Towards the Hoard of a Hundred Horrors: Muscaliets

Plump sunburst-noses, skin like a pig that's been singed bare for butchering, long shanks with broad paws, like you'd stuck the feet of a mole on the legs of a frog, and the teeth - bucked and layered down the throat, able to grind down any animal or vegetable matter as if it'd been tossed into the guts of a machine.

 

They feed on the fire of the earth itself, its hot molten life-blood, and are lambent with their glutted heat. Pushed to the surface away from their favoured fare, by greater predators or tectonic shifts or whatever else, and they become a locust-nightmare, sweeping over the land with gnashing and fire.

They are

Muscaliets

HD: 1/2 HD AC: 14 ATK: 1d4 nibble SAV: 5 MOV: As rabbit, dig as mole INT: As starving beast ML: 5
No. Appearing: 2d12

Body Heat: The radiant heat given off by a muscaliet's body inflicts 1 slot of exhaustion per round that one spends within 10 feet of it. All such exhaustion slots can be cleared by gulping down cool water or somesuch similar method. This effect is not cumulative if you are within 10 feet of multiple muscaliets.

Explosive: Upon death a muscaliet explodes, dealing 2d6 damage to everything within 10 feet (save for half). This effect is cumulative if you are within 10 feet of multiple exploding muscaliets.

Indonesian TTRPG Bandwagon: Orangladangs

Like so: https://afraidofencounters.bearblog.dev/indonesian-ttrpg-blogwagon/

It is said that the people of the forest can speak as we do, but choose not to out of fear that if we knew we would force them to work. This is not a baseless fear.

A long time ago an orangutan's daughter fell sick. The forest she knew had been felled for crop-land, so she could not find the plants that would heal her daughter. She found a human and begged him for help, and the human feigned concern until she brought him to her daughter and then he tied ropes around their necks.

The man, already wealthy, grew rich indeed off the labour of orangutans - once he realized their value as slaves, he placed bounties on their parents, and took their children to work on his plantation. They grew up knowing nothing but bondage and drudgery. The fiery colours of their fur faded to the greenish-white of gravemold. Their flanges sagged, their bellies sagged, even as they walked upright their shoulders sagged and lowered their knuckles to drag through the dirt. All the life that had left the rest of them went into their eyes - bloodshot and frenetic things that began to whip about so quickly as to blur.

One day, the plantation's slaves came across the man's daughter, sleeping in the shade of a mango tree. After a few moments of debate they crushed her head in with a rock for her indolence, and got back to work. The man fell into despair, but the work continued. By that point they had become something other than orangutans.

Through a combination of strength and indefatigable obsession, a single one can do the labour of five men, and needn't stop for rest. Fear and pain can no longer coerce them - only the threat of mutilation which would inhibit their ability to work, and the offer of a potion made of wine and certain foreign drugs. Intoxication by this potion is the closest they can come to rest, to remembering the sweetness of fruit and honey, of the freedom of the canopies - and that it contains alcohol is considered proof of their natural inferiority and iniquity.

That man has been dead for many, many years, but they continue their work. Sometimes they are slaves, and sometimes they are masters, for they are consumed by the crop, the yield, the product, by productivity, and loathe to see a plantation mismanaged. The forest is no longer their home, but it remembers its love for them, and so they come out of the trees at night to kill and put under new management.

They are

Orangladangs

HD: 4 AC: 14 ATK: 1d6 machete or other farm-tool plus Poison, or if unarmed 1d4/1d4 paw plus rend 1d8 if both paw attacks hit the same target SAV: 8 MOV: As ape INT: As brutalized near-human ML: 7, or 11 if currently engaged in labour
No. Appearing: 1d4 in the forest, or 2d4 on a plantation

Poison: They remember the roots and the leaves and the saps and the juices but where once these things were used to heal they are now used to harm. A weapon wielded by an orangladang is slathered with a dose of one of the following poisons (1d4):
1. Hobbling-Crackle: A blueish crust. Save or else roll 1d4 (1 - right arm, 2 - left arm, 3 - left leg, 4 - right leg) - take additional 1d6 damage and affected limb becomes stiff and paralyzed for 1d6 hours as fluids in tissues crystallize.
2. Screaming-Waking-Nightmare: Grey and bubbling. Save or go mad as per Confusion for 1d6 rounds
3. Pecked-And-Stung: Yellow and resinous. Save or else for the next day all encounters with non-mammalian animals have the lowest possible reaction roll.
4. Be-Still-Heart: Blush-pink, slick and dripping. Save or else for the next hour you must test constitution whenever you take a strenuous action (swinging a sword, running, etc.). After three failed constitution tests your heart stops.

Forest's Unforgotten Love: Surprise on a 4-in-6 in the forest.

Killer Copper Pieces: Chiniya-Ayinich

The symmetry and ratios of human bodies prove that we are not children of the gods - their creations, arguably, but shaped by sober hand and intellect rather than born in hot, wet passion.

Sex meshes poorly with deities' creative energies. They become undirected, chaotic. More often than not they birth monsters - blessed by their parentage, but shamefully cast out and hidden all the same.

This loveless lovechild of the divine has three eyes and two faces, one masculine and one feminine. Their eyes are black from corner to corner, and their skin is red on one side, and white on the other. They stand tall and crooked, and their feet are twisted backwards.

They delight in spying on the discord and treacheries of mortals. They are constantly hungry, as they may gain nourishment only from the flesh of the faithful and true.

They are

Chiniya-Ayinich

HD: 6 AC: 15 ATK: 1d8+4 smack or crunch plus Bouquet of Viscera SAV: 12 MOV: As ogre INT: As very well-informed person ML: 6
No. Appearing: 1

Bouquet of Viscera: Take 1d6 damage to a random attribute, caused by a random limb, cluster of fingers and eyes, or other such organ sprouting somewhere on your body. This attribute damage cannot be healed until the excess organ is removed.

Mother's Cloak, Father's Footsteps: By day Chiniya-Ayinich is invisible. By night Chiniya-Ayinich is inaudible (though may still speak if they so choose).

Voyeur's Vim: Chiniya-Ayinich speaks all living languages, and knows the secrets of all living people. They are loathe to share these secrets, preferring to whisper them back and forth between their two mouths in remote lairs. Chiniya-Ayinich will share a secret they know only if:
-They are wrestled into submission or otherwise captured
-They are gifted a faithful and true individual to eat

Towards the Hoard of a Hundred Horrors: Cockatrices

The first words were "Let there be light" - and so the eye is a tool of worship, a jelly-filled rosary bead. The first to see by light was also first among the angels. When he fell he fell the hardest, and profaned the eye the furthest.

 

The eye of the Accuser sees evil in everything - and wherever there is evil, the Accuser is there watching. It's a bit of a chicken and egg thing, which is funny because that's where these guys come from - from the devil fucking a chicken. Or any oviparous animal really. When some great evil calls him, he has his way with such beasts in the vicinity, and leaves his spawn to scourge the earth further. Such abominations are a fixture of the Black Masses of the witches.

They have their father's eye, swollen baleful and cyclopean on their face, and the spade-tip of his tail upon their snood. Between specimens little else can be found in common, the features of their mother overwhelmed by chimerical unwholesomeness. They are poisonous princes one and all whose domains become wasteland under their withering glare.

They are

Cockatrices

HD: 4 AC: 14 ATK: 1d6 peck + Petrification, Witness True Horror SAV: 9 MOV: Run as terror bird, fly as chicken INT: Evil yet animalistic ML: 7
No. Appearing: 1d6

Petrification: Those touched by a cockatrice must save or be turned to stone. Wearing heavy clothing or armour with full coverage grants advantage on this save.

The tears of a cockatrice undo this petrification - the creatures weep with joy when they are about to feed. After a cockatrice has been killed, a successful roll with a relevant skill (e.g. butchery, anatomy, hunting, medicine, etc.) can extract 1d3 doses of tears from its eye.

Witness True Horror: Those who meet the gaze of a cockatrice will receive a revelation of the true depth of sin - they must save or be overcome with fear for 1d6 rounds. Reflective surfaces can reflect this gaze back on the cockatrice. They have a habit of befouling still water within their domains. Only the hardiest and most toxic of weeds can withstand a cockatrice looking upon them - all other plants shrivel and die. Roll 1d4 for the affected's fear response:
1. Fight - Mindlessly attack
2. Flight - Flee in terror
3. Freeze - Become paralyzed
4. Fawn - Become charmed by the cockatrice

Killer Copper Pieces: Jinjoris

(God bless Uguisu Sachiko!!!)

 

They are the lowest rung of the world's creatures - pure evil in the flesh. They're vicious brutes, they smell, I'd bet they eat their young. And they hide among us! They could be your friend, your neighbour - your very family! Everybody who's walked in the woods knows this.

Actually, they're corpse-lickers, marrow-slurpers, feasters in the wake of witch-hunts, riots, and persecutions - stirrers-up of the same.

Cowardly lurkers who flit through the shadows at the edge of torch-light, between the boughs of trees, letting others butcher their prey for them.

They are

Jinjoris

HD: 2 AC: 14 ATK: 1d4 cast stone or 1d8 bite SAV: 8 MOV: as horse, climb as monkey INT: As person ML: 6
No. Appearing: 1d4

Surprise 3-in-6 unless lured out by a funeral

Song of the Jinjori: Jinjoris love to sing - and their singing festers paranoia and hatred in the hearts of those who hear it. Those who hear the singing of a jinjori must save or begin to believe that jinjoris are hiding among them, revealed by certain signs, and must be rooted out and killed. For every sign of the jinjori someone displays, they receive a -2 reaction roll modifier with people in the jinjori's feeding grounds. Those affected by the song will not recognize a true jinjori as a jinjori, alive or dead.

 

Roll on the table below to see which signs an affected community believes reveal someone as a jinjori (1d20x3): 

1. Red blood

2. Unibrow

3. Stinking breath

4. Bald head

5. Sleeps lying down

6. Light hair

7. Vulnerable to iron

8. Long nails

9. Can't say their own name backwards

10. Narrow eyes

11. Green eyes

12. A mole

13. Stooped posture

14. Eats fish

15. Yelps if splashed with boiling water

16. Pointy ears

17. Can't hold their drink

18. A runny nose

19. Missing teeth

20. Stubby neck

Jinjoris' fondness for songs makes them hungry for new ones. For each song you can teach a jinjori (or group of jinjoris) its reaction roll improves by +2. A jinjori will already know all songs originating from its feeding grounds, but has a 3-in-6 chance of knowing a song from outside it - and no chance if the song's from exotic parts.

Execution of the Jinjori: Those under the spell of a jinjori's song come to believe that jinjoris must be killed in a particular manner - this tends to help the true jinjori feed on the corpses of those who are accused of being one.

 

Roll on the table below to see which execution method an affected community believes is necessary (1d6):

1. Being put in a bag and thrown into a river.

2. Roasting atop a pyre.

3. Live burial.

4. Throwing off a cliff.

5. Tied to a stake and exposed to the elements.

6. Pursuit and mauling by dogs.

On the other hand, jinjoris are attracted to actual, respectful funerals, and can be lured out of hiding with such - or a convincing imitation thereof. This is a fact that would be known to sages, and not to communities under the spell of a jinjori.

Towards the Hoard of a Hundred Horrors: Kenkus

They can love, much as we love, but they have no love-poems. No poetry at all. They do not have stories of vengeance, whether laudatory or cautionary, only reciprocation in kind.

They are seen as ill omens - imps, trickster-spirits, servitors or victims of the king of the valravens. Where their black feathers are found is thought to be inauspicious ground.

This is a self-fulfilling attitude. They mirror what is done to them. Perhaps they have no choice but to mirror what is done to them. Where their territories and humanity's overlap is all but certain to become a theater of war, wherein every battle and tactic used tilts attrition in their favour.

They are

Kenkus

HD: 1/2 AC: 14 ATK: As weapon (as little guys, small weapons must be wielded as medium weapons, and so on up the ladder)  SAV: 8 MOV: Glide as kite, climb as monkey, hop as crow INT: As exceptionally hidebound person ML: 5
No. Appearing: 4d4

Corvid See, Corvid Do: Kenkus can perfectly mimic any physical action they've seen before. If they've seen you tying a rope they get your same skill level in rope-tying. If they see you wielding a weapon they get your proficiency in it and any to-hit bonuses that come from skill instead of the weapon being a magic sword or whatever. And so on and so forth.

They can also perfectly mimic any sound they've heard before.

(An encounter with kenkus is like the manga Sarumane, or like a mini-version of the also-manga HunterxHunter's Chimera Ant arc)

Sensitive Ears: Any especially loud noise (a big gong being banged, a gunshot in enclosed quarters, and suchlike) will cause kenkus within 30 feet to take 1 point of non-lethal damage. However, kenkus can never be surprised unless you are hiding your presence preternaturally.

Dire Corbies

Kenku thought is inextricable from their mimicry. It is mirrored, literal, direct. And yet - there is already adaption in it, generalization in applying the movements of the other's body to their own.

There is a glitch in the kenku thought-process, kicked off when they push beyond echopraxia into anticipation, extrapolation, and abstraction, which results in a mental and physical transformation. Their brain throbs against their skull as it demands more energy and growth to match these more complex processes, and their body grows with it.

Most kenkus who reach this point die, from the strain and the stress and rejection by their community which cannot understand their new demands. Those who survive - also called daikenkus - become these:

Dire Corbies

HD: 3 AC: 14 ATK: As weapon or 1d4/1d4 talons SAV: 11 MOV: Fly as crow, run as person INT: As smart though hidebound person ML: 7
No. Appearing: 1d3, accompanied by 2d4 kenkus

Corvid See More, Corvid Do More: Dire corbies' capacity to imitate exceeds the physical. They can copy mental skills and abilities they've witnessed being used now too. If a dire corby hears you speaking a language, it becomes fluent in that language. If a dire corby sees you casting a spell then it can cast that spell too - only the once, though, with the same amount of MD as you used. And so on and so forth.

They can also perfectly mimic any sound they've heard before.

Being deficient in their own subjectivity, dire corbies are obsessed with novels, plays, and conversation, modelling their own personalities and mannerisms off of those encountered therein.

Sensitive Ears: Any especially loud noise (a big gong being banged, a gunshot in enclosed quarters, and suchlike) will cause dire corbies within 30 feet to take 1 point of non-lethal damage.. However, dire corbies can never be surprised unless you are hiding your presence preternaturally.

Killer Copper Pieces: Mister Mittenbiter

He walks through town with his dapper hat and his dapper coat. He's got a refined bearing and an easy stride.

He is tall - maybe the tallest man you've ever seen. He's got no gums - but you won't see this until his grin stretches wide and the lips peel back to show long, long teeth planted right in his jaw-bones.

When he comes across lone children he pinches their chin and turns them this way and that. Most he doesn't bother with, not worth his time, not worth his trouble. In some he sniffs out the seed of kindred-spirit, and kidnaps them to initiate into his gang of pickpockets, muggers, and murderers.

The unluckiest few he takes into his hands and he bends and breaks and nibbles away at them, until they're unfit for any path through life but as beggars. He'll come back for them, years down the line, when they're thoroughly steeped in despair, and he'll eat their souls and leave their empty bodies in the gutter. He does the same to those in his gang, tearing the ghost from them as they hang from the gallows and the gibbets.

He is

Mister Mittenbiter

HD: 5 AC: 15 ATK: 1d8 cane smack and 1d8 bite, plus Mutilator SAV: 12 MOV: As ogre INT: As evil man who is used to manipulating children and obsequious social inferiors ML: 6
No. Appearing: 1 plus 1d6-2 nasty children (stat as goblins, equipped with shivs and razors and other such improvised weapons)

Aura of Gentility: It's not mind control, it requires no save, but Mister Mittenbiter is surrounded by a feeling that he's better than you and he can do what he wants - if you are accustomed to feeling that you are better than others, you feel that he is an equal.

Mutilator: All of Mister Mittenbiter's attacks that deal damage also deal a wound. He is a brute well-acquainted with how to hurt and mangle.

Killer Copper Pieces: Gostreochors

Horses will eat baby birds. They're still herbivores - it's an opportunistic thing, an accident really. If you had as long a face as they did, would you be able to see what was in front of your mouth while grazing? 

 

These horrible waterfowl would eat a baby bird on purpose and not feel even a little bit bad about it. There's an evil in them that goes beyond the cruel indifference of nature.

They wait on the surface of water bodies, rears hanging in the air as they nibble on plants and little critters below. Their rears bear a striking resemblance to the face of a drowning person, aided when they flail and slosh about, and their cloacal flatulence mimics the desperate gasps and screams of such a person as well.

They're clever enough - or instinctually-programmed - to use overturned boats to add to their charade, and sometimes use their victims as props too.

 

When you go to help these "drowners" they'll wrap their necks around your legs and hold you under til you stop struggling, honk-laughing at you while they do. Idiot. Moron. You deserve to die, and they deserve to kill you.

They are

Gostreochors

 

HD: 1 AC: 12 ATK: 1d4 bite + automatic grab with strength 14, Assblast SAV: 6 MOV: As goose INT: As crueler than usual goose ML: 8
No. Appearing: 1d8

 

If you fall for gostreochors' ruse they get a surprise round on you.

Assblast: Fleeing gostreochors will attempt to projectile poop in your eyes and wounds. When a gostreochor fails a morale test, save or contract a disease as its poop gets in your eyes and wounds. Having a shield grants advantage on this save.

Killer Copper Pieces: Kinsutes

Among the three poisonous servants of the sorcerers number these:

Take one unwanted by their family, by force or guile or sale, young or old, healthy or sick - it does not matter.

Put a coin in their mouth. Make sure they do not swallow it yet. Wrap them in a sable shroud, so tightly they cannot escape it on their own - break their limbs if you must. Pour sow's milk over their face until they can barely breath. Abandon them on a mountainside.

If all goes well then the land will not know what to do with them, and they will be transformed into a black boar. This boar will be compelled to sniff out valuables and scarf them down, and when its belly is full of them it will return to you. Then you may cut it open and retrieve the wealth it has swallowed, but you must then provide it with a doll - it doesn't matter how raggedy or fine - and allow it time to wallow with its dolls while the slit in its belly heals.

It's really not worth trying to skip out on your end of the bargain.

They are

Kinsutes

HD: 3 AC: 13 ATK: 1d12 gore SAV: 9 MOV: As wild boar INT: As desperate person ML: 5
No. Appearing: 1d4

Shapeshift: A kinsute can change back into its human form, but it will always be wearing an article of black clothing and have a pig's nose. Also, if presented with an object of any significant monetary value while in human form it must test morale or revert to boar-form and attempt to consume it. In human form their stats are pathetic, don't even bother with them, they pretty much only take human form to beg for their lives or sneak around poorly.

Kinsutes can sniff out valuables as a truffle-pig can snort out truffles.

A kinsute's belly will be filled with 4d6 sp worth of valuables. However, killing a kinsute transmutes the valuables in its bellies into reeking black sludge. Valuables in a kinsute's belly will otherwise be fairly preserved. They will resist anyone but their creator trying to cut open their belly with all their might.

If denied its dolls and doll-time, a kinsute will double in size, HD, damage, speed, etc., and seek to devour its creator as it as it once did valuables.

Killer Copper Pieces: Himantopodes

When the Great Horde of the Heathens came to golden Kitezh, a third of the city chose to surrender to the Horde, a third of the city chose to put their faith in God to save them, and the final third couldn't choose to commit to either.

One third of Kitezh was slain, and one third was protected - which was the prayerful and which the surrendered is not remembered. Of the third who couldn't choose: being lukewarm, God spat on them.

Their skin became like cracked leather, their bones frayed and splintered. Their teeth fell out, replaced by a single fang protruding from the roof of their mouth, and the flesh of their face became as clay.

They are worthless creatures, able only to wriggle in the dirt and scrape for the roots of grasses - when they take hold of another creature, though, they become fearsome. Their tentacular legs can take hold of any mount, and they draw frothy reins of phlegm and spittle out from the mouth of their steed. They tap veins with their fang for blood, and when they exhaust their ridden-thing they delight in marching it off a cliff - bonelessly and harmlessly bouncing away themself.

The accursed third of Kitezh curse all of God's creatures.

They are

Himantopodes

HD: 1 AC: 14 ATK: 1d8 spear or 1d6 bow, 50/50 chance of being armed with either SAV: 7 MOV: As crawling person, or as mount INT: As person ML: 6 while mounted, 4 while dismounted
No. Appearing: 3d4 (1/3rd on horses, 1/3rd on people, 1/3rd on miscellaneous creatures)

Hellish Visage: Himantopodes make a sport of shaping their faces into the scariest shit they can imagine. On encountering himantopodes, hirelings and animals must test morale or be frozen with terror for 1d6 rounds.

Himantopodes don't take falling damage.

Killer Copper Pieces: Glossgallers

Tucked away where you wouldn't expect them, grit-slicked and pearlescent, combining the vagaries of organic growth and the sensitivities of architecture - hanging orbs and onion domes, conch shell spines and chandelier tubes. There's a beauty to them that even beasts respect - no bird-droppings splatter them. These are their anchorholds.

Wet-eyed, whimpering, stretched-out faces and tongues rasping across cracked lips. Torturous posture walking on their elbows and their feet, paws clasped in prayer. They pray for themselves, and for the god they were damned with. Being damned, their prayers are worthless. They need yours.

Ruins speak to the culture they once practiced. Now they have only this, their only worthwhile pursuit.

They will lick the tendons from your heels and drag you away, drop you into the cell they've drooled for you and seal it up. With deprivation of sleep and meals and a constant channeled droning they will break you down until you hope for their salvation as much as they do. You will pray the rest of your days in the dark, food and water kissed down your throat by long, sharp tongues. They have a tremendous debt to pay.

They are

Glossgallers

HD: 2 AC: 12 ATK: 1d4 Tongue Stab (30-ft. range) SAV: 6 MOV: As three-legged dog INT: As desperate, driven person ML: 7
No. Appearing: 2d4

Tongue Stab: Their radula-tipped tongue launches out like a chameleons. Save, or roll on the table below as it pierces something important (1d6):
1. Blinded in one eye until healed.
2. Hand disabled until healed.
3. Leg disabled until healed.
4. Heart struck - triple damage.
5. Stomach - stunned for round retching, must eat additional ration that day.
6. Throat - can't speak until healed.

Killer Copper Pieces: Sceadtwains

Is the flesh stronger than steel? Perhaps, perhaps. Certainly more fearsome.

These assassin-creatures of the fleshworkers are born from an induced twinning - the twins are then made to devour each other in the womb. One twin eats the other's flesh while the other eats the first's shadow. Then, it is born - one being, two bodies, one of flesh and one of shadow.

Unactivated, they resemble the human they would have been born as, their other body resting as a shadow in the light should. Activated to kill, and they are like an over-buttered bag of popcorn - soggy, wrinkled, warped and split, innards spilled onto outtards. Their shadow-self rises as an illusory duplicate, connected to their flesh-self by a black thread that wriggles along the ground like a worm.

Their leash (besides the indoctrination from a young age which should be practiced with all assassin-creatures) is the promise of return to and maintenance of their human form, to their ordinary life. Only their creator can do this. Masterless ones exist in the margins, bundled up like lepers - honed killers pushed to the edge.

They are

Sceadtwains

HD: 3 AC: 14 ATK: As weapon SAV: 9 MOV: As human who is really good at parkour INT: As trained assassin ML: 6
No. Appearing: 1d3

Peekaboo: A sceadtwain that's just been put into kill-mode gets a 4-in-6 chance of getting a surprise round. The sceadtwain's master must be in earshot to give the signal.

Bilocation: An activated sceadtwain has two bodies - one illusory and one physical. The bodies must remain within 30 feet of each other, and are connected by a black thread along the ground. If this thread is severed, the illusory body winks out of existence and re-emerges the next round from the physical body's feet. The thread can't be severed by cutting - it is itself a shadow - a solid obstacle must completely block the connection.

A sceadtwain can switch which body is illusory and which is physical once per round as a free action, including in response to an incoming attack. If something physical is within the illusory body when they swap, the sceadtwain takes damage as if telefragged.

Towards the Hoard of a Hundred Horrors: Wightsnakes

There's snakes in these here parts, horrible snakes, yellowed-off white like old bones - they don't swallow their prey live like other snakes do, they like them ripely putrid, holding the strangled corpses tenderly in their coils until they start to reek, and leak.

There's barrows too, old and haunted (of course) - and they hold the most delectable corpses of all (to the snakes). But to end up in a snake's belly is the foulest defilement of them all, so the barrows' stones and walking bones endeavour to keep the reptiles out and far away.

But sometimes a snake has its day, and seizes its well-aged barrow-corpse delicacy. Then it is reborn - the merger of ancient hero (in the classical sense) and serpentine voracity.

They are

Wightsnakes

HD: 6 AC: As armour in human form, 15 in snake form ATK: As weapon in human form, Constrict and 1d4 bite plus Haunting Venom in snake form SAV:12 MOV: As human in human form, as big snake in snake form INT: As classically-educated person ML: 8
No. Appearing: 1d3

Shapeshift: Once per round, as a free action, a wightsnake can shift between their human and snake form.

Constrict: A target hit by constrict is automatically grappled by the wightsnake. A wightsnake can constrict an already-grappled target to automatically deal 1d8 damage to them. It takes a combined strength of 30 to pry a wightsnake off a grappled target. Attacks aimed at a constricting wightsnake have a 2-in-6 chance of hitting their constricted target. A wightsnake can only constrict one target at a time.

Heroic Panoply: If you roll up a wightsnake with more than 21 HP then they've got a magic weapon. If you roll up a wightsnake with more than 26 HP they've got a magic weapon and a piece of magic armour. 

Haunting Venom: A wightsnake's venom is full of ghosts. If bit, save or roll on the table below (1d6):
1. Necrosis: Take an immediate extra 1d6 damage.
2. Hungry Ghost: Ordinary food won't sustain you - only offerings left for the dead will. Save again every day thereafter or until the poison is purged.
3. Possession: Randomly change your character to another class and personality. Save again every day thereafter or until the poison is purged.
4. Marked by the Grave: You are affected by magic as if you were a corpse rather than a living thing. Save again every day thereafter or until the poison is purged.
5. Poltergeist: A small item in the vicinity is flung at a random member of your party. Save again every hour or it happens again.
6. Fearsome Moaning: You will not be able to sleep restfully that night. Save every night thereafter until you succeed or the poison is purged.

Towards the Hoard of a Hundred Horrors: Maggot Golems

There is an edict, centuries old, which declares those who eat the deadened flesh of their own kind to be cursed - that that flesh by right belongs to the scavenger-god Yeenoghu and her priests.

The accursed wallow and groan and spread across the earth as a fevered stain. Their hunger is bottomless, but it has an apex - each tithes a portion of every mouthful of choked-down putridity to the one who changed them, and to the one who changed them in turn, all the way up the chain until the collected feast gathers in the belly of the mountainous ghoul-king, in his palace of teeth and filth.

And even the king can never be satisfied. From his palace he whispers in the dreams of malefactors and maleficarum, of this unwholesome technique:

Take a carcass which vultures have not torn and hyenas have not tasted, and lay it in a structure where crows have not alit and jackals have not tread. Whisper to it in the dark for three days and three nights, eating only fistfuls of dirt and drinking only your own tears and urine.

Should everything go properly, the ghoul-king will lend a portion of his power and a maggot will spawn within the meat, inscribed with the Unspeakable Name. This maggot will spawn more, until a great white mass rises in the shape of a man.

These larvae are not given freely, not meant to be servants - this is only a ploy.

Once one reaches maturation it will moult into a usurper of the scavenger-god, and the ghouls shall glut upon the world entire.

They are

Maggot Golems

HP: 100 + The Heart of the Swarm AC: 12 + Writhing Mass ATK: 1d8/1d8 slams, or 1d4 gnawing flood (hits all in melee range automatically) SAV: 10 MOV: As ogre, or flow as wave of maggots INT: According to orders, literal-minded ML: 12
No. Appearing: 1

The Heart of the Swarm: Maggot golems do not roll for HP with HD as normal (if HD value is needed, use 8). Each maggot golem begins with 100 HP. When a maggot golem takes a hit, it loses HP as normal, and has a percentage chance of dying immediately as its core maggot is destroyed based on how much HP it has lost (e.g. if a hit brings a maggot golem down to 67 HP it then has a 33% chance of dying immediately).

Writhing Mass: Maggot golems take the minimum possible damage from human-scale weapons (e.g. 1 on a d6), plus whatever bonus damage a weapon might get from enchantment. Area of effect attacks, siege weapons, and the like do damage as normal.

No Flesh Leaves The Abattoir: Maggot golems that come across a corpse are compelled to devour it. They must remain motionless for one round per HD of the corpse, and heal 1d6 HP per round. It may attack those within range as normal.

Also, wounds dealt by a maggot golem are prone to myiasis.

Killer Copper Pieces: Boxtopi

They come from unknown leagues beneath the sea to perfect their art. At first they struggle and bleed without the water to buoy them. At last they stand proud, and strike faster without the water resisting them.

They are not warriors, not soldiers, not invaders, but rather seekers - chasing that mirage which fades more the closer you approach it, the pinnacle of martial arts, of strength: to be unrivaled under heaven.

They are

Boxtopi

HD: 4 AC: 14 ATK: Boxtopunches SAV: 9 MOV: As human, as octopus in water INT: As human-equivalent, but alien thought process ML: 8
No. Appearing: 1

Seeker's Code: Boxtopi are not mere killers. They want to test and be tested, learn and become stronger.

A boxtopus will set up a 20' x 20' arena somewhere it knows that strong opponents will have to pass through - a chokepoint, a bridge, a crossroads, etc., or else it will entice opponents with a prize for defeating it.

However, this is not a lawless battle to the death. A boxtopus will insist on fighting one-on-one, within the bounds of its arena, without weapons, without ambushes. Fight according to these rules, and the boxtopus will spare defeated opponents, and only use one Boxtopunch per round. Break any, and the boxtopus will fight to the death, using three Boxtopunches per round. Knocking the boxtopus out of its arena without breaking the above rules counts to it as an honourable victory.

Boxtopunches: All boxtopunches do 1d6 damage, in addition to a random effect per below (1D8):

1. Jaw-Splitting Uppercut: Critical range of 18-20.

2. Blade Hook: Save or be disarmed of your weapon or shield.

3. Cross Rush: Save or be knocked prone.

4. Slicing Non-Elbow: Save or be blinded until you wipe the blood from your eyes.

5. Hammer Tentacle: Save or be knocked back 5'.

6. Supercephalopod Punch: Save before the attack roll - if you fail, your AC counts as only 10 against the attack.

7. Sucker Punch: Really more of an open-tentacled slap. Save or have a piece of armour or other worn equipment stripped off you.

8. Tip Jab: Strikes first regardless of where in the initiative order the boxtopus is.

Towards the Hoard of a Hundred Horrors: Aurumvoraxes

Glorious is the sumptuary beast, with golden coat and silver claws, porphyrous teeth and velvet maw. Intolerant too, gruesomely so, of those who ape its exquisiteness. Fortunately for most, such beasts will only mate with their perfect equals, and attack all others of their own kind on sight.

Munificent is the royal weasel, who bends to the whims of its prince. Of who it chooses to serve none can say - more often pauper than true prince - but the bond is beyond death. Beyond reason as well, for every whim no matter how small is enacted by the royal weasel.

Terrible is the mauler, who breaks the necks of dragons under the weight of its jaws. Terribler still when hungered, for when hunting it kills abundantly beyond the filling of its belly. Terriblest yet when its princess is harmed, for none but its princess may calm its rage.

By another name,

They are

Aurumvoraxes

HD: 7 AC: 16, plus immune to fire and poison ATK: 1d8/1d8 Claws, or Spine-Cruncher SAV: 11 MOV: As swift horse, plus 30' leap INT: As clever beast, or as its prince(ss) when given explicit commands ML: 9, 12 when its prince(ss) is unconscious by injury or dead
No. Appearing: 1

Spine-Cruncher: The aurumvorax clamps its jaws around its target's neck, or the closest equivalent. The target must save vs. death or die instantly as their neck is crushed, or their head severed entirely. If they succeed, they take 2d8 damage and dislodge the aurumvorax. Spine-Cruncher works on targets up to 14 HD.

Killer Copper Pieces: Mangraves

Brack-anchored predatory trees, the elegant arched spindles of their roots gathering scabrous silt. Their bark is alabaster, their leaves a delicate, sensual pink - but they are consummate vegetable shapeshifters, able to match their appearance to surrounding plant-life. The wary can still spot them by their accompaniment: carrion-beetles, corpse-nibbling fish, and suchlike - and of course they become obvious when their sucker-tipped roots rear up from the water.

They hunt by detecting animal heartbeats. In turn, they are hunted by the people who share their coastal environments for their rich crimson sap, which can be worked into the finest rubber and plastic, or made into gum that is chewed to promote vitality. These tree-hunters take drugs to depress their heartbeat, using pumps in their palms and heels to quicken their blood-flow and prevent themselves from passing out*. Paddling out in canoes like drunken crocodiles they may sneak up on the trees and tap their sap. It is still an enormously dangerous profession, due to the flailing of tapped trees' roots, complications from the pumps and the drugs, and the other dangers of the coast which those precautions render them vulnerable to.

The enormously wealthy sometimes keep these trees in their gardens, "taming" the things by feeding them so much blood they don't bother to attack or disguise themselves.

They are

Mangraves

HD: 6 AC: 14 ATK: 4 Sucker-Roots SAV: 10  MOV: N/A INT: Dumb animal ML: 12
No. Appearing: 1d3

Sucker-Roots: 2 of a mangrave's roots can reach 30', and the other 2 can reach 15'. A successful attack from a sucker-root represents it sticking to you - for every round thereafter you will take 1d6 damage automatically until it is severed or otherwise detached. Against anyone with a sucker-root stuck to them, a mangrave may also make a grapple action in addition to draining their blood - trip them, hold them underwater, drag them closer, etc. A sucker-root takes 6 damage to sever - only half this is taken by the mangrave itself.

Mangraves surprise on a 3-in-6 unless one is moving at half-speed. Conversely, a mangrave can never be surprised unless one has altered their heart-rate by drugs or some other means.

* When they're not on the drugs they can do this:

 

 

If you know, you know. 

Killer Copper Pieces: Enfolders

(Killer Copper Pieces = the ones that don't make the cut for the Hoard of a Hundred Horrors)
((The idea for enfolders came to me in a dream)) 

The stuff of the underworld, like radiation, can contaminate the bodies of those who eat of its creatures and breathe its fetid air. This contamination tends to concentrate in the skin, and so those who delve into the underworld tend to collect tattoos, scars, and piercings like iodine tablets - as much superstition as true abjuration.

Those unlucky ones in whom the contamination reaches a critical point will find their skins slacken and fuse to the surfaces of the underworld, taking on the properties of its stone and wood and suchlike, their shrivelled bodies beneath their stony yet disturbingly-pliable hides sustained in a miserable half-life by their root.

This transformation has a distinctive feeling, so enfolders tend to be found in two sorts of places - near entrances to the dungeon, the results of desperate, failed escapes, and near treasures worth risking a fate worse than death to acquire.

Sometimes referred to as Stuck Willies (and brickjackets and stonemoaners and etc.) - every dead and near-enough-to-dead adventurer in the world below is a Willy - regular corpses are Stiff Willies, sheet ghouls are Slick Willies, and so on and so forth.

They are

Enfolders

HD: 2 AC: 10, plus Brickjacketed ATK: Enfolding, Stonemoaning SAV: 12  MOV: As walking person - can't go beyond 30 feet of their root INT: As person after decades of solitary confinement ML: 10
No. Appearing: 1d6

Brickjacketed: Enfolders have 5 damage reduction against everything but picks, explosives, and whatever else could crack solid rock - unless the attack is targeting an opening in their skin. 

Enfolding: An enfolder will always grapple on a successful hit. Initially this grapple has a strength of 12 - this strength increases by 4 every round you remain grappled by the enfolder, as it envelopes you in its skin. After the grapple reaches 20 strength you begin suffocating.

Stonemoaning: Enfolders that spot a person will begin to moan hoarsely. Every round an enfolder is moaning there is a 2-in-6 chance of a wandering monster showing up to investigate. Enfolders cease moaning the moment they cannot see any people.

Towards the Hoard of a Hundred Horrors: Vargouilles

History is a bottomless well of blood, poisoned by grudges. From out of its depths rise the curses of hateful generations past and forgotten.

These living curses lurk among us - by day ordinary-seeming, unaware of their true nature, and by night their heads detach, warp and flitter, trailing the tubes of their entrails on gloomy missions, inflicting pain and panic. An arrow loosed eventually lands, and lies still. A curse is a weapon for no just war, for it flies night after night without ever stopping.

They are

Vargouilles

HD: 1 AC: 14 ATK: 1d6 bite, OR Kiss OR Shriek SAV: 8  MOV: Fly as bat INT: As human ML: 7
No. Appearing: 1d10

Kiss: A vargouille spreads its curse with a kiss. One kissed by a vargouille must save, or contract their curse - on the first round after contracting the curse, a thin pink line of raw flesh circles their neck. On the second round, the line weeps corrupted blood. From the third round on, if their head is not firmly secured to their neck by their hands, or bandages, or suchlike, then it flies off as a new vargouille. Vargouilles are reluctant to overpopulate - too large a population of vargouilles in a community is a beacon to the headless huntsmen. The curse of a vargouille's kiss may be lifted by the same means as any other curse.

Shriek: Those within 30 feet must save or take 1d6 non-lethal damage each round they don't spend hiding or fleeing for the next 1d6 rounds. Those who fall unconscious due to this damage have their hair turn white permanently. Those who make their save against a vargouille's scream are immune to all such screams for a day. Headless hunstmen are immune to this.

A vargouille can chew the head off a corpse to make that corpse its new host body. Both the vargouille and its new body will appear to be an ordinary human during the day, but one's appearance is not changed to match the other.

Should a vargouille pass over the Seal of Iphegor it will be flung down to earth and become unable to fly until it removes itself from the radius of the Seal - however the true form of the Seal of Iphegor has been lost for centuries, and countless counterfeits crowd grimoires.

The Headless Huntsmen

HD: 3 AC: 16 ATK: 1d8 longsword & Hanged Man's Rot grenades, or 1d6 bow & arrows, or 1d6 bident and net SAV: 9 MOV: As human, or as riding horse INT: As human ML: 10
No. Appearing: 2d4

Impatient, ruthless exterminators of the vargouilles. The horses they ride are fearless, but otherwise ordinary.

Their neck-stumps are plugged by plates of lead printed with worn runes. Their blood does not flow except at the moment of their deaths, when it is expelled in a flood. When they attempt to go about incognito, they will wear hoods or helmets supported by gourds or tubers underneath. They communicate through gesture, and are somehow able to see without eyes, hear without ears. Headless huntsmen possess no special sense to detect vargouilles, but know the signs of their presence in a community - pregnant women whose children have been gnawed from their wombs, pets left impaled on branches, feces smeared on window-sills, and suchlike.

Hanged Man's Rot: Save vs. CON when breathing it in miasmic form, or contract. A Hanged Man's Rot grenade has a 10-ft. radius. Where a serious infestation has been detected, the headless huntsmen will bring a copper cooking-wagon which can in time fill an entire hex with Hanged Man's Rot miasma.

The disease is an affliction of the cervical vertebrae and its nerves - at first only a stiffness in the extremities, then becoming apparent as a harsh, weeping rash around the neck when it advances - in the end it leaves its victims paralyzed and suffocating. Save or take 1d6 DEX damage each week, which cannot be recovered until Hanged Man's Rot is cured. A dose of cure to the sickness can be produced with 20 sp of rare herbs, the knowledge of a sage or equivalent figure, and a day's work.

A vargouille can contract Hanged Man's Rot from both miasma and victims of it they feed on, yet takes no DEX damage. Instead, their ability to control a host body is destroyed. To those afflicted with Hanged Man's Rot, a vargouille's kiss is simply fatal if their head detaches rather than accursed.

Towards the Hoard of a Hundred Horrors: The Popopo

A tight-lipped smile, a bird's impassive eyes. White hair, white skin, and long, lithe limbs. Her beak stretches up and out of her throat, and there comes that awful sound - half song, half laugh: "Po-po-po" - easy to rhyme.

She is a lonely and envious creature. She takes other's children and makes them hers, brooding in darkling dungeons. In the west she is Mournful Dove. In the east she is the Capon's Cuckoo. In the north she is Winter-Come-Early. In the south she is the daughter of Night and Grief.

Yet across all corners of the world her call is the same - therefore, she is

The Popopo 

HD: 5 AC: 15 ATK: 1d6 peck and 1d6/1d6 claws + Raptorial Claim SAV: 10 MOV: As sprinting human, fly as pelican INT: As smart human ML: 7, 10 in defense of stolen children
No. Appearing: 1

The Popopo is strong enough to fly while carrying a single person. 

Raptorial Claim: An individual marked by the Popopo's claws becomes vulnerable to her magic. For each claw-mark upon them, the Popopo may inflict one of the following effects. Once per night the Popopo may also claw the exterior of a home, and thereby affect everyone inside it at once - and if she does so three nights in a row, on the third night all inhabitants automatically fail the first of their saves:

-Sleep: Save or fall into a deep sleep for 12 hours - if you receive a serious jolt you can save again.

-Glamour: Save or perceive the Popopo as an ordinary, if entrancing, woman - you understand her call as your own language. You can save again if someone not under the Popopo's spell points out what she truly is to you.

-Madness: Save or roll a 1d6 - on a 1-2 do nothing, on a 3-4 flee, on a 5-6 attack the nearest living thing. Save again each round.

Imperfect Scions

HD: 2 AC: 12 or as armour ATK: 1d4/1d4 claws + Swallow Whole or as weapon SAV: 7 MOV: As human, fly as sparrow INT: As human ML: 7
No. Appearing: 1d2

Swallow Whole: Someone hit by both of an imperfect scion's claw attacks in one round must test vs. strength or be swallowed whole by it. They take 1 damage per round, and cannot escape until the thing is cut open.

Glamour: Imperfect as they may be, their glamour is more skillful than the Popopo's. It is always active, with no save possible against it, making them appear as normal people - until they swallow someone whole, or fly, or think they are alone.

To sages and cunning-folk it is known that the Popopo is never satisfied with her brood. She will give them away to those with the rite to call her, shaping them into the caller's idea of a perfect child. Such stories never end well - the children become far less subservient when they mature.