Discover
Worlds to play, cards to import
A blunt-headed serpent that swims through deep ash-dunes as through water, surfacing under whatever the wake behind it fails to warn.
A glossy carrion-jay of the Pyrelands with an eye for worked glass — infamous above all for robbing Veskarn of the beads that hold their dead.
The Granlands' devouring cloud — a grasshopper that swarms once in a bad decade and eats a district's year in three days.
A pale ambush-thing of the flooded galleries — the reason no Deepworks miner wades a drowned level alone, however shallow it looks.
A cellar-sized burrowing brock of the Rootwild whose diggings undermine hollow-town foundations — fought with masons, not hunters.
A hand-sized Rootwild beetle that rings the bark of living trees and kills them standing — to the tree-bonded Sylvithi, the worst thing in the forest.
Pack predators of the glass desert with vitrified hides — the sound of chiming in the heat-haze that empties a Pyrelands camp.
The barge-clans' name for the great pike of the braided rivers — each reach has one, all are Grandmother, and the Riverspine's water-law is written around her.
Pack-hunting eels of the Saltmarches' grey channels that strip a catch — or a swimmer — with terrifying civic efficiency.
Matriarch-led feral swine of the wheat oceans — sounders that harvest fields from the inside out and dismantle fences with professional patience.
Wrist-sized ash-grey moths that swarm to worked heat — a plague on Pyrelands kilns and forges that can smother a firing in an hour.
A long-legged Rootwild spider that strings man-height webs across game trails and marked paths overnight — the wardens' morning sweep exists because of it.
Shrine-fattened feral boar of the Rootwild — sacred-adjacent, enormous, and the most common violent death in the forest by a wide margin.
A man-length ambush lizard lying flat beneath the glass desert's pane-sand — invisible until the ground itself bites.
The apex of the drowned villages — the great grey shape that hunts the flooded lanes of the Saltmarches, and the reason the stilt towns count their ladders at dusk.
The heat-drinking apex of the Pyrelands cinder cones — the shape in the shimmer that the ash nomads route their whole year around.
A reed-striped ambush cat of the Riverspine margins that hunts the fords and towpaths at dusk — the reason towpath dogs earn their bread.
Swarming mites of the Ferruhm deeps that eat worked iron to powder — lately, and wrongly, blamed in every soot-town taproom for the Iron graft's rot.
A Pyrelands leech that drinks heat instead of blood — the cold spot in a warm bed, the frost-print on a sleeping man's chest.
A heavy pass-ram that starts rockslides on purpose — the engineer of half the 'natural' disasters on the Ferruhm roads.
A jointed, arm-thick predator that travels the coal and ore seams themselves, surfacing through worked faces — deep-mine fauna at its purest.
Soot-black swifts that nest by the thousand in dead mineshafts and mob anything that descends past the colony — beloved topside, feared below.
A tall flightless hunting bird of the wheat oceans, scythe-spurred and sprint-fast — the Granlands' own predator, harvest's other reaper.