Temperate Hill

Along with their brute strength and comparatively low intellect, the primary difference between orcs and the civilized humanoids is their attitude. As a culture, orcs are violent and aggressive, with the strongest ruling the rest through fear and brutality. They take what they want by force, and think nothing of slaughtering or enslaving entire villages when they can get away with it. They have little time for niceties or details, and their camps and villages tend to be filthy, ramshackle affairs filled with drunken brawls, pit fights, and other sadistic entertainment. Lacking the patience for farming and only able to shepherd the most robust and self-sufficient animals, orcs almost always find it easier to take what someone else has built than to create things themselves. They are arrogant and quick to anger when challenged, but only worry about honor so far as it directly benefits them to do so. An adult male orc is roughly 6 feet tall and 210 pounds. Orcs and humans interbreed frequently, though this is almost always the result of raids and slave-taking rather than consensual unions. Many orc tribes purposefully breed for half-orcs and raise them as their own, as the smarter progeny make excellent strategists and leaders for their tribes.

Hobgoblins are militaristic and fecund, a combination that makes them quite dangerous in some regions. They breed quickly, replacing fallen members with new soldiers and keeping up their numbers despite the fortunes of war. They generally need little reason to declare war, but more often than not that reason is to capture new slaves— life as a slave in a hobgoblin lair is brutal and short, and new slaves are always needed to replace those who fall or are eaten. Of all the goblinoid races, the hobgoblin is by far the most civilized. They see the larger and more solitary bugbears as tools to be hired and used where appropriate, usually for specif ic missions involving assassination and stealth, and look upon their smaller goblin kin with a mix of shame and frustration. Hobgoblins admire goblin tenacity, yet their miniscule kindred’s unpredictable nature and fondness for f ire make them unwelcome additions to hobgoblin tribes or settlements. Nonetheless, most hobgoblin tribes include a small group of goblins, typically squatting in the most undesirable corners of the settlement. Many hobgoblin tribes combine their love of warfare with keen intellects. The science of siege engines, alchemy, and complex feats of engineering fascinate most hobgoblins, and those who are particularly skilled are treated as heroes and invariably secure high-ranking positions in the tribe. Slaves with analytical minds are quite valued, and as such raids on dwarven cities are commonplace. It is well known that hobgoblins mistrust and even despise magic, particularly arcane magic. Their shamans are treated with a mix of fear and respect, and are usually forced to live alone on the fringes of the tribe’s lair. It is all but unheard of to f ind a hobgoblin practicing arcane magic, or as hobgoblins call it, “elf magic.” This is the root of their hatred of magic—the hobgoblins’ hatred of elves. A hobgoblin stands 5 feet tall and weighs 160 pounds.

The Nature of Goblinoid Evil
Goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears, despite having superficial similarities, each represent a different face of evil. Hobgoblins are ordered and methodical in their evil, forming vast armies, warbands, and despotic nations. Goblins are the primal evil, seeking only cruelty and petty victimization as they can find it, be that among their own kind or against their neighbors. Yet the evil personified by the bugbear may be the most terrifying, for they actively seek to inflict pain and suffering in the most destructive ways possible. When a hobgoblin kills, it’s because of tradition and order. When a goblin kills, it’s for fun. But when a bugbear holds its blade, it kills only when it can be assured that the murder will cause maximum pain and suffering to those its weapon does not touch; to a bugbear, the true goal of murder is to strike not at the victim, but at those who held the victim dear.

These strange-looking animals have long, pointy ears and pronounced muzzles, and their strong legs carry them about in amazing leaps. Like all marsupials, kangaroos give birth to live young (“joeys”) that are relatively undeveloped at birth and completely helpless, and must remain within a protective pouch on the mother’s belly for months before safely emerging. While not particularly dangerous, a kangaroo is more than capable of defending itself if cornered or when forced to protect its young, striking out at foes with a powerful kick capable of knocking unwary antagonists off their feet. A kangaroo stands over 6-1/2 feet tall and weighs upward of 200 pounds. To represent a smaller species standing about 4 feet tall and weighing 110 pounds, apply the young simple template or manually reduce the size from Medium to Small. Kangaroos reach maturity in less than a year and can live up to 20 years, but most individuals in the wild are hunted by predators within their first decade.

The almiraj is a surprisingly dangerous predator. Almirajes’ strong affinity with witches, magical gore attacks, and susceptibility to hexes suggest they have arcane origins, perhaps the result of experiments by witches seeking to deliberately create a new kind of familiar. Reminiscent of a unicorn horn, an almiraj’s most prominent feature serves as both a deterrent and deadly weapon. The almiraj uses its horn to hunt, stalking and spearing prey on the brutal appendage. The horn’s unique magical properties have the gruesome side effect of forcing the almiraj to consume its prey while it still lives, before it turns to stone — when hunting smaller creatures, the almiraj strikes to slow its prey through blood loss and to disable it by maiming its limbs. Occasionally, an enterprising individual will hunt an almiraj for its horn, but success is limited since almirajes are exceptionally vicious, stealthy, and athletic targets — their acrobatic leaps bring their horns within reach of the vital organs of much larger creatures. Almirajes are fiercely territorial, although they flee if unable to fight on their terms, only to return later to defend their territory. They demonstrate their territorial claims to others of their kind with acrobatic displays and mock horn battles rather than fighting in earnest. Other intruders are met with aggressive posturing and warning calls, though almirajes prefer not to fight. If an interloper refuses to withdraw, however, the almiraj will fight to the death to defend its claim. It’s unclear how almirajes reproduce, since females are rare and the creatures are always encountered alone. Records indicate that they live for 40 to 60 years and some communities are able to build respectful, if wary, relationships with them. Almirajes are particularly popular with witches as familiars. Spellcasters of any alignment with the Improved Familiar feat can gain an almiraj as a familiar at 5th level.

With tangles of leafy vines for limbs and a carved gourd for a head, gourd leshys present a rather comical appearance. Intimately connected with the harvest season, gourd leshys see to the health and sustainable harvest of crops, especially vegetables and grains. Superstition and love of rituals run deep in gourd leshys. They do their best to exactly reproduce what worked before with every trivial activity, and change seemingly random details when attempting tasks they previously failed. Gourd leshys collect random odds and ends as good luck charms, ranging from polished stones to bird feathers to tarnished coins. Credulous to a fault, gourd leshys believe nearly anything they hear from those they trust. However, their admittedly hollow heads still hold memories, and a gourd leshy betrayed rarely forgets. As gourd leshys aren’t particularly strong, they often fight dirty. One favorite trick is to wait for an enemy to come within striking distance while in gourd form so that they can assume their true form and make a sneak attack in the same round.

The hippogriff bears the wings, forelegs, and head of a great raptor bird and the tail and body of a magnificent horse. As horses are a preferred meal for griffons, sages claim some flesh-warping wizard with an ironic sense of humor long ago created this unfortunate fusion of horse and hawk as a joke. A hippogriff ’s feathers bear coloration similar to those of a hawk or an eagle; however, some breeders have managed to produce specimens with stark white or coal black feathers. A hippogriff ’s torso and hind end are most often bay, chestnut, or gray, with some coats bearing pinto or even palomino coloration. Hippogriffs measure 11 feet long and weigh upward of 1,500 pounds. Territorial, hippogriffs fiercely protect the lands under their domain. Hippogriffs must also watch the skies for other predators, as they are a preferred meal of griffons, wyverns, and young dragons. Hippogriffs nest in sweeping grasslands, rugged hills, and flowing prairies. Exceptionally hardy hippogriffs make their home nestled into niches on canyon walls, from which they comb the rocky deserts for coyotes, deer, and the occasional humanoid. Hippogriffs prefer mammalian prey, yet they graze after every meal of flesh to aid their digestion. Their dietary habits can be dangerous to both ranchers and their livestock, so ranching communities often set bounties on them. Victims of these hunts are often taxidermied, and preserved hippogriffs frequently decorate frontier taverns and remote outposts. Far easier to train than griffons, yet easily as intelligent as horses, hippogriffs are trained as mounts by some elite companies of mounted soldiers, patrolling the skies and swooping down on unsuspecting enemies. Although they are magical beasts, if captured young, hippogriffs can be trained using Handle Animal as if they were animals. An adult hippogriff is more difficult to train, and attempts to do so follow the normal rules for training magical beasts using the skill. A hippogriff saddle must be specially crafted so as to not impact the movement of the creature’s wings—these saddles are always exotic saddles. Hippogriffs lay eggs rather than birthing live young— as a general rule, a hippogriff nest only contains one egg at a time. A hippogriff’s egg is worth 200gp, but a healthy young hippogriff is worth 500gp. A fully trained hippogriff mount can command prices of up to 5,000gp or more. A hippogriff can carry 198 pounds as a light load, 399 pounds as a medium load, and 600 pounds as a heavy load.

Mammoth fleas are fierce predators. They require vast amounts of blood to survive, though once full, they can survive for months before needing to feed again. For this reason, they seek larger prey like cows and horses, and plague agrarian communities that raise herd animals. A mammoth flea’s bite is excruciatingly painful, and leaves behind a raised, ring shaped scar.

Werebats are hybrids of vampiric bats and humanoids, possessed of a ravenous bloodlust. As opposed to vampires, with which werebats are often confused, these lycanthropes are often more savage and less calculating than the shapeshifting undead. As though to prove a point, some werebats go out of their way to take down powerful vampire lords and commandeer the vampires’ positions— though many also become slaves to such undead after underestimating their prowess. Natural werebats typically look like normal members of their humanoid parent race, though they often have dark hair, lithe frames, severe features, and slightly pointed ears. They typically stand taller than normal for their race, but weigh significantly less.

Some claim wollipeds weren’t initially domesticated to be working animals, but rather were herded and bred for their extremely warm and plentiful fleece. Regardless of the creatures’ origins, arctic dwellers have a long history of using these magnificent animals for many purposes, even employing them as mounts in battle. A typical wolliped stands between 5 and 6 feet at the front shoulder and weighs upward of 1,000 pounds.  Wollipeds are social herd animals that subsist on a diet of grasses, leaves, and other plant material. Wollipeds in high mountainous environments obtain much of their food from lichens and mosses, while herds of wollipeds on the plains graze on more substantial fare. Wild wollipeds tend to migrate to more plentiful foraging lands in the harshest winters, though these can be difficult to find.  Walking on eight sturdy legs, wollipeds are exceptionally sure-footed. These creatures can climb steep mountain trails and march through heavy snow with little effort, and arctic cavalry have often charged up scree-choked hillsides to raid fortresses on the backs of armored wollipeds. The great beasts’ facility at maneuvering in challenging environments, as well as their generally submissive nature, have resulted in a long relationship with the humanoids that share their homes. Wollipeds live for about 15 years, mating and giving birth every 11 months, and can be ridden until the final month of pregnancy.  Wollipeds are social animals, grouping together into herds for protection. When threatened, wollipeds gather in a tight cluster with the young animals in the very center of the herd. Domesticated wollipeds are used for casual riding, pulling plows, and powering mills.  Wolliped fleece is a versatile textile, as wolliped fibers wick water away, and still provide adequate warmth even when soaked. The variations in their coat colors and textures provide weavers with a wide array of design options.  Wollipeds are known to use spitting as a form of communication, as well as a method of defense. Most wollipeds only spit at one another, typically in the course of their tusk-clashing shows of dominance, but when threatened, they can launch a nauseating wad of partially digested food at their attackers to sicken and distract them.

The reclusive amphisbaena is a dreaded viper with a head at either end of its thick, serpentine coils. It travels in a strange, undulant crawl akin to that of a sidewinder, looping the coils of its long body back and forth and keeping both of its heads at the alert. Amphisbaenas are said to have formed from the blood of medusas, and while such stories are highly suspect, the creatures possess a natural immunity to petrification, which make them favored pets of medusas or other creatures with the petrification ability. Adult amphisbaenas can grow up to 14 feet in length and weigh as much as 250 pounds. While their thick coils twitch and ripple with muscle, they are not constrictors; their attacks rely on speed and their deadly venom. Most amphisbaenas have dark, bluish-black scales with lighter bands; however, they can be encountered in a variety of colors appropriate to their habitats. Some reports even claim lizard-like versions of this beast exists, with short legs and long curved talons. The amphisbaena's two heads can act independently, and the creature can move freely in either direction. In combat, it uses this ability to its utmost advantage, constantly spinning about to change up the direction of its strikes and guarding against enemies attempting to sneak closer or flank it. Unlike most snakes, amphisbaenas are aggressive, attacking anything that enters their territory. While they prefer smaller prey, they have been known to hunt gnomes, half lings, and other Small humanoids, and will sometimes attack larger foes if they’re starving or preparing to shed. Amphisbaenas reproduce infrequently, laying small clutches of up to a dozen dark onyx eggs at a time. Avidly sought by animal trainers and collectors, amphisbaena eggs can fetch between 300 to 500gp on the market. Despite minimal intelligence, amphisbaenas are driven primarily by their instincts and are extremely difficult and dangerous to train. All attempts to train an amphisbaena take a –8 penalty on any Handle Animal checks as a result.

Although they are giants, firbolgs are crafty, cautious, and reclusive. They have learned to distrust most other humanoids except elves, and dwell only in remote places far from civilization’s encroaching grasp, amidst fey and spirits of nature. They live in small, close-knit clans that tend to occupy one large, wooden house surrounded by a field kept for harvest. To supplement the food they grow, they wander the surrounding territory in small gangs hunting and gathering.  Unlike most giants, firbolgs do not raid indiscriminately and do not solve all their problems with force and violence. If pressed into battle, they are cunning combatants who make good use of the terrain, and generally do not kill unless provoked. While they rarely raid, firbolgs love duping smaller creatures out of their food and treasure. Alone or in small groups, they disguise themselves as hapless mountain folk, comely youths, or foreign wanderers to engage in confidence schemes and practical jokes against humanoid neighbors. Firbolgs back up their trickery with their natural magic and incredible strength. Most who encounter a firbolg are never aware of the giant’s true nature.  In their normal form, firbolgs look like oversized humans. They wear their hair long and free, and many decorate their skin with intricate designs picked out in blue woad.  Most firbolgs carry their possessions with them in great sacks. Typically, a firbolg’s sack contain several throwing rocks, the firbolg’s personal treasure, and a selection of mundane items stolen, bartered, or otherwise acquired from those the firbolg has recently encountered.

Griffons are powerful aerial predators, swooping down from their high aeries to take their prey with beak and talon. Aggressive and territorial, they are no mere beasts, but rather calculating combatants and loyal companions to those who earn their respect, fighting to the death to protect their friends and kin. Weighing in at over 500 pounds and measuring 8 feet long from hooked beak to tufted tail, the griffon strikes an imposing silhouette that has long been used in heraldry and other iconography as a symbol of power, authority, and justice. In reality, the griffon is less concerned with abstract concepts than with hunting food and protecting its own. While they can sometimes be trained or befriended to serve as mounts, griffons have no inherent affinity for humanoids, and frequently come into bloody conflict with civilized races over their attempts to secure their favorite food—horse flesh. City folk may marvel at the trained griffon’s stately manner and 25-foot wingspan, but those farmers forced to share territory with its wild kin know to hurry home and secure their barns when the beasts’ hunting shrieks split the sky. Griffons mate for life, and will often search for years to take vengeance over a slain mate or child. It was likely this innate stubbornness and fierce loyalty that first brought them into domestic use as mounts and guardians of treasure hoards. Despite the inherent danger, trade in captured griffons and stolen eggs is brisk, with their eggs worth up to 3,500gp apiece and live young twice that. Characters eager for griffon mounts, however, should note that buying or forcibly domesticating intelligent creatures like griffons is still recognized as slavery by most good deities, and winning a griffon’s allegiance of its own free will is no easy task. Reaching a mutually agreeable accord (or even a friendship) is a much more elegant and safe route to securing a griffon mount. Before it can be ridden in combat, a griffon requires practice bearing the weight of its rider. In order to be trained successfully, a griffon must first be helpful toward its trainer (possibly requiring a Diplomacy, Intimidate, or Handle Animal check). After that, 6 weeks of practice and a successful DC 20 Handle Animal check is sufficient for the beast to be comfortable with its burden, and due to their intelligence, trained griffons can be treated as knowing every trick listed in the Handle Animal skill description, possibly even responding to new, simple requests made in Common. Griffons can carry up to 300 pounds as a light load, 600 pounds as a medium load, and 900 pounds as a heavy load. Riding a griffon requires an exotic saddle.

The fearsome fachen’s terrifying visage paralyzes all but the most intrepid that happen across its hopping path. Reports disagree on just what it is about the fachen that turns one’s blood to ice—the single leg and foot that somehow don’t impair the being’s balance or speed, the seemingly too strong arm jutting from the center of the creature’s torso, or the lone, bulbous eye leering maliciously at its would be prey. Most likely it’s a combination of all of these things mixed with the unrelenting rage and savagery that seems to ooze from its every pore. Though the fachen’s grotesque approximation of a humanoid form could be enough to scare a traveler witless on its own, no single part of the abomination’s appearance induces fear like that of its mouth, a snarling and snapping thing filled with two full rows of long, sharp teeth—a mouth that looks like a cage out of a foul nightmare. Constantly gnashing or chomping in the air, it delivers grievous wounds to those who don’t flee this terrible creature. Though they’re able to speak, fachens do so only to curse at those they encounter. These barbaric creatures have no discernible culture, and sages and naturalists are still puzzled as to how they even reproduce. It almost seems as if they are pure rage that spontaneous takes on a hideous natural form. A typical fachen stands just short of 6 feet tall, and despite appearing to be half a person, weighs around 150 pounds because of its muscle mass. Though it isn’t a very large creature, its fearsome composition and the aura of fear it exudes give it a presence that makes it seem much greater than its actual size.

Redcaps embody both capriciousness and sadism. These stumpy, misanthropic fey freaks exist seemingly to indulge in blissful bloodletting and self-indulgent slaughter. Like prune-faced, angry old men, they mollycoddle their own inefficiencies and miseries in gore. Redcaps are most widely recognized for their long woolen caps, which they drench in the blood of their victims. Rumors and fairy stories abound concerning rituals and the cultural significance of their blood-soaked caps, though the practice likely evolved as an easy way for the brutish runts to create both fear and spectacle. Redcaps typically stand only 3 feet tall, with twisted frames, pointed ears, and long white beards. They dress in soiled leather armor and wear oversized, iron-shod boots that make a distinctive clanging when they run.

The creation of some unknown arcanist in millennia past, the bulette has bred true to become one of the fiercest predators of the hills. Burrowing rapidly through the earth just beneath the surface, sometimes with its armored fin cutting a distinctive wake behind it, the bulette launches itself free of stone and soil to tear into its prey without remorse, giving rise to the common appellation “landshark.” Bulettes are notoriously foul-tempered, attacking far larger creatures with no regard for personal safety. Solitary beasts except for the occasional mated pair, they spend most of their time patrolling the perimeters of territories that can stretch up to 30 square miles, hunting game and punishing interlopers with a fury that shakes the hillsides. Bulettes are perfect eating machines, consuming bones, armor, and even magical items with their powerful jaws and churning stomach acid. Lacking other food, the bulette might gnaw on inanimate objects, yet for unknown reasons no bulette voluntarily consumes elf flesh—a peccadillo many point to as evidence that elven wizardry was involved in its creation. Dwarves are also rarely eaten by the beasts, though the bulette still slaughters members of either race on sight. Half lings, on the other hand, are among the beast’s favorite meals, and no halfling with any sense ventures into bulette country casually. The bulette is a cunning fighter, surprising foes with its impressive agility. One of its favorite tactics is to charge forward and launch itself into the air in order to drop on its prey with all four razor-sharp claws extended. Folklore claims that the flesh behind the beast’s dorsal crest is particularly tender, and that those willing and able to wait until the fin is raised in the excitement of combat or mating can target it for a killing blow—yet most who have faced the landshark agree that the best way to win a fight with a bulette is to avoid it entirely.

Chimeras are monstrous creatures born of primordial evil. Hateful and hungry, they hunt on the ground or in the air. A chimera’s dragon head may be of any evil dragon type, with the corresponding breath weapon, and its wings usually match the scales on its head. Chimeras speak with three overlapping voices, but rarely do so, typically only when playing toady to a more powerful creature. A chimera is 5 feet tall at the shoulder, nearly 10 feet long, and weighs 700 pounds. Chimeras prefer meat but can subsist on vegetable matter if necessary (although being forced to do so generally leaves the beasts more ill-tempered than usual). Their f light means they can pick and choose their prey, and they usually hunt a large area in search of easy food. They are too stupid and belligerent to acquire followers, though sometimes a tribe of kobolds might give them offerings. Conversely, they are just intelligent and stubborn enough that they make poor pets, and only a significantly more powerful creature can keep them submissive. They may form equal partnerships with a respectful humanoid or similar creature, and even consent to be used as a mount. A pride of chimeras is very leonine in its hierarchy, with a dominant male leading the group and most of the hunting done by the females. A solitary chimera may be a young male or a female with cubs nearby.

Skin color among hill giants ranges from light tan to deep, ruddy brown. Their hair is brown or black, with eyes the same color. Hill giants wear layers of crudely prepared hides with the fur left on. They seldom wash or repair their garments, preferring simply to add more hides as their old ones wear out. Adults are around 10 feet tall and weigh about 1,100 pounds. Hill giants can live to be 200 years old, but almost never do. Hill giants prefer to fight from high, rocky outcroppings, where they can pelt opponents with rocks and boulders while limiting the risk to themselves. Hill giants love to make overrun attacks against smaller creatures when they first join battle. Thereafter, they stand fast and swing away with their massive clubs. Hill giants are the most nomadic of all the humanoid giant species, preferring to travel from one settlement to the next in order to raid and pillage. While they prefer temperate climates, they’ll travel far from their preferred environment so long as the raiding is plentiful and successful. They are, as a whole, incredibly selfish creatures and rarely engage in battles they don’t automatically know they’ll win. Hill giants are known for shoving one another at terrifying foes and won’t hesitate to sacrifice a clanmate to save their own skins. Roving bands of hill giants are common in temperate hills, and their constant aggression makes them one of the more feared dangers in this climate. Solitary, non-evil hill giants are very rare but can sometimes be found in other humanoid societies, though they are almost never accepted in central cities or population centers. They do best as laborers and soldiers in outlying frontier towns, and often serve as rudimentary diplomats to negotiate with marauding hill giant bands. Unfortunately, hill giants who shed their racial lifestyle for civilization are mocked and often killed on sight by their nomadic brethren. Still, these “civilized” hill giants can find their place within society and many have managed to live peaceful, uneventful lives.

The vile pukwudgie is a small, hunchbacked humanoid covered with long, sharp quills. These quills, like those of a porcupine, help protect the small creature but are also dangerous offensive weapons, for the quills hold a deadly poison that animates those it slays as zombies. This necromantic nature, along with their penchant for torment and sadistic ways, makes pukwudgies evil to the core. A pukwudgie stands 3-1/2 feet tall and weighs a little more than 30 pounds. Pukwudgies are frequently found in the company of undead. This retinue usually consists of zombies and skeletons created via their poisonous quills ability or their ability to animate dead bodies. They have a strong preference for animating the bodies of dead animals over other creatures, and often use undead animals as mounts. A pukwudgie usually stays away from well-traveled areas and humanoid settlements, but may sometimes slip into small villages in the night to steal children. The little horrors enjoy the tender flesh of newborn babies immensely, and are often willing to go through great personal risk to secure infantile repasts when they are available. Their delight in arson only further makes them a bane of small villages.

Sages attribute the gaunt builds and tattered, scabrous wings of spire drakes to centuries of dwelling in magic blasted desolations and accursed badlands, positing that the tainting of the land seeps into the drakes’ flesh and bone and into every clutch of eggs, and is thus carried down through generations of decay. But while their appearance is somewhat withered, spire drakes are just as strong and ferocious as other drakes. Spire drakes are unusually intelligent for their kind. They are particularly curious about magic and magical items, and enjoy having large collections of such items even if they don’t know how to use them. Lacking the ability to detect magic, they often scour their hunting ranges for any items they suspect might be magical, collecting an array of strange and obscure devices and objects and displaying them proudly so they can boast to other drakes they encounter (who often jealously try to steal or destroy the collections of their rivals). Spire drakes often demand tribute from merchants and caravans passing through or near the lands they claim, or may offer to let opponents escape a fight in exchange for surrendering a magic item. Spire drakes are rarely as clever as they think, however, and can be easily tricked by temporary magical effects into believing an item is magical. Still, spire drakes that manage to collect true magical items use them offensively or defensively as appropriate, and love to show off their latest prizes. A typical spire drake measures 18 feet from its nose to the long, thin tip of its tail, and weighs about 1,700 pounds.

Aurumvoraxes are very aggressive creatures, and lead solitary lives except when they mate. Adults typically claim the hunting area within a mile of their warrens, ruthlessly driving away other predators. In addition to fresh meat, aurumvoraxes are fond of gnawing on metals (particularly gold and copper), though whether they do this to sharpen their teeth or because of some nutritional need is unknown. Aurumvorax warrens can stretch for thousands of feet, often winding deep into the earth. The avaricious appetite of aurumvoraxes has earned them the appellation "golden gorger" among dwarves, who have lost more than a few miners to the dangerous beasts. In battle, an aurumvorax latches onto its victim with its jaws and gouges savage wounds with its claws. It rarely looses its grip before it or its foe is dead. It typically attacks the nearest living creature regardless of size, and ignores any wounds it suffers at the hands of others until its prey is dead. A typical aurumvorax is only 3 feet long but weighs more than 200 pounds, for it is densely packed with muscle and thick, sturdy bones. Its fur is golden, while its claws are black and sharp. Its weight relative to its body size makes it a poor swimmer, and most dislike crossing water, though they can trundle along the bottom of still or slow water if necessary. Adult aurumvoraxes are impossible to train, but their offspring are valued for training as guard beasts. A healthy aurumvorax kit can be sold for 5,000 gp or more to a discerning buyer. Female aurumvoraxes rarely give birth to more than one offspring at a time, and are ferociously protective of their young. An aurumvorax drags its prey back to its lair to consume at its leisure, and its bone-midden often contains valuable belongings from past kills. Uneaten precious metals, discarded gems, and well-chewed metal items can also be found in its warrens. Despite its metallic coloration, an aurumvorax is not vulnerable to attacks that target metal, such as heat metal or the touch of a rust monster—in fact, aurumvoraxes easily kill and eat rust monsters, and some dwarf clans use aurumvorax pets to protect their storehouses against them.

The spawn of Yog-Sothoth are begotten upon the world as the results of vile rituals in which cultists call down the essence of Yog-Sothoth, an Outer God from beyond the stars to impregnate a humanoid creature. The Outer God is not of this dimension or world; only by incorporating flesh and bone of a mortal can its spawn exist. Upon death, a spawn’s flesh rapidly melts until nothing remains but a crusty stain. Although the spawn of Yog-Sothoth are naturally invisible, they exude a hideous, unforgettable stench that alerts others to their presence. Ancient legend holds that the spawn of Yog-Sothoth are inflicted upon a world to clear it of all sane life and to prepare the way for the return of the Great Old Ones. But it’s just as likely that the carnage and mayhem it brings upon the world is due to its ravenous and constant hunger for blood as any agenda from masters beyond the stars. A spawn of Yog-Sothoth grows quickly to Large size, but if it continues to feed, it also continues to grow, albeit at a lesser rate. A truly ancient spawn of Yog-Sothoth can be the size of a barn or even a small hill. Not all spawn of Yog-Sothoth are massive or inhuman. Some (often twins to their more monstrous kin) remain roughly humanoid in shape and size, although their deformities still require them to wear disguises or layers of baggy clothing if they want to walk unchallenged in civilized regions. These sinister creatures have a wide range of strange and unusual abilities and appearances, and are usually spellcasters—typically oracles with the dark tapestry mystery or sorcerers with the aberrant bloodline.

Jinmenjus are trees that grow in hilly regions far from civilized lands, and prey on those who come too close. They are remarkably intelligent and crafty, and use both scent and magical compulsion to lure prey.

Thunderbirds bring the storm on their wings. In times of drought, they are welcomed with joy and celebration. In other times, they are placated with gifts in hopes that they might leave quickly before flooding begins. When angered, thunderbirds can call down hurricanes and lay waste to entire villages, so in regions where these birds dwell, many villages maintain extensive rituals designed to appease and honor the local thunderbirds. Thunderbirds nest near the base of waterfalls, where the constant thrum of crashing water prepares the hatchlings for a life at the heart of a storm. Once the chicks have hatched, their parents carry the offspring to nests at the top of mountains, where the young are struck by their first bolts of lightning and learn the mysteries of the storm.

An athach is a twisted kind of giant, cruel and thuggish. It lives to bring misery, ruin, and terror to weaker creatures. An individual may be nearly any human color, though its arms are often a darker color or even grayish. Its upper fangs are long, extending from its mouth like those of a ferocious beast, and it constantly drools a weakness-inducing poison. A group of athachs is usually a family unit, with gangs typically consisting of a group of siblings and full tribes consisting of parents and young. Athachs thrive upon the fear of their victims, preferring to play with their prey for some time before indulging their vile and murderous natures. Tales tell of how athachs cut down orchards and ruin crops by night, leaving the ruins to be discovered by innocent villagers at the dawning of the following day. Further tales tell of how athachs desecrate graveyards by exhuming graves and scattering the bones of the dead about. The motivation behind these games seems to be sheer entertainment— some athachs are unusually creative in their antics, displaying ingenuity beyond their normal capacity, as if an athach in the throes of desecration and cruelty were prone to some form of divine inspiration. An athach is 18 feet tall and weighs 5,000 pounds. Athachs dislike other giants (and other monsters of their size) and either attack or flee from them, depending on whether the odds are in their favor.

The legendary thrasfyr is one of the Tane—a group of powerful monsters created by godlike beings from the primal world of the fey. A thrasfyr without a master prefers to dwell in rugged hilly regions, where it spends most of its time slumbering and dreaming—it is said that all thrasfyrs dream of themselves as graceful and beautiful fey, for legends say that the first thrasfyrs were created from such creatures as a form of punishment.