Complete Guide to Poltergeists - For Roleplaying Games

There are many who wonder why I spend most of the warmer months of the year living in one of the towers of Candlekeep, even though I have a rather impressive lair of my own, located off the coast near Mintarn island, the Highhand spire is strictly off limits and contains artifacts and knowledge forbidden and incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands. I like to catch up with friends of mine from across the Realms in a location known by one and all for many decades, so, you could say, I have an office at Candlekeep, and also, that is where a thriving colony of Pseudodragons live and I have been studying their social dynamics for quite some time, so, I miss them when I am away. Another reason is that Candlekeep is a lot more interesting and dangerous than many people know, particularly the lower levels and the catacombs where the most dangerous books are locked away, often rattling at the chains that keep them secured to the shelves. Wizards who animate spellbooks to float or flutter around them or come to them when called, I really wish they wouldn't do that, or it was not such a fashionable trend in places like Halruaa, because the enchantment invariably goes a bit rogue and those heavy spellbooks pack quite a bite.

It was a couple of years ago when a large number of powerful spellbooks got loose and we had a devil of a time rounding them up, thanks to the culprit responsible for their escape in the first place.

Today, I thought I would collect my notes and relate all I know about the Poltergeist,  so grab yourself a tasty beverage, and settle back, it's time to get deeply nerdy.

The term "poltergeist" derives from the German words "poltern" (to make noise) and "geist" (spirit), literally translating to "noisy ghost." As early as 94 A.D., historians like Flavius Josephus noted exorcisms involving unusual phenomena that could be attributed to such disruptive forces. The classic description of a poltergeist involves the manifestation of a spirit capable of producing loud noises, physical disturbances such as moving or levitating objects, and even interacting physically through pinches and slaps.

In German folklore, poltergeists have been primarily associated with mischief rather than outright malice. They are often seen as agents of chaos, causing unexplained noises, flickering lights, and objects being displaced. Some traditional narratives even link poltergeist activity to communal and familial crises, with disturbances sometimes correlated with the presence of emotionally charged individuals, particularly troubled adolescents and primarily young women by most accounts.

The standard investigative practice would be to take any young people away from an area reporting such activity, if there are no further incidents while the youngsters are elsewhere, then it's a pretty easy solution to the problem.

Written accounts of poltergeists may go back to the late sixth century, there is definitely one from 856AD in Bingen, Germany, in latin it refers to stones coming from no visible source, falling from nowhere, furniture moving, and loud noises, and there are well-known accounts from the Drummer of Tedworth in 1681 to the Bell Witch of 1817, all of which share very similar descriptions of observed events. Across the globe, in Japan, entities like the Ikiryō are believed to be manifestations of a living individual’s disturbed spirit and you could say the mythologies from Mesopotamian to Egyptian empires have elements of object-centric hauntings or vengeful ancestral spirits that share characteristics with the modern poltergeist.

But of course, we are here to discuss fantasy roleplaying. In that regard the Poltergeist arrived in the pages of the original Fiend Folio published in 1981, clearly drawing on traditional folklore it is usually a location-locked haunting undead spirit, naturally invisible and intangible, it can still be harmed by silver or enchanted weapons, and spraying holy water around the area or confidently brandishing your holy symbol will drive it back, but doesn't harm it.

The poltergeist, as described, is a being who died in that specific location and is most potent when within that area, but it can roam around, just in a weaker state. It attacks by hurling an object no heavier than a normal person could easily throw. When the object strikes a living being, they must deal with a sudden and irrational, supernatural fear effect. If they fail to resist it, they sprint off in a random direction and have a good chance of dropping what they are carrying somewhere along the way. Once they recover from the effect, they don't need to worry about it again, so it's a one-trick pony as far as actual combat is concerned. Or is it?

Now, this is where I put all sorts of evil ideas into your head, so grab yourself a tasty beverage. Its time to get deeply nerdy.

An important part of poltergeist folklore, which we see in many movies, is that adolescents and their strong emotions tend to feed the poltergeist, which becomes like a magnet for other spirit entities and sometimes something worse. So here are some ideas on how this aspect can really enhance what is otherwise a bit of a simplistic undead spirit.

Picture this: your adventuring party steps into a shadowed ruin, a dungeon carved into the earth, or a forgotten keep swallowed by time. The air feels wrong—heavy, restless—and then it starts. A candlestick flies from a corner, a brick tumbles from a wall, and a disembodied cackle echoes through the stones. You’ve stumbled into the domain of a poltergeist, a spirit of spite and chaos, ready to turn your exploration into a nightmare. Let’s explore how these encounters unfold, first as a standalone terror, then as a storm unleashed by a troubled teen’s emotional energy.

Imagine a crypt, its air thick with dust and the faint stink of decay. Coffins lie cracked open, bones scattered like forgotten toys. The poltergeist is here, a flickering malice born from some long-dead soul’s rage. It starts small—picking up a femur and hurling it at the fighter’s head, forcing a quick dodge. A rusted candelabra sails from a shadowed niche, clattering against the wall as the cleric ducks. The spirit’s invisible, intangible, slipping into a stone sarcophagus when the rogue draws a silver dagger. You can’t hit it while it’s hiding, but you hear its giggle echoing from within.  

The real fight kicks off in its death zone—a darkened alcove where a shattered skull rests, the spot where it met its end. Here, it’s stronger, angrier. It slams the sarcophagus lid shut, trapping the barbarian’s arm unless they wrench it free with raw strength. Turning it with a cleric’s prayer feels like shouting into a storm—its resistance is fierce. But wave a holy symbol, and it recoils, forced out into the wider crypt. There, it’s weaker, tossing pebbles and broken pottery, a petulant child losing its temper. A well-aimed strike with an enchanted blade or a silver arrow can end it—if you can pin it down.  

Now, add a teen girl to this crypt, a runaway hiding among the tombs, her eyes wide with anxiety from a life of running. The poltergeist latches onto her fear like a leech, and the encounter explodes. That femur? It’s replaced by a jagged tombstone slab, crashing down with bone-shattering force. Illusions flicker to life—spectral hands clawing from graves, forcing the wizard to steel their mind or flee in terror. Her distress pulses through the spirit, drawing a ghoul from a side tunnel, its claws scraping stone as it hungers for her warmth. Calm her with gentle words, and the poltergeist’s power fades—back to small bones and weak shoves. But startle her, and the crypt erupts: coffins burst open, a whirlwind of bones and dust fills the air, and you’re scrambling to shield yourself from the chaos.

Shift the scene to a bandit-ravaged tower, its walls pocked with arrow scars, its upper floors sagging under rot. The poltergeist here is a remnant of some cutthroat’s last stand, and it’s got a knack for improvisation. A splintered plank flies from a broken stair, aimed at the paladin’s legs. A dented helmet spins through the air, clanging off the ranger’s shield. The spirit ducks into a crumbling fireplace or a wall crack, popping out to lob a smoldering torch—duck, or you’re singed. Its death zone is a bloodstained lookout post at the tower’s peak. There, it grabs a loose beam and swings it like a club, daring you to stand your ground. Clerics find their turning prayers falter against its defiance, but a holy symbol drives it down to the lower floors, where it weakly flings shingles and curses.  

Silver or enchanted steel can finish it, but it’s slippery—always one step ahead, cackling as it retreats. Then comes the escalation: a teen girl, cast out for her wild temper, squats in the tower’s shadows. Her rage fuels the poltergeist, turning that plank into a barrage of knives and bricks, a deadly storm raining down. Her shouted curses echo through the stones, a deafening roar that leaves your ears ringing. Her turmoil ripples outward, summoning a possessing spirit that slips into the rogue’s mind, forcing a struggle for control. Soothe her, and the poltergeist’s fury dims—back to tossing sticks. Enrage her, and the tower itself rebels: stones tumble from the ceiling, the walls groan, and you’re dodging debris just to stay alive.

Now picture a village lost to fire and time, its huts charred husks, its well choked with ash. The poltergeist here is a vengeful echo of some villager’s demise, and it’s got the whole place as its playground. A cracked pot sails from a doorway, a broken chair crashes against the fighter’s armor, and a rusted scythe spins toward the bard—dodge or bleed. It slips into a burned beam or dives down the well, emerging to strike from behind. Its death zone is a collapsed barn, where it hurls a pitchfork with lethal intent and shrugs off holy rebukes. Push it out with a symbol, and it skulks to the village edge, weakly tossing twigs or slamming shutters in a tantrum.  

A silver blade or enchanted arrow can banish it, but it’s relentless—always circling back for one more shot. Then imagine a teen girl, a survivor of the village’s fall, wandering the ruins with grief in her eyes. The poltergeist feeds on her sorrow, and the air grows heavy. That pot becomes a cartwheel, smashing through the party with crushing force. Illusions of burning homes and fleeing figures flicker around you, clawing at your resolve. Her pain calls to roaming ghosts, their wails blocking your path as they echo her memories. Comfort her, and the spirit weakens—its throws falter, its illusions fade. Startle her, and a spectral villager rises, lashing out with cold hands before dissolving into the night.

Dive into a dungeon half-submerged, water lapping at your boots, moss slick on the walls. The poltergeist here is tied to some drowned prisoner’s wrath, and it’s got a cruel streak. Slimy rocks splash from a cell, a rusted key arcs toward the cleric’s head. It hides in a flooded statue or the dripping ceiling, splashing water to mask its next move. Its death zone is a sunken shrine—a corroded chalice marks its anchor. There, it hurls a loose altar stone, daring you to wade closer, and resists turning with stubborn fury. Holy symbols force it into the wider dungeon, where it flickers weakly, flicking algae or small fish.  

Strike it with silver or magic, and it’s done—but it’s a slippery bastard, always retreating to regroup. Now add a teen girl, trapped by a cave-in, her suppressed anger simmering beneath the surface. The poltergeist drinks it in, and the dungeon turns hostile. That rock becomes a cell door, torn free and flung with brutal force. Illusions of rising water or drowning screams fill your mind, testing your nerve. Her fury summons a wraith from the depths, its hollow eyes locked on her life force. Ease her tension, and the spirit’s power ebbs—back to petty splashes. Push her too far, and the dungeon floods: water surges, sweeping you into walls unless you brace yourself fast.

Finally, step into a keep abandoned by its lords, its hall strewn with looted relics—goblets, tapestries, a dented shield. The poltergeist, a jilted servant’s shade, rules this ruin. It hurls a goblet at the wizard, flings a tapestry to entangle the rogue. It slips into a cracked throne or a wall sconce, striking from above with a shield’s edge. Its death zone is the throne room, where it grabs a table leg and swings hard, defying clerics’ prayers. Drive it out with a holy symbol, and it weakens—tossing dust or candle stubs in a sulky fit.  

Silver or enchantment can end it, but it’s a persistent pest, always lurking for one last jab. Then comes the teen girl, left behind by fleeing nobles, her despair a banquet for the spirit. It hurls a marble bust now, smashing with devastating weight. Illusions of mocking courtiers or her own weeping reflection taunt you, binding your will. Her anguish cracks the floor, summoning ghouls from the crypt below. Calm her, and the poltergeist falters—its throws lighten, its tricks fade. Enrage her, and the keep trembles: walls split, furniture spins in a deadly dance, and you’re fighting just to stand.

Without the teen, the poltergeist is a cunning, chaotic foe—mobile, spiteful, and tied to its surroundings. It uses the environment as a weapon, ducks silver and enchanted blows, and dares you to storm its death zone or chase it down. Add the teen, and it’s a force of nature—her emotions turn it into a telekinetic storm, weaving illusions and calling undead to the fray. The party’s not just fighting a ghost anymore; they’re wrestling with her pain, balancing combat with compassion—or facing the consequences of pushing her over the edge.  

OK, I think you get the general idea, and with that, my name is AJ Pickett, thanks for joining me and as always, I will be back with more for you, very soon.

Giant Velvet Worm - Monster Ecology - Fantasy Roleplay

From the journal of Nesia Belan, Avowed of Candlekeep, 1345 of the Dale Reckoning, his last entry.

"I write this by the flickering light of a guttering torch, deep within the fungal caverns of the Underdark on the outskirts of old dwarven tunnels far below the surface city of Velen, on the larger peninsula forming the extensive coast of the land of Tethyr. The air reeks of damp rot and iron-rich slime. My guide, a deep gnome named Krix, insisted we turn back. ‘The Silent Ones are hunting,’ he whispered, his voice trembling. I pressed onward for but a moment, and that was when I saw it—a sinuous shadow rippling across the ceiling, twenty feet of velveteen flesh glowing faintly blue. Its dozens of legs moved in perfect silence. Twin jets of slime arced suddenly through the dark. Krix screamed. The last thing I saw of him was his body, cocooned in shimmering mucus his gray face, eyes wide, struggling for air and life, as the creature’s hooked mandibles unfolded like a grotesque flower and it methodically slurped him up from the floor and to his doom. Without a guide and the way back now flooded, I have no choice but to press on; I know not where to go or how I will ever see the sun again, but I have faith that the dwarves carved these ancient passages for a reason, and they must lead somewhere." 

I have a fair idea of where Nesia was at that time, and he was likely headed beneath Firedrake Bay and a region of dangerous volcanism, toxic gases, rivers of lava, dense and exotic fungus jungles, right into the territory of the Giant Velvet Worms and things much worse. I have seen a specimen of one of these monsters in a laboratory in Halruaa, taken from the lethal jungles of the southwest that make it nearly impossible to reach Chult by land, the one Nesia describes was probably a smaller male, or a species I have not seen before, or, I've never been in a situation where I could observe any glowing blue effect, so perhaps it was just some of the strange energy known to flow through the deep lands. I'm no stranger to trekking through tropical jungles, they are very hot and very wet and seem determined to consume you bit by bit, every day, every night, the cacophony of life on all sides screams out, as hunters become the hunted, and life sustains itself, as always, on a constant diet of death.

Today, we shall learn all there is to know about the Giant Velvet Worm, so grab yourself a tasty beverage, it's time to get deeply nerdy.

While I have seen a version of this monster for the Pathfinder Roleplaying game, it's not one you would have seen before, the velvet worm is a real creature, found in many places around the world, they favor dank and dark environments, actively roaming around, hunting for spiders and other prey, they are an incredibly ancient species, closely related to worms and the first primitive insects, they look like a cross between a worm and a caterpillar with a soft and lumpy looking skin and two very mobile and sensitive antenna that feel around contracting and extending as they feel around themselves constantly.

Velvet worms are not particularly intelligent creatures, but they are relentless and efficient predators; however, they are pretty primitive and they rely mainly on the senses of motion and smell to navigate and often identify prey by extending their antenna feelers and gently touching a creature, before they unleash a jet of thick slime to snare it, usually sort of gluing they prey to the spot and simply closing in to wrap around it and eat it while it's still alive.

In some areas of Faerûn, these creatures may have developed particular relationships with the land. In the Underdark, where the environment is dark, damp, and full of life, velvet worms have evolved to hunt more sophisticated prey—like the various spiders, giant centipedes, or even small subterranean mammals that dwell in the deep. Their presence could be a sign of the quality of the underground ecosystem and might influence the growth of fungi or mosses that feed on the remains of their prey.

In the jungles of Chult, for instance, a hazardous species of velvet worm could coexist with the many other deadly creatures in the region. These creatures might even be seen as challenging local civilizations or adventurers who attempt to navigate the jungle’s labyrinthine paths. Local tribes or factions may have rituals or protections to prevent encounters with these deadly predators, or they may have even domesticated the worms in a certain way, using them for their purposes.

But I'm getting ahead of myself; let's take a closer look at the biology before we delve further into their ecology.

With their long, segmented body covered in velvety hair-like structures, they come in a variety of colors, with some having lighter patterns just behind their head, easily distinguished by the long prehensile feelers sprouting from it, right at the base of those are two tiny eyes its easy to miss, and the mouth is usually just a simple gap, not very interesting when it's not in the process of feeding. Their body is typically 6 to 12 feet long, but they will eventually reach up to 24 feet in length and a few feet wide; they are heavier than they look with a very fluid and flexible internal structure, as they don't have any sort of skeleton, even at just 14 feet long they weigh around 900 pounds and their 15-20 stubby, non-jointed legs end in chitinous, hook-like claws, so they are quite capable of grappling and pinning a humanoid, even if they move relatively slowly compared to something like a giant centipede. The first stubby pair of projections beneath the feelers are the nozzles that spray out a large quantity of their infamous sticky slime, and the stuff is not just very sticky, capable of immobilizing a humanoid, it also has digestive enzymes in it that can burn and even, over time, dissolve stone, corrode metal and break down pretty much any organic material. Internally, they are very primitive organisms, on Earth they have existed since the first creatures crawled out of the oceans and in fantasy worlds, they have remained and thrived in isolated spots, like the thick jungles of Maztika and the fungus forests of the Underdark, the great and dangerous southern jungles of Faerun and even the heart of the most ancient forests have their own unique subspecies with a slightly better sense of vision than their underground cousins, who can really only distinguish between light and dark, not any details. 

On other worlds, they exist wherever the feywild, arborea, or other lush dimensions cross over into the mortal plane, and some have been deliberately introduced to control populations of giant spiders, as the Velvet Worms' hydrophobic skin is also quite resistant to getting snared by sticky spiderweb and their primitive internal chemistry, segmented circulatory system with hearts pumping as long as they keep their stubby legs moving is very robust and can withstand most forms of venom. Most spiders will flee their webs and lairs, leaving the Velvet worms free to consume their nutrient-rich egg sacks.

The reproduction of Velvet worms is interesting, they produce eggs but gestate them internally for a long time, at least 7 months and give birth to live, fully formed young that are already several feet long and stay with the parent for a while, riding around on them. While normally solitary predators, constantly on the prowl for prey, they are also known to congregate as groups dominated by a larger female, this may be a sort of harem or pack, but its not really fully understood why they do it, other than there being less competition in a stable and lush environment, like a fungal forest rich in vermin life that allows them to hunt and feed together, combining forces for mutual defence when required. As they don't eat fungus, they are sometimes raised and kept by Myconids, who treat them like pack beasts and protectors, but, as with many other races, the fungus folk also make use of them for many alchemical recipes. Its in this protected sort of situation where you can find the oldest and largest of their kind, with some living for several decades and growing up to 30 feet in length, massing several tons.

The body of the Giant Velvet Worm is a treasure trove for alchemists, artificers, and mystics alike. Each part of the creature offers unique properties that, when harvested correctly, can be transformed into potent reagents or magical items. 

The quick-hardening glue secreted from its oral papillae is prized as an ingredient in crafting waterproof adhesives, trap mechanisms, and even magical binding agents. Master alchemists have been known to incorporate this slime into potions of entanglement, enhancing their capacity to immobilize foes, such as enhanced versions of the Tanglefoot Bag.

The luxurious yet durable skin, when tanned with enchanted reagents, produces a material known as "velvethide." This is used in the crafting of armor and pouches that provide natural resistance to moisture and minor magical effects. It's also highly prized by Drow elves and Illithids for the tailored, flowing robes and coats they sometimes wear, which keep them free of mud, strands of web and so forth, its also quite plush, and not too thick, as its very warm deep underground and heavier leathers can be uncomfortable and prone to deterioration due to all the fungus and rot down there.

The potent enzymes injected during feeding are capable of liquefying even the toughest tissues. When isolated, they form the basis of acid-based components used in creating corrosive potions or in disintegrating barriers in alchemical experiments.

The chemical compounds present in the creature’s antennae are used to synthesize tinctures that enhance sensory perception temporarily, effectively granting the drinker tremorsense for brief periods, but overuse can result in damage to the nervous system, ironically causing tremors in the hands and facial ticks from nerve damage.

The chitinous material from its jaw elements and the claws on the ends of the legs can be fashioned into all sorts of things by the clever artisans of both deep caverns and dense jungles, the various species of amphibian folk prize such items as they never corrode in moisture and can be polished and carved like scrimshaw.

In certain regions of the Underdark and Feywild, it has been observed that bioluminescent fungi colonize the dorsal ridges of these worms, the glowing patterns provide camouflage and entice prey without causing any harm to the worms.

Specialized mites and beetles often scuttle around after the worms, feeding on stale and hardened slime and the few scraps the worms leave behind. Some of them are quite edible and are considered a delicacy by Underdark races; one type of tick has a numbing bite that can be refined into a more potent narcotic and topical analgesic paste that remains potent for months.

In various cultures—from druidic circles in Faerûn to isolated tribal island societies off the coast of Kara-tur—the Giant Velvet Worm is both revered and feared. Druids sometimes protect and transport them in order to preserve unique subspecies and also, like the Underdark cultures, use them to keep populations of giant spiders in check.

As an apex predator, the Giant Velvet Worm frequently encounters both adversaries and unwitting allies in the wild. While larger entities such as dragons or wyverns might occasionally pose a threat, the worm’s adhesive defenses (especially when groups congregate) allow it to stand its ground even against formidable attackers. It helps that draconic beings also find their taste quite revolting.

If you can manage to hunt and capture a specimen alive and transport it all the way to the markets of Athkatla, Calimport or Waterdeep, you can expect to earn quite a stack of gold for your troubles, particularly if you sell one to the worshippers of Malar and, their alchemical products are always a welcome addition to any exotic goods merchants wares.

My name is AJ Pickett, thanks for listening and as always, I will be back with more for you, very soon.

Ecology of the Electrum Dragon - Fantasy Lore - Forgotten Realms

It was a bright and blustery morning at the start of winter in the realms, I was well overdue to leave my tower and retreat to the Highhand spire near Mintarn island, which didn't get completely coated with ice from the gales a frigid temperature freezing the very sea froth against the ancient stone of Candlekeep. My pseudodragon friend Makrotaxel was getting a little fiesty with me, as far as he was concerned, I was overstaying in his lair, my chambers were sealed off but he had his access via a chimney into my study room and kept the rats and other vermin from devouring all my books and keepsakes while I was away, he also, occasionally, had a nest, some youngsters and I lost some treasured leather bound tomes to little dragon teeth and claws as the hatchlings got a little more mobile before leaving the lair at the start of summer. This was how I got to be friends with Makrotaxel after all, a few decades ago.

Dragons were the order of business on that morning though, I was outside the keep, crouched out of the wind behind a boulder, watching two rams smacking their curled horns together in the long, tough grass as the little wild herd of sheep watched on. They didn't stir until the last minute, then suddenly they caught sight of whom I was waiting for and scattered in terror, sprinting everywhere before gathering and charging off down the coast toward the still rising sun.

My friend Olidmardramo, who many call Feather, roared at them and this sound transformed very strangely into a braying donkey sound, and then into the hearty bellowing laugh of a portly Sembian merchant, I stood up immediately to catch a look at her true form, but alas, I missed it and the look on my face must have spoken volumes as Feather spread his hands and shook his head.

"Oooh sorry old Rune, I know you like to see me in the nude, but I don't want your little hermits firing a spell off at me, or one of those nasty big ship crossbows... yes yes, I know what they are called, don't correct me".

I gave the merchant a hug and stepped back and offered a respectful bow "How are you Olidmardramo, hows the kids?"

The humanoid form she was wearing snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Oh who knows? I haven't spoken to any but Ormeremymarin in the last ten years and that was a letter from the far east"

"Kara-tur? Really? I didn't think that place was very hospitable to dragons?"

"Oh you thought that did you? Well, something I can educate you on for a change, old sage, come on, lets go inside, you are starting to make me feel cold with your bare feet"

"hmmm? Oh, yes, sorry, I put a pot of that broth you like on"

"With the rock crabs? and the onions? oooo yes yes, after you".

A few minutes later and I was walking through the perimeter gardens toward the rear wall and towers, and the dragon huffed in distaste beside me.

"Don't they ever decorate around here? A few statues, a fountain or two, some decorative tiles, even shape some of these shrubs into topiary forms more pleasing to the eye"

"Well, those are rare medicinal and alchemical plants Feather, we don't just hack them into shapes to make them look nice, they have better uses"

"There is no better use for a plant Sage"

"As you say, but I think botanists might not agree"

"mmm then I will eat them"

"No you won't"

"I could you know"

"Think of the mess"

"Quite right, it would be dreadful"

When we did get to my chambers, Makrotaxel, along with all the Pseudodragons along the western sea wall, had vanished.

"Make yourself at home dear Feather"

The merchant looked around, eyes fixing on one item after another all lining my shelves and resting against furnishings and wall space. He let out a low whistle as he peered closely at a little chunk of meat with a dry old eyeball in it.

"What is this?"

"Part of a domesticated Beholder from Deep Imaskar"

He turned and stared at me for several moments.

"Where?"

I shook my head "Much too dangerous a location to reveal, sorry Feather, I barely escaped and lost a few years of my life just doing that"

"That's the first time you have ever denied me the answer to a question sage, so I will take that warning quite seriously"

"Good, anyway, you said you had to see me... what about?"

"Murghom, the dragon princes"

"Ahhhh, good, I've been wanting to hear more, all I have heard is rumors this far west of the sea of Seros"

"Well, we have a lot to talk about as always!" and with that, he closed the chamber door and grabbed a large bowl of crab soup.

Electrum dragons are few in number, they are a distinct lineage of the metallic dragons and lost a large number of their population tens of thousands of years ago during the great religious wars which ripped the dragonic civilisation on Toril apart, at the same time they were in a genocidal war with the Giants, this is the reason you don't see a lot of the Gem dragons or the more neutral dragons, who were part of the leadership in the faiths and lost a lot of their relatives through the civil war and greater global conflict. 

Olidmardramo was of the opinion that dragons predated the existence of the gods and had no business in the outer planes or worshipping any gods, but also informed me that Electrum dragons were respected scholars in the celestial courts of Kara-tur and many of her kin lived there, particularly on the hundreds of isolated islands to the far east. She neglected to warn me that some of those islands were also home to colossal monsters as large as the walking statues of Waterdeep, but then, I never asked.

Electrum Dragons are predominantly solitary creatures whose chosen abodes emphasize isolation and reflection. Typically found in remote and imposing locales, these dragons choose habitats that include remote mountain peaks, ancient caverns, and even abandoned architecture that has withstood the test of time. These lairs often double as sanctuaries where the dragon can observe the world in a state of near-perpetual reflection—almost as if they were statues carved from living stone on high peaks.

Unlike many other draconic beings that are solely driven by hoarded treasure or sheer destructive power, Electrum Dragons possess an intrinsic philosophical bent. They often retreat into solitude not out of malice or inclination toward isolation, but rather to devote themselves to contemplation, study, and debate. Their lairs are not merely repositories for gold and gems; instead, they are filled with objects of beauty—books, art, and rare information, all carefully collected over centuries.

This commitment to wisdom is also seen in their interactions with other beings. When visitors manage to locate these reclusive dragons, they might be greeted not with hostility, but with an invitation to engage in trade, bargaining, or even intellectual discourse. The curious nature of these dragons encourages them to observe nearby creatures, often from great distances, in matters of combat and conflict, they employ the same sort of distant and wise reserve, using minions, spells and their breath attack before enemies get anywhere near them. But, they are formidable in physical combat, they are true dragons after all, every limb is a weapon them employ, including their wings, they are well known for devastating fly by attacks, using their rear legs and tail to rip through enemies, unleashing magic and their mind melting Ray of enfeeblement or confusion that serves as their unique breath weapon options. Magic though, oh the Electrum dragons are masters of it, they can read it from the moment they hatch and innately detect magic near to them, they also have a magical resistance and the ability to enhance their breath weapon to include blinding and deafening effects on top of the enfeeblement or confusion. They are natural artists and statues that come to life to fight for or otherwise serve them are very common in their lairs.

They may be wise philosophers, but if you present them with something that is as deadly as it is beautiful for their lair, they will trade handsomely for it. A wander around their home unsupervised is highly likely to get you horrifically killed and if ever there was a place for some of Grimtooth's more asthetically clever and pleasingly fiendish traps, this would be it, outside of dwarven strongholds or wizard's towers of course.

Electrum Dragons also have distinctive reproduction cycles. They mate infrequently—often only once per century—reflecting their long lifespans and slow, deliberate lifestyles. The mating ritual itself is a display of both aerial acrobatics and arcane exchange; the dragons engage in playful flight formations that are accompanied by the exchange of spells. This ritualistic behavior symbolically ties together their intellectual pursuits with natural instinct.

Approximately one year after mating, female Electrum Dragons will lay a clutch typically consisting of one to four eggs. 

Their eggs are rubbery and measure about 1 foot (30 centimeters) in length I am told and once laid, the eggs hatch in a few days. I'm not sure exactly what elemental energy type they employ during this stage, but the hatchlings have pale gray skin and scales with rather large eyes of bright green. I think they are quite cute, like copper hatchlings, very talkative with a million questions and long periods of sleep and growth, occasionally they will cast a spell when sleeping, so give them plenty of room and don't wake them up unless you really have to.

As they get older and bigger, their scales gain a polished lustre and start to take on a pearl-like sheen, their eyes remain that bright green but start to become like gems, eventually like liquid mercury in their full maturity, they do tend to read a lot for dragons and its not unknown for them to wear reading glasses, not because their eyes are weakened with age, far from it, no they like owning wondrous items, such as lenses of true seeing and the like, but if it makes others think they have a disadvantage, why correct that assumption?

I often hear from Roleplayers that its difficult to represent a creature that is certainly a lot more intelligent than a human, given centuries of study and experience, so here is my advice... don't, let the game do it for you, you have the power to say "The dragon saw that coming and counters it immediately, annoyed you would try something so obvious, they make a scoffing noise and mimic your voice mockingly, pretending to congratulate themselves, as you, on how clever they are".

The dragon has either done all this before, many times, or they have pondered all the different ways it would pan out, for centuries... any time your players try a tactic that is not completely unexpected, the dragon will be ready for it, waiting for it, crossing it off their bingo list of things stupid humanoids do when raiding your lair or whatever.

You don't outwit them, you don't outsmart them, you can confuse them, use their expectations against them, and hope that they underestimate you and make a silly assumption... dragons hate, absolutely loathe being outwitted, discovered, thwarted and embarrassed, much like cats. Also like cats, a dragon can be too focused on their prey, they may be caught out if they are sure, absolutely certain that the fleeing prey is in a blind panic and running as instinct dictates, they probably would not expect the victim to lead them right into a serious ambush it had no idea was there, because who takes a month to silently creep up the side of a mountain with some seige weapons and a squad of hired archers? Not your typical looting scumbag adventurers, that's who.

Electrum dragons are also scholars and philosophers, to them a great debate is as satisfying as combat, unless they feel very threatened or are protecting some young offspring, they are most likely to at least consider switching from a physical fight to an intellectual one. But don't go into that tactic unprepared, if they grow bored with you, they have already used the conversation as an excuse to get into a good position to bite your head clean off your shoulders. Why? Because they have done this before, maybe dozens of times.

Bring them statues, tapestries, musical instruments, gems, and jewelry; make sure the object is both beautiful and rich in providence, a history, a story or representative of a culture, a time in history, something now lost and only that object remains, these are precious to the electrum dragons and their lairs are full of such things, counter to what you might think, many are handed down among dragons related to or very good friends with each other and they frequently trade items just as you would expect rare and scholarly antique collecters would, its part of the enjoyment of a piece, the fact that it is desired by others.

Electrums fly reasonably well but as Metallics, they have the innate ability to polymorph into other forms, in the case of my friend Olidmardramo she prefered to use male humanoid forms to pass through humanoid dominated lands and had a different persona for Sembia and Turmish, I won't reveal their names but they are known in those lands, well, some might know they are actually a dragon, but you know, I suspect a lot of scholars I meet are dragons in disguise... you never know.

Electrum dragons are very large creatures in their true form though, and being polymorphed for long periods of time is a great strain for them, just the tiny amount that humanoids eat is a problem for their metabolism and being so confined with three limbs missing is a very unpleasant sensation to tolerate for very long. As omnivores, they can quietly accumulate a huge heap of food and drink and just, relax and eat properly, but, they are also predators, they enjoy killing and eating smaller creatures, it's they way they are wired, they find a confused and stumbling drunk human to be... not dangerously erratic, funny or pathethic... they find them to be delicious, slurring your words, acting like a fool and stumbling around them is likely to make them actually start to drool... they are highly intelligent but they are not humanoids, they do not see the world the same way, they have a different moral and ethical outlook and they will never see a little humanoid as their equal. An adult electrum dragon will be no less than 36 feet or 11 meters long, their claws can shred a person just as fast, just as powerful and just as deadly as casually as a Polar bear. As they grow older and larger, they gain more spells that they can cast, such as identify, locate object, dispel magic, telekinesis, some powerful illusions and equally potent healing magic. They are experts on magical texts but not overly fond of elven magic or druidic magic, like most dragons they prefer direct, elemental magical spells and rarely study utility spells, considering metamagic and extending the power of a few core spells that they master over centuries.

Despite being mostly remote and solitary in their lifestyle, they do enjoy trade, welcome visitors and love to engage in debates and the sharing of ideas, there is a lineage of Electrum dragons who are known to be allies of the Elves of Myth Drannor, a location I know little about, but I hear there is a powerful Mythal that permeates that region and the dragons seem to operate within it just fine.

They are also friends to Dwarves, as how could they not admire a culture that produces some of the most gorgeous metal and gem works of art in the world? The lesser dwarven deity named Dugmaren Brightmantle is known to favor the electrum dragons, which makes sense for the dwarven god of scholars and free thinkers. You can blame that god's influence for my friend olidmardramo being obsessed with trying to learn how to read minds.

Coffer Corpse fantasy monster ecology - Tabletop Roleplaying game lore -...

The village of Thistle Hollow barely clung to life after a hard-fought victory against the rampaging orc raiders. The orcs had stormed in with the fury of untamed elements, wreaking havoc in the dead of night with the same force as a savage wind tearing through the valley. The villagers, steeled with desperation and resolve, rallied with axes, pitchforks, slings, and hunting bows to push back the invaders. The battle ended with the orcs lying defeated, their bodies swiftly gathered and thrown onto a pyre at the edge of the village and set alight after a few buckets of pitch were tossed over the stinking mass.

A violent storm, the very one that foreshadowed the orcs’ arrival, returned before the fire could completely reduce the bodies to ashes. The flames were quenched by rain, leaving behind a haunting sight: half-burnt orc corpses, mangled and tangled amongst the remains of the pyre, their final farewell left incomplete. It was against this grim backdrop and a flash of lightning on the ridge a few nights later that heralded the arrival of a well-traveled Sage, his feet bare and sturdy and three red gems gleaming on his chest.

Riding along the muddy road on his trusty mule, the Sage sought ruins for his studies on lost kingdoms and ancient lore. Instead, he was met with a village steeped in terror. Doors were shut tight, and faces peered out with hollow despair. The silence was broken by the trembling voice of the blacksmith’s wife, who confided in a barely audible whisper that something sinister stirred in the night. The complaint was plain—there were unsettling sounds, as though claws were scraping at the doors, and an incident that sent ripples of dread had just occurred.

Uthric, the village tanner, had answered his door believing his child had returned from hunting in the nearby woods. Instead, he found himself ensnared in a merciless grip on the muddy street, his throat constricted as his face drained of color, turning the blue of a frosty winter sky. The horrific scene of his murder and the scant clues remaining were the spark that ignited the Sage’s suspicions.

Drawing near to the half-doused pyre, the Sage recalled similar tales—whispers of restless dead risen from improperly tended burial rites. Scouring the soggy earth, his toes squelched through the wet ash and charred remnants of bodies that still reeked of burnt flesh. There in the mud, a deep trail showed evidence of a large, crawling form that had escaped into the darkness.

“It’s a coffer corpse,” the Sage murmured, his voice low and burdened with grim recognition. “Likely once an orc shaman, its death rites left incomplete. Its soul is chained by unfinished business and it roams with a fury born of neglect, or perhaps one of their gods saw fit to refuse it entry to the afterlife until it takes its revenge on you all.” A strong, soot-streaked blacksmith, who had silently joined him, intervened with a rallying cry to end the curse once and for all.

"To hell with their foul gods and their evil damned souls the lot of them, lets find this thing and destroy it!"

The blacksmith’s simple command to kill the creature was met with a grave response. The Sage, drawing his staff carefully through the ash, implored that steel alone would not best the undead entity. Even if it was ripped apart, the curse embedded in its form would drive it back to life. The situation was dire and required both caution and advanced magical means.

Suddenly, a piercing scream rent the heavy air. Both the Sage and the blacksmith turned to witness an unnerving sight—a hulking figure emerging from behind the stables. This was no mere ghost story; it was the embodiment of cursed vengeance. With flesh blackened by fire and a snarl exposing grotesquely elongated tusks, the creature moved with a purpose, dragging a man by the throat. The victim’s struggles grew feeble as the creature’s vice-like grip strangled the breath from him.

 the lore of Dungeons & Dragons is rich with tales of spirits denied passage to the afterlife. The coffer corpse is a prime example—a cursed monster spawned from the defilement of sacred funerary customs. When a soul leaves the mortal realm without the proper rites, it is left in limbo. This incomplete transition traps the spirit, turning it vengeful and relentless. It is not a creature born solely of malice but one driven by the torment of being trapped and unable to move on to the outer planes.

In many cultures within the game's universe, death does not conclude with the cessation of life. It demands reverence, ritual, and the proper sending off of the departed. When these final rites are interrupted, spiritual energies remain tangled in the mortal coil, festering into a being that carries the scars of its thwarted destiny.

In the case of the Orc, the sage was entirely correct, the god Yurtrus, their foul god of death and disease had denied the soul freedom from the mortal plane until it had killed as many humans as it could before it was destroyed. The terrifying visage of the Coffer Corpse looked as though the flesh had been burned away from its face in the shape of a clawed hand, gleaming bone white out of the ragged, blackened flesh, a sure sign of the white hand of Yurtrus.

In the fantasy worlds of roleplaying games, where magic is very real, it shouldn't be much of a shock that the risen dead can spontaneously occur, when with a simple act of will power, some basic components to achieve the correct resonance and some spoken keywords to attract the attention of powers beyond the mortal world, a clever diabolist can launch a ball of fire powerful enough to blow a drawbridge from its fixtures.

Thankfully, the coffer corpse happens to be vulnerable to even the most basic magic weapon, which can be achieved with a blessing, an enchantment or even clobbering the monster repeatedly with an improvised magic object, such as a magical cape of billowing with a brick wrapped inside it... I bet you never thought of that neat little trick.

The case of the Orc Shaman was unusual but not unprecidented, as normally the generation of a coffer corpse hinges on the violation of time-honored customs. Whether due to the chaos of battle, natural disasters, or deliberate desecration of a body intended to torment the living who cared for that individual in life, the departure from established burial practices marks the beginning of a curse. In Thistle Hollow, the orcs’ bodies were hastily arranged into a pyre, and the interruption of the flames by the returning storm meant that the orc shaman’s soul was left in a state of spiritual despair, it had failed to destroy the village, failed to bring back even a single orc warrior to the tribe, failed to represent the power of the orc people.

Shame, rage and vengeance became a spiritual catalyst for the creature’s existence, allowing the soul to return from the ethereal back into it's corpse. The residual necrotic energy from the half-burnt bodies congealed into it and shortly after, sparked false life to lifeless flesh and bone. To most it would appear as a simple zombie or perhaps a wight, but while it matches the wight's intensity in it's dead eyes, it is devoid of the mortal spark and replaced by that horrible, cat's eye glow, as if reflecting the bright vitality of it's victims, like the gleam of cold moonlight on the dead black eyes of a shark. Like the zombie, it's body offers no apparent resistance to damage even from mundane weapons, and the corpse can be cut down, seemingly destroyed, only to stand back up again, relentless, seemingly unstoppable, striking supernatural fear into the living who witness it.

I've seen professional gladiators mimic this trick a few times, it's always a crowd pleaser, but there is nothing entertaining when a dead thing does it. In my experience, the uninformed seldom stick around to try out different methods to drop the thing permanently, they just run for it, and I hardly blame them.

Coffer Corpses are also tremendously strong, more so than a zombie by far, despite their withered and broken state, they can crush a man's ribs with a single powerful blow, but it is their terrible death grip which they use to snuff out the living.

Once locked in this grip, the victim is rendered mute, unable to call upon spellcasting or even articulate a cry for help. The constant, relentless pressure diminishes the victim’s strength with each passing moment, leaving them grasping and clawing for escape, their fingernails raking at the dead flesh of the undead, who shows no expression as they murder you, no hate, no anger, not even satisfaction as the choke the life from you.

I should mention, the coffer corpse collapsing from damage that actually does it no permanent harm is all a trick, any blow of sufficient force will do, you don't have to calculate every hit point lost, ignore non-magical damage entirely and instead concentrate on how powerful the attack appeared to be and have the undead react accordingly. The whole special feature of this monster hinges on most parties of adventurers having no idea this undead can only be hurt by magic weapons.

It is this combination of an aggressive death grip coupled with the unpredictable strategy of simulated collapse that renders combat with the coffer corpse particularly nerve-wracking. Its ability to bounce back after apparent defeat forces its foes to remain vigilant, never allowing a moment’s ease in an already grueling confrontation. It also makes the role of an informed non-player character who provides this vital information so much more critical to how this encounter plays out.

Like many undead,the Coffer Corpse has a natural immunity to mind-affecting spells and psychic manipulation, rendering attempts to subdue its will largely ineffective. However, it is not physically immune to damage from normal, non-magical sources, it's just that these won't destroy it. Ordinary blades may wound, but they rarely disrupt the cycle of its endless reanimation. Some common sense here is required, for example, lopping its head off and running away with it, or chopping both it's arms off it going to cause the coffer corpse a bit of an inconvenience.

This dependency on enchanted weaponry adds a layer of strategy to any encounter and will make the Coffer Corpse far more dangerous to those with no access, or some stance against using magic of any kind, but never forget, the gods are watching and one need not be a divine spellcaster or champion of a deity to receive a timely and life-saving divine boon. It is extremely rare in the realms to find anyone who refuses to pray to any god... extremely rare, and all it takes is the mere utterance of a god's name and they will be aware of what is going on over a staggeringly large area. Adventurers who venture into territories where the coffer corpse roams must be prepared. Relying on mundane attacks usually results in a grim stalemate, as the creature takes only a momentary pause before once again rising to continue its cursed mission. 

However, its a little worse than I'm letting on here... unless the body is incinerated or, most critically, interred with the correct burial rites the living being it was desired, the Coffer Corpse will rise again with the coming of the night, wandering out of its lair, seeking some place to find its final rest, and never finding it, taking out its rage on the living. This also means, even if the thing is still animated, knowing exactly what those rites are can also cease it's torment and finally stop its attacks on the living, releasing the soul even without destroying the body first, so, this monster can be defeated with knowledge alone, if you have it.

Originally send in to White Dwarf magazine by Simon Eaton, way back in the 70's, the Coffer corpse has seen action in the realms and other fantasy settings for the last 50 years and continues to be a fun addition to the hordes of the undying.

The forgotten Realms wiki has some excellent notes and historic lore on the monster, and I quote..

"During the night coffer corpses would arise, wander around the area in which their corpse was abandoned in search of a peaceful rest, then at dawn return to wherever they were lairing. However, even during daylight hours a coffer corpse would attack people. They hated life itself and were instinctively driven by an urge to deprive others of it due to being denied a complete death. Thus they were known to attack any living humanoid creature that disturbed them, especially priests. Unlike some undead, upon killing a creature the coffer corpse would leave its victim's body alone. It then made sure not to interfere with any other undead that came to scavenge at the corpse, such as ghouls and ghasts. Coffer corpses were occasionally known to fight with weapons, though generally they used their bare hands. They were unusually strong for undead, thus once they had a grip on an opponent it was difficult to release them, especially when a coffer corpse had a death grip around their victim's throat. in the mid-14th century DR, coffer corpses were among the more substantial types of undead that could be found guarding the burial mounds of Uthgardt tribes."  

Oh by the way, there is an excellent new sourcebook on the Uthgardt tribes, with 100% canon lore from the Creators of the Forgotten Realms, available now on DrivethruRPG, support actual Dungeons and Dragons, go pick it up today, you won't be disappointed.

Also in the mid 1400's, the legendary pirate captain Pohl Strongwind returned to life as a coffer corpse. Alongside a crew of ju-ju zombies (yes, I dislike that name as well) he sailed on a ghost ship across the Dragon Reach, terrorizing any vessel they came across, until eventually a group of adventurers put him to rest. You won't find a whole lot of Coffer Corpses in any of the outer planes, of couse, but many serve the dread Drow elf goddess Kiaransalee and there are many found in the Domains of Dread, and the Shadowfell at large.

My name is AJ Pickett, also known as the Mighty Gluestick and Picaroon the Dire Hobbit, Sage of Candlekeep and the Highhand Spire of Mintarn, as always, thanks for listening, and I will be back with more for you, very soon.