Gate Hounds, also known as Temple Dogs to the South, are a breed apart from most hounds. These gifts from The Others
"I have to give the creature credit. After it stood its ground for a bit, it charged me. Sure I outweighed it by nearly 100 stones, but that would not deter it. I almost didn’t have the heart to kill it." Exerpt: A Prospector’s Tale, VOL XXIV Blue Guild Press
"...The spider did win, but his victory was short lived. The Crawler came down from the rocks above and killed him, then eating the Waste Spider, The Rat, and the small bit of jerky that I started this battle royal with. " Exerpt: A Prospector’s Tale, VOL XXIII Blue Guild Press
"...I watched in morbid fascination as the Spider and the Rat circled each other. Soon one would be dead. My silver was on the Spider crawling away from this fight. ..." Exerpt: A Prospector’s Tale, VOL XXIII Blue Guild Press
Rats. Why did it have to be Rats?
Named Timberwings; for the girth and strength of their wings were as elder oaks, thick and tireless
A list of freshwater creature encounters.
Extracts from Alkur’s book of insects.
The best thing that can happen when confronted by a Rhaphi (Rafy) is that it will ignore you and continue on its way…It seems to have no purpose in life but to transport its undercarriage of parasites, which are numerous and not exactly friendly or hygienic, from one place to the next.
There is more than meets the eye to these nightmarish insects…
The earth holds the fool and holds the wise,
endures that good and bad dwell (upon her);
she keeps company with the boar,
gives herself up to the wild hog.
The Atharva Veda
A scourge of sweet dreams and good nights… and nothing more than a harmless fox.
A large predatory mammal that can run or fight on two legs, not requiring sleep these demons were brought onto the world to create killers, in the world of werewolves these could be considered alpha males.
God forbid that I should go to any Heaven where there are no horses.
- R. B. Cunninghame-Graham
Standing atop the parched hill and triumphantly displaying their gory trophies , the berserker s begin to shriek aloud their terrible, keening war-cries, confident that the coming battle will belong to them as the enemy flees before their frenzied onslaught, all its discipline and training forgotten in the face of a foe that harbors no fear at all for any enemy born of humanity.
Just as the red mist clouding their eyes begins to fill their minds with fantasies of mass slaughter, a mass of shadowy figures suddenly materialises out of the darkness, charging towards the berserkers with long, loping strides that lend them speed that is at once awesome and terrifying to witness, even to the crazed minds of these onlookers.
As a heavy,furry shape hurtles into the the commander, he falls to the ground, his throat ripped out by the savage fangs of his assailant. As his life ebbs away from him in the rapidly expanding jet of blood gushing from his ripped arteries, savage growls become the lullaby lulling him into the never-ending slumber of death.
The shark is the most efficient hunters in the realms. This has empowered the Shark Spirit, to become the Beast Hunting Spirit. This powerful spirit has bound elementals of various kinds and places with a shark imprint. These bound spirits spawn new shark races: land sharks, sand sharks, sky sharks, and as for here, The OcrheMaws.
Nothing like a slug to clean up a mess…
From their home, the winds high above the desolate lands below, these giant winged creatures strike silently and sure.
“Yarun slipped into the pit - his curses suddenly converted into screams of mortal agony. Looking down into the pit, all we saw was a mass of writhing serpents and frothing blood….”
The soldiers charged screaming into battle, their faces twisted into masks of hatred as they struck out with blows stronger then humans would normally be capable of. Each wore on his shield arm a Star of Rage, a starfish-like creature, ruddy red with the blood that it was draining from his body.
The accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.
Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... "Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate" reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.
Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...