A sand gorgon is a massive metallic bull surrounded by a swirling sandstorm. Its thick hide is covered in golden plating that crackles with electricity. When angered, the beast stamps its feet and snorts blasts of salt crystals from its nose.
Desert sages believe that sand gorgons are forces of nature created by dark spirits or angry gods to punish civilization. There seems to be some truth to this belief, since sand gorgons despise the presence of humanoids. A sand gorgon will often summon lashing winds and sandstorms for weeks to drive settlers away from its territory. Those foolish enough to stay behind are rewarded with a brief glimpse of the beast before their demise: a shining bull galloping atop a storm of blinding sand.
A conversion is more art than science. Please, don’t misinterpret my words. I’m not saying that maths aren’t important, because they are. In fact, I teach discrete maths as part of my day job! But getting a monster, a character race, a spell, and so on from one system to another is something that can’t be done properly just using a formula.
There was supposed to be a great battlefield here. Instead you find a still forest. Rusty pikes lean against its sturdy trunks. A man approaches. His flesh hangs loose, like well-worn clothing on a rough frame. From atop a nearby tree, the wind whistles through an ancient skull.
After a great battle, the damage to the land can be considerable. Poisoned rivers, charred fortresses, and diseased fields are difficult locales for the natural order to reassert itself. When the land needs a little help, the followers of certain nature icons are known to plant funeral pears to retain the balance.
Funeral pears inhabit the bodies of fallen soldiers, growing woody humanoid frames to fill their hosts. The resulting parasitic masses appear to be shambling warriors until fast-growing spines pierce their supple, pear-fertilized flesh. The pears use their new bodies to remove offending elements from the battleground. They leave small memorials of the event. It is unknown whether this is because the funeral pears’ creator wished to communicate the price of war, or because the spiritual remnants of the soldiers retain slight control.
A molluetuesk is a large cave-lurking beast that appears similar to a huge horseshoe crab, which opens itself up into a cavernous opening. Its “mouth” very closely resembles an iridescent tranquil pool of water with small fish to lure prey. If the pool is disturbed, the mouth will snap shut with the stalactite and stalagmite teeth impaling victims within its maw.
A molluetuesk’s mouth is nearly the size of its entire body. Most of its organs are therefore exposed when the mouth is open, although they are lined with a thin carapace to take on the appearance of interesting cavern decor. The exception is its stomach, which appears as an iridescent pool of water with vestigial fleshy filaments that look like swimming albino cave fish. The pool is mixture of gills, ropey tubes, and an open sac of hot sweet-smelling digestive juices.
The umbral vampire appears as a pale, exceedingly gaunt humanoid dressed in archaic finery falling to rags. Tangled wisps of hair cling to parchment flesh pulled taut against its skull, and misty strands of darkness leak from its empty eye sockets, yawning nasal cavity, and mouth. Fingers twisted into jagged claws and a permanent rictus grin completes the appearance of undeath. But it is not undead. It is something much worse.
Legends speak of an ancient city whose origins are lost to the ages. Ruled by a cabal of wizards with the power to manipulate the flow of time and stay the hand of death, the inhabitants of this city became immortals. For centuries, citizens dedicated themselves to such enlightened pursuits as art, literature, and the accumulation of knowledge. But mortals weren’t meant to live forever. Without death’s merciful release, the weight of ages pulled their souls down into darkness. Turning to crueler pursuits, these citizens made war on other cities and enslaved entire races purely for entertainment. Legends differ on how their wickedness came to an end. Some say the gods punished them, and others say one of their own wizards despaired at what they had become and destroyed them. In the most well-known version of the tale, the city drowned under the weight of its own sins and passed from the world. Their power broken, the wizards could no longer hold back the ravages of time. The citizens aged centuries in moments but, instead of dying, lingered on in their dark realm.