Contained in a cloud of biting hoarfrost, these risen bats fly on wings of flaking leather and icicle bones. They seek the warmth of the living as they once sought blood, but still like to bite. Each tiny mouth is stuffed full of crimson shards formed from the flash-frozen blood of their victims. Each chomp breaks some fangs but forges others anew. To be in their presence is to feel the biting chill of death. -The Breathless Bestiary Icewings Medium undead (Swarm), unaligned Armor Class 12 Hit Points 18 (4d8) Speed 0 ft Fly 30 ft Str 3 Dex 15 Con 10 Int 2 Wis 12 Cha 4 Damage Vulnerabilities fire Damage Resistances bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical attacks Damage Immunities cold Condition Immunities charmed, frightened, grappled, paralyzed, petrified, prone, restrained, stunned Senses darkvision 60 ft, passive Perception 11 Languages - Challe...

The Wickman comes with fiery wrath, A ghostly figure on his deadly path. His form is charred with burning flames, And in his wake, he leaves only hungering remains. With every step he takes and seethes, His fiery touch burns like molten seas. And in the flames, his howls doth sound, A haunting echo all around. The Wickman's wrath is not to be ignored, For those who cross him will be deplored. His ghostly hand will strike you down, And turn your flesh to ash, from sole to crown. His laughter echoes through the night, As he sets his victims alight. Their screams are drowned in flames so bright, Their bones left blackened in his sight. Beware the Wickman's fiery wrath, Or suffer in the flames of his path. For once he sets his gaze on you, Your fate is sealed, your flesh burnt through. So if you see his fiery form, Run for your life, avoid the storm. For if he catches you alone, Your bones will be his fiery drone. -The Candlestick Maker'...

"Not sure what breed o' gobbo this blighter used to be. Ain't been their kind that's infested the swamps fer ages. Yet, here it is. Figure that the little thing o' purple rags o' flesh and pitted bones got infested by some sort of leech-mite things. Seems it was just as poisonous ta the vermin as they were to it. Now dozens of the fat, vile squirmers writhe in its porous form. Careful they don't get on you or the damn things will eat ya alive. Hell, they even devour the risen. Cunning bastard always lays traps too. Be careful." -Fossor Carvilius Graeme The Bog Beast Small undead, chaotic neutral Armor Class 13 Hit Points 78 (12d6 + 36) Speed 0ft Flight 40ft (hover) Str 7 Dex 16 Con 16 Int 9 Wis 14 Cha 16 Skills: Perception +5, Survival +5 Condition Immunities charmed, exhaustion, frightened, grappled, paralyzed, petrified, poisoned, pro...

"Pretty obvious why they call this spirit Green Bones. What's not so obvious, at first, is that it's a ghost rather than some ambulatory collection of moldy marrow. Green Bones likes it that way, often gathering walkin' skeletons flensed by her thorns to serve as fodder. She even makes sure they grow fungus. Devious elf this one, though, her heart used to be in the right place instead o' chunks of it floatin' in her ribcage like crystalized ruby. Used to be a hunter o' monsters, she was. Still is, but her definition o' monster has just change a bit. Sometimes, she's grindin' vampires to bits n' the next night she's endin' villagers that took too much from the forest. More menace than help. Ya all know what to do." -Fossor Carvilius Graeme Green Bones Medium undead, chaotic neutral Armor Class 13 Hit Points 71 (11d8 + 22) Speed 0ft ...

"One might think I was never much for writin', but keeping track o' the dead was part o' my profession. Suppose it still is. This dead fella. Well, he fancies keepin' track o' the living n' making them jus as dead as he. Started out as a scribe then made fancy, illuminated tomes. Some rouges broke in to steal his work n' the vain fool tried stoppin' them. They forced him to swallow ink till he died. Weren't a pretty death neither. He makes pretty letters that slays folks tho. I'll give em that. Makes ink outta their agony too. His wells never run dry. Let's see if your swords are mightier than his pen, eh?" -Fossor Carvilius Graeme The Calligrapher Medium undead, chaotic evil Armor Class 13 Hit Points 65 (10d8 + 20) Speed 0ft Flight 40ft (hover) Str 6 Dex 18 Con 12 Int 9 Wis 16 Cha 17 Skills: Nature +2, Perception +6, Ste...

"Most folks see forest gnomes as gentle souls n' I suppose this spirit started out that way. It ain't anymore, but I'd not be bringin' this to yer lot if'n it was a benevolent ghost, eh? Little more than a wee silhouette with green glowing eyes, ya can spot barbed braches brustin from its form here n' there. Rumor has it they were cast out by their druidic order. Somethin' about wantin' to embrace the natural rot o' the world. Ended up strung up on a brier to die. Die they did. Now, they want to bring death to the rest of the wood. We can't have that, can we? Be careful tho, it can change into anything risen it's seen before and back again. Makes it damn hard to stop, that it does. Worst o' all, the animals it once protected follow it in a rotten horde now. Ever fought a zombie bear? Well, yer about to." -Fossor Carvilius Graeme The Caretaker Small undead, chaotic evil Armor Class ...

"Lady folk tend to like this fella, least till they see him up close. That's when they notice his slim, exposed ribcage and the fist-sized phase spiders crawling over 'nother within. Always known drow got a thing fer siders, but this one takes it a bit too far. Stories hold he used to be a wizard o' some sort, played at being a lady's fella n' toothless. Not literal, mind'ya. He had a pretty smile. He was also a spy for an evil drow house deep below the city. Problem was he failed in his missions a few too many times n' as punishment his people fed him live spiders till he died. Course, didn't stay dead. Never do. He don't bother his own people none, but continues to terrorize the surface. Dun know how ya feel 'bout spiders. Dun care. He needs to be laid to rest." -Fossor Carvilius Graeme The Colony Medium undead, chaotic evil Armor Class 13 Hit Points 71 ...

"Some still think this orcish horror be a comely lass despite being dead, see-through green, and riddled with black veins. She's shapely I suppose. Dun wear much other than the blood-soaked bandages she died in. Different tides fer different ships 'suppose. Any rate, dun matter if she raises your mast or no, she'll infecta with her blackblood just the same. Seems she died o' her infected wounds in the sewers after escapin' the keep's dungeons. I'm sure she suffered there too given her state. Now she's a bitter thing looking to spread pain among humanfolk n' their allies. She hates orcs that truck with humans the most o' all. Beware her caress, no matter how temptin' it may be." -Fossor Carvilius Graeme The Blackblood Medium undead, chaotic evil Armor Class 12 Hit Points 82 (11d8 + 33) Speed 0ft Flight 40ft (hover) Str 8 Dex 14 C...

"Let me say this fella had skin as rich as a desert sunset a'fore he died, well was murdered. Ya know how these things go. The restless dead dun die in their sleep. He was one of those gobs, the big ones with martial pride n' the skills to match. Nasty fella too, from what I heard, like a bandit captain o somethin' He'd always struck as the sun was settin, so his kind would make a grand entrance n have the cover o' darkness soon enough. Called him the Dusk Wraith, a name he reveled in, n' now carries beyond the grave. His pride, as is so often the case, be his undoing. Folks knew when he'd strike out. Set up a pit full o' oil n' alchemist fire. Oh, he went up like a second, screaming sunset. Came back 'life' one too, so did his troops as lesser puppets under his will. As those soldiers ran out, he recruited undead of other sorts to his banner. Instead of stealing gold n' goods, they fleece people o' their souls now....

"Salt o' the earth, this one. Literally from what've I've gathered. Carried the blood of an elemental in him. Meant he had a bit o' a green thumb, figurative like. He was a washed-out grey even a'fore he died. However, other farmers didn't take too keen to his cultivatin' skills. He always got his crops to start early with a harvest none could believe. Oh, they made up some fiction 'bout witchcraft, sacrifices, n' the like to justify killin' em. Hell, those all might even be true. They thought it would be amusing to bury him in his fields alive after beatin' him to death's door. They weren't ready for him sprouting up the next fall, though, nor his new, bloody harvest. Now, the folks he killed first, I suppose they deserve it, but you know how the dead are. Their rage can never be sated. That valley still be fallow, the peasants livin' in terror. High time someone lays the Plowman to rest. Have ya got th...

"Ah, my former brotherhood. They still exist even after all these years. One thing that never goes outta business is the dead, after all. Nor does meetin' out justice. The Order of the Unquiet Grave, they mix the two. Least, they try too. Cause you know who needs justice more than most? Yep, the dead. While unholy vengeance drives the undead I tell you about, fossers go huntin' to see wrongs put right when they aint tending to graves. Sometimes, they even take the aggrieved dead with em. " -Fossor Carvilius Graeme Fosser of the Unquiet Grave Medium humanoid ((any)), chaotic good Armor Class 15 (half plate) Hit Points 65 (10d8 + 20) Speed 30ft Str 14 Dex 10 Con 15 Int 14 Wis 13 Cha 16 Saving Throws Con +4 Skills: Insight +3, Investigation +4, Religion +4 Damage Resistances necrotic Senses passive Perception 11 Languages Common ...

"Hard to tell what color this lady's scales used ta be, don't much matter in the end, suppose. This grey horror once fought to slay rampaging dragons, only to be betrayed by the common folk fer being born of those hated lizards. Drove some mystic lance in her chest, broke it off. Guess what weapon she carries now as the hungry dead? It aint intact but it acts that way. Suppose she's atoning fer her sins now, but racking up a whole host o' new ones. The Lancer claims she's protecting dragon-kind, but killin everythin' else aint the way to do it." -Fossor Carvilius Graeme The Lancer Medium undead, lawful evil Armor Class 13 Hit Points 65 (10d8 + 20) Speed 0ft Flight 40ft (hover) Str 7 Dex 16 Con 15 Int 11 Wis 14 Cha 18 Skills: Perception +5 Condition Immunities charmed, exhaustion, frightened, grappled, paralyzed, petrified, poisoned, pr...

"Several someones slit this bastard's throat and stuck him full of daggers. That much be clear from the weapons still lodged in his corpus and the ever-bleedin' wound. I reckon one o' them carved out his eyes n' replaced it with gems. I wished they hadn't with the way those damn things gleam. Even give me the willies, which aint easy. They also seem to be the source of his ability to gather a new ill-begotten fortune on this side o' the grave. Save he's converting suffering directly inta currency. Do the world a favor n' cash this fella in, will ya?" -Fossor Carvilius Graeme The Jeweler Medium undead, neutral evil Armor Class 14 Hit Points 105 (14d8 + 42) Speed 0ft Flight 40ft (hover) Str 7 Dex 18 Con 16 Int 11 Wis 16 Cha 17 Skills: Insight +6 Condition Immunities charmed, exhaustion, frightened, grappled, paralyzed, petrifi...

"Most folks don't understand the nature o' this particular geist. He looks like flakes o' pale blue floating around pitted bones with the occasional clump o' like color flesh. Don't know his name neither. Not sure he ever had one, truth be told. Just some poor fool born from air n' flesh, genasi they be called, with the bad luck of being a pretty boy. Ended up being sold to a harem by repulsed parents, raised to please the eye and touch. Till his last owner weren't pleased no more when the dancer could no longer hide his wrinkles. Sadistic bastard, the last one with the leash. He hired a dark wizard to force the genasi to dance at a banquet until he dropped dead from exhaustion, then for a bit after that. Oh, how the crowd laughed... Oh, how the crowd screamed when the newborn undead escaped his yoke and a lifetime of rage tore them apart. Well, a swirl of silverware, flatware, broken bones, wood shards, and anything else caught in Dan...

"Ifn' you think a bugbear be a sneaking, dangerous bastard. Well, friend. I've got terrible news for ya. They are even worse when they are dead. The gloaming gutter terrorized a human city for months on end as part of a goblinoid war party workin outta the sewers. She left piles of mutilated peasants n' took out heroes as they slept. When folks finally got wise to where the bugbears and gobbos were comin from, it became a bloodbath in the opposite direction. Not that it did alot of good, as the gutter got away... for a few days anyway. She was eventually caught, but not executed right off bat. 'Stead, they put her in stocks, letting folks pelt her with rotten food n' other things, giving her jus enough grub to keep her starving slow. Their cruelty made sense in the moment, but cruel deaths breed ghosts. Not that city's got a bigger problem, one that's haunted them fer generations." -Fossor Carvilius Graeme Gloamling Gutt...