“The last thing we ever saw was its inky tail as it swept under the door. I fear the scions of Durnthar have taken yet another piece of us.” - Gould Maran, Keeper of the Throne Seal
Many magical items adventurers seek out help them carry more loot, keep themselves fed and healthy, or just simply hack the bad guys to itty bitty bits. This one lets their loot carry itself.
Think of any bizzare life-form, WHATEVER life-form that lives a not-so-standard way. Not the way common sense would expect it. Make it in some way logical or not, just forget the boring everyday logic.
Sing to me and I shall write, on lilies, poetry of the night.
A beast made of writing; a strange, sad, and beautiful being that haunts the libraries and universities of the Sacred World
Crawling among the garbage and offal, the detritus of what men call civilization, the myrie bugs claim their own small domains. They eat, and breed, and wait…
To all space explorers, rogue traders and Federation colonisation and expeditionary force officers!
Thirty new alien species have been discovered. You are well-advised to inform yourselves, as to engage these entities correctly, without risk of harm to yourself or to the interests of Terra.
Ten of the described species are human in origin, yet modified to such a degree that they no longer need to be considered human.
Another ten are civilisation-building aliens competing with Terra for available space.
The final ten entries are remarkable life forms that display sapience, without using it to create civilisations. Caution is advised.
Undead are, simply put, among the most horrific things one can think of. Can you imagine anything more frightening than a being which is dead and yet still walks? Can you imagine the horror of being faced by the hollow shell of being, a hollow shell which must feed?
For the coddling of the weak and mewling shall one day be the Downfall of All Races!
—Morkoel Rasher, denouncing Moleskin in verse.
Despair! Despair! The Dread Crow’s Glare!
God forbid that I should go to any Heaven where there are no horses.
- R. B. Cunninghame-Graham
It is unwise to speak the name of the Great Demon of the Ocean if you are close enough to the sea to smell the salt in the air. It is inviting disaster to speak it’s name when you are on the ocean itself.
Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death. Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. Me thinks my body is but the lees of my better being. In fact take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me.”
The whales of the deep are not to be trifled with, those who hunt them are as mad as those who think to slay dragons.
All you need to stop a brain is a bullet.
oft eliciting nervous laughter, the Bikini Situation involves not bathing suit bottoms, but rather a problem that arose from the bottom of the Bikini atoll in the Pacific. It is a serious issue for the Pacific Rim Coalition.
Scratches are a small price to pay for the comfort and protection of the perfect campsite. At least they were a small price until members of the party aren’t waking up.
These Camel like animals roam the desert in small herds. The desert folk have uses for these creatures.
Not many plants kill animals. This oaklike tree is predatory in the spreading of its seeds.
Masters have come and gone, but Honest Wrekk has always been around.
The babies of a small village has been disappearing lately, rumour has it that a demon living in the forest has taken them. The monster has the appearance of a shriveled old woman. A hag, disheveled, with maniacal appearance, wild-looking hair, and an oversized gaping mouth. Long pendelous breasts. The villagers say she eats the newborns and has sharp claws that are created for mangling. No one dears to challenge her, enter the PCs.