ROAN RPG - The Complete Bestiary
As Told by Makari the Brownfeather
What you are about to read is a careful composition of the unfortunately real creatures that inhabit this world. I, Makari the Brownfeather, will likely be deceased by the time this has reached proper publication. In an age of industrialization - it is fairly easy to forget that we inherited the world from its original natives. Nature did not breed the Equine, rather the Equine had conquered the wild after it had seemingly, almost mysteriously, appeared into existence. Whether the result of evolution or magic, the answer is unneeded. But rather, I ask the question - who is the monster? The golden meadows were once homes of many forests and creatures. The ocean-kin have since fled into the deep, frightened by the large steel steeds that now gallop on the surface above them.
In this writing, you will find my own personal studies and observations as a former monster hunter myself, back from when the world needed beings like myself. Shunned, cold and living in a decrepit yurt, I have only one last ambition before I pass away. For I imagine that with all the technology and advancement in the world, it will only encourage monsters to return to their previous homelands. The sins of your advancements and progression will be greatly judged by nature itself, the least I can do is give you the tools to defend yourself when the time comes or when you eventually leave the comforting beds of your civilizations. I encourage you all to venture out of the world being created around you and to embrace the one that is being replaced by it while it still lasts.
A Brief Introduction On Monsters
There are many monsters in existence. Since the Equine have come to colonize the land, they have encountered great resistance. The first pioneers and pilgrims of these lands met shallow graves early on in life. Few dared to venture into the territory of native creatures to retrieve the bodies, so remember that the next time you are feeling brave and wander deep into the wildernesses. In all truth, we are all monsters - for we destroy their homes and bring silver to their flesh. At first, the creatures acted entirely in self defense and to protect their territories from intruders. Being forced away from their motherlands have turned them into furious, ugly creatures. To the darkness of caves, the top of mountains and the depths of the deep seas - they began a reverse process of evolution. So few in number, when they were further hunted - it became more about survival, as some monsters now hunt with a purpose beyond filling their stomachs. Aggression towards them have forced their talons into the necks of Equine for the sake of gain.
Contrary to folklore, silver blades and bolts and arrows are only beneficial to fighting monsters made out of evil, dark magic. A silver sword is rare to come by, owned by collectors surely - but few in working condition. The ones found in museums were probably embedded deeply in the guts of monsters before being retrieved by huntsman. Arrows and bolts are usually just annoyances to certain creatures of dark magical substance, such as the Golems - but they make for great distractions. Truly, the best way to combat being ripped to shreds by a corpse eater or burned alive by a fire elemental is to simply avoid them at all costs. But, for those eager for adventure or colonists on a new frontier, they are the first enemy and only true enemy. In recent years, monsters have become utilized as weapons - captured, caught and isolated. Their anger for Equine kind being allowed to boil and then, like a true weapon, they are unleashed in a surprising act of war.
Battlefields did not exist centuries ago, back in the times of harmony. Monsters did not create politics or raise armies. Be wary of bloodied beaches, battered plains - littered with corpses. For if the mysterious spirits do not scare you away, surely the corpse eaters will. The weapons that once hunted their kind, use the same kind of ores that create the machinery of today. This scares some creatures away, but invites them in closer in the more remote lands and edges of the frontier. For others, the more predatory kind that hunt equine for game - it only lures them near more than the scent of blood itself. You may say the world as progressing, but as empires and nations turn against each other - the monsters merely believe they are the next target.
The Exiled Beasts of the Wilderness
In the deep woods, predators and prey alike fled from the Equine, who galloped toward them in suits of armour. Loud clanging echoed between the trees, turning even the most peaceful and pacifist animals mad. Without homes, in permanent exile - their malice grows. Some creatures were worshiped and embraced by hunters, taken in as god-like figures. However, the wooden totem poles and shrines that inhabit little known roads and dirt paths serve as warnings rather than guardians in the times of today.
The Rog - banished to the highest mountains of the world, they only recently have been drawn into returning to the wildernesses. Attracted by fire, rather than being afraid of it - they have been known to ambush weary and tired travelers, explorers and hunters who set up campsites near small rivers, creeks and streams. Now, the popular name of an alcohol enjoyed by Kelpies, the Rogs were the symbol of hunters and trappers. Often believed to lure small animals and lesser monsters in, their idols resemble large antlers on a bear-like body. You may recognize this image better on a bottle of Rog Liquor, true - but the image is not entirely falsified.
Their true appearance is far less intimidating, but all the more beautiful. Easy to spot, yet ever so elusive - a Rog has the features of both a deer and a goat, but with an incredible height and stride. Their golden antlers made them targets of trophy hunters, to nab a golden antler or even a spec off of one was believed to grant good luck and an eternity of heightened senses. Rogs are smart, however - luring their victims and enemies away from campfires and into the mountains or deep behind the thickest of trees. Their antlers, when hit against a stump or rock, produce a beautiful ringing sound. Once a token of good luck on a late night hunt and the inspiration for many songs and even instruments, now the most terrifying thing you can hear by the riverside before slumber.
Rogs can be defeated by merely being stabbed or hit with enough arrows, but are seemingly vulnerable to magic above all. The enchanted antlers can indeed be used by alchemists to create a gorgeous coat of golden paint - that can be used to reinforce weapons and armour. However, consumption of such via the mixing into medical ailments by a herbalist, will usually result in a horrible rash and persistent sneezing.
Forest Wanderers - thought to be a type of elemental by amateur alchemists, falsely at that, these dastardly shapeshifters are the products of many horror stories and cautionary tales told to young colts to scare them from wandering about forests unattended. Often taking the form of beautiful members of the opposite gender, but with thin hooves and the lower body of a deer - they prey exclusively on those who move about the woods on their own, unguided by talismans or lantern light. Folklore states that she is a sworn enemy to the Rog and that the hunter-followers of the Rog were constantly in "spiritual battle" against the temptations of Forest Wanderers. Thus, why it is now a tradition by Equine standards, to always hunt in groups of at least three.
With the ability to take on the form of any desirable gender and species, they would provoke loners to approach them for romantic fulfillment. But those thin hooves would then crush whoever dared to come near, killing them instantly. Their body would be scattered among the wilderness, to further provide aesthetic atmosphere to their homes, perhaps. Ancient druids would carve a deer's tail into trees to mark sightings and locations where she has appeared to them. Unfortunately for herbalists, she guards the most valuable and precious of herbs from outsiders. But, as mentioned before - they are easily avoidable when moving in large groups and in a large contrast to Rogs - fire is the most terrifying thing to them. Metal talismans forged and melded out of steel and flame will keep her away no matter what. Culturally, you can find these for sale just about anywhere as souvenirs and knick knacks.
Poohdini are easily the strangest thing to encounter in this world. They are ridiculously happy tiny little blobs that greatly populate Roan. These blobs very in color depending on the element they closely represent. Æther eaters, they appeared soon after the Ascension and are the living annoyance of spell casters. Poohdini's find and snuggle anypony they come across for their Æther reserves. While they look harmless, it is to be warned they are extremely dangerous due to their volatile habits of duplicating. When they have consumed enough Æther, they split with an explosive burst of their elements. Not all splits are dangerous, as a blue Poohdini splits and drenches those nearby in water. Many pranksters enjoy placing a few of these guys in the most inconvenient of pockets and shelves, near beds are the most common. Truly a rude awakening for those in slumber. One strange aspect of these slimes are their expression, as they are complete and utter happiness which suddenly change to the most awkward faces of confusion and betrayal when struck with a painful blow. Not many know why this is, but it certainly hasn't stopped it from being any less hilarious.
Tomb Poogie - are hogs that are generally docile and melancholy, the supposed pets of Kukeri. Treading through graveyards and cemeteries throughout our established world. They are hard to rile up, many simply ignore them and as a result, they do no harm. However, disturbing specific tombs or mausoleums will bring these sows into a berserk state, the fur on their backs suddenly hardening and becoming prickly like razor blades - charging toward the trespassers with a burst of incredible speed. They make amusing hats.
Wolps - utterly harmless, but can be omens of bad luck and oncoming darkness in one's life. A strange hybrid, constructed of a small mammal body, with wings, antlers, tails and fangs. Come in many varieties and are thought to be the result of magic. Origin entirely unknown, perhaps the humorous creations of a drunken sorcerer - what is known, is that they are likely younger than Equine settlers. To see this in the wilderness is especially terrifying, as it is considered by many as an omen of death. I am inclined to believe this is true, but this has not stopped people from stuffing them and selling them as ornaments. Beware, a stuffed Wolp foot is actually tremendous good luck, but a entire one will only bring misfortune in one's life. Considered a hex, stuffed Wolps can be given as gifts to people to curse them with bad luck and eventually death. Taxidermists refuse to touch real ones, but are not above taking other animal parts and making their own hybrids to sell. The few taxidermists who do take these in are supposedly haunted by Poltergeists and bad dreams.
Lavellan - is a type of water shrew, that can be found in deep rivers within the wildernesses. When under water and as long as their coats are drenched, they become entirely invisible. Frustrating to tavern owners who have them in their basements, getting into the drinks and being completely invisible to the naked the eye. Down on their luck adventures can often be seen taking Lavellan contracts. In larger cities, extermination companies specialize in them. Ratvarians, how do they approach them? They embrace them, often hiding them in the drinks of their enemies. Once swallowed, they immediately get caught inside the throat of the drinker - but upon investigation, nothing is seen in the throat.
Certain breeds are larger than the average rat and are incredibly noxious, with the ability to poison live stock with its smell alone. Ratvarians would capture the "gas-bags", as locals called them, only to unleash them into enemy fields to kill crop and literally "reak" havoc upon the hens or chickens. Many farmlands have totems and statues of a being known as the "Nuckelavee" - believed to be a jealous deity that would destroy harvests with Lavellan if he was not worshiped. As times changed, these totems became scarecrows and the statues were deconstructed to create water wells. I bet Nuckelavee is still pretty angry about that.
The Yowie - these creatures are still wildly spotted by even the modern folk on casual vacations. With many different reports regarding them, it is safe to say they are native and live in mountainous, wooded areas almost exclusively. Described by some of the first colonists as a large black creature with with large white hands and feet, resembling something similar to a gorilla. Years later, deep wilderness expedtionaries reported a sighting of a monster with a chocolate-brown face, deep glaring eyes that could "rip into one's soul" and a body covered in bristles. The behemoth is supposedly large in size and stands up right, making it an even more intimidating thing to see in the wilderness besides a pack of angry bees. Oh, perhaps I should mention that - the coat of the creature is somehow a hive to many large bees. From a distance, the Yowie has been mistaken as a mutant, oversized beehive.
Yowie are the subject of documentaries, books, literature and campfire stories. But, due to lack of physical evidence, very little is known about their species. Tourists, hikers and travelers mistakenly believe covering themselves in honey will scare away any Yowie. However, it is believed that this is the opposite case - as honey attracts the bearish, ape-like creature. Villagers would ignorantly give food offering to supposed Yowie nests, only for them to get lost, as the Yowie inhabit areas known only as "Deep Wood". The depressed and suicidal may enter the "Deep Wood" of their nearest location to pass away on their own terms, to die by at the hands of the Yowie or at least in his vicinity. Often to hide the original intent from their families, masquerading the event as another lost-in-the-woods cautionary tale to come. However, some Yowie are timid and shy, but also kind-hearted. It is not unheard of to go into the "Deep Wood" to die, only to wake up one morning at the edge of the wilderness, well fed and smelling of honey.
Honey farmers and bee keepers may have artificial hives in the shape of Yowie. Bee hives and bee activity in general, as well as the overwhelming scent of honey - are all indications of a nearby Yowie.
It is unknown whether or not the bees bother them.
The Reptilian and Aquatic
The greatest disadvantage in the world is to be ill equipped, wandering about when encountering a reptilian or at sea - unprepared to fight a sea monster. Considered the most malicious and evil of monsters, these native creatures hid away in caves and the deep sea. When they emerged, they brought terror and horror along with them.
The Regulus - this legendary reptile is the king of all serpents and should be treated as such. That being, all tyrant kings deserve to be executed. A snake-like body with many small appendages, sometimes appearing mangled and broken, with the head of a rooster. Often slithering around or lazily crawling about, they leave behind a disgusting trail of venom and can use their tail to toss an acidic substance that can burn through even enchanted, reinforced armour. Rumour states that it even has a deadly stare, capable of killing a pony on the spot. This is not true. However, one myth that was later proven to be a fact, is that their corpses secret a hypnotic ooze that can put those who digest it into a psychedelic trip. Some get so obsessed with this trip, that they have formed what is known as the "Cult of Regulus". I want to say they are the kind of strange lads who dress up like frogs and worship the moon while high on Regulus corpse secretions, but that is only a half truth. They resemble biological terrorists, dipping the ooze in drinks and getting "regged" on the weekends with their friends.
The Regulus is basically deaf, but it has a wide spectrum of vision. Meaning your height is your best advantage. Dropping a rock on them does fine, as their scales are mostly for show and they have very little armour. But, if spotted - they will spray you with flesh-melting acid and they are not above squirting blood out of their eyes as an added bonus to terrify you. Often accompanied by its strange cult members, who watch it from a far - it is proven they are perhaps more deadly than the Regulus itself. So selfishly indulgent in the corpse's ooze, they will valiantly defend their right to get "regged" at the cost of another's life. Some have grown completely dependent on it, they can be found in swamps, bogs and small lakes with a Regulus skeleton tied to their back - talking about "those lights in the sky". Approach with caution, or better yet - don't even bother at all. These people are more harm to themselves than anything. And be sure to make a scene if you are walking down to the coffee shop one day, only to have some creep pulling a dead Regulus out of their trench coat. "Reg heads" are best left to the authorities.
Reg areas are easy to find, surrounded by bog-living middle-class ponies and zebras. The skeletal remains on a stick in a small pond are also a sure tail sign of Regulus grounds or simply where they are hoarded by junkies.
Fire Elemental - found in various locations, these creatures in particular are raw energy of the elements personified in a single avatar. This smokeless fire is in the shape of a bipedal salamander, the cracking and popping of its flames are accompanied with a reptilian hiss. Other sounds to look out for are reptilian rattling, the smell of sulfur in the air and an intense increase in temperature. Fire elementals were once studies by alchemists, who confirmed that they are becoming less and less common in the world, with the rise of technology. Utterly harmless, but are believed to be the cause of spontaneous fire and combustion. Much like fire itself, it is neither good nor evil. They can provide and they can take away. It is hard to provoke a fire elemental, as once they are spooked - they disappear and reappear else where sometime later. Higher fire elementals - that represent flying snakes that dart through the sky and can disappear in the instant, may be malicious to those that try to damage or capture its magical properties.
Years ago, a sorcerer was hired to try and trap a fire elemental inside a crystal, so it may be studied by alchemists. The entire forest was burnt down, the sorcerer and the alchemists with it. Yet, the trees grew up back somehow, out from the ashes. They twisted and contorted, some looking like lizards and serpents curling around a pole. Salamander and Serpent Fire Elementals can be found curiously looking at their reflections in water, mirror and other shiny objects.
If encountering a possibly dangerous fire elemental, producing a mirror will distract them - allowing you to drop it and run, while they examine it. Breaking a mirror is bad luck however, some speculate doing such will summon a fire elemental to your position.
Cipakna - a malicious sea monster of varying sizes. Part crocodile, part fish and even part toad. Apparently genderless. Every joint on its body is adorned with an additional mouth, the Cipakna has an incredible hunger for both meat and suffering. With a thunderous clap of its tail, it can cause earthquakes and shake rainforests. The paranoid accuse Cipakna of being responsible for city side earthquakes and tsunamis. Among sailors, is a feared demon of the waters - inhabiting even oceans, where they grow to tremendous sizes that can dwarf small ships. It lays eggs on shores, which are taken by poachers and sold as ornaments and goodluck charms. Ironically, despite their fear for them, sailors often name their ships after it or a variant of such. Cips are very vulnerable to spears in the back, piercing the spine is the only way to kill it, as trying to hack at or launch anything else toward it will result in the mouth-joints devouring the weapon.
Mummified Cip heads or simply their skulls can be used to create incredibly durable leather and armour. But, one must wait an entire week before mutilating the corpse - until all the Death Worms leave its intestinal track. Explains why the Cip is always hungry, right? A pony hoof is strangely a delicacy to them. Small river sailors, desperate for survival, would cast their own hoof for it to eat - even if it just satisfied them for a moment. Worshiped as a river god by a hooful of very strange individuals, Cip locations are identified by sacrificial bowls near rivers in plane site. Usually a board with a message nearby will announce the bowl is for hoof offerings and nothing else, for "Mother Cipakna" does not take anything less.
Death Worms - gigantic, tape-worm like serpents that are usually born in the stomach of reptiles. They hide their eggs in dead creatures sloshing about the tides of rivers and waters, creating an enticing smell that resembles a freshly bleeding, live animal. Cipakna, which are already usually infested with them, eat them out of their desperate hunger. These bright red, scaled pseudo-worms spur a black acid from their maw. Somehow, they can even produce electric discharges - making them even deadlier if caught swimming in a lake with one. As disgusting and vile these creatures are, they are delicacy to Zebra - who will pay heartily for their bodies. Apparently, when boiled - their scales peel off and a cruncy treat is left behind. But, a sweet, almost creamy texture is in their centers - making a good substitute for butter. Remember that the next time you get some toast on a night out. Not entirely uncommon for them to spring out of toilets or bathtub drains either. Magic can be harvested from them to produce more efficient, long lasting batteries.
The ones that are born out of the Cipakna, however - can cause incredible pain to even touch. Which means they better be dead for a full hour before touching their scaled, slimy body. When not swimming about in water, they are known to bury themselves into mud near bodies of water. Some lose track of time and end up becoming fossilized, only to be rehydrated later by heavy rains or flooding. Strangely enough, they have been spotted everywhere from city sewers to even deserts. A famous combat pilot once found one in the paneling to her plane during a routine inspection. It was lucky she did, as their acid spit can burn through most metals with ease.
The Hammer Spawn - is a large, wide serpent that can jump a meter high out of the water if it wants to. It has the most insufferable bite, as I am one of the few people to ever survive it. Holding on to your flesh, it can break bones and has the venom production to challenge that of even a viper. The bane of small time fishermen and the worst thing to accidentally hull in as a catch on a merchant vessel. These creatures are also very talkative, if they do not bite you first - they will poke their head out of the water and attempt to converse. Sometimes, with the face of a disgruntled stallion or mare, but with a very masculine voice regardless of its face's gender - it will introduce itself formally before openly complaining about its life and environment. Hammer Spawns also enjoy smoking tobacco and are addicted to alcohol, making them easy to bribe if you have any of these things. They are also incredible liars, which is humorous, looking back to how the original colonists would go to them for fortune telling and psychic readings.
As always, there is some sliver of truth in it all. Eating a Hammer Spawn shows an increase in being able to witness premonitions. It is a customary meal for soldiers before battle, in hopes of giving them stronger awareness and intuition on the battlefield. Baby Hammer Spawn are harmless, since they do not gain a voice or even a face until adulthood - but they still have a mildly annoying bite that is easy to ignore. Some fishers take their eggs and let them hatch in an aquarium, then they intentionally let the younglings die. From there, they can stick their tails in their mouth and let them out in the sun to bathe, with a light coat of alcohol on them. They will harden and shrink even more so, making fashionable bracelets and frisbees.
It is best to either bribe or simply ignore Hammer Spawn, then back away so they cannot bite you. The most unwise thing to do is let them tell you how to invest your money or ask that colt or mare out.
Enchanted Ones - one of the first and only civilizations before the Equine arrived were that of the Enchanted Ones. A strange draconoid that is part pony and part serpent. Folklore states that they live in a paradise deep below the seas, near the ocean floors. In this utopia, they thrive in the wealth garnered from sunken ships and live without pain or death, unless it is brought upon them from those at the surface. Because of this, they live very unfulfilled lives and wish to feel the concepts of romance and even heartbreak. Their envy for surface dweller's hardships have inspired them to take up song. Their magical voices and instruments lure in unsuspecting sailors and travelers to the beach side, where they may make love with the Enchanted One. At night, they Enchanted Ones are able to transform into a pony or zebra form. However, they are incredibly shy toward all except their lovers and partners. They flee at the sight of social events, such as parties, weddings and even funerals. In these forms, they usually wear hats or heavy clothing to disguise what gills and blowholes do still exist. If an Enchanted One remains in this form until dawn, they will eventually turns to suds and disappear.
Besides their incredible shape shifting abilities, they also have very malicious powers. Creating storms, to punish sailors who ignore them or harm them and even brainwashing their lovers into drowning themselves. Prolonged contact with them is said to cause fits of insanity and eventually death. Zebra priests may be able to help stabilize these conditions, but the Enchanted Ones cause tremendous mental damage that is irreversible. Their lovers are known to become so obsessed with seeing them, that they spend days at sea and even go toward storms, in hope it is one of the Enchanted Ones calling for them. More often than not, Enchanted Ones produce children with surface dwellers while their husbands wait at the bottom of the ocean patiently, wondering what "errands" they had to do before swimming home.
Consumed by their need to feel things as surface dwellers do, they will kidnap their own children or anyone who just happened to be near by and attempt to bring them down to their underwater world. Most species end up drowning, while Kelpies are sometimes able to wrestle away, but the Enchanted Ones will smother and suffocate their lovers unknowingly. Usually a corpse is brought back to their paradise, resulting in their misery and mourning - only to start the process again within days of the incident. Some believe that by drowning their lovers and children, they steal their souls and allow them to be reborn as Enchanted Ones. This would allow them to be together forever.
Enchanted Ones are hard to avoid, the best advice that can be given is to appease them just enough so that they leave you alone. Otherwise, they may stalk you on the journey and if you live by a pier... you are bound to be tormented by their songs at night. But after sometime, they take the heart break in stride and most move on to new victims. Other Enchanted Ones on occasion can become so obsessed, they will dawn their Equine form to try and win you over that way. The best deterrent is being married, surprisingly. While not being faithful to their own mates back in the underwater Utopia, Enchanted Ones refuse to meddle in the affairs of lovers and couples. Probably because of their jealous love for their surface-partners.
Creek Men - are the incredibly jealous husbands of the Enchanted Ones. It is said, that it is their lack of intelligence that has pushed their significant others toward the surface world to prey on the unfortunate. Inhabiting freshwaters, these surely more brutal variants of the same species are more likely to rip and rend with their webbed-fingers adorned with talons. Their underwater utopia is more or less a place for them to drag their victims to put up as trophies. Those who dare swim near the deep will find such warning signs, the mocking bodies of the dead - often fashioned in humorous situations. Not uncommon to find a skeleton picnic deep underwater, for Creek Men hate the surface dwellers, while their unfaithful wives adore it. They mock it in any way they can, one of the few creatures who act entirely out of pure hatred and malice. Those who have tried to hunt them have boasted their scars. Swipes from Creek Men talons can devastate even the toughest armor.
It is likely to find them in the same hunting grounds as their wives, since they tend to jealously stalk their mates and hunt those they have an affair with, if they are already not being drowned in the depths of the deep waters. However, as their name suggests, they usually float about the creeks and rivers leading toward the larger bodies of water. Hoping to snatch any prey that may be following the water toward the meeting place with the Enchanted One. A mimicry song can be sang by them, almost identical to the beautiful vocals of an Enchanted One. However, they indulge in a feeling of peace and serenity. Many bards who have claimed to be inspired by the tunes of Enchanted Ones, have actually mistakenly been taken in by the much more persistent and emotional songs of the Creek Men. I prefer to think of them as requiems or eulogies. Solace to the scenery of an otherwise beautiful performance.
They sometimes can appear to be a dead corpse, floating along the river. Decaying and small feathers falling away from a skeletal form. In reality, this is a clever disguise of the Creek Men. But do not feel a fool, if you find yourself with its claws in your neck soon after poking the supposed body with a stick. It has fooled many and killed even more. Creek Men are more easily confronted with a spear and are especially weak to large rocks dropped on their head.
Mire Kings - have been the cultural boogyman of many settlements for decades, regardless of location. Every one of you have grown up with the cautionary tale of the young lad who wandered into the mouth of an overgrown Mire King, believing it to be a humid cave. Truly, this is a being from the darkest of nightmares guaranteed to dampen beds. A beastly monster known for its gaping maw and the natural magical lure that hangs from its forehead. An ambush creature, sitting still and waiting quietly for their prey to approach. Its hide being much like that of a chameleon, taking in the colors of the environment to hide itself from both prey and predators. Their lures are a strong part of many alchemy and magical potions, making them a primary target for monster hunters for hire. Customers pay incredible well for some of its teeth as well, which resemble more like ivory tusks in their larger forms. From the dankest of caves, to swamps and on occasion - a mindless wanderer of the forest among trees that blot out the sun, Mire Kings are especially deadly. Notably, they are worshiped by none. Even those of the ancient religions consider this a demon above all, a symbolic representation of greed, sloth and being easily irritable. Note, if you call a Kelpie a "lazy Mire King", prepare yourself for a full on hoof-to-hoof fight.
From moderate sizes, to ones the size of caves that have gobbled entire parties up - their wrangler-lure on the forehead can create incredibly vivid illusion spells. Smaller variants may cause psychedelic trips, but they are far from a spiritual appearance. One's greatest desires are conjured before them, ensuring that it will become theirs when they come near. Can easily be avoided with the appropriate enchanted items or an individual in the party who has been given a blessing of good will and honesty, any time during that day - reinstating their wholeness for truth. An individual who is pure of heart and tells no lies, may also be completely immune to the Mire King's effects.
Mire Kings are an apex predator, but unless you are already in its mouth, it can be rather vulnerable. A truly skilled warrior may severe its lure and free its victims, while a skilled marksman could pierce it with a bolt or arrow. Mire Kings are known for briefly controlling "guards" or "scarecrows" rather - temporarily brainwashed individuals stuck in an illusion - to ward off other predators while the Mire King digests and makes more room for his reserve meal. Victims of the Mire King's illusions, sometimes referred to as "puppets" - can also be used as tools to lure loved ones out into the open. Just beware, if your brother is lost in the swamps and he is standing at the entrance of cave, you might want to reconsider following him into it.
"Big Sid" is also known as "He Who Does Not Exist". Supposedly a sea story and nothing more, shared by sailors as an excuse as to why some shipments or late or why they had to drink all the alcohol on board the ship to cope with their disastrous journey. Many believe that Big Sid is just a literary metaphor for a large storm at sea or the hardships of seamanship in general. Imagined as a sea serpent, sometimes as an incredibly humongous squid or octopus - but only one true source worth noting suggests it to be a brother of a long extinct Hafgua or Lyngbakr. Many centuries ago, the seas were home to the largest of creatures to ever exist. Now their skeletons wash up on shores or are used as visual markers for the incredibly large leagues beneath the sea they once appeared. Big Sid is a scientific and magical anomaly. A pony by the name of Captain Pequod remarked the first time he encountered the horrid creature. It was in a small fishing village, wedged between the isles of many lands. He had stopped with his crew for a drink and night of sleep in a real bed, without the floor beneath them moving. The fishermen were astonished when seeing them, believing them to be the ghosts of past sailors at first.
Somehow, Captain Pequod and his ship the "Lament Voyager" escaped the tentacles of the hateful Big Sid. Years prior, the fishing village unearthed the remains of Big Sid by accident. His body was preserved remarkablely well and was used as a tourist attraction for months on end. Until one day, after a falling out with the local witch, a powerful sorceress resurrected Big Sid and his monolithic tentacles crashed half the village before he crawled into the water. Since then, he got his revenge on the local sailors and travelers, wiping out entire fleets. The large, tentacles monster with a pointed head and bird-like mouth, was green and slimy from vegetation that began to grow onto its corpse during deep submergence. This behemoth cephalopod appears to also be an undead creature to a degree, going through early stages of decomposition all over again. But this may be the tall tales of locals or artistic exaggerations from Captain Pequod's remaining crew. Either way, he was inspired to go out and hunt the beast - recruiting 9 deck hands experienced in harpooning, 5 of which being Gryphon whalers.
The Lament Voyager sailed off the next day and was caught in a thunderous typhoon storm. The ship was rocked back and forth for three days, before finally it became overcrowded with crabs and rotting fish. The crew fell ill and some attempted a mutiny, which brought Captain Pequod to the end of insanity, forcing his crew off the ship to act as bait - cutting open their bellies and hanging them from the neck from the port-side. Despite the horror, the crew were impressed that it did in fact seem to bring forth the legendary Big Sid. The Lament Voyager lured Big Sid into a tight passage between two islands where it was briefly stuck on the sand. Bombarded with canon fire, harpoons, spears and numerous other blades and utensils - Big Sid manage to bite the aft off of the ship before retreating into the ocean. This left Pequod and his crew stranded on the island, destined to be starved and tormented day and night by Big Sid, who frequently slapped the islands with his tentacles, until death.
The 5 whalers, being Gryphons, flew to safety and returned to the village with their story. Months later, a deranged Pequod returned for revenge - missing a rear hoof and claiming to be the only survivor of the original crew. The Lament Voyager now sunk to the bottom of the deadly waters by, he managed to stay adrift on a part of its deck for a week before he was swallowed whole by Big Sid. He remained inside its stomach for an entire day, before he intentionally aggravated it by jabbing its insides with a boat oar. Pequod said he was vomited out near the village and from there, with only three limbs, he managed to swim to safety before being taken in by Enchanted Ones who nursed him back to health. The five whalers were essentially bullied into contract with him, soon - they boarded the newly commissioned "Lament Revenge" and set out on a final voyage. 2 whalers returned, with the tale that Big Sid bit Pequod in half - after they attempted to capture him with a magically reinforced net. Other eye witness accounts suggest Pequod, in a fit of drunken rage and insanity - threw himself into the water in an attempt to hop on top of Big Sid, who lurked beneath. And from there, he became trapped in his tentacles and was crushed, moments before he drowned. The remainder of the crew were mischievously deceived by the same Enchanted Ones that saved Pequod months earlier.
It is said, the ghost ships of the two Laments mark the location of an ever approaching Big Sid. Beware sailors, do not fall to drink or Enchanted Ones in order to cope with the nightmares you experienced on the high seas.
Insectoids and Deadly Vegetation
One must look at nature and even its smallest of living beings, to understand that life itself is merely about perspective. Plants may not sing or have civilization, but they still live and breathe and can feel pain. At least, that is what we used to think. It is obvious that the bugs we stomp at beneath our hooves or claw at with our talons are little brothers to the larger bugs that would love to sink their venom deep into our veins. Nature has never felt so threatened as it has now, in an era of industrialization and colonization. With each new settlement, nature creates a new defense mechanism. Beware, for hell is empty and the devils are all up here with us.
Throttle Vines are dangerous, of course. As if their name alone did not warrant that assumption. They are partially sentient, magically influenced and enhanced vegetation that strangles victims and nourishes itself with the corpse. Humid environments like swamps, jungles and the occasional bathhouse are filled with these things. Mages use them as a makeshift security system to protect tombs, crypts and mausoleums from grave robbers. It is hard to travel anywhere nowadays, without seeing moss-covered skeletons wrapped in vines. Others are crushed into dust. To die in the humid jungle also has dire consequences, as it is hard to retrieve a corpse when a throttle vine as carried it into the trees above to feast on the remains - twirling and winding through the valuable armour and gear, damaging and denting it beyond repair. Some armours remain unharmed, making certain graverobbers proficient at cutting throttle vines. However, the ones that contain thorns or poisonous leaves have devastating effects on the living.
For years, the wanderers of Roan believed a mythical hunter stalked the jungles and humid areas. Having come from another planet or dimension during the hottest days of the year, invisible to its prey. Sucking them dry, like a vampire from the legends - before hanging their bodies from the trees like a trophy or warning. Personally, I find sentient vines a lot more terrifying and they seem to flourish in the hotter days, true. Some Mages have indeed conjured invisible throttle vines, however - a mere illusion spell cast over the foliage manifestation. Probably the origin of the "Invisible Hunter" story.
Somber Roses are the result of the conclusion to the Æther Wars. They began growing in those most devastated by Æther magic use. A particular hot spot is the "Garden Bed of Bosomir". An epic battle now replayed by the specters of fallen soldiers, told in the dim candle light of ghost stories. These fields are dark and gruesome, more so in reality than in the shroud of their history. The fields devour light itself, dimming the surroundings and where there are greater abundances of roses - the fields grow even more populated by unnaturally dark shadows. The landscapes can become the darkest shade of black and beneath this tightly knitted blanket of shadows lay feelings of dread. This literal dark magic appears fine from a distance, an ordinary rose field - a perfect place to pick a flower for a lover. But upon coming forth, coming nearer - the blackness is triumphant of wanderer's vision. Their area of effect can be rather sudden, meaning one step can walk one into the darkness. If light is struck within the field, it will shine - but it will do so in contest to the encroaching darkness.
Sir Dunkelheit, a knightly poet, made periodic visits to Somber Rose fields with his wife - who was an artist. They were both devoured by the terrible creatures they assumed co-existed with them in the darkness. Colts and fillies go missing, having been dared to pick a rose from these gardens and beds to prove their own bravery. Many residents of Roan are professional herbalists, but all have failed to recreate these Somber Roses. Leaving it up to the brave, the fearless and the adventurous to enter the darkness, which has proven a solid profession for many and an honourable service. Roan considers the Somber rose a memorial flower for fallen veterans, the dark inducing magic is used to create various levels of atmosphere - seen at memorials, funerals and some weddings. It is customary military honours to be buried along side them or in a modest garden of them. For the flower takes light and parades in darkness without light - so is the afterlife. For because the light is gone, does not mean life ceases to exist and grow.
A gentle dim light is also good for romantic settings. But offering a lover a banquet of Somber Roses in an odd number is considered offensive, as it alludes to death, almost like a curse. An even number represents good wishes. Merely two represent love and unity, a gesture between couples and a single offering is a goodbye.
A Somber Rose begins its life as a Lumines Bulb, an extremely bright seed that emits a powerful light in contrast to the dark of its later life. As it dies, it grows stronger and harder to pick, like a root. As the Roan saying goes, "Do not appreciate pretty things, for they are delicate and fragile. But dark and morbid survive". These bright seeds are created by the very light absorbing effect the Somber Roses are known for, collecting the Æther and birthing a seed. When crushed, Lumines Bulbs explode in a brilliantly blinding flash of light and can be used in to blind others in case of a getaway. They are the primary ingredient in flash bombs and can also be used as ignition sources in other munitions. They are also well known for their use in fireworks, which some say have disastrous consequences on the environment. Creatures such as Chitter Hounds are incredibly vulnerable to the effects of these. Some warriors who wander the Somber Rose fields choose to illuminate themselves with the bulbs, while others may wear them for festivals, decorations or even night lights - then sold as their light consuming counterparts when coming of age.
Trihoofen Marezan is the patron saint of vineyards and gardens. Often carved of stone or wood, a mare sprouting vines from one hoof and a Lumines Bulb from the other. An icon of Trihoofen is always an indication of a near by Somber Rose garden or Throttle Vine patch. Corpses are sometimes found with little amulets and figures of protection, featuring Marezan.
Chitter Hounds are insectoids that wander the open darkness of somber rose fields. They find refuge in caves, like many creatures - also luring smaller beings in to become victim to their resting Queen. Blind as an aging drunkard, they use their feelers and highly evolved hearing to find their sources of life. Smaller than the average pony, they are vicious and are bound to meet any kind of interaction with hostility. Folks claim ramming a hoof down its throat will stop it from attacking, but this is one of those fool's tales that can only get one killed. It is a common misconception that they are all carnivorous predators, when in reality they live for the single, devout purpose of feeding their Queen. Their legs emit a terrifying chirp, which they use to communicate with one another and lure prey toward their queen. Their shells are hard, but make for great shields and armour reinforcement. Their legs are also delicious alongside some butter with lemon droplets.
The creatures absorb the dark Æther from the roses of their hunting grounds, sharing a symbiotic relationship between the flora and fauna. Beware those who find dark shadows in the rose fields, for only the chitter-chatter of these creatures is a rattle more infamous than war drums. Some have been seen with mild mutations, such as chattering maws and clicking jaws.
Chitter Hive Queens are usually trapped in their home, more like a slave to their own slaves than anything else. Incapable of moving and entirely reliant on their minions to herd food toward them. Artists usually paint these Queens in place of gluttons in society. So, often in the place of politicians and local property owners. The Queen communicates to the hive via telepathic messages, bringing them together more like a single thinking entity exercising different actions - rather than individuals of free will. Surrounding the Queen are the gruesome thrones of skulls of the recently devoured, emitting an eerie glow. From a distance, they may be mistaken for glowing cave mushrooms, but of course - are not as edible. The skulls are actually used as a protective shell for each of their eggs, a disturbing graveyard of the dead is actually a nursery for the Chitter hive. From the now empty eye sockets, freshly laid eggs illuminate - a truly haunting final image to see before death.
The Queen carries terrible claws that can rip and rend basic armour, however - the enchanted kind are easily the best defense. The force alone from the strike of this overgrown insect is enough to rupture some organs, crack ribs, and occasionally snap a spine in half. But most encounters end in a viciously mutilated body. Queens like to play with their food, sometimes pinning their victims down while slowly amputating the limbs and soon sucking the miserable, still living carcass dry after minutes of intense suffering. These Mothers of the Hive are also equipped with a sonic scream, entirely capable of shattering poorly crafted armour, shields and blades - not to mention it could probably defect most projectiles too. So beware of throwing any munitions it way, as it can come right back at you.
Chitter Chitin is a badge of honour among other, rival predators and warriors alike. But beware those who have managed to best a Chitter Hive Queen, often by the amputation of her limbs and eventually decapitation. For this is a warrior of true tested steel, or at least a wealthy stallion with much more wealthy monsters hunters.
The Inexplainable, the Horrible and the Paranormal
Not all things are explained by magic, alchemy or a herbalist's wise words. History is written on the quill of story telling, not fact. Information has been lost and what was once common knowledge, no longer exists. With the emergence of many new things in this world, we have been granted the privilege to know more of these new, adventurous things. As a result, we have forgotten our own heritage and history. These are the living myths proven time and time again. No matter how many trials, no explanation can be truly offered. And what bridges fact and imagination, much like our world and another - is strained or practically imaginary.
The Fire of Fools appears over bogs, swamps and marshes, to the rescue of some wanderers and to the fear of others. A strange phenomenon brought on by the effects of Æther. Resembling sentient, floating wisps - these flames have also appeared as flaming swords charging across the sky or skimming the surface of small bodies of water. Mistaken as spirits and ghosts more often or not, sometimes their reflections in mirrors or the water itself reveals a grim, mangled corpse tightly pickled inside a transparent jar. Said to be the spirits of those experimented on by Dark Mages or within Bogs of supposed Witches. Tormented souls, trying to show a shining light to those lost in hopes of guiding them away from the perils up ahead. More often than not, these phantom wisps merely bring travelers to the site of mass graves, graveyards or modest huts, long abandoned - with scratched and bloodied floors. One specialist once announced they were the spirits of those unbaptized before death or those who exposed to Æther in large doses before death or even birth.
Sighted even in large cities, these swaying ghost lights can sometime appear near railroads and artificial rivers. Alchemists believe they are spirits, but were made of smokeless flame like the Djinn. Thus, having no earthly body - a "soul on the shelf of life, seeking form - like liquid, constantly forming to the dimensions of its container."
All fear the Goryo - spirits of the vengeful dead. These wraiths are rotted corpses inside suits of pristine armour, fighting an eternal battle on the fogs of former battlegrounds. These terrifying entities have been spotted in abandon barracks and camps, guarding it from trespassers. Eternally in a realm of suffering and hunger, they prepare for a battle that is never to be repeated or a battle they can not go out and fight in. Tormented by past memories and utterly unaware of their own demise, more often than not. A residual haunting, often just figures of the past replaying the past like a story, a recording. Happens as commonly and normally as the moon reflecting on the surface of the waters. Interacting in these battles have dire consequences, as some wraiths are powerful enough to swipe ponies with their phantom swords. Of course, the sword does not physically damage, but can emit a dangerous level of Æther that will have an adverse effect on one's health. Spiritual Battles of Goryo are maddening, full of suffering and painful emotions. These wounds still run deep, as the once dried blood can sometimes seep from the ground bright red once again.
All we know of past devastating battles are due greatly to these Spiritual Battles. Historians and scholars examine Goryo from a distance. The battles playing back in complete accuracy has resulted in the most detailed documentation of recent conflicts of all time. Mages associated with houses of knowledge, have sometimes cast spells of protection over scholars - so they may wander closer to these spectral conflicts. Dark Mages, in the past - have summoned the wraiths of historical figures with disastrous results.
Poltergeist are the result of a summoned spirit, often a wraith - ripped from their ethereal realm and back into ours. This dangerous practice has a harsh consequence. Most spirits, especially wraiths, are residual. Unaware they are dead and merely playing through history as their eternal suffering is extended beyond that of lifetimes. To bring one into the foreground, they gain a forbidden knowledge. Knowing they are dead, they lose their ability to visually manifest. Their anger resurfaces with more purpose, they begin to resent the living and become pranksters of sorts. Poltergeists inhabit a realm where their manifestation can only exist through the manipulation of objects through kinetic energies, emitting bouts of Æther in some famous hauntings too. A house haunted by a Poltergeist may seem entirely normal, but are also among the most deadly - as they can physically harm through the appliances in one's house hold. However, their most devastating effect is the psychological kind: whispers, sounds, general chaos, and an everlasting presence of heavy atmosphere.
The possession of Lumines Bulbs has proven successful in drawing Æther from Poltergeists and forcing them into levels of weakness, where they are unable to manipulate objects in our realm. Once the Lumines Bulbs become Somber Roses - Wraiths, being spirits of combat veterans more often than not, find peace and solace in them. Wraiths of murder victims are harder to please and help pass them back on to the ethereal realm. This is mostly because they are invited into the world by mournful loved ones, during a seance or summoning. Usually, an exorcism must take place - involving a bloodletting and a bargain of peace from the murderer. Many courts require those convicted of murder ensure they leave no Poltergeist hauntings left behind due to their actions. Escorted by Exorcist Mages - this is known as "The Trials of the Vengeful Ones". Ironically, murderers who absolve Poltergeists of their existence, are more likely to become one themselves. Thus a vicious cycle begins, the Wraiths of Murderers being summoned by their victim's relatives for closure or information - only to reenact their horrible crimes again in the household. Often pulling back the victim Wraith to play the role again as well. When cases are reopened, investigators risk Poltergeist activity through summoning the Wraiths for more clues.
Some locals will claim that an innocent, trialed and convicted and put to death by the law - will come back as a Wraith in the mimicry of the crimes they were accused of out of vengeance. However, only the murderer can banish or absolve the Wraith of their victim in the "Trials of the Vengeful Ones" - making this theory shaky, but entirely plausible.
Poltergeists sometime bite, pinch and scratch. Tricking their victims into thinking they are dogs or spirits of foals through auditory hallucinations and dream interruptions. Either way, if you wake up in the middle of the night with a knife levitating above your throat - you likely have a Poltergeist. Nowadays, it is near impossible to sell a home or apartment without an enchantment seal in every closet - where Poltergeist supposedly hide. The seal being a white strip of paper with Mage-written symbols in alchemy-enchanted ink to lock vengeful wraiths in these solitary places. Real estate contracts should list every closet and that each has an up to date seal. Some of these seals can be found in decks of ships, as Poltergeists are said to inhabit the bottom hulls of ships - due to the wraiths of the water below, from long sunken vessels are reborn by the sense of journey and discover, only to be trapped - envious of their living sailor brothers.
Beware the Kukeri. Mistaken for forest elementals and Yowie, these are large, ape-like bipedal creatures with long, narrow heads with no facial features. Covered in long furs, carrying in colours of brown, black to white - full grown adults have heads taller than their bodies. An omen of death, they do not exist in our realm directly and are unaware of our existence for the most part. They are a mirror reflection of another world, possibly the first inhabitants of the land - now their spirits loom and protect us long after their extinction. Explorers will find them in camp fires, walking among the deep wildernesses or simply standing in the open calmly with their kin. They appear to be tangible, but do no interactive with their surroundings and can sometimes be sighted climbing over objects no longer there or leaning against trees that have fallen over the Spring prior. They bring forth many messages, these wanderers from another realm - often in areas where Æther was once plentiful. Good spring, good harvests - cold winters, warm summers. But more often than not, these residual haunts are seen most commonly before death, war, famine and destruction. Almost as if the energy from such tragic events to unfold in the future, have brought alive the past - a past long forgotten.
Some villages and even big cities still celebrate rituals that ward off disease and the struggles of conflict by donning costumes modeled after Kukeri. Disease doctors and plague mages would dress up as Moss Kukeri, their "fur" actually being enchanted herbs from the local herbalist to protect them from harmful fumes and disease. During carnivals, Kukeri-costumed ponies stare into the windows of ponies - scaring some and giving comfort to others. They only wander at night, so that the sun does not catch them on the road. Unlike actual Kukeri, Kukeri-wearers, who also perform dances, some even on hot coals during summer solstice - bring omens of good luck. Kukeri dolls are given to mothers in labour to help garner forth a safe birth and a new toy to the young, new born foal. But, due to their real life counterpart's association with war and death - they were placed on banners, shields and armour of armies. As if to say to their enemies, "We are going to kill you before the Kukeri can even appear, so here - have our's for now."
Kukeri are also keepers of cemeteries. The only recorded incidents of non-residual, intelligent hauntings regarding Kukeri. They ward off wraiths from mass graves and happily grow flowers or gardens around most grave sites. Seemingly kind, they are also incredibly timid - running away not out of fear, but to give privacy to those visiting and honouring their loved ones. They stay near by, watching from the distance, hoping you appreciate the Somber Rose they placed on your soldier's grave. They'd never harm a fly, but keep necrophages away through intimidation factor and their large height, even if mostly through their narrow heads, scare away most graverobbers. An infamous tomb-plunderer named Erilsoth the Great, better known as Erilsoth the Sloth for his lazy life ambitions, claimed to have killed Kukeri. He searched for a face underneath the shaggy haired head, only to find none. He brought forth his only evidence, a scalp of a Kukeri - basically dripping with Æther. Erilsoth was applauded for his discovery, his accomplishment and received a letter of recommendation to the House of Intellects, to be a speaker for the Assembly of Monster Studies. He was hung three days later without trial, for the attempted robbery of a local Lord's pet cemetery.
Erilsoth became a patron saint of thieves and graverobbers, for his "wrongful execution". His icon being carved in stone, resembling a gravestone. These shrines are at the side of roads, paths and lonely passages through the wilderness - where thieves and scum alike give offerings for good luck and good loot. Said offerings are often burglarized. Shrines are banned near cemeteries and any major gravesite recognized by local authority and law. Thieves mockingly place the shrines near areas that are infamous for Kukeri sightings. Find the grave-shrine of a thief and you may just be standing near a Kukeri and not even know it. Just remember seeing a Kukeri is profound, spiritual feeling only for the first few minutes. Then you hope that the death it prophesied did not mean it was for you.
The tale of the Bloody Mary's is an infamous one. In the once great city of Operandus, there was a grand drake who was obsessed with the creation of a powerful Simulacrum. With the help of a Dark Mage, who specialized in magic harvested from the bodies of Enchanted Ones - harvested from the aftermath of a typhoon that left many dead on the shores and beaches nearby. A magic was developed that would entomb and absorb sonnets, plays and music into special marionettes. These strange golems were crafted by commissioned alchemists and masons, who were paid a wealthy sum. These marionettes danced, sang and performed for many audiences in Operandus. Some considered it the apex of art, others felt it was an abomination and a magical heresy. During the Ascension, the city itself became trapped in a grand forest. The occupants were forgotten, lost to the power of the Simulacrum. Those who fled into the forests became prey to predators and creatures of strange origin, for those who were raised in the city - survival was painfully unlikely.
The forest began to softly echo the lost songs of old, a harmony similar to that of Enchanted Ones - attracting adventurers from afar and near. Many sought out the city of Operandus, they heard the tales of the Simulacrum and the city's hidden riches and glories. Armies were commissioned to capture it and restore it, industrialists tried to destroy the grand forest around it and Mages hired mercenaries to investigate the claims of the Simulacrum. "The Miro Hi-Hi Expedition" was a tragic disaster, where a Dark Mage hired the help of a band of thieves and nomads, to guide him through to the city. It was there, they managed to enter but only a few returned. Miro Hi-Hi, a flamboyant and strange unicorn - even by Mage standards, grew into increasing fits of insanity and eventually cannibalized the remainder of his small company.
His accounts confirmed the tales of porcelain mares and stallions connected to invisible strings, dancing throughout the shadows of the city and kidnapping the living. Those kidnapped were forced to attend ancient opera houses and stadiums throughout Operandus - watching performances until their death. Once the only coping mechanism for a lost city, now the spirits of new adventurers are believed to be among the wraiths - unknowingly trapped in the stadiums. Eternally watching, eternally clapping and roaring in applause. Some are not so lucky, as the Mage suggested that many of his original party had their skin turned to marble - an eerie grin etched upon their very own porcelain faces. Growing the ranks of the cities haunted entertainers not as spirits, but as statues themselves. When asked to describe the grin, Miro Hi-Hi merely gave them his own goofy smirk. Some speculate that his fallen mercenaries had polished faces and the only smile that was seen was Miro Hi-Hi's own twisted reflection. Surely, he was a madpony long before he ventured out there.
The Helhest is one of the many terrible omens one could see. Often brought forth by a curse or a hex, that can inhibit the victims with terrible illness - it most well known as the family crest of several ancient knighthoods, to inspire fear and also intrigue. This harbringer of death has multiple forms, sometimes with only a hindering three limbs and ancient scribes have written them down infamously as headless beasts. Their body resembles the corpse of a horse in late stages of decomposition. Meat and flesh sagging on a strong skeletal frame. Probably one of the most well known and common creatures in terms of folklore, imagery and local colloquialism. For the obnoxious and local fools who trot into taverns with ill regard for the silence and peace of minds, the migrant is to be dubbed "he who walks like a Helhest" - for the Helhest cares little for the silence of others' homes and the sanctuary of locations where some may slumber and rest. Those who were unfortunate to see or even come in contact with these harbringers are tormented with dreams of death and despair. Soon, they suffer from a condition known as "Tunnel Fear". A sensation among lone travelers, specifically those who travel through long, dark caverns, caves and of course - tunnels, with only a torch to provide them company. Looking over the shoulder constantly, seeing things in the corner of their eye - Tunnel Fear brings the deepest of paranoias to life and can cripple weak minded adventurers.
Helhest are seen most commonly in holy lands, a creature of the Old Ways, they seem to detest modern religions and some of the ancient ones that were forcefully modernized. The last scholar to record an encounter with a Helhest grew ill and died before they could scribble a better description. What he did manage, was the following: "Fear be to the Helhest, this hellish nightmare on three legs, this rotting corpse brought to life - yet fetches death! His skin inherits more pain and suffering than a battleground, the very sight can kill even the blind! With it, comes the trailing smell of plague and disease."
To ward away the Helhest, one must bribe them with oats. Thus came forth the saying, "he fed death oats" - when a traveler has apparently survived the impossible against all odds. Even the headless variant of this apparition will gladly take the oats down its neck hole. A brave one, a farmer known as Istrid - once took the ultimate risk in order to save his village. The townsfolk were running low on oats and the hungry Helhest came by eagerly almost every other evening. Istrid poisoned the oats and ironically, killed the Horse That Fetches After Death. Where the Helhest was supposedly buried is spit upon by locals to this day. Some taking spitting pilgrimages, while other villagers made it a holiday.
For valiant troops, soon to enter a courageous battle, the battlecry "Spit upon the Helhest grave!" is admiringly popular. Not so much, when the ills of battle become infected and said troopers lay in the grass, dying of bacterial infestation of flesh wounds. Ratvarians especially enjoy using the Helhest mockingly on banners and flags to mock the Roan.
Many will recall the numerous coat of arms containing the Valravn Large necrophage ravens, sometimes mistaken for Gryphons - that roam battlefields and execution grounds. Some cultures throughout history, immediately removed their dead from the battlefield to prevent the creation of a dreaded Valravn. At most, it usually just saved their loved one's corpses from being Valravn dinner. Valravn can transform into a Raven and Wolf hybrid, if it needed to defense itself. These cunning beings can communicate, but only after examining local speech in their raven form for a certain amount of time. They are born from ordinary Ravens, that devour grow a taste for the flesh of the recently departed. Arch Valravns are even more vicious and dangerous, as they have devoured the hearts of a king or great leader, consuming their knowledge and valor.
Valravns contain the mixed souls of those they have eaten. Their anger and malice begins to boil, giving them their demonic appearance and lust for the dead. They wish eagerly to be alive again and soon, they wish to become reborn. They will strike a deal with a pregnant maiden, sometimes flying far and long for a suitable "business partner". While only recorded once, a Valravn was able to safely secure their "heir" - the first born of a maiden. After the foal had come of age, the Valravn tore into the chest of their heir and at the heart of the young one, consuming its blood. The Valravn transformed into a knight. Said knight, would go on to supposedly birth the lineage of the modern Gryphon royal families. The chronicle is retold by many Gryphon bards to this day.
Genganger are a type of revanant, a vengeful spirit that is the result of a suicide or an early, unglorified demise - leaving their living business unsolved or settled. Their souls trapped in the earthly vessel, they are a strange hybrid of undead and spirit. Incredibly malicious and violent, these creatures roam their old homes and those of their neighbors' as well. They torment loved ones, ex lovers and old friends. Entirely capable of sneaking into households through windows and doors, sometimes they rage will allow them to simply burst through a thin wall or plunder an entire village in pursuit of their tormentors or former family. Especially hateful spirits can administer the "Dead Man's Pinch". In the location marked, the skin of the victim would grow discolored until turning blue or black from necrosis. From there, disease would ravage the body until they well resembled a corpse before tasting the embrace of death. Less vengeful variants, only become violent when encountered. Usually docile, attempting to complete their mission or cause in life - in hopes of being able to rest peacefully in the grave. They come to life at night, but during the day - the return to being merely corpses, stuck at certain stages of decay with little sign of worsening, despite the conditions.
These creatures are strangely mortal and can be killed with a sword, while a silver one is most enduring and successful in dispatching them. But, of course, the best defense and offense is deterrence. Houses and farmlands can be protected with religious symbols, sigils and so on. Through out the land of Roan, the runic inscription of "For my brother, carved in runes - my dear sister, spare me!" remains on pieces of furniture and equipment. Sometimes on swords and rarely on pieces of armour. Most common, these runes are found on doorways - more as a decoration, than a superstitious precaution. Originally, those who feared the arrivals of these walking corpses, would paint the symbols in tar above each doorway and window.
Many villages practice funerals in a fashion to prevent the rising of Genganger. When a Roan is buried, there coffin is carried over a holy place's walls, rather than through the gate. The coffin itself, is carried three times around a holy location or place of power. The shovels used to dig the grave would be left in the grave itself, the dirt manually pushed over it by loved ones. If the coffin was carried by a sleigh, it would be used as firewood or left somewhere to rot. Closing all possible "ladders" the dead could use to crawl back into life. Or some resemblance of it, at least.
Local villagers and many Roan still carry the tradition of keeping "varps". A pule of sticks, made to resemble a rune or sigil - placed in the location of a painful or sad demise. Those who pass by it must place a stick on top of it, to help commemorate what had happened there.
The Djinn are among the most mysterious and feared paranormal entities out there. Also known as Genies, they inhabit an unseen realm, tangible to very few buildings and simply not existing to others. They are crafted from a smokeless, scorching fire. Like blades formed in a forge. Master crafted by a naturally occurring magic - a blacksmith of the elements. Unlike most entities from the ethereal realm, they can take on physical forms and interact with the world. Myths regard them as being trapped or locked away, usually in jars or lanterns, sometimes samovars - only to be released and forever in debt to their saviour. In actuality, while some Djinn have been forced into object compression - as in, fooled or tricked to become an item or be eternally locked in possession of one - most Djinn seek out those who wish for them in their hearts. They appear in many forms, of all races, all species and take on similar monikers, guises and names. The title "Djinn" loosely translates too "A Garden of the Possessed Insane". Many cultures have worshiped Djinn and also hated them. For Djinn exercise their free will extensively, they have been both good, evil and neutral. Often playing into the affairs of ponies, in diplomatic and political roles - to even household squabbles. Some historians have marked numerous figures and heroes of tales as possibly being Djinn, to explain their feats and accomplishments.
Djinn are sometimes elemental, in their raw forms representing water, air, earth and fire. But it is unlikely to ever see a Djinn in such a form, as they often appear to those that require their services as business ponies, merchants, religious figures, military authorities and peddlers or fences. Djinn partake in the highest form of currency, one's soul. When a lone pony wishes upon a star, a Djinn may appear and offer a contract. Three wishes and if they so wish to go back on their deal, mercy can be given via an exchange of soul as payment. Rarely does anypony become satisfied with their cruel fates, as each wish comes with a sacrifice. A wish for eternal wealth, may be the death of a loved one, a parent perhaps - then the immediate inheritance of their property and income. More often than not, a Djinn will grant three wishes in turn for three evil deeds. To back out of the contract, those in debt to the Djinn may try to bargain a deal - as these Genies love bargains, tricks, games and competition. These devils take pleasure in those who fall into temptation, their delight is in their plunder. So of course, a Djinn will only reverse a contract by giving three impossible tasks to complete. The wealthy may hire a tribute to try and accomplish these tasks, but they are always feats a powerful mage can only perform.
Only one mage has ever outsmarted and eat a Djinn. A young sorcerer and master of dark magic, a part time herbalist who lived among the druids that raised him. A noblepony who had dabbled into necromancy contracted his services, but soon the mage known only as "Oil the Youth", found himself strung in a trial of deceptive nature and harmful tinkering from the Genie. Eventually, he was forced to wager his own soul for the safety of the noblepony's. He deceived the Djinn into a game of cards with some druids, the catch was that Oil had no idea how to play cards and if he won by sure chance, which the Djinn ensured - their soul would be captured once they received the gamble from the game. The poorest of the Druids bet all their belongings and a chain of wealth, all while the Djinn ensured Oil had incredible luck and a blessed hand to play. The Mage one and the Druid was in debt to him, a debt he couldn't pay. The Genie hunted Oil the Youth until he was Oil the Old, the Druid never did pay back the debt in full - even after the Djinn provided as much assistance as possible. The Druid would always get the currency to pay back Oil, but would immediately lose it gambling once more. This vicious cycle proved to save the souls of two ponies, but destroyed the finances of another forever.
A Brief Farewell
I have armed you with knowledge! Now use this knowledge and use it for good! For this is a time where quills do not wetten without blood on blades first to tell the story! Heed to warnings, look for the signs and watch out for pitfalls. As I pass from this life, I give you only one last blessing - do not take knowledge for granted. And not everything must be met with a blade. Choose your travels carefully as you do your paths, wanderers. Stay true to yourself and remember that the only monster you must fear at all times is your fellow Roan. So, head out! And let the legends of scavengers, travelers, adventurers, loners, killers, explorers and robbers be reborn!
Author's Note
Here is my large contribution to the epic world of Roan RPG!
Do not know what Roan RPG is?
Here, take a look at these links!
roanrpg.com/
roanrpg.com/roan-kickstarter/
roan-rpg.tumblr.com/
Some of these monsters were conceived by Clear Skies , the creator of Roan RPG itself, such as the Bloody Mary's, Chitter Hounds + Queen, Creek Man, Mire King, Poohdini, Tomb Poogie, Somber Roses, Lumines Bulbs and Throttle Vines.
However, the Poohdini and Tomb Poogie remained the most untouched
The rest had my Eastern European touch on them
Once again, a lot of eastern folk beliefs were thrown into these
I tried to avoid the over used ones and focused a lot on more of my own twist or other culture's twists to very common haunts and beings
I feel I managed to capture the time era well through these monsters
Some ancient while others are still somewhat modern
They are not too ancient but not young enough to be new
A lot of these phenomenons supposedly exist today in our world and have reports dating back from the Middle Ages all the way to colonial times of America even
Of all things, one thing remains constant
Every culture has ghosts, a bigfoot and a flood story
Except Roan, they don't have a flood story
At least, I don't think so
