Entities recorded across multiple incidents. Not all are fully understood.
Towering, muscular brutes with skin the color of rotting pumpkin flesh, clothed in the cobbled remains of unknown beasts and armed with bone clubs. Their leaders mark themselves with red paint and wear gemstone talismans that pulse with stolen light. They travel in packs and answer to forest powers like Dhorath, though they're not above turning to worse things when it suits them.
Small, self-obsessed fae who cross over from Otherside, marked by pointed ears, spiky hair, bare feet, and clothing woven from leaves and branches. Vain, preening, and obsessed with pomp and circumstance, they're deeply distrustful of humans but can be bargained with, provided you know the old customs and mind your manners.
A more monstrous cousin to the tooth fairies of children's stories, bone fae are horrible creatures said to eat their victims from the inside out. Wards keep them out of a home, but few would dare invite one in on purpose.
A diminutive, bipedal creature with skin the color of fresh blood, an unusually long nose, beady black eyes, oversized hands and feet, and a long thin tail. Despite its small size, a hemogoblin radiates an unmistakable pressure of power, and its nose is unmatched at tracking anyone who's had contact with Otherside.
The true origin of every dwarf legend, Dwarrow are towering, stone-bodied artisans standing well over seven feet tall — nothing like the stumpy miners of children's movies. They don't reproduce organically; instead, groups of them carve new life from stone, each craftsman contributing their specialty. Fierce fighters and master builders, they dwell in glittering underground cities lit by veins of crystal.
A creature born of smoke and shadow that coalesces into four legs, a torso, and a serpentine neck, wearing the stolen faces of its victims. It speaks directly into the minds of those nearby, and even the most powerful entities in a room fall silent when it arrives. It hungers for souls and considers itself an instrument of vengeance, delivering cruel, personal judgments to those it hunts.
A minor god — thin to an uncomfortable degree, dressed in a red leather jacket over skin scarred with ritual symbols that weep black, rotten flesh at the edges. In place of a head floats a mask the color of dried blood, carved with an upturned crescent moon and ringed by six drifting horns, its smile lifted straight from the edge of a nightmare. Voraketh moves with an unsettling, humming, dance-like gait and consumes bodies whole, drawn to blood and violence wherever it's summoned.
The courtly fae who serve King Nemora beyond the Gate to Otherside, ruled with old formality and old grudges. Their guards, like the spear-wielding Centurion Estelar, are quick to violence toward trespassers, while their diplomats offer honeyed hospitality laced with danger — accepting food or drink from their table is a bargain no wise traveler makes lightly.