Gloomhound

Gloomhounds

Alignment: The great hunt, Isolde

Overview: Gloomhounds are spectral wolves, powerful manifestations of primal instinct and tireless pursuit. Deeply connected to the Domain of the Wild Hunt, they embody the purity of predator and prey, strength, and feral cunning. They move effortlessly through mist and shadow, able to appear and disappear with unnerving swiftness.

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Physical Description:

Massive and ethereal, gloomhounds appear as wolves larger than any natural beast, their bodies wreathed in tendrils of mist and shadow. Their fur shifts constantly—inky black to smoky gray, rippling as though woven from fog itself. Eyes glow with fierce, otherworldly fire, colors ranging from deep emerald to cold, piercing silver. When they howl, it echoes like a mournful chorus, resonating through flesh and bone, a sound that evokes primal memories of ancient fears.

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Relationship to the Hunt and Isolde:

Though gloomhounds dwell within the Domain of the Wild Hunt, some packs have formed an enigmatic bond with Isolde. They recognize something ancient and primal within her spirit, respecting her power even though her magic has unknowingly been corrupted by the malevolent entity. To them, Isolde represents a blend of corruption and purity, a paradoxical figure whose true nature resonates with their primal instincts. They are wary of the entity’s taint but fiercely oppose the corrupted Dark Riders, whom they see as dishonorable mockeries of true hunters.

• Role: Vanguard trackers, symbols of tireless hunting.
• Alpha: Maulgrim the Unceasing, an immense gloomhound embodying the endless pursuit, unmatched in tenacity.

Behavior: These creatures often serve as Isolde's hunters when not participating in a Wild Hunt, tracking down those who would defy her or venture too close to her power. They are relentless, hunting in packs, and their howls can send fear into even the bravest of souls. Once they catch a scent, they never stop until they’ve either killed their target or dragged them back to their mistress.

Purpose: Gloomhounds are sent after enemies or anyone foolish enough to resist Isolde's growing influence. They are especially useful for hunting down those who flee the village into the forest, ensuring no one can escape her control.

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Example statblock:
Gloomhound

Medium Undead, Neutral Evil

Armor Class: 14 (natural armor)

Hit Points: 51 (6d10 + 18)

Speed: 40 ft.

STR 18 (+4) | DEX 16 (+3) | CON 16 (+3) | INT 6 (-2) | WIS 12 (+1) | CHA 6 (-2)

Skills: Perception +3, Stealth +6

Senses: Darkvision 120 ft., Passive Perception 13

Languages: Understands Common and Sylvan but cannot speak

Challenge: 4 (1,100 XP)

Keen Smell. The Gloomhound has advantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on smell.

Shadow Blend. While in dim light or darkness, the Gloomhound can use a bonus action to become invisible. This invisibility lasts until it attacks or enters bright light.

Pack Tactics. The Gloomhound has advantage on an attack roll against a creature if at least one of the Gloomhound’s allies is within 5 feet of the creature and the ally isn’t incapacitated.

Actions

Multiattack. The Gloomhound makes two Bite attacks.

Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +6 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 10 (2d6 + 3) piercing damage plus 7 (2d6) necrotic damage.

Soul Howl (Recharge 5–6). The Gloomhound emits a terrifying howl. Each creature within 30 feet of the Gloomhound that can hear it must succeed on a DC 13 Wisdom saving throw or be Frightened for 1 minute. A creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success.

Branches clawed at his cloak as he pushed desperately through tangled undergrowth, the forest a labyrinth of shadows and fear. The mist was thickening now, swirling in ghostly spirals around gnarled trunks and roots that reached like fingers from the earth. He stopped, breath ragged, pulse hammering at his temples.

Something stirred within the fog ahead. Shapes emerged silently, enormous silhouettes gliding like specters, massive and lupine. Wolves—but no ordinary wolves. They moved with a grace and certainty belonging only to creatures born of myth and nightmare.

They encircled their prey, a shadowy figure stumbling hopelessly, falling to the forest floor. The mist swallowed the victim’s screams as the pack closed in with an almost reverent slowness. Their jaws, ethereal yet lethally solid, flashed in muted moonlight. Then, silence.

One hound, larger than the rest, lifted its great head, emerald eyes blazing fiercely, and met his gaze. It held him there, rooted to the spot by sheer primal terror. Those ancient eyes spoke without words, a clear and terrible message:

"We have our prey. Today, you are not it. But you linger at your peril. Run along now, mortal, before our minds change."

Then the creature tipped back its head and released a chilling, mournful howl that pierced his very soul, echoed instantly by its packmates. The woods erupted in a chorus, a haunting symphony of primal triumph and warning.

He stumbled backward, heart pounding, and ran blindly, driven by an instinct older than civilization, chased only by their fading howls—and the certainty that he'd glimpsed beings older and more powerful than he could comprehend.