Perhaps they were once natural beasts, but natural beasts cannot survive the wastes of Corpsefall. No, this beast is far from natural, and for that, I believe nature is grateful.
Spindly, steel spiders, spinning silk so sharp. (100-word sub)
Pets mind you. Not exotic monster companions. No saddled dire-boars to be found here. No purple worm caravans.
Beard grooming is a life-long process divided between two schools of thought: harsh mineral treatments or more the natural approach. The popular naturalist approach requires beard-spiders that live off lice, fleas and other small insects.
Prophesies exist for a reason, legends of dragons destroying the lands and violent struggles for survival often have a grain of truth to them. The Plague Dragons grain of truth is large, angry, and due to return sooner than anyone is ready.
"Ye've ne'er heard of the Shnickels? Ye must 'ave not grown up in yonder country. The Shnickels are pests. Varmints. They move in, and you're done, son."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub.
A short sidebar of encounter information for the fel Shadowbeasts.
The nobleman was out on horseback when he came too close to a nest of Changeling wasps. The first sting made him scream and sent him falling from his horse. When he felt the second sting and was close to passing out with the pain, he thought Whatever happens now, my life of freedom is over. Even if I am not stung again,and escape being paralysed or killed I will be a girl. I will no longer have the right to choose who I marry, to carry a weapon, to join the army or to have control over my own finances.My life is ruined now.
Death is the fate of every birth, and life is only a brief loan of light before the eternal darkness swallows us. The remaining years of life have been stolen from the creatures known as Time Zombies, who stalk the living in the hopes of stealing a few more years of precious life.
The cries sounded like some misshapen creature being devoured alive. Or a stillborn baby deer, somehow struggling back to life in the filthy grove where it had been abandoned, crying in infinite pain and hatred.
As I neared the ridge, I could hear a set of shuffling, twitchy half-steps, more like pained spasms than any sort of a gait. And when I saw it. . . Oh gods. . . It's like. . . that face. . . THAT HORRIBLE FACE!
A big flock can suck a cow bloodless in a few minutes, yet your doctor shows up carrying one around a small birdcage in the tip of his staff. Maybe you're better off just learning to live with the kidney stones. . .
Stay out of the woods. It's not a place for men. Not anymore.
A variety of bizarre but otherwise harmless insects.
30 squirming maggots, worming their way through dead and decaying flesh.
Viva la Musca!
30+ slightly-off or downright demented flies for your campaign.
Not only an interesting species of fungi, but a fashion statement as well!
100 word pest
"What I wouldn't kill for a rodent problem. I'd give anything for an infestation of plague-ridden rats. But no. We have Drakes. Bloody gods - it never ends."
Imagine this. You are the honored guest of the Conyamo himself and his chosen peers. You are placed at his right hand so everyone in attendance can look on you with wanting. Your every move, every breath will be watched. You are the highlight of this evening. Unfortunately, removing the talari eggs will cause you great pain. The nostrum I've just given you will not help the pain but it will burn your vocal cords so you do not disturb the dinner with your screams. With more than one talari loose inside you, you will beg for death. If you had a voice, and you will receive what you wish for. It will be a long and painful as they eat down to your hallows. I would almost pity you, but your not worthy of my pity. Do not worry though as my attendants are very skilled and will remove most of the eggs to be eaten, but not all. Enough of this dribble, be happy for tonight you are the honored guest of tonight’s celebration.
Syr Caran - Head Chef to the Conyamo