Fantasy Violence: Canines

19 Feb, 2026

I am very eager to share the Fantasy Violence monsters I've been working on. Unfortunately, the supernatural monsters can not be shared without spoiling things for my players—some are pretty damn cool. Instead, here are some animals as monsters.

These are generally pretty straightforward: supernatural creatures have opportunities for all kinds of creative mechanics, but for animals they are usually just Big + Tough, and made interesting in other ways.

Refer to Inhuman Violence, linked above, to see how the stat blocks below work.

The Bear

Bears are born as a kind of muddy lump. Over months, their mothers lick them into shape. Yet as babies they are unfixed, and can be made with an artist’s touch into a being of any kind. Shaped without love, they hate to see themselves in the mirror. To snatch a cub is to challenge a dragon: Mother Bear is always near, and can sniff out her young’s distress.

Father Bear is the forest's patriarchs—brutal and arbitrary. He stalks the woods like a revenant and metes out violence enough to splinter wood and stone alike. You cannot swim from him—he is faster; nor can you run, or even gallop on horseback, for he is master of the woods: he will push you to a river bank, or some rocky ledge, or see you pinned against the thicket. Those who have contravened some unknown Sylvan writ are killed, then hung on tree limbs as a warning.

Evasion: +2 (Large, yet canny in movement).
Melee: 3d6. Their attacks cause an Injury in addition to an Injury Check.

Harm: They are huge and hardy, use the table below for Injury checks. Attacks made from behind struggle to pierce its thick hide and make Injury Checks at disadvantage.

The Coyotes

Hundreds of cackling jesters live in the border between city and wildness. Their voices are a weapon: they can be thrown freely, and made to imitate breaking branches, sibilant streams, or conversing crowds. They lead thirsty strangers away from water; mislead hunters; disturb the farmstead with nightmare songs.

Coyotes do not take pleasure in killing, but mischief. They collect human belongings in their den, prizing that which is most intimate above all else: wedding rings, underwear, favourite hats, and prayers whispered by the lost.

They appear in groups of 3d6. Sometimes groups of 1d100 gather.

Evasion: –2 (Evasive).
Melee: 2d6.

Harm: Injured as a human.

The Fox

It is possible to tell if a man is really a Fox. It's the way they smirk at nearly any joke, try as they might to repress the laughter. Travel with one, and you'll find it eats no fruits or vegetables.

It is told that a husband once got wind his wife had been seen with another man and, in a drunken rage, beat her to death with his own right hand. Not an hour later he spied his own wife—alive again—devouring her own body. He knew then it was a Fox and he hung himself.

Another Fox arrived and the pair took the place of the couple. When their son returned from war not even he could tell the difference. Only that they were more joyful, more playful, and more in love.

Evasion: -4 (Remarkably swift).
Melee: 2d6.

Harm: Injured as a human.

The Wolves

Their howls echo down through vales, ring around trees, and fill the sky; a single Wolf sounds like 1d6 Wolves. Shadows are their home, to them sight is a matter of blood; darkness swirls round red-manged paws, ebbs and flows, to swallow up humans caught away from the safety of the light.

They appear in groups of 2d6.

Evasion: –2 (Evasive).
Melee: 2d8. Once they’ve clamped down their jaw they do not let go—each subsequent round they shake and tear at the wound, causing further injury.

Harm: Injured as a human.