More Things Underground

Stonechilds

In singular they're called "a Stonechild," pronounced like you'd think but for some reason the plural form is "Stonechilds" as in "Rothschilds."

They're slow, so the only way they can catch prey is through numbers and ambush tactics. They typically lurk wherever large boulders and rocks congregate, lurking in a loose ring until some victims wander into the middle. Some scholars (the few who care to even take up the subject) suspect they were brought over at some point from the Elemental Plane of Earth, while others argue they are a native form of mollusc.

Disguised, a Stonechild looks like an ordinary stone, about the size of a large man's torso. This is actually their shell, though it looks and feels like rough granite shaped by aeons of wind and rain, often even sporting colonies of moss. The shape may be oblong and more forward-projecting or more balanced. From out of this shell when the Stonechild emerges protrude two stout, tortoise-like legs, which waddle furiously in splayed posture. Despite the effort both their speed and balance is poor.

From near the front or sides of their shell protrude two grey pipelike arms ending in blunt, four-fingered hands, the forearm and wrist swollen-looking, the skin rough as sandpaper. The arms are long enough that their fingertips can just meet if they reach around the front of the shell, but the Stonechild's body configuration makes wielding a weapon in two hands impossible. They carry stone maces, which some speculate the Stonechilds form naturally inside their shell analogous to how clams form pearls. The head of the mace can take many forms: sometimes a simple orb, othertimes a little pagoda of layered flanges. It is quite heavy and quite effective at breaking bones. They wield it one-handed with the other arm held out for balance or to catch them if their flat feet stutter.

Stonechilds are only about as high as a man's waist. Thus they usually swing for the legs, and full-on a blow from one of their clubs can disable a man's leg even through armor. They bring their targets down to their level with repeated savage blows. Then the Stonechild opens its mouth: a heretofore unseen crack in the stone pops up with a hiss of escaping steam and the squelch of mucus strings and a vomitous smell. Enormous teeth line the void with a thick tongue, the entire front section of the Stonechild's shell apparently devoted to its mouth. When their victim is well pulverized, preferably beaten into a kneeling position with head conveniently lowered, the lead Stonechild opens its maw and bites off the victim's head. Simple and effective. Brains really do seem to be the most prized part of any prey. They will work whatever chunk they tore off in their giant mouths with slow grinding and cracking, spitting out lumps of twisted metal armor and fragments of bone for days. They can go a long time between meals. They are just clever enough to leave any valuables from previous victims strewn around the scene of their next ambush.

They can speak. Terran, which lends some credence to the notion that they are outsiders, and in some cases a few crude phrases in the common tongue. Sometimes as they encircle prey, in their droning buzzing voices they pretend to be robbers. They say they'll the victim pass if weapons and goods are surrendered. At least until their ring gets close enough to charge (10' for their stumpy little legs). Sometimes Stonechilds just open those huge, flat-toothed mouths of theirs and scream for no apparent reason.

It's speculated they reproduce through eggs, which grow a suitably-sized rock shell over and around them as the fleshy creature inside actually finishes gestating and growing over centuries. As the abominations are thoroughly exterminated anytime a colony is found anywhere near civilization, much of their ecology is left to speculation. They are dumb and their senses limited enough you could play Jane Goodall with a circle of them if you really wanted, but it would be one boring adventure.

Under-Men

Products of breeding experiments, they are a subrace of Man. Perhaps once human slaves of the Illithids, crossbred with a tribe of blind Morlocks. Perhaps their gracile, sculpted bodies were the product of some feverish Drow fleshcrafter-aesthete. Maybe it was some asshole wizard who's name is now deservedly lost to time. In any case, they got loose and bred true and now they are a viable if gross underground culture.

Tall and wane with knotted muscles, they rarely stand to their full height but hunt and root through their caves and tunnels stooped, necks projecting vulturine from tensed shoulders. Their skin is an almost purplish grey, unkempt bristly hair soot-black. There may be some nods to decoration: headbands made from cave viper hide, hair stood up with animal fat. They have recessed noses, the nostrils almost slits, and heavy brows beneath which the eyes are intense black orbs, almost all pupil; the eyes barely work anymore. If you shone a torch in one's face he would see you as no more than a hazy ghost haloed in alien luminescence. Their mouths tend to project out from the face; any alien object will get a quick tongue-bathing to determine its nature.

They stalk the corridors and cliffs under the earth by probing the stones with fingers and feet. Their grey skin, corded veins standing up beneath as from intense dehydration, is tremulous. Their shoulders quiver, their too-long and somehow too independent fingers dance over everything and feel everything in an unsightly way. They have replaced vision with vibration, their tactile senses increased a hundredfold. They'll feel your footsteps in the stone even though you think you're being totally silent. You can't disguise your weight, the gentle easing and pressing of mass as clear to them as if you were touching skin. Their feet are long, balanced to keep the heel off the ground, with toes nearly as articulated and long as fingers; it's through the pads of these delicate extremities they can feel every shift in the movement of their prey. Their feet are their eyes and they take precious care of them. Pain overwhelms their senses: they avoid melee combat at all costs. Stone axes weighted for throwing, the hafts bone or stems of the ironshroom, and sinew-drawn bows are their weapons. Some wear carefully hardened mud-armor, always decorated with a spiral symbol in drawn ash. The spiral represents the winding endless underground; it is both holy symbol and map of their world. They use it on their boundary-stones. A drawn symbol may seem bizarre for a sightless culture but they remember they themselves were once sighted Men, and they know you can see it. At the center of every Under-Man community is a pool or sump with fresh water. This is their lifesource, their shrine and their retreat. They rarely sleep (once every 48 hours, roughly) but when they do they need the muffling of the numbing cold water on their hides; they sleep floating on their back in the still water and enjoy a respite from the constant bombardment of their heightened touch.

Most Under-Men are cannibals (in the sense of eating other human subspecies and sapient underground denizens). The few who aren't tend to live nearer to the surface, where they can trade with explorers or benign communities such as the Svirfneblin. These nearer tribes can make excellent guides for explorers from the surface, although your booted footfalls will be so annoyingly loud---the crunching, the thumping---that only an Under-Man gifted with patience can do the job.

Most, however, consider noisesome intruders only good for eating. They will stalk you by your vibrations, well outside the range of lantern or torch. At an opportune moment--when your party has just triumphed over some great beast perhaps--their flint-headed arrows will sail into your light, black missiles announcing the Under-Mens' arrival. They approach shooting steadily, a bend of cavemen boxing in dangerous animals, and when close enough throw their stoneheaded axes to break your skulls. At last remove a few will have longspears to try and keep the enemy's "beaters" from closing in on the killers. If their crude weapons can't break an enemy's armor they will withdraw, clambering up rough walls to escape and return to their slow hunt, awaiting the next chance to strike. They can do this again, and again. They're endurance hunters on their own ground, and they can see every move you make echoed in glancing impacts off the vaulted walls.

---

I got the name "Stonechild" off a monster name generator. There's really something to those monster name generators, you know? I'm not so good at coming up with things ex nihilo but having only a name provides a kind of prompt that gets the creative juices flowing. Under-Men weren't inspired by anything directly I THINK although False Machine  should definitely be mentioned. It's similar to something he wrote years ago that I can't find but I think I made the idea my own (more quotidian, less poetic, I think that's basically my stock in trade) I can put this up with a minimum of gall.

Three Wells

I had stuff to do today but I decided to play with Konsumterra's awesome Strange Wells table instead. I'm thinking of putting these three holes in the wilderness near the entrance of a dungeon (so amusingly you could have an entire dungeon placed right before the original dungeon). Here's what I got:

Three Wells

1. Shaft type: (1)A hole in the earth, hidden to most by rocks or grass. Muddy and narrow. Fittings: (1)None, bare and primitive. BYO rope/bucket/etc. Water: (7)Muddy puddle, but regular water that can be filtered. What's Below: (10) Complete dungeon complex. Quick Contents: (7) Haunted. Well Features (roll three): (94) long-forgotten laboratory, preserved brains & organs in jars; (74) Druid cult meets here, gods demand intruders be sacrificed; (7) hermit lives here in solitude to meditate.

----> The well shaft is haunted by the spirits of four adventurers who were sacrificed by the wicked Druids that live under the earth. They will try to warn any newcomers, though since they can only scream in madness and pain it's difficult. The Druids mistakenly believe what was once an ancient necromancer's laboratory to be a burial chamber filled with canopic jars. They are "the Brotherhood of Flesh and Blood" who believe that internal organs hold the secret power of the universe, which can be harvested from body parts preserved beyond death: thus they are tomb robbers with a holy purpose. They are seeking a sarcophagus in this "tomb" that doesn't exist. They are totally unaware that they have come in via the back way to a much larger dungeon complex, the only other living inhabitant of which is an elven philosopher who slipped in 100 years ago to write his masterpiece on Arcane Epistemology ("I cast, therefore I am") in perfect solitude.

2. Shaft type: (3)Sinkhole entering into possible cave complex/ancient remains. Fittings: (6)Wooden hut with rope winch and bucket. Water: (8) Swirling pool of churning, foaming water. What's Below: (3)Series of caves with 4 chambers. Quick Contents: (5) Humanoids & Demihumans. Well Features (roll three): (80) Tribal shaman with guardian & ancestral spirits lairs here, since his clan was destroyed long ago; (37) serial killers live here with collections of human skin and bones; (24) a secret cult shrine is here, possibly still in use, often cursed. May hold treasure.

-------> There was a complete dungeon complex here, once. It's caved in now, leaving only a small cave complex and a few caverns. A Wild Elf shaman is all that remains of the elves who once lived in these caves: since the destruction of his tribe he has meditated in solitude, save for the restless ghosts around him. He is indifferent to the small gang of Orcish skinwalkers (a depraved cult that captures men to make suits out of their hides, despised even by other orcs) lairing in the next cavern over, and they are afraid to approach him and the shrine he resides in. Even the Elf isn't totally sure as to the shrine's history, he senses deep evil from it.

3. Shaft type: (7)A shaft of neatly carved stone blocks, fitted with great precision. Fittings: (7) Crude stone shelter, with rope and bucket. Water: (3) An underground river. What's below: Series of caves with 3 chambers. Quick Contents: (8) Magic. Well Features (roll six): (3) Remains of animal bones and human sacrifices. (32) Hideout for thief gang, depositing loot & hiding members who are "hot." (98) A dragon that has slept since the Dawn Times; (71) Sorcerer's lair, also a drug den. Stoned followers seek thrills & enlightenment; (76) Summoner's lair. Animal cages lie about and mystical circles are carved into the stone floor. (96) A healing magical spring, hidden from the main water source;

---------> The sorcerer is the leader of the thief gang, a dozen underprivileged city youths who treat his cave as a place to crash and get high. The secret ingredient for the drugs (which the gang sells for the sorcerer as well as using themselves) is the saliva of the Dreaming Dragon. This translucently pale, wingless creature is archaic and more resembles an amphysbaena than a dragon. The summoner pays rent to the sorcerer, is secretly trying to awaken the Dragon following a legend it will sing the song that ends the world (he was unlucky in a relationship recently). There once was a cult that worshipped the dragon and performed sacrifices in its chamber, but the sorcerer chased them out (they lurk in the desert outside now--waiting their chance to kidnap one of the sorcerer's precious thief kids). The dragon's chamber is still piled with old bones of men and animals. None of these people have ever realized there is a healing spring in the back of the dragon's chamber (not bold enough to go that far back). Ambient magic about the place is so strong all casters are treated as +1 CL, all healing spells get an additional +1 result even if cast at max level.

More About the Purple Plains/Thunderfolk

Items in No Order
1) The Purple Plains stretch about 720 miles East to West and average about a fifth of that distance North to South.  I derived this distance starting with the assumption that, on average, a herd of Ghost Cattle migrates about eight miles in a day.  Their leisurely transit between the East and West poles of the grasslands occupies about 180 days of the year.  8 x 180 = 1,440 miles round trip, meaning the crossing from West to East should cover about 720 miles.

2) The Thunderfolk are seminomadic.  They essentially roam around in a closed circuit, with regular stops that are more like seasonally-occupied homes than temporary campsites.  In fact, these "stations" all have little communities that live there permanently, though the vast majority of the Thunderfolk bands are continually passing through.

3)  The Thunderfolk hunt the Ghost Cattle/Phase-Oxen, but leave the bovine herds offerings of milk, almonds, sweet-grass and occasionally even sugar (must be imported from the far south, very precious).  They do this by placing the offering in a great bowl ahead of the herd's path and backing far enough away to remain in sight while looking non-aggressive.  The beasts are allowed to come on and eat the offering in the sight of the officiant.  The cattle never see dismounted Thunderfolk (or by extension, other humanoids) as a threat (although they may expect offerings), and as long as you avoid the herd's bull you can walk among them quite safely. 

4) Thunderfolk hunt via archery, using recurved oxhorn-and-oak composite bows from knolls 60-100 yards away (obviously, the greater the distance at which you hit your mark the more plaudits you win, and Thunderfolk men set great store by the range at which they can hit a target).  This is far enough away that the cattle will not even realize they are being hunted.  It is extremely important to shoot the ox or cow behind the breast-bone or in the neck and kill the beast instantly, and in this way the Ghost Cattle never see mankind as predators and so never use their phasing ability to escape them.  The Thunderfolk believe that a sloppy archer who must shoot multiple times to make a kill risks disabusing the Ghost Cattle of the truth of their true relationship to Man.

5)  The Thunderfolk, as mentioned previously, are so pale that in places their skin shades into a faint blue.  Their eyes are blue or hazel, and their hair is a near-platinum or golden blonde.  Men and women alike dread their hair and tie the dreadlocks into plates or knots in various styles, often held in place with bronze or bone tubes.  The thickness of their long hair is the first protection of their pale flesh against the harsh sun of the Purple Plains.  Almost all of them wear thick leather mantles or hoods, a few of the richer ones wearing cloaks/serapes of interwoven thick white Ghost Cattle fur, and wound about face and neck on a hot day they will wear whatever linens they can.

6)  Although still hairy in Spring to Summer, it's in Autumn to Winter that the Ghost Cattle's coats of long fine white hair begins to grow truly shaggy and enormous.  By February the enormous coats trail to the ground.  

7) Here are the things you can be in Thunderfolk society:

Patriarch
Priest/Elder
Smith
Saddler
Horse trainer/breeder
Midwife
Weaver
Carver (of bone, wood, etc.)

Weavers, Carvers, Smiths and Saddlers occupy the otherwise almost-empty permanent settlements along the circuit of the Thunderfolk's migrations.  Saddlers are actually generalized tanners/leather-workers but saddles are the most prestigious objects they can make.  The Thunderfolk make saddles as fine as any more materially elaborate civilization, in styles suitable for riding, fighting and pack-bearing.

Weavers actually weave great blankets, cloaks, mantillas or serapes out of the Ghost-Cattle's long white fur.  That's all they do, and it's an extremely prestigious and important position.  These half naked dudes in their hide tents patiently knitting for 14 hours a day have the prestige of a royal tailor.  The furs aren't even fancy.  It's considered irreligious (or at least gauche) to die one of the Ghost Cattle furs, although they will be decorated with attached horns or extra bone pins.

Midwives are also generalists who help women to give birth and horses to foal.  They travel from band to band and even if their services aren't needed it's a good idea to pay one a bowl of fermented mare's milk whenever you see her.  

Horse trainers are like midwives although sometimes they might stay with a band for as long as a year or two years, breaking and teaching up young horses.  Every Thunderfolk knows something about handling horses but for a particularly willful beast sometimes you need a specialist.

If it has a particular need for a midwife or a horse trainer, a band can leave word with other bands they pass on the plains.  Invariably the word will get out to the nearest professional.

Smiths usually just make ornaments, often incorporating precious stones, bones, and bits of glass (natural or traded for) into elaborate armlets, rings, plugs, necklaces etc.  They have very little access to iron; what's found in the Purple Plains naturally is copper and tin, so the smiths produce bronze with a great degree of skill.  (There are a few mining communities of Thunderfolk.  They are basically untouchables and otherwise not worth mentioning).  The best smiths make bronze swords like this:

 Yes, technically Iron Age I know.

The Thunderfolk call these blades "Horse-Swords," and they are the primary preferred weapon for raids and duels (of course Thunderfolk bands raid each other, just never in the scattered towns.  What happens on the plains stays on the plains).  When two Thunderfolken duel, the gentlemanly way to do it is to ride at each other on their best horses and slash at each other on the pass with their Horse-Swords.  Yes, lances and spears are technically the better weapons, but you know what's better than those?  Composite bows, and every Thunderfolk has one of those.  If the Thunderfolk ever get into a real conflict with outsiders it's time for bows and steel mail; for everything else there's Horse-Swords.   

Apprentice carvers make poles, planks and whatever else the Thunderfolk need in bulk.  Buxus sempervirens and quercus robur are strong hardwoods and very common on the Purple Plains. These are usually bought up by traveling bands by the bundle for tentpoles, planting, cooking spits and whatever else.  Bowyers are a highly specialized and elite order within this group.

Patriarchs are simply the leader of a Thunderfolk Band.  I probably need to think up a better name for this but I don't like "chief" or "jarl."  Bands can be as small as a family of 4-6 or a unit of several families with 36 adults.* The Patriarch is always the toughest dude and has at least 2 HD (or at least two class levels, for 3rd Ed+).  Patriarchs are almost always between the ages of 25 and 45.  Richer Patriarchs (at least three families in their band) will always have a steel sword and a mailshirt.  Steel swords and mailshirts are considered redolent of wealth and authority.  A mailshirt will be crudely mended as necessary and passed down in a Band for generations, while a steel sword will always be buried with its owner. 

*Incidentally, every adult Thunderfolk of the migrant bands who isn't a child, elder or pathetically poor owns at least two horses and a packbeast, often a pony.  So in a band of 36 adult, non-elder Thunderfolk that's a herd of 108 equines.  The noise that herd makes crossing the Purple Plains is the actual reason they are called Thunderfolk, not the first thing I thought of with the cow-horns.  Horns don't even sound like thunder, what was I thinking with that first idea? 

After the age of 45-50, a Thunderfolk is considered an Elder, and all Elders are Priests.  Priests interpret dreams and omens, prepare poultices and medicines, occasionally cook, and are considered the moral center of Thunderfolk society.  There is no requirement for this position other than aging into it (and likewise once one is old, no escaping it).  The Priest(s) of a Thunderfolk Band are councilor, apothecary, psychologist and judge all rolled into one.

8) Thunderfolk don't believe in an afterlife.  They believe that the mind remains within the body of the deceased person for a time, dreaming and insensate, until the decay reaches a certain point and consciousness dissipates.  The origin of this strange belief may be skewed perceptions of the Raise Dead and Speak With Dead spells.   A dead Thunderfolk will be buried in their finest garments with a few choice items, perhaps a finely carved horn or favorite bronze necklace.  There is no shroud or box; rather, the deceased is arranged seated with legs-crossed and stitched so as to stay in that position. They are buried sitting upright, at the bottom of a narrow pit.  If the deceased owned a steel sword, that will be laid across their lap.  In this dignified final posture they are interred. 

Monsters, Randomly Generated

I came up with these monsters starting with names from a random generator on Seventh Sanctum, here.

Also, because no one else will, and since I was exhausted and barely conscious when I wrote these last night, I'm going to rate them in the cold light of day with my rational mind and see how much justice I did to the name.


Doomvine - The name refers to 'doom' in its antiquated sense, for it is a very old thing first bred centuries ago in an Emperor's perfumed garden.  Now it is encountered in the wilds, a densely woven vine like jasmine but far tougher, with coarse tripartite leaves and pale-pink trumpet buds.  When the perennial plant is in bloom these many mouths speak, a chorus of tiny voices prophesying and answering queries with ironic truths.  The plant sees far into many possible futures and deep into the past.  The payment it demands for useful answers is blood be spattered on its buds for it to drink, and the fragrant buds slurp fresh blood up greedily. If payment is promised and not given, all the trumpets begin to peal and cry, calling dangerous predators to where the impertinent interrogator stands.

Rating: A;  I really love the idea of weird plant species created by magic.  I mean for every owlbear you think there'd be ten weird strains of flora, right?  Also it's not necessarily a threat in its own right, but creates an interesting dilemma (do you try to feed it by "just" slashing your palm or arm, sacrifice someone to it, do you dare trick it and run away? etc.)


Dusttorture Siren - Encountered on dunes or stretches of billowy sand.  A living cloud of swirling silicates bound by ancient magic and terrible purpose.  The cloud can assume any shape but can only speak with the roar of angry wind or a gritty, choked voice created by vibrating its particles.  It solidifies atop dune hills in the day's glare, a lone feminine silhouette with the gentle wind like an alluring song spiraling outwards.   The unfortunates who respond to this lure are trapped within the walls of a sudden dust storm, now solid, now shearing like razors.  The siren can keep its victims alive for hours or days, buffeting them with sharp particles, sand whirling fast enough to strip flesh from bone.  Eventually the siren leaves nothing of its victims but bleached bones stretched under the sun.  It kills for no reason save to briefly alleviate its eternal boredom.  Dusttorture Sirens can speak, but they have little to say beyond the desire to inflict pain.  Each is bound to its dune, a roiling spiral of immortal frustration.

Rating:  A;  I had "Skin of Evil" in mind (an underrated early TNG episode IMO) when I came up with the personality of these things.  They're spirits of pure evil, lonely and miserable.  They're incredibly powerful (how do you fight a living dust cloud?) but sadistic enough to give a PC plenty of time to work out a way to escape if they get trapped in one. 

Illusion Corpse - A simple type of undead, an immobile corpse that projects an insubstantial image of itself above the spot where its body lies.  If the corpse is buried it can project this image over the hummus or stone sealing it, or the image can appear directly over a body.  The image can appear as the creature did in life, now luminescent, or pale-and-spooky, but it is an illusory spell-like ability not a true ghost--the undead will is still in the corpse beneath.  The illusion can speak.  Illusion corpses are usually benign and may answer questions when encountered.  Occasionally one might be an asshole and try to lure you into a trap.  They may ask to be taken to a more proper resting place (or at least a more interesting one).  If the body is moved, the illusion moves with it.

Rating: B;  I like undead that aren't evil, just kind of sad and bored and want someone to talk to.  Like the Doomvine it's not a threat in of itself, but a clever DM could figure out ways to make them menacing or helpful.

Murkchoke Brute - Imagine a walking clump of mud, tottering on elephantine legs sporting two Popeye arms.  They range from the size of a dwarf to that of an ogre.  Bodies sprouting reeds, twigs, dead leaves, splotches of algae or mold, they speak with burbling, sourceless voices.  They are old, crotchety assholes.  They would pummel you with their slimy fists as soon as talk to you.  They will usually see intruders on to their bogs off with a stiff beating rather than kill, but they can drive their silt down an enemy's throat Clayface-style.  They are a little more tolerant of Druids.  Murkchoke Brutes are almost impossible to harm with ordinary weapons, but fire hardens their silt bodies with fatal consequences, as does freezing. 

Rating: B; it's just an amphibious, less evil version of the Wizened Elder (MMIV3.5 I think) but I like the personality of a crotchety old Embodiment of the Wilds that just wants you to get off its lawn.  

Ochre Root Hornet -  It's a big mean hornet, 10" long, which burrows in soft soil with its tuberlike thorax sticking in the air like a big carrot bulb.  Pull it up at your peril, its bite and sting are poisonous.  They spend most of their lives mostly buried,  eventually laying eggs out of their mouths.  They are delicious, a common folk delicacy.

Rating:  A.  I love the idea of peasants having to battle one of these things to bring it back for Grannie's Secret Ochre Hornet Pie.  More monsters should be like this---weird, annoying, but not truly dangerous, just something that adds a little more character to your Weird Fantasy World. 

Shade Mummy -  A wizened, emaciated corpse bound in faded wrappings on which is written the long form of a darkness spell in an ancient language.  They generate an aura of darkness and creep silently, guardians of ancient tombs and warrens.  Their touch spreads sickness and blindness.  They can melt away in one shadow and reemerge from another in line-of-sight.

Rating: C+;  It's just a generic stalker undead, but easier to kill than Shadows.  I should probably remove Mummy Rot altogether and just have its curse simply be blindness. 

Shadowy Talon Warrior - Related to the warrior caste of fey known as Thorns (see MMIII3.5, pp whatever), Talons are the height of dwarves.  Their spindly bodies appear made of brown to straw-color briar vines, forming trunk, limbs, severe faces under spiky hair of throns.  They wield two blades made of folded-up dry leaves and stalks.  A select cadre of these are "shadowy," imbued with the power to virtually disappear in dusk or low light, teleporting between shadows to surround the foes of the fey.  They can't go long though before their nature takes hold and they shout bold challenges and boasts before darting into battle.  They serve one fey lord or another, their loyalties changing like the seasons in the eternal power struggles between the Seelie Courts.

Rating: B-;  Of all the monsters, this one needs a good illustration the most to make it be more than just a generic warrior enemy.  As it is, it's basically a variation on a monster that already exists (the Thorn), although I like the combination of dual-wielding ninja skills with snarky fairy attitude.  I know I have a good picture in my head for these things, I just might have to rescue it with a good picture.

Tangler-Slime - It looks like an ordinary green slime, until it spews part of itself upon its target.  The sacrificed mass hardens into a resin-like casing that fixes the victim's limbs, rooting its feet where it stands and allowing the core slime to feed at will.

Rating: B-;  It's not bad, but it's just another type of slime, with a very straightforward gimmick.  You fight one on Level 1 and never think about it again.

Tearspore - Parasite that infects unwitting hosts, then reproduces via gelatinous ochre-colored "tears" that seep painfully out the tearducts.  At this late stage of infection the host body hardens, freezes, and then the parasite begins to feed from within.  The tears trickle and splatter to the ground, releasing another generation of the airborne parasite.

Rating:  D+;  I like the name but all I could do with it was another generic "ahah you ingested an underground spore roll three Fort saves now you're dead" asshole trap-monster.  Personally I feel like fungus is played out as a thing at this point?   I would never use this in a campaign as the idea has been done better elsewhere.  Maybe I'll try to reuse the name for something else another time.

Wolverine Hunter - All the worst parts of a weasel or mongoose with the size and limbs of a bear.  A highly territorial apex predator.  Actually wolverines win their skirmishes with these vicious mammals about half the time (wolverines are just too B.A.)  Still, the ferocious shrieks of these predators instill terror in all that hear it.

Rating: B-;  I shouldn't like this one as much as I do---it's just Animal + Other Animal, but how often do you see fantastical mammal predators?  Basically never.  Partly that's because there's lots of large mammal predators that can kill you already, it's not really a niche fantasy needs to fill.  Also I have a soft spot for weasels, almost as much as for wolverines.

Lakefear Stealer - If you can, imagine a cross between a fish and a walking stick insect, about 9 ft long.  With their skinny legs they cling to the surface of the water, but from beneath, drifting like a barely-submerged log.  They stick to the bottom of fishing boats and occasionally clamber aboard to attack.  They are attracted to shiny things: you can draw one off by flicking a coin into the water.



Rating: B+;  a walking stick with the face of a river pike, basically--this is another monster that demands an illustration.  I really like the fact that it's physically horrific but also really just a common nuisance.  I imagine fishermen and other coast-dwellers get a laugh letting them scare outlanders before flicking a copperpiece in front of its face and sending it off.  Like the wasp, this one is more "weird world flavor" than true threat.

Killing Thinker - Macrocephalic humanoid with gelatinous, purplish flesh.  Their bodies are atrophied and weak.  Their brains are huge and powerful, contained in swept-back, bulbous ridged skulls.  They can kill with the unblinking stare of their huge, white eyes.  they usually employ their telekinetic powers to hover, clad in simple flowing robes.  They can read your thoughts, but they don't care.  They experiment on humanoids for no apparent purpose, often kidnapping and dropping them into the middle of dangerous labyrinths.  They can dominate a creature with their stare, or influence with whispers of their thoughts at long range.  They pit creatures against each other and concoct strange scenarios for their own alien purposes.

Rating: C-.  Another Star Trek/Beneath the Planet of the Apes style Big-Brain, I think every OSR bestiary has a version of these.  The one gimmick these guys have is they will abduct you and drop you in a dungeon for no reason, but "their motives are beyond your ken" is a cop-out, and these guys lack personality.

Overall I started strong with the Doomvine and Dusttorture Siren but sputtered out towards the end.  I'm not really one of those writers whose creativity benefits from being addled.

Randomly Generated Ecosystem

So I found a thing via this guy's excellent blog
Specifically, an eco-system generator which creates names of major flora and fauna and provides landmarks and encounter tables ready to go.

Anyway, here's what I got

ECOSYSTEM GENERATOR
Plant: Violet Grass, Mercury Berries
Herbivore: Phase-Oxen, Thunderfolk
Carnivore: Canopy Owl, Manticore-Scorpion
Apex Predator:  Curse Phoenix
Scavenger: Circular Larvae, Vile Urchin(s?)
Weird Thing: Umbral Child

ECOSYSTEM: THE PURPLE PLAINS

Phase-Oxen herds shift in and out of the ethreal plane, becoming solid to eat, passing like ghosts over the violet grass during the hottest parts of the day.   They must be caught unawares in order to be successfully hunted.  The Thunderfolk often leave these herds offerings of crushed berries and sweet grass.   When they hunt the oxen it is with the bow, and they always shoot to kill the animal with a single arrow through the breast or neck.  Phase oxen rapidly grow a white, electric-blue tinged shaggy coat like muskoxen in Winter, shedding most of it in Summer.  Translucent "ghost strands" of their dropped fur are carried on the wind like stringy pollen in Spring. 

The Thunderfolk use much from the Phase-Oxen to sustain their way of life.  Dung for fuel, the electric-colored furs for mantles, their great horns for instruments (the use of massive signalling horns is the reason for the name Thunderfolk).   They follow the herds in a semi-nomadic pattern, digging and reusing dug-outs with simple hide coverings to complete the structure.  These coverings can be folded up and carried with the Thunderfolk wherever they go.  Despite the simplicity of their material existence it would be a mistake to dismiss the Thunderfolk as primitives, for the Violet Planes stretch across a key trade route and the Thunderfolk commonly interact with merchants from the West.  Every band has some sets of swords and mail in case of war, modern saddles for their rangy ponies, and fashionable dresses and ornaments for their women.    Among themselves they use "milkstones" (polished white opals) as a kind of limited currency , usually just to make up the difference in various exchanges. 

Depending on the band Thunderfolk will sometimes expect "tolls" from travelers or caravans passing through their territory.  The kingdoms of the west consider this no more than unlawful banditry and such impertinence to their subjects fit for death.

The Thunderfolk venerate the being they call the Umbral Child, seen listlessly wandering the grasslands alone.  To them it is prophet and the will of the gods incarnate.  They leave offerings along the Child's path but rarely approach within 100 yards of it.  The offerings are always ignored by the steadily walking Child, but for tradition's sake they are always left.  Offerings are usually grass dolls, oxhorns, strings of teeth (human, ox, horse), shards of glass, precious stones etc.    These offerings are hung from reed poles stuck into the earth along the Child's path, and thus these pathways are marked with hundreds of such poles snaking along the plainlands.  Children are often told it is bad luck to run across the path of the poles, but this is just a wives' tale.  A more complicated spin on the story is that it is good luck to run through the path if one is behind the Umbral Child, bad luck to run through if ahead of the Umbral Child.  Multiple crossings will cancel each other out so removing ill-luck is as easy as running back through the path, but good luck will be canceled out if one recrosses the pathway, etc.  In practice since these pathways stretch in serpentines and loops all over the Purple Plains, crossing them is a common occurence. 

If you actually have the stones to approach the Umbral Child, it will prophecy at you.  The prophecy always comes true but never in the way you'd expect (or  usually want).  The few Umbral Child prophecies on record (the Thunderfolk use a simplified Dwarven runic system  written in berry-ink on strips of oxhide for such records) are poetic gibberish and there are literally dozens of possible exegeses for each.    If the Umbral Child prophecies at you and you start demanding explanations, it will likely strike you dead.  The Umbral Child will never harm children, pregnant/nursing women or the very old, but never prophecies at them either.   Everyone knows that if you are somehow stupid enough to actually get within six armspans (~10 ft) of the Umbral Child, you will fall dead at once (though nobody remembers anyone ever actually trying this).  If you shoot an arrow at the Umbral Child, you will explode---the Priests are very specific on this point.  
Many people claim to have dreamed of the Umbral Child, or that the Umbral Child came to them in dreams and told them such and such, and so-on.  The Priests of the Thunderfolk declare about 90% of these experiences to be fatuous.  If you answer a series of questions correctly ("did you see the Umbral Child in a house?"  "did the Umbral Child pass over a stream?" etc.) the Priests will conclude your dream was real and send you on a quest to hear the Umbral Child prophecy at you.   Most Thunderfolk conflate actually hearing the Umbral Child prophecy with asking for trouble, so if you pass under a saddle and dump a bowl of milk on your head while groveling about how sorry you are, you are permitted to not do the quest.  Lots of people just talk about their Umbral Child dreams without ever going to the priests, which is considered slightly blasphemous but permissable. 

The Umbral Child is an adolescent figure, about four and a half feet tall with a bald crown.  It walks swathed in a moving darkness like a cloud of thick dust, and the planes of its features are only scarcely visible when it moves for the Umbral Child appears to be made out of solid darkness itself.  The Umbral Child is never seen at night, only in daylight, and it is visible from a long ways off as a flickering blackness like a fire walking the purple grass.   Close-up, the whites of the Child's eyes and its white teeth are perfectly clear amidst the darkness.  It's said that the Child will smile at you if you manage to annoy it. 

Vile Urchins are not well understood but believed to be created by the Umbral Child for an unknown reason.  They are grey-skinned, dirty creatures that look like children about nine or ten years of age (making them a little taller than Halflings).  They dress in greasy rags and wrappings, their long unkempt hair always as pitch black as their eyes.  They have enormous, gaping mouths with big flat teeth ideal for grinding, their gums pitch black.  Vile Urchins are host to a wealth of parasites themselves, flies and gnats always swirling around them, buzzing and stinging.   They travel the purple grass in gangs of six to twelve, looking for carrion which they seize with the speed of crows.  Vile Urchins will not attack humans unless interfered with.  They are usually encountered tailing a band of Thunderfolk on the move, eating any offal, spoiled meat, or other edible remains the band leaves in its wake.  The Thunderfolk are always careful to maintain a distance from the Urchins while leaving them alone, and after feeding for a while the Urchins will usually latch onto some other band and move on.   It's said that Vile Urchins are the reincarnated spirits of children who died in childbirth, relegated to the sad fate of a lonely and marginal existence.  They are believed to prophecy, and sometimes in exchange for a gift of meat or marrow-bones they will spit out a snatch of future happenings.  The relevance of what they say is not always obvious; some warn that the Urchins are liars and cannot prophecy at all.   Urchins are so hideous and frightening that people who see them closer than at the edge of the horizon will often perform a small ablution ritual just to be safe.  On the other hand, if a child becomes lost the Urchins will always find him and return him to his parents.  They are both unclean and acknowledged as not evil, and occupy a strange place in Thunderfolk society. 

Manticore-Scorpion seems redundant, since Manticores have the tail of a scorpion already.  Manticore-Scorpions, or Scorpion-Manticores, also have a huge pair of armor-shelled claws similar to the Emperor Scorpion, and beneath the chest a smaller pair of mole-like digging claws, for they are burrowing creatures.  They are wingless; their four-legged body is vaguely leonine, but hairless (like the naked molerat).  They have a human face which bears resemblance to an ugly, hairless, wrinkly old man.  Like the regular kind of Manticore they can speak, but they are stupid as hell.  When burrowing they cover their face with their armored claws and dig away with their lower pair of hands.  They usually burrow at a depth of 6-10 feet, and at that depth can sense the presence of heavy animals such as horses and Phase-Oxen overhead.  They prefer to burst upwards from the ground and attack with their tail first, which secretes a paralyzing venom (this is a necessary tactic when hunting Phase-Oxen).   Manticore-Scorpions often suicidally attack bands of Thunderfolk---again, they are stupid as hell and prone to overestimating their own prowess.  Their shell-platings are used for armor, their venom sacs for hunting arrows, their claws for adornment or affixed to the heads of warclubs.   A cloak of the pale-pink Manticore-Scorpion hide is often the choice adornment for Thunderfolk patriarchs. 

Canopy-Owls are a horrific predator that combine the worst parts of owl, stingray and flying squirrel.  They lurk in trees and tall bushes, their "wings" enclosed over their heads showing a dull bark-like outer coloring.  In this way they can be mistaken for burrs or wood galls even on close inspection.  When the Canopy-Owl "opens" its great smooth wings sweep up dramatically and join together over its owl-like head, two natural hooks joining so that the Owl's "wings" fully encircle its head like a big bell or parachute.  The Owl releases its single clawed "leg" and drops out of the tree, making a fast and precision-controlled descent at its prey with a razor-sharp beak.  If this first fall doesn't kill the prey, it unhooks and twists its wings and drives itself back into the air with a whirl to repeat the attack.  The inner side of the Canopy-Owl's wings and its head are snow white, occasionally spotted.  The skin of its wings is smooth while the head is feathered, just like a normal owl's.  It is presumed this beast is wholly unnatural and probably the creation of some deservedly forgotten wizard.  Their beaks are as big as daggers and wickedly curved; they will hunt any creature unlucky enough to pass under their bough but they seem to prefer humanoid targets and know to strike for face and throat first.  The Thunderfolk call these things "deathshriekers."

Circular Larvae (or just Circle-Larvae) are bizarre and aggressive scavengers that congregate on any large corpse left lying on the Violet Grass long enough.  They usually appear to be a smooth, pinkish convex lump of flesh lying on the ground like some kind of big wart (they are about 18" across).  If the creature smells rotting flesh, it extends its body out of this near-flat disc, which looks like a long accordionlike worm with a maw of four tearing hooks beneath its foreskin-like hood.  The Circle-Larva advances by literally hopping its round base forward, which is a very slow and clumsy way to move.  Once they settle close to a large piece of carrion they feed with  violent tearing and mulching, leaving very small eggs attached to the bones which eventually hatch into tiny droplet-like baby larvae.   If a Circle Larvae survives long enough it burrows into the earth and grows into its final form, which is rarely seen and highly deadly. 

Circle Larvae will attack anything that approaches a feeding-ground, but they are slow and clumsy on the move.  Once rooted to the ground though, their long bodies can strike with fast whiplike motions.  Thunderfolk treat them as target practice, shooting larvae by the dozens from a safe distance with arrows.  This is considered a good exercise for children.  Their slightly gelatinous, putrescent bodies are not used for anything, but occasionally their four-bladed beaks are harvested for ornaments, or ground up for a male virility enhancement (one look at the Larva-Worm will explain why it occurred to someone this might work). 

 The Curse Phoenix is a skeletal bird wreathed in flame that is a kind of locally feared undead.  It is believed to embody the spirit of a grassland or patch of turf that was burned out of its season, due to warfare between bands (starting brushfires is a common area-denial tactic) or to create a better topsoil for short-term planting.  It typically terrifies by spitting fireballs and catching other grass fields on fire with its sweeping tale of flames.   Every Curse Pheonix has one potent curse.  According to legend it will deploy the curse on the one who slays it, but in fact it often starts fights by dropping its curse on an unfortunate victim.  Once the recipient of the curse dies, the Curse Phoenix regains the use of its curse. 

Random Encounters
1. Partially-Eaten Grove of MERCURY BERRIES
2. PHASE-OXEN peacefully munching on a grove of MERCURY BERRIES
3. THUNDERFOLK peacefully munching on a grove of VIOLET GRASS.  Several CANOPY OWLS lurk just out of sight, waiting to attack.
4.  A migrating band of PHASE-OXEN, the adults keeping watch.  Several CANOPY OWLS lurk just out of sight, waiting to attack.
5.  A MANTICORE-SCORPION is wrorrying at a slowly dying THUNDERFOLK.
6.  Several MANTICORE-SCORPIONS are chasing a couple CANOPY OWLS away from a fresh-killed PHASE-OX.
7. A slowly dying MANTICORE-SCORPION.  Its flank bears the unmistakeable marks of a CURSE PHOENIX.  A couple of VILE URCHINS are already beginning to pick at it.
8.  A band of CANOPY OWLS that hasn't eaten in a couple of days.
9.  An unrecognizable mass that used to be a THUNDERFOLK.  It's being torn to shreds by a dozen CIRCULAR LARVAE.
10.  A small cave which a couple of small VILE URCHINS are making a den in.
11.  An enormous VILE URCHIN that follows the PCs from afar.
12.  A CIRCULAR LARVA nesting site.  Contains a couple of adults, a number of babies and bones.
13.  A band of MANTICORE-SCORPIONS fleeing a CURSE PHOENIX, which will arrive in a couple of rounds.
14. A CURSE PHOENIX that hasn't eaten in a couple of days.
15.  A panicked PHASE-OX trapped in a grove of VIOLET GRASS.  A CURSE PHOENIX is somewhere in the area and the PHASE-OX can sense it.
16.  A slowly dying CURSE PHOENIX, taken down by a maddened band of THUNDERFOLK.  A number of CIRCULAR LARVAE are waiting for it to die properly before they approach it. 
17.  An UMBRAL CHILD performing cruel and mysterious experiments on a PHASE-OX.  It will take no notice of the PCs.
18. An UMBRAL CHILD standing perfectly still and silent.  If the PCs get within 10', it will attack.
19.  A curious band of CANOPY OWLS sniffing at an UMBRAL CHILD, which pays them no heed.  The CANOPY OWLS will see the PCs as easier prey.  The UMBRAL CHILD will watch with interest.  It may intervene on either side.
20.  An UMBRAL CHILD collecting samples of MERCURY BERRY.  It will assume the PCs are also plants and try to collect them as well. 

Landmarks:

Baker's Pool
landmark encounter: Rival Adventuring Party

Cape Cactus
landmark encounter: A lone traveller, trapped in a high or otherwise defensible place by a band of MANTICORE-SCORPIONS.  She has been there for days and is very hungry.  Will reward you for rescuing her, as for escort back to civilization.  Is evil.

The Singing Ravine
landmark encounter: Resting place of a gypsy caravan and their tame herd of PHASE-OXEN (unless they themselves are PHASE OXEN???!!!) Have codes of hospitality but take them less seriously than they pretend.

The Ghost Barrens
landmark encounter: Hermit's hut.  Isolated, surrounded by elaborate series of ditches, pit graps with colony of VILE URCHINS lurking at bottom.  Hermit regularly feeds them, is a wizard maybe.