Appearance Varies By Organic Units Consumed. Asymmetrical Asseblage Most Likely Statistical Outcome. Comeliness Rating Irrelevant. Mission To Consume and Find Perfection On Going. Ersatz the Mimic Medium construct, neutral evil Armor Class 17 (natural armor) Hit Points 237 (25d8 + 125) Speed 40ft Fly 10ft Str 16 Dex 15 Con 20 Int 18 Wis 18 Cha 14 Saving Throws Str +9, Con +11 Damage Immunities poison; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical attacks that aren't adamantine Condition Immunities exhaustion, paralyzed, petrified, poisoned Senses darkvision 120 ft., passive Perception 14 Languages all Challenge 18 (20,000 XP) Antimagic Susceptibility. Ersatz is incapacitated while in the area of an antimagic field. If targeted by dispel magic, the Eresatz must succeed on a Constitution saving throw against the caster's spell s

An envious creature, the bust mimic always wanted a face. Time and time again it found itself fascinated and jealous at the expressive bits of flesh its prey wore as it devoured them. It wasn't until it found its way to a cemetery that it discovered the likenesses cast in stone forever watching over the dead. The mimic took a fancy to this form and found that after a time it could even 'throw its voice', though only in crude mimicry (pardon the pun) of what it's heard before - and often slightly misremembered. Thus the voices produced are haunting, broken, and sinister in the graveyard fog. It also learned how to skitter quickly when not noticed, getting closer and closer to its prey before it found the greatest gift of all that came with having a face - a pronounced mouth. Bust Mimic Small monstrosity (shapechanger), neutral Armor Class 14 (natural armor) Hit Points 65 (10d6 + 30) Speed 15

While the sire of the Waning Princes remained trapped in blood-honey amber deep in the feywild, from time to time a wisp of this archfey’s dark will slips free. Carried on the wings of direflies the emanation finds purchase in the flesh and marrow of a Waning Cult in the material world. There it grows along with the direfly hive until not only the cult, but an entire town is consumed. The resulting swarm of glowing, murmuring, devouring insects roils across the kingdom. Wherever the crimson lit cloud settles, death and madness follows as like locusts to grain, the direflies devour souls and the swarm grows. To be bitten by even a single direfly is to risk becoming a fresh hive as grubs grow rapidly in your bones. The emanation calls to the autumnal fey of the Waning Court and the mortal madmen who worship them. The foul host frolics in its wake, laying waste to settlements leagues away from the central mass. Yet, they are not immune to all-consuming chaos. It was after all, the Wa

Niktokris of the Crescent still wears the tattered attire of the long-dead moon god she served in life. The gossamer rags faintly glow with an eerie light despite centuries of bloodstains and filth. Her once-envied contours have desiccated to leathery skin and mishappen bones half-glimpse amid curse-scrolled bandages. Still, her wolf-claws still slice, and the exposed fangs of her gilded wolf-skull tear deep into the marrow and even into the soul. Niktokris wears a fine, gold and lapis lazuli headdress, neck bands, rings, bracelets, and other baubles. While not magical, this bounty could easily fill a noble’s coffers. The world was young when Niktokris of the Crescent took her last breath. The moon was hungry then and his followers spread the curse of lycanthropy far and wide to sate that need. Niktokris was the moon’s favored priestess, and some say concubine but how could one lay with a celestial body? Under her direction, the cult grew in power until all other religions bowed and

Covered in black fur, the Usurper’s form is crisscrossed with glowing red scars telling the tale of his violent exile, mercenary, and eventual return to take what was always rightfully his. Save, the position he holds at the head of a pride of dire lions was never his. That fell to the firstborn, whom the Usurper always despised. The Usurper also hated himself, for he was born with a loathsome secret. While he looked like a jet-black dire lion, there was something wrong, something different. He could understand other beasts, his blood ran vibrant red, and even the ugliest wound healed always leaving a wound behind. Worst of all he was as smart as any humanoid, and even then smarter than most. Oh, it chaffed to have that plain, ignorant firstborn be the favored child. The Usurper had good reason to fear his difference for once it was discovered when in a moment of weakness he saved the firstborn’s life from a rampaging elephant instead of being rewarded and praised, the black lion wa

The Golden Tiger, simply put, is exactly what it says it is, a great cat crafted from gold. At least, that is the exterior of the construct. Beneath the auric skin lay rune-enchanted plates, complex gears, struts, pistons, and everything one might expect to find in a fine piece of dwarven artifice. What one doesn’t expect, is the tangible, crystalized hate for all things humanoid at the center of the machine. It is this distilled loathing that brought the Golden Tiger to life after its creator tossed it aside in a fit of artistic malaise. The Golden Tiger knew it was perfect, resented being sidelined, and animated full of alien hate. The false beast can seamlessly shift from bipedal to quadruped and back again. As such, it dresses in flowing robes of bright red and orange. These colors match its malice-filled ruby eyes, as well as hide the blood it spills. The Golder Tiger hates humanoids with a passion. It seems them as flawed, weak, mewling creatures who do not deserve to control t

A sturdy merrow of great intelligence and force of presence, the Patroness’ scales are an abyssal black highlighted with corpse blue. Like most of her kin, the Patroness’ head resembles a predatory fish, though with a hint of almost elven-like beauty. Her body has been augmented by dark magic over the years adding a pair of thick, tentacles, a crown of spined urchins, and a chin that expands like a toad. These additions allow the Patroness extraordinary powers stolen from sea beasts, but her potent magics remind her greatest asset. The Patroness likes to strike bargains and curry favors, especially ones with tragic, twisted endings for the other party. This instinct comes from her magic mentors, a trio of hags she killed and devoured some time ago. The Patroness would like to think they would be proud of her for doing that. Haunting coastal waters, she offers deals to merfolk, merrow, and water breathers alike. Some seek her out for hidden treasures or safe passage on the waters. Oth

The Folk Hero is the best doppelganger there has ever been and ever will be, possibly the best humanoid too, by default. That is, if ones listens to ‘him’ anyway. No one is as slick as he, as quick as he, fights like he, hits like he, or matches wits like he. If the Folk Hero is to be believed, ‘he’ is the purest paragon. This is the role the Folk Hero takes wherever it sets up shop. Sometimes it bumps off an up-and-coming hero and takes their place, other times it comes up with a persona wholesale and struts into town. Unfortunately, the Folk hero is very good at playing this role. It isn’t long before the shapechanger wins over most of the community and is showered with gold and more importantly glory. It’ll turn the populace against his rivals as well as any outsiders for it should always be in the spotlight, naturally. Oddly for a genderless creature, the Folk Hero is quite the misogynist, never taking female roles and looking down on women of any skill. They are often ‘his’ first

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. One always hears the Skipper coming, even if they don’t know where he is until it is too late. This particular lizardfolk displays intelligence above his common kind, more than mere cold-blooded viciousness, and a perchance for fashion. The last point finds the reptile glad in fine coats tailored for its frame, jabots, waistcoats, and even trousers. Given his frame and environs, however, the Skipper goes through clothes at a clipper’s pace, which may account for his appetite for treasure. He needs someone way to pay for it. What never changes is the arcane clock lodged in his ribcage with scar tissue around it, nor the hook for a hand lost to a lucky elven adventurer. Well, not so lucky. The Skipper eventually ate the little bastard and took the enchanted sword that took said extremity for his own. The Skipper is a pirate, first and foremost. He loves treasure and will go to great lengths and commit many bloody deeds to obtain it. However, he does put on the

Is there anything more symbolic of death than a withering bouquet laid on a coffin or headstone? There is something beguiling about the sight that holds one’s attention and sometimes compels you to get closer to see what flowers were left and for whom. The bouquet mimic takes advantage of this tendency of its favorite prey, the grieving. It has taken the form of a clutch of dried flowers wrapped in fading paper and frayed string. The design it makes beguiles the mind when observed and draws meals over, even tempting them to pick it up. The monstrosity has even developed microscopic spores which irritate the senses the same as a large dose of plant pollen. It doesn’t care about the state its prey is in, as long as it can eat it. Bouquet Mimic Small monstrosity (shapechanger), neutral Armor Class 13 (natural armor) Hit Points 60 (11d6 + 22) Speed 15ft Str 15 Dex 15 Con 14 Int 5 Wis 11 Cha 14 Skil

One might assume that the Vizier is the sidekick to the main villain of a story rather than the true, infernal puppetmaster and that is just how the fiend likes it. The Vizier appears as an exotic and unique bird covered with vibrant orange and blue plumage. Its long neck is reminiscent of a crane while its beak is a short, hooked affair specked with golden flecks that glint in the sun. Its talons, however, are as black as night to the point where they appeared charred and muted to the rest of its body. That is, until, the Vizier reveals its turn nature. Between its features a multitude of weeping, vestigial eyes manifest. Within its mouth resides a human tongue capable of articulate, hateful speech. Its claws leave long stretches of the Abyss itself in the wounds left behind, robbing its victims of natural health. The Vizier loves to be in control but hates to be the figurehead. Too many times it’s seen its kin dominate an area only to be felled by the first adventurer or assassin

When swathed in her natural scales, the Lady of Briers is a towering, wingless wyrm of indigo and lilac tones. Along her sinuous spine runs a ridge of tangled barbs that may be natural thorns or bone spurs; perhaps both. Her face is long but flat, like a crocodile, the edges lifting in a fixed, mocking smile. The Lady bears a quartet of powerful legs, the foreclaws of which are as articulate as any goldsmith’s hands. However, this is not the form in which the Lady of Briers is countered. Instead, people encounter a sultry elven woman with deep green skin and bright violet eyes. She keeps her raven hair in a plaited braid tangled with vines and wears a sweeping, black robe. The Lady carries an ornate staff embossed with mithril vine-work that is topped with a smoked-crystal crow skull. Few find it all that the forest gorse always parts for her and a sardonic smile hangs on her thin lips. The Lady of Briers wants one thing, solitude. Her forest is her domain, her hunting ground, her

Carried on monochrome wings as black as the void and as bright as a star, the cosmic siren haunts a sphere’s spaceways luring spaceships to their doom or singing a moon’s populace to their final rest, and then feasting on their ruined corpses. Her body is that of a lovely maid save as large as an ogre and with feet that end in sickle-like talons. A flowing, charcoal mane serves as the only clothing she ever wears, her lips stained ruby red by diet, and her eyes smoldering like red dwarves. Unlike a normal siren, she also sports a thick, plummed tail as powerful as any dragons. As the cosmic siren often leads a flock of lesser kin from planet to planet, one might wonder how such a feat as managed as normal sirens are not immune to the rigors of open space. Simply, they charm a ship's crew to carry the flock from place to place until it is time to explode like a flock of bats from their cave to claim new victims. Cosmic Siren Large fey, chaotic evil

Wherever the acherontia’s wings flutter, doom shall follow. Everyone knows this adage and feels unrelenting dread whenever one of these moth-like humanoids appears in the vicinity. Standing just over 6 feet tall, not including antennae, the archeronita has a waspish figure - pun intended. Their spindly limbs are covered in a fine downy, their wings a colorful collection of skulls. Most find their faces vaguely human, if not for the massive, glowing red eyes. The humanoids wear free-flowing shrouds befitting their cosmic duties. The doomsayer never seeks conflict but is often set upon whenever they appear. Whenever the acherontia arrives at a location it is merely to watch the tragedy unfold. However, many falsely believe slaying them will avert disaster. Often, this leads to further heartache for while the doomsayers are a peaceful lot, they are not pacifists and will defend themselves. Acherontia Doomsayer Medium humanoid (Acherontia), lawful neutral

Some would say that nebulas from which it stars are born. Sometimes, though, this comic womb produces only stillborn matter and eventually becomes a hungering, hateful force onto itself. Pulling itself together into a congealed mass of dust, rage, and radiation, the nebula seeks out life and burns it to ash. Thankfully, the resulting ooze is much smaller than a heavenly feature, but it is still a deadly menace floating through the spaceways or searing its way through a planetoid’s populace. Even worse, humanoids slain by the nebula find no rest but instead rise as an ever-growing tide of Solarwind Specter just as bent as reducing all to dust. Congealed Nebula Huge ooze, unaligned Armor Class 8 Hit Points 150 (12d12 + 72) Speed 276 (24d10 + 144) Climb 20ft Str 23 Dex 7 Con 22 Int 1 Wis 12 Cha 3 Saving Throws Con+9 Skills Perception +4 Damage Immunities acid, cold, radiant

Crafted from enchanted glass and rune-etched metal, the curator appears fragile at first blush. However, the first time they are struck by a weapon and fail to crack, their hardened nature becomes apparent. The core chassis of the construct resembles a smokey decanter swirling with mist that forms shapes related to whatever ship the curator is bound to. Its head sits where a cap would be, each ornate and unique among curators. A pair of golden orbs float within the cap and serve as eyes. Its arm bones are inlaid with silver and gold with joins and curved veins of flexible crystal. The liquid flowing within varies in color and texture, depending on what potions the construct has stored away. Part ships steward, part medic, the curator bounds to a ship and crew. It will go out of its way to make the crew’s life easier as well as keep them safe. It does the same for the ship and relentlessly attacks trespassers. Curator Large construct, unaligned Large construct, u

A strange and alien monstrosity, the caricature shares many qualities with the common mimic. However, whatever dark corner of the spheres where it developed imbued the creature with real intelligence and wicked cunning. The caricature most commonly sneaks aboard vessels as a piece of cargo. Once aboard, however, it quickly kills a crew member or passenger and takes its place. From there, the monster plays the remaining humanoids’ paranoias against one another. Slowly, but surely, it widdles down its prey until those that remain are too weak and too few to resist. Then it lurks on the dead vessel for salvagers to come by. Or, if a ship puts into port before then, it escapes to a new vessel to start again. Caricature Medium monstrosity (shapechanger), neutral Armor Class 12 (natural armor) Hit Points 52 (8d8 + 16) Speed 30ft Str 18 Dex 12 Con 15 Int 10 Wis 10 Cha 16 Skills Deception +5, Stealth +5

Everything and everyone, even mimics, wants to be remembered once they are gone. For the monstrosities, however, this is more easily said than done. The cenotaph mimic found an inventive way around the problem - by becoming a monument to someone else’s greatness. This towering horror became, well, towering, due to the sheer number of fools that came to pay the respects. In turn, it also found a way to add their names to the list. In doing so, the mimic not only unnerves all but the bravest pray but found a way to take on a bit of others' glory as its own for a mimic or two. Now its descendants haunt many a cemetery or abandoned courtyard, larger-than-life monstrosities lording over their lesser kin. Cenotaph Mimic Huge monstrosity (shapechanger), neutral Armor Class 14 (natural armor) Hit Points 133 (14d12 + 42) Speed 15ft Str 22 Dex 12 Con 17 Int 11 Wis 15 Cha 11 Saving Throws Str +9, Con

Spat from a dead, but a hungry star, voidcallers begin life as a nebulous black cloud feeding on the ambient misery all sentient things produce. Those that survive this larval stage develop a physical body over time, but can always revert back to their primordial state. The uninformed mistake voidcallers for some manner of undead, which is not surprising given their vampiric nature nor their bat-like humanoid appearance.Long, thick horns curl from the sides of their angular heads with upturned noises and a jaw that unhinges all the way back to just below those horns. Instead of fangs, though, voidcallers sport a lamprey-like hole still capable of producing speech. Their leathery wings connect flanks to underarms, and their concave abdomen tapers off into a pair of gangly, but powerful tail of rubbery flesh. Most often, voidcallers are encountered wearing humanoid disguises. Feindish souls, they build and command nefarious organizations including cults, criminal enterprises, necromance