Before the First War, when the native tribes still whispered secrets beneath ancient boughs and the Titans strode openly across the land, there was a sisterhood of tree-spirits who guarded the oldest groves of Thylea. These dryads, revered even by the satyrs and centaurs, kept sacred oaths to the land itself. But when fire came to their forests and blood stained their roots, the spirits cried out for deliverance … and something answered. Something old. Something cruel.

What rose from the scorched groves were no longer dryads, but empusa. Their trunks now stand twisted and blackened, bark crawling with unblinking eyes. Their limbs emerge half-formed from gnarled branches, their faces glimpsed like sorrowful specters. They do not walk. They linger, and the forest moves with them.

Some claim the curse bears Lutheria’s signature: a mockery of love turned to torment, of silence turned to song.

Woven Phantoms#

The empusa wield illusions to lure prey. Nymphs in moonlight, weeping children, even long-dead Dragonlords. Each illusion is a promise, each promise a trap.

Hunger for Company#

The empusa do not kill for pleasure. They collect. Souls are threaded through bark and vine, imprisoned in the body of the empusa’s tree. She hears their whispers and calls them companions.

Trapped Creatures#

Roll 1d4 times on this table to see what victims may already be trapped within the empusa. There is a 50% chance that a victim that has been trapped for more than a month has gone mad, believing the empusa is a valued friend. They will attack whoever destroyed the empusa.