Druids say that earth, air, fire, and water all have spirits, but they neglect to mention the more secret mixed types. Steam, ice, lava: all have their spirits, all the more vicious for their mixed natures. Instinct: To demonstrate the power of ice

• Freeze its enemies

No, the Captain is not named "Cid." Instinct: To not be a complete dissapointment to the people that paid tons of money for it.

• Flies. No weapons. Fueled by blocks of flying island.
• Can traverse a zone in two weeks, a Borderland in 3 days.

The intestinal serpents will attempt to taste and then tear apart the airship. HP zero means it gives up and lets you pass. Instinct: To sample, categorize, and dismantle.

• Sorts and organizes the debris of the Conversion Wyrm. Blind, it tastes the air and landscape to identify what the Wyrm had eaten, grabbing them with it's huge mouth, and moving them around the Digestion Cavity.
• Pool drop. Picks something up to cow sized up, and drops it in a pit of acid.

The product of arcane experiments on the unborn, these Empire super soldiers have four arms, each of which attacks with a slicing blade. The upper two arms employ short swords and the lower two daggers. These soldiers are trained from birth and can wield the four blades effectively simultaneously. Instinct: to cut down enemies

• Slash several targets with flashing blades

"If there is anything else I can do, oh, please oh please: Do not hesitate to let me know. It's not like I was reanimated centuries ago by an entire circle of great archmagi who were too busy preserving the secrets of the world to see to their own essential needs. One lump, or two, my most esteemed master? *bone-rattling sigh*" Buttleton, as the impeccably dressed skeleton constantly reminds those who hold his key and thus his temporal allegience, has seen and done it all in the service of masters much more grand and important than his current masters. Woe to those who lose his key, however. Light on his phalanges and with many years to hone his razored "tongue" to the point of being able to do more than just hurt one's feelings, Buttleton's only remaining joy (if it could be called such) is to make everyone around him just as miserable as he is. No insult too great, no failing too small to point out, and no master too important to replace, if the opportunity presents itself... Instinct: To perform its buttling functions in the most irritating way possible.

• Complete its assigned task in the most put-upon manner possible.
• Painfully and obtrusively insult its master or its master's guests
• Arrange a complicated scheme to obtain its freedom

Lil rascal, up to no good. Thorny Devils often gladly put themselves in harms way to do no more than hex or inconvenience a filthy mortal. When their death seems imminent, Thorny Devils burst into whips of sulfurous smoke and are sent back to whence they came. Instinct: Cause trouble

• Vicious claw
• Dirty lies
• Hex

All your carnal desires come true (you pervert)...but at a cost. Instinct: seduce or enslave

They exist in primitive societies in the underground mazes. Their ancestors may have been prisoners or trapped miners. But now they are twisted cannibals with wiry frames and crazed eyes, and reeking mouths full of rotten teeth, stained with the dried blood and flesh of their victims. Instinct: to feast on human flesh

• Use fingernails like scalpels
• Stage a distraction or lay a trap
• Transmit cannibal fever
• Shriek for reinforcements

Leaders among the Mushroom folk. Spore-mages are ancient by fungal standards and thus the furthest along in decomposition. They guard ancient secrets dating back to before beings became self aware. They farm the root systems that grow to become the colonies young. Instinct: Guide colony, protect secrets

• cast spells and poison spore
• protect young
• communicate with local ecosystem
• detect alignment

This decaying mass of fungal flesh is a longstanding warrior of the mushroom folk. Old enough to know only mycelial language, the brute has no means of communicating with anyone of a different race. Poison spores rot off its every cell, making close combat a deadly task as any contact is dangerously intoxicating. The roots of these brutes can hold fast against hurricane level winds, allowing any of these ancient champignals to simply entwine itself to a spot and defend until kingdom come. Only a select few mushroom folk have the composition to hold together this well and the few per colony that do are held in high enough esteem to be legends in their own time. Instinct: Protect colony

• grow roots (immovable)