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.
When we learned of these majestic creatures, what else could we do? Such potential!
A haunting remnant of the infernal realm, caught and exiled to suffer for eternity in the swamps of the mortal plane. Now it toys with mortals; luring them from their paths into it's light. Once in the boundaries of it's aura, the FlickerWikk will feed.
A Remake of the Will'o'the'Wisp/Jack'o'Lantern
Spindly, steel spiders, spinning silk so sharp. (100-word sub)
Rumors of gold and more, spoken on the wind draw the greedy to their doom.
Travelling the shifting sands at night was always a dangerous task. Freshly recruited into the Ouzquin Dremorix army, young Fallava and Moruz followed the grizzled veteran before them. They were hunting a band of Latrani orcs, and the trail was fresh. The grey-haired Avaki raised two fingers in a sign of silence as the trio neared the top of the rise, and slowly, the man breached the top of the dune. "Aaahh," Avaki exhaled mournfully as he slung his Ouzala over his shoulders. Down the other side of the dune lay an oasis, and as Fallava and Moruz came forth they saw the reason for Avacti's sigh. The corpses of a dozen Ouzquin Dremorix lay in pieces across the bank of the water. Blood stained the sand. Without looking back to the young man and woman, Avaki spoke softly, "Vauraki has fed well this night."
A chill ran up Moruz's spine. He could have sworn he heard a wilting howl inside his head.
Clockwork angels. Servants of the Mechanogod Whrrrm.
An army can be compared to a craftsmen. Both produce for gain. A craftsmen produces a product, a good, for monetary gain. An army, however, produces corpses for resource acquisition. Be it on the battlefield or in the medical tent with the severely wounded being put out of their misery, the fillers of graves are being produced.
Any mind of the modern age has thought about putting those bodies to work. Necromancy has long been socially inacceptable. Besides, no one enjoys seeing a former comrade, a former brother-in-arms, walking around fighting and killing with a spear hole in his gut and a couple arrows hanging from the arms. And the only other way was to throw the dead body into a catapult and throw it at the enemy, in the hopes of giving them plague.
It was Obstarian military who first unleashed the Raveten on their foes during the World War. No one was prepared for it. And so people died.
The Creator had created Impthus out of the very essence of light itself. And so do all of his fellow followers. The Athlran glow endlessly, no matter where they are. They have a pair of white wings and their form radiates bright light, as the High Heaven itself.
At the beginning of life, before the Living World was created, the Creator had created only Felenthur and Impthus, that he made them both as brothers. One with the heart of darkness and one with the heart of light. Impthus was given the High Heaven with the Orb of Light. While, Felenthur was given the scorching plains, where soon, he transformed the plains into the Burning Hell as soon as he managed to made a plea to the Creator. A plea which he asked to create an ally for him. Thus, the Demon Princess and Princesses were born into the Burning Hell.
They have no souls, but they live. They are formless, but they walked. They are unseen, but they reveals. They walk the dark plains, but they show the lights. And they were given a chance to choose side. And yet, they chose righteous. And that's the Farons. Creature that walks the void realm.
Kalraka Dzeik is a sentient lightning storm with a following of cultists. It has much in common with a natural disaster or a plague; it starts at a single point but spreads like wildfire if given the chance. It is capable of terrible destruction, and will take heroic effort to stop, if it can be stopped at all.
Feet forever on the path; smile forever on it's lips. It walks roads beaten and forgotten alike through day and night. With it's troupe of mindless puppets, it is accosted not by beast nor fiend nor monster. For they know that Terror walks past this night.
Death travels with the Gandacai.
The unnatural offspring of a zombie father and a human mother.
The food of the Gods: specifically a bitter sappy God.
100 word submission. Rumors of the lands sounds of Abodroc
Ghorion was once one of the Three Troll Kings of the Cloudsteeth Mountains. Undeath has only made him crueler, and much, much more powerful.
"We're nothing new. We've always been here. YOU're the newcomers. You're the animal that forgot that it was a man. Stop crying, you animal, you sleepwalker! If you opened your eyes for only an instant you would see that. You're a race of amnesiacs, of dreaming children. I said STOP CRYING! You disgust me. That's why I'm not going to explain anything else. That's why you will die--screaming--without ever having truly woken up. I will paint every inch of this floor with your blood."
-An Awakened, formerly Ms. Albright, speaking to Albert Frond, immediately before his murder
"I take it ye've ne'er fought a Semblance. Nasty undead fiends they be. 'course, they don't look undead. They don't have gleamin' bones, or rottin' flesh. No, sir! The Semblance looks just like you or me. Except for when its tryin' ta get you. I take it ye've ne'er fought a Semblance. If you had, you'd be dead."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub
I try to avoid them if I can. I see them sometimes herding their flocks of flabby grey creatures into and out of Boston harbor, and it always gives me the chills. Briano tells me that they brought me back to life, but I can't remember it. I can't remember a lot of stuff. He also tells me that I was good friends with one of them once. One of the ones that begs outside of Grand Island Bank for nickels or blood. I can't tell you why I'm uncomfortable around them. They're just fish.