Brackish

Medium Humanoid (Aquatic)

Hit Dice: 2d8+2 (11 hp)
Initiative: +1
Speed: 20 ft. (4 squares), swim 50 ft.
Armor Class: 15 (+1 Dex, +4 natural), touch 11, flat-footed 14
Base Attack/Grapple: +1/+2
Attack: Bite +2 melee (1d4 plus swamp fever) or harpoon +2 melee (1d6+1)
Full Attack: Bite +2 melee (1d4 plus swamp fever) and slam +0 melee (1d3)
Space/Reach: 5 ft./5 ft.
Special Attacks: Swamp fever, marsh ambush
Special Qualities: Amphibious, darkvision 60 ft., marsh stride, slippery hide
Saves: Fort +1, Ref +4, Will +3
Abilities: Str 13, Dex 12, Con 12, Int 9, Wis 11, Cha 8
Skills: Hide +8, Listen +4, Move Silently +6, Spot +4, Survival +5, Swim +13
Feats: Alertness
Environment: Warm marshes, drowned forests, blackwater rivers, estuaries, and swamp ruins
Organization: Solitary, patrol (2-5), hunting party (6-12 plus 1 swamp speaker of 3rd level), or village (30-200)
Challenge Rating: 1
Treasure: Standard
Alignment: Usually Neutral Evil
Advancement: By character class
Level Adjustment: +1

A vaguely humanoid figure rises soundlessly from the black water, its algae-slick skin glistening beneath lanternlight. Moss hangs from its shoulders like drowned hair while pale reflective eyes stare without blinking. Its wide mouth twitches with strange clicking noises as murky water drips steadily from hooked teeth.

Brackish are amphibious swamp-dwellers native to the flooded waterways, drowned estuaries, and blackwater margins surrounding Ville des Marais and countless lesser marsh settlements. Though commonly mistaken for savage river predators by outsiders, Brackish society possesses ancient customs, territorial laws, and deeply ingrained flood rites tied to survival within unstable wetlands. They dwell within stilt-villages built atop submerged ruins, tangled mangrove roots, and slowly sinking wreckage reclaimed by moss, rot, and tidewater.

Their skin coloration varies depending upon region and water conditions. Some appear deep mud-brown with fungal growths along the spine, while others possess pale gray flesh marked by algae-green streaks beneath translucent skin. Hanging sensory tendrils around the jaw and throat twitch constantly in response to nearby vibrations, allowing Brackish to detect movement through water with unnerving accuracy. Many decorate themselves with shell jewelry, carved driftwood charms, polished riverbone fetishes, or salvaged trinkets recovered from drowned boats and flood victims.

Brackish settlements are partially living structures. Entire villages groan and sway gently with shifting currents, connected by rope bridges, floating platforms, and warped boardwalks slick with moss and fish oil. Territorial markers are subtle but unmistakable to those educated enough to recognize them - arrangements of reeds tied in symbolic knots, shell chimes hanging from dead trees, carved driftwood faces staring toward specific channels, or lanterns suspended above water at carefully measured heights. To ignore such signs is considered either profound ignorance or deliberate insult.

Though capable of trade and negotiation, Brackish remain deeply suspicious of drylanders. Most encounters begin with prolonged observation rather than open contact. Travelers often notice ripples beside their boats, pale eyes within reedbeds, or distant clicking sounds carried through fog long before a Brackish chooses to reveal itself directly. Their reputation for violence stems less from cruelty than territorial certainty. The swamp belongs to those capable of surviving it, and the Brackish have survived there far longer than most human settlements.

Combat

Brackish prefer ambushes and environmental warfare rather than direct confrontation. They strike from beneath dark water, hidden mudbanks, or hanging roots before retreating into terrain that favors their mobility and patience. A Brackish patrol often stalks prey for hours before attacking, studying movement patterns and weaknesses with unnerving discipline.

A Brackish commonly fights with hooked spears, harpoons, weighted nets, and crude river knives fashioned from sharpened shell or scavenged metal. They attempt to isolate enemies and drag wounded targets into deep water whenever possible.

Swamp Fever (Ex): A Brackish’s bite carries swamp-borne bacteria and mild venom. Any living creature damaged by a Brackish’s bite must succeed on a DC 11 Fortitude save or take 1 point of Constitution damage. One minute later, the victim must make a second DC 11 Fortitude save or become sickened for 1d4 rounds. The save DC is Constitution-based.

Marsh Ambush (Ex): A Brackish gains a +2 bonus on attack rolls against opponents denied their Dexterity bonus to AC while standing in swamp, shallow water, mud, or heavy marsh vegetation.

Amphibious (Ex): Although Brackish are aquatic, they can survive indefinitely on land.

Marsh Stride (Ex): Brackish ignore movement penalties caused by shallow water, mud, heavy reeds, and natural swamp terrain.

Slippery Hide (Ex): The oily mucus coating a Brackish’s skin grants a +4 racial bonus on Escape Artist checks and to resist grapple attempts.

Brackish settlements are frequently encountered near forgotten waterways and flood-prone districts where civilized authority weakens beneath humidity, isolation, and fear. Some fishing villages maintain cautious trade agreements with nearby tribes, exchanging lamp oil, preserved food, or metal tools for safe passage through dangerous marsh channels. Others simply vanish during flood season, leaving behind only drifting debris and strange carvings etched into cypress bark.

The relationship between Brackish and humanity remains deeply unstable. To fishermen and swamp laborers, Brackish are dangerous but understandable neighbors shaped by the same merciless wetlands governing everyone along the delta. To inland nobles and merchants, however, they are often regarded as living symbols of everything the swamp refuses to surrender to civilization’s ambitions.

Kelwyn’s Notes

I once traveled through a drowned reed territory under the guidance of Gibupgagool, who spent the better portion of two days warning me - with increasing irritation - not to mistake silence for absence. At the time I assumed he referred to predators. I later discovered he meant the Brackish themselves. One does not encounter them in the conventional sense. Rather, one slowly realizes they have been observing from the waterline for quite some time and simply had not yet decided whether acknowledgement was necessary.

The first Brackish village I witnessed appeared less constructed than accumulated. Walkways drifted slightly with the current. Lanterns swung from half-submerged pylons wrapped in moss and fishing cord. Entire structures leaned at angles that suggested imminent collapse, yet somehow endured with the stubborn balance unique to things built by people who understand water better than stone. Gib navigated the settlement with cautious respect, lowering his voice instinctively despite no visible threat presenting itself. It struck me then that the swamp teaches manners more effectively than civilization ever has.

Contrary to popular belief, the Brackish are not mindless marauders lurking in the reeds awaiting opportunities for murder. They are territorial, suspicious, and unquestionably dangerous, certainly, but no more inherently cruel than any other people shaped by generations of survival against hostile conditions. Their restraint simply manifests differently. Drylanders announce emotion loudly - through raised voices, threats, and theatrical outrage. The Brackish communicate through stillness. One learns very quickly that if a Brackish stops moving entirely, careful reconsideration of one’s recent decisions becomes advisable.

Gib later explained that many riverfolk quietly maintain informal agreements with nearby Brackish settlements whether noble authorities approve or not. Marsh channels change too frequently, floodwater hides too many dangers, and too many travelers vanish each season for practical cooperation to be ignored. Civilization often pretends it dominates the wetlands surrounding Ville des Marais. In truth, most settlements survive because older inhabitants occasionally permit them to.

There is a tendency among educated society to classify anything unfamiliar within the swamp as either monstrous or primitive. The Brackish fit neither category comfortably. They possess memory, ritual, territorial law, grief, humor, and community just as surely as humanity does. The difference lies primarily in perspective. Humanity views the marsh as hostile terrain to be endured. The Brackish view it as home. History suggests the swamp itself may agree with them.

Marais Dream Eel

Marais Dream Eel

Tiny Animal (Aquatic)

Hit Dice: 1/4d8+1 (2 hp)
Initiative: +3
Speed: Swim 30 ft., land 10 ft.
Armor Class: 15 (+2 size, +3 Dex), touch 15, flat-footed 12
Base Attack/Grapple: +0/-10
Attack: Bite +5 melee (1 point of damage plus venom)
Full Attack: Bite +5 melee (1 point of damage plus venom)
Space/Reach: 2-1/2 ft./0 ft.
Special Attacks: Hallucinogenic venom
Special Qualities: Low-light vision, scent, slippery body, anguilliform resilience
Saves: Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +1
Abilities: Str 2, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 1, Wis 12, Cha 2
Skills: Escape Artist +13, Hide +15, Listen +3, Spot +3, Swim +15
Feats: Weapon Finesse
Environment: Warm marshes, blackwater rivers, and flooded cypress swamps
Organization: Solitary, pair, school (6-30), or spawning knot (40-100)
Challenge Rating: 1/3
Treasure: None
Alignment: Always neutral
Advancement: —
Level Adjustment: —

Hallucinogenic Venom (Ex): Injury, Fortitude DC 12, initial and secondary effect identical. A creature failing its save experiences severe sensory distortion, emotional instability, and vivid hallucinations for 1d4 hours. While affected, the victim takes a -2 penalty on Wisdom-based checks and skill checks, cannot take 10 or take 20, and must succeed on a DC 13 Will save whenever exposed to stress (combat, loud sounds, sudden movement, taking damage, and similar circumstances) or become confused for 1 round, as the spell. This is a poison effect. The save DC is Constitution-based.

Slippery Body (Ex): The Marais Dream Eel’s heavy mucus coating grants it a +8 racial bonus on Escape Artist checks. Creatures attempting to grapple or hold a Marais Dream Eel take a -4 penalty on grapple checks unless wearing protective gloves or gauntlets. Any creature maintaining physical contact with the eel for more than 1 round must immediately attempt a DC 12 Fortitude save against the eel’s venom.

Anguilliform Resilience (Ex): The Marais Dream Eel’s elongated flexible skeleton, fused fin structure, distributed organ layout, and thick slime coating make it unusually resistant to injury for its size. The eel gains Damage Reduction 2/bludgeoning and a +4 racial bonus on saves against being pinned, crushed, or stunned. In addition, the eel may survive out of water for up to 1 hour so long as its skin remains moist.

Skills: A Marais Dream Eel has a +8 racial bonus on Swim checks and may always choose to take 10 on Swim checks, even if distracted or endangered. It may use the run action while swimming in a straight line.

Physical Description

The Marais Dream Eel is a true eel belonging to a bizarre marsh-adapted lineage of anguilliform fish native to the blackwater wetlands surrounding Ville des Marais. Long, ribbon-bodied, and almost serpentine in appearance, the creature lacks visible pelvic fins entirely, while its dorsal, anal, and caudal fins merge into a single continuous undulating membrane running nearly the full length of the body. Adult specimens typically range between three and five feet long, though ancient females dwelling deep within isolated marsh channels have reportedly reached nearly seven feet.

Its skin is smooth, scaleless, and perpetually coated in an unusually thick layer of translucent mucus that smells faintly of wet moss, river silt, and bitter medicinal herbs. Beneath lantern light, this slime reflects oily iridescent blues and greens reminiscent of spilled alchemical fluid floating atop water. The coating serves several purposes simultaneously - protecting the eel from parasites, reducing friction while moving through mud and reeds, preventing dehydration during brief periods on land, and making the creature maddeningly difficult to restrain.

The head resembles that of a small moray eel, narrow yet powerfully muscled, with recurved translucent teeth designed primarily for grip rather than tearing flesh. Along the underside of the jaw rest paired venom glands visible beneath the thin flesh as faintly glowing blue sacs. When distressed or aggressive, these glands pulse visibly before secreting an oily psychoactive toxin across the creature’s teeth and gums. Experienced marshfolk learn quickly to recognize the glow. Inexperienced marshfolk become stories told by experienced marshfolk.

Unlike many fish, the Marais Dream Eel is capable of surviving outside water for surprisingly long periods provided its skin remains damp. During flood season, they have been observed writhing through submerged streets, drainage canals, and flooded graveyards in search of prey or spawning grounds. Their movement across wet earth is deeply unsettling - less like a fish flopping and more like a length of living rope pulling itself forward with terrible patience.

Lore

The Marais Dream Eel occupies a deeply uncomfortable place within the ecosystem and culture of Ville des Marais. To fishermen, they are pests that foul nets and occasionally poison careless handlers. To physicians and ritual practitioners, they are dangerous but potentially valuable biological curiosities. To goblin smugglers, however, they are entrepreneurial opportunity given flesh and slime.

Natural philosophers remain fascinated by the species’ extraordinary durability. Unlike many fish, the eel’s elongated anatomy distributes vital organs across a flexible body structure that tolerates blunt trauma surprisingly well. Their skeletons bend rather than break, their organs sit recessed behind thick musculature, and their mucus coating makes them difficult for predators to grip securely. Marsh hunters often complain that injured Dream Eels continue writhing long after lesser creatures would have died. Several frustrated trappers have described the experience as “trying to stab wet rope possessed by a curse.”

The creature’s hallucinogenic venom remains the primary source of both fascination and civic concern. Properly diluted doses are occasionally employed during funerary rites, trauma rituals, ancestor communions, and certain mystical ceremonies intended to confront grief or buried memory. Users frequently describe hearing impossible music drifting through fog, witnessing drowned relatives speaking from riverbanks, or perceiving the world as though viewed through rippling water. Whether these experiences represent spiritual truth or simple neurochemical chaos is debated endlessly throughout the city’s academies and shrines.

The illegal venom trade surrounding the species is extensive. Smugglers transport living eels inside water-filled barrels disguised as fish stock, medicinal cargo, or “agricultural drainage specimens,” whatever those are allegedly supposed to be. Improper refinement is catastrophically dangerous. Victims of poorly distilled venom mixtures have wandered naked into swamp water believing themselves immune to drowning, attempted conversations with statues, or spent hours convinced they themselves were riverboats. One particularly infamous incident involved an intoxicated goblin dockmaster attempting to issue legal permits to a decorative coat rack.

The city’s Ministry of Civic Health technically regulates all venom extraction and transport permits, though enforcement becomes increasingly theoretical the farther one travels into the outer marshes. Goblin import syndicates continue attempting to circumvent restrictions with admirable creativity and horrifying consistency. The phrase “medicinal swamp eels” has, over the years, become less a legitimate trade classification and more an immediate warning sign that someone nearby is about to make a truly terrible decision.

Le Cavalier Sans Tête

Medium Undead (Augmented Humanoid)

Hit Dice: 14d12+28 (119 hp)
Initiative: +7
Speed: 40 ft. (8 squares)
Armor Class: 26 (+3 Dex, +13 natural), touch 13, flat-footed 23
Base Attack/Grapple: +7/+14
Attack: Rusted executioner’s falchion +16 melee (2d4+11/18-20 plus mooncurse)
Full Attack: Rusted executioner’s falchion +16/+11 melee (2d4+11/18-20 plus mooncurse)
Space/Reach: 5 ft./5 ft.
Special Attacks: Mooncurse, lantern of remembrance, dreadful charge, sever the living memory, lantern harvest
Special Qualities: Damage reduction 10/blessed silver, darkvision 60 ft., undead traits, marsh stride, regeneration 5, moonbound manifestation, impossible rider, scent of grief, turn resistance +4
Saves: Fort +4, Ref +7, Will +13
Abilities: Str 24, Dex 16, Con —, Int 12, Wis 18, Cha 22
Skills: Hide +16, Intimidate +23, Knowledge (local) +18, Listen +21, Move Silently +18, Ride +24, Sense Motive +19, Spot +21, Survival +15
Feats: Cleave, Combat Reflexes, Improved Initiative, Mounted Combat, Power Attack, Ride-By Attack
Environment: Flooded roads, drowned cemeteries, canals, and marsh outskirts of Ville des Marais
Organization: Solitary
Challenge Rating: 12
Treasure: Double standard
Alignment: Always lawful evil
Advancement: 15-20 HD (Medium)
Level Adjustment: —

Le Cavalier Sans Tête appears as a broad-shouldered rider clad in ancient blackened cavalry armor swollen with marsh rot and flood residue. Though unmistakably humanoid in size and shape, the creature’s proportions feel subtly wrong, as though the body beneath the armor has swollen and tightened from prolonged drowning. Its neck ends in a ragged stump of wet flesh and dim lunar radiance from which pale vapor constantly escapes like chilled breath on winter glass.

The Horseman carries no severed head upon its person. Instead, an iron funeral lantern hangs from chains upon the saddle of its mount. Within the lantern’s fogged panes flicker distorted human faces that weep, scream, pray, or stare silently outward. Witnesses claim the expressions belong to those who died abandoned during flood seasons, their names forgotten by the city they once served.

Its mount, Miséricorde, resembles a lean marsh warhorse stitched together from drowned cavalry remains. River moss hangs from its flanks, and stagnant water spills from its mouth whenever it exhales. The beast’s hooves make almost no sound upon stone, yet the echo of its approach carries unnaturally far through flooded streets and narrow alleys.

COMBAT

Le Cavalier Sans Tête hunts with terrifying patience and ritualistic precision. It prefers isolated roads, drowned bridges, funeral paths, and mist-covered canals where escape becomes difficult. Victims often hear distant hoofbeats for hours beforehand, slowly realizing the sound is approaching no matter which direction they flee.

The Horseman rarely speaks. When it does, witnesses describe hearing multiple overlapping voices emerging from the empty space above its shoulders, as though the dead imprisoned within the lantern attempt speech all at once.

Mooncurse (Su): Any creature struck by the Horseman’s falchion must succeed on a DC 22 Will save or become afflicted with the Curse of the Drowned Moon. Afflicted victims hear phantom hoofbeats whenever left alone and suffer vivid dreams of drowning canals and moonlit executions. Each week the victim fails a secondary DC 22 Will save, they suffer 1 point of Wisdom drain. The curse may only be removed by both remove curse and hallow. The save DC is Charisma-based.

Lantern of Remembrance (Su): As a standard action, the Horseman may open the shutters of its lantern. All creatures within 60 feet must succeed on a DC 21 Will save or become shaken for 2d6 rounds. Creatures already shaken instead become frightened for 1d4 rounds. Those who fail also experience fragmented memories belonging to drowned dead trapped within the lantern.

Dreadful Charge (Ex): Whenever Le Cavalier Sans Tête successfully charges while mounted, the target must succeed on a DC 24 Fortitude save or be knocked prone and stunned for 1 round.

Sever the Living Memory (Su): Whenever the Horseman reduces a creature to 0 hit points or lower, all witnesses within 30 feet must succeed on a DC 21 Will save or temporarily forget the victim’s face and voice for 24 hours. Family members experience this effect as profound emotional distress and hollowness.

Lantern Harvest (Su): Any humanoid slain by Le Cavalier Sans Tête has its soul immediately drawn into the iron funeral lantern hanging from the saddle unless the creature succeeds on a DC 22 Will save. Creatures whose souls are imprisoned within the lantern cannot be raised, resurrected, or contacted by speak with dead so long as their soul remains confined. While trapped, the soul experiences an endless procession of floodwater, funeral bells, distant hoofbeats, and fragmented memories belonging to countless other dead.

As a full-round action, the Horseman may force one trapped soul to manifest briefly within the lantern glass. This functions as fear upon a single creature within 30 feet (DC 22 Will negates). Victims who fail the save glimpse imprisoned dead screaming behind the lantern panes, often recognizing friends, relatives, or forgotten citizens of Ville des Marais among them.

The lantern may contain a maximum number of trapped souls equal to twice the Horseman’s Hit Dice. Whenever the lantern reaches maximum capacity, its light becomes visible through heavy fog and flood rain at distances of up to one mile, accompanied by faint funeral music and distant crying audible only to creatures currently grieving a lost loved one.

If the lantern is shattered upon consecrated ground during the conjunction of Le Père Lune full and la Mère Lune dark, all imprisoned souls are immediately released to the afterlife. The destruction unleashes a catastrophic scream of accumulated grief, however, forcing all creatures within 300 feet to succeed on a DC 24 Will save or become permanently shaken until receiving greater restoration or meaningful emotional reconciliation determined by the DM.

Marsh Stride (Su): Le Cavalier Sans Tête and its mount ignore difficult terrain caused by mud, reeds, shallow water, swamp vegetation, and flood debris. The pair may ride across still water as though under the effects of water walk.

Regeneration (Su): Blessed silver weapons deal normal damage to the Horseman. If destroyed, its body collapses into black floodwater and funeral moss before reforming during the next conjunction of Le Père Lune full and la Mère Lune dark unless the lantern is shattered upon consecrated ground.

Moonbound Manifestation (Su): Le Cavalier Sans Tête may only physically manifest during nights when Le Père Lune is full while la Mère Lune is absent from the sky. Outside this period the creature exists as a distant spiritual presence incapable of direct violence.

Impossible Rider (Su): Mundane means cannot forcibly dismount the Horseman. If separated from Miséricorde, both instantly reform adjacent to one another at the beginning of the Horseman’s next turn.

LORE

Among the oldest districts of Ville des Marais, Le Cavalier Sans Tête is not spoken of as a mere monster. It is discussed more like weather - dreadful, inevitable, and woven into the city’s emotional architecture. Elder marsh families still nail black lilies above their doors whenever Le Père Lune rises full against the empty heavens of la Mère Lune, hoping the rider passes them by.

According to the oldest funerary records, the Horseman first appeared after one of the city’s great flood famines centuries ago. Entire neighborhoods drowned beneath uncontrolled canal surges while civic authorities argued endlessly over blame and responsibility. Bodies floated unclaimed through the Rivière Tumultueuse for days. Funeral rites failed. Names vanished from ledgers. Grief remained unresolved.

Something answered that failure.

Whether the Horseman was once a real executioner, cavalry officer, or drowned citizen no longer matters. Centuries of sorrow and civic shame have transformed it into something larger than an individual identity. It has become the city’s memory of abandonment given shape and purpose beneath the moonlight.

Many secretly believe the creature targets those who violate the sacred communal obligations of Ville des Marais - corrupt officials, grave robbers, murderers who deny burial rites, and opportunists who profit from flood catastrophes. Unfortunately, like floodwater itself, the Horseman’s justice does not always stop where intended.

Kelwyn’s Notes

One of the most dangerous lies civilization tells itself is that remembrance is optional. People imagine funerary rites, mourning songs, ancestor records, and memorial lanterns to be sentimental decorations draped upon society after the important work has already been completed. Ville des Marais understands better. Here, memory is structural. It is mortar. It is floodwall. It is the fragile architecture preventing grief from escaping into the streets with teeth.

Le Cavalier Sans Tête is what occurs when that architecture fails catastrophically enough for the city itself to remember the wound. Observe carefully that the creature does not merely kill. Countless undead kill. Countless horrors butcher indiscriminately. No - the Horseman punishes abandonment. It is grief weaponized by neglect until it no longer seeks comfort, but enforcement.

The lantern possesses no proper name because the city refuses to grant it one. That distinction matters enormously. In Ville des Marais, names are acknowledgements of belonging. They imply relationship, familiarity, and place within the emotional architecture of civilization. The people will speak of the Horseman with fearful reverence, certainly, but the lantern itself remains deliberately unnamed - a thing too dreadful to comfortably incorporate into communal language.

Most horrifying of all is the implication hidden beneath its function: the souls trapped within are not consumed. They remain aware. They remember. One can scarcely imagine a more distinctly Ville des Marais form of damnation than becoming part of an eternal procession of grief endlessly carried through floodwater beneath the watching moons.