From the wilds of the far eastern coast it reaches out to the masses through the powers of magic. No one has seen it, but the truths it reveals spread far and wide. Instinct: To expose the truth

• Reveal something
• Post about it online
• Leak something

As horses are to the civil races, so go the worg to the goblins. Mounts, fierce in battle, ridden by only the bravest and most dangerous, are found and bred in the forest primeval to serve the goblins in their wars on men. The only safe worg is a pup, separated from its mother. If you can find one of these, or make orphans of a litter with a sharp sword, you’ve got what could become a loyal protector or hunting hound in time. Train it well, mind you, for the worg are smart and never quite free of their primal urges. Instinct: To serve

• Carry a rider into battle
• Give its rider an advantage

“Beautiful, isn’t it? The moon, I mean. She’s watching us, you know? Her pretty silver eyes watch us while we sleep. Mad, too—like all the most beautiful ones. If she were a woman, I’d bend my knee and make her my wife on the spot. No, I didn’t ask you here to speak about her, though. The chains? For your safety, not mine. I’m cursed, you see. You must have suspected. The sorcerer-kings called it “lycanthropy” in their day—passed on by a bite to make more of our kind. No, I could find no cure. Please, don’t be scared. You have the arrows I gave you? Silver, yes. Ah, you begin to understand. Don’t cry, sister. You must do this for me. I cannot bear more blood on my hands. You must end this. For me.” Instinct: To shed the appearance of civilization

• Transform to pass unnoticed as beast or man
• Strike from within
• Hunt like man and beast

Old and tall and thick of bark walk amidst the tree-lined dark Strong and slow and forest-born, treants anger quick, we warn if to woods with axe ye go know the treants be thy foe Instinct: To protect nature

• Move with implacable strength
• Set down roots
• Spread old magic

I’d classify them elementals, except that “being annoying” isn’t an element. Instinct: To play tricks

• Play a trick to expose someone’s true nature
• Confuse their senses
• Craft an illusion

One of only a very few creatures to be found in the old woods that don’t outright want to maim, kill, or eat us. They dwell in glades pierced by the sun, and dance on their funny goat-legs to enchanting music played on pipes made of bone and silver. They smile easily and, so long as you please them with jokes and sport, will treat our kind with friendliness. They’ve a mean streak, though, so if you cross them, make haste elsewhere; very few things hold a grudge like the stubborn satyr. Instinct: To enjoy

• Pull others into revelry through magic
• Force gifts upon them
• Play jokes with illusions and tricks

The tusks of the razor boar shred metal plate like so much tissue. Voracious, savage and unstoppable, they tower over their mundane kin. To kill one? A greater trophy of bravery and skill is hard to name, though I hear a razor boar killed the Drunkard King in a single thrust. You think you’re a better hunter than he? Instinct: To shred

• Rip them apart
• Rend armor and weapons

A tale, then. Somewhere in the not-so-long history of the mannish race there was a divide. In days when men were merely dwellers-in-the-mud with no magic to call their own, they split in two: one camp left their caves and the dark forests and built the first city to honor the gods. The others, a wild and savage lot, retreated into darkness. They grew, there. In the deep woods a grim loathing for their softer kin gave them strength. They found dark gods of their own, there in the woods and hills. Ages passed and they bred tall and strong and full of hate. We have forged steel and they match it with their savagery. We may have forgotten our common roots, but somewhere, deep down, the ogres remember. Instinct: To return the world to darker days

• Destroy something
• Fly into a rage
• Take something by force

Ever seen an ogre before? Bigger than that. Dumber and meaner, too. Hope you like having cows thrown at you. Instinct: Ruin everything.

• Throw something
• Do something stupid
• Shake the earth

On first glance, one might mistake the griffin for another magical mistake like the manticore or the chimera. It looks the part, doesn’t it? These creatures have the regal haughtiness of a lion and the arrogant bearing of an eagle, but they temper those with the unshakeable loyalty of both. To earn the friendship of a griffin is to have an ally all your living days. Truly a gift, that. If you’re ever lucky enough to meet one be respectful and deferential above all else. It may not seem it but they can perceive the subtlest slights and will answer them with a sharp beak and talons. Instinct: To serve allies

• Judge someone’s worthiness
• Carry an ally aloft
• Strike from above