First Worlders

Like many gremlins, hobkins enjoy destroying things that others cherish, but unlike their jinkin cousins, hobkins delight in manipulating people into destroying their own belongings. Their favorite strategy is to use their spell-like abilities and their Intimidate skill to frighten a family. A hobkins may wait at a child’s window during a storm so that it appears pressed up against the glass when the lightning flashes, only to hide away when they check again. Once its victims work themselves into a frenzy, the gremlin gives them time to arm themselves, then reveals itself, leaping and floating out of reach to force panicked victims to throw anything at hand.  A hobkins stands 3 feet tall and weighs 15 pounds.  

HOBKINS MALEFACTOR
Ordinary hobkins are threats to common folk or careless adventurers with more offense than defense, but hobkins malefactors can mold a group of hobkins into something much more terrifying. Possessed of eerie psychic powers, hobkins malefactors can command countless hobkins telepathically to ensure perfect coordination.  Hobkins malefactors possesses the psychic magic ability, with a variety of psychic spells at their command, different for each malefactor. Malefactors are usually advanced by hit dice, but sometimes have levels in psychic or mesmerist.  Hobkins malefactors are rarely content with the destruction of prized possessions; instead, they seek nothing less than the massacre of innocents at the hands of their own protectors. To accomplish these goals, they calculate each of their moves carefully, with an endgame of an entire small settlement gathered together and prime for redirected attacks from the hobkins’ collateral damage ability.

Ovinniks make their homes in granaries and drying houses. These thin, sleek, black-furred humanoids stand only a foot high. Their eyes and features seem catlike, but they bark like dogs to scare away thieves. No one knows why an ovinnik chooses to take up residence in a particular farm’s threshing house, and few would call on them willingly. A wise farmer placates resident ovinniks with frequent gifts of warm milk, pancakes, or dead roosters. By tradition, before the new year, farmers and their families go to the granary to learn their fates for the future. The ovinnik touches each of them in turn. If the ovinnik’s touch is warm, the person will have good luck; if cold, she will suffer terrible misfortune in the days ahead.

Capricious in nature, pookas are always in search of fun, though they don’t often care who they inconvenience with their antics—they’re just in it for the whimsy. Always chaotic in nature, some pookas are cruel, some are good-natured, and others are slightly unhinged. There’s no way to tell which kind one is just by looking at it; only by interacting with a pooka does its nature become clear. However, having a conversation with a pooka isn’t easy. Though they’re intelligent, pookas speak in choppy, simple sentences filled with obscure metaphors and nonsensical references. Most creatures who converse with a pooka usually misunderstand it the first time and have to ask the creature to repeat itself. Even their telepathy is filled with strange images and references, such as representing the word “elf ” with the face of an elf it knew long ago, colloquialisms that only make sense to native speakers of Sylvan, and so on. Pookas thrive when in the company of others, and they frequently find companionship in a particular individual whether the camaraderie is wanted or not. Pookas prefer creatures of chaotic alignments, don’t trust those with lawful alignments, and find most people with neutral alignments boring. Pookas pull pranks to get to know a person and stay near them to observe the results, invisibly perched on a shoulder or clinging to an article of clothing. As they usually communicate with their unlucky target (whom they call “friend”) using telepathy, the person’s erratic reactions to the unseen pooka’s pranks and mental “voice” can make the target appear insane. The pooka doesn’t mind a little rough retaliation, but flees any attempts to kill it. Some pookas can be helpful, and farmers often leave a portion of their harvest behind as a tribute for any resident pookas. A pooka who is satisfied with such a gift may leave that farmer alone for an entire year, while a pooka who feels slighted by the offering may relentlessly mock the farmer and cause minor accidents on the farm. A pooka measures 1 to 2 feet from eartips to tail and weighs up to 15 pounds. A non-lawful spellcaster of at least 7th level who takes the Improved Familiar feat can select a pooka as a familiar.

The work never ends for those who live on farms or in small villages, and the wise often seek the aid of the fey folk while pursuing their daily chores. A family might leave a piece of bread under the stove or an old boot in the closet to attract a domovoi to their home. Domovoi help with small tasks like churning butter and mending clothes, but mostly protect the home from intruders and misfortune. These helpful fey can also tell the fate of the family they protect, but grow annoyed when asked to do so too often. A domovoi appears as small, old man no more than 2 feet tall, covered in hair and with a long, shaggy beard.  

This cruel-eyed night terror is infamous for his love of trickery and spontaneous bursts of violence. Spring-Heeled Jack stands about 4 feet tall and weighs about 80 pounds. Spring-Heeled Jack keeps up a reputation for gruesome killing sprees and tends to flee the crime scene by leaping onto buildings. He subsists on raw animal meat, from deer to house rat to beetle. His knife is often his only company, and after years of self-inf licted solitude Spring-Heeled Jack considers it his best and only friend, and has taken to calling it “Love.” The finely wrought knife has no special properties, but is clearly of otherworldly origin and leaves strange scars that are impossible to reproduce. Chaotic and spontaneous, Spring-Heeled Jack at times lets his prey live to spread his legend. Though he doesn’t commit his heinous crimes for notoriety alone, he revels in the reputation he has earned and the fear that registers in people’s eyes as he pounces upon them. It is widely thought that Spring-Heeled Jack was at one point human, but lost his humanity in exchange for fiendish powers. The truth is that “he” is a fey creature— the best known of a race of fey creatures related to quicklings. These fey are fond of traveling to the Material Plane, where their mayhem is more feared and appreciated. To add to the mystery, they all use the same name among mortals and pretend to be the same individual.

Just as domovoi protect the home, dvorovoi protect villagers’ yards and pastures. Intrigued by tales of the creatures’ guardianship, some farmers lure dvorovoi to their fields by leaving offerings of bread, sheep’s wool, or shiny trinkets. When the owner of a farmstead with a dvorovoi purchases a new animal, he leads it through the yard to introduce it to the dvorovoi, hoping to gain the fey creature’s approval of the new livestock.  Though undeniably useful to have around for feeding the cattle and keeping predators away from flocks, dvorovoi can be capricious. Dvorovoi despise any white animal, and will never tolerate a white-furred horse or cow in their presence. For unknown reasons, dvorovoi don’t hold this same grudge toward white chickens.

Malicious and alien fey, lurkers in light venture to the Material Plane to perpetrate strangely targeted mischief, stealing and killing according to a logic or system of justice only they understand. Gnomes in particular seem to incur these unexplained attacks, leading some to believe that lurkers may be agents of ancient and vengeful forces. Creatures of the light, lurkers are visible only in dim illumination, with anything brighter than a flickering torch making them completely invisible, even as they savage their enemies—a prospect terrifying to those civilized races that equate light with safety. A lurker in light turns conventional wisdom on its head, for they detest darkness and the creatures that dwell in it, yet they themselves are sadistic and evil. They particularly hate darkmantles, dwarves, and creatures from the Plane of Shadow, and given the time, they enjoy torturing such creatures to death if they can capture them alive. If killed, a lurker in light disintegrates over the course of several minutes into 2d6 pounds of dust that radiates faint evocation magic and glows for 1d6 days with a cold light equal to that provided by a candle. This dust damages shadows as if it were holy water, with a pound of dust equal to one flask of holy water. A lurker in light is 3 feet tall, but weighs only 20 pounds.

Boggles are frenetic and capricious fey who love to run and cavort through the woods, pulling pranks on animals, people, monsters, and their fellow fey. What these country cousins to bogeymen love more than anything, though, is the humor and laughter of mortals. When bored, a boggle randomly selects a person or family to befriend and begins a campaign of pranks and teasing; the boggle usually neglects to introduce itself to these new friends, remaining hidden to heighten the growing panic and make the game more hilarious. Its innate magic creates strange lights and sounds and causes erratic behavior, adding to the mortals’ dread.  A boggle stands 3 feet tall and weighs 55 pounds.

Shadow collectors feed on memories and regrets sifted from shadows. They often weave mortal shadows into certain magic items such as cloaks and gloves. Some shadow collectors con mortals into selling their shadows or resort to blatant theft; others prowl the Plane of Shadow and the Ethereal Plane for shadows that are already lost.  Shadow collectors favor spaces like the edges of forests and foothills for the varied lighting and for the numerous places where they can flank marks from hiding or surprise them with pits created by shadow conjuration.  A typical shadow collector stands over 3 feet tall and weighs 40 pounds.

Leanan sidhe are regal fey who pride themselves as patrons of the arts. By establishing a magical link with a talented mortal performer or artist, the leanan sidhe enhances her target’s skill, but slowly feeds on his life energy. Many tragic stories of talented artists who have a creative burst and then fall into obscurity or suddenly die can be attributed to the influence of these creatures. A leanan sidhe prefers to avoid direct combat and relies on her minions and devotees to protect her—all of whom hope to become her next special project, despite the cost of this arrangement.

Alps are troublesome fey who disturb the dreams and drink the blood of sleeping victims. Unlike other dream-haunting monsters, alps are driven more by their capricious whims than any desire to do harm; when an alp drinks a victim’s blood, it always takes care to leave him alive—if only so it can return at a later date to feed again. Alps despise bright light and avoid well-lit rooms, if they can. They enjoy playing pranks and causing minor mishaps. A typical alp stands about 5 feet tall and weighs about 90 pounds.

Many believe that the most cruel and mischievous fey become bogeymen as a punishment or a reward for their actions. Others see bogeymen as supernatural manifestations of society’s willingness to do itself harm. Bogeymen use their powers to haunt houses or secluded natural places where they can hunt prey unobserved. They relish using their ghost sound ability to hint at their presence long before they fully reveal themselves. It is not uncommon for a bogeyman to hide under a bed, or in a closet left slightly ajar, for days or even weeks, all the while feeding on its victims’ growing realization that they are not alone. The most evil bogeymen are those who abandon the tactic of feeding on one person’s fears at a time and take up roles of mass murderers or serial killers, or other pursuits designed to drive fear into the hearts of an entire city of victims. True to their name, all bogeymen are male. Sometimes, children whom they steal away to secret lairs emerge years later, transformed into new bogeymen, and return home to continue their supernatural father’s work.

Wild hunt hounds are expert trackers that take the lead against elusive prey. When left to their own devices, they seek out creatures that are notoriously difficult to track, collecting minor trinkets as trophies of their achievements (using their mage hand ability to carry their prizes home or to adorn themselves if possible). While they can be competitive when engaged in separate tasks, wild hunt hounds working together on a hunt never allow these rivalries to become a distraction.  These fey hounds are never truly alone, as they are always surrounded with green mist composed of fragments of the spirits of the wild hunt’s victims. Stripped of all thoughts beyond a desire to chase and hunt, this fog eagerly answers the hound’s baying call and forms into dogs that loyally fight at the hound’s side.  Although the hounds of the wild hunt may seem outwardly to be mere animals, they are quite intelligent. Wild hunt hounds are fond of taking advantage of their bestial appearance, and when left as guardians or allowed to wander freely, make excellent spies among those who don’t recognize the creatures’ ability to understand language. When not tracking a quarry, wild hunt hounds enjoy relaxing and capering in any natural environment—but even in their play they engage in complex pursuits, testing each other’s ability to track and evade simultaneously.

When they are not participating in a hunt, wild hunt horses enjoy constructing complicated courses through land and sky and racing each other for ever-changing stakes.

Banelights are cruel fey who stalk mortals in the darkness and loathe the increasing ubiquity of mortal-made light. Banelights are strangely social creatures, and they conduct bizarre courtship dances among themselves or with will-o’-wisps. In the absence of other fey to keep them company, banelights sometimes capture mortals to keep them entertained. While a good conversationalist can survive as a banelight’s “guest” for years, banelights are quick to dispatch companions who bore them.

Kamaitachis revel in causing pain. A kamaitachi might, for example, hold someone hostage with its delayed doom ability and force that person (or one of the victim’s loved ones) to commit horrible or demeaning acts in exchange for the hostage’s life. Of course, depending on its fickle mood, the kamaitachi is just as likely to kill a hostage who meets its demands.

Wild hunt archers are methodical hunters who fire their bows with uncanny accuracy. Since wild hunt archers tend to be slower on foot than most of their companions, they will often rely on wild hunt horses to provide increased mobility. Rather than carrying normal arrows, they can produce arrows from magical quivers—these quivers do not function in this manner for anyone other than wild hunt archers. Rarely, they carry specific slaying arrows to augment particularly dangerous hunts.

Ankous are assassins for powerful fey nobles, sent to kill, terrify, and torture. They never speak, only telepathically whisper their lord’s verdict to victims. A typical ankou is 10 feet tall and has an 8-foot wingspan, but weighs less than 100 pounds.

Wild hunt scouts relish the chance to seek revenge upon those who have wronged or insulted the wild hunt. They grow bored quickly when the stakes are not lethal, yet they rarely let their bloodlust cloud their tactical choices.

Muses are the fey incarnation of inspiration, rousing poets, musicians, and artists to greater works of beauty.

A vilderavn is a malicious shapechanging spirit whose typical form is that of an oversized raven with a wingspan of 6 to 8 feet that stands 2 to 3 feet tall. Vilderavns sometimes roam in the shape of wolves or dire wolves, and are known to appear as monstrous raven-wolf hybrids akin to black-feathered perytons. They can also walk in humanoid guise when they wish, often assassinating victims of rank and assuming their victims’ places. They have an unusual affection for their swords, often granting them threatening names.  Vilderavns are drawn to war and suffering, often haunting battlefields—especially during protracted sieges. They are particularly drawn toward rulers and commanders, and might insinuate themselves into the confidence of leaders with their clever tongues and deft rumor-mongering. They are deceivers and heralds of woe, seeking to lure the rulers of mortal kingdoms into jealous feuds and fruitless wars with one another. To do this, they often cultivate reputations as master duelists, brilliant mercenary leaders, or unjustly banished nobility from distant lands. Regardless of their guises, vilderavns’ advice usually seems wise and perceptive, steeped in an expansive knowledge of history, political rivalries, and cultural clashes, along with insights into the ways of war. Yet while their counsel might lead to early victories, their ultimate purpose is to bring doom to all sides. At the height of the battle, when victory seems nigh, a vilderavn often instigates a wave of betrayal, crippling erstwhile allies and bringing devastation. Only when a ruler’s kingdom or a commander’s army lies in ruins does a vilderavn administer the coup de grace.  It is said that the first vilderavns were created by a vicious fey lord as a check and counter to the hubris of mortal rulers, especially those who put their trust in armies and steel to drive back the wild lands. The boasting and braggadocio of those mortals who believed they had achieved mastery over the followers of the old ways offended the fey lord, who sent vilderavns to infiltrate their ranks. The vilderavns watched from the shadows and learned the ways of mortals, the better to use their own weapons and strategies against them. In torment and blood, they peeled away the secrets of mortals, laying the last truths of their hearts bare before bestowing the gift of death on them. Even in death, however, a vilderavn’s victims languish, stretched across the threshold of the afterlife yet tethered to the fey spirit’s merciless heart. Their minds are open books for this fey to unravel and use in cruel and hurtful ways.  Vilderavns sometimes amuse themselves by offering false oracular advice or tempting bargains to mortals, promising power in exchange for the blood of innocents. A vilderavn typically claims to be cursed into its animal form, insisting that only innocent blood will release it. If its mark is foolish enough to accept its bargain, the vilderavn often returns wearing the innocent’s flesh to torment its supposed ally and drive her to insanity. A vilderavn might even offer an irony-laced limited wish to sweeten its bargains and truly test a mortal’s resolve.

Zomoks are dragonlike creatures made out of animate plant matter. Native to the realm of the fey, they are guardians of mystic forests. Some travel to the Material Plane and adapt to its woodlands, defending them against massive destruction—forest fires, logging, undead armies, and so on—and use their abilities to heal and regrow damaged areas. Rather than having a distinct physical body, a zomok is more like a spirit animating a collective mass of vegetation, and over time it sheds and acquires new material from its environment, changing its appearance to match its current location. Zomoks do not need to eat, and any creature they swallow is usually left behind as a mashed corpse to decay and provide nutrition for plants. A typical zomok is about 18 feet tall and 30 feet long, and weighs 30 tons.

According to legend, primordial gods seeded the multiverse with the irminsuls, powerful and intelligent tree-like beings that bind all their worlds together by their roots. At one time, these beings were plentiful, and prized for their knowledge and mystic properties. But powerful creatures hacked them to the ground because they believed irminsuls’ wood had special qualities or sought to protect themselves from whatever lay beyond the strange portals. Every irminsul is bound to a specific plane. The bound plane determines the creature’s alignment, the nature of its regeneration, and the languages it knows. Sometimes irminsuls have special abilities based on the planes they are linked to. The sample irminsul is bound to the primal land of fey.

Wild hunt monarchs command dozens of other wild hunt fey. While their followers can travel on personal missions, these majestic leaders (who can be female or male, and are referred to as wild hunt queens or wild hunt kings as appropriate) can rally the hunt to follow them anywhere without question. Wild hunt monarchs set the terms of each specific hunt, depending upon the prey and their own whims. The easier the prey, the more likely a monarch is to impose rules to make the hunt more entertaining, such as forbidding anyone but his hounds from injuring the quarry, or holding back his forces to give the target creature time to rest and recover.  Many members of a wild hunt monarch’s following join as soon as they are born from the fey realm, but others are born out of his own prey, or come to serve him after the demise of their previous leader. Monarchs do not typically interact with their own kind, but they occasionally collaborate on an exceptionally challenging hunt, testing their wits against nascent demigods or beasts of legend.  

Civilization spreads like an invasive species, destroying and consuming, transforming and dominating. There are some realms, though—primeval and pristine tracts of wilderness—that civilization will never claim. These are the whisperers’ domains.  The whisperers are fey in the most otherworldly and alien way possible. They resent those who trespass on their primeval landscapes, the lone exceptions being the undead that rise from the spirits of their victims or those fey who, by their natures or through cruel fate, have fallen to evil. These fey seek out the whisperer’s realm, both for the protection it provides and because they find its alien presence strangely euphoric; they often delight in leading intruders into the whisperer’s grasp.  A whisperer’s domain is nearly as hostile to intruders as the whisperer itself is. Lethal hazards, unexplainable occurrences, and eerie happenings are common in a primeval landscape, as are haunts formed from previous trespassers. Plant creatures and animals attack viciously, and even “ordinary” plants seem hostile to intruders.  A whisperer is 15 feet tall and, being incorporeal, is completely weightless.