Bestiary: Sphinxes

(Note: This is largely setting agnostic, but not necessarily system agnostic. It is constructed from a DnD/Pathfinder/fantasy viewpoint. You may or may not find it applicable to systems you run)

Words have power because magical energy suffuses the air you breathe. To cast a spell, you learn the "true name" of it and utter it aloud - this is why people speak while conjuring (and in order to conjure) magic. This true name can be an incantation between one and infinity syllables long. We call particularly long incantations (or those with many, many parts) "rituals". Those who can craft new interactions of magic through novel phrasings are truly powerful. So enters the Riddles of the Sphinx.

"What, I say, traverses up a chimney down, but may never
traverse down a chimney up?"

Riddles

A sphinx's riddles are actually incantations. When they speak a riddle, they have, unbeknownst to you, begun a complex form of ritual magic where you are an unwilling participant. In this "ritual", their portion of incantation is found in the strange riddles they pose. Your answer, spoken on magical breath, is the key, either to the next riddle, or to your demise.

When entering the lair of a sphinx (which can span dozens of miles), you risk being accosted and demanded to answer three such riddles, which have a specific response that must be given. Interpretation of applicability of a given response is not decided by the sphinx, but rather the ritual itself. 

Success is the equivalent of disarming a bomb. You said the right word or phrase - you defused the explosive. But then you have to do it two more times. Success thrice in a row grants you access to mighty power that is uniquely determined by the sphinx in question and not something they can control (this can range from a long-term bless effect, to a restricted form of limited wish).

Failure - even once - is detonating the bomb at point-blank range. With the nature of how the ritual works, it is more dangerous the more you get correct before you are wrong. This ranges from the sphinx bestowing a curse to power word: kill (or equivalent ranges of spells - it depends on the sphinx and the set of riddles they choose to use). In essence, you are navigating a death spell with each riddle, and only by safely succeeding do you get the "treasure". For most people, it's their lives. For adventurers, it ranges from information to the magical gift bestowed (or, you know, both).

Failure to engage angers the sphinx, which begs an important question of why a mighty beast would accost you and demand you play their insidious game under threat of death.

Origins

A sphinx is known for a few attributes: They are a chimera of several beasts; they speak all known languages of man; they are vindictive and unrelenting hunters; and, in particular, they pester people with riddles. In truth, this is actually a compulsion they are physically incapable of resisting, sourced in their origins.

Elven magocracy has been responsible for a lot of follies and pitfalls owed to their hubris, and this is no different. The High Mage Thaldnarina reportedly discovered the true name of a dangerously powerful spell that even the elves agreed would be inappropriate to keep around. Thaldnarina resisted, but eventually feigned cooperation, turning to alternative measures to protect her discovery. The High Mage took three beasts: one of power, one of agility, and one of intellect (a lion, eagle, and a slave mage, in this case) and used thereafter forbidden transmutative magic to bond their souls together like a macabre stitched together poppet. Then, she did it twice more.

Side note: This all occurred before Thaldnarina was found to be associating with covens and hags, which explained the numerology not common among elven magical practice.

In the end, the three creatures were dominated and soul bound to Thaldnarina with each given a third of the true name of the spell, removing it from her memories. Their death would immediately shunt their portion back to her. In the event of her untimely death, the sphinxes would immediately become aware and learn the identity of who was responsible, compelled to seek them out and kill them (with considerable magic - thanks be to the slave mages used in the creation).

The sphinxes acted as guard dogs of her tower - demanding answers to three riddles each that Thaldnarina commanded they ask. It was a form of cant to ensure only those meant to access the tower were in the company of those in possession of the true name of the spell. As described, these riddles also functioned as a keen way to punish trespassers, given their extreme power.

The Sphinx's Curse

But alas, elves with their arrogance and longevity are often precluded in their ability to properly plan for the future. When she died of natural causes, no one was responsible. To the sphinxes, their magical imperative interpreted this to mean that everyone was responsible, and it wreaked havoc on their minds with each day that they did not bring justice to her death (imagine a tunneling scream that hinders your sleep and instills aggression).

This manifested as the sphinxes intentionally hunting down any person they saw and assailing them with their riddles under threat of death (the people seen warped in the sphinxes' mind to be a "visitor" that must prove right of access to a tower they no longer guarded). Riddles, of course, from a long list selected by Thaldnarina precisely because of their obscure matter that only she and a handful of select others would reliably know. Eventually, the damaging effects of the bond were acclimated, and all that remained was an intense hatred of people, an encyclopedic knowledge of esoteric facts, and a compulsion to demand answers to riddles.

To further complicate the gapped logic Thaldnarina used, she never took measures to sterilize the creatures - and as it turned out, they were, indeed, viable for reproduction. Thus, a great crisis brewed. As the sphinxes honed their aggression, wit, and survival, they reared chicks of their own, creating generations of threats that still plague people today.

Discovering Magic

With every successful birth, a sphinx's curse is eased. The portion of the spell's true name that they know is divided further from parent to child, and their offspring bare the brunt of the existential suffering Thaldnarina thrust upon them. Interestingly, parent and offspring are not soul bonded the way that the original three were to the High Mage. Thus, when a sphinx is killed, that portion of the true name is lost forever, left to be rediscovered.

Sphinxes, though, are highly protective of their knowledge. They cultivate and memorize all parts of the prior known fragments that they are able to through oral histories. In fact, they naturally organize themselves into hierarchies based on their generation (how many fragments they innately have) and how many fragments they have since gathered. In their cultivation, they have also studied magic enough to learn why, exactly, Thaldnarina utilized riddles.

In so discovering that the riddles are actually a form of derived ritual, they also learned new riddles. The mechanism specifically is that all riddles a sphinx will ever use are homophones throughout the riddle with the actual true name of powerful spells. Interestingly, any riddle can work with any other riddle (they are modular in this way) - but it changes the presentation of the set of spells with each progression. Bestowing curses from Thaldnarina's original set of riddles graduated to killing with but a word. In other combinations, it may graduate from bestowing curses to petrification. Or something else entirely separate from curse magic altogether.

In this way, a sphinx prepares not spells as a wizard might, but rather entire riddles. They know the answer to it, but again, they're not the one that decides it. It's like a jigsaw puzzle. Only one piece should ever fit appropriately, and the person constructing the puzzle is not the one who decides which piece it will be.

Sphinxes are well aware of how to present riddles that grant positive effects upon failure, but their vindictive history restricts this from the realm of feasibility. To them, it is a reward one must earn, and they are still lightly propelled by their very essence to seek violence to those not participating as they deem appropriate. 

Sphinxes are the embodiment of a magical lock in search of a key. Only, every "key" does something bad unless it's the one meant for them. Sphinxes are enemies, territorial in nature. They seek to destroy people that enter their domain without permission. However, they do have a vice - new riddles. Not knowledge, riddles that they could use. 

Should a sphinx assail you, the safest option you have to not only leave with your life but to possibly engender some friendship would be a trade. Specifically, a trade where you teach the sphinx a riddle they have not heard before. To do so, you must wait until the sphinx states their riddle in whole (interrupting can have calamitous effects), hold up empty fist to mouth with the back of your hand against your lips and wait until the glow of the sphinx's eyes diminish. No one knows why, but this a universal sign among all sphinxes that states "I wish to barter". You'll know if they accept by virtue of if they bare claws, or if they simply respond, "Your life is kept with which you speak, 'tis me now asking 'what doth thou seek'?" (They needn't rhyme - they just know that people think it's creepy, so they do it a lot)

It is important that this riddle can be anything that fits the basic parameters of a riddle. The sphinx will work out any changes that must be made to bring it to fruition as a proper inclusion in their arsenal of riddles. Adventurers walk a tightrope of sorts in this way, as the more they traverse through a sphinx's range, the more likely it will be that one day they will not have a novel addition for them. On this day, fair weather allies will turn, and the sphinx will attack.

How To Use This

Any campaign that could deal with including a malicious oracularly minded foe would probably benefit from this. I tried to make them seem less "Egyptian-coded" as well (uphill battle, really). I'll say these should probably be capable of harassing even mid-level adventurers, and might, if someone walks into their trap ill-prepared, manage to kill even the strongest of players if they come with the right riddles prepared.

Some ideas I might include, were I to use this, would probably be as follows (ranging from cliché to possibly more inventive): 

• A sphinx beseeches the party unwittingly in her domain - it poses the riddles three with a promise of fortune if successful... and death if they fail or decline
• A sphinx has recently settled in the way of a merchant's path, and now trade has ceased until it can be dealt with
• A rogue soldier in service of their malicious magical benefactor has sought collection of the Fragments of True Name of the ages old spell and has left a line of slain sphinxes in their wake
• The original three sphinxes have been targeted by the original coven Thaldnarina was a part of, presumably for malicious ends
• Rumors state that sphinxes, long since dispersed, have began coalescing their knowledge to cast the spell, whatever it is - the party must kill the sphinxes to isolate the fragments and cease the spell.

Things I would also note are that, if it wasn't clear, sphinxes are aggressive. Very, very aggressive. But they always lead with their riddle. If the riddle is spoken in whole, but no answer is given, there is not an ill-effect magically speaking, but they have a short amount of time before the spell fizzles (it's never wasted until it is set off).

What I would also recommend - don't turn down riddles provided by players in trade for safe harbor. Even the obvious ones. But have a talk with your players if there is a recurrent sphinx about what will pass muster for acceptable. I'd probably make a spreadsheet of all given riddles to keep everyone honest on which ones have been used before. It should go without saying that any riddles they use go on the list, and they should refrain from using one more than once.

Of note: "Riddlemancy" is an inherent quality of the sphinxes and only otherwise practiced by certain covens of hags. It requires knowledge that even some of the more masterful spellcasters simply cannot comprehend (Thaldnarina was, truly, a legendary mage). Think of it as somewhere between innate sorcery and learned spellcraft. Thus, the players probably should never obtain this. Merely speaking the riddle as a person will not produce magical effects.

As for what answers you would accept? I'll discuss that down below. If you're interested in including them, I'd highly recommend it.

As always, if you enjoyed this and end up using it, go wild! Just please give credit when able and send people this way.

Afterword and Answering Riddles

TL;DR: I recommend having a list of acceptable answers, and holding firm to consequences otherwise. Also, maybe don't worry so much about the players coming to the answer on their own. You can always make the answer a quest for them to undertake.

I like sphinxes in tabletops. What I don't like is that their riddles are usually very... obvious? With how human culture is, most people that care enough to pay attention to things like the myth of Oedipus know the classics. Also, when they are novel riddles, they can be unwittingly open-ended. Sometimes, holding the players to this can be contentious.

To address this, I designed the sphinx as a concept to encounter with a few points that are very important before we talk about answers. 

First, I was thinking if a sphinx is going to be used as an enemy encounter, then their riddles needed to have more of an ingrained reason beyond "they just like riddles, but you'll die if you don't play the arbitrary guessing game". My view is that if the riddles are more baked into something they have to do, it will be more reasonable for a player to play along (if they dare).

Second, I wanted there to be a reason they keep asking the same riddles historically speaking. Their origins of a finite pool of riddles makes it easier for me to accept, anyway. In a game though, I'd never use the same one twice, even if you're ruling that the effect will be the same if they prepared a different array.

Third, I wanted sphinxes to be more aggressive than they have been in many TTRPGs and more commonplace (though, they should still be uncommon in most areas; unheard of in others, beyond myth). Having them be more passive, but lethal, never sat right with me. Any experienced GM likely has necessary information behind multiple access points so that they don't get chokepointed on the players being unable to proceed, so why would players bother with it being optional? Sage-like passivity can make the riddles seem more like an unnecessary hoop to jump through. Making it part of an aggressive tendency that is imposed upon the player hopefully makes it more perilous, more engaging, and more agreeable to actually partake in. To note, this is also more in line with the original myth.

Fourth, I wanted there to be a reasonable way to avoid the aggression without it being handwaving on part of the GM. A trade that will never cement you as allies can be a helpful sidestep when one is not prepared, but it also means it is fueled primarily by the player's creativity. If they run out of riddles (and you should always accept every riddle they uniquely give that hasn't been outright disclosed for any specific sphinx), then they are the only ones to blame for going through the territory again. This is never used to trade for information, though, that's important.

So then, this comes to an important question: What answers are appropriate?

The short answer is: I wouldn't accept an answer just because it is technically correct. I'd only accept it if it is an answer I have conceivably thought of.

The longer version is: I would try to run the riddle by people not in the campaign, and pool answers. I'd find any that felt in the spirit of the riddle and include them in the pool of possible answers. I'd also try to make it as specific an answer as possible, but that's not an easy task. I might even change the reward into "tiers" if I was so willing, commensurate with what felt like the "best" answer. Then, if they do not provide any listed answer, I would have them reap the consequences.

And here's why without going too painfully into detail.

The fact of being incorrect even though it was a sensible response is not nearly as important as the fact that you are then punished for it. Thus, I think the bigger thing to alter is what you're willing to punish a "right but technically wrong" answer with. You're the GM, you make this all up. If you don't want to instantly handwave that any response that can reasonably convince you is good enough, then don't. But that doesn't mean you have to kill them for it. 

Maybe they are cursed for a week to have a malodorous stench. Maybe they take combat penalties for three encounters. Maybe they are struck to half health. Maybe their soul is severed from their connection to their god(dess) for a time until they can find an alter to pray and remove the spiritual barrier, losing any divinely inspired benefits including casting. These actions do not need to necessarily endanger the player in a way that would mean their character is dead or ruined.

And it's important that it's understood that a "riddle barrier" is far from the only manifestation of the role a sphinx can play. Like a lot of things, something that is viewed as a chokepoint can actually be turned into a separate mini adventure. Perhaps there is a notoriously difficult riddle that all fail. Perhaps the answer is something the players can hunt down and discover the answer to. Sure, the moment at which you deliver the answer might not be as climactic, but it won't have been boring to obtain the answer in the first place. And with how deadly sphinxes in this are, it's maybe an adventure well worth taking.

But ultimately, this comes down to the players and GM. What game are you trying to run? If you want it to be an easier, more laidback approach to riddles and the like, no one is stopping you.

If you got this far, thank you! 

I hope you all enjoyed!

Bestiary: The Salamandra

Few beasts possess such a storied history as the Salamandra. And none of those others have such wildly differing accounts. Some tell tales of it flying on leathery wings like a drake. Others insist that it charges on land as a rhinoceros, or even swims like a snake through rivers of molten magma. People like a good story.

As it turns out, no one has an accurate depiction
on account of they get eaten or they
exaggerate

We know what the Salamandra looks like. You can go out and see one now. Well, provided that you live near something pyroclastic. Or if you take an ill-fated stroll in the rain. You probably shouldn't. It stands on six amphibian legs, with leathery skin, slick with a membrane, leading down to a thick tail with a conical shape. Young lack their third pair of legs, and their tails are smoother. The tales told in taverns are likely due to misconceptions formed long ago, when people still questioned if it was related to serpents or dragons.

Let us be clear, it is not a dragon, nor serpent. But it is an apex predator and feasts readily on anything, but prefers to eat sources of magic.

Life Cycle

It is understandable where some of the misconceptions come from. When born, Salamandra young - called eft - do not develop their limbs for two years and possess a serpentine body. They emerge from craggy shaped eggs that look like igneous rocks, laid in clutches of ten to twenty. Most of the unhatched young are cannibalized by the first efts to hatch. The hatching period, as well as the first two years of growth, is spent submerged entirely in magma, on account of their body temperature, which is far colder than freezing.

This is caused by their blood. The temperature of this blood, called "rime-blood", is such that a single drop on the palm of your hand can induce frostbite up to your wrist in less than a minute. And due to this, the body of the Salamandra must be in otherwise inhospitable temperatures to counteract this.

During this time, the eft will swim through rivers of magma in volcanoes, coated in a naturally secreted liquid membrane, until they find deposits of magic, which they can sense as if using detect magic. These deposits, really just gems, crystals, and the like, contain concentrated magic that, due to the long-term exposure to superheated environments, align with fire. This, then, progressively enriches the eft with fire essence that slowly warms their blood.

Once they get to a certain internal temperature (which is still far too cold for anyone to touch unscathed), they begin ascending the magma channels in search of egress points, as now, the efts have developed two pairs of limbs. At this point, they are referred to as basks, termed by how the majority of their time is still spent half-submerged in lava streams or pools of lava in the cauldron of volcanoes.

The basks will venture out readily, but only when they see food. Staying out of lava too long will cause the slick membrane on their bodies to harden until they die of exposure. Their favorite food at this point, outside of scouring for gems, includes other magical beasts. And people.

After a bask eats a certain (massive) quantity of magic, be it from beasts or people or gems, they sprout a third pair of legs, and their jowls sprout clusters of long, tubular appendages called magmatic ampullae. These semi-porous growths hang in numerous bunches and fill with large amounts of magma. These ampullae function like stores of heat that allow the now matured Salamandra extended periods of time out of the lava. In fact, these are so efficient, that a Salamandra can sojourn through a territory spanning several miles over several days without worrying about succumbing to petrification-by-freezing.

Consumption of more magic over time does not produce any known further adaptations, but it does seem that Salamandra can grow to rather massive proportions. With greater size, their magical appetites increase, but their naturally cold blood comes with a very slow metabolism, allowing them to go incredible lengths of time without food to no ill effects.

Abilities

Salamandra have a wide range of abilities that develop over their lifespan. From the very beginning as efts, they are born with two rows of needle-like teeth, and these only grow in size and number of rows with age. As mentioned, they can innately detect magical sources, and the radius to which they can do this only grows greater with time, as well as their ability to discern what the source is from afar. Their liquid membrane they secrete from birth is especially important, as it not only aides their mobility in magma through the Leidenfrost effect, but it is highly toxic to both touch and consumption. Speaking of lava, submerging in it at any stage of life regenerates its vitality, as does contact by fire effects.

As efts become basks, they gain the ability to generate an acrid breath attack that can fill a 20 foot cube in front of it with ease. This is highly poisonous if inhaled, but also completely obscures vision. Basks are also able to selectively direct heat away from certain parts of their body to harden the membrane to form armor in those spots. Doing so is quick enough to blunt oncoming blows, but the armor is brittle and succumbs to hammers faster than swords.

Mature Salamandra (also termed Great Newts) can use a fire breath attack out to a 30 foot cone. Additionally, the magma in their ampullae can be utilized to do a magma-based breath attack. It affects a cone 15 feet in front of them, and is very dangerous, as it removes much of what they need to stay alive outside of volcanoes. A desperation tactic, it can only be done once. Conversely, anyone hit by it takes damage as if contacting lava, so it is usually very effective to the ill-prepared.

It should go without saying that their bite, tail sweeps, and claws are no joke either.

Rainstorms

Against expectations, Salamandra thrive well in rainstorms. The slimy behemoths adore them, actually. When rainfall occurs over volcanoes, they are able to do a controlled "breech" of sorts, that lets the rainfall contact their head, upper limbs, back, and tail. In so doing, the rain mixes with the natural fluids of the outer skin of the Salamandra to create an "organic" equivalent of Prince Rupert's drops all over the exposed areas. Well, if they were made of obsidian anyway.

In practice, these function like thousands of extra ampullae made of that the Salamandra will channel their internal heat into once they make landfall. As a result, they will lose their affinity for heat during the storm, and instead mimic an affinity for water which grants them an ice breath. This not only affects a large area, but since Salamandra are fueled by rime-blood natively, they can do this frequently, and makes them more dangerous than normal. Though without the influence of heat, they slow down considerably. Additionally, the "rug" of armor is significantly stronger than the stony armor they can generate naturally, making them take moderately less damage from every physical source.

The armor they wear during this phase completely subsumes their membrane otherwise, which means it loses the toxic qualities related to contact and ingestion. This also means that the Salamandra can subsist for extremely long periods out of lava while in possession of this armor (but eventually, the magma chambers of these drops runs too cool for them to subsist and they must return). However, the Salamandra can violently spasm the sections of its body covered by this armor, and with pinpoint precision, enough to shatter them, causing violent explosions that send shards of obsidian flying out in a 30 foot radius. Worse still, if adjacent to the Salamandra when it does this, one runs the risk of inhaling the glassy particles. Explosions of these lengths of obsidian can also happen if someone uses a slashing weapon.

A Game of Cat and Mouse

Mature Salamandra have one other key ability that has set the tone for much of people's interactions with them: caudal autotomy. As certain lizards, Salamandra can lose (and then regrow) their tails. However, instead of the expected rationale being that this helps evade predators, they actually do this to lure people. 

As it stands, the value of the Salamandra to people is twofold: their meat is tender and hearty; and they have valuable blood which is used as the sole component able to create fire-resistance and immunity potions. This is to say nothing of the value in harvesting Salamandra poison from their slimy exterior, or their skin, which when worked with appropriately naturally has fire-immune properties for armor. Salamandra are very smart beasts. They quickly understood what people wanted of them, and used this ability in an ingenious way. Their tail, when shed, periodically writhes and undulates. From afar, it resembles the overall shape of a bask Salamandra (ostensibly, this would be easier to kill, too). But only upon approaching dangerously close would someone realize that this is, in fact, just the tail.

This is not inherently bad, as if they managed it, this would give them blood for potions and meat for market. But upon finding naught but a tail, a hunter would, in fact, realize that they are the ones who are being hunted. You see, after their prey comes to realize the deception, the Salamandra is usually not far behind, and it is at this point it prefers to strike.

Thus, now anytime a bask is thought to be seen, hunters pay heed to the possibility that they might be walking into a trap. Not that dispatching a Salamandra was easy in the first place.

Weaknesses

Hunting for Salamandra is not necessary, per se. People don't really require fire-resistance. But there are many dangers that bring fire closer to home, so having it makes countering fire trolls and rogue clans of firekeeper druids achievable. 

The best person to take on a Salamandra is, against conventional thought, rarely a warrior, but rather an accomplished mage. Magical users schooled in the art of big game hunts have learned vital spells; with but a single large diamond ground to dust, it can be magically suspended in a disc. Mages attune this to cold temperatures before expeditions, and hold it at their side in a constant spin, wielding it as a shield as necessary. Due to the cold attunement, the diamond dust can soak up heat from several fire breaths without injury. 

This allows them to safely get close, but what keeps them close is that any mage wishing to do this comes with spells ready that can dissipate the toxic smog cloud that the Salamandra can generate. 

Once those fronts are covered, there are actually several viable approaches for how to dispatch one. Cold and water spells are twice as effective, and electricity is helpful for stunning and interrupting. Salamandra can regrow every limb if it is removed, but this is exempt from the head and torso, meaning their vitals are still predictable targets. In reality, Salamandra can be trivialized, but only with the utmost preparation. Especially so if a mage finds themselves in the Salamandra's tail trap, where most mages on the hunt meet their end.

However, not even mages are fool enough to step foot into Salamandra territory in the middle of a storm.

A Perfect Beast

Salamandra are impressive not just because of their huge size, nor because of their keen intellect and powerful abilities, but also because they represent what some scholars theorize is one of the "perfect beasts" in the realm.

They start off attuned to fire as they hatch, and gain an affinity for earth as they consume more gems. Their forays out of magma expose them to the air, to which they attune further, and finally they incorporate water attunement into their life cycle (further, they are propelled by a default attunement to water with their rime blood). Respectively, these are evidenced in their abilities: fire breath, stony armor, noxious clouds of gas, and raindrop armor (not to mention their chilling breath!).

Scholars debate this, but the prevailing theory is that everyone displays different measures of attunement to the four classical elements. In the case of the Salamandra, the attunement of all four is to the extent that some scholars insist that they are mostly equal among all and may even have abilities not yet witnessed. Some have stories that particularly old and magical Salamandra have been able to tap into the interactions of these elements more finely. Rumors abound of Salamandra with lightning breath, metallic armor generation, and even, in particularly unbelievable accounts, the ability to fly.

Afterword

Thanks for reading! This is long, and more encyclopedic than I try to do, and not my favorite entry purely for those reasons, but, I also had a lot of fun designing the concept to this point.

I think Salamandra are primed to be relatively epic encounters for a party, provided they do their due diligence. Mages trivialize the encounters only on paper. Actually acquiring a large diamond is out of reach for most encounters until far later. Prepping spells just to dissipate a cloud of smog is often less desirable than another damaging spell. Warrior-type classes shouldn't be too discouraged from joining the fight, but they should be aware of the constant risk of frostbite from any blood that may spatter against their skin. 

Since Salamandra are also smart, they know the concept of action economy (i.e. being outnumbered is bad), and will target the "easiest" prey they are aware of to try and even the numbers. If you want a cheaper alternative that levels the playing field some, martials with a wide berth on the battlefield might want to have permanent anti-magic fields on them. It won't do anything for the abilities of the Salamandra, but it will shield them from detection (the eyes of a Salamandra are actually almost useless, they rely almost entirely on their sense of smell and magical detection).

Hope you all enjoyed! 

Bestiary: Kitsune

It is said that the fifth toe of a kitsune's forepaw can gift the ability to change fates.

You thought it was a simple fox? Wrong!

For some reason, people think that kitsune are bipedal humanoids. Probably because they can shapeshift, and often change into people. There are also rumors that kitsune have a tell, either that their ears or tails are still visible. This is false. But there is a sign; their sixth digit (when fooling you). It's a thumb when they're in their standard vulpine form. And this digit is the cause of a lot of problems for people. And a lot of fun for the kitsune.

The extra finger does a lot more than look interesting

Some History

Magic has been around forever. It's saturated in the air. It permeates the earth. It's everywhere. Except the Mana Wastes. But it's in everyone, for the most part. Magic also has a habit of concentrating. In forests heavy with magical excess, it can taint ponds that creatures drink from. This is a leading cause of magical beasts in the World Forest, as they lap the magical succor from the Grand Lakes. This is the origin of kitsune, as magic is heavily correlated to intelligence, size, longevity, and sarcasm. And magical ability of course.

Nearly all creatures that eventually get categorized as magical beasts are anywhere from one and a half to one hundred times the size of their original counterpart. Smaller things grow quicker, and bigger relative to their initial form. All creatures still have to obey the pesky square-cube law, though, so there is an upper limit to size among the fauna.

However, to keep growing in size, one must consume progressively more magic. It gets to a point of diminishing returns for size as well as all aforementioned benefits. In the case of kitsune, they are actually only about twice the size of a standard fox. More a small wolf, really. The biggest change that magic has gifted them is seemingly benign and underwhelming in the form of an extra digit.

In "fox form" (which is silly, because they are foxes), this manifests as a thumb-like digit. It is fully opposable, and they can grab and articulate tools to certain degrees (the rest of their paw is mundane in appearance), as well as climb better. It is also a profound source of luck.

Climbing allows them to hang in treetops
where they will watch you

In any other form, they bare an extra of something. For humanoid shapes, it is always and unchangeably a sixth digit on each hand; a duplicate of the ring finger. They like people, because people are easily fooled. 

Abilities

A kitsune's thumb is unique, in that it concentrates the magic within the fox into two points. In other words, if you were to use detect magic, only the thumbs would ping as magical (aside from the trace amounts that all life has). Further, the magic that is condensed alters depending on which side of the sagittal plane it is on. The left paw concentrates magic that can charm, bolster, and otherwise aid. The right paw, conversely, can dominate, diminish, and trip up others. 

People often simplify this to "luck magic", which is reasonable. It is why a kitsune cannot be caught if it is aware of you. It is also why the stories characterize them anywhere from puckish trickster to malicious saboteur. Kitsune take great pleasure in unwinding the plans of man. Kitsune hold grudges readily, but by default enjoy harmless (by their definition) pranks.

The ability to assume another form comes from using both digits in conjunction. This allows them to neutralize the "polarity" and create novel magic. This is far from universal, but it can recreate many kinds of magic from all categories. They prefer illusory magics only so far as shapeshifting and distractions go. It's actually far from their favorite to actually use, which is fire magic. 

Though they love fire, they're vehemently against pyromania

Something Tricky This Way Thumbs

If a kitsune loses their thumb, it restricts that half of the magical spectrum forever, even if later restored. This has a number of ramifications depending on which thumb is taken. More accurately, it matters which one remains. If the right thumb remains, the Kitsune turns foul and vindictive. They begin looking for people to domineer, and they seek to sew discord. If the left thumb remains, they grow complacent and lethargic. Though still capable of charming people, they see no purpose in it. Think of it like having a lot of options in front of you, but no ambition to do any of them.

Long term exposure to these conditions leads to a penchant for darker magic, including necromancy in extreme cases, in the case of the right thumb's sole presence. Else, death by sedition in the case of the left thumb's sole presence. Should both be removed, a rather bizarre occurrence happens where the pent up magic within them transforms them gradually into elemental conduits. Usually of fire, but often of wind as well. These are called "Dire Fauxes".

In either case, they get a breath weapon and other abilities.

A Dire Faux's disposition is correlated to how long it spent with one of its thumbs and not the other. More time spent with the left thumb makes them docile. More time with the right makes them territorial and violent. In either case, they readily use their elemental affinity to fight if needed or pressed to.

As it turns out, kitsune are prized by witches and other magical users more concerned with their craft than with ethics. The thumbs are, indeed, valuable to this end. Herbal alchemy can yield tonics of healing, amulets with transmutative abilities, and fortune-boosting trinkets all from the left thumb. From the right thumb, scholars can create powerful invocational magic, sometimes strong enough to disintegrate matter. Using both together can create extremely powerful results, with some rumoring that it can alter reality.

In both cases, the yield a thumb will give heavily depends on the learnedness of the mage in question and the method utilized. But even just carrying the thumb on a simple necklace is said to dramatically alter the wearer's luck, depending on which thumb it is. Rumors state that it will draw or repel misfortune towards the wearer, such that it can manifest accidents that would otherwise not occur (with the right thumb worn, of course).

This all said, since the harvesting of fox thumbs often leads to horrific results, the practice is banned, which stops as many people as you would expect (that means zero). Local legends don't help either. Some spread that it cures infertility. Others say it can make someone fall in love with you (that one's true). The illicit market isn't all that popular, but enough so to cause issue.

Regarding People

As stated, kitsune like tricking people. The simple, but big, fox has quite a bit of intelligence, enough to pick your pockets. Or it could curse you to grow ill at the sight of your current love. Often times, kitsune will rob sleeping campers of their clothing so that they can go into town without problem. When on these escapades, they'll often steal, run up tabs, impersonate others, and other drunken frivolities. It's hard for most people to notice a kitsune, which excites them. Even if someone were to notice the extra digits, that doesn't conclusively mean you have found a kitsune.

People make easy targets. They congregate en masse with heavy pockets, they get angry when you take their things, and they're quick to point the finger at the wrong person. Kitsune are to common folk what jesters are to kings; if jesters also pinched the king's coin purse for a few nights out on the town here and there.

They're not so single-mindedly devoted to pranks, though. There are stories of kitsune who took pity on the destitute, enspelling them with fortune enough to turn their lives around. Others speak of times where kitsune have cursed abusive authority figures who soon after fell on hard times. Perhaps these are just rumors. 

Or maybe kitsune just like to shake things up.

Afterword

I'm going to pre-emptively clear a few things up first. I like the bushy multi-tailed fox myths a lot, but I also like making allegedly benign things considerably more impactful than they seem. 

So if you want to use this in your campaign, go nuts! Include the tails/ears as part of their tell. Or maybe as a kitsune grows in power, it gains more tails in its normal form (but only ever up to nine, of course).

If it were me, I would probably divide up how to use these into three categories:

• Tricksters
• Tragic enemies
• Dire Fauxes

The tricksters (standard kitsune with both thumbs intact) are easy to fit into any campaign or setting that allows for them. Just have them terrorizing the drunks, or attempting to steal from the party at night (It's said that they often possess unique knowledge, but maybe they just say that to save their skin fur). They're very charismatic, self-serving, and willing to agree to something in the moment only to flake later. 

The tragic enemy angle would best be reserved for a left-thumbless kitsune. These have dangerous magic, would likely be dominating people foolish enough to be nearby, and would actively seek to spread misery. A kitsune in this position with enough time and not enough action against it could probably raise an army within a few fortnights, if proximity to people was advantageous. This could have all the hallmarks of a zombie scenario, with none of the unambiguity about killing the people.

Dire Fauxes are a classic "big game" enemy. Need to hunt a trophy (perhaps a Dire Faux tail?)? How about a need to cease the cause of forest fires in the area? Perhaps travel is restricted due to the overly territorial nature of one?

In the last two cases, I would strongly recommend hunting down the person responsible. That's an incredibly potent magical item they have or have made since. AND people get to feel good about dealing with the heartless villain. Win-win.

As always, thanks so much for reading. Feel free to use this, just direct people here if you do.