The Bestial Spirit is no mere ghost of a fallen hound, but a raw fragment of the world’s primeval fury. Born from the collective memory of the wild, these spirits dwell where the Feywild bleeds into the material realm, awaiting the call of those who speak the ancient tongue of tooth and claw. They are the essence of the hunt personified—translucent, shifting forms that mirror the predatory grace of the lands from which they are conjured. In the deep, untouched reaches where civilization thins, these spirits act as silent sentinels of the natural order. They do not hunt for meat, as they have no bellies to fill; instead, they strike with a singular, terrifying focus against those who desecrate the hallowed silence of the woods. Whether surging from the dark loam or gliding through the canopy, they possess a preternatural awareness, moving with a silence that defies their savage, spectral appearance. Legends tell of a spectral guardian stalking a ruined grove in the Moonpeak mountains, where no living animal has set paw for decades. A local ranger fears this restless essence has been twisted by a lingering curse, its form now a jagged, many-eyed horror. Unless the spirit is appeased, its primal hunger may soon extend to the unsuspecting hamlets nearby.