Horse sized, cat shaped, covered in scales. Protected from the scouring sands and able to hold its breath for several minutes, it will often lurk in ambush disguised as a small dune. Oviparous, they hunt as mated pairs until eggs are laid, when the male assumes all hunting duties. Instinct: To feed

• Stalk the wastelands

Humanoid, but not human. Man-sized at rest, it unfolds to double that size when fighting. Long, thin arms lash out to rend flesh and draw blood. Conquered foes are drained of all moisture, left behind as desiccated husks. Instinct: To drink until all has been drunk

• Feast on the body's water

When a Dry One feeds, the husks are discarded and left behind in its wake. Some of them get back up. Desiccated but still somehow mobile, animated entirely by an unquenchable thirst. Too mindless to use weapons, they can only paw at their targets - but their touch drains moisture from breath and skin, and the gods help you if they get to your blood. Instinct: to seek moisture

• Swarm and grasp
• Steal the body's water

The infrastructure of a city is a delicate thing with many moving parts. Some people will gladly throw a wrench into those parts, whether for ideology or pay. Instinct: to cripple

• Destroy something critical.
• Prevent a fair fight.

They roam the nicer parts of the city freely, all flash and style and touchy tempers. When they're bored, or well-paid, they might wander down to the less-nice parts to pick a fight. Instinct: to swagger

• Fight with panache.

It's easy to stand on your principles when you have all your teeth. The bosses send these guys in to make you reconsider your stand. Instinct: to disrupt

• Undermine the will to fight.

One peasant with a rock is laughable. Ten peasants with rocks and sticks can be ignored. A hundred peasants can pull down a mounted knight. A thousand peasants can tear down a wall. Instinct: to rabble

• Make a tense situation worse.
• Rouse to action.