Name: Hecate
Alias/Nicknames: N/A
Race: Wraith (intangibility, weak telekinesis, flight, vulnerable to magic and magic weapons, advantageous to physical weapons and attacks)
Gender: ♀
Background: Hecate was spawned from negative emotions of man and monster alike during a plague in a nearby town, and given form. She has been drifting around the Everdark for years. She got along well enough with the other monsters, as she didn't really take up room or resources. However, she did grow a love for cooking, despite not being able to eat herself, she'd often cook for her friends. During the attack, she made herself scarce, using her intangibility to avoid the adventurers. She was afraid and could feel the fear and anger in the halls as many people she once called friend met a grisly end.
Personality: Hecate is timid, and one would assume that the negative emotion she spawned from were mostly fear and sadness. She is soft-spoken, and her expression is usually one of sadness, however she has been seen smiling and enjoying herself too. She has a deep hatred for humans and the other races that thought to raid her home, though she had a distaste with them to begin with. She has a deep hidden anger within her as well, that's just waiting to burst. She is also vastly susceptible to magic and magic weapons, though normal weaponry passes right through her.
Appearance: Hecate has the face of a young woman, her face rounded and her eyes an eerie platinum white, just a shade brighter than the rest of herself, which is an ethereal and transparent white. She has long hair that wisps around in the air, the same platinum white as her eyes. She is covered by what appears to be tattered shrouds that hang down to her ankles. She has an eerie beauty to her that's equal parts alluring and repulsive.

Skills:
Combat Skill: Icy wind (A gust of freezing, bitter wind. Flurries and small shards of ice are present in the wind and can graze those she aims it at.
Non-Combat Skill: Cooking

Possessions: N/A

Name: The Spore that Speaks
Alias/Nickname: Swamp grass, salad, Spore, Shroom
Race: Myconid (Telekinesis through spores, vulnerable to fire, advantageous with wind as it spreads spores)
Gender: None
Background: No one really knows how The Spore that Speaks came to be. Some theorized that a gap in the dungeon walls caused fresh air to carry pollen which was given life by some mysterious powers. Others say that it was a druid’s spell gone wrong. The real reason though was more grounded. The Spore that Speaks was born out of necessity. There were a large amount of rotting bodies that once littered the dungeon. They were created to clean the mess and where corpses once stood now held colonies of fungi.
Personality: The Spore that Speaks is quite a timid creature, preferring to hide and run rather than fight. This is why most of their abilities are ones that incapacitate not kill. They leave the dirty work to the other creatures that prowl the dungeon’s halls and take care of what's left
Appearance:


Skills:
Combat skill: Paralyzing dust (They release golden clouds of dust that, upon inhalation, cause paralysis within a minute. The effect refreshes for as long as the target remains in the cloud)
Non-combat skill: Gardening

Possessions: A long withered staff overgrown with mushrooms that doubles as a walking stick and weapon.

Name: Vinashy
Alias/Nicknames: Bloodborne
Race: Bloodmage (minor vampire) (for now)
Gender: ♂
Background: He came to the dungeon in search of new hunting grounds to stave off his endless thirst for living blood. He hates holy magic with a passion, always attacking them first, often without thinking. If he goes too long without feeding, it can send him into a blood frenzy where he attempts to attack and drain anything nearby. The other monster living in the dungeon are sorted into three categories in his mind: magical, powerful, and prey.
Personality: Hungry, cruel to trespassers. An ally to the other in the dungeon, unless you betray them. Then you're worse then dead.
Appearance:

Name: Dylirius
Alias/Nicknames: "Shrooms", "The Bewitcher", "The Monster Medic"
Race: Lesser Demon (Intelligent, multilingual, darkvision, able to cast illusions on self, below average strength, most vulnerable to holy and light magic.)
Gender: ♂ Male
Background:
The disguised creature had an infamous history, before he sought refuge in the Everdark. Pretending to be a friendly catfolk adventurer and medicine man, with a spiritual duty to help heal the wounded, or cure those blighted with curses for free. Only to further infect and corrupt his usually desperate and afflicted victims. Nicknamed ‘The Bewitcher’ for his black cat disguise, and inclination toward using addictive and mind-altering substances in his potions.

Rumored that his motivations against humanity were vengeful in nature. Because he was once summoned to serve as a Drow alchemist’s assistant. But the Master that he grew fond of, was slain for heresy and practicing necromancy. So he used everything that was taught to become an established threat. Causing Dylirius to be a wanted menace that would surely be hunted down—if he hadn’t gone into hiding. Even though you’d never hear it from him. Since his past mattered little to the monsters that he allied himself with. Now spending his time as a genuine medic, to benefit or aid those dwelling in the dungeon’s depths.

Personality:
Whether by chance, or by training. It made sense that his path in life was unique. Since Dylirius was much more curious and creative than many of his fiendish brethren. With enough friendly charisma, to persuade even the most skeptical into believing in his helpful nature. Despite his innate demonic desires to lie and serve himself first. Though fortunately for his allies, letting him test and practice his cures on willing subjects, benefitted them too. For ‘The Monster Medic’, was quite useful for rebuilding a monstrous society.

Known and often seen munching down on his favorite snack; mushrooms. Or gnawing on other toxic plants, since he was adamant that it built up immunity to his own twisted concoctions. But he was still reserved about his past, and very vindictive to humans and those who spoke ill of him. So best keep your comments about his sleep talking to yourself.

Appearance:
Lesser demons are usually disguised as other races or animals that aren’t persecuted by clerics and paladins alike. Often copying the looks of the first living thing that they see, or transforming into whatever their summoner choses.

Combat Skill:
Nimble Agility
Lesser demons rely on avoiding direct combat whenever possible. Therefore, his quick-witted tactics to dodge attacks and flee from his opponent, was a necessity for survival. Plus, it helped convince others of his cat-like appearance.

Non-Combat Skill:
Magical Herbalism
Able to use his limited mana to create desired ingredients through an alchemist’s ‘equivalent exchange’. Transmuting objects into various herbs that may be rarer or difficult to find otherwise.

Possessions:
A fire-resistant satchel, containing a hardcover herbalist book filled with personal notes, various spells, and blank pages. Plus four empty corked potion bottles.

Name: Zarroy (Pronounced Zarr oi)

Alias/Nicknames: He's often referred to as Gentle by friends. Monsters/humans who get annoyed with him call him Scatterbrained or retard

Race: Onyx golem. (Physically very strong, but rather slow. Top speed is best described as lumbering. Hard to damage physically, Has no defense against most magic other then fire magic)

Gender: None, but due to his masculine body Male is generally inferred

Background: Zarroy just appeared in Everdark one day. Very confused and rather destructive. It took a team of monsters to finally calm the confused golem down. It was discovered that the golem seemed to have a mind sickness curse upon him. This curse has caused Zarroy to mentally be about as smart as a four year old human child. A extremely strong curse that even the best magic users could do nothing to lift or even alleviate. Once it was discovered that Zarroy was docile he was given jobs around Everdark usually lifting things and holding up walls. Very little is known about Zarroy because his mind is childlike due to the curse upon him. He often speaks of a door and a little gnome with a pointy hat.

When the adventurers came Zarroy actually helped in the defense ensuring many of the weaker denizens survived at the cost of nearly being completely smashed into dust. It was only after several weeks that his remains were visited and was discovered fully intact watching water drip from the ceiling into a puddle.

Personality: Zarroy is easily entertained and often has to be watched if given a more complicated task. He is easily distractible much to the chagrin of those around him. He loves shiny objects and flames. Zarroy has a fear of deep water and sudden noises and scares. Much like a small child trapped in a giant golems body. He often does not remember his own strength, so it has caused him to destroy many things he'd rather not have destroyed.

Appearance: Minus the sword. 7'9 feet tall


Skills:
Combat Skill: His strength aside Zarroy has this uncanny ability to create this enormous amount of feedback when he yells that is capable of rupturing eardrums on humans but its a double sided sword because it does not know friend from foe.

Non-Combat Skill: There is some irony in the fact that this rock golem makes for an excellent miner and really seems to enjoy the work as long as you watch him and make sure he's not mining into a wooden post again.

Possessions: Zarroy carries nothing on him because chances are he would set it down randomly and never find it again.

Name: Yvaine Arioch
Alias/Nicknames: Her?
Race: Dark Elf (Darkvison)
Gender: ♀
Background: The twelfth daughter of a Dark Elf noblewoman and considered a thoroughly useless child by her mother and siblings. However, several assassination attempts by her siblings have proven that she has an uncanny ability to survive life threatening situations and, seeking to turn this into prestige for her family, pressured the girl into signing up for Cry Wolf dungeon defense corp. The Cry Wolves are part of a deal struck with the dungeon boss, where Dark Elven soldiers would be provided to guard the dungeon in a show of cooperation between the Everdark and the Dark Elf settlement. Unofficially, it was where you sent the kids you didn't need to earn the house some glory and then hopefully die to a band of adventurers.

Yvain, unfortunately, beat the odds again when she was knocked unconscious during this latest and most successful of invasions. When she awoke she found herself to be the only Cry Wolf left alive. She is obliged, then, to remain at her post in the Evardark and maintain a Dark Elven presence in the dungeon until some fresh young recruits could be sent to reinforce her, which her mother has assured her are coming "soon" and that they are "definitely working on it."

Personality: "By the book," is the way that Yvain leads her life, though that's mostly a crutch. So long as she follows the rules to the letter people might not cotton on to her not having any real idea what she's doing. She fluctuates between trying to put on a good face and maintaining the quiet dignity expected of an elf and jumping at shadows due to the paranoia beaten into her by her siblings attempts on her life.

Appearance:

Skills:

• Combat Skill: Weapon Focus: Scimitar
• Non-Combat Skill: Trap Making - In addition to their guard duties the Cry Wolves where also expected to create and maintain the traps in their area of the dungeon.

Possessions: Standard Issue Scimitar, Standard Issue Bullwhip, Standard Issue Armor, Standard Issue Bola (3)

Name: Mortimer Costello
Alias/Nicknames: Mort, Bone Head, Bones.
Race: Awakened Undead (Sapient, Ageless, Bloodless, Sleepless, Does not need sustenance nor breath, Dark Vision, Can assemble and disassemble self at will)
Gender: Male
Background:
If you were to believe what this dusty pile of bug-infested bones has told, he claims to be a victim of a botched lichification experiment performed unto him by a twisted and demented mentor he can't ever name for the unlife of him. Claiming that before and after that memory, every thing else just becomes a blur. It could have been hours or days...maybe even decades later he found himself, dead but not completely dead, in one of the many dank and dreary rooms of the Everdark. Ever since that day Mort has been living in the dungeon. Knowing that his life on the surface was over, he made the most of things here with his new community. During his time in the dungeon, Mort discovered that he had gained the magical ability to manipulate any number of insects within a limited area. Useful for what was to come to the Everdark.

During the defense of his new home, he was nearly slain a second time had it not been a stroke of fate that his would be killer mistook Mortimer collapsing into a pile of bones his death. When he came to, his home was wrecked and a number of his friends were slain. On that day Mortimer swore undying vengeance against those adventurers...but his immediate concern was to locate the surviving members of his community and rebuild.

Personality: You can describe Mort to be a social chameleon; doing what he can to not be an outlier in any given group he wishes to be a part of. But he is a believer of the rule of reciprocity where respect begets respect and rudeness begets rudeness. He likes to collect peculiar objects he finds throughout the dungeon and the very rare times outside of the dungeon, peaceful walks throughout the halls of the Everdark, and the insects that inhabit his skeleton. He dislikes few things but he absolutely abhors Adventurers.

Appearance: Image as above but with two motes of blue flame floating in his eye sockets acting as his pupils.

Skills:

• Combat Skill: Insect Swarm [Summon a swarm of venomous insects to fight for you]
• Non-Combat Skill: Hoard of Stuff [A hoard of items that may or may not be useful.]

Possessions:

• Tattered Suit and Crested Hat
• Pocket Sand

Name: (Yet unnamed)
Alias/Nicknames:
Race: An amorphic living blade.
Talks telepathically to its wielder.
Has an eye but its keen senses extend beyond physicality.
Gender: ♂ tone
Background: Long long ago a powerful warrior’s soul entwined with his magical blade instead of passing over to the unknown. Eons passed, or maybe not, while the lost soul learned to harness the power of the blade and his own.
Personality: Talkative for an object, curious, bossy on occasion. It has a short attention span.

Skills:
Combat Skill: Combat foresight
The blade, if well connected to its wielder, can offer foresight and insight during battle. A mix of magic, keen senses and eons of experience.
Non-Combat Skill: Can alter its shape within limitations

Possessions: 3 grand gems in his hilt.

Name: Ẽ̵̪̾͊̒R̵̨͓̈́Ŗ̷̩͈̄̌͘.̶̣̒͜Ḋ̵̬͖̖͚̕A̶̖͓͉͛͝T̸̬̕̚A̵̖̱͛̾̿̚͜N̴̨̨͈̞̐̑Ö̸̗́͊̌T̴̼̑F̷̡͚̮̦̏̊̈Ȯ̵͉͇̮̐Ǔ̷̧͎̠́̅ͅN̷̩̘̅̆͜D̶̜̳͕͐

Alias/Nicknames: 'Scraps'

Race: Lesser Arcane Construct/Automaton (Does not eat, sleep, bleed or breathe. Body composed entirely of nonliving material. Can incorporate any nonliving material to replace missing or damaged parts. Has a single vital bodily component known as it's 'core' which is a glowing crystal sphere wrapped in protective iron bands that it keeps well-hidden inside it's body.

Gender: None (But will definitely be Male later on)

Background: Once the passion project of an Ancient Lich that made an entire wing of Everdark his home, the initial purpose of Scraps' existence had all but been lost during the last raid-- it's history left buried with the remains of it's creator's sanctum under tons of collapsed stone. It's core heavily damaged and with it's memory in shambles, [UNIT 00] clawed it's way out of the rubble that remained of it's creator's wing-- repairing it's crumbling body with whatever compatible material it could find... Thus began the automaton's journey; a shadow of what it had been intended to be, endlessly searching for purpose within the labyrinthine caverns of Everdark.

Personality: Scraps, or [UNIT 00] (as it refers to itself) is an intensely curious thing; ever searching for more information, ever watching of Everdark's inhabitants, ever learning. Though Scraps may not have what most might call a true personality (yet), the little machine is known for wandering the halls of Everdark aimlessly, often following passers-by just to watch what they might do-- and later emulate behaviors it finds beneficial.



Skills:
Combat Skill: [Reinforcement Subroutine] (In sticky situations Scraps can use magic to temporarily strengthen the durability of it's bodily components
Non-Combat Skill: [Self-Repair Protocol]

Possessions: N̸U̵L̶L̷

Name: Sha'yirr
Alias/Nicknames: Her brother calls her Sha-sha, but outside the family, none really. :P
Race: Chimera cat - Underdark subspecies. Build is something between a saber-toothed cave lion and a snow leopard. Extra thick coat, mostly white with leopard markings in faint blue-gray. The two goat-like horns on the crown of the head are rather small for this subspecies, even more so in females. Digits on front paws are dexterous enough to be used like raccoon hands while the ankles on the rear legs are easily twistable to aid in climbing tough terrain. Tail is thickly furred and nearly doubles the length of this cat. Eyes are something between light blue and purple with keen infrared dark vision afforded to most apex preditors living in the dark bowels of the Everdark. Unlike aboveground variations of the Chimera cat, this one's large claws do actually retract. Also, like the snow leopard, the pads of the feet are densely furred for added silencing of foot steps and aid in crossing drifts of pillowy sediments other creatures might sink in. While this species is sentient and can speak, its wild form is a constant. Also unlike above-ground chimera cats, this one lacks the venomous barb in the tail tip. It is, however, still toxic for most creatures to consume.

This concept art is of a male of the species. Sha'yirr has short nub horns and is slightly leaner in build.


Gender: ♂ or ♀. Female
Background: Sha'yirr is the younger of only two cubs surviving to adulthood in her mother's short life. Her mother trained her well in their mother-to-child herbalist druidry culture. In lean times, she occasionally trades remedies for food with the few Everdark folks she trusts. Otherwise, she has followed her mother's example in leading a highly secluded life for the most part. Her elder brother, Caerntak, lives closer to the surface, but occasionally makes the trek down to check on her and swap information on events and sightings of note in the Everdark. He was the one who sent warning to her of the party of outsiders, instructing her to hide until the immediate danger had passed. He has since trekked to the the surface on a fated journey of his own, leaving her to fend for herself in the aftermath of the raid.

Personality: Highly wary of others and normally anti-social, she is one of few words. Though, even when she does speak, she does so as one
dealing with a bit of a language barrier as her kind are normally rarely ever seen by others. While she is willing to trade her herbal remedies with others that have earned her trust and respect, she abhors mind games and will normally drop all association with an individual who dares to strait out lie to her. She respects those with skill in hunting and defense.
Appearance: A picture of your character or a written description of what your character looks like, whichever suits you best.

Skills:
Combat Skill: Crushing Bite
Non-Combat Skill: Advanced Climber

Possessions: Has a shoulder tote made by a dark dwarf that holds ready-use medicines for use or trade. She normally stows it with her tools in her hidden den or in other stash spots when out actively hunting.

Name:
Slot

Race:
Magic Slime, a species of slime that has absorbed enough mana as to gain sentience. Slimes require to absorb things constantly, and most of their abilities are dependent on having absorbed enough nutrients/energy; a slime grows bigger the more it has absorbed, and absorbing certain things in enough quantities can cause the slime itself to change in various ways. Slimes are 99% water, so they're extremely malleable — their bodies can be made softer or harder at will, and will change shape to reach difficult places in search of things to absorb. Slimes reproduce asexually through binary fission, and are biologically immortal.

Gender:
All slimes are genderless.

Background:
The creatures known as 'slimes' possess bodies which are 99% water, and most are believed to behave in an instinctual manner, just floating in the water or sliding in the grass consuming whatever comes their way and dissolving in inside their bodies for nutrients. But sometimes, through mere chance, a slime can absorb a high amount of mana, and transform into a magic slime, an evolved form of slime which has developed sentience.

How is it that Slot absorbed enough mana is unknown, though this happened sometime around when the adventurers came into the dungeon. Perhaps it was a magic potion that the adventurers left behind, or it could have been the mana remnants from their spells.

Personality:
Slot has developed a curious and friendly personality since it evolved into a Magic Slime.

Appearance:


Skills:

Non-Combat:

Combat:
Slime Shot: Slot can sacrifice a bit of its water-mass to fire as a high speed bullet. Because it is a magic slimes, the bullet's strength and speed is heightened by mana.