They dwell beneath the earth because they do not belong above it any longer. An undying race of mighty titans fled the plains and mountains in ages past—driven out by men and their heroes. Left to bide their time in the dark, hate and anger warmed by the pools of lava deep below. It’s said that an earthquake is a goliath’s birthing cry. Someday they’ll take back what’s theirs. Instinct: To retake

• Shake the earth
• Retreat, only to come back stronger

Oh lord, who taught them magic? Instinct: To tap power beyond their stature

• Unleash a poorly understood spell
• Pour forth magical chaos
• Use other goblins for shields

Nobody seems to know where these things came from. Elves say they’re the dwarves’ fault—dredged up from a hidden place beneath the earth. Dwarves say they’re bad elvish children, taken away at birth and raised in the dark. The truth of the matter is that goblins have always been here and they’ll be here once all the civilized races have fallen and gone away. Goblins never die out. There’s just too damn many of them. Instinct: To multiply

• Charge!
• Call more goblins
• Retreat and return with (many) more

How many adventurers’ last thoughts were “strange, this tunnel seems cleaner than most?” Too many, and all because of this transparent menace. A great acidic blob that expands to fill a small chamber or corridor and then slides, ever so slowly along, eating everything in its path. It cannot eat stone or metal and will often have them floating in its jelly mass. Blech. Instinct: To clean

• Fill an apparently empty space
• Dissolve

It’s a sad thing, really. Guardians bred by magi of the past with no more castles to guard. Their ancestors’ sacred task bred into their blood leads them to find a place—ruins mostly, but sometimes a cave or hill or mountain cliff—and guard it as though their masters yet lived below. They’re notoriously good at finding valuables buried below the earth, though. Find one of these winged reptiles and you’ll find yourself a treasure nearby. Just be careful, they’re hard to spot and tend to move in packs. Instinct: To guard

• Attack with the element of surprise
• Take to the air
• Blend into stonework

Scarabaeus pyractomena! What a delightful creature—see how its carapace glitters in the light of our torches? Not too close now, they’re temperamental, you see. The fire in their belly isn’t just metaphorical, no. Watch as I goad the beast. Aha! A spout of flame! Unexpected, isn’t it? One of these creatures alone, if it comes up from below, can be a hellish nuisance to a farmstead or village. A whole swarm? There’s a reason they call it a conflagration of fire beetles. Instinct: To enflame

• Undermine the ground
• Burst from the earth
• Spray forth flames

Our shaman says that all the things of the world have a spirit. Stones, trees, a stream. Now that I’ve seen the earth roil under my feet and fists of stone beat my friends half to death I’d like to believe that crazy old man. The one I saw was huge—big as a house! It came boiling up from a rockslide out of nowhere and had a voice like an avalanche. I pay my respects, now. Rightly so. Instinct: To show the strength of earth

• Turn the ground into a weapon
• Meld into stone

For ages, men believed all dwarves were male and all were of this ilk: stoic and proud warriors. Axe-wielding and plate-wearing. Stout bearded battle-hungry dwarves who would push them, time and time again, back up out of their mines and tunnels with ferocity. It just goes to show how little men know about the elder races. These folk are merely a vanguard, and they bravely do their duty to protect the riches of the Dwarven realm. Earn their trust and you’ve an ally for life. Earn their ire and you’re not likely to regret it very long. Instinct: To defend

• Drive them back
• Call up reinforcements

Don’t put on that cloak, Gareth. Don’t. You don’t know where it’s been. I tell you, it’s no good. See! It moved! I’m not mad, Gareth, it moved! Don’t do it! No! GARETH! Instinct: To engulf

• Engulf the unsuspecting

Some say these things descended from the family of a cruel wizard who forced them to live out their lives underground. They say his experiments led him to fear the sun and ages passed while he descended into unlife, dragging his folk along with him. These things resemble men, in a way. Head, four limbs and all that. Only their skin is wet and rubbery and their arms long and fingers grasping. They hate all life that bears the stink of the sun’s touch, as one might expect. Jealousy, long-instilled, is hard to shake. Instinct: To deny light

• Hold someone, wringing the breath from them
• Fling a held creature