Bangin'

Murklyres: Also known as Prawnce, the Murklyres live in marshes and on coasts. Murklyres are so called for their song - when the weather is foggy, you can hear the curious song of the Murklyres for some distance, like some bizarre harpists. Roughly humanoid crustaceans, Murklyres are extremely agile and strong, although few of them are known to show any intelligence. Easier to provoke in warm weather, it seems to anger them.

Are we done here? Or...?

I think so... he might be wanting us to do some of our own too.

>>7611691

THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T GO BACK TO CHERNOBYL

On a more srs note:

Fantasy Flavour: The product of a more sadistic Necromancer, the Reaper's Mount has rampaged around the Eastern countryside for some years now, consuming villagers to maintain its rotting frame. Mercifully the beast possesses no magical properties, save for being supernaturally resilient.

Modern Flavour: Tearing holes in reality was never going to be an elegant solution to FTL travel. The so-called Pripyat Beast of the 2028 Chernobyl Research Complex Disaster is inhabited by something that came through in the initial teleporter test firings. The creature has carefully assembled a corporeal form from available matter that mirrors the form it new prior to entering our dimension. These monsters prove easy to defeat, at times, as they do no appear to realise certain functions of their new body are not present.

>>7611796

Envy takes so many forms, has so many... outlets. Spite. Self-Loathing. Self-imposed Failure. The Covetous are among the worst Demons to haunt the hearts of Men. While many favour an icy countenance, others seek to inspire more revulsion than fear. And attraction, hand in hand, a lesson learned from their cousins in the Circle of Lust. The worst Demons of Envy whisper hateful truths to the hearts of their prey, bringing a man close to his inner monsters, feeding him more reasons to hate his neighbour, and hate himself. To lure him into addiction and oblivion. Supreme Invidia, highest of the Demon Princes of Envy save for Dellebron himself, likes to think herself a mother. A mother loving, and giving. Whatever baby wants... because baby is helpless without her, isn't he? Oh, yes, he is, look how he calls to his mummy now because the local smith has a prettier wife. Because Broderick had a better harvest. Because the miller's daughter won't be bedded. Poor, pointless Micheal, what can you do now? What sweet treats of broken hope can Mother Invidia bring for you...?

Awesome!

>>7611902

Let me speak to you of Rage, men of Linvara. Let me sing you a song of hate and fire vengeance. Let me tell you the tale of Hendragan, the toppled king.

Hendragan was a good man, as kings go, for the mantle of leadership is a weight that drives any man to madness in the fullness of time. A humble man, even. An honest man, no less. Perhaps there, my friends, was his downfall.

For his wife was his senior, there being no woman of his station to take as queen who was quite young enough for his liking. And the queen! Such a tempestuous woman. Striking, in her way. Cold and rolling and breathtaking as the ocean, she was. But the king always was a man of fire, and once their child was born, he did not desire her to share his bed, and told her.

Hell hath fury, my friends, that would shame a woman scorned - but the anger of a woman scorned is still a thing for worry. Such a cold woman. Such a selfish and prideful woman. The son was killed, aye, an accident she said. Fallen from the highest tower. The king mourned, slew the boy's tutor in rage, but did not truly know his good lady wife to be guilty. Nay, 'twas when he caught her abed with the stable boys. Aye, two of them! He may not have desired her, but a cuckhold's horns are maddening things.

They stabbed him, of course - three to the one, daggers at the bedside, for she wanted this all along. Cast him on the fire as he gasped fury from a ragged throat.

And voice spoke to Hendragan, then. A burning voice, like fire to the senses, like a hot blade on the skin. "Give in, Hendragan. Avenge thyself."

What was a king to do? A man at all to do? Dying. Betrayed. Burning.
Oh, he rose again, lads. Hauled his burning carcass from the flames as they knit his flesh back together, crushing the skull of his queen into the flagstones...

>>7611633

Is that a giant lava shrimp?

>>7612055
Lava MANTIS Shrimp.

An Iron Maiden is a strange spirit, usually that of a mother that died during childbirth or committed suicide due to post-partum depression. The spirit is drawn to a location of misery and desolation, such as a dungeon or mausoleum, and begins to build a physical shell of iron that resembles the torture device that serves as its namesake. The visage atop the shell is usually that of the Iron Maiden before her death. Most of the time the Iron Maiden will simply sit in the darkness and sob quietly until a living being approaches it. When this happens, it will open its shell and cast an enchanting illusion of a matronly figure inside of the shell that beckons those under its spell into its fatal embrace. Those who have survived being inside of an Iron Maiden report a feeling of "womb-like comfort" before coming to their senses. The inside of an Iron Maiden is a fleshy chamber, lined with stabbing spurs of bone. Also inside of this chamber is the "core" of the undead, a sorrow-wracked visage that cries tears of blood. It extends a prehensile tentacle from its mouth, with a syringe-like spike of bone on the end that lodges itself into the stomach of the victim, slowly draining away blood until death. After releasing the corpse, it gains new and blasphemous life as a Damned Child, forever worshiping and protecting the Iron Maiden.

idunno what this thread is about, have more cool art

>>7612103

Uthar, Bran. They are called Uthar. Not like others monsters you may know - but you could tell, couldn't you? You could feel the blood rebel in your veins, couldn't you? They too are Vampires, like you and I. Degenerate scum, by most accounts, though I... keep an open mind. They are dangerous, however. Blighted by a terrible plague that rots even our immortal flesh. Perhaps their increasingly spidery form would not be so revolting were it not or the sickness they spread. Watch for them. They are faster than other Clans, and as strong as Gorite. Always served by their monstrous pets - spiders fed on their vitae to become bloated, half-humanoid monsters. If you have seen one, we must move quickly to remove them. Loneliness is their real curse, and so they seek to increase.
Alas, pest control is sometimes a necessity.

Pugilist: Out of work toughs who patrol the streets at night. Offer "Protective Services", where for a small fee they will ensure you safely arrive at your destination.

>>7612133

The Kromsians grow more vile by the year, gentlemen. We have lost fully two detachments to their newest abominations. The Flensing Faceless, the men call them. Once mortal, we assume, like so many of their warbeasts. But these are a different - where once we were plagued by creatures of flesh, now they build monsters of bone, steel, and shadow.
The weapon the beast bears is the least worry, a simple set of steel claws fitted to a limb, garish and inefficient. The real problem is their ability to meld into shadows - the men report fully one hundred pairs of eyes glaring at them out the dark as they camp in a space they should not fit. I have scattered reports of them luring soldiers out of the camp somehow, skinning them and scattering the entrails. What little reliable information I have describes them as moving at absurd speeds, tearing men to ribbons, when confronted with insufficient light. Fortunately, they appear fearful of fire, and of sunlight most especially.

Landersneckt Heavy Infantry: Assault Automatons who have a bond to a particular plot of land, usually no more than an acre.

Dotevesh: Once the servants of officers in some long forgotten nation, they are the only ruminants of this nation and exist in bunkers, utterly mad. Pity the fool who should enter their domain. They are deceptively fast for something the size of a child, and more malicious than the human hands that made them. Using improvised tools, they have been known to skin invaders and fly their flesh as a flag, a grim reminder of who owns no mans land.

No one knows whom to to attribute the piles of bones around the him, but the best bet is not to touch the statue.

>>7612171

The Empty-Eyed Prince. Dreamslayer. That Which Calls to Despair. He has many names, and his cursed blade forged from the regrets of addicts has perhaps as many. How does one speak safely of this Arcadian Prince? His faceless gaze peers from the spaces where memory should be, seeking your hopelessness, your guilt, your pain. Blood trails in his wake - his own, and that of others. Addiction, misery, agony, torture, all fuel him. One wrapped in barbed chains in penance for his crimes, his shadowy wings bleed eternally from wounds torn when he broke free. But penitence is in his nature, now. They say if one can find his favour, he will purge them of their sins, reforge them as better men in the crucible of suffering...

Pictured are the aberrations that appear with increasing frequency in the noble families.

How it sees is unknown. Soldiers claim that they can shrug off shot gun blasts, and in hand to hand combat are spongy when hit. The blows from their fists have been so powerful as to shred a mans torso.

>>7612263

Curseborn: Never offend a witch. She will kill you. Never, ever, harm the family of a witch. She will ensure you live to regret it.
Ever patient, ever watchful, a witch can see you with child, mother or father, whether you should will it or not. Perhaps years away.
And her vengeance is the Curseborn, the children of The Waking Nightmare. A pregnancy with one is wracked with agony and illness, and over far too soon. The loathesome monster will bite and tear itself free from the womb that bears it within a few months, slays the lover of the cursed be it mother or father, and flees into the night.
It will watch and follow the cursed until the end of their days; sometimes appearing as the child it might have been to torment them.

Keep going, OP. I'm going to be able to use quite a bit of this in the game I'm running. This is fantastic.

>>7612411
Nelvadia had not been conquered since the death priests had come into power there. Many had tried, and reports had flowed back of seemingly successful campaigns against a small, poorly trained army. But always these reports would end abruptly every time, and the army from which they came were never seen again. No survivors ever returned from these incidents. Some say that the death priests felled the entire army with the powers of there fell god, but there is no proof. Crazed travelers from the kingdom tell of the angry dead rising up as great beasts of vengeance, but surely they are just mad...

Just a quick moment, chaps, to apologise for slowness. Furthermore, if I don't fluff a picture, it's because the monster therein doesn't speak to me well enough.
I went a hunting for the previous Fluff a Monster thread in the archives, but alas, to no avail.
Now... on with the show.

night all

>>7612321


Sirens: Known in magical circles as the Poor Man's Succubus, these undead constructs are further proof of Magic's attraction to imagination and abstraction. Regardless of how physically perfect the creature is before reanimation, the magic twists its face with scars, a wide maw, and fearsome yellow eyes.
Sirens are so-called for their song. While still leashed by a Necromancer, Sirens are used for entertainment with their wide vocal range and loud voices. Wild Sirens, however, use their haunting song to lure in the weak-willed and feed on their flesh.

>>7612540
Nobody knew from where the scribes came, or what they wrote. They were simply found, from time to time, occupying an otherwise empty chamber, usually in a new home or other fresh structure, writing away on the walls in what appeared to be blood. They could never be driven away by anything short of slaying them, though they would always be back up again by the next day, writing away. If guards were posted, somehow it would get past them, and if they stayed inside, it would just step out from the shadows. Regardless of how it got there, it would simply keep writing. They write until the walls are covered, and once they are, they disappear. Scholars have long tried to decipher their writings, but to no avail. Some doomsayers claim they bring warnings of the end times, some say they ward against evil. They never seem to take any interest in anything but their writing, though.

>>7612991

The Divine Cow was certainly an ambitious, interesting, and altruistic concept.
But the best laid plans of Magi seem damn near fated to go awry.
A small number of Communers, Magi adept at the manipulation of living matter, hit upon a scheme to produce all the liquids a nation could need in one handy package. Naturally, the beast would require a relatively large size, a selection of teats - colour coded if possible - Etheric Channels for the required power, and the capacity consume more or less any plant matter for raw materials - for which they gave it claw.
Alas, they miscalculated the size, and the beast grew to large enough to devour forests. Which it did.
The rocklike structures in the back take advantage of the high magic concentration at higher elevations to absorb magic an catalyze the transformation of raw matter in the myriad subtances it excretes.
The Magi responsible have since quietly left the area, and thus far the monster hasn't been a threat - the various narcotic and poison dripping orifices aside.

Cool thread

>>7613225

"I was a scholar, once. Yes, I know, not many women are allowed that luxury. But a scholar I was, always probing, reading, hunting. The books and cloying atmosphere of Ymon were never enough. I pushed, and pushed, until finally I was allowed - sponsored, even - to go the Frontier and explore the ruins.
The monsters fascinated me. The stories, the legends, the stolen glances and close escapes. What were any of them? What did they want? How did they work? Skinshifters, Vampires, Flesh, Demons - the eternal why plagued me.

I suppose, sooner or later, someone was bound to hear my prayers.

I saw a terrible monster - saw it well, in a ruined fortress north of Ravenholme. It stood and stared with baleful red eyes before leaving, as though I was of no interest. Well, why - always WHY - not follow?

It didn't like that. Not one bit.

I was torn from thigh to shoulder, on the left side. Left bleeding, to die. I could feel some of my flesh rotting from the toxin in its claws.
And then it came to me. Prince of Spiders, some call him. Others the Silken Watcher, or The Sightless Eye Which Sees.

It would save me, for my left eye. And give me the strength, the power, to keep delving into forgotten places. I couldn't refuse.

So here I am, with half my body only on loan, always struggling to learn and spy and see whether I like it or not..."

>>7611691
Tell me those thing don't exist...please?

>>7613329

Get out of here, Stalker. They find Anomaly Detectors delicious.

>>7613345
FFFFFFFFFFFFFuuuuuuuuuu-

>>7612398
That one's pretty awesome; I've had the picture saved for a while as an Idea Seed.

>>7611691
moar like this!

>>7613463

Commencing dump.

>>7613376
You know, my group actually wants to use this guy as a Geist. The Ancient Astronaut.

"Hey! Who turned out the lights?"

>>7613469

Some think Mermaids and Umbraten to be related. One would hope this is not the case. Whence they come, we do not know. But what they want? That is the real horror. Mermaids are always maids. Luring men close with sweet song and sultry words before revealing their hideous form. Fishers of men, capturing them with their nooses. Served by their little swarms of eels, the mermaid takes what she desires for her egg-swollen belly, and leaves the hapless mortal to be devoured.

>>7613520

Surely you approved, Lace? There's some delicious raygun gothic Forgotten shenanigans in that.

Keep in mind that the dump is of art from Keith Thompson. He even does this sort of fluff creation with his stuff. Not that two different takes on it are bad.

>>7613376
BLOWOUT SOON FELLOW STALKER!

>>7613618

There's a watermark at the bottom of each image, but yeah, I probably should have credited the artist in my own text.

>>7613647
Oh really? When?

Last Keith Thompson one from me. Looks like you have your work cut out for you, OP.

>>7613618

I hesitate to fluff some because it feels steeped in some personal mythology. Inspiring, certainly, but if I fluff some of you've kindly dumped I intend to take a few days for it. Others lack the right... spark for me to fluff them satisfactorily.

>>7613662
This one creeps me out the most, of all KT's work.

Think about the town behind them. These.. things.

What kind of people would let vagabonds such as these so close?
What kind of people...

>>7613696

Yeah, I understand. But if you do fluff these things, I can also understand taking a few days to do it. Thus, you have your work cut out for you.

>>7613737

I certainly appreciate the inspiring stuff. I'd been intrigued by that artist before, but never known where to look for more. Reminds me of Giger, but more lucid.

Anyone else got monsters for me, or shall I move onto Thread 2 of the morning: Colossal Combat?

>>7613773
Here.

>>7613806
Holy shit, it's by the /tg/ drawfag dude that signs his work with a triforce...

>>7613806
Perhaps the least romantic of all cases of lycanthropy: the were-gibbering-orb.