid Condition Immunities prone Senses darkvision 60 ft., passive Perception 12 Languages - Challenge 4 (1,100 X...

While most mimics are solitary creatures, occasionally a spawning produces two of such like minds and habits that they become inseparable. Such is the nature of bunk mimics and as such these 'twins' take the form of a bunk bed, their forms merged into one another until it is time to strike. When prey draws near, the bunk twins pull apart, flank their target, and use life-honed tactics to take the meal down and then share the spoils. Even when separated from one another, the pair have a telepathic bond that cannot be broken. Sleep tight. Bunk Mimic Medium monstrosity (shapechanger), neutral Armor Class 12 (natural armor) Hit Points 60 (8d8 + 24) Speed 15ft Str 17 Dex 11 Con 16 Int 5 Wis 14 Cha 144 Skills Stealth +44 Damage Immunities acid Condition Immunities prone Senses darkvision 60 ft., passive Perception 12 Languages - Challenge 3 (700 XP) Shap...

Equal parts horse and lobster, the xallion’s head consists of a ‘face’ full of feelers around a vertical slash for a mouth, boiled-white eyes, and crusty shell plates that run down its neck, along its back, and end where a tail of grasping tentacles begins. The rest of its powerful, quadrupedal body is covered with mucus-slicked hair. Its four legs appear sturdy, but their boneless nature becomes evident whenever the limbs warp and curl to move swiftly across unsteady terrain. In fact, it looks like the horror should topple when at full gallop, but it rarely does. Horror on the Hoof. Cultivated by the Gloomriders , xallions used to run free somewhere deep in the far realms. They are not vicious by nature, despite being carnivores, and once bonded to a creature are unsettlingly affectionate. Occasionally a feral herd will find their way to the material plane, where they blend in with the local wild horse population. It’s not long before they find their way into the hearts and minds...

The gloomrider wears a battered, black duster that bears a moist sheen; the mucus coating the gunslinger’s chalky skin saturates the fabric and exudes a cloying scent, not unlike sweet tobacco. Its ‘fingers’, a squirm of four tendrils, anxiously twitch a mere breath away from the butt of twin revolvers in slaad-skin holsters. These strange shooting irons bear cylinders of scintillating crystals and spit chunks of chaos-spawned stone. The drifter’s face consists of a single orifice that serves as the mouth, nose, and sensory organ. More small tendrils spiral from the opening, petrified back in the general shape of a head. Thankfully, the gloomstalkers wide-brimmed hat usually obscures the unsettling visage. The rest of the uninvited horror’s attire matches its profession with a fancy vest covered with deep-speech sigils, black trousers, naga-hide boots, and spurs crafted from dead stars. The last accessory makes their every step jangle with soul-jarring tones not born of this sphere. ...

There once was a mimic who’d seen too many of its fellow monstrosities slain by adventurers. Craving revenge, it searched the land for a form that not only would heroes fail to overcome but would strike fear in their callow hearts. Long story short, it’s a gazebo. Gazebo Mimic Huge monstrosity (shapechanger), neutral Armor Class 11 (natural armor) Hit Points 85 (9d12 + 27) Speed 15ft Str 19 Dex 10 Con 17 Int 5 Wis 15 Cha 15 Skills Stealth +6 Damage Immunities acid; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical attacks Condition Immunities prone Senses darkvision 60 ft., passive Perception 12 Languages - Challenge 6 (2,300 XP) Shapechanger. The mimic can use its action to polymorph into a peaceful gazebo or back into its true, amorphous form. Its statistics are the same in each form. Any equipment it is wearing or carrying isn't transformed. It r...

A towering, humanoid hulk of sunburned flesh and rusting metal, this fiend is ready to burst at the seams. Barbed wire barely holds together its riven chest, with an unfathomable amount of ammunition rattling within. How the bullet stores which replaced the infernal’s organs are fed into clusters of spinning barrels it sports instead of forearms. The war beast’s lower half is girded in ragged denim and bolted-on metal boots to stabilize the fiend as it lets loose volley after volley. Bullet Addict. No one can rightly say if the crank fiends existed in whatever pocket of Hell the Demon Winds stem from, or if they came to be as the foul torrent ripped across the Material Plane. The answer doesn’t matter much in the face of reality. Crank fiends lumber wherever the Demon Winds blow, not to torture mortals nor to spread abyssal influence. Instead, the giants seek more bullets to swallow and add to their stores. It doesn’t matter the caliber or even the viability of the ammo. All a cra...

A gleaming grin beneath the battered, hat brim. The fluttering of a ragged, human-leather coat. The glint of hell-iron buttons. A pair of smoldering revolvers. The fiend’s mein strikes fear in all but the most stalwart of hearts. Even those stout souls falter when the duster billows open, revealing an abyss of swirling sand and demonic screams. And then, the infernal’s devil kin come spilling out… Living Portal. The duster devil was once a gateway to Hell, in fact it still is. The only difference is the demonic energies flowing through space awakened a twisted sentience. From there, the duster devil reshaped itself to something vaguely humanoid and adopted a distinctive style. Armed with a pair of peacebreaker pistols, the infernal now wanders wherever the Demon Winds blow, disgorging hellish hordes while it searches for other ‘sleeping’ portals to awaken. Duster Devil Medium fiend, neutral evil Armor Class 15 (natural armor) ...

Much like a trapdoor spider, not everything about the reliquary mimic's appearance is fake. In this case, the mimic contains a holy-person's bone, usually a hand or skull, within its mass. This is rarely a saint's bone, but often a hapless cleric's. The reliquary mimic leeches off of the body part's connection to the divine to cast miraculous spells. Sometimes, it uses this ability to better imitate a magical item so it might be moved from one played-out dungeon to a richer hunting ground. Other times, it unleashes these abilities to slay its meals. Reliquary Mimic Small monstrosity (shapechanger), neutral Armor Class 13 (natural armor) Hit Points 71 (11d6 + 33) Speed 15ft Str 8 Dex 15 Con 16 Int 10 Wis 17 Cha 8 Saving Throws Wis +5 Skills Religion +4, Stealth +6 Damage Resistances necrotic, radiant Damage Immunities acid Condition Immunities prone Senses darkvisi...

Leathery, sun-baked skin clings to the fiend’s pittled bones, tearing like dry parchment with a puff of sand as the creature moves. Inexplicably, old wounds heal as new ones open, creating a sanity-grating sound from the horror. The parched fiend’s body is humanoid, its legs ending in split-hooves. Its chapped lips are torn in a perpetual sneer, and sunken sockets are empty save a red pinpoint. The infernal carries a whip just as desiccated with itself that is covered in jagged salt crystals. Whenever in flight, the fiend manifests wings comprised of salt and sand. Shepherds of the Damned. Mortals who succumb to the Demon Winds do not pass on to their just reward, but instead remain caught in its sinister flow. These spirits are stretched thin and crave the warmth they had in life. Most tatter away into nothing more than mournful sighs and pained screams. Some become undead horrors, and it is these specters that the parched fiend takes command over. It harvests their agony for othe...