Undead cursed with an eternal hunger for humanoid flesh, ghouls prowl graveyards and the ruins of dead cities. Though content to feed on corpses, ghouls prefer fresh meat. The unfortunate victim of a ghoul’s paralytic touch can’t struggle—or even scream—as the ghoul devours them alive.

Dark Blessing. Legends say the first ghoul was an elf who practiced depraved, cannibalistic rituals to curry favor with the demon lord of undeath. When this elf repented, the gods decreed that he and his kind would be forever immune to the ghouls’ paralytic touch. Still, the demon lord continues to reward feasters of flesh by transforming them into ghouls. Even those who turn to cannibalism out of desperation might unwillingly receive the lord’s dark blessing. Aboleths , hags, and necromancers know rites to create ghouls, as well.

More than Monsters. Unlike mindless undead such as skeletons or zombies, ghouls are intelligent, though constant hunger turns most into ravening monsters. A ghoul whose appetites are routinely satisfied, however, might recover some of its faculties. Much like vampires, many “noble” ghouls conceal their nature from the settlements they feed upon, so as to keep a steady supply of food at hand. Others journey far beneath the earth to seek out the ghoulish empire said to exist in those dark, forbidding caverns.

Undead Nature. Ghouls and ghasts don’t require air, sustenance, or sleep.

Powerful spirits who command the elements as easily as a general might command a legion of soldiers, genies rule the Elemental Planes. Beings of air, earth, fire, and water, genies are as diverse in form and temperament as the elements they command. Their cities are bastions of relative safety amid the roiling torrents of the elements. On occasion, genies visit the Material Plane to explore or to meet with a powerful spellcaster.

Splendor of the Planes. There are four types of genies, each embodying one of the four basic elements. Their unique nature gives them mastery over elemental magic: a genie can create all manner of magical wonders out of the raw stuff of the Elemental Planes. Genies gather in places where currents of elemental energies come together. There, they build cities of unimaginable splendor, where creatures of all sorts can live together. Art, music, and magic flourish within their walls.

Noble Genies. The most powerful genies— sometimes called nobles by envious mortals—are the undisputed masters of the elements. Lesser genies are drawn to them, and some genie nobles also create elementals, imbuing them with a portion of their own essence and personality. The most powerful nobles can grant wishes to mortals who earn their favor.

Mortal Fascination. Sometimes genies will explore the Material Plane, living among mortals in secret or offering their services in exchange for treasure. Why they do so is a mystery, even to genies. Perhaps they feel an attraction to the ever-changing inhabitants of an otherwise stable plane; perhaps they are simply amused by the everyday struggles of people who invest so much into what seems (to a genie) like such a short life.

Elemental Demise. When a genie dies, its body becomes a mote of elemental energy. This mote might take the form of a glowing chunk of earth, a shardof crystallized air, or an ever-burning ember.

Divi || Divi Noble || Djinni || Djinni Noble || Efreeti || Efreeti Noble || Marid || Marid Noble
 

In lightless caverns and fey forests, fungi appear in every color and shape. Some grow to prodigious size, choking pathways or forming looming fungal forests.

Self-Propagators. Fungi do not need sunlight to flourish. They grow in any available organic matter, including bodily waste and corpses. Fungi provide many necessities to underground dwellers: food, fuel, alcohol, and even phosphorescent lighting. Common fungi reproduce by ejecting spores, which are carried on breezes or cling to the bodies of passing creatures. Monstrous fungi treat other life forms as food and hosts for expansion: they have a remarkable variety of ways to infest, infect, and devour more mobile creatures.

Faeries are luminous, elfin creatures with delicate wings resembling those of butterflies or dragonflies. Though they can appear deceptively non-threatening, faeries wield great power on their home plane, variously called the Dreaming, the Feywild, or Fairyland. Many people assume all faeries are the size of the tiny pixies often seen on the Material Plane. In the Dreaming, where time and space are mutable, powerful faeries change sizes as they do clothes, appearing as pixie-sized beings one day and towering
giants the next.

Faerie Courts. Faeries are loosely organized into feudal courts, with each faerie subject to the rule of a powerful archfey . Within their own realms, archfey have nearly godlike power over the land and are able to raise forests, fell mountains, and even change seasons at will. Most archfey align themselves with one of two rival factions: the seelie and unseelie courts. While all fairies are prone to mischief, the seelie courts often spare creatures who meet their arbitrary standards of beauty and worthiness. The unseelie courts, on the other hand, revel in the grotesque and are prone to unprovoked malice. Neither faction can be said to be “good” or “evil”: concepts of morality are foreign to faeries.

Rules and Favors. Mysterious laws bind faeries to one another in complex webs of obligation. A creature that performs a seemingly innocuous act, such as speaking the faerie’s name or giving it a certain food, may earn the right to claim a favor from a faerie. The nature and timing of the favor is up to the faerie: it might take the form of advice, service, aid in battle, safe passage—or something seemingly useless or inconvenient, such as a magic bean or glowing hair. Refusing to accept a faerie’s favor is considered a grave insult.

Silver dragons are graceful, majestic dragons that adopt humanoid forms to mentor good-hearted humanoids. They see potential for greatness everywhere, but demand nothing less than perfection from themselves and their students.

Tutors to Smallfolk. Once they grow to full adulthood, silver dragons often take humanoid form to sere as teachers to particularly gifted students. Being so long-lived gives the dragons time to become experts in a variety of fields, and they may pass on their knowledge of art, swordplay, various crafts, or spellcasting to their students. Once a silver dragon selects a protege, it will not rest until its lessons are complete. If the student’s conviction wavers, the dragon may take on drastic measures to keep its pupil on track — often to the student’s chagrin. 

Hoarders of Art and History. Silver dragons decorate their lairs with objects that remind them of their favorite students: a perfectly crafted blade, a masterwork painting, or even a collection of top-quality alchemical supplies. In addition to such keepsakes, a silver dragon might collect items of historical significance, such as the mast of a warship used in a pivotal battle, a renowned queen’s wedding dress, or a battlement from a castle demolished centuries ago.

Social Butterflies. Silver dragons can’t stand extended isolation and will travel immense distances to visit others of their kind. Without such interactions, a silver dragon may take humanoid form and befriend humanoids passing through its domain. Travellers who aren’t sufficiently receptive to this talkative stranger may find themselves face-to-face with a wrathful dragon.

Haughty and regal, gold dragons carry themselves with the swagger of a gallant knight. They are both indispensable allies and terrifying foes. Should they deem a cause righteous, they take to it with absolute zeal, whether or not that cause aligns with the concerns of short-lived folk.

Aloof Hermits. Gold dragons greatly value their privacy. They know many humanoids regard them as god-like creatures capable of solving any problem. But as gold dragons learn from a young age, the more you help people, the more they need your help. Sooner or later, every side in every conflict petitions you for aid. Nasty business, says the dragon, who wants no part of it.

Deep Hoards. Though their loyalty can’t be bought, gold dragons appreciate treasure as much as any dragon. They happily accept offerings of gold or jewels. In fact, gold dragons can eat such treasures for sustenance (they enjoy pearls and gems especially) but they have no need to gorge themselves, meaning their hoards tend to grow larger as they age.

Guardian Vigil. Gold dragons maintain large territories, always keeping an eye out for extra planar threats, tyranny in nearby nations, and the encroachment of red dragons. Gold dragons can be over-zealous in their response to such threats, their righteous anger often causing unintended collateral damage.

Playful and whimsical, copper dragons often involve themselves in the affairs of short-lived folk, though their contributions to history aren’t always positive. While copper dragons aren’t generally malevolent, they are incorrigible tricksters and rarely understand the different between a joke and outright cruelty. Of all dragons, copper dragons are the ones most likely to live near humanoids, as they are always searching for new targets for their pranks.

Flighty Urges. As they grow older, copper dragons exhibit all manner of unusual interests. They may yearn for a simpler life and use their shapeshifting to pass themselves off as a farmer or wanderer. They may decide they’re interested in politics and start secretly advising a noble on how to best run a nation. They may tunnel under a wishing well and give life advice to anyone who tosses in a coin. The only consistent feature of the impulses is that they’re short-lived. Inevitably, a copper grows bored of its exploits and abandons them, possibly leaving many people high and dry in the process. 

Friendly, If Troublesome. Despite their mischievous natures, copper dragons rarely mean to do harm. If made to understand the trouble they’ve caused, they can usually be counted on to compensate their victims. Convincing a copper dragon to see the error of its ways, however, is rarely a simple task.

Fascinated by the endless rhythms of the sea, bronze dragons spend hours studying their seaside dominions, transfixed by the flight paths of birds, the migrations of fish, or the accumulation of sea foam against a mossy rock. Some bronze dragons even make their lairs near humanoid settlements, so as to more closely watch the ships as they sail in and out of port. 

Curious and Mysterious. Though fascinated with the natural world, bronze dragons prefer to make their observations from afar. They avoid influencing the objects of their scrutiny, but on the odd occasion they are exposed, bronze dragons make the best of it, asking intrusive questions and analyzing the answers they receive for days on end.

Tests and Trials. When a creature seeks a bronze dragon’s wisdom, the dragon always knows they’re coming. It sets out a number of trials to test the knowledge-seeker, so as to better gauge their motivations before they arrive. Such ordeals rarely involve the dragon appearing personally, but they can be perilous nonetheless.

Butterflies and Hurricanes. No one knows better than a bronze dragon that a small action can have far-reaching consequences. Bronze dragons sometimes dispatch agents to gather specific information about the world around them. This might mean infiltrating a warlord’s inner circle to discover where her warships will sail this season, or exploring the interior of a long-deserted isle. Though such knowledge might seem irrelevant to adventurers bent on saving the world, the dragon requires it to further its efforts to promote the greater good. 

Of all dragons, none is more likely to talk your ear off than a brass. Gregarious creatures, brass dragons have been known to invite would-be dragons layers into their lairs simply to share gossip. They have a habit of losing track of time in pleasant company, however, so visitors too polite (or too fearful) to interrupt a brass dragon could find themselves trapped in its lair for days on end.

Sages and Scholars. Brass dragons often turn their hoarding instinct toward accumulating vast libraries. As a result, many are experts in a wide array of subjects. Brass dragons are careful not to share their knowledge too freely, however, as they know all too well what havoc short-lived humanoids can cause when their information supplants wisdom. Brass dragons may even take it upon themselves to reclaim knowledge used for evil ends — or hire adventurers to do so on their behalf.

Hermits and Advisors. As brass dragons age, some grow weary of the short-lived triumphs and repeated mistakes of humanoids. Others, however, become even more involved in humanoid politics. As they learn to shape shift, older brass dragons may assume positions as royal advisors in order to steer the short-lived folk onto what they see as the proper path.