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Resembling not much more than a pile of overlapping pieces of slate rock at first glance, the stalwart shale spitter is a skittering isopod with a rocky carapace that thrives in mountainous and underground areas, where they seek to gather minerals to reproduce asexually.
Akin to the common pearl oyster, shale spitters are known to produce unique, iridescent tourmaline gemstones that are quite prominent in fashionable circles - this makes the 'harvesting' of shale spitter gems an emerging enterprise - albeit a deadly one.
In response, shale spitters are notoriously territorial and typically congregate in small packs of three to five, keeping enough distance between each other so as to not interfere with one another's daily mineral extraction, and also to cast a wide defensive net when intruders or would-be predators are concerned.
Groups hunting shale spitters often struggle to get close enough to crack them open; They are instinctive guerrilla combatants using their tremorsense and ability to burrow to hide from threats, and avoid close range combat. From there, they seek to discourage predators with thorny stalagmite bursts and spit rocks at speeds that rival a champion slinger's. Those that do get up close will find themselves dealing with barrages of dust and rock as the creatures look to retreat, burrowing into the nearby terrain.

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A common refrain in folklore throughout the world paints some evil creatures (such as vampires) as so horrible, or perhaps so alien so as to be utterly unable to cast a reflection, despite being normally visible. These tales often turn out to be true, but leave a lingering question of, "Why?", but perhaps the question should instead be, "Where?". As any magical scholar or seasoned adventurer will attest, mirrors and the reflections seen in them often hold strange and mercurial power. For those who can seemingly defy such reflection, their visage may not be cast back at them, but instead cast away, drifting through the astral plane. These distorted figures — tiny fragments of pure malevolence — eventually coalesce into a Chiralus.
Just like a reflection on a mirror's surface, Chiralus are two dimensional, appearing impossibly flat, and almost indistinguishable from a mundane mirror, aside from the fact that living creatures won't see their reflections within. Observed side-on, a Chiralus is almost imperceptible — a property they often use to deadly advantage, for they are driven by little else besides a primordial desire to cut, sever, and kill.
Travellers to the astral plane must be especially wary of Chiralus, for the creatures' infinitely sharp form can sever even an astral tether, tragically ending their journey.
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Autumnals are melancholy fey that linger in a forest for a single season each year. They arrive just as summer's golden sun begins to gild the first green leaves, and they part after a forest's last such leaf has been embraced by the earth. They belong to the shepherds of the seasons, a group of fey including vernals and hibernals who guide the natural life of a wood from one stage into the next. Autumnals cull the sick and old, that their mulch might fortify vivacious young saplings against winter's privations.
A grove under the care of a "reaping" (between four and ten autumnals, usually) is unmistakable, filled as it is with the mournful dirges the fey sing as they work. A reaping is led by an elder of thirty or forty seasons, known as a quietus, who often has access to more advanced primal magic and can wield the potent musical power of their people with a maestro's skill.
Like many forest fey, autumnals are deeply tied to their woodland domains and will viciously fight any who either pre-empt or stall the seasonal cycle of the year. However, one who earns the trust of an autumnal, perhaps by aiding them in purging the woods of unnatural forces, gains more than just a potent ally. They might be gifted with secrets of the forest beyond the ken of even druids or nymphs: the last whispered revelations of ancient oaks, or the confessions of primordial juggernauts before they finally slipped from this world. These ageless mysteries might have been lost forever had they not been captured and immortalized in the sorrowful songs of the autumnal choir.
