'I'm not afraid of your little bug. I've seen its kind before, squished its kind before. And you dare call it a 'warrior'?! Yrg are pathetic, as are people who think they can measure up to real warriors. So send it in, let me splatter its insect innards over the hot sands of the arena.'

- The Orc pit fighter Logh'Ran's last words before being vivisected in the arena by a Warrior Yrg

Once beautiful Madrigos, a city famous for its wealth and hospitality, is now a forsaken ruin called Scorponar, dwelling of the Scortaur, a race of savage scorpion-men who hunt all other races mercilessly and uncompromisingly on and around the Plains of Bone. Only a handful of fortunate wanderers can tell the tale of seeing the city's shattered buildings and old walls at the heart of the wasteland. Those who did see it talk about bone scaffolding and fortifications, flayed bodies hanging from battlements, and banners fashioned from human skin. Scorponar is a place of horror and despair, with the old white stone of Madrigos peeking out from under the colorless sands like broken teeth or shattered bones.

The Krawag - draconic reptiles bred to be hunter-killers or guard animals - are easily among the most dangerous enemies in Vagrus. Some of them go rogue and live the solitary life of an apex predator in the cruel wilderness of the Riven Realms, giving vagri like you trouble; others are captured and sent into arenas for entertainment; while still others roam the land in the service of the Dragonlands and its armies.

'What... in Tartaris... is this horrible thing?'

- Decurion Flavius Arbo upon examining the corpse of the creature that tore apart three of his legionnaires the previous night

Little to nothing is known of the beasts now commonly referred to as 'ghouls' that appeared not long ago and now plague the Southern Jagged Waste and especially the gale-ridden expanse called the Singing Winds.

The wind was speaking to her, telling her terrible things, singing of her demise, chanting of her worst fears becoming manifest, of her never reaching her destination, never achieving her dreams, never being content, never finding rest or refuge or love. It kept on whining and screaming and whimpering until she herself started screaming in a vain attempt to blot it all out.

'When we arrived at the observation  post, Borgan was nowhere to be seen. The craven slaves pointed to tracks in the sand that looked like someone had been dragged away, accompanied by small, triangular stab marks – Yrg prints, I presumed correctly. These led to a dark crevice at the foot of one of the towers. We tried calling after Borgan but there was no answer. Eventually, I sent down one of the slaves with a torch. The unfortunate bloke happened upon the mutilated body of Borgan down there and fled back up in a panic. Yrg are clearly present down in the underside of the city, that much is certain. This ties in perfectly with what we know of the Elven tribes of the Second Age. The accounts of Sage Ikar record that the realm of Dor Anthelas was involved in a great war against the Yrg that lasted for  millennia. What these insect broods were like, I cannot imagine, but  they must have been a far cry from the mostly docile Yrg we know today.'

The creepy Hollow Eyes may look like weird children but in truth they are one of the most dangerous enemies you can come across while traversing the Riven Realms. Luckily, these creatures of cold hatred can only be encountered in and around the Hollow Crags and the Hargad Tuul in general.

'Worry not, general. Their right flank won't be able to cross the gullies to press your lines. I and my apprentices will make sure that the enemy is flooded in corpus vile. Worry not about squandering resources, either. Those same soldiers in the gully will provide the reinforcements.'

'That thing hunted them. Relentlessly. Worse than any predator they had seen before, it hounded their steps through the forest called Smuggler's Cloak by the commoners. Yet no cloak proved to be enough to hide them from those horrible reptilian eyes. The creature was clever, too. It did not attack them but tracked them from a distance, waited until they were exhausted, harried, and desperate. And then it took them, one by one. The last wretched fellow gave himself up to the first patrol he stumbled across; better break rocks in prison for the rest of his life than fall prey to a Krawag.'