Vildvittra

For ages, the Vildvittra have haunted the northern peaks of Connifer Vale, lurking in the caves and jagged cliffs, their dark wings casting shadows over the land. They were always cruel, delighting in terror, their shrieking voices filled with venomous mockery as they toyed with their prey before the kill. They did not hunt merely for food, but for the sheer thrill of torment, their piercing cries echoing in the highlands as a warning to all beneath their gaze.

Since the corruption of the Gloomwood under Isolde’s influence, the Vildvittra have grown even more feral and bloodthirsty. The darkness has sharpened their instincts, deepened their hunger, and given them a new, insatiable craving for suffering. Now, they do not simply kill—they drag victims away, carrying them screaming into the peaks, where their cries are soon lost to the howling winds. The whispers of the entity pulse through their calls, carrying an unnatural, lingering dread to all who hear them.

Even the corrupted creatures of the forest fear the Vildvittra, for they are neither minions nor allies of the darkness—they are its echoes, fragments of the entity’s malice made manifest in feathered, razored death. The skies above Connifer Vale belong to them, and to trespass beneath their gaze is to invite the storm of their wrath.

Overview

The Vildvittror are cruel, intelligent aerial predators that haunt the skies above Connifer Vale and the northern reaches of Gloomwood. Born from crows corrupted ages ago by the blood of the malevolent entity, these birdlike creatures possess a dark, cunning intellect and a love of torment. Organized in tight-knit murders, they delight equally in hunting, killing, and enslaving prey, cruelly prolonging suffering for their twisted amusement.

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Physical Description

Tall, grotesquely elegant, and disturbingly humanoid, Vildvittror possess powerful avian bodies covered in sleek, oily black feathers that shimmer faintly in the moonlight. Their limbs end in wickedly sharp talons, perfectly suited for slicing and gripping prey. Faces hauntingly human yet twisted and cruel, with sharp noses, unsettlingly intelligent eyes that gleam in shades of piercing blue or ice-gray, and mouths lined with serrated teeth. Wings massive and ragged, carrying them silently through darkened skies.

Their voices are eerie, echoing whispers, capable of forming coherent language—yet always edged with predatory mockery.

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Behavior & Ecology

Vildvittror hunt in coordinated murders, communicating through chilling hunting chants and cries that serve both to coordinate attacks and instill dread in prey. Their cruelty knows no limits, for they kill not only for sustenance but also for pleasure. Particularly favored prey are taken alive, forced into servitude—short, miserable lives cleaning and serving their twisted captors in high, inaccessible mountain eyries until the Vildvittror tire of their playthings.

High above Connifer Vale, beneath a shroud of thin, drifting clouds, a murder of Vildvittror wheeled silently in the chill night air. Their black feathers glistened in moonlight, wings beating rhythmically, tireless eyes scanning the forest far below for prey.

"Patience, sisters…" whispered one, her voice soft but carrying clearly through the night. "Blood will flow tonight."

Another hissed softly in agreement, talons flexing eagerly. "See how they scatter, frightened little things. How they stumble and run. Let us make them scream."

The pack laughed softly, a sinister chorus of cold amusement.

Below, figures moved hesitantly through tangled trees, travelers unaware of the danger circling silently far above. Eyes fixed greedily upon them, the Vildvittror tightened their circle, anticipation building.

"Tear! Claw! Slash! Maim!" came the joyous whisper, the murder echoing each deadly word.

They folded wings and plunged downward, diving like shadows, slicing silently through cold air toward the panicked prey. Their delighted, piercing cries echoed among the trees as they attacked, sharp talons and teeth effortlessly tearing flesh and bone.

One traveler stumbled desperately, pleading uselessly, as talons seized him, pulling him screaming upward. The victim’s terrified cries faded into broken sobs as the Vildvittror rose again, carrying him higher.

"Bring it home, sisters," the leader whispered, cruel and delighted. "We'll make it serve."

The murder rose into the darkness, leaving behind only echoes of their cruel laughter and whispered promises of pain.

The chants of a murder of Vittror

"The blood must flow!"

"See how it runs—hunt it, sisters!"

"Tear! Claw! Slash! Maim!"

"Bleed it slow, let it suffer!"

"No escape, no reprieve, fly and fear!"

"Soft little prey, cry, beg, plead!"

"Claws deep, talons tight—death from above!"

"Take it whole, or take it screaming!"

"Bring it home, sisters; we'll make it serve!"