Defeating the dirge bard shouldn't have been too difficult. Your party waited until he was alone, strumming idly on his mandolin, to strike. The problem is, that this bard is never alone. The rogue's sneak attack was caught halfway by the mandolin's suddenly animated neck twisting around their arm. The instrument's strings screamed along with the dirge's thunderous spell sending the fighter bouncing across shattering cobblestone. The dirge isn't even playing anymore but the fast tempo keeps on. He's moving quicker than he should, casting spells on the go. Now the mandolin has sprouted teeth and is chewing on the rogue. Yep, it's going to be a rough night. Unsurprisingly, the first strumming mimic was crafted by a bard seeking a way to make a companion and self-playing instrument rolled into one. Just as unsurprisingly, that bard ended up being one of his creations' first meals. Since then, the strumming mimics have realized they need musicians to ...

As you approach the abandoned campsite, it doesn't seem that it's been that way for long at all. The fire pit in the middle still smolders, traces of smoke lifting into the air. Blood pools here and there. There's even an abandoned longsword not far from one of the tents. Speaking of the tents, they are battered and dusty. This doesn't mesh with the fresh signs of carnage. The firepit flares up, scorching your allies. Tendrils shoot from the ash, catching your leg and dragging you toward the ringed stones... or as it turns out an ember-filled maw. The misbegotten polyp of a hearth or kiln mimic, a grill mimic spends its first years living a feral existence in the wilds. It infiltrates campsites or abandoned settlements because its prey often gathers near fires and is lazy enough to light them in the same place out of convenience. It can strike while a humanoid arranges wood and leaves to start a blaze. However, the monstrosity isn't harmed by fire. So, when the ...

The famed jewel you plumbed this dungeon for is just within your grasp and is currently in the grasp of a one-armed corpse wearing piecemeal armor. It was smart to chop off its head, just in case. The gem feels almost stuck to the ornate gauntlet that is holding it. Maybe you'd get the fingers to open up if you put the metal glove on. Oww! It stings a bit! OH! It's starting to chew! Worse yet, the lost arm has come skittering into view, pulled along by the other gauntlet as it sprouts eyes and teeth. Roll for initiative! Pardon the pun, but the gauntlet mimics came along because someone thought they'd be handy to have around. Imagine not being able to lose your weapon because it's stuck to your hand, or being able to really grapple an opponent with extra force, and it even gives you a boost opening locked doors! It almost seems like a good idea, and if you're a half-mad arcanist or warlord sure, why not breed a mimic for that purpose. Most folks have two hands...

They seemed an easy enough target, this sophisticated villain with more style than sense. They were well known for carrying an umbrella everywhere they went but not a sword. That should have been your first clue, friend. When blades were pulled and spells reddied that shade spread wide deflecting your alpha strike. Tentacles spread from under the umbrella's hood like a jellyfish, wrapping around the wizard, sickening them, holding them tight until SNAP the umbrella bit off their head. Then without more than a salute, off the villain floated on their monstrous accessory. Oh well, better luck next time. The parasol mimic is an odd creature, certainly. It prefers the shape of an umbrella, and that's not really very strange at all. Certainly, it can predict the weather, shrug off cold rain, and tug its owner - or meal- into the sky. All of this makes it more than the average mimic and points to some manner of arcane manipulation. However, it feels a strong kinship with jellyfish ...