Bestiary

The spirit of a woman whose grief outlived her body. Her wail freezes the blood, feeling like drowning on dry land.

A corpse raised by malice, stitched together by will. They fall apart and rise again, driven by stubborn, borrowed motion.

Formed from heat and dust. They drift across arid wastes like mirages, draining life with a touch before vanishing.

Once natural, now swollen with unnatural strength. Its presence leaves forests scarred, as though the land itself recoils.

Seen only when mist grows thick. They slip through visibility itself, striking from nowhere and retreating into nothingness.

A trickster spirit. It moves between solid ground and something thinner, luring prey just far enough to disappear forever.

A mounted spirit that never stops hunting. Roads twist and horses panic. Those pursued swear hooves follow them for years.

A dead lawman or outlaw brought back by vengeance. They care nothing for justice, only for finishing what death interrupted.

Something that lives inside darkness. It watches first, waits patiently, and strikes only when escape feels impossible.

A shape-stealing horror wearing stolen forms. Those who encounter one realize too late that the face they trusted was never human.

Born from hunger and moral collapse. They grow stronger the longer they survive, feeding on bodies, fear, and desperation.

An omen with wings. These birds observe rituals and crossroads, serving as watchers for forces that do not need eyes of their own.