Worlds to play, cards to import

Uncommon abbey scavengers whose throat sacs imitate broken choral notes, dangerous in groups but not transformed people.

Rare luminous marsh colonies that lure insects and can drag a stumbling adult into deep water with adhesive filaments.

Common city textile pests that mimic metallic dust and ruin luxurious cloth, not flesh-eating curses.

Broad shore crabs sheltering in hollow repair gear at Boiler Beach; nuisance scavengers that can pinch badly when handled without checking.

Flat-bodied fish hunters in the White Steps caves, territorial around nests and avoided by keeping hands out of blind underwater cracks.

Rare large offshore ray feeding on fish shoals near Landfall; its raised back fin alarms sailors more often than the animal attacks anything.

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.