Born beneath a blood-red moon in the ash-covered ruins of an old volcanic temple, Emberis was marked by fire from the moment she drew breath. Her black ears and streaked tail glowed with molten orange-yellow, and her eyes burned a steady, vivid red. Even as a child, she seemed to carry warmth with her, and sparks would sometimes flicker from her fingertips without warning.

She discovered her magic in silence, practising in hidden corners where no one could watch. One evening, when curiosity turned into desperation, a small leopard of living flame emerged from her hands. It was playful and untamed, yet strangely protective, following her wherever she went. From then on, Emberis and her small companion of flame learned to move together, discovering how far their fire could reach and what it could protect.

Her magic came as naturally as breathing, a warmth that flickered between her fingers and sparked at her emotions. Her fire was a part of her soul, always ready to flare when she needed it most.

Under the Great Pact, spiders were given more freedom in human land than any other species of the Wild. They were permitted to punish the use of any machine that they concidered a breach of the Great Pact although in practice they were more likely to get involved if the machine threatened the livelyhoods of craftsmen and makers. The spiders were protective of all makers but the weavers were their favorite, probably because they were also masters of thread.
Villages often had a sacrafice hut which was abanodoned to the spiders, as consolation for their webs being cleared out of other homes. It was usually a hut that nobody wanted anyway because was old, badly built or just seemed unlucky. The spiders didn't mind what the house was like, it was just a place to build their webs in peace.

Pale Mallow is a beautiful bog spirit. Her cry affects only men and fills them with a desire to help her and go to her. She then uses her strength to drag the unfortunate male into the marshes and holds him under until he drowns. She can sink into the marsh without drowning and walk through the forest without making a sound but she leaves tiny, delicate footprints wherever she goes.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Gears will grind and parts will crack,

For the puppet made of parts that lack.

Creak. Flap. Creak. Flap.

He'll piece together bits of scrap,

To try and replace the ones that snap.

Rip. Tear. Rip. Tear.

Day by day there's more to repair,

Using dusty pieces from his master's lair.

Whine. Drone. Whine. Drone.

Why did the master leave him alone?

The body still there, but cold as stone.

Crunch. Clink. Crunch. Clink.

His parts are moving out of sync,

But through the lair the puppet will slink.

Wiggle. Knock. Wiggle. Knock.

There's someone out beyond the lock.

The door creaks open, much to their shock.

Twitch. Whir. Twitch. Whir.

The puppet stares, his face a blur.

Such an eerie sight that fear will stir.

Scream. Shout. Scream. Shout.

The panicked stranger runs about,

As the puppet watches with a little pout.

---
Meet Scrap, a sentient puppet originally made by a crazed doctor who wanted to create a more perfect life form. Though his creator has long since passed away, Scrap has managed to avoid falling to pieces through innovation and perseverance, using whatever he can find to repair broken parts. This process has left him far from perfect, with many of the pieces made purely of scrap materials that have been rudimentarily fashioned to fit. Isolated as he is, Scrap does not comprehend his uniqueness, nor does he understand why people run away in terror when they're approached by a twitching mess of grinding gears and creaking machinery.

Where leaves fall a blind witch can be found.Some mistake her for a scarecrow with her patchwork skirt. Many dismiss her as destitute but those that know look for her during Autumn. She thrives near pumpkin patches with the riot of Autumn colored leaves. She can be asked a question and she will know the answer. Whether you can pay the price for the answer depends upon her mood. So be polite if you see her, and keep good company. Otherwise she may demand a high price or share your own secrets for free.

Iliana the Vengeful witnessed the unjust end to her entire family before her own. For time unknown, she wandered as a restless spirit consumed by thoughts of revenge. She searched for the monsters who stole everything from her, but in death she could not remember what they looked like. With everything seeming like an inpenatrable haze she did not know where to direct her anger for the longest time. She eventually started to see some things clearly and felt a purpose finally. The things she could see gave her an outlet to funnel her vengeance. The innocent would be protected and the monsters would be dealt with swiftly.

Lost, deep in the woods, there is almost no daylight left. You continue walking deeper into the trees, trying to use what little daylight is left to find a way back onto the trail. Farther into the forest, you notice a shadowy figure hiding behind a tree. Initially struggling to see the creature, you are able to make out antlers. Assuming it's just a deer, you don't see any harm in continuing to walk closer.

As you creep closer, you notice the deer begins to stand on two legs, morphing into a half-human, half-deer creature. Although fearful, you feel compelled to continue walking toward it. The closer you get, the less deer-like the creature gets. You begin to notice a pointy tail peeking out of the figure's fur coat. A sense of dread overtakes you, but it feels as though you are no longer in control of your feet. Reluctantly, you continue walking toward the creature.

Only being a few feet away from "It", your body suddenly feels like stone, and you can no longer move your feet. Your vision begins to go dark, as you feel your soul being pulled into what the creature is holding, as it consumes you whole.

The creature has reaped another lost soul in the woods. It morphs back into its deer form, walking deeper into the forest, hiding behind the trees. There it will stay, waiting, ready to stalk and consume another victim.

Leaving your house, you pass by piles of fallen leaves, crunching several along your path. You pass by a particularly large pile...and feel like you're about to have a heart attack when a figure leaps from the leaves at you, cackling.
You have been pranked by your local fox spirit, a being with a mischievous streak a mile wide. This is her favorite time of year, because she blends into the leaves so well, nobody ever spots her. She never seems to get tired of her trick, but it's hard to stay mad at her for long when you watch her spinning after her tail and giggling with glee at her successful shenanigans.