An aberrant spirit is no soul of the departed, but a splinter of the Far Realm’s maddening geometry given fleeting, translucent form. Born from the psychic residue of alien god-minds or pulled through the veil by the desperate incantations of a summoner, these entities pulse with a light that feels like a bruise upon the eye. They exist as echoes of a reality where biology is a mere suggestion and sanity is a forgotten language, flickering between the Material Plane and the incomprehensible void. Wherever these spirits manifest, the environment curdles. They haunt the proximity of their masters or linger near planar rifts, drifting through solid stone as if it were stagnant water. Their behavior is governed by a logic as alien as their anatomy; a spirit might meticulously rearrange a library by the scent of the ink or lash out with psychic fury at any creature whose heartbeat sounds like a discordance to their lidless eyes. In the ruins of the Star-Gazer’s Spire, the air has begun to bleed. The local peasantry reports dreams of impossible colors, and the cattle have fled the pastures in terror. These spirits are not merely haunting the wreckage; they are searching for a mortal anchor strong enough to drag the rest of their nightmare-tide into the world of men.