The projection shimmered, and the Widowspine Spider unfolded into view.
It emerged with a measured twitch of limbs—eight bristling legs stretching outward as its bulbous body followed. The creature was roughly the size of a large dog, maybe a little bigger, with clusters of translucent egg sacs resting along its abdomen. Its carapace carried muted shades of green and copper, the sort of color that faded into the background if you weren't looking closely. The spider moved with steady precision, adjusting its posture as it clung to an unseen surface. It didn't scuttle. It simply shifted, the way overlooked things tend to do.
Evan tilted his head slightly, his tone more observational than alarmed. "You'll make people uncomfortable, but that's the point, isn't it?" He hesitated, then added, "Always found spiders a little creepy myself. Gives me the willies. And this one's… a lot of spider."
Widowspine Spider
Type: Ambush Predator
Intelligence: Low
Traits: Wallclimber, Webspinner, Brood Layer
Behavior: Prefers tree cover and high ceilings. Strikes from above. Lays egg clusters.
Abilities:
Brood Drop – The spider drops from above, bursting an egg sac mid-descent that hatches spiderlings on impact. Targets caught in the blast zone are slowed and marked, making them more likely to draw hatchling aggro.
"One lands. Dozens follow."
Lingering Webfield – The spider spins a layered patch of web across the terrain that slows movement and slightly delays skill cooldown recovery while players remain inside. The field stays active for a short time even if the spider dies.
"One step, then another—until even those feel too slow."
Clutchguard Instinct – When reduced below half health, the spider drops an active egg cluster as a defensive response. The cluster pulses briefly before bursting, releasing aggressive spiderlings that target the most recent attacker.
"Injure her, and she leaves you something to remember her by."
He made a note to keep them positioned above player sightlines—along rafters, ceiling beams, or settled into tree limbs where attention wouldn't naturally fall. Total concealment wasn't the goal. It was often more effective when the threat could be overlooked at first glance. One above a doorway. Another along a structural brace. With the right placement, even a single Widowspine could change how a group approached a space. Two might be a good challenge for a party with the hatchling mechanic.
He considered setting one in a narrow passage partially blocked by roots and fallen stone—one of those spaces where players tended to rush through without checking above. It was a good spot for a first strike. Even if it didn't end the fight, it could open one on favorable terms. "This one's going to do well as an opener," he murmured. "Fast drop, fast pressure. Let the others clean up what's left." He paused, then gave a faint shrug. "Though if a dog-sized spider landed on me out of nowhere, I'd probably uninstall. So… promising."
He recalled a spider nest from earlier in development—something tight and dim where players had to crouch to navigate. That design had revealed how little it took to disturb a party's rhythm. A bit of misdirection. Something just off-angle. Most wipes didn't come from sheer damage output. They came from being out of position.
He gave a quiet nod and dismissed the projection. The spider faded from view.
The projection shifted again, and the Hollow Revenant stepped into view.
There was no flash or fanfare—just a pause in the air, followed by the dry sound of something brittle shifting against stone. A figure emerged from the mist: thin, skeletal, wrapped in remnants of rotted armor. A rusted sickle hung loosely in one hand, and a cracked crossbow rested in the crook of the other arm. Despite the rusty tools and the shambling gait, the Revenant moved with a strange purpose.
As it stood in the circle, it lifted its head. Hollow sockets turned toward Evan. Then:
"The harvest was late... we had no choice."
Evan blinked. He hadn't expected it to speak at all. The voice had a dry, raspy edge—quiet, but clear enough to carry.
Hollow Revenant
Type: Undead
Intelligence: Faded (Fragmented Memory)
Traits: Crossbow Precision, Memory Echo, Conditional Dialogue
Behavior: Patrols landmarks. May whisper past life. Increases fear effects if not interrupted quickly.
Abilities:
Witherstep – Periodically emits a pulse that slightly drains nearby stamina and slows health regeneration for players within a short radius. The effect is subtle but cumulative, particularly in extended fights.
"You don't feel it at first. Then suddenly, you're tired."
Shatterbolt – Fires a brittle, splintering bolt that explodes on impact into ghostly fragments. These deal light area damage and can interrupt spellcasting in a small radius.
"It was meant for one—but the echoes catch the rest."
Harvest Swing – The Revenant sweeps its sickle in a slow, deliberate arc. The strike has a long wind-up but hits all players in a cone, applying a minor bleed over time effect.
"It doesn't swing to kill. It swings because it always has."
Evan didn't end the projection right away. He studied how it moved—how it slowed near the chapel's shadow and hesitated at corners like it was still retracing its final moments.
He could already imagine the lore hunters—the ones who'd stop to listen, gathering lines from different patrols and stitching together the bigger picture. "They'll be chasing whispers for hours."
He let the silence stretch a little longer, watching the projection shift weight from one foot to the other in its slow, uneven loop. "This might end up being one of the most common mobs in here," he said. "Versatile, but not overwhelming. Shoots from range, closes in with a swing—enough variety to stay interesting without scaling too far. Easy to group, easy to theme, and just persistent enough to wear people down for the larger fights."
With a small wave, he dismissed the projection. The Revenant faded like mist.
The projection rippled again, and the Cryptbear took shape.
The ground began to tremble before the creature was even visible. Chains dragged across unseen stone, each scrape heavy and deliberate. Something massive was approaching. A bear-shaped form emerged through the mist—easily the size of a cart horse—its fur blackened with grave soot and tangled with patches of moss. A cracked coffin lid was strapped to its back with rusted bindings, warped as though clawed from the inside. One eye glinted through a burial shroud; the other was long rotted away.
Evan let out a quiet breath. "You're bigger than I expected," he said. "And a lot meaner looking." He watched as the creature shifted its weight, the coffin on its back creaking with the motion. "This one's not subtle, but I don't think it needs to be."
Cryptbear
Type: Undead
Intelligence: Animal (Instinctual Aggression)
Traits: Heavy, Aggressive, Solo Hunter, Territorial
Behavior: Stays dormant unless player enters aggro range
Abilities:
Pallbearer's Trample – The Cryptbear charges forward in a straight line, trampling anything in its path. Players hit are knocked prone and briefly silenced, as if the weight of the blow steals breath and focus.
"Momentum, not malice. But the result's the same."
Coffin Crush – Slams forward with the weight of the lid on its back, sending out a shockwave that knocks players off their feet. Deals bonus damage to shielded targets.
"The dead bear weight. This one hurls it."
Gravetether Roar – Unleashes a deep, rattling roar that binds the nearest player to its location for a few seconds. Movement is slowed, and any attempt to flee results in backlash damage.
"When it roars, even courage retreats."
He studied the way it moved—slow, steady, and grounded. Nothing about it suggested it could be pushed off course. Its abilities all leaned into that weight: trampling, slamming, locking things in place. "It's built around what it is," he said. "Big, heavy, hard to ignore. It won't do anything clever, but it's not going down fast."
He paused, imagining a party trying to kite it through a narrow crypt corridor. Maybe they'd try to lock it down or outpace it. "This one soaks pressure," he added. "But if they can cripple its movement, it turns into a sitting duck.
He stayed a little longer, taking in the way it settled its weight and occupied the space. It wasn't fast or flashy, but it had presence—broad, deliberate, and hard to move. That kind of bulk didn't need tricks. It just needed to last.
"Yeah," he said, "this rounds things out nicely."
With a small gesture, he dismissed the projection. The Cryptbear dissolved into a faint haze.