Plants

Known for their potent—and ultimately deadly—scent, xtabays are a floral hazard to the unwary. As fast-spreading as ivy, a xtabay’s vines are sturdy and adaptive, making the plant a potential threat nearly everywhere—from gardens to wells to forest groves. Attractive flowers blossom from the vines of xtabays, emitting the spores that mean a slow death for their victims. The strange, face-like patterns that grow on the petals are disturbing but seem to have no real function. Hermits or other reclusive types have been known to surround their territory with xtabays, warding off pesky creatures and adventurers alike. Instances of xtabays of larger-than-usual size have also been reported. These massive plants possess tendrils as thick as tree limbs and flowers that can fell even the hardiest of warriors with their overwhelming perfume. Underground, xtabays thrive in the wet, dark environment, covering the walls and floors of entire caverns and anesthetizing whole dens of subterranean creatures. Nomadic plants, xtabays traverse large expanses of land until they sense nearby life, at which point they lie dormant and take on the guise of harmless flowers while releasing their deceptive aroma. Once a creature is subdued, the beast-like plant wastes no time in devouring it, disregarding creatures unaffected by its aroma. Because of their carnivorous nature, xtabays only rarely run short on nutrients, consuming the entirety of a victim’s body over the course of several days following the initial process of draining its blood. Xtabays are able to devour creatures thanks to their lengthy roots, which produce a corrosive acid that breaks down and absorbs flesh and bone.

A tsaalgrend is a predatory creature resembling a tangle of sturdy vines with jagged purple thorns. Its coloration is mottled with brown, green, and yellow mold patches that flake and fall as the creature writhes through the air. The tsaalgrend’s vines barely conceal two translucent, gas-filled sacks that act as balloons, enabling it to float along above the ground. Two longer vines stretch from the creature’s center, allowing the tsaalgrend to snare its prey. An opening filled with rows of spiky thorns, positioned on the creature’s underside, serves as the creature’s mouth. This orifice constantly emits a wet, rancid stench and a wheezing sigh as warm gas escapes from its floatation chambers.  Tsaalgrends are complex, ambulatory fungi, but also symbiotically support a multitude of other molds, fungi, mosses, and epiphytes. The most powerful mold growing within tsaalgrends produces potent, hallucinogenic black spores. Tsaalgrends mainly use these fine spores for hunting, and they are capable of ejecting spores in a wide area to stun prey. Any creature that breathes in the spores is immediately subject to an overwhelming terror response as its mind floods with primal, animalistic fears. The victim’s breathing becomes quick and shallow, its heart rate rises dramatically, and nearby sounds become dull over the rush of blood in its ears. The creature’s mind begs to flee, but its muscles simply seize tight. Most victims find this experience maddening enough that their frustration and panic heighten the actual chemical effects of the tsaalgrends’ spores.  Daring alchemists occasionally hunt and trap tsaalgrends with the intention of harvesting the black spores from living specimens and using them to fabricate new and potent inhaled poisons. Securing a living tsaalgrend is important to the process, for the spores lose potency soon after they are released, making storage for later use impractical. Such alchemists often run afoul of fungus-focused druids, who commune with and protect these unusual plants.  Tsaalgrends display a limited intelligence—easily on par with apes— and can overcome simple puzzles and challenges. They communicate basic concepts with each other through the deliberate transfer of spores. These bouts of communication involve bursts of various colors and scents, granting tsaalgrends with large and more varied symbiotic colonies something akin to leadership roles. Most often, tsaalgrends “speak” to each other to coordinate hunting efforts. The plants also respond to some spoken language, though they lack a well-developed sense of hearing and show diff iculty differentiating any but the simplest words and phrases. Several distinct patches of stubby 1- or 2-inch growths track light and movement, essentially serving as eyes.  A tsaalgrend typically grows to be over 3 feet long, and weighs about 40 pounds.

Cerebric fungi are a race of carnivorous, intelligent fungi native to a distant planet. Although they are one of the lowliest life forms on their homeworld, the fungi still possess an alien intellect far beyond that of most terrestrial creatures. Cerebric fungi display great curiosity about other races and species when they visit other worlds, asking endless, apparently senseless, questions and engaging in disturbing experiments. Some eccentric scholars claim to have learned unsettling secrets from these interrogations. Although capable of fine manipulation with their prehensile filaments, cerebric fungi normally forgo the use of weapons in favor of their natural attacks.

Mindslaver mold is an infestation from the primal world of fey that is particularly common in remote forests, islands, and mountain valleys where it is sometimes worshiped as a strange god by isolated, primitive tribes. The mold is joined together by a single consciousness, though individual patches retain their own goals. It seeks humanoid hosts, parasitizing them and forcing them to serve as its bodyguards and protectors.

A phantom fungus is a tripedal carnivorous plant that roams the vast and deep underground caverns of the world. It wanders in search of food, using its rootlike feet to detect movement along the cavern floors and the sensitive tendrils surrounding its mouth to pinpoint prey. A phantom fungus’s primary advantage as a predator is its ability to vanish from sight. Stealthily patrolling the perimeters of caverns, a phantom fungus remains invisible until it is behind its prey, at which point it snaps at its victim with its vicious maw. A phantom fungus prefers to ambush lone creatures. When it encounters a larger group, a phantom fungus often stalks prey for hours, waiting for the targets to spread out or make camp so that it may attack a single foe at its leisure. Though phantom fungi are not normally pack hunters, there are reports of groves working together to bring down larger foes. When faced with no other option than to attack multiple foes, a group of phantom fungi focuses its attacks on single targets. They prefer to attack noisier foes if possible—characters wearing heavy armor or those that make heavy use of loud attacks (such as bards or spellcasters) are preferred over quieter creatures. The maw with which a phantom fungus attacks prey is lined with row upon row of sharp, jagged teeth that resemble pointed rocks more than actual fangs. This “mouth” is not used to feed, however, and does not attach to a digestive tract—it is nothing more than a gaping natural weapon. When a phantom fungus feeds, it does so by squatting down on its prey and infesting the corpse with thousands of feeding filaments that burrow through dead flesh to siphon away nutrients. A typical phantom fungus is 6 feet tall and weighs 200 pounds. Although they prefer dwelling underground, they have been encountered above ground as well.

The violet fungus is one of the most notorious and feared dangers of the world’s caves. A traveler can often see signs of the violet fungus in those who dwell or hunt in places where these carnivorous fungi lurk. In these folk, deep and hideous scars mar bodies where entire furrows of flesh seem scooped away—the marks of a close encounter with a violet fungus. A violet fungus feeds on the rot and decay of organic matter, but unlike most fungi, they are not passive consumers of corruption. A violet fungi’s tendrils can strike with unexpected swiftness, and are coated with a virulent venom that causes flesh to rot and decay with nauseating speed. This potent poison, if left untreated, can cause the flesh of an entire arm or leg to drop away in no time at all, leaving behind only warm bones that soon rot into corruption as well. Although violet fungi are mobile, they only move to attack or to hunt for prey. A violet fungus that has a steady supply of rot to sup upon is generally content to remain in one place. Many underground-dwelling cultures take advantage of this penchant, particularly troglodytes and vegepygmies, and keep multiple violet fungi in key junctions and entrances to their caverns as guardians, making sure to keep them well fed with carrion to prevent them wandering farther into the den in search of food. Some species of shriekers are relatively similar in appearance to violet fungi, although they lack the tentacular branches. It’s not uncommon to find shriekers and violet fungi growing in the same grove—especially in areas where other creatures cultivate the fungi as guardians. A violet fungus is 4 feet tall and weighs 50 pounds.

Violet Venom
Although a violet fungus’s tentacles swiftly grow inert after the mushroom is slain, they can be wielded as Medium-sized whips for 2d6 minutes after being harvested from the creature. These whips inflict rot on anything they touch—including the wielder of the deadly weapon—and both save DCs to resist and effects are identical to the stats presented above. A DC 25 Craft (alchemy) check and 250gp worth of reagents can preserve the venom somewhat, although the procedure dilutes it significantly.
Violet Venom: Poison—contact; save Fort DC 13, frequency 1/minute for 6 minutes, effect 1d2 Strength and 1d2 Con damage; cure 1 save; cost 800gp.

Part plant and part beast, living topiaries are moving flora that look like decorative lawn ornaments used to adorn gardens and groves, though their bestial nature and aloof demeanor prove they are far from mere decorations. Some theorize that the living topiaries originally came from the primal land of fey, where odd phenomena such as animal-shaped flora are not unheard of. Living topiaries wander the lands to fulfill their single purpose: searching for more plants to consume, which enables them to grow ever larger. Though somewhat delicate, living topiaries can thrive for decades by constantly refreshing their bodies with new plant matter. Though living topiaries will not willingly go to such places on their own, sometimes one accidentally finds itself in an area void of adequate additional shrubbery or water, like a vast plain or desert. In such situations, an individual deprived of nutrients quickly dries out and shrivels over the course of several days. Living topiaries range in height from shrubs only a couple feet off the ground to towering hedges. The average specimen is about 4 feet tall and weighs 200 pounds.

The walking fungi known as myceloids feed off of decaying organic matter like many other fungi, yet unlike typical mushrooms or molds, they take particular pleasure in feeding from the rotting bodies of humanoids. Myceloids claim to be able to taste things like “innocence,” “despair,” and “hope” in the ripeness of rancid meat, although whether this is true or simply part of the myceloids’ twisted sense of humor is unclear. Most myceloids have deep purple caps studded with white lumps, and paler purple necks and bodies of tough, leathery fungus. Their spores grow tenaciously in living flesh, causing a rapid spread of painful purple lesions that, in advanced stages of the sickness, sprout tiny purple mushrooms; plucking these mushrooms is painful to the victim and causes bleeding. This condition, known as purple pox, is the method by which myceloids both season their meat and procreate. Myceloids prefer to capture victims alive for later infection and control. To a myceloid, a living creature has three uses—first as a slave, second as a host from which to birth new myceloids, and finally as a banquet to feast upon once the first two destinies have played out.

Typically found in damp dungeons, refuse heaps, and forgotten, filthy chambers, phycomids are dangerous fungoid creatures that grow in small, steaming patches among decomposing organic matter. The phycomid’s main body is a mass of green-brown mold that can slither and move when necessary to seek out new carrion to feed upon. Numerous mushrooms sprout from the main body—vile green stalks topped with purple or red caps that seem to steam with rank-smelling smoke. This smoke is in fact vapor escaping from the numerous globs of acid the plant produces as a method of both self-defense and reproduction. This acidic substance is expelled from the phycomid whenever it senses movement nearby, and seasoned adventurers can often trick a phycomid into giving away its true nature by simulating movement within range of the fungus. Less fortunate encounters are typically marked by large infestations of phycomids growing among a scattered collection of dead bodies. Because of the filthy environment in which this fungus thrives, goblins are one of the few races that have learned to coexist with phycomids. Not content to simply give the fungi a wide berth, these foolish goblins actually harvest the phycomids, prodding them into positions in their warrens where they can serve as guards and sentinels, utilizing long poles they call “slime sticks” or placing delicious-smelling carrion to attract the fungus to a desired position. Although phycomids are deadly to eat, many goblin tribes view those who eat a phycomid mushroom and survive as great heroes. Needless to say, most goblin lairs that attempt to utilize phycomids as guardians eventually become nothing more than phycomid lairs—a goblin tribe’s luck can only hold up for so long, after all.

Oversized fungi, ascomoids are frequently mistaken for giant puff balls until they begin to move, rolling toward any living prey that they sense. Once they have crushed the life out of a creature, they quickly move on, leaving spores behind in their victim’s body to grow new ascomoids. Ascomoids can grow to a width of 10 feet, but they rarely weigh more than 400 pounds. While ascomoids require no light to grow, they do require a moist environment. They do not keep traditional lairs, but often wander the same areas over and over, littering these routes with the bones of past victims. Although they are typically solitary creatures, ascomoids dwelling in areas of ample moisture with generous sources of food—or frequent unwitting passersby— sometimes form deadly clusters. Such colonies of these giant fungi often lurk in large caverns among other pallid vegetation. Given ascomoids’ ability to detect vibrations, the slightest quake or potential footfall sets them rolling, turning their cavernous lairs into churning meat grinders. Bounding about violently, groups of ascomoids sometimes take hours to settle back down, unable to distinguish between the movements of prey and the tumbling of their own kind. In some cases, ascomoids have been known to lair at the top of steep rises, crushing climbers as they roll in terrible fungal avalanches. Those crushed by an ascomoid or who fall victim to an ascomoid’s spores face a revolting end, their bodies becoming hosts to quick-growing colonies of rampant fungi. Immature ascomoid mold sprouts quickly, typically appearing within 24 hours. After 48 hours, such victims become so overgrown with this furry, brown-green mold that they can no longer be restored to life by raise dead, as their bodies are too vitally pervaded and thoroughly consumed by the swiftly spreading mold. Within a month, a new ascomoid emerges from the foul mess.

The strange fungal basidirond is a deadly plant monster that feeds on mineral-rich moisture, be it runoff from cave walls or fresh blood. By ensuring a constant flow of nutritious moisture, canny cave dwellers can use basidironds as guardians for their lairs, although they must take care to avoid the plant’s hunting routes lest they become its latest victims.

Driven by pure instinct, this monstrously sized pitcher plant is much more aggressive than its more common and harmless insect-eating kin. Though a capable hunter, the crypt flower has no qualms about scavenging for its sustenance and eagerly devours living or rotting flesh. It maintains a proclivity for growing in graveyards and cemeteries, nursing itself on a diet of carrion, corpses, and vermin. Because the crypt flower gains its nutrients from decomposing organisms, the plant is nearly rootless and moves about by extending and retracting four thick clusters of rootlike shoots.  The crypt flower’s central, pitcher-shaped bulb is larger than an average adult human. A single petal hovers above the opening, acting as a sort of lid above rows of jagged spines that fold inward, overlapping each other almost like shark’s teeth. As soon as a victim comes near this maw, the overhanging petal slams down and the flower rapidly constricts. Its spines gnaw upon the captured prey, drawing it into the large, hollow pitcher to be dissolved in sweet-scented but acidic and toxic nectar.  In certain areas, bandit gangs or criminal organizations based in rural regions have taken the somewhat dangerous tradition of using crypt flowers to dispose of unwanted bodies. Since it makes no difference to a crypt flower whether it consumes an unwanted body and otherwise, complex pens or troughs are built to contain the flowers and limit their movements so that they can be “fed” with relative safety.  Crypt flowers typically grow between 8 to 10 feet tall and weigh 320 pounds.

A fully grown moonflower easily stands 20 feet tall, its massive trunk frequently 4 feet or more in diameter. The roots extend away from the base and into the soil, making the plant seem well anchored, but the roots themselves possess an agility that belies the great size of the plant and allows the moonflower to uproot itself and move with surprising speed. The tendrils of the plant are independently prehensile and writhe around the large flytrap-like “head” that crowns the stem. Moonflowers have never been known to communicate with other creatures, even with druids and others who regularly converse with plants. The plants do possess some manner of strange telepathy, though, and are in constant communication with their nearby brethren. Those who manage to intrude upon the creatures’ alien thoughts face an assault of horrible visions of terrifying jungles filled with ancient, sentient, and malign plants.

Hundreds of years ago, a cabal of powerful succubus assassins attempted to invade the Abyssal realm of the demon lord of disease and fungus. These succubi sought   to slay a powerful witch who had befouled a profane temple the assassins served. The succubi failed at their mission, and from their corpses grew the first fungus queens. Pleased with this development, the witch seeded numerous Material Plane worlds with fungus queen spores, and these new fungus queens have taken to these new environments like rot to a carcass; today, hundreds of the subversive creatures dwell in the fouler reaches of the Material Plane. They are particularly fond of large cave systems and the slums of ruined cities. Fungus queens also often dwell in areas of corrupted woodlands where blighted fey rule, or in the sewers of active cities with an unusually large amount of magical pollution.  An encounter with a normally unintelligent plant monster acting in a sinister and organized way can be evidence of the manipulation of a fungus queen, but fungus queens are equally fond of commanding and keeping other creatures as pets and slaves—particularly attractive humanoids. Especially favored minions are given the gift of the fungus queen’s embrace and are transformed into fungoid minions forever loyal to their pallid mistress. Yet a fungus queen knows that a diverse array of guardians is best, and is certain to keep some non-plant minions on hand to protect her lair.  Fungus queens are violently jealous and possessive. Those who attempt to lure away their charmed and dominated pets or cure those who have been infested elicit their eternal ire, but it is succubi that most enrage fungus queens. Whether this is due to a simple territorial conflict or some deeper hatred born of their unique genesis, a fungus queen faced with someone whom she even suspects might be a succubus is a terror indeed, for in such battles the plants abandon their normal approach of subtle mental control and trickery, instead bringing all of their power to bear in an attempt to rip the offending creature apart. Fungus queens also take great and specific delight in transforming succubi into fungoid creatures under their control.  While their jealousy doesn’t compel them to do battle with other fungus queens, they are always careful to maintain their own territories apart from any nearby queens, and they take great pains not to “poach” from their sisters’ harems of charmed and infested pets.  Many fungus queens grow quite powerful over time, typically gaining class levels in bard, ranger, or sorcerer— they generally do not become more powerful by merely gaining racial Hit Dice or increasing in size. Fungus queen druids are remarkably rare.  A fungus queen is 6 feet tall and weighs 150 pounds.

FUNGOID SIMPLE TEMPLATE (CR +1)  
Creatures with the fungoid simple template appear as they did in life, save that their flesh is pallid and moist and mushrooms and mold cake their bodies. This template can be applied to any living, non-plant creature. A fungoid creature’s quick and rebuild rules are the same.  
Rebuild Rules: The creature’s type changes to plant, and it gains all of the traits of the plant type. The creature gains telepathy with a range of 100 feet with other fungoid creatures. Its alignment changes to chaotic evil.  
Fungal Creature Template: Optionally, you can use the fungal creature template to represent creatures transformed by a fungus queen. In this case, the fungal creature’s alignment changes to chaotic evil.

Bonethorns form from bodies devoured and reanimated by a hideous, flesh-eating fungus. After consuming a creature’s flesh, the fungus binds to the bones and takes the place of the body’s muscular system. As the fungus spreads across the skeleton, it solidifies into numerous raised spikes used to implant fungal spores into other living creatures. Once permanently affixed, it uses the host skeleton to move around so as to spread spores and create more bonethorns.  A bonethorn has a rudimentary intellect, but spends most of its time seeking new hosts. When flesh isn’t available, the fungus goes dormant and can remain so for hundreds of years. While dormant, the bonethorn is inanimate. As soon as the fungus senses life, it reanimates the skeleton—an action easily confused for a corpse rising from the dead. This can fool clerics into trying to turn the creatures, which absorb the positive energy to their benefit.  A typical bonethorn is 6 feet tall and weighs 60 pounds.

A mu spore is a thankfully rare plant of vast power and strange intellect. The smallest of mu spores (such as the one presented here) are never less than a hundred feet long from tentacle tip to tentacle tip, and weigh a minimum of 200,000 pounds. Yet despite their vast bulk, mu spores are capable of flying with an uncommon grace, venting jets of foul-smelling spores to guide their flight through the air. Mu spores dwell in vast caverns, but sometimes drift up to the surface through immense pits or tunnels—they have no fear of sunlight, but prefer nocturnal habits. Mu spores are more than just ravenous eaters of nations—they possess uncommon intellects, and if peaceful contact can be made, their knowledge can be quite valuable. Even more valuable, to many debased alchemists, are the strange secretions and spores they emit, for these rare materials can be brewed into the strangest of drugs and elixirs.