The Half-Vampire are born into the world by a male Vampire and a female host. Half-Vampires are similar to an ordinary living being and are known to walk secretly among the living for several hundred years. The Half-Vampire has gained some supernatural capabilities of a true Vampire. They are not all necessarily evil and maintain all of their humanity. They excel at anything they wish to accomplish and are commonly viewed as "Gifted" or "Geniuses" in the eyes of others. Because they are living beings, they perish in manners similar to other living races, not limited to aging. They are incapable of converting others into Vampires or other Half-Vampires, but are cursed with the compelling desire to consume the blood of any living creature. When a Half-Vampire does not quench this desire, their feral instincts grow out of control, and they will ravage anything viciously in his/her wake until the urge has been fulfilled. Instinct: To control

• Holds influencial positions
• Devises plans methodically and tactically
• To be overwhelmed by hunger
• Feast upon the blood of the living

At first glance a simple cat. Maybe. Depends on the state of rot, the time since it died. With the time flesh and fur become less and less lovelier. Over all you want to stay away from them. Instinct: To hunt all living.

• Hunt, jump & scratch
• Dodge slow attacks. Sneak behind someone.
• Being last cat standing, miaow for help.

Every now and then a Volian will grow vastly larger than its peers. Though their increased size and strength does not necessarily correlate to increased skill or intelligence, these brutes tend to lead groups of their smaller brethren through fear and abuse. Instinct: To kill and loot.

• Command Volian warriors.
• Sacrifice other Volians so it can escape.
• Call in hidden reinforcements.

These creatures are the descendants of some ancient sorcerer's experiments. For thousands of years they have lived in the dark places beneath the world and now they are encountering surface dwellers for the first time - and stealing their stuff. Instinct: To take shiny things.

• Ambush unsuspecting foes.
• Steal an unguarded trinket.
• Retreat and regroup.

Like a hermit crab, these tentacular creatures prefer the skulls of increasingly larger prey as they grow. Instinct: To move into a bigger skull

• Hide among bones and lash out
• Suckers that inject muscle-relaxing venom

You have second watch. As you settle in, you notice movement in the branches of a tree beyond the firelight. You get up and cautiously approach, eyes glued to that spot. As your eyes adjust, you can see the outline of a bone-white owl with utterly black eyes. It seems to be looking right at you… creepy, but harmless. You start to turn away, but realize you can’t move your limbs, or your eyes away from its gaze! Soon, you start to feel your flesh stinging and... dissolving!? You let out a scream through your locked jaws, and as your companions rise to your aid, you try to mumble out “don’t look at it!” Any living, thinking being caught in its gaze will find it impossible to close their eyes, turn away from it, or to move their limbs. Unless line of sight is broken, the tissue of the victim’s body will slowly dissolve to the bone. In addition to the HP damage, each attack will cause a debility in the following order: CHA, DEX, CON, STR, WIS, INT. However, on death, the party can find 2d6 Hollow Owl Feathers, each capable of reversing one debility caused by necrotic damage on touch. It’s only bone and feather (and huge, void-like eyes), so many weapons have difficulty finding purchase. It will retreat into the night if it is near death and has the chance. Instinct: To be found by lone wanderers

• Glide silently
• Perch in likely line of sight
• Hold gaze, paralyzing and necrotizing

Drifa the White dragon, scourge of Stormcrag, looks down at you from her perch atop her hoard. Her enormous blue eyes, as large as a shield, blink slowly and lazily as her deep, harmonious voice speaks to you of how she was the victim, how this is all just compensation. With every word she breathes, you can feel the temperature drop as her icy breath sends crystals of snow across your face. Instinct: To hoard

• Unleash a torrent of icy breath
• Lie about her motivations

"Hey - hey you! You need this mystic lantern! Blessed by priests of Lathander, never goes out - uh, it's just not lit yet... look, come close, I've got what you need - food, water, I've got weapons and clothing and rope. And all the gadgets you need - I've got Blandicarp's Blade Blunter, never get cut again!" Instinct: To profit

• Offer a deceptive deal
• Blind an opponent with desert sand
• Use an unstable invention as a weapon

The Archmage of Khitish. One of the most powerful and corrupt people, of any species, on all the Material Plane. Dressed in fine silks and countless rings and amulets of pure white gold, he rules his walled city from his sandstone tower, surrounded by courtiers and courtesans. His appearance is meticulous, his sharp black eyes peering down over his sharp features and immaculate goatee. His figure is one of a lithe youth, despite his increasing age and habit of overindulgence in fine foods, due to youth spells long forbidden in less... accepting places. Instinct: To Rule Absoluely

• Cast a spell of earth-shattering Power
• Cast spells of illusion
• Imprison a foe in a cage of magic

"You think the Bureaucrats here in Archalador are greedy and corrupt, child? You have seen nothing yet. The White Mages of Khitish have souls as black as their robes are white, and spells as dangerous as their souls are dark. Be careful how you speak with them - else we may not see our homes again? Listen to me - one poor choice of word and we will spend our lives in the White Gold mines." - Torradorian ambassador to his son, shortly before his accidental death in Khitish. Instinct: To command

• Invoke a well-practiced spell
• Sacrifice a subordinate for power
• Teleport a short distance