Whisperwing

The below is a critter I submitted at the last minute to a monster-creation contest last year.  It didn't win (hastily-composed things rarely do) but I think it came out pretty fun; it's more of an implicit encounter than a monster, I think.

WHISPERWING
THE STATS (of minimal importance at any rate):
AC 12  HP 10  ATK tiny talons +1 for 1d6
MV N (fly)   Dex +2   Wis +2   LVL 1 fey

APPEARANCE:

A plump iridescent moth, the size of a small annoying dog or a large loaf of bread.  Its eyes are immense and opal-like; its chitin a stunning tortoise-shell.  The wings - bearing scintillating, moving patterns of unearthly color that sometimes seem to coalesce into whispering faces, are heavily furred around the edges and bear long “swallowtail” appendages at the rear.  When at rest or asleep, the wings soften and hang like soft baby blankets.  One sorcerer of my acquaintance described the whisper-wing he saw as “the moth equivalent of a fat, spoiled Persian cat”.  The whisper-wing flies, but only slowly, and with an unsteady manner that makes it appear to be stumbling through the air.  Those who encounter the whisper-wing may at first find it comical.

THE LORE/ENCOUNTER (the good stuff):

These large, nocturnal faerie moths are not native to our world, but are instead another strange byproduct the whirrings of the cosmic orrery.  When the unseelie constellations align just so, mortal secrets and lies coalesce and congeal into an insectoid egg which hatches a single whisper-wing.  Once born, the moth first seeks to fill its belly on any source of protein or sugar it can find for several nights before proceeding with its (un)natural life cycle.  The whisper-wing instinctually yearns to advance along the cosmic wheel by self-immolating in a fire of sufficient size (campfire or larger).  When the intelligent moth spots a suitable bonfire, it will perch in a tree or atop a rock and watch, fascinated, for some time before finally screwing its courage to the sticking-place and charging for the fire.  Whisper-wings can speak the tongues of all civilized men due to their faerie nature, and may improvise quite the soliloquy on their descent to destiny; others may simply rave as to how large and hot the fire looks, and how they cannot wait to throw themselves upon the pyre.  Regardless, any people nearby certainly get the idea the whisper-wing is stumble-flying its way to the fire with glorious suicidal intent.  Those who try to prevent the moth from its destiny will be engaged with drive-by slicings and dicings from the plump insect’s wicked little claws.  Being a horrid little bug made of secrets, the whisper-wing can see secrets, and uses this ability in combat.  If an opponent is hiding a wound, the moth strikes at it unfailingly; if the opponent has a weak side, the moth exploits it.  Otherwise, the moth might taunt its opponent based on deep dark secrets (“Nice dagger, is that the one you used to kill your sister?”)  If slain in combat, the opalescent, plate-like eyes of the whisper-wing could likely be sold as semi-precious stones of significant size (or cut down to be the lenses of magic goggles that reveal auras or the invisible).

When the whisper-wing lies down on the fire and begins to die, it will sing hauntingly in one or more local languages, revealing an important secret as it passes on.  This is, in effect, the last breath of the whisper-wing, which, as you will recall, is not a moth at all, but a conglomeration of secrets made into simplest flesh.  The secret could regard anything - ancient lore, a hidden place or object, political machinations and intrigue, or something personal about a nearby person.  If the whisper-wing is prevented from reaching the fire and held hostage, it may be negotiated with, and likely convinced to reveal a particular secret upon its deathbed rather than a random one.  In this usage is the whisper-wing’s greatest value to most men.

Post-mortem, the curled and toasted husk of the whisper-wing makes a suitable foundation for an enchanted helmet, particularly one intended to be ensorcelled as a helm of comprehending languages, or something proof against ESP.

If seized as a wizard’s familiar - typically by the dedicated casting of find familiar against an entrapped specimen - the whisper-wing begrudgingly becomes a serviceable companion.  As a companion, the moth will attempt to sleep all day (its snoring reminiscent of sighing into a harmonica), demand to be fed buttermilk in a baby bottle, and mutter outrageous probably-false gossip about passers-by.  The whisper-wing grants its magic-user the boon of immunity to effects like know alignment, detect evil/good, and so forth, as well as improved resistance to hostile ESP or penetrating telepathy, so long as the moth is on the wizard’s person.  The whisper-wing contains too many secrets and thoughts in one place and disrupts these sorts of powers by its mere presence and attunement to the magic-user.  The soul-shackling of the familiar unfortunately dissolves the whisper-wing’s ability to see weaknesses, as the mortal companion is such a sad sack of neuroses the fey moth becomes blind to the weaknesses of others in combat.