Vexhound

"I'm sorry, you've done what now? You've hexed me? Is that right? Oh, fantastic, bloody hex me again then, you haggard old woman! See what I care! You and your witchery can sod off!"

— A regretful unknown person

The Hexed

Beware those who shun the curse of a witch, the hexing screech of a banshee, or the torrid howls of a hag, for you that which you left behind is no less powerful just because you wish to believe your actions have no consequences.
In the barest light of the triple moons shimmers the energy that brings forces beyond the understanding of even those who conjure them. Where magic exists in the natural essence of the universe, this energy comes from elsewhere; a maelstrom of uncertainty.
Only able to be brought forth by the darkest intent of those screeching at the ones who have wronged them, their words cutting into the spaces between worlds and ferrying back the maelstrom, that maelstrom forms into the darkened haze of houndish purple that is a vexhound.

The Doomed

Brought into existence with the singular purpose of finding the person that their curse belongs to, its hunt is timeless and it takes its time to bring their end. Their hunt begins the moment they form into their wolfish frame and will only cease once their jaws lock around the neck of their target.
Running may prolong the life of a target but where a person needs to eat and sleep, vexhounds simply stalk them. Their paws pound into the dirt, their eyes search the land ahead of them, their ears listen for the voice of the hunted, and their teeth sharpen at the prospect of burying them into their flesh.
Run if you must, stand your ground if you dare, but a vexhound stops when your heart does.