Baobhan Sith

Wandering fortune-tellers claim these bitter little creatures, also called black sprites, descend from a pixie clan seized by the misty dread realm for unspeakable deeds in some distant land. Two feet tall, they have sharp elven faces, long ears almost like a bat's and large, clear wings like a cicada's. Even druids can mistake them for pixies; only their ears and the dull sheen of their wings give them away. They dress in loud clothing and bright caps, speak common, and probably understand other sprites and woodland animals.

Unless sure of winning, baobhan sith avoid open fights and come back later to torment a foe with nasty tricks suited to their dark humor. Forced to fight, they turn invisible at will and stab with tiny dagger-like spears for 1d4. They have 180-foot infravision and hearing far keener than a human's, and once per round each can use change self, trip or ventriloquism at 5th level.

Their strangest weapon is contagious, magical laughter: when one cackles, all within 15 feet save vs. spell or are overcome as by hideous laughter. They cannot laugh on command; something must truly amuse them, usually human pain or a foe's clumsy mistake in battle.

A desperate darkness drives them to ever greater cruelty. They keep busy with wickedness every waking hour, afraid that even a moment of rest will let them dwell on their ancestors' crime and go mad.

Their chief joy is causing misfortune. A tribe picks a family or village and torments it for as long as possible: a pet vanishes and turns up dead after a week of searching, or the family's only workhorse is frightened again and again until it lames itself. They seldom kill directly, preferring to wreck whatever their victims love most. They favor the weak and helpless, and nothing delights them more than shoving an old person down the stairs, then howling with laughter that soon spreads to the horrified onlookers.

Tribes burrow into caves under gnarled tree roots in shadowy glades. The cruelest and most devious member leads, usually the cleverest too, but power struggles never stop and only the truly savage hold control long. Magic items mean nothing to them, though they may keep some as bait for future pranks.

They eat roots and insects and sometimes fall to predators that mistake them for birds. They can live 200 years. Ground up, their wings produce dust of disappearance at a rate of one dose per twenty-five wings, which loses its power unless used within 1d4 weeks.