Eidolons are intriguing creatures, because despite being undead, they’re not necessarily evil—they may even be good. Spirits honored by the gods for their zealous devotion, eidolons spend their afterlives guarding those gods’ sacred places and protecting them from defilers. Their compulsion—which every undead creature must have—is to protect. Not necessarily a bad thing!
Even more intriguing is that eidolons can hop into inanimate objects and animate them for the purpose of carrying out their eternal mission. Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes offers, as an example, a stat block for an animated statue.
But first, let’s look at what an eidolon can do on its own. The flavor text says, “An eidolon has few methods for protecting itself beyond its ability to awaken its sacred vessels.” How true is this? Continue reading Eidolon Tactics
What if you’re a wizard with the ego, ambition and power to pursue immortality through self-enlichment, and you start the grueling process but fail to pace yourself properly? You could end up as a boneclaw, the powerful undead servant of a random individual who certainly didn’t ask for one and may or may not have any use for it.
Figuring that only the most brilliant mages even have a chance at becoming liches, the boneclaw’s Intelligence of 13 is surprisingly low, and I ascribe this to the trauma of failure. Something about the process of becoming a boneclaw damages the erstwhile wizard’s intellect, surely a sore spot. It’s not stupid by any stretch, just unable to soar to its previous heights of brilliance. Its Intelligence is now outshone by its extraordinary Strength and very high Dexterity, Constitution and Wisdom.
Those latter three high stats are accompanied by proficiencies in their respective saving throws, meaning that the boneclaw possesses exceptional resistance to the vast majority of attacks that require saving throws to resist. It may not be able to perform the kind of magic it once did, but your magic isn’t going to impress it one bit. Continue reading Boneclaw Tactics
Sibriexes are fiends—demons, to be specific—but there’s also something distinctly aberration-like about them. Partly, it’s their Lovecraftian body-horror appearance; partly, the fact that they move only by floating; and partly, the fact that their mere presence is toxic to living things.
Their ability contour is bizarre: extraordinary Constitution and mental abilities alongside merely average Strength and almost nonexistent Dexterity. From this we can conclude that they’re heavily dependent on magic and make no effort to avoid attacks—“psychic brutes,” if you will. We’ve seen this before in one other monster: the githzerai. Githzerai, however, are highly mobile. The sibriex is a slow-moving juggernaut.
Despite their extraordinary Wisdom and Charisma, sibriexes don’t have much reason to stay and chat, nor do they have proficiency in any social skill that suggests what kind of conversation they might engage in. Therefore, I’d say, a sibriex that weighs the odds and finds itself outmatched simply never bothers to engage. The upshot of this is that a sibriex encounter should always be Deadly (see “Encounter Difficulty,” Dungeon Master’s Guide, page 82); throw in a handful of minions if you need to. When it does engage, it uses its telepathy to tell the player characters what it’s going to do to them, in nasty, dripping detail. Continue reading Demon Tactics: Sibriexes