From the shoulders down there is nothing remarkable about the average occularia compared to other humanoids. Their bodies would be mistaken for that of an elf’s, lithe and angular. One might be suspicious as to the origins of bumpy, bruised patches on their elbows and knees, Or maybe the fact that their fingers and toes are uniform in length. It is the occularia’s head which casts it as a different evolutionary path than other humanoids. Some even believe that these strange kin are actually aberrations. Given the nest of eye-stalks the occularia have instead of hair, their sharp teeth, and only skin where eyes would normally be in the face, this is not a difficult conclusion to come to. However, it is an inaccurate one. Despite their dark origins, the occularia are a humanoid race, capable of reproduction through normal means, though a great deal are still dreamed into being. Their origin point is the tortured nightmares of a floating, one-eyed terror kept perpetually sleeping by a ni...

Bloated by stolen fluids, the gaunt fiend looks like its sickly-green skin might rip at any moment. The multitude of boney spines sticking out of the seams betwixt its muscles doesn’t help either. Yet, somehow the abyssal creature keeps itself together. The rags it wears, however, do not last long. Yet, the fiend always finds fresh cloth from its victims to skewer. Its face, such as it is, is flat with a sunken, rotten hole where eyes and a mouth should be; viscous mucous dribbles from all three. The fiend can also bloom membranous sails from its back, catching the Demon Winds and flying as swift and directed as a winged beast. Cactus Fiend Large fiend, neutral evil Armor Class 16 Hit Points 189 (18d10 + 90) Speed 20ft Flight 60ft Str 17 Dex 22 Con 20 Int 12 Wis 17 Cha 15 Saving Throws Str +7, Con +9 Skills Nature +5, Survival +7 Damage Resistances: bludgeoning, pier...

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. ...

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) ...

Born into a body of dirt and sand-scoured bones, the grit fiend is an unholy blend of beast and human. Its lower half is covered with desiccated brush mimicking shaggy for with split hooves for feet. The fiend’s torso is whip thin, its wiry arms end in spindly claws. Its head is that of a disfigured goat with a cleft palate perpetually sneering and antlers sprawling from its temples instead of goat horns. Blood Drinker. Manifested by the Demon Wind as it whistles through the Fractured plane, the grit fiend gorges on mortal blood whenever the chance arises. The infernal not only guzzles freshly spilled blood and laps at it as a cat might, but every sandy mote of its being absorbs it. The fiend’s ideal state is stained from crown to sole in wet crimson, which doesn’t stay moist for long. Much like water atop desert sand, the blood disappears quickly leaving the grit fiend in an ever-present state of thirst. Grit Fiend Medium fiend, neutral evil ...

The elemental wears a golden mask, angelic in its visage with a silver crown floating just above. Its robes befit an actor playing royalty in the finest theaters; a deep, royal purple trimmed with golden fur. The body within is made up of hundreds of gem-like motes of sound sparkling in the light, though its arms end in long skewers tipped with crooked digits. Arrogance Incarnate. Second in self-importance only to Phantasmagoria itself, the maestoso is born from blustering speeches and fiery orations. A fragment of the demagogue which spoke it in existence dwells within the elemental along with an uncanny spark of intelligence for its kind. The maestoso cannot stand for anything upstaging it and sees every flesh-and-blood creature well beneath its station. While Phantasmagoria finds these particular sound elementals tiring, it often puts them in charge of ongoing schemes for a time so it does not have to micromanage every little thing. Maestoso Medium element...

Enrobed in bright silks, the forte strikes a shape similar to a dervish dancer, save the spaces between the fabric containing little more than a deep-violet murk. It wears a lacquered mask bearing a bemused expression which is framed by an arrangement of ever-swirling scarves that give an impression of a head. The elemental's hands further betray its alien nature, as they are fingerless balls forever vibrating with barely controlled sound. Riot Rondo. Phantasmagoria draws these elementals from cries of incoherent rage and mob justice. The resulting forte is a loud creature, both in volume and self-expression. But this is not a harmless artistic spirit. Instead, it strives to create dancing tunes using the pained shouts of others as it beats them to death. The arch elemental values fortes not only for their malicious ability, but also their loud natures can break magical silences which can be deadly to its kin. Grave Medium elemental, chaotic neutral ...

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...

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 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...