Open up any Dungeons and Dragons book about game monsters, and chances are good that you’ll end up on a page detailing either an evil entity out to ruin your day or a powerful and dangerous creature that may very well want to eat you. Even the less enemy-focused creatures have “stat blocks” detailing how they fight and what happens when you try to fight back. This is because, for all its emphasis on problem-solving through storytelling, D&D still often involves a lot of combat. And for combat to happen, it’s usually given that at least some of the monsters will act, well, monstrous.
This isn’t just true of this one game, either. Conflict is a driving force in storytelling. Making that conflict physical gives players (or readers, or watchers) an exciting sense of danger and power… All without actually threatening them. As such, action and adventure are popular genres to write in – especially in the literally fantastical world of spec-fic settings.
But from there, of course, comes the big question of why your heroes need to fight in the first place. Going out and killing a big wild animal for fun or food is less heroism than just hunting. For heroic combat, your characters need to be reactive. They’re fighting something or someone that first attacked them or other innocents, as a form of defense. But that, then, shifts the question to why that creature attacked.
What makes a monster?
As mentioned before, one way to do this is by making the “creature” an intelligent villain. But villains need motivations for why they’re acting villainous. Motivations might include an excessive desire for money or power, a misguided attempt to solve a problem that they refuse to admit just causes more problems and pain, or even some twisted pleasure they get from hurting others. But that’s not our topic for today. Instead, we’re focusing on the more instinctual motivations of non-sapient monsters that, while “monstrous,” are ultimately following their natural behaviors.
All these variations are reflected in the very term “monster.” As a word, it originally came from the Latin monēre, meaning “warn.” This later turned into mōnstrum, which can be translated into the modern English term or mean “portent.” Basically, a monster is something dangerous, something that has to be warned against. Even now, “monster” can mean anything from a mythical creature to a cruel person to a very large animal or object. Monsters aren’t necessarily aggressive, but they often can be. And that “can” is just what we’re going to look into today.
The Big Bad Wolf wants a meal
When thinking about dangerous animals, the first instinct is usually to turn to predators. It’s not hard to guess why: predators get their food, one of the basic aspects of life, by killing and consuming other animals. It’s a necessarily brutal way of living. And when it comes to large predators, it’s not hard to imagine them seeing us as their next meal. From there it’s easy to imagine your setting’s local dragon, sea serpent, or eldritch shadow horror developing a taste for human flesh.
But here’s a secret: humans are very rarely on the menu. In fact, depending on who you ask, humans can be considered top or apex predators. It’s not an exact thing; not only are food webs a lot more complex than the classic “chain” model, but we rarely actually eat other major predators. And indeed, there’s a reason it’s “very rarely” and not “never.” Large predators like bears and big cats can still be dangerous hunters, depending on the scenario.
This scenario typically involves said animals hunting opportunistically, or going after whatever the animal thinks will make suitable prey. This contrasts with specialist hunting, where the animal tends to focus on one species or set of species as prey. Both strategies have their advantages. Opportunists have more flexibility, while specialists can practice and get really good at hunting their selected prey.
But animals don’t specialize in hunting humans, and the key word in opportunistic hunting is suitable. The simple fact is, most animals have a healthy fear of humans because of how well we can fight back. What we lack in claws, wings, or venom, we more than make up for with our ability to handle tools, strategize, and communicate to others that there’s a predator hunting people that we want removed for the public’s safety.
Most animals that might otherwise hunt us don’t consider it “worth it,” because humans are unpredictable and can be dangerous. The exceptions are typically animals that have lost their fear of humans due to repeated contact (ie why you shouldn’t feed bears), and those that are hungry and desperate enough to take the gamble. And unless your fantasy monsters are big and monstrous enough to shrug off gunfire, magic spells, or whatever else your setting’s heroes have to throw at them, they’re probably going to behave the same way.
Defending hearth and home
Now, predators aren’t the only dangerous animals out there. In fact, thanks to the above points, hunting animals are often less aggressive to humans than animals with other reasons to be fighting. Take the hippopotamus. Herbivorous, with a blubbery kind of “ugly-cute” look, these semiaquatic behemoths are nevertheless among the most infamously deadly animals. This is because male hippos are extremely territorial, staking out claims in their river homes for the best access to females.
Territorial behavior can occur for a variety of reasons. As mentioned in the massive monsters post, it can help animals with limited food sources ensure they have enough to eat. Like with hippos, animals may also want to keep rivals away from potential mates. Broadly speaking, guarding territories prevents overcrowding and protects resources the animal might find valuable.
Of course, defending one’s territory also means defending one’s self and/or social group. Deer antlers and rooster spurs aren’t just there to fight off rivals. They can also fend off predators, whether by injuring their opponent outright or putting up enough of a fight to convince the predator that this meal just isn’t worth it.
Looking at monster fights from this angle, the question becomes what exactly your monster is defending. Is it a predator, trying to drive other predators out of its range? A prey animal, seeing the nearby villagers as a threat and unwilling to back down? Just really intent on keeping your heroes away from the herd they stumbled upon by accident? Answering this question can tell you how your monster might respond to different tactics your heroes try, from fighting until it gives up and runs away to trying to seem less intimidating and simply leave the territory.
Sick and wrong (by which I mean mistaken)
Now, territoriality, hunting, and defense are all entirely natural combative behaviors for animals. But what about one that’s behaving a bit unnaturally? After all, one way to make monsters “monstrous” is by making them somehow over the top in the “danger” category.
This can be accomplished in several ways. We’ve already touched on one: feeding the bears, so to speak. Large predators that might otherwise keep their distance from people become much more dangerous when they lose that drive. A bear approaching people for handouts is more likely to target them when angry, hungry or frightened than one who’s staying away. Altered behaviors like this could even create a source of drama. Villagers calling your heroes in to deal with a monstrous creature they’d previously deemed friendly may lead to the new conflict of getting them to stop making their own monsters.
Alternatively, the change might be more internal. Certain disorders and diseases like rabies that affect the brain can increase aggression, making for a hurt and confused animal that behaves wildly differently from its peers. If you add magic into the mix, even that be the source of the problem. Maybe the local peryton herd lived peaceably near town until some burst of aberrant magic cursed them with their classic shadow-stealing drive.
Of course, your monstrous monsters might be just plain confused. For example, many people suspect that shark attacks result from mistaken identity when they aren’t outright defensive. If your characters are exploring some unusual space, like under the sea or deep underground, they could end up running afoul of a predator that’s confusing them for its prey.
So, why does all this matter?
Like I said at the beginning of the post, villains (like all characters) are driven by their motivations. These motivations, in turn, drive how the villain is likely to behave. One driven by greed is less likely to be dissuaded by impassioned speeches than one who wants to protect his family, but the latter might become downright sadistic against a hero who overthrew his tyrant cousin.
This also applies to the less intelligent or morally-driven monsters. If you know why a monster is acting monstrous, you know how it might behave in a combat situation. A predator on the hunt? It will probably break off the fight once the characters make it clear they won’t go down easily. Stumbled onto its territory? Maybe your characters have to flee or fend it off long enough to escape said territory. Deathly ill with fantasy rabies? Congratulations: not only has your monster become mindlessly relentless, it’s also a tragic beast that has to be put down.
Whatever the case, knowing just what makes your monsters monstrous is sure to put some variety in your combat encounters. And a little variety is always a good thing.