The living things around the crocodile died. Everywhere it went it found their bodies moldering. It feasted on them. It was a time of bounty. Sometimes, as it moved from place to place it found others who, like it, were not quelled by catastrophe - and indeed grew strong. Small furred things once furtive, now bold. Feathered flyers grown fat on corpses. Shelled tortoises too pugnacious to expire.
The crocodile saw Death itself on occasion, too. Their relations were cordial. It was not the crocodile's time and would not be for eons yet.
The memory of those days is vivid in the crocodile's mind. The dark, the cold, the restless baleful movements of the earth and sees. The food. It forgot the meaning of hunger.
The Ghost of a Triceratops
At times during those carrion years, the crocodile imagined the things it had once known, before what it thought of as the Dark Winter. The mournful, lost spirits of the masses of the dead. They exist in its memory that way. Seen out of the corner of the eye. Miserable drifters which long for what is gone.
AC 18* (not harmed by non-magical weapons), HD 9, AB N/A (does not attack)
*Invisible if looked at directly; can only be seen if glanced at (attacks are at -6 to hit)
*Slow (half movement rate of a human)
*Drains 1hp per turn from living things within 60', unless rendered invisible by being looked at directly
The Fat Eaters
Thigh-high, four-legged, fanged furred things which, like all who were once cowards, are now excessively brave. The crocodile remembers them as upstarts rewarded by sheer fortune. They know that they are among those who have inherited the earth.
AC 14, HD 1+1, AB +2, No. Appearing: 2d20
*Attack mindlessly with complete confidence
*Can bite for 1d6 damage and will latch on, causing d2 damage per round, until killed
*Will stop to devour meat, or the body of any foe slain, within 60'