Other new monsters

The envoy of Fire has excellent protection against magic of fire and has a slightly better attack.

Notes:

* In one dwelling you can take only one type of messenger.

The envoy of the Earth has excellent protection against magic of earth and has a slightly better defense.

Notes:

* In one dwelling you can take only one type of messenger.

The envoy of Air has excellent protection against magic of air and is faster.

Notes:

* In one dwelling you can take only one type of messenger.

The envoy of Water has excellent protection against magic of water and has slightly better health.

Notes:

* In one dwelling you can take only one type of messenger.

Few outside the dark environs of the dungeon are aware that the warlocks of that realm hold a magic tournament every fifth year. The best and brightest warlocks and overlords compete, demonstrating their prowess in the four elemental schools of magic, their abilities to develop new potions and to create new creatures to serve the dungeon hierarchy. In each category, only one contestant is awarded the coveted Pendant of the Black Dragon--a badge of both prestige and power within the warlock world.

One of the most renowned warlocks of this (or any) age, Alamar, was the recipient of five such pendants--one each for earth, air, water and fire magic expertise, and one more for his Potion of Paralyzation, which he had distilled from the venom of a scorpicore. Yet, the sixth and final Pendant of the Black Dragon, for the best new creature, eluded him for many years.

One year, his carefully bred mushroom-detecting troglodytes were beaten by Agar's de-odorized harpies, while at the next contest, his porcupine/medusa mix took second to Gunnar's manure-free manticores. So it went--always his creatures were widely applauded but never quite good enough for the coveted pendant.

Finally, Alamar determined to expand his horizons--to blend non-native dungeon creatures to create something truly unique. He traveled far, through the lands of the elves, where he dabbled briefly with a dwarf/harpy mix (too heavy to fly), and the lands of the barbarians where he had a brief success with crossing evil eyes and cyclops until the other cyclops destroyed his prototype as an abomination (Ugh! Many eyes! Ugh!), before finally reaching the sulfurous swamps of the beastmasters. There he captured a young hydra before returning to his dungeon lair to begin preparations. A grand design--the speed of a dragon, with the many heads of the hydra. Multiple breathe attacks, and the ability to fly--truly a beast to strike fear in the heart of the stoutest kanniggit.

Unfortunately for Alamar, crossbreeding dragons and hydras proved to be much more difficult than he had imagined. His first attempt burned itself to death when one head tried to talk to another, while his second smashed to the ground when it was unable to fly and attack at the same time. The contest loomed and Alamar finally settled on a compromise: the gorynych - a multi-headed beast that attacked without retaliation, yet could fly and moved at least a little faster than a chaos hydra. Alas, his run of bad luck continued--the gorynych was showcased the same year that Jeddite developed his self-veiling medusas, and once again the Pendant he so coveted was denied to Alamar. Out of frustration and spite, Alamar released his prototype gorynyches into the wild, to snack on the unsuspecting and those who are foolish enough to attempt to wrap their tongues around the beasts' wholly unpronounceable name.

For long years, these zealots isolate themselves in remote monasteries where the only visitors they have are travelers who have lost their way, and even these seldom more than once a year. During this time of isolation, the zealots practice their fighting skills and train their minds to repel all magic.

The sharpshooters, originally trained by Gelu, were so popular because of their combat skills that all heroes desired to have them as part of their army. And the prestige of being a sharpshooter was so strong that the skills and training were passed on from father to son and mother to daughter.

In due course, it was possible to find sharpshooters in almost every part of Erathia, and as you can expect, they tried to adapt to local conditions. So the arctic sharpshooters have appeared. They have an improved attack and are also able to hide in snow-covered places, which allows them to be better protected from missile fire.

Another type of sharpshooter - the lava sharpshooter. Their house is a vault. Their hard lives have tempered them, resulting in their increased defensive ability. Lava sharpshooters get their name from the bottles of fiery lava in which they dip the tips of the arrows. In close combat they are able to use these flaming lava arrows to burn their assailants.

Necromancers aren't the most social of heroes. The lack of living flesh and blood might be the problem, or maybe the weird clothes they tend to wear. It could be the strange cackling they tend to emit when they laugh, or perhaps it's just the constant stink of death that seems to surround them. Whatever the reason, they generally aren't invited out to the most fashionable of parties. Actually, they generally aren't invited out to ANY parties--fashionable or not. So, they have a lot of time on their bony old hands.

Especially since they don't sleep. They know of dreams and they know of nightmares, remembering vaguely as they do their time before undeath, though they no longer have either. Not surprisingly, they prefer nightmares--especially for other people.

Thus it was that Sandro, in a fit of jealousy over the livies ability to dream, took a few of the undead steeds that were normally used by the black knights and began "working" with them. He trained them to move on their own, without the guidance of a rider, and he changed their appearance to make them fiercer to gaze upon. Sandro also added his own personal scent of death to the new creatures and concentrated it in their "breath".

No amount of air freshener will help the hero who faces Sandro's nightmares, as he so cleverly called them, as the strength of their breath rivals that of the mighty gorgon, often bringing death instantly to even the mightiest of beasts. Indeed, so strong is the stench that sometimes even those standing behind the initial creature will be struck down, and no amount of breath mints will allay the damage done.

Sandro finds this all to be a fine joke, of course, and he loves to regale his acquaintances with his tale of creation. Not at parties, since the invites keep not coming for those, but at the local necromancer's guild meetings, or, better yet, at the Annual Deadies banquet. Everyone cackles with glee and tries not to lose his or her jaw bone in the process, as that can be quite embarrassing, even for one who already has no life, social or otherwise.

Time waits for no man, it rolls along, like sands through the hourglass. Tick, tick, tick. All we are is dust in the wind and nothing lasts forever.

Except gremlins. Always there have been gremlins, always there will be gremlins. They worm their way into clocks, into ballistae, into titans' codpieces. Tinker, putter, snip, bang--it all goes awry. Such is life. Mischievous, mercurial, and prone to misadventure, they aren't evil, yet they are the demons that haunt our daily lives.

Many solutions to the gremlin problem have been tried--the wizards chain them up to try to keep them out of the machinery, but do you really think genies have always changed sex when upgraded? Not a chance. The result of a gremlin in the works, and no one has been able to figure out how to change the problem now that it exists. In the dungeon, the overlords test the new minotaur axes on the gremlins, and the warlocks try new spells, but there are always more. Barbarians feed them to orcs, beastmasters let the wyverns poison them, and heretics toss them into the fire lakes. The necros tried to make skeletons out of them, but the animation always seemed to go wrong, one leg walking in one direction while the other headed off somewhere else, perhaps taking the skull with it but forgetting to bring along the neck bones. And always there are more, mucking up the works and distributing headaches to everyone, high and low, rich and poor.

Legend has it that there was once a recluse wizard who actually managed to domesticate the gremlins. This wizard, known to today's world only as K, lived far to the North, farther even than his other winter wizard brethren. He was said to be a bit of an eccentric, wearing fuzzy red pajamas trimmed in white fur, and preferring a red stocking cap to the traditional wizard pointy hat. But all agree, that if he existed--and the evidence suggest that he did--he must have been a genius.

What evidence? The santa gremlin, believed to be a derivative of the common anti-gremlin cry, 'Blast, these gremlins are Satan spawn'. Santa gremlins are clothed in red, with white trim, and they command other gremlins or similar lowly creatures to protect them--just as K is said to have commanded the santa gremlins to protect him. Strangest of all, they are spell casters, capable of using the ice bolt spell--said to be K's favorite incantation. Their existence isn't proof positive that K really existed, but who else but an eccentric half frozen genius at the top of the world would come up with such a crazy idea?

Why a genius? Because santa gremlins not only follow instructions, they can also be nice. While they are tough in combat, capable of casting ice bolts and surrounded by traditional gremlin protectors, after combat, defeated santa gremlins have been known to give gifts to heroes as a reward for their victory. Such generosity and good will is unheard of in traditional gremlins, and only a genius could find a way to develop such traits in a race otherwise known only for their capricious and destructive natures.

Notes:

* This is a total growth number in one week, however 2 creatures are available to recruit every day.

It wasn't always easy growing up in the rampart--Petal knew this all too well. Everything was "nature this" and "environment that" and "no, we can't have any roasted marshmallows this evening because the dendroids get upset if we burn them in our bonfires." Silly, thought Petal, it's not like they won't grow back. Even her name. Petal. Blah--how terribly NOT fearsome. How many creatures or evildoers had ever trembled at the thought of the dreadful Petal coming for them? None, zero, zilch.

Nope, the rampart was not the place to be if you wanted to be a rock n' roll spell caster who preferred a good fireball to a boring old bless spell any day of the week. Oh, you could become a ranger like Jenova, or a druid, like Gem, but you still had to play by their rules. Don't walk on the grass, don't tie bells to the centaurs' tails, don't give the dwarves hot feet. Dull, dull, dull. Even the unicorns were a washout--prancing about, all pure and white and letting the other maidens pet their gleaming coats, but turning up their horns at Petal and her soot-blackened hands.

So, she left. Petal set out on her own to find independent women of a like mind. She had one of her more domestically inclined cousins make her a wicked looking dark cloak with a high, intimidating collar and hit the road. As she journeyed, Petal made little mental notes to herself: take out a few evildoers along the way, invent some flashy and dangerous spells, test her magic skills in the real world, and improve the fashion sense of civilized women everywhere.

Life was good. She was a fearsome spell-casting woman on a rampage, and to her surprise, there were many others like her. And not just from the ramparts--soon she had a band of "sisters" that consisted of former battle mages, overlords, heretics and all manner of other women. They called themselves the Sorceresses, and in honor of Petal, they all wore the same style long cloak with the wicked high collar.

As their numbers grew, so did their power. They cast all sorts of spells in combat--not just namby-pamby water spells, but also fun combat spells like disrupting ray, curse and even a nasty little creation of Petal's that afflicted the target with a nice little debilitating disease. Soon, their merry band became feared by practitioners of evil far and wide. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they soon became feared by men too--even those of good hearts and pure thoughts.

Concerned that their fun loving, free wheeling lifestyle was overshadowing their honest desire to help clean up the world, Petal went to a local enchanters' grove to discuss how the two groups could work together. Eventually, a pact was reached where the enchanters agreed that sorceresses of sufficient power could summon a small band of enchanters to assist in the battles against evil, thus helping to allay the growing belief that sorceresses were not just against evil, but against men in general. In return, Petal and her followers agreed not to cast Petal's nasty little disease spell on the enchanters, and to only summon enchanters that were not actively involved in playing Whack-A-Mage, the enchanters' favorite pastime.

Notes:

* The Sorceress may cast non-direct damage spells on its target following a ranged attack. All spells last 3 rounds (except Disrupting Ray and Acid Breath which are permanent) and normal spell immunities apply. Gods Representatives and Messengers have complete immunity to Sorceress spells.

The chance of a spell being cast is 20%+2% for each Sorceress in a stack. The type of spell cast depends on the number of Sorceresses as follows:

• Few to Several Sorceresses:
  MISFORTUNE, DISRUPTING RAY, DISEASE or WEAKNESS with 25% chance each
• Pack of Sorceresses:
  SLOW, CURSE or DISPEL with 20% chance each
  MISFORTUNE, DISRUPTING RAY, DISEASE or WEAKNESS with 10% chance each
• Lots of Sorceresses:
  POISON, SORROW, ACIDBREATH or FORGETFULNESS with 15% chance each
  SLOW, CURSE or DISPEL with 8% chance each
  MISFORTUNE, DISRUPTING RAY, DISEASE or WEAKNESS with 4% chance each
• Horde to Legion of Sorceresses:
  POISON, SORROW, ACIDBREATH or FORGETFULNESS with 11% chance each
  SLOW, CURSE or DISPEL with 8% chance each
  HYPNOTIZE, BLIND, BERSERK, AGE, MISFORTUNE, DISRUPTING RAY, DISEASE or WEAKNESS with 4% chance each

Listen now, to one of Erathia's greatest love stories. Once upon a time there was a young elf named Tallow who fell in love with a beautiful centaur girl named Sherinda. But as is often the case with love that blossoms between different races, their union was forbidden. Elves and centaurs at this time were at loggerheads over many issues, not the least of which was who had to shovel out the unicorn pens and dragons caves. For many months the young lovers hid their desires from their people, meeting only in secret or in the dead of night. But as their passions grew, so did their restlessness, until finally they could stand it no longer, and they revealed their true feelings to their families. They had hoped for understanding, but instead were met with shock and despair. The fighting between the elves and centaurs was getting worse, and their romance was seen by both families as a betrayal.

When he refused to renounce his love for Sherinda, Tallow was cast out of his clan and forced to leave the rampart until such time as he would abide by the rule of the elves. Before he left, he got word to Sherinda to never give up hope--somehow he would find a way for them to be together and he would return for her.

Although Sherinda wasn't an outcast like Tallow, the centaurs watched her carefully and tried to find her a suitable male centaur instead. They tried all manner of suitors--manly, athletic centaurs and bookish, wise centaurs versed in the magical arts. But nobody could replace Sherinda's beloved Tallow in her heart, so it was a fruitless search.

For months, Tallow wandered the lands, unable to forget about his precious Sherinda, until one day he came upon a horrible scene--a terrified old woman tied to a stake, about to be burned alive by a small mob of villagers carrying pitchforks and lit torches. Tallow approached the villagers and demanded to know what crime the woman had committed to receive such a terrible punishment. They told him that she was a witch, that she had poisoned the village's well, and for that she must be burned, "because all witches are evil". The woman called out to Tallow, pleading for help and proclaiming her innocence. Elves seem to have a sixth sense when it comes to knowing who's good and who's not, and Tallow could tell at once that the woman bore no evil in her heart.

Knowing from personal experience what it was like to be persecuted, Tallow made a decision. He quickly unslung his cherrywood bow, and in the blink of an eye, his arrow had pierced the hat of the apparent ringleader of the mob. From the steely look in the elf's eyes it was clear that he meant business. When Tallow demanded the woman's freedom and challenged the villagers to fight, the cowards quickly turned and ran for the safety of their village.

After freeing the old woman, Tallow discovered that she was in fact a witch, but a good one, and she was grateful for being rescued. They traveled together for awhile, and when the witch heard of Tallow and Sherinda's plight, she offered a magical solution. It was a drastic one, however, for she described a spell that could put two creatures into one body if they had strong enough feelings for each other. Although it had never been tried with two different species, Tallow was willing to try anything for the woman he loved. So when the old witch and the young elf reached a village where the witch could make herself a new home without fear of persecution, she taught Tallow the proper incantation for the spell. After gathering the herbs he would need to accompany the spell, the elf departed on his journey back home--back to Sherinda.

Sadly, when Tallow arrived back at the rampart, he found that the elves and centaurs had declared war. The dwarves and dendroids tried to maintain order, but things were rapidly getting out of hand. If something wasn't done soon it would tear the once tight-knit community apart.

Stealthily making his way to Sherinda's stable, Tallow woke her, and she greeted him with amazement, joy, and quite a remarkable kiss, but also with concern. Quickly, he told her about the enchantment and asked if she was willing to join with him forever. Without hesitating for a moment, she agreed. Filled with nervous excitement, they performed the ritual together, and as the magic power suffused their spirits, they became one, unified in body, mind and soul. They were a new race, a sylvan centaur. And their name was Talinda.

When they emerged into the streets, everyone stopped and stared. Nobody had ever seen the likes of this creature before--part elf, part centaur, with the strengths of both and the weaknesses of neither. The news quickly spread and everyone came to see Talinda. Perhaps it was a side effect of the enchantment, or perhaps it was the incredible joy that radiated from Talinda, but instead of being cast out as an abomination, the sylvan centaur was revered by both the elves and the centaurs alike. Both races soon stopped fighting and they appointed Talinda as their spokesperson, a diplomat to both people.

In the following months and years, the enchantment was used numerous times, for it seemed that the races of elves and centaurs had more in common than they thought. Before long there were many sylvan centaurs in the town, and they were always very happy, for each one was a union of pure love.

Notes:

The Sylvan Centaurs may be created from Grand Elves and Centaur Captains, if you have them both in your army and have turned on the proper hard-coded option. To do that you must hold your 'ctrl' key on your hero screen (and only on your hero screen, not the garrison or town screen) and click with your left mouse button on a stack of Grand Elves or Centaur Captains. They will be combined free of charge and at ratio 1:1, so after combining 42 Centaur Captains and 14 Grand Elves you'll end up with 14 Sylvan Centaurs and 28 Centaur Captains.

It's a curious fact of life that some mixes are more accepted than others. Peanut butter and jelly? A classic. Labradors and poodles? A bit odd, but they have a cool name--who wouldn't want a labradoodle? Men and horses? Peculiar, but centaurs move fast and generally are polite enough to go outside to take care of business--a significant improvement over horses and barbarians. Wolves and men? A downer--nobody seems to like the werewolf, perhaps because they shed profusely, or maybe because there's always the chance that they'll rip your throat out during a full moon rampage. At any rate, they have long been anathema, and many campaigns to exterminate lycanthropy in all its forms have been launched over the years--with varying results.

Certainly Lord Haart's crusade to eliminate werebeavers was a smashing success, much to the relief of regular beavers who often found their rivers and streams dammed with human femurs after the full moon, but others have been far less effective. Halon's attempt to eliminate the fearsome werehummingbird, for example, lead only to the vaporization of some lovely flower gardens and the destruction of a number of perfectly innocent bees.

Still, though there are many were-creatures in the world, werewolves have always been the most common and among the most dangerous. Werewolves are fast, much faster than the weresloth, for example, and while some lycanthropes retain some of their human attributes even in their moon-induced animal states, werewolves often go completely berserk during the full moon, beyond the control of anyone or anything. It is also true that, for reasons unknown, werewolves seem more likely to pass their affliction on to those they bite or claw than do most other werecreatures. Indeed, there are more than a few reports of werewolves transforming large numbers of normal men and creatures into werewolves during various struggles.

Attempts to eliminate werewolves have had mixed success, though in general they have been driven to living in the more remote areas of the world. Still, their speed, power and viciousness in battle has caused more than one would be hero to seek them out and attempt to convince them to join the ranks of their army. Werewolf forces are always to be feared, as there is the possibility for them to transform all they oppose into werewolves, both friend and foe, and the blood rage of the full moon is often so vicious as to blind them from any distinction between friend or foe, good and evil, or innocent and guilty.

Notes:

* The Werewolf's attacks may transform the enemy into werewolves. The base chance is 20%, doubled to 40% on full moon days.

There are cracks in our world. Unseen places where the fabric of the universe is a bit weaker than in most other places. Animals can sense these places and stay away from them. Fear them. For sometimes, not often thankfully, but yet often enough to make brave souls cower behind the thin walls of their homes, something breaks through those cracks from the other side.

It is not dark on the other side, as many conjecture, but in fact it is quite, quite bright. Fire is like that. Bright. And hot. Very, very hot. So too the creatures that live in that fierce, inhospitable world just beyond our own, caught in passing mayhap in a dream--or, rather a nightmare. Only it's not always a nightmare. Sometimes, the fiery beasts from the other side find a crack in our world big enough to let them through. Sometimes, the nightmares are real--and hot.

Hell steeds are of the other world, burning horses, with flaming manes and searing eyes. Fortunately for us, they are small compared to some of their brethren from beyond, yet even they can only rarely find holes in the weave of the universe large enough to squeeze through. So, they remain rare, usually found in remote areas and places where large quantities of magic have accumulated without supervision. Places where the cracks are not repaired but left unattended, to be worried at and leveraged from the other side.

When they are encountered, hell steeds are usually feral in both appearance and demeanor, and their breath is said to be so hot that they will often, briefly, leave walls of fire in their wake. Additionally, it is believed that some of the older hell steeds have learned how to harness their heat and project it across small distances. Attacking these hell-born equines is perilous, as direct hand-to-hand attacks will almost certainly result in the burning of the attacker, perhaps severely.

Naturally, the hell steed is immune to fire-based magic. Born in the nightmare world on the other side, the hell steeds have no fear of our own world.

A long time ago, a powerful lich king in a far off land experimented with dragon animation. Mixing the bones of a black dragon and a faerie dragon and imbuing them with evil power, the dracolich was born. Although this terrifying undead creature casts no spells, its magic is able to block many non-magical attacks. And like the liches, the Dracolich can throw a death cloud at its opponents from far away, but its power reserves are quickly drained. This is rarely a problem, however, because the Dracolich relishes the chance to toast its foes with fiery breath and then devour the barbecued treat.

Recently, these dracoliches have begun showing up in Erathia, spreading terror and death in their wake.