A beautiful woman with the lower half of a diamond-back rattlesnake, the six-shooter always brings a quick smile and a quicker draw to sun-backed scrublands. They keep their hair wild and long beneath battered cowboy hats and often wear embroidered waistcoats, crisscrossed gunbelts studded with jewels, and dusty ponchos of complex designs. Most humanoids find them beguiling creatures despite their plainly demonic nature... and six arms. It's easy to assume a relation between the marilith's of the Abyss and the sidewinders that ride the Demon Wind. Both fiends violently dismiss this notion. While mariliths are domineering leaders of demon armies, six-shooters are independent creatures that value their freedom above all else. They travel to the mortal realms on the Demon Wind not to gather souls but to seek the best gunfighters for a challenge. This almost always ends with the six-shooter adding the slain mortal's sidearm to her trophy collection. While the six-shooter ri...

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...